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threeletterslife · 2 years ago

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27 | Legends of Darlaria

⨰ summary: You wake up in yet another unfamiliar place. This time, however, these strangers seem to recognize you. With your previous judgments and aspirations thrown out the window, you're now forced to face where your loyalties really lie. Who will you betray? And which General will you choose to stand by his side?

⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15

⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au

⨰ warnings: profanity, descriptions of violence and torture

⨰ wordcount: 4.4k

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⧖⧗Circa Opal⧗⧖

Darkness.

You’ve enveloped yourself in darkness.

It’s hard to breathe under the covers, but it’s like you’ve crawled into a cave. You feel safe inside. So you pretend you’re back in Solaria, in your scarlet tent, hiding under your cotton blankets, wearing your Solarian uniform. You pretend it’s been a difficult day on the battlefield and now that the adrenaline rush has faded, you’re left with body aches and fatigue. You pretend the General—Yoongi—is on his way to invite you to dinner. When he comes in, you’ll act surprised, although you already suspected he’d come. Then, the two of you would walk side by side towards the cooking tent where a large cauldron would contain the porridge of the day. You’d make a small conversation with him, but even so, the moment would feel so big. You imagine he’d ask you how the battle went for you, and he’d secretly hint at the fact that he doesn’t want you to go again. You’d tell him it was fine, but he’d gently press you until you tell him everything you really felt: the terror, the stress, the unbelievable amount of sheer adrenaline. He’d listen intently and afterward, he’d tell you he’s glad you got out alive. But the imagination abruptly melts away into darkness when there is a knock on the door.

You hear a muffled, yet silvery voice: “May I come in?”

Wonderful timing. Just when you were having an entire fantasy about another man.

“Yes—” You stop yourself before you can call him ‘sir,’ and quickly, you pull the covers off your head to pretend you hadn’t just been sulking in the bed for the past—who knows how long it’s been?

The Darlaean General walks in.

You realize now that you may have to accept the fact that you will never be able to read this man. He’s as stoic as ever, but at least he’s not in his intimidating Darlaean uniform anymore. Without his fur-collared cape and stiff uniform, he looks almost normal in his plain silk shirt and dark gray slacks. The silver sword sheathed in his belt is an anomaly, however. It seems that he always carries it around. At least around you. Does he still think of you as a threat? Is he secretly waiting for you to mess up? What if one more mistake leads to your beheading? But he wouldn’t do that… would he?

You begin to nervously fiddle with your necklace, wondering if he decided to change his mind about his previous generosity. What if he’s coming to put you away behind bars?

But contrary to your thoughts, the Darlaean General halts at the foot of your bed and speaks: “I thought you ought to know. The memory potion will be ready in three days’ time. I’ve also managed to convince the king to postpone the ceremony of your arrival the day after your memories should be recovered. Stalling any more than that and he would’ve been suspicious.”

This is definitely not what you expected him to say. So you blink, face completely blank. It’s silent for a moment, but even in that minute of silence, the awkwardness in the air is painful. And maybe you don’t want to appear rude or maybe you want to put an end to the uncomfortable silence so you say thank you—except your voice comes out in a hideous croak that surprises you so much your eyes widen.

He doesn’t react at all. For a second, you think he might just invite himself to sit on your bed again and initiate some sort of small talk. And for a second, you panic. Because as bad as it sounds, you don’t want him to. Not because you don’t like him, and not because he makes you feel uncomfortable, but because you need some time alone. Maybe you need to be alone until you get your memories back. Maybe all you want to do is dwell in your fantasies and memories of Solaria until you can’t anymore—until you remember who were you in Darlae. Maybe spend these last moments with Yoongi—

Thankfully, it seems that the Darlaean General also has no intentions of small talk. He glances at you, nothing showing in his black eyes, before walking out of your room without another word. This time, however, the door shuts lightly, and the last thing you see is a mysterious flash of royal blue glinting from his sword.

Strange.

Something about the color feels so familiar yet out of reach, but what can you do about it, anyway? It’ll come to you when they force you to take the potion. But are they really forcing you? Deep, deep down, aren’t you curious too? You’ve seen glimpses of your memories in your dreams. You’ve seen how in love you used to be with the Darlaean General.

You remember running across a meadow with him, remember him clasping on your necklace from behind, remember fighting with him, remember crying in front of a tombstone with him by your side… Yet it’s different now. You see yourself repeating the same scenes with someone else.

“I could have gone in to tell her the same thing, sir,” Seokjin tells Jungkook as soon as he exits your room. “Or you could have asked her lady-in-waiting to do it.”

It sounds like his lieutenant is reprimanding him, but since Seokjin means well, Jungkook decides to let it go, only shaking his head. “I had to see how she was doing.”

“But you didn’t even ask, sir, did you?”

“No.” He thinks for a bit, before deciding to indulge Seokjin in his theory. “She misses Solaria. She was swaddled in her blankets when I walked in. I believe she must have been sulking under the covers. She did that quite often.”

Seokjin looks unsure. “She… misses Solaria…?”

“It’s unfathomable; I know,” Jungkook answers and refuses to elaborate further. “Tell her lady-in-waiting to bring her the duck roast dinner to her chambers.” He turns on his heel to leave, but when his lieutenant speaks, he stops immediately in his tracks.

“Are you sure we should be pampering her, sir?” Seokjin asks, eyebrows downturning. “She’s Solarian, as far as we know. As far as she knows, too.”

A surge of anger shoots from his toes to the top of Jungkook’s head. He whirls around, eyes darker than before, posture straightening so that he’s towering over his subordinate. “Don’t,” he seethes, voice impossibly quiet and strained. “Don’t fucking call her that.”

“I-I’m sorry, sir. F-Forgive m—”

“She did what she did there to survive. You will not judge her for it, Kim Seokjin. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Seokjin lowers his head. “My apologies, sir.”

“Relay my orders to her lady-in-waiting,” Jungkook says sharply. He walks away, and this time, even when he hears Seokjin reply, he doesn’t stop.

You’ve left behind so much. And the worst part about it? You never even got to say goodbye.

Though the blankets over your legs are quite thick and fluffy, they don’t feel natural at all. Occasionally, you see a small, white feather that pops out of the duvet, and it disconcerts you every time. You hope that they’re not real.

You miss the natural warmth of the crackling campfires in Alder, the natural warmth of Heli, too. You wish he were here with you, so you could wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his soft, blazing fur. You miss the morning walks at the edge of the forest, the simplicity of your own tent, the nature, the greenery… the white pansies, which blossom year-round thanks to the earth mediums.

Oh, Doyun.

You miss talking to her. It’s been so long. Will she even answer you now that you’re in enemy territory? She must hate you too. She must think that you’re a liar, a cheat, a horrible person. She had believed in you when no one else had, and this is how you repay her? By proving her wrong? Wherever she is, if she can even see or even hear your thoughts, she must wish death upon you. It’s your people who’ve killed her and her girlfriend, after all.

“You’re being silly, you know.”

“D-Doyun!” you gasp, so startled that your legs tangle in your sheets.

She’s smiling, though there’s no mischief in her grin today. “Long time no see, huh?”

“How are you here?” you ask, not knowing whether to feel relieved or surprised.

“Hm, I guess you can say I’m everywhere,” she says. “The spirit world has no limits.”

“I suppose it doesn’t,” you say. “Though I wouldn’t know.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” she says with a laugh. “You’re not dead.”

“I might as well be,” you say. “I don’t know what to do, Doyun.”

“I can confidently say that not many have been in your position,” she says. “But I think you’ll make it through somehow. You’re strong, Y/N. Sometimes, I think you forget that.”

“I don’t know…” you whisper. “I really don’t know. I’m so conflicted all the time—and it’s barely been a full 24 hours since I’ve been here. I keep thinking about Solaria more and more, now that I know I can’t go back. And it makes me rethink everything about myself. It… It almost makes me wish I never threatened the General, er, Yoongi to be able to fight in battle. None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t been so stubborn. Now he probably hates me. You probably hate me too, deep down inside.”

“Two things,” Doyun says, holding up two fingers. “One, no, I don’t hate you. It’s the quite opposite, really. I don’t care what you are, Y/N. Darlaean, Solarian, who gives a shit? When you’re dead, you realize how stupid everything we did when we were alive was. Including the damn war. Flaming hell. Still can’t believe I was a lieutenant for such a stupid cause. And two? I see you’re on a first-name basis with Yoongi now.”

Your face heats up. “I suppose I am,” you manage to say quite straightforwardly even though your heart beats a little faster inside your chest. “And thank you,” you say. “I needed to hear that.”

“But unlike me, you won’t die any time soon, so you need to give a shit about the war,” Doyun says. “You were high-ranking on both sides, so you have the choice,” she declares. “Who do you think deserves to win?”

It’s such a simple question, but you can’t even begin to fathom how you could answer it. And just when you’re about to confess to Doyun that you don’t know. there’s a knock on your door.

Your eyes widen, but Doyun only smiles. She gives you a parting nod before she fades away into nothingness and you’re left in solitude once again.

“Who is it?” you answer, having an inkling that it won’t be the Darlaean General.

“It’s your lady-in-waiting, Miss,” a foreign voice calls from the other side of the door.

A lady-in-waiting? You’ve never heard of such a thing. You’re unsure what to expect. Does she know you’ve lost your memories? The Darlaean General never mentioned anything about her. Does this mean you’ll have to play along? He told you not to arouse suspicion, which is mildly difficult to do if you don’t remember anything.

“I have your dinner, Miss,” the clear voice says again. It’s obvious now that a lady-in-waiting must be some fancy term for a worker. You imagine a younger woman behind the door—one with round eyes and full cheeks, at least judging from her voice. “May I come in?”

“Y-Yes!” you say, feeling quite stupid for not offering her to do so earlier. “Oh, of course.”

The door opens and you realize you’d been completely wrong. A tall, older-looking woman walks into your room, holding a massive tray table filled with steaming piles of food. She has several wrinkles on her face, especially on the forehead, and her hair is streaked with gray. Unlike your frilly nightgown, she has on a plain, gray frock that hangs off of her figure rather shapelessly.

“May I?” she asks, and when you nod, she sets the table down on your bed, right in front of you. You stare at the food. How can you eat all of this by yourself? Surely, this is a meal for five others. In fact, this looks like a meal for royalty!

There is a silver bowl filled with cooked wild rice and steamed peas, drizzled with a bright yellow mystery sauce. Right next to it sits a small cauldron and in it, there looks to be creamy mushroom stew, topped with an herb you recognize as rosemary. It smells heavenly, its steam rising up into the air in wispy coils. On the silver platter closest to you, there is an assortment of bread, but not just any bread—sweet bread that boasts thick jam and powdery sugar and shiny glazes. Your mouth waters just looking at it. But there is one dish that makes you blanch when you see it. It’s the centerpiece—the star of the show—but it makes you feel sick in the stomach.

They’d given you some sort of roasted bird. It’s been browned, possibly slow-cooked in hot flames, so that it’s completely unrecognizable. How could they do such a thing? You feel bile rising up your throat.

“What is it, Miss? Is everything all right?” your lady-in-waiting asks in worry. “You look a little sick.”

“I-I’m… I’m all right,” you say, attempting to keep a straight face. “It’s just… Yes, I’ve missed Darlaean food.”

“Oh, Miss,” your lady-in-waiting says. “I’m so sorry.” She looks like she means it, too, which is what makes you feel worse about your lie. “Anything you want, I’ll have it prepared for you.”

“That’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “I’d just… I’d like to be alone for a while.”

She looks at you with so much pity that you feel worse. “Very well, Miss,” she says. “But please, ring for me if you please.”

When she closes the door behind her, you take the platter serving the roasted bird and set it aside—somewhere you can’t see it. Then, you take a couple of deep, soothing breaths. Doyun told you that you’re strong. So you’re not going to break down over a dead bird. You’re going to act like it’s fine. You’ll continue on with your dinner as if nothing happened. But sweat drips down the back of your neck. You pretend it’s not there.

The silverware is too heavy in your hands, and you hate that you can see your reflection on them. But how can you be complaining? When you’ve just been given a meal for royalty? Feeling a little shameful, you decide to dip your spoon into the mushroom stew first. It’s hot, but not enough to burn your tongue. The flavor is rich and a little nutty, too. It’s hard to describe, but it’s delicious. You reach for another spoonful before you turn your attention to the wild rice. It melts in your mouth. The yellow mystery sauce turns out to be quite sweet, and it complements the butteriness of the rice and the softness of the peas. You try the flakey pastries last, savoring the sweet and tart fillings on your tongue. The food is so good that you ravenously finish it all—except for the roast bird. Once you’re done, you set the roast bird back on the table and then stand up to move the table near your door. It’s mainly to keep the bird out of your sight, but it’s also for convenience, so your lady-in-waiting can easily take it with her.

It’s only after a few minutes that you feel immense guilt for consuming the food. You wonder if the other Darlaeans are eating this well or if this is a privilege granted to you by your past position. But soon, you realize the funny feeling in your stomach is not guilt but really a call for the toilet.

The Solarian toilets were really stone holes in the ground, which you didn’t mind because they were cleaned quite regularly. You never really thought twice about it, for a toilet is a toilet. But the Darlaean toilet is extraordinary. First of all, the room in which the toilet is held is massive. The floors are made of white marble and the walls seem to gleam in silver. An enormous marble bathtub sits near the edge of the room, which looks ostentatious compared to the clay holes in the ground that you bathed in Solaria. Then, there’s the toilet—a regal-looking marble contraption nothing like you’ve ever seen before.

The entire toilet room is so clean and pristine that you feel filthy just setting foot inside. Is this really all for you? How is this connected to your bedroom? You wonder who you used to be to have indulged so shamelessly in these luxuries. Who did you think you were? How much did you change since then? If your past self knew who you were now, would she be displeased that you’re sullying her possessions?

By the time you come back to your bedroom, the table with your finished food is gone. As good as it was, you’re not sure if you’ll miss it that much. The richness of the Darlaean dishes did not mesh well with your stomach, which had gotten so used to eating foods without much seasoning. You’re not exactly looking forward to another toilet room adventure.

You also realize, as you sink back into your bed, that you never caught your lady-in-waiting’s name. It feels wrong—to have someone so dedicated to serving you. Even at the Min Estate, you took the time to learn the workers’ names. How could your lady-in-waiting refer to herself as just that? Her job? Did the past you even know her name? Would it be strange to ask her now? She would find it suspicious, wouldn’t she?

Your hands reach up to cover your eyes. On one part, you hope the memory potion is finished early—just so you can finally understand everything in this room full of memories. But another part of you wants to be Solarian as long as possible, for you know if you begin to recall your past, things won’t be as simple anymore. Sooner or later, you might be forced to reveal Solarian secrets. Watching the violet swirls of the magic canvas on your ceiling and worrying to no end, you doze off into a restless slumber.

“How did she enjoy the food?” Jungkook asks, stepping in the way of your lady-in-waiting, who nearly drops the table upon his sudden arrival. She attempts to salute him as he commands everyone to do in his presence but fails to do so while carrying the table.

“F-Forgive me, sir,” she squeaks. “She has eaten everything except for the roast duck.”

Jungkook frowns. “Did she mention why?”

“No, sir,” your lady-in-waiting says, lowering her head. “She did look a little unwell. I supposed it had something to do with her… arrival.”

“Yes, of course,” Jungkook says, though he knows that’s only the surface. “Thank you,” he says, which seems to relax some of the tension on the old woman’s shoulders. “Ready her breakfast at 7:30 tomorrow. Serve only her favorites.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And send word for Lieutenant Kim to see me in my office.” She nods her head in understanding. “Well, then you’re dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.” She scurries away, down along the stone corridor, her light footsteps echoing behind her.

Jungkook watches her leave, unsure if he should tell your most trusted servant the truth—that you’ve lost your memories and believed you were a helluvian for three years. But in a split second, he decides against it. He’d rather contain the number of people who knows the truth—for your own safety. And his, of course. If the king finds out Jungkook’s been keeping such a big secret, his highness would demote Jungkook without an ounce of hesitation. The king wouldn’t hurt you, however. He’d never hurt you. It makes Jungkook feel a little sour, so he stops thinking about it.

He begins walking down the corridor in the opposite direction, his sword swishing straight back and forth with each step. He’s heard the numerous rumors of your arrival already. People are quick and rather inventive. It hasn’t even been a full day since you’ve been back, but he’s heard about eight different versions of your cursed time in Solaria. You were tortured for three years but managed to strike a deal with the helluvian General, tricking him into letting you fight in a battle, only to be taken back to Darlae in one piece. You were tortured for three years but managed to escape onto the battlefield disguised as a helluvian soldier, hoping to be recaptured by Darlae. You took it upon yourself to spy on the helluvians, but they caught you and tortured you until you escaped, barely alive. The stories go on and on, each one even stranger than the last. Jungkook thinks they’re all bullshit.

He soon arrives at a magnificent doorway, one with a beautiful arch and a dark wooden door with a silver knob. Opening the door, he walks in to find his office exactly the way he’d left it. Good. No one’s allowed in here without his permission. He absolutely despises it when anybody interrupts him when he’s working.

Jungkook sinks into his leather chair, crossing his legs and leaning back to stare at the high ceiling. There’s a woven canvas up there, identical to the one in your room with its deep purple threads, undulating like the ocean waves. Those had been a gift from your parents. He’d always appreciated the canvas. It’s a simple divination charm, something that helps you see the future—if you know how to read it, that is. You’d never cared too much about it; it was always decoration for you, and maybe that’s why you and your parents don’t talk too often. You were never too good at divination. Not like he was.

He sighs, checking the black pendulum clock on the wall in front of him. Seokjin should be arriving any minute now. He counts down the seconds: five, four, three, two—

There’s a knock on the door.

“Permission to enter, sir?” Seokjin’s voice comes from behind the door.

“Granted.”

Jungkook’s loyal lieutenant walks in with a slower gait than usual, staring at his shoes. He’s still ashamed from earlier. A small part of Jungkook wants him to be, for how dare he call you a helluvian? Yet another part of him thinks it’s stupid that his lieutenant dwells on such small scoldings; he should know by now that these reprimands are not to be taken personally. And it’s as if Seokjin hears Jungkook’s thoughts because the Lieutenant looks up and salutes, two fingers pressing onto his forehead. “You called for me, sir?”

“I did,” Jungkook confirms. “I need your knowledge.”

“Yes, of course, sir.”

“You’ve tortured your fair share of helluvians, Seokjin. So tell me, what do they eat?”

“Sir?” Seokjin looks puzzled, staring up at Jungkook with furrowed brows and a slightly agape mouth.

“Answer my question, Lieutenant.”

“Well,” Seokjin says, slowly and steadily, but most importantly, cautiously, “the Solarians are known to be quite primitive in their diet, sir. They tend not to eat meat. Or even foods derived from animals.”

Jungkook lifts an eyebrow. “How tasteless.”

“You can imagine how easy it is for us to torture them,” Seokjin nods in agreement. “Boil a fat pig in a pot and make them watch. They’ll squeal like they’re the ones being boiled alive.”

“Spare me the details, Seokjin.” Jungkook leans forward, an elbow placed on his mahogany desk as he rests his chin on his fist. He remains expressionless, but even Seokjin can sense that he’s in trouble again. “So, tell me, Lieutenant, if you knew the helluvian diet, why didn’t you stop me when I ordered Y/N the traditional roast duck dinner?”

The Lieutenant begins to stutter. “W-Well, well I… I… I apologize, sir,” he says, having taught before that anything else would be considered an excuse. “Was she all right, sir?”

“No, Seokjin, her lady-in-waiting informed me that she looked unwell.” Jungkook sighs, leaning back in his chair again and running his fingers through his hair. “But it’s partly my fault, too, Lieutenant, which you ought to know. I only wanted to treat her to her favorite meal.”

“You couldn’t have known, sir,” Seokjin says apologetically.

Jungkook shakes his head. “I’ve been agitated since her arrival, so forgive me in advance if I am curt with you in the future.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s all I wanted to talk to you about. Run the meeting with the officials for me, today. I’ll be busy with the memory potion in the hospital wing,” Jungkook says. “And make sure Y/N’s breakfast tomorrow contains no meat. Tell her lady-in-waiting for me.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get that done as soon as possible.”

“I can always trust you, Seokjin. Leave at your leisure, then.”

“Sir?”

“Yes, Seokjin?”

“You haven’t eaten anything since the battle this morning,” the Lieutenant says. “And what about your midday nap?”

“I am aware of the inconsistencies in my schedule,” Jungkook sighs. “But how can I eat with my girlfriend in that state? How can I nap in peace? No, Lieutenant Kim. I will not rest until she has her memories back. The entire nation rests on her shoulders. This is her position, not mine. I’m on borrowed time, Seokjin.” Something about the way Jungkook says it sounds bitter, however, and as expected, Seokjin catches on.

“Borrowed time or not, sir, you make a fine General, and I will always serve you.”

Jungkook stares at his lieutenant, then he just nods, standing from his seat. “Well, then, Seokjin. Why don’t you accompany me to the hospital wing?”

“Of course, sir! Right away!”

As the two of them walk side by side down the stone corridors, Jungkook becomes lost in his thoughts. Your arrival will change things. That much, he knows from the charmed canvas he read just minutes before. But earlier this morning, when he was having breakfast and something inside told him to change his plans and lead the battle today, that had been on his own accord, not the divination charm. He can’t help but think it had something to do with fate. You and he were fated to meet again.

So you’ll come around; he’s sure of it. You’ve always been good at mending broken things. You fixed him when he was at his lowest point. It’s finally time to return the favor. He’ll cure you from the helluvians; he’ll make you realize that nothing is stronger than Darlaean blood.

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⨰ a/n: eheheheheh i can't wait to introduce the darlaean magic system!!! i also can't wait for the ~flashback~ sequence 👀

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

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jungkxook · 4 years ago

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—the love bug. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ genre: spiderman!jungkook + fluff / smut

⟶ words: 20,649 (sorry)

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: every night, jungkook puts on the red mask and flings himself confidently into perilous danger; but that same heart of steel that fuels his will and spirit seems to fail him whenever it comes to you

⟶ warnings: coarse language, mild violence, jungkook is really shy and cute and dumb bc he’s so smitten, also jungkook’s butt in spandex is nice, needy/clingy sex, oral sex (fem!receiving), face riding, fingering, riding, missionary, unprotected sex

⟶ disclaimer: this is a repost of a fic i had on my old blog!

You see Jungkook every night without fail.

When the sun has set below the distant horizon and plunges the world into a formidable darkness, driving most ordinary civilians to seek shelter in their homes, he stumbles into the café tucked cozily on the corner of a busy street in Lower Manhattan. The concrete city is still very much alive in a harmonious mix of sirens and the hum of cars but is subdued, muffling under the night sky and is most susceptible at this time to misconduct. Usually, at this point of night, the café you work at is nearly empty, save for a few stragglers that huddle tiredly at certain round tables. Most times, these are students from the university you attend just around the bend, whose weary eyes peer over the laptop in front of them as they meticulously work on an essay due the next morning, only fueled by the cup of coffee next to them.

Though you’ve seen Jungkook plenty of times around the campus of your school, he never once enters the café for the sole purpose of late night studying or writing. Instead, as you come to find over the course of many strange nights, Jungkook stumbles in through the doors sometime after 9 p.m., always with one strap of his backpack thrown over his shoulder. He always looks dishevelled, exhausted, as if he has spent the evening running all over the city of New York; and then he plops himself down into a seat by the window, burying his head in his folded arms that lean on the top of the table. Most times he orders a coffee and though he downs it the fastest you’ve ever seen, he is still somehow able to fall asleep at the table. Sometimes, he hardly ever touches the coffee and lets it grow cold as it rests next to him but he always, without a doubt, falls asleep next to it.

You never wake him. Usually, when you work the late night shifts, you are alone for a handful of hours until your next coworker arrives for their shift. You don’t mind the company anyway, even if he sleeps for most of the night. It’s comforting to at least see he’s resting, though you find yourself snickering to yourself as you watch the snoring boy when it’s just you and him alone in the café. Though you have grown up with Jungkook as your next door neighbour as a child, have attended the same schools and been in most classes together from elementary all the way to your freshman year of college now, and have watched one another mature and change, you have never really exactly gotten to know Jungkook as well as you’d like. Typically, your conversations are short and friendly, ranging from you taking his order at the café and spotting him around campus and asking if he knew the answer to a question for the homework assigned to the class you share with him.

This night isn’t any different.

You’ve become eager, always anticipating when Jungkook will walk through the doors of the café and make himself at home as he routinely does. However, just before 9 p.m. on a Thursday night, when the small bell above the door rings to signal a new arrival, you are immediately disappointed to find that it is not Jungkook. Instead, it is a crude muscular man not much older than you with tattoos that litter his arms and a star inked into the left side of his neck. The sight of him causes you to groan inwardly, forces you to straighten your back a little more, hold your chin a little higher. Most nights the café may be occupied by university students, but other nights you are forced to deal with tasteless strangers that try to intimidate you but instead give you an agonising headache.

You have seen this man before, have remembered the star tattoo and the scar just above his right eyebrow. He has come into the café before and has been the source of trouble more often than not. As the man approaches the counter in an imperious stride this time, you notice the smirk that tugs at his lips and feel the foreboding shudder that runs down your spine.

“Evenin’,” You greet. “Can I get you anything?”

The man’s eyes flicker to the menu above the counter, as if he is pondering what to order. He looks back down at you and then leans against the counter, closing the distance between him and you causing you to take a step back.

“How are you doing tonight, sweetheart?” he asks. “Been awhile, huh? Did you miss me?”

Forcing a fixed smile on your face, you reply shortly with, “I’ve been well. Can I get you anything?”

Apparently, the way you repeat your question in a firm manner doesn’t act as well of a hint as you had hoped for the man. He’s smirking wickedly, clearly enjoying the strain he puts you through.

“I know what you can get me, sweetheart,” he drawls. “When do you get off? Maybe we can meet round back and I can show you what a real man is like.”

“No thanks.”

“Playing hard to get, hm?” he muses. “I wonder what else that pretty little mouth of yours can do.”

Though you are appalled, you swallow your nerves and narrow your eyes into a glare. It can tell you to kindly fuck off, you grimace to yourself. Instead, you turn your back to him, pretending to occupy yourself with cleaning the counter as you mumble blankly, “Not interested.”

The man chuckles. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s just a little fun━”

“She said she’s not interested.”

The familiar voice that interrupts the man causes your heart to leap blithely in your chest and makes you realize you have been so caught up with the man by the counter that you hardly noticed the way the bell rings a second time as the newcomer enters the shop. Standing just behind the man is Jungkook, whose carob hair sticks out in messy tufts and weary eyes are laced with an underlying menace. The man looks from you to Jungkook and must assume the confrontation isn’t worth a fight. The smug smile remains on his face even as he shrugs, muttering something along the lines of, “Whatever, man. I was just trying to have some fun.”

Whether or not Jungkook has scared him away, the man relents and retreats to the door of the café, disappearing outside once more. As soon as the door shuts behind him, you come to realize that you are now alone in the café with Jungkook with nothing but the sound of the flat screen t.v that hangs in a corner behind the counter, faintly playing on the news channel.

“You okay?” he asks, catching your attention. “He didn’t do anything, did he?”

“Oh, no. No, I’m fine,” You say. “Thanks for that, by the way. Though I could’ve handled it myself.”

Jungkook chuckles. “I don’t doubt that but it’s nice to get a little help sometimes.”

You smile up at the boy who towers above you and, despite the fatigue that droops his eyes, his pink lips still unfurl into a wide, radiant grin that brightens his face.

“How long are you here for tonight?” he asks.

“Till close. Then I have to head home and put together a powerpoint for psych,” You yawn as if to emphasize your boredom. “What can I get you? The usual?”

Jungkook looks at you as if you are his saving grace. The smile stretches further across his cheeks as he nods. “Please?”

“Will do. Sit tight, I’ll be right over.”

