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taegularities · 4 months ago

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meraki | jjk (m)

MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: bickering, bantering, jk is a bit rude at the beginning, flirting, tension, oc is bold and courageous, mention of someone being stoned, mention of insomnia, jk's lip rings <3, heights, not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers lmao, deep talks and sweet moments, one bed trope, guest appearance, jk takes pictures of pretty things, stars and sky talk <3, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, implied pain kink? lol, fingering, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, 69, spitting, one or two spanks, bit of choking, soft and hard sex, unprotected sex (oc has an iud), soft dom!jk but also glimpses of sub!jk, ofc biiiig dick!jk, doggy/riding/missionary, praises, more flirting, jk's godly body, masturbation, cum swallowing (he comes in her mouth); the lovely ending <3 ➳ word count: 26.6k <3 ➳ a/n: you guys built this fic!! 🥺 hopefully this is what we expected it to be. it's also yet another love letter to one of the gentlest men i know; happy birthday, jeon jungkook, you're the standard and i will never fall out of love with you 💕 i hope y'all enjoy it!! come and talk to me when you're done mwah <3

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

1:04AM, Her

There’s a word for how you do what you do.

A term you hold dearly in the crevices of your bright heart. Ever since you first learned its meaning two decades ago, you’ve made it your primary goal to breathe through life with it as your philosophy.

Passion, it is. A word certainly common in conversation and daily life — you’re not the only person to live by it. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to wallow in it.

Because there’s a fire behind your hard-working chest, lit up, pride residing next to it. It’s where you feel the most vivid light when you do what you love, blooming and blossoming. There are synonyms of it you know, and each of them are pretty as a growing garden.

You gatekeep them for now; haven’t yet found a person to share your knowledge with. Which is okay; in the meantime, you’ll keep looking. You do think everybody needs something like this in their lives.

Something that forces your body upright, sprinkling fairy dust and glimmer into your eyes. Something you can resort to in order to escape the trials of life.

For you, as odd it may seem to people, it’s your job.

You usually work late like today, surrounded by sounds and disquiet. But you enjoy it. You like stepping into the night afterwards, and you like the dark blanket above, the starlight sprinkled across the comforting blackness.

And you like it when it drizzles sometimes. The giggles of couples or groups of friends as they wade through the rain. The absolute quiet and relieving serenity.

You live for this. You enjoy people. You enjoy sensing life around you.

Tonight isn’t different. Even when you find yourself hastening by the end, wrapping up the event with a dozen chores to tackle; even when the host rushes to you, asking for help. Your shoes click-clack across the floor as you move left and right, up and down.

But by God, you never doubt these days’ worth.

1:04AM, Him

Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.

Jungkook learned that early on when he agreed to be a photographer at events. He’s encouraged and urged to ask people to pose; that’s his job. Waiting for them to force a smile before they can resume eating, debone their fish or work on their lobsters, beef, veggies.

They long to return to whatever they were doing, or to their conversations, mostly insignificant ones; Jungkook knows because he, involuntarily, hears too many of them.

It’s only when they’re dancing or drinking that they open up. That’s when they’re okay with listening to him, obedient, almost as if he’s authority, staring into the lens with flushed cheeks and wide grins.

Though it’s irritating when every other person walks up to him afterwards, inquiring when they’d be receiving the photos, or, even ruder, if at all.

Today, there are a few more comfortable people around. Not as harsh, not as grim as he feels. You’re here, too, somewhere; of course you are — you got him here in the first place. Somehow, your paths often cross. You were ready for a picture immediately, drawn in by the host, smiling.

He perceived your presence just for a second, though. Doesn’t need or want any more than that. You’re too loud, too energetic anyway; he’s rather among himself, not in any photo, indulging in the job.

He loves clicking through his camera roll; it’s the people that tire him out. Working his way through the pictures he took once home gives him joy, though. Makes his fatigue feel worth it.

But God, you’re not the only one, right? So many people here are the same amount of enthusiastic, party people to the core.

Which is why he’s happy when the night finally concludes, and he, far after midnight, stuffs his equipment back into his bag and slips into his at least somewhat chic blazer.

1:12AM, Her

You groan as your hand dives into your bag, fishing out the key that you already removed from your keychain an hour ago. Back when the man facing you approached you; he’s the last face you see when you step out of the somewhat stuffy hall.

Or so you think.

You don’t know that the night is far from over when you linger at the entrance, handing him a key that he encloses in his grip with a grateful nod and a goodbye-wave. The final interaction when you excuse yourself, breathing in the night.

It’s a hunch cooler than when you left home today; yet, the breeze feels pleasant caressing your skin. The end of August is still warm, still fairly far from fall; you regard summer nights as the best part of the season.

Sighing, you come to a halt in the middle of the pavement, studying the alley. You ponder until you remember a bus not too far from here; you need to turn left, right? Should be there. You have never been around here before, so you’re not entirely sure.

But you’ll just go with your first instinct for now. Keep walking until you detect any kind of a promising sign. You hold onto your roomy bag as you pass the rare people still around.

Some of them are faces you recognise from the party; some are strangers. One couple you spoke to just earlier even lifts a thumbs up for you, praising you for the exceptional organisation. They make you feel at ease until the road quietens.

And the place stays serene and silent until you hear the clearing of somebody’s throat. It’s not near; yet not far. Your eyes scan the area, not for long when they recognise a figure sitting on the opposite side of the narrow street.

It’s a man, clutching a heavy object with careful hands. A camera, you know it immediately. He’s hunting through the pictures he took, face slightly lit by the screen. Jutting lower lip, slowly blinking eyes.

Simple attire — dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer on top that hides the wide shoulders.

Constantly and undeniably handsome, albeit always grim due to the lack of a smile.

You squint to confirm it’s him you’re seeing; but when he smacks his lips in the dark of the night, nibbling at the shiny lip rings, you know you’re right. This is a habit you’ve never seen on anybody this persistently as on Jeon Jungkook.

And the one and only Jeon Jungkook must be feeling your eyes on him, because only a second later, he lifts his gaze. Instinctively, you wave a little, but Jungkook isn’t on board with your hospitality. He rolls his eyes; you don’t take it to heart, though. You’re used to this.

As he starts stuffing the camera back into his bag, you waddle over, crossing the street. Upon reaching him, you ask, “Got some good pictures tonight?”

“I’d guess so.”

His voice is as nonchalant as always, his shoulders relaxed, uncaring. To your vampire-novel-reading middle school self, he would’ve been the coolest and most mysterious riddle, waiting to be cracked. But you know how he feels about you, and that makes the situation just a little less intriguing.

Yet, you never stopped approaching him, because aside from conversations like these, you know he’s just human, too. He smiles at events whenever he gets the chance, content with the moments he captures; he likes what he does.

Photography has always been his thing; or that’s what you gathered, at least. You see the same sparkle in his eyes that you feel in yours when you work; the same joy when he fumbles with his camera, always checking, presumably changing the settings, testing it out.

You lean in a little, wondering, “Can I see?”

“Uhm…” He hesitates, lifting the strap of the camera bag higher up his shoulder. “Do you have to?”

“If I may. I brought you here, remember?”

Of course. It’s always you; you’re the one to organise this, and you’ve seen his pieces and albums before. He might not hang around you too much, always the first to tell you he has somewhere else to be, but you know he’s good. You trust him in this regard.

“You say that every time,” he argues, a tattooed hand settling on his bag, clearly reluctant.

So you click your tongue, waving your suggestion off. You try to sound as lively as ever, but your voice is more earnest as you say, “Okay, it’s fine. Don’t show me the pictures, but come on. Be a bit nice at least.

“Alright. What else? Do you need something?”

You sigh in defeat. “No. I was just going home.”

“You should go home. It’s pretty late.”

“Aren’t you going, too?”

“I am,” he responds, his voice going up at the end. “I just wanted a bit of peace before leaving.”

“Peace,” you repeat, as if trying out the word. “You can’t get it at home?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he only shifts his stare from you to the empty road ahead, exhaling a dramatically long breath before he gets into motion. You immediately react, by his side until he asks, “Are you following me?”

“Huh? Did you forget that I was literally heading this way?” He’s distracted, looking for the street signs, and you laugh at his own confusion. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I guess so.”

Okay, at least he’s honest, not giving himself airs. You want to see what his inner compass suggests, but then somewhat shun the thought of walking further into unknown terrain.

So you question, “You taking the bus?”

“Nope. Subway.”

“Ah. That should be this way, then,” you nod towards the direction you’re approaching, “I know the bus is, because that’s where I need to go.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

That’s it. He doesn’t respond much; only lets out the millionth sigh, following you with something you might nearly call trust. He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other kind of interaction, so you let him sink into his thoughts.

But a beat of silence later, you still ask politely, “How did you like the party?”

“Uhhh, it was okay.” For the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “The people were weird, don’t you think? But I got some good shots in.”

“Hmm… okay. I didn’t notice anything weird about the people.” You shrug your shoulders. “Talking about shots… did you drink a little?”

He whines your name as the question is a tale as old as time, complaining, “Every single time? Why is this so important to you…” He waits, shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Seems you did, though.”

“A little,” you say, bringing your forefinger and thumb together, indicating a tiny space. “But I’m all sober and well.” Another brief pause. “Are you okay, too?”

He licks his lower lip, dimples appearing that don’t ever need a smile to emerge. Then, he throws back, “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You always look so bored at parties. And you always go home alone.”

You don’t know if the following laugh is sarcastic or not, but you soon discover the very answer when he lifts a finger and counts, “First off, how would you know?” Another finger added to the mix. “Secondly, I’m not bored. I’m just focused. And I don’t know anybody there.”

His hand drops again, working on his bag’s strap again. Pushing it over his shoulder. He adds, “It’s a bit different for me than for you because they’re literally your clients and you know them at least a little.”

“I mean… you know me.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” He regards you from head to toe, not the softest of expressions, and you pout. You don’t ever take him seriously, but he can be hurtful sometimes. “I just don’t think we’d be good conversation partners.”

“Weird,” you challenge, “because you’re conversing with me right now, no problem. It’s also not my fault you always argue with me at every event.”

“I don’t. You approach me.”

“You do.” You lean your face closer to his, not making it very far when his palm pushes your cheek, and you, away from him. “Ugh. Okay. Seriously, though — why do you always leave alone?”

He exhales in defeat. Seems that Jeon Jungkook is too tired to take your idiocy tonight. You understand, but you’re just trying to figure out how to convince him that you’re normal, too. That he just dislikes you because you’re different from him, and nothing else.

“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.

“I mean it,” you still declare, “there are so many sweet and nice girls around. They ask about you sometimes, you know? I’ve also met many men on such pa—”

“That’s great,” he interrupts, a palm stopping you from spilling more info, “but… I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Oh.” The syllable is short, cut, harmless. That is, until it clicks in your brain, and your eyes widen, lips parting as you turn to him in shock, stating, “Oh, wait. Do you… play for the other team?”

Jungkook blinks at you. Then lowers his gaze, turning it a couple shades darker, staring at you from under his eyelids. He looks annoyed when he spits, “No, I’m not gay. And even if I was, it’d be none of your business.”

Shit.

Okay, you were sure about your assumption, but now that it turned out wrong, this sounds pretty shitty. And annoying. And awkward.

“Sorry,” you apologise, and he gives you a taunting head tilt. “Okay… different topic then? Tell me, what do you think of this dress?” You lift the hem a little, smiling; you were convinced the moment you first saw it. “Do you think I look pretty today?”

For a second, he joins; his initial gaze is still cynical, but his voice is appealing, a whisper when he leans in and asks, “Why? Do you want to be the one I go home with?”

Ah… why do the words, the way he speaks them, tickle you just right? You’re flabbergasted, seeing your reaction on the bare skin of your arms, but all he does is back away again and once again, shake his head.

You want to retort something snarky back, but you don’t get to it when he inquires a moment later again, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

Right… you need to go home. You forgot.

“Uh… yeah.” You look around, finally detecting a sign, picturing a bus and a number. “There’s the bus, so the subway should be…” You stop; hum; then see two women waiting at the bus stop. “Should we ask someone?”

“Sure.”

With a nod, you separate from him, walking towards the bus station bench they’re sitting on, hands folded, conversing quietly. They’re surprised when they see a figure advance, but relax when they catch your smile.

You ask the questions floating in your brain, trying to explain where you live, what you need. They attempt an answer, gesture around, and barely a minute later, you’re thanking them and leaving again.

Jungkook stands there in anticipation, waiting for you to deliver good news — yet confused when you return with slumped shoulders instead of an enthusiastic, “We were right! Come!”

Okay, there aren’t too many reasons for Jungkook to dislike you; you want to say this much. But when you see him understand that this is going nowhere, you do get his frustration.

Especially as you kiss your lips, staring at him like a lost bunny, and explain, “So… the subway isn’t here.” Big eyes meet yours. “I’m not sure where it is, and they,” your thumb points to the girls behind you, “couldn’t help because they’re tourists.”

“Ah. Great,” he says, delivering a falsely cheerful smile. Hands thrown into the air. “So we’re stranded and should definitely not be here. What about the bus? Where does it go?”

“Uhm…” You scratch your head. “Not where I need to go. It’s a different one. But!” Immediately, your voice rises, trying to approach this with hope. It’s not the end of the world, after all! “Don’t worry! We’ll get home either way.”

“Just a lot later than necessary.”

“But nothing’s lost yet. Don’t you trust me?”

And — much as you thought — Jungkook only ogles back in silence, blinking once again before he walks away with a curse on his lips.

1:25AM, Her

You catch up to him fast.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise!” you vow, but you reckon it only makes matters worse.

Because he breathes air through his nose, like a bull, arguing, “I’m tired, though. This is wasting so much of my time. You always do.”

You stop in your tracks. He doesn’t. You sulk, “That was mean.”

“And you’re idiotic.”

“Well… shit.”

This time you tilt your head, grinding your teeth; less out of anger, more out of embarrassment. You don’t respond much else, and he doesn’t throw another insult. Instead, he opens the bag again with the velcro’s ripping sound, heaving out his SLR.

You peek over his shoulder, confused about the timing to indulge in a passion, and ask, “What are you doing with that?”

“Looking through them,” he mutters, thumb working on the switching button, “maybe I took a picture when I came here. A sign where to find the subway.”

His reasoning elicits a sudden laugh out of you, probably unfounded to him, but very amusing to you. He throws a bewildered and somewhat warning look, and you immediately silence; still holding yourself back when he turns away again.

You wait, listen to the quiet of the night. He doesn’t seem to find any success, and the more time passes, the funnier you find his mind. Eventually, you step next to him and give up, telling him, “Hey. Don't be so tetchy. I'm not that bad.”

Jungkook side-eyes you, tapping the screen of the heavy Sony A9 Alpha. Inhaling the pleasant late summer air, he defends, “I'm never tetchy! But you got us lost.”

“So? You’re being dramatic. There's still Google Maps.”

That’s it. This look of his.

Jungkook must’ve gotten stuck in a decade you’ve long left, because he stares at you dumbfounded, camera still firmly in his hands. He tongues his cheek, blinks.

And then, you mock, “Guess I’m not the only idiot here, right?”

His next breath is deep, and he soon averts your eyes again. You dig, “What? If anything, then low battery might be your only excuse, you know?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you break into a grin again. Shake your head. Then fish out your phone at last, ready to type in the goal, or at least, to search the nearest subway and bus that fit your demands.

Hmmm, okay. If you need to go where you think you need to go, then the subway will really be in immediate distance to the bus. So you’ll be heading in the same direction anyway.

You open your mouth to ask for his address, prepared to type it in — but as you look at him again, you detect a deeply focused Jungkook, pursing his lips at his camera and regarding it with glitter in his eyes. You see it even from here, the sparkle.

Maybe he’s waiting for you to deliver a conclusion, because you catch him moving through older pictures in the meantime. From here, you only see glimpses. Of forests and roads, and then of waterfalls. Even some of him and his friends.

He doesn’t notice it, but his eyebrows are much more relaxed now, expression not quite as steely anymore; and his lips even twitch for a tiny second, tempted to smile. As if he forgot where he’s currently standing.

You let your arms sink, both hands holding your phone, and just gaze for a while. Then move your eyes to the side. To the sky. Remember places you’ve seen and loved in this town. Still hear his harsh tone echoing in your ears.

In hindsight, you really don’t think you've ever personally hurt or offended him. He might’ve been annoyed by something else. Perhaps he was dealing with something that he never dared to speak about; or perhaps, his perception of optimism is warped, because he clearly doesn’t wade through life with it.

You’d like to see his real self, though. The real self, because your gut feeling whispers to you that this isn’t him. Maybe there’s a kind and kindred soul hidden somewhere; maybe his smile proves far more intriguing to you than these mysterious moods of his. Once it appears, that is.

But…

He’ll probably say no. Your idea isn’t dumb, you’re certain, but he very likely will not go with it. But you want to try. Want to show him that you’re not as bad, that he can trust you; want to know what burdens him; or why he talks to you like this.

You might be the only one to wish for more time with somebody who wants to avoid you like the plague.

Yet…

You don’t want this to end just yet.

So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—

“…You know what? Let’s try something fun tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

He voices it with his attention only half on you, not quite taking you seriously; so you swallow to dampen your throat and speak firmer, suggesting, “You need to trust me on this, though.”

This time, he does look at you. Works on stuffing his camera back into his bag, opening his mouth to retort something, but you stop him with a shushing finger that he doesn’t look too happy about.

“Hold on, okay?” you exclaim. “Listen. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh… not until the afternoon.”

“So you can sleep in.”

“I guess.”

You clap once, loudly and dramatically, watching the man in front of you flinch. You can’t say if he’s irritated, shocked or terrified of you. But he looks hilarious like this, blinking, scowling as his fingers clutch his bag tighter.

“What is it?” he asks as if you’ve lost your mind.

“Look. Let’s not leave yet. Fuck Google Maps,” you suggest, and his eyes grow wider by the second, baffled, as if you’re caging him. “Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again. Isn’t this tempting?”

In your head, it is. Not for yourself, but for him. In your mind, he thinks of you as a constant nuisance that stands in his way, hopping around like an overhyped puppy.

Or not. Maybe he has a dog at home; maybe he regards you as worse than cute puppies.

Whatever.

You look at him expectantly, like your persisting stare could help him land a decision. Instead, however, he grimaces, his voice higher when he asks, “What even are you sa—”

No, you won’t give up yet; even if the recurring interruptions make him tear his hair out. You click your tongue and then argue, “Come on! Give it a try.”

Hesitation. Or rather, a question wondering if you’re crazy. Clear rejection. Are you losing?

“We’d be together, so nothing to fear,” you try further, “and how much time is there till sunrise?” You glance at your watch. “It’s barely half past one. The sun comes up in less than five hours. And like, I know it sounds like a lot, but if you give me some time, I’ll give you reasons to smile.”

He keeps looking at you in this questioning, are-you-fully-mad-manner, but you’re absolutely serious and you need him to know. You bat your eyelashes a little, offering your best laugh, and add, “Like this? If you really want to hate me after that, then okay. If not, then… maybe we could go get coffee someday.”

You’ve spoken enough. He raises a hand, quieting you down, and then finally says it.

“You must be crazy.”

“I am,” you confirm.

“You think I’d do this, huh?”

“…Maaaybe?”

“No.”

Jungkook’s answer is stone cold and direct, and it shuts you up with a near-wince. There’s a faint line between his thick eyebrows, lips pressed together; he looks dangerous and very, very mean.

So you don’t say much for another minute, following when he walks away. You side-eye him, notice him type his destination into his phone. Surrendering, you trudge the path he chooses, soon detecting signs leading to the subway.

He can’t say anything to your presence by his side. Even if his answer remains a steadfast, boring no, you’ll have to go in this direction anyway.

More than halfway through, you venture into a conversation again, “Have you ever tried anything like this before?”

“What? The nonsense you suggested?” he asks, and you nod, catching up with his long legs, slightly slower with your heels. “No. I don’t think I need to.”

“You’re so… don’t you ever try anything new?”

“I mean, is this your definition of something new?” He gestures at your surroundings haphazardly. “Going through town in the middle of the night instead of getting some decent sleep?”

You shrug your shoulders, defending, “It’s not like I do it every day. And nothing one can do every day anyway. That's why I want you to try it.” Your voice is soft, friendly. “But you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t answer; only comes to a halt when a bus stop nears, peeking up to the sign with the number before he asks, “That yours?” You hum in confirmation. “Okay. Will you get home well? It’s late.”

“Yeah, of course,” you pout, kicking off a tiny stone with your shoe, “done it a few times.”

He stalls. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. You notice it in his slow movements, the brief pause, the way he looks to the subway he needs to approach and then back to you. You smile when his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and then he tilts his head, sighs.

“Alright. Then… good night.”

And that’s it.

You tell him to sleep well in return, earning a tiny nod, and then he’s leaving you stranded, walking away. Your eyes stay on him until he’s out of sight, down the escalator to the subway and far, far away from the fun idea you conjured.

You mimic his sigh. Take the two or three steps to the bench under the bus stop; and then you wait.

At this time, public transport operates irregularly, so you’re not surprised when you’re still there minutes later. For a while, you remain alone — that is, until a stranger tumbles to you, swaying before he takes a seat on the other edge of the bench.

You don’t look at him; don’t want his attention on you. But to your discomfort, he garbles just a second later, “This the bus to…”

He gets a hiccup, pointing to the bus sign, and then mumbles the name of the station he needs to reach. You don’t understand, however, so you prod, “What?”

Slower now yet similarly slurred, he repeats his question, but this time, you understand and nod your head yes. He overshares, “It’s just that I’m drunk, so I need to be sure. Sorry for interrupting.”

Suddenly, you feel kind of sorry for him. Your shoulders relax; you observe him letting his arms dangle between his legs, sniffling, incredibly exhausted, it seems. What did the fella experience tonight?

You respond, “It’s okay. It’s really late. Get home well.”

“Thanks. You’re very nice.”

The same finger previously signalling to the sign now points at you; but he doesn’t touch you. In fact, his digits are still a good distance away, already falling when you feel a hand on your elbow out of the blue; you nearly react on intuition, getting into position to break somebody’s nose.

But when your eyes meet the other man’s, you recognise him as the same figure standing tall that abandoned you a couple minutes ago. His hand is still grasping the camera bag strap, and he looks calm, confident when he speaks—

“All good? Sorry, I left for too long, right? Let’s go.”

Your voice changes, a chuckle hidden in it when you blurt, “What?”

“You wanted to take a walk.”

And just like that, the snicker dies again. Is he being serious? It seems so; it’s the whole package, even. The nod towards an entirely different direction and the sudden fingers around your wrist, pulling you away.

“Uhm…” you start, feet moving automatically. You turn to the guy drowning in inebriation, leaving a last, “Good luck!” as you wave, smile. Then, to Jungkook, “I thought you went away. Did you want to do this after all?”

You’re cocking an eyebrow, but much at the back of Jungkook’s head, so he doesn’t see. But it seems he hears the tease in your voice, because half-annoyed, half-argumentative, he explains, “No. Just wanted to be a gentleman. I was going to leave the moment you got on the bus.”

Ah. So he was waiting, hiding somewhere? But you don’t mention it; it’d probably just rile him up more.

Yet, you challenge, “You’re lying. You were concerned and you thought my idea was fun after all.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, waving the white flag, probably just to shut you up, “don’t know if I can do this until sunrise, but I can walk with you for a bit. Get you closer to home. And I swear!”

Now he turns, shooting a stare at you over his shoulders, lightning bolts in the middle of his pupils, “If you’re lying and there’s literally nothing special on our way, I’m actually never talking to you again.”

Nothing easier than that.

“Deal!”

“Cool,” he so nonchalantly remarks, finally letting go of your arm, “which way are you heading then?”

“North-east.”

“Good. Works for me.”

The sun is nowhere near up yet; of course not. It’s 1:37AM. Around four and a half hours.

You’re hopeful. In your head, you imagine an uplifted demeanour in no time; try to guess what his smile might look like. A genuine one. Maybe sweet? Maybe cocky? You’ll find out. You will.

So you straighten your stance, clear your throat, sigh a content breath, and step into the night with the courage the stars lend you.

2:13AM, Her

The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.

Jungkook’s initial sighs cease soon as you advance into the town, walking down a busy main street. You guess the bustling area, the sounds of the traffic and the lights of the flashing cars relieve him somehow. Give him an excuse to not talk to you.

But as the occupied road ends and you reach and pass a crowded square, you’re back in calm and serene alleys. Some people are still wandering around, passing closed shops, much like you.

You attempt conversation every now and then, and Jungkook, having eventually realised that he needs to cooperate with you — he agreed to your idea after all — isn’t as mad anymore.

At some point, he breathes in the late summer breeze, and your head swerves into his direction immediately — maybe the magic of the night has finally reached his core, too. Perhaps he’s appreciating the journey you set out to embark on.

You, for one, cherish the quiet; you know at least this much. The alley must be part of the older corner of the town because the lampposts seem Victorian. They’re fancy, bent at the top, the light a comforting golden.

You do admire the beauty in the dead of night, you do — but the weirdly bruising feeling on your skin becomes uncomfortably apparent the more you walk. Your heels and the Achilles tendons ache, the ball of your feet sensitive to each step.

For a while, you hide the stupid pain successfully, not wanting the night to end; and you do love the heels. Feel just the way those old romcom’s protagonists probably felt, strutting through town with a man whose life they’d change.

But as an involuntary groan slips out of you, Jungkook’s view changes from the old buildings to your struggling self. His eyes settle on your contorted expression before they move further down to your sudden limp.

He asks, “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just been walking for a while, is all.”

“Hmm,” he hums, regarding your heels with a suspicious look. “Do they hurt?”

“Nah. I’m used to them.”

“…Oookay.”

He drags the word, as if in disbelief; and you can’t lie your way through the minutes when the ache worsens, the suddenly paved path too much of a chore. You nearly trip when your heel gets caught between the stones.

Jungkook immediately reacts when you hiss; you’re nowhere near actually falling, but his arms still reflexively jolt, the camera bag swaying and hitting your hand when he catches your shoulders.

“Okay, seriously,” he spits, eyes wide, “that’s enough. You can’t walk in these.”

“I can!”

“Not!” He takes a look around, inspecting the place; it’s quiet here, not too many cars driving by at all. So he points to the edge of the pedestrian zone, instructing, “Sit down there. Let’s see.”

See what?

You blink, but oblige. His pointing finger is dominant, and his eyes urging; you flatten your dress, taking a seat at the edge. The road isn’t high, so it’s a little uncomfortable; but you’re pleasantly surprised when he appears in front of you, crouching.

Very, very baffled when he requests, “Can you take them off?”

“Sure,” you say, unbuckling the straps around your ankles before removing the shoes. You sigh; you must admit, it does feel great. “I’m honestly okay, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, ignores your statement; instead, asks, “May I?”

You don’t understand what he means until his hands come to a float right over your toes; he wants to check for bruises, doesn’t he? You nod curtly; something about this warms your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him before.

Not that you ever had the chance to.

He doesn’t really hate you, does he?

Carefully, his fingers reach for your ankle. The touch is warm and pleasant; doesn’t hurt until he moves his thumbs to your heel. Your feet are overworked; you notice. But rather than the annoying pain, you can’t help but focus on your view.

The big, round nose, hiding the plump, parted lips. His eyes look hooded from here, strands of his hair covering them. Intrusive thoughts plead for your fingers to card through the dark mane; it looks soft, pretty.

And the gentleness he handles your skin with fills you with fondness; you like being cared for.

Even when he shakes his head; pulling you out of your daydream. You take a breath, and then inquire, “You don’t have a problem with touching feet?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just feet. Besides,” he stops for a second, detecting something at the back of your foot, shaking his head, “Mom used to work as a nurse. Tough job. I massaged hers sometimes.”

Ah… a loving son, a family person. You smile.

“And I thought you have a foot kink,” you tease.

“Shut up.”

“Found anything?”

“Yeah actually. Do you know how wounded your skin is here? Were you wearing new shoes?”

You gulp with a thin-lipped smile, wondering if he’ll kill you now if you tell him. You look to some random spot on your right before you admit, “Yes.”

“God, you…” He clicks his tongue. Puts your foot on the ground cautiously, reaching for his bag. He rummages through it until he pulls out a bandage, holding it in front of you. “You’re lucky.”

You chuckle, relieved and flattered. “I guess I am.”

He puffs out a laugh, but stops it right away, calling your name under his breath before he says, “God, you’re crazy. Be careful. And admit it when you’re hurt. Why didn’t you?”

Well… you didn’t want the night to end—

“I…”

You hesitate.

He works on your other foot just the same, a tender thumb running over your ankle, probably used to the soothing touch. It distracts you. And when he stops and you don’t answer, he puts his arm on his angled leg, staring up at you in anticipation.

“Yes?” he prods.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d care.” Nonchalantly yet pouting, you nibble at your lower lip. “And if I’d told you they’re hurting, you might’ve suggested ending the night.”

He cocks an eyebrow as if agreeing to the most self-explanatory statement ever, nodding as he confirms, “Damn right I would’ve. We should end the night right now if you can’t walk. Not in these, at least.”

Your chest is hot, your stomach twisting a little. Jungkook really does bother; if not due to a connection he shares with you, then simply because he cares for people. Never, you have never experienced him like this before.

With a tilt of your head and a batting of your eyelashes, you suggest, “And if I was barefoot?”

Which he reacts to with a roll of his eyes. “The night isn’t that warm. Don’t do this to yourself. The ground’s dirty, too.”

You take a look at the dark grey pavement upon his argument, much as if the night could allow you to detect any of the dirt he speaks of. Once more, you hum, pretending to contemplate what to do; and when you pick up your heels, suggesting to follow your idea either way, the back of his hand gives your knee the lightest of hits.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Watch.”

He does. Watches you place your spacious, black bag on your lap, opening the zip. Observes as your hand dips in, pulling out one pair of sneakers and replacing them with your treacherous heels. He keeps ogling when you put them on, mouth widening bit by bit.

He doesn’t speak until you’re done, socks picked out of the shoes, pulled over your feet, laces tied. You keep smiling, content with the moment, only dropping the grin when you see his puzzled expression.

“What?” you question.

“You had them with you and… Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Your answer comes without hesitation; whatever timidity he elicited a moment ago slowly fades again. You clear your throat, back to who you are, and dauntlessly admit, “It was sweet. How you took care of me, I mean. I didn’t think you ever would.”

“But you could’ve at least worn them sooner and avoided the hurt?!”

“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”

“You’re…”

Jungkook uprights himself, towering above you. You put a flat palm onto the pavement, wanting to heave yourself up, but soon see a hand in front of your face. He’s offering it; and you’re quick to take it.

Warm and soft; gentle.

As he pulls you up, you land closer to his body than calculated; his face isn’t too far from yours… much nearer than it has ever been. He leans back; looks to the side; blinks. Clears his throat. Lets go off your hand way too late.

The breath you held escapes in a sudden blow. You swallow.

And when you’ve processed the strange moment, you feel the change in your stance. You’re standing taller now; your feet feel heavenly in your Nikes. Dusting off the front of your dress and your ass, you wait for him to say something.

But he keeps standing there on the road, in the middle of a parking space, hands on his hips. He’s judging you; you understand. Your mindset isn’t for everybody. You might seem crazy, alright.

Yet, he doesn’t scold you again. The up and down of his irked voice doesn’t appear this time when he speaks again; instead, his chin nods towards your legs, and he questions, “So you just carry around shoes with you?”

“I need to,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I can’t ride the motorcycle in heels. And!” Jungkook’s mouth opens, but you’re quick to explain. “Before you ask. No, I didn’t hide my bike anywhere. It needs some fixing, so my co-worker took it because he knows someone who’ll do it. And because he owes me a favour.”

“Right… how unfortunate.” He pauses; runs his tatted digits through the hair you longed to touch minutes ago. They look so silky, it makes you sick. His eyes settle on you, intrigued before he adds, “So, you have a bike, huh?”

“Yeah… why?”

“No reason. I do, too.”

“Mmmh,” you voice, nodding to the road ahead to suggest moving. He follows, trudging next to you again. “You didn’t use it today?”

“No…” He pats the camera bag. “Didn’t want to harm my equipment.”

You hum approvingly, fingers entangling in front of your body. You inch closer to his arm, nudging his shoulder with yours before you flash a sugary smile and say, “Thank you. For caring even a little, you know? Even if you’re always like that, it’s nice to see you like this for once.”

“I’m usually like this,” is what he, however, merely answers, accompanied by air quotes.

But you know you’ve gotten through to him at least a little. Melted bits of the frozen parts of his heart that feel so vexed by you on other nights. In truth, you think, there’s nothing but a delicate organ pumping behind his ribcage.

He’s not a robot; Jeon Jungkook is undeniably humane. If anything, then more than most people you have ever met.

And it shows when he looks away, barely able to hide his smile. You see it even from here — that the gesture does something to his eyes. Nearly squints them shut, makes them smaller, more joyful.

You inhale, proud of yourself. Watch as he toys with his lip rings before he asks eventually, “What do you mean owing you a favour, by the way?”

