#but lifes getting better and richer | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

featherandferns · 2 months ago

Text

god's test (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | inspired by this song amongst others

content warning: abusive parents; allusions to s3xual abuse; drug use/misuse; sexual content (female and male receiving; p in v); unhealthy relationships; brief mentions/discussions of fertility | Some heavy themes in this so please feel free to message if you're unsure.

word count: 18k.

blurb: what if the Pogues never found El Dorado? Life in survival mode at the age of twenty-two sure had lost its shine. In that tarnish, JJ wonders if your relationship has too.

“To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, til' death do us part.”

JJ sits crossed legged on the floor of his living room. To his right is a half empty can of Coke and to his left is the plastic case for the VHS tape which is currently whirring in the player, displayed on the TV through grainy, wibbly lines. His bright blonde hair sticks every which way. The Goodwill sourced t-shirt is too big on his frame but his dad insisted he’d grow into it, and to stop his moaning and bitching. Be grateful, was his last warning. The shorts on his skinny legs seem to be getting smaller everyday, perhaps because JJ only seems to get taller. That slight discomfort is a lost thought right now. Instead, JJ is glued to the wedding video on the screen. Glued to the image of his mother, smiling up at his father, the two of them unaged and undamaged. The two of them are in love.

“I do,” JJ’s dad, Luke, says in an almost unrecognisable tone. Then, he leans forward at the officiant’s approval and kisses JJ’s mother. JJ misses her deeply. His heart squeezes at the sight of her smile, turning to the camera with a beam. He finds his own lips twitching up too as if her happiness is contagious. Then the tape cuts suddenly to the reception. It seems a small affair with only a handful of friends and family. JJ can place his uncle and aunt, who cradles his cousin Ricky in her arms, and a few more of his dad’s crowd of so-called friends. His mother can be seen in the background talking to her parents - JJ’s grandparents. They’d made themselves scarce after she walked out on JJ and his dad. Never once did JJ think he’d lose not only his mother but his grandparents too. Loneliness likes company, it seems.

Another sudden cut and it’s his parents dancing. Their first dance. The dark lighting of the hall messes with the low-quality cam-corder's exposure. They’re painted in rays of shadows and glow almost ethereal-like as they sway to the music. Luke whispers something in his new wife’s ear and she giggles, soundless as the crooning voice of Rod Stewart sings their wedding song: ‘Have I Told You Lately’. JJ grins. He decides then and there, at the big age of eight, that that’s what he wants. That sort of happiness. As if blinded by the cinema of it all, he forgets the reality. The mess that surrounds him in the neglected house; the absence of his mother and the recklessness of his father; the strange definition of love that’s been tied to the Maybank name.

So distracted by the tape, JJ doesn’t hear his dad rouse in the other room. He doesn’t hear the sound of the creaking door or the aching floorboards, and when he finally catches sight of Luke staggering down the hallway, it’s too late. His dad has caught sound of the song and it’s as if he’s intoxicated again, only now with rage. He glares at JJ and makes a b-line to the television screen, coming face to face with his hidden wedding tape. He had no idea JJ had found it and stashed it for his own safe keeping.

“What the damn hell do you think you’re doing?” he barks, turning to JJ. He grabs him by the shoulder with one hand and hoists him onto his feet. JJ’s tiny body floods with terror. His feet go numb and cold and his face burning hot. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, huh boy!?”

JJ flinches at his father’s tone. His lip quivers. “I…I only wanted–”

“You only wanted to what, huh? Stealing things like the no-good son-of-a-bitch you are, eh?” Luke hollers, spit flying from his mouth and onto JJ’s rosy skin.

“I just wanted to see mama,” JJ blubbers.

“You ain’t ever seein’ her again, you hear me?” Luke shouts. He tosses JJ back onto the floor. He lands on his backside with a smack, flinching at the feeling, and looks up to see his dad aggressively messing with the player. A new wave of panic comes over JJ as he jumps to his feet, darting forward for the tape before his dad can snap it in two. To JJ, it isn’t just a stupid VHS. It’s his mother.

“No! Gimme it!” JJ screeches, scratching and clawing at his father’s arms as he attempts to wrestle the tape from his hold. His small hand latches around it moments before Luke’s own smacks him clean across the cheek. The force sends him flying onto his side, reuniting with the floor. Sobbing, JJ clutches the tape close to his chest. His dad yells abuse at JJ, tumbling cuss words in casually amongst his berates. Keeping the tape close and safe to his stomach, JJ manages to his feet and faces up to his father. An anger that he’s never known before takes control. “I hate you!”

Before his dad can lunge for him again, JJ darts for the front door. He almost trips down the stairs in his hurry. The sound of his dad’s footsteps behind him sound like a giant’s, pounding against the floorboards. He chokes on his sobs as he sprints away from the house. I’m never coming back, he thinks to himself. That’ll show him. He doesn’t dare check to see if his dad is following. Not until he’s well away from the house, almost completely shot of breath, panting and heaving, no tears left to cry. Finally, he stops. He looks down at the tape with shaking hands to find it safe and intact. Luke and Marie’s Wedding Tape, it says in black sharpie across the front. He hugs it against him as if hugging his mother.

The moment of tranquillity is broken by a loud whoop and holler. His head flashes to the side to find a girl climbing on the old pier. It’s nearly completely decayed, broken down by a hurricane a few years back. Now it’s just pillars of wood, splintering and misaligned.

Some adult on the new pier is yelling at you. “I’ll tell your father, missy! You listenin’? You get down from there now!” Beside them are some friends, blissfully ignoring the warnings, cheering you on. You turn to them and JJ catches sight of your smile. It reminds him of his mother’s and a warm feeling sparks somewhere in his chest, as if lighting a match in a damp cave. The sun twinkles above your head and that’s when JJ notices the streak of hot pink in your hair. Woah - Cool. And then you’re falling - hurling yourself into the air and flying down into the water - out of sight. He takes a step forward, as if to do something, and waits anxiously with the others for you to re-emerge. You break to the surface with a cackle. Your friends erupt in cheers and you giggle, splashing water as if aiming for them despite being metres down below the pier. And then you look straight at JJ. It's just for a second, only a second, but a second was enough. Eight-year-old JJ Maybank was in love.

6 Years Later

Confidence is a powerful armour. It makes you almost untouchable. Nobody messes with the mouthy kid. The kid who gets in fights; the kid who makes the room laugh. JJ knew what it was like to be on the bottom of the food chain and he was never going to willingly put himself there. At school, he made himself a staple. A delinquent, known for his short fuse and reckless choices. It kept the bully’s off his scent and gave him a good outlet for the repressed anger and hatred he held towards his father. Though, the older he got (now fourteen), the more JJ fought back. His dad could no longer throw him to the ground as easily. Not now that JJ had taken up working out and picking fights in the school yard. Luke wasn’t the only one who knew how to throw a right-hook now. And the most important lesson JJ had learnt? Never let them see you cry.

The downsides? Cut lips, lingering bruises, and detention. So much detention.

“Nice of you to join us, Maybank,” the teacher mutters, not bothering to look up from his newspaper as JJ loiters into the classroom after school on Thursday.

“Happy to be back, sir,” JJ casually returns. He scribbles his name down on the sign up sheet, confirming his attendance, then scans the room.

There’s the regulars: Tommy Peach, who’s always doing time for selling whatever pills he can get his hands on in the parking lot; Ashley, who has a habit of smoking in the girl’s bathrooms; Colin, who got spotted with a gun in his backpack just the other day, supposedly just to ‘show it off’; and Pearl, who skipped three classes in one day (her record being four and a half). He catches her eye and winks - they’d made out behind the bike shed last week. You can spot the one-time offenders easily. They’re usually hanging their head at the very back, biting back tears, full of shame for letting down mommy and daddy. JJ had a certain distaste for them. He supposed it was because he knew his father could give less of a crap if JJ wound up in detention. If anything, JJ preferred it. Less time for him to be in his house and less risk of getting a beating for some slip-up. This time, the new offender is Patty Grayson - a goody-two-shoes smarty pants who had forgotten her homework. JJ’s surprised they didn’t let it slide given her track record. Finally, his eyes land on another new timer.

You’re not hanging your head as if praying for forgiveness, nor are you sobbing your apologies into the abyss. No: you look rather comfortable and - if anything - bored, as you lounge in your seat. A bottle of silver nail polish sits on the desk as you paint your nails. As if feeling his stare, you glance up and meet his gaze. You frown. Right, yeah, I’m being weird. JJ decides to take a seat next to you. He watches you in his peripheral vision for a while as you paint and paint. At one point, the teacher heads to the staff kitchen for dinner, giving a half-arsed warning about sneaking out. Pearl is happy to skip detention, probably addicted to the thrill, but everyone else stays sat. Suddenly, you look at JJ.

“Can I help you?”

“Huh?”

“You keep looking at me,” you say, irritated.

“I do?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, y’know…” You quirk a brow, waiting for his reply, and JJ scrambles for one. “Your hair.”

You frown. “What?”

“Your hair,” JJ uselessly repeats.

“What about it?”

“It’s purple.”

“Yeah. I dye it. It’s not my natural colour, idiot,” you reply.

“It looks nice,” JJ tells you. You’re visibly taken back, blinking at him for a second.

“Oh,” you mumble, lifting a hand to pet it, “thanks.”

“You ain’t ever been to detention before, right?” JJ checks, finding it easier to converse now that you’ve calmed down.

You laugh. It sounds just the same as when you were little, from the first time JJ saw you, but only deeper. More mature. “Cause I’m good at not gettin’ caught, unlike you.”

“Oh, you been keepin’ tabs on me or somethin’?” JJ grins.

“You hold the record for the most detentions, Maybank. Sorta puts you on the map," you say with a roll of your eyes.

Holy shit, she knows my name.

“Maybe you’ll have to teach me your ways some time,” JJ smoothly quips.

Shaking your head, you turn your focus back to painting your nails. “I work alone.”

Like some dork, JJ watches you for a while. Something tells him you know he is as there’s this little smile on your lips. His eyes trail down from your face to your arms and soon to your hands. Your knuckles are bruised and scabbed over and JJ frowns, curious and concerned despite having only just officially met you. Ever since the day at the pier back when he was eight, JJ had been vaguely aware of your existence. You were in the year above at school and undeniably cool. He’d seen you skating in the parking lot, caught you getting lectured for shoplifting at the local grocery shop for a candy bar, noticed you helping (who he assumed was) your dad fish, and seen you from time to time in the halls. The only person who was aware of his infatuation was John B, who tortured JJ relentlessly for it. Over the years, your hair has undergone many changes. At one point it was buzzed completely off. He didn’t see you much that year, come to think. Now it hangs just past your shoulders, a deep, enticing purple. It caught him off guard because only last week it was royal blue. Not that he was keeping track or anything…

“Here.”

JJ snaps out of his daydream to find you holding out something to him. A thin, white stick, rolled rather wonky.

“You want some?”

“Won’t we get caught?” JJ reflexively asks.

“Boo. Pussy,” you teasingly return, retracting the offer. You briefly glance to the doorway before retrieving a lighter: bright, shiny silver and square. You light the end and take a drag. There’s a sweet, sickly smell that comes from it.

“I ain’t a pussy,” JJ counters. There’s a smirk on your face as he takes the joint from you, guiding it to his lips to inhale. It catches uncomfortably in his throat and chest, making him cough. Laughing, you consolingly pat his back. He clenches his eyes shut: so embarrassing.

“You good?” you giggle.

“Never better,” JJ manages out through his chokes, giving you a shaky thumbs up.

“First time?”

He shakes his head but you’re unconvinced. Smiling, you dig about in your pocket to retrieve a set of house keys. JJ watches as you scratch something into the metal of your lighter. He takes another hit of the joint as you do so, managing better this second time around. As he goes to hand it back, you trade him for your lighter.

“Here,” you say, passing it to him. He takes it and looks at your inscription. JJ. His lips twitch in a smile. Glancing to you, you light-heartedly explain, “your first stoner lighter.”

As you finish taking another drag, the teacher’s footsteps sound from down the hall. Cool as a cat, you put the joint out on the underside of your chair and slip it back into a little metal box decorated with Powerpuff Girls stickers. It slips safely into your bag just as the teacher rounds into the room. At first, JJ worries you’re caught, as the teacher’s finger singles you out. But then he tosses his thumb over his shoulder.

“Your dad’s here early to pick you up,” he tells you.

If you’re happy to be leaving early, you don’t show it. If JJ didn’t know better, he’d even say you’re reluctant as you pack up your stuff. Shucking your backpack over your shoulder, you flash JJ a smile, rising to your feet.

“Well, hopefully I’ll see you around, Maybank.”

“Yeah, same here,” JJ says, smiling.

You walk past the desk and head out the door. JJ’s sure it’s the effect of you rather than the weed that leaves him feeling more dazed than ever before in his life.

Two Years Later

What better way to lay-low than by throwing a kegger? JJ’s logic was undisputed. Not only had he encouraged the Pogues to hang onto the money and the gun that they'd found in the motel room, but he also got them to throw a last-minute gathering at the Boneyard. Honestly, his genius should be rewarded.

As he mingles through the ever growing crowd, the sun growing darker by the minutes, JJ peruses the options. Some tourons had shown up: clueless but eager as they got roped into drinking games and conversations, and hit on constantly by locals. The kooks were mostly keeping to themselves, happy to drink the beers and cans brought by the people on the cut. Typical. Pearl catches JJ’s eye and she tips her cup at him in greeting from across the way, a seductive glint in her eyes and a telling message in her smile. JJ lazily tosses a hand up in return. They’d hooked up a few times now but he wasn’t feeling it tonight.

As if guided by fate, you come perfectly into JJ’s line of sight. You’re drinking from a red solo cup, chatting with some of your friends, pretty in an oversized tee and shorts. Again, just as you had in detention two years prior, your eyes catch onto his. This time, you smile. Saying something to your friend before heading over to JJ (who’s half certain he hit his head earlier and might be hallucinating).

“Enjoying yourself?” JJ asks the minute you’re in front of him. He’s taller now. Ever growing in his confidence; sex does that to a guy. It makes them feel invincible.

“I’m guessing your group is the one to thank for this kegger then?”

JJ grins. “We know how to throw a good party.”

“I’ll say,” you smile. “I wish there was more music though.”

“You dance?”

“Sometimes. If I’m with the right person,” comes your sly response, smiling up at him. “You look different since detention.”

JJ would like to think so: that was two years ago. “Really? Different how?”

“Taller. Fitter.”

“Hotter?”

You laugh as you say, “you’re pretty sure of yourself, huh?”

“I was told confidence is sexy,” JJ returns. “What’d you think?”

You don’t say anything but JJ knows he isn’t crazy when you take a sip of your drink, your eyes scanning over his body leisurely as you do. You give a small hum.

“So, got tired of the purple?” JJ asks, gesturing to your hair. It’s long now and seemingly your natural hue again, like it was that day at the pier all those years ago. There’s now little strands of tinsel in it that reflect different colours in a silverish shine depending on how the light hits it. Your nose ring is new too, though JJ noticed that the minute you had that done. He noticed you a lot, even if he never spoke to you. You never did to him so he just assumed to stay clear. Besides, there was a rumour that you went out with Tommy Peach a few months back and JJ didn’t feel like getting his ass handed to him. JJ was good at fighting now, as unfortunate as that was to admit, and he was aware he was in good shape, but Tommy was feral and tall. God knows why you wanted to go out with a scumbag like that, but JJ supposed he wasn’t much of a step up either.

“My dad hated it,” you say. “And I wanted a change.”

“Shame. I liked the purple.”

“So you don’t like it like this?” you wonder. “Bummer. I was gonna try and shoot my shot with you but guess I’ve lost my chance…”

JJ’s eyes somehow don’t fall out of his head. He chuckles, almost nervously, and clears his throat. “Say what?”

You roll your eyes . “When a girl gives you her lighter and says she hopes she sees you around, JJ, it’s her way of saying ‘you’re cute, we should hang’.”

Oh.

Laughing, as if hearing his inner monologue, you shrug. “Guess I got tired of waiting for you to make the first move. Lucky for you, I’m two beers in and that seems like enough confidence to come over”

“Two beers? I don’t wanna be taking advantage of you,” JJ teases, making you laugh.

“Can’t believe you’re accusing me of being a lightweight when you nearly died after smoking your first joint.”

“Woah! Low blow!”

“I thought I’d murdered you! I was scared you were allergic or some shit,” you giggle.

JJ grins down at you and tries to retrace his steps to how he got here, stood on the beach, talking to you and having you actively hit on him. It feels like a wet dream he’d concoct on lonely nights. He stays in that borderline stupor as the two of you talk and talk. You’re funny, but JJ already knew that, and you’re an adrenaline junky too, but JJ knew that as well. The two of you like the same kind of music so that leads to a huge discussion which almost becomes an argument of who was better: Kid Cudi or J. Cole? The more the drinks flow, the more your hand finds solace on his thigh, and the more his on yours. Soon enough JJ's foot’s rubbing leisurely at your ankle, personal space a long disputed myth, and he’s fighting the urge to kiss you. He’s not sure why he’s dragging it out when you’re obviously into him. Maybe he just wants to keep the anticipation alive for a little bit longer. After all, he’s wanted this since he was eight years old.

The moment is interrupted by someone hollering your name. As you look up, JJ realises how dark it is. It’s officially night now with the moon high in the sky. A few people have pulled on sweaters as the evening has cooled, especially with the seafront breeze, but JJ feels burning hot. He spots someone waving at you and beside them is a girl crouched in the sand. You cuss and get up.

“That’s my friend. I better go help,” you hurriedly explain. You pass JJ your empty cup and give an apologetic smile. Then, you press a brief kiss to his lips. It's so brief that it barely feels real, and JJ doesn’t register it until you’re already walking away. “I’ll be back soon! Sorry!”

JJ watches as you hurry over and help out your vomiting buddy. Sighing, bummed, he looks around and tries to track down his friends. The alcohol hits him when he stands, flooding from his brain, down to his body like ice cold water. He staggers for only a moment in the direction of John B, filling up the cups in his hands on the way as if willingly ignoring his body’s messages. He whistles out to catch his best friend’s attention, offering him one of the cup’s of beer. But Sarah Cameron and her douchebag boyfriend Topper make their way past, and something inside of JJ seeks mayhem. He offers it out to her instead but Topper tries to lay claim.

“That’s nice of you man, but I didn’t ask you,” JJ returns. “If you said ‘pretty please’, maybe. But you didn’t.”

“Oh! Pretty please!” a squiffy Topper checks.

“Yeah,” JJ replies. “So, Sarah, I promise–”

The beer hits JJ’s face in a non-refreshing wake-up. His anger tips quick like a nuclear bomb. His hands come up to Topper’s shirt, grabbing him before shoving him back. John B’s hand comes up to JJ’s chest, firmly trying to hold him back.

“You’re so funny man!” JJ sarcastically urges. Before he can push it further, Topper says something that has John B lurching at him and soon enough, a full on fist fight begins. Pope is quick to intervene with JJ, holding him back, and no matter how much the latter struggles, he can’t seem to get to his best friend. Concerning seeps into the anger as he watches Topper lay into John B, kicking him into the water. And then pride when John B starts to fight back. “Give it to him, man!”

The night feels as though it’s split into two as JJ loses himself in watching the fight. His conversation with you might have happened years ago as his attention homes in on the flying fists and chants of the watchers. And then it all turns sour. Topper holds John B down into the water, face smushed into the sand, and all he can hear is Sarah begging for him to stop. JJ fidgets nervously, eager to do something, unsure of what. Then, another genius idea.

It feels out of body as he retrieves the gun and checks the safety. As he makes his way over to the water and presses it against Topper’s head. It doesn’t feel like he’s in control of his body when JJ clicks the safety off. Topper stills beneath him.

“Yeah, you know what that is,” he warns through clenched teeth. “Your move, broski.”

Nothing but the waves. Nothing but his heartbeat. Nothing but John B’s choked breathes in the water.

“Put the gun down!”

“Did you say something, princess?” JJ asks Sarah, focus on Topper’s hands. Eventually, they lift off John B’s weak body. The rich asshole repeats that they’re good and JJ shoves him down. But he’s still so angry. He’s always so angry. The mentality comes back from when he first started school. Never be the weak one. Never let them get the upper hand. Assert your dominance. He raises the gun into the air and turns to the dying crowd. “Okay, everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!”

The gun fires twice, the recoil minimal. It cracks in the silence of the night. A few people scream, alarmed, and then they start to run.

JJ comes back to his body when Kiara shoves him. An argument breaks out between himself, Pope and Kie, and as the two others rush to help John B (who collapses back into the waves), JJ finally remembers the night. The whole night. He remembers you. As he looks out into the mass of bodies rushing away from the scene of the almost crime, he spots you. You look conflicted, for only a second, and then you leave too.

Shit.

The next day, JJ kills the time in the mid-morning with target practice in the back yard. The cops had swung by earlier and he thought it right to celebrate keeping the gun. Your whistle sounds like a birdcall. JJ’s head whips around at the sound, startled, and it seems to amuse you. He lowers his gun and frowns, confused at the sight of you.

“How d’you know I live here?”

“I have my sources,” you smile, tapping the side of your nose. You wander leisurely into his back yard toward him as if you’ve been there thousands of times before. Nodding to the gun in his hand, you quirk a brow. “So, they didn’t take it off you?”

“Let me off with a warning,” JJ shrugs. “They couldn’t find the gun and have no proof that I kept it…”

“Ah. Loopholes,” you hum.

When you come to a pause beside him, JJ awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “Look, I’m real sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“Freak me out how?” you frown.

“With the whole…gun…thing.”

Laughing, you shake your head. “That ain’t why I left JJ.”

“It ain’t?”

“No! I mean, Topper looked as though he wasn’t gonna let up, so,” you say, shrugging in agreement with JJ’s previous actions. “I just can’t go back to prison anytime soon. My dad’ll kill me.”

“Back to prison?” JJ says. He shouldn’t be as impressed (or turned on) by that as he is.

“Ooo, the big scary place, I know,” you grin, teasing, before randomly making a grab for the gun. JJ barks out a laugh, holding it up and out of reach. “Come on! Lemme have a go!”

“You ever shoot before?” JJ asks, eyeing you up.

Rolling your eyes, you nod. “We have a BB in our house that I fire around all the time. I wanna see how this one feels.”

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t give a weapon to a known criminal, right?” JJ says, tone almost flirtatious.

“Come on. You can do the whole ‘let me show you’ thing.”

Lowering the gun, JJ chuckles, befuddled. “The what?”

“You know! When guys wanna feel a girl up they pretend to teach them how to do stuff. Like a tennis instructor or something. They’re all like ‘let me show you’.”

“You tellin’ me you got a tennis instructor?”

“Yeah, and a mansion with three yachts - now come on!”

Shaking his head, laughing, JJ relents. He hands you the gun, safety on, and partly to follow along with your joke, but mostly to feel your body close to his, JJ stands almost fully behind you. He checks which is your dominant hand and guides your arms up into position. He shifts the position of your fingers. Your hair catches slightly in the wind and the smell of fruit and herbs dulls his senses. When he speaks again, you giggle.

“Your breath tickles,” you mutter.

“It does?” JJ checks, purposefully speaking even closer against the skin of your neck. You squirm and laugh and JJ has no idea how any of this happened, but he sure as hell isn’t complaining. “You gotta keep still.”

As if to coax you to do so, JJ plants one of his hands on the side of your waist. Your breathing seems to catch with that, all giggles dead on your tongue, and JJ struggles to bite back his smirk. His chin rests comfortably on your shoulder as he follows your line of vision. You click the safety off under his instruction and then fire. He feels the power of the gun run down your arms, the recoil making your body jilt only slightly. Clicking the safety on again, you lower the gun and turn your head. Eyes half-hooded, you look up from his lips into his eyes. JJ notices a small, relatively fresh cut under your eye. Was that there last night? That train of thought derails when your tongue peaks out, dampening your lips. JJ loses all patience. His lips are on yours, kissing you, hand tightening just so on your side. You carelessly drop the gun to the floor and turn in his hold. Hands on his face, on his shoulders, around his neck, in his hair…JJ kisses you until he’s not sure what his name is anymore. Even then, he kisses you still.

From there, the two of you were intertwined in one another’s lives. There was no other way to put it: JJ adored you. It was as if you constantly shared a common thought: JJ had never met someone so like himself. Two sides of the same stone. The Pogues noticed it easily. You didn’t exactly have to ask to join the gang. The fact that JJ trusted you enough to bring you around spoke volumes to his friends. They’d never met one of his previous situationships or flings before, and from that they could recognise this was something different. Seeing the two of you together just drove that point home faster. Birds of a feather. When the wild goose chase surrounding the Royal Merchant cropped up, you joined that too. Pope joked that there was something wrong with your amygdala, which upon explanation meant that you seemed to have a pretty low fear factor. It came after you literally wrestled Barry for the gun when they got held at gunpoint. All you’d done was shrug and said that you’d known “true fear” and that wasn’t it. Nobody knew what that meant, including JJ, but he had a feeling that he might after he dropped you home one time.

The Chateau had become almost as familiar to you as it was to JJ. The pair of you had claimed the porch as your go-to smoking spot. One Tuesday afternoon, you sit sprawled in the armchair: head on one armrest and legs swung over the other. Your now lilac highlighted hair dangles in two braids. JJ is keeping himself entertained by tracing his eyes up and down your legs, over your stomach and chest, up to your dozed out face, and back again. The two of you were smoking hash, passing it back and forth leisurely, sharing mindless musings about life and the world and what things might be like if you actually found the gold.

“I’d buy a house,” you say.

“Lame.”

“A big house,” you continue, ignoring him and gesturing in front of you as if visualising it. “It’d be pastel blue with big white shutter-style windows and a wrap-around porch. There’d be one of those porch swings sat out front. Oh! And flowers. A shit ton of flowers.”

“You can’t even keep a cactus alive,” JJ snorts.

“I’d hire a gardener. Duh,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Anything else?” JJ wonders. He keeps a mental checklist: blue house; white shutters…

“A dog,” you smile. “And a cat.”

“Alright then.” Maybe it’s the manner that he says it that has you looking at him, amused. “I’ll do it.”

“You’ll ‘do it’?” you chuckle, raising your brows.

“Yeah. When we find the gold–”

“If we find the gold–”

“When,” JJ insists, making you laugh, “I’ll get you your house and your dog.”

“Don’t forget the cat,” you warn, pointing at him.

“Christ, lady! And your cat.”

“Good,” you smile.

You look back to the ceiling and slip your eyes shut, sighing contentedly. JJ chuckles, shaking his head, gazing at you as if you sculpted the planets and personally hung them in the solar system. It’s short lived bliss, however, because your phone pings. Then again, and again, until it’s nothing but an ongoing buzz of noise. JJ frowns at it and you quickly reach over to the window ledge where it’s precariously sat. The moment your eyes scan the screen, you sit up. Everything about your demeanour shifts. JJ sees the second you switch to panic.

“I gotta go,” you mumble. You swing your legs off the sofa and stand. JJ’s quick to follow.

“Everything okay?”

“I just gotta go home right now,” you reply, already making your way down the porch steps. JJ ditches the spoon pipe on the coffee table and catches up.

“I’ll take you on my bike,” he says, grabbing your hand and guiding you to it. You don’t argue and he doesn’t ask for an explanation for the urgency. Wordlessly, the two of you climb on - your arms tethering around his middle - and JJ starts the engine. Speed limits become a pleasantry rather than a courtesy as JJ speeds to your house. Your phone doesn’t let up the whole journey and with every ping, JJ bumps it up by another mile per hour. It’s a skidding halt when he stops outside your house. He’d only been there a handful of times before, usually to pick you up. Similarly to JJ, you didn’t like going home all that much. You’re climbing off the bike before JJ shuts the engine off. Seemingly at the sound of the engine, your dad emerges in the front door. You turn to JJ. He doesn’t recognise the look on your face.

It terrifies him.

“JJ, you have to leave - now,” you tell him.

He frowns, brows tugging together. “What’re you–”

“Just leave. Go. Please, JJ,” you push, glancing between him and your approaching father. Something softens in your tone, akin to desperation. “Please.”

JJ looks to your dad just as he passes the threshold of the porch, then looks to you once more as if needing approval. You nod as if understanding. The same thought, always shared. Then JJ’s turning tightly in the makeshift drive of your house and starting off down the road before your dad reaches you. He acutely registers the funny feeling, tight in his chest as if something was squeezing his heart and lungs in a vice. It was the same feeling JJ got whenever he went home.

The same feeling JJ got whenever he saw his own father.

