#crooked sunlight ocs

[rattlebear25]

Some OCs for an original project. I usually don't like making original content but i really enjoy how i wrote Soleil lol so that's why i love him and probably he's my favorite OC ever! Fangs and his sister are an original species made by me called Rhynolf, wolf rhino hybrids. Soleil, Fangs and Tootie aren't recent, i made them like in 2018 so these ones are redesigns of the original concepts. I would like to publish a comic about them called "Crooked Sunlight" but i am more into fan content rather than Ocs so... i don't know.

[shaiyasstuff]

fate | rafayel

synopsis : Who are we to stand in the line of fate?

content : rafayel x non-mc!reader, cannon/non-cannon, Shaiya is an OC, angst

(Very very inspired by this here.)

To you, he was the star, the moon, and the sky—the entire universe strung together in the shape of a boy who laughed too brightly and looked too beautiful in the sunlight.

To him?

You were background noise. A quiet, fleeting presence. Someone he could blink away and never miss.

You stare at Rafayel now, his smile too wide, his hands squishing his own cheeks as he pouts at Shaiya in that annoyingly endearing way of his.

He’s rambling—something about the lack of dessert in the break room or the injustice of early morning patrols—but his voice has faded into white noise.

You’ve been somewhere else for the past five minutes.

Somewhere darker, quieter, lonelier.

Somewhere where your heart isn’t being wrung out like this.

You ignore the way it hurts.

Ignore the way his laugh, meant for someone else, sits like broken glass in your ribs.

He once told you, voice soft and almost reverent, the story of how he gave Shaiya his scale in another life.

My heart belongs to hers eternally, he’d said.

You only nodded. What else could you do?

The other option was crying until your chest cracked open and all your feelings poured out in ruin.

You glance at Shaiya.

She’s everything you’re not—effortlessly charming, golden and kind, with a laugh that people lean toward and a presence that feels like sunlight after winter.

She’s the first person who ever looked at you at the Hunter’s Association and didn’t look away.

She reached out, befriended you, made space for you in a world that never did.

That’s how you met Rafayel.

And now here you are—watching him fall in love with the person who led him to you.

How poetic.

How cruel.

You push yourself off the table, fingers curling against the edge as the nausea rises in your throat like a tide you can’t hold back.

“Alright, guys. I’m off,” you say, forcing your voice to sound normal—light, detached, as if you weren’t quietly bleeding beneath the skin.

Shaiya turns to you immediately, concern softening her features. “Wait, already? You sure you’re okay—?”

But him?

He doesn’t even look up.

Just lifts a hand in a lazy, distracted wave, eyes still locked on her like she hung the constellations he dreams under.

That’s what undoes you.

Not the pain—the indifference.

You offer them both a small smile, the kind you’ve mastered over time—the kind that hides everything and says nothing.

Then you walk away, not daring to look back.

If you did, you knew you’d shatter.

Once outside, the cold hits you like truth—sharp and biting. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself, but it does nothing for the chill burrowed deep in your bones.

You feel stupid. So, so stupid.

What they have—it’s fate.

Already written, already woven into the threads of the world long before you even existed in it.

A love etched into lifetimes. A bond sealed by gods or stars or whatever cruel thing governs soulmates.

You knew that.

You always knew that.

So then why—

Why does your heart still break like this?

Why does it feel like you’re standing in the ruins of something that never even belonged to you?

Why does it hurt so much to love someone who was never yours to begin with?

You clench your jaw, breathe in the frost-laced air, and blink up at the sky, hoping the cold will numb more than just your fingers.

But it doesn’t.

It never does.

Because nothing numbs the kind of ache that lives inside your chest when you’re the leftover in someone else’s love story.

—•

You tap your finger against the desk absentmindedly, the rhythm uneven, fading in and out like a heartbeat too tired to keep pretending it’s whole.

Your mind drifts—

To the curve of his face in golden light, the way his smile tilts crooked when he’s teasing, how his hair falls into his eyes when he’s sketching, utterly focused and beautiful in a way that feels unreal.

And those eyes—striking, impossible, burning with colors that don’t belong in this world.

You used to think they saw you.

Really saw you.

Not just the way you lingered too long in his shadow or how you always laughed a little too late at his jokes.

But the quiet parts. The aching ones. The version of you that never quite fit anywhere.

But maybe that was just another illusion you spun for yourself—another thread you tugged loose in hopes it might unravel into something real.

You press your finger harder against the wood.

When did your heart become so traitorous?

When did longing become your default state?

You’re not foolish enough to believe you’re the first to fall in love with someone unreachable.

But it doesn’t make the ache any less specific.

Any less sharp.

You wonder what it would’ve felt like—

If he had looked at you the way he looks at her.

If fate had been kinder.

If you had met in a different life, one where his heart wasn’t already spoken for by memory and myth.

But you didn’t.

And here you are, loving him quietly, like a secret you’ll never speak out loud.

Like a prayer that never deserved to be answered.

You’re broken out of your trance when Shaiya slides onto your desk, her voice lilting and warm.

“What’s up with you?”

She’s smiling—always smiling—but there’s something softer tucked beneath it. Concern, maybe. Or pity.

You blink up at her, disoriented by how suddenly you’ve been pulled back into reality.

For a second, you forget how to hold your own expression together.

What do you even say to that?

I’m in love with someone who will never love me back, and it just so happens to be the person you’re bound to for eternity?

You don’t say anything.

You just look at her. Really look.

And for the first time, you realize how cruel the universe truly is.

Because it didn’t just give Rafayel someone to love.

It gave him her.

Bright, kind, magnetic Shaiya. The kind of person people gravitate toward without meaning to. The kind of person who lights up a room without even trying.

Even you weren’t immune. You liked her the moment you met her.

How could you not?

There isn’t a single flaw to cling to. Nothing to resent. Nothing to hate. She’s warm where you are quiet. Effortless where you are struggling. She talks to you like you matter. Makes space for you even when she doesn’t have to.

And somehow, that just makes everything hurt more.

You offer a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Just tired,” you say, voice barely above a murmur.

She doesn’t press. Just swings her legs lightly and chatters on about something—about Rafayel, probably. You’re not listening anymore.

Not really.

All you can think is that maybe the universe didn’t create her to laugh at you.

It created her to show you just how deeply you could never compare.

You punch down the ugly, snarling thing inside you—the one with claws made of envy and teeth that whisper you’ll never be enough.

It writhes in your chest anyway, bitter and relentless, but you school your features into something calmer, quieter, safer.

You turn to her, your voice casual, even light. “Don’t you have a mission today?”

Shaiya blinks, caught off guard for half a second before her usual brightness returns. “I do—later tonight. Some rogue activity in Sector Twelve. Nothing serious.”

Of course not. Nothing ever seems serious for her. She always makes it look easy—missions, friendships, love.

Even Rafayel.

Especially Rafayel.

She stretches her arms above her head and hums, “Figured I’d hang around until then. Besides, someone’s got to keep you company.”

You give her a short, noncommittal nod, forcing your lips into a half-smile you hope passes for polite.

She stays perched on your desk, legs swinging, babbling about field reports and malfunctioning tech, her words drifting around you like static.

And you let them. Because it’s easier than the silence. Easier than admitting that the monster inside you isn’t just jealousy—it’s grief.

Grief for a love that never had a beginning.

Grief for a story where you were never meant to be anything more than a footnote.

And still, you stay.

Because it’s better to be near him—near them—than to be alone with how empty you feel without him.

You found yourself at the shooting range, fingers trembling as you loaded the magazine, one round after another. The metallic clicks were sharp, final—like closing the door on every hope you didn’t have the courage to voice aloud.

You raised the pistol, lined your sight, and fired.

Each bullet was an echo of grief you never gave a voice to.

Bang. You’ll never be enough.

Bang. You’ll never compare.

Bang. He will never love you.

Bang. He won’t even look in your direction.

The sounds reverberated through the still air like accusations, like truths carved into the bones of the room. Your heart thudded violently against your ribs, not from the recoil—but from the crushing, bitter clarity of it all.

You reload, slow and methodical, the movement almost ritualistic now. One last round. One last truth.

You take aim.

Bang.

Who are you to stand in the line of fate?

The silence that follows is deafening. The smoke curls like regret in the air, wrapping around your wrists, your breath, your chest.

And you stand there, unmoving, with hands that remember his warmth and a heart that remembers how it felt to believe—if only for a moment—that maybe, maybe you were meant for something more than watching him love someone else.

But fate is cruel.

And you are just a girl with a gun in her hands and grief buried beneath her skin.

—•

“Have you seen Shaiya?” Rafayel asks as he strolls into your apartment like he owns the place—like you aren’t sitting on the floor trying to hold yourself together with fraying threads and shallow breaths.

You don’t look at him right away. Just tilt your head lazily over the couch, eyes heavy with exhaustion you can’t name. “She’s on a mission,” you murmur. “Sector 12.”

You wave him off, dismissive. Hoping he’ll get the hint and leave before you break.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he plops down beside your legs with that same careless grace he always has, as if he belongs here, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The warmth of him seeps into your space, your solitude, your silence. Uninvited. Unbothered.

“You okay?” he asks, voice softer now, dipping into something almost tender.

Your breath catches, barely, like his words had teeth. You stare straight ahead, not at him—never at him.

Because if you do, your mask might slip. And he might see everything he was never meant to.

You laugh under your breath, hollow and sharp. “Do I look okay to you?”

There’s a pause.

And still, you don’t look at him. You can’t. Because he’s here—he’s here—and all you want to do is scream Why now? Why only when she’s not?

Why not when it could have meant something?

You hug your knees tighter, pressing your cheek to the fabric of your sleeve, trying to keep yourself from unraveling.

“Rafayel,” you whisper, the syllables fragile in your mouth. “What are you doing here?”

And though you don’t say it out loud, the real question lingers in the air between you:

Why are you always here when it’s too late?

His eyes narrow, the usual spark of mischief dulled into something sharper, something dangerous.

“Who did this to you?” he asks, low and serious, like he’s ready to burn down the world for an answer.

You almost laugh.

Not because it’s funny, but because he doesn’t see it—because the irony stings more than it soothes.

You, you want to say. You did this. Without even trying. Without even knowing.

But the words die in your throat, swallowed by pride, by fear, by the pathetic hope that maybe he’ll stay if you just keep pretending.

So you swallow the ache like you always do and shrug, smoothing the cracks in your voice until it almost sounds normal.

“It’s just a bad day,” you say, brushing him off with a weak smile. “Forget about it.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

Just stares at you like he’s trying to unravel a puzzle that’s missing too many pieces. And still, you keep smiling, keep pretending you’re whole.

Because if he knew—

If he really knew—

He might never come back.

And even if it hurts like hell, you’d rather have the ghost of him in your life than nothing at all.

Naturally. Because the universe doesn’t believe in mercy—only in timing that wounds with surgical precision.

One minute, you’re curled in on yourself, trying to disappear into the quiet, and the next, Rafayel is sweeping you off the floor like it’s instinct.

As if your heartbreak is his responsibility now, when it never was before.

“What are you doing?!” you burst out, hands gripping the front of his shirt, more startled than anything else.

He barely blinks.

“You’re going to sit,” he says, already nudging open your bedroom door with his foot, “and I’m going to take care of you until you tell me what’s wrong.”

He lays you down at the edge of your bed like you’re made of something breakable. His touch is gentle, absurdly so. As if he’s trying to patch up wounds he can’t even see.

Your lips tighten, your breath catching at the back of your throat.

You look at him, really look—and the pain in your chest coils tighter.

“Why now?” you whisper, the question slipping out before you can stop it. Raw. Unshielded.

Rafayel freezes.

His brows pull together, confusion flickering across his face, like he’s hearing a language he was never taught. “What do you mean?” he asks, voice low, uncertain.

And gods, that’s the worst part.

That he doesn’t know.

That he truly doesn’t see what he’s done to you.

You look away, because it’s too much—his kindness, his nearness, his obliviousness.

Because in his world, you were never anything more than a friend with a quiet smile.

But in yours?

He was everything.

“It’s nothing, just…”

Your voice falters, cracking like thin ice under too much weight.

“Just leave me alone.”

You don’t look at him. You can’t. You already feel too bare, too close to unraveling.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the shift in his expression—hesitation, confusion, something close to hurt.

And for a moment, it nearly breaks you.

He looks hurt.

He looks conflicted.

You almost laugh.

Because isn’t that just the punchline?

Why does he get to be wounded when you’re the one who’s been quietly carrying the torch, burning for him in silence?

When you’ve been holding the candle for someone who never even thought to look for the light?

Your hands curl into the bedsheets, nails digging into fabric to keep yourself grounded.

He has no idea what he’s done.

No idea what it’s like to stand this close to someone and feel a thousand miles away.

To watch him reach for someone else with the same hands you used to dream would hold you.

So you swallow the laugh. The scream. The truth.

Because what good would it do now?

“Please,” you whisper, barely audible. “Just go.”

And this time, you don’t look to see if he does.

You hear it—soft shuffling behind you, hesitant footsteps on the floorboard, the faint rustle of fabric. He hasn’t left.

You turn around, ready to say it again, sharper this time. “Raf—”

But the word barely leaves your lips before his face is right there, inches from yours.

So close you can see the way his lashes catch the light, the faint flush along his cheekbones, the way his lips part like he wants to speak but can’t.

And then—those eyes.

Those impossible eyes, glowing somewhere between dusk and dawn, blue and pink and something otherworldly in between, all of it filled with a concern so raw it knocks the breath clean out of your lungs.

He doesn’t say a word.

He just looks at you. Like you’re not breaking. Like you’re not pushing him away with everything you have. Like you matter.

And you?

You go still.

Because what do you even say, when the person who’s been slowly undoing you without even realizing it is suddenly close enough to memorize the shape of your sadness?

Your throat tightens. Words vanish.

You’re left speechless, caught in the gravity of him, wondering what it means that he’s finally looking—but you’re not sure your heart can survive it.

“Wha—”

The sound barely scrapes past your lips before he cuts in, his voice low, careful, like he’s walking across something delicate.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” he says. “Shaiya told me you’ve been staring off into the distance at work. Not answering when people call your name.”

You blink.

The words hit like a pebble tossed into still water—small, but enough to send everything rippling.

Shaiya told him?

He asked?

You stare at him, stunned.

For a second, the ache in your chest forgets how to twist. Your mind struggles to wrap itself around the fact that, somewhere in his orbit, your name had drifted into conversation. That he noticed.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. You hadn’t prepared for this—for him to see through you, even just a little.

“I…” you try, voice softer, unsteady. “You asked about me?”

His brows furrow slightly, like the answer should be obvious. “Of course I did.”

And just like that, your world tilts—just enough to make you wonder what it would’ve been like if he’d looked at you like this before you broke.

You couldn’t breathe.

The walls felt too close, the air too thick, and his gaze—so full of something you’d wanted for far too long—was suffocating.

You needed to get out.

Your chest tightened, pulse racing as the weight of everything—his nearness, his concern, the unbearable hope clawing its way back into your throat—crashed over you all at once.

“I— I need some air,” you muttered, already rising to your feet, heart in your throat, limbs moving before your mind could catch up.

You didn’t wait for him to respond.

You couldn’t. You just needed to move. To run. To escape before whatever held you together came undone.

Because if you stayed a second longer, you might’ve said it.

You might’ve said I love you.

And that was a truth you couldn’t afford to let slip—not when he was still in love with someone else.

Rafayel stared at the space you left behind, still warm with your presence, still echoing with the sound of your retreating footsteps.

His fists clenched slowly at his sides, jaw tightening as something sharp and unfamiliar twisted in his chest.

You were slipping through his fingers, and he didn’t know why.

He replayed every word, every look, every tremble in your voice—and it hit him, sudden and brutal, like the tail-end of a wave he didn’t see coming.

There was something wrong.

And he’d seen it too late.

The air felt heavier without you in the room, the silence deafening.

And for the first time, Rafayel didn’t know what to say, or how to fix it, or why it hurt this much to watch you walk away.

His fingers flexed.

Because if someone had hurt you, he’d burn the world down.

—•

Your phone rang the next morning, cutting through the hush of waves and the distant cry of gulls. The sharp vibration against your thigh jolted you awake.

You blinked against the early light, skin damp with ocean mist, mouth dry with sleep and silence. It took a moment to realize where you were.

The beach.

You’d fallen asleep in the sand, curled in on yourself like the tide might take you if you let it.

Your jacket was pulled tight around you, half-covered in grains of salt and moonlight. The ache in your bones reminded you of last night—the panic, the closeness, the way Rafayel had looked at you like he finally saw you.

The phone kept ringing.

You fumbled for it, thumb swiping across the screen with sleep-clumsy hands, heart already sinking at the name that might be waiting.

Part of you hoped it was him.

Part of you hated that you hoped.

Because even now—with your cheeks kissed by cold wind and your heart cracked from trying to outrun the truth—he was still there. Still in your thoughts.

Still in the space where love had no business surviving.

“Where are you?”

Shaiya’s voice bursts through the speaker, sharp with worry, echoing in the quiet morning air. It makes you flinch, like guilt has teeth and just sank into your shoulder.

“I—” you begin, but your voice barely holds shape.

Then his voice cuts through hers—low, urgent, too close.

“Y/N? Where are you?”

Rafayel.

Rafayel.

“I’ll come get you right now.”

You go still, the phone pressed against your ear like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered. The sea murmurs behind you, waves brushing the shore like it’s breathing beside you.

Your heart pounds, wild and disoriented.

“Is that the sea?” he asks, sharp, and then—

“I’m coming. Stay where you are.”

The line goes dead.

You sit there in stunned silence, the phone still pressed to your ear long after the call ends. The wind brushes your cheeks, and for a moment you wonder if you imagined the entire thing.

Because… why now?

Why did he sound like you mattered? Why did his voice shake like that?

Why did he suddenly care—when you’d already convinced yourself he never did?

You sit there, still dazed, the phone limp in your hand, the sea brushing gently against the shore like it’s trying to comfort you.

And then—

You hear it.

Your name. Carried over the wind, frantic and raw.

“Y/N!”

You turn slowly, like your body’s moving through water, and there he is—Rafayel—running toward you across the sand, hair windswept, eyes wide, breathing like he’d sprinted across the whole city to get here.

When he reaches you, he doesn’t hesitate.

He drops to his knees in front of you, arms wrapping around your frame in a crushing embrace, pulling you into him like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“Oh god,” he breathes against your shoulder, voice trembling. “You’re okay.”

And for one fleeting, trembling moment—you feel it.

Hope.

Soft and shimmering in your chest like seafoam, fragile and glistening. You close your eyes and let yourself believe—just for a heartbeat—that maybe he came for you.

Maybe he chose you.

But fate has never been kind.

“Do you know how Shaiya felt after she found out you were missing?” he says, pulling back slightly, his hands still on your arms.

And just like that—

the moment shatters.

His words echo, cruel and sharp, ringing in your ears like a bell tolling for your delusion.

Of course.

He wasn’t worried because you were gone.

He was worried because she was.

You smile—small, broken, empty—and nod like it doesn’t hurt.

Like you hadn’t just imagined an entire world where he ran for you.

And as if the world hadn’t twisted the knife deep enough—she appeared.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” Shaiya gasped, breathless as she stumbled down the dunes, cheeks flushed, hair tousled from running.

Her voice was laced with relief, eyes wide and glassy as they landed on you. She looked like she had been worried sick—like you were someone she couldn’t bear to lose.

You stared at her, stunned, caught between guilt and something heavier.

She was panting, hands on her knees, chest heaving with effort.

And beside you, Rafayel stood quickly, like gravity had suddenly remembered who he was supposed to be standing next to.

He took a step toward her. Not you.

Always her.

And in that moment, you realized the world didn’t just forget you—it remembered you only in relation to someone else.

A side character in their story. A shadow at the edge of someone else’s light.

You pressed your hands to the sand to steady yourself, head bowed, heart splintering in silence.

Because it was never really about you.

And it never would be.

“I didn’t realize,” you say quietly, your voice barely louder than the wind. “I fell asleep.”

It’s the truth, and not.

You fell asleep, yes—but more than that, you slipped. Out of yourself. Out of control. Out of hope.

Before the words can settle, Shaiya’s already moving—reaching out, pulling you to your feet with a strength that surprises you.

And then she hugs you. Tight.

Arms around your shoulders, face buried in your neck like she was afraid she wouldn’t find you again. You freeze for a moment, caught in the shock of it—her warmth, her worry, the weight of how much she cares.

And for a moment, you let yourself be held. Let yourself pretend this closeness doesn’t sting.

But your eyes lift, instinctively, over her shoulder—to him.

Rafayel is watching. Quiet. Still.

His expression unreadable, but his body turned slightly toward her. As always.

And as her arms tighten around you, all you can think is that,

You’re holding the person who loves him.

And he’s watching the person he loves.

And you are simply—

There.

—•

“Don’t you ever disappear like that again,” Shaiya scolds, her voice stern, hands working deftly as she wraps the bandages around your scraped, sand-bitten feet.

You hadn’t even realized you were barefoot. Hadn’t felt the sting of the shoreline or the rocks beneath your heels.

You’d been too caught in everything else—your thoughts, your feelings, your unspoken heartbreak.

You look down at her—at the way her brows furrow in concentration, the way her hands tremble just slightly despite how steady she tries to be.

She cares. Of course she does. She always has.

“Sorry,” you murmur, offering her a small, worn smile. One that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Because you weren’t sorry for falling asleep on the beach.

You were sorry for wanting to disappear.

To the side, Rafayel stands silent.

He hasn’t spoken since she arrived. Hasn’t moved from that spot.

But you can feel his gaze on you—steady, unreadable, heavy with something you’re too tired to decipher.

You don’t look at him. Not this time.

Because if you do, you’re afraid you’ll start to hope again.

And you’re not sure your heart can survive another betrayal like that.

Soon, Shaiya is called away—duty tugging her back into the world, into action, into a place where she belongs.

She gives you one last look, lingering at the door, her fingers squeezing your shoulder with silent affection before she’s gone, leaving only the sound of waves and the hush of your shallow breath behind.

And then—

you’re alone.

With him.

Rafayel doesn’t speak right away. The silence stretches between you, tense and brittle, until he takes a single, tentative step forward.

You flinch.

It’s instinctive. Small. But enough.

He freezes.

And then you see it—the way his expression falters, confusion folding into realization. His brows knit together, not in anger, but in something closer to hurt.

As if it hadn’t occurred to him—not really—that you might be afraid of him. Not because he’s dangerous, but because he’s the one holding the dagger you kept running into.

He frowns, quietly. As if he’s only now starting to see the shape of the damage. The bruises he left without ever laying a hand.

And still, he doesn’t move.

Like he knows now that any closer, and you might shatter.

“Why?” he says, quietly. Barely above a whisper.

It hangs in the air like smoke, curling into your chest, choking before you even have the chance to breathe it in.

You finally look at him.

His eyes are on you—soft, searching, and so unbearably gentle it makes you want to scream.

Because he doesn’t get to be gentle. Not now. Not when your heart has already learned to ache in silence.

Feigning ignorance, you offer the easiest escape:

“What do you mean?”

Your voice is hollow, even to your own ears.

Because you can’t say it.

You won’t say it.

You can’t tell him that it hurts—god, it hurts—seeing him with her, the way he smiles when he’s around her, the way his voice softens just for her. The way his whole world shifts in her direction, like it never had to for you.

You can’t say that every time he looks at her, it feels like a thousand quiet deaths.

That there’s nothing you can do about it.

No fate to change. No mark to rewrite.

That he was never meant to be yours.

You clench your jaw, lowering your gaze again before your eyes betray you.

Because how do you confess to a man who was written for someone else?

And worse—how do you stop loving him, when even silence tastes like his name?

His jaw tightens—just barely, but enough to see the flicker of something shift behind his eyes. Hurt, maybe. Frustration. Maybe both.

And then he turns.

No parting word. No final glance.

Just silence—cold and absolute—as he strides toward the door.

And then,

Bang.

The door slams shut behind him, loud enough to make you flinch, to rattle the air in your lungs.

It echoes through the room like an exclamation point to a conversation that never really began.

You’re left standing in the quiet aftermath, staring at the space where he’d been.

You’d wanted him to leave.

But not like that.

Not so angry. Not so broken.

Not without understanding the why behind your silence.

But maybe that’s what you deserve—for loving him in secret, for hoping in spite of fate, for carrying a heart that was never yours to offer.

The silence stretches.

And all at once, you realize—

you’ve never felt so completely, devastatingly alone.

[missmaymay13]

whiskers - l.hughes x fem!oc

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l.hughes x fem!oc | 10k

summary: whiskers was a quiet oasis for those who needed it. a place where everything else in the world just disappeared for a moment and you were able to just. breathe. what happens when a certain new jersey devil stumbles upon this place and can't leave?

masterlist

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The scent of freshly brewed espresso clung to Mallory White’s sweaters like a signature. No matter how many times she washed them, the faint aroma of dark roast and steamed milk lingered in the fibers, a soft, constant reminder of where she spent most of her waking hours. Whiskers—her aunt’s pride and joy—was tucked into a quiet street corner just off Ferry Street in Newark. It was the kind of place you only found if you were looking for it, or if you needed it in a way you couldn’t explain. A cutesy, whimsical blend of mismatched armchairs, crowded bookshelves, twinkle lights strung haphazardly across the ceiling, and window seats that always seemed to catch the best kind of sunlight. Cats draped themselves lazily over the tops of couches, curled in the corners of shelves, or pawed at the steam curling up from customer mugs. Every one of them was adoptable. Some stayed a day, some stayed months, but all of them came to know Mallory’s gentle voice and steady hands.

She’d been working there part-time for years, ever since her aunt offered her the job to help cover books and groceries while she finished school. Full-time student, part-time barista, amateur therapist to half the neighborhood regulars—Mallory made it work. She always had. Psychology fascinated her, not just the clinical definitions or brain chemistry, but the little things. The way people picked at napkins when they were nervous, how eyes darted when a lie teetered on someone’s tongue, the unconscious rituals of grief, of joy, of healing. People told her everything. She had a face for it—open, calm, curious without being invasive. The customers who wandered in during slow mornings often left with more than caffeine. Confessions, vent sessions, old wounds cracked open over chai lattes. Mallory listened the way the cats did—quietly, patiently, without judgment.

Her life was quiet, a patchwork of routines and late-night study sessions, paper deadlines, and morning coffee grinds. She lived in a tiny walk-up two blocks from Whiskers, a third-floor studio with crooked hardwood floors and plants crowding every windowsill. Her rescue tabby, Clementine, ruled the place like a queen, sprawled across textbooks or wedged herself into the sink just to make a point. Mallory found comfort in the familiar—her regulars, the way the sunlight always hit the front window just right around 4 PM, the hum of soft jazz that played through the speakers when the place began to wind down for the night. She had her favorite mugs, her favorite playlists, her favorite pens for annotating psychology textbooks. Everything in her world had a place, a rhythm. Even the chaos felt choreographed.

Newark had never seemed small to Mallory, even though she’d never left it for long. She’d traveled a bit—trips to Boston for conferences, the occasional weekend in Philly with friends—but New Jersey was in her bones. It was in the cadence of her voice, the way she knew what joint served the best pizza at 2 AM, the way she rolled her eyes when people asked why she hadn’t moved to the city yet. Newark was home. It was messy and overlooked and constantly changing, but so was she. Her childhood was rooted in its cracked sidewalks, her adolescence mapped across its diners and bookstores, her adulthood unfolding in the scent of espresso and the soft, low purr of content cats.

Whiskers was more than just a job. It was her second skin. She knew every creaky floorboard and which chair the orange tabby preferred for his midday naps. Her aunt, Nora, had turned the place into a refuge, and Mallory—without even realizing it—had become part of the soul of it. She knew when a regular was having a bad day by the way they stirred their coffee, knew how to distract a lonely heart with a stack of books and a napping kitten. On weekends, families came in just to sit and laugh and maybe fall in love with a pair of green eyes and a twitching tail. Mallory floated through it all with practiced ease, pouring lattes and restocking biscotti, recommending paperbacks and refilling water bowls.

Lately though, there’d been a tug in her chest. A sense that something—or someone—was coming. Something she couldn’t name. Maybe it was graduation looming closer, the unknown pressing in now that her final semester had started. Maybe it was the weight of a future she hadn't quite mapped out yet, pressing against the edges of her carefully ordered life. Or maybe it was the way Clementine had taken to sitting in the window every night, watching the sidewalk below like she was waiting for something. Her tail would flick, her eyes fixed, as if she knew something Mallory didn’t. It made her uneasy, but also… hopeful.

Maybe it was nothing. Or maybe it was everything.

Whatever it was, it was on its way.

__

Jack Hughes was not having a good season. On paper, the numbers weren’t bad—solid stats, some strong games, the kind of season that didn’t raise alarms. But under the surface, it was a different story. The pressure was relentless, an invisible weight pressing down on him every time he stepped onto the ice. Every game felt like a test he couldn’t afford to fail. Produce. Lead. Win. Repeat. There was no room for off nights, no space for mistakes. The joy—the spark that used to fuel him—was flickering dangerously low.

So that night, with the sky heavy and gray over Newark, Jack laced up his sneakers and left his apartment without a destination in mind. He needed to breathe. No fans. No expectations. Just air. The city buzzed around him—cars, voices, the clatter of life continuing at its own pace. He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and walked, letting his mind wander, his steps aimless but searching.

That’s when he saw it.

Tucked away between a boarded-up corner store and a laundromat with flickering lights, there was a shopfront Jack swore hadn’t been there before. The windows glowed with soft amber light, and the sign above the door read simply: Whiskers. It was quaint, inviting, oddly out of place in the gritty stretch of street. A place that felt… safe. Like the Room of Requirement from Harry Potter if it catered to coffee snobs and cat lovers instead of stressed-out wizards.

He pushed open the door, and immediately, the scent of espresso and vanilla filled his lungs. Warmth wrapped around him like a blanket fresh from the dryer. The bell above the door chimed softly, and before he could fully take in the space, a cat—an elegant gray tabby with white paws and an air of dignified authority—padded over to greet him. She sat in front of him, blinking slowly, tail flicking once.

“Oh. Uh. Hi,” Jack muttered, crouching slightly as if unsure how to proceed. The cat continued to stare, unimpressed but accepting. Missy, as he’d later learn, had that effect on people.

Jack stood up and glanced around, wide-eyed. The place looked like a Pinterest board come to life—string lights, overstuffed chairs, cat beds tucked in every corner, and floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that made the air feel thick with stories. It was the last thing he expected to find on a quiet walk meant to clear his head. And yet, it felt like exactly where he was supposed to be.

He thought he was alone until he spotted her.

In the back corner of the café, nestled into the cushions of a sun-drenched window seat, sat a girl with strawberry-blonde hair pulled into a loose, practical knot. A half-dozen cats lounged around her like they’d claimed her as one of their own. One lay across her lap, another perched on the back of her chair, while two more batted lazily at the dangling strings of her hoodie. Her eyes were glued to the screen of her laptop, fingers tapping away in focused concentration.

Mallory White glanced up at the sound of the doorbell, expecting a regular, or maybe someone looking for directions. What she saw instead was a tall brunette standing near the entrance like he wasn’t sure if he’d stumbled into a dream or a fever-induced hallucination. His eyes were wide, darting around the shop, lips slightly parted in bewilderment. He looked both exhausted and in awe.

“First time?” she called out, voice light but kind. She already knew the answer.

Jack turned toward her, nodding slowly. “Yeah…”

She smiled, something soft blooming in her chest. There was always something beautiful about watching people find Whiskers for the first time—especially the ones who clearly needed it. They came in burdened, distracted, lost. And they stayed, because something about the place told them they were allowed to rest. To breathe.

And for Jack Hughes, that was exactly what was happening.

__

Jack approached the counter slowly, his gaze sweeping over the handwritten chalkboard menu, though his eyes weren’t really reading. The place still didn’t feel real. Like he’d slipped into some alternate version of Newark, one where life moved slower and smelled like cinnamon.

Mallory stood behind the counter now, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a cat—Oscar—draped around her shoulders like a fuzzy scarf. She gave Jack a smile that didn’t force anything out of him, just offered something steady. Comfort without pressure.

“What can I get you?” she asked, pulling a mug down from the shelf.

He blinked, momentarily thrown. “Uh. Just… coffee? I think?”

Mallory bit back a grin. “Bold order.”

Jack laughed softly—an unintentional sound, like it startled him. “Right. Sorry. I’m more of a… dog guy.”

Oscar meowed in protest from her shoulders. Mallory feigned offense. “You can’t just walk into a cat café and say something like that.”

“I know, I know,” he said, hands raised in surrender. “I’m already on thin ice, aren’t I?”

“Extremely,” she teased, but her tone was still light, welcoming. “Lucky for you, the cats are forgiving. Mostly. Missy already gave you a pass, so you’re basically in.”

Jack watched her pour the coffee with a kind of reverence, like the ritual of it was grounding him. Something simple. Something normal.

Mallory set the mug in front of him, her voice dipping into something softer. “You look like you needed to find this place.”

He looked up, startled—not because she was wrong, but because she’d said it out loud.

He didn’t answer right away. He just nodded, lips pressing into a tight line before he picked up the cup and took a slow sip.

Mallory didn’t press. She just moved around him with quiet ease, giving him space while staying close enough to offer more if he wanted it. Eventually, he found a seat by the window. The same one she���d been curled into earlier, now cleared of cats. Like they knew he needed it.

The hours slipped by.

They started talking slowly, in fits and starts—about nothing at first. The coffee. The cats. The weather. But Mallory had a way of asking questions that made Jack want to answer. And she listened—not like she was waiting for her turn to speak, but like she actually cared about the in-between moments. The pauses. The sighs.

Without realizing how or when, Jack started to talk. Really talk.

About the season. About the pressure. The weight of being expected to be everything, every night. About how he couldn’t even remember the last time he played just for fun. How even on good days, he felt like he was chasing something he couldn’t name. He didn’t mention who he was. He didn’t have to. Mallory never asked.

She just sat across from him, legs curled under her, sipping tea and nodding quietly. When he stopped, she’d offer a thought, something gentle and reflective that didn’t feel like advice but helped anyway.

It was effortless. Unscripted. Safe.

And somehow, in the middle of that cozy café with jazz humming low and cats circling their feet, Jack Hughes—hockey star, exhausted athlete, public figure—let himself breathe.

When he finally looked at the time, hours had passed. The sky outside had gone from moody gray to a soft indigo. The shop was even quieter now, a few lingering customers curling up in corners with books and content kittens. Mallory stood behind the counter again, cleaning up with a rhythm born from years of closing shifts and late-night routines.

Jack stood, stretching like he was waking from a dream.

“Thanks,” he said, voice low but real. “For… I don’t know. This.”

Mallory looked over, smiling like she knew exactly what he meant. “Come back whenever. Whiskers shows up when people need it—but once you find it, it’s easier to return.”

Jack nodded, lingering in the doorway for a second. Then he stepped out into the cool night air.

And for the first time in a long time, he smiled.

Not for a fan. Not for a camera. Not because he had to.

But because he wanted to.

__ Jack didn’t plan on going back to Whiskers.

Not really. It had felt like a one-time thing—some serendipitous stop on a bad day. But the next time the pressure swelled again, sitting on his chest like armor he couldn’t get off, his feet led him there without thinking. And when he opened the door, the same warm scent of coffee and cat fur greeted him like an old friend.

No one batted an eye when he came in. Missy trotted over to him again, dignified as ever, and gave his shoes a once-over before returning to her perch by the window. Mallory was already there, at her usual table in the corner, laptop open, hair pulled back, surrounded by open textbooks and cats who insisted on lying across her notes. She looked up when the bell chimed and gave him a soft, familiar smile. Like she’d been expecting him.

From then on, he became a regular.

He didn’t always talk. Some days, he didn’t even get coffee. He just… existed. Found the seat by the window and sat with whatever book he was working through, or nothing at all. Sometimes he stared out the glass, watched the city move in its chaotic rhythm while inside, everything was quiet. Safe. Still.

There were days he came after a loss, his body heavy and tired. Days he came before a game, needing to ground himself. And days where he just needed a reminder that there was more to the world than headlines and ice time. That there were places where no one needed anything from him.

Mallory didn’t pry. That was what he liked most. She always greeted him with that same smile, then returned to her work. Her energy was calm, a quiet presence that didn’t demand attention. He learned she was finishing up a psych degree, that she helped run the café with her aunt, that she was the kind of person who read three books at once and always had pens tucked behind both ears. He also learned she had a cat named Clementine who hated car rides and a soft spot for vanilla scones.

Their conversations were scattered and slow. Shared glances over their mugs. A dry joke exchanged when a customer knocked over a display. Quiet chuckles when a kitten decided Jack’s lap was the best nap spot. But mostly, they sat in silence.

The kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

Jazz played low in the background. Mallory’s keys clicked against her laptop. The espresso machine hissed softly from the bar. A cat would leap from one chair to another. And Jack, for the first time in months, felt okay not saying a word. Just breathing. Just being.

That bond—unspoken but steady—grew in the spaces between the stillness. In the shared routines. She would slide him a drink without asking. He’d bring her a croissant from a bakery he found downtown. Neither of them acknowledged the softness curling between them. It just existed. Natural. Unrushed.

Whiskers became his sanctuary. A place untouched by expectation or fame. A place where he wasn’t Jack Hughes, hockey star.

Just Jack.

And in that little corner café with cats lounging in the sun and Mallory humming under her breath as she typed, Jack found something he hadn’t realized he’d been searching for:

Peace.

__

It didn’t take long for Luke to notice the shift.

At first, it was small things. Jack stopped snapping at reporters after games. He didn’t spend as much time glued to his phone, doom-scrolling between practices. He started showing up early to workouts. Smiling more. Laughing, even. And not the hollow, media-trained kind of laugh either—the real kind, the kind that lit up his face and softened the edges of his exhaustion.

And then came the disappearing.

Luke would be halfway through a lazy off-day, sprawled across the couch, and Jack would toss on a hoodie, grab his keys, and say, “I’m heading out for a bit.”

“To where?”

“Nowhere. Just… around.”

Luke arched an eyebrow. “That’s not a place, Jack.”

“I’m just going for a walk. Or maybe a drive.”

He never offered more than that. No details. No specifics. Just vague, noncommittal answers. And then he’d come back three hours later like someone had hit reset on his entire nervous system—relaxed, clear-eyed, a little too peaceful for someone playing in a pressure cooker like the NHL.

It was starting to freak Luke out.

One afternoon, after a tough practice and an even tougher media scrum, Jack came home humming. Humming. He dropped his bag, cracked open a bottle of water, and leaned in the doorway with the kind of serenity usually reserved for people on vacation or heavily medicated.

That was the final straw.

Luke narrowed his eyes. “Are you doing drugs?”

Jack choked on his water, coughing so hard he had to lean forward, hand braced on the wall. “What? Are you crazy? No! Jesus.”

“I don’t know, man!” Luke threw up his hands. “You disappear for hours with no explanation and come back looking like you just won a million dollars. Or just got laid. Or both.”

Jack just laughed, which only made Luke more suspicious.

“So where do you go?” he pressed.

“Nowhere.”

“Stop saying that. You can’t just ‘nowhere’ your way into this weird Zen state. I know you. You're like a caged animal half the time and now you're… this.”

Jack shrugged, trying to hide the way his lips twitched like they wanted to smile. “It’s not a big deal.”

“If it wasn’t a big deal, you’d tell me.”

That part wasn’t wrong. Jack could tell Luke. He probably should. But there was something about Whiskers he wasn’t ready to share yet. Something about that cozy little corner of the world that felt untouched by everything else in his life. He wasn’t ready to let anyone else in. Not even Luke.

So he gave another half-assed answer.

“Just a spot I found. Good coffee. That’s all.”

Luke squinted at him like he was trying to see through the lie. “You don’t even drink that much coffee.”

“Maybe I do now.”

Luke groaned dramatically, flopping onto the couch. “You’re so annoying. Just admit you’re seeing someone.”

Jack didn’t respond.

He didn’t have to respond. His silence said enough.

Luke sat up slowly. “Wait. Are you?”

Jack finally met his gaze and smirked. “Didn’t say that.”

“You are! Oh my god, you’re totally sneaking off to see someone. That’s why you’ve been all floaty and weird.”

“There’s nothing weird about it.”

“Nothing weird about being in love with a barista and hiding her from your own brother?”

“I’m not—" Jack paused. "—in love.”

Luke raised both brows.

Jack shoved him with a pillow.

“Shut up.”

Luke grinned, already pulling out his phone. “I’m gonna figure this out.”

“No, you’re not,” Jack said, and for once, his tone was firm. “Not yet.”

There was a pause.

And then Luke looked at him, just a little softer. “Okay. I’ll drop it. For now.”

Because even he could see it—whatever Jack had found, it was helping. It was healing something.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.

_

The truth?

Jack had fallen in love.

He hadn’t said the words out loud. Not even to himself. But it was there—in the way his feet carried him to Whiskers without hesitation, in the way he looked at her like she held all the quiet parts of the world in her palms. In the way just being near her was enough to make his chest loosen and his breathing slow. He wasn’t ready to explain it to anyone, not even Luke. Especially not Luke.

So he kept it to himself. Kept her to himself.

Until that night.

It was late. The apartment looked like the aftermath of a storm. Hockey sticks leaned haphazardly against the wall, gear dumped across the floor in a way that suggested frustration more than forgetfulness. A half-empty protein shake sweated on the coffee table beside a crumpled game schedule. Luke slammed the front door so hard that a picture frame rattled on the wall. He didn’t say anything right away, just paced—his strides tight, erratic, jaw clenched hard enough to crack.

The Devils were out of playoff contention. And it had gutted him.

Jack watched from the hallway, arms folded, leaning against the doorframe like he wasn’t sure if now was the time to step in or stay out. Luke didn’t get mad like this—not usually. He was intense, sure. Emotional, absolutely. But this kind of fury? It felt heavy. Personal.

Jack didn't ask. He just said, “Get in the car.”

Luke frowned, thrown. “What?”

“I’m not asking. Just come with me.”

Something in Jack’s voice silenced him. A low, steady kind of calm that didn’t leave room for argument. So Luke grabbed a hoodie, still in his joggers and sneakers, and followed his brother out the door.

The drive was quiet. Newark passed them in streaks of streetlight and shadow, the car a cocoon of tension and unspoken words. Jack didn’t say where they were going. Luke didn’t ask. The only sound was the occasional click of the turn signal and the low hum of the tires against pavement.

When they pulled up to the quiet corner of the city, the streets were quieter. Whiskers sat tucked beneath a canopy of trees, its windows glowing golden against the dark like a secret waiting to be shared. The string lights on the awning flickered gently, casting soft halos across the brick sidewalk.

Luke squinted. “A café?”

Jack was already out of the car.

The second the bell above the door chimed, Luke was hit with a wall of warmth—coffee, cinnamon, faint vanilla. The soft lilt of jazz floated through the space. Cats lounged on cushions and curled in baskets tucked between bookshelves and furniture. Mismatched chairs, faded rugs, low lighting. The place looked like it had been pulled straight from a dream.

Behind the counter stood a girl. She had soft strawberry-blonde curls tied back loosely and wore a slouchy sweater that had definitely seen a few too many cat naps. A content gray tabby nestled in her arms like royalty.

Luke slowed his steps, eyes flicking from her to Jack. Was this her? The girl Jack had been seeing? She was gorgeous, effortlessly so, and clearly comfortable in this magical, cat-infested café. Luke felt a small, unexpected flicker of disappointment. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it felt too… obvious. Too perfect.

Then Jack walked right past her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jack said with a grin, reaching for the cat in her arms—the regal, unbothered Missy.

Mallory handed the cat over with a knowing smile.

Jack cradled Missy like she was made of glass, his entire demeanor shifting into something almost unrecognizable—softer, lighter, like someone had peeled all the pressure off his shoulders. He crossed the room, sank into his usual corner chair, and opened a book, Missy curling into his lap like she’d been waiting.

Luke stared.

That was the girl?

Jack didn’t even glance up. Just scratched behind Missy’s ears and exhaled like this was exactly where he was meant to be.

Then a voice called out, warm and curious.

“Hi J! Who’s this?”

Luke turned—and that’s when everything tilted.

Mallory was standing a few feet away now, closer. And suddenly, Luke saw her clearly. Her eyes, a shade of green that didn’t quite make sense. Her voice, melodic and kind. Her smile—soft, genuine, like she’d known you forever.

She extended a hand. “I’m Mallory. You must be the brother.”

“Yeah. Uh. Luke.”

