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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

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I’ll Take the Night Shift

Pairing: Husband!John Price x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: Before you knew it, John was gone - taken from right under your nose and leaving you no choice but to retreat without him. But you would do anything to get him back, even go into the lion’s den itself.

Word Count: 15.2k

Warnings: Torture, blood & gore, V suggestive & some spicy bits, vulgar language, angst, found family tropes, eventual fluff, and comfort, injured Price would be the sweetest person idc, so much plot, briefly edited

A/N: The flashbacks are spicy because I said so. (Soap request being written after this). Enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You try to remember how you felt the first time they told you. Your combat vest was still on, that night vision rig still connected to your head and weighing about as much as John did when he rolled on top of you in the middle of the night. At your front rested the M13, its black and sleek metal bumping against your chest with every teetering step.

Black, on black, on black. Except for one item, hidden, kept close to heart, and even closer to mind at all hours. You were always aware of it, the metallic press that was ingrained into your body just as the caress of John’s fingers was, burning over your pulsing epidermis as it traveled.

Around your neck, your wedding ring sat heavily on its chain – gold more bright than the sun and kept safe and warm against the flesh of your breast under the numerous padded layers. Your face was bathed in sweat, lungs aflame with blood dripping from a knife puncture on your right thigh. Although the limb is bathed in crimson, the dark fabric of your pants hid most of it. But it couldn’t hide the red footprints in the dirt.

It was a Black Op in Finland – a target stashed away in a mansion that was clawing for breath in this dense forest with more viridian-colored trees than any you had seen before. Green seemed to breed in the small spaces, between rocks, up crackling bark; crunching under your black boots as you came to a shattering halt. Moss and tiny plants get crushed under your fierce steps.

If it was any other circumstance, you would have loved to drag your husband here for a vacation.

You had felt fear when they told you. Cold. Chest-tightening. Skin tingling as your limping body fought to focus on anything but the pain that was spiking in your leg, but that was simple when the words flew from Gaz’s lips with panic. Simon had stopped behind you as well, the two men dressed just as you were and holding their breath for your reaction. They knew it wouldn’t be good.

“The Captain isn’t responding. Soap can’t bloody find him.” The chill of the night was nothing compared to the dread that flooded your veins, eyes snapping forward blankly at flashing shadows as your panting breath was all at once sucked back down.

What?! Is all you can numbly think.

A brief stuttering inhalation ensues, your brain screaming as if banshees wail and smash against the bone of your skull with sharp teeth and blunt nails; tearing to try and get out. But you were not born to break at such a fickle emotion as fear in your bloodstream, or the adrenaline making your eyes vibrate. You were taught to act.

You’re turning on your heels and hiking back to the mansion without a word or hesitation, the world around you speeding by. In a single instant, the organ in your head promptly goes silent in a fell swoop of horrified realization. Everyone left in that mansion would be dead if you got your hands on them – ripped to tiny little pieces until that which was yours was returned unharmed and conscious into your arms.

You hold the M13 tight around the stock, jimmying it into your shaking grip.

“Whoa!” Gaz rushes to get ahead of your warpath – which didn’t take much as your wound was throbbing; making your head pound something awful.

It doesn't matter what I feel…Where is my John?

Dark hands grasp your shoulders tightly, shaking you as your lips turn into a snarl.

“Out of my way, Garrick,” You growl, face suddenly twisting into an image of pure animalistic rage, “I’m going to Soap’s position.”

Attempting to jerk out of the man’s hold, your skin crawls at the thought of John. He always answered the comms – always stayed within eyesight of his partner when placed with another individual. Your husband did not leave men behind. He would never leave Soap behind.

And that meant he was either dead or captured.

Your mind jumps to violent imagery. Your Captain, riddled with bullets and bleeding as he writhes in pain; left to die like a feral dog as he snaps at everything that moves. Or worse, taken and stashed away, far from you, and tortured for information. John would never break – they’d have to kill him anyway.

There was no version of this story that involved him living if you did nothing.

“Johnny isn’t at the mansion,” Ghost comments, popping up in the side of your vision as you have a stare-off with Gaz and releases the radio attached to his vest, “He was under heavy fire – had to pull back. Should be closin’ in on our position soon.”

“I’m still going back!” Growling, you snap your arms back and shoulder past Gaz, “You’re idiots if you think I’m leaving John by himself in fucking Finland surrounded by hostiles.”

But what if he’s already dead and I don’t know it? Can I handle that?

You grunt under your breath, trying to stop the sting of your eyes.

“Love,” The younger man pleads, Kyle’s dark eyes worryingly going from your thigh to your face, “You’ve got to be bloody joking with us. If you go back to that place you’re as good as dead. We have to pull back to the Evac Point. There are too many guns – we’re outnumbered.”

When you had joined Task Force 141 you had never expected to marry the older Captain of this rag-tag bunch. It had been surprising enough that you had been spotted by the brown-haired Brit at all, only seeing him once when he had come to teach a class of rookies on Counter-Terrorism. Naturally, the two of you had struck up a conversation – or, rather, you had forced him to speak to you. But how could you not? The man was about as handsome as they came. The gruff and gravel tone that rumbled his chest, his large build reminiscent of a brown bear, and how the muscles under his shirt had rippled when you snuck up on him. Physically, he was everything you wanted, and the same went for attitude once you got to know him.

And, hell, how could you look at someone like John Price and not get entranced by his eyes? Storm gray and raging waters; you swore you could see an entire world hidden in the flecks of silver as if he was carved from stone and his soul was pure electricity. But despite all of it, his serious face had seemed warm under that beard of his and that bucket hat on his head wasn’t helping. He seemed kind enough, and that had piqued your interest as you were constantly being surrounded by less-than-respectful men in the barracks.

In fact, your first sentence to him was, “How many times have you nearly lost that hat of yours mid-Op, Sir?”

You had snuck up while the rookies were working through a practice course down below the loft, where the two of you currently were. John’s head had snapped to the side, his constantly narrowed eyes widening a fraction. If you had to guess, he didn’t get snuck up on often.

But he had never met you before.

His arms were attached to the collar of his vest, and you saw the fingers tighten as his shoulder-width stance tensed below him. The shouts and calls of the people below blurred as you tilted your head, blinking innocently up at him, watching his lips move with heated thoughts.

You quite liked him looking surprised.

“Ma’am,” He utters in greeting, before letting out a deep sigh that makes you huff a laugh in turn. He seemed tired – stressed, “Very funny. Don’t suppose you’re part of the others down there, then, are you?”

“Unfortunately, no, Sir,” Your gaze filters to the flailing limbs and you watch with creasing eyebrows at the chaos, amusement deep in your blood, “I mean…they look like they’re having fun, at least.”

“Yeah, that’s a bloody exaggeration, that is,” His wrinkled forehead had creased, following the horrific sight as well, ��Laswell told me that this group was promising.”

Your laugh makes his head fully turn back to you, blinking down and fighting the flick of his eyebrow in confusion.

“Oh, God, she told you that?!” Shaking your head you shifted your body to face him and stifled your chuckles. You say your name and utter out, “If you want someone who’s not going to sugarcoat things for her amusement, Captain Price, you come straight to me. Squad 5 is the one you want for Counter-Terrorism courses; certainly not 3. That’s a good way to get shot in the ass by your own guys.”

He stared at you for a long minute before his eyes flickered down to your hand; he grunted and grasped it in his own.

You were correct – he was warm. Firm. The ingrained lines of his palms splayed over yours, and the flesh of your lips softened at the delicate way he was holding you. Like you were a prized weapon.

And you would have it no other way.

“Just Price is fine, Ma’am. Kate mentioned you in her call…You were in Romania in ‘04, Yeah? Quite the job to do by yourself…You ever think on joinin’ a team?”

Three months later Laswell was giving you a call saying you were getting a promotion and the rest was subtle glances that evolved into stolen touches in dark corners when no one was looking. It had been scary how instant the feelings were realized…you trusted John with your life, just as he did with you. That was the first feeling after lust and the one far before love – protectiveness for each other on the same level as wolves in a pack.

You can’t leave him behind.

“He’s the Captain–” Your lips begin to hiss out, eyes narrowed at the ground as you struggle along. You were weaker than you should have been – blood loss leaving you nearly on the ground after the retreat, “He’s my husband!”

Rage was easier than panic. Perhaps that was why John called you Lion for a callsign.

“...And you’re going to get him killed.” The remark makes you freeze. Ghost doesn’t move from behind you as the echo of his words bounces off the trees, but you feel his presence just the same as Gaz clears his throat awkwardly, “You go back, Aarre Virtanen will put a bloody bullet in ‘em. Not a chance he doesn’t.”

Aarre Virtanen. The target that had escaped the Force’s grasp like the weasel he is. Your eyes alight with rage, and cities burn in your iris.

“You’re just about the most impulsive person I’ve ever met, Love,” John mutters into your hair, running his fingertips over the hospital gown as he lays in the bed with you. Your eyes are closed, feeling your head rise and fall with the steady breathing in the Captain's chest – damn him, the way he touched you was hypnotic; putting you to sleep where the pain meds failed.

“Hm,” You groan, digging your head deeper into his peck and feeling him chuckle velvety.

“I need to teach you how to think plans through before you commit, Yeah? Else you’re going to keep getting hurt…and we can’t have that, eh, can we Sweetheart?”

“...If you’re gonna hold me like this when I get shot, I’ll make sure to take more bullets for you from now until the end of time.”

A puff of breath and a brush of coarse beard hairs over your scalp.

“You’re hopeless, you are. What am I supposed to do with you…?”

“Probably kiss me, Sir, but I’m not picky. You can fuck me too while you’re at it.”

A shuttering of leaves rips everyone out of their arguing, and in an instant three guns are held leveled at a dense bush, shaking in the moonlight. Every moment spent with John was flashing over your eyes like you were dying. Why was your breath getting strained? Why was your grip shaking?

“Friendly! Don’t go poppin’ off shots, it’s jus’ me!” Your stance lessens at the familiar Scottish drawl, air falling from your nose in a terse sigh.

Soap’s body pops out a second later, and you’re right next to him with a heavy heart, gripping him by the arm and digging. It was hard, holding yourself together with string and fraying cloth, but you had to. You can’t break…not now. The man's vision is locked on your face, and you don’t like the thinness of his lips as his expression is layered with guilt.

It mirrors against the desperation in yours, leaking into the tone coating your sentence like poison.

“Little Lady, I–”

“Where is my husband, Johnny?” Your face contorts, pulling back. He was supposed to be here, why wasn't he here? He took MacTavish with him because he needed an expert to detonate a bomb in the lower mansion’s tunnel structure. He said he’d be back soon…Where is he? “Johnny, please, he can’t…” Begging has never been implemented in your life. Never.

But for John, you’d do anything.

The man in question flinches back, the dried blood over his face catching your gaze in the dim light as you stop dead; your eyes slashed the distance between Soap’s visage and the gore over his cheeks. Up his arms. On his hands. Staining his chest like fucking finger-paint. Before you know it you’re backing up, eyelids fluttering like hummingbird wings and jumping from place to place as all you can see is red. Your hands are slippery, and you hold them limply ahead of you.

No, no, no. No, it can’t be.

“Holy shit, Soap,” Gaz whispers, voice horrified, and you feel his hand on your back trying to steady you, “Is that…”

Ghost’s dead eyes stay locked on the scene, narrowing behind his mask. The Scot’s head flows to the blood, quickly inhaling as his nose scrunches. His lips part in horror as he tries to calm you down, backing up a step.

But you can’t stop seeing red.

“Hen, now don’t do that – it’s not…I…He,” He stumbles over his words, swallowing thickly as you gape. Soap growls, splaying his hands, “Steamn’ Bloody Jesus! The explosive went off prematurely, fucken’ bastard of a device – whoever made it should get his neck rung – an’ the…the tunnel collapsed with us in it,” You just stare, and you wonder if your heart can hurt any more than it already is. At your side, Gaz blows out a slow breath, and over your back, you feel his grip tighten, “I tried to get him out of the rubble, Hen. But,” He stops, and one of his hands smacks against the top of his helmet, “Virtanen’s men got there first. God,” Johnny gasps your name, “I’m so sorry.”

But all you do is stare.

“Love,” Garrick lightly says, his breath on the side of your face, “Love, we have to move.”

But Gaz, You want to say; scream, as your stained fingers twitch when you level them with a heavy glare, Gaz I can’t leave him here

“He’s not dead.”

Ghost grunts, fixing the position of his gun over his chest; resting on hand on the end and looking off into the trees, “They’d keep ‘em alive. Try to get answers – who he is, who sent him…” The man trails.

Your heart fractures your ribs, ears ring like cicadas under your skin.

He’s not dead, You have to tell yourself so you don’t break down, looking at everyone around with veiled shock, He’s not dead.

The only reason the four of you were still standing around was that, in the absence of John’s leadership, you took point. It hit you suddenly, then, in that instant where the storm that was going on inside of your head was silenced. These men were under your wing – they needed you to take up the mantle; you needed to trust that John was alright. If only to keep the whole of the 141 safe and alive.

Gaz had shrapnel in his back; Soap looked like he was about to either turn around and go on a rampage or slump over with his head in his hands. And Ghost well…he was Ghost, but even so, his clothes were layered with blood and dirt. Not to mention yourself – your thigh has since gone numb.

…And we can’t stay here.

With your heart falling into a deep hole, you school your expression.

Don’t think about him. Don’t do it.

Your job has never been more difficult than at that moment.

“Evac Point is a ten-minute jog. L-Laswell’s expecting us.” The voice that comes out of your mouth isn’t yours, the tone is off and the structure is shaky at best and broken at worst. There was nothing more you could do, even if you knew you could drag your way back to the mansion and start a fight.

Gaz was right, you would die if you went back. And you can’t get John home safe if you were dead.

The team needs you to lead them just as your husband would.

So, avoiding all eye contact and the wide looks, you slip out of Kyle’s hold, feeling your leg sizzle with agony as you put weight on it. Garrick mutters your name, and Soap clears his stuffed throat; coughing into the night. Ghost is the one who loops his arm under your shoulders when he strides up behind you, and you flinch at the contact before closing your eyes and feeling bitter tears drip down your cheeks.

“We’ll get ‘em back, Lion,” The man glances down at you, skeletal face glowing bone white, “I give you my word.” But you don’t answer, just grimace and will away the feelings in your heart and the vomit in the back of your throat.

This is what John would want you to do, you know that – perhaps that was the only reason you were willing to leave and reevaluate at all – but, somehow, it still felt wrong.

Akin to betrayal.

The ring around your neck suddenly weighed more than the numb flesh of your leg as tears smack the moss mutely.

—

Laswell is sitting in the meeting room as a nurse wraps your thigh tightly. The sutures underneath pull at your flesh; making it stretch at a touch of a finger as you stand upright. The others had pleaded with you to sit down, but nothing would sway you. Not even the needle that had been going through your skin when you refused pain medication. Being on your feet made you feel better – like you were about to do something which would stop the thinness of your breath and the jump of your heart. Your weight was mostly on your uninjured limb anyhow, shifting as the affected pant’s leg was cut lengthwise and shoved aside as the gauze slowly wrapped around and around.

“When are we going after him,” You ask Kate, rubbing the sleep from your eyes but only succeeding in spreading dirt and blood all over your sockets, “I’ll be ready in five if you need me to be. All of us will.”

“Damn right,” Kyle nods, “Just give the order.”

The blonde sighs, and the other men in the room move on their feet in unease. No one was content sitting still – one of their own was missing. Soap in particular was taking it badly; almost as broken up as you about it.

“We can’t do anything,” Your rampaging heart clenches. You had been worried about that, “This mission was Black,” Laswell’s chair squeaks as she rises, a tablet in her hands and a scowl on her face, “Legally speaking, no one was ever in Finland in the first place. A blown power box was the cause of the explosion.”

“Kate–” Gaz growls, but Soap cuts him off.

“This is clatty, Laswell!” He crosses his arms, the mohawk on his head pressed down from being in a helmet for so long making him look unhinged. When the helicopter had dropped the Force off at base, a meeting had immediately been called; that was over three hours ago, and still, nothing had been done. It was precious time, “Send out drones, recon forces, anything. Hell, send us back in – we'll take care of this.”

“Sergeant MacTavish,” Kate stares at him, and she spares a quick glance at you as the nurse stands quickly and leaves. You clench your jaw. Without John being here the room felt empty, devoid of a very important figure; you were no leader, but what choice did you have but to take charge, “Price knew the risks, and…Black Op means no take backs. He’s been in this a long time.”

“We all have,” You whisper, grunting as a shiver of fire runs up your leg.

In the back of your subconscious, you know everyone can see how shaken you are. Your eyes constantly rove to the corners as if shadows will suddenly take form and attack, your fingers twitch as if still around the trigger of a gun; when someone mentions John’s name your hand unconsciously reaches to grasp the ring around your neck. Gaz spares you looks, reaching up to fix the position of his ball cap with tense breaths.

Inside, the thoughts were running faster than you could catch them. Every moment you spent with your Captain – dinner dates, gifts that you told him not to buy you but he did anyways…the list went on including the moments spent together. They were distracting you. He was distracting you.

Was this how it felt to lose a vital part of you? Like torture? But your person knows what torture was like – it had never felt as painful as this before. You couldn’t recall in your memory a time when your chest had been this wound tight, fingers so shaky and weak. Your brain was what you would consider your best companion in these situations…but this was different. Common sense had abandoned you in the form of a square brown-bearded face and strong arms.

God, John, You press your fingers into your eyes until you see stars, Please be okay. Please. I’ll be there soon. J-just wait for me.

There was another voice as well, telling you that if you just told yourself he was okay you could get through this easier. You could break later – you needed to focus on getting your husband back.

That was all that mattered.

Laswell scratches at the back of her neck, and your hands fall back to your sides.

“We can’t do anything,” Kate repeats, and the subtle change in phonics leads your head to snap up. Her deep blues were already staring at you; boring into your soul. The others perked up as well when your body stills, listening with predatory attention, “Shame. I heard the target was planning on being at a get-together in a week at his property in Poland.”

Your pulse stills, and you find your wavering voice, “...Can’t fault the man, he has a weapon-smuggling business to run…He’ll need more potential clients.”

“Hm,” The boys look back and forth with bright eyes, teeth showing as their lips peel back, “Affirm.” Laswell saunters to leave the room, slipping past you. But before she brushes against your shoulder her face tilts to you. You smell her scent – bark and coarse linen – as she speaks, “You might want to clean up the armory and get your gear repaired. John wouldn’t stand for his team looking like shit it if he was here.”

Kate saunters out the door, and you watch her back as the barrier closes, standing in silence. Sucking down a slow breath, your gaze filters back to the boys only to find them already staring at you.

“Well,” Clearing your throat, your eyebrows twitch, “You heard her. We can’t do anything…officially.”

“I’d say we better go clean up, then,” Soap grunts, crossing his arms over his chest, and nodding his head to you, “Head off and get a good sleep.”

Gaz and Ghost spare glances, but look about as ready as you are.

“You sure you’re up for this, Love?” Garrick asks motioning toward your leg with a head nod as he moves closer, “We have no problem doing this by ourselves.”

“I took my vows just the same as he did,” You respond immediately, gripping the younger man by the shoulder and sending a small, weak, smile, “You think he’d stay behind if it was me?”

“I think he’d rather let Soap make him tea again. And we know how that went last time.”

You huff out a sound that resembles a laugh, but the Scot in question refuses to look at you; your eyes catch Ghost sending you glances before he motions with his head to the man. Turning to Gaz you nod.

“You take Simon and get the gear ready. We’re leaving tomorrow first thing.”

“Copy, Ma’am.”

Ghost pats your skull once before disappearing, “Keep your head on, Lion.”

The door once more closes, and silence overtakes the small room. Taking a deep breath that fills you with a wave of ease – even if for a moment – you focus on the second big problem after a brief second to close your eyes and think.

Johnny.

He avoids your gaze; fidgets with his hands more than he usually does. The men of the 141 were dear to you and in a way, the entirety of it was a big family of people who really didn’t belong anywhere but with each other. You cared about them more than you cared about yourself – one of them was your husband, but the rest were your brothers.

“You remember when I took a metal rod right through my lower leg?” You begin, hobbling closer and nearly laughing when the man takes a step forward to help with a grimace set on his lips. You raise a hand to stop him, “In Egypt about two summers ago?”

“You shoved me out of the way and got hurled through a window by a bastard with a knife, Hen. Landed in an industrial yard,” You stop a foot or two from him, attempting to get his attention while he stares at his feet and mutters like a kicked dog, “Yeah. Remember it clear as day. Price nearly had my head – knew right here that he was gonna marry you.”

The comment warms your heart.

“Did I ever blame you for standing near that window, Johnny?” You ask softly, tilting your head and catching his eye as he clenches his jaw in thought. The scar on the pale skin moves, and his stubble bunches.

“Never, Ma’am.”

“Then why would I ever blame you for an explosive that went off spontaneously – one that you didn’t even build in the first place?”

He stays silent at that, but his head slowly rises to face yours fully. You had never seen him look so guilty before, those blue eyes of his so hopeless.

“I couldn’t get ‘em out,” Soap whispers and before you know it you’re grabbing him by the arm and pulling him into an embrace, “I left him behind. How could I…?”

There was still blood on him, stuck in the makeup of his flesh like large bruises; dried, yes, but you nonetheless felt it. You found, though, that at that second, it didn’t bother you as much as it should have. The Sergeant’s arms hesitantly wrap around you and when you feel him press forward with his weight, your form loses tension.

“No one blames you, Johnny,” He's shaking when you tell him, “No one. It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known. Price,” Your throat tightens, “John knows how to handle himself, you know he would never be mad at you for retreating.”

Soap wetly laughs and places his chin on the top of your head; playing it off with a chuckle as the minutes stretch on, “I’ll just have to believe you then, Lion. Who’s to say I can go against my superior?”

Your arms tighten around him as a snort meets air, “You say that and when we get the real Captain back, I might not want to give up the position. The power’ll go straight to my head.”

“And it hasn’t already? Now that’s surprising, I could have sworn you were telling the others what to do not a second ago.”

There he was.

—

“I’m just saying, John, Fantasy beat out Nonfiction as a genre,” You shake your head, bringing the cup of coffee to your lips and sipping. Over the rim, you watch the Brit toss his beanied head to the side in disbelief.

“Negative, Dear,” The Café was mostly empty today, considering that it was so late at night you were surprised it was still open and that it was a Tuesday, “I’ll agree to disagree.”

“Name me one Nonfiction book that beats ‘The Hobbit,’ hm?” Your eyebrow raises and you place the cup down, “That’s right – you can’t!”

“‘The Guns of August’ to name one,” John raises a large brow, “do you want me to continue, Love? I’ve got quite the long list.”

It was one of the rare moments when the two of you had Leave together – once in a blue moon. These moments were so special it became tradition to spend every moment together despite the wounds or the fatigue. You both had just gotten back from an Op and rushed to change into civilian clothes and clean up together before leaving.

Admittingly, the shower took a bit longer than expected, but who could blame the two of you for taking advantage of a chance to please one another?

Across the table, your lover smirks, and you see his eyes dip to ogle the hickeys and beard burn on your neck with satisfaction. Under the table, you reel back a foot and kick his shin. Not hard, of course, but the message was received.

“Bloody Hell!” He sputters, looking back to glare comedically at you. His black athletic shirt was tight around his chest, making his muscles writhe under the fabric from where one arm sat over the back of his chair. You could imagine where you left nail marks down those abs of his; how his face had looked as you straddled his waist and used him.

“Don’t look so smug, bastard,” Your lips pull into an imitation of an annoyed frown, “Gaz is gonna make fun of me when we get back. I had a hard enough time trying to hide them when we were leaving!”

“Garrick?” John grunts from across the small table and the warm lights flicker above the two of you. His lips set forth a small smile, pulling his cheeks back and crinkling his eyes. The corner seat was the best in the café – allowing both privacy and a view of the windows and doors. Some things would just never die in the two of you, it seemed, “The Muppet can’t even pin you in drills, Sweetheart. If he teases you, just kick his legs out from under ‘em.”

“Encouraging violence between peers is not Captain behavior, Love. What would Laswell say?”

John grunts, “I couldn’t give a damn, Dear.”

While you roll your eyes and try to hide the adoring smile ripping open your skin at the man’s chuckle, you take notice of the street outside as time moves on. Staring out, your soft gaze dances over the illuminated areas of the street lights, finding old architecture and simply enjoying the scenery for what it was. When you were in the field, it was hard to take in the sights around you through the gun battles and tense situations; being able to take your time and admire was a gift. A calm silence falls over the café, and John hums gingerly from ahead of you as his knee brushes yours under the table.

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” Blinking, you connect your eyes with his lovely blues.

The way he’s looking at you leaves your lungs tight, lashes fluttering over your cheeks as heat alights. His body had moved forward, hands and elbows on the table and leaning forward to gaze at you in reverence.

“John?” Your eyebrows turn in, lips flicking to a gentle expression of giddy embarrassment.

“Shh, Love,” He mutters, tilting his head to stare at you as your fingers fix the weight of his lent brown leather jacket over your shoulders, “Let me admire my wife, yeah? She gets lovelier every second.”

In your own little world, your head is floating as your eyes stay locked on an ocean with flecks of silver and storms. The air is thick, and around the leather, your fingers twitch with a want to embrace him; pull at the fabric of his shirt and rip him into a kiss over the table. Your heart skips beats.

Where was this coming from? You want to ask, but all that comes out is a huff as you tear your half-lidded eyes away.

“You’re making me all shy,” You grumble cheeks hot and on fire under the flesh. Your lips try to restrain a giggle, but your chest is too tight to hold anymore.

“That’s my job, that is. No use tryin’ to stop me now; you’re stuck with me.”

“I will kick you again,” You emphasize as fire burns down your neck and ears, heart suddenly too big for your body.

“Hm, I’d let you.”

“J-Johnathan Price!”

His chest-shaking laughter is contagious in the best possible way.

—

He remembers the explosion and then nothing more. It was like a ball of fire, carried on the wind before Soap even had the time to call out a detonation time; the device went off in the deep tunnels after the order had already been given to fallback. The fire was too heavy – you had taken a blade to the thigh and that had been it. John had called it off immediately.

Just when he and Soap were about to rush to the exit, the bomb went off without call or meaning. The tunnels were part of an old wine cellar – the target had converted them to be a quick back exit if anything went wrong and he needed to disappear.

The entire purpose of John taking Soap with him was to collapse the long stretches of rock and wooden support beams; to box Aarre Virtanen in the mansion like a bear in a trap but, of course, these missions could never go simply.

He remembers the explosion, and then nothing more.

The pressure of rock on his chest and gripping hands. Was Soap the one yelling at him to wake up? Shoving off the debris and ripping at his gear with grunted breaths? The barked orders were getting closer from all over.

Muppet, he should have just run.

But then the heavy presence had disappeared, and John knew he had been left behind; his thoughts, before it all left him, were only of you. How would you take it? The fact that he wasn’t coming home with you was sure to induce you into a rampage of gritted teeth and hurled curses. That was, perhaps, the worst thing that could happen. He prayed for one simple thing – that, no matter what, the boys would convince you to hold back.

And then he woke up in the room.

It was small; barren of anything besides the chair John was tied to. Under his feet was a drain, the silver metal glinting as the chilling overhead light cascaded down and left him blinking rapidly to push back the instinctual tears gathering in his ducts. As John moves his neck, it pops, making his jaw clench even as the bones ache deep under the layers of black and blue flesh.

His whole body hurts.

Blood is dried over his skin, and the world around him pulses as the stab of broken bones moves inside of him.

Concussion, He assesses, moving his wrists under the tight hold of rope from where they’re restricted behind his back; tied to the back of the metal seat. Still unable to focus his eyes, he continues to go down the list of injuries, broken ribs, John sucks in a sharp breath when he attempts to rotate his left ankle, and broken Fibula and Tibia. Bruises and lacerations everywhere…shit.

But were you alright? Was the knife wound treated, wherever you were? Did Mactavish get out?

Groaning deep in his throat, the Captain shakes his head, noticing immediately the familiar weight of his gear was absent – his bucket hat and night-vision rig are gone as are the combat vest and M13. But under his shirt, one item is still there, pressed into his skin deeply.

Golden metal. The wedding band. At the very least, that item could bring him a sliver of comfort.

Narrowing his eyelids and scrunching his large nose, a bead of blood travels down a gash above his eyebrow.

“Fucken’ hell,” John growls, grunting and groaning as he forces his neck to right itself, lower body jerking forward to help relieve the pressure on his midsection.

Finally, the water over his eyes dissipates like a wave in the ocean and his ears cease ringing. But the buzzing of the light quickly takes its place and his nose twitches at the stench of black mold and gore. Everything was concrete – the walls, floors. Blinking, John’s eyes quickly snap around the room to take it all in; trying to find the weak points that may come in handy later.

There was only one door and no windows. When the Brit tried the rope around his wrists he found it was bound incredibly tight, even making the skin irritated at the slightest movement.

“Bloody bastard,” The Captain weakly mutters under his breath, shuffling in his seat, “First you stab my wife then you tie me up, is that it?”

Struggling does nothing but serve to make John angrier, and the pain can easily be thrown to the side when his thoughts run to you. They always did, but now more than ever, considering he didn’t know if you had also gotten captured and were only a concrete barrier away.

While he tries to force down the floating feeling of his brain, a sharp cough works its way from his mouth, jerking his body back and forth raggedly. John is so out of it that he missed the sound of the door opening, the violent squeaking of the metal hinges, and the scrape of concrete. Heavy shoes pound over the floor, and when the air finally returns to his rampaging lungs, blue eyes lock onto the man.

Aarre Virtanen stands with his hands behind his back, a smug expression staining his perfect, unscathed, face. The Target wasn’t more than thirty, dressed in a nice expensive suit and dress shoes on his feet shining with more polish than Price could begin to wrap his head around.

Muppet, The characterization was almost instantaneous, Pompous little Muppet. Lion would eat ‘em for bloody breakfast.

John raises a brow slowly as a dribble of blood slides down his nose and gets caught in his beard hairs. The two men stare at one another, eyes clashing.

“I’d like to imagine,” Aarre smirks down at the Captain, “That whoever sent you planned on my life being forfeit. Unfortunately,” John has to stop himself from laughing in his face, “As you can see, Sir, I am very much alive.”

Narrowing his gaze, Price runs down the length of Aarre’s twig-like form – Not much of a Smuggler, is he? His picture made him look bigger.

But all that meant was that he had others to do the dirty work for him, and John knew that, whatever basement he was cramped into, was guarded heavily just beyond eyesight.

The chances of escape were drawing up dry, and his tongue ran over his teeth.

“The real question is, however,” The thin man speaks, coming closer with a careful step. Nose twitching, the Brit can smell the disgusting odor of violent perfume; his head rears back in disgust that the Smuggler takes as fear. Aarre leans closer, “Who might you be? Your little friends managed to slip my grasp, but we got that bitch in the thigh–”

John’s head moves forward so fast all that was seen was a blur, and soon after a cracking of a nose meets damp air.

A muffled yell echoes off the cracked walls like a satisfactory reward to the Captain’s ears, and the brown-haired individual quickly shakes his head to the side to clear the bouncing of his skull.

Definitely a concussion. He hisses and rips at the bindings behind his back; all that gets him is bloody skin and blisters.

“You,” Aarre is stumbling backward, one hand grasping his broken and bleeding nose. Crimson splatters on the floor and ragged breathing rattle chests from both parties, quivering around the room, “You…p-pathetic little shit. Fuck!”

His tears only serve to make John smile, cheeks pulling back as a humorless chuckle enters the air. Feral satisfaction lives in his flesh.

“You better watch your language there, Mutt. It’s not proper to insult a lady who can’t be here,” John’s tone drops, nearly a growl as the deep rumble leaves a hunched over Aarre flinching back; the Captain’s teeth are bared like an animal. Feet sound off in the hallways – rushing boots booking it down a set of descending stairs, “To knock your fucken’ teeth in herself!”

Blood spits from John’s lips at the hiss, and his limp feet over the floor slump to the side as his legs fall open, body raging forward as if he could break the restraints. He wanted to – wanted to bash this little bastard's skull against the floor until he was unrecognizable.

How dare he say that? How dare he call you that?!

Pain could be shoved aside in this case, his anger was so overpowering when it came to you that it simply didn’t bother him. You defended him just as religiously, and John’s mind flies to glimpse a fast memory of you physically getting in the face of a man who had insulted him over some pointless football game at a bar.

“You better mind your tone,” You had spoken slowly, face calm and the perfect example of hidden rage shimmering under the surface. The Brit watched from the corner of his eye with a smirk on his lips; not at all opposed to letting you pick your battles and feeling his heart skip beats when his title falls, “When speaking to my husband like that.”

Aarre’s guards rushed through the door, guns held in hands, all immediately leveled on John’s head.

“Don’t!” The target gasps out, slapping one of the barrels to the floor and straightening himself, “Don’t.”

A deep smirk spreads the still-falling stream of crimson over the sides of his lips; the brown-haired man’s muscles are tense, stringing him up like a wire or a snake ready to strike. Torture was elementary to him, he’d gone through it all before and none of it had ever worked. He could take it, as long as you were far away from here.

“He’s going to have a buyer,” John’s eyes minutely widened in surprise, caught off guard, “Prep him for the flight to Poland. Don’t bother being gentle…the staff won’t mind if he comes in a bit damaged.”

—

Your fingers flinch forward as you shove the sapphire earring into your ear, the sharp point poking out the other end before you shove the backing on. Taking a deep breath, you feel the car under you bounce right as you ask your question.

“Gaz?” Lips thinning, you look through the limo’s glass separator and grimace at the man’s reflection in the mirror, “Are you sure no one knows what we look like? No one at the mansion saw our faces?”

“Lion, I’m promising you – it was too dark, and we were moving too fast for ‘em to get a clear picture.”

“Hm,” You grunt, flattening out the brown fur jacket over your form-fitting gown. The navy blue color was deep, reminding you of a Lapis Lazuli stone with veins of silver reflected in the jewelry around your throat and wrists.

Poland was cold this time of year, and as the expensive buildings whizzed past just outside the glass, your breath created condensation.

You were nervous, heeled feet shuffling over the tufted floor of the vehicle and sucking down slow breaths as a way to slow your heart. It had been a week without John at your side, and all the makeup in the world couldn’t hide the bags that had sprouted under your eyes; sleep had come in bouts of quick fatigue but then left just as swiftly. Your body wouldn't relax – couldn’t – until your husband was right beside you once more.

And if he was already dead…

Your hand goes to itch at your neck, catching on the necklaces, one specifically, before you force it back down with quivering effort. Attempting to shake out your head, your ribs suddenly feel like they’re strangling your organs, and all you want to do is take off this damn dress.

Kyle utters your name from the driver’s seat, and when you blink over to look at him, you find his eyes already staring back.

“When I went missing in the Congo – you raised hell to go and find me,” He tells you, focus flicking back and forth from the road to you, “If anyone can get intel on Price and bring him back, Love, it’s you. He’ll be just fine until then, yeah? Bloke’s probably already out and rushing to get back to you.”

“Think so?” Your lips form a smile, and on your forehead, a brow raises. John was stubborn, there was certainly a chance he was already free.

“Know so, Ma’am. Just you wait and see.” Snorting, you return to looking out the window, breath now noticeably more even.

There weren't many people who could make you keep a conscience; when you worked alone before 141 it was because no one else could keep up with your spontaneous plans or ideas. You were described in your file as a quick-witted and cunning nuisance for anyone on the opposite end of your weapon – whether that be your tongue or an actual gun just depended on the Op. But John and the other boys were more of a good influence than a bad one; in many ways, they were just the same as you.

Sometimes it felt nice to have people that understood you. Your actions, the small tics that gave away how you were feeling. No one else could do it like Task Force 141, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The rest of the ride was silent, and soon the city was peeling back to show off more extravagant houses with iron gates and cobblestone walkways. Properties the size of football fields take up your view, and your eyes blink at the extravagance; all you can’t help but wonder about is if the people that live there even know how many rooms they have.

When Gaz makes the final turn onto Aarre Virtanen’s land, you suck down a deep breath.

There were so many lights that the night sky is nearly re-illuminated with a bath of warmth – the people already inside can be heard out in the air, a chorus of phantoms just beyond eyesight who sing with alcoholic breath and gasp down smoke. You had been to many parties to infiltrate high-level organizations, but never had the stakes been so high.

Or so illegal.

When the car in front of you pulls out of the roundabout driveway, Garrick pushes on the gas to take its place. A moment of steel silence rings.

“Earpiece?” Gaz reminds softly, and you nod in response, tapping the appendage on your right side.

“Earpiece.”

“Alright…The rest of us’ll be listening – I’ll circle ‘round and be inside in an hour and Ghost is already there. He’s the waiter wearing the silver Jackal mask serving champagne near the back window. If anything goes wrong, Soap’s our sniper on the roof of the neighbor's house. Say the word and he starts popping shots to give you an exit.”

“Affirm,” Your hand is already reaching for the door, but the man stops you one last time with your name. You find his creased eyes in the mirror, brown a deep shade of concern.

“...You look beautiful, Love, Yeah? I’m sorry the Cap. isn’t here to see you like this – he’d lose his damn mind. Go all slack-jawed and trip over his own feet; God, I’d pay to see that.”

Lips delicately slide into a smile, and your face heats at the compliment. Letting out a light chuckle, you whisper, “I’ll see you in an hour, Sergeant.”

“Count on it. Stay out of trouble ‘till then?”

“Trouble? Since when have I ever gotten into trouble?” When you sneak out the door, a light chuckle bounces off the doors before they close, and your heels click against the ground like nails on a desk.

With a bitter determination entering your blood, your expression eases into a look of smug superiority as you begin to move forward and ascend the steps in front of the mansion.

Virtanen was inside those doors, and your ears twitch, listening to Gaz peel the car away into the night; plucking out the forged invitation from your jacket pocket, you can’t help but call John forward to memory. Carefully maneuvering your way up the last flight of stairs, you reach the doors and imagine your husband right behind you, clothed in a suit and tie like the one he wore to your wedding, waiting to take you by the arm and lend you strength.

Keep me aware, You want to ask his phantom, Make me see the hidden details so I can bring you home to me.

Invitation in hand – which Ghost had to go through quite the killing spree to get accurate – your lips flick into an easy smirk.

Your silver tongue would come in handy tonight, but you hoped you weren’t too tired to miss important social cues. You needed to figure out where John was by tonight, or there was the possibility of losing him forever. Aarre Virtanen was the target yet again, and you would do whatever was necessary to get information to spill from his mouth like prayers; the party was an obvious front to impress buyers.

And you could play that part quintessentially.

“Hello, Handsome,” Purring, you move fluidly, body swaying as you come to a stop, letting your fur jacket slip down around your elbows and display a delicious amount of skin around your adorned neck, “So sorry you’re stuck out here in the cold, I can’t imagine what a bore it’s been.”

The man couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, eyes wide as they bore into your form from behind a silver mask depicting a bird of prey. His eyes slip, and a very audible swallowing of saliva makes his throat jerk – the poor individual's face was undoubtedly beet-red, seen extending down his neck and ears.

“I-It’s really no problem, Ma’am,” He stutters, grabbing the slip of paper from your outstretched hand and barely opening it before he shoves it back into your chest, “You’re all good! Please, enjoy the hospitality of Sir Aarre Virtanen to the fullest of your abilities.”

“Why,” You show an all-teeth smile, “I’m sure I will.”

Slipping through when he opens the door, a woman in a cat mask offers to take your jacket to the coatroom, which you agree to immediately, and disappears a second later.

“Did you just flirt with the doorman, Hen?” Soap’s voice nearly startles you, but with a subtle flick of your hair, you play off the flinch as you step through the extensive foyer; slipping past other well-dressed individuals to make it to the ballroom, “Tch, naughty, naughty.”

“You’d be surprised,” You mutter and send a polite smile to a man who ogles your form, his eyes boring into your flesh, “How fast people can look over an invitation if you give them an incentive. Simon’s forger misspelled the street name.”

“Bloody fucken’ bastard,” Ghost growls lowly under the line.

“So vulgar, Simon,” You smirk, waltzing into the marble-floored ballroom and clearing yourself a path with wide eyes and stares, “We’re at a party. Aren’t you excited?”

“You’re not the one holding a damn plate of champagne, Little Lion. Feelin’ like I might bash someone over the head if they wave me over with a fucken’ finger again. Like I’m some damn mutt.”

Stifling a deep laugh, your fingers splay over your lips, “Easy, boy. Don’t go barking up the wrong tree.”

All you hear in return is a grumble and a muffled giggle from Soap. Gaz is most likely scrambling to get his tux on and tie a bowtie like how you taught him on the far street corner back in the city. Slowly, but surely, it was coming together.