As the months went on, the relationship you and JJ shared was soaked in marjuana and sweat. Smoking in the morning and fucking through the night. Not only did you encourage JJ’s idiocy, but you joined it. It was as if you were there to enable the other. Shoplifting beers, pier jumping in the thick of night, skinny dipping before dusk, pulling crazy stunts with the others that nearly wound up getting you killed more times to count. But just like JJ, you were loyal. It was as if the minute you became a Pogue, you wore it like a military title, nothing short of honoured. You’d lay your life down for the group and for the hunt for gold.

JJ wasn’t sure who said I love you first. He’s not even sure if either of you ever said it. You don’t have to say I love you to say I love you. Besides, two avoidant, daddy issue riddled teenagers didn’t make for the most textbook healthy relationship. The two of you would fight and it was bad when you did. But it was a rarity. There was little time for blow-out arguments when you were running from one place to another, chasing lead after lead. Hell, even when you seemed to have time to breathe, something else always came up.

“I never make good grades in school. When I get out, I act like a fool. I come in the party and cause a commotion. Yeah, I’m smooth they call me lotion.”

JJ cracks up with the others, breaking his beatboxing rhythm, as Pope loses his verse. He has a more than comfortable buzz going: energised by the beer and mellowed out by the weed. JJ thought he could handle his stuff well until he met you. This was the first time in a long time the two of you had properly partied together, outside of sharing a joint or doing edibles on an evening. You were about seven cans deep, one joint smoked and two lines of coke snorted. Your hair, now red, was damp from the hot tub; your nose ring sparkling in the disco ball’s reflecting light. JJ tried to keep his attention on the gang but no matter what, his eyes kept running back to you. The bikini top you’re wearing is truly a cruel design. Whoever invented it hated anybody who admired the female figure: they designed it to torture them. The liquor certainly didn’t help the situation, nor did your knowing glances and sly smiles.

"Think Kanye might have some serious competition there," you sardonically quip.

“Alright, alright, let’s hear it then,” Pope challenges, turning the focus to you. Everyone ooo’s dramatically as you laugh. You take a hit of your freshly rolled joint and shrug. As you rise out of the water, moving to sit on the outer edge of the hot tub, the gang erupts into cheers. JJ's mesmerised by the way the droplets of water race down over your tits, trickling down your chest.

“Okay, alright, well someone gimme a beat, at least,” you say.

JJ’s happy to indulge. Laughing, you bop your head along and try to follow.

“I failed the first grade in school, but my teacher told me I’m a cool dude. The kids in the playground scattered, cause my bars would leave them battered–”

The gang whoops and you crack up, trying desperately to stay on track. JJ’s trying desperately not to stare at your chest and lose track of his makeshift beat.

“When I fuck they call me lewd, cause I get freaky when I’m in the wrong mood. My boy never seems to complain, but his dick might be in some pain.”

JJ practically chokes on his laughter. There’s a symphony of cheers and jests and (in Pope’s case) groans from the others, and you throw your hands up in surrender.

“Y’all asked for it! I’m jus’ saying!” you giggle, sinking back into the water. You take another hit of your joint and wink across to JJ. His dick twitches uselessly in his swim shorts as you do so. Such a fucking tease.

“You two were made for each other, Goddamn,” Kiara chuckles.

The pair of you laugh it off but JJ feels his heart stir at the notion. Maybe it’s the weed talking or the alcohol intoxicating his thoughts, but the more time JJ spends with you, the more he’s certain that you two were meant to find each other. There’s no other explanation for it. You were an entire world in one small human being, filled with stories and secrets, some of which he might never know, but most he’d spend his life wanting to.

As the night stretches on and the drinks continue to flow, the mood simmers down from a bubbly celebration to an almost sentimental reunion. The hot tub has been abandoned as the mosquitos began to gather and the air began to cool, and JJ was sick of hearing you and Sarah drop hints about how you were “turning pruney.” So now you sit in the deck chairs with Kiara and Sarah and John B, watching JJ and Pope wrestle. Grappling on Pope’s upper arms, JJ tries to get the upper leg.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, go for the leg,” he lightly encourages his lesser violent friend. With that, Pope tackles JJ onto the floor. He hits the ground with a gentle smack. “You got a new technique now, huh?”

Pope rises in victory, pretty drunk, arms in the air. JJ laughs, sitting up to notice a beer extended out to him in offer from you. He takes it with a grin, having two large swigs.

“I’m done. I’m out of here,” Pope announces to nobody in particular, walking away from the campfire.

“You want a round two?”

“Yeah, I think I’ll take my losses,” Pope replies. JJ begins wandering back over to you with a shrug just as Kiara suddenly gets up from her seat. She flashes Sarah some kind of look that girls must track better than boys, as Sarah and yourself gape at her.

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Way to be discreet!” JJ hollers after them. When he steals Kiara’s chair, sitting beside you, you’re still giggling.

“Okay, am I just oblivious or did nobody else notice them vibing on each other?” you wonder, looking to the others.

“Dude. Seriously?” JJ sniggers.

“I didn’t notice!”

“How could you not– You know what? It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Only one of us needs to be the love expert here,” JJ reassures, stretching his arm out over the back of your chair in what he thinks is a rather suave manner. You snort, gently brushing it off.

“Love expert? Uh-huh. Sure, kiddo.”

“Kiddo,” John B mutters, amused.

JJ scoffs, grinning at you. “Oh really?”

“Yep,” you return, not quite sure what you’re arguing over now. JJ decides to put an end to it by squeezing the sides of your exposed stomach, tickling your skin and causing you to squirm. As he does so, John B mumbles something about being out of beer. Sarah follows him and leaves you and JJ in the company of the music, the cicadas and chickens.

“Thought you danced,” JJ says, referring to the music, thinking back to the night at the kegger.

“I might do later.”

JJ just nods and the two of you smile at one another, the playfulness of the moment easing away the same way the arousal had earlier in the hottub.

“You’re so handsome,” you quietly tell him. "My good looking boy, huh?"

JJ chuckles, looking down, bashful whenever you threw compliments like that at him. He could handle ‘sexy’ or ‘hot’ rather well, took them in stride, but words like handsome were like flakes of gold being sprinkled in his hair. They felt valuable, especially when they came from your mouth. Not always the best with words, JJ thanks the self-medication for what falls out of his mouth next.

“You’re the prettiest Goddamn thing on this planet.”

You’re visibly stunned and JJ wants to high-five himself. Giving him a coy smile, you lean your head back against your seat, staring into the star scattered sky.

“God, I could just stay here forever,” you sigh.

JJ mimics your actions. He traces the stars and tries to see if he can make constellations of your face. He glances at you and notices how they reflect on your eyes, as if scattering diamonds into your irises to make them shimmer. Your skin is kissed amber by the fairy lights strung in the branches above. Everything just makes you glow: ethereal. A foot kicking his own snaps JJ out of his lovesick stupor. A rather amused John B smirks knowingly down at him.

“It’s creepy to stare, man,” John B joshingly berates.

“He does it all the time,” you mumble. “That’s why I asked him out.”

Sarah laughs at that and you crack up too, but before another conversation can begin, your laughter dies down and your brows furrow.

“What was that?” John B asks, as if reading your mind.

“Your chickens?” JJ wonders, having heard nothing but the incessant clucking of the birds.

“It sounded like a car door,” you mumble. JJ, distracted, begins to cluck like a chicken, hoping to lighten the mood, more drunk than he thought he was, but your hand presses over his mouth to silence him. You rise to your feet slowly and JJ decides to follow. He squints into the distance.

“I think someone’s here,” John B mutters.

“Up the trees. Quickly” you instruct, fast to take action.

You shut off the music as Sarah hurries to put out the fire. JJ decides to help her, tossing handfuls of sand atop of the flames. He looks to the tree to find you already a decent way up. He stands by the bottom of the other tree with John B to help give Sarah a boost, aware of the fragility of her stitches, and then lets John B go up before himself. He settles on the same branch as you, a hand protectively settling on your waist. You’d already taken a rather reckless course of action in Charleston with Renfield, trying to tackle the taser from his hands to buy all of you more time to run. In case you felt the urge to drop from the trees in some surprise attack, JJ could now hold you back.

Sure enough, only a couple of minutes later, Rafe and Barry creep into the backyard. JJ feels you stiffen and he tightens his grip just slightly in reassurance. They didn’t know you were in the trees. God bless your quick thinking. Barry makes his way into the house, gun raised and ready, whilst Rafe studies the spots you’d all been relaxing in only moments prior.

“Where the hell are you?” he mumbles to himself.

None of you speak. None of you dare breathe let alone move. JJ looks to John B and Sarah, who look just as troubled as he feels. Rafe was unpredictable. Unstrung. And it was easy to assume that JJ was not on Barry’s nice list, that was for sure. As they sit and lie in wait, praying not to be spotted, Barry and Rafe seem to decide that nobody’s home. As he’s about to take a sigh of relief, Rafe fires the gun up into the trees. His heart jumps and his chest heaves. The bullet ricochets off the trunk of the tree near his back. You flinch in JJ’s hold at the gunshots and the shock nearly has you losing your balance. JJ quickly shifts his hand higher up your side, leaning as close to you as physically possible to whisper in your ear.

“I got you,” he reassures.

Barry thankfully ushers Rafe away at that point but none of you dare move until you the car is long out of sight. Sighing, you relax against JJ and him against you. It was ironic how the two of you were no strangers to violence and yet, the same spark of fear was alight anytime either of you were faced with it.

You see, the same way ‘I love you’ didn’t need an explanation, neither did yours and JJ’s homelives. JJ never intended to introduce you to his father and he never met yours. More times than not, you’d meet and hang and sleep at the Chateau. If you spent time at one of your two house’s, it was when it was empty. The cuts and bruises that would appear on either of your bodies never came with questioning. Somehow, someway, the two of you knew how and where. You’d soundlessly clean them and console the other and the whole thing would be as forgotten as a terrorist attack: over, in the back of the mind, but never fully erased. The anger JJ felt whenever he saw you after you’d had a run-in with your father was different to that which he felt when he had a run-in with his own. Deeper, darker, more vengeful. One night, it reached its crux.

JJ wakes up with a start. At first he isn’t sure what snapped him out of sleep. Then, he hears it again. A faint creaking in the floorboards from the main body of his house. His house that he now lives in alone. What if his dad came back? JJ gets out of bed dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpant shorts. He slowly picks up a spanner that’s laying on his bedroom floor, ditched after a day trying to switch out the deck of his skateboard, and pushes his door open carefully. He slowly inches down the almost pitch-black hallway. The only light is that from the window: moonbeams that shine through the glass.

At the sight of your silhouette, JJ lets out a heavy sigh. The spanner falls to the ground with an echoing thud.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the crap outta me,” JJ says with a relieved laugh. He makes his way across the room to you but his smile fades when he notices how stiff you are. “You a’right?”

This close, he can begin to make out your face through the dark. It’s haunting.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” JJ breathes, horrified.

Dark bags sit under your eyes which are hollowed out as if you’d been lost at sea, a vacant stare that almost looks past him. Your lip is quivering. Small, shaky, shallow breaths come in and out of your mouth. The worst part? The blood.

His hands fly up toward your face and your eyes clamp shut quickly as preparing for a hit. JJ freezes before he touches your skin, slowing his movements, trying to ease his own panic. His eyes scan your features, counting the injuries, trying to see the damage beneath the gore.

“What the fuck happened?”

You don’t talk. Nothing but that same ominous silence. You’re in shock. JJ’s seen it before from when he pulled over at a motorcycle crash. It’s as if the mind retreats in on itself and guards from the unpredictable. JJ swallows and clenches his jaw, trying to steal himself.

“A’right, we, uh, we gotta clean you up,” he manages. He carefully links his fingers through yours and feels your barely tangible grip. Then he guides you into the bathroom. Lowers you gently onto the toilet seat. In his peripheral vision, he sees no sign of movement or acknowledgement as he retrieves the beloved first aid kit from the bathroom cupboard. It balances precariously on the edge of the sink as he digs about for cleaning supplies.

JJ starts with your face. Your upper lip is busted at the edge, coated in dry blood but already beginning to scab. When you get in as many bruise ups as JJ, you learn to have a strange appreciation and fascination with the human body in how it heals. The antiseptic must sting but you don’t even blink. You just stare past him. Even before, you’d never been this detached. You might be angry or frustrated or even upset, but never absent. Never this. The blood around your eye comes from a gash just across your right brow. There’s an impressive bruise on the apple of your left cheek and a telling pink handprint that refuses to fade on your right. The fury begins to chip at JJ’s resolve.

Following your bizarre routine, JJ moves to unbutton your shirt, to check for any signs of internal bleeding, broken ribs, open cuts or ugly bruises across your upper body. The minute his fingers brush your sternum, your hands fly up. He’s not even sure how he winds up on the floor and it takes a moment to piece together the seconds and register that it was you. Frowning, thoroughly alarmed, JJ’s head shoots up to find your chest heaving. You make a noise as if you’re crying but no tears fall. His lips part in horror and his mind scrambles for any explanation other than the obvious.

“Woah, woah, woah, hey,” JJ hurries, rocking onto his knees and planting his hands reassuringly on yours. Your whole body is shaking. “It’s a’right, yeah? Jus’ me. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Your eyes clamp shut and the tears begin to fall.

"You're safe now."

After a trembling inhale, you begin to sob. Heartbroken, hideous, harrowing sobs. JJ feels tears swirl in his waterline at the sight and sound. He knew you better than anyone - better than the Lord himself - and to see you so far from who you are was like seeing someone’s body turn inside out. Unsure of what to do, he wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace and lets you fall into him.

You just cry.

Later, JJ sits outside the bathroom. His back is pressed against the door. Inside, he can hear the slosh of the bath water from time to time when you shift. He meddles with the rings on his fingers. His teeth gnaw on his lower lip. JJ assesses his options. He knows the “right” thing to do and he knows the “wrong” thing to do, and he knows the one he prefers out of the two, even if he shouldn't. His eyes flit over to the pile of your clothes that he’d taken out the room with him, back turned to give you privacy when you changed (as if you hadn’t given your body to him countless times before). The blood stained shirt. The shorts that had a telling rip at the crotch, the zip practically shattered. The missing panties. His throat turns thick and his eyes clench shut, forehead falling down against his clenched fists. He tries desperately to breathe through the anger. Before he can reach any sort of conclusion, he hears you get out of the bathtub. A few minutes later, the twisting doorknob prompts him to stand. You stand dressed in his clothes and offer him a small smile, and JJ feels his whole body sigh with relief.

“How you feelin’?” JJ asks.

You shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Exhausted.”

“Anything hurting still?”

“No,” you say. You walk past him and into his bedroom and he follows. Climbing onto his bed, you wrap yourself up on his side in the blankets. JJ heads to the kitchen to grab some water and pain meds before coming back and joining you, sitting against the headrest, unsure whether to touch you or not. You seem to answer the question for him. You cuddle into his side and nestle your head against his upper chest. His hands coil safely around your body, holding you close, and he plants a kiss on top of your head. Then he finally speaks.

“We need to go to the cops.”

You sigh and close your eyes. “JJ, no–”

“You don’t even gotta press charges but they have to know.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you know how it is, JJ,” you argue, sitting up to face him. “It’s my word against his and he never technically did anything. They’ll take one look at him and listen to my story, and then probably get me to recount it a million times over to a million other strangers. To a million other men. It’s humiliating and it’s pointless and I don’t want to do it.”

“It ain’t pointless and there’s nothing humiliating about it,” JJ insists. “You’re the victim here–”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, glaring at him.

Sighing, JJ closes his eyes and clenches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his cool. The last thing you need tonight is another fight. Besides, it’s not as if you’re wrong. JJ trusted the police as far as he could throw them; he didn’t doubt that they’d be useless. But the thought of you going back to your dad and for him to get away with what he did…JJ didn’t know what other option you really had. Your fingers gently wrap around JJ’s hand, easing it away from his face, coaxing his eyes to meet yours.

“Two more months, JJ.”

He sighs again but you’re quick to continue.

“Two more months and I’m eighteen and he isn’t my legal guardian anymore! I don’t have to deal with the whole rigged court system or with a foster home - I can just be rid of him for good.”

“Two more months? You think I’m gonna let you go back there for two more months after this?” JJ scoffs, eyeing up your injuries. His stomach churns and jaw ticks at the thought of what could’ve happened if you hadn’t managed to get the upper hand. You sigh and look away.

“I don’t know…Maybe he won’t do it again.”

“If he does it once, he’ll do it again,” JJ mutters. He remembers having the same thought the first time his dad hit him. It was an accident. He apologised. He didn’t mean it. By the end, JJ was on cloud nine if he went a week without a smack. But your situation was somehow even heavier than that. His stomach churns again.

“I don’t know,” you repeat, sounding nothing short of defeated.

JJ just tugs you back against his chest. You trace a finger over his chest in swirling patterns as if personifying the state of his mind. Maybe you could live with JJ. I mean, you practically already did. The two of you were rarely away from the Chateau these days, and once you were eighteen - just as you said - your dad had no hold on you. Maybe if the Pogues could get the cross then JJ could finally afford that big pastel blue house for you, with the wrap around porch, and guard dogs to sick ‘em anytime your dad came within a fifty mile radius of you. Maybe–

JJ’s eyes widen. It hits him. His best idea to date.

“Marry me.”

JJ isn’t sure he actually said it for a while because you don’t speak. You don’t even move.

“What did you just say?”

“Marry me.”

You immediately start to laugh. You shake your head against his chest. “Jesus Christ. Did you slip and hit your bed whilst I was in the bathtub?”

“I’m serious. Marry me,” JJ says. Maybe it’s his tone that cuts off your hysterics. You quickly break out of his hold again and look at him, studying his expression. Your eyes widen.

“Holy shit, you really are serious,” you mumble.

“Marry me,” JJ repeats as if those are the only words he knows how to say.

You laugh, bewildered, “JJ, we’re seventeen.”

“So.”

“So? So…We’re seventeen!” you cackle. “We can’t get married JJ.”

“Who says?” JJ shrugs, beginning to smile. You haven’t said no.

“Um let’s see,” you mumble, lifting your fingers to count. “The court…The law…Our parents.”

“We don’t have parents.”

“Maybe not good or present ones, but we still have legal guardians, JJ.”

“Those are all technicals–”

“-Technicalities-”

“-Whatever. Point is, those are irrelevant,” JJ says, wafting it away. His hands grab yourself in a tight clutch. Your mouth remains perfectly parted, slightly upturned at the corners. It only pushes his smile. “I know you’re it for me. I ain’t good at all the sappy-dappy-love-crap, but I’ve been in love with you since I was a kid–”

“--JJ–”

“--And I don’t want anybody else! Ever. We’re a team, ain’t we? Hunt for gold together, spend our life together.” When you study him in silence for a while, JJ tags on, “I mean, I’m gonna do it eventually so I might as well do it now.”

“That is insane reasoning to propose, JJ,” you laugh, shaking your head at him. Even if your face is half beaten beyond recognition, JJ knows you’re the most beautiful girl on the planet. The moment he knew he shared the same earth as you, JJ wanted you to be in his life. And you still haven’t said no.

“I love you,” JJ says, plain and simple. Shaking his head slightly, he grins. “P4L, right? I mean, we really got nothing to lose here.”

You stare at him and scoff, quiet and underbreath, almost fascinated. Your eyes slip shut and JJ begins to grin because he knows. A deep, heavy sigh, and you laugh again.

“God help me, I must have gone crazy,” you mutter. Your eyes open into his. Then you smile the prettiest smile the world has ever seen. “Yes. I’ll marry you, JJ Maybank.”

JJ wastes no time in connecting his lips with yours. You giggle against them, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding him closer and closer. When you break apart, barely a hair’s width between your damp lips, you smile as you speak.

“My good looking boy.”

Five Years Later

Whiskey isn’t quite caramel. No, it’s more tawny. More gingerbread coloured, especially in this hue, illuminated by the crappy bar lighting hanging above JJ’s head. His knuckles knock against the side of the cool glass, mesmerised by the sound of his metal rings clinking, distracted in his drunken haze by the bobbing of the three ice cubes in the liquor.

“JJ.”

His head sluggishly lifts at the sound of his name. He comes face to face with the long-time bartender, Corbin.

“It’s last orders, man. You wanting a refill?” Corbin asks.

JJ sighs and shakes his head. “Nah, I better not. What time is it?”

“It’s nearly one,” Corbin replies.

JJ nods then repeats, “nah, I better not.”

“You wanting to settle up for that now?” he wonders, glancing down at JJ’s half full drink.

JJ swallows and rubs tiredly at his eyes. “I, uh…Just put it on my tab for now, a’right?”

Corbin sighs. “Look, JJ. I’ve known you a long time so I’ve been letting it slide but this tab’s starting to stack up. You gotta pay it sometime.”

JJ shoots him a glare; his emotions twisted by the alcohol. “And I’m gonna. I just…Things are a lil’ tight right now so I can’t settle it just yet.”

Corbin decides not to push the topic. He does as he’s asked and adds JJ’s three whiskey on ice beverages to his resume-like tab. When he leaves to square things away at some other end of the bar, JJ glances around the room.

Corbin’s bar, Grub Bucket, hadn’t changed in anybody’s lifetime. JJ could recall coming out here as a kid on the hunt for his dad and sneaking past the intimidating bikers out front, weaving through the drunken fools of Kildare to find his dad almost paralytic near the pool tables. The smell was the same too: musty and beer drenched and tired. JJ wonders if he finds the smell comforting - nostalgic maybe. At the sight of several patrons leaving through the door into the pitch-black night, JJ remembers himself and the time, and he downs the last of his drink. The bitter sting is soothing on his tongue and eases the ache, and it goes down easy like a crisp, cool apple juice back in grade school.

He staggers out the bar and stumbles the familiar route home. It’s as engraved in his mind as the journey to the shops or the docks. Home appears through thick overgrowth. It’s a piece of shit trailer, obvious even in this lighting, that’s discoloured and dirty on the exterior. There are weeds that protrude from below the body of the home and gas canisters lined beside overflowing trash cans and countless fishing, surf and mechanic crap. The recycling bin is always full of empty wine bottles and cans of beer.

The stairs creak in concern as he makes his way up them. The third is broken in the middle and even intoxicated, he has the sense to avoid it. A squeaky door that needs the entirety of his body weight to open, his shoulder slamming into the upper left, and the instant smell of damp desperately trying to be combated with some cheap candle from Goodwill.

There’s few rooms in the trailer. A kitchen with about one empty counter to cook, that shares the same area as a living space. A couch that JJ found abandoned on a roadside sits before a crackly television, divided by a thrifted coffee table. The World Atlas was proving useful keeping the latter piece of furniture upheld on the far right leg. The area is littered with belongings, tight on space and storage. Trash takes up a lot of space too, as much as he hates to admit it. A strategically placed poster-print conceals a concerning dent in the wall that may signify rats at one time had made this trailer their home. That could explain the steal that JJ got it for.

The bathroom is where JJ’s legs take him next. Here, with the door closed, he can turn on the light. It takes three flicks of the switch and the buzz that it generates might remind a war veteran of a looming grenade. The shower is permanently discoloured and runs warm perhaps once a year, so JJ skips that stage. Instead he looks into the dirty mirror. His exhausted face greets him through blurry vision and speckles of toothpaste. A well-used toothbrush is rushed around his mouth and he spits into a dusty sink that drains frustratingly slowly. A quick piss and JJ is all washed up.

He’s careful not to turn on the light when he makes his way into the bedroom. By now, it must nearly be two in the morning. The boots come off first, followed by his shorts, socks and shirt. Clad in only boxers, JJ can make out the bed through the dark and slides under the covers. His eyes slip shut and his body tries to relax.

“It’s late.”

His eyes clench shut. Shit.

“I, uh, didn’t know you’d still be awake.”

“I was waiting up for you to come home,” comes your mumbled response. JJ looks over to you: your back facing him as he lies on his.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Hard not to when your husband’s out until two in the morning without texting or calling.”

JJ’s brows knit together. “My phone died,” he mutters.

“Convenient.”

Sighing, JJ runs a hand along his forehead and rubs tiredly at his eyes. “Look, I’m really fuckin’ tired, a’right? It’s been a long day and I just wanna–”

“You’re tired?” you hiss, turning over and sitting up. Fuck. “You’re fucking tired, JJ? Where the hell where you!?”

“Out!”

"Oh! Out! God, I don't know why I didn't think to check there!" you tunefully say.

JJ grits his teeth. The exhaustion and booze make a sticky concoction, flammable to the smallest fuse. “I don’t have to fucking give you a play by play of what I’m doing. I’m my own fucking person.”

“Okay, sure, JJ. You can finish work at five in the Goddamn afternoon and not reappear until two in the Goddamn morning without a text or call. I mean, what a fucking evil wife I am for worrying about you being - oh, I don’t know - dead in a ditch somewhere or sat in a fucking cell. I mean, I’m just bitter to the bone.”

At your spiel, JJ sits up in bed, propping himself up with his elbows. “Yeah, it’s such a fucking Goddamn surprise that I’m in no rush to come home when this is the fucking greeting I get!”

“Don’t come home at two in the morning and you won’t get this type of greeting!” you screech back.

The two of you meet eyes through the dark. Your faces are contorted in anger: brows tugged close together, lips downturned in ugly frowns, tired eyes narrowed at one another.

“Jesus Christ - what? You need me to give you a text every two minutes or some shit? Tell you where I am every two seconds?”

“Right, yeah, that’s what I said, JJ,” you argue, gesturing violently with your words. “I said, ‘send me a text every time you take a breath of air’. No, no, you’re right: I said, ‘put a tracker in your fucking penis and then maybe I know where it’s going’.”

He studies your face a moment and scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re try’na incinerate there but–”

“It’s insinuate - you fucking idiot - and I think you know damn well what I’m referring to,” you spit. Your voice sounds almost as bitter as the liquor JJ was drinking peacefully only an hour ago. Maybe he should have just stayed at the bar.

“Go on, then. Say it with your fucking chest, then,” JJ urges, sitting up in bed too.

You glower at him. “Pearl.”

“Oh my fuckin’...” JJ can’t help but laugh right in your face. It’s ludicrous! It only seems to worsen your rage, not that JJ could care at this moment. “You really think I’m out hooking up with someone? Is that seriously what you’re accusing me of?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” is your all-to-quick reply. “You spend all night in a bar and come home smelling like booze. Wouldn’t be surprised if you were hooking up with her, or some other whore. I mean, who else would want you?”

JJ can’t think clearly through the blinding rage. His vision goes blurry and this time, it isn’t from the alcohol. There’s the distant fear that he might crack a tooth from how tightly he’s clenching his jaw. He feels his fist close up around the sheets.

“You better think really fucking hard about what you just said to me,” he lowly says.

Your brows raise. “Is that a threat?”

JJ doesn’t reply. Decides it might be best not to. It’s hard to side with that thought process though because a smirk slowly but surely begins to sneak onto your face. There’s this viciousness in your eyes that JJ used to be unable to recognise, before El Dorado. Before life got somehow all the more real.

“Starting to sound like your dad now, huh, Maybank?”

Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. Don’t say–

JJ leans in close to your face. Can feel your heavy breath on his cheeks. See the emotions swirling like a thunderstorm in your eyes. The thin veil of tears in your waterline. He hardly recognises his own voice.

“I wish I was fucking some whore. Anything’s better than being in this bed with you.”

Your whole demeanour shifts. It’s palpable. The room is hot and suffocating. The words hang in the air and JJ hates himself for not being sure if he even wants to take them back, even if he doesn’t mean it. He just wanted you to hurt. And what an awful thing to want.

JJ hates this. He hates how the two of you know just the right buttons to press and just the right things to say to make the other furious. To break one another down. When two people fall in love, you learn everything about the other. It’s not just the intimate details - how somebody looks naked, the way they react to every touch, every kiss, their favourite song, the way they talk when they’re drunk - but also the sensitive stuff. The traumas and the skeletons and the insecurities.

“Get out,” you spit.

“Get out?” JJ laughs incredulously.

“Get out! Get the fuck out of this bed now,” you seeth. JJ doesn’t move. As if possessed, you grab at your pillow and toss it at him. “Get out!” Toss your book too.

JJ dodges them, bats them away. “You’re fucking psycho! Do you fucking see yourself!” he shouts.

“Get out! Get out, get out, get out!” you scream.

But JJ doesn’t. He should. In fact, he should go for a walk and let the two of you calm down, and then discuss it in the morning with a civilised conversation, just as you would do when you were both younger. But JJ was never the one to make the right decision. Instead, he feels himself smile. Then, he settles leisurely on his back, snuggling into the sheets like a child returning home after a long day out. His body aches from a hard day’s labour at the docks, stomach empty save for the booze. Even with his eyes closed, JJ can see your glare. It’s ice cold and sends shivers along his spine.

“Fuck you, JJ,” you mutter.