She smiled and motioned for him to follow her to a small table near the window. He did.

And something shifted.

Mallory had a way of talking that didn’t feel like talking. It felt like being. Like she saw people the way they didn’t even see themselves. She asked about the game without pity, about his season without poking at wounds. Her voice was smooth, steady, laced with humor and grace. When she laughed, it was this low, genuine sound that settled something deep in his gut.

He didn’t even notice the time passing. Didn’t realize he was leaning in, actually smiling, until he caught his own reflection in the window and barely recognized himself.

Somewhere in the background, Jack flipped a page and shifted Missy on his lap.

He hadn’t said a word since they walked in.

Because he didn’t need to.

Whiskers did what it always did.

And Mallory—Mallory did the rest.

Luke leaned back, eyes still on her, and exhaled the weight of the entire season.

He got it now.

He really got it.

__

Luke started going back to Whiskers.

At first, it was innocent enough. Just a second visit. Then a third. Then one day he realized he was typing the address into his GPS without thinking. The café had imprinted itself on him—the warmth, the quiet, the smell of cinnamon and fresh espresso. But more than anything, it was her.

Mallory.

She was always there when he arrived, tucked into her favorite spot with a mug in one hand and her laptop open in front of her. Sometimes she was surrounded by cats, sometimes it was just her and the quiet music humming through the café. She always looked up when he came in. Always smiled. And Luke… yeah, he felt that.

Where Jack disappeared into Whiskers like it was a sanctuary, a place to go silent and still, Luke leaned into the space differently. He didn’t want to disappear—he wanted to see. To learn. To ask questions. And more than anything, he wanted to understand the girl who made a place like this feel like a refuge.

“Back again?” Mallory asked one morning, raising a brow as Luke approached the counter.

He grinned. “Addicted. To the coffee. Obviously.”

“Obviously.” She handed him a mug without asking what he wanted. She already knew.

He sat at the bar that day, watching her move through her rhythm—refilling the pastry case, whispering something to one of the cats, rearranging a stack of well-loved paperbacks. Everything she did had intention, but never felt rushed. She moved like someone who had nowhere else to be, even though Luke knew she probably had a dozen deadlines waiting.

“What are you studying?” he asked after a while, casually sipping his coffee.

She looked over, a little surprised. “Psychology.”

“Like… therapy?”

She nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Something like that. I want to work with athletes, actually. Mental performance, pressure management, that kind of thing.”

Luke blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t expect that.”

“Didn’t peg me as someone who understands sports?” she teased.

“No, I didn’t peg you as someone who understands me,” he said, quieter than he meant to.

She looked at him for a long moment. And then she smiled. “Maybe I do.”

That was how it began.

He started showing up more often. Sometimes in the mornings, grabbing a corner table while she worked behind the bar. Sometimes in the late afternoons, when the light poured through the front window and caught the gold in her hair. They started talking more. Long conversations that drifted from childhood memories to late-night game rituals to their favorite kinds of cereal.

She asked questions. Real ones. And Luke found himself answering, actually wanting to answer. He told her about growing up in a hockey family, about Michigan, about the pressure of always being someone’s little brother. She listened like she hadn’t heard those things a thousand times before. Like they meant something.

And sometimes, she talked too.

She told him about Whiskers—how her aunt had started it as a little dream project, and how she’d helped build it into what it was. She talked about losing her parents young, about how her aunt had raised her, about how cats were easier to understand than people sometimes. She laughed when he confessed he was still a dog person, and even more when Missy curled up in his lap for the first time anyway.

Luke didn’t realize how often he was showing up until Jack called him out one night.

“You’re there more than I am,” he said, lounging on the couch with his book, Missy sprawled across his chest like a queen.

“Maybe I just like cats,” Luke offered.

Jack didn’t even look up. “Maybe you like Mallory.”

Luke didn’t respond.

He didn’t have to.

__

It took Luke a few weeks—okay, maybe closer to a month—to finally ask Mallory out. Not because he didn’t want to. God, he wanted to. But there was something about her that made him nervous in a way he wasn’t used to. She was grounded, graceful in her own soft chaos, and totally unaffected by who he was. She didn’t care about NHL stats or jersey numbers. She cared about whether he slept well, whether the cats had taken to him yet, whether he’d been kind to himself that week.

She saw through him, and he liked it.

So one quiet Thursday morning, when Whiskers was still waking up and the smell of cinnamon rolls hadn’t yet left the oven, Luke leaned on the counter and said, almost casually, “Hey, do you wanna grab dinner sometime? Like, just us?”

Mallory’s eyes lifted from her tablet, a smile already forming. “Like a date?”

He nodded. “Yeah. A date.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I’d love that.”

He didn’t dare take her to a coffee shop. No way. That felt too close to home, too close to Jack’s territory. Besides, it would be weird to take a barista to drink coffee, right?

So he went for the most classic, chaotic New Jersey move he could think of.

Pizza.

He picked her up that Saturday night wearing a hoodie and a nervous grin, and drove her twenty minutes outside the city to a tiny brick oven place tucked between a car wash and a liquor store. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was his spot. The one he’d found during his first year with the Devils. The kind of place where the booths were squeaky and the paper plates were flimsy, but the sauce was perfect and the crust had that exact amount of char only Jersey could do right.

Mallory eyed the storefront with an arched brow. “You’re taking a Jersey native to your favorite pizza joint? That’s bold.”

“I know,” he grinned, opening the door for her. “You’re either gonna be really impressed or never speak to me again.”

To his immense relief, she was impressed.

They shared a pie—half pepperoni, half plain—over a checkered tablecloth and canned soda. And it was easy. So easy. The conversation flowed like it always did with her—effortless, rich with little revelations and teasing jokes. She told him about how she once tried to make her own dough and ended up with a flour explosion in her apartment. He told her about the time Jack got into a screaming match with their mom over pineapple on pizza.

She laughed so hard she had to wipe tears from the corner of her eyes.

But it wasn’t just the laughter. It was her. Luke couldn’t stop watching her. The way her eyes lit up when she told stories. The way she listened—really listened—when he spoke. The way she saw the world with this quiet sympathy that made everything feel less sharp. Less scary. It was… admirable. Magnetic. And it was messing him up, in the best way.

He drove her home, walked her to her door, and lingered there with both hands shoved in his pockets, heart thudding like it was trying to leap from his chest.

“I had a really good time,” she said, voice soft.

“Me too.”

And when she leaned up and kissed him—quick, but sure—Luke felt like the entire world tilted into place.

Later that night, after Jack had already passed out on the couch with Missy on his chest and a documentary droning in the background, Luke stepped out onto the tiny balcony with his phone and scrolled through his contacts.

He called Quinn.

“Hey, you good?” Quinn asked after the first ring. “You never call unless something’s wrong.”

“No, it’s not— It’s not bad. I just… needed to talk to you.”

There was a pause on the other end, then the familiar sound of Quinn settling into a chair. “Shoot.”

Luke rubbed a hand down his face. “I think I’m in love. Like… really in love.”

Quinn didn’t laugh. Not at first. Just let that sentence sit for a moment before replying.

“With the girl from the cat café?” he said knowingly.

Luke blinked. “How do you—?”

“Jack talks in his sleep,” Quinn deadpanned. “Apparently a lot about Missy. And someone named Mallory.”

Luke laughed, the tension breaking like a dam.

Quinn chuckled too, but his voice stayed gentle. “So you and Jack are both in love, huh? One with the barista. One with the cat.”

“Don’t say that,” Luke groaned. “It’s not like that.”

Quinn was quiet for a beat. “You really like her?”

“Yeah,” Luke admitted, his voice quieter now. “I like the way she sees people. Like they’re all worth knowing. Like nothing is ever too broken. I don’t know how to explain it… She makes everything quieter.”

There was a smile in Quinn’s voice when he replied, “Sounds like she’s your Whiskers.”

Luke let that sink in. Yeah. Yeah, maybe she was.

“And what do I do?” he asked, suddenly young and unsure.

Quinn didn’t hesitate. “You hold on to it. You show up for her, the way she shows up for everyone else. And you tell her. Not with flowers or grand gestures. Just… honestly. You tell her when you’re ready.”

Luke looked up at the sky, the stars faint through the city haze. “Thanks, Q.”

“Anytime, little bro.”

Luke hung up, slid his phone into his pocket, and stood there in the quiet.

In love. In awe. In it—completely.

And somehow, not scared at all.

__

For all the time Jack and Luke spent at Whiskers, it had taken a few weeks before they formally met Nora—the soul behind the café, the woman who’d built it from scratch and passed down her love for quiet corners, cat cuddles, and warm mugs to her niece.

Nora was soft-spoken, but fierce in the most gentle way. She wore chunky knit cardigans and always smelled faintly of peppermint oil and flour. She had this way of looking at people that made them want to sit down and tell her things—stories, secrets, fears. Mallory was clearly her mirror image in spirit, molded by kindness and quiet strength.

“She’s the reason this place exists,” Mallory had told Luke one evening, her voice soft as they watched Nora teach a young couple how to coax a shy kitten out from under the armchair. “And honestly… probably the reason I exist the way I do.”

Nora wasn’t just Mallory’s aunt. She was her anchor.

So when Luke’s phone rang late one night, vibrating loud and angry against the nightstand, he answered without hesitation.

Mallory’s name flashed on the screen.

He answered with a sleepy, “Hey, Mal?” but was met only by ragged breathing.

“Mallory?” he said again, now sitting up straight, tension lacing his voice. On the other end, she was sobbing—hysterical, broken sounds that Luke had never heard from her before.

He was instantly alert. “Mallory—what’s wrong? Are you okay? What happened?”

But her words were tangled. Mumbled. Drenched in pain. Luke tried to focus, heart racing, trying to make sense of it.

Then, finally, through the tears: “Nora… she’s gone. Luke—she… she had a heart attack. They couldn’t—she—she didn’t make it.”

The words landed like ice water down his spine.

Without thinking, still holding the phone to his ear, Luke stumbled out of bed and crossed the hall. He shoved Jack’s shoulder once, then again, harder.

Jack startled awake, groggy and disoriented. “What the hell—?”

“Get up,” Luke said, his voice flat but shaking. “Something’s wrong.”

Jack sat up fast now, reading his brother’s face. The look in Luke’s eyes—he didn’t need more explanation.

“Mallory’s on the phone,” Luke said, his hand gripping the back of his neck. “It’s her aunt. Nora’s—she’s gone.”

Jack didn’t say a word. He just nodded, already pulling on sweatpants and grabbing his keys.

They didn’t speak in the car. Didn’t need to. The silence said enough.

When they got to the hospital, Mallory was sitting in one of those terrible plastic waiting chairs, curled into herself like she was trying to disappear. Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot, her hands trembling in her lap. She looked so small. So un-Mallory. Like her light had flickered and gone out.

Luke approached slowly, kneeling down in front of her.

She looked up.

And then she broke.

She folded into him with a sob so raw it felt like it tore through the sterile white walls of the ER. Luke wrapped his arms around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other anchored around her waist. She clung to him like he was the only solid thing left in the world.

Jack sat quietly beside them, eyes glassy but steady. He didn’t speak. Just placed a soft hand on her shoulder.

Mallory had always been the one who knew what to say. Who had the right words at the right moment, the kind of comfort that wrapped around you like a blanket. But now?

Now she had none.

And Luke knew—this was the moment that mattered most. Because what do you do when the strongest person you know is suddenly falling apart?

You hold them.

You show up.

You say nothing, but stay anyway.

Hours passed in quiet fragments. Nurses came and went. The waiting room emptied. Mallory stayed curled against Luke, her tears dried but her eyes vacant. Luke stroked her back gently, murmuring things he didn’t even know he was saying—soft nothings, reminders that he was there, that she wasn’t alone.

At some point, she whispered, “I don’t know how to do this without her.”

Luke tightened his hold.

“What would you say to me if it were the other way around?” he asked, voice low.

Mallory was quiet.

“You’d tell me it’s okay to fall apart. That I don’t have to be strong right now. That it’s okay to lean on someone. So lean on me.”

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t pull away either.

That was enough.

__

When the will was read, no one was surprised.

Nora had always made her intentions clear in the soft, matter-of-fact way only she could: Whiskers would belong to Mallory. It had been her safe place before it ever became her responsibility. The deed was signed over, fully paid off, wrapped in quiet generosity and love. No debts. No catches. Just a little corner of the world with her name on it now.

But standing behind the counter alone that first morning, Mallory felt twenty-two in a way she never had before.

The keys jingled in her hand as she unlocked the door, her reflection in the glass looking slightly too pale, slightly too tired. She could recite the opening checklist by heart. She knew how to balance the books, how to feed the cats, how to fold biscotti bags just right. But knowing and owning were two different things.

She was still a student. She was still grieving. And now, she was running a business.

Her older cousin, who had flown in from Oregon the moment the news hit, was the only reason she was holding it together at all. He’d taken over the official business side—taxes, inventory orders, payroll—and left Mallory to focus on keeping the doors open, the espresso flowing, and the regulars feeling like nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

Mallory pulled double shifts most days. Woke up at five to start the baking, stayed late after closing to do homework that never seemed to end. She hadn’t written a clean to-do list in weeks. The fridge at her apartment was empty. Clementine had started dragging her sock into the bed at night like a peace offering. And the exhaustion? It clung to her skin like sweat.

She didn’t complain, though. Because this place was hers now. And she had to make Nora proud.

Then one Thursday morning, after burning the muffins, forgetting to restock oat milk, and crying in the mop closet for twelve solid minutes, she stepped back behind the counter only to find two tall figures loitering near the espresso machine with entirely too much confidence.

“Morning, boss,” Luke said, already tying on one of the spare aprons.

Jack grinned beside him, flipping a bar towel over his shoulder. “We figured it’s time you trained us properly.”

Mallory blinked. “What?”

“You can’t get rid of us anyway,” Jack shrugged. “Might as well make us useful.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Luke was already setting up the grinder with perfect form. “I Googled it,” he said with a wink. “We’re basically professionals.”

“I don’t—guys, you don’t have to do this.”

“We want to,” Luke said, voice softer now. “Let us help.”

Mallory stared at them for a beat, her eyes glassy from more than just sleep deprivation. She could argue. She could pretend she had it all under control. But she didn’t.

And God, it felt good to let someone hold part of the weight.

“Fine,” she said, grabbing a third apron and tossing it at Jack. “But if you mess up the espresso, you’re on bathroom cleaning duty for a month.”

Jack caught it midair. “Deal.”

From that day forward, the Hughes brothers became part of the Whiskers crew.

Luke handled the register—charming customers, flirting with old ladies, remembering people’s orders like it was second nature. Jack took on espresso duty with laser focus, determined to master the art of a perfect pour-over. They bickered constantly over music playlists, tripped over sleeping cats, and oversteamed milk more times than anyone could count.

But it didn’t matter.

Because Mallory wasn’t alone anymore.

They filled the café with laughter again. With extra hands and clumsy help and early morning coffee runs. Luke took over breakfast duty some mornings so she could sleep an extra hour. Jack learned how to do inventory. Mallory caught them reading How to Manage a Small Business for Dummies one night after closing and pretended not to cry.

Whiskers stayed open. And somehow, through the chaos and grief and spilled oat milk, it thrived.

Mallory often found herself pausing in the middle of it all—hands dusted in flour, hair pinned back, cats weaving through legs—just to watch the two of them. Luke flirting with a regular who was at least seventy. Jack trying to argue with Missy about which stool he was allowed to sit on.

She’d never imagined she’d love two hockey players like this. Like family. Like breath and comfort and sunrise.

The truth was, she didn’t just love the Hughes boys.

She needed them.

And they showed up for her in every way that mattered.

__

It had been weeks—months, even—since Mallory had a proper night off. The kind where she wasn’t multitasking between homework and baking, or replying to emails with flour on her cheek, or falling asleep on the café couch with Clementine purring on her chest and the sound of the espresso machine still buzzing in her ears.

Sure, Jack and Luke helped. Constantly. Relentlessly. But they were still professional athletes. There were away games, long practices, press responsibilities. And Mallory, in her ever selfless way, refused to let them take on more than they already were. Especially since they refused to accept even a dime in return for the hours they clocked in as honorary baristas.

So Luke Hughes made a plan.

A real one. An honest-to-God, no-half-measures, operation-code-named “Date Night.”

He got Jack on board first. That was easy. Jack was all in, especially when he heard it involved breaking and entering—technically—with the emergency key Mallory had given them months ago.

Then came the cousin. Mallory’s older cousin, who had become the business brain of Whiskers, gave them the official stamp of approval. As long as nothing caught fire and all the cats survived, they had a green light.

And finally, the recruits.

By midnight, the lights inside Whiskers flicked on one by one, the glow pooling across the dark sidewalk like a secret. Inside, a sight to behold: a squad of confused but eager New Jersey Devils players, sleeves rolled up and eyes wide as they stared at coffee beans, brewing guides, and—most intimidating of all—Missy, perched atop the counter like a very judgmental manager.

“Okay,” Luke clapped his hands. “If we can run power plays, we can run a damn espresso machine.”

“Speak for yourself,” Curtis muttered, already holding the milk steamer backwards.

Nico Hischier, ever the captain and certified coffee enthusiast, took his training very seriously. He had a notebook. He had questions. He had already pulled three sample shots to get his “ratios right.”

Jack, self-declared floor manager for the evening, barked out orders with Missy balanced like a loaf of bread in one arm. “Dawson, front of house. Jesper, you’re bussing tables. Don’t look at me like that—you’re tall, you can carry stuff. Nico, stop trying to make foam flowers and listen to Luke.”

“It’s a leaf!” Nico snapped.

“It’s a blob, bro.”

The chaos was immediate. Cats weaving between skates left by the front door, espresso dripping unevenly, someone accidentally knocking over a bag of biscotti.

But the effort? Impeccable.

Luke taught them everything he and Jack had learned. How to pull a shot, how to tamp the grounds just right, how to gently nudge a cat off the register without being mauled. They practiced for hours, growing a little more confident—if not a little more competent—by the minute.

By 3am, the café was spotless, the lights dimmed back to their usual glow, and the boys slipped out the door with high-fives and groggy laughs.

The next morning, Mallory showed up just before opening with dark circles under her eyes, a bag full of books, and the expectation of another long, exhausting day.

What she wasn’t expecting?

A gaggle of very tall, very smug hockey players already inside, all donning matching Whiskers aprons with varying degrees of confidence.

She blinked. “…What the hell?”

Luke popped up from behind the counter, grinning ear to ear. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Why are you here?”

Before she could even process the full scope of the invasion, Jack appeared beside her with Missy cradled in one arm and a clipboard in the other.

“Team’s here. We’ve got this. Go put on something cute. You’ve got plans.”

Mallory looked around, genuinely speechless. Nico was fiddling with the espresso machine (and yes, proudly presenting his latte art to Jesper, who clapped even though it still looked like a leaf-shaped blob). Dawson was carefully arranging the pastry case. A cat was curled up in Timo Meier’s lap while he read a children’s book aloud like it was his own kid.

It was absurd. Beautifully absurd.

Mallory opened her mouth to argue. To protest. To insist that this was her café, her responsibility, her weight to carry.

But then she looked at Luke.

He stood there by the door, coat in hand, holding it open like a promise.

And suddenly, her knees didn’t feel so steady.

So she let herself be led out into the morning air. They walked hand in hand down to the docks, the world still waking up, the air crisp and quiet around them. Luke didn’t talk much. He didn’t have to. He just walked beside her, thumb tracing soft circles over her knuckles.

They stopped at the edge of the pier. Boats rocked gently in their slips. The water glittered like glass.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said. “But you needed a break.”

She looked up at him, heart so full it almost hurt. “How do you always know?”

Luke gave a small, crooked smile and leaned in, brushing his nose against hers. “Because I read you like a book, remember?”

Mallory let out a breathy laugh, soft and full of wonder.

She kissed him.

And for a moment, the world held its breath.

Because she loved him. God, she really did.

And Luke?

Luke had known it long before now.

__

Whiskers was at max capacity—and Mallory was at her limit.

The café had quietly become one of the busiest fostering hubs in the city, thanks in no small part to the steady stream of attention it had been getting from hockey fans and latte art lovers alike. But lately? It was too much. Too many cats. Too few hands. Every time Mallory turned around, another furball needed medicine, food, or affection. She had tried to downsize, to slow adoptions until things were more manageable, but that only made the list grow longer.

And Jack? Jack was one tiny, blinking kitten away from adopting all of them.

“This one’s looking at me weird,” he said one evening, cradling a tabby in his hoodie like it was his newborn child. “I think he’s trying to tell me something.”

“Jack,” Mallory sighed.

“He said my soul is his home.”

“Jack.”

“He’s already named. Horatio.”

“JACK.”

But Luke didn’t laugh like he usually would. He watched from across the café, leaning against the counter, something quietly forming in the back of his mind. That night, Mallory passed out at the café desk again, face in a textbook, Clementine perched protectively on her shoulder. Luke tucked a blanket over her and pulled out his phone.

He had an idea.

And this time, he was going big.

Within a week, the Devils’ media team was involved. Actually, they were obsessed. Once Luke pitched the idea—an adoption event pairing each player with a foster cat—the social media interns practically burst into flames.

“It’s like… a cat draft.”

“No. No. It’s a cat red carpet.”

“Devils x Whiskers: Catwalk to Forever.”

“Stop, I’m going to cry.”

Plans moved fast. The team created promo posters. Luke personally organized the players, matching each one with a foster cat like it was fantasy hockey but furrier. The rules? Each player had to spend a few days bonding with their assigned cat, then debut them at the event in a themed outfit of their choice. Yes, even the cats had to be dressed up. Tastefully. Adorably.

Mallory didn’t know what hit her.

One minute she was trying to wrestle a tuxedo onto an uncooperative calico, and the next, she was watching Curtis Lazar strut down a mini red carpet holding a gray kitten in a sequined bow tie like it was a high-fashion handbag. Timo Meier wore matching sunglasses with his foster. Jack came out with “his” cat (Missy, obviously) in a black tutu and announced she was debuting her solo album.

But the true highlight?

Nico Hischier, cradling a shy orange tabby named Peanut Butter, who was dressed in a custom little captain’s jersey. Nico tried to act indifferent, but by the end of the night, he was lying on the floor feeding Peanut Butter treats and telling Jack, “He seems really chill. I mean… if no one else wants him, I guess he can come home with me.”

Jack screamed. Mallory cried. Missy blinked once in approval.

And somehow—miraculously—every single cat was adopted by the end of the night.

Families came, fans came, people who had never even heard of Whiskers until the Devils posted an Instagram reel of Jesper Bratt waltzing with a tabby kitten came.

And Luke?

Luke stayed in the background, smiling the whole time.

That night, after the café had been cleared out and the lights dimmed, Mallory found Luke sweeping glitter off the carpet.

She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes glassy.

“You did all of this.”

He shrugged. “You needed help.”

She stepped closer. “You got Nico to adopt a cat.”

“He loves Peanut Butter. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

“And you—” she swallowed hard, emotion catching in her throat. “You made my whole heart feel so… full.”

Luke looked up at her, and for a moment, the whole café was still. The lights twinkled low, the faint scent of espresso and fresh catnip lingered in the air, and the boy who never really saw himself as anything more than a hockey player was suddenly the reason everything worked.

Mallory cupped his face in her hands and kissed him slow.

“You’re my Whiskers,” she whispered. “You know that?”

He smiled against her lips. “I was really hoping you'd say that.”

And from her cozy little café filled with love, fur, and far too much glitter—Mallory knew something with absolute certainty:

Luke Hughes wasn’t just the boy she loved.

He was home.

__

The morning after the adoption event was quiet.

For once, Whiskers didn’t open at its usual hour. A printed sign hung crookedly on the door, written in Mallory’s neat handwriting: Closed for the morning. Thank you for all the love. See you this afternoon.

Inside, the café was still. Sunlight filtered in through the front windows, scattering soft gold across the floorboards. A few of the permanent resident cats lounged in their usual spots—Missy on her throne of a cushion behind the counter, Clementine perched on the window ledge like a queen surveying her kingdom.

In the back, the tiny staff room smelled like fresh linens and vanilla. And in the corner, curled up together on the old loveseat that barely fit one person, let alone two, were Luke and Mallory.

She wore his Devils hoodie, sleeves swallowed over her hands. He wore a Whiskers apron that had definitely seen better days and smelled vaguely like cinnamon and cat treats. Their legs were tangled together, and Mallory’s head rested on his chest, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of his breathing.

It had been a whirlwind—the red carpet, the press, the laughter, the chaos—and now there was only this: the quiet after.

Luke stirred first. He blinked slowly, taking in the way the light danced in Mallory’s hair, the way her fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie like she didn’t want to let go. He didn’t move. Didn’t want to.

His heart was full. His world was soft. And she was here.

Mallory shifted, murmuring sleepily, “Are the cats making coffee without us?”

He chuckled. “Missy’s working the register. I think she’s unionizing.”

She smiled against his chest. “Good. It’s about time someone did.”

They stayed like that for a while. No pressure to move, no rush to clean or prep or respond to emails. Just silence, interrupted occasionally by a distant purr or the creak of an old chair settling.

Eventually, Mallory sat up, stretching and yawning like one of the cats. Luke watched her, chin resting on his palm, totally, hopelessly gone.

She caught him staring.

“What?”

He just smiled. “Nothing. You’re just… glowing. You know that?”

Her cheeks pinked. “I think that’s exhaustion.”

“Nope. It’s joy. And cat hair.”

“Mostly cat hair,” she agreed, brushing a tuft from her sleeve.

He sat up, hands finding her waist, thumbs pressing into her sides gently. “I meant what I said yesterday,” he told her. “You’re it for me. You always have been. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never have to carry anything alone.”

Mallory’s eyes stung. The good kind of sting.

“I love you,” she whispered, pressing her forehead against his. “So much, it scares me sometimes.”

“Good,” Luke said. “That means we’re doing it right.”

A soft knock came from the front of the café.

They both froze.

Jack’s voice called out, muffled through the door. “If you’re decent, I brought muffins. If you’re not decent… I’m still coming in.”

Mallory snorted. Luke groaned.

But when they stood, when they opened the door and saw Jack standing there in sweats, holding a bakery bag in one hand and Missy tucked under the other like a furry football, Mallory smiled so wide it hurt her cheeks.

Because this was it.

Her home. Her people. Her peace.

And she wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[buckysgrace]

Fantasy

Steve Harrington x fem!OC

CW: Vaginal fingering, making out Just some sweet Steve :)

Steve likes to take it slow.

CW: lots of making out, fingering

Kim

She was sure that she’d get lost every time she stepped into the Harrington house. It was so large and vast, practical and impractical at the same time. Part of her still felt like an outsider, even though his parents had been more than inviting. 

She had met them a few weeks ago over dinner, and they had seemed kind enough. They were still busy and tended to leave quite a bit, but she thought they had enjoyed her enough. All the stress had been for nothing.

“You kids want anything?” His mother questioned as soon as she stepped into the living room, her eyes soft as she smiled at the two of them. Kim had yet to figure his parents out, but she couldn’t judge too much. Her parents seemed to be far worse if she was being honest. 

“No, we’re good,” Steve answered for her a second later, making her cheeks burn as she realized she had been far too quiet, “but thanks.” He added as he tugged Kim through the open living room, leaving her little time to examine the room again. It was interesting, different from most houses. 

“Are you sure they’re okay if we’re here?” She asked as he knelt in front of the TV, setting up the movie that they had selected earlier. He had gained a sudden interest in watching movies, which Robin had blamed her for. Which she didn’t think was true. 

“Why wouldn’t they be?” He said with a little laugh, his eyebrows raised softly as the sunlight trickled against his skin. She wasn’t sure what to say, unable to admit that it was odd to have parents that supported her relationships. 

“I don’t know,” she mumbled underneath her breath, “Do they want to join us?” She asked as she looked over her shoulder, confirming that his mother was already gone. He smiled as he gripped her hands, tugging her forward so he could plop both of them onto the couch.

She sat next to him, sinking into the same cushion as him. The furniture was pretty and neat, but not very comfortable. But Steve was. He was really soft. 

“They’re not much into movies,” he smiled as he scooted closer to her, pushing his arm over her shoulder and tugging her close, “What’s this about again?” He turned towards her, eyes lingering against her lips. 

“Uh,” she paused, trying to think of the best way to explain it, “they need to find a piece of this crystal to restore it in order to bring balance to the universe. Intense stuff.” She added with a little giggle, watching as his eyebrows furrowed tightly together.

“And they’re puppets?” He asked once again, repeating what they had gone through at Family Video the other day. She nodded her head in confirmation, eyes widening for a second as he kicked her legs up on the couch. He wiggled next to her a second later, pushing them into a laying position. 

“Yes,” she smiled as she sat up a little bit, confirming that he was still bewildered. “Too weird for you?” She asked, feeling a little worried as she tried to get comfortable on the stiff cushions. It was fairly clear to her that none of them sat down here very often. 

“Not weird enough,” he corrected playfully, “I like odd things.” She couldn’t deny that. He hummed as he snuggled his chin into the crook of her neck, sighing deeply as he held her close. 

She curled up against him, her head falling onto his shoulder as they linked their long legs together. She moved a palm across his chest, resisting the urge to place it over his heart. She liked to feel the way his heart thumped, as if there was a way to understand if it really beat for her or not.

The furniture wasn’t very comfortable despite being very expensive and very nice looking. The cushions were soft and hard at the same time, never truly letting either of them get fully comfortable. They shifted a lot, but she didn’t care as long as she continued to lay next to him. 

She giggled at the feeling of his fingertips on her bare skin, goosebumps forming as he continued to dig into her flesh. His lips dragged against the crook of her neck, warm and soft as she melted into the uncomfortable cushions. 

Her heart hammered roughly inside of her chest, warmth spreading through her body as his mouth traveled up towards her chin. The corners of her lips twitched gently as one of his large hands fell to her cheek, cupping her softly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he hummed, brown eyes twinkling in appreciation, “I’m so lucky.” He added, drawing out his words as he continued to admire her. It made her heart throb as she slowly shook her head, breathing in deeply. 

“Thanks,” she squeaked out underneath her breath, “You’re handsome.” She added underneath her breath, speaking the truth to him. He was handsome, pretty even. His features soft and sweet. 

Her insides twisted in pleasure at the softest feel of his mouth against her own. She fluttered her eyes shut softly, savoring how warm he felt against her skin. Her head fell back against the arm rest, her hands moving to his biceps. 

Steve was a gentle kisser, soft and calculated. He didn’t rush and it was rare to feel his tongue flicking out against hers. Which she didn’t mind, it just wasn’t what she was used to. But she still liked it, even though it got her hot and bothered. 

She moved her hands to the nape of his neck, dragging her fingers through the soft hair that rested there. He gently kissed at her lips, pecking softly as he squeezed at her chin. It felt nice, made her stomach flutter with butterflies. But he always managed to do that.

She tilted her head up towards him, kissing him a little deeper as she felt the corner of his lips tilting into a smile. He pulled back softly, making her work to feel his touch once again. She easily recognized that she was going too fast, that he wanted her to slow down. But she craved him. Badly. 

Her mind felt foggy, her body turning into goo as he moved his large palm against her cheek. He felt soft and smooth, his touch sweet as he continued to drag his lips against hers. She twisted his hair around her fingertips, spreading her legs a little further so he could slide in against her.

He exhaled deeply against her lips, giving her a brief taste of bubble gum on her tongue. He never tasted like anything too intense, just slightly sweet. Nothing too overbearing, but enough that it made her crave the taste of him. 

Her body began to tingle with electricity, a dire need spreading through her body as she slowly arched her hips up towards his. He chuckled softly as he moved his free hand between their bodies, pressing down on her hips to keep her still.

She stared up at him, heart hammering wildly inside of her chest as she inspected his swollen pink lips. She reached up against his cheek softly, then tightened her grip against his skin. She needed him. Now. 

His skin was warm against her touch, his freckles shining on his skin as she inspected the moles on his face. She had once tried to cover all of his pretty spots with kisses, only for him to tire once she reached his chest. She thought they were cute, which only earned a little eye roll from him. But she was determined to try again. She liked how it made him flush. 

“Should we go upstairs?” She asked him, face burning and out of breath as she whispered to him. She hated being the one to make the first move, but she was beginning to feel like he enjoyed it. 

“Calm down,” he grinned as his lips dragged against hers softly once again, his breath hot against her skin, “there’s no rush.” He added as he grazed his teeth across her neck, making her heart hammer roughly inside of her chest. 

“Your parents are here.” She squeaked out softly as she looked at him with wide eyes, watching the way his features turned to amusement. Like he was playing with her. 

“We’re just kissing,” he teased as he kissed along the curve of her lips, his fingers dancing across her cheeks, “S’fine. They’re busy.” He confirmed as he pecked her lips once, then twice as he moved his hands back to her jawline. 

“Just kissing?” She asked softly, giggling as he brushed his nose against her cheek. He shook his head softly, chuckling underneath his breath. 

“You pervert.” He grinned as he played with her hair, making her lips part in surprise. She shook her head quickly, denying whatever he was thinking. It wasn’t like that at all, she just didn’t want to get in trouble. 

“I’m not a pervert,” she defended herself in a hushed manner, her cheeks burning hotly at the accusation, “I just-,” she trailed off, unsure of where she was going with her statement. He was different in a way that he didn’t want to rush like most boys did. He liked to take things slow, something she wasn’t used to. 

“Mhm,” he grinned proudly, as if he was onto something, “s’alright, I like it.” He teased as he traced his fingers across her cheek softly, movements light as if he was trying to trace the freckles on her cheeks.

“Sounds like you’re the pervert then.” She told him quickly, only to be shushed by the feeling of his mouth crashing onto hers again. She instantly melted, caving into him as his fingers dug deeper against her face. 

His lips dragged against hers a little harder then, not by much, but just enough to make her croon underneath him. His free hand began to rub at her hip, squeezing as he captured her bottom lip between his teeth.

She gasped at the feeling of his teeth biting down on her flesh, a soft moan spilling free as he slipped his fingertips delicately inside the band of her skirt. Shivers erupted over her skin as he kissed at her sore lip, his hand slithering further down her skirt. 

“Steve,” she whispered against his mouth, gasping as he began to press inside of her panties, “what are you doing?” She asked as she felt her eyes widening, cheeks flushing as she tried to look over her shoulder. His parents couldn’t be too far away.

“Helping you,” he mumbled as his lips continued to graze over her cheek, her jaw and then her neck. She jolted softly at the feeling, biting back a giggle as he kissed over ticklish spot, “since you’re so needy.” He teased as he brought his warm eyes back towards her, making her heart hammer against her bones.

She pressed her lips together, trying to keep from moaning as he slid his fingers across her slick folds. He groaned softly as his head fell against hers, inhaling deeply as he pressed down on her clit lightly. She jerked up against him, biting down on her bottom lip this time to keep from sighing at the sensation. 

It was hard to focus with his lips across her neck, licking and sucking as he began to rub his fingers in soft circles over her clit. A little whimper slipped free from her lips this time, her hips rolling up to meet his motions. 

“Shh,” he teased, smirking as he looked up at her, “just relax. I’ll take care of you.” He promised as he guided his fingertips along her slick hole, making her stomach twist in awe.

His eyes scanned her features as he slowly slid one finger inside of her, long and nimble as her walls stretched around him. She parted her lips in surprise, eyelashes fluttering as she savored the way he filled her to the brim. His fingers were nice, lengthy enough to hit the deepest spots inside of her.

She just barely adjusted around him, clit aching for more when he slid in a second finger afterwords. She bit back a whimper, rolling her hips forward softly to meet his movements. A little groan left his lips as he watched her, his own features filling with bliss as he admired her pleasure. 

“Steve,” she hummed underneath her breath, chest rising as she curled her fingers into fists. She breathed in deeply, reminding herself of where she was. Of course close his parents were. She needed to be quiet, to remain calm, “I want you.” She whispered as she gave him a reassuring nod, sure that she would be able to do it. She’d been in worse situations. 

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he slowly curled his fingers upwards, searching for the spot inside of her that made her go wild. Her body tingled in pleasure at the sensation, walls clamping down around him as he hovered closer to her. 

He traced his lips over hers again, soothing away her moans as he began to kiss her. She lingered against his mouth, mind feeling fuzzy as he continued to slowly curl his fingers into her slick hole. 

Her pulse raced as the pleasure spread through her, electricity brewing in her veins as she slowly began to rock herself over the curve of his digits. It was enough to make her eyelashes flutter, her clit throbbing as he stole the air from her lungs. 

She breathed out against his lips, eyes feeling heavy as she continued to grind herself over the curve of his fingers. Each thrust made her clit ache, her cunt squeezing around the girth of his digits as he kissed her a little harder. 

His fingers reached the deepest parts of her, curling deep inside of her walls as she began to rock her body against him. She felt her eyes rolling into the back of her head as he began to stroke her bundle of nerves, a reassuring coo leaving his lips as she whined against him.

Her lungs began to burn, craving oxygen but unable to comply. She didn’t want to stop kissing him, she needed him that badly. She savored the feeling of his mouth against hers, how sweet and gentle he felt. How he made her melt against him, like she needed to be a part of him. 

Her toes curled at the intense feeling that poured over her, making her feel like she was floating high above the couch. Her mouth parted in bliss, silent moans pouring free as he continued to kiss along the curve of her lips while grinding his fingers inside of her. 

“Steve,” she squeaked out as she gripped his bicep, eyebrows furrowing together tightly as she tried to keep from getting too loud. The pleasure crashed over her intensely, harshly as her muscles tightened in her stomach, “oh God.” She arched her back against him, head falling against the couch as she came.

Her walls shook around his long fingers, trembling as he coaxed her through her orgasm. Her eyes felt heavy, mind blissful as he cooed softly in her ear. She clung to him, holding onto him tightly as she fought the urge to cry out. 

“Doing so good for me, honey,” he praised as he kissed her cheek softly, continuing to move his fingers softly until her body relaxed underneath him, “You did so well.” He hummed as he came to a stop, making her wiggle underneath him once again.

Her lips parted as he slowly removed his digits from her soaked cunt, her skin flushing at the sound that came from their joined bodies. He smirked as he admired the slick that coated his fingers, his lips curling into a little smirk before he slid them into his mouth. 

“You’re bad, Steve Harrington.” She whispered underneath her breath, heart hammering as she watched the greedy way he licked at his own fingers. He wasn’t as kinky as she was used to, but he always loved the taste of her. Almost in a feral way. 

“I am?” he grinned as he licked his fingers clean, making her face burn as he watched her, “I’m pretty sure you’re the naughty one out of the two of us.” He teased as he straightened her clothes out over her legs, sighing deeply as he rested against her. 

“I’m good,” she bit her lip as she moved her hand between their bodies this time, pressing her palm against the obvious bulge in his jeans. He groaned, the cocky expression falling as he began to grind his hips against her, “poor thing. I can help you.”

He nodded eagerly, looking like he was unable to speak as he slowly rutted his hips forward. She watched the way his expression turned to pleasure, his lips parting as she began to rub against his hard cock within his pants. 

“Steve?” She froze, eyes widening at the sound of his mother’s voice a few feet away, “Dinner is ready.” She yelled out in a sing-song way, sounding excited. Kim sank into the couch deeper, hoping that she couldn’t be seen. 

“Now?” He whined as his expression turned towards anguish, his head snapping up to look towards his mother. Kim quickly pulled her hand away, not wanting to get caught with her hand on his crotch. 

“Now,” She confirmed sternly, “don’t make that poor girl wait.” Kim could practically see her wagging her finger, just from her tone alone. It sort of made her smile though, knowing that his parents were at least a little fond of her. 

“Fuck.” He whined as he dropped his head into the crook of her shoulder, pouting as he clung to her. She giggled as she held onto him, playing with the hairs against the nape of his neck. She could still feel his bulge digging into her skin, unable to be hidden away. 

“Told you we should’ve hidden up in your room.” She teased in a smug way, giggling at how he whined in response. 

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

Possibly [Ghost x Fem!OC]

Summary: Ghost wouldn’t know love if it shot him in the face… or comfort, for that matter. A certain pretty medic could change that.

Author’s Notes: A companion piece for Maybe, with 10.7K words! Reading Maybe isn’t necessary, but provides bits of context for this toward the end. And again, a HUGE thank you to my beloved @uselsshuman for proof reading this for me. ❤️

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Modern Warfare

Warnings: language, canon-typical violence, extremely suggestive content

Ten years ago

“Stay with me, Simon! Shit, shit, I need help!”

Ghost could hear Price yelling for the medical team, but he couldn’t make his mouth work enough to tell him to bloody stop. It was making his already splitting headache twice as bad. There were searing pains in his chest and abdomen that he was pretty sure came from bullets, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He tried to focus on the pain to keep him awake, but he could feel his consciousness slipping.

“Shit, Kate! I need that medic!”

Laswell did respond, but Ghost couldn’t hear what she said over the commotion of being lifted out of the chopper. “C’mon, Simon. Stay with me,” Price muttered. The older man patted his cheek somewhat less than gently, shaking his other arm. “We’ve got too much work to do for you to go dyin’ on me now.”

Ghost tried to snort, but what came out was more of a wheeze. He opened his mouth to retort, but couldn’t seem to get enough air in to say anything. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to compartmentalize the pain. The stretcher he was on bounced along with the footsteps of the men carrying it, making the throbbing in his torso worse.

His eyes snapped open when he heard metal doors slam against the wall. A pretty medic jogged to the stretcher, carefully shining a light into his eyes and running her hands down his body. He could tell when she found the bullet wounds, fingers prodding gently at their edges. He wheezed again.

Ghost was still fighting to stay conscious while she asked Price what had happened, one hand lifting to his mask. A last vestige of strength surged through him as he reached up to grab her wrist. Her eyes snapped to his, questioning.

“No,” he croaked weakly. His grip on her wrist had already loosened, despite his panic, and he feared she would pull the mask off anyway. But she only looked at him for a moment before pulling a pen torch from her coat pocket and shining it in his eyes. He squinted, trying his best to follow the light as it moved.

“Alright, you don’t have a concussion,” she said. “You can keep the mask on.” Ghost’s hand fell back to his side as she produced a pair of trauma shears and sliced through his tactical vest and shirt. The chilly air on his bare skin made him shiver. He slipped in and out of consciousness as the stretcher was carried into a surgical room and he was lifted onto a table.

Something cold swiped along his chest and in the crook of his arm. He felt a pinch as an IV was inserted, then a light tingling throughout his body. Then an agonizing pain pierced his chest.

He blacked out.

When he woke up again, bright sunlight shone through the window. It was cracked open to let in a fresh, cool breeze, and he could hear birds chirping outside. A soft beeping drew his attention to a heart monitor near his headboard. The pretty medic was at it, making notes on her chart.

Without looking toward him, she said “Good to see you’re finally awake.” Now that he wasn’t fighting for his every thought, Ghost took a moment to study her while she worked. She had delicate features; high cheekbones, a pointed nose, and a small chin. A deep cupid’s bow accentuated her full, upturned lips. Wisps of strawberry blonde hair framed her pale face while the rest threatened to spill out of a massive bun at the back of her slender neck, and he could see in the light that freckles dusted the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks. Pale, seafoam green eyes sparkled at him as she tilted her head, studying him back.

Bloody hell, he’d been caught staring.

He cleared his throat, preparing an apology, but she cut him off before he could start in.

“You took quite a beating. I pulled out a couple of bullets and got your lung reinflated, but you’ll need to take it easy for a few days. I’d prefer a couple of weeks, but Captain Price told me I’d be lucky to keep you at all once you woke up.” She smiled wryly at him. “I’m hoping you’ll work with me, here.”

As if hearing his name, a soft knock sounded at the door and Price stepped in. He smiled at Ghost from the doorway before turning to the medic. “How’s he doin’, doc?” he asked.

“Oh, he’ll be right as rain in no time. He just needs to take it easy for a while.” 

Price snorted, glancing toward Ghost. “Good luck with that,” he muttered. The medic giggled, an echoing wind chime sound in the otherwise cold room. Ghost rolled his eyes, half because it’s what he would have done in the first place, half to stop from laughing himself. As he did, his grin dropped and his hand darted up to his face, instantly relieved to feel the fabric of his balaclava still there.

The medic arched one slender brow and smirked. “Don’t worry, it hasn’t come off.”

Ghost looked to Price for confirmation, who nodded slowly. “You can trust her, Simon.”

He looked back to the medic again, blinking at her. “I don’t even know your name,” he finally said. The realization had taken him too long to come to. 

“I’m Cat,” she said cheerily. “Nice to meet you, Simon.”