He sounds almost offended. You think he’ll ask about that favour, reprimand you for giving away your bike tonight of all nights. Tell you off for dragging him here, doing something big enough to entrust an entire motorcycle to somebody.

But instead, he continues with a question you never foresaw, “Are you in a quarrel with them? Am I not your arch-enemy?”

You burst into laughter immediately, covering your mouth as the other palm touches his arm. There’s a bulging bicep under his blazer, but you’ll focus on that later.

Right now, you’re fairly occupied by the satisfied eyes; he doesn’t really expect an answer. He wanted to make you laugh… Why does that set something loose in your brain?

“Oh… are you jealous? What if I told you it’s somebody else who occupies my mind at night and not you?” you wonder, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Don’t do this to me. I’ll find your co-worker and fight them for your enemyship. Word of honour.”

“It’s enmity. And stop flirting with me,” you tell him, moving towards him again, shoulder hitting shoulder. “Or is it something else with arch-enemies?”

This time, he doesn’t veil his grin. It’s bright, pretty, reminiscent of the light shed on you underneath the lampposts. And his pupils; whenever you see them clearly enough, you recognise the sky in them. Borrowed stars inside.

You shake your head a second later, winding down from your fit of laughter, and tell him, “You’re not my arch-enemy. Arch-enemies don’t exist, and you know you aren’t one. You just…” You stall, your voice quieter now. “You just regard me as one.”

He throws you an indecipherable look. Hints of joking, shreds of seriousness, you think. His gaze drifts back to the path again, regarding a passing group of three friends briefly. His hands slide into the pockets of his jacket, and he sniffles once before he utters—

“No, I don't.”

Ah. Ah.

Why do your eyebrows relax the way they do? And your shoulders; already in ease, yet they seem to fall in relief. You peer at him wordlessly; he doesn’t demand an answer, fully aware you’re looking at him.

And you don’t ask what you’ve been to him ever since he saw you at the first party probably a year ago; what irked him, what delighted him. If he thought about you at all.

Instead, you look at the neon words in the next street, asking, “Are you hungry?”

2:19AM, Him

You’re irritating to the core.

You always have been. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit you amused him a little. No matter how much you’ve been wasting his time, you allowed a smile in this ill-lit night. Nobody else at the party did — so in some sense, you’ve already won, and somehow, he’s even grateful.

Grateful that you’re optimistic about the world at least. Glad that you suggested fetching food. Endeared by the way you thanked him for his care. Surprised that you ride a motorcycle! Relieved that you have good humour.

Even though his own humour and smile dissipate after you enter one of the few open stores still providing late night snacks. The girl behind the counter looks tired, but straightens a little when the two of you flash a polite smile.

She greets with a sweet, “Hi!” but Jungkook sees the lethargy in her drooping eyes immediately. Poor girl.

But you’re as enthusiastic as ever; maybe a little more now, maybe observing the same as him. You put your hands on the counter like a child — the image is somewhat cute. But what comes out of your mouth is not.

“Uhm… Could I have a portion of cheese tteokbokki, please? And then… A half and half corndog for my husband.”

Your… what now?

Excuse me?

Jungkook throws an immediate and scorching look your way, utterly surprised. When you meet his eyes, his thick eyebrows are closer than anybody’s ever seen. He huffs your suggestion away, and then corrects, “I’m not her husband. And I’ll take the chicken wrap.”

You chuckle, leaning into him, shielding your mouth with a hand as you warn, “They’re not usually very good at this store. Trust me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Right. He does. After the disaster of finding the damn bus and the deception caused by your shoes, he won’t trust you very easily anymore. His opinion clearly differs from yours, so he’ll bank on his gut feeling.

Satisfied when you shrug, as if to indicate, “If you say so,” he walks over to the window seats with you in tow, looking out to the peaceful streets. Once seated, he turns towards you, peering until you notice and ask far too purely, “What?”

“Not even your boyfriend, no… Jumped straight to making me your husband, huh?”

The lift of your shoulders brushes his concerns aside; your eyes are incredibly innocent and even somehow playful when you say, “I thought it’d be fun.”

“Was it really?”

“Well, your reaction was funny, at least.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief. You’re courageous, he must admit. Social anxiety must fear you — is that how you live life? Unabashed, spirited, not a sheer care for anything that won’t actually hurt you.

He doesn’t know if you’re insane or if he’s jealous.

But he still reiterates, “You’re crazy. And it was embarrassing.”

“I mean,” you say, moving on your chair, folding your fingers on top of the counter but still looking at him, “it was embarrassing because you made it. It’s honestly whatever.” You blow a raspberry, and then take a swing again, “Why is it awkward anyway? We’ll never be here together again.”

He whispers a hushed, “Thankfully,” and you tap the counter with a click of your tongue. He gets it; you live differently. That’s fine. As long as you don’t pull him into your mischief, it’s fine.

Right?

He’s right, isn’t he? He knows that in his personal opinion he is; yet, he can’t help but feel that sting, suddenly deeming himself as boring. You’re never bored, are you?

Anyway…

“Even if you do something like this again,” he tells you, “at least tell me.”

“I mean, that would kinda prevent your genuine reactions from happening, but… if it makes you happy.” You grin at him, and he scoffs; wants to say something before the girl calls for you. “Food is ready.”

A couple seconds later, the two of you have settled back into place; at the sight of the snack, Jungkook salivates. He didn’t realise how hungry he actually was. The buzz and fuzz of a party makes one forget such an essential thing fast.

Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.

The chicken smells good, at least. Or are these your tteokbokki? He can’t quite discern the scent right now; his mind is fogged by his appetite. Silently, he unwraps his food, swallowing before he digs into the wrap.

So far, so good… seems edible. He keeps chewing; swallows some more. But as the taste starts to sink in and he realises the sogginess of the wrap, the lack of proper sauces and the dryness as well as the blandness of the chicken…

He pauses. Where… are the flavours?

Slowing down, he glances at his meal. Inspects it as if he’s holding an entirely new recipe in his hands. A look of realisation creeps upon his face, unaware of your gaze, and he soon hears an amused snicker from the side.

You don’t say much when your eyes align. Only, “And?”

He knows he’s already lost when his expression changes, cringing; when he can’t answer right away, only gaping at you in confusion. Still thinking about where this recipe went wrong.

He answers, “It’s fine…”

But you catch his obvious lie; he sees it in the way you smile so devilishly. Cocking an eyebrow, enjoying another bite of your snack without ever averting your eyes. Then, you put the tiny wooden fork back into the dish, propping your cheek on your fist.

You wait; he doesn’t know what for. For him to eat again? Maybe; because you soon ask, “Do you want something else?”

“Nah.” His answer is instant this time. “I can do this. I’m an omnivore.”

“Ah, yeah. An omnivore friend right here.” You laugh, curious when he takes another bite. And then, “Jungkook, it’s okay to admit…”

But he won’t listen. Only makes a disapproving sound, stuffing his mouth with another horrendous bite. Shit; he can’t confess that you were right. That you were actually right this time.

Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.

But he should keep eating. Wash it down with his drink, empty the soda. And he’s almost halfway through when he notices a movement from your direction, like you’re playing with your food.

Only, he realises that you are not; rather separating the tteokbokki in two halves before shoving the porcelain dish towards him. He shakes his head, but you persist, “Take it, man.”

It does look good…

But… are you going to use the satisfaction his defeat may give you? Probably. But fuck… Fuck it.

Reluctantly, he lets the wrap fall onto the small plate, gulping down the remainder of what he just bit off, and then, accepts your generosity with a nod. And… whether it’s because of the disappointment the wrap brought or the late hunger…

Jungkook thinks he’s levitating above clouds, floating towards the sun.

It’s good. Very damn good.

And when you ask again this time, “Should we get another?” his nod comes promptly, chest risen in satisfaction as he states, “That’d be great.”

“Alright. Be right back.”

“Nah,” he says, lifting an arm as if to protect you. Mid-action, you halt, sliding back up onto your seat. “Stay here. I’ll get it… All good.”

So he does; enjoys the look of surprise when his other hand even carries dessert, four pieces of matcha mochi ice cream. He says, “This is for you.”

You gasp. He can’t deny that it’s sweet — the elation, the big eyes, the palms coming together in delight. How you look between the food and him, suddenly wiggling your feet.

“You seem to like it,” he notes, and you nod feverishly, telling him that, “Yes! Been craving it since we came in. Thank you!”

“Oh. You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve gotten it. No worries.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to see if my dessert stomach still allowed anything. Didn’t disappoint me today.”

Jungkook gets to his own tteokbokki, halving it in the middle the way you did, pushing it towards you. It’s weird to think about it like this, but — considering how long the two of you have known each other, you might almost look like… friends.

And you don’t feel quite like an enemy either. You’re even… kind of nice. Friendly; harmless.

“I’m glad,” Jungkook responds, only looking towards the entrance when another group of three friends, two girls, a guy, enter. Then back to you, “Sorry. You were right. This,” he points to the poor, sad wrap, “was shit.”

“See? My first instinct almost never lies. And I know this store from other places… the wraps are never good.”

“Sure, but… your first instinct isn’t always right, though, is it? You did get us lost, so it was wrong at least once.”

“Hm… was it, though?”

Jungkook regards you in confusion as you put another piece on your tongue, working on the chewy thing as he asks, “What do you mean? We had no clue where we w—”

“Yeah, I mean. I agree. But… I don’t think it was that wrong. Because—”

You lick your lips clean off the tteokbokki sauce, smacking them. You look child-like, but pretty when you indulge in your element, uncaring about everything, just living. Maybe it’s not that bad that you’re bold.

And maybe, just maybe, he can power through this night easily after all; especially if you keep saying things that soothe his chest, things like—

“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”

2:49AM, Him

The temperatures are falling as the night proceeds, and the second portion of the mochi ice cream adds to the pleasant chill.

Jungkook wonders how you’re doing; your dress is skimpier than his jeans, and your arms bare. But your stance and your speech are still inconspicuous, skin free of goosebumps, your walk elegant, leisurely.

Judging from your occasional hums and your ceaseless optimism, you’re enjoying this journey. It almost makes him feel bad; guilty about how adamantly he refused all this just an hour ago.

It hasn’t been too bad. Sure, you’re bold and intrepid, and yeah, in some ways he is, too — but his courage stems from other motivations. From adrenaline-loaded activities or joyful, temporary pains. Like his tattoos; his motorcycle; the summer he bungee-jumped for the first time.

You’re a different kind of daring; you challenge your limits in crowds and consider life a respectful joke. You don’t ever hurt anyone, he doesn’t think — you just go and see how far you can push yourself.

Perhaps in some sense, the two of you complement each other while simultaneously seeming to be cut from the same wood. Perhaps you’re different, but then again, not so much.

You’re quiet; you weren’t until you left the snack bar. As for now, however, you seem distracted, swallowing heaps of your dessert as you scan the surroundings you’ve led the two into. You’re somewhat unfazed by it, yet peering as though you’ve been here before.

Which, in retrospect, makes sense. You’ve been wanting to show him places you enjoy after all.

When the silence extends, Jungkook, along with the chirping of the nightlife, breaks it with a, “You know what?”

Your head swerves to his side, the wooden fork in your mouth. The pure gaze you give him throws him off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat sweet. But as he regains himself, he says, “I didn’t think we’d get to a housing scheme here. The main street is super close, but the vibe is so different.”

“I know. It’s a little scary at night when you’re alone. Gives very Desperate Housewives, doesn’t it? Secrets veiled behind shut curtains.” You draw closer, imitating a spooky gesture. “But I liked coming here when I was younger.”

Bingo. He thought so.

“Ah… why?”

“My friend lived here,” you explain with a tilt towards a random direction; he doubts the friend lived in just the house you gestured to, “she’s long moved out of course, but we’d play on these streets back then. Most of the neighbours knew me, too!”

Jungkook tsks, hauling his own bite out of the cup, and you add, “No, seriously! We could just knock at anybody’s door here, and they’d let me in.”

“Not if they moved out, too. A lot of time has passed.”

You bob your head. “Time has passed indeed. It does so pretty fast.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You seem to get into overdrive, gearing up; he didn’t think this topic would rev you up like this, but it appears you have a somewhat firm and fond opinion about the passing of time. Jungkook recognises the sentiment before you speak — the light of the lampposts reflects in your eyes like glitter.

Only, he doesn’t foresee what you say next, your tone teasing through the joy you display—

“Yeah! Like. Do you remember when I told you to not get the wrap and you still di—”

“Shut up.”

The roll of his eyes isn’t anything new; but the faint feeling that accompanies it, something akin to amusement, certainly is.

“Okay, but. Seriously,” you start again, sly smirk falling, voice neutralising the mock, “it felt different here. Because like, you know, where I live, it gets crowded. I’m not too far from the city centre, so… this place always felt really peaceful to me. Jieun and I played together a lot.”

Jungkook frowns.

“Jieun?”

“Hm? Oh. The friend I spoke about? She’s pretty cool.”

“Ah… Right, right.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, the end of your small fork tapping the bottom of the nearly finished cup, “you know another way to know that time passes really fast?” You pause for effect, then add, “It’s been ages since we saw each other for the first time.”

“Right. At a party, too, right? When was that anyway?”

“Hmm… Like.” You ponder, blinking, looking up to the sky. “Like two years ago?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen; if you’d asked him, he would’ve estimated a year tops. If he digs in his memory thoroughly enough, he could probably even remember what you wore that day; what you looked like.

It doesn’t feel like two years. You’re right — time truly does pass like the wind.

“Wow,” he exclaims, “it’s been this long since you started pestering me?”

“Shut up,” it’s your turn to blurt, your body swaying towards him until you push him to the side of the vacant road. “I didn’t even come near you most of the time.”

“I know, I know. You were fun to look at, though. Seemed to enjoy yourself every single time.”

Shit, why did he say that? Shouldn’t he hold onto the image he fostered; the one that’s permanently irked by you, throwing snarky remarks throughout the night?

And…

Didn’t this just break the banter, the frenemyship — frenmity? — the two of you have going on? Was it too nice? It’ll probably surprise you. Then again, is he a damn child? Why would he worry about such things? Question his own kindness?

Why would he hold onto his ego and deny you his humane side when you’ve been nothing but lovely to him all night?

The young adult rivalry is over, Jeon Jungkook. Look at her and fucking admit that you’re the arrogant one.

But funnily enough, you don’t seem to notice anyway.

“Hmmm, I do love my job,” you answer, “I have a lot of fun organising stuff. Doing something good for other people, right? See them enjoy it. I mean, of course there are days when things don’t go as planned, but.”

You lift a shoulder, indulging in the final remnants of your chewy mochi and the melted matcha ice cream inside.

“I know. It happens to me, too.”

“Really? How?”

Jungkook waves towards the sky, lists, “Heavy rain, lots of traffic, too spontaneous, issues with the camera… etcetera. Anything can happen.”

“Yeah — I get it. But yeah, I do love doing this. I meet a lot of nice people, too. And I guess that makes me feel very… blessed? It puts things into perspective.”

“How so?”

“Like, it makes you see that most people aren’t bad.”

Huh. Odd. Not that he’d ever deem the entire globe vile, putting a standardised label that he can impossibly prove. But as far as he has seen… too many people aren’t good either.

“Really?” he asks. “That’s a lucky thing to experience.”

You look genuinely surprised, turning towards him when you ask, “You don’t?”

“Uhm — rarely. I do enjoy photography. Always have.” His mind zooms into a glinting memory from the past, and his shoulders and voice rise when he recalls, “Y’know… My dad got me one of those yellow disposable Kodak cameras when I was a kid. I loved it so much.”

You nod; if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say you look… delighted. Actually interested.

“And events and weddings,” he continues, “they’re beautiful to capture. It’s probably the lights and the pretty people. And just… the memories?”

This time, he looks away, straight to the road; if he hadn’t, he’d know that your gaze is definitely fond now. No doubt about it. You listen in closely.

It’s the first time he’s talking to you like this, or to anyone — or for this long, for that matter. Most of your conversations were fleeting, fiery, a petulant back and forth that — he now realises — could’ve been something else, something better, too.

“But then it just sucks when so many of them can’t appreciate it properly,” he explains, raising his hands to emphasise, tone galled. “I mean, I look at my camera and I see a tool to create art. It’s… nothing I take for granted. Just think about it.”

The ball of fire in his chest grows; he feels it warm up, gassed-up. “A thing that can hold onto moments in absolute high definition, so that you can still remember them years later? The 18th century couldn’t have imagined. They needed to commit everything to memory just like that.”

“Wow, Jungkook… You really do love this, too.”

His arms fall to the side. He inhales the fresh flurry of air. Rethinks his passion for his job and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

“…But?”

He knows what’s missing.

“I love the art, but I hate the clients. The event hosts. Not you, but the one even above you.”

Jungkook reckons this was a confession that long sat on his tongue unmentioned. Of course he thought about it; is always reminded when he attends these functions, standing at the back, at the front, left and right, unnoticed and taken for granted.

But now that it’s out and that he’s finally verbalised it to somebody… it definitely liberates something in his head.

You see his issue with these gatherings; he knows you do because he’s figured out this much. You’re filled with enough empathy, sympathy, every grand word ending on the same syllable to acknowledge his disappointment.

But you’re filled with humour and absurdity, too, evident in the answer you provide to diffuse the tension.

“So, that’s why you’re always in a foul mood.”

“Shu—”

“Shut up, yeah, yeah.” You giggle, but then halt for a moment, toying with the rim of your paper cup, “But you know, I think art is worth something even if just one person appreciates it. If it helps in any way… I’m always impressed. And I always appreciate it when I call you and you come despite finding me so annoying.”

One corner of your lips lifts, the smile humble and light; sends a pang of guilt through him. Have you always been so nice?

“Also, I do see the pictures almost every single time,” you add, “and you’re so good at this. At the job itself and the editing afterwards. Honestly.”

“…You think?”

Damn.

Jungkook would probably not bask in this hobby, continue his job if he wasn’t proficient in what he does. He’s known about his prowess ever since he was young.

But praises do offer a sense of magical warmth, don’t they? He doesn’t think any creative mind ever sickens of such unexpected support. And the way you say it… makes him want to never lay down his camera.

“Of course, yes,” you confirm, “not to shoot up your ego, but… you once sent a set of pictures where I found one of me. Don’t know if you even noticed? I was wearing that lilac dress and curls, I still remember — and—”

Stuck on the mention of your clothing, he immediately attaches a detail to the memory, “Sleeveless dress. Long silver earrings, right?”

“Oh… right…”

Right.

He won’t mention that he looked at that picture for just a second longer than at the others that night. Noticed for the first time how pretty you were. Not too deep of a thought, a twelve second stare, but… you wore this vibrant smile on that picture, and in some way, he did hope you’d see it, too.

It seems you did. He feels satisfied, proud even.

“Right,” you repeat, your defences somehow down, “uhm. I printed the picture. Still have it somewhere.”

Jungkook has already often wondered what people do with the pictures; put them in albums? Frame them and pin them over their couch? Right now, he also wonders — do you look at it a lot?

And this again begs the question — when you do, does your decision to book a vendor like him fill you with pride? Like your choice was right?

“That’s so nice,” he says.

“All that to say,” you inhale, “that I think you’re really fucking skilled.”

Woah. You weren’t quite certain if your consolation would bring him any solace, but you’ve done far more than that. You’ve shown him that you see what he does — and isn’t this what every artist craves? To be seen?

The tension buzzes between him and you like electricity; he doesn’t know if it’s just him lighting up or if you’re feeling a kindred link, too. But it’s somewhat intense in this moment of walking under the stars, surrounded by quietude and absolute pose.

So much so that he’s soon submerged by an odd urge to make the intensity wane, “Hey, does this feel to you like… a cliché chick flick kinda dialogue?”

You know…

The moment when two find an empty street in the middle of the night, realising that a conversation with each other isn’t the end of the world after all?

That type of thing?

But he doesn’t say any of it.

“Yeah? Maybe. But it’s also true,” you argue, “I’m an honest person and I don’t think I’d say anything I didn’t mean.”

“Ah, yeah?” Jungkook voices, taking the emptied out ice cream cup and throwing it into the bin on the side of the road, along with his own.

“Mhm, one hundred percent,” he hears you say, followed by a light, quiet smacking noise.

He doesn’t see what you’re doing until he arrives back where you stand; watches you lick the sticky rest off the pad of your thumb, smiling when you stare up at him again. It’s a mundane gesture; he’s done it ever since he was a kid.

But somehow, he can’t stop looking.

Might be the way your lips curve when you do it, or how your eyes smile when your mouth does. The authenticity you portray is rare; perhaps he just confused it with madness until now.

Seconds pass, and with that, your smile does, too. As it fades and drops, replaced by a curious expression and big eyes, you soon mutter, “What?”

There’s no response to that, really. He doesn’t know either.

He doesn’t understand how you turned out to be so right. How it’s such an ultimate truth that a serene night brings out a dreamy alter ego, hitherto undetected. Jungkook has never felt like much of a romantic, but right now, he thinks he’s on a different plane of reality.

This doesn’t feel like Earth; and the town doesn’t feel like the one he struts through during the day.

So maybe it’s not that wayward or groundless for him to lean in. To bend a bit more. Further and further until you laugh nervously; he knows you’re preparing to crack another joke, but you remain silent as he approaches.

Gauges your reaction. Will you run? You aren’t.

Instead, you gulp; let your pupils fall to his piercings, just when his own gaze moves to your lips. His right hand, tattooed, led by its own will, reaches for your cheek until he’s cupping it; and suddenly, his mouth parts — what’s happening? — and then—

And then, a vehicle roars from afar.

Both of you hear the motorcycle before you even see the blinding white light; he grips your arm, probably too harshly, dodging the street with you and jumping onto the pedestrian walk.

One must be crazy to still drive through the city at this hour. Right?

You pant, mixed with insane chuckles of relief, “Shit. We almost died.”

“We didn’t,” he refutes, “we had plenty of time.”

“Oh no,” you stretch the last word, eyes squinting. An accusing forefinger points at him before you deduce, “We almost died because you like me. Of all things!”

“I do not. You just looked kinda cute.”

Jungkook might’ve attempted an indifferent answer, but instead, he steered into an excuse that you do not accept at all. Your smirk is telling and satisfied, and if he wasn’t trying to prove a point, your Cheshire Cat grin would’ve made him laugh, too.

“But you did almost kiss me,” you persist.

Ugh, you’re bold. Laughing like it means nothing; no embarrassment, no shy restraint in you. Which is probably not too bad; somehow even charming. Explains the rosy dust on his cheeks at least. He feels it in the heat, can’t believe he almost kissed you just now.

Why does he feel like a hormonal adolescent? It’s not like he’s never kissed anybody.

You’re still enclosed by pure delight, nudging his arm repeatedly, annoyingly. And when he doesn’t answer, choosing reticence instead, you nearly shriek, as if he confirmed all you just said.

His instinctive hand slaps up to your mouth, covering it, shushing you. You’re still smiling, working on removing his palm, but before your nonsense can proceed, a sudden light flickers in the corner of Jungkook’s eye.

Immediately, he seeks out the source, soon finding a room in the house left to him lighting up. You woke somebody, it seems. A silhouette becomes clearer, its edges more refined with every second, and just before the owner of the place can shove the curtains aside, you grip Jungkook’s hand.

Within a moment, he finds himself tugged away by you, running, nearly stumbling over his own feet. You blurt, “Better get away before they kill us.”

As you leave the tranquil settlement behind, Jungkook still hears a voice from an open window, cursing the younger generation as they do; and then, out of the damn blue, a fucking dog barks.

When you turn over your shoulder, mouth dropping open, Jungkook knows you’re thinking the same as him — this happens outside of cinematic universes, too?

It takes a minute until you’ve reached another road again; one of the kind he’s more familiar with. The city type. The two of you come to a halt near some pole, and you let his hand go, leaning against it.

For a moment, you work on catching your breath, Jungkook’s hands settling on his thighs. And then, when your eyes meet, you burst into a fit of laughter, followed by a playful wiggle of his eyebrows to which you respond, “Don’t act innocent. This is your fault.”

“What? You were lau—”

“Because of you! Oh, I know you want me so bad.”

You’re jesting, of course. Swaying your head, poking his chest, a brat straight out of some TV show. But what you can do, he’s been perfecting for years.

So he answers in kind, “And if I did?”

Only for you to utter something that not even his brain can compute.

“If you did? Then… I think I’d let you.”

“Ah… Yeah? Why?”

“Because— I think you’re just half as bad.”

His snicker is half amused, half flattered. He purses his lips, nodding, and then declares, “You’re just a quarter as bad. But guess I’ve gotten so tired that I’ve started doing weird shit.”

You click your tongue, puffing out a breath, instantly reacting when he only flicks your chin and then walks away. Your startled expression prevails, a distance between him and you established, but just as he puts his hands in his jeans, he hears you finally follow.

“Hey,” you voice from behind, tapping his arm, “are you really tired?”

“I was kidding, but. Honestly? A little.”

“…Hmm. You know, my friend lives in an apartment nearby. Jieun? Didn’t move too far from her old home. We could stop there.”

Jungkook’s left eyebrow leaps up, surprised by the suggestion; the idea doesn’t sound too bad. But…

“Wasn’t the deal to go around for a whole night, though?”

“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”

You’re observant, he’ll give you that.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, “and also, would she just let a stranger in?”

“Oh, she’s very civilised and hospitable. She wouldn’t mind, and she’s known me for ages. She trusts me.” Maybe you detect the hesitation in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his lips, because you immediately carry on, “We can just stay for an hour and then go.”

“Would she be awake, even?”

“She’s a night owl. I know that.”

“Uhm…”

He ponders. In some way, he’s kind of liking the breeze, the quiet side of this town. But… would Jieun find that weird? Then again, can he say no? You’re ogling at him with these hopeful eyes; maybe you need the rest, after all.

“Okay,” he says; he even thinks you jump a bit in joy, nodding.

“Okay! You’ll like her. We can leave with newfound energy afterwards. Okay, cool.”

That’s all you need to lead the way. You look around a little, making sure you’re approaching the right direction, and when you find your confidence again, you march ahead.

Your walk is energetic, not too idle anymore, your beam as dashing and fervid as ever. Jungkook knows his way around editing programs; he’s added wings to pictures before or removed unwelcome passersby on an otherwise great photo.

He even understands how to surround a body or silhouette with a glow; but he’s never seen it around an actual person outside of all these graphics editors before.

Your body is so clearly encircled by it.

Bedazzling.

Screw the 18th century. Even in these modern times of advancement, Jungkook doesn’t think he needs a camera to commit you to memory.

3:25AM, Her

You avert your eyes from the phone and turn towards Jungkook, reaching him where he’s planted firmly in front of the apartment complex. He’s been waiting, back settled against the wall, and as you near, his eyebrows rise in question.

Your friend didn’t respond until now — but just as you foretold, she’s still awake at this ungodly hour.

“Okay. She’s home, but,” you explain, already ringing the bell to her apartment, “she said she’d be leaving soon. Sounds like she’s in a rush. Typos and all.”

Jungkook waits until the buzzing sound of the opening door ceases and you’ve stepped inside, leading him up the stairs, and then wonders again with big eyes, “And she’ll just let us stay? Alone at her apartment?”

You wave his concerns off with a hand’s gesture, “She trusts me, dude. I’ve done this a couple times.”

“What for?”

Hm… you dive back into the old days. Some new, some old. What were they again? They’re mostly blurred, but some of them are carved in your core memory.

“Oh, just…” you reminisce. “If I wanted to meet guys and wouldn’t want to bring them home back when I was still with my parents? Or when I’d need a night to sober up. They would’ve killed me if I’d come home drunk. And Jieun moved out early.”

“How old is… Jieun anyway?”

Old. Not really, but you like to vex her to the point of a pout. She’s patient, but she’s also an incredibly close friend — you allow yourself to be a brat with her and she allows herself to roll her eyes.

“Early 90s kid?” you guess. “A little older than us.”

‘93, as far as you remember.

“Ah. Damn,” he voices; you don’t know why.

“Okay.” You climb the last steps to the second floor, halting in front of a white door with a copper number six on top of it. Knock thrice. “Here goes.”

She might’ve been getting ready close to the door, working on her shoes or questing for her keys. Because she opens mere three seconds later, with a radiant smile on her face able to melt hearts, and a comfortable attire that’s, however, not comfortable enough to wear at home.

A thin sweatshirt and a bun, loose strands framing her pretty face, and shorts that are definitely meant to be worn outside. She won’t be here for long. And you’re focused on this very fact and her hurry so much that you nearly don’t register how shy Jungkook gets.

His voice is somewhat smaller than before when he looks at her; your eyes shift to him, and he’s blinking before he finally breaks and mutters, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey!” she retorts; she looks so sweet saying it. You understand his perplexity. “Date?”

“Nah. Just a friend,” you answer, which, yet again — very confusing — makes him hum in question. If he started regarding himself as your date all of a sudden, you swear…

You smile.

“Just a friend,” you repeat.

“Fabulous. So you’re not walking around alone, at least,” Jieun concludes, letting you in. In the living room, a hand on her kitchen island, she points through an open door, “Okay, so, the guest room bed is made. Use blankets on it, if you want to rest.”

Her finger shifts to signal to the entrance you came through, imitates a pulling motion, “Don’t worry about locking the door whenever you leave. Also got some leftover food in the fridge, but there’s also cup ramyeon and some frozen pizza in the freezer. Sorry… I need to go shop—”

But you interrupt, shaking your head, “Oh, no worries, really. We just ate, so we’ll just stay here for a little, work off the food coma and leave. Won’t damage anything.”

“I know you won’t, baby.”

She moves to fetch her purse from the couch, and Jungkook uses the moment to whisper in your ear, “Where is she going anyway?”

You don’t know; you shrug your shoulders, pursing your lower lip, but echo his question a moment later, louder than him, “Where are you going anyway?”

Previously cramming in her purse, checking it for content, she looks at you again, telling you, “Ah… Jongsuk is having a bad night and wants me to come over.” Regarding Jungkook, she adds, “My boyfriend. He’s an insomniac and got stoned tonight, too, and just—”

Jieun blows a raspberry, raising a hand for a whatever gesture, and Jungkook mumbles, “Oof. Sounds…”

“Yeah… I know. In any case. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.”

“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.

She nods once more, waving her tiny hand and flashes one last smile before she’s out the door and has left you in full silence. You shuffle your feet for just a second before you look at him again; he still looks somewhat in a daze.

So you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Nothing, right… that’s what they all say after seeing Lee Jieun for the first time. You try not to think too hard about the teeny tiny sting in your enormous, delicate heart. Only let him know, “Don’t worry too much. What could happen? She does trust me.”

You take a couple steps towards the bedroom she offered you, and you hear him follow. Look at the neatly made bed, a thought occurring; but you don’t entertain it yet. Only add, “Besides, she owes me.”

He chuckles. “That’s how you live your life, huh?”

“It’s alright. We’ll just be here for an hour. She’s known me all her life, so nothing to doubt here. And also, think about it,” the tip of your forefinger taps against your temple, “even if something did happen or went missing, she’d know where to find me and whom to report.”

He waits, ogles at you. Then presses his lips together, nods as if you made all the sense in the world, and lifts a shoulder — agreeing, “If you say so. Then uhm — let’s lay down for a bit?”

“Sure! I’ll just sleep in her room, so you can have your privacy here.”

“Mhm. Okay.”

You stand at the door frame for a moment, feet unmoving.

He’s already turned away. And you regret not walking away when you watch him unabashedly take off the blazer and provide a glimpse to his snatched waist as inked fingers scratch his back briefly, shirt moving up. But then it’s covering his skin again.

Flawless back; pretty golden. A little further up, and you’re sure you would’ve seen strong shoulder blades, too. He’s worn fancy dress shirts at luxurious events before — you know many would kill for his built, because you’ve seen his bicep flex before.

You forget where you are for a second, but when he opts to turn, eyes on you for just a heartbeat, you stir. Blurt out an awkward apology, and then leave. Wish him a good night, barely waiting for one back before you close the door.

You laugh quietly at yourself.

Her room is just next door; you already mentally prepare for a nap. Meanwhile, Jungkook plumps onto the bed, groaning when the comfort hits, and works on getting used to the ceiling, if only briskly.

He only notices how much his head is spinning when he closes his eyes, ready to doze off. Should he set an alarm? He doesn’t want to still be here by the time Jieun returns. Maybe he should tell you, too.

But his body won’t move.

Yet, in the time he’s failed to make up his mind, he suddenly hears a knock at the door again. Must be you — must be telepathy.

He tells you to enter, and you do with a shy demeanour; only thirty seconds must have passed, right? A minute, tops. He looks at you in wonder, and you explain, “She uh— locked her room. No clue where the keys are. Guess that’s why she specifically pointed out the guest room.”

You nibble your lip, getting no answer back. He looks just as much out of ideas as you, and you still refuse to bring back the thought from before; yet, you ask, “What do we do now?”

“Well…” He looks around, though there is not much to take in. “I can sleep on the couch?”

“…The couch is too small.”

“Okay. Then I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He’s already working on getting up, no hesitation, scratching through his now messy hair, feet moving on the fluffy carpet. “I’ll take one of those pillows, though. Carpet should be good eno— what are you doing?”