Soon, You tell yourself and imagine a steady hand splayed over your back; digging into your skin.

“Excuse me?” A presence slips up to your left, and you turn with a slow head and an even slower smile. Already, your cheeks were hurting from the constant fake expression.

“Oh, hello, Love,” It’s a man who wears an all-black outfit, fitted with silver buttons and a red pocket square, “How can I help you?”

“That’s one of the target’s guards,” Soap slithers out over the line, “Saw ‘em scheming not five minutes ago near the snack bar.”

“I was wondering if such a beautiful woman might not humor me. I’m in desperate need of company for the auction later this evening.” Your smile turns deadly, a glint forming in your eye that should have deterred anyone who saw it – but sometimes people overlook the snake in the grass if it’s pretty, regardless of its fangs.

Getting close to this man got you close to Aarre. Your hand reaches up to caress the wedding ring on its chain.

“Well, how could I say no to such a dashing man? But you must tell me, where did you purchase your tux? My brother has been looking for one that looks the same; you understand, of course, the kind that hugs the body just right…”

—

“You’re a fucken’ minx, you are,” John moans under you, hips sputtering and jaw clenched. He’s panting as you finally slip off of him, choosing to collapse to the bed just by his side with a breathy sigh. Your legs are still shaking, but the deep-rooted ache of pleasure takes hold in your lower body nonetheless.

Chuckling while sucking down breaths, you smirk and turn your head to the side, finding deep blue already digging into your skin despite the glaze over the orbs. Perspiration leaks down his flushed forehead, getting caught in the hairs of his eyebrow before you reach up, and flick it away with a firm finger.

“And you’re a lousy bottom, Captain, how many times did I have to tell you to keep your hands to yourself?” You ask, eyeing the way the brown strands of John’s hair stick up at odd angles with growing amusement. He looked like a porcupine, “You don’t listen very well. I’ll have to fix that.”

“Damn woman,” He groans, turning his head away with a huff escaping his lips. Your ears twitch when he cracks his neck, stifling a chortle behind your fingers as he levels you with an unamused look, “Need to figure out a way to tire you out quicker. Gettin’ too old for this.”

“Hm,” Rolling your eyes, you shift till you’re laying on your stomach, legs sliding over the ruffled sheets, “I like you like this. Just perfect.”

“Yeah? Tell that to my hips, Love.” Now that really gets a laugh out of you, hiding your face down in the covers for a moment and feeling John’s eyes lovingly gracing down the curve of your spine.

Reaching over, your fingers grab onto the bare skin of his toned thigh and pinch.

Grunting in surprise, the Captain’s hand snaps to your wrist and grasps it as your giggles fill the air with softness. You turn your head up and rest your chin on your free hand, looking over and letting your eyes wash down John’s physique; a primal sense of possessiveness leaks into you when you know no one else gets to see him like this. The nail marks track down his pecks, over his abs and deliciously lower atop his navel, and over his neck and collarbone is the fresh array of black and blue hickeys. Just like you, his heart was still racing, seen moving under the skin.

He looked positively, beautifully, wrecked. The Captain’s eyes never left yours, side-eyeing you with a half-open mouth. A small sigh leaves his red lips.

“C’mere,” John mutters, and you squeak when his grip is suddenly pulling you right up next to his chest so that you were more than half lying on top of him.

Moaning out in contentment when you feel his heat leak into you, your body goes limp against the man; leg thrown over his upper thigh. Eyelashes flutter over your cheek when his large hand keeps you against him, settling on your ass heavily. He squeezes gently in payback for the pinch, and you smile, knowing he can feel it against his chest by the way he purrs like a cat as you press a kiss to his sweat-slick flesh.

The moment of content silence leads long, but just when your eyelids are nearing their final shut is when you hear it, muttered on teeth-bitten lips for the first time, though it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Love you, my Sweet Girl,” John mutters deeply into the air, but you’re already drowned in sleep, satisfied and more at ease than ever before.

But no matter, he’d just tell you again in the morning; make you say the same as he gripped your hips and used his tongue for more…carnal types of confessions.

You had no idea at that moment, but two years from that day, you’d both be married. Husband and wife in every sense – bonded and promised to each other until the sun and moon collided; till every city burned and only dust remained.

There was really no other pair so carefully crafted than the two of you.

—

“Here you are, Lovely,” The guard, whose name is Mikael, hands you a champagne glass as you both stride forward to the bidding room. It had been two hours of entertaining this man – dancing, flirting, brushing off compliments that made you want to hurl – but none of that mattered. No matter the cost, you would see this done with a smile and a knife through Virtanen’s eye.

“Thank you,” You sing, toasting with him and taking a slow sip. The liquid sits bitterly in your stomach, a rock that bounces around with every clipped step.

Choosing back-row seats, you sit in what could be described as a theater of sorts and place the glass on the floor. There was a large stage at the front, with rows upon rows of plush chairs.

How many people are here to buy smuggled contraband? You can’t help but wonder silently, eyes wide as more and more people flood through the doors.

“Do you usually get so many buyers?” Asking Mikael sweetly, you keep your gaze moving, filing every face into the back of your mind for later.

His hand moves to rest on the back of your seat, and you have to hold back a grimace, “This is more than the last times, but, uh…well,” Sensing hesitation, you shift closer and peer up into his eyes, blinking innocently and smiling.

“Well…what?”

You swore you heard Soap gag over the line and soon after a sharp shushing sound. At your side, Mikael’s expression gets giddy, pupils dilating as his vision darts down to your dress before righting itself.

“My boss has got something good tonight – a new piece of merchandise that everyone wants to get their hands on. Apparently, some people here have been waiting for a score like this for years.”

“Oh?” Wondering aloud, you lean back out of Mikael’s hold with a furrowed brow and ignore his light huff of annoyance in your ear.

Narrowing your eyes, you scrunch your nose at the thought.

‘New piece of merchandise?’ What the hell could that mean? The target mostly specializes in weapons – certain ones that are manufactured so that they can’t be traced…what could be so new?

“It’s starting, here,” The guard whispers as the lights dim, and hands you a golden-colored bid paddle designed with lace-like designs. You twirl it in your hands with an unimpressed look.

“How pompous can this guy get?” You mutter under your breath and startle when Ghost’s voice pipes up.

“Get me a new G18, yeah? Johnny lost my last one.” Resisting the sudden urge to cover up your face and hide your smile, you lightly hum in the back of your throat.

“I did not!” Soap starts a ruckus as the Auctioneer comes onto the stage, and you ignore the fast man’s voice as he begins a bid for a stack of RPGs – wheeled out in a crate by three other individuals in animal masks – in favor of the amusing argument, “I told ya’ where you could blood find it.”

“It was in the middle of an active war zone, MacTavish.”

“You’ve never complained about it before, ya’ bawbag. Canny be my fault if you don’t go an’ get it.” The Scots accent gets more prominent as the Auctioneer sells the current merchandise to a couple sitting two rows down, “‘I lost it’...utter shite.”

Gaz groans and you see a shadow near the door, leaning on the wood from the corner of your eye. The badly presented bowtie gives away who it is – you’d have to have John teach him how to do it properly when you got him back.

“Would the two of you shut up? Bloody hell, I’m about to scream.”

The bickering went on for a while, making your tight chest just a little looser. John would be proud of them.

“Finally,” The Auctioneer calls out, yelling over the crowd, “The grand attraction for tonight – a product put forward by our esteemed host Mr. Virtanen!”

Your body straightens, spine tensing, as Mikael tries to get your attention fruitlessly to talk about a product he won. You ignore the guard, watching with a unique type of hatred as the weasel of a man swishes his way on stage from behind the red curtain. Immediately all conversation in your ear is halted, and try as you might, a growl builds in your throat.

“Easy, Lion,” Simon mutters, but all you see is red; red around an expensive tux and a lithe form of the man who had stolen away your husband from you without thinking of the consequences. The bandages over his nose gives you cruel satisfaction that someone, whoever they were, had gotten a hit in.

You had half the mind to tell Soap to take the shot but knew that if you did, John would be lost forever. Your Captain had always said violence and timing were the most important aspects of a mission – you had to politely disagree.

Ops could be accomplished without violence, though it was rare, it could still happen on occasion and timing was all relative. One person could say it was time to act while a million others disagreed; this was shown in your case. You wanted to rush the stage, tackle the thief, and beat his head in – Gaz, Soap, and Ghost would all disagree, of course, but that was because you were thinking only about John and nothing else.

What really mattered was cunning and drive. You had the silver tongue, and you, without a doubt, had the drive to see this through.

But nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Aarre Virtanen called out, his thin face ugly and punchable, “May I present the star of tonight's bidding wars – an esteemed and highly sought-after mystery man! Captain Jonathan Price!”

The curtain rolled back, and, tied to a chair with a light shining above his head, was John. Beaten. Bloodied. Barely recognizable besides the tufts of his brown locks and the glittering of golden metal under the ragged remains of his clothes. You can see his wedding band around his neck, and you go to grip your own in a flashing second. There was so much blood. Your heart ceased working, body suddenly very numb and stone-still despite the heat in it, as if you had been shot in the throat and all you could do was gasp out in panic. And gasp you did. It was involuntary, instinctual, like you could feel every ounce of pain and agony that he was undoubtedly in deep in your own marrow.

What?!

A loud, horrified, sound rips from your throat; the air was hard to suck down as your hand snapped to your mouth, muffling the exclamation of terror. Your eyes are so wide you’re afraid they’ll pop out of their sockets as you lightly hunch into yourself like a bug.

“Now, now!” Aarre Virtanen continues over the muttering of the crowd, oblivious to your panic in the back row. Mikael is giving you strange looks, lightly pulling away from you in confusion at your reaction; you don't register any of it, “I know what you’re thinking, my lovely patrons, but I can say without a doubt that this man–” He points to the limp figure, “Is the one and only Johnathan Price! Do you want to know why?” The crowd cheers, and in that instant you want to torch the entire building and laugh as it burns to the ground, “Because he and his precious 141 tried to attack me on my own property! The idiot’s explosive went off before they could run!”

Over the ruckus of gleeful laughter, Soap on the line is hissing curses under his breath, voice heated and full of hatred.

What I’m I supposed to do? Your mind’s running. For the first time in your career, you can’t focus clearly. Gaz is saying something in your ear, his shadow slinking closer step-by-step, and Ghost is nowhere to be seen or heard.

Oh, John, You feel like crying, eyes running from one injury to another as if he were just a punching bag – his body was broken, but still, you knew he hadn’t given anything away. In the chair, you can see the small inhalations of his lungs, jumpy and shaking, but he was still breathing.

“How did they figure out his name?” Simon grunts over the line, and his tone is the only one unaffected by emotion, even if you could feel the anger wafting out and mirroring your own.

His dog tags, You want to tell them, He keeps them in his vest pocket because he said he wanted to wear his wedding band instead.

Your hand tightens over your matching piece, one half of a promise to protect one another even in the direst of circumstances.

Freezing, you snap back into focus as the bidding starts with Aarre Virtanen laughing and clapping on stage like some demented jester. So be it. Your mind halts and a rage-induced calm encompasses you as your eyes stick like glue to John. Tossing the joke of a bid paddle at a startled Mikael’s lap and slipping past him, your heels connect with the floor with muffled thumps, carrying you down the middle of the aisle.

“Ma’am–!”

“Lion, what in the bloody hell are you doing?!”

“Playing the game,” You growl over the chaos in the comm, “Gaz, find a way to get on stage from behind one of the curtains,” People are starting to turn and look at you now, accusing glances that bounce off you like flies, “Soap, have a line of sight of the target – do not let him stray from it no matter what. And Ghost,” Your heart is speeding when Virtanen’s gaze snaps to yours, expression blanking. John groans weakly from where his head is downturned, and you can’t help but take a shaky breath at the sound, “Go find out where they store the sold items. Find something that’ll come in handy. Take out anyone you need, I give full Execute Authority.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” They all say it at once, and the line goes silent not a second after, flipped off so everyone can remain focused. Steeling your body, you put on a cloak of indifference, even as your eyes bug and sweat stains your palms – the stakes had never been this high, and if you messed this up…

The both of you would be going home in body bags.

If I had known he was going to be here, I would have come more prepared. A knife in a carry bag or a hairpin – Something. But John had stated before that he loved you for your intuition.

You simply needed to move your pawn piece and hope it wasn’t in the way of a bishop.

Sliding over your husband's slumped body once more, you have to rip your gaze away, else your cover be blown and everything falls apart before it’s begun as a sting forms in the back of your nose.

Just a little longer, Love, just hold out a little bit longer.

The Auctioneer halts when you stand just below the slightly higher plateau of the platform, and Aarre digs into your body with his dead face, body bent to stare down at you. All around you, the world is deathly quiet. A minute…two…

“And who might this be?” Virtanen spits, lips pulling into a sneer as his eyes crinkle, “I don’t have to tell you, Dear, that all purchases are final.”

Don’t look at John. Don’t look at him.

“You said this is Johnathan Price?” Your voice carries; it's stronger than you would have imagined, even as your legs shake, “Well, I don’t believe you.” You swore then that your Captain’s head moved slightly, his face turning to the side, but you can’t be sure.

Gasps are hidden behind hands and handkerchiefs.

“...What?” The smug look on the man's face falls in an instant, just as you had hoped it would – Virtanen relied on his power; ego, and unquestioned superiority. What you had to do first was break it down to a point where he was frothing at the mouth, “What is it that you are implying? That I would…lie to my loyal customers?!”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Your feet carry you away to the stairs, scaling them up to the stage and shoving past shell-shocked guards who didn’t know what to do, “Where’s the proof, Mr. Virtanen? I believe I would like to see it before I make any definitive financial choices. You could be selling us any stray British man you found on the street and we’d be none the wiser for it.”

There was a pause before a murmur of agreement from the crowd.

Aarre gapes at you, mouth opening and closing as his face gains a red sheen, blood rushing to his head and making his eyes rapidly flutter from the guests to you. Swallowing down saliva, you saunter up to John, fingers shaking as they reach out to brush his arm. You nearly break when his flesh flinches and becomes tense, muscles writhing as you hook a finger under his chin all too aware of the eyes on you from every angle. It helps that one of them is Soap, though.

Looping the digit under him, John’s beard scratches your skin just like it always did when you ran your hands over his cheeks or around his square face. Moving his head up, your grip vibrates with anxiety when you’re finally able to take a full look at his visage.

Please be okay, Love.

You can’t help the widening of your eyes when they lock on the bruises, the cuts, and scratches littering his large nose and forehead. His eyelids flutter over sunken cheeks, bags of severe color under his orbs as a rumble echoes in his battered chest.

Did they even feed him?

“I don’t – I don’t like what you’re implying, Miss!” The Target continues to prattle, but already your shoulders have squared, “I would never, in a million years, make such false claims–!”

When John’s eyes shutter open you seem to forget where you are entirely, head completely going silent off all fears or concerns. As the lids slide back, you notice one optic is bathed in red – the veins in the gentle sensory organ having been popped by relentless fists…but the other, oh, oh, the other. A shade so familiar it twists your lips and makes your heart clench. Storm gray; ocean blue, flecks of moonlight trapped just for you.

John’s focus is blurry, his mind confused and in need of a dark room with a glass of chilled whiskey to put on his forehead, but...that finger under his chin. His gaze narrows, lips pulling tight under his beard hairs as a shadow stands in front of him. Why did it feel so familiar? So…warm?

“John?” A soft voice graces his ears, leaving them twitching as his arms burn more than a thousand suns, “John, please, look at me.”

His face scrunches, eyebrows turning in. Blinking, the man only succeeds for a few moments, consciousness so rapidly fading because of the wear on his body, but a few moments was all he needed.

It was you – looking at him with terrified eyes, mouth slightly parted in awe. John’s heart skips beats.

She’s here? He questions, weakly moving his arms to try and embrace her before the rope stops his bloodied and shredded hands, Why? How? And…oh hell, is that a dress?

Blinking at the navy gown, his eyes widened at the heavenly sight in front of him. Was he dead? No, he realized, you wouldn’t be here if he was. But that was the only option to see something like this in front of him when he was where he currently was.

“L-love?” He gasps out, letting his full weight fall into your hold.

Your hand brushes over his beard, tangling in the bristles and flinching at the open wounds that you find.

“It’s me,” You whimper, “I’m right here.”

If possible, he gravitates toward you even more.

“--Are you even listening?!” Aarre Virtanen yells, and people are standing from their seats out in the crowd, calling out in confusion.

John murmurs out comments from under your grip, but they’re so weak you can’t make them out as he nuzzles your limb. From the corner of your eye, a figure rustles one of the stage curtains, held back in the shadows.

“I’m here,” Gaz says a second before Simon does.

“I found something that might come in handy...When I throw it, get Price out of there and take cover.”

“Soap?” You ask, voice low and gaining a sheen of ice. Slowly, your head tilts to the side, gripping your husband by the back of the head and drawing him to your stomach, caressing his scalp through his hair as he sighs into your dress.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“Take it.”

“...With pleasure.” The ear-ringing shot fires off, breaking glass and rustling half-drawn curtains, but it meets its mark with expert precision.

Aarre Virtanen’s head pops like a balloon, and a moment later a smoke bomb is being chucked from halfway across the room by a Jackal-masked waiter with a strong arm. Before the guards can even get to their pistols around their thighs, Gaz has rushed through the smoke and sliced John’s bonds with a serrated cake knife. Both of you grab your Captain by one of his arms and drag him off to the side, disappearing just as the first screams wail out.

The 141 works like a well-oiled machine, and not five minutes later everyone is in the limo that Gaz had re-driven and parked down the dark roads of Poland, rushing off as you press table cloths against your husband’s leaking cuts. Tears dribble down your cheeks, with large hiccuped gasps as you lean over John – who could only barely keep his eyes open to look at you as Soap and Ghost watch anxiously from their seats.

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, y’know that,” You sob out, practically sitting on top of him to stop the crimson leaking over the cushions, “I need to keep a bell on you, my Love.”

Your wedding band sways just above his face, and his own glints below you, bunched on his collarbone.

“Go on,” He says in a low voice, eyes incredibly soft but still distant in a way that told you he was concussed. It was a miracle he was even conscious if you could admit it to yourself.

The man’s shaking hand travels to your cheek, brushing away tear tracks only to leave blood stains behind instead. He pulls away slightly, staring at the mark in disgust as his complexion gets even paler. Snapping your grip up, you bring it back, making him cup your flesh in his big hands and splay his fingers over your ear and weave into your hair.

John hums under his breath, “Beautiful.”

Then he goes limp, and you start screaming.

—

Stripping your face of makeup, you step into the shower with only your necklace on, letting the water slap against your head as you take a deep breath in. You lean forward, letting your head connect with the porcelain of the hospital’s washroom as your body begins to shake – finally allowed to fall apart and feel the genuine horror that had lived in you for a week straight.

John was just a door away in the hard bed of some random hospital Gaz had driven to. Quite recklessly, you should mention, but it’s not like it mattered.

Ghost was on the phone with Laswell, getting a protection detail in case anyone attempted to break into the room and stab someone with a scalpel, while Gaz and Soap also got ready for sleep. No one was leaving the hospital tonight. Garrick had explained the situation in broken Polish to the local authorities, and the staff was kind enough to give out a free office room with pillows and blankets. It was a good thing that the room was connected to John’s, otherwise, you might have refused…even if the bags under your eyes threatened to block your line of sight.

Wiping blood and grime from your body, you take less time than you should have in the shower – too occupied with being by your husband's bedside. The new stitches on your recently ripped-open thigh wound were red with irritation, but you had all but forgotten about it entirely.

They had only just gotten John stable an hour ago.

“They, uh,” Gaz’s eyelids crease, “I think they said that they had to re-” He halts, face going slack, and sending you a slow look, “restart his heart.”

“They nearly beat him to death,” You whisper, hands coming up to weave over the top of your head as you sob into the wall, “They…God, John. I was nearly too late.”

Your words trail off in a weak whimper, muffled over the sound of water and the whirring fan in the ceiling. What if you had been five minutes late? Three? Would he have…

Would he have died in your arms?

You spend the rest of the shower wondering, and as you dry yourself off and slip into sweats and a hoodie from the gift shop, your tears splatter the floor. Rubbing your nose, you sniffle; reaching to grab the ring and pull the chain out above the fabric. Your fingers caress the item for a minute or two, and your eyes flutter shut.

He’s okay, You tell yourself, He’s just a door away. He’s alive.

You open the door and let the steam waft, itching at your neck before you take a steadying breath. John lays still on the hospital bed, body hooked to machines that display screens and vital signs with glitching green lights that pierce your eyes as if a mocking little beast was behind the glass.

Your husband’s wounds are all stitched and glued back together; wrapped tightly and tucked in by your gentle hands with an extra blanket. He usually complained about how cold it was back at your shared flat in London and around the multiple bases the Force traveled to…you would hate for him to shiver here.

It was the least you could do.

Drawing your eyebrows in, the red ring around your eyes doesn’t help the sting, but still, you gaze at your husband with all the tender concern in the world.

If was determined, then, that you wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was awake; until you saw his eyes soften on your figure. Until he was tracing the very makeup of your genetics like no other being could even have a glimpse of you in their features – like the aspects of your form were holy and utterly unique, never seen besides out of legend and fable. You longed to bathe his flesh in the feeling of your touch. If you believed it hard enough, you could convince yourself that you could make him forget this ordeal, forget the wounds.

But you were no fool. A cunning nuisance, perhaps, but not a fool.

All you could do was wait for him to wake up, and so your socked feet carry over the tile and bring you to the chairs beside the bed, grabbing one and pulling it out. Your fingers intertwined with his, weaving the calloused pads and scared flesh that mirrored your own like an echo of history together.

Bringing his limb to your face, you rest your forehead on it, feeling the pump of his blood like a hymn and letting it calm you. A presence in the room makes your once closed eye crack open, slipping to the side. You had only just noticed him.

I really must be tired.

“Doctors say he’s stable,” Gaz mutters lowly, leaning against the wall in the far corner. It was like he had known you wanted someone to watch John while you couldn’t – even if only for a few minutes, “They came in while you were showering”

Your lungs inflate, “...Thank you, Kyle.”

You feel his eyes on you, but as you lay a gentle kiss on your husband's knuckles he speaks once more.

“You sure you don’t want to get some rest, Love? It’s late, y’know – sun’s gonna come up in a few hours around here.” It was a nice concern, and you knew that after Ghost’s call with Laswell that he’d get some sleep as well; Johnny was already snoring away, the sound nearly heard through the walls.

Gaz, well…

“And am I to expect my Sergeant to get some rest if I do that?” Your voice is hoarse and weighed down, but the message is clear. The man lets out a chuckle, pushing off the wall and coming over to you. He rests a hand on your shoulder and you lean into it.

“I have no problem watching over him for you – he’s my Captain too, Lion. Just because you’re married doesn’t mean you have to carry the burden more than the rest of us.”

If you could have rolled your eyes, you would have. A teasing tone sneaks into your words as you snort.

“Gaz, and I mean this in the best possible way,” Your lips utter out, still gazing at John’s face as it scrunches and twitches in his sleep, “Respectfully, fuck off, yeah?”

A moment of silence passes before a thick laugh echoes out over the room.

“You act a lot like Cap. when he’s out of commission, Ma’am.”

“Of course I do,” Your grip travels up John’s arm, tracing old blemishes and kissing across bruises, “If he brings all the hard-headedness away with him, none of you lot would get anything done.”

An easy air keeps the both of you in a tight embrace and Garrick’s hand squeezes for a moment; a piece of you breaks open as your gaze slips to the floor.

“I’ll take the night shift. Please, I…,” Your voice borders on unheard, “I can’t sleep until he’s awake.”

He sighs but nods his head.

“Say no more. If you need anything, and I mean anything, you just come get me, yeah? Don’t worry if you have to be loud – been trying to get used to waking up abruptly anyways.” His hand disappears, and you huff.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good. You better.” Gaz’s feet carry him away and through the side door, slipping into the office. A rustling of thin cotton is heard a moment later before the door completely closes on its own.

You stay in that chair for another hour and a half before John moves an inch. When you feel his finger twitch you jerk up, drool falling from your chin to the sheets before you wipe it off.

“John?” Breathing out a gasp, you shake your head to focus better, and pause when his hold on your hand suddenly gains strength. Your heart soars.

“...Love,” He grunts out, face scrunched, and tense.

At that moment you swear your body loses all weight, and you pull the chair closer as you wetly speak.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m right here. D-don’t move too much, just let the painkillers work.”

“Bloody things make my damn head lose,” He groans, head falling to the side on the pillow as his eyes flutter open.

You place his knuckles to your lips to hide the shuttered breath you take when you see his eyes – even if one was still red. It was still your John.

He looks at you for a moment, eyes glazed, with his jaw clenching and unclenching to gain bearing. The covers hide his chest, but you hear the way he breathes as his messed-up bedhead leaves you chuckling. But the longer you were chuckling, the more you wanted to cry, and soon nothing could stop the swell of vile sobs falling from your mouth.

“Oh,” John whispers out, voice weak as his digits twitch under your shaking lips, “C’mere, Love. None of that, now.”

Your body falls forward, and the man hides the grunt in his chest when you unintentionally hit his ribs as you burrow closer into his side. He doesn’t mind. John’s hand goes to the back of your head, weaving through the strands as the covers catch your tears – he’s looking down at you with such blatant worry it hurts.

He shouldn’t be worried about me, look what happened. He’s in the fucking hospital.

“Y-You,” You’re gasping for breath, chest tight and vibrating. ‘Take a breath’ it tries to tell you, but getting the words out was more important. John’s hand gets tighter, and he longs to kiss your forehead, “I didn’t know if you were dead, a-and then when they had you on stage I was trying so hard to keep it together, John. But…but then you were bleeding all over the car and I was screaming at you too–”

“Breathe,” Your husband pleads, authority leaking into the comment, “Please, Dear, take a breath for me, Yeah? I’m right here.”

You weep but do as he says, feeling the muscles under your grip move as he shifts his weight. Taking a deep breath, your nose is shoved into the fabric of the blankets, inhaling John’s scent and letting it encompass you entirely.

He was there. He was right there.

Letting out one last whine, your Captain prompts you to lift your head with a muted brush of his finger over your scalp. Pulling yourself up, you scrunch the bedding in your hands around John’s waist, practically leaning all the way over him. It was a good thing the bed wasn’t too high.

He smiles softly down at you, his grip moving to slip past your eyebrow and swipe away the salty water that itches your chin, “There she is. My beautiful wife”

Your watery chuckle wraps him in more warmth than any blanket ever could.

“Do you need anything?” You mutter after a minute of staring into each other’s eyes, head tilting to the side as your heart rate finally slows to a pace that copies John’s.

One of your hands goes to smooth his hair, carefully flattening down the patches and being mindful of the bandages and band aids over his visage. You swear he purrs at you, body rumbling under your chest.

He doesn’t answer right away, instead focusing on mapping out your face – as if for the first time. But when he does speak he brushes off the question entirely.

“I had a dream.”

“A good one?” You ask immediately, voice equally as low and vulnerable as his. In his orbs, you see stars blinking with every movement, deep hues of blue in every shade.

“Hm,” He affirms, a slow smile blossoming on his lips, “You were there.”

“That, my love, could mean many things.”

“No. Only one, Mrs. Price,” Your eyebrows raise, eyes watering as rogue drops tracks fall down your cheeks once more.

It was all so much. Getting him back; seeing him like this, having him talk to you like that again – with all the love in the world. He was beaten, but alive, and already awake beside the gargantuan odds.

But you didn’t marry him just because you thought he was buff and could give you a good time. You married him because he was John, and no one else could be.

John’s gaze washes over you, narrowed in that expression he always had on his face when he’s thinking. When he’s studying you with more care than anyone has in your entire life. Like he could figure out everything and anything about you in the way your lips curved, or how you looked at him so delicately as if he was made of glass and not stone or metal.

He could never understand how you loved him so much, how every bit of stardust was reflected into your body and leaked out of you whenever you moved.

How he managed to get you by his side…well, he’d never know. But the feeling was mutual.

“Oh,” Your thumb caresses his cheek, running over the bristles and skimming over the skin, “And what’s that, Mr. Price?”

“..Means I’ve been blessed to see you not only when I open my eyes…but when I close ‘em too.”

In Poland, two people are finally able to press their lips together for the first time in a long while; they themselves would say it felt like ages. That was expected, naturally, because a match such as the one made between you and Jonathan Price was forged with steel and tempered in rough waters. Nothing could break it.

Their wedding bands clink together as they pull back, glinting gold more vibrant than the sun…but not quite as warm or adoring as the looks in their eyes.

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darklinaforever · 5 months ago

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I've had ten people mention to me that "You have the books" whenever I talk about my disappointment with the Michael(a) change. And I find it so hypocritical because it would be so insensitive if someone adapted a sapphic love story and then decided to change the gender of one of the characters. The very same people crying about "you have the books" "bffr it is just a show it's not that serious" would be throwing hissy fits if the opposite was done. One girl got bullied and made fun of because she had stayed up all night to watch Bridgerton and ended up crying. She was disappointed with how Polin was handled and then was even more shocked with Michaela that she started crying. Like?? Please have some nuance. You can't act like it isn't "serious" but at the same time talk about how important LGBT (and other diversity reps) are important (they are!!). Because if it isn't that serious than it isn't that serious to care about a show not having LGBT characters as a lead? The logic isn't there.

I am angry about Michaela. Just like how I would be FUMING if any of my LGBT ships were altered or messed with. My OTP is literally Nico and Will from Percy Jackson series. If someone decided to make one of them into a girl, I would fucking riot.

It is very simple.

I would have the same reaction for any type of character.

If we change a woman into a man. Or if we change a queer couple into a heterosexual couple.

I would have the same type of reaction if we did this to any franchise with characters that are close to my heart and of whom I already have a precise image formed in my head.

The worst part is that I'm not completely outraged.

Part of me is happy to tell myself that we will have a central queer romance between women in future seasons. It's always cool to see representation when you're a queer person yourself.

But with Bridgerton I don't feel like it was the right place for this type of central romance.

Because there was already a story for Michael and Francesca. Which will surely be very different from the book in the show. While once again, it's literally the best of the lot and for which I hope for a fairly high level of loyalty. But Netflix also decided to go into fanfiction mode for WHWW.

And yes it disappoints me a little. And I'm not ashamed of it.

Who cares if I'm ironically called queerphobic for that / or for hating queer people. Or that tumblr is apparently a gay website, under the pretext that many members of the queer community are there, and therefore it is not the place to make this kind of comment.

I remind that I'm bi and that I love tons of queer romances and that I actively hate queerbaiting. I'm still not over Supercorp to this day by the way...

The fact is that the situation is very simple but many people deliberately do not understand our discontent. We have loved a male character established within a specific story for years and we do not appreciate that all of a sudden, we are deprived of the expensive and bone vision of a Michael Stirling that we have already waited a long time.

Besides, for the most part we would hope that they would not screw up the trio Fran, John and Michael, as they were able to do with Anthony Kate and Edwina (seriously, the madness with Edwina went too far in season 2). Well it looks like it's also on the verge of being destroyed. Fran didn't seem to enjoy her first kiss with John, but she seemed to have an instant crush when Michaela appeared, while Michaela didn't seem to have any particular reaction. And that already goes against all the foundations laid between these three characters... and that annoys me even more.

#bridgerton #bridgerton books #bridgerton spoilers #bridgerton s3 #bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton season three #francesca bridgerton #francesca stirling #michael stirling #michaela stirling #franchael #francesca x michael #francesca and michael #bridgerton netflix

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neetily · 3 months ago

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Ch.2 So, Reddit... AITA? — (SDV) Kent

— ✧ chapter warnings: depictions of trauma, family trauma, misogyny, sexism, slowburn, dumb reader — ✧ word count: 2,751 — ✧ genre: smut 18+ — ✧ synopsis: AITA (47M) FOR FINALLY FOLLOWING MY DOCTORS ADVICE?

— ✧ A/N: enjoy my old man ramblings.

“How is it?” You ask innocently enough, though he doesn’t miss the hint of desperation in your voice. Soft quivering lips, as if he’s somehow caught you doing something bad, but that couldn’t be the case, right?

Truthfully, he’s impressed already with your skills. Any more pandering and he’s liable to act out, which would only cause more issues for himself. Remember, Kent, he thinks to himself. You’re here to relax. And, mid chew, he supposes that your sheepishness is to be expected. You are dating his son, after all. It’s understandable that you’d want to make a good first impression, and yet still his lips press into a thin and telling line anyway. This is nothing more than formalities, a useless way to spend his time.

He’s only three spoonfuls in before your question too, rushing him to quickly swallow his fourth just to answer you. Couldn’t you have waited for a pause to speak? “It’s all right.” He deadpans, only briefly looking up at you through his brow before digging back into the lovingly prepared meal, another greedy spoonful already lifting to his lips.

See, lying comes naturally to him. Embedded in his very existence, buried deep in his bones as a means of survival, even when lying to himself. A skill not formally taught, but rather something akin to natural talent, and he’s aced every class. It only takes him a few seconds before he checks for your reaction, satisfied at the small pout his critique causes. Truthfully, the meal is perfect; no faults. And this, too, annoys him.

He’d sooner die than play his hand so soon. A hidden battle contained solely within himself; and yet still, he refuses to lose.

“I’m glad.” You smile pitifully, and he feels a spark of something in his chest. A jolt of understanding, perhaps. A kindred spirit, absolutely. You too, he thinks, are a filthy liar.

Thankfully, silence befalls the table besides the clattering of metal on ceramic due to his unfair response, and he finds himself ruminating to the shared rhythmic taps!

It’s been difficult since returning home; far more than he’d ever expected, or even liked to admit. Between dealing with his wife’s expectations of the man who left all those years ago, to trying to make amends with his two sons—Vincent far too young to truly hold any real grievances, but Sam on the other hand…—he’s scarcely had the time to just think. How does one return back to normalcy after, well, you know. Even the word war rests thickly at the back of his throat, burning bile against his teeth, leaving his lips dry. Forces him to grasp at the glass of water you had thoughtfully placed on the table for him to take a selfish gulp to try and easy the upset. As if doing so would bring him some sort of clarity on how to become a person again, mimicking your easy actions to somehow remember what being human is really like. It helps that your cooking is good at least, just like the old saying. Every greedy mouthful of the perfectly executed risotto—one of his favourite meals, mind you—worms its way down to his heart and rests there instead of his stomach. Maybe that’s what drew Sam to you too.

“I do hope you enjoy your time here,” you interrupt his thoughts with that sickly sweet tone of yours, his brows furrowing in an attempt to focus on anything other than how your voice goes right through him, and how his skin crawls at the feeling of being seen. “And don’t worry about helping out around the farm! I know Sam mentioned something about that, but really, I’ll be fine by myself!”

The more boyish side of him wants to grunt and groan about how Sam should be helping you himself instead, but therein lies the crux of the broken relationship they share. Instead, he opts only to nodding back at you, resting his spoon in the mostly eaten bowl of risotto and pushing it more towards the centre of the table before offering you some half truths.

“Doc said it’d be good for me t’get back workin’.” It’s part of the reason he even agreed to come stay with you for the week anyway. Surely you know that, so he’s irked that you’d pretend otherwise.

“No, I know…” You laugh awkwardly, matching his actions by setting aside your own spoon before collecting both bowls and placing them in the sink. Routine, likely. It’s somehow familiar to him. And he watches you carefully as you do so, not missing the way you gently lower the ceramic into metal to make as little noise as possible; just like how you ate. It’s annoying having people walk on eggshells around him like this, to treat him like a ticking time bomb, even if deep down he knows it to be true. Fuck, he just wants to be normal again. If he ever finds out who told you to treat him with such care and consideration he’ll be sure correct their stance thoroughly. Probably Sam, right? He’s over here fucking you every night, whispering sweet nothings down your ear. It makes the most sense for his own son to divulge such needless information late at night, the day before his dad arrives on the farm. Now, be careful around my old man, he’s got a bit of a temper; Kent can practically envision the scene perfectly, his fists balling in assumed anger. “But rest is important too. I just don’t want you to feel pressured.” You finish up your sentence, giving him a soft look.

He takes it as pity.

And he fucking knows how wrong it is to feel sickened by how kind you are, to want for more than anything to bite the hand that feeds. But what is a sheep to a lion, really? Having you lay your belly bare for his viscous teeth to sink right into is all too tempting, regardless of what the doctor orders. It’d be so easy to prove how capable he is, too! Which is perhaps the worst part of it all. The fucking restraint it takes not to bark back at you, the innate want to be the enforcer rather than the coward.

He takes a breather, deep and hungry. Fucking awkward, through no fault of your own; he has to remind himself.

“Right,” He clears his throat, digging through his high alert mind to find the right words to express the magnitude of his emotions. And yet, “Thanks, but I wanna help.” Is all he can come up with, answering you tersely, afraid of opening his jaw too wide and showing his sharp teeth.

Rushing water fills his ears and his vision switches to the sink, focusing on the stream rather than the annoyance he harbours for himself. Your back is turned to him, and when you merely hum in response to his obvious upset, he abruptly forces himself to look away. “All right.” You meekly offer him, busying yourself with cleaning up. Shit, he forgot to ask if you wanted help with that—

“Six A.M. start.”

And just like that, on the very first night he spends at your farm, you manage to crack a genuine smile out of him. Because orders are comfortable, he’s well-acquainted to them, and despite the humiliating role reversal, a light laugh escapes him. This, too, should have been a sign of the times

“Understood.” He replies, matching your cut and dried tone of voice with utter resignation himself.

The screech of his chair against the wooden floorboard gives him goosebumps, and he grits his teeth as he stands. It’s habit, really. Survival, right? Blocking out his surroundings in favour of merely enduring, following orders exactly like he was taught to. “G’night, then.” He waves you off, unable to meet your gaze as you send him a much chirpier sleep well, Kent! It’s not your fault that you don’t know he can’t, or that the times he can aren’t really worth the trouble thanks to the repeated nightmares. He only hopes that tonight has tired him out enough to just pass out as he remembers to close the guest bedroom door gently like Jodi had begged him to, to leave a good impression or some other bullshit. The patronising tone she embarrassed him with in front of their kids still rings in his ears even now, and his fists tighten by his side as he leans against the closed door. Fuck, he’s tensing too much again, trying to force his trained muscles to relax just like how Harvey advised, but it’s not working. It’s not working and he’s fucking angry at the way Jodi spoke to him earlier, upset at how he wasn’t able to bite back in fear of scaring Vincent off, and worsening his already dog relationship with Sam.

It’s times like these that he misses having something, literally anything, to hit.

Instead, he keeps his fists balled as he creeps closer towards the old dresser you provided him. Tiptoeing around even himself, mind racing and unsure of what he’s even afraid of. And the thought of being afraid only angers him even more, as if he has anything to be afraid of in the first place given his time spent as a soldier.

“Easy…” he whispers to himself slowly, carefully opening the drawer to access the meagre amount of clothing he brought with him on his little ‘vacation’. Home is literally just down the road, so he figured if he needed more it’s not like it’d be a hassle to obtain despite Jodi’s fretting.

But undressing in your house immediately feels weird, knowing that this space—though unlikely the one he’s currently residing in—is where you and Sam have made a home together. Not yet married, and yet still his son is ever present at your farm. How annoying. How utterly dissatisfying, souring to his mood as he gets dressed for bed and promptly tugs the awkwardly tucked in sheets out for more comfort as he climbs inside the sheets.

Laying there in the dark empty, disappointment strangles his throat. Wishing silently that he knew why it upset him the amount that it did to feel Sam’s presence surrounding him, because it makes him feel stupid for even allowing his emotions to run this far. But then, a balm washes over him, realising that he at least has a break from performing for his family; even if they’re unaware of his performance to begin with. There’s very little that he’d willingly admit to them, Jodi especially, and his faux doting attitude falls under that category. It’s nice to finally just be himself for once in the quiet of your farm that you’ve graciously provided him, even if he feels like some sort of intruder peeping in on your private life.

And, as far as first nights goes, he can hardly complain overall. And by that he means that he didn’t shout once, even if it’s been difficult to keep himself composed. Still, he doesn’t trust sleep to come quietly, let alone at all. But maybe despite it all; Jodi was right about this. Maybe Sam’s begrudging acceptance was helpful too, in some odd way. It’s clear to him that his existence within your home isn’t so much appreciated as it is tolerated, and even then it’s only because the doc recommended busy hands; not because anyone else genuinely cares for his well-being. Except for maybe you, evident from the hearty meal you’ve provided tonight that he’s been missing since being home.

And possibly, this little week long trip wont be for nothing.

Chapter 2

Chapter Summary

In which I cement Kent's character some more. And that's about it. (I promise the series gets smutty!)

