#its the never allowing yourself to want or need

[rafedarling]

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

pairing: dad!drew starkey x mom!reader

summary: after years together, you and drew have taken a step back to reassess your relationship while co-parenting your two-year-old daughter. It was drew’s suggestion to take time apart—a difficult decision he made in the hopes of gaining clarity. at first, you were fine with it, even convinced it was the right move. but as days turned into months, whispers of drew’s involvement with another woman start to surface, turning your emotional separation into something far more painful. torn between love, fear, and pride, you give him an ultimatum; either he returns home, or this separation becomes permanent. as both of you face hard truths, the love that you share may be the one thing that holds everything together.

warning(s): mentions of co-parenting struggles and relationship separation, emotional conflict and internal turmoil, angst with a hopeful resolution, soft cursing, miscommunication.

au’s: like, reblog and feedbacks are much appreciated. taglist | tagging: @rafeyslamb @tracymbcm @enjoymyloves @akobx @rubixgsworld @xoxohoneymoongirl @mileyraes @maybankslover @noobmazter69 @littlelamy @wearemadeofstardust0 @xoxosblogsblog @saviorcomplexrry @bisexualcvnt @stuffyownswrld @anamiad00msday

You’re sitting on the couch, absently scrolling through your phone, but your mind is elsewhere. Your thoughts keep circling back to the one person you’ve been avoiding thinking too much about—Drew.

It’s was Drew idea that he wanted to separate for “awhile”. You didn’t fight it at first, even if the request had left you reeling. He needed space, time away from the constant strain of co-parenting and the pressures of work, and you told yourself you could handle it. After all, you needed the space, too. The nights of quiet arguments about whose turn it was to change a diaper, the unspoken resentment that built up over Drew’s erratic work schedule, and the loss of who you were as a couple had driven a wedge between you that neither of you seemed to know how to fix. The idea of stepping back, of giving yourselves room to breathe, felt like a reasonable step. Logical, even.

But no amount of logic could prepare you for the growing ache that came with his absence.

At first, the space had been a relief, allowing you to able to reset and focus on yourself. But then the days grew longer, lonelier. Drew still came by to pick up your daughter for the weekend, still texted you updates and occasionally asked about how you were doing. But those exchanges felt hollow, void of the warmth that had once been a constant between you. He was physically present for your daughter, but emotionally, he felt miles away.

And now… the rumors. You hadn’t wanted to believe them when you first heard them. Drew had been spotted with another woman—a few times, your friend casually mentioned. You laughed it off at first, chalking it up to idle gossip, something blown out of proportion by the public eye. After all, Drew was a rising star. People always had something to say. You trusted him—or, at least, you used to.

But the second time it was brought up, you couldn’t shake it. The image of Drew with someone else—a faceless, nameless person—wormed its way into your brain, clawing at your trust, your hope. He had asked for space, and you gave it to him, but you never imagined this space would mean he could be with someone else.

The sound of your daughter’s giggles pulls you out of your thoughts. She’s looking up at you, her bright eyes—Drew’s eyes—sparkling with joy as she holds up one of her blocks.

“Look, Mama! Big tower!” she exclaims, her tiny hands clapping together in excitement.

You force a smile, the knot in your stomach tightening. You don’t want her to see your sadness, don’t want her to feel the weight of the tension between you and Drew. She’s too young to understand, too innocent to be burdened with the complexities of adult problems.

“Wow, that’s amazing, baby,” you say, leaning down to kiss the top of her curly head. But even as you speak, your thoughts are elsewhere—back to Drew, back to the uncertainty that has been eating at you.

You can’t take it anymore. You grab your phone off the couch and head into the kitchen, needing some distance from your daughter so she doesn’t pick up on your growing frustration.

With shaking hands, you scroll through your contacts, finding Drew’s name. You hesitate for a moment, thumb hovering over the call button. Part of you doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to open up a wound that might not heal. But you can’t go on like this—not knowing, not feeling like you’re caught in some sort of limbo while your life hangs in the balance.

The phone rings, and each second feels like an eternity. When Drew finally picks up, his voice is familiar, warm even, but that doesn’t soothe the ache in your chest.

“Hey,” he greets, his tone light. “Everything okay?”

You swallow hard. “We need to talk.”

The casual ease in his voice disappears, replaced by a quiet tension. “What’s going on?”

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. You’ve replayed this conversation in your head a thousand times, and yet the words feel heavy on your tongue, almost impossible to speak.

“I heard something today,” you start slowly, your voice trembling. “About you. About that girl.”

There’s a long pause, and you can hear him sigh on the other end. When he finally speaks, his voice is tight, wary. “What are you talking about, Y/N?”

“I heard that you’ve been spending time with someone,” you continue, trying to keep your voice steady but failing miserably. “Is it true?”

The silence that follows is suffocating, and your heart races, each second stretching painfully.

“Look, it’s not what you think,” Drew finally says, but his answer feels like a half-truth. It’s not enough.

“Then tell me what it is,” you press, your frustration mounting. “Because I’ve been sitting here, waiting, trying to make sense of this. You asked for space, Drew, and I gave it to you. But if you’re moving on… if there’s someone else…”

You can’t finish the sentence, the words too painful to say out loud. The thought of him with another woman, of your daughter being caught between you, is too much to bear.

“I’m not moving on,” Drew says firmly, but there’s something in his voice—a hesitance, a guilt—that makes you doubt him. “Yes, I’ve been spending time with someone, but it’s not what you think. She’s a friend, and that’s all. I swear.”

“A friend?” You can’t hide the bitterness in your voice. “Drew, people are talking. I’m hearing rumors, and it’s killing me. Do you know how hard it’s been to sit here, alone, while you’re out there with someone else?”

“I didn’t know,” he says softly. “I didn’t think—”

“Exactly,” you cut him off, your voice rising with anger now. “You didn’t think. You asked for space, but I didn’t think that meant you’d be out there with other women while I’m here raising our daughter.”

His sigh is heavy, remorseful. “I’m sorry. I should have been more honest with you. I didn’t want to make things harder for you, and I didn’t think you’d hear about it. But I see now that I messed up. I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Well, you did. And I can’t keep doing this. I can’t sit here wondering if you’re going to come back, or if you’ve already moved on. I need to know where we stand, Drew.”

His silence on the other end is deafening, and for a moment, you think maybe this is it—maybe this is how it all ends.

“I don’t want a divorce,” Drew finally says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want this to be over, I want to come home, back to you and our daughter”

Your breath hitches, and you wipe at your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “Then come home.”

There’s another pause, and you can almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he considers your words. “I will. I’ll come home. I want to fix all the messed that I’ve made… for you”

A weight lifts off your chest, though the road ahead still feels uncertain. But for the first time in months, you feel a flicker of hope. It’s fragile, but it’s there.

“I’m not going anywhere this time, not now, not ever” he promises, his voice stronger now. “We’ll figure this out together.”

“Me and our baby girl will wait for you to come back home, Drew.”

As you hang up, you realize that while the wounds may not heal overnight, this is a step in the right direction. Drew is coming home, and for now, that’s enough.

[lavenderspence]

unexplained sadness | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader | Word Count: 2.5K

Content warning: pre-established relationship, depression, mental health struggles, mentions of therapy, angst, supportive!aaron

Summary: you've struggled to find a way out from under the darkness for years, but you were thankful he offered the final push you needed.

A/N: I drafted this a few days, contemplating if I should even post it. it's very self-indulgent. I wrote it at a time when I wasn't able to understand my own feelings, and im still not sure how. I think this is the realest my writing has been, but i do think I'm posting this with the most vulnerability as well. I want you all to remember, just in case you're struggling - you're amazing, you're enough and I believe in you. Life is crazy, but it will get better, allow yourself to be patient, and most importantly, take the greatest, most gentle care of yourself 💕

You looked around, well aware of the amount of relief that should be flooding your body right now. It usually did at the end of a case, where another monster was put to rot in a cage much appropriate for its’ sins. 

But even knowing what you should be feeling, the simple truth was - you weren’t feeling anything at all, and you hadn’t for a while. 

And even when you did feel something, you could never explain it. It was a mess, where many emotions fought a battle, but in the end, all it came down to was an endless void where the darkness and despair of the unexplained won out.

The only thing you could feel at that moment was the pressure of the vest compressing against your chest. It stole the little amount of oxygen in your lungs in favor of an overwhelming amount of hidden sadness. 

Even with the sun high up in the sky and the warmth it was supposed to spread all over your skin, you felt cold - no warmth actually penetrated the top layer of your skin. And the chatter - EMTs, police officers, and outlookers, you couldn’t process anything at all. 

It was like you were standing there, like a statue, a headstone to remind everyone of your presence once upon a time, but not anymore. Physically, you were alive and aware, but mentally, you’ve been fighting a battle you could confidently admit you were losing. 

Your thoughts were deeply wrapped in a cobweb of confusion and melancholy, a never-ending cycle that couldn’t stop repeating itself. It felt like you didn’t exist outside the realm of your own despair. Each day the shadows around you persisted in their pursuit of you, dragging in with them this empty feeling, designed to leave you feeling like a loner. 

The string holding you tethered to the person you’d been before was tinning each day as the distance between you grew bigger and bigger. You no longer even felt her presence at all. For weeks you’ve fought a silent battle against your own mind, and even your body sometimes. 

You tried to hide behind a mask of fake smiles and nights spent around the people you trusted most, hoping you’d feel better, but you never did. You only felt this state you were in, as it gained speed and grew in volume. 

But there was a certain pair of eyes that saw the subtle changes in you, straight into a place even you couldn’t see. Warm chocolate, sometimes shining amber in the sun - somehow strict but also oh so soft. 

You thought you hid it well, but you could never hide yourself from him, and you should have known. 

Your hotel room was dark and quiet, safe for the gentle light and sound that came from the TV. A movie was playing, an early 2000s song in the background. The duvet felt heavy over your body, and you longed to kick it off in an effort to feel less trapped, but you couldn’t find the strength to. It was like your whole body was paralyzed in a fatal position with your muscles locked and your eyes open but unseeing. 

Case after case came, and each day it got harder. You had to try and perfect a mask you were getting tired of wearing, tired of hiding behind. You couldn’t skip work, lest you wanted to feel like more of a failure than you already did sometimes. 

You felt scared to admit to your struggles, half unsure what your struggles were to begin with, half unwilling to unload on others. You were willing to suffer and fight this on your own until you either had nothing left to fight against or no strength left to fight at all.

Your mind was working overtime, half empty and dark, half full and constantly spinning, you didn’t even process the foreign sound at first. Only it wasn’t so foreign - a series of gentle raps or someone’s knuckles against the door. Knocking. They were just enough to alert you of a newcoming presence but not disturb you or others in any way. 