You’ve charged towards the bed, climbed past him until you’re sitting behind him, facing his back and his craning neck. You say, “I’m not giving you that pillow.”

“Why?”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“…Why not?”

You throw an unbelieving look, as if it’s obvious. Your flat hand gestures towards the carpet vaguely, and you argue, “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Listen, I should. This or the couch, nothing else left.” It’s crazy to you how he doesn’t even consider the bed instead of giving it up for you. “It’s just an hour. Don’t worry about it.” He stretches a hand towards you, curling his fingers in a grabby motion. “Come on. Gimme that.”

You’re astonished — beyond pleased about the fact that he cares like this. That he’s so… mindful and humble. You give up; he won’t falter and you know.

“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”

He grabs the second one that Jieun provided, head bowing a little as he says, “Thank you.”

The proceeding minutes you spend preparing for bed, slightly discomforted by your dress, pass in half-awkward, half-comfortable silence. He lays down on his unusual spot, and you cuddle into the blanket on your light, soft side.

As the rustling of blankets and sheets subsides, it gives way to the sound of the ticking clock; you focus on it, count the clicks like sheep.

But sleep doesn’t quite fall upon you yet, and you guess Jungkook feels similar when he calls your name and asks, “What does she owe you?”

Your head moves towards his voice, even though he can’t see you. “Huh?”

“Jieun. What does she owe you? And your coworker.”

“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”

You can already see it — doe eyes rolling at another one of your cryptic answers. You know people don’t fathom your thoughts very well, and some feel annoyed by your dreamy outlook of the world. You don’t mind, but you wonder what he’s thinking.

But all he responds with is, “What?”

“Well, just. They’ve known me for ages. I’ve been there for Jieun for so long, and Jongin has always been so incredibly nice to me. Picked me up when I was dead drunk once and brought me home. Got me medicine and everything. And I’ve lent him some comfort over the years, too.”

It hasn’t been too long, so you remember. You’ve been good friends with him ever since you started your job; a steady part of your team. He and you have got each other’s back.

“These two are friends,” you say, “and I think kindness is the most we can give our loved ones.”

Jungkook hesitates. Have you bored him to sleep? Or is he pondering your words, thinking of you as weird? Maybe not—

Because he actually converses, asking, “You think? Doesn’t that mean we’re just kind to them then, so they can be kind to you in return?”

“I mean… yes and no. Owing might be the wrong word. I’m not nice to others to get something back. I’m like this because I want to be and because the world can be shitty and it’s important to be nice, and in return, I want people to be nice to me, too. It’s not an eye to eye kind of thing, it’s just about. Spreading affection in relationships. It’s what they’re here for.”

“…Hm. Is this why you’re never rude to me? Even when I deserve it,” he asks, registering a hum. “You know… you think really… uniquely.”

This is a nice way to phrase it at least. People like you; you’re good with them. But sometimes, they can be mean, too. Not that you mind. It’s natural — people occur in all types and shapes.

“But is it unique, though? Isn’t it a given?” you question.

“Yeah, probably, I just— never thought of it this deeply.”

“Mmmh. So is me thinking uniquely a compliment? I can’t say.”

He laughs, and you join immediately, exclaiming an, “I’m serious!” in the middle of it all. Jungkook’s snicker is authentic, so you enjoy hearing it; but you like his answer even better.

“Maybe. I just… I feel like a lot of people try to be different these days. Or play a role to be perceived a certain way? But I think you’re genuine — you actually mean the things you say without any hidden intention to make people forcefully like you, right?”

An intention? Oddly phrased. You think, though… that what he said was nice.

Still, you confirm, “I don’t try to be anyone for people to like me.”

“I didn’t say otherwise! This is actually just what I meant. Besides, people like you anyway because you’re you.” As if he’s reading your mind. “That’s what I was saying.”

You hum, blinking at the ceiling and the little modern light hanging there, the beam off. The darkness pleasant. You conjure another question and ask, “So you think me being me is a good thing?”

You always considered it was. You like being you. But Jungkook didn’t like whatever makes up your personality — has this changed? Apparently.

“Of course,” he surprisingly answers, “it’s always a good thing. And just because I disagree with some of your characteristics, it doesn’t mean everybody will.” Oh. Well. But wait— “Or maybe, I’m just a moaner.”

Well.

“That you are,” you verify.

“Damn.”

“But, but— you’re kind, too, you know? Not everyone says the things you just said.”

“Maybe.”

“So…” you stall, rethinking his prior words. “Do you still disagree with all those characteristics of mine?”

Another joyous sound tumbles out of him, much in the form of a breather than a laugh; hushed, but you still hear it clearly. Perhaps you’re being a little awkward; but in all honesty, you hope he’s just finding it amusing, somewhat cute.

“I mean — you’re too blunt. But brave, like, I could never. The thing you did at the shop? Never. But this isn’t bad. And you aren’t bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His voice is a whisper. Reminds you of a feeling akin to temptation; your mind automatically imagines the susurrating sound near your ear, exhaling the very syllable he just did. Frankly, you’re absolutely tortured by the knowledge of him being this close.

That you could probably touch his face if you rolled over to the edge of the bed, letting your arm dangle, seeking his skin. That he’s in the same room, talking to you this gently, saying things that a girl doesn’t hear too often these days anymore.

There it is. The intrusive thought from before… prevailing.

And you’re tortured by it. But mostly, by the image of him standing in front of you between the houses just a little time ago, staring at you, pupils flitting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How he neared you. How he almost kissed you.

You might’ve joked about it then, but deep down, and especially now, you’re intrigued by the idea. Of the fantasy of a what if — what if he’d actually kissed you?

Taking a deep breath, you look to the side, staring at the door and call, “Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Is it uncomfortable down there?”

“Uh… a little.”

You shuffle at your spot, turning to the side. “Just thinking. What good does it do if we don’t rest well? What are we here for?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Pause. Quietude. You close your eyes, then open them again.

You’re never shy; so you don’t deem it an advantage for yourself to turn timid now either. You tell him, “Come up. I know you want to. I know I want you to.”

He doesn’t say anything; you bite your tongue. Maybe it was a mistake. But then his voice chimes again, wondering, “Are you sure?”

Your answer is immediate.

“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay… okay.”

As he starts to move, you gulp. You make place on the bed, moving to your previous side, pushing the blanket aside in case he wants to slip under it, too. The motions of his silhouette seem uncertain as he makes his way up to you, as if he’s uncomfortable with it.

“I… Was I wrong…? Do you not want to?” you make sure.

“What?” you hear him say; see his head shake. “Ah, that’s not it. Just want to make sure you’re really okay with it. I’m not the type of guy to…”

“I know. It’s fine. I don’t think you are.”

“Okay.” The mattress bulges where he lays down before it evens out again. He emits a couple groaning sounds, probably glad to give his back something proper. You turn to him just when he says, “Honestly… that’s a little better, yeah.”

“Thought so. Are you tired?”

“Definitely.”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

“Because you’re talking.”

Wrong. There was enough silence for him to nod off before. He was the one who started the conversation at all; you were ready to turn and toss and rest eventually.

When you don’t respond, his head turns on his pillow, too; in the darkness that you got used to, you see his eyes twinkle. Both of you know that you’re looking at each other. And he’s kind of close — closer than you thought.

And… if you’re not wrong, he just inched nearer only a nanomoment ago. He repeats in a whisper, once more accusing, “You’re talking, that’s why.”

“That’s really why, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“The only reason there really is?”

“What else could there be?”

You smile, brazen, letting out the courage you’ve gathered, “Well, I know what else it is for me.”

“Yeah?”

Daring a step further, you graze his shirt featherlightly; you don’t know whether he notices. Not until he moves his hand, fingers ghosting near yours.

Waiting until you reveal with sheer, sudden heart palpitations, “I… I want you to kiss me. You do, too, don’t you?”

He inhales, but doesn’t exhale. What does it mean? You don’t know.

You don’t know what it is until you hear the smile in his words, gentle yet tantalising when he says, “…I do.”

“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”

And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.

His body moves as if on its own accord; he seems possessed, or controlled by a puppeteer. Warm lips lock with yours before you can draw another breath.

They feel soft, full, like tiny pillows, a contrast to the metal of his piercings. And they move gently, so carefully, like he’s still scared of crossing a line despite your permission. But when you lean into him, hoping for more proximity, he blossoms a little. Initiates more.

Oh, he, too, has been waiting for this, hasn't he?

A hand, nearly as warm as his kiss, slithers up to your face, holding you closer to him. The bangs that so often cover his forehead are tickling yours now, his head tilting to give his cute nose more space.

And with that, he deepens the kiss, too. Dares a step further, separating your lips with his, trying things out. He gauges your reaction as the tip of his tongue sneaks its way into the mix, and the moment you do the same, he dives in properly.

Kisses you just a little harder, tasting you, sighing into the movements as if all the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders. As if he’s relieved, calmed down, resting for the first time tonight.

Yet, at the same time, he’s firing himself up — moving over your body slowly, holding onto your mouth to his best abilities, as if you’d disperse if he let go for too long. As if you’d change your mind.

He cages you in to keep you underneath, not touching your face anymore but shoving his fingers into your already tousled hair. If you were still in your right mind, you’d recognise how insane this situation is. Your younger self would’ve never predicted such a moment to ever become part of your life.

But it is… it is so clearly being played into your hard drive; somehow, you already know it’ll remain stuck in your memory: the way he’s kissing you, so thirsty, so insatiable. How he’s sighing, relaxed, yet sporting an audible heartbeat against your chest.

He uses moments of switching sides to breathe but continues right away; the keenness drives you crazy. You touch his shoulders and then wrap your arms around him firmly, making him hasten closer until he’s nearly falling onto you.

What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…

It’s nasty, yet sweet. Followed by quick breaths; it takes merely a minute until you feel his lower body grinding into you, his jeans tight around his crotch all of a sudden. And the second you realise he’s hardening beneath them, your body reacts.

Reacts so effectively.

Your lower tummy tickles, dampness pooling below as he pushes into you again, harder this time. You moan, enticed by your goosebumps and the heavy bulge. Solid enough for you to crave him within a moment’s notice.

And it only worsens threefold when he whispers, “Fuck… Somebody really knows how to kiss, huh?”

“You’re talking. What was this—” He so rudely interrupts with another peck, and you laugh into it. “Yeah, this…”

Your last word dissipates like candle smoke; you don’t even know why you bother to speak. Your voice is barely perceptible when his teeth remove the short sleeve of your dress, kissing your shoulder and then down to your cleavage.

It’s easy to remove your dress; it’s light, summer-y — but he doesn’t bare you just yet. Plays around at the mounds of your tits until he pushes the neck of the dress down a bit, asking, “May I take it off?”

Oh, if you could count the times you’ve imagined his veiny hands removing this damn dress just in the last fifteen minutes…

“Of course,” you permit, “do I look like I’d reject you?”

“Mmmh.” The hum is proud, satisfied, vocalised amidst another kiss to your clavicles. “Just making sure.”

Soft, warm hands trail up your leg, leaving a path of another set of goosebumps. You want him to stay right there on your thigh, knead the flesh, press into it, showcase the lust he feels in the beguiling pain.

But instead, he pushes up your dress, fingers ghosting over your ass — and when he doesn’t find your panties but only bare skin, he stops kissing you. Looks at you. Makes out the string of your thong a second later — in the dark, you discern the way his lips round in captivation.

He’s loving this.

He tugs at the string and lets it snap back into place; you gasp even though it doesn’t hurt, but it drives you mad when he states, “Wow. Very intriguing.”

Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.

“Good. Good, good, good.”

The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.

His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.

And you’re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.

But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”

Oh, he didn’t just…

Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”

“Ah? Where are you going?”

“Wait.”

He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.

“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.

You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.

“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”

“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”

“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”

“Ah?”

“Mhm.”

“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”

Exactly.

Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.

But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.

The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.

When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.

It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”

“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”

“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”

“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”

“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”

You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.

He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity.

You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.

You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.

But it’s hard. So hard because—

God, he’s lapping you up so good.

So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.

He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.

Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.

They don’t make men like him anymore.

Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.

He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.

Tell him, “This should be enough.”

And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”

You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.

Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.

On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”

“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”

“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”

You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.

You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.

He must have.

Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.

Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.

“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”

“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”

No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.

Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.

Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…

You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.

But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.

Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.

And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.

Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.

Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”

He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.

You tell him, “Use my panties then.”

“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”

Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.

Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…

Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.

Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.

As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”

“Yes— yes!”

“Mhm…”

He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.

You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.

But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.

So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.

Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.

Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…

You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”

He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.

Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.

You wonder how he likes what he sees.

Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”

Good to know.

So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.

He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”

And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.

The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.

“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”

But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his.

The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.

Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.

“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.

“What?” you voice. “Not good?”

“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”

You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”

“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”

His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.

You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”

“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”

“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”

“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”

And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.

The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.

And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.

“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”

Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.

His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.

In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”

Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.

You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.

Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.

Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.

The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.

You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”

“Crazy… right?”

“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”

He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”

You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.

Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”

“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”

“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”

You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.

But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.

Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.

5:12AM, Him

Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.

The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.

And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.

Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.

But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.

You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.

You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”

“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”

“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”

Well, shit.

Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”

He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”

“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”

“Woah. You sing?”

“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”

He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”

But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”

“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”

Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.

“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”

Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”

“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”

He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—

A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.

“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”

And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.

His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.

He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.

Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”

“Uh… all good.”

“Yes. All good indeed.”

Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”

Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?

And behind that, the town.

If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.

The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.

But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.

From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.

Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.

And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.

Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.

He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.

“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.

He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.

Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.

Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.

He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hidden spot then.”

“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”

The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.

It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.

He likes it that way.

No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.

Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.

He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”

He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.

If you did, you’d never let him live it down.

You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?

But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.

“Good?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”

The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.

He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.

But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.

“You… did it for me?” he asks.

You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”

“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”

“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”

“Thank you. Really.”

You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.

He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.

There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.

Because of you.

Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.

Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.

But…

He’d love to talk to you again.

However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.

“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”

Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”

“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”

“Sure? She is.”

He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.

“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”

Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.

“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.

“So she is your type.”

Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.

And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.

So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”

“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”

“You do not small-talk.”

“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”

He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”

“The type thing!”

“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”

The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.

Just for a second.

Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.

In some way, it still does.

You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”

“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”

“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Cute.

But he’s not giving in this easily.

He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.

For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.

He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—

They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.

You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.

Crazy.

But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?

Yes.

The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…

When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”

You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”

As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”

“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”

“I guess so.”

He guesses so.

It’s been a while since he fell in love.

Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.

His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.

He means it. And you seem to know.

Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.

Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him on.

READ BELOW!!

the fic isn't over yet – as always, tumblr has a 1k block limit that makes our lives harder than necessary lmao. read the last scene and the remaining 3k words of meraki here 🥰

#jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook smut #bts smut #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts imagines #jungkook fic #jungkook

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joelsgoldrush · 3 months ago

Text

“crawl home to her” | 7.5k

old man!logan x f!reader

SUMMARY: Will he be able to control himself once he's near you? In this moment, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you. OR Like a sinner seeking absolution, he finds his way back to you after every absence, as if you're the only salvation he's ever known.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni smut 18+ cursing. drinking. dirty talk. some fluff. comfort. feelings. self-deprecation. miscommunication. sort of established relationship. age gap (reader's in her late 20s). petnames. religious imagery. logan's POV. chauffeur!logan. dom!logan. reader wears logan's dog tags and clothes. pussy pronouns. phone sex. oral sex (f and m receiving). 69. fingering. masturbation (he jerks off in the limo). one (1) single spank. sort of rough sex. unprotected p in v. creampie.

A/N: i wrote this as a part 2 of this story, but still, it can be read as a standalone (i'd recommend that you also read the first part as well 👀 you'll understand their relationship better). hope you like this one! <3

Logan is tired. Bone-deep, soul-crushingly tired.

He takes a slow, deliberate drag from his cigar, letting the smoke curl inside his chest, teasing his lungs. Doesn’t even bother to crack the window open—why would he?—before exhaling, the haze lingering inside the limo like a fog.

One quick glance at his phone screen just to make sure his vision isn’t screwing him over—no older notifications. A pang of disillusionment settles in his being.

Not only is he fighting to keep his eyes open, exhausted from driving the same family around for the past few days while they enjoy their quality time, but he’s also bored out of his mind.

Where the hell are you?

He adjusts his glasses, pushing them higher up on the bridge of his nose, preventing them from sliding down to his lap. When his phone buzzes, he jolts, nearly hitting his head on the roof of the limo due to his excitement.

His poor heart gallops as he fumbles with the screen, unlocking it with the same urgency as a man starved for contact.

But it’s not you. It’s one of his passengers.

We’re getting out in half an hour, the message reads. By we, she means herself, her husband, and their two kids.

Logan can’t bring himself to type an actual reply, so he leaves her on read. She knows he’s not going anywhere, parked outside the arcade as if he’s rooted in place with no way out.

Family after family enters that hell on earth, kids of all ages bouncing on their heels, voices shrill with enthusiasm. He watches, half-heartedly, as parents get dragged by their little ones, who negotiate how much money they are allowed to spend tonight.

He almost feels bad for those parents. Almost. He hopes that at least they know how to say ‘No’.

All in all, he’s got another thirty minutes of solitude ahead. The radio has long since ceased to entertain him. He’s been parked here for two hours, and his mind is starting to drift. He could stretch his legs, walk around, or maybe grab a drink—but damn it.

He wants to talk to you.

You’d said he could call you after dropping the family off. That was three hours ago. The last message he received from you was still stuck in his head, replaying over and over like a lifeline. Logan knows you must be busy, probably taking care of Charles and—

Okay, he’ll get back to that later.

You: Just got out of the shower. Call me in five?

Right now, he could die a happy man. Were he a dog, his tail would be wagging furiously, anticipation already building for the simple joy of hearing you.

Logan: Got it.

The next five minutes feel like an eternity. He finishes his cigar, flicking the stub beneath the seat without giving it a second thought. For now, he doesn’t care about being a messy fucker. He’ll deal with the mess some other time.

Priorities.

A quick spritz of some cheap air freshener he picked up from a gas station fills the car, masking the distinctive scent of smoke. God forbid the kids start whining about how ‘weird’ it smells in the limo.

With a grimace, he sprays a little more—floral, of all scents? It feels insulting.

How kind of him to still be this considerate.

His thumb hovers over your contact, and he presses the call button with an agility he hasn’t had in years (thanks to you).

One, two, three rings, and then—

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice a little breathless, like you’ve been hurrying all over the place.

He stops grinding his jaw, the tension in his shoulders easing. He unclenches his fists, fingers uncurling one by one, as if letting go of some invisible burden.

Outside the vehicle, people stop dying, babies stop being born, and the world itself pauses just for him to listen to you.

You can’t see him, but he smiles either way. “Hey, baby.”

“Gosh, I’m so sorry. I lost track of time talking to Charles. We had dinner, and then I just—I felt so gross, you know? From cooking and all that. Took a shower, and it got pretty late.”

You end with a sigh, and he imagines you rubbing a hand over your face. “Please tell me you weren’t sleeping when I texted you.”

“Not even close. Still waiting for them.”

“They’re really taking their time, huh?”

“You wouldn’t believe it,” he murmurs, his fingers drumming a soft rhythm on the steering wheel. “How was your day?”

“Great! I’m already in bed.”

“My bed.”

You laugh, that sweet sound making his heart stutter. “Well, yeah. Where else do you want me to sleep if I’m at your place? On the floor?”

If someone had told Logan a year ago that he’d let someone live in his space, let alone take care of Charles, he’d have scoffed. "Pathetic," he’d have said, rolling his eyes with that familiar growl in his throat. Pretty sure he’d also puffed his chest while saying so.

Because Logan Howlett wasn’t one for accepting help. He’s been on his own since the earth was still cooling down.

But for you? He made exceptions. Plenty of them. And if it weren’t for your altruism, he wouldn’t have accepted this job—a job that pays well enough to cover Charles’ meds and put food on the table. He needs this rich family’s money.

“You’ve got a girlfriend now?” Charles had asked, when Logan explained he’d be staying with you while he went away for a few days.

“Big word you’re using there,” Logan had replied, placing two pills into Charles’ palm. The old man gave him a death stare. “Don’t play dumb. It’s not like you don’t know the drill.”

Mumbling something incoherent before swallowing the pills, Charles had taken slow sips of water between each one, sinking back into the mattress with a weary sigh. “If she’s not your girlfriend, then what is she?”

“A friend.”

“That’s nice. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

He shakes that memory away, forcing his mind back to the call. “Try not to be so kind to him. What if he falls in love with you?” he inquires, a mocking tone weaving through his words.

And that’s when you drop the bombshell. “You mean like you did?”

You laugh, but Logan… doesn’t. He can’t do it. He makes sure he’s breathing on command: in and out, in and out, in and out.

The mention of love unsettles him. He doesn’t feel safe anymore, doesn’t know what game you’re playing. Where’s the rulebook?

Is he—could he be—falling in love with you? Is that what you’re implying? And if so, do you feel the same?

In the long run, you mumble: “It was a joke.” Only then do his lungs fill with fresh air, untainted by the weight of his unease. But he can’t let it pass, the fact you sound disappointed. Defeated.

He promised himself he’d never hurt you. Though he doesn’t intend to, it feels as if he’s just stabbed you in the back, twisting the knife further into your frame—unwillingly.

“Remember the—” he pauses a moment, throwing his head back in frustration, silently cursing himself. “The pills. You’ve been giving them to him, right?”

“Yes, Logan.”

“Please, remember it’s only—”

“Logan,” you try again, cutting through the wave of his spiraling thoughts. He can picture you behind closed lids, looking at him through your lashes, your hand resting gently on his chest. “I have it under control, okay? He’s doing alright. I swear I’m taking good care of him.”

“I don’t doubt that, honey.” Casting a glance at the rearview mirror, he feels an unexpected sense of longing for your presence there, like a ghost haunting his every move, confined to the limits of his brain. “Can’t help but worry. That’s all.”

A soft hum reverberates through the line. He hears the rustle of sheets, the sound of you tossing around in his bed, and his pulse quickens at the thought.

“You said you’re sleepin’ on my bed.”

“Good memory you have.”

“You wearin’ my clothes as well?”

Thick silence, the kind he relishes.

“Yeah,” you finally reply, shifting the phone from side to side. You take a deep breath, and add: “I forgot to bring mine.”

He hates how you easily find a way to get him riled up despite being miles away. It must be the power of words.

“I don’t believe you.” He knows he shouldn’t, hates himself for doing it, but one of his hands palms the half-hard bulge in his black slacks, suppressing a low groan. “Think you did it on purpose.”

A rush of heat, sharp and urgent, washes over him. Is he really about to do this? Get himself off in the very car he uses for work? Twisted, incredibly sick of him, he thinks.

Still, he craves more. “Tell me what you’re wearing.”

You laugh at his demanding tone, fanning the flames of his desperation. “When did you turn into a horny teenager?”

“Always been, baby,” Logan purrs, undoing the button of his pants, followed by the fly. His eyes flick upwards for just a moment—no cars, no one in sight. He’s presumably alone. It’s all the confirmation he needs to say: “C’mon. Tell your old man what clothes you stole from him.”

He’s never done this before—phone sex. He’s heard about it, sure, but never imagined he’d fall so hard for the idea. The thrill of it sinks into him, electrifying.

What are you doing? Is your lip caught between your teeth? Do your eyes wander down your own body? Maybe your fingers are already skimming over your skin.

“It’s just a random shirt,” you murmur. “Plain, white.”

“What else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

Logan’s breath hitches as his hand moves to his cock, spotting the damp patch on his briefs where the tip has already started to leak. The moment he slides the elastic down past his balls, he fists his shaft in a slow stroke, going from the base to the head. “No panties? And you expect me t’believe this wasn’t planned?”

Your muffled whimper is like molten lava spilling into his ear, bringing him to full hardness. More shuffling follows on your end, driving him wild with the anticipation. “Why do you do this to me if you’re not here?”

“‘Cause I want you touchin’ yourself just like I’m doin’.” He thumbs the head, hips jerking involuntarily at the sensation. He aches to feel your mouth there instead. “Bet that pussy’s been cryin’ out for me, huh? Must’ve got used to me fillin’ her every other night.”

Your breathing grows more uneven, small gasps filtering through the speaker. “I need you here with me. This is—ugh—not enough.”

“What’s not enough, sweetheart?”

There’s a pause as the sound of your phone shifts again, and then he hears it clearly—the wet, needy sound of your fingers working between your legs, filling the silence with the loud squelching of your cunt. “My fingers,” you blurt out, more distant than before, like you’re merging with the bed, dissolving with every touch.

Logan spits roughly into his palm, the slickness of his saliva easing the drag of his calloused hand along his length, good enough to make the movement more satisfying.

He moans aloud, eyes shut tight, your name slipping from his lips, a whispered prayer, as if saying it could somehow summon you to his side. “I spoil you too much,” he rasps, wedging his phone between his ear and shoulder, using every resource available to him, anything to feel something real. “Seems like you’ve forgotten how to make yourself come.”

Your moans follow his, the breathy sounds a clear sign of how close you are, hanging on the edge, your release just a heartbeat away. But it’s not enough, and you need him. He wonders if you can feel his thoughts from miles away, because— “Want your cock so bad, Lo. I m-miss you.”

He has to stop jerking himself to hold off his orgasm, stomping his foot against the pedals. “Fuck, darlin’. You keep sayin’ those things and I swear I’ll be back with you by morning.”

His sole focus now is you—getting you to come. Driven by his growing frenzy, it’s the only coherent thought that claws through the haze in his mind. “Keep talking, please,” you plead, fingers still lost in the heat of your body. “Tell me what you’ll do to me when you see me.”

Logan picks up the rhythm again, his movements faltering as his chest heaves, ragged breaths spilling out while his hand works faster. “Gonna fuck you slow and deep, just how you like it. Face to face, so you can kiss me as much as you want, ‘cause I know my girl loves that, am I right?”

My girl. He’ll regret that one the second the high fades and clarity sets in.

Word after word falls from his lips without thought, uncontrollable, as though he’s surrendered to the storm of desire raging in his being—a storm in which your name is the eye of it all.

You are everywhere, and you take up all the empty spaces he thought were impossible to fill, sinking into the depths of his unconsciousness.

Not a single part of him is left untouched by you, by the power of your presence in his life, consuming him in ways he never imagined.

Your airy mewls ripple through the line, feeding his ravenousness, adding to the tightening knot of pleasure coiling low in his abdomen. His muscles strain, thighs tensing. Each stroke of his hand prolongs this sweet torture.

“Come for me, princess. You’d make me so h-happy if you came right now.”

And you do, because it’s not just his touch anymore—it’s his voice, and the way he commands you without force. How you’ve become accustomed to him, nodding along to each instruction he mutters.

Beneath your fingers, your swollen clit pulses, and though he can’t see it, he imagines it perfectly, having spent enough time worshiping it.

He knows, even from a distance, what your body must be doing. Your back arching off the bed, thighs quivering and clenching tight around your own hand. Those perfect legs of yours trembling as you reach your so-desired climax.

Loud and unrestrained, you moan, and for a moment, he wants to be with you so badly that he ponders if the theory of traveling across time and space sounds that far-fetched after all.

Logan doesn't need much after that for the thread to snap at long last, his groans dying on his lips as he stares in awe at the spurts of his seed landing wherever his eyes fall: a bit on the top of his pants, on his hand, his briefs. His cock twitches in his grip as he continues stroking himself through the aftershocks, gulping when it becomes too much to handle.

So phone sex is off the list now. Great.

“Miss you, too,” he mumbles once he’s caught his breath, tossing his glasses onto the passenger seat. His forehead feels damp to the touch, and he contemplates when was the last time he came this hard.

The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed yet. He knows you expect him to say more, something deeper and rawer, but that’s all he can force himself to spit out.

Sometimes, he forgets that you can’t read him all the time. Although you know him better than anyone else, there are certain thoughts and memories locked tightly inside him, things you'd never discover on your own. Secrets he admits he should share with you, but he’s at a loss for how. Words aren’t doable when he needs them the most.

Maybe it's a matter of age—you’re a natural at voicing your feelings.

At some point, you ask: “When did you say you were returning?”

One thing’s clear: he can’t afford to lose you. He’d be an idiot if he let that happen.

“In five days, I think.” Were he with you, he'd hold you in his arms, kissing your lips. God, how he misses kissing you. All of you. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, and in his mind, a blank canvas fills with the familiar image of you lying on your side, curling into a ball the way you always do. “I should go to sleep. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” Thank you for everything. “Get some rest.” Are you still in love with me? “Bye.” I’m coming back. You know how I feel about you, do you?

So much left unsaid, words he lacks the strength to speak. That, along with his come-stained clothes. And, of course, the limousine now perfumed like a flower shop.

Exhaustion clings to him again.

His luck has never been this good.

The next afternoon, one of the couple’s kids falls ill. Must be something he ate, the woman tells Logan, her voice light, though he can hear the shuffle of urgency behind her words.

Her husband packs their bags in the background, the muted thuds of luggage hitting the floor. You know how children are. Their hands are always filthy!

What she doesn’t realize is that Logan, in fact, doesn’t know how children are, because how could he?

He’s holed up in the hotel across the street, his only responsibility being to wait on their call, ready to drive whenever they needed him. Needless to say, his accommodations are nothing like theirs. Not that he minds it—he’s not one for luxury, has never needed it.

Truth be told, he’s no stranger to beds that groan if you shift slightly, clogged toilets that spit back water like they’re alive.

Joy rushes through him when he hears the news. He’s coming back earlier than expected, a thrill building in his chest. Twelve days he’s been away, his greed growing with each second in that desolate hotel room.

Now, the beating of his heart quickens, a faint thrumming as he stares out the window. He debates whether to let you know about his early return or keep it as a surprise. Would it be better if he just showed up?

How would you feel, knowing that, by the time the lights are out, he’ll be yours again?

He knows he should feel sorry for the poor kid, but all he can muster is a look of concern that barely reaches his eyes. Each time they pull into a gas station, he listens to the hurried slap of footsteps as the boy rushes for the bathroom to empty his insides.

He watches in the rearview as the kid’s father shakes his head, clicking his tongue with disapproval. “Do you have kids?” he asks, his voice forced into a casual tone, like he’s trying to break the silence that’s settled between them.

Logan’s only response is to turn up the radio, some pop song he’s never heard spilling from the speakers. The lyrics are a blur of nonsense to him, but it’s enough to drown out the man’s words and the boy’s misery.

Some things never change.

As the sun dips below the horizon, he’s finally free, no longer at anyone’s beck and call. He contemplates the possibility of getting a speeding ticket, weighing his options. It hardly matters. The pull to see you, to feel you, is stronger than anything else.

Even though he tries to think of another time in his life when he felt such a raw need, no memory comes close.

When he does pull up to his place, he does it quietly. Parking the limo, he doesn’t honk, doesn’t announce himself. Fumbling with the keys ever so lightly so as not to wake you up, fitting them into the lock.

His wrist twists, and the door gives way with a soft creak.

Anxiety ripples through him as he steps inside. The smell of freshly cooked food hits him, but it only tightens the knot in his stomach, reminding him of how long it’s been since he last ate.

Later, he tells himself. After. Once he’s sated his true hunger—the kind of hunger that can only be satisfied by sinking his fingers into something real, fleshy, malleable.

Hunger—yes, it’s animalistic, feral even. Will he be able to control himself once he’s near you? In moments like this, he feels more animal than human. Creeping, on the verge of crawling, back to you.

His feet take him to his bedroom, knowing the path to it very well. Fingers hovering over the knob, he takes a deep breath.

It’s already late, past midnight, yet energy courses through his veins as though he’s just woken from a long, ethereal dream.

He finds you asleep, your body wrapped snugly in the sheets, clutching a pillow close to your chest. Your cheek is pressed into it, breathing soft and steady, lulling him in. Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he kicks off his shoes, then slips in beside you, mirroring your position.

A lamp sits on his nightstand, one that isn’t his, and he figures you must have brought it from your apartment. There has to be a symbolism for that.

It’s incredible how his entire world can fit into such a narrow bed.

The smart thing would be to let you sleep, to simply watch you for a moment longer. But he can’t help himself.

His thumb lingers near your face before gently cupping your cheek, and the very first contact with your skin sends a shudder through him, the warmth of your skin grounding him. He trails his fingers down to your chin, holding it with just enough pressure to remind himself that he’s here.

Leaning in, he presses his lips softly against your forehead, your typical perfume wrapping around him like a welcome.

Welcome home, Logan.

For the first time, he feels that someone’s been counting down the minutes until his return. He’d always believed a person like him didn’t deserve this. That he just wasn’t built for it.

Countless years had he spent convincing himself he’d never be the kind of man who could inspire love. His life had already been written long ago—predetermined by some cruel hand in the sky.

Destiny, fate, call it what you want—once the cards are laid out, there’s no escaping them. Or so he used to think.

You had taken that pen into your own hands, rewriting his future. You, of all people, had changed his life. No matter what the future held for the two of you, he’d always be grateful. Grateful that you’d seen the dim spark in him that others had chosen to ignore.

