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lo1k-diamonds · 10 days ago

Text

Moving On 💜

You can sleep with me.

PAIRING: Hoseok x (f) Reader

SUMMARY: All you wanted was to help your best friend move in with her fiancé, Jin — you just didn't know putting up with Hoseok came with the deal. And now there's only one bed.

WORD COUNT: 22.2k

GENRE: enemies to lovers, one bed trope, smut, oneshot (is renovating a house a genre? 🤣)

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: bickering, arguing, Jin is a whole mood and sometimes he doesn't help, unfinished business, misunderstandings, Hoseok is actually a sweetheart and vulnerable and goals, alcohol (no one does things drunk), sexual tension, dirty talking, brief masturbation, exhibitionism (kinda), oh brat reader 💯, soft Dom Hoseok, oral f rec, fingering, unprotected sex, biting, his hand around your throat once, pulling out, reader can't get enough of him 🤷‍♀️

A.N.: So... I had the idea for this fic one year ago, when I renovated my place and moved in. I'm trying to go through my WIP folder, what can I say? Better late than never. Also, that's where some of the knowledge comes from, but don't take it at face value 😅 I did most of the painting, not the rest 🤣 Anyway, enjoy 😉 Thank you, Raven @eerieedits, for the banner! This is another entry for Bangtan Writers HQ's Second Quarter 2025 event: ‘Home Is Where The Heart Is’.

Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

As soon as you exited the bus, you heard a familiar voice shouting your name. Ahn Hyeonseo was easy to spot at the Gwangju bus terminal — she was the beautiful girl jumping around and waving for you to find her between the crowd of families, the elderly, and a few young people. You waved back and got your luggage from the bus luggage compartment before making your way to her.

She squealed in your ear as she hugged you, “I’m so happy you’re here!!!”

You hugged your best friend with a sigh, then pulled away. “There are way too many people here,” you complained, telling her in so many words that you wanted to leave.

She led the way from the terminal to the nearby, overcrowded parking lot. “Because of the festival. I’m happy we scheduled this well in advance, or I’m not sure how you’d get a ticket.”

“It’s why we picked this weekend anyway.” You shrugged as you dragged your luggage at least half your size behind you.

She raised an eyebrow as she eyed it. “Yeah… And you need all that for a weekend?”

You scoffed. “This is just what I might need to help you,” you underlined, poking her with your elbow as she grinned. “My clothes are in my backpack,” you added, showing her your big backpack that she certainly noticed when she hugged you.

She smiled widely as she unlocked the car and helped you load your things inside. “I got everything you told me to, and you can always wear my clothes.”

You pushed the trunk door closed. “These are just for the details… I don’t know what I’ll encounter.”

Hyeonseo laughed playfully as she got into the driver's seat, and you got into the shotgun seat. You were teasing her because she had only sent you a few photos, hoping to convince you to visit and see for yourself. That made things more complicated because you didn’t just want to visit, you wanted to help her restore the house she had bought with her fiancé. But Hyeonseo preferred to keep up the mystery.

“Don't exaggerate, you've seen the whole place. I've sent you enough photos and videos.”

“Not of the details,” you complained, and she shrugged.

“People were working, so everything was covered anyway. Now that the electricity, plumbing, floors, and all that is done, we can finally finish it.” She had a massive smile as she drove you to her new home. “I'm very excited about it.”

“How was the move-in?”

“We took two days off and already slept there tonight.” She glanced at you with sparkles in her eyes. “I love it. I’m so happy we did this, even if it literally makes me broke for the rest of my life.”

You grimaced ever so slightly, but stopped yourself from commenting negatively.

“It was a good investment,” you told her, observing the streets that would witness your best friend building her family. “It was a good find for where it is and everything.”

“Yeah, it’s just the amount of work it needed,” she sighed. She gave you the latest update about the roof, and you recognized the long sigh of someone who wanted to spare you the stressful details. “But it’s finally done. We’ve moved in, everything is in boxes everywhere, and we can now work on the details. That’s where you come in.”

She smiled sheepishly, and you felt lighter. “I thought you’d want to settle in asap and overlook the details.”

“Well, Jin is right — if we don’t do it now, we will never do it. And since we can get help, we decided to push through it,” she explained as you observed the residential neighbourhood you were now in. “Our kitchen isn’t finished, we only have a few pieces of furniture… It’s a work in progress. Actually, that’s one thing we need your help with,” she added, as though suddenly remembering. “We thought to replace the built-in closets, but it’s really expensive. So we wanted you to take a look and tell us if they can be recovered.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“There’s also— Ah, you’ll see,” she cut herself short when she entered her new driveway.

A pickup was already parked there, and you automatically assumed someone was still working at the house. More importantly, you leaned forward to look out of the windshield at their new home. It had two floors, plus an attic, and it looked quite nice, with black tiles on the roof and large windows. Who knew your best friend would become a homeowner?

“Come, let’s get you inside,” she said, already getting your luggage from the trunk. “I have to call the furniture store again, it’s getting late.”

Hyeonseo huffed and refused to let you carry everything by yourself. Instead, she went ahead and entered the place through the garage, welcoming you inside her home for the first time.

“Come in!!!” she almost squealed, putting your luggage to the side and forcing you to put your backpack down too.

You were already in awe, eying the whole place. It was spacious, with an open concept and large windows at the front, providing ample light to an almost empty living room, aside from the materials and machines left there and the air conditioning unit up in the corner. The wood floor was beautiful and matched the vibe of a fixer-upper. The kitchen also looked brand new, but you could see what Hyeonseo meant with it not being finished — there was no stove, for example.

“We’re supposed to get a bunch of things still today, I’m so excited!” She clapped her hands. “Chairs, a dining table, and a couch. Finally, it will start looking a bit more proper!”

“Tell me you have a bed,” you asked, suddenly worried.

Hyeonseo laughed. “First thing we assembled — our bed and the guest room’s bed.” You sighed, and she waved at you to follow. “Come, I’ll show you the rest!”

You wanted to stop and observe things a bit more carefully, but Hyeonseo dragged you along to the first floor after a glimpse at the bathroom. Instantly, you noticed the dark blue stains on the wood stair treads and halted. Glancing behind you, you noticed that the ground-floor wooden floor had no stains.

“What happened here?” you asked, reaching to touch a particularly dark stain to feel how thick it was.

“Some walls upstairs were blue and they didn’t protect the floors while painting,” Hyeonseo revealed, then heaved a deep breath. “The renovating team fixed the floors, but not the stairs. They proposed it, but it was expensive, and it would mean not being able to access the rooms for a while, which didn’t work for us. We needed to move in this week,” she reminded you as she climbed the rest of the stairs, and you nodded.

“Yeah, well, it’s not a lot, it just takes a lot of time… I might be able to do something about it.”

Hyeonseo sighed in relief, happy to count on you. Once on the first floor, she proudly showed you the second bathroom and the master bedroom. You nodded, noting that the only pieces of furniture you’d seen so far were that bed and a couple of chairs in the living room. The ladders didn’t count. Nor did the yet-to-be-assembled furniture, like the bookshelves, closets, and desk, still sitting in piles of wood planks and bolts in the living room.

“You painted the rooms already?” you asked, and she nodded.

“Just the bedrooms, so we could learn to do it and already sleep here. What do you think? That main wall was dark blue before.” She pointed at the main wall behind their bed, and you nodded, approving the very light orange tone they had chosen instead.

“It’s nice, it opens the room and makes it softer.” You walked around, noticing the corners and the skirting board. “You even protected the skirting board and taped the other wall for a perfect line. I’m impressed.”

“You told us to!”

You smirked. “Sure, but you did it properly.” Hyeonseo rolled her eyes, and you raised an eyebrow at the built-in closet. “Is that the one?”

You approached it carefully, instantly entranced by the beautiful flower engravings on the wooden sliding doors. However, once close, you scowled. “They got paint on the closets too?! How clumsy can they be?”

Hyeonseo sighed. “Yeah, they left it a mess.”

You slid the closet door open and started feeling the shelves and the back of the closet. You hummed as you did, glad that it didn’t look like there was much damage to be fixed.

“Well, the closet might look old, but the wood is sound. I think just some sanding and treatment with oil should be enough.”

“That’s wonderful news!” your best friend beamed. “Let me show you your room.”

You followed her to the room next door, which had a queen-sized bed and a similar built-in closet. You were about to make your way to it to check it out, but Hyeonseo guided you away gently by the shoulders. “You can check it later. Think about this,” she coaxed, turning you to look at the sun-lit room. “You can visit anytime,” she gushed, hugging you dearly. “We’re just a three-hour drive away!”

You smiled and held her back, eternally thankful for her.

“Now come and check the attic!” She beamed at you, grabbing your hand to drag you along. “It’s the only part they finished before we bought it,” she explained as she went up the narrow wooden stairs.

You placed your hand on the wooden railing and compared it with the other set leading to the ground floor. The Korean pine wood you were touching had been recently installed, and it still had a fresh, new smell. It was the same type of wood as the older set leading to the ground floor, but that one needed work. Starting by removing those horrible dark blue paint stains—

“Oh, hi!!” Hyeonseo beamed again, already out of your sight.

You pressed your lips and hurried to follow your best friend to the attic before she called you out for geeking about the wood of her stairs.

You instantly heard Jin’s voice replying to her and smiled, but your stomach dropped as the attic came into view.

“Hobi!” Hyeonseo all but shouted and jumped into his arms, and you almost missed the last step and fell face-first onto the beautiful varnished floor.

Only Jin seemed to notice your almost tumble; he hid a smirk as you kept going, sniffling casually. By then, your brain couldn’t take in the spacious, raised-ceiling, well-lit room. You were just staring at the man hugging Hyeonseo, anticipating being able to see his face at any moment and confirm that it was, in fact—

Hyeonseo’s feet touched the floor when Hoseok put her down. “Ah! The pickup outside! I didn’t recognize it!”

Hoseok smiled casually as he let her step back into Jin’s orbit. “It’s my father’s. I grabbed a bunch of things from him just in case.”

“I told you the roof was fixed.” Jin shrugged, placing a hand on Hyeonseo’s shoulder, only to make her slide to the side so he could greet you.

“I have other things as well,” Hoseok said as his eyes landed on you, and you stopped breathing.

For a split second, you didn’t know how to feel. He looked good five years later, with clearer skin and a sturdier build. Even if he still looked scrawny under his cargo pants and white tank top, he was taller and stronger. His eyes were just as scrutinizing as you remembered, even with soft locks of hair falling over them. Yet, they were all you could see until Jin got in your line of sight.

“There she is!”

You raised your eyes to meet Jin’s just in time to be swept off your feet and squeezed empty like a balloon while trying not to squeak like one.

“Don’t kill her, put her down,” Hyeonseo chuckled, tapping her fiancé’s shoulder. Jin put you down with a grin as she told him, “We need her alive.”

“That we do,” he agreed, then turned to Hoseok. “I’m guessing you remember each other.”

You almost gasped. Instead, your eyes jumped to Hoseok’s, remembering everything. Your gut churned as his features remained stoic. All he did was bow, and you bowed back.

“Hello.”

You mumbled a hello back before pointing behind you. “I’ll go check the other closet now.”

“Now?” Jin asked, confused. “You can do that later!” he suggested, but you were already going down the stairs.

“In case we need to buy something extra,” you retorted, projecting your voice so he could still hear you.

You heard feet behind you and knew Hyeonseo was following you down. You waited in the second bedroom, then closed the door behind her.

“What the hell?!” you whispered-shouted, widening your eyes at her.

“What?”

You instantly knew she was feigning her naivety. “You know we don’t get along!!”

She rolled her eyes. “That was in high school.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, biting your lip. Reeling your frustration in. “Why is he here anyway?”

“Besides being Jin’s best friend,” she underlined, “he also knows what he’s doing. His dad is a contractor, and Hoseok has helped him his whole life with renovating houses. He brought a lot of materials and machines so we could do this right and for free.”

You groaned. “Aren’t you lucky with your friends?”

She beamed at you with the wildest smile, but you were still uneasy.

“Why this weekend?” you insisted. “I know you say it’s just high school and that it was five years ago, but you know me better than that.”

“I know,” she acknowledged, sighing. “This wasn’t the plan. He was supposed to have come last weekend, but plans changed at the last minute, so it happened like this.”

“And I don’t suppose he could come back later?” you asked, and she smiled sheepishly.

“Not really… His mom moved to Seoul, and his dad lives more than two hours away. He drove all the way on purpose to help us. Sorry,” she added before opening the bedroom door to shout back at Jin. “WHAT?”

You didn’t hear what he was asking, only that Hobi would stay there the weekend at the same time as you. Maybe he’d leave soon. Clearly, the place was almost done anyway. All that was left were details, and you could handle those.

You took a deep breath, using that thought to soothe yourself. It was temporary. And it was all water under the bridge anyway. It all happened a long time ago.

“Not yet! Come,” Hyeonseo called you to follow her. “I have to call the furniture retailer and then order something for dinner.”

You heaved a deep breath, throwing a woeful eye at the built-in closet before following her out. You didn’t want to be anywhere Hoseok was, nor did you want to pretend otherwise.

You could appreciate Jin and Hyeonseo’s effort, though. She called the furniture retailer, which confirmed delivery soon, then ordered fried chicken. Meanwhile, she bantered with Jin the whole time, who focused on trying to create cocktails without knowing where anything was.

“It’s written on the box!” Hyeonseo facepalmed, and Jin started whining just to push her buttons.

“Yeah, I know! But it’s not in the box that says bar!! Did you throw my shaker away?”

“No!!” she denied with a screech as she pushed boxes left and right, trying to find the right one. “How else would you make me drinks?”

“Right? Then you have to find it,” he teased, then scoffed. “Otherwise I’ll never again be able to—”

“Ah!!! Found it!” she claimed victoriously as she stood from her knees with a small box containing a cocktail shaker and other things.

“Woah!! How was I supposed to find it?! You called the box ‘tools’!!”

“It is a tool… to make drinks…” she tried, putting the box in his hands. He scoffed and she insisted, “The tool boxes are all yours anyway.”

He gasped. “There’s more than one?!”

She forced an angelic smile, then darted away, and Jin kept whining about her. You knew it was all playful and guessed Hoseok knew as hell, only he wasn’t listening. He was inspecting the sockets and light switches to ensure they were installed correctly. When a socket almost broke apart in his hand when he touched it, you guessed all of them needed to be checked.

He glanced at you, then kept going as though you could be anyone, and it annoyed you. He was the douchebag, why the hell was he ignoring you?

You spun on your heels. “I’m going to—”

“No way!” Jin stopped you, leaning over the counter as though he would run after you if he had to. “You had a long trip, and you just got here. Sit while I make you a drink.”

Your mood lightened as the evening progressed. Hyeonseo and Jin kept playfully bickering while she made fun of him for not making proper drinks, settling instead for soju and beer bottles. The fried chicken arrived not long after, and the conversation between the four of you was decent, even if you and Hoseok never really addressed or answered each other. You never thought you’d ever be sitting down on the floor eating fried chicken with your bare hands with him, but there you were.

You were almost done eating when the doorbell rang. Hyeonseo instantly sprang up to go get it with Jin echoing close behind her, “Finally!!!”

You glanced at Hoseok, who lowered his eyes quickly as the couple got the door. Instantly, you could hear how relieved they sounded, but it was short-lived.

“This can’t be right,” Hyeonseo challenged, and you turned to look.

There were six beige textile dining chairs with light oak legs and a gorgeous matching dining table that made you gasp quietly. It was beautiful craftsmanship with a smoke finish that just made you want to slide your hand on its surface.

“Where is the couch?”

That was the question that sparked a long, back-and-forth discussion. The delivery guys had no idea; it wasn’t on their delivery sheet. It was past closing time, so at first they couldn’t contact the retailer. Eventually, they managed to, but everything was correct on their side — chairs, table, and couch. Finally, the store said something had happened at the warehouse, and even though Hoseok offered to go get the couch himself, the manager had sad news.

“It was shipped to our warehouse in Daegu by mistake,” he said over the phone on speaker. “I can promise you’ll get it, but only on Monday.”

“It’s two hours away,” Hoseok said, and Hyeonseo shook her head.

“Two and a half hours, which makes five. You’re not going at this hour—”

“They can’t give it to you even if you go. The paperwork must be sorted before it can be delivered to you. I’ll do it personally, but they only reopen on Monday. I’m sorry.”

There seemed to be no workaround, so the call ended, and the delivery guys left.

After a moment of silence, Jin decided, “We’ll pay for your hotel room.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hoseok instantly shook his head.

“It’s the only option.” Hyeonseo exchanged a look with Jin, then continued, “Your dad is too far away.”

“The fuel is cheaper than a hotel,” Hoseok argued, and she shrugged.

“But the four-hour drive is not worth it.”

“You blew through all your savings, absolutely not,” Hoseok insisted, throwing a look at Jin as well. “I can book my own hotel room, it’s fine—”

“Everything is likely booked because of the festival,” Jin breathed, and you knew before he finished talking that Hyeonseo would groan and curse their luck.

“Damn it, you’re right!”

Hoseok still tried, “Well, there must be one room left somewhere—”

“You can sleep with me,” you offered.

Everyone turned to look at you, even him, and the silence stretched. It was the first time he was looking at you as though he saw you, and his features hardened.

Next to him, Hyeonseo raised her voice, “I’ll ask my parents for money and—”

“What?!” Hoseok interjected, then shook his head firmly. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“You can sleep with me,” you repeated firmly, trying as best you could not to be annoyed.

He looked at you again, and you could see the vexation sparkling in his eyes. You kept your eyes on his, daring him to say he was so petty about stupid high school drama that he’d rather sleep on the floor.

“We can’t ask you to do that,” Hyeonseo protested, and you shrugged.

“We’re both adults. Besides, we’re not strangers,” you pointed out, letting the room take in your laidbackness.

Hours before, you had told Hyeonseo she should have known better than to invite Hoseok while you were there, and now you were saying it was fine to sleep in the same bed. And that was the thing — it was logical. Because there was a difference between what you’d prefer and the situation at hand. You were not that petty.

Hoseok kept scrutinizing you as though he could read your mind, and you held his stare relaxedly, with nothing to hide. “I don't bite, you know.”

He rolled his eyes as Jin and Hyeonseo exchanged a look, but then they looked at Hoseok, and you noticed the hope in their eyes. You didn’t doubt they’d call their parents and get money to pay for a place somewhere, even if it cost hundreds of thousands or millions of Korean won a night. But you also knew there was no way Hoseok would go for that. And there was no way they’d let him pay it, so—

“Fine,” Hoseok accepted as he shrugged. His hands were in his pockets, and you couldn’t help the irritation. Not even a thank you, a bow, an acknowledgment, or any indication that he’d make this an endurable experience. You couldn’t believe you had ever fallen for him. Even as a teen, how were you so stupid? He was not a soft-spoken or gentle person. He was unrefined and ungrateful.

“Shouldn’t you also promise not to bite her?” Jin asked Hoseok, and Hyeonseo elbowed her fiancé. Hoseok didn’t bother answering, and you couldn’t tell if Jin was serious or trying to lighten the mood. He insisted, “No, I’m serious. I think it’s only healthy to establish boundaries. See, I should have forbidden you from hitting me from the start, now it’s a bad habit,” he explained as he caught Hyeonseo’s hands mid air trying to stop him from saying nonsense and making things weird. “We’re a cautionary tale, kids. Listen well to—”

“Oh, stop it,” she whined, and Jin smiled and kissed her forehead.

“It’s getting late,” Hobi commented, interrupting them. “Maybe we should decide on how to make this weekend the most efficient.”

He grabbed his beer and waved at the hosts to sit first on their new dining chairs. You couldn’t help but smile as Hyeonseo and Jin sat and touched the new table, kicking their feet and giggling — their house was coming together little by little.

Hoseok gave them a minute before settling on a chair next to Jin, and you finally mimicked him — you grabbed your soju and sat next to Hyeonseo.

“Okay, let’s make a list and then establish priorities,” Hoseok started, and everyone agreed. “Have you bought the stove?”

“Yes, we can pick it up tomorrow morning,” Jin replied.

“Okay, I can install it. I noticed that some sockets and light switches are not installed properly, and one of them is broken. We need to buy that too. Now, lamps,” he pointed above their heads, “you only have the light bulbs or nothing at all. We need to get something too, have you decided what you want?”

“We wanted something modern and simplistic,” Hyeonseo told him, and Jin nodded.

“Pick something, I can also install them. Same for garden lights. What else?” Hoseok mused, looking around. “We’ll need to paint the whole ground floor, bathrooms, and corridors. I noticed the damage and cracks on the wall.”

“We were told it was normal,” Hyeonseo mumbled, instantly worried, and Hoseok nodded.

“It is, it’s the house breathing, and probably from paintings and shelves and things like that from the previous owners. But I’ll patch those up before we paint. I also noticed that the doors look old, and the built-in closets are not looking great either. Have you considered replacing them?”

Hyeonseo shook her head, but you spoke first, “That’s why I’m here. They need a bit of work, but they should be great after I’m done with them.”

He didn’t instantly reply, and both Jin and Hyeonseo stayed quiet. Hoseok just looked at you as though he was evaluating whether he had misjudged your role in this renovation, and you couldn’t care less about his opinion.

You turned to the couple. “I’ll also remove the stains from the stairs. Though for that, I need you to buy the proper remover tomorrow as well.”

Hoseok hummed. “Okay, that’s a lot of work for two days. Maybe we should start prepping still tonight.”

You scoffed. “No way,” you disagreed, then shrugged. “We’re four adults and two of us know what we’re doing. As long as we have everything we need, this will go fast.”

He huffed. “Still. Prepping now is time we don’t have to spend tomorrow.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to Hyeonseo. “You have the paint you want?”

“Yes.”

“Did you pick special paint for the bathrooms?” Hoseok asked. “Because of the humidity—”

“I told them to get waterproof paint,” you interrupted.

“She did, we have it,” Jin confirmed, eyeing the two of you as though you were children about to fight.

You looked away from Hoseok to Hyeonseo. “So the most efficient way of doing things will be that you and Jin go get your stove and the ceiling and garden lights while Hoseok handles the wall patches, and I check the sockets and light switches.”

“You know how to do that?” Hoseok asked, and you couldn’t help your sarcasm.

“What else are you going to ask me? If I can change a light bulb?”

His features sharpened, but Hyeonseo spoke first, “Alright, and then?”

“Then Hoseok can install the stove so we can eat lunch while the others prep the floors, skirting boards, and windows. I wouldn’t tape the doors cause I plan on sanding them and painting them anyway. Then, after lunch, if the patches are dry, we can sand them and start painting. That will take the longest, but with three people, you’ll go fast.”

“Why, what will you do?” Hoseok asked with a hint of cynicism.

“I’ll start with the stairs because they will take the longest. Then I’ll handle the closets and then the doors. If you could sand them beforehand, that would be great.”

He scoffed with derision before smiling. “There’s one flaw in your plan.”

“What?”

“The spackling paste needs at least twenty-four hours to dry.”

You frowned. “No, it doesn’t, a couple of hours is enough.”

“No, that’s not good enough.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s to fix little—”

“Doesn’t matter how little it is, the paint won't adhere nicely and it will be noticeable in the long run,” he argued, and you heaved a deep breath.

“Guys—” Hyeonseo tried.

“Fine,” you relented, though as annoyed as ever. “Then we only paint the walls and ceilings without patches and leave the others for Sunday.”

Hoseok didn’t even blink. “Once you open the paint bucket, the color might change.”

You had to snicker. “Over twelve hours? Give me a break!”

“It’s best to do it in one go,” Hoseok insisted.

“Sure, it’s best, but we only have two days!”

“If we start tonight, we can get it all done.”

“We’re too tired to start tonight, we can start tomorrow!” you argued, leaning over the table towards him.

“We won't be able to finish it.”

“Whatever we can’t finish, they can. They’ll at least know what to do. They can paint anytime!”

He rolled his eyes. “They need to live too. They have everything in boxes. They don’t even have closets to put their clothes or shoes in—”

You bristled. “You worry about your part, I’ll worry about mine!!”

“Okay, let’s calm down,” Jin suggested, rising from his chair. “How about a drink? A toast?”

Hyeonseo instantly picked up on his cue. “That’s a great idea! Another beer? And for you, soju?” You gave her a look, but eventually nodded and got up alongside her. Hoseok stood up too, and you ignored him. You had to swallow your pride and tone it down; there was no use in wasting your time with him.

Jin was back in a second and opened the bottles, then passed them around. Then, he raised his. “To moving in with my starlight and to surviving this,” he started, and Hyeonseo elbowed him.

“To our best man and maid of honor for being by our sides every step of our lives. We love you,” she added, teary-eyed, and you reached an arm around her. You didn’t want to fight or stress her out even more. She knew that, you could see it in her fond smile as she eyed you.

“Right, thank you also for helping us finish our house and saving us a lot of money!” Jin added cheekily, and you all had to smile.

“Jjan!”

Four bottles clinked together, and you were still smiling when your eyes crossed Hoseok’s. His expression was so much lighter and tender that it was like a gut punch. He looked just like when you were teenagers at parties or school, laughing and playing around. It was nonsensical, but your heart fluttered just as it had back then. You had to press your lips before taking a sip from your drink. It was as though your heart had forgotten all that had happened on your prom night.

But he was quick to remind you why you had fallen out. He put the bottle down and headed toward his tools in the far corner of the living room. “I’ll patch the walls tonight so we can paint tomorrow.”

You widened your eyes, instantly irked, and Hyeonseo put her hand on your shoulder, shaking her head. Jin hurried to follow Hoseok while you bristled. “Why does he have to be like this?!”

“Let him,” she told you with a shrug. “It’s his body and energy, right? Don’t worry about him, let’s get you settled in.”

You appreciated Hyeonseo's help with your bags and even more the time alone with her. With the move and her wedding planning, you barely had time to talk.

She turned to you, then propped herself up on one elbow beside you on the bed. “Do you think they're still at it?”

You nodded. You had suggested that Hoseok take the morning to do spackling because you believed he'd need more than two hours. You hadn't even been talking that long.

You tapped your fingers on the mattress over the sheet, then got up and neared the built-in closet in that room. You stood your ground that you’d only really start tomorrow, but the fact that Hoseok was getting things done already made you a little restless. It wasn’t a competition, but…

Hyeonseo called your name, and you hummed while you inspected the closet in the same way you had the other one earlier. No blue stains there, so that was a plus.

“Is it really okay for Hoseok to sleep here?”

You didn't answer, frowning as you felt something on a shelf that you weren't expecting.

“I was thinking that maybe he could sleep with Jin while I—”

“Shit!!” you exclaimed.

“What?”

She got up to join you as you started hitting the shelf until it dislodged, and you could take it out.

“Shit,” you bit again and she looked at the wooden shelf in your hand. “See this?” You pointed at the edge — it looked rugged, frail, and friable, as if it were about to break apart. “It's rotten. I think a few of them have it. Something must have spilled in there, and they didn't clean it properly at the time.”

“Okay… can you fix it?”

You were fretful as you realized the problem. “I can, but I didn't bring wood with me or tools to cut wood. I do have glue, but that’s about it.”

“Okay, but… is it really a big deal?”

You looked at her in disbelief. “I’m not going to let you use a closet that is rotting! It’s not impossible to fix, I just don’t have the tools!”

She nodded, knowing you well enough — you said you’d do it and you didn’t like failing your best friend. “I can ask Hobi.”

Your eyes instantly widened as though she had lost her mind. “I don’t want to ask him!” you blurted out louder than you needed to, and you instantly regretted it. Hyeonseo raised an eyebrow, and you swallowed dryly, reeling your irritation back in. This wasn’t about you. “But I will.”

“I can ask,” she suggested, and you shook your head.

“No, I need to ask.”

Hyeonseo didn’t question you, and you were thankful for it. You followed her out of the room downstairs as you mused over how to go about this. You decided that being professional was the best way to handle the situation. For Hyeonseo and Jin, Hoseok would surely agree.

You found him on a ladder, sanding a hole in the wall, likely from a nail used to hang up a painting. On your way, you notice multiple patches already spackled, and you have to give it to him — he’s fast and efficient. Hyeonseo turned to the kitchen to talk to Jin, but you didn’t. You stopped right next to Hoseok.

“What?” he asked quietly, feeling the hole and surrounding wall with a digit before passing the brown sandpaper a few more times.

“I need to ask you something.”

He didn’t stop working or tell you to go on, so you couldn’t help seething underneath your composure.

Still, you continued, “Did you bring any tools to work with wood?”

“I did.”

Your expression instantly morphed from concealed anger to hope. “What did you bring?”

“I have a track saw.”

“And bar clamps?”

He finally put the sandpaper in a pocket of his cargo pants and turned to look at you. “Yeah, why?”

You instantly explained the situation to him, transparent about what you needed and why. You knew you sounded overly concerned about something simple, but he didn’t snicker or mock. Instead, by the time you were done explaining what you needed and what you planned on doing, he was down from the ladder, listening to you intently.

“What type of wood do you need?”

“A type of soft pine wood. It’s inside the closet, so I can turn the shelf around and it won’t be visible even if the color is slightly different.”

He nodded. “What size?”

You raised your hand. “About twenty by ten? I’m not sure yet, I haven’t cut the rot out yet.”

“How many?”

“Two that I’ve noticed so far.”

“So, four bar clamps would be enough?” he asked, and you nodded. “I’ll check, give me a sec.”

You held back from following him and simply stayed put, waiting expectantly. You couldn’t believe you were nervous and hopeful that Hoseok would help you with this. But at the same time, you didn’t care that it was him as long as you could do it. Built-in closets were expensive, and you didn’t want to leave without fixing them. On one hand, you could just buy new shelves, but on the other, that felt like wasted money when it was something you knew how to fix.

When he came back, you rushed to him. He had six bar clamps in one hand and a couple of planks of wood that you instantly took off his hands. You analyzed the thickness, color, and size while he put the bar clamps down in the corner next to his tools.

“What do you think?” he asked, stopping next to you with his hands on his waist.

“They’ll do,” you told him with relief relaxing your shoulders. “Should I go take the measurements now?”

His eyebrows raised in a moment of surprise, and you pressed your lips. You surprised yourself by asking his opinion.

“No, that’s okay,” he said quietly, extending his hands so you could give him the planks. “Maybe we could start with the closets tomorrow morning? That way, you can leave the wood gluing until Sunday while you get the stairs done.”

You nodded, gave him the planks so he could put them down, and pressed your lips, noticing the bucket with spackling paste hanging on the ladder.

“Cool,” he told you before getting back on the ladder.

You kept your lips pressed as he grabbed his metal spackle knife. You cleared your throat. “And the sockets and light switches?”

“I can check them, don’t worry.”

He gathered paste on his spackle knife and applied it to the wall, and you ended up sighing. “Do you need help?”

“I’m almost done,” he muttered, focused on what he was doing. “A couple more and I’ll be done.”

He got down from the ladder, and if he could see your uneasiness, he didn’t say anything. So you simply nodded and let him be. After informing Hyeonseo and Jin about Hoseok helping you with everything in the morning, you headed to bed, but sleep didn’t come easily.

Hoseok said he’d be done soon. What was taking so long? You huffed and played with the sheet while you waited, getting irked. Why did you care anyway?

You sighed and looked at the ceiling. While you almost berated him for wanting to start tonight, it was the fact that he did that that gave you extra time to handle the unexpected wood rot in the built-in closet. Not only that, but he simply offered to help instead of flat out refusing or even taking a jab. He ended up being way more professional than you were, making you uneasy with your own attitude. You wanted things to go smoothly.

It was almost two in the morning by the time he entered the bedroom. He did so quietly in case you were sleeping, so you croaked hurriedly, “I’m not sleeping yet.”

He paused and looked at you, already under the sheets, then nodded. He had a bag with him that he dropped against the wall on the opposite side of the room, then suddenly stopped, and turned to look back at you.

You instantly tensed up and stammered, “Do you prefer this side of the bed?”

He looked down and turned away, kneeling to search for something inside his bag. “No.”

You pressed your lips as your heart started racing inside your chest. You were hyperaware of the t-shirt and shorts you had on, of the softness of the sheets you were lying on, and of what else you could potentially feel once he joined you in bed. Of course, you were no longer a teenager, but he was still… attractive and off-putting and…

He found a t-shirt and kept rummaging for something else while you swallowed dryly. He was just a hot guy you once pinned after. That was a long time ago.

He pulled a pair of shorts out and got up with the clothes in his hands, and you spoke without thinking, “I can turn around if you want.”

He blinked at you, but you were already turning to give him privacy. Instantly, your whole body heated up like crazy. Why would he change here? You were here; that would be weird. And now it would be embarrassing in any case, whether he stayed or left to change somewhere else.

You berated yourself in your head for being stupid. You should have been asleep instead of saying—

A muffled sound reached your ears, making you feel even hotter. You could imagine his cargo pants hitting the floor or his tank top, and something thrummed under your skin, making you rub your thighs together. For a second, you closed your eyes. You still remembered what it was like to be around him during high school. The way he laughed or held the door open for you. You were good friends, although for you, he was so much more.

The bed dipped behind you, and you burned. A wave of heat scorched your spine up to your neck as Hoseok settled behind you, and you could barely breathe.

He whispered, “Can I turn off the light?”

“Wait.”

Your breath hitched with your plea, and your cheeks flushed. You didn’t know your voice could sound like that, and you could only pray that he didn’t notice.

You turned back around to face him and found him looking at you with a raised eyebrow, arm stretched out to the light switch on the wall.

“I…” Your voice trailed off as you looked down. He was under the sheet, right there, an arm's length away. You cleared your voice. “Do you need a blanket?”

He observed your whole face for a second before answering, “No, do you?”

You shook your head. “I think I’ll be too hot.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you realized you said it out loud. He didn’t even blink, but your cheeks were burning. Suddenly, you felt like breathing was impossible while he looked at you like that.

At least until he turned off the light. “Yeah, I get that.”

You didn’t know why you were reacting this way. If anything, he turned off the lights, so it had to mean he was done for the night. No more talking, looking at each other, and certainly no touching or wondering or—

You pushed a tense breath through your gritted teeth. You weren’t making any sense.

You turned your head to his side in the dark. He hadn’t moved next to you, which meant you were both just staring at the ceiling, awkward and stiff next to each other.

“Okay, listen,” you croaked out once more. “I know this is awkward, but it’s just sleeping. Can we agree to be normal and just get through this?”

“Are you saying I’m not normal?”

“N— No, I’m just—” You struggled to find words, especially because everything pointed to you not being the normal one. “I just meant that we could cooperate since we’re in this situation.”

“Am I not cooperating?”

“You are, I’m just saying that— Gosh, just—” The more you stumbled all over your words, the more you had no idea what you even meant anymore. “You can trust me, that’s all.”

You looked at him in the dark again, wondering if he’d have a snarky remark or if he’d call you out for blushing and acting weird, unlike him. You braced yourself for it, thinking what excuse you could give, and as you waited, the silence stretched. You frowned; maybe he had fallen asleep?

But eventually, he whispered, “Okay.”

You woke up slowly, so warm and snuggly, you didn’t want to move or open your eyes. You were hugging the most wonderful pillow, warm and soft, with an earthy, citrusy masculine scent that had you dreaming of walking through sun-warmed soil and citrus groves. You buried your nose a bit more, wondering why the fabric was soft but the pillow itself was so sturdy—

Your eyes snapped open, and you pulled back, gasping mutely before your hand covered your mouth. Your heart raced inside your chest as you realized you were spooning Hoseok, burying your face in his back, and getting crazed by his cologne. Your eyes widened impossibly; how crazy were you?! Yet before you could understand what the heck happened, Hoseok’s arm moved and felt the space behind him. Your stomach twisted as you slid further away from his reach, your heart about to come out of your mouth with how fast it was racing.

Whatever he thought was missing was not enough to wake him up or make him turn around. Thinking you stood a chance, you pulled the sheet closer to his back before sliding away and putting your legs out of the bed. You hugged your chest for a moment, willing yourself to calm down before getting up, grabbing your things, and rushing to the bathroom. It looked like you were the first one up, and maybe that was a good thing, because you needed to do some serious soul-searching to figure yourself out.

It was just Hoseok. You didn’t even like him, hadn’t for many years. Hadn’t since he misled you, broke your heart, hurt you, making you angrier than you had ever felt. And humiliated and blindsided and—

You clenched your teeth as you washed your face. Right. That Hoseok. You weren’t seventeen anymore, but it didn’t hurt to remember what happened. Maybe your attraction to him was undeniable, but he still didn’t deserve a second of your attention, let alone whatever was happening to you. You were there to help Jin and Hyeonseo, nothing more.

When you got downstairs, you were glad to find the happy couple scrambling to prepare whatever was left for breakfast and brewing coffee. It gave you a moment to sit down, chill, and wait for Hoseok to wake up.

Five minutes later, Hoseok was already downstairs and ready to have coffee, so you finished yours in an instant to get to work.

Hoseok's calling halted you in your tracks. “Wait, let’s decide what our morning looks like first.” You pressed your lips and nodded, rejoining the three of them in the kitchen. He turned to the couple. “Have you decided on the lights you want?”

“Yeah, we stayed up last night deciding,” Hyeonseo beamed, and Jin grabbed his phone to show what they had picked.

You didn’t have much to say; their options were modern and seamless, easily blending in with their aesthetic.

“Okay, so the plan is the same,” Hoseok concluded, glancing at you. “You go with Hyeonseo to get the stove, the lights you selected, and the stain remover. Meanwhile, we’ll get the closets started. We should take care of the sockets and light switches before we prep for painting. Also, you need to get covers for the floor.”

“We saved cardboard boxes to use them as protection,” Hyeonseo shared with a smile, nudging you.

“Good idea,” Hoseok agreed, and your lips twitched in the hint of a smile. Of course it was.

Everyone agreed on what to do, so you went ahead upstairs. Now you were paranoid that there could be more rot you hadn’t found, so the quicker you were sure the built-in closets were fine, the better.

You grabbed your toolbox and got started in your room, removing the doors, drawers, and shelves from the closet, and laying them on the floor out of the way in a corner of the room. The two shelves that had rotted were placed to one side, and fortunately, everything else seemed to be in good condition. You tapped everywhere extra times and felt each surface to make extra sure everything was fine. Once you were certain, you moved to the master bedroom and repeated the same process there.

Fortunately, no rot there, but the front of the sliding doors had dark blue stains on the flower carvings. Once everything was dismantled, you knelt and felt the paint splashes with your finger, and that was how Hoseok found you.