Ordinarily, Ghost would have flinched. Only Price called him by name. Maybe it was because Price trusted her, maybe it was because he thought he might have some small amount of trust in her himself. Just a bit. He didn’t flinch. He sighed, feeling something almost like defeat sag his shoulders. Exhaustion.

“Nice to meet you, Cat,” he murmured.

She hummed in response, ushering Price toward the door. “You should get some sleep. If you need anything, just hit that call button.” She gestured to a small device on the bedside table as she checked his monitors one more time. “I’ll be back after I make some rounds, but hopefully you’ll be sound asleep by then.” She turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder at him. A smile spread across her pretty face when he held her gaze. “See you tomorrow, Simon.”

He slept peacefully that night for the first time in years. He decided when he woke up that it was from battle fatigue, not Cat’s presence in his room. She sat in a chair in the corner, curled up under a throw blanket, utterly engrossed in a book. For a long moment, Ghost just watched her. He couldn’t see what book she was reading- the back cover was facing him. The paperback spine was so worn that he couldn’t read the faint lettering on that, either.

“What’re you readin’?” he finally asked. His throat was hoarse, his voice even more gravelly than usual. Cat’s head snapped up and she beamed at him, scrambling out of the chair. She poured a glass of water from a pitcher on the countertop and moved toward him slowly. Giving him time to tell her to stop. 

“The Great Gatsby,” she answered, handing him the cup. Carefully, he raised himself onto his elbows, taking the cup as he scooted back toward the headboard.

“‘Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known,’” quoted Ghost. Cat’s eyebrows shot up, eyes widening as a smile spread across her face.

“You’ve read it?” she asked.

Ghost gulped the water she’d brought him, nodding as he gestured to her tattered copy. “Not as much as you, though.”

Cat looked toward the book with a fond smile. “It’s my favorite book,” she said softly. Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I could read you some, if you’d like.” Ghost blinked at her. After a moment of silence, she glanced back up, suddenly nervous. “O-or not, I’m sure you-”

“I’d like that,” he said. Her smile came back full force instantly. 

“Well before I do, how do you feel? All of your vitals are looking good, but are you in pain? Collapsed lungs are no joke. And, y’know, neither are bullets.”

Ghost rolled his shoulders carefully. His stitches tugged, his joints ached, and there was a dull burning sensation where his wounds were. “I’ll live,” he said gruffly. Cat snorted.

“That’s kinda the poiiiint,” she sing-songed, grinning at him. She dragged her chair up to the bedside, leaning back and crossing her feet near his at the foot of the bed. She read softly, deliberately, voice lilting over the words. Ghost thought that if this was what taking it easy looked like, he could possibly get used to it.

Four years ago

Ghost hissed as he peeled his gloves off, tender skin protesting at the friction. His hands and arms had been burned pulling men out of a crashed helicopter. 

“Half an hour and you’ll be with the medic,” rumbled Price as he passed by.

“I’m fine,” Ghost muttered back. Price stopped dead in his tracks, turning slowly on his heel to stare.

“Half an hour,” he said deliberately, “and you’ll be with the medic.” Ghost stared for half a second before remembering himself, dropping his gaze, and mumbling a quiet acquiescence.

He didn’t need help like some of these men, but Price was unlikely to be swayed. Besides, there was nothing else for him to do when he got back to base. The mission had been quick and simple, a rescue for a downed bird. Price wouldn’t need him in the debrief and he’d only end up licking his wounds himself in the privacy of his own quarters. Besides, the base had a full medical team. The other soldiers would get medical care regardless of him. 

When their plane landed, he made his way to the infirmary. He watched as several men were carried in on stretchers and slunk to the back to wait in the corner of the room. He stood for what felt like both ages and only minutes, watching soldiers come and go. 

“Simon?” called a soft voice. He turned his head to see a petite woman with a mass of strawberry blonde hair. Cat.

“Cat,” he answered gruffly. She beamed at him, and even though she couldn’t see it, he smiled back. He was pleased to see her. After she’d treated his punctured lung some years ago, she’d come back to read to him every day of his recovery. He wasn’t sure if Price had specifically requested her presence, but he hadn’t been seen by any other medics during that stay.

It had settled his frayed nerves more than he’d ever admit.

Cat turned on her heel, motioning for him to follow her. He did. She’d treated various wounds and injuries since their initial meeting, and Simon had grown to trust her as Price did. She was competent and professional, gentle and compassionate. She seemed to know how much space he needed and she had never tried to insert herself into that space.

They reached a room, and Cat gestured for him to sit on the exam table while she shut the door behind him. He pulled off his hoodie as she slipped a pair of exam gloves onto her hands, back to him..

“So, Price tells me you’ve changed professions,” she said. Simon raised an eyebrow.

“He what?”

She turned to face him, eyes twinkling. “He says you’re a firefighter now.”

Simon scoffed at that. “That’s because the old man is losing his marbles.” Cat snickered.

She pulled a tray with various items across the room and stood directly in front of Ghost. He saw ointments, bandages, and several metal tools he didn’t like the look of.

He nodded toward the tray as she took one of his hands, lifting his arm to better look at it. “What’s all that?”

She glanced at the tray before turning her gaze back to his arm. “The tools? They’re for debridement, but I shouldn’t need them. They’re just standard in burn kits.”

Simon nodded, relieved. Cat cocked her head at him. “I… do kinda need you to take off your shirt. Well, preferably most of your clothes.”

He shifted uncomfortably for a moment, holding her gaze. She waited patiently as he stood, unbuckling his vest and pulling his shirt over his head. She busied herself with examining the tubes of ointment and opening the bandage packages as he untied his boots, removing those and his pants and sitting back on the edge of the exam table in his boxers and mask.

Simon cleared his throat, and Cat turned back to him, smiling gently. She murmured questions about his pain level as she examined the burns on his arms, smearing various burn ointments across them before wrapping them gently. She worked her way up his arms, across his chest, down his torso, and finally down his legs, periodically using ointment and wrapping patches of skin she deemed needed attention. When she was satisfied with her work, she strode across the room and washed her hands.

“You can get dressed now. You should be okay in the next week or two, just try to keep those covered.”

Simon blinked, standing to pull his clothes on. “That’s it, then?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Cat turned to look at him, gaze piercing. He knew what was coming. He knew he’d opened the door. Why, he would never know.

“Well,” she said softly. “I really should look at your face. Lots of your burns are thermal, and there could be more under that mask.” She continued when he stared blankly at her. “Thermal burns are basically like steam burns. There’s no actual contact with fire, but the skin heats up so much that it still causes damage.They can be painful.”

Simon sat again, looking toward the wall. His eyes snapped back when she said “It’s up to you.”

He studied her. He’d studied her a lot since he’d met her. She held his gaze, but not in challenge. He could see concern, built up from all the times she hadn’t asked him to take off the mask. She seemed nervous; she leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around herself. Her shoulders were hunched slightly and in that moment, she looked much smaller to Simon than he knew she really was. She was as nervous to ask him as he was to consider her request.

He weighed the choice in his mind, gauging how much he had come to trust this woman. Her eyes flickered anxiously over his hands, his chest, the bandages she couldn’t see now that he’d put his shirt back on. Anywhere but at his eyes. She hadn’t wanted to ask.

He looked down to his hands. “Alright,” he said softly. He said it so softly that for a moment, he thought she might not have heard him. He raised his head. When he caught Cat’s eye, she was watching him carefully. He shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Slowly, as though he were a scared animal she didn’t want to frighten, she placed her clipboard on the countertop and picked up a new pair of gloves.

She stepped toward the bed, pausing as she reached his side. With one hand, she tapped his knee. Simon froze for a moment, then parted his legs. Cat stepped between them, carefully raising her hands to the edges of the mask at Ghost’s throat. She glanced up at him, a final request, waiting for his tiny nod before touching the fabric.

Her fingers were feather light as she tugged up the fabric slowly, revealing his face centimeter by centimeter. Ghost held his breath, eyes unfocused somewhere near Cat’s elbow. She pulled off the last of the mask, laying it on his thigh lightly. Reverently. 

He met her eyes and felt stripped bare. More naked than he had been moments before without his clothes. She smiled at him, small and somehow relieved. Slowly, she reached up, turning his head in her hands. Her fingertips brushed against tender skin at his temple, then again at his jaw. She turned, opening another tube of ointment, and dabbed it onto where he assumed the skin was red. Simon’s eyes fluttered shut of their own accord. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been touched so tenderly, if he ever had been at all. He was overwhelmed with the abrupt desire for more of this gentleness. More of her.

Before he knew it, Cat withdrew her hands. He opened his eyes to watch her pull her gloves off before picking his mask back up. With as much care as one might handle a fine and delicate piece of art, she lifted the mask, rolling it carefully over his face. She leaned back just a bit, eyes soft. Simon instantly and viscerally missed her fingers on his cheeks.

“There you go,” she whispered. Then, before he could even gather his thoughts enough to thank her, she was gone.

Three months ago

Ghost breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth. He had to remind himself to do it, lest he lose his cool. Soap’s shoulders weighed inordinately heavy in his arms. Gaz held the Sargeant’s feet as they hustled down the halls, trying to find a functional elevator. Daniela ran from door to door, mashing buttons furiously, swearing under her breath in Spanish Ghost wasn’t sure he wanted to understand.

He couldn’t believe he’d shot his subordinate. His friend.

“Take the shot, LT.”

“Soap, I can’t get a clear-”

“Take. The shot.”

“-I’m sorry.”

He couldn’t believe he’d actually done it. What kind of sick, twisted-

“Aquí!” shouted Daniela. She’d found what seemed to be the only functional elevator in the building, and the 141 crammed into it. The tight space forced Ghost to hoist Soap further up, resting the younger man’s head on his shoulder. Daniela reached up, stroking his cheek and humming shakily. Ghost leaned back against the elevator wall, letting his eyes drift shut. He fought to keep a clear mind.

“He’ll be alright,” rumbled Price. Ghost’s eyes snapped open. The Captain was leaning heavily on the elevator wall, eyes boring into Ghost with an intensity he was much more used to giving than receiving.

Ghost didn’t answer him.

The rest of the trip passed in a blur. The exfil chopper landed and they loaded in, strapping Soap in as comfortably as they could. Daniela’s hands stayed on him the entire flight. She worked to stabilize him, alternately whispering prayers and curses. Price had stayed back to deal with Hassan’s body, but radioed a safehouse location to Gaz, who passed it to the pilot and graciously didn’t try to talk to Ghost. One look had told him all he’d needed to know.

When they landed on a hospital roof, Daniela held bandages against Soap’s chest as Ghost and Gaz carried him toward the door. Just before they reached it, it burst open and Ghost’s whole body sagged with relief. Cat. Her eyes met his and the two shared the briefest nonverbal conversation before she scanned his body, then Soap’s.

Cat took charge instantly, ushering her team forward to move him onto a stretcher, and the whole group rushed inside as Daniela nervously detailed to Cat what she had done to treat the wounds. Gaz was pulled to another room to be examined. Another medic motioned for Ghost, but he shook his head. He caught Daniela’s arm when she tried to follow Soap’s stretcher into the operating room. She tried to wrench out of his grip, but he had been expecting it and held her tightly. 

She screamed, fighting him as he lifted her bodily to carry her away from the door. She swore at him, kicking his shins and clawing at his arm, throwing her inadequate weight in every direction in an attempt to break free from his hold before realizing that she couldn’t. She sobbed brokenly in his arms. If Ghost hadn’t been numb from his own worry, listening to her whimpers and cries would have broken him, too. 

When she finally quieted, the two sat together in the hallway, backs to the wall, waiting on any word. Gaz joined them shortly after, wearing several bandages but otherwise looking no worse for wear. He sat across the hall, stretching his legs out to touch his boots to Daniela’s in solidarity. She sat curled into Ghost’s side, head resting on his shoulder, while he sat ramrod straight next to her. Gaz raised an eyebrow, shocked that she hadn’t been pushed away, and Ghost shrugged the shoulder her head didn’t rest on. 

He didn’t know how to comfort her, wouldn’t even begin to try- but he owed it to Johnny to allow her this. Especially since it was half his fault he was here in the first place.

It had been at least several hours when Gaz suggested that they find something to eat. His expression was nonplussed at the immediate “no” he received from Ghost and Daniela, even when he offered to wait outside the door, but he accepted it in stride and rose to his feet to find something himself.

He returned not long after, carrying chairs and followed by two nurses carrying steaming trays of food. Ghost gratefully moved to a chair and accepted the food, eating it robotically. If anyone had asked him later what he’d eaten, he wouldn’t have an answer for them.

The three were dozing in the hall when Price arrived, Ghost the only one to open his eyes when the Captain pulled up a chair of his own to join their silent vigil. They both nodded off, and everyone bolted upright when the door opened hours after his arrival. Cat walked through, offering quiet reassurances all around that their teammate would be fine. When her team rolled out the gurney, Daniela’s hand was on Soap’s before anyone could react. Ghost followed as their little convoy made its way down the hall into a recovery room, pulling a chair to the bedside for Daniela. She thanked him softly, laying her head on Soap’s hip and watching his face intently as she stroked his hand.

Cat touched Ghost’s elbow, bringing his attention to her upturned face. “Has anyone looked at you yet, Simon?”

“No,” he said hoarsely. “I’m alright.”

Cat’s brows came down worriedly. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” He raised a hand to hers, squeezing lightly. Cat’s face relaxed just a bit. “I’ll let you look at me once he wakes up, how about that?”

She rolled her eyes, smiling up at him. “If that’s the best you’ll give me, I’ll have to take it,” she teased. Ghost relaxed, squeezing her hand before moving to the other side of the room to sit in a chair in the corner. He watched the sun and moon dance across the window, watched Daniela doze and wake, took another tray of food from Gaz, and then another later from Price.

He and Daniela hadn’t uttered a word to each other since walking into the room. It was over a full day later when Ghost gently rested a hand on her shoulder, waking her from her fitful slumber. “You should go sleep in a real bed,” he said gruffly. Daniela shook her head violently.

“No,” she said. “I’m not leaving him.” They both watched Soap’s chest rise and fall several times before Daniela spoke again. “You should take your own advice, Lieutenant.”

Ghost shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving him, either.” He turned to the window, staring out across the water. “It’s my fault he’s here in the first place.”

The scoff that Daniela uttered was enough to turn his head. She leaned forward, stroking Johnny’s cheek. Her eyes were glued to his face. “No. El idiota se lo hizo a si mismo,” she said softly. Her words weren’t particularly kind, but her tone was affectionate. “It’s not your fault.” 

Their eyes locked, sharing a moment of fear and regret for the man in the bed. Then Ghost nodded. “If I go shower, will you go when I come back?” Daniela had begun to shake her head. “It’ll only take a couple of minutes. You’ll feel better,” he pressed. She hesitated, then nodded.

The shower did wonders to help rejuvenate Ghost, and he was grateful for the clean clothes that had been left for him. Even though he’d been virtually unscathed in the mission, he felt filthy. Guilty, and disloyal. The hot water helped to wash some of that away. Some. His mind had raced, the last day or so, over every detail he could have used to protect his subordinate. Johnny had told him to take the shot, but damnit, he should have found another way. There was no other way. If he hadn’t, Johnny would have been thrown to his death and they might have lost Hassan, anyway.

When he got back to the room, he called Daniela’s name quietly from the doorway to wake her from her drowsing. Despite her agreement, he still had to pry her fingers from around Johnny’s to get her across the hall. Ten minutes later, she was back in the same chair, head back on his hip as she stroked his skin. 

Cat had been by several times to check on Johnny’s vitals, saying nothing to disturb the peace. She’d only looked over first Daniela, then Ghost, concern written across her features. She hadn’t tried to convince either of them to leave. The next time she came after they’d showered, though, she walked to Simon’s side, fidgeting with something behind her back. She glanced back to Daniela’s sleeping form, then looked at her feet.

“What is it, Cat?” Ghost asked softly.

“I, um, thought you might like something to read,” she stammered. She pulled a book from behind her back, holding it out to Ghost to take. He recognized the tattered paperback before he even saw the cover. The Great Gatsby. He took it from her outstretched hand, suppressing a shiver when their fingers brushed.

Something had changed between them the day she’d seen his face.

It was like she couldn’t bear to look at him any more if it wasn’t a medical conversation. Ghost felt ill at ease in her presence, nonsensically longing for physical hurts to match his injured soul, just to have her benevolent gaze and gentle touch again. He found himself mourning the easy banter they’d shared, her quiet presence being enough to quiet his mind. He was both cynically unsurprised and stupidly, deeply wounded by the shift in her demeanor around him. 

He broke from his rampant thoughts when she stroked a finger down the side of his hand, and he realized he hadn’t actually withdrawn it. He snatched the book toward his chest. “Yeah,” he started hoarsely. “Yeah, thank you. That’s nice.” He glanced up, meeting her stare briefly before dropping his eyes. “That’s really nice. Thank you.”

“Of course.” She lingered for a moment, and Ghost held his breath. She seemed to want to say something. He hoped she did. But she turned and walked away, murmuring a quiet goodnight from the door.

He sat for a long while, staring at the place she’d been, before opening her well-loved book reverently and beginning to read. Upon opening the worn pages, he was surprised to see notes scribbled in most of the margins. He felt as though he’d been brought to a secret, special place- reserved only for Cat’s deepest thoughts. He felt honored. He read by the moonlight, storya nd notes alike, wondering briefly if he was like Gatsby- craving the idea of Cat rather than who she really was. But he put that thought quickly aside, not truly believing it for even a moment.

He devoured the book, and around the time of Gatsby’s grand declaration of love, Soap stirred. Ghost sat bolt upright, watching closely. He barely dared to breathe. Then, Soap’s eyes opened slowly. 

“Johnny?” Ghost whispered.

Slowly, Johnny turned his head. As he did, Ghost rose to his feet from his chair, taking two quick steps to the bedside. Soap opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Ghost scrambled to pour a cup of water, then gently helped Soap lift his head to drink. He saw the younger man’s eyes settle on Daniela before swallowing several times to clear his throat. 

“What happened?” he finally asked.

Ghost’s gaze dropped to the floor, dreading this very question. “Do you want the short or long story?” he asked. His voice sounded exhausted to his own ears.

“How about the short one, for now?”

“I shot you,” said Ghost. He let that statement hang in the air before looking up to meet Soap’s eyes. “I shot you, Johnny. Because you told me to. Because you’re the best of us, and you’re clever.”

Soap nodded, eyes drifting shut, as though this was the answer he had expected. Ghost wondered if he’d really heard him.

He took a deep breath to steady himself. “You’re lucky I’m such a good shot,” he grumbled. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to ease tension only he felt, or create tension on his friend’s behalf. He shouldn’t be so okay with this.

Soap chuckled softly, wincing as he did. “That I am,” he said. “Hassan?”

“I shot him, too. Twice, actually.”

“Through me the first time, eh LT?”

Ghost deadpanned. This wasn’t funny. But when Soap grinned at him, he softened. Good that he could find humor in even this.  “That’s right, Johnny.”

“Perfect shot, LT.” “You called it, Sargeant.”

“The best of us, huh LT?” Of course he’d heard that.

“Can it, Sergeant.”

For a moment, the two shared a companionable silence. Then, Ghost spoke so softly that he wondered if Soap would even hear him. Almost hoping he wouldn’t. “I almost didn’t take it.”

“The shot?” Of course he’d heard. Again. “Why not?”

“There was no shot,” Ghost exploded, throwing up his hands. His frustration was finally breaking the surface. He glanced at Daniela, lowering his voice as he continued. “He had you directly in front of him, and he would have thrown you out that window before I had time to move.” He had been scared for the first time in who knew how long. Soap’s calmness was making him angry, because he shouldn’t have been okay with this. He should have been angry. Ghost was supposed to take care of him, not shoot him.

Almost as though he could hear Ghost’s raging thoughts, Johnny let his eyes drift shut again. “You still got him, LT. I’ll call that a win.” Just like that, Ghost’s anger abated. Only weariness remained. “We got him, Johnny.”

“I’m starting to think you really have taken a shine to me, Simon.”

Ghost hung his head before looking back up. He most certainly had. Johnny had been one of only two people he’d let himself learn to trust in the last decade. “Maybe I have,” he relented. He turned, picking up his chair, and sat it right by the bed as quietly as he could. “That one has, for sure,” he said, nodding to Daniela.

Soap looked down at her. “How long have you both been here?”

“Since you got here,” Ghost mumbled. Soap’s head snapped back to him.

“And when was that?”

Ghost shrugged, leaning back in his chair. “Four days, give or take.” Soap stared at him. Finally, he threw up his hands as irritation bubbled back to the surface. “You, Sergeant, should have died.”

He lifted one gloved hand, ticking off fingers as he spoke. “You have a field-treated gunshot wound to your right arm, which was in fact infected. Thank your lucky stars that Daniela saw through your idiocy.” Johnny, at least, had the decency to look sheepish at that. “A bruised bone in your hip. Three cracked ribs. A grade four concussion. Multiple hairline fractures in your legs. And a shredded left pec from a 50 caliber bullet. Might I add that last one only missed your heart by centimeters?” By some miracle.

Soap snorted. “Well, that explains a lot about how I feel. Hell, how I’ve been feeling.”

Ghost just shook his head, dumbfounded by Johnny’s casual reaction. Most men would have been in an uproar. Then again, Johnny wasn’t like most men. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Thought we lost ya. Again.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy, LT.”

“Good,” grumbled Ghost. He looked toward Daniela. “I had to pry her off of you,” he said softly. 

Soap looked down at her again. There was a softness in the way he looked at her. Simon had only seen it a handful of times before- when Daniela looked at Johnny, when Price looked at Laswell, and when Cat looked at him. “Yeah?” he asked. 

“Mhmm,” murmured Ghost. “Could hardly get her across the hall to shower.” He was tired all over again just remembering arguing with the feisty woman.

Soap let his eyes drift shut, looking exhausted. “Where are we, anyway?”

“Amsterdam. Laswell has friends here. We’re in a private hospital.”

“Price? And Gaz?”

“They’re trying to find a lead on Shepherd.”

Soap nodded sleepily. “She kissed me,” he murmured.

Ghost rolled his eyes. “Doctors say she saved your life with that.”

Soap hummed, cracking one eye open to peer at Ghost. He shrugged. 

“Something about the adrenaline helping to push off the shock.” It made sense to him, in a strange way. He wondered if Cat would ever kiss him like that, if she thought he was dying.

He banished the thought quickly as Soap hummed again, letting his eyes slide shut.

“Sleep, Johnny.”

He didn’t answer, and within moments, his breathing had evened out as he rested. Ghost waited for a while, watching the monitors beep steadily. Then he stood, stretching before he made his way to the door. He padded down the hallway to Cat’s office, then stopped outside her door. He rolled his shoulders, bracing himself, and then knocked.  

He’d barely lowered his hand when the door flew open, Cat looking anxiously up at him.

“Is he..?” she asked.

“He’s fine. He woke up for a few minutes, but he’s asleep again. All of his vitals looked good.”

Relief washed over her face. “Good, then we’ll let him sleep.” She stepped back, gesturing Simon in. “Now let me take a look at you.” He shuffled past her, sitting on the chair in front of her desk. On a wild impulse, he pulled his mask off and ran his hand through his mussed-up hair. Cat froze for a moment when she saw him. Then a wide smile broke over her face.

“Nice to see you again, Simon,” she said. He flushed.

Under his breath, he murmured “It’s nice to be seen.” He’d thought it when he pulled off his mask days ago, standing alongside Price and Johnny and Daniela and Kyle and Alejandro. He thought it again now as Cat stole glances over her shoulder at him while she donned gloves and gathered instruments.

She came around the desk, slowly moving between him and it, to perch on the edge between his knees. He spread his legs, leaning toward her, and let her check his pupils and inspect him for injuries. She ran her hands over his face, his arms, and his torso. Her soft words didn’t do enough to prepare him for the cold of her stethoscope on the skin of his chest as she reached under his shirt to listen to his heartbeat. 

He leaned involuntarily closer as she reached around his back to listen to his lungs, raising his arms to rest on the desk on either side of her thighs. He hadn’t realized he’d shut his eyes until Cat ran a gentle thumb along his cheek. He blinked up at her.

She looked angelic in the soft lamplight. Her hair seemed to halo around her head, and Simon belatedly realized that it was in a long braid over her shoulder instead of her usual copious bun. Her skin looked velvety and he longed to touch it. Her eyes roamed over his face as her thumb smeared the grease paint under his eye.

“How are you really, Simon?” she whispered.

“Tired,” he answered truthfully. He felt so exhausted from the past week that he wasn’t sure any amount of sleep could restore him. 

Cat studied him for a moment. Then she firmly pulled his head down to rest on the top of her thigh. She threaded her fingers through his hair and scratched gently at his scalp, reaching her other hand up to squeeze his shoulders. 

Simon nearly purred.

He shifted his arms so that they circled her waist, burying his face in the crook of her hip. Cat lifted her legs, crossing her ankles behind his back and pulling him closer.

For the first time he could remember, he felt at home. Comfortable, safe. Before he knew it, he was fast asleep. When he woke up, Cat was half folded over him. Her arms were around his shoulders and she was leaned forward, cheek resting against the top of his head. He didn’t want to wake her, but he was sure she couldn’t be comfortable. He disentangled himself as smoothly as he could, but as he lifted her arms, her eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” she said sleepily.

“Hey yourself,” he answered. She reached up to scrub her eyes, wincing as she straightened out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Don’t be silly,” she yawned, leaning back and raising her hands above her head. “You need the rest.”

“So do you,” Simon retorted. Cat smiled lazily at him. He looked to the ground. “I should go check on Johnny.”

“I’ll come with you.” Cat reached behind her on the desk, then held out a small, black piece of fabric to him. His mask. 

He took it from her gratefully. Once he’d pulled it on, he extended a hand to help her off the desk. The short walk from Cat’s office to Johnny’s room gave Simon enough time to fully wake up, but he still wasn’t prepared for the sight that greeted him when he opened the door. 

Johnny had clearly woken up while they’d been gone. He half lay, half sat, propped up on one elbow as he held Daniela tightly to him. She straddled him, one hand bracing her as the other ran through his hair. Her mouth was on his collarbone, and his eyes were shut in bliss. Simon blinked and the image of himself in the same position with Cat seared itself into his eyelids and his brain before he could stop it.

He coughed sharply, to shake both the lovebirds and himself out of the haze they all seemed to be in, and looked to the ceiling. He could feel his face burning under his mask. Daniela sprang up, scrambling off the bed with one hand covering her mouth. Johnny’s head whipped toward the door.

Simon could hear Cat’s amusement as she quipped. “Glad to see you’re feeling better, Sergeant. My name’s Cat, I’m a friend of Kate’s. Mind if I take a look at you?”

Johnny must have given some indication that he didn’t mind, because Cat moved toward him while Daniela retreated to the corner of the room. Simon refused to lower his gaze from the walls. 

“Would you two-” started Cat.

Johnny cut her off. “They can stay. Nothing they haven’t seen already.”

Simon glanced at Johnny as Cat helped him out of his gown. He flinched internally at the mottled bruising, angry broken skin, and the two bandaged bullet wounds. He looked back toward the ceiling.

“So Cat,” asked Johnny. “How did you meet Laswell?”

“Oh, she and I met probably fifteen years ago. She was still on the field, back then. I was still in training, working in a field hospital. I patched her and John up after a rough mission. I guess she decided she liked me, because as soon as I graduated, she snapped me right up.” She turned to Simon, who had turned his gaze to her as she spoke, and smiled. “Good thing, too. I’ve fixed this one up more times than I can count, and Kate tells me he won’t let anyone else touch him.”

Simon looked away again, focusing on a scuffed tile halfway between the chair Daniela sat in and Johnny’s bed. He hadn’t expected her to know that.

“Oh, is that so?” teased Johnny. Simon shot him a warning glare. He didn’t like that tone. The younger man’s eyes twinkled with a mischief Simon hoped he was imagining, but knew he wasn’t.

“I trust her,” he muttered.

Cat beamed at him. She looked back to Johnny, smiling conspiratorially. “Quite the compliment, eh?”

“That it is,” he answered smugly. Simon held his stare, unamused. Johnny looked back toward Daniela, eyes softening. She smiled back at him. Then Cat smiled at Simon, and he thought she might have looked at him the same way Daniela had just looked at Johnny. He blushed even more. He was so absorbed in his own bashfulness that he missed most of what Cat said to Johnny.

“Alright, well I’ll be back tonight to check in with you again. Simon, would you walk me out?”

He saw Johnny’s head whip in his direction, but refused to look at him, holding Cat’s gaze instead. He nodded at her, holding the door for her on their way out.

“He’ll be fine,” she told him as they walked. Simon nodded, relieved. “It might take a month or so, but he’ll be back on the field in no time.”

“That’s good,” breathed Simon. He held her office door open, following her in.

“You need to sleep,” she said. “Why don’t you take my cot over there?”

Simon glanced at the cot in the corner of her office. “I don’t want to put you out,” he began, but Cat’s cheshire-cat grin stopped him in his tracks.

“Who said you’d be putting me out?”

Simon’s face flamed. He’d seen Johnny and Daniela in a too-small bed together twice now, and he’d by lying if he said it didn’t make him crave sharing his own space. He’d never wanted to be close to anyone before, but Cat was like a magnetic force to him. He wanted to be close to her, and after today’s display, he was having flashes of desires less innocent than simply being close to her.

“I- I don’t-” he stuttered. Cat took mercy on him, reaching out to lay a hand on his.

“I’m only kidding. Sleep for a while. I have some paperwork to fill out, and you need the rest much more than I do.”

He looked longingly at the cot again, and Cat took the opportunity to shove him toward it. Her determination was rather cute, really. He moved because she wanted him to, not from the force of her physical strength. But she got him to the edge of the cot, sat him down, and rested her hands on his shoulders. He looked up at her, hoping she would stay. But she only smiled, turning to walk toward her desk.

“Will you wake me up when you’re ready to sleep?” he called.

He sounded desperate to himself, but Cat gave no indication that she thought so when she said “Of course,” to him. He lay back, closing his eyes as his body tensed and then relaxed into the cot. He could faintly smell something like the ocean, and realized it was Cat’s pillow. Before he could overthink it, he turned his face, pulling his mask up over his nose, and breathed in. He drifted off not long after that.

Today

Ghost breathed deep, forcing himself not to panic even as he felt it bubbling through his stomach, searing up his throat. Even as his mind threatened to grow fuzzy from it.

A week ago, Price and Laswell had briefed the 141 on a new mission far behind enemy lines. It would be unsanctioned and unsupported. They’d have no backup if anything went wrong. It would be just the four of them- Price, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost- and one medic.

Cat.

Ghost had asked Price privately if it had to be her. Price kindly didn’t question his Lieutenant questioning orders, only assured him that it did have to be her. She was Laswell’s most skilled and trusted medic, and this mission called for the highest level of skill and trust.

She’d gravitated to him on the bird in, and he’d helped her secure her parachute and pack and tactical vest. She was to post up in an abandoned bunker two klicks from the site they were infiltrating. She was nervous, but not too nervous. She’d be alone, but she’d be safely away from the enemy. At least, that was the plan.

The plan didn’t pan out.

Somehow, the enemy soldiers knew they were coming. They were met at the gate of the facility by at least ten men, all of whom were quickly and quietly gunned down. Soap made good on his call sign, Gaz made good on his excessive target practice, Ghost made good on his hand to hand combat skills, and Price made good on his leadership skills. Within ninety seconds, all ten bodies were hidden and the 141 pushed silently forward. 

Ghost was grateful for the radio silence Price had called for on their way in. It meant he got a break from Soap’s incessant pestering and teasing about the way he acted around Cat.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, LT.”

“Had what, Sergeant?”

“Love.”

Ghost had scoffed. “Love? I acquiesced to taking a shine to you, but I wouldn’t call that love.”

“‘M not talkin’ about me, LT.”

“Who then?”

Soap’s face had been unimpressed.

All throughout Soap’s physical therapy and rehabilitation training, Ghost had listened to this. Any time Cat walked away, Soap would joke about Ghost hating to watch her go. Any time she passed them in the halls, Soap would get her attention, trying to set up awkward encounters for Ghost to wriggle out of. At one point, he got so far under Ghost’s skin that the Lieutenant said something he instantly regretted about Soap projecting his missing Daniela. The joking had stopped then, and Ghost had felt guilty. But the reprieve hadn’t lasted, so neither did his guilt.

He’d rebuffed his friend over and over, denying any feelings for Cat other than comfort.

“I trust her, Johnny, but I wouldn’t know love if it shot me in the face,” he’d huffed after a particularly long session of rebuttals.

He’d never seen Johnny look so unconvinced.

He’d have never told Johnny, but he was honestly confused about his feelings for Cat. He’d never loved anyone before, and he’d only been half joking when he’d told Johnny he wouldn’t know love if it shot him. Ever since she’d seen his face, the air had shifted when they were together. Ever since falling asleep in her lap, he craved her presence. Ever since watching Johnny with Daniela, his thoughts would race to imagine himself with Cat like that.

He’d dreamed about her, after that. Often. Mostly, the dreams were innocent. She’d read to him, they’d have picnics, or he’d just be in her office, spending time with her whenever he could.

Some dreams weren’t so innocent. Her hair spread out under her, cheeks flushed as she moaned his name. One hand on her mouth, one on her belly, holding her against him and keeping her quiet as they moved together in his cot with the rest of the 141 only meters away. He did his best not to think about those. It felt wrong, as though he were betraying her trust. He felt ashamed. He told himself it was just pent-up lust, manifested in her because he cared for her as a person. As a friend. It couldn’t be love.

Now, as he stood with his hands raised, kicking his gun away, he knew- deeper than anything he’d ever known, better than he knew himself- that he had been wrong.

He did love her. More than anyone he’d ever loved before.

He wondered- as tears streamed down her face to the gag in her mouth, as he put his hands on his head, as he was roughly shoved to his knees- whether he’d ever have come to the realization on his own. Probably not. 

The squad had known they were coming because Cat’s bunker hadn’t been abandoned. The enemy team had sought refuge there after a mission of their own gone wrong, found Cat, and dragged her back to this base to warn their fellow soldiers.

Ghost had breached the room he stood in now, ready to eliminate any target who showed his face.

Only one had. From behind Cat’s back. 

He held a gun to the side of her head, wrenching her back by her cuffed hands, and screamed at Ghost not to come any closer.

Four more men flooded the room, all guns on Cat.

“Drop your weapon,” snarled the first. 

He did.

“Hands on your head!” yelled another, while the first shouted for him to kick his gun away.

He did those things, too.

Cat shook her head violently back and forth, sobbing around the gag in her mouth. Blood dripped from her temple into her coral hair, and her normally pale skin was bone white. She shook in her captor’s grip. Whether it was from fear or pain, Ghost couldn’t tell. 

“Ghost, how copy?” came Soap’s whisper in his ear. “I can hear men, are you in that room?”

Ghost said nothing.

“Alright,” breathed Soap. “How many?”

Ghost turned his head almost imperceptibly. Then, as softly as he could, he clicked his tongue five times.

“Five?” said Soap. Ghost made no sound, hoping beyond hope that the Sergeant could put together a plan. He was quiet for almost too long, then “Cat?” Clever, Johnny. 

“Cat,” he said softly. “Are you injured?” She shook her head quickly. He breathed out a sigh of relief, even as the man behind him kicked his legs, pushing his shoulder to drive him to his knees. Another yelled and stepped closer, cocking his gun. Soap cursed quietly in Ghost’s ear. Cat wriggled, wide eyes still on him. His eyes hadn’t left hers since they’d met two minutes prior.

After another long silence, Gaz spoke in his ear. “Ghost, I’m in the building across. I have sights on the bastard who’s got her. When I fire, you go get her, alright?”

Ghost nodded a tiny nod.

“We’re right behind you, hermano,” came Soap’s low rasp. “We’ll get the other ones.”

“On my mark,” whispered Price. There was a beat, then two, then three.

Ghost breathed in.

“Mark.”

A loud crack rang out as glass exploded and the man who held Cat dropped. She spun to look at his body in shock, ducking instinctually. Ghost launched himself from his place on the floor, tucking her under him as he wrapped his arms around her head. Heavy fire rang behind him as Soap and Price burst into the room, taking advantage of the other soldiers’ surprise to put them down.

Cat whimpered, shaking, and Ghost tilted his head to be closer to his ear. “Shh, I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

By the time he got the words out, the gunfire had stopped.

“LT!” called Soap. He’d jogged the two steps forward, extending a hand to pull Ghost up. “Y’alright, sir?”

“Solid,” rumbled Ghost. He tucked his hands under Cat’s armpits, hauling her to her feet less gently than he’d have liked to. He reached for the gag, dragging it down and out of her mouth, and she gulped in the stale air.

“Simon,” she whimpered. He hauled her to his chest with one hand around her waist, the other stroking the back of her head.

“I’ve got you, Cat,” he whispered. Then, over his shoulder, “Price! Have you got keys?”

“I’ve got ‘em!” called Soap. He’d turned away the moment Ghost had pulled Cat forward, his small gesture of granting what little privacy he could. He’d made good use of the time, patting down the bodies of the fallen soldiers as he went. He tossed the tiny key to Ghost, who caught it deftly and spun Cat to release her hands from the cuffs. “Got the flash drive, too.”

Ghost glimpsed Soap handing the flash drive to Price as Cat rubbed at her wrists, still shaking. He still had a hand on her elbow and he wasn’t keen to let her go quite yet. He’d be damned if he let her out of his sights again, that was certain.

“Alright, move out! Gaz, how soon can you get to the rendezvous?”

“Three minutes, Captain.”

“Right, let’s go then.” Price and Soap raised guns to move out, and Ghost turned to Cat.

“C’mon, petal, let’s go.”

She nodded, but as she moved toward him, she lurched forward. Ghost’s hands flew to her shoulders to steady her as he looked her over frantically.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I am concussed,” she said softly. Her lips were pursed, eyes narrowed as she thought to herself. She looked up at him, and nodded. “I am concussed.”

Simon leaned down, wrapping one arm around her waist and one under her knees, and hefted her up. “Thought you said you weren’t injured,” he grumbled.

“Well I was a little too busy getting dragged away to think about it at first, and then they-”

Ghost glanced down at her as he rushed down the hall after his teammates. They were halfway down the staircase, carefully checking each landing and doorway. When he looked back to Cat, she was staring at him with an intensity he’d only seen a handful of times over the years.

“I thought they were going to kill you,” she whispered. She reached up, stroking her fingers across his cheek over the mask. Her eyes were watering, her bottom lip quivering, and her hair had long since abandoned the tight-wound bun she’d put it in before they flew in. Simon curled his arms up until he could touch his forehead to hers, allowing himself one brief moment to close his eyes and thank the powers that be that she was okay.

“I thought they were going to kill you,” he murmured back, moving quickly through the building again. Price had just breached the door at the ground floor and Soap made his way to an abandoned truck. Gaz jogged out of the building he’d positioned himself in, meeting Price and Soap as they popped the hood of an abandoned truck. “Never would’ve forgiven myself if anything happened to you.”

Cat’s voice was soft when she said “It wouldn’t have been your fault.”

Ghost only looked at her as he climbed into the chopper.

The flight back was filled with quiet chatter as Price assessed Cat’s concussion, Gaz filled in Laswell, and Soap watched Ghost watch Cat.

Ghost was just grateful the Sergeant kept his mouth shut.

Cat leaned heavily on Simon’s shoulder as they stepped off the chopper, but was able to walk on her own. Price dismissed him from their debrief and he walked her to the med bay to be checked over by a colleague, then back to her office, opening the door for her and helping to ease her into her chair.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know.” She grimaced even as she said it, reaching up to rub her temples. 

Simon froze, watching her. “I… I can go, if you want me to-”

“No! I mean, I didn’t mean it like that,” she stammered. She looked down to her hands, picking at her cuticles. “I just meant I’m sure you have more important things to do than babysit me.”

“I don’t.” Cat’s eyes flicked up in disbelief and he shrugged. He pulled a chair around from the front of her desk to sit facing her, taking her hands in his. He studied them as he struggled to choose his words. His palms dwarfed hers, fingers nearly fully looping her wrist to touch his thumbs where they stroked the backs of her hands. “There’s nothing more important to me than you. Not even the mission.”

The silence was tense enough to snap, like a rubber band stretched to the breaking point. Like a tripwire about to set off a grenade. Simon’s heart pounded in his ears as he stubbornly refused to look up, keeping his eyes locked on his fingers. He had to get the words out before he buried them too deeply to ever be found again. 

“I make out like I think Johnny’s pretty daft most of the time, but he’s one of the most clever people I’ve ever met.” He paused, steeling himself. “He annoys me, but he knows how to read people. He’s been telling me for months that I’m in love with you, and it took today for me to realize he’s right.” Cat inhaled a sharp breath, but he still kept his gaze glued to their hands.

“It took being scared for the first time in…” He thought of Las Almas. He’d been scared then, too. But nothing like this. “I’ve never been afraid like I was today. Afraid that I could lose you without telling you that I love you. And that I’ve loved you for… probably years, now.”

Simon finally tore his gaze from their joined hands. Cat’s eyes shone with unshed tears that he reached up to wipe away. “I don’t expect you to feel the same way-”

“I do,” she cut him off. 

They stared at each other for a moment before Simon said “I think that’s your head injury talking.”

Cat’s head whipped back and forth as she shook it emphatically. “It’s not the concussion, Si.”

With that single syllable, Simon’s heart seemed to melt in his chest, seeping between his ribs and pooling in his stomach with a warmth he’d never felt before. He let his eyes drift shut as he pulled Cat’s hands up, laying them on his masked cheeks and leaning heavily into her touch. 

“I’ve known for a long time, too, but… I didn’t want to scare you off,” she admitted softly. He opened his eyes to find her watching him, eyes shining again. Her fingers twitched against the fabric of his balaclava. “I know you have a hard time trusting people.”

“I trust you.” The words came unbidden, instant. He’d never meant anything more. He leaned further against her hands, turning his face to nuzzle her palm. As her fingers fiddled with a loose string, he whispered “Take it off.”

She froze. Then, slowly, she ran her fingers down his cheeks, across his jaw, down his neck to lay against his collarbones over his hoodie. She grasped the zipper, waiting for him to protest, and tugged it down when he didn’t. She only lowered it enough to tuck her fingertips under the edge of the balaclava, pulling up gingerly.

She paused again when she reached his mouth, fabric bunched under his nose. Suddenly, Simon couldn’t help himself any longer. He leaned up, quickly closing the gap, and kissed her softly. She tugged the rest of the mask off, tossing it onto her desk and pulling him closer by his hoodie’s zipper and the back of his neck.

Their lips slid together, insistent and firm. Cat’s lips yielded when his tongue traced them, allowing him entrance. He groaned quietly as her grip on him tightened, pulling him nearly out of his chair. His hands ran from where they’d rested on her shoulders, down her sides to grip her waist, and he pulled her forward.

She let out a squeak of surprise, but spread her legs as he dragged her onto his lap, body flush against his. She gathered herself quickly, tilting his head up with her thumbs on his cheeks, and bent down to kiss him again. Simon squeezed her thighs as she kissed him feverishly, pressing him back until his head hung over the back of the chair. When she broke for air, Simon wrenched his head up to attach his lips to her neck, just under her jaw, sucking lightly. When his tongue ran over the flesh there, she keened, throwing her head back and holding him tightly in place by the back of his neck. All of those less than innocent dreams and thoughts came flooding to the surface.

His heart stuttered in his chest and he doubled down, desperate to hear that sound again. To drag it out of her. He sucked harder, tongue flat against her skin, and wrapped one arm around her waist tightly. He reached up with the other hand to grip the back of her neck and then leaned forward until Cat was nearly parallel with the floor, held up only by his hold on her. She clutched at his shoulders, gasping as his tongue laved the tender skin just under her jaw. No dream could ever compare to this.

When he leaned back again, pulling her up with him, she held his head and kissed him sloppily, sucking on his bottom lip. His breath caught in the back of his throat, and then she released him and took her turn at kissing his neck. When she licked the underside of his jaw, his hands fell to his sides, vision blurring around the edges. She took full advantage of his ragdoll state, pressing herself forward and squeezing her thighs around him as she sucked a spot that made his head spin. She reached up to his hoodie again, pulling down the zipper, and Simon came back to himself like he’d been hit by a truck.

He reached up, grabbing both of her wrists in one hand, and held her upright with his other as he leaned forward. Cat stared at him, wide-eyed and panting. Simon squeezed his eyes shut. The only sound in the room was their labored breathing.

