#anyways the inbox is once more empty

[incorrectvtuberquotes]

Iroha:

[hoseoksluna]

ROSÉ | jjk

pairing: boyfriend!jungkook x wine!oc

genre: smut

word count: 5.7k

summary: on your first dinner date, your boyfriend brings you a small gift—too bad you're too horny to appreciate it.

pinterest board: wine

warnings: a bit of drunkenness, a mention of inner child healing, oc teases jungkook and oc is horny as fuck, dom/sub dynamics, wine!jk, provider jk..., daddy issues, punishment, spanking, food used during intercourse, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), dirty talk, a mention of a sex toy & a mention of a plushie in a sexual context, raw sex, brattiness, jk and oc smoke together

note: OH GOD—IT'S FINALLY HERE. SLFJSLDFJS. A REQUESTED DRABBLE about wine!oc and jungkook. this was so fucking fun to write and i was so hot and bothered from this that i had to take a break............ yeah uhm anyways, I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS. ENJOY READING AND LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK ANONYMOUSLY IN MY INBOX. I NEED YOUR THOUGHTS. PLS AND THANK YOU. ₊˚⊹♡

side note: jk in the first pic made me fucking die. and other things....

The rosy pink nectar has, undeniably, gone to your head. 

Your empty wine glass is illuminated by the setting sunlight spilling past your shoulder, reaching its yellow, warm fingers to the tips of your boyfriend’s that rest lazily on the white cloth of the table. You’re woozy, in a lighthearted mood—so much that even the world has lost its heft and all you can sense is the sluggish process of your absorption. You’re engrossed in the way the spring coalesces with the beginning of summer—in the warm evening wind ruffling your curls, tickling your bare shoulders, in the darkening hues of the sky, pinks and violets, in the gray smoke of Jungkook’s cigarette interlacing with the slightly sultry air. You can see it in his eyes, the unfolding of it all. And perhaps you’re tipsy or perhaps you’re just brazenly and foolishly falling in love, because you’re aware that if the man weren’t sitting in front of you, none of these things wouldn’t have caught your attention in such a devastatingly profound way. 

He has made you feel so safe. By simply and beautifully laying his feelings bare. To you and for you. Created a haven for you to dwell in, for you to grow in and explore all the dark and light corners of you that have merely seldom seen the face of the sun. How could you not indulge in a little bit of alcohol, when you’re protected in that place of security? Let your girlishness swim a little, refresh herself, enjoy herself?

You’re glowing. You always had been, but your shimmers have gained a new intensity to their twinkles, keeping Jungkook’s liquid stars warm and taken care of inside of you. Their blunt points have carved you into someone else entirely, too. Joyous, cool-headed and absolutely and irrevocably self-assured. Fearless. And his hands have reached deep within and caressed the head of your inner child, healing her and washing her clean, giving her everything she ever lacked. Love, attention, care and validation. Whenever you remember that you never wanted him to get a glimpse of your soul, bile rises in your throat and your stomach hurts.

He saved you. Healed you. Through and through. Gave you his control.

It stirs your never-ending awe that he has managed to do this in a month, and you want to celebrate it. You think now is quite the perfect occasion for it as it’s your first dinner date since you’ve become exclusive. Having spent most of your time at each other’s places fucking, partying and fucking some more, it’s nice to be out, alone with him, that is—and it’s nice as fuck to be out with your boyfriend. The sex has become so different with the label and the rawness of his feelings. And the thing about Jungkook that gets you the most, that strengthens the realm he invented for you, is that once his emotions overflow, the stream of its wine doesn’t stop pouring. The moment he confessed his love for you, ever since then you sense it expressed in everything he does—in the way he greets you in the day, in his tight, burning embrace, in the tenderness with which he holds your hand or kisses it, the relentless, great thought and consideration he puts in the choices he makes for you on the daily. Whether it’s the fatuous things he buys you that mean the world to you, the way he never neglects bunny and incorporates her in everything you do together or… the sex. 

Fuck, the sex alone has taken over your life so vividly and drastically that it consumes your brain. There, in that environment, is where the wine of his emotions is the raciest. He’s not ashamed to cry, letting those liquid pearls trickle down your collarbones, quenching the thirst of his liquid stars as he fucks you dumb and enjoys every second of it. He’s not afraid to be loud either. To talk you through your orgasm with even more care and detail than you were accustomed to in the past. 

He’s become boundless. And it’s the most attractive thing you’ve ever seen in your life. 

God, you’d be crazy not to let yourself fall for him—

“I got you dessert,” Jungkook husks, digging his fingers into the pocket of his pants while his other digits draw close to his mouth. He takes a drag of his cigarette, crinkling his eyes so the smoke wouldn’t get into them and you beam at him with a fire that’s more scorching than the sun’s ever been in centuries, heart doing somersaults at the thought of him thinking of you and spending money on you again. And, also, at how hot he looks while he smokes.

Your love language must be gift-giving. You don’t know what else to connect it to, the joy that envelops your entire being whenever he gives you something. It doesn’t even have to be expensive, nor does he have to pay for it at all. Drawings have become your favorite keepsakes—drawings of his Miffy bunny, drawings of flowers, of you. You’ve hidden them away in a box along with everything he’s ever brought you, except the white bunny ring because you wear it daily and one small, particular drawing that you’ve put inside your glittery phone case. 

A cutesy marker sketch of him and you. His arm around your shoulders. Bunny sitting on your laps in the middle, as if she were your own child. Cheeks big and bubbly, pink and twinkling. Your curls the way you wear them; his mullet. A perfect depiction of the pair of you. You gaze at it every single day—prefer to now put your phone face down because of it. 

You’re tracing it now with the pad of your finger as you wait for him to reveal your mystery gift to you. The bulby heads, the cheeks, Miffy’s ears. Jungkook puts out his cigarette, puffing out the smoke, away from you, and once he’s done, he taps the back of your hand. Turns it over and spreads out your fingers, inserting, at a snail's pace, something round but slender at the same time, smiling adoringly at you. 

What a sight to behold. It steals, fleetingly, your attention away from his hand. 

Slicked back mullet, twinkles taking laps in his soft eyes, blushed cheekbones and stretched, pouty mouth, shiny with his liquid love. Long neck that you’d like to devour now, the broadness of his shoulders and chest that could come second as a plain, dark beige shirt accentuates his hard work at the gym. 

Oh, fuck. Your nipples pebble against your carmine tube top. 

Jungkook withdraws his hand and with blurry eyes, you look at the thing he placed in your palm. 

Chupa Chups. Strawberry and cream. 

Your mouth parts and it’s a concoction of a gasp and a sound of endearment when the realization that he got you a lollipop sinks in. Your heart flips and does a head stand. Lips round into a pout, drunk eyes softening, its twinkles growing in size and light. It’s like he gave you something golden, when in fact it costs a few wons, but to you it’s exactly that. Something so precious. 

You give him an air kiss, bouncing in your seat in joy, fingers already destroying the wrapper. “Thank you so…”

Your brows furrow as the wrapper remains intact. You do a bad, bad job of picking at the tape around the slender stick, your long manicured hands absolutely useless—and the cause of your frustration. You puff out an angry gust of breath, trying harder to get to the sweet delight and it’s at that moment that your boyfriend takes it from your hands with a deep chuckle. 

“You silly boo, this is how you do it.” Jungkook pinches the wrapper around the stick and he merely, in a few swift motions, twists the ball until it lets go. He scrunches it in his fists and throws it away in the ashtray. Smirks smugly, leans his elbows on the table, draws close to you. You mirror his position, get to him almost nose to nose, and his smirk deepens, tongue darting out to lick across his lips. You do the same, eyeing the round pinkness in his hand, the sexual attraction and its tension soaring high between you.

Without your hands, you could put it in your mouth, mimic the way you do it on his own tip and make him lose his mind a little bit. It’s right here, an inch away and you dip your head towards it, a magnetic pulling drawing you naturally to it. Sense his gaze on you, sense his delight, sense the flashback glimmering across the wholeness of him. But before you could wrap your lips around it, he moves it out of your reach. 

“No,” Jungkook murmurs, breath slightly ragged, holds it up in front of your face, watches as you go cross-eyed a little bit. Hums at the sight, quietly enough for only you to hear. “If you want it, ask for it nicely.” 

His puffy lips being so close to you, you desire to kiss him—cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink, his oh-so-loved dominance fucking with your drunkenness and your brain, body altogether. You tip your head to the side, flutter your lashes, make your eyes big and smile at him as sweetly as you can. 

He coos, validating you, and it is a force that makes you feel safe enough to submit to him like a small animal to its father. Safe enough to want to get under the table and make him feel really, really good, too. 

“Can I have the lollipop, please?” 

He groans, still quietly, and your panties drench immediately. You widen your eyes at him, feeling your slick, pursing your lips to scold him silently. He just laughs, amused by it all, and the sound of his joy fills you with elation.

One that darkens, when he asks, “Where?” 

You lick your lips, taking in the question, struck by it. Letting your mind wander, the places where you want it, except your mouth, is on your nipples and your clit. Nicely sweet and sticky—for him to clean up, for him to enjoy. Your dewiness soaks the material of your panties and your body begins to yearn for any kind of friction. You’re not sure whether you’re able to stick around in your chair, acting as if nothing’s wrong—acting as if you’re not stupendously horny. 

“In my mouth.” 

Jungkook makes a noise of appreciation and you’re so frustrated by all those sounds he makes that you want to dig your nails in his arms and make him pay for it. Even more so, when he plunges the lollipop into his mouth and his lips pucker around it, inciting the butterflies in your tummy to go absolutely fucking berserk. You place your hand on his bicep, nails ready to attack, but then he pulls out the treat with a pop, angling it at your mouth. 

“Open.” 

You thought he stole it from you, but he did no such thing. He wetted it for you, like a father for its child. You’re stupefied to the point that you don't even realize that you’re leaving a mark on the linen material of your seat. 

You do open your mouth for him, however. 

He twists the ball on your tongue, expecting you to close your mouth around the stick, but you don’t. No, you swirl that muscle around the candy, deepening your gaze, smirking. Jungkook stills, clenches his strong jaw. Darkness flicks across his eyes and he narrows them. First warning. 

You pretend you don’t see it. 

Closing your mouth and encasing your hand around his, you move the lollipop to the side of your cheek, acting as if it were his dick. And when you bob your head once, Jungkook tugs on the stick, wanting to pull it out, but you don’t let him, keeping it caged between your teeth. It only drives you to bob your head again.  

“Stop,” he says, voice calm, deep and serious—terribly deadly. Withdraws his hand and leans back, watching you with a predatory gaze, one that makes you even wetter. “Or we’re going home.” 

That’s exactly what you want. Instructions clear. 

You open your mouth and do a show of swirling your tongue around the ball, only this time you flick the muscle against it. Jungkook grips the table, knuckles white, and you laugh, which you soon realize was a grave mistake. 

“You think it’s funny?” he questions you, staring you down with a look that should frighten you, but it merely turns you on. You suck on the lollipop, the dulciness of strawberries suffusing your senses. “I’ll bend you over this fucking table, lift up that slutty little skirt and spank you in front of everyone.” 

You pull out the candy with an exaggerated pop. Scowl at him. As though his words didn’t affect you the way that they did—as though you’re not squeezing your thighs together, trying to gain that friction you so desperately need. “Why are you so angry?” 

He looks away for a moment, laughing silently. Nods his head at your wine glass. “You finished with your wine, baby?” 

It’s this pleasantness that you hear in this voice that spreads goosebumps across your skin. Feigned sugariness—the sunlight right before the clouds come in and thunder strikes; the calm before the storm. 

Good thing you’re dressed for the rain and ready to sing in it. 

You nod your head and Jungkook clicks his tongue, grabs you by your hand whilst he pulls out his wallet. You accompany him as he walks over to the bar, black card ready between his fingers. Waits to be noticed. Gives you a look over and fixes your skirt, pulling the hem down. 

Pays for you. Smiles down at you as he pockets his wallet. 

And then, he drags you to his car. 

Perhaps it’s the fresh air, perhaps it’s the briskness in his walk and the tight hold around your hand, but all intoxication evaporates from your body, leaving only your stained elation and neediness. You can’t help your smile. Think it must be sewn in at this point. By his own diligent fingers. 

A wind blows in, pulling your hair to your front and Jungkook pins you against his car. Tits squished against the passenger side, elbows pressed together. Eyes wide, you check your surroundings and find no one in sight. Only swaying trees, buildings of apartments, lamps illuminating the dark street. You relax right away, trusting Jungkook that he’s on the lookout and knows what he’s doing. 

He grinds his hips against your backside and you moan at the feeling of his hard length. With his free hand, he brushes your hair to one side and begins to pepper kisses along the curve of your neck, nuzzling his face in. Hovers his lips above your ear when he says, “You feel how hard you made me with your little show?” You nod, quickly, wanting more of him, wanting him inside of you. Push your hips back; twirl them in slow circles. Jungkook hisses. “I guess you really do want that spanking. Where’s your lollipop?” You show him your hand, where your treat remains uneaten and dry. He takes it from you and you turn your head in time to see him sink it into his mouth, placing it on the side of his mouth like you did. “Get inside the car.” 

Jungkook opens the door for you and forces you in, closing it with a harsh thud. As he rounds the vehicle, he makes eye contact with you and your tummy flips in response. 

Fuck. 

Nothing happens in a millisecond once he’s seated, but then he grabs your cheeks, squishing them in the way he likes, and kisses you hard, lollipop in hand. Moving his mouth against yours, his tongue only briefly greets you before he pulls away. “Naughty fucking girl. You’re lucky that I love you because otherwise…” He doesn’t finish his sentence with words, but with another kiss, breathing against you, grunting when it’s you this time that slips the tongue inside, playing with him the same way you played with the dessert he got you. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me. I’m gonna put you in your fucking place, make you remember how to behave in public. You’ve forgotten, haven't you?” 

You don’t have time to react, you merely bite your lip so hard that it aches. Jungkook pushes you back and yanks your leg between his, lifting your skirt. Then, he hovers his palm above your ass, the other forearm resting on the top of the seat, lollipop dangling near your head. He hides his smirk behind his effort to flatten his lips. 

And when he spanks you, you don’t roll your eyes back and rasp like your body naturally wants you to. No, you hold the eye contact and you take the pain, letting it course through your body, reveling in it. He doesn’t say anything as he keeps going, alternating between slapping your now reddened cheeks and the back of your thigh. Doesn’t even stroke the skin to alleviate the burn. He solely bores his gaze into yours, his cock rock hard against your leg. Another set of words are exchanged, silently, deeply, teaching you your lesson in tandem with the hits, burying it to a great depth inside you. 

And then he finishes with a nasty kiss, but his hand resumes causing you pain. You’ve lost count of how many spanks you’ve taken. 

It’s like you’ve woken up from a trance. It reverberates throughout your entire body and it’s now that you allow your body to vocally react. You whine, rounding your mouth in a pout, so different from the one on the dinner date. And you remember your manners—perceive how wrong it was to tease him, even though a good half of you still takes delight in it. 

“It hurts,” you whisper, nudging your lips against him and he gives you your last spank—the hardest of them all. The infliction makes you flutter your eyes shut and Jungkook brings them back to him by caressing his knuckles down your flushed cheek. 

“Good, you remember how to behave now?” he asks, halting his movement, such piercing intensity in his irises that drive you to nod your head. “That’s my good little girl.” Taps the side of your thigh. “Let Daddy make it better now.” 

You open your legs for him and Jungkook pushes your soaked panties to the side, revealing your little bedewed seashell. He hums at the sight of her, pops the lollipop back inside his mouth. Collects your arousal by swirling the pads of his middle and ring finger around your hole, eyes flicking from your pussy to your own, groaning when he comes into contact with your swollen clit, rubbing slow circles. You whimper, bucking your hips, needing him to go faster, needing to come. 

Jungkook shakes his head, disapproving. “You take what I give you or I’ll stop.” Lifts his hand to express the gravity of his threat and you help, wrapping both hands around his and putting it back on your bundle of nerves. He chuckles at your desperation, giving you the same circles, though now firmer. 

Waves the lollipop near your lips. You open your mouth, instinctively, and he plunges it into your mouth for a mere second before he pulls away, growling at the sound that comes out. He does it again, fucking you with it in a way, just to hear that pop and he’s so pleased with it that he sinks those two fingers inside your heat, fully, in one ego. Keeps them there. Teases you. Hovers the lollipop out of your reach and you decide to fuck with him back. Darting out your tongue, you whirl it around the flat side and he swears, moaning, giving to you at last. 

He latches his mouth onto your neck, starting the drill of his fingers. “Fuck, you’re so hot.” 

He picks up the speed so rapidly that you scream, squeezing your eyes shut, the pleasure permeating your body so vastly that you quiver all over. Grab a hold of his hair, pulling on it and then—

Then, he withdraws his fingers. Ruins your orgasm. 

You pant, trying to catch your breath. “Please, Jungkook, please—”

He nudges his nose against yours. “What, baby?” 

“I need to come, please.” 

Jungkook tuts, kissing you once. “I thought we could play.” Plunges the lollipop into your mouth to wet it. Shows it to you, just to see you go cross-eyed again. Moans. “Where do you want it, hm?” 

Ever the angel that makes your fantasies come to life. You wrap your fingers around his hand, butterflies swarming in your tummy. Lead him towards your still clothed breasts. “Here.” Take him to your drooling pussy. “And here.” 

Jungkook makes a sound of approval. Descends his fingers a little lower, to your other hole, circles it. “What about here?” 

You giggle, but you shake your head. The idea may be intoxicating, however reality is much different. There’s a risk to putting any sweetened food inside, one you don’t want to deal with. 

Jungkook smiles at you, pushes your seat back and slides it in the same direction. Crawls over you and you feel so feminine, so sexy underneath him. Nipples perked under your top, breasts full and spilling. You arch your back towards him and Jungkook drags his thumb from your bottom lip, to your chin, neck, the dip of your collarbones until he reaches the hem of your Tom and he tugs it down so harshly that you can’t contain your very own concoction of a gasp and moan. 

Lollipop in mouth, one hand propped by your head, the other squeezes your breast hard, nearing it, fingers pinching your nipple. Makes the flesh as red as your ass. You can tell he likes the view by the way he coos, but then he wipes all your thoughts away, when he sucks hard on the candy and swirls it around your stiffened nub, gaze flicked to yours to watch your reaction. 

The pleasure is so vivid, so dizzying—and for him, you let it paint your face in all its colors. Brows scrunched, bedroom eyes, mouth parted, puffing out desperate breaths. Jungkook sucks it again and smears his saliva around your other nipple, taking his time, slapping the ball once against it, making you hiss. 

“It feels so good,” you murmur, sinking your fingers into the longer length on the back of his hair, bringing his mouth to yours. You kiss him with a verve that causes him to groan. You swallow that sound, satisfied. 

He grins at you. “I bet.” 

Dips his head and envelops that sugar-coated nub with his warm lips, sucking it hard. His groan spreads there, deepens there and you arch your back even more, pulling his head to your other nipple so he can do the same thing. Join your other hand to his hair and do whatever you please—turn his head side to side, from one nub to the other—and he lets you, giving you, momentarily, his control. You feel your essence soaking the seat beneath you and you thank the heavens that the fabric is one of leather. You lift his head and try to push it down, but he won’t budge. Stares you down instead, lustfully. 

“Where do you want me?” he asks, a wrinkle between brows. “Be a good girl and tell me.” Pops the lollipop back in his mouth.

You sigh, kissing him once on the side of his neck, using your tongue. Make sure you’re looking at him as you reply, “On my clit.” 

He moans, eyes woozy, finger on the stick as he sucks the candy, clefts of dimples on either side of his cheeks. You palm his length, your own digits rounding across his tight balls and he whisks his irises back, grinding into your hand. “You want a lickie?” 

“Yes, so bad, please.” 

He hums and kneels before you, kissing your clit once in greeting. Then, he flattens his tongue and licks a fat stripe across your whole femininity—from your slit, to your swollenness. Hands on your hips, index curled around the lollipop, he holds you steady, prevents you from meeting him, as he stimulates you like this. Up and down, tongue rolling, eyes fixed on you, devouring you. And when he stops to suck your clit, he taps your mouth once with the ball of the lollipop. The act of sucking on something while you’re getting pleasured like this almost throws you over the edge, your body coated in a layer of sweat, but Jungkook withdraws in time. Presses the delight in the middle and rubs small circles, just to prepare you for the big thing. You become so whiny, so loud that his eyes grow in size, watching you in awe. 

To reward you for such beauty, he rapidly strums it from side to side, causing you to nearly levitate, but he pins you down. Wetting it and placing it back down, grunting at the aftertaste of you mixed with the sweetness. 

And he can’t resist. Can’t hold back. The wrinkle between his brows deepens when he tastes you, licking you all over, tongue stopping occasionally its feast to flick at your clit before he swallows you whole. Grunts, sucks, licks. Eyes closed to savor the taste. The pressure in your core heightens, even more so when he lifts your legs, greedy for the side dish in the form of your other hole. You’re so close that you might burst. 

“You taste so fucking good, baby. So sweet. Come on my tongue, please, I want more of you.” 

He wants more of your taste. 

You come so hard that your orgasm takes you to an open sea, your body floating on calm waves, to and fro, eyes rolled to the sky—to the sunroof—seeing nothing but the elegance of the twinkling stars and deep purple clouds. 

“That’s it, baby, so good. That’s my little girl.” He slaps the side of your thigh, bringing you back to him. “Listening so well, learning her lesson, coming so hard. I’m proud.” 

His words alone could make you come again, but you’re distracted.

Jungkook unbuttons his pants and pulls out his manhood. Stroking himself, he lines his tip at your mouth. He doesn’t even have to tell you to open up—you do it yourself. Holding it at the base, he stuffs your throat right away, a guttural chuckle emitting out of his mouth when you gag. He pulls out to where you’re comfortable having him and you begin to bob your head, like you did with the lollipop. 

“Yes, suck it like that, my love. Daddy loves it when you do that.” 

His precum on your tongue, the way he’s holding himself, the position and his words—you moan around him, so out of your mind, so fucked out. And when he fucks your mouth, it turns you on so much that you go cross-eyed. 

Jungkook pulls out quickly, as if the sight of it alone was about to make him come. A string of your saliva from his tip drips onto your chest and he slides into your mouth again just to poke your cheek, just to mimic what you did with the lollipop. You whine, liking it so much, to the point that he drills this tender place of yours until he can’t take it enough. 

“Turn around.” You try to, but your legs are jelly. He manhandles you to the position he wants—on your knees, tits against the leather, arms around the headrest, the formerly abused cheek against it. “Hold onto it. Too bad we left bunny at home, huh?” 

Jungkook runs his cock across your pussy and you grind against it, needing the friction after the way he used you. You whimper for him. “She’s probably wondering where we are right now and why we’re taking so long.” 

“I’ll make it up to her.” He presses his length against your clit, encouraging you to use him back. “Rub your pussy like that on me, fuck.” He moves so it’s his tip that stimulates you. You ride him harder, moaning loudly against the leather. “You can make it up to her, too. Can ride her like I know you can. With a vibrator between your legs and hers, hm? How you like the sound of that?” 