“Need help?”

“No, it’s okay. The ones with the rot are in our room,” you told him, stopping what you were doing to show them to him.

Once there, you let him evaluate them himself as you discussed how you’d like them cut and fixed.

“Okay, so about five centimeters more?” he asked, and you nodded. “Do you want me to measure them and cut the new wood to size?”

“Yeah, I’ll glue them then,” you agreed, already thinking about what you had to do there while he helped with that.

He nodded. “You got it.”

You glanced at him as he left with the shelves to be cut, but didn’t notice his expression. You assumed you could trust him, given his experience, and weren’t shy about letting him do it. You had a long day ahead of you anyway.

You started getting the metal shelf pins off the closet, then unscrewed the handles of the drawers and the drawer frames. Despite the age of the wood and the carelessness with whatever liquid had rotted the shelves, the closet was at least relatively well-preserved.

When you looked up, you frowned. You were a bit short, but that closet rod was really up high. Even Hyeonseo would have difficulties using it. You should probably lower it a bit once you were done.

You jumped a few times to try to get the closet rod to come off, but it was screwed in. So your next step was to search for a ladder downstairs. You grabbed the first one you could find that was truly just a two-step folding ladder and got back to it. You had to get on your tippy toes with your screwdriver to reach the bracket and try to unscrew it, all while the metal step moaned under your feet.

Gritting through it, you smiled when the bracket came loose. However, as soon as it did, you realized it was a terrible idea to support your weight on the rod itself. As soon as it loosened, it gave way under your weight, and you fell forward.

Except a pair of hands grabbed you by the waist before you could fall inside the closet. A ruckus echoed all around you, and you cowered, covering your ears. The rod clattered inside the closet below your feet as wood shelves were tossed to the side on the floor.

Seeing them made you realize you were pressed firmly to someone’s chest. Someone who stepped on the ladder and steadied you firmly.

“Are you okay?”

You shuddered and looked over your shoulder. Hoseok was so close, letting you down slowly as your legs gave in. He supported your weight until your feet were safely on the floor. You turned to him, the adrenaline making you tremble. And yet he kept his hands firmly on your waist, making you blush even more as you tried to calm down.

“What were you doing?” he asked, and you finally saw the tension in his shoulders. “Why are you using the short ladder if you can't reach it?”

“Because— I—” you stammered, losing yourself in his eyes for a second. “Because I thought you’d need the big one.”

“I was cutting the wood pieces outside,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, well, for the…lights.”

He huffed and gave you a look, and you pressed your lips. Right as you did and realized it was unlikely your heart would stop racing for as long as his hands stayed on your waist, you heard the sound of racing footsteps up the stairs.

“Is everything okay?!” Hyeonseo shouted, but it was Jin who showed up first.

“We heard—”

He stumbled on his feet and words at the sight of Hoseok dropping his hands at your sides. Jin’s eyes were comically widened when his fiancé entered the room, looking spooked.

You cleared your throat. “It’s okay. It was just noise; nothing serious happened. Thanks for the help,” you added, looking at Hoseok for a moment. “I still need to take the rod from the other closet as well, so…”

“I’ll do it,” he offered, and you frowned.

“No, I will do it.”

He sighed. “Just let me do it.”

“No!” You squinted. “I can perfectly do it myself!”

“You won’t reach it.”

You scoffed. “I can definitely reach it!”

“It’s not safe.”

“Guys—”

“Well, then help me.”

Hyeonseo called your name, and you both finally turned to her. “Should we get the other ladder?”

Jin was already exiting the room when you said, “There’s no need. This one is already here,” you remarked, with your eyes on Hoseok. You were blatantly going against his advice, but it didn’t feel like an argument. It felt like something else.

“Be reasonable,” he breathed, and you leaned toward him.

“I am. I’ll do it, and you’ll help me.”

Hyeonseo looked at Jin while you folded the two-step ladder and exited the room with Hoseok not far behind you.

“Well, we’ll go get the stove then,” Jin announced, not getting much of a response. Hyeonseo patted his shoulder, then grabbed his hand to drag him downstairs.

You didn’t see his face of disbelief because you were busy setting the ladder in front of the built-in closet in the master bedroom.

“How should I help you?”

“Stabilize the ladder.”

You stepped on it, screwdriver in hand, and he huffed. “It’s not enough,” he complained, and you smiled, already on your tiptoes to get the bracket uncrewed.

“Then stabilize me.”

He circled the ladder to get in front of you, settling his firm hands on your waist. You had a smug smile as you got the rod, but it vanished when you looked down. Hoseok was at your chest level, looking at you with dark eyes. It made your knees weak, and he was quick to grab you and put you down on the floor again.

This time, he removed his hands quickly, pushing you out of your haze. You swallowed dryly. “Thanks. See? Reached it very well,” you told him. He nodded, and you set the rod aside. “So, the shelves. We need to glue the pieces together.”

You weren’t even surprised he helped you, but you were thankful. It went faster as you applied the glue and set the pieces in position while he tightened the bar clamps to keep everything locked tight.

“There,” he said, once everything was done. You left everything drying in the hallway so the rooms wouldn’t smell. “Now you can move on to the stairs and handle the closets tomorrow.”

You shook your head. “First, the sockets and light switches.”

“I can handle that,” he suggested as you both went down the stairs.

“No, it’s faster like this. This way, if they need to buy extra, we can call them while they’re at the store.”

Hoseok turned to you when you both got to the ground floor and nodded. “Thank you.”

You weren’t supposed to have fun with Hoseok, but you wouldn’t deny it happened. You made it a competition to check every socket and light switch as fast as possible, and it was super tight. You won, checking your half first, but Hoseok dismissed it by saying he had caught two broken sockets. He had to call Jin and Hyeonseo to ask them to buy new sockets, explaining what type was needed, and you grinned. It was still a win in your book.

When the couple returned, you were quick to say you’d fix those sockets while Hoseok installed the stove. While he took the time to prepare, you noticed he kept an eye on you. You couldn’t help a smug smile while you connected the three cables in the correct color code, housed properly in the backbox, before you screwed the faceplate over it. You did it in record time, and when you got up to move to the other one, you saw him turning away with a smile on his face. You didn’t know why, but impressing him made you really fuzzy for some reason.

After that, you evaluated the stairs more seriously. You knew that even if the stains weren’t extensive, you had to do it properly — every stair tread multiple times. You weren’t even sure a whole afternoon would be enough.

You huffed and turned away, grabbing painter’s tape to start prepping alongside Jin and Hyeonseo. You even got on the high ladder to protect the fire alarm on the ceiling and noticed Hoseok glancing at you every now and then.

Hoseok and Jin installed the bedroom and bathroom lights after that, and you decided that helping with lunch was more efficient than just hanging around. It gave you more time to talk to Hyeonseo and ensure everyone got an early lunch.

“How's your shop coming along?” she asked you as she cooked and you chopped vegetables.

“You mean my online store?” you asked, and she nodded. “I have enough commissions on Etsy and other platforms to do nothing else. Working on those items means I have content to upload on social media, and I have enough views that I make some money from that already.”

“Can you believe that? Remember when restoring things was just a hobby you did in your parents' living room?”

You nodded, giving her the chopped onions. “And now I have a room in my apartment that’s my workshop.”

She took them and kept cooking. “Maybe one day you’ll have a physical store!”

You crinkled your nose and grabbed plates and chopsticks to set the table. “Not sure it will ever be worth it, especially in Seoul.”

“Seoul?” You turned around to Hoseok and Jin, now seemingly done with the lights. For now. “You live in Seoul?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?” Hoseok asked, grabbing the glasses and water jar. Jin passed behind him and you to help his fiancée.

“Seocho-gu…”

“Seocho-gu??” Hoseok almost choked as he placed what he was carrying on the dining table, same as you. “I live there! Where?”

“Nambusunhwan-ro, in a street that leads to the Daehang Hospital.”

“That’s so close to where I live! Woah, the world is small!”

You pressed your lips and nodded slowly while setting the table alongside him. “And you work there too?”

“Not there, I teach in Hongdae.”

“You’re also a teacher?”

“Oh, you’re a teacher?”

You shook your head as Jin and Hyeonseo carried the many side dishes to the table. “Like Hyeonseo, I mean,” you clarified, working with everyone to finish everything and start eating.

It gave Hyeonseo the opportunity to talk about her school and kids, and finally sigh, “I’m happy I teach kids before they become teens.”

“Yeah, I teach adults. It’s much better,” Hoseok acknowledged before turning to you. “But you don’t teach.”

“No, I restore old items like furniture and chandeliers and sell them online.”

“Ohhhh.” Hoseok nodded. “That explains it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you teach?”

“I’m a dance instructor.”

You didn’t hide your surprise. “So you don’t work with your dad?”

“Fuck no,” he grumbled.

The conversation evolved in another direction, but you stayed behind, wondering if you ever knew Hoseok at all. You were friends for a year in high school; good friends, you’d say. You remembered him talking about his parents' divorce, for example, but not about the time he spent with his dad. You knew he enjoyed dancing, but you never knew he took it seriously. You realized after that you probably didn’t know him well, if he could blindside you like that, but now you were realizing you never knew him at all.

Everyone helped clean up, and while Jin put on music to cheer up the place, you couldn’t help but chuckle. He had pulled Hyeonseo to the middle of the room to dance while you and Hoseok handled the dirty dishes, and it was a sight to see.

“It’s our song!” she laughed as Jin swung her around. To call it dancing would probably be too much, but the song did say ‘shut up and dance with me’ multiple times.

You glanced at Hoseok, who was quietly next to you, just looking at them with a soft expression, and you guessed he remembered it too. Jin and Hyeonseo were always like this, all the way back in high school. They were the living proof that young love could grow and evolve into something beautiful.

Once you finished with the kitchen, you let Hoseok handle the painting with the couple while you turned to the stairs. You were already dreading the amount of time it would take and the stinky smell, but it was for a good cause.

You opened the windows up and downstairs, put on gloves, and then prepared the gel that would remove the paint. You decided to do two steps at a time, tread and riser, top to bottom, so that while one set had the solvent, you could already scrape the previous and not get burned. Grabbing your brush, you glanced at Hoseok, who was starting to paint the kitchen ceiling after they had spent some time protecting the cupboards and surfaces. He didn’t say anything about the stairs, and you sighed. Even he didn’t want to get involved.

You covered the first two steps with the gel and stepped away to breathe normal air for a second. After fifteen minutes, you started scraping the gel and paint with a spatula, and Hyeonseo clapped behind you.

“It’s working!!”

You glanced at her, then sighed. “This is going to take a while.”

“And now?” Hyeonseo asked behind you.

You sighed and turned to her, shutting off your electric sander and wiping the sweat off your brow with your shirt. She was clearly worried about you, and you didn’t have the energy to react whatsoever.

It had been seven hours since you started with the stairs, and you could feel Hyeonseo’s discomfort every time she checked up on you. First, she thought it would go really fast—until she realized you had to apply the solvent, wait twenty minutes, scrape it off, and clean the grime at least twice from every tread and riser. All fourteen steps.

You touched the diluent with your forearm, so that got you a small burn mark that she freaked out about. When you tried assuring her it wouldn’t happen again, she assumed it was because you were done. But you still had to sand everything multiple times.

So you had been using your electric sander for the past couple of hours. First with heavy grit, then medium grit, then fine grit. Hyeonseo had checked on you a couple of times, but she didn’t understand that you couldn’t stop. If you did, you wouldn’t be able to lift a finger anymore.

You put the electric sander down and passed your hand on the last step. “It’s going well.”

“Are you done?”

You chuckled. “No.”

“It’s almost eight… we were thinking of going out for dinner and checking out the festival.”

You suppressed a laugh. “Sure. Not sure I can survive that, but sure.”

Hyeonseo sighed while the men kept painting, now in the bathroom, you believed. “You’re not supposed to kill yourself doing this.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t exaggerate.”

You grabbed a pot of wood filler that matched the Korean pine wood color of the stairs and a putty knife, and climbed up the stairs again.

Hyeonseo’s eyes widened. “What are you doing now?!”

“Fixing your stairs,” you informed, getting to work filling every crack and hole you saw.

“But— The paint is gone, so—”

“Stop worrying,” you told her. “Let me do my thing.”

She sighed.

You opened your eyes and instantly groaned — shit, everything hurt.

Raising your head from the pillow, you looked around the dark room with a frown. You had fallen asleep. Shit.

Your eyes drifted to the closed door. What was that noise?

You got up from bed, feeling even more dead than when you lay down just for a minute to rest your eyes. That was a terrible idea, you mused as you got out of the bedroom and followed the noise.

What you found made you stagger atop the stairs. Hoseok was sitting on the second step of the stairs, counting from the bottom, using a delta sander to get the corners perfectly, judging by his gentle and precise technique.

You shook your head. “Wait,” you said, going down the stairs, and he stopped to look at you. “The filler has to dry.”

“And it did,” he agreed, grabbing a sheet of sandpaper to sand the nosing of the step.

You were baffled. “How long did I sleep?”

He glanced at his wristwatch. “About three hours.”

You cursed vilely. “And nobody woke me up?!”

“You needed the rest.”

“And you didn’t?!”

“Everybody took a nap,” he told you with a light smile, and your eyes widened.

“You too?”

He nodded. “You didn’t flinch when I lay down or when I got up.” You rubbed your eyes, slightly embarrassed, and he continued, “Jin and Hyeonseo are getting ready for dinner, and then it’s our turn.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Dinner?”

“We’re going to a barbecue place,” he said casually, basically telling you not to worry, and you deflated. As long as you weren’t ruining anyone’s plans.

“What do you think?” you asked, kneeling to feel the texture of the stairs.

“You did a wonderful job,” he complimented, and you looked at him as he analyzed the details. “Stains are gone, every surface is smooth and balanced. You even picked the right color for the filler. A second sanding and it will basically become invisible.”

“It’s already pretty good,” you commented, scrutinizing the bigger patches you had fixed that were barely noticeable after Hoseok sanded once.

“Indeed.”

You felt the nosing of the step you were on and pressed your lips. “Thanks for the help.”

He got up, and you did the same, towering over him ever so slightly.

“Not a problem.”

Your eyes locked on his, and you didn’t know what to say. For the first time in years, you were actually fine with him. Anger and frustration were no longer bubbling under your skin, making you believe you had moved on from what happened. Though the more your heart beat, the more you questioned how he drew you in like this.

“You were right, you know,” you whispered, and his eyes lowered to your lips. It likely didn’t mean anything, but your heart skipped a beat or two. “I should have started last night. I wouldn’t have been able to do anything properly so far without your help. And I’ve only started the closets and the stairs,” you remarked with a sigh. ”I don’t know how I’m going to do the doors as well.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he instantly reassured you, raising his eyes to yours again. His tone was warm and intimate, and it made you shudder. “I’ll sand them tomorrow, and they can paint them later. They’re pros at it now.”

He said it jokingly, and you chuckled, letting that warmth envelop you.

He licked his lips. “I know how exhausting it can be, and we don’t have much time. So don’t worry about anything. Whatever you need, you can ask me.”

You searched his eyes and saw nothing but honesty, and your heart was unrestrained. Logically, you knew exactly what he was saying, but your stupid heart was still racing. You observed his features, both gentle and sharp, as he looked at you. You could swear his eyes had as much intensity as yours, but you had to doubt yourself. Were you still pining after Hoseok? Were you really over him if all it took was a few whispers for him to steal your heart again, even after so many years?

“Oh, you woke up!” Jin exclaimed from the top of the stairs, and you turned around. “You can go ahead and shower.”

You pressed your lips and eyed Hoseok before climbing up the stairs again.

You didn’t know how you got here.

“Come on!” Hoseok insisted with a lopsided smile and a glint in his eyes.

He held your hand and you blushed, stammering, “I can't…”

“Oh, come on!” he insisted. “I’ve already heard you snore. There are no secrets between us.”

You heard Jin and Hyeonseo laugh behind you, and let Hoseok drag you closer to the crowd of people dancing.

Thinking again, you knew how you got there. You all ate barbecue and had a few drinks, and now you were tipsy with a dance instructor insisting you should embarrass yourself in front of your friends. And what was worse, you didn’t mind.

He turned to you and grabbed your hand, spinning you once to loosen you up. “Just relax.”

You tried moving side to side along to the music, but you were no good. You couldn’t even look at him, your eyes were nailed to the floor as he tried to get you to follow his lead with your hand. Suffice it to say it wasn’t working.

“It’s no use,” you told him, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m just no good.”

“Nonsense,” he breathed, pulling you close. The music shifted to something more commercial that you recognised, but didn’t pay much mind to. “Just hold onto me.”

He wrapped your arms around him, then wrapped his around your middle. Your heart skipped a beat, and you had to look away, afraid your red cheeks would be too obvious. So you hugged his chest and let him swing you both to the song’s rhythm.

You closed your eyes, breathing in the earthy citrusy cologne while his firm chest acted as a pillow. Little by little, you relaxed, letting the moment sway you and take you. The lyrics spoke of running away and young love, and your mind blanked as he guided you ever so gently. His hips were moving to the beat, and although he wasn’t forcing you to match him, you found yourself doing it. Your hips had a mind of their own and swiveled to match his, and his posture changed.

You looked up at him, flushed and slightly embarrassed. You weren’t really just dancing with the way you were glued together. His body was firm, warm, relentless, pressed to you, never once leaving you behind. On the contrary, his hips responded to yours the same way his hands brushed up and down your body in feather-like touches, covering you with goosebumps all over.

What were you two doing?

“That’s it,” he murmured, and you looked up at him. He raised his fingers to brush your hair out of your face. “You’re doing so well.”

A familiar burn spread through your whole body, making you swallow dryly and lose sight of reality for a second. You wanted him. Your fingers curled around his neck, and his weren’t shy about pressing your waist. In another world, you would have kissed him already. You were burning, breathlessly swivelling your hips with him in a crowd, gushing between your legs, and eager to jump him. There was no way you felt all that without him feeling something. And on top of that, his eyes were fixed on you. He wasn’t looking away, or eager for it to be over. He was pressing you closer, guiding your bodies, breathing at the same tempo as you, licking his lips as though he wanted to taste you.

The music halted for a moment, and a message was broadcast through the speakers, but you weren’t paying attention. Hoseok hadn’t let you go; neither of you had moved.

While you pondered over what you could say, a voice from behind you snapped you back to reality.

“Woah! You’ll have to teach us how to dance like that for our wedding!”

Hoseok let go of you slowly, and you let him, loosening your grip as well. You wondered if his eyes held a question before they turned to your best friend.

“I will, don’t worry!” Hoseok replied with a grin. “Anyone can feel the rhythm. It’s easy to achieve this, I do it all the time,” he answered, seemingly proud of himself, and you felt the flame inside you wither until it was snuffed out.

“Really?” Hyeonseo asked with a teasing tone, but you were no longer listening.

“Excuse me.”

You spun around, letting your feet take you as far away as possible. You frowned as you walked, confused about the feeling twisting your guts. So what if Hoseok was a good teacher and bragged about it? Why was that making you so furious?

Sitting on a street bench while the crowds passed you by, you took a deep breath. You knew why, even if it was hard to admit. You thought you two had something special. There was tension and want, and you believed you weren’t the only one feeling it. But you were. Again.

Suddenly, there were tears in your eyes. You felt seventeen again, crying and wondering where you went wrong. What you did wrong, what you interpreted wrong. But you were twenty three now, and you refused to go through the same shit for the same guy. Fuck that!

You didn't want to worry Hyeonseo, so you made your way back. You found them chatting in a way that made you think they were waiting for you to get back. You lied about going to the bathroom, and before you could reveal your intentions to leave, Hoseok grabbed your hand.

“Come on, let’s teach them together,” he proposed with a sparkly smile.

You pulled your hand free. “I don’t feel like it. I’m sure you can find someone else here to do that.” You turned to Jin and Hyeonseo with a small smile. “I’m going home. I’m really tired.”

Hyeonseo looked at Jin, who nodded. “Sure, we can all go—”

“No, I’ll go ahead. I already called a taxi.” You bit your tongue; since when did you lie so much? “You guys should enjoy yourselves a bit longer.”

You said your goodbyes quickly and were thankful Hyeonseo knew you well enough not to insist. She told you she’d text you the code to get inside the house, and you were on your way.

Growing up in Gwangju meant you knew exactly where the taxi street of the festival was, and you headed there without a second thought. Once there, you got in line — it was almost three am, so many people were already leaving.

Not even a minute later, you heard someone calling your name, and you turned, surprised. Hoseok was making his way to you in between people, and for a moment, your breath hitched. He looked dazzling in jeans and a leather jacket, his firm body framed perfectly. To think you were pressed to his firm chest, wrapped in those arms…

You could almost forget he made you feel like an idiot. Almost.

You were ready to ignore him, but he reached you quickly, bowing to the other people waiting in line.

“I almost lost you,” he complained, clearing his throat, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Why did you follow me?”

“Because I wanted to talk to you. I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” he said. Seeing you remained skeptical, he continued, “I didn’t mean you were easy or something.” He scratched the back of his head. “When I said I do it all the time—”

“You just meant that you can teach anyone,” you interjected stoically, and he paused.

He dropped his hand as the queue moved forward. “Right. So then, why are you upset? It’s why you’re leaving, right?”

Your lips twitched. “I’m not upset. I was just reminded of why we never got along in the first place.”

He frowned. “Never? That’s not even true.”

You rolled your eyes as you became the first in line. “Whatever.”

You could see out of the corner of your eyes the way he clenched his jaw and looked away before turning to you again. “Well, what is it? Maybe if we talked about it—”

“I don’t need to talk about it. And I don’t want to. I know everything I need to know.”

He huffed and shifted his weight from one foot to the other constantly as though his frustration was physical. “Doesn’t sound like you do,” he commented with a hint of bitterness. “Maybe if we talked you’d be able to form sound opinions instead of just assuming shit and acting like you know everything.”

Your eyes widened. “Assuming?! You literally just said it!”

“You’re making up whatever story in your head,” he insisted, eying you harshly. “You hear what you want to hear.”

You scoffed before you could help it. “Yeah, right!”

A taxi stopped in front of you right on time. You spun on your heels and got in, and Hoseok grabbed the door when you reached to close it.

Instantly, your eyes were locked in a mute argument. You even expected him to shut the door behind you, seeing as he was just as annoyed as you. Instead, he was preventing you from closing it.

“Miss?”

You couldn’t even turn to look at the driver; you couldn’t lose.

Hoseok stepped closer to the car and muttered, “Don’t be like this. Let me go with you.”

You gritted your teeth and seriously pondered kicking him in the shin and closing the door, leaving him there. It was only the thought of how Jin and Hyeonseo would have been disappointed that made you roll your eyes and swallow a grumble before letting go of the door and moving along in the backseat of the car.

You told the driver the address, and Hoseok rode in the taxi with you. Why was he even there? Surely not to make sure you made it safely. Although he might have promised that to Jin and Hyeonseo so they’d stay at the festival and enjoy themselves. He was likely just tired…but you’d be damned if you cared.

As soon as you entered Jin and Hyeonseo’s place, you stormed your way to the bedroom you were sharing. You changed clothes hastily, turned off the lights, and threw yourself over the bed diagonally, spreading the pillows around you and hugging a few. You’d be damned if you wouldn’t sleep properly tonight.

You couldn’t fall asleep. Hoseok entered the room not ten minutes later and you could feel the air thickening around you. By the time he hit your foot with his knee, the lights were back on and he was pissed.

“Move.”

You ignored him, and he bumped your foot with his knee multiple times.

“Move, I want to sleep.”

“Not my problem,” you grumbled, and he scoffed.

“Indeed, but you’re mine. Get out of the way.”

“No,” you grumbled again, muffled. “I’m withdrawing the invitation; you can sleep somewhere else.”

You could almost hear the way he was fuming. “You’re fucking unbelieveable, you know that?! First, you get angry and don’t want to talk about it. Then, you withdraw your invitation? Fuck! I can trust you my ass! You’re so two-faced!”

By the time he was done, you were sitting up in bed, baffled and angry. “What?!”

He had no issues facing you head-on. “You heard me. You extend an olive branch one second and shit all over people the next. I’ve never met anyone as two-faced as you.”

“How fucking dare you!” you screeched as you kicked the sheets to get up from bed. “You’re the one who plays people, pretending to be all vulnerable and hurt, only to use them and throw them away like trash! Who the fuck are you to call me two-faced?!”

His anger was visible on his clenched jaw and flared nostrils as you shouted at him. He frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”

You scoffed. “As if you don’t know.”

He threw his hands up in the air in frustration. “I won’t know until you tell me! Stop assuming shit!”

“Stop playing dumb!”

“When did I?” he asked you to your face, and you crossed your arms over your chest.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to fall for it again.”

Hoseok groaned and pressed his palms to his eyes. “Fuck, you’re just like back then! The second I think I can trust you, you flip a switch and turn into someone else completely!”

“What?”

“Hyeonseo said I had you all wrong, that it was all a misunderstanding, but she’s wrong,” he told you, facing you head-on again. His eyes were harsh, and his tone accusatory. “This is just who you are. It’s bad enough our paths crossed twice; let’s not do it again.”

He grabbed his bag from the floor and stormed off with you hot on his tail.

“What are you talking about?!”

You chased him all the way downstairs, then stood frozen as he went outside to his pickup to get a blanket. When he started to make a makeshift place to sleep in the corner of the living room, you lost it.

“Argh, you’re fucking impossible!” you exploded, gripping your hair by the roots. “I flipped a switch?! I literally go to the bathroom, and the next thing I know, you’re kissing someone! Right after telling me you were so heartbroken you couldn’t stand the thought of being with someone! Are you serious?!”

He had taken off his jacket and thrown it on the blanket. He snickered. “Next thing you know? My, do you have selective amnesia or something?”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“You didn’t go to the bathroom, did you?”

You were stunned. “What?”

“I heard you!” he accused, all signs of mockery morphed into anger. “I followed you to suggest holding your drink, only to hear you giggling with your friends about how pathetic I was.”

You paled but instantly shook your head. “I never said that.”

“Your friends did, and you just laughed! Two-faced,” he underlined.

You gaped, frowning as you tried to remember what he was talking about. “I was— I don't know, I— Maybe they did say that, I don’t remember. But I wouldn’t have.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, and you bristled. He was so sure of himself, but what did it matter?

“What does that have to do with anything? I didn’t ‘flip a switch,’” you insisted. “They called you that, not me. So what does that have to do with what you did?”

“You thought I was so pathetic, and I just—” His expression soothed as his voice quieted. “I didn’t want to be.”

“You never were.”

He scoffed derisively, and you rubbed your eyes for a second, wanting to kick yourself.

“Listen, they just—even I, we were just…mean,” you explained with regret. You weren’t proud of who you were in high school. “Young and stupid and mean.”

Hoseok listened with harsh yet glistening eyes. “I opened my heart to you and you ran to tell them.”

“That is not true.”

You stiffened, and he instantly retorted, “Yeah, right.”

“I don’t care what you heard, that is not true,” you stated resolutely. “I never told anyone a word of what you told me. I might not have refuted them when they called you that, I might have played along, but I’d never break your trust.”

He had a painful smile, holding back a snicker as you spoke, until he blew up, “Oh, come on! You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.”

“So you mean to tell me you went along with them and still never told them the things I told you when I believed we were friends.” You nodded, and he insisted, “You went along with them saying those things about me, but were still actually my friend.” You nodded again, and he threw his hands up in the air. “Does that even make sense?!”

“It’s the truth,” you repeated.

“Why would I believe you?”

Your breath hitched as you realized the answer to what he was asking. He was angry and maybe hurt; you could see it in his face. You, on the other hand, didn’t know how to feel. You were talking, actually talking, for the first time in years. But you never expected it would mean you’d have to tell him this.

But then again, it didn’t matter anymore. It was a long time ago.

You pressed your lips to hide a sad smile. “Because it’s the truth. Not just because you had told me things as friends that I would never repeat to someone else, but because I didn’t want them to look at you twice, I…had this big fat crush on you and didn’t want any of them to get any ideas.”

He wasn’t just stupefied, you could see in his wide eyes that his thought process was completely busted. “What??”

It made you blush and rub your eyes again before you blurted, “We became closer friends when you opened up about your ex, and I… I didn’t want to make a move because it would have been too soon, and I didn’t want to be a rebound, but I was hoping we could… I don’t know,” you sighed, looking away, embarrassed. “But then you invited me to prom, so I thought maybe you were over her, so I thought what the hell, why not? I was so excited that night, just waiting for the right moment to say something, but then I saw you kissing whoever that was and I just—I was fucking pissed ‘cause that wasn’t even a rejection, that was… Why invite me to prom if you wanted to be with someone else? It just—”

You stopped yourself, feeling the anger bubbling up in your chest once more. You rubbed your eyes and sighed, calming down. He looked befuddled; he probably didn’t remember any of it.

“I didn’t,” he blurted out, and you looked at him. “That girl, I… I didn’t want to be with her; I didn’t even like her. I was just pissed after hearing you and your friends saying I was pathetic for being heartbroken over my ex and…I felt betrayed. You were literally the only girl I trusted at the time, who I thought…Who I wanted to spend time with. And then you said those things and I just…I didn’t want to be pathetic,” he admitted, heaving a deep breath. “That girl caught me alone and confessed, and when she kissed me, I felt…validated. Like I was not worthless. Of course, I told her I didn’t feel the same way, and she was cool about it. Otherwise, I would have felt pretty shity about it.”

“You were never worthless, much less because you had feelings. I’m glad she made you feel good about yourself.” You looked down, a frown on your lips. She did what you couldn’t. “Regardless of what they said, you were never pathetic. They were allergic to vulnerability and needed to be bitches about it, that’s all. Hell, me too. I’m sorry about that.”

He nodded with his shiny eyes focused on you. “Even if I know now how you felt at the time…I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do with all of this information.”

You shrugged. “You don’t have to do anything, it’s in the past. Though…about today,” you started, then heaved a deep breath as you rubbed your pink cheeks. “I’m not gonna lie, it felt just like back then. There I am, thinking something special is happening, only for you to dismiss it like it’s nothing. It’s easy to achieve this, I do it all the time,” you mimicked his voice, and he groaned.

“No, I knew it was bullshit as soon as I said it,” he confessed, scratching the back of his head. “Even Hyeonseo called me out for it.”

“‘Cause you realized it wasn’t that good to begin with, ‘cause I’m a terrible dancer?”

You spoke really fast, and he chuckled, “No, because it just isn’t true. The way we danced, especially when you’re not comfortable with it, is not easy. At all. Even seasoned dancers need months to be that smooth, sometimes even couples can’t do it, and you just— No, that was all us. I don’t do that all the time, it’s not something easy to teach.”

You frowned. “Dancing?”

“Chemistry.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at him. You couldn’t help the confusion or the way your heart raced. “I thought…” you croaked, “it wasn’t real.”

His eyes were locked with yours. “I think we can agree that it is.”

Your breath deepened as a familiar burn climbed up your chest. The air was thickening again as you stared at each other, but you stayed in place. Even if you both agreed that there was chemistry between you, you weren’t sure what to do with it. You weren’t sure you wanted to follow through…or that he did.

When he stalked slowly in your direction, you stood at attention. Your skin tingled under his eyes, roaming over your legs, past your pajama shorts and t-shirt to your eyes. By then, he was already in front of you, less than an arm away, and you struggled. You were almost dizzy with want, pushing your nails into your palms to hold yourself back. When he took another step closer, the faint scent of his cologne made you sigh and look up. You were radiating heat at that point, keeping your desire in check while wanting nothing but for him to grab you.

He seemed to be waiting for something, so you closed the distance between your bodies. Your stomach pressed to his, and your curiosity got the best of you. You looked down, wondering if you’d get to feel—

His hand raised your chin to make you look up at him. Instantly, the fire you were trying to contain reared its ugly head. Your hands found their way to his shirt, clutching it as though you were containing a visceral need to pull it off, all while you looked into his eyes. Your core ached for something to clench around and you almost begged him to fuck that crisp tension out of you.

Your lips parted as he leaned in, covering you with a shudder as his free hand palmed your waist, pulling you to him by the arch of your back. But then, all too fast, you both blinked.

The sound of car doors slamming closed hit you, and time didn’t stop to let you two figure it out together. Instead, Hoseok’s eyes flickered to your lips, but you weren’t able to say anything. By the time the first key was pressed into the front door lock pad, he had already lowered his hands and released you.

You couldn’t protest because in a second, Jin was opening the front door with Hyeonseo not far behind him.

“Oh, hey guys,” Jin said with a smile, then closed the door behind his fiancée. “We thought you’d be sleeping already.”

“Is everything okay?” Hyeonseo asked, eying you as she took off her jacket.

“Yes,” you croaked.

“We were just heading to bed,” Hoseok told them, then gave you a fleeting look before going ahead. “Good night!”

You offered Hyeonseo a small smile to reassure her and waved at Jin before following Hoseok upstairs. You closed the bedroom door behind you, and seeing the mess of pillows and sheets you had left behind, you were a little embarrassed.

“Sorry,” you muttered, getting on the bed to align the pillows and pull the sheet to lie stretched and proper. “I wasn’t thinking. I was just pissed.”

For a second, he frowned, but then he seemed to remember. “If you want me to sleep downstairs—”

“I don’t,” you cut in, sitting on your side of the bed. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay, I shouldn’t have… assumed the worst.”

“That I’m two-faced?”

He hummed as he neared the bed.

“So you…also assume things?”

Your tease made him chuckle. “I guess I’m at fault, too.”

You smiled and got under the sheet comfortably. Only then did you notice he was just standing there. “What’s wrong?”

“I left my bag downstairs.”

You raised an eyebrow, imagining Hyeonseo’s questions if she saw Hoseok with his bag. “And you don’t want to go grab it?”

“Not really.”

He stepped out of his shoes, then sighed, putting one knee on the bed, and you stopped him. “Get them off.”

He raised an eyebrow, and you looked at his jeans.

“You shouldn’t get in bed with outside clothes.”

He looked down at your legs under the sheets, then back at you, and you simply held his gaze. Now that you had found common ground, you were confident that teasing him a little wouldn’t hurt.

It helped that Hoseok was precisely the kind of man who made your knees weak. You asked, and so he got rid of his jeans in a flash, casually tossing them and his t-shirt back before getting into bed with you just in boxers. As if his chiseled abs wouldn’t have you drooling. As if he weren’t half-hard. As if he didn’t know you’d eat him with your eyes. As if he didn’t want you to.

You both lay back on your pillows, and your eyelids became heavy. The light was still on, but you were comfortable and warm, and all of a sudden, it was hard to keep your eyes open. You still wanted Hoseok, but you were so tired, you were getting dizzy.

You felt his eyes on you and turned to him with a sheepish smile. “I’m really tired,” you confessed, and he nodded.

“Same, I’m hanging on by a thread.”

You smiled and licked your lips. “Can I…?”

“Hug me to sleep?”

He raised an eyebrow and your eyes widened as you gasped. Did he know about last night?!

He simply smirked. “Yeah, come here. Oh, wait,” he told you before reaching the light switch on the wall. Then he settled back and grabbed your hand over the sheet, pulling you closer. You snuggled up to him, then sighed comfortably, and he held you close.

You woke up snuggly and warm, with a citrusy perfume near your nose and your legs tangled with someone else’s. You didn’t question it, stretching lazily before pulling away slightly. You slept like a rock, but still felt the exhaustion from the previous day. Just thinking you had another day like it ahead of you made you groan under your breath.

Hoseok turned around to face you, and it made you blink a bit more awake. He looked raw and vulnerable, with his hair disheveled and eyes barely open. Instantly, it made you feel a little breathless, a little hot, and a little exposed.

“Hey,” he whispered, and your cheeks warmed.

“Hey,” you rasped back, covering your face with your hands. “I must look horrible.”

He chuckled. “You look the same as always.”

You peeked between your fingers. “So I always look terrible?”

He was caught off guard and laughed quietly. “No, you never do.”

You lowered your hands and stayed like that, just observing one another, until you asked quietly. “We were friends… How come you never told me about your dad?”

“What do you mean?”

“You talked about the divorce, your sister, your mom, your ex… but not about your dad.”

He looked down for a moment before answering, “I just… didn’t want to talk about him. Our relationship was always…complicated. He left my mom, and then he would insist on taking me to construction sites for long weekends and vacations so I could learn the trade. He refused to listen to what I wanted. Meanwhile, my mom worked two jobs to support my dreams of becoming a dancer. She pushed me to go to Seoul and supported me while my dad all but threatened to disown me if I followed my dreams.” His expression hinted at bitterness before he looked at you again. “You can imagine I didn’t want to talk about him.”

You nodded. “And now?”

“He’s changed,” Hoseok acknowledged softly. “I think he accepted that it’s up to me to do what I want to do and that I’m good enough to do it. So we’re okay now. I see him a couple of times a year.” You nodded, and he quieted. “What about you? I remember your mom was sick five years ago.”

“She was, she’s been in remission for three years. My parents moved to Jeju Island to have a peaceful life there, and I’m hoping that will help.”

“You must miss them.”

“I do… Feels like everyone is super far away now.”

“But as it turns out, we live in the same neighbourhood,” he reminded you, and you raised a corner of your mouth.

“So it seems.”

“You can call me, you know,” he offered. “If you need anything.”

Your face was warm. “Thank you.”

“You can also call me just… Just because. If you want to.”

You weren’t used to seeing Hoseok hesitate, and yet, somehow, it made you relax. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” he asked, as though he couldn’t believe your answer, and you grinned.

“Maybe,” you teased, and he smirked. You felt warm again, seeing that smile, but also incredibly at ease.

His eyes returned to yours with a sharper edge to them, and you were instantly stirred up.

“You had a crush on me?”

“Yeah.”

His eyes roamed your features for a brief moment. “I wish the timing were different.”

“I don’t,” you admitted. “I was not the greatest person back then.”

“And now?” He raised an eyebrow, and you chuckled.

“Still a work in progress.”

He nodded, smiling too. “I wasn't great back then either. I was insecure. Thought my world was ending when my ex left, and that I had to be in a relationship to mean something.”

You nodded slowly. “Was that why you dated so many people afterwards?”

“It’s also the way people act. I don’t know about you, but my friends are constantly dating someone.”

You shrugged. “If you call that dating. I don’t get the obsession with saying you’re dating when you know it’s going to last a couple of weeks tops.”

“It has to be serious enough to avoid a stigma, but not serious enough ‘cause a relationship takes too much work.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Wow, exactly. Well said!”