You didn’t move a muscle. Even when two more knocks followed, even more gentle than the first, all you could do was blink. Even with the soft call of your name that came seconds later, you couldn’t find the strength to answer or even get up. You couldn’t even twitch. 

You stood there frozen in place, in time. Frozen between the walls of a prison of your own mind’s making. 

The knocks stopped, as did the voice calling out your name, maybe finally resigned to the fact you weren’t answering at all. 

Giving up on you the way you’d given up on yourself. 

You would be surprised if you didn’t feel a tiny bit of relief at being left on your own. Too bad the relief didn’t actually last long - just seconds after the lock beeped, signaling it was unlocked, and the door was slowly opening, bathing the room in the hallway light. 

Even with the small, hesitant steps this person took, you were instantly able to tell by the sounds of his feet hitting the wooden floor who it was. 

“Did you know it’s actually illegal to break into someone’s space?” Your voice came out raspy from misuse. You weren’t sure how much time had actually passed since you made it to your room, but if you had to guess, probably several hours had gone by.

“I do know that actually, it’s criminal law 101.” He retorted before you felt the mattress dip close to your feet, “You missed dinner.” He mussed.

A part of you couldn’t handle having a conversation with him, not right now. Not in the complete darkness, and the quiet stretched between you both. 

“I wasn’t hungry.” You answered simply. You waited for him to say something, and you waited and waited, and he wasn’t saying anything. It was like he was looking for the right words to use, so as not to offend you, or set you off. But you wouldn’t feel any of it if he did - just as the night was dark outside and so was your mind. 

“Just spit it out, Hotch.” You finally used a part of his name, unintentionally closing the distance the smallest bit even when you tried to stay away. Maybe subconsciously you knew you could trust him, if a little.  

“You’re not doing well.” 

You didn’t even hesitate. “Wow, way to show you aren't actually a gentleman.”

“I’m not trying to...” You could almost see him shaking his head, so in tune with his reactions from years of working alongside him, “I’m worried about you.” It left him in a whisper, like he was afraid to admit it. 

“I’m okay, there’s no need.” You denied it like it was your biggest defense against his accusations. Except they weren’t that, genuine worry dripped along with his words, but you had a hard time accepting it. You couldn’t, didn’t want to. Being vulnerable, especially in front of him, could cost you a lot, and with the way you’ve been living, you couldn’t afford it.

Even when deep in your heart you trusted him with everything, even yourself. 

You felt him place his hand on the duvet, enclasping his palm around your calf. “You were okay five weeks ago, and you haven’t been since then. I’ve been watching you wear a mark and barely holding yourself from falling apart. I don’t think ‘okay’ applies right now.” 

“I thought we promised not to profile each other.” You muttered brokenly, feeling parts of the mask he was talking about cracking in places. It was like having him so close, peeling your outer layers slowly, and leaving you exposed, finally making your emotional reactions coincide with your lack of understanding. It was like he was exposing all of you both to himself and you too. 

“Not at the expense of suffering in silence, we didn’t.” He answered with conviction, no hesitation. He was making it apparent your wellbeing was more important to him than any promise he might have made to you or others. He was letting you know he was prioritizing your health over everything else. 

He understood you even without you having to say anything. Just by watching you try to swim to the surface of the ocean and still being pushed by the crashing waves, he could already feel that you were struggling. 

He could see you were self-isolating, even when you were being surrounded by people. He picked up on the signs in the subtle subject changes you made whenever someone asked anything about you. You were unwilling to share, even though you loved sharing any little detail about your interest, allowing others to do the same. 

You let Garcia talk about her software and cute animals and allowed Reid to share any little fact with you he could. But even when you listened, it wasn’t hard to see you really weren’t. Staring into spaces or faking an interest, even though he knew you would be interested in the first place, had there not been anything amis to begin with. 

And slowly piece after piece had started falling together, like a puzzle started, yet left abandoned. 

In the darkness of the hotel room, miles away from your home and mere doors down from the rest of your team, a piece deep inside you started longing for the understanding he was offering. It started building up with worry over the reality of the words you knew you needed to say but were too scared to. It started wishing for a new slate, where the overwhelming amount of confusion and empty darkness no longer followed you like a shadow. 

It slowly started coming to terms with the fact that you weren’t enough to fight this on your own and that maybe you needed help to do so.

For the first time in weeks, months, who knew, maybe even years, you wanted to talk about it. You wanted to admit to your state of mind where reality got mangled with your deepest darkest thoughts imaginable, where self-doubt and the feeling of worthlessness took over. Where giving up sounded so much better than trying out again. Where any positivity was instantly turned into negativity whether you liked it or not. 

For the first time you craved being helped, you wanted to understand your own struggles and get better. You wanted to thrive in the life you were leaving instead of settling for simply existing. You wanted to talk, and you wanted to tell him all that. 

You rolled your lips between your teeth before you bit down until you tasted blood. One of your hands barely made it out from underneath the warmth of the duvet before you grabbed into the bedding with a tight fist. 

“I don’t think I’m doing okay, Aaron.” You whispered into the darkness. The bed dipped and groaned as he moved closer, settling just centimeters away from your cocoon this time. You were so busy looking over the skyline that you didn’t even see his hand move until you felt his warm palm overtop your skin. He held onto you, trying to prompt you into releasing the bedding, tapping his fingers in a gentle manner. 

He was offering you comfort without really saying or doing anything. He was letting you try and put your thoughts together before you entrusted him with the truth. 

“One minute I’m good, and the next it feels like I lose all touch with my own self and my feelings - It’s all empty, or an overwhelming amount of sadness I couldn’t begin to even understand. I can’t even grasp what prompts this sudden change. I’ve tried fighting it for so long, years maybe, and each time it comes back, I’m left feeling more hopeless than the last.” You explained in a small voice. 

A wave of relief, if small, rocked your whole body. There was something freeling about saying it out loud, ignoring the fear of admitting that had followed you for years. 

“Have you ever told anyone about it?” His voice was just another shadow in the room. A timbre so calm, quiet, and soothing that you knew he was listening with no reservations and no judgments. Just a pure need to help.

You went to shake your head, but remembered you were both still looking towards the window. “I’ve always played it off as a joke. I’ve never let it sound like I really mean it. Not like I do right now.” It was one of the many truths you’d admitted to that night. Even when you played it off, you knew deep inside it was a small cry for help you didn’t want to. You were unwilling to take the right steps in order to get the help you needed. 

“Why joke about it?” You thought about it for a second, trying to clear out the fog of the past.

“I guess…” Your fingers clenched underneath his own. “I guess I just wanted to see if anyone cared enough to ask if I was serious. They didn’t.” Realistically, you knew you shouldn’t wait on other people or expect them to see something amiss before you looked for help. But a part deep enough inside you wanted the reassurance that someone loved you enough to notice.

“But you want to get help?” He mumbled, still tapping his finger against your own.

“Yes.” You didn’t even have to think about it. You owed yourself that much, and all the help possible you could get.

“Okay.” He exhaled in relief, “As soon as we get back, we’ll start looking, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You whispered. You felt his hand squeeze your own in reassurance. You turned your palm up, enveloped his own hand, and gave him one back, “Thank you, Aaron.”

A few minutes of looking at the starless sky passed before he prompted you to move, if just enough to walk into the bathroom and wash your face - and you did. When you came back, he’d made himself comfortable leaning against the headboard, legs stretched on the mattress. 

He spent the night sleeping in yesterday’s clothes, trying to make sure you were doing okay and weren’t left feeling lonely. 

You knew there was a long path ahead of you - the path to self-understanding and acceptance of your own flaws and struggles, as well as the changes you may need to adapt to moving forward. Something you were undoubtedly going to have a hard time with. Where you’d need to fight against the days when you questioned whether it was worth it. Where you’d slowly have to come to terms with the fact that as long as you were making yourself happy and keeping yourself afloat, there wasn’t anything worth more. 

The path to recovery was never supposed to be easy or linear, but you had him to thank for being the final push. You had to be thankful for each minute of the time he gave you. And each grain of love he showed you in the process. 

You needed the help - for yourself, your past, your present, and your future self. And for every second you spent failing to understand the person you were and the feelings you held onto.

[claws-and-quills]

Truly, Madly, Deeply

A/N: Holy shit this is by far the longest fic I have ever typed! This is a request that became self-indulgent.

Requested by: @callsignred I hope you like it, bestie!!!!

CW: Age Gap (reader is in their early 20s), Secret Relationship, Cock Warming, Oral (Female Receiving), Multiple Orgasms, Descriptions of Male and Female Anatomy, Bodily Fluids, Unprotected Sex, Mentions of Pregnancy, Cream Pie, Slightly Jealous Reader(?), Fingering, Overstimulation

Word Count: 9,002 sheesh....this took like a week

Genre: Smut and Fluff

Pairing: Teacher!Hugh Jackman x Reader

All it took was one simple text. A simple look. The subtle quirk of his lips. You didn't know how he managed it, but from the second you had crossed paths with him, there was this insatiable need that twisted and coiled deep in the pits of your stomach. Here you are, the new world history instructor, falling head over heels for a man you barely knew. He was friendly, charming, easy on the eyes, and had a killer smile. His classroom was nestled directly across the hallway from yours, giving you ample opportunity to steal an occasional glance at him throughout your day. Never in your wildest dreams did you think you'd be this caught up on someone. Never did you ever think you'd even make this far in your teaching career.

Classes had ended around an hour ago. Teaching college had its perks, but it also had its negatives. Glancing at the clock that hung on the wall of your office, it had been well over two hours since you sat down to catch up grading assignments. The words on the computer began to bleed into each other in a messy, black, blotchy alphabet soup. The backs of your eyes stung as though being stabbed with a hot poker. With a defeated sigh, you lay your head onto your desk, lacing your hands together on the base of your skull. The weight of your eyelids was damn near impossible to fight; just as you allowed them to drift closed, a brief knock at your office door makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Yes? It's open. C-come in.” You smooth out the wrinkles of your sundress. It was nearly impossible to keep your heart from climbing into your throat as the door was pushed open, and in steps, Hugh. He offers you a half cocked smile, propping himself against the doorframe. The way he folded his arms across his chest made the sleeves of his dress shirt hug the curves of his biceps.

“I wanted to come check on ya. Saw you hadn't responded to my text. No real harm in that, now eh?” His smile reached his eyes as he gave you a brief once over. Parts of you felt guilty for never responding to his text. “What do you say? Are you free tonight?” The back of your throat ran dry, torn between what he could possibly have in mind and your responsibility of grading exams and essays. Before you can even utter a word, he steps deeper into your office. Leaning in front of you, he closes your laptop, making you nearly shriek. All of that hard work, now potentially lost.

