#fact that every time I open my mouth for several days I sounded exactly like the villain of this other video game

[bitegore]

I've been watching Alan wake's American nightmare gameplay to try to sleep for a while now and. It keeps taking me completely by shock how much me and Mr scratch are the same fucking kind of thing. We even talk the fucking same. He even compared Alan to a rodent talking about putting him in a rap maze and making him run the same thing over and over and over because it entertains him to watch him struggle and fail and struggle and fail and struggle and fail over and over and over. He is just like me. The only difference is that I don't kill people. Because I don't want to go to jail. Like. The fuck actually

[rmytears]

(I hate the fact that in english everything sounds drier. The translator takes away all the flavor)

○ alexia putellas x teen reader (reader has a name in this)

↳ warnings: no warnings.

pt. 1

A LITTLE HOT-HEADED

The Barça B dressing room had that unmistakable sound of every training session: the dull thud of boots hitting the floor, the rustle of jerseys being hastily changed, the constant murmur of overlapping conversations. Some players laughed, others debated plays, and a few simply changed in silence.

Maya was in the second category. The silent one.

Sitting on the wooden bench in front of her locker, she slowly untied the laces of her boots, letting the sound of the loosening leather fill her head instead of everything else. Her jaw was tight. Lately, it had been like that almost all the time.

Because things at home weren’t going well. Because she wasn’t sleeping well. Because she was sick of hearing the same thing over and over again.

"It’s just ridiculous," Nuria Gómez’s voice cut through the general noise, clear as day. "She hooked up with him for one night, and now she acts like he doesn’t exist. Not a glance, not a ‘how are you.’ Nothing."

Maya didn’t lift her head, but her fingers tightened around the leather of her boots.

She knew exactly who Nuria was talking about. She knew who all that venom was meant for every time she opened her damn mouth.

It was for Helena.

Helena Ferrer, who was at the other end of the locker room, her back turned, stuffing her things into her backpack with too much concentration. Maya knew that gesture. That one that said, I’m pretending not to hear, but every word is scraping against my skin.

And Nuria, of course, knew it too. She knew it and wouldn’t stop.

"I don’t know, I couldn’t live with a clear conscience after doing something like that," she went on, letting out a nasal laugh that turned Maya’s stomach. "Playing with someone and then acting like it never happened. That’s just being a shitty person."

Maya closed her eyes for a second.

Breathe. It’s not your problem.

But that was a lie. Because she heard it every single day. Because Helena never defended herself. And because Nuria wasn’t talking out of some sense of justice or wounded pride. She was talking out of spite.

Maya unclenched her jaw just to grit her teeth even harder.

"Don’t you ever get tired?"

She didn’t say it loudly. She didn’t yell. But the locker room wasn’t that big. And Maya never had to raise her voice to be heard.

The murmur of conversation died down. Not completely, but enough for her to feel several people paying attention. Nuria stilled for a moment. Then she turned toward her with a forced smile, the kind that barely covered the thinly veiled hostility underneath.

"Excuse me?"

Maya took her time straightening up and closing her locker before turning to look at her. Her gaze was calm, but there was something dangerous flickering in her eyes.

"I asked if you don’t get tired," she repeated, her voice low but clear. "Of saying the same shit every day."

Nuria narrowed her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe Maya was getting involved in this. "I didn’t know you had to approve my conversations now."

"I don’t care about your conversations," Maya replied, tilting her head slightly. "I care that you’ve been repeating the same thing for weeks, and honestly? It’s getting old."

Nuria let out a laugh, but there was no amusement in it.

"Right. Because defending Ferrer is your new favorite hobby, isn’t it?"

Maya felt Helena shift uncomfortably to her right, but she didn’t look at her.

"I don’t need to defend her. She didn’t do anything wrong."

"Oh, really? Nothing wrong?" Nuria crossed her arms, leaning forward slightly. "You’d be okay with someone using you for a one-night stand and then acting like you don’t exist? Just like that?"

There it was.

Maya sighed.

"This isn’t about what I would or wouldn’t do."

"Oh, it’s not?"

"No. This is about the fact that you keep bringing it up every chance you get, like you can’t let it go."

The locker room was almost completely silent now. Just the sound of a few bags zipping up, the distant echo of water running in the showers.

Nuria smiled without humor.

"I don’t know why you’re getting involved in this, Maya."

"Because it disgusts me." Maya didn’t blink. "It disgusts me to watch you walk around here, looking for her, waiting for an excuse to throw some snide remark her way. Like a damn dog."

Nuria’s face darkened, her hands clenching into fists.

"Eres una gilipollas."

"Y tú una resentida."

Silence.

Helena let out an almost imperceptible breath.

Maya ran a hand through her hair, not taking her eyes off Nuria.

"You hooked up. It didn’t work. Anyone else would move on. But you, Nuria…"

She took a step forward, just one, enough to lower her voice and make it sharper.

"You have to tear her down every single day because you can’t stand the fact that she used you for one night and never looked back."

The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. Nuria’s face was flushed red, but she had no words.

Maya leaned in slightly, her gaze unwavering.

"And if it weren’t for the trouble I’d get into, I’d smash your head against the wall."

Helena let out a breath. Not a gasp, not a 'Maya, stop'. A fucking breath. Like those words had been the only real shield anyone had given her in weeks.

Nuria said nothing.

She couldn’t say anything.

The entire locker room had frozen. No one moved, no one dared to step in.

Maya waited. She gave Nuria the space to respond, to say whatever she wanted. But she didn’t. So Maya shrugged, slung her backpack over her shoulder with the same usual calm.

Then she turned, not bothering to look at anyone else, and walked toward the door.

She left unhurriedly.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And for the first time in a long time, the dressing room was left in complete silence.

🫛🫛🫛

The hallway smelled of liniment and damp grass, filled with that muffled echo of footsteps and murmurs that only lingered after training sessions—when the team was scattered between showers, massages, and unexpected meetings. Maya walked with her jaw clenched, hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie, and the distinct feeling that this meeting wasn’t going to bring her anything good.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she had been called in. Or maybe she was. The incident with Nuria in the locker room had been too public for it not to reach the coach’s ears.

She stopped in front of the office door and took a deep breath. Counted to three. Knocked twice with her knuckles before pushing the door open without waiting for a response.

The coach was sitting behind his desk, arms crossed, with an expression that didn’t foreshadow anything good. But it was the person sitting to his right that made her frown for a second.

Alexia Putellas.

Maya controlled her reaction. Just the slightest raise of her eyebrows before her face settled back into its usual neutral expression. Don’t get paranoid. Maybe Alexia was just there for something unrelated, maybe they had just finished discussing something before she arrived. Or maybe—and she liked this possibility less—it was about her.

She closed the door calmly and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, as if she were anywhere else and not in an office about to get a lecture.

"If this is about what happened with Nuria the other day," she said before anyone could speak, "I was just following the message you always give us: ‘personal issues don’t mix with football.’"

Silence.

The coach frowned.

"Excuse me?"

Maya didn’t move. Something didn’t add up.

"I had no idea anything happened with Nuria," he continued, looking at her with more interest than she liked. "But now I do want to know."

Shit.

Maya rolled her eyes. In trouble for talking too much.

"It was nothing," she shrugged. "Stupid stuff. Dumb teenage drama, you know."

The coach held her gaze for a moment longer but didn’t press. He just ran a hand over his chin and got straight to the point.

"I called you in because of what happened with the Espanyol player."

Her body tensed instantly.

"Alexia told me what happened."

Maya clenched her jaw. And there it was. She knew it. Her mind went straight to the most obvious conclusion.

Great. Not only did I get a red card during the match, but now they think I was going to start a fight afterward.

She straightened up slightly, arms still crossed.

"Nothing happened," she said flatly. "I didn’t hit her, if that’s what you’re thinking."

Alexia lifted her gaze, looking at her with the same calm she had when analyzing the field before making a decisive pass.

"No one said you hit her."

Maya turned toward her.

"Oh no?" She tilted her head, skeptical. "Then what exactly did you tell the coach?"

Alexia remained relaxed, unbothered.

"I told him about the lack of control you showed during the match," she explained evenly. "About how the Espanyol player was provoking you the entire time and how you reacted."

A prick of discomfort settled in Maya’s chest. She didn’t like being analyzed like that.

"Oh, right. She provoked me, I reacted, and somehow I’m the bad guy."

"No one said you’re the bad guy," the coach interjected. "But you do have a problem."

Maya scoffed.

"My problem is that I don’t let people walk all over me?"

The coach narrowed his eyes, resting his elbows on the desk.

"Your problem is that you let yourself get taken out of the game over nothing."

Maya averted her gaze, biting her tongue to keep from saying the first thing that came to mind.

"Do you think you reacted the right way?" he pressed.

"If the referee isn’t going to do his job, someone has to."

The coach let out a long sigh, as if he were exhausted from having the same conversation over and over again.

"Maya…" He ran a hand down his face. "In football, there are provocations all the time. If every time someone messes with you, you respond with a foul like that, you’re going to get sent off in every match."

Before she could reply, Alexia spoke up.

"If you let them get you out of the game with provocations, you’re giving them exactly what they want."

That comment irritated her more than it should have.

"I didn’t let them take me out of the game. They took me out of the game." She paused. "Which is different."

"It’s not," Alexia countered, still infuriatingly calm. "Porque si cada vez que te tocan un poco los cojones, pierdes la cabeza, entonces te van a manejar como quieran." (Because if every time they push your buttons, you lose your head, then they can control you however they want)

Maya frowned.

She didn’t like how that sounded. Like she was some animal that could be controlled with a few cheap tricks. Like she didn’t have self-control.

But most of all, she didn’t like it because there was some truth to it.

The coach watched her patiently, waiting.

"Do you understand?"

Maya stayed quiet for a moment before answering, her tone clipped.

"Yes."

The coach nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced.

"I hope I don’t have to bring this up with you again."

Maya didn’t respond. She simply turned and left the office with the same calm as always, no rush, no sign of anything. But the moment the door shut behind her, she felt something strange in her chest. A part of her was still angry. Angry that they had treated her like she didn’t know what she was doing. But another part, one she preferred to ignore, knew that Alexia and the coach were right.

And that pissed her off even more.

🫛🫛🫛

The night air was cool, but Maya felt like she was burning under her skin. She walked with long, quick strides, her jaw clenched, her backpack slung over one shoulder. As if each step could help her leave behind the coach’s office, the damn conversation, and, most of all, that patient voice of Alexia Putellas repeating things she already knew but didn’t want to hear.

Football was about provocation, sure. Football was about keeping a cool head, too. Pero que no jodan. (But give me a break)

As she stepped past the club’s entrance, her eyes landed on the bus stop across the street. At this hour, the night buses took forever, and the last thing she wanted was to sit around doing nothing, letting her mind spiral over the same thoughts.

She took a deep breath and adjusted the strap of her backpack. Maybe she could walk to the next stop. Maybe that would get rid of this burning feeling in her chest.

Then, a car horn.

Maya frowned, irritated by the sudden noise, and turned her head, ready to ignore it. But she recognized the car before she could.

A black Audi. And behind the wheel, Alexia Putellas.

The passenger-side window lowered with a smooth hum, and Alexia’s voice, calm as always, cut through the night.

"Get in. I’ll take you."

Her first reaction was automatic: say no.

Because she didn’t like being told what to do. Because she still had her pride stuck in her throat after that conversation. And because, honestly, she wasn’t in the mood to spend more time with Alexia.

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"I’m fine. I don’t need a ride."

Alexia didn’t react. She didn’t look surprised or impatient. She just tilted her head slightly and repeated,

"Maya."

Just her name. Said in that low, steady tone—not quite a command, but not a request either.

And Maya, for some damn reason, didn’t have the energy to keep refusing.

She huffed through her nose and muttered something unintelligible as she stepped toward the car. She pulled open the passenger door and dropped into the seat unceremoniously, shutting the door with more force than necessary.

She didn’t say thank you.

Alexia didn’t seem to expect it.

The engine purred quietly, the only sound in the car besides the distant murmur of nighttime traffic.

Maya stared out the window, arms crossed, her gaze lost in the city lights flashing past. The silence was so thick it was becoming uncomfortable. Suddenly, she was aware of her own breathing. Of every small movement. Of how unnervingly calm the car felt even if her head was hell.

She didn’t dare move a muscle, wondering if Alexia felt the awkwardness too—or if she was just immune to it.

Then, Alexia’s voice broke the silence.

"So, you like smashing heads against walls, huh?"

Maya blinked.

What?

Her first reaction was pure internal panic.

How the hell does she know?

Worse: Did she tell the coach?

She turned toward Alexia, her back suddenly tense.

"Who told you that?"

Alexia kept her eyes on the road, only shrugging slightly. "Vicky told me."

Maya exhaled, rolling her eyes.

Of course.

If there was anyone who knew everything that happened in Barça B, it was Vicky López. And if there was anyone she shared it with, it was Alexia. Ever since she started training with the first team, their relationship had become inseparable. Fans even called them “mother and daughter.”

Maya pressed her lips together, uncomfortable.

"I wasn’t actually going to do it. I just said it."

"Sure."

Alexia smiled slightly, not even looking at her, as if she didn’t believe her for a second.

Maya sighed and slumped further into the seat, annoyed. "Did you pick me up just to give me a lecture on anger management?"

"No," Alexia replied casually. "But if you want me to, I can."

Maya turned to her, half incredulous, half exasperated.

"I’ll pass."

A brief silence settled between them. But this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Maya noticed the atmosphere had shifted. Less tense. Less hostile. And though she didn’t want to admit it, Alexia’s attitude—calm, not pushing her, not lecturing her—was making her anger simmer down.

They reached her building a few minutes later. Alexia pulled up in front of the entrance without a word, simply letting the engine shut off smoothly.

Maya unbuckled her seatbelt and, without looking at her, muttered quickly, "Thanks for the ride." Like it physically hurt to say it.

Alexia didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was steady. "See you, Maya."

Maya gave a small nod and got out of the car without another word.

She closed the door with less force this time.

[haikyu-mp4]

November

word count; 1033 – f!reader

Kozume Kenma did not want to be in the library right now. If he had his way, he would be asleep under a warm duvet all day now that classes had ended for the semester. Unfortunately, he had a lot to learn before exams, and there was no time to waste.

He chose a seat by the table in the back, which was only occupied by one other student, who he didn’t acknowledge at all. You eventually took notice of him, though. The cute guy with the outgrown bleach was looking down at his schoolwork with a frown, and you were very amused. You stretched your arm out to get his attention, and Kenma eventually looked up with a face that bridged between annoyed and confused. He looks like a kitten, you thought. "What did that book ever do to you?"

"It mocks my lack of will. So if you could try not to distract me, that would be great," he answered, which ended your conversation abruptly. You smirked to yourself, picked up a pen and got to work on your next drawing after taking a sip from your water bottle. Kenma calmly put on his headphones, a sign to please leave him alone.

After about half an hour, Kenma sat back in his seat to stretch. His spine cracked, and he clapped his cheeks to stay awake. You took this as your opportunity and flipped your drawing pad to show him the newest masterpiece. Kenma turned his head at the motion, and his face quickly fell in disbelief. You had drawn him how he looked today, except with ears and a nose that resembled a calico cat. He frowned when he noticed your wide and proud smile. Annoyingly enough, he was impressed by your unusual art style. When Kenma looked down at his notes again, he couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his face. A light rosy colour tinted his cheeks despite his efforts to stay cool, and your heart fluttered. Mission accomplished.

A week later, even closer to exams, Kenma made his way to the library again. To his surprise, the woman he still didn't know the name of was there too. With a quick rundown of positives and negatives in his head, he decided to take a seat across from you.

You sat like that every day for the whole school week. Kenma tried his best to cram as many facts as he could and actually started to feel like this exam might go well. He didn't quite know what the person across from him was working on, but you had several different coloured pens and even a small box of watercolours along with a brush that somehow stored the water you needed in the handle. He started wondering, and before he could stop himself, "Are you allowed to paint in here?"

Your eyes met, unconsciously having a staring contest for one too many seconds. Oh, so he wants to talk to me now? When his eyes wandered around your face and hands, he noticed that you weren’t exactly being careful with your colours either.

"No one has told me not to," you said slowly as if trying to convince him. A small smile graced his lips, and you felt greedy for more of it.

"Sounds like solid reasoning to me," Kenma agreed and leaned back in his chair. His hand lifted to point at the back of your large notepad, "What are you creating now, then?"

Abashingly, you turned it around. You had filled the whole page, and he recognised it as the library you were currently in, but with much more sunshine and colours, orange flowers growing from the books and pink cows making their way across the floor in the back. "I study visual arts. We have to create an exhibition, and my theme is perspective." His mouth fell open slightly as he nodded in understanding when you explained.

"It's cool. You're good at that." Kenma kept his voice low, and something about it was so enticing to you. He spoke so calmly and every emotion of his was a mystery. "I'm Kenma."

"I'm y/n." After settling down from your little conversation, you kept sipping from your water bottle. Kenma’s mouth dried every time he heard the sound. He did his best to clear his throat, realising he hadn’t brought anything to drink.

“Do you have an inspiration?” he asked, mostly wondering if you actually saw the words that way.

The corner of your mouth quirked. “I’ve always like games, it’s affected the way I see the world. Sorry, that probably sounds like childish imagination.”

Kenma thought back to the things he’d imagine when he ran in high school for volleyball practice. The way he’d make it into a game. “No, I… Uh, I totally get it.”

You two naturally fell into silent, individual work again. Kenma kept glancing over at your paintings, but whenever you met his gaze, he would look away. Eventually, the sun went down, and you both started clearing the table, silently packing everything into your bags. Come on, Kenma. Just smile at her and say something. However, somewhat luckily, you beat him to it.

"Hey, Kenma?" He lifted his head swiftly, eyebrows raised, happy that you started the conversation. "Do you want to get a drink?" You weren’t necessarily nervous, but undoubtedly hopeful for his answer. The corners of his mouth lifted in a kind, small smile. You had both picked up your bags and stood beside the table.

"A drink? Yeah, sure." Kenma’s voice sent a shiver down your spine again, and you straightened up with an even broader smile.

"Fun! Cool, cool, cool- The student bar?"

"I've only been there once or twice before, never saw the charm." The student bar had a certain vibe that didn't fit him when he just wanted to drink. A lot of people were there to socialise with new people, and Kenma was not interested.

"The beer is cheaper there," you said in a sing-songy voice to try and convince the handsome man. Kenma wasn't entirely convinced, but if you wanted to go there, then he wouldn't argue.

"Lead the way."

The Schoolyear Series ║ masterlist

[elusivewildflower]

Never Leaving You Again | Colt Seavers x GN! Reader

Pairing: Colt Seavers x GN! Reader

Summary: After getting into a car accident and being unconscious for several days, Reader wakes up to find their ex-boyfriend Colt in their hospital room. They haven't spoken since his own accident over a year ago and Reader isn't exactly thrilled to see him.

Warnings: Hospitals, mention of injuries, very angsty as reader was ghosted by Colt a year ago and now he's shown back up. Ends happily, though!

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: As always, thanks to the Goose Groupies for the help with ideas and encouragement!! This is loosely based off of this idea that @hederasgarden reblogged the other day! I've still got another Colt fic that is nearly finished, as this idea was a nice surprise to take over my muse! I hope you all enjoy! Please like and reblog!

As you regain consciousness, the first thing you notice is the sound of rhythmic beeping. Your eyelids feel heavy and your mouth is drier than the Sahara Desert. It takes a few attempts of opening your eyes before you’re finally successful. When you do, you’re greeted by the sight of a tiled ceiling. A few moments later and you begin to become aware of the rest of your body. Your head is pounding, you have a sharp pain in your ribs every time you breathe, and you’re pretty certain one of your legs is broken. There’s other aches and pains radiating throughout your body, but you’re unable to pinpoint exactly where quite yet. 

You’ve deduced that you’re in the hospital. The sound of machines beeping, the familiar weight of an I.V. needle in your arm, and the harsh lighting made that easy to figure out. Now, you just needed to remember how you had gotten here. As you push yourself up into a sitting position, which causes your ribs to ache in protest, you let out a hiss of pain. Suddenly, you’re aware that you’re not in the room alone. 

“Oh thank God, you’re awake!” A cry of relief came from a voice that sounded all too familiar. 

Your brows furrowed in confusion at first, and then with anger. Sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair was none other than your ex, Colt Seavers. He certainly looked worse for wear. His short blond hair was all disheveled, he had bags under his eyes, and his clothes were wrinkled. 

What the hell was he doing here?

You opened your mouth to ask that very question, but no sound came out. A hand rose to your throat as you realized you desperately needed something to drink. 

Sensing what you needed, Colt rushed to your bedside table to pour you a cup of water from the pitcher that sat there. Wordlessly, you accepted the drink and gulped it down in record time. Colt took the empty cup from you and sat it back down. 

“How are you feeling? Would you like more water? Do you remember anything?” Colt fired questions rapidly as he worried over you. 

He was acting as if everything was completely normal between you. As if he had never ghosted you over a year ago and broke your heart. It was bad enough that you were still trying to piece together what landed you in the hospital in the first place, but for him to be here too? You were beyond confused and you were livid. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Colt?” Your words didn’t hold as much menace in them as you felt, but you chalked that up to the fact that your voicebox felt strained.

Colt’s face fell drastically. He looked like a puppy that had just been kicked. His blue eyes darted back and forth as he tried to find his words. “I….I was your emergency contact.” He spoke softly, sounding deflated. 

You sat there in silence for a moment as that information sank in. Fuck, did you really forget to change that? You shook your head, just because he was your contact and he showed up doesn’t make everything alright. He nearly died over a year ago from a stunt gone wrong and he didn’t let you sit at his bedside, so why did he deserve to sit at yours? 

“You shouldn’t have come, Colt. You need to leave.” You finally broke the silence with your firm words. 