You’re so close you could come in a second, but you don’t want it like this. You need him inside of you. “Shut up, I’m literally gonna come like this. Fuck me.” 

He fists your hair. Pain shoots up your scalp and he ruts into your heat. Fully. Until his pelvis collides with your ass. You scream. 

Lips by your ear. “Is this how you talk to your Daddy?” He begins to pump into your little tight hole. Mercilessly. The leather squeaks, a horrible, rapid sound that you can only faintly hear because all that your senses can focus on is his cock. “Your Daddy that loves you so much?” 

You come, pathetically. Sea and waves, palm trees that sway. Your legs tremble, but he keeps going, mouthing the shape of your ear. 

He tsks. “I’m gonna tell bunny on you. Maybe I’ll be the one who gets to fuck her while you watch.” He gives you a hard stroke, one that is followed by rapid thrusts that scramble your brain. “She’ll be so disappointed to hear how bad you’ve been, but I’ll make sure to tell her how hard I fucked it out of you.” 

Lifting you from the leather, he kneads your breasts, placing the lollipop in between and holding it up by squishing them. 

“Come on, get your lollipop.” He bounces your tits in his hands, signalizing you that he wants you to do it with your mouth. 

But you can’t do it. You come, majestically, your senses leaving you and wafting in the stuffed air of the car. Boneless, you sag in his arms. 

Jungkook coos. “You come so well around me that I’ll be good to you. You’re just a cockslut, aren’t you, baby? You just can’t help it, hm?” He puts the lollipop inside your mouth, chasing his so-needed release. 

It doesn’t take long for him to find the footsteps into that bliss that you left in your wake. He holds you like this, against him, tits spilling over his forearms as he jackhammers into you so hard that your whole body bounces, shakes and reacts to each grunt, to each whimper, to each kiss he presses onto your skin. 

With the little of the brain you have left, you decide to talk him through it—because he fucks you so good. 

“Come for me, Daddy, yes, please, fuck. Fill me up with your cum. I want it so bad, I want to feel you—” His cock twitches in you, but he continues, sloppily. “Yes, so good. That’s it. Come for your little girl, Jungkook.” A loud groan. A tight hold. A spurt of his cum inside your walls. You whimper and he fucks it deeper into you, giving you more of his liquid stars. “Jungkook, oh fuck, Jungkook, oh yes.” 

And it’s that never-ending litany of his name that helps him chase his high to the fullest. He kisses your neck hard in gratitude for helping him come, marking you, marking this memory. 

You stay like this for a little while. Sweaty, sticky, spent, breathing hard—lungs synced. 

A warm announcement sneaks to your heart, one that screams it into the drowsy skies once Jungkook pulls out of you, turns you around and, stealing your candy, kisses you. 

An announcement that you’re deeply and irrevocably in love with him. 

“You sounded just like me.” He finishes your lollipop for you, chewing the small bulby head as he dresses you and his cum spills onto your panties. 

Your smile is dopey, satisfied and you’re ready for sleep to take you, but Jungkook gets out of the car for a smoke. You think you need one, too, after what you’ve experienced together, and so you follow him out into the night on wobbly legs. 

He leans against his car, a cigarette in his mouth, one hand cupping the fire as he flicks his lighter to life. You wait until he puffs out the smoke into the air before you fold into the side of his body, stealing his cigarette and inhaling it, giving it back to him. 

Jungkook pats your head, rubbing your scalp, chin propped on it. “I didn’t mean what I said. You were perfect. I’m not telling shit to bunny, I promise.” 

You smile, fondly. Didn’t take his words seriously, not at all, but you’re grateful for the reassurement regardless. It’s just role-play, nothing else. 

“I know, baby,” you say, softly, massaging his stomach, going as far as under his shirt to feel his bare skin—ever so innocently. 

“I wanted to fuck you the moment you sat down. You’re just my little helper and because of that I’m glad we’re going home with my cum in your panties,” he whispers, placing the cigarette on your lips, so you can take a drag. “You deserve every drop.” 

You feel that familiar ache rooting in your core again, but you don’t think you can take another round. Jungkook lifts your chin, making you look at him. Twinkles, bigger than the ones of the stars up above, living in his soft eyes. That cute nose. Those pouty lips. His silky, dreamy heart that looks out for you and puts you first. 

The three words that you’ve never told him before rise up your body and you think now is the perfect occasion to say them. 

“I love you.” 

Wetness coats his eyes and the twinkles broaden, saturating them with an unfathomable, fulging light. He flicks his cigarette away, presses you closer to him and with his now free hand, he cups your face. Kisses you. For a long, long time. 

“I love you.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist

[dipperscavern]

let's talk about warming cregan's cock 😇👫

like you have so keenly established, mf can not sit still. this is the warden of the north we are referring to. the wolf of the north. he is well experienced in battle, a brilliant swordsman and lord of his house. he's used to abstaining during battle and experiencing dire circumstances over patience. surely he'd be able to let his pretty girl warm his cock?

WRONG 🙅‍♀️ someone, please fetch me a comedically large red buzzer to slam. thank you.

he's so restless. your stoic, burly, reserved, and patient man - reduced to ragged breaths and gritting his teeth because he can't sit still. here sits his pretty girl, batting her lashes at him, "cregan, can i please?" and it starts out well enough.

but you're so warm. so sweet. maybe he should be working on something - battle plans or lordy duties that define his bloodline. cregan's got an active mind, ever analyzing and preparing. he's hyperaware of everything in that moment - the way you slightly move your hips, wriggling in his lap. when he makes a comment about it, you just pout, telling him you were "adjusting." 🙄 yeah girl okay you just wanted to feel the godly girth 3000

the way you softly sigh admist the quiet chamber. maybe you do something as simple as sneeze - but when you do, you clench around cregan. and he's losing his shitttt.

can someone please find the meme of the guy sitting at a desk with his blood vessels about to burst as he's sweating? because that is our lord stark.

he tries breathing through it, for your sake. i imagine you would be the one to propose it, for whatever desire and circumstance brought you to the moment. cregan is trying :(( it's just so hard. like him, TEHE. all he wants to do is flip you over and ravage you. just leave little bites and nicks along his pretty girl's flesh :((

this is torture for him.

- 🔄❄️

reverse. elsa. anon. WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? BED EMPTY, NO NOTE, WINTER GONE.

okay but seriously i am so so so sorry you got lost in my inbox. please i beg of you, come back!! the ponderer has returned, and we miss u!! REVERSE ELSA ANON IF U CSN HEAR US PLEASE SAVE US i call out to the winds. if you return, you shall never be lost again. this i swear to you 💔✊

ANYWAYS. CREGAN STARK COCKWARMING. here’s your buzzer m’dear 🚨 when you suggest the idea, cregan is a bit perplexed. you don’t want him to make you cum as many times as you want? but you bat your lashes and ask so sweetly, and you don’t ask for much. plus, cregan is a warrior. a hardened, battle surviving lord — he can stay still for his pretty wife.

or so he thinks.

because once you sink down on him, his grip on your hips is like iron. you’re warm and wet and so inviting, and you don’t want cregan to move? gods have mercy. cregan is usually pretty held together, but his breathing turns all ragged and his gaze is glued to where his [REDACTED] meets your [CONTENT DELETED]. and even worse, you’re relishing in his loss of self control.

even so, he tries to be so good for you.

it gets easier over time, and when cregan feels you relax and sigh against him, he thinks it’s not so bad after all. cregan is in control, and things are okay. until a few minutes later, you sneeze. you clench around him, and he grits his teeth, lax grip on your hips tightening once more as he fights the urge to move.

“This is torture,” he breathes, trying with all his might to stay still for you :( <3

[featherandferns]

guilty as sin? (fic - part 1/2)

jj maybank x fem!routledge!reader | largely inspired by the bible

content warning: sexual content; mentions of parental abuse (physical abuse) | any questions for trigger warnings, feel free to inbox anonymously

word count: 14k.

blurb: when you, John B's half sister, return to Kildare after over two years of living in Colorado, your adolescent crush that you harboured for his best friend comes screaming back. Because you and JJ can't be together in real life, what's the harm in a fantasy?

“And this is your room.”

The syrup-coloured wood is the first thing your eyes meet when John B pushes open the bedroom door. There’s the vague lingering smell of teenage boy which he’s tried to air out, the window open ajar, and the clutter of his belongings has been moved to make space for your own. As you drop your duffel bag and step into the room, you take in the walls. There’s posters and prints stuck above his bed, dotted around on slats of wood separating windows: someone surfing; a rockstar smashing his guitar. An old skateboard deck is nailed into the wall alongside a license plate. The sheets are bright blue, the bed freshly made, and a clean towel is folded up at the foot. It’s well-lit with plenty of daylight flowing through the many windows. Homely and inviting.

“Is it, uh, alright?”

You turn to find John B leaning against the doorframe, hands in his short pockets. Smiling, you nod.

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “I’m honestly chill with crashing on the couch, though.”

It’s pretty obvious this was his room: you feel guilty kicking him out.

He shakes his head and gestures with his thumb over his shoulder. “I moved into my dad’s room anyway. This has been the spare for a while.”

“Well, thanks,” you smile.

He nods, mirroring your content. “I’ll let you settle in and stuff. I moved all my crap out the closet so you can put your stuff in there, and the top bedside drawer is empty.”

“That’s perfect,” you say. You lift your bag with a grunt and dump it on the bed.

“I gotta go to work but call if you need anything. Shouldn’t be back too late.”

Unzipping your bag, you look to him. “Where’d you work?”

“Got this gig helping out at Ward Cameron’s. Don’t know if you remember him?”

“Course I do,” you snort. “The kingpin of Kildare, and your dad’s treasure hunting buddy.”

There’s a tense silence as your words catch up with you. You press your eyes shut, embarrassed.

“Shit, sorry. That didn’t come out how I meant it to.”

“It’s cool,” John B says, graciously gliding past it. “Anyway, he pays pretty good so can’t complain. Mostly just handy-man odd jobs.”

“Very noble work,” you joke.

With a quiet laugh, John B nods and backs out the door. He lingers another moment, contemplating saying something else. “Look, uh, I know it isn’t ideal circumstances, you coming back to Kildare and stuff, but I’m glad you’re here. Really. It’s nice having you back, sis.”

Your mood sobers, smile turning solemn.

“Thanks,” you quietly reply.

He nods once more and pats the doorframe in farewell. “Right, I’ll let you get unpacked. See you later.”

“See ya.”

When John B leaves – the front door shuddering against the house as it slams shut – you’re overcome with quiet. In Colorado, where you lived with your mom in the city, there was little nature. You forgot how peaceful Kildare is. Through the crack in the window, birdsong and cricket chimes accompany the sound of your unpacking. You turf out your clothes and take to putting them in the closet. Shoes and bags and bikinis. A jacket and a few sweatshirts. It was easy enough to plan for your outfits considering you’re only staying the summer. You remember the weather in Kildare well enough from when you used to live here.

Once you’ve unpacked your clothes, you find your paints. A box of watercolours which have seen much use and love, the hinges rusted and the inside of the palette smeared with dried mixed paint. Turning to the bedside table, you pull open the bottom drawer on accident. You come face to face with corny porno magazines, a box of tissues, two wrapped condoms and a half empty bottle of painkillers.

“Gross,” you mutter, slamming it shut. Yep, this was definitely a dude’s bedroom.

The top drawer is empty, like John B promised. You fill it with your paints and sketchbooks and pencils.

As the day ploughs on, the room becomes increasingly saturated with your personality. Postcards from Colorado, of the towns and cities you visited, photographs from school of your friends and classmates: you scatter them along them wall, amongst John B’s. Some of your favourite paintings, alongside artists which inspire you, join the mix. On the desk you add a few of your own books to the haphazard stack of abandoned homework and school reports.

At the bottom of your duffle bag is your penny board. You look around the room, searching for empty space to slot it without adding to already cluttered surroundings, and opt to slot it under the bed. Ducking down, you come face to face with a collection of empty beer cans. Clearly the spring cleaning only went so far. It’s noisy as you drag them out, but you’re certain you hear someone shouting. Pausing, sitting back on your haunches, you turn to peer out the open bedroom door. It’s silent for a moment, and then you hear footsteps.

“Yo! JB, you home?”

It’s a guy shouting. His voice sounds vaguely familiar. When he comes into the corridor, he glances into Big John’s bedroom (now claimed by your older half-brother) first. Blonde messy hair and well-worn combat boots instantly name him. JJ.  He turns to the spare bedroom and stops short the moment his eyes land on you, sat amongst a pile of trash.

“You’re not John B,” he says.

“What gave me away?” you reply with a lift of your brows.

There’s a long awkward moment where he stares at you. You can practically hear the cogs turning as he takes you in. When you lift your arm up to scratch the back of your neck, realisation dawns upon him. You imagine your scar on the outside of your elbow gave you away.

“Holy crap! Little Routledge?” he gapes.

You laugh. “Haven’t been called that in a minute.”

JJ steps into the room and you get to your feet. He tackles you into a hug. It’s too short, too sudden, and then he’s stepping away from you again, leaving you dizzy on your feet.

“The fuck? You’re, like, grown now,” he says.

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “well, I am sixteen.”

“The fuck!” he repeats. He then takes in where you’re standing, and the state of the room, and frowns. “Wait, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Colorado with your mom?”

“I was,” you say. You kick one of the cans out the way and fold your arms over your chest, shrugging. “I came back for the summer.”

“Oh, that’s sick!”

You laugh. It’s a nice reaction to have from someone who you haven’t seen for over two years.

“John B gave you his old room then?”

He walks into it as if it’s his own. You watch as he studies the new additions to the wall that you’ve added. Lingers on one of your paintings.

"Yeah, he’s moved into his dad’s, apparently.”

“Yeah, he moved in there a while ago,” JJ tells you. “I’ve been sleeping in here most of the time.”

Your mind flashes back to the bedside drawer stocked with teenage boy necessities. Ah, makes sense. You remember how JJ was when you were a dorky thirteen-year-old. At the ripe age of fourteen, he had girls fawning after him. He was shameless in his reputation. The conversations you overheard between himself and John B as he’d brag about his escapades are seared into your memory, as you felt your wasted preteen heart splinter with every tale. It’s no surprise now that he’s probably just as unruly. Especially considering how he looks. There isn’t much time to ogle though because he’s looking away from the décor, meeting your gaze again.

“That explains all the empty beer cans, then,” you say.

He cringes. “Yeah, uh, sorry ‘bout that.”

You shrug. “It’s cool. I need to toss ‘em out but I don’t know where the trash bags are…”

“Oh, right,” he says, breezing past you. His cologne lingers in the air when he leaves. There’s the smallest moment for you to catch your breath as JJ bangs around in the kitchen, and then he reappears with a roll of black bags. Tosses them to you and you catch. “Here.”

“Thanks.”

You begin to shove the cans into the bag and JJ starts to help. His black button-up gapes open as he leans over and it takes everything not to glance down his shirt like some pervert.

“How come you didn’t want to stay in Colorado for the summer, then?”

“Change of scenery,” you vaguely reply. It isn’t a complete lie, but it isn’t the whole truth either.

“Well, you chose the best summer to come back. Our mission this year is to have the best summer of all time.”

“Pretty lofty goal to set,” you chuckle.

JJ glances up at you, flashing you a grin. “Nah, we got it in the bag.”

You find yourself smiling back, held captive under his stare. When he takes the now full trash bag off you, tying it off, you snap out of it.

“So, where’s your brother at then?” he asks, heading out the room. You follow.

“At work. Said he does jobs for Cameron now.”

“Oh, yeah. Cameron sorta took him under his wing after his dad…went missing,” JJ replies.

You have a feeling that the way people talk about John B’s father is rather doctored.

“I can’t believe he’s gone,” you tell him, referring to Big John.

As you step on the porch, the sunlight warms your face. The floorboards creak as you make your way down them, to the garbage can outside.

“It was insane,” JJ says to you. He tosses the trash away. “I mean, we all knew Big John was a bit too into the whole royal-merchant thing but…we never thought it’d go that far, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Scary.”

JJ looks at you a moment longer. Then, he laughs to himself and shakes his head. “Can’t believe you’re sixteen now.”

“Can’t believe you’re seventeen.”

“What? I look good or something?”

He does a small spin on the spot, arms held out by his sides. You roll your eyes, acting as if you’re unaffected. It’s hard to swallow the reflex reaction of yes.

“Or something,” you say.

JJ takes it in stride. “Well, you look pretty cute yourself considering you’ve been in the mountains for the last three years.”

“I don’t live in the mountains,” you snort. The word ‘cute’ rattles around your head like a pinball.

“You’re taller now too. Practically come up to my shoulders. I remember when me and John B could pick you up by your ankle like a marlin.”

“Yeah, I remember that too,” you not-so-fondly recall.

JJ grins and steps over to you. Despite both of your growth spurts, you still have to look up at him, and him down at you. His eyes are just as dreamy as you remember them. When you first left for Colorado, you hardly had time to pack. In the midst of chaos, taking a picture of your brother’s best friend didn’t seem all that important. Cut to you spending endless nights trying to remember his eyes, the exact colour and the exact shape. Trying to remember the dimples that popped out when he smiled. The pure joy in his laugh. The way your heart felt like it might explode whenever he looked at you, even if it were for a second.

But when JJ pats your head, your chest deflates.

“Well, see you around, little Routledge,” he says, stepping away. “Tell your brother I was looking for him.”

Because even after all these years, you’re still just John B’s little sister in JJ’s eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You stare into your can of cider. In the night, the only light being that from the bonfire John B started up in the backyard, you can’t make out the colour of it. Just the swirling of liquid. You’d spent the last three days working on a watercolour of the marsh side to John B’s house, but you couldn’t capture the movement of the water quite right.

“Wait, I’m confused,” Pope frowns.

“What’s there to be confused about, Pope?” JJ sighs, seemingly exhausted from the questions. There had been an influx of them the minute John B brought you out of the Chateau. “His mom shagged her dad and boom, here she is.”

“Charming mental images there, JJ, thanks,” John B cringes.

You laugh into your drink.

“No, I get that. But…You used to live here, right?” Pope asks you.

You nod.

“But then you moved to Colorado?”

“Yeah?”

“But now you’re back here?”

“Apparently,” you say.

Pope’s frown deepens: apparently that cleared nothing up for him. You’ve never known someone so analytical. “This is complicated,” he observes.

“No shit,” Kiara quips.

It was complicated. Families usually are. You and John B had different dads, in short. Your shared mom cheated on Big John when John B was hardly a year old, putting you around 11 or so months behind him. She ran off to Raleigh with your dad to try and fix their tumultuous relationship, leaving you with Big John for practically thirteen years. Whilst he wasn't unkind to you, he never saw you as his. You supposed you were a reminder of his ex-wife's unfaithfulness. But John B treated you like blood, as did his friends.

Just after your thirteen birthday, your mom decided to flee the state, and she was taking you with her. It all came out of the blue. You weren’t exactly thrilled to go to Colorado. You liked Kildare, and North Carolina, and John B and his friends. Kiara was always nice to you. She never talked down to you, despite you being seen as John B’s little sister. You bonded over turtles and Bob Marley. JJ was different. He’d prank you with John B and tease you about your dolls, but he’d also patch you up if you fell and calm you down after a nightmare. Your crush on him evolved naturally over time. What started as childhood infatuation with the supposed delinquent of Kildare became real. You liked JJ. He was funny and rambunctious, but he had a kindness and tenderness that he kept hidden below. He was often at the house as his own family situation was far from perfect, so having him around became as familiar as John B’s presence. When you left, JJ gave you a hug that you wished would last a lifetime.

But you drifted away in Colorado. You didn’t have anybody’s phone number, save for Big John’s (which your mom refused to let you use), and you were too young to remember addresses to write to them. Social media was never something you latched onto and eventually it all faded away into a strange, dreamlike memory. Being back here is almost proof that you didn’t imagine the whole thing.

“We’re half siblings,” you say, whittling down your family history into a simple statement. “That’s all you really need to know.”

“Damn straight,” JJ whoops, downing the last of his drink. He crunches the can in his fist and heads to the cooler for another.

“You’re staying for the whole summer then?” Kiara asks.

You nod. “I’m tryna get a job at this restaurant in town to keep me busy.”

“Screw that. Just come smoke and surf with us all day, that’ll keep you occupied,” JJ grins.

He’s comfortable in himself, relaxing in a lawn chair, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. His t-shirt represents one of Kildare’s small-town establishments and his shorts are stained with dust and dirt from riding his bike.

“She’s the good one out of us lot,” John B announces, gesturing to you. “Out of all the Routledge offspring, she’s gonna go places. You’re not gonna taint that, JJ.”

“And by ‘all the Routledge offspring’ you mean yourself and her?” Pope checks.

John B nods fervently. “I’m telling you! She’s madly talented.”

“You’re drunk; it’s giving you beer goggles,” you dismiss, finishing your drink.

“You were always the creative one,” JJ remarks. Everyone looks over to him. “Me and John B would be out on the water and she’d be drawing it.”

“Maybe you can show us some of your stuff,” Kiara says.

You laugh and shake your head. “Maybe not.”

The alcohol wizzes up your body as you get to your feet and you take it as a good time to call it quits.

“I think I’m gonna head in.”

“What?”

“No!”

“Come on!”

You laugh, shaking off the group’s disputes. “I’m tired!”

“Lightweight,” JJ teases. You flip him off as you pass, ditching your empty can in the garbage as you go.

“Night guys!” you holler as you head back into the house.

“Night!”

The bedroom John B offered you is starting to feel less like a guest house. You shrug off your cardigan – it stinks of smoke from the fire – and close the door. Through the window, you can hear the group chattering.

Pope seems nice. He hadn’t been around when you lived in Kildare, but you recognised his name. Heyward was a legend on the Cut; you could see his dad in his eyes. Kiara was just as you remembered her, if not more consumed by her environmental activism than before. JJ was the most staggering change of all. He’d grown into his looks, matured around the face. Any puppy fat that you remembered from childhood had vanished. Lithe and lively, he was an American heartthrob, through and through.

As you do your skincare, you glance out the window. You can make out JJ, sat with his back to you. His arms are flailing around as he tells a story. You can’t make out the details through the window but the looks on everyone’s faces tells you it’s pretty damn entertaining. He was always the joker, humour hiding whatever was happening underneath like he was arming himself with a grin. The unexplained bruises on his face and the painful batterings on his body were never explained whenever he’d stay at Big John’s, when you were younger.

The moment he shifts in his seat, you dart away from the window, scared to get caught, and finish getting ready for bed.

A bad dream rouses you awake. It was about Colorado. The warped memories keep you from falling back asleep, no matter how hard you try. Sighing, you stare at the ceiling. The room is bathed in moonlight, cosy in the wooden interior, and you contemplate sitting outside for a bit. The same cardigan from earlier gets pulled on over your vest top and you slip into some crocs.

You head for the front door, creeping past John B’s room, and step onto the porch. There’s a warm, humid air in the night. The crickets and owls harmonise with the faint buzz of mosquitos who surround the porch light. That’s when you realise that it’s already on, and you’re not alone. JJ’s on the porch, laid out on the sofa. He’s smoking a joint. The smell of weed merges into that of the dying embers from the abandoned, extinguished bonfire. You rap gently on the wall as you approach, hoping not to startle him.