Chapter Notes

im so worried that this chapter is so boring lmao but i think thats because i’ve never written a slowburn before? im trying to make it somewhat realistic, but still engaging, so i hope this chapter is fun even if it might not be what you’re expecting! i think at the very least, it solidifies kents characterisation some more, and i personally had a lot of fun exploring this little scene. anyway anyway ENJOY thank you for your patience!

“Careful.” He warns you on the first actual day of his stay. Honestly. Women, right? It’s now that he can see the full effect, or lack thereof, of impact his sons stay at your farm has had on you, and he can’t help but grind his teeth in annoyance at the utter vulnerability you show him. The absence of a good father figure must have turned Sam soft, unable to help guide you on how to do things better, or when to simply shut up and let a man take care of you. Jodi’s influence, no doubt. Women, right? The likely cause behind the current unfortunate situation you’ve found yourself in— again. A knowing sigh soon escapes him following his tense reprimand, trailing his gaze up at you with the tutting tone your actions force out of him. Not out of worry, but out of mere convenience. A selfish want to have the day go as smoothly as possible for himself, rather than because he thinks you ought to get down from there for your own safety. He’s already got two kids of his own, he doesn’t need to look after another one.

Regardless of his inner scoldings, he squints at you from his position on the barn floor with interest, heavy work boots idly kicking at some stray hay strewn around the place while he rests his weight on an admittedly much shorter than him rake. Sure, he should be working away like the doc had kindly ordered him to, but it’s much more amusing to watch you struggle to install a new light fixture instead, all the way up at the top of the barn like an idiot. A relatively simple task, don’t you think? And yet still, he doesn’t miss the way the wood creaks under your uncertain steps, dummy. As far as first impressions go, he’s gotta say… You could be doing so much better. Oh, but don’t worry! He’s watching the precariously wobbling ladder you’re climbing with hawk eyes, much to his utter curiosity. The lightbulb is propped in your mouth and disallows you from countering his stern word of advice, which gives him enough satisfaction to smile at least. Yeah… At the very least, you’re entertaining him. Not so much impressing, if you cared.

Besides, you are safe with him keeping watch. A learned behaviour from his time away from the valley, where he had no choice but to pick up the skill of people watching. Had to always be aware, constantly eyeing the horizon line for any signs of danger, just in case. And right now, you’re being pretty dangerous. “Yeah, yeah…” You mutter past the lightbulb, finally at the top of the ladder with one hand gripping the splitting wood so tightly that he thinks that half the reason why it’s creaking so much is from the strength of your grip, and the other starting to shakily unscrew the broken light before you chicken out. You wear misplaced confidence well, he finds himself thinking. And then, promptly sulking about.

What’s worse is that from his point of view, all he can really see is your backside. Just like the first night in the farmhouse, back turned to him as you washed the dish he just ate from. Only, right now, your ass sticks out even more for him as your knees wobble from under you. Like a newborn deer, begging for some guidance. Anyone would undoubtedly enjoy the view, but he feels a certain twinge of guilt in his heart when taking a longer than usual look at it, unwillingly appreciating the swell of your ass as you surely struggle to replace the bulbs efficiently. Serves you right, he muses to himself to soothe the ache in his chest. He did offer to do it for you, but something about your determination to prove your usefulness as you declined him was attractive. Shut him up in favour of watching you struggle. Attractive in a… Future father in law sense, yeah. Just looking out for his son, making sure his future is secured with a good wife. That’s all. Nothing… Ah, nothing else.

Though now that he’s stuck thinking about it, you do have a nice figure. Knowing himself, it’s likely a big factor as to why Sam is so into you, too. Like father like son, yeah? It’s not like he’s exempt from appreciating the view, he reasons with himself. Especially considering he’s not even looking at you in a perverted sense anyway, he’s just admiring the nice ass right in front of him. There’s nothing wrong with appreciating! Just like how he struggled to tear his eyes off of you on the first night with your apron. Staring, swallowing, slowly, hunter stalking prey. He’s just looking for your weak spots, he tells himself. And then right at the back of that is his more rational side of his brain with: liar.

“Ugh, it’s stuck.” You draw him out of his absentminded gawking, and he huffs in prepared annoyance. This should have been an easy job, if only you hadn’t let your pride get in the way of his help. And then again a bolt of understanding hits him, lightning forcing his back straight to fully focus on you. He’d have done the same, kindred.

“Did ya try turnin’ it the other way?” He yells back at you, rolling his eyes at the way you let out a stupid little gasp. Promptly mentally chastising himself when his first thought is cute. Jus’ a reflex, s’all. There’s no weight or worry to the intrusive thoughts, surely.

“Thanks, Kent!”

“Yup.” He grumbles to himself, taking a gander out of the barn and into the open pasture that moves before him, without him, as you busy yourself with your stupid task. Shoulda been done a while ago by now. Irritation present in how tightly he holds the useless rake by his side— not that you’d be able to notice from all the way up there. And even then, he’s not even sure what he’s more irritated by.

Your helpless display of incompetence, or the fact that he’s not really annoyed by that at all.

Exhaling heavily, he leans harder against the too small rake lazily. But, y’know, despite it all, he finds himself suppressing a smile. It’s nice here, he settles. In spite of currently experiencing his first full exhausting day with you, where you quickly clued him in on what a complete clutz you are by way of attempting to show him how the sprinklers worked, instead facing their relentless torrent which, unfortunately for you,left your shirt all soaked for him to witness with peeking glances. Like the start of some cheap porn plot, except he knows better than to continue the story line. Idiot, maybe if he was younger he’d have acted upon his rash thoughts, but you’re lucky that he’s stronger than his urges. He thinks you caught him staring at least once or twice anyway, given how red your cheeks were all morning when giving him tasks, catching his gaze landing on you every now and then, but it could have been caused by the embarrassment after changing too. Don’t matter to him, he still got the eyeful he wanted. Then, to make matters worse, you panicked with the misfortune of leaving the gate to the barn open during feeding time, and it’s a good thing he was there the help too! The training the army provided earning him better than average stamina for any man, let alone one of his age, allowing him to easily round up your strays while you frantically held onto the ones that stayed behind. And to top it all off, you ended up dropping and breaking your fancy new metal ladder when he wasn’t looking, leading to today’s pathetic display.

He should be more annoyed than he currently is, but he can’t quite put a name to the emotion he’s feeling. A deep burn in his chest, something akin to spotting a helpless animal by the wayside.

It’s easier if he doesn’t think about giving it a name.

And despite all that, he seems to be smiling more than usual. And that must be a good sign, right? It’s real nice to be around a pretty girl again, at least. Even if you irk him sometimes, and he can’t believe just how dumb you really are, or how you can manage to confidently call yourself a farmer at this rate. Despite it all, he’s smiling. All it’s taken is one day on your farm for him to wonder just how any work gets done around your place under normal circumstances, and he can do nothing but smile about it. Isn’t that just so bemusing? So completely and utterly incredulous to think about. So much for that good work ethic you impressed him with on night one.

Although, he must admit, that it’s inspiring to see just how unstoppable you are in the face of so many challenges— made courtesy of yourself, of course. You don’t stop. And there’s something familiar about that.

A cow dead eye stares at him as he’s left alone with his thoughts and he hums back at it. Daisy you called it, right? Or was that another? He briefly wonders if this was one he helped coral back home for you today, but no matter how often you point out their differences, they’re still all the same to him. Cattle. Livestock. Prey? You know, cows are said to be good luck omens in certain parts of the world, offering abundance. Whether that be in wealth, resources, or even love.

He thinks they’re pretty ugly up close, though. Must be because you’ve used up all their good luck.

He only manages to stop staring at the animal because the wood next to him sways a bit too much for his liking, and his attention is immediately drawn to where you teeter at the very top, clutching the ladder for dear life as his rake drops far faster than his brain can even prompt him to do so. Instincts kick in and he stretches his arms out as if on command, ingrained within him to help. “K-Kent?” your voice wavers, and his heart drops as the scene plays out in his mind a second before it happens. It’s funny how much he can predict about you; your hesitation will be your downfall.

It all happens so fast that it appears as a blur to him. A mix of genuine fear and anxious resolve moving his body for him, automatically, like a flashback. Even the sweat that drips down his already tacky forehead is the same as back then.

You fall, obviously. There was no other way to end your little showcase of courage. Right into his pre stretched out arms, his knees bending to soften your fall as much as possible; because despite his rough exterior, he’s not heartless. He would hate to see harm befall his sons soon to be wife, under his care no less! And so down you tumble, right into his arms, as if this were some sort of romcom he was actively living out. All the way down to the way you let out a cute little squeak upon landing, huffing with fear as he holds his own breath in anticipation. His hand automatically grabs at your ass when he knows that you’re safe and sound, and not just a small feel either. A proper squeeze that could be dismissed as worry over your safety, but he’d be a liar if he said it wasn’t anything else after all that teasing you had him endure. Repayment, he thinks. For keeping you grounded when you’re too silly to ask for his help. You ought to rely on him a little more, for God’s sake.

And he has to resist the urge to tell you told ya so when you peer up at him, biting his tongue to hold back some sincere laughter instead. Because after all is said and done, he fucking knew thatyou’d need his help in some way, some how. And it’s funny, now that he’s secured your safety.

At the very least, life on your farm has proved engaging. Far more than home, where the most action he gets is having to yell at Vincent to stop searching for bugs, or long walks to shake off the bad vibes of the house itself.

You let out a soft little gasp, finally calming down. But it registers far differently in his brain, prompting him to distract himself by letting out a disapproving sigh. Like a father would do. A father in law. Because that’s what he is, technically. He has to remind himself, especially when you wiggle in his hold. So small compared to him, he could reach down so easily and just take a little nibble out of you— he knows you wouldn’t complain. Couldn’t, really. Could you?

“Hate to tell ya…” He trails off, catching the way your cheeks flush under the assumed embarrassment from having him hold you like this, bridal style. It’s cute. Real cute. You really should stop that though, because it only makes him want to tease you some more.

And he’s about to follow through with the expected taunt, but your humiliation gets the better of you as you meekly avoid his gaze, wriggling around in his arms some more to get out of his fatherly grip. Shame, your ass feels nice in his big hands. “Yeah, yeah. I know…” you pout, and the disappointment lacing your words perks his mood up just a little more.

Fuck, he hates to admit that Jodi was right. That he should have listened to her words of wisdom much sooner, instead of milling about like a stubborn bull. So he doesn’t, carefully dropping you back down to your feet and folding his arms against his chest as you dust yourself off instead. But the way his cheeks hurt to smile at your bashful attitude is evidence enough that farm life might have been the cure to what ails him all along, or maybe all he needed was time with you? Immediately, the thought alone causes goosebumps to run along his body, an uncomfortable chill sent down his spine. He coughs to hide his revelation, opting instead to stare at the fallen ladder, and then up at the more broken light. Anything other than you, because he doesn’t think he can handle the sight of you for much longer before snapping his jaws shut around you.

Your irresponsibility is contagious, in the worst ways possible.

His arms flex under the strain of his thoughts, nails digging into his rough skin to deflect his impulses. What did the doctor say again? Busy hands.

“Finally gonna let me help ya, right?” He questions, clearly directed at you, but he refuses to even look your way. Survival instincts kicking in.

It takes a few seconds for you to answer, but the little huff and sigh you let out before responding dries up his throat. He’d rather you remained silent in all honesty, as compared to your scandalous resignation. Then he wouldn’t have to hide his heating cheeks from your view too. Stupid, like two fucking teens caught in the barn the morning after, the sun warming his skin is enough to hide his obvious approval, surely. The threat you offer him is overwhelming, and he can feel a certain twitch in his knuckles that beg for a wall.

“Yeah, that’d be nice.”

You should have let him help you out from the beginning. If you did, then neither of you would be in the position you’ve regrettably placed upon him now. He’d get to continue carrying himself with distance, and you’d remain in your place— that is, not cradled in his tense arms. And yet, he still collects the ladder for you. He still bends down to grab a new lightbulb from the box, eyeing you up as he straightens again, offering you a barely noticeable smile of idiot before fixing the fucking light himself.

The situation isn’t lost on him. Screwing in the light as he reaches a lightbulb conclusion himself. And when he returns back to the ground and feels how heavy your little hand is on his taut arm when you pat his worked muscles, he recognises the look on your face as one of understanding too.

The shared emotion makes him scowl.

#sdv smut #stardew valley sut #sdv kent smut #stardew valley kent smut #kent💣

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sashi-ya · 2 years ago

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𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒙 𝑽-𝒅𝒂𝒚 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 Good Girl +18. 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲! 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐟! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Dear, Anon your 𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒆 bonbon is filled with 𝒔𝒂𝒍𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒍 , please enjoy the taste of 𝒅𝒂𝒅𝒅𝒚 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌

request: Anonymous asked: Hi hi! I would like to pick caprice for Killer x F!reader if that’s okay💕 and have an amazing Valentine’s Day yourself! | tw: daddy dom killer!. fingering. female ejaculation. mirror sex. vag sex. cream pie. wc: 946 | masterlist

Sat on his lap, your head pressed against his wide chest. His hand down your belly, his legs making you hump.

“Spread those legs for daddy” Killer orders, laughing after. You know he is being serious, and so you do. The tiny little skirt you chose for tonight was an immediate turn on for the vice-captain of the Kid’s pirates.

His calloused hand discovers you aren’t wearing any panties underneath; “Great, you are such a good girl” he scoffs, kissing your neck. Killer plays with the sweet, slow stream of your wet arousal. He savours and relishes on the reflection of the mirror of your room.

Your core so exposed, dilating each second it passes so that his fingers are able to bury inside. But, Killer needs to attend, first, your pleasure button.

“Make my finger wet, princess” he commands, taking his salty covered index to your mouth. He first plays with your lips, and then, intrudes in between your lips. You can taste yourself; he loves that. You suck his finger so sensually, making your blond lover to shiver and grunt.

When he is satisfied of your oral skills display, his hand goes back to your core. This time, spreading your labia, taking sweet circle motions to your clit and using after his thumb to penetrate you.

A thumb, and then shifting to middle and ring finger. He goes, in beckoning delight, savagely in and out of you. You feel like shaking, and indeed you are. The spasms in your thighs, on your lower belly, on your core. Loosing control, dripping more and more. His free palm pressing down your pelvic bone, such a professional in making you cum.

“You have been such a good girl, that you deserve this! Come on, come for daddy. Look at your cunt, come on” he tells you, with his lips pressed against your ear, breathing those sweet but lustful words.

Killer buck up his hips, it makes your legs a lot more spread now. The reflection of your pleasure journey showing why you crave for his touch all day long. The oozing, exploding reaction of your climax, drips on the floor and over his lap. And he laughs, the more he masturbates you. You, like his sweet little victim, retorting on his lap, moaning because of him, subduing to his torture, makes him extremely happy.

Ah, but his fingers wont be enough. Of course not.

“Turn around” he orders, helping your shivering body to face him. You still have those remaining rays of pleasure hitting your core, making you whine as your breathing normalizes.

And, even if it’s just for some minutes, you enjoy the warmth of his embrace, nuzzling on the crook of his neck, smelling the scent of his long blonde hair.

“Hump on daddy’s lap” he grunts, as his hands are already buried in your glutes helping you move back and forth.

You, of course, comply. Your extra sensitive core tells your you are gonna come in a matter of seconds if you keep going… but, isn’t it that exactly what your dom wants?

“Coming already? Again?” he giggles, this time lifting your ass up to let his pants fall down his ankles. “Wait for daddy to fuck you, ok?”

You nod, getting ready for your walls to be stretched. He is anything but small. In fact, you are kinda in love with the way a little bulge shows in your body the moment he penetrates you.

Killer is hard, your butterfly kisses as he gets ready make him harder. Your soft hands try to reach his shaft, but he doesn’t allow you. The most you can feel is how wet he is from all the precum sliding down his length.

“No, don’t touch me. This beautiful soft hands should never touch such a filthy thing” he jokes, kissing your palm, while pumps his dick ready to go inside you.

Your knees help you stand up for him to guide his tip to your entrance, and as he commands, you let your body fall on top of it. You throw your head back, biting your lips as you can feel the sliding of something rock hard and so warm intruding your hole.

“Da- daddy yes” you moan louder than before, your sweet whimpers are music to his ears. “You like this, (Name)? Show me how much you like it” he grunts, blue bright eyes you are missing as he keeps them close with a raptured expression.

You surround his neck with your arms, interlocking them behind his nape. You ride him, your body goes fast and hard enough for your skin to slap against his. The sound of moans, splashing fluids and flesh against flesh fills the room. The waves moving the Victoria Punk being nothing compared to the way you move on top of him.

Your breasts bouncing so delectable in front of his face, daring him to bite and suck. He succumbs to such invitation, ripping your fine lilac blouse off, attacking with sharp nibbles your sensitive nipples.

“Keep riding daddy, come on… let’s make you really full of my cum” he growls, with teeth pulling form your breasts and your nods with desperate relief need and tears in your eyes.

You contort on top of him as, once again, you reach climax. But you don’t stop, you keep moving, with clenching walls, milking his shaft to extract up to the last drop of his warm seed.

He lets go of your nipples, and immediately kisses your lips. Pressing you against and down his body, for you not to scape, for you to get stuffed of his release.

Coming both in total ecstasy, the embodiment of lust, covet and immorality, Oh, but what a pleasure is to succumb to it…

#killer x reader #killer x you #killer one piece #killer headcanons #one piece x y/n #one piece x reader #one piece #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #killer fanfic #kid one piece #killer imagine

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arvandus · 2 years ago

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This has been sitting in my brain for days so here you go….

Shigaraki x AFAB!reader; NSFW; shameless smut with no plot; oral (f receiving); gentle touches; stoic Shiggy.

Tomura is so touch starved and unfamiliar with physical interaction that doesn't involve pain, that the first time he kisses you is soft and tentative, like a stray animal approaching a human for the first time. It's experimental, a gentle brush at first. He kisses with his eyes open, ruby gems locked on your face to catch every nuance of expression and reaction to his touch. He doesn't want to miss a thing, and he wants to see if you're enjoying it just as much as he is. His touches and kisses are controlled, almost as if he's conducting a study on you. It’s calculated. Scientific, even. He makes you stand there, still as a statue, as he covers every inch of your body, slowly undressing you so that he can reach more and more of your warm skin.

He gently pushes aside your hair, to lay his lips against the curve of your neck. You shiver, goosebumps breaking out across your skin. He likes that. He pulls aside the hem of your shirt to reach your shoulder, and your body instantly reacts, shoulder hitching up to follow the ghost of his mouth when he pulls away. A moment later, his fingers wrap around the bottom of your shirt, and you lift your arms willingly to allow him to remove the fabric from you.

It’s so and torturous. Your shoulders. The back of your neck. Your shoulder blades. Down your spine. His hands explore just as cautiously as his mouth, working along the front of your body, fingers grazing along the bottom of your breasts before brushing over the hardened peaks of your nipples. Your back arches then, a gasp escaping you, which he also likes, so he does it again, this time grabbing the nubbed flesh between his fingers and pinching slightly as he’s kneeled down behind you, his lips still making their way down the inward curve of your spine.

His kisses trail along your hip bone until he’s in front of you, his mouth following lazy after the pathway his hands had blazed across your skin.

You whisper his name in anticipation as he begins to make his way up to your breasts, and he doesn’t stop, doesn’t acknowledge, doesn’t even look at your face. He’s engrossed in your body, in the sheen of sweat across your skin that he trails with his tongue.

His mouth finally reaches your nipple, and your hands are instantly in his hair, gripping pulling. He really likes that, so much so that it pulls a low growl from his throat, the first real response you’ve gotten from him since this first started.

But the visit to your chest is cut too short when he instead decides to venture lower. There was still so much to explore, after all.

Down he goes, fingers first followed by his lips. His digits hook into the waistband of your pants and your underwear, and you hold your breath in nervous anticipation. But Tomura is not nervous. He’s curious. Intrigued. Excited. You can see it in the bulge of his pants and you marvel at his restraint.

The fabrics slip down and now you’re exposed, your body bared to him. He pauses then, staring at you, taking in the sight of you. You stand still, legs together, hands resting at your sides and for a moment you look like a statue of Venus in his eyes.

You had half expected him to go for the space between your legs instantly, as most men were often want to do. After all, why else would he undress your lower half so swiftly?

But he doesn’t. Instead, he deviates from his downward trek to provide worship to your calves, your thighs, your ass... the touch of his hands aren’t as soft as they were when they first started. Now they gripped you, squeezing the meat and fat of your body as if the touch of you alone were feeding him. His kisses were firmer, but not starved. He was still in control.

And finally, he gives you what you want, now that you’re quivering and wet and dripping. Your legs part on their own, the scent of you heavy in your arousal for him. You’re a flower that’s opened, fully blossomed in the sunshine of his touch.

And for the first time, his eyes return to yours, locking with them as he fits himself between your legs and draws a long, languid lick with his tongue into your folds, his tongue catching on the sensitive nub of flesh at its tip.

You gasp in air, as if it’s the first breath of life you’ve taken. He does it again, driving his tongue deeper this time, and you moan his name, begging, pleading.

Please, please, please...

Another stroke of his wet tongue and you don’t think you can stand it. Literally. Your thighs are shaking, your knees ready to buckle. The weight of your arousal is too heavy, threatening to shatter you like broken glass across the floor. And Tomura knows this. He sees it in your eyes, in the shake of your body, in the rapid rise and fall of your chest. So he backs away for just a moment, his finger drawing along your entrance in a silent promise of more.

“Lay down.” he orders. The rasp of his voice breaks the loud silence, and the reality sharpens as you understand with a nod.

You back yourself up to the edge of his bed and ease yourself down onto his crumpled sheets that smell distinctly of him. He follows, positioning himself between your legs, your thighs draped over his shoulders.

His mouth is on you again in an instant, his eyes always glued to you to memorize every expression, every reaction. You try to return his gaze, but you can’t. Not when his tongue is drawn so meticulously over your clit, over and over again, finding the perfect rhythm to keep your back arching as the tension begins to build. His watchful gaze documents this shift in your body, in your attention. Begins to feel the instinctive roll of your hips into his face, another favorite thing that he documents away into his mind. While his tongue works, his fingers stroke at your entrance, the walls slick, wet and warm. His fingers slip in easily, and he does so slowly until he’s knuckles deep in you and he can feel your walls fluttering around him. He knows you’re close and he wants to feel you when you cum, to know that it was his hands, his mouth, his touch that brought you to the point of bliss. He rotates his long, thick digits, to curl them upward to caress your most sensitive spot, and you moan louder, the sound more desperate. You revel in the stretch, the stimulation, the satisfying burn of pleasure. If this is how good his fingers feel, then you could only imagine how amazing his cock will feel, filling you up and stretching you out beyond your limits.

His pace quickens, tongue flicking, fingers pumping and curling. It sweeps you away, a fast River current of pleasure that quickly sends you over the edge as you push against him, fingers once again in his hair, forcing his mouth flush against you as your hips writhe and buck, riding the high that ripples through you as you feel yourself become water, falling apart and tumbling.

When you’ve finally settled and the pounding, racing of your heart has slowed, he withdraws his fingers from you, leaving behind a sore ache. His lips and chin are glossy, covered in your essence and he licks his lips, the red in his eyes rich with hunger.

“My turn.” He says.

#shigaraki x reader #Shigaraki smut #tomura x reader #AFAB reader #uh oh look what I did

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jokertrap-ran · 3 months ago

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[スタオケ] La Corda d'Oro Starlight Orchestra Main Story Chapter 2-13 Translation

*Starlight Orchestra Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Main story tag will be #Main Starlight *T/N: Why take one when you have two hands (real) I love these two omg... guys, look, a sandwich :D

Seiji: I wonder how many years it’s been since I last visited the zoo.

Akira: Pfft- You look absolutely delighted to be here, Osakabe.

Seiji: Worry not, you’re the same too.

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Akira: Tickets to the zoo? How did you end up chancin’ upon that on your way back from a street performance?

Akira: I mean, yeah. I don’t think there’ll be students from our school at a place like that.

Akira: I wouldn’t go outta my way to go hang out at someplace with him like friends normally do, though.

Seiji: How persistent. I guess it’s because recruiting members for this Orchestra is a matter of urgency after all.

Akira: But it’s a tad impossible, isn’t it? No one our age goes to the zoo anymore.

Seiji: And… there you have it. Why don’t we go together instead, (L/n)-san?

Akira: Huh? No way! That’s even more out of the question.

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Akira: I still can’t believe we ended up coming to the zoo in the end.

Announcement: Dear visitors, this is an announcement for the interactive play event.

Announcement: The “mini pig walking event” is about to start soon.

Announcement: You can enjoy interacting with the mini pigs in this event and forget all your troubles.

Seiji: Pet pigs, huh.

Akira: They can’t grow past a certain size, can they? I remember seeing it once on a TV program.

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Akira: Am I hallucinating, or did the ground just shake…?

Seiji: Don’t tell me…

Mini Pig: *Squeals*!!!

A frontal assault of mini pigs!

Seiji: Mini, they say…

Akira: They’re kinda… huge. Aren’t these just normal pigs???

Akira: Concertmistress!

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Seiji: Looks like a mishap has fallen upon you. Are you alright?

Akira: —Need a helping hand?

They both offered a hand.

⊳ Choice: Take Kirigaya’s hand

Akira: I’ll pull you up, yeah? There we go. Akira: Are you hurt? No? That’s good then. Akira: They’re more boar than pig with how rowdy they are. Akira: No wonder you bowled over when they came right at you. You wouldn’t stand a chance against them, Concertmistress. Huh? You’re kinda glad they did that? Akira: …What? Are you that happy that I held your hand? Akira: Haha, so you do have a cute side to you after all. Show me a smile like that and I’d be tempted to keep my hold on you. Akira: So don’t go complainin’ if I continue holdin’ your hand like this till we go home.

⊳ Choice: Take Osakabe’s hand

Seiji: I’ll pull you up. Seiji: You look unharmed. A blessing in the face of misfortune. Seiji: You’d think that pigs are mild-mannered at best, but we really shouldn’t be underestimating them. Seiji: They do say that there’s a pigsty across the sea where corpses are dragged to be disposed of. Seiji: And the pigs do their job well, eradicating everything, leaving not even a bone to be seen. Seiji: …Heh. I like that reaction of yours, but it looks like I’ve taken it a little too far. You’re just so interesting to tease, you see. Seiji: It might not be much, but allow me to treat you to some Tonkatsu as an apology. Seiji: …Does it really make you that happy? What a cheap person. Seiji: No, I didn’t intend for it to come off that way. I simply meant that you’re easy to please, and that’s a good thing. You can look forward to that Tonkatsu.

⊳ Choice: Take both their hands

Seiji: I see, so that’s what you chose. Akira: Both of us, huh… Akira/Seiji: There you go. Just as I thought that they were going to pull me up, they let go of my hand just as suddenly. Seiji: That’s a pretty big fall you had on your bum, Concertmistress. Akira: Haha! I can’t believe you fell for it. I’ve been had… Akira: We’re like mischievous kids? I suppose we are. Seiji: It’s a common enough story in fairytales, no? Greed only leads to suffering. Akira: Weren’t we just gonna tease her a little, dumbass? Sorry ‘bout that, Concertmistress. Seiji: Here, need a hand? I’ll help you up. Akira: Oh, we can do that now, right? We sandwich her in the center and we get the “trapped alien”! Seiji: …You’re really a kid through and through, huh. Akira: So you say, but you’re already in position! Now who’s the pot calling the kettle black? Seiji: I was merely stooping to your level.

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Akira: Now, where should we go next?

Boy 2: Haha, what’s this? What a weird keychain! It’s so lame!

Boy 1: Give it back! My father gave that to me! It’s my treasure!

Seiji: That’s…

A group of boys are surrounding an elementary school boy, jeering.

⊳ Choice: Stop bullying him

Boy 2: Don’t bother protecting him, Miss. Boy 2: His dad’s a terrible person who’s in jail.

Seiji: …!

Boy 2: Here, I’ll return it back to you. I don’t need things like this!

Akira: Bad guys are everywhere where you least expect it.

Akira: …Here. It’s your treasure, isn’t it?

Boy 1: It’s okay… I don’t…

Seiji: It won’t get any better if you’re so easily discouraged.

Seiji: There is no end to people like them, and they will keep coming.

Seiji: Stand up for yourself, or ask someone for help. You are the only one who can protect yourself.

Boy 1: I can’t…

Akira: Welp…

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Boy 1: Whoa…!

Akira: It has a refreshing sound, doesn’t it? Somethin’ nice to make you forget all your worries and frustrations.

Akira: A special service from me to you. I’ll give you a song.

Seiji: Kirigaya?

Akira: It’s fine, isn’t it? A special act now that the Starlight Orchestra is now in business.

Looks like the little boy is enthralled by their performance…

Boy 1: How nice! If only I could also play the Trumpet… Why are you so good at it?

Akira: Because I’m part of the Starlight Orchestra, an Orchestra that aims to challenge the entire world.

Seiji: You’re not in yet, though.

Akira: C’mon, don’t fret the small details. It’s fine, isn’t it?

Akira: We’re gonna be holdin’ a performance in Mito next. Feel free to come by if you’re interested.

Boy 1: Okay!

Boy 2: What, are you guys still trying to make him feel better?

Boy 2: He’s the child of a bad guy so he’ll also become a bad guy! There’s no need to treat him kindly!

Boy 1: …

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Akira: Ha? Yammerin’ this, yapperin’ that. You’re gettin’ on my nerves, kiddo.

Boy 2: U-Uwaaah!!

Boy 2: But I didn’t do anything!

Boy 2: I get it! You’re both friends of the bad guys!

Boy 2: You’re evil! The Orchestra’s bullshit!

Mother: What’s wrong, Hiromu-chan?

Boy 2: Mom, those two guys there…!!

Mother: There, there. Hush now.

Mother: And what do you two think you’re doing!? What did you do to my child?

Akira: Your child was bullying this kid here, over a stupid reason.

Mother: Oh…

Mother: But, that kid… It can’t be helped, can it? His family has issues, after all.

Mother: He probably bullied my child elsewhere, didn’t he?

Akira: Huh? What do you mean by that?

Mother: That aside, you’re both students, aren’t you? And from the looks of your uniforms… You’re from Joyo Technical High School?

Mother: You may be part of the student Orchestra or something for all I know, but to bully an elementary school kid? Unbelievable.

Mother: I’ll be filing a complaint to the school! Come on, let’s go, Hiromu-chan!

Boy 1: …Sorry, big brother, big sister… It’s all my fault…

⊳ Choice: I’m mad at them too

Seiji: Both of your tempers are truly something…

⊳ Choice: You didn’t do anything wrong.

Akira: It’s just as she says, so don’t feel too down about it. Akira: The next time something like this happens, just scowl at them. Like this.

Boy 1: Hehee, thanks. Now I don’t feel as sad anymore.

Boy 1: I’ll try. And I’ll also be there to listen to your concert!

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Akira: Whoa, that’s quick. Already here for a street performance? Looks like you’re all pumped up.

Seiji: Can’t wait for the concert? I’m no stranger to the feeling either.

Akira: It was quite interesting yesterday with the sudden turn of events.

Akira: Maybe it might not be a bad idea to go visit the zoo again after the concert.

Seiji: How hasty. You’re already making plans for after the concert?

Akira: Hm? Is your phone ringing, (L/n)-san?

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Ginga: Ah, hello? It’s me. Are you free to talk right now?

Ginga: I hate to be the harbinger of bad news, but Mito City Concert Hall just contacted us about the venue we were trying to book for the concert.

Ginga: They said that they cannot approve the Starlight Orchestra’s booking, so they’re taking it back to the drawing board.

☆ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦♬Main Starlight♬◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ☆

Previous Part: (Chapter 2-12) Next Part: (Chapter 2-14)

#金色のコルダ #スターライトオーケストラ #スタオケ #Starlight Orchestra #Otome #Translations #Kiniro no Corda #La Corda d'Oro Starlight Orchestra #Main Starlight

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sapphire-writes · 1 year ago

Note

💕 Self-love time! Talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics or a fanfic chapter or a scene or an arc) you enjoy the most, for whatever reason. Send to other creators to do the same if you wish. 💕

(Emphasis on if you wish)

omg Ange!! love this, thank you for asking!

I can't not talk about Down In Flames, I'm sorry if it gets annoying lmao, I'm just truly so proud of it 🥹

specifically, the kitchen scene that started it all ❤️ the first moment I saw in my mind with Aemond and our dear reader (here's a lil snippy below if you've forgotten 😉)

“So after the party, you won’t have to deal with me anymore,” you tell him, the bitterness evident in your voice.

You look away first. Who cares about this stupid stalemate anymore? You’re so done with Targaryen men. You turn on your heel prepared to leave the kitchen when Aemond speaks.

“You know what I think?” he says softly, and you look at him once more.

He wets his lips, a muscle in his jaw twitching. You wait for him to speak, anticipation causing your skin to blossom with goosebumps.

“I don’t think you’re mad I fucked Rhaena,” he tells you and you shake your head, opening your mouth to argue, your eyes narrowing.

Of course that’s why you are mad, what is he talking about?

“I think you’re mad I didn’t fuck you,” he says slowly.

Your mouth suddenly goes dry as all the air evaporates from your lungs. Your heart beats erratically in your chest and you swallow the lump beginning to form in your throat. Aemond’s eyes light up as you fail to answer, the beginning of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re jealous,” he practically purrs, as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks, flooding them with color.

The air in the kitchen feels so hot, it’s as though it is melting the flesh from your bones. You’re not jealous, why would you be jealous? No, no that doesn’t make any sense. He’s just saying that to mess with you, to make you confused.

“Fuck you,” you whisper, still frozen to the spot.

Your chest heaves with your breath. There is a look in Aemond’s eye, reminiscent of a rabid dog.

“I didn’t sleep with Rhaena,” he tells you and you blink in surprise.

Your heart nearly stops beating.

“What?”

“We made out,” he admits, grinning smugly as he shrugs, “she wanted to be more comfortable so I gave her my shirt.”

The nerves you felt a moment ago are replaced by fury yet again. He tricked you, and now he has humiliated you. In the neverending battle between you and Aemond, it appears Aemond has finally won. His smile is triumphant as he takes in your reaction.

You clench your jaw, preparing yourself for being the butt of the joke, before rolling your eyes at him.

“You are such a dick,” you tell him, your tone defeated as you turn away from him in surrender.

Aemond reaches out, grabs your arm, and forces you to face him.

“Oh, fuck off-” you begin to say when he presses his lips against yours.

The kiss is brief and sears your lips. You pull away immediately, staring at him, eyes wide. Aemond stares back at you, not releasing your arm.

Holy shit.

#sapphire answers #down in flames

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atomic-thomas · 2 years ago

Text

I revised the sex scene in this NSFW Gumroad Commission for Fake. Hopefully, it's to her liking this time.

(Fake ASMR Script) [NSFW Gumroad Commission] Sex With Your Crush While Camping {F4M}

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

*play the same nighttime ambience you used for the 2nd half of the original audio. the one without the campfire. just use that for this entire audio. this commission picks up right where the original audio left off.*

"So lemme get this straight. If we both had a crush on each other then that means we're official now, right? You know... A couple? Boyfriend & girlfriend?"

...

"Oh My God, it makes me so happy to hear that! Haha! Come here, you. Gimme your warmth."

"Mmmmm... You're so soft. I'm holding the man of my dreams in my arms while nuzzling into him. This is the best night of my life."

...

"I'm not even bothered by the outdoors at this point. As long as I'm with you, I feel invincible."

"Maybe I won't kick Jackson's ass after all. He's the reason we're together now. I bet he had this all planned out. I should thank him in the morning instead."

...

"Of course you can kiss me! God, the thought of feeling your lips against mine... *Mmmph* *Lip Smack*"

"Hahhh... That was too short. I need another one. One that'll last longer."

...

"A french kiss. So you wanna sword fight me with your tongue, eh? I accept your duel. En Garde!"

*several seconds of french kissing sounds*

*deep inhale to catch breath*

"Whew... That was awesome! God, I've always wanted to do that with you. That felt incredible."

"Hm? Ohhh... I knew I felt something poking me. All that kissing got you riled up, didn't it?"

...

"Oh, come on. Don't feel ashamed. Your body is having a completely normal reaction to the situation. You just made out with your girlfriend. I'd be surprised if you didn't have a boner right now."

"And I'll be honest with you. That make-out session made me rather... Wet."

...

"Hehehe~ I suppose it's fitting that nature is calling considering we're out in the wilderness right now."

"Are we really gonna do this though? I mean... Don't get me wrong. I am VERY horny for you right now, but... Jackson is sleeping in the tent next to us. What if our lewd noises wake him up?"

...

"It's more exciting that way. Well, I guess the possibility of getting caught does make it more thrilling."

...

"Right. He did set us up. I doubt he'd actually get upset about it. Maybe he's expecting this to happen. He might even be pretending to sleep just waiting for us to go at it."

...

"Yeah, let's not dwell on it too much. Let's just... Enjoy ourselves~ Whatever happens... Happens~"

*more kissing sounds*

"You know what they say about sex while camping. It's fucking in tents."

...

"Ahaha~ I hope that joke didn't kill the mood."

"Woah!" *cushiony thud*

"Okay, you're definitely still eager."

*sound of clothes removal*

"And there goes my top. AAHH~! Hahhh~ Oh God... Going straight for my boobs, huh? Mmmmmph~ You're so hungry for my soft feminine flesh. Aaahhh~ I didn't think you'd be lusting for my body this much."

...

"You think I'm hot & sexy. Hahhh~ Well, now I feel silly for not assuming that earlier. Mmmph~ You really like what you see, huh?"

...

"You wanna see more. Heh~ Help yourself then. These pants aren't gonna take themselves off. Here, I'll help you strip to."

*more clothes sounds*

"Wow... That's quite the piece of meat you got there. Stiff as a rod & eager to go inside me. I'm flattered."

"So... What position do you wanna try?"

...

"Prone Bone. I think I've heard of that before. Isn't that the position where the girl lays flat on her belly & the guy penetrates her from behind?"

...

"I thought so. That sounds like a great idea. A nice comfortable position that doesn't require much effort."

*fabric shuffling sounds*

"Well~ I'm all yours~ Let's drown in pleasure together~"

*slap sound*

"AAAHHH~! Oh fuck. Haha. Woah. I wasn't expecting you to spank my ass like that."

...

"It's round & perky. Of course you'd say that. Just hurry up & dick me down already. I can't wait any longer.

*okay, so like... I remember when Max commissioned NSFW audios, he requested squishing sounds for the sex scenes & you didn't add them. I would also like squishing sounds, but I won't say that they're required. just encouraged. if you add them... great. if not... well whatever I guess.*

"Ah~ There you go. Nice &... Aahh~ Easy. Hahhh..."

...

"Don't worry. I'm fine. It's a good thing I'm well lubricated down there. Just start slow, okay?"

*moaning sounds*

"Oh, fuck~ This is intense~"

*moaning sounds*

"I could get used to this~ It's so strange, but it feels so wonderful~"

*moaning sounds*

"Just knowing it's you~ My one true love~ You really are the best~"

*moaning sounds*

"Oh God, this is heaven~ Fuck~ Yes~"

*moaning sounds*

"I like all the delicious sounds you're making~ It's so erotic~"

*moaning sounds*

"Aha~ Jeez, all this moaning & groaning is sure to wake Jackson up~ But whatever~ I feel too fucking good to care~"

*louder moaning sounds now*

"You're pumping even faster~ Keep going~ The pleasure is almost too great~"

*moaning sounds*

"I can only imagine how good this feels for you as well, hun~ Although~ I don't really need to imagine it when I'm already feeling it myself~"

*moaning sounds*

"Your moans tell me everything~ You want nothing more than to fill up your cute girlfriend, don't you~?"

*moaning sounds*

"Don't hold back~ Cum inside me~ Please~ We both deserve to feel the height of ecstasy~"

*moaning sounds*

"Hold me close~ Keep me pinned down & don't let go~ My body is all yours~"

*moaning sounds*

"I love you~! I love you~! I love you so much~!"

*moaning sounds*

"I'm about to cum~"

*moaning sounds*

"I'M CUMMING~!"

*loudest moaning sounds*

"Hahhh... Hahhh... Hahhh... Hahhh..."

"Hahhhhhh... So warm... It feels so warm~."

"Hahhhhh... That was amazing. That was the greatest experience of my entire life. I think I've peaked. I doubt anything will ever top that."

...

"No, wait. Don't pull out yet. Stay inside me a while longer. Let's just bask in the afterglow together."

*footsteps heard outside the tent*

"Oh, shit! Never mind. Jackson's awake. Pull out & get under the covers quick. Damnit, we're totally busted."

*tent zipper sound*

"Uh... Hey... Jackson."

...

"Yeah, I'm not gonna sugarcoat it. We had sex while you were asleep."

...

"You were never asleep?! You mean you were listening to us the entire time?!"

...

"I knew it! I knew you weren't really sleeping. My hunch was correct."

...