You spin around from behind the counter, almost immediately jumping to work as you rummage through the shelves. When you’re finished making his order that consists solely of a medium black coffee with two sugars and turn back around to face him, you find him seated at a table off to the side, not far from the counter. His backpack lays discarded on the ground by his feet and his elbow rests on top of the surface of the table, his chin nestled in the palm of his hand; his eyes are fixated on the television screen hanging just ahead and, for once upon entering the café past dusk, he doesn’t lack a sense of emotion. Instead, his brows knit in concern as he is engrossed by whatever is happening on the news.

As you approach his table with his coffee in your hand, you crane your neck to look up at the screen and what has seemingly caught his interest. On one side of the screen is a female news reporter in a pink blouse and gray blazer; on the second half of the screen, you see a familiar flash of striking red and blue that swings from building to building from an, albeit, shaky recording from a passerby’s phone.

“And in other news,” The woman who speaks has a strong, smooth voice as she stares ahead at the camera with a rather sour look, “the masked mystery man, otherwise known as Spider-Man, was spotted earlier this morning when he put a stop to a robbery in an apartment in Queens just before noon. Though most would argue that Spider-Man is New York’s very own masked hero, the New York City Police Department are still searching for the identity of whom they call a vigilante, saying he is causing mayhem in━”

“Some guy, huh?” You muse pensively, sliding the coffee onto the counter next to Jungkook. “This spider guy or whatever.”

The boy in front of you glances down meekly at the coffee and back up at you. His eyes flicker to the screen hanging in the corner once more. “You mean Spider-Man?”

Nodding, you say, “Yeah. He comes out of nowhere two years ago and now he’s everywhere. What do you think of him helping with all this dangerous crime stuff?”

“Ah, well, that’s his thing,” Jungkook says, shrugging. “If he couldn’t handle it, he wouldn’t be helping solve a lot of the city’s crimes. I think he’s pretty cool, y’know, for a masked guy. I definitely don’t think he’s a vigilante or━ or a criminal.”

“You talk about him as if you know him,” You giggle.

Jungkook’s eyes widen for a split second and then he’s furiously shaking his head. “Know him? No, no, of course not! I’m just a… Just a big fan ━ and an even bigger fan of Iron Man.”

He picks up the coffee next to him and lifts it to his mouth for a quick sip, nearly burning his tongue but swallowing his curses.

“I like him,” You confess at long last. “He’s interesting. I think he’s just what we need at a time like this.”

Just then, the bell above the door rings once more and a small group of friends wander into the shop, each carrying backpacks and heavy textbooks. They sit at a table off in the corner and you sigh as you look back down at Jungkook.

“That’s my cue,” You say. “Gotta go, but have a good night, okay? And, Jungkook? You really should get some more sleep.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to respond but you are already turning away and so he sits back in his seat, defeated once more. He watches as you stride happily to the group of friends sitting at a table to take their order, your hair bouncing slightly under the fluorescent lights. He folds his arms over the top of his table and buries his head in them, though he sneaks one last glance up at you. Despite his eyes itching with sleep, he pries them open just a second longer to watch you smile as you speak with the students and it is the last thing he sees before he slips off into a light and contented sleep.

As you step out into the cool, early Autumn night and shut the door of the café behind you to lock it, the single thought most prominent in your mind is sleep.

You’re exhausted, but the homework still waiting to be completed in your home is the only thing that pushes you to stay awake. You hurry to fish the store keys out of your coat pocket and, with a euphonious chime, use them to lock the front door, ignoring the way the cold breeze nips at your cheeks. You grasp the collar of your coat tighter around your body and then hike the strap of your own bag further up your shoulder as you turn to walk away.

Jungkook had fallen asleep as per usual after your short conversation with him and then vanished an hour some time before you closed, waving a final farewell to you. The rest of your night had been rather slow, with only two more customers entering the café until each person left to venture back out into the cold and leave you alone. To finally be freed from the confinements of the café has you breathing in the crisp air in a deep breath. Exhaling placidly, you cross the street and begin making your way toward your one bedroom apartment which is only a fifteen minute walk away from both the café and your school.

You aren’t quite sure how long you have been walking for when you begin to notice the sound of footsteps behind you. In fact, if you had been listening more intently since the second you left the café, you would be able to recall the fact that these same heavy footsteps had been following along behind you since then. You don’t necessarily see the problem at hand just yet, thinking it to be just another innocent passerby who is coincidentally walking the same way as you. After all, New York City has a tremendously huge population.

You take a left, turning the corner of the street to continue along the path to your home. The only light that illuminates the way are the silvery wisps from the moon that hangs high in the night sky and the flickering street lamps that you pass occasionally. You take another left and strain your ears and hear the sound of footsteps again. Maybe you were overreacting, maybe it was just a random passerby, but most cities weren’t foreign to that of strange stalkers. Holding your breath, you slowly glance over your shoulder at the figure who has been following you and spot a man just a few paces away, the hood of his sweater drawn over his head.

You immediately turn back around, eyes wide as panic begins to settle in. You take another left, then a right, cross the street and retrace your steps back towards the café and each time you hear the heavy footsteps; each time they quicken in pace as does yours. You hadn’t even realized how briskly you were walking until you glance over your shoulder for a second time and see the man once more. Suddenly, you turn a sharp corner and race ahead before coming across an empty and darkened alleyway. You slip into its shadows, your heart hammering wildly against your chest and in your ears, and continue to walk until the brick wall at the very end of the alleyway comes into view. A dead end.

You turn back around and begin walking forward before freezing suddenly. If you go back out there, that man could still be lurking; if you stay in the alleyway, you could hide until you think it’s safe. Your eyes flicker around for something to cower behind and just before you notice the dumpster off to the side, you see a shadow in the corner of your eye. Turning around, you come face-to-face with the hooded man who is all but blocking your path to freedom. Except now, you’re able to stare into his face past the silhouette that his hood draws on his features. Now, you can see the star tattoo on his neck, the scar above his right eyebrow and an image of the man from the café only hours ago flashes across your eyes.

“You,” You gasp. “What do you want from me?”

Behind his hood, you can see him smirk slyly. “I just want to chat to you, babe. What are you doing all by yourself out here?”

Your eyes narrow into a scrutinizing glare. You step forward to walk around him but he grabs onto you, his arm snaking around your waist as he drawls, “Not so fast. I’ve been meaning to get you alone like this.”

Just as you open your mouth to shout out for help, the noise of sudden scuffling in the alley causes the man to stop. It comes with the rustling of the wind and could have easily been mistaken for the sound of a trash can falling over or paper tumbling loosely but it is also unmistakable the sound of footsteps. The man must notice something before you do as he squints further into the alleyway, muttering a small, “What the hell━”

“Come on, dude, that’s seriously no way to treat a girl!”

The foreign voice that drifts into the alleyway seems to startle not only yourself, but the man in front of you. His grip loosens on you slightly as he cranes his neck to look amongst the shadows.

“Well, anyone, for that matter.”

The stranger’s voice is youthful, most likely belonging to a boy around your age. It is oddly calm and nonchalant despite the situation that is unfolding before him, and then he clicks his tongue disapprovingly. As your eyes flicker open, you follow the source of the sound towards the blocked end of the alleyway still veiled by the darkness. Had this person always been there or had they really materialized out of thin air?

“Who’s there?” The man in front of you grunts. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

“And why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?” The voice retaliates. He pauses as if he is waiting for an answer and then he is speaking up again. “Let me guess. You’re gonna tell me to screw off or something right? God, you guys are always so predictable and yet you never make it any easier for me.”

The man scowls, his hand drops from your throat as he turns to the looming darkness and hisses gruffly, “Mind your own business, punk━”

Before he can carry on, something flings out of the darkness and lands on the man’s face in a blink of an eye. He immediately lets go of you, grunting in confusion and flailing his arms about. As you drop to the ground, you subsequently bang your head hard against the brick wall and groan in pain, though you’re able to catch a glimpse of what the man is trying so desperately to claw off his face before your vision goes blurry. It is something thin and wispy, made of silver glistening strands that resembles, oddly enough, a spider’s web. As the man fumbles into the darkness, arms swinging clenched fists wildly about.

“Over here!” The boy taunts. “Missed me again! You know, you’re not very good at this.”

You struggle to climb to your feet, clutching your head in agony as you squint into the darkness. From where you are, you can only see the man fumbling around uselessly, the other figure still concealed by the darkness. As you attempt to get a better look, you hear the boy grunt in pain and catch sight of the man just after he had swung his fist into this person’s face, while his other hand had successfully been able to finally rip the mesh off his face.

“Okay, ow, that hurt,” The boy admits.

But before he or the man can continue on, you’re springing forward, mustering all your strength and courage into one impromptu movement. You grab your bag that had been discarded on the ground, heavy with a few school textbooks you had brought with you; you clutch it tightly, race up behind the man, and swing it hard at his head. His actions come to a sudden halt, he staggers forward, and immediately collapses to the ground, unconscious. Then finally, plunged into the darkness of the alleyway, you slowly look up to face the eye of your helper and are met, instead, with a flash of red and blue.

Standing before you, adorned head to toe in a tight suit is none other than the mysterious masked vigilante. He’s much taller in person than you expected, and much more muscular too, though with his face hidden beyond a mask, you can’t say much else about him. Instead, you gasp as you stare up at him in astonishment.

“Hey, nice hit!” he says, an apparent grin in his voice. “That was pretty awesome━”

“It’s you!” You exclaim.

“Me?” He seems confused at first but then he’s straightening up. “Oh, right, right. It’s me! Just, uh, your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man. Rescuing damsels in distress is kinda my thing.”

Your amusement for the mysterious hero is quick to fade, however, in wake of the throbbing pain on your head. It makes you aware of the fact that your knees have since grown weak, your mind spinning. When you take a step forward, you are suddenly faint and stumble over your feet, tripping to the ground. Before you can hit the pavement, the boy swoops forward and into view, catching you swiftly in his arms and holding you up.

“Hey, hey, stay with me,” he says. “Oh man, we gotta get you home. Can you tell me where you live?”

You can feel your lips moving in response, most likely informing him foolishly of the apartment complex you live in. Though this boy has been noted on performing acts of bravery and fighting against crime, he’s still a stranger ━ and, even more warily so, a complete enigma. There was no reason to trust him, despite him helping you only minutes ago, but in that moment you are weak and exhausted. In the very next second, you find yourself slipping off into a deep and tranquil slumber.

When you awaken the next morning, you are first greeted to the bright light of the sun that licks at your cheeks and warms your face. You note the soft plush of the mattress under you, the soft breeze that ruffles your hair, and when you pry your eyes open, you find yourself laying on the bed in your room; your window opened. Just when you begin to think the night before was all just some elaborate dream, you feel the slight tinge of pain in the back of your head and, despite it all ━ despite the pain and despite the memory strange man who had followed you ━ you smile softly at the thought of the boy in red and blue.

The next time you see Jungkook is on that Thursday.

Truthfully, you’ve been eager to find him around campus if only to tell him about your encounter with New York’s masked hero. You hadn’t told many people, safe for your closest friends, though you’re keen to see Jungkook’s reaction as you’ve learned he’s a fan of this spider guy. Wednesday is the only day you have a class with him and so as soon as the boring lecture for your anthropology class is finished, you spot him striding casually out the door and catch up to him just as he’s walking down the smooth pavement of the campus sidewalk.

Word, however, seems to spread fast amongst the friends in your year and whereas you only told one of your friends on that previous Friday about your encounter in the alleyway, Jungkook has already heard the story through misconstrued words at least a dozen times, through whisperings of people that aren’t even your friends. It’s a novelty, apparently, to witness something like this strange masked man. But, naturally, Jungkook is rather surprised when he hears your familiar dulcet voice calling his name.

“Jungkook!”

He whirls around to face you and smiles as he sees your figure walking towards him, adorned in leggings and a baggy school shirt to match the evening’s warm weather. You’re smiling at him, almost as radiantly as the sun that it almost quite literally blinds him as he doesn’t seem to notice the other girl walking just in front of him. He bumps into her before he can step out of the way and hastily apologizes before turning back to you only to see you giggling.

“What can I do for you on this fine evening?” he asks as you approach.

“I’ve been meaning to find you since Friday,” You say. “You’ll never believe what happened on Thursday.”

“I’ve been hearing it all week since then.”

“You have? Who told you?”

This causes Jungkook to chuckle lightly. He hikes the usual one strap of his backpack further up his shoulder as the two of you begin to walk again, “Y/N, everyone’s been talking about it. I guess no one can keep their mouth shut anymore. So tell me: what was this Spider-Man guy like?”

A small smile stretches across your face at the name, your teeth instinctively biting down on your lower lip in an attempt to hide in. Was it just Jungkook or did he see the slightest of pink pinch at your cheeks? When you look back up at him, your eyes are shimmering.

“Honestly?” You reply sheepishly. “I think I’m crushing on him pretty hard.”

Jungkook nearly chokes. When he speaks next, his voice is slightly higher than usual, so he clamps his mouth shut, clears his throat, and tries again. “You don’t say? He must be a real charmer then. Do you, uh, even know him well enough to crush on him?”

“It’s strange,” You remark. “You’re right ━ I don’t even know him and yet I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since then. I guess chivalry isn’t dead after all, huh?”

“What even happened?” Jungkook asks.

“Remember that guy you scared away Thursday night? I got into some trouble with him━ but don’t worry!” You throw in the last few words when you see Jungkook’s brows scrunch in concern. “Spider-Man came before anything could happen. He saved me. I owe him my life at this point.”

Jungkook notes the dreamlike tone in your voice and when he glances down at you, you’re smiling blissfully down at your scuffed Converse shoes. It’s mesmerizing to see you so content and jubilant, beaming like the sun once more that hangs in the clear cerulean blue sky. He inhales a deep breath of fresh air, smells the wafting nodes of freshly ground coffee somewhere in the distance, and exhales slowly.

Nervously rubbing the back of his neck, he looks over at you once more and asks, “Hey, um, so for that anthro project we have to do ━ I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to be partners for it?”

Your eyes light up at the proposition and you nod enthusiastically. “Sure thing. I’d love that, actually. Maybe we can meet up this Sunday to plan everything out and see who’s doing what?”

“Hey, Y/N!”

Just then, you hear the familiar sound of your friend calling your name. You glance ahead where your eyes land on a group of girls sitting on a nearby bench and you wave at them. They gesture you over and you skip ahead a few paces, turning to look at Jungkook. He smiles as he nods.

“Sorry,” You apologize sheepishly. “But Sunday at the café at noon?”

“Sounds like a date.” Jungkook reddens suddenly at the way he words his thoughts and stammers to correct himself. “Not a date! Work date. Uh━”

“It’s a date,” You giggle. “See you!”

Then you’re rushing off to join your friends, leaving Jungkook alone once more. He sighs in your wake, shakes his head at himself, and grudgingly walks away.

That night you can hardly sleep.

You blame it on the stress that comes with being a student, constantly under the strain of a multitude of assignments and upcoming tests. When the clock strikes half past one in the morning just as you are finishing typing up the last sentence of a seven page essay on your laptop (seated at your desk, where you have been for the past few hours), you decide you need a break before you go absolutely insane. Shrugging on a simple cardigan, you tiptoe out of your room, down the corridor to the elevator, ignoring the way your joints that have stiffened in place stretch in a satisfying pop. You’re stumbling out and onto the roof of your apartment building in no less than five minutes, emerging out into the open night.

It isn’t terribly cold and, after inhaling a deep breath of the refreshing air, you sigh in relief and you walk to the concrete barrier at the very edge of the roof and lean against it. Gazing out at the vibrant and lively concrete and glass buildings and skyscrapers alike that build the city of New York, with each window illuminated by a warm glow of light, seems to give you a sense of peace. You can hear the hum of cars, a distant sound of sirens, the occasional honk, and the thump of bass from somewhere in the distance to your left, all amassing into the rhythmic pulse of the city; across from you, in the building complex on the other side of the street, you can see silhouetted figures of perhaps caffeinated students or late night lovers. The sky is empty, blank and dull as it stretches on over the entirety of the city, but you can see the moon, brightly shining in all its glory, bold and proud amongst the artificial light.

A slight breeze disrupts the stillness of the roof, rustles your hair, followed by the looming feeling of not being alone. You hear the sound of footsteps landing softly on the ground and turn around slowly, casting your gaze across the seemingly empty rooftop. But you see it ━ or rather, him ━ in the shadows near the door a bit further off. It’s strange how calm you are in the moment but the presence doesn’t exactly feel intimidating to you ━ especially when you notice the flash of red and blue.

“You again?” You ask humorously.

“Sorry if I scared you.” The voice that carries with the wind towards you is familiar, youthful. “Definitely not my intention.”

“I’m not scared,” You say. “If I can recall amongst your many gritty crime fighting, you saved a cat stuck in a tree a while back.”

The boy chuckles. “Ah, well, just all a part of the job.”

“What are you doing here?” You take a step toward him and hear him retreat further into the darkness.

“Well, you’re probably going to call me weird and insane,” he says, “but I just wanted to check on you. You were pretty out of it when I dropped you off at your place.”

“You’re not stalking me now, are you?”

“No way!” he says. “I was just, y’know, in the neighbourhood. I was actually about to call it a night when I passed your apartment and then I saw you up here. Must be fate, huh?”

“Fate sure is weird,” You muse pensively, pursing your lips. You pause, squinting your eyes into the darkness. “Thanks, by the way. For helping me that night and bringing me back. Is there anyway I can repay you?”

“Repay me? Oh, no, no!” he says. “That’s not what this is all about, I promise. What I do is for the city and for the people. I can sleep better at night knowing thugs like that guy are being taken care of properly.”

“That’s a pretty commendable thing to do,” You say. “You gotta be pretty brave to put yourself in danger each night.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

There’s a smirk in his voice that stretches his words into a confident and smug drawl. You, in turn, smile bashfully. You look down at your shoes and then back up at the shadows.

“Can you step out of the dark?” You ask. “I want to see you.”

“Ah, but then that’ll ruin the mystique,” he points out. “And where’s the fun in that?”

You shake your head at him, pearly white teeth gnawing down on your lower lip to hide the smile that tugs at your mouth. You pull your cardigan tighter around your torso, ignoring the distant sound of a wailing siren.

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” he says. “I have to go but it was a pleasure meeting you━ uh, what was your name again?”

“I never told you,” You say. “And if I do, it’ll ruin the mystique, won’t it? Where’s the fun in that?”

He laughs into the night, a sound so genuine and amiable. “Fair enough. Well, it was a pleasure to meet you, despite the terrible circumstances. Try to stay out of trouble, okay? And get some sleep!”

You can hear him moving, as if preparing to leave. You step forward, mouth opening to stop him, but then he is gone, the sound of feet leaping into the air the last thing you hear from him. By the time you rush to the other side of the roof and look around frantically for any sight of him, you spot the mysterious vigilante as a tiny speck soaring from building to building. You smile as you watch him disappear amongst the horizon, bleeding into the glow of lights until he is gone, becoming one with the city altogether.

The days pass in a very typical blur.

Sunday comes and goes much too fast where both you and Jungkook work diligently for a few hours at the café before the rest of the week goes by. You hardly see Jungkook except for at night, as always past 9 p.m., when he stumbles wearily into the café and plops down in his usual seat. And, with the days passing as usual, there are still the consistent reports of sightings of this mysterious Spider-Man. Though you seem to go about your routinely oblivious days, you are all Jungkook is able to think about. You are all he usually thinks about these days, anyway, and all he is thinking about that very Wednesday when he’s supposed to be hanging out with Taehyung.

It isn’t uncommon to see Jungkook with Taehyung around campus. They have, after all, been best friends since the moment they met in their small daycare they attended together. Taehyung is more than accustomed with Jungkook’s habits and knows the boy in and out, including every secret and every crush he’s ever had (which, for the most part, has been you). That Thursday afternoon they are both sitting at the park just across from campus where most students from the school spend their time. Jungkook’s perched on the edge of the large concrete water fountain in the middle of the bustling meadow, with Taehyung reclining on his back, basking in the sun with a bag of chips on his stomach. They both spot you walking by with a friend and wave at Jungkook which causes Taehyung to roll his eyes.

“Dude,” he sighs, exasperated. “Just ask her out already. She already said she’s crushing on you.”

Jungkook looks down at his friend and shakes his head. “No, she said she’s crushing on Spider-Man. Not me.”

Taehyung, who was in the middle of shoving a handful of chips in his mouth, stops suddenly. He pushes himself up, nearly dropping the bag of chips, eyes wide as he stares at Jungkook in utter disbelief.

“Are you kidding me, dude?” He asks incredulously. “You’re the same person, you idiot.”

“But she doesn’t know that,” Jungkook explains calmly. “As far as she knows, Spider-Man is this cool dude and I’m just… I’m just me. Jungkook. Boring and not charming.”

“So then tell her the truth,” Taehyung says. “Y’know, use yourself as your own wingman.”

As he shoves another handful of chips into his mouth, Jungkook shakes his head once more. He’s already thought of this idea plenty of times before but it’s not as easy as it seems. The responsibility that comes with putting on that mask each night is followed by even greater risks for the people he’s around. Telling you the truth could only end in one way, anyway.

“I can’t do that,” Jungkook says. “What if I tell her and she’s let down?”

Taehyung would shake his head disapprovingly at his friend this time and mumble something along the lines of, “You think too much.”

And while that may be true in Jungkook’s case, Taehyung just wouldn’t understand. There is a reason Taehyung is the only person who knows about Jungkook’s secret and he is already endangering the life of his friend. To tell anyone else would only result in a much more terrible outcome for not only the people around him, but Jungkook himself. Still, though, as Jungkook settles back on the edge of the fountain and looks in the direction of the path you had vanished along, there is an inkling of a voice in the back of his mind that nags him, urges him, to tell you.

Jungkook sighs. He finds it ironic that anytime he puts on the red mask and flings himself into perilous danger, he is always confident, never once wavering, and yet when he is just himself, just another mundane passerby, that same heart of steel that fuels his will and spirit suddenly pales in comparison.

If only he could be so brave without that mask.

On Friday evening well into the night when what little stars you can see in the polluted sky begins to blend with the glowing light from building windows as far as the eye can see you find yourself at an overcrowded and clamorous party. You had been more than content with spending the start of your weekend not working but, upon entering the party, you find yourself not nearly enjoying the time as well as you had hoped you would. You’ve long since lost sight of your friends and the guy standing in the corner of the living room who had been eyeing you for most of the night had most certainly not helped with your mood ━ and, if anything, turned you off from drinking.

Albeit still slightly buzzed from the few drinks you had earlier been bestowed in the quintessential red solo cup that defines every high school and college party you’ve been to, you stumble out onto the balcony of one of the rooms for a breath of fresh air and are startled to find you aren’t alone when you spot the figure of a young man leaning against the railing.

“Oh, shit, sorry. Didn’t know anyone was out here━”

As the figure turns around, you are relieved and thrilled to see it’s Jungkook. You stop yourself, clamping your mouth shut, and smile up at him with a dainty hand on your hip. A look of recognition dawns on his face at the sight of you, his own lips tugging into a friendly grin.

“That’s okay,” he says. “Feel free to join me on the balcony of escaped party attendees ━ because I assume that’s what you’re doing? Escaping?”

You push yourself forward to the railing, standing beside him as he turns back around to face the city. “I just needed a break from it all. You? I gotta say I’m pleasantly surprised to see you here.”

He flashes you a sheepish smile, resting his arms atop the railing and leaning forward. “Exactly. Parties aren’t really my scene. My friend, Taehyung, dragged me out here but this balcony seems to be my favourite place.”

“Well, if it means anything,” You tell him, “I’m glad you came.”

When you look at Jungkook, you find him already gazing at you, his lower lip tucked between his teeth. His carob eyes crinkle with the smile on his face and he finds himself still staring at you even long after you have turned away to stare up at the sky. It’s a surprisingly warm night, though you silently thank yourself for throwing on the denim jacket you’re wearing earlier in the day whenever a cool breeze breaks through the city.

“It’s kind of sad, isn’t it?” You say after a while. “That we can’t see the stars from the city. That’s why I like camping. Star-gazing and watching the sunrise are two of my favourite things. It kind of keeps me humble in a way.”

“That’s an interesting way of thinking about that,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes I get so carried away by being in the city; it’s kind of nice just to slow things down once in a while.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels that way,” You crane your neck to cast a steady gaze across the towering buildings in the near distance. “The city can be pretty beautiful, too, though.”

“You think so?”

“Of course,” Your eyes twinkle playfully at a sudden thought that seems to warm your face. “And some of the people help make it beautiful. Like that spider guy. What he’s doing for the city is incredible.”

“Ah, right. Spider-Man.” The words leave Jungkook in a small exhale. “You must really like him, huh?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“I can name a few. Like the police.”

“They’re just scared of him because he’s doing their job better than they ever could.”

Jungkook chuckles lightly. He shakes his head as he looks down at his clasped hands and the calluses on his fingers from past tribulations. It’s silent again, in which time the thump of bass from the party ensuing behind you two fills the air, followed by a burst of vigorous chanting and cheering from within.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Jungkook asks suddenly, his voice timid.

“Go ahead.”

Jungkook pauses, thinking. He seems to struggle with forming his thoughts into words as he remains silent for a second too long. “Okay, let’s say I know this person really important to me, and let’s say I have this thing ━ this equally as important thing ━ that I really want to tell them. The thing is, I can’t just do that because if I do, I’m afraid that this person will be let down. What do you think I should do?”

You’re quiet as you ponder his words, looking pensively down at the city below.

“Well,” You hum slowly, “what’s the point in hiding behind a fake front the whole time? It’s kind of like hiding behind a mask your whole life, right? And I think life is too short for that because, before you know it, it’ll be too late. What if you don’t tell this person and you end up regretting it for the rest of your life? I don’t know. Sometimes I think that you just meet the right person in life who’s worth that risk.”

Jungkook turns to look at you and suddenly your eyes meet in a steady, thoughtful gaze. His own stare softens at whatever sort of thoughts flood his mind and you wonder if his eyes have always been that shimmering. His tousled dark brown locks flitter slightly in the breeze, his pink lips parted ever so slightly. You open your mouth to speak, uttering his name in a euphonious whisper.

“Jungkook, I━”

But your voice is cut off abruptly by the influx sound of wailing sirens down below that convey some sort of grim situation unfolding somewhere in the formidable darkness of the night. Both you and Jungkook press yourselves over the railing, squinting down at the crowded streets below just in time to see a flash of blinking red lights and a mass of both police cars, ambulances, and firetrucks. From somewhere in the background from within the party, you can hear a voice exclaiming, “Dude, there’s a fire around the corner from here! The whole street is blocked off.”

“No way. What the hell happened?” Another voice asks.

You exchange a wary glance with Jungkook before slipping back into the party. A small group has formed around the t.v. in the living room, on which is playing the local news and showcasing a burning apartment building, the vicious orange flames of which billow out of opened windows and all but consume the top floor as clouds of gray and black smoke invade the night sky. There’s a reporter talking fast into the camera, describing in detail what had happened to the building on a nearby street, but your eyes can only stay fixated on the monstrous flames. You don’t realize Taehyung has somehow found both you and his friend and is standing behind the other boy, watching the news unfold before him. Unbeknownst to you, his stare flickers nervously to Jungkook and then━

“Shit,” Jungkook curses suddenly. “I gotta go.”

You turn to look at him curiously. “Go where? It’s midnight on a Friday.”

“I completely forgot I had to pick my aunt up from the subway,” he says. “She works the late night shifts and I can’t let her walk alone in the dark like this. I’ll see you both later! Let me know what happens with the fire.”

Taehyung, who seems more than accustomed to Jungkook’s abrupt pardon of his presence, nods. “Will do.”

The boy is already a few feet away from you, rushing toward the front door of the room, but you stop him before he can slip out of your reach entirely.

“Wait, Jungkook!” You call out. He spins around to look at you almost immediately, a look of panic on his face. “Don’t forget we have to meet up at the library on Sunday to work on the project.”

“Got it,” he says, raising his two forefingers to his forehead in a mock salute. He turns back around and begins bounding towards the door, giving you two one last wave. “See you later!”