“Professor! I was in the middle of trying to grade papers!” You stared at him in disbelief. It was impossible to feel mad at this man. The laugh that came from him was like sweet music to your ears. The corners of his eyes wrinkle from his grinning laugh. Why did he have to stand so close to you? The cologne he wore smelled heavenly. 

“Come on. You're stressed. You're tired. You're focusing too hard on the job, and not enough on yourself. One extra day won't hurt. Take the night off. Live a little.” He takes your hand into his, and gently pulls you from your desk chair. You felt so small compared to him; the top of your head barely made it to the bottom of his chest, allowing him to tower over you with ease. “And by all means, love, you don't have to be so formal. We're colleagues, after all.”

The heat that boiled in your body threatened to rise onto your cheeks. The subtle brush of his hand against yours brought about a light hue of pink to dust across your cheeks. There were a thousand different thoughts that raced through your mind, and not a single one focused on your unfinished work. You couldn't help the way your heart hopelessly fluttered in your chest. Even as colleagues, you felt as smitten as a freshman school girl with her first official crush. Truthfully, who could genuinely blame you though?

“Right. Right…uhm. Just, let me grab my keys and lock everything up.” You laugh nervously, snatching your keys from your desk before locking up your office. A low chuckle rumbled deep in Hugh's chest as he walked next to you down the hallway. Every weekend, the campus life seemed to dwindle down, leaving its parking lots empty. You allow your mind to wander for just a moment before looking up to him from the corner of your eyes. “Well…since I'm not busy tonight anymore, was there something you had in mind?”

“Dinner. A few drinks. Just two adults going out on the town. There's no harm in that, now is there?” The confidence that laced his voice was almost annoying. How could he always be so sure of himself? The heat in your cheeks grew hotter as he curled an arm around your shoulders, offering a half cocked and toothy grin.

“Colleagues. Just two colleagues. I mean…don't you think this could…I dunno, if someone saw us? It would be-”

“Scandalous? Cause jealousy? Love, who cares what anyone else would think.” He pauses in front of you as you reach for the door handle of your car. Stepping closer, he forces you to back up against the cool, metal, door of your car. He traps you by resting his hands on either side of you against the door. “Just two grown colleagues going out for dinner and drinks. Let's say for eight o'clock?” You could feel the heat of his breath brush against your lips due to the close proximity. His cologne floods your senses, making your head reel. At that moment, all you could do was nod. “Then it's a date then.”

He was painfully overconfident in himself, but you couldn't bring yourself to protest against him. The idea of a date made your cheeks and body burn. You watched as he smirked to himself, sauntering towards the Sports Car he drove. Once you were sure he wasn't looking, your knees damn near buckled beneath you with nerves. Eight o'clock. That gave you around three hours to get home, washed, and dressed. Your heart pounded in your chest as Hugh gave you a wave before speeding out of the parking lot. This was actually happening. The subtle buzz of your phone vibrating catches your attention. Another single text.

‘Wear something a bit fancy. Who knows. Might take a twirl or two. See you at eight.’

Your heart pounded in your chest at his text. This was actually happening. You didn't know what to do or how to feel. Taking a moment to gather yourself together, you hurriedly climb into your car to rush towards your apartment. Three hours was so close but so far. The panic began to set in. Taking a deep breath, you calm your nerves to the best of your abilities. It was now or never, and you chose the now.

~o0o~

You stared at your reflection in the mirror. Smoothing out the slim fitting dress that you wore. Its smooth fabric hugged your curves in all the right places. A low v-cut split the front of your dress, the pentacle stopped just below your breast bone. Somehow you had allowed your best friend to convince you into buying this dress quite a few months ago, but had never worn it before. A simple silver necklace hung delicately around your neck. Just as the nerves began to tumble around in your stomach, a soft knock at your door brought you back down to reality.

“Coming!” You call out, rushing towards the door. Thankfully, a black pair of heels rested next to the rug there. Nothing too big or fancy, but enough to give you around two or three inches added to your height. Opening the door, you're nearly awestruck at the sight of Hugh. A lazy smirk rested on his lips. Clad in black slacks and a button-up dress shirt, he was quite the sight to see. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the first two buttons that are undone at the top of his shirt. He drags his eyes over you, tilting his head, obviously pleased with your choice of clothing.

“Well now, aren't you the beauty tonight. I should have asked you out for dinner a long time ago,” he mused with a smile to his voice. Your heart skips a beat as he extends his hand out for you to take. Snatching your keys and tugging the door closed, you allow yourself to be led away by him.

“I…thank you…you're quite the catch yourself, Hugh.” It's damn near impossible to not blush with how small your hand was compared to his. His thumb brushes against your knuckles absentmindedly as he chuckles lowly under his breath which makes your heart want to skip a beat. The way his smile reached his eyes had you nearly weak in the knees.

“Oh yeah? I just threw something together. Nothing too fancy. But you? You're gonna be the finest sheila there,” he opens the car door for you, gesturing for you to step in. You catch him dragging his eyes across your body again, a wide, toothy grin breaks across his lips upon being caught red-handed. Another wave of heat rushes through your body. You didn't know what it was exactly about him that you found so alluring. Was it his charming good looks? The authentic and rich Aussie accent? Or how his eyes always seemed to shine with kindness and adventure? Whatever it was about him, it had you wrapped snugly in an embrace you hoped would never let go.

After getting settled in,Hugh gets into the drivers seat, speeding off. He could see from the corner of his eye the way your body visibly grew tense at the speed, but it was a rush for you. He rests a hand on your knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. Normally you would have swatted anyone away, but it somehow felt different with him. A sly smile quirked the corner of his lips seeing how you lightly bit your lower lip and hesitantly rested your hand on top of his. 

“You're in good hands, love. Relax. I don't bite, and I won't hurt you.” A soft giggle escapes from your lips at his words. Something in you knew he was being honest. It had been so long since you had ever been out with anyone that you had almost forgotten how to properly function. “Breathe love. You trust me now, don't you?”

“O-of course,” you finally breathe. A shaky smile parts your lips towards him. You couldn't keep your eyes off of him. He had you completely mesmerized with his presence alone. Bolts of electricity shoot through your body at how tenderly he caresses your knee with his thumb. “I'm not trying to be awkward. It's uhm…it's just been a while since I've been out on any dates or anything.” He squeezes your knee again, smiling smugly towards you for a brief moment. Slowly, the suburbs began to fade away, the quiet sky soon becoming replaced with a bustling skyline of the city. Confusion and shock began to take over as the neon sign of Coastal Rhythm and Steakhouse came into view.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. Coastal Rhythm and Steakhouse was well beyond your price range. Never in a million years would you have even looked into the general direction of this place. When Hugh brings the car to a stop at the valet entrance, the reality of the situation starts to set in. He's quick to exit, moving to open the passenger door for you and offers you his hand. Your lips part slightly, taking in the atmosphere and resting your hand into his. A million questions ran rampant through your mind. Somehow, he must have seen the shock that rested upon your face, prompting him to shake his head at you.

“No talk of work. Don't worry about prices. It's just you and me tonight, baby.” He tosses the keys over his shoulder to the valet driver whilst escorting you towards the large, tique doors of the restaurant. The strong aroma of expensive spices, meats, and cigars greet your senses once he opens the door for you. Your stomach was practically doing somersaults with nerves. Across the way, a stage was nestled against the wall with a live band playing smooth, rhythmic, music. There were a few couples on the spacious dance floor, which seemed to catch your attention. Hugh follows your gaze, leaning close to your ear and softly speaks, “looks like fun? I was hoping you'd be willing to give it a try.”

The heat of his breath sent chills down your spine. Before you could protest, his attention is cut away to the young hostess as she greets you both. After a brief exchange of information to confirm the dinner reservation, she leads you and Hugh to a table nestled near the window, overlooking the bay. The city lights reflected against the smooth water in a dazzling display of the night life. Hugh's eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled warmly, pulling a chair out for you. Once you're settled in, he takes his seat across from you, his smile growing more into a roguish grin.

“I didn't expect this, Hugh. I…how even?” You begin to ask, but held up a hand to silence your growing question. A soft sigh escapes from you, your lips curving into a faint smile. “You're so full of surprises. Different too, but in a good way.” You absentmindedly trace the rim of your glass of water.

“What can I say? I like keeping you on your toes. Two can play this little game of cat and mouse, love.” His eyes meet yours, leaning forward slightly and closing the distance between each of you. Your smile was soft, shy, hesitant even, a complete contrast compared to his bold smile that showed damn near perfect teeth. A faint blush dusts across your cheeks as your heart flutters in your chest. Before you can try to form your next sentence, the waiter approaches the table, handing you and Hugh a menu while asking about what each of you would like to drink.

You could feel Hugh's eyes watching your every move. Parts of you started to feel guilty for allowing him to bring you somewhere so extravagant and elegant. Two things that did not seem to be in your everyday vocabulary. After placing the order for drinks, Hugh returns his gaze to settle onto you. He gently rests his hand on yours, caressing your knuckles. A tight but amazed smile curved his lips as he chuckled. 

“Do you always look this serious when you look at menus?” He teased warmly, arching a brow towards you. His tone was lighthearted, but his eyes were filled with amusement and curiosity. He finally links his fingers into yours, locking gazes with you. “Hey, relax. It's just a dinner date. Two adults, having dinner, and enjoying each other's company.”

Your cheeks flushed again, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you nod. The way his eyes sparkled melted the walls that once guarded you and your heart. “Hugh…this is just…it's just a bit overwhelming is all. Not that I'm complaining! You're way too kind and generous for doing this.”

He laughs softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his genuine grin. “Kind? Generous? I've been called a fairshare of things in my life, but I don't quite think I've ever been called either of those things before.” He closes his menu, having already decided on his meal. You meet his gaze again, giggling softly under your breath. 

“Well, I think you are both of those things. You're kind, generous, and charming. I don't care what anyone else has had to say before.” You smile warmly towards him. The butterflies that fluttered in your stomach had it doing somersaults when your eyes met his.

“Oh trust me, you haven't seen anything yet, baby. I'm still full of surprises.” He leans back into his chair as the waiter returns with the drinks and his booklet of tickets to take each of your orders. Hugh glances at you before placing his order. It's almost impossible for you to keep your eyes from wanting to bulge out at the prices of the entrées on the menu. After a bit of encouragement from Hugh, you do decide to splurge on yourself and indulge on a steak.

“Thank you again, Hugh. For bringing me here, and always just being…well, you.” Your lips curve into a fairly more confident smile towards him. After taking a few sips of wine, the edge was finally starting to wear off and help you relax more.

“No need to thank me, love. I was hoping you would like it. Something special for an eye catching and special woman,” he gives you a flirty wink.

As the evening progressed and the food was brought out, the conversation began to flow more easily. Hugh rambled about stories of his adventures and travels, along with his early life in Australia. You couldn't help but be hung up on every word he spoke. You loved the way he became more jovial and animated in the way he spoke and moved his hands. The smile and laughter that came from you almost had your cheeks hurting, but it felt so refreshing as you listened more intently with sparkling eyes.