“I’m sorry-” Cat began, but he shook his head to cut her off.

“No, I’m sorry.” Then he whispered “I can’t take any more from you than I already have.”

Cat wriggled a hand out of his grasp, stroking his cheek with her knuckles. “It’s not ‘taking’ if it’s freely given.”

A humorless chuckle escaped him. “Wouldn’t be freely given if you knew what you were getting yourself into with me. Who I am, what I’ve done.”

Cat pulled her other hand free and held his face. “Look at me,” she commanded. Simon opened his eyes, holding her gaze. “I know who you are, and I don’t care what you’ve done. I’ve loved you from a distance for years. And if you’ll let me, I want to love you from a little closer now.”

Simon searched her face for any sign of uncertainty, but there was none. His heart beat wildly as he reached up to stroke her cheek.

“And if I don’t come back one day?”

Cat’s eyes watered, but she still gave him a shaky smile. “‘‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’,” she quoted.

Simon let out a breathless chuckle. “‘Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams?’”

Cat beamed down at him through her tears. “You know Alfred Lord Tennyson?”

Simon reached up to tuck a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. “‘Course I do. I grew up 200 kilometers from where he lived.”

Cat hummed, turning her face to kiss the palm of his hand. Again, he wondered at the lovingness with which she touched him. He wondered at his killing hands, touching her with the same love. He leaned forward, laying his head on her chest and clutching her waist, and rocked them slowly. They stayed that way for a long time until Cat finally leaned back, taking his face in her hands again.

“Don’t shut me out, Simon.” Her stare was heavy, sincere. “Think you can do that?”

He leaned up, kissed her temple, and then rested his forehead against hers. He smirked slightly. 

“Possibly,” he teased. The smile Cat beamed at him wiped away any fears he had for the moment, and he leaned up to kiss her again.

[zombiedumbie]

cooking!

summary: the reader is learning how to cook, but no one likes it.

content: fluff (not exactly fluff, but is kinda cute), no pronouns used, reader is a devil fruit user

pairing: law x gn!reader

word count: 1.336

an: haro everynyan. I can finally write something, so i'm writing about my hushband, tell me if you like it, please. by the way, this akuma no mi power I thought for an OC of mine! I want to write something for her (maybe a one-shot or even a few chapters of a fanfic, I don't know), let me know what you think!

Law left his office late at night. It was one of those days when he had spent too much time in his office, and his body was starting to crave even the slightest bit of attention. He walked into the kitchen, hoping there would be some leftovers from tonight's dinner; he could feel the pressure of the sea in his ears, making the place even quieter than it already was.

But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing; he appreciated these moments of silence, when all the crew members should already be asleep or quietly going about their activities. The clock and the silence were his only indications that night had arrived in a place where sunlight barely reached.

The silence was broken as he approached the kitchen; he could hear soft music playing and a sad humming. Light seeped out from under the door, indicating that someone was still outside the room.

With calm steps, he approached. Initially, his intention was to get something to eat, but now he wanted to find out who was singing. As he approached the door, Law could feel a gust of wind coming through the gaps. If he didn't know his crew, he would have been quite surprised when he opened the door and saw the plates floating in the air in an orderly synchronization. But he couldn't help but be enchanted by the way they moved through the kitchen, following a sequence to be cleaned, dried, and then put away.

"Hello, captain," you said, stopping your singing in tune with the music. He entered and closed the door behind him, containing the air flow that kept the plates in order, like a production line. He also noticed the little Den Den Mushi humming a melancholic tune.

"Y/N," he greeted you. You had the power to control the wind, which was quite useful in battles, especially due to your abilities and creativity in manipulating your power. But it was also useful in everyday situations like this, where you could simply wash the dishes while using your abilities to finish all the work.

"What are you doing up at this hour?" he asked with his usual formality. You had recently joined the crew and had never really talked to him before, and you thought you never would. He was always locked in his office, focusing on things other than wasting time talking to a newcomer on his ship.

"Just… washing the dishes," there was a strange tone in your voice, as if there was a lump in your throat preventing you from speaking. Law noticed it.

"Are you sure?" It was impressive how he could notice subtle things. You were sure that beneath his stoic nature, there was a person who was attentive to everything happening around him. You admired that about him. "You don't have to speak if you don't want to." He walked through the kitchen, carefully avoiding the floating dishes. His eyes searched for food, anything that could quiet the rumbling in his stomach.

That's when he found a shy tray with three cupcakes, hidden next to a gigantic pile of plates. They seemed to have been decorated by a child, with crooked icing and colorful star-shaped sprinkles.

Law found it adorable.

"C-Captain!" you said, finally finishing washing the huge pile of plates. "Don't eat those."

"Oh," he shared a glance between you and the tray. "Are they already reserved?"

You sighed with his innocence. "No. But I'm going to throw them away."

"Why?" He picked one up. "They look good." He could see that the icing was poorly mixed, so there were still parts that were white instead of being colored with dye. "Have you tasted them?" Normally, he wouldn't insist or even ask about such things, but he couldn't see a reason to throw away food.

"I made them," your voice had a hint of sadness, as if you had been crying before he arrived. "No one wanted to eat them because of that."

"Why?" he asked again, sounding like a child with so many questions. However, his expression was curious, as if he wanted to know why you sounded so frustrated.

"I-I…" you held both hands in front of you, trying to gather the courage to tell your captain, as if you were ready to reveal a secret. "I'm trying to learn how to cook."

He raised an eyebrow, expecting you to continue your story, although he already had an idea of where it was going.

"When we saw the Straw Hats… I was impressed by Sanji's cooking skills," he raised his eyebrows at the mention of the cook. "It reminded me of an old desire to cook when I was younger. I loved cooking with my mother, but I didn't really do much myself." Law listened attentively to your story as he looked at the cupcake in his hand.

"I asked him to teach me a few things, but he could only teach me how to cook rice properly and make onigiri," Law looked up at you, his expression always calm. You sighed before continuing. "So, I tried to continue without his help, using a recipe book I bought on an island. And apparently, I'm terrible at cooking!" Law hid his look of pity.

"No one wants to try what I make because apparently everything turns out bad!" Law saw some frustrated tears rolling down your face. "This fucking cupcake didn't turn out bad! I tasted it! But no one wanted to even try it."

You watched Law delicately peel off the cupcake wrapper and then take a bite of the cake. A bit of icing stuck to his nose without him noticing. You found it adorable.

The cupcake wasn't anything special; in fact, it looked like just another regular cupcake, but it was tasty enough for him to want another one. He couldn't understand why someone wouldn't want to eat it.

"This is good, Y/N-ya," you sighed in relief, afraid that he would also complain. If he did, you would probably throw yourself into the sea at the first opportunity. "I don't understand why they refused."

You smiled, wondering if he was just being kind or if he genuinely meant it. You didn't know him intimately, but Law didn't seem like the type of person who would lie just to please someone. You thanked him with a heavy heart, deciding not to irritate him with such a question.

"Can I have another one?" he asked after finishing the one he had taken. You nodded, and he headed back to the tray. "You know, I can cook too," he commented, and you looked at him in surprise.

"I usually don't have much time for it," he sighed, taking another bite of the cupcake and once again smearing the tip of his nose. "But I cook sometimes for the crew, and sometimes for myself when everyone is asleep."

It was strange to see him like this, his tall figure slightly hunched over and his disheveled hair without the hat. He was wearing casual clothes and talking about mundane things like cooking, which contrasted with the serious and calculating figure he imposed on himself. "If you want, I can teach you what little I know," you returned his gaze to his eyes, wondering if you had heard correctly. "Apparently, we have some spare time until the next island."

"S-Sorry?" you asked as if your ears had deceived you.

"Um…" for some reason, his cheeks were tinged with a light blush. "I said I can teach you what little I know, you know… about cooking?" He seemed embarrassed now.

"Oh, I would love that!" you accepted, with a gleam of excitement in your eyes. Law looked at you as if he was melting in your eyes.

You approached him, carefully wiping the icing off the tip of his nose. "It was dirty." You saw the man blush so intensely that it looked like he was going to change color at any moment. "Thank you, Captain," you smiled sweetly.

Law's face turned bright red, seeing how lovely you looked when you smiled. He began to regret it, mentally wondering if he could handle seeing such a kind smile from you frequently.

oh to have a Law pressing me against the kitchen counter

[kerokerokook]

the rebound girl: chapter three

pairing: nerd pro-gamer jeongguk x reader

word count: 20.7k

a/n: so sorry for not updating for like almost two months atp. had some personal stuff and with genocide that is happening in gaza, i personally felt like it wasn't appropriate for me to post. please continue to support in any way you can whether that's with uplifting voices, going to protests, boycotting and donating. the smallest action can make a difference.

just a heads up, i won't keep a update schedule which i apologize for but i will do my best to be consistent :)

also i write this authors note, the golden concert finished and we got the enlistment notice for vminkookjoon. it's fine everything is fine they sooner they leave the sooner they come back hahaha :( (i'm crying as we speak)

warnings for this chapter: kissing, lots of ass grabbing, oc is down baaaaad, and so is jk tbh, oral (fem and male receiving), two orgasms for you, 69 position, some very light spanking and praise. jk drinks it like water. some slight dom/sub undertones (jk is a switch but not in this chapter :o)

other tags: a good chunk of angst, slut shaming, spreading of fake rumors, finally oc backstory on the nickname!!, mentions of marijuana, jeongguk asks the girls how to eat cat 8-) and he is once again green flag obvi

fic masterlist

song for chapter: seven by jungkook ft. latto and slut! by taylor swift

enjoy!

-mal <3

You wake up surrounded by warmth. The streams of sunlight coming in from your window thanks to your slightly parted curtains bathe your skin in gold, along with the thick duvet thrown over your body, and the thick arms wrapped around your waist. 

For a second, you forget everything that happened last night. 

The way you were panicking and how it escalated to kissing, touching, marking; how your lips wrapped around his thick and long length and how Jeongguk’s fingers pushed you past the edge. You can’t believe it. That one of your childhood best friends is lying in bed next to you right now.  A man who made you feel so good that you want another taste. 

You cringe at your thoughts. You’re really starting to sound like Mrs. Robinson right now. 

Turning your body in his grasp, you face Jeongguk who has been hugging you from behind. His cheek is pressed into the soft pillow, puffed up a bit so his lips look extra pouty. His eyes are peacefully shut, body raising with his breath, and his shirt is all ruffled from him moving around so his collarbones are slightly exposed. You can see the marks you left on him, vibrant and pretty against his honey colored skin. 

Without thinking, your hand picks up to gently glide over the surface. The skin feels the same but internally, you feel waves of smug, almost masculine, pride at the sight of them. As if you’ve branded the guy to be yours. 

Your cup his right cheek, smoothing underneath his eye with your thumb. There’s a little tug with the thin skin, slightly sagging with a lack of sleep, but he looks so beautiful and peaceful like this. Jeongguk has amazing eyebrows; full, dark and perfectly shaped. You run your thumb over thick short hairs before pushing some of the hair messily strewn over his forehead out of the way. Strands silky and smelling of his shampoo.  

As another finger goes to trace his earrings like the pieces of a wind chime, Jeongguk stirs. A soft whine barely leaves him before he’s tugging you closer so that your head is tucked into the crook of his neck. 

His arms wind around you tightly, squeezing you just a bit and forcing a laugh out of you. 

“Hey,” you call, feeling like a boa constrictor has coiled itself around you. 

Jeongguk murmurs under his breath. “Five more minutes.” 

“But I can’t breathe.”

“Figure it out.” 

“Jeongguk,” you giggled, playing with a lock of dark hair that was all fluffy without a brush, tugging slightly to get him further out of sleep.  “Cmon, you’re already half awake.” 

There’s a fullness in your bladder. You need to pee and fix your hair and brush your teeth and make yourself look presentable before Jeongguk can actually take a good look at you. And breakfast too. You’re hungry. 

“Which means I’m also half asleep.” 

“Hmm but you’re responding in full sentences.” 

“Ugh,” he rolls over and away from you, something you instantly regret. “Okay, fine. I’m awake.”

His hair is a birds nest on top of his head, sticking up all over the place, but a thought crosses your mind of Jeongguk with a perm. A perm and longer hair, framing his face in a shaggy 90s style, and your insides turn to mush. 

Anything would probably suit him with a face like that. 

And his body is absolute perfection. You get the urge to reach under the covers, under the fabric of his shirt and feel his stomach once more. Like you’re confirming the presence of steel cut abs and wide shoulders and squishable pecs. 

“Sleep okay?” You ask him, turning on your side to watch his chest expand and recede with his breathing. 

Jeongguk nods, rubbing one of his eyes. “Like a baby. You?” His head turns to face you and he’s got this dreamy, half-awake, smile on his lips that makes you melt. 

“Same.”

You want to kiss his cheek and snuggle into the warmth of his chest. Jeongguk was so comfortable to sleep next to you and his body, while taut, is huggable like a giant teddy bear. He didn’t mind you clinging to him at first, slowly turning away when it got too hot or you wanted to change positions. It was honestly some of the best sleep you’ve gotten. 

Carefully peeling the covers off, you stretch your arms up to crack all of the tightened areas. 

“I’ll put out a disposable toothbrush for you and,” you turn around to find Jeongguk slowly sitting up, looking cute with your patterned sheets underneath him, “then we can talk about breakfast. Are you a savory or sweet kind of guy?”

Jeongguk’s eyes flutter upwards in thought, lips quirking to one side. “Hmmm, I usually have savory but I’ll try sweet.”

“Awesome. Waffles?”

“Hell yeah.” 

The rest of your morning is pretty simple after that. Almost as if Jeongguk never slept over. You do your regular routine and leave the bathroom to him. You feed Snowball and give her as much attention and love as she desires. She’s chirpy in the morning and the minute Jeongguk emerges from the bathroom, you’re forgotten news. 

She trots over to him, fluffy tail bouncing, and flops onto her side as Jeongguk pets her side and scratches her cheeks and under her neck. 

You can’t help but stare at the scene with a warm gooey smile on your face. Jeongguk has always loved animals and seeing him interact with them is such a soft, sweet, beautiful moment. 

Going back to the kitchen cabinets, you pull out your waffle maker and make a few with the batch you’ve prepared. Some with chocolate chips sprinkled inside. Knowing Jeongguk, you put out some chopped fruit, bacon, and make some fluffy eggs. You want him to be full and happy when he leaves. 

Plus, you like doing stuff like this; cooking for people and making them happy.  It’s fun. 

Jeongguk strolls into the room, humming a song under his breath and pausing when he sees the spread you’ve put out for the two of you. Looking like a continental buffet at a hotel. Your head turns and you smile as he stares down at the steaming plates. 

“Wait…I should’ve helped you. I’m sorry,” he pouts, twisting his fingers at the base of his stomach. 

The stove is turned off when you walk closer to him. Droplets of water cascade down his neck and you can see the bright wine colored hickeys you left on him last night on his honey skin. The sight is delectable. You want to mark him again, mark him even more, but also don’t want to get too hasty with how much you touch him. It was a one-off after all. 

You wave it off. “Let me do this for you,” chiding, you push him to take his plate over to the coffee table/desk thing you’ve got then grab yours. “Now let’s. Do you want coffee later?” 

He shakes his head, hair swishing with his movements. “Trying to cut back on that. It’s worsening my anxiety.” 

You pause. “I didn’t know you had anxiety.” The air sizzles in silence, the only noise cutting through being the sound of your plate hitting the surface of your table. Snowball chomps on the pellets of her food. Your backs collide with the edge of your bed, shoulders brushing, knees inches apart with your legs crossed over each other, and all you can smell is Jeongguk. 

His cheeks get pinker, pursing his lips while starting on his food. “Yeah. I was diagnosed in high school. Working out helped a lot with it and same with gaming and sketching but the more I drink coffee, the more anxious I get.” 

“Oh… I’m sorry.” You wilt next to him. 

You know how bad it can get. You’ve seen your friends struggle with it, having attacks before a large test or getting fidgety in public spaces. It’s terrible. 

“S’ok. I’m doing a lot better than before.” You watch out of the corner of your eye as Jeongguk eats. He’s nonchalant about it which calms you. “Taehyung tried to get me into smoking weed with him but I feel like that would worsen it.” 

Snickering, you start eating too. The image of a relaxed Taehyung and a paranoid Jeongguk, when it’s usually the complete opposite, is sort of hilarious. 

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Weed is either amazing for people with anxiety or it will literally give you a panic attack. Especially if you smoke too much.” Thinking back to your first year of college, when you decided to go crazy by smoking a joint and from a pipe and then from a bong, while in the middle of a forest on a camping trip. 

Safe to say, you thought someone was going to come out of the bushes and beat your ass for smoking underage. Jeongyeon had to take you back to the dorms and help you calm down. It was bad. 

But it was a learning lesson and you know to pace yourself with weed now. Unlike your friends, you don’t do it as often. It’s great when you’re plastered though or if you want to really enjoy a meal. 

Jeongguk laughs with you. Then his eyes focus on something and you stop halfway when bringing the fork of food to your mouth. Raising an eyebrow in question, he just reaches over to tuck your hair out of face and behind your ear. 

“You can say no but,” he exhales, fixating on the way your lips pout just a bit as you chew, “I really want to kiss you right now. Can I?” 

Then your stomach flips. 

He’s such a good guy, you think. You aren’t used to being around good guys. 

Probably because deep down you think you’ll ruin them or you don’t deserve them but hey, you’re no therapist. 

Jeongguk is too good. He’s too sweet and you just know that whatever brew of emotions that is bubbling up in you screams trouble but you simply can’t hold yourself back. Not when he looks this cute and soft and pretty in your room, asking politely to do your hair for you, eating the food you made him after a night of passion. 

Swallowing whatever was in your mouth, you drop your fork on the plate and get up on your knees. Jeongguk’s reaction is comical. His eyes widen like he’s going to get yelled at, hands jumping to his sides but that is far from the truth. 

Instead, you settle on his lap, wrists crossed behind his neck to toy with the back of his soft hair. 

“Wh–did I–” he doesn’t even get to finish. You kiss Jeongguk briefly on the nose. 

His eyes blink largely at you, bouncing down to your lips in a silent plea, and who are you to say no to someone like Jeongguk who asked so kindly? Leaning back down, gently connecting your lips with his in a soft slow kiss. He meets your movements, smooth lips kissing you back wetly while his hands move to your hips. 

You don’t mean to get lost in the kiss but it’s quite hard. Jeongguk is really good at kissing and his body's so warm against yours. Pressing closer, you try to lick into his mouth to deepen the kiss but Jeongguk’s hands slip down and grip your ass harshly. 

Gasping, you pull away. An unexpected action from him since he was so careful and gentle with you last night but you liked it. 

The sheer thought of him getting rougher with you has you wet. 

You decide to finally answer his question. “You can do whatever you want with me.”

“Whatever I want?” He teases back. 

“Mhmm.”

Jeongguk pushes some hair out of your eyes. “Giving me all of that power is a bit dangerous, you know?” And even though he’s joking and you know that, you take it literally, wanting him to know this before he leaves. 

Because it’s the wholehearted truth. 

“I trust you, though. I trust you a lot.” 

Jeongguk isn’t going to treat you like most of the men in your life. He won’t discard you for someone better, stringing you along with kind words just to get you to do what they want, and leave you broken hearted. He simply isn’t that kind of guy. He’s sweet and patient and attentive. The kind of guy you should be going after. 

Sadly it’s taken you this long to realize it and this much hurt for you to change but it’s a start. 

His eyes glimmer at you from your spot. You almost don’t want to get up because of how breathtaking his eyes look reflecting the stars hidden by the light. 

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you continue, enamored. “So do what you want and if I don’t like it, I’ll tell you, okay?” Cupping his round, soft cheeks in your hands, you wait for nod. A slow, sure, steady one to cement this declaration right then and there. 

Just as you lean down for another searing kiss, your phone starts blaring from your bed. The alarm you forgot to switch off. Fuck. 

With a groan, you press the off button and your normal phone lock screen shows a notification from your mother. Still on Jeongguk’s lap, you press on it to read her text. 

mom 

stopping by in thirty

wanted to drop off some kimchi before i go back home

Fuck, you forgot. Your mom had an offsite trip for work in Incheon and before going back to your apartment, she wanted to give you some food for the weekend since your apartment was in between. 

There’s no way she’ll let it slide that Jeongguk slept the night and your mom is no idiot. With all of the hickeys on his neck and the awkward we-wanna-fuck tension that is ever building between you two after last night’s taste, you’ll be getting grilled till you’re on your deathbed.  

Quickly, you send her a thumbs up and toss your phone onto your bed, then look down at Jeongguk’s confused, cute face. “My mom is coming over in thirty minutes. Do you think we can finish by then?”

“F-finish what?” 

You’re confused for a whole second until you remember you’re on his lap and you were just making out with him. A soft giggle leaves your lips before you press another kiss to his nose and a quick kiss to his pouty lips. 

“Finish eating.” Finger trailing along the soft cut of Jeongguk’s jawline, flicking the hanging hoops in his ears. “Sorry baby, we’ll have to reschedule the other thing.” 

The pet name flies out once more but you’re less upset about it. Jeongguk doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, his reddened ears tell you quite the opposite. 

You try to get up once more but Jeongguk’s arms wind tightly around you. With a soft thud, your ass hits his lap again. He isn’t hard and his sweatpants are thicker than you remember it to be so you don’t feel anything. But the action still surprises you. 

“You can still stay here and eat with me.” He demands petulantly. Big eyes, the roundest nose, cutest cheeks, and all of those moles scattered across his face like stars in the sky. 

And how can you say no? 

Breakfast is finished with you perched on his lap delicately, back against Jeongguk’s chest, while watching some random children’s cartoons that happened to be playing this early. It’s comfortable, almost intimate to be eating this close to each other and not have it be sexual. You had fully expected things to get raunchy today, especially when you were kissing, and usually when you stay over with a hookup, morning sex is promised. 

Considering the extraneous variables, that can’t happen today, so you imagined Jeongguk would drop the closeness and go back to being platonic to you. Having him do the opposite is surprising. 

You really like it. 

Jeongguk’s chest is warm, broad, firm with muscle, and he smells like a mixture of his own scent and your skincare products. His arms fit snugly around you, like you can melt into his touch without another thought. You love the way he feels. So much so that tearing apart to let him leave is borderline painful. 

Snowball has it especially rough. She rubs her head against Jeongguk’s calf, purring and trilling fyr him to stay and pet her when he’s posted by the door. 

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry,” Jeongguk coos, tugging at her cheeks and smoothing over the area. 

You want to cry at the visual. 

The walk down is silent. Your keys jingle in your hands, shoes tapping on the linoleum floor, and Jeongguk doesn’t say much until the elevator takes the two of you to the lobby and outside your apartment building. It’s a slightly overcast day out. The sun peeks through the clouds and happens to land right on Jeongguk, illuminating him like an angel. 

“So uh… I’ll see you on Monday, yeah?”

You nod slowly. “See you.”

Fuck it, you think, stepping off the platform leading into the lobby and wrapping Jeongguk in a quick hug. Arms around his neck, hugging him close to your body and giving him a firm squeeze. 

Jeongguk returns it quickly, like a reflex. It’s soft, warm, and just what you needed before letting him go. 

Just before your arms slip, you kiss the mole on his neck once, and slowly push off. You really don’t want to. You feel so safe whenever he touches you and smiles at you but you really don’t have any other choice. 

“Bye noona.”

“Bye.” 

Jeongguk’s departure is quick, waving bye as he crosses the street to get to the subway station further down the block. But you still feel the lingering ghost of his lips and touch on your skin. Almost like you’re savoring it for one more second. 

And you’re so caught up that you don’t even notice the camera aimed at you that’s been snapping pictures for the past ten minutes. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The day had been weird the moment your foot stepped onto campus. 

Being the esteemed rebound girl meant that people looked at you. Mostly men but you still got glances, sexual ones or judgy ones or interested ones. Not that you’re bragging, you never warranted them in the first place as they always come with negative intentions, but the glances you were getting today felt different. People were whispering, more than usual, and it was starting to bother you.

The first thing you did was check to see if you were wearing pants. Which you were so we can count accidental nudity off the list. 

 Then you rushed to the bathroom to check if you accidentally sat on a chocolate bar or bled through your jeans or your bra is showing through your shirt or there’s a line of toilet paper stuck to your shoe. 

It has to be a physical issue. Otherwise people would be reacting like this, right?

But you didn’t find anything on you. Not even a smudge of mascara. 

 It’s weird because you’re dressed rather simply. A black hoodie with some light wash jeans since you were in the middle of your period and didn’t want to deal with putting in effort today. What the fuck is everyone’s problem then? 

Looking down, you walk as fast as you can from class to class, barely talking to anyone besides your  friends and only if absolutely necessary. In between classes you have your earbuds in and you avoid any eye contact. Even during discussions, you sit in the back and draw in the margins, not even bothering to listen and contemplating leaving early. A group of girls that you recognize to be from Juri’s group are being especially nasty, giggling whenever you look in their general vicinity. 

This is starting to get really annoying. 

With a half a mind to ask them what’s so fucking funny, discussion ends early and you have a lunch date with the rest of your friends so you bolt out of there, slamming your lunch tray down on the table with much confusion from your two friends. You explain it to them while eating in hopes that they can crack the code too. 

“Maybe they think you’re pretty,” Nayeon tries. 

“I didn’t even put foundation on. I highly doubt they think I’m pretty,” you mumble the last bit, crossing your arms over the table and resting your forehead on them. “They’re laughing at me.”

Like a fly buzzing by your ear, their giggles irritate you beyond comprehension.  

Embarrassing. That’s the best way to describe the surface of how you feel. Embarrassed and paranoid and scared because of how everyone seems to be in on a joke except for you. 

For a second, you go back to the insecure teenager in high school who just wanted someone around. Who wanted love and affection and popularity because who fucking doesn’t at that age?  Only for all of those popular cool kids to be making fun of you, laughing at your expense, and reminding you of everything you were insecure about. This feels just like that. 

“Do you think Wooshik did something?”

You look up, scanning the cafeteria for a mop of black hair and he’s chilling with his new girl who he’s been absolutely obsessed with judging by his expression. He looks like he’s having the time of his life ever since you two ended your little spat.

Wooshik is petty but only when he’s been slighted. If he’s happy then he’s pretty harmless. So there’s no way it’s him. 

“Nah. There has to be something else.” You start picking at the skin on the side of your thumb, where it’s gotten a bit dry thanks to the change in weather. 

The cafeteria is loud today, more people opting to stay inside rather than walk around for a restaurant to eat at since it’s bound to start raining any time soon. It feels like millions of people crowd in every pocket of space available yet your brain fixates on the eyes trained on you. Like they are all pointing, laughing, guffawing at whatever joke they are making at your expense. You start to sweat, feeling cornered in your spot. 

You should be used to this being the college’s rebound girl but everyone’s disdain for you has never been so apparent. People stuck to their occasional disapproving looks and maybe, there was a low comment when news of you hooking up with another person circled the campus but it’s never been this bad before. 

All of the worst possible outcomes form inside your head. Did someone sneak into your house and take nude photos of you? Maybe someone from your high school came and told some bullshit story? 

What else could the reason be?

“Hey guys.” Jeongguk smiles, setting down a cup of instant noodles and pulling you out of your spiral. “Taehyung and Jimin are in the bathroom but they’ll be here soon.” Gently, he plops next to you and the scent of him is enough to calm you down. 

Familiar, sweet and soft as always. 

And he looks great in a navy blue Nike hoodie and black jeans, oversized as always, but you’re one of the few people that knows what he looks like underneath all of those clothes. 

So much honey toned skin; a chiseled stomach and chest; defined arms and legs; gorgeous, truly gorgeous. 

Jeongyeon furrows her eyebrows at him. “Why aren’t you eating the cafeteria food?” She asks with concern. 

“Ah, I'm not super hungry. I had a big breakfast,” Jeongguk waves off, showing the ⅔ full cup of ramen he had. “I’m probably gonna go home early too since I have a League of Legends match with my team soon.” 

You nod in response, half-listening. Jeongguk had explained his gaming league thing to you a few days ago. He used to be on a team for fun but he’s currently trying to join a semi-professional one for fun since he isn’t in any clubs or organizations on campus. Not that Jeongguk is particularly interested in those but, these gaming leagues have been calling out to him for a while.

Anyways, this game is supposed to serve as kind of an audition and if he does well enough, he’s in. You silently hope for his success. 

Then there’s a gentle nudge at your side. “How’d you do on the physics quiz?” Jeongguk asks, taking some steaming noodles to his mouth with a pair of perfectly split chopsticks. 

“100%.” You beamed. It was a shock to you when you saw the score online but mostly relieving. 

“Yay, that’s great.” Jeongguk held out a palm for a high-five which you reciprocated, wishing you could just kiss him. The way he smiles so brightly was enough to get you to forget about all of the eyes on you, almost increasing when you started interacting with him. “Knew you could do it.”

“Well I’d have to thank my tutor.”   

His eyes roll. “Sure but I barely did anything. You knew most of it already.” 

Nayeon and Jeongyeon laugh at the face you make, then prompt Jeongguk to try to get him to start tutoring them. When he asks what subject, they just say all of them, which makes him cutely blush for some reason. He’s a deadly mix of cute, adorable, sweet, hot and sexy and you cannot handle when each of those characteristics hit you in one go. 

You almost start to tease him about it when a set of two drop harshly onto the table’s bench with an air of annoyance around them. Suddenly, all of the bright happiness floats away. 

“Jeongguk, have you been lying to me?” Taehyung asks point blank with a hurt expression on his face. Jeongguk’s smile begins to fade. 

“About what? You know I was just joking when I said your orange hair looked funny–”

The brunette’s frown deepens. “Not about that. I mean about the girl who supposedly dumped you? And who the fuck is RG anyways?” Taehyung asks with a shake of his head, coffee colored tufts swishing in the wind.   

RG?

“What?” Jeongguk’s chin pulls back.Your panic is instant. “What are you talking about?”

Jimin cuts in with an annoyed groan. “Some guy in the bathroom was telling us about a rumor going around that this older girl dumped you and now you’re sleeping with someone else to get back at her.” Your stomach drops. No, this can’t be happening. “Apparently it was posted on some forum called–”

“GossipLeaks,” Jeongyeon supplies. The younger three look at her in confusion while Nayeon cringes. “It's this depraved site where losers with no social skills sit and refresh the page for drama from every department to fill the void inside of them instead of getting a job. Usually a person will upload a picture or start a thread and people will exchange gossip, start gossip, discuss gossip or talk shit until their fingers start bleeding. It’s hell on earth.” 

You hate that fucking site so much. It played a huge role in creating your reputation after all. 

Almost every single person on campus is there. Nayeon went slightly viral when she dumped her situationship for Jeongyeon by throwing a smoothie over his head after he said something rude to her. Someone threatened to leak their ex’s nudes to the website because they were cheated on.  Incels crowd on so they can hate on women while others live for the gossip, scrolling relentlessly to point and laugh even though their lives aren’t anything to be proud of. 

It has yet to be taken down since nothing bad is actually exchanged besides harsh words but the site is barely moderated. Not as much as it should be. 

Anyone who crosses a line has the potential to be sued but since most college students are broke, the possibility is rare. Sounds amazing, right? 

Now poor Jeongguk is at the receiving end. You can’t believe someone is lying about sleeping with him and about him rebounding with someone else. Jeongguk hasn’t even had sex before and (as far as you know) you’re the only person who has touched him. Who could do something like this?

“Show me the post,” he asks, resting his elbows on the table’s surface.  

Jimin searches it up on his phone and then places the device down, scrolling through the threads with a small pointer finger and clicking on one, then turning it towards you two. 

The pictures take a second to load but reading the post header was enough to make your mouth run dry. 

RG’s newest conquest: some loser 2nd year that was brutally dumped by Social Sciences student representative Kim Juri over the summer.

Oh great, Juri spread the rumor. Now you have the perfect reason to manifest her getting shit on by a bird. 

“Wh–” you can’t even finish your sentence. The pictures load and it’s even worse than you imagined. 

First is the two of you standing outside of your apartment building. There’s a breath of distance between your bodies and you’re laughing at something he said. His face crinkles as well, the dimples on his cheeks pop out. It looks friendly but it can easily be misconstrued. 

And the second one is of the two of you hugging, squished together like you’re trying to become one whole person, and that seals the deal. 

Your heart drops to the heels of your feet. You’re RG. Of course you’re fucking RG. Rebound Girl = RG. It’s practically part of your identity.

Suddenly, everything is making sense. The people laughing, staring at you; it’s another scandal all over again only this time, you roped in someone you actually cared about instead of someone broken hearted you decided to sleep with a few times. Now his name is soured by the stench of your bad decisions. 

You want to cry. You didn’t–you couldn’t drag Jeongguk or anyone else for the matter into your mess. 

It was always your problem to handle on your own. It was always your cross to bear. The guys you fucked never mattered once it was all said and done. Most of the time, they got street cred or they were praised while you were the dirty slut so it wasn’t like you could feel bad for them. They were always painted as the winners. But you’re terrified of what this could do for Jeongguk. 

Would he get harassed? Made fun of for giving in easily? Would he lose his chances of finding someone he actually likes this year? 

Would he want nothing to do with you afterwards?

You begin to panic, spiraling deep into the depths of your self-hating brain. How could you miss someone snapping a picture of you two in broad daylight? You should’ve done better. 

This is the worst possible thing you could imagine coming out of hanging with Jeongguk is that he would become privy to the mess that is your social life. A small part of your brain even considered this, especially after Jeongguk rejected Juri but you let it go and now you’re pissed because you should’ve been smarter. 

You should’ve pushed him away, studied on your own that night. No, you should’ve been more careful. 

You should’ve never thought you could openly hang out with him and not suffer the consequences. What were you thinking?

Once everyone has read the post, Jimin takes his phone back and continues scrolling through. No one says anything for a moment, then:

“Guys, don’t believe a word that comes out of Kim Juri’s lying mouth. She hates us,” Nayeon motions to you, her and Jeongyeon, “and she’ll do anything to make other people follow suit. Trust me.” She stresses, even abandoning her meal to reiterate. Jeongyeon nods animatedly. But the problem is much deeper than that. 

You wanted to be friends but she never entertained the idea after you got labeled as the rebound girl. Constantly tormenting you, throwing your promiscuity in your face, and denying your efforts to reconcile. 

At some point, you grew some humility and dropped the idea of you and Juri ever getting along. You’re a girl's girl but you also don’t hate yourself to desperately pine over some mean girl’s approval. 

So, now things have turned out like this.  

This is so annoyingly unfair. It's tiring  living like this, pretending like you aren’t bothered and that taking the high ground will benefit you. All you do is let Juri get away because you know deep down that fighting back has no point. 

“What a loser,” Jimin curses, turning to you with that apologetic look on his soft features. 

Taehyung does the same. “Yeah, she must have a lot of free time on her hands if this is all she does.” 

You return their kind words with a weak but meaningful smile. It doesn’t make the storm brewing up inside of you go away. It just makes things worse. Because yes, Juri is a loser but she’s only a loser in your eyes. Everyone else sees her as the complete opposite. People will always be on her side. She’s done great PR to make you look like a dick-thirsty, back-stabbing bitch. There’s no way anyone would support you. 

At the least, you’d have your two friends but Jeongguk and Jimin and Taehyung don’t need to be dragged into this war with Juri. Let them have fun, mess around, and be normal college kids while you take the heat. It’s always been that way after all. 

Jeongyeon snorts. “She’ll get some karma in return for all of this. I can just feel it.” 

There’s a slight lull in the conversation. You feel like the boys are doing their best to hold back from asking the question, the one that you really don’t want them to, while your friends are doing their best to maintain the light composure that was just there. 

It’s coming. That question. You know it is. 

Those words were blatantly on the screen and they aren’t idiots. They’re probably connecting the dots as you sit here and panic about it and you simply cannot handle those words coming from their mouths. Especially Jeongguk’s. 

Considering you watched him grow up, he’s the last person you’d want to know about being the rebound girl. 

Jeongguk’s mouth opens. You can practically see the cogs and wheels in his brain turn and that’s it for you.  

Immediately, you get up from your spot. They all look at you, concerned and confused. There’s a heavy layer of pity that now disgusts you too much for you to stay. 

“I should go,” you mumble, grabbing your things as quickly as possible. 

All of their faces morph into shock. “What?” The three boys say at the same time. 

“Babe, no, it’s fine.” Jeongyeon tries but you’ve already finished your food and your phone and bag are slung over your shoulder. 

A single touch grazes the back of your hand. “Noona, you don’t have to–”

You shake your head and dip your eyes down, refusing to be reasonable. 

“I’ll talk to you guys later. Bye.” 

This is for the best. 

Put some distance between you and Jeongguk, let the rumor die down a little, and then maybe you can hang out with him in private. Obviously no more kissing or hooking up so you’ll have to force whatever is growing inside of you to die off but you can do that. Yeah, no problem.  

Then Jeongguk can find a girl he really likes and be with her without the implications of whatever went on between the two of you looming over his head and ruining his chances. 

You turn and exit the cafeteria before anyone can stop you, taking long strides and putting a surgical mask over your face to block out your features. You even draw your hood up and shove earbuds in so you wouldn’t have to hear anymore whispers. 

Although the effort is futile; all your brain does is repeat the same words over and over again. 

Slut. 

Whore. 

Rebound girl. 

They’re starting to become synonymous with your name. Maybe you should stop pretending like you’re anything different and just accept the name for what it is. Maybe Junho was right after all. Seojoon too. 

Maybe you’re good for nothing else but a fun romp every once in a while. A tight hole and a soft wet mouth, pliant for any man who gives you attention because you’re so desperate for it, desperate for love. 

You always thought that you were hardwired wrong by always believing men when they tell you that they’re broken and beg for you to lick their wounds. That you simply just never learn from your mistakes no matter how intense they get because of that idiotic faulty screw in your skull that wants you to give this guy the benefit of the doubt. 

But maybe, you’re simply an awful person. 

Maybe you don’t actually care about the guys. You just have some shitty savior complex turned into a hunger for hurting men. Maybe you’re an awful person who deserves this. 

Before you can stop it, tears stream down your cheeks, rolling down your neck and underneath your hoodie as you walk as fast as you can towards the subway station. That tightness in your chest worsening as the very last bits of strength you were holding onto crumble into nothing. 

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The hangout was extremely impromptu. 

Jeongguk hadn’t seen you for the rest of the week and he was starting to get worried. You had responded to his texts in short, curt words, saying you were sick and that your professors were emailing you PDFs of classwork so there was no need to pick up anything. When he offered to bring some soup, you declined once more saying your mom was already bringing some and since then, he hasn’t found another excuse to come see you. 

It hurt. It hurt watching you get hurt, it hurt watching you hold back tears as you ran off to hide your hurt and it fucking hurts watching you pretend like everything is okay when it’s not. 

Jeongguk doesn’t care about the rumor. So what if people were staring and he got teased every now and then? It’s not true so it didn’t matter. 

But he realized, seeing your reaction, that the two of you were getting treated differently. 

While everyone was praising him for getting laid by “rebound girl,” and other girls began debating his potential in bed, you were getting vilified beyond anything. He heard girls in his class degrade you, calling you a slut, a whore, saying that you’d sleep with anyone if it gave you enough attention. Jeongguk would glare in their direction, scaring them off, but the whispers still swirled around him. 

After that, he wanted that stupid website to be filled with malware and be destroyed. Hell, he’d do it himself if that wasn’t a cybercrime. This whole thing has been blown way out of proportion. 

And, holy shit, the things men have been saying to him… 

It’s honestly disgusting. 

Ayyy, get it Jeon!

Knew you were a fucking stallion behind that nerdy look you got goin on.

Did she suck you off? I heard she’s really good with her mouth.

Someone came up to him and expressed regret that Jeongguk was the first and only second year to get with rebound girl, claiming he wanted to be the first but because you’re so picky, he couldn’t. Jeongguk had almost punched him but Taehyung held him back, reminding him that he could lose his scholarship too if he stooped too low. 

He hates this and he hates that you have to go through something like this. 

For the past few days, all Jeongguk could think about was how strong you were. He doesn’t know how you got this nickname, why it’s such a big deal to everyone around you, but he wished it never happened. Thanks to this rumor, you had to grow a thick skin so that you could simply be you and not have to worry about other people but unfortunately, misogyny is rampant. It made you become strong, become resilient, and he wishes that it wasn’t because of that. 

Jeongguk thought up some kind of plan to get Juri to take the post down or to publicly clear the air but he also didn’t want to play the white knight, trampling all over a situation that barely involved him. Stepping on your toes by trying to solve this could only hurt you further. 

So all he could do was wait. 

Wait for you to text back, wait for you to reappear. 

Jeongguk grows antsy and he tries to distract himself from worrying. School isn’t helping one bit so he plays games and goes to the gym as much as he can. And when that doesn’t work well–

Thankfully, his friends are an interesting bunch which brings him back to the reason why this whole hang out started. 

Nayeon and Jeongyeon were walking over with Jimin while Taehyung was hounding Jeongguk at the campus entrance over something he absolutely hates doing: buying weed. 

“C’mon, he’s literally giving it to you for free!” Taehyung whined, showing the text on Jeongguk’s phone to him like he hasn’t already read it, eyes rolling at his friends’ desperation. 

Let’s get one thing clear: Jeongguk has no problem with weed. He almost had an edible once by complete accident but he spit the rest out the minute his cousin told him that the gummy was laced with contraband so the effect didn’t do much for him. Being friends with these two dipshits means that the smell constantly follows him and he’s used to dealing with their giggly asses every now and then. Taehyung has a bong hidden in his apartment while Jimin aptly had a bright pink pipe patterned with cats all over it but he dropped it and loudly sobbed when the thing cracked in half. 

He isn’t a goody-two shoes but, speaking candidly, he’s never really felt the need to do it. 

It’s the same with alcohol. Jeongguk doesn’t get the urge to sit down with a beer and crack one open after a long day nor does he ever want to get shitfaced for fun. He needs to have complete control over himself and everything he does and everything he says because he gets the feeling that he’d be the type to tell someone his PIN number when inebriated or irritate everyone with his antics which is probably related to his anxiety but whatever. So nothing about the practice is relaxing to him. Getting drunk or high can actually make Jeongguk really fucking nervous but his peers disagree. 

Especially Taehyung who is a staunch believer that smoking weed is the best way to calm down and that food tastes better when high. Jeongguk is a bit curious about that last bit. 

But back to the begging. To make a long fucking story short: Jeongguk knows a dealer. 

Not voluntarily. A seedy 3rd year who he also tutored over the summer made sure to let Jeongguk know that he would give him some free shit he wanted as payback for all of the help passing Chemistry. Never did he think he’d take the guy up on his offer until now. 

Taehyung filled everyone in on the backstory and now Jeongguk has four people begging him like dogs wanting a treat. He pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing in irritation. 

“What if I get caught?” He asked; the most important question. 

Jimin countered back. “You won’t. He’s literally going to hand you a regular-ass bag and no one will suspect a thing. We can take it from you as soon as you get back here and smoke some today,” he offered, met with cheers of approval.  

Jeongguk’s chest twists. He wishes you were here to help. You were still nowhere to be found and he misses you so much. You’d probably laugh that cute laugh of yours, egg Jeongguk on with the rest of them but have concern in your pretty eyes to let him know that this wasn’t peer pressure. That he could say no and it wouldn’t be a bad thing. 

Unfortunately, he has to face this alone. 

Jeongguk gives the two girls a surprised look. “Did you two already finish your tin of edibles?” 

“Nah, we’re gonna save that for midterms so we can get zonked and watch Shark Tale while eating fried chicken.”  Jeongyeon answers, tugging  Nayeon close. 

“Awww,” Taehyung pouted. “Can we do that?” Turning to his boyfriend and gently gripping the sleeve of his shirt. 

Jimin winked at the younger. “Whatever you want baby,” then turned to the other, “but only if Einstein over here can grow some balls and say yes.” Taehyung directs his puckered lips towards him, batting his eyelashes like a cartoon character. 

Jeongguk is a weak man. He can be a people pleaser but only to those who he loves. His sisters, you and his two best friends fall into that category. 

Because one pout from Taehyung and he folds, like the weak man he is. 

“Fuck, fine. I’ll ask,” he unlocks his phone and texts the dude. “But only once! Just go to your trusted guy after this, okay?”

Taehyung and Jimin salute him. “Yes sir!” 

Jeongguk texts the guy to hand it over to him after his last class after lunch, who was more than happy to supply the guy who helped him pass his summer classes. In fact, he looked proud, jabbing Jeongguk with his pointy elbow and saying that he’s finally pulling that stick out of his ass. Whatever, Jeongguk is not that uptight. He can have fun in lots of other ways!