“Thanks. It’s my conclusion after years of therapy to process how my parents’ divorce made me link my self-worth to my relationship status.”

Your chin dropped. “Woah!”

He smiled. “Once I realized I was following a pattern, I thought therapy would help. I had internalized that being alone meant I was less, without realizing that I didn’t even want to be with some of those people. I just said yes so I wouldn’t be alone.”

You pressed your lips. “And now?”

“I’ve been single for two years, and it’s nice.” He smiled, stretching a bit before asking, “And you?”

“I haven’t really thought much about dating,” you admitted, shrugging. “I’ve been developing my business for a year, and it takes most of my time.”

“That makes sense,” he said, adjusting the pillow under his head.

“Some pillow talk we’re having,” you joked, and he cleared his throat.

“Sorry, did I make things weird?”

“No, not at all. It reminds me of when we were friends.”

You remembered all the breaks you would spend just the two of you talking at the back of the school or in some park.

“Maybe that’s why it's so easy to talk to you,” he mused, observing your expression.

“You mean you don’t talk about this with every girl you get in bed?”

“No,” he stated, then joined you in laughing quietly. “Also, you got me in bed.”

“That’s true. Had to take charge,” you confessed with mock modesty. “Now, I have you right where I want you.”

“Do you?”

Your smile dissipated when you realized what you had said and how he was looking at you. Instantly, heat spread from your cheeks down your neck, and you had to swallow. “I—I mean, not that I’d force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“You mean besides forcing me to strip before getting into bed?”

You almost choked. “I didn’t mean it like that!”

“I know.” He smiled, and his hand moved near yours over the sheet, but he didn’t touch you. “If last night was an isolated thing, that’s okay. It’s cool, I promise.”

You instantly remembered the way his hand pressed you, arching your back and hitching your breath. “It wasn’t…I mean, it wasn’t alcohol or anything like that,” you said, your voice more and more quiet as the tension spread down your neck. “If anything, it feels like whenever we’re together, we…”

“Have chemistry?”

You hummed.

“Was it like this in high school? And I was just blind to it?” he asked in disbelief.

“It wasn’t like this… Wanting to kiss you and wanting you are two different things,” you explained, despite feeling like you were dipping into dangerous waters.

“So you want me?” he asked, and you felt almost assaulted by his dark, meaningful eyes. Your core clenched around nothing at the thought of being under this man. The way he turned you on was wild.

“I do…” As soon as the admission was out of your lips, he moved closer, and you had to put your hands on his chest to stop him. “But we’re not alone.”

Your tone was firm, more to tame your desires than to stop him, but he still halted. He was close enough that you could see the moles on his face, but he had yet to touch you.

He eyed you intently. “And if we were?”

“We’re not…”

“But if we were?” he insisted.

You swallowed, rubbing your legs together. “I already told you I want you.”

His lips curved in a tease. “I want to hear what else you want.”

You raised your chin. “You haven’t told me what you want yet.”

“I’ll tell you, then,” he whispered, making you shudder from head to toe. He got up on his elbow, and you rolled to face up. “I want to look at you. I want you to take your clothes off for me.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “If only you had asked before…”

“I still can.”

You hummed, unashamedly running your eyes down his exposed torso. He didn’t have the broadest shoulders, but every piece of him was defined and soft, like a taunt for you to scratch and bite. It was torture to see all that flesh but not touch it.

“I want you to touch me,” he spoke again, drawing your gaze up. “I want you to touch me and grab me with the same hunger you have in your eyes right now.”

You let out a small, tense breath as you eyed his chest again, unabashedly taking advantage. “And then?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

You chuckled. “I might need ideas to spice up my shower.”

He groaned mutely, then gently tucked the sheet to frame your silhouette without touching you. It made your body temperature surge as you let him find his way to seeing your form without stripping you. The more he observed and wondered, the more sensual and wanted you felt. You didn’t know if you wanted to rub your legs together or spread them open for him.

“I want to touch you,” he breathed, then looked at you. “Lick and feel every curve until I know you by heart. I want to eat you out. I want to know how you taste, wet like that for me.”

Your eyebrow quirked, but you stayed quiet, letting his words burn you a bit more intensely than his presence alone did.

“I want your hips on me again. Need to appreciate the way they match mine.” His eyes caught you opening your legs under the sheets, but you didn’t close them. “And I want to fuck you. I can’t hide it,” he whispered, adjusting his posture as though he was eager to get in between your legs, if only you let him. “I need to know what you look like when I fuck all sense out of you.”

“Wouldn’t that be something,” you breathed, sneaking your hands down your stomach.

“You—”

A bang interrupted him and covered you with goosebumps from head to toe.

Neither of you breathed as you waited patiently for the sound of a car engine to roar to life, and then for it to move away from the driveway.

Your eyes were locked, both surely thinking the exact same thing — Jin and Hyeonseo were likely gone to grab breakfast. You were alone.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his muscles flexing as he stayed in place.

“You.”

“Don’t just say that,” he scolded lightly, adjusting himself on his knees.

“It’s what I want,” you insisted, more than aching for him. “I want everything you said.” You leaned in a bit. “Make me scream your name.”

He ripped the sheet from over you and froze. You bit your lip but couldn’t find it in you to look innocent. Not when your hand was buried in your sex.

“I can’t believe you,” he breathed before throwing the sheet to the end of the bed.

“You never said I couldn’t,” you argued, giving up on solo pleasure when you could have him.

He caught your wrist as he settled between your legs. “I said I want you.”

“And I want you, too. Hey,” you called, letting your voice register lower. “I’d let you watch.”

He shook his head and forced your wrist to the mattress next to your head as he covered your body with his to reach your lips. His mouth wasn’t soft at the dawn of a first kiss; it was rough and helpless with want. Your free hand instantly gripped his hair, keeping him close as your bodies adjusted to each other, and in a second, your world was overturned.

He didn’t just take two seconds to push his tongue inside you; he took two seconds to melt you to a liquid state. In a split second, he was kissing you like he owned you, matching every whimper and sigh with more. If you needed to breathe, he bit your lip. If you needed to moan, he swallowed it.

He wasn’t shy about pressing his cock to your thigh, nor about palming your curves as he said he would. You could only shudder and whimper with the way he touched and squeezed you, especially when he grabbed your ass. He even parted your mouths to hide in the crook of your neck and have both hands free to squeeze your asscheeks, pressing you to him.

You had to moan, swiveling your hips to get friction.

“You and your perfect ass,” he grumbled, giving it a few more squeezes. “On the ladder, the stairs, last night… Fucking tease.”

“Didn’t know you were staring,” you breathed, and he raised his head.

“Didn’t you?”

“No. No, trust me.” You smiled, gyrating your hips as you cradled his cheeks. “Or I would have made it much worse.”

He let his mouth crash to yours harshly before pulling away. “You fucking tease… I’ll take my time with you—”

“No,” you cut in, holding his head so he’d look at you. “We don’t know how long we have.” You could see Hoseok’s gears turning, so you insisted, “You have to fuck me. I need to feel you. I need you to fuck this tension out of me.” He groaned, and you didn’t give up. “Need you to make me scream your name while creaming your cock. It will be therapeutic,” you promised, earning a smirk. “Please.”

It took Hoseok one second to ponder your request. The next, he was already on his knees.

“Take them off.”

“What?”

“Take them off,” he repeated, glancing at your shorts. His hands dipped inside his boxers to stroke himself, and you almost melted at the sight.

Instead, you swallowed. “We don't have much time.”

“Get your clothes off before I rip them off.”

Heat flushed through you as you gushed between your legs, and you scrambled to as he asked. Normally, you’d like that moment to be sensual, but all you could think of was Hoseok between your legs.

He clearly was thinking of that too, because as you got rid of your pajama t-shirt and shorts and underwear, he kept stroking himself in front of you. He wasn’t shy about grunting, licking his lips, cursing, or spreading the precum on the tip of his dick right under your hungry eyes. Especially when you leaned back down and spread your legs for him.

“Holy shit,” he almost choked, falling to his elbows on the bed right before pressing his face to your wet cunt.

Your moan echoed in the empty room as you clenched from the surprise. Your hands gripped his hair firmly, and you cursed yourself, bucking your hips against his starving mouth. You watched him eating you out, groaning into you as he drooled all over your slicked folds. That was such a power trip for some reason. Like you knew you were his kryptonite, like you knew he should have been fucking for years, like you knew he wouldn’t be able to resist you as soon as he tasted you.

But the past didn’t matter; you need him now.

“Fuck, Hoseok, wait,” you breathed between moans, finding it hard to not press his face to your sopping pussy.

He hummed, and you tried sorting out your thoughts.

“We don’t know how long we have,” you reminded him, cursing him when his tongue started drumming on your clit. “Fuck! You either fuck me now, or—!”

You keened desperately when three digits pushed through your warm walls, stretching you with a few pumps. Looking at him, his eyes were almost wicked as he saw you trying not to writhe in pleasure.

“So bossy…” he commented, licking his lips. “Lucky we’re in a hurry.”

You whimpered and curled your toes with the way he fucked you with his fingers, but stayed otherwise quiet because he grabbed his hard cock in his other hand.

“It’s a shame, really,” you breathed, and he surely thought you were teasing him, because he quickly leaned in to nip a nipple, making you jolt. “I also didn’t get to touch you and grab you.”

“Can still make it happen,” he told you, sitting back between your legs with his cock still in his hand.

You smiled. “That sounds good,” you breathed, reaching out to meet his busy hand.

While he looked down at your hand taking over from his, stroking him gently, you observed his reactions. The way his eyes hooded, or his lip raised, containing a moan when you squeezed a little more. He enjoyed watching what you were doing, and you enjoyed watching him. Even when his fingers inside you lost focus, you were set on that one goal — to see him fall apart.

“So hard,” you whispered, licking your lips. “Come on,” you coaxed, slowly pulling him by his dick to close the gap between you.

He followed your lead, removing his fingers from your sopping pussy to replace them with the tip of his cock. He moaned quietly then, as he rubbed his shaft on your slick, hungrily passing a heavy hand up your stomach to your chest. He pinched a nipple just to tease you, then pressed the head of his cock through your entrance.

You couldn’t even catch your breath, whimpering uninterruptedly as your core hugged the head of his cock. You cursed him, feeling your legs trembling as you spread them as much as you could. Your core throbbed wildly with the stretch, and you thought that was the peak for you, but then he topped it off with his fingers on your clit.

You finally let go and arched your back, so completely overturned by pleasure, you felt like you were in a tempestuous sea. You couldn’t suppress your moans, hold back the way you gripped the sheets or moved to sink further down his cock. Instead, you mumbled incoherently, begging him to poke your insides, but he smiled and kept fucking you exactly like this.

“I don’t know,” he taunted, but you could see the sweat trickling down his temple as he held back. “I think you can cum just with the tip.”

“Fuck, I can— But I want you whole— I didn’t say make me cum,” you pointed out a bit more firmly than your previous moans. “I said, make me scream your name.”

He growled your name, then gripped your hips and fell over you, sinking as far inside you as he could, bottoming out with a groan. You could only scream and throw your head back, letting the pain mix with the delight of having him tucked to the base inside you. It was so good, your nails were piercing the sheets as you clenched like a vice around him.

Looking at him, you knew you had a victorious look on your face. He smirked. “Got what you wanted all along, huh?”

“Not yet,” you breathed, then locked your legs behind him. “Fuck me, Hoseok. Please—”

He grabbed your legs further up around his waist, then finally gave in and gave you exactly what you wanted. Everything heightened your senses so much that you were speechless, finally rid of all your thoughts and judgments. The way he breathed heavily into your neck, stealing nips and licks while hearing you moan attentively. The way he gripped your asscheeks to fuck you as deeply as possible, groaning mutely against your skin. He wanted you, craved you, just like you craved him. The slap of skins, the sloppy mess between your bodies, the citrus cologne as you bit his shoulder — that was what dreams were made of.

You knew you wouldn’t hold for long, but you didn’t expect to last minutes. You were in the zone, matching your hips to his, when he bit your neck hard. Your hands instantly darted to grab him, your nails sinking into the skin of his shoulders, but still, he didn’t release you. Instead, he rutted into you like he needed to fuck you. Like he was in too deep to stop. Like he knew you needed to take his cock just once more before you’d fall apart.

You wanted to scream his name, and it was the first thing out of your mouth as soon as the wildfire spread through you in waves. You were surprised when his hand darted to cover your mouth, but he didn’t stop pounding into you, and so if anything, you came even harder. His mouth replaced his hand once you became breathless, gently kissing you and coaxing the last quakes out of you, until you stilled.

Your senses returned to you slowly, and two things were immediately clear to you: one, Hoseok was still hard as fuck inside you, and two, you were no longer alone.

“Fuckin hell,” he cursed, moving ever so gently inside you, and your hands darted to his asscheeks to stop him.

“They’re here?!” you whispered, suddenly so anxious your chest felt tight. You could hear faint noises from downstairs.

“You didn’t hear them coming in?” he asked, surprised. You were clearly spooked, so he reassured you, brushing your cheek gently, “The door slammed like seconds into your orgasm. I didn’t want to ruin it for you, so I didn’t stop.”

You gasped. “What if they heard?!”

“They didn’t.” You gave him a look, and he kept reassuring you, “They didn’t. I covered your mouth, I promise you they didn’t hear a thing.” You heaved a breath, hugging him, and he nuzzled your hair. “But I did… you sounded so fucking hot, I almost burst. Fuckin hell,” he groaned, moving once tentatively inside you. “Fuckin heaven, rather,” he corrected himself, then pulled away to look at you. “But I know you’ll want to stop—”

Your hands darted to his ass again, this time to prevent him from pulling out, at the same time your phone buzzed on the floor next to the bed. You didn’t even glance away; your eyes locked with his as they were. You couldn’t help it; you couldn’t explain.

“What?” he asked, eying you curiously.

Your phone buzzed again, and you whispered, “If they can’t hear it…”

Your voice trailed off as you bit your lip, and he chuckled darkly, leaning back in to nuzzle you. “Then what?”

“Then why stop?”

He laughed a bit more, quietly dragging his nose down your neck. “You naughty girl… I love that idea,” he whispered, withdrawing his hips for a moment before sinking into you again.

You had to curl your toes and bite your lip, but suddenly, you were exhilarated. You felt dirty, but it was so good to have him fucking you slowly while you tried your best not to make a sound. Your eyes stayed locked, spreading a hellish fire down your chest because he saw you. He saw you taking his cock, fighting the urge to moan and let the world know how good he felt. He knew how turned on you were from fucking under people’s noses like this. And all it did was make him fuck you harder, wanting to spill all his cum inside a little whore like you—

You could swear a second orgasm was right within your grasp when you heard voices talking loudly downstairs. Hoseok halted this time, looking at you while he listened attentively. Then, your phone buzzed again, and this time, you didn’t ignore it.

Hoseok almost slipped out of you as you contorted yourself to reach the bloody thing on the floor. Then you gasped.

Hyeonseo had texted you multiple times:

[Are you okay?] 2:43

[Are you hungover? I can make soup.] 9:12

[We got breakfast.] 9:39

[You can come down.] 10:01

[Are you okay? You’re still not up yet.] 10:03

You heard steps on the stairs and hurried to type:

[I’m fine, gonna shower first. Hoseok is still asleep.] 10:04

You looked at him with eyes like saucers, and he didn’t react. He stayed still, listening to Hyeonseo turning back down the stairs and telling Jin something.

“I told her I’d shower first and that you’re still asleep,” you informed him, rubbing your eyes. What the hell were you thinking?

“Okay, good,” he breathed, then pressed a kiss to your lips.

His hips instantly moved again, slowly but breathtakingly, and you knitted your eyebrows to keep quiet. You grabbed onto him while he fucked you, snapping his hips to yours with such precision, you started seeing stars. You were so turned on, the sloppy, gushing sounds where your bodies met thrilled you even more.

“I wonder if she had called you,” he whispered before licking up the column of your neck to reach your ear. “Wonder how you would have reacted, trying to talk to her while I fuck you like this.”

You licked your lips, eyes closed, shuddering from head to toe at the thought. “Maybe next time,” you said, though your voice broke apart.

Hoseok smiled at you and pressed his lips to yours firmly, halting his thrusts completely. You sighed into the kiss, imagining he’d continue, but he pulled out and away, getting up from bed.

You sulked instantly. Usually, you were very uptight about your privacy and behavior, but right now, you wanted to finish what you both had started.

You were about to open your mouth when Hoseok said, “Let’s get you in the shower.”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “What?”

He was already back in his boxers, his hand out for you to grab. “Don’t argue with me.”

You sulked further. You thought he was done, and it soured your mood.

So you put your hand in his and let him pull you up to your feet with a huge pout. It just didn’t feel right to—

Hoseok stole a kiss from you, then grabbed a folded towel nearby and wrapped it around you, making you raise an eyebrow while he smirked. “Stay quiet.”

You tucked the towel more firmly around you as he led you out of the room. Once out, you could hear Jin and Hyeonseo cooking while music played in the background, likely from one of their phones.

Hoseok pulled you by the hand to the bathroom and, to your surprise, closed and locked the door behind him. Then, he gently pushed you into the walk-in shower. You stumbled back, eyes fixed on his, wondering what he was up to.

In a flash, his hand grabbed your towel and maneuvered you against the sidewall of the shower. Your back hit the cold tiles while he caged you in, making your knees weak in anticipation. All he had to do was stretch his arm and start the shower, and you were both unleashed.

You gasped as the water spray barely caught your leg, but you had no time to think about it because he kissed you. You dared to breathe more heavily and even to whimper when he pulled your towel loose, his hands instantly grabbing your tits to pinch your nipples. He swallowed your cries, ever so mindful, and it made you gush even more. This was a man who wanted to be with you, was willing to be risqué, but still took your limits as a priority. You just wanted him even more.

As his hands trailed your sides, his mouth followed, licking every inch of skin within reach. It made you close your eyes as you leaned back against the wall, letting every touch send shivers down your spine. He kneeled in front of you, licking and nibbling, then he looked up at you before reaching your sex. Made you clench right in front of him before his lips ever touched yours. You even blushed at how much you wanted him to do crazy things to you.

As though he had heard your thoughts, he smirked and tilted your body to show him your side. Instantly, he bit your round hip, making you bite your own fist not to make a sound. The pain mixed with a pleasurable sting stunned you so much that you were nimble in his hands as he turned you around. Then, he spread your legs and asscheeks, pulling you to him, and in a second, your moan echoed in the bathroom.

He pulled his mouth away from your dripping folds. “You have to be quiet,” he warned you, and you nodded, covering your mouth as he dove in again.

His mouth on your slit was something sinful. The way he grabbed your hips to fall back on his face, and the way your hips urged you to follow, was demented. You could barely spare a thought for how important it was to keep your mouth shut.

He must have realized it, because soon after, he got up behind you, covering your arched back with his chest to reach your ear. “Something for next time,” he suggested, biting your earlobe. “Want you to touch yourself at the same time and come, but I think you’ll be too loud.”

You could only catch your breath and look at him over your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he cooed, turning your chin slightly to meet his eyes. “Don’t say sorry. I like the thought of doing this again.”

You looked at him, blushing even more if that was possible, while he just smiled at you.

Then, you felt his fingers gently rubbing your clit. “Can I?”

You nodded instantly, kissing him to stifle your whimpers as he kept caressing you. You were dazed, at the mercy of his wishes, and when he pressed the tip of his cock to your core, you easily groaned in bliss.

You pressed your hips flush to his, making him take a deep breath near your ear as you appreciated being full again.

“Fuckin heaven,” he muttured to your ear before grabbing your hips.

For a second, you thought you’d lose all sense of reason, but you were sensible enough to put your hand on the wall and press your mouth to it as Hoseok slammed his cock into you again and again. At times, you pressed your forehead instead, but the way he pushed inside you made it almost impossible to hold back your cries. It was everything, both in its entirety and in the details. The way he was holding his breath while pouding into you as though your cunt was the best he had ever fucked. Or maybe the way he grabbed you, muttering how your ass was perfect and your wet pussy was heaven. And then, perhaps it was the way he tried not to cum, pressing you flat to the wall as he kissed your face. As he made it personal by making you cream his cock thoroughly as he slowed his thrusts.

“Can you cum again?” he almost groaned, swiveling his hips.

“Yeah,” you breathed.

“How?”

“Fingers.”

He licked and nipped down your neck, and you weren’t sure he heard you. But surely enough, his fingers found your clit and rubbed in circles.

“Good?”

“Up and down,” you stammered as you shuddered, your nails looking for something on the wall to hold onto, but there was nothing.

As soon as his hand moved as you requested, you tensed from head to toe.

“Fuck,” he groaned behind you, pushing himself even further inside you. He was so deep, you could feel him in your throat. “You feel so good,” he grunted. “Close? I won’t last long.”

“Just—” You could barely breathe. You let your head fall back to his shoulder. “Just undo me.”

He kissed your neck before supporting himself on the wall with his free hand, and the way he moved was just different. He wasn’t trying to fuck you as quick and hard as possible, it was something else. His fingers were attentive to move as you had asked, bringing you so close with a simple rub that your toes were curling. But it was also the way he covered you like a cape, moved his hips with you to deepen the feeling, making you constantly feel like all you breathed, tasted, and felt was him. To the point that all you needed was a little push, so you moved closer to the wall, exposing your neck while you tried to grab his hand taking support there.

He didn’t get it at first, thinking you wanted him to cover your mouth for your orgasm. So you had to pull on his hand until you tucked it snugly around your throat, and then he got it. He pressed you by the neck to him, and you were finally tucked in. Exposed and vulnerable, while safe and thoroughly fucked.

In that position and with his hands all over you, you didn’t need much to cum. The fire building between your legs was uncontrollable, and the way he poked your insides, bliss. A few thrusts deep inside you, making you moan desperately, and you unravelled. You had a mind to cover your mouth to stifle the cries, greedily meeting him thrust for thrust to make the climax last as much as possible.

Because of this, you almost prevented him from pulling out. He had to hold your waist so you wouldn’t fall back on his dick, making him cum inside you. You looked at him as you felt him cumming over your ass and in your fucked out daze, you thought he was wonderful. Just very fucking wonderful as he groaned and shuddered, spurting ropes of cum on your skin.

When he opened his eyes to meet yours, you smiled, and he kissed you. Not once, not twice, just so many gentle kisses, you forgot about the world.

“Are you okay?” he asked the moment he pulled away to look at you.

“Perfect, you?”

He chuckled and brushed your cheek. “You could say that.”

You wouldn’t complain about having his lips on yours again, but you still gasped when you felt the water touch your arm. It shouldn’t have surprised you, you knew the shower was running next to you, but still. You were too much in your daze.

“Shower, remember?” he whispered, and you sighed, shifting to stand under the stream fully. You wiped the water out of your eyes as he turned you around, stealing another kiss. “I’ll see you after?”

“Absolutely,” you breathed, and stood there as you watched him leave the bathroom.

You weren’t exactly sure how, but you were just getting started. You were just with him, and all you could think about was being with him again. This time, in your apartment, with nothing but neighbours whom you didn’t give a shit about to feel inconvenienced by you fucking him without restrictions. All day, all night, until you got that horny bug out of you. If ever.

“Okay, but won’t you listen to me?” you asked Jin with a huff as you dragged your luggage outside.

“How about you come and do that some other weekend? Before the wedding, preferably,” Jin suggested, and you shook your head in disbelief.

Yet before you could say anything, Hoseok tapped your shoulder. “May I?”

You looked at him, and he tapped you again. “Oh, right,” you agreed, giving him your backpack, which he proceeded to load into his pickup along with your luggage. You turned back to Jin. “It’s unlikely that I will be able to.”

“And if Hobi does it?” Hyeonseo suggested, coming outside with a few snacks for you to take on your trip back.

“I might not have the time, so listen to her,” Hoseok shouted from his pickup, and Jin sighed.

Once more, you thoroughly explained how to apply the finish on the stairs; only the most essential step. “Do it as soon as you can before stepping on it damages the surface. I’d say as soon as you get your couch tomorrow. It takes a few days, but then you have beautiful stairs for a lifetime.”

Jin mumbled something you didn’t get, and Hyeonseo patted his shoulder. “We’ll do it, don’t worry. That’s all that’s left, right?”

“Yup, the closets are done. The stairs almost,” you said with a bit of a grimace. “The doors…”

“Sanded, you guys can paint them tomorrow,” Hoseok said, joining you. “All the lights, the stove, and the ceilings are done. Now you can paint what is left, you will be done tomorrow for sure.”

“Did you add the silicone sealant in the shower downstairs?” you asked, remembering suddenly, and he nodded.

“Yup, all done.”

Hyeonseo had tears in her eyes. “Thank you so much, guys, you’ve done so much for us!”

“Now, make sure to take care of the place,” Hoseok teased Jin with a look.

“Maybe we’ll invite you over once a year. Just to catch up,” Jin suggested angelically, and Hyeonseo elbowed him. Everyone chuckled. “You two seem to be getting along much better now,” Jin noted, scratching his chin. “So tell me: did Hobi ever promise not to bite you?”

“Jin!” Hyeonseo gasped.

“It does help to settle boundaries from the start.”

They started bickering, and you subtly closed your jacket lapels a bit more. You weren’t sure that was an innocent comment, given that you had a few marks around your neck.

“Don’t listen to him,” Hyeonseo sighed, then turned to you and Hoseok again. “You sure it’s okay to take her to the bus station?”

“Of course! Not a problem at all,” Hoseok reassured her with a smile. “Should we get going? I still plan on returning to Seoul tonight.”

You nodded and hugged Hyeonseo. “Thank you for dinner and for everything. See you soon!”

You also hugged Jin, ignoring his quips, then made your way to Hoseok’s pickup. You sat shotgun and instantly let it sink in: Hyeonseo and Jin were waving at you as Hoseok got into the driver's seat next to you. You glanced at him, your heart skipping a beat all so easily. You, sitting there, pretending you tolerated a man you not only had balls deep inside you earlier this morning, but intended to have again as soon as possible.

“You good?” he asked as he prepared everything, including the temperature, GPS, and music. You nodded, ready, and he glanced at you. “You know, we live in the same neighbourhood in Seoul. If you want, I can take you. I just have to drop off the pickup at my dad’s and get my car.” You stayed quiet as he buckled his seatbelt. Then, he looked at you. “If you’re comfortable.”

“You want to be with me inside a car for three hours?”

You raised an eyebrow teasingly, and he chuckled. “Actually, close to four with the detour. But there are worse things. I enjoy the company.”

You nodded and waved again at the couple while Hoseok drove you out of the driveway and away.

At the house, Hyeonseo and Jin waved until your car disappeared.

Then Hyeonseo asked, “Did we succeed?”

Jin nodded. “Yes, we did!”

Hyeonseo raised her hand, and Jin instantly high-fived her. “Mission accomplished.”

234 notes · View notes

innerfare · 7 months ago

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One Piece Multi Character Masterlist

🔥 Requests are currently closed! If you had requested something and I haven't responded yet, that's because it's a WIP 🔥

This is where you can find all of my multi character One Piece posts. Genres are marked, everything is SFW unless otherwise specified (there is plenty of smut on here, MDNI). Will be updated regularly, SFW posts at the top, NSFW posts after that. If it says coming soon, that means it’s in the queue. Enjoy!!

SFW:

You’re Wounded [Fluff // Angst] - (Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid, Shanks, Beckman, Mihawk, Crocodile, Robin, Nami, Buggy, Usopp)

Brushing Your Teeth Together [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Robin, Nami, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Bringing You Flowers [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid, Usopp, Robin, Nami)

Type of Date [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Type of Date [Fluff] - (Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Corazon, Doflamingo, Mihawk, Smoker)

You See His Cabin For The First Time [Fluff] - (Luffy, Usopp, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Fighting and Making Up [Angst // Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Paradise [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp, Robin, Nami, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid, Shanks, Beckman, Mihawk, Corazon)

Nightmares [Angst] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Nightmares [Angst] - (Shanks, Beckman, Mihawk, Crocodile, Doflamingo, Corazon, Smoker)

Wearing His Hat [Fluff // Possible NSFW] - (Luffy, Ace, Sabo, Law, Mihawk)

I Love You [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

I Love You [Fluff] - (Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Mihawk, Corazon, Marco)

You’re Jealous [Angst // Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Kisses [Fluff // Slight Smut] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Kisses [Fluff // Slight Smut] - (Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Mihawk, Corazon, Smoker, Marco)

Cuddling [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Cuddling [Fluff] - (Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Mihawk, Doflamingo, Corazon, Smoker, Marco)

You Just Do It Better [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Pet Names [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

You’re Sick [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

You’re Sick [Fluff] - (Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Mihawk, Marco, Smoker)

Apologizing To You [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Carrying You [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Arm Wrestling [Fluff] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

NSFW:

Going Down On You [NSFW // Smut] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Going Down On You [NSFW // Smut] - (Shanks, Beckman, Mihawk, Crocodile, Doflamingo, Corazon, Smoker)

Going Down On You [NSFW // Smut] - (Robin, Nami, Koala, Reiju, Ichiji, X. Drake)

Going Down On You [NSFW // Smut] - (Katakuri, Marco, Kaidou, Killer, Heat)

His Favorite Place [NSFW // Smut] - (Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

His Favorite Place [NSFW // Smut] - (Shanks, Beckman, Mihawk, Crocodile, Doflamingo)

Threesome Headcanons [NSFW // Smut] - (Robin, Law, Zoro, Perona, Sanji, Nami, Ace, Sabo, Koala)

Threesome Headcanons [NSFW // Smut] - (Ace, Marco, Shanks, Beckman, Mihawk, Crocodile, Buggy, Doflamingo, Corazon, Kid, Killer, Smoker, Tashigi)

Sex Toys [NSFW // Smut] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Sex Toys [NSFW // Smut] - (Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Corazon, Doflamingo, Mihawk, Smoker, Marco)

Blowjobs [NSFW // Smut] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Playing With Your Nipples [NSFW // Smut] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Playing With Your Nipples [NSFW // Smut] - (Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Mihawk, Doflamingo, Corazon)

Mirror Sex [NSFW // Smut] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Fingering You [NSFW // Smut] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Fingering You [NSFW // Smut] - (Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile, Mihawk, Doflamingo, Corazon)

Teasing or Overstimulating? [NSFW // Smut] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji)

Teasing or Overstimulating? [NSFW // Smut] - (Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Teasing or Overstimulating? [NSFW // Smut] - (Shanks, Beckman, Crocodile)

Teasing or Overstimulating? [NSFW // Smut] - (Mihawk, Doflamingo, Corazon, Smoker)

Coming Soon - Teasing or Overstimulating? [NSFW // Smut] - (Ichiji, Niji, Yonji)

Coming Soon - Teasing or Overstimulating? [NSFW // Smut] - (Nami, Robin, Reiju)

Nudes [NSFW // Smut] - (Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Sabo, Law, Kid)

Nudes [NSFW // Smut] - (Shanks, Beckman, Mihawk, Crocodile)

Nudes [NSFW // Smut] - (Doflamingo, Corazon, Smoker, Marco)

745 notes · View notes

hongcherry · 18 days ago

Text

fed up || j.yh (m)

You know just how to rile up the usually sunny CEO.

💛 Pairing: ceo!Yunho x employee!Reader 💛 Rating/Genres/AUs: M(18+)/Smut/Office au 💛 Word Count: 2.2k 💛 Warnings: Yunho is MEAN, bigDick!Yunho, dirty talk, rough oral (m. rec), face fucking, gagging, nicknames (pretty girl, (fuck)doll, baby, slut, toy), sir kink, size kink if you squint, secret exhibitionism, crying, very brief restricted breathing 💛 Author's Note: A WIP I've had in my drafts for too long 🚬 *sigh* also, hi 🥺 it's been a long time sorry :c

ateez masterlist | main masterlist

this blog is 18+. minors do not interact. plz & ty! (ageless/minors/blanks blogs will be blocked)

“Mr. Jeong?” your voice rings out from the other side of his cracked door.

“Come in,” he replies, attention drifting away from his computer screen. He watches as you enter and close his door. You seem fidgety like you’re nervous or eager. He figures it’s the latter.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you question, stepping up to his desk, hands clasped together politely in front of you.

Yunho stands and rounds his desk languidly. His heart races knowing your innocence is fake. Your little mouth has been running all day, spewing flirtatious conversations with nearly everyone who stops at your reception desk.

“Did anyone see you come here?” he asks. He glances behind you at the door as if expecting someone to barge in.

You shake your head and reply, “No, sir.”

Yunho’s gaze shifts to yours. You’re staring up at him with those pretty eyes—eyes he loves seeing rolled back into your head as he ruins you.

He’s not dumb. He knows you’re playing with him, riling him up until he snaps. While Yunho’s frustrated with your need to test him, he’s also excited to give you what you want. He loves knowing you like it rough like him.

So with that thought in mind, he suddenly grasps your jaw and angles it upward. Your eyes widen as a small gasp falls from your lips.

“Want dick so bad you’ll talk up every man you see, hm? What? My cock isn’t good enough?” he taunts, eyes narrowing.

“It is! I want you. Just you,” you whine.

Yunho smirks at your true colors showing.

“Then come get it,” he replies. He releases your jaw and sits back down in his chair.

You stare at him, dumbfounded. He finds amusement in knowing you had expected—hoped—for more of a fight. You shouldn’t worry, though. He hasn’t even gotten started.

When you stand between his legs, he lowers you down and shuffles you back until you’re under his desk. He adjusts the height of his chair to make sure you have enough room to please him.

“Well, baby?” he prompts, giving one of your thighs a gentle nudge with his foot.

Yunho leans back while you begin palming him through his slacks. He’s not completely hard, but he knows he’ll be so soon.

“This all you gonna do?” he huffs. “I thought you were eager for dick.”

You frown and reach for his zipper. Though before you can touch it, he grips your hand.

He gives you a pointed stare. “You better make this good after the shit you did.”

Nodding, you reach for it again, but his grip tightens.

“You forget your manners, pretty girl?” he asks.

“No, sir.”

“Then respond,” he says with a clipped tone. “Are you going to make this good?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll make up for what I did,” you answer.

He hums and lets go.

You wait a second to see if he has anything else to say before unzipping his pants and pulling them and his underwear down.

Yunho suppresses the sigh he wants to emit when you free his semi-hard cock.

This time, you don’t waste any seconds as you lean in and kiss along his thick shaft. Your eyes find his when you lower your mouth, engulfing his fat cock as much as you can.

Yunho watches your mouth stretch. He loves how big he is between your lips. He hopes your jaw aches when he’s done with you, reminding you of his size.

Your eyes close to focus on your movements while you bob your head. Your cheeks are hallowed, tongue massaging the underside of his length as you suck.

Yunho releases a throaty moan. While it feels good to have his cock sucked, he needs to remind you why he really called you into his office.

Yunho grabs your head before he abruptly thrusts his hips as he brings you down.

You gag, eyes flying open briefly, then squeezing shut as you try to endure it; however, you’re not able to. You begin to pull away, but Yunho brings you down until your nose touches his skin. He moans at feeling his cock down your tight throat.

You dig your nails into his thighs and try to lift up again.

“Ah ah ah, no you don’t, baby,” he chides, gripping your head roughly to hold you still. “Bad mouths like yours need to be punished.”

You whine, but it only makes him moan from the vibrations. He stays still for a second before he rolls his hips up continuously.

“This is what you wanted, though. My cock fucking this filthy mouth,” he grits while he keeps sliding down your throat.

Your hands on his thighs tighten, tears running down your cheeks. You try hard to focus on breathing, but he’s fucking your face so roughly you can’t even focus on that.

You’re on the verge of tapping his thigh thrice, an indicator to stop, when he pulls out. You inhale too quickly and choke on your spit.

“Easy there, doll,” Yunho hums. He relaxes his hold on your head and gives you gentle pats. You appreciate the gesture, smiling up at him with reassurance.

Yunho opens his mouth to reply when a knock interrupts him.

“Mr. Jeong, I have a quick question. Can I come in?”

Yunho recognizes the voice to be Wooyoung, one of his department heads and a friend.

Yunho glances down at you, panic evident on your face.

“Make a sound and we’re done. Understood?” he questions sternly.

“Yes, sir,” you whisper.

Yunho sits up straighter and places a hand on his mouse to appear like he is working. He leaves his other on your head.

Yunho clears his voice before calling out to Wooyoung, who enters with a smile.

“Hey, boss,” he chirps.

“What can I help you with?” Yunho asks, returning the smile.

“So, San’s team says they need another week to gather the data for the presentation that’s supposed to happen in four days, but we’ve already delayed it by five, and I don’t know if the investors are going to be happy with another reschedule. What should we do?”

All the while Wooyoung’s talking, Yunho forces your head closer. He can feel your resistance and your tightly closed lips against his tip.

Yunho moves his hand to pinch your nose, cutting off your breathing. Fuck, does he wish he could see your face. He bets you look so cute panicked.

“Why does San need more time?” Yunho questions.

The moment Yunho feels your lips part to inhale, he pushes his tip inside and releases your nose. You make a small gasp that catches his friend’s attention.

“—aren’t giving him the info he needs—you okay, Yunho?” Wooyoung asks.

“All good, Woo. I just remembered we have that company dinner later this month,” Yunho answers and taps your cheek to indicate for you to move.

Wooyoung laughs. “That has nothing to do with this issue.”

Yunho holds back his moan as you bob your head on his tip. Your tongue swirls and licks his slit heavenly.

“Sorry, man. Busy day.” Yunho chuckles.

Wooyoung nods in understanding. “So, what do I do?”

Yunho sighs, but it’s more as a response to you taking a little more of him in your warm mouth than Wooyoung’s dilemma.

“Try to get San some backup. We can pause projects that don’t have immediate deadlines. Let’s try to shorten the—” Yunho inhales sharply when he feels your teeth graze his shaft teasingly. He almost shoves his cock down your throat in retaliation, but he knows that’ll surely alert Wooyoung of your presence. And while the thought of getting caught is thrilling, he doesn’t actually want that to happen. He wants you all to himself.

“What else did you remember this time?” Wooyoung jokes.

Yunho shakes his head and forces out a laugh. “Nothing you need to know.”

He feels you smirking as you continue to silently suck him off. Fucking brat.

“Okay,” Wooyoung answers, seemingly not needing Yunho’s advice anymore. “I’ll get San more help, so if we have to delay the meeting again, it’ll only be for a day or two.”

Yunho nods, glad Wooyoung understood where he was going.