“What about you, love? Surely you must have some fun adventures behind that smile of yours,” he asked and leaned in closer to you.

You hesitate for a moment. Compared to Hugh, your life seemed rather bland and boring. Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you  shyly began to speak again. “Well…I like to read a lot. And I try my hand at painting too. I'm not very good at it, but it's a fun distress activity for me.” Taking a bite of food, your entire demeanor changes, savoring the rich flavors. 

“I'm sure it's not that bad. Perhaps one day, I could see your work.” His words earned another blush from you.

“Maybe one day,” you murmur softly. A content and comfortable smile rested on your lips. Your eyes, however, drift back towards the dance floor at the sound of subtle applause from some of the other diners. A few couples had thanked the impromptu judges of the diners. The band on stage had started to play soft strains of a tango. Hugh follows your gaze, a spark of excitement ignites in his eyes as he looks to you.

“Do you dance?” There was something adventurous in both his voice and eyes.

Your eyes widen slightly, and you shake your head. “N-no. I mean…no really. I've never really tried it before.” There's a hint of nervousness and shyness to your voice. The breath catches in the back of your throat as Hugh stands and extends his hand to you.

“Perfect! There's a first time for everything, baby.” After hesitating a moment, you rest your hand in his. His grip is warm and assuring as he leads you towards the dance floor. The diners of the restaurant had turned their attention towards you and Hugh with a piqued curiosity. Truthfully, you couldn't blame them. Hugh exuded confidence on top of his charmingly good looks. He seemed so sure of himself; each step he took was deliberate and thoughtful to the point it made you think he had to have done this before.

“Just follow my lead, and trust me.” He whispers against your ear. The heat of his breath against your skin sent chill down your spine again. You nod meekly, unsure of yourself as your heart thundered inside of your chest. He places a hand against your waist, the other gripping your hand firmly. With the first few notes of the music starting, he guides you into the first few steps.

“Good girl. You're doing great.” He husks lowly against your ear. His voice is low, raspy, but soothing. “Relax, baby. Let yourself go. Feel the music.” His eyes were intense as he watched you and guided you. A new heat had started to burn deep inside of your body at how his gently pressed into the side of your waist, slowly tracing them up your side just below your ribcage.

Taking a deep breath, you allow yourself to relax into his touch. With every step and sway of your body, you let yourself be swept deeper into the music with Hugh. The world around you seemed to fade; the eyes of the other diners being upon you didn't even seem to exist anymore. Your eyes remained fixed on the Hazel green ones of Hugh as your bodies swayed and moved together in a synchronized harmony. His steps confident and graceful as he led you with effortless ease.

Never would you have imagined yourself in a situation like this. A swell of thrill and exhilaration took over your senses. The tango, it was passionate, intense, and sensual. With every step, you could feel the chemistry between you and Hugh grow even stronger. His intense eyes remained locked on yours, trailing down your body when he's able to. Despite his intense gaze, his smile was of pure enjoyment and delight.

He pulls you in closer, your body pressed firmly against his. “See? You're a natural at this, baby. Keep going.” His voice is soft but laced with confidence. 

You laugh quietly, melting against his rock hard body. “That's because I had such an amazing teacher.” Your eyes shine brightly as you wore a radiant smile at your lips. He chuckled quietly under his breath, spinning you just as the music began to reach its peak crescendo, and pulls you against his chest for the final, dramatic pose. His lips rested just mere centimeters from yours; you could feel his hot breath caress your lips with every breath you each took. The other diners that had been watching all applaud with approval of the display, making your cheeks heat up.

“That…that was amazing!” You beam up at him. He chuckles softly, resisting the urge to want to press his lips against yours.

“You were amazing.” He corrects you with a warm and approving tone. He glances to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze. “Couldn't have done it without you.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles before walking you back towards the table you had both been sitting at. “Thank you for letting me do this.”

Your eyes soften towards him, “thank you for asking me to join you.” There's a surge of pride and confidence that flows through your body. Pride for stepping out of your comfort zone, but also pride in yourself for discovering a hidden talent you never knew you had. Something inside of you began to tell you that this might just be the beginning to something even greater.

As the night grew later, the crowd began to die down inside of the restaurant until finally a hostess has to politely ask you both to leave after Hugh pays for your meal. Where had the time gone to? Looking at your phone screen, it was pushing close to midnight. Linking your arms together, he walks with you outside. The night air was cool and crisp against your bare arms, making you step closer to Hugh for warmth.

You finally look up to him, biting your lower lip deep in thought. “I don't want this to end…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He looks down at you, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Who ever said that it has to come to an end?” He asks you quietly, a sly smirk at his lips. Taking a moment, he glances from your eyes and then to your lips as though asking for permission before pressing a chaste kiss against to your lips. Your lips melt against his for a brief moment as your heart races in your chest. The sound of valet pulling his car up towards the entrance makes him pull away just slightly to gaze down at you.

“Come on, let's get out of here.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, leading back towards the car. Something in his eyes seemed to ve different. He still looked adventurous, but there was a new gleam in his eyes. Something new, dangerous, and you wanted more. Without hesitation, you allow yourself to trust him fully.

He rests his hand on your upper thigh once inside of the car, before speeding off. The grip he held on your thigh was like nothing you had ever experienced before. The gaze in his eyes was intense, clouded with love and lust. You bite the inside of your lip, resting your hand on top of his. He turns his head to look at you briefly, smirking proudly to himself. You didn't know what he had planned, but the expressions in his eyes had you intrigued.

~o0o~

The car ride back was tense, but not in a bad way. There was a swarm of emotions that rushed through your mind and body. Your heartbeat immediately quickened at the sight of unfamiliar condos. Digging out his wallet, he swipes his keycard at the entrance gate into the community. The back of your throat began to burn with anticipation. Hugh looks over to you once he pulls into the parking lot in front of his condo.

“We don't do anything you're not comfortable with. You can trust me, scouts honor.” He assures you warmly, turning to face you better. His eyes glance between your gaze and lips, leaning in closer to close the distance between each of you. Leaning in to meet him halfway, your lips melt against his. His tongue flicks against your lower lip, asking for entrance. Your lips part, granting him access. A needy moan slips from your mouth, making you blush deeply.

Hesitating at first, you curl an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in closer. Your other hand caresses his rippling chest. You could feel the way his chiseled back and chest flexed against your hands. Growing a little more bold, you nibble at his lower lip, earning a heated groan from him. His hand finds your throat, gripping it firmly and pulling you just put of reach of his lips.

“We should take this inside, yeah?” He husks, trailing his thumb down your throat. His eyes fall onto your puffy and swollen lips from such a heated kiss. You heart fluttered and pounded in your ears at a deafening rate. You swallow thickly at his question, but slowly nod. His eyes soften a little with concern towards you. Sliding his hand up your neck to cup your cheek, tenderly. “Hey…we don't have to if you're not comfortable just yet.”

You rest your hand on top of his, “no I…I want to. I-it's just been a while. I'm more than comfortable with you, Hugh…”

His eyes search yours long and hard before he finally nods and presses another needy kiss to your lips. Your heart thundered rampantly in your chest watching and following him as he moved to get out of the car and opened the passenger door for you. His eyes remain fixed on you as he helps you step out and closes the door behind you. Your fingers become interlocked with his as he leads you to the elevator to get to his condo. Once the elevator closes, his lips are on your again. The kiss is more demanding this time as he backs you up against the wall, his hands greedily roam around your body until they find your hips. His fingers dig into the thick, fleshy portion of your hips, pulling you against his chest.

Your tongue darts from your mouth to meet his. His mouth hungrily swallows your needy moans as you curl your arms around his shoulders; one of your hands cup the nape of his neck, nails softly digging into his skin near his hairline, eliciting a heated groan from him. His mouth leaves yours, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Your eyes flutter at the heat of his mouth against your pulse. A mewling squeal escapes you as he sinks his teeth into your sensitive skin at the hollow of your neck near your shoulder.

“F-fuck…Hugh…” Your neck and back arch into him while your eyes flutter. He presses against you more, eliciting a gasp from you as you feel his growing erection press against you. As the elevator bell dings and the doors slide open, you whimper softly as he pulls away. His eyes are dark and clouded with lust for you. Without a word, he takes your hand, leading you towards the door of his condo. Once inside, he's on you again like a starved animal, harshly kicking the door shut.

Your hands slide down his chest, eagerly unbuttoning his dress shirt. He inhales a sharp breath at the sensation of you dragging your nails down his chest. In a fluid motion, he scoops you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style towards his bedroom. Your hand slides down his chest, resting over his pounding heartbeat. Even through the lust, the care in his eyes towards you was beyond noticeable as though asking ‘are you sure’ one last time.

“I'm sure of this, Hugh. Please…I need this. Need you…” An unfamiliar heat had begun to poop between your thighs, coating your panties. Setting you down within the privacy of his bedroom, you gazed up towards him lovingly. It almost felt like some type of dream at this point. This was actually happening. This wasn't some weird dream or fantasy. It was real.

Snaking an arm around you, his fingers find the zipper of your dress. “Last chance…once we start this, there's no stopping or going back.” You merely nod in understanding towards him. You were beyond certain that this was what you wanted. You wanted him, needed him. He eases the zipper of your dress down your back, the black fabric pooling onto the floor around your ankles, leaving you in nothing but your shoes and panties. The cool air laps at your skin, causing goosebumps to inch their way across your body. The cool air has ykur nipples rapidly hardening into stiff little peaks on the mounds of your supple breasts. He leisurely drags his eyes across your body, admiring every curve, dip, and valley your body has to offer. “Fucking beautiful…”

His lips are crushed against yours again, nearly taking your breath away. His hands inch across your body, caressing your skin and exploring every inch of you. His thumbs draw and press tight circles over your aching nipples as he palms your perky breasts with ease. A soft whimper escapes from you at the sensations that his touch causes to surge through you. Every fiber of your being felt ablaze, and it was all due to Hugh. Your hands eagerly roam across his bare chest. His skin felt hot and tight against your palms. A thin layer of sweat coated his skin; the pale light of the lamp that hung on the wall had cast a subtle sheen across his skin.

Trailing your hands down further, you eagerly untuck his shirt from the waistband of his slacks. You needed to see and feel every inch of his body. Your slick walls had begun to dampen your panties even more. His hands meet yours, eagerly helping you with the fabrics of his shirt before finally shrugging it down and off his shoulders, tossing the fabric somewhere across the room. Bending down slightly, he slides his hands behind your body, cupping your ass roughly and lifting you up against his body. You gasp, eagerly wrapping your arms and legs around his body, making it easier for him to carry you over to the bed.