But  Jimin was right. The smell is barely there and the bag itself looks inconspicuous. His curiosity took over him to peek inside while walking with the others. There was a silver tin, a bag of powdered weed, a pack of peach ring edibles and two brownies. 

“Fuck, this is so much,” Jeongyeon marvels at the bag as they reach the outside of ana apartment building, pulling out the silver tin and gasping when it opens up to a set of rolled joints. “Oh my, he gave you pre-rolled joints! We’re hitting these right now.” 

Which is how Jeongguk found himself in Nayeon's studio apartment. Sitting around a coffee table with the spiked food and her TV playing Sailor Moon. He did his best to not think about how her room looked a lot like yours with all of the cute stuffed animals and posters and how her little pomeranian dog yapped happily whenever he gave it attention. The bed that he’s leaning against reminds him of the same bed where the two of you laid while your lips and hands and tongue made him feel things he’s never felt before. 

Jeongguk can’t stop thinking about you. It takes all of his restraint not to shoot you a text, not to associate everything he sees with memories of you and that night in particular. 

But he should stop so he idiotically doesn’t pop a boner with everyone else around. Thinking of you usually does that for him. 

So he focuses on the clouds of smoke blown right in front of his face as Nayeon starts on the joint. She coughs just a bit, then passes it to Jeongyeon who takes two indulgent puffs and then passes it to Taehyung and then Jimin.  Their eyes glaze over, tension from the long school day disappearing as the drugs take their effect. 

“You wanna try it?” Jimin asks, holding the flamed stick towards Jeongguk. He stares down at it, then up at his friends’ reddened eyes. 

Does he?

Everyone else seems so relaxed and Jeongguk could use some relaxation. Besides, it won’t kill him to take one hit. He’s surrounded by seasoned potheads so they’ll know what to do. It’ll be fine. Everything is fine. Maybe he’ll stop fretting over you and relax. Clear his brain for once.

Carefully, he places the tip between his lips and Taehyung explains the process. Inhale, hold it for a bit, exhale slowly. It’s supposed to burn at first and then it’ll get better. He coughs like a motherfucker and his throat might as well be on fire. But he drinks some water, tries again, and it’s a lot easier. 

Weed has a particular taste that Jeongguk doesn’t mind. The smoke is somewhat bitter on his tongue and then earthy. He feels nothing then, five minutes later, he gets this lightness in his chest and head. Or a fuzziness is more like it.  He’s almost sleepy and really hungry. Jeongguk begins devouring a packet of chocolate covered pretzels and then scarfing down two slices of pizza right after eating lunch only two hours ago. Those two things have never tasted so good before. 

Jeongguk also finds that weed makes him giggly. Like really giggly. 

He spent two minutes laughing at the way his toes looked with his toe socks on. Then about how long Taehyung’s fingers are in comparison to Jimin’s, then about the word duty (hilarious) to the point of tears springing from his eyes. Then Jeongyeon wanted to paint his nails which Jeongguk was all for and he chose a metallic midnight blue which she skilfully painted before starting on the others. Taehyung got maroon and Jimin got lilac.

Afterwards, the conversation lulled and their stomachs were full. Most of them were on the brink of falling asleep until Jimin proposed they all play a game. 

It was basically the game Hot Takes but without any cards with prompts and dividing up into teams. Basically each person had to share a “hot take,” or an opinion/commentary that’s uncommon or meant to start a debate. 

Which is a great game to play when the entire gang is not sober. 

Taehyung started off with a simple one: people who don’t like pineapple on pizza are immature babies. This sparked quite the argument to the point where Jeongyeon was questioning their friendship before the timer went off. Then she shared hers. 

Men who don’t like cats are red flags. This is factually true though. No one really disagreed so they moved on. 

Then Jimin went. His was: Men who refuse to listen to female artists are also raging red flags. Very much true. No debate there. 

Then Jeongguk: Vanilla is the worst ice cream flavor.  It tastes like a candle. Like nothing. Jeongguk hates tasteless things. Some agreed with him, Jimin glared at him from the side but his cheeks were puffed with food so he’s nowhere near as intimidating as he’d think.

Then came Nayeon. She cleared her throat, then popped a green tea kit kat in her mouth. “As someone who has hooked up with both men and women, I can surely say that men don’t know how to give head.” She says confidently. 

Silence rings in the air for a moment. Jeongyeon is sitting smug next to her girlfriend, while Jimin and Taehyung look confused. 

And Jeongguk…well, he’s a bit confused too.

“Excuse you, I give great head,” Jimin places a hand on his chest, offended. “Have you seen these luscious lips? And I don’t have a gag reflex!”

Nayeon rolls her eyes. “Okay, well I don’t know how it goes for men but I’m talking about going down on women. They suck at it and most women agree.” Her arms cross over her chest confidently. 

Jeongguk immediately thinks about you. He wants to know if you would agree. 

Taehyung rests his head on Jeongguk’s shoulder. “How so?”

“They don’t do the right things. Porn has rotted their brains to thinking that moaning into it and moving their tongue around you is enough when it isn’t. You can’t just wiggle it around and expect me to scream and come like a paid actress.” Nayeon huffs. “I used to think something was wrong with me until,” she trails off, pink dusting her cheeks and it’s clear what she meant. Jeongyeon’s shoulders grow even higher with confidence. “A-and you can’t even tell them that it doesn’t feel good because then you bruise their ego and they’ll never do it again.”

Hearing that, Jeongguk begins to panic. 

Is he like that? Did he not listen to you that night? 

Fuck, he’s so selfish. Did you even enjoy it when he touched you? Did he even ask?

No You definitely felt something, he felt you coming, but was it good? Was he being selfish?

Oh god. Oh godgodgodgod. 

“Honestly, they should take note from us,” Jeongyeon pulls Nayeon close. “I’ve never gotten complaints.” She looks cutely proud. 

Taehyung pipes up. “I think us gays are just better at sex,” he feigns nonchalance while everyone hollers and toasts to their perfect, idealistic, amazing sex lives. 

Everyone but Jeongguk. 

All he does is think

That night when he got hard, he had no idea things would escalate to where they did but he’s so glad because he loved every second of it. From kissing, to your teasing tone, to your mouth around him, to his fingers inside of you and all the way until you came; it was perfect. Since then, Jeongguk has thought about another opportunity way more than he’d like to admit. He’s more confident now and he wants to try more things. 

Gone is the first time insecurity. Jeongguk wants to take control, watch you shake and cry and beg for more. He wants you to feel good. That, in and of itself, is hot to him. 

But he also wants to do well. Jeongguk doesn’t want to be like the guys Nayeon was talking about. 

He knows the best way would be to directly ask you what you like but you aren’t here right now and Jeongguk knows he’ll chicken out when you’re all spread out underneath him and pretty all because he wants to impress you. 

Besides, he’s relied on porn this far and if Nayeon says it’s a bad example, then he needs to learn. 

Might as well take advantage of having two people who know how to please women and understand the basics. 

Sober Jeongguk would never. Sober Jeongguk would worry himself into a panic attack and then use the internet instead of an actual person but sober Jeongguk isn’t here at the moment.

At some point, Jimin and Taehyung fall asleep on top of each other with their hands half inside the pizza box and that’s when he gains the courage to go talk to your friends.

Meekly, he slinks over to the kitchen where Nayeon and Jeongyeon are standing. Their backs pressed against the counter while the kettle boils some water for ramen. They’re laughing about something until Nayeon makes eye contact with him and kindly raises a brow.

“What’s up?”

He wasn’t so nervous at first but looking at her, Jeongguk is now getting nervous. “Um, so–uh– about the-the game we were playing,” he wipes his sweaty hands on his pants. “I wanted to–and please feel free to tell me to fuck off if you’re uncomfortable, I’m not trying to be weird or anything, but–”

“Spit it out, kid,” Jeongyeon teases, poking the dimple in his cheek and making him flinch. 

Jeongguk exhales shakily, trying to slow his heart rate down some more. 

“Are all guys really that bad when they…um, when they, you know…” He circles his hands so they can fill in the blank and thankfully, the two pick up what he’s saying. Nayeon laughs at his stuttery behavior. 

“Well, I’m sure there are some guys out there that are great at eating girls out but not the ones I’ve met.” She takes a joint that was resting on a tray on the counter top, inhaling deeply, and then offers it to Jeongguk who accepts. “They just don’t know what they’re doing and they have no interest in learning, unlike women. Sex is an individual thing for them. Their pleasure and their feelings only.” Locks of honey blonde float in the air with the gentle breeze from the open kitchen window. “Why do you ask? Plan on doing it?”

He blushes, holding the smoke in for a few seconds before releasing it. “Y-yeah,” avoiding their eyes because this is so goddamn embarrassing what is he doing and it’s you he’s talking about. But they don’t have to know that. “I want her to feel good and you said that women are better at it. So I wanna learn how.”

Jeongguk wants you to feel good. 

Ever since he first touched you, he can’t get it out of his head. The noises you make, the way your legs twitch and your hips rise when you’re just about to come is so fucking hot. Jeongguk can’t imagine how much sexier you’d sound with your legs wrapped around his head or seated on his face as you come over and over and over again. Wet and sobbing and spent on top of him just like you deserve.  

But, he needs to gain some understanding before he does anything. 

Jeongyeon smiles. Jeongguk is unsure if they know he’s talking about you or if they’re assuming he’s got some other girl on the side that he wants to please but he can’t worry about that right now. Golden advice is being poured into his ears like fresh ambrosia from the gods themselves. 

“Alright, all you have to do is…”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Are you almost home?” You hear your mom’s voice pour from the speakers in your earbuds. 

Looking down the end of the street, you see your apartment building, so you bring the microphone close to your lips to speak. “Yeah, like ten seconds away.” Thank god too, your arms were hurting from carrying your tote bag and the packaged food your mom sent you away with. 

After Tuesday, when you were publicly humiliated,  you didn’t go back to school. Walking home in the rain without an umbrella gave you a slight cold and that combined with the pain you felt emotionally, resulted in you needing to go home for two days. There’s something about being doted on, eating home-cooked food, and the comfort of a parent that makes all sicknesses feel like nothing. Thankfully, she lives a 30 minute train ride from here on the opposite side of Seoul.  

It was nice. You didn’t tell your mom about what had gone down. Just gave her a basic run down as to why you got sick and not much else. 

Oh and you did tell her that you and Jeongguk reconnected but that’s about it. There’s no telling how your mother would react if she found out the two of you hooked up. You’re close with her but not that close. 

But now that you’re feeling better, you;ll probably call him and explain yourself. Then put an end to hooking up for good so you don’t repeat this mistake. 

“Make sure you carry that mini umbrella in your bag. I keep on telling you and you never listened to me,” she lectures, making you groan. 

“I know, I know, you were right,” your tone is light so she can tell you’re just messing with her. “I’ll put one in my bag as soon as I get home, okay?”

“Okay,” she sighs. The sound of the doorbell rings  in the background. “Oh shoot, okay. I have to go darling, the repairman is here to fix the washing machine. Bye! Stay safe! Eat the soup!” 

You reach the front of your apartment building anyways so no need to call. “Bye mom,” you mumble back, opening the front door and then walking to the elevators because you are too exhausted for the stairs. To use them, you scan the sensor on your keys and press the up button. 

It’s quiet in this lobby. No music, no group of people giggling or talking about their plans. It’s a Saturday evening and this building, filled with college students, is pin drop silent. 

You hate it because it leaves you alone with your tired, buzzing brain who has not been kind to you these past few days. 

Ever since that cursed post on GossipLeaks, you’ve been regretting the day you ever let a man into your life romantically. The day you had sex for the first time has been the catalyst in all of this. No peace, no happiness, just slut shaming and pain. 

Honestly, what’s the most annoying part about all of this is that your body count isn’t that high. 

Not that any number of hookups should warrant this kind of treatment.  It’s no one’s business and shaming people for having healthy consensual sex is so lame. 

Leaving Jeongguk out because you didn’t sleep with him, you’ve fucked about 30 guys. That’s over the course of almost four years since you had sex for the first time in high school.  It’s not that bad. There are guys on this campus bragging about their count being in the 200s yet not a single word of criticism or judgment is thrown their way. They’re praised and seen as gods. 

But when you have some fun casual sex every once in a while, suddenly you’re a harlot and you deserve nothing. Yeah, that sounds fair.

Switching the song on your playlist to 505 by the Arctic Monkeys, you exit the elevator to your floor and pull your keys out from the pocket of your hoodie. It’s dinner time and your mom packed your favorite. 

You open the door to find Snowball yowling at you for attention. You had Nayeon and Jeongyeon take care of her while you were back home.  She’s usually pretty okay with them but some days she simply needs to have you around. Today must’ve been one of those days.  Cooing, you set your bag on the ground and reach towards her to scratch the side of her face and pinch her cheeks. 

“Sorry baby, I’m home now, okay?” Snowball purrs in response. You pick her up and cuddle with her in your lap for a little bit until she’s had enough attention for now. 

To compensate for your absence, you got some treats too and the little ball of fur happily eats up the salmon treats while you put the food away. 

Then you light up a candle, open your windows to let the stuffy air out and begin on a few simple chores. Mainly putting the dry dishes back in the cupboard, cleaning the cat litter, some laundry and finally taking out the trash. 

You always enjoy doing these kinds of things, especially after a long few days of eating garbage and wallowing in your sick sadness. It feels nice to have fresh sheets and an empty trash can (you do the others daily already). Like a reset, a new start, which is just what you needed. 

Although, part of you feels bad for avoiding your friends for so long. 

Let’s be honest, you were embarrassed beyond anything and then the rain actually gave you a cold so some time away was 100% necessary. However, you wish you didn’t storm out without much of an explanation. You were just so embarrassed and sad and you didn’t want to cry in front of people who were clearly laughing at your demise. 

Bolting was the best choice but now that you’ve had your space, you really just want to explain yourself to the three of them, specifically Jeongguk who is directly affected by shit like this. 

While boys have it infinitely easier because they aren’t ostracized for their sexual activity, he must be uncomfortable with all of the questions being thrown his way. Maybe you’ll call him over the weekend for coffee and let him know or you could actually just facetime him so you won’t have to leave your house. Whatever, you’ll figure it out later. 

Before depositing the bags of trash to the large bins outside the apartment building, you take a quick shower, changing into a freshly washed set of clothes that are still warm from the dryer. 

Smelling like fresh laundry and the flowery scent of your lotion, you hum a song under your lips while taking the three bags outside to the bins. You think nothing of it. It’s around 8pm, most people are out right now, either going back home or leaving it. Tons of bodies are expected. 

Quickly, you round to the back of the building, dump the bags, and just as you turn the corner, your eyes meet that special pair. 

Big, sparkly, innocent when they want to be, salacious at times, but endearing nonetheless.  

“Jeongguk,” you exhale. 

He looks good, great, actually. The wind has tousled his hair around, making it look like he styled it to be messy and fluffy. Jeongguk has mastered an effortless look with a dark blue windbreaker, black cargos and white chunky sneakers. You can even see some rings on his fingers that match the ones hanging from his earlobes. 

Jeongguk turns at the sound of your voice and immediately rushes over to you. “Noona,” his eyes soften immediately, “Are you feeling better?” He asks, delicately holding you away with two hands on either side of your arms.

His touch is warm, even through the thick material of your hoodie. Makes your stomach flip. 

“Yeah, lots.” You giggle barely, patting his arm softly. “What are you doing here?” Jeongguk removes his hold on you, shoving them into the pockets of his jacket. 

“I had a meeting with my league captain’s place two blocks from here and I was going to catch the train using the station near your place.” 

“Oh.” You open your mouth to say something but his stomach rumbles loudly and Jeongguk covers the area up with his arms in embarrassment, making you smile. “Hungry?” He blinks at you widely and cutely. 

“Yeah but only if you’re okay with it. I know,” he looks to the side awkwardly, “I know you wanted space and all so it’s cool if not. I can get Subway or something.”

As kind as it is for Jeongguk to respect this boundary that you haven’t verbally admitted is already somewhat gone, you’d feel bad letting him walk around on an empty stomach. 

“I’m cool with it. My mom packed way too much anyways.”  You shrug to make him more likely to say yes. Thankfully, it works.

Jeongguk scratches the back of his neck, sniffling from the cold once and then nodding. So you beckon him to walk next to you, back inside your apartment building and inside the elevator. 

The conversation is brief and minimal, mainly asking about his week and how his meeting with his league went. You get brief responses in return which make you think he’s either annoyed with you or simply too hungry for chit chat. It’s slightly annoying that you don’t have the courage to be forthright and ask him how he’s feeling as if you didn’t have this man’s dick in your mouth a week ago. 

Come on, you think as the elevator doors part. What’s the worst that he could say?

“Yeah, I am annoyed because you left for three days and I haven’t heard from you since.”

Well, you had a reason and a valid one at that. Besides, Jeongguk wouldn’t be annoyed over something so understandable. 

The keys unlock the front door and you hold it open for Jeongguk, who slips his sneakers off and is immediately met by a curious Snowball. The moment she recognizes him, she headbuts her head into his calf, purring loudly. 

“Hi baby,” he coos, petting her after plopping on the ground. You watch from halfway to the kitchen, a smile instantly forming on your lips as Snowball practically melts under his touch. 

“She missed you,” you muse. “Looks like you’re the favorite.” 

Jeongguk snorts. “Doubt it,” he looks up at you through his lashes, flashing the one deep dimple he has on his cheek along with the various creases in his skin. 

Your heart flutters immediately. 

“I’ll reheat the food.”

There’s a comfortable silence that resumes among the two of you. Jeongguk moves to the coffee table, leans against the edge of your bed and pets a purring Snowball while you tinker in the kitchen. He turns on the TV, watches a replay of some Mnet performance and hums along softly. You bring the steaming dishes out along with rice and chopsticks, settling a comfortable distance from the younger and eating. 

He doesn’t say a word. You change the channel to the k-drama you were just binging during the train ride that you’ve watched maybe 900 times and Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. 

Your eyes well up at the romantic scenes and you bury your feelings into green tea Kit-Kats and tea. Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. 

He doesn’t say a single word until the food is all done, the drama rolls the credits and Snowball has moved to a corner far away to sleep. Then Jeongguk gains the courage to ask you. 

“Do you…do you want to talk about it?” Jeongguk asks meekly. 

At first, you had no idea what he meant. Then it hits. 

Of course he’d want some answers. It’s his name that’s attached to your stupid label. Not like you can keep Jeongguk in the dark forever, right?

You had prepared yourself for this so you weren’t as uncomfortable but when the time hits, you sort of want to crawl into a ball and die. 

You sigh, keeping your eyes on the half-finished bag of Kit-Kats. “No… yes… sort of.”

 The thing is, only two people know the full story: Nayeon and Jeongyeon. Your mom knows about high school but those two have every detail. 

Usually, you wouldn’t be so keen on spilling this out to anyone but the look on Jeongguk’s face is genuine concern and he isn’t some sleazy hookup you met at a bar. Jeongguk actually cares about you. He won’t use this against you or shame you. He’s asking because he cares.  So it should be okay.

Besides, it gets tiring holding all of this in from your mom and adding on each shitty story to the pile. It’s close to overflowing inside of you and you need to let some out. 

Jeongguk is trustworthy. He knows you. So you decide to start from the beginning of all of this. 

“My track record with guys isn’t exactly clean,” you start, staring at the Hello Kitty pattern on your socks. “The first guy I slept with only did it as a bet because he knew I really liked him.” There’s a drop in your stomach at the mere mention of Seojoon. His gentle laughter and rough hands and how he barely even flinched when he saw how much you were crying when you found out. “He told me we were dating and that he was in love with me. I stupidly believed him and let him take my virginity because I wanted him so bad that I didn’t even see the red flags. Then I saw him making out with another girl and… it sort of broke me.” 

Back then, you were quite the target. You were poor, your clothes and books were cheap, you didn’t have the newest phone or the nicest stationery and other classmates loved to point that out about you. All you wanted was to be accepted, to have friends, and fall in love. 

Everyone seems to romanticize teenage love but they never seem to talk about how difficult teenage loneliness is either. 

Seeing couples or hearing people talk about love like it was so easy made you want to scream into the void. Why couldn’t you have that? You wanted it so bad but why wasn’t it coming to you? Were you not lovable? Not worthy of a crush?

Seojoon was supposed to be your chance at teenage love only for him to hurt you the most. 

That summer break, you swore you were going to die alone. The empty loneliness began to consume you. All you wanted was for someone to care about you and instead you got ridiculed. For having feelings. It was awful and you never cared about love again. 

Some part of your brain is convinced that men are incapable of feeling love. Look at your dad, leaving without a second word, and look at Seojoon. You loved them and they burned you. 

“Then, I started college and I decided that I wouldn’t let another guy manipulate me like that ever again. I was going to stay single for a while which was fine because my department got along. We weren’t super close but it was cordial, especially us first year girls. We’d get snacks, do homework, bake together and gossip a lot. Mostly the latter because all of us were kind of obsessed with this older guy, Junho.” You explain, imagining his honey sweet smile and eyes. “He was a class representative for the Econ department with a reputation for dating around and all of the girls, aside from Jeongyeon, used to dream that one day, he’d pick one of us and we’d get our happy ever after.”

It was fun. He was sort of like the department’s prince charming or It-Boy. Girls would flock around him, sometimes you included, just to get a glimpse of the Junho. 

Jeongguk rests his chin on his knees that are folded up to his chest, staring intently at you as you continue to speak. “The thing is, Junho was actually really nice even though he was a total fuck boy. He just had a quality about him that made everyone like him. He was sociable and easy to talk to and cute but I never made a move. I was perfectly okay with finding him attractive from a distance because in my head, he was just this guy I thought was cute. That’s all I allowed myself to feel while the other girls kissed his cheek and asked for photos when they could.” 

You knew that was for the better anyways. 

Guys like Junho were a lot like Seojoon. Their egos were nice and fluffed to the point where they saw girls as expendable. If one said no, there’s a high chance one will just because they’re so blessed in genetics. Back then, you didn’t want to suffer the pain you felt because of Seojoon so you kept a distance and smiled as the other girls were living the dream. 

“At some point, one girl he was messing around with absolutely rejected him in front of everyone and you could tell it hurt because he actually liked her.  He didn’t show up at school for a few days and when he did, he wasn’t the old Junho. Instead, he was standoffish and quiet. Girls still wanted him but the interest changed from wanting to pin him down with commitment to healing his broken heart.” You stare at your fingernails, chipped nail polish revealing your pink nail beds. “I still kept my distance. I mean, what happened sucks but I wasn’t going to worry about it.” That’s what happens when you treat girls like shit. “Until I found him buying soju at a convenience store one night.”

A big mistake. 

Jeongguk’s expression doesn’t change one bit and you’re glad for that. It makes you think he isn’t judging you in his head.  

“He says hi and asks if he can talk to me and even though I wanted to say no, I couldn’t. I was starving and I wanted to eat at the store but I couldn’t disrespect him by rejecting him unless I wanted to get mauled the next day at school,” you explain. The seniority was insane. Still is. “So Junho and I ate together and then he just started trauma dumping on me about his failed relationship.”

Going on and on about how he was such a good guy and she was the first girl he ever really liked and that she was different and that she could change him for the better. Looking at it now, that was a sack of shit but nineteen year old you was eating up every word. 

Especially when he started hitting deep. 

 “He was crying on my shoulder and I just felt so bad. I mean, sure, Junho was a player but I know what it feels like to want someone so bad and almost be punished for it. So I tried to console him by giving some basic ass advice like it’ll stick around if it’s meant to be. I don’t even think he was listening,” a sardonic laugh leaves you at what comes next. At how idiotic you were. “I guess halfway through my spiel he realized I was a girl with boobs who was a inches away from him and his primitive man brain just connected these imaginary dots. Since I had sympathy for him, I must want to console him even further with sex. So he asked if he could kiss me.” 

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything but his chin tucks in and that’s enough of a reaction for you to continue. 

“And you wanna know what I said? Yes.” You laugh again at your utter stupidity. “Not only because I was attracted to him but because I actually felt so sorry for him that I was willing to be his one-way ticket to happiness. I didn’t want him to feel worthless anymore, not like I did when Seojoon rejected me.” White hot shame burns your skin, your insides, all throughout your body. “I wanted to give him the fraction of attention I wished someone could’ve given me back then. I thought it would maybe soothe some of my old wounds too, maybe we…we both could move on from this.” It sounds so illogical right now but back then, it made complete sense. “We slept together one night and the next morning, after leaving me in his bed without another word, Junho tells everyone.”

It started with his chummy friend group, typically bragging after getting laid and getting his ego boosted. Like how every rumor or story passes around and Junho made sure to leave in the juicy details. 

“He said I was the best rebound lay he’s ever had and that I made sure to make him feel like a king again,” you roll your eyes. All you did was blow him before letting him put it in. That should not constitute this much embellishment. “His friends told their friends who told other people and somehow the entire school knew I slept with him. That day, I walked onto campus and guys who never gave me the time of day before were suddenly so interested in me.” Which you didn’t mind but it did get annoying when they would look everywhere but your face. “I didn’t think anything else would happen. Only, I forgot how the girls would react.”

Remember, Junho was the It-Boy. Everyone wanted him and if you got to sleep with him, you were either harassed and slut-shamed or praised. It depended on how Junho reacted. Now, you didn’t hurt him so you thought you were in the clear but that rule ended up changing. 

Because now all the guys wanted you and some girls didn’t like that. 

“They were annoyed that I got with him first without consulting them. Thinking I wanted all of this attention and I wanted to be the first girl from our year to sleep with them like this was some kind of competition when that couldn’t be the farthest from the truth. I explained myself and I told them it was a one time thing and I was only trying to comfort him but it didn’t matter. They made their decision. My fate was sealed. I became rebound girl.” It took one simple night for your entire college life to be ruined. “Guys would come to me, complain about their broken hearts, manage to get to me because I’m easy and I always manage to convince myself that they mean no harm when they always do, sleep with me, then tell the entire school the next day. Rinse and repeat.  I’m an idiot,” you exhale, hiding your face in your hands. 

It’s such a painful sensation to want to cry but no tears come out. You want to scream, shout into the sky about how frustrating this entire thing is but you don’t have the energy. 

All you feel is exhaustion. Accepting this fate is your only option. You dug this grave, now go lie in it alone, like you deserve. 

“I should’ve known. I should’ve been smart enough to stop after the first person but I keep on giving these guys the benefit of the doubt and trusting them when they actually say they want me when–I just–ugh, I’m so–”

Then something warm gently scoots across your back and your nose is filled with the scent of cotton and floral notes. The arm curls around you, cupping your shoulder as the other one rounds your front and Jeongguk is hugging you. 

Okay and maybe the position is awkward and maybe you’re about as red as a tomato with anger but this hug is just what you needed. 

Throughout the week, all you did was blame yourself and convince yourself to keep some distance from Jeongguk. You didn’t want to ruin his reputation or bring him into your mess with this weird love triangle with Juri because he simply didn’t deserve that just for being your friend and letting you suck him off once. But your heart simply wasn’t in it. You didn’t want to leave the one person that reminds you of your childhood and feels like home. 

“You’re not an idiot,” Jeongguk says.

You sigh. “You don’t have to–”

Jeongguk interrupts you. “No,” he presses firmly. “So what if you slept with that Junho guy? What does it matter to everyone else?” He huffs cutely with his thick brows all furrowed and lips slightly pouty. “Why do they get to shame you when there are tons of other college students doing the same thing? Why are you the only one in the wrong?”

Jeongguk is right. Lots of people have lots of sex. Guys are on the higher side but there are people out there having regular hookups. You get chastised for it. 

But at the same time…

“I allowed this to happen, Jeongguk.”

Even if those guys tried to get to you with their sob stories, you still said yes at the end of the day. You played into this reputation. Aren’t you at fault too? 

“You didn’t allow anything, though.” He sighs, turning more to you, hands cupping your cheeks to get you to meet his gaze, thumbs tracing the skin under your eyes. “Noona. This isn’t your fault. Please don’t blame yourself for this.”

“It feels like it. No matter what I do, people will always see me as some big bad slut. How can I not believe it?” It’s your turn to sigh, gently pushing Jeongguk’s hold off your face and turning to the side. “Have people been treating you differently?”

Is it as bad as you think? Are girls refusing to talk to him? Boys usually never get the kind of treatment you do but you can’t help but panic. 

Jeongguk waves it off. “No,” his eyes roll heavily and it doesn’t soothe you. “Like there are a few comments here and there but it’s all praise.” 

Momentarily, you are relieved that he isn’t being ridiculed for sleeping with you. At least, you think, at the very least boys will always get away with their promiscuity. You can count on that. 

“Still. Being associated with me in that way is just no good, Guk,” you remind him, even though pushing him away is the last thing you want. You want him close, to feel his touch, to kiss his lips and be with him. There’s a fire brewing inside you and it hasn’t been quenched since the first time you got to kiss him. All it does is ask for more chances. 

To kill that flame would take a lot from you and you already don’t have much to give. 

Jeongguk links your fingers together and rests them on his outstretched thigh, searching your eyes to gain your attention. “I don’t care about a bunch of random people and their opinion. It’s not going to stop me from seeing you. Not them and not that Juri girl, okay?”

Fucking Juri. 

She spearheaded all of that hatred towards you when Junho spilled the beans on you sleeping with him. She was the one behind the scenes telling all of the other girls in your grade just how awful and back-stabbing you were. You hadn’t even wronged her. Sure, she liked Junho just as much as everyone else did but you still had yet to hit her where she was really sensitive. 

 “Juri never liked me. The first time we met, she had this impression with the way I dressed or if some guy looked at me too long. As if she could already tell I was the type of girl to seduce every guy in my vicinity.” It didn't matter what you wore, some guys just stared because the way society oversexualizes everything about a woman. You weren’t a person to them, you were an object with tits and a nice ass. “When the rumor got out, it was like her first impression was confirmed and she was telling everyone else how awful I was.” It just gets worse and worse delving into this topic and while Jeongguk hasn’t been scared off just yet, this might be it. You sigh, avoiding his eyes for your conjoined hands to comfort you. “After Junho there was this other guy, I think his name was Sunghoon, and he was best friends with Junho. Juri had a massive thing for him, even more than whatever she felt for Junho, but I didn’t know because we were never friends.” 

No one knew but Juri’s circle. It was a secret crush after all. 

“Sunghoon heard about me from Junho and wanted to sleep with me too. I was already upset about Junho telling everyone so I ended up rejecting him since it was too soon but he still told everyone we did it anyway. Of course, everyone believed him no matter what I said. My reputation was set in stone.” You feel Jeongguk squeeze your hand tightly when your voice wobbles slightly. You swallowed down any pain you felt inside. “Juri was furious and now all of the other girls had perfect reason to hate me because I apparently stole her man. I tried to tell her that I didn’t know and that I’m sorry and that it wasn’t even true but she didn’t want to hear it.” 

Part of you doesn’t want to blame her. You know what it feels like when the guy you like chooses another girl. It hurts more than anything else, digs at your insecurities, begs the question if you are loveable or some ugly beast. 

But Juri was never kind to you to begin with. She isn’t a girl’s girl, she’s someone who will do anything for male validation. Even if it means losing all of her friends. 

So you know what? You don’t need someone like that in your life. 

Nayeon and Jeongyeon would never do something like that. 

“Did anyone else lie about having sex with you?”

A sad scoff leaves your lips. “You wanna know what the actual number is?” Jeongguk nods. “30. But ask anyone in our school, they’ll easily say 300 or some shit. Most guys have lied.”

Not like anyone will fact check. Junho did enough embellishment so all of the other guys could simply say your name and they’d believe it. 

That’s what reputation is. A label attached to a person so powerful that it does things on its own. And you had a reputation for being a slut who fixes broken men. 

Jeongguk groans, breaking you out of your train of thought. “This is so frustrating.” Your head turns, finds genuine anger on his boyish features. “All of those guys came to you. Junho and that Sunghoon guy and Seojoon all came to you and made you think they needed to have sex with you to feel good,” Jeongguk stresses. “And then you get punished for being a victim to their games.”

A man can be promiscuous all he wants but a woman has to remain pure. Not for her own sake but for the sake of men. Whenever women put themselves first, they’re bullied into silence. They aren’t supposed to act like men. They’re supposed to be proper, beacons of purity and grace. 

Well, who fucking made that rule? 

Why can’t men be the beacons of purity? Why do they get to slut around and get away with it? 

Why are you the spawn of Satan for even looking at a guy while there are boys at your university who have actually slept with over 100 women. 

“People suck,” is all you can say back. You’re just one person. There’s no way you can change the way society has been structured for years on end, right? A twinge of despair sits heavily in your chest as you’re consistently met with the reality of your situation. 

 “They do. And you know what?”Slowly, you look back up into Jeongguk’s sparkly bright eyes. He’s got the beginnings of a smile on his lips and you swear your stomach rushes with butterflies. “It’s their loss. Because they are missing out on getting to know a beautiful, kind, smart, accomplished and hardworking woman.”

You soften immediately. Sure, you’ve been called beautiful before but never the others. After being sexualized for years on end, no one else ever saw your worth beyond that so you had to tell yourself. Sometimes it worked, sometimes your insecurities got the best of you. But you know that you’re hardworking and smart and kind. 

It’s different coming from Jeongguk. 

He’s saying it for you, not to benefit himself later on. It’s real, not a blanket statement. There’s no promise that you’ll blow him and he won’t go around telling people that you did because he isn’t like that. 

He’s a man who genuinely likes you for you. Not your body or your reputation. 

Your legs uncurl and you’re inching closer to him. It’s an automatic response. You don’t even think to try to hold it back because you don’t want to and you shouldn’t have to. It’s safe in your apartment and no one will call you anything here. You get on your knees and swing one leg over his lap once more, inviting the soft scent of him as your face buries in the crook of his neck, arms wound around his shoulders. 

Jeongguk is warm and his hands are back on your hips innocently. The touch isn’t sexual at all and it’s just what you needed. 

Jeongguk’s chin rests on your shoulder as he starts speaking once more. “And you know what? Someone got caught fucking in the teachers lounge two days ago and it’s all everyone is talking about. No one has mentioned this story at all so don’t worry about it. I’m the least affected by this. I want to know if you’ll be okay.”

You smile against his skin, hopes he can feel you do that. 

“I will.” 

This rumor will pass, someday, certainly. But then, you refuse to be photographed with a man in any sort of context. All hookups will have to leave at 3am or something. 

Speaking of….

“You wanna stay the night?” You pull your head out, fingers twisting with the strands at the back of his head. “It’s getting late and I don’t want you to take the subway right now.” You live in a safe area but still. And you want him around but only if he’s interested. “I could call you a cab too, if you want?”

“No, I’ll stay. I just don’t have any sleepwear.” He looks down at his cargo pants with a slight pout. God, he’s adorable. 

“I have sweatpants,” you offer. Or Jeongguk could also sleep in his boxers. 

Unlike some people, you can control yourself. 

“There’s a high chance they won’t fit.”

Right. Boy has huge thighs. Muscular and toned. You can feel them underneath your legs and the brief thought of riding them until you cum all over him passes through your mind like a cheetah. Now is simply not the time to be horny. 

Seriously, your cycle of terror finished two days ago. You have to relax. You just said you could control yourself. 

Still, you let one of your hands slither down from where they were hanging behind Jeongguk’s neck to the planes of his chest, stopping right where his beating heart should be. It thumps soundly beneath your fingertips while allowing you to feel up the firm peaks of his chest that you so desperately want to squeeze like anything. 

“Speaking from experience?” You smirk. 

Jeongguk’s face dulls, pinching your side in retaliation. You yelp. “Look when you live with two sisters, laundry gets mixed up and I’ve had a lot of sweatpants barely go up my legs until I started running my clothes alone.” 

Giggling, you flick under his chin. 

Although, the thought of him doing his own laundry is also hot and–holy fuck, bro, get it together. 

You tap his chest once. “Fine, I’ll get you a pair.” You sigh, waiting for Jeongguk’s hold on your waist to loosen so you can get up, which he allows you to do. 

Except, sitting on your knees for so long left them sore and lacking in blood flow so by the time Jeongguk also gets up, your legs almost give out, resulting in you collapsing against his chest for balance and your hands landing right on his chest. 

“Sorry,” you exhale with some laughter. Jeongguk’s hands first curl around your elbows, warm and comforting, and then down to your hips. “Gimme a sec. I literally can’t feel my legs so I’ll have to hold onto you for a–ah!” 

Jeongguk uses the hold he has on you to lift you up, twine your legs around his waist with a little bounce in his movement. Your hands clutch at his body when you feel your feet lift off the ground, fear subsiding when he looks up at you with glimmering eyes. 

Staring back, it’s obvious why women like him, why Juri was so upset when he rejected her. Jeongguk is so attractive it’s insane. From every angle, he manages to look perfect. Like an angel. 

“I like it better this way,” he grins. 

Doesn’t help that he’s sweet like candy on the inside too. 

The blush on your cheeks must make you look like a tomato but you don’t care. The way Jeongguk looks at you, holds you, has your entire body covered in goosebumps. Fluttering inside your tummy, screaming at you to pin him down against that mattress and show him all of the things that you like too. 

But all you do is playfully roll your eyes. “You nearly gave me a heart attack,” you pretend to scold. 

“You like it.” 

Fuck, he’s smirking and he’s right. You did like it. There’s something to be said about being manhandled and tossed around like some ragdoll. You’ve always been the submissive one in sex so the thought of Jeongguk bending your body to his will calls for a rush of arousal. 

That coupled with the cocky look on his face. It’s fucking Niagara Falls down there. 

“Just move, Jeon. Unless you want to sleep in the pants you’re already wearing.” 

Jeongguk moves a hand up to salute you, still keeping a strong grip on the back of your thighs. You bite back a gasp when he subconsciously squeezes the mass to make sure his hold doesn’t falter. 

You’re already throbbing. Both from the act of strength and the confidence wavering off him. When Jeongguk first touched you, he was so hesitant but now he’s reached a point where he can hold you without fear that he’s crossing a boundary. Thanks to the conversation you had at the beginning of the week and you’re glad about it. He’s one of the only guys you genuinely trust. 

And currently, he’s the only guy you want to pin you down on your bed

Directing him to the chest of clothes, Jeongguk walks the two of you forward. Then sets you down in front of it.  You could’ve easily gotten up but, you know, why do that? 

With a still fuzzy brain, shaking fingers curl around the drawer’s metal handle. You pull open the first drawer of your dresser without much thought. Jeongguk is hovering behind you with curious eyes, allowing you to get drunk on the scent of him and the warmth of his body. 

But being on cloud nine makes you forget that the drawer you opened just so happens to be your lingerie drawer. 

And you pause. Like a dog getting caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. 

The contents are neatly packed. Lacy and skimpy, in multiple colors. No one should own this much lingerie but you love it. The confidence a nice set gives you and the way some react make spending all of that money online worth it. You feel powerful and you’ve had some great fucks in some of these sets. 

However, this is not how you planned on showing Jeongguk your collection. 

Yeah, let’s add this to the list of porno plots that you thought happened to no one but  happened to you because you are experiencing bouts of embarrassment and bad luck at the moment. You might as well change your name and move to Switzerland to herd sheep now. 

Jeongguk pauses behind you too. The hands that were on your hips, steading you for no reason, feel slightly detached.

Causing you to panic. 

The drawer slams shut. “S-sorry! Wrong one.” You go to the 2nd one and pull out a large gray pair, pushing it into Jeongguk’s chest without another word. 

Oh my god. Ohmygodohmygodhohmygod. 

You should’ve actually thought this through! Instead of letting the lightness from Jeongguk picking you up dictate your every move like an idiot. Now what will he think? 

Sidestepping him, you don’t even want to imagine what could be going on in Jeongguk’s head. A desperate ploy to sleep with him after complaining about the way men treat you? Trying to gain his sympathy just to get him in bed? Sounds hypocritical, right? 

You should go. You should check on the dishes or make some tea or–

“Noona,” Jeongguk stops you with a soft hand on your wrist. “It’s okay,” his voice is firm and sure, causing you to slowly turn your neck to face him. 

His lips are set neutral, a little pouty like always. But his expression seems to be calm. 

“You don’t have to apologize or anything.” You watch his Adam’s apple bob when he swallows. “Honestly, it was…” he trails off, the redness becoming more obvious on his cheeks and ears. 

Oh. 

Any rigidness in your body begins to melt and you feel that previous fluttering in your belly return, pushing you to take a step closer. “Did you like them?” You ask, boldly. 

Gone is the fear that you’ve pushed him away, reaffirmed your reputation or behaved like the very assholes who gave it to you because he doesn’t believe in that. He likes you and trusts you and you have no reason to panic when things like this happen. Jeongguk won’t call you a slut. 

He cuts contact, looks to the side, and you see the briefest nodding on his head. Your smile grows tenfold. How cute. 

“Oh, I see.” Abandoning any plans of running from him, palms flat on the firmness of his chest that you so desperately want to sink your teeth into. The light hitting the top of his head illuminates his skin, making him all golden, and you don’t think you can handle your wetness any longer. Jeongguk is just that good looking. “Do you wanna pick one out?” 

His eyes flash up to you. “What?”

“Pick one for me to wear.” 

Jeongguk’s boy brain seems to put the pieces together slowly, realizing what you want to happen, what you’re greenlighting that he’s been thinking about for a few days now. 

You take initiative by going back to your dresser, tugging Jeongguk along, and opening the drawer all over again. Now Jeongguk can actually look at it instead of relying on the five second glimpse he got before. Sees all of the lace and mesh cut outs, sees the box of condoms in the corner, some lube. Thankfully, you’ve hidden any sex toys so you won’t have to deal with that. 

While him finding lingerie was pretty tame in retrospect, Jeongguk finding that 7 inch vibrator you’ve got would be the end of you. 

None of your baby dolls are in here but you don’t think those are Jeongguk’s style. Too much frill and fabric, meant for guys who really desire stereotypical femininity in the girls they fuck and want a little show when fucking. Jeongguk seems a little more straightforward. Likes easy access while still being sexy. So all of your teddys, which are essentially bodysuits or swimsuits made mostly of lace, are in this drawer. His eyes travel all throughout, ignoring the pinks and teals and reds for black and white. 

Inching closer, Jeongguk seems to be deciding on two in particular. Then gently pulls one out by the strap. 

“I like this.” 

Your jaw slackens slightly. It’s crotchless, first of all, and it’s completely see through. Even the cups reveal your nipples without much fabric covering it. There’s a single strip of fabric going down your sternum and there are two identical lace detailing on your sides, completely free where your mons would be. Open right at your entrance. 

Jeongguk picked a much more revealing one. You wonder what on earth he has planned for you but you nod regardless, taking the article of clothing from him and brushing some hair out of his face. 

“Get changed and then wait on the bed for me.” Kissing him briefly on the nose. 

Thankfully, you took an everything shower yesterday. Not that you really care about hair and men who do are weird but this will be your second time hooking up with Jeongguk so you still want to look a certain way for him, just until you talk about preferences some more. 

Jeongguk speed walks to your bathroom, has you giggling at the way he urgently shuts the door. Snowball’s head perks up from her bed and you carefully move her to a different bed in a farther corner so she doesn’t have to bear witness to whatever will happen. She isn’t happy about it, makes an irritated low noise when you hold her but it’s for her own good. 

After patting her a few times to get comfortable in her new bed, Jeongguk emerges with your pants in his hands. 

“They didn’t fit.” 

Not that you’re complaining. 

“Shame, guess your boxers will have to do.” You feign annoyance but the slight bulge in the fabric tells you the opposite. 

Jeongguk’s expression is difficult to judge. He follows your body as you saunter to the bathroom, eyes burning a hole in your back. You purposefully sashay a little, making sure your ass is shown off, that your hair swishes around. You’re dripping in confidence and you didn’t expect yourself to be like this considering the beginning of your run-in with Jeongguk. 

But, he helps bring you back down from that poor state of mind where you let everyone’s words get to you by reminding you just how amazing you are. Confidence is something you always had but it gets buried and Jeongguk just brought it back up. 

At some point, you hope to grow strong enough to never allow stuff like what happened this week to bother you. Even better, that the rumor becomes squashed and you’re no longer rebound girl. 

But that’ll take time and, right now, you’re willing to wait. 

Stripping down, you get ready. Slipping on the lingerie, messing your hair up a bit, adding a touch of lip gloss, and humming Positions by Ariana Grande to get you in the zone. 

Jeongguk should want to devour you. You should want to devour him. 