“Sounds good. Thanks for the update,” Yunho says, rubbing your head gently.

“Anytime! I hope you get some rest soon,” Wooyoung replies as he walks toward the door.

“I will.” Yunho smiles.

Wooyoung leaves with a wave, plunging the room into an eerie silence. Your movements begin slowly.

Yunho lets the clock tick a few seconds to ensure Wooyoung doesn’t return with a forgotten trouble. When he decides the coast is clear, he yanks your head forward—forcing his cock to shove down your throat.

Your yelp is muffled, and your hands claw at his thigh.

“Thought you were real smart, huh, doll?” Yunho huffs.

He slowly rolls his chair back to get a better view, keeping your face against his pelvis. You stare at him with big eyes while crawling forward.

Yunho snaps his hips up once, causing you to gag and squeeze his thighs more.

“Bet you’re soaking through your panties, hm? Want my cock in your pussy too?” he asks almost mockingly.

You nod enthusiastically, watery eyes filled with hope. He scoffs.

“Greedy fucking slut,” he grunts and bucks his hips roughly once again.

You sputter, yanking from his cock so you can fill your lungs with oxygen. He slaps his dick against your face as you pant, permitting you a moment to rest. Some of your spit that coats his dick lands on your cheek. Yunho doesn’t bother to wipe it away.

“Come on, doll,” Yunho says and pulls you closer again. “You can take this.”

Yunho doesn’t give you a chance to respond or prepare before he sinks your head down again. His movements are swift and rough, moving your head however he pleases.

“That’s it, baby,” he groans, feeling his tummy tighten with how close he is. “That’s my good little slut.”

You grip his thighs more, either for encouragement or as an attempt to pull away, Yunho’s not entirely sure. His brain is too foggy, and his only objective is to fill your small mouth with his seed.

Yunho still grips your head, but instead of moving you, he starts snapping his hips into your face. Your eyes sew shut, new tears flowing over your cheeks.

“You’re p-perfect. My perfect fuckdoll. Letting me use you how I want. Holy fuck, baby,” he rambles through frantic pants.

Yunho suddenly pulls out of your mouth and drags you up to your feet. His plan to come into your mouth changed when he got an idea.

Your hands fly back to grip his desk from the abrupt change.

He hastily lifts your skirt, pushing it into your hands until you get the message. Then, he yanks down your underwear slightly and holds it open as he rapidly pumps his cock.

White hot cum spurts onto the inside of your panties seconds later, some landing on your pussy. It pools on the fabric and dampens the material. Yunho bites his lower lip to quiet his moans, but they still rumble in the back of his throat louder than intended.

He curses and releases your underwear, the band snapping against your skin.

He falls back into his chair with his head thrown back as he lets his orgasm course through him.

You watch, unsure and overflowing with need. You want to let him have his moment, but you’re so eager to feel him inside you that you can’t wait any longer.

You take a step closer and begin to slide down your underwear.

Yunho grabs one of your hands to stop you.

“You don’t get to come.”

“W-What?” you stammer.

“I’m giving you what you want,” he coos in faux innocence. “Punishment.”

“No, please, Yunho. Please,” you beg, hands reaching out for him.

Yunho grabs both your hands but keeps you at a distance. His chest still rises and falls quickly, but when he speaks, his voice is steady.

“When you leave, you go straight back to your desk. Don’t even think about touching yourself.”

“Please, Yunho! I’m sorry I got you mad,” you say desperately. “You can do whatever you want with me—use me like your personal toy. Just let me come!”

Yunho makes no attempt to move.

“I expect you to be in my office an hour after closing. Maybe if I see you being good, I’ll fuck you nice and dumb,” he bargains and drops your hands.

You remain still, probably debating whether to beg more or accept your fate.

“You’d like that, right?” Yunho hums when you don’t answer. “No thoughts in that silly head of yours, just my cock filling your tight cunt?”

You nod with a slight frown. Your legs subtly rub together from the imagery he put in your head.

“Then go back to work and behave,” he demands.

You gulp, lingering in front of him as if he’ll change his mind.

Yunho tears his focus from you. He readjusts his clothes, raises the chair, and shakes his mouse to wake up his desktop.

In the corner of his eyes, he sees you hesitantly move away. Your walk is a little funny—no doubt from feeling his cum in your panties. Knowing he’s sending you back like that makes him smirk as he types in his login.

A/N: How do you guys like ATZ's new comeback????? I LOVE it so much! Lemon Drop is so refreshing, and do I even need to mention the visuals? Stunning. My fave song besides Lemon Drop is Castle. What's yours? ;o

©️hongcherry // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

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taegularities · 7 months ago

Text

candles & flames: downpour | jjk (m)

bonus chapter II: downpour

Summary: One knock at your door — that’s all it takes for the clouds to burst. Because when it rains, it pours.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: established relationship, royal!au; angst!!, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: ok ok – rain metaphors, mention of a traumatic past, daddy issues?, illegitimate child plot, backstories, mention of mentally abusive relationship, cheating (not between jk and oc), jk kinda a homewrecker, lies, tears, breakdowns, panic, fears, abandonment issues, craving/pining sigh, arguments and fighting, very sweet kids, dad!jk <3; explicit sexual content: oral (m. receiving, super brief f.), fingering, teasing, kissing/making out, manhandling, biting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, soft/hard sex, unprotected sex (shhh, they're married), he spills on her ass, cmnf for a bit, some aftercare; hm… the ending. ➳ wc: 31.8k ➳ a/n: alright. i courageously fought through the pain; not sure how this will go for you. we've waited quite a while for this, and all your support for this series really pushed me to no end <3 i hope this is all you guys expected it to be. take it easy with this one; love y'all sm and as always, let me know what you think 🤍 ➳ a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3 and the collaborative playlist here!

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s fall.

Orange-red, beloved, drizzling fall.

And everything falls with its emergence. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth.

You’re bummed, experiencing the prior season coming to an end again; the colours are fading and the flowers disappearing. The trees are empty; pretty but a little eerie, too.

Hana insisted on a stroll since the sun still graced you this noon; by now, it’s gone again, hidden behind grey, monochrome clouds. It looks much later than it already is; great call to march outside since you were still able to pick leftover flowers in the garden with her.

In the middle of the drawing room, Hana leafs through the basket. Jungkook is largely free today, but he’s still busying himself with papers of some guest he’s expecting tomorrow. The man wishes to open a bar in the village and asked for an appointment with the town’s royal to discuss the profitability of the idea.

Jungkook is lost in thoughts, thick eyebrows furrowed, but your eyes are scurrying across the room, settling on your daughter. She’s carefully inspecting each flower, remaining on her favourites a little longer; kneeling with pursed lips.

She resembles her father down to each smileless dimple. She’s staring down, the same shape and arch of her lips, eyes big. Whenever she finds a particularly good flower, she jumps to her little feet, walking up to Jungkook to present her choices for him to admire.

Once she reaches her last favourite, she holds it up to him with a tongue sticking out, proud and childishly joyous as she says, “This is for you.”

“For me?” he drops the papers to the table, mouth open; cautiously takes the daisy between his fingers. “Gorgeous. I thought I was not allowed to have one?”

“You can have this,” she mumbles, lisping here and now, “I have many.”

��Right. Let’s see.” He lays it onto the documents he inspected, stretching out his palms for her. Obliging, she lets him pick her up and place her on his lap, immediately pumped when he asks, “Where did you find it? Want to tell me about it?”

And she does, with sheer enthusiasm so, explaining the spot and the colours vaguely. You know Jungkook still isn’t any smarter, probably not quite remembering where the daisies grow. He prefers the field in the distance over the garden.

Concluding her story, she soon tells him, “Can you keep this? Until I am big like you?”

“Oh…” You tilt your head. Your cheeks are hot like the summer that passed, watching him blush, melting with her in his arms. “Of course! Do you want to tell me why I am getting this one?”

“It’s pretty.”

“Ah. Like you then. You’re pretty.”

And Hana, aware and oh-so-humble, responds with her eyes on her fingers, nodding, “Yes.”

They do this sometimes. Exchange pretty things. She enjoys sharing her food or her collections with him, stuff she loves. She’s learned to show affection like this; makes him and you a part of herself this way. It’s a slightly different dynamic with the others in the room, though.

Because the moment her tremendous eyes look up, they darken a shade, displeased with the little body crawling to her basket, close to reaching in. Hana wriggles and jumps off Jungkook’s lap, her voice high-pitched when she starts whining, “Nooo! Not you!”

Right. There’s that, too.

The miniscule hand almost knocking over the basket, the same eyes as his sister’s, but the expressions a lot closer to yours. The surprise in his gaze is similar to the one you see right behind him, belonging to the partner in crime.

You rush to lift the near-accomplice before Hana can reprimand them both. And he looks just like you when he stares at you in shock, not minding the warmth, hands close to his body before they settle right on your clavicles.

He averts his gaze, following the drama on the ground. And the other twin, the one he’d been hurrying to, looks like your occasionally whining self, too, when Hana reaches him.

Jungkook might have enjoyed a copy of himself in her for years now, but you got two boys with your features instead. They clutch at you at all times, much as Hana sticks to her father.

Jaehoon, clever and thoughtful, secure in your arms, and then Jaehyuk, usually radiant, on the floor. Only right now, he isn’t as cheerful anymore.

Rather devastated, startled as Hana opens the small fist crushing a flower. He ogles around with wide eyes, already breathing towards crying, and then, finally — juts out his lower lip. Seeks your attention; and when he catches your tilted, worried look, he starts weeping.

As if your presence permitted his breakdown. You sigh.

His fist is closed tight, but when Hana sharply orders again, “Let go!”, he does, scrabbling away from her. She collects her possessions with a grunt; you inch closer to her the same moment Jungkook rises from his seat on the diwan.

Lifting the crying Jaehyuk in his arms, he plants a soft kiss onto the child’s temple, shushing him with a gentle, “It is alright. Look, nothing happened.”

But Jaehyuk still buries his face in Jungkook’s chest, crying harder, actual tears this time around. Jungkook squats down to Hana with a scolding look in his eyes, one eyebrow cocked as he explains, “Suhana, it is good to share.”

She doesn’t quite look at him; throws the remainders of the demolished flower into the basket, grazing the petals. Sulking, she defends, “But he destroyed them.”

“He is little. You did this as well when you were small.”

Hana shakes her head, convinced, “I do not think that I did.”

“Ah… really?”

“I don’t destroy pretty things!”

Jungkook mimics your sigh, kneeling down, and you shift your eyes for just a moment to check on the baby in your arms. He’s the calmest in the room, observing the rest of his family with curiosity. You smile a little; he’s beautiful, so innocent, so clueless.

So empathetic.

Worried when he sees his brother still crying, not imitating his sobs, but pointing to his other half before he looks at you as if you understood. Awaiting your answer.

You did understand, actually; you often do. So you nod, telling him, “I know. Jaehyuk is a little sad.”

Jaehoon points again, and then suddenly leans forwards. You hold him tight, walking closer to the rest, and he relaxes. Happy you obliged, a finger in his mouth. You set him on the ground when Jungkook does the same with Jaehyuk, listening in as your husband tries again—

“Look. You gave me a nice flower, so give him one, too. He’s your brother, right?”

Hana hesitates. Then, “Yes.”

“Don’t you love him, too?” You hum at his words, enforcing the message. “You should give nice things to people you love.”

“Yes. But he is annoying…”

She grants her siblings a look, a little calmer when Jaehyuk sniffles. Jaehoon shifts closer to his disheartened brother, touching his hand, knees close. They can finally sit on their own now, and they use the ability to keep themselves glued to the other.

A second passes before Hana adds, “Alright, he should have one. He is too small to get his own.”

You agree, “That’s right.”

Holding two different flowers towards the now far calmer Jaehyuk — Jaehoon’s presence seems to help — she inquires, “Good, which one do you like better?”

Her voice is authoritative, the classic older sister. It affects the twins for just a moment as they blink at her; but then, Jaehyuk regards the choices presented to him — though his eyes settle on the marigold quickly.

Opting to grab it, he hits the void when Hana pulls back, shaking her head. You’re about to nag again, seated on the ground next to Jungkook, much like royals should as your sister would jest, but then hold back when Hana speaks again.

“No. Grab it from here, yes?” She hands him the stem, and he listens, takes it as carefully as a baby can. “Yes, like this.”

And then he’s raising it to his cheek, fascinated by it, touching the petals after all. Jaehoon watches quietly before his beseeching eyes drift to his sister. His plea is soundless, but she understands; says, “You can have this, Jaehoonie.”

The daisy he receives is from the same spot she plucked Jungkook’s from. Pretty things for her pretty brother. He’s not sure what to do with it, though, but he imitates the way Jaehyuk plays with it so tenderly, more than happy to accept.

You catch the smile spreading on Hana’s countenance, balanced out by her sassy little, “But you have to work for more. These are mine.”

You laugh, content, “This is good enough.” You reach out to her cheek, caressing for a moment. “Be nice to each other. They love you a lot.”

She only nods, yet baffled when Jaehoon suddenly opts for her, climbing half onto her lap. She gives in, though she can barely properly hold them yet; so she reshifts him as well as she can, placing him in front of her, between her legs.

Like this, they look through the basket; he’s kind and soft, so he doesn’t do much anyway. Just stares while Jaehyuk busies himself with the flower until he gets bored and targets the toy he abandoned minutes ago.

They’re cooing and conversing, Hana speaking, Jaehoon incoherently babbling. You’ve heard this is good, talking to your kids; apparently, they’re vocal much more later on.

But the room is filled with noises and a stack of papers, so you turn to Jungkook and suggest, “I can take them somewhere else. You’re working, so I reckoned…”

“It’s alright,” he, however, assures, “I am already done. This is rewarding, actually.”

“Isn’t it tiring?” You regard the scattered children, full of love for them, but brimming with fatigue, too. “I am so… exhausted.”

“I know. I understand that you are,” he says, grasping your hand, knuckles to his lips, “which is probably why I should stay, too.”

He gets it. You know he truly does, never just says it.

Ever since the birth of your twins, stress, anxiety and restless nights came together to an undesired mix. Barely sleeping makes you prone to headaches and mood swings; one child was already difficult to manage, but three…

You haven’t rested in years. Your skin and your eyes have changed. More tired, more sensitive, your heart a little more feeble.

And the birth wasn’t easy, either. You lost a ton of blood again, another source of Jungkook’s resurfaced panic; but this time because there were two kids at once. You feel grateful, you do — but the days and weeks after they were born were hell on Earth.

You didn’t quite feel like yourself for so long.

But their warmth and Jungkook helped. Honestly, you can’t anyhow fabricate a world without him and his support even just in theory. And beware, such love isn’t given; you’ve seen friends and relatives wade through terrible experiences.

Jungkook is a man they don’t place in every corner of the world, so you’re thankful beyond imagination.

Because you survived due to him. You live because of the humble personalities in this brightly lit room, dimmed only by the grey afternoon sky. It’s a cruel world at times; some pasts are an accumulation of everything bad. Jungkook’s more than anyone’s you know.

Looking at him now, you can hardly believe he was once the sad boy stranded in the rain.

That crying, sobbing mess, freezing, seeking peace when he was inundated by misery. But…

Things came together well, right? The world is less terrifying like this.

You guess the warmth might fall outside all the time, but it never does in these rooms.

“And?”

The answer echoes less than it did a moment ago. The peeking head is retracting just slowly, still frozen between the open door and its frame. You don’t think his eyes are spying much of concern, and he confirms it when he shakes his head, responds—

“Nothing.”

“This should be good enough then.”

“Hm, yes. I don’t know. It took hours last time, as well.”

Without a piece of context, it’s a hilarious picture. Somehow, it even is with context; so you can’t help the quiet chuckle, silencing quickly to avoid waking up the tiny bundle slumbering in your arms.

You reprimand your husband, “But you can’t keep standing there for hours.”

The sigh you receive is deep and long. You understand his worries.

It hasn’t been long anyway — the night transpired just a while ago. Still in the back of your mind since Hana waddled to your room, knocking with the might that her fist could possibly conjure; you barely heard it, but you did.

You have been a light sleeper since she was born, so you were shaken awake rather fast. You welcomed her in with softness, veiling the horror in your voice. You were devastated when you saw her feet bare, standing in the dark hallway.

Luckily, the moment turned out not quite frightening — she couldn’t sleep. That was it. So you pulled her into your arms and off the ground, stroking her back and her head, planting kisses in her hair.

It took a while to lull her to sleep; to be certain, you kept her right next to you for the remainder of the nightly hours, even though her room was next door. She’d mumbled something about a poor bird, and you’d understand only minutes after her silence that she had seen a dead pigeon in the garden that day.

The nightmare this scene called forth prevented her from sleeping comfortably in her chamber for some days to come.

Jungkook had come to bed late that time, so he was long knocked out when Hana came. The regret doubled the next morning when you told him about the occurrence, and Jungkook blamed himself for the coming hours — only, the guilt extended. Still prominent.

Because he’s still glancing out, fearing she’ll come and knock again; fearing it might go unnoticed once more.

“I would hear it,” you reassure, “I always will.”

“What if you don’t?”

“I will,” you try again; you keep your voice low, soft, understanding his string of thoughts. But you miss him next to you, and you want the door to close. You insist, “I will, love. Don’t blame yourself for not hearing it, yes? You were tired.”

Jaehoon moves in your arms, a small fist loosening. He’s fast asleep, but you still wait before you speak again, assuring that he won’t wake up again. Jungkook must be thinking the same, because only once you sigh a breath of relief, he says, “You are tired, too. Don’t undermine your importance here—”

“Just come to bed, darling.”

Interrupted, his lips morph into a pout, round eyes regarding you for a moment. But it seems you render him at least a little delicate, aware of your effect on him, tilting your head by a few degrees. Your smile must be jarring; because the second you flash it, he gives in.

The door shuts behind him, and he offers an upward twitch of his mouth in response before he asks, “Would you reckon she’s too young to have her own room?”

“Perhaps… I don’t always feel very comfortable with her absence at night either. We have gotten too used to her, haven’t we?” You shake your head as he steps towards your side of the bed. “But she wanted this so bad.”

“Hmm… good thing she spends half of all her nights here anyway.”

“True. She got too used to us, as well,” you say before sitting up, eliciting a brief groan as you prepare yourself to put Jaehoon back in his crib. You can barely stand up; your body is exhausted, begs to stay in the resting state for now. “Alright then…”

But by then Jungkook’s helping hands are already reaching out, his back arching, bowing forwards. Carefully, sweetly, he mutters a little, “No, let me—” before he’s sheltering his son in his hold, slow and gentle as he tackles the task for you.

For a minute, he remains there, standing over the crib, gazing at the babies so peacefully dreaming away. He does this sometimes — lose himself in the sight. This is a fairytale for him. When he read all those books on parenting years ago, he didn’t think it’d come this easily to him.

Not that parenting has ever been particularly easy. Tears and arguments were frequent at points in time, but so were sacrifices and compromises. You knew what such a change did to a vulnerable heart and mind, so you fought through the difficulties with courage.

And it was worth it every single time. All in all, you don’t regret a thing; you’d repeat it all if you could. Jungkook is your dream; this life is your dream.

Never ceased to be.

Even now, as he returns to the bed and jumps under the blanket, you register an odd, sparkly feeling in your tummy. It always existed underneath, never diminished or decreased. Ever-so-present, you still cherish its intensity, even after all these years. Or perhaps because of the time that has passed.

Such passion isn’t a matter of fact. You know it isn’t.

Triggered by the funny, pleasant feeling in your body, your smile grows a little. Softer and more loving when he kisses your shoulder as if to greet you. Proceeds to place his head on your chest as his arms snake around your body, settling in his very own safe space.

“Are you feeling well?” his drowsy voice questions, just a little muffled as the lips graze your gown’s cotton.

“I am. You?”

“Just cold. I need a bit more of this,” he cuddles in, kissing underneath your breasts, right above your ribs. “It has been raining so much.”

“It has been indeed.”

“But,” he shifts, closer to you, “I’ve learned to appreciate it now.”

You chuckle. Time steadily passes, but some memories stay right at their assigned spots, like an immovable anchor. You’re proud, having replaced his terrifying images of nature’s showers with fond ones. And ever since, the rain has felt closer to you, too.

“That is something, then,” you say, “I’m just sad for the kids… they can’t stay out too long without feeling under the weather. If I could, I’d show them the sky all the time, too.”

“And how we’re connected to it?”

You laugh again; you wonder if he’s feeling warmer now. You’re inundated with the heat, at least. “Yes, this.”

His grip tightens just a little, a fragile attempt to draw you deeper into him. This is all the laws of physics allow — no gap left for him to close. Yet, he tries. His kiss wanders up as he raises his head, lips missing your clavicles by a bit; thumb stroking the side of your mounds.

“Love,” he calls quietly; when your eyes move to his, you see a change in them. They’re fog-shrouded and somehow questioning. “Do you feel tired?”

You’re surprised; you expected something else. The question doesn’t match his expression.

For a moment, you assume that your answer might serve a bigger purpose, so you weigh it back and forth before you decide on a straightforward, “Less than usual. It’s been so long since we fell asleep together.”

Maybe that’s what’s keeping you awake. Maybe that’s what he wants to hear.

Because he nods fervently against your breasts, cheek pressing against them, and agrees, “It has been. Yet, do you know it has been only three days in reality?”

Oh. Dang. You guess there is no true limit to your mutual obsession. You shrug, “Feels much longer.”

“Well, in that sense…” Warm digits touch your arm, circling your elbow and then travelling up your skin. “There is one good thing about Hana sleeping in the other room, yes? We’re alone for once.”

“Unless she once again catches us in the middle of—”

“Don’t remind me.”

You giggle, but the sound dies when he pushes his palm under your short gown sleeve, caressing your shoulder and then the lower part of your neck. Angling your head, you close your eyes, somehow spitting, “Are you planning something, Sir?”

His leg moves further over your own; there’s a growing firmness between them that you can’t ignore. He teases, “Sir? Now, that is new.”

“Mmh, do you like it?”

“Admittedly, it is somewhat odd, but… it’s still something.”

“Then, what is going on now?”

“Well, it’s… very boring to talk about it. Lemme just—”

The palm covering your tits is sudden, but the mouth exploring them isn’t. You felt the touch from miles away, satisfied and alight when his teeth graze over your perked nipple. His hand, restless, works on pushing down your nightgown to bare one side, and he’s…

Impatient, as you’ve known.

His tongue is hot and soft, the tip of it merely teasingly brushing over the freed nipple as his hand pushes your tit up, further into his face and towards his mouth. You sigh. He sets fire to your nerves; you feel each of the licks affecting your body.

Then, amidst the comfortable, sweet journey, he suddenly bites.

You gasp, followed by a tiny exclaim of an, “Ouch,” and work on playfully escaping his advances — to no avail. He laughs against your bud, his hands stronger than your dishonest attempt as they pin your arms to the mattress.

His eyes are evil, an eyebrow cocked, lips parted as he breathes, “What?”

“You’re about to lose it again. I can see it!”

“Ah… do you— do you not want me to?” He’s still in a daze, his words mumbled. He moves back just a little, wondering if you’re not quite where he is tonight. But you shake your head the moment he suggests, “I’ll hold myself back if I need t—”

“Oh, can you?”

You’re smiling, so he’s quickly encouraged to offer a grin of his own; honestly admits, “No… but I will for you.”

“You will for me?” The everlasting beam on your face is inevitable; how could you keep your cool, pretend you’re not thoroughly warmed when he says things like these? “While I appreciate how thoughtful you are… I’m not a fool.”

Not a fool. I won’t decline.

“Then… May I kiss you?”

“You’re asking so politely, how could I—”

There’s no time to reject, even if you wanted to. His kiss is abrupt and hard, though his lips still refrain from any aggression just yet. He lifts his hands from next to your head to above it, dragging your captive arms with them.

As his head tilts, deeper in the kiss, his tongue mingles with yours with a tempting hum so unique to his voice — as if he’s tasting a delicatesse. Your mouths are in main action, but both your bodies are reacting in their entirety, too.

In constant motion, winding, closing in.

His upper body urges you down until you’re flat on your back; the nightgown settles back over your tits again as you move, but he grabs your flesh above the clothing, kneading. Clumsily, with his eyes still shut, he attempts to unlace the front of your gown.

You wait for his intention to manifest into reality, readily letting his palm brush over your hot skin, your neck, your jaw. But once he opts to undress you fully, your patience dwindles, and you let him know, “I don’t want to wait this time.”

“Ah, alright, alright… This is how we’re doing things tonight?”

Your poor dress will be wrinkled up by the morning; you know by the way he’s hiking it up your leg this time, stopping at your waist, force of habit. There’s a satisfying, delighted smile on his face, mixing with a pleased sound when he discovers you’re bare underneath the gown—

And it seems it motivates him more rapidly to tug at his own trousers. You nod as if to encourage him further, hands seeking out the hem of his pyjamas. But you’re as useless from this angle as can be.

So he sits upright, slipping out of it, pushing it down his thighs until it’s wrapped around his knees. He’s no better, really; just as naked, just as uncovered underneath the trousers, as if the two of you planned this, or hoped for this.

Kneeling, he pushes your legs apart, spreading until your flexibility stops. He settles between them properly, leaning down, and uses the position to kick off the rest of his disruptive trousers. The length of his cock, as unbelievable as ever and quickly hardening, presses against your damp cunt — bliss for the moment, but torture for the next.

The way his cock dips between your folds and rubs along your pussy’s growing dampness feels almost deliberate. As if he’s tormenting you, demonstrating his power over you, stiff past your hole and up your tiny clit without ever diving in.

But you won’t lie — you could probably come from this alone. It’s embarrassing, being so weak in his presence. And the filthy sounds, wet and inappropriate, don’t help a bit.

So you’re not sure whether you’re relieved or agitated when the touch finally vanishes but his mischievous smile doesn’t. It’s somewhat weak, hindered by the lust clouding his brain, but it’s insane and misbehaved either way.

He’ll kill you one day; or you might kill him. You don’t know who might end up asserting the more hazardous dominance.

For now, it’s you who’s surrendering. How could you not, considering he’s conjuring his own battle plan right above you, hand reaching between his and your legs and underneath the blanket to—

Damn the tip of the digits against your clenching cunt. He’s not even inside, but you react immediately. Know to bite your lower lip when he circles your clit a little, the position and the spread legs keeping you from shutting your thighs.

Your head falls to the side; Jungkook considers it an opportunity. He plays around your nub further, testing the waters, and when you moan out, he closes the gap between the two of you, latching onto your neck to suck and kiss and bite.

“Fuck,” you curse, incessantly hoping the kids are deeply asleep and won’t have to witness their mother’s foul language this early on. “Fuck, start already—”

He knows you aren’t talking about his fingers; they’re already in action, tapping your clit, drawing over it. Then moving down, slipping along your wetness, already drenched when he decides to ram a finger in.

Yet, he understands you’re still referring to the member standing tall, anticipating and urging for you but holding back either way. No, instead he chooses to drive you crazy first, using a free hand to grab your chin and turn your head back to him, going for another messy kiss.

And you can’t do more than give yourself to him so willingly, wincing and whimpering as he finger-fucks you as well as the position allows. It’s not ideal like this, and to your chagrin, he can’t use his skills fully, but the fact that he can turn your thoughts this incoherent speaks volumes already.

You can’t wait… can’t wait for him to bury himself in you.

Half hovering over you, he soon loses the strength to keep himself afloat, dipping and retracting his fingers to lead his cock there instead; still, once again, without fucking you dumb yet. You’re drifting, but still too sane for your liking.

Your wetness helps him toy with you some more; he keeps pumping with his hand as he humps you once, twice, and you mutter his name and a couple mumbled pleas — but he remains as wicked as ever.

But when the dam breaks and your mind explodes, you exclaim his name again in pure desperation, half your brain gone when he pushes just his tip inside you and continues jerking off to make himself as hard as he can.

Eventually, you demand, “Put it in!”

The shake of his head is vile. Your eyebrows furrow at the man, and you try to grind up into him — he doesn’t let you. Only the head remains inside you, and he keeps doing his thing, not leading it in or out, just drenching himself.

You reprimand, “You’re being impossible tonight.”

“Aren’t I?” he responds, like a naughty child who’s caught and proud of its sins. He presses another peck to your lips, his words breathy when he reveals his true thoughts, “No, sweetheart, it is just that— you aren’t ready. That’s it.”

You aren’t ready? You feel like you’re overflowing. But you understand; there’s no room for impatience after all. It’s happened before — him pushing in, only to realise it was too early, that it pained you instead of pleasuring you.

“Well…” you start, dumbfounded. He noticed and you didn’t — the ultimate proof that he knows you inside out. “You could’ve said this earlier. Put it in my mouth then.”

“Huh?”

“Right now. This will help, too.”

“Oh… yes? I— I won’t reject the offer.”

Of course he won’t. In fact, he climbs up the bed quickly, lifting, caging your body between his knees. The sight is incredible; thighs as wide as your face, muscular. You hold onto them, bask in the sight of the dangling package, harder by the moment.

With effort, he says, “Just for a second.” The tip taps against your mouth, hot as he pushes it inside. Thick and heavy on your tongue, his cock twitches, affected by the swirl of the wet muscle and the hollowing of your cheeks. “Yes… not long, no—”

He must be talking to himself. Keeping himself from thrusting and fucking your mouth all the way to the end. And when you bop your head up and down, lightly touching his balls and the parts of the length you can’t swallow, he restates, “I really do not want to wait.”

You let go for a moment with a slurping sound, agreeing, “Fine by me,” before you come back to go in harder. Giving him all you can, crossing your legs, seeking reprieve.

And you think you’d quickly overflow, by virtue of his enticing reactions, if the moment wasn’t so short lived.

Because it seems he reaches a limit when your drool starts flowing down the side of your face, nasty and warm, your throat still working full time on not gagging. On staying quiet. It’s become a task by now.

And for the first time tonight, Jungkook doesn’t serve the devil, but pulls back.

While it’s a pity — why didn’t he finish in your mouth? — you won’t deny your selfish part. The one that craves and awaits, glad when his body disappears beneath the sheets again, his head with it.

What—

Won’t he start? You didn’t expect him to fall out of your sight entirely. And there’s not much guessing needed until you understand that he’s aiming for his favourite spot, his tongue lapping up your juices a moment later.

He kisses your cunt just once, slides a stripe between your folds, and you’re certain his goal is much more profound. Normally, you’d be fully down for this, but you’ve reached a limit you can’t bear anymore.

So you whisper, “You don’t need to.”

He doesn’t register it right away, spitting and feasting further; more kisses, more tongue, untamed until you grip his hair and raise his head off of you. He obliges surprisingly easily when you pull him back to your lips, reiterating, “I don’t want to fucking wait. Just…”

“I know,” he says, peck after peck, in between each word, “I know. I have had enough, too, I have—”

His arm steals your breath when he twines it around your body like a vine, arching your back, lifting you by mere inches. Both his hands are busy; caressing your sides or your face; he’s confident about the touch, about the eagerness the two of you harbour for each other.

Which is why he doesn’t even guide his length towards your pleading heat anymore, gliding up and down; hard enough to stand tall against it, poking as if knocking. The thought makes you laugh for only a moment before your lungs suddenly empty—

Part of his cock slips in effortlessly; there’s no resistance, no struggle, no need to glance down and complicate matters. You welcome him easily; match his smirk, proud and unsurprised about your keen craze when he says, “Wasn’t supposed to happen already. I wanted another moment to—”

You vigorously shake your head. “Too late. Too damn late—”

The last word comes out strained as your body comes in motion, moving against him. And he matches your pace and fervour, shoving himself in harder. Unable to resist anymore, all the teasing vanishes along with his patience.

Instead, he bottoms out at once, and you yelp, an unintentional volume that he immediately shuts with a hand over your mouth and a chuckle. Jungkook enjoys playing the beast when he’s with you like this, but he can’t suppress his amusement when he shushes you.

“Are y-you trying to wake the mansion, huh?”

But his words are nothing but a breath, airy and quiet. Such a whistling whisper that it, much as your noise, might just be enough to wake everybody, too. The irony is comical.

You shake your head and his hand with it, relying on your nose to breathe the oxygen still left in the room. Your neck feels hot, your face and body burning up. Not quite sure whether it’s the way he’s handling you or whether your leg is actually trembling like this.

His strokes, slowly starting, shake up your body at least. The friction drives you insane; his length, reaching a mind-boggling depth, renders you so stupid each time. Thick against your walls, leaving no gap, no spot untouched.

You’re boiling under his hand, somehow glad about the muffled sound. Because if he didn’t silence you like this, you’d be wreaking havoc right here, an unbridled mess wrapped in your husband’s body.

They say love and passion fade sometimes; that affection lessens when you get used to it, bored of it. But the two of you haven’t reached that stage yet — you doubt you ever will.

Because the flames that have surrounded you ever since you fell into these depths for the other… they don’t ever seem to dim. Who would’ve thought that a candle could turn into an inferno?

No, your body signals more than enough; this isn’t boredom. This isn’t a reduction in adoration. You feel the devouring and the worship in each thrust and touch and kiss and gaze.

In each curse and movement, how he shifts you and you wind. Dancing in the sheets and shivering under the goosebumps as he hears your stifled moans drowned out by his palm. If he could, he’d listen all day; if the circumstances allowed…

He rams into you hard but slowly and only raises the pace gradually; once he’s gotten used to the effect, however, and seeks to possess you more, he sends your body up the sheets. Each time, over and over again, restraint thrown overboard.

You mewl with a raised head and tightly shut eyes; his hand drops just a little, and you, in your misty moment, dig your teeth into the finger still covering your lower lip. The sound he lets out suggests pain here, but then again… lust there.

His voice is feathery, mellow; as if he’s softly charmed, seduced rather than achingly bitten.

Lips apart and eyes hooded, he relocates his hand just a little, twisting it until the thumb grazes your chin, hand laying on your cheek as the forefinger dips into your mouth. It’s difficult to focus; what does he look at?

The way his digit is gently trapped between your teeth, the tip of it teased by your tongue? The arch of your mouth and how his finger presses against the lower lip? Or the heat that grows under his palm, the rise of your chin, the eyes rolling back before shutting?

A feral urge expands in him, growing like a well-watered seed; he doesn’t know how you do it, but you encapsulate all his beginnings and ends in a moment, now and always.

Your hair is a mess by the time he removes his other hand from it, not quite sure when he grabbed a patch at all. He pins one of your legs to the side, angling it, and you breathe unsteadily, mumbling a tiny, “Oh— Kook—”

“Yes.”

It’s not quite a dialogue, but neither of you cares for it. There isn’t much to say at all. And neither any calls of his or your name, nor his quiet, “I love you so much,” do the emotion bubbling in his stomach justice.

In all honesty, he could explode just looking at you. You’re a wonder of nature, aren’t you? You pump relief and craze and comfort and insanity into him, one after another and all at once.

“Baby,” you call out the moment his teeth drag your damn gown down your tits again, kissing them, nibbling at your nipple. “I think I might already— soon…”

You don’t know whether it’s because it’s been so long, or because Jungkook knows just well how to fuck you right, but you’re nearly bursting. Or is it the mental picture of the movements he’s granting you?

Elegant yet beastly thrusts, hips and ass and upper body swaying up and down steadily; slow, then fast, then soft, then hard… rhythmic and then stuttering—

He wipes the hair off your forehead, and then whispers warm and close to your ear, “Hey, do you… know how obsessed I am with you?” A peck to your earlobe, and you wind, ticklish and pleased. He shifts to your lips, the kiss an inch away. “You—you’re all I’ll ever need.”

You can’t serve as much of a smooth and rational answer as him, but you still tell him all lost, “Then— be with me… me, always, yes?”

He chuckles; you’re not sure why. Perhaps this is such a matter-of-fact for him that he doesn’t need it spelled out. “Yes… yes. What else? Where else would I go?”

Away from you — even for a moment, even just a bit. Right now, you can’t bear the thought of a hint of a distance between the two of you. You want him close, closer, part of your heart, thawing with you in cool falls and cold winters.

“You’re pretty,” he then proceeds, tugging at your lip, “don’t know where to touch you. So pretty.”

“Everywhere. Just don’t stop— touching me,” you begin, every now and then interrupted by an exhausted kiss, “at all.”

“Right.” And still, he backs away out of the blue, all touch gone except the gentle rub along your hip, and you stare up at him with big eyes, body so empty before he orders, “Turn around.” He’s acting tough, but you see the madness in his eyes the moment he says it. “Quickly.”

Quickly.

You know what he’s thinking without him vocalising any of it. Know what he’ll do before he does it.

With quivering limbs, you oblige, helped by his hands as he hauls the gown easily over your body, crumpling it up and placing it next to the pillow. Within a moment, you’re bare, head to toe.

He keeps you on your knees, reluctant to wait a second before he enters you again. His hand lands on your ass, pulling apart to see better, and once all in, he starts moving again.

You don’t need to glance back to know that the muscles of his back and his ass are flexing, tanned and golden. The veins of his arms are probably protruding, his abs and chest damp, latter heaving. You know he probably resembles some textbook God, and maybe that’s what topples you over the edge.

That and… the hand on your clit.

Softly circling, the nub immensely sensitive, limbs buckling and weak. You require all your might to not fall and close your legs and sob.

But the tears are inescapable; one or two tip over your waterline when you finally come to an end. His prior teasing and the anticipation already drove you too close to the peak, and it seems that now you’re surrendering eventually.

You shake, your arms more so than the rest of your body. Wobbly, you try to keep yourself upright, but as the blur covers your vision and the waves crash over your pelvis and stomach, you let your cheek fall to the pillow. Hands clutch the sheets.

The tremor is out of control.

And you’re still riding out that high, aided by his continuing shoves and hammering. He’s generous when he pushes you all the way down, a hand on the small of your back as he says, “Take your time— I’m almost there, fu—”

Take your time with what? You don’t know; the chances are high he doesn’t either. Or is he talking to himself again?

To no avail, though, because he’s manic, uncurbed. Your cheek digs into the pillow, the bed moving more than it has during these moments lately. He’s chasing ecstasy, calling your name and little words, such as, “Love, sweetheart, darling,” over and over again like it’s his sole vocabulary.

His lips move over your shoulder and to your back, featherlight as opposed to how he’s fucking you. The care with which he kisses your skin leaves you gasping, affects you whole, and you feel the shiver down your spine, along your arms.

You want to stay awake all night. Want this to keep going.

Funny, how this very thought is followed by a question you neither expect nor grasp, “Have I… kissed you too much already? Are you sick of it?”