As he lays you down against the plush mattress, your heartbeat immediately escalates. He drags his up your thighs and down calves to your feet, tugging and tossing your heels somewhere across the room. Leaning back onto his heels, he admires your bare body before him. The way your skin tightened and twitched at his gentle caresses and the way your chest rose and fell, desperate for air. In his eyes, you were such a beauty to him. Leaning forward and resting his weight onto his palms, he begins to kiss and nip his way up your body. A frustrated whimper sounds in your throat as his lips skip over where you wanted him most. The stubble on his chin scrapes against the tender skin of your abdomen as he leaves a trail of kisses up your stomach, dipping his tongue against your navel, making your eyes flutter.

He chuckles darkly as your fingers become entwined into his dark, luscious hair. His eyes meet yours, trailing his tongue up across your abdomen, stopping between the valley of your breasts. The demanding heat of his mouth against your breast earns a needy and pornographic moan from you. His tongue swirls longingly around one of your aching nipples while one of his hands eagerly gropes and massages the other, rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck…Hugh…” You mewl needly, rubbing your thighs together for friction. He hums against you, tongue vibrating against your throbbing nipple. Moving his head and hand, he gives your other neglected breast the same attentive treatment. Your mouth falls open as he pushes his knee between your thighs, grinding his knee against your sopping and aching core. “Hugh, please…I fucking need you…”

“Mmmm, I never thought you'd be so needy. Fuck, baby, you have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this.” He sits back up onto his knees, unbuckling his belt and tugging it free from the belt loops of his pants. The leather makes a loud snapping sound against his hand. “You're all mine tonight.” You sit up onto your elbows, chest still heaving as you watch him stand up from the bed to kick off his shoes and socks, followed by his slacks, leaving him only just boxers. You could see the firm, rock hard outline of his throbbing cock.

He kneels back between your legs, dragging his hands up the length of your legs. “Lay back, baby. You're in good hands.” Your heart flutters at his words as you obediently listen. Hooking his fingers under your panty line, he slowly tugs the thin fabric down your legs, carelessly tossing it to the side. Laying between your legs, he tosses your legs over his shoulders while slowly dragging his tongue through your dripping cunt. He groans appreciatively at your taste, swiping his tongue through the velvety folds of your cunt once again. His mouth stopping over your clit, tongue swirling and flicking expertly against your aching bundle of nerves.

Your hips instinctively jolt at the new sensation. Groaning hotly, you fist his hair again, desperate for more. The stubble on his chin scratches against your velvety folds, giving you the friction you had desperately been craving. Arching your back, your head falls back onto the pillows, leaving you a moaning mess beneath him. He slowly eases a finger deep into your quivering cunt, earning another desperate and needy whimper from you. After allowing you time to adjust, he then adds another finger, curling and scissoring them into every sensitive area deep inside of your cunt.

“Oh my god…fuck. Hugh, oh fuck…” An unfamiliar coil began to twist deep in your stomach. The twisting and burning sensation creeps down further, making your slick, velvety walls begin to flutter. Your clit aches and throbs from the much needed attention of his mouth and tongue. Soft, breathy, and needy pants escape from your lips as your back arches up from the bed. Hugh presses his fingers harshly against your g-spot, guiding you into your first body wracking orgasm of the night. “Hugh!!! Fuck!!!” You throw your head back, chanting his name like a desperate prayer. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, the pressure in your stomach and pussy become too much; he pulls his fingers away, leading you into a squirting orgasm that coats his face and chest.

“Oh fuck. Look at you, baby…just full of surprises.” He groans, licking your sticky fluids from his fingers. Your chest heaved anxiously as you watched him. He eagerly tugs his boxers down his thighs, groaning as his aching erection is finally able to spring free. The head of his swollen cock glistened with precum. You can't help but to swallow thickly at how girthy his length actually is. “Relax baby. I'll be gentle with you.”

You nod, slowly wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as he leans over you, resting his weight on his palm. Using his other hand, he swipes the head of his cock through your sticky and sopping pussy. Coating his cock in your slick arousal, he gives his cock a few slow pumps before gently easing his length into you. He groans at how tightly your walls wrap around him. Inch by inch, he pushes himself deeper, only to pull out slightly and then ease more of himself into you until finally bottoming out deeply inside of your tight, little pussy. He still his hips against yours at your pained whimper.

“Sshh, relax baby. Relax for me.” He cups your cheek, pressing a deep but tender kiss to your lips. After a few moments, you slowly nod for him to move. His thrusts are slow and sensual, gliding his girthy cock against your hot, velvety walls. He slides a hand down your side and then thigh, cupping the back of your knee and hiking your leg up onto his hip. The new angle allows him to sink in even deeper, allowing the head of his cock to gently bump against your cervix. Thrust by thrust, your walls relax more, molding to fit him perfectly inside of you.

You wrap your leg around his waist, edging him in just a little deeper. His mouth leaves yours, trailing along your jaw and neckline. His tongue traces the length of your pulse until finally finding a particularly sensitive spot to harshly bite and suck on. A near pornographic groan escapes you as you sink your nails into the backs of his shoulders. He groans heatedly, snapping his hips against yours. The room becomes filled with the sinful and pornographic sounds of skin slapping against skin. With every snap of his hips, he fucks you deeper into the mattress. You drag your nails down across his shoulders and down the curves of his triceps and biceps. Your nails leave rapidly reddening scratches on his skin.

He pulls out just enough to be able to slam into you again. The headboard whips against the wall with a harsh thud. With each of his thrusts, a breathy grunt is forced up out of his throat. Eagerly, you manage to wrap your other leg around his waist, holding him closely. Your eyes flutter, vision blurring as the head of his cock collides against your cervix, stretching and filling your walls to his liking. You grip his wrists desperately, chanting his name like a prayer as your head begins to reel and spin. A familiar painful coil starts to churn and grow hot in the pits of your stomach, inching closer to your abused pussy. He grabs your hands into his, pinning them against the mattress. The snapping of his hips grows more desperate as he chases his release.

“Fuck…you feel so fucking good on me. Fuck baby, I'm gonna cum. You have me so close.” He groans into your ear, his movements growing more desperate and erratic. You could feel how close he was. Knowing that Drew you closer to wanting to spill over.

“Oh god, Hugh…I'm close…fuck, please…!” You pant desperately, gripping his hands in yours. His lips are eagerly crushed against yours for a heated and desperate kiss. Your walls clenched tightly around him as your second orgasm hits, making your vision go white. Throwing your head back, you desperately cry out his name as he too reaches his high, spilling hot strings of cum deep inside of your pussy, coating your cervix in white. Tears threaten to prick the corners of your eyes. His hips finally slow against yours, growing still as you both pant raggedly against each other's lips. He dips his head into the hollow of your neck, tenderly kissing the bruising hickey he had left there.

Your legs slide from his waist, trembling from your orgasm. He slowly lifts his head, pressing his lips against yours for a chaste kiss. Wriggling your hands free from his, you curl your arms tightly around his shoulders and press your forehead against his. After a moment, you exhale a shaky sigh, smiling up at him. He cups your cheeks, resting his weight on his elbows while gazing down at you.

“I didn't hurt you, did I?” Concern fills his eyes while tenderly caressing your cheeks.

“No…that was…amazing…” Your fingers caress the nape of his neck comfortingly. “Even if you did…I really liked it.”

He groans softly at your words, smirking confidently with himself towards you. After pecking your lips once more,  he pulls away to be able to lay next to you. His fingers tenderly trace designs across your skin before pulling you flush against his chest. “You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that.” He finally speaks, his gravelly voice just above a whisper. You hum softly in response, caressing his chest.

He chuckles softly, inching closer until your bodies are pressed tightly against one another. “I've seen the way you've looked at me. Have seen all those little glances from you.” You chuckle sheepishly under your breath, linking your fingers into his, “I'm gllad I finally got you out of that office.”

You bury your face into his chest, giggling at the idea that you had been caught red-handed on one too many occasions. “Oh god…I must have looked like such a creep. I am so sorry-” he cuts you off with a chaste kiss.

“You're different from everyone else. There is no need for you to be apologizing. If you hadn't done that, love, I don't think I ever would have made a move on you,” he assures you warmly. His eyes follow you as you press his shoulders, guiding him to lay on his back. A smirk rises at the corner of his lips as you lay against his chest, pressing a tender kiss on his chest above his heart.

“I'm glad that you did, Hugh. Really…I am. The moment I saw you, there was just something about you…” You nuzzle his chest affectionately. 

“Mmmm, I am too, baby. We should definitely do this again.” He looks down to you, threading his fingers through your hair. Your eyes practically sparkle.

“I'd love that.” Your heart swelled and fluttered in your chest 

“Why don't you stay the weekend then? Just you and me.” Something in his eyes seemed to flicker. An amused smirk at his lips as he presses a finger against yours, “and don't try to use work as an excuse. You can very easily ride in with me.”

You chuckle, nodding in defeat. “You've really thought this through, haven't you?” He chuckles softly, shrugging to himself as he folds his arms behind his head. “We'll just have to make a pit stop at my place. I don't think that dress I wore would mull over well in a classroom.”

He chuckles quietly, “Oh I think it'd be just fine. It looks great both on and off of you.” He laughs as you playfully smack his bicep.

~o0o~

Over the passing months, you and Hugh had grown closer together than ever before. You weren't as awkward around him. In fact, being with him gave you the confidence that you had been lacking. However, you still found yourself stealing the occasional glance at him through the window of his classroom door. Your heart fluttered every time his eyes would meet yours, and a cocky smirk would curve the corner of his lips. It became a routine for you both. Every Friday evening, you spent it out together either for dinner, dancing, or any other fun adventure Hugh would surprise you with. You'd take turns on whose place you'd stay over the weekends, though truthfully, you spent more time at his after receiving a noise complaint from your downstairs neighbor.

Today, you stood in the faculty room with Hugh and your other colleagues. The meeting was more of a surprise retirement party for one of your colleagues in the English department. Your hand gently brushes against his, capturing his attention for a brief moment. Even after all these months, the way he smiled with his eyes melted your heart straight to the core. Both of you knew that many of your colleagues had their suspicions on whether or not there was a relationship between you two. The tables of the lounge held various trays of food, snacks, and desserts for everyone.

“So, are you free tonight?” Hugh asks, leaning in close. His lips nearly brush against your ear. You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“For you? Always.” You look up to him with a sly smirk. “I have something to show you tonight too.” He chuckles softly, but is soon called away by a fellow coworker. You watch him with a soft smile before taking a seat at one of the empty tables. Over the past several months, you found yourself falling harder and harder for him. A soft smile rested at your lips as you watched him talk and laugh with several colleagues. His boisterous and contagious laughter fills the room, making your smile reach your eyes. There was no lie to it, you loved him.

