#have you. never. in your life. been caught out.

[hannieween]

pick your poison | wicked games series

“You know—when you're still hurting from one person and find someone else to patch you up?” Changkyun said. “One poison drives out another.”

☾ pairings: jeon wonwoo x female reader ☾ genre: angst, fluff, smut (18+) ☾ aus: bartender wonwoo, bartender mingyu, rebound fucking, "enemies" to fucking, messy love triangle ☾ word count: 17.3k

› PREVIOUS CHAPTERS – READ MORE

🎧: enemy – jiselle, gemini | not sorry – i.m | kiss&tell – ethan low | excuses – twlv | fuxxin' love (2019) – OoOo | ghosts – highvyn | guilty – taemin | his car isn't yours – wendy | love is banned – gemini | divine – hyejin | 28 reasons – seulgi

☾ warnings: smut with plot, alcohol consumption but no dubcon, hurt/comfort[?], spiraling, unprotected p in v sex, body worshipping, pussy eating, fingering, creampies, hickeys. reader is chubby. pet names: ma'am, baby (hers)

☾ author's note: i'm sorry.

☾ disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and do not to look like a bot 🙂

pick your poison

The basketball court was empty. The night was still, as though hurt by the echo of the conversation you kept replaying in your head.

Puddles of water glistened on the pavement, reflecting fragments of the moonlight as it shone on the dark sky.

You sat there alone, motionless. Waiting.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for. Or maybe you did.

You looked down at your hands. They were wet. Wet in tears of a dream that was lost.

The sky shifted, and light poured into the basketball court. The sun rose too quickly, too bright. It brought with it the cruel reality to your broken heart. Like a thread pulled from your chest.

But then you woke up.

Your breath caught before you could open your eyes. You were lying on your bed, too exhausted to move. Your throat was dry, and every beat of your heart ached like it had a thorn right in the centre of it.

You were at home. But in your heart, you were still sitting on the bleachers. At the basketball court. 

Waiting for him.

Time passed in a blur after that night.

Days and nights went on, time slipping through your fingers like water. But despite that, you felt like your life had been perpetually put on pause. Your mind, body and soul were on standby, waiting for his call, even though you knew that he was set on his choice.

Being on standby also meant that you didn’t feel a thing.

You made a promise to yourself—the moment you left the court, you would never cry for Kim Mingyu again. And you would never cry for another man ever again.

What used to be your routine melted into a continuous, numbing train of activities. Work, home, eat, sleep. One after another. Suddenly, you found yourself moving without thinking. Acting without really being there.

You kept yourself busy, believing that work might save you from the aching hole in your chest threatening to pull you in.

There is an undeniable negativity around setbacks, around change. 

But in this situation, you didn’t know whether you had stumbled upon a setback or a change. Mingyu had never been your actual partner, in the sense that you never solidified a real relationship with him. The thing that was making you feel incomplete was that he walked away without ever knowing how you truly felt about him.

So there was one thing you could do. Bury it. 

You would bury your feelings and bury yourself if need be. It felt like rewriting bits and pieces of yourself that you were once willing to put into a relationship with him. Only to find out that you were idealizing a relationship that was never going to happen.

A part of you felt resentful. You felt used. Like he just came into your life, wrapped you in and then left you hanging. Alone.

But the other part felt grateful that he reappeared in your life and graced you with the ability to love again. Even though he left you with a heart full and brimming with love that you will never be able to give him.

The truth was, you didn’t feel any wiser. Forever stuck repeating the same mistakes over and over again.

Autumn had you yearning for snow. Anything that would make the puddles of water along the sidewalks freeze over.  

Everywhere you turned, you saw him. Even the faintest smell of coconut made your chest ache. Even the sound of rain reminded you of him.

You opened the door to a coffee shop, walking inside with an umbrella in one hand and grabbing the straps of your tote bag in the other.

You didn’t have to go to the other side of the city to get coffee. But lately, sitting in the small office you rented was suffocating. And being in your apartment made you think too much about the same thing.

And when you weren’t working, you avoided sitting in your own apartment. You couldn’t stand the silence of your space. Not then, and not now.

So you wandered. Searching for places you hadn’t ruined yet with memories.

The coffee shop was small, cozy, and humming with soft R&B music. The scent of fresh ground coffee and pastries hit you immediately. Warm, bitter, and sweet all at once. You stepped inside, suddenly feeling like you had crossed into a different reality. While outside was bleak and it looked like it threatened to rain again, inside was a wave of color. Splashes of pastels, warm colors, and warm yellow lights overhead.

For a moment, it almost felt like you could breathe again. Like the gaping hole inside you was replaced by a different thing.

But this feeling was fleeting.

There were only a handful of people inside the coffee shop. But one of them turned slightly toward you, the movement drawing your gaze to him.

Jeon Wonwoo might’ve sensed you, because he turned over his shoulder, spotting you instantly. He stood near the menu, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose.

He moved awkwardly, bowing his head politely when he caught your gaze.  

His lips moved, but you couldn’t make out his words.

This was the closest you’d come to anything connected to Kim Mingyu since the night he broke up with you.

Wonwoo flicked his gaze over your face—a hint of confusion, of something almost unreadable.

“Excuse me,” you cleared your throat, stepping closer to the counter.

“I said, do you want to order first?” he asked using a polite tone, but there was a usual dryness to it. “I am still deciding for myself.”

“I uh,” you fumbled, feeling the nerves prickling down your spine. “I-I’ll have an iced americano, please. And a cookie. Please.”

You sent a glance at Wonwoo, trying to come off as unbothered as you could. But there was no way you could mask the trembling of your fingers when you extended your hand to pay.

Wonwoo stood behind you, his hands shoved inside the pockets of his dark hoodie. “I’ll have a strawberry yogurt smoothie, please,” he said, pulling out his wallet and taking out a card with his nimble fingers.

You held your reaction. It was obfuscating to you that he would order such a fun and non-plain beverage like that.

But you both stood at the end of the bar, waiting for your beverages. None of you made eye contact again. But you could feel his furtive glances every ten seconds, when he thought you were too distracted looking at your phone.

But you were just staring at your phone, pretending to move your thumb down the screen.

Deep inside, you wanted to run. You wanted to crawl into the nearest, safest place you could find. You wanted to conjure up a way to disappear into thin air. But at the same time, you wanted to stay. To admire the closest thing that reminded you of him. Of Mingyu.

Your heart thumped in your ears. You wanted to hold onto the space where Wonwoo stood. Even as your order came down the bar and you picked it up.

But without meeting his gaze again, you grabbed your cup and turned around, heading to the door.

Wonwoo was there, pushing the door open before you could do it yourself. In one hand, he held his pink smoothie cup, and in the other, he held the door open for you. “Thank you,” you mumbled politely, exiting the coffee shop and joining the slow influx of people walking down the street.

“Don’t mention it,” Wonwoo replied. He looked like he didn’t expect to see you today. And in such a random part of the city.

After a beat, you realized that Wonwoo had fallen into step with you, forced to walk close to you due to the heavily transited sidewalk. 

“Are you heading down to the station?” Wonwoo asked curiously, motioning down at the stairs that led to the underground subway.

“Yeah. You too?” you replied. Your tone sounded suffocated. Like you were struggling to breathe properly.

“Yeah,” he said casually. He raised his gaze, surveying his surroundings like he was looking for a quick exit to leave you on your own.

But you tried to ignore it. A part of you was glad to have someone so familiar, but at the same time, so different from Mingyu. You never felt like Wonwoo liked you, so it was weirdly comforting that you had stumbled upon him. It was having someone so close to Mingyu, but different enough not to expect any questions coming from him.

The stairs were slick, wet with rain as you made your way into the station.

At the platform, the silence stretched. Wonwoo shifted his weight awkwardly, adjusting the strap of the bag slung across his body.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said after a minute, smiling shyly. “I promise I’m not following you or whatever.” He pushed his glasses up his nose and looked down at his feet.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind the company,” you admitted with a little bit of struggle.

Wonwoo raised his eyes to you, studying you for a moment. “Okay,” he said, appearing to ground himself next to you. And for a moment, you thought that if you hadn’t said that, he would’ve stepped away.

The train arrived, and you both watched it as it slowly came to a stop. The doors hissed open, and you both went in after waiting patiently for it to clear out.

But it was still very packed with people, forcing you to remain on your feet and close to him. You hooked an arm around the pole, still holding on for dear life to the straps of your tote bag and sipping carefully from your iced coffee.

“Do you—okay,” Wonwoo blurted, opting to stay at your side. He raised an arm over his head to grab onto one of the handles.

The wagon hissed and beeped as the time to get in or exit ran out. The doors closed, and you were gently swayed in motion with the car. Your body was gently moved forward, awkwardly bumping into Wonwoo.

“Sorry,” you whispered nervously, trying not to disrupt the peace and quiet from inside the wagon.

“Don’t be,” he whispered back, avoiding your eyes.

You tried to keep at least half an arm’s distance. Every time the train came to a stop, you tried to ground yourself as best as you could, clenching all of your muscles to the point it exhausted you.

And for a moment, the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was in fact more normal than you had expected it to be.

“Where do you get off?” you asked after he didn’t exit for three stops. It was then that you started to feel that your plans were about to change. And collide with his. 

“In the next one.”

You nodded slowly, trying to hide your doomed smile.

“You?” he asked, pausing and then, “You too?”

“Yep,” you replied.

Wonwoo let out an amused breath through his nose. “Museum?”

You blinked. “Yes,” you chuckled awkwardly. But then, you looked at Wonwoo, like really looked at him. He was sporting a camera bag across his shoulder.  “Don’t tell me—”

“Sculpture showing?” he raised his eyebrows, huffing a tiny laugh when you nodded.

“Yeah,” you sighed, looking down at your shoes.

The museum was half empty. A quiet, bustling series of sounds followed you inside as you moved towards the wide lobby. It was still beginning to rain again as you went inside, making you hope that it’d stop by the time you came out. 

You and Wonwoo moved without talking. As you went into the showing, you realized that it was organized so that you looked at each sculpture in a particular order, starting from the right side of the long room.

The showing was called A Human Connection. 

Wonwoo lingered a few steps away from you, his hands gripping his very expensive-looking camera, his head tilted like he was studying every bit of the sculptures, and looking for the perfect angle for a photo.

You wandered through the first few sculptures, pausing every so often to glance at him out of the corner of your eye. You realized he never strayed too far from you. But he didn’t speak, he didn’t voice the curiosity that showed behind his eyes every time his gaze flitted towards you.

The sculptures were beautiful, in a broken way. Bodies twisted in longing, hands that stretched to ghostly partners. Some figures leaned toward each other, sharing frozen and untouched kisses. A male figure knelt in front of a female figure, his arms clinging to her thighs, and he appeared to be hunched over her. Begging. 

You continued walking, trying not to think too much, otherwise it would begin to show on the features of your face. You were beginning to feel deeply affected. 

And then—you were forced to stop in front of one that caught your breath.

It was two human figures carved into smooth white stone, sitting back-to-back. The male figure had a hand stretching back, looking for the female figure who was leaving. In the stone where they both sat was a fracture, separating them definitively.

The woman was leaving. The man was trying to stop her. But beneath them, there was something broken.

You stared at it, feeling like life was playing a sick joke on you. Laughing at your pain.

Wonwoo joined you, standing beside you in utter silence.

You felt his eyes on you, but you pretended to be too enthralled by the sculpture to notice. For a while, neither of you spoke. And you tried your best to push all of your thoughts away.

“Do you think we’re all like that?” Wonwoo asked, his voice so quiet that you barely caught it.

You turned your head slowly. “Like what?”

He shrugged. “People who want to reach out. But only do it when it’s too late.”

You blinked at him, thrown off by the rare glimpse of vulnerability. “M-maybe.”

Wonwoo shifted, fixing his glasses awkwardly. He looked almost embarrassed, as though he, too, had been enthralled by the sculpture, and he didn’t realize who he was talking to. He appeared to be ready to move on to the next sculpture, but you opened your mouth, bringing him to a halt.

“I think that there are some people who still try,” you said. “People who reach out before it’s too late.”

Wonwoo looked at you. And you felt little under his scrutiny. You thought for a moment that he was going to take this as an opportunity to talk about what happened with Mingyu. To say something.

But he just stayed beside you. He had lowered his camera, deciding to absorb the beauty displayed in front of you. The warm light pouring from the skylight overhead created a shadow over the male figure, while the female figure glistened beautifully.

You slowly peeled off from the sculpture and moved onto the next. Wonwoo followed you silently, and you realized that his company was not at all what you had half-expected it to be. It was welcoming, something different and new. Like a silent truce that none of you were ready to acknowledge.

Wonwoo tipped his head toward the exit. “Are you heading back?” he asked when you had toured all the showing from start to finish.

You nodded quietly.

Outside, the sky had darkened. It had stopped raining, but it was considerably colder than before. The sidewalk was wet, and it glimmered under the streetlights, the pavement hissing loudly under the movement of the cars passing through.

You wrapped your arms around you, hugging your sweater tighter. You sucked in a breath, just as your teeth clattered quite dramatically, and loudly.

“Are you cold?” he asked, laughing lightly.

A small but meek smile tugged at your lips. “No, I’m not,” you lied through your teeth, laughing when the answer was obvious.

Wonwoo shrugged his leather jacket off, offering it to you without saying a word.

“I can’t” you said, blinking at him, alarmed.

“Take it,” he said simply. Like it was nothing to him and not something pregnant with meaning. He rolled his eyes, clearly getting why you were hesitant. “You’re shivering, come on.”

You hesitated, but took it anyway.

The fabric was warm, carrying the faintest trace of the laundry detergent that threatened to remind you of someone else. But as you let the jacket sit on your shoulders, another scent brushed against your senses. It was sweet, peachy, and warm. Oddly comforting.

You pulled it over your wrists, hiding your hands inside the sleeves.

Wonwoo didn’t say anything about it, but he looked at your sweater paws, now accompanied by his leather jacket. And the ghost of a smile appeared on his lips.

For a few blocks, you walked side by side, trading furtive glances when you thought that he might go away, or when you thought he wasn’t looking. He walked slowly, carefully taking each step to keep up with your slow pace. It was a quiet walk. Easy.

When you reached the station, he gave you one inquisitive look.

You knew he was dying to ask—because deep inside, you wanted to ask too. You wanted to know how Mingyu was faring, you wanted to know if he had been working on healing in all these weeks of no contact. A part of you wanted to know if he had tried to look for you.

But you couldn’t do it.

When you reached the station, you hesitated at first, but then you asked, “Are you heading home too?”

He nodded quietly.

“Same line?” you asked, though it was obvious. You knew where he lived and that he would have to use the same line to get there.

“Yeah.”

You both stepped inside the car, the floor wet with the dampness of all of the wet coats and umbrellas.

You quickly found a corner spot, standing close enough to Wonwoo that you could get that peachy scent coming from him too.

You both fell silent again. And it was okay.

As you both made your way out of the station, you realized that it had started raining again. You reached for your umbrella, preparing it as you climbed the stairs to the street.

Wonwoo paused, huffing a light laugh when he realized that it was raining harder than it was before.

You nudged him lightly with your elbow. “We can share,” you said, raising the umbrella above your head.

Wonwoo raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

You found yourself rolling your eyes at him. “You gave me your jacket,” you shrugged. “Fair is fair?”

Wonwoo didn’t understand why the smile was wiped off your face. But your heart had stuttered after you uttered those last words, which echoed to some distant memory. To somewhere you didn’t want to go yet.

For half a second, he remained motionless. But then he stepped closer to you, standing under the umbrella. As you started walking, your shoulders brushed—and you were thankful to have accepted his jacket and couldn’t feel his skin properly.

You both moved down the street slowly. Rain pattered around you, creating a bubble of sound that felt almost too private, enclosing you both.

Wonwoo cleared his throat beside you, adjusting the strap of his camera bag so it wouldn’t bump against you. “Allow me,” he whispered, taking the umbrella from your hand and adjusting it to his height.

“Oh, sorry,” you laughed lightly, realizing that you were making him hunch to fit your size.

“It’s okay,” he replied, glancing your way. He was smiling too, and it was then that you realized that his glasses were starting to fog.

When you reached the next corner, Wonwoo hesitated. “Which way do you take?” he asked.

You realized that while you knew where he lived, he didn’t know where you lived.

“That way,” you pointed. Your shoes were getting soaked. The corners of the umbrella were dripping water all around you. Your shoulder was wet somehow.

“Maybe I could order a ride for you,” he offered, fumbling for his phone.

“No, my place is right down the street,” you said, bringing a hand to stop him, your fingers gently grazing his wrist.

You dropped your hand, as though his skin had burned you.

Wonwoo raised his gaze at you.

“Take it,” you motioned to the umbrella with one hand. “You’ll need it more than I.”

Wonwoo looked at your hand, then at you. Something flickered across his face, but you were too slow to read it.

“Then take my jacket,” he said.

You gaped at him. “Oh, no—”

“Fair is fair,” he cut in.

You couldn’t hide the way his words impacted you. It was as though your chest had turned into ice, making it impossible for you to breathe. You couldn’t stop it now. You thought of him. Of Mingyu, of the rains that had brought him to your life. The first kiss you shared. And your heart broke again.

You blinked repeatedly, expertly hiding your tears. “At least let me know how I could give it back to you,” you stuttered, raising your gaze to him.

Jeon Wonwoo was smart. He must’ve known what you meant. But his eyes read your expression, taking in your words. Returning his jacket was simple—you knew where he worked, where he lived.

“W-without having t-to see him.” You explained, and even though you didn’t utter his name, your heart churned.

Wonwoo took out his phone, handing it to you without a word. “Give me your phone number,” he said at once.

You sent him another alarmed expression. But he was not discussing it.

“Come on. Before we’re both soaked over,” he urged, almost as though it bothered him to know where your uncertainty was coming from.

Your heart twisted. But you took his phone, typing your number and swiftly calling your phone so you could register his number.

You handed his phone back, exchanging one lingering look that meant something. His eyes read your face, probably finding the vulnerable girl in your glinting eyes.

“Take care of yourself,” he muttered dryly, turning away once you nodded at him, too stunned to say something back.

You ran across the street, stopping under the awning before the entrance to your building. Looking over your shoulder, Wonwoo was walking down the street, your umbrella firmly in his grasp as he disappeared into the next corner of the street.

As soon as you came to your apartment, you peeled his jacket off. You saw Wonwoo’s face as the strong smell of peach and pachouli brushed against your senses.

The emptiness inside you started to ache at its edges.

Your apartment was dark, and dead silent. You closed the window to stop the rain from splashing inside and moved to the kitchen.

You had some leftovers from the night before. Curled up on one corner of the couch, watching something you have watched a thousand times already. There was a pause in the movie, and everything stilled in your apartment.

Maybe I should get a cat, you thought impulsively.

Your phone buzzed beside you, making your heart stop for a split-second.

It was past midnight. Nobody really texted you at this hour anymore.

You reached for it, expecting a dumb notification from some random app.

But it was Wonwoo.

“thanks for the umbrella.

you saved my camera. and me.”

You stared at the two text messages for a long second. A part of you wanted to acknowledge the strange, warm feeling you got from getting a text from someone. Even if it was Jeon Wonwoo.

You pulled your knees to your chest, gnawing on your lower lip as you pressed your thumbs on the screen. “You’re welcome. I’m glad.”

Almost immediately, the three little dots appeared. “did you get home alright?”

You didn’t take his text message as an invasion. But almost as a way for him to still be polite. A gentleman.

But you were still caught a little off-guard. It had been a while since you interacted with someone, so for him to be so… thoughtful made you take a pause.

You rested your chin on your knees. “Yeah, I did. Thank you.”

Wonwoo didn’t reply right away.

You stared at the screen for a while, half-expecting the conversation to die there.

But then another reply came, “have a good night.”

Something squeezed painfully in your chest. It was nothing. It’s nothing, you thought over and over. He’s being polite, nothing more.

A part of you felt ridiculed. Someone was being nice to you and your heart was already suffering, hurting as though you were running a marathon. Running away from something, more like.

“Thanks. You too,” you replied, acknowledging the way your heart faltered in stress with a big sigh.

It was nothing, yet you put your phone away as though it had suddenly burned your hands. The emptiness inside you warmed over such simple words. But just like that, the cocoon that you had wrapped to protect yourself was fractured.

Resurfacing meant that you had to give explanations to the people closest to you.

You pushed the door open to Casa Pump House, relieved to find it emptier than usual. Wednesday evenings were quieter. You’d been strictly coming to the gym around seven—avoiding Sundays at all costs. And so far, you’d successfully avoided Mingyu.

What you couldn’t avoid though, was Jungkook’s expert capacity for gossip. He’d known something was wrong after Mingyu broke up with you—your two-week disappearance and radio silence were louder than any verbal confirmation.

You only started coming to the gym sporadically, and you rarely caught Jungkook on shift. But the times you did, you avoided talking about it, about him. And Jungkook took the hint.

However, he could only keep it to himself for so long.

“Aaay,” Jungkook jogged over with a wide smile, softening the features of his face. “If it isn’t my favorite girl.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Is that what you tell every girl in here?”

He shrugged. “Just the ones that are evil to me,” he said with a light chuckle. But the grin slowly vanished, as his doe eyes studied you from head to toe. “Are you okay?”

Your heart faltered at the sound of his voice softening. He must’ve noticed the dark circles under your eyes. “I think you already know,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

Jungkook pursed his lips slightly, giving you a short nod. “Yeah. He uh… he told me last night when I stopped by the bar,” he sighed, placing his hands on his hips. He chewed on the side of his lip that wasn’t adorned with piercings. “How are you handling it?”

You licked your lips and balled a hand into a fist, trying to hold yourself true to your promise. “I’m doing okay,” you said. But your voice came out thinner than you had wanted. You sounded brittle, and unsure. “As best as I can be.”

The features of his face shifted, and he took a tiny step towards you, having to tilt his head forward to look into your eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly, even though you were the only ones in the gym at that moment, and no one would listen to you.

You shook your head, tightening your lips into a straight line.

“That’s okay,” he said, his tone still gentle and quiet. “If you ever need to talk about it—about anything at all—you know you can call me, right?”

You raised your gaze to his big eyes. You never expected someone so lively and fun to bring you such calm to your heart. You nodded. “Thank you, JK,” you whispered, unable to bring your voice any higher. “I appreciate it.”

He nodded. “Don’t mention it,” he said. And then, stepping back, he brought his hands together in a thunderous clap. “Alright, let’s put you to work. Let’s go!” he roared vigorously.

You smiled despite yourself, wishing you could just flip a switch like that.

But for the first time in weeks, you felt better.

The Spot was quiet, as expected from a rainy Tuesday afternoon. But being it being a slow day didn’t mean that the regular tasks stopped there.

Seungcheol had taken the day off with his girlfriend. So that meant that it was just Mingyu and Wonwoo handling the bar. But that was fine, since the only customers there were the three Tuesday usuals.

Mingyu had been trying not to fixate on his phone, but he had been struggling to keep himself present and found that looking at mindless things on his phone allowed him to escape his reality.

Lately, life had been suffocating. Work was alright, nothing Mingyu couldn’t deal with. No, the suffocating feeling came from not being able to stop wishing he had something that occupied his time, his energy and his mind completely.

Because every time that silence stretched and he found himself alone, he would see you in the eye of his mind. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he did the right thing, he still felt that he had made a terrible mistake.

His fingers itched—he wanted to call you, to open your chat and tell you to meet up. He wanted to tell you that he missed you every single day and night. When it got dark and quiet, he ached to call you. Even if it was the middle of the night, just to hear your voice. To hear your tiny, and sweet giggles.

He blinked slowly, breathing in deeply to try and get rid of the pain in his chest. It was as though the feelings that were beginning to bloom for you had withered and had grown thorns around them, twisting around his heart.  

He was at that point in his heartbreak where memories were beginning to hurt, but he couldn’t keep himself away from them. Sometimes he wished he had taken photos of you so he could have your pretty face to look at when he missed you too much. But he resorted to just looking at your profile photo.

It was a photo that your best friend, Mona, had taken one night out. You were smiling at the camera, lifting your chin in a prim manner. Behind you was a colorful mural, painting two great wings behind you, spreading and merging with an array of wildflowers.

You were squeezing your eyes shut in the photo. And he could almost picture the moment—your friend convincing you to take the photo, and you standing there until something got a smile out of you.

His heart twisted painfully when the word Online appeared below your name. He exited the chat quickly, feeling ridiculous for a moment. He pocketed his phone, lifting his gaze to make sure that no one had seen him act so impulsively.

But as he resumed with his task behind the bar, he was consumed now with memories of you. A call wouldn’t hurt, a sneaky thought flashed across his mind. She would understand, she always does.

No, Mingyu told himself sternly. He has done enough damage to you. He came into your life just to make a mess of it. You were better off without him.

He was a mess. And he had to make himself better before he could seek you out again.

Because that was his plan, at least. Get better, heal his heart, and look for you when he were ready.   

Maybe that’s why he felt so out of place. Because, in his heart, he wanted you. He wanted more with you, but just didn’t feel like he was ready to fully love you yet. He knew what he was capable of when his heart was in it. When he wasn’t backing away at the first sign of commitment.

He knew that you deserved better. And he could give you better.

But it wasn’t the right time.

Still, that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t think of you. Even though memories hurt, he was addicted to them. Like blissfully drowning in a violent river.

He thought of you, of your voice, of the smell of your hair. He liked to live in the memories where you looked at him lovingly. Those memories when he was inside your body, kissing you like you were his lifeline, because maybe you were.

In his mind, he hugged your body again, losing himself in you. Kissing you, telling you things he never got to in real life.

Something was beginning to rouse inside him when a hand came to his shoulder, patting him in a familiar, gentle way.

Mingyu turned around. Wonwoo was just coming back from his break, nodding to the kitchen door. “You have one hour,” he said promptly.

“What’s on the menu today?” Mingyu asked, not caring that he wasn’t even pretending enough to make his voice sound livelier.

“Sandwiches and fries,” Wonwoo replied, looking curiously at Mingyu, but didn’t ask any questions.

Wonwoo was a very patient friend. He would never intrude when he felt things were still stormy—so he hadn’t dared to pry since the night Mingyu broke up with you.

But Wonwoo was there to see the mess. Mingyu had come home that night and didn’t say a word. He locked himself in his room, and for two whole days, Wonwoo didn’t see or speak to him.

Ever since that night, Mingyu had seemed… hollow. Soulless. Like something in him was missing, and with each passing day, it only got worse—not better.

And ever since Wonwoo saw you at the museum, he’d wanted to ask Mingyu what really happened. But it still felt too soon.

“I’ll be back, then,” Mingyu said, patting Wonwoo’s back as he walked past.

Wonwoo nodded, his eyes following Mingyu until he disappeared through the kitchen door. He exhaled heavily, shaking his head before returning to the task he’d left off. He was in the middle of organizing the inventory, a routine so familiar, he could practically do it with his eyes closed.

The front door creaked open. Wonwoo would’ve normally glanced up to greet whoever entered, but he was too focused on counting boxes of beer.

“What are you serving tonight, sir?” a familiar voice called out.

Wonwoo smiled. Through the corner of his eye, he saw a familiar figure settling on the stool at the bar.

“Same as ever,” he said, raising his gaze to meet one of his oldest friends. Changkyun.

Wonwoo set his notebook aside and turned to the fridge, grabbing a beer. He placed the bottle on the counter just as Changkyun reached for the opener.

“It’s been a while,” Changkyun said with a tired groan.

“Well, since you started living your healthy life, I see you less,” Wonwoo quipped with a small smile.

“Healthy life?” Changkyun raised an eyebrow. “Getting up at five in the morning to host a radio show is not my definition of healthy.”

“Still, you get more sleep than I do,” Wonwoo shrugged.

“Shut up. You probably make more money in a week with those stupid girls’ nights you’re always advertising,” Changkyun said, narrowing his eyes and pointing at Wonwoo with the neck of the beer.

“That wasn’t my idea—it was Mingyu’s,” Wonwoo replied, raising both palms in mock innocence.

Right then, Mingyu came out of the kitchen. He didn’t acknowledge either of them. He walked straight past the bar and exited through the back door, a storm cloud in human form.

“What’s up with him?” Changkyun motioned toward the door Mingyu had just walked through.

Wonwoo kept his eyes on the door for a moment, ensuring it was shut, then turned back to Changkyun. “Same thing as last time.”

Changkyun raised his eyebrows. “Damn. That breakup hit him harder than I thought.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “He and Gigi broke up months ago,” he said. “This is someone else.”

“Really?” Changkyun tilted his head. “Huh. One messy breakup can lead to an even messier one.”

Wonwoo remained quiet. His own experience with heartbreak was... limited, at best. If he could call it that. He had only ever had healthy, uneventful relationships. Nothing explosive. Nothing shattering. He even stayed friends with all of his exes.

“Please elaborate,” he muttered, resting his hands on the lacquered countertop.

Changkyun shrugged. “You know—when you're still hurting from one person and find someone else to patch you up?” he said. “One poison drives out another.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond right away.

But part of his mind replayed the memory of you��standing beneath the skylight at the museum. The distant look in your eyes. Like something wild and wounded, cautiously stepping into the world again.

He also remembered the night at the bar. When he’d warned you to be careful with Mingyu. Because at the time, he truly believed it was you who might hurt him. Now he realized you’d defended Mingyu so vehemently—only to be the one left behind. It wasn’t you who had been reckless. You weren’t the loose cannon. It was Mingyu.

“I don’t really like what you’re insinuating,” Wonwoo said, rolling his eyes. But deep down, he couldn’t deny that Changkyun might be right.

“Relax, I’m not saying he used her intentionally,” Changkyun replied, glancing at the back door. “But he could still care about her... and use her at the same time.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t make it easier. I’d hate myself too, if I were in his shoes.”

Wonwoo weighed this new idea in silence. He knew Mingyu—knew how deeply he could love. But ever since that breakup with Gigi, something in him had changed. He was more guarded, more distant. A little broken.

Still, to seek you out as comfort… only to discard you when things got too real? That was something Wonwoo never imagined his best friend capable of.

And now, he wondered. Had Mingyu ever really seen you for who you were? Or was he only ever looking for someone to fill the void?

Did he look for his ex in your eyes?

Wonwoo grabbed his phone, quickly finding your name in the list of chats he had ongoing. “there’s a bookstore right across the street from the museum” he wrote to you, his fingers quickly sending out the next words: “we could meet there if you’re free next monday”

You stared at the screen, your heart thudding nervously.

“Hello?” you typed back. “Not even a hi, good evening?”

The three little dots appeared on his end quickly. “hi” he replied.

“How very eloquent,” you mumbled to yourself, your thumbs hovering over the keypad, but you stopped yourself before you could think of what else to say.

“or maybe we could meet somewhere closer to yours, however you prefer” read his texts after some seconds went by.

Your breathing was uneasy. This wasn’t a date. Or something where you had to make yourself look pretty and presentable, you told yourself.

It was simple.

“I love bookstores” you wrote, and then: “And I’m free this Monday”

His reply came shortly after that. “good. see you then”

And that was it.

So Monday rolled around quicker than you probably would have wished for. The morning was wrapped in a chilly layer of mist from the rains overnight. The clouds hung low, dark, and almost threatening to rain again.

You wore a raincoat and packed an extra umbrella, just in case. Since the day was already cold, you made sure to dress appropriately, but as you made your way to the station, beads of sweat had started to gather on your forehead.

Inside the car, you could feel the warmth coming from the heaters below, making you wish you had worn lighter clothes. But with this treacherous weather, it was better to be safe than sorry.

You adjusted the strap of your bag nervously as you walked down the street. You were familiar with the bookstore where Wonwoo wanted to meet with you, but you had never gone inside. You were curious to know why he wanted to meet there—was it because it was so close to the museum?

You hesitated for a second before pushing the door open. You were immediately hit with a sense of wonder, and the questions in your head also piled up and doubled the size once you went inside.

The store wasn’t a typical one. It was just one floor, with rows of sandy brown bookshelves lined up and organized in a way that almost made it look like a maze. In the middle, there was a circular coffee bar. Low indie music played in the background, occasionally interrupted by the loud hiss of the coffee machines.

Wonwoo sat on one of the stools, his fingers wrapped around a small white coffee cup. He took a sip, then lowered the cup slowly. His glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose, and he pushed them up, raising his gaze.

He spotted you immediately, but his expression gave no indication of whether he was pleased to see you.

This was slightly perplexing as you approached the bar. Something stirred inside you at the scent of coffee—and the strong smell of peaches and pachouli.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Wonwoo said quietly, turning to glance at the light book he’d been reading. He closed it, resting his palm on top.

You flashed him an alarmed look, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Why, am I late?” you asked, checking your watch.

“No, just—” Wonwoo shook his head lightly. He motioned to the blackboard menu in front of you. “Coffee?”

You gaped at him a little. “Yeah,” you sighed, discontent creeping into your voice. “You’re really confusing to me.”

Wonwoo arched an eyebrow, watching as you ordered. Once the barista took your request, he cleared his throat. “Why confusing?” he asked, lifting his cup again. You noticed he was drinking a double espresso.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, lowering the straps of your bag and placing it on your lap.

You looked up at the ceiling. The soft, orange glow from the lights above made the space feel warmer—almost like an eternal sunset. The room was also adorned with hanging plants that reached into every corner.

You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze on you, and when you turned to him, your suspicions were confirmed. He didn’t look away or pretend not to be observing you.

But you were the one who turned away first. “I thought you hated me,” you confessed, lowering your voice as shyness crept up your neck, making your face hot.

His lips curved in a tiny, downturned smile. “Why?” he asked gently.

The barista placed your drink beside you. You thanked them, wrapping your hands around the cup, even though your fingers weren’t cold.

“I just got the feeling you didn’t like me. When I was dating Mingyu,” you said, your heart stammering at your own boldness.

Wonwoo blinked, taking the last sip of his coffee. “I never disliked you,” he said bluntly, offering a solemn look that made you realize how quickly you had judged him. “Nor did I have anything against you. I thought I was looking out for him.”

“Yeah. I got that,” you whispered, nervously rotating your cup on its saucer.

He leaned in slightly, his face still serious—but now tinged with a quiet kindness. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you smiled, unable to hide the hurt lingering behind your eyes.

He tapped his thumb against the cup and drew in a long breath through his teeth. “Are you doing okay?” he asked, his brows knitting slightly as he looked at you.

You met his gaze, surprised by both the question and the softness in his tone. You opened your mouth to lie—to say you were fine, better than ever.

But there was no escaping his expert scrutiny.

“I’m trying,” you finally admitted, your voice barely holding itself up.

Wonwoo nodded, gaze softening. But he didn’t push further. It was almost like he was waiting to confirm something he already suspected.

“Is he—” you swallowed hard, nearly choking on your spit as you turned your face. You sighed the nerves out of your chest.

“He’s doing okay,” Wonwoo said, understanding exactly what you meant to ask.

There was honesty in his eyes. But then he looked back down at his empty coffee cup.

“He’s kind of a mess, but he’ll be fine,” he added. Now his voice carried a raw edge to it. “Mingyu has a tendency to fall too fast. Gets hurt in the process. Always.”

The words rang with a heavy familiarity. You blinked, trying to recall where you’d heard them before.  It was in your kitchen. One morning, after Mingyu had stayed over. The ache in your heart returned. “I know,” you choked out. “He told me.”

“I’m sorry it ended like that,” Wonwoo said. “For both of you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” you blinked, confused.

The light glimmered off his glasses. You saw his dark eyes searching your face, his lips parting ever so slightly.

“I guess this is me offering you an olive branch,” he said with a polite smile. “I never meant to intimidate you—or make you feel like I didn’t like you.” He straightened up in his seat, bowing his head slightly. “I regret being an asshole to you.”

You let out a laugh. “You’re forgiven,” you said, warmth creeping into your chest. “But don’t think we’re friends now,” you teased.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied with a grin.

You smiled—and your eyes drifted to the camera bag on the stool beside him.

The shop was nearly deserted. Two girls browsed the graphic novel aisle, while a few others lingered near the coffee bar. It reminded you of The Spot—except with bookshelves and hanging plants, instead of bright neon signs and loud rock music.

“Do you come here often?” you asked.

“Mm-hmm,” he nodded. “It’s quiet. Coffee’s good. Cookies are even better,” he added, pointing to the pastry case behind the glass.

“Have you tried them all?” you asked, eyeing the double chocolate cookie.

“I haven’t tried the pumpkin one,” he shook his head lightly.

You ordered a chocolate cookie, thinking that you were probably in need of a sugar rush. But deep down, you were wary, trying to protect yourself from more questions that you were sure were about to start.

“Do you carry your camera everywhere?” you asked instead, motioning to the camera bag on the other seat next to him.

“Just when I have days off,” he shrugged. “Mingyu pushed me to do this photography course online, and they’re very strict about the homework so,” he clicked his tongue, patting the camera bag with one hand.

You wanted to huff, getting the familiarity of his words yet again. “You don’t say.”

You took a bite from your chocolate cookie, humming in delight as the chocolate chips melted on your tongue. Wonwoo glanced your way, smiling softly as he outlined the corner of the book cover with one fingertip.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, and it was the gentleness in his tone that really grounded you in reality.

You shook your head, swallowing hard as you tried to keep yourself composed. “I’m not good at talking about things,” you pointed out.

But you didn’t know what it was. Maybe it was the chocolate dimming your good senses. Maybe it was the coziness inside the book shop that made you feel wrapped up in warmth and the smell of fresh coffee.

Or maybe it was the sound of Wonwoo’s voice. Inviting, soft and comfortable like velvet.

“I knew what I was getting myself into,” you said, your voice breaking in the middle of your sentence. “I knew Mingyu was still healing from his previous relationship. But I still decided to stay, to be there for him. And he was really reassuring, you know? Sometimes he made me forget about his situation.”

You risked sending a quick glance at Wonwoo, and he nodded to you. “Yeah, I know,” he said gently.

“But one day he would tell me he wanted to be with me, and then he would disappear for days,” you added, and your throat closed up, your voice sounding bitter at the end of your sentence.

The atmosphere stilled, like stopping to witness your heartache. Even though time had passed, and you hadn’t seen Mingyu or talked to him again—the wound was still fresh. Flashes from when you sat at those bleachers haunted you, threatening to swallow you whole.

“It’s crazy because we were never anything serious,” you shrugged as a defense mechanism, like trying to get rid of the burden around your shoulders. “It was casual. No strings, no expectations—” you huffed a bitter laugh, tears brimming in your eyes. “But it hurts even more than when I broke up with my ex.”

Wonwoo shifted beside you, turning slightly on his seat to look at you better. “Your ex?” he muttered, so quietly that you barely heard him.

You nodded slowly, chewing on your lower lip. “Before Mingyu, I was with someone for years,” you said, and somehow, it felt easier to tell Wonwoo. As though nothing could hurt you anymore. “We lived together. I had plans and dreams of building a life with him, but…” You looked away, sighing tiredly. “He told me he wasn’t looking for marriage, nor something more serious.”

There was a pause.  And you were sure that Wonwoo was waiting for you to say something else, but you just took another bite from your cookie.

“I’m sorry to hear that. That must’ve been really difficult for you,” he said, shifting again on his seat as he sighed deeply.

But your words started to sink into his mind. What happened with Mingyu was even more hurtful than what your ex-boyfriend did to you. Breaking up with someone after an unreconcilable difference was something—and by the time you broke up with him, you were already emotionally resigned.