Somehow Colt’s face fell even further. You didn’t understand why he looked so devastated. Neither of you had spoken since his accident, and it wasn’t from lack of trying – at least on your part. He ignored every single phone call and text message you sent. After a while, you had to give up. It wasn’t healthy to continue begging a man to let you take care of him – to be there for him. 

Tears began to well up in Colt’s eyes as he looked away from you. He sniffled and chuckled ruefully before speaking. “I thought if you still had me as your contact, then that meant you would want me here…” 

Your mouth dropped open for a moment as you were at a loss for words. You stared at him in disbelief. “We haven’t spoken in over a year, Colt! You….you ghosted me!” Colt flinched as your voice raised, but you continued on. “You ignored me!” Your arms flailed around wildly as you shouted. “You shut me out!” By now, tears had welled up in your own eyes and were trailing down your cheeks. “Why would I want you here?!” 

Colt didn’t have a chance to respond as the volume of your voice must’ve alerted the nurses you were finally awake. Seconds later, one popped in with a concerned look. “Is everything alright in here?” 

You glanced between the nurse and Colt with a heavy sigh, but nodded. Colt remained silent and his gaze was now glued to the floor. Every so often you could hear him sniffle and his hand would raise to wipe at his nose. You tried your best to blink back your tears as the nurse came over to check your vitals. 

The air in the room was heavy and uncomfortable as the nurse asked you various questions about what you remembered. It started with your name, your birthday, where you worked, and ended with what you recalled from your accident. Thankfully, in the last ten minutes of arguing with Colt, the memory of the car crash had come back to you. What you didn’t realize, however, was that you had been unconscious for several days. The nurse took her time explaining to you the extent of your injuries and that you’d be staying in the hospital for at least a few more days. She refilled your cup with water and told you the doctor would be in to see you shortly before leaving. She shot one last glance towards Colt on her way out. 

Now, the two of you were alone again. After you reached over to grab your cup of water and take a few sips from it, your attention settled on Colt. God, he really looked like shit. Even more so now that his eyes were red and puffy from crying. He still refused to look up from the tiled floor, but you could see the tears that continued to fall down his face. You let out another heavy sigh, ignoring the sharp pain in your ribs. He was crying because of you. While a part of you rejoiced to know that he felt at least a fraction of the hurt you felt when he left you, the other part of you ached with regret. 

You set your cup back on the bedside table. “Have you been here the whole time?” You asked softly.

Colt finally lifted his gaze to meet yours and nodded. “I came as soon as I got the call.” He then chuckled wetly as he brushed away a few tears and sniffled. “I didn’t want you to be alone.” 

The ache in your heart only worsened at his admission and tears were blurring your vision. But there was still one nagging question you had to ask. “Why didn’t you let me be there for you?” 

Now it was Colt’s turn to sigh heavily. His hands rubbed up and down his thighs as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I…was embarrassed and felt like a failure.” His eyes refused to meet yours as he continued. “I nearly killed myself in front of you and the whole crew because I made a miscalculation– which turns out, wasn’t a miscalculation at all.” His words confused you, but he didn’t leave any time for you to speak. “But, at the time I thought I had screwed up. I didn’t think you’d want to deal with all of the….serious stuff.” 

All you could do was shake your head as Colt rambled on. “You know, the surgeries, the rehab, the…bathroom stuff.” He gave a shrug of his shoulders. “After a while, I realized my mistake. But I thought it was too late….That you had probably moved on.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “When I got that call…” He trailed off for a moment, wiping away fresh tears that had fallen down his cheeks. “I finally knew how you felt that day and I am so sorry for shutting you out.” Colt finally let his baby blues meet yours as he apologized. 

“I thought that if I was your emergency contact, that maybe I hadn’t missed my chance.” His eyes fell from yours once more as he shook his head solemnly. “I see now that I was wrong…” Colt pushed himself up from his seat and heaved a sigh, glancing towards the door before speaking once more. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m still in love with you.” 

As you watched him walk towards the door, your heart felt as if it was breaking into two all over again. You knew deep down that you couldn’t let him leave. “Colt, wait–.” 

He halted in his tracks and looked at you expectantly. You could see it written all over his face – the hope that you would tell him what he desperately wanted to hear. 

More tears cascaded down your cheeks and your lips trembled as you drew in a shaky breath. “I’m still in love with you too.” You admitted softly.

A beaming smile spread across Colt’s face as he laughed with relief. He was happier than you had seen him in a very long time. In mere seconds he crossed the room and crashed his lips against yours. His large, calloused, hand reached for your jaw and held you in place. He didn’t want you pulling away from him any time soon, but you had no plans of doing that anyway. One of your hands threaded through his messy hair as you passionately devoured each other. His thick beard scratched across your skin, but you loved every second of it. Your heart rate was increasing by the minute, the rhythmic beeping kicking up in tempo, but neither of you cared. It had been far too long since your last kiss. When you absolutely had to pull away for air, there was hardly a gap between you. Your breaths mingled and noses nuzzled against each other gently. 

After a moment of having full oxygen in your brain again, your confusion from earlier returned. Your brows furrowed as you posed your question. “What did you mean by your accident wasn’t a miscalculation?” 

Colt chuckled softly, planting another kiss on your lips. “Oh, sweetheart, we’ve got a lot to catch up on.” 

This time, you couldn’t help but laugh too. “Mm, eighteen months is a long time to be apart.” Your mind is briefly filled with all of the things you would have to catch him up on. For the first time in a long time, you feel giddy.

“And I’m never leaving you again.” He murmured confidently, the tears in his blue eyes finally drying up as a light now shined within them.

You captured his lips in a tender kiss and he responded eagerly. It wasn’t long before his tongue was licking into your mouth and exploring every inch that he had missed in your time apart. You knew there was much for you to discuss, and you had a lengthy road to recovery, but there was no one else in the world you’d rather be with than Colt.

The two of you would figure it out – and that gave you hope for the first time in over a year.

[eggrollforyou]

Lessons Learned

Zoro x F!Reader

CW: dom Zoro, bratty reader, impact play, hair pulling, unprotected sex, p in v, oral sex M receiving), use of pet names (baby, sweetheart, established relationship

WC: ~1.8K

A/N: This one just flew out of my brain. I need this man to do this to me. I'd be a brat ALL the time to get this punishment . Barely proofread, because ofc. Enjoy this nastiness

Text dividers by @cafekitsune 💚

It was a day that ended in Y, so that meant another day for Zoro's insane workout routine. You, honestly, couldn't comprehend how he managed to lift the weights he did, and even more, how he managed to do it every day.

Tonight, everyone had already gone to bed or were winding down for the evening inside the Sunny somewhere. Zoro had watch tonight, so you decided to keep him company. You, quietly sipping tea, reading a book Robin lent you, while he worked out.

It was a calm, temperate night. You had the windows open in the crows nest to keep an ear out for commotion outside and it was letting in a breeze. You loved the smell of the ocean breeze, it was so calming. You paused to take a sip of your tea, and glanced over the top of your book to see Zoro, lifting an ungodly amount of weight, grunt through several reps, and drop them.

His grunts, sounding alarmingly similar to when you're having sex, and you see his chiseled form, glistening with sweat. His muscles flexing as he leans over to drink some water between reps.

Suddenly, your cheeks and the tips of your ears feel warm and you catch yourself biting your lip.

He's working out, leave him be, you think to yourself. You pick up where you left off in your book. After a few minutes, listening in, you realize you've re-read the same paragraph ten times over. You were getting nowhere in this damn book with him distracting you. His muscles, his grunts. You wanted to just walk over to him and lick him from head to toe. You decide to take a cheeky route to get his attention.

You peer over the book again, “Could you work out a little quieter? Some of us are trying to read here. It's hard to concentrate with all your slamming.”

Zoro looks over, “What the hell, woman. This is the lookout, my weights are HERE. You want quiet? Go to the damn library,” he huffs as he's shoulder pressing, like, 300 pounds.

You bite your lip, snickering. You know exactly which buttons to push to get what you want out of him. “But, baaaaby, I want to be with you. Just keep it down, will ya? Don't be so rude.” You wink at him.

He rolls his eyes and continues working out. Still grunting and slamming weights around. In fact, he seems like he's gotten louder, just to goad you. Instead, it makes you ache for his touch. “Will you stop making so much damn noise? I asked you to be quieter,” you say loudly, as you pretend to read your book. You hear the weights drop again and hear shuffling.

You look up and see him, in all his sweaty glory. As he stands over you, breathing heavily, staring at you so hard you think you may catch fire, he huffs, “Woman, let me work out in peace.”

“Or else what? What are you gonna do about it, muscle man?” You sigh back, rolling your eyes, feigning disinterest. He clenches his fists, his jaw twitches.

You're interrupting his workout AND being bratty? You know how to play this man like a fiddle. You begin to wonder if this is why Sanji teases him so much. It's so easy to rile him up. You love him to death, but this is TOO easy.

As if on queue, he leans over you, grabbing your hair and gently, but forcefully, pulling your ear to his mouth. You're overwhelmed with his musky smell of sweat and steel as you feel his hot breath in your ear, “Looks like SOMEONE,” he emphasizes as he gives your hair another tug, “needs a lesson in manners.” You look at him, panting, rubbing your thighs together, as you feel your panties getting wetter by the second. He's glaring at you, and you smirk, “Oh, and YOU think you're the one that's going to teach me that?”

That was it. That's what made him snap. In an instant, he picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder, as you yelped in surprise. He carried you to a bench, sat down, and threw you over his lap, ripping your skirt and underwear down to your knees. Giving you a slap to your ass so hard you're sure it would leave a red handprint. “AH! Z-zoro, I'm sorry!” you shouted. SMACK! Now the other side. You hiss as the warmth from the sting radiates and moan as he soothingly rubs where he slapped.

“Now, how are we going to do this? I don't believe that shit apology. What do you have to say for yourself, brat?” He glares at you, eyes dark, pupils blown, grinning like a demon.

“I-i'm sorry, Zoro,” you say as sweetly as you can as you writhe in his lap, inadvertently rolling your hips, looking for any friction to quench the fire that's burning in your core. SMACK! And another across the back of your thighs, dangerously close to your glistening cunt. “Sorry for what?” He growls, as he pulls his hand back to land another harsh smack on your thighs making sure to line his fingertips with your core, adding to the delicious sting.

“Hnng, s-sorry for being a brat,” you barely breathe out. Zoro peers over to view his handiwork. He smirks as he sees you're practically dripping. “And what do we do with brats?” His voice deeper, dripping with desire, as he continues to smooth his hands on your ass and thighs, feeling the warmth from his impacts. You moan again, gently rotating your hips.

SMACK!

“AH!”

“Answer Me.”

“W-we teach them a-a lesson?” you respond, breathlessly.

“Mmmmmm!” You mewl, biting your lip so hard you're sure you'll bleed, as he inches two fingers to graze your lips. Slowly working them around to collect your essence. “Atta girl, you're getting with the program,” he responds. You can feel him getting harder by the second as his length pushes on your stomach.

He pushes his middle finger into your clenching walls and rapidly starts thrusting and curling it. You scream at his immediate, relentless, pace. The room is full of the sinful sounds of squelching and your labored breath as he brings you closer to the edge. Your walls begin to twitch and tighten, indicating to Zoro that you're close. And suddenly he stops. “Ahhh, baby, why'd you stop?” You cry out in frustration.

Zoro gives you a devilish smile, “You're still not done apologizing, brat,” as he shifts you, gently, to your knees, between his wide spread legs. “You interrupted my workout and got snarky. I think I have something for that smart mouth, what do you think?” He leans back on one arm and reaches with his other hand, rubbing his thumb on your lip and pulling it down.

You reach for his pants and unbutton them, staring at him with big doe eyes, giving him a split second of an exaggerated expression of apology. He sucked his teeth, the sharp sound cutting through the heady haze of lust and desire in the room. “And here we go again, looks like I didn't teach you that lesson well enough,” as he strips his pants and boxers at once, releasing his throbbing length. You lean forward to lick underneath from his base to his tip, tasting his sweat. Zoro grabs your hair again and pushes you on his length until he touches your throat. Instantly making you gag as tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Here I was, going to be nice, and let you go at your own pace, sweetheart. But now, to say sorry, you're gonna have to go at mine,” he growled.

You instantly feel that pool of desire growing in the pit of your stomach burn into a wildfire. Holding onto his thighs as he uses your mouth for his pleasure. Each time his tip crashes in your throat, it forces more tears in your eyes until they're streaming down your face. Zoro hisses and groans with one last thrust into your throat before he pulls his cock out of your mouth, with a lewd pop.

In a heady daze, you wipe the drool off your chin, leaning back slightly. Zoro's grasp on your hair still firm as he stands you up and turns you around, sitting you on his legs. “Think you've been good enough to earn what you've been after this entire time?” He rasps in your ear, nibbling your ear lobe. You sigh, trying to grind your soaking wet cunt on his thigh. He groans as he grabs your waist and bites your shoulder.

“Please, Zo-zoro, I've learned my lesson,” you plead. He lifts you from his thigh, grabbing his cock to line himself up at your entrance, and pulls you down. You gasp at the stretch and the feeling of being absolutely full. He sighs as his aching cock finally finds itself in your velvety walls. He presses kisses between your shoulder blades and rests his forehead trying to contain himself. You begin grinding your hips into his, mewling from the sensation and the tight rope of self control he mustered, snapped.

He began lifting you, pushing and pulling you on his cock as you screamed his name, everything around you disappearing. It was just the two of you in existence. The fire in your belly, now spreading to your fingertips and toes as the drag of his cock is punctuated with a hit to your g-spot. Zoro grabs your waist so hard, you think you'll bruise, as he pulls your back to his chest, until all you think, feel, and hear is him. He bites your neck, hard, leaving a mark as you grind down, trying to match his pace.

Your walls clench, your legs tremble, as you get closer and closer to orgasm. He moves one hand to your clit and presses down in harsh circles, keeping his chest to your back and growls, “I wanna hear you scream…” It's all you needed to let go.

“FUUUCK….Zoro! Yes! Don't stop!” You scream as he continues pounding into you, furiously rubbing circles on your clit. You gasp as the sensation overtakes your senses, tingling and pulsing almost as quickly as your heartbeat. Your fluttering walls tighten as Zoro fucks you through your orgasm leading to his own. He stills and hisses for a moment as you feel him begin to pulse, filling you to the brim, and he continues pumping into you slowly. He rests his forehead on your back, both of you panting and breathless. He leans back, bringing you with him, leaving no room between you, still, and peppers the side of your face with soft kisses.

“Well, have you learned your lesson?” He smirks.

“You know, I'm not sure I have, we may need to go over it again,” you giggle, and he gives you a dark smile.

Did you like this? I'm flattered! Wanna read more? Here's my Masterlist!

[farmhandler]

for those of you who do follow me on tumblr, you get a sneak peek... because I love you... (continued after ch9)

“Hey,” Scott said, catching Logan’s attention as he started moving away towards the stairs. Logan had agreed to stick to one of the empty conference rooms upstairs for a while to avoid startling any of the kids.

“Ugh, this guy again,” Wade muttered.

“What is it?” Logan said.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry,” Scott said. He sounded sheepish, of all things. “About you two, I didn’t—I’m not—what I said back there isn’t how I am. It wasn’t what I meant. This whole thing—”

“Scott,” Logan said, cutting him off. He raised a hand. “It’s…you were an asshole about a lot of it, but I get it. This whole situation is fucking weird for me, too. A lot has changed. I’m not exactly the same guy I was when I knew you—the other me knew you. I’d probably be worse than you are in your position.”

“Should I be offended by that?” Wade said.

Scott seemed relieved, shoulders slumping. “Good. You guys are—I mean if you’re happy, that’s—that’s good. Deadpool has caused a lot of damage, and I mean a lot—"

“Feeling slightly offended now!”

“—but clearly there’s something there most of us haven’t seen. Colossus has been pushing to include him more often. And he did complete that mission for us. So maybe there’s some hope we'll make an X-Man out of him yet.”

“X-Person,” Wade corrected primly. “X-Them, if you will.”

Scott’s head turned briefly towards Wade, nodded, then back to Logan. “I’ll see you soon. It’s…it’s good to see you, Logan.” Emotion crept into his voice. “I mean it.”

“You too, Scott.” Logan said. Understatement of the year. “I’ll see you.”

They moved upstairs to the empty conference room. Logan had suggested Wade could leave if he wanted, but Wade shot it down.

“And miss the big family reunion? Hell no!”

“I don’t think you’re gonna get to be there,” Logan admitted. “Pretty sure it’s just going to be me, at least for now. This whole thing is…fuckin’ unreal. Surreal.”

“Lame,” Wade drawled. “I did all the fucking work. I should get to be there. So unfair. What am I supposed to do while you’re gone? I want to be where the action is.”

“Yeah, well, nothing’s going to be fun about this. Probably just a lot of talking and shit. I really fucking hate this part.”

“Are you hungry?” Wade asked out of nowhere. “Because I’m starving. They said they have lunch, right?”

Logan blinked. “Yeah. Yeah, I can get you some food. There’s a chef on duty every school day. Colossus said there’d be food.”

After checking the coast was clear, they went back downstairs. Logan felt absolutely ridiculous in his yellow suit, but standing next to Wade in his red, it wasn’t so bad. They made it to the kitchen and Logan stole a few sandwiches, handing one off to Wade.

It felt so…normal. Logan hated that he couldn’t relax, that he still felt on edge, but tried to focus on Wade.

Like he could tell Logan needed the distraction, he started talking about one of the times he’d visited the mansion and destroyed something while he devoured his sandwich. Several somethings, in fact—“Just a few statues of old white dudes”—and Logan watched him, eyes lingering on the way Wade’s mouth moved with the mask rolled up. He loved that mouth. Loved Wade, even when he was doing all the shit he wasn’t supposed to do. Even terrorizing the X-Men. He fucking loved him.

“And then even though I said ‘no touching’," Wade said, pulling his mask back down, "Colossus grabs me by the throat, which is one of my biggest turn-ons, and then he—”

“Hey,” Logan said, stopping Wade in the empty hallway. He kept his ears open, but everyone was in their classrooms. “I’m gonna kiss you.”

“I’m sorry, I misheard. I thought I heard you say you were going to kiss me.”

Logan reached over and undid the back of Wade’s mask. Wade’s hands clamped over his, but Logan only rolled it up again so his mouth was exposed. He backed Wade up against the wall and kissed him.

“Well, well, well,” Wade said when he pulled away. “I never took you for a sexual deviant. In public? My oh my, Mr. Wolverine. Kiss me again and make it sloppy.”

“It’s just a kiss,” Logan said, chuckling. The chuckle turned into a laugh. He kissed him once, then twice. The third time Logan shoved his tongue in Wade’s mouth, over his teeth, tasting him, and slid his hands around the back of Wade’s neck. He felt Wade’s moan reverberate in his mouth.

That was when Wade stopped him. “Don’t look to your right,” he whispered loudly.

God damn it. Logan tapped his fist on the wall next to Wade’s head.

“And you’re just now telling me.”

“I assumed you could smell them and didn’t care, peanut,” Wade said. As Logan moved, he quickly rolled his mask back down over his face. “You should see their faces.”

“I literally do not understand this,” Scott said beside them. “Not the you and Deadpool thing—I mean I don’t understand that either—but…you’re sure you’re the same Logan? You have never smiled like that.”

“Not for you,” Logan said, turning around fully. “Word to the fucking wise for everyone here. I will not put up with the shit I heard earlier from Scott or anyone else. If I hear one word said about Wade that isn’t directly regarding his behavior, we will have a fucking problem. Are we clear?”

[missmungoe]

This is gonna sound SOOOOOOO corny but your writing is genuinely the best part of my day, at any given moment I have andromeda unbound open on my phone and am reading it 🥺🥺🥺 very eagerly awaiting the final chapter, I hope you don’t think it’s rude, but is there perchance snippet you deem worthy of sharing 🥺👉🏾👈🏾

This is not corny or rude at all, I am delighted!! I'm still working on this chapter, but here's a snippet<3

The Red Line was broken in half, the once-impervious mountain range severed in the middle by a gaping chasm, parts of it still crumbling into the churning sea below. And where the holy land of Mariejois had once sat, the highest seat in the world, there was nothing. The white city was gone.

Turning to Luffy, Makino didn't know which was more shocking, but now that they weren’t falling towards certain death, she managed to get a better look at him, although wasn't sure what she was looking at.

“What,” she began hoarsely, her hand lifting to cup his cheek, warm to the touch, as though he’d just come in from basking in the sun. The pitch-black hair that had always refused her efforts to comb it down was bleached white, like his irises. It gave him an eerie look, as though he wasn’t human. And he’d had his devil fruit powers for most of his life, had always been a little unusual, but this had to be something else, surely? “What is this?”

Lifting his hand, Luffy turned it over, observing the wisps of white smoke where they curled around his wrist. His eyes lifted back to hers, still that pale, unnatural white, and yet the feeling in them was familiar, belonging to the boy who’d hated seeing her cry, as he told her simply, “I just thought about you.”

Cupping his cheeks, Makino shook her head, although wasn’t sure exactly what she was refuting, if it was the transformation or the fact that he’d plucked her out of free-falling to her death from a crumbling city. And she almost forgot then, where they were, and what had just happened, and nearly laughed at the sheer absurdity of it all, her grin trembling over her mouth, and saw where it prompted his own, lifting his cheeks and the little scar under his eye, and might have worried for the state of sanity when what she felt wasn’t terror but bright, reckless joy.

“Oho.”

Her eyes widened, as Luffy looked up sharply, and turning found Blackbeard standing by the cliff side. “What do we have here?”

He was looking at Luffy, a light in his eyes now that hadn’t been there before, even when he’d stat astride the Empty Throne. If every other part of him hadn't defied the feeling, she might have called it an almost childlike awe, as, “It is, isn’t it?” Blackbeard breathed. “All this time, it was right under my nose.”