You think your eyebrows furrow, or perhaps you imagine it, because there is no way your facial muscles still have that much energy left. But he must be out of his mind, daring such questions. Is there such a thing as getting sick of him?

“Why—”

This man never lets you finish. There is an art to interrupting without irritating, and he’s mastered it — because you can barely complain when his hand wraps around your neck, cautiously lifting and turning your head to make out with you again.

The tongue sneaks into your mouth right away; the kiss is barely a kiss, too filthy and chaotic to be called such. Rather, you’re eating each other up, mixing your moans, crazed by his drilling until his breaths turn laboured and his sounds hoarse.

They come straight out of his throat, sweet in your ears. And before you know it, he’s getting to his knees and rapidly pulling out; you feel vulnerable and tender, thoroughly worn out. The heat is blistering and your mind gone — but you still notice the ropes landing on your ass.

Sticky and hot and plenty. Scattered over your flesh; you contribute some, too, moving your ass left and right just a little, and it seems he’s enjoying it. Groans as he pumps on; when you look back at him, eyes halfway closed, you give him the rest.

And a couple seconds later, tongue poking the corner of his lips, he’s done.

Panting, whispering something you can’t understand, weak… but done. Close to falling onto you until he realises he probably shouldn’t.

Instead, he lays down next to you. Your eyes are closed, but you immediately feel a loving brush over your cheek, ridding it of the strands sticking to your face.

You shake your head — or at least, you think you do. It’s probably more of an attempt, just a slight movement before you playfully scold, “Great… what do we do about this now?”

Jungkook swallows, calming down as he responds, “Over there— there’s a jug of water on the table still.”

“…And?”

“I will go and find a cloth?”

The careful question in his tone is so sweet. You’re not sure if he intended to stain your skin like this before the lust took over him. What a fool for you. Enough to barely ever think of the consequences, be they big or small.

In this sense, you could say that falling for you happened without a single thought for him, too, didn’t it?

He was chasing a different plan. Didn’t fathom that he was losing himself in you. And when he did, he didn’t consider the aftereffects and the risks of what his uncle had come up with; Jungkook didn’t care much about anything at all but being with you.

He’s told you many times.

Back when you hid in that room, or touched in the carriage — in those fleeting moments, the future didn’t consist of what his relatives needed, but of what he could give to you. Who he could be to you.

In hindsight, he was so in love with you. Looking at your relationship, you can’t compare the affection you started out with for each other with the overload of passion now, but… goddamn, he was so in love with you. You know.

And the truth is that no matter what obstacles life may place on your road ahead, neither of you will love the other less than the minute before.

You laugh when you meet his big, brown eyes, asking, “Is there any cloth in this room?”

“I… I think I brought one before. Should be on the table…”

“Might be good enough.”

“Or I can get one from the kitchen.”

You scoff. “You want to sneak around the mansion now? Really?” You lift your upper body, balancing it on your arms, catching him as he licks his lips at the sight of your bouncing tits. You nod towards the table. “That will do. Go and free me from your stuff.”

“Tsk. Good.”

You were right; his idea sufficed. And the kids are still asleep — a double win for you. In theory, you’re ready to crash for the night, succumbing to fatigue. But the truth is that only your body feels spent; your brain doesn’t just yet.

So as Jungkook wipes over the flesh of your ass, you confess, “I’m still not tired enough.”

“Mmmh, me neither.”

“…So what now?”

He falls back to his side with another grunt, throwing the dirty cloth to the floor. You reach out, grazing his chest, playing with the cotton he’s still sporting. He probably knows what you’re hinting at, despite being already battered, but he ignores your advances just to—

“Mh-mh,” he rejects, “I want to talk. I just… I need to hear your voice for a bit.” He stops the finger on his chest, raising your hand to his lips, and kisses each knuckle. Dramatically, he adds, “What would I do without your voice?”

You ponder. Then jest, “Still hear it in your mind somewhere.”

“Yes, very true. I still always do in the office.”

You laugh, so gripped by the emotions stuck to your heart. “So, what would you like me to say?” He shrugs, an indicator for, “Anything.” So you ask, “Would you like me to tell you a story?”

“Yes… story. Yes, tell me one.”

“I can think of one right away. Sort of a lullaby.”

“So it’s got to be a good one,” he says as he covers you with the thick blanket. An arm over you pulls you closer to him. “Right?”

Your eyes drift to the window. You’re lucky, sleeping in a bedroom with a view. Jungkook’s office has one, too, but Hana’s room, while next door, doesn’t. You’re at the far end of the corridor and this mansion’s wing, risking much, so exposed.

Perhaps you’ll move your room to a safer place in the mansion soon. But for now, you’re grateful for the sky, the stars, the moon. The pouring cloudburst.

Jungkook might have caught your distraction; because he wraps one of your hair strands around his finger, inquiring, “May I guess?… Is it a story about the fall and the rain?”

Your lips twitch upward to a smile. Flooded by past pictures, you refuse to end the night, preparing for a concluding tale as you say—

“How did you know?”

When it knocks at your chamber door the next sunrise, you could swear you haven’t slept more than a handful of hours. The exhaustion weighs on your eyes and muscles, body limp as you stir awake. Your voice is still hoarse.

So you’re startled.

Not just because it’s early or because of the interrupted, peaceful slumber; and not just because there’s a knock at the grand, adorned door, either. In reality, it occurs regularly — for Jungkook and his work, or to remind you of your children’s riding and violin lessons, or to inform you of the arrival of guests.

This time it’s the latter. Yet, you’re alarmed, not even because of the guest, but because it’s Sunday, and you don’t usually expect a visitor on Sundays — unless, perhaps, something is transpiring down in the village that needs your urgent assistance.

But — these things are rare. People here regard it as their rest day, too. It’s why you wake up drowsy and confused, ready to sleep the fatigue off and hoping it’s nothing too grave. Squinting an eye shut, you glance at the longcase clock in the corner of your room.

Seven in the morning.

You register a mumble of a voice next to you, low and gravelly, welcoming the staff inside who, a second later, informs, “Visitor for you, Lord Jeon.”

Jungkook sighs. A hand emerges from under the heavy, floral blanket, rubbing his tired, puffy eyes. He hums in gratitude, telling the informant he’d be downstairs in a minute; and when the young man has stepped away, Jungkook half turns to you.

His voice is still husky and half asleep when he gently wipes a strand behind your ear and says, “Go back to sleep. Might be Byun for the boxing ring. I should be back in a little.”

You only nod, moving his cradling hand with it. You can barely speak, fighting the urge to yawn. Frankly, you wouldn’t know what you’d be uttering anyway, though your mind is still present enough to understand that he’s kissing your knuckles and then leaving his side empty.

Falling back into the mattress, you once again hope for a speedy get-together on the floor down below; but when you awake again, the clock indicates the passing of over a full hour. The bed is still half vacant.

You wonder what’s going on, gradually cracking your eyes open to the ceiling until your brain fathoms well enough that a meeting this early shouldn’t take so long, and that anyway, there’s no reason for a business visitor to come by this soon into the day.

So you clear your throat, sitting up at the edge of the bed. You wrap yourself in your gown and your silk coat, arms folded as if to protect yourself. It’s just cold; a chill autumn day.

And as you walk down the staircase, you hear faint chattering from the main hall, like a tiny whisper from here. There’s only some staff in the welcoming hallway, but they’re guarding the parlour. That’s where the voices are coming from.

Nobody hinders you from entering the room when you do. Of course not; there’s no reason to.

But the atmosphere is still oddly charged when you step in, meeting Jungkook’s pale face from afar. You blame it on the sleepless night, just as much as the somewhat dark circles under his eyes.

Still, it gets weirder as you near; because he’s looking at somebody who has their back turned to you. A woman with long black hair, gazing down; and when Jungkook detects you, he looks terrified.

Uprighting himself, blinking, drawing a breath too deep to not worry.

You automatically assume the worst; bad news from the city? Some issues in the village? Or a girl trying her charm on your husband? Wouldn’t be the first time.

You round the chair she made herself comfortable on; and your surprise increases, skyrocketing when you notice that she didn’t come alone. There’s a child next to her. Proper and sweet, certainly older than Hana.

His hands are neatly folded in his lap, hair combed back. He’s just listening, it seems, to whatever they spoke about. And his face… his face looks familiar somehow; as does the girl’s, yet in an entirely different way.

“Good morning,” you greet the woman and she responds with a nod. “Is everything alright?” you finally ask, turning to Jungkook, a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t come back.”

But Jungkook doesn’t answer. Your heart grows a little more wary. Because, why is he so speechless? Why does he look scared, eyes wide, chest risen, as if he’s holding his breath? Blinking faster.

The woman is back to staring at her legs, shifting her hand to grip the little one next to her; and the boy looks like he doesn’t want to be here at all. At the same time, however, he starts to admire the fancy interior of your mansion.

The lustre, the floor, the table, the chairs. Everything you’ve grown used to.

“What is wrong?” you try again. Panic watered by Jungkook’s lack of response, you gulp, but still steady yourself and remain polite. “May I ask… who are you?”

You’re looking at the woman again. She glances up to you. She’s gorgeous — full and curved lips, light brown eyes, pitch black hair. Looks young; about your age. She doesn’t answer, but Jungkook’s quivering voice does.

“This is Jihyo, darling.”

Well, alright. Doesn’t tell you much. You’ve seen her, maybe even heard the name, you think. Is she from your town? But you can’t assign her any significance…

“What does this mean?” you inquire.

“She… She wanted to talk to me,” he explains, “she came all the way from a village close to our hometown.”

“Ah. To say what, exactly?”

You don’t want to sound agitated; but the suspense is growing unnecessarily, and you want whatever truth out. And honestly—

The tension forms a little something in your head. Not enough time has passed for him to properly answer, but you still repeat, “To say what?!”

You feel like you have a hunch… you’re starting to come up with theories. And the worst of them dizzy you, make you want to yell and throw up, tempting you to smash a nearby vase.

Did he… could he do this to you…

No.

“Jihyo and I knew each other… way before you and I got married. Way before.”

He echoes the last two words as if to reassure you; like the verbal equivalent of a soft hand on your back, rubbing you in comfort. But… the tactic doesn’t quite bear fruits. Your chest tightens more; the fatigue of the morning eventually fades.

“And?” you prompt, regarding her. “Why aren’t you saying anything then?”

“I have… to him. I—I do not quite know if it is my place to—”

“No, it is not,” you interrupt, “maybe you’re right. My husband should explain, no?”

But he’s stuttering as much as her. You don’t lose your patience often with him, or with people for that matter. You’re a cheerful person, fuelled by the miracles of the world. But…

This is pulling out your worst self.

“I—” he starts.

Terrified. What the hell is going on? You wait — wait more as he swallows. And then, when he drops the explanation, your heart falls with it. Bursts, plummeting from such a height.

“Jihyo and I met for a while and… she just came and told me that this… he’s—”

You understand.

You understand immediately because your guts warned you the moment you saw his expression. You look back and forth between him, her and the child, realising the similarities once and for all, well aware from experience why similarities are a thing in a family and…

You can barely hear yourself emit the words once they tumble out; like your voice isn’t your voice, and your thoughts aren’t your thoughts, “This… is your son?”

Like you’re living somebody else’s day who’s about to trudge through a life-changing, agonising event. Because this can’t be happening to you. Actually, it’s not sinking in at all; you’re fantasising, and you refuse to believe reality.

“Jihyo says he is my son,” he paraphrases, as if he doesn’t really believe her, either, “he’s uhm. He’s six years old.”

Your mind begins to calculate immediately. Sudden dread fills you — because wait. Weren’t you together at that time? Did Jungkook hide from you, lingering in the dark, and yet another past is catching up to the two of you?

No. Hold on once more.

You got married to him five years ago. Were engaged and together for a year before. That makes six. You curl in the fingers in your mind, keeping up your math.

It’s been wrong all along, so you need to be correct this time.

Okay, so, if her — no, his, their son was born six years ago, it’d mean that Jungkook had been with her not too long before you. That’s not way before you got married, is it?

Your breath hitches. You blink the way he did before — not sure what to do or say. Your eyes move over to the rosy cheeks of the child again. He looks so innocent, still clueless, even though he perfectly understands what Jungkook just said.

Who the man is to him.

Of course. Same doe eyes, button nose, shape of face; like a damn copy. Not that the truth hurts enough, no — it had to be accompanied by another of his faces. Not in your own sons, somewhat in your daughter, but in him.

But you guess everybody is confused.

Even Jungkook. Most of all Jungkook, right?

Jihyo says he is my son.

Why? Does he not realise it?

That must mean he didn’t know, did he? And the child didn’t know either.

Jeon Jungkook, your husband of half a decade, has a son he never knew of. Older than Hana. Predating all of your history with him, alive and a toddler already back when you so profoundly believed that you were the first to share this very bond with this man.

To be the first for him at least once. But…

You’re not.

“Say something,” you hear him plead.

His voice is a little farther away. Your eyes drift back to him; he looks miserable, a hand reaching out. His fingers graze the tip of yours, but you retract in time. He sighs in absolute sorrow, face falling, as if his chest is surrendering.

You barely whisper when you answer, “What do you want me to say?”

It’s him and you; the woman is quiet, and you’re shattering. She can’t do anything anyway. Only contorts her face in pure guilt when Jungkook, defeated to the core, begs, “Anything.”

“As you wish.” Another glance at her. She’s looking at you, too. “Why are you here now?”

Her eyebrows raise; she’s caught off guard, but she still has an answer ready. Of course; Jungkook heard all of it minutes before you are, so it must be easy.

“I… I haven’t been doing well. The man I was supposed to marry left when he found out I carried somebody else’s child… even— even before that, actually.” Jungkook breathes air through his lips as she explains; you can’t tell why. “And I need help. Any help.”

“I see… And you couldn’t come years earlier, I assume? When I didn’t have three children of my own?” You lift the corresponding number; your cheeks are fiery hot. “When there was nobody I’d have to explain this to? How…”

You shake your head, disgusted with your attitude, but more devastated by the situation. So you spit, “How selfish are you?”

Her mesmerising eyes are so big; with her and Jungkook’s lives combined, their son could only end up with these grossly sweet eyes, pupils fracturing your heart. She’s looking at you as if you’re about to eat her.

Then she apologises, “I’m sorry… I tried to get by for as long as I could.”

“Didn’t you know we have a family?!”

“I knew! I— Of course I knew.”

Jungkook is royalty; people in your city know the two of you. Know your story. You wonder what this will do to you both.

“And,” you continue, “you still thought it’d be a good idea to bring chaos to our home.”

“I did not wish for this at all,” she defends, “I felt terrible all the while, and… I was so desperate, please try to understand. I need something, anything and… If his father can provide any of it in any way…”

His father… his father…

You might spiral. The same thoughts circle your head at a pace that might make you faint.

This woman. This child. And his father.

You can’t breathe.

So you don’t respond to the sheer idiocy she just uttered, still in disbelief; the denial will be over in a minute. But for now, it hurts and you’re confused and absolutely out of touch with reality, and… fuck, your stomach—

You put a palm to your chest; the rise and fall is heavy. And just as he calls your name, you bolt away.

Just a second before you once again feel his fleeting digits miss your wrist, a lingering ghost touch as you run.

The first instinct your feet follow leads you to Jungkook’s office.

Somewhere in a corner of the mansion, you have your own chamber, dedicated to your time and your moments; but somehow, you still land in a room drenched in the scent you’re fleeing from.

And it’s counterproductive, the way you’re moving. Fast enough to dim his calls, but slow enough for him to catch up, too. Like you want him to follow. You know he’d find you even if he wasn’t hot on your trail, because you like to hide there.

But on other days, it’s you finding solace in him, not away from him.

You’re dizzy, deeply breathing when you shut the door behind you, both palms on the heavy door. You keep them there as if they could guard you from the disaster outside. But they don’t. None of it might.

Because he’s still right there, busting your glass heart when you hear steps outside, nearing; closer, too close, the corresponding voice hesitating for not a moment—

“Open… open, please.”

And suddenly, you’re crying.

There is no warning, no quiet tear falling, no steady progress. The stream of shock and grief is immediate, and it leaves your eyes, passes your cheeks, collects at your chin so fast that you barely notice the door blurring.

You’re sobbing; your forehead collides with the cold of the door, the carvings unpleasant against your skin. Where are your kids? They must still be asleep. Or maybe somebody is already — hopefully — taking care of them.

Jaehyuk gets all moody when Jungkook or you stay away for too long. You don’t think he should be this attached to you, to not learn to trust others. But trust is fragile and the child seems to know and… and… you know as well. You wish you could be as oblivious as him, though.

The world doesn’t work that way. No, it’s cruel and painful and everything good spoils someday, becomes rotten.

Doesn’t it?

Why does the voice on the other side cut you in pieces?

God. You want to return to your children. You want back to what you had last night; you crave their warmth, and his warmth. Of your children, his children.

But wouldn’t it remind you again? That the number isn’t uneven as you thought. That there’s more out there; he has more pieces out there that you’re not part of and… fuck. Fuck.

“I d-do not want to,” you finally reply, stuttering, words cut.

He silences. Maybe because he can hear you weeping. But he tries again, “Please… open.”

You shake your head against the door, but you know such a choice won’t lead anywhere. He’ll stay right there and you’ll keep telling him to leave, and despite his guest downstairs, he’ll persist.

So your hands sneak to the handle, weakened by the shaking. Jungkook doesn’t barge in until the door cracks open a slit; and when he steps into the room, you tumble back, out of his reach.

You don’t want his embrace. You don’t need his arms.

No, that’s a lie.

You do, but you can’t brave them right now. Body weightless, you rely on your voice, stating, “You never told me.”

His face is fallen, cheeks rounder when he looks to his feet. They’re flushed; the hue is so different from what you’re used to seeing. It’s always accompanied by a smile and crinkles around his eyes, sometimes shy, sometimes delighted.

This time it’s something else. Embarrassment and guilt and pain.

There’s a crease between his eyebrows, smoother due to your quiet tone; but it’s still there, distressed. Pained when he admits, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know a thing.”

“Who is she?”

He knows that, at least. You need to move away from pointless questions and throw those that you’re certain he possesses knowledge about.

He says, “She’s somebody I knew… so long ago.”

A thought after another creeps into your head, like a parasite, feeding on your sanity. You feel crazy and sick when a horrifying idea makes its way through, but you can’t resist the question regardless of the answer.

“Was she… was she one of the people you tried things with? To escape town…”

“No… she wasn’t part of any of this.”

And you cannot say if this is better or worse than what you expected. He wasn’t as terrible as to try with this many women. But if she wasn’t part of that stupid plot, and you were, does this place her higher in worth than you?

You weren’t good enough to be approached without a deal. To be fallen in love with unintentionally. But she was something else. It seems there was something, right?

But he’s with you. He chose you. You’re his wife, the woman he spends his days with, the only thought in his head. He’s loved you throughout the years; he’s devoted to you like the moon to the stars, not to her.

And he’s standing here, his eyes begging, his fingers quivering. You’re the subject of his desire and the name in his heart; he never even mentioned her. Fuck, he breathes for you… but you can’t seem to breathe.

You’re the mother of his children, yes. But so is she.

“Did you… did you get with my sister or me to forget about her?”

Fuck, you’re breathless. Why are you breaking like this? Why does the moment feel like this? When is it going to be over? Will you wake up easier?

“No…” he says, shaking his head immediately, “no. You know how it started. It had nothing to do with her, just with him…”

“So what?!” you spit, unable to contain yourself, somehow not affected enough by the big, sad eyes, pleading and fearing. “Who was she?”

It hurts. It hurts not only because of the obvious circumstances but — your love was born out of a facade, out of a lie. Even if he loves you genuinely now, even if you’d die for him without hesitation — the two of you happened as part of a different purpose.

But she never did.

She was real. Whatever he had with her or felt for her, it stemmed out of something authentic.

Your face heats up when you inquire, “…Did you love her?”

“I…” He hesitates. Fucking hesitates. But then says, “I didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

You don’t know if he is. You can usually tell; this seems a little more complicated. One, you’re clouded by your own judgement. Second, the situation isn’t easy; Jihyo so obviously belongs to parts of his history.

Jungkook insists again, “I didn’t love her.”

“But you felt something.”

“I don’t know,” comes back, and something inside you falls, even if it shouldn’t, even if you had nothing to do with whatever was before you came along. You hate it, but you can’t stop yourself from plummeting face-forward into pain when he says, “But she was nowhere close to where you are now. Or where you were even back then.”

Can you believe this? The but pierces through you, repeating in your mind, as if saying, “No, she was less than you, but still something.” How do you know none of it will return with a child present in his life?

“But she was enough for a child,” you retort, “and… I don’t know how careful you were with others, too…”

“I was. I was careful.”

“But not with her!”

He doesn’t respond. This isn’t you; you don’t make others feel bad. You endorse empathy and joy. No, this isn’t you and it frightens you. If you had it in you right now, you’d take him into your arms. He’d deserve it, considering that he’s as surprised as you, falling as much as you.

Suffering like you.

But your thoughts are going haywire, and they keep falling out, “I thought I was the first one. I wanted our children to be our first—”

“I thought so, too,” he defends, “it’s what I would have preferred, baby, I… If I could just…” He gulps; it’s as if you can hear it from afar, in this quiet, empty room. There’s a pause between his words before he steps closer, whispering, “Please, I love you—”

“No, I…” You back away again. Shield yourself. You can’t take a single touch right now.

“Can we mend this?” Jungkook asks; the question splits you in half.

Because what could you do, really? This very real fact looms over you, might do so forever.

“Mend what?” you echo. “That you have a child with another woman? What is there to mend? This is reality and you cannot undo it.”

When you look closely enough, his eyes shimmer with tears, too. The sparse sunlight seeping through the windows for the first time in hours upon hours highlights the glimmer, but there’s nothing soft about it. You recognise dread in it.

Jungkook has been abandoned before, and ever since he married you, he’s been just as afraid, too. It took months and years for the two of you to find a remedy, to decrease the terror. To make him trust your presence entirely. To help him understand that you’re here.

Now, by the looks of it, it seems he isn’t sure anymore.

He tries again, desperate, out of his mind, “Just somehow. Somehow, we can fix this, right?”

“Fix what, Jungkook…?”

“Please.”

You’re moving in circles. He keeps imploring you to reconsider, and you remain clueless about what exactly he’s begging for. You just want to know where this is going. Who she is. Who she was.

“Please what…” you whisper, eyes drifting to the ground. “What are we going to do about it, Jungkook? It’s important to think about, right…? Who was she to you?”

Who she was?

Jungkook’s memory is fragmented.

Pieces of what she really used to be to him evaporated long ago, just when he turned to look at her properly for the very last time on that warm early summer night. Back then, her smile was fake, apologetic, as if she’d committed an unforgivable crime.

As if sorry for wasting his time, for hurting him, for watching him leave when she wished for him to stay a little longer.

A similarly sad smile, yet so different in nature, appeared when she greeted him so gently in the hallway today. He was frozen in the staircase, stuck on that damn smile that haunted him for weeks and months back then, trying to understand whether she was actually here.

Wondered how he could make her disappear again. It wouldn’t fare well with how he lives his life with you now, he already knew. She was interfering.

And… the familiar smile told him she wasn’t here to deliver any good news. And even though he doesn’t remember it all anymore, he hated how the expression brought back the flood of past images.

The first fuzzy image was of a smile, too, albeit incredibly faded. More optimistic, tender. Enthusiastic, craving the solace and joy of the night as much as Jungkook had.

She stood on the far opposite side of the spacious hall back then; even through the dancing couples, he could see her gleaming, absorbed in a conversation with her dearest friends.

Jungkook had seen her before; perhaps once or twice, but he could barely remember her face. It was as if he was actually looking at her for the first time that night. He didn’t think she generally attended too many parties; and when they’d crossed paths before, they’d probably been a little younger.

He just…

He couldn’t remember her being this striking.

He couldn’t recall the dimples or the vibrant smile or the sparkle in her large eyes. Far away in the room, Jungkook lightly bit his lip as he observed, cocking an eyebrow when she gasped to something her friend had said.

As if he was standing next to her and hearing it, too. Mimicking her reaction, caught in a bubble.

And it took her a little to notice him, too. But when she did, her friends’ eyes followed, an immediate elbow teasing her sides as much as their words. Jungkook could only imagine what they were saying.

What are you looking at?

Is it your turn already? With him, yes?

Oh, and the season has barely begun!

He could read parts of it off their lips. Lifted his ego a little. But he averted his eyes nevertheless, despite the resistance in his movements, only to shift back every now and then.

To his chagrin, the night didn’t offer too many opportunities to near where she stood, but as the event snuck to its end, at least a sliver of hope twinkled, even for just a minute. Approaching the carriages at the same time, he found her waiting not too far from him.

Her family was missing just like his; but he was comfortable here, staring at the sky, breathing in the late spring breeze. But her gown, while heavy, wasn’t accompanied by a shawl, her arms bare.

He used the chance to ask, “Aren’t you cold?”

She stared up in surprise, not quite expecting a conversation. Yet, smoothly, and either bold or courageous or sweet, she answered with a confidence so enticing, “Hmmm, no. I guess I felt warmed enough throughout the night.”

Interesting. So very interesting.

Jungkook’s lips twitched upwards, an enthralled smile; his voice sounded somewhat different when he asked, “Is that so?”

“Mhm. I’ll thank you another day, though.”

Behind her, her folks neared, and he looked ahead and then down, smile still plastered to his face. Even when she’d left, the sparkle remained in his eyes.

That was it for now.

Jungkook’s and Jihyo’s paths crossed again merely a week later. He understood in that time apart that the tiny interaction had caught him somehow; he was relieved when he saw her again at the next party.

Brave, he joined her where she stood, scanning the finger food before settling on some tartelettes. He’d been hopeful throughout these days, yes, but Jihyo didn’t show her face too often; so he didn’t lie when he confessed, “I didn’t expect you here.”

“Well…” she answered, “I hoped to see you. I told you I’d want to thank you.”

“Mhhh, I’m still not sure what for, though.”

She shrugged her shoulders, smile so vibrant. “It was a pleasant night. I felt warm throughout.”

She’d said the same thing last time, waiting at the carriage, moonlit and breathtaking. He smirked a little, satisfied by the flow of the dialogue; then argued, “But it is the summer season. Heat is all that is ahead.”

“…Isn’t it?”

Something stirred in Jungkook. He wouldn’t analyse her words on other days, but her expression was telling. Made him fearless, whirling his mind as he asked, “Have you explored this place yet?”

“No. I never get to do so much. But,” she said enthusiastically, licking cream off her snack. Jungkook couldn’t look away. “I wouldn’t mind walking around. It is hotter inside anyway.”

And matching her fierce response from before, Jungkook added, “…I doubt it.”

He was right. She’d prove it quick minutes later. In the backyard, stopping in the middle of their walk, he felt the warmth, the heat when she pushed him into an empty corner, lips crashing against his.

Jungkook’s blood scorched indeed; the outside wasn’t cooler. In fact, it burned. He burned. And she burned, too. Her skin, her shoulder, the mounds of her breasts underneath the dress that he pulled down.

There wasn’t any room or chance to proceed too far, but somehow, Jungkook was content with this.

It made him crave harder; and he enjoyed the feeling. The temptation. The yearning for all he hadn’t yet seen, yet felt. He hungered for her; she was the opposite of what the world held, brought him excitement.

Today, he doesn’t know if it was this very exhilaration or the need for distraction or something else that dragged him back to her over and over again. He recalls his heart nervously jumping, but he can’t recall it blooming. Never the way it did with you. Never.

But she still evoked something different. Reprieve from his days, his sorrows, the grief in his big, old home.

He never told her any of this, but he assumes she saw. Sometimes, she’d raise his chin when they met in private, mouth breathing close to his, asking if something was wrong. He’d deny. He’d dive into her eyes and lips instead, forget about it all, enjoy her empathy.

She’d somehow worry, he thought, and then kiss him, tell him it was alright, no matter what it was. That she was there. And he’d appreciate it. Would like the warmth, the care.

And still, he’d go home to tears, suffer all over again. But when he fell asleep, he’d think of her, forbidding the last thought of the night to be anything dreadful, anything but the same pretty smile.

She offered madness. She offered humour, sweetness, and most of all, relief.

Jihyo always refused to walk around town. She never hesitated to decline his offers.

Jungkook was alright with this; didn’t question her rejection at first; he didn’t know what the two of them were, anyway. There were fuzzy feelings somewhere, something twinkling in his mind and his guts and his chest.

He didn’t think love felt this way, however.

He regarded love as a much stronger sentiment than what they had. What was it that they indulged in anyway? Ablaze days and nights, baring themselves behind locked doors, lips on her skin, her sides, her waist, her flesh. Hands on, under, between her legs.

The digits would dig into her hips and remain; his tongue tasted her up, up and down, in and out. Taking in her scent, lapping her up, showing her new things. Body against body. Buried in her, glued to her — could that be love? No.

It was just that, wasn’t it? Yes, he’d stopped meeting other women. Yes, he’d be distracted at events.

He would spend his time with his boys, but let his mind and eyes travel far from them; even the presences hiding in those halls that he’d usually mock or annoy or disregard, projecting his own insecurities onto them, dulled.

Jihyo was beautiful. Jihyo captured focus. And he called Jihyo’s name until he even muttered it when alone; she breathed it until he could only hear his own name in her voice.

But.

It wasn’t love. Even today, he knows it never was.

Yet, even then, he could imagine this for a while. If he couldn’t love her now, he thought, maybe he could love her some day. He couldn’t tell, but he could imagine it. Who knew?

Then again, it seemed he would never find out, anyway.

Some days, some time later, Jungkook eventually started thinking how odd it was that Jihyo never wanted to go out. To tell somebody about them; would it be so bad?

He presumed it was because she didn’t want others to know. He understood, truly; at an age where people would pressure one into obligations just when they saw others together, he didn’t want them to rumour yet.

Then again, Jihyo and he were connected somehow; sometimes he thought that was enough, too. Deep under the sheets so often, sharing stories sometimes, and perhaps they weren’t for the public to hear.

And there was something mysterious about them that nobody would understand, anyway. He couldn’t wrap his finger around the mystical nature of the two of them, but he started to understand she had him good.

Yet…

Yet. Something was wrong with her. So entirely wrong when she’d keep him hidden in rented rooms or in the dead dark of the night.

When she’d refuse his offer to promenade through the park, be fully against his invitations on some days without a proper reason at all. Or, when she’d skip events that she promised to attend, and then told him she hadn’t been sick — just not in the mood.

And one day, he decided to ask.

A very futile intention; the urge to ask was quickly overshadowed by kisses too intense. He already wanted to see her again even before the evening was over, no matter what she’d answer. He was already dreaming of her body, despite towering over it right now.

Would these dreams ever stop?

His nights were sleepless anyway, just like this approaching one. Hands on his own skin, today replaced by her, pumping and fondling. All over him when he climbed onto her and pushed in again.

He couldn’t free himself of the itch she caused just yet; kept scratching. Then again, he was so clueless about who she was at this very moment. Fond of her, but confused, too.

Aware of how much he thought of her, but having no issues retorting things snarkily, like when she mumbled underneath him, “You can’t live without me,” and he effortlessly rose from her neck, swollen lips answering, “Oh, I can.”

And he could. They were confusing in nature, but he knew that he could.

Because she was veiling something that he thought might distance her from him, so he started keeping himself mentally distanced either way. Even though it proved harder these days.

But the two of them were still something. They got along; there was humour in this, attraction and fire. And he felt heavenly inside her every damn time.

In the midst of it, he told her, “We could try harder.”

Perhaps she misunderstood; perhaps she couldn’t read his eyes and his tone yet, because she pulled him closer, deeper. He let her. Wouldn’t voice these thoughts properly again until he dropped next to her and said, “I like spending time with you. And I want to try more.”

He didn’t notice right away — her hesitation, her silence.

It took a second to even look at her; and when he did, he recognised the sudden guilt in her eyes instantly. Remorse, pain. Like he’d just broken something with his idea that she’d kept whole. Only now, she couldn’t save it anymore.

He didn’t know what it was, so he wondered, “What is it?”

“I…”

Then again, it wasn’t hard to figure out anyway. He deduced, “…You don’t want it.”

“It’s… not that I don’t want it.”

“I mean. It’s alright, you see? We aren’t this far, so if you want to reject this, I do understand. I will live.”

“I might have to reject it… you, Jungkook,” she confessed, and he had to admit that he wasn’t overly enjoying what he was hearing, “not because I want to, but it’s…”

And the universe had cruel ways of interrupting. Always.

Because her words halted somewhere between him and her and then vanished into thin air. Cut by strong, arhythmic knocks at the door. The sudden interjection startled them, dropped the quiet hearts into the pit of their stomachs.

As the door worked on being unlocked, she whispered a tiny, anxious, “Please… you might get hurt.”

And Jungkook understood; jumped off the bed, slipping into his trousers within seconds before dashing to the back. The wardrobe was empty, ideal to hide; it’s what he knew she wanted, for him to stay anonymous.

Jihyo, still bare, sat up on the bed, and Jungkook, in the dark with only a gap to observe the outside happenings, waited. Waited until the door opened. Until a man, more or less a stranger to him, only minimally familiar, stormed in with furious eyes.

He didn’t stall a second before his anger ambushed her. Jungkook’s fingers tingled to crash the door of the wardrobe open; even from here, it was abundantly clear that the man struggled to not hurt her.

But right now, he relied on the fury in his tone; Jungkook assumed it was a brother or friend raging about her indecent behaviour. But it soon became all too obvious that he wasn’t. Somebody of such a relationship doesn’t snap like this.

No, Jungkook understood. Knew what the issue was when the man asked, “So you’ve started getting naked for others? Is that it now? That’s what you whore have been doing?”

For others…

She tried, “Listen, I—”

But he cut her off, “No! I promised you everything. Why do you despise me so much? You couldn’t wait for us to be wed, but needed to satisfy your needs elsewhere? Why do you despise me, huh?”

Jihyo didn’t hear much of what he said, zeroing in on specific statements, and whispered, “You do not give me everything. Not even close.”

Fuck.

If it wasn’t clear already… Jungkook’s mind spun.

Jihyo was promised to somebody else and was using Jungkook with a purpose and intention, as a means of fulfilling whatever she needed to fulfil. And he— he was the homewrecker, the third wheel, not her focus the way she was his focus.

Despite the mistakes he’d ever made, despite his damn flaws, he never wanted this.

What was he? A placeholder? Thrown aside the moment she’d marry him? Why was it that Jungkook’s existence was regarded as something so low, stomped beneath people’s feet, like he was nothing at all?

Who knew? There wasn’t even a second to think about it, to ask about it.

Priorities shifted, inquiries shoved away; when the man reached low, snatching a patch of her hair to pull her off the bed, sirens chimed in Jungkook’s head. It still mattered to him, not seeing her hurt; but his instincts were deep-rooted.

Nobody, including Jihyo, should have to experience this.

So Jungkook pushed the door open, met with a gasp, surprise and wrath. The man didn’t need to ask who he was or what he was doing here; he knew immediately, more than cognisant of the wretched situation.

Jungkook was ready to throw some insult onto him, words already on his lips, arms reaching out to defend her. But he didn’t need to; the guy had already let her go, taking a swing within a second before his fist landed on Jungkook’s jaw.

It could’ve been worse; he could’ve broken it. Jungkook knew right away that the damage wasn’t as terrible as it had the potential to be.

But his tongue still felt warm, tasted metallic. He took a deep breath through his nose, dizzy for a moment, still sane enough to hear the stranger say, “You can have the slut.”

There was another blob of disgust landing on Jungkook’s face; no doubt that the man bid him farewell with one last literal spit on Jungkook’s cheek. Then, the door fell into its lock, and it got quiet again.

Or… not quite.

Jungkook lacked words; there was nothing to say anyway. He was the culprit after all.

Worried hands settled on his body; he didn’t notice how much he’d sunk to the ground, one knee hitting the floor. But when the exploring fingers touched his waist, up to his armpits and his elbows, he stood tall again.

She was trying to lift him. To check for wounds, despite the clear drops of scarlet red he was leaving on this rented room’s floor. Eyes shutting for a second, he slapped the concerned palm off his arm, dodging it when she came back with a quiet, “Jungkook…”

“Shut up.”

“Please listen—”

“Listen to fucking what? You’re…”

There was no ending to the sentence. He didn’t know what she was. A fraud, maybe. But he didn’t have it in him to insult her somehow; perhaps because she, too, was already in enough pain as it was.

When his eyes opened, they glared. To his feet, to the side, into her wet gaze. She was nearly hiccuping, but he couldn’t get himself to give into the empathy entirely; the anger simmered in the pit of his stomach, threatened to come to a full boil.

Yet, he registered when she said, “He doesn’t treat me well, he— he’s controlling. And emotionally abusive, he— please,” she grabbed his hand, but he pulled out of her grip, “I can’t marry him, not if— not if I’m scared he might raise his hand at me.”

“Then don’t fucking marry him. You have this choice,” Jungkook said, spitting into the corner; the colour was disgusting. “Controlling and abusive, however? You sound perfect for him.”

“I don’t… I can’t. I can’t stay with him, but I— I could stay with you. I would.”

Jungkook scoffed. She had to be joking. Undoubtedly; there was nothing in him capable of believing she meant this. Not when she’d refused just this idea mere minutes ago.

He shook his head; he wouldn’t have any of this. Even if she left this man… even then…

He couldn’t do this because she made him do something so easily that he abhorred. He’d seen the love between his father and his mother before, and then witnessed the hatred between her and his uncle.

After all these years of affliction, he knew the difference between love and despise.

Knew where affection could grow, where it would wilt. Where it’d be replaced with hostility.

She wasn’t made for him; he wasn’t in the mindset for her. And he was wrong after all; he didn’t love her and he never could have.

“Please, don’t go,” she begged as he picked up his clothes, wiping his mouth on the bed sheet, ready to leave. “Please, I—”

She followed him all the way to the door; Jungkook resisted each push and pull, charging towards the exit with resolution. And when she blocked the door for too long, sobbing onto her body, he fletched his teeth, sharpened his jaw, clasped her wrist before he turned her around.

Arm pinned to her back, cheek pressing into the door, she kept crying, and then, finally, sighed. She gulped; then lowered her face, forehead to the cold of the wood, and too courageously as always pleaded, “Be with me one last time. Just… just once.”

And her tone… her voice… her curling fingers…

They tempted him. Something about this, something about her tugged him in again, like an invisible force. And for the tiniest moment, he hated himself for thinking this way. But deep inside he knew the truth.