“Hey,” he says, looking up at the sound.

“Hey.”

“Can’t sleep?”

“No,” you say. “I thought everyone went home.”

“They did. I’m crashing here tonight. My dad’s…”

He falters, glances up at you, and shakes his head.

“Don’t need to bore you with it.”

“You’re not boring,” you hear yourself tell him.

Smiling, JJ offers the joint to you. You take it, sitting down in the red armchair at the foot of the sofa. The weed consumes your senses when you take a drag, hitting the back of your throat and dulling your thoughts.

“Haven’t smoked in ages,” you say.

“Big smoking community out in Colorado?” JJ asks.

You laugh. “Not where I live, no.”

He takes the joint back when you lean over to him. Tilts his head back as he takes another hit. He’s in the same clothes as earlier, hasn’t even taken off his boots; his hair is tousled like he tried to sleep but couldn’t. You’re caught in the act of staring at him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even make a joke. Instead, he holds your gaze. It’s almost like a silent challenge: who’ll break first?

“Can I say something kinda inappropriate?” he asks.

“I feel like you have to, now.”

JJ grins at that, amused. “You’re way cuter than I remember you.”

“Oh? You mean sweaty thirteen-year-old, chalk-highlight-pink-hair wasn’t cute?” you joke.

Shaking his head, he adds, “No. Well, yeah, but not in the way you are now.”

Your stomach tightens and heart constricts, and you wish you had the joint to have something to distract yourself with. You hope you sound calm and collected when you say, “thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Oh, you’re too kind,” JJ jokes. He takes another long, deep drag. “Is it nice? Being back in Kildare?”

You glance off to the marsh. You forgot to check the time when you got up but judging from the endless navy blue of the sky, it’s still late.

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

You look back to him. “It’s better than Colorado.”

“So, you’re not missing home then?”

The blunt is passed back to you. Taking a drag, you ponder his question. “I don’t think I know where home is right now. I don’t think it’s Colorado, but I don’t know if it’s here either. Maybe I don’t have one.”

JJ doesn’t say anything and you remember yourself. Laughing self-deprecatingly, you shake your head.

“Sorry, think this joint’s going to my head. That was dramatic.”

“No, no, I get ya,” JJ assures. “I know what you mean.”

“You don’t like Kildare?” you ask him.

His expression darkens like a shadow has cast over him. “It depends.”

“Hm,” you say. Nothing more is said on the matter. You get the sense that JJ was vague on purpose.

Pulling your legs into your seat, you glance around at the clutter on the porch. A surfboard is lent against the nett lining of the porch; a rusting duck ornament balances on one of the beams. What looks to be a broken radio sits beside a half-full bottle of rum on a small table by the couch.

“I think it’s good for John B, having you back.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” JJ smiles. “He sorta spun out when his dad disappeared. You’re kinda the only family he has left.”

“You’re his family too. Been around longer than I have,” you tell him.

JJ’s smile softens. He glances away from you, fiddling with the paper of the joint, almost as if he’s flustered. “Thanks.”

“So,” you say, “you got some poor girl on this island falling after you?”

“Rude of you to assume there’s only one,” JJ grins wickedly.

You roll your eyes.

“What about you? Some West Coast jock waiting for you back in the home state?”

The sarcastic ‘har har’ that he gets has JJ frowning, bemused.

“Definitely no guy, and definitely no jock.”

“Now that I find hard to believe,” JJ says.

Before you can ask what he means by that, or spiral out by thinking too much about it, JJ’s getting to his feet. He puts the blunt out on the window ledge, ditching the empty butt in a filthy dish. Stretching his arms over his head, sighing, you watch as his t-shirt rides up. The tensing of his abdominal muscles is like torture. God, to run your hands up his chest, over his shoulders, tangle them in the salt-soaked strands of his hair…

“Right, night Little Routledge,” JJ says.

You blink away from his chest and meet his gaze. There’s a strange expression on his face, one you don’t recognise, and you want to scrutinise it and find out what it means. But it’s gone in a flash, as is he as he heads back into the house. You watch through the window as his silhouette drops onto the pull-out sofa.

It takes a minute to regain your composure.

You can’t think of JJ like that. He certainly doesn’t think of you like that, and that childhood crush has long been put to bed. Shaking it awake is the last thing you need right now. Besides, he’s John B’s best friend. Your brother’s best friend. The same brother who’s taken you back into his house, offered you a room, free of charge, without complaint or question. And it seems like John B needs as many people around him as possible right now. But it’s hard to maintain that line of thought, when as you lie back down in your bed, desperate to get some sleep, you can vividly picture the slit of JJ’s chest that you were privy to just moments ago when you close your eyes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You follow Tom through the restaurant. He’s the supervisor, eighteen and a fresh high school graduate. It’s hard to keep up with him as he points things out: waiter’s station; kitchen; storeroom…You’d forgotten how overwhelming job orientations can be.

“And this,” he pushes a door open, “is the staff room.”

You glance in and take in the messy pile of shoes, the overflowing trash can, and the three coat pegs overwhelmed with bags and hoodies.

“Love what you’ve done with the space.”

Tom laughs. He closes the door and leans against the doorframe. Broad shouldered, he stands taller than you by a couple inches.

“So, what made you want to work here?”

“I’m really interested in not being broke,” you reply, making him laugh.

“You new to the island? Feel like I haven’t seen you around?”

“This island that small?”

“Or you’re just that unforgettable,” he smoothly returns.

Your face fires up. Laughing nervously, you shift your stance. “I just moved in with my half-brother for the summer. Need something to keep me busy for a few months.”

“Ah, sweet. Anyone I’d know?”

“Dunno,” you say. He starts back into the main restaurant building. They haven’t opened yet. It’s void of life. “John B Routledge?”

“Oh shit, yeah. JB,” he says, flashing you a grin.

He’s charming in a disarming way. The kind of face that a modelling agency would swipe up because of his easy marketability.

When the two of you approach the bar, there’s a girl stood polishing wine glasses. She looks to be about your age, maybe a couple of years older. Her smile is sweet and welcoming like warm hot chocolate on a winter’s night.

“Hey, Lizzy. This is the new starter,” Tom introduces.

“I’m guessing I got the job then?” you ask him. He nods. With that, you offer a hand to Lizzy.

“Nice to meet ya,” she says, shaking it. “Could do with more girls around here.”

“Happy to help,” you reply.

“So, you think you can cover a shift tomorrow night? I figured cause you’ve waitressed before it shouldn’t take too long for you to learn the ropes here,” Tom says.

You nod. “Sure. Sounds good.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” he says.

You bid farewell to himself and Lizzy, seeing yourself out the front door. The restaurant is in the heart of the cut, surrounded by other small businesses and hipster start-ups. You begin the journey home, plugging in your headphones and submerging yourself in Reggae music. Children play in the local park and preteens chatter as they speed past you on their bikes. There’s a warm breeze that brushes past you; it smells of sea water and fried fish. You’re passing the harbour. Eyes land on Heyward’s store, the logo just as you remember it from all those years ago. It’s surreal being back.

When your phone buzzes, you pause your sightseeing to check it. It might be John B asking after the interview. Your throat closes up when you see your mom’s contact pop up. A text. ‘Call me back.’

Just like that, you’re dragged out of Kildare and are back in Colorado.

It’s impossible to ignore the text, but you do your best either way. You don’t even remember half the journey to the Chateau as you walk through the door. JJ is home. He’s sat at the messy dining table, eating a bowl of cereal and scrolling through his phone. Tugging out your earbuds, you give a small wave hello.

“How’d the interview go? That was today, right?”

“Smashed it. Got the job,” you say.

“Oh, sweet. Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

You ditch your bag by the door along with your phone. Taking the seat opposite him, you sit cross-legged on the wooden chair. The sketchbook you’d abandoned earlier lays dormant. Opening it up, you flick to your latest piece of the marsh. It’s coming together rather well. You’d decided to add the H.M.S Pogue, sat harboured on the grass. JJ peers over his bowl to the painting.

“Holy shit. That’s sick,” he says through his mouthful of Captain Crunch.

“Thanks,” you smile. “I’m pretty happy with how it’s come out, considering how old these paints are.”

JJ watches as you crack open the aforementioned watercolours. The smell of artificial paint teases the air. Dampening a thin brush in the mason jar of water, you dip into the blue.

“They bad quality or something?”

“A little. They best ones are Winsor and Newton, but I can’t justify spending over twenty bucks on paints.”

“Why not? You’ve clearly got a gift,” JJ says.

You hate how casual he is when he says things like that to you. Like it doesn’t knock the breath out of you like a sucker punch to the chest.

“S’just practice,” you mumble.

You can feel his gaze as you paint. Resting your chin in your hand, you work at the water under the jetty, trying to perfect the shading. You want to feel as though you can walk into the painting; like you could drown in the crystal clean waves.

Painting had become an escape when you were in Colorado. Whatever you could remember of Kildare, you’d paint. When that well ran dry, you began to paint places you wished you could go. Anywhere but the dilapidating family home you’d found yourself in. Secret gardens made of twisting ivy and crumbling, ornate statues hidden amongst orchids and rose bushes. Cosmic planes with make-believe ice cream stations snuck onto Mars and Venus; whales which bathed in the stars and caught a tan in moonbeams. Underwater societies full of sea kelp and multicoloured coral reefs, with octopi hiding amongst crabs and shellfish.

You glance up to find JJ transfixed on the painting. There’s a crease between his brows as if he’s the one concentrating. It makes you laugh, quiet and under breath, and he looks up. Holds your stare.

“That’s amazing, that you can just do that,” JJ says, remarking to your work.

You swallow the sickly rush that his words give you. His tongue dampens his lower lip, tantalisingly slow. You feel it hit somewhere deep inside of you. Something in the air shifts.

Then, so quiet neither of you can be sure he really said it, he utters, “you’re amazing.”

“Yo!”

The door swings open with your brother’s arrival. Your head spins over your shoulder to the front door. John B stands holding a bag of takeout burgers in the air beside his head.

“Y’all hungry?”

“Hell yeah,” JJ says.

When you look to him, it feels as if you could have imagined the whole interaction had just moments ago. JJ’s sat in his seat as he was before, unfazed.

He abandons his cereal and follows John B into the kitchen like a starving dog, begging for food. You place your paintbrush back into the water and join them. John B unpacks the burgers and fries onto half-clean plates. You watch JJ toss a fry into the air and catch it, whooping in celebration. A plate is handed back to you, over John B’s shoulder.

“Beef burger with cheese, no pickles.”

“Thank you,” you sing-song, taking the plate off him.

JJ turns around and looks at you with faux disgust. “No pickles?”

You shake your head, heading back to the table. JJ and John B join you with their own quick dinners, and the three of you eat. You tell John B about the summer job you secured, and he tells you and JJ about Sarah Cameron and her new boy-toy Topper. JJ says he’s “biceps without a brain” when you ask which one Topper is.

“That can’t be his real name,” you snort.

“Oh, it is,” John B replies.

“His name is almost as dumb as he is,” JJ sniggers.

There’s the sound of chewing and swallowing.

“Two official weeks into summer,” John B randomly announces.

You quirk a brow. “Two weeks since I came back to Kildare.”

JJ holds his cup of soda up in a toast. John B wipes his mouth and raises his own, as do you. The three of you clink cups, smiling at the stupidity. As you bring your cup to your lips to drink, you find your eyes meeting JJ’s across the table. He holds your gaze as he sips, swallows and licks his lips of the sugar. You feel it hit somewhere deep, deep inside of you. JJ looks back to John B and starts recounting his tales of the day fishing, leaving you stumped.

What the hell was that?

~*~*~*~*~*~*

As your days in Kildare stretch on, your imagination becomes your most loved and loathed place all at once.

The Pogues had taken you under their wing without a second thought. It felt as if it wasn’t just because you were John B’s younger sister. Kiara would spend hours talking to you about music and star signs. Pope would discuss books and artists that he’d read about, falling into a huge debate about whether Andy Warhol is as legendary as everyone makes him out to be (the answer is, of course, yes). You and John B connected as brother and sister, filling that hole of ‘family’ that had been taken from both of you within the past year. Movie nights sharing popcorn and critiquing corny horror films, and mornings spent tending to the yard and fishing at the jetty: you felt yourself coming back bit by bit, in the company of the brunette.

But spending time with the Pogues came with spending more time with JJ. That little childhood crush that you’d claimed had succumb a long, undisturbed slumber…Oh, she had been awoken. Him staying over more and more on the pull-out when him and his dad ‘got into a thing’ meant the throw pillows smelt like his cologne and soap. He’d offer you his sweatshirt when sat around the bonfire on evenings drinking, and the warm distinct smell of him would consume you, drown you in the pheromones, affecting you like some pathetic animal in heat. Days spent surfing and sunbathing at the break gave you space to shamelessly ogle his bare chest, splattered in sea water, scorched and tanned with sunlight. The ripple of his lats when wearing his useless muscle tees as he waxed his board in the surf shack. His jawline strong and steely when annoyed or focused, with faint blonde stubble a week after shaving. But you swear he knew how it affected you. Swear he knew it drove you crazy whenever he’d fleetingly touch your back, brushing past you in the kitchen to grab a drink, or adjust your grip when helping him fix up his bike. When sharing a blunt on the porch (as you often did when sleep couldn’t come), he’d take his time passing it to you, fingers brushing. Innocent, incidental touches that felt calculated and planned. The way his eyes would gaze into yours, like he could read your thoughts and decipher your wants. A vague, barely-there smirk to his lips, constantly tortured by his tongue and teeth…

God, your whole body feels as if it has been on fire for the past week.

You blame your overactive thoughts of JJ on your boredom. Working at the restaurant hadn’t been sufficient distraction from the mess that is your life right now. Even now, as you stand before the till, typing through an order for the kitchen and bar, you feel your mind wandering. To thoughts of the Chateau, and to a certain blonde-haired guy sprawled on the pull-out sofa, shirtless, back on proud display…

“You gonna be much longer?”

“No, I shouldn’t be,” you say to Tom.

You hope your embarrassment doesn’t read on your face. It’s not as if he could hear your thoughts, so you’re not sure why you feel caught in the act. You finish selecting the sides for table 16 and press ‘store table’. Stepping to the side to grab some side plates, Tom takes over the till.

He’s nice. Makes you laugh a lot at work, as you slander rude tables and gush over those that tip an extra twenty.

After depositing the side plates at the table, you head to the bar to run the drinks you put through. Lizzy is mixing the cocktail you ordered. She pours rum into a shaker and then passionfruit puree.

“Can I ask you something?” you say to her.

She glances over. The two of you had gotten closer at work. You were hoping to hang out with her one time down at the beach, or maybe grab lunch after a morning shift. She runs a hand over her buzzcut hair style and nods.

“Do you think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?”

“Bit deep to be asking that at eight o’clock at night, don’t you think?” she smirks.

You roll your eyes. As she goes on making the cocktail, you elaborate. “I have this dumbass crush on this guy which I know I shouldn’t have…I just feel bad for thinking about him so much.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” she snorts.

There’s the loud rattle of ice against stainless steel as Lizzy shakes the cocktail. Then, as she strains it into a martini glass, she looks up at you once more.    

“Who’s this guy? Do I know him?”

“Maybe.”

Her eyebrows shoot up into her hairline. “Is it Tom?”

And, no, it isn’t Tom, but maybe saying it is means she won’t keep digging. You’d rather keep your embarrassing years-long infatuation with your brother’s best friend close to the chest. So, you do your best to look meek as you nod.

“Holy shit! Well, if it makes you feel better, he’s totally into you,” Lizzy tells you.

“He is?”

“Hell yeah. Guy practically ogles you across the room,” she says.

You glance over to Tom. He’s stood before a table, talking away, scribbling down their order on a notepad. At the feeling of being watched, he looks up and meets your gaze. You flash him a small smile and he mirrors it quickly before returning his focus to the task at hand.

“So, do you?”

“Think there’s such a thing as bad thoughts?” Lizzy checks. You nod. She ponders the question whilst garnishing the cocktail. “No. No, I think only actions talk. I mean, I think bad things all the time about customers who are dicks. I could put glass in their drinks: that’d show them sort of thing. But I don’t actually put glass in their drinks, so I’m off the hook. Nobody’s the wiser.”

It’s a somewhat extreme example but it gets the point across. You take the tray and nod.

“I mean, maybe fantasising about it might be cathartic. Get it out your system, you know?” Her sly wink speaks volumes as to what these ‘fantasies’ are about. You roll your eyes.

“Thank you for your advice, Lizz. I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Anytime sunshine.”

With that, you walk over table 16 and deliver their drinks. The rest of the shift passes by rather quickly. You end up making a bet with Tom that you can sell more pints of larger than him and come up victorious, leaving work with an extra ten dollars in your pockets.

The streets are painted sunset purple, orange and pink. You spot John B’s campervan, known as The Twinkie, in the parking lot; he’d promised to pick you up after work tonight. But as you walk up to the passenger side, you realise it’s JJ behind the wheel. You’re not sure if the feeling of your organs shrinking is a good thing or a bad thing.

“Where’s John B?” you ask, climbing in beside him.

“Nice way to say, ‘hi JJ, it’s so good to see you!’”

“Okay, hi JJ,” you say, rolling your eyes. He starts the engine. “Now, where’s my brother?”

“He had to go do something for Cameron.”

“At ten at night?”

“Dude, I just work here, a’right? I do as he says so he lets me stay on his sofa,” JJ says. You laugh.

The radio kicks on and ‘Downtown Lights’ starts to play. You look out the window as he drives, watching the houses fade into overgrow and trees.

“Hey, you hungry?”

“Starved.”

“We can swing by a Wendy’s on the way home, if you wanna,” JJ says.

You smile as you look over to him, nodding. With that, he takes the next left and the two of you make your way in comfortable silence to the drive through. At the worker’s request, JJ recounts his order: two hamburgers, both with cheese, one without pickles. Oh and a large Pepsi.

As he pulls forward to pay, you say, “you remembered I don’t like pickles?”

He glances over to you like you’re stupid for even asking. “Course.”

Food secured, Pepsi in the cupholder for you both to share, you start the journey to the Chateau.

“Feed me a fry?”

You laugh and oblige. It’s the least you can do, considering he bought you takeout, after all. You turf one out the brown paper bag and hold up to his lips. His breath fans against your fingers as he takes it. Chews and swallows. You managed to tear your eyes away. That man could yawn and you’d be mesmerised, you swear. It’s pathetic.

“Thanks.”

“Course.”

The ride back is over way too soon. You take what’s left of your food and your bag, opening the door. “You staying over tonight?”

JJ contemplates a moment before shaking his head. He studies his hands as they run up and over the steering wheel when he says, “no. No, I gotta go home sometime.”

“Right,” you quietly say. The last fight him and his dad got in was ugly. He came over, shaking with anger, a purple bruise forming under his eye. It scared the shit out of you to let him go back there alone. “Well, thanks for the food.”

JJ looks up from the steering wheel and takes you in. His lips move, like he wants to say something, but he seems to abandon the thought. You take it as your cue to leave.

“See you soon.”

“Yeah. See you soon, Little Routledge.”

You hate that nickname. The resentment is thick to swallow as you say goodnight, stepping out the van.

John B isn’t home when you walk into the Chateau. The lights are off, dirty dishes piled up in the sink. The sofa bed is unmade from the last time JJ slept on it. You contemplate crashing on it for the night, just so you can feel as if you’re near to him, but you know that’s insane. If John B were to find you there, he’d only be concerned that something was wrong with your own room, either way. So you trundle back to your bedroom and strip out of your uniform. Makeup rinsed off and teeth brushed, you crawl into bed and drift off easily.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

His lips are hot and wet on your skin, kissing down your stomach. Your breathing’s laboured like you’re fighting an adrenaline rush. He seems to notice, laughing darkly against your tummy.

“So wound up already and I’ve barely touched you,” JJ croons in his southern drawl.

Your eyes slip shut, fighting back a whimper as his fingers dip teasingly into the waistband of your panties. A moan finally lets slip at the sensation of his lips pressing against your crotch, over the cotton.

“You want it?”

“Please,” you whisper.

“Yeah? You want my mouth?”

“Yes, JJ, please.”

It’s embarrassing to beg but you don’t have much left in your mind other than thoughts of him to even care.

Fingers knotting into his hair, you try and coax him lower still. And he obliges. Drags your panties down your legs like time is a luxury. You wonder if he likes teasing you; if it brings him pleasure like the feeling of his hands on your body does for you. He leans back on his haunches and runs his palms up and down your thighs, staring at you exposed pussy. His shark tooth necklace sits against his toned chest and you’re jealous of how close it gets to be to him.

“Fuck,” JJ groans as you open your legs.

He leans back down and nuzzles your inner thigh, pressing a sharp kiss with his teeth, sucking in the skin and relishing your pleasured yelp. It feels as if he’s marking you as he leaves the hickey: mine.

“Been dreaming ‘bout this.”

Before you can let out another pathetic plea, JJ situates himself between your legs and goes down on you. Eats you out like a man who’s been lost at sea, like a man starved. Sighs at the taste of you on his tongue, kissing at your thighs as if to catch his breath, dragging you closer and closer to the edge. The damp of his tongue laps at your clit and your legs lock around him in a vice. He’s indefatigable, insatiable and…it’s too much.

“I can’t,” you whine hopelessly. Your fingers grasp at the sheets, eyes clenched shut.

“Come on,” JJ preens. “Wanna see you come.”

He leans close to your ear, taking your lobe between his teeth, and slips a finger into your seeping hole. Your orgasm comes like waves crashing over splintered rocks; breathing jagged and vision blurring behind eyelids. Somewhere in the euphoric haze you cry out his name. Flashes of colour blending into a mercurial high as he works you through your ecstasy, unrelenting.

You gasp awake.

Had you been sleeping?

Your forehead is damp with sweat, throat parched and chest heaving. Anyone would have thought you’d have just sprinted three miles. When you sit up in bed, you register the pulsing between your legs and the telltale stickiness of your thighs.

Shit. Good thing there’s no such thing as bad thoughts.

Wiping at your face, your skin feels red hot. You venture to the bathroom and drink water from the faucet. Making eye contact with yourself is too hard right now, considering you just had the most incredible wet dream about your brother’s best friend. Now that the high is passing, you’re overcome with shame and guilt. You’re delusional. Maybe you should submit yourself to be sectioned. Would be a good way to kill some of these summer weeks…

Heading back to bed feels like returning to the scene of a crime. Instead, you head out onto the porch, dressed in nothing but a t-shirt and panties. John B’s a deep sleeper, you’ve come to learn. You’ve never heard him get up in the night, in all your moments of insomnia. There’s no risk of crossing paths with him out here.

Stepping out onto the paint-peeled floorboards, you notice he forgot to turn off the porch light when he came home. Great, I guess I know where my wage is going. But as you head to your favourite red armchair, ready to gaze out at the marsh and watch the waterside plants dance in the breeze, you freeze.

JJ’s on the sofa. And he’s awake. You can tell just from where you’re stood.