Another rustle of the sheets, the mattress dips, heavy footsteps, a slamming door, and you’re out of the room. The door shivers in the rickety frame and the noise seems to echo around the room. JJ slowly opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. He runs a hand along his jawline as he sighs, feeling the ever growing stubble that he can’t find the motivation to shave. He used to, wanting to keep up appearances for the job market, but it seemed futile now. Pointless. The feeling of satisfaction that came from winning the fight was fleeting, passing as quick as a poppers-buzz. Now, the ugly emotions seep in as JJ wallows in the lonely silence. The emotions JJ usually wards off with whiskey and beer and weed and cocaine. The guilt and the shame and the self-loathing. The sympathy and the heartache. The awful things he said to you bounce around in his head like a ping pong ball. The awful things you said to him bury deep in his heart. When he closes his eyes again, trying to mellow out his breathing and drift off, he can hear your sniffles through the door.

You never used to hide your tears from him.

Sighing, JJ clamps his hands over his face and fights the urge to scream. Why does he do this? Why does it keep happening? Why can’t you both just stop?

After thirty minutes, sleep is nowhere to be seen. The sniffling has stopped in the other room but JJ doubts you’re asleep either. Soon enough, he can’t stand the internal struggle anymore. He gets to his feet and makes his way into the living room before he can lose his nerve.

You’re lying on your side on the sofa, bundled up with a moth-nibbled blanket. JJ can’t see your face from here but he knows you’re awake. Dating you for five years meant he learnt to pick up on things like that. Walking over, he comes to the back of the sofa and reaches over to gently place his hand on your shoulder.

“You awake?” he rasps.

A pause, and then, “yes.”

“Come to bed.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve got that stupid interview tomorrow and you’re going to hate yourself for sleeping on this fucking thing in the morning.”

And I can’t fall asleep unless you’re next to me.

“You remembered I have an interview?” you mumble.

“Course,” JJ mumbles back, as if embarrassed that he remembers something his wife told him. “So come to bed.”

You don’t say anything else. JJ has a million things he could say. They’re things that he should say and that he wants to but it’s like his mouth is soldered shut. He can’t let them pass as if they might incriminate him. Oh no! She’ll know I care about her! Instead, he swallows and removes his hand, sighing as he turns to return to the bedroom.

“Well, I’m going to bed,” he says. Again, there’s no response.

Only after JJ has closed the bedroom door does he hear movement from the sofa. By the time you reappear, he’s already in bed, curled up on his side, facing the wall. You make your way to the right of the bed. There’s the thud of the blanket joining the floor before you sneak under the sheets and shuffle about until you’re settled.

The two of you don’t cuddle that night just like you don’t most nights. Neither of you apologise. Neither of you say a word. But just as JJ’s about to drift off, he feels the faintest press of your lips to the back of his bare shoulder.

When JJ wakes up in the morning, you’ve already left. His head hurts the moment he opens his eyes. Groaning, he tosses the sheets off and sits up on the edge of his bed. JJ’s aching back was a common companion to his life since El Dorado. He’d fallen funny on the adventure and seemingly fucked it up for life. Lifting heavy cargo at the docks probably didn’t help much but what choice did he have? You both needed the money desperately.

The hunt for the gold went sour. Not only did Ward Cameron steal it and use it, but Rafe stole the cross and melted the timeless relic down into chunks. At first they thought El Dorado - the timeless mystery - was a possibility. JJ believed it too. In trying to get himself and John B there, he’d got himself in pretty hot water back in Kildare. That and the eviction notice plastered to his dad’s house meant that coming back home, empty handed, meant tough living. At first, the two of you persevered. You took the loss as best you could and started out on your life together. A courthouse wedding marked the beginning of your new life, gold-less but not loveless. The Pogues threw a party at the Chateau afterwards. JJ sent out an invitation to his dad at his last known address but he never showed. You never invited yours and thankfully he stayed away. Not long after was he arrested. That was a good day. You’d sold your father’s house and used that money to buy the trailer you and JJ now resided in. It was supposed to be a temporary spot but you fell on rough times. That was almost four years ago.

The day at work dragged on like any other. After missing one shift at the local grocers, JJ was fired and had to take the next available job to let the two of you meet rent. Now he spends his hours (nearly seven days a week) fixing up old fishing rigs. It was gruelling work: lifting and slamming and hammering and loading. Even in the September air, the summer less stifling than before, JJ works up a sweat. He doesn’t have enough food to spare for things like pack dinners so he goes off an apple during his breaks. Sometimes Pope would offer JJ some food if they crossed paths but JJ didn’t want to be a charity case. He was aware how frail the two of you looked though: having about one semi-decent meal a day. Just as the day begins to wrap to a close - the amber sun low in the sky - does Billy, his employer, come over to JJ as he’s scrubbing his hands.

“Goddamn oil, swear to God,” he mutters under breath, scratching tirelessly at the skin.

“Hey, JJ, we gotta talk,” Billy sighs.

JJ looks up and wipes his hands dry on his shirt. “What’s up?”

“Look, uh…” The moment Billy clears his throat, JJ knows what’s coming. “I hate to do this, man, but I gotta let you go.”

“Dude, seriously?” JJ sighs.

“Look, it ain’t your fault, Jay. I just…The business is going under and I can’t keep all you guys on anymore. I hate to do this to you, I really do, man. I've got your last paycheck here but you, uh, don’t gotta come in on Monday,” Billy not-so-delicately tells him, digging in his pocket and retrieving a white envelope. As he hands it over, he adds, “sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” JJ sighs, taking the money, “sorry don’t pay the bills, does it?”

Before Billy can reply, JJ pockets the paycheck and sets off from the docks towards his truck. He had to trade in his bike a few years back when the two of you married: a truck seemed more practical, especially for the plans you had. The anxiety seeps in as he starts his engine and only rises the closer he gets to home like a flood caused by a running tap in a home. Rubbing at his heart, trying to alleviate the nerves, JJ takes a breath and turns up the drive. He never used to feel this way when coming home to you. In fact, it used to be the highlight of his day. Now he just prays that he can get through the door without the two of you falling into an argument.

You’re standing at the stove, steam billowing up from the pan that you’re stirring, and at the sound of JJ shoving his way through the entrance, you turn and offer a small smile. It seems like an olive branch for last night.

“Hey,” you say.

“Yo,” JJ hums, closing the door. He heads for the pile of envelopes on the cluttered breakfast bar and flicks through them. Every FINAL NOTICE makes him cringe. One is already open and he slips the letter out, but you speak before he has a chance to read a word.

“We got a week until they shut the gas off,” you tell him.

“Well, I got the solution to that.”

JJ tries his best to smile as he holds the envelope up. Gasping, you abandon the stove and grin, taking it from him and scanning over the amount. He’s ashamed by his surprise when you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him. He doesn’t have a chance to respond; you’re back at the stove, stirring dinner, within seconds.

“Yeah, well, that’s the good news,” JJ says.

Frowning, concerned, you look over your shoulder to him. “There’s bad news?”

JJ can’t meet your gaze as he tells you, “I got let go.”

“What? But I thought–”

“Yeah, me too,” JJ sighs, shaking his head. He leans against the fridge and feels it shudder at his weight. The bottles of cheap wine clink together tellingly and JJ tries not to cringe. “Anyway, how’d your interview go?”

You shake your head, looking back to the pan. “They said they’d let me know in three or so days but I don’t know…They were hard to read.”

He watches you in the artificial light, your now naturally coloured hair looking almost unrecognisable in the glow. You’d stopped dying it a couple years ago because you thought it might make finding work easier. It didn’t. Two ex-convicts, one of which had arguably the worst reputation in Kildare, who disappeared for several months at a time as teenagers. No high school degree, no college degree, no qualifications or former training, and no reputable name to fall back on. JJ contemplates coming over to you and wrapping his arms around your middle, pulling you against him. He wants to dance with you in the kitchen to non-existent music and then cuddle up on the couch, sharing a joint and putting the world to right. But he doesn’t. Instead, JJ stays by the fridge.

“I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“Maybe. You going back to the job centre tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” JJ echos. He should. It’s hard though. It feels as though every time one of you picks yourself up and dusts yourself off, you get kicked to the dirt again. Jobs felt as unstable and unpromising as a rebound relationship. If either of you can hold down a job in the shaky economy that was the Cut on Kildare, then something in the house needs replacing, and you’re somehow still as broke as you were to start.

Neither of you bring up the argument from last night even though you should. Instead, you eat your dinner in mostly silence as the radio drones on in the background about the weather and the news. JJ’s apology lingers on his tongue but with every mouthful of his grits, it gets brushed away. It stays that way as the evening drags on. One glass of cheap red wine turns into two and three. Somewhere in the tipsy haze, the two of you find one another, naked under the sheets. His bare chest brushes against yours as he kisses desperately at your neck, thrusting into you. As his hands caress along your familiar figure, it feels as though you’re miles away. Or maybe it’s him. Maybe he isn’t the one that’s present, as if standing across the room, watching it all unfold. Your heavy breaths in his ear don’t excite him as they did before. The feeling of your walls squeezing around him doesn’t send him spiralling the same way it used to. It feels as if he’s just going through the motions. Chasing the brief wave of euphoria and distracting himself from the maelstrom of anxiety that is his mind lately. No job, no family, no future.

“Harder, JJ,” you sigh against his shoulder, your breath warm on his damp skin.

He hardly registers your words and only responds when one of your hands coaxes his hips deeper. Something about the new angle hits JJ just right. His eyes slip shut, a groan falling past his lips as he shudders against your body. He comes rather quickly: the white hot pleasure fast as it passes through him. He lingers inside of you a moment. You lay stone still underneath him.

“Did you just come?” you ask.

“Yeah, I just came,” JJ sighs, pulling out of you. Sighing, chest heaving, he flops onto his back beside you. He can feel your stare the same way he did last night. As if trying to escape it, his eyes slip shut.

“Are you fucking serious, JJ?”

“You know your body better anyway. Go to town,” JJ mumbles. He’s aware of how douchey he sounds but he feels a thousand miles away. He’d only disappoint you anyway. It feels like all he does is disappoint you.

“Fuck you,” you mutter, climbing out of bed and heading presumably to the bathroom to piss. The door slams the same as it did last night. More arguments and JJ will have to replace the hinges. Just another thing in the house that’ll be added to the list of repairs, with the thing at the top being your relationship. As JJ works through the list in his mind, he drifts off to sleep. He isn’t sure if you ever came back to bed. You’re gone when he wakes up in the morning.

“I don’t understand man,” John B says. “Why don’t you two just get a divorce?”

JJ’s head snaps to face his best friend. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying–”

“--John B–”

“--You guys are miserable,” he finishes, not letting JJ cut him off. Groaning, JJ shakes his head and paces away. “It’s not like divorce is frowned upon in your family! Your parents did it, hers did it - hell, mine did it too!”

“I don’t wanna divorce her,” JJ says, turning around. He takes his cap from his head and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s damp with sweat from the humid heat of the day. He’d been at his lifelong best friend’s house since eight in the morning, helping to clear up the yard and fix the jetty. Whilst unemployed, JJ may as well keep himself busy. As always, the conversation had veered into relationship territory: John B and Sarah, and JJ and you. The fight was two weeks in the past. You hadn’t let JJ have sex with you since. JJ wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. It just made him feel more confused and disconnected. He didn’t like being the reason you were upset.

“There’s no shame in it,” John B assures. “You guys were a good fit when we were teenagers but now you’ve grown up and life’s gotten hard. That’s okay.”

“She’s it for me, JB,” JJ states. He wanders over and lovingly pats him on the back, making his way to the cooler for another beer. “I ain’t giving up on us.”

“Cool. So, you’ll just stay stuck in a loveless marriage for the rest of your life then. Awesome,” comes John B’s sardonic response.

“It’s not loveless. It’s just…going through a rough patch.”

“A two year long rough patch?”

“It’s not as simple as ‘divorce her’,” JJ sighs. The crisp crack of the beer sounds like heaven’s gates opening. “She’s the girl of my literal childhood dreams. And things have been hard for her too. We don’t mean to fight, we just…do.”

“Denial is a six-letter word my friend. You know what else is?”

“Don’t say it–”

“Trauma.”

“JB–”

“I get it! Your dad was shitty and you’re trying to break the cycle! But maybe you can’t! Maybe there isn’t a cycle! Maybe that’s just life!”

“Look, I don’t therapise you so how about you don’t therapise me,” JJ suggests. He tosses a beer to the brown haired man. His face isn’t all that different from when they were young. The crows feet around his eyes are deeper set, as are the laughter and frown lines along his forehead. The stubble on his beard challenges JJ’s. “I’m not gonna give up on us. We just need to reconnect. I feel like we’re always at odds.”

Sighing, John B relents. He clinks his can against JJ’s in an informal cheers. “Well, I hope you’re right and you guys can figure it out. I just want you happy, man.”

Happy. JJ hardly knew the meaning of the word these days.

He lingers at John B’s house until sunset, when Sarah returns from the hospital. She’d managed to get a spot on a nursing course and was blazing through it. She’d tried to get both you and JJ employed there too but the criminal check killed any chance. She offers for JJ to stay for dinner but he declines, saying that he should head home. The walk back is filled with unnecessary diversions. He goes to the pier where he saw you jump as a kid. He goes by the grocery store that the two of you used to shoplift beers from. He wanders along the coastline where you used to skinny dip in the dead of night. Somehow, JJ ends up outside what used to be his home. Nobody had bought it after the bank repossessed it. Sitting in dilapidation, nature reclaims the isolated structure. It’s barely recognisable to JJ. Seeing it in such a way makes JJ question if his childhood was even real. The traumatic memories feel as though they don’t fit well on this canvas: it’s too peaceful and serene. He leans down and grabs a large rock from the floor and hurls it towards one of the windows. It shatters through the glass and thuds as it lands on the floorboards inside. A small smile pushes onto JJ’s ageing face. That’s better. He continues to walk home.

It’s pitch black outside by the time JJ makes it back. He wonders if you might have gone to bed as he walks up the porch steps, dodging the broken one, reminding himself to fix it. The house is cast in a warm glow from the living room floor lamp when JJ walks in. The kitchen has been cleaned up and for once seems almost homely. His eyes are immediately drawn to your frame, sat crossed legged on the sofa. A large shoebox sits on the coffee table, the lid off, and a stack of old VHS tapes sit in a pile to its right. There’s a bottle of open red wine and a half filled glass too. You’re looking down at something.

“Hey,” he says, closing the door behind him.

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing?”

You finally look up. You’d put your nose ring back in and it shines under the gentle glare of the lamp. A smile blesses your features. “I was going through the closet to see if I could sell some old clothes and found the picture box. Remember how we were gonna hang some up when we first moved here? I think we still should.”

JJ grabs a glass for himself and joins you on the sofa. You smell like soap and shea butter. He pours himself a glass of wine.

“Look,” you say, holding the picture out for him to see. He places down in his glass on the table and takes the photo from you. JJ chuckles quietly under breath. It’s of John B and JJ when they were younger; they sit on their surfboards, legs submerged in the water, hair damp, smiles brimming and big. “Cute, huh?”

“Very cute,” JJ agrees. He places it amongst the pile of scattered pictures strewn across the table and picks another out. It’s of Kiara, pulling a stupid face as she lounges outside the Chateau. Sarah throwing up peace signs. A candid of Pope and John B playing cards one afternoon. You, dangling upside down from the slats of the jetty, lilac hair barely scraping the surface of the water.

“I like this one.”

JJ leans into you to see the picture in your hands. He smiles at the sight. One of the Pogues must have taken it. You both look about eighteen. You’re sat on one of the deckchairs that resided outside of the Chateau, talking vivaciously, hands gesturing wildly and smiling wide. JJ’s just staring at you, a lovesick smile on his young face, chin resting on his fist. For a while, the two of you sit in the drip-drip-drip of the kitchen sink, staring at the picture as if in a trance.

“You used to adore me,” you whisper.

JJ’s brows knit together. He looks down at you. “I still do.”

Your laugh is sad. Your eyes remained trained on the moment frozen in time. “Not like you used to. Not like before.”

“Before what?” JJ mumbles, heart suddenly heavy.

You look up and meet his gaze. Whatever emotion is on your face makes JJ want to cry. “You know what.”

He shakes his head, his lips quivering. “That’s not true.”

“Everything changed after that.”

“It’s not true,” he says again. His hand slips up, cupping your cheek, and his body sings when you lean into his hold. “That weren’t your fault. It never was and never will be.”

“But would you still have married me,” you begin to ask, voice turning thick as the tears start to build, “if you knew? If I knew before.”

“Yes,” JJ swiftly answers.

“JJ–”

“--You’re it for me,” he says. His forehead gently falls forward, resting against yours, needing to be closer. “Girl of my dreams.”

“Even if…” You take in a shaky breath, trying desperately not to cry. “Even if I can’t give you a family.”

“You are my family. I got everything I need right here.”

Something between a sob and laugh shakes your body. You sniff and nod fervently against him. JJ sweeps his calloused finger across your cheek. He feels the warmth that radiates from your skin. Inhales the soothing smell that is you. Counts the smattering of blemishes and freckles and scars that decorate your skin like cracks in an antique painting. They don’t take from your beauty - they just speak to the value.

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself say.

It’s your turn to frown now. Opening your eyes, they shimmer with unshed tears. “What’d you mean?”

“I’m so sorry I let you marry me,” he says in brutal honesty. “This ain’t the life you deserve.”

“JJ–”

“You deserve so much more than this. More than all this scrimping and saving. You deserve your house. Your pastel blue house, with those white shutters and the porch - that damn wrap around porch - and your cats and dogs.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. Your own hands come up, cradling his face just as he has your own, and you smile dotingly up at him. For the first time in months, JJ feels as though he recognises you. JJ feels as though he recognises himself.

“I don’t need all that, JJ,” you tell him. “That’s just stuff. Things. You said it best: I have everything I’ve ever needed right here.”

“You don’t gotta say that,” JJ gently argues. “This trailer isn’t a house, baby.”

“No, it ain’t,” you agree. “It’s a home. It’s our home.”

“Baby,” JJ sighs. His eyes slip shut, unable to look at you, feeling nothing less than a failure.

“You remember our wedding day?” you ask him. JJ can’t help but snort.

“Course I do.”

“Remember our vows?”

His lips can’t help but upturn as he follows your train of thought. He was always good at following your mind.

“For richer–”

“--for poor,” JJ finishes.

The caress of your finger along his jawline has JJ close to tears.

“We’re gonna be okay,” you tell him softly. “We're gonna get through all this. It’s just God’s test, that's all, and we’re gonna pass it, and it’ll be okay again. I promise.”

JJ manages to open his eyes and face you. You’re smiling up at him, gazing as if he was the entire solar system laid before you, and the anxiety slips away as suddenly as winter changes to spring.

“My good looking boy,” you whisper.

JJ’s never been good with his words. But sometimes words aren’t needed.

His lips find yours like a bird migrating home. You immediately hold him close to you, tilting his face with yours to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours. The taste of red wine is strangely erotic and it spurs JJ on. He sighs against you, pushing deeper as if to consume you. Your fingers slip into his hair; nails teasing at his scalp, combing through the sea salt treated strands. JJ’s hands sink away from your face, tracing along your arms, down to your waist. You sink into the cushions of the sofa on your back as JJ climbs atop. His lips map across your cheeks, along your jaw, find home on your neck and collarbones.

“I missed you so much,” he confesses in a breath against your sensitive skin.

The removal of clothes is like a ritual: each piece commemorated with kisses and love bites and praises. Your hands explore one another’s naked bodies as if it were your first time. Like a blind man regaining sight, JJ is in awe of your effortless beauty. The way your back arches at the trace of his finger along your sternum, down to your weeping cunt. You clench helplessly around his digits as he fingers you, slow and sensual, savouring every moan and whine.

“Missed you so fucking much, baby,” JJ sighs against your thigh. Presses kisses against the stretch mark decorated skin, like watering tree roots. “So fucking pretty.”

“JayJ,” you croon, eyes clenched shut, a balled up fist rubbing helplessly at your forehead.

His tongue laps at your clit, suckles at the wet, driven by the feel of your fingers knotting in his hair. You climax with a gasp, soaking his fingers and lips, overstimulated until you’re gently pushing him away and pulling him up to you. He’s painfully hard as he kisses you. When your hand softly takes hold of him, he sighs against your mouth.

“I missed you,” you tell him between kisses. Your hand rubs at him in long, meaningful strokes, thumb occasionally teasing over the tip. JJ groans against your chest, eyes pressed shut, trying to revel in the feeling of having you so close, having you jacking him off, whilst trying desperately not to come. But you know him better than anybody else. You know when to guide him to your entrance, coating him in your slick. JJ kisses at your nipple as he sinks into you. He doesn’t feel miles away this time as he fucks you into the sofa. Doesn’t feel like he’s stranded across the room as he makes love to you for the first time in months, maybe even years.

Your begs and pleas and praises are like words from the lord being spoken into JJ’s ears in your breathy whimpers. Harder, deeper, feels so fuckin’ good, faster. JJ’s no better, slurring anything that slips into his mind as he sinks in and out of you. So fuckin’ wet, prettiest fuckin’ pussy in the world, tell me how bad you need it. His hand holds an almost mean grip on your hip whilst his other finds your left. JJ intertwines your fingers as the two of you chase your highs, the digits slick with sweat, slipping in the hold but never letting go.

"I'm s'close," you whine, hooking your legs over his hips, driving him deeper.

"Fuck, feels so fuckin' good," JJ grunts, ploughing into you. "So fuckin' good for me."

"Please, JJ," you gasp. You're so close. JJ fucks you hard and fast. "Please, please, please..."

You come first, gasping and panting against JJ’s ear, and he follows, moaning desperately against your clammy skin. His eyes slip shut as he rests atop of you.

JJ blinks awake, somewhat disorientated. For the first time in forever, his aching back isn’t the first thing he registers. Instead, it’s the steady rise and fall of the warm body underneath him. He slowly lifts his head to find you, sleeping soundly, still naked. He’s soft inside of you and gently slips out with a small shudder. You stir only slightly but soon drift back off to sleep. JJ gets up carefully so as to not disturb your slumber. The bathroom doesn’t feel as grimy when he goes inside to pee, and his face looks younger, lighter, refreshed, when he checks the mirror as he washes his hands. After tugging on a pair of boxers and an old t-shirt, he returns to the living room. You’ve curled up on your side, snoring quietly, and JJ smiles. How could he forget how beautiful you are? He lays a blanket over your body and plants a kiss to your hair. Then, he begins to tidy away some of the pictures. As you requested, he leaves out some that he thinks you might like to be framed, one of which is from your wedding day: the two of you laughing as you smush cake against one another’s mouths. His eyes fall on the tapes and he picks them up, flicking through them. He takes pause at one. Luke and Marie’s Wedding Tape. He stares at it like the box of Jumangi, both terrified and enticed.

JJ powers up the TV, ensuring it’s on silent, and turns on the old tape player. By some miracle, it still works. He slips the tape in and swallows the lump in his throat, and sits on the sofa beside where your head rests. You’re still dead to the world, snuggled up cosy in your blanket cocoon, and JJ’s weirdly grateful for your company as the tape kicks to life. It’s grainy at first, the picture wobbly, but soon enough the image comes to life. His dad who JJ hasn’t seen in years stands young and stupid at the altar. His mother who JJ wouldn’t know if she passed him in the street stands young and forgiving opposite. They’re speaking soundless words, smiling. JJ isn’t aware that he’s started crying until a teardrop lands on his hand. He wipes his cheek absently, eyes fixated on the screen. He watches as they dance: giggling, graceful, giddy. Just as you were the day JJ laid his eyes on you.

Maybe John B was right. Maybe JJ did want to break the pattern. It wasn't either of your faults that you both reacted to adversity the way you did. Years of built-up anger and rage and pain with nowhere to go but within was like a boiling over crockpot of disaster. Two borderline-abandoned, abused teenagers married at eighteen? Of course you didn't have the blueprint for how to be a functional couple. Neither of you knew the definition of compromise, or backing down, or making peace. All you knew was pain and betrayal and self-defence. But that could change. It would take time and patience, but it could. JJ wanted it to. He was sick of working against you. You were a team before and you would be a team again. JJ never wanted to go to war against you, not when you were the best soldier on his team. JJ had always feared love because he feared what it would make him. Would he be like his father or his mother: resent or retreat?

As JJ's eyes sweep down to your sleeping self, he decides what he'll be. He'll be neither. He'll be himself. He'll be resilient.

One of JJ's hands raises and his fingers lovingly stroke at your hair. You don’t wake, just shift a little, and a barely there smile slinks onto your face.

“Don’t give up on me, baby,” JJ mumbles, petting the strands of your ever changing hair. His good looking girl. “These times are hard and they’re makin’ us go crazy, but don’t give up on me. Cause I meant every word.”

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…

"Til' death do us part."

492 notes · View notes

surielstea · 2 months ago

Text

Wedding Crasher

Based on this request.

Paring: Azriel x Fem!Reader (mates)

Summary: Reader is forced into an arranged marriage, and when the day of union comes it is interrupted by two familiar Illyrian warriors.

Warnings: Toxic relationship with parents | forced marriage | Azriel threatens a life | but pretty much all fluff <33

2.4k words.

My white dress hung heavy on my shoulders, my corset too tight, my heels already making my feet ache.

The plastered smile on my face hurt my cheeks, and the thorns in my bouquet prickled my sweaty palms. I released a shaky breath as the music of the string quartet began to play, an unmistakable tune meant for happy brides ready to walk down the aisle.

Which is what I was supposed to be, happy, ready. Heads turned in my direction and my back straightened, my brows creasing the slightest fraction.

My husband-to-be waited at the end of the walkway, his smile broad and malicious. My stomach churned.

I didn't want to be here, here on this beach getting married to some guy twenty years older all for an alliance my parents forced me into. My self-sovereignty for what? For a few pieces of gold and a minor title?

I took a steadying breath and began walking forward, keeping in rhythm to the strum of the music. The groom reached his hand out towards me, my own shook as I took it and he pulled me the rest of the way to the altar.

The officiant began the reading from his script, and with it, my ears began to ring, I tuned the priest out and my eyes fluttered closed. My fiancé's hands squeezed mine, not in a comforting manner, but a warning. I snapped my head up and looked at the officiant, I blinked at him with creased brows.

"Do you, take Rhen Talor to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish till death do you part?" He repeated each word adding another pound of weight to my shoulders.

"I—" I look between the oblivious officiant and the groom, Rhen, to my parents who were watching with narrowed eyes. "I..." I wanted to say yes, I was going to say yes, but the pounding in my heart could be heard in my ears and I got the sneaking suspicion that I was about to vomit all over my white gown.

An unnatural wind blew my hair back as if nature itself was beckoning me to step away, to run.

I looked in the direction of the wind, my hands slipping from Rhen's as I spotted two towering, familiar winged figures in the distance and I realized the pounding in my ears was the beat of their wings.

The crowd murmurs at the intrusion as the two Illyrians casually stroll towards us, arrogance and power in each step.

"Excuse me for a moment," I say, gathering my skirts in my hands and rushing over to the two males as fast as I can in my heels that seemed determined to get stuck in the sand.

"What in the seven hells are you two doing here?" I seethe, looking at the fae warriors who were smiling at me with wicked amusement. Some part of me relaxed to feel anything besides fear and nausea, even if it was anger taking over.

"We're here to save you, what else?" The shadow singer arches a brow, dark shadows swirling up the pure white of my dress.

"I don't need anyone's saving, especially not two Carynthian warriors," I argue and Cassian snorts, taking in my appearance.

"I only came along because Az promised there'd be a buffet," The lord of bloodshed shrugged.

"Not for— this is wildly inappropriate, even for the two of you." I groaned but Cassian only continued walking, towards the guests that were scrambling away from the sight of his seven siphons. Leaving me and Azriel, our words drowned out by the crashing of the waves.

"You're too late. I already said I do," I cross my arms over my chest.

"Liar," He narrows his hazel eyes on me. "You know better than to try and fool me, Love, I could feel you tugging at the bond, you were in distress," Azriel took a dangerous step forward and I sucked in a sharp breath at the mention of the bond, not accepted but not rejected either. A bridge between us that I both refused to sever and to walk across.

H grabbed my hand that was prickled with the thorns of my bouquet, shadows soothed over my palm, relieving the sting of my minor wounds. "You shouldn't be here," I frowned but his smile remained.

"No, probably not, but I can't let you marry him," He said, his voice brooking no room for argument, ever the cool and collected male.

“Go home, Azriel,” I speak quietly, but not weakly.

“Come with me.” He matches my tone, his scarred fingers intertwining with my manicured ones and the sensation was so different than the feeling of Rhen’s grip. "Why did your parents arrange this? What are they gaining from this union?" He asked, voice slightly stiff at the idea of selling me off for their own personal achievement.