She started when Luffy moved to put himself in front of her, although from the look on Blackbeard’s face, Makino thought she might as well not have been present.

His grin spread, splitting his face in a wild, delighted grin. “And to think,” he laughed, first a chuckle, before it deepened, his eyes filled with a hunger that terrified her more than anything she'd found within the walls of the Holy Land, “that I came here for an entirely different power.”

[smashing-teacups]

A Lady of Grace

A fix-it scene/rewrite for First Wife, 3x08, in which a fevered Jamie and furious Claire find their way back to one another.

The change was so gradual that I didn’t notice it at first. The pain hadn’t dulled at all; I could feel the throb of my pulse where the birdshot had been, in the raw caverns of flesh Claire had carved clean and stitched shut. The fever waxed and waned — sometimes smoldering low, leaving me prickled with gooseflesh and shivering as the sweat cooled on my skin, sometimes raging to an inferno ‘til I thrashed, delirious, panicked by the burning cage of my own flesh and bones.

It was in the interim that I began to notice a difference.

Little by little, the grimy haze that hung over my mind began to dissipate like mist in the morning sun. My senses sharpened, my wits cleared. I could read the nuances of Claire’s face again — see the resolve in the set of her jaw, the warring flashes of sympathy and fury and concern and betrayal in her eyes as she set about tending to me.

I remembered, somewhere in the misshapen, wobbly recollections of the past two days, her telling me that she wouldn’t let me die, no matter how sorely she was tempted.

I wasn’t at all sure whether she meant it as mercy or punishment.

Regardless, her methods were working. The fact that I had the clarity of mind to consider it meant that her penicillin was shifting the tide of my failing body. It was the second time I’d had that same revelation, laying in the same bed in the same house: despite my own wishes, a woman I loved had forced me to survive.

Finally lucid enough to recognize what was at stake, I pushed myself up against the headboard on shaking muscles as Claire stepped into the room with my next syringe of medicine. Lips tight, she passed an assessing gaze over me as she shut the door.

“You’re looking better,” she remarked flatly.

There was a sharp, pinching pain behind my eyes as I tried to follow her steps across the room. It dulled a bit when I let them close, resting my head back against the solid wood. “Is that a good thing?”

She didn’t dignify that with a response — at least not one I could hear. I could practically feel her glare on me, though, as she advanced the remaining few feet to the bed and thrust a cup into my hands.

“Drink this.”

I obeyed without question, but gave an involuntary grunt with the first bitter sip. Awful as it was, there was something akin to nostalgia in the taste of willow bark tea; most every time I’d been forced to drink the stuff, it was by the firm directive of a certain sassenach healer. As soon as I recognized it, I drained the full glass in three great gulps. Claire took the empty cup as I offered it back to her, then asked in that same no-nonsense tone of voice, “How bad is the pain?”

Eyes still closed, I shrugged with my good arm. “Had worse.”

“That’s not exactly saying much.”

I made a faint humming sound, a bit too fragile to qualify as a laugh. Still, the strain between us relaxed by a degree, and after a moment I felt the blessedly cool touch of her fingers on the inside of my wrist. The contact surprised me enough to peel open my heavy eyelids and look at her. It took me several more moments, though, to realize that she was counting to herself; her gaze was unfocused as she measured my pulse against some instinctive metronome in her head. All too soon, she released me, displeasure tightening the fine lines around her mouth.

“Your heart rate is still higher than I’d like.” Her eyes flicked briefly to mine, then away again. “You need to drink more water. I’m going to start bringing you a fresh pitcher every morning, and I want you to empty it by suppertime, do you hear me?”

I tried not to let the hope of those words seep into my soul; tried not to let the promise of ‘every morning’ indicate more than she meant. “Aye,” I agreed softly. “I hear ye.”

“Good.” She gestured at me with her chin as she removed the cap from her syringe. “Now roll over, let me get your right side this time.”

It would have been easy enough to oblige, muttering about the questionable benefit of an evenly bruised arse. That was my first instinct whenever there was tension between us: to try to loosen it with a bit of self-deprecating humor. Even in the bleakest of circumstances, Claire and I had always taken great comfort in our ability to make one another laugh.

But with my wife’s healing had come the sobriety of remembrance, the soul-chilling recognition of what that syringe would mean if she…

If she were to go.

There were some terrors in this world for which there could be no comfort; where the grave was mercy, and unattainable.

Experience had been a cruel instructor on that front, but an effective one. Keep reading...

[oceanlix]

Day 24: Sangyeon + Phone sex

Pairing: Sangyeon x female reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 1703

Warnings: Masturbation (male and female), dirty talk, teasing, phone sex, brief mention of daddy kink, slight degradation, praise

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

“Girl, are you sure you wanna post that?” Your friend peeks over your shoulder, shaking her head at the photo of you sitting between Sunwoo and Eric that you’re currently editing for Instagram.

“Yeah, what do you mean?” you giggle to yourself. Truth be told, you know exactly what she means. Posting this will only get Sangyeon’s attention in the worst way, but you’re prepared for that outcome. In fact, you want it to happen.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she sighs, heading back to her mirror to finish putting on her makeup. With another chuckle, you click on the post button and start the waiting game.

—-

It isn’t until several hours later when you’re doing body shots with Juyeon that you finally hear back from Sangyeon.

“Damn, your phone sure rings a lot!” Haknyeon yells, passing it to you. You raise your eyebrows, but you walk off to a little corner with less people in it. Unlocking your phone, your mouth goes dry when you open your texts and see the photos he’s sent. He’s sprawled out beside the pool, the sunset glow casting an unreal light across his toned chest and body. Every muscle looking like it was sculpted by God himself, totally bared before you. You almost don’t see the caption: Heard from a little birdie you’ve forgotten about me.

“Fuck,” you curse to yourself, biting down on your lip. Immediately you head off in search of an empty bedroom, anywhere that you can strip down and get off to these glorious images.

Sangyeon being away has taken its toll on you, but not being an official couple meant your libido never really had to suffer. With hot guys like Sunwoo, Eric and Juyeon to keep you entertained, you didn’t have time to feel sad and mopey. Orgasms tended to fix that, for obvious reasons. But you hadn’t even gotten a normal text from Sangyeon in weeks, which is what inspired you to lash out. You hadn’t sent nearly as racy a picture as he just had, but you knew how to stoke his jealousy and you used it to your advantage. Besides, if a simple little picture of you sitting on Eric’s lap while Sunwoo draped his arm around you got you these kind of results, you’d be tempted to try this again.

As you find an unoccupied bedroom and lock yourself in, your phone starts to ring. Sangyeon’s caller ID photo overtakes the screen, making you let out a small whimper as you rush to answer the phone.

“How’s my baby?” he asks, a knowing lilt to his voice. You moan a little as you toss yourself onto the bed, wriggling out of your skirt as fast as you can.

“Those pictures are so unfair,” you complain, sliding your hand into your underwear and sighing. You’re soaked, just like you expected. If Sangyeon was here, he’d be mocking you for how desperate you are.

He chuckles and you hear the rustling of fabric over the phone before the sound of a cap opening. You know it’s lube; he likes his cock to be wet and messy. “Really? That’s rich, coming from you,” he replies.

You push two fingers into yourself, massaging your own walls. Sangyeon’s fingers are longer, so it’s not nearly as satisfying. But it’ll have to do for now. “Oh please, at least I had clothes on,” you argue, but your voice is breathy as you continue to touch yourself.

Sangyeon hisses as he starts stroking his cock. At least, you’re assuming by the sound of the squelching lube that you hear. “You know every time you wear that dress I want to rip it off of you,” he growls. It’s true; that’s why you’d chosen it.

“How’s your hand?” you tease, holding back your own moan. “Don’t you wish you were here instead, stuffing my pussy full of cock?”

“You know I do, baby,” he tells you with a sigh. You can hear his strokes getting faster, which makes you rock your hips against your hand.

“When you get back, you better set aside a whole day for me,” you warn him.

“Oh yeah?” He sounds amused, even though he’s more than a little breathless. You know he’s imagining it now, all the ways he’s going to ruin your pussy when he gets back home. “What do you have planned?”

“Well first,” you sigh, shifting the angle of your fingers and sucking in a breath. “I’m going to suck you off in the living room. We won’t even make it to the couch, I’ll just do it right against the front door. I’ve missed the feeling of your big cock down my throat, choking me.”

Sangyeon groans loudly on the other end of the phone, making you smile. “Love it when you choke on my cock, baby,” he gushes.

You giggle. It’s so easy to get him wrapped around your finger, though you’re the same way with him, so you can’t really talk. “And then I’ll take you over to the couch, where I’m gonna ride you so hard the neighbors will put in a noise complaint.”

“Oh my god,” Sangyeon says under his breath. “You’re unreal.”

“Oh trust me, I’m very real,” you laugh, crooking your fingers up against your spot. Like before, it’s not the same as having your man’s fingers stroking your walls. Sangyeon can reach places inside of you that you can’t even dream of. “My fingers aren’t long enough for this,” you complain, frowning.

“Aw, baby can’t reach, can she?” His voice is mocking, but it drives you crazy. You love when he gets a little mean; you rub your thighs together for more friction. Your walls convulse around your fingers and you whimper, imagining Sangyeon’s fingers are in place of your own. “Don’t worry, I’ll be home before you know it and then I’ll take such good care of you.”

“I’m not done with telling you my plans yet,” you interrupt, now rubbing circles on your clit to chase your high.

“Yeah? Go on ahead,” he urges you. He’s getting breathless again, imagining his hand is your warm cunt gripping his dick.

“When we finally get to the bedroom, you’ll fuck me doggy style.” You bite your lip and moan as your fingers finally touch the spot you’ve been trying to reach for the past few minutes, your hips bucking wildly. “You’ll spank me so hard that my face gets an imprint from pressing into the sheets.”

“Keep talking, baby,” he begs, the sound of his strokes speeding up on the other end of the phone. Sangyeon must be close, you realize. “Tell me more.”

“I‘ll scream your name so loud the neighbors won’t be able to look you in the eyes for weeks.” You bite your lip as your toes curl in pleasure. You want to keep painting a picture for your man, but it’s getting harder to focus with your orgasm so close. “Baby, come home soon so you can fuck me for real,” you beg, breaking character.

“Shh,” Sangyeon soothes you. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Let me hear what you sound like when you’re desperate for me.”

You let go at his words, squirting all over your hand and your bedsheets. This is your best orgasm in weeks, not that you’re going to complain about the ones given to you by your boy toys. There’s something special about Sangyeon talking you through this one though, which you decide to unpack at a later time.

Once you’ve caught your breath, you grip the phone in your hand and moan breathily into the speaker. “Are you gonna cum for me now, daddy?” you ask, knowing the nickname will help get him there even faster.

“Fuck, I love it when you call me that, baby,” Sangyeon growls. “Wish I was there with you, I’d cum all over that pretty face of yours and show you you’re mine. Forget all those other little boys you’ve been playing with, I’m the real deal.”

You giggle, biting down on your finger. “Okay,” you agree, stroking your fingers along your inner thigh. The idea of Sangyeon fucking you in front of your other hookups comes into your mind, and it’s turning you on all over again. “Show me I’m yours, daddy.”

Sangyeon moans into the phone, stroking himself a few more times before you hear him shout suddenly. He must have cum, judging from his heavy breathing.

“You’re so good to me,” he says after a moment. You’re still stroking your inner thighs, mindlessly spreading your cum around as you listen to him talk. “Such a good little slut, getting yourself off for me over the phone.”

You smile, pleased that your plan worked exactly as you wanted it to. You’d rather have him here with you, touching all your sensitive spots himself, but you’ll take a win where you can get one.

“Now how about you come outside and meet me, little one?”

You raise your eyebrows, sitting upright on the bed. “Outside?” you ask skeptically.

Sangyeon chuckles. “I’m here to collect you,” he says. You hear the honk of his car horn on the phone before you hear it coming from outside of the house. Quickly, you stand up and go to the window, only to see his yellow sports car down on the street.

“You’re home?!” you practically shout. You grab your skirt and pull it on as fast as you can, shoving your feet into your shoes. You don’t even hear his answer as you hurry down the stairs, rushing past Sunwoo who tries to reel you in for a dance. Your mind is only on one man right now.

When you open the door, Sangyeon leans over the console to greet you. You press your lips to his immediately, cupping his face in your hands as you kneel in your seat. “God, I missed you,” you moan against his lips. You’re getting wet again just from the hot and heavy kiss, but you don’t think he minds, not when he palms your ass and groans into your mouth.

“I missed you too, baby,” he laughs, slapping your ass gently. “Let’s go home and fuck for real.”

[meetmyothersouls]

Will you do something like ‘Will You Still Love Me When I’m a Ghost?’ please 🙏 it’s my fav of yours and I’m obsessed

So, it's not exactly like 'Will You Still Love Me', but it's got the ghostly vibe to it! Hope you love it!

Dead Like Me

Warnings: stalking/watching vibes, mentions of suicide, open wounds, Timothee x first person reader

The new neighbor is weird, I’ve decided. 

Really, I’m the new neighbor. I just moved into the two-story ranch house on Willow Drive at the beginning of the week. But, that doesn’t take away from the fact that the neighbor located directly across the street from me hasn’t taken his eyes off of me since the day my massive white and orange U-Haul with two rattle snakes painted on the side, pulled into the drive way.

Every day since then he’s been watching me in some way. Day one, he stood on his porch leaning his shoulder against one of the long white pillars that stood on either side of the two step staircase leading to his front door. His stance was casual and relaxed in every way. But no relaxed human stands on their porch, unmoving, for fifteen hours. 

Day two, he paced up and down the length of Willow Drive, walking all the way up to the stop sign just before the neighborhood pool then back down to the col-de-sac that dead ended our road. He stopped briefly in front of my house each time he passed and squinted, as if he was trying to look through my curtains. I made a mental note that day to buy blackout curtains. No one can see through those. 

It’s day three now and I am relived to not see him pacing the street or hanging out on his porch all day in mock casualty with an intense, ever present stare that doesn’t seem match. But, as I walk down my driveway to check my mail I see him. Two sets of eyes peering through a set of blinds pulled down so he could see me, or my house, or whatever it is that he is so intent on watching this closely. 

I’ve had enough. 

I storm across the street and practically leap up the two red-bricked steps leading up to his black painted door. I pound on it, and my knuckles scream in protest. I hear loud footsteps seemingly bounding down a staircase followed by several clicks of multiple locks unlocking. Then he opens the door, a chain lock still attached at very top. This mysterious man peeks out of the crack the chain allows and immediately shuts it. I wait, expecting him to open it back up, but then the locks are being clicked back to their locked position and I hear his footsteps slamming against the stairs as goes back to his position by his window.

“What the fuck, dude?” I say loudly, pounding on his door. 

After ten minutes of pounding, I give up rubbing my now sore knuckles as I trudge back to my house. A man walks a scrappy looking Yorkie and waves me down before I can get to my door. 

“Hey! Hey,” he says transitioning into a jog to catch up to you.  “You must be y/n.” 

I give the house across the street a wary look. He’s still peeking out of his window, now watching me and the old man and his dog. I mentally flip him and his stupid house off.

“Yeah, that’s me.” 

The man nods, following your gaze to the house across the street. “You trying to get into that house?”

You snap your eyes back to him. He’s got a weird combover that’s multiple colors of light brown, grey and blonde. He looks like his dog and he’s saying shit that doesn’t make sense. 

“Get into the hou--no! The man that lives there is constantly staring at me. He walked up and down the street all day yesterday. It’s driving me crazy!”

The Yorkie man eyes you suspiciously, then the house. He licks his lips then shifts on his feet.

 “Y/n, there’s no one living in that house.” 

A chill spider walked down my spine, the hairs standing up on my neck in its wake. My vision shook for a minute as I felt the my world spin a bit quicker. Yorkie Man’s mouth was moving, but no sound was coming out due to the piercingly loud ringing that screamed in my ears. 

“Y/n? Y/n!” Yorkie Man’s voice slowly snapped me back to reality. My vision and hearing both returning to their normal state. I blinked hard. 

“What are you talking about? I’ve seen the fucker every day!” I glare at the house. 

“I’m not sure what to tell you ma’am. No one’s lived in that house for about five years. No one will probably ever live in that house again. Not with what happened.” Yorkie Man pulls his identical looking dog lightly and begins to walk away and I almost let him, but a question lingers in the forefront of my mind and I can’t push it away. 

“What happened in the house?”

Yorkie Man stops and turns his head ever so slightly, “Dude who lived there shot himself. It wasn’t pretty.”

I don’t say anything else and he walks off after my silence grows too long. Slowly, I turn my body to face the house. Maybe someone is squatting in there, living for free in a house that’s most likely haunted. I force myself to think that and right before I turn around, the blinds lift and eyes peek out at me again. 

Fuck this. 

I have trouble sleeping tonight and it fucking sucks because I’m tired and I have work tomorrow. When I do doze off my dreams are dark and filled with dread. Gruesome, bloody and unnerving. I wake up, sitting straight in my bed and realize being awake in this moment isn’t any better than sleeping through the nightmares. 

My window is open and the neighbor from across the street has half of his body inside of my room.

Unable to hold it back, I scream and the intruder slams his head on the top of the open window. 

“Shhh. Shh.” He tries to calm me, but when I keep screaming he raises his voice. “Shut the fuck up, will you!?” He pulls the rest of his body into my room. “People will hear you!” 

I stare at him, dumbfounded and amazed that he thinks I wouldn’t want anyone to hear me. “Good! You’re breaking into my fucking house!”

His shoes make a small tap sound as his feet find the floor. “Number one, I’m not breaking in. Your window was open.” 

He turns to shut it and that’s when I see it. 

The gunshot wound in the back of his head. Wide open and raw like it just happened. 

I scream again as he flips the lock on my window. He rolls his eyes and stomps over to my bed. Calmly, he sits in the edge, and his gaping wound in the back of his head drips blood that doesn’t land anywhere. His hand covers my mouth and I can’t help but jerk back when his ice cold flesh meets my lips. 

“Number two, I’m trying to help you. Save you even.” 

His hand is still over my mouth, but scrunch my nose up and furrow my brow. My head shakes lightly and I shrug as if to silently say what the fuck are you talking about. 

He notices my face and pulls his hand away. 

“You mean you don’t see them?”

“Listen dude.” I lick my lips and they’re still cold from this dead fucker’s freezing cold ghost hands. “All I see is some weirdo in my house with a giant fucking hole in his head. Who the fuck are you and why have you been watching me like a weird ass hawk for the last three days!?”

“Never mind the hole.” Yeah like that’s fucking possible. “And I’ve been watching you because you’re being followed and I’m trying to help you.” He gets up and paces the floor. I try not to look at the hole in his head each time he turns but it’s hard as shit. “And you should be thanking me, y/n.” I mentally note that I haven’t even told him my name yet and he continues. “Because if I had not have been watching you, those fuckers would have drug you straight to hell.”

He stops pacing and I stare at him. This has to be a dream because…what the fuck. After an undetermined amount of silence he gives me an exasperated look, his hands fly into the air in disbelief.

“You mean you don’t even know?”

“Know what?”

“I can’t believe they’d let you walk around the earth and not even tell you. Christ.”

“They who!? Tell me what!? What the hell is going on!?”

I stand up and I want to charge this dude. He looks at me up and down before averting his gaze. I realize I’m only in a t-shirt and panties, so I make a weak attempt and pulling my too short shirt down over my crotch.

Dead Guy McGee pulls open the bottom drawer to my dresser and throws me a pair of sleeping pants before I have a chance to scold him for going through my drawers in the first place. I slide then on and sit on the edge of my bed.

“Dude, just spit it out, what’s the sitch?”

When he gets close, I notice my breath turns icy and I can see it fog up in front of me.

“You’ve got demons following you, y/n, and if we don’t stop them you’ll end up just like me.”

Tags: @imnotoverlyobsessive @dayafied @soulofendlessbook @fashphotolife @chicchanelcigs @scentedkittenperfection @weasleytwinscumslut @timotheel0ver @mxciscastleintheair @marvelmaniac2000 @lovelyrocker @divine-1 @louievr @love-poems-only @starberry-cake @inlovewithphantasy @alexagirlie @misswestfall @softhecreator @livresjaunes @timmymyluv @inannamoon @harrys-thick-thighs @s-we-e-t-t-ea @timolaurence @its-schmackin-dude @justagirlwhoneedshelp

[lemonjoonah]

The Garden Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Word Count: 9.3K Genre: Hybrid AU, romance/drama/comedy, enemies to lovers Warnings: Unprotected sex, oral sex (fem. rec.), they get down and dirty outside but no one else is there to see them, cum play? (just a little), there’s also a bit of mud (sorry, but also not sorry, they’re outside what do you want from me?!?!), referenced hybrid neglect and oppression (hybrids are wrongfully deemed as pets by law and the majority of society).  

Summary: Your beloved vegetable patch has once again been victimized by a hungry thief in the night. The prime suspect? Jeon Jungkook, your neighbour's rabbit hybrid. But when you finally confront him, he pleads innocent, and proposes a plan to clear his name.

A/N: I wrote this fic’s premise and opening scene for the ‘A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words Game’ that I played oh so long ago and now I’ve finally finished the tale!

...

“Oh for fuck’s sake, not again!” You swear upon seeing the leafy green remains of several carrots lying in your garden, inches from where they used to be buried. This maddening mystery of the vanishing vegetables has been playing out all summer. You’ve set out deterrents for every possible garden pest, rolling out chicken wire and spraying natural remedies to repel anything from bugs to small rodents. Yet you still wake to find that your garden has been robbed in the night. The only possible suspect you haven’t been able to protect against resides just next door, in fact—

You squint up at the boarded fence, spotting a pair of long dark ears peeking out over the posts. “Jungkook, is that you?”