The door slams shut behind him and the party, despite the group crowded around the t.v., carries on in a cacophonous sound of drunken yelling and dumb music, completely and utterly oblivious. You let out a sigh as you turn back to the t.v., noting Taehyung’s presence still beside you. He takes a satisfying sip of whatever beverage is occupying the red cup in his hand and nods.

“That’s Jungkook for you,” he says. His voice is a tired sigh, dispirited almost, as he thinks of the boy that has been his friend since freshman year of highschool. Just before he turns away, you hear him muttering, “Always putting others before him.”

You don’t see Jungkook that Sunday.

Whether or not he had entirely blown you off or had simply forgotten, you wait and wait in complete silence in the school library for nearly three hours as every call and every text you send to his phone goes otherwise unnoticed or ignored. It is entirely unlike Jungkook to completely vanish and though you want to be mad, you are more disappointed than anything else. You spend your time at a table by yourself, books and papers sprawled out before you, as you try to work diligently on the last piece of writing you need for the assignment to be complete whilst trying to not let your eyes wander to the time on the clock hanging on the wall opposite you but to no avail.

In a corner above the front desk, you see a t.v. propped on the wall that plays the silent image of the news as they recall the events from that Friday at the burning building. Fortunately, that spider guy had arrived before any casualties could happen and you watch, for the third time since Friday, as the recording footage shows the red and blue hero swinging defiantly into the wall of fire and pulling various residents from the fire. A duo of girls sitting next to you croons dreamily over the masked man, especially as they witness him emerging from the fire with a small and unscathed Corgi dog in his hands that, you admit, is rather admirable.

On Wednesday night, you find yourself stuck in the sparkling confinements of the café bound to the six hour shift you were in the midst of completing. It’s surprisingly busy for a day in the middle of the week, though you assume that’s only because each customer is in a rush to seek refuge from the surprisingly cold evening. You hadn’t even been thinking about Jungkook when he makes himself known in the café some time after 9 p.m. You hear the bell ring above the door, feel a short gust of shocking wind, before it shuts behind him. When you look up instinctively to greet the newcomer and lay your eyes on the boy, your words fall short.

You watch as he stumbles forward, his feet practically dragging behind him in worn up Converse shoes. He looks exhausted ━ even more so than usual ━ and judging by his dishevelled hair and crumpled clothes and the way he seems to walk in a daze as if he is in another world, you assume he hasn’t slept in a while. He still hauls his backpack with one strap slung over his shoulder that he drops lazily to the ground beside a table before he plops himself down into the seat with a groan in one swift motion. What’s most strange are the blossoming bruises on his neck and the fresh cut on the highest point of his left cheekbone.

You hate that you’re so weak for that boy; that even though he completely ignored you, you still pity him. Wondering what sorts of trouble he’s been finding himself in lately, you pour him a cup of steaming black coffee and walk towards his table. He hardly even notices you as his head is buried in his folded arms atop the table, though he peeks up past his bangs when you slide the coffee beside him.

“I’d hate to see the other guy,” You hum.

His eyes brighten at the sight of you and he pushes himself up, raking a hand through his unkempt hair in a poor attempt to fix it. “Y/N━”

“Where were you, Jungkook?” You ask sternly, suddenly. “On Sunday? I waited for you for over three hours. I called you and texted you and you completely ignored me. You could have at least gotten back to me. I had to finish the rest of the assignment by myself.”

His brow creases with concern, his stare softening apologetically. He leans forward, suddenly helpless.

“I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I━I didn’t mean to━ Something came up.”

“Whatever, Jungkook,” You sigh. “It’s fine. I can’t stay and chat but I’ll have you know I already handed the assignment in online. You’re welcome. Oh, and the coffee’s on the house. You look like crap.”

You spin on your heel and march away to help another customer before Jungkook can even try to talk to you. He watches as you slip from his grasp, a frown scrunching up your face that is forced to soften as you approach another table. He collapses against his chair and groans inwardly, rubbing his hand over his aching and swollen face. He knows you’re mad at him but he can’t quite tell if you’ll stay like that for long. He doesn’t blame you anyway, but he couldn’t just tell you where he had gone or what had happened. Could he?

It’s much to his dismay that you don’t talk to him the next day, or on Tuesday, or on Wednesday, or on Thursday. He tries to find you around campus but he is always too late and, instead, finds you slipping away from him each time. He pops into the café a few nights and though you work both nights, it’s still much too busy to actually talk to you and so he, doing what he does best, falls asleep at the table as he silently broods. Whether or not it’s your anger purposely driving you further from him or simply life intervening, Jungkook wants nothing more than to apologize ━ if he can even get close enough to you to do so.

Finding yourself on the rooftop of your apartment building isn’t uncommon. Most of your free time is spent up there, either watching the night sky or gazing at the busy city under a cerulean blue sky and golden sun. That Friday night is no different. With no homework and no social gathering to devote yourself to, you sneak off to the roof and position yourself in just a spot where you can see the towering buildings of each borough in each direction you cast your gaze. You would have been content falling asleep up there, with nothing but the sound of the distant hum of cars to lull you and the view of the moon and window lights that act as the metropolis’s stars.

You all but lose track of time, unaware of whether or not you have been there for minutes or hours but you don’t entirely mind. You would be lying, too, if you denied that there was some sort of inkling of hope in you that hoped maybe you would see him again. That is why when you hear the soft plop of feet dropping to the ground moments later, you are not at all startled by the sudden presence, though you are astounded by his arrival, as if on cue. You don’t even need him to speak to know who it is and when you feel the smile ghost along your lips, there is a moment of pause where you question your own sanity for being so happy to see this masked and mysterious man. But he isn’t at all a mystery at this point when you feel as if you’ve acquainted yourself with him well enough.

“You shouldn’t be out here all alone,” The voice that drifts through the shadows of the roof is familiar, gentle. “It’s dark. Who knows who could come up here?”

“Yeah,” You snort. “Wouldn’t want any strangers sneaking up on me ━ or masked vigilantes who seem to be following me.”

You turn to look at him but are greeted with nothing except emptiness. He lingers somewhere in the darkness and you squint your eyes, desperately trying to spot him. He laughs, the sound so silvery and smooth like honey.

“Someone’s following you?” he replies tauntingly. “Do I have to deal with them again?”

“Why are you always hiding in the dark?”

The sudden question seems to cause him to hesitate. It’s silent before you hear his voice wander over to you.

“To add to the mystique?” he says.

“Now that’s suspicious. Maybe I should call the police on you.”

“They would never be able to catch me.”

“Someone’s cocky,” You take a step toward the darkness, in the direction of the sound of his voice. “Did the fame get to you already?”

You hear him take a step back from you and it, subsequently, causes you to linger. You wait before stubbornly pushing yourself forward once more.

“What fame? People want to lock me up.”

“And most people are in love with you. I overheard a few girls gushing over you saving that dog from that burning building the other day,” You giggle. “Does it mean anything to you?”

“Ah, well,” You can hear the grin in his voice, can see the silhouette of his figure not too far from you, “I gotta admit the attention is pretty nice. But no one knows who I am without this mask so it doesn’t really matter.”

“How does that make you feel?”

One step forward, another backward. You pause; at this rate, you’ll have chased him all the way to the other side of the roof.

“I don’t mind. It keeps me humble,” he replies. “But it also stops me a lot of the time, y’know? With this mask on, I feel invincible; with it off, I feel useless. But someone pretty important to me once told me that life is too short to constantly hide behind a mask.”

A wide, genuine smile stretches across your face. You take another step forward and this time he stands still. From where you are, you can see the tall and lean figure, adorned in the signature tight red and blue suit.

“That’s pretty smart of them to say.”

“She is pretty admirable. Much braver than I could ever be without this mask.”

He turns around from you before you can reach him. You watch as he casually strides forward a few paces to the barrier behind him, which he props his hands against to lean on. He seems to be lost in thought, perhaps struggling with some sort of inner turmoil. You tiptoe in suit, cautious as you approach him. You can see the muscles that strain from beneath his suit, the heave and fall of his chest.

“Can I know your name?” Your voice is a gentle whisper that carries to him with the wind. “Your real name?”

When he turns around to face you once more, you’re standing only a few feet away from him. You take another step forward, closing the short distance between the two of you and are made aware of how much taller he really is. The way he towers over you is almost comforting, familiar, that no emotionless red mask could cause you to stray. He’s so much more different up close in that suit. He hesitates before he forces himself to speak.

“I think,” he pauses. He swallows thickly, attempting to subdue the quickening race of his heart as he clamps his fingers into his sweaty palms. “I think you already know my name.”

This seems to pique your interest. Quirking a brow and cocking your head to the side, you stare up at the masked face that gazes back down at you. You aren’t entirely sure what compels you to do so, as it could be a complete disaster and not at all what you are expecting, but you slowly, so very slowly, reach up with your hands to grasp gingerly at his face. The red fabric beneath your fingertips is soft and as your digits brush lightly over his covered cheekbones, he hardly moves. For some reason, you can feel your heart hammering against your feeble chest, can hear it in your ears in tandem with the sound of passing traffic down below. His heart is beating just as fast, though he thinks it nearly stops when he feels your fingers begin to gently pull at the neck of his mask, sliding it upward.

The first poke of tanned skin has your heart quickening, your breath hitching in your throat. You tug the mask the rest of the way off and, finally, step back to look at the mysterious masked hero known as Spider-Man.

Jungkook.

It’s Jungkook.

The familiar boy stands before you, his hair a disheveled mess from the mask, his doe eyes even wider now in timid fear as he looks down at you. Everything is him, from his luscious pink lips, to the freckle on his neck, the piercings in his ears, that tiny scar he’s had since he was a child on his cheek. The city lights and moon illuminate him from behind and he seems nervous as he anticipates a reaction but you are much too busy admiring him. Your fingers trace delicately over the fresh scar on his face that he had brandished at the café only a few nights ago. A breath of satisfaction slips past your parted lips and then you’re laughing silently to yourself.

The boy looks dumbfounded at first, and then he quirks a brow. “What’s so funny?”

“I knew it,” You shake your head at nothing in particular, or perhaps the way you continue to giggle.

Jungkook suddenly looks shocked, though he instantly seems to relax. He studies the smile that stretches across your cheeks in awe, brightening your face in all its glory. “How did you know?”

“Well, you’re not exactly that smooth, Jungkook,” You grin. “The late nights coming into the café, always scratched up and always tired as if you’ve ran all over the city; always getting jumpy when you hear police sirens ━ like the night at the party. Not to mention that one time at the café when the news was on and they were talking about a robbery at the bank and hostages being held and you ran right out of there only for Spider-Man to show up on the scene minutes later. It’s all very suspicious, don’t you think?”

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him, a joyous sound of content. He leans against the palm of your hand that is cradling the side of his face with the scar.

“Right,” he sighs. “All very suspicious.”

His stare locks with yours in a steady gaze and neither of you can turn away. His eyes sparkle like the stars in the sky, lingering with it a sense of hope and content. He is mesmerizing, with the city he devotes his time to saving in the horizon beyond him. It’s near impossible to look away, but why would you want to? It happens much like a blink of an eye, a frail beat of your heart; it comes with the passing of a car whizzing by on the streets down below and is as much startling as the sudden breeze that sends chills down your spine.

He begins to lean forward ━ or maybe that was you? Your eyes flutter shut, your anticipation held with a deep breath, until finally your lips meet with his though you hardly have time to relish in it. Almost as soon as your lips touch, he’s pulling away quickly. He doesn’t move too far and his mouth lingers just over yours. His eyes remain fixated on the curl of your lips for a moment too long before he rips them away to meet your hazy gaze.

“Wait,” he hums. “You━ You said you were crushing on Spider-Man. Does that mean you knew this whole time and━ and like me?”

The question is so like Jungkook; so innocent and silly and genuine that it causes a sweet giggle to bubble at your lips. He’s always been so oblivious to these kinds of things and so maybe that’s what pushes you to kiss him next. Your lips lock for a second time and, though it is just as fleeting, you note with joy the softness of his mouth as it folds over yours. You part from him with a breathless gasp, your nose brushing lightly against his as a smile stretches across your face.

“What do you think, bugboy?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, a playful taunt that makes Jungkook smile wide.

He kisses you this time, slow and passionate as if attempting to pour every single one of his emotions and thoughts for you into the single intimate action. His hands grasp at either side of your face, carefully pulling you closer to him to deepen the kiss and you, instinctively, melt against his broad chest. Your fingers trail up the lean muscle of his arms to twine in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging with yearning. His hands fall to your waist, enveloping you in his body, and when he parts from you, he rests his forehead against yours.

“Can I show you something?”

You nod. His eyes light up and then he’s jumping up onto the cement barrier behind him, turning around to look at you. You gasp from the sudden movement, your stomach churning unpleasantly at the sight of him quite literally standing on the edge of a building only to remind yourself he’s Spider-Man. He’s done plenty more reckless things than this. He holds his hand out, a reassuring smile on his face.

“Do you trust me?” he asks.

There’s no hesitation as you answer him with another firm nod. “Of course. Always.”

“Then take my hand,” he says. “I’ll never do anything to harm you, you know that.”

You do know that. Jungkook wouldn’t hurt a fly; he’s too good and precious for the world you live in and he says yes far too often to people who most likely don’t deserve it, but he knows when to stand up for not only himself but others as well. You are just one of the few he cares for wholeheartedly and you know that.

You reach out carefully and place your hand in his surprisingly cold and large ones. His fingers wrap around yours as he helps you up onto the barrier, holding you closely toward him.

You take a deep breath, shut your eyes, and put every ounce of your trust into this single, courageous boy ━ and you let yourself fall with him.

You’re roused awake by the sound of light tapping against your bedroom window.

It startles you at first, causing you to jolt upright into a sitting position as you look around frantically at your empty and dark room; the only light comes from the city life and the moon outside, shedding a warm glow onto the floor before it. For a moment, you think you had just dreamt the noise but then you hear it again, low and near. You crane your neck to look and first see a shadow but, as the figure shifts into view, you’re able to see the familiar young man in red and blue. Your heart leaps in your chest and suddenly you’re scrambling off your feet, throwing yourself at the window to throw it open.

The night Jungkook had admitted to being Spider-Man and jumped up onto the edge of the roof, holding his hand out to you in a silent question of trust, he leaves you with a night that you swear you will cherish forever. Wary of where he will go but entirely consenting of his spontaneity, he surprises you by carrying you throughout the city, swinging from building to building in an extraordinary feat that feels as if you’re flying; and, as if that hadn’t been a big enough thrilling shock, he brings you to the very top of the Empire State Building, just under the antenna. No one is there and no one can see you and, with Jungkook under the brightening sky with the view of New York stretching out into the horizon before you, you feel as if you have the whole world in the very palm of your hand.

You sit with Jungkook that night, talking, not talking, listening intently to him as he recounts the tale of how he had turned into the masked hero with his peculiar powers, and watching the sunrise from beyond the very tops of buildings and skyscrapers. There are no words to describe the breathtaking view from one of the highest points in the city, watching as the golden sun peaks over the horizon and sets the city ablaze in saturated warm hues of orange, pink, and purple, mingling together in one impressionistic masterpiece that could put even the greatest of painters to shame. The light reflects against the glass panes of windows in a mirage similar to flickering flames that never scathe the city, but instead seem to enhance the beauty it holds.

You never want the night to end but eventually it does and, when he returns you to your bedroom window with one parting kiss, it and Jungkook’s lips are all you can dream about.

A week has passed since then, in which time you’ve done nothing but find yourself growing closer with Jungkook. He’s all you’ve been able to think about these days. So, to hear him and see him at your window is enough to make butterflies form in the very pit of your stomach. You see him sitting on the fire escape just outside your window, leaning against the building looking even more exhausted than usual. Another fresh cut lines his cheek in a stripe of red though he doesn’t seem to mind much for it as he dozes off slightly. You push open the window, startling him awake, and poke your head outside. A weary smile tugs at his lips at the sight of you.

“Well, this is romantic,” You stifle the giggle that bubbles at your mouth. “Thank you for not throwing rocks at my window, Romeo. To what do I owe this pleasure of seeing you at two in the morning?”

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asks sheepishly. “I just wanted to see you.”

His response earns a shy smile stretching across your face. “No, you didn’t wake me,” You say with a shake of your head (though the way you comb your fingers through your mused hair tells him otherwise). “What happened to your face, Jungkook?”

He reaches up to his face, as if momentarily forgetting the cut, winces, and then drops his hand from his face. He grins wolfishly, attempting to shrug it off. “Oh, this little thing? It’s nothing, don’t worry about it. I just got caught up in a little fight but I’m fine. I swear. You really should see the other guy.”

The smug tone in his voice as he rambles on makes you stare at him in amusement. You sigh as you take a step back, saying, “Come inside. I’ll clean that for you.”

“Well, if you insist.”

He smirks as he pulls himself through the window and into your room. His eyes wander around the four walls, noting the decor that lines it, the shelves with all your personal trinkets and belongings, the clothes littered on the floor, and the empty take-out box of Chinese food that rests atop your desk. There’s a soft aroma of something sweet that smells like you ━ possibly a perfume or a soap or shampoo? ━ and it makes Jungkook’s head spin pleasantly. He asks about your day and then sits on the bed and, as you tell him about your boring classes as you rummage around your bathroom for something to clean his wound with, he smiles.

He finds your room comforting ━ or maybe he just finds your presence comforting. Either way, over time you find that this would only be a common occurrence throughout the next month. He startles you the first few times he shows up but then you begin to stay awake a little longer, waiting eagerly by the window as you wait for him to arrive. Most times he’s bruised or has small and fresh cuts, of which you either hand him an ice packet or clean the cut; sometimes he isn’t even hurt and instead claims simply that he just wanted to see you before you went to sleep. But each time he listens to you and your day, asking about yourself rather than him and no matter how hard you try to pry information out of him about what had possibly happened to him throughout his night, he swiftly brushes it off. You don’t mind either way ━ you just want to see him as much as you can, anyway.

There is one night, however, where things seem to go entirely different.

You’re curled up in bed reading a book when you hear the light tapping on your window. You’ve come to leave the window pried open slightly as you wait for him, but even so he still takes the time to knock to signal his arrival. You instantly climb to your feet, wandering over to the window and tossing it open with a flourish. As Jungkook climbs in through the small space, you note the tight suit he’s wearing is slashed at the top of his arm and both the skin underneath it and on his face is bruised and cut; other than that, and judging by the cheeky smile on his face, he seems to be ok.

You shake your head at him, smiling gingerly as you muse, “Who’s the damsel in distress now, bugboy?”

Jungkook smirks, prodding your sides with his fingers and causing you to squirm as you walk past him. “There’s no shame in needing a little help every once and awhile, right? I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Sit down,” You tell him, winking up at him. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

Minutes later you return to sit by his side on the bed, cleaning his cuts as per usual and, while he has a frozen packet of peas pressed to his bruised and sore shoulder, you are busying yourself by sewing the cut in his suit with blue thread you had found in your room. In the midst of your work, perhaps you press too generously down on his recent wound, as he winces slightly and shifts on top of your bed. You crane your neck to look up at him, studying him curiously. He seems to notice your stare and quirks a brow as he looks down at you.

“What’s up?”

Your fingers stop their work on his suit and, remembering where the cut had broken his skin just slightly underneath the tear, brush lightly over the tender flesh covered in gauze. “Does it hurt?”

Jungkook shakes his head, sitting up a little straighter. “Hurt? No, no, of course not. It just, uh━ It isn’t the most pleasant. But this isn’t the worst I’ve been after a night in the suit so I can handle it.”

Your eyes study his battered face in some sort of admiration, albeit mixed with timid nervousness. What sort of things had he encountered, had he been through, that he won’t tell you?

“Are you ever afraid?” You ask gently.

“No way,” he shakes his head, but not before you spot the confident grin he flashes you. “It’s honestly nothing I can’t handle by now. It’s not so bad, either. It’s kinda weird. I mean, ever since getting bitten, I’ve found the healing process is a whole lot faster.”

Maybe he notices the lingering uneasiness in your eyes, the way you seem to doubt him. He reaches out with his fingers to gingerly brush against the side of your face in a swift flourish as he tilts your head a little higher. He smiles something warm that makes your heart melt as you lean your face against the palm of his calloused hand. To avoid the prying stare he gives you, you smile lightly and shake your head, attempting to change the subject.

“Dunno, bugboy. Are there any perks to this job?”

Jungkook snorts as you finish sewing his suit. As you discard the needle and leftover thread, he says, “There are. Like, for instance, knowing the city is a little safer. Then there’s the fact that Spider-Man seems to have a lot of admirers…”

“I thought you said it doesn’t matter anyway because no one knows who you are.”

“Well, there is you,” he says. “And I gotta say you’re a pretty good perk.”

A blush tinges your cheeks as you sit across from him. Your eyes flicker down the suit that adorns him and you try to bite back the lighthearted snicker that bubbles at your chest. “I was gonna say a perk is this tight suit. At least, for me it is. Your ass has never looked more fantastic.”

Jungkook suddenly bursts out into laughter, throwing his head back. When he looks back at you, his hand finds the side of your face once more and pulls you towards him. With your lips hovering just over his, he mumbles something, anything, just for the sake of responding despite already being lost in you.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Then you’re kissing him.

You’ve come to find that Jungkook’s lips are entirely irresistible and the more you kiss him, the more you wonder why you hadn’t confessed to him earlier. He’s gentle as he lets his lips fold over yours, mouth dancing with mouth in a passionate yearning. But there’s a certain type of underlying insatiable hunger that seems to wash over both you and him and fast. Your fingers rake up the side of his face and tangle in his messy locks and soon he’s pulling you onto the bed, onto him. You instinctively straddle his lap, craning your neck so as to deepen the kiss, never once breaking apart for air. But something seems to happen, something that startles Jungkook so deeply. Perhaps it’s the way you grasp his hair a little tighter, the way he heard you gasp when he bites down gently on the side of your jaw, the way your hips fit over his; or perhaps it’s the way you tug off your shirt in an attempt to get closer to him, displaying to him the plain white bra you’re wearing that all culminate into something more. He knows where this is going, you know where this is going ━ and though Jungkook would want nothing more than to carry on, he’s reminded of a terrifying and prominent thought that has always haunted him the moment he made that mask.

You feel the way he tenses beneath you and, in the next quick second, he’s pulling apart from you and you, so dazed and lost, gasping for air, stare down at him dumbfounded.

“What’s wrong, Jungkook?” You ask. “Did I hurt you? Is your arm okay?”

“I’m fine,” he says weakly.

You grin as you press another kiss to his throat, mumbling into his neck, “Good, then let’s━”

“No.”

“What?”

You sit back on his lap suddenly, staring at him with a flushed face. Your hair is mussed messily, a red bruise blossoms on your jawline that Jungkook had graced you with, and one strap of your bra hangs daintily over your shoulder and Jungkook can’t help but notice how utterly sexy you look. He groans inwardly, tearing his gaze to look up at you. He swallows thickly, wincing at the bright and innocent twinkle in your eyes.

“We━” he pauses and then says, “We can’t do this.”

You quirk a brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says slowly, carefully, “we can’t do this. I’m━ I’m sorry. I didn’t know what I was thinking but I should have stopped this sooner.”

“Stop what?” Your voice is weak, small. You know what he’s referring to but you don’t want to believe it just yet.

Fuck, I can’t do this, Jungkook curses to himself. If he had just stayed away from you from the beginning, this wouldn’t even be happening. He wouldn’t be about to hurt you or himself.

“Us,” he whispers. “There can’t be an us, Y/N.”

Your brows knit together in confusion but your eyes are wide with fear. “What are you talking about? How can there not be an us? I thought━ I thought you wanted this.”

When he hesitates to respond, you’re quick to slide off of his lap, standing to your feet. Suddenly you’re panicking, embarrassed. He sees the way your lips are pulled tightly in a thin line, the way you rake your hands through your hair, mumbling, “Oh my god,” as you search for a shirt. Jungkook springs to his feet, grasping onto your waist but you easily slither out of his reach, clutching your shirt to your chest. To you, you think you have just made a fool of yourself, nearly striping naked for a boy who apparently doesn’t want you. Jungkook knows this is what you’re thinking and it pains him so.

“No, no, I do,” he says. “I do want this! I just can’t do it.”

“And why not?” You snap hotly. “You’re not making any sense. Either you do or you don’t want us to be a thing.”

“It’s not that simple━”

“It sure seems like it is.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Any explanation would be better than none,” You say firmly, “and simultaneously making me look like an idiot for looking so eager.”

Jungkook sighs heavily. He takes a step back from you, running both hands frustratedly through his hair, letting the muscles in his biceps flex as he does so. When he looks back at you, he’s solemn.

“There can’t be an us because I’m just gonna put you in danger this way,” he says. “People are out there looking for me! Not just the police, but hardcore criminals, gangs, thugs, murderers. If they find me, or if they find out that you’re close to me or know me, they’ll hurt you too. I can’t have that, Y/N.”

“But I can handle it,” You insist.

“I can’t,” Jungkook’s voice is stern, set in place. “I can’t have that on my conscience, knowing that if you get hurt, it’s because of me. That’s all I ever worry about, from the second that I put this mask on. No one knows about me being Spider-Man and I kept it that way for a reason. Don’t you think I could have flaunted that I was this supposed super cool new hero? I didn’t do that because of you; because of the people that I’m close to.”

“I don’t care,” Your voice is feeble, cracking. “I don’t care if I get hurt. If you can handle it, then so can I! I just want to be with you, Jungkook. I━ I love you━”

Jungkook hears the words you blurt out quickly but he doesn’t seem to necessarily register them at once. A stiff silence settles in the room between the two of you, an undeniable form of the point of no return, except you don’t regret the words you say. You mean them wholeheartedly because you have always admired and loved Jungkook, from the little boy next door to this young hero before you. You stare at him shyly, albeit unwavering. A panic washes over him, drains his face of any colour, and suddenly it feels as if he can’t breathe, his chest concaving in on his shrill heart. As the words begin to register in his mind, he can only sorrowfully gaze at you; but the lack of silence has your confidence paling and soon you’re looking away, shaking your head. A pained expression paints your features and though it hurts Jungkook more than any other wound that has been inflicted upon him in fights on the street prior to this, he knows he has to do this.

You already know his answer before he even speaks it. When he does say the final words that leave you in such an excruciating and unbearable pain, he has already fled, grabbing his mask and escaping out of the window, escaping from you, and into the heart of the city. When he’s gone and you’re alone in the thick silence do his words finally return to you and are the cause of the broken heart you are forced to nurse through muddled tears over the aimless days to come:

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

You don’t see Jungkook the next day or the day after that.

In fact, you don’t see him for three entire weeks. He stops showing up at the café late at night, stops attending the classes he has with you (or maybe he just blends well into the other somber looking faces), stops visiting your window in the early morning hours. Autumn bleeds numbly into the beginning shock of cold that is winter and, though there is no snow yet, you still feel the wrath of the frigid season. And, with the sudden loss of Jungkook, comes the abrupt and unwarranted disappearance of Spider-Man. Maybe it is your fault, maybe it is Jungkook’s fault. Either way, the masked enigma vanishes without a trace after your argument with Jungkook and the city’s crime, now freed from the vigilant watchful eyes of New York’s hero, spikes.

It feels almost as if the city has swallowed him whole or as if he has dropped off the face of the earth and the only thing to remember him by is the sudden havoc that ensues the city. The only thing you have to even know if Jungkook is still alive are the occasional updates from Taehyung who comes to befriend you if only to mention Jungkook every once and awhile just for the sake of easing your worried mind. You’re not so much mad as you are upset, but you care entirely more for his own wellbeing and to not hear from him causes you agony.

There is only one brisk moment in which you encounter Jungkook and it comes simply from a happenstance. You are not at all expecting to see him and nor is he expecting to see you. Rather, you are seated on a wooden bench in the park just beside your school on a day graced with a strange warmth for winter. Wrapped in a scarf and knit hat, you are flipping through the pages of a book for one of your classes when a figure stands before you, momentarily blocking the sun’s light from your view. As you glance up at the shadow cast over you, you are genuinely surprised to find Jungkook standing there. He looks, perhaps, even more so dishevelled than usual, his hair and attire all one negligent mess as if he couldn’t even find the strength to care for himself. Dark circles line his sunken eyes which stare down at you sorrowfully.