You're brought out of your thoughts and admiration of Hugh as someone sits next to you. She looked to be a year or two older than you. She wore a bright and friendly smile, but somehow her eyes seemed distrusting. Every red flag in your mind was screaming. She extends a hand out to you,beginning to introduce herself to you.

“Hey! I hope I'm not bothering you. I'm the new hire replacement for Dr. Howard! Looks like we're both going to be in the same hall for teaching. Oh, I'm Sophie, by the way! I should have opened with that,” Sophie exclaims excitedly. It takes almost all of your energy to hold your tongue.

You smile politely and return the handshake after introducing yourself. “Pleasure to meet you. So, you're in the history department? I teach world history. January will make a year that I've been here. How long have you been teaching, exactly?”

“So, this will be my first year doing college level teachings. Public school system just wasn't cutting it for me anymore. But wow, a year already?” Sophie asks, her tone coming off more condescending than actual curiosity. You give her a tight smile, turning your eyes away briefly to meet the hazel green ones of Hugh from across the room. Unbeknownst to you, Sophie follows your gaze and raises her brows. “Well now, isn't he a tall drink of water.”

A small smirk rose to your lips, but your knuckles turned white at how tightly you gripped the lower hem of your skirt. You force out a soft laugh from between your lips at her words. There were a million words you wanted to say, and not a single one would have been kind. Before you can formulate a sentence, Sophie excuses herself to go try to speak with Hugh. The tension that surrounded your body was suffocating. If looks could kill, Sophie would have been as good as dead. You watched as she sauntered over to Hugh, abruptly interrupting his conversation.

Your stomach twisted into unfamiliar knots as you watched Sophie speak with Hugh. You could only imagine that she tried the same whole sweet and ditsy charade on Hugh. The back of your throat began to burn with emotions as you watched this woman step closer to Hugh in their conversation. Throughout the conversation, you watched as Sophie would occasionally bat her eyelashes at Hugh or let her hand somehow brush against his arm. The longer you watched, the more your vision began to see red, until finally Hugh had found a way to dismiss himself from the conversation. For a brief moment, you could have sworn that there was disappointment on the lips of Sophie as Hugh had somehow managed to step away from her. He locks gazes with you, moving to join you at the table.

“I don't like her too much,” you state flatly, to which he laughs quietly. “I'm serious, Hugh! She was practically undressing you with her eyes!” You hiss quietly under your breath. He gently knocks your knee with his own, giving you a knowing look.

“Well, she can try all she wants to. Come on, she's not even my type. Besides, I'm already spoken for,” he gives you an assuring wink. It was damn near impossible not to show your relationship at work. Neither of you was too worried about codes of conduct, but you were more concerned about his professional reputation due to the age gap between you both.

“Mmm, still. I wouldn't trust her too easily. I just have a bad feeling about her,” you shrug slightly, earning another soft chuckle from him. Much like all good things, the retirement party for Dr. Howard had slowly started to dwindle down once the 2 o'clock hour had rolled around. Many had to leave before then due to classes or other faculty meetings, which eventually made the last remaining hours of the work day creep by agonizingly slow.

The interaction with Sophie had left a fairly sour taste in your mouth. Parts of you couldn't blame her though, Hugh was quite the attractive man. He had it all, a killer smile, charming good looks, contagious laughter, and a warm heart. And you were lucky enough to have him all to yourself. By the end of the day, you had actually beaten Hugh out to his car. You sat with your palms on either side of your hips, resting against the hood of the car. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you recognized his footsteps growing nearer. He leans into you after stepping to be in between your legs, resting his hands on top of yours.

“Hey,” he gave you a half-cocked smile before stealing a brief kiss from you. “What did you want to show me, love?”

You take his hands into yours, linking your fingers into his. A slow, shaky breath escapes from your lips as your eyes meet his. “Not here. At your place. I promise, everything is okay.” Worry begins to fill his eyes, but he pushes it down at your assurance. The ride home, you both spoke about the events of the day. Though still bothered by the antics of Sophie, you manage to laugh softly to yourself over it.

Once settled in the comfort of his condo, you rested against his chest as you both lounged on the couch. His t-shirt completely swamped your small frame. You could feel the heat of his breath chest permeate through the fabric of the shirt you wore. His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, fingers tenderly caressing the soft, tender skin on your stomach just above your panty line. You could feel the smirk on his lips against your shoulder.

“Hugh…” you finally break the comfortable silence that had filled the living room. He hums softly against your neck in acknowledgment. You had rehearsed this in your mind a few times, but it didn't become any easier. “Hugh, there's something I need to tell you.”

He lifts his head, growing worried and serious. “What is it, love? Is everything okay? Is this about the incident with Sophie today?”

You shake your head, turning in his lap to face him. He could see the nervousness in your eyes, making his gaze soften towards you. “So…the past few weeks, I've been feeling a bit off. I went to the doctor after getting sick last week. And well…” you trail off, nerves beginning to settle in even more. Tears threaten to fall from your eyes.

“Hey, hey…look at me, love. Is everything okay? Are you okay?” He tenderly wipes your tears away from the corners of your eyes.

“Everything is…it's more than okay.” You finally say just above a whisper, sniffling softly. Taking his hand into yours, he could feel the way your nerves had you shaking anxiously. His brows furrowed together as you rested his hand over your stomach with a shaky sigh. “Hugh…I know the timing might be sudden. I don't even know if we're ready for this…we're having a baby.”

For a moment, there was a silence that fell between each of you as he processed your words. The concern in his eyes shifts to a radiant level of excitement. “You're pregnant? We're having a baby? We're having a baby!” 

You nod, tears starting to roll down your cheeks. “We're having a baby…”

He pulls you in close with his arms wrapped around you securely, burying his face in the hollow of your neck. You choke put a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder. You pull away just enough to lock gazes with him, resting your hands on his chest as more tears run down your cheeks.

“I love you, baby.” He says softly, making your heart swell.

“I love you too, Hugh.”

[dreamgirlvibes]

We live in a culture where we are told we can go find better and do better- thus isolating ourselves and repeating this cycle over and over after small disagreements and ego-driven battles. Only to find ourselves becoming a capsule of emotions, memories and soul ties left with nothing but a false hope. Yes, there are instances where you SHOULD remove yourself and disconnect from people and things that are truly detrimental to your life and well being. But every single time someone fails or doesn’t meet such high standards, we’d rather let go instead of giving grace. We would rather remove what could have been instead of thinking of our own triggered responses and actions. We end up selfishly choosing ourselves instead and left with only ourselves. Traumatized by what is called love but we never truly find it. Taught by instagram memes and twitter posts and led by their manifestations. Guided by the followers of God and not Himself. Walking around the earth with a pride so high that couldn’t be reached but expecting for people to climb our walls. Love used to last back then because people knew what it was to TRY. We hallmark this ‘’90’s’’ r&b era because deep down inside we all want to find a love that stays, a love that never quits, that is vulnerable and faithful. It’s not about the boy groups ‘’begging and pleading’’ for their women. It’s not about the r&b divas expressing their hearts outs and uplifting their men. It’s not even about a nostalgic feeling. It’s about the fact that that we all had examples and situations that made us BELIEVE that the kinda love we deserve is WORTH IT. Worth crying for, worth chasing, worth staying, worth giving and trying. We are now blind to that type of love. We all have our guns in our pockets and weapons ready to aim at any kind of instance that doesn’t deem to be perfect. We have traded healthy love for toxicity and eventually made toxicity a normal thing- so normal we are TERRIFIED to try. Scared to stay. Horrified to look so crazy, so dumb, to be open, to cry, to do, to feel that we’re slowly becoming numb to the idea of it. Some praise singleness as a form of healthiness to the point of normalcy. And not saying that being single is not normal, but it’s the projection we forget about. People’s projections have become our new will and we all then cycle it back and pass It along. Causing all of us to eventually feel like we can do so much better, be so much better, when in reality we don’t even realize that the real work is working on ourselves. Nothing changes if nobody changes. We point the finger at each other when the target should be our own lives. If only you and that person could call it truths and instead instantly erasing the memories and history you’ve built off a disagreement, y’all can find a solution- first by removing the ego and letting vulnerability take its place. However, in this generation, that almost seems like a scam. We have power words we use for people who make simple mistakes- calling their choices a disease and spreading awareness to what could have easily been an apology. We would rather categorize people by names then to understand their reasons. We would rather perceive someone for what we choose to believe instead of allowing that person to find solace in us. Because in this generation- love is merely a concept. It is just a partnership until the contract is broken and when it breaks, we can go find another partner than can fulfill our selfish needs. It is prideful, it is not kind, it envies, dishonors others, self seeking, easily angered, never trusts, delights in seeing evil after departure and eventually fails. EVERYTHING opposite of what the Bible describes to BE LOVE. So do not think it rare that we have an enemy who is seeking to remove this altogether. To keep us soaked up in this concept until we no loner have a fighting chance. To keep us ‘’cutting each other off’’ and ‘’blocking’’ each other altogether because we feel like there is SO MUCH better when in reality the better needs to be YOU. You are the change that the world needs.

If everyone looked at themselves before trying to find this love in everyone else- we will all be facing ourseves and getting hit with the fact that when you finally turn around- you will THEN truly see each other. We will then finally see LOVE for what it is.

[homoangel]

debasing himself for a man raking leaves

[arcaneyouth]

having a chronic illness/disability and also having medical trauma is a bitch for obvious reasons but also like. being part of the disabled community n stuff. like yeah i want to show my love and support for disabled people and i dont want to be uncomfortable when they talk about their experiences. if they talk about specific experiences i will stop breathing while the panic hits me like many bricks

[tardis--dreams]

Some of those doctors make hating oat milk their entire personality. I hate them. Cannot pretend to find them funny or like i give a shit. Fucking pretentious assholes

[sttoru]

older bf satoru catches you masturbating <3

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. older bf!gojo satoru x female reader. smut, pwp. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). māsturbation. turns into cunnilingus. squirting. reader gets called ‘baby, angel, little girl’

you miss satoru so much. he had left you behind in his apartment after getting a call from a colleague, who needed help defeating a curse nearby. it’s been a few hours since then and you’re bored.

bored and horny.

you’re still riled up from the heated make out session you had with satoru before he departed. the one that got interrupted by that damned phone call. you need him back with you—for his slender fingers to touch you and his mouth to kiss you all over.

all you have of him is his shirt. you’re wearing it whilst laying back in his bed, the fabric seemingly oversized on your body. his scent is making you lightheaded. dizzy, to the point your hand moves down on its own.