"Well, I suppose I should thank you. Embarrassing as this is, we had a lot of intimate fun thanks to you."

...

"All according to plan. Yeah... I know. Anyway, can we actually get some sleep now? I'm extra tired after all that."

...

"Only a few hours. In that case, me & my boyfriend are definitely gonna sleep in tomorrow morning."

...

"Don't push your luck, Jackson. Whether we bang again the next night or not isn't any of your business. Now go back to your tent."

*tent zipper sound*

"Sigh... That guy... I swear."

...

"Make no mistake, babe. We are definitely going to smash again by next nightfall. That was so much fun."

...

"I love you to, darling."

*kiss sound*

"Goodnight. Sweet dreams."

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

THE END

#Fake ASMR

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bmaxwell · 2 years ago

Text

Tactics Ogre: Reborn

I love Final Fantasy Tactics. It’s metaphorically tattooed across my very real ass. I’ve heard some strategy RPG fans say that Tactics Ogre is the better game. As much as my gut reactions was “Nuh-uh you’re a poopface!” I had never played Tactics Ogre so I could say nothing.

Now that I have played Tactics Ogre Reborn (the remaster of the 2010 PSP port of the 1995 SNES Tactics Ogre: Let Us Cling Together) I do think Final Fantasy Tactics is better. Or at least I prefer it. If I had played Tactics Ogre back in its original release time, I might feel differently.

I was concerned that the game would feel outdated despite the polish and balance changes that came with this remake. Remaster. Re-release. Remaster. You can put a fresh coat of paint on it, but the bones are still 1995 bones. I was in the 11th grade.

I am happy to report - 100+ hours later - that there was no cause for concern and that Tactics Ogre is one of the best strategy RPG’s ever made. The connections to Final Fantasy Tactics are immediately apparent. First and foremost, the story is about political drama and warring kingdoms. Where FFT goes full on supernatural with the story, TO gets more into the devastation war inflicts on the bystanders caught in the middle.* I frequently found myself in battle pitted against decent people who happened to be on the opposite side. I appreciate shades of grey in my storytelling, it’s much more interesting than “This character is doing evil things because they are so evil.”

I was surprised that Tactics Ogre gave me a few major story choices, and that those choices determine how the story branches out in a pretty major way. I was happy with the way it all wrapped up though. There is plenty of optional content like the Palace of the Dead, and missable characters and classes (again, like Final Fantasy Tactics). You can beeline through the main story, or you can luxuriate in the maps and drama and little Chess dudes and the menus and skills and equipment. I did this.

Where (like every other game ever made except for Bravely Default II) Tactics Ogre falls short of FFT is the character customization. It does let you spend a ticket to change a character’s class, so it’s pretty flexible, it just doesn’t give you the full “Fuck it, mash these together any way you want!” of its successor. I dabbled in every job class I found, and none of them felt so specialized as to be useless. I enjoyed classes like the Dragoon, the Fusilier, the Berserker, and the Beast Master. The latter can be used to recruit enemy monsters to your army, and trying to weaken and capture enemy dragons became a fun sort of minigame.

The difficulty in Tactic Ogre Reborn is tuned just right for me. I frequently found myself just barely squeaking through battles with narrow victories or losing then adapting my strategy. On multiple occasions I sat down to play a battle or two, and ended up doing one more battle, one more battle for hours on end. All of this dramatic storytelling and solid gameplay are set against the backdrop of a gorgeous music score by Hitoshi Sakimoto (who worked on FFT’s score). The music felt immediately familiar the first time I heard it, like finding a new recording from an old favorite band.

Tactics Ogre Reborn is a landmark entry in the strategy RPG genre. So many games from the 90′s do not hold up today, but this one absolutely does. I still think Final Fantasy Tactics is the better game, but I will no longer think of you as a poopface if you disagree.

*Tactics Ogre does get into the supernatural nonsense too, but less so.

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lukethalias · 5 years ago

Photo

suffice to say, new zealand does not take all blacks’ defeat well....

#nz #rwc19 #im literally laughing so hard THIS IS SO FUCKING DRAMATIC im losing it #lacey sent me this and i actually just. Cackled.#listen if i didnt hate england so much id be totally happy with nz's defeat purely for the comedy of the country reacting #as it is i still enjoy the reaction.... it just goes against my bones to be ok with england or eddie jones succeeding fdsgjlfgadjlsgjf #idc that nz LOST i just hate that england WON #anyway hoping wales v rsa is good bc im actually awake n watching this one #jane pls

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missmonsters2 · 2 years ago

Text

Between the Lines || Part XVI

PAIRING: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader / Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader / WandaNat x Fem!Reader

Summary: Vampire AU. Life has changed drastically since the 1600s. Things are always on the move, and you’ve been very careful to not get on SHIELDs radar. Living on the down-low owning a café, you’re content to live out a quiet existence. That is until the Avengers enter your life.

[Set after the New York Invasion, in CAWS, and goes up to AoU. Canon divergent after.]

Warnings: 18+ content. Explicit Smut

You do NOT have permission to repost or translate my work on any other platforms (even with credit)

Note: I am on a roll pls do not let me crash and burn LOL hope you enjoy the chapter! Likes, Reblogs, & Comments are appreciated 🙏

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Library Blog

PART XVI of XX

Count: 7.6k

"You're dripping."

You look up and see Liam staring at the drop of blood dripping down David's chin. He reaches his thumb out, wiping the blood as David's instincts get the better of him, and he takes Liam's thumb into his mouth.

They stare at each other, and you aren't sure if it is because you're crazed with the need to feed, but you watch as Liam's eyes darken.

You felt a careful hand land on your shoulder, and you turned back to see Natasha standing beside you and Wanda standing beside her.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asks quietly.

Your mouth was desperately latched onto the blood bag as you sucked in copious amounts, and you couldn't even break from it as you nodded in answer. It was your third bag, and only then did you start to feel stable again. Your wounds completely heal, and your broken bones mend as you finish the last drop of blood.

Throwing the bag away, you sighed as you rubbed your face tiredly. You looked over at Wanda and Nat with their scraped knees and frowned.

"Are you two okay?"

They look at each other, and Wanda is oddly shy as she turns away first while Natasha looks mildly amused.

"Feeling like a bruised banana, but I think we'll live," Natasha answers for the two of them.

Suddenly, the door to the infirmary bursts open, and Steve is running through them.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks worriedly as he quickly approaches and kneels in front of you, so you're eye to eye. He checks you over, and when nothing looks amiss, he sighs with relief.

"Wow, this was not the reaction I got when I was shot in the shoulder being on the run with you," Natasha deadpans, but the two of you can tell she's kidding.

"You get shot at all the time, Romanoff," Steve cocks his brow at her. "When you catch two people from a 700ft story building with your own body, then I'll worry about you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

There was somewhat of urgency when arriving back at the Compound. The Avengers are so used to debriefing immediately, but you and David find there's no rush.

"It's unlikely we are leaving again. Why not meet back after everyone has showered and slept a little," you suggest tiredly. Vampires do not need sleep, but you don't feel like there are enough blood bags in the world to help with the exhaustion you're feeling. Sleeping was a slow form of recovery, but you welcomed it.

After a hot shower, you walk lazily to Wanda's room and find she has just finished showering too, brushing out her wet hair.

"C'mere," you mumble, grabbing her hand and dragging her back towards Natasha's room.

"I don't have a room here," you tell Wanda. "Mostly because I have my own house which is too far to go to tonight and Natasha's bed is the biggest."

Natasha is still showering when you both enter. You decide now is a good time to help Wanda blow dry her hair before bed. Wanda is noticeably tired and fights to keep her eyes awake as you run your fingers through her hair.

Once that's complete, you slide into bed, moaning when your face hits the pillow. Wanda slips in next to you on your right, cuddling up against you as she fastly falls asleep with her arms around you and her face pressed into your back.

You keep your eyes closed, but your mind can't seem to fall asleep quite yet. When you feel the bed dip, you open your arms for Natasha to slip between. She smells fresh and crisp. It feels like home to you, and your eyes flutter open as you see the top of her head pressed into your chest.

Kissing the crown of her head, you adjust for her to look up at you.

"She's sound asleep," Natasha mutters. Her arms are around you, stretching to stroke Wanda's arms.

"She's been through a lot, I imagine she's physically and mentally exhausted," you mutter back.

"I thought my heart stopped when I saw her leap over that edge," Natasha swallows. "I would have tried to save her regardless, but my feelings never hit me so clearly until that moment."

You sigh, stroking Natasha's back. "The important thing is that you're both safe and Wanda isn't under Tatyana's influence anymore."

Natasha hums. "It's almost strange, thinking about our feelings for each other. I can't help but wonder what we'd be like if Tatyana wasn't influencing Wanda. Would we have explored our feelings for each other further?"

"No use in thinking about it now," you pat her back softly. "What's important is that you both know how you feel about each other now. We're just one big mess and all we can do is take one step at a time. Wanda's delicate, and she clearly loves people very fiercely. As your girlfriend, I'm telling you to not hurt our other girlfriend."

"Ha-ha," Natasha dryly deadpans. "She's not my girlfriend."

You chuckle. "You're just going to kiss her and not even make her your girlfriend? Ice cold, Romanoff. Better put your big girl panties on and ask her before she starts to get the wrong idea about what kind of polygamous people we are."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The day starts late for you. When you wake up, you find that Wanda is still soundly sleeping with you. You woke earlier when Natasha tried to leave the bed, and you initially attempted to get her to stay longer, trapping her in your arms. You earned yourself a huff and 45 minutes more with her before she pinched your side to get you to let her leave.

Still, she had kissed you sweetly on the lips and told you to rest some more before getting ready for her day. You turned around after and cuddled up against Wanda, kissing her exposed shoulder, and felt pleased by her snoring hum.

"Wake up," you say too quietly to be taken seriously. You pepper kisses against Wanda's shoulder, and she scoots her backside into you.

Wanda's breathing changes, and you know she's awake. A morning lust builds slowly in you, driving you to stroke Wanda's side. You're careful to not touch her bare skin with your hands, but Wanda turns to you sharply, eyes awake.

"Touch me," Wanda purses her lips. She doesn't want to be pouty about it, but there's only so much she can take.

"You are so demanding," you brush your lips against hers before giving it a quick peck. "Do you even know what you're asking of me?"

Wanda quirks her brow at you. "Do you know what my power is?"

You grin. "Are you admitting you snoop into my mind?"

There was a beat of silence.

"I can't help it sometimes," Wanda replies instead. "I just want you to know me too."

You let out a huff of laughter. "You couldn't wait just a little longer like Natasha had?"

"You did say I'm demanding," Wanda brings back up, and you roll her eyes.

You roll over top of her, careful of her hands, still not touching her skin with your hands. Wanda looks absolutely petulant, and you smile at it. You sigh, thinking about how you can rarely deny your girls anything. But you feel so happy about it.

Natasha's patient and gentle love has taught you that you could love Wanda less cautiously.

You lift your hand to delicately brush away a strand of hair from Wanda's face, your finger grazing her temple. It's so simple, but you start to see the flashes in your mind. You see her whole life and the pain, the misery, the happiness, the laughter, the pain, the desperation…all of it.

You slide your hand to cup her jaw firmly, kissing Wanda heatedly. "So soft," you whisper against her lips. You feel that morning lust that was a gentle hum now becoming a throbbing roar.

Just as you're about to resume kissing her and move for more, a voice loudly interrupts.

"Tony is requesting everyone to meet in the board room immediately," FRIDAY's polite tone comes through, and you sigh heavily while Wanda huffs with disappointment.

"Let's get up," you suggest reluctantly. "I am mostly deathless but maybe there will be a new way for me to die if Tony accidentally walks in on us if we don't hurry."

Wanda merely makes a face.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"So, let's debrief quickly now, shall we?" Tony gives you a long look of exasperation, but you can't be bothered since you feel well-rested, languidly sipping on a blood bag.

"I got some of the logistics, but it'd be good to hear what happened from the beginning," Steve requests as he sits beside Sam with his arms crossed.

Pietro sits next to Wanda, checking in with her, but he's smiling softly at how his little sister looks so content.

Natasha launches into a quick abridged version of everything that occurred when Steve, Sam, & Pietro were gone. But at the end of it, everyone is in deep thought.

"I think the thing we need to figure out first is what does Tatyana want," Steve finally speaks up as he looks at you. "On the one hand, she doesn't seem to want to kill you. If that were the case, she had many opportunities to do so. What's her endgame?"

"I think I have an idea," Wanda speaks up reluctantly. "When I was falling down the building, and Natasha jumped after me, I had her locked in my mind. At that moment, I knew I didn't have the capacity to save Natasha and I while also mentally keeping Tatyana's consciousness in me."

Everyone listened intently.

"When I chose to force and keep her out, she knew," Wanda surmises. "I think our subconsciousness overlapped for a moment and I was able to see in Tatyana's mind. I saw…an army of something." Wanda then looked at you. "I thought maybe vampires, but they didn't look like you or David, though. They looked hollow…I don't really know how to explain it. I saw her and another man with her. I think he was a vampire but the two of them were able to keep control of this savage army."

You felt your mind blanking as you heard Wanda's words. She really was—

"What did the vampire look like?" David asks.

"He had long black hair," Wanda gestured, her hands moving to demonstrate his features on herself. "Strong cheekbones and toned, but not muscular. He looked maybe in his 40s."

The description was familiar, but you could hardly recall if you bumped into any other vampires with that description, and David didn't seem to have recognized it either.

"I can't believe it," you mutter, drawing everyone's attention. David, Natasha, and Wanda knew the history of it all. "She's out to try it again."

"Try what again?" Tony asks.

You rub your face tiredly, wishing you could just return to bed.

"I had thought what we saw at Liam's was maybe a fluke. Tatyana believed that supernatural beings were treated unjustly, and she was right. But that resulted in her thinking we should fight to bring all supernatural kinds above humans. She wanted to suppress them as she believed that was the only way for her to live freely."

You swallowed. "Previously, she tried to create vampires through her magic instead of venom but the only thing that resulted in were mindless, feral beasts. They couldn't think, couldn't be reasoned with, it was like they couldn't think of anything outside of feeding. Tatyana was only able to control them through her magic," you explain, letting out a deep, miserable sigh.

"I think she and whoever she's working with are trying to do the same. They're tired of the prejudice from humans and having to hide from government bodies. They don't want to be regulated. So, they're creating some army for a war to come," you frown. "I don't exactly know what they've been capable of creating by collaborating. We don't even know how many they've created so far."

"Shit," Steve sighs under his breath, and Tony whips his head in Steve's direction.

"Great, your ex-lover has Steve cursing," Tony remarks with mirth, but it lacks its usual luster with the somber mood of the room. "So, what's the plan. Do we find her?"

Wanda shakes her head. "We can try but we've attempted before, and we only found her when she wanted to be found."

"So, what? We just sit here with our thumbs up our asses until she shows up with another army for us to fuck up our lives? We're still on probation for what happened in Sokovia," Tony rubs his temples to stifle the oncoming headache.

Wanda shakes her head again. "No, I mean just before she was forced out of my head, she left me a message. She's going to leave us a clue on how to find her. We just have to wait for this clue and it'll lead us right to her."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Night falls quick, and you're left wondering what to do. Wanda had been tired earlier and retired to her room. You gave her a quick kiss before Wanda rigidly turned to Natasha. The older woman merely gives a warm smile before she leans in and pecks Wanda's lips chastely, then again at the corner of her lips.

Wanda had been stunned, but the sight of her looking relaxed and content warmed your heart. She waved an awkward goodnight to the two of you before leaving.

David and Tony were pulling all the data in as tips, and strange surges popped up all over. You knew it was Tatyana's doing. Many would be a waste of time, but they wouldn't be able to tell until they checked.

There was only going to be one true hint to where they could find her.

Steve and Natasha had run off together to start the search since they had been too antsy to stay in one place.

"You need rest," Natasha insists as she brushes your cheek delicately with the back of her fingers.

"I really don't," you quirk your brow at her, and your girlfriend sighs. Natasha grabs both of your hands in hers and shakes her head at you.

"Stay home," Natasha tells you, and you frown. "No, listen," Natasha squeezes your hands softly.

"This is all I can ever do for you," the words are said so forlornly that you open your mouth to deny it, but Natasha continues on. "Every time there's a fight, you're afraid that my body can't endure what these monsters can do. I can't go against Tatyana and win; I know that. Wanda's not even sure if she could win. So, that always leaves you to fight for us."

You remain silent. You want to tell Natasha that you'd give anything and do anything to make sure she and Wanda were safe. Protecting them was ingrained into you at this point, and you know they'd do the same for you. It was proven over and over again.

"This," Natasha looks around, and you follow her look, seeing her prepping to leave with all the information Tony and David gave her on hand. "This is what I can do for you. This is what I'm good at. So, please," Natasha breathes out her plea. "Please let me protect you in the way I can."

You surge forward and capture Natasha's lips, placing your hand over the back of her neck and pulling her closer. It's almost too desperate as your teeth gashes against her, and you suck on her bottom lip, maybe a little too hard.

"I love you," you breathe harshly out. You wish there were more words in the English language that could convey what you truly feel about Natasha.

Love wasn't enough.

How do you tell someone that they're the ribs in your body, protecting your heart? That they're the air you breathe, and how desperately you want to be so close that the end of you was just the beginning of them?

Love? Love was so inadequate for someone like Natasha Romanoff.

"I know," Natasha smiles as she chastely kisses you, and it's so sweet and soft, hardly the passionate one you just gave her. Yet, it warms your soul just the same. "More than a lifetime?"

"Until I run out."

Natasha rests her forehead against yours for a second more, unable to resist kissing your cheek once more before she pulls away and lets go of your hands. She gives you a wink before walking off with Steve, who is giving you a shit-eating smirk.

"Keep her alive, Rogers!" You shout after them.

"Think she'll be keeping me alive, but will do!" Steve salutes you.

You shake your head at the two before walking around the Compound. Tony and David were incredibly busy, and you felt like you would only get in the way of them.

Liam was nowhere to be found, and you assumed he was out grabbing food or doing his own research.

You look at the time and see that it's nearing midnight. Your mind drifted to Wanda and how exhausted she was, and you decided to go check on her. You felt a little jittery because you're hoping she'll be open to some company.

There's a craving to be close to Wanda, more so now than ever since Wanda could figure out Tatyana was attempting to possess her mind and stop it.

Your vampire instinct was never wrong. It hadn't wanted you to leave Wanda, but you couldn't get closer to her with intimacy because it wouldn't have truly been the young brunette. The betrayal of it kept your instinct sharp.

But now?

Your body screamed to be closer. Your fingers constantly flexed with the need to feel Wanda—feel any part of her. You wanted to trace her soft skin and grab her suppleness.

As you approached her room, you could hear the faint noses of Wanda groaning.

"Wanda?" You call for her worriedly. You step quickly towards the door and knock, but only a pained whimper was your response.

You disregard everything, forcefully opening the door, and feel your heart stop at the sight.

Wanda was lying on her bed, face down but attempting to hold herself up. She was grasping at her chest furiously through her shirt, pulling at it with a ferocity that made you wince.

"Shit, Wanda," You snap yourself out of your stupor and race towards her, leaning over the bed as you touch her shoulder gently. "What's wrong?"

"Hurts," she whimpers. "It hurts so bad."

You check all over her, but there don't seem to be more cuts and gaping wounds. You turn her on her back as gently as possible, and suddenly it hits you.

When was the last time you fed on Wanda?

You don't have time to worry about Wanda's modesty as you grip the front of her shirt with your hands and rip it open. She's wearing a rather sheer bralette, and you can see her nipples, but you can't even focus on that when you see what's causing the pain.

The curse has spread wildly. It was nearing the edge of her chest, and the veins affected by the curse were so dark that they looked deathly.

"Why didn't you say anything?" You hiss at Wanda, your heart thudding in your chest. Fear coursed through your veins, and you couldn't control the absolute panic you felt.

"The pain...came so suddenly..." Wanda breathes harshly, sucking in the air as if she couldn't get enough of it. "Couldn't...call you."

You climb over her, straddling her body beneath you as you place a palm beside her head. Your other hand grasps the back of her neck as you lift her gently, her head tilting back naturally as you bare her neck.

"It's gonna hurt a little," you tell her softly. You're trying to control the raging fear, but it's difficult when tears are dripping down the side of Wanda's eyes.

Wanda opens her mouth to say it's okay, but nothing comes out. You don't waste any more time and drop your face to her neck and pierce the skin before your mouth encloses it.

Blood rushes into your mouth as you exchange venom into her bloodstream. There's an initial hiss from Wanda as her fingers reach up to grab the edges of your jacket.

Something pulses through her, needy and desperate, as she pulls you down against her body. Inferno heat surges through both your bodies as the venom quickly works, receding the curse. The veins noticeably retract back, quietening and leaving only unbearable desire in Wanda.

She moans, hips arching into you, and you groan against her neck. You pull away, licking at the puncture wounds and shutting them until perfection returns.

Your inner lips have a palate of red as you stare down at Wanda. You're still holding her neck up, and Wanda's chest rises and falls, her nipples turning hard through her bralette. You thought her blood pumping into your mouth would calm you, but it only pulsates your desire stronger until you feel like you're in a frenzy.

Wanda's eyes lock with yours, her mouth opens slightly as she pants, and you can feel the puffs of her breath on your face.

Minty.

"How do you feel?" You ask, your voice husky, rasping with a desire that you can't even attempt to hide.

"...Horny," Wanda finally says when she decides she can't find a more elegant word for her feelings.

Normally, the bluntness of Wanda would make you chuckle, but the deep need between your legs and the way your body aches only appreciates it.

"I feel it this time..." you mumble. "Feels right. Feels like I won't be able to stop if I start."

"Me too," Wanda bites her bottom lip, and your pupils dilate at the sight.

You should blink away the longing. You really should get a grip. This wasn't what you came here to do. All you had wanted was to feel close to Wanda, maybe by holding her.

But now?

All you could think of was taking her. Taking everything she was offering. You wanted to coax orgasm after orgasm, blood and cum mixing in your mouth because you could.

Wanda was the one person you could bite and drink from. There was a level of closeness you could achieve with her.

All you could smell around you was Wanda. Every little thing about her infiltrated your senses, sweeping you under a wave with little hope of letting you go.

Maximoffs were deadly.

You lower her head, and your nose drags against the soft edges of her jaw.

"I'm so happy," you whisper. "I'm so happy you're okay, that you're here and alive, and you're free to feel your feelings."

And the way Wanda lights up makes you feel something so overwhelming that all you can do is capture her lips in a needy, urgent kiss.

You press your lips over and over.

"Perfect," you mutter in between kisses. "So perfect to me. Even when you drive me crazy, I can't help but love you."

Wanda tightens her hold on you, moving her hands to start taking off your jacket, pulling at the edge of your shirt to pull it up and over your head. She wants to say so much, but it's too difficult to make the words leave her mouth when she wants to kiss you.

The words stay lodged in her mind. Wanda pulls the gloves off your hand and throws them on the ground, pulling your hand to cup her face.

I love you.

I need you.

I deserve you.

You earned me.

We deserve it all.

It was a strange concept to earn something like love and people. But after all this grief, after doing things for the greater good so that other people would be safe at the cost of their own pain...they did earn it.

Natasha would tell them they didn't have to do anything to earn her, but they were both people who knew their suffering, their continued suffering...they deserved Natasha too.

But right now, they earned this.

Their discarded clothes fall off the bed and onto the ground, and you grab Wanda everywhere greedily.

The soft moans of Wanda stir you on, and the suppleness of her breast that shape in your hands feels heavenly.

"So soft," you mumble, kissing down her body, your teeth dragging down her skin to leave marks but never pierce. She tasted sweet and spicy, different from Natasha, who tasted like wine and elegance.

"Oh, fuck," Wanda curses, feeling your tongue flatten and drag up her slit slowly until you fasten your lips around her clit, coaxing her bud out. Her hips grind against your mouth.

Wanda's hands grip the bedsheet, rumpling them as she breathes deeply.

"So close," she pants. "Need more."

Your tongue licks and applies pressure against her, circling her clit. You move your two fingers to her wet entrance as you easily slide into her.

"God, yes," Wanda hisses at the stretch.

You curl your fingers slightly, pumping as you pass over that perfect spot in her, coaxing her to a shuddering orgasm.

Wanda's soundless. Her breath stops as she feels herself let go and rush over your fingers. When she comes back down, her heart thuds harshly in her chest, and she can feel it in her ears as she puffs.

You lap up her slick, moaning at her taste. Your fingers remain in her as you kiss your way back up. Your pupils are blown and hazy as they begin to glow red with lust.

The desire to see Wanda come undone overcomes you. You hover right before her face, your fingers slowly pumping as Wanda lets out a low groan, barely recovering from her climax.

Quickly, you have a rhythm going that has Wanda panting. You hover so close you can feel the puffs of her breath on your lips.

"You take it so good," you kiss her lips briefly. "I want to take you every way you'll let me. Like this, on your side, from behind..."

Wanda tries to turn her face away, eyes screwing shut as the coil in her stomach begins to get too tight. You grip her face back towards you.

"Don't look away, honey," you coo at her. "Take it just like that...keep me right here inside you."

"I'm going to come," Wanda whimpers. "Gonna come, gonna come. Fuck, bite me, bite me, bite me."

And just as Wanda comes with a loud groan, you do as she asks and bite her neck for the second time that night. You moan as the feeling of her blood pouring into your mouth with the taste of her come and everything smelling like sex makes you come.

It takes long minutes for both you and Wanda to come down from the high and for your breath to return back to normal.

The two of you feel boneless, but it doesn't stop Wanda from pushing you onto the bed on your side as she turns, kissing you softly and slowly.

The way she lazily drifts her hands down your side to your thigh before moving them between your legs has you moaning.

"You don't have to if you're tired," You whisper.

"I want to feel you come around my fingers," she mumbles against your lips. "I can't sleep until I do."

You wrap your arms around Wanda before your hand drifts down to hers, and you move your leg over her thigh to give her more access. Your hand rests against hers as you guide them just the way you like it.

Despite Natasha's kind offer to rest, you don't get as much as you probably should.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Your rest is short when you wake up, hearing noises within the Compound and footsteps approaching your room. You can tell who it is by the steps alone.

"Hey," you turn to your side, speaking softly to the sleeping body pressed against you. You kissed Wanda's head. "Honey, wake up."

Wanda grumbled but did open her eyes. "What?" She whined.

Your chuckle was raspy. "People are coming, we need to get dressed."

"Is it Natasha?" Wanda asked, and you hummed.

"Can't she just join us in bed?" Wanda grumbled.

"Because Steve's right behind her," you smiled as you cupped her cheek and stroked it gently with your thumb.

Wanda sighs deeply and unhappily, and you give her a chaste kiss. Just then, the door opens first, and when Natasha comes in first and sees the two of you, she turns to whisper something to Steve and shuts the door behind her first.

"See?" Wanda turns her head to look at you. "Natasha can just tell Steve to go away and we can all go back to sleep."

Natasha purses her lip in a way that you can tell when she finds something adorable, but it isn't the moment to relish it. The redhead sits at the edge of the bed. At first, she hesitates to place her hand on Wanda, but the brunette puts her hand over Natasha's before lacing their fingers together.

Things have been progressing slowly between the two of them. Wanda was sorting out her guilt for how she treated Natasha, even though the redhead hadn't blamed her at all. Still, Wanda wanted to show Natasha her genuine feelings and not rush to overcompensate.

But when Natasha lifts their hands to kiss the back of Wanda's hand, things like this make Wanda want to do something completely stupid.

"I would also love to sleep but I'm afraid this can't wait," Natasha softly spoke. "We found the clue Tatyana left for us."

The soft serenity of the room leaves, and in comes the rigid dread. You and Wanda move to get dressed, looking presentable, and Natasha opens the door for Steve to come in.

Except, it's Steve, Tony, David, and Liam that pour in.

"Oh, nice!" David throws you a thumbs up that you roll your eyes at.

"What?" Tony cocks his brow.

"What do you mean what? They clearly—" David starts to say and then pauses. "Oh, I guess you can't smell it."

"Smell wha—ohh." Tony stares at the three of you but is only more confused since he knows Natasha has only returned momentarily ago. But then he looks over at you and Wanda, and you can nearly physically see the lightbulb go off in his head. But Natasha doesn't look angry, standing close to Wanda. So, all he can say is, "Congrats?"

"Let's just move on," you groan, rubbing your hand over your face. "What did you guys find?"

Natasha pulls out something from her pocket for everyone to see.

"This was found hanging from The Queen's Giant," Natasha tells you as she hands over the capsule no bigger than 2 inches. Its encasing is in something hard that won't give way even if you crush it with all your might.

You feel your heart close up. You knew immediately why she had chosen that tree, and clearly, so did Natasha.

"I think she chose that tree because..."

"It's the oldest tree in the area..." You finish. "It was meant to represent the Methuselah."

"There's some kind of magic imbued in it. It wouldn't let anyone touch it except me," Natasha says, changing the subject. She turns her head to look at Steve. "Not even Steve could grab it."

You can tell that Natasha was holding something back from you, and you look at her while she stares at you straight on, unflinching.

"What else?" You ask.

"What do you—"

"If Tatyana wanted only you to touch it, she would've left you a message saying so. I know her," you purse your lips together. "What did she say?"

Natasha sighs, obviously reluctant to tell you but knowing you won't let it drop.

"There was a carving in the bark. It said, 'For my lover's little human, who will only live one lifetime.'" Natasha mutters while Steve pinches the space between his brows.

You feel something hit the back of your throat. There's an emotion that you can't quite describe. You feel nauseated because you hate that Tatyana can be so cruel.

You once loved that about her because you could always see the sweet and wounded girl hiding behind the cruelty. You think you could even now, but you could no longer stand for it since that night.

You don't have the words to comfort Natasha, and you don't think Natasha would particularly want to hear it now.

"How are we supposed to open it?" Wanda asks, redirecting the conversation as she stands closer to Natasha, softly stroking the older woman's pinky with her own subtly.

"Venom," you say after a minute.

In the past, when you were separated from Tatyana for various reasons, she would leave you messages to find that only you could read by breaking down her cases with venom.

They all watch as you bring the capsule to your mouth, your fang hovering over it. They can see the venom secrete within seconds, and a drop drips onto the capsule. It begins to erode immediately, disintegrating until only a parchment paper tied neatly closed is left.

Steve watches the entire thing with curious eyes. "I'm surprised the venom didn't catch the paper too."

"It does if more than one drop hits the case," you mumble, thinking back to previous experiences.

Everyone waits with bated breath, knowing that whatever is in the paper is the key to finding Tatyana.

You pull the string holding the rolled note up and slowly unravel it. The familiar penmanship digs at your bones and aches your heart. There's even a faint smell of hydrangea, which Tatyana used to rub over her letters or notes like perfume.

You let out a shaky breath as you read the note.

[img id: Roses are red, violets are blue. My love, you will only be able to find me where everything ended, so we can start anew./end img id]

You feel your stomach drop, the blood draining from your face.

"Jesus Christ, she wants you—" Natasha starts, but Wanda interjects.

"She wants you to find her where you—" But even Wanda can't finish her sentence.

But you swallow, almost painfully, as you gripped the note harder, crumpling the edges.

"We have to go back. We need to go where she slaughtered that village that night and where I killed her. She's waiting for me there."

"It's obviously a trap," Wanda argues.

"It's the only thing we have," you shake your head at her.

"We should think about it more," Natasha gently suggests, with Steve agreeing with her, but you crumple the edges of the parchment further.

"And what? Wait until she gets tired of waiting for us to come? Do you guys not understand what Tatyana is like by now?" You try to not huff with disbelief. "If we don't take this clue now, she's not going to send another one."

"Well, it's not like she's just going to go away, right? Maybe we'll get more time to think." Tony rubs his brow.

"No, she won't," you bite back. "She'll come right to us and along the way, she'll kill every person she encounters and bring their heads on a stick as a reminder of what happens when you don't do things her way."

"If we do things her way, we lose," Steve rejects, but you scoff.

"I'm not trying to win or lose, Steve," you grit. "I'm trying to minimize how many innocent people Tatyana will fucking kill along the way. You might be willing to test her, but I'm not. Not when I'm the one who has seen her massacre an entire village—a village with children and newborn babies she didn't even know. If she's capable of that kind of genocide, you think she won't find people that you care about to bring their heads on a stick?"

It was a jab at Bucky, and everyone knew it. It was mean, but these people didn't understand how vindictive Tatyana could be. They didn't understand the kind of brutality she was capable of.

And they probably never would. Not like you.

"We're a team, so if you want to test her because you think your technology can protect everything that matters to you against a true witch and her ancient magic, then I'll wait in my room." You drop the crumpled parchment. "But you better be prepared to pay her price because she'll take it—with interest."

You walk past everyone, leaving the room despite the calls of your name.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha is exhausted.

Dragging her fingers through her hair, she tiredly makes her way back to her room. You hadn't wanted to talk to Natasha after discovering the clue.

You hadn't wanted to talk to anyone, not even David. In the end, Natasha could only leave you to process what just happened alone.

She's about to enter her room when she looks down the hall and finds that Wanda's door is still wide open, even though everyone has long left her room.

Forgoing entering her own room, Natasha continues to walk until she's at the entrance of Wanda's. She can see Wanda standing out the window, leaning against the ledge as she stares. Without the lights turned on, the moon illuminates Wanda, and Natasha is taken in by the sight.

Wanda suddenly turns around, feeling someone behind her, and is surprised to see Natasha. The redhead makes her way in, slowly making her way to Wanda.

"Any luck?" Wanda asks, but Natasha shakes her head.

"I'm surprised you haven't run after her," Natasha cocks her brow, and Wanda stares for a couple of seconds longer, only really being able to discern if Natasha was joking from how her lips moved.

"She wouldn't listen to me even if I did," Wanda snorts, moving to pull her sleeves over her hands. "Not after what happened last time."

"I don't think she holds it against you," Natasha softly comforts, her body leaning more forward in Wanda's direction. "Anymore, at least."

Wanda merely shrugs. "Maybe not, but I don't think I can reason against her when it comes to Tatyana. When it comes to that woman, she becomes similar to Tony—paranoid and unreasonable."

"I know," Natasha merely sighs. "I think she just needs time to process on her own. I can be pretty bad about that," she closes her fist for a moment before opening it to stretch her fingers. "I see her hurting and immediately chase after her."

"She obviously ends up talking to you about it, and it seems to work for the better," Wanda comments as she thinks about the last couple of times you've spiraled and Natasha was there.

Natasha gives Wanda a self-deprecating smile. "Because I force her to at times, even unknowingly for her. Sometimes, I manipulate the conversation or that part I know of her that only wants to treat me right to make her open up."

Wanda doesn't say anything. She watches Natasha move away from the window and sit on the edge of her bed.

"I see she's hurting and think I can fix it," Natasha swallows as she leans onto her back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "She's so worried that she's going to mess it up with me—that she's the one that's only going to hurt me and forgets that I can make mistakes too. I am also capable of making things worse."

Wanda is fascinated to see this side of Natasha. She has also thought of Natasha as someone perfect and without mistakes. Her attraction to Natasha has been intimidating. To like someone flawless and patient with your own misgivings was filled with admiration but also trepidation.

Seeing Natasha like this? It somehow turned Wanda's attraction to something more tangible.

"You make it better too," Wanda said softly as she carefully leaned onto the bed on her side, a few inches away from Natasha. "The most comforting thing is knowing you'll immediately chase after someone. To know that if they look behind, they would see you. I have experienced it."

Natasha feels anticipation rise in her chest. To think she could freely feel these emotions and know that Wanda welcomes them is something she wouldn't trade for anything.

"Even if it's a trap, she'll be okay," Wanda mumbles, her head leaning closer. "She has us—we have us, right?"

The anticipation grows overwhelming until Natasha places her hand on the back of Wanda's neck underneath her hair, pulling the girl closer until her lips meet in a languid, lingering kiss.

"You drive me crazy," Natasha whispers against Wanda's lips as they break apart for air.

Wanda smiles lightly, lips brushing against Natasha's. "Hopefully the good kind."

"In a way that I wouldn't want to be without," Natasha reassures.

The feelings are new, and they can agree it's not quite love yet. But there's a gnawing in their bones, the kind that tells them about the inevitability of coming to love each other unlike any other. It will be fierce, and it will be welcomed.

"I rarely got to see the outside when I was in Hydra," Wanda mumbles, eyes closing at how soft Natasha's lips feel. "When I slept outside for the first time in a long time, I saw the night sky, and all the stars I used to see was gone. But the moon was there. I could always find the moon if I looked. That was the only thing ever constant."

The inevitability gets closer and closer, Natasha feels.

"But I think you're more constant than the moon," Wanda mutters.

And Natasha pulls Wanda in for another kiss until they can't breathe.

And then another after that.

And another until the only constant thing is how their tongue slides against each other.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"You are seriously the most melodramatic person I know."

You turn your head back and roll your eyes, though there's no malice behind them.

"Okay, mister 'Oh, I'm a man out of time, and I thought everyone I loved was dead, except my best friend is actually alive and playing tag with me, and my past lover is very, very old. As old as I should be...because I'm a man out of—'"

"Jesus, alright," Steve chuckles. "Ruthless, you are."

You chuckle back, tilting your head down. The breeze feels light as it caresses your face and creates gentle wisps of your hair. You don't say anything else as Steve sits beside you, his legs dangling over the edge like yours.

"I just came up here to say I'm sorry," Steve gently nudges your shoulder. "I mean, you're being the hard-headed one but I'm sorry."

You actually let out a laugh as you lean your head against his broad shoulder. "That's the worst apology I've ever heard. Why even apologize?"

"I don't know," Steve shrugs lightly to not jostle your head. "Bucky said I always gotta apologize to a dame even if I don't think she's right."

"Good advice," you snort but then sigh. "I'm sorry too. I shouldn't haven't said that." You were referring to your jab of Tatyana getting Bucky.

Steve lifted his arm to wrap it around you, rubbing your arm comfortingly. "It's okay," he forgives easily. "I know you didn't mean it and I guess it made me more wary of the situation. Still," Steve sighed. "This doesn't change that rushing is probably a trap."

You nod. "I know."

"Then why—"

"Think of the alternative, Steve," you cut him off, lifting your head to look at him seriously. "We walk into her trap, or she comes here dragging bodies of innocent people. Do you truly think you know her better than me? Do you think there's people who aren't capable of doing horrible things?"

Steve is silent, and you continue on. "I know it's a trap, Steve. I know that whatever is waiting for us there is probably going to end in some tragedy. But the odds of us beating her are always going to remain the same. Whether we go there with what we have or she comes here with what she has. We're not going to suddenly get an army to take her on. So, doesn't it make sense to save as many lives as we can whether we win or lose?"

It feels like forever passes as Steve stares at you before sighing.

"The sad part is Tony said you sounded boneheaded like me before we went to fight Ultron. I bet he's laughing right now," Steve grumbles, and you laugh, although a little self-deprecatingly.

"I wish I could tell you we'll lose together but I think we'd be just lucky to die at the same time," you mutter.

Steve just laughs, but you can tell he's wary about the situation at hand. "I feel like I need to do one for you too."

"One what?"

"Hm, let's see," Steve hums. "Oh! How about Miss 'Oh, I'm an eternal supernatural being. My past lover has come back to seek revenge because I had to kill her. I will be haunted forever...because I live forever as a supernat—"

"Oh my god, please shut up before I throw us both off this roof."

"It's fine, I think we'll both live. Enhanced beings and all."

"You're so annoying."

Steve just laughs, and you follow along after a beat.

Still, you can't help but feel the dread deep in the pit of your stomach, gnawing at your bones, that something very, very bad will occur.

CHAPTER 17

#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #avengers reader insert #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #marvel reader insert #natasha romanoff x you #wanda maximoff x you #natasha x wanda x reader #black widow x reader #scarlet witch x reader #mm: my fics

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universitypenguin · 3 years ago

Text

Author’s Note: It’s day 4 of Kinktober and our next letter is “D” for Dirty Talk. Please enjoy!

Word Count: 1,264

Masterlist

Kinktober - Steve’s Alphabet Masterlist

Warnings: Smut, explicit content, 18+ readers only, minors dni

D = Dirty secret

- - - - -

Steve Roger's dirty secret is that he's absolutely profane in the bedroom.

What can I say? The man likes to talk dirty in bed. Outside of the bedroom, he’s Mr. Clean, buttoned up and polished. He’s not perfect by any means, but his mother raised him not to curse, so he doesn’t. Not unless it slips out, or when he’s angry. But in the bedroom he doesn't hold back. It would be far more accurate to say that Steve doesn't curse in public.

Fun Fact: Steve doesn't believe ‘fuck’ is a bad word when used in the bedroom. It’s not swearing. It’s an accurate description. This will always make you giggle.