"Money, the Talor's have a small title and crop of land, it'd be enough to last us a few centuries,” I shrug. I loved my parents, despite their twisted and corrupt ways, I loved them because they fed and raised me, I loved them because they put clothes on my back and told me bedtime stories. I never assumed I’d have to pay them back, not this way, at least.

"I'll give you every cent to my name if that's the price of my mate's freedom, if money is what they want, they can take mine." The shadow singer stated, his words certain that it made me realize that I’ve never been as sure about anything as he was about this.

"I can't ask you to do that." I shake my head, slipping my fingers from his, knowing the lingering guests were watching.

"You don't have to, I want you to be happy, let me buy you then set you free." He implored, allowing my hand to fall to my side only because he moved to cup my cheek. "And if I'm lucky you'll fall in love with me along the way." He shrugged with a smirk of pure fae male arrogance.

"Az," I deadpan, the words half a growl.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, I'm asking you not to marry him." His eyes flick back to the male watching with furious eyes from the archway. "If you tell me to I’ll leave, and you can walk down that aisle again— but let's not kid ourselves, you never wanted this, never wanted him,” His hand on my face made me melt slightly, and he was right, despite wanting to pay my mother and father back, this is nowhere near anything I wanted.

I swallowed thickly, weighing the options. If I married Rhen my parents would be happy and this would all be water under the bridge— but I’d suffer a life of being both a housewife and broodmare with a male who did not truly love me.

If I went with Azriel my parents would likely attempt to cleave us, unless Azriel paid them as he said he would, as long as gold was placed in their hands I doubted they’d have much argument— and I could be free to choose what I wanted with my life, I could accept my mating bond.

"But where will I go? What will I do?" I ask, my mind filled with questions that could only be answered by my future self.

"It's entirely up to you, you can live with me, or you can move to another court, whatever you choose. You'd be free." He stresses and my mouth gapes open, then closes. I look to the waves crashing against the shore only a few yards away, shouting at me to flee, to go with him.

All of it was too good to be true, Azriel coming to be my savior with this plan. It couldn’t be real and I needed him to punch me so I could wake up from this dream.

"Though I'd prefer if you stayed close, it's painful having you so far even right now— and you're only a city away, I can’t imagine a whole court,” He added and I looked back to him, a small smile pulling at the corners of my lips.

"I haven't even accepted the bond yet and you're already desperate." I tease.

"Yet?" He arched a scarred brow.

I flush a soft hue and avert my eyes again, this time settling them on the approaching figure that formed a knot of anxiety in my stomach.

"You're out of line, get your hands off my bride you bastard." Rhen spat and I flinched at the way he cursed the word, Azriel didn’t so much as shift, in fact, I could’ve sworn there was a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Out of line? No, I'm exactly where I should be, you're the one that's in my way." The shadow singer smoothly replied, Rhen snarled at his retort and grabbed me just above my elbow, his grip as tight and immovable as iron.

"Don't touch me." I gritted out, tugging at my arm but he didn’t budge and simply pulled me back towards where the officiant stood, uneasy on his feet.

"Come on, be a good little wife, and finish the damned ceremony," Rhen growled, and before I could take even another step towards the archway my fiancé halted, freezing in his footsteps as shadows wrapped around his limbs, his neck, encasing his body and shoving into his open mouth, restricting him of oxygen.

"She told you not to touch her Talor, so I'd highly suggest you let go or you won't have a hand anymore." The Spy Master’s voice was death incarnate, I had never heard anything so paralyzing in all my immortal life. It chilled me down to my very bone, and I thought that I might be carrion if I was ever on the receiving end of my mate's deathly stare.

Rhen’s hand releases me if only to grasp at his own throat, silently pleading with his eyes to have mercy.

The shadows released him and Rhen was sent running, sprinting as fast as he could away from the male that stood before me, now looking at me with an incredulous grin. Insane, he must’ve been insane— and I must’ve been too, to be so in love with that smile and the dimples that came along with it.

"You were seriously going to marry him?” He scoffed, hand coming to my arm and inspecting the area Rhen held me for any injury.

"Well, it wasn't really my choice," I grumble under my breath as Azriel lets go of my arm with a gentleness that rivaled his vicious exterior that occurred only moments ago.

Azriel’s eyes flicked over to the few remaining guests and I turned in the direction he stared, at my parents who were staring with both helplessness and fury in their eyes.

"Me and Cass will deal with them later, let's get you out of here, alright?" He tugged at the tether between us and my head whips back to him.

“Okay,” I nod and reach out, my hand finding his. His eyes soften as he pulls me into him, wrapping a wing around me and cocooning us in darkness before he utilizes his shadows to pull us into another realm entirely, it was only a brief moment of darkness and an empty void before my heels were on a hardwood floor and the sweet citrusy smell of Velaris flowed through my nose.

"We left Cass," I say, glancing around to find the second Illyrian nowhere to be found.

"He was in the midst of stuffing his face with bread rolls, I think he'll be just fine." Azriel half scoffed, half chuckled. He pulled away but before he could completely slip from my grasp my hand tightened on his and his brows lifted a fraction, eyes lighting with intrigue.

"Thank you." Is all I can manage to say.

"Don't thank me." He shakes his head. "I should have gotten you out of there far sooner." He spoke as if he was more dissatisfied with himself than anyone else.

"But still, when it mattered you came for me," I utter, taking a cautious step forward.

"You're my mate, even if you haven't accepted the bond, it's my duty to keep you safe— you shouldn't have even been out of my sights," He says, his voice soft as he looks down at me, hand squeezing mine.

"I wasn't, not really." I hum, gesturing down to the shadow that swirled around my ankle, the one that would always remain there.

He smiles at the thought, then says, "You look beautiful, by the way." His eyes flick down to my white gown and I follow his gaze, smiling softly at the dress, it had been the only thing that was my decision in this entire endeavor.

"I only wish that it was your choice to put that dress on, this morning," He added, as if reading my mind, and for a moment I wondered if the mating bond allowed him to see how I felt.

"It will be, one day," I nod confidently and his brows raise with insinuation. A gentle smile blooms across my lips and I cup his sharp jaw. “But for now, baby steps,” I suggest rising up onto my toes, leaning closer, placing a kiss on his adjacent cheek.

When I pulled back he was beet red and I giggled at the sight, it was a wonder that this male, who flushed at a chaste peck on the cheek, was also one of the most feared in Prythian.

“Right,” he swallowed down the lump in his throat, his hand only a phantom at my waist, hovering. "I'll have money sent to your parents by Dawn." He says, then quickly adds, “Even if they don’t deserve it.”

I smile brightly and pull away. “Thank you, Az,” I murmur.

“Anything, for you.” He confessed, and I knew he meant it. I smiled, thinking that in the morning I might reward him with some breakfast, in turn, accepted that golden tether between us and finally allowed myself to be happy, with a mate.

Comment a “💙” to be added to the general taglist!

Comment a “🖤” to be added to the Azriel taglist!

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @hufflepuff-pa55 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @cumuluscranium @adharanotfound @azrielsmate3 @aelincaddel @hiddlestonspassionsackx @dee-writes-smut @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @pit-and-the-pen @mybestfriendmademe @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @circe143 @bubybubsters @joshysloshy @username199945 @ivy-34 @notsarareallynot @vixenshiftsvrs @aurorab99 @pey2618 @loving-and-dreaming @mmg777 @andreperez11 @thatacotargirl @123345566 @one-big-fangirl @moonslitluna @imyherondale @salvawhxres @bookishbabyyyy @anuttellaa @breadsticks2004 @azriels-human @mamita-vera @demetercabingreen-thumb

458 notes · View notes

thecoochiefairy · 1 month ago

Text

𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖈𝖔𝖔𝖈𝖍𝖎𝖊𝖋𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖞

━━ 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑛𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑟 .ᐟ toji.

warnings 𑄽𑄺 18.9K word count. moving man! snake catcher! toji, third person omniscient pov, black woman, vaginal penetration, shower sex, rough sex, sweet sex, sweet talkin’, squirting, oral [f] ,choking, praising, fingering, LOTS of dirty talk, a lil degrading?, condomless sex, kissing, spanking, aggressive toji, sweetie toji, minors aren’t welcome!

song to play while listening; 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡’𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 ; 𝑙𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝑑𝑎𝑦𝑒

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ hey guys, it’s been a while, life has been a pain. but i wanted to give you something sweet, cute, hot. so here you go. i love you. 🫶🏽

SHE SHOULD’VE BOUGHT CURTAINS. That’s a thought that crossed her mind, scanning through the front window that looked out into the yard. The sun was creating a warmth into the kitchen—these were things she definitely wouldn’t miss living in this house.

There weren’t many things she would miss, but if she could think of anything she’d probably think of the happier moments. She could remember the smiles they shared between each other, the giggles that released from her lips as he made her laugh, the joy of showing her child what a family oriented household could be. All that was about to change.

Her attention was pulled away from the window, a voice coming behind her. A hum of approval released from the person’s lips as they held a wine glass within their hand, allowing the sweetness of the liquid to ignite their taste buds.

“You may have a horrible taste in men, but you damn sure have a good tongue for wine.”

She turns her head at her older sister, Serena, then continuing to lean against the window with a soft shake to her head. Her sister was never the type to hold her mouth to anything or anyone—she always reminded her of just how bad she was at identifying a toxic relationship.

“Do you really think right now is the time to be shitting on me?”

“When will it be a good time for you to hear the truth?”

That makes her go silent. It’s not that she wasn’t grown up enough to face reality, but she’d done enough crying about the matter of it all—being divorced at twenty-seven wasn’t something she expected. She’d known her ex-husband since she was twenty-two, falling immensely in love with one another, talking up hopes and dreams of being together forever. He showed her things no other man hadn’t, sweeping her off her feet so well that she immediately agreed to marrying him. It could’ve also been the fact that she was pregnant at the time, but she pushed that thought to the side.

Having someone to call home had its pro’s, but it also had its many—many cons. As the years had gone by, she learned him. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for sickness. But only being able to part ways by death wasn’t something she wanted with him, realizing he had a life made for her that she didn’t want for herself, always wanting to make choices for her. Fuck that.

As she stared down at the princess cut on her ring finger, she thought to herself—she didn’t even like princess cut designed jewelry. He did.

Her sister then speaks again, “Say, when is that moving company supposed to get here? Did you catch the name of any of the guys?”

She shook her head in response, “Uh—“ checking the email as she reads, “Fushiguro, that’s the last name of the owner.”

“Is he hot?” her sister questions, smirk along her lips.

She blinks, turning towards her as she asks, “And why would that matter?”

“Well—“ Serena takes another sip of her drink, “You’re a divorcè before the age of thirty, you’re still attractive, and you’re basically a widow! I think you should hop on the next dick the second you get the chance.”

Shaking her head at her opinionated sibling, she disagrees, “Nope, no. I’m just gonna work on bringing my regular customers back in, and focus on Sai—your niece, by the way, did you forget that my child is more important than some dick, Serena?”

“What about you though? When are you going out to have some fun? Look, I’m not saying you should hook-up the first nigga you see, but I’m just saying your life shouldn’t be entirely fufilled between your business and daughter.”

She sighs, “I wanna have fun, I’m not a grandma. But we haven’t even gotten out of this miserable ass house yet. Let me just—decompress for a bit. You know Nathan would die before I had another man around Sai so soon,” she recalls, sighing as she reaches onto the kitchen counter to grab a glass, beginning to pour some wine for herself.

Thankfully getting off of her case, Serena then pulls back with a sigh, “Okay—Okay, I’ll get off your ass about it,” She holds up her hands in defense, “Just giving you some advice! Don’t want you to be an old spinster-ass-bitch!”

“Girl, fuck you.”

The both of them laugh together, humor becoming their common ground as the tension within the room falters. As they continue to talk, they notice as a steel black semi-truck pulls to the front of the driveway from the window. It’s not what either of them expected, a bright and bold serpent painted against the vehicle, yellow eyes almost three dimensional.

“I think the moving people are here…” Serena mutters, her eyes peeking over to the window.

At the same time, the sound of tiny feet smacking along the floor catches their attention. A pink tutu romper appears within both women’s eyes, Sai holding a doll within her hand as she raises her arms to be carried upwards.

Serena watches as her younger sister playfully groans, pulling her up onto her hip as she smiles, “And what are you so excited for?”

“Look, mommy, we have visitors!” Sai calls, pointing out the window.

They all looked back to the moving truck that parked just in-front of the house. When the door opens from the semi, Serena’s eyes could’ve popped out of her head.

She notices her face as she questions, “What?”

“Oh bitch, yo’ moving man is fine as hell!”

Serena nearly trips as she gets closer to the window, almost pressing her face against the glass as she watches. It causes her younger sister to frown, placing her daughter back along the ground to figure out what she was going on about.

“Girl, what the hell are you talking about—“

She halts. Her eyes follow through the window as she watches a man, no—a man step out of the large truck. She wasn’t sure if he was as pretty as an angel, or devilishly attractive. The black muscle tee and overalls he wears compliment his olive skin, the dark ink of his tattoos spread all across his large arms and what looks to be his chest, traveling beneath the fabric of his shirt. He’s tall and broad, nearly stretching everything he wears. She takes notice of a serpent tattoo that swirls around his left arm—similar to the symbol on the truck—starting from his shoulder and slithering down to his palm. She follows up to a strident face, strong jaw, full pink lips—not to mention the immense amount of ink along his neck— coming all the way up to onyx hair, a cigarette poking from his scarred lip. His dark eyebrows make a natural frown, trying desperately to hide him from the sun.

Serena squints deeply beneath the sun hitting them as she whispers, “Who the fuck… is that? Oh—oh my god… who the hell did you hire, a moving man or an assassin?”

She frowns, “Why an assassin?”

“Cause he can kill this—“

“Aye!” She smacks her arm, “Sai is literally right here, dumbass!”

Serena rubs her arm as she pouts, “My bad. Damn.”

The two women in the window continue eyeing him, up until they don’t realize how hard they’re staring. The demon that essentially walks along their property takes notice of them from a distance, and he unexpectedly raises his arm with a smirk, giving a short but almost shy wave.

She turns back towards Serena and asks, “Uh…where’s Nathaniel? Did he leave?”

“Hm?” Her sister looks back at her, and her face drops into a disgusted look, “Oh—ugh—Right. Almost forgot about that prick…”

As she mutters to herself, the moving man begins unloading a few boxes from the truck, glancing back over towards the front window, and he notices both women looking out at him again.

He raises a dark brow to himself, setting the boxes down at the doorstep before he heads up to the front door. From the window, both the sisters could see his muscles flexing through his tight attire and the sweat that gleamed along them—and all that ink.

She makes a noise as she feels herself being pushed by Serena who exclaims, “Go open the door, stupid!”

Rolling her eyes, she calls to her daughter as she says, “Baby girl, go up to your room, please?”

It happened all in a matter of seconds. Before she can process her daughter’s reaction to her question, Sai’s already running towards the front door, swinging it open which causes both women to call out her name.

“Sai!”

Once the door was open, the man almost immediately looked down at her, as if he’d seen her running through the house to be defiant. A smirk grew on his face as he squatted down, pulling the cigarette from his mouth to greet the child.

He gives a little wave, “Hey, cutie. And who might you be?”

From what both women could hear, his voice was deep and very…hot.

Sai stared up at the tall man, holding her doll close to her chest as she held the door with her small fingers. Her small voice then greeted, “I’m Sai. I live here with my mommy.”

The man hums, still smiling as he crouches down to her level. He had a very muscular build but he looked surprisingly friendly, especially as scary as his stature was.

“Sai… that’s a very pretty name for a pretty girl…” he chuckles, “Your mother around?”

Taking a deep breath, she appears around the corner as she gently grabs for her daughter’s hand, turning her eyes back towards the man that looked even better up close. She gets a good look at him as he stands up fully, towering over her in a way she hadn’t expected. But just like her shock, he seemed to be in a state of awe—she just couldn’t see that.

Her brown skin was a russet tone from the sun, freckles blown all around her face as her slender toffee eyes stared at him in curiosity. Dark eyebrows that arched as if she was mad or in deep thought, middle parted onyx hair that flowed in crimped waves down her back. She was different from most women he’d seen. Her pierced nose that sparkled in the light, the face tattoo on the left side of her dark and fluffy lashes. Jewelry roamed all around both of her ears, fingers, wrists. She was like a fairy. She was ethereal.

What really stood out to him was the flower cascaded tattoo that started from her neck, traveling all the way down to her right arm, almost similar to his. He could see it from under the blue and sea green dress she wore, the material backless and having a low dip between her breasts. She was sensual, even if she just stood there.

“You can’t just be opening the door, baby,” she lightly scolds her daughter, bringing her eyes up to him as she exhales, “I’m sorry. You um—must be the movers. Fushiguro, right?”

The man still halts to take in her beauty as she stands before him. She was… stunning. His eyes glance over her body, focusing on the tattoo that traveled down her arm, his mind trying to get a glimpse of what was on her hidden skin. He almost forgets what he had to say as he just… stared at her.

He finally speaks after he comes back to his senses, “Yeah, that’s right. But you can just call me Toji,” he answers.

“Stoney,” she introduces, placing her hand out to him.

The man behind Toji then asks, “That’ your real name?”

She blinks, not answering for a moment. She then replies, “Got charged back in high school for throwing a rock at a girl. She lived.”

Toji chuckles at her words as he takes her hand with his own, large and rough to the touch. He takes notice of her jewelry and small hands.

“Stoney… that’s a real unique name too,” his co-worker comments again, watching as Toji’s hand lingers against hers for a few seconds longer.

He glances behind him when the other guy speaks up and Toji rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Shut up already,” he mutters before looking back at her, “Anyway, where should we take your things?”

“Sorry, um—do you mind just holding on? My ex-husband should be here soon. He’s the one paying so…I just don’t want you working for free.”

“We have to get a move along,” the man behind Toji says, Stoney looking behind him.

She puts her hair behind her ear as she nods, “Right. I’m sorry.”

Toji gives her a quick glance as she mentions her ex-husband. She’s divorced.

“It’s alright,” Toji takes back, trying to sound at least a little bit polite, turning back towards his co-worker with a deathly stare, “He’s a dick. Don’t worry about it, we can wait.”

She takes a breath as she looks back to Toji, ignoring the other man as she says, “Thank you. Do you guys wanna …come inside? You can get some water and stuff before you get to moving shit. My daughter has already seemed to invite you into the home before I could introduce myself,” she gives a smile, Sai giggling beneath her.

Toji chuckles again, “Nah. You don’t gotta’ go through that trouble.”

His co-worker then butts in, “Actually… some water would do us good, it’s been a damn hot day today.”

Toji nearly glares back at him before he states, “Uh—yeah. Sure. Thank you.”

Stoney turns, beginning to pull Sai towards the kitchen with her, large hips round within the dress she wears, nearly wanting to rip through the fabric. She doesn’t notice Toji’s eyes against her. Not that it was her concern, but she was hoping he seemed the least bit physically attracted to her. Guess he didn’t.

Her sister then greets the men as well, reaching her hand out and grabbing Toji’s as she says, “Oh wow, look at that, Stoney. Nice hands. Strong. Good for moving boxes.”

Stoney rolls her eyes, “Please ignore my sister.”

He chuckles, “I’m good with my hands,” he replies back, shaking her hand with his own strong one before letting go. “Don’t worry.”

“So, how long have you had this company?” Serena asks, “Is it a family business, or just you?”

Stoney passes water to both men, taking her daughter as she sits against a chair to half listen to their conversation. It’s not that she wasn’t interested, she was just more focused on texting her ex-husband for a third time.

“I’ve had it for about four years or so.” he answers, “Nah, it’s not a family business. It’s all me.”

“Ooh, a working man by himself. Hear that, Stoney?” Her sister pulls her attention again, giving her a smirk.

Stoney rolls her eyes, “I hear,” she brings her eyes back up, “Having your own business is a pain in the ass.”

“Stoney owns her own business as well,” her sister adds on, crossing her arms with a smirk as she sees Toji’s eyebrows raise.

“Really?” he questions, glancing over at Stoney sitting in the chair, “What kind of business do you have?”

Stoney shakes her head, “It’s nothing as big as a whole moving company…I’m a ceramicists. I make stuff out of pottery—“ she then pauses to cover her daughter’s ears, “…Astray’s, bongs, plates. Shit like that. It’s not a big deal.”

Toji can’t help but smirk when she covers her daughter’s ears so she won’t hear her mother curse. He found it cute.

“Not a big deal?” he repeats, “Shit, sounds like you make good ass money. I’ve seen some ceramicists’ work, especially glass. They make a pretty dime doing that type of work.”

“Tell that to her bastard of an ex-husband,” Serena scoffs, Stoney quickly cutting her off, “Hey. Chill.”

Stoney then turns back to him, “Thank you. I just got back into my business. Had to put it on hold when I had Sai. So it’ll be an exciting little journey for me.”

“Well, all the power to you.” he says simply, ignoring the sisters' comments to each other beforehand, “How old is your daughter?”

“How old are you, baby?” Stoney looks down to the little girl, “You remember?”

“I’m four!” the little girl replies, lifting her small fingers to show her age.

Toji lets out another chuckle at the innocence in her

tone, “Just four years old… she’s adorable.“

“She’s actually five,” Stoney chuckles, “We’re still working on numbers. She’s moving into public school instead of the daycare she’s been in, so she’s really excited…”

She then pauses, realizing as she’s over explaining. She only ever did that with people she was comfortable with. Or liked.

She then pulls her hair behind her shoulder with an awkward chuckle, “Sorry. You didn’t ask all that.”

“You’re good. Keep talking to me.”

Stoney’s eyes flick up at him, seeing as he crossed his arms over his chest, awaiting for her to continue. She couldn’t help but notice the depth of his eyes, a steel grey that knocked into all of her senses. Serena raises her eyebrows, shrugging as she takes a sip of her wine.

“I—I—um—anyways, I hope it isn’t too hot for you guys today. I can try to help as much as I can.”

Toji noticed the way she shifts within her seat. She was easily reactive. He then shakes his head, “You’re not paying me for shits and giggles. We’ve got this, no worries.”

Sai then says, “Can I go back up to my room?”

“Sure, baby. I’ll call you back down when it’s time to go.”

Stoney gives her a kiss on the cheek, Sai turning back towards Toji as she says, “Are you coming with us to our new house?”

Toji smiles at Sai, “Yeah. I’ll be there,” he answers, watching as she giggles, “Yay!” before running up the stairs disappearing into her bedroom.

He’s silent for a few seconds until he looks back over at Stoney before stating, “Your kid’s a sweet one.”

“Don’t give her too much credit, she’s a kiss-ass in front of new people.”

Her sister then disagrees, “Now you know damn well that girl don’t be all sweet on new people. She’s like a dog or a newborn, can always sniff out the good ones. You’ married, Toji?”

“Jesus, Serena. Can the man breathe without you asking invasive ass questions?” Stoney glares.

Her sister shrugs, “Just curious.”

“No, I’m not married.” he answers, finally taking another sip of the cold water they gave him, his dark eyes never leaving Stoney’s.

When Stoney sees that he looks directly at her while answering the question, she focuses her attention on her wine, her face becoming warm—she’s unsure if it’s the drink, or her nervousness.

Serena then nods, “You’re extremely handsome. Any reason why you’re not married? Crazy? Commitment issues? Dead wife?”

“Girl!” Stoney gripes, “Don’t be a bitch.”

“No dead wife.” he answers back, a smirk appearing on his face, “Just haven’t found the right woman to marry.”

“Hm,” Her sister’s eyes flick him up and down as she then nods to Stoney, “Commitment issues.”

“Alright, my sister will be leaving now!”

Stoney stands from the chair, placing her hands on her sisters shoulders, pushing her towards the door, “The moving guys are here, so you can kick fuckin’ rocks. Goodbye!”

Toji watches as her sister leaves, not trying to hide his amused expression as Serena complains on her way out the door. She gives him a wink as she mouths, ‘Call me’, exiting the house with a loud slam to the door.

“…I can see why you need a break from her.” Toji says with a dry chuckle, placing the now empty glass down on the nearby counter.

“Imagine coming from the same womb as her,” she sighs, turning her attention back towards her phone, rolling her eyes as she says, “I’m sorry. He should be here soon. Um…let me put a couple more boxes outside the door so it’s easier for you guys.”

Toji nods at her words, watching her as she walks off to one of the areas and brings down at least two boxes. His eyes couldn’t help but linger on her for just a few moments as she walked, his eyes boring at her ass.

He shakes away his thoughts as she comes back into the kitchen as he asks, “You got a lot more stuff to move?”

“It’s just boxes, a lazy boy and my sofa. I hope it isn’t too heavy for you guys, I seriously don’t mind helping,” she offers, staring in between the both of them, “It’s gonna be hot, and my daughter is gonna talk your ears off while this happens, so I want to extend an olive branch.”

He shakes his head, “You don’t gotta’ worry about it, momma. We move heavy shit all the time,” he answers, his eyes locked onto hers.

She nods, “Okay, well—how about I buy you some cigarettes? Some top dollar shit. I saw you smoking before you knocked on the door. Whatever you smoke—on me. Or I can make the both of you a little astray—Yeah?”

Toji raises his eyebrows, a little bit surprised at her offer as he asks, “You’ trying to bribe me?” giving her a smirk again as he spoke.

She giggles awkwardly, “No! No. I just—feel bad for making you guys wait. Seriously, let me do that for you. Otherwise I might cry.”

“You gonna cry if you don’t buy any cigarettes for us?”

She was adorable. Actually adorable to him.

She rolls her eyes, “I’m tryna’ be nice here. I could be like my hoe-ass sister.”

His chuckle is attractive to her. She didn’t mind hearing it as he then says, “That’s cool too. I’d rather you not feel like you have to do something for us, we can wait on your ex-husband.”

She then sighs, crossing her arms almost like a child. She finishes off with, “I’m getting the cigarettes—Actually, if you don’t mind, I think you guys should at least move the sofa first. That’s the biggest thing— and the heaviest, so you can do that now. I’ll grab some more water, and the rest can wait until he gets here.”

Once he nods to his partner, she makes her way back to the kitchen, glancing at her phone and trying to call Nathaniel. No answer. Again. As she puts her phone up to her cheek, she watches from afar as both men grunt, effortlessly picking up the large furniture. Her eyes glance over Toji’s large arms, flexing as he holds the sofa up on his shoulder. She wonders what else he can hold up in the air like that.

So much for a phone call back. As they make their way outside towards the truck, a car comes speeding into the driveway, Stoney nearly rolling her eyes as she jumps at the abrupt vehicle. Both men halted their movement, placing the sofa down as they were at alert from now fast the car was moving.

She calls to both Toji and his partner, “You guys okay?”

“We’re fine.” Toji answers, his eyes then falling on the now parked car, watching as the driver's seat opens. Stoney hid her irritation as her ex-husband had finally arrived back to his own house.

“You’re late, Nathaniel.”

He steps out of the car, not at all acknowledging the truck or the two men that stand across from it. He lets out a scoff as he slams the door, “I said I’d be here at 12. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

He then looks over at Toji and his partner, an unreadable expression on his face. “You brought movers? You don’t even have that much shit.”

“You hired them, did you forget?” She frowns, ignoring his light jab, “You’re supposed to pay them. This is your house, Nathan.”

Nathaniel smacks his lips, “I’m here, why are you still talking? You’ just wanna hear yourself complain.”

Toji raises an eyebrow, his partner glancing at him as he fully takes his weight off of the sofa he leaned into. He asks, “You’ good?”

Stoney blinks at the question, shaking her head as she says, “I’m okay—“

“I’m asking him.”

When she realizes that he was asking Nathaniel, her eyebrows raise. The sweet nature he’d given off faded quickly, seeing as he looked between her and her ex-husband, his face entirely serious. She wasn’t sure why her heart was beating so fast.

“Can you just pay them, please?” She tries to change the subject, hoping that this man stops looking at Nathaniel. His stare was deadly.

Nathaniel frowns towards Toji before muttering, “Whatever,” shoving his hand into his pocket as he then takes out a wad of money, reaching it out to him.

Toji doesn’t budge, flicking his eyes down to the money before looking back up at him. His partner then reaches out as he presses his lips into a thin line, taking the money himself as he politely thanks him.

Nathaniel then turns his attention back towards Stoney. He eyes her in a way that she didn’t appreciate, almost as if he was disgusted with her.

“Don’t you think you wanna put some clothes on?” He glares at the dress she wears.

Another thing Stoney was aware of, now that they weren’t together, he couldn’t call her insulting terms as a result of the way she dressed. But that didn’t mean his reactions didn’t hurt. She crossed her arms, biting her cheek as she turned away, making her way back into the house to keep herself from becoming upset.

His employee immediately counts it to see how much they were given, while Toji’s eyes linger on the ex-husband as he continues to speak.