But the feeling of almost being something cut even deeper.

You laughed awkwardly. “I’m sorry I’m dumping all of this on you,” you told him, holding in your tears. “And after telling you that I wasn’t good at talking about serious stuff.”

Wonwoo shrugged, giving you a light, easy smile. “It’s the curse of a bartender,” he told you. “But I’m glad that you opened up. It’s already hard to deal with things, but to keep them all to yourself makes it suffocating.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you mumbled.

You placed your elbow on the counter, resting your chin on your fist. “So you took the photos that are hanging on your living room?” you asked promptly, making it obvious that you needed to change the subject.

And he caught it straight away. “A couple of them, yes,” he mumbled, looking down at his camera bag. “I’m actually thinking of taking a stroll near the river. I have this task I need to get done, and maybe I can snap some good photos there.”

Your tummy twisted. It was hard to read if it was an invitation or not, so you just nodded.

“If you wanna come and hang out, it’s fine by me,” he whispered, noticing the hesitation in your expression.

You saw the glint in his eyes, there was an easiness on the tiny smile he showed you.

You were almost about to decline. To tell him that you were busy and had a ton of things to do at home.

But you felt lonely. And there was nothing serious about his invitation. It was just hanging out. 

“I’d like that,” you replied. But then you paused, “But before we go, I want to get some books.”

You stepped outside the shop and waited.

The pavement was slick with water from the light rain that had ceased moments before. The sky was still gray, blanketing the street with a quiet, gloomy heaviness.

Wonwoo followed soon after, now wearing the jacket he’d lent you. He glanced up at the sky and made a face. “This is not very ideal,” he muttered.

You nodded, adjusting the strap of your tote bag, which now hung heavy with books. “We could wait it out,” you offered with a shrug.

He looked around, scanning for shelter.

“Or,” you added, “we could just make our way to the river—take the opportunity while it’s not raining.”

Before he could respond, you were already heading down the street. Wonwoo fell into step beside you, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.

“What did you get?” he asked, nodding toward your tote bag.

“A couple of graphic novels,” you said, peeking into the bag. “I’m also doing a course—learning tips and tricks about graphic design.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You also got convinced to take a course?”

You nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

Wonwoo patted his camera bag. “I see,” he murmured, voice low.

A silence fell between you. But it wasn’t awkward—not this time. It reminded you of that quiet day at the museum. Stillness, but not distance.

“This is nice,” you said.

He turned his head toward you. “What is?”

“Not trying to run off,” you answered. “Not pretending I’m okay.”

He blinked, visibly unsure how to respond. But he didn’t look away. Something about speaking plainly with him felt good. For the first time in months, you weren’t hiding. You didn’t have to pretend you weren’t hurting.

After a moment, Wonwoo pushed his glasses up. “It is nice,” he said softly.

Both of you walked in silence, the city slightly slowed and hushed by the cold rain. The river glinted ahead, catching what little light managed to break through the clouds.

Wonwoo paused, slipping his bag off his shoulder and unzipping it. “Wait,” he said.

You tilted your head. “You don’t want to get closer to the river?”

“This is okay,” he murmured, already adjusting his camera.

A twist tightened in your tummy when you realized the lens was pointing toward you. “Should I step away?”

He didn’t answer right away. He looked through the viewfinder with quiet concentration. “Don’t move,” he murmured.

You obeyed, though your nerves got the better of you—you shifted slightly, turning your head to the side to avoid meeting the camera’s eye.

Through the lens, Wonwoo saw you standing alone on the path that led down to the river. The pavement was scattered with the last of autumn’s leaves, but it was your face that caught him—the distant, thoughtful look in your eyes. The way you refused to look at him, even though he was really seeing you. All of you.

When he lowered the camera, you exhaled. “You could’ve told me you needed a model.”

The faintest smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe. But you would’ve said no.”

“True,” you admitted. “I’m not a model. I don’t know how to pose.”

“So you say,” he replied, brushing past you with a grin. “Stand over there.”

He pointed to a spot closer to the river, and you laughed under your breath.

“Fine. But you’re holding this.”

You shoved your tote bag full of books into his hands. He caught it with ease, the grin on his face widening.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest ached a little less. There was something in his boyish smile, in the gentle playfulness behind his glasses. And without thinking, you moved to where he asked, standing without questioning his order.

But the moment you stopped, you became overly aware of your body—your arms, your shoulders, your mouth.

“Look at me,” Wonwoo said softly.

You did. And in that moment, you forgot what it meant to pose. You weren’t smiling. You weren’t guarded. You just looked at him. And he looked at you, the shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The camera clicked. And you waited for him to take another shot, or to move.

“That’s it?” you asked, blinking away from him.

“I got it,” he nodded, his voice slightly hoarse.

He lowered the camera, and his eyes lingered on you for a second longer than they should’ve. His gaze softened. He looked thoughtful for a moment, until he gave you a sheepish smile.

“You’re surprisingly good at this.”

You snorted. “Surprisingly?” you said with a laugh, stepping toward him. “I probably look like those Renaissance paintings where they were still figuring out how to paint cats.”

He laughed out loud. “You’d make a very cute ugly cat,” he teased.

Your cheeks flushed, and you almost hated that you were smiling at him. But then his eyes met yours again, and you felt that same shift in your chest. That stupid pull, that traitorous flutter of your heart.

Wonwoo tilted his head slightly, motioning at his camera. “Would you like to see the picture?”

You hesitated for a second—unsure why it suddenly felt like it was a big deal to step in closer to him—but nodded. He stepped closer, holding out his camera. And you leaned in, your shoulder brushing his.

You tried to focus on the photo, but the proximity was almost dizzying, and the strong smell of peaches filled your head. Your breath hitched.

The photo wasn’t perfect. You instantly saw all of the little imperfections surrounding you. Your hair was windblown, your expression flat. But your eyes… there was a softness in your eyes. A realness in them.

“You see?” he said. “Surprisingly photogenic.”

“I look caught off guard,” you murmured sheepishly.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t look good,” he corrected gently.

Your heart thumped so hard that you were sure it was almost audible. But he didn’t look away.

You breathed in, trying to push the fluttering feeling out of you as you exhaled. “I should get going,” you said.

Wonwoo nodded, noticing the look in your eyes. “Your bag,” he said and unhooked the umbrella that you had lent him the other night. “Thank you for the umbrella and now the photos. I owe you one.”

You gave him a small smile. “You owe me nothing,” you told him. “It’s what friends do, right?”

Wonwoo paused, and for the first time, you wanted to get an in on what he was thinking. “Right,” he nodded.

Friends.

The apartment was dark when Wonwoo walked in, and only the faint light coming from the TV illuminated the way. Slipping off his shoes, he took his jacket off and hung it on the coat rack by the entrance.

Mingyu was on the couch, looking at his phone, not really watching anything. He was just sitting there, elbows planted on his knees, head bowed like he had been stuck in that position for a while before Wonwoo came home.

Wonwoo opened the fridge, took out a banana milk and punched the hole with the little straw. He sipped quietly, afraid to break the silence.

But it was Mingyu who spoke first. “You were out late.”

Wonwoo leaned against the counter, pressing his elbows against it. “Yeah. I went to the bookstore. Took some photos near the river.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, still not looking at him.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asked slowly, starting to feel worried.

Mingyu shook his head. “I ruined everything.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything right away. The rawness in Mingyu’s voice made Wonwoo’s heart falter.

“I keep thinking about her. About what I did,” Mingyu said, putting his phone away.

Wonwoo caught a glimpse of your profile photo on the display. His heart dropped to his stomach. “So call her.”

Mingyu gave a small, empty smile. “It’s not that simple,” he said, rolling his eyes with an annoyance that Wonwoo was sure was directed towards something else, not him.

“No, I know it’s not simple,” he said. “But it’s a start.”

Mingyu finally looked up, his tired eyes finding Wonwoo’s. “Would you?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. “If you had broken her heart, would you do it?”

Wonwoo shrugged, like the answer was clear as day. “If I cared about her, yeah. I would.”

Wonwoo remembered your sad smile. He remembered the brittle sound of your voice when you talked about your past heartbreak.

Mingyu looked away, shaking his head. “She deserved better than the way I left things.”

Wonwoo’s throat tightened, it was hard to swallow. He thought about the photos in his camera. About you. Your eyes. The way you were finally starting to laugh again.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo said softly. “Yeah, she does.”

But Mingyu didn’t catch the shift in his tone. He locked his phone, deciding to not call you, nor text you. Not yet.

“I’m not ready,” Mingyu said, rising from the couch.

Wonwoo watched him walk to his bedroom, locking the door behind him.

After a moment, Wonwoo decided to head to his bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.

He leaned against the door for a long second, letting his head rest back, closing his eyes. The silence inside the apartment felt heavier—a hundred times worse than before.

He pressed the Enter button on his keyboard, bringing his computer to life. The hum coming from the fans of his computer started to fill the room. Wonwoo used the faint light coming from his double monitors to look for a change of clothes, something comfortable, before he sat down to work.

After he found a pair of black shorts and an oversized white t-shirt, he sat down on his chair, getting his camera out of its bag.

He scrolled through the different photos he got from the day at the museum. And then the photos he got from today. Photos of the wet pavement, the river, and the leaves scattered on the floor.

And you.

Wonwoo’s breath caught when he saw a photo he didn’t realize he had caught. In this photo, you weren’t looking at the camera. There was a softness in your features, a sad look in your eyes. The way you stood in the light, the shadows pooling at your feet.

Wonwoo stared at the photo, his finger hovering on the right click for a second before he moved the photo to another folder. One that wasn’t destined for the task.

He leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his long, dark hair. He didn’t want to feel guilty. He hadn’t done anything wrong, he knew this. But the weight in his heart begged to differ.

Wonwoo reached for his phone as he chewed on his bottom lip.

Then, with a laboured sigh, he opened your chat.

The last message between you and him was a simple thank you after he asked if you had arrived home alright. It was simple, friendly. 

Wonwoo hesitated, flexing his fingers over the keyboard before typing: “it was good seeing you today”

And that was it. He put the phone away, face down on his desk and dropped his head back against the chair. His heart was doing that stutter that it hadn’t done in a while. 

In years, even.

Things happen randomly sometimes. You weren’t looking for your life to be derailed one Sunday night. Not on purpose, at least.

You were curled up on your bed, scrolling numbly through your phone, a thing that would eventually lead to falling asleep, but you weren’t having any luck yet.

Your phone started vibrating in your hands, and the picture of your best friend from college, Mona appeared on the screen.

You had been dodging her calls lately, feeling like your recent actions might bring her judgment. But something about her calling late at night spiked your intrigue.

You swiped your thumb across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Hey there,” Mona replied, and something about her tone was off.

“Is everything okay?” you asked curiously.

“I need you to sit down,” Mona instructed bluntly.

You sat up on your bed, reclining on the headboard. “What’s happening?”

“Listen, I’m only doing this because I don’t want you to find out by other means.”

“Please, Mona, just tell me,” you sighed tiredly, already feeling the weight of anxiousness seeping in.

“Jay is getting married.”

You stopped cold. It was as though you were abruptly submerged into a pool of ice-cold water. Your body was too slow and too heavy to muster a reaction.

“W-what?” you blurted. A part of you felt like your friend was playing a really bad prank on you.

“Jay just announced his engagement,” she repeated, and you could hear the raw rage in her tone.

“H-how do you know?” you stammered, trying to compose yourself with slow and deep breaths.

Mona didn’t get along with your ex-boyfriend. Or with anyone who was still related to him. You knew this.

“Someone sent me screenshots. Look—I don’t mean to put you in a bad spot, but,” she paused, and you could tell from the deep sigh coming out of her that she was debating to tell you more. “But you deserve to know. Before someone else tells you and makes it worse.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, your breath catching painfully against your ribs. “Thank you, Mona,” you told her.

“I got you,” she said right before hanging up.

It was about two seconds later that she sent you two pictures. There he was. Your ex. Smiling in a way you hadn’t seen in years, his arm slung around someone else’s shoulders. It was a girl you didn’t recognize. But she was cute. Glowing with a radiant smile on her face, showing off her brand new engagement ring.

The caption under the photo made your stomach lurch.

To a future together- Mr. and Ms. Bang 💞

You stared at the photo. Read the caption. Then stared at the photo again.

The screen blurred, and you realized that your hands were shaking.

No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.

You left the phone aside, burying your face in your hands as though you could fix the stabbing pain in your chest.

You weren’t supposed to care anymore. You stopped caring about your ex long ago. But the pain was raw, eating at your heart quickly. It hurt so deep you couldn’t breathe.

It was like you were sitting at that basketball court again. With nothing but your aching heart in your hands.

The room was spinning, and everything felt wrong. You got out of bed, grabbed your hoodie, keys, and shoved your phone in your pocket. And without thinking, you scrambled to the door.

You needed to get out of there. You needed to move, to do something.

It rained again on the walk to the nearest convenience store. But you didn’t bother with an umbrella this time. You let the drizzle soak into your hair, your hoodie, your sneakers.

Maybe the rain could help wash this pain out of you. Maybe the rain could fix whatever was broken inside you.

You grabbed a couple of bottles of alcohol, not caring what you took with you and paid.

You were walking out of the convenience store when you bumped into him. A tall, hard frame that almost had you stumbling back onto the floor, weren’t for those hands holding you steady.

You looked up, your heart stopping at once when you saw the man who had helped you catch your step.

“Careful there,” Jeon Wonwoo said, helping you catch your step.

His gaze swept over you—taking in your soaked hoodie, your damped hair, your hurt, glassy eyes.

“Sorry,” you said awkwardly, looking down at your feet.

Rain continued to fall, slowly, trickling down the back of your head and soaking through your clothes. You were sure that Wonwoo had already spotted the state you were in, and the bag with bottles of alcohol inside.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just watched you, studied you.

And saying nothing was somehow worse. Because it meant that he saw all of you. He saw the way you could barely hold yourself together. Your lip quivered. You hated yourself. You hated the power that you had given to other people to make you feel this way.

You blinked rapidly, trying to fight the sting in your eyes. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“I was heading back home but—” Wonwoo took a cautious step towards you, like approaching something wounded and dangerous.

“Hey,” he spoke quietly, his voice barely audible. “You’re okay?”

The stupid kindness in his voice snapped something inside you.

The first sob ripped from your throat without any warning. It was sharp, humiliating. It told of the many days and nights you contained yourself. You clamped a hand over your mouth, but it was far too late.

Wonwoo swayed towards you, closing the distance. He didn’t touch you, not right away. He just stood there, as though figuring out what to do. Figuring out what he wanted to do.

Something broke loose in you. Without thinking, you stumbled forward, crashing into his chest. Your hand clutched the front of his jacket, twisting the fabric.

Wonwoo caught you with not even a second of hesitation, wrapping you in a big hug. Like he was holding you to keep you from falling onto the ground. 

You didn’t question it, and neither did he. It was a simple gesture. A human connection. 

You cried against his chest, broken, shuddering gasps tearing out from your chest as the flood you had been containing finally broke loose. A part of you wanted to explain to him why you were crying. But you couldn’t make out the words—the pain was so great, greater than you.

You had broken your promise. 

“I’m sorry,” you said disjointedly, backing away from him while wiping your tears.

“It’s okay,” he said, sending a look around. “Where are you going with that?” he asked, motioning to the paper bag you were holding in one arm.

“To my home,” you sniffled, pointing down the street.

“Do you need company?” he said politely, but you realized he wasn’t taking a no for an answer. “Let me walk you there.”

You wondered how messed up you really looked like that, he felt compelled to walk you home. “Okay,” you agreed, and started walking towards your apartment building.

The walk was quiet. Your head was so filled with different thoughts that you couldn’t bring yourself to say something.

You didn’t remember the walk to your building. But you remember standing beneath the awning, turning around, and sending a flitting glance up to his face.

“Do you need to talk?” he asked slowly. It was a simple question.

Your throat tightened, and burned. Gnawing on your lower lip, you nodded.

A worried expression flashed across the features of his face. It was for a second, fleeting.

“Come upstairs?” you asked, and the sorrow and desperation rose in your tone, showing in your eyes. “Please.”

His mouth parted ever so slightly. He surely must’ve realized the implications of him coming to your apartment. But what exactly was to be expected?

“Of course.”

Stepping inside your apartment with Wonwoo following you closely felt surreal. But everything else going on in your life made it shrink in comparison.

“Come in,” you whispered, leaving your sneakers at the front door, closing it once Wonwoo followed you inside, watching you closely.

You hadn’t even turned the lights off when you walked out of your apartment. You left the bag on the counter before grabbing a bottle, cracking it open and gulping down three large mouthfuls of straight alcohol.

Wonwoo blinked in shock. “Oh, God,” he stammered, watching you as though he needed to do something soon. “Calm down.”

You exhaled heavily, using the back of your hand to wipe your mouth. You motioned the bottle to him, raising your eyebrows.

But he shook his head. “I don’t drink,” he said politely.

“Okay, then,” you shrugged, drinking down another three large gulps.

Wonwoo watched you intently, crossing his arms as the muscles of his jaw tightened. “You’re scaring me,” he said finally.

You laughed—a raw and broken sound. It tore from your chest. “Good,” you said, putting the bottle down.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice low. He tilted his head forward, his eyes zeroing in on you.

You shook your head, commanding your gaze to look anywhere else but his face. But sadness started to seep in, like icy venom running through your veins. Anger and humiliation took over so fast that you couldn’t stop the muscles of your face from contracting.

“My ex,” you choked out. “Remember him? The one I spent years with, the one who swore he would never be ready for commitment?”  

Wonwoo’s posture shifted slightly, his mouth parted with realization before you could even speak out the following words:

“He’s just got engaged,” you said, your tone breaking in the middle of your sentence. “He’s getting married to someone else. Someone good enough.”

The words were heavy, bitter on your tongue. And even if they weren’t true to some extent, they hurt to say.

Wonwoo’s gaze darkened, but he didn’t say anything. He blinked slowly once, breathing in through his nose. And when he opened his eyes again, you saw anger flashing in his eyes. But you also saw pity in them.

You laughed again, the sound dry and almost miserable. “It’s not like I care about him,” you spat. “It’s not about him.” You looked down at your hands, trembling around the bottle of alcohol. “It’s about me.”

You finally raised your gaze, making eye contact with him. You hated the broken worry you saw in his eyes. The way his eyebrows twitched, and his dark eyes searched your face. You wondered what he was seeing in your face that made him react that way.

“It’s gotta be me, right? I have to be the common denominator,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It’s always me. I’m not good enough to stay for.”

You let out a sigh that sounded more like a sob. A broken moan of loneliness, heaviness. A storm that was brewing deep inside you, and it wasn’t just because of this recent turn of events.

“But that’s not it,” you said, hot tears brimming in your eyes as your voice rose: “It’s everyone. No matter what I do. I’m always someone’s almost.”

Your voice cracked in the last word, and you had to bit down on your lip to stop it from trembling.

Through the corner of your eye, you saw Wonwoo approaching, closing the space in your tiny kitchen. It was a cautious move, but steady. Determined.

“You’re not the problem,” he said firmly. “You’re better off without him. He’s an idiot.”

You laughed bitterly this time. “Right. Because Mingyu wasn’t another idiot who decided that I wasn’t enough either.”

Wonwoo flinched.

But you didn’t care if your words were harsh. You tipped the bottle between your lips again, downing the last bit of alcohol in it. You would feel its effects soon, and you were beginning to wonder if getting drunk was the right thing to do.

It would take the pain away. And you needed that.

“You really think I don’t know he fucked up?” Wonwoo said, his voice hard.

You blinked, your eyes snapping to his face.

But he continued, taking another step towards you. “You think I don’t see it? You didn’t deserve any of it,” he said, his voice raw, and there was an edge to it that you couldn’t understand. “Not from him. Not from anyone.”

You swallowed your tears, your heart thumping so hard that it was starting to hurt in your chest. “You don’t know me,” you whispered.

Wonwoo didn’t skip a beat. “I know enough.”

Perplexion hit you, and part of you wanted to pause and listen to what he was saying. The look of pity painting the features of his face made you think that you were probably looking more broken apart than you had initially imagined.

But before you could stop yourself, you huffed a laugh, letting your tears go. “And what happens when you get to know me more?” you snapped. “You’ll leave like the rest of them.”

The features of his face contracted slightly, your words hitting somewhere he wasn’t letting show. “You don’t know that—”

“Save it,” you cut in, but the sharpness in your voice had lost its edge. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like—” your voice broke, and you blinked away from his gaze. “—to never be enough. To love someone and then watch them walk away to someone new.”

His expression hardened. “Don’t put that on me,” he said, his voice sounding rough. “Don’t tell me I don’t get it.”

“Then why do you have that look on your face?!” you shot back, wiping the tears with the back of your hand.

He ran a hand over his mouth, as though trying to smooth out the quiet rage that you had sparked. “You really think I don’t care,” he spat, the snappiness of his words making you flinch. He took another step, so close to you now that you could sense the storm shaking inside him. “You still think that I'm an asshole.”

Your breath hitched, making your brain swim inside your head. You were sure that it was the alcohol starting to take effect.

But you were also not equipped to hear this. You didn’t want to hear this. You didn’t want to feel this. Not now.

But it was too late. You had fractured the only thing that held Wonwoo’s composure. It was then that you saw him. His hair was ruffled, wet with the few droplets of rain he had caught on the way here. His glasses had slipped down the perfect bridge of his nose. He looked messy, angry, and out of control.

He pointed at his chest. “You think I like sitting on the sidelines?” he said darkly. He never raised his voice at you, but he was breathing hard. “You think I like to watch you like this over the people who hurt you?”

You froze, your heart stammering painfully against your chest. His words had hit you like a slap. “W-what?” you breathed, so shocked that you had stopped crying.

His breathing turned ragged, he looked torn. Like he was trying with everything in him to stop himself. Every inch of him trembled with the force of what he wasn’t supposed to say to you.

“You’re not a second choice.” He rasped, letting out a short sigh through his nose. It was done now. Too late to take it back.

His words stunned you. You should’ve reacted quicker, were it not for the feeling making your heart flutter. “Wonwoo—” you pleaded, but you didn’t realize that your body was moving. Moving towards him.

His hands grabbed your face, his fingers burying themselves in your wet hair, just as your hands found the front of his jacket.

And then he kissed you.

The kiss was messy. Desperate. The kind of kiss that neither you nor he wanted, you could feel it in him. His lips captured yours with a vehemence that overpowered you completely. But your hands moved to the back of his neck, pulling him down into you like you needed him to breathe.

And Wonwoo kissed you back. He kissed you like he waited for so long to do that, his tongue brushed against your lip as he rolled it inside your mouth, tasting the alcohol in your tongue. He breathed out softly when he heard the broken moan he got out of you, and stopped.

You broke apart, panting. Wonwoo pressed his forehead against yours, and you realized as he dropped his hands from your face that he was shaking.

“I.. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raspy, low. He sounded lost. “I didn’t mean to, but...”

“I know,” you whispered back, your voice breaking.

But neither of you pulled away.

You didn’t dare to open your eyes. You wanted to cry. The very feeling that had made your heart flutter went wild, beating against your chest. You wanted to get rid of it—you wanted to rip your own heart out.

Slowly, Wonwoo peeled off your body, lifting his forehead from yours. You stepped back, your hands falling at your sides.

And with one deep breath, you raised your gaze to his face.

You had to put a hand on the counter for support. Your head started to swim with a remorseful pain. You knew this was wrong, but didn’t exactly know why. “Wonwoo—” you said, unable to raise your voice any higher.

“I should go,” he cut in, as though the weight of what he had done just caught up with him. “This was wrong. I shouldn’t have come here.”

But Wonwoo looked torn. His face was painted in sick worry, his eyebrows were drawn, his mouth slightly twisted. Somehow, his words cut you deeper. You nodded, agreeing with him, but it cost you to breathe normally.

However, he did not attempt to move. His eyes read your face, and his gaze softened when he saw your eyes brim with tears again.

“I understand,” you whispered, bringing your fingers to cover your mouth to hold in your sobs.

Except that you couldn’t understand. Not really. You couldn’t understand why kissing you was such a bad thing. Mingyu left you.

And you were always the one who made it easier for everyone to go.

You could feel Wonwoo’s scrutiny on you. The way he silently absorbed every emotion showing on your face. Your face tickled with shame, the sensation spreading and lingering all over you. You shrank under his gaze.

The rain pattered lightly on the windows, the quiet, distant lightning illuminated the room for a second. But the space between you was heavy with everything neither of you wanted to say, despite it being obvious.

You had crossed a line you wouldn’t be able to come back from.  

“I-I’ll walk you to the door,” you said, your voice breaking in the middle of your sentence.

Then, you motioned to the door, walking past him in your tiny kitchen. Your shoulder brushed against his arm, feeling the way he moved towards you, his hand catching yours in one second.

You snapped your gaze to him, having no time to move or to stop him.

There was something in his eyes when you exchanged a short glance with him. He paused, but only to make sure that you wouldn’t back away.

Wonwoo kissed you again—this time more certain. There was no fumbling, no scrambling to get the kiss done in a rush. You closed your eyes, your hand searching for his wrist as he held your face, kissing you deeper.

His other hand found your waist, grabbing you to pull you into him. You could feel the warmth coming from his body, the way it seemed that he was still shaking, but it felt different this time. Like the quick beating of his heart wasn’t out of anxiousness of kissing you, but from finally doing it because he wanted to.

When you broke apart, both of you were panting, but Wonwoo didn’t stop kissing you. His lips brushed against your lower lip, giving you tiny, but feathery kisses that trailed to the corner of your mouth and to your cheek.

You could feel his quick breathing brushing against your skin, making it prickle. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your wet hair.

“This is wrong,” he repeated with a whisper, but now there was an air of finality in his tone. “But I want it.”

Your eyes fluttered closed again. The sound of his voice so close to your ear sent shivers down your spine. “W-what—I don’t understand, you said—”

“I wish I had answers right now,” he said, pulling back softly from you. He gave you a solemn look, his glinting eyes searching yours, searching for reasons to pull away from you, from this. “But I don’t think I can pretend any longer.”

“What?” you breathed warily, your heart skipping a beat.

He shook his head softly. “You don’t have to say anything,” he whispered, taking a tiny step towards you. “I know that this is a lot for you right now. And I don’t have issues with stepping back, if that’s what you want.”

Everything inside you raged. It was a split-second of realizing that everything was upside down, everything was wrong. No matter what you felt, no matter how hard you tried, there was always something in the way.

And this time, your broken heart was the thing in the way.

“You deserve better,” you whispered. It slipped out before you could even stop yourself. You sounded raw and vulnerable.

His face shifted, his eyebrows knitted softly, his eyes reading your expression. “But I want you,” he said.

His words were like a thousand bricks falling on you. Everything that he told you came crashing down—about him being tired of being sidelined, of watching you torn apart for other people.

“I’m broken,” you whispered, and you wished to sound less angry about it, but there was an undeniable venom coating your words.

His fingers clenched your waist, resting his forehead against yours. “And I still want you all the same.”

You went still while your mind reeled with all the possible consequences that this might bring to your life. You were a mess.

“This is not a good idea,” you finally whispered. You were giving him all the reasons to walk away, to choose for himself before he let himself get involved with you.

His breath hitched slightly. “I know.”

You stepped back, but not far. You just wanted to look into his eyes, to get a read on what he so jealously protected with his mask. “Please…” you started, trying to select your words carefully, but your mind was swimming. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

One poison draws out another. Wonwoo remembered his friend’s words carefully.

His brows narrowed. “Don’t worry about me,” he whispered. And you realized that his hands had stopped shaking, but you knew he was still nervous about holding you this close.

You wanted to say something. You wanted to list out all of the reasons why you were not good for him.

But, God, you were lonely. And angry.

Wonwoo saw the quiet determination settling on the features of your face, making him step closer to hold you tightly to his body. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, one last confirmation before crossing that line, permanently.

Your head was swimming, but the determination weighed heavily in your heart. “I am,” you nodded. Then you slipped a hand on his nape, pulling him into a kiss just as he leaned towards you.

He circled your neck with one hand, holding you to kiss you fully, deeply. His lips fit with yours perfectly, moving seamlessly in a passionate way. This kiss was different, it was burdened with a heat that made you suspect he wanted to kiss you for a long time, but couldn’t.

This was wrong, but it felt so good.

And now, neither of you could stop. 

It soon dawned on you that Wonwoo wasn’t stopping either. A wave of need and arousal rose within you, wrapped with a bitterness that you should’ve stopped to pay attention to.

Your hands skirted over the pads of his jacket, starting to peel it off. He helped you, shrugging off his jacket and letting it drop to the floor. Wonwoo didn’t stop kissing you, and he did this with such force that you thought you could break.

Because that’s what you wanted. You wanted to be bad, to give in to the sticky feeling spreading inside your chest.

Neither of you stopped to talk, it was clear where the moment was leading down to.

Your movements were rushed, as though if you paused for longer than a second, you might start to regret this. You took his t-shirt off, messing up his glasses in the process.

Wonwoo smiled sheepishly, fixing his glasses back up. As he looked at you, there was an undeniable feeling that made your heart stutter.

You took his hand, staggering towards your bed, but Wonwoo pulled your body in before you could make it, quickly grabbing your hoodie to strip it off your body.

The hesitation, prudence, and any morsel of sanity that was holding you back evaporated. You fully gave in to the craving inside you once your clothes started to drop on the floor.

Wonwoo grabbed you by your bare waist, pulling you closer to his body to kiss you again. His hands roved all over your back, finding the clasp of your bra to undo it.

It happened fast, one by one, both of your clothes were discarded in between rushed kisses. None of you spoke a word, and you were thankful for that.

“Sit on the bed,” Wonwoo said with a rasp, his hands leaving your waist.

You obeyed without a second thought, sitting on the foot of your bed. Wonwoo pressed a knee on the edge of the bed, leaning over you and pushing you to lie back. His arms towered next to your shoulders, serving for support as he pressed his bare chest against yours.

He watched you for one long second, his gaze dark and lascivious. His hand returned to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your lower lip softly. “Stop me if you don’t want any of it,” he said.

“Wonwoo.” You called, feeling like you might just pass out from the wanton need brimming inside you.

“Mmn?” he raised his brows, his eyes studying your face.

You grabbed his face, holding his gaze. “Fuck me,” you whispered.

His eyes widened slightly. “How?” he replied.

“Just do it,” you said. But then, swallowing hard, you reconsidered. “Fuck me hard.”

 He showed you a grin. It looked wicked, almost feline. But before he could explain where the smile was coming from, he was leaning again, brushing his lips against yours slowly, lightly. “Dirty girl,” he whispered into your mouth, kissing it softly.

A low, breathy moan escaped you at the sound of those words. “Please,” you begged, your lips still brushing against his.

You didn’t have to ask twice. Wonwoo kissed you deeply, removing his hand from your chin to find your waist. He sank down your body, leaving a trail of kisses from your mouth to your neck, then down to your chest.

His wet lips on your skin awoke something within you. It had been so long since you felt something at all that your skin was already prickling at the slightest touch. He kissed your chest, his hands cupping your tits, pushing them to make them bulge. He planted soft, slow kisses around your nipples, pulling out his tongue to glide it on your areolas.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your hands cupping the back of his head.

His lips wrapped around one of your perked nipples, tugging at it lightly as his thumb teased your other nipple, brushing his pad against it. He hummed lightly, giving your breasts a couple of open-mouthed kisses before he continued exploring your body further down.

Your head was spinning, and you had to force yourself to close your eyes. The sight of him getting down on his knees before the bed was so arousing to you that you shuddered from it.

He gently nudged your thighs apart, propping them on his shoulders as he leaned against your body to press his lips on your inner thighs. He taunted you with kisses, bringing out sweet moans from you as he came closer and closer to your dripping wet pussy.

“Please,” you whispered, feeling his breath fanning against your skin, the tip of his tongue brushing before he pressed another kiss on your inner thigh.

That was all he needed. His mouth was on you, licking you, tasting you. You arched your back off the mattress, your hands balling into fists around the covers. The first brush of his tongue against your folds made your whole body come to life.

You moaned loudly, closing your eyes so hard you saw stars. “Fuck, Wonwoo!” you cried out, already panting for air, making yourself dizzier.

He forced your thighs open, burying his mouth on your pussy like he had something to prove. He didn’t do the bare minimum, no. He licked every single inch of your cunt, exploring it with his tongue, and repeating the things that brought the loudest moans from you.

So he quickly realized that teasing your clit was the way to go. He wrapped his lips around your clit, pressing his tongue on it before starting to flick it from side to side.

You didn’t know what to do, between grabbing his hair or holding onto the covers, you felt like you were about to pass out from pleasure. Your head was spinning, your whole body tingling with your orgasm.

His fingers slid between your folds, finding your pooling entrance. The first slide of his fingers into you tipped you over the edge, tearing a loud, raspy moan from your chest. You went rigid, letting the fiery waves of your orgasm consume you wholly, making you whine and moan pathetically.

His fingers massaged into you, bringing out lewd, wet sounds from out of your cunt. He was now giving slow, thorough kisses, drinking in your arousal, moaning with you.

“Wonwoo…” you called weakly, brushing his hair back with tired fingers.

You were more than ready for him now.

So you sat up, trying to push him back so you could finish undressing him.

Wonwoo understood what you wanted without having to speak up. He rose to his feet, and your tummy twisted when you caught sight of his dishevelled form. His hair was ruffled, and his glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose. There was a glistening wetness on his chin.

Your thumbs fumbled to take his boxers off, tugging at the waistband clumsily. You raised your gaze, finding his eyes before you pushed the last piece of clothing he wore down.

A sudden rush invaded you. There was no going back now. And you wanted this, you needed this.

You swallowed hard, revelling at the sight of his naked body. Wonwoo was lean, the muscles of his abdomen were well-defined, dipping between his bulging pectorals. His shoulders were wide, and his biceps were toned.

There was a soft, dark trail of hair from his belly button, which you followed down with your gaze. Your breath hitched. He was huge—not that girthy—but the length of it almost made you doubt whether it would fit inside you.

“You’re very sexy,” you stammered, looking away in shyness.

But he used a hand to cup your chin, tipping your head back so he could meet your gaze. “You’re very sexy too,” he said.

You gave him a small smile, grabbing his hand as you lay back on the bed. Wonwoo followed you, his body towering over yours.

He pushed one of your thighs with his knee, crawling on top of you and framing your head with his arms. His lips trapped yours in a feathery kiss, smearing your arousal on your chin.

He tensed, his breath hitching when you wrapped your fingers around his hard cock. “Do you have condoms?” he whispered.

“Mm-mmn,” you shook your head, rolling your hand all over him.

You lifted your knees to your chest, gliding the tip of his cock between your folds.

“Raw?” he breathed, still giving you sweet kisses.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded.

“Words, baby,” he said with a rasp, pulling away to look at your face. “Use them.”

You blinked at him slowly, not hiding the lust that was threatening to consume you whole. “Fuck me raw,” you pleaded.

Your words had an effect on him; his gaze darkened. He grabbed your wrists with one hand, driving them above your head and pinning them there. He notched his cock on your entrance, and that was the only warning he gave you before sinking inside you.

Your mouth dropped open, a silent gasp coming out of him as Wonwoo pushed his cock inside you, looking into your eyes, grabbing every detail, every reaction showing on your face.

Wonwoo blinked slowly, letting out a breath through his nose once he sheathed himself completely in your walls. “Fuck,” he whispered. And that might’ve been the first time you heard him cuss like that.

You closed your eyes, struggling to breathe. He released your hands, and you found his shoulders, your fingers shaking slightly against his skin.

Wonwoo trapped your lips with his, kissing you deeply, his tongue brushing against the roof of your mouth. Slowly, you felt your body relaxing, your walls fluttering and easing around him. You moaned into the kiss, just as he pulled his hips back slowly, making you feel every raw inch of his long dick.

You whimpered slightly as he pushed into you, still slow but deeper this time, his hips meeting yours with every thrust.

He slipped a hand beneath your head, his fingers curling around your hair. “You okay?” Wonwoo whispered, his lips lingering on yours slightly.

“Yeah,” you replied, breathing fitfully. 

It was the only confirmation he needed before he drove into you, picking up a pace. Panting, he gave you a quick kiss on your lips before he started plowing on you.

He started fucking you hard, fast. As though the anger from the argument he had with you returned and he wanted to fuck the steam out of his system. His thrusts became rougher, calculated, knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Fuck, Wonwoo,” you whimpered, your mind going blank. “Please, please, don’t stop,” you were begging again, losing control. Pleasure started to build inside you again, and you were afraid that the alcohol you had consumed before was also pushing you closer to your second orgasm.

Wonwoo was panting, his breath brushing against your cheek before he kissed it. “Cum for me, baby,” he muttered darkly.

It was maddening to think that the shy, quiet and reserved guy could talk to you like that. Let alone, fuck you like that. And he was not slowing down, his thrusts were brutal, pushing his cock deeper each time.

You didn’t have the space to breathe, nor to give him any warning. You could only give him a couple of sharp gasps right before you orgasmed again. You cried out, the sound whiny, raspy, while your orgasm rippled through you.

Wonwoo groaned, feeling your pussy clamp tightly around his cock. Burying his face on the crook of your neck, you felt his laboured breaths, right before his lips latched onto your skin, sucking a lovebite into it.

“Fuck—Wonwoo,” you gasped. Unable to do anything else but give in to the sweet rapture.

Wonwoo heard you, peeling off your neck to kiss your lips swiftly. “Where do you want me?” he asked with a strangled tone.

You could feel your walls flutter around him at the sound of his words. You considered it for half a second, but then— “Inside,” you whispered. “Cum inside me, Wonwoo. Please.”

He grunted, leaning to press his forehead against yours. His fist tightened around your hair, just as his strokes became harder, and deeper, fucking his cum into you.

Wonwoo was panting tiredly as he dropped his face on the crook of your neck again.

You stared into the void, wrapping your arms around him, realizing that you body was shaking.

Slowly, as though coming to his senses, Wonwoo peeled off your body, but just barely. “Are you okay?” he asked gently. His glasses were slightly fogged, which he fixed with one hand. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head on your pillow.

Wonwoo’s brows knitted softly.

“I’m okay,” you replied, realizing your voice was hoarse, you swallowed. “I promise.”

He was still breathing hard, so he just smiled tiredly at you. He sat back on his haunches, gently pulling out of you. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You blinked at him dumbly.

He pointed with his finger to one side of his neck. “I did that,” he put in meekly.

You instantly brought a hand to your neck, right on the spot that was tingling and hot. “It’s okay,” you sighed.

Wonwoo paused, making sure that you were indeed alright. “Want me to bring you something to clean up?”

“No, I’ll just take care of it in the bathroom,” you said, rolling over on your bed. Once you stood on your feet, the whole room spun around you, making you giggle.

“Careful,” he said, springing into action. He rose from the bed, stretching an arm toward you to keep you from stumbling to the ground.

“I’m okay,” you said. Staggering to the bathroom, you got to see the red spot right on the curve of your neck.

But you couldn’t care less.

After weeks, you could finally feel something again. Something other than the fucking misery that seemed to follow you everywhere you went.

Part of you wondered when the moment would be to start feeling bad about this. But you realized that you were too tired to feel remorseful about fucking Mingyu’s best friend.

You’d feel dirty tomorrow.