That he still craved her. Still wanted to feel her once more. Still hungered to bury himself in deep, leaving scars and marks as if to punish her just once. But…

But he remembered. She’d turned him into somebody he wasn’t. So he couldn’t. He’d carry the regret to his grave.

So he let her go, using the moment of weakness, shoving her away slightly — she let him. She understood to give up. And he, with a coat over his shoulder, left.

A hand over the bleeding wound, and the other over his injured mouth.

If he wakes up now, you won’t be able to take it.

It was already difficult, breathing through every second of the rest of the day. Overthinking, but never quite processing the information you received. From the very moment you woke up to the story Jungkook narrated and everything that followed, the seconds have been hell.

Everything… everything—

The remaining conversations. With her, with the village bartender he expected. You don’t know how he survived any of it, functioned at all; using his brain at full capacity, reading through papers when you were sure the letters were blurring in front of his very eyes.

And how he looked at you after he was done and returned to you, reaching for your limp hand…

The hurt was prominent, your heart still reluctant, but you let him; what good would it have done to send him away? He kept coming back. Sat there for an hour until you told him to tend to his guest, to discuss whatever he needed to.

Truth was, you didn’t want him to go… but you didn’t want him near, either.

Your mind kept circling around a hundred and thousands of things. The woman sitting downstairs, fiddling and nervous, the child still next to her. Possibly bored. She’s aware of her past as much as you are, of the role she played. Of the hurt she caused.

The more you think about it, the more it pains. The more it seems like a tragedy, like an anti-fairytale. Fabricated.

So unreal.

It’s as though thinking it senseless could make it less real. You’re married to him now, but you still feel small, shrinking, insecure and hurt and unable to make any of this coherent.

You needed silence today. You wanted your mind to divert, conjure different, more pleasant thoughts, memories of better times. But this proved worse; so somehow, you ended up overthinking the situation to death.

You don’t want the children to wake up again. Hana is fast asleep, Jaehyuk dozing. It was Jaehoon’s subtle whimpering that finally shifted your attention twenty minutes ago; your arms were too weightless to carry him, but you did, swayed him, blended out your brain with his sounds.

By now, he’s already drooling over you again. You hope he stays just like this; hope Jaehyuk doesn’t notice the empty side of their crib.

There’s something about this, the twin intuition. You had heard about it before, but it is truly fascinating, the way they communicate. You’re still baffled that Jaehyuk stayed as unmoving as he did when you pulled his brother towards you, comforting yourself with his warmth.

But you have to admit…

You’re exhausted. More so mentally than physically. Your body yearns to drop. The up and down pacing only drains you further.

You should set him into his crib again. He’s fast asleep anyway; everybody is. Just you aren’t. And your husband isn’t.

In fact, he’s not even in this room with you. Heart palpitating and chest paining, you’ve been waiting. He slipped in and out of the rooms you were in for hours, and you kept sending him away, sickened by the apologies, not even certain what exactly he was apogising for.

For having a child? For once tending to secret meetings with a woman you don’t know, ambiguous about what he felt for her? You don’t know.

And…

Honestly — your heart isn’t splintering because he made a mistake, really, did he? You and him were nothing back then. No. You’re fractured because of your own damn expectations. And because you wanted life to lead somewhere else.

You didn’t want somebody to become such a part of your love and marriage like this.

You sigh to breathe out the ache, deep from your stomach, hoping it’ll lighten the load. But it doesn’t really. Not even Jaehoon’s little hand over your chest does, his head on your shoulder, the scent of his baby hair.

And once the door to the bedchamber creaks open, you don’t feel relieved, either. Your heart stirs more, if anything. Scared your son might hear or notice, you hurry to put him down again, draping a blanket over his little body before you shut your silken robe.

Jungkook appears as if he’s lived a dozen lives in a day. His pupils have shrunk, shoulders low, hair as uncombed as in the morning. He didn’t bother; as little as you. He halts when he sees you standing in the middle of the room, surprised about the random spot you chose.

Endless affection flashes across his face, transparent yearning, as though he hasn’t seen you in days. Within a moment, the expression calms a little, and he pulls himself together enough to ask, “You are still awake, darling?”

You hold yourself tight, as if binding your body together. Clearing your throat, you say, “It’s… I don’t know if I will be able to sleep tonight.”

“…Me neither.”

“What happened?”

You gesture to the ground, referring to the parlour. She’s probably not even there anymore. She was all day; and she journeyed. She must be tired.

Jungkook explains, as if reading your mind, “Jihyo… she’s in one of the guest rooms.” You nod. He cards through his hair, continuing, “She said the guy she was supposed to marry never told anyone what had happened that night… I— I don’t know why. He never came back at all, but I figured that bit. She didn’t want him to, and I told her he shouldn’t have either way.”

He sighs; so do you. Feelings or not, you guess Jungkook has never been a bad person. It still feels odd. He then says, “And then she was abandoned by her family when they learned of her pregnancy and she wouldn’t tell anybody who the father was…”

Of course not. Somewhere, she must have cared.

“They sent her to some faraway aunt who was apparently a tyrant… and she ran away when her boy was a year old.”

Your dropped chin lifts, an immediate response forming in your mind. Your boy. Your boy, too. But you don’t spill it. In truth, you don’t even need to. As if written all over your face in big, bold letters, Jungkook sees right through you.

He halts, gives himself a moment to be sure it’s what you’re stuck on, and then tells you, “…I know but… I have no connection to him. She does. I have none at all.”

“She does, and now she’s here… actually here…”

“She’s here because it was nearly impossible to survive for her,” he insists, the tone of defence sharp and clear, “but somehow she still did. It’s gotten more difficult now, however, and—” He’s struggling more now; while some words pour out, others are whispered. Like, “As the father of her child… she says it is both our responsibility to ensure he is well. But…”

As the father of her child, as the parents of their child.

He’s not wrong; and you guess that if it wasn’t happening in your own household, you’d be much more lenient about this. You’d be nodding along, agreeing that a father should be present, that a child deserves it.

You’ve been part of an orphanage filled with lonely kids for too long to think otherwise.

But it surely is different in moments like these. You feel like a hypocrite.

“But?” you prod.

“She understands if I say no, too. I have my own family now.”

Yeah…

Did she need to tell him that? Did he know by himself; are these her or his words? You wonder…

“You say she always struggled,” you draw back to again, “why did she never reach out when she knew she was with child already?”

He rubs his eyes. Tired, his body somewhat more worn out than ever. Barely looks active; the shoulders are in an entirely new position. Or no… not new. You’ve seen it before — it’s just been years now.

“She thought I wouldn’t bother,” he says, “she thought… I’d abandoned her once and for all. Which I reckon I did.”

“And…” You’re scared to ask. You swallow. “Would you have aided her? If you’d known.”

He quietens. You’re not too fond of the hesitation loudening the silence. You know he’s thinking, eyes unfocused, imagining the scenario you narrated without probably really wanting to. You brought this to yourself, so you’ll need to be patient.

And you are, until he finally concludes, “I would have… I— I would have felt like I owed this to my child. I can’t— sweetheart, it’s not my nature, please understand. I wouldn’t leave a woman alone with this if I was anyhow part of it and—”

“And… If you’d known… we wouldn’t even have happened, right?”

Jungkook shakes his head again, the movements even lazier now. You’re afraid he might drop and faint. But he breathes in, then out, uprights himself, “It doesn’t matter what would have or could have happened. I did approach you and I did fall in love with you and we did happen. Isn’t… isn’t that enough?”

You blink; then blink more. A shaky breath escapes your lips to keep your voice as steady as doable. “Yes… I assume…”

Another pause. More stalling until the thoughts previously forming in your head become less of a tangled, messy garn and get clearer. You just do not know how to voice them; to keep the man who brought stars down to the ground to you whole.

You don’t want to hurt him. But you don’t understand how to handle the next few days any other way.

But you don’t say it yet. You wait. Listen as he begs, “Please tell me… tell me what you’re thinking. I don’t know what to do.”

You lie, “I don’t know, either, Jungkook.”

His strong hands get ahold of tufts of his hair again, butchering his mane more. The gesture isn’t aggressive, but he still looks so out of his goddamn mind. Desperately, he steps closer, breathing, “You know that I love you, yes?”

…You’ve seen needles at your seamstress’ place before. They always strike you as effective, professional. Sharp. The sting you feel reminds you of when her needle digs into fabric. Perhaps worse.

Perhaps it’ll turn into a sword in a moment.

“Only you,” he adds, but then halts, a shake of his head correcting himself before he tries again, “no. Only you and them.” His eyes briefly dart to the crib, a reminder to lower his voice, even though the shudder makes it hard. “I haven’t thought about her in yea—”

No…

“You haven’t thought about her once?” you interrupt. It’s one of the things your derailing mind tried to convince you of today. That she never really disappeared. “The woman you were involved with like this… you never ever thought of her or regarded her important enough to tell me about her? To think about her?”

And now he’s confused. Why do you keep asking questions? You’re your own worst enemy, really. Then again, how does one stop this toxic curiosity from overflowing in a moment like this?

“I don’t know,” he admits. Not a needle anymore… “She might have crossed my mind as somebody who once existed in my life. Not in a romantic manner. Nor in a yearning manner. I did not miss her, you see?”

He moves closer, hands lifting. You only now see how pale he is, his skin so close, eyes nearly lifeless, but not quite. They’re still filled with so much emotion and pain as he continues, “And I certainly did not care enough to prioritise her over you anyhow.”

Palms cradle your face. Usually so warm and comforting, they’re icy today, as if his blood has frozen in his veins. And he sounds so utterly dehydrated when he says, “She was never important enough, no…”

“I— I see.”

He waits. His breath falls on your face before he runs his tongue between his lips nervously. His waterline is damp, but holding back. You wonder when he last ate, when he last drank.

You guess he’s not as concerned about himself when he requests, “Tell me what you are thinking.”

A lot. Too much to condense into one single thought. But you still pick out one of the million swirling around and throw it out, “I am wondering… about what you will do now. I will assume you will help.”

You see how much he hates to admit it; you nearly take it back before he, however, tells you again, “I may have to.”

“And… if you do. What will it look like? Will you— I do not know. Will you meet her regularly, send her money, see the child? Build a bond? Have… have two families on either side?”

“I d-don’t think it will be like this, I—”

“How will it be then?”

His hands drop. He shuts his eyes, but opens them again a minute later. “I will provide… I might get to know him. But I do not plan on making them an integral, main part of my life. I don’t want this to come between us or have the children think wrong of me, and… you’re my priority.”

You know…

As the wife of somebody like Jungkook, you have seen the hardships that come with a traumatised mind. One that so deeply fears he will step into his family’s shoes, mimicking the misery he once experienced.

He’s been afraid of passing on generational trauma for years, and he battled the fear… you know he doesn’t want to start at zero. You don’t want it either. And you genuinely do not perceive him as a bad father; quite the opposite.

Jeon Jungkook gives his all. He loves with his all. He worships with his all.

But you still think this needs time and patience.

So you confess, “I believe you… I do. I just. I think this will change things. I cannot stop thinking about you moving back and forth, nurturing two families, and yes, I am selfish, but… I always assumed I was the only one.”

Not before. Not long ago. But now.

You would’ve been content with somebody like her being out there and never finding out about it. For the very first time in your life, you’re selfish, and it hurts, it burns, and you loathe that you cannot turn it off.

“I did, as well…” he confirms. “But you’re the only one that matters.”

“What about your son? Do you have it in you to not care?”

“He’s a child I never spoke to!” he argues, voice rising by an octave. “I just… fuck, I do not know. Baby, I… I don’t want to be a pendulum. I’m not swinging between two spaces… I will never perceive anyone as more important than you.”

“I see.”

Pause. Then, “…Please look at me.”

You feel another clump rise to your throat. It’s more dense this time, inevitable, and it affects your speech. Accompanied by something lifting to your head and making it heavier. You tell him, “I can't.”

“…Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“You ca—” He shifts, eager to bring you back to him; you’re already miles away and he knows. “Baby… Do you still love me?”

You could scoff. But you don’t; instead, you feel the liquid starting to pour. Like the rain these days, less comforting now, it drops out of your eyes. You somehow very well expected it, but the amount of the drops still surprises you.

Like a grey sky indicating a gloomy day, yet not a reliable preparation for a downpour.

Your inhale is sharp, cuts the air, and your eyebrows painfully furrow when the tears collect. You answer, “Of course I love you, I— Fuck, of course I do. It’s why this hurts so much!”

“I… I know.”

His gaze is similarly wet, suddenly an ocean, but he blinks the despair away before he crushes you in a hug. Jungkook is never afraid to cry, but restraining himself is something he’s practised for the kids… and even for you, it seems.

Shit, but— you’ve told him so many times. So many times to not hold back for you. You don’t either. You don’t either, right?

“I know,” he repeats, “I— I don’t know why these things happen, I’m—”

You shake your head against his chest, sogging his clothes as you mumble, “I can’t blame you, can I? It was your past, yes, but I wasn’t part of it, and… it’s still so much.”

“For me, too… for me as well, darling—”

“I just— I think I need distance, Jungkook.”

Wait…

Wha—

That’s when the world stops spinning, frozen like his blood. The heart he has so gently guarded so far detaches from the rest of what lies beneath his ribs, and jumps into his throat, pounds in his ears.

The profound hope that he misheard you is needless, he already knows. He’s been hyper aware of your every movement and word today; he knows what you said and he knows he’ll have to let you. But…

“…What?”

The decision still leaves him stranded on an island. Away from this house and you and his children. Desolated, he as its lone habitant. And the image is surreal.

“I need to go away,” you elaborate again, digging deeper into the wound. Can he rewind the morning? No. You add, “Just until you have this sorted out with her and it’s done, and—”

“I have,” he carefully voices, convinced, so, so convinced, “there is nothing more to say.”

But you’re not with him just yet; you argue, “But she should stay for a little, shouldn’t she? I… I am not too fond of the scenario, but from an empathetic perspective, you should know about your son. Be in the loop…”

Yes, you do hate the idea. Yes, it contradicts your distaste for the image of him walking to and fro between families, providing and keeping her in his life. But, after all is said and done, his son will still be his son.

And you are only heartbroken, not heartless.

“I just…” you continue, gulping. “I can’t be here while she is. And I don’t want you to send her away already, either. Her journey seems to have been long and… she’s just trying to live.”

“Where… where do you want to go?”

“Home.”

The resolute tone you decide on hurts. Not because he’s against your family or your place back in the city, but because you seem to have thought it out already. That you want to leave. That you want to be away from him.

The woman that latches onto him the moment he crawls into bed after work; from the man who clutches your body throughout the night, wakes up delirious from your scent.

It stings. It burns.

“Just for a little,” you say, as if to cure the injury. “I… I need to be away.”

Jungkook’s throat is knotted up and dry. He almost doesn’t dare to ask, but he knows he’ll keep wondering when you’re gone. So he spits, “And then?”

“And then… I will see.”

Doesn’t matter anyway. He guesses that the wondering part won’t change, no matter what he inquires, no matter what you respond.

“…Why does this sound like a possible goodbye?”

He might faint. He doesn’t know how long he’ll have to be awake without you. Doesn’t know what’ll follow this disaster. Doesn’t know anything. Most of his life, he’s been haunted by this uncertainty, and he hates the return of it.

And you’re not saying anything; the moment gets worse as you close your eyes for a bit, staring down, unable to answer because you probably don’t know, either.

But…

“Please say something,” he urges, abandoning questions and pleas, diving straight into statements as if this could make them definitely true, “you… you will come back. You won’t leave after this.”

There’s agitation in your voice, merged with desperation when you speak again, “Jungkook, I can only think so far right now—”

“No, please…”

“What do you mean, pl—”

“I can’t lose you, no matter what.”

“But right now, I can’t take this either, Jungkook!” you snap. Perhaps it’s his big eyes throwing you off guard or the unknown future or the fresh hurt. Something in you breaks as your voice starts to vibrate, eyes watery. “I don’t want to be— another. And I can’t fully make you abandon them either, and… I still don’t know how to live with such a change and—”

And. And. And.

The list goes on. That’s the problem. It’s an overwhelming mess, a never ending string of thoughts.

As the light in your eyes dims, usually so blindingly bright on other days, Jungkook’s eyes overflow. First a single drop of a tear, then half a dozen. He blinks them away, but suddenly there’s a river across his cheek, collecting to a sea at the chin.

And you look similar.

Shattered like glass. Your broken pieces are tiny; they resemble dust. God, albeit without a single intention, Jungkook has hurt the wrong person.

Desperation at the front of his tongue, he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing more to do but to revert back to pathetic begging—

“Please… don’t go.” His voice quivers, the sigh even shakier; his soft hands, the ones that held you just last night, rub his face in anger towards himself. “It’s who I used to be… I didn’t know.”

“Yes, it’s what used to happen, b–but it doesn’t hurt any less, fuck, and…” Breathing is as hard as speaking. Your tears run again when you add, “And what if there are more? What if more of them come knocking at our door and we don’t know yet?”

His chest is rising high, falling low. Lower lip never still. You know panic is growing beneath his chest, and you want to wrap your arms around him, keep his pure heart from breaking. But what can you do?

Yours is splitting, too.

Worse when all he whispers again is, “Please don’t go.”

It’s a hopeless attempt. You know; you hear it. He’s still trying but he’s not truly expecting you to change what you decided on. Yet, you ask, “Please understand.”

He’s still not moving; but you think he understands indeed. Because he nods. Doesn’t look at you anymore. The sniffles are familiar, painful as he questions, “What about the children?”

You feared this question. The delivery of it proves harder than you thought; your tongue nearly gets tied, “I… I will leave the twins here. Travelling might be difficult with both of them when I am alone.” You look to the wall; to the little beds on the other side of the room. “Can I take Hana with me?”

You know it’s killing him as much as it is messing with you. You know what it means when he breathes in, but doesn’t argue with you as he nods again. Jeon Jungkook loves you; he loves you to every end of the universe.

And you’ll love Jeon Jungkook for the rest of your life, too, despite it all.

But this is needed.

He asks, “How long will you be away?”

“I don’t know…” you admit. “Hopefully not long.”

“I see.”

“I am sorry.”

All grand arguments end in silence or insults or apologies. There are no more words to utter. Jungkook is at a loss for hope, at the far end of a tunnel. If he could still convince you, he would; but your decision sits.

So all he manages is—

“I am, too.”

There’s a nod. Your tired eyes. You looking to the side, then to the bed, approaching it a moment later with a body falling so weightlessly. When he joins minutes later, you’re turned to the side, and he watches the back of your head, the mane falling, urging to touch it just a little.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns away, too.

Until you fall asleep and for the rest of the night, you don’t feel a touch on you as you do on other days; but relying on your remaining senses, you do hear the sniffle. Do register the movements next to you.

One more time for a little, approaching while.

The place is empty when Jungkook wakes up. He’s woken up three days in a row now, and he’s never wanted to — every damn time, the place would be empty.

And he can’t breathe.

Ever since she stepped over the threshold and re-entered his life and you chose the sheer opposite, he hasn’t drawn a proper breath. This isn’t how things should be. They’re switched up, plainly wrong.

The room is empty; it has been this vacant before, but the void is yawning now, tormenting. Feels like it might never end.

A couple sunrises ago, you left with a lasting, gnawing touch. Before you stepped down the porch, your palm lay in his for a minute; despite the hurt, you still seemed to want to leave remnants of what he means to you.

Your hand was warm in his; and your eyes, albeit filled with some sort of cold distance, still carried some of the warmth, too, your gaze glassy. You were pulling yourself together so well. For him, yourself, the confused child clinging to you.

Hana thought you were visiting the grandparents out of nostalgic longing. She thought she’d be away from him for a fleeting moment. She’s too young to understand the passing of time, after all.

So she didn’t complain, but she looked dissatisfied. Unwilling to embark on this little vacation. Pouted at her father, but listened to her mother.

For her, he was keeping himself whole, too — but when your fingers slipped away from his, the heat still lingered. Like a red scald, as if he’d held his palm into a flame. Perhaps that’s what set him off.

Perhaps just as much as when the hole between your bodies widened bit by bit, and you disappeared in the distance after the carriage had engulfed you. The impulse to run after you grew consistently and rapidly, but his feet were cemented to the spot, legs stiff.

When the carriage turned, however, and only then, they carried him down. There was a faint sound in the background, like the whispering breeze of autumn, and Jungkook barely understood what it was until he realised his lips were moving.

It was him, not the wind.

Him, in a quick downward spiral, bedazzled by the lunacy and the tears obscuring the world; repeating something he knew you were already too far away to hear. You wouldn’t register any of it anymore; he hoped you’d feel it somehow.

“Please, don’t leave,” it was, wasn’t it? A desperate, “Why would you leave?”

The echoes in the mansion were suddenly much more prominent. Not just of his steps; his own voice in his head had an echo, too, but it was a lot louder, pure torture. Pressed against his ears, as if he was falling from the clouds and into burning hell.

The sounds were blocked by nothing but the wind.

This has been feeling neverending ever since. So infinite.

And maybe it’s this very horrendous fear that disables his lungs; that he might end up like this, without your touch, without your smile, without the future he drew in his mind every single day. It always, always contained you.

He loves you; he’s told you so many times, but it’s never been this apparent. And it’s drying him out, the goddamn loneliness. Blocking his throat. Shit, this place he settled on for you and his family, to give you the best life possible — its vast size is backfiring.

Because—

Fuck. Fuck. What is a spacious room good for if he can’t fucking breathe?

There isn’t anybody in here to hear him panting, surviving; he forbid it. But the loneliness dawns on him again, and he chants with tears dropping on the ground, not making any particular sense, over and over again, “Don’t leave. Please. Please don’t leave—”

As if his brain got stuck here the moment you left, playing the pleas on loop to drive him insane. His own brain is driving him insane. The betrayal is beyond belief.

He’s losing his mind; he’s well aware of this. Pondering, thinking whether the empty rooms in this mansion compete with the vacancy in his mind. Maybe not.

Because the mental rooms are plenty; his hand trembles to push down any handle on his way. There’s this long corridor, leading to these rooms, and whenever he does find the courage to open one, he finds himself in a void.

And he opens them every day, all the time. When he’s asleep. When he’s eating. When he’s wandering around, downing yet another bottle. Always hoping there are scenarios where you’re still with him, in his arms, leaving the pain behind to steer towards the same eternal love you’d been targeting before you left.

But he comes out hopeless each time. And it’s cruel, how vast the corridor is. As if his mind is deceiving him, making him believe there’s a future somewhere that you’re in… but your absence says differently.

He understands; the rooms in the mansion are empty because you’re physically gone, but the ones in his mind inhabit only him because the joyful hopes faded the moment you stepped into the carriage.

Now they’re filled with darkness and fear. What if you don’t come back? What if you do, only to deliver words he doesn’t want to hear, and then to depart again?

He hears nothing but his own voice in those rooms, and it keeps convincing him of his own barely-there worth, and that he always fucks up and that people leave and that they stay away. Convincing him that this is it.

This is how his life was supposed to go. To lift him up, but then to throw him into purgatory again because somehow, this is what he deserves. Karmic payback.

The times he ever stops hearing these accusations and destructive statements is when other sounds interrupt them. Which has been rare, since he’s avoided conversations and social touch, except for when it was necessary and the village demanded it.

Luckily, this hasn’t been the case, and he’s been able to wither in peace.

There are still exceptions. He still has his children. He remembers; he tries. But his body is frail. Attempts its best to keep him a good father, like now.

Now, when it reacts to the incoherent call. It’s a quiet cry, a sign of waking up; Jungkook can’t remember arriving in his bedroom, but he knows exactly he’s here when he hears the sound.

Ah… right. He told the maid to get them to sleep and then bring them to their crib only ten minutes ago. He did, right? There’s been plenty his imagination has been conjuring, but the conversation feels real.

Even in a state like this, he doesn’t think he’d ever leave his children alone in this room, if he could prevent it. Sometimes, staff is around. Sometimes, he is. Sometimes, you are.

Were.

Right. Right. You might not return. But then again, you will, won’t you?

You love your children as much as he does; you’ve given all of you to the boys as much as you did to him and Hana. They have captured possibly bigger pieces of your heart than he has. You will return, even if just for them.

And then…

What if you take them with you? Or, what if you leave them here? What if, either way, he has to live a life without you?

These little pieces of him would remind him of you, too. They’re part of you, they’re half of you — but he’d see the entirety of you in them. He does even now as he walks over, watching Jaehyuk stir and Jaehoon weeping.

He hasn’t woken up his brother, but he surely has shot an intense ache into Jungkook’s chest.

Looks like you when you cry. Is this odd? Is it even possible, comparing such round, young features to your more defined ones? He doesn’t know, but he can’t unsee it either way.

And his hands burn and pain, his eyes on fire when he lifts him up, whispering Jaehoon’s name with a shush. There’s a change in behaviour immediately, but it’s not enough. The sobbing turns into quieter cries when he sees his father, but…

There’s something else Jungkook interprets.

Your scent is still everywhere. And for those few days, their way of feeding has been slightly different, too. They’re probably noticing the sudden shift. And yes, Jungkook offers comfort, but your absence lingers, and they understand it as well as he does.

“I’m here…” Jungkook whispers, standing in the middle of the room. For a second, Jaehoon grips the strings of his father’s white cotton shirt, but then his lips arch downwards again. “I know. But I am here, you see?”

As Jaehoon’s sorrow doesn’t lessen, Jungkook sniffles, too, lifting his head for a moment to prevent the tears from falling onto his boy. He takes a couple steps back until he plops back on the bed. Offers a hand to Jaehoon who wraps his tiny fingers around one of Jungkook’s.

Jungkook shakes his head, his sigh tired, and then opts for a nod instead as he repeats, “I know. I don’t think it’s enough either, me being here.” He gulps. “And her being away.”

His throat clogs up. He clears it, the tremble coming back to his lower lip as he asks in his son’s direction, “You miss Mama, don’t you?”

And as if aware, Jaehoon cries harder again, winding in Jungkook’s arms. He doesn’t know what to do to calm the tantrum, doesn’t know how you do what you do that he’s not able to do. He doesn’t think he’s failed as a father. He doesn’t think of himself as incompetent.

But he’s helpless without you. The two of you operated as a unit so far, as one big part of this universe. With half of it gone, he feels like he’s lacking half a brain, not quite functioning.

So he adds, “I do, too. Believe me, I miss her so much, too…” Ongoing crying. “I know.” Ongoing crying from both sides. The adult and the child, hurting the same. “I am sorry, sweetheart.”

And he’s not sure who he’s saying it to. To Jaehoon; to Jaehyuk. To Hana. To you.

To the hurting child he used to be, and the longing young adult that craved for too much. He’s apologising to everyone and over all the mistakes he’s made, all the regrets he carries with him.

And as he does, he’s not certain when his cries overshadow the ones of his son, or when the latter’s finally stop, only Jungkook’s misery still sounding. He doesn’t know how to stop this from hurting and how to nurse two children in a room without you, because you’re a piece of this—

You’re a piece of the picture. With you ripped out of it… isn’t it too lonely?

It is. God. God, the void swallows him whole.

And he doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know where to go and how to bring you back; if he ran to your city now, where the two of you grew and loved, would you appreciate it or hate him more?

Wait…

Do you…

Hate him?

He doesn’t know. How could he, sitting here, breaking down, mind all empty yet filled. Cruel. This is cruel.

So cruel how he forwards his mood to his children the way he learned never to do. How he can’t breathe, can’t think. How his words lose their meaning after a while, yet stay a mantra, still true but so out of your reach.

I’m sorry.

I messed up.

I’m sorry.

Please come back.

Your seamstress is as clueless as you'd like to be.

It's probably part of her occupation, the cheerful, sweet, chatty nature, or perhaps, she's in that line because of that very characteristic of her. She's always been like this, so you shouldn't have expected anything different today.

It isn't as though the world joins you in your grief just because you're feeling it. Earth keeps moving.

Coming back home alone was hard. Hana was asleep most of the time, but the moment she woke, she sought his presence profusely.

You wonder if she noticed why he kissed her goodbye so often and told her he loved her a dozen times and gulped down the first hints of yearning with a clogged throat and damp eyes.

She probably doesn't know. His adoration was quieter than hers — because she wailed when he didn't come home, hated the surroundings she'd already seen before but forgotten.

Her father isn't around and she's angry about it.

Maybe you should've left her there. She isn’t as connected to you as she is to him, and while the twins might notice your absence, they won't quite make sense of it yet.

And you, you're stuck in this absolute consciousness that comes with adulthood, aware of everything.

Aware of where you are, who you're with, who is missing. Aware of how you won't be able to weep in your sister's arms forever; so aware that having beautiful dresses sewn won't bring you permanent satisfaction.

But everytime you think back to the last days, you break. The picture of him home alone, theories about what he might be doing, how he might be coping. Whether he's crying like you, fallen like you, feeling incomplete because he's in those rooms with only half of him.

That's how you've been feeling. You're a fraction of yourself.

After three days of solitude, Hana has learned to settle on pouting. It’s odd, the contrast between her and the town, always the same. The latter is as alive as you knew it. And Seung, the seamstress you used to frequent, is still the same amazing woman, too.

Grown, a little older, but the sheer opposite of a quiet Suhana, of a dejected you.

Your sister is holding Hana’s hand, the other tiny fingers busy with the fabric of the dark yellow dress. You’re in a cursory surface conversation with Seung, trying to be polite despite everything, asking how she’s doing, how her husband has been.

She got married years before you did, and she was always incredibly vocal about her relationship with her spouse. They’ve been a key and a lock; she’s spread hope for love amongst many other girls before.

You were one of them. And the hope bloomed, even when you were met with hurdles and thought you’d end in misery.

In all honesty, you truly thought you were an exception to the many rocky marriages. Sure, you never assumed yours would end up a constant fairytale; Jungkook and you have your days, too.

You just… held onto hope, more so when you fell for him, and you never ever thought you’d experience such a low.

Seung still tires of babbling about her husband soon; she enjoys detailing her fabulous life, but she never makes the entire talk about solely herself. So you expect it when you soon hear a question back, “Lord Jeon has also always been such a gentleman, too, though. I enjoy his company thoroughly. Is he not with you today?”

You barely manage the lazy shake of your head, but you smile to cloak the hurt covering your heart, flooding your insides. The agony is always searing; you feel it everywhere, as though a torch lit you on fire. Every damn mention of his name makes your body sink.

In this town, the people have gathered that he’s a fragment of you, that he’s right wherever you are. But not today. Today, he’s with somebody else entirely; it enrages you, and yet also reminds you of how much you miss him every sickening moment of the endless day.

But you still act as though the praise towards the wonderful man you know doesn’t drag another knife across your heart. You suppress your tears and nod, agree with her.

Of course you do. You enjoy his company, too. You’re not oblivious to your husband’s charm; he’s the heart of every conversation. The poetry in every novel after all.

“He did not join me this time,” you answer, smiling away the seconds to hide the difficulties in your home. Hana sighs, as though she’s understood that something went awry; as if she doesn’t believe it when you say, “But perhaps next time!”

Perhaps. Hopefully.

Your sister brushes the topic off with a wave, focusing on the task on hand. You welcome the diverging topic, just in time for the finishing touches on the dresses you ordered. Seung asks you to slip into them for a final inspection.

The first one is a light purple gown; you do not have a clue where you might wear it, but you enjoy the feel of it. Your sister nods in approval, compliments, “This colour suits you well. You haven’t worn it in so long.”

“I have. I wear it a lot back at home,” you say, remembering a similar shade in your mansion, unaware of where your thoughts are heading until you say, “Jungkook got me a gown in this colour once.”

She pauses for a moment. Seung fumbles at the hem of the dress, busy making it and you pretty; but your sister notices, sighs for a second before she responds, “He has a good eye, then.”

“Yes… he does.”

He likes you in almost every colour, though. He’s baptised you with the name of the rainbow many times before. Thinks every hue brings out something different in you; and that you lend it some additional meaning. Your aura and your energy mix the colours in a palette.

“To something new; to something special.”

You nearly whimper when his voice returns in your head. Despite the circumstances, all you ever remember it in is in joy. When his words are followed by a chuckle and dimples. When the bangs, not cut recently, fall into his eyes, like curtains.

You don’t think of the shaky goodbye days ago… rather, you recall the moments before the world fell apart, drenched in sweetness and grace and warmth.

It becomes difficult to stand here, to let Seung fondle with the fabric. To listen to your sister’s praises and watch Hana’s feet dangle off her seat, hitting the leg of the chair with puffy cheeks and a jutting lower lip.

The view is already too much, and you close your eyes, blending it out. Which proves hard when your husband is mentioned over and over again; of course he is. Two halves of a soul… of course he is.

It’s been like this at each visit, so nobody would expect things to change this time.

And every damn time his name falls, Hana looks up. Big eyes, akin to a doe, personifying hope and love and yearning. If… if there was a way to contact him and let her talk to him for only a minute, you wouldn’t hesitate.

In fact, leaving her there with him could’ve been an option. But you need some comfort, too, don’t you? And he might not be in the proper state to take care of anyone right now. You intensely hope he is looking after himself.

But she keeps sulking. Despising the distance as much as you fear it, asking over and over again, and your dam only breaks and overflows when you step down the podium, asking, “Do you like this?”

And she, uncaring, shrugs, asking, “Can we go back to Daddy?”

You take a deep breath. Your skin tingles, a wave of discomfort filling you head to toe. Head heavy, you yet again register the change in your throat and voice, holding back as you try to pacify her, “Soon, darling. We’re just visiting aunty and the grandparents for a little, remember?”

She does, but it doesn’t help. Somehow, it makes her pout harder. Yesterday, she was crying; now, she’s handling the bad mood differently. Maybe this is worse. You thought children forget, that they distract themselves easily, but Hana’s affection is infinite. Integral to her.

How could she forget? You know who you’re talking about. How could anybody forget about him, ever?

You tuck in one of her black locks, inquiring, “Which dress do you reckon I should get?”

Another shrug. Seung tries, “Would you like to take a look for yourself, as well?”

“Be nice, Hana,” you say, “do you want to? You can say no, too, though.”

It takes a moment until she looks up. Her eyes change when she sees the variety presented to her; as if she didn’t regard any of it since you stepped into the shop. But eventually, she says, “Alright. I will.”

She hops off the chair, small hand in Seung’s palm, walks around to take a look at her choices. Her forefinger is hooked in her mouth as she focuses, only coming out, slightly damp, when she points at something she likes.

Your seamstress approves of most of what Suhana prefers before moving to the colour, “Which one shall we pick for you?”

“I like them all,” Hana says. It’s tough to choose until it isn’t. Once she’s settled on one, staring at it with intensity, you understand she’s decided, calling for you, “Mama.”

“Yes?”

“This is Daddy’s favourite colour.”

A tender shade of sea green. She’s right, it’s his favourite. Or at least a preferred one. You guess you can’t escape him, no matter how much you try, no matter how many miles you leave between him and you.

You ask, “Do you want to take it?”

But she seems unsure all of a sudden again. The finger has dropped with her expression, and she digs the heel of her shoe into the floor, yet nodding, “Yes… I want to surprise Daddy.”

“He will love it, baby,” you say, blinking rapidly. You point to the colour she chose. “This dress then, please?”

“Certainly. Measurements?” Seung says, material already draped over her shoulder; she walks over to the measuring tape, readying herself but…

Hana has long lost her motivation again. You see the light dim with each second, and you prepare yourself to convince her to bask in the excitement a little longer. But she won’t. Instead, she declares, “I don’t want to.”

“What?” Seung voices. “It only takes a moment—”

“I don’t want to,” Hana repeats, “I want to go home.”

“The dress?”

“No.” She inhales, arms dangling at her sides, the childish whining painful when she pleads for the millionth, aching time, “I want to go back to Daddy now.”

Fucking hell, Suhana, how?

How do I take you back already?

If you could, you’d step out and curse into the world. He’s too far away. You’re too far away.

You left with a purpose, bid him goodbye to find peace within yourself. Peace with the fact that a woman is probably still sitting where you have welcomed guests so happily before. The woman that presented him yet another child, his blood and soul.

How do you explain to your daughter that returning might hurt worse than being here, and that his expression will shatter you? That he’ll fall to his knees again, remind you that nobody has ever loved a girl before like he loves you.

That nobody will ever find this much adoration again. But that then, a second later, you’ll remember that until you die, you won’t be the only one anymore?

How do you cope with this? How do you bring your child back into this home, in a mood like yours, without a solution just yet?

In that house where he’s grieving like you, you’ll hear the echoes from everywhere, and the pain will intensify. His touch might linger on you, and the walls will scream and the bed will scream and the rooms will scream.

Yell the memories you made there.

The dinners you shared. The food he fed you with his spoon. The times he’d spill soup on you in the process and laugh it off, crack a dirty joke when the tissue drew over your cleavage.

And the times he kissed you at his office door, promising he’d be in the bedroom soon; the times you still knocked an hour later because he isn’t just a good husband and father, but a good leader for his people, too.

And… and…

The bare skin on the mattress next to you. Warm, sweet, hugging you in, lips on your shoulder, your back, your ear, your body. Engulfing you. Under you, above you, with you. The whispered words and the promises.

Vows that he fulfils during the days and the nights. Raising his children with deep-sitting sentiments, turning his own pain into power and using it to bring happiness to them and to you all the damn time.

Sleepless nights, giggly days, dances in empty rooms and conversations in laughter and tears and hurdles and successes.

Every wall and bed and room will scream out the question whether you remember.

Do you remember it all? Everything you’ve become with him in all those years. Do you remember? Do you? Will you ever forget?

Everything falls. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth. Your damn heart.

And it’s then that you can’t take it anymore. Maybe because you see him in your own daughter’s eyes; maybe because she keeps trying to manifest him, as if he’s right here.

So you break. Quietly but aggressively, grabbing her hand as you say, “Enough. No dresses for you. We’re leaving.”

And you do. Suhana doesn’t like the way you pull yourself and her out of the shop. It’s not painful and you’re not violent or rushed; but maybe she hears your altered voice and sees the torment in your face, because she keeps calling for you until you’re home.

Your sister attempts her best to distract you, promising she’ll grab Hana’s gown before you leave and whatnot — but you’re lost in thoughts, still overwhelmed by a flood of memories. You don’t snap at Hana, even though she taps your wrist, asking why you’re mad and where Daddy is, and once you enter the hall in your previous house, you finally snap—

“Get yourself together!” You’re glaring. You never usually do. “I cannot fly to him. Practise patience for a while, alright?”