The ears immediately disappear, ducking down behind the barrier. The sound of his hurried footsteps trailing away are followed only by the slamming of a door.

You rush into and through your own house carrying the wilted carrot greens. Exiting out the front, and over to the house next to yours, where you repeatedly press the bell.

The entry whips open on the fourth ring to reveal Jungkook. His face is flushed, beads of sweat racing down his brow, and a shirt that one would normally use to cover their chest, is instead thrown over his shoulder. “Something wrong neighbour?” He asks with a carrot stick in hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he taunts you with a bite and crooked grin.

“Is-is your caretaker home?” You stutter trying your best to swallow your nerves. Concentrating hard on his face, you plead with your eyes not to wander down. That’s exactly what he wants, a reason to put you off your mission, to make you so flustered that you have to walk away. He’s always trying to use his allure against you, and you hate how often he succeeds doing just that...  

“No, he’s at work.”

“When will he be back?”

“Not sure, maybe a week, or two? He’s on a business trip.”

Your gaze falters in it’s determination for a brief second as a drop of sweat descends from his neck to his chest. Holding your breath you watch it’s path, tracing the valleys between his muscles. When Jungkook finally wipes it away your brain catches up and scolds you for your weakness. “And he left you here, alone?”  You ask, while trying to recollect your dignity, reminding yourself of how much grief he has put you through.

“Of course.” Jungkook’s smile grows. “I’m not just some common pet. I know how to behave myself.”

The statement makes your brow twitch, enraging you enough to overcome his tactics. “I know you haven’t been here long, but you should know, people typically don’t like it when someone steals from their yard.” You lecture him, waving the carrot tops in front of his face. “So stop treating my garden like your own personal snack bar!”

“Now why would I take from you? I have plenty of food here, even got another delivery this morning.”  The hybrid kicks at a box next him filled with a vibrant collection of fresh produce and grains.

“I don’t know why. I just know it was you.”

“Prove it.” He prods, while taking the last bite of the vegetable from his hand.

The loud crunching gnaws on your composure, stripping you of any patience you may have had for the hybrid. “This all started when you moved in, and I’ve ruled everything else out!” You shout, but as good as it might feel to finally vent your anger, you feel as though you’re somehow playing into his hand.

“That doesn’t seem like very good evidence. It’s circumstantial at best. If you want to find out who the real culprit is you should have a stake out.”

“A stake out?”

“Yeah, you know, watch over the garden for the night, catch the criminal in the act. I could even help if you’d like.”

You scoff at the ridiculous notion. “You really think I should invite you over to guard my crops?”

“I do, so I’ll come over tonight? Say around seven?” You open your mouth to object, but the rabbit hybrid jumps from one statement to the next casually inviting himself into your own home. “Perfect. See you then.”

“I didn’t-no wait, that was sar-” The door closes between you before you can finish. Leaving you baffled and alone on the doorstep. You ready to knock but stop just before your knuckles hit the wood. Trying again right now is a lost cause, it’ll just play into his game. So why waste your breath when you know it’ll just end the same way? Tonight then, as he suggested, that’s when you’ll be ready to hit him with some hard evidence that he won’t be able to refute.

Admitting defeat for now, you retreat back to your garden to pick the surviving vegetables and contemplate the encounter. You wish your could have just spoken to Jungkook’s caretaker—fuck what was his name again? You’ve only seen the man a couple times since they took the house, but at least he doesn't give you a nervous knot in your stomach, or leave you confused and speechless like his hybrid does.

It’s been three months since they moved in. You were excited at first, to have new neighbours in your almost vacant cul-de-sac. Buyers don’t seem to be interested in the old houses with large lots in your area. Too much work to maintain, and not enough good job prospects to go around. So when you saw the sold sign go up you were beyond thrilled. Greeting the new residents with a fruit basket and a smile.

The rabbit hybrid you now know as Jungkook appeared rather shy at first, you did your best to welcome him. Always greeting him when he was outside, trying to engage him in small chat, but the first time you caught him during his workout everything changed. Until that point you had not considered him as anything but a prospective friend. You were stunned to see him in such a confident state, throwing around his weights like they were nothing. In that moment, with you too nervous to admit that you found him attractive, you became the anxious and blubbering fool in his presence, and he, unfortunately, took note. The once quiet and cute rabbit, became a flirtatious and bratty bunny.

And since then, whenever you would work in your garden he’d be on the other side of the fence grunting and panting. Staying close to the gap in the divider, a missing panel you had yet to replace. On days like today you would often look up from your radishes and accidentally lock eyes with the hybrid, drenched in sweat and showing off his skills.

Out of respect and self preservation you tried your best to not to pay attention, to keep your nose buried in your garden, but as the weeks went by the vegetables under your care started to disappear. The ample crops you tended to in the evening, lessened by morning, with only the refuse remaining to indicate it’s former presence. You didn’t want to point fingers immediately, but today was the final straw, and tonight no matter how hard he tries to distract you, you will find him guilty.

After harvesting the choice crops for the day and watering the rest. You dust yourself off, settling inside and in front of your computer; opening the visitors page for your place of work, the city's greenhouse conservatory. To help promote the centre in the community the staff all take turns writing articles revolving around their own projects or home gardens, and you’re up next in the rotation. You stare at the blank document for several minutes trying your best to concentrate on the task, but you are unable to think of anything other than the mischievous hybrid next door.

Embracing the topic of your aggravation, you start the post off with a title sure to catch the eye of any reader, ‘Garden Thieves.’

‘We’ve all been there, finding a tomato just about to reach its peak ripeness. We give it another day to grow into perfection, only to find it missing later on. In your absence something else has taken it into its own clutches. I myself have been dealing with a vegetable thief for several weeks, so if you are struggling like I am, here are a few things that might help. ’

You proceed to outline several garden pests uploading photos of their damage, along with quick remedies to deter their presence. Netting to block the sparrows, raised beds and fences to keep out most rodents or mammals, and a caffeine solution to stave off slugs.

‘I hope this may help you all in your efforts to keep your plants safe, but I must add a disclaimer. Unfortunately nothing here is completely foolproof. Even if you do follow all of these steps you still might lose some of your crops to a crafty critter. But I wish you the best of luck on all of your backyard battles. I myself plan to face off with my own long-eared menace tonight.’

You finish your post with a smile. Sending it off to your coworker Namjoon to get his approval before you make it public.

He calls a few minutes later, his laughter carrying through the speaker. “That was easily the best article you’ve written all year. You should definitely post it.”

“Thanks.” You chuckle, hitting the submit button. At the very least feeling a bit relieved to have one less task weighing on your mind. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I take it you’re still having trouble with that hybrid neighbour of yours?”

“Yeah,” you groan. You’ve complained to Namjoon about the issue several times in the past month. It must have been all too easy for him to read between the lines and see what set you off to create this specific entry.  “But he refuses to admit it was him. It’s like he’s trying to make me question my skills as a gardener and I hate it! I went over to talk to his caretaker but he’s away on business for a couple weeks.”

“He left him alone for that long? What about food?”

“He’s been getting deliveries. By the looks of it, he has a healthier diet than I do.”

Namjoon pauses on the line giving you only a simple, “Huh...” in a long break.

“What?”

“Well it’s just-” A loud buzzing sound erupts through the phone line cutting off his answer. A noise you know to indicate someone is at the back door. “That’s weird. I didn’t think we were supposed to get anything delivered today. No one else is here.... did you have anything scheduled to come in?”

“No.” You double check the calendar sitting on your desk. “I shouldn’t have anything until next Monday.”  

Namjoon puts you on hold while he checks on the reason for the interruption, returning only a minute later. “It’s a delivery all right, but are you sure these aren’t yours? I’m seeing a lot of tropical species on the invoice. Combretum rotundifolium, Heliconia angusta, Myrciaria dubia-”

You mouth a swear as Namjoon carries on with his list. It’s obvious they are indeed the specimens of your expected batch. You're in the process of redesigning one of the tropical habitats. The lead director was adamant that the conservatory host a butterfly exhibition in the next coming year, and in order to support the grandiose endeavour you are required to introduce a vast amount of new flowering species over the next few months. “How many in total?”

“About two dozen. Looking pretty rough from the journey too.”

You’re not surprised by their current state. This summer is already one of the hottest and driest on record, and all the stock you had received this season was excessively wilted and near death because of it. “Do we have any holding houses with humidifiers available?”

“Not at the moment,” There’s a clatter in the background as Namjoon sorts through what must be the slack of clipboards. “But I’ve got the inspection chart here and your last delivery did just finish it’s quarantine. No signs of pests or illness, so they’re clear to plant. That should free up some space for you.”

“That’ll have to do. Thanks for checking.” Standing up from your desk with a sorrowful sigh. You mourn the loss or your afternoon off as you start to dress for a day of hard labour. Throwing on your work-issued overalls over your t-shirt and shorts. Unfortunately you can’t just leave the new stock to sit out under the beating sun. With little humidity outside and no protection they’ll be burnt to a crisp if you delay too long. But the worst part is that your planting staff isn’t scheduled until later in the week, and that volume of work will put you well into the middle of the night before you complete it. “I’ll be in soon to deal with it.”

“That’s a lot of planting to do on your own. I can help if you-”

“I can’t take you away from your trees, isn’t there a bonsai exhibition next week you have to prepare them for?” He’s been agonizing over this showcase for so long you couldn’t possibly inconvenience him now with your own troubles. “It’s fine, really. I’ll call to see if anyone else is willing to come in today.” You hang up letting Namjoon return to his tasks, and work your way down the contacts for the gardening staff as you prepare yourself to leave. Though as expected, all of those who answer have prior commitments and won’t be able to assist.

Grabbing your badge and plans for the updates to the garden you slip back out into the noon-day sun, so strong it’s turned your car into an oven on wheels. You’re just about to pull it into reverse when you spot the blinds shift in your neighbour’s window. Prompting you to recall the plans he had made for tonight.

With all the work you have, it’s doubtful you’ll be back home for seven. You return to Jungkook’s door to give him the news. He has it open before you can even knock, his usual smirk crawling across his face as he greets you.  

“About tonight... something has come up at work and I really don’t know how late I’ll be.”

His ears perk up. “You’re going into the conservatory?”

“Yeah,” you respond, somewhat shocked that he remembered where you work. It’s been a couple months since you mentioned it while introducing yourself to him and his caretaker. “An order came in earlier than expected. I’ll likely be planting all day and night.”

“I can help,” he offers, already stepping out to join you, and locking the door behind him.

“You want to help?”

“Of course, isn’t that the neighbourly thing to do?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t want it or expect it from someone who terrorizes my own garden.”

“Allegedly,” Jungkook corrects. “And wouldn’t you rather have me with you, under your supervision, than here, all alone with only a measly fence between me and your impressive bell pepper harvest?”

“Stay away from my peppers!” You scold, pointing your finger at him. “Even if I wanted to take you, what about your caretaker? Don’t you need his permission to leave and work?”

“He’s never paid attention to my whereabouts before, and it’s not work if you don’t pay me. I’ll just be a volunteer. You have people volunteer all the time right?”

“Yes but-”  

“I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright, fine.” You finally agree though with a heavy dose of reluctance. Namjoon often brings his own hybrid in so it shouldn’t be a problem. “But if I see you nibble on even a single leaf, you’re coming straight back here.”

“Deal.” He rushes past you straight to your passenger seat and buckles himself in. Practically bouncing with excitement beside you as you pull out and head towards the conservatory.

The minutes pass and you try your best to focus on the road but you’ve never been so close to Jungkook in such a small space. And with his built frame taking up most of the car, he’s hard for you to ignore. His ears folded against the roof and his shoulders so wide they brush repeatedly against yours.

“Ever been to the conservatory before?” You ask, trying to divert your mind from the battle which builds inside you. A wavering war between frustration and attraction, with the former trying it’s best to pin down the latter, a move which only arouses the latter more...

“No, I’ve wanted to go ever since you mentioned it but my caretaker hasn’t had the time.”

“Oh.” A sense of pity joins the ranks of your emotions, nudging at you as you pull into the lot. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Why are you sorry?” Jungkook asks in a low whisper, snapping back to his flirtatious behaviours. His mouth turns up at the corner as he leans into you, so close that his drooping ears graze the top of your head.  “Would you have taken me earlier if I had mentioned it?”

“N-no,” you choke out. Placing your hand on his solid chest, you push him back and away. As tempting as his advance might be to accept, you know his forwardness to be nothing more than an act to make a fool of you. Why else would he try to both seduce you, and steal from right under your nose?  “You’re only here today because I am in desperate need of help, and I can’t trust you to be alone.”

...

You lead him through the unoccupied greenhouses. The conservation is closed to the public today (as it is every Monday and Tuesday); which usually allows for some time off, but at least now it’ll give you a chance to work unimpeded by visitors. Your own curated section is located in the most humid of all the houses, set in such a way to mimic the tropical environment you are attempting to represent.

The first stop is the holding house where the carts of new stock wait just outside.  Grabbing an empty trolly you enter and start to load up those that are ready to plant. Jungkook following your actions does the same, easily lifting the heavy planters that you yourself struggle with. “Thanks,” you whisper as he relieves you of a particularly burdensome tree. To which he smiles in return.

After making the switch, by placing the recent delivery in the house for it’s quarantine, you lead him to the supply closet. Where you collect a couple shovels, trowels, and two pairs of gloves. As you continue to scan for anything else you might require, Jungkook pops in behind looking at the shelves with a sense of curiosity. He reaches up and over you to a spray bottle labeled ‘slug repellent.’

“We won’t need that, it’s for the outdoor gardens,” You explain. “It’s just a mixture of ca-”

“Caffeine and water?”

You snap your gaze to him. “How do you know that?”

He bites his lip as a snicker starts to escape. “Just a bit of morning reading. I found an interesting article with that particular tidbit. One which also happened to reference the exploits of a long-eared menace.”

“Y-you read the conservatory blog? You read my post? No one reads that, there can’t have been more than ten views!”

“Which is such a shame.” He goads you. “I’ve found your work to be both informative and comical. You really have me rooting for you in your quest to catch your thief.”

You groan in utter fury. “Why must you be so-so-”

“Handsome? Funny? Caring?”

“Antagonizing!”

“Because you seem to take more notice when I am.” Jungkook answers, with a turn of his heel, his tail poking out from under his shirt as he starts to walk away with the cart. “And I like seeing that perplexed look of yours. Your nose is cute when you scrunch it up like that.”

You remain in the shed, your traitorous heart beating erratically over the fact that he called a part of you cute. While your more sensible side grabs your nose and smooths out the wrinkles he referenced.

“Should we get to work?” He calls out after you. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go home and expose that bandit of yours.”

You roll your eyes and follow him out, before taking the lead to your tropical glasshouse. The air sticks to your skin the moment you enter. Jungkook lets out a long exhale behind you tugging on the collar of his shirt. “Is it always like this in here?”

“It’s a bit warmer today, but not by much. Are you already regretting your decision to help?” You tease him.

“Nope,” he answers, slinging a shovel over his shoulder. “Show me where to dig, and I’ll get to it.”

Pulling out your plans for the new exhibit arrangement, you select a couple species placing them on the empty plots of garden as directed, careful to allow for future growth. Jungkook follows behind digging out their new homes faster than at least three of your staff members combined.

You stare at him for a second, unable to believe the pace at which he’s going. “Something wrong?” He asks, pausing to lock eyes with you.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d be so quick at digging.”

“I’m part rabbit, what did you expect?” Jungkook boasts with a chuckle and a raised brow. “I share their strengths. Especially when it comes to burrowing and fu-”      

His words are cut short when a fresh breeze from the outside washes over the both of you, a  sure sign that someone must have entered the greenhouse. Your neighbour goes rigid, his nose lifts into the air and his ears fall back flat against his head. “Jungkook what’s-” Leaping up he closes the gap and grabs you. Tucking you into him with his chin resting on your head, where a  warm and earthy scent envelopes you.  His breaths are quick and deep, causing his chest to rapidly rise and fall against your back.

Namjoon’s voice calls out to you. “... are you in here?”

“Over here!” You yell out in reply, before turning back to the hybrid who still has you locked in his clutches. “What the hell Jungkook? Let me go! Now’s not the time for your games.” Sure it might feel nice to be wrapped in his arms, to get lost amidst his aroma. At any other time you might even consider taking a moment before chastising his boldness. But here? Now? And with Namjoon coming to greet you? No, this is too much.

You try to push him away like you have before, but this time it’s as if he’s set in stone, and not registering you at all. He focuses only on the direction your coworker's voice hailed from. “That scent, he smells like-”

“There you are.” Namjoon interrupts stepping around a flowering bush and into view, looking surprised by your guest. “Oh, hello there.”

The point of Jungkook's chin rubs against your head as he grips you even tighter. Embarrassed and confused by the hybrids embrace. “Jungkook, this is Namjoon.” You introduce your coworker while delivering an elbow to Jungkook’s gut. He finally snaps out of his trace and lets you go though he continues to hover behind. “He works with the bonsai of the conservatory.”

“You must be the neighbour I’ve heard so much about, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Namjoon extends his hand to the hybrid, but Jungkook ignores the gesture, choosing to glare instead, with his nostrils flared and his ears pinned back.

“Jungkook?” You whisper trying to chase him from his mood.

Namjoon gives him a nervous smile. “You probably smell my hybrid, on me don’t you?”

“A hybrid?” Jungkook confirms, his eyes narrowed at Namjoon.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t intend to scare you. I’m sure the scent of a predator, especially a tiger, is a bit of a shock. He’s harmless, I promise.”

“Is Taehyung here?” You ask, hoping to see his affectionate part-feline companion.  

“Nah, he’s with a friend today. I needed to get some work done and he’d be more of a distraction than a help... but it would seem that didn’t stop him from scenting my shirt before I left.” Namjoon explains, and then turns to your neighbour again. “Jungkook would you mind if I borrow her for a second? I need help with one of my tropical species.”

Jungkook gives a solemn nod. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks frightened, and somewhat hesitant to release you over to your coworker.

Worried by his current disposition, you reassure him with a squeeze on his arm. “Just keep digging where I’ve placed those pots and I’ll be right back.”

Namjoon leads you into the adjacent greenhouse where you can continue to keep watch of Jungkook through the pains of glass. But the instant the doors close between you, Namjoon starts bombarding you with questions. “Why didn’t you tell me? How long has it been going on? ”

You take a step back having been caught off guard. “Tell you what?”

“About you and Jungkook! Is the feuding neighbours just a cover story?” Namjoon’s eyes are wide and hopeful as he carries on, not letting you fit a single word in. “Don’t worry, I won’t inform anyone you're together. I know it’s not easy having a human-hybrid relationship out in the open. But I think you should be careful about going out into public because he’s far too obvious about it.”

“We’re not- we’re not a couple. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because the way held you, he looked like he was marking you with his own scent. That’s what rabbits do isn’t it? They rub their chins on what they want to claim as their own.”

“They do what?” You ask, stunned by the possibility, before the realism settles back in. It must just be Jungkook’s idea of a joke. “No, that’s not what he’s doing, our connection is nothing remotely like that. Don’t get me wrong he’s very attractive, and he knows it.” You mutter the last part under your breath. “But-”

“But you really are having trouble with him. It's not a cover?”

“You think I would keep something like that from you?” Namjoon over the years has come to be your closest confidant. A good friend and coworker, you would never dream of hiding something like that from him.

“I suppose not.”

“Is that why you brought me back here, to question my relationship status?”

“Not entirely.” Namjoon shakes his head with a small dimpled smile and changes the subject. “I do actually want to get your help with one of my new acquisitions.” He points out an unusual tree on his work bench, much too big for the pot it’s currently situated in. It’s extensive roots spill out over the top and threaten to swallow the pot whole. “A Ficus microcarpa, far from the most sought after species when it comes to reputable bonsai, but I couldn’t pass this one up. It has such good character.”

“What made it grow in such a way?” You examine the plant and it’s container with care, prying between the roots and taking note of cracks starting to form in the terracotta.

“The last owner neglected it for far too long. It sat hidden in the back of a commercial greenhouse, still under the watering and fertilizing system, but since it was confined to such a small space it tried to root it’s way out. If I were to guess, it probably hasn’t seen a new pot for at least five years.”

“It’s a miracle it survived.” You nod impressed by the tree’s determination. “What’s your plan for it?”

“Give it what it wants, let it leach out. I doubt I would be able to pry it out entirely without causing significant damage to the roots that are gripping the sides, so instead I want to put another bellow to catch it and give it the fresh soil and room it needs.” Namjoon lays the tree and pot down on the table, and asks you to hold and support the trunk, while he taps and pokes at the bottom of the vessel with a metal trowel.  Enlarging the cracks, but not breaking the pot fully. It’s a tedious process. The small chunks of clay are removed piece by piece, giving him access to see and free some of the tightly bound roots inside.

While your coworker continues his task, your eyes are free to wonder. You check on Jungkook through the glass, as he kneels in front of the garden bed digging even faster than before.

Namjoon appears to notice your distracted state. “How's he doing?”

“Fine I guess.” You whisper. “He’s acting stranger than usual today though. He stole from my garden again. Invited himself over to my house, then here, and you saw what he did back there.”

“Huh...” Namjoon mutters, trailing off the same way he did on the phone.

“What is this ‘huh’ you keep giving me? You know I don’t like games Namjoon. If you have something you want to say, say it.”

“It’s about what you said earlier, how his caretaker leaves for extended periods of time. Usually if an animal is alone for too long they look for ways to stimulate themselves and resort to their natural instincts, scavenging and such. But he’s a hybrid and therefore part human, so if you were isolated and restricted to your house what would you do?”

“Probably look for the closest person I could find. So he’s acting out in my garden and teasing me, because he’s lonely?”

“I think so.” Namjoon responds as he extracts another root, freeing it from its confines.

“But why?” You ask, worried for the answer to come. “Why wouldn’t he just say something?”