Wonwoo’s phone buzzed somewhere on the floor. It was buried in the scattered clothes, beneath his jeans. He picked it up, his heart jolting nervously when he read Mingyu’s name on the screen.

“crashing late?” read Mingyu’s text.

Wonwoo chewed on his lower lip. “yeah, sorry, something came up” he replied.

You were back in the room, rummaging in your drawers, looking for a t-shirt to cover your bare body.

You didn’t notice the worry flashing across Wonwoo’s face. “Hey,” you called softly.

Wonwoo was already looking at you, thinking of what to do. “Hey,” he mumbled, giving you a tiny but sweet smile.

“Do you want to stay the night?” you asked meekly, realizing that your request might be too much, you added. “I don’t want to be alone,” you added with a note of sincerity.

The tight feeling trapping his heart eased. “Of course,” Wonwoo replied, locking his phone before climbing onto the spot next to you on the bed.

As you lay back, you sent him a fleeting glance, biting your bottom lip.

Wonwoo smiled when he saw the hesitation in your demeanor. “Come here,” he whispered, motioning you closer to him.

You gave him a light smile. “Okay,” you whispered, deciding to scoot closer to his body.

“We can cuddle, if that’s what you want,” he said with a knowing smile, despite the shyness he was exuding.

You let out a guilty giggle, realizing that you were subconsciously expecting aftercare with him. And Wonwoo was more than willing to give you just that.

“Don’t make it weird,” you mumbled shyly.

“We just had sex, and you think I’ll consider cuddling weird?” he laughed.

“Just… shut up,” you sighed.

He didn’t reply, just watched you as you moved towards him beneath the covers. You rested your head on his chest, just as he wrapped an arm around you, hugging you comfortably to his frame.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his voice like velvet against your senses.

You tilted your head back, glancing at his face. “Yes,” you replied. “This is nice,” you told him, turning your head again to nuzzle against his warmth.

Wonwoo wrapped a hand around your shoulder, pulling you closer. “Rest up,” he whispered gently, kissing your brow.

But you were already dozing off, only being able to reply with a sweet hum before you were completely gone.

Wonwoo waited until the rhythm of your breathing deepened to raise his phone, unlocking it to read Mingyu’s last messages.

“I regret everything,” the first message read.

And then the last two read,

“I want to fix it.

But I don’t know how.”

☾ author's note: alexa, play bittersweet

this author's note is to once again, thank you for your support! the feedback i got from the previous chapter. i was amazed by the amount of comments and asks that i got! 🥺 i still can't believe the amount of people who commented, reblogged and came to my inbox to say something! i love you all!

this post has been in my drafts since january 2024 🫥 and since i posted the previous part of this series, a lot, and i do mean a lot of you guys came to me with questions about whether or not i had something planned for our wonwoo. i didn't want to give too much away because it would've ruined what i had planned.

well, this is how wonwoo is going to debut in his own series; in the wicked games series.

fun, right? 🙂

same as always, y'all know the drill. if you have something to say, comment it down below, share your opinions anonymously, reblog, like this post, share it with your grandma 🙂

yell at me, if that's what you want but keep it civil :D

i love you, thank you for reading!

toodles

☆ STAY TUNED FOR PART VI! ☆ | PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | BUY ME COFFEE? ♡

© TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[tousey-mousey]

When I was about 12, we went on a school trip to Yarriabini for several days. I had an absolutely unrivalled opportunity at the time to talk to several elders from the nation and learn from them about some of the useful plants and food plants in the area, about how to avoid some of the dangerous things and how to use some of them as useful tools. I learnt a lot.

They also, gratefully, explained why they weren't teaching us some things: how we were not members of their nation and some of these practices and knowledge were considered secret to them. How we were not Aboriginal people and some of this information was not for colonisers (which, as a recent immigrant at that time, made me think about why my family had felt so free to come to Australia in the first place). How some of it wouldn't make sense to us because we weren't coming at it from the right place of knowledge. Etc.

One of the things it taught me was how welcoming some of that land really is. There's so much food out there, there's so many useful plants, there's so much to use and to make. There are plants that no other culture has access to, plants that can produce oils for treating wood tools without needing to boil anything, plants that can produce some of the strongest cordage in the world without needing to rope-make, plants that will cure your fever and plants that will feed your family.

It is a VERY, VERY easy place to live in if you don't come at it from the Eurasian and American model of "find a berry and chew the berry". If you're someone who grew up in Australia, living off of what can be gratefully received from the land and water, then dropping you in North America would find you in a land you'd feel was both barren of food and filled with dangerous life.

Australia has many venomous snakes, but there are trees in Australia that produce leaves that snakes will not crawl across because they're too sharp. Spreading these leaves around your living-space will keep it free of snakes, even when you're asleep.

You do not have those trees in North America. They do not exist. If you grew up as used to looking for snake-proofing leaves to make your house safe, then you'd find America's snakes much more dangerous simply because you can't defend against them.

Australia has many safe prey-animals, small things that can be caught easily and larger things that will feed you a long time but aren't very dangerous to catch. North America has none of them: it has many, much larger predators that are very dangerous and you would not be familiar with, and its smaller prey-animals are hard to catch and not as good eating. There's just not much good food on a badger compared to a wombat, and an American badger is much harder to catch too.

Australia is not a very dangerous country. It's dangerous if you DON'T KNOW IT. That's true FOR ALL COUNTRIES.

We are very safe, very fecund, and very easy to live in if you know how and you've been taught by someone who knows how. That's true of literally everywhere.

The narrative that we're this alien landscape that hates humans is just a bullshit myth spread by people who never respected the people of this land enough to learn HOW they live here, and instead just tried to use the Eurasian method of colonisation to beat the land into submission. Well, it won't. It won't submit, and you can't make it.

okay I’ll say it nicer:

australia was colonised according to the myth of terra nullius (or empty land). ever since the very early days of colonialism, the land has been framed as something untameable and unliveable. this has justified acts of violence against the first peoples here, in that they are seen as non-people. it has justified the destruction of sacred land in the goal of making australia look more european. (an example: our capital city contains a man-made lake that is now nothing better than a fetid carp pond. it’s disgusting and unnatural). basically, the idea of “taming australia’ has justified endless harm

“everything in australia is weird and dangerous” is not just some silly meme phrase, it is something that arcs back to the very beginning of white settlers laying claim to ‘australia’. and personally I am very sick of seeing it thrown around like it means nothing

[ohtobeleah]

Purgatory // Jack Abbot

Part 1of2

Summary: A patient brought in with the Pittfest mass casualty event experiences a psychosis of some sort. Jack Abbot doesn’t know it but while he’s elbow deep in saving some guys bowel…you’re attacked while just trying to help.

Warnings: Jack Abbot x Nurse!reader. Violence against women. Angst/whump.mediocre medical knowledge. Hurt!reader. Established relationship. Age gap marriage. Older male x younger reader.

Word Count: 4.3k

Author Note: This guy…this fucking guy.. Truly, I could write about him for hours, if not days on end. I love him your honour.

In the practice of medicine, change is inevitable. New surgical techniques are created, and procedures are updated. Levels of expertise increase. Innovation is everything. Nothing remains the same for long, and we either decide to adapt to the change…

Or we get left behind. 

“Sir,” You sighed as you tried your best to have the man in the hospital bed cooperate. “I’m just trying to–” Before you had a chance to finish your sentence, to let the man who’d been brought in during the worst mass casualty event you’d ever worked, that you were just cleaning him up a little in a low period, he was on you like a bad rash. 

“Hel–!” You tried to scream, but two large, bloodied hands wrapped themselves around your throat as the unidentified male, mid-fifties possibly, tackled you to the ground. “H–!” 

*Crack* The sound was jarring. *Crack* The back of your head was repeatedly being slammed into the laminate floor. *Crack* You couldn’t breathe. Your lungs felt like they had been set alight, burning with a deep desire to take in oxygen. 

“Get away from me!” The man yelled as he released one of the hands he had tightly gripped around your neck, only to draw it behind his head and lay a full fist of force against your nose. 

“SECURITY!” You heard Dana shout as she caught sight of the assault happening across the way. She couldn’t tell who it was under the man who’d gone rogue. But it felt too late now…

Everything was a blur. You couldn’t breathe as blood trickled down your throat. The swelling had already begun to take effect. You coughed and rolled onto your side as the man was removed from you in a flurry of blurs. You couldn’t hear the commotion going on around on, but you could see the shadows behind swollen eyes and broken skin. 

“Y/n!?” Robby was the first voice that managed to break through the perpetual ringing. He was just a shadow, mixing with the fluorescent light beaming down on you. “You’re not okay, but you’re gonna be.” You could barely make out what he was saying. If you could, you would’ve panicked at the sheer heaviness in his tone of voice. The worry, the panic that his best friend’s wife had just been attacked. 

“Someone get me Dr. Abbott!” Robbys voice echoed across the entire expanse of the Emergency Room department. Everyone heard the urgent desperation in his voice. Everyone besides Jack…who was someone across the department, elbow deep in saving some guys bowel from needing to be removed. “Tell him it’s his wife!”

Whittaker was the one who dropped what he was doing, albeit not as important as finding Dr. Abbott, but nevertheless, he knew whatever it was that it was bad. Jack hadn’t anticipated one of the new kids to come charging in like it was life or death the way he did. 

“Dr. Abbot! Something happened, you need to come and–” 

“Someone better be dying for you to be taking any of my time away from this man, Whittaker, what is it!?” Jack didn’t shout, nor was it laced with anger. It was a response of pure and total control over the situation. Jack was as calm as they come under crisis. It was just who he was. He saw the solutions in chaos like a puzzle he could put back together. 

“Your wife–” Dennis choked on his own words like he was afraid to deliver bad news. Ironic that delivering bad news to loved ones of patients was a part of the job. “She uh–” 

“She what, Whitaker? My wife, what?” Jack never faltered. He never looked up from where he was working magic. Blood-stained gloves halted to a standstill, however, when the words that left Whittaker’s mouth next knocked the wind right out of Jack’s lungs. 

“She was just attacked, Robby has her in trauma two now, it’s bad, like real bad, sir.”

The air grew thin, the walls began to cave in. Jack Abbot was, on a regular day, as calm as they come under pressure. 

He saved his breakdowns for the roof in the early hours of the morning. He’d spend a few minutes watching as the sun kissed the horizon with a warmth that could only be rivalled by your own. 

He’d hedge his bets, cut his losses and accept what reality had dealt and delivered. All the while continuing all the reasons why he couldn’t take that leap. Always circling back to the most important of all. 

You. 

But when that guiding light is challenged, Jack's body language alters. His normally rigid, ex-military stance softened for a brief moment. 

Jack's heart was breaking. He could feel it being ripped apart inside his chest cavity. The thud of his heart was nearly loud enough to echo off the walls.

“What?” No one had seen Jack Abbot so flustered before. His eyes softened in a moment of what must have looked like weakness. But to Jack, it was love. Pure, that’s my best friend, love. The kind of love that’s deep in your bones, love. The kind of love that haunts you, love. “My, my wife?” 

It was a softness only reserved for you, a side to Jack Abbot that was hidden away behind the safety and security of his own perfectly designed Volt system. His expert ability to compartmentalise only ever falters around you. 

He can’t control it. Jack Abbot had a weakness, an affinity of affection. An addiction to the release of Oxytocin he received whenever you paid him any mind. It had always been like that, a little catch and release. Cat and mouse. Jack loved to watch you walk away because he knew you were always coming back. 

But now…you were hurt. You were hurt, and he was stuck in his own head thinking about the first time he saw you. How you lit up the entire night sky and hung every star just for him to feel comfort in the darkness. 

Your laugh, how it’s the only therapy he’d ever need. The deep cackle that’s not cute, but infectious. You’re like a shot of espresso, keeping Jack on his toes and never allowing him to fall completely off the deep end into permanent geriatric grumpiness. No matter how far he teetered over the edge.

Jack Abbot was just lucky enough to be living in general, but to be living in your world was just the luck of the Anglo-Irish. He wasn’t sure if he could live in a world without you in it. 

The thought consumed his entire being. A world without you. A life without you. What if he never got to hear your voice again? Or tell you how much he fucking loved you. The contrast between the heat of Jack's skin and the coolness of his wedding band resting upon his heart couldn’t have been more stark. 

“Is she—“ Before Jack could ask if you were okay, he was cut off. 

“Go,” Dr. Ellis damn near ordered. “I got this, go.” She reaffirmed as Jack felt her shove him over, there was no extra time that could be wasted. It was all Jack needed to find his centre of gravity again and get a hold of himself. 

His composure.

“Who attacked her?” But as the surge of panic softened, a wave of uncontrollable rage began to boil deep within Jack. His eyes scanned the utter chaos that was the emergency department, searching for whoever it was that had hurt you. “Where are they now?” 

No one gets to hurt Jack Abbots wife and gets to continue breathing. 

“Uhhh—“ Whitaker stammered, unsure of whether he should disclose that information or not. “He’s with security now, behavioural health two.”

It was a deep-rooted, all-consuming need to hook it left and make a B line directly for behavioural health two. Who did this guy think he was? Huh? Attacking people, no…attacking his wife like this? It wouldn’t be without consequence. 

“Dr. Abbot.” 

“This the guy?” Jack asked one of the security guards with a look of rage behind his exhausted eyes. “I need to speak with him?” 

“The cops and McKay are in there with him now.” 

“It wasn’t a request.” Jack snarled as he tried to make his way into the room that held the man who attacked you.

“JACK!” It was Robby who had yelled. “NOW!” You were in a rough way, Jack would tell by the tone in his friend’s voice. 

“Y/n,” Jack whispered to himself as he looked over at trauma two. “Oh, oh no no no no no.” It was a mumble only to himself, but everyone could feel the heaviness that followed Jack Abbot across and through the emergency department chaos. 

Change. We don’t like it, we fear it. But we can’t stop it from coming. We either adapt to change…

Or we get left behind. 

“She needs to be intubated, get her up for a head CT, we’re looking at some major blunt force trauma here, needs–needs burr holls to relieve the intracranial pressure.” 

“Y/n!” Jack barreled in like a hurricane-force wind. “What the actual fuck happened here, man?” 

“She was with a patient, Y/n? Can you hear me? It’s Robinovich here, don’t you make this difficult for me,” Robby spoke through panicked words as he worked on you as fast as he could. “Guy freaked, psychotic episode, probably a bleed on the brain–”

“Ja–” You barely mumbled as blood spilled from your mouth. Jack heard you, though. He heard you loud and clear as he made his way to your side. His hand was immediately in yours as he made sure to be aware of his spatial awareness as his colleagues worked on you. 

“I’m right here,” Jack cooed as he took in the sight of your face. Beaten, bloodied and bruised. “You’re okay, I’m right here, just hang on for me, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” 

“I, love–” You were in and out of consciousness, fighting against the pull of whatever it was threatening to pull you away from the surface. 

“Pulse is thready, she’s crashing,” someone announced as all the bells and whistles sounded off at once. You were indeed crashing, right in front of Jack. 

“Sweetheat? You stay with us, you hear me?” Jack was feeling the panic creep up his spine again. “Are you shitting me? What the hell do you think you’re doing being alone with a patient like that?” Jack knew if you were listening, you would have jabbed him back. Of all people to be giving you a lecture on hospital protocol, it shouldn’t have been him. 

You called him a Cowboy for a reason.

“If you die on me, i’m gonna be so fucking screwed here Y/n, get your shit together,” It was Jacks love language. “Robby, get her back!” 

He kept searching for some sort of eye contact, that deep-rooted ability of his that you at times often regarded as his superpower. That intense gaze, the one able to break through anything and reach your very soul. 

But Jack couldn’t see you through you, he couldn’t see anything but the blood that covered your beautiful face. The face he dreamed of at night, when all was said and done, and there was nothing left to do. 

“Working on it, someone get me neuro, NOW!” 

“O.R. is prepped and ready upstairs.” 

“Okay, let’s get her stable and on the move.” 

“I’m coming.” 

“Like fuck you are, brother,” Robby sighed, never missing a beat as he continued to stabilise his best friends wife. The love of his life.”You can watch from observation, but you can’t be in the O.R., hospital policy we—“

“Don’t work on family, I’m not, I’m telling you I’m—“

“If we can’t get her back, you’ll be in there, let me get her back, I’ve got her.” It was a promise Robby shouldn’t have made. But he knew you and he knew you well enough to know that this was not your exit music moment. 

Jack simply held his lips into a tight line of silent panic. He never let go of your hand, opting to walk you all the way to surgery. 

“Wait,” He begged right before the double doors automatically opened on your arrival. Everyone stopped moving as Jack leaned in to whisper something in your ear. “If you die on me so help me god, I’m walking right up to that roof for the last time and you damn well know it, don’t do this to us,” Jack begged. “I love you with all that I am and have.” He said one final time before letting go of your hand. Grazing across your wedding band as he let you go. 

“Let’s move people!” Someone beside your side yelled as all Jack could do was stand still, as you were wheeled away from him. 

“Oh god,” It was immediate, the sudden feeling of sickness. The wave of nausea hit him like a freight train. The nearest fake plant was the best course of action. With one hand on the wall in front of him, Jack emptied the contents of his stomach. It wasn’t much, mainly stomach bile, but the sentiment remained the same. “Fuckk-.” 

The thought of losing you made Jack Abbot's stomach churn. 

It hurts to adapt to change; anyone who tells you otherwise is lying. It’s utter bullshit. But change is inevitable, good or bad. It haunts us like ghosts of our former past. It can taunt us like a small child who thinks you’re having the time of your life. 

But when change is brought about, it’s better to adapt than deny that it's happening in the first place. 

—----------------------

There’s a reason surgeons learn to wield scalpels. They liked to pretend that their hard, cold scientists. They like to pretend that they’re fearless. But the truth is, people become surgeons because somewhere, deep down, they think they can cut away that of which haunts them. 

Weakness, frailty…death. 

Jack woke with a stark jolt. He was sweating, running a fever. The darkness was all-consuming as he tried to gain his bearings. He was in bed. The bed he shared with you.

“Christ,” Jack sighed to himself as he laid on his back in the middle of the night. A hand ran down his face as he collected his thoughts. That had been one of the most intense nightmares, one of the most realistic ones, he’d ever had. 

“Something tells me he had you on do not disturb.” Jack heard you mumble from beside him, wrapped up in a mess of covers and sheets. “Probably, don’t think that guys ever paid much mind to me, has he, sweetheart?”

When you didn’t respond, Jack frowned. You were just talking. Were you talking in your sleep? But you were talking directly to him.

“Y/n, you awake?” It was a question laced with hope. Jack hoped you were. He couldn’t stop thinking about your bloodied face in his nightmare. The way you lay there, lifeless, not breathing. “Hey, c’mere for a minute.” Jack nearly begged as he slowly but surely moved closer to where you were in the bed you shared together. 

With a gentle kiss to your exposed shoulder, Jack maneuvered you from where you were lying on your side to your back. It was then he realised he was still in a living hell. 

“Remember?” Was all you said as blood spilled out of your mouth and down your chin. A bloodied smile was permanently seared into Jack's memory as pure horror washed over him. “You couldn’t protect me, you couldn’t save me. What’s the point of being married to a doctor if you can’t save my life?” 

“No, no this isn’t real,” Jack tried to reason with his mind as he hovered over your now lifeless body in the bed you shared. “Stay with me, sweetheart, stay with me!!” 

But you didn’t move, you were lifeless and cold. So fucking cold. 

“Jack?” He heard through a whisper, a mumbled distance away, “Jack?” There it was again. This time, though, a hand on his shoulder accompanied the male voice, coaxing him back to reality. “Jack, wake up, bother.” 

With a jolt, Jack was waking from where he’d fallen asleep. Right beside you with his head on the spot beside your hand. His in yours. His back ached like no tomorrow, but his hips hurt the worst. 

“I must’ve fallen asleep.” Jack sighed as he tried to regain his composure. The thought of you dead beside him in bed had rocked him to his very core. But it was always the same dream ever since you were attacked. 

I could hear you screaming from the second I stepped out of the elevator,” Robby sighed as he checked your vitals. All the signs pointed to good news. “Have you spoken to your therapist about all this yet?” he asked with a frown of concern from above his glasses. 

“Nope,” Jack explained as he let out a sigh and stretched out in the chair he was sitting on. “Can’t bear to bring it up, might jinx her.” 

“Well, the swelling is mostly stable, she’s regaining strength, and her pulse ox is great, the only thing keeping her under right now is, well, her,” Robby shrugged as he crossed his arms over his chest. “She’s gonna wake up, man.”

Jack didn’t respond right away. He let the silence linger in the air. He watched your steady heartbeat on the monitor. He eyed off your vitals, the way your chest rose and fell with every breath you took unassisted. He was still on edge, but was able to talk himself through it. 

He’d watched you recover over the last week since the attack. Jack hadnt left the hospital once. He’d become what he hated most. A border. But he couldn't bring himself to leave even just for a few minutes. Not when you were here. 

It took a village. Dana had organised someone to collect all the essentials Jack and yourself might need during your stay. The house was probably a mess and the content of the fridge was well past used by, but that wasn't important right now. 

He’d stay here beside you watching you heal. Watching you get stronger. Watching you slowly come back to him like Robby had promised. But no one had any idea how you would react when you finally woke up. There was worry of mental deficits from the head trauma. But Jack knew you well enough to know you were a real fighter. 

He finally knew what it was like for you when he’d lost his leg. A part of him he’d never get back. Jack wondered if you'd feel the same way after, if a part of you died that day. He was anticipating it really. The onset of depression post traumatic events. The PTSD that would haunt you like a ghost. The sleepless nights. The recklessness. The suicidal tendencies. All of it, he knew about it and was prepared for it. 

Only difference is you weren’t. But boy were you a fast learner. And oh boy did Jack understand the other side of it now. How it felt to watch the person you love suffer so much. 

“Here,” Again Robby's voice broke Jack out of his trance-like thinking state. “Drink this, eat this, don’t argue,” A juice box lands in Jack's lap, so did a half eaten sandwich. He looks up at his friend, perplexed…but already knows the answer. “I ate the other half in the elevator.” Robby still explains. 

“Thanks.” Is all Jack has left in him to say. He’s exhausted, but won't say that out loud. Won't admit it to anyone but himself. Robby can see it written in the lines on Jack's face. He can see it in the growth of his facial hair, the bags under his eyes. 

“Have a shower before she starts to stir,” It's one of the last thing Robby says before he leaves. “You look and smell like shit, she’s probably not waking up just to be polite you know.” He doesn't wait for an answer, but as he leaves and heads down the corridor back to the elevator, he knows Jack is smiling behind him. Shaking his head. 

“You would do that, wouldn't you?” Jack sighed, popping the straw into the small juice box. The sugar is a much needed relief for the man running on empty. 

It isn't just surgeons, the truth is, Jack didn't know anyone who wasn't haunted by something…or someone. And whether we try to slice the pain away with a scalpel or shove it in the back of a closet…

Our efforts usually fail. 

—-------------------------------------

Jack Abbot went into medicine because he wanted to save lives. He went into medicine because he wanted to do good. He went into medicine for the rush…for the high…for the ride. 

But what he tends to remember at the end of most days are the losses. What he lies awake at night, replaying is the pain he caused or failed to cure. The lives he ruined or failed to save. So the experience of practising medicine, for Jack Abbot, that is, rarely resembles the goal. 

The experience is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down. 

“One slight gust and you’d be done for, you know?” Jack knew it was you the second he heard the approaching footsteps. 

“What are you doing up here?” Jack replied, all the while he still had his hands tucked away in his pockets. 

“Oh, I dunno,” You sighed as you ducked under the railing. Coming to stand close to but not close enough to where your husband stood. “Heard some lunatic was up on the roof, didn’t take much for me to realise that the lunatic in question was probably my repeat offender.” You rubbed your hands over your face like you’d had enough of today. Coaxing your husband off the ledge of the roof was not something you had on your bingo card for today. “What are you doing up here, Abbot?” 

It was a loaded question, but a question that deserved a genuine response nevertheless. Jack shrugged, unable to look his wife in the eye for once. Something he was really fucking good at doing. 

“Guy lost his leg in a car accident.” You didn’t need much more than that, but Jack continued. You didn’t interrupt. “My call to amputate, we weren’t gonna be able to save it.” You could feel the heaviness weighing on your husband’s heart as he explained what led him to the roof. “Pains been unbearable ever since.” 

You didn’t speak, you didn’t respond, but you sure knew what you had to do. There was a deeper meaning behind the reason Jack made you carry a pocket knife with you. One that wasn’t permitted by the hospital. You casually reached into your back pocket to reveal the small pocket knife. 

“You know, a wise man once told me that you find comfort in darkness,” You said as you knelt down carefully and knew back your arm with just enough force that the blade of your knife would pierce the titanium foot of your husband’s prosthetic leg. “There, should start to feel some slight relief soon.” 

Jack sighed. It never worked when he did it himself. Nor did it work if he knew it was coming. It had to be spontaneous, quick and off guard. You did just that.

“I needed that more than you know.” It was another way of saying ‘I love you’ But you already knew that. 

“Oh trust me, I knew, otherwise we wouldn't be up here standing on the edge of a building.” Jack knew you were right. You knew him better than he knew himself most days. 

That’s why you were his wife. His life partner. His better half. 

Jack let a moment of silence pass the two of you by as you moved to stand beside him once again, both watching the sun gently kiss the horizon. He raised an arm up and over your shoulders. Drawing you close to his side as he left a gentle, but meaningful, kiss to your temple. 

He adored you, far more than you would ever know. Jack was thankful for the way you left the knife in his foot. The more he looked down at it sticking out of his prosthetic, the more the pain alleviated. The more the tendencies subsided.

“You’re pretty good at this comfort thing, you know.” He prayed the roles were never reversed, was there a version of Jack that could offer the same kind of comfort, strength and grace that you could? 

“Comes with the territory,” Was all you said as you let your head against Jack's shoulder. “But seriously, we should totally get down before you spiral again.”  You bumped Jack's hip with your own. He smirked.

“There’s always tomorrow,” Jack teased as he kissed your temple once more. Choosing to leave with you via the stairs rather than over the edge. 

As the warmth of the water cascaded down Jack's exposed body, he stood leaning against the wall. Prosthetic leaning against the doorframe. He needed a moment. 

The scent of your body wash adorned him, using the toiletries you hadn’t had a chance to use yourself yet. Sure, Jack had kept you as clean as you could be during your stay, but wet wipes weren’t the same as your black plum and vanilla scented everything. 

Your wedding ring hung around his dog tags, right next to his. Robby had taken it off before surgery. It had become Jack's comfort blanket. To thumb at the circular silver ring. 

But as the steam threatened to allow Jack's muscles to relax, he heard it…the warning alerts. 

“No,” He gasped. Panic rose inside his chest as he fumbled to switch the water off and wrap the towel around his midsection. Fuck a shirt, this was a hospital and everyone knew basic anatomy. “No, this cannot be happening—not now.“ 

The sight that Jack saw when he stepped out of the bathroom was nothing short of horrific. There you were, surrounded by doctors and nurses alike. Some Jack knew, some he didn't. But they all shared a common goal… 

Avoiding the experience that is, too often, ass-backwards and upside down.

***~***~***~***~***~***~

Part Two: Coming Soon. Please leave me something to encourage that to come sooner :)

[munsonsmixtapes]

Maybe the reader and ghost are childhood best friends who lost touch after he joined the military and one night he’s at a bar off base that the force dragged him to on night off and they run into each other and reconnect and he confesses that he was always in love with her but couldn’t say anything and she admits the same??? And maybe after a confession where the both feel stupid for not saying anything sooner they hook up in his truck or something maybe 👀

This was so much fun to write!

cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) public sex, grinding

The bar is pretty empty when Ghost enters it. The guys forced him even though he didn’t want to come. He just wants to curl up in bed and read one of the emails you’ve sent him over and over again until he falls asleep. 

And the thing is, he knows it’s pathetic. That he’s making so much out of nothing but he can’t help it. Right now, that’s all he really has to keep him going. He misses you more than he’ll ever admit because then he’d have to tell himself that he’s in love with you. But he’d never do that. You’re just friends. 

The kiss you shared before he left has taken over every inch of his brain, so much so that there’s not room for anything else. And he’s not so sure that he’s upset by that. Part of him wants to tell you exactly how he feels but that’s not exactly something could say in an email. He wants to do it in person, not that he could get himself to do that either. He just misses you and is counting down the days until he can see you again. 

What he doesn’t know yet is that you’re there too. You’re standing at the bar, nursing a beer, already writing out your next email to Simon. Your friends are caught up in conversation and you can’t even get yourself to participate. Ever since he left, there’s been a hole in your heart that can’t be filled with anything other than him coming back into your life. 

You’ve been thinking about him and the kiss every day since, but you can't get yourself to say anything about it, though, because you’re scared. You know you’ll just end up telling him the truth, that you want to be much more than you are. But you’d never do that. You’re just friends. 

You miss him. So much so that you see him everywhere. Even right now at one of the tables where a group of men in uniform are sitting. He’s facing you, laughing at what his friends are saying and that’s when you realize that he’s real. 

You set your drink on the bar and make a beeline for the table, having to squeeze by multiple people in your path, somehow making it there without a scratch considering that he was the only thing you were looking at. 

“Simon?” You ask as you get to the table and when his eyes lock on yours, you instantly melt, all of the feelings you have for him, rushing to the surface, driving you absolutely mad. 

His eyes widen as he takes you in but he’s quick to stand from the table, pulling you into a hug, squeezing you tight because he’s so afraid of letting you go again. You fit in his arms just like always and it takes everything in him to let you go even though all he wants to do is hold you for the rest of the night. 

“I missed you,” you tell him and he can sense the hurt in your voice. He still remembers the tears streaming down your face when you said your goodbyes. Just seeing you cry almost made him stay there with you. Leaving you like that was the hardest thing he ever had to do. He knows you would have forced him to go anyway so he didn’t even bother putting up a fight. Now he wishes he had. 

“I missed you too. So much.” He knows how desperate he sounds but he doesn’t care. It’s taking everything in him not to lay it all out on the table when he pulls away. 

“Oh my god, you’re the girl,” one of his friends pipes up which just leaves you confused. Simon’s talked about you? Well, of course he has. Your friends. 

“Yeah, the girl from his wallet,” another adds. Simon’s cheeks go bright in pink at that and you think it’s adorable. You love seeing this side of him. 

He has a picture of you in his wallet. You gave it to him to remember you and he keeps it in his wallet? This is the best news you could have ever received. 

“He stares at it all the time, don’t you Simon?” His name is said in a teasing tone and he would love nothing more than for the floor to swallow him whole. This is not at all how he was expecting your reunion to go. 

He was hoping for love confessions and kisses, not being embarrassed in front of the only woman he’s ever loved. You probably think he’s a freak now and he won’t blame you if you walk out that door. 

“He reads your emails too,” another one speaks up. “Every night before bed.” 

Your heart warms with every confession from his friends and when you look at Simon, he’s staring at you, his eyebrows pinched together, his cheeks and ears a bright shade of pink which you can’t help but giggle at. He’s so adorable. 

“Do you want to get a drink, Simon?” You ask, sensing his unease and need to get away from his friends for a little bit. 

“I’d love a drink,” he replies with that bright smile you know he reserves specifically for you and you grab hold of his hand, leading the way to the bar where your friends are still sitting. They all know him very well and they are all happy to be able to tease the two of you again. 

Everyone in your tiny little town has been rooting for you to get together since you were kids and as much as you wish that could happen, you just don’t think it will. If it was meant to be, it would have happened by now, right? You’re both grown adults with your own lives. No longer attached at the hip, no longer sharing everything with each other anymore. 

Whenever something exciting happened, you’d always run to Simon, but now that all of his time is taken up, all of the reactions-albeit, still matching yours-are way after the fact when the moment has passed. 

And you feel guilty when you get upset because it’s not his fault. And you encouraged him to go when he was asking for any reason to stay so you suppose you really don’t have any right to be upset. 

“Well look who’s back,” one of your friends speaks up. “You’d have thought you died with how upset y/n was.” Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed. Your cheeks heat and you see Simon trying his best not to laugh out of the corner of your eye. 

You turn to look at him and his eyes are already on you, that warm look in them that’s always reserved just for you. You missed this. Even though things seem very different than they were last time, you’re still so happy that he’s here and now that book you were looking forward to finishing tonight is long forgotten on your bedside table. 

You want everything to go back to the way it was. There’s tension where there never used to be and now it all just feels so weird. You both know you need to talk about it, but it’s clear that neither of you wants to be the one to make the first move. 

You turn back towards him and sip on your drink, not missing the way his eyes drop to your lips as they wrap around the straw, almost like he wants them to wrap around something else. He steps forward and you set your drink down on the bar, letting him take your hands in his. He holds them gently as he leans forward, his lips right by your ear and his hot breath sends a chill down your spine. 

“Can we talk?” He asks and all you can do is nod before he leads you towards the front doors of the bar. Rain is pouring down so Simon is quick to take off his jacket and hold it over your head as the two of you race into the parking lot where his truck is conveniently parked out front. 

He opens the passenger door for you and helps you into the seat before rounding the front to get into the driver’s seat. As soon as the door is closed, he leans over the bench to reach into the back for something and once his attention is captivated, you shamelessly look over just in time to see his shirt ride up, the wet skin making your mind swirl with the dirtiest things. 

He sits back in the seat and hands something to you. Once you hold it up, you realize that it’s the hoodie he always lets you borrow. You bring it to your nose and just as suspected, it smells like a mixture of laundry detergent and his cologne that he always sprays on it for you. You immediately unzip it and when he sees that you’re taking off your damp shirt, he clears his throat and turns to face the window, closing his eyes so he’s not tempted by the reflection. 

Once he hears the zip, he turns back to face forward as the two of you both unknowingly replaying the exact thing you’re intending to talk about in your heads over and over just like you have been this whole time. 

“I guess I should just be honest,” he says, taking a deep breath, turning to face you as his tongue runs along his bottom lip before chewing on it- a nervous habit he’s had since you've known him. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you nor that kiss since I left and it’s been driving me crazy that I haven’t been able to see you.”

The pit that's been in your stomach for months suddenly disappears and you’re so happy at Simon’s confession that you can’t help but let out a laugh. His cheeks go bright pink and he suddenly feels sick now that you’re laughing at him. Now he wishes he had the power to rewind and not say anything else. 

You seem to sense his unease because your laughter fizzles out and you scoot closer to him, taking his face in your hands. His eyes widen at your closeness and he has no idea what’s happening but he decides not to question it. 

“I love you too, Simon,” you tell him and he can’t help but grin, a little chuckle falling from his lips. “And I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at the fact that we’ve been in love with each other so long and somehow neither of us picked up on it.” 

The more he lets the words sink in, the more he feels the urge to laugh as well, laughter bubbling up inside him and pretty soon, the two of you are cackling about the whole thing even though it’s not nearly as funny as you think it is. 

Once you both sober up, you realize how close you got in your fits of laughter and now your thighs are pressed together, holding onto each other, your hands still on his cheeks that are aching from how much he’s been smiling tonight and his hands now on your waist, the two of you now in the perfect position. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers and you smile wider, your own cheeks hurting now. 

“I’d be really disappointed if you didn’t,” you reply and Simon is quick to lean in, his lips capturing yours in a sweet kiss. This is so much better than either of you remember, and now that you know there will be more in your future, you take your time to explore each other’s mouths. 

Your tongue flicks into his mouth and as he pulls you into his lap, Simon swears that he’s going to lose his mind. You taste like the margarita you’ve been sipping and he’s still so surprised that you’re in his truck and willingly making out with him. This is something he’s fantasized about for so much of his life and part of him still can’t believe what’s happening. 

He feels you grinding against him and he can’t help but let out a moan at how good it feels. You feel yourself getting even more wet at hearing it as well as feeling his bulge hitting against you. His hand slide up your hoodie, pressing against your bare back your grinding picks up, your heavy breaths progressively fogging up the car. 

You push his still wet hair from his forehead as your fingers thread through it as his hips buck against yours. He decides that he needs you and needs you now so his hands move up to the zipper of your hoodie and he slowly unzips it, pushing it off your shoulders and only pulling away to get a glimpse of your naked torso. You’re even more beautiful than he imagined and he takes a moment to look at you, the woman he’s been in love with his whole life. The only woman for him whom for whatever reason he’s still unsure of is in love with him too. 

He helps you lie back on the bench as his own shirt comes off, though this is a struggle since he got most of the rain. You pull him down onto you, going for another kiss as you both attempt to finish undressing each other, various clothing items flying around the front of the truck until you’re both naked. 

Simon’s hands reach for yours, threading your fingers together as he slowly slides inside of you, both of you moaning and whining as he thrusts in and out, having no barrier feeling so good. You both fit so perfectly together and neither of you can believe that you haven’t done this sooner. 

Simon takes his time, slowly moving in and out of, wanting the first time to be soft and sweet. He gently squeezes your hands as he tells you how much he loves you over and over which you return before he goes back to complimenting you any chance he gets. He just feels so free and now he feels the need to tell you everything that he likes about you that friends definitely shouldn’t tell other friends.

“You look so pretty like this,” he says as he presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “In fact, I think this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked.” Your once freezing body is now on fire as his lustful gaze roams all over it.

“I feel the same way about you,” you reply, letting your eyes roam over his body too. You slowly take in his tattooed arm, the very tattoos that you’ve traced with your fingers over and over while you’ve been cuddled up on the couch.

Simon picks up the pace just a little bit but that seems to do the trick as your moans get louder and louder with every thrust. You can feel your orgasm approaching quickly and Simon is quick to encourage you, talking you through it with his sweet words.

“That’s it,” he says. “Just like that, sweetheart.” Your name falls from his lips in a loud moan and he can see that you’re going dumb on him so he’s quick to pull out before grabbing some napkins from the glove box to clean the two of you up. 

He grabs your clothes and helps you put them back on, pressing a kiss to your lips as he zips up his jacket for you. 

“Did so well, sweetheart,” he compliments against your lips. “Think you’re willing to go for round two at your place?” All you can do is nod as he gets himself dressed before buckling your seatbelt for you. Once your all set, he pulls out of the parking lot and heads to your place that he still doesn’t need directions for as he drives much slower than usual since he’s got precious cargo as well as his favorite passenger princess in the front seat.

[adelliet]

Joel Miller x f!reader

MILLER'S ABYSS

Summary: Your sister is marrying one of the Millers — but you despise the other one, and the feeling is mutual. Still, family is supposed to stick together, not tear each other apart. So, over time, the two of you grow closer… far closer than anyone ever expected.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, enemies to lovers, age gap (not really mentioned), strong language, nicknames (goor girl…) praise kink, sexual tension, oral sex ( f receiving ), creampie, rough unprotected sex ( p i v ), harassment, mention of weapons and alcohol

A/n: Hello! I swear to god I wrote a long ass novel. I am really sorry for anyone, who decided to read the whole thing…anyways if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

You’ve been around since the very beginning of your sister’s relationship with Tommy.

From the moment she started gushing daily about how beautiful his eyes were, how no man had ever smiled at her the way he did, how kind and attentive he was. You witnessed it all — the blissful highs and the inevitable lows. The fights, the breaks, the tearful late-night conversations about breaking up… though they never actually did.

You were there for every moment, even the ones you wish you hadn’t been. Kate had never been shy about sharing even the most intimate details of her relationship with you. She had no filter, and unfortunately for you, that included describing her and Tommy’s sex life in disturbingly vivid detail.