Before you can flee back to your room, the floorboard creaks. JJ jolts up and looks around, eyes landing on you. You swallow. The moment you lay eyes on him, part of your dream comes screaming back to you. The way your voice cracked as you cried out his name, tumbling over the edge. You quickly shun away the thoughts, slamming them closed in a box, before your body can lose itself to the fantasy once more. Please God tell me that I didn’t actually scream his name.

“Hi,” you dumbly say.

“Hey.”

“I thought you were staying at your place tonight,” you say.

JJ shrugs. “Change of plans, I guess.”

“Oh.”

He looks back ahead at the armchair, back to you, and you can’t help but pull a face akin to holy shit what the fuck do I do? When he holds up a joint, you decide to stay. Panties are just the same as a bikini anyway, and he’s seen you in those. You make sure to wear your cutest ones when he’s surfing with you. The ones that are tight in all the right places and hug your figure in a way that you wished he would. Oh my God, shut up. You wordlessly take the joint as you quickly step past him, planting yourself in the armchair. You pull your legs up and sit atop of them, taking a long drag to try and calm your racing mind and heart. Inspecting the floor seems a good thing to do, suddenly. The divots in the wood from worms and the strips of paint. Looking up, you find JJ’s eyes trained on your legs. His gaze diverts when you lean forward, offering him the blunt again. As he lifts himself to take it, you see him wince, and now in the light of the porch, fully taking him in you, you can make out the bloody cut beside his eye.

“Jesus Christ, JayJ.”

“It’s fine,” he reflexively says. He takes another hit. “Just need some self-medication.”

“Bullshit. You need to clean that thing ‘fore it gets infected.”

“Be my guest,” JJ scoffs.

With that, you get to your feet and head back into the house. The first aid kit is under the bathroom sink. It’s probably the least dusty thing in the whole room. Returning to him, you forget all about the reason that you got up in the first place and shove it to the back of your mind. This was more important than worrying about some dumb dream. Shoving his legs off the couch, you force him to make space for you. You place the first aid kit on your lap and open it. JJ keeps smoking. The smell of weed clouds your senses. Picking out a disinfectant wipe, you turn to him.

“This’ll sting,” you say, opening the packet.

“That’s what she said.”

You frown. “What kind of kinky ass sex are you having?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he grins.

For a moment dread drops down your body, chilling your spine. Did he hear you? No, no he couldn’t have. You probably didn’t make a noise. He’s just being his usual, salacious self.

You take his jawline in hold gently between your fingers. The bone is hard beneath the soft of his skin; fine stubble scratches your fingertips. Leaning up, you try not to get distracted in his eyes as you dab at the cut. You apologise as he hisses. It doesn’t look as intimidating when clean of blood, which is more than a relief. You dip back into the first aid kit and offer up two band aids. One is plain nude and the other Hello Kitty.

“Take your pick.”

He rolls his eyes with a small smile and grabs the Hello Kitty one, holding it out to you. You shift onto your knees, bending over him to plant it over his cut. You notice a bruise forming on his cheek bone on the other side, and a cut lip. You should have insisted he stayed over when he dropped you off. He looks up, as if he can hear your thoughts, and meets your gaze. You can’t seem to find it in yourself to move away.

“It’s not your fault,” he quietly says.

You swallow. It’s scary how easy he can read you. Makes you worry what other thoughts he can tell from your face. “Wished you just stayed here.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Hate the thought of you going back to that house.”

“That’s sweet,” he smiles. “But if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t have you here taking care of me.”

“Oh, was it all part of your masterplan?” you joke, finding your smile again. His seems to grow at the sight.

“Something like that.”

When his lips press to yours, you’re taken aback. It feels like fire, searing hot, and you flinch like you’ve been burnt. You gape at him, wide eyed, and it seems to register what he’s just done. You both move to put as much space between you as possible, as if trying to keep the blaze from spreading.

“Shit, I—”

“I should go back to bed,” you hurry out.

JJ nods. “Yeah, yeah. Course.”

In your scramble to get back to your feet and back in your room, the first aid kit falls to the floor, the contents spilling out. You cuss and drop to your knees, rushing to retrieve all the clutter. JJ joins you, passing you gloves and bandages. You find some nerve to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he says. The sincerity in his voice…It’s painful.

“It’s okay. I don’t…It isn’t…”

You sigh. Your speech is just as messed as your mind. Closing your eyes, gathering your words, you take a deep breath. Looking back to JJ, you shake your head.

“We can’t.”

“I know,” he replies, almost sadly. Nods once more. “Yeah, I know. I’m just…high. And tired.”

“Right. Course.”

And whilst his excuses should sting, they don’t, because you don’t believe them. JJ smokes enough weed to not be affected all that much by half a joint. But you don’t argue. Instead, you close the box and go to head inside. You stop in the doorway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you say.

You spare him one last glance. He’s on the floor, head hung and back to you, and you consider staying. But you don’t. You go straight to bed, acting as if a fresh start tomorrow will reset the entire thing.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the morning, JJ’s gone. John B doesn’t seem to have even realised he’d stayed over. You find your older brother in the kitchen, washing up the dirty dishes. Swiping up a towel, you come to help.

“Hey. Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you lie. “You?”

“Like a rock,” he grins. “You still up for that keggar tonight, at the boneyard?”

“Oh shit, that’s tonight?”

“Yeah. All the others are going,” John B says.

“Yeah, I’ll go. I think I’m catching a ride with Lizzy from work.”

“Alright. Just stay safe.”

“I will,” you drawl. He smiles at you before turning back to the washing up. “Hey, John B?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For letting me stay here.”

“Yeah, course,” he says. He pauses his handy work, turning his attention to you. “You’ve always got a bed to crash on here, even if child services are up my ass.”

“I appreciate it. I really needed to get out of Colorado.”

The seven missed calls from your mom slip into your mind. Her texts go unanswered, but she knows you read them. You don’t want her to think you’re in danger. Talking to her is just too much right now.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I needed you back too,” he says. “Things have been kinda messy since my dad…disappeared. I don’t know what I’d do if I was on my own.”

“You’re never gonna be on your own, though,” you smile. “The Pogues would do anything for you. It’s actually kinda scary.”

John B laughs at that. “Yeah, yeah, they’re, uh, not the smartest.”

“Apart from Pope,” you point out. He nods, smiling as he looks back to the soapy water.

“Yeah, apart from Pope.”

“JJ cares about you a lot,” you feel the need to add. His voice last night, apology ready, after your kiss, echoes in your mind.

“I know. I feel like you two are the best things in my life right now,” John B admits. The guilt multiples by tenfold with that. You fix your face when he looks to you. “So, thanks.”

“No worries, big bro,” you reply, nudging his shoulder with yours.

He laughs. “Thanks, little sis.”

With that, you both continue cleaning the pots. The shame from last night gets shoved down into the deepest, darkest pit of your stomach, and you try to go about your day without sparing another thought to JJ.

On the way to the keggar, Lizzy grills you about your ‘crush’ on Tom. “He’s gonna be there tonight, I think.”

“Oh, really?” you say. You know you don’t sound enthused. It’s too much effort to pretend.

“Everything good?” she frowns, glancing away from the road.

You nod and plaster on a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just tired, I think.”

“Couple drinks in you and you’ll be wide awake, I promise,” she assures.

Nodding, you shift in your seat and look out the window. Your skirt rides up in the processes. It’s a little short but it’s so ridiculously hot tonight, you can’t seem to care. A crotchet style crop-top dresses down the outfit. You don’t want to seem like you’re trying too hard for a beachside keggar. As you pull up closer to the boneyard, cars line the roads. Lizzy finds a spot and parks. You grab the crate of Budlight and her the box of White Claw, and you hop out the car towards the beach. Her stories about work and school have brightened your mood.

She’s tall and remarkably cool in a way that you never will be. She has stick and poke tattoos on her knees and elbows, and nine piercings on one ear. Her nose ring and snake bite piercings are far from intimidating on her cherub like features. The buzzcut has been dyed neon blue, standing bright against her dark skin. As you pass groups of teens, she shouts hello to those she recognises and shares the odd bro-hug.

You add your drinks to the pile of booze before grabbing a can, cracking it open. A quick scan of the scene tells you that the Pogues are still pre-drinking at the Chateau. You’d managed to dodge JJ so far.

“This is a pretty decent turn out,” Lizzy tells you, swigging from her can.

“Know a lot of people here?”

“Sure,” she says. She points to a gaggle of polo-shirt wearing pretty boys who look like they could snap you with one finger. “Those are the gym rat kooks. That tall blonde Topper is with the princess of Figure Eight, Sarah Cameron.”

JJ was right: biceps without a brain. You watch as he shotguns a drink and cracks the can on his forehead. Sarah Cameron, blonde hair straight flowing down her back, does not look impressed.

“And her brother Rafe. That guy’s all kinds of whacked out,” Lizzy mutters. You follow her finger to spot a tall, short haired guy. He looks unapproachable, even from far away.

“Yo Lizzy!”

You both turn to find a crowd of girls and guys. One of them is waving at Lizzy and she waves back.

“Come on, I know these guys. They’re cool,” she tells you, taking your hand and guiding you over.

You’re introduced to everyone and soon enough are roped into beer pong and shots. It’s fun though. Everyone’s having a laugh, cheering each other on. You hear about some good spots to grab food and learn Michael, Lizzy’s closest friend, can drink you under the table. A few hours in and there’s a comfortable buzz to your bones. You haven’t thought about the Pogues, or JJ, or the fleeting kiss all night. As you laugh along to one of Michael’s soccer stories, someone taps you on the shoulder. You turn around to come face to face with Tom.

“Hey,” you smile, squiffy.

“Hey! I didn’t know you were coming tonight.”

“Yeah, I came with Lizzy.”

“Hey, Tom,” she smiles before sending you a more than suggestive look. Oh, shit. The lie. “Hey, why don’t you go get my girl a top up?”

Before you can contest, she’s taking your half full can out of your hand and coaxing you away with an assuring smile. Tom takes it in stride and walks with you to the coolers. He grabs two cans of beer, passing one to you, and you cheers him.

“How you finding Kildare?”

“Good.”

“Yeah? You been hanging with John B’s crowd, right?”

“Most of the time, yeah,” you smile, nodding. He makes a face before taking a drink. You frown. “What?”

“Nah, nothing. They’re just kinda…well, I mean, some people think they’re bad news.”

“Some people, huh?” you say cautiously.

“Just reputations and all that. Like that JJ guy. He’s got slippery fingers, if you know what I mean,” Tom says, wiggling his own in demonstration.

Suddenly this conversation is very unappealing. You glance off to Lizzy and the others. “I should probably get back to them. Thanks for the drink, though.”

“No, hey, no,” Tom says. He grabs you by the wrist. “Come on, I was being a dick. I’ve had one too many. Let’s just hang, alright? I really wanna get to know you.”

You look between him and Lizzy and sigh. Taking a swig, you shrug. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tick you off.”

“I like the Pogues. They’re a good group,” you feel the need to defend.

“No, yeah, they are!” Tom agrees. You can smell the stench of liquor on his breath. “I just don’t want you to get corrupted by them.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just, you’re new here—”

“And so I’m clueless on how to judge people?” you finish sardonically.

Tom rolls his eyes and it makes your anger tick. “Come on, you don’t gotta be a bitch about this.”

“What did you just call me? You know what? Forget it,” you scoff, snatching your arm away from his hold. “Have fun drinking on your own.”

But you don’t get very far before he’s grabbing at you again. “Calm down, would you? Just gimme—”

“Let go!” you demand.

His grip only tightens. The strong front you’re putting on begins to crumble under the panic of this guy is way bigger than me.

“Just quit bitching and we can talk,” he says harshly.

“I don’t want to talk. Now please let go of me,” you firmly return.

He doesn’t let go. Keeps chattering away, insisting that you have to hear him out.

“Let go, Tom!”

“Everything good here?”

Your wide eyes look away from Tom and land on JJ, and your whole body relaxes. He’s looking at you and the panic must read clear on your face because his demeanour changes in a split second. Jaw tight, he turns to Tom.

“I think you should let go, man.”

“You think I’m gonna listen to you?” Tom scoffs.

JJ takes another step towards him. He towers over Tom by enough to be intimidating. “Think you should listen to her.”

“Oh, I get it,” Tom snarls. He lets go of you and you can feel your skin breathing. You rub at the pink marks, easing the sting. Tom gets into JJ’s face, undeterred from a fight. “You wanna keep John B’s sloppy sister for yourself, huh?”

JJ’s fist flies at Tom’s face, making an ugly, visceral sound as it lands on his left cheek. You gasp. Nearly knocked off balance, Tom stumbles on the sand. The commotion has drawn in somewhat of a crowd. Before you can intervene, Tom’s throwing hands. He aims an upper cut to JJ’s jaw but he’s quick to dodge, landing his own punch instead by Tom’s eyebrow. That one seems to deter him. He trips backwards. The chanting of the crowds egging it on makes you feel sick. You’d just finished patching JJ up last night, and you’ve seen his anger before. It takes control quickly and blinds him to reason. The last thing he needs is to wind up in a cell. So, before he can land another hit, you’re stepping forward and grabbing at his arm, stopping him.

“Come on, let’s just go,” you say pleadingly.

His chest is heaving with anger, breathing short and jaw heavy set and tense. He hesitates, looking between yourself and Tom. He’s still cradling his last hit, trying to regain his composure. Sighing, JJ lets you lead him away. Tom’s heckling is laced with slurs directed at you, and you have to keep a steady grip on JJ to keep him from going back.

“He’s not worth it, JayJ,” you mutter.

“You’re so wrong,” JJ darkly returns, but he doesn’t go back.

Away from the beach, back on the road, you let go. He paces for a moment, trying to calm himself. Tugs off his cap and rakes his fingers through his hair, breathing deep and slow. You don’t speak: just let him go through the motions. Babying him through this isn’t going to help anyone.

Whilst violence isn’t the answer to anything, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for JJ’s help.

Letting him cool off, you take a seat on one of the fallen tree trunks.

“Hey.”

Looking up, JJ walks over. He’s mostly back to himself.

“You okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“No. Just freaked me out a bit. He’s not usually like that. He’s just drunk.”

“Like that’s an excuse,” JJ scoffs. He takes the spot next to you, sitting worryingly close.

The culmination of last night and tonight makes your head spin. The effects of the alcohol vanished the moment Tom took a hold of you. Now you just want to forget the whole thing.

“Wanna get out of here?” JJ asks.

You turn your head to face him and smile smally, nodding.

“Come on. I brought my bike.”

His red bike is parked beside the Twinkie. He climbs on first and offers a hand to help you onto the back. Your arms slot around his middle, circling around his taught chest, pressing yourself against him. Face resting on the middle of his back, you try not to inhale the smell of him. It might be too much for tonight. His calloused hands on yours have you shifting your hold, ensuring your tight against him like a backpack.

“Good?”

“Good,” you quietly reply.

He kicks off the stand and starts up the engine. You pull away from the keggar and up the road, zipping down the isolated streets. There’s nobody around at this time. Not a soul in sight. It feels so right, wrapped up against him like this, safe in his presence. Tom was wrong: JJ wasn’t bad news. Sure, he was a klepto, but he was the same guy who learnt how to sew to fix your favourite pair of shorts when you were little. The same guy who stepped up when some dirtbag was harassing you. The same guy who remembered you don’t like pickles on your burgers. Who looked at your paintings as if they were Picasso.

Somewhere along the ride, one of JJ’s hands comes to rest on your own. You don’t ask why and don’t pull away. Just let the reassuring weight of his hand on yours stay there and ground you to him like an anchor. Here, flying through the night, you can pretend like all the other shit doesn’t matter. It’s just you and him.

He starts onto a dirt track, slowing down, and a house emerges. Pastel yellow painted exterior hidden behind porch netting. There’s clutter of engines and fishing gear amongst surfing supplies. He pulls to a stop and kicks on the stand, turning off the engine. It’s quiet now, without its rumble. “Your dad home?” you can’t help but ask, staring at the front door.

JJ shakes his head. “No. He’s out on Friday nights. Kinda the only routine he has.”

You don’t ask where and he doesn’t expand. You step off the bike and watch as he clambers off too. Fixing your skirt, you wait for him to talk. He doesn’t. “I should probably head back,” you say. You’re not entirely sure why you came to his place instead. You’d assumed when you got on the bike that he’d take you back the Chateau.

“I mean, we can share a joint first if you want. Help you calm down and stuff, after that shitshow,” JJ half-chuckles.

There’s something heavy in the humid air. It’s hard to describe, hard to place, but you can feel it like static electricity. You find yourself nodding. He nods too and starts up to the house, hands in his black short pockets. You watch his feet sink into the grass and guide your eyes up his figure. His shoulders are tense, dressed under a thin t-shirt. He ditches his cap on the kitchen counter when you walk through the door. Through the house, past the neglection, and to his bedroom. He flicks on the light and clears his throat as he goes to his desk drawer.

You stand, leaning against his door until it clicks closed, and look around his room. There’s a world map pinned to the wall but no markings on it asides from one: Kildare, North Carolina. Print outs of palm trees and pressed, framed butterflies and leaves seem less innocent when placed between posters of models on the beach. The floor is a mess of dirty clothes and empty beer cans. Several dead vapes litter near the overflowing bin, and cigarette and joint buds scatter the windowsill and beside table. But the smell of JJ hangs strong in the air; it makes you smile to yourself.

“Alright,” JJ sighs. The desk drawer slams closed and he turns around, holding up a fresh joint and lighter. His initials are scratched into the metal: JJ. He sits on the bed and places the blunt between his lips, flicking at his lighter. You watch him take a drag and take it off him when he offers it over.

No words are shared as you pass the bud for several minutes. You both glance around the room, at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but each other.

“How’s your face?”

“Huh?” he asks, finally meeting your eyes.

You nod to his cheek. “Your cut from the other night?”

“Oh, right,” he mumbles. He lifts a finger and strokes it absentmindedly. “It’s alright.”

“Good.”

JJ hands you the joint again, you take a drag, you pass it back to him. That same feeling from earlier, when you first climbed off the bike, has only amplified.

“So…”

You brave clearing the distance between you. You take the spot next to him on the bed.

“We gonna talk about it.”

“What’s there to talk about?” JJ deflects, studying the floor.

“Well, you kissed me,” you eventually reply, taking the joint back. “So, there’s that.”

“I already told you,” he sighs. “I was tired and doped up.”

When you say nothing, he looks up at you. "What? You think I'm lying?"

You take a drag. Shrugging, you honestly reply, “yeah, a little.”

He holds your gaze as if challenging you to back down. You don’t. Beating around the bush won’t help anything here, and its obvious you can’t go back to acting like it didn’t happen. You can’t move past it until you know why he did.

“S’just weird,” JJ mutters, looking away. “What happened last night, with me and you. S’just weird.”

“Yeah, it was weird for me too,” you agree. Swallowing, you take another hit. “But not bad weird, right?”

JJ’s head lifts once more. His eyes flash across your face like he’s searching for some kind of trap. He sucks his teeth in contemplation. “No. Not bad weird.”

Your heart stutters, breathing shaky and unsure. You feel your eyes dart down to his strawberry pink lips, and his to yours. But then he’s shaking his head. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know…” you breathe. You’re transfixed on his lips. Can’t move away, can’t bring yourself too. The blunt in your fingers is burning away, ash dropping to the floor, but you don’t care. All of it, everything but JJ, is white noise.

The moment you flit your eyes up to his, something shifts in him. His jaw ticks as he clenches it. Your brows pull in thought but there’s no time for you to ask.

“Fuck it.”

His lips are on yours within a breadth. He consumes your senses like a drug, dulling down anything else until all your thoughts are on him. He grabs for the blunt in your fingers, haphazardly putting it on the bedside table, and then his hands are sliding up along your sides, up your back, into your hair. One finds purchase on your cheek, and you rest your jaw in his hold like a bird settled in its favourite branch. The way he holds you like you’re something holy is different to how sinful his kiss is. It’s pure passion: raw, animalistic heat from weeks of build-up. And, God, it feels so right. The way his tongue brushes against yours, warm in your mouth, heavy in your head. The nip of his teeth on your lips and the fanning of his breath when he has to break for air. You’ve never been kissed like this before, not by anyone. It’s dizzying.

Until it isn’t, and he’s pulling away. His forehead rests against your own. You’re both panting. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he says.

You slide a hand up his neck, tracing his jawline with your fingers. He practically melts under your touch, eyes slipping shut. “I know,” you whisper distractedly. Your thumb traces his lower lip. It’s swollen from your kisses.

He blinks his eyes open. “I’m serious. He can’t know.”

“He won’t,” you say, going to reconnect your lips.

But JJ stops you. “No, he can’t. He’d…God, he just can’t.”

You want to cry, seeing the moral dilemma weigh on JJ, feeling you share the burden. But the thought of walking away from this, of not feeling every inch of him, of never hearing him fall apart, makes you want to sob.

“Maybe just one time,” you murmur. Your finger traces down his chin, along the centre of his neck. “And we can just get it out of our system.”

“Yeah,” JJ mumbles. “Yeah, one time.”

“Yeah?”

You meet his gaze. His pupils are dilated, heavy with lust, and you feel your body ignite. “Touch me, please.”

With that simple mark of consent, JJ’s unchained. He doesn’t hold back when your lips reconnect. Somehow it becomes deeper, rougher, better. It’s such a strange oxymoron, the way he touches you and kisses you. You pull away to remove your crop top, and he takes the moment to strip off his shirt. The two of you are shameless as you take in the other. Reaching out a hand, you run your fingers up his chest in the way that you’ve imagined so many times before. It’s funny how in your head, you’ve already done it. His eyes dip down, watching your hands explore. You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his left pectoral, then his right. Sighing, his chest drops up and down with uneven breathes.

“So pretty,” you say through your kisses.

His fingers tether into your hair. There’s a slight tug that sends ripples of pleasure through your body in ways that it shouldn’t as he pulls you away, guiding your lips back to him. As he crawls atop of you, you inch up the bed, skirt riding up. You settle on our back. JJ’s greedy in his touch. Strokes your skin, explores your body, like it’s his own. And in a way it is because you’d give him anything if he asked. When his fingers slip behind your back, searching for the clasp of your bra, you lift yourself onto your elbows. He holds your gaze as he unfastens it, guiding it off your shoulders, helping it off your arms.

“Fuck,” he sighs.

A smile teases at your lips. It takes a certain type of guy to make you blush at the sound of his curses. Your head rocks back, eyes sinking closed, as his lips latch around your nipple. A hand palms at the skin, teasing your breast, exploring your reactions. You sigh out your pleasure, bringing a hand up to mess with his hair. It’s better than you imagined. Tops every fantasy, every wet dream, every sinful thought. And it’s only just begun.

“So fucking sexy,” JJ groans, kissing up your body until he finds your lips.

You don’t want him away from you. He looms over you, encasing you in the safe, consuming feeling of his presence, trapping you in the smell of his cologne and soap that you’ve tried so desperately to avoid. Through the kisses and love bites marked into necks and collarbones, you feel one of his hands ghost the outline of your figure. Traces down so slowly like you might not even notice. Down, down, to your panties. It’s there that he sweeps over your cotton covered mound. You sigh against his lips in anticipation.