It shuts her up, but it does something to her expression, too. She’s tearing up, sniffling all of a sudden. Close to breaking, too, when your mother comes out to greet you, and you ask, “Could you just… could you play with her for a bit? Distract her? I just…”

“Yes,” she immediately says, offering Hana her hand, who takes it reluctantly. She’ll be a little angry at you for a few hours. Won’t want you near her. So she obliges. “Take your time, love.”

So you do. Instantly so. Your sister helps, dragging you up to your old room by your elbow, just in time before you finally break down.

She wraps her arms around you as your tears cascade, your chin on her shoulder, shaking, hands unsteady as you lower the sound of your sobs. This isn’t your first time crying here; but it’s the first time the tears blind you entirely.

Your sister lets you mourn for a while, rubbing your back, sitting at the edge of the bed as she mumbles something you can’t make sense of. She’s always been good at comforting you, but this time, she doesn’t know much about the issue itself. Unable to say much.

Instead, she asks, “This isn’t just a casual fight, is it? You had a very bad one.”

“I’m just…” you try, but she shushes you again, tells you it is alright to take your time. You gulp, then start again, “I don’t know what to do.”

“It is this serious? What happened?” She’s concerned, but curious, too. “You still don’t want to tell me?”

You shake your head against her shoulder, and she sighs. You say, “I need to figure this out with him first. Unbiased…”

“I understand. I am here, though. You can stay here or with me… Seokjin knows, so he won’t mind.”

“But… I just—”

“These things happen, love. You know it. Marriage is all compromise and patience.”

You know. Of course you know. Didn’t you have these same exact thoughts all day? You’re aware of the basic foundation of marriage, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

“Does it… always work out?” you ask.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I have a strong feeling that he and you will.”

“…Why? How?

Maybe she’s saying it because she’s trying to lift you up. Maybe it’s part of comfort, to say things people want to hear. But your sister isn’t this type of person; you’ve appreciated her straightforward nature since the beginning of time, and if she didn’t believe in what she said, you’d consider her switched with somebody else.

Which is why you trust her words when she speaks, partly because the sincerity seeps through them from beginning to end, or because you’re well aware of this universal truth, ��It’s rare… seeing somebody love like this even after years. Of course there’s always affection, but… sometimes love fades. His doesn’t. He really does feel strongly about you.”

“…He does.”

“See, you’re not doubting it. Maybe that’s enough for now.”

You would never leave such a statement open to debate. Even if a dozen women stood at your doorstep, reminding you of his lustful past and little mistakes, you’d send them away with a nonchalant wave.

Yes, the situation now differs from such a fantasy to its core, but even then, you know to trust in his heart. It’s just the future you’re scared of. The back and forth, the facts presented to you; in the form of a memory and in the form of a child.

Breath heavy and chest aching, you tell her, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know either,” she admits, voice quieter now. “But— my first instinct would be… to tell you to go home. I think you need it. Your actual home.”

“And then what…?”

“Whatever your guts tell you to do. What are they telling you now?”

You puff out an exhale; you’re sick of crying. Your head hurts, as if devoid of oxygen. “That I am scared.”

She nods, well aware, digs further, “What else? If you think about the situation, do you see a solution at all?”

Thinking about it… thinking about it…

Properly pondering, you guess you’re not quite at the end of the road. There’s a wall in front of you, but it’s shrinking; if you give it an actual thought and look up, you might be able to climb over it. It’d just need… inhumane strength.

“Maybe… in theory,” you say. “Perhaps.”

Short pause, silence cutting the air. It’s still light outside, but the sky is grey again. No birds chirping, streets and alleys quieter. You think you hear a couple voices, a carriage passing under your window…

You miss the noise. You miss his voice.

You miss the way he sighs in the evenings, staring into a book you might have annoyed him into reading before looking up, noticing your gaze. Smiling at you, overwhelmed by love, leaning in as the novel closes and his lips open…

So your answer shoots out of you when your sister asks, “What else are you thinking?” Clear and ardent and brimming with certainty as you say—

“That I love him.”

The smile she flashes is tiny but telling. Something blooms in her eyes, as if filled with hope, and the little, unconscious gesture, manifesting in her expression, returns the longing to your heart.

A thumb wipes your tears before her hand covers yours, and with a voice so soft and gentle, she concludes, “You really do. Go back, yes?”

And you don’t have it in you to consider her wrong anymore. No matter the hurt, you don’t think you should stay any longer at all. You won’t deny that you needed the escape for a bit; but maybe this suffices.

And in hindsight, maybe you knew how this would end all along.

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

tumblr doesn't allow making very long posts due to the 1k block limit, so you can find the rest of the chapter and its 7k portion in this reblog! <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #bts x you #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook series

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yeagersss · 6 months ago

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Sam's complete masterlist — Ryomen Sukuna x Reader

Header credit @/_sneez__ on twitter

Please note reader is female/afab in all my fics!

Highlighted red means coming soon/WIP!

Oneshots

When the world crumbles (Zombie Apocalypse AU)

Masterlists

Blind!Reader AU

Firefighter!Sukuna AU

Your husband, Sukuna

You're a cat (cat!Reader AU)

Hidden in plain sight (College AU)

Drabbles/Short fics

You are a sorcerer who challenges Sukuna

Sukuna being obsessed with your boobs (18+)

Does Sukuna have a favourite concubine?

Sukuna cheering you up after you've gained weight (Mild 18+)

Thighriding Sukuna (18+)

Clingy Sukuna!

How Sukuna helps you during period cramps

Retired!Boxer Sukuna and you are his ex-girlfriend (Prequel) (Part 1) (Part 2)

You are a sorcerer who can make water clones and try to take down Sukuna...

Sukuna loses you and finds you again in a different era

Sukuna after his defeat at Shinjuku — He ends up as your pet... blob? (Part 1) (Part 2)

How Sukuna mourns you (tw cannibalism and death)

Headcanons/Rambles

Sukuna would eat you out on your period (18+)

Sukuna + Voice kink (18+)

Thoughts on Sukuna meeting you after heading North

Sukuna does not care about your appearance!

Sukuna doesn't propose...

Sukuna trying to hide when he's embarrassed

How Sukuna proposes

Sukuna and his extra mouths (18+)

How Sukuna proposes (18+ ver.)

Peppering Sukuna's face with kisses 💋

Requests

Sukuna doesn't say I love you...

Actor!Sukuna x makeup artist!Reader

You are his son's bride

#sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk sukuna #sukuna x y/n #masterlist #I think it was only a matter of time before I did this #finally me being organized hehe

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pricetagged · 7 months ago

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Part 2 of that wifehunter john piece instead of working on my wips 💖

Masterlist l Previous l Next

Warnings: implied stalking and voyeurism. Nothing too bad...yet.

Unedited, typed on my phone during break, abrupt ending (part 3 ig?)

_________________

He thumbs at the book, tracing the swirls of your penmanship until the ink fades off and the paper turns to felt. It leaves his fingertips stained, dark as indian ink, and he can't help the satisfied burr that catches his breath as he presses the sticky whorls of his prints into the pages.

Stained. Blackened.

Imprinted.

It's what he wants to do to you in something more indelible than ink, something that would burrow under your skin and linger. (This parasitic desire, he'll bury it in you, make you feel his presence deep in your guts, squirming and wriggling at the back of your mind-)

Of course he returns the book. Returns it to you marked and dogeared and of course you're grateful for it. Tripping over your words and choking on the thanks that build up and tumble from your delicate throat, feelings and words too big for you.

He knows that, sees the slight hesitance in your eyes as they flit to the window where he knows your useless Buck is ambling about. Shambling. (This marriage is a sham, his claim on you is a sham, one that John is more than willing to seize upon and squeeze until it all crumbles and all that is left is you malleable and soft in his hands).

"Where...where did you find this? I thought-" He sees how you choke down condemnations, not wanting to crack open that door that leaves your husband exposed.

Is it loyalty? Obedience?

Whatever it is, he wants it. Wants to redirect it his way. It itches at him, sits awkwardly like a broken seam, seeing you waste this fidelity on something still wet behind the ears.

On a man who can't even protect his own home, can't even cherish his own wife and has to call John in to pick up the mantle-

"It's good work. Shouldn't leave it lying around, sweetheart," he raps against the front cover, needs to do something with his hands before the impulses take over and he does something hasty. Something that would send you darting back to your husband's arms instead of in to his. "Would be a real waste if it got lost. Taught me how to transplant herbs, now I've got some parsley on my windowsill that's still alive."

It's a lie. He must have strangled the roots, harvested it too soon, something-

But it makes you happy. He can see the glow that warms your cheeks and brightens your eyes. They way your face plumps up, softens, due to your shy smile.

"You should've tried mint, first. It grows like crazy, basically does its own thing. Basil, too." You're grinning, in your element out here. Surrounded by green and the rich, earthy scent of the soil that you till. Geosmin. Oakmoss.

"I'll have to get you over to show me sometime."

He plays gallant so well, offering to help you with the weeding and trimming. It wouldn't be the first time he got down into the muck and the mire. Wouldn't be the first time he stuck his hands in, got them caked and dirty right up to the elbow in order to get what he wants. In order to do what needs done. It's as familiar to him as the uniform he wears.

And your company makes it so much more pleasant.

You smile at him, glancing up from the flowerbeds each and every time he passes you a tool. Eventually you feel comfortable enough to call for him - John? - to tap at his wrist and redirect his hands around the roots and stems below you both. It's a beautiful symbiosis: you, who are so good at wringing life and he who is so good at taking it.

He catches the way the living room curtains twitch, the shadow of the young buck pacing and pawing just out of sight. Too much energy, not enough courage. Not seasoned enough to come out and plant himself between the challenger and his wife. It's stable vice, sending him spinning, uselessly watching as John sidles in and digs his paws into the very foundations of the house. It makes him smile, big and broad as he tugs at a particularly stubborn weed with a grunt.

And when you can't quite get the rubber of the yard gloves to slide over your wrist, he just has to help you. Has to grip at your soft forearm, cooing as you wince.

"Big pull, that's it sweetheart."

You brace yourself so well, pulling back in a counterweight that just digs his fingers in tighter. Blinking back tears, you laugh a little awkwardly. A little thrilled.

And you thank him for it, shaking your arm out and stretching your fingers. All damp from the soil and your sweat.

Unoticing uncaring of the ring that's no longer on your finger.

He has the urge to shake it out of the glove onto the dirt. To burry it and trample all over it until it's dull and forgotten and dead.

But -

But it's still warm from your hand.

It's so fragile, too small to fit properly over his thick fingers and swollen knuckles.

He thumbs at it on his drive home, plays with the smooth face and angled edges as he thinks.

He won't give it back, the thought draws a scoff as he signals into his driveway. No, the only way you're getting a ring from him is on the same day that the ink dries on your marriage license.

But there's the matter of that ugly possesive thing that lives in his ribcage, so close to the surface that the lines blur and shimmer until he's not sure which skin he's wearing. It has him feeling hot, burning up and itching to watch the fall out.

He settles on the settee, cigar in one hand and your wedding ring in the other.

It sits tight just barely at the first knuckle of his forefinger. The screen in front of him illuminates it, makes it glint cold and sharp as it moves lower and lower, over the slight give of his stomach until it reaches the bulge pressing into his zipper. He palms himself, hisses as he feels the metal dig in a little to the sensitive, aching flesh.

With another slow drag, he flicks open his fly and settles in.

Even the slight pixelation of the monitor can't disguise how pretty you are.

_________________________

Someone with a big brain please help me to name this haha 💖

Sorry for the delay. Been super demotivated lately. Still got several k of wips that need attention :/

#price is a man with a plan so this is going to be a little bit of a slow burn i guess #also i imagine that when watching he splits his attentions between the impotent fury of your husband and your wide pleading eyes #both are aphrodisiac to him just helping to stoke the flames higher #hes so😩🥰👌#báirseach writes #captain john price #john price x reader #john price #john price/reader #cod fanfic #cod imagine #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #dark john price #cw dark #cw stalking #cod x reader #q

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Triumvirate 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, abuse by parental figure, kidnap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this.

Summary: Three men take you away from an unhappy life.

Characters: destroyer Chris, Captain Syverson, Curtis Everett.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t

The tearing in your roots makes you whine. Your mom twists until your scalp feels ready to split, dragging you down the hall as she snarls. He pushes open the screen door and hurls you out with every ounce of spite. You stumble down the crooked steps and land in the dirt.

“You no good fucking bitch,” she spits beside you. “How many times I gotta tell you to get out!”

You turn over and look up at her. She snarls and puffs like a rabid beast. Her glare scalds. She hates you so much. She always has.

She slams the screen door, then the inside one. You sit up and fix the backless sneakers on your feet. You check the scrapes on your knees and sigh. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last time.

How could you know she had someone over? You didn’t hear them. You thought she’d be happy to see the dishes done but that chore only riled her. She broke three plates before she latched onto you. Scratches blaze on your head.

You get up and look across the street. Leah watches from her front porch, shaking her head as she puffs on a menthol. No one does anything. They only judge. Around here, it’s not exactly unusual.

Your purse is inside, your phone too. Shoot. You’ll have to wait her out. Whoever she’s got in her room probably gave her some pills. She’ll be out of it soon.

You’re not proud of that thought. You should be concerned. You used to be. Now you just accept what she is. You rely on it. Her addiction keeps her weak; keeps her from hurting you worse.

You turn and trod along the street. You could go down to the corner shop and ask Darren to spot you a gatorade. He’s usually pretty understanding. He knows your mom and that you always come to pay for whatever she wanders out with.

Twenty-one years. It doesn’t feel that long, yet it’s still an eternity. Things never change, they only get worse. Your mom’s hair turns gray and the lines in her face get deeper and her speech more slurred. You only get weaker, more tired, more passive. It’s just the way is. Why fight? Fighting only gets you hurt.

A truck rolls by and the tires dust up dirt. You cough at the tan paint above the silver bumper. You watch the exhaust chuff out down the street and veer around the corner, just past the corner shop.

You approach the Penny Mart and shield your eyes against the sun. The truck idles further down the street. You shrug and continue inside.

Darren pop gum between his teeth. You wave and head for the fridges. You take out a red gatorade and come back to the counter.

“Can I come back later?” You ask. “Mom locked me out again.”

He gnaws on the gum and shakes his head, “uh uh.”

“Oh?” The door chimes as another customer enters. “You know I’m good for it.”

“Manny says no,” he shrugs. “Your mom threw a box of cereal at him.”

“She... did?” You’re overly aware of the man behind. He clears his throat. “Alright then, guess I’ll put this back.”

“Well, you know... I could bend the rules,” he smirks and winks. “Come in the back...”

You grimace. “I’ll put it back.”

You turn and march away, skin crawling at his suggestion. It’s not the first time but for him to do it in front of someone else, that’s humiliating. You open the fridge as the man steps up to the counter.

“I’ll take a pack of lites and twenty on the pump. Throw in a red gatorade,” he says.

You shut the door and drag your feet across the unmopped tile. This place matches the neighbourhood. You’re sure the prices help distract from the expiry dates, too.

Footsteps circle around the shelves. The fridge opens. A whistle keeps you from leaving. “Girl, come get your drink.”

You stop and turn to face the man. His head is shaved close but he sports a thick goatee. He wears a sleeveless flannel, the peek of a chain shimmering around his neck.

“Um, me?”

“Come on,” he beckons you. “Hot day out.”

You hesitate and cross the store. People aren’t all rotten around here. Mrs. Haggin fed you more times than you can count and Ted let you hang around his garage on the hotter days. Still, strangers aren’t common and aren’t often friendly.

“Thanks, uh, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Two bucks,” he clucks.

“Right.”

Two bucks you don’t have. Pathetic. He holds the door open and you retrieve the same bottle of Gatorade.

“Thanks again,” you say.

“Never know. One day, someone might help me out,” he sniffs.

He lets the door fall shut. You turn and walk away. He follows. You have a bad feeling as he stays close. He pushes the door open above your shoulder before you can.

Stupid. He probably expects the same thing Darren wanted. You step out and to the side.

“I can’t pay you back,” you offer the bottle.

“Keep it,” he waves you off and drops off the pavement ledge onto the tarmac. “Have a good one.”

“Oh, uh...”

He walks away. Not a look back at you. You watch him approach the truck by the pumps. Tan with a silver bumper. They must’ve needed the top-up.

You kick off the curb and drag your feet away. You’ll go down to the park and find a table in the shade. It’s swelter. The sun beats down on you mercilessly.

You peel away the wrapper and twist the nozzle on the bottle. You drink thirstily as you step on the cracks in the pavement. ‘Step on a crack, break your mother’s back...’

The truck rumbles back at the shop and you hear it rolling toward you. It passes slowly and you pretend to examine the label of the bottle. As nice as it was, you’re not stupid. It’s pity. Everyone feels bad for you, but they don’t really care.

You follow the trail through the tall grasses behind the condemned donut shop down to Smith’s Park. It’s not much of one. Mosquitoes buzz over a pond not much bigger than a puddle, tadpoles swirling in the shallows, and the trees sway over splintering benches and rotting picnic tables.

You sit and suck on the bottle. Couple of hours and you can go home. Home... not really where you belong, just always where you’ve been.

The brush rustles but you don’t pay any mind to it. There are coyotes around here but they’re skittish. Squirrels too but you don’t have much for them to steal.

You put your elbows on the table and peel off the label on the bottle as the condensation soaks through. You lay it out flat on the wood. The dingy smell of the neglected boards clings in the air.

A twig snaps. You look up as a shadow passes between the bushes. Some kids will come down to catch tadpoles. You did when you were young. Your mom dumped the toads down the toilet once they grew.

Another crack. You twitch and look over your shoulder. You grip the bottle and turn straight. Your voice catches as you’re face with an unexpected best. A man in a ski mask.

It’s so absurd, you think it’s a joke. Some of the hunters like to mess around but this isn’t the area for them. It’s not thick enough. They go up north.

He’s big. The epitome of burly. He wears a grey tee shirt damp with sweat and cargo pants. He stares at you through the slits of his mask.

“Um,” you stand. “Sorry, I was just...”

You step over the bench and turn to head back down the trail. There’s another man. He’s in all black. He must be melting in this heat. You reel back.

“Oh...” the back of your knees hit the bench. “I think...” you sidle along. “I’ll just...”

You turn and run towards the thicket of wiry bushes. Before you can reach them, another man in another mask pops out. He wears a sleeveless flannel...

You throw the gatorade at him and spin back. You’re caught by the other two men.

“Shhh,” the one behind you hushes.

You struggle with them, kicking the dirty, writhing as they twist your arms behind you. The man at your back secures your wrists together as the peel of duct tape tears through the hum of insects.

“Please, who are you? Stop!” You whine. This can’t be happening. What the hell is this?

The man in black keeps hold of your upper arm and signals with his other hand. A cloth covers your eyes. You whimper as it’s knotted behind your head. Another is shoved into your mouth. You gag. You’re shushed again.

“It’s alright, darlin’,” you think the bigger man says. It comes from his direction as the man behind you pets your hair. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“Quiet,” another warns. “Get her legs.”

You fight to evade their grasp blindly. You kick out and your ankles are seized and forced together. The duct tape winds around your ankles.

Your eyes water behind the cloth. It’s more than fear, it’s realisation. You’re not going to go home, but worse, you don’t think anyone will care. They won’t even notice.

You babble around the fabric in your mouth. You choke as you’re taken off your feet, carried between two men like luggage. You’re just a thing. Why is this happening to you?

You squirm and shake, trying to break away from the arms hooked around your torso and legs. A hinge creaks, a car door, then another metallic whine. No, it’s not a car.

You’re loaded into the truck bed and strapped down to the ridge metal. You blink as your eyes burn. You quiver in horror as you sense a deep darkness cast over you and the truck lurches. The door of the bed snaps shut and closes you in.

Weight shifts in the axel as the muffled noise of the doors opening seep through. You whimper as the engine rumbles to life. You try to roll one way or the other. You can’t.

The way they worked, so methodical, it assures you that there is no escape. There’s no loophole for you to find. You’re stuck. That suffocating realisation constricts in your chest. No, no, no. It can’t be real.

You shudder and replay the scene in your head. It happened so fast yet as you relive it, it feels like slow motion. The large man, the man in black, the third one in his...sleeveless flannel.

The cloying flavour of sugary electrolytes stick to your tongue. You shudder. The man in the store. He followed you? Why?

Think about it. What did he see? A woman with no money. A woman alone. A woman wandering off into the shadows.

How stupid. You would never expect it. Never think that anyone would bother. You always just stay out of the way and no one bothers you. Only Darren and his gross leers. Only Rob next door when his wife’s not talking to him.

The truck bounces over the road. You can hear the other cars around you as they head into the city. Right through the mid-afternoon rush. How many people are driving by completely unaware of you hidden in the back.

The pit in your stomach deepens and you whine. You try to scream. You can’t. You try to kick. You can’t.

These men are taking you who knows where to do things you can’t imagine and there’s no one coming to save you. Just like no one ever came to save you from your mom.

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wisecura · 7 months ago

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Jujutsu Kaisen

unfortunately, I pick favorites

🔪 - will have dark undertones (or full blown black flags).

🔞 - will have smutty content.

♡ - a request fic I got

warnings will be put for the stories that have less traditional dark undertones. most of my work will have themes that may be unsettling or uncomfortable so please do not interact with these stories. this can include dubcon, toxic relationships, manipulative behavior, potential poor decision making on the Y/N perspective. I write things I find interesting and if that offends you, then please don’t read.

Red in the title means its a WIP (typed up concept in my Docs just waiting to be finished/edited/published), and will hopefully be released soon.

Gojo x You (my golden boy makes me feral)

believe it or not, this man has his own masterlist

Gojo x You x Geto

╰┈➤Nanny 🔪⭑summary: Isekai'd into the world of Jujutsu Kaisen, you sell yourself to the Gojo Clan in an attempt to change your favorite characters fates. You change many things, and are able to see the boys grow peacefully. Yet now with them out of the clan house you find yourself in a predicament. Your arranged marriage. warnings: small age gap, abnorm dynamic

this is a series: a second?,

╰┈➤Sweeter ♡ 🔪 🔞⭑ summary: entering high school only to be met with the two hottest strongest sorcerers of your generation was not something you were prepared for. so, what happens when they take a strange liking to their cute, sheltered underclassman?

this has a smutty p.2

Geto x You (he never comes far behind)

╰┈➤pretty (older and discontinued, but if you reallllly wanna read it?)

╰┈➤Pretty 🔪⭑ summary: You're Gojo's cute little sister. And Suguru just cant get enough of you.

this is a series: did you want a 2?, a 3? and a 4?,

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

╰┈➤Try the Priest 🔪⭑ summary: Your best friend, Suguru Geto, has a warrant on his head. You hadn't heard from him since then, and you thought your friendship was as good as dead. So why is he on your front porch?

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

╰┈➤ My Leader 🔪🔞 ⭑ summary: suguru geto was all for the betterment of the world--eradicating the non-sorcerers in society, and collecting people to stand in the new world with him. it's no different when he finds you--an untrained sorcerer, so eager and desperate for validation-- a hint at sanity when no one else could see the monsters around you. but what happens if he takes you in only to find himself changing his mind. warnings: pwp, voyeurism, gore, blood, murder, dark undertones, size kink smut, you aren't in your right mind either, fingering, marking, manipulation, belittling and teasing

Toge x You

Yuji x You

╰┈➤Shine 🔪⭑ summary: You're a famous pop idol that Yuji adores. what more is there to say?

Megumi x You

╰┈➤Sheets 🔪 ⭑ summary: Your arranged marriage to Toji Fushiguro had been sudden and unexpected, but now you found yourself living under his roof alongside his moody stepson. Your only directive from your clan head before moving in was clear: keep a close eye on Toji, the notorious Sorcerer Killer, and his son, a potential sorcerer prodigy. warnings: arranged marriage, forced marriage, violence, step-cest, mommy kinks, age gap

this is a series: another? , and another? , this 4?, a 5?, is that a 6?, did i spy a 7?, an 8th??, a 9, 10,

Toji x You

Choso x You

Yuta x You

╰┈➤Desperation 🔪🔞 ⭑ summary: Yuta’s really gotta thing for you and you’ve got one for him. warning: abnorm dynamic, knife play, borderline somno, dom material

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

╰┈➤Yuuuuutttaaaa 🔪 🔪 🔞 ⭑ summary: You and yuta have been best friends for years warnings: somno, dub/non- con, forced breeding, this one’s a little intense

Nanami x You

AN: This anime has been my obsession for the last few months

I post updates in this community so feel free to check it out: https://www.tumblr.com/communities/obsessedjjk

And home

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heartmix · 9 months ago

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Messed Up - Joe Burrow

Pairing: Joe Burrow x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k+

Warning: swearing, mentions of s*x, joe's an ass in the beginning and also dumb, driving while on the phone (focus on driving!) angst but fluffy ending

A/N: cleaned out all my wip and deleted around 50 so i could motivate myself to write more. found this gem while i was cleaning

Masterlist / NFL Masterlist

He didn't mean to make you feel like shit. Really. You were the most understand person in the world especially when it came to his job. If he told you that practice was shit and that the winning drought was getting to him then you would've understood, but he just had to say,

"You're a distraction, you need to stop being all over me I can't focus on work."

That one sentence sent everything into a spiral. He regretted it the moment he said it, apologizing as soon as the last word came out but it was too late. The sad eyes mixed with the anger radiating from your body was evident.

"Hope you can focus for Tennessee." Was all you said before grabbing your phone and rushing to the guest bedroom before joe could get you from not locking the door.

Tennessee being venom on yours lips was a reminder that he had an early flight in the morning for this weekend's game. Of course he had to go and say some stupid shit knowing he wouldn't be able to see you till Monday.

His sleep was absolutely shit. He fell asleep outside the guest bedroom hoping in the middle of the night you'd crawl back in bed or open the door and take pity on him, but you didn't. You slept the whole morning. Even when he had to leave. He screwed up. The texts and voice memos he sent you piled in like a train that morning. In every way he could say sorry he wrote and said. He even made sure flowers and breakfast was on your doorstep before he boarded the plane.

You weren't completely heartless, you knew he regretted what he said, but that didn't change the fact that he said it and looked like in that moment he meant it. Not wanting him to have an even more terrible practice and even worst game you caved into the texts, sending a picture of the flowers with a

'Thank you, it's beautiful. Have fun in Tennessee'

Joe felt a wave of relief seeing your text come in. He knew it wouldn't make up for everything, but at least you weren't ignoring him. He was going to take as much as he could get until he saw you on Monday.

Over the next two days the texts were dry on your end. Just simple replies to his texts and pictures here and there of your day (when he asked). Those two days he was thinking of ways to make it up to you. All of his troubles washed away seeing your Instagram stories before the game. No matter how mad you were you still supported him (even if that wasn't your team).

Bengals got a win off the titans, a close game that was decided by a last second field goal. He was grateful for the strong wind and his kickers experience with wind over Tennessees'. He played a hell of a game, scoring 2 passing touchdowns. Seeing your celebratory stories made him feel even better. He thought everything was going to be okay once he got home.

Sure you loved supporting him every chance you got, but that wasn't the entire reason you posted about the bengals win. It would be suspicious if you didn't. Texts from friends who knew you all to well would roll in with

'you and Joe okay?'

'Joe piss you off?'

'Tired of the bengals?'

You didn't want that. You couldn't handle that right now. You got your anger out of the way and all that was left was irritation. Irritation with what Joe had the audacity to say that to you and Irritation that he couldn't just tell you he wasn't in the mood. He made you feel like a slut and that was the last thing you wanted to feel in a relationship with one of the biggest quarterbacks of this generation.

Monday morning rolled around and Joe couldn't be happier to be home. He couldn't wait to tell you all about the win and hear your praises. He loved hearing your insight after game day, especially over a game he knew he played great in.

When he walked in the house he expected the usual greeting and excitement from you. But it was silent. You didn't work today and even if you did you worked from home most days so you'd take a short break to great him. The whole house was quiet, not even music blasting from the speakers. The more he traveled in the house he finally found you in the walk in closest with your earphones in. You knew he was home evident to the notifications your got from the doorbell camera, you just didn't care to meet him at the door to greet him.

"Hey mamas." You felt his hands snake around your waist as he buried his head in your neck.

"Hey. Great game. The plane ride okay?" You asked pausing the current song so you can show some decadency in paying attention to him as much as you didn't want to.

"Yeah. The win made it easier to fall asleep for a bit." He mumbled in your neck. The reminder that he won hit you right in the chest. Maybe he did win because you weren't a distraction this weekend.

"I bet, at least you got some rest."

"Yeah but now I'm home and I couldn't be happier to be here." All you did was hum at his response as you continued to sort your clothes.

"What are you doing?" He noticed you were making an overnight back.

"Staying at Milla's tonight. She wanted a girls night with just us after we were with the girls all yesterday."

"Oh." Was all he could get out. He was confused. Obviously you could make plans whenever you wanted it's just you rarely made plans when he came back from a road game. You dedicated that day to him and him only. He loved those days even after a win, even in a lost you'd spend it in bed watching film and helping him analyze the games.

"Don't forget to put your laundry in the basket." You turned to him patting his cheek before grabbing your bag getting ready to head out.

"Wait! Whats the matter?" He chased you out of the closet with a confused look on his face.

"Nothing? I going to the store to grab dinner so I can cook at Milla's. She's in the mood for my cooking."

"Okay. So I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" His signature pout made its way onto his face. Normally you couldn't resist it, but today you really didn't care what face he was making.

"Mhmm."

"Bye i love you, text me when you get there." He came up to you planting a kiss to your lips deeply with you barely reciprocating it back.

"Will do." You gave a fake smile to him before leaving the house.

You didn't come home the next day. In fact you stayed one more day at Milla's with the reason being that Milla tired you out at the mall and you didn't feel like packing up everything from the tiredness. When you came back Wednesday morning Joe just got back from his morning work out but could tell you were in a rush.

"Hey! Woah in a rush?"

"Heading into work today. Got a new project." You replied swiftly has he watched you get undressed and dressed in front of him. Every ounce in his body wanted to take you in front of the mirror, but with the look on your face and your pacing he knew you were in a hurry.

"Oh okay. I was thinking dinner tonight with Sam, Ja'marr and Tee? Said they missed your cooking."

"Yeah sure. I'll text you when I leave the office." You smiled grabbing your work bag off the bed and rushing out the door before Joe could even pull you in for a goodbye kiss.

The only thing joe could think about all day was you. He couldnt wait till you got home and have you to himself, even though he needed to wait a few for you to play host. The text came in 2 hours after the boys arrived and they were well into a game of 2k. Screaming and jabs made them forget about the food that was promised.

'Hey sorry on short notice staying late tonight. New project is big. Tell the boys I'm sorry and that I'll cook for them next week. Don't wait up for me.'

'It's okay mamas, don't work yourself to hard. I love you'

All he revived was a heart reaction and no follow up text. He found that strange, but put it off as you were focusing on your work. He understood that. Quickly ordering some takeout the boys didn't mind hearing that next week they were for sure getting your cooking.

Joe didn't even know when you got home last night. Having the boys over drained him so he went to sleep earlier then he thought, he tried to stay up to wait fr you but failed. So to his surprise you weren't even in bed when he woke up. You weren't in the bathroom either. When he made his way downstairs he saw you already dressed for the day washing your finished coffee cup and making a new batch to go.

"Hey I didn't hear you get in last night."

"Yeah I crashed on the couch. To tired to go upstairs." Which had some truth to it. He knew you loved the couch so it wasn't strange you slept downstairs.

"Already heading out?" He asked coming up behind you circling his arms around your waist burying his head into the crook of your neck.

"Just for a few hours. Want to understand the project to I can bring it home for a few days."

"Mhmm, sounds good I missed you home." He mumbled still being comfortable in the crook of your neck.

"You need to get ready for practice and I need to run." You gave him a tight lip smile before rushing out with your coffee and bag in hand. No goodbye kiss, not even a goodbye in general.

He knew something was up, but couldn't figure out what. This whole week since he got back you were short with him. He wasn't even sure he saw you for an hour combined this whole week. The three men who were over that night could tell Joe was deep in his thoughts.

"What's got you all depressed?" Expressed Ja'marr as they were taking a break on the bench.

"My girl. I haven't even seen her for an hour combined the whole week."

"Woah what did you do to piss her off." Next was Sam who spoke what everyone was thinking.

"Nothing I think? When I got back home she was running off with Milla for a sleepover and that turned into 2 days. When she came back the next morning she was rushing to get to work and stayed overtime which is why she didn't have dinner with us and this morning she was up and out when I woke up. I got two sentences out of her before she rushed out. No goodbye or even a kiss goodbye."

"Oh my guy you messed up big time." Tee said chuckling at the mans stupidity. He didn't know exactly what his teammate did, but knew it was his fault.

"I don't even know what I did! She wasn't like this before the week-" he stopped in his tracks now realizing what could be the cause.

"What did you do?" Ja'marr said knowing that face Joe made all too well.

"Before we flew out, the night before I told her that she was a distraction to me and that I couldn't focus on work with her being all over me." The QB hung his head wanting to knock himself out.

"You gotta be kidding me man."

"You blamed her for your shitty work performance?"

"Oh my god. I didn't even notice. I didn't think she was mad anymore after she was posting about the game on Sunday." Joe was now frantic. How could he have not know sooner.

"Dude she posts every game it would be weird if she didn't." Tee said the obvious thing that Joe didn't seem to notice that it would be weird to everyone else if you didn't post.

"I would even question why she didn't post." Sam shrugged being the dude less on the internet out of the four.

"Holy shit I'm a terrible boyfriend."

"Yeah you fucking are." Tee got out a little too fast.

"Wow thanks guys."

"It's your fault I didn't get her cooking last night? Unbelievable." Ja'marr exclaimed making Joe roll his eyes. Of course that was all he focused on.

"So how are you going to make this up?" Sam spoke seeing his friend stressing out.

"I don't know. But I need to do something before she comes home."

As soon as practice ended he rushed home having no time to waste. On the drive home he managed to order food from your favorite restaurant, have flowers delivered to home and a bag you've been eyeing for months. He was going to wait till Christmas to get the bag, but what better time than right now. As dangerous as it would be to be on his phone while driving he checked your location every minute to make sure he would make it home before you. Just as he reached home it was when you left your work place. He hoped you'd come straight home and not make any detours.

He worked fast, putting the flowers front and center on the kitchen counter, unpacked the food and put it on plates and finally placed the Dior package next to the flowers. Smiling at the little set up he looked at this phone seeing he had time to get dressed up. Sure you didn't mind the sweatpants and a bengals shirt but he didn't feel like it was the most "i'm sorry" fit.

Walking through the door you let out a sigh. As much as you wanted to avoid Joe more you couldn't help but admit you missed sleeping in your own bed especially with him in it. Maybe you should let up on your semi silent treatment. Your thoughts were paused when you heard your playlist coming through from the kitchen. Peaking your interest. Turning the corner you found Joe standing all dressed up with a goofy smile on his face.

"What is this?" You inquired placing your work bag on one of the free counters.

"A sorry, a i messed up and i didn't realize it till now."

"Joe-" you started before he cut you off.

"I missed the welcome homes, i love you's and the way call me by a nickname instead of Joe. I was stupid. i thought everything was okay with what I said to you last week but it wasn't. Trust me when i say i didn't mean it. This is no excuse, but it was an in the moment thing. I know my performance was shitty these last few weeks and that my day was bad and that was no excuse to take it out on you when you were only trying to make me feel better. I also know that i should've just came to you. The most understanding girl i know, especially when it comes to my job. I don't know what else to say besides i'm sorry." he got out all in one breathe which shocked you. He wants one for a grand speech, but he was pretty good at it.

"It took you almost a week to realize something was wrong with me." you still didn't want to let down your guard, you were going to milk him for everything he had to say.

"I know, I mean i knew you weren't alright since i left, but i guess i let the praise you gave me online clouded everything. Sorry it took me so long to realize."

"You know you made me feel like a slut. like all i wanted from the new hottest quarterback was sex. normally you like to take your mind off of work when it affects you that much but i was wrong and i'm sorry for that."

"Don't apologize. i never meant to make you feel that way, you are not a slut. you've been there for me since my first year at LSU. how could i make you feel any less." He said pulling you into an embrace which was much needed for the both of you.

"Do you forgive me?" He mumbled in your hair making you giggle at how whiny he sounded.

"I do, and i missed you."

"I missed you more then you could ever know, this past week was worst than my losing streak."

"I doubt that but ill take it. now whats all of this?" You pulled away looking at the little fixture on the kitchen island."

"food from the place you like and a little gift."

"A little? It's a Dior package."

"Open it." he begged you.

Reaching over to the bag you didn't know what was going to be in it, Joe's love language was for sure gift giving so it was always a surprise. When you opened the box you gasped at the bag you've been eyeing out for months. You didn't even tell Joe about your interest in the bag. When you looked back up at Joe he had the signature smirk on his face.

"How did you know?"

"I pay attention believe it or not."

"You didn't have to." You pouted up at him for the sweet gesture. No matter how many gifts he would shower you with it still caught you by surprise everytime.

"I wanted to. I was going to get you it for christmas, but i have enough gifts to spare." he said as a smirk creeped up on his face.

"You're unbelievable." You laughed pulled him down by the jacket he was wearing to plant a deep kiss. He couldn't help but bring you closer. Right when he was going to lift you up on the counter you pulled away.

"Food is going to get cold." You reminded with a smirk of your own making his drop.

"I haven't touched you in so long." he growled out making you laugh.

"Could've had sex the night before your flight and sex this whole week but thats on you." You said patting his chest as you made your way to sit on the barstool.

"Oh you're never going to let that go."

'am i getting my dinner next week?'

#nfl imagine #nfl x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow

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acid-ixx · 8 months ago

Note

They aren't finished but I wanted to give you these! They're all WIPS so so far. Some are a bit older and you can tell what the newer ones are that I just made right now.