Once, you even caught them in the act in your own house. But hey, that’s a memory you can kind of laugh about now… sort of.

So when she told you Tommy had proposed, you weren’t surprised — not in the slightest. You were happy for her. You loved your sister more than anything, and you knew she had chosen the right guy. Honestly, you were just relieved she hadn’t chosen his brother — Joel.

From the first moment those grumpy, judgmental eyes met yours, Joel Miller had been a pain in your ass. Arrogant. Insufferable. Always had something snarky to say about you at every family gathering. And sure, you gave it back. You were never the type to sit there and take it. Which is exactly how this rivalry had formed. Let’s just call it what it is: you and Joel were enemies.

Until now, it wasn’t really a problem. You could ignore him, roll your eyes when his name came up, and pray you wouldn’t be seated next to him at dinner. But now that your sister was officially going to be a part of the Miller family, officially taking their name, sharing their home, their holiday dinners, that made you, like it or not, a part of their family too. Great.

And if that wasn’t enough, your sister had been relentlessly pushing you to make peace with Joel. “For her.” As if you owed it to her to get along with a man who seemed to exist solely to piss you off.

She guilt-tripped you into it, like she always did, and you hated that it worked. Because as manipulative as she could be, you loved the hell out of her. And you knew this meant the world to her. But Joel? Joel was still a jackass, pre-wedding or not, he wasn’t going to change.

You were still at home when Kate barged into your room like she owned the place — which, technically, she almost did, considering how often she was there. Dressed in a soft green sweater and jeans, she looked casual, relaxed, and maddeningly excited.

Meanwhile, you were half-dressed, still holding a flat iron in one hand and a look of pure dread on your face.

“Come on,” she said with a cheerful grin. “It’s just dinner.”

You narrowed your eyes at her in the mirror. “It’s never just dinner when Joel’s involved.”

Kate sighed dramatically, flopping down on your bed like some exhausted mother of the bride. “You two need to get over this weird… war thing. He’s really not that bad.”

You raised an eyebrow. “He once referred to me as ‘extra baggage’ in front of your entire family.”

“Okay, yes, that was… not his finest moment. But he was joking,” she admit, but still tried to save it.

“Oh yeah, nothing screams hilarious comedy like being publicly insulted.”

She sat up, crossing her legs under her. “Please, babe. Just try tonight. For me. If you can survive one dinner without threatening to stab him with a fork, I swear I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”

You let out a dry laugh. “You say that every time.”

“And yet you keep saying yes,” she smirked.

You groaned. She was right. You hated how much you loved her. With a final puff of frustration, you turned off the flat iron, stood up, and grabbed your jacket. “Fine. But if he calls me ‘baggage’ again, I’m pouring wine on his lap.”

Meanwhile, Joel is going through the exact same thing. Tommy’s been in his ear all week, pressuring him to play nice. To “just give her a chance.” Tommy’s been acting like he’s the victim, like he’s stuck in the middle, practically begging Joel to make the effort. So now you and Joel are both being dragged into this under the pretense of a “family bonding” dinner.

By the time you two got to the Miller house, it was already dusk. The porch light was on, casting a warm glow over the wood panels and old swing seat hanging to the side. Tommy opened the door before you even knocked. He immediately scooped Kate into his arms, greeting her with a kiss that lasted a bit too long for your taste.

“Jesus, get a room,” you muttered under your breath.

Tommy chuckled. “Evenin’,” he said, giving you a nod.

You gave him a polite smile. “Hey.”

Then came the moment your blood turned cold. Joel stepped into the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. His hair was slightly damp like he’d just showered, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He didn’t say anything — just looked at you. You looked back. And there it was again, that mutual expression of ugh, it’s you.

Kate and Tommy exchanged matching looks and leaned into your ears simultaneously.

“Be nice,” she hissed at you.

“Don’t start anything,” Tommy whispered to Joel.

You both scoffed.

Dinner prep was a disaster waiting to happen. For some unknown reason, probably Kate and Tommy being evil geniuses, you and Joel were tasked with setting the table and bringing out the food. The tension in the kitchen was unbearable.

“Could you not stand in front of the fridge like a statue?” you snapped.

“I’m getting the damn salad, princess,” Joel grumbled, pulling out the bowl and practically shoving it into your arms.

You glared. “Try using your words instead of your muscles, Neanderthal.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t tempt me to go back to grunting. Might actually be more productive.”

The more you moved around each other, the worse it got — bumping hips at the counter, brushing arms when reaching for the same spoon, and more than once, you two knocked elbows hard enough to make you both wince.

“Watch it,” you muttered.

“You watch it,” he shot back.

“Jesus Christ,” you both said at the same time, throwing your heads back in sync. Which, of course, only made things worse because now you were in sync, and that was not acceptable.

Finally, Kate came in and clapped her hands. “Enough! Can you two just pretend not to hate each other for one night? Please?”

You and Joel both grumbled something under your breath and carried the last dishes to the table in stony silence.

Dinner was… exactly what you expected. You sat across from Joel — naturally. Your jaw was clenched the entire time, and you were very aware of every fork and knife placement, just in case they needed to become weapons. The air was so thick with tension it could’ve been sliced like the roast chicken on the table.

Kate and Tommy tried to salvage the evening with small talk.

“So…” Kate started, glancing between you and Joel, “how was everyone’s day?”

“Fine,” you said flatly.

“Work,” Joel replied, same tone.

Tommy tried to step in. “Hey, did you two know you both listen to Johnny Cash? I found out the other day when—”

“I liked him first,” you snapped.

Joel raised a brow. “Didn’t realize it was a competition.”

“Everything is a competition with you.”

Tommy looked between you both like a tennis match was playing out on the table. “O-kayyy…”

Kate, bless her heart, still tried. “Oh! What’s one thing you two have in common, hmm? Let’s start there.”

You both said nothing.

Joel took a slow sip of water and said, “We both hate this dinner.”

You nodded. “He’s not wrong.”

Kate sighed, Tommy just reached for the wine bottle, shaking his head. They both knew this is going to be a long night.

Dinner was mostly quiet — painfully so. The clink of forks against plates and the occasional hum of conversation from Tommy and Kate filled the room, but that was about it. You and Joel barely spoke.

Occasionally, your eyes would meet across the table, sometimes with passive annoyance, other times with flat-out disgust, and sometimes with something neutral. But even neutrality between you two felt tense, like a ceasefire that could end at any moment.

Tommy tried to lighten the mood a few times, making dumb jokes about the food or poking at Joel’s cooking skills.

“This chicken dry, or is it just me?” he teased with a grin.

Joel gave him a look. “If it’s dry, it’s ’cause you didn’t baste it. That was your job.”

Kate laughed, trying to follow up. “At least you two managed not to kill each other in the kitchen, right?”

No response. But they tried again.

“So,” Kate began, clearly reaching, “any plans this weekend?”

“I work,” you said.

Joel echoed, “Same.”

Another silence fell, heavier than before. The kind of silence that made your jaw ache just from clenching it so long. No matter how hard Tommy and Kate tried to spark something between you two — laughter, small talk, anything — the tension in the room snuffed it out before it could catch fire. It wasn’t just awkward. It was chemical.

You and Joel in the same space were like two opposing forces, constantly repelling, constantly charged. Too close and it sparked. Too far and it still lingered in the air like static.

After dinner, as expected, you and Joel were once again exiled to the kitchen, this time to wash the dishes.

Kate had literally clapped her hands and said, “Bonding time!” before shoving the dirty plates into your arms. You didn’t even have time to argue before she and Tommy disappeared into the living room, probably to laugh about your misery.

Now you stood next to Joel, the two of you shoulder-to-shoulder at the sink.

He washed. You dried. Silence.

The sound of running water filled the space, along with the occasional clink of a fork against a plate. You hadn’t said a single word since you entered the kitchen, and neither had he.

The mood wasn’t angry, though. Not anymore. It was something else. Something you couldn’t quite name.

You turned your head slightly, and your gaze drifted downward, toward his hands.

You didn’t mean to stare, but something about them caught you. His hands were large, strong, weathered. The veins stood out beneath the tanned skin, pulsing slightly as he gripped a soapy plate. His knuckles looked a little bruised, like he’d been working with tools recently, or maybe throwing punches. There was hair on his forearms, just enough, and the muscles flexed subtly as he moved, the way a man’s body does when he doesn’t even think about it.

You swallowed. Your eyes lingered on his fingers. Long, sure, and steady. You imagined, just for a split second, how they would feel against your skin. What they would do if they weren’t holding a dish, but holding you. You bit your lip.

The kitchen faded around you. The water noise dimmed. Everything felt slow, heavy, thick like honey. Your chest tightened, your stomach dropped, and something low and electric buzzed between your legs — a tension that coiled and pulled without warning, warm and unwanted and there. You weren’t even breathing right.

You didn’t realize he was speaking to you.

“Hey. Plate.”

Your head snapped up, too late. He was holding a clean plate, expecting you to take it. But your hands stayed frozen, and when he let go, it slipped. The crash was loud.

Porcelain shattered against the floor in a sharp burst, and you gasped, stepping back automatically.

“Shit,” Joel muttered under his breath, already reaching down.

You moved forward, instinctively trying to kneel, but his hand shot out fast, palm pressed against your hip to stop you.

“Don’t,” he said firmly, his voice low — not angry, not annoyed. Protective. You froze in place.

He crouched and swept up the shards quickly, moving with precision, barely saying a word. He worked silently, efficiently, like it was nothing, but his jaw was tight. His eyes flicked up at you once, his brows furrowed. His expression was angry and confused all at once.

He stood back up after dumping the last of the shards into the trash bin, wiping his hands on a towel with a sigh, sharp and fed up.

Then he turned toward you with that same ever-present frustration in his eyes.

“What is wrong with you?”

You blinked at him, speechless.

“What, were you daydreamin’ so hard you forgot how to use your hands?”

His tone wasn’t playful. It wasn’t even annoyed. It was accusatory, like you’d done it on purpose, just to piss him off.

You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your body was frozen in place, the towel still clenched in your fingers, your lips parted like you might say something — but no sound came out. You weren’t even mad. Not this time. Because underneath all that embarrassment, all that tension, was confusion.

What the hell was that?

Why had you been staring at his hands like they were goddamn poetry? Why had your brain short-circuited and your body reacted like that — like you wanted something from him?

From Joel fucking Miller.

You didn’t understand yourself right now. At all.

Joel scoffed under his breath when you didn’t respond and brushed past you without another word, tossing the towel over the edge of the sink and leaving you standing there — warm, unsettled, and angry at no one but yourself.

After you and Kate finally left the Miller house and inhaled the fresh night air, Kate looped her arm through yours. She looked up at you with that too-knowing expression.

“Well?” she asked, her voice casual, but the look on her face said spill it.

You gave her the look — that don’t start with me kind of face.

Kate exhaled, long and exaggerated. “Seriously? What is it gonna take for you two to stop acting like mortal enemies?”

You didn’t answer right away, just stared out at the sidewalk ahead.

“I know he’s annoying,” she went on. “I know he’s pushy, and grumpy, and rude as hell, but Jesus, he’s not the devil. He’s just Joel.”

You finally spoke, voice lower than usual. “I get it. Okay? I get it. You’re marrying into his family, I’m technically gonna be stuck with him for the rest of my life, blah blah blah.”

She smirked. “So you’ll try?”

You sighed. “I will. But only if he does, too. I can’t be the only one putting effort into something we both clearly hate.”

Kate made a noise between a laugh and a groan. “Fair enough. But God, I swear, if you two ruin the wedding photos with your death glares…”

Back inside the Miller house, Joel was slouched on the couch, legs spread out, beer in hand. Tommy returned from the kitchen with two more beers and plopped down beside him.

“So,” he said, cracking open a bottle. “What the hell happened in there?”

Joel didn’t even look at him. “She dropped a plate.”

Tommy squinted. “She dropped it?”

Joel shrugged. “I handed it to her, and she just… didn’t take it. Let it fall. Her fault.”

Tommy gave him a really, man? look. “You think maybe she was distracted or somethin’? Maybe you distracted her?”

Joel scoffed. “You think she was distracted by me? Please. If anything, she was probably daydreamin’ about strangling me.”

Tommy raised a brow, clearly not buying the sarcasm. “You ever think that maybe the reason you two can’t stop fighting is because there’s somethin’ else going on?”

Joel shot him a glare. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Tommy said, leaning forward with that big-brother patience, “that you’ve been on her case since day one. And maybe it’s not just because she annoys you.”

Joel opened his mouth, but Tommy cut him off.

“I’m serious, man. The wedding’s in a few days. Can you do me a favor and try to get along with her until then? I don’t need you two turning the rehearsal dinner into a goddamn war zone.”

Joel looked away, jaw clenched. He didn’t say anything for a while. Just took a long drink from his bottle.

Eventually, he muttered, “I’ll think about it.”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Better than nothing, I guess.”

The tension between you and Joel hadn’t eased in the slightest since that night at the Miller household. If anything, the silence had grown louder, more hostile. Kate and Tommy, of course, refused to give up on their master plan to “bring the two of you together,” as if your lives were a cheesy rom-com and not a daily emotional battlefield.

With the wedding quickly approaching, they decided the best way to force bonding would be through responsibility. Specifically: seating arrangements and wedding invitations. Apparently, this critical task needed the undivided attention of you and Joel. Together. Alone. In their house. Because of course.

Kate and Tommy conveniently had an appointment in town, something about last-minute candle holders and music rehearsals, and “oh no, what a shame, you guys will just have to hold down the fort!” Kate practically squealed while Tommy tried to look like it wasn’t part of their evil plan.

So there you were, sitting stiffly at the Millers’ dining table, stacks of RSVP cards, envelopes, and color-coded guest lists spread out in front of you. Joel sat across from you, equally still, equally uninterested in being here.

The silence was thick. Occasionally, one of you would mutter something like, “He’s allergic to nuts, right?” or “That name’s spelled with an ‘e’.”

Minimal communication. Minimal eye contact. Maximal contempt.

You let out a heavy sigh as you picked up a fresh stack of blank envelopes. “Y’know, this would’ve been so much easier if the world hadn’t ended,” you muttered under your breath. “A few clicks and everyone would’ve had a damn email invite. Done in five minutes.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “You miss the internet that bad?”

You shrugged. “I miss not having to do this shit by hand, yeah.”

He scoffed. “It’s a wedding. People used to do this all the time.”

You shot him a look. “People used to do a lot of dumb things.”

Joel raised both hands in mock surrender, then muttered, “Including arguing about paper.”

A few beats passed in silence again before you looked up, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. “This whole thing’s weird, isn’t it?”

Joel looked at you cautiously. “Which part?”

“All of it,” you said. “Two people falling in love in this… mess. Choosing each other. Wanting to celebrate it. Feels like some part of the old world pretending it still exists.”

He didn’t respond, just kept his eyes on the page in front of him.

You watched him a second longer, then said, “I mean… what does that even mean anymore? Love. You think it still means the same thing it used to?”

Joel finally looked up.

You met his gaze, and the words slipped out before you could think twice, not really curious, more mocking than anything else. “What does love even mean to you, Joel Miller?”

He stared at you, his jaw slowly tightening.

You added with a touch of venom, “Have you even ever been in love? Or are you too emotionally constipated for that, too?”

He froze. The look in his eyes darkened, and the air between you changed.

“The hell did you just say?”

You didn’t flinch. “I called you a pussy, Joel.”

His nostrils flared. “Say it again.”

“I said, you’re a pussy.”

The silence that followed was dense, almost buzzing. Joel’s eyes drilled into you, and for a second, you weren’t sure what he was going to do. Yell? Walk out?

But instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, voice low and sharp.

“You wanna talk big, huh? Then tell me, what does love mean to you, sweetheart?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Since you’ve clearly got all the answers.”

You hesitated, heart skipping. Your mouth opened, then closed. You looked away.

“That’s what I thought,” Joel said.

You stared at the table for a long moment, heart pounding in your ears. Then, before you could stop yourself, your voice broke the silence.

“Love is… when you can’t breathe right unless that person is in the room. When you’d rather fight with them than be at peace with anyone else. When you want to see all the ugly parts of them and still stay. And when their pain… feels like yours.”

You didn’t dare look up, not right away. When you finally did, Joel was staring. Not blinking. Not moving. Just looking. Like he’d never really seen you until now.

He cleared his throat suddenly, shifted, and said, “Huh.”

Then he nodded. Once. Turned back to the list. The moment lingered. Hung between you like a string, pulled taut.

Then he spoke again.

“Love’s when you wanna walk away but something keeps pullin’ you back. When you can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout how they laugh… or how mad they get. When you know it’s messy and it still feels like home.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. Something inside you had shifted.

But before it could settle, before the warmth could sink in…

Joel muttered, “Still doesn’t explain why you act like a damn gremlin every time I speak.”

You scoffed. “Because you speak like a man who’s never been hugged.”

“Then maybe you should try it sometime,” he shot back.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. I’d rather hug a cactus.”

“Figures,” Joel said. “Prickly little thing like you would.”

Still, despite the insults, the two of you finished the task. The guest list was done. Invitations sorted. But the words exchanged, the raw ones, clung to the air. And you didn’t quite know how to feel.

You had just gotten home, the front door clicking shut behind you with a soft thud. Your shoulders slumped immediately. The moment you stepped into your own space, a small but safe corner of Jackson, you let out a sigh that had been bottled up since you left the Miller house.

The silence here was different. Not tense or charged like it had been with Joel. Just… quiet.

You slipped off your jacket, toed off your boots, and dropped your bag on the floor without ceremony. The thought of Joel’s voice, his eyes locked on yours when you told him what love meant to you…it haunted the back of your mind like a persistent shadow. You shook your head, trying to return back to reality.

A knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. You already knew it was her.

Kate stood there with a small smile, holding a container of something vaguely edible and homemade. “Peace offering,” she said. “And no, you don’t get to say no.”

You let her in, and a few minutes later you were both curled up on your couch, the dish of food forgotten on the coffee table. Kate had that look, the one she wore when she was trying to act casual, but her whole soul was bubbling with questions.

“So…” she said, dragging the word out dramatically. “How’d it go?”

You blinked, already mentally preparing your response. “Fine.”

Kate narrowed her eyes. “Fine?”

You nodded. “We didn’t kill each other. That’s a win.”

She stared at you, and you could practically hear her brain doing somersaults. She knew something was wrong. You've never looked so confused.

Kate pulled her legs up onto the couch and faced you fully, expression softening.

“You look… tired,” she finally said, trying to keep her tone light.

“Long day,” you replied simply, brushing it off.

Kate gave you a small smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How was the… invitation thing?”

You shrugged. “It’s done.”

There was a pause. You didn’t elaborate. And she didn’t press. You could feel her gaze lingering on you, trying to read something on your face, but you didn’t let her see it. Whatever was still spinning inside you, the strange heaviness, the warmth that shouldn’t have been there, the ghost of Joel Miller’s voice, that was yours. Yours alone.

Kate leaned back with a sigh, folding her arms.

“I know you don’t want to talk about him,” she said softly, “but I just… I need to ask.”

You looked at her, guarded.

“Do you think it’s ever going to change? Between you and Joel?”

You didn’t answer right away. You looked at your hands, picked at a loose thread on your sleeve.

“Some things don’t change,” you said quietly. “Some things just… stay broken.”

Kate’s face twisted, the fight going out of her. She blinked quickly, but it didn’t stop the tears that started forming.

You looked over, guilt blooming in your chest. “Kate…”

“I just wanted it to be perfect,” she whispered. “My wedding. This whole day I’ve been dreaming of since I was a kid. I wanted everyone I love to be there and to be happy and whole.”

“You will have that,” you said firmly, even if your voice shook a little.

She shook her head, wiping her cheeks as the tears finally fell. “Not if you two are at each other’s throats the whole time.”

You stayed quiet, watching her break down in front of you — your strong, soft-hearted sister who tried so hard to keep everyone together.

“I know I sound dramatic,” she laughed bitterly through her tears. “But I don’t want to remember walking down the aisle and seeing you scowling in one corner and Joel brooding in the other.”

You reached out and took her hand. “You won’t. I promise.”

Kate sniffled. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise I’ll try,” you said. “I don’t know what he’ll do, but I’ll try. For you.”

That seemed to help — not fix it, not fully, but soften the edges of her sadness. Her grip on your hand tightened.

Kate wiped her cheeks and let out a breathy laugh. “You better try, because if not, I was going to threaten you with the world’s ugliest bridesmaid dress.”

You snorted. “I’d wear it. Just to ruin your photos.”

She gasped in mock offense, then started laughing, a real one this time. You joined her, and for a few minutes, the air was lighter. Less pressure. Less ache.

At least for now.

The bed creaked softly beneath him as he shifted for the third time in five minutes. Joel lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling of his dimly lit bedroom, the moonlight cutting across the room in a cold stripe. The air was still, thick with silence, and yet his mind was unbearably loud.

He’d tried everything. Rolling over. Flipping his pillow. Forcing his thoughts toward patrol routes, inventory lists, anything functional. But no matter what direction he turned, you were there. Like a ghost he hadn’t asked for but couldn’t exorcize.

Your face hovered behind his eyelids. Not angry or sharp the way it often was — but softer. Lit with that rare, fleeting smile you gave Kate. Or the way your head tipped back when you laughed at something that actually caught you off guard. That sound — fuck, that sound — warm and bright like the first day of spring after a brutal winter.

And then there was the way you touched your hair, that unconscious little motion, fingers gliding through it, tucking it behind your ear or sweeping it out of your eyes. You didn’t even know you did it. But Joel did. He’d seen it. Noticed it. Memorized it like a fool.

He pictured you leaning over the table earlier that day, shirt riding up just enough to reveal a strip of bare lower back. His gaze had lingered. Too long. He knew that. He hated that.

Your ass—round, perfect, smug in those tight jeans—had haunted him every time he closed his eyes since.

He shifted again, jaw clenched now, heat starting to pool somewhere low in his belly.

No. No, no, no.

But it was already too late. His body wasn’t asking for permission — it was responding. A twitch of pressure, a slow tightening beneath the waistband of his briefs. His breath caught as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish you from his brain.

Didn’t work.

You stayed, and now you were closer — the imagined warmth of your skin, the sound of your voice in his ear, teasing, smug. The tilt of your mouth. The curve of your hips as you stood with one hand on them, rolling your eyes at something he said.

His hand fisted the sheets.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, voice rough, hoarse with frustration — and something else.

He turned onto his side, dragging the blanket higher, willing his body to calm down. But it wouldn’t. Every time he shut his eyes, there you were — sometimes laughing, sometimes biting your lip, sometimes looking up at him with that fire in your gaze that made him feel like he was being dared to cross a line.

He groaned, low and miserable, rolling onto his back again.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were infuriating. You were stubborn, impulsive, mouthy. You didn’t like him. He didn’t like you.

But your voice still echoed in his head, that quiet answer you’d given when you talked about love. It had knocked something loose in him. Something buried. Something he didn’t want to name.

Joel cursed under his breath again and threw an arm over his eyes, as if blocking out the light might also block you. His body was still betraying him — hard now, pulsing and persistent, refusing to let him pretend.

He didn’t know what was happening to him. Why it was happening. Why it was happening, because of you.

He hated you. Every fiber of you. Every sound that came out of your mouth was insufferable, every sentence laced with that arrogant, sarcastic tone that made his blood boil. Your eyes, your posture, your voice, your goddamn presence—he hated it all.

So why the hell is he fucking hard right now? Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

Why did the image of your lips slightly parted as you chewed on your bottom one haunt him? Why did the memory of the soft curve of your waist, revealed when your shirt lifted just a little too high the other day, replay in his mind like some sick punishment? Why did he remember the sway of your hips when you walked away from him in irritation, those tight pants hugging your ass so perfectly it should’ve been illegal?

And why did his cock throb every time he let the image linger? It was torture.

He shifted in his bed again, groaning under his breath. Sheets rustled around him, clinging to his sweat-slicked skin.

He closed his eyes. He opened them. He closed them again. You were still there—in his head. Laughing, glaring, rolling your eyes, teasing him with that attitude that made him want to pin you to a wall and shut you up with his mouth.

He threw an arm over his face. Growled.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

Sleep definitely wasn’t coming tonight.

The next morning arrived like a slap in the face.

You were walking through Jackson, hands tucked into your jacket pockets, breathing in the chilled air. The sky was pale and clouded, the usual buzz of early activity around you—a couple of kids running down the path, dogs barking, someone hauling wood nearby.

You were just going to the store. That was it. Simple. In and out. Until your eyes landed on him - on Joel.

He was a little far off, working on a newly constructed cabin. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing thick, sun-kissed forearms, and you watched, breath hitching as his muscles tensed with each swing of the hammer. The way his biceps bulged, like fucking granite, as he brought the tool down with precision and force.

You knew it was wrong, but… your eyes wandered lower. Watching the way his back flexed beneath his shirt, the curve of his ass in those damn jeans, the way his hair bounced slightly with the movement, sticking to his sweaty forehead. The veins in his hands, so prominent, so… masculine, wrapped around the handle of that hammer like it owed him something.

Your stomach twisted. You swallowed hard. Your thighs pressed together. Your panties were… wet. Unmistakably. You could feel it. You were pulsing. And it was because of Joel fucking Miller.

You stared for a moment too long, heart racing, body betraying you in every way it could. Then it hit you like a truck, the embarrassment, the fury.

You tore your gaze away, eyes wide, and stormed forward like your feet could carry you out of your own body.

What the hell was wrong with you? Why were you reacting like this to him? You hated him. He was rude. Cocky. Infuriating. Not even that attractive.

So why the hell was your body acting like it wanted him inside you?

You cursed under your breath. Not at Joel. At yourself.

By the time you entered the store, you were still flustered, heart thudding in your ears. You pushed a cart forward and moved through the aisles like you were on autopilot, scanning for what you needed. Your brain was still somewhere else entirely.

That’s when someone spoke behind you.

“Hey—uh, sorry, do you know which flour’s better for, like, sourdough bread? The brown bag or the white one?”

You blinked and turned around. There was a guy. Kinda cute. Probably around your age. Tall, lean, with soft features and warm eyes. His voice was kind, curious. Not annoying. Not Joel.

You glanced at the two bags in his hands, then pointed to one. “The brown bag’s whole grain. It’s heavier. Depends what you want, but for sourdough? White’s probably safer.”

He smiled. “Thanks. I’m Hank, by the way.”

You nodded, giving a small smile back. “Nice to meet you.”

And that was it. Just… nice.

You continued your shopping, finishing quickly, keeping the interaction in the back of your mind, but it was faint. Not because Hank wasn’t lovely, but because Joel was still in your system like venom.

You paid, stepped outside with your bag in hand, and started the walk home, your mind looping the same awful thought:

Why did your body want the one person your brain wanted to strangle? You had no answer. Just the echo of his name in your head and the heavy, traitorous thrum in your chest.

The sky had long since darkened into a deep navy, the stars peeking shyly through the scattered clouds above Jackson.

Inside your home, it was warm—quiet. A soft amber glow bathed the living room from the single lamp you’d turned on, casting long shadows against the walls.

You were curled up on the couch, wearing nothing but a loose oversized T-shirt that draped just over your hips and a pair of simple cotton panties. Your legs were bare, tucked under you as you sipped from a mug of coffee that had gone lukewarm long ago, but the comfort it offered hadn’t worn off.

The silence was calming, the kind that followed an emotionally messy day. You breathed out softly, your body finally beginning to unwind—until a knock pulled you back into reality.

You didn’t flinch. You assumed, without question, that it was Kate. Probably coming to drop off something or chat about the wedding. So you padded lazily to the door, not thinking twice about how little you were wearing. Your shirt clung to your body slightly, the thin fabric doing little to hide the curve of your breasts or the faint outline of your nipples beneath it. You didn’t care. It was just Kate.

But it wasn’t Kate.

The second the door opened, and you locked eyes with the man standing there, your breath caught. Joel Miller. And he looked stunned.

His eyes scanned you—fast at first, like he knew he shouldn’t—but then slower, more deliberate. They flicked down your body, taking in the exposed skin of your legs, the hem of the shirt barely grazing your thighs. The hard peaks beneath the soft fabric. Your bare feet. Your collarbone. His mouth parted slightly, and for the briefest moment, he forgot whatever the hell he was doing there.

You noticed. You definitely noticed.

Your expression flattened into a scowl as you exhaled, annoyed. “The fuck do you want?”

That snapped him out of it. He blinked, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, clearly trying to summon the familiar arrogance that always kept him armored around you.

“Trust me,” he muttered, voice low and gravelly, “I’d rather be anywhere else but here.”

“Great,” you snapped, already pushing the door to shut in his face. But his large, calloused hand caught the wood with ease, pushing it back open like it was nothing.

You glared but didn’t resist. There was no point. You couldn’t overpower Joel Miller, and honestly, you were too tired to try.

“Tommy sent me,” he finally said, voice returning to its usual gruff cadence. “Said we need to go grab some shit from the woods. Decoration stuff. For the wedding.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why me?”

He shrugged, unapologetic. “Apparently, you’re a woman. Which means you’re supposed to be better at this crap than me.”

You scoffed dramatically, rolling your eyes, and turned to glance at the clock hanging in your living room. “It’s nine-fucking-p.m. Are you stupid?”

“I worked all day,” he bit back, voice edging toward exasperation, though his gaze never left your bare thighs.

You mumbled under your breath, “Yeah. I noticed.” Your eyes flicked down to the floor quickly.

Joel tilted his head. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” you replied with a fake sweet smile, lips curling with venom.

He sighed. “Are you coming or not?”

You knew damn well that if you said no, not only would he keep annoying you, but so would Kate and Tommy, and eventually, you’d cave. So you made the only rational choice—gave a dramatic sigh and stepped back into your house, leaving the door open behind you.

“Wait here,” you muttered over your shoulder.

Joel stepped inside, his boots heavy against your wooden floor. He didn’t say anything. Just took in your space with a kind of silent judgment that felt oddly intimate. It was homey. Clean. Warm. He liked it more than he should’ve.

When you returned a few minutes later, your body was dressed in a black button-up shirt that clung to your figure, paired with tight black jeans that hugged your hips and ass like they were tailor-made. You tossed your hair back and brushed your hand along the wall, grabbing your jacket.

Joel saw you. swallowing hard when he felt the blood in his body rush somewhere it really shouldn’t.

“Let’s go,” you said curtly, pushing past him and stepping out the door. He followed. Silently.

The truck rumbled to life, headlights cutting through the inky black night as Joel pulled out of your driveway. You sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, gaze fixed out the window.

Silence. Thick silence.

Not the peaceful kind from earlier. This one was charged, buzzing under your skin like static. The air between you crackled with unspoken things, heavy tension that neither of you dared to slice through. Questions, feelings, memories—none of them had names, but they were all there, pressing into the cab of the truck like ghosts refusing to stay dead.

You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you. But both of you felt it. Every second ticked by like a countdown to something inevitable. Something neither of you were ready to admit.

The road stretched out endlessly ahead, swallowed by the dark trees on either side. The only sound filling the truck was the steady hum of the engine and the occasional crunch of gravel beneath the tires. You sat with your arms crossed, your body angled slightly toward the window, your gaze locked on the shadows flashing by. The silence was thick. Claustrophobic. And entirely unbearable.

Finally, Joel broke it.

“What’d you do today?”

His voice was neutral. Uninterested, even. He didn’t look at you—kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting lazily on the wheel, the other draped over the armrest. Just a casual question, thrown out into the air like it didn’t mean a damn thing.

You turned your head slowly toward him, an incredulous smirk pulling at your lips. “Really?”

Joel glanced at you once, then again, brows drawing slightly together. “What?”

A laugh burst out of you, short and bitter, as you shook your head in disbelief. “You’re seriously trying to ask me about my day?”

He didn’t respond immediately. You could tell he was debating it. Trying to find a retort that wouldn’t sound weak. But before he could even open his mouth, you beat him to it.

“You don’t even care.”

Your voice was quieter now, almost defeated. You turned your head back toward the window, watching the world blur past, soft shadows and moonlight playing tricks on your vision. For a moment, there was only silence again. Heavy. Tense.

“…I don’t,” Joel finally admitted, his tone dry, “but it’s better than this annoying-ass silence.”

You let the corner of your mouth twitch. The bastard had a point. You let a few seconds pass, then finally gave in.

“I went to the store.”

Joel gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment, a slight nod that was barely perceptible.

“I met someone. Hank.”

Another grunt. Another nod. But this time… his grip on the steering wheel tightened. Just a little. Barely enough to notice. But you saw the way his forearm flexed, how his fingers wrapped more firmly around the leather. It was subtle. But there. A small flash of something ugly and hot in his chest. Jealousy? No. That couldn’t be. Why the hell would he be jealous?

“Is he cute?” he asked.

You didn’t even hesitate. “Not bad. Might give him my address if I see him again.”

That did it. Joel’s knuckles went white on the wheel, his jaw tightening so hard it ticked. His whole body tensed like a wire pulled too tight.

You knew exactly what you were doing. And you liked the reaction a little more than you should have.

“What about you?” you asked, voice suddenly lighter, almost teasing. “Meet any girls today?”

“Huh?” Joel glanced over at you quickly before looking back at the road.

“Come on, you know… did you meet someone new? Maybe someone young and smiley and way too optimistic for her own good?”

Joel let out a huff of air—half a laugh, half a scoff. “Not into that crap.”

“Not into what? Dating?”

He gave a slow nod. “Yeah. Who the hell would date a grumpy old bastard like me?”

Your eyes met for a second too long. And something in your chest… shifted. He didn’t say it like a joke. He wasn’t fishing for pity. He was just being honest. And you saw it, really saw it, in his expression. That quiet loneliness that clung to him like a shadow he didn’t know how to shake.

“Don’t be stupid,” you muttered. “I’m sure someone would.”

You weren’t sure why you said it. It came out before you could stop it. Before you could build your usual wall of sarcasm and spite.

Joel’s mouth twitched bitterly. “Wish I was as naïve as you.”

And god, you hated how that made you feel. That burning in your throat. The aching behind your ribs. He was so frustrating, so guarded, so closed off—but in moments like this, you could almost feel how much it cost him to let anything through.

You wanted to hug him. You wouldn’t, of course. But you wanted to.

Joel pulled the truck to a slow stop, the gravel crunching under the tires as the headlights hit a clearing at the edge of the woods. “We’re here,” he muttered, already pushing open his door without a second glance.

You followed a few seconds later, slamming the passenger door a bit too hard and catching up with him.

“So,” you asked as you reached his side, “what exactly are we looking for?”

“Shit for the wedding. Kate wants it to be all… nature-themed or whatever. So twigs, berries, moss, mushrooms. Forest crap.”

You arched a brow. “Romantic.”

Joel didn’t reply. He just handed you a small burlap sack and started heading deeper into the woods, boots crunching over fallen leaves. You walked with him in silence, collecting whatever looked remotely wedding-appropriate. The air was damp and smelled like earth. Leaves brushed against your ankles. Moonlight filtered through the branches in silvery streaks.

Then, suddenly—snap. The sharp crack of a stick breaking echoed nearby. Joel froze. His body went rigid, hand instinctively reaching for his pistol. In a second, the weapon was drawn, held steady, and aimed at the darkness beyond the trees.

You jumped, stumbling back a step and grabbing onto Joel’s arm without thinking. “Shit—what was that?”

“Do you have a gun?” he asked, eyes scanning the shadows.

“Do I look like I have a gun?!”

You moved closer to him, practically hiding behind his solid frame. Your heart was thudding like crazy, adrenaline crawling under your skin.

Joel didn’t move for a long beat, waiting. Watching. But nothing came. Just the wind brushing through the leaves and the chirp of a distant bird. Slowly, he lowered the gun.

“Probably just an animal,” he muttered, but you saw the way his shoulders remained tense. Still alert. Still ready. After a few more seconds, he glanced back at you. “You ever even held a gun?”

You raised a brow. “Do I look like I have?”

Joel sighed heavily and handed you his pistol. “Here.”

You stared at it like he’d just handed you a live snake. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“Aim,” he said flatly, giving you the simplest instruction imaginable.

You blinked at him. “Come again?”

He didn’t repeat it. Just raised an eyebrow. His expression said don’t argue. So you tried. Kind of. You awkwardly lifted the gun with both hands, your arms stiff, elbows out, your grip all wrong.

Joel let out the most exhausted sigh you’d ever heard, rubbing a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

He took the pistol back, turned it in his hands, and then showed you how to hold it properly.

Feet apart. Elbows relaxed. Grip tight but not too tight. Then he placed the gun back into your hands and watched you. But even so, you were still holding the gun wrong.

Your hands were trembling. Not much, but enough that he noticed. Enough that you noticed. The gun felt heavy, unnatural. Like it didn’t belong in your hands. Joel sighed.

He stepped behind you. Closer than he ever had before. You could feel the heat of his body pressing along your back, his chest brushing against your shoulder blades, his breath — warm and unfiltered — ghosting across the curve of your neck.

Then came his hands.

Big. Rough. Calloused. They slid over yours like they’d been made to fit there — palms swallowing yours completely, fingers curling around the outside of your own to adjust your grip. His thumbs pressed down gently, firmly guiding you, correcting you. You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t breathe.

His beard scraped softly against the edge of your cheek as he leaned in closer. His voice was low, almost a whisper. “Like this. Keep your elbows down. You’re stiff as a damn board.”

You didn’t hear the words.

You just heard him. The low rumble in his chest. The scent of him — cedar, sweat, something smoky and old and undeniably male. The warmth of his body pressed against yours in the cold woods.

And something inside you snapped. Or maybe it awakened.

A pulse flickered deep in your lower belly. Then it dropped lower. Heat bloomed between your thighs, a slow, aching throb that made your breath hitch and your knees feel just a little weaker. You clenched without meaning to — your muscles tightening instinctively, reflexively — and you felt it in your underwear. The wetness. Already.

Fuck.

Your face was on fire. You were sure of it. Your cheeks burned, your ears burned, even the back of your neck was hot — but you didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Because if you did, you’d have to step away from him. And you didn’t want to.

Your heart was hammering inside your chest, pounding against your ribs like it wanted to get out. Your thoughts were chaotic, messy, breathless, spinning.

And when he adjusted your fingers again, his thumb grazing along the sensitive skin between your thumb and forefinger, you couldn’t help the tiny sound that escaped your throat — a breathy, almost inaudible gasp.

Your skin was soft. Warm. He could smell your shampoo, something faint and floral that made him want to bury his face in your neck. He tried to focus on your stance, on the gun, on anything except the way your ass pressed back slightly against his hips, or the tiny hitch in your breath, or the fact that he could feel your pulse through your wrist.

His cock twitched.

The heat spread through him fast — like gasoline catching flame. His hands were supposed to be steady, but they started to shake. Just a little. His jaw clenched. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from your cheek, the curve of your jaw, the way your lips were slightly parted. You looked flustered. Flushed. He saw your chest rising and falling faster than before.

And he felt it.

Your body stiffening. That subtle shift of your hips. That soft, barely audible sound that slipped from your throat.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You were turned on. And now he couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was stare at the back of your neck and fight the overwhelming urge to bend his head down and press his mouth there. To see if you’d make that sound again, louder this time.

His cock was already hard. Thick and aching behind his jeans, pressing against the inside of his thigh. And all because of you. Because of the way your body felt under his hands. Because of the way you smelled. Because of that little gasp.