You learn about his dirty mouth when you start sleeping with him. He’s turned on by sights and sounds, particularly descriptions. When he figures out that the commentary turns you on too, he’s unstoppable. He commits each reaction to memory learning what gets you hot and bothered so you moan just how he wants to hear.

Things Steve has said to you in bed:

“Come here, doll. Let me suck those pretty nipples until they’re aching.”

“I need to feel you underneath me. I want your legs around my waist and your arms clutching me while I take you apart. We’re going straight to the bedroom when you get home.”

“You’re going to get on your knees and suck my cock until it goes soft. I’m fucking horny, you’re gonna have a busy night.”

“Your pussy is so tight sometimes I wonder if I’m even going to fit.” (You moan when he says this, every single time.) “But you get so wet I can work my way in and then push all the way. You squeeze me so tight I think you’re trying to pull my dick off. Fuck yeah. Just like that.”

“Spread your legs for me, honey. I’m gonna fill you up. Stay on your back for me. I want you to keep it all inside of you. Don’t cum, it’ll push it out. Keep it inside of you so I can get you nice and round with my baby. Mmmhhh… you want my baby inside of you?” (Who knew you had a breeding kink? Until Steve, you didn’t. But with him, the idea of pregnancy doesn’t spark fear. Which is a recent development for you.)

Here’s a vignette of a typical night:

On the evening in question, Steve has you in doggy style with his back pressed to yours as he leans down to growl in your ear.

“Oh, doll. Yes, baby. Cry for me when you cum. Don’t put your face in the pillow.” (Steve isn’t into hair pulling, but he fists his hand in your hair and takes a firm hold, keeping his grip gentle while still controlling your movements.) “I told you not to do that,” he scolds.

Another buck of his hips makes you shudder and sends a wave of heat crawling up your spine and down your legs until your knees give out. He thrusts even deeper as you sink down to the bed, using your movement to root himself against your cervix. The pillow he’d just pull your face out of muffles your weak sob as you bury your face in its softness. Steve snarls and grabs the pillow, flinging it across the room. You gasp at the sudden action. Then he’s pinning you under him from behind, turning the doggy style pounding into an even deeper prone bone position.

“Don’t.” He snaps his hips.

“You.” Another thrust, this one shoving into your cervix.

“Dare.” He pulls back until it’s just the tip inside of you.

“Try.” Steve buries himself to the root.

“And.” Two quick thrusts.

“Hold.” You mewl as he rolls the head of his cock into your g-spot.

“Back.” Steve sinks all the way back to your cervix.

“Your.” He rocks into the very back of your channel.

“Sounds.” The head of his cock rubs into your sensitive spots at the deepest part of your body and you cum with a scream you can’t hold in.

Other things Steve has said to you in the bedroom:

“I can’t get a handle on myself when I think about going down on you, doll. All I can think of is how delicious you taste and I’m as hard as a rock. When you get home, I’m going to pin your legs down with my hands on your thighs. Then I’ll lick your pussy all over, fuck you with my tongue, lap at your clit until you’re whining, and then I’ll suck on it. Mmmmhhh… baby, I’m gonna suck until you scream for me to get off you. When you say you can’t take anymore, you can’t come again, I’m going to slide a finger inside of you. Just one finger. And then I’ll fuck your g-spot while I keep sucking your clit. Then I’ll give you two fingers because I know how much you need to be stretched. You’re gonna come one last time for me, doll. Because I decide when you’re fucked out, not you.”

“The only thought in my head all day has been thinking about you riding me. I love seeing you take my cock like a good girl. I want to feel your slick cunt oozing all over my cock while you make yourself cum. You can use me anytime you want, baby. Just tell me what you need. Tell me to finish you when you’re losing your pace. We both know you can’t keep a rhythm going to save your life when you’re on your third orgasm. Hmmm… that’s just how it is, baby. You lose control and I have to give you that third one because there’s not a chance in hell you’ll get to it yourself. Maybe I’ll tease you before I let you cum for the third time. It’s the perfect chance for me to play with your pussy because you’re too far gone to chase the orgasm yourself. Your hips buck like crazy and I have to hold you on top of me so you don’t fall off. After five orgasms, you can be underneath me, okay? What’s that? You think you can only take three before you want to go on your back? Not on the menu, doll. I’m going to use that sweet body how I want and you’re going to take it until I decide you get to change position. Did I say five orgasms? I meant six. Cry about it. Mmmmhhh… no, I really mean it. I wanna hear you crying for me. Who makes your pussy cum the most?” He chuckles when your words come out as gibberish. “Can’t even answer the question, huh? It’s okay, I’ll let you cum again anyway.”

Another dirty secret:

This one you don’t know for sure, but strongly suspect. Steve seems to have a size kink. He's said he enjoys feeling your cheek press against his chest when he hugs you. And you know one of his favorite things during sex is pinning you down. Most of all, he likes to pick you up in the shower for early morning sex. Doggy style is a much loved position of his for the depth he can get, but also the emphasis on your bodies. (He's stated this himself while talking dirty, so you're not guessing here.) He likes being on top, feeling your smaller form underneath him, controlling your hips with his hands. It’s a turn on to see himself touching you. He spreads his fingers wide on your hips, enjoying the masculine stretch across your smooth skin and tells you what a beautiful sight it is. The feeling of dominance when you cry out and shiver underneath him makes his balls draw up tight, and he has the struggle to keep from spilling himself when he hears it.

- - - - - -

Next Drabble - E is for Experience

- - - - -

Masterlist

- - - - -

Tag List: @harrysthiccthighss @patzammit @mariestark @elrw24

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inkofyoonkoo · 3 years ago

Text

I gasp once, and in that breath, I accept you in | 2

🏵️ Wordcount: 34k 🏵️ Genre: Fluff/angst/smut | From strangers to lovers!AU • FWB!AU 🏵️ Jungkook x Reader 🏵️ Description: In which Jungkook arrives to your small town to spend the holidays, and you slowly let go of all the ghosts of your past 🏵️ Warnings: age difference (10 years gap, both characters are adults); mention of panic attack; characters death (not the main protagonists); 🏵️ [EDIT] I should’ve added it since the beginning but I totally forgot because I’m dumb. The little poems that open every scene aren’t mine (I’d give a finger to write that beautifully 💔): they’re Japanese poems I’ve found randomly, or belong to well-known writers -so to them goes all the credit. 🏵️ A/N: at first, I decided to split this oneshot into two parts. However, after debating with myself for days, I've decided to post this second chapter first, and a sort of epilogue separately (because in my mind, the true ending has always been this one since the very beginning). At the same time, though, I feel that whoever reads a story 60k long and gets affectionated to the characters deserves something worth the time spent. So, yeah, please be warned that a third and last part will be dropped some time in the next few days! Thanks to whoever read the first part and enjoyed it and let me know their opinion! Feel free to hmu if you want. Good read🐰

"With your name on my mouth And a kiss that never broke from yours"

You’d gladly spend the afternoon at home.

Big clouds float in an ocean of gray, threatening a thundershower since you’ve cracked your eyes open. You’d prefer being all safe and sound in a dry place when the rain will surely pour down.

But… it’s not just that.

Like a thorn plunged into your skin, there’s a creeping thought that mauls at your brain persistently from the moment your eyes laid upon the calendar, while you were sipping your morning coffee. You know, those sensations you get when the tiniest flap of skin and the most hidden bone seem to tell you that you’re forgetting about something extremely important -and, despite the hours are flying by so fast you can't barely feel time, your mind keeps drifting back to this tearing niggle when you distract yourself, although you really can’t remember what it is.

Every inch of you tells you that you should be at home, on your own, because today isn’t a day like any other…

But around 8:30 AM, Jungkook announced himself on the other side of your door -with a stuttered breath fluttering from his mouth and the cheekbones flushed, as if he finally found the courage to take some action and turn whatever was whirling in his head into reality. Between a rush of sheepish words that swoll the tenderness in your chest like a balloon, he told you that there’s a new place he’d like to show you, eyes shining brighter than the stars you two contemplated the night before, in the backyard of your home. And, if your first automatic reaction was to decline his invitation (you know the village like the back of your hand, nothing is new to you anymore), your heart could only give in to his genuine excitement.

You accepted his proposal with a tender smile because Jungkook’s euphoria is too beautiful to shatter it.

(Jungkook’s euphoria makes you forget about many important things…)

And so, here you are: climbing one of the many paths along the mountain that rises above your town, under a gray sky that threatens rain anytime soon…

“Stop. Enough. I can’t go on anymore.” Words escape from your mouth in a rough breath; it scrapes against your dry throat, making you cough a little.

Your legs shake for the uphill trail you've just crossed for about thirty minutes without interruption, you bend on your knees to ease your muscles a little (and avoid plummeting on the ground like a potato sack, sparing yourself the eventual embarrassment). Sweat drops glide down your temples, cover your forehead in shining diamonds gluing to the curls of hair that didn’t fit the tail. Still short of breath, you straighten yourself, the muscles in your thighs flex and burn for the mild effort. Your arms are heavy when you maneuver them to take off your backpack to toss it on the ground, before plopping down next to it.

You place your hands to the side, blades of grass stings in your palm as you take a good chunk in your fist. Swallowing thickly, you tilt your head back to catch some breath and quieten down the frantic beat of your weary heart, trying to ignore every pulsing inch of your body.

“Oh… already ?” Jungkook’s voice wafts over you in an amused melody that has your nose scrunching. But the giggle lingering in the air soon after is enough for your mouth to morph into a small smile. “You really are old, Noona .”

(Lately, Jungkook is using this suffix only when he has to mock you in a playful way; but in a certain sense, you're glad he isn't dropping this honorific title: it's a good enough way to ground you, reminding you that soon he’ll become just a boy you met on holiday -or you’ll become an older woman he met on holiday).

You arch your back as you put yourself into a stretched position, finally regaining some energy. “I’m not old, you little brat. I’m out of shape.” Your eyelids flutter up, ready to play along with his joke. However, words falter and wither in the back of your throat when you take notice of Jungkook’s intense stare, fixed on your figure.

He's taking in the sight of your breast, adhering to your tank top in a delicate bow. Running the tip of his tongue on his bottom lip, chewing at the corner with so much strength that the skin turns whiter, he sizes you up to your spread legs -eyes flattening out in a catlike curving that has a mild warmth tingling along your groin. Without ripping your gaze off his face, you squeeze them tightly (mostly to get rid of the itchy sensation rather than deprive him of this vision) and Jungkook seems to snap back down to earth, big doe eyes now pinned into your own -brows arched in an ominous sign of disappointment (and shame, probably for having been caught staring).

You should be uneasy, being observed like a prey at the mercy of a hunter. But something in Jungkook’s stillness makes you feel… alluring. Like he was only mentally listing down all the details that make you the woman you are, for him to perfectly reshape you in his mind when the pair of you will take different paths.

You almost forgot how it feels to be treated like a breathing work of art, and a part of you is desperately clinging to this magnificent sensation…

“Do you mind if we take a break? Only five minutes,” you mumble, laying on the grass before he could agree or nod.

A soft: “ Mhm ” is all you get in return, followed by light footsteps that close the gap between you and him (and that make your heart thump in a rhythmic tum tum tum reverberation in your ribcage). Jungkook situates himself beside you so that he can face you, uses his feet like a little cushion while rummaging through the backpack resting across from him with a little frown between his knitted brows. A tiny huff of proudness flies out his mouth when he finally finds the bottle of water, the plastic scrunches in his tight grip as he takes big gulps.

Tilting your head to the side in the slightest, you contemplate the drops of sweat shining on his honey-like skin, kissed by the feeble sunlight seeping through the big clouds moving fast above your heads. One, solitary drop rolls down the tip of a thin curl of hair stuck to his temple, sketches his jawline before gliding down his neck to disappear under the collar of his shirt already damp. Another drop is about to fall but he cleans it with the back of his hand before rubbing it on the cotton fabric of the garment, spots of sweat scattered all over it. You notice some faded scratch marks on the side of his neck where his tiny mole lays, probably because he rubbed the area too much (your fingers itch, they desperately want to run over it).

You both stay quiet for the remaining time. Jungkook focuses his attention on his camera, brows snapping together for concentration. He sometimes mumbles disapproving comments before erasing a photograph he doesn’t like -while his mouth pulls up in a proud curve when he likes the shot he took.

Jungkook, this Jungkook, is easy to read. It’s comforting.

“Hey, thank you for coming with me today.” His eyes are fixed on his camera when you gaze at him, enraptured by his low voice. “I know you’ve already seen this place, probably. But I wanted to visit it again with you because it's breath-taking, it reminded me of you and—" He nods a little, cheekbones tinged with a pink shade (you rest your hand on your stomach, trying to ignore the temptation to rest your palm on his face and brush your thumb along the flushed bone). "I - I mean, you might like it. So… yeah, thanks.”

You rack your brain frantically to search for a good response, but your mind keeps drifting back to the fact that he found something beautiful and worth seeing with you because it actually brought you back into his thoughts, which makes it difficult to focus.

“It’s ok. It’s been a while since I’ve gone hiking around the area. Somehow, it feels like it's the first time,” you manage to say, delivering him a small smile to reassure him. You stretch your tensed legs, eyelids flickering down to better enjoy this moment of quietness.

“Why did you stop hiking? The place here is beautiful.”

Because Namjoon loves hiking. You used to travel along the hiking roads with him. You sometimes got lost because, in a burst of boldness, you decided to follow paths with no indications along the way. You used to search for mushrooms, or just enjoy the chirp of birds seeping through the fronds. You used to watch the leaves changing color throughout the seasons rolling by, holding his hand into your own.

Everything seemed much more exciting, when Namjoon was here...

“It is. But after a while… I don’t know, it’s not so interesting anymore.” Of course, this is half of the truth. But you don’t want to talk about you and Namjoon crossing the same trail now marked with yours and Jungkook's footprints. It’d lead to an intimate conversation you aren’t ready to face, disclosing one of the billion memories you don’t want to share with anyone because they might get ruined.

Because Namjoon is yours -he is personal, and you don't want to share him with a boy who will leave soon.

“Oh… you must be bored, then." There's a light wobble of sadness in his voice, despite the little giggle seeped through his lips.

“I’m not." You take in a deep breath, chest cold for the fresh air just sucked in. "The good thing about stopping doing something for a long time is that it seems exciting when you do it again."

Jungkook pauses, his vague stare lost in the valley of grass opening before his eyes. “I know. When I lived in Seoul, I used to go back to Busan only for the holidays. I was so tired I tended to spend my days locked in my room, though." He scratches his nape. "But when I went back, after dropping out of college, I preferred wandering through the city rather than staying with my parents and… I don't know, but all those places that looked the same when I was little, they weren't so boring anymore." Bitterness morphs his mouth in a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Well, everything is more fascinating than parents holding a grudge against you…"

You open one eye, scrutinizing the shadow of gloom shaping his face in a grimacing mask. "Did they make you feel bad for leaving university?"

"A bit. A lot… they still do." You've noticed that if his parents call when the pair of you are together, he doesn't pick up the phone. You've always thought it was a kind gesture to respect the time you are sharing, but you start realizing that he doesn't want to face those conversations in front of you -or he doesn't want to face them in the first place. "They are one of the many reasons why I’m not so excited to go back to Busan."

You study the hint of sadness tugging at his features, wondering if you should delve more into this topic. The fact is that Jungkook doesn't seem prone to talk about the relationship with his parents, the hardships he went through after dropping out of college, and you don't know how further you can push yourself into his intimacy. You prefer being respectful of his privacy but, at the same time, you're aware that your behavior will only accentuates your I-don't-give-a-damn attitude.

However, before you could even choose what to do, Jungkook shifts the attention upon you. "You said you already went to Busan…" he scratches his earlobe, twiddling with one of the many hoop earrings.

You nod. “Last time we went there, we went to the sea. It was in Winter, so we couldn't take a bath. But it was… spectacular." Namjoon knows your immeasurable love for the sea, he promised you that you'd go there in summer, someday. You didn't. "I'd like to visit it again."

“You should…” words tumble off his mouth in a dreamy note (your heart lurches in your chest). “I – I can show you around. There are many – many nice places to see.” The softness dancing across his features is soon replaced by a pair of wide doe eyes and a ruby hue pantined along his cheekbones. “Or you can go by yourself. I sometimes prefer traveling all alone. You know, so I can do things at my own pace, in my way…"

You know, you used to be like this, too. Then, your decisions guided you to Namjoon… and you stop thinking like life was meant to be lived only in the company of yourself.

“I sometimes would like to pack my things and, dunno, travel all around the world. There are many places I’d love to see," he confesses, “The idea of staying stuck in one place… it makes me anxious. Like, you know… like I was wasting my life."

A stabbing pain hits you somewhere in your ribcage, in a place you can't exactly pinpoint. “There’s nothing wrong with staying in one place. Stability is comforting.”

He scrunches his nose. “I dunno. It’s just… I see my parents, born and raised in Busan, who never stuck their nose outside their hometown and they… bore me? I mean, the only time they went out of town was for my cousin's wedding, and it wasn't even that far from Busan." His hand runs to the opposite bicep. "The idea of becoming like them, rooted in the same place… it scares me." There's a light twitch in his nose. "People who decide to stay in the same place forever… they are pretty sad ."

Oh…

“Oh…” it's all you can mumble, setting your vague stare on his face. And, maybe it's the way you pronounced it that makes a hundred alarm bells ring in his head, because Jungkook seems to register what he just confessed and panic . He was talking about his parents, sure, but this speech can be extended to a vast segment of people -a segment in which you're included, too.

For the first time since you’ve started hanging out, Jungkook really looks like a city boy who tries to teach something about the surrounding world to a village woman who rarely sticks her nose behind the borders of her cozy town. You could tell him that he’s too young to understand. That someday he’ll grow up and he’ll understand that there are other priorities –and, no matter how much you’d love to pack your things and leave, you can’t. You just can’t. But it’s not a matter of age. It's a wider matter: it's a matter of personality, life styles, and vision of the world…

It's a matter of experiences that scar you deeply.

It's a matter of people you meet and how they help you to nurture the better part of yourself.

Sometimes you meet a man and you fall in love with his shy smiles and his adorable dimples and his words brimmed with passion when he explains something to you and the world around you becomes less interesting because life with him it's a wonderful, gradual discovery that you wouldn't miss for the world.

But Jungkook never loved anyone with such a deep passion.

He can't understand…

Once again, your brain gets in motion with a jolt, reminding you that today is important, and you shouldn't be spending your time here, with him…

Today… Namjoon…

“(Y/N), I— shit .” Jungkook lowers his head, clenches his hands into fists. “I didn’t – didn’t mean to—“

“Break over!” you interrupt, delivering him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes. You tuck some hair behind your ear while turning to recollect your backpack –and avoid the shadow of guilt weighing upon his eyes and lips and shoulders. You just want to go home. You need to go home. “C’mon, it's getting quite late. Show me that place.”

You walk in silence for the entire time.

Thirty minutes stretching to infinity made of stones rolling down the hill when you accidentally kick them; the chirping of birds seeping through the fronds; the wind stroking the leaves; thunders in the distance; plastic bottles squeezing every time you take a sip of water; clicks of camera.

You're right behind Jungkook, avoiding his stare every time he gazes over his shoulder to make sure that you’re following him.

For a very brief moment, your mind catapults you back to all those times you and Namjoon were basking in the aftermath of a thunderous fight: you were two clockwork bombs ready to explode at the wrong word or gesture; silence was so thick you could cut it with a finger; and deep inside of you there was this seed of fear, like you just fucked up everything.

You shouldn’t smile, but the corners of your mouth quirk up anyway.

You almost forgot this bitter sensation: being crossed by the fear that a thing you like is about to come to an end…

You let out a small breath, trying to relax. Soon you'll be back home and you'll finally close this silly summer bracket. Forever. It's probably a good thing that Jungkook revealed the arrogant facet of himself before you'd commit some bullshit.

“We’ve arrived.” Jungkook’s voice is a bit scratchy, it seeps through the cracks of your consciousness and snaps you back down to earth.

You climb up along the steep hill to travel these few meters, resting your palm on a tree trunk at the side of the trail to sustain yourself, eyes fixed on the ground to not stumble in your own feet. Gazing up, you take notice of Jungkook, waiting for you at the end of the rise; he's on the cusp of stretching his hand out to help you traverse the last steps, but in a burst of rage you go back to looking down, silently refusing his help (with the corner of your eye, you notice him clench his hand into a fist, sad stare pinned to the tip of his shoes. Your heart cracks a little).

When you finally arrive at the top, still lightheaded for the energies spent during the hiking, it takes you quite a few seconds to realize which is exactly the place he took you to: it's an opening nestled between the army of trees that runs along the border of a cliff, immersed in the depth of the wood. Beyond the branches and leaves shaped in a natural curtain, you can admire the entire village cocooned between the mountains.

You approach the chasm slowly, like a force was pulling you from the inside. Paying attention to not slide, you use the rocks like steps, contemplating the village beneath your feet -from up there, the houses are small and chase after one another in a drawing of streets that you could travel with closed eyes.

The last time you went here, the sun was creeping over the horizon, bathing the town with hues of orange and gold that made the whole scenery look like a living painting (Namjoon was beside you, heavy breath to mark the silence, his fingers intertwined with yours); today, gray clouds curl into the sky, and still they don't notch the magnificence of this view.

“It’s breathtaking…" your comment tumbles off your tongue in a barely whispered hush due to your incapacity to contain your astonishment before such beauty, rather than for a true desire to share your opinion with Jungkook.

The boy beside you doesn't seem to catch this subtle difference, though. “It is…” Jungkook sets his eyes upon you, like he was imprinting your side profile between the folds of his brain. “You probably saw this place already," he adds, after a brief pause, going back to contemplating the panorama.

“I did. Joonie discovered it and took me here.” You notice a muscle twitching in his jaw, teeth chewing at the corner of his mouth. You go back to admiring the landscape, feeling a weight settling in your chest.

It never gets unnoticed to you the way Jungkook seems to tense whenever you mention your husband, even though he never actively vocalized his annoyance; so, in an attentive attempt to not make him feel uncomfortable, you try to talk about Namjoon as little as possible. But right now, after the things he said, you don't feel like taking care of his internal turmoil.

You just want to go home, to your routine, to that something important that you can't remember…

Suddenly, a drop falls on your forearm. You gaze up at the fronds, growing thicker for the wind now blowing through them. "We should go… it's about to rain."

Jungkook moves, beside you. You think he's about to climb down the rocks first but when you turn to imitate his movement, ready to follow him, you realize that the boy is actually standing still on his spot. Staring at you. Staring at you with the saddest look you've ever seen on someone's face…

“I’m sorry,” he starts, weak. “I’m so – so sorry, (Y/N). I didn’t – didn’t mean to say what I said—“

“You did…” you interrupt, jaw clenching. Jungkook is like Yoongi, in certain aspects of his personality: he's the type of person who says the wrong (or right) thing at the wrong moment, uncaring about the consequences and the scars their words will leave on people. You admit you appreciate this side of their character most of the time, because they're the metaphorical kick in your ass that helps you to get a grip of yourself; however, it'd be nice if they'd think twice before opening their mouth with so much carefreeness. “But it’s ok. Don't wrap your head over it too much—"

“It isn’t. I – I fucked up, I—“ he moistens his lips, crossing his arms on his chest in a sort of protection. “It’s true. I meant what I said, but I wasn’t talking specifically about you. It was just… a general thing. You, to me, you…” his words fade in the sudden rumble of a thunder in the distance. "You’re interesting .” He stamps a foot on the ground when you chuckle. “I’m not lying, (Y/N). You are interesting to me.”

You let out a sigh. “Jungkook…”

“(Y/N), once you told me that you aren't interesting." His voice is firm, makes all your muscles cripple up. "When we met under the old tree and you were wearing a long skirt and your hair was down and - and you told me that your presence ruined my quietness. And you didn't, you never do…" The fact he's remembering certain details makes goosebump raise on your skin. Or maybe it's just the natural electricity in the air. Whatever it is, you twirl your arms around your waist, shielding yourself from whatever he's about to say. "Anyway, you told me you weren't interesting, and I wanted to tell you how much you were wrong. Because you are - are. You left all the people you love to follow your dreams in another country, and you got married and moved here… you are interesting ." His breath is heavy, he lowers his head. “And I’m an idiot, instead. I’m a twenty three-year-old who dropped out of college and would love travelling around the world but can't do absolutely anything." He chuckles, ruffling the hair falling over his damp forehead (your stomach twists and turns). “I’m so sorry. I fucked up.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did. You are mad—“

“Jungkook, I’m not mad.”

“No. You are, instead.”

You are. But, well… you aren't exactly pissed; you're more… sorely disappointed? The truth is that you've always sensed that Jungkook was spending his time with you because you're the only one who doesn't break his balls about his life; who doesn't judge his choices; who doesn't tell him how to behave; who never showed any real interest in him. You give him plenty of room for him to be himself. But aside from this, he probably doesn't have a great consideration of you: in his eyes, you're just a weird thirty three-year-old, unhappy, who clings to the memory of a man who left her and lives her monotonous life in a village without chasing her dreams.

Deep down in your guts, you've always known that you're a passtime for Jungkook.

But feeling this -thinking this, and hitting your face against reality… they're two different things.

You should take advantage of this moment and put an end to… whatever you've built throughout these months; but your dignity is so affected by his words you can't let it go.

You owe it to yourself, to stay and give shape to your thoughts.

You can't let a city boy who doesn't know shit about you trample on yourself…

"I was like you too, many years ago. And I still am, sometimes." You moisten your lips, trying to calibrate the light tremble in your voice. “Just because I like living a quiet life in a small village, it doesn't mean that I don't know how the world is out there, or that I wouldn't like to see it."

Jungkook stares at you intensely, like he'd like to open your skull and give a form to your thoughts. "So… what happened?"

"I fell in love." You smile. Your heart melts. Something inside Jungkook melts, too, because he diverts his stare like you've just slapped him. "I fell in love with Joonie and all the things that seemed so important to me… they weren't anymore. It wasn't about me anymore, it was about us …" words flicker in your throat, clogging it. "We had so many projects… then, he left ."

You want to go home. There's something important you've to do, even if you can't remember what it is. It starts to get cold, it seeps through your bones, humidity grows thicker and stickier. Thunders are getting closer. You've to go home…

“I… don't know how it feels to love someone with all you got. Probably—no, for sure , I've never been in love." Jungkook curls his hands around the hem of his shirt, like a child begging for apologies after committing a mischief. "Once, a girl confessed she - she loved me. She said she loved me so much and I just told her: ok . We were dating for six months and I didn't feel anything strong. I thought that if - if she dumped me out of the blue, I wouldn't care much." He lets out a bitter giggle. "I broke her heart. I broke—“ he moistens his lips. “I fear I’ll never experience the type of love you and your husband had and… dunno, maybe I'm the sad - sad person, between us."

You don't know. Love is different for everyone. Love isn't important for everyone.

Sometimes, you just want to indulge into meaningless relationships, going out with women you introduce to your friends as " girlfriends " only to forget about them at the first sprout of emotion. Sometimes, you're thirty five years old and you just want to have fun, without the desire to build something in two.

Sometimes, you just want to turn back time and tell the girl who's confessing her love in tears that you love her too, but you're too scared to try. Sometimes, you're thirty four years old and her " but I love you " haunts you when you least expect it, to the point you can't even put a like to one of her photographs because it's too late now for you two.

Sometimes, you're twenty years old and you dream to build your own adult life in total independence, relying only on your own strength. Sometimes, you're twenty two years old and you meet a boy two years older than you and you madly fall in love with him and you start making projects for two. Sometimes, you're twenty-five years old and he asks you to marry him while you're having breakfast, naturally, so naturally you aren't scared at all. Sometimes, you're thirty-one years old and you watch him go away with his bicycle, his "I love you " wafting over you in a melody you're never tired of listening to… and he doesn't come back.

Namjoon…

Something scratches in the back of your mind. A vague thought, so shapeless you can't grasp it.

Today … Namjoon…

You want to go home. You've to go home...

“How did you understand you were in love with him?"

"I stopped looking around," you admit, sweetness pulls the corners of your mouth up. "I… I didn't want any serious story. I just wanted to have fun. I had so many guys… you know, mainly friends with benefits, or occasional encounters. It was easier, like this. But Joonie… he was different. I couldn't stop thinking about me and him and all the things we could've done together." You gaze back at the village, a lightning scrapes the sky. "Like… there were things I still wanted to do on my own… but I kept imagining that he'd be there, waiting for me, at the end of a long day. I finally started thinking about my future with someone beside me… and I could only think of him, in those moments."

"Oh…" it's all that Jungkook says.

He stares at you, hard and long. Eyes big and shiny. Mouth hanging open. Like a long-searched realization finally dawned on him.

The first drops of rain start falling down over you, anticipated by a loud thunder that almost made the ground beneath your feet tremble. You should move and dash back home, after all it's dangerous to stand in the middle of a forest during a thunderwash. But you're paralyzed for the way Jungkook is looking at you. And you can't move a finger even when he takes a step toward you, paying attention to not slip. Instinctually, you back off, adhering against the tree trunk.

His hands clench into fists along his sides, his stare dances on every inch of your face, lingering on the lips for a second longer. Imperceptibly, his face seems to gravitate toward you; imperceptibly, you feel like your whole body is gravitating toward him, too.

"The first time we met, you told me that you noticed me because I ignored you… what did you mean?" The question that was buzzing in your head all along finally flies out your mouth, in a sort of self-protection act to stop you from doing something silly (like hugging him. Or kissing him).

Jungkook's stare widens a little, nose scrunching for the interruption. “Since – since I’ve arrived here, people do nothing but bomb me with questions: where do you come from? Who are you? Why are you here? What's with all those tattoos ?" He stamps a foot on the ground. "Girls left me their numbers on napkins, adults stared suspiciously at me as if, dunno, as if they were expecting me to rob their houses. But you didn't. You… ignored me." Words tumble off his mouth in a rush, but you can still catch a note of frustration. "You only asked me if I wanted some more milk or - or if I needed anything else. I've never felt like a creep, around you. Even now, you respect my space. You respect me . I like it."

Rain starts pouring down heavily, it smashes against you two -against the silence now settled all around you. And you should go, it's dangerous. You want to go back home because today is important and you shouldn't spend it with Jungkook.

But Jungkook lifts his head up in the slightest, the eyelids flickering down as he lets the raindrops caress his face. He shoves his mint and black hair back with both hands (it grew a bit longer in the past weeks, you wonder how it'd feel under the tips of your fingers), a small smile of serenity etches itself on his face.

Jungkook makes you forget why today is important…

A thunder makes you flinch, scattering away all the thoughts that were fogging your mind.

"We-we should go—“ you pull yourself out of your own daze, but you move so fast you almost trip on the slippery rocks.

Picturing yourself smashed against the ground, your heart drops into your stomach… but it flickers up slowly, sustained by a flock of butterflies, when Jungkook grabs you. His hands on your hips. His stare engulfed into your own, crossed by a type of worry that you've seen only in Namjoon's eyes.

He doesn’t move.

You don't pull him away.

Raindrops fall from his lashes. Raindrops fall from his curly bangs and sketch his features. Raindrops fall on his rosy lips. On his rosy, tempting lips…

“I’m sorry, (Y/N)… I really am…" he whispers, thumbs drawing circular patterns on your tank top. “You… you are one of the few reasons that make this place beautiful." He catches a breath, a drop falls from his cupid bow. "I… was about to leave, a few weeks ago. I couldn't stand this place anymore. Days were all the same, people got on my nerves… then, you talked to me. Like, talking for real ." A small smile blooms amidst the sadness sprinkled all over his face. And it's all for you. It's all because of you. "You talked to me, and we started hanging out and… and so, I stayed. You made- make me want to stay…" he leans his forehead on your own, hands shifting to cup your face. “I’m sorry…”

Your hands rest on his back, fingers curling around his shirt. Shivers travel down your spine -maybe it's the cold weather; maybe it's Jungkook's warm embrace. From that position, you can catch a glimpse of the tiny mole laying on his neck (you can't stop picturing your fingers dancing on that area)...

“(Y/N)... can I tell you something?” his question flies out above a whisper, like he feared that the simple sound of his voice might shatter the quietness settled upon you.

“Mh?” you can only hum, staying still. If you’d turn in the slightest to your left, you could brush your lips against his own. You don’t turn.

“You… I - I know this is going to sound weird, and I’ll look like a creep. But I think - think that you’re the coolest adult I’ve ever met.” His eyes shake a little when you meet them, pulling yourself away to stare at his tensed face. The way he pronounced that “ adult ” should make a thousand alarm bells ring in your head, but you’re too enchanted to care. “You never - never questioned me about why I decided to quit university. You never made me feel like a failure because I don’t - don’t know what to do with my life. I, for the first time in a long while, I feel good about myself.” He presses more against you, stare darting to your lips for an imperceptible second. “I don’t know if you don’t ask me anything because you’re not interested or - or you’re just polite. But whatever it is… I appreciate it.”

You avert your stare. Jungkook presses a little further, the tip of his nose now brushing over your temple.

“I… I’d like to,” you start, eyelids fluttering down when his thumbs caress the puffy area beneath your eyes. “I die for asking you many things, I actually look forward to getting to know you better.” Your voice cracks, his lips part as if he had to suck in all your sadness. "But there are many things I don’t want to tell, too. It seems fair to not ask anything.”

“I want to get to know you better, too. I’ve so many things I want to ask you.” Gently, he applies a little pressure on your jawline to make you turn. “Ask me anything, (Y/N). I want you to know me - me .”

You know that Jungkook will never kiss you. He’s too gentle and attentive to act in a way that could put you in a bad position. And, at the same time, you know this is the right moment to go away and put an end to this surreal situation. To go back to your routine made of small things; to go back to your life, cutting Jeon Jungkook from it.

But your body isn’t ready to let him go (your fingers curl around the collar of his shirt so hard your knuckles turn white). Your body craves to be held, to be touched, to be kissed (Jungkook presses his fingertips so hard you can feel them dig into your skin).

Since Jungkook bumped into your life, you feel like your sexual urges and sweet desires are awakened…

You lean forward, and Jungkook is already half of his own way. His lips rest on yours for a quick-whispered moment, so brief it could be a figment of your imagination.

It's all so weird… Since Namjoon has been gone, you've never missed the act of kissing until Jungkook has barely touched your lips with his own. It's all so weird…

Naturally, you feel the call of this natural instinct and decide to follow it, breaking the few millimeters that keeps you from completing the kiss. And Jungkook responds in a heartbeat, like he was anticipating this very moment from the very first time his eyes have laid upon your figure.

The softness of his mouth is accentuated by the raindrops falling in between, by the tip of his tongue that tentatively touches your own in the slightest. He rests his thumb close to the corner of your mouth, silently inviting you to open more for him, and you beseechingly satisfy this little request. A small whining of surprise raises from the back of your throat at the soft graze of his tongue, podding against your own.

You cling to his shoulder blades, angling the head just right to follow his pace. You're a bit rusty, but you don't care (you hope Jungkook doesn't care, too). You're sinking in the kiss, in the sloppy sounds of it, in the moans blending, in the rain pouring down on your intertwined figures.

He rests his other hand on your neck, thumbs brushing along your jawline. You place your fingers on his chest, every toned muscle under the tips is finally consistent and real -not just a tangle of lines painted in the back of your mind through your imagination.

Keeping your left palm pressed on his chest, enjoying the thumping beat of his heart, your right hand flickers to his side, sketches the natural hourglass-curve of his body, landing on the narrow waist. Your pointer slides along the waistband of his bermuda pants -Jungkook doesn't inch away, just groans a little into the kiss, anticipating your next move. You hook the tip of your tongue around his upper lip, carefully letting your digit meander further down.

Rain pours down on you two, cascades upon his hair gently sticking against his features, upon your doubts and fears, upon the disappointment that made you want to run back home alone.

Rain pours down and you want to go back home, but with Jungkook…

Absent-mindedly, your hand finally crosses the invisible line that separated you from his bulge, growing fuller under layers of garments. You barely sketch the half-chub of his dick, but the sudden whimpering sound escaping from his mouth, and his head flickering back in a rush, sinks you back down to earth.

You stare at him wide-eyed, feeling an uncomfortable weight of shame settling in your lungs. Hoky fucking—what's gotten into you?! Indulging in your own desires so openly… in a burst of embarrassment, you drift your hand back. But, to your surprise, Jungkook grabs it and places it upon his crotch, making you gulp for the boldness of his reaction.

He presses his palm on the back of your hand, applies a light pressure for you to cup him fully, gently guides you up and down in a rhythmic movement that has him moaning softly, eyelids flickering down in the slightest.

"I touched myself this morning thinking of you. And yesterday night, too. And the day before…" he mumbles between sips of breath, his confession makes your chest burst for the desire. "(Y/N), it's been days I'm thinking of you…" it seeps through his lips and lays upon your own in a soft brush.

Your stare flickers upon his face, shaped with pleasure. Then, you set it back onto his hand still on your own, enchanted by the firmness of his dick caged between layers of fabric. All for you…

Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut when you proceed a bit down with your movement, grazing the curve of his balls, lips parted to exhale a soundless moan. "Can…" he lowers his head, hips swaying forward to feel your touch more. "Can we go back to my place?"

You… you can't remember why today you should be at home, on your own...

Jungkook grabs your hand, guides you down the hill...

But if you can't remember it…

Jungkook stops half-way to kiss you again, as if he feared that those meters crossed in a rush made you change your mind...

It means it wasn't so important…

The rain taps on the windows in a calming and refreshing sound, crashes down on the garden on the other side of the glass, flowers bending toward the ground.

Liquid eyes laid upon the glassy surface, you carefully follow the slow meandering of the raindrops, blending in a myriad of shapeless, enchanting sketches that keep your mind busy. You don't want to think about what's happening here, right now. You want to shut your brain off, plummet in a deep sleep and wake up when everything will be over.

In this way, maybe, the sense of guilt gnawing at your heart will be gentler to you…

The wet fabric of your shorts suddenly glues to your skin in a slow descent, you bend your legs in an instinctive movement to peel the garment off with much more ease; there's a light thud when they fall on the ground, as you dig your sole into the mattress, eyes still fixed on the window.

Lips rest beneath your breast, draw the soft bow in a caress that makes goosebump rise along your arms. Fingers gently trace the long stretch of your leg, linger on the soft portion of skin close to your groin, where the elastic of your slip draws a barrier made of lace. The pointer sneaks inside the garment without hesitation, runs back and forth slowly, flickering from your pube to your wet folds in an imperceptible touch that has your walls contracting against nothing.

Your heart jolts a little, sinking you back down to the reality you've desperately tried to avoid up to now: your back is sinking in the softness of the mattress; sheets are wet and crumbled under your weight and cold on the empty portion beside your own… and Jungkook is above you, meticulously exploring every inch of your exposed body with his mouth.

Your eyes dart immediately to his figure but from that position, the only thing you can see is the top of his head -a skein of damp, mint and black hair that felt smooth under your fingers when you clung at it, as soon as he slammed the door of his bedroom behind his shoulders, minutes and minutes and minutes ago…

Your bare breast raises up and down heavily and slowly, your heart smashes against your ribs at every smack sound in a desperate attempt to set itself free. Your turgid nipples are shining wet for the kisses he planted there, pulsing and redder for the ghost of his fingers twisting those little, flashy cushions.

Jungkook's roaming ends upon the area close to your belly button, your stomach flattening down at every peck that leaves a wet print on your skin. He inches away in the slightest to catch a small breath, zones out as he admires the ruby marks he scattered throughout your body, before going back to placing feather-like touches on your tummy.

A thunder crashing through the silence distracts you for a second, and you're almost tempted to shove him away and put an end to this… mess . Almost. Like a force was pulling you from the inside, your trembling hand shifts from the crumbled sheets to his hair, still damp for the rain that caught you on your way back home.

Jungkook raises his head up in a rush for the grazing movement of your nails on his scalp, eyes round and big like an animal who just heard a noise. A glint of panic streams in his brown irises, but it's so fleeting you think it's a figment of your (scared) imagination. Still with his stare engulfed into your own, his parted lips slide down to meet the elastic of your panties; still with his intense stare locked into your own, he runs the tip of his tongue upon the lace. And your fingers rack through his hair, dividing the various locks from the roots, pulling them back to reveal his forehead… until your pointers slide down his temple and Jungkook stops torturing you, angling his head just right for him to meet your palm. Like a cat indulging into cuddles, he meekly follows your stroke, moving his head to not lose contact with your touch, and delivers you a small (adorable) pout when you graze the soft area under his chin, fingers flickering away from him.

Reluctantly, he puts himself into a stretched position, permitting you to admire the perfection of his bare torso. His pecs and abdominals are marked, well-defined lines grooved into the skin that stretch at the slightest flexion or movements. The black ink of his tattoos stands out even more on his honey-like skin, a good distraction from his dark nipples that have your fingers itching from touching them and feel their consistency under the tips. Enchanted by the (young) gorgeousness that crafts every inch of Jungkook, your stare finally glides down to his belly button, shakes for the thin hair that guides you to the waistband of his briefs -the only garment still on.