“Y/N… Can I talk to you?”

Your heart skips a beat. For a moment, you can’t turn away from him. For a moment, you fear that you will cave into him but then you are reminded of your broken heart. It’s what causes you to act in such haste, shaking your head up at him as you shut your book and shove it into your bag. You stand to your feet and brush past him and he, so caught up in your rejection of him and the own twinge of pain he feels in his heart, lingers by the bench. Then, he is walking after you, his footsteps swiftly catching him up to you.

“Y/N. Y/N, wait! Please, just let me━”

Jungkook breaks out into a sudden jog and only stops when he is standing in front of you. With your path blocked, you, too, come to a halt if only for the benefit of the doubt. He desperately tries to meet your eyes but you look past him, arms folded over your chest.

“Let me talk to you,” he begs. “Away from here. Just you and me. I can explain everything. I━”

“You had your chance, Jungkook,” You quip dryly. “You didn’t have to run away from me.”

“I wasn’t━ I didn’t mean to━” he tries, but is interrupted once more by your strained voice.

“You left me.” Now you are staring at him and Jungkook wishes that you hadn’t even bothered to give him the chance. Once full of shimmering admiration, your eyes are only glossed over with a pained disappointment. “I told you I loved you and you left me. You made me look so stupid and I━ No. No, I’m not doing this right now.”

You push yourself forward, walking carefully around him. He watches as you storm away, shaking your head to yourself. With one last despairing attempt, he calls out to you once more.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. “I let you down. I know. I’m a failure.”

You stop. Your back is turned to him before you force yourself to look over at him and he foolishly thinks that maybe you’ll give him a chance to properly explain himself. Instead━

“You’re not a failure, Jungkook,” You tell him firmly. “I just━ I need to be alone right now. But don’t leave them. Don’t let them down. The city needs you.”

Jungkook flinches. He wants to call out to you again and pull you back to him, explain everything that is on his mind, but he can’t. Instead, he is forced to watch you walk away from him until you disappear amongst the crowd and even then he doesn’t move. He knows you’re disappointed with him.

He knows the whole city is disappointed with him ━ but the only person he wants to impress is you and he fears he’s ruined his only chance to.

You hardly seem to sleep at night anymore, instead too caught up in the thoughts that plague your dreams. Instead of going to the roof as you usually do when you can’t sleep, you find yourself lying helplessly in your bed, staring up at the empty night sky through your window. One night, as you’re dozing off on your bed, your eyes blinking wearily as they try to focus on the shimmering moon, you begin to hear a noise. It’s similar to a light tapping, though it drowns out in the sound of a siren from somewhere down below. At first you believe you have just dreamt it but then you hear a loud thud, slightly muffled from somewhere outside your window. It jolts you awake, has you pushing yourself up into a sitting position, and glancing around your room for any sign of something that may have fallen in there before noticing a flash of movement from the corner of your eye.

Red and blue.

Interest piques your drowsy mind at the thought of it being Jungkook but why would he be returning to you now? You would have been entirely set on begrudgingly flopping back down onto your bed and turning your back to him had you not felt that dreadful feeling that something was terribly wrong. You can’t hear his voice and when you turn to get a better look, you find him standing on the fire escape just outside your window, slumped dangerously against the wall with his back to you. It is that dreaded feeling that pushes you out of your bed, drags you to your window which you lightly throw open, only to be met with a sight that leaves you in horrific shock.

Jungkook is adorned in his usual tight red and blue suit, though his mask is off and gives you a clear view of his weary face, now muted in colour, that your eyes land on first. His eyes are shut, his head rests against the brick wall of the building, and his skin is marked with dirt and grime, bruises and dried blood. As your eyes trail lower, following the curve of his arms to his hands that cradle his side, you finally spot the large wound from beneath his fingertips on the left of his abdomen, shimmering a bright crimson red. Immediately your heart sinks to your stomach as you gasp loudly.

“Oh my god! Jungkook!”

Shimmying your way through the window to get closer to the boy hardly has him stirring. Your hands come out to grasp at his face, forcing him from his slouched position.

“Jungkook, can you hear me? What the hell happened?”

His eyes flicker open momentarily at the touch of your warm fingers and he musters a small smirk, the corners of his lips lifting up just slightly.

“It’s just a scratch,” he mumbles hoarsely. “You should definitely see the other guy now.”

“You’re an idiot,” You grumble, your eyebrows knitting into a frown. “Why are you here? You should have gone to the hospital! I’m taking you right now━”

“No, no,” he protests stubbornly. He shifts his weight and immediately flinches from the pain. “No, you can’t. I’ll be okay. I just━ I need some time to rest.”

A deep sigh exhales past your parted lips at the mention of what had happened the night he fled so suddenly. Instead, you brush off the memory and give him a small shake of your head. “Here, stop talking. Let me help you get inside and I’ll see what I can do for you. This is gonna hurt a bit but can you move?”

Jungkook nods. As you wrap your arm carefully around his waist to shift him over to the window, he sucks in a deep breath and pushes himself forward. You try to help as he stiffly climbs in through the small window, grunting in pain as he does so, and then stumbling into your room and bumping into your desk next to the window, knocking a few trinkets down. As he leans dangerously against your now skewed desk, you hurry through the window and help him to his feet, pulling him over to your bed.

Despite the way he had left you so suddenly days ago, there is no air of stiffness in the room. The only thing that surrounds the two of you is a melancholic silence as you rummage around your room for the medkit you knew you had stowed away eons ago. For the most part, Jungkook patches himself up, downing a couple of painkillers, cleaning his wound in his abdomen and stitching it closed with a steady hand that has evidently done this before. You sit across from him in your desk chair, watching him intently as he sits on your bed, having shrugged off the top part of his suit and leaving his torso exposed. Other than the blood and dirt that cakes his golden skin, you take note of the toned muscles that make his abs and the way they flex in tandem with every time he winces as he tugs at his wound.

When he’s done, the silence is still unmoving. Jungkook wants to speak but his throat is dry and any time he dares open his mouth to say something, anything, he immediately recoils. It’s only when you’re helping him into your bathroom so he can take a shower does he finally gather the courage he needed all this time without his mask on. Before you can turn to walk away on him, he catches your attention by calling your name. When he speaks next, his voice is faint, terrified.

“I’m sorry.”

He gulps when you turn to look up at him and suddenly he’s made aware of the fact that the two of you are cramped so closely together in your small bathroom. It makes the shame he feels more prominent as he looks you in the eyes.

“You were the first person I could think of when this happened,” he says. “I━ I know I have no right to be here after what I did to you but I just needed someone. I needed you.”

Your heart flutters at his words though you hide this feeble act by turning away from him. “It’s whatever, Jungkook,” He hears you mumble faintly, your back to him. “Anything I can do to help.”

He wants to say something more but he hesitates again. He watches as you take a deep breath, the heave of your shoulders under a heavy weight, before you ultimately walk out of the door and shut it behind you, leaving it slightly ajar. You linger in your bedroom, standing in front of your window as you gaze out, absentmindedly gnawing on your lower lip as you fold your arms tighter around your torso. You hear the shower switch on, let the calming sound of falling water wash over you, and shut your eyes momentarily. You can still see the light from the bathroom pouring out into the darkness of your room from the angled door, and can see the steam start to cloud the mirror.

There’s something so indistinctly intimate about having him in your shower in the next room over after days of avoiding one another. You have every right to be enraged and upset with him and yet you aren’t. You can’t bring yourself to ever hate the boy in the room over. You understand why he left so abruptly and it makes sense but now, in that moment in time, with nothing but a wall dividing you two, there is a certain type of craving you can’t subdue. A craving and a yearning to be closer to him; to tell him how you feel before, if even, he decides to flee in the morning after.

You blame it on your stubbornness that pushes you forward. Really, it seems to happen in such a haze, a rush of adrenaline. One moment, you’re standing by the window; in the next moment, you’re by the bathroom door, your fingers clutching the handle. As you push it open, you can only see a misty silhouette of Jungkook’s figure from beyond the steamed glass doors of the shower. Your heart is hammering against your chest as you walk to the shower, slowly kicking off your shorts as you go.

Jungkook must hear you as you make your way into the bathroom because as soon as you carefully slide open the glass door, he’s already staring at you with a lack of surprise, noting the baggy t-shirt you wear and the way his heart flips when he imagines you in a similar shirt of his. You only meet his curious eyes, noting the water that trickles down his toned and glistening body and flattens his usual unkempt hair into his lashes. He shakes his hair out of his eyes and suddenly he looks remorseful. It’s almost as if he can read your mind and anticipates every second you take to just step inside, his eyes beckoning you to come. It’s not like he cares; in fact, he wants you next to him. God, he just wants you so bad.

Steady hands find the hem of your baggy white t-shirt that you lift up and over your head, exposing the smooth expanse of your bare stomach and the perk of your bare breasts. You shimmy out of your baby pink underwear and, suddenly, you’re standing completely vulnerable before him and yet this is all he wants and all you want. You step inside the shower, closing the distance between you and him even more until you’re right in front of him, letting the warm water pour down onto you. It’s become stifling hot in that little space and there’s only a split moment where you fear you’ve made a mistake before you feel Jungkook’s hand come up to gently hold the side of your face. His thumb caresses your cheekbone, his eyes gazing into yours, and then he’s kissing you.

It’s a soft kiss, one where he takes his time to thoroughly enjoy it, first kissing your upper lip, then your lower lip in some sort of sensual manner that leaves chills running down your spine. He leaves a trail of warm and wet kisses from your jawline to your neck, nuzzling his nose against your throat as your breath catches. His hands fall to grasp at your hips, yanking you toward him and you so easily comply, melting completely into his broad chest and immediately feeling a sense of warmth as if you’ve always belonged there, wrapped up in his strong arms.

“You’re blushing,” he remarks gently, making you realize he’s pulled apart from you to study your face. His fingers brush away the hair that falls into your eyes and he smiles. “You’re blushing now after you walked in on me naked? God, you’re so cute.”

You whine something in protest, burying your face in his neck and he laughs. His fingers tickle at your sides, causing you to squirm in his grip, and when you look at him again, his stare is tender and fond.

“Come here,” he mumbles.

You let him pull you into another kiss that has your head spinning. His tongue grazes your lower lip, teeth slightly nibbling down on the flesh in a way that jolts your heart. As your hands snake up his chest to wind with the hair at the nape of his neck, your own mouth parts open, letting his tongue twine with yours in a heated kiss. He can feel everything against his own body, from the perk of your breasts to the slope of your hips. His hands slide down to rest upon your lower back and the way he pulls you flush against him, letting you brush against his firm cock, makes your head spin again. It’s what wills you to start grinding your hips against his in a slow pattern that has his breath hitching in his throat, his fingers digging tighter into your skin.

“You’re driving me insane,” his voice is husky as he speaks, smooth as it filters through your ears.

You can’t help but smirk against his mouth. “Likewise.”

“How about we get out of here?” he asks. “The bed seems a hell of a lot more comfortable.”

You nod eagerly, mumbling a small, “Please,” against his luscious lips, too reluctant to pull away. He seems to have trouble, too, as he remains in his spot, even long after he reaches down to turn the water off, his lips still locked with yours. Granted, it gives you time to dry off before he’s hoisting you up with ease, instinctively letting your legs wrap around him. A thought abruptly pops into your head and causes you to gasp, your lips parting from his with a significant pop.

“Jungkook!” You scold. “Be careful! Did you forget about the gaping wound in your side or?”

“I’m fine,” he assures, already swiftly carrying you out of the bathroom and into your room.

“I don’t care what your magical radioactive spider bite does for you,” You retort. “I don’t want to somehow hurt you.”

He laughs in response, a sound that reverberates against his chest and your own torso. He’s already standing by the bed when he carefully lowers you down onto it. He crawls over you, instantly towering over your body as he leans down to chase your lips. In one quick movement, you hook your leg around his waist and, using your hands, shift him over until he’s on his back and you’re cradling his hips. He seems surprised at first, his stare flickering from the navel of your stomach to the soft buds of your breasts. Past the valley of your chest, his eyes fall once more upon yours and he smiles breathlessly, his hair sticking up in tufts.

“Really?”

Your eyes fall to the stitched wound on his side covered in gauze and your fingers brush against it delicately, following the natural curve of his abs. “I’m serious, bugboy. You may be this notorious, unstoppable force out there, but to me you’ll always be Jungkook.”

He pouts. “That doesn’t sound as cool as being Spider-Man.”

“Spider-Man is cool.”

“See? Even you think so. This is why I never told you ━ everyone thinks Spider-Man is cooler than Jungkook.”

A roll of your eyes has him smirking, though the smile is quick to falter when you begin to grind your hips against his, feeling his firm member poke at your thigh. His jaw drops open slightly at the sudden contact, his brows knitting together in slick concentration as his eyes fall to your glistening soft core.

“You didn’t let me finish,” You breathe steadily. “Spider-Man is cool, but Jungkook is cooler. You’ve always been strong and dauntless to me. You’ve always been a hero to me.”

“God,” he moans, “you’re making it really hard to focus on how cute you’re being when I can already feel how wet you are.”

The giggle that slips past your lips only further proves his point. His head rolls back against the pillows beneath him as you continue to slowly grind against him.

“Do you want me to stop?” You taunt.

“No, no,” he gasps. “Holy shit, no. We can save the mushy talk for afterwards, right? Please?”

You nod briskly, gulping for air as you feel the burning sensation between your thighs. Your fingers dance down the front of your stomach to the bundle of nerves that you rub at carefully. Jungkook watches intensely as you pleasure yourself before him, feels his own cock hardening at the sight of your fingers gracefully rubbing patterns into your clit, coating your digits with your leaking cum. He writhes beneath you, desperately aware of his own need for you, but god help him if he doesn’t finish watching or helping you get off. He swallows thickly, loosening his dry throat.

“Well, if you’re gonna make me sit here then,” he says, “can you at least let me help?”

“I’m listening.”

“Good,” he grins. “Then come sit on my face.”

He says it so confidently that it has you stuttering in your pace. Your eyes flicker down to his mischievously twinkling eyes and the way he bites on his lower lip. You hardly hesitate at his command, pushing yourself off of his crotch and shuffling yourself forward, tossing one knee over his head so that he’s seated nicely between your thighs. His hands remain on your hips to keep you steady as you wiggle around until you’re comfortable. He plants a kiss on the inside of your thigh, murmuring, “I’ll take good care of you, baby. Sit back and relax.”

You do as you're told, letting him pull you carefully down to his face and feeling as he leaves a trail of kisses along the inside of your thigh. When his mouth is hovering just over your core, you can feel his warm breath fanning against you and hum in delight, waiting eagerly for his every move. He nudges you closer and closer until you feel that one fell sweep of his tongue against your core, warm and slick as it grazes your folds, immediately sending a shock of white hot pleasure surging through your body. A shocked moan emits from your parted lips in a sound similar to, “Ooh,” that has Jungkook smirking against you.

Suddenly, all you can focus on is him and the way his tongue works so expertly against you, kitten licking at your core until you’re dripping wet in a lewd combination of saliva and your own succulence. You nearly lose your balance the moment he makes contact with you and, with each passing second of immense pleasure, it makes it more difficult to hold on. Your thighs shamelessly squeeze shut (though Jungkook grips lightly onto one of your thighs to shift you apart) and when you feel yourself wobble, breathless and dizzy from the feeling of hot fire burning at your core, your hands fly out to grasp at Jungkook’s carob locks, silky to the touch as they slide out from the seams of your fingers. Admittedly, having Jungkook’s face buried beneath your thighs is a ridiculously hot sight that only spurs your blatant spiral into a panting mess.

“Jungkook━ F━Fuck━ Oh my god━”

The moan that leaves you is throaty, guttural and Jungkook swears he’s never heard anything sexier. Watching you writhe helplessly above him is all that he needs. As his tongue licks firmly at your clit, he can’t help but reach down to his own hard dick. His fingers wrap delicately around his shaft and he pumps himself slowly, groaning into your womanhood at the thought of your delicious and hot walls wrapped around him. He shuts his eyes as he works in a smooth rhythm against both him and yourself, imagining what it would be like to just have you anyway he wants, imagining your own reactions similar to the ones you’re making now.

“Ah, shit━” You gasp suddenly. “Fuck, Jungkook, you feel so good━”

God, there you go again. His palm squeezes harder against his member at your breathy moans and he swears you’re driving him absolutely mad. To him, this feels so surreal. He’s dreamed of this; he’s dreamed and wanted nothing more innocent than to just fucking hold your hand and yet here you are in such a compromising position with him and he feels like the luckiest guy in the world. The best part about it all is that you make him feel this much bliss, this dizzy, when he’s simply just around you. Fuck, he’s so in love with you.

Your fingers clutch a little tighter at his roots and his eyes snap open. He stares up at your frazzled mess and, with his free hand, presses his fingers against your core in areas that his tongue has yet not reached. He coats his digits in your glistening arousal and coaxed with such ease he’s able to push them past your folds, earning another beautiful moan from you. He curls his finger inside you, stretching your core, flicks his tongue a little harder at your clit, squeezes his own hand tighter around his cock as he desperately jacks himself off to this, to you. He pumps his finger in and out of you in tandem with his own hand around his length, hearing your sweet whimpers and choked moans.

He must curl his finger just right inside of you or maybe it’s the way your sensitive clit begins to throb with each lick he takes or maybe it’s when he joins his tongue with his finger in a dangerous duo but then you jut your hips forward ever so slightly and jerk them back. He’s eating you out with such vigour, such hard passion that you can feel his chin and his nose brush against your core and each contact has you gasping. He pulls apart just enough when he feels you jerk your hips backward again and you’re so caught up in the pure ecstasy that has overcome you that you hardly realize until you hear him speaking, muttering faintly against your folds, “C’mon, baby. Ride my face. Cum for me.”

His only response is a weak sputtering as you try to gasp for air. You don’t need to be told twice at this point as you feel as if you’re chasing after your high. You unabashedly begin rocking your hips against his mouth and fingers. He tilts his head just right so that his nose burrows into your clit, his tongue and digit slipping further within your walls that clench around the thought of having something of girth like Jungkook’s length inside you. Jungkook’s own hand slacks at his pace around his member, his fingers reaching up to dig into your waist and thighs to hold you in place as you continuously rock against him. You’re so close, you can feel the familiar tension start to form in the very pit of your stomach.

“F━Fuck!” You cry. “Jung━kook━ I’m━”

Your voice breaks off into frail croaks, your hands flying out to grab onto the sturdy frame of your bed in front of you as you feel your high approach. Jungkook pulls you harder against his face, letting you grind against him as he burrows into you, completely ravaging you with his mouth until you feel your release take hold of you. It shakes you to the bone, causes you to writhe in pleasure above him as you come to a halt, emitting a loud moan of his name as your hot release leaks onto his chin, coating his mouth in your shimmering cum.

“Fuck, fuck━ Jungkook!” Your nails dig into the bed frame, your teeth sinking into your lower lip and muffling your dulcet moans.

He laps at your core, licking away every last drop of your succulence until your hips twitch away from the sensitivity you feel. When he finally pulls apart from you, he stares up at you from between your thighs with an amused smirk, his hair messily mused from your doing. You muster a faint smile in return as you pant heavily, attempting to calm your shrill heart and he beckons you over. You blissfully clamber back down his torso, once more straddling his hips as you curl up into his chest, tilting your head to press a soft kiss to his lips. You feel him smile against your own mouth and it’s something so gentle, so ardent, that it warms your heart.

“That was so fucking hot,” he mumbles between kisses. “Round two?”

Giggling, you part from him momentarily only to reconnect your lips to his jawline, nibbling on the soft skin there. “How about I let you have a turn?”

He quirks a brow in curiosity though he already knows your intentions as your hand flutters down his stomach. He can’t help the moan that slips past his lips as he feels your soft hands grasp firmly at his hardened cock. He feels as if he could practically melt in your hands or explode at any moment and you hadn’t even done anything. His hips instinctively buck into your fist but he shakes his head. He sits up suddenly, startling you in your spot though his hands come out to grasp at your face and hold you in place as he kisses you feverishly.

“How about,” he breathes, nipping at your lower lip, “you let me make love to you right here, right now.”

For a moment, you become carried away with the taste of his lips mingled with your wet arousal that fades away fast. You return the kiss with such zeal, too reluctant to part from him just yet, that when you muster the nerve to lean away, you’re panting heavily.

“Not so fast, bugboy,” You taunt. “I still want you to rest.”

You give him a little nudge backward and he obediently follows your wordless command, plopping back against the pillows of your bed as he looks up at you, his hands resting on your upper thighs.

“I don’t know if you can consider sex as resting,” he points out playfully, a wry grin plastered on his face.

He watches as you smile, the rapid heave and fall of your chest, as you wiggle around until you’re comfortable again on his lap and have lifted your hips off of him. Your hand wraps around his shaft once more and you pump him once, twice, in slow motions as you spread the leaking cum from his throbbing head along his shaft. His jaw drops open at the feeling, eyebrows knitting together, and his fingers dig a little too harshly into your skin accidentally but you don’t at all mind ━ not when you’re able to see such a beautiful reaction from him as he comes undone before you.

Seconds pass of bated breath as you lower yourself slowly, carefully, to his cock. You run the tip of his length along your folds and up to your clit, rubbing small patterns against it that has both of you whimpering lowly. You coat him in your leaking arousal and then lower yourself onto him, finally connecting the two of your bodies as one.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunts.

Jungkook seriously feels as if he’s about to explode ━ literally. You’ve only just sat on him and he’s afraid he won’t be able to hold himself together long enough before he feels his sweet release. You’re just so warm and wet, so deliciously wet, that he slides easily into your walls that hug him just right. His mind is spinning, and even more so when he feels you stop halfway and lift your hips again. You drop them to the same level and then back again, repeating this process until you drop your hips fully, flush with his.

“Oooh, Jungkook, hmm,” Your fingers dig into his abdomen at the feeling of being so damn full. You can practically feel him throbbing and your own walls clench and release around him as you adjust to his size.

“Move━” he chokes out. “Move, please━ holy shit━”

And you do. You grind against him, rolling your hips around his firm cock as the fire continues to burn between your legs. You raise your hips languidly and drop them back down again and again until you’ve adopted some fluid rhythm, being so easily coaxed by your own cum.

“Like this?” You gasp.

He nods absentmindedly, swallowing thickly. “Fuck yes, just like that, baby.” His head rolls back against the pillows, the vein in his neck straining, “You feel so━ so fucking good.”

“Tell me,” You breathe.

Jungkook finds it hard to concentrate when his eyes fall on you. He watches as your breasts move in tandem as you ride him, the glistening arousal on your folds that coat his length that he watches disappear into you each time. He greedily reaches out as he’s lost in his own thoughts, his hand cupping your plush breast in a firm hold, his thumb brushing against your perked nipple. Your back arches in response, leaning closer to his warm hand, as he focuses on the tightness that is your core.

“Warm,” he moans. “So, so fucking wet ━ oh my god, you’re dripping, baby. Shit, you feel so perfect around my cock.”

You cry out his name, quickening your pace as you chase your high. Your strides are relentless, desperately searching for a sweet release and Jungkook feels the same. He’s held it in this long ━ he isn’t so sure he can hold himself together for much longer. He can’t take it anymore. Just as he feels you slowing down from exhaustion, he sits up once more, his strong arms wrapping around your torso and pulling you tight against his chest. Your own arms slide around his neck and you lean forward to crash your lips against his as you roll your hips steadily against his now. The new angle has him hitting a spot in you that shakes you to the core, has stars forming in your eyes.

You bite down hard on his lower lip accidentally as you try to conceal the loud moan that bubbles at your lips. Jungkook only smirks in response, especially when you shamelessly let those strangled moans out. As you sink lower onto him, Jungkook thrusts his hips upward to meet yours halfway, earning a sharp gasp from you. He tightens his hold on you and continues to thrust up into you again and again, so hard and so fast that it makes you writhe with pleasure above him. You can feel him stretching you wide each time, can feel your sticky arousal begin to trickle down his cock and your thighs.

So much for making sure he doesn’t hurt himself again ━ his thrusts are pure animalistic, hasty and needy, though all either of you care about in that moment is feeling that sweet release. You collapse entirely against Jungkook’s arms, letting him take hold of you as his hips smack against your ass. When you finally feel your second high of the night approach, your reaction feels near explosive. He thrusts again and again and you choke out somewhere between the sound of skin against skin and heavy breathing, “J━Jungkook━ Fuck! I’m close━”

He growls in response, eager to push you to yours as he chases for his. Another thrust and, holy shit, there. He hits a spot in you once, twice, and over and over again that just feels so incredibly good that you can’t help but unravel in his arms. It takes you by surprise, washing over you an immense cloud of bliss as white-hot pleasure blinds you, starting from your core and spiralling out to every edge of your body until your toes are curling. You cry out his name in a beautiful harmonious sound as your cum leaks profusely from you and coats him just right.

Fuck this ━ he doesn’t care anymore that you want him to rest. He needs to feel his own release now. So he grabs you securely and then he’s twisting you around, shoving you onto your back as he pushes his hips into you. You’re writhing beneath him, your back arching until your warm and sweaty chest is pressed against his. Your fucked out expression that stares back up at him but with such tired and loving eyes only spurs him on further (that, and the way you’re clenching so nicely around him). It’s completely messy but he’s so close. Another hard slap of his hips and then he’s finally coming undone. He pulls out of you fast, his hand coming down to grab at his cock as he pumps himself, thickly coated with your juices.

He cums moments later with a deep, rough moan, releasing onto your stomach in ivory beads that paint you his. His hand slacks around his softening length and then he, so spent and slightly sore from his wound (only slightly, he swears), collapses against you. The room suddenly falls silent, safe for the heavy panting and the shrill beating of your hearts that you both try to tame. His face is buried in the crook of your neck and your arms wrap around him to lazily twine his hair with your fingers. It’s nice to just lay there like that, enveloped in each other's arms, basking in the heavenly glow of euphoria. He kisses your neck then, soft and simple, and litters kisses down your throat to your collarbones and then back up again to your lips.

When he parts from you, his eyes remain locked on your mouth until he forces himself to look away and up at you. You’re smiling at him and it’s the type of genuine, albeit exhausted, smile that always warms his insides and makes him feel at ease. Tracing the curve of your lips with his index finger, he hums thoughtfully to himself.

“I lied about before,” he says sheepishly. When you quirk a brow at him, he continues. “I lied about before when you asked me if I’m ever afraid when I go out at night. I’m always afraid. Part of why I wear that mask is so the people I’m up against don’t see me wimping out. But, god, when I’m with you, I feel invincible.”

He watches as a light blush pinches at your cheeks, your fingers reaching up to softly graze his cheek.

“I’m so in love with you,” he whispers. “I love you. I always have and I swear you make me stronger. I don’t know what it is. I think I just want to fight harder for you. I know I was a dick for leaving that night but I know we can make this work. I just need you to believe in me, too.”

Your eyes, littered with stardust, stare into his as if he is the entire world. “I’m strong, too, Jungkook. I don’t always need protection.”

“I know that,” he chuckles.

“Good. Then get back down here and kiss me again, bugboy.”

Jungkook laughs. He doesn’t hesitate to lean down to press his lips lovingly to yours. He melts against your chest and he is content if every night is like this, in each other’s arms. As he deepens the kiss, he hears you whisper against his lips, “I love you, too, bugboy,” and it is all he needs to feel as if he has the world in his very palm.

Jungkook has always been afraid. He is afraid of not living to see the next day, afraid of losing you or his family or friends but every shred of fear fades away when he’s with you. As the city continues to breathe from beyond the brick walls of your apartment and as the sun begins to rise from the very heart of the metropolis along the horizon, Jungkook is certain that he and you together are invincible.

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

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admiringlove · 4 years ago

Text

hurtful things

+synopsis: genshin boys and the hurtful things they said.

+genre: angst; headcanons.

+characters: kaeya; diluc; childe; zhongli.

+warnings: swearing; crying; implied panic attack.