“Did she plan to get dolled up for some movers?” Nathaniel asks, scoffing once more.

Toji then interrupts, “You’ only gave us half of what you owe.”

Nathaniel’s head snaps over to Toji as if he’s shocked by the sound of his voice, as if he was surprised that he’d even spoken to him again. He snarls, “I gave you exactly what was agreed on.”

Toji’s eye twitches at the guy’s words. He counters, “You gave us fifty percent. We agreed that you’d pay a hundred percent upfront.”

“What are you tryna’ say? That I can’t give you the money you seem to need so badly?” Nathaniel twists his face up.

Toji’s partner then tries to keep the peace as he calmly responds, “Sir, that’s not what we’re saying—“

“‘Fuck are you getting pissy for? You agreed to pay us a hundred percent upfront before we even showed up here,” his jaw clenching, “I was nice enough to be here longer than I was supposed to be on account of your ex-wife who apologized for your fuck up’s. I could add charges onto my shit if I wanted to.”

“Everything okay?”

Stoney appears back outside, holding a box that she seems to struggle with a bit, her eyes falling against Toji who seems to be upset.

Toji’s eyes fall onto Stoney when she appears back outside, and for a moment he had almost forgotten about her from how pissed he was. His irritation and anger towards Nathaniel quickly melted away just at her presence.

“Everything’s fine,” Toji flatly answers, when in reality he wanted to choke-slam this man through his own vehicle.

Nathaniel laughs mockingly to himself, shaking his head with disbelief, “Of course, it’s fine. This mover is just giving me a hard time for some extra cash.”

Toji’s jaw clenches again. Yeah, he was definitely creating a hole in the front of his raggedy ass car—with him in it. But before he can retaliate, he remembers Stoney struggling with the box in her hands. He comes up to her as he takes the item from her arms, essentially trying to calm himself.

“Nathaniel, please stop being rude. Whatever else needs to be covered, I got it,” she brushed off, not wanting a scene to happen in the drive through.

She watches as Toji then comes forward to take the box from her hand, a breath releasing from her as she exhales with a weak smile, “Thank you, you’re sweet. Um—is everything really okay?” She asks more softly.

Her ex-husband mutters something under his breath as he makes his way past them to go into the house, Toji paying him no mind. His eyes stay focused on Stoney, seeing as she follows behind him towards the truck.

“I’m good,” he reassures, “Your ex-husband’s a fuckin’ idiot.”

That makes her quietly laugh, “World renowned news. How about I go get those cigarettes, and then we meet back up to head to my place, yeah?”

The corner of Toji’s lips twitches into a smirk once more at her words. He felt comforted by her, it felt strange.

“Yeah, that’s fine with me,” he answers back, letting out another subtle chuckle, “We’re almost done loading the heavy furniture anyways…just the smaller stuff left.”

She nods, “Good. Don’t worry about him. He’s…a stupid-head,” she rolls her eyes.

“A stupid-head, huh?”

“Dare I say— an idiot-box. Anyways, let me go. I’ll see you guys in a bit.”

She waves him off with another smile, hips twisting naturally as she makes her way towards her car. Toji watches her walk to her car, his eyes catching glimpses of her ass once again as she walks, a sight that he definitely wasn’t complaining about.

“See you…” he says back, his eyes lingering on her until she disappears into the car.

About an hour passes, by the time she arrives back to a place she used to call home, she holds a plastic bag with a couple of cigarette cartons, new paint bottles, and gloves for her future projects.

The moment she pulls into the driveway, her daughter comes running outside. She halts the car, stepping out as she gripes, “Jesus, Sai! Please don’t run in front of Mommy’s car.”

“I’m sorry, mommy!” Sai pouts, running towards her anyways, coming up to her mother and hugging her leg.

Stoney reaches down and scoops up the girl into her arms, picking her up quickly, “You gotta be careful, baby. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Okay, mommy,” Sai replies, her voice still young and high.

Toji and his partner watch as Stoney scoops the girl up into her arms, his eyes flickering between her and her daughter as she walks closer to them.

She presses a kiss to Sai’s cheek, which makes her giggle. She then turns to Toji, seeing as the sun now has him drenched in sweat, dripping down his arms and into his shirt—his overalls now pulled down past his hips— the sight making him look even more attractive.

She brings her focus back to his face as she asks, “Uh…you guys ready to go?”

He lifts the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his forehead, the fabric getting stuck to his skin for a moment. He then looks over to her again when she speaks, his eyes flickering down to the plastic bag in her hand.

“Yeah, we’re ready,” he answers back, nodding.

Once she puts all of the rest of her things into her car, it takes them about thirty minutes to get to her house. It looked almost similar to a condo, the divorce settlement paying off the debt of this house—a place her and her daughter could grow up together. Maybe start a family of their own—without her ex-husband. But unfortunately, he was always going to be Sai’s father.

As she opens the door, she watches as Sai gasps excitedly at the home. She giggles as she runs around the halfly furnished home, spinning in circles with all the room she has.

Stoney smiles, “You like it, baby?”

“I love it, mommy!”

Toji and his partner trailing behind them, the both of them taking a glance around, silently observing the place before Toji comments, “Nice house.”

Stoney sighs, “The bastard paid for it. Not by choice. Word of advice, don’t not sign a pre-up to someone you won’t end up with. Otherwise, they’ll strip you for all you have,” she winks, scanning her eyes around the black and white modern home.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” he mentions, a small grin forming across his lips.

His partner lets out another subtle chuckle from his side. The two of them follow behind her and the little girl as she shrugs, “Heard that from a friend or something.”

A marble white kitchen island stretched for days on end. It was a beautiful sight, and she felt blessed to have this with her baby girl. Sai’s bedroom was upstairs, Stoney’s bedroom large and on the first floor, tilting right across from the front door to where she could see onto her porch. It was perfect. She watches as they begin bringing more boxes inside, having a thought resurface that had her curiosity peak.

“So, what’s with the snake on the side of your truck?”

At her question, both of the men looked over at where she was looking. Toji sees the logo on the side of the truck and then looks back at her.

“Thought’ it was cool, it also symbolizes the power of healing,” he briefly explains.

“He’s full of shit. The crazy bastard catches snakes in his downtime,” his partner concludes.

Stoney’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. There was no way in hell she'd actually heard him say that. She exclaims, “Oh hell no! I’d rather die than be inches close—feet close—FOOTBALL field feet close to a snake!”

His partner laughs, Toji rolling his eyes at her words, “It’s not that bad, I promise you,” he answers back.

His partner lets out another laugh, “He’s lying. It’s terrible.”

As Toji shoots a glare at his friend, Stoney then interrupts, “Sounds terrible. Do you like catching them? What happens after you catch them?”

Toji looks at her as he’s asked the questions, watching the confused yet concerned expression on her face. Her brown eyes sparkle in curiosity.

“You ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” he teases, a smirk forming across a smug smile. He chuckles, “It’s not terrible, seriously. If it’s a business call, it’s to remove them from jobs, apartments or houses. Recreationaly? I just like to catch them, take some pictures with them and then let them go.”

“Yeah—no. You could give me a billion dollars, and a unicorn that shits a hundred dollar bills. I still wouldn’t touch a snake. That was made by the devil!” She shivers.

Toji lets out another laugh as she speaks, finding her words to be amusing despite how over the top they may have been. He’ll admit that snakes aren’t the most appealing creatures, but they’re not the worst.

“I promise you, they’re not as bad as you think they are,” he answers back, lifting up one of the furniture pieces with his partner, “And they’re more scared of you then you are of them.”

“Bullshit! If it was more scared of me, it wouldn’t bite me! Or be poisonous!” She follows behind them, going around to open the door wider for them to pull the sofa in.

“You don’t have to worry about them biting you if you leave them alone, momma,” he counters.

His partner laughs as he walks backward through the door, helping Toji carry the furniture as he instigates, “You’d be surprised at how many times he gets bitten.”

“And you lived?! Is a premonition moving my boxes right now?”

“You mean apparition?” His friend asks.

“Whatever the fuck!” She exclaims back.

“Y’all are dramatic as fuck,” Toji finalizes. His partner lets out another laugh from his words, rolling his eyes as they finally get the furniture into the home.

She then says, “My sister might’ve been right. Maybe you are crazy.”

The moment she hears both men chuckle, Sai then comes back into the living room as she calls, “Mommy! Did you ask Daddy about my orchids?”

Stoney sighs, remembering the promise she’d made to her daughter earlier that morning. She nods, “Yes, baby. Let me ask again, okay?”

When she sees a look of confusion along Toji’s face, she shakes her head as she explains, “Sai wanted to start a garden since the front door kinda has a porch area. She always loved plants, I guess she essentially found an art for herself. She wants orchids as her first flowers.”

“Orchids, huh?” he comments, his attention returning to her, “She’s got an expensive ass taste.”

Stoney rolls her eyes, “Very. But—gimme’ a second? Let me make a call, and I’ll be back.”

She gives a soft smile, turning away from them as she makes her way back outside, going to grab for the bag of groceries she’d bought earlier that included their cigarettes. She calls Nathaniel, sighing as he doesn’t pick up until the last ring.

“Hey—uh, did you end up buying those orchids for Sai today? I sent you those pink ones I saw, they were at a florist not too far from your place. I checked already.”

Nathaniel lets out a scoff as he answers the phone, “That’s what you’re calling me about? No, I haven’t.”

He sounds irritated, like he’s got more important things to do then to buy some flowers. Stoney could feel herself becoming more irritated than he seemed.

“I’ll get them when I get the chance,” he finalizes bluntly.

“…But she asked for them today, Nathan. You told me you were gonna get them for her, otherwise I would’ve gotten them myself?”

She brings her eyes towards the front door as she sees Toji and his partner adjusting the sofa within the living room, trying to keep her composure. She also didn’t realize that Toji could practically hear her conversation.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…I know I said I would,”

Nathaniel responds, not really sounding all too interested in talking to her.

There’s a moment of silence before he speaks again, “What’s the big deal? They’re just flowers.”

“That’s not the point. I just wish you would’ve done it today. It might be flowers to you, but it’s more than that for her.”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of some flowers? I just said I’ll buy her the damn flowers, it doesn’t have to be today,” He answers back, annoyance clear in his tone.

She usually was very patient with this man. But from making a comment about her outfit, to snapping at the movers, to even now. She’d had enough of him for today.

“Fuck off, don’t worry about it.”

She hangs up the phone, muttering, “Stupid ass nigga,” turning away from the front door as she feels her frown turning into frustrated tears, but she takes a deep breath to drop herself from doing that. She can feel her phone vibrating in her hands, Nathan seemingly trying to call her back after being cussed out.

Nonetheless, she puts on a little smile as she makes her way back into the house, “Hey. I just—wanted to bring you guys your cigarettes.”

When she returns back into the home, he and his partner are in the midst arranging her furniture, both of them pausing for a moment. Toji notices her facial expressions and her hands clenching, clearly frustrated, which isn’t too surprising given that he can only assume who was the cause of that.

“You’ good?” He questions, his eyes watching her carefully.

She scans his face, blinking. She then lies, “I’m perfect,” the question bringing tears to gloss in her sockets, but she quickly blinks them back. She didn’t mean for him to see that, but she just hopes he gets the message to not ask.

“Um, well—you guys have really been amazing. I think I can take it from here. I just want me and Sai to enjoy the peace within our new home, yeah?”

Toji can see the way that her eyes glossed a little at the question, but he doesn’t bring it up in order to not further anger her. He doesn’t know if it’s his place to ask, so he leaves it be.

“No worries,” he answers back, an attractive but kind smile forming across his lips, “It’s our job, after all. We’ll leave you to the rest of it, then.”

She watches as the other friend washes his hands within the kitchen sink, nodding his head as he begins to make his way out the door. She comfortingly plays with her hair again, lifting the plastic bag to Toji with a weak smile, “You’re really sweet, Toji. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Stop thanking me, I’m just doing my job, momma. Thank you for giving me some shit to do today,” her counters, taking the bag from her hands, his fingers brushing against her own that creates a jolt against her palm.

With him being so respectful, she couldn’t tell if there was any spark between them—or he was just truly professional. When he said that, it made her realize that her feelings might’ve just been a spur of the moment—a distraction— a need to feel something that wasn’t the loathing of her ex-husband.

She pulls her hair behind her ear, multicolored studs climbing up her lobes as she finalizes, “Of course, yeah.”

Toji can see the way that she pulls back her hair, showing off the collection of piercings in her ear and on the sides of her face. He can see how they sparkle every time they’re met with the light, causing his eyes to stare at them for a little bit, almost admiring them.

“I hope the move goes well,” he says, returning his gaze back to her, that same smirk returning back to his lips, “It was nice meeting you, Stoney.”

“Nice meeting you too.”

She feels almost as if she’s dissociating. She doesn’t even have time to react as Sai comes up behind her, politely waving, “Bye-bye! I’m gonna play with my dolls in my new room!”

Toji watches as her daughter comes up from behind her. He waves back with a small chuckle. “Bye, pretty girl,” he says to Sai.

However, his eyes linger on Stoney for a moment, still unable to tell exactly what it is that she’s thinking or feeling.

She’s then pulled back into focus as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out what seems to be a business card. He takes her hand as he puts it within her palm, Stoney’s head leaning up as he’s closer than he’d been to her before.

Her head lifts up as her eyes widen slightly at the sudden closeness to him, watching as he leans just a little bit closer to her.

“If you ever need anything, I’m an instant call away,” he says in a low tone, his eyes looking down at her.

She pressed her lips together at that. Hearing his tone of voice, it’s still quite vague. But maybe it’s…something.

She nods her head, “Yeah, sure. Thank you.”

“Yo, Fushiguro! Let’s be out!” His partner calls from the truck, arm out the window as he pats the side of the vehicle, pressing the horn lightly for his attention.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming!” he calls back at his partner, but not before returning his attention back to Stoney, “Imma’ go. See you around.”

“Enjoy your um…cigarettes?”

She tries to be polite, but she suddenly has the urge to cry. Why was she so sensitive? She’s not sure what about, but she really wants him to leave before she does so.

Toji can sense the way that her voice changes slightly, her tone and her words almost seeming like a subtle cue to tell him to leave and go now. He knows that there’s a change in the air, and something is…off. Either way, he doesn’t mention it.

“Of course. I always do,” he chuckles, looking down at the cigarettes for a moment before looking back up at her, “Bye.”

She felt dramatic. Like a piece in that puzzle was missing. Like the ocean was filled with no water. To watch him walking away, catching sight of the broadness within his back was the last time she’d ever see it. She wasn’t sure if that’s what she wanted, but as she closed the door, she had to let it be.

She then turned towards Sai, “Hungry, baby girl?”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🧚

The next couple of days were better than she expected. She had used them as her own personal manic episode, getting no sleep as she made her new home an actual home. Green-leafed plants and flowers tracked all around the condo, dark rugs, paintings along the walls and art sculptures seated in different corners.

She’d even created her space to work, an emerald rug along the floor with a couple of used t-shirts atop of it, above sitting the pottery wheel that was already dirty from a previous client's order. It was an apricot and pale blue mixture that created a Lillie flower, formed into an astray. Blank canvases also sat on easels in her station. She painted every once in a while if she really needed to express herself.

She didn’t know how she ended up with a drawing that was a pair of gray eyes, staring over the picture until it meant something to her. Or maybe she was in denial—she knew exactly who they belonged to and what they represented.

As the rest of the day passed by, she spoke to her sister about the smooth move she had, saying nothing as Serena complained to her about Nathaniel. She hung up the phone, wanting to cut that conversion short.

It was now the evening, the sun still out but beginning to set soon. It was beaming outside. She helped her daughter water all the plants they’d begun to collect, making sure they got their nutrients for the day as they sat outside. When they finished with their project, she took Sai into the house as it was time for her bath, wanting to get her on a good sleeping schedule as she would begin school soon. She sat next to her against the tub as she played in the water, staring down at the picture she took of the canvas with the gray eyes.

“Mommy? Did daddy say he was gonna bring me my pink orchids today?”

Stoney looks up at her, sighing at the question. She then says, “Of course, baby. Yeah. Um—He’ll bring them to you on your first day of school.”

Sai then cheers, “Yay!” clapping her hands, which causes Stoney to playfully clap with her, giggling to see her daughter so excited. Be damned if Nathaniel’s disappointments, she refused for her daughter to know of them. She was gonna make her happy whether he did his part or not— she’d get her a thousand pink orchids if she had to.

That happy moment quickly subsided. As she continued to sit with her daughter and stare at her phone, she could suddenly hear a noise that sounded unfamiliar to her. She frowns, sitting upward as she looks around, her body on high alert as it sounded like…hissing?

When she turned her eyes towards where the sound was coming from—which belonged to the toilet— her eyes stretched in horror.

The creature slithered its way out of the bowl, tracking its way out of the toilet as it had its eyes set on both Stoney and her daughter.

She screamed as if it was a ten-pound rat, taking a towel as she snatched Sai from the tub, scurrying into her daughters bedroom as if that would protect them from the venomous beast.

Sai’s face instantly turns white as she sees the creature slither out of the bowl in the toilet, letting out an equally loud scream. Stoney’s eyes were wide with terror as she slammed the door behind her, now ducking in the corner of the pink room.

Sai’s eyes widen as she looks up at her mother, tears forming in her eyes, “M—Mommy,” she whimpers.

“It’s okay, baby. It’s fine—it’s just—fucking hell!” She curses, quickly drying her child as she tries to find her some clothes, “Let’s call daddy, okay? Wanna go look at our garden on the porch while we wait for him?”

Stoney’s body still shook with fear as she quickly dried her daughter off, trying not to let her see just how scared she herself really was. She tries to find some clothes for her, quickly dressing her as her heart rate skyrocketed.

“Y-Yeah, let’s go to the porch and wait for daddy, alright?” she repeats again, trying to hide the terror in her voice. Sai nods her head, too scared to do or say anything else.

She was petrified of snakes. She’d always been, but she never had a reason to be this scared as she’d never seen one in person—at least not this close in vicinity. And now one was slithering around in her bathroom—in her home. Thinking on her feet, she placed the towel she’d dried Sai off with under the door, making sure it couldn’t escape anywhere else in the house.

When she got her daughter dressed, she picked her up and took her outside, nearly wanting to vomit if she stayed in the house any second longer. Chills ran up her spine at a constant, just hearing the sound of it hissing in her ears. She paced back and forth as Sai sat in a chair on the porch, watering another plant of theirs with a doll in her hand, Stoney sighing as she waited for Nathaniel to answer the phone after her fourth time calling.

Stoney’s heart couldn’t stop racing, trying to hide her panic and her fear from her daughter. She felt sick to her stomach.

“Please pick up…please pick up…” she whispered under her breath as the phone rang.

“Jesus, what is it?” Nathaniel finally picks up, answering in a sharp tone.

It’s almost as if her fear had ran away for a moment, being replaced with pure dread of this man’s tone. She ignores it as she tells him, “Nathan, I need you to come over. Like right now.”

“What, now? I’m right in the middle of a client, why do you need me so badly?”

“I—there’s a fucking snake in Sai’s bathroom! And you know I am literally about to shit myself at the thought. Can you come get it, please?” She practically begs him.

When he hears her mention a snake being in their bathroom, he can’t help but scoff into the phone. This only worsens her frustrated and panicked state.

“Seriously? It’s just a snake. Why do you always have to overreact to everything?” he says dismissively, clearly not taking her fears seriously.

“…I have literally been afraid of snakes since you met me, Nathan. Please don’t do this. Your daughter is also extremely afraid of them.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m aware. But is it really something I need to come over and take care of right this minute? I’m in the middle of a meeting,” he says, clearly more worried about his client than his child’s fears.

“Um, yes? Don’t you think your daughter’s safety is more important? We’re sitting outside and it’s hot as fuck, Nathan! Sai has school tomorrow and I want to get her to bed. Trust me when I say, you’re the last nigga I want to be calling right now.”

“Can’t you just capture it and let it loose outside?”

“Capture it—you’ tryna’ be funny? Have you lost your mind? I’d rather the motherfucker pay rent and utilities before I go head to head with it!” She exclaims.

She realizes that he’s no help. Taking a deep breath, another resolution comes to her mind. It’s like a flash of her memories reflects the idea, the grey eyes within her picture blaring her thoughts.

She then says, “You know what? I’ll figure it out. Bye.”

He smacks his lips, “Bye.”

As she hangs up the phone, she quickly runs into the house as she goes for her room, scattering around as she searches her dresser for something. When she finds it, she pulls the business card in front of her face, rolling her lips into her mouth as she quickly makes her way back outside, leaning against her front door with a sigh.

She’s extremely hesitant as she dials the number. She knows it’s way past the business hours it says along the card. She feels terrible—but she also hopes he picks up.

“Fuck,” she mutters, listening to the phone ring, “C’mon…”

The phone rang several times, each ring making her anxiety and panic grow more and more with each passing second. Her heart was racing, her hands were shaking, and she was feeling like she might actually go through with vomiting.

“Hello?”

The familiar voice of Toji fills the other line, her whole body nearly about to go into shock as he picks up groggily. Oh god, had he been asleep?

She wanted to jump for joy. She lets out the breath she’d been holding. Realizing that she probably sounds like a maniac breathing through the phone, she stutters, “T—Toji? Hi. Sorry. Shit. Fuck. Um—this is Stoney, do you…remember me?”

“Yeah. I remember you.”

He can hear the panic and urgency in her tone, causing him to sit up straight, fully awake now, deep voice still lightly tired as he asks, “What’s going on?”

“I’m sorry. Oh my god, you were sleep. I’m so sorry. I mean it’s a little pass the sun setting, but—you probably been moving shit all day. Fuck. I’m so so sorry,” she sighs, “I’m a bad person. Fuck.”

Toji sighs into the phone, “Stop apologizing. I was just dozing off, don't worry about it,” he says, his voice still sluggish. He rubs his eyes, trying to wake himself up further, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I know it’s pass your business hours, but—t—there’s a snake in my daughters bathroom. My baby’s bathroom. And I have a really bad fear of snakes, and I literally am holding back my gagging as I’m talking about it. I—“ she presses her hand to her forehead, trying to fan herself with her free hand, “I tried to call my ex-husband and this bitch-ass-nig—ooh, lemme’ not get myself mad. He said he was too busy with a client. I’ll pay whatever you need, I just—please come catch this fucking snake before I actually have a mental breakdown.”

Toji can sense the sheer terror and panic in her voice as she explains the situation to him, and he can't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her. She was right, he was tired from moving another house today. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to help.

He sighs into the phone once again, rubbing his eyes, “I’m coming. Stay outside and don't go back in the house, okay?” he instructs her.

“Okay. Yeah. Of course, w—was gonna do that anyway. Please hurry, my baby has school tomorrow and she’s already sleepy, I can’t have her outside like this.”

“I’ll be there, Stoney.”

A grueling hour and a half passes, the sun setting yet it was still hot outside. Her attention peaks as she comes to see a sleek black Chevrolet Silverado 1500 pull in front of her yard. Heavy boots from days ago boomed along the ground as Toji steps out.

He seems to be more comfortable today, the white compression shirt he wears clinging to his muscular frame, making the ink that hides within his chest and neck pop more against his olive skin and onyx hair. The black Nike cargos her wears don’t really match the shoes he wore, but she knew in the way she called, his attire didn’t seem to be his biggest concern.

She couldn’t help but be reminded of how damn fine he was. She even felt slightly embarrassed as she stood in a hello-kitty oversized t shirt—her daughters favorite character—her hair claw clipped out of her face, square glasses along her face.

As Toji makes his way to the porch, he can't help but notice how naturally pretty she looks, even in her oversized t-shirt and hair claw. He smirks to himself, feeling almost a little guilty for thinking of how attractive she is in this situation.

He stops a few steps away from her, seeing the fear and anxiety still etched on her face. He asks, "You holding up alright?" his voice a bit softer now.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Uh—sorry that I’m literally half naked right now. Should’ve grabbed some pants or something,” she apologizes, pulling her hair behind her ear reflexively before she pulls her hair out of the entire clip, letting it fall and trying to tame it down with her long acrylic nails. The shirt was big enough to cover her lower body, but he could still see the shape of her hips, her ass wanting to poke beneath the fabric.

Sai sits up along her chair, leaning on the bar of the porch as she sees the familiar man. She greets with a gasp, “It’s you!”

“Wassup’, little one. You remember me, huh?” he asks, his voice still gentle.

Sai nods, “Are you coming to kill the bad evil snake in our house?” She tilts her head, “I don’t want him to eat my teddy bears. Or my hello-kitty. I’ll be really sad.”

Toji chuckles at her answer, finding her worry over her stuffed animals endearing. "Don't worry. I won't let the snake eat your stuffed animals," he reassured her.

He looks back at Stoney, raising an eyebrow at her. "How big is this snake anyway?"

“Big as fuck. Literally big as the fucking-fuck,” her voice goes back into panic, “I know I’m dramatic, but that hoe was large. Not even normal enough to be in someone’s fucking drain. Probably was poisonous. What if I was on the toilet? I would’ve literally died from a snake bite in my ass,” she pressed her hands to her chest, leaning against the porch frame at the thought, “I’m about to rip my fuckin’ sew-in out.”

He squints, “I don’t think you can rip that out, don’t you have to cut it?”

She narrows her eyes at him. She then squints, “How you’ know that? Why do you know that?”

He shrugs as she then shakes her head, “Nevermind. We’re wasting time when that snake is having a fuckin’ kickback in my bathroom.”

"Don't worry, I won't let the snake bite your ass,” he says, his tone a bit more playful now.

She turns to him, “Are you laughing? This shit funny? If I wanted someone to make fun of me I would’ve called my ex-husband! I’m literally about to cry,” she shakes her head, feeling tears forming at his amusement. She knows she’s dramatic, but she’s scared.

Toji sighs, realizing that she's not appreciating his attempts to lighten the mood. He takes a deep breath and steps closer to her, taking her hands into his.

"Cut that shit out, I'm not trying to make fun of you. I'm sorry," he says sincerely, looking into her eyes. "I understand you're scared, and I'm not here to laugh at you. I'm here to help."

She nods her head, sniffling, “Okay. Okay,” squeezing her palms together within his hands as she takes a deep breath.

"Good. Just keep taking deep breaths, alright? I'm gonna go in there and get rid of the snake, and then everything will be fine. Just stay right here with Sai, okay?"

She nods her head, watching as he enters the house. She then calls, “Please don’t die! I don’t have insurance on this place yet!”

"I'll make sure to tell the snake about your insurance policy!"

A weak laugh pulls from her at that, and she somewhat felt relieved. It feels like time drags by as she waits for him. Once almost thirty minutes passes, she takes a sleepy Sai back into the house as she allows her to lay on the sofa.

She hesitantly makes her way towards the bathroom as she calls, “Toji?” Slowly peeping her head into the door.

As Stoney peeks her head into the bathroom, she finds Toji standing there, looking completely unfazed by the snake that was coiled up in the bathtub. He's leaning against the counter, examining the snake with a mix of curiosity and nonchalance.

He looks over at her as she calls his name, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?" he responds, his voice relaxed.

She stares in between the snake and him, “Oh hell, not the bitch taking a bath!” She exasperates, “Uh—y’all having a conversation or something ? You’re not gonna kill it?”

"Nah, just getting to know each other," he says, an amusement in his tone.

He pushes himself off the counter, walking towards the snake and going to pick it up as he says, “It’s a garter snake—practically harmless. Can’t do shit to me or you.”

Just when he says that, the snake pounces forward, wrapping it’s mouth along his arm where his tattoo sat. Stoney squeaked, throwing her hands over her mouth as she backed up again.

“Oh my god!” She panicked, “Are you okay? Are you gonna die?!”

Toji shakes his head. He’s completely unfazed as he picks it up with ease, holding it in his hands as if it were a piece of rope before he replies, “He’s just a little pissed off. It’s not venomous.”

The snake wraps itself around his bicep, almost becoming comfortable against his forearm. He brings himself closer to Stoney as he shows her, “See? He’s good now.”

She covers her eyes, “That’s not the thing I saw earlier! He turned into a baby snake so he could make me feel stupid!” She shrieks through her hands, covering her now red face.

"This is the only snake I see here. You sure you're not just seeing things?"

She pulls her hands down slowly, looking at the small creature. Instead of it being the rattle snake she saw within her mind, it had beady eyes, no thoughts within its brain. It might not have even had full on teeth.

She looks at it again, “A garter snake?”

"Nothing dangerous, I promise," he reassures her, gently stroking the snake's head with his finger.

“It wouldn’t have bit me in my butt?” She questions.

"No, it wouldn't have bitten you in your ass,” he chuckles, “Garter snakes don't bite unless they feel threatened, he tried to escape earlier when he saw me, so he was a little irritated. Wanna see—“

“Aht—okay, that’s too much. Harmless, I can believe. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she shakes her head, backing up against the wall within the hallway.