“There could be a number of reasons. He might not understand what he’s doing on a conscious level, or he might be afraid to show any sign of weakness to you or anyone else. Jungkook is part prey animal, and humans are all too often predators.”

“If that’s the case...” You curse yourself for not realizing it sooner. The fury you held for him slowly fades away as you replay every encounter in your mind. He was literally jumping at the chance to spend time with you, to help you with your work, and you were to blind to see it. Your anger over your missing vegetables is so trivial in comparison to what he must have been going through. The loneliness he must have felt, and the inability to admit it, you can’t imagine how he suffered through it alone. “What can I do to help him? I have no legal claim to him Namjoon. What can I do within such limitations?”

He looks down at his work in progress. “The way I see it  you and he, like this small tree, have three options. You could maintain the status quo, leave him be, but how long will he be able to survive like he is? Creeping over the edge but grasping on to nothingness?”

You shake your head vehemently rejecting the idea while Namjoon continues.

“You could report his caretaker for neglect, breaking the container entirely, but that too could be very damaging to him, tearing him away entirely could put him in a state of shock, and in a home that is no better for him, while the legal battle is decided. Or...” Namjoon grabs another container, slightly wider than the one in which the plant is seated. Filling it with substrate he takes the tree clinging to it’s partial pot and places it on top. Pressing the newly freed roots down into the soil.

“You could support him, give him a better home just outside of his own where he can be himself and access what he needs. I personally think it’s your safest option for now.” Namjoon leads over inspecting the bonsai and lowers his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Until the day, when it is possible to fully cast the pot aside.”

You nod, though now left to grapple with what you could possibly have to offer the hybrid.  “I’m not sure I would be the best person to care for him.”

“I think Jungkook would disagree. He was already trying to scent you. That to me, implies his desire for something more in the realm of an intimate relationship.” You choke on your breath as Namjoon comes to an additional conclusion. Upon seeing your distress he makes a suggestion. “Of course you could keep it strictly to friendship between the two of you and I’m sure that will improve his situation, but his other needs will need to be met for him to feel completely at home...”

“His other needs? You think he wants to be with me? Intimately?! No! Surely he would have acted differently if that was his intent! He’s done nothing but tease me when he catches me even remotely looking in his direction.”

“So you have been looking at him!” Namjoon taunts you with a massive grin. Apologizing a second later when you proceed to glare at him. “But to answer your question, no, not necessarily. You have to remember most of society deems him a lesser being. He could be feeling a lot of guilt and pressure not to engage with you in that way. Though he might not outright say it, I bet his instincts will continue to shine through. I’ll even prove it to you.” Namjoon takes off a glove and rubs your head. “I bet this rabbit of yours will take less than a minute before he tries to replace the smell of my hand with his own again... trust me.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I should probably get back to him.” You are just about to step away when your thoughts return to the long neglected plant. “Where do you plan to house that when you’re finished? Ficuses naturally belong in a more tropical location don’t they?”

“They do, especially if I want to give it a better chance. It’s going to need a place far more humid than this space.”

“Was this all your calculated way of guilting me to store it in my greenhouse too?”

“The thought might have crossed my mind.” Namjoon gives you a sly grin.  “But my logic is still sound in regards to Jungkook. He needs someone, he needs a better home... and it would seem he’s chosen you.”

...

You wander back to your greenhouse, still full of doubt. Finding Jungkook to have finished most of the required digging.

“Sorry for leaving you.”

“You-you okay?” He asks, upon seeing the dazed look on your face and then scowling in the direction that Namjoon led you.

“Fine, he just needed help with one of his plants. Sorry about earlier, I didn’t think you’d be affected by the scent of his hybrid, Taehyung is rather sweet though, you’d like him.”

“You trust him then?” Jungkook grumbles as he pierces his shovel into the ground. “You trust Namjoon and his hybrid?”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it wasn’t just a tiger that I smelled. He’s been around a lot of hybrids. Every scent on him told me to run, all of them put there by dangerous predators.”

“Oh,” you shoot back in surprise. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Taehyung is rather popular, he has a lot of friends and Namjoon often caters them at his place. You don’t need to worry, you're safe here.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about.”

Jungkook inches closer as you crouch to place the plants in the holes he dug. His nose twitches as he takes a deep breath, his eyes watching while you bury the root ball in the warm soil, firmly securing the trunk of the young tree.

While you are leaning down, Jungkook reaches across to the other side of you. Grabbing the trowel to your right despite the fact that the same tool can be found on his left. The bottom of his chin grazes the top of your head and lingers for a spell. Your heart stops in that moment while questioning his motives. Though Namjoon said he’d do just this, you still can’t be entirely sure that it proves him correct; Jungkook might just not have seen the other option available to him, and he’s never bothered about invading your space. This could be nothing, though there’s a small growing part of you that wants it more and more to be something.

“He’s a good guy,” you promise, returning to the conversation so as to not dwell on his actions. “He even suggested that I should bring you along more often, if you’re interested in spending some of your days here.”

“He did?”

You nod.  A small white lie, but not entirely incorrect, and if it gets him to accept Namjoon easier you’ll all be better for it. “I wouldn’t expect you to work, but you're more than welcome to just hang around. The staff here could always use some company and I’m sure it would beat staying at home alone all day.”

“I would like that. I would like that a lot, but would you want me to keep you company too?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“No, I need to know if that’s what you want.” He looks over to you pinning you down in his line of sight.  

“I suppose I would....” You answer and turn your head, unable to bear the nerves that his gaze brings. The both of you fall quiet. Knowing what you know now, being free of your anger for him leaves you vulnerable, open to his persuasion, and now you are no longer certain of how to act. So you start to rely on what has made him comfortable in the past, and interject with a new condition to bring an end to the awkward silence. “As long as you treat this garden better than mine back home.”

Jungkook lets out a long laugh. “I have nothing but the highest respect for your garden.”

...

When planting is finished your clothes are entirely saturated in sweat and your muscles aching from use. It’s hard to believe how much you’ve both done in such a short amount of time. While carting up the supplies, Jungkook’s eyes catch on something behind you. You look around spotting the newly potted bonsai on a back table. Namjoon must have dropped it off while you both were busy.

Looking at it now you can’t help but notice how even the shape of its leaves remind you of the hybrid’s ears, long, pointed, and reaching up to the sky. You consider your friend's words one more time and while Jungkook leans over to inspect the tree. Reaching out to his back, your hand shakes with hesitation before setting down on a spot just below his shoulder. He softens under your touch, a low hum leaving his lips. His attention turns from the plant to you. With your hand still in place, your arm is now wrapped around him, leaving only an inch between the two of you. You stand there fixed and unmoving, but content in the knowledge, that you seem to have left him speechless this time. His eyes darting away from yours, to your lips, your neck, and finally the hand you place upon his chest.  

Only to have the moment broken when you can hear and feel the rumble from his stomach. His nervous laugh follows as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear.

“Hungry?”

He nods in response, his eyes wide as he remains unusually silent.

“Come on, I’ll buy you dinner.” You offer as you turn him around to head to the car.

...

You both settle on a take out spot, and return home to wash up and eat.

After finishing your meal and tearing off your overalls, you both settle down on the hammock in your yard. With Jungkook’s legs long enough to touch the ground, he slowly rocks the seat back and forth.  He’s been near silent since that close moment together. He’s never had a problem with banter and flirtation, but now you’ve come to notice that any attention which can’t be passed off as a joke causes him to flounder.

Laying back in the hammock, both full and content, your eyes threaten to close after the long day as Jungkook continues to sit beside you. The sound of crickets lulling you to sleep. “Keep an eye out for that thief of mine will you?” You may not like games but if it makes him comfortable, and keeps him talking, you’ll continue to play this ruse with him.

“You trust me to keep watch without your supervision?”

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t?”

“No, it’s just a lot more credit than you usually give me.”

“I think you’ve earned it.” You whisper as you finally drift off.

It feels like only a few minutes of rest before the sun sets and the air turns cool. Jungkook’s chin comes to rest on the top of your head like it did back in the greenhouse. He shifts his weight, burrowing his arms around and behind to cover you as he takes deep breaths. You lean into him seeking the warmth of his chest. No longer restricted by your childish anger to enjoy his company is a welcome relief, you only wish you could relinquish him of any of his own troubles and doubts.  And then, you feel it, a drop of cold rain hitting your neck. The hammock moves again as he adjusts, the back of his fingers running across the damp spot. Another finds your cheek and he wipes that away too, your skin shivering in response.

But when a speck lands your mouth he stops. You wait, a second, then two. Your anticipation grows with face heating up and your chest tightening as you continue to crave his touch. You want him to wipe it away, to touch you, to act on whatever desires he might be keeping. You part your lips with the desperate hope that he will take the hint. Rejoicing when the warm pad of his thumb spreads the drop across the delicate skin.

He comes down on to you, his mouth catching any and all remains of the droplet as he encases your lips. Jungkook places a hand on your neck while the other grabs the ropes of the hammock, his legs straddle your hips. The scattered rain turns to a downpour as he remains fixed to your mouth, even his form isn’t enough to shield you from the current washing down from the sky.

As your hands reach up to his own damp and curling locks entwining your fingers in the strands he moans and nips. But as quickly as it started, so too does it end. When Jungkook snaps up as though jolted from a dream. His ears point back as an apology flows from him. “I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Jungkook,” you call out to him but he ignores you as he tries to detangle himself. When one foot hits the ground. You grab his waist and try again. “Jungkook, you don’t have to be sorry.” But instead of stopping he merely pulls you off and along with him, sending you both to the muddy ground, but this time with you on top of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks the loud pouring of the rain forcing him to raise the volume of his voice.

You chuckle at his concern considering he’s the one flat on his back. “I think I should be asking you that question instead.” You pause as he mirrors your grin. “Why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He looks up at you, his brow furrowing. “You did nothing wrong. It was me. I was the one acting on my instincts. I shouldn’t have done that when I know how much you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you...” You explain, trying your best not to be drowned out by the water cascading down. “The things you did might have annoyed me, but I get it now. I’m just sorry it took me so long to notice.”

“Notice what?”

“How fucked up your situation is. For not realizing how alone you must have been. How caged you must have felt. I’ve been so focused on my own little world that I didn’t realize what was happening or why you were acting the way you were. I like you, a lot, but I was too wrapped up in my frustration to say how I felt...”

“It’s not your fault.”

You shake your head. “I am not innocent in this. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Then pay attention to me now.” He begs with his round eyes shining up at you.  

“But in what way? As a neighbour, as a friend, or maybe something more?" Your voice cracks in desperation, trying to find his needs while also hoping they are the same as yours. “Is that why you were always teasing me the way you did? You wanted something more?”

“You really want to know?” Jungkook’s tone is low as it grips on to his every word. “I did it because it was the only thing that could distract me from my incessant need for you. Seeing your reactions and having your attention kept me in check. I’m very different from you and I’m aware it could cause a problem. I wasn’t sure if you could ever fully want me because of that.” He reaches to rub around the base of his ears. “But every day that I looked over I wanted to hold you, to claim you, to take you right here on this very spot. So often I dreamed of jumping the fence and coming for you instead of...”

You smile down at him, noting his near admission. “Instead of?”

“Instead of watching from a distance.” He smirks, catching and narrowly fixing his statement. Pleading guilty only to his longing for you.

“Then do it.” You demand of him.

He groans from his position beneath you. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m not. You weren’t the only one peeking through the fence Jungkook.” Reaching up to your collar you tug off your shirt. He follows your lead with his own to reveal his sculpted chest he’s taunted you with so many times. “I don’t care if we’re different from each other. I don’t care if it causes a problem.” You shift back on his body traveling from your seat near his stomach down to his hips, his clothed dick firm and pressing against you. A moan escapes his lips, confirming that you’ve made your point. “There’s no one else nearby, so if you want me so much that you’re willing to fuck me out here, in the rain and mud-”  

His hands come to grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you off, maneuvering out from underneath, to fall into place behind you. From there he pushes you down to your hands and knees, his body bent over yours. “You have no idea how much I want to.” He whispers with a kiss to your bare shoulder damp from the rain that continues to pour.

He takes off your bra before his face moves down your back, nose trailing against your skin and pausing at your shorts. Unfastening the button he pulls them down, freeing you of your underwear too before they are both cast aside. “I want to smell you, and taste you.” Jungkook takes in a deep breath, wrapping an arm around your legs, and barring your thighs. He buries his face between your legs, his tongue reaching out to deliver a long lick to your folds pausing after every lap.

Your palms dig into the ground, the cool mud coming to the surface to meet them. You buck against his tongue but the forearm holding you remains firm, sending your squirming downward to bury your elbows in the soggy grass too.

Jungkook chuckles as you inadvertently give him a better angle. From behind you can hear the zipper of his own shorts. Rubbing the head of his cock against your damp folds, he covers it with the slick of your slit, and with a long groan he eases it inside. He’s slow at first, letting you savor the girth and warmth of him. So you start to edge back and forward on his cock. Taking the time to enjoy every inch, along with the sounds that leave him. But when he returns to take control, the first thrust is so powerful, his thighs hit your ass with a loud clap, and every jolt of his hips after, drives you further down each time.

A stuttering groan escapes him as he fills you. Thinking he’s finished you lean forwards and until his cock pulls out, but in response he grabs your waist. Turning you over, back to the ground on top of the discarded clothes and facing him.

He lowers himself pressing his chest against yours. His fingers reach to grab your chin and take a kiss. His cock, despite having come only moments before, is hard once more and poised to enter once again.

“How are you-” You manage to squeeze a few words in the gaps between his kisses as he draws breath. “Ready for more-” Another pass of his tongue. “Already?”

“You have my hybrid traits to thank for that.” He moves to nibble on the side of your throat. “I have more to give you, if you want it.”

You nod unable to emit any noise other than a gasp as his mouth finds a sensitive spot on your neck. His dick forges in again, your slick and his cum dripping out of you as he fills you with himself instead.

You’ve avoided touching him with your own hands as they are patched with mud, but as his thrusts grow more powerful than even before, you’re forced to grab on his arms and chest. Leaving behind streaks of dirt which display the path of your grip. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, in fact looks rather encouraged by your touch, and the marks you leave him.

“What a dirty woman you are, and getting me all messy too.” He scoffs while admiring your handiwork. “Can I return the favour?”

“Help me come first and you can do whatever the fuck you want.” You gasp on the brink of your climax.  

His ears perk up and a grin streaks across his face. “Close are you?” He grabs your calf and wraps your leg around his back, the other follows suit and his hand comes to rest on your lower back pushing you up and into him effectively grinding your mount against him.

You gasp and flinch with the sudden pressure, but he holds you firm as your back arches to meet him.

His hips beat on at a rapid pace, a small whimper escapes him as you reach the peak, tipping you over the edge. The chilling rain can in no way can douse the searing heat that spreads through you. You're still gasping when his jaw clamps down hard, his teeth poised upon your skin. The first pulse of his cock comes inside, but on the second he pulls out to splatter your chest and stomach with the rest. His hand comes to clutch his shaft, spilling more out and on to you with each stroke.

After every remaining drop has been cast on you he smiles, dragging his fingers across the rain drenched mess of mud and cum on your skin. “Never thought I’d ever see you so thoroughly soiled.”

You giggle at his remarks through your deep breaths. “And now that you do, what do you think?”

“I think it suits you, the dirt, the rain, and me...” He lowers himself down onto you, with his head now resting upon your shoulder. “It’s too bad though. Now I just want more, but we’re both far too filthy to carry on like this.”  

You turn to whisper at the base of his ear. “Who says we can’t continue in the shower...”

...

You wake early the next morning with the sun spilling into the room, lighting up your bed, and the hybrid sleeping next to you. His ears and nose twitching as he continues to rest. Slipping out from the covers, and into a set of clean gardening clothes, you exit the room with as little sound as possible.

On the tile floor of your hall, muddy footprints trail from your backdoor to your bathroom.  A smile pulls at your lips as you recall the events which brought them there. Jungkook had been so excited to keep going he picked you up and rushed you inside.

The feeling from the warm water and hands in contrast to the cool rain was enough to bring back the waves of pleasure. He was so thorough in washing you down, you might have to ask him to join you for another this morning and repay the favour.  

Outside in the garden you find all your harvest from the day before present and untouched. You’re pleased by this new development, but it’s not the fact that your crops are intact which makes you happy, it’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook didn’t feel the need to take them.

A few minutes later the hybrid in question comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist pulling with him a blanket he took from the bed to cover the both of you. “Morning.” He mumbles, as his nose finds the crook of your neck where he exhales with a deep and relaxed sigh.

“Morning.” You respond, enjoying the tickle of his breath before you turn around to better see him. “It seems the thief didn’t strike last night. ”

“I guess they found a new garden to plunder and devour?” Jungkook suggests, giving you a sly grin, before he opens his mouth again. It’s easy to see that he’s getting ready to confess, his face shifts to a stern expression as he looks down at the ground, the guilt weighing heavily upon his brow. Placing your index to his lips you stop him. No longer needing to hear those words of admission, you offer a new proposal instead.

“Maybe, but that was just one night. The thief might still come back. So if it’s alright with you I would like you to stay here. Until we can be sure they won’t return.”

Jungkook lets out a satisfied chuckle, pushing aside your finger and pulling you tighter into his warm embrace. “You’re right, I suppose it would be safer if I stayed.” His lips plant a kiss on the top of your head where he then rests his chin. “A temptation as enticing as this, shouldn’t be left alone and unattended.”

...

[thebluewritingbench]

if you’re still taking prompts, can you do happiness #1?

Before we launch into 6b next week, here's a small fantasy of a scene that I wish the cw would give us. Happiness #1 from this prompt list again.

“I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

“Alex calls it The Honesty Policy.”

Lena takes the mug of hot chocolate Kara offers, cradling it between her hands. “The Honesty Policy?” she asks, as Kara sits down on the couch beside her.

“I imagine Kelly probably fed it to her,” Kara says. “But she was helping me try to figure out how we could get ourselves… well, back to normal, after everything, and she was really insistent that this one was worth a try.”

“What is it?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. No more secrets,” Kara says, tapping her own collarbone, then fixing her gaze pointedly on Lena. “No more lying. We tell each other things. We’re honest. We trust each other with our secrets.”

Lena nods, looking down into her mug of hot chocolate. The dim lights of Kara’s loft glow orange across her cheekbones, and in the silence, the sounds of late-night passing cars rumble up from the street below. It’s the first time they’ve really spent time truly alone together since… well everything.

There’s still a lot of awkwardness between them; turns out secrets and betrayal and double-crossing—and the fact that forgiveness was barely hatching between them when Kara was banished to the phantom zone—will do that to a friendship. There was the initial hug, of course, after Kara was rescued, when Lena wrapped her arms around Kara and buried her face in Kara’s neck and held her so tightly that Kara was certain she’d never let go, her breath coming in ragged gasps and her whole body quivering. It was somewhat surreal, the warm shock of having Lena in her arms after so many months, her hair against Kara’s cheek, the muted scent of her shampoo. They’d sank to the floor, still holding each as the ship creaked around them, and stayed there for god knows how long in each other arms.

But since then, since that initial wordless embrace that felt as much like coming home as anything, they haven’t known what to say to each other. They work together easily enough, the animosity between Supergirl and Lena finally gone, but it’s more difficult when they’re just Kara and Lena. They’ve forgiven each other, Kara thinks. Or at least agreed to forgive each other, even if there’s still work to be done. But it’s weird. It’s not like they can snap straight back into how things were before.

Hence The Honesty Policy.

“Okay,” Lena says finally. “Yes. No more secrets. A clean start.”

A clean start. It’s what they need, after an entire friendship where one or the other of them has been hiding things. For the first time, everything between them will be out in the open. Nothing left to hide.

It’s oddly freeing.

Kara takes a sip of her hot chocolate. “So, where do we start?”

“Start?”

“I think we should have just an honest conversation. I don’t want this to be awkward anymore, I want to be able to talk to you like we used to. So, in the interest of honesty, tell me something you’ve never told me before. It doesn’t have to be big—” she adds hurriedly, when Lena’s eyes widen in alarm. “Something small. Something tiny you’ve never had reason to tell me.”

Lena nods slowly, thinking. “In the interest of honesty…” she starts. “In the interest of honesty, I… I really think that those bangs were a mistake.”

Kara makes a noise of offended disbelief in the back of her throat. “I—Rude!”

“You said to be honest!” Lena says, biting her lip like she’s holding back a laugh. “They’re growing out now, anyways. It looks much better.”

Kara gives her bangs a self-conscious pat. They’re still at a slightly awkward length, but they’re long enough to blend in semi-decently with the rest of her hair now. “If we’re being honest, then,” she says. “I think that blouse is really ugly.”

Lena looks down at herself. She sounds slightly hurt when she says, “What’s wrong with it?”

“Everything! It’s—the pattern! The sleeves! The collar! It looks like it’s made of cheap polyester.”

“It’s designer!” Lena pouts.

“Who designed it?”

“Well, I thought that blazer you wore last week was kind of hideous. I didn’t say anything at the time, but in the interest of honesty…”

Kara laughs, and Lena’s irritated expression melts away at her laughter, something in her eyes softening. It’s an expression Kara’s been seeing on her more often, in moments she catches Lena watching her when she thinks Kara isn’t paying attention.

She’s always paying attention to Lena.

“Maybe we should just agree to say that we both have questionable fashion taste sometimes and call it a day,” she says, downing the rest of her hot chocolate and placing the mug on the table.

Lena takes a dainty sip of her own still mostly filled mug. “Fine.”

There’s a long pause, and Kara taps her fingers on her pant leg and tries to think of a new conversation starter. She finally settles on. “In the interest of honesty… how are you holding up?”

Lena shrugs. “I’m okay, I suppose. I’m anxious about Lex—I know it’s only a matter of time before he’s back on our heels. Mostly, I’m just glad to have you back.” She looks over her mug at Kara. “I think that’s more a question I should be asking you, though.”