Thoughtlessly, his fingers continue their gentle strokes along your cheek, your hair. You stir beside him, shifting in your sleep. Your eyes flutter open, close again, and then open once more, blinking in confusion.

“Logan?” you croak, voice still groggy and thick with sleep, coming to your senses. Before he can respond, you throw yourself on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. “Why—how—”

“Sweetheart,” he says, attempting to hide his grin, but failing when your kisses shift to his neck, your nose nuzzling against his skin. A laugh slips out, warmth flooding his chest.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home early!”

Home. Had he heard right? Had you used that word knowingly?

Peering into your eyes, he catches his reflection in your pupils, tiredness etched into his features. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You could’ve told me,” you reply, fingers threading through his greying locks, massaging his scalp. You place a tender kiss on the tip of his nose. “I would’ve waited up for you at least.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he whispers back, gaze drifting to your lips, and you close the space between you, his sigh mingling with yours as one hand cradles the small of your back, fisting the fabric of his shirt. His other hand tilts your head, inviting your tongues to greet each other in an unhurried dance.

You move languidly on top of him, and he notices, breaking the kiss and pulling back. “You’re gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”

The way your lashes flutter in response should be illegal. “I could use a human-size pillow.”

“I should shower first.”

“No.”

“Baby, I smell like gas.”

“So?”

A smirk tugs at his lips at your insistence, and he gently lays you back against the mattress. Drawn to your charm once again, he licks into your mouth, mentally scolding himself when he gets carried away, letting the kiss linger longer than intended.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, pulling the sheets over your body. Resigned, you simply nod, settling on your side.

Ten minutes later, you’re dozing off, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness when he slips into bed, wrapping himself around you from behind. One arm drapes over your waist, the other cushions your head, and there’s not a patch of skin between you left untouched.

Fatigue begins to delve deeper into his bones the longer he stays curled around you, but before the weight of sleep takes him, and the silence steals his chance, he huffs: “I missed you.” His beard grazes your skin in a soft, unintentional caress.

You pull his wrist to your lips, pressing a short-lived kiss to the inside of it. “Missed you, too.”

How the roles have reversed.

In the quietness of this starless night, you leave him no other choice but to believe you.

3:34 a.m. Still hostage to the lack of light outside. The world remains submerged in the gentle tides of sleep, undulating between dreams, except for him.

Logan wakes up at 3:34 a.m. because he’s rock hard, and being flushed against your back wasn’t helping him with his situation at all. If anything, it only heightened it.

He sits at the edge of the bed, his mind running in circles, debating whether he should jump to his feet and head to the bathroom for another shower—this time, a cold one. Returning to sleep, at least in this moment, is not a viable option.

His gaze drifts to the moonlight spilling through the window, casting its pale glow across the room. Is this your doing? The question lingers, unshakable, in his thoughts. It remains as just that: a question.

When you quietly rest your chin on his shoulder, he stifles a sigh, biting the inside of his cheek. Your voice breaks through the quiet.

“What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?” Wrapping your arms around him from behind, you circle his frame, in an effort to persuade him to sink back into the mattress.

“It’s nothing,” he says, pulse accelerating. Please, don’t look down. “I’ll be back in a second.”

“But what is—”

He doesn’t get to hear the rest of your sentence. You do look down, finding the outline of his hardened cock straining against his briefs, stealing your full attention.

“Wow.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“And leave you like this?” One hand creeps toward his waistband, your breath warm against his ear. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything in the world.”

Your nails trace a path through the coarse hair at his navel, and Logan tenses. His legs feel like jelly as you cup his balls, fondling them gently between your fingers.

Behind him, your low chuckle stirs something primal in him, making his blood thrum hot beneath his skin. He should be the one doing this to you, not the other way around.

“Darlin’, I don’t—” He’s cut off by his own guttural groan when you fist his length, pumping him in rhythm with his uneven breaths. “I don’t need this.”

“Seems like you do,” you whisper, momentarily halting your ministrations to place your palm in front of his face, hoping he takes the hint. You kiss his stubble, pausing just short of his mouth. “I want to take care of you. Always do.”

Your palm hovers before him, inviting. Grabbing your wrist, he licks it, coating it in his spit and guiding you back down to him. Together, your hands glide along his length, and his gaze locks onto yours, the intensity of it making his neck tense.

You beam with delight under his stare. That red organ caged within his ribs—a blood-pumping machine of passion—surges back to life as he sees you.

He had won the battle. He had triumphed over his past; had lived enough lives, endured enough years, to arrive at this moment.

This had to be the purpose of his existence: to share this part of his stay on earth with you.

“You’re so hard,” you say, twisting your wrist at the tip of his cock, reveling in every buck of his hips, each movement a reflection of his exaltation. “Guess you did miss me.”

With a quiet growl, he reaches behind, nudging your thighs apart until they find your mound, cupping you through your underwear. “I’m not the only one who’s been missin’ someone.” He pulls the fabric aside, sliding his fingers through your wet folds. His nostrils flare as he feels how ready you are. “Why am I not surprised?”

Your breath hitches, and you press yourself closer against him, your tits against his back, mouth teasing at his neck. “That’s what happens when you’re gone.” Another kiss on his nape. “You could take me with you next time.”

“Can’t do that,” he answers, teasing your entrance. “No work would get done.”

His movements cease to a stop. Yours do too. Turning his head just enough to glance over his shoulder, he scrutinizes your expression, pride swelling in his chest as he takes in your affected state.

“You’re not goin’ back to sleep, are you?”

There’s the shake of your head. A single word escapes your lips, imbued with pure fervor: “Please.”

He captures your mouth in an ardent kiss, tugging at your shirt (which is, in fact, his) to undress you, his wandering hands roaming beneath it.

As his mouth meets your neck, something cold brushes against his lips, drawing his gaze down to what’s hanging from your neck.

His dog tags. The ones he had given you before leaving for that job, as his way of telling you I’m coming back without having to say it aloud. And you, as always, understood; had even promised to keep them safe, though he hadn’t expected you to actually wear them.

Now, with your shirt discarded, they lay against your bare skin, his name resting in the valley between your breasts.

“You like ‘em?” His fingers grip the chain and give it a gentle tug, drawing you closer so he can breathe over your lips, his breath mingling with yours. “Like knowing you’re mine? You get off on it?”

You nod in agreement. Of course, you do. Though emotionally constipated and not the most expressive, Logan is a lover who knows how to awaken desire—a good lover, indeed. A decent one.

Which is why he agrees to any idea that crosses your mind, like the one you just whispered in his ear.

He may be older than you, but he’s always been more on the traditional side. You, on the other hand, are continually searching for new ways to innovate.

The round globes of your ass jiggle over his face as he spreads you apart, entrenched by how your skin moves above him, your glistening hole clenching around nothing, as if your body itself is calling to him.

With his head propped against the headboard, he watches you take him deeper, your saliva dripping down the wiry hairs of his cock. The slick heat of your tongue traces over his slit, back and forth, driving him to the edge.

When he hears you gag, it stirs something inside him—a deep need to return the favor, to match your devotion.

At the end of the day, he’s a man on a mission, and right now, that mission is you.

Right there, with his nose and mouth buried in you, he wonders why he hadn't thought of this sooner. If he could choose a natural end like any other man, he'd wish for it to be by suffocation—your body his last breath.

Logan inhales deeply, like a man starved, working two of his fingers inside your throbbing center, his tongue flicking relentlessly over your clit, punching moan after moan out of you. Each thrust of his fingers, each stroke of his tongue, sends waves of pleasure coursing through you.

His beard, streaked with gray, leaves a trail of fire wherever your hips meet his face, pushing back against him. Every so often, you pull off his cock just to ramble, panting, about how good he's making you feel.

From where he lies, you’re a sight to behold, nothing short of divine. “Just what I needed, doll. You taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he blurts out, your frantic cries pouring into his ears as he sucks the swollen bud between his lips. “Can’t believe you let me do this to you. You love makin’ your old man happy, don’t you?”

He used to think he'd burn in hell for indulging in the desire to know you like this—raw, ungraceful.

His judgment must be fucked up, because now, all he sees in you is heaven incarnate. You must be the closest thing to it he’ll ever find.

“Shit, I…” you trail off, gasping as he replaces his fingers with his tongue, drinking from your arousal and tasting every bit of you. “I thought about you every day.”

“Bet you did, just like that night I called you. You know how I felt when you told me you were wearing my clothes?” His hand comes down with a firm slap on your right asscheek, drawing a whine from you as your movements falter. “Can smell you all over these sheets. Makes me wonder how many times you made yourself come while I was away.”

You slip the tip of his cock back in your mouth, your hands and lips working in sync. His nose brushes against the plush skin of your thighs before his teeth graze your flesh, biting down just enough to leave a sting. His fingers curl inside you, hitting that perfect spot again and again, and you moan around him, your throat vibrating against his length.

He makes you come like this, knuckles deep inside you while his thumb circles your clit. Overwhelmed by pleasure, you let go of his dick, and it hits Logan’s stomach with a wet pop. His strong arms tug you closer to his face, eyes falling closed as you ride the wave of your orgasm against his mouth, palms pressed flat on his chest.

For a brief moment, he can’t breathe, can’t feel anything but you, your scent, your taste filling his senses.

Later, he rolls you onto your back and climbs on top of you, uncertain of how much time he has spent lapping at your wetness. His hard length glides along your folds, and he lines himself up without pushing in, looking right into your eyes.

“Remember what I told you that night over the phone?” he asks, his breath coming in quick bursts, and you nod, head lolling back as he pinches your lower lip between his fingers. “Repeat it.”

“Logan—”

“You say it, and I’ll make it happen.”

Perplexity clouds your features. “You said you’d fuck me slow and deep, just h-how I like it. Face to face, because—”. The words escape you, a sob tearing through your throat as he eases the first few inches of himself inside you, your walls instinctively making space to wrap around him.

He’s home.

“Go on. What else did I say?” he teases, relishing in it. He’s guilty as sin. “Or were you too lost in thought touchin’ yourself?”

“F-face to face,” you slur, nails digging into his scarred back, and he keeps plunging his length into your interior to the hilt. Your lips part slightly, craving the kiss that only he can give you. “You said you’d do it face to face so I could kiss you whenever I wanted.”

He hums, low in his throat, as he gives the first thrust of the night, taking great pleasure in your expression: open-mouthed, eyes scrunched, and a slight crease forming between your brows.

Smoothing his thumb over your forehead, he tsks, pausing his movements. “None of that, princess. Look at me, c’mon.”

You obey, forcing your eyes open, and in that instant, he swears he can feel every tremor coursing through you. “Logan,” you coo, your voice aching as you stretch your neck toward his mouth.

The way you say his name—seductively, charged with a fascination that riles him up—manages to ignite a fire only you can kindle. It’s all the invitation he needs.

“I know. Too much, huh?” His tone drips with condescension, teasing in a way that feels almost cruel. He can’t help it, though: it’s in very his nature. “Need to hear you say it. Need you to tell me how much you want this.”

Like everything else in your world, your patience begins to wither, hips instinctively bucking beneath him, seeking even the slightest bit of friction. But he still withholds the kiss you long for, dangling it just out of reach.

“Please,” you beg, voice breaking as you plead. “Fuck me, baby. Missed you so much while you were away. Please, please, please—”

Logan enjoys hearing you beg. He won’t pretend otherwise. There's a satisfaction in knowing he holds this power over you, that he's the only one who can unravel you this way, your body splayed open beneath him.

The thought of others who may have once been in his place, making you fall apart just like this, sets his blood on edge.

Jealousy, sharp and corrosive, crawls up his spine, and it spurs him on, guiding the tempo of his thrusts.

He wonders if he’s ever fucked you this fiercely before, with a passion that pulses from every part of him. You’re given no space for thought, no moment to catch your breath—just his unforgiving pace and the sounds spilling from your lips.

He has a way of breaking you down, turning you into a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him, and you surrender willingly, craving each second of it.

So fuckin’ tight. Can y’hear her? How badly she needs me?

Sex had never felt like this before. He’d grown accustomed to quick, meaningless fucks in poorly lit bars, fleeting encounters that left him questioning if this was all there was. If this wasn’t the best he’d ever know.

For a while, he’d tried to solve that emptiness, searching in nameless lovers and hollow hearts for the very thing he feared most: love.

And yet, he wanted it, yearned it, guarding his desire like a secret he barely admitted to himself. Until one day, you stumbled into his life, and all the strength he thought he had wasn’t enough to push you away.

He presses deep into the back of your thighs, bringing your chests so close they're nearly brushing. Claiming your mouth in a maddening kiss, all teeth and tongue, leaving no space for softness. As he nibbles at your bottom lip, he feels you tighten around him, your cunt pulling him under, clouding his thoughts.

“Close?” he murmurs, hips snapping against you with an utterly obscene rhythm that drowns out the world, better than any song ever made. “Such a good girl. Gonna come, sweetheart? Let me see how gorgeous you look when you fall apart, making a mess just for me.”

The constant, steady drag of his cock doesn’t seem to get old for you. He’s leaving his mark within you, inside you, carving a space for himself. His tip keeps hitting all the right spots, prompting you to tilt your pelvis to meet him halfway, telling him there, yes, there. More, please.

His hand slides down, rubbing your clit with his fingers. Doesn’t need any extra help when doing so, your arousal providing all the slickness he needs. He feels like a runner on the final stretch, the finish line within reach, so close he can almost touch it, savoring the euphoria and bliss of crossing it.

The way you sing his name never loses its allure, despite all the times he’s heard it spill from your lips. Especially at this moment, with him buried deep inside you, every thrust a promise to make you feel good.

You shamelessly come while he keeps driving into you, vigorous and untamed—like a caged animal unleashed, tasting freedom for the very first time.

Ankles digging into his lower back, a trail of persistent kisses along his beard. You want him inside, that much he can tell. It’s not like he ever finishes anywhere else, but the reminder doesn’t bother him. It only serves as a reassurance: that you still want this, want him. You haven’t changed your mind.

He sinks his teeth into your neck the instant he feels his orgasm tearing through him, hips stilling and sagging as a string of grunts abandons his being, dampening your skin even more. He loves to fill you up, it consumes him entirely.

Such an intimate, visceral act, and then he gets to see his seed trickling down your thighs. He realizes that he doesn’t need much to be happy.

You keep kissing him, his neck, his face. It may seem absurd to say that every kiss feels like the first, yet it’s true.

Even after he’s traced all the contours of your mouth and committed every detail of your body to memory, he can’t help but feel that same thrill of excitement he experienced months ago when he dared to push beyond the boundaries he had set for himself.

Staring at each other, naked, all the love in the world seems to fill these four walls. The compassion and tenderness in your gaze remain unchanged. You’re a dream come true.

It can’t end like this. He can’t allow you to drift back into sleep without saying what needs to be said. Something has to happen, something only he can conjure.

“I think…” He hesitates. Starting with I think carries an air of uncertainty. “I don’t—”

“Logan,” you interrupt, your hand finding his. “I know.”

Yes, you do. You always seem to know everything, but that can’t be enough. He can’t lean on your unspoken understanding of his feelings.

“You still deserve to hear it.”

“It’s not necessary.”

“It is.”

More silence. The moon is the solitary spectator of his upcoming declaration.

“You were right,” he begins, drawing your intertwined hands closer to his face, pressing a soft kiss on the back of yours. His voice drops to a murmur. It’s not just his body that feels completely exposed anymore; something deeper within him stands bare. “I’m in love with you.”

You scrutinize him as if he’s revealing the secret to eternal life. Again, you kiss his cheek, cupping it gently with your palm.

“It won’t get any better than this. There are no more layers to peel away, okay?” He offers explanations you never even asked for in the first place. “This is what I am.” Much to his dismay, you overlook his choice of words: what instead of who.

He glances away, his gaze landing on the dog tags resting against your skin. The same old guilt threatens to engulf him, as it does each time without fail, and that seems to be your cue to lower yourself to his eye level, eyebrows raised.

“I’m not with you because I’m waiting for you to change. I like you just as you are, Logan. And I want all of you, both the good and bad stuff.” A gentle smile breaks across your face as you stretch your arm to retrieve his glasses from the nightstand. Placing them on your nose, your eyes twinkle with contentment. “Do they look good on me?”

“You don’t need them yet.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t pull them off.”

“Come here,” he mutters, sighing when you nuzzle his chest, cradling your head between his hands. He ponders what to say, what to do next, but no clear idea sounds promising.

And so it gives you the chance to speak up: “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

I hope I don’t, he thinks to himself as he brushes your hair away from your face, fingers caressing your temples. I hope I never do.

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! <3

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rafesangelita · 2 months ago

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⊹₊⟡⋆♡ cowboy!rafe always snuck into farmer's!daughter!reader's room to give her a goodnight kiss.. but what happens when their innocent little kiss turns into something much more?

warnings: sweet fluff, flirty banter, brief flashback, daddy kink lol, sneaking around, unprotected sex, dirty talk, rafe covering your mouth, crying, overstimulation

a/n: i’ll be opening req’s soon! lately here i’ve been wanting to get out some of my own prompts since over half of my works are all req’s.. but i’m excited to see what you girlies send me! find more of farmer’s!daughter!reader and cowboy!rafe here <3

wc: 1.2k

“open up, doll face.” you sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as rafe lightly tapped on your window. he made you so giddy, you scrambled up from the warmth of your sheets, unlocking the hatch before helping him climb in. “i thought you weren’t coming..” you whispered, pouting up at him as he snickered. “y’gotta have faith in me, sweetheart. when have i missed a goodnight’s kiss?” rafe cupped your face, both of you smiling against each other’s lips before melting into one another.

you always felt so warm and fuzzy inside when you and rafe got to share your secret little moments together, the simplicity of just being together without having to worry about someone catching you two made both of your hearts swell. rafe knew how to sweep you off your feet with a single kiss, a string of giggles tumbling from your mouth as he not-so-quietly threw you onto your bed. “rafe!” you scolded him, your heart beating in your ears as he slotted himself between your thighs.

“my daddy is next door! what if he hears..” you slapped his chest playfully, the man above you arching a brow. “daddy? i thought i was your daddy.” your cheeks heated in embarrassment when you recalled the quickie you two had in the barn not too long ago. rafe had you bent over a hay bale, his thrusts making you unable to speak until he asked you the golden question.

“hmmph! fuckin’ say it. tell me what i wanna hear, who’s your fuckin’ daddy?”

taking your bottom lip between your teeth, rafe smiled as he shook his head down at you. “you just thought about it, didn’t you?” snapping you out of your flashback daze, you laughed when he leaned down and pressed a wet kiss to the column of your throat. he smelled like soap, the slight stubble on his cheeks tickling your skin. as if your hips had a mind of their own, you grinded your clothed cunt against rafe’s thigh, a whimper leaving your lips at the lack of friction.

“hey,” rafe cupped your tits through your flimsy night top, “you thought i wasn’t coming tonight, right? that’s what you said.” your eyebrows knitted in confusion before a gasp slipped from your mouth. “yes..” rafe trailed a hand underneath the waistband of your sleep shorts. “so why don’t you have any panties on?” you froze, eyes flickering down to where rafe ran a finger between your folds. keening, you couldn’t help the moan from leaving your lips.

rafe stared at you for a moment, his eyes growing dark as he clamped a hand over your mouth. “i’ve been thinking about this pussy all day. ‘think you can stay quiet for me?” of course you couldn’t.. and rafe knew that. you stared at him with wide eyes, butterflies fluttering in your tummy when he took himself out of his pants. “i mean it. we don’t want your old man chasing me down with that shotgun of his, now do we?” you shook your head, your eyes fluttering shut when you felt the head of his cock prod at your entrance.

you shrieked, his hips rolling into yours as he slowly bottomed out inside your cunt. if it wasn’t for rafe’s hand muffling your scream you’re sure both of you would be in deep trouble right now. rafe rested his head on your pillow, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he started thrusting. feeling his weight on top of you like this had easily become your favorite thing, the closeness of it all made your heart sing. “fuck, i could never get used to this.. ‘feels like the first time all the time.” he grunted.

you held onto his wrist, your thighs hugging his waist as he kissed the side of your face. “taking me so fuckin’ good, you were made for me, yeah?” you whined, your eyes watering as rafe continuously hit that soft spot inside of you. your headboard started hitting the wall, a smirk gracing your boyfriend’s features. “rafe!” you whispered, tearing his hand away from your face. “s-slow down!” you attempted to push him away while simultaneously trying to keep your noises to yourself.

rafe picked up his pace, wrapping a hand around your throat. “can’t..” you shook your head, your chest rising and falling as the knocking of your headboard only got louder. rafe cursed under his breath when you cried out, working fast to get you turned over so he could push your head into the pillows. “what did i tell you?!” he scolded, landing a smack to your ass. you didn’t have any time to react to the stinging sensation on your backside, your orgasm washing over you once rafe started stroking your clit.

you fisted the sheets underneath you, biting down on your lip as white hot pleasure blinded your vision. rafe made no attempt to soothe you, instead he wrapped your hair around his fist, pulling you up as he nipped at the sensitive skin in the curve of your neck. “sweetheart?” you gasped when your father’s voice sounded from the other side of your bedroom door. you cleared your throat, frozen in place as your door knob rattled. “answer him.” rafe spoke in your ear, his tone sending a shiver down your spine.

“what?!” you stammered, heavy tears rolling down your cheeks as rafe continued to rub hard circles on your sensitive bundle of nerves. “answer him or i’ll make you scream.” you wanted to shoot a sassy ‘you already did’, but you didn’t dare chance it. your chin wobbled, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. “y-yes?!” you called out, glaring at rafe over your shoulder when the sound of his hips slamming into you bounced off of the walls. “you alright in there?” you bit the back of your hand, your head falling weakly.

“is this a girl thing or somethin’, should i call your aunt?” your cheeks heated, a chuckle sounding from the man behind you. “no! i’m o-okay!” rafe pulled your hair again, his lips close to your ear as he whispered the dirtiest things you’ve ever heard. “what would your pops think, huh? catching his perfect little angel getting fucked like this..” your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your knees slipping out from under you when rafe pushed you flat on your sheets.

“alright.. goodnight!” you ignored your father’s voice, the only thing your brain allowing you to process was rafe cumming inside of you, his fingers digging harshly into the flesh of your hips. “shittt,” he hissed, “son of a— fuck!” it was his turn to cover his mouth, his muscles constricting as you practically milked him for all he had. you reveled in the feeling of his hot cum filling you up, the thick ropes still connecting you two even after he pulled out.

you sighed, both you and rafe panting in the small space that was your room. “you okay, doll?” rafe kneeled down at your side, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your lips. blinking at him, you nodded before pulling him next to you. “it’s really late..” you yawned, glancing at the little clock on your bedside table. “i know.” rafe grumbled. there was nothing he hated more than having to leave you like this. wrapping his arms around your waist, rafe waited until you fell asleep before slipping out of your window again.

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jinxvex · 18 days ago

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heyy! if u take requests i was wondering if you would make an enemy sevika x reader, where they treat each other like shit until sevika has enough and fucks the shit out of reader 💪😊

♱ enemy. (enemy!sevika x reader) ♱

enemies to lovers is lowkey my fave trope so, let’s go!!

also sorry i haven’t posted! finals week… 🫠😓

cw: nsfw, kink city LOL!! sevika is v rough + punishes reader, possessiveness, BDSM elements, BREEDING KINK (oops), name-calling (slut, whore, bitch, etc), degradation/praise, cursing, arguing, a tiny bit angsty, spanking, she slaps your cunt once, choking, hair-pulling, doggy position, she eats you out!! it's sweet towards the end dw!

there's def more but OOP-

wc: 4.2K! (oops)

sevika hates you.

1. she hates the way your hips sway when you walk.

she’s definitely ALWAYS looking at your ass.

2. she hates how you talk and how you giggle under your breath when you laugh at something you shouldn’t. your voice sounds like music, like wind chimes in the spring that cause her vision to blur.

3. she hates the way your skin glows in the sunlight—as rare as it is in the gloomy grey atmosphere of zaun.

4. she hates how you dress and style your hair. you stand out. you personally customize your clothing, adding your own detailing on platform boots, jeans, jewelry, belts, accessories, tops, and jackets. your uniqueness annoys her beyond belief.

“what a fuckin’ show-off! this isn’t a fashion show,” she mutters under her breath to get a rise out of you.

5. she hates the way you talk back to her, even when she starts an argument first.

“well maybe you could learn something, you wear the same shit like… every day,” you respond briskly, already sick of her berating you as you’ve just walked through the doors of silco’s office.

she’s older than you, you should show some respect! you act so high and mighty like nobody can crack that tough persona you put on to protect yourself from the dark and dangerous streets of zaun.

she scoffs. her thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of her nose to alleviate the stress you’ve subjected her to. she cannot believe this.

“see? this… child is so incompetent! fuckin’ impossible to work with! she’s probably late to this meeting because she’s too busy playing dress up to actually do her job.” she directs towards you although not looking at you, opting to look at the tall chair covering silco’s body as she sits in the chair across from his.

silco sighs, clearly annoyed at both of your antics. he swivels around in his chair to face you both.

“actually, she was doing something i assigned her to. last minute, but she always gets the job done.”

sevika’s eyes flicker to you, and you smirk at her assumption that you were accidentally late.

she scoffs again and drags her grey-ish eyes back to silco as she leans to the left, almost trying to get away from you standing at her right with your arms crossed.

“you see… you two are my best. i cannot afford to have you both acting like children when doing business. it could threaten everything i’ve—we’ve built. one wrong move could tarnish this.”

you and sevika stay quiet as you avoid eye contact with each other, you taking a newfound interest in the bookshelf as sevika’s eyes burn holes into the ground. you knew deep down that silco was right.

“it's time you’ve both gotten along, for all of our sakes. don’t disappoint me again.”

…

you haven’t seen sevika since silco’s ‘lecture’ he gave you two a couple of days ago.

it's evening in zaun, streets and bars filling with people as the night threatens to begin.

you sat on the couch in the living room of your tiny yet, surprisingly homey apartment. your legs resting on the coffee table and you busy munching on cheap snacks, reflecting on the conversation that took place not too long ago. you were livid.

i mean, what else more did he want from you!

sevika was impossible. you tried to get along with her in the beginning but no matter what, she hated you!

she constantly finds new ways to poke fun at you, belittle you, and insult your intelligence. she obviously thinks you aren’t worthy of being a part of silco’s inner circle and that offends you.

and yes, she’s incredibly hot, but all of that was overshadowed the moment she decided you were a piece of gum on her boot!

you sigh incredulously, “damn… i need a drink.”

…

a few minutes later, you’re walking into the last drop and making a beeline for the bar.

as you sit down, your hands graze the edges of the countertop and you close your eyes briefly to let out a breath you’ve held in your throat for…

who knows how long?

that garners the attention of thieram, the kind bartender whom you’d had polite conversation with in the past. you’d taken quite a liking to his kind personality in the past.

“what would you like tonight, miss?” he smiles at you.

as you rummage through your mind for something to order, there isn’t much.

you aren’t a big drinker so it was hard to decipher what was good and what wasn’t because you simply don’t know.

“she’ll have the whiskey, best you've got.” you hear a gruff voice come from behind you. you hear the person’s rough steps come to a stop beside you and they sit.

“ugh.” you scoff out loud and roll your eyes dramatically as you avoid looking in her direction to your right.

sevika.

“coming right up…” thieram, not even wanting to know, swiftly walks off to make your drink.

“what do you want?!” you huff out in annoyance as you finally bring your head up to make eye contact with her.

“nothin’… just enjoying you strugglin’ to order. jus’ was painful to watch, doll.”

your eyebrows raise as your mouth opens and closes, you not exactly knowing how to respond. especially to "doll".

although her tone indicates that she was merely joking, you retaliate against her anyway for the way she’s treated you in the past.

“i- you know what?! if you’ve just come to gloat and make me feel like an idiot just go right ahead and fuck off!” you state. causing a vein to pop out of your forehead and your left eye to twitch in pure anger.

“i’m not in the mood for your shit” you restate your previous point.

“y’know? you’re such a pain in my ass. always bitching and complaining about everything, always in the way, you’re unbelievable.”

you pause your movements, surprised at the lengths she’s going to make you feel terrible.

“i think you look weak.” she finishes, smirking as your eyes threaten to spill with tears out of rage.

“you’re such. a. fucking. bitch.” you emphasize the b in the word bitch as you leap off your chair and stomp out of the bar, trudging back to the comfort of your own home.

thieram walks back over to the side of the bar you were just at and his face scrunches in confusion.

“uh… where’d she go?” he questions as he raises his hands, one hand occupied with your drink.

sevika is still sitting with her mech hand pressing into a tight fist on the counter and her human hand tightly squeezing the bridge of her nose.

she makes up her mind as she stands up and makes her way to your apartment, already having memorized where you lay your head at night.

tonight, you’ll learn respect. obedience.

…

you’ve just made it back to your apartment and you’re slamming the door shut. as you pace back and forth from your kitchen to your living room you’re met with complete and utter silence that taunts you.

“how do i let her get to me? every. single. time.” you’re thinking, mentally cursing yourself for being so stupid. for letting her see you upset.

you hear a loud knock at the door and you pause all moments, as you make your way to answer it, your thoughts race with ideas of who may be at your doorstep at this time of night.

you open the door and you’re met with none other than the sight of sevika. both of her hands clench into fists at her sides as she gazes at you darkly.

it’s almost eerie, her silence. you sense something in her demeanor that is different than usual. it feels… scary.

you both say nothing as she pushes her way into your home, back turned to you as she stops in her tracks.

“wha- what the fuck? g-get out!” you scream out.

her head cocks over her shoulder, one eye looking back at you in a silent warning.

you slowly back up against the door as she turns her full body around to corner you against it. her stare pierces deep into your soul, you feel as though a knife has been jabbed into your gut.

sevika is a scary woman. you know you stand no chance against her strength. that frightens you slightly but you hold your head up high and maintain eye contact with her to stand your ground.

her hands are placed on either side of your head, pressing into the rough, wooden texture of the door. you hear the wood creaking when she leans in, nose brushing against yours. the silence is deafening.

"hmm..." she cocks her head to the right, still looking deep into your irises.

"sevika, l-let me go. what are you doing?!" you try to reason with her but she is unwavering as she takes her mech hand and trails it dangerously slowly up your body from your thigh to your bare stomach, then your arms.

it lands on your neck and wraps around it loosely as a scare tactic. it works as your eyes widen and your shaky hands come up to move the machine off you.

your legs start to weaken and your eyebrows furrow as your underwear pools with your desire.

"so fuckin' pathetic, you are..." she growls, tightening around your neck, not too tight. but tight enough to where your breath hitches in your throat and you're slightly gasping for air.

"y'know, was gonna try and get along with you tonight, doll."

the pet name makes the wetness in your panties become unbearable.

she continues, "ordered you a drink, cracked a joke 'n everything..."

"but, you're a brat to your core, aren't you? should make you apologize..."

an idea pops into your head, another way to disrespect her. you ponder in your head about how you shouldn't. against your better judgment, you say it anyway.

"make me, then,” your eyes flicker down to her lips.

her cocky expression falters slightly—her eyes threatening to look down at yours as well. and if looks could kill, you would die instantly.

"show me your fuckin' bedroom. now."

you're then peeling yourself off of the door. she takes her hand off your neck and backs up to let you pass. you drag your feet, walking slowly to irritate her further. she doesn't like that one bit.

you feel a hand brush the back of your head and she's harshly pulling you up against her chest by your hair. you feel her warm breath tickling your ear, getting ready to humiliate you even more.

"f-fuck! ow!" you yelp out in pain.

"nuh-uh. hurry the fuck up. move." she whispers into your ear.

sevika lets you go, roughly pushing your head forward to emphasize her point. you decide not to push her as you speed up.

as you enter your room, you let out a shaky breath, scared yet excited about the events about to take place. you're not facing her when you hear your bedroom door slam shut. you stop dead in your tracks.

"what-uhm, what's gonna happen?" you question.

you gasp out in surprise as she spins you around to face her and pushes you onto the bed. your ass rests on the edge of it and you're sitting up straight. sevika towers over you, way taller than usual. she looks like she could devour you as she's undressing you with her eyes.

"gonna hurt you, sweetheart. gonna punish you for being such a mean little brat." she smushes your cheeks together with one hand, causing your saliva to pool from your mouth and wet your lips.

"should've done this ages ago... maybe you'd be better behaved by now."

"p-please. i-'m sorry."

it kills you inside, that you secretly love this. you secretly love the idea of her touching you. punishing you, hurting you until you’re utterly ruined.

you’ve dreamt about this moment in light of all the arguments, yelling, and fighting.

in one swift movement, she stands you back up and takes your place on the bed looking up at you hungrily.

“bend over my knee,” she demands.

you feign disgust, and fear, “wh-what?! n-no i-”

“lay the fuck down, and bend over my knee before i spank your ass raw.”

you obey. she scoots back further on your bed so you can maneuver your way to lay your stomach across her thighs. your upper body and legs rest on the bed as your ass is slightly positioned in the air.

you can’t see her face, but you know sevika’s smirking as she’s finally got you where she wants you.

she coos at you, tugging slightly at the loose shorts you threw on after you got home from the bar, “look at you in these little fuckin’ shorts, so slutty.”

she slides her hand up your outer thigh, moving closer to your ass.

all of a sudden, she pauses her movements.

she leans down, her mouth next to your ear, “we can stop at any time. jus’ let me know, doll.”

your heart clenches at her words, feeling the intense emotion behind them and now knowing deep down that she doesn’t want to actually hurt you.

it turns you on even more.