“You were acting like his ass was a damn python.”

“Fushiguro, take you and your cousin outside before I become the scariest thing in this bathroom.”

“Who knew me and your ex-husband were related?”

She gives him a blank stare, “You’ think you’re funny?”

“A little,” he mutters, going past her out of the bathroom as he coos, “C’mon, Nathaniel. Outside where you belong…”

She rolls her eyes as she mutters, “My hero.”

Sai was on the sofa dozing off, eyes becoming wide as she watched Toji walk past her. She sits halfway up from the seat, as she expresses shockingly, “Woahhh! Mommy—a snake!”

“A demon!” Stoney corrects, coming around the corner, “He’s going back outside with his family. Say bye to Toji’s friend.”

“Bye Toji’s friend!” Sai waves.

“Thought Sai was afraid of snakes? Or were you just using that as a coverup for your fear?” He teases, waving at her as he walks outside towards the trees.

She warns, “Hey, not too much on me and my fears.”

When he released it outside, she leaned against the porch door, her eyes watching his muscular figure and broad back flex as he stood back up.

She then sighs, “Thank you, Toji. Seriously. I thought I was gonna die. How much do I owe you?”

"Don't worry about that," he says, waving his hand dismissively, "I’m good on the money. Got more than enough.”

She crosses her arms, “Well my bad, pimp, since you got it like that. You’ sure though? Maybe I can get you another pack of cigarettes or something? Although in these last couple of days, I hoped you’d kicked your bad habit.”

"Unfortunately I’m still an addict, maybe I’ll sleep it off.”

She rubs her arms, laughing awkwardly at his response. She then apologizes, “Um…well thank you again, you’re a sweetheart. I’m really sorry I woke you up.”

“What did I tell you about that constant apologizing shit? You’re fine, Stoney.”

She blinks for a moment, watching as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket, searching for his lighter in the other. His voice could be rough, but he was the complete opposite.

“Boy, hush. Anyways—was traffic bad or something? I was worried something happened to you, it almost took you two hours to get here.”

If only she knew that Toji nearly lived an hour and a half outside of town, she wouldn’t have called him.

Toji hesitates for a moment, not wanting to reveal how far it actually took him to get there. But he figures there's no point in lying to her now.

"Nah, traffic was fine," he says, scratching the back of his neck. "I just live kinda far, that's all. Almost an hour and a half from here."

“What?!” She panics, “Toji, what the hell? I wouldn’t have asked you to come? I would’ve called the fire department—or Jesus himself, they would’ve been easier to get than you! Fuckin’ hell, I’m so sorry.”

“Stoney.”

“It’s literally late as hell for you to be driving…”

She thinks on what she’s about to say, wondering if this was crazy for her to ask. She figured, fuck it.

“How about you’ stay here tonight? I can order whatever you like, you can rest up for tomorrow, I have no projects for tonight so—you can sleep peacefully, I promise me and Sai are quiet.”

Toji raises an eyebrow at her suggestion, surprised by her offer. "Stay here for the night, huh?" he says, mulling it over in his mind.

He couldn't deny that the thought of a comfortable bed and a quiet night to sleep sounded appealing.

"I mean, if it's really no trouble," he says, a smirk on his face. "I won't say no to a free meal and a comfy bed."

“Thank god, I thought I was gonna have to kidnap you. Well, c’mon then, snake whisperer.”

She turns away from him, the natural sway in her hips returning as her slender eyes blink back at him in a way that looked more sensual than he expected.

Her voice goes soft as she then asks, “You’ coming?”

As Toji watches her walk away, his eyes drift down, taking in the alluring sway of her body. He shakes off the thoughts as he forces his eyes back up to her face.

"Yeah, I'm coming," he replies, his voice slightly huskier than usual.

She ends up putting Sai to bed as she notices her dozing off along the sofa. As she walks up the stairs, Sai gives a soft, “Bye snake-man,” to Toji, a tired wave coming from her tiny hand.

Toji can't help but smile at the sound of Sai's sleepy voice. "Bye," he says, waving back at her.

She clasped her hands together as she came back down the stairs, noticing as Toji was now looking around her living room, an eye now on the painting she’d created. The gray eyes. Shit.

She tries to distract him as she asks, “Uh—anything you feel like eating in particular?”

Toji nods as he looks at the painting on the easel, his gaze lingering on the gray eyes painted along the canvas. He can't help but feel a strange sense of familiarity, but he shakes the feeling off as he looks away.

"I'm not picky, I'll eat whatever.”

She sighs, “You’re such a simple man. You must get that from your father,” she tells him, going into the kitchen as she exhales, “How about pizza? It’s simple, I know. But I’ve been doing projects for the past couple of days with moving so— I’m all out of energy to cook, otherwise you would’ve gotten a four course meal.”

"Pizza sounds good," he says, a small smile on his face. "And trust me, I'm not complaining, I think I’ll survive without the four course meal."

“Great,” she agrees, going into her phone as she begins ordering online. She then brings her eyes back to him as she then asks, “Hm…how about, some wine? My sister was in love with this bottle, maybe you’ll like it too?”

“I trust your sisters opinions, shit is probably good.”

“Oh? I thought you said she was too much at one point?” She raises an eyebrow, pulling out a wine glass and a regular glass cup.

"She is. That doesn’t make her less intelligent," he adds, a hint of a challenge in his voice, "I trust you too, you know. I trust that you wouldn’t give me a shitty glass of wine."

“You trust me? How do you know I’m not a succubus trying to suck your lifeline?” She questions, not directly looking at him. For the time they’d known each other, he hadn’t directly flirted with her. She was trying to test the waters, seeing if he’d take the bait.

At her comment about being a succubus, Toji lets out a hearty laugh. He smirks at her question, his eyes watching her intently. He leans forward a bit, his muscles flexing under his t-shirt.

"I think I’ll be fine,” he replies, voice smooth.

Hearing that almost was like a slap in the face. Maybe she was just bad at flirting. This man didn’t seem the least bit interested in her, why did she keep trying?

She pours his glass within the cup as she hands it to him politely, sighing at her failed attempts at flirting as she says, “Tell me how it tastes.”

As he takes the cup of wine from her, he can’t help but notice the shift in her demeanor. She suddenly seemed deflated, her shoulders slumping slightly. He then takes a small sip of the wine, swishing it around in his mouth for a moment before swallowing.

"Hm. It’s not bad," he says, his voice nonchalant. "It’s smooth and fruity, with a bit of a kick. I’d give it a seven out of ten.”

“Seven? I spent thirty dollars on that bottle! Better make that shit an eight!” She exclaims. She shakes her head, “I can’t take your opinion anyways, you like snakes!”

Toji laughs at her excalamarion, "What, a seven isn’t good enough for your ass? I thought I was being generous," he teases. "Just cause I like snakes doesn’t mean I have a bad taste in wine. I’ll lie and give it a nine out of ten. Just for you.”

“Thank you,” she flips her hair, “I use to do wine tasting with my ex-husband all the time. Well— I’d be there and he’d just kinda sulk the entire time. A bit depressing now that I’m explaining,” she laughs awkwardly, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to get all…sad.”

“You’re good, he seems like a pain in the ass.”

She nods her head, jewelry blaring under the light as she moves her hair from her face, “Pain in the ass is an understatement for sure.”

As she takes a sip of her wine, she begins to notice the eyes that fall upon her. Her skin feels warm, turning towards him as she akwardly laughs, “What?”

He smirks at her question, his gaze unwavering. "What?" he echoes, his voice deep. "I'm just looking at you."

She nods, a small roll to her eyes as a knock comes to the door. She then says, “Probably the pizza,” stepping off of the table as she goes to pay the delivery person.

Just as she attempts to do so, she feels a body come behind her, the warmth of him nearly sending her body into a shock, a large arm reaching out as he hands the man whatever the amount was owed.

She can’t protest before the door closes in her face, “Hey! I was supposed to pay,” her back against the door as he shuts it behind her, arm next to her head as the other holds the pizza box in his hands.

Toji chuckles at her protest, enjoying the way she pouts a bit like a child being told she can’t have a cookie before dinner. He stands close enough to her that she can feel the heat radiating off his body, his arm resting against the door just above her head. He looks down at her, a sly smirk on his face.

"I’m the man, momma. I was supposed to pay regardless.”

Her head is forced to tilt up at him a bit, the heat of his body catching her off guard. She could admit to herself it had been a while that she had been this close to a man—or even interested in one. It made her feel…virginal.

She stepped away from the door as she says, “Well— thank you. I’m grabbing ranch! That’s the only way you eat pizza!”

She turns something on the tv for background noise as they become comfortable on the sofa, Stoney silently eating a slice of pizza as she notices how small he makes her couch look from him sitting on it. As she does that, a call goes off on her phone, seeing as it’s her ex-husbands contact. She ignores it, placing her phone back on her coffee table, sighing as she looks back to the tv.

He sees her face, raising his eyebrow as if he already knows who called. She rolls her eyes, “Guess he must’ve felt shitty after telling me I was being dramatic—granted, I was— but I’d rather you call me dramatic than your daughter.”

"Dramatic or not, you shouldn't have to deal with his bullshit," he says, his tone serious.

“It’s nothing new,” she shrugs, “It’s one of the more important reasons why we aren’t together. He told me I was dramatic about everything. Including when he told me to drop my business in order to focus on my pregnancy.”

She doesn’t know why she goes as far as to say that, shaking her head as she apologizes again, “Sorry.”

He frowns, “He didn’t want you to have your business ‘cause you were pregnant? That’s stupid as fuck.”

She exhales, nodding her head as she continues, “Yeah, um—we got together when I was about twenty. I got pregnant with Sai when I was twenty-two, and we decided it’d just be easier to get married. But marriage…it makes you truly learn a person for who they really are. He wanted me to be this—traditional house wife. Cook, clean, shut up, give pussy on command—have all his babies and take care of them while he worked. I didn’t want that, I wanted to make something of myself, I had a life before him…or Sai. She’s my world, but that wasn’t gonna stop me from accomplishing my goals. I love my art. My little dumb ceramics, they make people happy. I just wanted to do that and have someone’s support…especially from the man that was supposed to be my protector.”

"That's bullshit," he says eventually, his voice low. "You shouldn’t have had to give up your art and passion to fit into some dumbass idea of what a wife should be."

She shrugs, “That’s what he wanted. Five years and I truly feel like that man knew nothing about me. It feels like I’ve wasted so much time. The only thing I don’t regret is Sai. She’s my everything,” she honestly admits, “And here I am now, I’ll be thirty in a couple of years, already a divorcè, and not as attractive as I use to be,” she chuckles, “I feel stupid.”

He frowns, “‘The fuck are you talking about? You don’t think you’re attractive?”

She goes quiet. Her eyes come up to his, “I don’t mean to get all self-deprecating, I’m just…being honest.”

Toji shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on hers. "Being honest is fine, but saying some shit like that was stupid. You’re sexy as fuck, Stoney.“

His tone is firm, but there's a hint of something else there too—a note of sincerity that surprises her.

She places her legs under herself, a warmth coming to her face as she laughs weakly, “You’re just being nice cause I’m giving you my sob story.”

Toji scoffs, shaking his head as he looks at her. "I’m not the type of guy to say shit just to be nice."

He meets her gaze, unflinching and unashamed, as if daring her to question his words.

She presses her lips in a thin line, taking in his words. All of the insecurities she felt was caused by a man that didn’t love her the way she deserved to be loved—maybe she was just now realizing that.

She gives him another weak smile as she softly says, “…Thank you.”

In that moment, Toji stood up, remembering something. In the midst of chaos with the snake, he’d forgotten why it had also taken him so long to get here.

Stoney asks, “You okay?” As he raises himself from the sofa.

She watches as he nods before he says, “I forgot to grab some shit from my car,” before making his way outside hastily.

Stoney sits up, a look of concern on her face. Did she say the wrong thing ? Was he leaving? Did she scare him off?

“…Toji?”

Another couple of minutes had gone by. Why was her heart beating so fast?

But when he entered back into the house, her face and heart dropped. In his hand was what looked to be a vase full of salmon pink orchids, her ears ringing at the sight. She didn’t know that he’d heard the conversation between her and her ex-husband, practically begging him to get the one thing her daughter asked him for.

He approaches her, stopping in front of the couch and places the vase on the coffee table. The flowers look vibrant and beautiful, standing out against the dark counter.

He scratched the back of his neck as he awkwardly chuckled, "I uh…just thought you could use these."

The look on her face is unreadable. She wasn’t sure how to feel, her trust issues in fear of being hurt by anyone ever again. She didn’t know his intentions, but this didn’t feel bad at all. She takes the flowers, an almost sad smile coming to her face, her sensitivity giving her the urge to cry once more.

She says softly, “…Thank you.”

Toji can see the vulnerability in her expression, the way her trust issues make her hesitate to accept his gift. He understands it—he has his own set of trust issues after all.

He doesn’t try to decipher what she’s feeling, instead, he just watches her take the flowers from him. He sees the sadness in her smile, and he feels a strange urge to wrap her in his arms and protect her.

"It’s no big deal," he says quietly. "Thought you could use some pretty flowers."

There it is, the urge to actually cry. All of her feelings and emotions, she’d been holding in, allowing people to step all over her, keeping quiet. They wanted to break in that second. She also had the urge to kiss him. To do more with him, but she didn’t know if he wanted to same.

She quickly stands from the sofa as she rubs her eyes, laughing softly and turning her face away from him as she asks, “Um—I’m assuming you need to shower?”

She could feel his eyes on her. It was worry, concern, but it was also…something else. She hadn’t had a man look at her like this in years, the urge to grab her and have his way with her. It intimidated her.

Toji watches as she stands up abruptly, her laughter coming out slightly forced. He can see the emotions in her eyes, the way her body language betrays her, and he can't help but feel a pang of empathy for her.

He watches her turn away from him, her question lingering in the air. He knows what she's asking, what she's hinting at. He can feel her tension, her hesitance.

"Yeah," he responds, his voice low. "I could use a shower."

“You can use my bathroom, it has a standup shower. I made it all pretty with plants around the shelves within it, the water comes down from the ceiling, but no to a point where you drown—shit, am I rambling? Uh—okay. Let me just get you some towels.”

She makes her way down the hallway to her room, feeling him following behind her. It was like a tug of her body, a sudden pull she had for him. She wasn’t sure where it’d come from—her body felt hot. Maybe it was the wine.

She sees him sit along the bed as she grabs a towel for him within the closet, calling to him, “Uh—any specific color of towel? I don’t know why I have so many…”

She knows she’s asking questions to distract herself from the moment, but why does she feel so shy?

Toji sits on the bed, watching as she rummages through her closet for a towel. He can sense her nervousness, the way she keeps talking to fill the silence. He suppresses a grin, finding it oddly adorable that she’s asking something so trivial.

He responds casually, “No preference, any color is fine.”

“I feel like you’re a gray kinda guy,” she says, and she halts herself, hoping that it wasn’t any indication of that damn painting she made.

She brushes it off, coming back out of the closet as she says, “Well, I got you a body towel and then a bathing towel. Hope you don’t mind smelling like vanilla and coffee, that’s the soaps I have. You’ll smell good though,” she rambles, placing the towels in front of his hands.

As she brings out the towels, he takes them from her, feeling the soft fabric against his fingers. He can smell the scent of vanilla and coffee wafting from her body suddenly, like a drug had induced his system out of nowhere.

"Thanks.”

She stands with her hands pressed together, his eyes now boring into hers. Those damn gray eyes seep into her soul, scanning her every move.

She then pulls back from him, “Well—there you go. If you need help with the shower handles just—let me know.”

It’s as if time was passing by slowly. His eyes were melting into her brain, disintegrating her body with just one look.

He extends up to his full height, her head tilting once again to look at him, so much that it makes her step back. He walked around her, pulling his eyes forward as he stalked towards the bathroom.

In one swift sound against her ear, he asks, “You’ coming?”

She blinks. Maybe she hadn’t heard him correctly. She turns around as he continues walking with no look behind him, as if he wasn’t necessarily asking—He was telling her.

“Huh?”

"I said, are you coming?" he repeats, his voice low and sultry. Again, it’s not a question. It’s more like a command, a demand. His eyes lock into hers, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

The shock is evident on her face, her mind racing to catch up to what he’s just asked. Toji stands at the threshold of the bathroom, watching her processing his question. His eyes roam over her figure, taking in the way her body responds to his words. He can sense her hesitation, but he can also see the desire in her eyes.

"You heard me the first time.”

“You want me to… shower…with you?” She questions, almost confused, as if she needed to hear it again.

Toji doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at her with a neutral expression. It’s like he’s studying her, trying to deduce her thoughts and reactions.

When he speaks, his voice is low and almost mocking. “To shower with me,” he repeats, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

It was like a shift in his entire demeanor. Her eyes follow him as he fully walks into the bathroom, at the same time commanding, “Hurry up,” back muscles flexing as he removes his shirt, her eyes scanning the amount of ink plastered along his back before he disappears behind the door.

Her feet wouldn’t push herself into walking. But as her mouth fell agape at the thought of showering with him, it pushed her to follow in after him. The lights were dim within her bathroom, plants all around her sink and side of the shower wall. It was big enough to fit her, but she wasn’t sure if it’d fit the both of them. Maybe that was the point.

His body is turned the opposite way of her as he undresses, Stoney watching in almost awe, his body sculpted in a way that was terrifying. He doesn’t bother to turn around as he continues to undress, but he can hear the slight hitch in her breath as he reveals more and more of his bare skin.

Without thinking too much, she begins removing the shirt she wears and the underwear beneath them, throwing it to the side, hair now falling around her face and body.

She watches as he steps into the shower, a broad frame going under the hot water that scorches his skin. He glares over to her, turning slightly to the side so that she catches a glimpse between his legs. It’s veiny, sinking down as it can’t hold its own weight, a dark pink flushed along the tip. His tatted arm takes the hand towel as he rubs it along himself, cleaning the dirt from earlier within the day. The sight nearly makes her faint.

She feels like she does all of this with her eyes closed. She opens the door, Toji taking a step back as he wants her in front of him. The water drenches her hair, making the midnight black even darker as it flows down her waist.

She pushes it out of her face, closing her eyes as she takes a deep breath, feeling him behind her. As she inhales, his hand lightly comes along the side of her hip, pulling her back towards him as his neck hangs down to reach her, brushing his mouth along her neck.

"What are you doing?" Stoney whispers, her voice barely audible above the sound of the running water. Despite her words, she makes no move to pull away from him, instead leaning back into his touch.

Toji's lips curve into a smirk against her neck. "Isn't it obvious?" he murmurs, his hand sliding from her hip to rest possessively on her stomach. "I'm enjoying the view."

Stoney shivers as his lips trail along her neck, her pulse jumping beneath his touch. She can feel every hard inch of him pressing against her back, igniting a fire low in her belly. "But... we shouldn't..." she protests weakly, even as her body betrays her, arching into him.

"Why not?" Toji chuckles, nipping at her earlobe.

“It’s just…been a while …” she admits softly, jumping lightly again as his fingers slowly trickle down to her thigh. Her head falls up as she leans against him, beginning to breathe in a more shallow manner.

"A while since what? Since someone touched you like this?"

Toji's voice is a low rumble in her ear, his breath hot against her skin. His hand slides further down her thigh, teasingly close to where she needs him most.

Stoney bites her lip, nodding jerkily. It has been a long time since she's felt desired, wanted. And the way Toji is touching her, like he wants to devour her whole... It's intoxicating.

“I…haven’t even touched myself,” she embarrassingly reveals.

If only she were lying. She hadn’t relieved her own stress nor had someone do it for her in months, she felt entirely backed up. She could all tell in the way his fingers trailed closer within her inner thigh, his free hand locking around her throat, causing her chest to heave up and down—he’s barely done anything to her.

Toji's grip on her throat tightens ever so slightly, a silent reminder of his dominance. His other hand inches higher on her thigh until his fingertips brush against the damp heat of her core.

Stoney gasps, her knees buckling as a jolt of pleasure shoots through her. "Oh god," she whimpers, her hips instinctively rolling back against him. She can feel his hardness pressing insistently against her ass, making her ache to be filled.

Toji's lips find the shell of her ear once more, his voice a husky whisper. "Tell me how bad you need it, Stoney."

“I need it—so bad,” she tells him softly, bringing her own fingers to where his hand was between her legs. The moment she does this, he catches her hand within his, pressing it under his own as he guides her fingers to the sensitive bud of her clit, gently brushing over it teasingly. Her hips arch towards him as she digs her teeth into her lip, desperately hiding another whimper.

With her hand trapped under his, Toji applies gentle pressure, circling her clit with deliberate slowness. "That's it, touch yourself for me," he encourages, his deep voice sending shivers down her spine.

Stoney's breathing grows ragged as she starts rubbing herself in earnest, her hips grinding against his palm. "Please, Toji," she begs, her voice trembling with need.

“‘Fuck are you saying please for? Don’t beg me, show me what you want.”

His voice makes a deep whimper release from her as he guides her fingers to rub her clit with more pressure, her hips beginning to tremble as both her fingers and his rub in circles, making her arousal grow within her core.

"There's my good girl…" Toji praises, his hot breath fanning over her neck as he watches her work herself closer to the edge.

Her body twitches each time she hits a certain pressure point on her clit, stopping herself from that release when it feels too much. His other hand is still along her throat as he tells against her ear, “Stop all that moving and shit. Let it feel good.”

Stoney's moans fill the steamy bathroom, echoing off the tiles. She's lost in a haze of pleasure, completely under Toji's control.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head when she feels his fingers drop lower, two finger sliding against her core before slowly sinking into her as he talks to her, “Need your pussy gripping my fingers,” her shallow breath making a soft cry at that, hips trembling wildly in reaction as he tsks against her ear, shaking his head as he demands, “Keep your fingers on your clit. I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“T—Toji…”

She whines, trying to rub her clit, unable to focus as his fingers sink in and out of her, his lips along her throat all too much. His voice against her ear as she shakes her head, teeth digging back into her lip.

"Shh, relax," Toji coos, his fingers curling inside her as he strokes her inner walls. "Let me take care of you."

She’d never felt this pleasurable in a while, only able to react in spasms. He nips at her earlobe, soothing the sting with his tongue before whispering, "You're so tight, baby. I love feeling you clench around my fingers." His thumb presses against her clit, applying firm pressure in sync with the thrusts of his digits.

Toji brings his face around, capturing her mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. His tongue delves past her lips, tangling with hers as he explores the wet heat of her mouth. He breaks the kiss only to trail open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and neck, leaving a path of fire in his wake.

"You look so fuckin’ good.”

Her four fingers now desperately rub her clit, Toji slowing his own movements as he just…watches her. Her chest heaves up and down as she pants, a pout nearly along her face as she cries softly to herself, “I—I’m so close…”

Toji smirks, his gaze fixed on her desperate fingers working her clit. "That's it, baby. Get yourself there."

He resumes his slow, deliberate thrusts, curling his fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside her. His thumb applies steady pressure to her clit, rubbing in small circles.

"Come on, let go," he urges, his voice a low rumble. "I want to feel you fall apart."

Stoney’s walls start to flutter around his fingers, signaling her impending climax. The hand against her throat comes up lightly as he grips her face, giving her a light tap to catch her attention.

Toji leans in, his breath washing over her ear as he whispers, "Quit all that fuckin’ whining, make yourself cum.”

Stoney’s eyes squeeze together as she leans her head back against him, his free fingers finding a way into her mouth as he shoves them against her tongue. She can feel her abdomen tightening as she helplessly whines in response.

She tries to hide the soft drag of, “Fuckk,” beneath her mouth, her exhale causing her release. Her body goes into shock as she pushes out her arousal in a way she didn’t expect, squirting along his fingers.

Toji groans as he feels her squirt around his fingers, her warm essence coating his hand. "Fuck— yeah, that's it," he growls, continuing to pump his fingers through her pulsing walls.

He grabs her throat once again to hold her in place. Taking her hand that was along her clit, he slides it against her drenched core before he brings them up to his own mouth, sucking her arousal off of her fingers.

Stoney slumps against him, boneless and spent as he praises, "You did so fuckin’ good, baby. Pussy tastes like I need to eat it.”

Trying to regain her composure from her orgasm, she shakes her head with her eyes closed as she whimpers, “I can’t wait…I—want you to fuck me, please.”

Asking nicely didn’t always get you what you wanted. He turns her around to face him, pressing her against the wall as he lifts her legs to where her knees are along the shower's marble. He’s already kissing along her neck, attaching his lips down to her nipples as he wraps his mouth along them, roughly circling his head as he sucks the skin within his mouth.

He continues to suck on her nipples, biting and nipping at the sensitive buds until they're hard and throbbing. Releasing one from his mouth, he trails kisses down her stomach, dipping his tongue into her belly button before making his way lower.

"To beg for my dick... You must really want it," he murmurs against her skin, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine. He spreads her thighs wider, exposing her glistening pussy to the cool air of the shower.

Leaning in, he drags his tongue up her slit, lapping at her juices before focusing on her clit. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive nub, flicking it rapidly as he hears her moan above him.

"I don’t give a fuck about what you want. Gonna make you squirt on my face.”

She nearly rolls her eyes, gripping for his hair as she desperately moans, back arching against the wall as she feels almost helpless.

Toji growls lowly, his grip tightening on her hips as he devours her with renewed hunger. He buries his face between her thighs, his tongue plunging deep inside her as he fucks her with it. The lewd sounds of his eating fill the shower, mixing with her desperate moans.

"Mmmph... you taste like fuckin’ heaven, baby" he mumbles against her flesh, his breath causing her to tremble. He doubles his efforts, sucking her clit as he then dips his tongue back inside of her.

He curls his tongue just right, rubbing that spot inside her that makes her see stars. "C’mon, c’mon,” he begs her, “C’mon, baby. Soak my fuckin’ face."

She grips his hair tightly as she brokenly moans, “Baby—oh fuck. Agh, fuck. I’m gonna—“ she gasps, unable to use her words as she feels tears nearly within her eyes, “Gonna squirt baby,” she gasps, “I—I’m gonna cum again.”

Toji's eyes flash up to meet hers, seeing the desperation and impending climax written all over her face. He smirks, knowing he's the cause of her unraveling.

"That's it, baby. Cum on my tongue."

He doubles his efforts again, slurping and sucking at her clit as he thrusts his tongue deeper inside her. The vibrations from his groan against her sends her hurtling over the edge. Her body seizes, back arching as a torrent of liquid gushes from her core, drenching Toji's face and mouth.

He laps it all up greedily, drinking down her essence as he continues to eat through her orgasm. When she finally starts to come down, he pulls back, licking his lips with a satisfied grin. "Fuck—yeah, momma. That was good. So fuckin’ good.”

Her eyes are faltering closed as she’s still softly moaning as he comes up, putting her legs over his shoulders as she’s still slightly leaned against the wall.

She puts her arm around the back of his neck as he lightly pressed his lips to hers, breathing along her mouth as he tells her, “I’m gonna put it in, that’s what you want, yeah? Tell me.”

She states quietly against his mouth, “Put it in…slowly, please.”

Toji nods. He positions himself at her entrance, the thick head of his dick pressing against her slick folds. With a slow, deliberate motion, he pushes inside her, inch by delicious inch.

Her mouth lightly parts open, silence going between them now. She nearly pulls back from his lips as her eyes reflexively roll to the back of her head.

She mouths so quietly, “Oh..my god,” unable to focus as he talks to her softly, “Slow like that, baby? Imma’ go deeper.”

Stoney’s walls stretch to accommodate his size, a mix of pleasure and slight discomfort flashing across her features. Toji pauses when he's halfway in, giving her time to adjust. He leans in to capture her lips in a deep, sensual kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

Breaking the kiss, he gazes into her eyes, searching for any sign of distress. She’s spent, head spinning as she deeply whimpers. He resumes his gentle thrust, pushing the rest of the way into her warmth until he's fully sheathed. He stays still for a moment, savoring the incredible feel of being buried inside her.

She tries to hold it in, but the long moan that comes from the depths of her soul releases against his mouth in a way that feels embarrassing. She grabs his hair, her eyes fully rolled to the back of her head as Toji grunts, “Damn.”

Toji lets out a low groan as he starts to rock his hips slowly, grinding deep into her tight heat. Each stroke sends waves of pleasure through his body, and he can tell from her reactions that she's feeling it too.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he growls against her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. "Your pussy is gripping my dick like she needed this shit."

He picks up the pace gradually, sliding in and out of her with increasing intensity. The sounds of their flesh slapping together fill the steamy air, mingling with their heavy breaths and soft moans.

Toji grabs onto her thighs, spreading her wider as he pounds a little harder. He can feel her nails digging into his shoulders, urging him on. Yet at the same time, she’s almost pulling her hips back, nearly blacking out from how big he is.