The look of intense concern in Lena’s eyes makes her feel hot, and Kara squirms slightly, pulling her collar away from her neck with a finger. She wants to say I’m fine, but honesty is the whole point of this exercise. “I’m… still not great. Being back there it… brought up a lot. Brought back a lot. I’m still having a really hard time with it all. It’s—it’s hard to talk about.”

“We don’t have to talk about it right now.”

“I want to talk about with you at some point. I just… don’t want it to ruin every conversation I have, you know? I want some things to be normal, still. I want to pretend things can be normal.”

“That makes sense,” Lena nods. She looks small when she says, “In the—in the interest of honesty, are you still mad?”

“At you?” Lena nods again, and Kara sighs, looking away. “It’s complicated, I guess. A little, maybe? I meant it when I said I forgave you, but there’s still part of me that’s a little angry. You did a lot of things that were… really bad, Lena.”

“I know.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Kara asks, and Lena’s shaking her head before she even finishes the question.

“No. No, I’m done being mad at you. I get it. I get why you hid your identity, and I wish you’d told me sooner, but I’m not angry anymore. I don’t have enough energy to be angry anymore. I’m happier if I don’t hate you.”

“Well, I’m glad for that.”

“I would have done anything to get you back, you know,” Lena says in a rush, words spilling out like she can’t stop them. “You say I did bad things before, but I would have watched the world burn if it meant I could have brought you back.” She looks down at her lap. “Who knows what I would have done if Alex hadn’t been there to stop me.”

“Lena.” Kara reaches over to take her hand. “You know I can’t possibly be mad at you for that.”

“No?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay,” Lena whispers. Kara watches her swirl around the dregs of her hot chocolate and takes a deep breath.

There’s still one more secret between them. One more secret that has the potential to ruin their friendship. Kara thinks they’re both aware of it, on some level. Aware of the way the weight of it shifts their every interaction. The others are aware of it too, have maybe known longer than Kara has. Alex certainly has. It was she who looked Kara in the eye when they were discussing this whole honestly policy and said, “You have to tell her this. You know you do.”

She can’t risk another secret in their relationship.

“Um, in the interest of honesty,” she starts, and finds she can’t quite meet Lena’s eyes. “I have to tell you—in all honesty, I would probably just keep it a secret, if I could, but I don’t think we should do secrets anymore, so I just need to tell you that I, um, have feelings for you.”

Lena straightens. “Feelings?” she says, her voice cautious.

Kara closes her eyes. Takes a breath. Steadies herself. Opens them again. “I’m in love with you,” she says. “Um, nothing has to change if you don’t want it to, but I need… I need you to know.”

“Oh,” breathes Lena. She opens her mouth, and it seem to take several moments for the words to catch up with her. “Well, in—in the interest of honesty, Kara, I’ve—I’ve been in love with you for years.” She gives a wry little half smile. “If we’re being honest.”

“What? You have?”

“Darling,” says Lena. “I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

“The day we met?”

“Why do you think it hurt me so badly when I found out who you were? Why do you think I was so deep in denial about it that I never figured it out myself? Do you really think you were that good at hiding it?”

“I mean, I thought—”

“The disguise. The hair. The glasses.” She puts down her mug, then reaches over and gently tugs the glasses from Kara’s face, folding the arms in and placing them on the table. She brushes a strand of hair behind Kara’s ear. “You mentioned Supergirl far too much as Kara and Kara far too much as Supergirl and one time you told me you flew to my office on a bus.”

“That’s—yeah, that’s fair, actually.”

“You’re in love with me? Honestly?” whispers Lena.

“I am. I really, truly am. Why do you think I refused to give up on you when everyone else was ready to?”

“I thought that just how you are. You don’t give up on anyone.”

“I try not to. But you, I could never bear to, even when it seemed like the only logical option to everyone else. Why do you think I waited so long to tell you in the first place? I was so scared to ruin things between us.”

“Why do you think I bought you an entire media empire?” Lena murmurs, and she’s so close, hand fisted in the collar of Kara’s shirt.

Kara giggles. “Why do you think I flew all over Europe to get you lunch?”

Lena laughs, and it’s such a relief to hear her laughter again, to let the conversation flow between them. There’s a bud of hope for the future that’s been sitting in Kara’s chest for years now, and under Lena’s adoring gaze, it starts to open.

“In all honesty,” Kara says, “I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Lena slips a hand into her hair, runs her thumb over Kara’s cheekbone. “In all honesty?” She leans in, pressing their foreheads together. “I’d like that.”

[p-antomime]

just so fine.

— minors don’t interact

— wc: 4,7K

content + warnings: 18+, including: dilf!toji, manhandle, spitting, daddy kink, choking, unprotected sex, creampie, a bit of school girl!reader maybe, breeding kink, overstimulation, squirting, degradation, age gap, a bit of size kink, thigh riding

pairings: toji fushiguro x fem!reader

— note: this is a bit inspired by: Love Without Tragedy by Rihanna. — jjk masterlist.

Red lipstick and a broken heart trying to be concerted by the petals of your conscience and your friends who said that "he didn't deserve you anyway". And honestly, you didn't know where exactly you were getting the strength from to get out of bed that Monday and go take a shower before heading painfully to your first class in the morning.

He used to be the boy you loved with every cell of your body and soul, he stole the best years of your freshman life at the university, and now you were a senior who had neither the animation nor the patience to welcome the incoming freshmen that year. Despite having Kugisaki and Megumi fervently cheering you on while Itadori was too busy still dealing with the problem of sending documents to the college, your heart was still fatally wounded and your dignity no longer existed as your tears had wiped it off the face of the earth during that morning shower and you couldn't help but be tempted to put on makeup good enough to mask your dark circles under your eyes and downcast face.

"Are you coming today?", Nobara asked excitedly on the other end of the line as you were already leaving the house and taking the long way to college.

— Do I have the option of not going?

"No, of course not.", Nobara replied with a slight laugh that was well intended to cheer you up a bit, "We can have a movie night tonight, to cheer you up."

— At whose house? At mine that won't be, it's a mess. — You grumbled.

"At Megumi's or Itadori's, of course. During lunch I'll buy soda and food with Yuuji and you convince Megumi to let us break into his house today.”

— Why do I have to convince Megumi? You came up with the idea.

"Because I'll be busy, simple. And Fushiguro doesn't take me seriously.", and then you sighed heavily, already noticing that you were less than a block away from entering the college grounds.

— Okay, I see what I can do.

Kugisaki told you that she was waiting for you in the classroom, and you replied that you were already there. And then something distinctive caught your attention. It was strangely easy to spot something different in the landscape of the university entrance because usually it was always the same: university students rushing to settle personal matters or to classes they are late for, or also students who came to see what the college was like before the university application period.

But today was different. There was a tall man fully dressed in black and gray leaning against a motorcycle that looked as if it had been taken from an action movie because it was so well equipped and large. He looked relaxed, and yet he still possessed an aura that could kill you with a single punch. Attractive and devilishly dangerous with that leather jacket highlighting his strong arms and broad shoulders. Forcing your eyes a little, you could notice a scar close to one of the corners of his lips.

— What's the matter, little girl? — His deep voice reaches your ears, but your mind whispers to you that he probably wasn't talking to you at the same time that your heart starts to beat out of control and your head turns from side to side trying to check if there is someone behind you. — Yeah, I'm talking to you. — He smiled sideways.

— Uh... hmm... none, sorry. — Your cheeks started to heat up and you wanted to punch yourself in the stomach because usually a simple man couldn't disconcert you like that, and then your eyes fell on his collarbones, well marked by the black shirt he wore under his jacket, and your mouth suddenly felt too dry.

— What exactly are you apologizing for? — The man asked as he placed one of the helmets on the motorcycle seat, if there were two helmets maybe he brought some college girl? — For eating me with your eyes or staring at me? — And then you choked on your saliva and coughed desperately for air trying not to drop the folders in your hands and he seemed amused by your reaction.

— I-I... — Your fingers squeezed the folders and you had to look away to think straight. — I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I didn't mean to.

— I am not, it's great to be lusted after by younger girls. — He replied, but before he had a chance to continue his onslaught someone approached from the diagonal.

— Dad! — And then you choked again seeing that the one who was referring to the man in front of you as "dad" was Megumi. — Oh, Y/N? — He looked confused looking from you to his own father. — Anyway, they didn't have what you wanted at the pharmacy, next time you'll buy it yourself. — The young Fushiguro spoke to the older man, but seconds later, noticing the mortifying silence that settled over the place as you stared at his father, he spoke up: — And we are almost late already, let’s go, Y/N. — Megumi took one of your arms and started to guide you away from the motorcycle and closer to the interior of the college.

— You never told me you were interested in girls. — His father shouted more to embarrass his son than you, but the effect was the opposite, since you were the one with the burning cheeks.

— Shut up, Toji. — Megumi shouted back as he continued walking. — Did he say shit to you? — He asked you when the two of you were already walking down the halls to your classroom for the first class of the morning.

— Not really, no. He seems... fine. — You tried to talk as if you didn't have dirty thoughts running through your mind especially after remembering the older man's collarbones and scar, and still Megumi gave you an accusing look.

— Don't try to fuck my father, that's disgusting. - Your eyes widened.

— I wasn't thinking that, you idiot. — And then Megumi let out a loud laugh.

— I know, I was just trying to amuse you. — He shrugged and left you standing in front of the door. — See you at lunch?

— Yes, of course. — You answered, and then suddenly remembered Nobara's request on the phone earlier. Your hand held one of his arms so that he wouldn't walk away without listening to you. — Megumi, can we have a movie night at your place tonight? Nobara came up with the idea of doing this to cheer me up a bit. — He seemed to become suddenly tense.

— I'll have to at least let Toji know that there will be people coming home today. — Megumi answered vaguely and shrugged. — I'll send a message to Kugisaki and let her know if it's on or off.

Nodding your head positively, you gave your friend a slight smile, and then for the rest of the day your mind concentrated on paying attention to your classes, your scheduled seminars and the pile of work you still had to do. There was no time for your heart to pound with grief over the loss of your now ex-boyfriend, but there were several minutes when you had to chase away persistent thoughts of Megumi's dad. But looking at him wasn't enough, your hands wanted to explore his body and leave marks everywhere, that's what you thought until you felt ashamed, pushed the thoughts away for a few brief minutes and then thought about it again. In a vicious loop.

When you were having lunch with Itadori, Fushiguro and Kugisaki, your head tried to focus on their conversation as much as possible, but looking at the man with black hair and beautiful eyelashes reminded you of Toji and your hands started to break into a cold sweat. It had been a frustrating, tiring day, but secretly you were a little excited to see your friend's father again.

— Don't take too long, okay? — Nobara spoke after dropping you off and leaning against the hallway wall, and you nodded positively before going to your room to pack a backpack with some pajamas and an outfit in case you and the other two friends ended up falling asleep while you were at Megumi's house.

It didn't take long before you two were ringing the doorbell of the Fushiguro’s house and from the loud sound from inside the house you both could tell Yuuji had already arrived. Suddenly, Y/N felt nervous not knowing who would answer the door. Would it be Toji? "Damn", you thought as you saw exactly him calmly opening the door. This time he wasn't wearing very dark clothes, it was just gray sweatpants and a white v-neck shirt that still highlighted his beautiful collarbones.

— Is that them? — Itadori shouted from another room in the house.

— Yes. — Megumi, who was looking at the two girls standing in the doorway over Toji's shoulder, answered. — You may come in.

Toji moved to the side letting you two into the house and, using the personal excuse of being embarrassed, Y/N walked in with her head down. And partly, in fact, it was true that you were embarrassed, but your mind knew that your eyes wanted to take a good look at the older Fushiguro's thighs and cock. It was impossible not to look at those parts of his body, especially with that kind of pants.

But then Toji gave himself the right to go up the stairs to the upper floor of the house and out of your field of vision when Megumi asked you and Nobara which movie you wanted to watch and she answered that a drama movie. And then the four of you started to watch the movie comfortably, until you started to feel the straps of your own bra start to press painfully against the skin of your shoulders.

— Can I go to the bathroom? — Y/N asked Megumi, who pointed to the steps of the staircase diagonally across from the sofa.

— First door on the left. — You nodded and walked up the stairs carrying your backpack, intending to get rid of your bra and also put on the comfortable pajama top that had been brought.

From the hallway you could hear the low sound of another TV escaping through the gap in a tall door. It was probably Toji's room, such a thought raced through your mind, and you shrugged as you entered the bathroom, leaned against the door, and began to remove your bra and change into your shirt. It was inevitable to sigh in relief as you felt your shoulders less tense and sore and your hands groped your breasts just for the personal pleasure of feeling them free now.

— Hmm, may I come in? — A muffled voice was heard behind the door and instinctively you quickly removed your hands from your breasts.

— Just a minute. — Y/N answered, shoving the previously worn blouse into her backpack and almost running toward the door, slowly opening it.

You looked forward and found yourself facing a bare hard chest as you waited to see a long hallway with four different doors. Toji was now shirtless in front of you and your cheeks burned a little, which got a little worse when your brain short-circuited, your hand rested two fingers against the warm, somewhat soft skin of his chest, and you pulled away slightly so that you could look him in the eye.

— I'm sorry. — Your hand finished opening the door and there was again a sideways smile on Toji's lips

— Are you going to sleep here? — He asked, sliding his gaze over her shoulders, breasts and abdomen freely, without any embarrassment.

— No, actually. I just changed my shirt to be more comfortable.

— Got it. — Toji looked you straight in the eyes again, but yours were already gliding across his face until you found the scar close to his lips.

— How did you get this scar? — You felt the need to prolong the conversation just to get a better record of his face.

— You're pretty curious for someone apparently shy. — He remarked, his eyes sparkling with a gleam that you couldn't quite identify what it was. — When I was younger, we could say I wasn't the friendliest person in the whole world, so I got into a few fights. — Toji shrugged, as if this was not relevant information

How old are you? — A mischievous smile slowly drew on his lips.

— Old enough to be your dad.

"Then maybe I can call you Daddy", was the first thing you thought, but there wasn't enough courage in you to flirt shamelessly, especially with Megumi or the other two able to eavesdrop from downstairs.

— I think I've been here with you long enough. — Y/N answered, putting the backpack on her back and walking past Toji, but just as her feet were about to start down the steps, the older Fushiguro called her out.

— I think you forgot something, little girl. — You turned back in confusion, and in his hands was your bra. Toji threw the piece of clothing toward you through the air without much force to fall gently onto your palms that had opened toward him. — The next time you forget something like that inside my house, I'll keep it for myself. — You frowned, assuming that he was implying that there was possibly something between you and his son.

— Me and Megumi, we don't... — Your shoulders shook without your mouth finishing the sentence.

— I wasn't talking about him exactly, you're very naive, not that that's a problem for me. — He went into the bathroom and eventually you were alone again.

Feeling more embarrassed than the first time you had seen Toji earlier at the university entrance, you joined your friends again in the middle of the movie and were grateful that none of them had bothered to ask if anything had happened in the bathroom because of your delay. Eventually Nobara fell asleep on your shoulder after eating two pieces of the pizza Megumi had asked his father to buy, and Yuuji began to yawn almost pushing the son of the owner of the house off the couch.

— I knew they would both end up sleeping. — Megumi grumbled, pushing Itadori aside and getting up from the sofa. — There are two guest bedrooms upstairs, you and Nobara can use both of them and Yuuji sleeps with me, or one of you can sleep with me and the other and Itadori in the other bedrooms.

— I think it's better that Yuuji better sleep with you. — Y/N replied looking at Kugisaki, who was starting to fall off her shoulder.

And then Fushiguro woke the almost sleeping Itadori to go upstairs while he carried Nobara up the stairs and you accompanied him carrying both your and your friend's backpack. After tidying Kugisaki up in bed and getting Yuuji changed, Megumi spoke to you before leaving you alone in the guest room:

— If you feel hungry, you can go in the kitchen and get something to eat during the night. And, well, you already know where the bathroom is, and so does my room. If anything happens during the night, you can call me or him. — Megumi pointed to the door of Toji's bedroom, and you nodded positively.

And then you laid lazily on the slightly uncomfortable bed in the room and tried to relax. Almost, almost, sleep caught up with you, but your evil brain began to make you think about the fact that Toji was only a few miserable doors away, and the anxiety began to corrupt you rapidly, like a corrosive acid. But even though you wanted to go knock on his door, you forced yourself to sleep, especially since the day had been exhausting.

The next day, just like the rest of the week, Y/N didn't get to see Megumi's dad, and he didn't make much of a point of talking about his father either, after all, why would his friends be interested in him, right? All the other days of the week, her mind focused more on trying not to think about her ex-boyfriend and also not to think about Toji, just college business.... And then came the next Thursday of the successive week.

And there was Toji Fushiguro, leaning against his big motorcycle, but this time with only one helmet and different clothes. Honestly? You didn't know if you should go talk to him or not, if you should just walk right by or not. But, in the end, your mind tricked you into choosing the second option, and your feet awkwardly made their way to the college with your eyes struggling not to check the man's reactions.

— Can I have your number, little girl? — Toji asked in a tone loud enough for you to hear.

— What? — You looked away, wringing your hands nervously.

— I asked if I could have your number. — One of his hands swung his cell phone toward you.

The first thought that crossed your mind was, "What if someone sees us together and tells Megumi?", but honestly, Megumi probably wouldn't be interested in your sex or love life, even if it was with his father.

— Maybe, if you take me for a motorcycle ride today.

— You're wearing a skirt, are you sure you'd want to do that? — Toji suppressed a playful laugh. — You could have a ride somewhere more comfortable than my motorcycle today.

You narrowed your eyes and bit the inside of your cheek, realizing that you were entering dangerous territory in a game of seduction that Toji knew and played better than you.

— Will Megumi be at home?

— He has an internship today. — Toji replied, drumming his fingers on his helmet.

— Wait for me after four o'clock then. — You replied and walked back toward the college as you felt his eyes fixed on your ass.

Throughout the day you felt uncomfortably nervous and Nobara even asked you if everything was okay several times at different times. The only answer your mind formulated was a simple positive head movement, because honestly you felt embarrassed to be interested in a friend's dod, even though this father was extremely attractive and did not reject your shy and restrained advances. He was just so nice, fine.

Fine enough to make you press your thighs together to try to relieve the sexual tension as your legs walked towards the Fushiguro house. And when you got there, it didn't take long to see Toji opening the door wearing only black sweatpants. You went inside and closed the door, nervously watching the older man, who sat comfortably on the sofa in the living room and called out to you with his index finger. As you stopped in front of him, one hand patted his lap and the other was placed on your thigh covered by your skirt. Slowly, Y/N took her seat sitting on his covered cock.

— Why do you look so tense, hm? — Toji asked, squeezing your thigh without too much force and you moved slightly against his hip. — Are you a virgin by any chance? — Your cheeks heated up.

— N-No, you just make me nervous. — Y/N replied, shrugging slightly.

— Do I? — He pretended to be surprised as he slid his hand up her skirt and pushed his fingertips against her covered pussy. — Do I make you get your panties wet too? — Toji pressed his hips against hers and her hands rested on his shoulders for a few brief seconds.

— Fuck, yes. — You groaned, taking your fingers to the buttons of your shirt to undo them. — I've been thinking about you more than I should, I've been thinking about everything about you.

— So, why don't you show me how much you've been thinking about me, huh? — Fushiguro pulled her panties aside and stroked her pussy in slow circular motions while he brought his other hand to her face and pulled her closer to his. — Show me how much you want me and cum on my fingers like the dirty slut I know you can be. — His thumb slowly brushed over your lips and you opened them, your mouth filled by long fingers.

You grabbed his wrist close to your intimacy and guided two of his digits into your interior. And, fuck, they filled you so well. Toji's fingers were thicker and longer than yours, so the times he repeatedly curved them inside your cunt, their tips easily brushed and pressed that spot that made you roll your eyes having your body spasm with pleasure. "What a beautiful vision", the man would be thinking as he watched his beautiful college girl choking on his fingers while being fucked by the others.

However, he didn't move his hand against you much, meaning that he let you choose the pace and intensity, until you whimpered against his neck in a silent request for his fingers to move against you:

— Please, Toji, move your fingers. — Y/N said as she pulled away from Toji's digits that were preventing her from speaking and forced her hips against his hand.

— Can't you cum on your own? — He asked squeezing your chin to make you keep your mouth open. — Pathetic. — Toji spat on your tongue and closed your mouth to force you to swallow. — Pathetic slut. — And then he began to finger you in a relentless rhythm.

If Fushiguro wanted to make you cum in his hand, that's exactly what he got, and he even got a great view of your trembling body, your breasts rising and falling rapidly because of your rapid breathing and your head falling back in an intense pleasure you didn't know your body could achieve. While you were still clouded by ecstasy, his fingers snuck up to finish removing your panties and getting rid of your clothes covering your upper body. He wanted you only in your skirt.

— Look at my pet slut with her beautiful cunt leaking. — His fingers spread the folds of your pussy to see you twitching around just at his obscene words. — Just so nice. — Toji pressed the thumb against your sensitive clit and gave you a smirk before he sat you down on one of his thighs, began to move you there and also slowly stimulated your clit.

His body leaned down and his lips latched onto your breasts, sucking and licking them more intensely as your hips moved faster against his thigh. And occasionally Fushiguro would pull up her skirt and slap her ass hard enough to leave several finger marks across her skin; and it was on one of his slaps that a short, gasping, "Daddy" sneaked out from between your lips and hit Toji's mind as a twinge of intense pleasure coursed through his entire body.

— Say that again. — He ordered, grabbing her neck with the hand that had been slapping her ass before.

— Daddy... — Y/N groaned breathlessly as she continued to move her hips against Toji's thigh in a desperate attempt to cum again.

— Keep calling me that, be a good little whore for me. — His other hand continued to stimulate your clit, now at a more intense pace that managed to push you straight into the abyss of a orgasmic pleasure that you so desperately needed.