+order: hey bubs! i saw you doing requests and i HAD to ask for genshin angst :) spare me some tears pls <//3 preferably w kaeya or diluc or childe :) [submitted by @crackheadsara]

+author’s note: okay so i included zhongli bc he’s the love of my life, also i needed comfort from him after writing such hurtful things :D

+navigation: main menu, genshin menu.

— KAEYA.

“i’m better off without you.”

you know from the way your door was knocked in the middle of the night on a weekday after months, that it’s kaeya. you rub your eyes sleepily, trudging towards the door as anger and doubt fuse into a nasty green in your mind.

you unlock the door, pulling it open to see the man with the eyepatch tapping his foot on the deck of your home impatiently. he smirks when his eye lands on you, attempting to walk in but stopping himself when he realizes you're standing at the door, unmoving.

"kaeya, it's three in the morning. and it's monday. i have to report to jean in three hours," you mumble tiredly as you look up at him. the lamp grass by your windowsill outside and the moonlit night accentuated his cerulean eyes and contrasting coffee-colored skin. he frowns, peering down at you as he asks, "may i come in?"

you shrug, opening the door wide as you let the man in. he places his sword on the table and proceeds to walk into the bedroom when you ask, "where have you been for the past two weeks?"

"work," his reply is the same. you let out a sigh in impatience as you retort, "that's the same excuse as always."

he was tired and wanted to sleep off the fatigue from his latest mission. but when he hears you say that, something in him snaps and he turns around, his jaw clenched and a fixed glare making you a little agitated. he raises an eyebrow as he says, "well, unlike you, i am an actual important member of the knights of favonius."

"kaeya, all i meant was that you're always gone. you never write a letter back even if i send you one, and you somehow manage to come back every single time, expecting that it doesn't hurt me. what am i supposed to do?" your voice is small as you look down, hair drooping towards the ground. you're not even yelling at him, you're just worried. he always leaves you alone(sometimes you tag along, but you couldn't tell why nowadays he'd leave you alone without some sort of warning).

"does it ever occur to you that you're just a hindrance?" he bites back, thinking that you're trying to put up a front. you flinch at his words, causing him to force a jeer before he starts again, "you always come along, so maybe i wanted to be away from you for a bit. that's why i leave without a warning so i don't have to tend to your yapping all day. because i'm better off without you."

you gasp as you look up to his figure, now retreating to your shared bedroom. you hear him fall onto the bed with a content sigh as you stand there, wiping at your tears incessantly as hiccups escape your lips. you bit your tongue to stop yourself from crying, pressing a hand on your mouth to muffle the sounds so you don't disturb kaeya. you get a quick peek in, eyes widening when you see him sound asleep and tucked in.

so that's how it was, you think.

the next morning, kaeya wakes up to a cold bed as his arm reaches out to an empty space. his eyes immediately pry open as he wakes up, to see that you weren't here.

ah, he ponders to himself, you must've gone to tend to your duties.

he stretches, letting out a yawn before walking out to the kitchen. he smiles when he sees a plate of food left for him on the countertop with a note from you. but somehow, something felt very wrong about this whole ordeal. this had happened before—he had come back from insanely long missions to you before, so what felt different?

and then it hits him. the things he said last night. he frantically looks around, his azure eyes completely drowned in horror as he notices small changes in your shared household. a few picture frames are missing on the living room walls, your keychain isn't on the bookshelf anymore, and worst of all, when he runs into the closet, half of your clothes are gone.

did you really feel that bad about what he said?

in panic, he runs out and keeps going till he reaches the headquarters of the knights. he barges in this time, not returning the greetings of the guards upfront as he walks into jean's office.

"where are they?" he pants, "i-i messed up, do you know where they are?"

jean's eyes widen as she says, "our associates were having a hard time handling with the fatui in liyue harbor so they volunteered to go there for sometime."

"how long has it been?"

"they left long ago, it's about to be around ten hours since," she says. kaeya's heart shatters as he hears those words. he hadn't expected you to outright leave like that, but if you had said the same things to him, he definitely would've stormed out. his voice cracks as he looks at the ground in shame, "h-how long until they'll be back?"

"i.. don't know."

he regrets everything he's said. he truly does because he doesn't even notice that tears are streaming down his cheeks until jean comes to his aid. he hates himself for all of it—he hates that he has to live in a home where traces of you are visible everywhere; worst of all, he hates how he knows he lost you for good. even if you come back, he knows you wouldn’t run and melt into his arms like you did before. you’re gone now, fading into the darkness and away from him.

maybe it was for the best.

— DILUC.

“you’re nothing but a burden.”

after taking on a few abyss mages and mitachurls, diluc lets a grunt out in pain before you see the slash on his right arm. you gasp, pulling him to the side of the lake as you pull out a bandage and cotton from your bag to clean his wounds. he's reluctant to it at first, but he sits there quietly and broods as you clean the blood with cotton and some type of healing ointment.

you tie the bandage on his arm, a tiny bit of vermillion liquid seeping through the white cloth before sitting down next to him, finally catching a breath. sighing, you look up at him and say, "that was reckless."

"no, what you did was reckless. who told you to come along with me to dadaupa gorge? you knew what you were getting into when you came along, so don't put this on me," he grumbled, frowning as you look at him with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. you are sort of hurt, but you know he's only saying this in faux indignation, so it's okay. you chuckle out, beginning, "diluc, i was-"

"i don't know why i even bother with you at this point," he exasperates, looking into the distance behind you. he curses slightly under his breath, his rouge eyes filled to the brim with anger as it finally overflows, "you're nothing but a burden."

your eyes suddenly flick to gape at him in disbelief. you stand up, your voice hitching in your throat as you ask, "diluc, you mean that?"

and it all simmers down into ashes when he mumbles "of course i do" under his breath. your vision is blurry as you walk away from the red-haired man, your body trembling as you almost give away that you're crying your eyes out. you walk back in the direction the two of you came from, leaving your broken heart in the hands of diluc, who sat by the lake not muttering a word after.

he knows he's said things he doesn't mean; he does that all the time, but you probably knew that. he figures you're leaving to catch a breath of fresh air—to be away from the tension-filled environment for a bit, you had a habit of doing that at home. he sighs as he ponders over his words for a bit. he knew it was wrong to display such harshness to you, but you probably knew he didn't mean anything by it. he always bubbled over rash things when he was frustrated.

the sun sets in front of him, painting hues of aubergine and peach as it flows down. he wonders where you are, getting up from his spot by the lake to venture towards the path you walked off.

only when he can't find you, is when he thinks that you might've actually taken offense to his words. although he cares about you sincerely, he finishes his mission first, getting a lead on the abyss order—because protecting monstadt was his first priority. you lingered in his mind every second of every day till he finally got back home. and when he didn't find you there, he asks adelinde about it, who only shakes her head and tells him, "i'm sorry, master diluc, but i haven't seen them come back. i thought they were with you."

it all pieces together in his mind now, how a small gasp had escaped your lips when he had called you a burden. the way you nodded begrudgingly, getting up and walking away from his presence as your shoulders trembled. the way he could hear you choke back a sob, but still ignored it, thinking you had overreacted in the situation.

he searches the whole city for you. he searches every nook and corner, and even walks into the headquarters of the knights of favonius(he ignores kaeya's teases instead of biting back this time). and when he finally sees you, he holds himself back. his hand is suspended awkwardly in the air as he reaches out for you, your back turned towards him.

maybe this was better—maybe it was a good thing that you had walked away from him. this way, the abyss order won't be able to harm you. this way, he won't be able to harm you. this way, you'll be safe and sound, away from the storm known as diluc ragnvindr.

— CHILDE.

“it’s not like you mean anything to me.”

it's not often you see childe. he's always in liyue, and you're here, stuck in monstadt or snezhnaya. it's cold today(as it always is) in snezhnaya, the snow covered almost everything outside as you looked out of your window, sipping on hot coffee as you sigh at the wilting roses on the sill. they'd wilted when you had gone to monstadt and you didn't have the heart to plant new ones.

just thinking about the blue-eyed childish man would make your heart bloom and cheeks flustered. you longed to spend more time with him, really. if only he wasn't affiliated with the fatui, he'd be able to spend more time with you. it had been months since you had seen him, and you longed to be in his arms once again, but who knows when that'll happen again? whenever he comes home, he chooses to spend a night with you and then head back. he'd laugh alongside you, tell you about his adventures, and give small reactions when you told him about yours. and the next morning, you'd wake up to an empty bed with a small note by the table, saying how he has to leave for work.

a knock at your door snaps you out of your entranced state. as you open the lock and look out, you see childe, standing there with a tired grin and disheveled hair as he walks in without a word. he hands you a small paper bag, saying, "i brought you back something from liyue this time."

the same excuse, you think. it's always the same. he brings back small mementos and souvenirs as a pretense for staying, and by the time you think you can forgive him, he's gone. he plops down onto the sofa, stretching his arm out so you could join him. the thought of confronting him crosses your mind, but you shake it off—since he had only just gotten back.

the night is the same as always. talking about each others' adventures, eating dinner by the fireplace, laughing alongside one another until you hit the bed. it's quiet now as you watch over his sleeping figure, his lapis-colored eyes now hidden. you sigh as you lay there for hours on end, twiddling with his brown hair as you wait for him to wake up(so this time you can actually say goodbye).

when his eyes flutter open, he's a little taken aback when he looks over at you to see you wide awake. his brows furrow just a smidge as he says, "you're up."

"well, i wanted to say goodbye this time," you chuckle dryly, "you always leave without waking me up."

"i don't like the way you said that," he says, getting up from his position on the bed. you look away from him, your eyes displaying hurt as you murmur, "i don't like the way you leave."

"well, it's my job. it's not like i'm an adventurer like you, wasting my time around. i'm a harbinger and i have responsibilities," he says. his voice is neither too soft and nor too prickly, and you can tell that he's a little worked up by the way he lightly nips on the skin of his bottom lip as his gaze bores into you.

"i didn't say you don't. all i said was that you could maybe sometimes stay for more than one night. it feels like you're using me, and when you're bored, you leave."

"oh?" he cocks an eyebrow as he stands up, "i'm using you, huh?"

you grimace at the tone of his voice, and when you look at him, you notice the sheer annoyance he puts up towards you. your voice is small when you ask him if he loves you—because you don't know anymore. seeing him once in a few months for the past few years has sure hurt you more than anything, and if you don't tell him now, then you might never get a chance.

"what if i say i don't?" he smirks, walking up to you, "it's not like you mean anything to me. what if i agree that i am using you to make myself happy until i'm bored, so i can then throw you away?"

he doesn't like what he's saying either. his mind is screaming at him to stop, but he's worked up. he's irritated by the way you jabbed at him first thing in the morning, even though he knows you're right. his heart almost stops when he looks at the expression on your face after he says those words, and as he reaches out his hand for you, you turn away.

your voice cracks, and he's sure his heart did as well when you mumble, "i-i'd like you to leave, please."

"wait, i didn't mean-"

"tartaglia," your eyes look into his, perhaps for the last time, as you give him a sad smile, "you don't have to come back to me anymore."

it hurts him as he leaves your home that morning. it hurts him when he comes back months later to see that your home is now empty. it hurts him because he tarnished the you that was once his.

it hurts him, but he thinks it's for the best if you stay away from him if all he does is bring you pain.

— ZHONGLI.

“i’d like you to leave me alone.”

zhongli was never one to pick fights. he was peaceful; his thoughts were positive(most of the time), and he almost always preferred to talk about his problem rather than fighting about it—he believes that fighting will only bring pain, so why not confide in one another about our problems instead?

he's quiet. he's not shy(it's quite the opposite, actually), but he's one to prefer to only talk when absolutely necessary. he's the type to listen rather than speak, saying something like, "we have two ears and one mouth. speak less than you listen."

he smiles when his mind goes back to the time when he said that to you while having a cup of tea together, and you'd replied, "my mother used to tell me that when i was a child."

because it's true; every child in liyue harbor has heard those words at least once in their lives. the quality of listening is appreciated more than the quality of speaking—and zhongli, for one, was a listener.

you, on the other hand, were a speaker. you always woke him up every morning with a smile as bright and everlasting as the sun, babbling about breakfast and tea as he got up from the bed. you were the one that carried conversations on your shoulders on morning walks, you were the one that intertwined your fingers with his as the two of you walked amongst flowers, adoring them as you talked about the contrasting colors of silk flowers and glaze lilies. he loved you for that. he loved you because you were a speaker. he loved you because you were a perfect balance, the only one who could soften his hardened heart. the only one whom he'd chosen to wake up next to in the mornings, the only one whom he'd let ruffle his hair without asking(because he secretly liked it).

so why had he reversed the roles tonight? why was he the one to bubble out his frustrations to you, speaking in a cold and stern manner instead of the loving tone that was only reserved for you? why was he the one to speak tonight, and why were you the one to listen?

it's not like he was actually frustrated—he was only thinking about something else as you asked him what he wanted for dinner. it surely wasn't your fault when he had poured over turbulent words to you. and he knows that the ones that hurt the most probably were, "i'd like you to leave me alone."

he looks up at the stars, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he walks back into his shared home with you. he looks around, and when there's no sign of you, he feels himself break apart even more.

had you actually left? he wants to run to you and tell you he hadn't meant any of those words because he hadn't. he wants to touch you, to caress you, to please you, to make you smile—and he wants to admit he was wrong. he wants to make it right, but he doesn't know where you are.

he walks into the empty bedroom, sitting on the cold mattress as his eyes sting. he doesn't understand what's happening, or why there are small drops of water falling from his eyes. he doesn't understand why everything feels heavy all of a sudden—his heart, his throat his lungs, everything. he doesn't understand why he feels like he's trapped in a box, and the water seems to be filling up more quickly than he'd prefer. he wants to reach for air, but he can't.

he couldn't breathe without you.

he hears the door close and immediately gets up in haste to walk to the living room where he sees you take off your boots. you turn around to see him, his disheveled hair and frantic eyes finally calming as he walks over to you and engulfs you in a warm embrace. his throat cleared up, and so did his heart and lungs as he mumbles against your ear, "i'm so sorry."

you smile smally, looking up at him as you cup his cheeks and wipe a stray tear, and mutter, "it's okay, zhongli. stress gets to the best of us."

god, how he loves you. he places a small peck on the top of your forehead as he feels his lips turn upward at your touch and the scent of glaze lilies lingering over you tells him that you'd been to the flower garden. he sleeps with your fingers weaved with his that night and pulls you even closer if you untangle with him in sleep.

he makes a promise to himself saying he'd never hurt you like that again, and he keeps it.

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bonkie-barnes · 3 years ago

Text

Spoons

natasha romanoff x gn!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: chronic illness, mention of medicine, self deprecating thoughts

A/N: this is me 1000% projecting about my guilt that comes with my chronic illnesses. they're kicking my ass rn. this is a vent fic, but if you resonate with this at all, i hope you enjoy :)

- - -

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The alarm clock on Natasha’s bedside table has been going off for a full minute already. You merely roll over and cover your head with Natasha’s pillow. It smells like her.

You have absolutely no energy to get up, let alone reach across the bed to turn the alarm off. Your head feels heavy and your body aches something terrible.

The list of chores you have to do around the house today sits uncomfortably in the back of your mind. The list of friends who have texted you about making plans to hang out sits there too. The idea of staying in bed all day sounds more and more appealing by the second. You know this because the alarm is still blaring into the otherwise peaceful morning air.

Just as you’re gathering the strength to sit up and turn the alarm off, Natasha walks in. She looks at her watch and her brow furrows in confusion.

“What are you doing, sleepyhead?” she asks you with a little smirk. There is concern in her eyes, though she masks it well.

You’re both fully aware the alarm has been going off for seven minutes straight now.

“Just tired, love. You know how much work it takes to reach over,” you say in a joking manner, hopeful that you can get past this without worrying her too much.

Natasha eyes you suspiciously for a second before giving in.

“How was your workout?” you ask her sincerely.

As she starts rambling about her morning activities, you feel a sense of shame. You’ve barely managed to wake up in the time it’s taken her to complete a full workout routine. Hell, you couldn’t even find it in you to turn the alarm off.

You finally focus on her rant as it comes to an end. Natasha is looking at you expectantly. Shit. She’s asked you a question.

“Huh?” you grunt.

She chuckles before answering, “I asked if you were ever going to get up and get in the shower, stinky.”

You put on a fake smile but fail to meet her eyes, the shame eating you up. It has been a few days since your last shower, but it’s just so hard to find the strength and energy to get up and stand in one place for more than a minute or two.

If Natasha notices the far away look in your eyes and the grimace on your mouth, she doesn’t say anything.

After one of the quickest and most unproductive showers you’ve ever taken, you find Natasha waiting for you in the kitchen. She’s taken it upon herself to make breakfast for you both.

You kiss her cheek and thank her as you sit down at the table. The warm cup of coffee she sets down in front of you is a godsend. The warmth emitting from the cup helps to diminish the pain in your knuckles, if only slightly. You send up a silent prayer to whomever might be listening that the caffeine will help with the fatigue today instead of making you sick.

Natasha sits down in the chair next to you with her own plate. She runs her eyes over you in a scrutinizing manner. She wants to think you don’t notice, but you do.

Clearing your throat in hopes to take her focus off you, you ask about her plans for the day.

“Oh, you know, mostly just busy work. I have a ton of paperwork to get through,” she tells you through an exaggerated sigh. “What about you?”

The list of chores screams at you again. “Mostly just some things around the house. Grocery shopping, laundry, boring shit like that.”

Natasha hums around a sip of her coffee. It surprised you just how much cream and sugar she takes in hers. It’s just one of the many unpredictable things about her that made you fall in love.

“Super exciting. I hate to miss out,” she teases you.

You crack a smile to appease her. Inside, though, you realize just how little she understands. These errands seem so simple to her, when to you, they are the most daunting of tasks.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Natasha standing up to take her plate to the sink. She comes back to kiss your cheek and let you know she’s going to go get ready, before walking out of the room.

You suspect the amount of housework you’ll get done today will be minimal, so you decide to at least make Natasha some lunch. Maybe it will lessen the disappointment she feels when she comes home to see everything exactly as it was when she left, you think.

Your plan is halted as you’re making her sandwich. The stupid cover on the peanut butter jar is stuck. You can’t open it for the life of you. The guilt comes in like a tidal wave. You can’t even do something as simple as make lunch for her, your brain supplies for you.

Natasha returns from getting ready to see you standing in the kitchen with a glare on your tired face.

“What’d the peanut butter do to you this time,” she jokes.

“I can’t.” Tears well up in your eyes.

She comes up to wrap you in a hug from behind. She softly asks, “What can’t you do?”

“I can’t open the jar,” you mutter softly, feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed.

“It’s okay, love. Let me help,” she tells you delicately before kissing the spot under your ear. She can tell this is affecting you more than usual and wishes for nothing more than to be able to take away your distress.

You mutter a thank you before continuing to make her sandwich. You pack everything into a bag and write a small note to finish it off. You know Natasha loves the little messages you leave her periodically, and nothing will stop you from trying to make her as happy as you can.

Goodbyes are said as you both wander closer to the door. Natasha makes sure to hold you longer and tighter than usual. You don’t comment on that.

The silence that encompasses the room as soon as the love of your life leaves is suffocating. You can feel the exhaustion from purely getting up and getting ready creeping up on you. Logically, you know that you shouldn’t overexert yourself, but the shame is eating you up. Already on a roll, might as well keep on going, you think to yourself.

You go back to your mental to-do list and debate what to start with. The grocery store doesn’t sound terrible. Some sun would do you some good. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen the world that exists outside of your house.

Wandering back to the bedroom to get your phone and shoes, you try to push the fatigue from your mind. In your attempt to block out the tiredness, you fail to recognize the ever-present pain in your joints increasing. It’s only when you sit down and bend over to put your shoes on that you register the feeling. Your hips ache severely; so much so, that you can’t hold your position long enough to get your shoe on your foot.

This seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, seeing as you immediately burst into tears. The pain mixed with your inability to do basic, everyday activities completely overwhelms you as you break down.

There’s absolutely no chance that you’re going to complete this task, let alone all the other ones on your list. You let out a sigh as you stand up and shuffle to your room, phone and shoes forgotten in the living room.

You let the weight of your emotions crush you as you climb into bed and under the covers, your wife’s pillow clutched closely to your chest.

Your tears cease to stop, even as you succumb to the sleep you so desperately wished to hold onto this morning.

- - -

Natasha comes home to an eerily silent house. On any typical day, she would come home to the noise of your favorite show or music softly playing, whether it be from a speaker or from your guitar. Your shared house consistently was filled with life and sound. It was one of her favorite parts of her day; coming home to you in your own element, laughing or singing. You are her home.

This newfound silence has her exceptionally worried. Even on your bad days, there was at least a laugh track coming from the TV or the smell of hot chocolate coming from the kitchen. Now, there’s absolutely nothing. For a split second, Natasha thinks that you may never have come back from the grocery. Her heart rate spikes. The sight of your phone on the coffee table and your shoes strewn haphazardly on the floor puts those worries to rest.

“Darling?” she calls from the entryway. There is no response. She carefully removes her boots and coat before moving through every room in the house, calling out for you softly in each.

She makes her way to the bedroom, lightly knocking on the door as she lets herself in. She sees the rise and fall of your chest and is filled with a sense of relief she didn't know she needed.

"Love? Are you awake?"

You grumble out an answer that could be understood as a 'yes'.

Natasha carefully sits down on the side of the bed that you are facing.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" she requests softly, in fear of upsetting the quiet environment of the bedroom and making things worse.

The tears that started up again when you wife called out the first time get even heavier somehow.

"Oh love, come here."

She carefully gathers you in her arms and rests your head on her chest.

"Does this have anything to do with the peanut butter jar this morning?"

You nod. One of your favorite things about your wife is her ability to observe and understand what you're going through.

"I just can't do anything today. Everything hurts and I'm so, so tired," you whisper, followed by a heartbreaking sob.

"It's okay love. Please don't cry," Natasha whispers back.

"But it's not! It's not okay!" You sit up from her chest to let out your rant. "You've done so much today and I could barely wake up. You work so hard and I should be able to do stuff around the house so you can come home and not have to worry about anything," you finish with a sigh.

Your wife puts her hand under your chin, forcing you to look in her direction. "Love, look at me. Believe me when I say that I don't care about the state of the laundry or if the pantry has been stocked. All I care about is you. All I want is for you to be okay. It's killing me that you feel like this and I can't do anything to take it away from you. What I can do, though, is tell you just how proud I am of you. You are the strongest person I know, and I work with the Avengers."

You giggled at that. Natasha smiles at your small second of happiness.

"Are you sure? Because I was going to get so much done today and I was trying to-"

Natasha cuts you off with a soft kiss.

"My love. Listen to me. All I care about is your health and happiness. If staying in bed and catching up on sleep is what you needed today, then that's all I expect from you. I never want you to hurt yourself trying to do more than you can. We all have limits. It’s okay to need a break some days. I love you and I am so very, very proud of you."

With a long look into her eyes, all you find is love and adoration directed towards you. There's no disgust or disappointment as you had anticipated.

"I love you too," you utter quietly.

Natasha smiles and leaves a long kiss on your forehead. "What if we got some pain killers and some food in you? We can even put on your favorite movie. Does that sound good?"

You nod. Natasha gets up to get you some medicine and to order some food, while you get your favorite movie loaded on the TV.

Later that night, when both your stomachs are full and your wife is obnoxiously singing along to the songs in the movie just to make you laugh, you realize just how loved you are.

You don't know how tomorrow will treat you, or the day after that. What you do know, however, is that Natasha will always be there to support and love you. Your pain level and ability to function is always an uncertainty, but your wife's love will never be.

- - -

A/N: as always, i try to keep it gender neutral. if you find a mistake, please let me know! feedback is appreciated! to all my chronic illness buddies out there: i love you, you've got this :)

taglist: @007giu

#natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha romanoff x gn!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #my fic #natasha romanoff x reader

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wearywinchester · 3 years ago

Text

Regrets

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a fight leaves you both having some regrets, a little space brings some clarity.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angsts, injury, mentions of death, guilt, comfort, fluff

The tension swirling around in the car was nearly unbearable, thick and heavy as you sat pressed to the passenger side door. You’d been doing it out of spite for the older Winchester, feeding off each other’s anger, each other’s huffs and puffs. He’d noticed just how far away you were sitting and it had him tensing his jaw because he knew exactly what you were doing and it was working.

It was working and he absolutely wouldn’t admit it.

The hunt had gone all kinds of wrong, couldn’t have gone worse apart from one of you dying. Actually, you almost did and that was the problem. That was every bit Dean’s problem and the very thought of it sent his anger from a simmer to a boil in the pit of his stomach every time it crossed his mind. To be more specific, it’s the only thing he’s been thinking about this whole time. But in true Dean Winchester fashion, the fear and concern eating away at him didn’t come out so clearly.

His vulnerability was mostly expressed through anger. Yelling and shutting down, mumbling strings of curses— it was anger in its truest form just to hide how scared he really is.

It was quiet, no radio no nothing save for the occasional clear of his throat or a heavy exhale coming from either one of you. It was quiet and you couldn’t wait to get out of that car, couldn’t wait to be back at the and take up residence in your room, maybe even one of the spares just to be farther from him. You have plenty of them to choose from. You felt like you’d scream if you spent even so much as another ten minutes with him.

You’d gotten hurt that day, gotten hurt and it wasn’t unlike other times. It wasn’t ideal how the hunt should have gone, ideally you wouldn’t have been a ghost’s kebab as she stuck her hand right through you and around your heart. Ideally you wouldn’t have been thrown against a wall without care for where you landed by Casper the unfriendly ghost. You almost sealed your fate that day all for the sake of getting the job done. All for the sake of saving lives.

That was his problem.

But, his problem wasn’t expressed in the best of ways. It was expressed in shouts and running his hand through his hair, in telling you he never wants you hunting again and a tightly clenched jaw. You argued back and forth for the better part of half the trip home, that lump still sitting heavy in your throat as you suppress your tears.

You were dying to be back home, in fact, you weren’t waiting another minute.

“Let me out,” you said, tone angry as you spoke.

His brows furrowed, looking at you for a moment. “What?”

“Pull over and let me out.”

“Not a chance, it’s ten at night and it’s about to freakin’ rain, Y/n. Who knows what’s out there,” he says, his voice raising.

“I know what’s out there, Dean, we hunt it for a living. Let me out. I’d rather walk than spend another minute listening to you huff and puff.”

“No.”

He pretended that it didn’t sting as much as it did, he pretended it didn’t make him swallow thickly and hid it with a little more tension in his jaw. They were just words. Just words spoken out of anger much like all of the things the two of you had spoken in the last half hour.

You could hear the frustration in his voice, in the single word, could see the tension in his jaw and just how tightly he gripped the wheel. That crease between his brows was deeper than ever and it showed each time a car passed you by.

“Dean.”

“Do you like throwing yourself in danger, Y/n? Is that what it is?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes, breathing out a huff that’s more than dramatic as the anger you feel only gets worse, both your anger is. You’re both feeding off of your own frustrations at this point and you can bear another second of it.

“Pull the damn car over or I’ll jump out myself,” you grit out, because if you talk any louder your voice just might fail you.

In a matter of seconds he veers off to pull over as you insisted, braking with a little more force than necessary as he stared ahead at the road. You were blind to the incoming storm, and Dean definitely wasn’t, couldn’t have been. But he pulled over anyway just like you wanted him to.

“You hate me so much, fine, you’re free to go.”

You pause for a moment, gaze narrowed at him before you grabbed your bag. “Yeah, well, maybe I do.”

Without another word from either of you, you got out, missing the way he looked at you as you did and the way he bit the inside of his cheek. And you missed the look on his face when you slammed the door shut, slinging your bag over your shoulder. After a beat of silence he pulls away, tires screeching against the pavement as he sped off down the road with the rev of his engine muffling the farther he gets.

You swallow thickly as you tighten your jacket around yourself, gaze narrowed as you watch the red of the tail lights disappear. Your anger still simmered as your heart raced, but that lump in your throat became near impossible to suppress as you walked along the gravelly side of the road by yourself. But that’s just it—you were by yourself. Those tears you fought so hard to hide glossed over your eyes now, spilling over your cheeks now. All of that built up frustration was seeping it’s way out.