He shakes his head, “Don’t do that. Take this shit,” he grunts, Stoney whining in response, wrapping her arms around his neck as she sucks his lips into her mouth, attempting to relax.

She leans her head against his shoulder as she digs her teeth into it, being stretched in an almost delicious pain. Her moans drop out her mouth before she even gives them permission.

Toji groans deeply as he feels her teeth sinking into his shoulder, the sharp sting only adding to the intense pleasure coursing through his veins. He loves the way she clings to him, desperate and needy.

"That's it, baby," he coaxes, his voice a low rumble. "Take every fucking inch." He punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust that makes her cry out, burying himself to the hilt inside her.

Toji captures her lips in a bruising kiss, swallowing her moans greedily. His tongue delves into her mouth, tangling with hers in a sensual dance.

“He ever fuck you like this?”

She blinks, knowing he’s referring to her ex-husband. The thought almost makes her annoyed, an arrogant side to him that she hadn’t felt before. The question burned an arousal to her at the same time.

She whispers, “Toji, stop it.”

He then pulls her forward as he takes her weight off of the wall, making sure he has a good standing position against the tile floor before he properly fixes her legs over his shoulders, holding her by her lower back.

He's suddenly lifting her up, dropping her down onto his dick in a way that makes Stoney gasp, the sound of her core clapping against his abdomen, she’s trembling out a deep moan, her eyes faltering down as she watches him do this.

Toji smirks at her reaction, pleased that she's clearly affected by his dominant display. He holds her steady as he pounds into her, each thrust sending her body jolting against his.

"Bet he can’t have you cumming all on his dick like mine, can he? Look at me.”

He grips her tightly, using the leverage to drill deeper, faster. The sound of their flesh slapping together fills the steamy air, mingling with Stoney’s wanton moans.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head again as she tries to watch him, sheepishly whimpering out to him, “Ughhh, yeah. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckk.”

Toji leans in, his breath fanning across her neck as he nips and sucks at her sensitive skin as he talks, “See that? Thats how he should’ve been fuckin’ you. Making you take—Every. Fuckin’. Inch,” through each deep thrust he gives her, seeing the pleasurable tears that collect in her eyes, seeing as she throws her hand over her mouth to stop the embarrassing moans that plummet from her mouth.

"This pussy is mine now, huh?”

Her nails dig into his upper back, back of her thighs wet from her own arousal, latching onto his abdomen each time their skin harshly makes contact, bouncing her against him.

Her eyes are dazed. She feels like she’s losing her mind as she talks back to him, “Yeahhh, baby. Fuckin’ yours,” she whimpers.

“Yeah?”

“Yeahhhh.”

“All mine?”

“Promise.”

“You sure?”

“Fuckin’ promise, baby. You’re fuckin’ me so goood,” she gasps deeply, his dark chuckle echoing in her mind as their skin claps together, Stoney squealing each time he bottoms out.

Her nails dig into his shoulders as she tries to hold on, her body trembling violently, “Oh my god, oh god, I'm gonna...I'm gonna..." she sobs, her voice rising in pitch.

"Fuck, this pussy is mine now. Gripping me like this. Milk my shit dry," he commands, grinding against her as he chases his own release.

He slams into her hard, making her moan loudly. His balls slap against her ass with each thrust, the sound echoing through the room. He leans down to capture her lips in a rough kiss, his tongue invading her mouth as he fucks her senseless.

"You're so fuckin’ tight. Like you were made for me.”

Stoney breaks the kiss, panting heavily as she looks up at him with glazed eyes as she begs, “Cum in me. Cum in me, babyy.”

Toji raises his eyebrows as he smirks, pleased by her desperation. He picks up the pace, fucking her with brutal intensity. "My dick has you talking crazy.”

She shakes her head, “Please,” she whimpers, “Don’t leave me, cum in me.”

“Not gonna’ fuckin leave you, pretty.”

Her orgasm feels close, her walls tightening at his words, almost feeling more meaningful than the moment. Pleasurable tears come to her eyes as her mouth drops open, the tears dropping as she cries softly, “Need you, I need you…”

He kisses away her tears, holding her chin gently as he stares into her eyes. He can feel her pussy fluttering around his cock, squeezing him tightly.

"Not letting you go," he whispers, his voice low and intense. He pushes into her harder, faster, chasing their release.

With a few more powerful thrusts, he buries himself deep inside her and stills, releasing directly inside her. He groans deeply, holding her close as he fills her up completely.

“Gonna cum, baby?” He asks, knowing the answer, just wanting to hear her whine, “Y—Yeah baby, I’m cumming…”

She gasps in a way she hadn’t before, as if she were breathing her last bit of air. She continues talking, “I’m…cumming. I’m cumming.”

Her moans become increasingly louder, causing Toji to grunt at the sounds, slowing his moments as they become more sloppy. He grunts as it turns into an equally low moan with her, both of them feeling their release soon.

Stoney’s climax hits, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around his thick shaft. The scream that comes from her mouth trembles along her lips, as if she didn’t expect it from herself. Toji lets out a guttural growl, his hips jerking erratically as he releases inside her. He holds her close, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he rides out the waves of pleasure.

After a long moment, he lifts his head, gazing down at her with a mix of satisfaction and something deeper.

“You okay?"

His voice is husky, still affected by their intense coupling. He rocks into her gently, prolonging their shared pleasure until they're both spent and satisfied. Only then does he pull out carefully, admiring how his cum drips out of her well-fucked core. He strokes her hair gently, his other hand resting possessively on her hip. Despite the post-orgasmic haze, there's a new awareness between them, a connection forged in the heat of passion.

"Mhm."

She pants softly as she tries to regain control over her breathing. Her body still tingles with aftershocks, her thighs quivering slightly from the intensity of their lovemaking.

She looks up at him, her caramel skin glowing in the dim light of the bathroom. There's a vulnerability in her eyes, a trust that she hasn't shown anyone before. It's as if she's opened herself up to him completely, and the realization sends a thrill through her chest. With that, she pulled him back into a kiss. This man was either gonna be the best thing that happened to her, or the death of her. Either way—fuck it.

🧚°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🧚°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🧚

THE SUN BLARING INTO THE HOUSE WAS WOKE HIM UP. Toji slowly opens his eyes, the bright morning sunlight streaming through the room hitting his face. He turns his head to the side and sees her next to him, her body bare and exposed, her hair covering her face.

He watches her sleeping, feeling a mixture of emotions wash over him. He feels a strange sense of peace, a comfort in having her so close to him. He reaches out a hand, gently pushing her hair away from her face so he can get a better look at her.

She stirs, turning her head the opposite of the pillow. She lets out a soft breath, “Need to get Sai up…for school.”

He smiles slightly, amused by her half-asleep state as he says, “It's still early," his voice raspy with the remnants of sleep, "Sai can sleep a little longer."

“Mmmm, can’t. Nathan’s stupid ass is picking her up. So sleepy…” she pouts, digging herself deeper into the pillow.

“I fucked you good, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Toji lets out a low chuckle, amused by her sleepy grumbling. He moves a bit closer to her, his body still warm from the night before.

"Why don't you go back to sleep then? I’ll handle Nathan."

She turns her head, peeking an eye open at that. She hesitates, “…You sure? You won’t punch him?”

"Can't promise I won't want to," he replies, his voice edged with annoyance, “But I'll try to play nice for your sake."

“‘Don’t have money to bail you out…”

This makes him chuckle. Toji stands from the bed as he gives a kiss to her forehead, Stoney grunting as he gives a harsh smack to her ass.

An hour passes, Toji now sat along the porch as he smoked a cigarette, manspread along the chair as he wore only his cargos, scarred lip twisting as he re-lit the end of the object. Sai slept quietly against the sofa, packed lunch and backpack along the side of her, still in her pajamas as Stoney told him she’d be getting dressed at Nathan’s place. The birds chirped in the early morning, a stoic look among Toji’s face as he continued to smoke with the front door open. He waited.

He glances occasionally inside to check on Sai, making sure she's still sleeping peacefully. He takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing out the smoke in a steady stream.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, a car pulls up in the driveway, and Toji recognizes it as Nathan's. He lets out a rough grunt, his muscles tensing as he waits for the other man to approach the house.

As Nathan steps from the car, Toji notices that he holds a bouquet of droopy and brown tipped flowers—pink orchids. Or at least, what would’ve been pink orchids. When Nathan noticed Toji sitting along the porch, the most confused face came to his expression, only remembering him to be his ex-wife’s moving man.

Toji notices the mixture of confusion and annoyance on Nathan's face, and he can't help but snort in disdain.

“Where’s Stoney?” Nathan glares, holding the death-written flowers, eyeing Toji’s half-dressed physique.

Toji knew she was still sleeping peacefully, trying to be of help to her. His mind reflects to Stoney’s naked body passed out in the bed from their intensity within the shower. He wasn’t a dick, but maybe he wanted to be in the moment.

He lets out a sarcastic chuckle, his eyes looking Nathan up and down, "She's still sleeping," he replies, his tone casual and nonchalant.

He leans back in his chair, the smoke from his cigarette filling the air as he takes a drag, his gaze never leaving him. He can see the irritation in the other man's eyes, and Toji revels in it.

“Well can you wake her up and tell her she should’ve been the one dropping her daughter off at the front door? I need to bring Sai back to my place before dropping her off to school,” he snarled.

"She’s good. She’s asleep for a reason," he replies gruffly.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, blowing a stream of smoke in Nathan's direction which makes him cringe back. Toji then walks into the living room, taking Sai in his arms which causes her to stir awake.

She kneels into him as she blinks, “Hi, Mr. Snake Man.”

Nathan watches with disbelief as Toji walks out with Sai in his arms, the girl blinking her doe eyes at the man as he responds, “Hey, kid," his voice gruff, a small smile forming at her sleepy greeting.

He moves onto the porch, still holding Sai, as Nathan stands in the driveway with the dead flowers and a frustrated expression.

That’s when Nathan also notices the already blooming pink orchids on the porch. Toji leans towards him with a raised eyebrow as he passes Sai off to him, Sai then saying, “Bye Snake Man, take care of mommy!”

“Bye, little one. I will,” he chuckles, waving at her in the usual manner she did to him.

In all of that happening, Nathan's eyes widen as they catch a glimpse of the bedroom. His view was clear enough to see Stoney stirring in bed. Her naked body sprawls along the sheets, groaning as she pulls the comforter over her head to block the sunlight.

He looks back at Toji, his expression of astonishment and anger. Toji just smirks back at him, enjoying the other man's reaction, leaving him with one last hanging sentence.

"Yeah, she’s not getting up anytime soon.”

With that, the door slams in his face.

#jjk #Toji #toji x reader #toji x black reader #toji smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #Toji Fushiguro #Toji Fushiguro jujutsu kaisen x reader #Toji Fushiguro x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x black reader #toji x black character #black woman character

439 notes · View notes

mv1simp · 3 months ago

Text

Masterlist 💖

Requests: Open!! 😼

started this for the lolz idk how max verstappen seduced me into writing fanfic again 10 years after my last piece (a one direction wattpad classic at age 12), with a full time job and living on the opposite side of the globe but here we go 🏎️🏎️ do NOT repost/translate my writing I only post on tumblr so lmk if u see anything sus 🤨

MAX VERSTAPPEN (F1) X READER.

♥️ Into It - smut, romantic

the one where you’re trying to seduce your loving, sweet boyfriend into giving it to you good and rough.

READ PART ONE HERE (4k word count)

READ PART TWO HERE (4k word count)

READ PART THREE HERE (2.5k word count)

♥️ Dark Paradise - smut, dark

the one where innocent virgin!reader has been pining after her older brother’s best friend!Max.

READ IT HERE (5.5k word count)

♥️ Wicked Games - smut, toxic

the one where you hate playboy! Max after he broke your heart in a toxic situationship, but you two can't stay away from each other.

READ IT HERE (3.1k word count)

♥️ Friends - smut, dark

the one where innocent, virgin!reader asks childhood best friend! Max to help her get a boyfriend.

READ IT HERE (3.3k word count)

♥️ Popular - smut, enemies to lovers

the one where reporter!reader apologises to Mad Max after always pissing him off in interviews for the views.

READ IT HERE (4k word count)

♥️ What You Need - smut, dark

the one where innocent virgin! Reader recently started dating RB driver, Daniel. But it’s his younger, faster and richer ex teammate Max who treats you better - and he won’t stop until you’re all his.

READ IT HERE (4k word count)

♥️ Gods&Monsters - smut, dark

the one where you’re Lewis’s innocent sister, and are desperate to be a driver. Even if it means obediently following the coaching of your family's enemy, Max Verstappen.

READ IT HERE (3.4k word count)

♥️ Earned It - smut, romantic

the one where you and your devoted husband, Max, are happily married with your three pets for years. One night, he surprises you by bringing up the topic of having a real baby.

PART ONE (5.7k word count)

PART TWO (7k word count)

♥️ Low Life - smut, dark

the one where Mad Max decides to get back at his antagonising boss by using his precious bratty daughter who's promised she'll save herself for marriage.

READ IT HERE (5.2k word count)

♥️ Into You - humour, romantic

the one where you’re Max Verstappen’s new race engineer. Great news for women in motorsport! There’s just one problem though…you’ve been secretly in love with the Dutchman for years.

READ IT HERE (3.2k word count)

♥️ Just Hold On, We’re Going Home - smut, romantic

the one where you and your fiancé, Max, grew up under the weight of demanding fathers. After a bad race where Max ends up in a low place mentally, you know how to make him feel better.

READ IT HERE (3.1k word count)

♥️ Cuffing Szn - smut, romantic

the one where you find your beauty under harsh scrutiny from Max's fans when you go public. He uses a rather…hands on method to prove you have nothing to worry about.

READ IT HERE (3.3k word count)

♥️ Streets - smut, humour

the one where you’re the exasperated PR Manager for notorious playboy!Max. But when you’re sick of cleaning up his PR messes, he offers a very practical solution to your problem.

READ IT HERE (4.7k word count)

♥️ Double Fantasy - smut, dark

the one where you’ve landed your dream job as a FIA executive as Toto Wolff's pretty daughter. You’re eager to become Lando’s girlfriend…until he hands you over as an apology gift to Max.

READ IT HERE (5.6k word count)

♥️ Haunted - smut, enemies to lovers

the one where you're Mercedes' new rookie driver, and your very late presentation makes your relationship with your rival, Max, turn upside down. Omegaverse AU

PART ONE (5.4k word count)

PART TWO (10k word count)

♥️ Girls Need Love -smut, romantic

the one where you’re Carlos’ younger sister, the inexperienced, shy princess of your family. But when you meet his friend Max, you can’t hold back your want anymore…and neither can he.

READ IT HERE (5k word count)

♥️ High For This - smut, dark

the one where you're Ferrari's princess and often fight the Dutch Lion in wheel to wheel battles. But on a night out, you find there's something in the air (or in your drink) that makes you give into secret desires for your rival, Max.

READ IT HERE (3.7k word count)

♥️ You Belong To Me - smut, dark

the one where you’re Charles’s baby sister, and have always had a crush on his childhood friend, Max, until he becomes your bully and worst nightmare. Now, years later, you meet again…and this time he won’t let you escape.

READ IT HERE (9k word count)

♥️ You Get Me So High - smut, dark

the one where you're a strategist for McLaren, and have plotted up many a plan that lead to Redbull's downfall this year. Max Verstappen isn't fond of your schemes, so when you fall into his sinful world of pleasure and partying, he can't resist a chance to ruin you completely.

READ IT HERE (4.1k word count)

♥️ Sweet Like Candy - smut, dark

the one where Max’s interest is finally peaked after months of boredom - by a angelic looking camgirl with a mouth of sin. Just wait till he finds out that you were the ex teammate’s sister he’d always assumed to be shy and innocent.

READ IT HERE (3.8k word count)

♥️ Paradise - smut, dark

the one where after retiring from his successful racing career, Max Verstappen goes on to be team principal of his equally successful racing team. Too bad he just can't stop thinking about putting his star racer - you - out of commission permanently by getting you pregnant.

READ IT HERE (1.8k word count)

♥️ Devilish - smut, mafia! au

the one where you're the people's princess, as the daughter of the Mayor of Monaco. And you're determined to put your family's enemies behind bars - the infamous Verstappen mafia. But there's a fine line between love and war...and you learn this the hard way with Max Verstappen, the Dutch Leuuw.

READ IT HERE (9.5k word count)

♥️ Birthday Sex - smut

the one where you're Max's best friend and are determined to find him the perfect birthday present since he's spoilt you every year on yours. Just when you're ready to give up, inspiration strikes when you overhear him complaining about the one thing he wants in bed.

READ IT HERE (3.3k word count)

♥️ Unforgettable - smut, dark

the one where Max trains his innocent best friend to take him perfectly. Too bad you had no idea how far your beloved childhood friend had taken you training, given how you were usually peacefully asleep in his bed when he began.

READ IT HERE (4.2k word count)

#max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #f1 imagine #masterlist #fanfiction #f1 x reader #max verstappen x oc

854 notes · View notes

hoseoksluna · 4 months ago

Text

A CELEBRATION OF 2K FOLLOWERS — PLEASANT, GOOD AND MERCIFUL | jjk

pairing: non-idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff — the whole package

word count: 8.9k

summary: jungkook wanted to make the night better for you—but what he didn't expect is that he would come across his true, unabashed self while doing so.

taglist: join | cp: wattpad, ao3

warnings: jungkook, physical violence, jungkook is wearing that mesh top and that exact outfit (god, help me) and he's horny (god, help me again), abandonment issues, dissociation, panic mode, fear, swear words, dom/sub dynamics, protected sex, oral sex (f. & m. receiving), deepthroat:), teasing, pda, jungkook smokes and jungkook uses his busan accent (you have been warned), religion, praying, anxiety, hyper-independence, trust issues, begging, a little bit of a praise kink — barely, cowgirl:).

note: because we hit 2k incredible followers, i prepared this for you, my babies. a full fucking package of drama, smut, angst and fluff—all from jungkook's own pov!!!!! this is all for you bc i love you sm. thank you, guys, so much for being here with me, sticking around and reading my stupid fics. enjoy this one shot and let me know what you think. i'm sending you so many kisses until you get sick of me. seriously. i won't stop. i love you. MWAHMWAHMWAHMWAHMHWA.

It is a lucid dream, really, the way the lustrous colors of the fireworks bloom across the charcoal sky. They intertwine with the darkened clouds, like vines of wild flowers, that try and fail to remain hidden and Jungkook thinks you burst with even richer, emotive colors.

With your kaleidoscopic glitter on the high points of your cheeks, and the tiny stars that you stuck on each arch of your brow.

He can feel the vibration of the deep bass, belonging to the music, coursing down your chest as he stands behind you, drifting his hands down the upper half of your body while the rest of the strangers are hypnotized by the rapper on stage that he has very little knowledge of. The reason why he paid for the tickets, pumped a full tank of gas, drove you all the way to the countryside outside of the normality of your daily life and never let go of your hand—despite the fact they grew uncomfortably clammy due to the stifling heat—was because you loved the man. The vulgar headliner, whose lyrics nearly made his eyes fall out of his sockets once he fully and consciously listened to the songs that you always sing when you do your makeup or hum at random times when you’re doing your own thing.

And what’s worse, it made his dick hard when he heard you scream out the swear words and the filthy imagery painted in the vivaciousness of the songs.

You, who scarcely cursed.

Who omitted the vulgarity when rapping along.

He doesn’t think he ever caught those words coming out of your mouth. Not even when he was balls-deep in you.

Multiple times.

It had only been four months ago when he found you and his long silent heart gained your voice. It was the sweetest, most languid sound that ever graced his ears and in an instant, you became a fleshly sanctuary of serenity. One he would find himself needing more often than he liked because the truth is—Jungkook doesn’t date.

He considers relationships an unnecessary house of pain. If he spends a long time there, he forgets what the outside world looks like. Forgets how to get home. Forgets the roads and the rules and moralities of life and society because, deep down, he lets go of himself for the girl.

He would kill a soul if she found herself needing it. Or at least destroy one so she would have a peace of mind.

Break hands and break noses of people who looked at her wrong.

That’s who he is and as much as he tried to change it, he failed every time. Failed like the clouds up above. His effort to stay hidden from you vanished into thin air because you would invariably find him and his heart would start praying with your voice. The pathetic thing would beg for mercy from the world. His knees would wobble and he’d let them sink right in front of you—all because of your deeply inert calmness and briskness that would, strangely, pour the nectar of mollification over his bloodstream.

And he gave in to you because you didn’t ask, nor expect, anything from him.

You didn’t do what the others did.

You were independent and so full of life, of a different world, one he wanted to take a peek inside.

And what he didn’t predict was that the road would be molded for his feet. And once he kissed you and learned the ins and outs of your intellect and the chambers of your heart, he still remembered the streets that line the outside world—its names, even. He remembered the address of his own apartment building, the number to his door and to the pass code.

And so did you.

You didn’t ask him to kill for you. And you didn’t ask him for tickets to see your favorite artists.

He did it because he unreservedly loved you.

And here you are, giggling, rubbing your little ass up against his groin and he detects happiness prickling his nerve endings. His hands are enveloped, snugly, as if no one was around and the artists traveled across the country for you, around your waist while your hands are up in the air, pointed fingers erect, dipping up and down to the rhythm of the music.

And what he could never predict, not even in a million years—he’s enjoying himself. Feels the traces of the same vibrations ricocheting off your back into his chest, where the song enlivens him.

He’s enjoying himself because you are enjoying yourself, brimming with elation and the radiance of your smile as you laugh, dance and scream out curse words that he’s equally enjoying hearing.

Jungkook makes a mental note to pull those sounds out of you later in the early hours.

And then you turn around, surprising him. You cup the side of his neck while you point that index finger in his face, screaming out the lyrics. And Jungkook regards it so overwhelming that he can only stare. Doesn’t know the lyrics to scream them back at you and make your experience better, but he’s learning them as he’s consuming them from you, his eyes tracing over each movement of your mouth that engraves them in his brain. He feels your hips moving under his palm at the bottom of your spine and when you roll your body forward, colliding into his like a star that meets its lover once only to never see it again, and brush your lips against his—he’s so horny and so in love with you that his eyes wet, his emotions rushing in and clouding his sight.

The background fades out, fully, into the charcoal of the night, the colored lights softening and it’s just you that is the distribution of incandescence for the people present—and for him. And then you go down, dragging your hands down his stomach and his thighs, only to spring right up, grab his hips and make that collision happen—against the laws of the universe.

A different star. A special one.

Out of his darkened peripheral view, he can sense the audience having a way better time than they did before you turned around to face him. But Jungkook doesn’t give a fuck.

Not when his cock is so tight in his pants.

Thankfully, you’re obscuring it with the shape of your delightful body. He thinks he’s going to run with you to his car, pump more adrenaline into your body, so you can refresh the drowsy grass with a pristine layer of dew through the sound of your laughter. He also wonders if you’re wet yourself underneath that gray dress of yours and just as he’s about to lean over and yell that question into your ear, you turn around and get ready for the next song.

And catch the glance of some guy to your right as you do. Jungkook grits his jaw because you linger for a second longer that he doesn’t particularly like.

A certain fever poisons his veins, but at the same time he feels the pinpricks of a cold sweat at the top of his spine. Who the fuck does he think he is, staring at his girl like that?

But when he follows that line of the half broken gaze, he finds the guy’s slender face scrunched up in disgust.

Oh, Jungkook might be ready to throw some hands and get him kicked out of this place, tell the cops it was all him so you can continue enjoying yourself in his arms. He’s seen some people sticking their tongues down their partner’s throat and he’s giving you a dirty look for dancing?

This can easily be his very last night alive.

Instinctively, Jungkook bunches up his fists and he’s ready to go after him, but you scream out and emit out your excitement, taking a deep breath to go absolutely mad as the rapper begins to perform the song that he’s heard you jamming out to the most. You take his hands, beaming at him from behind, and uncurl them on your tummy. Your glance was too brief and there’s still a furrow to his brows and now he worries you think he’s being a buzzkill. He doesn’t want to ruin the night for you, so he draws in closer to the crook of your neck and begins to dance, softly, with you. Your hands intertwine with his and you bang them in the air, jumping up and down at the bridge of the song that the headliner hypes up.

And then you’re singing in a different language and he’s done for, his heart tightening in his chest. The one he’s heard your mother talk in over the phone while you replied in English. Jungkook squeezes you so hard and you let him, your smile growing. Your voice is more throatier and low-pitched and Jungkook senses your foreignness swathing his cock and he knows there’s a bigger tent in his pants. He presses it against you, makes you feel it and you throw your delicious ass.

His eyes nearly go cross-eyed as he rolls them back, tilting his head. The wind sweeps across the sweat of his exposed forehead, sifting through his hair and he can’t wait any longer. Desire has overpowered the poison in his veins in such a mighty way and he begins to stand in the middle of a crossroad.

Wait forty five minutes until the rapper finishes the show and then get stuck in the crowd as everyone tries to leave at once.

Or wait two more minutes and then bolt to the car to fuck your brains out. There’s a higher chance you and him won’t be caught sinning in the backseat. It’s midnight and the villagers are asleep. And in the forty minutes, while everyone enjoys the last show, he can make you come so many times and ascertain that your experience will be heightened and ultimately better.

He’s also sure you’ll be able to hear him—if he leaves the window open a little bit.

He’s ready to turn you around, the decision throbbing in his sternum, but you make the move first. Swiveling on your feet, your body faces him, though your head doesn’t. Once again, he follows your gaze. You scowl at the guy, your brows knitting and your glossy mouth rounding before moving into the shape of the lyrics. You throw a dirty look his way one last time and Jungkook laughs in pride, his heart constricting in the love he bears for you, and he pulls you in, disposed to kiss you. You wrap your arms around his neck and open your mouth just as he kisses you—and it’s you who darts out their tongue, rolling it against his. Jungkook squeezes your bum, slapping it gently—and it’s simultaneous the way you and him both peek at the guy’s reaction.

The fucker is grinning.

You give him a vulgar gesture, the moonless blue light enveloping around your middle finger.

Jungkook laughs so hard that heads turn in his direction and he’s fucking delighted. You devour it with your mouth, sucking his lips so intensely that he stops breathing. He senses you sealing it in him and he can’t wait any longer.

He needs you and he tells you.

Breaking the lip lock, he peppers kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear, wafting his hot breath there. He feels the gooseflesh on your arm right upon his ear, too, and electricity courses down his stomach. Fuck, he loves it so much. Thinks you’re so incredible and he wants to fuck that fact into your guts.

“Let’s get out of here. I want you,” he rasps, drifting his hand up your bum to the ends of your hair, bunching them in his fist. “I want to give you this dick. You deserve it.”

You suck in a harsh breath and withdraw to look at him. He bites his lip at the way his words painted a palette of such flushed beauty on your face, using colors this festival has never fucking seen. And his mouth ends rise in a prideful smile, not for his ability, but for your body. For the way it’s able to react to him so wonderfully.

And he blushes when you begin to mouth the lyrics again while dipping to the seat of the amphitheater and sliding his blazer over his shoulders.

He knows why you did that.

And you validate his knowledge when you take his hand and lead him away from the concert, keeping close to him just to be cautious.

You did it to camouflage the evidence of his arousal for you.

And when you walk by the guy, you let go of his hand. Throw both middle fingers in his face. “You wish you had someone to leave with, huh?”

The fucker puts his dirty hand on you, stopping you from walking away, and Jungkook doesn’t fucking hesitate. Like a bolt of lightning, he grabs his collar and fumes in his face.

“What makes you fucking think you can touch my girl, huh? Juk go sip na?” he snarls, shaking him, his Busan dialect impulsively spilling out, darkening his voice and the latter question—‘Do you want to die?’ He watches a tendril of challenge line his eyes with murkiness and what happens next is too fast.

Too fast for his liking.

Knuckles collide with his cheek and at the rapid, unexpected and jarring contact, his lip ring cuts his gums. Jungkook grunts at the twinge that overpowers the throbbing on the side of his face, metal percolating through the aftertaste in his mouth, but he doesn’t let go of the guy’s shirt. In fact, he tightens his hold. Seethes. Is about to push him off and leave before things get even uglier, but then he feels your hands on his back and his heart stops, your voice mute, despite the fact your whole face twists in fear and is smeared with harrowing emotions that he’s never seen on you. Shrinks at the sight of your wet, bulging eyes. Of one singular tear grazing your lower lashes in a caress before plopping onto the wildflower meadow of the glitter on your cheek.

“Get back,” he tells you, despite the swelling of his own emotions at your state of mind. But you don’t comply in time, unclench your fist and step back because far too soon, in the middle of the distraction, another collision bursts in this impenetrable darkness.