The door creaks open slowly and your body is halfway out when you speak up. “Close your eyes, Jeongguk!” 

Some rustling is audible. “Huh? Okay!” He calls back in his trademark polite gentle tone. A smile grows on your face right afterwards. 

You got this. 

The door behind you shuts, slightly colder air causing you to be covered in goosebumps but it doesn’t matter. You’ll be warmed up soon. Turning the corner, Jeongguk is seated on the edge of your bed with his legs spread wide (hot), propped up with his hands on the bed on either side of his hips.  

And he’s done you the favor of already taking his shirt off, folded neatly at the foot of your bed. So Jeongguk is just in his boxers. How nice of him. 

A scoff leaves your lips, too quiet for him to pick up, but your footsteps are loud and clear. Jeongguk moves his hands a little and he doesn’t flinch when you sink down onto his warm lap, arms around his neck like they belong. 

“Can I open my eyes now?” Jeongguk hasn't touched you just yet. Honestly, he seems like he’d make the perfect sub with how good he is and how well he listens but you’ve never delved into that. 

You have no idea if you’d totally enjoy it unless it was a teasing back and forth and Jeongguk got the chance to put you in your place too. Get you whining and crying into your sheets until–

Okay, fuck. You’re already soaking wet and bare. You don’t need the scenarios and you haven’t even responded to him. 

Leaning close to his perfect face, you smack a quick kiss on his cheek, right below that scar of his. “Not yet, baby.” You purr, mapping a line down his neck with your lips. Jeongguk has such a nice neck and hickeys look so good on him. The urge to mark him up completely overtakes all rationality (not that you had much to begin with). 

Kissing down to the middle of his neck slowly, your lips suction around his pulse point, digging your teeth in, and you feel Jeongguk stir beneath you. His hips raise slightly, desperate for some kind of friction that you refuse to give. All you can smell is his sweet perfume and feel his soft skin. 

Jeongguk whimpers your name and you can feel your pussy throbbing, surprised that you’re not leaking all over his bare thigh. 

“Fuck,” he groans, thrusting up. Jeongguk’s boxers are so thin so you can feel the defined bulge pressing into your bare mound and you almost falter from how thick and big it feels. 

It’s been a few weeks since you’ve had a dick inside you and you are really craving it. Sure, you have toys that could easily help but Jeongguk is bigger than your biggest one. Suddenly, that 7 inch vibrator simply won’t cut it. 

Clenching around nothing, you pull away from his neck. “You can open your eyes now,” exhaling heavily. 

Jeongguk follows. Your eyes connect and it’s electric. Sizzling tension, blood pumping deep in your veins, breaths mingling. Two seconds go, passing atypically slowly, and then he moves. 

Jeongguk makes the first move connecting your lips, taking you by surprise, but you kiss him back and try to match his vigor. He kisses you with passion and wanton, controlling you like he might never get another chance to taste you. Gets your heart thumping loudly in your chest. 

Especially when his fingers curl around your ass, squeezing roughly to earn a gasp of rapture, and his tongue sneaks in and runs deep along yours. 

Questioning if he was totally a sub? Yeah, you don’t know about that. 

Getting strong switch vibes from him. 

Jeongguk gets up from the bed after wrapping your legs around his waist, turning around and laying you down on the bed. Your lips break apart for a split second but Jeongguk changes the moment your back touches the mattress, as if he can’t live without your kisses. You moan at his eagerness, realizing he has yet to look at your full set yet and is going crazy over just kissing you. 

Fingers wind in his soft silky hair, tongues mingling in your mouth. It’s wet and messy and vulgar, teeth clacking, but you don’t have it in you to care. 

He breaks the kiss again to kiss the corner of your lips, your cheek and then your jaw before pulling away and finally looks down while hovering over you. 

Watching Jeongguk’s expression change is like high art. 

You swear his eyes get darker, a vein on his neck bulges. “Jesus,” he grits. One hand begins at your sternum and slithers down where your breasts threaten to spill out of the flimsy thing. Jeongguk’s thumb traces over your pert nipple, causing you to twitch at the brief stimulation. “You look so fucking hot.” 

“Yeah?” 

Jeongguk nods, sitting up a little so he’s kneeling between your spread legs. “Like a goddess.” His eyes take you in, eating up every inch of skin he can see. “A beautiful, sexy, amazing goddess.” 

You smirk, bending your leg some more to expose more of yourself to him. His gaze dips down to your bare cunt, wet and swollen for him and you swear you see his jaw set. 

“You’re talking like you wanna worship me,” you joke cornily. Honestly, you’re too taken aback by the way Jeongguk is looking at you to cringe but thankfully he doesn’t say anything against it. 

“I think I do.” Is his response. 

Barely processing it, Jeongguk lifts you up by your calves, resting them on his shoulders and leaning down. Your stomach flips, you gasp, trembling slightly as Jeongguk begins to leave hickeys on the soft flesh of your inner thigh along with occasional bite marks. 

Is he going to do what you think he is? Does he even know how? It’s been ages since someone went down on you. Most men simply don’t know how or care to learn. 

You think Jeongguk is the opposite. He isn’t pleasuring you for himself but because he wants you to feel good so if you don’t like something, he’ll fix it. 

But still, eating girls out is apparently something only girls can do properly. Nayeon is a firm believer in that. 

Your head tilts back with each teasing mark making you wetter and wetter. He’s certainly building up the anticipation correctly so you’ll give him a point for that. Soon you’re throbbing so bad from how sexy Jeongguk looks with his dark hair between your thighs and kiss-bruised lips that you almost beg for his mouth on you. 

“Pretty,” Jeongguk growls, reaching closer to your dripping core. “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” The muscles in his back flex and you can feel them against your calves. “Can I?”

You don’t even hesitate. He’s inches away from you and you don’t think you can go another second without his touch. “Please Guk.” 

He doesn’t waste another second leaning down and licking a fat stripe up your core, making your legs twitch around his head. His tongue is flat and wide starting from your entrance all the way to your clit, tasting you once and groaning immediately after. 

“Shit,” you wince. Fingers getting stuck in Jeongguk’s hair. “Jeongguk.” 

Embarrassingly, you almost grind on his face but Jeongguk keeps a tight hold on your hips as his mouth closes around your clit, sucking the bud a few times like he’s making out with you which has you groaning out. His nose bumps into your outer lips and you imagine that it would feel like heaven to grind back onto the bulbous tip while sitting on his face. Big noses are so hot for that reason in particular. 

Jeongguk pulls back, gets up on his elbows a little to drop a fat blob of spit onto your pussy, watching it mix with your juices as you clench again. This time he notices your neediness and he chuckles darkly. 

“Cute,” lips closing around your clit as he looks up at you. “Want my fingers in you badly, huh?”

“Yes.”

Jeongguk’s lips pull off with a loud pop. “How bad?” Digits tracing your soppy opening. At first you can’t formulate a response when he’s everywhere but the places you need him. So he removes all contact. “How bad do you need my fingers in this needy little pussy?” 

Definitely not a sub. Definitely not a fucking sub–wow, okay. 

“Badly,” grinding up into nothing, hips getting shoved back down. “I–I need you to fill me up. Please. I think about it so much. Your fingers feel so fucking good, Jeongguk. Made me cum so hard.” 

You don’t lie. He’s got long fingers and is definitely the biggest you’ve had, easily reaching spots others have left dormant. You’re glad to fluff his ego on that considering how mind blowing that first orgasm was. 

“I could tell,” he mutters slowly. “You came so fast,” lips closing around your clit again as you whine out. Jeongguk continues speaking. “Like a good girl” 

You can’t even respond to that, can’t even begin to fathom what praise from him does to you or how you must be gushing all over your sheets right now. Jeongguk’s middle finger inches in while his tongue and mouth focus directly on your swollen clit and you lose all ability to formulate a proper sentence. 

Flicking the sensitive bud back and forth at an animalistic pace while his finger slowly pushes in and out of you is where you fucking lose it. Head thrown back, thighs trembling, moaning out garbled versions of his name and breathy swears. 

This is it. Better than anything else you’ve had. This combination floods you with pleasure coiling in the pit of your stomach and your muscles going rigid. 

“Fuck yes–yes, just like that,” you whimper some more, using your grip on Jeongguk’s hair to tug him in further. Big mistake. “Don’t stop—don’t fucking–no, no! Why did you–”

Your leg falls off Jeongguk’s shoulder and flops onto the bed. His nose and lips are shiny but his expression is hard. “Sit  up.” He orders. Jaw set and clenched. 

Part of you really wants to disobey, be brat because that always results in a good time, but you need to come and you need his touch back on you as soon as possible. Meekly, your legs curl in and you slowly sit up, getting on your knees and pouting at him. 

Jeongguk takes the spot you were just laying down on, head meeting your pillow with a slight bounce. He motions for you to come closer then: “Face away from me.”

Oh.

Even better. 

“Gonna have this perfect pussy right in front of me while you suck me off, okay?”

Swinging your leg over, you nod desperately, arching your back a little and leaning down. You’re interrupted with a light smack on your ass, causing you to moan out way too loudly. It almost sounds like a cry of pain but it’s far from that. 

Jeongguk drops the act quickly. Gently reaching for you with soft hands on your hips.  “Noona, are you ok–”

“I’m fine,” you gasp. “Do it again.” You push your ass out some more, bent over his body, staring back at him with tears of desire. “Please Jeongguk.” 

He’s hesitant when he sits back down. You know he doesn’t want to hurt you but the way that the pain sizzled into pleasure coupled with how badly you want his hand print on you is far from hurt. It’s fucking warranted at this point. 

Jeongguk spanks you once more, on the same cheek, and you flop down all limp on top of him. His teeth sink into the flesh of your thigh, spanking the other cheek much harder than before. 

Arousal drips out of you and tracks down your skin. You feel needy and pathetic but in the best way possible. 

“I fucking love your ass so much,” nails dig into the already sore flesh as he praises you lowly. Jeongguk’s arms curl around your back, tugging you close to him as he continues what he was doing to you. Tongue flicking your clit at an insane pace. 

You can’t handle it. Even though his hard cock is inches away from you, you need a second to control yourself as the tingling sensation begins from your toes and starts creeping up. 

Someone must’ve told him this or maybe he’s watched a ton of porn. Guys never eat you out like this. They move their tongue around and moan, thinking it’s enough, and get annoyed when you haven’t come. Some blame it on you and say that you’re the problem when it’s the complete opposite. 

But Jeongguk breaches your entrance with two fingers in tandem with your tongue. Those long digits immediately find that g-spot and it’s fucking over, it’s done. You’re already there. You’re so wet and it’s echoing in your small studio apartment for the both of you to hear. The pleasure building up is rapid and way too fast.

After no action for days, you’re easy. The coil in your stomach gets tighter and tighter as Jeongguk’s fingers pound out of you and his tongue continues to play with that swollen bundle of nerves. 

“C-close, I’m close–I’m gonna–” you feel it, the ball unravels and your legs go out. “I’m cumming!” 

Faster than you’d like to admit. You start shaking, tears streaming down your face. Trying to muffle your noises on his thigh so you don’t get a fucking noise complaint. 

“Good girl. So fucking pretty when you come like that,” his fingers slow down but they don’t pull out just yet. After such a hard orgasm, you would usually need a break but the slow pace just gets you needier. “Can you take another one, gorgeous?” Jeongguk asks. 

Last time he touched you, you couldn't but now you want a second go. Besides, you want to return the favor too. 

“Yeah, I can.” 

With a slow pace and his mouth pressing timid little kisses on your wet thighs, Jeongguk leans back when you pull his boxers down and his length stands in front of you. Leaking and hard and so fucking big. 

Now that you’ve come once, you lose all inhibition. You press a kiss to the wet tip, rounding up saliva in your mouth to lick up all of the cloudy salty precum before sinking down and taking in just the tip. He’s thick so your jaw has to stretch a bit but you definitely don’t mind that. 

“Fuck,” Jeongguk whispers, licking another stripe to clean you up, gets you jolting and him laughing. 

He’s so atypically cocky, something you’ve never found attractive until now. It’s warranted cockiness. Ate you out like a fucking champ and has a dick big enough to make you question whether or not you can take it all. Yeah, Jeongguk can have a bit of an ego. 

But only a bit. 

You fold your thumb into your clenched fist and squeeze lightly to stop your gag reflex for a bit. Allowing you to take almost all of his length into your mouth. Jeongguk’s hips raise a bit to help you so it doesn’t pierce through the back of your throat completely but just until your nose meets the base of his length. 

“Mmh,” he moans, feeling his chest heave against your body. Jeongguk mumbles some more praise, calls you the most prettiest girl, leans forward to get his mouth back on you, and the dance begins again. 

Gently, Jeongguk fucks your mouth while you grind back into his. The pace isn’t fast and hectic like before nor is it any bit graceful but neither of you seem to care. 

Each thrust is awarded with a burst of precum and your thighs shake with every hit against your sensitive spot. The air gets hot and sticky, filled with the scent of sex and adrenaline. The sounds of your wet mouth and wet pussy along with Jeongguk’s whiny noises are noises you could hear for the rest of your life and never get bored of. 

This is all you want. Him and his hands and his mouth and just him. 

This sweet boy who held you so close and listened and makes you cum better than anyone else had. 

Even after the second time, as your arousal drenches his fingers so much they prune as you release and he shoots his load down your throat, it hits you like a punch in the face just how much Jeongguk has ruined you. 

Because after this, no other man will compare.

[melswifeasf]

Always Yours chapter one

next chapter || series page

Pairing: Lottie Matthews x fem!oc

Summary: it was the beginning of the end.

Warnings: (18+) MDNI cursing, sexual themes.

1996

  RAYS OF SUNLIGHT peaked through the blinds and reflected on warm skin. soft moans were drowned out by the morning playlist the teen girl would always listen to, resulting in her parents not finding the sound suspicious. her chest was bare and there was a tall body on top of her. the taller girls hips were moving at fast pace, the action causing a smacking noise to echo throughout the room. fingers nails were digging into the raven girls back leaving marks that would end with her being sore for the rest of the day. brunette strands of hair were sprawled against the pillow below the younger girl, her eyes closed. the taller girls lips were on her girlfriends right nipple, sucking roughly as the girl under her dug deeper into her skin as a reaction. there were small bruises littered around the brunettes chest, almost all small enough so they could be covered with makeup.

when Nicole reached her peak, she gripped at the back of her girlfriends hair tightly for support which made Lottie lean up to press her lips against Nicoles to prevent her from making too much noise. as soon as Lottie knew her girlfriend had finished she buried her face into the crook of the brunettes neck as her hips stilled and she gripped at Nicole's hips tightly. a moan left the taller girls lips and her lips jerked involuntarily into Nicole. heavy breathing littered the room shortly after, both of their chests falling and rising unsteadily. a lazy smile spread across the brunettes with her eyes still closed as she felt the aftershocks of such a powerful orgasm. a second later Lottie pulled away from her neck with a gentle smile and a loving look in her eyes that would always make Nicole melt.

Nicole cupped her girlfriends face softly and pulled her down so their lips could meet in a kiss. it was a sweet kiss, much like they always are post orgasm. rough hands became soft and the mouth that had just spouted degrading words kissed the brunette so sweetly that it did nothing but intensify her already hazed mind. Lottie was the first to pull away. "you're always so horny in the mornings" she mumbled softly against her lips. Nicole rolled her eyes at her words and shoved her off her body which elicited a small hiss from her as Lottie pulled out of her so abruptly. she reached for her bra that was thrown on the bed beside her and began to put it on.

"you're the one who woke up with a boner, not me" Nicole said and put on her panties under the blanket knowing if she didn't, it would just turn into round two which they didn't have time for.

Lottie blushed softly at her words but tried to hide as she chuckled and watched as the shorter girl got out of bed and grabbed a fresh pair of clothes so she could shower. "i didn't have a boner" she lied whilst leaning back on her elbows.

Nicole rolled her eyes, "right. sorry. it was your third leg" she said sarcastically and rolled her eyes at the older girl. Lottie simply shook her head. Nicole didn't close the bathroom door which was always an invitation for Lottie to shower with her or at least start getting ready for school.

"it's not my fault you like to sleep practically naked" Lottie said once she was in the bathroom. by now Nicole was in the shower, a black curtain separating them. the raven teen leaned against the counter as she waited for her turn. typically she'd just hop in but they had been late so many times and Coach Scott was threatening to bench her for the rest of the season. given, it was only one game but it was the biggest game of the season; nationals. usually Nicole would ask her uncle to go easy on her girlfriend but it would never work, he didn't want to give anyone special treatment.

even though there was a curtain separating them, Lottie could practically feel Nicole roll her eyes at her words. "i didn't know you were even coming over." she huffed. Lottie chuckled at her girlfriend. 

"hurry, or we're gonna be late" she said instead of continuing their little 'argument'. truthfully it would've ended up with morning sex no matter what. they were both in the mood in the morning regardless of what the other person was doing or wearing.

Lottie would almost always sneak into her room after Nicoles parents were asleep since she wasn't allowed over. Nicole's parents had never been accepting of their relationship and they made sure to remind their daughter of that everyday. regardless of how much their words would hurt their daughters feeling.

it didn't take long for Nicole to be out of the shower and dressed in her school clothes. she had on light loose jeans and a white shirt that revealed some of her stomach. her makeup was light and her hair tumbled down just below her shoulders. she was finishing up the last touches of her eyeliner whilst Lottie had her arms wrapped around her waist from behind. the older girl had taken a quick shower and finished her makeup all whilst Nicole was choosing what to wear and straightening her hair. it was silent but not uncommon for them. Lottie always liked to watch Nicole do her makeup and Nicole loved having her cling to her.

"are you you gonna cheer at the pep rally?" Lottie  asked as Nicole put her eyeliner away and into her makeup drawer. the brunette looked up and at her girlfriend through the mirror.

"of course i am," she began to say and turned her body around so she was facing her girlfriend. she put her arms on Lotties shoulders loosely whilst Lottie placed her hands on the girls waist. "want me to cheer you on?" she asked and leaned closer toward the older girl.

Lottie smiled, "0f course i do." she replied happily. "i always love when you cheer me on. it's like you're my personal cheerleader"

"when you really think about it, i kind of am" Nicole replied with a wink before she pulled away from her girlfriend completely and walked past her so she could exit the bathroom. Lottie smiled to herself with a slight shake of her head at Nicole's actions. Nicole loved to tease her, a little too much.

the brunette slipped her shoes on quickly and turned to look at her girlfriend that was leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom. "hurry up, or we're gonna be late." Nicole said with a slight tone as she mimicked Lotties words from earlier. the raven haired girl chuckled softly as she watched Nicole spray on perfume and leave the room completely making Lottie grab the brunettes backpack and follow her out.

2021

rays of sunlight reflected on the wooden floor and marble countertop. the kitchen smelled like pancakes and bacon, the food sitting in the middle of the dinner table as the two kids ate what they still had on their perspective plates. the only noise that filled the room was the twins talking about the field trip they had at school that day. their mom was listening intently, not wanting to miss a single thing about her kids lives.

the doorbell ringing caused the twins to immediately drop their forks and run in the direction of the front door in an instant. Nicole let out a sigh. she stood from her chair but made no effort to greet who was at the door because she already knew they would come in anyway. it's still technically her house. instead, Nicole grabbed her and the twins plates and walked to her kitchen so she could put them in the dishwasher.

just as expected she saw the two twelve year olds come into the kitchen with happy smiles as their mom followed in pursuit. she seemed to be listening to the kids rant about their trip with a matching smile on her face. there was no doubt in anyone's mind that her happiness was genuine. maybe that was the hardest part.

"mami" Reign said making the brunette hum in acknowledgment. she tried to keep her eyes anywhere but on her ex. "mom said we can go to the cabins this weekend. can we?" he asked with a pleasing smile, his sister held a matching expression just beside him. as much as Nicole wanted to be upset at Olivia for making plans without her permission, she couldn't deny that seeing her kids this hopeful and happy filled that annoyance pretty quickly. Nicole glanced at her ex with a small glare but Olivia simply shrugged whilst looking at her with an innocent smile. she was all but.

Nicole sighed, "of course you can" she confirmed making both twins smile in triumph, "but," she quickly said causing them both to turn to her. "your phones need to stay on you at all times in case i call and i don't want you guys going anywhere without your mom" she warned. both kids nodded repeatedly, they each went to hug their mom before running up the stairs to no doubt pack their bags.

the brunette shook her head at her ex causing Olivia to chuckle. "what?"

"you know i hate it when you make plans without consulting me first," she said very obviously annoyed. she hid it from her kids but she didn't care to do so when her ex was the sole reason for feeling so annoyed at the moment.

"can you blame me?" the red head said as she walked around the counter until she was pressed against her exes back. Nicole stopped moving when she felt a body behind her, Olivia's expensive perfume invading her space and the woman's breath tickling her neck. "i knew you wouldn't approve and i bought that house for them to enjoy it. away from the city. just us. all of us" she said her voice dropping into a slight whisper at the last part. her hands were placed on the brunettes waist causing her to practically stop breathing. Nicole's eyes fell closed at the feeling of someone being so close to her again after four months. it was nice. even if she knew this would wind up breaking their relationship more than it already was.

her breaking point was when she felt the woman behind her begin to press kisses on her neck. she had to stop it before it went any further. "Olivia" she warned breathily. immediately the kisses stopped, a scoff escaping the older woman's lips as she pulled away from Nicole completely.

"right." she said dryly. Nicole turned around so she was facing Olivia.

"you know how this ends." she said lowly. she didn't want her kids to hear and frankly this whole situation did nothing but break her more and more each day.

"you mean with you kicking me out of what was once our bed the next morning? yeah, i'm well aware" she said sarcastically. Nicole didn't want this. she never did and yet she did nothing to stop it.

"Olivia," she sighed desperately. desperate to stop this conversation and desperate to convey everything she was feeling with just one word.

the red head shook her head. "there's a reporter out front by the way" she said causing Nicoles chest to tighten, her heart began to accelerate and a fear flashed in her eyes that Olivia had grown used to after over a decade of being with her. "don't worry. i kicked her out before she could do anything" she said causing the brunette to let out a breath of relief.

"thank you." she muttered genuinely.

"it's the human thing to do" she shrugged as if it were no big deal. her eyes didn't meet Nicoles anymore and there was a suffocating tension between them that didn't go unnoticed by the approaching twins. they just didn't acknowledge it. not anymore at least. after almost a year of seeing their moms fighting and now broken up they had learned to simply not ask. they never would get a real response anyway. "you ready?" Olivia asked them with a smile. the twins nodded, each of them carrying a duffel bag along with their school bag. one on each shoulder. "say bye to mami. i'll be in the car" she said. before she left the room completely she kissed her ex goodbye on the cheek. it wasn't always forceful, sometimes they had good days but whether their encounters were good or bad they made sure to always be nice to one another. even if it was just an act. just so their kids knew that there was no bad blood between them.

when Olivia left the room completely Nicole turned to her kids. "you guys got everything?" she asked with her usual warm smile that always seemed to reassure her kids. they both nodded whilst moving their bag a bit to indicate it was all in there. "good," Nicole nodded. "text me when you get there and please use bug spray. you know how bad the itching gets when you come back home" she said earning nods from both of them. her once small smile grew even wider as she opened her arms for both of them to walk into. they did so happily. "i love you guys so much" she whispered and kisses the crown of each of their heads.

"love you too" they both said in sync causing the mom to chuckle amused. with one final goodbye the twins ran out of the kitchen and toward the front door together leaving Nicole alone in the empty home.

Olivia and Nicole had moved around a lot since they got married. they had gone from a bachelor pad while they were dating to a two bedroom home when they got married. when Olivia first got pregnant they weren't expecting twins so they figured they'd live in that home at least until Nicole finished her residency but when they realized they'd be having twins they began to look for a larger home. two bedrooms turned into three which they enjoyed living in for a good five years. Olivia was the only one bringing in the money and although it was a good amount, Nicole always wanted them to invest in it together. five years later they moved into their current home. it was three stories, six bedrooms in total that they most definitely did not need but the moms always wanted to give their kids a good life.

five years show when she first moved in she was happy with her wife and it seemed ideal to live in that house. now? not so much. she already felt alone without her kids or even the woman she loved for so many years and living in such a huge home only intensified that feeling. she had never lived alone, not even while she was just starting college since she had a roommate but now she did. she lived alone. every other week she'd have to spend the full seven days alone with nothing but her thoughts and memories of the horrible trauma she had experienced twenty five years ago. trauma she would give anything to forget.

1996

music could be heard throughout the girls locker room along with all the girls on the team singing along to the lyrics playing through the speakers. it was just before the pep rally and all the girls were getting ready to show off to the school that they were going to nationals. most of the girls on the cheer team were already outside as they practiced the routines. Nicole was captain of the cheer team so she could do whatever she wanted which always meant staying in the locker room to spend time with her girlfriend and friends. Nicole was fixing her hair in the mirror whilst Jackie was doing Allie's makeup.

"Allie?" the blonde called out making Nicole glance beside her for a second before continuing to tie her hair up. "you all right? it's just a pep rally." Jackie assured the freshman. "honestly, i think the whole point is to give freshman something to jerk off to later." she said earning a chuckle from the brunette beside her.

"you're not wrong" she muttered her agreement. once she was done with her hair she began to fix her makeup next. all she was doing was stalling at that point but it didn't truly matter. the only reason she was still on the cheer team was for Lottie. although she enjoyed it a fair amount, her girlfriend loved it. she loved seeing Nicole in her uniform or the fact that she'd sometimes bring the team to cheer the yellowjackets on. Lottie especially loved that her girlfriend was one of the most popular girls in school and yet she was dating her.

the conversation was cut short when a familiar voice approached them. "Jackie." Lottie said and entered the room. "Coach wants to see you in his office." she said earning a nod from Jackie. Nicole turned to look at her girlfriend and sent her a smile that was recuperated by Lottie immediately.

Allie turned to the blonde before she could leave "im not nervous." she said quickly. Jackie shot her one last smile and then left the room. Van took her place instead, Nicole wasn't sure when she entered the room but she figured she was too distracted by Lottie to notice. when Van resumed Allies makeup, the girl decided to add onto her frustrations. "im the only freshman who got asked, you know." she said her voice breaking a little.

"i know" Van muttered sympathetically.

"it's so unfair," Allie said. "my dress was gonna be amazing" she continued which made Nicole roll her eye. she wasn't a big fan of some of the girls on the team and Allie was one of them. she was just so.. annoying.

the brunette was done fixing herself up by then and simply leaned against the sink as she watched Van and Allie converse.

"well, hey, at least you can wear it next year." Van persisted, still trying to make Allie feel better about her situation. Nicole fought back the urge to roll her eyes again. she probably wasn't the best at the whole 'team work' thing. even with the squad, she didn't take criticism lightly and even though most of the time she made others do the work for her, she'd never let any of them take her place.

Allie shook her head, "you don't get it, Van, cause nobody asked you."

Nicole looked at her girlfriend with wide eyes, her mouth slightly agape at what she had just heard. what a bitch. Lottie seemed to have the same reaction as Nicole. Van didn't seem as amused though, she looked a little more pissed and Nicole couldn't blame her. if she were in her place she probably would've already made up a rumor to spread around the school. "okay. you're done." the goalie said unamused.

Allie didn't seem to have read the situation as she shot Van a smile, glanced at her makeup really quickly before leaving the bathroom completely. as soon as she was gone it was as if they could all breathe again. "jesus christ" Lottie said making Nicole laugh along with Van.

Nicole moved away from the sink once her girlfriend pushed herself off the door and approached it. she wanted to give her and Taissa - who had just walked in, enough room for them to touch up. "does someone want to tell Kelly Kapowski to maybe worry less about prom and more about not fucking up nationals?" Lottie asked as she fixed up her hair a bit.

"oh, come on." Van muttered, somehow still giving the newbie the benefit of the doubt. Nicole didn't get it but then again she wasn't as nice as Van.

"if she plays like she did at states..." Lottie trailed off and Taissa cut her off with a chuckle.

"yeah, don't worry." she shook her head with a smile. her posture straightened up and she crossed her arms against her chest as she looked at her teammates through the mirror. "that's not gonna happen."

Nicole raised a brow, "i like this side of you" she said toward Taissa as she began to exit the bathroom. Tai turned toward her with a smile and a slight shrug before leaving altogether. seconds later Lottie pulled away from the sink and turned to her girlfriend instead.

"hi beautiful," she said with her usual smile. Nicole greeted her with a smile of her own and leaned up so she could place a quick peck on the taller girls lips. Lotties first instinct was to steady the young girl by her hips.

Nicole pulled away slightly, but not completely, leaving only a small amount of space between their lips. "ready to be cheered on?" the brunette asked lowly, her eyes subconsciously glancing down at the girls lips. it had become a habit by then.

"by you? always." Lottie confirmed.

[yanderefarm]

i love all of your ocs, i truly do, however. the absolute Chokehold that Ares has on me Cannot be underestimated.

if i do not longingly look at my phone during my work shift, waiting for my break to start so i can call my darling. the world has replaced me, for that is Not me. if i do not wake up choking in the morning because my wifey is death gripping me to Not go to work. That is NOT me!!! if i do not go to the kitchen and see the sunlight shine its Inferior rays down on the Love of My Life and press my head into the crook of his neck? THAT IS NOT ME!!!

i miss my wife. i miss her a lot. she’s at home right now. just got back from killing the waiter that flirted at me during our date. and i just saw her during my break. and i just called her again to make sure she was safe. but i still miss her. i hope she’s doing okay. i should call her again.

reject work!! reject the real world!! become a hermit. live in seclusion with lovely wife. becoming a wife guy is the only option.

he really would whine every morning when you try to get out of bed. same if you had a later shift. he is wrapped around you like a baby koala like "noooooo dont leave me... dont you want to stay and let me feed you?"

THE FUNNIEST PART IS LIKE THERE'S NO REASON FOR YOU TO HAVE TO WORK!!! HE HAS MONEY ENOUGH TO SUPPORT YOU BOTH. but his 1950s wifey dreams makes him want to be supported and his husband to come home to a nice steak dinner that he cooked in a puddle skirt.

[searchingsomewhere]

All Too Well: Cursed Narrative, 1

{"Your silhouette is burned in my memory. Rubble left from the moment that you left me."}

Rating: M (CW will be at the start of each chapter)

Here it is! Thank you, everyone, for reading the sequel to All too Well. For new readers, you don't technically need to read All too Well, but it will definitely help with context. Enjoy!

poly!Gojo x OC x Geto

@reiluvr @lalavender-sama @dei-lijla ilysm, thank you so much for reading!

Summers in Japan were known to be hot and humid. For school-aged children and teenagers, it was the time of year to play with friends, to go out and shop and spend days watching the clouds roll by. For Jujustu Sorcerers, it was the least busy season of the year.

In an apartment building in Tokyo, a young woman stood at the kitchen sink with a blue flip phone tucked between her ear and shoulder. Long, dark hair fell past her shoulders, green eyes darting around the sink as she washed dishes. The v neck of her blouse teased a glimpse of a scar running down her chest. A slender black cane was propped against the cabinet next to her.

"...It's complicated, dad," she said, switching from Japanese to English, "He comes from a very old family, so stuff like that isn't like how it is in the States."

"You've been together for five years, Miho, how complicated could it be?" Her father's tone was surprisingly light, "Don't you think it's odd to adopt before you're even married?"

"It's not really adoption. And we're not 'together'."

"That must be why he comes over every year for the holidays."

Miho rolled her eyes. "He's my best friend, and he doesn't like his family, so that's why-"

"Well, no matter what you kids call it, I don't care as long as you're happy," his voice trails off, as if he were leaning away from the phone. "I have to go, sweetheart. I love you."

"I love you, too. Be safe."

"I will. Say hi to Suguru for me."

Miho paused, hands stilling under the sudsy water. That name echoed in her head. Her bracelet glittered in the sunlight. Brown, green, and blue. She swallowed thickly, resuming her scrubbing.

"Satoru, Dad."

"Oh, jeez, what did I call him?" His embarrassed chuckle made her smile. "Don't mind your old man."

After the conversation was over, Miho dried her hands off on the towel by the sink. She watched the neighborhood children ride their bikes down the street. It was exceptionally sunny and beautiful out. The sky was crystal blue. It reminded her of someone.

Slow hands gripped her waist from behind, sliding around to pull her back against a broad chest. Miho sighed and leaned her head back. Satoru's white hair tickled her cheek as he nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply, breathing out a slow content hum.

"You smell good," he said close to her ear.

"You're here early," she said, turning to face him. Her hands instinctively slid up to loop around the back of his neck.

The white haired man smiled down at her. He was almost a head taller than her, surprisingly soft features framed by a mop of white hair. His eyes were a fantastic shade of light, light blue. Miho hadn't noticed in the years they'd known each other just how much he'd grown from a cute teenage boy. At twenty-three years old, Satoru Gojo was an incredibly attractive young man.

"I just got a call from the adoption agency," he said, his smile breaking into a grin.

"And?" Miho gasped, hands flying to her mouth.

"As of today, I have full legal guardianship over the kids," he announced, "The Zenin can't do shit to Megumi."

Miho squealed and threw her hands around his neck, pulling him into a hug. He laughed, kissing the side of her head.

"That's incredible! How did you do it? I thought you had to be twenty-five," she said, pulling away.

Satoru rolled his eyes, "Yeah, but I just kinda talked them into it. Perks of being a Gojo."

Miho gave him a deadpan look. She knew better than that. He only grinned harder and distracted her with peppered kisses down her neck. Miho laughed and struggled against him.

"You mean 'threatened'?" she said between giggles.

"I would never," he gasped, feigning hurt. "But forget about that. Let's go get the kids!"

His hand fit perfectly in hers. Miho grabbed her cane while he grabbed her purse from the couch.

They had successfully played this game of pretend the last five years. At first, the two had tried dating. It wasn't long until the higher administration heard about that, and the drama that ensued caused them to separate. As soon as everyone caught wind that the only heir to one of the most powerful clans in Japan was interested in pursuing someone, Satoru was hounded with questions about getting married and having children. That didn't stop them from seeing each other in private.

Miho smiled at the back of his head. Part of her mourned the relationship they should have been able to have. The other was just glad to have him by her side after all these years.

-----

A woman was rushing through the crowded street. She tightly gripped the arm of a little girl, pulling her along. The dark haired ten year old could barely keep up. She kept tripping over her legs. The woman huffed and yanked her forward still.

"Where are we going?" the little girl demanded.

"Quiet, Daiki," the woman hissed, "There's a monk here who will heal you of your affliction."

"I'm not-"

"Shut up. If your mother knew any better, she would have had you sent away a long time ago."

Daiki closed her mouth abruptly, averting her gaze to the ground. The grip on her arm was painful and sure to leave bruises later.

The two approached a temple. Its pristine, bright white marble pillars reflected the sunlight. Daiki squinted and held up her hand to block the sun.

"Be quiet when Mr. Geto speaks. Let me talk," the woman insisted. "Let's go."

Part 2

[chronicallyonlinewriter]

You Make Loving Fun

[As Long as You Follow] [People Still Listen to Fleetwood Mac in the Apocalypse]

Warnings: +18, MDNI, smut, oral sex, unprotected PIV. References to sexual violence (predates this fic). Age gap (Joel is 62, OC is in her mid-forties), post-outbreak! Joel, who is soft AF and loves his wife.

Words: 9,178

Summary: “Don’t fall asleep on me, now,” she murmured. He lifted his head to meet her gaze, and when he did he could almost feel her worries dissipating with his smile, replaced by a soft purr of contentment that resonated through him. Sunlight sculpted soft shadows across her face, bathing her skin in a honeyed glow and tangling in her hair as it splayed across her pillow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” As her breath hitched in a soft sigh, he stretched himself long just so he could nip at the crook of her neck. He loved the way her body responded to him, how she coiled into him like a vine seeking the sun; loved the way her eyes fluttered closed at his touch, her head tilted back in invitation. “Was just warmin’ you up.”

Previous Works:

For Your Love

Forever

This fic contains (non-explicit) art made specifically for this story - enjoy!

Hi, all. Once again, I am just posting some of my spicier scenes from As Long as You Follow to Tumblr - though, again, I don't think you necessarily need to read the entire fic to understand the context, if you're just here for the smut. I may open myself up for requests in a bit, as I wrap up that story as a whole - because while I enjoy writing scenes like this, it's also a challenge, and I think I need to encourage myself to practice a little more. Enjoy!

It was an incredibly strange experience to wake up in Galveston.

It almost reminded her of Jackson; of those dreamy, early days where Joel was still a new presence next to her in bed. Sunlight speared through her eyelids, the room swirling into focus when she opened her eyes and blinked against the brightness. Disorienting, just like then, this strange mix of unfamiliar comfort and the absence of threat, a voice in the back of her head reminding her through her confusion that there was no need for the urgency that pulsed through her, even when her hand instinctively slid under her pillow, fingers searching for the handle of her sheathed knife – her father's knife.

(She'd kept a knife under her pillow in those early days, too, unconvinced this newfound happiness was real, this fluke of finding a place in the world where she could fall asleep and be guaranteed to wake in the morning – no bombs, no overreaching government, no creepy neighbors lurking on the fire escape outside. And Joel had found it, once, when they were in a compromising position, his hand sliding under her pillow when he’d tried to brace himself and slipped. She still remembered his confused frown when he held up that pocketknife, the way his expression quickly shifted to an infuriating sort of pity – but she also remembered the way he calmly set it on the nightstand, the way he held her face in his hands and told her, ‘Nobody’s gonna hurt you, here,’ the way he then kissed her – the way she thought she might actually believe him.)

She’d spent so much of her life primed for danger that her body had twisted itself into a coiled spring, wound so tight that there were days where she thought she might shatter from the pressure of it. Even within this clean and bright and safe apartment she couldn’t quite relax, a nervous sort of energy always humming beneath her skin. There was a routine that she forced herself to follow, something that made everything a little less overwhelming: she’d allow the first tendrils of dawn to pull her from sleep, and before full consciousness had even fully arrived her hand would slide under her pillow, searching blindly for the cool heft of the blade’s wooden and steel handle. Twenty breaths, each one counted in her head, would anchor her to the bed, and only then would she let go of the knife and instead seek out her husband.

This part, at least, was easy. She usually woke before him, close enough to reach out a hand and touch him, to feel the steady rhythm of his breath. The sheets rustled as she stretched, and with a slow deliberateness she’d roll toward him, her body a question mark curled against his back, her arms struggling to fully envelop him. She’d nuzzle her face into his neck, whisper his name, feel his rumble of sleepy protest against her own skin – and he’d try, bless him, to maintain the facade of slumber, but he was always given away by the twitch of his mouth. The act never held; this was, after all, his favorite type of alarm clock. Still, he was difficult to fully rouse – so she’d bite him instead, a playful nip, a quick pinch of her teeth on his neck, his shoulder, anywhere that elicited a reaction – and that always jolted him awake and wide-eyed.

“You’re a menace,” was quickly becoming a familiar morning greeting, grogginess still clinging to the edges of his words, and so was her response:

“You love it, though.”

And she knew he did, the hand he reached back to squeeze at her thigh so gentle and full of affection. Often they’d just stay there a little bit longer, cocooned together beneath the sun-drenched sheets, a temporary reprieve from the soundtrack of life creeping in: the ocean below them, the hum of the fan above them, Ellie’s voice (always a touch too enthusiastic for such an early hour) slicing through the apartment as she chatted with someone (usually Perry). And maybe it was too often that this bittersweet pang would unfold in her chest, this craving for these little moments to be more constant – because it had taken a lifetime, or at least what felt like one, to find this sort of contentment, this love that had bloomed defiantly like a wildflower in the cracks of the pavement – and even now that she had it, and the room to enjoy it, she could feel that spring tightening again, threatening to snap her in half.

There was a part of him that didn’t mind these quiet evenings, when they happened. Much like his walks with Ellie, it was nice to spend some time alone with Benny – no interruptions, a chance to connect, to eat dinner together and sometimes share in a small amount of wine, to walk together around the block or watch the sky turn colors over the ocean, to curl up on the couch together and watch a movie. It was so close to feeling like home; her comforting weight pressed against his shoulder and chest, warm and welcoming; the way she sometimes dozed off before the movie even finished, and he just let her sleep because he liked the feeling of her leaning against him, his arm around her shoulders, her heart beating a steady rhythm against his ribs.

Sometimes these evenings were a little different. Sometimes wine flowed a little more generously (for her) while familiar music played from Alexei’s CD player. He danced with her now whenever she asked him to, without protest, because he didn’t have it left in him to ever again deny her anything that he had the power to give. She was at her happiest when he twirled her slowly around the living room, and there was something nostalgic about these steps – something familiar that pulsed under his skin when she laughed as he lifted her arm and carefully spun her, something so free about how she always danced barefoot, her hair swaying back and forth against her back, something special about the way she always kissed him first, because even when he led their steps, she led everything else –

– something exciting about the afternoon where Ellie left a little earlier than usual, sunlight still spearing through the tall living room windows while Lindsey Buckingham crooned through the stereo speakers and Benny twirled through the motes of dust lazily, a glass of wine in one hand, her hair glittering in the light. She and Ellie had gone to the beach earlier in the day when he’d been occupied with fixing the balcony door, and she’d donned another donated dress for the occasion; a cascade of white with splashes of emerald leaves and blossoms, the skirt loose and flowing, and when she danced, a bittersweet thought struck Joel: that this was probably the closest he would ever get to seeing her in anything that even remotely resembled a wedding gown.

(Art by @ayeleye.)

Sunburn kissed her shoulders with a rosy glow, a blush mirroring the flush on her cheeks, and when she beckoned for him to join her, curling two fingers in and out as she swayed, he did so with no hesitation, drawn to her like a moth to a flame – though he took her hand, first, spun her around slowly, and then wrapped her up against him from behind, all the better to trail his lips down her neck and over her shoulder, leaving fleeting white marks against her heated and red skin.

(Art by @miranhas-art.)

And there was just something about this that felt different even when it was achingly familiar; there was a rawness to it, an uninhibited surrender in the way she tilted her head back with a longing sigh, finding rest against his shoulder, the way she tipped the wine to her lips and drank long sips, then held it up so he could do the same.

“Better catch up, cowboy,” she teased him, and it was as though something inside of him snapped. The wine was so sweet against his lips, but it was nothing compared to her skin. He drained the glass in a single, impatient gulp, then plucked it from her fingers and set it on the desk behind him without even looking, his focus only on her. Everything happened in flashes; she was arching against him as his fingers tugged at her skirt, drawing the fabric over her thighs – she was facing him, kissing him, her hands threading through his hair – the world tilted, he was falling, and she was beneath him on the couch – she tasted like wine and smelled like the ocean and she was so soft against his edges, so loose and limber, so eager for every bit of his touch, moaning into his mouth when his hand slid under her dress and edged itself between her legs –

It ended, because of course it did, the moment shattering like glass – because there was a thump in the hallway that sounded suspiciously like a heavy, booted step, and a key scraped in the front door’s lock. A desperate scramble ensued, a mad dash to right themselves, to untangle their limbs. Benny hastily pulled down her skirt and Joel fumbled with his belt buckle – and thankfully it wasn’t Ellie that walked through the door, but it was a short-lived sort of relief, because Amos and Alexei both stopped dead in their tracks when they caught sight of the pair. To be fair, Joel knew they weren’t fooling anyone, even with the distance they’d hastily put between themselves. There was a flush creeping up the back of his neck; he had to assume his face was as red as Benny’s, her breath ragged and flustered as she attempted to comb her fingers through her mussed hair.

For just a moment, there was silence. And then Amos’ voice boomed through the apartment: “On the couch?” he demanded, at the same time Alexei jabbed an accusing finger and scorned, “You heathens!”

Benny snatched an oversized throw pillow and pulled it into her lap before folding over it, burying her face in the fabric as a strangled groan escaped her throat. Joel, his cheeks burning, scrubbed a hand across his face, massaging his skin roughly while wishing that the roaring pulse of blood pounding in his ears would drown out their mocking voices.

“ – and in front of the cat?”

“Absolute monsters –”

Perry didn’t seem all that offended, currently curled up in his usual place atop the other end of the couch, where the backing cushion sported a permanent divot on top because it was his preferred sunning spot. Alexei gathered the feline up in his arms anyway, shaking his head one final time before he carried him out of the room and down the hallway, mumbling something that Joel didn’t quite catch, while Amos lingered for a beat, staring them down with a glare that threatened to crack into a bristly grin. “I’m not mad,” he said finally, backing away slowly, “I’m just disappointed –” And then he had to duck when Benny groaned again and threw the pillow at his head, his barking laughter echoing down the hallway.