“want it vika, p-please.”

she lets out a sound that’s of a groan and a growl, “fuck yeah, baby. gonna punish you—gonna make it hurt,”

“gonna take it? gonna be a good girl for me?”

“ye-yes! yes!”

sevika hooks the fingers of her human and mechanical hand under the waist of your shorts and roughly tugs them to the floor.

“fuck… no panties too? my god,” she admires you.

you say nothing as her hand finds its way back to moving up your thigh and finally grips your ass, kneading the plush flesh.

“gonna actually do anything or?…” you get cocky, too impatient to feel her hands on you.

a loud ‘SMACK!’ sounds throughout the ambient space of your bedroom, the pain searing into the skin of your right asscheek, making you scream out into the bedspread.

“fuckin’ brat, like i said.”

you’re met with another ‘SMACK!’ in the same spot. you scream out again except this time, it sounds a hell of a lot more like a moan.

“can’t believe you’re gettin’ off to this. bein' my little painslut…”

she hits you again, “you like when i hurt you? don’t you, baby?”

“yes!” you’re repeating, face still smushed into the blankets.

“what was that?” she presses further as she tangles her hand into your hair and yanks it upwards.

“f-fuck! yes, yes!”

she spanks you again and again, alternating between each cheek until you’re sobbing.

although she hadn’t spanked you more than 15 times, you felt as though it was 10 times that much.

she’s soon rubbing a soothing hand over the expanse of your ass, attempting to calm the ache in your ass while neglecting the one in your cunt.

“my girl. did so good for me, baby. so, so good.”

she sits you up and props you up next to her. you wince as your ass meets the surface of your bed.

“we’re not done. gonna make this pussy feel so good, i’ve been neglecting her haven’t i?”

“mhm…touch me please.” you’re out of it, eyes lazily gazing into hers.

“suppose i should reward you?”

her hands caress the sides of your neck and she captures your lips in a gentle and passionate kiss.

as her lips meet yours, the world is silent, all you can think of is sevika.

the kiss soon turns sloppier, needier. your tongues clash against one another causing saliva to drip down both of your chins.

it’s disgusting really, the definition of swapping spit.

neither of you seems to care though. you both moan through the kisses, gripping at each other.

she breaks the kiss to tear your shirt off your body.

“such pretty tits… so beautiful.”

you lean in and peck her lips, “want you bad, vika. please just fuck me already,” you beg.

“you’re beggin’ me?”

“yeah,” you respond.

“fuckin’ beggin’ me, huh?”

“fuck yeah, baby,” you respond another time, your bedroom eyes never leaving hers.

this back-and-forth dirty talk makes the both of you so wet, that the need between you increases with each exchange.

“you don’t even realize how much of a whore you sound like when you say that shit, baby."

oh, you know.

“i love it,” she doubles back.

“gonna eat you first, get you ready for my cock.”

you pause.

‘she didn’t… did she?!’ you exclaim in your head, incredibly surprised she brought an entire strap-on to your house.

“mm… back the fuck up, lean up against the headboard.”

you do as she says, spreading your legs for her in the process.

“good fuckin’ girl.”

she kisses down your neck, stomach, and thighs—her mouth now dangerously close to your naked cunt.

“perfect pussy… so pretty and wet.” she blows cold air on it, admiring the way you clench as she does so.

she laughs out loud, “you’re clenching around nothing, baby… you need this dick in you.”

you don’t even notice you’re looking up at the ceiling, you then look down at her between your thighs—you notice her pants are pulled off. her mech hand is gripping her black plastic cock through her boy shorts.

it’s huge. you’re not sure if it can even fit inside you and that makes you crave it more.

you moan at the sight, “mhm! yes! need it in my pussy. wanna cum on it.” you manage out. your brain is mush!

“soon,” she promises.

she suddenly delves into your pussy, tongue experimentally licking around your folds, then your hole, and your clit.

you’re on cloud 9. your cunt twitches with need because you can feel every detail of her mouth dragging along your heat.

your moans are uncontrollable as she’s practically making out with your cunt, her spit drips onto your clean bed as she’s sloppily eating your pussy out.

she’s nasty with it, spitting on it, getting it dripping wet for you to take her.

“fuck! please!! gonna cum!” you yell out.

all of a sudden, you’re met with cold air. and your cunt is met with a thought to be forgotten ‘SMACK!’

you yelp out in pain and pleasure, the mix too overwhelming for your poor pussy to handle.

“you cum when i fuckin’ tell you to. ask me if you can come next time.”

“‘m sorry vika! promise i won't do it a-again.”

“yeah, yeah. turn around.”

you whine at the loss of her mouth on you; it just feels so good. but you listen anyway.

you’re in doggy facing the headband with your back slightly arched as you look back at her behind you.

she lifts her shirt over her head; she has nothing on underneath, giving you a full view of her sculpted abs. you graze them with your fingertips, amazed at how beautiful she is.

“beautiful, gorgeous…” you state to her and your eyes meet hers once again, showing her you mean what you’re saying.

she huffs out in…shyness? she looks down at the bedspread below you two and she tugs down her boy shorts, throwing them next to all of the other clothes that are splayed out on the floor.

“gonna put it inside, alright? gonna make you feel it.”

you look forward and your eyes trace the design of your headboard, anticipating her cock pushing inside of you, anticipating the delicious pain.

she eventually does push the toy inside of you, bottoming out quickly.

she gives you a moment to adjust. you both are breathing heavily and your nimble fingers grip at the sheets, mouth forming into the shape of an o because she’s so fucking deep.

one of her hands comes up to force your face into the pillows. she starts to move her hips slowly.

“fuuuuck, doll. arch that back,” she can feel the slow grind of your hips on her clit as you press back into her and arch slightly.

it’s not enough for her. she presses her other hand into the small of your back to truly get it so she’s as deep as she possibly can go in this position.

“oh my f-fucking god!” you’re moaning into the pillows, still as loud as if you were screaming.

she’s sped up now, her plastic cock digging into you swiftly yet deliberately.

“yeah…arch that shit, gimme that pussy, baby.”

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” you’re still moaning into the pillow. you can feel every ridge, every detail of her.

your pussy twitches with need, your slick dripping down your thighs, cunt squelching and eyes rolling to the back of your head because of the rough way she’s handling you.

“can feel you around me, i swear. you’re so tight, baby, s-shit…”

she’s bullying your cunt relentlessly and her dirty talk is making you so unbelievably wet.

“you love this dick, don’t you? you love when i fuck this pussy, huh?”

“yes, vika! yes! just like that! love it!”

“say you’re sorry. say you’re sorry for being such a bratty little bitch.”

“hmmph!” you defy her, for fun perhaps.

she slows down tremendously compared to the pace she set before, giving you shallow thrusts to match your attitude.

“say you’re fuckin’ sorry or I’ll make sure this pussy never cums again. you’re only cumming from me, so you’ll do what the fuck i say.”

whew.

“c’mon, baby say you’re sorry so i can give you this dick. gonna make you cream on it so good if you just let go,”

she continues, “i know you want it… know you want it in your guts. know you want my cum in you," she's delirious.

gripping your hip with her free hand and your hair with the other, she lifts your head out of the pillow so she can hear you better.

you cave.

“i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry, baby. i promise i’ll be good! pleeease just fuck me! need you. need your cum…”

she leans down and kisses the small of your back, “see, now how hard was that?!”

she moves her hips at a faster pace than before, seemingly deeper as well. your face has found its way back down, voice muffled into the sheets.

“yeah, baby, take this shit—take it aaaaalll in this fuckin’ pussy. pussy’s so good for me.”

“oh f-fuck, ‘s so deep!” you look back at her once again. her teeth are biting into her bottom lip, hips snapping against your ass as she stares down at you wildly, watching the toy disappear inside of you.

you then meet her eyes, completely cockdrunk. you beg her again, “please v-vika… need your cum in my pussy. need you to knock me up.”

“give it to me, give me your cum! want it deep in me, wan’ it!”

she growls out, “f-fuck shit’s gonna make me cum.”

“fuckin’ pussy is sucking me in, gonna make me get you pregnant, baby,”

her hips are still pistoning into you, the room filling with sloppy wet noises and smacking skin.

“i’m b-begging you to let me cum, p-please!” you’re still looking into her eyes, kindly asking her for permission to soak her faux dick.

“who’s fucking you then? say my name, doll.”

“you, sevika! you!! you’re the only one,”

“fuck yeah, you whore. ‘m the only one that’s gonna be in this shit from now on. that’s right…”

“plea-”

“cum. i want you to cum on this cock, make it yours. cum all over it,” she’s thrusting against your g-spot as deep as she can with one of her legs on the bed and her hands on your hips. you have no choice but to just, take it.

her words cause the coil in your tummy to snap, your orgasm crashing down on you like a brick to your head. like if a large rock were to crush you and kill you instantly. it’s rough, it’s overwhelming.

“fuck!!” you scream through it.

“i’m cummin’ too!! not gonna pull out. i’m gonna put a baby in you, get you nice and full,”

“mhm!! yes!”

the combination of you urging her on and the pressure of her hips and your ass fucking back onto them causes her movements to stutter, “s-shit!”

her orgasm washes over her much like yours, both her hands on your hips making it easier for her cock to kiss your cervix and for her clit to feel it.

you both eventually come down from your highs. sevika pulls out of you and quickly yanks the toy off.

you’re still in the same position so she presses down on your back to get you to rest your body on the comfortable and soft surface of your bed. you’re expecting her to tug her clothes back on and leave, but she doesn’t.

she praises you for the rest of the night, rubs aloe gel on your ass to soothe the welts, and loves on you as if she’d never hated you in the first place.

“you did so good, baby.”

“i’m so proud of you, you’re amazing.”

“you’re so pretty… you’re mine now.”

…

needless to say… she’s ruined you for everyone else. your petty rivalry long forgotten and replaced with the feelings that you’ve both been hiding. and as you’re both waltzing into silco’s office for a second meeting, he’s hoping for but not expecting for there to be a change in your relationship.

he is stunned when he’s met with no more eye rolls, scoffs, and bickering.

‘wonder what’s gotten into the two of them…’ he wonders.

well, something has definitely gotten into you.

…

I AM SO SORRY I HAVEN’T POSTED!! finals are over so i am free from the shackles of college! (for now…)

hope you guys like it! tbh this took me forever because i couldn’t figure out the plot LMFAKOW😭😭

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mephisto-reporting · 1 month ago

Text

Hearbreak Anniversary with Rafayel

Summary: It was your anniversary with Rafayel. One year of togetherness. But what if he does not show up when you expect him to? What if he was spending it with MC? Pairing: Non MC! Reader x Rafayel Note: MC in this fic goes by the name Lina (my name... so if you are angry, you can be angry at me :3). This oneshot was based on this request. I will write this for the other LADS men too. Content Warning: Fear of abandonment, self worth issues, angst, hurt and slight comfort, Rafayel grovelling, Rafayel POV

The soft glow of the sunset filtered through the gauzy curtains of Rafayel’s studio, painting the space in warm hues of gold and orange. The place smelled faintly of him—a mix of turpentine, salt, and the faint trace of his cologne. You had spent hours here today, your hands busy arranging the decorations you’d so carefully prepared for this special occasion. Sea shells, shimmering like iridescent pearls, lined the edges of the room, their opalescent beauty a nod to the ocean he once called home. Candles flickered softly on every surface, their flames dancing to an unseen rhythm. You’d even managed to find strands of silken seaweed and glass ornaments, hoping to evoke the beauty of his heritage, the beauty of him.

Every corner of his art studio had been dusted, tidied, and then transformed with touches of magic, warmth, and care. You even placed the tiny trinkets and mementos you had kept from your shared moments—little souvenirs from your adventures together, knickknacks that held meaning between the two of you. You wanted him to feel at home, to feel the same sense of belonging that you had with him. You even wore your best clothes, the ones he had once complimented.

Today was your first anniversary. The thought alone sent your heart fluttering, and you’d poured all that love into this space, into this moment.

A few months ago he had told you this was just another day for him. A god’s sense of time was different, fleeting, perhaps even insignificant. But to you, it meant everything. It was a celebration of love that had somehow defied the odds—of a mortal heart tangled with one belonging to something far greater. So you ignored the whispering doubts that crept into the back of your mind, choosing instead to focus on trust. Rafayel had chosen you, not her. No matter how many stories tied them together, no matter the whispered inevitability of their connection, he had assured you. It was you he loved now.

But as the hours passed, that fragile trust began to tremble.

You sat in the chair by the window, smoothing down the dress you’d picked especially for today. Time crawled. The soft golden light of day gave way to a dark, yawning sky, and still, Rafayel didn’t come home. The anniversary dinner, meticulously prepared and carefully plated, sat untouched on the table. Each tick of the clock became a cruel reminder of his absence.

Worry gnawed at you. What if something had happened to him? Perhaps the art sale ran late, or he was caught up with his patrons. But he always came back home, right?

Your heart twisted as you reached for your phone, dialing a number you didn’t want to use but needed to.

“Thomas?” you asked hesitantly, your voice trembling.

“Oh, hey,” Rafayel’s manager greeted casually. “Everything okay?”

“Is Rafayel still at the sale?” You tried to keep the panic from seeping into your tone, but the silence on the other end was damning.

“Uh… no, he left hours ago. Said he was going to grab dinner. Lina was with him.”

Your grip tightened on the phone, your knuckles turning white.

Lina.

The name struck like a knife.

“Thanks, Thomas,” you whispered, hanging up before he could ask anything more.

You sat there, staring at the flickering candles, their light casting long shadows across the studio walls. He was with Lina. On your anniversary. You had trusted him, convinced yourself that you were enough despite the insecurities that had clawed at your heart since the day you met him.

But now, they came roaring to life.

You had known, of course, who Lina was. She was the one linked to the sea god, his past, his history—his heart. You tried not to let it affect you, tried to bury the insecurities that rose whenever she came up in conversation. Rafayel always assured you there was nothing between them. But then why was he with her, of all people, on your anniversary?

Tears blurred your vision as your chest tightened painfully. Lina.

She was everything you were not. Strong, beautiful, a part of Rafayel’s past, his first love. How could you compete with that? How could you compete with someone who had shared so much more with him, someone whose bond with him was carved in the very fabric of his existence? She was a part of him, woven into the his story, while you were… just someone who had stumbled into his life, someone insignificant in comparison.

Lina... The woman who was forever tied to his past. The sea god's bride. The one he’d loved for so long, the one who had always been there, time after time. You had told yourself, time and time again, that it was nothing. That Rafayel was different with you. He had assured you that there was nothing between them anymore.

But if it’s nothing, why is he with her now? On our day.

Your fingers trembled as you held the phone to your ear, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to ask any more questions. The answers were irrelevant now. His absence, her presence, they were all you needed to know.

Tears pooled at the edges of your vision before spilling over, streaking your face like tiny rivers tracing paths through dusted cheeks. It wasn’t fair. Nothing felt fair. He had promised you. He had promised. But promises were like ocean tides, weren’t they? Sweeping away whatever they could, leaving only bits of broken shells behind.

Lina was everything you could never be. She was strong, beautiful, powerful—everything that Rafayel deserved. She had the sea god’s heart, had always had it, and here you were, just a fleeting ripple on the surface, barely a mark to him. She was woven into the fabric of his past, his future. What are you to him? What have you ever been?

The memories of your relationship, the quiet moments of closeness, the laughter shared under the soft, flickering light of his candles, all those moments seemed so... fragile now. Fragile and fleeting. You were nobody. Just a distraction, a place holder. Nothing more.

You stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor like the scratch of claws on stone. The studio, his studio, filled with remnants of him, was suffocating. His scent lingered in the air, the faint trace of his cologne mixing with the oils and paints scattered everywhere. His taste still clung to your lips from the last time you’d kissed him, the memories of his touch branded into your skin. It was all too much. Too much. The studio, so full of him, was now a suffocating reminder of what you had lost. You didn’t want to stay. You couldn’t.

You tried to hold the tears back, but it was useless. Every doubt, every fear you’d bottled up over the months came crashing down, drowning you in their suffocating weight.

This wasn’t love. This was a cruel game, one you couldn’t win.

You couldn’t breathe. You had to get out.

Your legs moved before your mind could catch up, carrying you toward the door. The wind hit your face the moment you stepped outside, cool and biting, but it wasn’t enough to quell the storm raging inside you.

You ran.

The streets blurred into one indistinct smear of light and shadow as you ran aimlessly, your feet pounding against the pavement, carrying you farther and farther from that studio. From him.

Eventually, the pavement gave way to sand, and the sharp tang of the ocean filled the air. The moon hung high above, casting a silver glow over the beach. Your chest heaved, your lungs burning as you collapsed onto the sand, letting the waves crash against the shore in a soothing rhythm that mocked your turmoil. You kept running, further and further away from whitesand bay, along the beach.

You stumbled, falling to your knees in the sand, clutching your arms around yourself. Your chest heaved as the tears fell freely, the sound of the ocean mixing with your sobs. Lina. You could picture them together, her hand in his, the same way they had been for so many years before you. The seagulls cried above you, indifferent to your pain. And in that moment, you realized that the world didn’t stop for you. It never had. You stared out at the endless sea, the dark horizon stretching in front of you.

How could I have been so blind?

The waves crashed against the shore, each one louder than the last. You are nothing to him. The thought echoed in your mind over and over, relentless, until you could barely breathe under the weight of it.

And just when you thought the world couldn’t get any colder, the tears started again. They fell freely now, salt mixing with the salt of the sea.

You had wanted to be enough. But maybe that was a joke after all. But even as your body trembled with the weight of the heartbreak, you knew one thing: You could never go back. Not to him, not to that studio, not to any of it. You were just a wave, crashing onto the shore, and he was the sea god.

The night wrapped itself around you like a suffocating blanket. The cold air bit into your skin, but it wasn’t enough to numb the ache clawing at your chest. Each crashing wave seemed to echo the bitter truth you couldn’t escape: you were never going to be enough for him. You curled tighter into yourself, trembling as the tears continued to flow. The sand clung to your dress, to your damp hands, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The world had narrowed to the storm raging inside you—a tempest of betrayal, doubt, and misery.

The sharp chill of the ocean breeze whipped your hair against your tear-streaked face, but it was nothing compared to the icy grip of despair coiling around your heart. Every promise he’d made, every word of reassurance, felt like shards of glass now, cutting into the fragile hope you’d built. The waves surged closer, the cold spray dotting your skin. Your sobs mixed with the crashing tide, swallowed up by the vast, indifferent sea.

You hugged yourself tightly, your body shaking as the cold seeped deeper into your bones. Yet, you stayed there, rooted to the spot, as if the ocean could somehow wash away the ache inside you. But no wave could reach that far, no tide could touch the place where your heart ached. You wanted to scream, to shout at the world for the injustice of it all, but the air in your lungs wouldn’t let you. You were too small for this world, too insignificant for him. You would never be the sea. You were just a small wave, lost in the expanse of the tide.

Rafayel’s POV

The door to the studio swung open, and Rafayel stepped inside, laughter trailing after him. “You should’ve seen the look on that shopkeeper’s face when I said we’d take both cakes,” he said, his voice warm and light. He turned to Lina, who chuckled softly as she followed him, holding one of the carefully boxed pastries. “He probably thought we were insane.”

Rafayel kicked the door shut behind him, balancing his own box of confections, his grin still in place. “I can’t wait to see my cutie’s face when she tries these. She’s going to love them.”

But the moment his gaze swept across the room, his laughter faltered and then stopped entirely.

The studio was transformed. Soft candlelight flickered, casting golden hues across the walls. Seashells glimmered like scattered pearls, carefully arranged along the edges of the space. Strands of delicate seaweed draped like garlands, their green silkiness catching the light. Trinkets, small but unmistakably meaningful, dotted the surfaces—each one an ode to moments he had shared with you. The table was set with plates of untouched food, lovingly prepared, and the air held a faint, tantalizing aroma that now felt unbearably heavy.

He froze, the pastry box slipping slightly in his grip. His throat tightened as his eyes roved over every detail, taking in the love and care you had poured into the space. The decorations, the mementos, the effort—it was overwhelming.

“Rafayel?” Lina’s voice broke through the silence. She stepped forward, her brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” His voice cracked, and he set the box down on the nearest surface with trembling hands. “I fucked up,” he whispered, barely audible. His fingers grazed one of the seashells, its surface smooth and cool. He trailed his hand over a string of seaweed, the soft texture almost mocking him. “I fucked up bad.”

Lina’s concern deepened. “What are you talking about?”

Rafayel turned toward her, his expression stricken. “The anniversary. Our anniversary. It slipped my mind.” His voice was a low, shaky whisper as he glanced back at the table, the untouched plates, the flickering candles. “She did all of this… for me. For us.”

He called out your name, his voice echoing through the space. “Are you here? Cutie?” His steps quickened as he moved through the studio, searching. The bathroom. The bedroom. The small corner where you sometimes curled up to read. “Are you asleep?” he called, though he knew better. Each empty room was another blow to his gut.

Panic clawed at him as he returned to the main room, his gaze darting to the table again, the small trinkets, the soft glow of candles still burning. The room felt haunted, filled with the ghost of your hope and effort.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, gripping it tightly. He grabbed his phone and immediately dialed Thomas.

“Thomas, did she—did she say anything to you? Did she mention where she might go?” Rafayel’s voice was taut with desperation.

Thomas hesitated. “She called me earlier. She asked if you were still at the sale. That’s all she said.”

The weight of Thomas’s words slammed into Rafayel like a wave. You’d called, searching for him, only to learn the truth he had tried to ignore. It had slipped his mind completely. He didn’t know you were setting all of this up. For him. For the both of you.

“Thanks,” Rafayel muttered, ending the call and immediately dialing your number. He paced the studio, his heart racing as the line rang once… twice… three times—

And then he heard it. The faint buzz of your phone, abandoned on the sofa near the window.

“Shit!” Rafayel cursed, grabbing the device and staring at the darkened screen as if it could offer him answers. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He collapsed onto the chair you had once sat in, his head in his hands. Where were you? His gaze drifted to the table again, the untouched dinner, the carefully arranged decorations.

How could he have been so blind? So careless? You had given him everything, and he… he had been too wrapped up in himself, too foolish to see what truly mattered.

Lina hesitated before taking a few careful steps toward Rafayel, watching his every move with growing concern. She’d never seen him like this before. His usual confident, almost cocky demeanor had vanished, leaving only raw distress in its place. He sat slumped in the chair, his phone clutched tightly in his hands, his chest rising and falling with each shaky breath.

"Rafayel..." she began softly, her voice gentle but concerned. "What’s going on? What happened?"

Her hand brushed against his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, but the instant her fingers made contact with his skin, he flinched as though struck. His body jerked back, his eyes flashing with something wild—something dangerous. His eyes, usually a mischievous swirl of pink and blue, flared into a startling, unearthly bright blue before he clenched them shut, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice hoarse as he pulled away, his fists curling. “Lina, I—sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He forced himself to inhale deeply, reigning in his emotions as the scales receded and his eyes returned to their usual hue. “I’m fine,” he lied, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “I just... I need to find her.”

Lina’s hand hovered uncertainly before falling back to her side. “Rafayel,” she began gently, “her phone’s here. Her purse. Even her car keys. Where could she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” he snapped, the sharpness in his voice born of self-directed frustration. “And that’s what’s driving me insane.” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain could ground him. “She’s out there somewhere, without her coat, without her phone... and it’s freezing tonight.”

Lina straightened, crossing her arms. “Then let me help—”

“No.” His interruption was immediate, his tone brooking no argument. He turned to her, his expression pained but resolute. “This is my fault. I need to fix this myself.”

“But—”

“Please, Lina,” he cut in, softer this time. “If she’s out there, you’ll hear from me. Just… if you see her, let me know. But I have to do this alone.”

After a long, hesitant pause, Lina relented, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Fine. But don’t do anything reckless. I’ll keep my eyes open and let you know if I find anything.”

Rafayel nodded, murmuring his thanks before grabbing his coat and storming out into the night.

The cold air bit at his face as he ran through the streets, his breath forming short puffs in the frigid night. He clutched his phone tightly, the screen glowing as he swiped to a recent photo of you, showing it to every passerby he stopped.

“Have you seen her?” he asked a bewildered man on the corner. “This woman? Please—it’s urgent.”

The man shook his head, muttering an apology before hurrying off. Rafayel grit his teeth, suppressing the wave of panic threatening to consume him. Where are you?

The thought repeated like a drumbeat as he made his way to the beach. The icy wind off the water made him shiver, but he pressed forward, searching desperately. He called your neighbor, pacing along the shoreline as he waited for an answer.

The voice on the other end was soft, a little worried. “No... the lights are off. The door’s locked. I haven’t seen her since this afternoon.”

His heart skipped a beat, the silence that followed pressing like a weight on his chest. Where were you? Where could you have gone? You were working so hard fore him, for the both of you since the afternoon and he wasn’t even there to experience it with you together. He could imagine it, the smile on your face as you placed those shells, the excitement in your movements as you cooked his favorite food. His eyes darted to the horizon, a dark line of water stretching out before him, and his legs moved faster, pushing him toward the shore, toward the place where you sometimes went to escape.

The beach was empty when he arrived, the wind biting at his skin, the waves crashing softly against the sand. He scanned the shoreline, dread filling him as he searched. There was no sign of you, but his heart refused to let go of the hope that you might be here.

He walked for what felt like hours, the weight of the cold creeping into his bones as the night deepened. The autumn air turned chillier, the first hints of winter brushing against his skin. You hadn’t taken your coat. You hadn’t taken anything. What was he thinking? You’d never leave without saying something. So why was he—

His breath hitched as his gaze landed on something ahead. A small lump on the sand.

His heart stopped, the world narrowing down to that single, fragile form crumpled against the cold ground.

“No!” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. He ran towards you, his legs moving faster than they ever had before, fear propelling him forward. His feet barely touching the ground as he pushed forward, his every step frantic. He reached you within seconds, his pulse hammering in his ears. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he gently touched your shoulder.

“Cutie?” he called, his voice cracking. His knees hit the sand as he reached you, and his heart twisted painfully at the sight. You were curled in on yourself, your arms hugging your knees, your face hidden. Tear tracks glistened on your cheeks, even in the dim moonlight, and your body trembled from the cold.

“Shit,” Rafayel hissed, his voice barely a whisper as panic surged again. You were cold, so cold. Damp from the wet sand, your skin pale as if the very life had been drained from you. He pulled off his jacket, draping it around you as gently as he could, his hands still shaking.

Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t I see how badly she needed me?

He slid his arms around you, his heart aching as he pulled you into his lap, cradling you as though you might break into a thousand pieces. He brushed the strands of hair from your face, his thumb gently caressing your cheek as he whispered your name over and over, praying that you would wake up. That you would hear him. “Fuck,” he breathed, feeling a wave of guilt crash over him. “What did I do? What the hell did I do…”

But he couldn’t. Not now. Now, all he could do was hold you, his arms wrapping around you protectively as he rocked gently, trying to warm you, trying to make everything okay.

“I’m here, okay? I’m here. I’m so sorry, cutie.” he whispered, his voice breaking. His mind raced, but nothing could erase the hollow ache in his chest. The thought of losing you, of failing you—he couldn’t bear it. He wouldn’t. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words tumbling from him like a confession he had never intended to make. “I’m so sorry. I fucked up. I messed this up, I—I’m here now.”

He clutched you tighter, trembling with the weight of his regret. The wind cut through the beach, but he barely noticed, too consumed by the sight of you—so still, so fragile, in his arms. His mind raced, scrambling for something, anything, to fix this

Your eyes fluttered open weakly, barely meeting his. You were too exhausted to respond, your body utterly spent.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice unsteady as he gently tucked his coat tighter around you. “I’ve got you. I’m so sorry.” His thumb brushed the tear-streaked curve of your cheek, his chest aching at the evidence of your heartbreak. “You shouldn’t be out here. It’s too cold...not like this. Not alone,” Rafayel murmured, his voice thick with emotion. His hands trembled as he tried to warm you, his arms sheltering you from the relentless chill of the wind. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—” He broke off, his throat tightening painfully. Words felt so useless now, but he couldn’t stop them. He needed you to know. “I’m the biggest idiot in the world. I forgot something so important, something that should’ve been at the center of my mind.” His arms slipped beneath you, lifting you effortlessly despite your protests—if there were any.

Your lips moved faintly, but the sound was lost in the cold wind. He leaned closer, his ear near your mouth. “What is it? I’m here. Please... say something.”

“I thought... maybe you'd care,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. The words struck him harder than any physical blow ever could. He felt the sting in his chest, his breath hitching as guilt twisted the knife deeper.

“I do care!” he exclaimed, his voice desperate. “More than anything. I was just... I was so caught up in everything else, and I—I didn’t realize how much you needed me. How much you’ve always been there for me. I messed up, cutie. I know I did.”

You shivered against him, and he shifted to shield you better from the biting wind. “Let me take you home,” he pleaded, his voice softer now. “We’ll fix this. I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right, I swear.”

For a long moment, you didn’t respond, and his heart hammered in his chest. Finally, you gave the faintest of nods, your head resting against his chest. You shivered in his arms, your eyes fluttering shut again, too drained to muster a response. Panic surged in Rafayel as he felt how cold your skin was against his. He shifted, standing with you carefully cradled in his arms, his coat wrapped tightly around you.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he pleaded, his voice urgent but soft. “I need you to hold on, okay? Just a little longer. Let’s get you somewhere warm.” He pressed his cheek to your temple for a moment, as though the simple touch might reassure you—and himself—that you were still here with him.

Rafayel didn’t waste a second. He scooped you up gently, careful not to jostle you. The warmth of his jacket wrapped around your frame and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat seemed to soothe some of the tension in your body. He murmured quiet reassurances as he carried you, his voice a constant presence in the cold, empty night. His normally cocky demeanor had shattered into shards of raw vulnerability, replaced by a frantic urgency to get you home—his home. Your breathing was shallow, your limbs slack in his hold, and every uneven step he took felt like walking a tightrope with everything he valued most precariously balanced in his grasp. He adjusted his hold, cradling you tighter against his chest. “Look, I know I’m an idiot sometimes. Fine, most of the time,” he admitted, his words a jumble of nervous energy and shaky humor. “But this isn’t the time to prove me wrong, alright? Just hang on a little longer. I’m taking you home.”

By the time you reached the studio, the candlelight had dimmed, but the room still held the warmth of the love you had poured into it. Rafayel carried you inside. By the time he reached the threshold of his room, his shirt clung to him, drenched from sweat and your tears. He nudged the door open with his shoulder, careful not to jostle you, and hurried inside.

The room was cold and dimly lit, the heater long dormant. He set you down on the bed, fumbling with the blankets to cocoon you in their warmth. Your body trembled, and his chest constricted as he watched you stir faintly before slipping deeper into unconsciousness.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible at first, as if the walls themselves might condemn him. Then louder, more desperate, his voice cracking. “I’m so damn sorry. I was stupid—so, so stupid. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve kept you safe. Should’ve—” He stopped himself, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to stifle the sob building in his throat. His eyes flickered between his usual hues and that unearthly blue every now and then.

His hands hovered over your face, fingers trembling as he brushed damp strands of hair from your skin. “You’re too good for me, you know that? Too good for someone who screws up as much as I do. But I promise—” His voice broke, the words spilling out in a frenzied rush. “I promise I’ll make it up to you. Il love you, cutie. I love you so much.” And then, because even in his rawest moments he couldn’t help himself, he added with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle, “I am lucky I’m this charming, or I don’t think you’d ever put up with me.”

He turned on the heater, pacing back and forth as he muttered under his breath, berating himself in every way he could think of, his brattiness peeking through as he cursed the broken world that had led to this moment. He glanced at you repeatedly, as if reassuring himself you hadn’t vanished, that you hadn’t slipped through his fingers.

When you stirred, your eyelids fluttering open, he froze mid-step. His usual confident smirk was gone, replaced by wide, guilt-stricken eyes. “You’re awake,” he blurted, his voice filled with relief but tinged with apprehension. “I know I screwed up,” he admitted quietly, his lips brushing against your temple. “But—seriously, who let you do this to yourself, huh? Oh wait, that’s me. Fantastic job, Rafayel. Bravo.” He huffed out a shaky laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, sitting at your bedside. The words spilled out before he could stop them, over and over again. “I’m so, so sorry. This—this isn’t how it was supposed to go. You’re supposed to be mad at me, not like this. Not…” His voice cracked, and he scrubbed a hand down his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Then, almost instinctively, the mask of bravado slipped back into place. “But, hey, look at you, stealing my bed like it’s your right. I mean, sure, I offered, but still.” His smirk faltered, his voice softening. “You better not make a habit of this, you know? Making me worry this much.”

You shifted, your eyelids fluttering completely open, and the sight of your weary gaze meeting his nearly unraveled him.