He had to pull away. Now. Before he did something really fucking stupid. But his hands didn’t move. They wouldn’t move.

Instead, he lowered his voice again, leaning closer, his lips grazing your ear.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just like that. You’re doin’ good.”

Your body shivered. And Joel knew, with complete, devastating certainty, that he was royally, irreversibly fucked.

You turned around slowly, pulse loud in your ears, breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat.

His face was so close you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Your noses almost brushed. The small space between you felt volatile, like a match hovering over gasoline.

His eyes met yours and you swore time folded in on itself. Everything narrowed down to that one unbearable moment of stillness, your shared breath, the roughness of his exhale fanning across your cheek, his scent laced with sweat and cedar and tension.

You weren’t breathing. You didn’t want to. You wanted to stay right there, suspended in the heaviness of that electric, untouchable almost.

And just when you swore he might tilt his head that tiny bit to close the distance, crack. A branch snapped not far from where you stood.

Joel moved instantly, instinctively. He stepped in front of you, arm extended protectively as his eyes scanned the trees.

Your chest rose and fell, rapidly now, the illusion shattered but the heat still simmering under your skin.

He didn’t look at you when he spoke. “We’re done here,” he said, his voice gravelly, low, but tight. “Let’s go. Ain’t smart to be out here after dark.”

You nodded, mute. There was nothing to say. You followed him through the trees, the pressure in your chest still coiled tight like a loaded spring.

The silence in the truck was worse than the previous drive into the woods. Neither of you said a word. You didn’t even try. The memory of his hands on yours haunted your skin. The way his body pressed behind you. The way he felt. The way your body had responded.

You shifted in your seat, thighs pressing together, breath shaky. From the corner of your eye, you saw his grip tighten on the wheel.

He was thinking about it too. You knew it. You felt it. Like the air between you still crackled with something unnamed and unbearable.

When he pulled up in front of your house, the engine idling, you turned your head to him.

“Thanks,” you said, voice barely audible. He didn’t look at you. Just nodded once.

You got out quickly, afraid your legs might give out if you didn’t move fast. Your fists were clenched as you stormed into your house and slammed the door behind you.

Joel watched until the porch light flicked on. Then he drove off. He had to.

Because if he didn’t leave right now, if he stayed even a second longer in that truck with the memory of your body pressed into his and your eyes looking at him like that, he wouldn’t be able to think. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

And he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to hide the growing ache in his jeans.

The next morning came like a slap. You didn’t sleep much. Every time you closed your eyes, your mind dragged you back to the woods. His breath. His voice. That moment.

You sat now on a little wooden stool, knees tucked under you, watching Kate twirl in front of the mirror in a champagne-colored dress.

“What do you think?” she asked, holding the fabric out by her sides like she was floating.

You smiled. Or at least you tried to.

“It’s perfect,” you said.

And it was—for her. It hugged her curves beautifully, made her look like a springtime goddess. She looked happy. Radiant.

You wanted to be happy with her. But you couldn’t stop thinking about Joel. You couldn’t stop thinking about his voice low in your ear. His hands gripping yours like they belonged there.

The way he pressed into your back, firm and controlled, but just barely. You swallowed hard, shifting on the stool. Your thighs pressed together and stayed there. Your fingers dug into your own knees.

God, what would it be like if he said things like that in a bed? His voice rough, that little growl he did in his throat when he was trying not to let something slip.

“That's it,” he’d say again, but slower this time, with your legs around his waist. His hand around your neck. His body heavy over yours. His—

“Hey?” Kate’s voice broke straight through your filthy mind like a cold slap of water. Your head snapped up. She was watching you in the mirror, a little frown on her face.

“You okay? You zoned out like… hard.”

You blinked. Forced a laugh. “I’m fine. Just tired, I think.”

Kate turned toward you, dress swishing with her. “You sure? You look kinda pale.”

You smiled again. “I’m good. Promise.”

She squinted for a second longer, then let it go. “Okay. Well, you better wake up before tonight. Everyone’s gonna be at the bar. You are coming, right?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know, Katie…”

“Don’t you dare bail on me,” she said, walking over and poking you square in the forehead. “It’s my last free Saturday before wedding chaos hits full force. You’re coming. No excuses.”

You sighed, lips pressed together. “Fine. I’ll go. For you.”

“Damn right it’s for me,” she grinned, turning back to the mirror, completely unaware of the storm behind your eyes.

Because she had no idea that the only thing keeping you from vibrating out of your skin was the image of her future brother-in-law. His voice, his hands, the pressure of him against your back, his body between your thighs, his cock filling you as he growled against your neck—

You clenched your fists again. You were not okay. And tonight, you were about to walk into a room full of people, awesome.

The bar buzzed with life. Music pulsed in waves from the overhead speakers, something upbeat and forgettable, and people swayed and shouted and laughed, glasses clinking against each other, beer sloshing onto tables and sticky wooden floors.

You were perched on a high stool at the edge of the chaos, your drink half full and your nerves stretched thin.

You’d let Kate drag you here. You hadn’t wanted to come. But the smile on her face as she danced in a small circle with her friends made it all worth it. You were here for her.

But even now, even under the dim golden lights and the noise, your mind flickered like static back to the woods. Joel’s hands. Joel’s breath. Joel’s words. Your thighs pressed together. You took a bigger sip of your drink.

“Thought that was you,” a familiar voice said behind you. You turned and saw him, Hank. That cute guy from the store. You almost forget about him, because your mind is currently full of Miller.

“Hank,” you said, forcing a tight smile, trying to hide your overthinking and zoning out every five second.

He held a drink in each hand, his leather jacket unzipped just enough to show the collar of some aggressively loud shirt underneath.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, sliding onto the stool next to you without asking.

“Yeah… my sister dragged me out.”

“Ah,” Hank chuckled. “Lucky for me.” He slid one of the glasses toward you. Whiskey. Neat. You nodded politely. “Thanks.”

You didn’t ask for it, but you took a sip. Because refusing would be more exhausting than drinking.

Hank talked, mostly about himself. Occasionally he asked you a question, but he never waited for the answer before launching into another story. Still, it was noise. Noise was good. Noise kept you out of your head.

“You’re quiet,” Hank said, tilting his head. “You mad at me?”

You blinked back to the present.

“No,” you said quickly. “Just… tired.”

He smiled. “You need to loosen up.”

You tried to smile back. But then his hand landed on your thigh. It wasn’t casual. It was deliberate. Heavy. You froze. Your pulse quickened.

You shifted, a small movement—polite, non-threatening, clear. But he didn’t move his hand.

Instead, he leaned in closer, the alcohol on his breath making your stomach twist.

“You look so fuckin’ good tonight,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Bet you feel good too.”

You jerked back. “Hank, don’t—”

He grabbed your wrist, quick and tight, and leaned in.

“Relax, sweetheart. We’re just talkin’.”

“No,” you said, firmer now. “Let go.”

His expression changed. Gone was the charm. What replaced it was flat. Cold.

“You wanna cause a scene?” he whispered.

And then you felt it. Something cold and sharp pressing against your ribs. Your eyes snapped down.

A knife. Small, dirty, folded out from a pocket tool. But real. Panic bloomed in your chest like poison.

“Let’s go,” Hank whispered, teeth clenched in a smile. “Now.”

You nodded. What else could you do?

He guided you off the stool, the knife barely brushing your side as a constant reminder. No one noticed. No one cared. The music was too loud. The lights too low.

He steered you toward the back of the bar, toward the restrooms.

Your heart thundered. Your stomach churned. You were already running through what you’d say, what you’d do, how you’d get out—

“Let her go.”

The voice split through the air like a shotgun. You turned, Hank right after you.

And there he was, your savior. Joel.

Shoulders squared, jaw clenched, eyes black with rage. His hand hovering near the holster on his hip. Not on his gun, at least, not yet.

Hank laughed. “C’mon, dude. We’re just talking.”

“I said let. her. go.”

He stepped closer. Each footfall was silent but devastating, like the pressure drop before a tornado hits. His voice had lowered now, dangerously calm.

Your breath caught. You didn’t even realize tears had formed in your eyes until you blinked and they fell.

Hank looked between you and Joel. He weighed his chances. And then, he shoved you.

You stumbled back—but before Hank could bolt, Joel moved. One hand slammed the knife out of Hank’s grip, sent it skittering across the floor.

The other grabbed the front of his jacket and shoved him into the wall so hard the drywall cracked behind him.

“You ever touch her again,” Joel growled, face inches from his, “I’ll break both your fuckin’ arms. And that’ll be merciful.”

Hank didn’t speak, didn't fight, didn't move. He was shaking, his eyes wide open like he just saw a ghost. He was so fucking scared.

Joel dropped him with a final shove and turned toward you, chest rising and falling fast. You stood there frozen, still shaking, tears streaking your cheeks now.

“Hey,” he said softly, all that rage melting into something gentler. “You alright?”

You nodded quickly. He stepped closer, slowly, as if approaching a scared animal. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

You followed him without thinking. Out into the night. Into the truck. The door shut behind you, and silence filled the cab.

But this silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Comforting. You let out a shaky breath and leaned back against the seat.

Joel didn’t speak. He just drove, his hand occasionally flexing on the wheel like he still hadn’t shaken off what he’d just done.

When the truck rolled to a stop in front of your house, you reached for the handle, but something in your chest seized. You looked over at him.

“Do you wanna come in?” you asked softly. “I… I could make some coffee. As a thank you.”

Joel hesitated. You saw it all over his face. His jaw flexed, his throat bobbed. He shouldn’t go. He knew he shouldn’t. But his eyes dropped to your lips. Just for a second, and that was enough for him to decide.

“…Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Alright.”

You unlock the door with slightly trembling fingers, the echo of the evening still buzzing in your bones. Joel follows close behind, silent but solid, like some kind of ghost who bled warmth instead of cold.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you say softly, stepping inside and beginning to shrug off your jacket.

Joel doesn’t speak. He just nods and quietly peels off his own coat, hanging it neatly by the door. You move through the familiar space of your kitchen, the air oddly still. Behind you, you hear the chair scrape softly against the floor as he sits down at the small table.

Joel's eyes were glued on you, burning through your clothes, lingering on the curve of your spine, the swing of your hips. It’s not like before. It’s different. Hungrier.

You reach for the coffee tin without looking at him. You know exactly what kind of coffee he likes.

Which is stupid. Because this is Joel. The man you were supposed to despise. And yet here you are, pouring the water, adding just the right amount of grounds, without needing to ask a damn thing.

The silence wraps around the room, thick and buzzing with the unsaid. You can feel him watching your every move. When the coffee’s ready, you grab two mugs, pour them evenly, and walk over to him.

You set his mug down, sitting across from him, your fingers wrapping around the warmth of the ceramic. You both take the first sip in tandem. Then, quiet. The kind that presses in, like fog.

Finally, you speak. You felt like you have to, after being saved. After practically everything.

“Thanks for earlier,” you murmur, your voice a little raw. “That was… Hank.”

Joel’s jaw shifts slightly. His eyes darken. “Figured.”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Didn’t think he’d be that type.”

He leans back a little, cradling the mug in one hand. “A lot of men like him are out there. Even now. You give ‘em power, they use it to corner someone weaker.”

The words sit between you, bitter like the coffee on your tongue. You nod, slowly. “How’d you even see me? No one else noticed.”

You watch the flicker of hesitation pass behind his eyes, the clench in his jaw. “I just… saw you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “In that whole crowd?”

He meets your gaze, lips twitching slightly. “What can I say? You kinda stand out.”

You smirk, mock-offended. “Was it my clothes or the way I awkwardly clung to the wall?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Bit of both.”

You both chuckle, and something shifts. The ice melts. The air gets warmer. It’s not like before. It’s lighter, easier, safer.

Joel finishes his coffee, setting the mug down gently. “I should get outta here. You’ve had one hell of a night.”

You nod, standing with him. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

But as you turn to lead him out, your sock catches on the edge of the rug and your balance tips.

“Shit—!”

You stumble forward, instinctively reaching out, but Joel is already there—his arms snapping around you, pulling you tightly against him.

Your chest slams into his, and his hands steady you, one firm on your waist, the other wrapped just under your ribs.

You’re both laughing at first. A light, breathy kind of laugh, like the end of a good joke. But then you look up at him. And suddenly, it’s not funny anymore.

His face is so close. Again. Like in the woods.

Your noses almost touch. His breath brushes your cheek. One of his hands tightens slightly on your hip, grounding you. His other hand firm against your back, your palms flat against his chest.

You looked up into his eyes, and for a moment, nothing else in the world existed. Just the two of you, breathing the same charged air, close enough to feel the heat rolling off each other. You didn’t know if it was a good idea. Hell, it probably wasn’t. This would ruin everything. Complicate the wedding. Complicate Jackson. Complicate… him. You.

But you didn’t move. Neither did he.

His eyes kept dropping, from your eyes to your lips, back up again, then down. Every time he looked at your mouth, it felt like fire ran through your veins. His thumb brushed along your spine like he was grounding himself, and you swore your knees nearly gave out from just that.

Then, like something broke inside him, he kissed you.

It was sudden, deep, and full of something too big for either of you to name. It wasn’t soft, not really. It was controlled. His mouth moved against yours like he was trying to remember how to be careful. But the second he felt you lean into it, tilt your head and let out that quiet, needful sound from the back of your throat, he was done.

He pulled back just a fraction, like he was afraid to have gone too far. Like he was waiting for you to push him away.

But instead, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back in like a wild thing that had been starving for this. Your lips crashed into his and there was no more hesitation, no more thinking.

Only need.

The kiss turned feverish — teeth, tongues, breathless groans swallowed between your mouths. His hands were everywhere — gripping your waist, sliding under the hem of your shirt, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to memorize every inch.

You couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to. Your body was reacting like it had waited a lifetime for this. You were pressed up against him, feeling the hardness straining against his jeans, the way his hips rolled into yours with unconscious desperation.

Somehow, you stumbled backwards through the hallway, bumping into walls, laughing through your gasps and moans as he kissed your neck, your jaw, your mouth again. His hands slid down your thighs and lifted you up like you weighed nothing, your legs wrapping around his waist.

His mouth never left yours, the kissing is harder now—urgent, uneven. The hallway dimly lit by the golden hue of a single lamp in your kitchen blurred behind you as he carried you toward your bedroom.

Your fingers twisted into the collar of his shirt, knuckles white, and his breath hitched when your teeth grazed his bottom lip. His hips pressed into you as you gasped softly into his mouth, your thighs squeezing around him. The friction made your body jolt with a pulse of heat that spread through your stomach like wildfire.

He kicked the door to your room open, then brought you down to the bed. Not gently. Not softly. There was no time for that.

Your bodies hit the mattress with a thud, your hair splaying out beneath you like a dark halo. He hovered above you for just a second, both of you panting, eyes locked, your chests rising and falling in unison. Then his hands were on you again—rough, wide palms pushing under your shirt, dragging it up. His touch was everywhere. Greedy. Desperate.

You sat up to help him, tearing the shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere behind you. Joel’s gaze dropped to your chest, dark and feral, his breath catching hard as if he’d just been punched in the stomach. His hands, already trembling slightly, moved with surprising reverence as he reached behind you to unclasp your bra.

It slid down your arms slowly, and the moment your chest was bare, Joel exhaled shakily like he was in physical pain. Like he’d been imagining this for far too long. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. His expression was torn between reverence and hunger. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed thickly.

Then, his hands came up to cup you.

They were big, calloused, and the contrast of his roughness against the softness of your skin made you shudder. He traced the curves with his thumbs, gentle at first, then firmer when he saw how your body arched into his touch. Your breath caught again, a small, sharp sound that broke the silence like a dropped glass.

Joel leaned in, lips parting as he pressed his mouth to the swell of one breast, then to your nipple, hot, wet, insistent. Your head fell back with a whimper as his mouth worked in slow, teasing circles. His hand kneaded the other breast, his thumb flicking expertly, rhythmically, and your legs began to shift restlessly beneath him.

Your fingers found his hair, tugging.

Not to stop him, to beg for more. The sensation was overwhelming, grounding and floating you at the same time. He groaned low into your skin, and you felt the sound vibrate through your ribs, down your spine. Your hips lifted off the bed involuntarily, searching for contact, for pressure, for anything.

Joel paused only to look up at you—his lips shiny, his expression undone. You couldn’t breathe. He looked like sin, and you wanted to drown in it. His hand slid down your side slowly, possessively, as if mapping you. Memorizing you.

With a firm but gentle hand, he urges you backward until your spine meets the mattress. You obey without protest, eyes locked on his, heart thundering in your chest. He follows you down, hovering above you, and then he’s on you again, his mouth returning to your chest, latching onto a sensitive nipple like he’s starving for it.

His tongue swirls, wet and deliberate, flicking over the peak until you whimper. Then he sucks, slow and deep, and your back arches as pleasure shoots through you like a live wire.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your skin, voice gravelly and full of reverence. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

Your thighs press together as heat pools between them. You can barely focus, your hands fisting into the sheets as he alternates between each breast—suckling, kissing, grazing them with the barest edge of his teeth. Every touch makes you writhe, your body hypersensitive, your breath short.

You moan his name, barely a whisper, and he growls softly in response. His lips are warm, skilled, knowing. There’s nothing rushed in his worship; he’s savoring every second, and it drives you wild.

Eventually, his mouth releases you, leaving your skin damp and flushed. But he doesn’t move far—only lower, lower still, lips grazing a path down your torso. He leaves a kiss beneath your ribs, then another just below your navel. Each one sets off sparks in your belly. Your breath hitches as he pauses, right above the hem of your panties.

He glances up, eyes catching yours. “You want this?”

Your nod is immediate, shaky. “Yes.”

He hooks his fingers beneath the fabric of your panties, dragging them down your thighs with excruciating slowness. As he slips them off, he holds your gaze, and then he brings the panties to his lips, kisses the damp center, and tucks them into his back pocket with a smug glint in his eye.

And then he lowers his head again.

You barely have time to process before his mouth is on you—warm, wet, divine. His tongue dips between your folds, exploring you with devastating thoroughness. He licks a slow stripe up your slit, groaning against you like he’s the one being pleasured.

His tongue is rough, textured, dragging deliciously across your most sensitive parts. Every flick, every swirl, every subtle change in rhythm makes your hips lift off the bed, your thighs trembling around his head.

He moans into you like you taste like salvation. One of his hands pins your hip down gently, the other resting on your thigh, keeping you open for him.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes between licks, “you’re drippin’. So damn perfect.”

Your hands fly to his hair, fingers threading through the strands, anchoring yourself as your body threatens to unravel. Every sound you make, every twitch and gasp, seems to fuel him. He buries his face deeper, devouring you like he’s memorizing the way you taste, the way you tremble.

And god, you can’t stop moaning—his name, half-formed pleas, incoherent gasps. You can’t think. All you can do is feel.

You’re flushed, your legs shaking, your chest rising and falling in ragged breaths. He slides his tongue over your clit, slow and firm, circling it in ways that make your toes curl.

His mind is a mess of craving and possessiveness. He wants to make you come on his tongue, over and over, until you forget anyone but him has ever touched you. You can feel it in every movement, every low sound he makes against you—he’s not just giving you pleasure. He’s claiming you.

The pressure builds fast and fierce, and your thighs clamp tighter around his head. He doesn’t stop. He just groans into your heat, sending vibrations through you that make you cry out, teetering right on the edge.

And just before you fall, he pulls back slightly, eyes glazed with lust, lips glistening.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he whispers.

“Yes—Joel, please—”

He just smiled devilishly, before his mouth is on you again, relentless. And you break. Your orgasm slams into you like a wave crashing over your body. It’s not soft or sweet—it’s violent, intense, a full-body convulsion that steals your breath and bends your spine off the mattress.

Your mouth opens in a scream, but all that comes out is a strangled moan, broken and raw. Your thighs tighten around Joel’s head, trembling uncontrollably, and your fingers yank at his hair as if anchoring yourself to reality.

The pleasure rips through your core in sharp, overwhelming pulses. Each one sends another shock down your spine, through your arms, your legs, your fingertips. Your vision whitens at the edges. You can’t hear anything but the pounding of your own heart, your ragged gasps, and the obscene wet sounds of his mouth still working you through every last wave.

Joel groans like a man starved, like you are the only thing that’s ever mattered. He doesn’t stop until you’re whimpering from overstimulation, your whole body twitching beneath him. When he finally pulls back, his beard is damp, his lips swollen and slick, his chest heaving.

“Jesus,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes glued to you. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful when you come.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your pulse thudding in your ears. The room tilts a little as you try to breathe through the aftershocks. Everything feels too much, your skin is flushed and hypersensitive, your muscles limp and tingling. You can barely keep your eyes open.

“Joel…” you whisper, dazed. You blink up at him just in time to see his hands at his belt. He unbuckles it slowly, eyes locked on yours the entire time, like he’s daring you to look away.

You don’t.

The sound of the leather sliding free is sinful—low, threatening, full of promise. He lets it fall to the floor with a soft thud, then pops the button of his jeans and drags the zipper down.

You watch, helpless to do anything else. He’s broad, powerful, and glowing with heat—shoulders wide, stomach lined with a thick trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband he’s tugging down. His cock springs free, thick, flushed, already leaking, and your mouth waters just looking at him.

But he’s not done.

He shrugs off his shirt slowly, working each button free with frustrating patience. And when he peels the fabric off his shoulders and tosses it aside, you nearly forget how to breathe.

All muscle and scars and raw masculinity. His chest is dusted with dark hair, his abdomen hard and sculpted, veins visible on his forearms as he braces himself above you. There’s a faint sheen of sweat on his skin, making every dip and ridge of his body gleam under the soft light.

You stare, dazed and aching, lips parted as your eyes trace every inch of him.

“Like what you see?” he asks, voice rough, almost teasing, but there’s a strain there. He’s barely holding it together. You nod, unable to speak.

And he smirks, just a little, before leaning down to kiss you again, the heat of his bare skin pressing against yours. Then, he crawled up your body, eyes dark, jaw clenched. His control is fraying, shredded to the edge. You can see it in the way his arms tremble slightly, in how fast he’s breathing.

“I can’t wait anymore,” he growls, forehead pressed to yours. “I need to be inside you. Now.”

You nod frantically, legs already parting for him.

He doesn’t even bother with teasing. He just grabs himself. Thick, hard, flushed at the tip, and guides his cock between your thighs, rubbing the head slowly through your slick folds. He groans at the contact, voice shaking.

“Fuck… You’re so wet for me.”

And then, he pushes in. The stretch is unreal. You gasp, eyes flying open as he sinks into you inch by inch. He’s thick, hot, and pulsing with need. Your walls clench around him automatically, your nails digging into his back as he slowly pushes deeper.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, every muscle in his body rigid. “You feel like heaven.”

The sensation is overwhelming. Your body tries to adjust, but he’s so big, so deep already. You bite your lip, crying out when he bottoms out, pelvis pressing flush against yours.

You’re full. Stuffed. You feel every vein, every twitch of him inside you.

Joel doesn’t move at first, just leans over you, forearms braced on either side of your head, chest heaving as he fights to keep control. His forehead rests against yours, sweat starting to gather at his temples.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, breathless. “Yeah. Please—Joel, move.”

That’s all he needs. He starts slow—long, deep thrusts that make your breath stutter, your nails dig into his skin. The sounds of your bodies fill the room: skin against skin, your wetness coating him with every stroke, the soft gasp and grunt of every movement.

But it doesn’t stay slow for long.

Joel groans low in his throat and suddenly snaps his hips forward—hard. You yelp, eyes rolling back. He does it again. And again. Then he loses the last of his restraint.

He fucks you hard, fast, mercilessly. The rhythm ruthless, pounding into you so deep your legs shake around his waist. The bed creaks beneath you, the headboard knocking softly against the wall, but you barely register it.

You can only feel him—his cock driving into you with unrelenting force, your pussy clenching with every thrust.

His grip on your hips tightens, bruising. He watches your face twist with pleasure, your mouth open in gasps and cries, your fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“That’s it,” he pants, voice hoarse. “Take it. Just like that. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You can barely form words. Your mind is gone, wrecked, your entire world narrowed to the feeling of him inside you—stretching, filling, owning every part of you.

He leans down, capturing your mouth again, and fucks you so hard you feel like you’re going to shatter around him.

Then, he pulls out slowly, just for a second, only to flip you onto your stomach.

You barely register the motion before his hands are on your hips, strong and commanding, dragging your ass up until you’re on your knees, chest still against the mattress.

You whimper at the loss of him, but then he’s there again—his cock thick and hot as he drags it through your slick folds from behind.

“Joel—” you breathe, barely able to form the word.

“I can't hold back,” he mutters, voice like gravel. “Need you. Need this.”

He thrusts back into you with no warning, making you scream into the sheets.

He’s so deep, so thick, the angle making it feel impossibly intense, like he’s splitting you open all over again.

Your arms give out, your face pressing into the mattress as he starts to move. And it’s brutal. No finesse, no patience. Just raw, driving thrusts that shake your whole body.

He’s fucking you like a man possessed. Like he’s trying to bury himself so deep you’ll never forget the shape of him. You won’t.

His grip on your hips is bruising, fingertips digging into your flesh as he slams into you again and again. Your skin stings, your scalp prickles—until suddenly, he grabs a handful of your hair, yanks your head back, and you sob at the mix of pain and pleasure.

“You take it so fuckin’ well,” he growls behind you, breath hot against your ear. “You were made for me.”

Tears spill from your eyes, uncontrollably, shamelessly. From the intensity, from the feeling of being completely and utterly taken. Your body can’t keep up. You’re trembling, overwhelmed, moaning brokenly as every thrust punches another cry from your throat.

He leans over you, rutting into you deeper now, rougher. His chest presses against your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to keep you pinned in place while the other stays tangled in your hair.

You feel yourself spiraling again, your second orgasm rising so fast it almost hurts. Your vision blurs, the mattress soaked with your tears as you sob, “Joel, please, I’m—God—I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby,” he pants into your neck. “Come for me. Wanna feel you fall apart.”

It tears through you like lightning, your body locking up before shattering into trembling convulsions. You scream—loud, raw, broken—back arching hard against him. You’re gushing, pulsing around him, your slick flooding down your thighs as your body clenches around his cock.

You’re sobbing, half-coherent, and Joel curses—low and wrecked.

“Fuck—fuck—you’re squeezin’ me so goddamn tight—”

He’s close. You can feel it in the way he moves, the frantic pace, the desperation in every thrust.

Then his hips stutter. He growls your name like a curse and slams into you one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he comes.

It’s not soft—it’s violent. His entire body shudders behind you, his hands gripping you like you’re the only solid thing keeping him grounded. You can feel the heat of him spilling inside you, filling you up as he lets out a low, strangled moan against your skin.

You both collapse.

Joel slumps over your back, breathing hard, his body heavy and trembling with aftershocks. Your legs are jelly, your vision blurry with tears and sweat, your heart pounding against the mattress like it’s trying to break free.

Everything’s quiet, except for your breathing, your sobs slowly calming, and the soft curses Joel whispers as he presses his lips to your shoulder, over and over again. His body still draped over yours, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. You can feel his heartbeat pounding against your back, can feel the way his arms tighten around your waist as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Eventually, he shifts—pulls out of you gently, muttering something soft against your shoulder that you can’t quite make out. You’re too dazed, too shattered, your limbs heavy and slow like you’ve been drugged. He disappears for a moment.

You barely lift your head when he returns with a towel. Joel doesn’t say a word. He just nudges your legs apart, cleans you carefully, almost reverently.

His touch is gentle, surprisingly so. No roughness, no urgency. Just patient, quiet care. He wipes between your thighs, along your trembling skin, and when you flinch from sensitivity, he whispers, “Shh, I got you,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

Once he’s done, he tosses the towel aside and pulls the blanket up over both of you. You barely notice him crawling in beside you until you feel the weight of his arm wrap around your waist, tugging you back into his chest.

Your eyelids are heavy.

Your body is sore, humming with satisfaction and confusion and something dangerously close to contentment. His warmth seeps into your spine, his breath soft at the nape of your neck. You think he might kiss your shoulder again, but he doesn’t. He just holds you, skin to skin, until you drift off to sleep in his arms.

It’s been three days.

Three days since you let Joel Miller into your home. Three days since you let him see you—all of you. Three days since he touched you like you were something sacred and ruined you all at once.

Tomorrow, your sister’s getting married. Tomorrow, she becomes a Miller. But tonight… tonight is the last night she’ll fall asleep with your name still matching hers.

And all you can think about is him.

Not the ceremony. Not the dress. Not the decorations you spent hours picking out.

Only him. Only that night.

The taste of his mouth. The feel of his body. The way he said your name like a prayer and a curse all at once.

It should’ve been nothing. A mistake. A one-time moment of insanity. You could’ve stopped it. Should’ve. But you didn’t. You let him in. You invited the devil to your doorstep, and you didn’t slam the door in his face.

You let him fuck you like you meant something. And worse—you liked it. You hate yourself for that. Because now? Now you can’t even look at him.

He tries. You see it. A polite nod, a soft “hey,” a wave from across the street. You ignore it all. You keep your eyes down. Pretend not to hear him. Pretend he doesn’t exist—because if you don’t, if you let yourself remember even a second of what happened that night, your chest might split open.

He saw you. Really saw you. And he did things to you no one’s ever done before. Things you didn’t know you wanted, let alone needed.

And now… he’s just walking around Jackson like nothing happened. Like he’s fine.

But you’re not.

You’re a mess. A storm barely contained behind a polite smile. Because every time you shut your eyes, he’s there. That mouth. Those hands. That voice in your ear whispering “good girl” as you came around his tongue.

What the hell were you thinking?

Sleeping with your sister’s future brother-in-law? With your enemy? It sounds like a sick joke. A bad decision spun wildly out of control. And the worst part? You’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

You should’ve said no.

When Kate looked at you with those sparkling eyes, veil clipped into her hair, all glowing and giddy and “Can you do me a favor?” You should’ve said it right there. No. But you didn’t.

Because tomorrow she gets married. Tomorrow she becomes someone’s wife, and you’d cut off your own arm to make sure her day is perfect. So now you’re stuck in Joel Miller’s truck. Alone. With him.

You sit curled up on the passenger side, arms crossed, body tense like a coiled spring. You haven’t spoken since you got in. Haven’t looked at him once. He tries though.

“Hey,” he said when you climbed in. “You look… nice.” You didn’t answer.

“You sleep alright last night?”

You made a noncommittal grunt and turned your face to the window.

He’s still trying, glancing over occasionally, fingers drumming on the steering wheel like he’s searching for the right rhythm to break the silence. But you give him nothing.

Because what the hell is there to say? That you still feel his hands on your body when you close your eyes? That your throat tightens when you hear his voice, because it reminds you of how it sounded whispering filth in your ear while he ruined you? That your entire body clenches at the thought of him inside you again?

No, there’s nothing to say. But the universe doesn’t give a fuck about timing. Because just as you pass the city limits, the sky cracks open. One fat drop hits the windshield. Then another. Then it’s a full-on storm.

Rain lashes at the glass, fast and blinding, and Joel slows down immediately. Thunder growls somewhere above, deep and low like the sound of something ancient waking up.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Gotta pull over.”

He steers the truck down an overgrown path and finds an old garage, half-collapsed, but enough to get out of the worst of the storm. The rain slams into the tin roof above you, loud and wild. You’re safe, but it feels suffocating.

Joel turns off the engine. Silence falls, except for the storm. He exhales slowly, then speaks.

“You gonna keep pretendin’ I don’t exist?” he asks quietly.

That’s it. You snap. You whip your head toward him, the heat in your chest rising like boiling water. “What do you want me to say, Joel?!”

He blinks. You’re already throwing the door open, going straight to the rain. You needed a fresh air, one that doesn't smell like Joel's car. His door slams right behind you.

“What are you—,”

“Hey, remember that time you fucked me senseless and now I can’t breathe without thinking about it?” You step out into the rain. “That I feel like a complete idiot because I invited you in and now I can’t even look at myself in the mirror?!”

The cold hits you like a slap, rain soaking your clothes instantly. You welcome it. He follows, his voice sharp through the downpour. “I didn’t plan it either! You think I woke up that morning hopin’ to lose my fuckin’ mind over you?!”

You spin on him. “You didn’t stop me!”

“I couldn’t!” he shouts back, eyes wild, hair already soaked. “You looked at me like you wanted it. Like no one ever looked at me before and I couldn’t—” He stops himself, jaw tight.

You stare at him. The rain pours around you, drumming on the roof, the truck, the gravel. Your chest heaves. Your teeth clench. Everything is raw, exposed, trembling.

“This was a mistake,” you say, but your voice breaks halfway through. He steps closer.

“You don’t believe that.”

“I have to,” you whisper.

Joel’s hands reach out slowly, like approaching a wounded animal. His palms settle on your wet cheeks. “Look I get it…,” he says softly, “but I ain’t sorry for what we did, and I defenitely do not regret it.”

Your breath catches.

“Do you?” He asked, his brown chocolate eyes made your knees weak, and you knew the answer damn well, but it was just hard. Hard to admit that you have feelings for Joel fucking Miller. That you feel something more, and unfortunately, it's not hatress.

“I don't—” you start, but then he kisses you.

Hard. Desperate. Wet mouths clashing in the rain like something out of a dream you’d never admit to having. His hands hold your face like he’s terrified you’ll vanish. Your fingers dig into his shirt, nails catching fabric. There’s nothing gentle about it.

It’s all tongue and teeth and years of hate folding into hunger. You kiss him like you’re punishing him. He kisses you like he’s begging for mercy.

When you finally break apart, you’re both panting.

Foreheads pressed together. Rain dripping from your lashes. His hands stay on your face. Yours clutch his jacket.

“I’m so fucking mad at you,” you whisper.

Joel smiles. “Yeah. I know.”

The morning sun filters in through sheer curtains, soft and golden, bathing the room in light that feels almost sacred.

Kate stands by the mirror, surrounded by laughter, perfume, and a blur of ivory fabric and flowers. Her wedding dress hugs her figure perfectly—delicate lace at the shoulders, tiny buttons running down the back, and a soft, flowing skirt that pools like clouds around her feet. Her hair is curled and pinned, a few loose strands framing her glowing face, and in her hands is a bouquet of wildflowers tied with satin.

She looks like something out of a dream. You watch her, heart pounding, throat tight with nerves. It’s now or never.

“Kate,” you say gently, stepping forward.

She turns to you, bright-eyed. “Yeah?”

Your hands are shaking. You swallow hard. “I need to tell you something. And I should’ve told you sooner, I just… I didn’t know how.”

She blinks. “What is it?”

You inhale slowly. “It’s about me and Joel.”

She was quiet, her eyes full of expectations and lips sucked nervously into a thin line.

“Me and Joel are… kinda together,” you sigh, heart hammering in your chest, fully expecting a meltdown. But instead, she squeals.

“Oh my god, why didn’t you tell me sooner?! This is—this is amazing!” She throws her arms around you, nearly knocking your breath out. “I knew there was something! You’ve been acting so weird! But this, this makes me so happy!”

You’re stunned. “Wait… you’re not mad?”

She pulls back and beams. “Mad? Are you kidding? I ship this. Hard.”

You burst into laughter, nearly crying from the relief.

“You’re insane,” you whisper, wiping your eyes.

“I’m your sister, it’s my job,” she grins.

The wedding ceremony is set beneath an arch of flowers, surrounded by rows of chairs filled with friends and family. The sun is just starting to dip lower, casting long shadows, the sky streaked with pink and lavender.

You stand at the altar as a bridesmaid, bouquet clutched tightly in your hands. You’ve never worn a dress like this before—it’s soft, elegant, pale lavender—and your hair is pinned back, a few curls brushing your cheek. Your palms are sweaty. Your heart’s full.

Across from you, Joel stands in a dark suit, tie slightly loosened, that damn rugged charm still impossible to ignore. And then, the music starts. Everyone rises. You turn your head, and there she is.

Kate walks slowly down the aisle, hand wrapped around your father’s arm, veil trailing behind her like a whisper. Her eyes are wide, lips trembling with a smile, and she looks so happy, like every fairytale in the world decided to make a cameo in her life today.

You feel it before you realize it, tears welling in your eyes. You blink rapidly, but they fall anyway, slipping down your cheeks in quiet streaks.

Then you glance sideways. Joel isn’t looking at the bride. He’s looking at you.

His eyes are soft. Warm. His lips curve into the smallest smile—just for you. One corner up, the kind that says I’m here. I see you. I’m yours.

You smile back, heart blooming.

And in that moment, standing in the golden light of your sister’s wedding, mascara streaking your cheeks, hands still trembling from the weight of it all, you realize you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

With him. With all of it. And finally, finally, it feels like the chaos was worth it.

Hii! Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! If you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a lovely day!

LOVE YA! 🥮🍂

[flamingpudding]

Can you write a fic about this if you can

https://www.tumblr.com/hello-eden/759003690226024449/is-it-a-enemy-or-a-child?source=share

Thanks for the ask, I will try! But first...

Link and credits to the original op: Prompt by @hello-eden

Now onwards! :D Hope you will enjoy....

-----------

Damian stared. There before him was no longer his Grandfather but a boy some years younger than him. He glanced over at his elder brothers. Richard was already on the coms reporting back. Drake was on his wrist computer typing away about something while muttering. He glanced back at the boy, suddenly realising that what he thought was his resemblance to his father could also be resemblance to his grandfather.

The boy before him, probably around the age six, had dark black hair with a white prominent sideburns, similar but far more prominent then Todds white forehead streak. The boy's eyes were not just the simple green Damian had been familiar with but one of the boy's eyes was red, heterochromia. Something Damian hadn't been aware his grandfather apparently had. All his life he had never seen his grandfather like this. The youngest that man had ever appeared had been 60, though Damian was acutely aware that his grandfather was far older than that.

But right now, there sat a six years old boy, his grandfathers ropes, oversized and barely hanging to the boy's shoulders, in the middle of the aftermath of one of his grandfathers plans backfiring. The boy glared at them eyes narrowed as he clutched the robes around himself, Damian noticed the shift in the boy's eyes, red and green wandering around but keeping them in his field of view. He noted how his shoulders tensed before they turned back onto them. It was clear his grandfather did not retain his memories.

"Hey there buddy." Richard, the one who probably had the best handle on small children among them stepped forward and Damian watched how his de-aged grandfather took a step back growling. Damian blinked, that was not what he had expected from his usually dignified grandfather, but then again, he was de-aged and a child.

"Where is mom?"

There was a pause among everyone and they could practically feel the drop in the air of reality hitting hard. With how old his grandfather truly was, there was no way his great-grandmother was still alive. Damian's head turned to look at his eldest brother, his eyebrow arched his masks on his face moving according to that. The silent question of 'now what?' Passed on towards Richard before he turned back.

"Some things happened, and we are here to help. You don't need to be scared of of, in fact it would be create if you could help us better understand-" He watched how his brother tried to gently explain the situation to his grandfather, a sense of strangeness filled Damian watching that seen but he snapped out of it as the boy cut Richard off with a small growl.

"Mom would never leave me. The only reason he would is if something happened to Ellie!" They stared and the conviction the boy spoke these words with, yet they all caught it the brave front the boy was putting on. The slight barely audible stutter, the wet sheen to his eyes as he stared back at them. It tucked at all their hearts. And Damian could accept it right now, this wasn't his grandfather Ra's Al Ghul, but a small boy lost and confused.