“Oh my god.” Benny stood up the moment he was gone, shaking her hands out in front of her chest. “I’m…going to hide in our room. And maybe throw myself off of the balcony. Yeah. That sounds like a plan.”

She disappeared, skirt swishing around the corner, leaving him alone and embarrassed and frustrated on the living room couch. Joel gulped in a few deep breaths, willing his thunderous heart and traitorous body to cooperate with one another, to allow him to stand up, and when he finally did he found that he couldn’t make himself follow her; there was no appeal to walk down that same hallway, to risk running into those two infuriating men again. He busied himself with pointless tasks, instead, because at least when his hands were occupied he didn’t have to really think about what just happened (and what didn’t happen, wasn’t currently happening). He snagged the wine glass from the desk, picked up the pillow from the floor and tossed it onto the couch (though if the patio door had been open, it would have been tempting to just throw it off the balcony as petty revenge) and silenced the radio right before Stevie Nicks could begin to explain to him that she had never been a blue, calm sea (and boy, could Joel relate).

He was breathing a little easier by the time the glass was rinsed and wiped dry, and deposited into the wire rack, but still he sighed, leaning over the edge of the counter with his shoulders hunched and wondering why, when they were barely ever there, practically ghosts in their own home, both Alexei and Amos had to pick that moment to walk through the door –

He heard scuffling coming from the hallway; sounds of laughter that sent a fresh wave of irritation crashing over him. He decided not to be there when they eventually emerged; with a determined stride he slipped down the hallway and past their bedroom door, and to his own, which was thankfully unlocked. He’d just managed to close the door behind him when he heard them again, their voices mixing together and echoing against the walls as they called out, feet thumping down the hallway.

“ – won’t be back for a while – enjoy your privacy – ”

“ – goddamn house is full of deviants –”

The front door slammed a thunderous goodbye, as though making a point. “Christ,” he mumbled, more to himself than anyone else, because the bedroom was otherwise empty. Benny’s shawl was draped over the corner of the dresser. He ran his hand over some of the hanging tassels as he walked past it, immediately knew that his hand now smelled like lilac without even having to check, and that alone was enough to return a small smile to his face as he leaned against the bathroom doorframe, arms folded across his chest. Benny met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror, head tilted to the side as her fingers combed through the last few tangles in her hair, a touch of lingering fluster coloring her cheeks along with her sunburn.

“One time,” she sighed, “in high school, I got caught in the back of Owen Grant’s car by my dad, of all people, and I thought I might actually die of embarrassment. This…” She bit her lip, clearly fighting the urge to laugh. “Yeah. This was worse, somehow, and I was fully-clothed this time.”

Joel mulled this over, chewing on his tongue thoughtfully. “Owen Grant, huh?”

She rolled her eyes at him in the mirror. “Don’t start.” But she was still smiling at him while her fingers danced through her curls, teasing out the knots. “Sorry,” she said finally, her voice softer. “Those two…kind of ruined a moment, didn’t they?”

“S’alright. Hard to be mad at ‘em. Prolly not the most polite thing we coulda been doin’ on their couch." Her snort of laughter was a welcome sound that he was pleased to have teased out of her. “Doesn’t…gotta be ruined, though.”

She didn’t reply for what felt like a long time, her gaze dipping down to her hands and the strands of gold weaving silently between her knuckles. He steeled himself, accepting the quiet – because he had no other choice. Because he wasn’t allowed to be the one to push anymore; couldn’t be, a privilege that was stripped away from him the day she went on patrol to the dam and then didn’t come back to him. And that was…difficult to contend with at the best of times, but especially now, when he’d just gotten a taste of everything he’d ever wanted from her – the searing pressure of her skin against his, those intoxicating sounds he’d drawn from her lips – and all he could think about was how much he wanted more of it, how lucky he would be get another chance at it.

“Maybe not,” she said finally, and a shiver ran down his spine. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the way she said them; her gaze, reflected back at him, crackled with an intensity that he couldn’t quite decipher. Yet when she again beckoned to him with two fingers he immediately went to her, body moving automatically to sweep her up from behind, arms wrapped tightly around her as he pressed the side of his face against hers. He watched as her hand began a slow exploration, sliding up his arm – and he closed his eyes when her fingertips drifted across his nose, skimming delicately across his healing scars. They still itched, sometimes, and pulled uncomfortably at the edges of his skin, especially after he’d been in the sun. He usually tried not to think about them, avoided looking at them in the mirror, needing no daily reminders of Waco when his dreams were already so haunted by it.

He countered the rising dread settling in his gut by tipping his head to the side, burying his nose against her hair and inhaling deeply. A wave of scents washed over him; the sharpness of her lilac soap, the brine of salt from the ocean, sweat and something else, a deeper note that resonated purely as Benny filled his nostrils, comforting enough that he tightened his hold on her almost subconsciously. “Got the place to ourselves again,” he mumbled against the strands, and he felt her shift against him, the press of her warmth more pronounced.

“Do we?”

“We do.” He opened his eyes, meeting her gaze in the mirror. It was a gamble, but his fingers dipped down, skimming against her thighs. He brushed his fingers against the softness of her dress, then gathered some of the material between his fingers. “Like you in this dress.” His voice rumbled from his chest, hips pressing against her through the flimsy fabric. His fingers continued to tug at the floral print, teasing the hemline up her thighs, fingertips dragging along her pale skin. “Don’t think I told you that, yet. Looks good on you.”

“Yeah?” she breathed, pushing her hips insistently against his and rolling her shoulders against his chest, the movement sending a delicious jolt through him. Her head tilted to the side, and there was something playful in her expression, a challenge he was eager to meet. He bared his teeth, making her giggle, and snagged the strap of her dress in his mouth.

"Mmhmm," he affirmed, his voice a little smothered by the fabric. With a slow, almost reluctant release, he let the strap drift down her arm like a fallen petal. He dipped his head, seeking the sweet haven of her neck, the delicate curve that led to her shoulder. Every word he murmured was a brand – gentle at first, then a touch sharper, each one punctuated a tender graze of teeth as she arched against him. Her neck erupted in goosebumps, each whisper of pressure against her skin eliciting a soft, sweet gasp from her throat. "I do. Like you even better out of it, though."

“Oh my goooooddd...” The laughter that bubbled up from her lungs was pure enchantment, filling him with warmth – and he knew it was ridiculous, this cheesy line, a relic from simpler times, but he also knew it was the key to unlocking her laughter. He wanted to hear her laughter vibrate against him – needed that; needed her loose and pliant and unguarded and happy, full of giggles and rolling her eyes at his absurdity, just like those early days when the scent of her in his sheets was still a novelty and he’d say just about anything to her as long as those beautiful lips would spread themselves into a smile for him.

‘Gonna have to find myself a new heart’ he told her once, not long after she’d officially moved in. He could still picture her stretched out along the bed, draped in one of his shirts and nothing else, giving him a rather skeptical look as she asked him ‘Why?’ ‘Cause,’ he answered, as though it should have been obvious, ‘you stole mine,’ and she laughed with such conviction, doubling over with tears glistening in the corners of her eyes, and he’d grinned and thought to himself that Will Livingston himself couldn't have done better.

There had been something almost frantic about their sex in those days; a whirlwind of frenzied discovery, a need to taste and feel and enjoy and fuck, delicous in its urgency, exciting. It changed, of course, because time was a skilled sculptor, reshaping their connection until familiarity and love birthed a slower dance – something a little more relaxed, more deliberate, something to take their time with, laughter mingling between moans. He missed that; craved that, the ease that had once graced their intimacy. She tried, in the years since the dam – she tried so hard, a warrior fighting against the tide of their shifting dynamic, but they’d never truly managed to capture the spark of what had first caused them to ignite.

And perhaps it was just wishful thinking on his part, but something just felt different now, in this very moment; that they might be different, changed by everything that had happened to them since they left Jackson. He was willing to take the chance, anyway.

“Sweetness...” He waited for her laughter to subside, her dress settling back down her legs with a sigh. His hands, large and firm, climbed her frail arms instead, and despite her smile he felt the shiver that cascaded down her back. She reassembled her composure while he watched, and when she met his eyes again in the mirror he leaned down, a single soft kiss brushing the crown of her head. Then, his voice dropped to a whisper against her ear. “I want you.” He tightened his hold on her, a possessive need echoing in his voice. “Need you, darlin’. Can I…?”

And immediately, her expression shifted into the one that always tied him in knots – because he couldn’t stand it; couldn’t stand the surprise on her face, the way her eyes widened whenever he openly pined for her, the silent query: Who – me? Really? As if she wasn’t beautiful and strong and fierce and desirable and too good for him all wrapped up in one smartass package that left him perpetually yearning for more. As if he hadn’t spent his first year in Jackson resigned to always being alone late at night, convinced that chapter of his life was closed, a casualty of age and circumstance, and being fine with that until she so suddenly exploded into existence and changed everything – until she turned all the parts in his life that were still monochrome into technicolor, filling his house with flowers and music and his heart so full of affection that sometimes he was astonished there was still enough room for it beneath his ribs.

“I…” For a moment she just stood there, swaying slightly against him, a little stunned. But her voice, when it finally arrived again in her throat, was clear: “I want you.”

Something broke, that just moments before had been so solid – a tension that had been building inside of Joel, fighting against his need for patience, a little voice in the back of his head that was telling him over and over again ‘don’t fuck this up’ that shattered into a million pieces the second he saw longing in her eyes. It was as though all rational thought was gone and he was left to move only on instinct, colliding with her, fingers and lips searching out every part of her skin, desperate to devour her, filled with the need to touch and feel and taste and press and god, was it ever amazing when she kissed him back, when she spun around just to throw her arms around his neck and practically jump on him, when she pulled him to the sink and forced his hands to her hips, urging him to lift her up on its polished surface amongst all of their bathroom clutter.

With every move she was fluid, precise, her body responding to his every touch with an electric hunger. He stepped between her legs and she instinctively hiked up the hem of her dress, the fabric gathering and bunching down either side of her thighs. He kissed her as her fingers began that familiar fumbling dance at his belt buckle – but it was a sure hand that stopped her, gently clasping her wrists and tugging her away even as she groaned in annoyance.

“Not yet,” he told her, and he reclaimed her lips with his own, silencing any potential protest. And it worked; her resistance melted against him, her hands raising just so they could tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. Their bodies swayed in sync, her hips reflexively pressed against his while his hands traced along the contours of her thighs, pausing only briefly at the raised ridge of her scar – just long enough to squeeze it with far more gentleness than he’d shown any other part of her, drawing a small whine from her throat. He chuckled, and in one smooth movement he slithered his fingers along the waistband of her simple, violet-colored panties, coaxing them down her hips one small tug at a time – and she understood, lifting her hips in silent consent and crossing her ankles together in front of him, nudging him away just long enough for him to shimmy the fabric down her legs and toss them to the tiled floor.

“Don’t need these,” he said simply, settling back between her legs. She let out a soft, eager whimper, hinging her knees around his waist, urging him closer and whispering something against his bad ear that he didn’t quite catch, but seemed to be fervent agreement. His fingers found her already slick and inviting when he slipped a hand between her thighs – and she moaned into his mouth when he kissed her again, tracing circles against her already sensitive bundle of nerves. “Don’t wanna just touch you,” he murmured, and he felt her shudder against him, felt her heels dig into his back, “wanna taste you – can I? God, darlin’, please –” and he heard her whisper against his lips, yes – yes –

He almost couldn’t believe his luck; her eagerness, her lack of hesitation, and so it was with a sudden burst of energy that his hand momentarily abandoned the tender haven between her legs, her gasp of surprise nearly drowned out amidst the clatter of various items tumbling to the floor – their toothbrushes, the soap dish that held his scentless soap, his razor. He didn’t care, hooking his arms under her knees and dragging her forward as he hunched over, his awareness of his surroundings narrowing to the urgent need to taste her, diving between her thighs with unrestrained hunger.

His tongue traced a reckless path, trailing a wide and sloppy stripe through her folds, senses ablaze with her essence, that same little voice in the back of his head urging him on, telling him more. The confines of his jeans suddenly suffocating, constrictive against his arousal; he worked at his belt with one fumbling hand even as he savored every nuance of flavor on his tongue – the saltiness of it, the sweet tang that he hadn’t tasted in years, igniting something so primal it eclipsed even the need for air in his lungs –

“Oh my god –” She let out a sharp cry that echoed against the tiles, her fingers winding through his hair with a grip that bordered on painful (and he savored in that, too). He tightened his hand around her thigh, increasing the pressure of his tongue, and she moaned his name like a prayer, her hips grinding against him desperately. “Joel –”

“You want me to stop?” He withdrew only for as long as it took him to mumble the words and then bite lightly at the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, his mustache tickling her skin. She yelped, then shrieked with laughter when he did it again, tugging at his hair hard enough to finally make him wince.

“Don’t you dare –”

With a low groan of relief, he finally managed to free himself from the constraints of his jeans, all the better to wrap both arms around her legs and draw her flush against his mouth – and it didn’t take long for those breathy whimpers to evolve into full-throated moans, for the rocking of her hips to become complimentary to his own rhythm. He buried his nose in her soft curls, tongue swirling, delving deeper – and it’s goddamn magic, he thinks, her stomach so taut with strain as one of his hands drifted from her thigh to edge across her navel, the arch of her abdomen rippling beneath his fingertips; how needy the movement is when she grabbed his fingers and pulled them up, squeezing them tight against her chest, seeking the friction of his calloused skin against the delicate fabric covering her breasts.

Her writhing form became his muse, inspiring each stroke of his tongue, each press of his fingers against her gleaming flesh. And she responded so instinctively, as though they’d never been out of practice, shaping herself to fit his touch like clay to his sculpting hands – and all he could think about was how much he loved this, the way she squirmed under his tongue, his hands, using her body freely with him, so brazen as she chased her own satisfaction –

– and she found it quickly, her climax hitting her hard and fast, her thighs clenched around his ears, her moans sharp, head thrown back with the crown of her hair pressed against the mirror. Undeterred, he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down until she began tugging on his hair in a different way; as a warning, her heel knocking against his shoulder as she struggled to get out the words, “Joel – fuck – stop,” her laughter strained and breathless.

His mouth kept moving, lips slick with her arousal peppering her inner thighs with kisses, traveling up her body as he carefully straightened his spine (mindful of his aching back) until his torso was pressed against hers and she was reaching for him, enveloping him. It made him want to dissolve into his own pleasure with how anxious she was to taste herself on his lips, panting into his mouth, arching into him – it would have been so easy to slide himself within her; he was already poised to, sprung from his layers of clothing, his tip slotted against her swollen entrance –

“C’mere, darlin’.” With a low grunt, he pulled her close, securing her lithe frame against his torso, his pride ignoring the rather indignant sound she made as he lifted her off the edge of the sink, pulling her up, up – but she trusted him, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. It was a slow spin and an even slower shuffle as he carried her out of the bathroom. He couldn't quite see where they were going, focused solely on not losing balance, but soon they were leaving the cool dimness of the bathroom and walking into the bedroom’s sunshine, the light that seeped in through the uncovered patio door warm against their skin.

"Your back—" she insisted against his lips, but he stilled her concern with another kiss, one that lingered until his knee bumped against the foot of the bed. Abandoning any semblance of elegance, he simply tossed her atop the quilt, where she landed and bounced across the mattress with another yelp.

“Smooth,” she laughed, propping herself up with one arm. Sweeping her tousled hair out of her face with the other, she paused to study him. He loomed over her, his tall frame casting a shadow on the bed as he lowered his palms to the quilt, caging her in, unable to help his sheepish grin. She held his gaze for only a second before her eyes flickered back down to his unzipped jeans, his belt hanging loose, boxers haphazardly shoved halfway down his thighs. She arched an eyebrow at him, biting her lip, but her voice was firm when she ordered him: “Pants off. All the way.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he agreed. But he didn’t move immediately. He gave himself a moment to catch his breath, to let his eyes drift over her as she lay in front of him, flushed and glistening, ribs expanding wide with every labored inhale, skin shimmering with a dewy sheen. The skirt of her dress was still pushed up over her thighs in a way that was almost deliciously obscene, and it struck him then – not for the first time – that it was a minor miracle how his life, after seemingly ending so many years ago, could have still led him to this very moment; that this woman bathed in sunlight in front of him had managed to find him at the edge of the world and make him feel lucky. “Gotta do somethin’ real quick, first, though.”

It was so much easier, the second time. Easy, the way he hooked his arms under her bare knees and dragged her toward him. Simple, the way she laughed and squealed and then groaned under the pressure of his tongue, her hand clamped over his wrist as it gripped her hip, tugging at his watch. Effortless, the way she unraveled against him, shuddering and swearing and laughing in short bursts, pushing him away from her overly-sensitive core with languid hands until finally, he relented.

With a grunt, he kicked off his scuffed boots and shed his jeans and boxers, even his t-shirt, desperate to be as close to her as possible, for there to be as little of a barrier between them even if it was just a layer of fabric. And she welcomed him as he crawled between her trembling legs, working his way up to her, his teeth, teasing rather than devouring, nipping and pulling at her flesh, each bite drawing a hiss from her panting mouth. His fingers climbed the ladder of her ribs, finding the perfect slots in the rise and fall of each bone, his other palm tracing the shallow valley between her breasts.

The years had etched every inch of her skin into his memory, and he felt now that there was no part of her remaining that was undiscovered, no territory of her skin that he didn’t feel as though he knew at least as well as his own, but he still explored her now as though he’d never been fortunate enough to touch her before today, trying to unearth all of her; every scar and every dimple, the whisper of goosebumps on her thighs, the jut of her hips, the map of veins across her spindly wrists.

With a soft groan he heaved himself up, pressing his full weight against her torso. For a moment he simply held her, his cheek pressed against the hard plane of her sternum. Breath for breath, they matched each other's rhythm, her heart beating a frantic song against his ear.

Her hands cradled his scalp, fingers running through his silvering curls. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of it, letting the gentle pressure seep into his skull. “Don’t fall asleep on me, now,” she murmured. He lifted his head to meet her gaze, and when he did he could almost feel her worries dissipating with his smile, replaced by a soft purr of contentment that resonated through him. Sunlight sculpted soft shadows across her face, bathing her skin in a honeyed glow and tangling in her hair as it splayed across her pillow.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” As her breath hitched in a soft sigh, he stretched himself long just so he could nip at the crook of her neck. He loved the way her body responded to him, how she coiled into him like a vine seeking the sun; loved the way her eyes fluttered closed at his touch, her head tilted back in invitation. “Was just warmin’ you up.”

"Don't stop," she breathed, her fingers tugging at his hair. He didn’t stop – he kissed every part of her that he could, every part of her that he could reach while she writhed under his touch. By the time their lips finally met again, there was a warmth curling into his stomach, an impatience in his movements –

He had to force himself to pause, to take a breath, tucking his face against the dampness of her neck. He could already feel it, this primal need to lose control, to bury himself deep within her – she was already using his length as it remained tucked between them, rocking her hips back and forth as it slid between the slickness of her folds, whimpering into his ear about how good he felt, how good he was, how much she’d missed this, how much she needed him –

He could have taken her right then, so easily; could have slid himself into her warmth and fucked her until she’d milked every last drop from him – and he would have loved that, would have loved transporting them both back to a time where sex was uncomplicated and fun, back before she’d earned so many of her scars. But he wanted more from her than that - wanted more for her – and so he slowed himself. He pressed into her as though the weight of him alone would be enough to protect her, cupping her jaw with a calloused hand, tracing the familiar curve with his thumb, content for the moment to just enjoy the heaviness of his body slotted against hers, the sensation of her ribs pulsing against him with every breath. Her hips settled, confusion and concern warring in her gaze.

"Joel –"

"Darlin'." His head dipped low, every word spoken between the press of his lips against her collarbones, the slope of her shoulder. "You still with me?"

"Yes," she whimpered. His free hand was clenched into the sheets next to her shoulder; she arched her arm and grasped it with her hand, fingers intertwining with his, holding tight. "Joel – please –"

"Love you so goddamn much,” he murmured, his lips finding their way back to her neck, joined by his teeth; and he wasn’t gentle, tiny galaxies of violet blooming against her skin under the warmth of his breath. His bites were slow, deliberate, goosebumps following in their wake, a beautiful gasp elicited by each one. "So goddamn much. And I want you to feel good – only good. You feel good?"

“Yes,” she insisted. He shook his head, licking a stripe all the way up her neck until it curved around her ear, his tongue tracing the delicate rim of it while she shuddered beneath him. It wasn’t enough for him, this shaky affirmation – no matter how much he ached for her walls clenched around him, he couldn’t commit himself to what came next until he knew, truly knew that she was ready for him, eager and willing. He met her gaze again, his hand slipping from hers just so they could both cup her blushing face.

"Tell me, darlin'," he whispered, his voice a low rumble against her skin. “Tell me what you want me to do to you."

Her lips were soft, but insistent when they crushed themselves against his. It was as though she was trying to slide under his skin; there wasn’t a part of her body that wasn’t moving urgently against him, demanding his attention. Her long, trembling legs wrapped around his waist like clinging vines, her nails digging into his back, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He couldn't escape the feeling of her everywhere, this urgency that pulled at him until he had no choice but to surrender, because he lost track of time, lost track of himself in the dizziness that came with being pressed against her, her voice urging him on as she purred in his ear, I want you – I need you – please – please –

And it felt like salvation when slotted himself within her, inch by inch – he was rewarded for this, her head tilting back while a small cry of relief fluttered from her lips, her hips rolling against his until he’d worked his way into her fully, stretching her walls around him. His groans mingled with hers as he buried his face against her neck, taking in the heady combination of her shampoo and sweat, and the salty tang of the sea clinging to her wavy strands. In this moment they both surrendered to stillness. Every beat of her heart thrummed against his skin, filling him with a sense of completeness that he hadn’t quite expected, gratitude for her blooming in his chest.

“Baby.” Joel retreated his hips, drawing himself out just an inch or two and then rutting back in; a slow, lingering stroke. He wanted to take his time with her, to draw out as much pleasure for both of them as he could, but this was beginning to feel impossible. His resolve was already beginning to weaken, a more primal urge surging forward, a need to press on and take what he could, to claim her – but he reminded himself that he couldn't. He was meant only to give to her right now, not to take – her vulnerability a fragile thing that he could easily crush if he wasn't careful with it. “Feel so damn good. M’embarrassed – might not last very long.”

“Oh.” Her hand drifted away from his back, raking through his hair, holding tight with his curls clenched between her fingers. Her voice was light, the words floating out along her fluttery breaths. “Well, then. I guess you’d better make it count.” She rolled her hips again, sliding herself along his length, fucking herself with his body before he’d even dared to move. It was as though she ignited a fire in his gut – he met her move for move now, his strokes slow, deliberate, causing her to arch her neck and moan with each connection of their bodies, every sound she made vibrating against his lips as he kissed and nipped at her blemished skin.

“Faster,” she pleaded. His lips curved into a chuckle against the softness of her neck, his fingertips trailing lightly along the base of her skull.

“Sweetness,” he groaned, “if I go any faster, it’s gonna be over.” He could feel her breath quicken in response, something like a desperate whine streaming out of her throat as her fingers gripped even more tightly in his hair – and damn if that didn’t immediately drive him a little over the edge. He stilled his hips, tucking his face against her damp, warm skin, fighting back a sigh of impatience aimed at how his own body was currently trying to embarrass him,

She huffed slightly when he didn’t immediately acquiesce, winding her legs around him even more tightly and moving again. She set the pace this time, and he let her, following the rocking of her body as she clung to him, pleasure pooling in his stomach. She was so warm, alight in the waning sun, every bit of exposed skin gleaming with sweat, slippery against him with every movement. “Fuck,” he panted, his hand shooting out to steady himself against the headboard, because he couldn’t stop himself now, snapping his hips against hers, pumping deeper inside of her with every thrust, chasing his own satisfaction –

“Wait – stop –”

She was trying to kill him, he decided; had to be, because it was torture, this request. But he froze almost immediately, propping himself on his elbows so he could get a better look at her face (though he didn’t know what he’d do if he saw those familiar tears or that look of panic, if he realized she wasn’t as ready for all of this as he’d thought she was, if he’d managed to hurt her, even unintentionally, if, if...), because he was certain she wouldn’t purposefully inflict this – this delicious, agonizing torment – unless something was wrong –

Instead, it was a rather bashful expression that met his gaze; her face flushed and sparkling, biting her lip just to keep her smile somewhat in-check. “I…” Out of breath, she tilted her head back, inhaled deeply; he immediately kissed her neck, relief flooding him when she huffed out a laugh.

“You okay?” he asked her softly, his voice muffled against her skin as his lips traveled up, pressed against her jaw, her cheek. “Baby –”

“Yeah.” It came out with a puff of air, as though she’d been holding the word in her chest for too long. “Yeah – I just –” Her smile shifted, suddenly shy. “Can I get on top?”

His only response, the most natural one his heart could muster, was to kiss her – again, and again, until his lungs burned and the world tilted on its axis, and he didn’t care because she was still laughing, still moving with him, fitting him like she was made for him, like she’d been molded for him from the very beginning and then dropped on this earth just to find him. He was drowning in the scent of her hair, the sunlight glinting off her damp skin, the delicious friction where their bodies met –

– but then she was pushing him away, both hands firm against his chest, and he was letting her, because she was so insistent in her movements, one of her legs forcing him to roll over until he was on his back, her voice filling the space between them, begging, “please – let me – just let me make you feel good –” and he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her no –

She clambered on top of him, straddling him with her skirt bunched up around her waist, spilling over his sides. She claimed him fully, immediately, submerging every inch of him within her warmth – and she was a vision as she began to ride him, her hips rolling and cresting like a wave clad in white and green flowers, face tilted to the ceiling, eyes closed, hair a glittering waterfall of molten gold bouncing against her back.

He thought nothing could have surprised him less than this, this fierce need for control, a need to reciprocate – but it wasn’t dominance, this time; it was just a desperate need to balance the scales, to give as good as she got, to remind him that he was the recipient of an affection so profound that it demanded a tangible exchange. He reveled in being the vessel for this outpouring, the one chosen to hold this fragile thing that existed between them – him, of all people, a man who certainly didn’t deserve it, but was lucky enough to have it anyway. So he held onto her hips with hands that done terrible things but only knew how to be kind to her, keeping her steady until he felt her shudder again, knew that she was coming loose on top of him, her muscles tensing, her groans escaping her throat as sharp bursts –

He savored every moment of her climax, letting her ride the waves of pleasure for as long as she needed. He watched her core move in time with his, her eyes slammed shut, and when she began to falter, her arms slack against the headboard and her hips faltering in their rhythm, only then did he join her in this bliss – and he was glad for her help with that, for the subtle guidance of her hips even when she crumpled against him, her hair hanging in his face so that all he could see was strands of gold; the way she let him take over those last few strokes, driving into her unburdened by gentleness, and the way that, at the last moment, she swept her hair away just so she could kiss him, so he could see her face and feel her hot breath on his skin while he fell apart, that knot in his stomach unraveling.

And this was magic, he thought; the way each thrust painted her insides with his release, his unwillingness to stop until he had nothing more to give, until his body stuttered and became still only out of exhaustion, drained and empty and yet full of bliss with her comforting weight pressed against his chest. He could barely move, could barely even think, but his hands seemed as though they had a mind of their own anyway, running up and down the back of her dress, damp with sweat, his mouth mumbling affectionate words that he barely even registered. They remained connected, his body still pulsing with aftershocks, heart lurching in his chest, and when she finally tipped herself over she brought him with her, one leg still slung over him as they rested on their sides, her face tucked against his neck.

Stars bled from his vision as he clumsily grasped her face in his hands. “Baby,” he said gently, enjoying her soft moan when he adjusted his hips, “you feel good?”

Silence stretched, a beat too long. Her eyelids remained stubbornly shut, even when she nodded, her lips a thin line, tightly pursed – and it was quick, that thread of panic that began to unwind in his chest, spooling loose and filling his limbs with little jolts of alarm. Dread clawed at him, and almost as though he thought it would somehow be a cure, he rained kisses down her face – her lips, her nose, her forehead, desperate to coax a reaction. Finally, her eyes fluttered open, and immediately a tear traced a glistening path down her cheek – and he kissed this, too. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out, his heart plummeting with every syllable, “it’s so stupid –”

“Not stupid.” He didn’t even know what it was, it was just reflexive, his need to ward away any semblance of self-doubt – and she seemed to realize this, because she laughed again, blinked away another tear, and with a shaky breath she reached up to pull him against her lips, the taste of salt and something deeper lingering there. “Tell me,” he mumbled when she pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers. “If that was…shit, I –”

“No, no,” she stammered. “I’m just – it’s a dumb thing to cry about.” Her laugh was a brittle thing, frayed at the edges. “I…” She pursed her lips, reaching her hand out, her fingertips tracing a feather-light path against his scars. He leaned into them, grateful for them, for this surge of warmth chasing away the sudden chill that had settled over him, chasing the ghost of her touch with a kiss to her palm when her fingers curled against his cheek. She didn’t linger here – she pivoted her arm, her hand and wrist pressed firmly against his eyes. The pleasure blossomed in his gut shifted, sharpened somewhat, twisting into a knot of anxious anticipation – because he could feel her shaking, the hand on his face fluttering like a bird trapped against his skin. “Just – give me a second, okay? Don’t look at me, maybe.”

“Don’t see that I got much of a choice in that.” He didn’t like this, the forced blindness, the lack of control – didn’t like that he couldn’t see her, couldn’t gauge her expression, that he had absolutely no idea if the woman he was still inside of was lying next to him with terror on her face – and this possibility, the sheer hypothetical of it made him feel about ready to crawl out of his skin, a mere figment of his panicked mind that felt suffocatingly real. “Benny –”

“Just – wait, okay? Just one minute.”

And so he waited, blind and anxious while her chest rose and fell against him, while her other hand began a rhythmic path up and down his back, fingers dragging along his skin. “Okay,” she finally sighed, and it was a little startling, the watery laugh that accompanied this. “I’m sorry, I just…” She dropped her hand from his face only because it was needed elsewhere, to wipe away the tears that streamed down her cheeks. She caught his expression, that anxiousness, the worry that no doubt was still etched across his features, and a chuckle bubbled up from her chest. “Just – a little overwhelmed, is all. Not – not in a bad way. I’m just –” Another laugh shook her body. “You have to think I’m crazy, oh my god –”

“Hey,” he said quietly, trying to force his voice into a tone that was more soothing – and she tried to rein it in, she really did, biting at her lips just to try to stop the laughter, though this only resulted in a sound more like a strangled hiccup. “Look at me.” She did, her lips parting just to let out another long, shuddering breath. “Y’aint crazy. Just wanna make sure you’re…okay, ‘cause –”

“I’m okay.” She said it so forcefully, it actually surprised him. “Because it’s not…that. I’m just…I’m really happy. And I’m not – it’s just been a while, since we…did this and I could – that it’s been only...good. And it’s just…a lot, okay? I…” And maybe she recognized his relief, because she didn’t hesitate to kiss him again, her hand sliding across his skin to squeeze at his thigh. “I think,” she mumbled against his lips, “I just…forgot how good it could be.”

“Oh.” He was so filled with relief, so full of affection for her; he pushed her hair away from her face for her, pressed his nose against her cheek with a small sigh. “Well – damn, woman,” he murmured, “glad I could remind you.”

When her bubbly laughter faded away, the silence that settled was like a warm blanket. Outside, the sun was dipping ever lower, the balcony finally cast in shadow. The light filtering through the windows and the tall glass door dimmed, tinged with the embers of a fading sunset. He couldn’t see his wife’s face as it was still tucked under his chin, but he could feel her; feel her presence in the steady rhythm of her breath, each exhale a sigh of contentment. The longer they lay there together, however, the more certain he became that she’d drifted off to sleep, draped so languidly across him.

A nagging thought prodded him; that at least one of them should be awake and ready to greet Ellie when she came back to the apartment – she wasn’t usually gone for more than a few hours at a time – but it was difficult to fully convince himself of this when he felt such peace. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d laid together like this after having sex, a moment just to enjoy the afterglow, and he realized for the first time that it was possible he missed that more than the act itself.

For just a few more minutes, he decided, everything else could wait. He closed his eyes.

[florencemtrash]

Let them find us here

Azriel x OC oneshot (but honestly I just like to write with a name instead of ‘reader’ or ‘y/n’)

Warnings: Descriptions of violence and death

________________

Niamh liked to imagine Az with wrinkles - crow's feet splintering out from the corners of his golden eyes as proof of the laughter he so rarely expressed, like the first cracking of ice along the river when spring whispered warmth over the ground. She imagined how he would look with silver shooting through his raven-black hair like stars across the sky. She liked to imagine the textures and smells of a quiet life with him - coming home after another long day at the clinic, the sharp scent of herbs clinging to her coat, and being greeted by the sight of him sitting in his usual spot by the windowsill, sipping his favorite tea and flipping through reports. 

But the quiet life was never theirs to possess. 

Never had been, never would be. 

Blood and bodies, damp and suffocating, assaulted her nose. She would have breathed through her mouth if it weren’t for the faint taste of death that fell on her tongue. She tuned out the noises of protest from those around her as she forced herself into a sitting position. It surprised her how easily the screams of battle could slither beneath her consciousness.

Az. Where was Az?

Fingers weakly grabbed at her ankles as she passed limping from the arrowhead still lodged in her right knee. 

She tried to be careful, tried not to look down as she moved through the sludge of bodies whispering apologies that would fall on empty ears. How many of these people were her’s? How many belonged to the enemy? 

Niamh did not know and did not care. War made victims of them all.

Where was Az?

He’d run ahead of her, disappearing into the swarm of fae that made efforts to breach the palace steps. She felt the faint crush of bones, the tugging of skin, the sinking of her boot through ruined flesh. 

There was nothing to do but continue forward.

She found Az laying on the marble steps, back pressed against one of the pearl-white pillars that held up the golden roofs of the Summer Court. Rays of sunlight poured out from the cracked ceiling pooling gently on his tanned skin and mixing with the blood stains and shadows that swam over his body. If it weren’t for the wreckage around them and the Illyrian leathers sticking to his body with sweat, Niamh could imagine she was coming home to find him sprawled out on the living room couch, raven-black hair flapping gently in the breeze that liked to fill their apartment with the smells of baking bread from the cafe downstairs.

She crawled to him, collapsing on the ruined floor and grabbing hold of his face. His eyes were closed as if in sleep, brows relaxed, eyelids flitting about from some unknown dream.

“Az?” she murmured desperately, giving him a small shake. His skin was clammy to the touch and she brushed away the silky strands of hair that stuck to his forehead with blood.

They’d shut down both sides of the bond before the battle, left each other with only the faintest of kisses that whispered the promise I’ll be back. This won’t be the end.

The empty space in her chest clenched painfully like a stomach starved.

The faintest of sighs left Azriel’s lips as his eyes opened. He thought he was dreaming. Dreaming of his wife. Dreaming of his mate. 

“Niamh,” the name left him like a prayer, “Niamh.”

She choked back a sob, feeling the presence of him enter her soul again. “Hello, my love.” She pressed a kiss to his temple, her body finding its rightful place curled up against Azriel’s side. 

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, seeking out the familiar smell of her, the pulse of her heart beneath his lips. 

He was tired, more tired than he’d ever been in his life. The kind of exhaustion that seeped into his bones and settled there as sure as water settles into the earth. Niamh was tired as well. He could feel it in the way she slumped against him, the way the thump of her heart slowed to match his.

“I thought you were going to leave without me,” she whispered.

“Never.”

Somewhere in the distance she heard the ringing of bells.

One… 

Two… 

Three… 

Four…

The fifth bell never came. They’d won.

Somehow Niamh found it within her to laugh, but the sound came out broken and wet. 

Az held her closer to him.

Even after all this time, even after everything they’d been through, she could find it within her to laugh. It was her laughter that he’d first fallen in love with. The sound had raced through the halls of the River House as swiftly and with as much power as the wind that roared in his ears during flight. It had cracked through the barriers he’d placed around his heart before tearing them down with all the stubbornness and determination Niamh possessed in her body. She’d made it a personal mission to make him like her, and she’d succeeded. After over 900 years of life, Azriel was glad it was the last sound he would ever hear.

Niamh felt him fading and her soul slowly flicked out in response, intent on chasing Azriel across whatever lands lay beyond. She would follow him to their final resting place.

“I love you, Niamh.”

“I love you, Az.”

Let them find us here. Azriel prayed the words to whatever gods existed. Let them find our bodies here… together. It was the only taste of comfort he’d be able to give his family after he was gone.

The time they’d had together would never be enough. So, just as they’d promised one another on the night of their wedding 365 deceptively short years ago, they followed one another to the very end and continued following even after.

Author’s note:

This is the first piece of writing I’ve ever posted anywhere so... I’m rather nervous about it. But! I can’t get better unless I try so I hope you enjoyed it and please let me know if you have recommendations/thoughts for how I can improve my writing. 

[happyhuffles]

Angel - 09

Pairing: Idol!Hyunjin x Musician!oc

Genre: Fluff.

Synopsis: Two strangers with the same love for the city and songwriting meet under the stars in Chicago. They fall in love, quick and easy. But, there’s a problem. They are both keeping a big secret from each other.

Warning: suggestive content, cursing.

2.4k

_____

Soft rays of sunlight peek through the cracked curtains of the hotel room, casting golden streaks across the tangled sheets. The warm light kisses Anne’s skin, highlighting the soft curves of her face, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She looks like a real life angel and Hyunjin can feel his heart stutter in his chest at her beauty. 

The clock on the wall reads 1:30 pm but he chooses to ignore it. It was just he and Annie. Nothing else mattered more than his angel getting the rest she deserved. 

Carefully, he reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. His fingers barely graze her skin, afraid to wake her, but he lingers for just a moment, memorizing the way she feels beneath his touch. She had always been beautiful, but like this—soft, unguarded, lost in sleep—she was something divine. His angel.

So he stays still, letting time pass unnoticed, letting the quiet surround them. Simply enjoying her closeness and touch was enough for him. 

Another thirty minutes pass before Anne starts to stir. 

It’s subtle at first. A soft sigh, the faintest scrunch of her nose as the sunlight grows brighter against her skin. Then, her fingers twitch, shifting ever so slightly against his bare chest. Hyunjin holds his breath, unwilling to break the peaceful moment as her eyelashes flutter open, revealing sleep clouded eyes that take a moment to focus on him.

A lazy, drowsy expression crosses her face before Anne lifts her head from his chest, moving up the bed with slow, unhurried movements. She barely seems awake as she nestles into the crook of his neck, her warm breath fanning against his skin. She lets out a content sigh, wrapping both of her arms around one of his. 

Hyunjin smiles softly, tilting his head just enough to press a lingering kiss to the top of hers. His free hand moves on instinct, tracing slow, absentminded patterns along her back. She’s impossibly warm, her body molding perfectly against his, as if this is exactly where she’s meant to be.

“Morning,” he murmurs, even though it’s long past noon.

Anne hums in response, her voice muffled against his skin. “Too early…”

Hyunjin chuckles, the sound low and fond. “It’s almost two, baby.”

This causes Anne to sit up fully. Her head snapping back to look at the clock that hung on the wall opposite of her. 

1:58

"Shit, really?" she blurts, rubbing her eyes. 

Hyunjin grins, propping himself up on one elbow as he watches her process the time. “Told you.”

Anne groans, flopping onto her back beside him. "We need to go to the drugstore and get some Plan B."

Hyunjin throws his head back and barks out a laugh at her words. Anne turns her head to glare at him, unamused.

"I hate you," she grumbles, fighting back a smile. 

Hyunjin grins, still chuckling as he rolls onto his side to face her. His fingers trail lazily over her arm, tracing invisible patterns against her skin. "We should stock up," he muses, his voice dipping lower, rougher. "I really like having you like that last night."

Anne's face blushes a furious shade of red at his words. Her hand comes up to throw a playful backhand into his chest. "Plan B, is not Plan A, Hyunjin." She scolds despite her flustered state. "But, I really liked it too." 

Hyunjin smirks, reaching out to tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "Oh?" he prompts, his voice teasing, but there’s something softer in his eyes. 

Anne exhales sharply, her fingers twisting in the sheets. "Maybe I'll get on the pill so we can do that more often."

Hyunjin's expression shifts, the teasing edge still there but layered with something deeper, something more satisfied. "Yeah?" he murmurs, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip.

She nods, biting back a smile. "Yeah."

His gaze darkens, but before he can say anything, she quickly places a hand over his mouth. "But we," she emphasizes, "are going to the drugstore. Now."

Hyunjin groans dramatically, flopping back onto the bed. "Fine," he grumbles, muffled against her palm. "You wanna walk there?"

"That sounds perfect," Anne replies. After her non-existent morning a walk was exactly what she needed. 

Hyunjin lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh, but when she moves to get up, he catches her wrist, pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of it. His voice drops, warm and sincere. "Love you Annie, last night was perfect."

"Love you too, H."

_____

Surprisingly, Hyunjin and Anne were able to leave the hotel without running into any of their friends. In fact, they were nowhere in sight. 

The drugstore wasn't far, just a half mile down the street from where they were staying. But it turns out a half-mile felt a lot longer when your boyfriend had quite literally wrecked you the night before.

Anne sighed as she stepped onto the sidewalk outside the store, shifting the small card board box from one hand to the other. Her legs ached in a way that was both frustrating and, annoyingly, satisfying. Hyunjin, of course, looked completely unbothered. Hands tucked in his pockets, strolling along like he hadn’t spent the night absolutely ruining her.

“Stop looking so smug,” she muttered, adjusting her stride to keep up with him.

Hyunjin glanced at her, grinning beneath his mask. “I’m not smug.”

“You’re so smug.”

He shrugged, unbothered, before glancing down at her legs. "You okay?"

Anne huffed. "I'm fine."

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes. Then, without warning, he stopped walking. Anne took two more steps before realizing, turning back to see him crouching slightly.

"Hop on," he said easily.

Anne blinked. "What?"

Hyunjin tilted his head, as if it were obvious. "Your legs are sore, and they're literally shaking. So get on."

Anne folded her arms. "No."

Hyunjin smirked. "Yes."

"I'm not—"

Before she could finish, Hyunjin straightened, grabbed her by the waist, and effortlessly lifted her onto his back. Anne let out a startled squeak, instinctively wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he secured his hands beneath her thighs.

"Hyunjin!" she shrieked, half-laughing, half-scolding.

He giggle softly at her reaction and continued down the side-walk headed for the hotel. His long legs kept a nice pace and Anne was secretly glad to be in his arms. Her legs really did hurt.

Anne gave in and rested the side of her head against Hyunjin's shoulder. Letting the slight sway of his strides lull her into a peaceful state. 

Hyunjin noticed the shift in her posture, the way her breath slowed, and the faint relaxation in her body. He smiled softly to himself, not pushing her to say anything or move. He was content just letting her rest, knowing she was in good hands.

“Comfy?” he asked in a quiet voice, half-smirking but with a tenderness that softened his usual playful tone.

Anne didn’t open her eyes but nodded, her voice muffled against his skin. “Mhm.”

Hyunjin hummed in response, his arms tightening just a little, a wordless reassurance. He loved these moments. He loved every moment with Anne.

As they neared the hotel, Anne let out a small contented sigh, the quiet of the moment wrapping around them like a soft blanket. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was just the way Hyunjin made everything lighter, but she feels safe, loved, and at peace in his presence. 

Well she felt peace.

"There they are!"

The moment they entered the sliding doors of the building, Changbin's high-pitched voice filled their ears. 

Anne groaned softly, burying her face in the crook of Hyunjin’s neck in a half-hearted attempt to block out the noise. “Oh no,” she muttered under her breath. “Here we go.”

Hyunjin chuckled, slowing his pace as he spotted the familiar faces lounging in the lobby. "We can’t escape them forever," he teased.

“Unfortunately,” Anne mumbled, though she couldn’t hide the slight smile tugging at her lips.

Changbin had already spotted them, bouncing excitedly toward them with a grin that was both mischievous and eager. "Look at you two! Where have you been? We were starting to think you were hiding out in your room all day!"

Anne shot Hyunjin an exaggerated look, raising an eyebrow. "Did you tell them where we went?"

The rest of the boys as well as Andrew rounded the corner. 

Hyunjin, the picture of innocence, raised his hands in mock surrender. "I told them we had some errands to run."

"Errands?" Changbin repeated, his tone skeptical but playful. "Come on, what kind of errands really?"

Anne, flustered, quickly moved the small box to hide behind her back at his words. 