“mhhg,” you cover your mouth with your free hand, not wanting to risk anything, even if you’re the only one in this apartment. you waste no time dipping your fingers underneath your panties, circling your clit with your thumb while your index and middle finger rub your moist folds.

all you can do is imagine that it’s satoru pleasuring you. he always does it so well—never once leaving you unsatisfied. you cannot recall the amount of times he’s made you squirt from just rubbing your cunt. you’re so touch deprived and he knows how to take advantage of that.

remembering that one moment where your boyfriend had you seated on his lap on the couch makes you increase the pace of your fingers. how he was so focused on listening to the news whilst gently rubbing your tingly cunt over the material of your panties, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

you recall how your panties were quite literally soaking after three whole orgasms. not once did his fingers directly touch your pussy, and yet he managed to elicit such strong reactions from you.

a frustrated whine in the shape of his name leaves your mouth. you want satoru back, so so badly. you want him to whisper sweet nothings inside of your ears as he makes love to you. that smooth and soothing voice of his makes you weak.

“fuck, angel,” satoru’s voice interrupts your little session. your eyes widen and you immediately pull your fingers out of your aching hole. you stammer and stutter, stumbling over your words as you look at the white-haired man standing at the doorframe of his room.

how do you even explain yourself?

your gaze flickers downwards which grants you the delicious sight of his bulge. his hand is right on top of it, indicating that he’s been touching himself before he decided to make his presence known.

satoru is panting, the sweat already starting to form on his forehead. he walks up to the bed and pries your hands away from your cunt. his cock stirs in his boxer briefs at the sight of you in his shirt. you’re so adorable to the older man. so needy. . .

without a word and like a starved man, satoru spreads your legs and yanks your panties down. your cunt is warm and soppy, the slick trail staining your underwear telling him enough. he doesn’t hesitate before diving his head between your plush thighs.

you feel a rush of warmth go through your body the instant his tongue comes into contact with your pussy. satoru’s nose repeatedly bumps against your clit as he tries to press his entire mouth onto your folds. his tongue lolls out, the tip navigating up and down your slit before pushing through, finding that little hole he can’t wait to devour.

“thank you for preparing my meal f’me while i was away,” satoru hums against your cunt before pulling back to allow his fingers to explore you. he glances up at you with a proud smirk before placing his mouth back where it belongs. he can’t let all the prep you did go to waste after all, “she’s fuckin’ delicious, baby.”

your hands pull at his hair in response, gaining a needy whine from your lover. he nearly chokes on both his spit and your juices. his hands hold onto the back of your knees and he uses that firm grip to push your legs further apart.

you’re nearly seeing stars. you didn’t even have time to register satoru’s sudden appearance. hell, you couldn’t even greet him or welcome him back home. that man wasted zero time in getting between your legs, eating you out like there’s no tomorrow.

you stumble over your own words. no matter how hard you try, not a sentence is able to form. all that leaves your mouth are moans of pure pleasure. your thighs shake and your hips buck against your lover’s mouth. you’re more than desperate for a release.

“c’mon, say my name again,” satoru sighs as he circles his tongue around your wet hole. he prods at it, tongue fucking you to acquire as much of your fluids as possible. your sweet wetness is making him throb in his pants, “mhmmm— my naughty little girl couldn’t wait.”

the older man feels great satisfaction at the thought of you being unable to withstand your pleasures. the sinful sight of you trying to fuck yourself with your little fingers on his bed, with his shirt on, is engraved in his mind forever. the second you moan out his name again, he goes all out.

satoru’s tongue doesn’t stop. even when you squeal and beg him to slow down because you feel like you’re going to cum early. that’s exactly what he wants; having you squirt all over his mouth and face. he needs to be covered with your slick.

you tug at his hair again - thinking that’d make satoru pull away - though the effect is the exact opposite. “nhh, do ‘t again,” he whines and moans against your folds, lapping up all that your pussy gives. the loud slurping noises reverberate throughout the room.

satoru’s eyes are closed, his furrowed brows adding to the concentrated yet content look on his blushing face. his lips, which are usually glossy, glisten even more with the liquid your cunt secretes. his eyes open every now and then to take a peek at you—to see if you’re still enjoying what he does.

“bet your small fingers weren’t enough, hm? y’ need mine?” satoru coos once he finally pulls his head back to breathe. he licks his lips as he stares at you with glazed and half-lidded eyes, totally pussydrunk. you don’t even have to respond to his questions. the answers are obvious by the way you’re trembling and desperately babbling incoherent pleas.

your boyfriend nods in understanding. he pouts at you while his fingers rub up and down your spread pussy lips. the pad of his thumb manoeuvres from your gaping hole to the little bundle of nerves at the top. satoru sticks two fingers in your cunt without warning. your high pitched whimper makes him coo at you, “yeah, i know, baby. let it out.”

the white-haired sorcerer pumps his long fingers in and out of you, a rhythm so addicting that it’s impossible not to give in. your back arches off the mattress. you’re trying your best not to stain satoru’s shirt with your juices, though you have a feeling he’d secretly like that anyway.

“am so close, ‘toruuu—fnngh,” you gasp and instantly feel satoru’s tongue replace his fingers. he wants to taste and feel your tight cunt spasm all around his tongue and mouth while you reach that point of no return. he’s going to try his best not to cum untouched in his pants this time.

satoru holds your hips with his big hands, keeping you down so he could properly eat you out and make you release all that tension. your pussy tingles and throbs, and you truly feel like you’re going to ascend.

it feels way too good. inhumanly good.

“cum on my tongu—“ satoru can’t even finish his sentence. a loud moan slips from between your lips, followed by a grunt from your boyfriend. his eyes roll back as your cunt releases more of its lewd fluids—spraying the liquid all over his mouth and chin.

you’re too busy trying to catch your breath to notice the mess you’ve created on satoru’s face and his sheets; a complete and total mess. the older man doesn’t mind neither. in fact, he enjoys it.

“shitttt, that was fuckin’ hot,” satoru flashes you a wide grin. he’s still somewhat drunk on you, which is visible by the way he’s licking up your mess from both his chin and your body. he cleans your cunt with his tongue—even if it’s overstimulating you.

he’s a greedy man when it comes to you. he wants more, more and more. whatever you’re offering, he will get.

satoru’s hands rub your sides to comfort you. he places soft kisses over your clit and pussy, as if he’s thanking you for the meal he just had the pleasure of devouring. he looks up at you with a cheeky smirk before laying his head against your inner thigh, his tongue peeking out between his glossy lips;

“think you can give me one more?”

[skippingseaglass]

people are my religion and this is fucking blasphemy

[taegularities]

meraki | jjk (m)

MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: bickering, bantering, jk is a bit rude at the beginning, flirting, tension, oc is bold and courageous, mention of someone being stoned, mention of insomnia, jk's lip rings <3, heights, not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers lmao, deep talks and sweet moments, one bed trope, guest appearance, jk takes pictures of pretty things, stars and sky talk <3, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, implied pain kink? lol, fingering, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, 69, spitting, one or two spanks, bit of choking, soft and hard sex, unprotected sex (oc has an iud), soft dom!jk but also glimpses of sub!jk, ofc biiiig dick!jk, doggy/riding/missionary, praises, more flirting, jk's godly body, masturbation, cum swallowing (he comes in her mouth); the lovely ending <3 ➳ word count: 26.6k <3 ➳ a/n: you guys built this fic!! 🥺 hopefully this is what we expected it to be. it's also yet another love letter to one of the gentlest men i know; happy birthday, jeon jungkook, you're the standard and i will never fall out of love with you 💕 i hope y'all enjoy it!! come and talk to me when you're done mwah <3

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

1:04AM, Her

There’s a word for how you do what you do.

A term you hold dearly in the crevices of your bright heart. Ever since you first learned its meaning two decades ago, you’ve made it your primary goal to breathe through life with it as your philosophy.

Passion, it is. A word certainly common in conversation and daily life — you’re not the only person to live by it. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to wallow in it.

Because there’s a fire behind your hard-working chest, lit up, pride residing next to it. It’s where you feel the most vivid light when you do what you love, blooming and blossoming. There are synonyms of it you know, and each of them are pretty as a growing garden.

You gatekeep them for now; haven’t yet found a person to share your knowledge with. Which is okay; in the meantime, you’ll keep looking. You do think everybody needs something like this in their lives.

Something that forces your body upright, sprinkling fairy dust and glimmer into your eyes. Something you can resort to in order to escape the trials of life.

For you, as odd it may seem to people, it’s your job.

You usually work late like today, surrounded by sounds and disquiet. But you enjoy it. You like stepping into the night afterwards, and you like the dark blanket above, the starlight sprinkled across the comforting blackness.

And you like it when it drizzles sometimes. The giggles of couples or groups of friends as they wade through the rain. The absolute quiet and relieving serenity.

You live for this. You enjoy people. You enjoy sensing life around you.

Tonight isn’t different. Even when you find yourself hastening by the end, wrapping up the event with a dozen chores to tackle; even when the host rushes to you, asking for help. Your shoes click-clack across the floor as you move left and right, up and down.

But by God, you never doubt these days’ worth.

1:04AM, Him

Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.

Jungkook learned that early on when he agreed to be a photographer at events. He’s encouraged and urged to ask people to pose; that’s his job. Waiting for them to force a smile before they can resume eating, debone their fish or work on their lobsters, beef, veggies.

They long to return to whatever they were doing, or to their conversations, mostly insignificant ones; Jungkook knows because he, involuntarily, hears too many of them. 

It’s only when they’re dancing or drinking that they open up. That’s when they’re okay with listening to him, obedient, almost as if he’s authority, staring into the lens with flushed cheeks and wide grins.

Though it’s irritating when every other person walks up to him afterwards, inquiring when they’d be receiving the photos, or, even ruder, if at all.

Today, there are a few more comfortable people around. Not as harsh, not as grim as he feels. You’re here, too, somewhere; of course you are — you got him here in the first place. Somehow, your paths often cross. You were ready for a picture immediately, drawn in by the host, smiling.

He perceived your presence just for a second, though. Doesn’t need or want any more than that. You’re too loud, too energetic anyway; he’s rather among himself, not in any photo, indulging in the job.

He loves clicking through his camera roll; it’s the people that tire him out. Working his way through the pictures he took once home gives him joy, though. Makes his fatigue feel worth it.

But God, you’re not the only one, right? So many people here are the same amount of enthusiastic, party people to the core. 

Which is why he’s happy when the night finally concludes, and he, far after midnight, stuffs his equipment back into his bag and slips into his at least somewhat chic blazer.

1:12AM, Her

You groan as your hand dives into your bag, fishing out the key that you already removed from your keychain an hour ago. Back when the man facing you approached you; he’s the last face you see when you step out of the somewhat stuffy hall.

Or so you think.

You don’t know that the night is far from over when you linger at the entrance, handing him a key that he encloses in his grip with a grateful nod and a goodbye-wave. The final interaction when you excuse yourself, breathing in the night.

It’s a hunch cooler than when you left home today; yet, the breeze feels pleasant caressing your skin. The end of August is still warm, still fairly far from fall; you regard summer nights as the best part of the season.