“I know you’ve been thinking ‘bout this,” JJ says.

His voice is just as you pictured it: deep and crooning, his Southern accent at forefront. You want to bottle it like brandy and drink it until you black out. His lips work down your neck as he lightly circles your clit over your panties and you can’t stop your moan.

“I heard you, the other night.” Your eyes shoot open. JJ meets your gaze. He’s dying, the desperation clear as day on his face. His eyes themselves could send him straight to hell. There’s the shadow of a smirk.

“Were you thinking of me, whilst you were getting off?”

You go to push him away. The last thing you need is for him to tease you about it and make fun. But he doesn’t let you. Instead, he kisses just below your ear.

“Cause I think about you. Every night since you’ve been back. Can’t jack off to anything else,” he confesses into the crux of your ear. Your only reply is a small, surprised gasp. Your body’s ablaze with his words.

His fingers finally dip below your panties, sliding between your soaking folds. He groans at the sensation and you feel your legs give way. He works at you for a while, toying with you like it’s a side hobby. You’re only half aware of the sounds you make. One of your hands has situated itself on his upper back, nails scratching at the skin. JJ can’t seem to keep his mouth shut. It’s one blasphemy after another, and it drives you deeper and deeper into the abyss. He seems to become impatient. He removes fingers to push your underwear down. You kick them off at the ankles with a small giggle.

The moment his finger sinks into you, you swear you’ve seen heaven. JJ worships you, taking his time to inch you closer and closer to the edge. Another finger, then another. The stretch is heaven. Your back arches off the bed, mouth agape, brain dumb with pleasure. He won’t be quiet. He whispers praises into your ear. Narrates his own fantasies he’s harboured about you. Know you’ve been teasing me with those tiny bikinis. I wish I fucked you on the porch the other night. The moment his thumb swipes over your clit, you know you’re close. And then he’s bending his fingers just slightly, hitting that spot. You abandon all religion: this is the only type of prayer you need.

JJ has the audacity to laugh as you climax. You grasp uselessly at his body, the bedsheets, anything. You use a shaky hand to push his fingers away, overstimulated, and he finally relents. Starts kissing at your neck like a Goddamn vampire.

“That good, huh?”

You can’t really formulate words. You just drag his face to yours, kissing him senseless. When you inevitably part for breath, JJ leans back. He pinches your chin between two fingers, gnawing at his lower lip, and parts your lips for him. Your body pulses at the submissiveness he’s placed you under. Then his used fingers are slipped into your mouth. You close your lips around them, holding his gaze as you suck them clean. The salty distinct taste is unfamiliar but not necessarily unpleasant. He gives a small laugh, like he’s in disbelief.

“Fuck. Why did we wait so long to do this?”

You pull his hand free, taking grip on his shoulders. Pushing him against his bedroom wall, you move to straddle him. His hands fall onto your hips. Somewhere in your heady make-out, you rock yourself back on him. JJ groans; his head knocks back against the wall. He’s rock hard. It must be torture. You shuffle off him to make room to pull his shorts off. They join the mess of clothes on the floor. The tip leaks precum, straining painfully. You go to jack him off but JJ stops you.

“I won’t last,” he admits, half-embarrassed.

You nod, biting back your smile. “You got protection?”

“Top drawer,” he says, nodding to the bedside table.

You lean over and dig about before finding a condom. You come back, tear it open, and gently slide it over him. He lets out a shuddering breath at your touch, eyes clenched shut in concentration. It makes you feel slightly guilty for letting him indulge you for so long, but this will pay it back.

Straddling him once more, you steady yourself with one hand on either shoulder. His find home on your hips once more, and he helps you line up. Then you slowly sink down onto him. The stretch stings despite the earlier efforts. Head hanging forward, mouth falling open in silent moans, eyes clenching shut, you take him in. JJ’s mumbling praises, eyes transfixed on where you connect, spurring you on. Taking me so good. Jus’little more. You rock against him, using whatever energy you have to ride him. He helps guide you, head resting against the wall. You love that he isn’t quiet. Love that you’re on top and can see every ripple of pleasure course through him, reflect on his face. But when his eyes slip shut, you take a hand and guide his face to yours. Pressing your forehead against him, you lean forward and steady yourself with a hand on his chest. The new angle is euphoric. You moan and whine against his lips, eyes staring into his own. It’s the most hideously lewd symphony as the two of you chase your highs. There’s only one thought in your mind. And when JJ comes unannounced, shuddering as he finishes, never looking away from your eyes, only one thought is in your mind.

If it can only happen this once, it has to be perfect...

to be continued (part 2 will be released later this week)

[xuchiya]

Hello! Firstly, thank you so much for sharing your beautiful writings with us online 💕

I saw your post about your inbox being empty and I was wondering if you could write Jongho angst/fluff about his new relationship with reader who likes skinship, so like he gets shy and conflicted at first, maybe even insecure about not being good bf or angry about having to do skinship but then they both work things out and it has good ending? 🥺

I'm in desperate need of Jongho scenarios, maybe you'll bless me and other ribos with one 🙏

If not, it's okay too! Have a good day/night :D

Hello my loves, thank you so much, I'm quite rusty since i have stop writing for many years and this year was the only time I returned writing!! I am happy to always share my works with you ... and feed your delulus heheh 👹kidding my loves. Anyways, your wish is my command my loves.

"I'll hold your hand, eventually" || choi jongho || one-shot

|genre: non!idol jongho. fluff. angst. girlfriend! reader |mentions: fear. self-doubt.

When you first meet Jongho, you notice the way he is conservative. At first you thought he was shy—which you were correct as it took him a lot of time to adjust. You were patient enough to let him bask in the presence and the reality of being in a committed relationship. Meanwhile, inside his head numerous anxious thoughts hit him at once; being in the relationship, skinship does happen in some kind of way. Either it be a choice of savoring in the closeness or sweetness of your partner or by accident closure, either way it happens and he is not prepared for it. 

The air between you and Jongho had grown thick with an awkward tension that neither of you seemed to know how to cut. You put your lips in a thin line as you glance his way before directing it somewhere.

 It wasn’t always this way. 

When your relationship had first begun, everything had felt easy, light, like walking on a cloud. He is gentle with his words assuring you, making his presence a sense of comfort whenever you walk outside to take a breather— to which you both have loved to do ever since.

But now, four months in, a certain weight hung in the space you shared.

It had started with the little small things. One morning, you and Jongho decided to eat breakfast outside since the weather is nice; weather is warm to your skin, the sky greets you with its fluffy clouds and it feels like a good day. Unknowingly under the influence of the beauty of nature, you reach for his hand, a moment you wanted to share with him but it all shattered when Jongho smoothly pulls away from your hold. He thought that you wouldn’t notice when he started pointing things in general to distract you.

You felt it and it left you awkward and embarrassed as you thought you were going way too fast and nodded at his facts and such.

But what you didn’t know is the way he stiffened when you leaned into him on the couch during movie nights. Your favorite routine with him was to watch various shows and anime movies. Howl’s moving castle was your favorite of all time and it always leaves you with a fluttering heart.

“Howl is so sweet, he reminds me a lot of you.” You spoke with a huge smile on your lips as you gaze at the man beside you. He chuckles, shaking his head.

“He looks more like Wooyoung-hyung.” Your lips jutted to the side and nodded, agreeing with him “Yeah well he acts more like you.” 

You watch how he subtly rolled his eyes at you, jokingly to which you threw the small pillow you were hugging at him. He kept teasing you until you narrowed your eyes and moved towards him. The sudden short distance made Jongho’s eyes widen as he subtly moved backwards.

“You still are my Howl.” Even the joke had died and the awkwardness born in the middle of your playful bickering; It made you move away as you mumbled a small apology and kept your eyes on the screen.

That moment hurt you as you notice in the corner of your eyes the way he moved in his seat to make himself comfortable and placed a pillow just between you two. It was embarrassing and painful as your eyes blurred for a minute until you pushed it down and distract yourself, unsuccessfully, on the movie.

The last one was the final straw. He never reciprocated your hugs.

You tried not to let it bother you, knowing that Jongho wasn’t as naturally inclined toward skinship as you were. But the more it happened, the more the doubt crept in. Did he not like touching you? Did it mean something deeper about your relationship? 

You knew how shallow your reason is for distancing yourself from Jongho but it felt like the world was playing with you for finally having the thought of happily ever after. Of course! You promised Jongho and whoever hears it that you will always extend the patience you have within you all throughout your relationship.

But a simple gesture is enough to doubt whatever you have. Whoever you were.

On the other hand, Jongho was battling his own storm of thoughts. He loved you deeply, and that scared him. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hold your hand or embrace you—it was that he wasn’t sure how. He wasn’t sure if he’d be good enough for you, if he could meet your needs the way you deserved. The last thing he wanted was for his awkwardness to disappoint you.

The weight of his doubts grew heavier with each passing day, an invisible barrier he couldn’t bring himself to cross. His heart raced every time you smiled at him, every time your fingers brushed him. He wanted so badly to close the gap between you, but something inside held him back—fear, uncertainty, a quiet voice whispering he might not be enough.

It all came to a head one chilly evening as the two of you were walking home from dinner. The streets were quiet, save for the soft crunch of your shoes against the pavement. The glow of streetlights painted golden halos on the wet ground, and your breath mingled with the cold in small, visible puffs. Without thinking, your arm instinctively looped through his, seeking warmth and comfort.

But Jongho hesitated. After a brief moment, he gently pulled away, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. The absence of his touch sent a pang through your chest.

You didn’t want to cause a scene in which he was already awkward with what was happening between the two of you, so you sighed and stopped in your tracks, the soft clink of your shoes on the pavement cutting off abruptly. The suddenness of your pause made Jongho stop as well, his back stiffening as he turned to face you.

“Jongho, why do you keep doing that?” you asked, your voice steady but carrying a weight of emotion that was impossible to ignore.

It was the moment Jongho had been dreading, the day he wasn’t ready to face. And now, he stood before you, caught in the headlights of your question, his throat dry and his heart pounding like a drum.

“Doing what?” he asked, feigning innocence, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew exactly what you meant, but he wasn’t prepared to confront it—not now, maybe not ever.

“Pulling away from me,” you said, your voice quieter now, laced with vulnerability. The look in your eyes told him this wasn’t just about tonight. This was about every moment he’d retreated, every time he’d let his hesitation overshadow the love he felt.

Jongho felt your words like a sharp knife, slicing through the layers of fear and doubt he’d built around himself. He opened his mouth, as though to speak, but no words came. He swallowed hard, frustration bubbling within him as he grappled with the emotions threatening to spill over.

“Do you even like me, Jongho?” The question came out softer than you intended, almost a whisper, but the impact on Jongho was like a thunderclap.

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. “What? Of course, I do!” he blurted out, the suddenness of his response surprising even him.

“Then why does it feel like you’re always holding back?” Your voice cracked, the dam of your own frustrations breaking at last. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, determined not to cry.

Jongho looked down at his feet, his hands still buried deep in his pockets as though they could shield him from the weight of the moment. He drew in a shaky breath, the cool night air filling his lungs as he tried to summon the courage to speak.

“I’m scared,” he admitted at last, his voice trembling with raw honesty. “I’m scared of messing this up, of not being enough for you. You deserve someone who knows what they’re doing, someone who isn’t… me.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard, and your anger softened into something gentler, something understanding. You took a small step closer, closing the space he’d put between you.

“Jongho,” you said softly, “I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be here—with me.” Your words hung in the air, fragile yet powerful. It has come to you that this is what he has been going through and you instantly felt guilty for not noticing the turmoil he is in; you could have taken it in a way to understand more than just letting your emotions get the best of you. 

Jongho finally lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. It was like a weight on his shoulders had lifted and he could finally see the pain of his absence in touch. He would have already you in his arms if it wasn’t for his fear and doubt. But because your simple but impactful words had melted those thoughts away; gradually, hesitantly, he pulled his hands from his pockets, reaching for yours. His fingers trembled slightly as they intertwined with yours, but this time, he didn’t pull away.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice barely audible but steady. “And I’ll try. I promise I’ll keep trying.”

The weight of the moment settled between you, not as a burden but as an unspoken agreement to face the challenges ahead together. And as you walked the rest of the way home, hand in hand, the silence between you felt different—warm, reassuring, and filled with a quiet hope.

[shittyassffblog]

In Sickness and In Health

Someone said they wanted noah taking care of Y/N when they were sick and i took that upon myself lol (not at all procrastinating my dissertation noooooo) anyways here. They're married too yay

If anyone wants to go on a taglist for when i post send me an inbox and i'll add you to it!

Warnings: illness (cold and coughing), fluff, any others please tell me.

You woke up to the most annoying sound of your alarm going off. You had never been more pissed at your alarm before and soon you felt it. Your left nostril all blocked up. You groaned out loud and turned under your covers only for the other nostril to be blocked off too now. You opened your eyes to see the other side of the bed empty. Noah must be at the gym.

You got up from the bed to get a shower, hoping that would clear up some of the goo in your nose. As you got undressed, you called your work to tell them you were sick. You put on some calming music and got in the warm water. You lost track of time in there, the warm water being so soothing. You quickly washed your body and hair and got out again. You took your time doing your skincare, rubbing your whole body with bodyoil. You walked into your bedroom to find Noah half dressed, looking through his drawers for a pair of underwear. You hugged him from behind and he juped slightly.

"Hey princess, what are you doing home?" He asked, turning around and hugging you close.

"I'm sick." You said simply, your stuffed nose providing evidence of your claim.

"Then what are you doing out of bed?!" He asked incrediously. You smiled.

"I can shower by myself baby, you go shower." You said and siled at him.

"No?! I'm gonna make you some tea and some good breakfast, and then we will spend all day on the couch cuddling." He said with a firm grip on your arms.

"Okay but could you shower first? You smell." You said and he laughed.

"How would you know that, you can't smell anything." He said kissing your forehead and going to take a shower. You laughed to yourself and went to get settled on the couch with your phone.

You were a good 20 minutes into your tiktok scroll when Noah emerged from the bathroom, wet hair and a pair of black tight underwear on.

"You should never wear anythign else." You said and he grinned.

"What do you want for breakfast?" he asked and you pondered for a bit.

"Waffles with berries and whipped cream." You said and he laughed.

"Be serious, you can't have that if you're sick. You need healthy food." He said and you pouted. "What about avocado toast? You can have the berries on the side." He said and you sighed through your mouth.

"Alright. But I want juice as well." You said and he laughed again.

"Sure angel." He said.

"Can i have the controller?" You asked pointing to the Playstation 5 controller that was by the TV.

"Of course baby. You want the blankets too?" he asked and you nodded. He wrapped you in the blankets tightly and handed you the controller and turned on the TV, handing you the remote.

"Wait here gorgeous, i'll fix you some food." He said, kissing your head and you smiled as you started up GTAV on the giant flat screen that adorned your wall.

Noah soon returned with the food he promised, placing the plate on your lap and the glass of juice on the little table beside your couch. He plopped down beside you and you handed him the controller to continue the game while you ate.

"You're so trash at this." You said, mouth full of food. He was so concentrated on the game his tongue was sticking out of the side of his mouth, turning the controller the way he wanted the car to go.

"Yeah well i was learning guitar when i was a kid i didn't play car games." He said and you laughed. Once you were done eating you put down your plate and drank half of the orange juice. You took back the controller, putting Franklin in the game out of his misery and finished the mission. You then put the controller down and opened tiktok, scrolling a few videos down.

"Aren't you going to practice?" You asked Noah, who was supposed to be in the soundproof basement. He shook his head and pulled you close so your head was resting against his chest.

"No, cancelled." He said squeezing you tightly into his body.

"Why?" You asked looking up at him.

"Would rather make sure you were okay. It's never nice to be alone when you're sick." Noah said and your heart warmed. You truly had found the best husband ever.

"But don't you need to practice some of the new songs?" You asked and he shook his head.

"No we're good. Just relax baby." He said and you turned back to your phone.

-

You woke up to the sound of plates clinking in the kitchen, and you looked out the window to see the sun was setting. You didn't know how long you had been asleep for, you don't even remember falling asleep, but apparently now the sun was setting, and from the sounds of it, Noah was doing the dishes. You got off the couch and walked out to find him, wrapping the blanket around you.

"Baby." You said groggily. Noah turned around quickly and smiled when he saw you.

"Hey sweets. You okay?" He asked as he hugged you around your blanket. You nodded into his chest.

"yeah j's missed you." You said and ge chuckled.

"I'm right here baby." He said as he started to sway you slightly back and forth.

"You wanna watch a movie?" he asked and you nodded. You shuffled back into the living room, Noah right on your heels, and you put on Twilight, which Noah had never seen.

"I swear i'm only okay with this cause you're sick." He said and you looked at him.

"Sure. That's the only reason." You said and laid your head in his hand. He han his large tattoed hands through your hair softly as the events of Bella and Edward took place on the screen. You almost fell asleep again if it wasn't because you absolutely loved this movie.

"Is there more of this?" Noah asked and you chuckled.

"Yes. 4 more movies." You said and he yelped in surprise.

"They made that many?!" He asked and you laughed.

"Yes, it was very popular book series, it made a lot of money!" You laughed as he found the next one.

"You need anything before it starts?" He asked as he ran his hand along your leg.

"A cup of tea would be nice, yeah." You said and kissed his hand. He got up to make the tea and you were suddenly filled with a feeling of complete love and joy for the tattooed man you were sharing your life with. You had never felt so loved before, never felt so cared for and you adored the way he was taking care of you and making sure you felt good. Loving Noah was the best thing that ever happened to you and as he came back and sta beside you, unpausing the movie and being so invested in a thing you really loved, you couldn't stop yourself from kissing him deep.

"Great now I'll get sick." He said, no real venom behind his words, and a big smile on his lips.

"And i will take care of you." You said and kissed him again.

________________

So yeah that's it guys. Hope you like itttt. send me requests and feedback in my inbox <3

[lnfours]

SEQUEL TO HAUNTED W CONRAD! Where she finds out 👀👀

oh fuck. warnings: mentions of death, cancer and mental health

'haunted' | inbox

you hadn't seen conrad at all the rest of the summer. it wasn't like you wanted to necessarily see him, either. what was there left to say anyway?

you had gotten to say bye to jere, steven and belly, but ignored conrad with a cold shoulder. you knew you were wrong, but he had hurt you. you couldn't help it.

this summer, the fishers didn't come to their beach house. steven, belly and laurel weren't there. for once in your entire lifetime, the house sat empty, and it only made your heart hurt more.

the icing on the cake was that your mom had seen a for sale sign in the front yard on her early morning jog that morning. the fishers and the conklins were never coming back, and you didn't know why.

you were laying out by the pool your family had put in over the spring, your phone buzzing on the little table next to you. you picked it up, reading the name at the top of your phone screen.

jeremiah fisher

you swiped it over, pressing the phone to your ear, "hello?"

"hey, y/n," you could hear his polite smile and the sound of wind in the background, "are you in cousins?"

you licked your lips, sitting up, "yeah, why? are you guys finally on your way?"

"no, uhm," jere said, "conrad is missing."

"what do you mean 'missing'?"

you heard belly's voice suddenly on the other end, "look, we checked brown already and his roommate said he talked about going to the beach. cousin's is the only beach conrad would ever go to. i know it's a long short, have you seen him or heard from him?"

you let out a shaky breath, "no, but i can check around the town for you guys, how far away are you?"

"couple hours out, still," jeremiah said, "i'll text you when we're crossing the bridge into town."

you nodded, speaking up when you realized they couldn't see you, "okay, i'll text you with updates."

"thanks a lot, y/n." jere said

"you're the best!" you smiled as belly sighed out of relief. you hung up with your friends, tugging your shorts on and slipping into your flip flops. you left the shorts unbuttoned, letting them sit lowly on your hips and your bikini bottoms sticking out from the top.

you made your way over to the fisher house, spotting conrad's car. you swallowed thickly as you walked up to the front door. you knocked, pulling your fist back as you sighed.

there was no answer.

you made your way through the gate and to the backyard. you looked around, a towel laying down on the grass next to the pool, but no sign of conrad. you thought of the last place he would be, walking over to the side of the house and grabbing jeremiah's surfboard. you made your way down to the beach, tugging your shorts off before you made your way into the ocean. you paddled out on jere's surfboard. you let the waves rock you back and forth as you watched conrad surf, smiling to yourself as he pulled off one of the tricks you had shown him. he looked over at you when you clapped your hands.

"nice job, fisher!"

you swore you almost saw a smile on his face as he paddled over to you. you smiled as he floated on his board next to you.

"hey," he said.

"hi," you said back, his hair wavy from the salt water, "didn't think you guys were coming this summer."

he nodded, sniffling as he looked out at the ocean, "yeah, we're... not really supposed to be here."

you looked at him confused, "what do you mean?"

he sighed, "i've got a lot to catch you up on."

you smiled as you squinted out at the waves, "well, i've got nothing but time. hit me, sea creature."

he laughed softly, remembering the nickname you had called him one drunken summer afternoon when he had seaweed all over him from surfing.

"talk over something to eat? i'm starving." he said. you nodded, following him as you both paddled to shore. you threw on your shorts and carried both of your pairs of flip flops as he carried the boards back. he hung them back up on the side of the house, tossing you a towel from the deck. you thanked him as he wrapped one around himself as well, the two of you heading inside.

it was scarily bare in the normally full of life summer house. there wasn't any food in the fridge or the pantry, there wasn't any of the clutter from siblings leaving their things behind. there wasn't the sound of belly and steven arguing in the living room over the tv, and jeremiah wasn't playing music up in his bedroom.

it was eerie. none of it felt like the home you were used to it being.

"i'm gonna order a pizza," he said, "still like your usual?"

you smiled, "yeah,"

he nodded, pressing the phone to his ear as he ordered. you played with your fingers as you waited for him to hang up.

"so," you broke the silence, "what's up? what is that you have to tell me?"

he let out a sigh, looking down at the floor, "my mom's cancer came back last spring. she died a couple months ago."

your eyes watered as you watched him look back up at you with glossy eyes. he continued, "i found out before everyone else and i couldn't tell anyone. that's why i was so shitty to you last year, i didn't know how to deal with loss when she wasn't even gone yet. i'm so sorry. for hurting you."

you wiped the tears from your eyes, getting up from your seat at the island. you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a hug. he happily accepted your hug, holding you tight against his body.

"i'm so sorry, connie," you said, "i wish i had known sooner."

he let out a soft chuckle, "i thought you hated me."

you shook your head, brushing his hair from his forehead after you pulled away, "i could never hate you, conrad."

it was silent for a minute, "there's uh... there's more."

you raised an eyebrow, "there's more?"

he nodded, "i also found out that my dad had an affair the same day i found out my mom's cancer came back."

you shook your head, "what a fucking ass."

he nodded, "i know."

you sighed, "anything else happen?"

he let out a chuckle, "found out yesterday the house was going up for sale. apparently, when my mom died, my aunt julia got the house because my mom's half went to her. she wants to sell it and this is the only piece i have left of my mom. the only place that feels like home without her."

you watched as a small tear slipped down his cheek. you frowned, wiping it with the pads of your thumbs.