Sitting on his own feet like a cushion, Jungkook notices that you're lingering your attention upon the lower part of his body, but he doesn't seem embarrassed by it. He slowly spreads his legs, giving you plenty of time to carefully take in the sight of his crotch, full and firm inside the fabric cotton.

You picture it inside of you, for a very brief moment. You picture him pulling it out and gently guiding it close to your wet entrance. You picture him gently guiding it inside your mouth, his delicious moans scraping the silence and that shield of composure that you're hardly keeping around yourself.

A small whining sound flies out from the back of your throat, legs now rubbing against one another to give some relief to the itchy sensation spreading from your covered center. Jungkook's stare trails down to your groin area, eyes shining bright for the vision that's taking shape for real . Through your lashes, you notice a little scrunch in his nose, like he was disappointed for being in idleness -while he should be the one to pump up your pleasure.

Resolute, he grabs your panties and finally rolls it down your thighs. You lift yourself up enough to help him take it off, legs spreading shamelessly when he tosses the useless garment behind his back. You rest your fingers on your stomach, twiddle with them as you try to overcome the embarrassment of Jeon Jungkook gawking at your wet, exposed center. You let your hands slide down along your groin area in a mute plead to act and do something, because your walls are painfully contracting against nothing and you want him, you want him so fucking much.

Jungkook pulls himself out of his own haze. Shakes his head a little and stretches toward you, comfortably resting between your legs. His arms twirl around your nape and head to sustain you as he catches you in an open-mouthed kiss, inhaling sharply through his nose when his half-chub dick presses against your wet folds. The friction against your clit is mild but nice, it has you bending your legs and waving your hips to feel him more, hands running to cling to his shoulder blades.

His tongue slides languidly against yours, eager. You quietly moan into the kiss, fingers curling tightly around his back as his right hand trails down to your pube area; the proximity of his fingers makes you grind your center more frantically against his dick, and Jungkook breaks the kiss with a groan.

He arches his back into your embrace, refraining himself from thrusting more erratically. "What do you want me to do?" He whines onto your mouth, brows snapping together as he squeezes his eyes shut.

"Make me come…" you can only say above a whisper, clamping your teeth around his bottom lip, pulling it in the slightest.

Jungkook snorts a chuckle, his fingers cross the pube, graze your plump clit. "That's the plan…" he replies between pecks. "How? What do you want me - me to do, (Y/N)?" He slides his index and middle fingers down to your wet folds, caress them, back and forth. "Tell me what you like…"

You arch your back when he places them at the very entrance, pulling in a little. "Don't know, don't care. Do as you prefer," you mumble, incoherently.

Jungkook chuckles against your ear (it's such a beautiful sound, it torns your heart apart). "Oh, then… gotta a couple of ideas in mind…" he places a kiss on your earlobe, chewing on it as he finally pulls his fingers into you, inch by inch by inch by inch… his lips sketch your jawline, his fingers pull back and then forth again… and again… and again… until he pulls out.

Nose scrunching in disappointment, you turn to look at him. Beyond the sparks floating in your eyes, you notice Jungkook shifting his fingers close to his face, they glisten with your juices. You can't really wrap your head around which his next move might be, especially for that lopsided grin he's giving you right now; but your heart spikes up when he curls his lips around them, without ripping his eyes off you.

You should be disgusted by his gesture, but for a very brief moment you feel young again… when sex was just sheer fun; a natural instict; nothing to be ashamed or repulsed about. And the fact is that you were having fun with Namjoon, too, but it was different…

Namjoon knew every little thing about you. Every sexual preference. It was easy to disclose your desires without feeling judged…

Jungkook runs the tip of his tongue on his bottom lip, swallows thickly before placing a soft kiss on your mouth, slightly off-center. His lips skim down over your neck, a trail of wet pecks between your breasts, lingering on your tummy. He inches away with a smack sound before putting himself into a stretched position, pressing his palms on your knees to spread your legs more. Shifting on his spot, he situates himself between your legs, his warm breath fans your wet folds, it makes your walls clench in anticipation.

A soundless moan tumbles off your parted lips when he places a kiss on your clit, the tip of his tongue flickering slowly on the plump button full of nerves. Jungkook pokes a finger on your center, recollects your juices before pulling it inside.

A shiver crosses your spine, you squirm, your toes and fingers curl around the sheets. Beyond the liquid sparks floating in your eyes, you notice some Marvel action figures neatly aligned on the shelves; manga piled up in alphabetical order; a very few photographs that portray him or people you don't know. His clothes are carefully folded on a chair.

You can breathe Jungkook's twenty three years and personality in every corner of his bedroom…

You sink into pleasure with that fleeting thought grazing your mind, before leaving you empty-headed. His lips curl in a sucking motion and you forget about everything.

This ten years age gap, suddenly, doesn't seem so heavy anymore.

Jungkook inches away, a very thin string of juice and saliva keeps him close to you; he gives one last kiss to your wet folds before hovering over you, settling himself above you comfortably. You sink in his liquid eyes full of constellations, heavy breath escaping from your lips… and you don't care about your age.

You just had an orgasm.

You're just a person who had an orgasm thanks to another person…

"What?" You mumble, tracing his shoulder blades with your knuckles.

Jungkook looks at you as if he had to tell you a million things. However, he hesitates, shaking his head a little while giving you a small, tired smile. You tilt your head a little to meet him half-way from the kiss he's about to give you, breaking the space between you two. He rests a hand on your hip, squeezes it lightly before twirling his arm around the small of your back. Applying a light pressure, he drags you toward him as he rolls on the mattress on his back, maneuvering you effortlessly, like you were boneless.

You shift on your spot, sitting astride on his lap, hands resting on his shoulders. Jungkook places his palms on the small of your back, pulling you closer while his mouth curls around your cleavage, sliding up to trace the collarbone. You study his movements through your lashes, racking your brain frantically to elaborate your next step.

Honestly, you're rusty when it comes to sex. Despite the few, occasional encounters you had after Namjoon, you never let those relationships go too further to actually reach such a peak point of your intimacy -so, you highly doubt you will skyrocket him on the Milky Way just like he did with you. But with Jungkook, everything happens naturally: it feels like your hands exactly know which spots to touch to make his breath run faster; they exactly know how much strength they should apply to steal a moan from the back of his throat; they exactly know where they should rest for his heart to beat frantically.

Fingers curling around the hem of his briefs, you kiss his chin while rolling the garment down his hips. Jungkook inches away to observe your hands peeling off his slips, letting out a stuttered breath when the air finally grazes the tip of his dick, already slicked with precum. You'd like to cast a quick glance down and admire his pulsing length now exposed, but you've eyes only for him -for his front bunny-teeth clamping his bottom lip; for the stars scattered in his doe eyes; for the little, imperceptible blemishes sprinkled all over his young skin; for the curls of hair sticking against his sweaty forehead.

In a rush, he uses his own feet to help you take his briefs off, comfortably resting against the pillows in anticipation of whatever you're going to do to him. It's only at this very moment, with his legs spread wide, that you take in the sight of him, twitching against his abdomen, smeared on the head.

Hesitantly, your fingers flicker toward the tip. The pads gently rest on it, move in circular motions that have him stretching his legs and curling his toes and clenching his fists around the sheets. Your middle and pointer slide down the rough length, and you go back to scrutinizing his face to understand if you're doing ok or if you should change pace or movement.

Jungkook seems to enjoy it, though. He's sucking his bottom lip in so hard that you can now fully see the tiny mole laying underneath it, jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut. You'd expect him to guide you in the slow growth of his pleasure -to vocalize exactly what he wants and prefers. But Jungkook stays quiet, patiently waits, squirms under your touch…

And this vision shuts your brain off.

Absent-mindedly, you rest your hands under his knees and gently pull him closer to slide along the mattress as you move backward in the process, sitting comfortably between his legs. Without ripping your stare off him, you lean forward and close the millimetric gap, curling your lips around the head. Jungkook flinches for the sudden touch, the muscles in his thighs and abdomen and arms flex. The tip of your tongue flickers around the saltry area, gently tap against the frenulum.

You shift one of your hands on the base of his cock, gripping tight around it and pulling up and down at a rhythmic pace, while the other fingers run to cup his balls, massaging them.

You don't rush, you take your time. You enjoy his throaty moans, his little comments tumbling off between sips of breath, his tattooed hand on top of your head. You focus all your attention on the tip, without fully taking him with your mouth -you want to torure him a little, gasping in those few minutes that separate him from the peak of pleasure.

Jungkook comes with a small moan and heavy breath pumped out his lungs, thick liquid spills from the tip down his dick, smearing your fingers still around it. Your tongue still flickers under the head, catching drops of cum.

You aren't disgusted by the mess you've made -you're actually pretty excited about Jungkook reduced into a mass of panting and muscles flexing under his skin. You swallow till the last drop you can catch before inching away, casting a glance upon your stained fingers. You reach out to the nightstand to grab a napkin and clean your hand; but before you could take care of him too, Jungkook grabs you by the waist and maneuvers you toward him, making you use his body like a mattress.

"God, this was—you… " he swallows thickly, brushing a knuckle over your chin to get rid of a stain of cum. He lets out a soft chuckle between pants of breath, gravitating toward your mouth. “I'm so happy - happy. I've waited for this moment for so long, (Y/N),” he mumbles, his hands brushing along your sides.

His words hit your brain like a bucket of icy water.

Namjoon waited for you for so long, too. His lips were quivering for the cold, the rough fabric of his scarf was tingling your chin. It was your first kiss, in winter…

Namjoon…

Namjoon waited for so long to give you a small kiss on your lips… Jungkook waited for so long to have your lips wrapped around hidick…

Namjoon, today...

Jungkook said that people like you are sad. He talked about traveling around the world and feeling trapped in a city. Jungkook confessed that he masturbated thinking about you, many times… while Namjoon—!

The area around your eyes, now wide and crossed by a glint of terror, swells up.

Holy shit, Namjoon …

Naked, cocooned in Jungkook's warm embrace, you suddenly remember what is the thing that's bugging you for the whole day, but that you couldn’t grasp.

Today is your anniversary… it's your fucking anniversary and you completely forgot about it.

You should be doing the usual things you do to celebrate it as if Namjoon was still by your side on this special occasion; and instead, you're spending your day with a twenty three-year-old boy you know very little about, giving head to him, letting him come into your mouth.

Holy fucking shit… what were you thinking?

Your breath is heavy, tears prickle at the corner of your eyes.

How could you forget about something so extremely important?

Jungkook is… he’s ten years younger than you. He’s a little bit older than the students Namjoon used to teach to. He… he should be spending his summer with someone his age -not with a woman in her thirties who still feels something deep for a man who isn't here anymore. And what's even worse, you completely disregard an event that Namjoon would have celebrated as if it was the first time…

You… you can't do it. You can't hurt Jungkook like this… you can't hurt Namjoon's memory like this…

This thought is enough to make you come back to your senses.

You wriggle out of his embrace in a rush (Jungkook's smile fades like watercolors on a paper), as if you were disgusted by his presence. You jump down the bed, desperately searching for your clothes. You spot the slip close to the chair, above his shirt and trousers; you wear them with a quick gesture, taking a look around to pinpoint the other garments.

Jungkook stays still, observes your movements with a vague stare. Then, his voice, low (so low it shatters your heart in pieces). “(Y/N), what happened?"

“Nothing, I just remembered something important—” you recollect your shirt -you're so wrapped in your anxiety to wear it backward. "Sorry, I gotta go—"

“(Y/N)...” he calls you softly, the sweetness dripping from your name paralyzes every fiber of your being.

Tightening your shorts, you gaze over your shoulder. Jungkook is there, sitting on his spot, his limp dick resting along his thigh and shining wet in the dim-lit room.

He delivers you a small, encouraging smile. "Stay, mh?"

“I’ve to go,” you repeat, averting his broken stare before wearing that last piece of garment and dashing outside his bedroom. “See you soon.”

“Casually, To see just your shadow, I passed through your house’s gate several times.”

A week passed, and still you can feel Jungkook's taste in your mouth.

You know this is just a joke of your dirty subconscious to pinch your sense of guilt, which sprouted in the abyss of your chest in the exact instant you decided to cut ties with the boy forever.

(For the first two days, Jungkook came to visit you every morning -during breakfast; launch; dinner. His: " (Y/N), it's me, Jungkook. Can we talk? Please?" sounded so weak and small behind your shut door that you felt your heart drop into the pit of your stomach for the guilt. The last time, he wished you goodnight with the same soft voice he used to ask you to stay, after sex. You didn't open…)

The sudden sound of an uncorked bottle snaps you back down to reality. A muscle twitches in your neck when you turn, shifting your stare from the window of Min's restaurant to the counter, catching Jin in the act of pouring some red wine into a pair of steam glasses.

You arch your brow, noticing the burgundy liquid reaching almost the edge. "We're both going to drink from this one, aren't we?"

"Enjoy it, my sweet (Y/N). It seems we both need it," he comments, eyes crinkling in the corner. He taps lightly the glass against your own, some drops spill on the wooden surface of the counter.

You clean them with your apron. "You more than me, it seems…" you smirk, watching him gulp down a long sip. "What happened?"

His lips twitch. "Eunwoo dumped me."

"I'm surprised…" you let out a chuckle when he tosses the bottle cork at you, only to dart him an apologetic look soon after. You aren't at all surprised about this revelation: Eunwoo lives in Daegu, moved to a city nearby your village to study and accidentally arrived in your town with a couple of friends when they got lost during a little trip. She hit on him the second he politely welcomed her into the restaurant, and he gladly indulged in her sweet disposition toward him -but it was just a matter of time, considering that Jin keeps calling her "a fling".

You can't tell much about her as a person, since you rarely met her; but she looked like a nice girl…

"That's a pity. I liked Eunwoo a lot, she was funny." You run your finger along the glassy surface, resting your chin on your palm. "She's always been more into you, though." You wait for a follow up that doesn't come, so you add, "why did she dump you?"

He shrugs. "She found out I still use Tinder—oh, stop laughing, (Y/N)." He puffs his cheeks, offended by your behavior. "I said from the beginning that I didn't want anything serious. She accepts, then she gets angry at me because I don't want anything serious…" he curls his lips, putting a towel upon his shoulder.

"She liked you a lot, Seokjinnie." You let out a sigh, twiddling with the cork. "I would have accepted it too, if Joonie proposed something similar. You know, only to spend five minutes with him—"

"And make him change his mind, aha," he completes for you, letting out his windshield laughter when you roll your eyes. "Why do you always have this thing? As if you could change a man's behaviour through sex…" he takes a sip of wine, grimacing. "Anyway, it's not the end of the world. I'm a bit with my head in the clouds, and I wasn't in the mood for quickies or friends-with-benefits affairs in the long run."

Your heart flickers in your throat for his last comment.

Seokjin talks and you try to pay your utmost attention to the conversation, although your mind keeps drifting away and crawling back to a boy with big doe eyes…

(The other two days, Jungkook spent his evenings on the steps of his house in the attempt to casually meet you, throwing a ball to let Bam play. Yoongi saw him from his balcony and told you that he looked like a sad child who waited for his mother to come back home after a long, hectic day. He asked you if something bad happened between you two, but you brushed it off as if Jungkook was just a grain of dust.)

"Let's talk about important things…" Seokjin places a plate of Japchae in front of you, the good smell of fried vegetables and soy sauce pinches your nostrils and makes your mouth run dry. "How are things going with the new boy?" A malicious smile etches itself on his face as he crosses his arms on the counter, studying the ruby shade now tinging your cheekbones. "Mom told me everything ."

You swallow. "Everything… what?"

He spares you a glance before turning, going back to the burner to prepare a new plate for himself. "Innocent things. That you're spending a lot of time together… you go hiking, or take out your dogs almost every morning. He comes to your place for lunch, you go to his home for dinner…" he grabs his plate, taking a mouthful of mushrooms and noodles. "How are things going?"

(The remaining days, Jungkook traveled those few meters that separate your houses, but never reached the front door. He curled his fists around the hem of his shirt before going back, hunched shoulders and fast pace. From that day, he stopped searching for you.)

You fix your liquid eyes on the dish. "How should they go? We don't do anything."

"A bird told me you went together to the festival."

"Which bird? Your mother?"

"And Yoongi-chi. And half of the village. Well, ok, many birds." He gazes over you to scrutinize your annoyed expression. "You know there's nothing wrong, mh? People here love babbling about everyone, but nobody would ever blame you for moving on." His voice is serious, matches with the somber stare he's now delivering you.

"I know… but there's nothing to talk about, really." A shiver runs down your spine as the ghost of Jungkook's kisses touches your belly. "He was, you know, the news . He was bored, I was curious…" There's still Jungkook's taste in your mouth. There's still his broken stare haunting you from the moment you crack your eyes open in the morning to the last you close them at night. "It can't work…"

Seokjin pauses. "Work… it means you two were doing something ."

You look at him goggle-eyed, mentally cursing at yourself for not calibrating your words properly. "No. I mean… our worlds are too different. And he's twenty three, why should he spend his time with me?"

"Uh! A boytoy!" He grins, too excited (you facepalm. You hope he won't tell Yoongi, he'd never let you live from now on). "And, don't think he gives any damn about your age… I bet he's pretty interested in you. You know that he kept staring at you, tonight? I mean, he always stares at you, but today… It seemed different. Like… as if he was waiting for you to go and talk to him." He takes a grab of carrots. "What did you do to him? He was such a gray cloud, poor thing..."

You swallow, there's still his taste in your mouth. You left him all naked on his bed after sucking him off. He searched for you for almost a week, and you ignored him. You avoided him.

You're cutting him out of your life, after letting him walk in…

"(Y/N)..." Seokjin calls you, carefully, worried about your vague expression. "Whatever happened, or whatever is happening, you're doing anything wrong." He gives a small, reassuring smile that has your heart lurching and copiously bleeding in your chest.

You take a long sip of wine to help you swallow the noodles. "I don't know. I'm not used to it anymore. You know, dating someone—like, it's not like we were dating, of course..." You chew on your bottom lip, unsure. "And even if I'd want to, Joonie—"

"Namjoon won't be back." Seokjin's voice is firm, but not harsh. His shoulders hunch over, as if he couldn't bear the weight of his own words. "What happened to him… it's not your fault, (Y/N). You've all the rights to start a new life. He'd be pretty disappointed to know that you're wasting your time, losing all the good and nice that life is still giving you."

The area around your eyes swells up, you clamp your teeth to your bottom lip to keep tears at bay. He's right: Namjoon would be disappointed if he could see you right now. Acting cowardly. Running away from the first sprout of affection. Clinging to him like life doesn't make sense anymore just because he isn't here with you…

Namjoon would hate you for turning into a woman you don't like. And, as much as you're hyper conscious of it, you can't do anything to get over the sorrow that prevents you from moving on…

"I know..." You can only whisper, diverting your stare.

"Which means that you can suck the new boy's dick without problems." There's a playful note in his tweet, but his eyes grow bigger, seeing you fumble for words. "Omg, you—you really did—"

"You, instead," you interrupt, shaking away the picture of your lips curled around Jungkook's tip now flashing in the back of your eyelids. "Your mother is pretty down in the dumps, lately. She almost bursted out crying this morning. What did you do to her?"

A thick silence settles between you two, unable to stop looking at each other. The first to break eye contact is Seokjin, voice low and mouth opening in a small smile. "I'm leaving." His brown irises shine bright, in a way you've never seen before -like he was madly, deeply in love with something. "At the end of August I'll move to Incheon. I'll be the second chef in Mr Kwon's restaurant. It's pretty famous over there." He puts his empty dish away, grabbing the wine instead. "It's not a model career, but it's what I love doing." He ruffles his hair, hiding his liquid eyes from you. "Mom is quite sad that I'm going away out of the blue. But it's been months I've been thinking about it, and it's for the best."

"Incheon… It's far away," you mumble, suddenly feeling alone in this small village.

"It's only four hours, and I'll often come back. You won't even notice my absence."

You give him a small smile that doesn't reach your eyes. Seokjin leaving will generate an immense abyss in your lives. "How did Yoongi take it?"

Seokjin's expression changes. It gets sadder. More nostalgic. They grew up together since they were little children, it must be hard to leave him behind.

"He's the first I told the good news. He told me: congratulations, it was about time you get the fuck out." He chuckles, resting his chin on his palm. "And then he came up with an excuse and went away. He probably had to cry." Bitterness draws his lips in a crescent. "But he's doing fine. He's already making me a playlist to listen to during the drive."

"You're leaving…" you repeat, slowly, as if you had to still process this information. "This place won't be the same without you."

"I know!" He says, playfully. "But staying here… it smothers me. You know, I often think of Namjoon and when I do, I think about the million things I never did out of fear, or to not disappoint my mother, or to not abandon my friends." The glass in his hand shakes a little (your heart does, too). "I want to leave this place and live my life before it's too late. Like, shit, I can't stop thinking that destiny always plays some dirty tricks and—" words wither in a curse when he notices your feeble smile. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I'm an idiot…"

"Don't worry. He is the first to tell you that you should've left this place a long time ago." You gasp once, your chest hurts. "You're doing the right thing. I know you love cooking, that it's the thing that makes you truly happy… but I'll miss you."

"I know. I'd miss myself too." He drums his fingers on the counter. Then, he brushes past it to approach you. Tears prickle in your eyes when you stand up, hugging him tight. He inhales sharply through his nose. "Can I leave you alone, mh? It's all good, right?" You nod, clinging more at his shoulders. " Alone ... I almost forgot you've a boytoy now."

You chuckle, inching away. You rub your eyes to get rid of the liquid sadness that's tugging at your lashes.

Seokjin plops down on the seat beside you, smirking. "So… how's his dick?"

"What's the point? We know yours is more beautiful anyway."

Jin laughs brightly and you enjoy every bit of it. You sit back down, observing his wet eyes crinkling in the corners, the vibrant flush spreading along his face, his shoulders shaking convulsively while tears roll down his cheeks…

You'll miss this wonderful sound (this wonderful him) with every fiber of your being.

You fold your arms around your waist, teeth clamping at your bottom lip as you keep your eyes fixed to the tip of your gym shoes. The humidity of this hot summer night sticks to your skin, but shivers travel down your spine as if you were in the middle of a cold, harsh winter. You catch a breath and slowly pin your stare in front of you, swallowing thickly.

Jungkook's house never looked so scary.

You know it's late, in every possible sense. But the conversation with Seokjin, his subtle reprimand, and his sudden departure accompanied every step you took from the restaurant to your home, impending you to actually go inside and call it a night.

Seokjin made you want to see Jungkook one last time…

With your sense of guilt gnawing at the surface of your tortured heart, with a shame that roots from your behaviour in the past days, you slowly approach the entrance. You chew on your bottom lip while pushing the doorbell, scraping the silence coming from inside. You hear Bam bark, then footsteps thumbing on the ground. The clack of the door makes your muscles tense up all at once and your heart squeals and runs to search for a place to hide…

"Bam, be quiet—oh…"

… Only to melt in a pulpy mess when Jungkook appears on the other side of the door, washed by astonishment.

You feel awful…

Showing up here after a week only because your best friend is leaving this place for good (who subtly reminded you that you’re wasting your days, and that you’re disappointing Namjoon for your behavior) is a shitty move. You're a fucking egoist, the worst. Using Jungkook's presence to cope with your emptiness, using someone who doesn’t know shit about your past only to feel something again… God, you’re a fucking bitch.

Jungkook should slam the door against your nose. But he doesn't.

You move a foot backward, though.

He straightens himself when he catches your movement, pulling himself out of his own daze. “HiNoona…"

And this makes you stop.

Everything inside of you, and outside of your own small bubble, stops.

Noona… . he wasn't calling you like this in a little while. Not with such a serious tone, at least. Panic suddenly cripples up your heart, you feel weak in your knees at the thought (the certainty?) that he'll chase you out.

“Hi…" You manage to say, feebly. Your stare shakes before his big eyes, it drops on his baggy t-shirt long enough to cover his pyjamas-boxers. His casual clothing, accentuated by some spots of paint scattered across his garments, screams that he was probably minding his own business and you're interrupting him. "Sorry for bumping in here so late—" words fade into a small chuckle when Bam jumps around you, excited by your presence. "Hey, you..." you crouch down, cupping his muzzle. You take advantage of this sudden moment of distraction to recollect all the words you've memorized in your mind during your walk; but they flee from you, leaving you speechless. You take a glimpse of Jungkook's slippers, sighing. "Sorry… didn't mean to bother you."

Jungkook of a few weeks ago would have smiled and told you that you aren't a bother, that he's happy to have you here.

Today, Jungkook doesn't smile. He shrugs and says, "I was painting. I couldn't sleep… But you're a bit late, blowjobs-hour has finished at 12:05 PM. You should come back tomorrow."

Your eyes grow bigger as you pin them upon his face, cheeks flushed for his brazen comment.

12:05 PM. The hour when you left him…

You carefully sketch the light frown between his knitted brows with your eyes only; the stiffening in his jawline; the glint of disappointment in his somber gaze… it's the first time Jungkook displays an emotion akin to annoyance since you've met, and you feel awful from making him reach such limit. Throughout the past months, he's always been so quiet and gentle that more than once you've wondered if he's ever been crossed by intense feelings such as rage and resentment.

It makes you realize that you don't know anything about him…

You chew on your bottom lip, lowering your stare. You could apologize, but it would be pointless. You hear some movement sounds coming from his direction, which makes you think that he's about to go back inside; but there's no clack of door, nor goodbyes.

He rests against the doorframe. "Why did you disappear?" He asks, firm. "Is it - is it because I’m younger? I don’t care about age, I – I’m used to it." He nods to emphasize his comment. "I'm used to dating older women, it's ok. It's really ok to me.”

You try to ignore the sudden pang in your stomach, wondering how many women he slept with. It's not your business.

“It’s also about that.” You mumble, focusing your attention on Bam, unable to look at him. Jungkook isn't dumb, he knows that something else is stopping you from enjoying his company. But it's easier to focus on this visible issue, rather than facing the enormous luggage of ghosts you're carrying with yourself. “You’re twenty three.”

He grunts. “I know. And you’re thirty three. Ten years aren’t that much.”

“They are.”

“No, they aren’t.” He stamps a foot on the ground, like an angry bunny would do. You munch the corner of your mouth to refrain yourself from smiling. “You don’t treat me like a boy… I like it.” He swallows, as if he was pushing back other heavy words.

And he doesn't treat you like a thirty three-year-old.

Jungkook never made a fuss about the age gap between the pair of you. He treated you as an equal, he never made you feel uncomfortable about time notching your body and character as a natural phase of life.

Time, with Jungkook, it's really a senseless concept…

He exhales one of those little mouth-sounds he makes when he's trying to gather his thoughts. "(Y/N)... I'm young, but not so naive to think that a blowjob is some kind of wedding proposal."

"Do you really think that's the problem?" You now dart at him a furious look, offended by his comment.

Jungkook pouts, his hand now running to the opposite elbow to caress it. "Is it for your husband? Did he come - come back?"

"No, he…" words fade in a squelched moan. You swallow the lump in your throat. "He won't be back, don't worry."

He exhales sharply through his nose, frustrated. "Then, why?" He pinches at his arm. "Are the people here the problem? You know I don't care what they say, I—" his words trail off mid-sentence, lips stretching in a thin line. "But you do."

Of course, you do.

You live here. Jungkook will go away at the end of August, but you'll stay here -with your memories and sorrow and rumours whispered behind your back. And you'll be completely alone to face all of this. He'll leave you and you'll become a bracket he'll briefly recount to his new lover -or probably he won't even mention you.

But there's more, in between all of this.

There's so much more that's preventing you from taking a leap of faith toward him…

"It's not only about that.” You sigh, lowering your head. "Listen, I'm sorry. I - I shouldn't have run away, and I shouldn't have disappeared. And I know you're mad at me and you don't want to see me anymore, I deserve it. But I—"

"I want to see you," he interrupts, softly. "I wanted to see you. I still want to see you…" He brushes his thumb on his middle finger to scratch away some paint, the little smiley-emoji tattoo stretches along his skin. "This week was awful… like, you know, when something is missing and you can't enjoy anything…" he casts an embarrassed glance upon you. “Did – didn’t you like it?”

A shiver runs down your spine. God, you loved it so fucking much. And you feel so guilty for putting him in the position of doubting himself…

“It’s not that. You were great.”

Jungkook straightens himself, there's a proud set in his shoulders and his chest swells up so much you can take sight of his tensed pecs adhering to the shirt. And yet, the expression of seriousness and disappointment is still there, hanging between his features.

The area around your eyes swells up, but you push back tears. You aren't in the right position to burst out crying. You stand up, giving one last stroke to Bam, who's now running back to Jungkook.

You tuck some hair behind your ear. "Well—"

"I was about to watch some horrible Netflix series until I fell asleep, eating pop-corns and drinking beers between meals. You know, something very twenty three-year-old- ish ." He lets out a giggle, cheekbones red and stare softening each passing second. “Are you in?”

You hesitate, feeling something warm blazing in your chest. A part of you is deadly scared that this is just a way for him to take his revenge -you know, have a good shag with you one last time before ghosting you (after all, you know very little of his personality); but another part of you is deadly scared that refusing his proposal will be the coup-the-grace to your scarred relationship .

Hesitantly, you break the few steps between you two. You keep your stare low, unable to hold his own. You're about to walk inside when Jungkook situates himself across from you and the doorframe, impeding you to proceed further.

He leans forward, inhaling sharply through his nose when the tip brushes against your hair. “You won’t go away, will you?” his question is a barely whispered hush that makes you want to hold him tight and cry. “You… whatever happens, you won’t leave me like you did last time, will you? It - it hurt… ” he rests a hand upon his chest, where his heart lays. You curl your fingers into fists from refraining yourself from taking it and squeezing it and kissing it. "Don’t leave, (Y/N)...”

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you study his face, so close that his warm breath caresses your chin. Without ripping your stare from his own, you grab a sleeve of his shirt, brushing your thumb and pointer on it. You rest your forehead on his shoulder.

You don't promise, but Jungkook lets you in anyway.

When you crack your eyes open, your cheek rests on Jungkook's chest. It raises up and down slowly, regularly, only to lift up for a little longer when he lets out his adorable chuckle or when he talks to himself out loud to comment on the sit-com rolling on his laptop. Still in a haze, you press your ear against his chest to listen better to his beating heart, a tum tum tum sound that reverberates through every inch of you and makes you curl more against him.

"Hey…" he mumbles, noticing that you're now awake. He shifts on his spot, keeping an arm around your shoulder to not let you wriggle away. "You fell asleep almost immediately… you were pretty tired, mh?" He brushes his thumb on the area close to your mouth, giving a small peck on the tip of your nose.

"A bit…" you manage to say, quietly, sinking in his eyes full of constellations.

Jungkook caresses your face with his stare only, lingering on your lips. “You stay, mh?” His voice is low, a gentle brush multifaceted with fear and expectation and sweetness that punches the breath out of you.

When you give him an imperceptible nod, Jungkook cages you into his arms to kiss you, and you accept him without holding back. You let yourself go in the slow kiss he's pulling you in, your hands clinging to his shoulder blades as he rolls your positions to hover over you.

It's a silent way to tell him that you won’t leave, this time.

And you don’t.

"I love you as certain dark things are to be loved. In secret. Between the shadow and the soul."

Months and seasons felt all the same since Namjoon's been gone, like time lost every sense; and yet, since you've given in to the attraction you feel for Jungkook, you've started to count days again.

You count the seconds spent to sink in his liquid doe eyes when he stares at you, before leaning down to plant a kiss upon your lips; you count the seconds your fingers spend to wander upon his arms, tracing the bluish veins branching from the back of his hands along his honey-like skin; you count the seconds spent to listen to the meaning behind every single tattoo scattered on his body, when you question about them. You count the minutes for his breath to go back to normal, after the orgasm; you count the minutes his fingers spend in your hair, twiddling with the locks, drawing patterns and doodles on the top of your head. You count the hours made of whispered talk in the darkness of his bedroom, or in the chill breeze of your garden.

Time makes sense again.

Time is Jungkook's voice; his laugh; his glossy eyes; his body above your own; his warm skin against yours. Time is Jungkook's sadness when he mentions his parents. Time is Jungkook's long and deep silences when he thinks about college and the oblivion ahead of him. Time is Jungkook's excitement when he talks about his tattoos or his friends or his upcoming trip to Jeju, once this holiday will be over.

Time is a small opening of barely a few months, and you breathe in every millisecond of it to remind yourself that all this messy tangle of orgasms and confessions and gentle touches will be over soon.

Sat around a table of Min's restaurant, you look outside the window, observing the few persons strolling beyond the glassy surface -mainly tourists, considering you can't recognise their faces. The playful chat of your friends, having dinner with you now that you've all finished your shift, is a muffled sound that hits against the barrier of memories whirling fast in your mind…

"You can't fuck off clients, Yoongi-chi." Seokjin's voice is playful, but notched with a note of complaint. "Thank God your mother's the boss. You'd be on your ass by now…"

(Day 1, Jungkook fucked you on his sofa. His hands under your knees to keep your legs up; your breast glistening wet for the kisses he scattered over there. The smacking sound of his hips colliding against yours; your hands curled around nothing for the pleasure brewing in your groin. His throaty moans; your soundless moans. His orgasm shaped like stuttered breaths, eyes squeezing shut, teeth clamping at his bottom lip . You felt his thick, warm liquid against your walls, it made you come too…)

Yoongi snaps his tongue. "That dude deserved it. Making fun of my blue hair, tsk." He pours some beer in his glass, poking his tongue on his cheek.

(Day 2, Jungkook kissed you under the old tree close to the mountain trails. You were sitting on his lap, his hand on your cheek to keep your head firm into position as his tongue languidly grazed yours. He whispered in your ear that he'd like to fuck you here, in this precise instant, his low voice sent shivers down your spine. Once back to your home, you sucked him off in the small hall before you could reach the sofa…)

Seokjin gapes at him. " He's five years old, for God's sake!"

"Better educate him now!"

(Day 5, Jungkook fucked you on the couch, still wearing your clothes on. His trousers down his calves, the sleeves of your dress along your arms. You moved slowly on top of him, gyrating your hips to feel him more, his hands gripping at your waist to guide the pace. Strawberry in his breath, lemonade on your tongue. Red spots on his neck, kisses prints shining wet on your exposed cleavage. The light coming from his laptop bathed your figures in a bluish hue that created shapeless doodles on the pleasure molding his face. Between moans, he whispered that he imagined you two like this the very first time you talked to him at the park. Before being washed by the orgasm, he admitted he jerked off in the shower, thinking of you…)

You shift on your spot, legs squeezing tight for the sudden warmth spreading along your folds. Unable to control the fantasies unfolding in the back of your eyelids, you rest your chin on your fist, face flushed and legs shaking.

It's incredible how Jungkook is pretty honest when it comes to sex: there's firmness in his voice when he admits that you're always on his mind when he touches himself; there's yearning in his words when he vocalizes his desires while you're fucking -the resoluteness in telling you what he wants you to do to him, what he likes.

You should feel your heart sink upon the realization that Jungkook is using you only to fill his time and take care of his libido; but… now that you think of it, it's probably for the best that he makes sure to remark that you two are meant for being a summer fling so shamelessly. It's a good way to remind yourself that you're just orgasms and sex, swiping away every silly hope—!

"You are—(Y/N), say something!" Seokjin slaps his hands on his thighs, recalling your attention.

You straighten yourself, staring at him with a vague stare. You blink twice, racking your brain frantically to understand why he's now talking to you, and what you should actually reply to. However, no matter how hard you put your thinking cap on, you don't have a clue of the crux of their conversation.

You take a sip of your beer, aware that they won't let you breathe for your lack of participation. "What?"

Jin doesn't seem annoyed by your behavior. Actually, he grins widely. "Someone here is distracted." His eyes crinkle in the corner in a malicious way that has your cheekbones reddening. "Don't worry, we know what's filling your thoughts. Or better, who ."

Yoongi swallows a slice of steamed pork, eyes pinned to the various side dishes. "Muscled, doe-eyed, with piercings and tattoos. And I bet he's got a pretty enchanting—"

"Ugh, Yoongi-chi, I'm eating!" Seokjin twitches his mouth, the piece of lettuce slips from his chopsticks and falls on his rice bowl.

" Heart . I was about to say: heart!"

You let out a soft chuckle, grateful that Yoongi redirected the discussion on a more lighthearted note.

Nevertheless, Jin isn't intent to let this sink. "So? What were you thinking?"

"Nothing…" you blow out, diverting your stare.

(Day 8, Jungkook fucked you in the shower. He asked you to follow him after a long afternoon spent hiking and chasing after your dogs -his hair pulled back with a hairband, drops of sweat glistening like tiny diamonds on his honey-like skin. He pulled into you slowly, contemplating your arched spine with parted lips and a glint of excitement in his eyes. His hands gripped hard at your hips to guide you in the rhythm of his thrusts. Between moans and curls of breaths he said your back is beautiful, that he'd love to draw something on it. Between moans and soundless orgasms, he sprinkled your shoulders with kisses, twirling his arms around your middle. Jungkook didn't pull away after coming. He stayed there like this, into you, for a very long, long, long time. For the first time, his fingers intertwined with your own…)

"What?" You ask, feeling their stares boring through your skin like they were trying to open your skull and catch your train of thoughts.

"Nothing. We are just very, very, very disappointed that you aren't telling your best friends anything about your boytoy." Seokjin claims, pouty.

You scrunch your nose, nibbling at a slice of seafood pancake. "Ugh, stop calling him like this. You're making me feel like a cougar." You refrain yourself from hitting Seokjin's knee under the table when he admits he'd love to turn into a sugar-daddy someday in the future. "And we don't do anything special, there's nothing to recount."

(Day 11, Jungkook laughed brightly into your ear while laying on his bed, sheets crumpled and rolled at your feet, his naked body bathed of a feeble sunlight seeping through the mist that the rain left behind. He was resting on his tummy, legs swinging back and forth in a childish mannerism as he looked at you through his lashes, admiring the bits of hair scattered along the pillow and your face. His hand on your bare stomach, your fingers dancing along his tattooed arm. You sketched the contours of the inked microphone and he confessed he took it because he used to play in a band when he was in high school -he wanted to become a great rockstar, someone who stays on a stage and sees an ocean of fans singing his own songs. With sadness tugging at the corners of his mouth, he said he stopped singing since he's dropped out of college. With a sheepish smile on his face, he said that he sings a lot more lately when he does his little daily things like cooking or taking Bam out or drawing. With a shadow of sweetness weighing upon his lids, he said that he started doing it again since you've welcomed him into your life. You drank his honest words with a gasp that stuck in your throat, like air was missing in your lungs…)

Yoongi pours some soju into his glass, arching a brow. "I don't know. The way he looked at you tonight doesn't seem nothing to me." A smirk etches itself across his face, flushed for the liters of alcohol he already gulped. "His face was bursting when you greeted him."

"C'mon, you're exaggerating."

"'M not. Trust me, I could've cooked an egg on those cheeks." Seokjin leans better against his seat back, scrutinizing the skepticism dancing along your features. "You don't want to know how his eyes turned bright whenever you were bending over a table. Guess he's gotta a huge thing for your butt—"

"Did you already have your doggy-style moment?" Yoongi asks, shamelessly.

"Oh, geez, stop you two…"

( Day 12, Jungkook's kisses are butterflies fluttering around your belly. Through your lashes, you studied the creases of your skirt rolled up to your tummy, heart thumping fast in your throat in the anticipation of his mouth resting on your warm center. Blood pumped up to your face for his hot breath on your wet folds, your walls contracted around nothing when he placed a kiss on your clit. And another. And another… The tip of his tongue flickering languidly on that plump button full of nerves made you squirm and moan, his fingers pulling into you at the pace of your breath made you see stars hanging on the ceiling. You came upon his mouth, back arching and brain shutting off for a couple of seconds that stretched to infinity. Despite the hard bulge caged in his briefs, Jungkook didn't want you to pay him back with a good blowjob. He just stared at you, eyes shining wet. For the first time, he told you that you're beautiful. For the first time in a very long while, you didn't run away from someone who tells you that you're beautiful..)

"So?"

Yoongi fills your mutism. "Mom says you're going out together."

You cast a glance upon the window. "We... We aren't going out together. Not in the way you or your mother thinks."

(Day 14, you sucked Jungkook off in your kitchen. Soy sauce and ginger flavor floating in the air, the water boiling. He was leaning against the furniture, his trousers and boxers down to his calves, his hands grabbing hard around the hem of the t-shirt pulled up enough to reveal his sculpted stomach, muscles flexing at every surge of pleasure. Bluish veins were pulsing and branching along his arms as he hardly tried to not thrust into your mouth faster. He tilted his head back, gasping for air, and incoherently mumbled something about you giving amazing blowjobs. You let him come in your mouth…)

"Mom told me she sees you go out every morning around 9:00 AM, and you come back around noon. There's a pretty curious four hours gap there..." Seokjin analyzes.