While Damian came to terms with the situation Tim caught on to something else. The boy before them asked about his mother, but then used the pronounce 'he', while Tim hadn't expected it that clearly indicated that Ras mother wasn't a simple female that might have died long ago. He had noted the use of a different pronounce that 'regularly' associated with the term mother.

Despite the show of hostility Tim crouched onto eye level of the boy. "Could you tell us your name, and age?" He tried to ask gently, the way he had seen Dick interact with children before. "We could help you find your mom then or maybe Ellie, if you tell us who they are?"

Tim ignored the looks his siblings were sending him and burning into the back of his head. It didn't matter if that was a small lie, they needed to calm the boy down and confirm information. While there likely was no doubt that this was Ra's, they still needed to confirm it, the de-aging happened to quickly before their eyes there was no guarantee that they really could completely trust what they saw.

Though judging by the glare the boy was now giving him, that had a lot of similarities of how Damian tented to glare at them at times. Tim could say there was no changes that, that wasn't Ra's. Still they had to proceed logically just to be on the safer side, in case this wasn't just a villain plan backfiring but a part of a bigger absurd plan, to appeal to their consciousness with the use of a innocent looking child.

The boy on the other and stiffened more, eyes darting towards each of them, then around the area before coming back to stay on Tim. In a way the teen hoped to see some sort of recognition. But instead he saw contemplation, the gears turning in the small boy's head as red and green eyes wandered over them once more.

"Dan."

Was the court answer they got after several minutes. Dick blinked under his mask glancing back at his siblings before at the child again. "What was that Buddy?" He kept his tone friendly and calm, anything to make the child feel safe at the moment, even if that child was Ra's Al Ghul.

"Dan, that's my name." The child version of Ra's, Dan spoke again eyes on them as the boy clutched the oversized robes around him tighter. Not speaking up more.

"Dan?" Dick heard Damian murmur, it was the least to say it confused them all but then again, Ra's was very old originally, he might have changed his names a couple of times during his life time so far. It wasn't like they could track down anyone anyway or keep to what Tim had told the boy, about trying to find likely already dead people for the boy.

"Anything else you want to tell use, Dan?" Dick ask gently in hopes to get anything more out of the boy but, realised a moment later that they hit a wall as the boy's eyes narrowed with dangerous glint. Something he tried not to react on as he had seen that kind of look from Damian before and dear god, this child version of Ra's was making them more and more aware that Damian was related to that man after all.

"That's all I am going to say." The boy growled a little, though Dick could still see the hints that all of that was just a brave facade to not appear weak before them. A mannerisms he remembered all to well Damian had for a long time when he first came to Gotham. A mentality of 'don't show weakness'. Dick sighed, this was going to be difficult to handle wasn't it?

Dan stared at the place these strangely dressed people had brought him too, by now he was wearing more fitting clothes instead of that oversized robe. Though the shirt and shorts where still to big for his current frame. For a moment he cursed his small build as he quietly walked about this 'safe house'. While Dan was no stranger to strangely clothed people or entities, he was wondering what he had gotten himself into as he watched them from the corner of his eyes. The last thing he remembered was being with his Mom and Ellie, they had just gotten back from a checkup with Frostbite and his mom had promised him that he was allowed a spar with Frightnight.

And then...

Suddenly he was before these people strangely dressed people in the mittel of what looked like a destroyed altar, robes that were way to big barely fitting him. While Dan acted bravely he couldn't help the childlike fear at the sudden change of situation. Frostbite had explained it to him and Elly, that because of now properly growing up their mentality would reflect on their actual ages now. It was annoying and by all means Dan didn't want to appear weak in front of potential danger, but his eyes still watered at the thought of his mom suddenly leaving him.

Sometimes he hated how attached he had gotten to Danny after all these years.

He glanced back at these 'heroes', his ears twitched as he tried to catch what the conversation the oldest of them was having on what appeared to be a earpiece communicator. Dan had noted that everything seemed, a lot more modern that what he was used to. It made him wonder if maybe something happened to the timelines again and he got flung into a different time. If that was the case he knew he could relax and just wait for his mom to pick him up, but at the same time Dan had a feeling that wasn't the case. There was no green post-it note from old Clockwork.

Keeping these people in his peripheral vision he angled his body away. One hand out to the side and definitely kept out of their side he tried to see if he could still access his ghost powers, he knew Frostbite had told them not to do that while they were still in a delicate state of re-aging but he needed to know, in case he needed to defend himself. It didn't have any Fenton weaponry on him either.

Dan hissed as a pain shot up his arm and he dropped trying to summon his powers, with a slight bout of annoyance. Okay Frostbites warning was valid, noted. Thought the next moment the kid dressed like a streetlight, Robin if he remembered right, snatched his arm up, inspecting his hand and Dan blinked for a stunned moment before growling. He didn't liked getting touched. He was just about to voice that when he froze.

Recognising something he hadn't before. "You...." He mumbled stunned. That kid had a ecto signature, it was weak, washed out and not really strong, but Dan recognised it and swallowed hard, it was similar to his moms and his own and Ellie's. Before he could comment on it more a gleam got his attention and suddenly Dan saw something else peaking out of the collar from the colourful dressed boy.

Without thinking Dan snatched it and stumbled back from the boy, inspecting the green, emerald like stone. The gold chain around it broke as he had ripped it of the others neck as he looked at it carefully, his thumb going over the smooth surface. While Dan did that he did not notice how Robin got held back by the teen from lashing out. He didn't noticed how the three 'heroes' seemed to hurriedly hiss and discuss something among themselves as Dan inspected the calling stone.

He would be a fool to not recognise this. It was a stone made from concentrated ectoplasm, it appeared like an emerald to mortals but in truth was made from his mothers ectoplasm. A calling stone, to call him when ever they were in trouble and his mom wasn't with them already. Dan clutched the stone, it looked different from the one he remembered his mother giving him. His head snapped up as he stared hard with narrowed eyes at the other boy only a couple years older. Noting some resemblances to Danny.

Suddenly he had the thought that maybe, just maybe Clockwork had sent him here on purpose. Because maybe these people had done something to his mother, to Danny, and maybe even Ellie too. Because why else would they have one of these calling stones.

"How did you get that? Where is mom?"

[samsblades]

✶ just because — sam winchester

cw : gn!afab!reader, smut, fluff, service top!sam, pet names (baby, honey, lovely), praise, oral x2 (reader receiving), swearing, unprotected p in v & creampie, cum eating, cockwarming, mentions of heavy pda/touching but there's no one else around lol, passing mentions of food/eating, use of day after birth control, poorly edited, 8K words. requested !

MDNI !!! 18+ ONLY.

summary : sam spoils you with a nice hotel room, in which you have slow romantic sex, and spend the next day reading books in bed.

for a moment, your surprised joy is interrupted by a bout of total horror and mortified embarrassment. sam has saved up to stay in a well-reviewed hotel room for the night, and you're convinced that you must've somehow forgotten your anniversary, or something with an equal measure of importance. but he catches the bewildered fear in your eyes before you can stammer out an apology or breathless question and gathers your hands in his as your gaze flicks between him and the tall building.

"just because," he reassures, easily guessing what's caught you off guard. he can't stop grinning because he can feel the excitement buzzing in your hands, and the second you're no longer frightened that you've forgotten something you never should, you're grinning too.

"just because?" you repeat, just to be sure. you're still in a bit of disbelief. a hotel room might not be much to others, but a life lived in grime, blood, and shitty motel rooms makes this a total luxury.

"mhmm," he confirms, "we… you know, we deserve it." that makes you grin harder. it feels like the bigger luxury is sam including himself in that statement, saying aloud that he deserves something nice. and he's very right. the both of you absolutely deserve it, just because.

"we do," you beam, and such a smile on your face makes the splurge more than worth it. he presses a sweet kiss to your cheek that you can't reciprocate only because he swoops away to grab your bags and swing them over a shoulder. his free hand finds yours again, happily leading you across the parking lot to the foyer of the hotel.

the afternoon sun beams down, illuminating faces that are lit up all on their own, and your shoes scuff against the asphalt.

"is this why you kept hustling pool last week?" you ask, only a light hint of teasing in your otherwise affectionate voice as you peer at him curiously. his eyes graze over the parking lot entrance as a car pulls in, checking to be sure it's not coming your way. then he looks back at you with a sheepish smile and nods.

"didn't take too long to get enough," he says, his voice lighter than it has been in a long time.

"mhmm," you hum, giving his hand a soft swing as the automatic doors to the lobby roll open and you step into the cool, air conditioned air of the hotel. honestly, you pay no attention as sam checks you into your room, giddy as you let your eyes wander. it's grander than you expected, and maybe a bit more expensive than sam is letting on. you wonder if it was just last week he was hustling pool or if he's been planning this for longer than you'd first guessed. your eyes drift to the signs that point towards a pool, a gym, even a bar.

you return your attention to sam and the desk attendant just in time to see the employee hand over two room keys and mention that check out time is eleven am. the both of you smile and give thanks, but you never caught the room number, so you let him take the lead. in the elevator, he presses the button for the fourth floor.

like the gentleman he is, he holds the door to the room open for you and quickly slips in so he can watch the look on your face. it's not anything truly upscale, but it's far better than anything you've had in literal years. the bed is comfortable, the sheets are clean, and the shower can double as a bath. there's even a little balcony, and it's all you could ask for. the decor is impressively not highly tacky.

there's a light in your eyes that sam only gets when things are quiet. when it's snowy and he pulls out a scarf you didn't know he had and wraps it around your neck before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. or when it's summer and you get to watch a glorious sunset from the hood of the car. you spin around to face him, worn sneakers you forgot to take off at the entrance catching on the carpet and tipping you off balance. with your skill set, you could very easily stand straight, but you let yourself fall.

his arms are outstretched and he takes a small step so that you crash into his chest with a pleased, hearty laugh.

"thank you, sam," you grin, arms strong as they wrap around his neck and don't let go.

he beams because he has the world wrapped up in his arms, and because he's made the world happy.

"you don't have to thank me," he says, always too modest.

"but i'm grateful," you counter, planting a sturdy kiss to his cheek as if to prove it. "and this is really, really perfect. so thank you."

he feels like he's floating. "you're welcome," he murmurs, letting his chin dip until his lips are pressing into the sweet skin where your neck just begins to slope upwards. for a long few moments, you simply stand there together, engulfed by the other and perfectly content. but sam can never resist the taste of your skin, and you can certainly never resist the feel of his tongue and his lips. so there's a kiss to your skin, then a drag of his lips because he doesn't want to part from you even the slightest bit. another kiss to your neck, just an inch away from the first.

hot breath from the puff of his nose, then you're kicking off your shoes. three more kisses, each one more open mouthed than the last until it's the heat of his tongue. your hands drift to their home in his hair, fingers curling into the slowly lengthening strands at the back. his hair's a bit greasy because he hasn't washed it since the last motel and you briefly imagine a hot bath after this, how relaxing it will be, how soft his hair will get when he lets his guard down and melts into your touch as you shampoo it for him. and you imagine how well you'll sleep after a nice, warm bath, after being worn out by the way you're sure to be lost in each other's pleasure for a long while.

then you remember that it's only the afternoon as your eyes slip open just enough to be sure you won't trip on anything as sam walks you to the bed, tongue still trailing across your skin. and you're sighing, soft and nearly breathless already as his teeth scrape, then lips suck before you're sinking back into the softest bed you've slept on in a long, long while.

and while sam's the hungriest kisser you've ever had, he's so very soft and purposeful and slow today. every action has an impassioned, in-love intent behind it, and he sucks at your skin in a way that lets you feel it all. his hands shift and caress and squeeze, but they don't wander. they are placed with purpose, just like the way he kisses. he kisses and nips at the most sensitive spots along your neck and jawline until he reaches your shoulders and collarbone, until he's pulling off your shirt and bra. there's a moment of quiet reverence as his fingertips slide up from your waist and to your ribs and then the palms of his warm, loving hands are cupping the sweet swell of your breasts.

his face dips between them, and instead of immediately licking and sucking and nipping like he most often does, you get the murmur of gentle lips along sensitive skin. "i love you so much. so much." he whispers your name like a prayer, or maybe a sacred hymnal, the one that always makes you cry whether or not you believe in any higher power. it's certain he believes in you, though.

you meet his eyes as they lift up to your face, glistening with the reflection of the lamp on the beside and something more, and pupils blown wide with an ardent lust. he's so utterly sincere, so clearly in love—with you, for that matter—that you can't help but want to pull him back up and kiss him hard on the lips until you just can't breathe.

"i love you, too. so much," you echo, doing everything you can to imbue your voice with the same passion and reverence he holds for you. your thumb finds his cheekbone and rubs it softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "you're so beautiful," you murmur, unable to hold back from telling him so. he should hear it, you think, and you mean it with all your heart and soul. it gets you the desired effect, too; an upward tug of his lips and the prettiest dusting of pink across his cheeks that crawls up to the tips of his ears.

he kisses you right where he rests with his chin slipping down into the valley of your breasts and his lips a few inches well below your collarbone.

"you're beautiful," he breathes out and onto your skin, like it's the easiest thing to say in the world. your cheeks warm too, as if he's not already cupping your tits or pressing his hips right into yours. "and i'm gonna make you feel so good, honey. you're so good."

your nipples get his attention now, already peaked from the cool air and nearness of his big hands, but he easily gets your back to arch lightly and a moan to slip past your lips as his mouth and fingers latch to your sensitive flesh. he sucks and lingers and works you up until it's practically agonizing, until your hips squirm and the sensation borders on overstimulation.

"sam," you groan, torso twitching lightly. his unoccupied hand slips down between your clothed legs to cup your pulsing mound as if to tell you he knows. almost there, be patient. he's all slow and worshiping today, clearly intent on making it all about you and your pleasure. but you're not sure how long you can be patient for, a drawn out moan leaving your lips as his hand makes contact with your core and applies a steady pressure that makes you want to shamelessly rut into his palm.

before you can utter the please that's already on the tip of your tongue, he finally lets his insistent mouth fall from your breasts and down to your belly, trailing messy kisses to the hem of your pants. you lose the pressure on your throbbing cunt for just a moment, but you don't mind because it means you lose the rest of your pesky garments. he swiftly removes your jeans and underwear, and before you know it, they litter the otherwise spotless carpet of the room.

the way he begins to position himself, you already know exactly what he wants, so you push yourself up until you're propped over the numerous plushy pillows. he smiles sweetly at you as you give him as much you room as you can for him to stay comfortably on the bed. then he happily settles between your thighs, tugs your legs over his shoulders, and presses the most infuriatingly soft kiss to your aching clit. his eyes look a little wild, like he wants to dive in with his normal fervor. but he's made today about spoiling you, and he's going to do just that. the slowness is the gentle side of his love, the side he wants to give you right now.

the soft, quiet noise that leaves your lips is exactly the kind he's looking for; lost in pleasure and ever so loved. soon enough, your hands are right back where they belong, twisted in his hair without any sort of harshness. in fact, you're rather gentle too, for now, fingertips full of love as they brush over his scalp.

he starts with chaste kisses that graduate to open mouthed, then to kitten licks that still make you moan with ease. he truly worships you with his mouth, and though he starts slower than usual, he grows more impassioned and messy by the minute, just how you like it. your arousal pools on his tongue and he laps it up like he's never tasted anything sweeter.

he barely comes up for air, much less words, so his hands are what he uses to praise you. with soft touches or a gentle caress, an encouraging squeeze to your thighs when you squirm and keen and grow short of breath.

"please," you pant, hips jerking at a long, hard suck to your swollen clit. you're going so good, his hands say, squeezing gently.

he only stops long enough to say, "cum for me," as he feels you getting closer, your hips getting more desperate, your noises louder despite the way you try and keep them under control, and your pussy fluttering wildly against his tongue.

"ohh, sam," you moan, voice breaking sweetly. "oh— oh, god. mm, fuck!" every noise you make goes straight to his cock, straining almost painfully in his jeans. he can't wait to sink into your soaking heat. and as your back arches high and your hips push shakily into his mouth, he knows he's got you right where he needs you.

his tongue is buried as deep inside your sopping cunt as he can get it, his drool mixing with your slick that dribbles down his chin. he just ravishes you with the way he tongue-fucks you, his movements feverish and nose bumping harshly against your clit so that your thighs tremble in his hands.

the feeling of his fingers stuffed inside you with his mouth on your clit is one of the best in the world. but sometimes the simple strength of his tongue and jaw is more than enough. his lips spread wide over your entrance, his teeth delicately scrape your sensitive skin, and his hot tongue pushes against the gummy walls of your pulsing cunt. and all the while, he makes the filthiest noises known to man in a shameless effort to capture every bit of your slick in his mouth. it's those noises, and the view of his proud nose smushed right against your clit, that sends you over the edge.

he catches your eye for just a split second before you toss your head back and a shudder runs through your whole body. your hips push up off the bed and sam's head follows dutifully, his relentless tongue working you through it with something that can only be called devotion.

you've been doing your best to stay reasonably quiet out of respect for potential hotel guests that might be in nearby rooms, but you can't stop the broken cry of his name that leaves your lips as you spiral through the ecstasy that he's given you. your vision blurs for a glorious moment, and he keeps your otherwise jerking hips flush against his mouth with a strong grip. even while lost in the throes of pleasure, him and his steady, loving hold always keep you feeling safe and secure.

and while he's overall doing his best to be a gentle lover today, he can't help but drag out your pleasure until it borders on overstimulation. he doesn't really know how to pull his mouth from you once he gets started, every damn time. so despite the fact that he pulls his tongue from inside you, it stays on your heated skin, licking up your slit and all the way to your swollen button to suck softly, just to feel you clench and twitch.

"s-sam," you pant out, fingers in his hair tightening after having gone slack for only a moment. right before you can moan out the words, too much, he pulls away just a few inches and sweetly settles your hips back onto the mattress. he lingers, of course, hands splayed over the tops of your thighs now and lips pressing soft kisses to your now sweaty skin as you catch your breath.

you don't have to tell him that he's pleased you well. he has your blissed out expression more than memorized. but you have a tendency to say it out loud anyway, with an breathless voice that only makes him want more.

"so good to me, sam," you mumble, hands slipping from his hair to rest atop his hands instead. he takes the initiative to curl his fingers around yours for a moment while peering up softly at the satisfied droop of your eyelids.

"you know i love it. love you," he murmurs in response, wet lips brushing so lightly over your clit that you barely register the sensation. it still makes a muscle in your thighs jump to attention.

at your beck and call, he crawls up to bed to settle next to you when you give a lazy tug to his hands. he pulls you onto your side and into his chest and happily lets you take the rest you need despite the insistent bulge in his pants that presses against your lower belly.

"i love you, too," you whisper, pleased and certainly satisfied, but still feeling your pussy clench at the promise of him inside you. however, you let yourself rest just like he does, knowing that you have all the time you need, even if just for today. nothing has to be hasty or rushed, and when his head tilts down to yours, there's nothing stopping your lips from dancing and tongues from intertwining until you just can't wait any longer to have him even closer.

though your legs still feel a bit like jelly, your energy mounts as you kiss him long and messy, the musky tang of your taste still lingering heavily on his lips and tongue. you love tasting yourself on his skin, and he loves the way you love it. he'd say it turns him on like nothing else if it weren't for the fact that nearly everything you do has the capability to give him a raging boner.

out of breath again, you part to rest your forehead on his, your hands smoothing over his scarred skin where they rest under his shirt. "i'm ready," you whisper, knowing he's been patiently waiting for you to say so.

he presses one more quick kiss to your lips. "okay, baby," he murmurs back, sliding off the bed to pull off his clothes before crawling back over you as you fall to your back. his muscled arms cage you in as they settle on the pillows by the sides of your face, close enough that he can brush your cheek with the tip of his thumb. when he dips his head, you lift your chin and meet his lips with the easy instinct of it being your thousandth kiss with him.

with his hips settled over yours, he reaches down first to swipe two fingers down your slit to ensure that you're still wet enough for him, then to line himself up with your still dripping entrance. you inhale sharply at his touch, then let out a shuddery breath as he taps his tip over you clit, just to tease. he pushes in achingly slow, never breaking the soft eye contact he gives you even when a shaking groan leaves his parted lips.

"so tight," he mutters, breathless, "such a pretty baby for me." one of his hands still rests in the pillows by your head, the other one now settled on your hip. you grasp at that hand, fingers curling around two of his as he stretches you wide, filling you to the brim and over with his throbbing cock. he grunts every time your hungry cunt instinctively squeezes him, your hips straining with the effort of staying nice and still for him. as he finally bottoms out inside you and a soft moan leaves your lips, he leans down again to press another sweet kiss to your lips.

he sets a slow, languid pace, each thrust deep and deliberate, aimed to pull his favorite sounds from your throat and bring you an intense, glowing pleasure.

"so good," he grunts, his nose pressing into your cheek and the heat of his breath tickling your skin. "you feel so good."

"you're— ah," you gasp, hand flying from the bed sheets by your thighs to his hip and squeezing hard as his tip hits right where you need it, "so perfect, sam." he lets his arm fold underneath him so that he's holding himself up by the elbow and close enough to bury his face in your neck and breathe in deep.

"you're perfect," he echoes, voice strained with pleasure. "so perfect, wrapped around me like this. squeezin' me so tight, 'n so wet." he words get cut short like they always do when he's worked up. you pant softly, arms wrapping around his neck and tugging him even closer as his thrusts grow just a touch faster and harder. each low grunt and whispered praise, both filthy and sweet all at once, heightens it all. you feel your head go just a little hazy, while soft sounds tumble from your lips and your hands cling tightly to his broad frame.

"please, please, sam," you gasp out, chest heaving and fingers curling into his hair.

"i know, baby, i've got you," he huffs out, voice honey sweet, "i got you."

the way he reassures you is certainly lovely and easily makes you feel all soft inside, but you haven't said everything you meant too. still panting, you shake your head lightly, "n-no, no, baby, i meant— mmm… please— ah— please cum inside me."

it takes everything in him not to start wildly rutting into you like those words make him desperate to. they shoot a bolt of sharp desire through him, but he holds back with a groan, stilling inside you.

"are you sure?" he grunts, voice rough with a stifled growl. but he's still serious, sincere like the perfect gentleman he is.

you nod jerkily, wanting him to feel how much you mean it. the clench of your pussy isn't even purposeful, but you feel how it makes him tense, his hand tightening where it cradles your waist. "i'm sure, sam," you half moan. "i… i bought plan b at the pharmacy yesterday. d-didn't know i'd use it so soon, but— but i want it. been thinking about it."

he groans again. you've been thinking about it. he still double checks, bottom lip momentarily caught between his teeth as he struggles to stay as soft and romantic as he'd planned to for today. he pulls away from you, just enough to look you in the eye. his pupils are so blown out that you can barely see the green color of his irises. "you're sure, honey? promise?" you love the way he says honey when he's holding back from fucking the life out of you.

"i promise," you breathe out, lifting your head to press a soft kiss to his lips. and where you're soft, he reciprocates with a fevered intensity, kissing you with teeth and tongue and an open, salivating mouth. he pulls out nearly all the way, slowly as if he's going to continue with the same pace as before, until he slams back into you, too horny and desperate to hold back anymore. you let out a sharp groan, welcoming his fervor and matching it with rolling hips and wandering hands.

your fingers dig into the flesh of his ass, trying to pull him impossibly closer, then roaming up to the small of his back where your nails lightly scratch and fingertips cherish his dimples.

"fuck, y'take me so good. so good," he grunts, breathing short and choppy as he really begins to exert himself. but his gentle romanticism doesn't fully disappear; his hips snap into yours while his lips brush a sweet kiss to your cheek until it turns to a moan. "feels so good. you always feel so fuckin' good, baby. so good for me," he pants into your ear, unable to keep the praises from pouring from his mouth to your ears, his face so close to yours that you feel every warm puff of breath.

"oh, fuck," you whine, "sam… yes. so good… don't stop. please. i wanna feel it. wanna feel you cum inside me."

he nearly does right then and there, but he wants you to get there first. he wants to spill into your spasming cunt as you're thrown into a reeling, mind-numbing climax, or even as you come down from it, sweetly shuddering and then given the warmth of him to prolong the intensity of it all for just a bit longer.

"i know," he moans, trying to sound sweet and reassuring, "i know, honey. gonna cum, right inside this pretty pussy." one of his hands finds your clit with ease, circling it just right. "cum for me. c'mon, want you to cum for me first, baby, please." his voice reveals his desperation, cracking prettily and going just a little whiny on the word 'please'.

if the overwhelming sensation of his cock pumping deep inside you and his perfect fingers on your clit wasn't already enough to guarantee your downfall, his breathy plea certainly finishes you off.

you try to tell him you're going to cum, that you're right there, but your breath catches too hard to get anything out with each thrust of his hips. once, twice, and then your trembling hands have crawled back to wrap around the back of his neck and pulled him flush into you. everything in you screams to have his hot skin on yours, his breath on your neck, and his body in your arms as your face pushes into the side of his neck and you absolutely soak him.

he does his best to fuck you through it, but his hips stutter and still inside you, the strength of your climax pushing him right over the edge just the same as you. the hot white pleasure is blinding; the sensation of you holding onto him so tight, your cunt clamping down with such intensity, the sound of your broken, pretty voice crying out his name.

you let out another moan, wordless and wanton as you feel his warmth spilling into you, reaching deep and filling you in a way you're unsure you can ever go back from. the heady groan that he lets out melds with yours, tongue and teeth meeting the sweaty skin of your jaw as his mouth falls open and he falls into heaven. you're both careful and responsible, so you maybe never should've suggested this at all; he'll never get enough of this feeling, of the knowledge that he's filled you to the brim with his release.

the haze in your head never fully fades, but you come down from it together, sam carefully resting atop of you.

"fuck, honey… been wanting to fill you up so bad. for so long," he murmurs in admittance into the sensitive shell of your ear.

"feels so good," you whisper, "so warm."

"took it so good," he praises, kissing the soft skin next to your half closed eye. he moves to gently slip away from you, but you tighten your shaky hold on him and shake your head.

"not yet," you mumble, "please?"

"of course," he relents without a second thought. he stays half hard, still buried deep inside you as he gently maneuvers you until you're laying halfway on top of him. you sigh in soft satisfaction as you let your muscles loosen and relax. sam cradles you close, one hand smoothing up and down your back, the other coming to rest comfortingly on the back of your head.

it's easy to lose track of time like this, held together by his caring touch and more satisfyingly full than you've ever been. you both close your eyes, lost in the warm closeness of the other.

you've certainly gone for longer than this before, but everything is just too comfortable; the (mostly) clean sheets, plushy pillows, and sam's sturdy body gone all soft underneath you. in the end, it's sam who breaks the soft silence as he feels you teeter on the edge of sleep.

"it's a little early to sleep, love," he whispers, cautious and willing to let you pass out if it's what you really want. he just doesn't want you to sleep poorly when the sun actually sets. "how about a bath? and that pill, baby. you know it's more effective the sooner you take it." you don't open your eyes quite yet, but you nod in simple acknowledgment.

"yeah," you murmur, "bath sounds good." sam never stops the soft movement of his calloused palm over your back, and a few moments later you breathe in deep before letting your eyes flutter open.

"okay. i'll run a bath and grab the pill. which pocket is it in?" he offers, his sweetness predictable but still making you smile.

"thank you. it's in the front one," you say, knowing he'll understand what you're talking about. he knows your bag well, just like you know his. he's slow and careful as he finally pulls out and can't help but find it cute when the movement sends a light shiver down your spine.

but before he can slip off the bed and take care of everything like promised, you let your legs fall open for him to see. a slight clench of your perfectly used cunt and then you feel his cum, still warm, slipping from deep inside you until it slowly seeps out, milky white and abundant. sam lets out a low groan and your eyes flutter at the feeling.

"fuck," sam mutters, voice suddenly gruff again and eyes fixed on the sight on your pretty pussy quite literally dripping with his cum. "shit, baby, you look so pretty like this." his voice is almost reverent as he watches another small gush of his cum drool out of you and onto your thigh. he licks his lips like he'd want nothing more than to eat you out like this. his gaze flicks back up to your face and his eyes—with pupils blown wide once again—reveal exactly what he's about to ask just moments before he speaks.

"can i… please?" his voice is almost begging. he really, truly just can't help himself. he asks only because he refuses to do anything that you don't want, especially today. if it's too much, he'll refrain and clean you up with a warm wash rag before drawing you a bath. but if it's not, he just might eat you alive.

and you're not one to deny sam, not when he asks like that, not when his request is also a promise of that perfect pleasure his mouth always brings. and god, just how he loves to see you taste yourself on his skin, you want the same from him. to have him eat his cum out of your pussy might be one of the hottest things you've thought of. and him begging for it just makes it ten times better.

"fuck, sammy, yes," you agree, voice coming out breathless despite the rest that you just had. the moment those words leave your mouth, he's practically pouncing on you. almost before you can process it, he hoists your hips up, swinging your legs over his shoulders. his tongue swipes up your entrance, strong and curled to gather up every drop of his cum from your pussy that he can. he swallows hungrily and groans lowly into your heated skin. the filth of it all and your heightened sensitivity already have you squirming in his arms.

he dives in, shoving his tongue as far into you as he can reach as if to ensure that he really can taste himself on every inch of your walls. he can, and his dick is rock hard again. he completely loses himself in the way you taste and feel with your cunt coated in his release. your taste, slightly sweeter than his own, mixes with his and he thinks it could get him drunk.

somewhere in the midst of lewd, wet sounds, his whiny moans, and your shaking thighs, he remembers that he has you folded up in a position that isn't all that comfortable for your back and manages to control himself enough to lower your hips back to the bed. he is no less shameless or messy, though. he practically slurps at you, as if trying to suck every last bit of his cum from inside you. as your wetness grows and drips out of your entrance, more and more of his load escapes too, and sam proves himself as the pussy eating addict you know him to be. he almost looks high, so lust filled and taken by this obsession that his eyes roll back into his head more than once and his mind goes fuzzy.

your own head goes hazy too, the sensation almost overstimulating but far too pleasurable to ever cross the line to pain. you might be sensitive, but you've had time to recover and he works what must be miracles with his mouth every damn time. you grind your hips up into his tongue, and his own hips rut absentmindedly into the white comforter. if you had the room to think of it, you might feel a little bit bad for whatever poor soul on the cleaning crew will have to be the one to strip your bed. you and sam will be sure to leave a generous tip either way.

but nothing of that sort is on either of your minds at the moment as he chases the height of your pleasure. for the third time today, and likely not last considering all the time you have, sam sends you sprawling into an intense climax, this time with his lips closed tightly around your clit and sucking hard. you swear your vision goes white as your back arches sharply off the bed, the orgasm hitting you fast and without much warning. and sam just licks and sucks and moans into your soaked cunt long after you collapse weakly into the bed. he drinks you up until your trembling hands push halfheartedly at the top of his head.

"t-too much," you pant, the words still coming out like a moan. he parts from you with a shuddering breath and a loosening of his strong hands on your thighs. almost as a sweet apology, he runs his hands up from your hips, up your sides, then back down in a soft, soothing motion.

"sorry, honey," he murmurs, swooping down to press a loving kiss to your lower belly, "can't help it. you just taste too sweet. always so, so good for me. such a good little thing for me." still settled at the foot of the bed, he gathers you up in his arms and pulls you up into his chest. he kisses your forehead with all the tenderness he can muster and smiles as you melt into his hold.

"it's okay," you assure him, voice soft and tired now as you feel your cheeks warm at his praise, "always feels so good. you're so good."

both his cheeks and heart warm at that. "how about that bath now?" he murmurs, curling his arms around you tighter for just a moment.

"mhmm," you hum, nuzzling into him as he hugs you tighter.

"yeah. such a pretty baby," he whispers, half to himself. another kiss to your forehead, then he's settling you back onto the bed with a thin blanket that was folded up on the green armchair in the corner. you just lay there and breathe, letting your eyes drift back closed as you listen to the soft sounds of him shuffling about the room.

first, his quiet footsteps, then the opening of the bathroom door. the rush of water through pipes, then splashing into the tub while he searches for the perfect temperature. he's back in the main room, unzipping the front pocket of your bag for the birth control pill. there's the splash of water again, but this time quieter. you peek through one open eye to see him filling up a small paper cup with water for you to get the pill down easier. when he approaches, the second eye comes open too, and you prop yourself up to accept the cup.

you're about to sit all the way up to take the pill from his hand as well, but sam shakes his head and stops you with a soft sound in his throat that you understand without it being a fully formed word. your lips stretch to a smile when he pops the pill from its package and holds it right to your lips. you accept it into your mouth, resisting a laugh at his slightly over-the-top actions. but it's just the right amount of sweet that you can't really tease him about it. and you can't say you mind not having to fully sit. you swallow the pill with a drink of water and let sam take the cup from you. gladly, you flop back onto the bed with a pleased sigh.

sam pads away, checking on the bath before soaking a wash cloth with the warm water and returning to clean you off a bit in advance. of course, his touch is delicate and careful, as gentle as ever. when he discards of the rag, you hold both of your hands out to him in an exaggeration motion to request that he pull you up.

he obliges with a playful grin that you match as he hoists you up off the bed and into his arms. you press an easy kiss to his chest before he walks you to the bathroom. you don't stumble or limp, but you lean into him, legs still a little weak with the strain of so much intense pleasure. he holds your elbows as you step into the warm water and eases you down, then joins you after shutting the rushing faucet off.

the water sloshes dangerously close to the edge of the bathtub, and realize this is the first time you've shared a bath with sam. you've shared plenty of showers, but you almost instantly find this to be much more comfortable. he settles behind you, leaning against the cold tile and letting you rest on his much warmer chest.

the bathroom fills with steam, sweet murmurs, the scent of soap, and the sounds of water gently splashing in the tub. your bodies occupy the water until it goes from hot to warm to room temperature. he washes your skin with reverent hands, you clean his hair with faintly citrus scented soap. your own hands are gentle and thorough, innocent in their touch this time as they run through his slowly lengthening hair, drawing soft sighs from his lips and tugging tension from his shoulders until they slump. he kisses you with soapy hair and lets you wash it out, head cradled in your hands in an act of simple, precious trust.

there are still a few hours of sunlight left in the day by the time the water cools and you and sam step out of the tub, dripping onto the white tile before wrapping up in cream colored towels. the swaths of fabric are still sort of annoyingly small, but certainly newer and softer than the kind that you're used to.

despite the evening sun seeping through the curtains and casting a post-rain glow over the room—there'd been a storm in the morning—you and sam crawl under the sheets for a little while, both delighted by the way fresh bedding feels on your now soft, refreshed skin.

that faint citrus scent lingers until later in the night, after dinner in a nearby restaurant and a steamy stint in the hotel's pool which you found empty by that hour. you'll admit to some frisky behavior in the public space; just slow, open mouthed kisses and a bit of heavy petting, all mostly hidden by the blue water and low lights. you both smell of chlorine by the time you make it back to the room, then citrus shampoo again, then back to musky arousal and sweat before falling asleep, tangled in each others arms and a plush comforter.

morning comes without tired groans or stinging cuts or monsters. just soft sunlight and fluttering eyes that feel well rested, for once. sam's big hands on your bare skin and his hair falling prettily over his forehead. your eyes open before his, but you feel the change in his breathing as he wakes just minutes after you. you tuck one of those strands of hair behind his ear and he leans into your touch like it's the most natural thing to do first thing in the morning.

"good morning, princess," you tease him, voice overflowing with affection like fountain too filled.

he opens his eyes with a scrunch of eyebrows and a frown that's trying not to be a smile. "princess?" he echoes with that perfectly beautiful, tempting morning voice of his.

"mhmm. you're just so pretty," you explain. he lets out a huff of laughter and you swoop in to steal a kiss. your lips brush his teeth before his own lips pucker to reciprocate.

"you're funny," he tells you when there's enough room to talk, lips still brushing against yours.

"a comedic genius," you correct before falling back onto your own pillow and grinning softly at the room's clean ceiling, void of water stains or other unknown but certainly suspicious patches of color that don't match the original paint job. admittedly, you're sad it has to end, but you're so grateful and content that it happened at all that you could never complain. sam hums absentmindedly, most likely paying much more attention to drinking in the look on your face than responding properly to your little jests.

you roll your head to the side, searching for the small clock on the bedside table and nearly shooting up in alarm.

"sam!" you gasp, half laughing even as you hastily sit up and turn back to him, "it's almost eleven! we have to pack up for check out." you never expected to sleep in this much; you and sam are so used to waking up early that you didn't even bother setting an alarm. but rather than checking the clock himself or sitting up too, sam just gives a surprised laugh, one devoid of any urgency to move or take action.

"you weren't paying much attention when i checked us in, were you, lovely?" he asks, eyes sparkling with teasing affection. he only calls you 'lovely' when he's so endeared or pleased that he can't call you anything else. his words stop you from leaving the comfort of the bed entirely. "i booked the room for two nights."

"sam!" you gasp again, your voice this time much softer, "two nights?" you repeat in mild astonishment. "is that— is that okay?" you're still fumbling for the right words, but he grins.

"of course it's okay, baby," he assures you, placing a hand atop yours, "'s not like we're paying for much of anything with our own money," he says with a humorous scoff. "not sure if hustlin' pool counts as my own money either, but it was well worth it."

"well, it's not your fault some people don't understand the sunk cost fallacy," you mumble teasingly, earning a small laugh from him. "and yeah. it was worth it. thank you, sam," you add, much more sincere.

"you're welcome, sweetheart," he murmurs back, just as sincere, before leaning over and kissing you sweetly. "how about some breakfast in the lobby?" your eyes light up at the mention of food and he smiles back at you, so you crawl the rest of the way out of bed, this time without any haste. you dress slowly, stopping of course to stare as sam pulls on his own jeans and casual button up shirt. it's not flannel today, which you're sure he's done on purpose because he knows you like the solid colors better. he's really spoiling you because it's a deep, irresistible green.

you stick with sweatpants, as you're realistically only required to look presentable for a hotel lobby breakfast and unwilling to give up the comfort. sam, on the other hand, you don't think owns a pair of sweatpants at this point. so, predictably, when you get back from the late meal, he strips back down to his boxers. the air conditioning is on high enough that he keeps the shirt on, but you don't mind. it's fabric is worn and soft with use, and the sight of him in just boxers and one of your favorite shirts is a highly pleasant one.

while you settle back onto the bed, content to just laze around until one of you gets bored enough to suggest something else, sam briefly rummages around in his bag. when he straightens up with a barely audible hum of triumph, you look up to see his hands occupied with three books you haven't seen before. your eyes light up even brighter than they did at the mention of breakfast.

"new books?" you ask in excitement, holding your arms out. sam complies, approaching the bed with a nod and handing the little stack off to you. "you are the best in the world, sam winchester," you tell him firmly as you examine the titles and he climbs onto the bed next to you. before he can respond, you drop the books into your lap and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a long kiss.

when you finally part, he rests his forehead against yours. "you're my everything, you know that, right?" he whispers, voice just hinting that he really wants to be sure that you do know it.

"couldn't miss it if i tried," you assure, hoping he gets it into his head that he makes you feel more loved than you've ever been. "you're my everything, too. you know that, right?" you echo. he nods softly, he forehead knocking against yours.

"yeah," he says, breathless like he almost can't believe it but would never deny it, "i know."

"good," you murmur, going in for just one more kiss before parting and putting your hands on the books. "so, what'll it be?" you ask curiously, waiting for him to choose a book first.