"c'mere," you said softly, his front breaking down as he nuzzled into your shoulder. you rubbed his back, your other hand playing with the hairs on the back of his neck.

"i'm sorry," he mumbled.

"no, you don't have to apologize," you said, "it's okay. you were going through all of this alone. i just wish you would've told me so you didn't have to."

he held you tighter, "i tried, i just couldn't."

you pulled back, lifting his head by his chin for him to look at you. you smiled, wiping more tears from his cheeks, "well, i'm not going anywhere now, okay?"

he nodded, smiling softly into your palm and pressing a gentle kiss on the skin there.

"i love you." he mumbled against your soft skin.

he finally said it back.

"i love you, con."

[thoughtsforsoob]

txt - how they propose

a/n: I got inspo to write this when dates dropped for the tour! i am not officialy in posession of a pre-sale code and im hoping to get some good tickets!! i will come back with an update (LA moa's lets talk :) anyways, please enjoy! this piece was meant to be really sweet and even silly at times so please let me know what you think of it! as always, inbox is open.

yeonjun

at a fancy dinner

yeonjun is really excited when it comes to fancy, romantic outings but this one was going to be the best one of all. Of course, that’s because of his proposal plans. He is definitely the kind of guy that sort of spoils it or gives hints because he tells you to go out and get your nails, hair, etc… done. especially emphasizes getting your nails done. He covers it up by saying he loves seeing you all pretty and pampered but deep down, you sort of know what he’s hinting at. Anyways, moving on to dinner. He takes you to a fancy new restaurant that just opened in the city. It was on the top floor of some fancy building. There was a view of the city from where you both were seated at a small booth. He was sitting right next to you and talking your ear off about the day he’d had at work. He didn;t even drink, opting to let you order a drink so he can drive home. He buys you whatever you want to eat and watches you enjoy your food with those adorable, lovesick eyes. You whine at him to stop watching you but he says he can’t help but watch the love of his life. Eventually, he takes you out onto the patio of this restaurant and it was pretty empty since there were only a few more couples around. He takes in the view with you and asks you to take a cute video with him. He sets up his phone at a good angle and presses the record. He goes back to you and kisses your cheek. He takes your distraction as an opportunity to pull the ring out of his pants pocket and when he pulls away, he gets down on one knee and proposes. “Will you do me the biggest favor ever and be my Mrs. Choi?” 

soobin 

at home

Soobin was never one for big romantic gestures and he was happy that you were okay with it. His ideal date was at home, snuggled up on the couch or in a pillow fort, watching movies or playing video games together. sure, he did take you on little outings once in a while but he preferred staying home. When it came to his proposal plans, his logic was to stay home, plan and cook a little dinner and use all the extra money to buy you the prettiest ring he could find. He loved the whole ring shopping process “i know this probably isn't from some of the members. anyways, he tells you of his date plans for the night and you were into it. He tells you to dress normally with one of his hoodies and your favorite sweatpants or leggings (soobin loves your legs in leggings btw. he said so). you come in and he is dressed relaxed as well in those gray sweats you liked and a t-shirt you gave him as part of his birthday gift. He serves your dinners and then he takes you to his bed, getting comfortable together. after one episode of that new anime the both of you had started, he turns over to get something from his nightstand. he shuffles to sit on his knees and reveals the box to you, opening it shortly after. "i know this probably isn't the best proposal but we’ve had such a nice night. I love spending time at home with you. can we be homebodies together, forever?'' You nod and hug him super tight and he returns the hog. He gives you a sweet kiss after putting the ring on your finger and you two go back to watching your show and cuddling.

beomgyu

theme / amusement park

This man is so cute when it comes to a proposal. Let’s just say for the sake of this story that he takes you on an LA trip and you both have a knotts berry farm day! You two decided to skip out on disney because you two have already been together on a previous trip. You both also really wanted to see all of the snoopy memorabilia. You both have an amazing day getting on rides, drinking boysenberry juice and talking to each other the whole time. He loves seeing you so happy so he never says no to you not once that whole day. He lets you drag him to all of the performances happening at the park and even lets you take a picture of him with Snoopy, making finger guns at one another. As the day starts to wind down, you both decided to go souvenir shopping. Huening specifically requested a snoopy t-shirt so you both went to find him one. Beomgyu asks you to pick the t-shirt and he stays behind to find a snoopy plush to include in his proposal. He finds one and pays for it, as well as the requested souvenir you picked. He takes you back out to the park and you both take a seat to rest for a while before leaving the park. You take out your phone and dont notice when he turns around. He takes the plush out of the store bag and the ring out of his bag. He puts it in the plushies hand and turns back around. He taps your shoulder and you are met with a snoopy with an engagement ring in his hand. “Will you marry me, pretty lady?” he says in a high pitched voice and you gasp so loud that people turn around to look. You are absolutely red but you nod and beomgyu makes the plush put the ring on your finger. You call him a dork but he doesn't mind. He's your dork, forever. 

taehyun

at the beach

you and taehyun went to the beach often. it was always so quiet, especially when you two visited at night. These outings were frequent, especially when you both went to travel somewhere different. In this case though, you were both home in Korean. Taehyun was on a small break during the summer time before their next tour and he decided that now was as good as ever to propose. He drove the both of you to your favorite beach at around 8pm. On the way there, you both made stops to get dinner and then to pick up some snacks to enjoy while hanging out at the beach. Once you both get there, Taehyun sets up your beach blanket and you both sit down, starting to snack on some grapes. Taehyun took about 30 minutes before he decided to ask you. He scoots close to you and pulls the little box out of his bag. you give him a confused look and he opens it, looking at your shocked reaction. He wanted to give a whole speech but his words got stuck in his throat when he saw your reaction. you say yes to him and he hugs you, slipping the ring on after.

huening kai

in your hometown / family dinner

I think kai is really big when it comes to family so having your family present for such a big event was important for him. Not only that, it was also really important for him to get along with your family and have their approval. So, during this trip to your hometown over a winter break, he sends you off to go shopping with your close cousin/sibling. He takes this opportunity to gather the rest of your family and ask for their approval to propose to you and of course they say yes! They even help him plan a whole thing. They were excited to see that he loved you a lot and cared enough to ask for their opinions and approval. This especially swayed your parents, who came up to him after and had a little chat with him about what they’d do if he ever hurt you. Moving on….you come back home from shopping and you show kai all your finds! Later on that night, your family is all gathered together in the backyard around a bonfire, having drinks and chatting. After a little while, your family gives kai strange looks and you’re sitting there absolutely confused. Kai looked over at you and smiled, “hey baby. I wanna ask you something. Will you do me a big honor and marry me?” he pulls out the ring and as soon as you say yes, he slips it on your finger and everyone cheers!

[yandere-yearnings]

Shame on me 😰 I swear every time I think of your characters I skedaddle to your inbox, I was just thinking.. Can Sun and Vio sit on my face? Like.. Both are so fine and honestly I DO want a piece of that ass 💕💕

there is absolutely no shame to you for doing so nonnie, actually it makes me really happy to hear❗️❗️ you're always, always welcome into my inbox whenever, even if it takes me a while to respond i do read and acknowledge everything🥺💕 also, ofc they can🩷

NSFW under the cut!

"But... what if you suffocate- fuck!"

Today, you didn't have the patience. Sun's thighs clamped around your head and your fingers dug into the flesh. Good on your tongue, weight that you'd been craving all this time he was locked up in his room — writing, writing. His manuscript was nowhere near complete, but you'd dragged him out anyway, said you missed him because you did. Sun could never say no to you. Sun loved you, and everything you could reduce him to.

Biting his swollen bottom lip, looking down at you with tears in his eyes. Reluctance and desire swirling in brown swathes, his arm out, gripping the headboard for stability you were refusing to give.

"Sun," his name heated on the skin of your teeth, indents into flexing muscle, "let loose, c'mon, just relax for a bit. Don't I always take care of you?"

"Don't wanna hurt you, Y/N," he sniffled, always quick to cry on your loving touch, "'m heavy..."

Kneading his ass softly, coaxing, you whispered, "that's perfect for me, though, isn't it?" His hips stuttered a bit, and you used it as leeway to pull him down completely. "You put it all on me, baby. Make it so you're all I know."

♡♡♡

"I'm gonna fucking fall asleep at this rate," Vio's manicured fingernails clawed at your chest, his hips rocking down while you worked your tongue on him, "you should put in more effort, how do you even get anyone off like this?"

"I'd put in more effort if you'd just shut up," you bit back, words muffled, "you're killing the mood."

Vio's retort was cut off by a sudden moan, and you grinned. For as much as he liked to make a big deal of things, his complaints were always empty. Even if you couldn't see his face like this, you knew well what his expression would be — mouth open, pretty blue brows all scrunched up.

Warm spit and drool, spilling down your chin. The sheets had grown damp from it. Debauchery on the wetted appendage that slipped into him; hit that spot, once, twice, continuously. Vio gasped for you, tried to hide his desperation by covering his mouth, but it was no use when his hands were shaking.

Back arching into a delicate curve, teetering precariously on the edge of ecstasy and pride — his calling your name had never sounded sweeter.

[barleyo]

Your Miguel x Reader fic was so freaking good!! I'd love to read more from you, especially Miguel x Shy!Reader (the personality of y/n kinda ressembles mine lol)! Anyways, thank you so much and keep up the great work!

Next Time.

(Miguel O'Hara X Fem! Reader)

A/N: Sorry, this is just a drabble and isn't nearly as long as my OG fic, but I hope you still enjoy it! Feel free to send a request to my inbox, as my requests are always open.

“No, no, no,” (Y/N) sighed, staring at the broken glass shards in front of her. 

She had been getting better, she really had. With careful supervision by Miguel and a steady hand, she had been able to limit her accidents. However, her clumsiness seemed to always lurk, waiting to strike at the most inopportune time. 

“Okay, maybe I can just pick them up,” she whispered to herself. Carefully, she wiped at the pieces, sweeping the smaller pieces into a nearby waste basket. 

“Everything okay over here?” He walked over, leaning onto her workstation just as she finished grabbing a final large piece of glass. She quickly palmed the piece, clenching it behind her back. “Thought I heard something break, no?”

“No, no, nothing is going on over here, just, uhm, cleaning up. I’m just about to pack up and head home for the day.” (Y/N) squeaked, feeling the shard slice her palm with a sharp sting. 

“Whatever you say,” he said. Unconvinced, Miguel turned around, pretending to walk away. 

Once he made it a few paces away, (Y/N) pulled her hand back around and paled at the blood dripping down her palm. The glass was lodged right in the middle of her palm, jaggedly stuck into it. 

“I knew it,” he groaned, snatching her hand away, “look at how bad that is. Are you kidding me? Come here.” He dragged her out to the hallway until she started to shake him off.

“You’re embarrassing me  in front of everyone, Miguel. Stop, I promise, it’s not nearly that bad, it’s okay! Promise!”

“If it’s not that bad, why were you hiding it? Why is it bleeding? Damn it, you have glass stuck half an inch deep into your hand. Come, now.” He gently swooped her up into a messy bridal-style hold, carrying her into the break room. 

He sat her down on the counter right next to the sink, legs hanging over the side. 

“Duck.”

She bobbed her head down in compliance as he dug through the cabinet behind her, pulling out gauze, tweezers, and disinfecting liquid. Taking the tweezers, he attempted to pull the glass out, wiggling it slightly until it dislodged itself for her palm.

“I just don’t get it,” he sighed frustratedly, “why wouldn’t you just tell me you got hurt?”

“I didn’t want to tell you, I don’t know,” she wiped her face with her uninjured hand, “I was just doing so well, and I messed it up when I broke that beaker.” 

“But why?” He opened the bottle and looked up to meet her eyes, “Hold onto my hand, this will sting.” He drenched the wound and (Y/N) squeezed down onto his hand, digging her nails into it. 

“I guess I didn’t want you to be upset with me, I thought you’d be mad,” she said through gritted teeth. “You’re not mad, are you?”

“No, claro que no. Well, no, yes, I am a bit upset with you. You hurt yourself instead of just telling me and letting me help. I would have cleaned it up for you, you know.”

“I thought you were tired of picking up after me.” 

Miguel wrapped her hand up in gauze, keeping it taut and compression-like. “I did say that, didn’t I? I lied.” He let go of (Y/N)’s hand, lifting the back of it up to his lips. “I’ve missed it a bit. My days feel empty when I do not have a little (Y/N) mess to deal with. Makes me feel useful. Feel better?”

“Yeah, I’m alright now. Thanks, Miguel.”

“Hmph,” he turned her hand around, now placing kisses on her bandaged palm. 

“What are you doing?” She giggled as his hair hit her arm while he peppered kisses over her hand.

“I’m just kissing your boo-boo, mi tesoro, let me work.” He smirked into her hand, knowing he was embarrassing her.

“You don’t have to– mm,” she hummed as he made his way up her arm with the kisses, stopping at her shoulder.

He pulled her shirt to the side, revealing her bare shoulder. He brought his mouth to it and teased his teeth over the exposed patch of skin, not quite biting into it. Miguel took (Y/N)’s face in his hand and kissed her, scraping his teeth against her bottom lip and nibbling on it. He slid his tongue over the raw lip, calming the sharp sting.

He baited her to open her mouth, wrapping his arms around her torso and grabbing her ass. She gasped into his mouth as he forced his tongue in, exploring it. 

“Fuck,” he broke away from the kiss briefly, “I can’t take it anymore, I’m gonna take you again in here, baby.” 

“But, people ‘re still in the lab, what if they catch us?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you like that?” He pulled her pants to her ankles, working his hand past the band of her panties, and rubbed light, teasing circles on her clit. “Want everyone to watch me fuck you real good, don’t you?”

Her hips bucked into his whispering touches and she let out a guttural moan. ��Nuh-uh, can’t let anyone see us, it’ll be embarrassing,” she gasped. 

“No? Then don’t let them catch us then. Keep quiet, muñequita.” He pushed a finger into her and curled it, chuckling at the choking groan she let out. “I know I make you feel good, but you don’t want everyone in the building to hear you, do you?”

(Y/N) shook her head and grabbed onto Miguel’s forearm while he drilled his fingers into her spongey g-spot. She felt his fingers leave just as warmth started to pool in her stomach, whining at the emptiness.

“Why did you take ‘em out?”

“Hey, don’t whine,” he shushed her, “I want you to finish on my dick, okay, baby?” He pulled her down from the countertop, flipping her around so that her ass pushed into his erection. He slipped his dick out of his pants and pulled her panties to the side, pushing his tip into her. “I don’t know if you deserve the whole thing yet,” he teased, “maybe I’ll make you finish with just the tip, hm?”

“No, please, will you please give me the whole thing? I promise, I’ll be good!”

“Oh, you promise?” He continued to slowly pump his cock’s head into her, inching in and out at a snail’s pace. “Gonna be a good girl?” Seeing the back of her head nod up and down, he pushed deeper into her, letting her walls envelope and suck his length in. “Aw, sweetness, I can feel you already clenching up. Gonna cum quick like a lil slut, huh?”

“Yes– God! Feels so good already, ‘m feelin’ so full now.” She rocked her hips, getting herself off on his cock. 

Pressing his hands into (Y/N)’s hips, Miguel took over and slammed her hips back and forth. Skin slapping and wet squelches filled the room. It drove him crazy.

“God, I can hear your wet little pussy so clearly. Mm, she’s talking to me, baby, saying how good she feels.”

(Y/N) threw her head onto her crossed arms, biting down on her own forearms to silence her ecstatic little mewls. “I’m so close,” she mumbled into her arms.

Miguel snapped her hips into her roughly and leaned forward. “Don’t give me that shy shit, speak up.”

She tried to repeat herself, only to find herself a babbling mess as she drenched his dick with her cum, legs shaking while they tried to support her body.

“Good girl, creaming all over my dick.” He groped her tits from the back, pinching them while she rode out her orgasm. “Mm, you gonna let me cum in you again?

“Yes– anything you want,” she arched into his touch, feeling him tweaking and twisting her buds.

He felt his pace become sloppy and rushed. He rutted deep into her heat and came, spurting his load right into her slick walls. “Fuck, ‘s so good,” he sighed, pulling out of her dripping cunt, watching a stream of his cum pool out of her. He picked her up, placing her back on her spot on the counter. 

“Still feel so good.” (Y/N) leaned forward onto his broad shoulder.

“Yeah? Bet I can make you feel even better next time,” he snickered right by her ear.

“Next time?”

“There’ll always be a next time with you.”

[angel-of-the-moons]

so so sorry to invade your inbox again but I have another new khonshu thot to share with you🤭

imagine that he starts to grasp the back of your neck randomly, especially while you’re out moon knighting and doing surveillance or smth

his hands are big enough that they just about envelope your entire neck but I digress

and you never question it, thinking it’s just his usual possessiveness at play or maybe wanting to remind you he’s there (or vice versa)—or, you think outlandishly, maybe he likes to feel your heartbeat under his fingertips (which always quickens when he does this, much to your chagrin)

you don’t really get it. not until he bends you over the end of your bed, anyway, pushing his knee between your thighs and wedging your ass up against his hips while he grabs you by the nape of the neck and presses your face into the mattress.

after that, there’s the added stimulus of being keenly reminded each time of just how much he likes to breathe for you—controlling just how much air is able to enter your lungs, enhancing every sensation with the heady dizziness that accompanies it, intensifying the inevitable pleasure that he draws from you as he plays your body like the instrument he’s long since memorized

anyways yeah khonshu with a breath play kink and a particular penchant for how pretty he thinks your neck is—especially with his hand wrapped around it like a necklace👀

BACK AGAIN FEEDING MY STARVING BRAINWORM I SEE

Are you trying to kill me? Because

You just know the old man also wants people to know how well he's rearranging your guts, too. Wants them to know that you're his. You're in an apartment with shitty walls, or a cheap motel, like--

NSFW ASF BELOW THE CUT, MINORS DNI

Khonshu x Fem!MK!Reader blurb

Your back arches off the mattress, the springs squeaking in protest as your body's weight is forced down by the massive hand pushing your head down into the blankets; thick fingers wrapped snugly around the back of your neck, the heavy beat of your pulse echoing through his fingertips.

Your air had been all but cut off, only coming back to you fully in short, harsh gasps punctuated by every hard thrust of his hips into yours, soft linen grazing your sweaty skin.

The repeated cut-off of oxygen in time with every throb in your womb had your vision going starry with every roll of his hips against yours.

You bite so hard into your blankets you thought your teeth tore holes into them, by now.

The sound of his cock slipping in and out of you effortlessly was deafening in your ears, the sinful slap of flesh just barely beneath that, making you choke out a broken moan.

"Now, now..." His voice says, just barely managing to keep the tone of pleasure out of his words as his fingers eased the pressure from your neck, letting blissful oxygen flood back into your lungs, your spotty vision returning.

"That's better, isn't it?" He crooned.

"Y-you..." You groaned, biting your lip when one of the thumping veins in his shaft grazed deliciously against the one perfect spot inside of you.

"Do not be quiet now, little dove." Khonshu hissed, thrusting into you so sharply you couldn't help but let out a loud yelp.

You could just barely hear your neighbor's tv droning through the shitty drywall.

"Let them hear you." He sighed blissfully, pulling back almost entirely, just leaving the tip of him resting inside of you long enough to make you ache for him to fill you once more.

"I control this body." He gave your throat another squeeze, making your air wheeze from your throat pitifully and holding it before he released you again, "You do as I command."

Khonshu then snapped his hips back against you, filing that empty void in your depths once again, watching with tainted pleasure at how you buried your face into your blankets to muffle your sweet, ambrosial voice.

His hand went from around your neck, to fisting in your hair, yanking your head back and making you bend your spine at an almost painful angle as he roughly fucks into you again; this time your mouth was uncovered, your moan uninhibited.

"Yeesss... that's it." He growled, the weathered bone of his beak grazing your shoulder as he pulls you back to meet each of his thrusts, your fists knotting in your blanket.

You couldn't help but hiccup, another cry coming from you as his grip bruised the soft skin on your hip, your ears flaming hot with embarrassment as someone in the room next to you pounds on the wall for you to keep it down.

Khonshu chuckled darkly, keeping his tight grip on the soft locks of your hair as he continued to push each sweet sound from between your plush lips; the stinging of your scalp just adding more fuel to the proverbial fire he had ignited inside of you.

"Let them know who you belong to, pet."

[yerimacoustic]

𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 ♡ 𝙨 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙥𝙨 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

❝𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙨𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙖𝙠 𝙖𝙨 𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 ❞🕰️ 🍂

summary: when you and your ex husband receive a mysterious letter, the two of you are forced to confront confusing emotions and learn how to move forward.

content warnings: supernatural au, nonidol au, ghost hunter!seungcheol and reader, 90s au, seungcheol and reader are divorced, angst, cursing, horror themes, eventual fluff, lots of arguments, scary stuff, NO GORE. teaser: 800 wc. full fic: TBD.

notes: this is a TEASER for an upcoming s coups fic!! usually putting out little snippets first gives me motivation to write the damn thing lol but please interact if you like it! feedback is always appreciated

as you approached the front door of your small apartment, the wind assisted you in slamming it shut. the air stayed just as cold even once you found yourself sheltered within the thin walls, but you’d grown accustomed to it. you’d made a habit of sorting through your mail and listening to your voicemails without planning to respond to any of them, hoping that it would distract you from the cold.  

you plopped down at the kitchen table, pressing the speaker button and letting your chin rest in the palm of your hand once the receiver lay across the tablecloth.   

“you have twelve new messages. first message: 

“‘hey, y/n, it’s jeonghan. call me back. or else. okay love you, bye!’

“second message:

“‘jeonghan again! if you deleted the first mess-”

click.

“message marked for deletion. new message:

‘listen, we would all really appreciate it if you could come to bingo night. i know you’ve bailed on us the last…four or five times. or ten times, but who’s counting? anyways, call me back, or else. love you!’ 

you sighed heavily as you listened through the rest of jeonghan’s pleadings and eventually seungkwan’s rants. somehow jeonghan had convinced seungkwan to spam your landline with messages too, hoping that he would help persuade you to join them on their traditional outing. once again, you wondered why you had fallen into the habit of listening to messages without any intention of returning them. 

surprisingly, seungkwan and jeonghan weren’t the only ones lingering in your inbox. there was also a message from your boss, the pharmacy, and..

“‘hey… it’s seungcheol. please don’t hang up. i know you specifically told me not to use this phone number but.. okay, i won’t bore you with anymore excuses.’”

much to your own surprise, you chose to humor your ex husband. you continued to let the message play out. as you sat down at the table, you let the stack of mail fall to your lap while staring at the receiver in silence.  

“‘listen, i’ve been thinking lately and..i have a lot of regrets.’”

you snickered bitterly. 

“‘i know there’s not much i can say to make things better or.. change things that happened between us. hell, you’ve probably already deleted this message by now and i can’t really blame you for that. i don’t have a lot of time, i’ve ran out of change but.. i’d love to talk to you at some point. in person. if you’re up for that then.. you know where to reach me. bye.’

“to replay this mess-”

click. 