"We just take a walk around, or we take our dogs out for a walk." You let out a bored sigh, shaking your bottle to understand how much beer is left. "He's practically using me as a tourist guide, that's all."

"My mom saw you leave his house at 5:00 AM once." Yoongi barges in, peacefully.

"Oh, my—"

Seokjin frowns. "Why was your mother already awake at that hour?"

"She says menopause doesn't make her sleep, I don't know." Yoongi flaps a hand, setting his amused stare on your flushed face. "So? What were you doing there?"

(Day 19, Jungkook asked you to stay the night. A movie, the tea getting colder on his night table, whispered words on his pillow in the darkness of his bedroom.

He recounted about his lovely odd best friend Taehyung, who seemed to be born in the wrong epoch; about his childhood friend Jimin, and the little quarrel they had for having a huge crush over the same classmate during elementary school; about the boundless affection he feels for them. His fingers danced along your palm, followed the natural creases notching your skin, curled around your own in a soft grasp he hasn't disentangled even once. You told him about Seokjin, who was the first to treat you and Namjoon like you weren't two strangers; about Yoongi, who used to spill every tiny doubt to Namjoon whenever he felt the world crumbling beneath his feet; about the brightness they shed into your life. You captured Namjoon's name in an open-mouthed kiss before he could question you about him.

With goosebumps dancing along your bare skin, you engulfed Jungkook inch by inch, fucked him at your own pace. For the first time, Jungkook breathed out your name while coming into you. For the first time, Jungkook clung at you during your sleep and mumbled your name along your nape. For the very first time in a long while, you didn't run away from someone who hugs you in your sleep and says your name with so much fondness…)

"We watched a movie and I fell asleep. I went away as soon as I woke up," you say, vaguely, feeling your heart beating in every inch of you.

"And you think we'll buy it?" Seokjin snaps his tongue. "C'mon, tell us something about him."

"I imagine you'll talk between a blowjob and another."

You dart an annoyed glance at Yoongi, Seokjin lets out his windshield laughter, capturing the attention of a group of girls not so far from your table.

You rack your brain to search for the bare minimum and harmless information you can spill about Jungkook.

"He... He was born in Busan, and moved to Seoul to study but dropped out of university. His best friend told him he could use his grandparents' house until he understands what he wants to do with his life."

"Oh, the college-crisis, we all went through it at some point."

Seokjin scrunches his nose. "Speak to yourself. I never had problems." He turns to you -not before raising his glass of wine in the direction of the girls, making them giggle (you'd like to tell him that they've probably become adults a few days ago, but you aren't in the right position to talk). "And what was he studying?"

"Filmography. He loves editing videos and such." Sweetness shapes your mouth in a small smile that reaches your eyes. "He made me see some projects he made for his classes. He's talented…"

"Aw…" Seokjin chuckle sinks you back down to earth. "We've finally found the director for our first Yoongi's MV. Wait, how was your stage name back in high school? AugustD—"

"Fuck off! I don't accept jokes from someone who used to call himself worldwide-handsome for absolutely no reason!" Yoongi's voice raises two notches higher, his fingers running to scratch the back of his crimson ear.

"What are you saying, sweetheart? I still call myself worldwide-handsome !"

(Day 23, Jungkook knocked at your door around 10:00 PM, unannounced. His eyes were red and puffy, traces of ghostly tears were gliding down his cheeks. Betweens sips of breath, he told you he had an argument with his parents on the phone because he doesn't know if he wants to go back to studying -he doesn't know what to do. They told him he's wasting his future, and you felt the area around your eyes swelling up while he tried to clean his face with the back of his hands. He asked if he could stay, and you let him in, heart falling into pieces at every soft sob tumbling off his mouth. You kept him close in a soft embrace while watching a movie, his ear resting on your chest. Wrapped in a cozy silence, you asked him if he wanted you to blow him; he said : no, maybe later, it's ok like this .

The next morning, he hugged you from behind while you were watering Namjoon's bonsai. Jungkook inhaled sharply through his nose before sinking his face on your shoulder, blowing a soft: " Thank you, (Y/N). I feel a lot better." that punched the breath out of you.

For the first time after days made of orgasms and chase each other's pleasure, you didn't fuck…)

"And, did he choose what to do?" Yoongi stretches to grab a piece of lettuce, he uses it to wrap it around a slice of pork.

You shake your head, sipping your beer. "He still doesn't know. He'd like to go back to studying. Other times, he'd like to pack his things and travel around the world. Some other times, he'd like to find a job and settle himself. He's a bit confused..."

Yoongi nods, swallowing. "I think it'd be a great stripper. Or a good porn actor. But, well, you're the only one who can judge this."

( Day 30, Jungkook confessed that his first time had been in fourth grade. She was a year older, she used to tutor him in math. She had a pair of brown eyes that glistened every time he looked at her, and a bright smile that made his stomach painfully twirl. She was the first kiss in an empty street after years upon years spent watching rom-com anime, wondering how it'd be; she was the first time in her bedroom when her parents were away for the weekend, the last album of IU rolling in her stereo, her thighs wrapped around his waist like a vise as he contemplated her moving upon him. They stayed together for a year, then she dumped him for a college student -a friend of her sister, apparently.

Between giggles and sheepish smiles, he admitted that she broke his heart in a million, tiny pieces, because he was too much in deep with her. His fingers were curled around your own for the entire duration of his tale while you were strolling along the trail that leads to the river, throwing some stones and twigs to make Bam and Moon play. Gasping once, he said that he has never had many girlfriends; actually, he's too lazy even for embarking into friends-with- benefits affairs, because they require a good dose of strength and patience to not let your feelings grow. Sinking in your attentive stare, he said that he prefers staying on his own because he isn't cut for serious relationships; because he isn't good at taking care of another human being's needs. While he was taking off a leaf from your hair, he smiled sweetly, and told you that lately he thinks about his life in two.

Also that day, you didn't fuck…)

Seokjin's chuckle fades into Yoongi's curses, mumbled under his breath. "What did he say about Namjoon?" His smile trembles, flips off his face slowly before your persistent silence. "You told him about Namjoon, didn't you?"

You take a breath but it sticks in your throat. "Not… exactly."

Yoongi curses again, turning to you. "(Y/N), holy shit, c'mon… what the fuck are you waiting for?!"

( Day 35, Jungkook asked you what's behind the locked door close to the kitchen, observing Moonie laying in front of it every single second of his day, like he was desperately waiting for someone to get out of that room anytime soon. While you were folding some of your clothes, piled up beside his hoodie smelling of lemon, you told him that it's Namjoon's studio -full of all the things he left behind; of all the things you've hidden to feel his absence less. Abandoning the comic that was laying on his lap, Jungkook neared you and kissed your left eyelid, your cheekbone, your mouth. Brushing some hair away from your face, he told you that your husband is an idiot for going away, leaving so many important things. You, above them all. Letting out a high-pitched giggle, he told you that he's ready to kick his ass when he'll be back for all the suffering he caused you. With your heart dropping in your stomach, you swallowed back the truth, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

Also that day, you didn't fuck…)

Yoongi darts you a judging stare, brows snapping together. "You know that the longer you wait, the worse it will be." He pokes the tip of his tongue on his cheeks. "You'll break his heart."

You lower your stare, picturing Jungkook's precious smile fading away from his face…

Seokjin curls his lips. "I'm not a saint, but starting a story based on lies isn't exactly a good thing…"

Your heart squeals when the picture of Namjoon suddenly appears in the back of your mind and blends with Jungkook's, who's filling your heart and mind little by little.

"(Y/N)—"

"Can - can we talk about something else?" You interrupt, massaging your temples. "Jin, tell us more about your new job."

"Honey, you know that I love being the center of attention… but I'm not going to monopolize the conversation with my amazing life in the big city until you tell us what's between you two."

"Ok, we sometimes fuck. Can we move on?"

"We already know you two fuck. Even my mother knows you fuck him," Yoongi barges in, still annoyed for your incapacity to talk about Namjoon openly. "We want the details."

"Like, not those kinds of details. But, like, is he good? Do you like it?"

"He's…" amazing . "Good."

Seokjin nods. "And so? What are you two exactly?"

( Day 36, Jungkook asked you to tell him about Namjoon. To recount exactly how you two met, who was the first to ask each other out; if it was love at first sight, if it took him a lot to sort out his feelings for you, if you always knew he was the right one. He asked you about his wedding proposal, about the wedding itself. Watermelon juice drooled on your chin as you watched him stroll in your garden, studying Bam busy chasing a butterfly. The warm summer breeze was twiddling with his hair, now long enough to be worn in a tiny half-tail; the expectation floating in his eyes was so intense to make the mild queasiness in your stomach brew. Capturing every tiny detail of him, you thought that something will surely miss when he won't be here anymore. Brushing away from your chin a rivulet of juice with his thumb, he asked you if you are still in love with Namjoon. You replied to every single question tumbled off his mouth, except for this one. This one was too much. Jungkook stopped questioning you about your past, aware he crossed the invisible line you had traced from the very beginning. Curling his fingers around the fabric of your smooth summer dress, his lips melted against your own in a kiss that took your breath away. Upon the gentle touch of the tip of his tongue, you thought you heard him say a soft: "I hate I was - was born so late" while his fingers were tucking some hair behind your ear.

You don't fuck that day either…)

"I… don't know." You shake your head, trying to maintain a bit of rationality. "It's not like we've talked about us, or we felt the need to label this. We just live day by day…"

"Well, I guess you sort of put things cleared before starting this… thing ," Seokjin inspects, unsure.

"Not really, no. It happened, and we didn't stop." You trail your stare to the empty bottle of soju, Yoongi's stare scorches your skin. "We sometimes fuck, we sometimes don't. A casual thing."

(Day 40, today afternoon. Jungkook asked you if you could spend the day together, but you told him that you promised Jin and Yoongi to have dinner together after your shift. With a glint of sadness floating in his doe eyes, he undressed you slowly, studied every inch of your skin crossed by goosebumps as if this was your last moment on earth together; with a bitter taste in your mouth, you took off every single cloth from his figure, tracing every inch of him with your fingers. Your first orgasm was shaped in a small moan brushed upon his mouth as he pulled his fingers into you, eyes pinned to your face. He used your juices to pump himself a bit, eyes still locked to yours. He pushed the tip against your wet folds, contemplating your lips swollen for the kisses, the shreds of pleasure scattered on your face, indulging in your irregular breath. He pulled into you gently, staring at you through his lashes. You clung at his shoulder blades, your heels pressed against his buttcheeks as he thrusted slowly. Slowly. So slowly you couldn't feel the end. Jungkook didn't take his eyes off your own for a second. You felt… loved , for a very brief moment. Then, you came again, he came, and you forgot about it.

It tasted like a goodbye fuck…)

"But… What if he's just waiting for you to say something? After all, your situation is way more complicated than his own." Seokjin throws a glance at Yoongi, still annoyed and silent.

A shiver travels down your spine. You think about Jungkook's luggage resting at the feet of his bed, about the clothes already folded in it. You think about the happiness sprinkled all over his face when he talks about Jeju, about the fact that he can't wait to go away with his friends…

"I don't think he wants something more from me." You clench your hands into fists around your knees.

You think about the long kiss he gave you before going back home, today afternoon. About his barely whispered: " Come back to my place when you've finished with your friends, please " that crippled you from head to toe…

"Why?"

You lose the grip around your knees, your fingers run to caress your wedding ring. "He's going to leave at the end of August."

" Tell me about your heart, how it stole breath from my lungs and still warmed my veins"

Summer's closure is shaped with Jungkook's airy laughter, constellations shining wet in his doe eyes, and drops of sweat gliding along his temples, gently sketching his sharp features down to his chin.

Kissed by the morning sunlight that bathes the village, Jungkook is improvising some boxing moves in your backyard garden, fighting against an invisible opponent. He rhythmically jumps back and forth on his toes and heels, keeping his fists high across from his face. There's a little frown of concentration between his knitted brows, jaw clenched for the effort to keep his utmost attention focused on his task before punching the air.

From time to time, Bam seems to welcome his movements like an invitation to play along with him, because he trots around him before jumping and laying his paws on his stomach, interrupting his training. In those moments, the mask of seriousness drops off his face, liquefying in hues of happiness that morph his eyes into two half-moons crinkled in the corner.

In those moments, you can't help but wonder if happiness can have more than a name and a face…

Jungkook lets out a high-pitched chuckle and your brain instantly shuts off, reminding you that any melody in the whole world could compare with such a marvelous sound -so you must pay your utmost attention, you can't lose even the tiniest bits of it; you need to learn that tune by heart, for when emptiness will be all that's left.

Drawn by his sudden euphoria, you distract yourself from the grocery list sitting in your notebook, trailing your eyes on him.

Sitting under a tree, you take in the sight of his bare torso, sketching with your eyes only every well-defined line that makes him a work of art in flesh and bones. You follow a single drop of sweat skimming between his toned pecs, gently crossing its way to his belly button amidst the shining sweaty dew condensed on his abdominals, finally diverting its path only to crash against the hem of his pajama-boxers that runs along his narrow waist. You chew on your bottom lip, a bit disappointed for that useless barrier made of cotton that impedes you to take a glimpse of his gracious crotch.

Jungkook exhales a light giggle when Bam nudges his muzzle on his leg, in a desperate search of cuddles. He hunches over him and places his hands under his ears, mumbling incoherent words in a high-pitched tone he only uses with his beloved dog or Moonie (or whatever is small and cute and adorable). He lifts his chin up and little when Bam tries to lick his cheek, eyes immediately darting in your direction. His lips open in a beaming smile that's warmer than the hot weather blessing this Sunday, it makes goosebump rise along your skin.

At that sight you've witnessed a thousand times throughout the past months, a feeble thought crosses your mind, snapping you back down to earth.

Next week, Jungkook will leave.

Jungkook will jump on a rickety little van with his two best friends and will cross the pebbly street that passes through your residential area backward. Jungkook will go to Jeju along with people around his age and will soon forget about this village nestled between the mountains -about a woman ten years older than him who went hiking with him and fucked him on her couch and gave him a blowjob in his kitchen and laughed brightly at his jokes and held her breath whenever his fingers intertwined with her own and hugged him tight tight when tears rolled down his cheeks.

Next week, August will approach its curtain calls and with it, this little bracket of sheer summer carefreeness you've shared…

The corners of your mouth pull up in the slightest in an attempt of a smile, but you divert your stare whisper-quick, too caught up in your own thoughts to sink in his pretty big eyes. With a little sigh withering in your lungs, you go back to focusing on your grocery list, tapping the back of the pen on the page. You try to focus on the various things scattered on the paper, trying to remember what's missing in your pantry, but your mind keeps drifting back to the boy having fun in your backyard -on the unbridgeable void that he'll surely leave behind.

You sometimes ask yourself if Jungkook has ever been crossed by your same impulse to talk about his imminent departure -about this necessity to label the bond you've developed day by day; but, as you let your mind wander back in time through all the moments you've shared, it's crystal clear that he isn't affected by the situation.

In all honesty, you haven't touched upon this topic. It's not like you've avoided it or pushed it back to bring it out at a more appropriate moment. It's just… neither of you two has ever felt the urge to tackle it: you've let things flow naturally, like your lives were meant to intertwine only for a season and it's now the time to let them wither. And yet, there were times where words were clogging your throat: you could feel them piling up in your mouth while he was kissing you; the moment before and after an orgasm; when Namjoon's memory pinched at your heart in a sad grip; when you were at the utmost of your happiness.

It's a good thing, the fact that Jungkook took everything so light-heartedly: it means that he's ready to let this thing (you) go.

It means that this thing (you) wasn't important…

It'll be easier to go back to your usual life made of small things and dusty memories of your beloved husband, knowing that Jungkook won't be a piece of your existencial puzzle anymore.

Your thumb desperately searches for your wedding ring, brushes upon it with delicacy.

Despite your certainties, though, you can't help but wonder how long it'll take for your brain to forget about Jeon Jungkook. You wonder how little it'll take him to forget about you…

"What are you going to do when summer ends?" Jungkook's sudden question breaks through your consciousness, wafts over you with a bit of uncertainty that titillates your curiosity. "I mean… what do you usually do?" He clarifies, when you finally make eye contact.

You observe his hands pulling back his sweaty hair to twirl it in a small tail on top of his head, fixing all the bits that don't fit in the elastic. "I go to work…" you manage to say, casting a quick glance at his tensed thighs as he uses his calves like a cushion. "And… I hang out with Jin and Yoongi, I take care of my house when I've some free time. Nothing much, actually." You let out a soft chuckle. "Why?"

He shrugs, caressing his tattooed arm. "I don't know… i'd be nice to see that side - side of your life, too." Words tumble off his tongue with seriousness, eyes fixed on your face for the whole time.

Your heart lurches in your chest, and a sense of sheer panic insinuates at its spot, now empty… you try to part your lips, but the tension is so thick in your muscles to cripple you from head to toe.

It's… important .

His little wish is extremely important. It means that he also wants to spend his autumn and maybe winter and maybe spring and maybe back to summer with you… it means he wants to stay with you.

You shake your head (you're probably misinterpreting the true meaning behind his words. It must be so). "The boring part of me?"

"Don't think it'll be boring, but yeah… the boring part of you." He munches the corner of his mouth, where the piercing circles the flesh. "Pretty sure I'm boring too, somehow." He lets out a small chuckle, stare shifting to Moonie, peacefully resting on the porch.

"You aren't…" it escapes in a barely whispered hush, buttered with that scorching tenderness that gushes out every time he puts himself down. He lifts his head up back again to look at you and you instinctively bend your legs close to your chest in a sort of protection, despite the many steps that keep you apart. "Anyway, believe me, there's nothing exciting in my life or this village when summer is over," you cut short the conversation, hoping that your sudden closure will refrain him from delving further into it.

You're ready to let him go, he must go…

Jungkook stays still, clenches his hands into fists only to unfold them soon after. After a few seconds, he stands up, tilting his head to both sides to crack his neck. His footfalls waft over you delicately, your heart squeals and smashes against your chest at every inch that nullifies beneath his feet, and it drops into your twirled stomach when the boy is now across from you, hiding the sunlight behind his body. He must have sensed something is off in your recent behavior, because he leans over you slowly, as if he was dealing with a wild animal ready to dash away. Starry eyes locked into yours, he rests his hands beneath your knees and gently pulls you forward to situate himself between your legs, now twirled around his waist. Jungkook shifts on his spot to lay comfortably, grazing your covered center with his crotch.

Shivers travel down your spine, the thin hair on your nape raises up as your mind drifts back to the night you've spent in your bedroom -his bare body resting on the same portion that used to belong to Namjoon (you suddenly want to throw up). You can still feel his languid stare set on your hands gently guiding his dick into you, engulfing him inch by inch by inch; you can still feel his fingers digging into your hips, following a pace marked by the throaty groans flying out his parted lips; you can still hear your name reverberating through the small room in a squelched melody morphed into an orgasm -gentle, soft, just like Namjoon used to do when you took care of his pleasure (you suddenly want to throw up. And shove him away. And cry).

Jungkook inhales sharply through his nose, placing a long kiss on your cheek. And another. And another…

You let out a giggle, unable to wriggle out of his grip. "Hey, calm down. Someone here is trying to act like a proper adult ." You joke, tapping the back of the pen on his shoulder.

"Haven't you finished yet?" His bottom lip juts out. "The youngster here is bored." He playfully complains, the trail of feather-like pecks travels toward your ear. "Can't we just - just go to the supermarket and put all that we want in the shopping cart?"

"I'm too broke for that. Guess you chose the wrong cougar."

Jungkook lets out an airy laughter that sets in your lungs and chest, filling them to the brim. He gives you a quick kiss on your mouth before laying gently on top of you, his ear pressed against your breast. Curling his fingers around the fabric of your shirt, he exhales a chuckle for absolutely no reason -and it makes you all warm inside, the idea that happiness might cocoon him just because you and him are together.

You let out a sigh, a small smile etching itself on your face. "Guess I can take a small break..." You twirl an arm around his shoulders, while the other hand twiddles with the tiny tail.

Jungkook inhales sharply through his nose, indulging in your strokes. "(Y/N)... There's something I want to ask you." His voice is low, a little trembling, it's barely audible in the persistent chirp of birds all around you. He exhales one of those mouth-sounds he makes when he's fumbling for words and a gush of panic starts brewing in the abyss of your chest. "I was thinking… it's been a little - little while actually, but what if… ahm, would you mind if I stay?"

You swallow, ignoring the possibility that there might be something deeper behind his question (after all, you're ready to let him go. He must go).

"For lunch? Sure. What would you like to eat?" You grab a lock falling over his forehead and curl it between your fingers. "But, ugh, someone here is impeding me to go to the supermarket. We'll probably have to eat flowers and grass."

He chuckles softly, his cheek brushes on your breast when he shakes his head. "I didn't - didn't mean only today. But… you know - you know that I've to leave soon, but I was thinking… I can stay ."

Oh…

Your muscles tense up all at once. His words are the prelude of a scary conversation you thought (prayed and hope) would never exist, and Jungkook pronounces it with absolute quietness -as if he accepted that things have to go in this way; but, at the same time, you can manage for you two to have a sense even after his departure.

A huge void opens in the pit of your stomach, sucks your heart in and triturates it in a pulpy mess; but still you can hear its beat frantically thumping in every inch of you.

"I can stay next week, too. And also the other one. And the other..." He hesitates before turning to gaze up at you, basking in the thick silence you're giving him back. Eyes shining wet, brimmed with fear of rejection, he sinks in your wide stare. "We can be - be together…"

You gasp once. And twice. And a third time. But air doesn't seep in, it sticks in your dry throat and doesn't travel down to your lungs. You feel like fainting.

Does Jungkook really want to stay here? With you?

Why?

He can't. He must go away.

This village can't offer him anything. You can't offer him anything. You… you've your life here. A simple life with anything extraordinary happening and-and why would he ever accept this bore? Him, who wants to live his existence at its fullest and doesn't like to stay in the same place for a long time… it'd be like caging him. What if you let him stay and then he gets bored and suddenly leaves? Soon you'll go back to your working days, you won't have so much time to dedicate to him and… and he'll realize that you aren't as carefree as you are during summer. This ten-year-gap between you two will become palpable, and he'll regret having wasted his young days time with you.

And Namjoon…

And there's Namjoon, too. What if Namjoon will never leave your heart? What if Jungkook's presence will make you forget about the incredible man who helped you to turn into the woman you're today?

You love Namjoon with every fiber of your being, and you aren't ready to let him go… but you are ready to let Jungkook go, you are…

Are you?

"No…" this simple word flies out your mouth above a whisper, but hits him like a slap in his face, because he immediately pulls himself away from you.

Jungkook's eyes grow wider, the liquid sparks floating into them dangerously flicker. "W - what?" His smile quivers, withers upon the visible trembling in your shoulders. "(Y/N), I—" He sits on the grass using his feet like a little cushion and gives you the saddest look you've ever seen on someone's face (it breaks your heart into a million pieces). "W… why not?"

You put yourself into a stretched position, moving backward to lean against the tree. "You… you can't stay. You can't."

He frowns, fingers curling around nothing. "I can't…"

"No, I mean… you shouldn't." You bend your legs close to your chest. "You should—you had plans with your friends. And to go back to Busan, you—" you moisten your trembling lips. "Why would you ever want to stay here?"

Jungkook's eyelids flutter fast in surprise. "Because you are here… " his confession is genuine, firm, like he thought a lot about it and this idea calcified in his heart and mind. "I can go to Jeju another time. And to Busan, too. The fact is… no matter where I go, I think I'll keep coming back here." His hand runs to grab at the opposite bicep. "I… want to stay here, with you, and try . We work pretty well together."

You swallow. "Jungkook, you don't belong here."

"You didn't belong here either."

"But I've got a job here, and I moved with Namjoon—" his name tastes bitterly on your palate. "My life is here. You, instead, you—"

"I'm a boy who doesn't know what to do with his life," he interrupts, bitterly smiling. "But I'm young, I've all the time to understand what's the best for me—"

Namjoon used to say the same. That he was still young, he had all the time to do many things and visit many places. He told you that you two had all your whole life ahead of you, together… but that's not true. That's a fucking lie. Time… time is fleeting. Time doesn't care about anyone. Time grabs what's important to you and obliges you to keep going without it, dealing with the smothering absence every single day…

"I'm—things won't be like this, when summer will end," you fumble for words, setting your stare on everything except for him -who's sad, but hopeful. "Soon I'll go back to work, I won't have much time to dedicate to you. I'll be… nervous and angry and—"

"I don't care, I want to try anyway," he interrupts, softly, unperturbed about the eventuality that things might crumble at the first hint of adversity. "I… I want to see if we work well also when things get hard. Aren't you curious?"

You are. And you aren't. The fact is that you were so convinced that Jungkook would leave, you didn't think too much about you two together -and now that he's offering you this chance on a silver plate, you're frightened to death: if things fuck up, it'll be easy for him to move on and find another place, but you… you'll be left here alone to recollect all the pieces of your shattered heart and you can't do this to it (to you) anymore. If things will work, instead, you'll risk replacing Namjoon's memory and you can't do this to him, you—!

Your fingers run to grab at your wedding ring. They caress it convulsively, like your whole life depended on it. "It's just a summer fling…" you mumble, vaguely, talking to yourself rather than with him.

"It had to be…" but Jungkook hears you perfectly, and barges in with absolute peacefulness. Resoluteness streams in his eyes, and you can't help but be scared of all his honesty and yearning of trying. "(Y/N), I do l—" he chews on his bottom lip, swallowing whatever he was about to tell you. His stare trails to your ring, and a small sigh leaves his mouth. "Is it because of your husband?"

A burst of rage suddenly fogs your mind, notches your voice and words in a high-pitched trembling. "Why do you always have to talk about him?!"

"Because you still love him!" A vibrant flush spreads to the tip of his ears, hands clenched into fists. The annoyance flickers between his tensed features, as if he was finally releasing every ounce of it. "Because you still love him and I don't get how can you still love an idiot who left you—"

An idiot…

"He made you come here, and then he left. And you - you're still waiting for him and—"

Namjoon isn't an idiot…

"And I don't get it! If you love him so fucking much why don't you just call him and ask him to - to try again, instead of wallowing in self-pity—"

"Namjoon is dead …"

The seriousness of your words don't impact your mind the exact moment they fly out your mouth. Actually, it takes you quite a few seconds to process what you've just said. Without shedding tears. Without screaming or raising your voice.

The truth you've hidden from Jungkook for all these months is shaped with quietness (with the same quietness you've asked him if he preferred a toast or cereal, this morning, when he hugged you from behind to announce his presence).

You tuck some hair behind your ear, unable to look at the boy across from you -you don't want to see what type of expression is dawning on his face right now, you couldn't stand it.

"Namjoon, he… we didn’t divorce. He… he passed away. A year and a half ago, he took a bike ride and a car, ahm—" You munch the corner of your mouth, the area around your eyes swells up.

You still feel the metallic smell of blood in the air, the warmth of tears streaming down your scarlet cheeks, the powerfulness of a scream you've squelched into your throat, the warmth of Seokjin and Yoongi's embrace when you felt weak in your knees.

Everything is so vivid, as if you were living that moment every single day of your existence…

Jungkook's expression changes. It looks like a leaf curling on itself at the first touch of winter. There's… disappointment; surprise; shame. He looks like someone who wants to put as much distance as possible between you two…

"You didn't tell me…" he mumbles, shaking his head. "You… you said you - you divorced, you—"

"I didn't," you interrupt, "You talked about divorce."

"Ah. So it's my fault?!"

"No, I just—I just grabbed the occasion." Your stare shakes before his frown, so you lower it to search for a safe spot but everything in Jungkook's body is so tensed up for the rage you feel your heart dropping in the pit of your stomach.

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?"

Because Jungkook had to leave at the end of August, so why bother?

"I… don't want to talk about him with you."

Because it's easier, like this. It's easier to keep him close to your heart if you mention Namjoon as little as possible. It's easier to smother in the bud every emotion arising for another man if you treat your husband like a wanderer who's lost his way back home.

Waiting for someone who will never return reminds you that you loved him with every inch of you, with every breath you've taken -and you don't want to know if someone as special as him does exist because it doesn't feel quite right…

A faint crackling sound coming from Jungkook's direction catches your attention. He slowly stands up, heavily, like his whole body was made of iron and cement. You briefly take a glimpse of his face, brimmed with creases of sadness that have you turning to the other side.

Jungkook scratches his nape. “It's better - better if I go home. I've got some things to do.” Without looking at you, he gives you a small smile -so small that you can read between its cracks.

Jungkook won't search for you anymore.

It’s too much for him. He’s twenty three after all. Why should he put up with a woman whose past is a luggage full of ghosts that she doesn't want to let go? Why should he spend his days with someone who doesn't trust him enough to share a huge piece of herself?

Why should he stay with you, when you treated him like a boy worth only a summer?

The only thing Jungkook leaves to you is his low voice as he calls Bam, patting a hand on his thigh to invite him to follow him. The tiny screeching sound he made while greeting Moonie. The footfalls disappearing behind the light thud of the door.

Then, the emptiness.

The same emptiness that wrapped you when Seokjin was crying through a phone and you had understood that your life wouldn't be the same anymore. It's just… of a different shape. But not less painful.

It's ok. You can get used to it.

"I’ll hug you so hard you’ll remember it a while; Late at night smiling, sensing me all around you; Your devoted loving ghost..."

The good thing about summer flings is that they're meant to run out in the warm weather that starts getting lukewarmer, while the breeze prepares to welcome a new September, hauling away all the words and gestures you've spilled light-heartedly.

It's comforting to know that certain things will stay forever on the surface, without growing… sure, there's a bitter taste for all those " what if?" that naturally sprouted at every skipped beat of your heart; but they're just this: " ifs " and " buts ", and they soon will be forgotten without any pain.

Jungkook, exceptionally, is one of those " what if?” and "ifs" and "buts" that hurt all your bits…

It's lacerating the way he seeps through your thoughts undisturbed, reminding you that all the good and profound you've built had ended in a thick silence that had you sitting under a tree as if your soul just left your body -stare fixed on the exact point you've last observed his hunched figure, like you were expecting for him to come back and save the situation.

It's lacerating the fact that amidst the many memories of Jungkook you've shielded between the folds of your brain, the only one that comes back to haunt you is his face crumpled with sadness for your firm rejection.

Not his doe glistening eyes; not his toothy smiles; not his airy laughter that lifts you up above the clouds… just sheer sorrow. And bitter disappointment. And regret.

All because of you…

And you hate him for his capacity to get under your skin and capture your utmost attention: for the very first time since he's bumped into your life, you regret letting him take a step into your intimacy -so much and deep that you can't help but feel sad for shattering his heart and hopes.

And you shouldn't, because Jungkook is alive.

Jungkook is still alive and he's twenty three years old and he'll recover soon from this sort of heartbreak and you'll become just a meaningless summer story he'll flaunt with his friends when he's a bit drunk. You should address all your sorrow to Namjoon. Because Namjoon isn't here anymore and he was too young to leave this place and he wanted to do and see so many things and when he left, he took with himself all the projects you created for you two.

He took away the best part of you, because you weren't ready to let him go…

The love you had for him was so scorching and blazing high and still is; but Jungkook's arrival cooled it down, and you started thinking that maybe, out there, someone else worth sharing their life with you does exist.

You hate that Jungkook is slowly replacing Namjoon's memories with his own; and yet, at the same time, you can't help but wonder how the new boy with big doe eyes and a gentle smile is doing…

A little sigh seeps through your lips, stretched into a thin line.

It's been almost a week since you've seen Jungkook, and your heart hasn't stopped bleeding since then.

You aren't very much surprised about his choice to stand aside, considering the harsh ending between you two: you witnessed firsthand how men tend to walk away after a discovery of this scale -especially when you're too broken and it's too damn difficult to help you recollect all that pieces you've scattered around. In this specific situation, though, it's also true that you dropped the bomb out of the blue, without giving him any time to metabolize the truth you kept from him for all these months. Moreover, even if Namjoon's death wasn't a weight too huge to sustain, Jungkook is still too young for this: he came here to give a sense to his own life, searching for some carefreeness and for an answer to all those questions that devour him from the inside… Why should he saddle with this—!

“(Y/N), if you like that mug so much, you can have it." Seokjin's voice breaks through your consciousness abruptly. The panda-mug you're holding for three minutes straight almost slips through your hands as you slowly regain control of yourself.

You blink twice, trailing your stare from Jin's amused expression to the mug (it's chipped on the handle because Joonie accidentally made it fall while taking it out of the cupboard). "No, thanks…" you run the thumb on the cracked area, before grabbing a piece of newspaper to wrap around it with a nervous gesture. "You know it disgusts me to drink from a panda's head." You place it carefully in a box full of other mugs and glasses, feeling your heart drop into your stomach.

Seokjin is going away, and you haven't metabolized this news yet.

Yoongi snaps his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment. "(Y/N), c'mon, this was your good chance to destroy that abomination."

"You don't understand anything about art." Seokjin puffs his cheeks. "And you know it's just like my Linus' blanket. I—"

Yoongi and you sigh, saying contemporaneously, "You have had it since you were a little child, your brother chose it for you and—"

"Boring. You're boring. I can't wait to move and meet new friends who will appreciate the beautiful me fully!" Jin raises his chin and tilts his head to the side, dramatically delivering you an offended look.

"We can't wait for you to move once and for all, too." Yoongi studies the cup with tiny mice eating cheese in his hands -it feels like he's debating with himself on smashing it against the wall, judging by the little frown between his knitted brows.

“Liar! Your mother told me you'll miss me to death!”

“That's not true!”

“Your ears going on fire tell me otherwise, Yoongi-chi—"

You cackle, interrupting their silly quarrel. "I'll miss you a whole lot, instead," you say, noticing his eyes crinkle in the corners and his lips twitching in an amused grimace. "And I'll especially miss your dainties. Nobody cooks Gimbap as divinely as you do." You rest your hand on your stomach, pouting.

"I believe that (Y/N) is trying to tell you to make yourself useful and go cooking something." Yoongi smirks. "Or that we'll miss just your cooking abilities, you choose."

Seokjin sighs, hands resting on his hips (just like his mother would do). "Oh, Yoongi-chi, I look forward to receiving your drunk texts in which you admit that this place isn't the same without me, begging me to come back soon." His eyelids flicker up and down fast before his eyeroll, gazing then at the various boxes already closed and piled up in a corner of the living room. A glint of sadness notches the quietness dancing across his delicate features, but it lasts a very few seconds. "Anyway, you're the worst moving company ever hired. You don't deserve my divine Gimbap. But you're lucky, today I'm pretty generous." Seokjin spares you two one last glance before heading toward the kitchen. "I'll call you when dinner is ready. In the meantime, don't break anything without my authorization."

You exhale a light giggle observing his retracting figure. Once left alone, you go back to focusing on your task, basking in the silence now settled upon you two. You close the box in front of you already full and put it on the ground, grabbing another one from under the table.

Yoongi focuses on the glasses, sometimes commenting under his breath about his best friend's bad taste. He seems overall peaceful about Seokjin's decision -but you can tell from his curved lips that the closer you get to the day of the departure, the more his mood drops six feet under.

You give him a sidelong glance, scrutinizing the little pout hanging on his lips. "Your mom is worried. She says you're such a gray cloud lately." You wait for a follow-up that doesn't come, but a grunt is all you get in return. "Hey, I'll miss him too. And Jin isn't the type to disappear. He'll surely clog our chats with texts and selfies. It'll be like he never left." You deliver him a reassuring smile, squeezing his shoulder in the process.

Yoongi munches the corner of his mouth. "I know, but it won't be the same… this place won't be the same anymore. It hasn't been for a while now." He puts a cup in the box, shrugging. "Minji first. Then Namjoon. Now Jin…" his droopy eyes grow wider, he turns to you in a rush, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Ah, shit, I'm sorry (Y/N). I didn't mean to say that just me and you will suck—"

"Don't worry, I know what you mean." You flap a hand, silently telling him that you aren't mad at him. "It's just that everything seems different without certain persons, even if the others stay."

Mornings were all the same, but with Jungkook there was something that scraped their monotony: his laughter in the chirp of cicadas; his smiles, warm like the feeble sunlight seeping through the fronds; his eyes, glistening like the dew covering the flowers; his mouth shaped in a small 'O' whenever he caught a little frog jumping in your garden; his hands grabbing yours while you were taking your dogs out… mornings were all the same, and yet there was something different when Jungkook was here…

When Namjoon was here, too…

"Is it about Jungkook-ah?"

His name pierces through your chest like a thousand needles that morph into butterflies and carries your throbbing heart into your dry throat. It's the first time that Yoongi pronounces his name -he usually calls him: " the new boy " or " boytoy " (it must be serious if he doesn't tease him).

"No, of course…" you tuck some hair behind your ear, swallowing. "You said it, he's just a boy. He came here to spend his holidays, he had some fun, and now he's going away." You hunch over the box, unable to sustain the inevitable sadness that this subject brings along. "Those like him don't leave any impression."

"They do. He does… he did from the first day. It's not easy to forget those like him." A small smile etches itself on his face. "Namjoon would have liked him."

You feel a pang into your chest, probably because that statement is true. Namjoon would have liked Jungkook. He would have invited him over to your place for a beer to talk about your dogs, his course of study, the collection of manga that fills his bedroom; the three of you would have probably visited every tiny corner of this village, together…

Uncontrollably, the corners of your mouth quirk up. "I know… he would have probably taken him under his wing. You know, staying up all night to find a way to help him..."

"Yeah, Namjoon was like this." Yoongi chuckles, his gummies now exposed. "That's why you don't want to stay with him?" His question isn't harsh, but it digs in your chest and pinches your sense of guilt. His features soften before your shaky eyes. "(Y/N), I saw the way he looked at you, he isn't… a boy dealing with a passing crush. He looks like someone who wants to stay here with you. Here , holy shit…" his jaw clenches, as if the simple decision to stay in this village of his own accord could be some kind of proof of love . "You can't push him away like you always do, you—"

"I already did…" your confession tumbles off your mouth in a trembling hush, but Yoongi heard him clearly. You stay still, too scared to turn and sink in his eyes veiled with astonishment and disappointment. "He asked me if he could stay. You know, giving up on his plans with his friends, his future… I rejected him. I can't do this to him."

" He can't do this to himself, you mean. He's old enough to choose what's best for his own life…" Yoongi spits his words with firmness, but there's a note of understanding in his voice that makes you feel less alone (and guilty). "(Y/N), let's be honest… you just don't want to hurt yourself." He lets out a sigh, scratching his nape. "You're scared to fall in love again with someone new and be left alone again. But, (Y/N), it's such bullshit… nobody knows how these things go. Like, you and Namjoon were an amazing couple, but you'll never have the certainty that it'd have been forever."

Yoongi's words hit you like a bucket of icy water. Your fingers curl into fists, you'd like to slap him in his face for the harshness in his speech… but they're sprinkled with a type of truth that you've always swiped away: the fact that even the biggest love could shatter, at a certain point. But this isn't entirely the crux of the problem. Deep inside of you, a thin voice whispers that you'll never be able to consider Jungkook an important piece of your existence because he'll never be able to match up Namjoon… why should you treat him like he was inferior?

Jungkook doesn't deserve this cruelty…

Yoongi's hand curls around your shoulder, squeezing it a little. "(Y/N), run to him. Don't treat him like a fucking child. He's big enough to know what he wants, don't—"

"I can't." You shake your head, so hard that your temples pulse. "What if I will never like him like I love Joonie? I'd break his heart, I can't."

"You already broke his heart," he analyzes, lowering his head when you exhale a small whining sound. "Tell him about Namjoon. Tell him the truth, be honest. He'll understand—"

"I did." There's a little crack in your voice as the pictures of that morning flash in the back of your mind. "I told him the truth and he disappeared."

"He disappeared because you hid the truth from him. You rejected him completely . He's angry, ashamed… give him some time."

"No, you should've seen him. He was angry… and scared . It's too much for him to handle." You twirl your arms around your waist, you feel like you're on the cusp of breaking. "He thinks he likes me because we spent a nice summer together, but it won't last. Things will get harder and more serious." You brush your hands on your face, slamming then your arms along your sides. "It's okay, though. I don't care. I knew it wouldn't last anyway. He isn't the first one who goes away after finding out that Namjoon left ."