"Leave them alone Binnie, they probably just went for a walk," Felix chimed, saving the day as usual. 

Anne couldn’t help but let out a small, grateful sigh.

"How was your time exploring the city last night?" 

This time, it was Andrew who spoke up, his tone casual but with a knowing glint in his eyes. The older man had been aware of some of the plans Felix had made for the two of them. He’d also seen the way Felix had nearly freaked out when Anne and Hyunjin had decided to ditch the driver, opting to go off on their own adventure.

Anne shot Andrew a half-glare, half-smile. "We survived," she said dryly.

Changbin, who had been hanging back with Felix, suddenly lit up at the mention of their little escapade. His curiosity was practically bursting out of him. "Survived? Oh, come on, you can’t just leave it at that! Tell us everything!"

Anne, who had been trying to remain composed, couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh. "It was just a walk, Changbin. Really."

But Changbin was relentless. With a mischievous grin, he suddenly pulled Anne and Hyunjin into a tight hug, spinning them a little in excitement. "Oh, no way, a walk? That’s all? You guys are holding out on me!"

As she struggled, Anne’s grip on the small box in her hand loosened, and in an instant, it slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground with a soft thud. The sound was barely noticeable, but the moment the box hit the floor, all eyes shot straight to it.

Anne froze, her face instantly flushing crimson. Hyunjin’s eyes widened as the realization hit him, the Plan B. Of all things, thathad to drop now?

Anne’s face turned redder than she thought was possible as she quickly slipped from Hyunjin's hold to bend down to pick up the box, trying to hide the embarrassment.

The group of boys burst out in laughter and teasing coo's.

Chris and Andrew, however, stayed silent with their faces wrinkled in disgust.

The moment the box was safely back in her hands, she shot Hyunjin and Changbin a glare, but both were too busy laughing along with the others to notice.

"Hyunjin's pull out game is weak, huh?"

"Changbin, shut your mouth!"

_____

Breaks don't last forever. 

But this time, when Hyunjin and the rest of Stray Kids have to get back to work, preparing for their next concert's and upcoming tour dates, Anne could be with them every step of the way. After their week together in Sydney, he had asked her to join them on tour. 

It wasn't a luxurious life. They basically lived on a bus, in vans, or on planes. The travel was non-stop and sleep was almost non-existent. But, Anne didn't care. Not when it meant they could spend time together. 

Of course, she couldn’t be by his side all the time. She had a career of her own. Writing and producing for other artists, sometimes disappearing into studios for hours, days, or even weeks at a time. But now that Hyunjin was allowed to have a relationship openly, things were different. Things were easier.

When Anne wasn't with other artists writing or producing she was in whatever country Stray Kids were, supporting the pretty boy she got to call hers. Vice versa, when Anne was away for work and Hyunjin had a small break he flew to her. 

They would always be moving and busy. But they would also always be in love. That made everything worth it.

Eventually, fans had started to catch on. 

Between Hyunjin’s lingering glances offstage, the way he kissed the camera at every concert with a smirk that felt a little toopersonal, and his unexplained travel habits—disappearing for short breaks only to resurface in random places—STAYs knew something was up.

Speculation ran wild.

Some thought he had a muse, someone who inspired his art and performances. Others swore he was just messing with them, playing into the mystery for fun. But no one had proof. Not until the locket.

It was supposed to be subtle. A small, silver pendant that Hyunjin had worn for months, a sentimental piece that he had told fans held a picture of the band.

 But in the middle of a concert, mid-dance, it flew open.

And for a split second, the cameras caught it.

A blurry image, but clear enough.

It wasn't the band.

It was him and a girl. 

A girl. 

The internet had exploded of course. Most people were over the moon at the idol's happiness. Gushing over how in love he looked and the bright smiles to gave when his girl was mentioned.

But others weren’t as kind.

Jealousy twisted into cruelty, and a darker side of the fandom reared its ugly head. Anne’s very existence was trashed—despite the fact that no one even knew who she was. Hyunjin was berated, called a liar, accused of betraying the illusion that idols should belong to their fans alone.

But the couple couldn’t care less what the world had to say about them.

Because the world didn’t know them.

Somehow, amidst all the chaos, Anne’s identity had remained a secret. The tiny picture inside the locket had been too blurry to make out her entire face. She was just an outline, a mystery.

Anne Wang was still a nameless face on the streets.

No one had connected her to Hyunjin. No one knew that Angel—the songwriter and producer whispered about in industry circles—was his Angel.

And that was exactly how they wanted it.

[rasshu-benaiokny]

〚 Happy Birthday 〛Exclusive Academy Chapter

• A small Gyutaro x OC Kimetsu Academy Chapter

• Based off of “Kimetsu Academy AU” fanfiction

• Both featured characters are aged down to 19

[Setting: This is one year after the Kimetsu Academy story where Rasshu resides within the same apartment complex as the Shabana twins. Rasshu and Gyutaro always had a bit of destain for each other but after Gyutaro witnessed Rasshu graduate without him just to fly straight into college he seemed to grow ever more frustrated. Maybe she is too good for him now… Maybe its too late?]

╒════════════════════╕

The sunrises as the college student glances at her calendar while gathering her bundles of books. Rasshu’s hair is sleek and freshly and she dawns her favorite burgundy sleeveless sweater. As she walks out of her apartment, locking the solid door behind her, she sets off down the stairs! And like clockwork, her neighbors; the Shabana twins begrudgingly slam open their door just to be scorn by the bright sunlight as they get ready to go to school!

The gruff looking brother stares tiredly at the freshman successful college student already scurrying down the stairs, barely noticing the twins. His eyes are filled with a melancholy frustration as he lets out a scoff. Throwing a raggedy satchel around his broad shoulder, his sister follows suite. Finally, the twins depart for school but Gyutaro’s eyes constantly shift towards where Rasshu had left… His frustrations lie towards her after all. Miss all grown up and successful…

The day struggles to pass on by while Rasshu grapples with her heavy work load, trying to balance her studies accordingly. likewise, Gyutaro shirks off his normal schoolwork at Kimetsu Academy but something bothers him as he sits in his chair tilted back. His teeth grind slightly as he reminisces back on last year when both he and Rasshu were classmates. He would always bother her as she did her work but now, she left and graduated while he got expelled and held back a grade. But despite his mean and grudgy reputation, he understands the one thing that ails him at this moment. So he waits for his time to come, gently creaking his chair back and forth to his classmates annoyance.

After a dreadful time at college, Rasshu holds her remaining work in complete dismay as she tiredly stuffs everything haphazardly into her backpack… all that she wants to do is go home as her feet pound from walking everywhere! Finally walking out from her campus, shes greeted by the cloudy night sky above her. its always dark and devoid of people when she gets out, so she walks to the train station, ready to be home once more…

A few more hours pass, but at last, shes at her apartment. Walking up the stairs, her footsteps vibrate along with the thin steel beams holding each step. Eventually, fumbling around in her pocket, she gets out her keys as she unlocks her door but before she can enter she hears another door open? Behind her, a frustrated Gyutaro slowly creeps out of his home, trying not to wake his little sister. His teeth form a crooked frown as they lock glares. They both seem to give eachother a stare of uncertainty as she begins to turn away from Gyutaro; after all, he was always distant and mean when it came to her. Rasshu always had a bad feeling from him with how hes always glaring at her so it was natural that he’d creep her out. But as she went inside to close her door, a dirty boot stops it from closing. She glares up exhausted at the equally drained Gyutaro but then his demeanor softens as he gently slinks his boney hands over hers, slipping a box into her fingers before reverting back to his aggressive ways, slamming her door closed!

Rasshu’s brows furrow as she stares at the back of her door, muttering obscene jabs at the drop out… Still jaded, believing that hes just a miserable person but the box… it beckons for her attention. So cautiously, Rasshu peers into the box confused but then her eyes soften in surprise… everything makes sense now as her denial peaks at an all time high. A small red beaded bracelet with a small heart locket with a small sloppily written note sit perfectly snug in the box-

“Happy birthday geek… hope you get the hint…”

╘════════════════════╛

[jiminiecrickets]

So you mentioned that (love's little dagger part 2) oc hooked up with jimin and tae saw jimin in oc's bed.

Can I request a drabble where tae tells oc (after seeing jimin in oc's bed) that next time they should keep it quiet (tae is jealous) and oc provokes him? ^^

kinda nsfw but not really?

your bedroom door is slightly ajar. taehyung can't help but step towards it naturally, a bubbling taste of something bitter rising up his throat and settling in his mouth.

the shower is on, muffled water hitting the tile passing through the crack under the door. you just got in. you won't be out for a few minutes more.

taehyung watches himself place his hand on the handle, pushing it open an inch wider to catch the edge of your bed in view. half of your curtains are open and late morning sunlight leak through, bathing the foot of the bed in pale light, and sparse dust motes float through the air.

there's a pretty boy in your bed – pretty in that awful fae-like way, too good to be true. even dead asleep, limbs wrapped around himself and framing his soft face, his slightly-parted lips are sweetly pink, and his hair appears silky, messy in the way taehyung spends half an hour perfecting in the bathroom mirror.

the boy shifts with a soft breath, tucking his face into the crook of his arm. the sheets slip down around his bare waist.

taehyung's hand slides off the handle and he rolls his eyes, jaw working as he stomps into the kitchen.

why him? he thinks, annoyed. the moment the kettle finishes boiling, he steals it and pours himself a cup of instant coffee. of all the people you bring back, why him?

he's shoving spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth on the couch, watching a replay of last night's news, when he hears footsteps leading into the kitchen. you don't greet him, but he knows it's you by the way you exhale softly, popping your back before you place a pan on the stove and dig around in the fridge for some eggs.

"is this some sort of revenge?"

you glance up, only to find taehyung tucked up on the furthest side of the couch, determinedly not looking at you. you scoff and crack a couple of eggs one-handed against the side of the quickly-heating pan. "not everything revolves around you, taehyung."

"but this does, doesn't it?" he taps his spoon absently against the rim of his bowl as you turn on the stove fan, as if to drown him out. "fucking pretty boys just 'cause you can isn't your style."

"you know what my style is? didn't know you cared so much," you say wryly, grabbing a spatula out of a drawer. "why? you jealous, puppy?"

"only a loser would be jealous over a thing like you," he says rudely, and you make a face of mock hurt, touching your heart.

"ouch. long diary entry about that tonight."

he stops speaking, moody in his corner of the living room. you flip eggs, humming to yourself, and reach for the pack of bacon, eventually replacing the eggs with hot bacon. you take a moment to cover the eggs with a plate and find yourself face-to-face with taehyung on the other side of the kitchen island, glaring at you as if he's imagining eighty different ways to kill you on the spot.

"what? you want some?"

"out of all the boys you could bring back, how do you always know who the loud ones are?" he blurts out, his cereal bowl in hand.

you lift an eyebrow and half-assedly bite back your smirk. you begin to butter four slices of bread. "are you offering something, taehyung?"

he lunges forward an inch or two, as if moving to leap the island and wrap his hands around your throat. he settles for a deep scowl, flicking his bangs out of his eyes.

"you disgust me," he seethes, and doesn't even put his bowl in the sink. he rests it on the bench, relishing in the way you glance at it and your jaw ticks. "you're so fucking petty. bet your boy wouldn't like it if i told him you're only sleeping with him for revenge points against me."

"oh, he knows i'm better than that," you retort, resisting the urge to place your palms on the bench and mirror his stance. you give him one last glance before turning back to the stove, flipping the bacon and letting it sizzle a little longer to match the colour on the other side. "you're the one going on and on about 'revenge' and everything. are you sure you're not just making it up to justify your continuing dislike towards me?"

his mouth falls open. "that's gaslighting. that's actually gaslighting. that's so fucking rude."

"it's only gaslighting if it works. is it working?" carefully, you remove the bacon and reach over by him, winking as you grab your bread. you grin to yourself as he growls, and you set the buttered bread in the middle of the pan with a hiss and a sizzle.

"what is your fucking deal, dude? why are you so against me? i bring some company back, and then you go out and do it twice as bad as i do. twice as loud, twice as long, twice a night." he lists them on his fingers. "i'm about to stop being nice to you if this is the kind of thanks i get: no sleep and no peace."

you scoff. "that was you being nice? shit. i shouldn't've held back, then. could've gotten double the 'pretty boys' in that time. you could've joined, if you wanted to."

"join—?" he sputters. "join—! what gives you the impression i want to sleep with you, huh? what keeps giving you that impression? or is this some kind of immature boyish humour that everyone else left behind in ninth grade? fucking 'do i want to sleep with you'..."

a figure appears in the hallway, pattering down into the kitchen with a delicate yawn. he stretches, lifting his too-big white t-shirt above his hips. he wears a tiny pair of black briefs, and taehyung can't believe it. this boy has his own clothes drawer in your room. jesus christ.

"good morning to you, too, dolly." you grin, bringing a plate with a toastie over to him as he takes a gentle seat on the edge of a stool, shooting taehyung a sweet smile. you retrieve a knife from a drawer and cut the toastie for him diagonally, gently pulling the halves apart to show him the perfect golden insides: egg, bacon, cheese. you can never go wrong with a classic.

"morning," he hums, swinging his legs. he combs his fluffy hair back from his forehead and giggles as you bring your own plate over and cut it in half, leaning over the bench with an elbow crossed over your front. "you did all this for me, hyung?"

"mm, of course. you've got classes until six today – i want you to get a good breakfast."

"you're too sweet," he coos, picking up a warm triangle of savoury goodness. he takes a big bite out of one corner and moans, brushing his fingers lightly over his glossy lips as he stares up at you with crinkled eyes.

"you're exaggerating. i do this all the time for you."

"hm – maybe it's the new reason? what was the entrée to this, again?" he grins, leaning forward, and subconsciously, so do you, glancing up at each other between bites and hiding your smiles behind slices of crisp toasted bread.

"this is disgusting to watch," taehyung says bluntly, standing up. "i'm heading out. please keep all your fluids to your bedroom, i insist."

you watch him grab his jacket and bag, whisking out of the apartment with a whip of hair and a glare. you smirk behind your toastie, clearing your throat to stop a laugh.

he's always been a drama queen.

[deepspacedukat]

Misfit Toys - Part 3

Alright! Here's the conclusion! I hope you all enjoyed reading this little fic as much as I enjoyed writing it! 💖 There are a few unintended side things that happen in this chapter, but I hope y'all will enjoy it anyway!! By that I mean whoops I accidentally created yet another OC.

Part 1 here. Part 2 here.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

~*~

Tokath (ST:TNG) x Reader

[A/N: This is smut adjacent, so 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI!!!]

Warnings: Interspecies romance, Human/Romulan romance, implied interspecies sex, implied Human/Romulan sex, mutual pining, they're idiots who think it's unrequited, it's VERY requited, flirting, some almost kisses, getting lokblocked, literally everyone can tell they're in love except them, they are the last people to find out about each other's feelings.

~*~

I hadn't needed Tokath's crutch in nearly a month, but it had earned a place of honor. Resting lovingly on a bookshelf in my bedroom, it served as a reminder of the progress I'd made...and of the fact that I now had somewhere that I belonged.

After all this time, it still felt strange to know that I had a home this amazing. The reaction to the news that I'd decided to stay instead of boarding the transport and leaving the Carraya system had been so joyful on the part of my new friends that I'd been moved to tears. None of them had been irritated that I'd chosen to remain with them.

Ta'lana even clapped a hand on my shoulder and grinned as she offered me a permanent position helping her concoct her salves. I accepted, of course. How could I not? Her companionship was so easy and natural that I'd have been a fool to refuse. Not to mention I owed her and Tokath my life for healing me after the crash.

Speaking of Tokath, as soon as he gave me permission to stay, I felt as though a weight had been lifted from my chest. There was no longer a lingering feeling of guilt and selfishness resonating through me every time I stole a glance at him. Oh sure, I was still on the verge of berating myself for behaving like a schoolgirl with a crush, but I'd realized that since I was now a permanent resident in this settlement, I had every right to live however I chose. If I wanted to bask in the warmth of the Romulan Commander's smiles, then that was exactly what I'd do.

I was afforded that opportunity quite often. More often than not, we managed to sneak in a little time together in the mornings before the day truly got started. Even if it was just enough time for us to share a cup of tea and breakfast, Tokath and I always seemed to gravitate toward each other.

There were still plenty of mornings where we woke up in each other's arms on the sofa in his study, and those were admittedly my favorites. He was nearly always awake before I was, but he never moved to get up first. The lingering caresses left on my skin before the break of dawn made me wish that I was a more courageous person. More than once I came incredibly close to blurting out my feelings for him in those slow, gentle morning hours. It was a wonder that he hadn't yet noticed.

There was definitely a slight shift in our relationship when I begged him to allow me to stay, though I couldn't define what it was. Our interactions were just as they were before but the burden on his shoulders seemed...lighter, somehow, despite the addition of a new member of the community. Maybe he just liked having a friend with a new perspective to discuss...

If only he knew how much that new friend wanted to kiss him when the morning sunlight poured in through the study window and glittered in his eyes. Resting atop his sturdy chest, half-dazed and half-witted from having just woken up, the temptation was almost overwhelming most mornings. Instead, I would simply nuzzle farther into his chest or the crook of his neck and breathe in his scent until I was certain I could trust myself to look into his eyes again.

One of those mornings, the rain cascaded down, splattering against the windows and creating a soothing rhythm against the roof. I was loathe to get up, and Tokath seemed even less inclined to do so, until a knock sounded at the door.

With matching pair of begrudging sounds, the two of us sat up, and Tokath called for whoever it was to come in. Belatedly, I realized how bedraggled we must look. M'Ven took a single step inside, saw our mussed hair and state of dress, and blushed as he delivered his message.

"My apologies for the intrusion, sir, but I thought you might like to know that your daughter's shuttle has just entered sensor range. She should be here within the hour." Almost as soon as he'd finished speaking, M'Ven tossed me a friendly wink and left us to our own devices.

A joyful smile spread across the Commander's lips as he turned to me.

"You and Ba'el would get along so well! Would you like to come with me to greet her?" He looked so hopeful. How could I possibly refuse? Without a single thought, I reached up and brushed a few errant strands of hair behind his ear. When his hand covered mine against the side of his face, I realized how close we still were to each other.

Oh, the urge to kiss him was back stronger than ever!

"I wouldn't want to intrude on your time with her–"

"Hush, e'lev. You could never intrude," he said, "and if you're not uncomfortable with the notion, I'd love for you to be there."

Tokath's hand kept mine firmly in place while I took a deep breath.

"I'd be honored." If I thought his smiles had been beautiful before, I'd clearly never seen him this utterly filled with joy. Tugging me into a crushing hug, the Commander let out a relieved breath. Did he really think I'd refuse?

After having bathed and changed into clean clothes, we arrived at a clearing in the woods that Tokath called the 'landing strip' just in time to see his daughter's shuttle touch down. The rain had stopped just a few minutes before, giving way to a thick, murky fog. Almost as soon as the shuttle's engines cut off, he was striding toward the door of the small craft.

This must've been something of a routine for them, because the young woman practically threw herself into his arms, sending the pair into a fit of giggles. I hung back just a bit to give them space. Despite Tokath's earlier protests, I was determined not to intrude on their reunion.

"You should've told me you were coming! I'd have prepared a welcome party," he said, and at her protests, I turned my attention to Ba'el's ship, trying to give them some semblance of privacy. The vessel seemed to be Klingon in design, so I assumed she'd acquired it or borrowed it while on the homeworld that she'd gone to explore - Tokath told me all about the incident with a Starfleet officer and the minor revolt that led to some of the younger members of the colony striking out on their own. More power to them. It took a lot to leave the only place you'd ever known in search of entirely new places.

"Oh, hi!" Ba'el's cheerful voice sounded, and I turned my head to meet her smile with one of my own. I gave a little wave as the pair walked over.

"Ah, this is our newest resident," Tokath said introducing me. Rather than a more subdued greeting as I'd expected, Ba'el glanced between her father and myself, then wrapped me in a tight hug. I'd expected apprehension or maybe something a bit more confrontational, but, really, that was silly. She was Tokath's daughter, and he was one of the kindest people I'd ever met. It only stood to reason that his daughter would be at least partially similar in temperament.

"This place is so secluded! How in the stars did you end up here?" She asked as she pulled back and grasped my shoulders.

"Well, it's a long story–"

"One that even I have not yet managed to coax from her," Tokath cut in as he wrapped an arm around my waist and smiled playfully down at me.

"–but it's not a terribly interesting one. I boarded the wrong transport at the wrong time, that's all," I finished with a shrug, ducking my head to escape the warmth of his gaze before I combusted completely.

"Oh, the 'wrong time' was it? And here I thought you liked it here, e'lev." He was teasing me, I knew he was, but I still didn't want him to have the wrong impression.

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I love living here! This place is the best thing that ever happened to me. I-I just–" Tokath's gentle, rolling laughter engulfed me just as his arms did, cutting off my rambling protests.

"Do you really think I don't know how you feel about that by now?" When I simply buried my face in his tunic and made a noncommittal sound, he gave me a nice, big squeeze. "Come on. Let's all get back to the compound before we freeze in this dreary weather."

--

Dinner that night was a joyful affair. Stepped up from the usual fare into something more celebratory, the whole colony was ecstatic to welcome back one of their own, even if it was only for a short time. Though she was only planning on staying for a couple of weeks, Ba'el's presence brought a sparkle into the hall. Her lightheartedness and genuine wonder about the things she'd seen in her travels brought smiles to everyone's faces - including a rather pointed attentiveness from Centurion M'Ven that I noticed.

Eventually, the meal drew to a close, but before Tokath could protest, his daughter looped her arm around mine and stole me away into the quiet evening air. Stopping at the same little pond where her father had first told me of the transport, Ba'el tugged me down next to her on the bench to sit with her. We were both silent for a few moments, watching the water ripple in the bond as a slight breeze caressed its surface. When she spoke, her voice was so soft that it almost slipped away amidst the trees' rustling leaves.

"When I was little, my parents used to bring me here every day. I'd run around and play, and they'd sit here together on this bench. On the days when I didn't need others for the silly games I played, they kept their own company. Sometimes they talked, sometimes my father would read her a book, and sometimes, if the atmosphere was right, they'd end up roaring with laughter over some joke they'd shared," she murmured. A nostalgic little smile stretched her lips, and a far away sort of look settled itself firmly onto her face. "When I got older, they trusted me to come here alone, and I took to exploring the gardens. I knew every rock and tree - they were my friends, as silly as that sounds. I miss this place more than any other when I'm off exploring the galaxy."

I listened carefully, and a wave of gratitude washed through me for the glimpse she was giving me into both her past and her father's. It must've taken a lot for her to share something so personal with me.

"The last time I was home, M'Ven saw me come here. He followed me one night...gave me a bouquet of his own hybrid flowers - he tends them religiously, so you couldn't have missed them," she said, and with a conspiratorial lean in, she continued. "He's asked me to be his mate."

I wasn't exactly surprised. The glowing smiles he gave her at dinner and his near constant blushing sort of gave it away.

"Does your father know?"

"Not yet, no. I'm going to tell him in a couple of days, though, I promise. M'Ven was the first born here. I think his mother was in the early stages of pregnancy before the battle and just didn't know it yet," Ba'el explained. "He's not officially a Centurion, of course. He wears the uniform, and he was trained by the officers here, but the Romulan government doesn't know anything about him."

She paused for a moment, allowing the weight of her words wash over me.

"We agreed that this year when I came home, if I still felt the same for him, he'd come with me on my next trip. It'll be a little more risky traveling together, but we'll manage. After that, when we come home next year, we're going to stay and build a life together," she said letting out a giggle that was so infectious that I couldn't help but join her. "So what about you? I assume that you and Papa are going to stop dancing around each other sometime this decade...?"

"I-I don't know what you mean." Stammering certainly didn't help my case, but the laugh that left her throat told me that she wouldn't have believed me even if I'd sounded perfectly confident. "Ba'el, I...I do love your father, but I don't want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable–"

"What are you talking about? I haven't seen him this happy in years! Last year I was so worried about him that I stayed for a month instead of my usual couple of weeks. He practically had to kick me out." She gripped my forearms gently and looked into my eyes. "I'm happy for you. When one of you finally works up the courage to talk about your feelings, I'll be the first person to celebrate. You're good for him, and, from what I can see, he's good for you."

Relief, palpable and potent, rushed through me, and I hugged Ba'el to hide the tears that had gathered in my eyes. We sat by the pond, talking and joking until the unmistakable sound of footsteps met our ears. We both turned in time to see M'Ven rounding one of the larger trees with a bouquet in hand. He caught sight of us and froze - he'd clearly been coming to meet Ba'el, but my presence startled him, the poor lad.

Ba'el beckoned him over, and the bob of his Adam's apple in his throat as he swallowed betrayed the confident air he'd clearly been trying to exude.

"Calm down, she knows. I told her," Ba'el said as I smiled and got to my feet.

"I also know when it's my cue to leave." Giving poor, startled M'Ven a wink, I started to walk away and give them some privacy. Before I got out of earshot, though, I turned back and called his name. "I think it goes without saying that you'd better be good to her."

Resolve straightened his back and lifted his chin.

"I will, lhhei, you have my word." With that promise obtained, I left them to their own devices, and, though I'd intended to go to my room and sleep, my feet carried me to Tokath's study seemingly of their own volition.

The door was already open, revealing the man in question sitting at his desk and staring into a cup of tea as if it held the answers to life itself. I wanted so badly to kiss the little furrow between his eyebrows and the lines on either side of his mouth...

As if my gaze had called out to him, his eyes lifted from the depths of his tea and caught me hovering in the doorway. His features melted seamlessly from from surprised to relieved to elated in barely a flash.

"Ah, so I haven't been abandoned for the evening, then," he teased as I closed the door behind me. Tokath leaned back in his chair, and I noticed for that there was a second cup of tea sitting on the desk.

"As if I could stay away from you, Commander." Walking over to his desk, I leaned against the polished surface and glanced at his bookshelves for the thousandth time. I knew very well which titles sat on the shelves - even the Klingon ones - but I needed somewhere to look other than at his gorgeous face. "Forgive me for being late. Ba'el and I were talking."

"So that's where you were! I turned to speak with L'Kor for barely a moment after dinner, but when I turned back, my two favorite ladies were nowhere to be found," he said placing a hand over his heart and pouting as if he was deeply wounded. "I thought for a moment you'd been stolen away. I noticed that M'Ven disappeared after a while, as well. I couldn't help but wonder..."

As he trailed off, I felt a brief surge of hope. L'Kor's words and Ba'el's floated into my brain. Maybe they were right. Maybe I did have a chance, after all.

"M'Ven is kind, and he is a friend of mine, but I wouldn't give up your company for his." With my reassurance putting his mind at ease, Tokath grasped my hands and smiled up at me.

"Forgive me, e'lev, I shouldn't be this greedy with you."

Freeing one of my hands, I rested it lightly on his chest.

"There's nothing to forgive. You can be as greedy with me as you want, Tokath," I murmured, and just like that I found myself lost in his gaze. There was a softness in his features when he looked at me, a vulnerability that made me want to wrap him in my arms and never let go. It went through my mind that I could tell him. I could kiss him there, right then, while that gentle trance had us so firmly in its grip, but I couldn't seem to make my mouth move.

"The tea...I'm sorry, it's probably cold by now." His voice was so rough when he spoke that he sounded as though there was gravel in his throat. I could hardly blame him, though. When I spoke, I sounded just as destroyed.

"It's okay. How many evenings have we talked so long that we forgot we even had tea to begin with?" He let out a quiet laugh at my question, and we fell into our usual rhythm of conversation. Before we drifted off together, though, I promised myself that before his daughter left with her own lover, I'd tell Tokath how I felt. If shy, reserved, dutiful M'Ven could ask the woman he loved to be with him, I could tell Tokath how much I adored him.

--

"She matches this little community of misfits well, doesn't she?" The rough voice of his co-leader sounded from just behind Tokath's right shoulder. L'Kor was observing the group of small children on the other side of the courtyard that were listening intently to a story that the Human woman was telling them. "The children like her, their parents trust her...she has even befriended Ta'lana. It's as if she's been here all her life."

"She did say that she felt more at home here than anywhere else," Tokath mused as he watched one of the youngest - a brave Klingon girl of no more than three - climb onto her lap. He couldn't stop himself from smiling at the ease with which she handled life in the colony.

The Klingon leader hummed quietly and they watched as the children begged her to show them a Human game.

"You see it now, do you not, old friend?" L'Kor asked as he and Tokath watched her explain how to play game. She said that it was one that children of her species played called 'hide and seek.' As soon as she turned her back on the giggling group of little ones, they promptly scurried away as she began to count.

"I don't know what you mean," Tokath murmured, but the aged Klingon let out a rough, disbelieving laugh.

"Yes, you do. Whether you wish to admit it or not, you look at that kyamo Human woman, and you feel young again," he rasped as a tiny Romulan boy sped past their feet. "You cannot hide it from me, Tokath. I know you too well. Since she crashed into our lives, you have become more like your old self. You should tell her how you feel."

The Commander shook his head quickly as she turned back toward the courtyard.

"Ready or not, here I come," she called, and a few poorly-suppressed giggles echoed from various not-so-clandestine spots.

"I couldn't. She chose to stay here in this isolated place without a single other member of her species being present. She believed that I alone had the power to banish her. She begged me to stay. I will not jeopardize her newfound happiness by making her feel trapped by an old man's unwelcome attentions," Tokath protested to his old friend.

"'Trapped'? 'Unwanted'? Commander, she seeks out your attention on a daily basis," L'Kor stated as he looked at his friend incredulously. "Have you not noticed how differently she behaves around you than everyone else here? Can you not see the light in her eyes when you give her a reason to smile? My friend, if such a woman looked at me with as much love as that Human lady looks at you, I would have made my interest known long ago."

That made Tokath pause. There had been moments where he believed - where he hoped - that he saw something beyond simple gratitude and friendship in her eyes, but he'd dismissed it, believing that those moments were a product of his own wishful thinking. Even a few nights ago when she still came to him after speaking with Ba'el for so long, there was a charged moment when he felt as thought might have a chance.

He did love her. She was a ray of light in a world that had grown gray and stagnant. He'd sacrificed so much over the years - his home, his career...he'd given everything to ensure that the families of the Klingons living here would not be dishonored. He'd even been forced to surrender his wife to the ravages of time. Did he not deserve to have a moment's pleasure of his own? Did he not have the right to cling to this bright spot and bask in her presence now that he'd found her?

Tokath relished how easily she made him smile...how effortlessly she made him laugh. Her quick wit and warmth had brought so much color to his life. He'd narrowly managed to avoid losing her to the transport, but only just. Had she not come to him and pleaded for a place in the Carraya colony, she would be lightyears from him by now. How long would it be before someone else here - someone younger and more willing to be forthright about their feelings - caught her eye?

He thought he'd revealed too much when he made that offhanded comment about M'Ven, but neither of them had been brave enough to make a move afterward. He cursed his cowardice yet again. He should've kissed her that night.

Taking a deep breath, Tokath nodded his head and mentally acknowledged how fortunate he'd been thus far. He might not be for much longer if he didn't gather his courage. Would his daughter approve now that she'd had a chance to meet her?

A few feet away, she found a Klingon child hiding behind a set of supply crates, and when she looked up Tokath's eyes met hers. His lips stretched into a warm smile reflexively, and she gave him a little wave as she went to look for more of hiding children.

Oh, Elements, he couldn't deny it any longer.

"You've made your point, L'Kor."

"And what are you going to do now that you see your situation more clearly?" Tokath bristled slightly as he turned to look at his friend. "Oh, come now. You cannot tell me that you have not given any thought to the possibilities. Surely, you've at least imagined what you might say if you were to tell her how you feel?"

He had, but most of those daydreams ended in him dejectedly acknowledging that she would likely never be able to return his affections.

Tokath's expression must've said it all, because L'Kor sighed heavily.

"Oh, my friend, do you truly think so little of yourself that you cannot even imagine a happy ending? Take it from me: it was far more difficult for my wife to give me a chance than it will be for that lovely girl to give you one," he said before patting the Commander's shoulder and ambling off.

Perhaps L'Kor was right. Maybe he simply needed to allow himself to consider the possibility that she might react favorably to the fondness, no, love - that was the emotion and he should call it by its name - that he'd developed for her.

A joyful squeal from one of the little ones drew his attention, and he saw his lady being hugged so enthusiastically by the children that she was practically drowning in their affections. She sank to the ground, surrendering good-naturedly to their embraces with a giggle. Tokath couldn't suppress his laughter at the sight of her trying to hug as many of the children in return as her arms could accommodate.

Her eyes found him through the clamor of the group, and his heart thudded alarmingly. Oh, the things she did to him!

One of the children whispered something in her ear, and when she nodded her head, the little girl broke away from the group and ran up to Tokath, looking up at him with big, hopeful eyes as she spoke.

"Mister Tokath, sir? Will you come play with us?" She asked as the rest of the children and his Human watched their interaction.

How could he say no to such a polite request?

--

Later that evening as he walked to his quarters to get ready for dinner, Tokath thought to himself that the afternoon spent playing with the children along with the woman he loved was one of the most enjoyable days he'd had in quite some time. The joy of simply being with her was enough to make him feel like the luckiest Romulan alive.

"When are you going to marry her, Papa?" Ba'el appeared at his side smiling up at his as she looped her arm with his. Had he truly been so lost in thought that he hadn't heard her approach?

"Marry? What are you talking about?" He asked as innocently as he could, but all that earned him was a scoff from his daughter.

"Oh, please. The entire colony knows how you feel about your newest resident," she said, and his cheeks heated up as she continued. "So when are you going to ask her?"

"Ba'el, I...I don't even know if she'll have me–"

"Are we talking about the same woman? When you joined her and the children today, she looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky," his daughter said. "You haven't been this happy since..."

She didn't have to finish her sentence. He knew what she meant. They both know the significance.

Pulling her to a stop in the hallway, Tokath grasped his daughter's shoulders lightly and looked into her eyes.

"Could you handle that? Could you live with the knowledge that you have a stepmother who is neither Klingon nor Romulan?" Ba'el's opinion of her was important to him - it was the only one that mattered outside of his own on this. He didn't want her to feel as though he was actively attempting to replace her mother. Gi'ral had been unique and he would never wish to disrespect her memory.

But he also didn't wish to be alone for the rest of his life. He adored this Human lady, and he...well, he would dearly love to be her mate.

"Father, I want you to live. I've been worried about you for the last few years, but now...seeing you this happy...I'm so relieved that you've found someone who makes you feel like yourself again. How could I ever object to you finding love?"

Overcome with emotion, Tokath pulled his daughter into a tight hug, nearly sobbing in relief.

"I...have some news, too...about M'Ven and I." She sounded nervous, but in truth, she had no reason to be. Pulling back slightly, Tokath looked at his daughter.

"Ba'el, if you believe that I know nothing of your affections for him or his for you, then you have clearly forgotten that I used to be young, too," he said looking into her eyes. "I wish the both of you every happiness, and if he hurts you, you tell me how much he screams when you tear his head off. And I know you're imminently capable, but if you need help, I'm here for you."

His daughter was right. He needed this. He didn't want to be alone anymore.

--

Tokath's daughter had been on the colony for nearly a week and a half when it happened. I stopped by his quarters to pass along a message from Ta'lana before dinner, but when I reached his doorway, I froze. He was standing in front of a full-length mirror, in his full uniform, tugging it gently in various directions presumably to straighten it. The poses he struck might have looked silly to anyone else, but to me, the imposing figure he made when he puffed up his chest and gave a harsh glare to his reflection made me bite my lip.

Realizing how long I'd been standing there, I knocked on the doorframe and acted as though I'd only just arrived when he turned his head.

"Just the woman I wanted to see," he exclaimed as he turned to face me. "I dug out one of my older uniforms and thought I'd wear it to dinner tonight. What do you think?"

He puffed out his chest once more as I stepped into the room, looking very much like the proud Commanding officer that he was.

"Very handsome...commanding..." I paused when I was right in front of him, itching to touch any part of him that I could. "...Perhaps a little rigid, though."

His smile fell a bit.

"Rigid?"

"Only a little," I answered, and he raised a curious eyebrow.

"How would you fix this...rigidity?" He asked, and I walked a slow circle around him before reaching up to finger the front of the ghastly leather collar at the top of his uniform.

"Does this part come off separately?" Tokath swallowed slightly before letting out a quiet confirmation. "May I?"

The Commander caught both my hands carefully in his and slid them around to the back of his neck where the collar's clasps lay.

"Do what you will with me." His voice had lowered, both in volume and in pitch to something husky...something that made me want to remove more than just this hideous strip of leather. After a moment's pause, I managed to unfasten the clasps and pull the collar away from his throat.

My next movement proved that I wasn't thinking. Once I'd tossed away the unnecessary accessory, I skimmed my fingertips over his neck, savoring the feeling of his pulse thrumming beneath my touch. Tokath's hands grasping my waist made me aware of what I'd done, pulling me out of whatever trance I'd been in and forcing my eyes to meet his.

Anything I'd been preparing to say was obliterated by the hunger in his eyes. Was I imagining it? I could simply have been seeing my own emotions reflected back at me.

Then he took a slow step toward me, and I stopped thinking about anything but how badly I wanted to kiss him. I took a breath and leaned in–

Only to be startled by a call of his name from the hallway. We both took a hasty step back and averted our eyes as Ta'lana appeared in his doorway.

"There you are. I tried to catch up with you, but it turns out you didn't need to deliver your message. I found the extra crates from our last shipment, after all," she said, then she turned her attention to Tokath. "My apologies for the disturbance, Commander. I hope this hasn't been too much of an inconvenience."

Tokath caught my hand and gave me a little wink.

"No, not at all," he said catching my eye. "I always welcome your company, lhhei."

A long, charged pause stretched between us, and my cheeks heated up under his gaze, but finally Ta'lana called my name.

"Come, come. We've taken enough of the Commander's time," she called, and I started toward the doorway.

"See you at dinner," I called over my shoulder, hoping neither of them could hear how unsteady I sounded. His response barely registered as Ta'lana closed the door behind us.

"I'm looking forward to it, e'lev."

--

The atmosphere in the dining hall that evening was different. It felt as though everyone was waiting for something to happen. They seemed nervous, yet...excited? How odd. When Tokath arrived, he took a seat beside me as usual and caught my hand in his. Before I could ask what he was doing, he'd tucked a flower securely in my hair just above my ear. The delicate petals tickled a bit, but I didn't dare risk dislodging it after he'd placed it there so carefully.

I opened my mouth to ask him what he was doing, but the words just wouldn't come out. He seemed to understand my dilemma, though, because he brushed the back of his knuckles down the the side of my face and swallowed heavily.

The heat that suffused my cheeks when we were alone in his quarters earlier made a spectacularly rapid return, even as dinner was served.

Conversation was hushed, but weighty that night from all sides. People were happy for M'Ven and Ba'el - news had already made its way through the colony like wildfire, sparking surprised exclamations and boastful assertions that people had seen it coming years ago.

But there was something else, as well. Given how peoples' eyes kept straying up to the head table where Tokath and I sat, I guessed that people were wondering how he was taking the news. It wouldn't be unreasonable to assume that he'd be emotional about his daughter finally choosing a partner. If that was the case, though, why were so many gazes landing on me? Was it the flower? I supposed that I couldn't blame them. After all, I'd been surprised, too.

The Commander offered me his arm when the meal ended and I took it without hesitation, allowing him to lead me out into the gardens. This particular route was one we'd never taken before, and we only stopped when we reached a footpath leading into the forest.

"Where are we going?" I asked as he guided me down it expertly, pushing small branches aside and helping me over a fallen log.

"A secret place I found years ago. As far as I'm aware, nobody else even knows it exists," he said with a wink. After a few more minutes, we reached a curtain of vines. Thinking we'd reached a dead end, I looked around in confusion, but Tokath walked me right up to it with his arm wrapped comfortably around my waist. I looked up at him, and he winked as he parted the vine stems.

Moonlight sparkled and gleamed as it bounced off the surface of a placid lake. A swarm of glowing insects slightly larger than Earth fireflies swirled and played above the water, reminding me of a flock of birds.

"Oh, Tokath, this is beautiful," I murmured. I was almost afraid of speaking too loudly, lest I disrupt the peace that permeated this little place. The branches of the trees surrounding the lake's edge seemed to almost wrap around the clearing like gentle, protective arms.

"I thought you might like this place. I've been waiting for the right moment to share it with you," he whispered against the shell of my ear as his hands rested on my shoulders. Gently, so carefully, he grasped my chin and turned my head toward the left shore. A few feet from the water's edge was a blanket with plush pillows, fluffy towels, and a lantern resting atop it.

That was it. Afraid or not, I was going to kiss Tokath tonight, no matter what. I turned in his grasp only to find the lantern's warm, yellowish glow caressing the adoring smile that stretched his lips.

"Thank you for trusting me with this," I said resting my hands on his chest. It was now or never. Lifting my hand to cup his cheek like I had in his room, I looked into his eyes. "You've been uncharacteristically quiet tonight. Is everything alright?"

That damned smile got wider and he let out a quiet laugh.

"Oh, yes, lhhei. Forgive me," he said drawing me into a hug. "I'm afraid I've been lost in thought."

"Oh? And what has occupied your mind so thoroughly?" I punctuated the question with a quick kiss above his fluttering pulse. The Commander's breath caught in his throat, and I realized that maybe I hadn't imagined the hunger I'd seen in him earlier after all.

His grip on me tightened and he hummed at the question.

"You have, dear lady," he muttered, his voice low and rough. That tone had caused me so much frustration since the first time I heard it. I must've let out a gasp or some other surprised sound, because he nodded his head against my scalp. "Yes, you have been a very prominent element of my thoughts since the day you arrived here, but, lately, I find myself contemplating something that...truthfully, I have no right to even consider."

Feeling his proximity even more than usual, I looked up at him curiously. He didn't relinquish his grip on me one iota, but that suited me just fine. I never wanted to stop touching him.

"Maybe talking about it would help ease your mind? Usually confiding in someone close to me helps when there's something bothering me," I suggested, hoping that he didn't notice how shaky my voice had become.

"I will, but only if you don't mind being the one who listens to me ramble. You see, you're the only one who can help me with this particular problem, but I promise I won't ask you if you're not willing." His voice was low and heavy as he spoke, carrying the same weight I'd noticed more and more lately.

"I'll do anything I can to help, Tokath. You know that," I said offering him a reassuring smile.

"You see, I've been asking myself several very specific questions...ones to which I do not have the answers. If the answers are too personal or if you do not wish to engage in that conversation, you need only tell me, and I will drop the topic. Everything can return to the way it was before. I have no desire to make you feel trapped or to change how you see me."

After his little speech, I felt certain that I knew where this might be going, and anticipation flooded through me. Butterflies beat their wings unceasingly in my abdomen.

"Questions could never change the way I look at you." He shook his head at my assertion.

"These might," he breathed as he averted his gaze. "I haven't spent much time around Humans, as you may have guessed, so I...don't exactly know how someone in your culture might approach something of this nature."

I nodded my head in encouragement as his thumbs began to rub slow circles where they rested on my waist.

"I...You see, I wish to...to..." He trailed off and took a deep breath. "When...Well, with Klingons, the men write poetry, the women throw things at each other. It's rather straightforward. Romulans are more varied in their approaches, and...I suppose what I want to ask is is this: How do I...? I mean, what would you expect of...of a...?"

Tokath let out a frustrated huff and shut his eyes. A blush so vibrant that I could see it in the lantern light darkened his cheeks and spread all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Oh, fvadt, I'll never say it at this rate. What I'm trying to tell you is that you are beautiful and kind and the part of myself I never thought I'd find," he said sounding much more resolute. "I doubt this is the way a Human would go about it - much less subtlety to it even though you deserve subtlety and romance - but I need you to know that I love you. That I...would like to be your mate. Hell, I don't even know if Humans call their bound partners 'mates' as we do, but that's neither here nor there. I'd, of course, be happy to call us anything that you wish if–"

A surge of courage tore through me, and I cut off the rest of what he was going to say with a kiss. My lips met Tokath's, and he tensed up for a moment before relaxing into it and kissing me back. One of his hands came up and cupped the back of my head, holding me as close to him as was physically possible.

"I love you, too," I blurted as soon as we separated for air. He looked as dazed as I felt, but he still managed to lift me into his arms and carry me to the blanket as his mouth met mine again.

We didn't make it back to the compound until the next morning. With our hands clasped and rather obvious marks marring the skin of our necks, it was obvious to anyone who looked our way that we were both finally whole.

~*~*~

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