“message marked for deletion. your inbox is empty. you have no new mes-”

you slammed the receiver down and let out a heavy sigh. ever since the divorce, you felt like seungcheol had taken a part of you with him. you turned to isolation, ignoring family members and friends constantly in favor of drowning yourself in your work. you were able to keep up with the deadlines, but at a heavy cost.

it’s for the best, you kept telling yourself.

you digressed, flipping through the large stack of envelopes instead of dwelling on your own sadness. you were met with the all too familiar sight of bills, bills, and more bills until a thick brown envelope seemingly materialized from the bottom of the pile. you had no memory of picking it up or even seeing it in your mailbox. 

there was a wax seal in the center of the envelope, a dark red skull. a little on the nose, but alright. you ripped it open, taking note of the gorgeous stationery before focusing on the words written in cursive and immediately cringing at the foreign use of your maiden name:

miss l/n, 

i hope you don’t find this letter to be invasive or frightening by any means, but i’ve heard a great deal about your work. i’ve read a number of articles concerning your cases and i must say i am impressed. i’ve always admired believers of the supernatural, especially in a world filled with skeptics. 

i know you’re probably out of experience, given it's been a year or two since your last job and circumstances have changed, but i would love a chance to talk with you about an ongoing issue in my home. there’s voices, objects moving, frigid winds.. you name it. 

my home address is attached to this letter. please give it some thought and keep in mind i’m willing to pay you handsomely for your troubles.

best wishes to you. 

it wasn’t surprising to know that your mysterious client knew about your divorce, considering it was in most of the papers. at least the stupid journalists were considerate enough to leave most of the details out of their articles. 

but you were almost certain no one knew about your new home address except for your inner circle.

[meimeimeirin]

still on tumblr break, but since i just logged in and saw several asks, i thought i'd clarify a few things here.

regarding me and @/zhongrin

in summary:

zhongrin is privated and archived permanently.

for the two people who asked, yeah, i'm alright.

more utc, but you can skip.

to expand more on the 'sudden' archiving/privating:

i've been debating to archive the blog since last year. to tell the truth, the new theme that appeared in zhongrin since september last year was actually the theme of a new writing sideblog i made. honestly, i had contemplated archiving it since july ー and i've lost count over how many times i created a 'blog archived' post only to delete it, over and over again. i just held on like an idiot and kept telling myself to just post and dip out.

don't look at the activity bar, it's just going to be full of likes. don't look at the notes, i'll just be full of more empty likes. don't look at the reblogs, it won't have any feedback anyway. don't look into your inbox, you won't find any feedback whatsoever anyway. don't look at your dash, lest you'll see other people getting interactions and start wondering if you're the weirdo for not getting any. don't look. don't look. don't look.

i'm just so tired of being disappointed.

it's like writing out a play and 10k people reserved seats to your free performance, yet all you see are thousands of absent seats. all you receive are silent smiles. a few applauses. and less than ten people commenting on the play, most of which are your own friends.

every time i post, i start questioning why did i even bother sharing this. or if i'm even actually good enough at writing. or if that comment was just there out of pity. or if i should have used the time i spent writing, proofreading, and editing to do something else. something that would have brought more joy. something that would result in more than a few strung words on a digital screen that no one thinks is worth sharing.

every time i post, it just feels like i just did something meaningless. every time i do events or bring my ocs to the spotlight, every time i'm having so much fun, people leave and it gets even more silent. my thoughts? my expectations? my joy? my sadness? meaningless. they're all meaningless to these ten thousand people.

why should i keep sharing and doing something that feels meaningless and hopeless?

so i stopped caring and archived. that's all there is to it.

i do have that new writing blog set up. way back since last year. because as much as i loathe the silence, i still love writing. sometimes.

as of today, that blog is still devoid of original posts. i don't know when or if i'll feel comfortable posting my own 'content' again. or maybe i never will. who knows. but if i do, this time, i'm setting things up so i can just be the 'content creator' that readers expect me to be and distance myself from everything.

call me childish. call me jaded. call me a bitch. i don't care. i don't want to try connecting with my readers anymore because tumblr as a community has stopped being a system that can do this. i'm just going to give myself the option of making content and dipping out whenever i want. i'm going to spend my energy having fun with my friends who does care - on a separate, more controlled environment altogether.

this will still be my main since i don't want to bother setting up a new account and re-following people again. but i won't be active here. i foresee i'll be more 'present' in my private blog. for those who does have the url ー please keep it a secret. thanks.

bye, zhongrin. it started out fun. it's a shame it ended on a bitter note. i truly wish it hadn't turned out this way.

signing off once again, meirin.

[martiandmichelle]

Ya comfortable cause this is a kinda long post. . .

Some of you long-time followers may remember that I used to do a fair amount of prostitution. I cut way back on it several years ago after one bad experience and the growing success of Studio M. I did keep a (very) few of my favorite johns that I might see once or twice a year. One is a guy near my age (73) who lives alone on an isolated ranch in Texas. In the 11 years I've known him he's always been a gentleman with a great sense of humor. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately!) he has minimal control of his average-sized cock and cums quickly though only a couple times a day. In between those few orgasms of his he spends his time with me groping, sucking, and staring at my tits.

Soooo, anyway, it was during my last visit with him this past late winter, and while his was admiring his handiwork with my boobs, that he asked me about other tricks I had going. I try to be as honest as I can with someone who pays so much interest and cash on me, so I told him he was only one of 5 guys and 1 woman that I prostitute for. He wanted to hear more so I told him what little I could - not wanting to give away any secrets of my other clients. He began rolling my nipples between his fingers and masturbating them as they grew, lowering my resistance and increasing my breathing. He said he thought it would be really hot if I prostituted myself more often. The winter/spring "conference" of the southeastern US chapter of my global studio was coming up and he thought I should go and advertise my services. By this point my nipples were squirting milk all over the place and my cunt was gushing so how could I say no?!?

So, I went. He guessed at what I could charge new clients and I thought he was crazy while still begging him not to stop what he was doing to me tits. (I never have charged him more than I did that 1st time with him.) I took his suggestion and got management's wholehearted approval to go and show off and offer my services for what I thought was a ridiculous price. I made a bet with him that, at that exorbitant price, I wouldn't get over 10 clients.

So I staked my space at the "show" and opened up for business. Advertising my all natural T cup tits (that's before I grew to a U cup) and learning the next largest natural bust was an M cup, I thought maybe I had underestimated my traffic. What I did underestimate was my underestimation! After only one hour of opening, the organizers had to move me to their largest empty booth because of so many guests visiting me. My midday, they had moved me to my own room and at 5:00 pm they moved me again to my own ballroom - and even THAT was crowded!! (The photo above was from the conference as I accepted a sealed offer from a member.)

I simply could not believe there was that many men (and women!) who wanted to - and were willing to pay so handsomely - for time with me and my body! There were guys going together to have, threesomes, foursomes, fivesomes, and more "-somes" with me. There was no way I could say anything but "yes!" and "Thank you!" to them all.

If you would like to read more, just message or inbox me, or even just comment on this post. I'm not starting this service until after my mountain trip so my first "working visit" is on October 3rd of this year. 2025 is going to be wonderfully busy!

(But don't fret, I'll still be posting here lots!)

[theemporium]

Stoner!Remus x reader where reader tries smoking for the first time with Remus and some of the other Gryffs but she has a bad high and gets super anxious and paranoid and Remus takes her away from the group to comfort her?

I saw this come into my inbox and instantly went to write it ahshzbsbzbs anyways thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

It was his mistake for using the strong stuff, though in his defence, he didn’t realise you’d be smoking with them tonight.

It wasn’t rare for their little group to find themselves chilling on a Friday evening, trying to relax after a stressful week with a few joints passed between them that they smoked through in a few hours. It wasn’t exactly rare for you to be with them, but you never smoked yourself. You were fairly happy to just cuddle into the side of your boyfriend, and giggle at their stoned antics.

Except, it had been a long week for you and you were aching for that relaxed feeling Remus always told you about when he smoked. You ached and desired to feel that carefree too, so when you asked to join them this week, he didn’t see an issue with it. He wanted his girl to feel relaxed too.

But Remus should’ve known.

He should’ve known that it was a bad idea to let you smoke when you were so worked up and anxious already. He should’ve known that the stronger stuff was a bad place to start. He should’ve known it wasn’t going to end well when you took one puff, got a little too cocky and took a deeper one at your next hit.

It was subtle, in the grand scheme of things. You didn’t have a major freak out or start drawing attention to yourself. But Remus noticed, and that was enough.

He noted the way you tended against him, the way you were shivering like you were cold. He noted the way your hands were curled into tight fists, that you were going in and out of dazes to the point you didn’t even realise the indents you were leaving in your palm.

He knew you were not okay, and his chest tightened at the thought.

He didn’t care about the looks the others were giving him, all he cared about was you as he quickly slid his arms under your knees and around your back before lifting you into the bridal position, before he walked out the room without further explanation.

“Remus,” you whispered out, your breathing shaking and ragged and your fists now tightly holding onto the fabric of his shirt.

It would be too suspicious to take you outside, too much attention on the two of you if he carried you through the castle like he wanted to do. So, he instead decided to go for the next best thing. The corridor was empty and hardly anyone ever came down it, but the little spot beside the large, arched window was cool enough that he hoped it would help ground you a little.

“It’s okay, love, I’m here,” he murmured once he settled into the bay window seat, your back pressed against his chest as he uncurled your fingers and quickly intertwined both your hands with his own.

“I don’t like it,” you breathed out. “It…it feels weird.”

“M’sorrry, baby,” he murmured as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck, placing a sloppy kiss on your skin as he squeezed your hands. “It’s gonna go away, okay? Just gotta wait it out.”

“Stay with me?” Your voice was soft and a little scared, and it broke his heart a little.

“Always, love, always,” he murmured in response as he pulled you closer to his chest. “Never gonna leave you.”

“Okay,” you whispered, your whole body still feeling on edge but the heaviness of your boyfriend’s arms around you was a comfort you needed. “I’m sorry.”

Remus sighed. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“I ruined your night,” you replied meekly.

“You didn’t ruin shit, baby,” he muttered out, placing another kiss just below your ear to punctuate his point. “Right by your side is where I’m meant to be.”

Your body sagged against him, your eyes fluttering shut as you tried to enjoy your boyfriend’s embrace with the cold breeze slipping through the corridor.

“I should’ve been more careful,” he grumbled against your skin. “Should’ve given my girl something lighter.”

“Maybe we can do it again,” you murmured and his chest tightened uncomfortably.

“Baby—”

“Just me and you,” you continued, your head turned to the side so your nose was brushing against his cheek. “Maybe something not as strong. Wanna feel the way you feel.”

“Maybe,” he murmured noncommittally before pressing a chaste kiss against your lips. “Let’s just get through tonight, okay?”

“Okay.”

“That’s my girl.”

.

[billlydear]

BASIC BIOLOGY - BILLY HARGROVE X READER (PART TWO) | PART ONE | PART THREE

word count: 7396 // masterlist | inbox (please request) | WIP list

Summary: you're paired with billy for a biology project. you only visit his house once, but it's enough for you to understand why he doesn't want you to come over again. when he starts showing up more and more in your life, you realize that it's basic biology: you were made for him, and he was made for you.

Contents: graphic descriptions of violence, mentions of injuries, angst, fluff, happy ending

A/N: i hope you like this chapter! Billy and his love starvation seem like they’d latch onto the first real love they get, and I tried to establish that here. Please let me know what you think! 💞

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

You don’t expect to see Billy again for a while. Even though he’d thanked you, sincerely, awestruck, you hadn’t suffered through the tense car ride for nothing. He clearly didn’t want to talk to you about it, and he assumes you’ll pry.

You don’t really blame him, either. Because you want to pry. You want to beg for information, plead with him to give you a rundown of what hurts and where, so that you can fix it all. And then you want to pry about any particular allergies of his father’s, so that you can serve him shellfish pasta and make his death look like an accident.

It turns out, though, that you see him the very next day.

You don’t have your own car, nor can you even drive. You’re scared of it, of the thought of that much mechanical power granted to a simple human being, and you’d much rather walk or take the bus anyways. Your bike has a flat tire, or you’d be using it to ride back from the store.

All you’d picked up was a bottle of coke and a pack of gum - juicy fruit. The coke sweats a stain through the pocket of your jeans, but it’s secure, and not grating callouses against your fingertips with its puckered cap. All you hear is the thundering roar of cars speeding down the street next to you, your feet slamming against the pavement as you power walk home.

You’re only ten minutes out, in the final stretch, when you hear a particularly loud engine. It’s gotta be from a muscle car, and you wait for it to pass so that you can look without being obvious. But it doesn’t pass, the engine revs and then chugs once more, slowing to a stop right beside you.

You’re not in the practice of looking over at cars that stop next to you on the road, something eerie about the situation. But when you hear a newly-familiar voice say your name, you stop in your tracks.

“Y/N,” Billy calls, leaning over the empty passenger’s seat to brace his hand on the open window, “Hey, you need a ride?”

His face is red. It’s subtle, and you think that maybe there’s- is that makeup over it? Either way, you know there’s a mark, and you know why there’s a mark.

“Uh,” You stammer, glancing ahead at the sidewalk, “I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Where are you going?” He raises an eyebrow, “Aren’t you hot?”

“A little,” You become hyper aware of the sweat sticking to your forehead, the stickiness of your socks against your feet, “It’s fine, though. It’s only, like, ten minutes home.”

“Just get in,” He squints up at you, the sun in his eyes, “I’m heading that way anyways.”

“Okay..” You comply, ducking down to step off of the curb and fit yourself into his camaro, “Are you sure it’s not a problem?”

“Not at all,” He straightens up from where he’d been leaning out the window so that you can sit down, but he braces his hand on the back of your headrest. He uses it as leverage to look behind him to make sure he’s not pulling out into traffic, and when it’s safe, he peels away from the curb in what you now know is typical Billy fashion. Tires squealing, engine revving, confidence in his eyes.

“So,” You hum, digging the coke bottle out of your pocket so that you don’t smash it, “Why are you gonna be over by my place?”

“Oh,” he laughs, shaking his head, “I’m not. I just lied, knew you wouldn’t get in unless I said that.”

You let out an incredulous laugh, “Billy! You lied!”

“And,” He grins, nodding and readjusting his hands on the wheel as he turns you around a corner, “It worked, didn’t it? And now you’ve got a ride.”

“Thank you, Billy,” At your words you remember his own from the night prior, stiffening slightly in your seat, “Um, are you.. okay? Last night was.. Intense.”

“Yeah,” He takes a moment to answer, but when he does his voice is stronger than it was last night. He keeps himself preoccupied with ducking slightly to check his blind spot, “It’s nothing. I’m, uh- I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re okay, though.” You mumble, “Does it hurt?”

“Seriously,” He shakes his head, his curls flying around his shoulders, “Doesn’t matter. Just.. forget about it, okay?”

“Billy,” You gush, wanting so badly to respect his wishes for the sake of not starting an argument. But how were you supposed to forget possibly the scariest experience of your life?

“I’m not going to go around town blabbing,” You swear, “But don’t you think we should tell someone?”

“No,” He insists, voice sharp, “Because if he doesn’t get hauled in, then I get my ass beat, maybe even killed. And if he does get hauled in, then I’m the man of the house. And my summer job barely pays for the gas money it takes to get there, and Max is too young to work, and Susan probably doesn’t even want me, so then I’d be out on my ass, and- just.. No. It wouldn’t work.”

He’s heated now, cheeks flushed and eyes wild. His chest heaves with the breaths he wasn’t taking when he was rambling, and you let him catch up before you talk again.

“Okay,” You take care to keep your voice calm and soothing, “Okay, yeah, that makes sense. I won’t tell anyone, Billy, not if you don’t want me to. But.. but something has to give, y’know? I meant what I said last night,” You fiddle with the ridges on the cap of your coke bottle, “Come over anytime.”

He meets your eye in the rear view mirror, and no words are needed. There’s a tenderness in your eyes that’s reflected in his own, and beneath the cockiness that he slathers over himself, you see sincerity peeking through. He nods and it’s grateful, hopeful, even.

“You want a burger?” He sniffs, scrunching his nose and changing the subject. His hands are prying at the wheel, turning the car down a road before you can respond, but you’ve got leftover cash from the convenience store, so you nod.

“Sure,” You nod, “Uh, I guess I don’t owe you pizza money anymore.”

“No,” You’re glad that he takes it as a joke, instead of a painful reminder of the night before, “Max should be the one paying me, Jesus, I mean she ate half the box.”

“She’s a growing girl,” You scold him, “She needs her nutrients.”

“Oh, yeah, melted cheese and greasy pepperoni, real nutritious.” He scoffs, but there’s a smile on his face, “What’s your order, Doctor Nutrient?”

You’re tempted to order a salad just to fuck with him. But you don’t, you let out a breathy laugh and recite your burger preference. He nods, pulling up to the window of the only drive-thru fast food restaurant in town.

Part of you is that glad that you don’t go inside, and part of you is crushed.

On one hand, you’re sweaty from walking, and you probably don’t look your best because of it. You don’t feel like being in the public eye right now, you feel like curling up on your couch and relaxing for the rest of the day. 

But on the other hand, what is Billy feeling? Part of you, deep inside, a horrid little piece that wants to make you sad, tells you that he’s not going to go into a burger place with you because he’s embarrassed to be seen with you. That you do look sweaty and gross, and that he’s not going to risk his reputation for some girl in his biology class. You thought you’d had a sort of breakthrough with him, unlocked some part of him that no one else had, because of those minutes stuck hiding in his closet. You’d thought you were maybe even friends, not just partners for class.

But he orders and pays for a meal to-go, and you’re silent as his wheels screech against the asphalt as he pulls into a parking space.

“Here,” He hands you the tray that they’d given you, spreading a meager, flimsy napkin over his lap in its absence, “You take that, and just keep my fries in there while I eat this.”

“We can share it,” You offer, scrambling to balance the tray on the divider between your seats, but he pushes it back into your lap with a shake of his head and a large, strong hand, “No, no, don’t worry about it. One of us should have an easy lunch.”

“Thanks,” You murmur, choosing to stuff your mouth with burger instead of voice any of your internal monologue out loud. You eat in silence for a few bites, blaming it on your mouthful of food instead of your awkward reservations. But he glances over to get a fry, and sees you staring out the windshield, lost in space.

“Is yours drugged or something?” He teases, elbowing you gently in the side, “You’re zoning out, hard.”

“Oh,” You take a deep breath, chewing the last of your burger and swallowing it, picking at your fries, “No, I think I’m just tired from walking.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s good I picked you up, then. Where were you even walking?”

“Corner store,” You mumble around a mouthful of burger, “I wanted a coke. Oh,” You remember, sticking a hopefully-clean hand into your pocket to retrieve your cash, “Here, for the burger.”

“‘S fine,” He waves you off, “It was, like, two bucks. Don’t sweat it.”

“Billy,” You huff, “Just let me pay you back!”

“No,” He drawls, sipping from his fountain drink, “Stop arguing, or I’ll kick you out of the car.”

You fall silent, neglecting to remind him that you weren’t in his car to begin with.

“So,” His eyes flash over the stereo, and he breaks the momentary lull in conversation, “What kind of music are you into?”

“Anything, really,” You shrug, “I like it all.”

“Even pop?” His nose wrinkles, and he stares accusatorily at you from his seat.

“Pop’s fine,” You nod, “Classical is only nice when I’m trying to study.”

“Classi- Like, piano and shit? Jesus,” He laughs incredulously, “Are you ninety?”

“Hey,” Your mouth falls open, and you fall easily into teasing banter with him, “Classical music is not for old people! It’s for people who need music on to study but get distracted by lyrics.”

“Metal’s good for that, too,” He reaches across the center divider to snatch a fry from the tray, “It’s, like, 90% guitar, and half the lyrics don’t even make sense, anyways. Nothing to pay attention to.”

“I’m not surprised you like metal,” You hum, “Did a Mötley Crüe tape come with this car?”

“No,” He insists, and you catch the flash of his grin from the side of your eye, “I bought it on the way back from the dealership.”

He doesn’t want to drown out your giggles with music, so he waits until you take another bite to pop a tape in. 

“That’s real music,” He boasts as the sound blares to life, “None of that violin shit.”

“I like metal,” You promise him, foot tempted to tap to the beat of the drums, “It’s just not all I listen to.”

“Yeah, well it’s gonna be all you listen to in here,” He assures you, “I’m gonna turn you into a diehard.”

“You have all of, what, twenty minutes?” You laugh, “Billy, how often do you think I’m gonna be in your car?”

“Whenever you want,” He shrugs, “You think I’m gonna let you haul your ass around town without a car?”

“Billy,” You frown, swallowing roughly to stare suspiciously at him, “What are you talking about? You barely even know me, why are you acting like my chauffeur all of a sudden?”

“Barely even know you-” He scoffs, jamming a fry into the ketchup that’s pooled on your tray, “We’re friends, dumbass. That’s how friendship works, right? We do shit for each other?”

Your heart thuds to your stomach. Friends? An hour ago you wouldn’t have even called Billy Hargrove your acquaintance. Sure, you knew each other. Hell, you probably knew more about him than anyone else in school. But not because he told you, because you found out. It was an accident, a fluke, a mistake. He didn’t tell you on purpose, so it didn’t mean you were close. But maybe you were, maybe his borderline kidnapping of you was because he cared, because he liked you.

“Yeah,” You decide, “Yeah, we’re friends. And that’s what friends do. I just.. I can’t offer you much, can I? I mean, shit, you won’t even let me give you a $5 for lunch.”

His eyes narrow, and you’re nervous you said something wrong. He huffs out a sigh, jaw tightening, “Jesus, Y/N, are you gonna make me spell it out?”

“What?”

“You offered me a place to stay,” He mumbles, glaring daggers at his keys in the ignition, “That’s.. A lot, okay? And I appreciate it.” He says it almost angrily, and if you weren’t so taken aback, you might have laughed.

“So I don’t mind dumping you where you need to be. Or spotting you for lunch.”

“Thank you,” You echo his sentiment from last night, hoping that even though they’re about a burger and not a home, they’re just as sincere, “Thanks, Billy.”

“Don’t mention it,” He grumbles, stuffing the rest of his burger into his mouth so that he doesn’t have to speak.

Being friends with Billy Hargrove is interesting. He’s brash, abrasive, but he cares in his own way, you find out, when he stops hard at a red light and throws his arm out over your chest.

“Sorry,” He mumbles, gruff and stiff, “You okay?”

“Fine,” You nod, a little breathless from how the seat belt had rubbed against your skin, “You can pull over here, if you want. I can run around the back, it’s unlocked already.”

“I’m not dropping you off at the curb,” He scoffs, “I think I can manage your driveway.”

“Fine,” You tease, “I was just trying to make it easier for you.”

A small smile curves over his lips at your tone, and you know he’s not upset. You’re starting to realize that being friends with Billy is easy, as soon as you accept that he can be harsh. He’s not the type of friend to gush about feelings, you don’t think, preferring to quip back and forth, and you can handle that.

He pulls into your driveway, and spots a familiar red car parked three houses down.