You didn’t have to be so stubborn now that you were all alone, didn’t have to keep that front you put up for the sake of looking strong in front of green eyes.

Gravel and fallen leaves crunched under your feet as you walked along, the noises almost uncomfortably loud in contrast to your surroundings. You felt like an easy target for whatever is out there, felt like all eyes were on you despite the very real fact that you were all by yourself. But a part of you didn’t care at this point.

That adrenaline from the hunt still coursed through you, fueled by dwindling frustration that came and went in waves. It was seeping out in the form of tears, in the form of you kicking rocks in your path and throwing caution to the wind as you walked with heavier footsteps.

You weren’t that far from the bunker, not really. You had your knife tucked in your boot, you could handle yourself. You’re not as weak as you felt in that moment, and the emotions running wild through you was enough to have you putting up a good fight should you need to.

But you needed space. Needed space to keep any more words of regret from spilling past your lips. Needed space before you felt like your heart would burst right out of your chest.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets as you sniffed, tears running hot down cold cheeks as you watched the way your breath puffed out against the cold air. You tried to ignore the drizzle of the rain, tried to ignore it as you put your hood up, only for the wind to blow it right back down once more and after a few hasty battles with Mother Nature you decided to give it up. Decided to toss away your comfort as the icy droplets fell down on you heavier and heavier as the seconds passed.

You settle for picking up your pace as you walk down the road, the one that’s never been ideally lit for as long as you can remember. You weren’t that far, not really, you could make it back.

You tried not to think about your wavering anger, and the way it wavered more and more each time you thought about your conversation in the car. You tried not to think about how comforting one of his flannels would be, or the warmth of his arms. You shook it from your mind because you had yourself convinced you had to be angry at him.

What happened that day wasn’t just some run of the mill incident on a hunt. It wasn’t scraped knees or busted lips, it was sprained ankles or bloody noses. You almost bit the bullet and hunted your last hunt that day. You still felt that pain in your chest despite the threat of that ghost being long gone and put to rest. You still felt that jarring fear, that shake in your hands, and you still felt that urge to cry over it despite your overwhelming need to feel like you’ve got to be tough even when you don’t.

It was all still there, and now you’ve gone and had a screaming match with the older Winchester. Now you’ve both gone and spewed more than enough things you regret.

You didn’t know what was worse, the regretful anger sitting heavy in your stomach, or your overwhelming desire to get out of this awful weather so you could sulk in the warmth of the bunker. To get rid of that heavy sense of feeling vulnerable walking by yourself even though you’d insisted on doing so. You insisted and you got what you wanted.

But you picked up the pace once you reached that familiar stretch of road, once you spotted home tucked in that hillside. You picked up the pace despite the fatigue you felt telling you to slow it down.

You were cold, you were wet, you were miserable.

Meanwhile, Dean was back at the bunker stewing in his own regret unbeknownst to you. He’d debated a million and one times on turning back and going to get you. He could’ve handled you arguing with him, could’ve handled you hating him. Well, you’d gone and said that you did and he doesn’t know if he really could handle it as much as he’d like to act like it. But you were angry, you were angry and so was he and nothing good ever came out of arguing.

You snagged the key from where the three of you kept it hidden and sniffled once more before you pushed the door open, shutting out the terrible weather behind you in favor of the sheltered warmth of the bunker.

The place seemed empty despite the fact that you knew it wasn’t. Sam should be back after a hunt with Eileen, and surely Dean was around here somewhere. You knew he was judging by the fresh tire tracks in the gravel but you tried not to think about it. You tried to think about going unnoticed until you could get a change of clothes. He didn’t need to see how miserable you looked, how right he was about the rain, how right he was about how scared you truly were after that day.

If he knew that, then that tough guy act you put up after all this time would crumble to pieces in an instant.

You may have been able to snag a dry change of clothes without being seen, may have been able to sneak off to the bathroom without it either. But he knew you were here, and he knew you had to have been worse for wear and it had his guilt and regret simmering in a frenzy.

He saw the wet and slightly muddy footprints in the hall, he saw your rain soaking jacket on the coat rack, heavy with the accumulated rainfall. He saw the way those footprints first went to your shared room, tracked them all the way down the hall to a room that’s farthest from his own. And in there were more wet clothes, cold and heavy as he gathered them to toss in the hamper, in there were soaked leather boots with mud caked on the edges.

You were stubborn as hell and so was he.

But that anger was beginning to wash away with the cold as you cleaned yourself up, as you tried your hardest to have the day roll off your shoulders. But that pain in your chest was only a dreadful reminder of its events. You wanted to be angry, and a part of you still was, because being angry was better than facing Dean Winchester in that moment.

You swiped that dampened wash rag over your face once more, too tired to go so far as to take a shower. Too tired to do much more than sulk and stew in a heap of emotions as you changed your clothes into dryer, warmer ones. They only comforted you so much with the feelings you’ve got weighing you down.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you exchanged some less than desirable words with him, didn’t know where he was as you walked down the hall and slipped into the room you’d claimed that night. You didn’t notice the pile of wet clothes that’d gone missing, but you saw the extra blanket on the bed. It could’ve been Sam, could’ve been, but deep down you knew it wasn’t.

There were plenty of things you would’ve noticed had you come home a little bit earlier. But you didn’t.

He cleaned up the books he’d swept off one of the tables in the library out of his own frustration. He’d righted the chair he kicked, cleaned up the mess of anger and frustration he’d made in his room. He picked up the pieces of his regret for letting you get out of that car at the dead of night.

You got in bed, you switched off the lights and climbed under the covers as you let out a sigh, one that was just as shaky as ever as your tears decided they were quite done with you. As you lay there on your side you fail to see the shadows of the boots on the other side of your door, standing there for a moment before they’d disappeared once more.

You were tired as ever, physically fatigued and emotionally exhausted as you lay there in a bed that’s worse for wear as the springs dig into your side. The room didn’t feel quite so welcoming, didn’t feel quite so comfortable as yours did because a certain green eyed hunter wasn’t on the other side of the wall. He wasn’t on the other side of the mattress.

That anger and that hurt still coursed through you, but it wasn’t scorching and hot, it wasn’t singing your actions like they had been a while ago. You tried to push it out of your mind, trying your hardest to convince yourself that a good night’s sleep would be the best answer to all of this, that it would keep you from saying anything else you surely would regret saying as soon as they’re spoken.

But you know you’re far past doing that.

You try anyway, try to tuck yourself further under the blankets and close your eyes. You were beyond tired, the day robbing you of any energy, stripping you of a good mood for a good long while. You tried your hardest to fall asleep and put the day behind you like you know you probably should. Things were said and done and there was no changing it, so the most you could do was sleep and restart the next day. But you couldn’t.

You tossed and turned on that mattress for a good half hour, riddled with discomfort and your mind plagued with just one thing, just one person. You knew he’d be awake, that was something you were certain of even if he pretends to be asleep like he sometimes does.

Indecision weighs you down as you sit on the edge of the bed, feet pressed to the cold concrete floor. It tugs you in every direction as you walk to the door with reluctance and ultimately step into the dimmed hallway. It was quiet as ever as you walked, footsteps much quieter than the squeak of your rain soaked boots.

It took some walking before you saw the light in the kitchen streaming into the hall, heard the clatter of a few dishes. You made it to the doorway, made it all the way there before you froze. You paused and waited, waited to work up the nerve. It could have been Sam, it very well could have been him but the thud of his boots answered that for you, a sound that drew closer and had you turning and walking away.

You didn’t get very far.

“Y/n?” You froze once more and paused, waiting a moment before you turned around. His gaze was on you as you looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s raining, isn’t it?”

You sigh, shifting on your feet. “No, not really.”

“You’re wet, Y/n.”

“I took a shower,” you counter, too fast for your words to be true. It’s quiet as he nods, completely unconvinced by your words and he hears the edge to your tone.

His mouth opens and closes a few times with words he doesn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue. There’s too many things he wants to say at once, namely the bang up job you did at cleaning that scrape on your cheek. Or the way you look like you’re chilled to the bone. Or maybe a spew of words of how much he regrets listening to you, how he hates himself for listening and letting you go like that.

But he finds he doesn’t have the opportunity when you find yourself doing the same, only you do find words to say.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you say, looking at him for a moment before turning away and walking back down the hall.

You don’t see the way his hand reaches out, or the way it drops back to his side because you’re too busy rushing back to that miserable spare bedroom with another regret to add the the hefty and ever growing pile. It grows heavier when you hear that door close down the hall. It grows more and more as the seconds pass, as the minutes pass in that less than comfortable stupid spare room.

It’s laughable for you to think you’d make it a night on your own in there, not with the way you’re wiping angry tears away. It didn’t feel good to be at odds with him, not when it’s fueled by nothing more than stupidity and stubbornness at this point. There was no good reason to avoid him, no good reason to leave him standing there like you did.

You couldn’t take another minute.

You were quiet as you slipped out of that room with the intention of never returning to it, quiet as you padded back down that dimly lit hall towards your true home, rather the one that resides in that room. You’re timid as you twist the knob and open the door, finding green eyes laying on his side of the bed, the lamp switched off.

You swallow thickly as you stand there timidly, your lip between your teeth in a nervous habit. You let the moments pass as you stand there unsure of yourself, waiting a moment more before you close the door behind you. You circle the bed and climb in quietly, under the blankets before you turn and lay on your side too, your back to him.

It’s tense at first, tense for a good long few minutes with nothing other than the sound of the two of you breathing and the sound of the blankets rustling when one of you moves. But that tense quiet is melted as you feel his arm draped over you, tugging you closer and closer until you’re pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin, soft but enough for you to hear.

You can hear the regret in his hushed tone, can hear the guilt weighing the two words down. At first you’re quiet, staring ahead as your lip wobbles under your emotions. You don’t say anything but after a little while you turn around, face to face with the expression that matched the words.

You look at him for a moment, gaze bouncing over every inch of his face. You swallow as you look at him, quietly mulling everything over that you wish you hadn’t said that day. But there’s one thing that keeps coming back, one thing that weighs heavy.

“I could never hate you,” you murmur, soft and embarrassed.

You see the way he nods softly, see the way the corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a half smile as he reaches up and traces the tips of his fingers across your cheek, along the curve of your ear. He nods until he rests his forehead against yours, noses bumping.

“What do you say we take a break from hunting for a little while,” he says softly, eyes falling closed as his breath puffs warmly against your lips. “Just for a little while.”

He’s sick of the close calls, doesn’t want to think about that day for a while even though he knows he won’t ever stop dwelling on it. This was too much and he desperately wants to have a break from the fear of losing you for a little while.

You take a breath and nod, you nod and you kiss him softly and it settles the nerves rumbling around within him.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that, De,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose down to his lips in a lingering kiss.

That tension of regret still hangs heavy in his shoulders, still hangs heavy in your heart no matter how many times the two of you apologize. He knows you’ll never blame him for pulling over like that, you insisted after all. He knows he’ll never let himself off the hook either. But he doesn’t want to bring it up, not now that you’re safe in his arms once more.

He doesn’t want to bring up just how much he wishes you wouldn’t play tough guy after hunts like these, just how much that day bothered him. And you feel like you could tell him a million times over just how much you love him but he knows, even if you’re beating yourself up for what you said in the heat of the moment he knows it’s just that.

You were home, he was your home. Past the arguments and huffs and puffs and words spoken out of anger. None of that mattered in that moment.

You could apologize all you want another time and surely you would, but you keep yourself in that moment.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @lyarr24 @happyt0exist

#dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic

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fishstyx · 4 years ago

Text

it's always the quiet ones.

featuring. fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

wc. 1.4k

genre. dark/taboo, smut

tw. 18+ nsfw, noncon, intoxication/alcohol, anal penetration, virginity, choking, dacryphilia, creampie

synopsis. a little bit of jungle juice and megumi is skipping bases.

Megumi tries not to think about it sober.

That is, what it’d feel like with one hand wrapped around your neck, breath bated as he preps your asshole with the other. Would tears well up in your eyes as he forces his cock into your twitching heat? Would cum spill from your gaping hole when he finishes inside you?

He’s way ahead of himself and he knows it, doesn’t have the slightest clue what your other hole feels like—hasn’t had a single taste of you in bed before. He’s doing his best to curb his curiosity, really, but lately he’s finding it harder and harder to put his demons to sleep when he’s got a little something in his system.

You’re not exactly in your right mind either, tonight, clinging to his arm at the party when you know it’s all he can do just to tolerate the slightest amount of PDA. But the throng of moving bodies swallows you whole and it feels like just the two of you in this time and space; you’re only able to hear each other over the blaring music anyway, as if the reality between you both is the only one that truly exists.

But then you’re wobbling in place, antsy movements signaling your approaching departure when he’s been secretly hoping that you’ll never let go. Your words come out a slur, a poorly pronounced “‘m going to the bathroom,” no vowel left unstretched as you peel away and turn your heel.

And as much as Megumi would love to play it cool, to wait for you by the door like a responsible boyfriend should, the curve of your ass in your favorite night time outfit lures him in behind you. You’re so out of it that you don’t even notice when the door shuts closed.

It’s all a blur from the moment you realize you’re not alone in the bathroom. He’s crept upon you unawares, was probably the one to lock the door properly when you completely forgot to. And if the mirror’s reflection wasn’t proof enough, he’s hunched over you now, lips barely grazing your ear as he whispers:

“I bet we could get away with it in here.”

And you giggle.

A fit of giggles.

A string of them, all stitched together by a stray hiccup or two as you raise your arms in compliance.

“I bet we could.”

You never would’ve guessed that your first time would be in a place like this, surrounded by people yet visible to no one. You can feel the thump of the music even from here, the beat of the bass still thrumming at your feet, familiar pop melody buzzing in your bones.

Is this really Megumi? My Megumi? you question in fragmented wonder, but the thought quickly dissipates as he gets you undressed. It’s such a freeing change of pace from the oppressive air that hangs outside, a heavy blanket of heat and perspiration and sweat-slicked clothing.

You’re still laughing when his pants drop, head swirling in dizzying anticipation. Because it all feels so surreal, how honest you’re being, how honest he’s being. He’s hardly ever let his touch wander before, yet now he’s pressing his hard on against that perfect ass of yours, hands ghosting over your thighs and up your chest as he rocks his hips into you.

You’re still laughing when he tugs at your underwear. He could do this all night long, dry hump himself to completion again and again if only that were enough for you, too—but the wet patch evidenced by the fabric reminds him otherwise.

You’re still laughing when his fingers meet your slick, laughing at how someone’s banging the door while your boyfriend pets your leaking slit, laughing and laughing and laughing. It’s sloppy work at best, but he’s buzzed and you’re buzzed, the core of your body practically singing with praises at his every touch. It reeks of booze and stink and sour and you can’t get enough of it. You push your sweet spot into the palm of his hand in an attempt to help him out, unable to hide your disappointment when he draws back unexpectedly.

But then he’s thumbing at your neglected little puckered asshole, painting it glossy with your own dripping juices. It’s been distracting him this whole time, after all, practically presenting itself to him from this angle—wholly unbeknownst to you yourself. You stiffen, pressing your back flush into his chest, so very sure that he couldn’t possibly be into that.

“Gumi, that’s the wrong hole,” you say, voice hushed as you try to move his hand away, but it’s no use. Your eyes widen in panic as he pushes you down with ease, full weight anchoring you to the sink countertop. He’s never made show of it but he’s clearly much stronger, undoubtedly several times the brawn needed to overpower you. Your legs kick as his thumb sinks deeper—a knuckle? Two knuckles? Not that it really matters, since either way...

You’re not laughing anymore.

Because the person behind you, the one who’s ignoring your words of protest as he replaces his thumb with a pair of fingers, scissoring you apart exactly where you told him not to—that person is most definitely not your Megumi.

The knocking at the door has stopped; the silence is deafening.

And all of a sudden, you feel utterly alone.

“Megumi, it burns,” you plead, voice climbing until you can finally separate it from the thunderous quietude, but he only holds you down by the neck, spitting on his fingers before reworking your walls.

It’s hard for you to stand still like this, but you can’t tell if your legs are shaking out of fatigue or in reaction to his ministrations. You struggle to deliberate—the sensation in your ass morphing into something familiar yet strange—while Megumi simply decides it’s the latter.

There’s little warning when he deems you ready. He comes to full halt in an instant, the instant when he finally snaps and can’t bear to wait another second. He doesn’t even give himself time to admire his handiwork, doesn’t relish in the way that your walls flutter around nothing the moment he pulls out. The very next moment, he finds himself violating you past the point of no return instead.

It feels impossibly full.

You scramble for purchase on the counter as he doubles back, your forehead nearly hitting the mirror when he lurches forward again, desperate to relieve his pent-up fantasies.

“Holy shit, it’s tight,” he hisses, as if he isn’t fucking his lover but just some onahole fleshlight. With gritted teeth he snaps his hips repeatedly, chokehold stiffening as the pace devolves into rhythmless abandon. It feels new, it feels weird, it feels like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Your mind fumbles to make sense of it, forever oscillating between ‘oddly satisfying’ and ‘downright disgusting.’

All streams of consciousness seem to freeze when he hits a spot so sensitive you think you’re paralyzed from the waist down. You’re set ablaze, the pressure leaving you tingling and confused. Even when he misses the mark your body screams for more, pulsating with primal need.

You feel lightheaded, lack of airflow one of the few things you can focus on, and Megumi swears he can feel you suddenly clamp down on him. Every noise is blurring into each other, from your fruitless whines to the sound of his balls slapping your skin, and you can hardly tell up from down when he blows his load.

Maybe that’s what sends you over the edge: the warmth that fills your abused insides as if to reward them for all their trouble. No, you’re not cumming. You’re crying, the release of your frustration rolling off your cheeks and falling flat on the countertop, the only reprieve from the unfamiliar feeling, warm and sticky and unfair in your injured hole.

Megumi’s too busy riding out his orgasm to notice, grip on your neck loosening as you milk out the last of his semen. He watches the place where your bodies connect with intent, the thought of pulling out never quite crossing his mind. His gaze doesn’t so much as falter until you’re oozing his seed, his wildest dreams come true in vivid quality.

It’s only when he catches your eye in the mirror that he sees the trails of tears that stain your face, admires the way they catch the light when you shake your head, “No more, please stop, it’s too much…”

He hardens instantly.

🏷️ @levisbrattiestbrat

#fushiguro x reader #fushiguro smut #megumi smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #megumi x reader #tw. penetration.#tw. dacryphilia.#tw. breath play.#tw. dark.#tw. noncon #tw. influence.#🍣.food #fishstyx.jjk

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tommyspeakycap · 3 years ago

Note

again, your new john stones fic blew me away!!! Amazing. Please feel free to write about him all day every day!! <3

thank you again!! here’s another sweet one inspired by my own 1am experience tonight :) i wish I had a john stones

My hero

Your heart is quite literally thundering in your chest. There’s no feeling like it, this kind of fear that sticks you to the ground beneath your feet. You honestly feel like you can’t catch your breath, tears streaking down over your flushed cheeks as you hold your phone in your right hand with trembling fingers, one thumb finally letting go of the little microphone shaped drawing in your iMessages app. Even the whooshing sound of the message you knew was about to send to your best friend catches you off guard, making your shoulders clench and raise in fright.

“Are you seriously alright??”

She texts back, her confusion and teasing is something you know is laced into those letters across the screen creating a glow in the dim room. You roll your eyes at her, trying to keep your vision up while sending another voice note back; “No, seriously. Why does this only ever happen when I’m alone??”

“Probably because you live alone?” She replies back, and you curse yourself for a choice of friends who clearly have no empathy for what you consider to be a very serious situation. You know you won’t hear the end of this teasing once it’s all over. But the fear to you is all too real.

“(Y/n) I got your text! Came right here, are you alright?”

The sudden voice makes you literally clench your entire body, nearly shooting off the floor in fright and making one of those internalised fear noises that sounds like you just been attacked with a taser. You hear keys dropping down by the door and then a pause of his footsteps as you try to catch your breath. Your heart swells a little at the thought of him being here.

“John!” You yelp, your voice coming out something more like a strangled cry. The tall defender hears that sound and finds himself in panic, those long legs carrying him quickly and easily up the stairs of your small home until he spots you standing now in the doorway of your bedroom. He rushes towards you, seemingly checking you over for potential injuries the best he can in the darkness only broken by the lowest setting of flashlight on your phone. The first thing he notices when checking over your face with his hands is the wetness still making its way over your cheeks.

“Are you alright? what happened? Is there someone in there? Are you okay? Did someone hurt-“

You cut off his rambling with a finger over his lips, creating even more confusion for the fluffy haired brunette who had very clearly rolled himself out of bed to hurry over here. He was wearing shoes without socks, dirty shorts from training that he’d thrown off before going to bed only to pull back in to come to your, and an old sweater that usually sat somewhere downstairs in the closet closest to the door. It was obvious he had come in a wild rush the second he got your erratic message.

“It’s a wasp, John!” You whisper, as if the little creature that sitting on your lightbulb unwilling to move from the place you couldn’t reach and wouldn’t dare to even if you could, was able to hear you.

“A wasp?” John repeats incredulously. “Seriously?”

You nod vigorously, and and as much as the exhausted footballer wants to complain or even sigh at you, he doesn’t. Maybe he can’t. Because he’s got his arms around you and he definitely can feel you quivering against him. He had expected something more along the lines of a one night stand gone wrong or even someone breaking it, but as his consciousness began to catch back up with his previously very sleepy self, it made a lot more sense. In the event of a break in, you would probably have been bloody calmer than you are now to be honest. John had seen you after a pretty dangerous car crash completely still and relatively calm as you gave statements to police officers with blood still trickling down your face. But put an insect in your path and you scaled the closest thing to you for protection.

It just so happened that closest thing was often John Stones, and he was happy to be that person really.

It has become a norm between the two of you in the years you had been friends. Winter was the worst for spiders, but he generally didn’t mind the mildly irritating insects. He just got rid of them one way or another while you hid as far as you could get and then he’d come get you when the coast was clean. But you hated summer for this particular reason.

Wasps.

They fly in, fly into things and somehow never make it back on the window on their own despite it being the most easy thing one could ever imagine. Then, they try and sting you as if they aren’t in your house. They just creep you out, even the sight of them with their nasty little bodies. Bees aren’t a problem, they’re fuzzy looking and don’t intrude in your home nearly half as much. Also, they don’t try to sting you all the damn time.

“Where abouts?” He asks, his voice showing no hint of any destain or irritation he may harbour. “On the light,” you tell him shakily, following close to him back as you both enter the room. “Right up there- careful!”

John sniggers a little to himself, much to your dismay. He kicks off his shoes by your bedside table and climbs up onto the bed with ease on those ridiculously long legs. By luck, chance or both, he has some toilet paper in his hoodie pocket that he’d probably used to wipe his nose or something like that earlier, he can’t remember. He holds it out at arms length, only inches away form the unsuspecting black and yellow insect. “Where?” He asks again, “I can’t see anything.”

“There!” You insist, pointing up with a shaking finger. “I don’t see anything (y/n).” He repeats, making you whimper slightly, more tears suddenly appearing as you try to come to terms with the fact it might’ve moved while you were outside the room. The thought of having to sleep in your house while not knowing where it was would send you absolutely mental. “It was there I swear, look-“

“Ahhh, I got it. Stand back.”

He leans forward with relative ease, careful with the force he used so close to a live electric source and grips the buzzing creature in his tissue. “There we go,” he hums, stepping down from the bed. “All go-“

As if on cue, it flies out of the paper and you let loose a literal shriek as you dive backwards, crashing into the wall and then jumping forward in fright at that. “Woah!” John calls, “it’s alright, it’s right there. Calm, calm. Take a deep breath. Look,” he tries to calm you. That deep accent with his fatigue coating each word seeps into you, carefully calming your firing heart as he grabs it tighter from the floor, making sure he squashed it this time and immediately takes it to flush it down the toilet. John doesn’t know if you’re supposed to kill them or not, but at this moment in time he genuinely does not care. Was he fuck going to chase a wasp out of a window at half past one in the morning. Not a chance.

When he returns from the bathroom now empty handed, you still seem upset.

“That was scary.” You announce.

John smiles, pearly whites all on display. “I noticed.” He teases, making you scowl tiredly at him.

That scowl falters when his smile breaks into a light, soft laugh and he moves to stand in front of you. You absolutely don’t mind the fact that he’s babying you a little, using the sleeves of his sweater to wipe your cheeks before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead and taking you into his strong arms. In fact, it’s very much welcomed. His arms are the safest place in the world to you and even the residual discomforted shivers from the concept of a wasp in your bedroom couldn’t get through that defender. He looks after a lot more than just the Manchester City goal line. No, he’s the sole defender of something much more precious that he doesn’t even realise.

Your heart.

“You okay now?” He asks softly, his tired voice rumbling through you. You nod against him, “Feeling a bit better. Thank you Stonesy.” You mumble, words muffled by the muscled chest that your face his resting against. “Anything for you, lovely.” He responds easily, pulling back from you in a way that aches his heart. The sudden lack of your warmth and presence against him is utterly brutal. He loves holding you, but hates it in the same breath. He would love to hold you if it was something he got to do freely instead of fleetingly.

His eyes are stuck watching you sit down on the edge of your bed to grab your phone and check the time with an element of shock rolling through your eyes when you realise it’s nearly two.

“You got training tomorrow?” You ask sweetly, a yawn following the tail end of your words adorable in a way that makes John’s heart flutter like a teenage boy. He nods, “Not till after dinner though, around 5.”

It’s your turn to nod, seeming to be chewing over something in thought as you lie down in the middle of your bed.

“Wanna stay then?”

John has to pretend to think about it at least a little bit so he doesn’t look like he’s jumping right up at the opportunity, which is exactly what he wants to do. “Why not,” he shrugs, chucking off his hoodie to the foot of your bed, “Scoot over.”

He clambers in, long limbs moving nowhere near as coordinated as they are on the pitch as he lays down by your right. It’s like a familiar dance, one you both know so well as you shuffle around so you can lay against his chest, one leg hooked over him as his arm wraps around you to pull you even closer. A silence falls between you as he feels your eyelashes fluttering shut, tickling his chest. He can’t find that same relaxation, can’t seem to shut his eyes for the thoughts flying through his mind all at once.

“I should teach you how to catch them.” John states, rumbling voice interrupting the peaceful quiet in which you had nearly found sleep. “You know, for the future.” He adds almost flippantly. Almost.

“Why?” You hum groggily, sleep croaking your voice ever so slightly. “I got you.”

John has to pretend your half asleep admission doesn’t send his heart flying into his throat. You do always have him, right there in the palm of your hand. Always.

“I don’t think other guys would appreciate me barging into their house in the middle of the night.” He suggests, making you quirk an eyebrow in question, but you still don’t look up at him and he isn’t even sure if you’ve got your eyes fully open. “No other guys here,” you state, “Single, living all alone.” You add lazily. The words almost make John wonder if he has fallen asleep, each one spoke playing straight into the dream he’s had for years for you to be his.

“Yeah, I know but…but there will be, at some point.” He suggests. You give no response for a moment and he briefly thinks you’ve fallen asleep at some point in this conversation.

“Bet those other guys wouldn’t come get rid of wasps for me in the middle of the night like you do.”

“Maybe,” John shrugs, “but I think there’s plenty of guys like that, especially for you.”

He feels you shake your head against him, your words decisive as you speak;

“There are no guys like you, John Stones.”

His words and his breath are caught on his throat, his heart erupting in his chest as he replays those words in his mind, trying to figure out if he had actually just heard them or if his tired mind was playing tricks on him because it was so late and he hadn’t had enough sleep.

But then you look up at him with tired eyes and a sweet smile. You know what you’ve just done, know the bomb you’ve just dropped and you’re hoping with everything crossed that he feels the same way.

“You’re my hero, Stonesy.” You say softly, your voice now a little sheepish and he can barely just make out the flush of your cheeks in the dim room lighting. “And I love you with everything I have.”