“Raf?” Your voice was weak, barely audible, but it was enough to snap him upright.

“Hey, you’re awake!” He forced a grin, though it couldn’t hide the guilt pooling in his eyes. “Good, because I was just about to start serenading you with an apology song. Don’t ask for a refund… the lyrics are terrible.”

You tried to sit up, but he was on you in an instant, gently pressing you back down. “Whoa, whoa, no sudden moves, alright? Just... stay put for once. Let me handle it for a change.”

"Handle what?" you asked, your voice edged with exhaustion and confusion.

His grin wavered, giving way to something more honest, more afraid. “Everything. All of it. I... I screwed up, okay? I’m the idiot who let you get like this, who didn’t see—who didn’t stop—” His words tangled, and he exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you believe me. Or, you know, until you tell me to shut up. Whichever comes first.”

Your lashes fluttered weakly again, and a barely audible sound escaped your lips. “...Rafayel...?”

His heart soared and broke all at once at the sound of your voice. “I’m here,” he said quickly, leaning closer so you could hear him clearly. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as you looked up at him, your gaze heavy with exhaustion and something he couldn’t quite name—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. It cut him deeper than any blade ever could.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice a choked whisper. “I know that doesn’t fix this, but I swear, I’ll spend every moment making it up to you if you let me.”

For a moment, silence hung between you, broken only by the hum of the heater and the soft whistle of the wind outside. Finally, you whispered, your voice trembling, “I waited...”

“I know,” he whispered, his tears falling freely now. “You shouldn’t have had to. You deserve better than that, better than me—but I’m begging you, please give me another chance. Don’t give up on me yet.”

Finally, your voice, though weak, broke the quiet. “You forgot... something that meant so much to me.”

Rafayel’s throat tightened, but he nodded, accepting your words. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you. I’ll show you how much you mean to me. I love you,” he whispered against your skin, the words soft but raw with sincerity. “More than anything. More than I can even say. I don’t deserve you, but… please, let me try. Let me make it up to you.”

“Don’t leave me,” he repeated, his voice a breathless whisper, “Not like this.” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a moment, you could see the mask slip—just for a second. Rafayel was scared. Scared of losing you. Scared of failing you. It was the one thing he had never let you see, the one thing he kept locked away in the deep recesses of his heart, but now, it was clear as day.

As you looked at him, something shifted between the two of you—an understanding, perhaps. You could see his desperation, the way he clung to the edges of his composure, trying to hide the vulnerability he never allowed anyone to witness.

I thought... I thought this was everything I could give. Everything I could be..." your own voice cracking.

He shook his head again, his grip never loosening. “You’re so much more than all of this. I’ve been blind, cutie. And now I can see it—see you.” He gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as if to erase every doubt that had taken root there. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for making you feel invisible.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, the tears still staining your face, but the weight of his words was a strange kind of relief. He was here. He saw you now. The storm of emotions inside you hadn’t dissipated, but his presence, the raw sincerity in his voice, made you feel something close to safety.

Rafayel kissed your forehead softly, the gentle pressure of his lips a tender promise. “I’m here, cutie. And I’ll do everything I can to make this right. You won’t feel invisible again.”

You nodded slowly, the tears still flowing, but there was a flicker of hope, however faint. "Just... don't forget again," you whispered.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice firm, but his eyes were full of vulnerability. "I won’t. Never again."

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes closing as if you were too weary to respond. But when Rafayel reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours, a faint squeeze answered him. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was enough—a thread of hope that he clung to with everything he had. For now, you didn’t pull away, and that was a start.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

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slut4jeon · 4 months ago

Text

Company (jjk)

Pairing: brothers bsf!jk x fm!reader

Sypnosis: Your longtime crush who happens to be your older brothers best friends walks into you humping your pillow to the thought of him

Warnings: 18+ smut, unprotected sex, dry/pillow humping, nudity, reader has an IUD, etc…

Note: hey yawl it’s been a while… if anything sounds off jus so yk it’s not proofread :)

You’ve always carried a long crush for your older brothers bestfriend Jeon Jungkook.

Your ages being separate by 2 years, you’ve always remembered the chicks your older brother Taehyung would sneak into his room after a night out meanwhile your parents slept peacefully in their room.

As of now, this carried onto his current college days. Attending frat parties along with his best friend since childhood, Jungkook.

Your heart ached to be seen as nothing but Taehyungs younger sister to jungkook and others known to him. Especially when after those late night outs you’d come to find a chick wrapped around Jungkook’s meaty arms. You wanted jungkook to see you as a woman who harbored deep feeling for him.

And so, your decided to attend the same college as your brother. It not being that far off your home moving onto campus was not required. Unlike jungkook whose family had moved farther off from town your parents gladly took him in. Knowing him since he was a little boy they allowed him to crash in taehyungs spacious room.

This only made your crush on him worse, you were too shy to even start a conversation with him. Despite your shyness he always acknowledged your presence, never making you feel left out or ignored. Your interactions with him were limited, and every convo was initiated by him with little teases and silly remarks. He’s such a kind guy, no wonder your lingering crush only heightened with him staying in your home.

Classes were over for you and generally Taehyung was always the one to drive you home considering he had a car. A sudden message from him vibrates your phone you carry in your palm.

3:52 pm taetae: not on campus so I asked jk to give you a ride home today

great.

pulling into the campus parking in his car was jungkook, “hey, tae asked me to drive you back home for today he’s out so he’ll be back tomorrow” he said with his silver pierced charming grin

“hi, thanks for driving me back home” you said with your typical shy demeanor as you made way into the passenger seat of his car

“don’t worry about it, sweets”

oh.

That was the nickname he’d given you many many years ago cause of the constant snacking of sweets and candys. He payed notice to that then coining you the nickname “sweets”

You turned your head faced to the direction of the window to hide the rosy cheeks he gave you from pet name

Too shy to keep the conversation going jungkook spoke, bringing up school and asking about your classes. All came to an end once he pulled into the driveway of your home.

“Your brother won’t be back today, he’s spending the night with jennie today”, jungkook said while opening the refrigerator to get a class of water.

dammit.

You thought to yourself. You’re parents are out at work and don’t arrive til 9pm. So that means it’s just you and Jungkook for the meanwhile. What a mess, you figured you were gonna stay locked in your room for the remaining time until your parents got home.

“Well, I’m just gonna work on my assignments due tomarrow…”

“Alright, I’m off to the gym. In case anything happens feel free to call me, okay?”, the tattooed man said.

The muscular man did go to the gym everyday though. Usually around 4:30pm for about at least 2 hours.

“Okay” last thing said between you two before grabbing his gym bag and making his way out the door.

“Hey Jungkook?”

“Yea?”

“Thanks for looking out for me”, this time you held onto the eye contact made between both irises. Making sure to illuminate your gratitude to him.

He offered you a grin from his silver pierced lips, “no problem, sweets”

You could not get Jungkook out of your head. It was impossible to focus on your assignments without thinking about the tall raven hair tattooed man with the bunny smile. He lingered your mind, causing stress.

Closing your MacBook and tossing it aside you decided to relieve this aching stress that invaded your mind but also the lingering ache between your legs.

You rid yourself of your clothing only remaining in your cropped tank and underwear.

Positioning your pillow between your legs in which your body hovered over you made onto your pillow searing yourself upon it.

Arching your back and you rocked your hips back and forth onto the wrinkled textured fabric of the pillow. The lacy panties you were currently wearing added to the ecstasy. Following the flow of movement adding friction and pressure to your needy clit.

“mhhpp, fuck” gasping out while you retracted your head back then forward.

The layered front strands of your mid length hair covered your face due the continuous movement of your head. Tucking them back behind your ear once again.

“j-jungkook! s’good, feels so good…” you desperate whined as you chased your high.

Gripping onto the pillow leaving your knuckles white due to the pressure of squeezing while leaning forward.

Your pillowy nipples lacked attention, your fingers latched onto the buds from the outside of your tank. You weren’t wearing a bra so the thin shirt was the only separation between your calloused fingers and hardened buds.

Getting rid of your shirt and panties you were bare entirely. Your only audience being the plushies corner of your bed watching the show you gave them.

Is what you thought, too oblivious and deep into your own world to have heard the sound of the car pulling up into the drive way, to have heard the sound of the front door opening and footsteps. To have noticed the presence of the same man whose name you constantly let slip past your moaning lips watching you reach your high on your pillow at the thought of him.

He watched your ass jiggle at the rapid movement of your hips, along with the movement of your breasts The way your face contorted into an expression of pleasure with your teeth biting onto the plump of your lips. The sight in front of him had his length twitching in the gray sweats he changed into before leaving the gym.

“g’na cum, please let me cum…fuck jungkook need it so bad!” you desperately expressed.

At the final rock of your hips you released, a shivering orgasm causing you to rip a pitched whine.

The movement of your hips lessened as you rode out your orgasm. Tired and worn out after that workout your head began to wander off.

Until.

“Quite the performance you showed off there” your heart dropped

There he was. The same man that you’d been rubbing your pussy against your pillow at the thought of watched you get off.

“Jungkook!” you wanted the ground to swallow you whole at this very moment.

Quickly grabbing into your discarded clothing at an attempt to cover your bare body. Unaware of what to say in explanation to the presence in front of you.

“I-I…”

No words could come out or your mouth as you watched Jungkook walk towards you with a darkened expression.

Removing the piece of clothing from your grip at attempt of concealing yourself. His eyes remained at your bare figure. Tempted at the sight of your hardened nipples, goosebumps covered your skin.

“Fucking hell, look at you. Getting off to the thought of me? You’re so damn cute…”

The eye contact made you aware of the glint in his eyes, a message he was trying to convey.

“Jungkook?” you quietly questioned

“You gonna let me do what I want with you, hm? Is that what you want?”

Your eyes remaining in contact with his glistening ones, you nod your head in response.

That was all it took from jungkook to commect your lips with his. Hungrily capturing your mouth, sloppily stuffing his tongue down your throat causing him to groan and you to whimper at his roughness.

“Open your legs, baby. Show me how wet your pussy is”, you obeyed and showed him your glistening folds lathered in your cum.

Taking his tattooed hand and gathering the substance on his fingers he brought them to his mouth. The taste of your discharge coated his tongue as he cleaned it from his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re as sweet as your nickname. You sure live up to it”, he said as he continue to lick clean his slick coated fingers.

Your fingers inched towards the hem of his sweats, encircling the strands of the waistline.

“What is it you want, sweets?

“You.”

“Take me out, baby” fuck, that practically confirmed to you he was hiding a big package under there.

Lowering his sweats his hardened cock sprung free from the confided layer of fabric.

Taking his length in your palm toward your warm mouth to lubricate it with your saliva. Jerking him off in a up and down motion earning you grunts and groans from him.

“Just like that, fuck…keep doing that n I’ll cum” he gritted out.

Pushing you onto the soft surface of the bed you watched as he removed his clothing. You admired his muscular physique, the gym really did pay off.

“Are you really sure about this?”

“Yes, I’m sure” confirming.

“Condom?”

“It’s okay I’m on an IUD, I’ll take an after pill tomorrow”, reassuring him

He hovered over your body, hiding in the crevice of your neck to leave a few pecks while aligning his length to your heat.

Your chest heaved deeply as you exhaled, the slight burn of his size rubbing toward your tight walls ignited pleasure.

“mhpm! j-jungkook..” wrapped arms on his back as he thrusted in you, increasing the pace as you let out more moans and whimpers.

“I know, baby…ya’ feel so good, so warm n’ tight”, he cooed.

At sudden movement his arms then wrapped around your thighs hoisting you up while the relentless abuse to your cunt never stopped.

“Ahh! f-fuck! Jungkook!”, Now in the standing missionary position, he was in deeper than you’ve ever experienced. The motion of his hips thrusting at an unforgivable pace, all that was heard was the sound of his balls smacking against your sopping pussy filling the entire room.

“shit, m’ gonna cum”

“m-me too..” your climax right on the edge.

With that both of you reached your highs, his thrusts began slowing down to ride out the climax. Both the mixture of your cum riding from his abdomen down his leg.

Laying you down on the soft surface of your bed with his cock still soft in you. Enjoying each other’s company as you laid in his embrace.

“Jungkook, are you gonna tell?” you innocently say with genuine concern written on your face.

“Now why would I do that? I’ve been waiting for this moment for quite a long while now. Why? Do you not want this?”

“No, I do! But when you say you’ve been waiting for this moment for quite a while now, what outcome do you expect to come from this? Taehyung will find out sooner or later and it’ll get messy.” your questioned further anticipated his response.

He let out a sigh, “you see sweets, I’ve envisioned this moment to occur, I’ve gotten off at the thought of you just like you showed off earlier. I want you just as bad….” he admits.

“I don’t see you as just my best friends younger sister, I see you as much more”

“Jungkook?” fuck, he’s worried. What if the feelings are mutual as what he initially believed they were? What if we only meant it to be a quick fuck?

“Hm?” Oh well.

“I see you as much more too”, you don’t know where this sudden burst of confidence came out but this weight you’ve been carrying has been lifted after your confession, you feel more at ease.

Both your gazes locked in with one another. Both leaning into each other as your mouths then mounded into one.

The kiss was deep and passionate, although you both have confessed your mutual feelings for each other, there’s something different about it. Feeling more as acceptance and comfort.

“The things you do to me y/n, you don’t get it”.

“You’re mine, all mine”

Pt 2?

#jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook x female reader #jungkook x reader #bts imagine #jungkook fanfic #bts imagines #bts jungkook #jungkook #slut4jeon

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princessbellecerise · 4 months ago

Text

Baby Blues

Summary ✩ After six months of being married, you and Cregan are still struggling to conceive, leading to you becoming insecure and slightly jealous in your marriage

Warnings ✩ Angst, jealousy, mentions of infertility and pregnancy, self doubt, insecurity, happy ending though

Notes ✩ This is based off of a request and I hope I did it justice. I did put a little twist on it just to make it a little extra angsty but enjoy!

Cregan pulled the covers back and grinned.

A little over a month had passed since your last moon blood, and now that a safe amount of time had gone by, he felt excitement fill him at the idea that you were finally with child.

The two of you had been trying ever since you got married six months ago, but it seemed that the Gods had not yet deemed you fit to be parents. It’s something that’s worried both you and Cregan, as it wasn’t like there was a lack of trying between the two of you, and the Maesters said that you both were healthy. Realistically, your belly should be swollen by now but it just hadn’t happened.

Now though, Cregan felt a sliver of hope rise in his chest. Beside him, you shifted and rolled over sleepily to see why your husband had taken the covers from you. You were cold, but once you saw what he was looking at you immediately warmed up.

“It still hasn’t come,” You realized, fighting a smile. Your heart beating a little faster as you saw the clean sheets.

“No. No it hasn’t,” Cregan, trying and failing to conceal his own grin, said. “It’s been next to two months now.”

“Which could mean nothing,” You chewed your lip, reminding him that sometimes a woman’s blood could be late. But Cregan chose to be optimistic.

“Or…”

You squealed as suddenly, your husband pulled you into his arms and peppered kisses all over your neck. Laughter filled your chambers as you tried to push him away, but Cregan held you firm, his hands gentle as they pressed against your belly. “Mayhaps my seed has finally taken.”

“Mhmm. Well, we’ll see about that,” You said cautiously, not wanting to get your hopes up until you knew for sure. More time would need to pass before you allowed yourself to truly believe, as the heartbreak of your moon blood simply being late would be devastating. You were already worried that something was wrong with your womb and the longer you went without getting pregnant, the more that worry grew.

Over the next few days, you held caution close to your chest as a way to shield yourself in case Cregan was wrong. In case this time was just false hope like all the others, but as the days went on and suddenly it became a month and two weeks without getting your moon blood, you caved.

You and Cregan couldn’t stop grinning the moment you finally revealed to the Maester what was happening. It was too early to be one hundred percent sure, but he assured you that it was a good sign and only time would tell. Despite this, Cregan insisted on celebrating the incident, claiming that there needed to be a feast held to honor the coming of a new heir. Your husband was so excited that you didn’t even have the heart to dissuade him, admittedly excited yourself.

As the Lady of the castle, you made the plans and collaborated with the Maester to send out invitations. And within two more weeks, all of the nearest houses in the North were gathered at Winterfell, happy and merry as they celebrated you and Cregan.

It was a lively feast, and definitely the most exciting event in the North for a while. Cregan had insisted on having the best ale present and the best food, as it was summer and their stores had extra to spare.

You had never seen your husband so alive; so filled with happiness and joy as he drank to his new heir. Of course, you were being moderate and only stuck to cider or water, but you didn’t mind. At least you’d be sober enough to remember this night, and the way that it filled you with such love to see everyone so happy.

To you, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from your shoulder and the fear of disappointing Cregan and the North faded. You knew it was silly, as Cregan had reassured you many times that he’d still love you even if you couldn’t provide him with a child, but fulfilling your duty had been drilled into your head since you were born and now you could rest.

You were pregnant, hopefully, and your days of waking up and feeling like a failure were over. That night, you ate, you laughed, you toasted to your unborn babe and you held Cregan tight when later, he whispered to your non-existent baby bump.

“Helloooo thereeee. I’m…I’m your father,” He slurred while you laughed, unable to help yourself as you knew he was one hundred percent piss drunk.

“My love, I think we should be going to bed so you can sleep this off,” You told him, but Cregan waved you off and rested his head on your belly.

“Just…just a minute,” He told you, and he seemed to sober up a little as a small sigh left his lips. “I wanna…I wanna say a few words to our little wolf.”

He pressed a delicate kiss to the exposed skin and nuzzled your belly with his nose, pausing for a moment before continuing. “It took…it took a while for you to get here, didn’t it? Your mother and I…we were worried. I thought…I thought that maybe there was something wrong with me at first and that’s why you didn’t come, but I’m glad to know that me cock still works.”

“Cregan!” You were both amused and a little surprised to hear that it was him he blamed for such a wait, not you. You never realized that your husband felt responsible for not being able to conceive these past few months, and it both saddened your heart and made you feel less alone to know that he carried the same guilt on his shoulders.

“It was no one’s fault the babe took so long,” You reassured him gently, running a hand through his hair. Cregan sighed at your touch, leaning into your lap as he nodded.

“Aye. It just seems like our little wolf is stubborn is all,” He smiled.

He finished off his speech with a few more words of love to your belly, and the entire time you felt yourself smiling bigger and bigger. By the time Cregan had finished, finally stumbling into bed and grumbling about a headache, you were sure that your cheeks were going split from smiling so much. Words couldn’t describe how full your heart felt, how much you were overflowing from sheer happiness and joy. Everything you had ever dreamed of was coming true and it was all because of the little babe growing in your belly.

“Good night, my little moon,” You smiled as you placed a hand over it, almost as a way to protect them as you fell asleep. Sometime during the night, you felt Cregan’s large hand doing the same, and together your warm hands protected your little miracle.

—

The next morning, you woke up with the sun shining on your face. Yawning, you reached over to say good morning to Cregan, only to find the bed empty.

He must have gotten up early, you thought with a frown.

You thought about yesterday, about how carefree and happy your husband had been. He was so excited to know that he was getting another child, excited that little Rickon would have a younger sibling to protect. You were sad to think that he now had to focus on his duties again, but what could you do?

Duty never waits for anyone.

Trying to shake off your disappointment, you cradled your stomach and sat up in bed. After stretching and taking a small sip of water from the pitcher your maids had left you, you yawned again and threw the covers back.

Your eyes widened.

“Oh Gods. Oh no, no, no!”

You scrambled up in a panic as tiny dots of blood stained your sheets, your eyes wide and your stomach dropping to your feet. Horrified, you placed a shaking hand over your mouth as denial flooded your veins—but the proof was there plain as day.

“No. No, no, no! This can’t be happening,” You whimpered, falling to your knees as you touched the satin material.

How could this be possible? You hadn’t…you hadn’t bled for two months, and now all of a sudden your moon blood decided to show up? After everything…the feast, Cregan’s speech last night…

You shook your head as tears blurred your vision. Utter rage and devastation seemed to fill your heart as you sobbed, clutching your stomach as your whole body shook.

Both shame and embarrassment washed over you, knowing that the womb you cradled was empty. All those celebrations, all the toasts and the speeches that were given…it was for nothing.

You weren’t pregnant, and just like that you were back in the same position you were when you first arrived in Winterfell.

Scared. Heartbroken when your moon blood still came after the bedding. Terrified as the thought of being barren and unable to bare Cregan another child haunted you.

All of a sudden, those fears came running back to you and it made you want to throw up. It made you want to shout and scream, ask the Gods what they hated you so much as to allow this.

Why? Why have you all cursed me? Why won’t you let me bare my husband’s child? Am I not good enough? Am I just not meant to be a mother?

No, no. It couldn’t be true. Despite what the Gods thought, you refused to believe it. You didn’t want to believe it, not willing to accept that you had let Cregan down, again.

Gods, and he had been so excited to be a father again. You knew that he always wanted a big family, but sadly his first wife had passed away in childbirth. It had taken him two years to remarry, and now he was stuck with only one son and a second wife that was probably barren.

A cruel fate he had been dealt, really.

And now, as you stared at the droplets of blood staining the sheets, an ugly feeling crawled its way through your chest. Something that felt akin to jealousy, which you knew was ridiculous and borderline sinful.

It was an ugly, awful thing to envy a dead woman—and you swore to yourself that you never would. You knew how much Cregan loved you, and you were mature enough to know that one person could hold love in their heart for two people. Still though, you just couldn’t help yourself.

Arra might have died for it, but at least she gave him an heir. I cannot even offer him anything, You thought bitterly.

The realization just made you cry harder, wondering if when Cregan found out he’d lose his patience with you. You wondered if your husband would curse the Gods as you did; ask them why they’d taken his perfectly good wife away from him and cursed him with a barren one.

You knew that he wouldn’t, as deep down you knew your husband was not that kind of man. Grief however had skewed your mind, and it made you not think straight as you scrambled up.

Wiping your tears, you leaned over the bed and tore the sheets off with one pull. In a frenzy, and motivated by the desire to not let Cregan see them, you stuffed them deep within your closet and sobbed.

You don’t remember when you dressed yourself, or when you even left the room, really.

All you knew was that everything felt like a blur, the whole world passing you by as you aimlessly wandered through Winterfell.

You don’t remember what you were even looking for or why, but eventually you found yourself somewhere that surprised even you. In the hallway of an abandoned corridor, staring at the portrait of Cregan’s late wife.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to go there, or to even stay once you realized what it was. But something kept you rooted to your spot, and you found yourself entranced as you stared at the artwork.

Arra was beautiful, that was for sure. She had long dark hair, common amongst the Northerners, and big blue eyes that seemed to stare at you accusingly.

From what you’d heard from Cregan, she was his childhood sweetheart. Kind and generous, your husband had once reassured you that she’d love even you, when you were once worried that her ghost would somehow blame you for stealing her husband and child.

“Arra was a gentle soul,” Cregan explained, “And she’d love you for the simple fact that you make me happy, and that you are going to be a wonderful mother to her son and his siblings.”

Now, you wondered if that would still hold true. You had failed at the last part, and surely once Cregan found out, the happiness he once found with you would fade.

You wondered if then Arra would still be so accepting of you; a woman who had stolen her husband and her child and couldn’t even do anything to keep him happy.

It haunted you to think so. Sent a burning feeling through your chest. A feeling of failure. A feeling of jealousy, that this woman had given your husband everything you’d ever wanted to give him and more. A feeling of sadness when you realized that she had died for it, and now her place had been taken by someone as useless as you.

A few hours later, that’s where Cregan found you. Staring at the portrait of Arra Norrey, crying your eyes out over a dead woman, his late wife, and the babe that never even existed in your womb.

“Y/N?” Cregan approached you cautiously, alarm and panic in his eyes as he saw you sunken on the floor. You hadn’t know it yet, too caught up in your grief, but you’d been missing pretty much the entire day and no one had been able to find you since this morning.

The sun had long set, and just when Cregan felt like he was about to lose his mind, he remembered one last place he hadn’t checked. A place he used to visit all the time when he was a child, hiding and sneaking away with his now late wife. But he hadn’t had the heart to visit since she died, not until the possibility of you being in danger arose.

It was here that he found you, and immediately your husband rushed over to you, taking you into your arms and inspecting you for any signs of danger as you cried.

“What has happened? Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Somehow, you managed to force the word out, shaking your head as you tried to quiet yourself. You hadn’t meant for him to find you like this, honestly you hadn’t. You’d meant to go find him hours ago and tell him the news, but you were stuck to this spot and you couldn’t move. The entire day you’d been paralyzed with grief and it was obvious you weren’t okay even though you tried to convince him you were.

“I’m fine, Cregan. Really,” You told him, but of course he didn’t believe you.

He reached a hand out to touch your face, wiping your tears as he set his torch down. The new angle allowed you to see his face better, to see the worry and the panic and the grief.

You curled into yourself even more knowing that you had probably caused it, and knowing that you were about to add to it even more.

“Y/N, what happened?” Cregan demanded. He was perplexed. “Why have you been down here the entire day? It’s nearly midnight. We’ve been searching for you for hours. Everyone was worried, I was going out of my mind thinking that something awful had happened to you! And the babe—”

Cregan suddenly paused as you began to cry harder, his eyes wide as you cradled your empty womb. Something in his head seemed to click, an awful thought he’d never even considered before rendering him weak.

“Gods. Has something happened to the babe? Is that why you disappeared?” Cregan panicked, and you couldn’t stop the plethora of tears that slid down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” The dam broke, and you launched yourself into Cregan’s arms as his face turned to horror. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Cregan, I…there is no babe,” You explained to him, and you watched as his expression hardened.

“My love, what are you talking about? What has happened to our child?” He demanded to know. You held your head shamefully.

“The sheets, Cregan,” You told him softly.

He paused. “What?”

“I bled.” The confession left a bitter taste in your mouth, Cregan reeling back in shock. “My moon blood…it came this morning while you were out. I took the sheets…so you wouldn’t know and I…I wanted to tell you, I swear. But I just…I didn’t know how and I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me,” You whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

You looked away, afraid to see his face. Afraid to see the disappointment and the anger that was sure to come. Afraid to see the same accusing stare that Arra wore.

You averted your eyes, because you didn’t think you could bare watching the moment your husband realized that you were a failure. That it was you all along and not him that couldn’t conceive a child. It was your womb, your body that was preventing his happiness.

You didn’t think you could watch the moment all of it faded away.

“Y/N…”

You flinched as Cregan’s hand gently grabbed your face, making you look at him no matter how hard you tried not to. His rough, calloused fingers stroked your cheek, and he looked awfully gentle for a man that should’ve been angry beyond belief.

“My love, look at me. Look at me, please.”

You blinked, and all of sudden you were gazing into his eyes, one blue and one brown. Both of them looked soft and warm, Cregan sighing as he shook his head.

“You will never be a disappointment,” He said firmly. “Not to me. And I don’t want you to ever think such a thing. You are a good wife—”

“Who has failed you time and time again, Cregan,” You sniffled, “It has been six months, and I have yet to fall pregnant. You already have a son, so we both know it is me. I…I’m the one that keeps disappointing us. And I don’t know what to do anymore. I just…I just want to give you a child already. I want to be just as good as Arra was.”

Cregan had been stabbed before, cut from navel to collar and yet nothing in the world was as painful as watching you break down in his arms, desperate for the child you did not have.

It made him feel helpless to see you cry, and he hated that feeling. Hated that there was nothing he could do except for hold you, and offer you sweet words in hopes that it would soothe the ache.

“And you will. One day, you shall bare me another child, but if the Gods have decided that it won’t be today then so be it. We’ll try again and again until the time is right, and if that time never comes then I’ll still be with you every step of the way,” Cregan whispered.

He rested his forehead against yours and stared into your watery eyes. In the dying light of the torch, he could see the way they danced with a thousand emotions, each one more devastating to see than the last.

“You will be a mother one day my love, but please, do not compare yourself to her,” He continued. “Arra bore me a son, yes, but she gave her life for it. I would rather give Winterfell to my uncle Bennard than to see you perish for a child as well. I cannot…I cannot bare losing you too. Do you understand?”

You could hear the pain in Cregan’s voice, the unspoken truth that he’d rather you never be a mother than to have you leave him as well. It made your heart ache at the thought of never having your own child to share, flesh and blood and bones made from your love.

It would haunt you to the end of your days, but dying and leaving your husband alone in this world would destroy you even more.

You nodded. “I understand,” You told Cregan softly.

The warm fire light died down as you held one another in that corridor.

Nevermind that half the castle was still looking for you; in that moment, you only wanted your husband, his presence the only thing that could soothe the aches.

As Cregan’s strong arms and soft words comforted you, your eyes turned to look at the portrait of Arra. You wondered, if in her final moments she felt the same comforts as you did—content knowing that no matter what happened, she’d have a husband who would be there for her until the very end.

You hoped that she had.

—

In the morning, Cregan declined seeing off his most loyal bannermen, keeping his promise of being by your side whilst you visited the Maester.

You were shaking, undeniably terrified for what he was going to say, but you kept your head high and held onto Cregan’s hand the entire time he examined you.

You told him of your bleeding last morning, and how it had seemingly stopped today. You confessed that you hadn’t been feeling the usual symptoms of morning sickness or fatigue, but your breasts were sore and your appetite seemed to have increased.

Your body was an endless maze of confusion and it put you through emotions you weren’t even capable of understanding. You didn’t see how the Maester could either, really, but you supposed that he was used to these kinds of things more than you were.

After you had answered all of his questions, you braced yourself, squeezing Cregan’s hand as you prepared for the Maester to tell you what he thought.

And to your utter surprise, he merely smiled.

“Bleeding from the womb for a day or two is rare after conception, but possible. The fact that it’s gone away is a good sign, My Lady,” He reassured you.

You felt Cregan gripping your hand tighter as a flurry of emotions filled your body. First, you were shocked. Then you were relieved. And slowly, the grief that had been eating away at your heart faded, and you felt the tiniest bit of something else bleed through.

Hope.

“You mean…?”

You didn’t want to say it out loud, for fear of maybe being wrong, but the Maester seemed to catch on and nodded his head.

“Yes. Gods willing, there should be a new child of Winterfell in about seven months,” He confirmed. And then he added, “Congratulations, My Lady. My Lord.”

He bowed to you and Cregan before leaving the room, also sensing that the two of you might like some privacy.

And he was right.

As soon as the door shut, Cregan pulled you into his arms and let out a shaky breath. You didn’t even have to see his face to know that your husband was smiling, and when you hugged him against you—hard—you could feel warm tears wetting your neck.

“D’you hear that? We’re having a baby,” You laughed in disbelief while Cregan chuckled, sniffling as he kissed alongside your jaw.

“I never doubted that we would,” He said honestly, and all you could do was hold him tighter, your own tears slipping down your cheeks.

“No. No you didn’t.”

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark #cregan x reader

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gh0stsp1d3r · 5 months ago

Text

Babyproofed claws

req: I was thinking with Logan/Wolverine where he ends up having a little girl with the reader and for a while like a few months/a year she doesn’t show any signs of mutation until one day they see little baby claws come out of her hand🥹 like they don’t hurt her like Logan’s does since she was born with it. And reader loves her even more and reassure Logan that she’ll be okay and that nothing will ever change. So mostly fluff but a little smut at the end pile be amazing! Like not necessarily a full smut just like sexual tension about “baby number two” hoping they have reader’s mutation

Req by @supernaturalstilinski

Warnings: fem!reader, it’s said logan wasn’t born with his claws (not canon, swapped it out to better fit request) , I did tweak the end a lil, dad!logan not proofread, fluff mostly

MASTERLIST | KOFI

Throughout your pregnancy, Logan’s mind was consumed with worry for the entire nine months as he wondered if his mutation would affect her. The thought of her experiencing the same pain as he did terrified him, and he was willing to endure it a million times over again to spare her.

Everything went smoothly for a year, her first birthday a few weeks ago. He thought that she was safe, he thought that by some miracle, both of your x-genes hadn’t passed onto her. He should have known he was wrong.

It started off as a normal night, him waking up earlier than anyone else, padding over towards the kitchen in an oversized jacket and sweatpants. He turned on the tv, quietly letting out a grunt as he sat down on couch and sinking into the cushions.

He got a few minutes to himself before he heard little whines coming from the room, making him sigh, knowing his time was up. He stood up, to already see you standing up, groggily mumbling to her as you picked her up. You glanced up at Logan, murmuring a sleepy “goodmorning” to him.

He sits down next to you, gently wrapping an arm around you and kissing the crown of your head. You put your head on his shoulder, both of you staring at your cooing baby in your arms.

As she lifted her hands in front of her face, you noticed a small glimmer of metal in the dim light. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and Logan's eyes widened in surprise. He practically flew up off the bed, switching on the light to make sure he wasn’t going insane.

“What the fuck?” You murmured, quickly pulling her hands away from her face, making her face contort up and she began to cry.

Logan was speechless, watching you examine the small metal claws, glancing up at him again. His eyes lingered on her.

“No, this… what? How? Her x-rays were totally fucking normal.” He finally spoke, watching her curious eyes examine the metal claws, tilting her head to the side. You still held her arm away from her face, just as confused as he was.