After that, Fushiguro held you still in place as he continued to press his fingers against your clit. He definitely wanted to bring you close to the level of almost passing out from so much lust running freely through your body, and so your legs instinctively closed around his hand. At the same time that you desperately needed to breathe because you felt like your lungs were burning from your intense panting, every fiber of your body was still clamoring for the stimulation that only Toji could give you at the moment, so it wasn't hard for him to force your legs open again with a sly smile on his lips:

— Come on, my pretty girl, give me everything you've got. — He made scissor-like movements against her walls and her hips automatically forced themselves against Toji's palm, even though her intimacy was already quite sensitive.

— Daddy, please... please, more, daddy... — Y/N sank her face into the curve of Toji's neck trying to stifle her own moans.

— What a great fuck toy you are. — His fingers curved and you gasped, feeling again that same pressure as before against your bottom that indicated that your third orgasm was approaching. — No matter how much I make you cum you keep asking for more.

And the more he moved his fingers frantically against your pussy, the more you felt your thoughts disappear completely and all that was left was only Toji Fushiguro, and his fingers, and the cocky smile he had no matter what the situation was. Those same fingers that made you squirt for the first time against his abdomen in a third, overwhelming orgasm and your cheeks heat up violently, especially after seeing Toji bring them to his lips looking more than just satisfied with his work with you. Fuck, you could fuck him several times, you could pass out from pleasure, and you still wouldn't ask him to stop or slow down with you.

— Think you can handle one more, pretty girl? — He asked, his hands reaching for his pants and underwear.

— Yes, Daddy. — Y/N tried to speak as firmly as possible with her heavy breathing.

Toji put one hand on your waist and the other on your chin and took the opportunity to pull you in for a kiss as he entered you slowly, which made you lose some focus on the kiss and moan against his mouth as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders. He didn't let you get too used to the recent intrusion and started thrusting himself against you hard.

After leaving yours, his mouth slid down your neck and shoulders to leave sucking and biting the area before placing the hand that was on your chin on your neck. Eventually yours moans went from simple gasps and sighs to little "Daddy" that made Fushiguro's dick twitch against yours insides several times and grunts escape his lips.

— I will breed you like the desperate little whore that you are. — Toji stroked hard against you while squeezing your neck a little harder. — I bet you're going to love this, aren't you?

— Y-Yes, daddy, breed me, please. — Y/N moved her hips against his while maintaining eye contact with the older man's predatory eyes. — Fill me up completely, until I'm leaking.

Toji squeezed your waist tightly, tilted your body slightly until your hips arched a bit, and started a rhythm of thrusts against you that as a result made your mind go blank and your nails leave scratches on his shoulders. And your fourth orgasm didn't even take long to hit you almost as hard as the third because your whole body had been extremely sensitive for a long time; after fucking that man incessantly you would definitely be addicted to him, to his touch, to his dick, to his lips. Everything about him was addictive.

After making you cum for the fourth time, Fushiguro kept thrusting inside you until his cock forcefully contracted against you and filled you full of cum. By that point you had definitely become just a bunch of holes for him to fuck, and if your body wasn't already so sensitive you might want him to actually fill every possible place in your body with cum. When he withdrew his dick from inside your pussy, Toji pulled your hips up to watch the white liquid escape your entrance and used his fingers to push it into you again.

— Come here. — He patted his chest lightly, and you leaned your sweaty body against his as you lifted your head to look at him. His hands caressed your body and soon you found yourself being carried up the stairs. — I'm going to give you a long shower, and then I'll take you home. — Toji left a gentle kiss against your forehead, and you felt more comfortable than you really should have in his arms.

— Thank you, daddy. — You replied, and he couldn't suppress a satisfied smile.

And maybe from then on you continued to take advantage of the times when Megumi wasn't home or you weren't so busy with college to spend hours together.

[junghelioseok]

heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

-

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

[masterofmunson]

look after you (1)

TFATWS Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sam asks you to join him and Bucky on a mission in Madripoor. When you get injured, Bucky feels the need to remind you more than once that he’s supposed to look after you now that Steve’s gone.

Warnings: tfatws spoilers, language, violence, blood, grief, angst, major pining

Word Count: 6k+ 

Author’s Note: Here she is!! I’m really excited to see what you guys think! This is my first Bucky fic in AGES! I decided to make this into a mini series since this fic is so long haha. Please let me know what you think. Comments, reblogs, and asks are highly encouraged and appreciated! Enjoy!

You hadn’t seen Sam or Bucky in several weeks. You were still adjusting to life post-blip. It had been a long five years for you and just seconds for them. You were no longer the bright-eyed and bushy tailed recruit. You’d grown into your position amongst the established and experienced Avengers. Now, it meant nothing. 

Tony’s gone. Steve’s dead, Natasha too. The Avengers had officially disbanded. You felt lost and confused, still blinded by your grief over losing them. You had nowhere to go, so you just floated from place to place as needed. 

You were laying low and a shell of the person you once were. You had no one to look towards anymore. Bucky went his separate ways and got some sort of footing in New York City with the pardon he was given by the government since his return to the states. You checked in every now and then with him, but you didn’t want to slow down his progress so you distanced yourself from him. 

You know he feels some sort of responsibility towards you. Steve did too, and you suppose now that he’s gone, Bucky feels the need to take his place. It doesn’t matter that you’re no longer the naive 23 year old he met in Berlin all those years ago. It doesn’t matter that there was something lingering between the two of you before he turned to ash. You’re a grown woman now and war and politics has hardened your soul. 

He needs to move on from you. The version he has of you in his head is gone, dead. He wants a fresh start, and you can’t give it to him. 

Sam checks in with you once in a while. He asks you how you’re doing and you respond the same each time. “Same shit, different day,” you laughed lightly. 

He knows better than to ask you to join him on his missions with the military. You’re not in the right headspace to return to the field, least of all if it meant that you were representing the US government wherever the fight was. 

Now that John Walker has the shield and has been branded the new Captain America, it gives you all the more reason to stay away. If he had so much as just breathed in your direction, you’d kill him and rip the shield from his grasp and return it to Sam. 

You ignored all emails and phone calls that had to do with John Walker. He wanted your blessing on live television, as if that meant anything. Yes, you were close with Steve, but you’re not an original Avenger. You just caught his eye during training one day and he took you under his wing. John Walker just wanted to create a bridge between the two of you since Sam and Bucky were obviously out of the question. 

You were the first person Sam called when he told you he was giving up the shield. You didn’t ask why. You knew he had his reasons and you respected him to accept that whatever the reasons were, they were good enough. 

So, when Sam called in the middle of the night, you picked up the phone without a second thought. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you sit up and fumble for the light on the nightstand beside you. 

“Sam? You do realize it’s three in the morning, right?” you asked, yawning into your phone. 

Sam curses in your ear and apologizes quietly. “Sorry. You would think with all this traveling, I’d remember time zones are a thing,” he laughed softly. 

“What is it, Sam?” 

“We’re in a bit of a tight spot. We could use your help.”

Your brows pinch together. “Who’s we, Sam?”

“Me and Barnes.”

Your heart jumps inside your throat. How the hell did Sam manage to rope Bucky into whatever he’s doing? The last you heard, Bucky wasn’t allowed to go on government missions until his therapist thought he made enough progress to do so. You know he’s nowhere near the progress he wants to be, so how is he with Sam? 

“Jesus, Sam. You know he’s not in the right headspace to go on missions!” There’s a heavy pause between the two of you before you relent. “Where am I meeting you?”

“Latvia. I’ll fill you in when you get here.”

You hang up quickly and hurry out of bed. After so many years of getting up at odd hours for emergency missions and the like, you’re not surprised that Sam asked you to meet him in the middle of the night. You grab your duffle bag and stuff all your belongings back inside. You travel lightly, and now it definitely seemed to work out in your favor. 

You’ve spent the last couple of weeks in a small town just outside of Helena, Montana. It’s nice and quiet and you’ve really taken the time to reflect on your life since things started going back to normal post-blip. The locals are nice and hospitable, and no one asks you about Steve, Tony, or what you thought of John Walker. You hope it had something to do with the fact that they didn’t know who you were. You certainly hoped that was the case. You’ve kept your head down and tried your best to blend in. 

You go hiking quite frequently and take drives through the mountains. It’s nice and relaxing, a far cry from what you’re used to. You’ll definitely miss it, and you have second thoughts about meeting up with Sam, but you push them away. Steve abandoned you both, and you wouldn’t do that to him. 

It takes you several hours to get to the closest international airport and by the time you arrive, the sun begins to rise in the distance. You hurry through the airport security and send Sam a quick update that you’re about to board your flight before you settle in your seat and fall back asleep.

....

You sleep through the entire flight. You blame it on your ability to sleep anywhere due to the number of missions you have under your belt. You’re wide awake when the plane lands and you’re quick to pull out your phone and send a message to Sam that you’ve made it safe and sound to Latvia. 

Your legs are stiff and sore when you stand up for the first time when it’s time to leave. You pull your duffle bag from the overhead compartment and slowly make your way to the front. It takes you nearly an hour to get through customs and now you’re just anxiously waiting to see Sam. 

When you see him waiting for you at the baggage claim area, you grin as your eyes meet. You hurry over to him and drop your duffle bag to the floor as he pulls you in for a hug. It’s warm and tight and it’s exactly what you need. Sam pulls away first and reaches for your bag, throwing an arm over your shoulder as you walk out of the airport to his car. 

You stop walking when you notice two figures near a very fancy yellow car as you and Sam near them. Sam keeps walking and you take slow, tentative steps. You know one of the figures has to be Bucky, but Sam never mentioned a third person. 

“Sam, I thought you said that it was just you and Bucky,” you said cautiously. 

Sam stops in his tracks and lets out a nervous chuckle and scratches the back of his head. It makes your heart race and you swallow the lump in your throat as they begin to come into focus as they near the two of you. “Y/n, before you get angry, I just need you to know that this wasn’t my idea. Believe me when I tell you that he is the last person we would ask for help,” Sam replied as his eyes went from you to the two people approaching.

“Who is he?” you asked through gritted teeth. 

“Ah! Y/n, good to know that your flight went rather smoothly. It is good to see you again.”

No. There’s no way. You must be dreaming. Hemlut Zemo is not standing right in front of you. He is in prison. He is behind bars for the crimes he committed. The two men that you're closest to wouldn’t jailbreak someone as atrocious as Zemo. There has to be an explanation. It doesn’t make sense. 

“What the fuck is Zemo doing out of prison?!” you hissed, looking between Bucky and Sam, demanding an explanation. 

“Y/n, honey, I can explain, just please get in the car,” Bucky pleaded, reaching out to touch your hand. 

You glare at him and take a step back. “Are you out of your mind, Bucky? You break him out of jail because you need him, is that it? Do you remember what he did to you, because I certainly do!”

Bucky frowns and lets out a deep and heavy sigh. He looks over at Sam. “Did you fill her in at all?”

“No!” you shouted. “I can speak for myself, James! Someone better start talking and tell me what the hell is going on!”

“We don’t really have time for this right now,” Zemo interrupts, “we really must be going. I’m sure Sam and James can fill you in in the car.”

You glare at the Sokovian terrorist and snap at him. “Shut your mouth, Zemo.”

He raises his hands up in surrender and takes a step back. Bucky towers over you and this time you let him take your hand. He squeezes it gently and pulls you into his chest, hugging you tightly. You’re tense and fuming as he holds you. 

His mouth finds the shell of your ear and despite the wave of anger flowing through your body, it sends a shiver down your spine. Bucky whispers, “I hate to say it, but Zemo’s right. We have to go. I’ll explain on the way, I promise.”

You huff childishly and turn your head away from him as he kisses your temple. “Fine. If he steps out of line, I’ll kill him.”

Bucky laughs and takes your hand and walks you to the car. “Get in line, honey. Sam and I have first dibs.”

You resist the urge to smile and Bucky opens the door for you as Sam tosses your bag in the trunk and climbs into the front seat. Bucky slides in beside you and he tells you everything.

He tells you about their first encounter with the Flag Smashers. He tells you about how the leader and a few of her followers have taken a newer version of the serum that runs through his veins. He tells you that she plans on giving the serum to more people to build an army and that you have to stop her. 

It makes your heart stop. You hadn’t really been keeping tabs on the Flag Smashers. Now, looking back, you probably should have. There’s still a lot of unknown variables to account for and it looks like the boys are taking it one step at a time, and apparently it starts with a trip to Madripoor. Zemo chimes in every now and then as he drives and it makes your blood boil that you’re forced to listen to what he has to say. You hate that he has the upper hand and is keeping valuable information hostage. You want to strangle him. 

After a while, Zemo pulls into a private airport. Bucky helps you out of the car and grabs your bag from the trunk as the four of you walk towards the jet just off the runway. You had no idea just how rich Zemo was. Now that he’s out of prison, for now at least, his arrogance returned back in full force in addition to his pompous attitude. 

You board the plane in silence, ignoring every word coming out of the Baron’s mouth. You settle in the back of the plane and ignore Bucky’s stares as you look out the window. You’re too angry to engage in conversation. You don’t care that Zemo insults Steve’s legacy. He’s gone, dead, what do you care? Yes, you wanted Steve to be happy, but he abandoned you. He abandoned Sam and Bucky. 

Zemo rambles on and on. “People like Steve become symbols, icons. Then we start to forget about their flaws. From there, cities fly, innocent people die. Movements are formed, wars are fought,” he turns to address Bucky directly. “You remember that, right? As a young soldier sent to Germany to stop a mad icon. Do we want to live in a world full of people like the Red Skull?”

Silence fills the space and for a moment, you feel a reprieve. That was until Zemo mentioned the Winter Soldier. 

 “We can’t go into Madripoor as ourselves. James, you will have to become someone you claim is gone.”

You immediately stand up and protest, storming to the front of the plane. “No. Absolutely not. I won’t let you use Bucky, not again. There has to be another way.”

Zemo clicks his tongue at you and shakes his head. A smug graces his features and you lung at him, wrapping your hands around his throat. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

Bucky leaps to his feet and tears you off of Zemo, dragging you to the back of the plane behind the curtains to give the two of you an illusion of privacy. Your shoulders shake with rage and Bucky’s hands caress your face. 

“You can’t be him. He’s not you anymore. You don’t have to do this, Bucky. Please,” you begged, clinging to his hands. “I can’t let Zemo control you again.”

Bucky’s touched with how protective you are over him. He pulls you closer and hugs you tightly against him. Your fingers grip the back of his shirt and he presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head. 

“Honey,” he whispered. “I have to. I have to do this so we can stop the Flag Smashers from getting the serum. It’s for the mission.”

You huffed against his chest. Now you’re really regretting your decision to help Sam. You would’ve said no if you had known that it meant watching Bucky turn into the Winter Soldier again, even if it wasn’t real. 

You don’t know what to say. He won’t change his mind. Bucky’s just as stubborn as you are and he’ll do anything for the success of the mission, just like Steve did. 

You pull away and return back to your seat, crossing your arms over your chest as you stare into the back of Zemo’s plush leather seat. Bucky trails behind you and squeezes your shoulder. You shrug off his touch as he takes the empty seat next to yours. 

“And, I’m afraid that where we’re going doesn’t take too kindly to women who are…. how do I put this…. strong willed,” Zemo said. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Bucky barked, jumping to your defense just moments after you did the same for him.

“Selby will see Y/n as competition. We can’t have that happen. She’ll have to stay behind.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m just going to just sit here and do nothing,” you snapped. “I’m coming with. I don’t care if I have to pretend to be meek.”

Zemo turns to look at you. He’s challenging you. You both know it. He’s pushing your buttons and it’s working. He smirks and leans against the armchair. His eyebrows raise and he asks, “Even if it means pretending to be a prostitute?”

Your gaze doesn’t falter and you ignore both Sam’s and Bucky’s protests. It falls on deaf ears. You don’t care, as long as you’re with Sam and Bucky and they’re safe. “Yes,” you answered without a second thought. You’ve done worse things than pretend to be a sex worker. It would be a piece of cake. 

Zemo grins, letting out a soft laugh. “It looks like you’ll be joining us after all then, Y/n.”

You scoff at him and look out the window. Bucky drags you from your seat once more and pulls you behind the curtain. You look away from him and he reaches to squeeze your hand. 

“You don’t have to do this. You have nothing to prove,” he whispered, brushing the top of your palm with his warm and calloused fingers. 

“You don’t either,” you mumbled back. 

He smiles softly at your retort and pulls you into his arms. He holds you gently and cards his fingers through your hair. You hum quietly as he holds you. 

“Touché, honey.”

There’s a beat of silence between the two of you before you lean back to meet his gaze. His blue eyes pierce through yours and it makes your heart race. You pull away and rub your palms against your thighs. 

You disappear behind the curtain once more, leaving Bucky behind. 

…

When you arrive in Madripoor, you’re dressed in an outfit that leaves little to the imagination. The dress has a plunging neckline that settles just below your naval. Your chest is barely covered and your boobs threaten to slip over the fabric. You’re dressed for the part, that’s for sure. 

Zemo is the first one to look at you when you return from behind the curtain. He whistles at you and it makes your skin crawl. 

Bucky shoves Zemo harshly and grips his chest tightly, snarling in his face. “Watch your mouth,” Bucky hissed, shoving him into one of the chairs. 

He turns to look at you and you reach to squeeze his hand. You pull him away from Zemo and whisper softly, “It’s alright, Buck. Take a deep breath.”

He grits his teeth and shakes his head, and does what you ask. “I’ll kill him. If he does that again, I’ll kill him.”

You laugh softly and press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “I don’t doubt you will, Buck.”

The two of you trail behind Sam and Zemo as you leave the plane. A sleek black car is waiting just off the runway and you follow behind to the vehicle. When you settle into your spot in between Buck and Sam in the back, Zemo turns to look at the three of you. 

“It’s imperative that we don’t break character, no matter what. If you do, we’re good as dead, understand?” 

You scoff and roll your eyes as he looks towards you. “Crystal,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest. 

He turns to face the front of the vehicle and silence fills the car. 

Suddenly, a number of motorcycles surround the car as you drive into Low Town. you make sure to keep your eyes forward and Bucky reaches for the hand on your knee. He squeezes it tightly and you do the same. 

Reality is now just setting in for you. This is the first mission that you’ve been on since Steve went back to the 40s, and since Tony died. It had been three long months since Tony saved the world and brought everyone back that was taken five years earlier. You know that three months isn’t long, but it still makes you nervous. You haven’t been training to keep things from going rusty. You had no desire to. 

Bucky leans into you, his mouth near the shell of your ear. “You okay?” 

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah, just a bit nervous. I’m a little out of practice. This is my first mission since Steve left,” you mumbled back, squeezing his hand again to keep you grounded. He does the same in return. 

“It’s alright. I have your back. I’ll protect you, promise.”

A small smile finds its way onto your face and you shake your head at him. “You know better than anyone else than to promise something like that before a mission, Buck. It’s bad luck,” you teased. 

He laughs too and the car stops in what you guess is the downtown area of Low Town. You take a deep breath and Bucky does the same. You squeeze his hand one last time before his hand falls from your grasp. He opens the door and climbs out. You follow close behind and find your spot next to Sam. He gingerly wraps his arm around your waist as you walk into the Princess Bar. 

Electronic music blasts through the speakers and the bass vibrates through your chest. You press against Sam as you push through people to get to the bar. The smell of drugs and alcohol is suffocating as you walk and ignore the stares sent your way. They’re not staring at you, but Bucky, who walks just a step behind you like a looming shadow. 

“Ready to comply, Winter Soldier?” Zemo asked Bucky in Russian. 

It makes your blood boil and Sam squeezes your waist tightly, a reminder that you must not break character. You hate it. You hate that Bucky has to pretend to be the person he’s worked so hard to distance himself from. Bucky is not him. The Winter Soldier doesn’t exist anymore. That part of him is gone, dead. You only hope that Bucky reminds himself that the Winter Soldier isn’t him anymore as he pretends just feet behind you.

You stand in front of the bar counter as the bartender approaches. You keep your mouth shut as Zemo exchanges words with the man, briefly bringing Sam, the Smiling Tiger, into the conversation. Your eyes find Bucky’s and your heart jumps inside your throat. His eyes are cold and void of any emotion. He’s stoic and brooding. He’s fallen into character perfectly and it scares you to think that all the progress he’s made over the years has been destroyed in this moment. For his sake, you hope not.

You tear your eyes away from Bucky at the feeling of Sam’s hand on the curve of your ass. You watch him carefully as he takes a shot. The bartender moves on and you let out a careful breath. 

A man grasps at Zemo’s shoulder and sneers at him. He looks over at Bucky as Zemo asks to see Selby before he walks away. Another man approaches Zemo from behind and he speaks in Russian once more. “Winter Soldier, attack.” 

You hold your breath in anticipation as the unsuspecting man rests his hand on Zemo’s shoulder. You want to reach out and touch Bucky, tell him that he doesn’t have to, that the two of you still have time to make a run for it, but you don’t. You can’t. Zemo would probably try and kill you if you interfere and it’s the last thing you need. 

Bucky stalks over to him with two long strides, and rips the man’s hand from Zemo’s shoulder. He twists his wrist back and throws him to the ground. Another man swings at Bucky and he stops it with ease. He punches his back and kicks him against another crowny. As another man attempts to punch and kick at Bucky. He uses his metal arm and momentum to take each of them out.

“It doesn’t take much for him to fall back into form,” Zemo smirked, leaning over to look at you and Sam. 

“Shut your mouth,” you hissed between your teeth as you watched Bucky. 

Bucky grabs one of the men by the throat and slams him into the counter. Guns cock all around you as you look around the room. Your heart is inside your throat and there’s ringing in your ears. You reach to grab Bucky’s arm, but Sam beats you to it.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us,” Zemo whispered. “Well done, soldier.”