Thank you for posting a new chapter. It was an amazing read and I just loved it so much! Still trying to find those song references 😂

chapter spoilers and drafts (again &. again)

— masterlist ! ; chapter 4 ; ash's commisions

OH MY GOD THIS IS SUCH A BLESSING??? BANGER AFTER BANGER AFTER BANGER I SWEAR 💞

ash, you have always provided my little fanbase for my series so much food for thought, this is absolutely beautiful in every way. i literally don't care if they're wips or unfinished because either way you always make do with what i write, descriptive or not. i love your artstyle and how soft you draw the mc and how handsome conner is (i literally showed your art off to all my friends). you're so talented and i wish to reciprocate all the efforts you've done for this series 😭

i'm serious. from your portrayal of the mc, to them flying with conner, you never once disappoint anyone.

because of this, i'd like to leak some parts of my story from chapter five and beyond 💕! thank you so much for this, and i hope my yapping below suffices.

major spoilers below the cut!

the graduation photo! i have something planned with that, and i'd delve so much deeper (soon) with just how much a single photo can influence bruce's line of thought once he discovers that picture frame. love how happy mc is in the photo because, for me, it symbolizes them growing up (quite literally) and acknowledging a new path in life, alongside only finding alfred as their only father figure compared to bruce.

you consider yourself reserved, and prefer your life living within the confines of privacy and protection from media exposure. your mother always told you: better safe than sorry once; right after you've asked her about why you can't seem to find personal information about your father when she helped you search him up occasionally.

all the questions you ask her about the lack of your father's preferences — because you merely wanted to know more about him beyond the stories she told you! — she rebutted with a soft smile, a kiss on your head, and an explanation.

she'd warn you about the dangers of media exposure, about how your father and her prefer to keep their relationship a secret, and how too much cameras and paparazzi flashes can blind you.

she said that someone's perception of another person could be ruined once their deepest secrets are revealed. that's why your papa isn't seen beyond the doors of the manor he resides in; because people are attracted to mystery and allure.

hence why she'd restricted you from the usage of any devices within your household during your childhood, other than the excuse of having no money to afford it.

and you always abide by that principle of secrecy; especially right after alfred had saved you from... whatever happened years ago in elementary. from when that man... no, those men knew about your identity...

so, safe to say you were an introvert, at least when it comes to social media. the concept of the fear of missing out never once rattled your brain, no matter how anxious you are whenever you're with your friends; scared that you wouldn't fit in. but they never cared and accepted you with open arms, so it doesn't really matter, no?

you're safe now that you're at metropolis.

and like she always said, better safe than sorry! keep it within you and never out!

so why?

why is it just right after you've opened your twitter app— why is it that your face is plastered all across news accounts?

anyways, the second and third images are so romantic!!! and cute, and cured my depression i swear. i showed this to my one friend and she told me that conner's hand size compared to mc's is straight up hot, and i agree! i love the hand placement, and the way conner holds the mc so softly! yes, i too, would love to touch his man-tits beyond his impeccably tight shirt and play with his hands!

and the cute little panel with him squishing their face and desire their confirmation that, they do, in fact, think they're hot. he's a very insecure man after all, and his self-worth would revolve around your perception of him. he doesn't see you as god, but he doesnt see you as his everything. every opinion matters from you, and that's what makes the green flag part about him.

fun fact about him in the series! he loves to moisturize his hands with lots of skin care products because he read from an article once that some people prefer the feel of soft or moisturized hands. he definitely did not wait for the moment for you to touch him for the first time in forever since he first saw you! yeah, he's a bit more freaky than i let him out to be. the more you're exposed to him, the more you'll learn just how obsessed he is.

as for all the people asking if i'd write more about him: the answer is yes! he's a vital character, so don't worry because he'll appear in many scenes either way. for those concerned about why he didn't save the mc— well, chapter five will explain soon 🩷

and this art perfectly portrays it! it's seen from an outside perspective and they look very pretty, yet from what they see with their eyes is a different thing. the longer you stare at yourself, the more your image is distorted. i intentionally added the flower analogy because flowers are portrayed as pretty, no matter the size and shape. even as they wilt or sag, they still retain some color and a semblance of what was once a history of their prime.

then lastly! the mirror scene. it all returns to chapter three, chapter four was a sequel of their breakdown containing mirrors. reflections and the perception of one self is an important aspect of my series because it reminds me of myself, so them nit-picking each and every insecurity whilst staring at the mirror; that's a scene i wrote based off of a real life experience of mine. having both attractive parents, or those acknowledged as conventionally pretty, whilst being in an environment filled with as equally smart or attractive people, comparing yourself to them all the time, is a struggle.

the only way to make flowers 'ugly' is by destroying them, by stepping on them, ripping them apart, never once caring for them. i think that's very crucial because people do see anything destroyed or stripped away from its foundation a mess, or so. but there's always beauty in everything and i abide by that thought!

again, thank you so much ash for drawing this and bringing my story to life! you, alongside many other users who send in their fanarts, are always such an inspiration for me to write! you guys are the backbone of my series and i stand by my sentence!!! may you get plenty of commissions and plenty of money to support you <333

also, the FLOWER BOTTLE AND THE CAT PAW REFERENCE! i love how everyone accepts that we have a canon cat now based solely off of this. i think that's precious, and having a feline pet is a great little choice for my own plot (just to lessen the pain of the angst).

i hope you enjoyed this little mess rant!

(as for the songs, don't worry, the lyrics become more prevalent for chapter five! chapter four doesn't have any explicit lyrics contained in them, only implications.)

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27spoons · 23 days ago

Text

CRUSH | ACT THREE: SAFE FROM HEARTBREAK (IF YOU NEVER FALL IN LOVE)

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

summary: Lack of proper communication, emotional rifts, avoidance like it's a job, and homoerotic gym classes! The true high school experience.

wc: 7300

warnings: homoerotic activities, avoidable pain and suffering, high school gym class, stereotyping, smut but only if you squint, delusional behaviour on your part

a/n: my bad for going mia everywhere lmao i was. like. i got really depressed while writing this and vanished off socials for a more than a few days aiugaiugha. anyways! hopefully more writing soon idk

ao3 / masterlist

PREVIOUS - NATALIE'S INTERLUDE TWO

NEXT - ACT THREE: SOMEBODY ELSE [WIP]

You wake up to the steady stream of sunlight pouring through cracks in the blinds and the unfamiliar feeling of a warm body pressed against yours.

It takes your brain a solid minute to catch up with everything. The scent of cheap citrus-scented shampoo and stale cigarette smoke clouds your nostrils, a combination you never thought you'd be happy to smell, but here you are, grateful to still be smelling it come morning. The soft puff of her breath against your collarbone is steady and warm, and an idle hand traces small circles into your hip.

God, you can't even fight the smile that creeps its way onto your lips, or the way your entire body seems to tingle at the fact that the exact girl you didn't expect to spend the night with anyone spent it with you.

Nat's head is tucked delicately under your chin, just like it was last night. You trace your hand up her spine, feeling the distinct bumps of her vertebrae underneath the pads of your fingertips, her skin prickling with goosebumps in her sleep.

Having a sleeping body next to yours all night is a strange feeling. It's not unwelcome—far from it—but strange nonetheless. You're used to quiet mornings and cold sheets with solitude being the default state, not something broken by soft exhales and the slow rise and fall of someone else's chest. For a fraction of a moment, you let yourself believe that this could be your new normal.

You don't realise how tightly you're holding onto the moment until Nat stirs. It's subtle at first—a soft inhale, the slight flex of her fingers against your hip. Then she shifts, just enough for her nose to nudge against your collarbone, and you hear the smallest, sleep-heavy hum. You'd say you're pretty sure Natalie Scatorccio just purred, but you're worried you'd be shot on sight.

"Hey," you whisper, a little too eagerly.

Her initial response is a soft huff against your neck that quickly turns into a long, slow exhale. It's the type of sound someone who's exhausted would make, or someone who's trying to make a choice they really don't want to.

You try not to think about that.

She doesn't verbally respond right away, but she does press a lazy kiss to your shoulder before placing her head back down.

The peacefulness lasts for another five or so minutes, then Nat grumbles something akin to "too fuckin' early for this shit…"

"I think it's, like, ten in the morning, actually." You chuckle to yourself as she slowly stirs, still grumbling complaints that you can only assume are about the time of day.

A sharp pinch is delivered to your side before Nat speaks again. "Yeah, like I said. Too fuckin' early."

"Oh, sorry," you say with a roll of your eyes. "I forgot you skipped every class before noon."

"'cept on Tuesdays," Nat murmurs quietly, gradually waking herself up. "If Martinez catches me skipping gym, he makes me pay for it at practice later."

You run your fingers through matted strands of hair at the base of her neck, gently untangling them as you go along. "It's not even soccer season right now."

"Nah, but he does 'regular check-ins' to make sure we're still up to his standards." She huffs, moving her hand from your hip to start tracing invisible lines on your abdomen. "Weekly practice sessions. 's why you never see me after school on Thursdays."

"Got it. Tuesdays and Thursdays are days I should never plan anything with you."

It's intended to be a joke, but the way Nat stiffens tells you it fell flat.

Shit.

Before you can backtrack, she's pulling back to sit up and stretch, extending her arms over her head and cracking her neck. You aren't quite sure when she put a shirt on, but a part of you wishes she didn't have it on so you could see the curve of her spine and the dusting of freckles you're sure dot her back.

"You wanna stay for breakfast?" you ask tentatively, placing your hand on the jut of her hip. "I make a mean pancake."

Nat grunts, very obviously feigning consideration for a question she already knows the answer to. "Nah. I can't. Sorry, Princess. I gotta get goin' 'fore my mom starts wondering where I am."

You know it's a lie as well as she does. She's never been a good liar.

You sit up a fraction as she turns to reach for her jacket, tugging the blanket up over your chest to hide yourself from the light of day. Nat's shirt rides up slightly in the process, and your gaze catches on the tattoos lining the length of her left arm—ink you hadn't fully seen last night under the chaotic haze of last night.

In the small handful of soccer games you'd watched her play before properly meeting her, you had seen the collection of patchwork tattoos grow over the course of high school. They all look like they were done on different days by different people, drunk at parties or in the school bathroom between classes.

There's (what you assume is) a turtle on a skateboard near her elbow, though the lines are crooked and faded. A beer bottle with a smeared label sits on her bicep, and right under it sits a fish you would see an elementary school student draw. There's a smiley face on her inner wrist, but it looks like she tried to scrub it off with something. It's scratched, faded, and half-erased, like she was embarrassed by it later. And, to top it all off, there's a random string of numbers on her inner forearm: 052996. A date? A code? A dare? You wonder if even she remembers who gave it to her.

Your fingers move before your brain does, reaching out from under the blanket to brush over the ink with gentle curiosity. "Any of these got a story?"

"Nah," she chuckles, grabbing her bra from the floor and putting it on without even removing her shirt. "At least, nothin' worth telling." She shrugs, looking down at her arm like it belongs to someone else. "Most of 'em are just… dumb shit. Placeholders for better ideas I never had."

You hum, reach back to resume tracing over the lines since she hasn't completely pulled away. "What about this one?" Your fingers brush one that looks relatively new—a particularly awful alien with Xs for eyes. "This guy your guardian angel?"

That earns you a soft scoff, but there's a flicker of something else in her expression. Fondness, maybe. "Guardian alien. Only shows up when I'm blackout drunk or about to make a huge mistake."

"So… last night, then?"

Nat actually laughs at that—real, brief, and genuine—and for a second, the air feels warm again.

But then she tugs on her jacket, expression shifting to something far more unreadable. "Seriously, though. I gotta bounce."

You nod slowly, even though you don't want to. Your hand stays ghosting near her arm for a moment longer before dropping back to the bed, watching her tug her jacket on over the same arm you had just been touching.

"Could you pass me a shirt?" you ask tentatively, suddenly feeling much more exposed and vulnerable than you had all night. "Just… anything from the laundry hamper over there. I gotta put the clothes away later, anyway."

She grunts at that, reaching down to grab her discarded jeans and tugging them up her toned, scarred legs that look like they'd run from—or into—trouble more than once. "You need anything else? Underwear, pants?"

You're momentarily caught off guard at her question, a part of you not expecting her to ask or even care all that much, and that same part smiles when it realises she cares—even if just a little bit.

"Uh, yeah. Both would be great. Maybe a pair of sweats? The black one on top of the pile is fine, thanks."

Another grunt in acknowledgement as she moves to dig through the pile of clean clothes, tossing you the requested attire.

Although you know she's leaving, you can't help but let yourself feel slightly delusional—absorbing the idea that she's doing this out of a natural feeling of domesticity, rather than any other reasoning behind her actions.

Nat hesitates before she moves any further away from you, shifting on the spot momentarily. "You, uh, y'think your parents are gonna give me shit? Ask me questions?"

You have to laugh at that, pulling your shirt over your head. "God, no. They probably won't even notice you're here, or that you're leaving. You'll be fine." It's not even a joke—just the truth.

"Cool, was worried I'd have to jump out the window." She pushes a hand through her tangled hair, fingers catching on knots. "I'm already fucked up." She gestures vaguely to her various bruises and cuts from last night, "last thing I need is broken knees."

You stand up once you get your pants on, trying to figure out how to break the tension. "Did you, uh…" Your eyes rake over your room, trying to find something you can use to keep her here longer, not wanting everything to end just yet. "Want… like… a toothbrush? Or, like, some clean clothes? Those ones still have blood on them, and—"

A dismissive hand is waved, cutting you off before she brushes imaginary dust off her jacket. "All good, Princess. 'preciate the offer, though."

"Yeah, yeah, of course, of course. No worries, no worries."

Clearly sensing the tension in the air, Nat clears her throat. "Well, uh, thanks. Y'know… for…" She brings her hands up—showing off the bandaging—then gestures to her face. "And last night, I guess. But, like I said… mom, and everything."

She's lying again. You know that as well as she does. Neither of you comments on it.

Your hands rest uselessly by your sides. A part of you is tempted to reach out and say goodbye with touch, but you're unable to bring yourself to follow through on the action.

When you don't do or say anything more, Nat grabs the door handle and unceremoniously shows herself out of your room, closing the door far more gently than you thought she would have. You don't follow her down—as much as you want to—and listen closely to the sounds that come from downstairs.

Stairs creak under her weight, thirteen steps in total, then silence follows as she presumably walks to the front door to grab her boots and lace them up. The sound that comes after about a minute is the thump of the heel of her boot against the floor, followed by the low groan of the front door hinges and the soft click of it shutting behind her.

You let yourself exhale slowly as sputtering sounds from the cold start of her diesel engine spill through the cracked window, and—

You could have sworn your window was closed last night when you went to bed. Strange. It's a bit finicky to close, and maybe the fact it's slightly ajar has something to do with the small collection of ashes on the sill. Her calling card, apparently.

You don't brush them off as you latch the window shut.

When the Ranger finally stops sounding like it's barely holding onto life, you look out the window in time to see her pulling away from your house and off to—well, wherever she goes when she doesn't want to be found. You know she said 'her mom,' but you also know she doesn't have any intention of going straight home.

You linger for a beat longer than necessary, watching the truck disappear past the end of the street, the pavement now visible from the plowing efforts that took place last night. The quiet that follows her departure feels almost lonely, like she left with something fragile you hadn't meant to hand over.

Eventually, the creak of floorboards beneath your feet reminds you that time is moving, and so should you.

You shuffle downstairs, still barefoot, and halfway to the kitchen when your mom's voice drifts in from the living room.

"Was that a girl I just saw leaving? She looked…" She pauses, trying to find the right words to describe Natalie's rough appearance. "Unpleasant, for lack of a better word."

Your dad grunts from the armchair, not bothering to look up from his book—Patriot Games by Tom Clancy—when he speaks. "Rough crowd you're running with now?"

"She's not… she just… she just had a bad night. That's all. Needed a place to crash."

"Well, as long as she isn't stealing anything," your mom sighs, sparing you a brief glance. "Or getting blood on my carpets. It's a pain to remove." Her brief glance turns into a long one as she assesses you for what feels like the first time in forever, her brow knitting in contemplation. "You look…"

Your dad finally looks up from his book to see why your mom is still talking to you, his eyes narrowing as he finally looks over you. "Look like you had an interesting night," he finishes on her behalf.

Feeling far too seen, you turn on your heel and head into the kitchen, although it doesn't do much to shield yourself from their gazes.

Stupid open floor plans.

"I patched her up and she stayed the night. Wasn't really that interesting."

A laugh spills from your mom, and you already know she's about to judge you for something. "Well, sure sounds interesting to me. Sounds like something your dad would read about in his books. Patching someone up in the dead of night."

Your dad gives his reply, but it starts to drown out as you grab a bowl from the cupboard and a box of… whatever cereal you grab first from the pantry. You pour it more out of habit than hunger, not even bothering to add some milk to the mix.

You zone out at the counter, not even realising you're popping piece after piece of dry cereal into your mouth.

There aren't any thoughts in particular that pass through your mind, but the one that makes its way through the noise is: What even just happened?

Last night plays behind your eyes like a film reel—a phone call, trudging through deep snow, patching up Nat in the passenger seat of her truck, spending hours learning about her and her life, taking her back home, kissing her in the dark of your room, exploring each other's bodies under no obligation to do so, falling asleep together…

Fuck.

You toss your empty bowl in the sink and trudge back up to your room, parents still talking about… something in the living room, making no effort to hide how little they actually care.

When you shut your door and fall face-first onto your bed with an oof, the first thing you do is randomly pat your comforter in an attempt to find your phone.

It takes… more than a few tries, but you eventually smack your phone and pull it to your face. And, before giving yourself time to think about it, you open Nat's contact and immediately text her.

[you]

you left cigarette ashes on my windowsill 🙄 rude

You don't expect her to respond anytime soon, and toss your phone onto the opposite end of your bed as you press your face into your pillows. Specifically, the one that still kinda smells like her.

Sure, her departure was a little… strange, but it wouldn't be Nat if it weren't a little odd, so you try not to think too hard on it. All that matters is that it was a damn good night.

Returning to school suddenly doesn't seem like it'll be as big of a chore when compared to yesterday.

The first text goes unanswered.

Which, sure. Nat has a terrible tendency to only check her texts once a day—a product of always having to hide her phone from her dad, you've learned—and then reply with the flattest texts possible. But you find yourself surprised when the text doesn't even get an acknowledgement by the following day. Not even a drunk text at 2 AM with a hitty meme from some obscure subreddit.

So, you try again the next day before you head to school. Something casual. Something safe.

Still nothing.

You expect to bump into her in the hallways that day, so you try not to think too hard about her not responding to your texts.

However, when you finally enter the halls, your first encounter with Nat is her turning around—as if she forgot something in the opposite direction of you—and immediately walking away.

The following week passes in a daze.

You tell yourself not to care. You try.

But every time your phone buzzes, a part of you still hopes it's her. Every time someone whispers her name in class, your stomach twists. And whenever you see the back of a blonde head with brown roots peaking out in the hallway, your heart stutters before your brain catches up.

You stop texting after the fourth message goes ignored.

At some point, it starts to feel less like rejection and more like erasure.

She hasn't unfollowed you on Instagram—although you'd be surprised if she even remembers she has one, being that she seldom uses it—and it's impossible to tell if she even got your messages, being that she has a Samsung that never updated past Android 10, so you can't even get receipts that tell you it was even delivered.

When you bump into Lottie Matthews in the hallway—the same person who gave you that cryptic information about Nat at that party all those months ago—you cautiously ask her how Nat's doing. If she's okay, or something along those lines. You feel like you fumble the words out more than ask them.

Seemingly caught off guard, Lottie hesitates before speaking. "I mean… she's around," she says slowly, adjusting the strap of her bag. "She disappears sometimes. Doesn't mean she's gone for good."

A beat. Then, softer:

"Don't take it personally. She does that with everyone."

Easier said than done.

By the time you have gym with her again, her bruises are starting to fade. She's taken off the wrapping—that she obviously wasn't maintaining—from around her knuckles, and the scrapes don't look nearly as bad as they did that night.

You wonder if someone else has been checking in on her. Maybe Van or Kevyn. You hope someone else has been, even if just for her sake. Although, selfishly, you almost hope no one has even bothered to ask her how she's doing, because maybe then… maybe she'll come back to you.

Even if it's just to use and discard.

But maybe she's already done that.

You end up against her in dodgeball that day. Nat's always had a killer aim, so you aren't exactly looking forward to being on opposite sides of the gym, but maybe this gives you a way to work out some of your frustrations. Even if it's just throwing balls in her general direction.

When Coach blows the whistle, you aren't one of those people who run to the center line in an attempt to grab a ball. No, you strategically linger near the rear wall and keep your eyes on the students fighting over the balls in the center, breaking off once they get a firm grip and run back to where you stand to 'tag' the ball into play by hitting the wall.

Six players per team. Coach Scott and Coach Martinez stand on either side of the gym, playing referee. Your team—comprised of four kids you never cared enough to learn the names of, you, and Taissa Turner—manage to grab four balls in total, leaving the other team—which includes Nat, the captain of the men's varsity baseball team, Randy Walsh, and three other classmates—with the remaining two.

So, despite your team's apparent lack of athleticism, you'd like to think Taissa makes up for most of that.

She certainly plays like a force to be reckoned with, anyway.

You try to keep your eyes on the game, but it's hard not to notice how Nat moves—quick, practiced, precise. She's always been good at sports, which is especially funny considering the fact that she's never been assed even to try. You've never been told exactly where her athletic ability came from, and it could very well just be natural, but you get a feeling there's more to the story than that.

Something inside you twists whenever she lunges, ducks, or pivots. She looks better—healthier, maybe—which should be a relief, but instead it just makes you feel more left behind.

You try to tell yourself it's just a game. That she's just a (former) burnout with a decent throwing arm and a chip on her shoulder. But when she grabs a ball and immediately clocks some poor kid in the thigh after tagging it in, you realize you're lying. She's good, and you're not as over this as you pretend to be.

So, when your team goes down four people, and her team goes down three, you realise you're gonna have to step it up, if the way Taissa is yelling in your direction is any indication.

You dodge the first ball that Nat throws in your direction, just missing your right ear.

"Natalie!" Coach Scott calls from the sidelines, but doesn't stop the game. "Below the neck! We've been over this."

You watch her jaw tick, but she doesn't argue with him.

Surprising everyone—but especially yourself—you manage to catch a ball that's aimed directly at your chest, successfully calling a teammate back into the fold. You watch Nat's footwork for a little while, trying to claw through the haze of annoyance that clouds your mind, and throw the ball you had caught directly at Nat.

Well, at least, you had planned to throw it directly at her.

Whether she dodges it skillfully at the last second, or your aim is so off that it completely veers from its intended path, it misses her and hits the kid standing to her left on his bicep. He hisses in pain, immediately dropping the ball he was carrying, and presses his arm over the rapidly reddening skin. The five seconds it takes him to walk to the sidelines feels like a lifetime as your eyes meet Nat's, and the two of you have a mid-game staredown that feels like a standoff straight from an old west film.

For a second, you're not in a high school gym anymore. You're standing in some dusty one-horse town, sun in your eyes, fingers twitching at your sides like you're about to draw a revolver instead of throw a dodgeball. She stands across from you, the sheriff's badge she'd probably hate glinting in the light. No words. Just you, her, and the unbearable tension of who's gonna move first.

In the end, it's you when Taissa yells, "Get your head in the game!" after a few seconds too long. Unlike Nat, her athletic ability comes from the need to be the best and outperform her peers—both a blessing and a curse.

And just like that, the saloon doors slam shut, and you're back in the gym, clutching a red rubber ball and a bruised ego.

You're momentarily flustered as you're called out of your daydream just as it had started getting good. You throw your ball too early and miss an easy catch that would have given you a huge advantage you so desperately need to finish this game once and for all.

Nat's body language shifts as your third missed shot whiffs past her. She looks at you like you're the unlucky rabbit, and she's the coyote who's already sunk her teeth in. Her eyes lock onto you with a predator's accuracy, a sharp contrast to the girl who'd barely been trying moments prior. She grabs a ball that rolls idly across the ground between the two of you, and whips it in your direction like she plays softball instead of soccer. She barely misses your shin with a throw that must reach fifty miles an hour, curving only at the last second to miss. It's a good thing, too—you wouldn't have dodged that in time.

The following five minutes are a combination of barely missed throws, people getting tagged out and back in, and a level of exertion you aren't used to in a grade school dodgeball game. And, through it all, neither you nor Nat gets tagged out.

You're both panting, sweating something fierce, and maintaining some fucked up eye contact far too sensual for a gymnasium. This encounter feels like something out of an erotic sports novel, and the cherry on the cake is the way her hands run through her sweaty hair, pushing it from her face and—

This isn't a gym or the wild west—this is your bedroom. Nat's panting from an entirely different type of exhaustion, and your face isn't slick from sweat alone. She's looking at you like you might mean something, and you're looking at her like she's the only thing you want to see.

You dodge another ball. So does Nat. Your tongue presses into her. Her head falls back as a gasp rips from her chest. You fall asleep with her head on your shoulder. She smokes a cigarette out your window. You jump over a ball that Nat throws. She ducks under a ball you throw. You offer to cook her breakfast. She leaves without a goodbye.

Past and present blur, and you hardly notice the rapid transition between the two until a whistle is called.

"Shirts win!" Coach Martinez calls from the sidelines, giving you and Taissa an approving nod. "Good work, ladies. Some real skill you portrayed there."

Taissa claps your shoulder and grins victoriously, acting as though she just won a championship cup. "We just gotta work on your timing. With a little effort, we could…"

Her voice drones into the equivalent of the adult voice from the old Charlie Brown shows, effectively becoming the backdrop to Nat stomping out of the gym and slamming open the door to the changing room.

You shrug Taissa's hand off your shoulder and murmur something akin to 'maybe next time,' and quickly follow after Nat, determined to get a brief second alone with her to ask her what the fuck is going on.

The door swings open to the sound of running shower water, shoes squeaking on the tile floor, lockers slamming, and the rest of the class filing in after you.

It takes a moment to locate Nat between the bleached blonde hair of cheerleader-types and the ruggedness of those who've spent too long on the wrong side of the tracks, but you do spot her, albeit closing her locker and making her quick break.

"Nat, woah, wait—" but she's slithering out of the room before you can catch up to her, and you get cut off on your way to the other exit by a group of girls walking in your path.

You throw your hands up in frustration, and the girls give you weird glances, but no one says anything about your sudden outburst.

You sit down on a bench between rows of lockers, placing your head in your hands as you stare at the floor. Confusion runs through your mind, and you find yourself even more baffled now than you were before gym today. Because… well, you're almost positive Nat is trying to tell herself that what happened between you means nothing, but you wouldn't have had a homoerotic staredown with someone whom you didn't have some sort of… something with.

You aren't quite sure what that something is, but it's definitely there.

"Dude," a voice from behind you draws you out of your spiralling thoughts. "Did you fucking see the way Nat was playing? You'd think she had something to prove."

Your ears burn as though the voice is talking about you, but you don't turn around to see who's speaking, instead opting to act like you aren't actively eavesdropping.

"Maybe she is," another voice chimes in with a laugh. "You've seen how fucking rough she's looked since school opened back up. Maybe she's trying to get an athletic scholarship to some D3 college, everyone knows she couldn't get out of this town otherwise."

"Seriously. She'll probably die the same way her fucking dad did."

You grip your locker until your knuckles turn white. You're usually calm, but this?

This might make you swing. There isn't much more that pisses you off than people talking shit about someone they don't know, let alone even begin to understand.

Top 40's pop music annoyingly plays from someone's phone as you change into clean clothes without really thinking about it, moving on autopilot like you had done after so many gym classes before.

Nat's focused face and wicked aim haunt the rest of your day and half the night, and you start to wonder if that encounter with Denny way-back-when was actually just a precursor for all the events that followed. Like the universe was trying to scare you off before you got too close.

You wonder what would have happened if you'd listened.

A month passes.

Not that you're counting the days, or anything.

But each day that passes makes you wonder more and more if you had given yourself to a succubus that night, with the way that every day feels like the gradual siphoning of your life energy. You stop putting effort into your outfits around the same time you stop eating on a regular basis. You still interact with your friends and do your schoolwork, but time quickly turns into a soup—dates and times intertwined and events overlapping.

It's somewhere between mid-January and early February when you see Nat in the hall, not running in your opposite direction for the first time in… well, since that titular night. You see her laughing against the lockers, speaking with someone you can't quite visualise through the dense crowd. Regardless of who she's talking to or why, it makes you feel a simmering rage through your lower gut and up your throat.

An anger that you try very quickly to smother.

It's not like you need Nat, anyway. You had friends before her, you'll have friends after her.

You decide you can take a different path to your class, and turn on your heel to head down a different hallway in favour of entirely ignoring her existence today.

You type out a long-winded draft to her number in algebra class, asking her… well, a large number of things, with a significant portion being attributed to her ghosting you directly after you fucked, which sounds suspicously like all the rumours of her screwing people then immediately cutting them loose. For someone who was so firm on not believing all the rumours that were thrown around about her, you find yourself wondering…

No.

You delete the draft without sending it.

Class resumes like nothing ever happened.

It's two days later, when you're sitting at lunch with a small group of your friends, that someone makes a teasing comment about how you seem 'extra depressed' recently, asking you if it has something to do with that showdown that happened in the gym some weeks back. It's something that's meant to be no more than a nudge between friends, but it hits like a punch.

"Fuck off, Alexis. You're the last person I need getting in my business. Don't you need to get back with Peter for the third time this year?"

Everyone at the table goes quiet. Smiles freeze and fall, and awkward glances are exchanged.

It's a solid thirty seconds of you staring down at your food in tense silence before someone else at the table—Ellie—speaks softly. "That's… not like you."

You feel bad immediately. Of course you do. The worst thing Alexis ever did to you was steal your Go-Gurt in third grade. And she gave you two the next day to make up for it. So, really, she hasn't done anything at all to you but be your friend.

"I'm fine," you murmur, standing up far too quickly from the table and leaving the cafeteria before you can further embarrass yourself in front of all your friends.

You almost have a panic attack in the same janitor's closet where you spoke to Nat around homecoming.

When the hell did you become someone who lashes out at friends?

Lecture hall on Friday is when you hear someone whisper Nat's name between the sound of shuffling papers and flickering lights. You aren't sure what they say—you aren't sure it even matters—but it hits you all the same. Whether it's in a positive view or a negative one, you still feel like a bucket of cold water is dumped over your head immediately.

You can't focus for the rest of the period, the biology textbook you were flipping through stopping on the page about human reproduction, which feels more like a slap in the face than something to laugh about.

At some point, the music you've been vaguely listening to just starts to bleed into music Nat would listen to, and you rip out your earbuds with an emotional tug, sending them sprawling across the desk and pulling your phone into your line of view. As you shakily unlock the phone, you open up Instagram before you can stop yourself. Your fingers move on autopilot, navigating to your following list and clicking on Nat's username.

Unsurprisingly, her last post is still from a year and a half ago—a photo of her posted up alongside a pillar outside of school, smoking a cigarette in her leather jacket with a partial smile.

It almost feels like nothing's changed for her. That you were no more than a way to pass the time. And maybe that's all you were—a warm body with a pair of ears that were willing to listen.

Time moves on.

Monday, you see her in the quad, standing between Van and Lottie. She's smiling—genuinely, it seems. Lottie and Nat are smoking cigarettes while Van stands with their arms crossed, rolling their eyes after whatever Nat says.

The next time Nat ashes her cigarette, her eyes drift across the melting snow and meet yours. It's a fleeting moment that feels like it lasts for five lifetimes rather than just five seconds, and has you stopping dead in your tracks.

Then she looks away. She says something to Van. They both laugh.

You feel bitter resentment claw into your throat in the form of stomach bile, threatening to spill in a half-empty garbage can or backpack. You drink some water from the bottle you forgot was in your hand as you head back into the school, not bothering to stop and acknowledge Ms. Wheeler when she scolds you for running in the halls.

The bathroom stall in the west-wing women's bathroom becomes your temporary reprieve, slamming the door shut and collapsing on the toilet as you break into silent sobs.

You decide that today is the day you say something. You don't even know if you want closure or answers, and you're not sure which would make you feel better—or worse.

You follow after Nat before she can slip away once more, catching up to her in the parking lot and grabbing the sleeve of her leather jacket.

"Are you seriously just gonna pretend none of it happened?" you ask as you spin her around, your grip firm. "Why won't you just talk to me, Nat?" Your voice cracks out a little more desperately than you intend it to, and you already know you look like a puppy left out in the rain too long.

"I'm not…" she scoffs, although it sounds more like a half-hearted exhale than anything else. "You're making this a bigger deal than it is. I've just been busy."

"Busy? For over a month?" You push back, your grip tightening to the point you swear it'll leave permanent indents in her leather jacket. "We slept together, Nat. You cried in my bed. You spent the night with me."

Nat pulls back from your grip, stumbling slightly as she does so. "I was fucking drunk, alright? People say shit when they've had a few to drink."

"Bullshit, you were drunk. You were stone-cold sober, Nat. Are you forgetting I was there, too? Or do you think that you were the one who patched yourself up that night?"

"It was just sex, alright!" she almost yells, then quickly glances around to make sure no one heard her. "That's all it fucking was. Stop making this into something it isn't, okay?"

"This isn't lust, Natalie. I… I know the difference. You can't keep telling me that you don't—!"

"Don't what?" Nat snaps, "Feel something?" She scoffs—like the very idea offends her. "I don't. I told you that. That was just a little bit of fun! Some fucking… stress relief after an intense night, okay?!"

"So, what then? Do you fuck everyone you tell your life story to? Then take your time in bed with them? Letting them… letting them learn your body? You learning theirs? Being slow and gentle and—"

"Oh my God!" she laughs incredulously. "So what, I told you some shit about me? Huh? Think that makes you special or something?"

You stumble over your words, attempting to regroup after her sharp response. "I thought… I don't know. I guess I thought we meant something," you whisper—not even sure she hears you over the ringing in your ears that no one else seems to hear.

Nat hesitates slightly, something like regret flashing behind her eyes before she speaks, her voice coming out oddly cold and monotone. "As cute as this little obsession with me is, I'm growing tired of the whole puppy-dog act. It's pathetic."

The rational part of your brain tells you that this is a defensive mechanism. Putting walls up ensures she can't get her heart broken, even if that means breaking her own heart. As long as someone else can't do it.

The irrational part of your brain screams at you. And, unfortunately, the irrational part has always been a little louder. When you feel your eyes start to water, you're hardly surprised. Always been an emotional crier, haven't you?

"You don't mean that," you murmur, swallowing down the lump in your throat. "You told me yourself that all you do is put up walls—"

"You don't know me." Nat immediately sneers. "So what? I told you some shit? Big fucking deal."

You step closer to her, on the brink of full-blown tears streaming down your cheeks, trying to catch her eye as she grabs a cigarette from a crumpled pack in her pocket. "I know you're not heartless, Nat. You don't get to act like that night didn't mean anything."

She freezes for a moment between inhales of tobacco smoke, the sudden sentiment of your statement causing a series of emotions to cross her face in the timespan of only a few seconds. You choose to believe it's because she's starting to give herself some kindness for once, that she's—

"God, not everything is fucking about you!" She laughs sardonically, the slight wave in her voice the only thing betraying her. "You're not some… fucking exception just because our encounter had some…" She actively gestures at nothing, speaking with her hands like she always does when emotions start running high. "Just because our encounter had some bullshit fucking… weight to it, alright?"

The tears start falling.

Nat's hand shakes as she taps the cigarette far too many times against her finger.

"We aren't even friends," she continues. "We have nothing in common. I only spent time with you because it was convenient and easy for me. What we had? What we did?" she scoffs, "It meant nothing. It was just convenient."

Your jaw hangs slack as her harsh words dig through your bones, and you try to come up with a response, but your brain is seemingly frozen in shock at how the girl who told you you made her happy ended up talking about you like this.

"Maybe that's my bad, for letting you think it meant something." A shrug. She says it so flippantly you could scream. "But come on." Her arms cross, the smirk she throws your way all teeth. "You really thought you were the one who would change me, Princess?" She says Princess like a punchline now, not a nickname. The word formerly made something warm curl in your stomach. Now it curdles.

"You've heard what everyone says. People like me don't do the whole 'feelings' thing. That's on you."

"I told you!" You shove her chest as tears hiccup down your cheeks. "I didn't listen to the fucking rumours!" Another shove, and this time she stumbles back at the action. "I've heard all of them, Natalie! Not for-for-for a second did I ever believe them! You've been called…" You frantically wipe at the tears on your face, "Fuck! What haven't you been called? Because I've heard murderer, thief, slut, cheater, arsonist, maniac, junkie, drunk—" With every word, you take another jab at her chest, to which Nat feebly tries to swat your hand away each time. "But rumours are just rumours! I knew they were all exaggerated, Natalie! And I asked you before assuming!"

The second Nat's back hits the wall, she's shoving you back—much harder than you shoved her—causing you to almost fall on your ass. "I didn't ask you to!" she yells. "You could have just assumed, like everyone else does!"

"That's not who I am, and you know that, you fucking asshole!" You step up in her space again, but don't put your hands on her this time. "You know now, better than a lot of people, that I actually want to get to know people!"

"Maybe that was your first fucking mistake." Nat's voice drops to a low murmur. "Don't know why you ever thought this would end up being anything more than casual, babe." The pet name feels mocking, and you absolutely hate how all the names she used to make you feel good are now being used to make you feel… well… the complete opposite.

You sniffle a few times as you take a step back, the hostility becoming slightly overwhelming at this point. That rational part of your brain tells you she's just doing whatever she can to push you back, prevent you from getting too close. The irrational remains louder.

Nat doesn't stop. All or nothing, it seems. "I don't get attached to people, in case you haven't picked up on that yet."

A watery scoff escapes your throat, "Right." You shake your head as your lower lip trembles, "Let me guess, safe from heartbreak if you never fall in love?"

"Yeah." Nat crosses her arms as she looks you over, "Something like that, Princess."

You don't know what to say after that.

You want to scream.

Or cry.

Or slam your fist into the hood of her car just to feel the noise cut through the aching silence she's left in your chest.

But all you manage is standing there, frozen in place as she turns on her heel.

"I bet it wouldn't kill you, you know," you spit as she walks off. "Bending your own rules. Seeing how far you fall. If only you could look beyond the walls you fucking built."

Nat stops briefly, and although she doesn't face you, she does turn her head slightly. "You don't know shit. Stop acting like you do." And she continues walking to her truck, leaving you to stand in the cold winter air, alone.

a/n: I'd like to think of act three as "the arc of pain and suffering". will there be pain? yes! will there be sex? yes! will there be misery? yes! will there be emotionally fueled interactions? yes! will there be moments of tenderness mixed in-between? yes!

woooo!!! pain and suffering!!!

#nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #ladles (fics/blurbs)#butter knives (sfw)#from the cutlery drawer

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