He then watched her retract her claws back into her hands, his eyebrow lifting when she let out a giggle instead of a cry.

You sighed in relief when you saw it didn’t hurt her as much as it had Logan. “Lo,” you turned your attention back to the man. He finally turned to you, his expression unreadable.

“Calm down.” You murmured, noticing how his eyes were about to pop out of the socket and his veins were about to bulge out of his skin.

“Calm down? Seriously? You’re gonna tell me to calm down? Our baby-“

"She's fine, okay? Look," you interrupted him and gestured towards her, causing him to look back at her once more. She was peacefully sleeping in your arms, and you carefully placed her back down in her crib. Logan stood with his arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head in disbelief.

“This still doesn’t make any fucking sense.” He spoke, sitting on the bed next to you again.

“She developed it late.” You replied, cocking your head to the side, as both of you gazed at the crib. “But for some reason, It didn’t look like it hurt for her.”

“But how? I mean,” he choked out a laugh, “her skeleton is probably covered in fucking metal, and there’s fucking claws retracting in and out of her skin, and god only knows if she has regeneration. That shit is gonna hurt.” He raised his voice at the end, you turning to him with a glare when you saw her stir. “Sorry, but it just doesn’t make fucking sense.”

“I know that, logan.” You snapped, glancing at him. “None of this makes fucking sense. But lo, she’s our baby, we just need to help her. Love her.”

He held his face in his hands, shaking his head to himself. You sighed, wrapping your arms around his large frame, kissing the blade of his tense shoulder.

“Everything will be fine, she will be fine. It’ll all work out, Lo. It always does.” You murmured quietly to him.

He shook his head, mumbling “Fuck,” with a bitter laugh. “I can’t even be a good dad.”

“But you are a good dad. Logan, that girl loves you like crazy. Nothings gonna change that.”

He stared back into the crib, thinking for a moment. “How are we supposed to explain to her that she’s different from everyone else? That she’s not fucking normal and it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself for this. And we’ll figure it out when that time comes. She’s a year old. We have time.”

He huffed, knowing you were right. You always were. He swore that being right was your mutation at this point.

She was peacefully asleep, mouth agape and chest falling and rising. A soft smile made its way onto your face, knowing that despite her mutation, you both would love her more than anything, you always will.

A few hours later, he was sitting with her on his lap, her giggling wildly with the small metal claws sticking out her hands, and Logan sticking foam on the top of them, baby proofing them for her, grumbling under his breath every time she kept jumping on his lap.

“There.” He murmured when he finished, watching her eyes go to the foam on her hands, making her eyebrows quirk in the way his usually did. He couldn’t suppress the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

His smile disappeared when her claws retracted, the foam falling down. He groaned in annoyance, after taking all that time just for them to fall right off, shaking his head.

“Damnit.”

Once she was put back in her crib, both of you laying in bed, you murmur out something that makes him quirk an eyebrow.

“Maybe our second one will have my mutation.” You thought out loud, him looking at you.

“Second one, huh?”

You smirked, and he just smiled back, shaking his head at you.

“That would be nice.” He replied.

#logan howlett xmen #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x y/n #wolverine x you #wolverine fluff #wolvie #james howlett x reader #james howlett #marvel #mcu #hugh jackman x reader #𓈒♡͙ೃ࿔ asks

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rambling-at-midnight · 5 months ago

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Please Come Home

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: You never realized how many places there were to hide in your apartment, but you’re pretty sure someone else is in here with you. Whatever they want isn’t good.

Word count: 3.3k

TW: home invasion, violence, curses as insults

Your spare key is missing.

Fuck. You always keep it in this drawer. Where the fuck is it?

When you told Jason he could just grab your keys to take your car instead of his bike to the store, you’d been relying on using your spare to lock up the apartment when you left for work. You never, ever moved it, but it was gone all the same. Did he take it instead of your keychain? Nope, that’s missing from its hook next to the front door.

When was the last time you used it? Not too long ago. Had you been careless about putting it back?

You text Jason, Did you grab my spare key?

Shit. You had to leave for work, like, five minutes ago, and you have no key to lock the front door.

At least you have a fire escape. You bolt the door from the inside, then slip out the window. You can’t latch it from the outside, but it’s a little harder to break in through the window than the front door.

You’re only two minutes late to your waitressing shift. Your manager swipes you in, lets you know that a server called out so you’ll be handling two sections today, and the host runs up to tell you that you’ve already been sat.

In the middle of the shift, when you have a minute to catch your breath, you check your phone. Jason had texted, No, I took your keychain. Is your spare missing?

I think I lost it.

I’ll look for it when I come home before patrol. Will I see you before heading out?

Not looking like it. Things haven’t slowed down at all.

I’ll see you when I get home, then. Don’t wait up.

I’ll have dinner in the fridge when you get back. Gotta get back to work. Love you

I love you, too.

A couple hours later, Jason texts that he has no luck locating your spare. Since he’s paranoid, he’s going out for a new lock tomorrow, but there’s important business with a drug ring that he can’t miss tonight.

That’s okay. It’ll be a pain to climb up the fire escape, but you don’t really mind that much. You’ve been meaning to get more exercise, anyway.

You finish work at six and the walk back to your apartment building is pretty peaceful. Unusual for Gotham.

It lulls you into a false sense of security.

You’re not really in the mood for leftovers, and not really in the mood to cook. You stare between your phone and the pantry. Takeout is easy. So is pasta.

With a sigh, you decide to spare your bank account. Delivery fees are getting ridiculous nowadays.

You text Jason just to see how his night is going. You’re not sure he’ll respond; sometimes, like during stakeouts, he turns his phone off completely so the sound or vibrate doesn’t reveal his presence. He doesn’t respond after a minute, which means he’s busy. You sigh and set down your phone, then change into comfier clothes. As soon as you’re out of your room, you grab a pot and box of pasta. You can’t sit down, or you’ll put off dinner for at least another hour.

The water is set to boil when you turn around to look at your phone, vaguely hoping Jason has responded by now.

Your phone isn’t on the counter.

You frown. You’re pretty sure you left it there.

Maybe it’s in the pantry when you grabbed the pasta?

It’s not.

You must have left it in your room when you changed. You check, and it’s sitting right on your bedside table. “Jeez,” you mutter, picking it up and slipping it into your pocket. After a long day, it’s okay to be scatterbrained, but this is a bit much.

Still no response from Jason.

You walk out of the bedroom to see that the stove turned itself off and the pasta water is barely warm. “Gotham appliances are such pieces of shit,” you mutter. You know what, fine. A shower and feeling clean will make you feel better to try again. The saying is that a watched pot never boils, but hopefully a watched Gotham stove never turns itself on and off randomly while you cook.

The apartment’s a bit chilly, so you take your pajamas with you into the bathroom and sit under the water spray until all the grime of the day washes away. It’s a bad habit, but you bring your phone with you in the shower to scroll through social media until your skin starts to get pruny. You step out, wrapping the towel around yourself in a vain attempt to stop shivering, and… your pajamas are gone.

The pajamas that you’re sure you took with you. You distinctly remember putting them on the sink counter.

And now they’re gone.

Something clenches in your stomach. You text Jason, Hey are you home yet?

He doesn’t respond right away.

Jay, this isn’t funny.

Still nothing.

Is it possible you forgot to bring the clothes with you? No, you distinctly remember the thought process.

Someone moved them, and you can’t think of s single reason anyone you know would do that. That kind of prank isn’t funny.

You text Jason, I think there is someone in the house with me. Then you try calling him.

You go straight to voicemail.

You bite your lip, trying hard not to panic. Jason never sends you to voicemail. He’s answered your calls in the middle of shootouts, voice strained, “Hey, kinda busy right now, is it an emergency?”

His phone is turned off, so who knows when he’ll see your texts. He might not turn it on again for hours.

You text your best friend, I think someone broke into my house. Don’t call me. Please help.

You chew on your thumbnail.

Either she calls the cops, or she shows up with a baseball bat and her scary-ass motorcycle dude boyfriend. He’s secretly a softie, but his appearance doesn’t match his personality.

He’s a lot like Jason, actually. Who would have thought you two had the same type?

You call Jason again.

Voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Your best friend texts, Omw. That’s it, but it’s the best text you’ve ever seen in your life.

Okay. Either cower in the bathroom until someone shows up, or play along with the same game the possibly-real-intruder is playing, that everything is normal.

No matter what happens next, you want to be dressed for it. You peek under the door, but you don’t see anyone’s feet.

Maybe this is all in your head, but you have a terrible gut feeling that it isn’t.

Your heart pounds, but you maintain a leisurely stroll into your room through the kitchen, palming a knife as you go, and locking the door behind you. The intruder may be in your closet, so you hold the knife out as you swing the door open.

Empty.

You throw on the first clothes you see and debate hiding in your room until your friend arrives. But adrenaline is pumping and you think you might shake out of your skin. You sit on the edge of the bed and take deep breaths.

There’s a window in your room, but it only opens three inches and it’s not connected to the fire escape, so that’s not an option. The window that leads to the fire escape is in the main room, so you’d have to walk through the kitchen to get to it, and the intruder may be hiding in the pantry.

You could try the front door, but the storage closet is right next to it: another likely place for someone to hide and jump out at you.

Your room is only as safe as the strength of the door. And the wood is pretty thin.

All of a sudden, your phone buzzes, and you drop it. You snatch it up to see an incoming call lighting up the screen with your boyfriend’s handsome contact photo.

You accept the call immediately. “Jay?”

“I’m on my way,” he rushes out. You hear the roar of his motorcycle in the background. “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.” You whisper, “I think someone is here.”

“I know.” His voice is strained. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be fine. I’m five minutes away. Can you get out?”

“I don’t know. I’m in my bedroom, I locked my door. I think he’s hiding somewhere in the apart—”

A hand shoots out from under the bed and grabs your ankle.

You scream.

Your phone flies away when he yanks you off the bed. You go down swinging with the knife and make contact, accidentally swiping your own ankle in the process. The man grunts with pain and lets go, and you scramble to the door. You don’t even feel the pain in your ankle, although you’re actually bleeding a lot.

He’s wriggling out from under your bed when you get to your feet and twist the doorknob. “Get the fuck out of my house, you fucking pervert!” you scream. You yank the door open and run…

Right into a stranger’s chest.

There are two of them?

An iron grip clamps over your shoulder. His other hand fists in your hair. “Well, hello, pretty. You’re not the Red Hood.”

You stab him in the stomach.

Unfortunately, that only makes him mad.

“You bitch,” he groans. The slap is so powerful it nearly breaks your neck. You can’t breathe for a second, and then the first man catches up to you. His hand is bleeding. Like, a lot. They transfer you over so the stabbed man can groan about being stabbed. It’s only in his gut, so he should be fine. “Walk it off,” you goad. It’s the Gotham in you.

The first man digs his bloody knuckles into your cheek. “Fucking whore cut me,” he says. “Where’s the Red Hood?”

“He’ll kill you both,” you spit. “He’s on his way to shoot you in the head.” The threat should have scared them, but they were dumb enough to break into the Red Hood’s apartment and beat his partner. They had not been blessed with many braincells.

“Good,” he says. “He’ll get here just in time to see his pretty pet die.”

Someone pounds on the door and everyone freezes. Fear flashes over their face, but Jason wouldn’t have knocked. He would have kicked the door down or gone through the window.

Your best friend calls your name through the door. She’s trying to sound casual, but things are so far past casual.

The man holding you sees you draw in a breath to scream. “Don’t you dare,” he warns. “Do it and I’ll kill them, too.” The barrel of a gun presses to the side of your head.

Where is Jason?

You don’t think he’ll get here in time. He doesn’t deserve to carry the weight of that failure, but he will. Your Jay thinks he’s responsible for every bad thing in the world.

The man’s ugly face explodes.

You register the concussive sound of gunfire half a second later. Your ears ring. You lose your balance.

More gunfire. It’s so loud all you can do is cover your ears. Who’s shooting who?

It stops as suddenly as it started, but you don’t look up. You can’t hear anything. You don’t want to see their ugly faces anymore.

Then hands grab you again, and you shriek. Your kitchen knife is still buried in the second man’s gut, so you have no defense. A man with a gun is going to kill you in your apartment.

Despite all your attempts at fighting, he’s too strong. Iron hands pry your hands away from your head, but you still can’t hear anything. Your ears are still ringing too loud. Your eardrums might have burst.

Then gloved hands cup your cheeks.

You know those gloves.

Jason is kneeling on the ground in front of you, absolutely frantic. His mouth moves, but you don’t hear anything. You don’t even hear your sob, but you definitely feel it right before you throw yourself at him.

Strong arms wrap around your back. Jason cradles you, hugs you so tight you can’t breathe, tries to hide you from anyone that might hear you. You still can’t make out his words, but you’re beginning to hear a muffled voice.

You’re sitting completely in his lap, his legs behind you to support your back. You cling to him, trying not to shake. You’re a pretty unflappable Gothamite, but a home invasion is enough to rattle anyone. You’re supposed to be safe here.

Jason pulls away just enough to kiss your forehead. His green eyes squeeze tight like he’s in pain, and a single tear slips from the corner of one.

You wipe it away.

Jason wipes the blood on your cheek away.

You read his lips when he asks if you’re okay. You nod. You’re alive, and that’s what matters.

Jason holds you still when you try to look around. He says something that you can’t read. He must know that you don’t understand, because he just uses one huge hand on the back of your head to pull you forward. His mouth presses against your forehead, not quite a kiss, just relishing the connection.

You hear the banging first. Then you hear the shouting.

Oh, God. Your best friend.

You scramble out of Jason’s hold so fast he can’t stop you. You stumble past two dead bodies, both with three bullets in their heads. The floor is ruined beyond belief.

Jason helps support you. He needs to touch you somewhere to reassure himself that you’re okay, that you’re alive. You unlock the door, and barely open it a crack before your friend pushes it all the way open.

She gasps at the sight of you. “Oh, my God!” Her arms wrap tight around your neck, and you squeeze her. Jason’s hand remains pressed against your back. Her boyfriend stands behind her in the hallway, and he eyes Jason somewhat suspiciously. The two have never met before.

Your best friend pulls away, and Jason folds you against his side. His hand runs up and down your arm.

“Are you okay? There’s blood all over you.” Her eyes drift past your face and land on the bodies on your floor. Her mouth tightens, but she doesn't scream or call the cops immediately.

“It’s not mine,” you say faintly. “Well…” You look at your ankle. “Most of it.”

“Jesus,” says Jason. “They did that to you?”

"I did it to myself," you admit. "But I stabbed that one." You point.

He kisses the top of your head. "I'm going to teach you how to defend yourself. I never should have left you alone." Jason fixes your friend with a look so stern that she actually gulps. "Can you watch them for a little bit?"

"Yeah," she says. "I'll take care of them."

"Good." Jason takes your face in his hands. His eyes blaze. "I'll be back as soon as I can. You hear me? You're not gonna be alone ever again."

You nod numbly.

Jason carries you to the couch, then coaches your friend through applying pressure to your ankle. He gently places an icepack in your hand, then moves you until it's pressed to your numb cheek. Then he kisses you. Pulls back. Kisses you again. It's not sweet—he tastes like blood, or maybe you do—but it's firm, and it's real, and it's a promise.

He stands up and asks your friend's boyfriend, "You wanna help me with these?"

As far as you know, the other man's never hidden a dead body in his life. But to his credit, he hardly hesitates before nodding.

Jason's already calling someone when he walks out. One of his criminal contacts, you're sure. You don't know and you don't want to know.

They're gone for twenty minutes. You're still in shock when they get back. You know you're in shock, but you can't snap out of it. You don't think you want to.

He gently nudges your friend's hands away to peek under the gauze. "You want stitches for this, honey?"

You shake your head. The cut's too close to bone, and you don't want a needle going anywhere near your bones.

"Okay." He changes the gauze, then tapes it in place, then puts a sticky wrap over that. "I'll change this in the morning. You're gonna be okay."

"I'm glad you're all right," your friend's boyfriend offers. You don't know each other all that well, but he just helped hide two bodies that you and Jason killed, so he must be an all right dude. You nod, give him a shaky smile, try to wave.

Your best friend bends over to hug you. "I'm going to text you in the morning," she says. "You'll be okay with Jason. I'm so proud of you. I'm so glad you're okay."

You hug her back until she puts the icepack back in the freezer.

When they leave, Jason stands up from the couch. You make a pleading, confused noise in the back of your throat, and he smooths your hair away from your face. "I'll be right back, honey," he promises. "I'm gonna lock the door. No one's ever getting to you again, you hear me?"

As soon as he pulls away, you shiver. The only thing keeping you warm was his body.

True to his word, he locks the front door, then heads right back to you.

"Do you want to go to the bedroom?" Jason asks softly.

You shake your head. There was a man hiding beneath your bed tonight. It was worse than any monster you used to be scared of as a child.

"Okay," he says softly. Jason eases onto the couch, but he has so much bulk that it's impossible to lay side-by-side on your backs. Jason twists onto his side, and after a moment, you do too, using one of his massive biceps as a pillow. He smells like gunpowder. You smell like blood. You fit together like two terrible, violent puzzle pieces.

He kisses your forehead again. Pulls a blanket over the two of you, makes sure it's snug around your feet. You enjoy the fussing.

When he has nothing left to fiddle with, Jason sucks in a ragged inhale, then says, voice cracking, "When I saw those texts, I was terrified."

"I'm glad you checked your phone," you say. "For a while, I thought you wouldn't."

"I could feel that something was wrong."

Your throat hurts. "Did you mess up your mission tonight because of me?"

"Honey, I would do anything for you," he says. "I'd abandon a thousand missions to keep you safe. I'd burn this city to the ground."

Another night, you would remind him that he's a hero. That he fights for the greater good. That he is good.

Tonight, you take comfort in the vow.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispers. "You were so brave. You did so well."

Your fingers twist in his shirt. Your nose nestles into the hollow at the base of his throat perfectly, so you hear every breath he takes, every rumble in his throat when he talks. You press a kiss to his chest just above the neckline of his shirt, and his throat jumps.

Jason makes a strangled noise, then wraps his arms even tighter around you. He throws one leg over your hip, completely covering you, pressing you into the couch. You would feel suffocated if it was anyone else.

You fall asleep faster than you ever have before, secure that Jason won't let anything happen to you during the night. The last thing you register before unconsciousness is his dry lips pressed to your forehead again. Making sure you're alive. Reassuring you that he's here and always will be.

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

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@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

Let me know any requests you guys have or if you want to be added to a taglist!

#reader insert #jason todd #jason todd fic #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you

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alexiroflife · 7 months ago

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jjk men reactions to you saying they're annoying you first the first time...

gojo, geto, toji, sukuna

💫💫💫

satoru gojo: you're overstimulated. your reports from last week's missions are due tomorrow, and you had forgotten about them because you had to help Nanami with training a few of the first years over the past couple days. while you despise the thought of having to sit down and write those reports, you have no choice but to knock them all out tonight.

tonight, however, satoru happens to want to come over to keep you company. you comply, but something in the back of your head tells you that it's not the best idea: especially since satoru is infamous for posing as a distraction in any and all environments, even more so when you're within his vicinity.

you're sitting at your desk with your knee bouncing, head in your hand as you listen to satoru talk endlessly about the new mochi stand he found while he was out today. your pen stills on your paper, mind flipping between your boyfriend's voice and the work ahead of you. you're already agitated that you even have to be doing this so late at night, and satoru has either ignored or completely forgotten the last two warnings you gave him to let you finish your work peacefully.

you can feel your patience wearing paper thin, brows furrowed until they hurt and your teeth sinking into your gums. your last straw is when you hear him stop talking and shuffle across the room to you, lean figure bending over to peer over your shoulder boredly. "are you almost done yet?" he groans, head knocking against yours.

you snap. you move your head away with a frustrated sigh and look up at him with irritated eyes. satoru sits up suddenly, playfulness dropping from his face.

"satoru! for the last time, leave me alone! god, you're being so annoying," you shout, turning rigidly back around to stare at your paper harshly.

the blue eyed sorcerer beside you goes silent, eyes wide as he processes the fact that you've just yelled at him and said he was annoying you. he, your boyfriend, was bothering you.

do you hate him now? are you going to leave him forever? is there another man?

satoru's ever so dramatic with his dejection, his hands lowering slowly to his sides as he stares at you with a blank face, yet tortured eyes. he breathes in slowly, turning on his feet. "alright," he tries to accept casually, though you can hear the hurt in his voice. "i... guess i'll go home then."

you close your eyes and exhale. "satoru, you don't need to go home, i just need some quiet so i can focus."

"no, it's fine. i get it. i didn't mean to get in your way, i'm sorry," he shakes his head, dispirited. you hear the drop in his tone in comparison to how bubbly he had sounded just moments ago, and you immediately feel guilty.

you turn around in your chair, watching satoru linger in your doorway with a sad frown, head hanging low and hand on the rim of the door as he looks at you with big eyes. you scoff to yourself, opening up your arms and rotating your desk chair around to face him. “come here, you big baby.”

satoru trudges over to you pitifully, steps dragging before he gets on his knees before you and plops his head in your lap, arms wrapping around your waist. you roll your eyes and run your fingers through his hair and down his back. “so dramatic.”

“thought you were gonna abandon me,” he mumbles into your waist, voice muffled. you lifts his head to peer up at you through white locks with a small pout. “i didn’t know you found me so annoying.”

“satoru, i’m already annoyed because of this assignment, it was just that you constantly talking after i asked you not to made it worse,” you tell him softly, smoothing your thumb over his check.

his sighs and nods, eyes lowering in understand. “i’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes again, sincerely. “i just get so excited around you. and i want to spend time with you.”

“i want to spend time with you too, toru, that’s why you just gotta let me get this done and then i’m all yours. twenty more minutes, i promise.”

he kisses your thigh. “okay, of course.” he stands, leaning over to peck your lips, then once more. “i’ll be back, i’ll run to get you some snacks. that’ll keep me busy so i’m not distracting you for a bit, yeah?”

you hum. “thank you, baby.”

he squishes your cheeks up in his hands and kisses you again. “alright, good luck,” he grins. “and please don’t yell at me again, i’ll die.”

geto suguru: you love suguru with your entire spirit, but sometimes, he can be so judgmental.

he’s not aggressive with his comments, which aren’t even necessarily horrible within themselves, but it’s the frequency to which he does it and with no awareness of how the small things he says can make you feel.

it feels like there are times when he can’t comprehend the fact that there are certain things the two of you differently, different ways you go about conflicts, and even different interests or standpoints you withhold. while there aren’t many, suguru often finds a way to make the differences you do have seem endless when he’s saying something unintentionally condescending about the color of nail polish you choose to wear.

today, you’re on your period. you’re in pain, uncomfortable, and in a rather foul mood. you hole up into your room, curled up on your bed when suguru returns from the store, rapping gently on the frame of your door.

“hey, i’m back. got you some pain medicine,” he smiles and you grunt wordlessly. suguru chuckles, making his way over to you and setting the grocery bag onto the foot of your bed as he removes the contents. he leans over to rub your knee, craning his neck to catch sight of your face. “how we feeling?”

“like shit,” you hiss and he coos.

“poor baby.”

“sugu, i know i just asked you to get me crackers, but could you also run into the kitchen and grab the chocolate spread?”

suguru tilts his head in amusement. “you want chocolate spread with your crackers?”

“don’t question me, just do it please.”

he smiles. “yes ma’am,” he stands up straight to head for the door. “it’s in the fridge?”

“no the pantry.”

he stills, and though you’re not looking at him you can tell he hasn’t moved. “the pantry?”

you turn around and look up at him. “…that’s what i said.”

he purses his lips downward. “oh,” he says indifferently.

you know what’s coming when he makes that face, and you can feel your agitation rising. “what?”

“nothing, it’s just… I would’ve put it in the fridge.”

you glare at him for a long moment, tension laced silence rising in the air. “why is that?” you ask with an attitude.

suguru gives you a face when he picks up on your tone. “um… well since you already opened the container, you should put it in the fridge to keep ants from coming in.”

you press your lips together tightly. “oh really.”

“…yeah?”

you scoff, turning back over so your back faces your boyfriend. “you’re so annoying with that shit, sometimes,” you grumble under your breath.

“what did you just say?”

“i said i hate when you do that, it’s annoying,” you repeat loudly.

suguru’s completely perplexed, stunned that you would even say those words to him. he inches back into the room, brow raising. “what are you talking about, (y/n)?”

“nothing. go away.”

the dark haired man has never been immediately moves to the other side of your bed so he can look you in the eye. “don’t do that. look at me so i can talk to you.” you sigh loudly, flickering your hardened eyes up to the shaman. he sits down beside you and looks down at your face. “what’s wrong? what did i do?”

you shrug harshly, looking away again. “i don’t know, suguru, it just seems like you’re always trying to prove that your way is better than mine,” you say, vexed. “you judge the smallest things i do and it’s getting old.”

geto furrows his brows. “i don’t judge you.”

“you do, you just don’t realize.”

“then help me realize,” he says earnestly, hand landing on your arm gently. “please.”

you look into his hazel eyes and see that he is being genuine and you huff. “well, just now you had to ask me if the container was in the fridge or pantry so you could prove that you would’ve done something different,” you explain. “and other times, you’ll do the same thing in different circumstances and just judge my choices.”

suguru caresses your arm softly, moved by your revelation. “i didn’t realize i did that,” he tells you, his voice gentler.

“you do. sometimes it’s like nothing i do is right,” you frown, and suguru’s swimming in guilt.

“that’s not true, babe. not at all, of course i don’t think that about you.”

you soften slightly under his tone of honesty. “you don’t?”

“no, (y/n). and i never would. i guess sometimes i just talk without thinking. but for all the times i’ve made comments to make you feel like that, i’m sorry,” he apologizes earnestly. “the last thing i want to do is make you feel like i’m trying to be better than you.”

“…well you do…” you murmur, losing the grit that encouraged you to call him out in the first place.

“i see now,” his hand slides up to your waist. “i’ll try to catch myself more, okay? i won’t make you feel that way again as long as i can help it.”

“you’re making it hard for me to stay mad at you.”

he laughs softly. “that’s the goal, baby. i don’t like when you’re upset with me.”

you wave your hand around, relenting your frustration. “okay, fine, fine. i forgive you, now can you please go get that chocolate from the pantry?”

suguru stands, leaning over to kiss you cheek and brush your hair from your face. “will do.”

toji fushiguro: where to begin with this mf… toji’s forgetful. he has no concept of planning ahead or structure, leading him to constantly let things you tell him slip his mind. he’s just as unorganized with his thoughts as he is with his finances, and it drives you insane.

you’re sitting at the dining table scrolling through your phone, legs resting on toji’s lap as he sits in the chair next to you, rubbing your shins mindlessly while he goes through his messages.

you see an advertisement for a movie you’ve been telling toji that you want to see, which reminds you that a week ago you told him to order the tickets so that the seats wouldn’t fill up. the movie is in two days, and something tells you to check for a third time this past week to see if he has done what you asked.

you look at your boyfriend’s dull expression, screen light illuminating his face. “toji?” he hums distractedly. “did you get the tickets?”

“hm?” he still doesn’t look at you and you purse your lips, putting down your phone.

“the tickets.”

he looks up, brow quirking and lip curling. “what tickets?”

you can’t be serious.

“the tickets that I’ve been telling you to get for days? for the movie?”

he stares at you for a long moment, silence enveloping the room. you’re normally very patient when it comes to toji’s nonsense, but at this point, you’re getting sick of it. does he really not care to listen to anything you ask him?

he clicks his tongue, sniffing before looking back down at his phone and smirking in amusement. “shit, nah, i keep forgetting. i’ll get ‘em later.”

you glare at him in disbelief. “are you kidding me toji?”

he picks up on your irritated tone and glances back up questioningly. “it’s not a big deal, i said I’ll get ‘em later.”

“you’ve been saying that for days.”

“and i’ll get it done, baby, relax.”

“don’t tell me to relax. you never listen to anything i say and you’re always waiting until the last minute to do everything,” you kick your legs off of his lap and his brows jump in surprise. “you get on my nerves, i swear.”

“well damn,” he snorts. “where is this coming from?”

“from you constantly not listening to anything i ask you to do,” you sneer.

“i listen to you, sweetheart.”

“clearly not, or else you would have bought the tickets already.” you stand abruptly. “whatever, I’m going to take a walk.” you go to move around him, but he grabs your wrist and keeps you still.

“uh uh, hold it, mouthy,” he pulls you back to him so that you’re standing over him with an angry expression. “i really got you worked up over this one, huh?”

“use your brain and figure it out yourself.”

he whistles, shaking his head and yanking you down into his lap. “so much sass.” you stumble a bit before stabilizing, folding your arms and looking the other way. “you won’t even look at me now?”

“fuck off.”

“you got some mouth there, girl, I didn’t know you had it in ya,” he wraps his large arms tightly around your waist.

“toji, you’re making me more irritated.”

“alright, alright, i hear ya,” he grumbles. “i’ve just been busy with these jobs, you know they take up all my focus.”

“you could stand to focus a little more on your girlfriend from time to time,” you mumble.

“i know, i’m sorry, doll. that’s my job,” he agrees, pecking the back of your neck. “hand me my phone, i can buy those tickets right now while you watch me.”

you murmur incoherently, grabbing his phone and slapping it into his open hand by your waist. “if all the good seats are gone, you’re dead.”

he smirks against your cheek. “you’re kinda hot when you’re pissed off.”

ryomen sukuna: sukuna is your irritation personified. it’s hard not to be agitated with him or down right pissed when he has no regard for most, if not all, human concepts of decency.

and he’s so crude, everything he says or does has you whipping your head around in public to ensure that the police aren’t nearby to hear.

you’re actually out grabbing food with him when you reach your limit. you’re standing in line, sukuna’s arms folded and face firm as you scan the menu. just then, a man bumps into him from his left, trying to squeeze past to get to the other side of the cafe.

sukuna’s eyes sharpen as he slowly turns to look down at the pesk who dared to touch him, eyes slim with fury as the pathetic man apologizes profusely upon seeing sukuna’s frightening gaze.

“touch me again, and it’s your life,” sukuna growls, watching the man scamper away quickly in fear. you watch the whole ordeal sternly, then look up at your boyfriend in awe.

“sukuna, what the fuck?” you hiss, and he looks down at you out of the corner of his eye.

“the bastard touched me,” he says, as though that is explanation enough to threaten a random stranger.

“you can’t just go around and threaten to kill people over every minor inconvenience!” you scoff. “especially when we’re out of the house?!”

“are you attempting to tell me what to do?”

“oh my god, i’m not doing this with you right now,” you clench your jaw. “telling you to abide by basic morals isn’t me trying to ‘tell you what to do.’”

“and you should be fully aware by now that i do not care in the slightest what rules you humans live by,” he says lowly, your conversation barely reaching above a murmur.

“oh wow, the great lord sukuna doesn’t care? what else is new,” you quip sarcastically, turning away, furiously.

sukuna’s brows pinch together. “wanna repeat that, brat?”

“no, dick,” you bite. “fucking irritating ass.”

sukuna steps into you, glowering over your small frame while you avoid his eyes. “who the hell are you talking to?”

“who else?”

the king of curses scrunches the corner of his nose. he’s never heard you speak to him with such boldness in your tone. he wants to be angrier that you’re stepping out of line, but he can’t help but feel somewhat thrilled by it.

he leans down to speak lowly into your ear as you stare ahead stiffly, irritation consuming your mind. “keep this up, and you’re gonna be in trouble when we get home.”

“trouble my ass. you won’t do shit.”

and now you’ve done it.

sukuna’s suddenly smirking darkly, moving to grip the back of your neck tightly. the two of you are at the end of the line, therefore no one is behind you to see him reach and grab you. you stiffen, eyes sliding up to his. his crimson red irises shining with nothing but bad intentions.

“you’re talking a lot of shit today, woman. hope you still think you can run your mouth when it’s stuffed full.”

he’s insufferable, you think to yourself as your stomach tingles with anticipation.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #anime #jjk #jjk fandom #jjk season 2 #jjk x you #getou suguru x reader #toji fushigro x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk men

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majestyeverlasting · 5 months ago

Text

the moments in between

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Joel and Ellie arrive at the Jackson commune, his strong frame and intense gaze captivate you. But as the days pass, you lose hope that he might be drawn to you as well. That is, until the walls come crashing down and the truth finally reveals itself.

Word Count: 7.3k [slow burn]

A/N: I put a lot of love and time into this one. It's my longest fic so far but it didn't feel hard, which I like to believe is a good thing. Hope it resonates, hope you feel the feels and the yearning between these two—let me know! Hope you're well.

A breeze follows Tommy as he saunters in through the doors of the Tipsy Bison, the soft click of his boot heels echoing off the wood with each easy step. The cowboy hat on his head casts a shadow over his eyes until he takes it off, his dark hair cascading down over his ears. There’s a small smile playing on his lips that makes you narrow your eyes.

Cleaning the bartop suddenly loses its appeal, but you don’t stop, only slow down. The fresh, tangy scent of lemongrass continues to waft up from the motion.