Falling into you or falling for you even deeper, he can’t tell the difference within the numbing pain and his temper coaxes his exceedingly too easy tears to blur his vision. You don’t topple back on your hands, for Jungkook catches you in time with a strength that you somehow help him remember that he possesses. From the force of the guy’s jab, he was only pushed into you, but it doesn’t diminish the grave mistake he made.

One he will pay for.

Straightening you, Jungkook guides you towards the edge of the amphitheater and you step back, at last, startled. Turning around, he swings his fist into the guy’s face and he whimpers like a little bitch.

One hit for your dignity.

A second one for your tears.

And the guy would’ve received a third and a fourth one had he not been held back by different pairs of arms all of a sudden. But he shakes them off. Pushes the guy back to his seat. He lands awkwardly on his tailbone with a hard thud and moans in pain. Suits him right for thinking he’s allowed to touch you, make you cry and remain unharmed.

Jungkook shakes his head, his chest rising with heavy breaths and numbing, adrenaline-infused fury. “Sit here and keep your fucking hands to yourself, gaesaekki. Who the fuck do you think you are, making my girl cry by hitting me?”

The music cuts out and the rapper hollers. Jungkook turns around and finds all of the attention of the audience and the headliner on him. Doesn’t want to put you on the spot like that, so he rolls his eyes in annoyance, finds your rounded ones and tips his chin further towards the exit, signaling to you to walk that way, so no one gets to look at you. You’re still standing by the edge of the amphitheater with your tear-stained cheeks and his heart aches, though once he sees that you’re covered by the shadows, he lifts a palm towards the stage and strides off, placing a hand on the small of your back and leading you towards the grassy hill.

People are fucking testing him and he’s not in the mood. Not in the slightest.

He’d go with his original plan—take your hand and run with you to his car, but he needs to cool off. His anger is sapping all the delight he gained from your microcosm of joy and he doesn’t want to ruin the night more than he already has. Jungkook curls an arm around your neck, tugging you flush to his side as you strut together with no one around. Lifts your chin so he can inspect how you’re feeling on your face.

Your cheeks are glimmering, damply, carmine in the yellow light, accompanied by the faint burn of the stars up above, but your eyes have lost their great spark and you’re no longer beaming. They trace over his deadened cheek and mouth and you whimper, stopping dead in your tracks and burying your face in his chest. You wrap your arms around his middle, a hand stroking his back—and Jungkook feels himself drifting to a state of coma. The rapper’s lines decline the harder you nuzzle your face in his mesh-clad pecs and he can’t move his own hands, can’t hug you back, his panic cascading down his sternum, which he senses your warm weight upon. A ringing noise fills his ears, but he can’t wilt. He has to put you first and make things right.

But his body doesn’t listen.

He wills strength into his muscles, lifting his head towards the unmerciful heavens and letting your voice sound out his prayer. You evidently need physical support and emotional reassurement and he can’t give that to you out of his own weakened will. Not when he needs it so despairingly and eminently because he’s hollowed out on the inside. Not when he can’t hear a damn thing owing to the ringing in his ears.

He can’t ask you for help, so he lets you pray through his heart to his father’s God.

But nothing happens.

Radio silence.

White noise.

A feeble, miniature whine loosens from him. He’s not sure if you heard it and he hopes you didn’t, and for that sole reason—he does the unthinkable.

He begins to pray with his own voice.

Because there’s nothing else to do.

Give me strength. To be there for her and not mess this up more than I already have. Fix me for her and help me make this night better for her.

The tiniest of lights against your face unbolts ajar in him, vines of the flowers of mitigation blooming from that sliver of open space—right into his arms that abruptly lift and wrap around your shoulders, pulling you as close as humanly possible.

The ringing lessens.

And then his lips move.

He kisses your forehead, dwelling there for a moment, basking in the fact that his prayer worked, and mentally, he ejects the trepidation and agitation away and out of his system, though the fear loiters in his ribcage. The fear that the mistake he made is unfixable. And there’s no thrumming of the bass to distract it.

What’s worse, his lower regions still ask for a release. He might not be as hard as he was, but the pressure of an ungratified arousal still palpitates in his groin. The unlit disorder of his feelings encourages the blood to pump his cock erect, slowly, and his breath quivers—as well as his body.

The shakes are back. He knows them, intimately, from his past relationships. Feels the long-gone ghost of abandonment catching up to him—and he fears, terribly, that you’ve somehow learned its ways and you’re about to use them on him because of the way he ruined your night. Cover him from head to toe until his mind numbs and he forgets, foolishly, the direction to his home.

To solitude.

He lets go of you and nudges you towards his car. Lets you walk the rest of the short way. But he notices that your forehead, the place he poured his frail love upon, is smudged with blots of blood, the little stars on the arches of your brows crooked and devalued. He’s barely able to get out a cigarette out of his pack and place it in the center of his parted lips, his heart cracking and turning painfully. Though, somehow he does it—he gnites it to life, takes a big drag and hides his hands behind his back. Hides his shakes away from you. Because it’s easier to ruin yourself than it is to give.

You don’t know about them. And in the four months he’s been dating you, he didn’t have a reason to tell you about them. Thought they were lost for all eternity, the tables turned—them forgetting about him.

But now he realizes how naive he was. Begs his shoulder to stop trembling from the impact of his deeply-embossed issues. Wishes they were as beautiful as you when you gaze back at him with the weight of your love and he feels it, swiveling to lean against the side of his car.

It’s a life jacket that straps him down. Abates his shakes. And he’s able to take another drag, pursing his lips in a small ‘O’ when he exhales the smoke, so it doesn’t get near you.

Your hands are behind your back, too. They support your tailbone against the solidness of the vehicle. It reminds him that he’s glad he hurt the guy, but now he wishes that you weren’t such a delicious brat because he could’ve made you happier and pinker with the amount of orgasms he would’ve given you. Would’ve driven you home and washed you clean. Would’ve made you a late night snack to bed and held you while you replayed the songs in your head.

Nevertheless, it’s him who needs to be held.

Foolish, his sensitivity. Another thing you don’t know about. And he’s not too sure, at this very moment, if he’s able to let you in this closely. Let you hold him and stop, ultimately, his shakes. The fear of possibly letting that happen, only to get left behind after, paralyzes him on the spot and even though he can’t breathe, he still manages to flick the ash off his cigarette and puff on it, desperately. Needs the smoke to hold him down, mollify the raging disorder in him—the macrocosm that is too gritty and stony for your delicate feet.

He allows a full, audible sigh to leave him and he hangs his head, but he shouldn’t have done that.

Because he divulged to you how fucked up he is.

You lift a hand to him. “Come here, Oppa.”

But he can’t. He can’t get close. His legs are numb and the thick-soled boots his feet are shod in are too heavy. His fear keeps them planted that safe distance apart. And Jungkook plays it cool. Licks his lips, lifts his head and sucks on his cigarette. Feels something dripping down his jaw and he wipes his hand on the bone. His cheeks hollow out and the smoke gets in his eyes, stinging them, blurring the spots of blood on his fingers

A different type of wetness coats them now.

“You wanna go home?” he asks, then cringes at his stupid words. The smoke makes zig zag patterns in the air as his hands shake harder. And then the breath he takes is too difficult. His chin wobbles, the tears rush in and he can’t stop it. “They’re still—” A soft sigh, a whimper. His breathing speeds up because it seems as though his lungs ask for too much air and he can’t inhale enough of it. The tears threaten to pour out and crown his fear. Ruin his life. But he keeps going as if nothing is happening. “Making hot dogs in that food stand over there. The night’s not over.”

And then he’s sobbing, sinking to his knees as his legs give out under all that weight of his issues compressing him. The cigarette burns on the concrete, as abandoned as he soon will be. And his hands feel the rough material of his jeans, needing something to bring him back to a painless reality. He’s tasting blood and the fumes of the smoke and then he sees your sneakers in front of his knees, the pink Calvin Klein shoes that he bought you last week, and he sits back, feels his head being lifted, feels himself being pushed to a point of absolute submission.

And that’s not something he’s able to stop either.

You sit down on his thighs, sinking your fingers behind his ears and into his hair, forcing him to look at you and he has to blink multiple times in order for his sight to clear up. Sees, while he whimpers pathetically, his bloodstained, fearful girl seeing him. The real him. The flawed, broken him.

“Gguk, Ggukie, what’s happening? Talk to me, baby, please.”

He only sobs. Can’t get a word out. Because you’re here and you’re going to leave him—now that you’ve seen that he’s not a half of the man you pertain him to be. That he’s weak, pathetic and emotional. That he has problems that he doesn’t like to talk about. Unresolved issues that will affect you and guide you out of his life.

You press him to your neck, holding him to you, and you shush him, gently, rocking him from side to side. Run your wet hand up his hair on the back of his head while the other one rubs large circles on his back. The light opens wider in him—and as he listens to the lullaby of your voice, it distracts him from the fear. It stills the ringing in his ears and blesses his arms with strength that he uses, without thinking, to wrap around you.

Something lukewarm plops onto the side of his aching cheek as he, little by little, calms down, and he realizes it’s your precious tears. The salt to his wound.

You’ve cried too much when you should’ve been laughing so hard that you’d be sick from it.

“What happened? Tell me.”

Your hand caresses his bad cheek, careful around the bump that your feather-light touch traces, and it’s how he finds out it’s even there. He finds out his bleeding is from his mouth because you wipe at it and clean your fingers on your dress. And then you’re back to stroking his hair, your long fingernails scratching, tenderly, his scalp, spreading alleviation down his body.

You’re patient and gentle, tolerant and kind, despite the fact you deserve an explanation and he’s unable to give it to you.

It’s what makes his rationality snap back to normalcy and he tugs your dress down, withdrawing from you and helping you stand to your feet. He’s here to make your night better, not unleash his problems at you. He takes your purse dangling from your hand, replacing it with his palm, and hauls you towards his car.

But you stay put and he bounces back to you as if he were on a leash.

And maybe he is—because you stayed at the horrendous scene of his worst. Bound to you in a way that he’s too drowsy to comprehend. Even his fear is tired, scurrying away to some shadowed corner of his soul, instead of attacking him and remaking the scene.

“Give me my purse back and let me buy you that hot dog,” you say, with a hint of a remarkable harshness that makes him submit to you on a higher level. Something positive that he can’t pinpoint breezes through his clavicles and he wipes his knuckles across his eyes, shyness encasing him like steel—like a shield, giving him the hope that maybe, just maybe, he can overcome this with you.

You didn’t leave. You didn’t disappear. You didn’t wrinkle your nose.

You held him. Cleaned the blood off his mouth. Put him, somehow, back together like a puzzle piece. Knew how to do it without needing to look at the full picture.

He hands you the chain strap of your purse—and it’s more of a symbol of his submission to you. Of the acquiescence and the meekness that you seeped into his pores by your touch. And, oddly, he feels whole.

His walls are broken down, but he feels whole. Confident, soft, and manly.

Because he has you and you’re here to take care of him.

You’re quick on your feet as you yank him by the two of his fingers. He follows behind you, but all he can look at is your pendulous, brown, leather purse, suspended from your small hand, and how that shift of the dynamic in yours and his relationship occurred by that exchange. How it’s felicitous, pretty and sturdy. How he can come back to it and remember it—if he ever wavers. Remember that it’s the cure to his shakes.

Letting himself be taken care of by you.

The festival has ended and the ladies at the food stand are packing up to leave. It overwhelms him how much time his issues have stolen, but when he watches you go from nice to bratty in a millisecond, convincing them to make that last hot dog from him because he feels faint and needs some greasy food in order to get home and they comply, his love for you rises sky-high. Your own expression of love for him tidies up the debris from his broken walls and he’s so warm all over that he feels as though he’ll explode.

You pay for the hot dog and leave a huge tip, thanking them with a smile that makes his heart quiver in a way that is pleasant, good and merciful. You hand it to him and it’s another exchange that wets his eyes, that makes him dip to your mouth and give you a chaste kiss that you more than deserve. You coo, deeply, into the kiss, and it’s a sound that he’s never heard from you. A dominant, prideful sound that stirs the butterflies in his stomach that carry your name on their wings to beat so ferociously that he can’t breathe.

In a different way now. Pleasant, good and merciful.

You walk away from the stand and sit with him on the sidewalk. Jungkook lets you have the first bite, sliding your leg over his as he holds the hot dog to your mouth. People are exiting the amphitheater in hefty crowds, but he doesn’t care. Can’t peel his eyes off of you as you open your mouth as wide as you can and take a big bite, whining and fanning your mouth due to how boiling hot it is. He can see the half chewed up sausage on your tongue and if he didn’t love you, he’d look away now, but he can’t because he does love you and your secret, indecent ways enthrall him enough that he can’t help but to kiss you again. Kiss the ketchup and mustard off of your upper lip. Clean you up like you cleaned up his debris. Blow on the sausage in your mouth a little to make you laugh and you do more than that. You chortle so hard that you nearly choke on it and he laughs, too, strangely.

Thinks the hot dog is the best one he has had in a long time solely because you had that first bite.

It fuels him with energy, yet he feels lightweight. Feels as though everything’s going to be okay, despite the fact those issues in him are a persisting threat and they can be triggered anytime. But something tells him you can handle it.

You weren’t afraid to throw your middle fingers in a guy’s face because he had a problem with your public display of affection. Weren’t afraid of Jungkook’s ugliness. Weren’t afraid to fight the ladies so you could fill up his stomach with his favorite food.

You can handle it.

It’s all he thinks about as he drives you to his apartment with his hand on your thigh.

And it’s all he thinks about when he kneels before you while he takes off your sneakers and lingers there, scattering kisses just below the hem of your dress. And you know where this is going because you pull him back by his hair and as he looks up at you like this, a peasant to a queen, his heart hammers so intensively that all he wants to do is cry while he makes love to you.

He came across his salvation—in the worst of it all.

“Let me clean you up,” you hush out, and Jungkook doesn’t understand because you already have. Internally. And outwardly all the same. He can’t postpone this any longer. He has to give back to you, give you his gratitude on a silver platter. He needs to do it because if he doesn’t, he’ll crumble.

“No,” he rasps in a whisper, closing his mouth over the inner of your thigh, placing a singular kiss there before he returns his gaze back to you. “Let me, please.”

Maybe you can see his desperation in the glossiness of his eyes and it awakens your pity for him, for in a blink you nod, and for the second time today—he doesn’t hesitate to do the next thing. He fists the fabric of your dress and yanks it up over your tummy, nuzzling his nose into your clothed mound. Pink, like your sneakers.

He inhales you. Inhales the beginning of your arousal—and the beginning of a brand new scene that will color his life in a soft manner.

Dragging the waistband of your panties down your legs, he tosses them on top of your shoes. Yearns for your legs to part your royalty for him and in order for that to happen, he carries you, bridal-style, over to the white of his bedding. Pretends it’s clouds that he’s laying you down upon because he’s about to make sure he’ll bring heaven down to you.

The heaven that helped him give back to you earlier in his worst.

He hooks his fingers under your socks and slides them off, one by one. Makes you sit up to rid you of your dress. Ruins your ponytail in the process, but he quickly fixes it by lugging your hair tie down your length, rubbing his blood away on your forehead with his saliva-coated thumb once he places you back down.

And it’s not an expression of his dominance, the way he disburdened you from the daytime. That has long ceased to exist in him since that exchange.

It’s an expression of his servitude to you.

Of his lessening and your heightening.

And it’s pleasant, good and merciful. It doesn’t feel as though he’s giving all of himself. On the contrary, it feels as though he has just discovered his true self.

He won’t forget the address of his home because he’s not staying over anywhere.

He is at home.

And your folds revealing your royalty as he spreads your legs is the feeling of homeliness. His mouth on your warm, swollen clit is the epitome of all domesticity and the only thing he can fear at this very moment is his future homesickness if he rips his mouth off your cunt.

And you getting wet so easily just from being taken care of like a queen confirms and validates all that he’s feeling.

And he lets you know.

Peasants are savages and he eats your pussy like it. Sucks on your clit with a verve that surprises him and makes his cock tight uncomfortably in his pants, especially when you make those deep, guttural noises of yours. You’re not the soft girl he knew that omitted swear words in her favorite filthy songs. You’re a vulgar woman, rolling her hips into his mouth as he lets you use his tongue.

And he stops—just to beg for those words.

“Let me hear you swear for me, please.”

You whimper, flopping into the mattress, only to raise your torso using your elbows. You grip the hair on the back of his neck and hump his mouth, but then you suck in a breath and draw back, sobered up all of a sudden.

“Does your lip hurt?” you ask, rounding your brows in pity and Jungkook’s heart quickens at the portrayal of your care towards him. His senses flick to that faint throbbing on the side of his pierced lip and he perceives that he forgot about his physical pain. His cheek throbs as well, but it’s all bearable.

You help him remember.

“It doesn’t hurt, baby.”

But the hand that gripped his hair slides over to his lip, caressing it with a thumb. “But it’s swollen. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He also remembers that he was bleeding from the same place and he checks your folds if he spattered them. With the same digit, he runs it over them, finding no taints of it. Sends a quick, internal thank you to God.

You’re pure—he doesn’t want to mar you.

“You’re not hurting me. You’re saving me,” he utters without a breath, the words more raw than anything he’s ever said to you, alongside his first, secretly sensitive I love you. And while he doesn’t let his lungs lift, you inhale all of the air for him, wafting it over him as you pout ever so slightly. And then you caress him—the good side of his face and he does something he’s never expected to do.

He invites you in.

Rests his head on the apex of your thigh while you continue to brush your hand in circles. Over his cheekbone, his temple, long strands of hair and ear. An ouroboros of love so unsullied and intact that the world’s upcoming destruction could never afflict it, never even come near it. Jungkook pushes your leg back and darts out his tongue. Mirrors your circles over your clit and the gentleness he uses to do it with pull such alluring moans from the bottom of your throat that he’s nearly at the peak of his own orgasm.

And it just makes him hungrier.

He turns you over to your side and closes that leg of yours over his head. Flattens his tongue over your clit and eats it like his life depends on it, one hand holding yours while the other slips to your heat, rubbing the hole until you go mad. And he’s not holding your hand to keep you bound. He’s holding your hand to keep his sanity and not come in his pants like a boy.

You move your hips so his fingers enter you and you scream out at the sudden fullness. Jungkook drips in sweat, your walls slowly stretching around him sending tingles down his spine, and he’s moaning when you fuck yourself on his digits.

It doesn’t take long for you to come.

It is the final piece to your own puzzle and your orgasm thunders through you, the swear words tumbling out of your mouth like refreshing raindrops. You interweave them into his name, adorning it, making it prettier, and Jungkook is so overwhelmed with pleasure that all he can do is suck on your clit until you convulse so hard that you can’t take it anymore.

You may have lost your spark earlier, but now that you’ve come so magnificently, you’ve become it. The star of light isn’t something that gets attached to your eyes whenever you’re happy anymore.

You’re the queen of all firelights and constellations.

He lets you lie on your side as he hauls himself up to face you. He touches your skin besprinkled with the beads of perspiration, kneading the fleshy parts and ending up at your neck. Your eyes are closed when he reposes his head on his pillow besides yours and he detects his pleasure creating a new kind of joy within him, one that etches a lopsided smile on his face.

You said the words for him while your orgasm coursed through your body. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your lips, kissing you with a certain roughness that makes you whine and withdraw. You give him a playful dirty look, fragrant with your love, and Jungkook’s smile deepens.

“Gentle,” you reprimand, fluttering your eyes back shut. “Don’t be a masochist.”

He laughs through his nose, his heart constricting, and he kisses you with the gentleness you spoke of just to show you he can do it.

You hum in appreciation and Jungkook thinks this must be the best day of his life, despite all.

“There we go,” you praise, sleepily. “Gentle, so your boo-boo doesn’t hurt.”

He caresses your face in circles in your fashion, watches you visibly relax and your eyes close all the way, your eyelashes brushing against him. His sleep-kissed queen.

“You wanna sleep?” he asks, fondling the shell of your ear. He doesn’t mind if you’re too tired to take him; he’s willing to study the way your mouth parts and lets out long, restful breaths as you drift off to dreamland.

He thinks it would be an honor.

Everything had changed. The way he sees you, the way he loves you, the way he senses yours and his connection. The pupils of his eyes have been purified and he’s acknowledging himself with the ins and outs of his own relationship.

Everything is new.

You shake your head, humming out a sound of disagreement. “No, give me a second. You made me come really hard.”

He nods, even though you can’t see him, and he sifts his fingers through your hair. Trails his kisses from your cheek to your neck and shoulder, dwelling there as you recuperate from your intense orgasm.

And then you’re swinging your leg over and straddling him. Your lids are so heavy from your little eye-shut that he silently coos at you, but your tiredness doesn’t stop you from mouthing kisses down his mesh-clad chest. From unbuckling his belt and freeing him from his pants. The mesh shirt is the only thing you keep on him. You bunch up its hem in your fist, stabilize his cock with your other and you swallow him.

Not all the way, though.

You rid him of his sanity because you pop your mouth, over and over, on the tip of his manhood. He feels the sound deep in his groin, right beneath your hand, and his chest can’t help but to shudder with each suction, his face scrunching. He unabashedly whimpers for you and you like his noises so much that you give him what he never asked you for.

You do take him all the way.

And your throat is your scent floating through the air of yours and his home.

Heady, oriental and feminine.

You slobber all over him, running your tongue sideways upon the veins along his length and Jungkook slinks in and out of his conscience. The pleasure you’re blessing him with brings him to a rose garden when you gag around him. The pink petals tickle his stomach, encouraging his shudders, and all he sees is you in the middle of that garden. A mighty statue of its queen—with a mouthful of cock.

And then he has to physically pull you away from him because if he felt the tightness of your throat one more time, he’d be spurting ropes of cum down your esophagus.

You’re feral, staring him down with a maddened smile, returning to your original position on his hips. And as delighted as he is to have you be in charge, he remembers something.

He hasn’t put a condom on.

“Wait.”

Jungkook holds your waist as he rummages in his bedside table and once he finds the package he was looking for and rattles it, he finds it empty. Cold sweat trickles down the back of his neck, but he remembers something else as well.

“Did you not put it in your purse?” he asks, the scene where he hands you the last square of the rubber for you to keep in your purse in case you get in the mood during the festival shooting out before his eyes.

You nod. “Yeah, I think so. Can you go get it?”

He sits up with you and kisses you, gently, prolonging the kiss until you whine and he thinks twice before provoking you. He can’t help it—you just keep saving him.

Walking through your corridor, he sees your pink sneakers first, embellished with your panties of the same color. A smile tugs at the aching corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t mind. Thinks it heightens the experience. Bending to pick up your brown purse that he set beside your shoes, the time seems to slow down as he’s reminded of the exchange out there in the countryside. The shift of dynamics that liberated him. Jungkook grows emotional, his feelings liquifying and prickling his eyes.

And it’s automatic and absolutely instinctual—the way he dips his mouth and kisses the leather material.

Gently.

Opening it, he fishes out the white square and hangs your purse on the hook among his jackets. Gives it a long, meaningful look before he returns to you.

And you’re the one who wants to put it on him. You’re so diligent, tugging the peak of the rubber multiple times so you’re unequivocally certain that you did it right. And when you tug him, he whimpers so inferiorly that you emulate his hunger.

You depict it so eloquently when you fight through your residual overstimulation and sink down on him, little by little. And the more inches your walls squeeze around, the more his new role settles within him.

Peasant with his queen.

You ride him like it.

You bounce on him with such hard thuds that it provokes the pressure in his groin. His balls tighten so rapidly and the cinematic view of your breasts slapping against each other doesn’t really help slow down the incoming explosion of his orgasm. A glistening ring forms around his cock from your slick—and Jungkook genuinely considers, right here, right now, buying you a promise ring that will be an eternal reminder of this sublime salvation.

And you’re as aware of the shift as he is because once you reposition your weight onto your feet, you pin his hands back and use them as leverage. Intertwine your fingers with his. His vision gets filled with spots of white. You clamp down on him with each stroke and even though he can’t move, he feels unshackled. There’s no ending to his moans. He’s so close, the pressure deepens in his groin, and he needs one more thing.

One more thing and he’s done.

“Kiss me,” he rasps, and you slow down, crying out, your orgasm catching up to you just the same, but he needs your attention, so he begs. “Please, baby. Kiss me.”

Lowering yourself onto your knees, you lean forward. “Fuck, I love it when you beg. I’d give you anything you ever wanted.”

His stomach spasms. Your nipples sail over his chest and you shudder, the mesh fabric stimulating you, and then you’re swirling your tongue around the arc of his open mouth.

Teasing him, like the vulgar, bratty woman you are.

Extra careful around the lip ring and his swollen flesh, healing it in a way.

Jungkook whines your name. “Please.”

You kiss him just once, but he needs more. Lifts his head off the pillow, chasing your mouth. You begin to swirl your hips in circles on the tip of his cock, just like your tongue, and the intense pleasure he gets from it forces him to bang his head back.

You go for his neck. His collarbone. His nipple.

And Jungkook can’t hold back anymore.

His orgasm bursts in his groin and all the roses in the garden swell with freshness. He imagines he’s filling you up, instead of the condom and it elevates the momentous shocks of the explosion descending down all of his nerve endings. He hiccups and that’s it for you. You let go of his hands to massage your clit and you follow him out into that garden, his name and curse words trickling out of your mouth that lowers to his in a final, years-long kiss.

His last rope oozes out of him at the feeling of your soft, wary tongue and he wants to weep due to the density of your care. More shrubs of roses bloom around your statue in that garden—and once again, he can’t peel his eyes off of you.

Can’t stop brushing your hair back to see more of you. More of your rose-flushed complexion. More of the spark of your being that irradiates you from within. More of your care and love.

And you give it to him.

You wash out the dried blood on his face in the shower. Brush his teeth with extra care, which makes it more than difficult for him to stifle his tears. He lets you be a witness to his sensitivity and you welcome it, cradle it, hold him while the toothpaste foam numbs his achy lip. And it scares his fear away, most peculiarly.

You hold him in bed, too, amidst the crisp, flower-scented linen of his fresh bed sheets, and you apologize.

“I’m sorry for what happened tonight. If I hadn’t said a thing, you wouldn’t have ended up bruised and swollen,” you croak out, shifting the cold compress lower on his face, and you break into tears that trigger his. He had wished you weren’t a brat, but for a far different reason, and he tells you.

“It’s an honor to get punched in the face for you.” He smiles through his tears and you sigh, removing the cold compress. “But I did wish things ended differently. I wanted to fuck you in my car. Keep the window open so you would hear your favorite rapper. But if things went according to my plan, you wouldn’t have healed me.”

You sniffle, your eyes rounding at the onrush of your tender emotions, and Jungkook watches the waterfall of your tears. His own flows and mingles with yours, joining in unity.

“What happened to you when we left?” you ask and Jungkook knows he wouldn’t avoid this question for long. Deems you deserve to know because of all what you’ve done for him. And he readies himself, pausing before he bares himself, fully, to you.

“I got into panic mode because I blamed myself for ruining your night and…” he trails off, aware of the fact he needs to be more specific, and he takes a deep breath, wiping his tears with one hand before slapping it back on the duvet. “I have a constant fear that the people I care for will eventually leave me,” he explains and a wisp of pride envelops his bones for managing to get those words out for the first time in his life. You snuggle closer to his side, placing your head on his shoulder, and he gazes down at you. His fingers find your ear on their own and it comforts him enough, to touch you like that, that he’s able to continue. “I got left behind a lot of times in my past, which is why I swore off love. It just hurt too much and I stopped having the capacity for it. And when we left the concert, I thought you’d leave me, too, after what I’d done.”

You press the cold compress back to his cheek. “I could never leave you, you’re mine,” you whisper, and another stream of tears soaks through the dish towel wrapped around frozen vegetables. Jungkook doesn’t take your words for granted. He puts great meaning to them and hides them, safely, in his sternum. “And you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t ruin my night. It was all me and for that I’m sorry.”

He squeezes your arm. “Don’t be sorry,” he says and means it. Lifts his head and plants a cold kiss to your lips.

Gentle.

“I love you, Ggukie. It’s me who should be fighting for you now.”

Jungkook laughs through his nose. “No, I’ll keep protecting my queen.” One more kiss, gentler. “I love you,” he adds and means it.

And he falls asleep like this. With you clinging to the side of his body while keeping the cold compress intact and unmoving with your forehead. One that he removes in the middle of the night and warms up the iciness of your skin by smothering it with his body heat.

Returns to the rose garden and gapes at the statue of you, hand in hand with you—as a changed person, a sensitive, flawed and submissive person that is loved and accepted.

Finds it hard to believe even in his dream.

And you’re there when he wakes up.

Drooling, indecent and vulgar as you are. And he wouldn’t want anyone else.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff, @kam9404.

BACK to masterlist

1K notes · View notes