"how about this one?" he asks, picking up the title that intrigued you most. crescent. "i haven't read a novel in… a long time. saw you eyeing it too," he says, ever observant. "we can… take turns reading it aloud, if you want."

you grin. "yeah. yeah, i want that. i'll start," you say, taking the book from him without giving him time to resist. "go on. lay down," you order without any force. he smiles at you and obliges. he even closes his eyes like you hoped he would. your goal is to read him to sleep later, maybe for a nap in the afternoon. you clear your throat, more for show than anything else. with the other two books cast aside to the night stand, you open the cream colored paperback cover and flip to the first chapter.

"crescent by diana abu-jaber. chapter one." you glance back to see that he had only closed his eyes for a few moments. now, he's watching you with lovesick eyes. your gaze is similarly colored with adoration for the long few moments before you turn back to the book. then, you read to him like it's the thing you want to do for the rest of your life.

"the sky is white. the sky shouldn't be white because it's after midnight and the moon has not yet appeared and nothing is as black and as ancient as the night in baghdad. it is dark and fragrant as the hanging gardens of the extinct city of chaldea, as dark and still as the night in the uppermost chamber of the spiraling tower of babel…"

[moonydustx]

The dress

Law x F!Reader

A night trying on clothes with your best version looks better than you imagine.

warnings: F!Reader has some insecurities, I wrote this thinking about a plus size/chubby girl, but it's not very detailed. Below, I'll leave the color of the two main dresses I thought of, as for the model, it's up to your imagination: Pink dress - #e75480 Green dress - #808000

Law was known for being observant. This was nothing new to anyone.

He knew Shachi's allergies inside out, he had memorized Ikkaku's PMS period, after all she became a terrorist, and he knew perfectly well the ideal temperature for Bepo's baths. He knew everything that was going on with his crew, including you.

You had been part of the Heart Pirates for longer than you could count on your fingers. Being a pirate was basically what you knew how to be and do, and that required a different way of life. No fears, no loopholes, and no hesitations. But your captain knew better.

For some reason he refused to name - in fact, he was somewhat wary of such a feeling - you were the thing Law liked to watch the most. Like the time you almost got caught by the marines because you "got distracted" watching a romantic play on a certain island. Or how you spent weeks without talking to Shachi and Penguin, claiming you were just in a bad mood. In reality, they had invited you to go to the circus and you hated it, even if he didn't know it.

Law noticed how you tried hard in every fight, in everything, always lifting more weight than was necessary. You had always had this thick skin that you refused to admit. Not to mention the self-deprecating comments. Law made sure to intervene with the mere excuse that he wouldn't accept anyone talking badly about any of his crewmates, not even you about yourself.

The small island where they had stopped to refuel this time seemed to be something very calm. Lots of little shops, families having fun and no sign of the marine. Great for him and for the list of things he needed to buy. This time, you had been invited to be his companion.

"We also need some kitchen supplies, the basics, you know?" you pointed out.

"Okay, we can look into that later. Before that, we need to…" Law noticed that your presence was no longer with him at every step. Turning around, he caught you looking at a shop window. "Something interesting?"

"Oh no, no. It just distracted me." You tried to hide it as best you could, but it was completely in vain. "We can move on."

"No, I want to know what distracted you." He insisted. "Was it the white nightgown?"

"No, jeez."

"The purple dress." He insisted, knowing that you would deny it one by one. But he would never miss the chance to tease you.

"Too much purple."

"The pink one?" He asked and saw you hesitate. "The pink one, then. Do you want to buy it?"

"No need, Captain." you insisted as you watched him walk towards the door.

"Okay, do you want to steal it then?" he muttered and you could see the blue dome form around his hand. On impulse, you just grabbed it and walked into the store.

"Good morning! How can I help the young couple?" a clerk approached the two of you with a noticeable false friendliness. You knew Law was holding back from rolling his eyes.

"We're not…"

"She wants to try on the pink dress in the window." Law cut you off, speaking directly to the clerk.

"The pink one, the one over there?" the woman pointed and you nodded.

In a way that you could easily tell the woman was disgusted. She stopped you next to the mannequin and looked between you and the piece.

"Honey, I don't think this type of clothing is for you."

"What do you mean it's not for her?" Law could see you practically cringing in embarrassment.

"Well, just notice the difference between the mannequin and her, simple as that." A bitter and fake smile left the woman's lips.

Across the room, you could see another attendant and two other customers looking at you, whispering to you.

"Okay, thanks." You left the store without even looking back.

"That woman is lying." Law soon appeared behind you, seeing you walking quickly. "The dress would look good on you and I don't know anything about it."

"Law, can you leave this aside?" You asked, as he tried to keep up with you.

"I shoud go back there." He insisted and only then stopped in front of you, seeing your eyes flooded.

"It's okay." You gave him your best smile. "These types of clothes aren't made for me anyway." You took a piece of paper that was in your pocket. "Back to the list, we have to get sugar, flour…"

Your voice sounded like a background while Law put some pieces together in his head. Was that why you kept some aspects of your personality out of reach of others?

He needed to do something, even if it was just about the dress.

The day passed quickly, as did the beginning of the night. What you didn't expect was to find your captain at your door during the night, saying that the two of you had an important mission.

"Where are you taking me?" You followed him through the practically empty city, except for the occasional passerby who was excitedly leaving a bar.

"Just follow me." Law simply said.

The familiarity of the path became clear as soon as the two of you stopped in front of the same store in that morning. Standing next to you, your captain simply looked both ways to see if there were any witnesses and with a wave of his hand, the two of you were inside the empty store.

"Law, are you crazy?" You turned to him indignantly, who only maintained a calm expression, a slight smile on the corner that was reluctant to appear.

"You wanted to try on the dresses here, didn't you?"

"The attendant made it very clear that they don't fit me." Your frustrated tone didn't go unnoticed by him.

Law analyzed you for a few more seconds, watching you look around the store as if some invisible line was preventing you from exploring everything.

"We both know that was a lie, don't we? Just rudeness from a woman who was at least envious."

"And is there anything here for her to be envious of?" You pointed out, still feeling shy, but unable to resist touching the expensive fabrics.

Law looked at you again, a sigh released almost involuntarily. If only you knew.

"And there's something not to be jealous of." He murmured and picked up a blue dress first, handing it to you. "Since you're in doubt, start with this one."

Feeling your cheeks burning, you picked up the piece and guided yourself by the cracks of light coming from the street, you managed to get to the dressing room. The piece itself was beautiful but it really didn't seem to be suitable for your body - maybe it was just your biased gaze. After putting your uniform back on, you went back to find Law, who had already settled down on one of the benches.

"Did something happen?"

"No, I just don't think it looks good." You hung the dress back on the hanger.

"That's hard to know since no one has shown it to me." He said in the most cynical way possible.

"Do you want to see?" The enthusiasm in your voice lit up the whole place - at least in his eyes.

"Sure, we have until dawn to stay here. Please entertain me."

"Oh my, okay." A giggle escaped your lips as your hands reached for the next piece. "What do you think of this one?"

"I thought you liked the pink one in the window."

"Too girly, don't you think?" The insecurity was evident in the way your face contorted. Law could see from afar that this was the one you were eager to try on.

"No, but the best for last. Go and try on the green one."

You nodded and walked back towards the dressing room. The new piece, in an olive green shade, seemed to suit your body better. The outline followed your structure perfectly and matched your skin tone perfectly. It was beautiful, but it still wasn't perfect.

"You okay?" Law's voice startled you with its proximity, indicating that he was just behind the curtain that separated the dressing room from the rest of the store.

"Yes, well, I need some opinions on this dress." In a burst of courage that seemed to be lacking in you, you opened the curtain, coming face to face with him leaning against one of the hangers. "What do you think?"

"It looks good." He said in a sincere tone - and indeed simpler than his thoughts desired - he tilted his head from side to side, analyzing the piece. "It suits you."

"Thank you."

"What color do you want to try on now?"

"Aren't you going to try anything on? I bet there must be suits and jackets somewhere in here." You left the dressing room, taking him by the hand and heading to the other side of the store.

Walking past some racks of clothes, you finally found the men's section. Suits, jackets, hats, ties and everything as per the dress code. Standing on tiptoe, you managed to reach a top hat and placed it on your own head.

"Now my look is complete, your turn." You grabbed the closest suit jacket and handed it to him.

"Are you really going to make me do this?"

"Well, since we're here, I don't see any problem." Your smile was more insistent than any words Law could try to counterargue.

In the end, you were already stacking two hats on your head, a suit jacket three times bigger than your body on your shoulders, and a monocle. Law was wearing a red suit jacket, with a tie that was uneven against his body.

"What do you think?" He opened his arms, demonstrating the look.

"Moribund, at least." You answered, getting rid of some men's clothing on your body. Just like you, Law began to take off the extra pieces, keeping the tie in his hands.

"The best for last?" He indicated the place where the pink dress was still in the window and again, abusing his power, he exchanged the tie he was holding for the dress. "I'll be waiting outside."

You went back to the dressing room once more. The dress, in a dark shade of pink, was well-crafted, so as not to be flashy but to show off every inch of your body. It seemed molded to you, designed for only you to wear. Except that the clasps seemed too far away for your hands. The words came out of your mouth involuntarily, so much ecstasy and relaxation that you had been experiencing for the last few hours.

"Law, can you help me?"

Before you could process what he had asked, he had already opened the cloth that separated the two of you. His eyes were lost in yours for a few moments, even though you were all contorted trying to somehow make the hooks work.

"I can't reach them." You turned your back, hoping that would hide the wave of shame and anxiety that had hit you.

"Let me see."

It was supposed to be an easy task, it should have been an easy task, but it became impossible when you felt his fingers against your skin, adjusting the fabric. He noticed it too, since the small path of hairs under your skin immediately stood on end.

On another occasion, Law's rational side would speak louder, he would shout at the top of his lungs that there was no place for any kind of feeling, not with a person from the same crew. But he couldn't help the itch in his own hands, he let his tattooed fingers slide briefly under your skin. He knew that the movement was completely unnecessary to close the dress. You knew that the movement was completely unnecessary.

Even so, he continued and closed each clasp slowly, savoring the little moment of the two of you there, which who knows when it would happen - and if it would happen - again.

"There, dress closed." His voice faltered for a brief moment, sounding hoarse than natural.

"So… what do you think?" You turned to face him.

The piece fell perfectly on your skin, adorning every feature and even with the low light there, Law could see you perfectly. The day must have been about to dawn, since you seemed even brighter in his eyes. The contrast between the light on your skin and the shine in your eyes was intoxicating.

"Perfect." He answered as if it were obvious, as if he didn't understand why there was doubt behind your eyes. "You look beautiful."

"Don't I look like I'm about to go to a ball or something?" You turned briefly to the mirror.

"Still, beautiful."

"Stop it." You laughed more out of shyness than any other feeling - even though it felt like your heart was going to jump out of your mouth.

"I'd take you to a ball, right now."

"Right now?" You replied in pure disbelief, knowing that this could just be a joke from your captain. Or maybe some bad joke that life was offering you. "I'm definitely not the girl you take to the ball."

"Why not?"

"You're really going to make me answer, aren't you?"

Law seemed to think for a few more seconds, considering if he should take such action. If he should finally stop just watching you and be part of this narrative that he loved to watch.

"Will you dance with me?"

"Dance? Wait, you're not taking this ball thing seriously, are you?" You insisted and saw him still have his hand there.

"I promise you won't even win a prom queen title, but at least you'll be entertained. I'm known for my friendliness." He smiled cynically, which soon turned into something sincere as soon as you accepted the hand he offered you.

His other hand soon reached your waist and you began to move from side to side, without much choreography or rhythm.

"Like I said, I'm known for my friendliness and not for my ability to dance." He pushed you away and, a little disconcerted, spun you around and pulled you back.

"For someone who's dancing without any music, you're doing a great job."

You laughed, briefly resting your face against his chest. He murmured your name softly, like a little secret between the two of you. Something private and locked in that magical moment.

"I'd choose you for the prom. Not for the dancing, we're both terrible at it." You both laughed lightly in unison. "But because it's you. Because you're the person who's there, always pretending to be tough, but can't resist kittens, ballet performances and children playing, not to mention your irrational fears of clowns and needles." His hand that was next to yours rose and separated from your fingers, still keeping one stuck to the other, emphasizing the difference in size. "And of course, about how you always have glitter on your notes and hands without meaning to." The small particles still sparkled against your fingers. "You're cute and adorable, even when you pretend you're not."

"And would that be a big problem?"

"Only for me, who has a huge soft spot for cute things." His hand separated from yours and cupped your face. "May I?"

Without thinking much, just intoxicated by the feeling of being held by him, you just nodded. Law's lips touched yours urgently, but almost as if he guessed that this was so new to you, the urgency turned into a breeze as fresh as that night. As he explored your lips, his fingers reached your face, giving a brief caress, somehow pushing away the anxiety under your skin.

"I'm sorry. I mean, I've never done this and I've always thought about you, but…"

"It was perfect, you're perfect." His lips gave you a quick peck and he took a serious stance, looking around and before he could warn you, you both heard the screams.

"Mom! Someone came into the store."

In the midst of the fright, you only had time to grab your uniform thrown in the dressing room before your feet left the ground. When you noticed, you were already outside the store, being carried by your captain. An exchange of glances was enough for the two of you to laugh together and he gently placed you on the ground.

"Thank you for today."

"I'm the one who should thank you."

"And now, what do I do with this dress?" you pointed to the piece you were still wearing.

"You keep it. It would be a good piece to wear on our next date."

[luviisabella]

mind games ۶ৎBNHA UNI.AU

-> katsuki bakugou 🩷

You had him wrapped around your finger.

It started with you two being assigned the same patrol areas, at first in larger groups but eventually it was just the two of you.

He would mumble under his breath but you knew he was more than happy to be paired with you and not one of the other guys.

Per usual, you two were assigned to Shinjuku City for the night. You were surprised reading the chart because usually you had day shifts and before you could question it your thoughts were already answered.

“Mina and Kirishima called out sick, they were supposed to cover the afternoon so they gave it to us”

Bakugou came up next to you scanning the board for anything else you may have missed and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Sick ?” and deep down you knew exactly what that meant, you made a mental note to call her for details later.

—

Once it was 7pm you and Bakugou decided to start heading over. Both of you had a brief conversation with your boss, the lookout was for a guy with what sounds like an interesting quirk who’s been dealing for the LOV.

As the two of you walked down the busy streets you admired the night life. It wasn’t often you went out or saw pretty areas such as this, not unless you were assigned.

Bakugou looked over and scoffed when he saw your eyes wandering in every direction at once.

“We should get something while we’re here”

He looked over at you in surprise.

“What ? We technically don’t start until 9 and are here until 1am so we might as well look around. Maybe we’ll even find him where we least expect it”

He didn’t want to admit it, but it wasn’t a bad idea. Besides.. it meant he could spend more time with you.

You two walked into multiple stores, looking at clothes, jewelry, shoes, and even snacks.

After about an hour you both decided to sit on top of a building and just admire the view.

It was convenient you both had flight quirks, but it wasn’t uncommon to catch you two on a building like this.

If you’re being honest it also helps you scan the crowd from an unexpected distance. Easier to spot who you’re looking for.

You two were both eating mochi, yours was pink and his was orange (the irony), and as the clouds moved to reveal the moon, you couldn’t help but realize how pretty he was.

You stared at him in awe of his looks, you always knew he was good looking, but my God.

“Weird ass” despite looking down he noticed you staring

You frowned, you ignored his words, you just wanted to get a better look.. so you reached over and grabbed the side of his face to turn it towards you.

“The fuck’s your.. problem…” and while he wanted to be mad, he ended up silent.

The look you were giving him sent his heart into shock and your touch was so delicate. He’s never felt anything like that and while he might struggle to admit it, you’re the only one he’d ever let do this.

You softly smile at him, “You do have pretty eyes” and you couldn’t help but fight back a laugh when you felt his face heat up.

He moved his head back, looking back down and trying not to acknowledge what just happened. “Your hands are sticky.” they weren’t, he just didn’t know how to react, let alone say “Don’t let go”.

Despite his ‘cold’ attitude, you knew how he felt, but you were waiting for him to admit it first.

You also looked down and while admiring the view again you noticed something.

“That’s him.” pointing towards the very obvious spot, that ironically being the top of another smaller building.

You stood up and looked over at Bakugo who was already on his feet. No words were set before you both took off.

You both caught him off guard because from the looks of it he was in the midst of a drug exchange, but something didn’t feel right. You had a vague description of the guys quirk and when the villain revealed his hand that’s when you realized.

Past heroes or people that tried stopping him were either in the hospital on meds for temporary paralysis, fever, or were thankfully recovering. It wasn’t injuries, his quirk was venom. That’s why your boss told you to look out for any cuts, bruises, etc. on his body, because he’s been transferring his blood into bullets and using it on heroes.

The villain looked as if he was aiming at you but judging by the smile on his face he knew you caught on and quickly turned to Bakugou.

In a panick you immediately ran to cover him, barely making it in time before the bullet hit your upper arm.

You cursed before looking over, trying to minimize losing sight of the villain but he was already making a run for it.

“We have to-“ shit..

..his quirk. You took a weak step forward before falling to the floor.

“Y/n !” He was internally cursing himself out, by the time you figured out his quirk he did too and was reaching towards the guy before he turned to him.

Bakugou reached down to pick you up, letting your head rest on his bicep as he was talking to you. Except, his words weren’t clear, you could only hear what sounded like a faint voice.

“I can’t move” you were fighting back the pain coursing through your body. It felt like every limb was being compressed and your senses were all blocked. You couldn’t even lift your finger, slowly every muscle in your body began to go numb.

Your nervous system was slowing down.

You were going in and out of consciousness, you could see him calling for backup and when you blinked again he was now looking down at you. The same eyes you thought were so pretty moments ago now looking down at you with fear.

He held you just a little tighter, afraid if he let go you’d fall apart.

“Come on, stay with me… please.”

part two ?

made by luviisabella۶ৎ

[dixons-sunshine]

What Ifs | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: While cuddled up in bed one night, Daryl springs a question onto you, one that made you think. After seeing Daryl truly caught up on the ‘what ifs’, you took it upon yourself to reassure him as best as you could.

Genre: Fluff.

Era: Alexandria

Warnings: None, other than a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it allusion to past sexual activity.

Word count: 1.1k.

A/N: This one’s for my Daryl lovers! Yes, I am very much still writing for Daryl, even though I’ve started writing for Joel lol. I haven’t forgotten my roots. Anyways, I had this idea and (kind of poorly) executed it (also please ignore how meh the summary is. I struggled coming up with one). I hope y’all like this!

“D’ya think we would’a been together? Under different circumstances, I mean?”

The sound of Daryl’s surprisingly soft, tentative question filled the quiet, blissful air. The room was dark, the only source of light being that of the moon that trickled in through the window and spilled past the barrier of the curtains. The hour was late, probably nearing midnight, with owls hooting in the distance and crickets chirping outside the window. Sleep tugged at your eyelids, but the archer’s question kept you awake.

“What do you mean?” you inquired in a voice just as soft, raising your head from its position on his shoulder to peer down at him. Your fingers trailed over the bare flesh of his chest, being extra gentle whenever you came across one of his many scars. Blankets covered you both, tugged over you by your partner after a night of pleasure.

Daryl did not answer. Not at first. He stayed silent, his eyes—blue like the water in the ocean—looked anywhere but at you at first. The door, the dresser, his crossbow leaning against the wall, the curtains, until finally they landed on you. His gaze was uncertain, insecure, like he was scared his question would make you mad, and your heart ached.

“Daryl,” you began, making sure to keep your voice soft, gentle, almost honey-like, “it’s okay. You can tell me.”

Inhaling shakily, Daryl ducked his eyes down again. He drew lazy circles over your hip, hoping to anchor himself before he got lost in the abyss that was his mind. Despite his build, he looked so small in that moment, so vulnerable, and it made you want to hug him tightly and soothe his troubles away.

“I don’t really know how to explain it,” Daryl started slowly, swallowing at the lump that threatened to form in his throat. “Jus’... if we met under different circumstances, maybe earlier in life or in a world where none’a this bullshit ever happened, would we still be here today? Together? Or…”

Daryl couldn’t finish the question. He didn’t want to finish the question. Voicing this worry out loud made him feel foolish. Why did it matter? You were with him now. You were his woman, and he was your man. You loved each other. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone?

You took a minute to ponder over his question. You wanted to say yes, but you couldn’t say that for sure. Thinking back, you and Daryl lived two completely different lives. You had a job, an apartment, a life that seems like a pipedream compared to the one you led now. Daryl… his life hadn’t been that simple, and he never truly had any roots. If you had met in a world where the apocalypse never happened, would you have spared him a second glance? Would you have asked him out, introduced him to the people closest to you, done all the things couples did back then?

Then there was Merle to consider, the life Daryl lived with him before the outbreak. Would that have hindered Daryl from keeping in contact with you if you two met in a world where the outbreak didn’t happen? Would he have tried to break free from Merle’s shadow and live his own life, a life that wasn’t dangerous to have you involved in?

The answer wasn’t as simple as saying yes or no. There was a lot to take into consideration. You both lived very different lives before the apocalypse, but would fate have come into play? Would you still have ended up together? You couldn’t say.

“You want my honest answer?” you asked after a good minute of silence.

Daryl’s heart dropped at that, fearing the worst, but he nodded nonetheless. “Yeah, I do.”

“I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “I want to say yes. I want to believe with my whole heart that destiny would have brought us together regardless of how or when we met, but I can’t say that for sure.” Laying your head back down on Daryl’s shoulder, you kissed his pulse point, smiling to yourself when a shiver rolled over his spine. “But I choose not to think about that. You wanna know why?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah.”

“Because I have you now.” You pressed a string of soft, loving kisses against his neck, before continuing. “In a weird way, I’m grateful that the apocalypse happened because it led me to you.” You paused. “Although I definitely wish we didn’t have to lose so many people because of all of this.”

Many different faces flashed through Daryl’s mind when you said that. “Definitely could’a gone without all the losses.”

You nodded in agreement. Willing your mind away from thinking about all the friends you lost since the quarry, you spoke up again. “But my point is that it doesn’t matter. The ‘what ifs’. We have each other now, despite everything we had to overcome. So what if some alternate versions of us don’t end up together? We are together in this universe, and that’s all that matters. And for as long as you’ll have me, I’ll be yours. I love you, Daryl, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Daryl didn’t know what to say. He had never been good with words, and no words would ever perfectly convey just how much Daryl loved you, how grateful he was to have you in his life, to be able to share his life with you. You deserved the world, and for as long as Daryl was alive, he would try to give you that.

“I love ya, too,” Daryl finally whispered quietly, his arm that held you to him tightening slightly, pulling you even closer. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Shh. Don’t talk like that. Of course you do.”

He didn’t address everything you said. He didn’t need to. You knew he had heard everything you said, knew he appreciated it. Daryl was a man of few words, but his eyes showed it all, and you saw everything in those beautiful blue pools. You knew he appreciated what you said. Would that feeling—one he had for reasons you didn’t know of just yet—of his go away after one speech? Most likely not, but thankfully, you had time to show him just how much you loved him, and that he didn’t have to get caught up on the ‘what if’ scenarios.

“Daryl?” you said after a few minutes of silence.

“Hmm?”

“I’m glad I know you now. There’s nobody I’d rather take on the apocalypse with.”

Daryl chuckled at that and tenderly kissed the top of your head. “Me too, Sweetheart. Me too.”

[agoodroughandtumble]

Looks Good On You Anyway - Zoro x Reader

Unfortunately, life amongst the Straw Hats wasn’t exactly akin to sartorial elegance. You couldn’t count the amount of perfectly good shirts that had been ruined through rips, bloodstains or the general wear and tear of a life of piracy, and whilst you had long since let go of any notion of style, a shirt you could actually wear was surely not that much to ask for. Trouble was, not only were you running out of clothes, you were also running out of berry. A failing on your part. But, as your stint aboard the Going Merry was supposed to be a brief one it was not entirely unreasonable that dressing for all seasons had not been at the forefront of your priorities. When your stint aboard the Thousand Sunny turned out to be a more permanent affair any onlookers could be forgiven for questioning your lack of forward planning.

It was with more than a hint of jealousy that you thought of the boys as you rifled through your trunk in order to find something, anything, that hadn’t been stitched and repaired so many times it was the Ship of Theseus in thread form. They didn’t have to worry about not having a shirt – hell, you couldn’t even remember a time before Sanji was the only one not displaying some defined muscle. Not that you had noticed. Or if you had it was a completely objective observation of the double standards of men and women’s bodies. Or something to that effect. And, of course, because it went without saying, that a certain someone’s lack of attire had definitely caught your eye. But then again … if he was so adverse to the thought of being covered up, his shirts were only going to waste …

But that would be weird. Territorial. Well, invasive since it wasn’t your territory.

And it would be bad.

But maybe not that bad? And, as already established, it wasn’t like he was using any of his shirts anyway. So if anything it was just recycling, a redistribution of goods. Whatever it was, it clearly hadn’t played on your mind too much having tiptoed out of the boys’ quarters wearing a stolen navy blue tank top and making your way towards the deck.

*

Roronoa Zoro leant back against the gunnel, legs stretched out, the satisfying burn of a good training session aching through his thighs. A light breeze cooled the sweat clinging to his skin, eyes closed, the faintest smirk across his features – a response to Luffy and Usopp arguing about their latest game. Life on the sea was rarely tranquil so he soaked up such moments as his bronzed skin soaked up the morning sun. Of course he would never admit to the fact but the faint smell of Sanji cooking lunch only added to the easy tranquillity.

The wolf whistle ended his stillness.

“Fuck off, Nami.”

Your voice prompted a surreptitious look.

“New shirt? I don’t remember going shopping.” The smirk in Nami’s voice palpable.

“Fuck off, Nami.” As was your annoyance.

The two of you were always bickering – that much wasn’t a surprise but he couldn’t help but be intrigued. He leant forward, trying to get a closer look. Nothing seemed that much out of the ordinar-

Oh.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Why the ever-loving-fuck is that a thing? His hand automatically gripped at his swords – something to focus on that wasn’t the fact that you were wearing his shirt and he was completely and utterly into that. Fuck, your tits looked good. But that wasn’t the point. His knuckled turned a bit whiter.

“Zoro, you okay with this? I thought I was the thief.”

Fuck off, Nami.

“What?” He tilted his head in a show of nonchalance and tried very, very hard not to adjust his position too obviously. “I don’t wear it.” He shrugged – a little too much. “I don’t care.”

The look from Nami did not go unnoticed. Neither did the irony or metaphor – Zoro wasn’t going to dwell on which – of you covered in the clothes of a killer when all he could think about was ripping those clothes off, of confessing everything, of being on the verge of-

“Sorry,” you started, “Everything else is ripped.”

“Keep it.” Zoro stood up. He stopped when he didn’t hear your footsteps. “Well come on then. My clothes look better on you anyway.”

[animeyanderelover]

Black Butler story where Claude, Sebastian, Hannah, and Ash all think reader is their mate/soulmate and fight over them leading to Undertaker finding out about them and becoming obsessed as well. Whether some of them team up and choose to share or not is up to you. Thank you!

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, paranoia, clinginess, manipulation, gaslighting, isolation, abduction, violence, death

Tags: @lovley-valentine7 @leveyani @chxxz

Fighting over the same darling

ᥫ᭡Do you wish to see a whole city burn? For this is a nightmare which can turn frighteningly fast into a reality with not one, not two, not even three but five people who are the farthest thing from human being obsessed with you. Where exactly did it go so terribly wrong for you? Was it when you visited the young Earl of Phantomhive for business and caught the eye of his butler? Was it when you accepted an invitation to a prom in the name of the young Trancy lord accompanied by his butler? Was it when you decided to strike a conversation with the only woman in the household, noticing how she observed from the sidelines rather than being in the center? Or was it when you caught the eye of the butler of her majesty when she made a short appearance in public? Perhaps your fatal mistake starts even before all of those events yet what is undeniable that with each meeting something unraveled and now you are at a point in your life where nothing is like it used to be. A mate bond is a connection immediately forged and felt by the supernatural. A bond which is invisible to your eyes has chained you to four powerful creatures who will go to great lengths to have you.

ᥫ᭡Sebastian is the wolf in gentleman's clothes. Suave, charming and guaranteed to always make your heart flutter. It was he who laid eyes on you first and has been taken with you ever since. Your voice, your scent, your very essence is something that he craves for everyday. Never before has he entertained the thoughts of a mate yet it doesn't take long before he has recognised you as such. If he were aware that he has fair competition he would claim you as his solely because he found you first. Yet he knows that everyone else is far away from traditional honor and fairness hence why such a silly claim would never work. Of course if he were in their position he wouldn't care for that meaningless argument either. He is a demon after all who takes what he desires. For the others he imagines it must be the same. With no allies by his side, Sebastian finds himself working alone. He cannot rely on his master to help him nor could any of the human servants offer more than a short distraction against those he must face. So with a thrilling ensemble of tension and anticipation he enters this fight alone. Centuries of a long and greedy life have taught him lessons that will undoubtedly be useful.

ᥫ᭡Claude is much more direct in his approach. Thoughts of a mate have rarely crossed his mind yet when he finds out that it is you, he is surprised to figure out that he is bonded to a human. Yet there isn't even the briefest hint of disappointment. Just a deep-rooted entitlement that you are his. Whilst still striving to charm and seduce his patience is much shorter than those of many others. He doesn't seek out a long game that many others seem to want to drag on as he wants to claim you as quickly as he can. The actions he takes can therefor be much more aggressive and sometimes even far too impulsive, giving his emotional state of desperation away to his opponents. In Hannah he assumes to have a pawn at the beginning as he has always done the mistake of underestimating her. Yet he soon finds out that the control he believed he has over her is shaky at best as Hannah too has found her mate in you. Working for the same master you would assume that they would work together but Claude doesn't plan to form an alliance as he knows neither one would even entertain the thought of sharing. So he uses her as little as possible by using her weak spot in Alois.

ᥫ᭡If Sebastian is the wolf in a gentleman's skin than Hannah is the wolf hiding behind the sheep's skin. She is quiet and mellow which fools initially everyone and it fools you for the longest time. Differently from the other demons she has found herself wondering about a mate, especially once the death of the little brother of Alois shook her heart more than expected. She is capable of emotions, more than other demons perhaps, but that makes her all the more intense when she finds her mate in you. She doesn't woo and court you as openly as others as she instead seeks to claim your heart through quiet manipulation and a forced dependency on her. Everything that might intimidate or frighten you in those who also chase you, she hides on purpose to create the illusion of a safe space for you when with her. With the demon triplets she has pawns that she can use in her game even though they lack the experience and strength that others posses. Still, she has additional eyes who can watch you and helping hands to set traps and put her plans in motion. You won't find out until it is too late just how scheming and dangerous Hannah is though. At heart she is still a demon.

ᥫ᭡Ash is impatience personified. If Claude has a short temper and little patience compared to others, than Ash has none of it. His infatuation is a direct stab to the heart that aches so much that he is physically in pain. It comes harsh and fast and leaves him trembling. Thoughout his entire life he has considered your kind to be tainted and dirty, in need of a cleansing to rid the souls of all their tainted emotions and sins. Then he lays his eyes on you though. And in a world drenched in lies and sins, you are a singular beacon of hope. The web of impurity is far too big for you to avoid it forever though as eventually you will be caught in it like a helpless butterfly. The presence of three demons in your life is only a confirmation. Demons are creatures who yearn to destroy all that is good. So you have to be protected from those who wish to break you open and devour you. With Pluto doing all his bids and the Queen under his control who has authority over both Alois and Ciel, Ash has arguably the most cards. Yet in his burning paranoia he fails to play them right which is a weakness that everyone else learns to explore quickly. This game is far from being over for him though.

ᥫ᭡Undertaker is the odd one in all of this. For him the concept of mates doesn't apply as it does for everyone else. What you have going for you though is the fact that four strong creatures chase after you. That is an achievement so rare that it is enough for him to seek you out. Not of obsession yet but of curiosity. What could it be that has made you so fascinating for fate to burden you with such a life? Undertaker revels in chaos so he hides you and offers you protection simply because he wishes to observe the reactions of everyone else. Initially it is all for his own entertainment. Until he too falls for you. Not because you are his mate but due to a connection that has been forged through close observations and an interest that has grown into dangerous fondness. He doesn't tell you of that just yet though. He has been granted a special privilege where you hand him most of your trust the further this game of obsession has spun and he plans to use that to his advantage. For him there is a different playground and different rules as Undertaker is a Shinigami. He has knowledge no one else has and has different tricks up his sleeves that not even someone like Sebastian would be able to predict.

ᥫ᭡There will be no such thing as sharing amongst any of them. They are all creatures driven by their own sense of entitlement. The demons view you as their mate to protect and keep, Ash is deluded in his belief that you need to be locked away to preserve your purity and Undertaker doesn't plan to let go of the one person who has made him feel alive again after so many centuries of chasing only fleeting entertainment to fill his heart somewhat. However, there is an unofficial agreement that happens amongst Sebastian, Claude and Hannah. Whilst there is little that connects them they are still kin. All of them are demons. Ash and Undertaker are something else. Ash is an angel who is the sworn enemy of any demon and Undertaker is a shinigami whose attachment they do not view as respectable enough for he didn't imprint like they did. Both play by different rules and it is that difference that leads to a fragile agreement that doesn't bound. If there should ever be a fight where one or both of the unwanted participants is present the demons will go for them rather than fighting amongst themselves. They aren't going to actively help each other but they won't actively attack each other either then.

ᥫ᭡It could have all been something that happened right beneath the noses of the people. A fight that leaves visible traces but no way of identifying the culprits. It is Ash's abduction that shatters everything. Everyone else could have played an intense and destructive long game where betrayal and dirty play would have been as common as breathing. Yet Ash has the most intense need to protect you from the evil and with three demons and one shinigami, all harbingers of death and destruction. He cannot let you wither away under their corruptive forces. That abduction is the trigger that leads to dire consequences for every soul that lives in the city. More violence is used as the intent to eradicate the rivals heightens. Buildings burn. Structures collapse. People die. The greed amongst everyone grows. Even the respective masters of each demon are unable to do anything for this is a matter that transcends even the contracts. A mate is worth more than even the rare souls that Alois and Ciel have to offer so there is at one point no leverage that could be held against Hannah, Claude and Sebastian which chips away the control Ash thought he had by using the Queen to his own advantages.

ᥫ᭡At the end of it all there will only be one creature left standing. The deaths and the destruction that it has taken to get to that point will be immeasurable though. A whole city will have been burned and terrorised all in your name yet most victims won't even know who their killers were nor that a simple human was the catalyst of it all. Whether it all boils down to one big fight between everyone or if there will be violent but sneaky attacks to sort out single rivals beforehand is a question only time can answer. Depending on how terrible the fights escalate it could be possible that by the end of it you are the only survivor left in a city that has been burned and torn down to nothing but ruins. No matter how violent and bloody everyone gets, their most primal principle is that no physical harm shall come your way. Your emotional wellbeing is a different subject of course as your heart will be torn apart over time as every party tries to claim it for themselves, leaving fractured parts at the end of it all. That is nothing that your now final captor can fix and use to their advantage though. Now it is only the two of you after all with all the time in the world.

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Malicious Daughter Is Back!-End

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

Warning: Tragedy, Angst, Manipulation, Intimidation

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

I dedicated this last chapter for @iwudbutnah ♥️♥️♥️♥️ Thanks you for the amazing feedback. You’ve given me so much motivation to finish this.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Grandma Cassandra still wouldn’t let go of Genevieve’s hair. Her frail fingers clutched it with a surprising strength—one that didn’t belong to someone her age, let alone someone living with dementia. Her entire body trembled, but her grip never faltered. Years of unspoken grief, confusion, and anger had boiled to the surface, and now she was letting it all out.

You moved closer, gently laying a hand on her shoulder. Her muscles tensed beneath your touch, but you kept your voice calm, steady.

“Grandma,” you whispered, “it’s over. The police are taking her away.”

For a moment, she didn’t respond. Then, slowly, the fire in her eyes dimmed. Her hand loosened its hold, and Genevieve stumbled back into the officer’s grasp, cursing under her breath.

Cassandra turned to you, her expression shifting. Her eyes, once clouded by confusion, focused with surprising clarity. She reached up, brushing a shaky hand across your cheek.

“Granddaughter…?” Her voice cracked. “You’ve grown up…”

Your breath caught in your throat.

It had been so long since she recognized you.

For years, she’d looked at you and seen someone else—your mother, Ophelia. The daughter she lost too soon. That grief had taken the light out of her eyes, triggering the decline that followed. You had always feared she’d never come back to you.

But now, here she was. Awake. Present.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “Grandma… you remember me?”

She gave a slow nod, then leaned forward and rested her forehead gently against yours. Your eyes closed as you felt the warmth of her touch. In that quiet, sacred moment, time seemed to pause.

Then a venomous voice shattered the stillness.

“You bitch… you ruined my life.”

Genevieve sneered from the back of the police car.

You looked up, unflinching. “You started it. Karma, bitch.”

Genevieve grumbled something unintelligible as the door slammed shut and the car drove off.

Just then, Bucky stepped into view, his calm presence cutting through the aftermath like a fresh breeze.

“We got here just in time,” he said, eyes scanning the scene. “If we’d been any later, someone might’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

Genevieve’s voice drifted from the squad car. “Wouldn’t have been me.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, then smirked. “I meant the other one.”

You let out a tired laugh. The tension broke like ice under sunlight.

He looked at you, something playful in his eyes. “I like him,” you murmured, barely audible.

Bucky’s smile widened just enough to make your heart skip. “Let’s get you ladies somewhere warm.”

He stepped forward and gently wrapped a blanket around your shoulders, then around your grandmother. His fingers brushed your arm—steady, warm, grounding. A small shiver passed through you, and not just from the cold.

As he opened the car door, you helped your grandmother in, then slid into the back seat beside her. Cassandra leaned into your side almost immediately, her head resting softly on your shoulder. Her breathing slowed, becoming even and deep. She had to be exhausted—after everything, her fight with Genevieve had taken every last bit of strength.

You looked out the window, city lights blurring as they passed. Then your eyes flicked to the front seat. Bucky glanced at you in the rearview mirror. Your eyes met. He gave you a quiet nod.

Something unspoken passed between you—comfort, safety… maybe something more.

♥️♥️♥️♥️

The next morning came quietly, with the golden light of the sun spilling across the breakfast table. You sat beside Grandma Cassandra, watching her stir her tea slowly. Her mind was clearer today—calm, grounded. You had shared toast, soft-boiled eggs, and small talk. For a brief moment, life felt almost normal.

Then your phone rang.

You stared at the screen. A number from the hospital.

A chill ran down your spine as you answered. The voice on the other end was professional but cautious. “Miss Sinclair… we’re sorry to inform you… your father passed away earlier this morning.”

You froze. “He… died?” you whispered.

There was no answer. Just the hollow hum of silence before the call ended.

You stood up slowly, gripping the edge of the table.

“Grandma, I need to go out for a bit.”

She looked up, her expression gentle. “Alright, sweetheart. Be careful.”

You offered a quick nod, avoiding her eyes, and grabbed your coat.

At the hospital, the halls were too white, too quiet. You hated how sterile death always felt in places like this—so clean, so detached.

A nurse led you into the room. There, on the hospital bed, lay a man covered with a white cloth.