Sam lets go of his arm and takes a step back, pulling you with him. He squeezes your hip tightly as you watch Bucky’s grip fall from the man’s throat.

“Selby will see you now,” the bartender said.

Zemo moves to follow him and you resist the urge to reach out and touch Bucky. Sam pulls you along and you walk in silence down a number of hallways. The music fades into the background and you’re squeezing Sam’s hand like your life depends on it. 

A number of men on Selby’s security detail whistle as you walk by. You bite your tongue and resist the urge to snap their necks. The four of you wait at the door at the end of the hall for several seconds before it opens. You walk inside and Zemo takes you from Sam’s side. Your jaw ticks as he guides you to the empty sofa. His hand settles on your thigh and you tense under his touch.

Zemo and Selby negotiate for information. All you need to know is who created the serum and where they are. That’s it. Zemo needs to stick to the plan. 

Zemo stands up from his spot next to you. “Tell us what you know about the super soldier serum, and I give you him…. along with the code words to control him,” Zemo stands behind Bucky, his hand resting on his shoulder. He’s silent and obedient, the perfect encapsulation of who he had been for the last 80 years. 

There wasn’t a discussion over what the offer would be when you were on the plane from Latvia. You just assumed Zemo would figure a way out of it, he was clever enough to do it before. You hadn’t thought that he would actually use the Winter Soldier to his benefit outside of protection. How naive of you. 

Bucky’s eyes are dark and he stares straight ahead as Zemo caresses his chin. He doesn’t flinch or react. He’s playing the Winter Soldier perfectly and you hate every second. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard that you start to taste blood. 

“He will do anything you want.”

Selby grins, leaning back in her spot on the couch opposite of you. She tells him what you need to know. She nears Sam and then the worst happens, his phone begins to ring. 

She tells him to answer it and your fingers squeeze into the leather couch. Your heart races and for the first time since you walked into the bar, Bucky’s eyes find yours. You know he can see your panic. 

Things are fine momentarily. Sam’s trying his best to stay in character and you know it’s not working as well as he’d like. You hold your breath and your panic settles in at the mention of Sam’s name coming from Sarah. 

“Kill them—” 

Your eyes widen in horror as a bullet pierces through the glass window in front of you and lodges into Selby’s throat, killing her instantly. The act is over. 

You leap to your feet and pull the tactical knife that you hid in your dress out from underneath you. You slice the knife across your attacker’s arm. Bucky kicks him into the wall and grabs you by the arm. 

You run as fast as you can out the bar and through the streets of Madripoor. You dodge bullets and fight off others that attack you with knives. 

You do well, all things considered with what you’re dressed in. You dig your heel into the boot of your attacker, throwing them off balance. You kick their leg out from underneath them and Sam knocks them unconscious. 

Bucky, of course, is doing just fine on his own. You run over to help. You disarm the man closer to you and use the butt of the gun to knock him out. 

You barely have time to register the man creeping up behind Bucky. His arm is outstretched with a gun in his hand. Bucky has no clue. 

“Bucky!” you screamed at the top of your lungs, running as fast as you can towards him. 

He turns to look at you as you use your whole body to shove him aside as the gun goes off. 

Time stands still. 

You fall to the ground in a daze as the bullet rips through your shoulder. Your eyes stare up into the night sky as it takes you a moment to realize that you’d just been shot. 

You try to sit up and get back on your feet. You don’t have time to worry about your wound. You need to get the hell out of Low Town. 

Bucky nearly drags you off the ground and you run. You run as fast as you can despite the bullet in your shoulder. 

“We need to get out of here!” Bucky shouted, inspecting your wound. 

A shadowy figure approaches and Bucky blocks you from view. The hood drops and you peer over Bucky’s shoulder. You don’t have time to be surprised that Sharon is the one standing in front of you. 

“Sharon? What are you doing here?” Sam asked. 

“We don’t have time for that!” Bucky snapped. “Sharon, please. You gotta help us. Y/n’s been shot.”

She nods and motions for you to follow her. She stops in front of a beautiful blue car and Bucky guides you into the car, pressing his metal hand against your shoulder to stop the bleeding. You ignore Sam and Bucky’s bickering as they yell at you for getting shot. You don’t have the energy to respond. 

Sharon races across town and pulls up to a very fancy building. Sharon jumps out and opens the door for Bucky. His arm holds your torso and your uninjured arm is thrown over his shoulder as you walk inside. You gather into the elevator as it takes you to the top floor. 

Your entire body goes numb and Bucky guides you to the kitchen counter. Sharon briefly disappears before returning with a heavy duty first aid kit. 

“Do you have tequila?” you asked her as Bucky rummaged through the bag for the correct supplies. Sharon laughs softly before grabbing a bottle of tequila from her liquor cabinet. You take a generous sip and the liquid burns your throat. 

Bucky inspects the bullet wound carefully. Thankfully it was a through and through. He doesn’t have to fish the bullet out. He works quickly and you grit your teeth as he stitches the wound close on both sides of your shoulder. 

The pain lessened to a dull throb now that he’s finished. He cleans the excess blood off your skin before gently placing your arm in a sling. 

“Why did you do that, Y/n?” Bucky chastised you, shaking his head in disappointment. “I could’ve taken care of him.”

You scoff and roll your eyes at him. “I don’t even get a thank you for saving your ass? You were vulnerable, I did the right thing.”

He sighs and you look away. Your eyes find Sharon’s. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

She nods and disappears down the hall to her bedroom. Silence fills the room and Sam takes his turn to reprimand you. You ignore him entirely and take another large swig of tequila. 

Sharon returns moments later with a pair of clean clothes. You thank her quietly and she points you in the direction of one of the guest bedrooms. You hop off the counter and ignore Bucky’s protests and calls of your name. 

You huffed in frustration as you limped towards one of Sharon’s guest bedrooms. You had enough of Sam and Bucky yelling at you for your recklessness, especially Bucky. You’re exhausted and all you want to do is sleep. 

You did what you thought was right. You did what Steve would’ve done. You had Bucky’s back. Isn’t that what mattered? Sure, you got shot in the shoulder, but it isn’t something you haven’t done before. You have the scars to prove it. 

“Stop running away from me! We’re not done talking about this!” Bucky yelled after you, hot on your heels into the bedroom. “What were you thinking?”

You’re sick of Bucky questioning you. You’re not a child and you’re not the bright eyed recruit he thinks you still are. You did what was right in the heat of the moment. You don’t regret it. You’d do it all over again if it meant that he was safe. 

“Stop treating me like a child, James! I’m not Steve’s recruit anymore! I’m a grown woman,” you shouted back at him. Your shoulders shake and you glare at him. “I know you still think I’m that naive 25 year old, but that’s not me anymore. The last five years may have been five seconds to you, but they weren’t to me. Accept the fact that I did what I thought was right.”

“It was reckless!”

“Steve would’ve done it!” you bit back. 

“This isn’t about Steve!” he argued. 

You laugh bitterly and shake your head. He doesn’t see it. He doesn’t see what you see. You know he sees you as his responsibility now that Steve’s gone. He feels an obligation to look after you because Steve did. You have a part of Steve with you. Bucky’s clinging to any last remains of Steve, and that includes you. 

“Isn’t it though? You feel like you have a responsibility to protect me, to look after me. Why? It’s because Steve did and now that he’s gone, you feel like you have to replace him!”

The silence that fills the room suffocates you. Your heart races with anger. You want Bucky to leave you alone. You didn’t ask for this. Sam needed your help, and when you provided it, you got yelled at for it. Now you just want to go home. 

You turn your back to Bucky and pull the pants that Sharon gave you up your legs before discarding the dress in the corner of the room. You don’t care if Bucky sees all the scars that litter your backside. Maybe then he would understand that you’ve always done what’s best for the mission, even if that meant getting hurt. You throw the sweatshirt over your head and turn to look at Bucky again. 

“Do you have anything else to say to me? Are you going to try and deny it?”

Bucky sighs, running a hand through his hair. “You’re one of the only people I have left that have a connection to Steve.”

Another bitter laugh escapes your mouth. He doesn’t understand. “He abandoned me, James! He abandoned us. Steve’s gone. You can’t hold on to him anymore. You don’t have to do anything Steve did. You have nothing to prove to me, I promise. I don’t need you to replace Steve. I need you, Buck. You’re the one that’s here with me, not Steve.”

Tears threaten to spill over your cheeks and you look away from him. The silence is deafening and Bucky moves to take you in his arms. He holds you against his chest and cards his fingers through your hair. You cry against his chest and cling to his henley. He gently guides you to the bed and sits down with you in his lap.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he whispered, rubbing your back. “You’re right. It just scared me. I don’t think I can handle losing you too. I’m sorry.”

You pull away to look at him with your tear stained cheeks and he carefully wipes away your tears with the pad of his thumb. You blink away the remaining tears and lean into his touch. “It’s okay, Buck. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” 

You rest your forehead against his and breathe him in. His metal hand rubs circles against your back and it sends shivers down your spine. He holds you carefully and no words are exchanged. Your eyes flicker to his lips and your heart thunders against your chest. 

There’s a soft knock at the door and you pull your body off of Bucky’s. You sit beside him as Sam pokes his head inside the room. “Is everything okay?” he asked, looking between the two of you. 

You look over at Bucky and then back to Sam. You smile and nod slowly. “Everything’s perfect, Sam.”

[cuttoothed]

Fic for day 3 of @jonmartinweek for the prompt "Healing & Recovery". We've all been saying jmart need a lot of therapy after the finale, so...yeah.

Disclaimer: I have never been to couple's therapy. I have done some reading on it, but this is not intended in any way to accurately reflect real world therapy practices. Please just assume that anything "off" is due to the way couple's therapy is practiced in AU-land (though of course feel free to let me know if you spot anything egregious).

*

“Why don’t you start,” Judith suggests, “By telling me about the incident?”

The two men on the sofa give her identical startled looks, as if she’s uncovered something incriminating. Martin seems to regain his composure first; he clears his throat, and his hand moves to cover Jon’s, unconsciously protective.

“Sorry, wh-what do you mean by “incident”?”

“For most couples who come to see me, there’s an...inciting incident,” Judith explains. “Something that makes them realize they could use some professional support to work through things. Of course any couple can benefit from seeing a therapist together on occasion, to deal with small issues before they become big ones. But, well, it’s the same way that everyone knows they should go for regular check ups with their GP rather than waiting until they actually get sick—it’s just not something most people get around to until they need it.”

She pauses to give them time to consider that, and after a moment Jon nods, looking mildly embarrassed.

“Right,” he says. “That’s, ah, I think that’s fair.”

“There are pretty strong extenuating circumstances, though,” Martin huffs defensively. “We didn’t exactly have the option for therapy in the a—wh-where we lived before.”

“It’s not intended as a criticism,” Judith tells him. “You’ve chosen to talk to a therapist, and that’s a big step—one that many people never take. You’re ahead of the curve, Martin.”

Martin looks mollified at that; he’s clearly a bit touchy about perceived criticisms of their relationship, and Judith doesn’t want to get him on the defensive. She gives them both an encouraging smile.

“So,” she says. “Is there an incident you’d like to talk about?”

The two of them look at each other expectantly, as if each is waiting for the other to start. After several long moments of silence, Jon raises his eyebrows meaningfully, and Martin sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “So, we, uh, we recently realized that our...garden was a-a bit of a mess. So we—Jon and I—we get together with our...housemates, to figure out what kind of flowers we should plant. Fuschias or—or hydrangeas. ”

He pauses to glance nervously at Jon, who gives him a reassuring nod, squeezing his hand.

Right, Judith thinks, This is probably not about flowers.

“We agree we all want fuschias,” Martin continues, “Except Jon—he wanted hydrangeas. But we took a vote, and it was fuschias.”

“Except of course most of our—our housemates weren’t there for that meeting,” Jon interjects, folding his arms across his chest.

“Yes, but we agreed we couldn’t wait to ask every single person,” Martin says sharply, back on the defensive. Jon’s brow furrows and his mouth opens as if to say something, but he changes his mind and shuts it again. Conflict aversion is one of the most common dysfunctions Judith sees in the couples she treats; very few people want to disagree with the person they love, and even fewer know how to have a constructive conflict. She makes a mental note of it for later.

“Go ahead, Martin,’ she suggests gently. Martin looks unhappy, but continues.

“So we agree to plant the fuschias the next day, but Jon—Jon sneaks out in the middle of the night and starts, uh, planting hydrangeas. Without telling anyone.”

Without telling me, Judith hears in his hurt tone. Jon’s arms are still folded, and he’s almost squirming in his seat with the effort to not interject; Judith decides it’s a good time to invite him into the story.

“Jon, why did you feel so strongly about the hydrangeas?”

“It’s—it wasn’t that I wanted hydrangeas, I just couldn’t a-accept the idea of—of fuchsias.”

“Couldn’t allow it, you mean,” Martin grumbles. Judith lets it pass and continues to focus on Jon.

“Why is that?”

“They, uh, they spread…” Jon waves his hands vaguely. “Their—their...roots? They would get into the, uh, the neighbors’ gardens, completely take over, destroy everything.”

“Potentially,” Martin insists. “There was no guarantee—”

“There was no reason they wouldn’t,” Jon snaps.

By now Judith is not only sure that this has nothing to do with gardening, but suspects that neither of these men has ever seen a fuchsia in their lives. It’s fine, though. This is far from the first time a client has invented a story out of whole cloth so they can work through something uncomfortable without actually describing it. And this is their first session; Judith hopes in the future they’ll trust her enough to give her the real story.

“Remember,” she tells them. “We’re not here to decide that someone was objectively right or wrong, we’re here to help you understand each other and improve your communication skills.”

“Right,” Martin mutters, unconvinced. Jon’s expression is distressed, but he continues.

“There was no other choice,” he says wearily. “The only other option was—was azaleas, and I know you didn’t want that, Martin.”

“Absolutely not.” Martin sounds horrified. “But hydrangeas, Jon? Do you really think that was a better option?”

“You have to see the difference.” Jon’s tone goes stiff and incredulous, as if he’s winding up for a lecture, and Judith decides to cut that off before it starts.

“So what I’m hearing,” she says, “Is that you both had very strong, conflicting opinions on this topic. And that’s okay—it’s okay for you to disagree, even on something important. You’re not always going to agree on what the right thing to do is. Often there is no single “right thing,” so it comes down to how the different choices make us feel.”

“That doesn’t seem like a good way to make a decision that affects the wh—a lot of people.” Jon clearly considers that his opinion on not-flowers was the objectively correct one. Judith smiles.

“People aren’t computers, Jon. Even the most logical minded person in the world is influenced by their feelings—about important issues, about other people. You’d be surprised at how much of our decision making is rooted in emotion; either how we anticipate the outcome of our decision will make us feel, or how we are feeling in the immediate moment of the choice.”

A spasm of something that might be grief or pain flashes across Jon’s face, and he leans unconsciously in Martin’s direction. Martin’s arm instantly goes around him, offering comfort without thought. It’s clear that these two love each other deeply, unquestioningly—and that’s also part of the problem. When someone you love thinks that you’re wrong about something that’s important to you, it can feel like a rejection of your entire self.

“I’d like to pause this discussion for now, and try a little exercise,” she says. Jon nods, sitting back up and disengaging from Martin’s embrace; Martin looks attentively at her, though his expression is unsure.

“One of the biggest challenges we face with people we love is recognizing that they are separate from us. I know—” she says, raising her hands to stop the objections she can already see forming on their lips. “Of course you know that you’re separate people. We all know that, rationally. But emotionally, it’s natural to see the people you’re close to as extensions of yourself—it’s an evolutionary impulse to aid group bonding. It happens with friends and family, and it’s an even stronger impulse between partners.

“We have to do a lot of work to truly internalize the idea that the people we love have their own inner emotional lives that drive their opinions and decisions. But once you are able to fully grasp that truth, it makes disagreeing with the person you love feel less emotionally fraught; it’s a powerful tool for navigating conflict constructively.”

Jon is frowning, but it’s in consideration rather than disapproval. Martin still looks skeptical, his body language defensive, though he doesn’t say anything. That’s probably the best she’s going to get for now, Judith thinks.

“So,” she says. “The exercise is this: I’d like each of you to take a few moments to think, and then tell the other person something about yourself. Not a fact, but something that you feel. And I would like you to listen without interrupting when your partner tells you their feeling. Can you each do that?”

“I, ah—” Jon’s frown deepens. “That’s...rather difficult to do on demand.”

“I know,” says Judith with sympathy. “That’s why I’m here, to support you both in doing the difficult things. If it was easy, you wouldn’t need a therapist to facilitate.”

“Right,” says Jon. “Okay.”

“Martin?”

“Fine,” he says, but his tone is reluctant. Judith gets it; vulnerability is hard enough in front of someone you love, never mind with a stranger in the room. It’s easier to pretend that it’s pointless, that you’re not really putting yourself out there to be hurt. She has the feeling that Martin is someone who would rather avoid being hurt, even if it means closing himself off.

“All right,” she says. “When you’re ready, Jon, would you mind going first? No rush, take all the time you need.” Hopefully, seeing Jon take the first step might help Martin get over some of his defensiveness.

“Oh,” he says, and for a few moments his expression devolves into one of intense concentration. Then he nods, turning towards Martin.

“Start with “I feel”,” Judith suggests.

“All right,” he says, breathless with nerves. “I, uh, I feel...responsible. For—well, for everything, basically. And for everyone. Bad things have happened to people, and it’s my fault, because I should have done something. Everything that happened, back there, it was all because of me.”

“It wasn’t you, Jon!” Martin protests. “Annabelle told us—”

Judith is about to remind him that he’s supposed to just be listening, but he cuts himself off first. Jon laughs, an ugly sound that’s more like a sob.

“And how is that supposed to help? Knowing that the—that they were using me my whole life, how does that absolve me of any responsibility for what I did? For the fact that I failed to do anything to stop them? I couldn’t even go through with the one thing that could have actually meant something, because—”

He clamps his mouth shut, his jaw locked tight; Martin looks down at his hands, his expression distraught.

“Because of me.”

“Martin—” Jon’s tone is wounded, and he reaches for Martin’s hand. Judith sees reflections of a shared pain in both their faces, though she doesn’t understand why; this would be a lot easier if they’d just tell her the truth.

But you didn’t get into this profession because it was easy, did you?

“Thank you for sharing that, Jon. I think there’s a lot more for us to explore there, but let’s give you a break and give Martin a chance to share, okay?”

Jon nods, clutching Martin’s hand in his. Martin gives a long, slow exhale.

“Righto,” he says with false, brittle cheer. “”I feel,” wasn’t it? Right. Jon, when you do something stupidly self-sacrificing for other people, I feel like everyone else is more important than me.”

Jon flinches.

“Martin,” Judith says, keeping her tone level. “Let’s keep the focus on what you feel, not on what causes you to feel that way, okay?”

“Right,” Martin mutters, and glances at Jon. “Okay. In that case, I feel...like I’m not important. Like the only thing I can really do is—is take care of you. And if I can’t even do that, then what bloody use am I? That’s it, I suppose.”

“Martin…” Jon says again, softly. His eyes are wet, and he’s clinging to Martin’s hand like a drowning man to a plank. Martin swallows hard and shakes his head, but he makes no move to extract his hand from Jon’s grip.

“Thank you, Martin,” Judith tells him. “I know that wasn’t easy to share, for either of you. But this is the kind of honesty that we need, in order to build strong communication. Let’s all take five minutes—if either of you want to take a bathroom break, or get some water—and then we can talk about where to go from here. All right?”

Martin disappears to the loo, while Jon wanders around the office, looking with polite interest at the shelves of books and ornaments. Judith writes a few notes for herself, to follow up in future sessions. She hopes there’ll be future sessions. Both of these men seem deeply hurt, traumatized by events that they’re just barely alluding to, and have clearly been struggling through as best they can with less than ideal coping mechanisms, trying—and likely failing—not to hurt each other in the process. They both need individual counselling as much as couples’ therapy—maybe more. She’s certainly going to recommend it..

They clearly love each other, though. And they want to make it work. If they’re willing to put the effort in, they have better than even odds in their favor.

Martin’s eyes are red-rimmed when he returns; he sits on the sofa as near as he can to Jon, who presses their shoulders together. Judith can’t help smiling at the sight.

“How long have the two of you been together?” she asks. She always asks new clients at the end of the first session, rather than at the beginning; that way she can get a feel for the relationship without preconceptions based on longevity. The two of them look at each other properly, for the first time since Martin came back in, and matching, sheepish smiles break out on both their faces after a moment.

“So it was three weeks in Scotland,” Martin begins, ticking it off on his fingers. “And then—how long?”

“Uhh, it’s...let’s say half a year, give or take?” Jon makes a face that says he’s really not all that sure.

“Right, and then we’ve been here nearly six months. So...about a year, all in all?”

“But we knew each other for over three years before that,” Jon insists earnestly.

“It sounds as if the two of you have been through a lot,” says Judith. “And not all of it gardening related?”

“No,” Jon says with a self-deprecating chuckle. “Mostly not.”

“We barely scratched the surface today—and that’s normal. Relationships are complicated, and it takes a lot of time and hard work to build understanding and communication. But I promise you, it is worth all the effort. You both made a really strong start today—it takes courage to be that honest, even with your partner.”

The two of them give each other a long look, and the smile they trade is tentative, but genuine. They haven’t solved anything today, have only just begun to reveal their hurt and their insecurities; they have a long journey ahead to get to a truly honest, healthy place both for themselves and their relationship. Judith has a feeling they’ll persevere, though—that losing each other simply isn’t an option.

“So,” she says, “Should we make this a recurring appointment?”

Jon glances questioningly at Martin, who bites his lip and then nods firmly, taking Jon’s hand in his.

“Yeah,” Martin says. “We’ve done much harder things. We can do this.”

“Together?” says Jon, and Martin smiles.

“No matter what.”