He doesn’t know what to say, his eyes wide as his heart beats as erratically as he had felt yours beating when he first arrived with fear coursing through his veins thinking you were in some kind of mortal peril.

“John?” You ask timidly, voice sheepish as you sit up in fear.

“Sorry,” he rumbles, pushing himself to a seated position, allowing him to lean forward and slide his hand around the back of your head to pull you into him, your lips crashing down onto his.

It’s just about everything he’s ever wanted.

“God I love you.” He says against your lips, a groan leaving his throat from pure satisfaction, pure relief of finally getting those words off of his chest. You giggle, resting back against his chest. “Can we sleep now, please?”

He nods, both of you shuffling so you can resume the position you had been in before a life changing confession that had spun you and the Barnsley brunette into the kiss that had been years in waiting. This was the happiest either of you had probably ever been.

“Guess we have the wasps to thank for this eh?” John lulls just as sleep is about to encompass you. He feels you shiver against him, the hairs on your arms immediately raising to attention at the mention of that which you hate so much.

“Don’t say that! That’s basically an invitation for them to invade my house!” You hiss, giving his chest a gentle swat as he pulls you closer to his side.

“Let them come,” he says almost triumphantly, “You got me now, always.”

You cosy yourself against him, a soft sigh of complete content and comfort tickling his chest as it dances across him. He feels that gentle smile that settles onto your gestures as your heavy eyes allow sleep to truly begin to take you.

“Always,” you mumble, words diluted by sleep “My hero.”

#john stones #john stones imagines #john stones imagine #john stones x reader #england national team imagine #england national team #john stones blurb #john stones prompt #footie fics #footballer fics #football fics

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hobiiwan · 3 years ago

Text

mirror • cpt. rex

pairing: captain rex x gn!reader

warnings: post-order 66 angst, hurt-comfort but i thrive in the hurt

w/c: 1.6k

notes: i'm back with lots and lots of feelings bc i've been ghosted and it's 5 am so i should probably sleep but i hope you enjoy :D

lovely gif credit to @pieklalat!

Framed by distant moons and even further stars, the night sky never seemed more vast. If you closed your eyes, it didn’t take much to picture a Republic Star Destroyer slicing through the atmosphere of the moon whose gravity became inescapable, with you in it.

Glancing over your shoulder at where Rex had made camp for the evening, you could tell he was thinking it too. Though his eyes were closed, it was clear as watching a holofilm; reliving the searing heat of plasma bolts, shot from the blasters of his brothers, the ones he had served beside for years—the same ones he had buried just hours prior.

It felt as though there was a vice wrapped in a deadlock around your heart, constricting your chest until it threatened to collapse in on itself. You exhale sharply, willing yourself to push past the hollow ache of the now-dulled Force connection, the flashing faces of the clones and Jedi who had perished under the Order—the fear they had felt in their final moments. It was now your fear that you would never escape it.

The price of surviving the command settles atop your shoulders, making a home. A bitter, weighted reminder that you are here, alive, when you shouldn’t be—when you aren’t supposed to be.

You collapse onto the ground next to Rex, which pulls him back to the present. His eyelids flutter as he blinks slowly, once at you, then back up to the stretching expanse of the inky black overhead. He lets out a sigh, leaning up on his shoulders to cast a weary glance at his surroundings. “How long was I out?” He questions.

You reply with a thoughtful hum, “Not long. You need the rest, anyway.” It’s true. The day’s events have undoubtedly taken its toll on the both of you. But how does one go about resting after being hunted to the death?

“I’ll take first watch. Get some sleep, cyare.” He says, now sitting upright and then you know there’s no point in fighting it. You both need rest, but with the way Rex’s frame is pulled tense as a bow, his hand twitching ever-so-slightly towards his blaster, you know there’s no way he’d rest easy.

So, you offer him a victory, albeit a minute one. You pull his unarmed hand into yours and close your eyes, feeling the way he lets out a shaky breath, releasing some tension along with it. A victory—you’re still here with him.

Neither of you can be certain how long you stay that way. The low croon emitting from the transceiver is the only sign that time actually passes. Neither of you complain about the noise, either. It didn’t need to be said that the silence—this silence, was much too loud.

You do try to sleep, Rex gives you credit for that. Though, after turning for the fifth time (he counts) you give up and sit up beside him. He’s got his knees pressed to his chest, one hand curled tight around his blaster. In his other, his thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. The answer to whether it soothes you or himself doesn’t matter.

Wordlessly, your head lowers to his shoulder, propped gently against the curve of muscle.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a singer?” You murmur, glancing at the transceiver. You don’t recognise the singer on broadcast, though you do take note of the melody, slow and mellow.

Rex watches as you even try to hum along, as offbeat as you are.

“No,” he huffs something short of a chuckle, “you didn’t.”

He knows what you’re trying to do, sees it clear as day. Yet, as he watches your feet tap to the tempo of the ballad, he can’t stop himself from humouring your attempt to comfort him.

You nod eagerly, eyes widening as if to express your candor. “I was about to be one, too! Then the Jedi came and…”

Rex waits as you trail off, then clocks the far-off look in your eyes. He picks up where you left off. “Would you sing for me now?”

You return in a split second, your lips pulling into a bashful smile as you avoid his eyes. “I’m definitely rusty by now, I don’t want you losing your hearing because of me.”

The Captain nudges you teasingly, grinning when you break into soft laughter. “It would be an honour, though,” he quips.

He wonders how much of you has been hidden behind the mantle of a Jedi’s title. Who would you have been had you not been brought into the Order, raised from young to be one thing, and one thing only? Who would he be?

Once again, Rex is dragged out of his thoughts. This time, you’re tugging him to his feet. It takes an effort and a half, which you currently lack in your fatigued state.

As he looks up at you questioningly, you motion to the transceiver, dropping his hand to raise the volume. It’s enough to provide a comfortable backdrop instead of a desperate attempt to quell silence.

“Dance with me,” you propose softly, “please?”

“I don’t know how to, mesh’la.”

As if pointedly ignoring his feeble protest, your hand remains outstretched, beckoning his participation.

Maker, he’s only ever seen couples dancing on holofilms and is even more certain he has two left feet. But gazing up at your expectant self is like looking at a promise of escaping the sorrow he now knows as reality.

Really, it’s all up to him.

Rex swears he feels three times lighter from the way you beam in delight when he fits his palm into your smaller ones and helps you lift him to full height.

He stands awkwardly, clueless as to where his hands should go, how he should move. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Below him, you soften at the uncertainty tainting his features. Taking mercy on the poor man, you lift a hand to cup his cheek, garnering his attention.

“Put your hands on my waist,” you murmur, eyes twinkling when Rex’s hands fly up to root himself to you. Your own arms loop behind his neck and he takes it as a sign to pull you into his chest, no stranger to the position.

“and now we sway.”

Such a simple command, yet Rex feels like a fish out of water. His limbs are stiff, like the serenity of the movement is a stranger. To an extent, it is.

When you take over, moving him to the beat instead, he gratefully surrenders, allowing himself a moment of tranquility.

The only sounds that reach him become the silky notes of the singer and your soft, steady breaths. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend to be in a distant galaxy, where he is not a clone and you are not a Jedi, where the war is nothing more than a brash concept and his brothers are alive and well.

Rex doesn’t realise he’s crying until your thumb smooths away a tear rolling down his face. His eyes stay closed as he wills himself to keep pretending, but he can’t.

He is still a clone but you are no longer a Jedi. His brothers are gone.

You hold him when he finally breaks, cradling his head close when his shoulders tremble with the force of his sobs. His tears soak into the collar of your singed robes, but you truly can’t find the will to care—not when the man you love is falling apart, barely held together by the threads of your embrace.

“It wasn’t them,” he chokes, shaking his head, a wretched attempt to convince himself, “—it couldn’t be.”

At that, you’re positive your heart shatters. Stars, he doesn’t deserve this. You wish with all your might to take the pain away, to rewind every clock in the galaxy and then the next, but all you can do is watch.

“It wasn’t,” you nod, lowering your forehead to press against his, “not the real them. You know they loved you.” And by the Maker, you know.

Rex’s hands clutch tightly at your robes, as if letting go of that would mean letting go of you. The last tether to what is now his past, his only constant.

What if you hadn’t made it off the ship? What if Ahsoka hadn’t gotten the chip out of him in time? What if he had hurt you?

He briefly registers your voice calling his name, cutting through the despondent scenarios that could have, by any deciding factor, become his present.

“Rex, my love,” you plead, “please look at me.”

When he raises his eyes, he finds that yours are a mirror of his own. The anguish that parallels his agony. He feels you, your presence. He’s never understood much about the Force, but he thinks this is pretty damn close.

“I’m here,” you whisper. The promise of those two words anchor you both. “‘M not going anywhere.”

You mean it. If you believed it before, there was no chance in any star in the galaxy that anyone would be able to tear you away from him now.

For the current moment, you weren’t sure if there was a place to go, even if you wanted. Less than twenty four hours ago, you had been anticipating the end of the Clone Wars. Now, it feels like you’ve been thrown onto the losing side.

“What do we do now?” Rex asks, but you both know there isn’t an answer. There’s no precedent to go off of.

Two of the finest leaders in the GAR and the Jedi Order are lost, with no one left to follow them.

There’s nothing to do but move on.

“We keep living,” you say with a heavy sigh, burying your face into the crook of Rex’s neck, “we live for them. We’ll find a way.”

You always do.

#yoinks sorry i’ve been gone for so long lads #pls take this fic as an offering #rex x reader #captain rex x reader #star wars #the clone wars #the clone wars x reader #the clone wars imagine #captain rex imagine #captain rex oneshot #501st x reader

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graykageyama · 4 years ago

Text

dream come true.

synopsis: when you fall in love, you fall in love deep. they become your world, while you became theirs. they’re your dream, and you are theirs. but all it takes is a change of heart to change the courses of your dreams, and maybe only one dream can come true.

pairing: Suna x reader

genre: angst

word count: 3k +

Part 2: but you were my dream, too

“And then Atsumu never saw it coming. So he was running from his fangirls right? He ran like he was running away from an apocalypse. As stupid as he is, he never saw it coming. He ran straight to the gym and when he opened the door, he triggered the trap. Dude, got the whole floor wet.” Suna laughed hard as he tells you about his day - well trying as he can barely get the words out.

You glance towards his direction and you just cannot believe that this man is your boyfriend - he looks so ethereal under the glow of the street lamps lighting your way home before the dusk completely envelops both of you. With his gym bag slung over his shoulder and his other hand warming yours, his head tilted back as he tried to catch his breath, this was another rare moment where Suna -your Suna Rintarou- is completely carefree, defenseless and well, just him. His piercing, slanted eyes which usually intimidates most people, are now closed. Even with his awkward hair style still damp from practice, and hunched-over posture, you still think of him as your Mr. Perfect.

You’ve been together since the start of your third year in high school, and honestly, this is so far your best year. Being friends with him and the twins since first year of highschool, you can’t help but to just fall for him. Despite his usually cold persona, he is always so sweet to you. He makes sure to walk you home everyday, since he always asks you to watch him at practice. It’s amazing really, how he can transform to this scary, intimidating middle blocker into an adorable fox always seeking for your affections. He loves it when you hand his towel, or maybe dry his hair with your gentle touches. You know he secretly loves how you cheer for him even in practice games. You also know to yourself that you would want to do these things for him even in the far future. Even if it would mean you would have to sacrifice your dreams to become Suna’s perfect wife, you know that you’re going to stay with him for the rest of your life. To become Suna’s number one fangirl is now your dream.

“Y/N?” Suna calls out, interrupting your thoughts. “Watch this. Ain’t he stupid?”He laughs again as he shows you the video clip of Atsumu being drenched with water, and his face flat on the floor. “Yeah, he is. He falls for it every time. Smart athlete on the court, but in reality, he’s pretty stupid. Kita-san and the other alumni must have had a hard time in handling you three. ” You laugh along at his story. “He misses Kita-san though, the dude cries when he remembers how Kita-san took care of him when he got sick.”

“Well, Tsumu can be a baby sometimes, that’s why we love him” He faintly slows down his pace as he asks, “Come to think of it Y/N, I’ve never seen you cry. I mean, I wouldn’t want to make you cry or anything, but even when we were still friends, you never cried.”

Pinching his side, you giggle “I cry too, dumbass. I’m human too.I don’t know though, I just don’t cry easily I guess.” You shrug. “What about you? I rarely see you in tears, too.” You tease as you poke your tongue out. He smirks as he looks over at you,”I don’t easily get affected by my emotions and honestly I don’t need too, sweetcheeks. There’s no reason too. I always win.” He lets out another hearty laugh, as you think. That’s true. No one can really beat and outwit Suna. Maybe only the french fry from Karasuno, but I guess no one can easily faze him.

Suna lets go of your hand as you both stopped in front of your house. He clasps your hands together with his one hand as he places the other on the top of your head, “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Rest well, Miss I-don’t-easily-cry.” Placing a tender kiss on your forehead, you shut your eyes. This had been your routine with your boyfriend ever since you got together, but you would never wish for anything else to replace these moments.

---

As you both graduated from Inarizaki, you decide to follow your dream - your Suna - and support him as he aspires to be a professional Volleyball player. You go to a University near where he is training so that it would be more convenient for him to fetch you. Life goes by quickly. Your boyfriend trains hard day and night and hones his skills and game sense. You study a business course to help you land a good job, a job that can still be pretty flexible to work with according to Suna’s. You rarely see your boyfriend nowadays, but no doubts cross your mind as you are assured that you were Suna’s one and only, his love of his life. Whenever you think otherwise, you try to remember these evidence of his love and assurance.

----

You closed the door as you said your goodbyes to your mom. It pains you to see her get cheated on by your dad, but you couldn’t do anything about it. You sat on the couch and hugged your knees together. Forcing your eyes shut to keep you from crying and sharing her pain, but alas - your tears betrayed you as it streamed down your face.

How can the guy you loved for so many years, easily replace you?

Suna saw your broken state as he gave you a warm hug. He didn’t say anything, but you’re comforted by his silence and the small circles he rubbed on your back. You looked up at his eyes and cried, “It’s so scary, Rin. How one day you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend for so many years, but then they suddenly act like you are just trash - disposable, replaceable, and no longer wanted. They were so perfect in my eyes, you know? But why did he cheat on her? He just gave up in the middle of solving their problem. Why? I’m scared, Rin. Will that happen to us?”

Suna tilted your head to maintain the eye contact you had initiated. With his soft voice, he said “No matter what happens, I will never hurt you, leave you, and will never make you cry intentionally.” He wiped away your tears, then placed his hand on top of your head. Kissing your temple softly, he assured you. “I will never go away, no matter how rough it may become. Every single day for the rest of my life, I will be by your side.”

---

You both try to make your relationship work, spending all of your free time together. He is still the Suna you loved. Always affectionate to you alone, and always caring about you.

Things are going great to the both of you. You are now in your last months in university, and Suna gets scouted to play for the EJP Raijins, a V. League Division 1 team. You are so proud of your boyfriend. He is finally reaching his dreams, and your dream of seeing him so successful is also coming true. You understand how he puts more effort in his training, with him usually coming home to dim lights. But you try your hardest as his girlfriend to warm up the dinner you have prepared for him earlier. With only the kitchen lights lit, you always wait for your boyfriend to come home, to greet him with a kiss even if it is past 11pm. This is just the life of a professional athlete, and you, as his partner, should adopt this life too.

“Y/N baby, no need to wait for me. I’m not coming home tonight. Coach offered to let me sleep at his place since we’re just really fatigued from the hard training we had today.”

This slowly becomes a habit, and you are getting frustrated over the lack of attention you’ve been receiving. You understand this was his job, and he needs to work hard with the season coming up soon. But does he have to be away for almost every day of the week? You rarely get to see him now, with most encounters only at night. He’d usually go home at 1 am, and when you’re lucky, you get to feel your lover’s intimate touches again. But before dawn cracks up, he's out on his training again, and who knows when he’s coming home.

“Hey, Rinnie. I miss you so much babe, and I know you’ve been training really hard, but I’d like to spend some time with you.” You approached your boyfriend as you saw him packing his things up for training. “Maybe I could go by your gym and visit you! I could make some packed lunches for you and your teammates too, and maybe I can finally meet them.”

“I’ll try Y/N, I can’t say much now with our new training schedule.” He utters out rather coldly, while shoving his equipment down his gym bag.

“Ohhh okay. But are you able to come home early on Wednesday? Just for one night, pretty please? You’re rarely home these days and I--”

“Well, I just can’t laze around right? I’d have to work hard in order to feed the both of us. Can you stop being clingy, and act like a more understanding girlfriend. It’s getting pathetic how you’re acting like I’m not doing this for the both of us.” He zipped up his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He went up to your frozen state, and gave a light kiss to your temple. “Look, I don’t really want to fight. I’m sorry. But please be an understanding girlfriend for me, and stop being extra clingy.” He walked up to the door, and left - leaving you to blame yourself for being another burden to your partner. Although he said some hurtful things, he says he’s sorry right?

---

You love routines, and it makes you feel your life has a structure it has to follow. But this new routine was not one you would wish to have, to be honest, you did not know when did your old routines fall out. Suna’s rarely home, if he used to go home once a week, now, he only goes home to pick some of his clothes, makes love to you if you ask him to, and leaves the next day. His texts are getting drier each day, even taking hours to reply to yours. You’re scared. Even his words don’t seem to assure you now, he feels so far away. He’s slipping through your fingers, and you know you need to do something to keep your relationship together.

“Rin love, can you go home tonight? I just really miss you terribly, and honestly, I’ve been craving your touch for so long. Come home tonight, love.” (Sent, 2:51 PM)

“Ok.” (Received, 4:30 PM)

You’re ecstatic. You’re finally going to spend time with your boyfriend after such a long time. You prepare his favorite dinner, and you choose to wear his favorite nightgown for you. As you hear his steps outside the apartment, you greet him with your sweetest smile.

“Hi, Rinnie. I’m glad you’re home” You give him a tight hug, as you offer to take his gym bag.

“Let’s get this over with, Y/N. Go now to the room, I’ll just wash up.” He mutters as he steps out of his shoes. You stand frozen, as you suppress the tears forming in your eyes. “I made dinner, Rinnie. Your favorite, actually. Come eat with me? ” You try to invite him again, holding his hands as you try to lead him to the kitchen.

“Ï’m a busy man, Y/N. What more can you ask from me? You said you wanted my touches and love, right? That’s why I’m here. I need to go back to the dorms immediately, and honestly I just want to have it over with.”

“Rin,” you called out. “Can you at least spare me some time and attention that you have been refusing to give me over these past months? All I’m asking is to spend time with you. I’m even trying my best to make time for you. Why are you like this?”

The eyes. The eyes you never had thought would frighten you as much as it did to the other players in the court, pins you down. Suna glares as he seethes through his teeth, “Make time for me? You don’t even have a job yet after graduating a few months ago. You stay here, enjoying your life as I worked hard to keep this up. You are demanding too much from me, Y/N. And now you are asking me for my share in this relationship? Well aren’t you one selfish woman.”

You cower away from his gaze, but you still try to express your frustrations. “I never asked for an expensive life. I just wished to be with you, Rin! To support you with your dreams.” You lift your head to meet his gaze. “I’ll always try to take care of you, Rin. You are my dream. Seeing you pursue yours, makes me feel as if I’m accomplishing my dream too. But all I’m asking is for you to still treat me as your favorite girl, your partner, and I can give back ten times more than what you can give me, just please give me the small attention and love I have been craving for.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you Y/N, but you’re the least of my priorities now. And aren’t you pathetic? Sacrificing your dream to support mine? You’re just lazy to pursue yours, and you’re just leeching off of me. I’m so disappointed in you, Y/N. You’re getting more pathetic each day.”

“I wanted to go and look for a job, but how could I when I don't know how you are lately? How is our relationship lately? It’s like it’s hanging by the thread now, Rinnie.”

“Well, just cut the damn thread, then!” He forcefully slams the counter as his eyes snap backs to yours. “Ï can’t deal with this right now. If you keep on acting up Y/N, just stop. Have some pity over yourself.” Suna picks up his things, and leaves. Shutting the door as hard as he could, the loud bang conceals the sound of your shattered heart.

---

Weeks go by slowly as you patiently wait for your boyfriend’s return. He wouldn’t leave me right? He promised .He promised.. Scrolling up to your text messages, you reviewed the texts you’ve sent him.

“Hey Rinnie, I’m sorry for the things I’ve said. I hope you’re taking care of yourself, babe.” (Sent. April 13, 8:53 AM.)

“Hey baby! Please don't skip your meals, and drink lots of water too! Drink your water, bitch!” (Sent. April 14, 10:14 AM.) You slightly smiled as you reminisced how both of you loved to tell that to each other after hearing it from a famous personality, finding it amusing and adding it to your routine.

“Call me whenever your free, okay? Don’t forget to rest in between, Rinnie. I miss you.” (Sent. April 14, 8:42 PM.)

The text messages go on for two weeks, still with no replies from your Rinnie. As you are cleaning the apartment, you hear the awaited notification tone ring. You immediately grabbed your phone and checked out the notification. But it was not from Rin, it was from your friend from university calling you up.

“Hey, Y/N-san. Congratulations to Suna and his team for winning the pre-seasonal tournament. It’s all over the news right now.” Akaashi exclaimed over the phone. Your heart leaps upon hearing your boyfriend’s name. Rushing over to see the news for yourself, your heart flutters as you see your perfect man - in his wet jersey while holding the medal wrapped around his neck as the reporter angled the microphone in front of him. Your perfect man responds casually and smug, as usual.

I’m so proud of you baby. Always had, and always will. I knew you could do it, Rin.

But your thoughts are interrupted as the reporter asks, “Is there any special someone you would want to celebrate this victory with, Mr. Suna?”

Suna looks over at the camera and he smiles bright. Brighter than the ones you’ve seen when you were with him during these past months. “Yeah, actually I do.” He replies as he smiles back at the reporter. “She’s just the best and I’ve been training really hard for her, you know? Gotta make my baby proud.”

The spark of hope ignites within your heart upon hearing those words. Even when doubts clouded your mind, you still never fail to have faith in him. You always believe that everything will be perfectly fine, and your Rin will always stay by your side. He said he’ll never go away, and you know that you’re here to stay. “I will never go away, no matter how rough it may become. Every single day for the rest of my life, I will be by your side.”

But what you see next finally wakes you up from your own self-deception. Suna Rintarou. Your Rin. Has his arms around another girl as he smiles back again to the reporter. “She’s the girl I’m talking about.” As if it wasn’t enough, Suna placed his hand on top of her head and placed a tender kiss on her temple.

I’m supposed to be that girl, that should have been me. I should be the one greeting you back from your training. I should be the one with you as you receive your recognition. That should be me. That used to be me.

Even though it hurts, you stare at the couple in front of you and see how Rin was just casually cool and okay, as though he wasn’t the cause of your heart breaking.

All this time. While you have been fixing your own shattered heart, someone else is mending his - no, there was nothing to fix as it has been replaced. It’s so unfair, how can you be so fine? All the fights we’ve gone through, I even deceived myself that I was being a burden to you. Convincing myself to no longer bother you as it may faze you and your performance, too. It takes so much for me to just go through the day, and live for you, for us. But I guess you’re my dream, right? You win again, Rin. You always did.

Dreams do come true, they said. But it seems only your dream came true. And it’s wonderful to see you reaching your dreams, love. Even if it meant that my dream won’t come true.

A/N: HNGHHH, I am sorry for Y/N becoming so heads over heels over him, which is why she’s hurting so much!! But reality’s a bitch, there really are people who be martyrs for love :< Would love to hear you thoughts uwu reblogs, likes, comments, asks and messages are very much appreciated! There will be a part 2!! Will try to post within this week, after doing my requirements T.T .

Message me or send an ask if you want to be tagged for the update! <3

~juju

#suna rintaro x reader #suna imagines #haikyuu suna #suna angst #suna x you #haikyuu!!#haikyuu angst #anime angst #angst #haikyu x reader #suna x reader #suna x y/n #juju's originals

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gossip-girl-of-middleearth · 4 years ago

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Elf got your tongue? (Legolas x Reader)

Synopsis: When your tongue gets stuck on a pole in some snowy slopes, and orcs are approaching, the Fellowship has to get a little creative to unstick you.

“What is it?” you curiously asked, staring up at a glistening pole.

Under the morning sun, the snowy slopes sparkled like diamond crust. Yourself and the Fellowship had trekked far since Rivendell, and you now found yourself climbing high in the snow.

What you did not expect, however, was to stumble across a tall, silver pole.

“It is a landmark, Y/n,” Gandalf answered. His tone was edged in both fatigue and annoyance, from his place at the front of the resting group.

“A landmark for what?” Pippin pitched in, walking up to stand beside you.

Your hands were on your hips, as you squinted up at the sky to view the entirety of the pole. You felt your palms grow clammy at the thought of the tall height, as well as the blue eyes a few feet away sneaking a glance at you.

So much for the inconspicuousness of elves, you figured.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you fought hard to play it cool. Although, your feelings soon won you over, and you couldn’t help but steal a glance back. When you did so, however, you caught the eye of Legolas.

He widened his eyes quickly, and cleared his throat as he looked away. You smiled at the reddening of his ears, and resisted the urge to grin giddily with a chewing of your lower lip.

“It signifies our position in the north, Peregrine Took,” Gandalf snapped again.

Pippin clamped his mouth shut, and looked up at you with a mischievous smile. You then both tried hard to not snicker at the grumpy wizard.

“Speaking of which,” Aragorn piped up, with a keen eye trained on the horizon, “it appears our efforts travelling north will not benefit us. Gandalf, would we not be better off observing our path ahead from atop the slope?”

“Perhaps…” Gandalf agreed. He ultimately sighed and began stepping up the steep incline of snow. “The rest of you wait here by the pole, whilst I scope out our path ahead. Nobody do anything foolish! Especially you three—Y/n, Meriadoc and Peregrine.”

In response, the three prematurely accused friends upheld their palms. You all shook your heads and gave promising smiles to the wizard.

He merely only growled something under his breath, before slowly tearing his eyes away and beginning his ascent.

Dropping his hands slowly, Merry leaned across to you. “Bet you won’t lick that pole.”

“Bet,” you confidently replied back.

Only one minute had passed since Gandalf had walked up the slope, and only one minute had passed since you decided to lick the pole. With one long swipe of your tongue, you were alarmed to find your flesh frozen against the pole.

Merry and Pippin thought you to be joking at first, until they caught the panic in your eyes. With Boromir, Gimli, Aragorn, Legolas, Sam and Frodo a few feet away commenting on the path ahead, and pointing out at the slopes, you and the two other hobbits tried to remove your tongue.

However, it was to no avail. You whimpered at the burning sensation in your tongue, and pushed the two boys away as they tried to pull you free. All they did was cause your tongue further pain, for it appeared no such unsticking would occur.

Legolas caught your sounds of hurt, and like a mother drawn to a baby’s cries, he threw his head over his shoulder.

“Oh my…” he attempted to say, before his sentence trailed off with a shocked widening of his eyes.

He knew instantly what kind of trouble the two hobbits had put you in, and would have laughed loudly had Aragorn not spoken up in alarm.

“Nobody panic, or make any drawing movements, but we are being tracked by a group of orcs—below the slope, a league or less behind us.”

“WHAT—” you had gone to say, but mewled instead at the stretching of your tongue.

Catching your oddly muffled voice, the five other boys turned to look over their shoulders.

“Y/n? Oh, for the LOVE OF—” Boromir went to curse, but was cut off by Aragorn instead.

The ranger flew forwards to assist you, and to assess the severity. “We cannot linger by the pole! They’ll be on us in minutes!”

You made another string of unintelligible words, but ceased quickly with a wince at the tearing of your tongue. It was stuck, and stuck good.

“We need to boil water!” Gimli proclaimed, already fetching a pot from Sam’s rucksack.

“There’s no time!” Legolas answered, eyeing off the approaching orcs.

“It’s been an honour knowing you, Y/n,” Merry joked, placing his hand solemnly on your shoulder.