“We close early on Sunday’s, officer,” you tease as he climbs onto a stool.

He frowns as he sets his hat aside. “I don’t look like a cop, do I?” You shrug, and he chuckles as his gaze roves over to the pool room. “Nate back there? Yo, Nate!”

“Evening, Tom,” the older man calls back as he polishes a cue ball.

“Joel’s made it into town.” There’s no overt emotion in the way he shares the news, but you can see that it’s all in his eyes as he waits for you to react.

“Joel, Joel? As in your brother?” He nods, still in disbelief himself. “Oh my gosh, that’s amazing, Tommy—right? What the heck.” He used to talk about him all the time.

His exhale makes way for a shaky smile, “I know. Made it in not too long ago with a young girl he’s looking after,” he tells you, voice thick with a mix of emotions. “He’s outside. Wanted to come in and see if you’d let us grab a drink.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Know it’s late. Promise I’ll make up for the trouble.” He knows it’s no trouble. Not when it comes to him.

He turns around, barstool squeaking, and waves Joel in through the window.

You move to start working on their whiskies. “Make it up by letting me be the baby’s godmother?” The glasses clink as you set them onto the bar and begin pouring the caramel colored liquid, smirking when you meet his gaze.

Tommy isn’t completely opposed to the idea. You’d been in Jackson since the beginning, a friend to him and Maria in every sense of the word. Arguably family. “If you can manage not to tick me off until the little one gets here.” Despite his words, his eyes are fond.

The door creaks open, and Joel strides in, scanning the room. There are pictures on the walls of American icons and landmarks, and old Polaroids of commune members. There’s a guarded confidence to the way he walks, an intensity.

Tommy quickly leans in and whispers, “He means well. It’s been a long day.”

Joel takes a seat beside his brother and acknowledges you with a curt nod, tugging on the collar of his shirt.

“Welcome to Jackson,” you greet, introducing yourself afterwards.

“Joel,” he says, taking you in with a steady gaze.

“Tommy’s told me a lot about you.” You push their glasses closer to them in an encouragement to start drinking.

Joel takes his first sip and fights back a reflexive grimace. It’s been a while, but it's good. Good enough to make him feel pleasantly warm as it glides down. Tommy drinks off his brother’s lead, and you realize just how alike they look. Joel’s hair is a little shorter and accented with streaks of gray, but they both have those same dark, telling eyes.

They fall into light conversation, but it’s clearly not what they'd talk about if they were alone. That’s when you sense the distance. The slight edge to the space between them. It’s why Tommy resorts to drawing you in, the two of you ripping off each other as Joel listens, fine with not having to speak until this whole little ordeal was winding to an end. However, he does sit up a little straighter whenever you laugh. You pour them more whiskey when their glasses get empty.

Eventually, the remaining light outside fades away. Tommy hisses at the sight, standing. “I gotta get home to Maria,” he says, stretching his back. Joel moves to get up too, until, “At least finish off this glass, man. You’ve earned it.” Tommy squeezes his brother’s shoulder. He means it genuinely, at least. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, Joel. Thanks again for this,” he tells you.

“Bye, sheriff,” you call after him. Tommy scoffs.

Joel realizes just how quiet it is when you move aside to tinker with a bison trinket sitting on the counter, unsure of what to say with Tommy gone. He knows you can see him looking at you. “So, are you here by yourself?” he finally asks.

A playful smile tugs at your lips. “That’s not a creepy question at all,” you tease, quickly gathering that he doesn’t find the implication funny. “Uncle Nate?” you call.

“Busy!”

You raise your brows at Joel. “Not alone.”

Nate was chosen family. The man taught you everything you know about shooting, fishing, and survival even though you gave him a hard time for it when you were younger. He was also the founder of the Tipsy Bison. He only came into the bar on the weekends when he wasn't on patrol. His time in the military all those years ago made it hard to step away from a life of service.

“We were cleaning when Tommy came in,” you tell Joel. He takes in that information wordlessly.

“You aren’t much for talking, are you?” Joel takes a sip from his glass. “Nothing wrong with that. Must mean you don’t miss much. Really observant.” When he doesn’t respond, you smile shyly, realizing he probably just wanted to relax after a long day. “Guess I won’t stand here and talk your ears off.”

The floor creaks as you disappear into the recreation room with Nate, rounding the corner. Joel exhales, shoulders dropping from being drawn up. He almost misses your company.

Nate sits hunched over a word search puzzle, using the pool table as if it's a normal desk. He doesn’t look up at you, even when you give an affectionate tug to his curly gray ponytail. It was something you’d been doing since the days you both were out on your own and had to stay quiet all the time. Back when there was no safety, no security, no commune.

“Ouch,” he drones, unphased.

“Are you gonna come out and meet Tommy's brother?” you ask, low so Joel can’t hear. “I feel like you guys have a lot in common: brooding and grumpy.” Pride flutters in your chest when the man’s lips twitch.

“I’ll meet him… eventually. Gotta finish this puzzle.” You realize there’s a small hourglasses going, the sand swiftly filling the bottom portion. “There ya are—serendipity.” He circles the letters.

Word searches were something he recently started doing. When you have a past as extensive as his, it’s always chasing after you in one way or another. Especially in those quiet moments that sneak up on you. He claimed that seeking out words from amid an ordered chaos keeps the racing thoughts at bay whenever they come rushing in.

Joel is finished by the time you join him again, and you realize he’d waited instead of calling out. Already standing, ready to go.

“Anything else I can get you?”

He shakes his head. “I appreciate your hospitality.”

Joel turns to leave but you keep talking, “So I reckon Tommy already squared you away with a house and a tour of the town?”

He stops. “I’m across the street from him. Gettin’ the tour tomorrow.”

“That’s great, I’m really glad you found us.” You sound so genuine that there’s a flutter in his gut. “We’re a pretty crazy bunch, but I think you’re gonna like it here.”

“Hope so.” Those are the words he leaves you with.

Your eyes stay trained on his back as he makes his way towards the door, stride the same as when he first arrived. Perhaps a little looser. Before he exits the bar, his eyes catch a glimpse of one of the decorative license plates secured to the wall: Austin, Texas.

Shortly after he makes it outside, his heart rate ticks up in that impending way he wishes wasn’t so familiar, breath catching in his throat as if he’d forgotten how to breathe. There’s no escaping the panic as it sets in, surging through him. A few staggering steps allow him to brace a hand on a wooden directory board.

You see it all from inside. At first, you think he’s trying to read the sign, but then he hunches over more and grips his chest. Without thinking, you jog towards the doors.

“Joel?” You call once you’ve broken outside.

It’s a cool spring night, a crescent moon shares its pale glow from above. Most of Jackson is already tucked away inside or at least halfway there. But in this sliver of time, it feels like it’s just the two of you outside. Joel doesn’t let on that he’d heard you, but the moment you’re close enough, you recognize what’s going on. You press your palm to his back to let him know you’re there. That he’s still here.

“Concentrate on your breathing. In and out, just like that,” you encourage, settling on rubbing his back in measured passes. Then you go quiet on the off chance he needs that.

In your newfound silence, Joel is forced to focus on the shaky breaths rising from his lungs. That’s when he accepts he’s not in control. Not in the grand scheme of things. There’s a whole big fallen world just outside the gates of this haven. A world that had taken people he loved and was cruel enough to let him be the one who lived to tell the tale. The heat that rises to his cheeks is made up of frustration more than distress, crackling like pop. Like coals.

The ground takes on a vignette as he stares at it, his vision briefly closes in. You never withdraw your touch.

When his breaths eventually begin to steady, you remember how to breathe yourself. With a tired exhale, he straightens back up to his full height, and you take a few small steps away. Maybe this wasn’t new, but a fact of life for the man who’d rode into Jackson in an air of mystery and a young girl by his side. Maybe he never wanted you to get a glimpse at this side of him. If he feels that way, he doesn’t make it obvious. He almost looks appreciative that you’d bothered enough to care.

“Sorry to scare you,” he rasps, not meeting your gaze even though he can feel it. You want to tell him that there isn’t much that scares you anymore. At least that’s what you like to believe. “I’m usually alone.”

Except, tonight, he wasn’t. And maybe that wasn’t such a terrible thing.

•••

Howdy Stranger

This is Jackson Hole

The last of the Old West

Joel reads the painted wooden sign as Tommy and Maria show him and Ellie around. There are people everywhere. Children playing outside, adults fluttering in and out of shops. All while the Teton mountains loom and watch over it all with their snow-capped peaks. He looks over at the girl when she nudges his arm, pointing to a Calico lounging on a porch. Despite her beaming smile, all he offers is a low hum.

It was hard to be in the now when his thoughts were split between the past and future. Up until Jackson, there was no such thing as stability, and he couldn’t help but think about the day that the rug would be pulled from beneath the commune as well. Ellie’s smile fades when she notices the harsh squint of his face. He kicks himself for it.

“Cat hater,” she mumbles under her breath.

Joel grunts and directs his attention back to his brother.

When the tour comes to an inevitable end, Ellie sings Jackson’s praises after Tommy and Maria go their separate ways with a promise to reconnect later that day. He lets her talk as they make their way back to their new house, idly agreeing every once in a while. A few curious eyes fall on them as they walk, but Joel doesn’t pay them any mind.

“Dude, are you even listening to me?” Ellie stops walking to give him a flat look.

“I hear you,” he insists. “Been hearing you for the past ten minutes.”

There’s no snark in his tone, but Ellie still feels the slight sting of offense. “Well, sorry for being excited about having a nice place to live for once. It’s not like I was born into hell or anything—I mean the Boston QZ.” Sarcasm drips from her voice as she starts walking again, faster so it looks like they’re not together.

Joel swallows down guilt like it’s just another pill. His legs are long, so it doesn’t take much to catch back up with her.

“Hey…Kid…Ellie.” She keeps ignoring him. “This is new for me too, okay? Everybody’s got a different way of processing, can we agree on that?” It’s a fair enough proposal. He never had been forward when it came to sharing his thoughts. “Wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmurs, deciding to take a break from her rambling for his sake. The mutual silence isn’t so bad.

Someone he isn’t expecting to see is you. You’re wearing a backpack and ushering a line of young kids into the community center. One of the little girls stops and stretches her arms up towards you, earning a playful eyeroll before being lifted onto your hip. Joel doesn’t miss the way the afternoon sunlight catches your face.

•••

The next day, a faint thump against the door startles Ellie as she sketches in the dining room. Rather than getting up from the table, she remains still, pencil in hand and brows furrowed. Upstairs, the spray of the shower continues as Joel lets it drown out everything else. Three light knocks eventually sound, and she musters up the courage to scurry to the front.

She peeks out the window first, spotting you. Someone she hadn’t seen around. An amused smile pulls at her lips at the way you’ve seemingly wrestled the big basket you’re holding into a better grip than before.

When she opens the door, you let out a relieved sigh. “Special delivery,” you say before introducing yourself.

“That’s a really pretty name,” she compliments, already warming up to you. “I’m Ellie—is all that stuff for us?” When you nod, she excitedly steps aside and ushers you in.

“I’m not gonna say you shouldn’t have because that’d be a lie,” she shamelessly admits. “You can put it right over here.” You follow her into the living room and place the welcome basket on the coffee table.

A few of the ladies you volunteer with helped you put it together after your shift counseling for the spring break camp. There were cookies, seeds, natural soaps, feminine hygiene products, and even a knit blanket that looked particularly soft and cozy. Ellie wastes no time reaching out to run her fingers over it. A laugh bubbles up your throat when her jaw drops.

“This is literally what clouds feel like.” She haphazardly pulls the blanket out the basket, wrapping it around herself like a cape. “If Joel says anything, this was specifically included for me.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt to share if he asked nicely,” you reason, amused. Ellie’s nose wrinkles. “But to be fair, we did think you’d be the one to really appreciate it.”

She smiles at being considered. “Who made it? This is, like, next level.”

“A woman named Emilia,” you tell her. “She actually made me one back when Jackson was first being built up that I still have,” you tell her, taking a seat on the couch and looking around. The evening sunlight pours in through the windows, casting golden streaks onto the floors. “Now she’s always got a few on standby.”

Ellie sits beside you, reaching out to dig through the other contents in awe. “They told us the commune's only, like, seven years old on our tour yesterday,” she recounts. Think you’ll have your blanket forever?”

“Forever’s an awful long time. It might hold up,” you think aloud. Ellie nods, contemplative. “I can take you by to meet her sometime, if you’d like. She’s the resident seamstress, so you’ll probably end up crossing paths anyways.”

“What about you? What do you do?” she asks, giving you her full attention.

“I mainly help coordinate community events. Been stepping in to assist with the youth spring break camp for the last couple days, though,” you say. “Also bartend on the nights that I feel like it. Just for fun, you know?”

Ellie's face lights up. “I’ve had whiskey before.” She puffs out her chest when she says it, and you play into her pride by raising an impressed brow. The first and last time you had a sip was when you snuck it from Nate as a teen. “But that’s really cool, though. The community stuff and all that.” You can tell by her tone that she means it. In more ways than one, you’re reminded of your younger self.

“Joel’s gonna join the patrol. He says I’m too young, but that’s just bullshit.” She says the last part lower as if he’s somewhere listening. “I’ll figure out a way to make him cave.” There’s an air of confidence to her voice that suggests she’s done it before. The thought warms a tiny portion of your chest.

“I’ve gone out with my uncle Nate a few times. It can be a lot,” you admit. “He just wants you safe, Nate’s the same way.”

As Joel stops at the top of the staircase, freshly showered, he catches those last words. He’d know your voice even if it’d been forever. His footsteps are quiet as he descends the stairs, but you hear him coming nevertheless. Ellie’s too busy sniffing the pine soap as you straighten up and glance his way. Joel’s eyes are as observant as you remember when they land on you, seeing into you, it seems. His damp hair is combed back in a way that makes him look more distinguished.

“There you are.” You stand up with a smile. You’d been wondering how he was doing since the panic attack.

He wishes your warmth wasn't so compelling.

Ellie whips around to look at him. “I know you said not to open the door to strangers—which is practically everybody at this point—but she’s really nice and brought us gifts so you can’t be mad at me,” she rushes out. He clocks the blanket around her shoulders.

He hmphs. “That’s how they get you.” He’s not being serious, but Ellie frowns, trying to read through his eternal poker face. “Treats and a friendly smile.” Your lips twitch in amusement as Ellie narrows her eyes.

When Joel starts walking your way, she consoles herself with the fact that he would've already asked you to leave if he sensed your intentions were off. The commune wasn’t filled with questionable people like that anyways. The two of them didn’t have to be apprehensive of every soul they came across anymore.

He’s close enough now that you can smell the cedar soap on his skin. “I’m not a stranger,” you lightly defend. “Not entirely.” You look from Ellie to Joel.

A wall rises in real time, shutting you out right along with the night you met. It happens in his eyes just like everything does. He hadn’t mentioned you to her, and it was your mistake for believing he would’ve at least passed on a name.

You swallow back a small lump in your throat that may not be entirely just. “Anyways, hopefully you guys will be able to put this stuff to use.”

“Of course we will,” Ellie pipes up. “Are you leaving already?” She hadn’t missed the finality that had crept into your tone.

You nod. “Don’t wanna take up too much of your evening. I actually meant to come by sooner.”

“Well, are you going to the dining hall for dinner?” Her gaze flicks to Joel. “Maybe you can come with us.”

Joel knows he’s in trouble when he hears the fondness in Ellie’s voice. It’s the same sentiment he was straining to tamper down within himself. Every time he opened his mouth or looked at you, it tried to claw its way to the forefront. The last thing he needed was another person getting close enough to see that he was a million tiny pieces being held together by the glue of whatever god was keeping him alive.

You decline her invitation, expressing plans to go to your uncle’s place. But you give her a rain check. When you go to leave, Joel allows his eyes to flitter down the rest of your body.

That wouldn’t be the last he saw of you. But it was always from afar, lingering on the outskirts. Wishing there was a seamless way he could fall into your orbit without sending everything spiraling out of control.

You were always looking right back at him with hope in your eyes, holding space. Waiting for your world to be shaken.

•••

Laughter, chatter, and music drown out the insects that usually take precedence at night. Weeks of planning had finally come into fruition. All of Main Street is lined with fairy lights that cast their warm glow down on the summer festival. There was no shortage of entertainment, games, and food. It was a time to let loose and relish the sweetness in the air along with that of life.

Nate plays his harmonica for a group of children around the bonfire, all clapping and stomping along. A smile graces your face as you walk by, waving at him. The fullness of your heart almost overrides the ache that has settled in the arches of your feet. You’d barely sitten down since earlier that morning when preparation began. There was a sense of responsibility that came along with the orange vest you were dawned in. The pressure to assist, and guide, and answer questions wasn’t all on you, but the other volunteers were better at taking breaks.

Tommy’s grainy voice breaks into the air through a megaphone, “Thirteen-and-up three-legged races starting in five minutes, this is your last call. Grab a partner and make your way over to the east lawn,” he says. “Again, this is the last call.”

Joel and Ellie already happen to be seated at a picnic table that gives them a perfect view of the race setup and Tommy facilitating in an orange vest of his own. Ellie had already worked through her first honey cake and was eyeing Joel’s. He pretends not to notice until she looks up at him all wide-eyed.

“Can I—” he slides his plate over to her. “Thanks.”

“Your eyes are bigger than your stomach,” he lightly accuses, shaking his head.

“What does that even mean?” She takes a bite. “Weirdo.”

Joel just grumbles and tosses a napkin her way. She wipes her mouth and keeps staring at him. Not because she’s waiting for an answer, but because there’s amusement sparkling in his eyes. Which happens more often now that they’d had a couple months to settle into Jackson. A laugh was coming, she could feel it.

“Quit gawking at me and eat.” There’s a tell-tale waver in his voice.

“No.” Ellie lightly kicks his shin beneath the table and that’s what sets him off.

He tries to bite back a chuckle, but he gives in when it doesn’t work out, shoulders shaking. Ellie starts grinning at him from across the table, and he kicks her back with the tip of his boot.

“Hey!” She breaks into giggles and retaliates. He lets her have the little victory.

A small smile lingers on his face when he regains his composure. They sit in a comfortable silence as Ellie finishes the rest of her dessert, taking in the festivities around them.

It isn’t long before a girl with dark hair approaches their table. She’s a ball of masked nerves. “Hi,” she greets. “Ellie, right?” She says it as if it’s possible for her to have forgotten. As if after they sat together at last week’s movie night, she hadn’t been thinking about her since.

Ellie get’s uncharacteristically squirmy. “Oh. Hey, Dina.”

Joel can’t believe it.

Dina tucks a flyaway behind her ear. “My old partner bailed, so I was wondering if you’d maybe wanna do the three-legged race with me. I think we’d make a better team anyways.” Then she glances at Joel. “If you wouldn’t mind me stealing her away for a bit.”

“Take her,” Joel quips, making Dina laugh.

Warmth rushes to Ellie’s cheeks as she stands. “Sure, let’s go.”

The two of them jog over to get prepped for the race. Joel watches the whole while, warmth kindling in his chest at the fact that she was slowly finding her tribe. The race doesn’t start for another couple minutes, and when it does, Ellie and Dina burst off into first. It’s intense. The whole ordeal is a mess of laughter, stumbling, and flailing limbs. In the end, the duo end up placing second, crossing the finish line only to fall into a heap of giggles with their legs tied together.

Joel stands from the picnic table with a grunt to throw away all the empty plates. He has every intention to sit back down, but notices a few frazzled volunteers carrying mops and towels. Then his eyes rove over to the long line standing at the drink stands. Adults check their watches, children fidget. A woman in an orange vest is talking to another woman managing the stand. He doesn’t realize is you until you turn away from her and beeline towards the community center, looking stressed.

“Hey,” he calls out to a stout man wearing an apron. “Do you know what’s going on?”

He’s surprised Joel caught on. Everyone else was carrying on as usual, carefree and unaware. “There was a spill at the community center. You know Mr. Robertson’s special Summer Fest punch?” he asks in a thick Brooklyn accent, Joel nods because he’d heard the rave. Apparently it was made especially for the festival. “Kitchen’s flooded with it. I didn’t have time to build an ark,” he jokes.

Joel wrestles with himself. “I’ll go see if I can help.”

By the time you exit the community center, gaze fixed over your shoulder, you crash into Joel. He instinctively reaches out to steady you, touch firm but gentle. “Whoa, easy there.” The low timbre of his drawl is enough to draw your mind away from all the noise. “You alright? Here, let’s get out of the way.” You let him pull you aside by your elbow.

When you look into his eyes, there’s so many things you wish it was the appropriate time to say. It’s been cordial between the two of you, but it always seemed like he was in a constant state of backing away, like an animal scared of giving into a primal craving.

There was always a reason why he couldn’t stay in your presence longer than he did. He had to get back to Ellie, or turn in early for his patrol shift the next day, or some other excuse. Even during the game nights you hosted, he would always leave before his belly was full and the real fun was about to begin. When everyone was finally free of the day’s worries and truly ready to talk, laugh, and let everything ride on the toss of a dice.

He’d resigned himself to enjoying you in the little here and there, the moments in between. So much so that even Ellie had begun to notice. It was in the way he never allowed himself to lean in too close whenever you were at his side. Or never fully crawled out of his shell no matter how many times you smiled sweetly or let your fingertips brush his forearm.

“Does anything hurt?” He asks more intently. As he scans you over, he notices your clothes. The lower portion of your vest and the thighs of your flared jeans are stained with a wet, dark substance.

“I’m fine, Joel.” You pull away from him with more force than necessary, feeling guilty for the way he swallows and takes a step back. “Sorry.” You release a heavy exhale, tears welling in your eyes with a dull sting. “I’m ruining everyone’s night.”

Joel frowns. “No you’re not. Tell me what happened.”

“I was trying to transfer the extra beverage dispenser onto the wagon so I could wheel it out to the drink stand, but it slipped out of my grip,” you explain. “The lid came off and the punch spilled everywhere.” You wipe your tears away quickly, as if they’ll stain too.

“Accidents happen,” Joel’s tone is steady like scripture, tenderness peeking through just enough to cling onto. “Everybody’s fine. The world's still turning.”

Nobody had reacted in an extreme manner. There were gasps and startled jumps, but assurances came rushing in as the janitorial volunteers insisted that they’d get everything cleaned up. Everyone in that kitchen knew that there were worse things in life than spilled juice. Sure, it was upsetting, considering the time Mr. Robertson spent and the people looking forward to drinking more, but it was a small mistake in the grand scheme of things. But when your heart is already heavy and your mind is tangled with other concerns, those little mishaps feel like the most devastating ones.

There was a directness about Joel, though, that eased away the guilt crawling beneath your skin. It was like he understood what screwing up truly was and this was many light years from it.

Dina spots Joel in the distance and points him out to Ellie. “There he is over there.”

Their smiles fall from their faces when they get closer and realize you’re crying. “Holy shit, what happened?” Ellie looks between you and Joel, worry etched onto her face.

“I just made a stupid mistake.” You sniffle, trying to regain your composure, not wanting to worry them. There was always something unavoidably daunting about seeing adults cry.

“You girls stay here with her for a second. I’ll be right back,” Joel instructs.

A new song starts up by the live band that’s playing. It’s an instrumental rendition of Every Breath You Take. A decent crowd has gathered, nibbling on sourdough and nodding to the melody. Some people are wrapped in each other’s arms. Joel soaks it all in as he navigates back to the racing lawn.

Tommy claps him on the back when he makes it and Joel returns the gesture. “You enjoying yourself, man?” Tommy asks.

“Yeah,” he says distractedly. “There was a spill at the community center, so no more punch. You think you can get everybody on the same page?”

“Copy that.”

Tommy’s voice carries through the megaphone as Joel makes his way back to you, the announcement fading with each step.

“Howdy, folks. Some of you may have already heard, but in case you haven’t, there’s been a little spill and we are unfortunately all out of Mr. Robertson’s world famous punch for the night. We apologize if you didn’t get the chance to try it, but I promise we’ll figure out a way to make it up to y'all. In the meantime, I heard the lemonade and ice tea ain’t half bad.”

His words blur into the background as Joel makes it back to you. There are a few disappointed groans, but nobody is completely devastated by the news. They keep carrying on just as he knew they would.

Tears no longer streak your face when Joel makes it back, Ellie and Dina seeming to have lifted your spirits a little more.

“Do you wanna go get cleaned up?” Joel suggests.

Now that you’re thinking about it, the feeling of your clothes sticking to your skin is beginning to grow uncomfortable. You take a deep breath at the thought of walking home, away from Summer Fest, all the energy, all the fun. Joel sees the disappointment on your face.

“I can go with you,” he offers.

•••

The walk to your house is quiet, the sounds of the night's festivities now distant. The porch steps creak gently under your weight as the two of you ascend them. Joel watches as you unlock the door, but finds himself cemented as you step inside. Confusion, appreciation, frustration, and want are all amalgamated into one look directed right his way. Without saying a word, you head further inside, leaving the door open.

Joel’s hands twitch at his sides like he’s a live wire wrought with energy. Bugs would fly in if he didn’t do something—that’s the justification he creates. You’re halfway to the laundry room when you hear the front door shut behind him as he follows after you.

The living room is illuminated by dim lamplight as he walks through. A quick glance into the kitchen gives him sight of one of Ellie’s more recent drawings stuck to the refrigerator door with a smiley face magnet. It's a portrait of your face that you agreed to sit for one lazy afternoon while Joel was away on patrol.

The air smells like you. Understated and sweet, floral and earthen. Small plants line multiple windowsills despite how convinced you were that you couldn’t keep anything alive. The whole commune would be worse off without you and he’d be the first to wilter away.

At the sound of a zipper and clothes brushing against skin, he stops his pursuit of you. Miles away even though you’re mere yards apart. All he has is your shadow, dancing in the dim light pooling out of the laundry room and into the hall with him. He backs himself into the cool wall and closes his eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Up and down and up again. An SOS in the middle of a sea when salvation was right within reach. It gets quiet after a while. No more running water, or cabinet doors, or shuffling around.

“You can let me in, you know?” comes your voice, so light it’s almost nothing. Joel releases a shaky breath and opens his eyes to the sight of you, dawned in old shorts and a graphic tee. You wish he would say something, anything. Share a fraction of what’s going on in his mind. “I’m right here, Joel.”

“I know. I see you.” There’s a defensive edge to his voice that’s wounded around the edges, as if he’s trying to accommodate the truth that burns within his ribcage, his stomach, beneath the entirety of his skin.

“So now what?” You swallow your nerves, studying his face, his neck. “We’re just gonna keep seeing each other for the rest of our lives and that’s it? No knowing, no feeling, no experiencing?” You ask. “No loving?”

One by one, the walls close in, until it feels like you’re standing toe to toe with nothing but words as weapons and honesty being the only way out. It’s not a fight he’s ready for. He can trek through the harshest winters, fight off monsters and all manner of men, but he’s defenseless in front of you.

There will be no victory, no rising from battle with a bloodied fist or blade, or immediate relief akin to the coming of spring. The only way out is to dig within, and he already knew what resided there. It was a matter of carving it out and laying it on an altar for you to see as you did the same. It’s not a fight at all, it's a sacrifice. All risk with probable reward.

“I don’t want that to be all that we do.” You’ve never heard Joel speak so quietly. It’s as if there’s Infected lurking nearby and he doesn’t want to be devoured. “Think about you too much.”

“I was starting to think you didn’t like me at all. Not like how I like you,” you say.

Joel swallows thickly, warm all over. “How do you like me?”

You push out of the laundry room doorway to step closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his chest, feeling the warmth beneath his shirt, the beating of his heart. You let it thrum against your palm until a shallow breath slips past his lips, then you move to cup his stubbled jaw, lightly brushing your thumb over his lower lip. The urge to touch you back grows so great that he finally gives in and lets both of his strong hands settle on your waist.

Joel can hear his heartbeat in his ears as he leans in towards you, studying your face, searching for any sign that this might be some elaborate ruse. Instead, he finds something so poignant that he doesn’t have the words to define. It’s as terrifying as it is wonderful to, for once, be unable to size up what he’s up against.

You close the space in between you with a softness that takes his breath away. Bared heart meeting bared heart. Joel’s lips are gentle and unhurried, every second savored and not a single one missed. You try to focus but it feels like you’re falling and flying all at once. Then his fingers dig into your waist a little harder, a silent plea to stay there with him, the warmth of his kiss, the firmness of his body as he pulls you closer.

Your hands find their way to the back of his neck to play with the hair curled at his nape. The kiss deepens not in urgency but a shared understanding. A promise sealed in the way your bodies fit together. And then, slowly, deliberately, Joel eases back, lips lingering on yours for a heartbeat longer until there’s a slight space in between again. Your breaths mingle as he rests his forehead against yours, thumb stroking tender circles on your waist.

When you open your eyes, he’s already looking at you, wondering if you can feel that two worlds having converged into one, buzzing with a newness that’s as beautiful as all the words you’d kept bottled inside.

•••

It hadn’t taken much. Just a hug and a few soft kisses pressed to the underside of his jaw. When Joel’s grumbling finally subsided, it made way for the soothing ripple of the river. You’d settled along the bank and stretched out a few blankets when you first arrived. An hour seemed to pass in the matter of a few seconds, laughter, conversations and all. Now the sun creeps closer and closer to the horizon up in the ombre sky.

It wasn’t any fault of your own that you’d asked Joel if the date could extend a little longer. It’d been a month of getting to see him in this light, open and unguarded, generous with giving those slow, easy smiles. Willing to lay down across your lap like this when you asked sweetly enough.

The small mouth of a fish breaks the surface of the water as you trace along his hairline, disappearing by the time you run the pad of your finger down his nose. His lips twitch as he continues to ward off sleep. This time, there’s no stopping a soft laugh from rising up your throat. That’s all it takes for his eyes to flutter open, blinking until they’re able to focus on the soft upturn of your lips. No sooner do they avert to the sky, assessing the fleeting light.

“We gotta head back now,” his voice is gruff. When he moves to sit up, you place a delicate hand on the center of his chest and he settles back down with a sigh. “C’mon, sweetheart, the sun’s setting. I don’t want you out here in the dark.”

Packing up and riding back to the commune meant this moment would be resigned to a memory. “A few more minutes won’t hurt,” you insist.

Before Jackson and before you, every second was about enduring to the next. Life was an endless onwards, onwards, onwards reverberating through his veins. Slowing down was always a risk until you showed him that sometimes life’s most worthwhile moments were in the stillness. Somedays that was easier to remember than others, but he sure did put in an effort.

“I think you’re enjoying this more than I am anyways,” you tease. The corners of his lips quirk upwards before he can stop them.

You continue on like that, tracing his face, occasionally glancing up at the snow-capped peaks of the mountains. Then an animal catches your attention across the way, lean and tall with short antlers protruding from its head. You suck in a breath of pleasant surprise, and Joel startles upright thinking the worst. His shoulders relax when he sees the creature. It bends its neck down to nibble at something in the grass until deciding to gallop away.

“Just a mule deer.” He gives you a look.

“I know, sorry. I get excited.” You offer an apologetic smile and he's reminded of how beautiful you look in the light of the setting sun, features aglow. He doesn’t say anything, just soaks you in here and now. An airiness fills your chest.

He stands with a groan, extending a helping hand back down to you. When you’re steady on your feet, he takes your chin in one gentle hand and tilts your head back so he can align his lips with yours. The kiss is brief, and he follows it up with a soft peck.

“Will you let me take you back home now?” he questions. “Ellie’s gonna have our heads if we’re late for game night. Especially when she’s choosing the line up.”

•••

No heads roll that night. Plenty of dice do, while Uno cards are slapped onto the coffee table, and Jenga blocks fall. Tommy, Maria, Dina, and your uncle Nate, eventually file out of Joel’s house, leaving the three of you alone. Ellie feigns sleep on the couch as soon as it’s time for cleanup, and dozes off for real as you and Joel start taking care of everything yourselves.

He steps up behind you as you’re standing at the kitchen sink, snaking his arms around your middle. A curious hum rises up your throat as you lean back into him.

“I think somebody cheated during Jenga tonight,” he hushes against the shell of your ear, relishing the way you shiver at the warmth of his breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel noses at the back of your head. “So you weren’t the one touchin’ me during that last round?” he asks. “Scratching my back, squeezing my thigh.”

“It was innocent,” you insist. “It's a stressful game, I was just trying to ease your nerves. How was I supposed to know your hands would get all shaky?”

A sudden chuckle shakes his chest, sending a ripple of warmth through you. “Ease my nerves? We weren’t even on the same team.” His fingers squeeze your hips in quick, gentle pulses, making you arch into him in a spell of helpless giggles. Joel evades your attempts to grab his wrists, but shows you mercy when you turn around, looking up at him through your lashes like you could do no wrong.

“You’re lucky I happen to like you an awful lot.” He places both hands on the counter behind you, effectively caging you in.

You smooth your hands up his chest, admiring the soft lines by his eyes, the handsome bump of his nose. “I know. I’m the luckiest person alive.”

“No, that’s me,” Joel whispers.

He’s certain of it.

Thank you so much for reading. I’d love to hear your thoughts, it’s my favorite thing.

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