"Namjoon is dead." Yoongi's voice is a screeching noise that punches you in your stomach. But what's hurt the most is his expression: ripped apart, as if saying these few words cost him half of his life. "Until you won't say it out loud, you won't move on." His hands clench into fists. "(Y/Nk, you kept acting like a sad widow, and we never complained because we respect you and you have all the rights to do things at your own pace… but you're happier since you've met Jungkook-ah. You two, together… you had the same smile you had for Namjoon. I won't stay to the side, watching you fuck up everything. Not this time…" Yoongi breaths out from his nose, lowering his voice. "Go to him. I'm taking care here, you go to him and fix everything—"

"No, no… I prefer staying here." You rest your hands into your hair. You want Yoongi to stop blabbering. You want him to stop slamming the truth in your face with so much brutality. "Jungkook makes me forget about Joonie, and I don't want to. He isn't Joonie, he—"

"But he is another man you love." His words waft over you with delicacy, almost hesitant, like this revelation could be the coup-the-grace to your mental stability. "(Y/N), you won't forget about him. I don't think Jungkook-ah would ever want to replace him, and Namjoon… he'd never want to see you like this…" he shrugs. "You deserve happiness."

"No, it's not fair."

"It is. It's not your fault if things went like this. It's… destiny and all that bullshit. I know it sucks, but it had to happen. And Jungkook-ah's arrival was meant to happen, too…" he turns toward the box in front of him, mumbling, "You can't keep living in the past."

You know it. You know you should let go of Namjoon's ghost and live your life to its fullest; and yet, you feel guilty about the realization that you're still here, having fun, while he isn't… it's so fucking unfair. And even if you'd want to bring Jungkook back into your life, it's—

"It's late…" you mutter, brushing your fingers on your wedding ring. "Jungkook hates me. I hurt him too much too many times. He's probably too tired to forgive me again…"

"He doesn't hate you, he just needs time. And it's not late. If it wasn't late for me, it can't be for you…" his faint smile trembles before the confusion sprinkling your face. "I followed your advice. I wrote to Minji, and she answered back. She's happy, and she misses me… and she wants to see me again."

When Yoongi's confession scrapes the thin layer of air between you two, you suddenly forget about your problems and doubts, about the sadness that was sucking your heart in the pit of your stomach, about the sense of guilt that was trampling your conscience.

You're just happy about Yoongi, right now. You don't care about anything or anyone else…

"She asked me to meet her, and I'm thinking about it… but it'd be nice to see her again." His eyes are two shining gems that skyrocket you to outer space. "I'd like to try…"

"I… I'm happy. I'm so happy for you, Yoongi-chi." Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as he flashes you his adorable gummy smile. In a burst of euphoria, you twirl your arms around his neck and he hugs you back thightly and, fuck , the last time he wrapped you so hard into a warm embrace has been after Namjoon's funeral. But there's no pain, this time. There's just relief. "This wasn't an excuse to be hugged, was it?" You tease him -he acts all tough, but he's such a softie under all those layers of I-don't-give-a-damn attitude.

Yoongi snorts a chuckle, squeezing you tighter. "Go to Jungkook and talk to him. Be happy, mh?"

You chew on your bottom lip to keep tears at bay. You lean your forehead on his shoulder, letting out a stuttered breath.

Being happy…

"Guys, just five minutes and dinner is ready. Why don't you—" Seokjin's words fade in a small " oh " brimmed with surprise, as he halts himself on the doorframe, catching the pair of you in each other's arms. "Hey, shouldn't you hug me instead? I remind you I'm the one who's leaving, uff…" He approaches you when you nod toward him, in a silent gesture to ask him to come closer. He hugs you from behind. "What's the problem? Is it because I'm leaving?" He jokes, but you catch a light wobble in his voice that creates a lump in your throat.

Being happy without Seokjin…

"That. And because Yoongi-chi will meet Minji."

Being happy without Namjoon…

"And because (Y/N) is in love with the new boy." Yoongi gets quiet, then…

Being happy with Jungkook…

"And for Namjoon."

Your heart beats frantically into your chest, you melt into their arms. Seokjin hugs you tighter. And Yoongi, too.

You brush your palm upon the window, behind the thick veil of dust you can take a glimpse of the blossoming garden that made Joonie's head spin when you first came here to search for your new home in this quiet village.

In the back of your mind, you can still see his mouth unfurl in a smile -two adorable dimples appearing on his cheeks; the visor of his baseball cap casting a shadow upon his glistening eyes; and the confident: " I like it here " tumbled off his tongue as he let your hand go to step inside the room, like a force was pulling him from the inside…

His footfall echoes back to you in a rhythmic melody that cocoons your heart in turmoil; his low, thoughtful voice is a soft whisper that makes you quiver from head to toes like a leaf, as you hear him describe out loud the position of each piece of furniture that would constitute his future studio -all the things he could do here, in such a lovely place.

Basking in the nocturnal silence scraped by the chirp of cicadas, you've the sensation that Namjoon is still here: he's sprawled on his chair, eyes pinned to the last book he bought at the bookstore; he's hunched over the desk, a little frown slicing across his brows as he carefully studies the tests of his students; he's sitting on the edge of the desk, stare fixed on the plant life outside and a mug in his hands as he recounts his day -his sharp eyes morphed into two sweet half-moons…

"(Y/N)?"

You drift your stare to your right in a rush, feeling your heart thump in your throat for your name resounding throughout the room as it has just been pronounced by him. However, when you cast a glance upon his desk, reality hits you like a bucket of icy water, swiping away Namjoon's picture like curls of smoke: there's no one occupying his chair.

Namjoon isn't here, in flesh and bones.

He's just a figment of your imagination that comes back to haunt you from time to time.

You are alone…

Reluctantly pulling yourself out of your own dizziness, you clean your palm on your shorts before folding your arms around your waist, taking a look around: Namjoon's studio is how you left it half a year ago, when you've decided to lock it forever to spare yourself a deeper sorrow. Sure, it's definitely more dusty and dirtier, but unaltered throughout the years rolled by: the boxes containing his clothes and belongings are stored along the wall, creating a small fence of memories that would swallow you in one bite if you'd only take a quick peer inside of them; his messy notes are dispersed on the desk, in the same position he left them the day before the incident; one of his student's test is laying at the center, some red marks scattered through the paper (he didn't finish to correct it, he said he'd do it the morning after); his books disposed on the shelves curved for the weight…

You've put every bit of him inside his sanctuary on earth the moment his absence became too loud to bear it, naively thinking that this decision would help you to forget about him.

But it didn't.

Namjoon is indelibly carved into your heart and brain and the deepest part of you -his ghostly presence accompanies every step you take, every gesture you make, as if your life was still meant to intertwine with his own, someday.

A sudden force coming from the inside gives a light push to your feet, now shuffling on their own accord toward the desk. In an instinctive gesture, you let your fingers crawl on the surface (just like you used to do before hugging him from behind, placing a kiss on the top of his head), the tips of your fingers leave a trail in their wake. You inhale sharply through your nose, the stuffy smell grown for all this time has you grimacing as you observe the various paintings he bought (but never hang on the walls, saying that he couldn't find their right position), until your eyes inevitably rest upon the few photographs you've hidden here.

Despite the lump in your throat and the tears wetting your lashes, the corners of your mouth quirk up as soon as you take notice of your wedding picture; some random selfies of the pair of you taken during your small trips and messily pinned on a cork-board; a stolen shot of him, Yoongi and Seokjin with the Cheonjiyeon Waterfall in the background; a laughter captured by mistake while Hoseok is talking to him in the chaos of a pub…

Feeling weak in your knees, you plop down on the chair, breath settling heavily in your lungs. You curl into yourself, elbows resting on your thighs and hands gripping at your hair as tears dangerously threaten to roll down your cheeks.

The heart-to-heart chat you had with Yoongi was a good, metaphorical kick in your ass to find some strength and finally open this door to confront yourself with a beautiful past that you can't seem to let go -as if embracing all the things you've lost would help you to move on with your life… but you're stuck.

You're stuck into his sharp eyes that gently etched into two sweet crescents when he trailed his attention to you; you're stuck in his laughter, in his voice telling you tales you used to drink to the very last ounce. You're stuck in the scorching love that didn't wither when he passed away. You're stuck in the abyssal emptiness he left behind.

You're stuck in Namjoon, and the way life seemed funnier since he bumped into it…

The gentle but persistent tapping of Moonie's head against your legs snaps you back down to reality. You crack your eyes open, sinking in his round, glistening stare -like he couldn't fully grasp why his beloved owner isn't here. You put yourself into a stretched position as you slowly muster enough courage to not shatter into pieces.

Moonie takes advantage of your movement to stretch himself and rest his muzzle on your lap, patiently waiting for some cuddles. You caress the top of his head in a soothing gesture to calm yourself down, observing the wedding ring wrapped around your finger.

"You miss him too, mh?" You mumble, exhaling a stuttered breath that flickers between your trembling lips. You lean forward to rest your cheek on the top of your dog head, eyes pinned to the desk at your side.

It's useless. Staying here won't solve absolutely anything. Staying here reminds you of all the nice memories you crafted with your husband -it doesn't make you want to run to Jungkook and ask him if you're still on time to apologize…

Jungkook…

A pang in your chest makes you curl more into yourself, a little whining sound squelches into your mouth. It's ok like this. It's more than ok like this. The nice bond you and Jungkook developed throughout these months would never last when summer will be over -and the fact that he's about to go away tomorrow without even greeting you does nothing but intensify your certainty: it's late.

It's too late…

You're about to stand up and dash out of this room, locking it once and forever. But just when you're about to move a finger, your attention is captured by the desk drawer -remembering that you've hidden something really precious into it.

You carefully open it, taking notice of all the letters you wrote him during his military service and that he attentively secured together with an elastic; you look at the sticky notes full of smiles and 'good morning' you've written in a rush whenever you woke up earlier than him… and your notebook. The notebook that contains all the little poems he used to give you every single morning since your story began -his own, personal way to demonstrate how much he cared for you.

You leaf through it, eyes shining wet at every inked character. Words are carved into your brain; and yet, your heart beats feverishly as if it was the first time reading them. Seconds elapse in a silence that cocoons you inside a bubble -the world is a distant place, noiseless almost. You drown in his love exuding from each piece:

"So I wait for you like a lonely house till you will see me again and live in me. Till then, my windows ache"

You run your fingers on the characters above the paper, they're rough upon your tips. A small smile blooms upon your quivering lips, picturing him writing down this little poem in a rush before leaving. Absent-mindedly, you turn the page, and the liquid sparks in your wide eyes dangerously tremble: white. Infinite white is all you can see, realizing that this is the last note he left you. The note he left before taking his bike and telling you that he loves you, that you'd see each other later…

You can't help but wonder how many poems he'd have dedicated to you if only he hadn't gone so soon…

Yoongi's words and harsh comments suddenly slap you in your face: Namjoon is dead. Dead . And you can't do anything about it. You don't have control on what happened; but you have control over you and your future actions: you can only store inside of you all the beautiful memories he gave you and then move on, accepting all the good that life is going to place along your path -yes, even if this 'good' is a gentle boy with sweet doe eyes who displayed the depth of his heart with genuine sincerity.

The problem is that it isn't so easy to keep going when you think that all the plans you projected seem worthy only alongside your husband.

The problem is that you aren't ready to let another human being take a seat in your heart when it fully shines bright for Namjoon.

And no matter how Jungkook has been able to take it into his hands and delicately cure every scar atop of it and help it to go back to beating again: it's an inarguable truth that if Namjoon were here, you would have never noticed Jeon Jungkook.

The love you felt (and still feel) for your husband isn't comparable to the feeble passion that drowned you toward the boy.

You don’t love Jungkook.

You love when he comes, when he makes you come.

You're just this . You're barely whispered orgasms in the darkness of his bedroom; lazy kisses stolen in the backyard of his house; airy laughters over a glass of wine; tears hidden on a shoulder; little sips of breath in the crook of each other's neck when you hug tight, on your sofa; early morning strolls, your hands so close for your fingers to intertwine in the slightest; tales of a carefree childhood that taste of watermelon and beer; whispered words on a pillow -too much intimate for the pair of you to forget them when the night is over.

It's a palliative that makes you forget about the past you’ve lost.

Something that is bound to end when the warmth of summer will start to fade.

Something that… is close to happiness .

Something…

A soft thud against the entrance door sinks you back down to earth, making you lose the grip around your train of thoughts. Moonie stops using your lap as a perch and rests on the floor, barking against nothing to the direction of the door, titillated by the rhythmic knocking sound that scratches the silence settled upon you.

You snap your brows together, curious about who might be so late at night. You place the notebook on the desk and patiently wait for the noise to cease; but whoever came to visit you doesn't seem intent to go away. Huffing, you stand up, slowly proceeding toward the entrance.

Who can't it be now?

Maybe it's Yoongi, unable to sleep due to the messages he keeps exchanging with Minji; maybe it's Jin, who acts all tough when it comes to his imminent departure but you can tell by the sparks in his eyes that he's scared and sad to leave you all behind; maybe their mothers have come to spend some time with you, even if you highly doubt it… in all honesty, whoever it might be, you don't feel like talking with anyone.

You just want for this night to pass in a heartbeat and stick your head out tomorrow morning and discover that the house across from yours is finally empty once again—!

"Yes?" Your eyes grow bigger when you open the door to reveal…

"Hi, Noona…"

… Jungkook.

Jungkook and his big doe eyes brimmed with constellations and galaxies you still have to give a name to. Jungkook and his black, wavy hair gently falling along his temples in unruly locks. Jungkook and his lips stretched in a thin line that tastes of fondness and fear of rejection. Jungkook and his fingers curling around his Iron-Man t-shirt. Jungkook and his tattoos that tell you something about his own, little, personal world.

Jeon Jungkook, here, the night before his departure…

"Hey…" you manage to say, above a whisper, like a higher note in your voice might make him vanish into nothingness. He sucks on his bottom lip in a nervous gesture and you notice the tiny mole lying beneath it; your fingers immediately run to caress your wedding ring, in a desperate attempt to refrain yourself from grazing that area like you've done a billion times before. "Are you here for the last goodbye?"

You don't tell it as a joke, or out of rage, or displaying sadness.

You're genuinely conscious over the fact that Jungkook is here for a farewell between two mature grown-ups -despite all the shit you put him through in the end. It must be his last act of kindness, since you had your good dose of mind-blowing sex and you both have delved into each other's intimacy…

Jungkook isn't affected by your question in the slightest. He merely ruffles his hair, giving you a sheepish smile that reaches his eyes. "That was the plan, until this morning at least…" he catches a small breath, a ruby hue tinges his cheekbones. "I can’t leave - leave like this -you…” he moistens his lips, fixing his eyes to his sandals -his toes curl in and out for anxiety. “I want to apologize, (Y/N). I disappeared—”

“It’s ok. I disappeared many times, too." You flap a hand, trying to minimize the crux of his speech.

“It’s not the same - same." He shakes his head vigorously, knuckles turning white for the grip around the shirt. "I've never - never understood why you kept pushing me away. I thought you didn't like me much, that we were just, you know… fuck-buddies, mh." He sets his eyes on the ground, voice dropping two notches deeper. "I - I was just… I was so damn mad at you for not telling me the truth earlier. I mean, since we started to hang out, you always treated me like an adult, but that day… I felt like I was a stupid child to you. You made me so angry I wanted to cut ties once and for all." He lets out a small chuckle, camouflaging the small wobble in his recount. "Then, everything got all so clear to me and I wanted to run to you but I - I panicked ." His confession is firm, uttered while sinking in your wide eyes. "When I told you that I'm used to dating older women, it's true. I've never cared about their age or mine, I just wanted to have fun without problems, having an expiration date. It's easier to be a lover or, you know, to deal with women who just divorced. But you… I don’t know if I can do it, with you."

You swallow thickly, disoriented by his flood of words mumbled all in a rush and with that adorable stuttering mannerism that makes Jungkook the special being he is. You part your lips, but close it immediately when you realize that you lack words: what should you tell him? That a part of you is relieved to know that he prefers leaving? That a part of you is dying little by little knowing that he prefers leaving?

What can you tell a boy who wants to sacrifice his life for you when you aren't capable of understanding yourself and giving him all the love he deserves?

You let out a sigh, giving in to the easy choice.

You decide to let (him) go…

“I'm pretty sure things wouldn't work, either. You know, summer is ending, life will become harder again… it'll be different." You avert his big stare, unable to hold the expectation crumbling in his shaky eyes. "And no need to apologize. I should've told you everything from the beginning… you had all the rights to be mad at me." You catch a breath, willing to cut this conversation and his visit short. “Enjoy your holiday, Jeju is wonderful in this period—"

“I’m not going anywhere," Jungkook interrupts, softly. He takes a tiny step forward and you should back off but you can't. Your legs are paralyzed, your whole body craves for his proximity. "(Y/N), I don't know if I can do it… but I want to try.”

Panic cripples you from head to toes.

This week of absence convinced you that Jungkook wanted to put as much distance as possible between you two; you slowly accepted the reality of things and prepared yourself to live with the emptiness he'll leave behind. But if he stays, you—

“Jungkook… no, we already talked about it." You fold your arms around your waist in a sort of protection. "You can't sacrifice your life and stay here—" your words fade in the soft sound of his chuckle.

His lips open in a smile that shows his front bunny-like teeth. "Sacrifice? I'm doing it because I want to do it." Sweetness tugs at his features. "I'm not sacrificing anything if it comes from here…" he pats his hand on his chest, where the heart lays.

You shake your head. "You don't know what you're doing, you—"

"Don't treat me - me like a child." Jungkook pouts, offended. "I'm an adult, I know what I'm doing."

“No, you're not." You try to keep firmness in your voice, but the light tremble in your shoulders betrays your anxiety. "You - you are twenty three. You’ve to see the world, and enjoy life with someone your age, stay with your friends and - and you’ve to live in the way you want, Jungkook." You move backward when you take notice of his hand raising up to reach you. "If you stay here, with me, you - you’ll waste your time. You're going to regret it—”

“I can see the world another time. We can do it together, if you want.” He takes a step forward, but still he doesn't walk in. “I can go to Jeju next week, or next month… but if I go away from here now, I know that all the good we've built will be over and I - I don’t want to.” He waits for a follow-up that doesn't come, you can see his patience hanging into his eyes still brimmed with fondness. “(Y/N)... I’m younger than you, but I’m not stupid. I can listen to myself, and I want to stay here, with you. My heart says so. My mind, too.” He catches a breath, a muscle twitches in his jaw. “I like you, (Y/N). Thought it was clear that I do , a lot .” His hand runs to the opposite bicep. "I like you so much that I don't think I'll be able to fall for someone else."

Oh…

You feel the words climbing up your throat. The part of you that longs for indulging in the affection Jungkook is ready to give you pumps up the truth that you've difficulty tried to bury in the abyss of your chest -that you like him, too . A lot. You like him so much that you want him to stay and see how far you two can go. You like him so much that you sometimes forget about Namjoon…

And that's why you can't keep him here, with you.

You've to tell him the whole truth. A truth that he deserves to know, and that goes beyond Namjoon's death…

Jungkook swallows thickly. "(Y/N)..."

"There's something you must know…" you say, vaguely, sparing him one last glance before turning your back to him.

Jungkook walks in after a brief moment of hesitation, murmuring a 'thank you' that settles in your chest and doesn't go away. He takes off his sandals and puts them next to your shoes, gawking at that simple view a little longer. You can hear his footsteps resound behind you, only to come to a halt when you disappear inside Namjoon's studio. Realizing that this is the room you've kept locked until today, he stays still on the doorframe as if he was waiting for your green light to proceed -in a sort of gesture to not disrespect your husband.

"It's messy, and dirty. This is the first time I've been here since he's been g—since he's dead ." That word leaves a bitter taste on your tongue, you probably will never get used to saying it out loud. "You can come in…" you open the windows, waiting for his steps to eacho in the room. When all that you receive back is silence, though, you gaze at him over your shoulder, confused.

There's an hesitant set in his tensed figure, eyes open wide. He looks so small and fragile he has your heart being squeezed in a tight grip. “Can - can I? Really ?”

You nod, standing on your spot to study his movements. Moonie moves beside you, nudging your leg before resting at your feet.

Jungkook takes a few seconds before stepping in, and you find adorable the way he nods a little and clenches his hands into fists as if he had to give himself a bit of courage. He moves around cautiously, scrutinizing every inch of a place that screams 'Namjoon' in every corner. His eyes are round and big when they trail to the various paintings, his mouth shaped in a little 'O' of surprise. Then, he takes notice of the photographs, nears them like a force was dragging him from the collar of his shirt. He leans forward to take a closer look, lingers on your wedding dress as if you were the only remarkable work of art.

You'd expect him to make some nice comment about you, how beautiful you were with that type of dress on, with that hairstyle or make-up -all smiley and wrapped in that particular beauty that's typical of a brand-new wife.

Instead, he says, "Your husband seems… gentle ."

You're surprised. And happy. The fact that his first impression of Namjoon revolves around kindness makes you all giddy inside.

"He was… " it's the first time you talk about him in the past. It makes your heart bleed and ache -but not as much you thought it would do. "He would have liked you a lot. I'm sure of it…" you deliver him a small smile, contemplating the rosy shade coloring his cheeks. "I kept his studio locked because I thought this would help me to forget about him… but I can't." You caress your wedding ring, feeling your lips trembling for what you're about to spill. "There were times I had only him in my mind, while being with you…"

Jungkook immediately straightens himself and drifts his broken stare to you, as if your confession just punched him in the stomach. The sparks floating in his eyes are trembling, shining wet -it's a gut-wrenching sight that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin and run away from here.

You rack your brain frantically to search for a proper way to vocalize the turmoil whirling inside of you, but before you could exhale a small breath, Jungkook's voice scrapes the thin layer of air between you two.

"(Y/N)... I—" his fingers grip at his eyebrow piercing. "I just wanted to fuck you, at first…" he admits, lowering his stare. “I thought… I thought you were pretty. I thought it’d be nice to, you know, have some casual sex? Like, nothing serious. Meeting up when we want, no strings attached… just a meaningless summer fling." He swallows thickly, shame breaks through the embarrassment dancing across his features. "I… I was attracted to you, that’s why I started talking to you… I'm an asshole. Not very mature of me…"

You caress your elbow, shaking your head. "You aren't… and it's not a matter of maturity." Your mind runs back to Seokjin, to all the bodies he wrapped around the sheets of his bed without the slightest intention to keep them close enough to get to know them better. It's normal… not all people search for love. Not all people want or need sentimental stability. "It might happen, being attracted to someone and not wanting anything more." You give him a reassuring smile but Jungkook casts a glance upon his feet anyway, as if he felt too guilty to be in your presence.

In all honesty… it's heart wrenching to know that Jungkook approached you only to follow his sex drive toward you -which is something you've always sensed, deep down into you. But still, a thin voice inside of you tells you that this is probably a good way for you to stop caring so much about him.

"But things changed…" he adds, caressing his tattooed arm. "I… when I told you that I was thinking about my life in two, lately, you were always on my mind. You're still on my mind, (Y/N)." He lets out a breath and it feels like his whole figure is getting lighter and lighter, as if he was finally getting rid of a huge weight.

You scrutinize his face, searching for a trace of mockery. Genuine affection is all you find, though, it makes the ground beneath your feet crumble. "When did you—"

“When you went to Seoul to meet up with your friend…" he giggles. "I remember I felt sad the whole day because you weren't here. And - and I thought it wasn't about sex anymore. You… I feel so good when I'm with you. I can be myself and you'd never - never judge me." He takes a step closer to you. "And the next day we walked our dogs out and you laughed and you were happy. You were so happy. And I thought… it'd be nice to make you happy. I really want you to be happy, (Y/N).”He chews on his bottom lip, where the piercing runs around the flesh. "I know that ten years aren't few… but you were around my age when you met your husband. Why can't you give me a chance?"

Because it's different. Because Namjoon was around your age. Because Namjoon was your friend before being your lover. Because you'll arrive at a point where you'll want things that Jungkook won't be able to give you -and vice versa.

These ten years that now seem so feeble in the summer that cocoons you in its warmth, soon will notch your story, making you understand how incompatible you are…

"It's different. Things started slowly between us, Namjoon knew me like the back of his hand. He knew all the embarrassing things about me, and he accepted them. You don't know anything about me. And when you'll find all my flaws, you'll leave ."

He scrunches his nose, amused. "Don't think I will." He takes another step closer. "I already discovered some of your flaws, but I want to stay anyway."

His brutal honesty frightens you. He's so ready to accept all of you that you don't even care about what these imperfections might be…

You only think that you must be brutally honest, too…

"Staying with you these months made me understand how much I still love Namjoon," you start, cautious, paying attention to not break him. "I… I still think he's here, with me. Every time I was having fun with you, I thought: Joonie would love this … and it made me so sad, because I know he won't be back. But, other times… you made me forget about him. And I hated you so much, those times…" you set your eyes on Jungkook, wide-eyed and parted lips. "That's why we can't stay together. I'm awful. And it's not fair to you. You deserve someone who stays with you and thinks only of you and—"

"It's ok, I don't care. We don't have to rush things—"

"Jungkook…" you call him, softly. "If Namjoon were here… I would have never noticed you ."

You said it.

You finally said it, the truth you were hiding from him. The fact that Namjoon's memory still lives inside of you, making it hard to focus on someone else's love… the fact that you can't hurt Jungkook's feelings.

Jungkook stays still, silently metabolizing your admission. He swallows thickly, the corners of his mouth quirk up a little in a comprehensive smile. Without saying a word he walks out the room, sparing only one last glance at your wedding photograph.

It tears you apart, the idea of breaking his heart in pieces; at the same time, you feel lighter now that you've told him everything. You can't lie anymore… you can't stay with Jungkook in this way. It wouldn't be fair to him…

You caress Moonie and gently guide him outside the room, ready to fully embrace the solitude. You close the windows and give one long look around, imprinting in your mind all that comes to sight -aware that you'll close the studio door forever. However, when you walk outside, your heart drops into your stomach and lands on a flock of butterflies when you notice that Jungkook is still here, standing still in your living room.

He chews on his bottom lip, lets out a breath. Then, he smiles. "I'm staying anyway…"

Your eyes grow so wide they hurt. You squeeze them shut and the first hint of tears lays upon your lashes. You hear his soft footsteps come closer, your heart flickers at every inch that breaks under his feet. Your eyelids flutter up slowly when silence wraps you, taking notice of Jungkook's toes grazing your own. You lift your head up to stare at him, unable to express your thoughts.

"I don't want to replace Namjoon's memory…" Jungkook's words are soft -they are a gentle caress on your face, now reduced to a tensed mask of panic. "I just - just want to build something new with you." He grabs your hand, he stares at your wedding ring with delicacy. "I want to stay. I'm not going to leave, (Y/N)."

You gasp once… twice… thrice…

You cover your face with your free hand, tears stream down your face. You sob heavily, your body quivers and Jungkook is ready to cage you in a warm embrace.

"I miss him so much. It's not fair. We had to do many things together, we—" you cling at his shoulders, your fingers curl tight around the cotton fabric of his shirt. "I miss him so much…"

"Shh… it's all ok," Jungkook mumbles, running a hand into your hair, "Everything's gonna be ok, (Y/N)."

Oh… they told it so many times you stopped believing in it.

Bur for a very brief instant… you want to believe him.

"When you leave, weary of me, without a word I shall gently let you go"

There's a Hibiscus at the center of your table, resting on top of a piece of paper folded in two.

It's pink with some red spots in the inner part, endowed with a simple beauty that makes your heart throb frantically inside your chest -especially if you think of the reason behind its presence here: Jungkook said that he isn't good with poems, so he's going to give you a flower every morning from now on (because they're pretty and you're pretty).

(Namjoon told you that Hibiscus is a symbol of integrity and indomitable spirit, because every time a flower falls, a new one will bloom again. You don't know if Jungkook is aware of this small anecdote, but you find it funny that he specifically picked this flower among many others -because it seems to perfectly describe your current situation).

Jungkook also said that such a trivial present won't probably be as stunning as receiving a poem that could help him to put down in words the importance of your presence in his existence, but the first Golden bell stem he handed to you the morning after the "studio accident" had you thinking about destiny, the magnificence of it, and how you feel lucky that he happened to be a part of your little microcosmo.

Your fingers gently caress the smooth petals, graze the zig-zagged borders -in the same way they sketched Jungkook's abdominals last night, while you two were basking in your post-orgasm dizziness. Your pointer glides down the green stem, the corners of your mouth feebly pull up as you imagine him fucking you slowly (slower than usual) -stare engulfed into your own the whole time, fingers intertwined till the end.

Caught up in your reverie, you grab the paper Jungkook probably left before leaving, and the crescent adorning your mouth gets even brighter when you notice the various little drawings scattered throughout the page (a tiny smiley sun; an adorable bunny; a flower) before focusing on the brief message he wrote in a rush:

Tae arrived, gotta prepare the last things You were sleeping so well See you later

… And the smile on your lips slowly flips off your face, as you finally sink once again back down into reality.

Today, Jungkook is leaving.

After postponing his trip to Jeju only to spend some more time with you, he's finally packing his belongings to go away with his friends. The past seven days rolled by whisper-quick, to the point that you often wished for time to be something concrete that you could control to your liking only to stop it and indulge in his presence a little longer.

Jungkook has been… delicate. And caring.

He hasn't been invasive, he's been respectful about your need of time and space in order to fully accept him in your daily routine. His kisses have been soft goodnights brushed against your lips while standing on the doorframe; his pecks have been drowsy good mornings tasting of milk and biscuits. His strokes have been gentle touches skimming over your skin as if it was your first time together. His shoulders have been a good sustain when you felt the urge to talk about Namjoon, trying to let go of the scorching feelings you feel for him. He perfectly blended with your day-by-day life without overdoing or forcing himself -like he was meant to sit between Yoongi and Seokjin while you were taking a drink at the local pub (his soft giggle reverberating through the chaotic room and seeping through your chest for your friends little quarrells). Like he was meant to hold your hand tight when you wished Seokjin good luck for his new journey in Incheon, between hugs and sobs and laughter.

It's been like starting a new page of your life, having Jungkook here with you, tenderly—!

Moonie's sudden yelp breaks through your consciousness, distracting you from your whirling thoughts. You gaze over your shoulder, catching him scratching his paws against the door, begging you to take him out.

You turn, putting the paper beside the flower. You grab the bag you prepared after breakfast and tighten it against your chest, mustering all the courage you need to face this moment.

The time to let Jungkook go has finally come, and you can't do anything to avoid it…

In all honesty, you don't feel like meeting him while he's taking care of the last things for the trip. It would be definitively better for your heart if he'd show up here at the very last minute, telling you that he's ready to leave, that he can't stay here any longer because he's already late -in this way, there won't be any second left for the pair of you to share anything important, or to make any promise regarding your mutual future.

He'd just give you a quick kiss before jumping on his friend's van, forgetting about you as soon as the door car would slam. It would be easier, like this, to deal with the sorrow…

However, a part of you wants to see him one last time and wish him goodbye properly -even if this means to spend the rest of your days suspended in a limbo, replaying in your head the last moment you shared over and over, waiting, wondering if he'll ever be back.

You caress the top of Moonie's head, smiling. "C'mon, Moonie. Let's get out for a bit…"

Your dog sneaks into the breach as soon as you open the door, running toward the street without waiting for you. He diligently halts his own run before crossing it, staring at you with his big eyes and tongue dangling.

You stroke his muzzle before proceeding toward Jungkook's house, feeling your heart dropping in your stomach as soon as you take notice of his friend's van -already loaded with some boxes and luggages. There's a force that impedes you to come closer when you see Bam scamper outside the entrance, barking in your direction to catch Moonie's attention. Forgetful of you, your dog dashes toward the other puppy, and you find yourself standing still, as if you were waiting for the right time to dash back home, unnoticed.

A few seconds later, a guy with brownish hair a bit longer on the sides walks out the house with hands jammed inside his trousers, sparing a glance behind his back to talk with… Jungkook.

Jungkook with his usual baggy clothes. Jungkook with a little pout hanging on his bottom lip. Jungkook with his gaze fixed to the ground, unbothered about the surrounding world…

Jungkook…

You fold your arms around your waist, unable to move a finger to reveal your presence. Watching them together makes you suddenly feel out of place -wrapped in your thirty three years. With a wedding ring wrapped around your finger that weighs a lot.

"Oh… Bam, did you find a new friend?" The tall guy comments, casting his glistening eyes upon Moonie. He crouches down on his calves to observe your dog, flashing him a beaming smile when he doesn't wriggle away from his strokes. "Jungkookie, look who we have here!"

Jungkook lifts his stare up in his friend's direction, and his whole expression brightens up when he takes in the sight of Moonie. His lips unfurl into an excited crescent, gaze flickering all around to search for you; and when he finally spots you, still at a distance, he becomes… luminescent . As if happiness just washed him from head to toes.

And you suddenly don't feel out of place anymore…

"Aw, you're so nice… do you think—Jungkookie!" The boy flinches for a sudden thud noise coming from behind his back Goggle-eyed, he turns toward Jungkook, only to find the box tossed on the ground.

"(Y/N)!" Jungkook greets you brightly while running toward you.

"Hey, good morning—oh!" Your quivering words fade into Jungkook's arms, now twirled around you in a tight grip. Your muscles tense all at once for his unexpected gesture, but you relax in his embrace when he exhales on of his usual mouth-sounds (one of those he lets out when he's particularly euphoric). "Hi to you too…" you say, playfully.

Jungkook lets out a giggle. "Hi…" his tattooed hand glides up along your nape, meanders through your hair and rests on the back of your head, pulling you closer for your cheek to adhere more against him. "Sorry for not waking you up. You were sleeping so well - well," he mumbles, inching away as if you were going on fire. "I wasn't leavening - leaving without greeting you! I'd never do it, mh." Guilt drools from his words, tumbling off his mouth in a rush. A bit stuttering. In a way that makes it harder to let him go.

"I know…" you reassure him, caressing his tattooed arm. You take in the sight of the inked drawings, becoming hyperaware of the fact that you can exactly put them into their right place by heart. "Thanks for the flower. It's beautiful." You go back to staring back at him, sinking in his big doe eyes that exude joy.

"I'll give you many more when I'll be back. You know, to make up for these two weeks," he comments, seriously, like he meant every single word.

Like he really means to come back…

You swallow thickly, unable to recover from the importance of his statement -because deep inside of you, you can't believe that Jungkook will indeed choose you when his trip will be over. I mean… a part of you knows that he'll meet someone who'll make him go crazy and will make him forget that once he wanted to spend his days with an older woman in a village nestled between mountains…

You shake your head a little, swiping away your doubts. You can't let your fears ruin this (last) moment.

“I brought you some snacks for the trip. Actually, Yoongi contributed too…" you lift the bag up, admiring the sweet curve of his smile. You catch a small breath, paying attention to swallow back the wobble in your voice. “Did you bring everything?”

He nods, reluctantly pulling you out of his hug. He grabs the bag, studying the various rice cakes, snacks, and packages of banana milk contained inside. "Thanks…" the euphoria that was dancing along his features a few seconds ago is replaced by a sad expression that has your guts twisting. "You're still on time to come with us…" he starts, gazing at your dogs. "My friends say that it's ok if you join us. It'd be nice - nice…"

His request is a barely whispered hush that hits your face, in the same powerful way it punched you the first time he made you this suggestion a few nights ago, while you were taking a stroll around the village (hand in hand. Unbothered about the curious glances of the people who live here and will for sure spread random rumors about you and the-new-boy). And, just like that time, the frantic beating of your heart spreads throughout every inch of you -a nice sensation that you weren't feeling for a year and a half now.

But, despite the excitement, you can't accept it. Jungkook needs to have his own time and space -you can't be a constant in his plans…

You shake your head, scrutinizing the small pout on his lips. “It’s something yours, enjoy your time with your friends." You chuckle, brushing your thumb over your wedding ring. "It’s not like I’m going anywhere, anyway.”

It's not like you're going to forget him…

Jungkook exhales some air through his nose. "Two weeks aren't few…" he casts a glance upon you, resolute. "I'm going to take you somewhere nice - nice when I come back."

“ If you want to come back.”

“I will.” He gazes up at the sky, thoughtful. "I think I’ll accidentally forget some things at home, which means that I'll have to come back here to bring them. And, ops , I bet I also forgot something at your place. By mistake, of course.” He leans forward, looking at you through his lashes. “I told you I’m going to try my best…"

This is all you need to let yourself go for a moment that lasts a heartbeat.

You gasp once, breathing in his good scent of shampoo and softener, feeling his lips pressing against your own in an urgent touch. Your stomach twists when Jungkook rests his hands on your hips, pulling you closer. You're on the cusp of tilting your head to the side to indulge more into this sweet bracket when a sudden bark makes you pull away.

"Bam, hi…" you mumble, noticing the dog now scampering beside you. You let out a chuckle when he straightens himself to rest his paws on your thigh, in desperate need of cuddles, and your heart melts when Jungkook takes advantage of your distraction to place a long kiss on your cheekbone. "Well, I think it's time…" you brush your thumb on the soft area under his eye, studying his downcast expression. "Have fun, mh?"

His hand runs to grip at your wrist. He presses the thumb on the area full of veins -you're pretty sure he can feel the thumping sound of your beat. "(Y/N), ahm… there's something I want to tell you before going." A ruby hue tinges the tip of his ears. "I - I think that I, for you, I—"

"Jungkookie in love… " a low voice coming from behind him interrupts whatever he was about to tell you, leaving you hanging with curiosity. His friend rests against the van, smirking.

"Tae…" Jungkook mutters, darting him an annoyed glance.

"I knew this little holiday would do you good." His long eyes grow wider when he spots you, looking at him in confusion. "Ah, sorry, didn't want to interrupt you! I'm Taehyung, by the way." He bows a little, raising a hand to greet you. "You must be (Y/N) Noona. It's so nice to meet you, Jungkookie never stopped talking about you."

"Oh!"

"He also said something about you and a terrible wallpaper ."

"Ah…" Shame colors your cheekbones in a warm shade. "I thought this had to be our little secret, " you say, amused.

"I probably said it by - by mistake." Jungkook scrapes his nape, giggling. "It was really awful, though. You were right."

"You were, don't worry. Our Jungkookie did an incredible job with this house. It's… something else entirely." Taehyung casts a long glance upon you before catching a breath, giving you a smile. "Well, I'm taking care of the last things. Just, don't take too long, Jungkookie. Jimin is waiting for us." He comes closer to grab the paper bag in Jungkook's hands and put it inside the van before heading toward the house. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, noona . Hope to see you again."

"Yeah, me too…" you look at his retracting figure, going back to focusing on Jungkook when his friend disappears inside the house. You give one last stroke to Bam before letting him run toward Moonie, who sits beside the van. "So… what did you want to tell me earlier?"

Jungkook stares at you wide-eyed, as if you'd just snapped him back down to earth. He shakes his head vigorously, his hair flutters over his forehead. "I'll tell you when I'll be back…" he smiles a little. "It seems I have another good reason to come back here…"

You rest your hands on his chest, scrutinizing the tiny mole on his neck. You run your pointer over it, Jungkook places a long kiss on your forehead.

"Listen, remember what I told you?" The liquid sparks in your eyes shake when you trail your stare back to his face, which is a mask of gloom that squeezes your heart in a tight, painful grip. "If you meet a nice girl—”

“I can do whatever I want, I know. But I won’t. I won't…" he rests his hands on top of your own, presses the one of the left portion of his chest to make you feel the frantic beat of his heart. "The woman I like is here… she's a good reason to come back and stay .”

You don’t know if Jungkook will keep his promise.

In the abyss of your chest, a thin malicious voice tells you that he won't. His words are just a way to close on a sweet note the summer bracket you shared. Breathing in a bit of him as he slowly kisses you (his hands cupping your face, your hands on top of his own), you know how things will go in the upcoming two weeks: he'll meet a nice girl, someone around his age; they’ll have fun, she'll make him open his eyes about all the possibilities he's going to throw away if he decides to waste his life on a remote town that can't offer him anything… and he’ll forget that he had sex for almost two months with a woman ten years older than him who once loved a man with every fiber of her being and broke his heart too many times.

But Jungkook sits on the backseat of the van, stroking Bam's head. Then, all of a sudden -just when you thought that he's ready to let you go, he turns, crossing his arms on the backrest. He pins his eyes on your figure, standing still on the spot where he left you, beside Moonie. He waves his hand in your direction, and smiles. Brightly. And mouths something that you can't catch -but it reaches his eyes and it cuddles your heart. He stays in this exact position until you become a distant dot with mountains rising high up above in the horizon, cloacked in a summer that's drawing to a close.

And something (something akin to the affection that has Namjoon's name) tells you that there's still hope…

You take a long, deep breath, fingers dashing to caress your wedding ring. And you smile.

After four months…

After a year and a half…

The motionless quietness of the village shattered on a chill morning of April (on a warm morning of June) finally comes back to normal.

#jungkook x you #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #omg my first jungkook oneshot is practically finished!#i'm in tears

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