He then made a move to run away towards Gandalf, but was halted by an outstretched arm from Boromir. The captain gave an unimpressed thinning of his lips, but was still looking ahead towards the orcs.

“Maybe we can pee on—” Pippin had gone to offer.

“NO!” you cut off.

“Well, how else can we boil water quickly?” Legolas asked in frustration. “It’s not as though we were born with internal heaters!”

At that, everyone went quiet. Maybe he was onto something…

The elf’s hands were on his hips, as he shook his head at the ground in thought and tapped his foot. However, upon hearing nothing from his friends, he looked up.

All eyes blinked back at him, even yours, as you stared at the prince with your tongue still out and stuck against the pole.

“WE perhaps cannot heat anything very quickly as mortals…” Aragorn alluded. “But elves have different bodily regulations.”

“What are you—oh…” Legolas began to hiss, before he came to the same realization as everyone else.

He looked at a very sheepish you next, and swallowed his nerves. Sighing and holding out his hand, Legolas motioned for Aragorn’s water cannister.

The ranger complied, and handed the lifeline over with an apologetic look thrown your way. Legolas then eyed off the canister with an apprehensive expression, but soon sighed after.

He began unscrewing the lid, before he discovered that all eyes were still on him. He narrowed his gaze and furrowed his brows, and defended himself with, “Well, I can’t do it with you all watching!”

Giving one more glance down at the running orcs, who were gaining speed, everyone but you and Legolas nodded and jogged up the slope to advise Gandalf of the incoming attack.

Left alone in the cold, and shivering for more than one reason, you tried to look everywhere but at the elf taking a long swig of water. Dropping the cannister from his lips, with a glance over his shoulder at the orcs, Legolas swished the water around in his mouth until it was warm.

Walking over nervously, Legolas kept a good few feet between the two of you. He then caught your eye and asked for consent. Sighing and nodding your head, you looked back up at him.

Nodding back, with cheeks full of warm water puffed out, Legolas, spurting like a fountain, blew a stream down to where your tongue was stuck to the pole. However, it wasn’t enough—more a trickle, really.

“That’s not going to be enough!” you tried to say—muffled once again, though.

Making a scared noise of protest, with his cheeks still mostly full, Legolas stepped in closer to you. Hesitating for a moment, Legolas lowered and lifted his head a few times, finding the whole situation very uncomfortable.

However, with the roaring of orcs nearby, he was soon reminded of the hastiness of the situation. Lowering his head to become eye level with you, and holding your fixated gaze, Legolas tentatively leaned his mouth in close to yours.

Only a few centimetres away from your stuck tongue, he began slowly pouring the warm water out from his mouth past pursed lips. Both of your faces flushed at the closeness of it all—something so similar in action to a tender kiss.

Slowly, but surely, the warm water—intertwined with good old-fashioned royal spit—thawed your tongue. Feeling it unstick, you jolted away from the pole. At the same time, Legolas quickly stood upright and swallowed the rest.

Stretching your mouth out and running your tongue all over the inside of your own mouth, fighting against the fact that you could taste him, you quickly found your words again.

“Thank you,” you forced out.

“No worries,” he replied, in just as much of an uncomfortable tone as yours.

A few seconds of awkward silence passed between you two, before the reminder of orcs dawned on you both.

“We should probably—” Legolas began, nodding over his shoulder at the awaiting Fellowship.

“Yeah,” you agreed.

With that, you both nodded at one another, before sprinting up the slope.

#lord of the rings #lotrdaily #lotr movies #the hobbit #elves #hobbit #legolas #lotr x reader #lord of the rings x reader #Legolas x reader #fellowship x reader #middle earth x reader #lotr legolas #legolas imagine #legolas greenleaf #lotr imagine #lotr fanfic #lotr reader insert #lotr shitpost

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whosjunglejim4322 · 4 years ago

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Bramosia | J.Seo (m)

Genre: pwp, knight!au, smut, fluff, he is, and I can't stress this enough, madly in love with you

Warnings: loss of virginity, pussy eating, mutual pining and longing, it's forbidden but who's gonna stop u??? Exactly. Inaccurate descriptions of the time period probably, inappropriate use of the word princess, he fucks you to tears, this is so self indulgent I gotta blast

The moons unearthly luminescence bleeds through the windows that sit directly above your wing of the old castles corridor, a reminder of why he bears the heavy sword that hangs off of his hip, of why he's here in the first place.

He rolls his aching neck, blinking his dry eyes a few times in an attempt to dampen them. He's usually not so worn by now.

Perhaps the two of you had gotten too carried away last night, it's too easy when you're with eachother. Effortless, like that of a flowers perianth traveling wistfully through a summers breeze. It's easy to forget.

He's here to protect you, nothing more, as he is was a proffesional in all that he does. He is a knight, after all. One of the best. Your father wouldn't have requested him from a province so far away if he weren't damn good.

Six months ago, it seems like a lifetime away and yet the memory of seeing you for the very first time is so vivid behind his eyelids, tangible as if he could reach out and hover his palms over the warmth the halo around you seemed to emit.

He smiles to himself, the image keeping him sane and distracting him from the ache in the soles of his feet. He knows you're probably not sleeping, he wishes you wouldn't worry about him. He's doing it to himself, really.

He is a warrior but he is only so strong, so resilient. He has never been stricken by such a force as to have his bones feel as weak as they do when he looks into your eyes, when you cup his face in your hands like he is the most delicate thing you have ever seen.

Sure, he hadn't been the most nonchalant. His eyes barely left you even during the brief moments in which his life is not sworn over to do so, and you being you, caught him almost every time. You'd smile, fleeting enough for only him to notice.

You never get the credit you deserve, he had come to find out over the past several months. Being a princess, as fawned over the title may be, it wasn't meant for you.

You'd scowl at the name of every prince your father mentioned might come visit, which he'd take pride in secretly. You wouldn't even scold him whenever he'd been clearly protective in a manner than suggested that it was more than just the job that inclined him to act that way.

Perceptive, and clever you are. And to think, you might feel even a fraction of what he feels, it causes his heart to thunder loudly behind his sturdy ribcage, momentarily reducing his fatigue.

You are the only one in all of his twenty five years of life that has threatened to shake his very foundation, like you've found a way to wind yourself through every ridge of his skeleton like vines of Wisteria.

Sundays are always the hardest, you're still so fresh in his mind, on his skin. It's like every inch of him has been permanently marked, he can still feel the weight of your body against his and the warm puff of air from your lips against his earlobe as you sing his name.

His sigh is quiet in the vast, empty space around him. He shouldn't be thinking of you so late, when he's so tired. It makes him ache for you all the more, make him wish life was anything but what it is now. That he could be with you unabashedly.

That he could be your protector, and not just in a way that could be be permanently devastated if anyone were to find out about the two of you.

He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes, not until he has to peel them open and search for the source of the soft voice he's just heard whisper his name into the dark.

He furrows his brows as a stream of warm candlelight spills through the crack in your door from your room, your form coming into a few just a moment later, as if beckoned from his dreams.

"You're really going to stay out there, John?" He foresees your incredulity, smiling at the hand thats propped up on your hip.

"Those are my orders, princess." He has a hard time not staring at you, even in such poor lighting you are still the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed.

He's always stubborn about breaking the made up rules you two have put in place, like only meeting in private on Saturdays. Despite his inability to resist you he still needs to keep you safe.

"My father is a whole wing away, don't you know," you emphasize your point by stepping out past your doorframe, tiptoeing at an almost imperceptible pace towards him. "and if danger were to arise, how much more convenient need it be, than for you to be right there with me?"

You're standing right in front of him now, weaking his resolve eith each syllable that passes those pretty lips of yours. It's strange, how he still wonders if your feelings for him are resolute as his are for you, when you're the one always asking for trouble. Eager to have your way.

When you reach out to grab his waist, he breaks.

"Princess, if someone were to see that I'm not outside of your room guarding as I'm supposed to,"

You interrupt him, pressing yourself closer until he can feel your chest against his, the barrier of his clothing suddenly a burden far heavier than before.

"Who? Who might see? Everyone is asleep, you should be."

You stare up at him and he can't seem to resist the pull, meeting your eyes and unclapsing his hands from behind his back to stroke the apple of your cheek with his knuckles.

You heel into his touch, beaming as you realise you've already gotten your way, evident in the way he sighs your name as if the word fills him with oxytocin.

"You really are trouble," he cups your face, calloused fingertips swiping a fallen lash from underneath your eye. "trying to lure me in, like a siren. I'd be willing to go, anyways."

You lift yourself to the tips of your toes, pressing a brief, featherlight, kiss to the surface of his lips. Just enough to bring forth warmth to his cheeks.

"You're silly, I'd be too selfish a siren to do any damage. I'd have to keep you all to myself."

His arms are strong and steady as the encapsulate you, the fears and worries of outside intruders fading with each second spent in eachothers presence. It's like nothing else exists.

"Please, Princess. It's hard enough already, to be away from you," he's on the verge of losing any bit of hope for his sanity, but as anticipated, you won't have it.

"And you don't think it's hard for me? You think that I enjoy knowing that it is prohibited for me to be like this with you? I am many things but I am not selfish, so if you don't want to come with me then I won't force you."

He has to bite back a laugh, or maybe a scream of frustration and agony all at the same time. Here you are, so close he's sure you can hear how his pulse pounds beneath his skin at your presence, actually accusing him of not wanting you. It's preposterous.

You glare up at him when his arms don't loosen their grasp.

"You must be mistaken, sorely mistaken. If you think that any moment spent without you is even the least bit pleasant for me, you're wrong. So wrong it's a bit humorous," he kisses your cheek, and then the other. Your skin tingles where his lips grace.

"You may not be selfish but I am. So selfish that I'd give into my own desires even if it meant that one slip up could ruin it all. Don't you see that?" You sigh blissfully, in spite of his words, when he kisses your nose.

"Well I think that's stupid, I'd never let such a thing happen. I've lived here my whole life, I'd be able to predict the likelihood of someone coming up here during such a late hour."

He doesn't miss the pitch of sadness that comes with talk of the castle, he knows that there is so much you still have yet to experience. So much you'd like to do, so far away from here.

Still, he can't deny the truth in which you speak. You're right, and he knows that you're as careful of these things as he is. He trusts you, as you trust him. And what is he going to do, say no? He'd never have the willpower.

His broad shoulders relax, his hands suddenly engulfing yours.

"Alright, you don't have to pout anymore. You know I'll end up kissing it from that pretty face of yours anyways."

You suppress a giggle of elation, squeezing your fingers around his as you turn to quietly pull him into your room, peering into the the hallway once more to make sure the coast is clear, before you ease your door shut.

And then at once, he is what you taste on your tongue.

His lips always leave you breathless. The way he kisses you, it's as of you are his only source of oxygen and his lungs burn with the need for air. He is fierce, but so very concise. You almost forget that he so ruefully pretended to put up a fight.

Your arms mold around his neck as he slouches the slightest bit in order to make the reach easier for you, knowing how you like to bury your hands in his hair and tug at the strands whenever he does something that you'd like more of.

Your eagerness is a bit more exuberant tonight, normally you'd still be a bit bashful, giggling between pecks and having to turn your face away before kissing him again.

But you haven't pulled away from him yet, not even for a breath and suddenly his skin is sweltering towards what feels like a hundred degrees. He's pretty sure you've just whispered his name.

He's already gone, helplessly lost in the way you're clinging onto him with all your strength.

"John." Just his name falling from your lips in the form of a sweet sigh has his knees buckling.

He's careful, hesitant even, when he cups the back of your knees and allows you to fall atop your bed, the sight almost too much to bear. He can never catch a break.

But he has to look at you, has to see the look in your eyes, the gleam that shines in your blown out pupils as your fingers tug at the clothing hanging loosely on his body. He fights back a groan.

Of course things have gotten intense between the two of you, but nothing more than over the clothes petting. And, even then, that drove him to the brink of insanity. He didn't think he could ever be putty in someone's hands until he met you.

It feels like everything is happening so fast yet not slow enough, it seems as if you're blooming like a lotus before his eyes and he wants to capture every little detail. Just incase one day his memories are all he has of you.

You pull him back down to your mouth, legs suddenly looping around his trim waist, knees locked on either side. You practically purr as his hands, large and tender, grace your thighs only to be met with bare skin where your nightgown has risen up.

He's breathing heavily when your mouths depart momentarily, his doe eyes an onyx pit of desire and emotion as he stares down at you, lips ruby red.

You nod, as if reading his mind and answering the dozens of unanswered questions that sit unmoving at the tip of his tongue. Still, his eyebrows are pulled together in concentration, in tentative restraint.

"You can touch me. Please, touch me."

Your skin is heavenly underneath his trembling touch, from the soft hair atop your thighs to the way you so perfectly mold around his fingers. You're a gift of the most ethereal kind, here in front of him.

You coo at him with a voice of an angel, pulling at his face in an attempt to have him kiss you again. He's been too busy ogling, and repays you with the press of his mouth against the crook of your neck.

You lift your chin to allow him more access, eyes fluttering closed and thighs tightening around his middle when you feel the warmth of his open mouth against your throat.

"You're so sweet, so pretty." He mumbles, practically floating.

He nips at your collarbone, and you can't stop your hips from bucking up against him, your clothed center meeting his hardened length through the material of his bottoms.

The air is thick with tension now, you can feel it buzzing through the both of you like ths thrum of a thunderstorm. He sucks in a breath, lips ghosting over yours.

"I want to make you feel good, If you'd allow me." He tries to control the shake in his voice but he's not sure he's succeeded. What a mess you've made of him.

You kiss him for what seems like the hundredth time but feels like the first, still sending jolts of electricity through your body and causing heat to swirl in your loins. You can barely speak.

"Y-Yes, yes I'll allow you."

Your voice is foreign to your own ears, clouded with desire and a desperation that is as overwhelming as it is strange and new.

But having him here, knowing he's the one whose hands are touching you, it's comforting in a way that leaves no room for doubt that he is nothing but kind. Nothing but adoring.

It's hard to tell with just the luminosity of a single candle on your bedside table, but you're almost certain you can feel him shuffle. At least, his weight seems to have shifted, his arms suddenly caged around your waist, upperhalf between your legs.

And then you feel it, the plushness of his lips just above your knee as he lifts your legs by your calves, placing them over his shoulders. You're not sure you can focus on anything else now, breathing suddenly heavy.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" His voice is so close, yet far away in an unfamiliar way. It has butterflies swarming your belly.

"I'm so lucky, so so lucky..." He trails off between kisses, shifting from one thigh to the other, slowly but surely making his way towards your center.

It's only now in your bird brain that you're beginning to realize what exactly he's about to do, and it's like some switch inside of you has been flicked on, toes suddenly curling in anticipation, wetness soaking into the fabric of your underwear.

The desire isn't just in your belly now, its everywhere. All consuming, when he pushes your nightgown up and bunches it around your hips, the air cool against your skin. You shiver, and his cheek brushes against the crease of your thigh.

"Have you ever been touched like this, princess?" He's curious but not pushy, just wants to know. When you shake your head, he swallows.

He's slow and steady, pulling your underwear off your hips and down your legs, allowing the garment to fall to the floor. You don't clamp your legs shut, despite the instinct to shield yourself. You've never hidden yourself from him, and you know there's no reason to.

Esepcially not when he's looking at you like he is right now, like a man starved whose just been presented with a meal of his favorite kind. He glances up at you, with eyes that shine with gratitude, and awe alike. You reach out to stroke his hair.

And then, suddenly, his face is gone from your view. You feel it, first, before you register that it's happening. A gasp leaves your lips the moment your back arches ever so slightly off of your mattress, his hands keeping your thighs apart as his tongue licks another flat stripe through your folds.

You feel exposed in a way that only feels as intoxicating as it does, because he's the one with his mouth on your cunt, suckling your bud between his lips and swiveling his head side to side. You tug at his hair.

A guttural groan resonates in his throat and the vibration serves as direct stimulation, a mewl leaving your mouth as you buck you hips up against his skilled tongue.

"Shhh baby, stay quiet for me," you furrow your eyebrows, looking down at him with stars in your eyes. "I know, I know sweetheart." He reads the pleading in your eyes, soothingly rubbing your hips as he delves back in.

It's not easy to stay quiet. Not at all.

If you'd thought him rubbing your clit through your clothes was something to be noisy over, nothing prepared you for this.

He's so good at it, so generous with every lap of his tongue. The sounds are lewd and loud in the shared space, and his tongues pace only increases when you reach down to find his hands. He intertwines your fingers before you give him the hint.

You try to keep your volume low, your whimpers almost inaudible but loud enough to spurr him on, to have his hips rutting against the bed while he kisses your cunt with passion only a lover could have.

Bliss overcomes you faster than you expect, and swallows you whole like a vicious, unmerciful hurricane.

Your thighs tremble against his strength as he keeps them parted when they threaten to close, your fingers twisted in the comforter as tears well in your eyes.

You're not sure if you're making any noise, the light too bright behind your eyes, bones suddenly weightless as his tongue licks you clean. You twitch, aware that you've let out a whine. The feeling is agonizingly pleasant.

You're still throbbing when his hands suddenly grasp your jaw, head lolling in his direction as he presses his lips to yours. He's serene, slipping his tongue into your mouth, humming.

You're certain, now. Certain that you need to have him in every way there is to have someone, for your heart may forever be unsettled if it doesn't get to taste what it's like to love him wholly, completely.

"I want to-" you've got his rapt attention, as you always do, and he stares down at you with a lovesick expression as you struggle to find the strength to say it out loud.

He's grown accustomed to reading your countenance, only time allowing him to grasp the meaning behind every crease and line that forms on your face, he's certain you could give him one look and he'd instantly know what it is that you're trying to say.

One perk to having a secret rendezvous, though he still needs to hear you say it. He'd only take your word for it regarding something like this, something that he's dreamt about more times that he'd like to admit.

He can't hide his surprise, thumbs stroking your face.

"You want me to..." he quirks an inquisitive brow, nearly becoming distracted when your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. "you want me to be your first?"

Even the words have you latching onto him tighter, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

"Yes, I want that very much...do you...also want that?"

He grins, widely and for a moment you forget he was born to be made of steel, that he's fought all of his life and has bruised his skin for the sake of his kingdom. You want to kiss away every bad memory in his head.

"How could you even think you have to ask? I want nothing more, just you. You're all I'll ever want."

The veracity in his voice, suddenly hoarse, makes your skin feel like it's being tickled by a million, tiny feathers. You never knew anything could feel like this.

A heartbeat later, your hands are slipping underneath his top to make an attempt at pulling it off, your excitment not a good match for your lack of coordination. Of course, he doesn't mind helping.

He slips his sword from his hip while you stare up at him with wide eyes of reverence and desire, so much of him being exposed at once causing a swelter of heat to boil underneath your skin.

Your hands are hesitant, hovering around his lithe hips as he sits back on his haunches, chest rapidly rising and falling as the atmosphere begins to soak into his pores. He can't believe he gets to make love to you.

"You can touch me, princess," he's the one reassuring you now, knowing that beyond your headstrong personality when you're with him, you're still so timid; trembling like a leaf in autumn.

His dexterous fingers gently grasp your wrists, placing your palms over his abdomen, keeping your gaze all the while, head nodding in encouragement.

He's soft, soft on the surface at least. The soft down that covers his honey colored skin is like silk underneath your fingers, a juxtaposition to the rigid muscle underneath that flexes as your fingertips move upwards towards the broad planes of his chest.

You hook your fingers around his shoulders, and pull him down to your mouth, determined as your heart bellows inside of your body.

It's wilder this time, the wet sounds loud in your ears, his tongue waltzing with yours. You rake your nails down his sides, and he damn near growls.

It's a blur, the way he slips the straps of your gown from off of your shoulders, before removing the garment completely and throwing it behind him. Somewhere in between he pulls the covers out from underneath you, sensing the chill that runs through you like a tremor from the exposure.

It's during that brief moment when you're too drunk on adrenaline, that your fingers begin pulling at the buckle of his bottoms, too eager again and not being able to unfasten it correctly. Always the gentlemen, he does it for you, again.

He's careful now, not completely planting himself against you yet when he kisses your neck and takes your breasts in his massive palms, squeezing indulgently.

You pull him up by the ridge of his jaw, wrapping your legs around his middle as you had previously, letting out a small gasp as his hard length suddenly comes to lie heavy between your legs when you beckon him closer by your heels on his back.

"You're sure you want me?" He slips his hand that's not cupping your cheek, down in between your bodies to rub your clit with his middle finger, actually expecting you to be able to speak coherently. He supresses his gasp upon feeling the abundance of your essence.

It's hard to focus, when he's looking down at you like that, when you can feel every ridge and curve of his naked body against yours. Perhaps it's being able to to tell that he's feeling the same way just by the way he speaks, that makes it so intoxicating.

"You're all I'll ever want." You echo his earlier words, and his laughter fills your ears like a lullably. You reach out to push his dark hair out from in front of his eyes, his lips catching your palm and placing a kiss to the center.

"It'll hurt, I'll go as slow as you need me to." You see the worry creased between his brow, and you soothe it away by clenching your thighs around his waist, silently beckoning him.

"Please, please fuck me."

It takes him by surprise, cock twitching against your sex. You sound so sweet, so angelic even when you're requesting something so filthy.

He lifts himself on his forearms, reaching down to grasp his shaft. Your hands are in his hair a the while, fingers tracing shapes across the nape of his neck. You suck in a breath when he rubs the tip against your clit, arousal leaking from your slit.

He rubs his cock against you like this, through your silken folds and back up to your sensitive nub, until your head is thrown back against the pillows, face turned to the side and canorous mewls slipping past your lips.

Your eyes flutter open when he kisses you, finally prodding your entrance, readying you. Your teeth gently sink into the plush surface of his bottom lip, as if urging him to continue.

Your mouth falls open when he begins to push himself inside of you. You have to brace yourself by clinging onto his biceps, reminding yourself to breathe.

If you weren't as wet for him as you are, you're sure it would be more painful. It still stings, even more so as he begins to bottom out, using every bit of self control he has as to make sure he doesn't accidentally rut into you with too much force.

He meets your eyes when he's fully sheathed inside of you, your fingernails leaving crescent moons in his skin. He doesn't mind it one bit.

"Are you alright?" The tenderness in his voice is accompanied by his lips across your cheeks, down your jaw, over your eyelids.

"Mhm. J-Just stay like this, for a second, please." Your walls flutter around him and his eyes fall heavy. He stays as still as he can for the moment, fingers massaging your soft hip.

"I never thought...never dreamed we'd get to do this." He speaks in an irrevocable way, swelling your heart over two times its size with how he talks about you. Like you're truly something magical.

You wiggle your hips, his gaze searching for yours and lighting up with newfound determination when you give him conformation to move. He slowly drags himself out, before pushing himself back in.

"If you only knew...how much I truly think of you." You speak steadily despite the wave of pleasure that ripples through your body, from the pit of your stomach outwards, touching every nerve.

He's big, bigger than you expected, but curved in a way that has you fighting a cry. Your lungs ache with the need to make noise, to express how it feels to have him inside of you like this. You squeeze around him, and he smashes his lips against yours.

You never thought it would feel like this, you'd heard mixed reviews but clearly none of them had ever experienced what it's like to have someone like him demonstrating their skill.

He's precise, a little shaky but only because he's concentrating on not literally cumming after two minutes. You're everything he's ever wanted and more, you're soaked and warm around him, chest pressed flush against his. Your hardened nipples threaten to distract him.

His hair tickles your forehead as he begins to create a steady pace. He's got one hand behind your right thigh, cupping it and hiking it up just the slightest bit while he fucks into you, curling his hips.

He swallows your moans, tasting the sense of surrealness on your tongue. He feels it too, groaning when you tug a tuft of his hair.

"You're mine, all mine, fuck." His voice is hoarse, hips stuttering as he begins to rock into you, not completely pulling himself out of you before nudging your cervix again. His mouth catches the edge of your jaw, then your earlobe.

He buries his face in your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against his hair as you keep yourself quiet. He can still feel the way you're shivering, the whispers of cries that are audible when you breathe.

"I'm yours, I'm yours." You're not sure you could ever feel this way about someone else, and not just because he is all that every single one of your senses seemed to be attuned to.

He's deep inside of you, reaching places you never would be able to by yourself, and still holds you like you're the entire world. Despite the need that consumes you both, he takes his time.

You feel him everywhere. On your neck, your throat, down to your clavicle where his hot tongue soothes over the mark he's just made.

You can almost feel him in your belly, the tip of his cock nudging the sweet spot of nerves deep within you causing your body to jerk in his hold. He takes note and is determined to drive you over the edge, knowing he's not going to last much longer.

He's yearned for it too long, and nothing his mind could have conjured up would ever compare again.

He lets go of your leg only to bring his hand to where your bodies are connected as one, your face contorted into a mask of pleasure as he begins to rub at your clit, in circular motions, with the same rythym as his thrusts.

"John, ohhh, you f-feel so good." You're slurring your words, high off of his affection. Your belly feels hot, a pressure just behind your navel leaving you writhing, trying to match his pace.

"Yeah? Feels good to have me inside of you?" He's being cruel now, already knowing the answer by the way tears are swelling in your eyes for the second time tonight, irisises shining back at him.

Your hands roam his sides, settling on his hips as you turn your face to hide it against his bicep. He kisses any expanse of skin that he can reach, till the wet spots leave a trail of chills along your body.

You're close, and he knows it. You're already leaking onto the bed, dripping down his shaft.

"J-John...p-please." You're blubbering now, and his fingers circle your clit faster, just enough to have you breathless and unable to speak as his strokes become inconsistent, cock throbbing.

"Shh, I got you baby, gonna make you cum okay? Want you to let go."

Looking up into his eyes, it's hard to resist. Suddenly it's the first time you've met and you're awestruck by his beauty all over again, by the sharp planes of his face that you'd come to realize are soft underneath your touch.

You're kissing him again for the first time, and his lips are as plush and pillowy as they look, his hands big and wsrm as they hold your face steady against his mouth.

You realize you're in love with him for the first time again, staring into honey colored irises and listening to his velvet voice, aware that when he's gone it feels like a piece of you has been taken along with him.

Your body suddenly stills, save for your back arching and his body, sturdy and whole, there to anchor you while you forget you breathe. Your orgasm is all the more powerful this time, with him inside of you, and it's like once youre unraveling it doesn't stop.

He holds the back of your head and allows you to muffle your cries against his chest, fingers latching onto any part of him you reach first, as if you might fall of the face of the earth. He's still rubbing your clit, whispering sweet encouragements in your ear.

You don't pick up all of it, only vaguely aware of the tremor in his tone as he says your name.

And then he's locked against you, every muscle in his body rigid and hard as a strained, muffled whimper resonates from beside your head. He's biting into a pillow, as warmth fills you to the brim and he sloppily fucks it into you.

You're still reeling, when he kisses you like someone who hasn't seen their lover in years and is finally getting the chance to touch them again, to wordlessly express how enamored they are. Wholeheartedly, and irreversibly.

He says it first, which surprises you, considering in your dreams you're always the one professing it to him, stroking his skin or petting his hair and whispering it in between kisses.

But you're sure this is real, you can feel ache in your bones, the throb of your centers where they're still connected.

"I love you." His voice is even more beautiful when he's speaking in such a simple, yet profound way. There's a quiver, but not because he's not being honest. He'd swear on his life, for his conviction.

"I love you too." You reply, looping your fingers round the nape of his neck, toying with the soft hair there.

Maybe he shouldn't be so shocked, but he is. His face can't hide it, the quirk of his full lips, the furrow of disbelief in his brow. You want to kiss his stupid face a thousand time over.

"I love you." He repeats it, as if the words bring forth sunshine on a day shrouded by the darkness of rain clouds.

He repeats it again, when he's hovering over your lips, breath warm against your skin. He repeats it again when he's placing kisses to your forehead, when you giggle and stroke his cheek.

"And I love you, silly silly man." You remind him, willing him by the longing in your voice, to believe it as you believe him.

He repeats it again, when a tear cascades down your cheek like a diamond shaped declaration of your honesty, and he kisses it away, claiming it for himself.

You love him, and he loves you.

And maybe, no matter what happens, that'll be enough.

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