“You’re neighbors with Harrington?” His eyes shade over with something that can’t be good, considering his well-known feelings towards the other boy.

“No,” You shake your head, “No, that’s his friend’s house. He just drives him around sometimes, I think. That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

You shoot him a grin as your head rests against the headrest of your seat, and he can’t argue with that. He rolls his eyes despite the growing grin on his lips, and he reaches over to shove you.

“Get out of my car,” He groans, “And- here,” He tears a shred of napkin off of the leftover stash from lunch, digging for a pen to scrawl his number, “Call me whenever you need a ride. Or good music to listen to.”

“I’m gonna go study to Chopin,” You leer at him from your front steps, and he lunges, reaching out the driver’s side window to reach for you. You shriek, jumping out of the way before he can grab you, and it pulls a long, hearty laugh from his chest.

“Take it,” He reaches into his glove compartment to pull out a tape, red-and-black designs etched over the front, “I’m not driving away until I hear it blasting from your window,”

“My parents are home,” You gush, fingers curling around the plastic case, “I can’t!”

“Headphones, then,” He insists, eyes alight with amusement, “I’m expecting you to know the words the next time I see you.”

It’s a hefty promise to make, but you do so with a smile on your face.

You don’t get much studying done amongst Metallica. It’s hard to focus on finishing your biology project when you recognize a song you’d heard earlier in Billy’s car, and you hum the familiar tune, thinking of the way he’d tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the drums.

You think you’ve figured him out. He’s vibrant when he knows he’s alone, when he knows he’s safe. He’d panicked hearing that car door, those voices outside. He’d been rough, jagged, hurtful. But in his element, flying down the road with music blaring from his speakers, he’d been happy. All he needs is a safe place, and you’re glad he has one, even if it isn’t his home.

Biology is easy to finish, because you only have to cover half of the slack from being sent home early last night. Billy knows which of the last two drawings to complete, and you tuck your finished ones away in your folder, pulling out a sheet of math work to tackle next. Unfortunately, it’s less simple.

Dinner comes and goes, and you’re still working by the time the sky bleeds black. You’d been using the light from the window to aid you in your homework, so when it finally covers you in enough shadow to make you squint, you give up and make for your light switch.

It flicks on with a click, and when you whirl around to settle back on your bed, there’s a face in your window. You scream, backing yourself up against the door in the split second before you recognize the features.

Billy is staring at you from the window, hand up to the glass. You hear commotion from downstairs, a quick shout of ‘Are you okay up there?’ and thundering feet towards the hallway.

“I’m fine!” You shout at the gap in the door, praying no one comes to investigate, “I’m fine, I thought I saw a spider.”

You stand there, petrified, staring at him as you wait for your parents to go away. The commotion dies down in seconds, but they feel like hours as they tick away, leaving Billy pressed to your window. When you hear the soft wheeze of a couch cushion, then the creak of bedsprings, accounting for them both, you relax, breathe out a sigh and step forwards.

Even through the glass, you can tell something is wrong. Billy’s right eye is starting to shut, and you don’t think he’s doing it on purpose. It looks swollen, and there’s a purple hue blooming over it.

You work on unlatching the window, and in doing so you press your hand flat against the glass. It lays inches north of his own print, and he shifts his hand up to meet yours on the other side of the window. It’s touching, but you don't’ have time to evaluate it when your fingers snap the latch out of place.

“Billy,” You breathe, gripping his forearm to offer him leverage while he hauls himself up and over your windowsill, “Are you okay?”

He lands on the floor in a heap, and your heart sinks.

“No.” He groans, voice soft and wheezy. When he moves he rolls to clutch his stomach, and the only solace you find is that there’s no bloodstain on his t-shirt.

“I ran,” He groans, keeping his voice just quiet enough to be inaudible from another room, “I- I didn’t have time to get in my car, I just-”

“Okay,” You watch his chest heave with the effort of speaking, bracing a hand on it gently, to stop him, “Okay, save your energy. I’m going to go get you water, and an ice pack. Then I’ll fix your face.”

He manages a weak nod, then a raspy, ‘Okay.’

You slip into the kitchen with only a sheepish grin towards the couch at your spider cover-up. Luckily for you, you’re jumpy around bugs, so it doesn’t look out of the ordinary.

You tuck the ice-pack into your pocket, and you’re wearing such a baggy sweatshirt that it’s covered up. The glass of water isn’t suspicious on its own, and you make it back to your room without any problems.

Billy has hauled himself up to sit against your bed, head tipped against the mattress. There’s still no blood, but his face is tilted towards the light now, and you see copious amounts of bruising that definitely hadn’t been there before.

“Jesus,” You breathe, reaching for his cheek. He tenses as your hand approaches, and you pull back before you can reach him. You stand there, arm outstretched, waiting. Your fingers are only inches from his face, a blotchy purple mark over his eye that spreads down his cheek like poison. You wait, for a sign, a sound, anything to let you know that it’s okay to touch him, and what you get is almost more shocking than the sight of him.

He tilts his head to the side, nudging his cheek into your hand.

“You can touch,” He croaks, breath short and hot against your palm, “I don’t bite.”

If you’ve learned anything about Billy in the past 24 hours, it’s that he doesn’t like the mushy stuff. So instead of gushing, instead of promising him that he’s safe now, that his father can’t hurt him, you say it with your touch, and shift your tone to teasing.

“Oh yeah?” You kneel beside him, brushing your thumb against the underside of his lip and smearing away wet blood there, “Melissa MacDonald says you do.”

He laughs, a short, wheezing sound, and his cheek presses further into your palm as it apples with his smile,  “Yeah? Well, she asked me to.”

”Freaky girl,” You hum, eyes glued to his lip. You use the towel that you’ve wrapped around the ice pack, bunching a corner of it up and wiping it over the split skin. It morphs into a grimace when you touch it and he hisses, hand reaching up to grip your side hard.

“Sorry,” You breathe, your exhale fanning over his face, “Sorry, just- give me a second.”

When you’ve managed to get the blood off of his lip you shift your focus to his abdomen, and suddenly realize what you’re about to ask is very suggestive.

“Okay, um.. What happened to your stomach?”

“He kicked me,” Billy groans, “Boots on and all.”

“Okay,” You see a dark purple bruise spreading over his stomach from where his shirt has ridden up, and you toy with the edge of the ice pack, “Can I-? I need to see it..”

“Strip me, baby,” He chuckles weakly, “You can take it off.”

It’s a button-up, once tucked in and now rumpled from the commotion. The top buttons are undone, so it’s not hard to slip the last two out, spreading each side apart to showcase a truly horrific amalgamation of cuts and bruises.

“Ok-ay,” You hum, eyes wide in terror, “Um, this is.. A lot. Should we go to the hospital?”

“No!” His eyes flash with fear, and he grabs your wrist, “No hospitals.”

“”But-”

“But I can’t tell anyone,” He reminds you, gaze now sad and defeated, “No hospitals.”

All you can manage is a nod, tears gathering in your eyes as you stare down at his bare torso.

“Like what you see?” He drawls, and you glance up to see his lip bleeding again from how he’d smirked and torn the cut open.

“Not at all,” You admit sheepishly, reaching a hand up to press and hold the towel there, “Billy, this looks like you escaped a warzone.”

“I did,” He mumbles around the towel, “He’s the enemy.”

“What did you even do?” You ask, prodding gently at a patch of skin and apologizing profusely when his stomach tenses because of it.

“Someone.. One of our stupid neighbors,” He recalls, “Saw you last night. Said my old man must be proud I've got girls sneaking out of my window at night.”

“And… he wasn’t proud.” You grimace, pressing the ice pack to the largest bruise. It spans over most of his lower stomach, and it looks more painful than you can imagine.

“No,” Billy groans, writhing against your bed, “He was not. Didn’t even wait to get inside,” He squeezes his eyes shut, which you’re sure hurts his right one, “Just grabbed my arm and smacked me right there on the driveway. No one cared. The neighbor, he- he laughed. Thought it was all some big joke, I guess. When we got inside he pushed me over in the doorway and pummeled me. He kicked my stomach, and he-” Billy cuts himself off with a hiss of pain when you start dabbing at a scrape on his chest, “Stomped on my face. He used a fucking fireplace poker, that’s the gashes.”

“You can’t go back,” You cry, barely withholding yourself from a long, loud sob, “Please, Billy, you can’t go back there. He’ll kill you!”

“No, he won’t.” Billy heaves, shaking his head, “He wants to, I’m sure. But he knows he can’t hurt me too bad, or people’ll notice. This was a mistake, he’s gonna be more careful from now on. He might be a monster, but he’s smart.”

“But- but what if this happens again, Billy? He gets angry, real angry, and he lashes out, and he uses a fireplace poker-!” Your chest heaves with sobs that you’re barely able to withhold, tears streaming down your cheeks and dripping onto his chest.

“Hey,” He shushes you, a hand over your mouth, then uses the other to wipe your tears away, “Hey! Don’t think about that,” he scolds, but you’re sure it’s meant to sound reassuring, “He’s probably freaked right now. He thinks I’m ratting him out to the cops, or something. So when I come back, he’ll be more careful. He won’t be sorry, but I don’t care about sorry anymore, I know he won’t ever be. He won’t kill me,” Billy promises you, finally dropping the hand that’s covering your mouth, “He can’t afford a body on his hands.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, blink away the tears in your eyes, and nod. He seems satisfied at your silence, watching with droopy eyes as you clean off his chest.

“I’m gonna get bandages,” You murmur, leaving the ice pack on his stomach and padding to the door, “Move it if you need to, okay?”

He manages a weak nod in return, and you make sure to shut the door behind you when you leave.

Gathering adequate medical supplies isn’t the problem, concealing them is. You have to fumble your way through tucking bandages and gauze under your shirt, and the bottle of antiseptic doesn’t fit anywhere but in your hands. You keep it tucked against your side when you rush to your room, though, and you hope no one notices.

Billy doesn’t even ask what you’re doing when you press a wet cotton ball to his injuries, and you shudder to think of all the times he’s had to patch himself up. Does he sit in his room against his own bed, drink in hand? Does he stand in the shower, soap cleaning out his wounds? Does he sneak to the freezer, pressing frozen peas to his eyes?

You sniffle, and BIlly’s thumb rubs under your nose.

You frown, ‘Gross,’ And he chuckles weakly.

“I’m covered in blood, sweat, and-” He glances down at the droplets on his chest, “Tears. You think snot crosses a line?”

“My snot does,” You grumble, laying a bandage over a scrape on his chest and biting the inside of your cheek in concentration.

“Fine,” He huffs, smearing his thumb over your cheek, “Have it back.”

“Billy-!” You gasp, hand flying off of his chest and rubbing furiously at your cheek, “Gross!”

You’d be more upset but he laughs, really, truly, genuinely, and you think that maybe you can live with it.

“Snotface,” He cracks, and if you think for a second too long about the heartfelt lilt to his voice, it sounds like a term of endearment.

It’s hard to maneuver him in order to wrap his more serious injuries in gauze, but with a little cooperation, he’s wrapped like a mummy. It’s probably a sloppy nurse job, but you’re all he’s got, and you won’t give up on him because things are hard.

It’s his face that you have the real trouble with. You squint as you scan his features, looking at bumps and bruises and scrapes and trying to assess how deep they are. Your fingers turn his face this way and that, prodding, prying, pushing, pulling, until you decide that the light from above isn’t enough to see his smaller injuries.

“I need to move you,” You speak softly, “Up onto the bed. Can you do that?”

“Help me,” He bargains, and you’re happy to lift him to his feet.

He slumps against you while upright, but it’s not long before you can push him back onto your bed. He practically melts against the mattress, letting out a guttural sigh that’s almost too loud.

With a flick of your bedside lamp he’s bathed in a soft yellow glow, face now illuminated for all its abrasions to be seen.

His split lip is the least of it, you recognize with a sinking feeling.

Leaning over his face is awkward,and it hurts him when you turn his head. You suppose his neck is sore too, and it leaves you at a standstill.

“I can’t see that side of your face,” You huff, “Could you- I mean, it hurts really bad to turn your head?”

“Sorry,” He grimaces, testing the movement out again, “Yeah. Just- sit on the bed.”

“There’s no room,” You protest weakly, his broad form filling out your twin bed, “I’ll have to turn you around, we’ll put your feet at the headboard and your head down below, but that’ll take a lot of energy, so we should just-”

“Stop talking,” He pleads, eyes heavy, “Just- get on the bed, Y/N.”

“There’s no room!” You insist once more, and he groans, sitting himself upright despite your protests.

His arm slings around your waist, surprisingly strong for the state of the rest of his body. You scramble to fight his embrace but he hauls you up and onto the mattress, your knees digging into his thigh.

“Sit on my stomach,” He instructs you, then remembers it’s bandaged, “Or- or my waist. Just- sit down.”

It feels wrong. A boy in your bed, your legs over his waist, your hand on his chest as you lean over his face. You’re careful not to press anywhere that hurts, and you dab carefully at a cut near his eye.

“I think this earns you the title of best friend,” He mumbles, his breath hitting your face and warming your nose.

“Oh, yeah? Who was my competition?” You bite your lip to stop from grinning, shifting your waist against his own so that you can reach higher on his face.

“I dunno.” He’d shrug if he wasn’t lying down, “My car, maybe? There’s a cat that hangs out behind our house.”

“I’m not as cute as a cat,” You hum absentmindedly, picturing poor Billy with a car for a best friend, “I think it’s got me beat.”

“I dunno,” Billy murmurs, reaching up to thumb at the space between your brows. It knocks your concentrated frown loose, and he chuckles at your dazed expression as you peer down at him, “I’ll call it a tie to keep the peace.”

You busy yourself putting a bandaid over the bridge of his nose so that you don’t have to look into his eyes. You’re worried about what you’ll find there, if it’ll be the scared little boy you’d seen in them last night, or a charming young man. You’re not sure how to handle either, but you smooth the sticky patches of the bandaid out over his cheeks to try and aid the former.

“Done,” You whisper, and brace your hands on his face.

“Thank you,” He hums, sincere and sweet, “Really, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” You promise, “But for your sake I hope you don’t have to come over here like this again.”

“Me too,” He laughs, a short, breathy sound, “So.. uh, you got a car?”

“No,” You shake your head, “That’s why I was walking earlier.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” He cringes, hoisting himself up onto his elbows, “I’ll have to walk back.”

“Not now!” You push a hand against his chest, gently landing him on his back again, “You- you can’t! You need rest,” You reason with him, “Please, Billy, just stay here tonight.”

“Usually the girls kick me out when their parents get home,” He jokes, his tongue poking out to run over his lips, which you’re sure are sore from the cut. You giggle breathlessly, only then realizing that you’re still straddling him.

“Uh-” You rush to slide off of his hips, landing with a thump on the floor, “Sorry. I’ll go… um, do you need a change of clothes?”

“If you’ve got something,” He tilts his head up to watch as you fumble through your closet, “If nothing fits it’s fine.”

Luckily, you find a pair of sweatpants that are cinched with a tie, as well as a particularly average sweatshirt he’ll fit into. You step out of the room so that he can change, and thankfully he doesn’t seem to need any help. You use the time to change your own clothes, and when you emerge from the bathroom, you push your bedroom door open to find him on your mattress again.

“Bed’s comfy,” He marvels, turned onto his side. He’s pressed against the wall, staring at you where you’re frozen in the doorway.

“It is,” You nod, “Enjoy it.”

“You, too.” He prompts, patting the sheets, “Get up here, Y/N.”

“No, I-”

“You just stuck your fingers in my bloody cuts,” He groans, scooting even further back against the wall with a strangled groan, “I’m not making you sleep on the fucking floor.”

Logically, you know you should argue. He’s proclaimed you as his best friend but you’ve really only known him for a day. But he’s made up his mind, closing his eyes so that he can’t even see you disagreeing. His arms are crossed, and his face is set in a stubborn frown, brows tugged together beneath a bandage on his forehead.

Though his eyes are screwed shut, he pops them open when he feels the mattress dip beside him. His frown morphs quick and easy into a grin, his arm slinging around your waist to tug you closer from where you’re practically sliding off of the bed.

“I told you,” He drawls, “I don’t bite.”

“I’m not worried about you biting, Billy.” You mumble, stiff where he’s holding you. He notices, grin dimming as he lifts his hand away.

He looks almost annoyed, “So? What is it? Are you an insomniac, or something?”

“No, Billy,” you frown, biting the inside of your cheek, “I’m not an insomniac, I’m worried. Are you okay? I’m not a nurse. And- and I’m not tired, either,” You spring out of bed, standing beside it instead of laying with him, “I’m not going to sleep.”

He lays there staring, eyes hardening over from where they’d cracked open to ooze happiness. You watch it happen, watch him change until he’s the boy you know from school, deep, cutting glares and harsh movements.

“Fine,” He huffs, fighting to keep his face straight as he presses himself up off of the mattress with his palms, “I’m gonna go. Clearly- just.. Bye.”

“No, Billy..” You rush to stop him from reaching the window but he sticks out an arm, shoving you away with the side of it. He keeps his hands off of you, and you’re grateful, but it still sends you stumbling slightly.

He hears the sound of your feet thumping clumsily. He tenses up for a moment, shoulders drawn closer to his ears and legs locking. But he feels your hand against his back, soft and slow and smooth, and with each brush of your fingers there a muscle in his body relaxes.

“Please don’t go,” You finally beg, your voice a sweet whisper. It seems to have been the wrong thing to say, because his limbs lock up again, back stiffening against your palm.

“I shouldn’t be here,” He grumbles, gruff and weak.

“Yes you should,” You assure him, “Because you got hurt, and I told you you were safe here. We’re friends, remember, Billy? That’s what friends do.”

“We’re not friends.” He scoffs, and you can feel him slipping away. Every second that you stand there, hand on his back, soothingly brushing over his tense muscles, he seems to drift away, until you’re not even sure he’s with you anymore, just a foggy silhouette on the horizon.

“You said we were friends,” You remind him, lips nearly brushing his back, “What changed? Why aren’t we friends now?”

“Because..” He starts, and you wait patiently for him to continue, rubbing lines into his back over and over again.

“Because I want.. Because- Because friends-”

“You can tell me, Billy,” You promise, testing the waters as you creep forward. Inch by inch you snake your hand around his waist, carefully avoiding the injuries you know are lurking beneath his unbuttoned shirt. When your palms meet over his stomach you lean your cheek against his back, hoping that if you can squeeze enough love into him, he’ll come back.

“This,” He hovers a hand over your own, glancing down at your touch on his skin, “This is what… friends do, right?”

“Friends hug,” You confirm, “Is that what you want?”

“Yeah,” He chokes out, raising a hand to his face to smear away a tear that you’re sure has slid down his cheek, “Yeah I want that. But- but you got up, so I- I didn’t want to freak you out. You obviously didn’t want to, so-”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” You brush your thumb over his toned stomach, thinking about the way he’d stared at you from your bed, eyes sparkling and arms outstretched, “It’s just that… I want to do right by you, Billy. And I don’t think you get that a lot, do you?”

“No,” He rasps, and he starts to relax, back no longer tense as you practically whisper against it.

“Right, so..” You reason, biting your tongue before speaking out of nerves, “I think that you live like you drive, Billy. You blow past stop signs and you nearly run people over, you speed. You go so fast that you can’t slow down anymore, and you need someone to tell you to do that, or else you’ll crash.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I want to make sure you’re not rushing things,” You can feel his heated skin beneath your cheek, only the fabric of his shirt separating you, “You just got beat up by your dad, because of me, and I’m glad that you came here, but don’t you think that sleeping together is going pretty fast? I know we’re not like- sleeping together,” You mumble, cheeks aflame, “I just don’t want you to get ahead of yourself. You can.. You can have a hug anytime you want, and… we can sleep next to each other, too, but I need to know that you want that. That you’re doing it because you want to, and not because you think this is the only chance you’ll ever get. I’m telling you to slow down, Billy, you don’t have to rush if you don’t want to. I won’t kick you out if you don’t sleep in my bed, you don’t owe me anything for helping you, and I want to make sure that’s really what you want, and not just something you think you have to do. I… I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow with a clear head and regret it.”

By now your lips have reached his back, brushing softly against the material of his shirt as he stands by your window. It’s shut now, no one can see you from the outside, but his face is turned towards it like he’s examining the neighborhood. He’s not tense anymore, but he’s not moving either, and for a moment you’re nervous about having said the wrong thing.

“I’m not going to regret anything.” He murmurs, fingers ghosting over your own as he sets his hand over yours, “I.. I’m doing it because I want to, not because you’re the only person that’s nice to me. I’m doing it because… because I want to be-”

“You want to be…?”

“I want to be… held.” He whispers it like a curse, like he thinks the roof will cave and the floor will crack open to hell if he admits it. Your heart aches for the lonely boy, the battered son, the scared child, and you squeeze him gently in a hug.

“Okay,” You nod, and you know he feels it against his back, “I’ll hold you, Billy. Get back in bed, I’ll hold you.”

This time he’s less confident; not as suave. He turns towards you with a trepidatious expression, eyes tracking your every move like he thinks you’re going to give up the joke, turn, point, and laugh at him. But you don’t, of course, instead you hoist a leg up onto your bed and lay down clumsily beside him.

The mattress isn’t big enough for the both of you, so it’s a good thing you’ve agreed to hold him. You’re not really sure how to initiate it, you just simply leave yourself open, uncovered, waiting.

“Where can I touch you?” He glances up at your face, expression clouded with nerves.

“Anywhere,” You say without thinking, then stammer to fix your mistake, “I mean- I mean not like anywhere, just- anywhere.. PG.”

“Okay,” He chuckles, eyes once more heavy with sleep, “I won’t feel you up, I promise.”

When he braces a hand at your waist, cautious, unsure, you wonder if he’s ever not felt anyone up. Has he ever laid beside anyone before, just for love? Not for sex, not for lust, but for calm?

He looks nervous to continue, so you lean into it. You roll yourself onto your side, slinging his arm that’s on your hip to lay over your back. He scoots forward to meet you in the middle, and with a hand on the back of his head, you guide his face to press against your neck. His chin bumps your shoulder, and he nestles it there snugly. It means that his eyelashes brush your neck, that his lips part to release a shaky breath against your collarbones, and his curls tickle your chin.

“Is this good?” You ask, your voice a murmur into the crown of his head. He nods, and the action knocks his head into your cheek. He mumbles out a hasty, ‘Sorry’, and you laugh it off.

“It’s okay,” You drag your hands up his back, fingertips barely grazing his skin that his shirt has twisted up to expose, “It’s okay, Billy. This is okay. You’re allowed to want this, you know? You’re allowed to like this. You deserve this.”

Billy thinks he deserves a lot of things. A kick in the teeth, a tight pair of handcuffs and a drab cell, maybe even the fireplace poker. But he doesn’t think he deserves kindness, which is why he’s so confused why you’re gushing it like a fountain. 

He’s the type of person to make himself unhappy so that no one else can do it for him. He shuts out love and light and life so that no one can steal it away, no one can send him reeling when they leave. But tonight - he’s not sure why, maybe it’s the stinging wounds on his torso or the tickle of your fingers against his back - he’ll love.

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