Your breath hitched. For a moment, you stood there, unmoving. You told yourself you wouldn't feel anything. That you’d already buried any remnants of emotion for this man a long time ago.

But as you lifted the cloth and saw his face—Jonathan Sinclair’s face—you felt the weight in your chest shift. His features were relaxed, finally at peace. It was jarring. In life, he was fire and fury—a monster who’d left scars you’d spend years trying to heal. But now?

Now he just looked… small. Fragile. Mortal.

Tears stung the corners of your eyes.

It wasn’t fair. He was gone while you were still here—left to carry everything he did. And yet, even now, even after everything, some part of you—some stupid, soft part—had wished he would’ve said the words.

"I'm sorry."

But he never did.

He never would.

You blinked rapidly, but the tears came anyway. Quiet. Reluctant. Raw.

The door creaked open behind you. A tall man in a dark gray suit stepped inside, holding a leather folder. His expression was polite but unreadable.

“I’m sorry to intrude. I’m Mr. Elwood—Jonathan Sinclair’s inheritance lawyer.”

You furrowed your brows. “I’ve never seen you before.” Your voice was flat, cautious. “I knew most of the vultures he worked with.”

Elwood gave a brief nod, respectful. “I understand. I wasn’t part of his business dealings. I was instructed to contact you directly after his passing. Per his request.”

He handed you a sealed envelope. “This is for you.”

You took it with trembling fingers. The paper was thick, his signature scrawled neatly on the front.

You broke the seal.

Inside, a single-page letter—his final words, written in ink that had barely faded.

Valirie will be yours. And the house, too. You deserve it. I’m sorry I never said it when I should have. Maybe I didn’t know how.

Your knees nearly gave out. You stumbled backward, gripping the edge of the hospital bed for support. The letter shook in your hands.

“Why?” your voice cracked. “Why now?” You looked down at him, your father, your enemy… “Why couldn’t you give it to me when you were alive? Why did we have to fight until the end?”

Tears spilled freely now. You crumpled forward, burying your face in your hands, the sobs wracking your body. It wasn’t just grief. It was everything—years of pain, of silence, of trying to be strong when you didn’t know how.

You cried like you’d never allowed yourself to cry before. Not in front of Genevieve. Not in front of Grandma. Not even in front of Bucky.

And you didn’t know that just outside the room, Bucky stood behind the wall, listening.

His jaw clenched at the sound of your sobs. He wanted to come in, to hold you, to say something—anything. But something in him held back. Maybe it was the way you'd been keeping your distance lately. The way your eyes slid past him instead of meeting his.

Maybe you weren’t ready.

So he stood there quietly, one hand braced against the wall, letting you have this moment. Alone. As much as it hurt him to leave you like that.

♥️♥️♥️♥️

The sky hung low with gray clouds, fitting for the kind of day it was. The funeral was quiet—eerily quiet. No crowd. No weeping relatives. No dramatic speeches.

No one came.

Jonathan Sinclair’s friends were nowhere to be seen. Too ashamed, probably—too afraid their names would be dragged back into the scandal, the bankruptcy, the mess he left behind. His family didn’t even bother to show up in person. They sent their condolences through cold, impersonal texts.

Genevieve didn’t flinch when she heard the news of his death. “Oh,” she said with a shrug. And that was it. Victoria, on the other hand, had cut off all contact completely. As if her connection to Jonathan was a stain she was desperate to wash off.

So you stood by the grave, alone—except for one man.

Bucky Barnes.

He was the one who helped organize everything. Signed the papers. Talked to the priest. Arranged the simple black flowers. Paid the fees. Quiet and steady, he never asked for thanks, just stood by your side as they lowered the casket into the ground.

You watched him from the corner of your eye. His sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, his eyes shaded with something soft—concern, maybe. Compassion.

Too much of it.

Genevieve watched the two of you. “Honey, what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice light but laced with motherly instinct.

You blinked, forcing a tired smile. “Ah… nothing.” But inside, your heart whispered something else.

I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve any of this kindness. Not from him.

After that day, you drifted.

Bucky noticed it right away—how your texts slowed, then stopped. How your calls went unanswered. He waited, thinking maybe you needed space. But the more he waited, the more worried he became.

You weren’t just busy.

You were avoiding him.

And it was eating him alive.

He tried calling. No answer. Messaging. Silence. He even came by the house, but Genevieve always said you were “out.” One day, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He came straight to her.

Genevieve was in the garden, humming to herself as she watered her roses. When she spotted him, her face lit up.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the young man with the kind eyes,” she teased with a soft chuckle. “Are you looking for her?”

Bucky nodded, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Yeah, I—She’s not answering. I’m not sure if I did something wrong.”

Genevieve tilted her head, the corner of her mouth twitching into a knowing smile. “Hoho… young couple things.”

He blinked, confused. “Couple?”

She laughed gently, setting down her watering can. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. Anyone with working eyes could see it. You care about her.”

Bucky’s expression softened. “I do. A lot.”

Genevieve looked past him, toward the house. “She just needs time, dear. Everything she’s been through… it’s a lot to carry.”

He nodded slowly, jaw tightening. “Time. Right.”

“But,” she added, stepping closer with a small grin, “if you really want to see her, I’ll give you the address.”

His eyes flickered with hope. “Where is she?”

♥️♥️♥️♥️

Bucky stepped into the camp’s open field, the sound of bouncing basketballs and shouting kids echoing around. He was barely two steps in when a teenager pointed at him with dramatic flair.

“Hey! You!”

Bucky blinked. “Me?”

The kid stomped over, face scrunched with suspicion. “Yeah, you! What are you doing here?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, trying to place the face. “Jimmy, right?”

Jimmy’s eyes widened. “Wait... You remember me?”

“Uh, yeah. You yelled at me last time too.”

Before Bucky could say more, another student jumped in—Mark, a known troublemaker with his hoodie half-on and a permanent scowl on his face.

“You’re that guy, huh? You wanna steal her from us!”

Bucky raised both hands, confused and amused. “Steal who?”

“Our teacher!” Mark jabbed a finger at his chest. “What, you think just 'cause you’re rich, you can buy her or something?”

“I—what? No, I—”

“You sure you can even handle her?” Jimmy challenged. “She’s scary when she’s mad.”

“Yeah!” Mark added, puffing his chest. “Go date someone easier, man. You could have a model or some influencer—not our teacher.”

Before Bucky could respond, a basketball slammed into Mark’s side.

“OUCH!”

Another one nailed Jimmy on the shoulder. The kids scrambled as you stepped onto the court, arms crossed and an unamused glare on your face.

“I don’t know if you all hate me or like me,” you said, catching the ball effortlessly as it bounced back to you. “But this is not how we treat guests.”

The students froze, eyes darting between you and Bucky.

“Teacher, don’t leave us because of him,” Jimmy whined.

The others nodded in agreement, closing in around Bucky like a mob.

You sighed, walking closer. “Okay, listen. If any of you even mess with a single strand of his hair, his lawyer will have you all in jail so fast your moms won’t recognize you.”

“NOOO!” the kids screamed in unison before sprinting away in every direction.

Silence settled over the camp again. Just the wind, the sound of distant shoes squeaking on the court, and you... standing there beside him.

“Hi!”

“Hi!”

They both said it at once, then paused.

A moment of awkward silence settled between you, like two people caught in a memory they weren’t sure how to handle.

Bucky scratched the back of his head. “I couldn’t call you.”

You blinked, eyes widening slightly. “Ah—sorry. There’s no signal here.”

“Really?” He tilted his head, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “I saw the students playing online games.”

Your cheeks flushed immediately. “W-well… let’s go over there,” you stammered, motioning toward the lake.

He followed without question, and the two of you walked in quiet, your footsteps soft on the grassy trail circling the water’s edge. The sun hovered low, casting golden light that shimmered on the lake’s surface.

“Is this a school trip?” Bucky asked, hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

You nodded. “The school’s been wanting to do this for years, but we never had the budget.” You exhaled, watching your breath in the cool air. “After… meeting with the inheritance lawyer, I found out Jonathan had money hidden away. I used it to fund the trip. A lot of these kids have never been on a plane or out of the city. They deserve good memories.”

He looked at you, eyes soft with admiration. “That’s… incredible.”

You bit your lip, then quietly added, “I also used this trip as an excuse to avoid you.”

Bucky stopped walking. “Why?”

You didn’t look at him, eyes fixed on the lake. “Because I don’t deserve the kindness you and your family keep giving me. I’ve done nothing to earn it.”

He stepped closer, his voice low but firm. “Don’t say that.”

You finally turned to face him, eyes misty. “I destroyed my father. That… that made him spiral until he died.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said, reaching for your hand, but gently—giving you space to pull away if you wanted.

“But what if it was?” you whispered. “What if that darkness is in me too? What if I turn into the same kind of sadistic monster he was? What if one day… I hurt you?”

There it was—raw, unfiltered fear.

Bucky didn’t flinch. He squeezed your hand. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know you,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re not your father. You’re the woman who spent her inheritance to make a bunch of kids happy. You’re the one who made me want to try again. You’re… good, even if you can’t see it yet.”

You stared up at him, eyes shimmering. “And if I still mess up?”

He gave a small smile. “Then I’ll be there to catch you. Again and again.”

Your lips trembled, and then, slowly, you leaned in. Bucky met you halfway. The kiss was soft—gentle, not rushed. Like both of you were afraid to shatter something fragile between you. But it was real. It was warm.

It was enough.

Suddenly—

“OOWWWWWWW!!!”

You broke apart to see a group of students not-so-subtly peeking behind a tree. Jimmy rubbed the back of his head where he had smacked it against a branch.

You narrowed your eyes and grabbed a basketball from the ground.

“If anyone gets hit by this, they’re joining the chess club. Permanently.”

“RUNNNN!!!” the students shouted, scattering like ants.

Bucky laughed.

You shook your head, trying not to smile—failing. A small grin tugged at the corner of your lips as you looked at him.

Behind you, the sun dipped lower, painting the lake with hues of orange and rose gold. The wind whispered through the trees. It smelled like pine and beginnings.

You looked ahead—at the camp, the students, the quiet future.

And then back at Bucky.

Maybe this was your new start. A place where healing could grow. Where love wasn’t loud, but steady.

♥️♥️♥️♥️

6 Years Later

In a park in Milan, Italy, a four-year-old girl named Melody was filled with boundless energy. Her pigtails bounced with each step, and her denim jumpsuit fit her perfectly, emphasizing her playful nature. Even though she couldn’t understand the language around her, she made friends easily and joined in on all the games with a bright, enthusiastic smile.

She glanced over at the bench where you were sitting and waved. “Mom!”

You smiled warmly and waved back at your daughter, your heart swelling with affection. You couldn’t keep up with her constant energy, so you’d brought her to the park to let her run off some of that youthful spirit.

Melody dashed off, laughing as she sprinted across the grass, her feet light and fast. She was so full of life, twirling and jumping as she explored, until suddenly, her little feet slipped, and she fell hard onto the ground.

Before you could leap from the bench to help her, a girl appeared out of nowhere. She was a bit older, maybe around six or seven, wearing an elegant, age-appropriate dress. The girl bent down swiftly and helped Melody up with a gentle touch.

“Are you okay?” The girl’s voice was kind, and her smile was warm.

Melody, brushing herself off, smiled up at her new friend. “Thank you.”

The girl smiled back and opened her small waist bag, pulling out a bandage with a cute flower pattern on it. She carefully applied it to Melody’s scraped elbow, her hands gentle as she worked.

“You’re welcome,” the girl said softly. “There, all better.”

Melody grinned, feeling the comfort of the bandage. “Thank you! It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she chirped, showing off her newly bandaged elbow.

The girl waved at Melody before walking away, her steps light and graceful, disappearing into the crowd.

Melody, feeling the urge to chase after her, hesitated. She remembered her promise to you not to go too far alone. Instead, she ran back to you, her small feet pattering on the pavement as she eagerly held up her bandaged elbow. “Mom! Look! An older sister helped me!”

You chuckled softly, your heart warmed by her joy. “Mom saw it. Melody, you’re really cool! You didn’t cry, and you said thank you to the person who helped you.”

Melody beamed up at you, her face glowing with pride. She nodded enthusiastically and grabbed your hand. “Let’s go say thank you to the big sister.”

You smiled, but as you both turned the corner, you were stopped in your tracks. There, standing with the girl from before, was a familiar face—Victoria. Your eyes widened in shock.

It had been six years since Victoria left the country. You hadn’t seen her since then, and frankly, you hadn’t expected to ever cross paths with her again.

Victoria, too, seemed taken aback by the sight of you. Her eyes widened before her face softened with recognition. It was clear she hadn’t expected to see you here either.

Victoria had always kept a low profile after everything that happened. She thought she was all alone in this world. Who would have ever guessed that the guy she’d always called for casual flings would end up being the one to truly look out for her? From that moment on, she saw him as her second chance and moved in with him.

She had built her life back up from scratch, opening a small tailor shop—a dream she’d always had. She worked tirelessly to design beautiful dresses, starting from the bottom, and slowly, step by step, she made a name for herself. What she didn’t know was that the first 50 orders from her shop had come from you—your quiet way of helping her without her ever knowing it. It wasn’t much, but for her, it was enough.

You had been following her progress from afar, keeping tabs, checking in on her as you could. It was funny how life worked sometimes—this unintentional meeting, bringing you together again quicker than you expected.

Neither of you spoke a word. Instead, you exchanged a simple nod—an acknowledgment of everything that had passed between you, a silent understanding of “Nice seeing you. Goodbye then.”

Without another word, both of you turned and walked in different directions. There was no need for more; the moment was enough.

As you and Melody continued walking hand in hand, the air around you felt different. It was quieter now, almost as if the world around you had faded just a little.

Then, as you approached the entrance of the park, a sleek black sedan slowed to a stop beside you. The window rolled down, and a man stepped out.

“Daddy!” Melody squealed, her face lighting up.

Bucky grinned, his arms immediately opening wide to embrace her. Melody ran toward him with excitement, and he lifted her up into his arms, spinning her around.

“How’s the meeting?” you asked, smiling at the sight of them.

“It ended quickly,” Bucky replied, still holding Melody. He looked at you with a slight grin. “I was late because our family suddenly arrived.”

“Grandpa, Patrick, mom, and dad?” you asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

“Yeah,” Melody added, clapping her hands in excitement.

You couldn’t help but laugh, your heart swelling with happiness as you watched them interact. The three of you were together now—complete, happy, and full of love.

The park, the city, everything faded away as you basked in the warmth of your little family. It didn’t matter what had happened in the past; this moment was perfect.

The end.

My book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing are on Kindle. Check it out!

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[bludbaff]

Waiting all night | Simon “Ghost” Riley x afab!reader

3.2k wc | nsfw, 18+ | summary - you meet the eye of a stranger across the bar |

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Solace isn’t something you usually seek to find at the bottom of a bottle.

Yet, you run your thumb over the glass where it’s held in your grasp, watching as the streak of condensation falls into droplets that cascade downward. Leaving a rim of water that sits beneath your drink and wobbles with each passing set of footsteps from patrons as they trudge past your booth and cause the old carpeted floorboards to creak as they go.

It’s unclear how you’ve found yourself here, your routine is usually so set in stone; never differentiating from the daytime hours spent pouring over a laptop screen and the blurry nights spent nursing a spliff before inevitably falling asleep on the sofa. It’s a comfortable enough way to live, not many worries other then the typical spiral that comes around once in a while, usually brought on by hormones or a particularly lonely few days when you’re off work or too deep in your own head.

You’ve passed this particular pub so many times on the route home, never sparing it more than a passing glance, the sign that swings from the twisted metal bracket reads an un-unique name - The Red Lion.

It’s unassuming in it’s appearance and it’s aura; chunky white bricks and dark Tudor beams, nestled on the corner of a quiet street that sees little to no nightlife bar the odd retired miner that needs some quiet time out of the house or the rare university pub crawl that marks this place on the route only to discover how unwelcome they actually are. Not directly unwelcome, no, but the vibe is enough to have them swivelling on their heels to take their antics elsewhere. This place is definitely something more tame that’s suited better to the locals.

Suppose that included you. Bunched with the demographic, nursing a cider on an otherwise calm Thursday night, listening to the rugby that’s playing in the background-it’s a catch up from Sunday. Sat enjoying the odd sense of peace that sits in the air between the smell of stale salted crisps and tap beer.

You don’t particularly believe in fate or divine intervention, not the whole spiel of ‘everything happens for a reason’ either - you’d always been somewhat of a pessimist. A realistic expectation of life and it’s events, simply guided by your own actions and intentions; fully accepting of what might occur on the journey and the implications that might have on you.

It wasn’t fate that brought you here, no, something else entirely perhaps. A feeling - a magnetic pull in your chest that you could neither explain nor argue against.

That’s a realisation you come to when you meet eyes with him.

Even from across the shabby dimly-lit pub, you can see the full depth in his eyes. The shape of him is a blur of dark tones and a large hulking frame, yet, his eyes almost glow in the tinted-yellow light. Hickory brown, illuminated amber when the light catches them briefly - almost matching the deep-rich colour of the whiskey that sloshes in his tumbler when he moves his hand.

The staring isn’t intentional. You might have felt embarrassed for being caught looking, a lingering glance that drags on into a stare - but he had been looking right at you first. The stranger doesn’t make any move to look away, nor is his gaze uneasy, you’ve felt it many times before - felt like someone is watching, only to turn your head and see a grubby middle aged man staring at you like you’re nothing more then a slab hanging from a butchers meat hook.

He’s different, in a way you’re not sure you’d be able to explain away if someone asked you.

From the distance between the two of you, it’s clear he’s a handsome man. Rough around the edges, from the rugged tufts of dirty blonde hair that curl across his forehead to the clear indent of a silvery-pink scar that cuts through his lips and curves up over his right cheek bone. His features are angular and sharp, a cut throat man if you’ve ever seen one. Still it’s his eyes; the way they look right at you, their path intentional when they roam to your chest and back up again, so dark and yet so inviting. Like a predator. Shark like.

It’s you who breaks the contact first. Not really willing to but doing it nonetheless, a heat sinking from your throat to your stomach; one that isn’t from the booze.

The ice in your drink has melted by the time you go to take a sip, rendering it a watery and lukewarm disappointment. It’s not as late as you hope it is, scanning your eyes over your phone screen to see it’s barely nine o’clock, it feels like you’ve been here so much longer. When you scan your eyes back across the pub, the man is gone, from your seat you can see that his glass is empty - a wrinkled twenty pound note sitting under it.

You’d never admit it; would hate to have to admit it, but the slim chance that you might see the stranger again is what keeps bringing you back again. Eyes wandering, fingers tapping against your glass, neck craning in the direction of the door every time the little bell above it jingles - it’s never him.

Perhaps he’s not local, just passing through the town, a pit stop for a thumb of shit whiskey before he’s on his way again. You’re not sure what’s so intriguing, maybe it’s his eyes, the fact his stare didn’t make you as uncomfortable as it should have done. Bizarre really; thinking about it, coming out of your way for the slight chance you might catch a glimpse of this rugged stranger.

The clock ticks. The speakers above the wood-framed head of the bar fizzle out into static background noise, the idle hum of locals chattering drifts and the evening drones on and on until it’s just you and a few other stragglers. It’s another Thursday, still as quiet as usual, and even the street outside is as dead as dust.

Wet earth fogs the air. The cobbled streets reflect the light from the street lamps and the wind drifts with the smell of the freshly ploughed fields from over the hill. A small town in an even smaller county, a back burner place that’s not really somewhere - the space between leaving and arriving. Some come here to retire, others come here to hide, you’ll never know which. There’s a varied diversity of people here, families with small children and old biddies that have always lived in the same house since they were just a tot; others came here searching for peace but most come to simply get away.

Which one are you?

It’s always the stars that catch your eye. Sitting pretty up against the backdrop of the midnight sky, bleeding tones of navy blue and inky black- fading together. It’s a vast plain that stretches further than the eye can reach, yet you try, always - fascinated.

“Never understood the appeal”

The voice startles you, if only slightly, you thought you were the only one out here.

Your neck cranes to the source of the voice, as you stand just past the doorway of the pub you can see the same hulking figure from before.

He seems even taller out here. No longer slumped into an old bar chair that’s probably as old as you are, out here he’s able to move freely. The stranger is partially hidden in the dim light, the street lamps are on the other side of the street - sparing the both of you from their balmy amber light.

“Maybe you need to look up once in a while” you raise a brow, unsure if he can even see it, you don’t move to step closer.

The stranger grumbles some form of amusement, lifting a cigarette to his mouth before lighting it, only when he takes a long-heavy drag are you able to see more of his face. It’s not as clear of view as it had been inside the pub, but it’s more than you’ve seen in weeks. Dangerous intrigue.

“Not much to look at most of the time” he exhales heavily, smoke carrying from his lips, it’s involuntary the way you watch the plush of his lips move.

It’s involuntary the way your feet seem to carry you closer to him, just a step at a time, shuffling along like you’re afraid he’ll startle like a stray cat and scurry off.

“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough” his eyes drift to you, rake up your body as you near closer, they’re lazier then before - perhaps he’d had more to drink then the last time you’d seen him.

His lips tip up at one side. “Oh yeah? Might look old but my eyes aren’t shot just yet, sweetheart” his eyes never leave yours when he takes another heavy drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his nostrils and out of his mouth in your direction.

You can’t seem to break away from his eyes, they’re even prettier up close, camouflaging the worn scars and the signs of age that eat their way at his features.

“Not as old as you look then? Pity, I like a man that knows his way around” he’d offered his cigarette to you, and you’d taken it gladly, heaving a lungful of bitter smoke from your chest as you watch his eyes narrow at your words.

“Cheeky thing” his chest rumbles, smoke and gravel in his tone.

You smile. “Think so?” Your tone carries the question and you can read the way his mind must be weighing up his options, seems his mind is made up more then quickly.

He tastes of whiskey and nicotine; perhaps the nicotine is partly you too.

His palms are rough but his lips are anything but, it’s a marrying contrast that’s more than welcome, you’re probably just too desperate to care at this point.

He’d tugged you to his car, perhaps with full intentions of driving to your place or his, yet your mind is mush - too needy.

You’re not one to make a habit of this. Never out seeking an arrangement like this, but he’d fell into your lap, too intriguing to pass up. Dangerous intrigue.

It’s an uncomfortable fit, the backseat of his truck is only so big, still too desperate to care that your thighs are already aching and that he’s having to contort his spine to an awkward angle just for the both of you to fit.

You’re straddling his lap, nails biting into the jacket covering his shoulders, grinding yourself down on anything - needy needy needy.

Never ending.

He smirks, let’s his hand trail up over your stomach and chest before he’s wrapping his fingers around your throat, a light grip that warns you to still - makes you look him in the eye. A panting desperate mess already; for a man you don’t know in a town you’re yet to call home.

Never ending.

You swallow against his palm, jaw slack as you meet his eyes, watching the way his eyes map out your face. He leans in and uses his leverage on your throat to bring you the rest of the way towards him, rough hands and gentle kisses. A dream.

His tongue isn’t shy. He delves into your mouth, a filthy kiss that makes your toes curl in your shoes, spine nothing but liquid at that point. When he breaks away, you’re a heaving mess, desperate unsteady breaths that dart from your chest.

He strokes this thumb over your neck. “Do you want me to fuck you?” His words are sharp, stabbing you right in the gut, feeding that heat that boils and swirls in your core.

Your response is wordless. Your eyes lull in your head when your body shivers at his words, “fucking hell” you whisper- more to yourself.

He squeezes your neck. “Need words, sweetheart” he’s serious.

You crane you neck, meeting his eye again, “please fuck me” your smile is drunker then he is, you’d been on the soft drinks tonight, not even an ounce of liquid courage is coursing through your veins to help you along here.

His grip on your neck tightens, just slightly, and you lean in to kiss him again - sucking his tongue into your mouth. You lean closer, closing your chest to his, hands gripping his shoulders, you bring your lips to his ear and whisper-

“Maybe you can cum in me too? I’m on the pill baby”

He grumbles in his chest again, like something carnal slips out of place within himself, finally letting go.

His teeth bruise your lip, kissing with a fever that’s reached boiling point, tipping over the edge of the pot.

He fumbles at his zips and his belt, leading you to do the same. A rush of grabbing hands and harsh shoves, needing to strip away the layers, shoving everything out of the way.

Any teasing or foreplay is thrown out; too wound up, needing this too much.

Needy needy needy

You spit in your palm, he groans at the visual, watching intently as you pull him free of his briefs, slicking his cock with your own spit as you take the length of him in your hand. He returns all favours, sucks two fingers into his mouth and presses them against your underwear, pushing them aside with big deft fingers as he pushes them through your folds. So wet already, perverted maybe, had been wet for him since that first night you saw him.

Would have never admitted it, would hate to have to admit that just a passing look from this stranger had you crossing your legs under the table - trying to quell the ache between your thighs.

“Oh fuck” your teeth worry your bottom lip, digging in hard. He watches, takes note of the way your eyelids flutter when he plunges his fingers through your wetness, he takes note of it all.

He raises his hand, loops it around the back of your neck and pulls you closer, kissing you again as you rile each other up, slick noises of each others spit against each others skin.

Bliss

He chuckles against your mouth and you lean back to tilt your head at him, a bemused look etching your features.

“Never even asked your name, sweetheart”

Didn’t suppose it mattered?

You smile to yourself. “Not sure you need to know” you run your thumb over his slit as you speak and he visibly shivers, his unoccupied hand leaving marks on your thigh from how tight he grips it.

“I gotta work for it?” He asks, a flash of teeth when you meet his eyes again.

“Always” you lean forward to kiss him again and he obliges.

He wraps his arm around your back and tugs you closer, chests flush and breaths twined. With one slight push of his hips upwards the head of his cock teases through your folds, the sensation makes you gasp. “Fuck” you pant.

You reach between the two of you, guiding his cock between your folds and pressing yourself down, feeling as he stretches you open impossibly wide.

It’s a stinging sensation that borders the pain and the pleasure, it’s uncertain which one outweighs the other.

He’s patient. Doesn’t move until you do, watches again as your face plays out the bliss zipping it’s way up your spine like electricity.

You mould your mouth to his, press your palms against the headrest of the seat behind him, watching as the windows fog around you.

The visual is too much, but the feeling of the way his cock pistons in and out of you is worlds apart. He’s stretching you open, spearing you on his cock until tears prickle your eyes. It’s too much, yet you keep going, needing to feel this twang of pain as he fucks you.

“So pretty” he mumbles, pussy-drunk, words slurring out the side of his mouth as he watches where the two of you join. Watching the creamy white of your pussy oozing around him, so wet and sloppy and perfect. His praises punch out of him with almost every thrust, telling you how pretty and perfect and just how fucking good you feel.

You toss your head back, squealing when he fits his teeth against your jugular, grunting - he’s close.

He chases it. Slips his arm away from where he’d held you close, now he fits his hand between the two of you, thumbing your clit until he can feel the way your thighs tremor around his.

“Come for me pretty thing, come on now” his voice softens, and it doesn’t sound at all like him, it’s as gentle as the way his tongue soothes the marks his teeth have left on you.

Sweat slicks your skin and you feel it bead at your forehead, messing your hair, you fit your fingers into the hair at the back of his head - the strands are barely long enough to tug.

You bite your tongue, you’re so close. “You wanna come in me? Hmm?” Your tone drifts and you can barely look him in the face, too focused on the way he throbs inside of you and the way he thumbs at your clit like it’s his one and only purpose on this earth.

“Fuck” he rasps, eyes screwing shut, “you want that?” His question seems genuine, despite the way it’s masked with the way he almost whines it.

“Yes baby” you hum, “need it” you don’t even sound like yourself. Not at this point.

“Fuck” he fucks up into you, more grit to the way he moves and it’s all it takes before you’re both chasing one another.

It rocks through you first, a tight coil in your thighs that makes them burn like hot rubber, seizing through your core until you’re plucked from the edge and drowned in a wave of bliss that seems to go on and on and on.

It’s the way your cunt squeezes around him that forces him to cum, he can’t hold it back, can’t deny himself of spilling inside of your pretty pussy. Much like you, it seems to go on and on and on.

He grunts, heavy in his chest, you’re both a mess of pants and moans and whines as you cum. Drifting down slowly as the sweat drips and the mugginess inside of his truck grows heavy in the air.

You sag into him, chest to chest as you pant against his mouth, fingers gripping at his jacket like he’s a lifeline.

“Jesus Christ” is the first thing out of your mouth.

He hums. “And all this time I thought it was the stars you were looking for back there”

You smile and flick his cheek, settling when he shuffles himself lower in the seat, bringing you with him in a much more comfortable position.

“Not funny” you mutter and he simply hums back.

It’s a brief silence that settles with the afterglow, the come down of a good fuck.

You tell him your name.

It’s a bluntly said piece of information that you watch him digest.

He nods.

“My name’s Simon”

[kuro8066]

Mission successfully failed

dom! male reader × childe | Genshin Impact

In which the eleventh fatui harbinger was supposed to steal an import seal from the general of liyue, instead he got caught and worse he "accidentally " let out a moan when he's being restrained...

Tw: again self indulgent shit so childe might be ooc? But I do think he'd be the type to do this kind of behaviour. A bit suggestive. Not to the point of nsfw but iykyk

___________________________________________

It was just a simple mission. Sneak in, grab the seal, sneak out. It's just the place where the seal is kept is the house of the most feared general in liyue but that's not important. Nothing will be able to stop the eleventh harbinger from taking what he wants after all. Not even the general himself.

That is what childe thought until there's someone pushing him down from the back with great strength.

The general had caught him mid-reach, fingers just grazing the lacquered seal when a hand like steel clamped around his wrist. Before Childe could twist away, his body was bent, pressed flat against the desk with humiliating ease.

“Care to explain what you’re doing in my study, Fatui?”

The voice was deep. Cold. Too close to his ear. Childe’s breath hitched—partly from the pain of the hold, mostly from the sheer authority in that tone.

He could’ve played it cool. Rather he should’ve.

But then childe decided to replied with a cheeky "oh hi general. Didn't see you there." And the general’s knee is slotted between his thighs to restrict movement. A sharp shove to his lower back forced his chest flush against the polished wood. Childe arched—and moaned.

"Ngh!"

It was short. Sharp. A traitorous sound that silenced the room like a dropped blade.

"...Did you just—?"

“No!” he snapped, face burning hotter than the sun at its peak hours, wriggling like a fish on a hook. “That was—it’s cold in here!”

The general did not look convinced.

“…It’s spring.”

“Then your voice was too sexy! I mean—intimidating!”

A pause. The grip on his wrists tightened. Childe groaned again, this time in pure shame.

The general, usually composed to a fault, seemed at a rare loss. Brows slightly furrowed, lips parted as if trying to calculate what just happened.

“I have interrogated many war criminals,” he murmured slowly, “and none of them have… moaned at being restrained.”

“Well, maybe you weren’t doing it right,” Childe quipped before his brain could stop him.

Another silence.

And then—pressure. The general pressed his knee forward again. “You’re testing me.”

Childe grinned, breathless. “Maybe I am, General. Whatcha gonna do about it? Punish me?"

He should’ve been panicking. Cursing. Plotting an escape.

But instead, he was squirming under the general’s firm hold, chest flush to polished mahogany, panting like some low-ranking grunt caught red-handed—and enjoying it.

And Childe could bet his juicy ass he’d never felt this way in his life.

Sure, he’d flirted with nobles, courted danger, and danced the line between pleasure and peril for years. His record was a mosaic of near-scandals and sharp grins. But this?

This wasn’t flirting. This was being handled.

And fuck, did that do something to him.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden” the general noted, voice silk wrapped around steel. His grip didn’t waver. If anything, it pressed harder—as if coaxing the truth from every breath Childe exhaled.

“Just… appreciating the craftsmanship of your desk,” Childe muttered, voice breathy.

The general leaned in, low and deliberate. “You’re flushed. Your pulse is racing. state your purpose of sneaking into my study. What do you intend to do after trespassing on my property?”

Childe choked on a sound that was definitely not a moan. “T-to steal the seal,” he croaked out, though he wasn’t even sure of his goal anymore. “Obviously.”

“Hmm,” the general hummed, unconvinced. “Then why do you look like you’re about to melt into the woodwork, fatui?”

Childe clenched his jaw. This was humiliation on a national level. He should’ve been furious.

But his body was thrumming, nerves singing, something primal clawing inside his chest. Every second in that position chipped away at his pride, and yet—he didn’t want to move.

And that pissed him off more than getting caught.

He hated losing. Despised it. But if this was defeat, then maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t mind losing to this man.

Not if it meant being held down like this. Spoken to like this. Touched like he mattered and belonged under control.

His voice was barely a whisper. “You gonna keep manhandling me, General? Or do I need to break into your bedroom next time?”

Childe. One. Doesn't know if he's just curious to know what kind of beast he's trying to awaken. Or two. Wants the beast to wake up and ravish him. Or three. Maybe he wants both.

[sharffffff]

raises my hand. what if pangi struggling with her gender and lukey doesnt quite realize that that's whats going on bc pangis being really vague about it. "i dont feel right in my body" "ok well yeah pangi youre corrupted it's ok. we'll fix that soon enough :)". just completely clueless

Ever since waking up in this realm Pangi felt weird. People acting like they knew him while he had never even seen them before, everyone telling him stories of his exploits when this was the first time he ever even laid eyes on this world, people telling him how he went to the ball - that apparently happened here on two separate occasions - in a dress and a bow… And that surely couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be caught wearing a dress, he couldn’t be caught liking flowers, that’s just not something he would do. Even on Lifesteal as a bit he had never worn a dress, so why would he do it here, and not once, but twice? It just seemed like a lie. A very nice lie, a lie that he wished could be true- but it wasn’t. It couldn’t have been true. He’s a guy, he doesn’t like all those girly things. He’d never wear a dress, especially not to a public event, nuh uh. 

And yet when searching through his enderchest, which was surprisingly full for this being his first ever day on the server, he found something strange. A pink bow. The same that Aimsey told him he was wearing during the first ball. Just a coincidence, surely, it was just there by accident. Why would it ever be in his enderchest? It just didn’t make much sense. He took it out to look over it, and it sure was the girliest thing he could imagine - a pink bow with some flower petals attached to it, made to fit perfectly on one of his head scales- a prank, surely. But it wouldn’t hurt to try it on…

Nope, no, no. He stopped himself centimeters away from putting the bow on his head and quickly put it back in the shulker, and shoved the shulker itself deep into the enderchest. He couldn’t be thinking about this right now. He couldn’t be spending time getting distracted with these silly things - he had the entire server to explore, and he heard something about Nirvana that lets you fly? Surely that is more interesting than some bow. Or a dress. Or a pretty blue cornflower that he gave away - despite desperately wanting to keep it. He shook his head, he was getting distracted again. Too much free time on this realm, back on lifesteal he always had to fear for his life and didn’t have time to think about these things, so why did he have to be stuck here with his thoughts? It just felt miserable.

When a couple of days later Pangi met up with Zam, he was stunned to see him- her. He couldn’t really bring himself to call Zam “he” anymore, it was getting difficult even back on lifesteal, but here? She was wearing a long dress, had long hair and spoke much softer, and it made Pangi rethink some things. He had been noticing Zam dress differently, more girly, on lifesteal more frequently than before, but it was a running gag ever since Kings- but maybe it wasn’t a gag at all? It almost felt weird. No, not Zam - with the amount of times she joked about wanting to be a girl, Pangi has long suspected it wasn’t a joke. But… For some reason it made him feel weird about himself. Zam was so comfortable wearing a dress here… Maybe Pangi did wear a dress back at the ball, too? He didn’t write it in the book, but it just… It just felt right. He wasn’t exactly sure why it felt right, but it did. It was confusing. He didn’t want to think about it right now. It was fine, everything was fine. He was still a guy, just curious about what he had looked like in a dress. It probably didn’t even look that good, and people laughed at him, and it didn’t matter, so why would he even try to look for those answers?

The thought lingered at the back of his mind, however, as annoying as a mosquito you just barely can’t get, and as Pangi was spending the entirety of today just building with Lukey, he couldn’t help but wonder if he might have some answers.

“Hey, Lukey? You went to the ball with me, right?”

“Yeah, I did! Pili asked me to go with, and even though I said no, you still killed me for that - and then had the audacity to ask me, then tell me I couldn’t go to not upset Ros, then get asked out by another guy and then go to the ball with the both of us. Why?” Lukey turned to Pangi with that same playfully mocking expression on his face that he had during at least half of their conversations, and Pangi almost regretted asking him anything in the first place, but he believed that Lukey wouldn’t lie about the dress - he lies about plenty of unimportant things, but usually tells the truth when asked outright. Usually.

“Is it true that I wore a dress? Someone told it to me on the first- well, my first day here, and I just want to compare the accounts.”

“Oh, yes, you certainly did! Beautiful red dress with gold accents, which was a nice touch - red is a very good color to hide wine stains, or blood stains.” Lukey nodded thoughtfully, closing his eyes as if to recall the details of that evening, stupid smile spreading across his face. Pangi hated that he could imagine that dress, he hated that he could see himself wearing it. Why would he ever wear it? Why did he want to imagine himself wearing it?

“Did… Did I look good in it?” Lukey paused after hearing this question, smile getting subtler, and tilted his head slightly trying to understand just what Pangi was asking. Then, he nodded knowingly, which looked even more annoying for Pangi than his stupid smirk, and replied:

“You looked happy. Well, for the couple of minutes before Pili and Zam arrived, that is.”

“That doesn’t answer my question and you know it!” Pangi was getting annoyed, his tail tip slightly vibrating as he tried to pry some answers from this guy who kept getting more annoying with every passing second.

“Everyone looks better when they’re happy, Pangi. That includes you. And yes, you looked great in that dress. And when you started swinging that axe, too? Oh, that was magnificent! What I wouldn’t do to see you like that again.” He was doing the voice. Pangi hated that voice. Well, he loved that voice, and he hated the fact that he loved it. 

But… The thought that he looked good in the dress… Ugh, it was so annoying. He couldn’t think about that. It just felt so right and so wrong at the same time. He hated it. He hated it so badly. Why does he have to deal with all this nonsense instead of being hunted down every waking moment of his life, like back of lifesteal? That was easier than being here.

“I just… I just don’t feel right, Lukey.” Lukey’s smile softened, and Pangi hated him for that. How dare he be compassionate. It all felt wrong. He hated everyone. He really should’ve killed everyone on this server, like he wrote in the book. He’s so stupid.

“Is it about the corruption, or… about something else?” Lukey’s voice was soft, and the hand he put on Pangi’s shoulder made Pangi want to throw up. He hated everything. Why was everyone so nice here? Why did he have to deal with these thoughts here? He despised every moment of this.

“You know, Pangi, I think I might have your dress somewhere in this lab if you want to try it out again, just to see how it looks? I think it might be stained in a little bit of blood and slightly torn by Sneeg’s spear, but blood is barely visible on red fabric anyway, and the tears can count as style points. Do you want to try it out?” Lukey’s voice was still so soft, even as he started looking through chests, trying to find the piece of fabric that Pangi kind of wanted to try on again. It was stupid. Everything was stupid. 

“Yeah, I’d like that.” Pangi’s voice was suddenly weak, he could barely even hear himself, but Lukey must have heard it anyway - he lit up, and started searching even faster, and Pangi wanted nothing more than to kill him for that, for making him feel this way, for making him consider wearing the dress. What was wrong with him?..