Sighing, you come to a halt in the middle of the pavement, studying the alley. You ponder until you remember a bus not too far from here; you need to turn left, right? Should be there. You have never been around here before, so you’re not entirely sure.

But you’ll just go with your first instinct for now. Keep walking until you detect any kind of a promising sign. You hold onto your roomy bag as you pass the rare people still around.

Some of them are faces you recognise from the party; some are strangers. One couple you spoke to just earlier even lifts a thumbs up for you, praising you for the exceptional organisation. They make you feel at ease until the road quietens.

And the place stays serene and silent until you hear the clearing of somebody’s throat. It’s not near; yet not far. Your eyes scan the area, not for long when they recognise a figure sitting on the opposite side of the narrow street.

It’s a man, clutching a heavy object with careful hands. A camera, you know it immediately. He’s hunting through the pictures he took, face slightly lit by the screen. Jutting lower lip, slowly blinking eyes.

Simple attire — dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer on top that hides the wide shoulders.

Constantly and undeniably handsome, albeit always grim due to the lack of a smile.

You squint to confirm it’s him you’re seeing; but when he smacks his lips in the dark of the night, nibbling at the shiny lip rings, you know you’re right. This is a habit you’ve never seen on anybody this persistently as on Jeon Jungkook.

And the one and only Jeon Jungkook must be feeling your eyes on him, because only a second later, he lifts his gaze. Instinctively, you wave a little, but Jungkook isn’t on board with your hospitality. He rolls his eyes; you don’t take it to heart, though. You’re used to this.

As he starts stuffing the camera back into his bag, you waddle over, crossing the street. Upon reaching him, you ask, “Got some good pictures tonight?”

“I’d guess so.”

His voice is as nonchalant as always, his shoulders relaxed, uncaring. To your vampire-novel-reading middle school self, he would’ve been the coolest and most mysterious riddle, waiting to be cracked. But you know how he feels about you, and that makes the situation just a little less intriguing.

Yet, you never stopped approaching him, because aside from conversations like these, you know he’s just human, too. He smiles at events whenever he gets the chance, content with the moments he captures; he likes what he does.

Photography has always been his thing; or that’s what you gathered, at least. You see the same sparkle in his eyes that you feel in yours when you work; the same joy when he fumbles with his camera, always checking, presumably changing the settings, testing it out.

You lean in a little, wondering, “Can I see?”

“Uhm…” He hesitates, lifting the strap of the camera bag higher up his shoulder. “Do you have to?”

“If I may. I brought you here, remember?”

Of course. It’s always you; you’re the one to organise this, and you’ve seen his pieces and albums before. He might not hang around you too much, always the first to tell you he has somewhere else to be, but you know he’s good. You trust him in this regard.

“You say that every time,” he argues, a tattooed hand settling on his bag, clearly reluctant.

So you click your tongue, waving your suggestion off. You try to sound as lively as ever, but your voice is more earnest as you say, “Okay, it’s fine. Don’t show me the pictures, but come on. Be a bit nice at least.

“Alright. What else? Do you need something?”

You sigh in defeat. “No. I was just going home.”

“You should go home. It’s pretty late.”

“Aren’t you going, too?”

“I am,” he responds, his voice going up at the end. “I just wanted a bit of peace before leaving.”

“Peace,” you repeat, as if trying out the word. “You can’t get it at home?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he only shifts his stare from you to the empty road ahead, exhaling a dramatically long breath before he gets into motion. You immediately react, by his side until he asks, “Are you following me?”

“Huh? Did you forget that I was literally heading this way?” He’s distracted, looking for the street signs, and you laugh at his own confusion. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I guess so.”

Okay, at least he’s honest, not giving himself airs. You want to see what his inner compass suggests, but then somewhat shun the thought of walking further into unknown terrain.

So you question, “You taking the bus?”

“Nope. Subway.”

“Ah. That should be this way, then,” you nod towards the direction you’re approaching, “I know the bus is, because that’s where I need to go.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

That’s it. He doesn’t respond much; only lets out the millionth sigh, following you with something you might nearly call trust. He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other kind of interaction, so you let him sink into his thoughts.

But a beat of silence later, you still ask politely, “How did you like the party?”

“Uhhh, it was okay.” For the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “The people were weird, don’t you think? But I got some good shots in.”

“Hmm… okay. I didn’t notice anything weird about the people.” You shrug your shoulders. “Talking about shots… did you drink a little?”

He whines your name as the question is a tale as old as time, complaining, “Every single time? Why is this so important to you…” He waits, shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Seems you did, though.”

“A little,” you say, bringing your forefinger and thumb together, indicating a tiny space. “But I’m all sober and well.” Another brief pause. “Are you okay, too?”

He licks his lower lip, dimples appearing that don’t ever need a smile to emerge. Then, he throws back, “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You always look so bored at parties. And you always go home alone.”

You don’t know if the following laugh is sarcastic or not, but you soon discover the very answer when he lifts a finger and counts, “First off, how would you know?” Another finger added to the mix. “Secondly, I’m not bored. I’m just focused. And I don’t know anybody there.”

His hand drops again, working on his bag’s strap again. Pushing it over his shoulder. He adds, “It’s a bit different for me than for you because they’re literally your clients and you know them at least a little.”

“I mean… you know me.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” He regards you from head to toe, not the softest of expressions, and you pout. You don’t ever take him seriously, but he can be hurtful sometimes. “I just don’t think we’d be good conversation partners.”

“Weird,” you challenge, “because you’re conversing with me right now, no problem. It’s also not my fault you always argue with me at every event.”

“I don’t. You approach me.”

“You do.” You lean your face closer to his, not making it very far when his palm pushes your cheek, and you, away from him. “Ugh. Okay. Seriously, though — why do you always leave alone?”

He exhales in defeat. Seems that Jeon Jungkook is too tired to take your idiocy tonight. You understand, but you’re just trying to figure out how to convince him that you’re normal, too. That he just dislikes you because you’re different from him, and nothing else.

“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.

“I mean it,” you still declare, “there are so many sweet and nice girls around. They ask about you sometimes, you know? I’ve also met many men on such pa—”

“That’s great,” he interrupts, a palm stopping you from spilling more info, “but… I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Oh.” The syllable is short, cut, harmless. That is, until it clicks in your brain, and your eyes widen, lips parting as you turn to him in shock, stating, “Oh, wait. Do you… play for the other team?”

Jungkook blinks at you. Then lowers his gaze, turning it a couple shades darker, staring at you from under his eyelids. He looks annoyed when he spits, “No, I’m not gay. And even if I was, it’d be none of your business.”

Shit.

Okay, you were sure about your assumption, but now that it turned out wrong, this sounds pretty shitty. And annoying. And awkward.

“Sorry,” you apologise, and he gives you a taunting head tilt. “Okay… different topic then? Tell me, what do you think of this dress?” You lift the hem a little, smiling; you were convinced the moment you first saw it. “Do you think I look pretty today?”

For a second, he joins; his initial gaze is still cynical, but his voice is appealing, a whisper when he leans in and asks, “Why? Do you want to be the one I go home with?”

Ah… why do the words, the way he speaks them, tickle you just right? You’re flabbergasted, seeing your reaction on the bare skin of your arms, but all he does is back away again and once again, shake his head.

You want to retort something snarky back, but you don’t get to it when he inquires a moment later again, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

Right… you need to go home. You forgot.

“Uh… yeah.” You look around, finally detecting a sign, picturing a bus and a number. “There’s the bus, so the subway should be…” You stop; hum; then see two women waiting at the bus stop. “Should we ask someone?”

“Sure.”

With a nod, you separate from him, walking towards the bus station bench they’re sitting on, hands folded, conversing quietly. They’re surprised when they see a figure advance, but relax when they catch your smile.

You ask the questions floating in your brain, trying to explain where you live, what you need. They attempt an answer, gesture around, and barely a minute later, you’re thanking them and leaving again.

Jungkook stands there in anticipation, waiting for you to deliver good news — yet confused when you return with slumped shoulders instead of an enthusiastic, “We were right! Come!”

Okay, there aren’t too many reasons for Jungkook to dislike you; you want to say this much. But when you see him understand that this is going nowhere, you do get his frustration.

Especially as you kiss your lips, staring at him like a lost bunny, and explain, “So… the subway isn’t here.” Big eyes meet yours. “I’m not sure where it is, and they,” your thumb points to the girls behind you, “couldn’t help because they’re tourists.��

“Ah. Great,” he says, delivering a falsely cheerful smile. Hands thrown into the air. “So we’re stranded and should definitely not be here. What about the bus? Where does it go?”

“Uhm…” You scratch your head. “Not where I need to go. It’s a different one. But!” Immediately, your voice rises, trying to approach this with hope. It’s not the end of the world, after all! “Don’t worry! We’ll get home either way.”

“Just a lot later than necessary.”

“But nothing’s lost yet. Don’t you trust me?”

And — much as you thought — Jungkook only ogles back in silence, blinking once again before he walks away with a curse on his lips.

1:25AM, Her

You catch up to him fast.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise!” you vow, but you reckon it only makes matters worse.

Because he breathes air through his nose, like a bull, arguing, “I’m tired, though. This is wasting so much of my time. You always do.”

You stop in your tracks. He doesn’t. You sulk, “That was mean.”

“And you’re idiotic.”

“Well… shit.”

This time you tilt your head, grinding your teeth; less out of anger, more out of embarrassment. You don’t respond much else, and he doesn’t throw another insult. Instead, he opens the bag again with the velcro’s ripping sound, heaving out his SLR. 

You peek over his shoulder, confused about the timing to indulge in a passion, and ask, “What are you doing with that?”

“Looking through them,” he mutters, thumb working on the switching button, “maybe I took a picture when I came here. A sign where to find the subway.”

His reasoning elicits a sudden laugh out of you, probably unfounded to him, but very amusing to you. He throws a bewildered and somewhat warning look, and you immediately silence; still holding yourself back when he turns away again.

You wait, listen to the quiet of the night. He doesn’t seem to find any success, and the more time passes, the funnier you find his mind. Eventually, you step next to him and give up, telling him, “Hey.​ Don't be so tetchy. I'm not that bad.”

Jungkook side-eyes you, tapping the screen of the heavy Sony A9 Alpha. Inhaling the pleasant late summer air, he defends, “I'm never tetchy! But you got us lost.”

“So? You’re being dramatic. There's still Google Maps.”

That’s it. This look of his.

Jungkook must’ve gotten stuck in a decade you’ve long left, because he stares at you dumbfounded, camera still firmly in his hands. He tongues his cheek, blinks.

And then, you mock, “Guess I’m not the only idiot here, right?”

His next breath is deep, and he soon averts your eyes again. You dig, “What? If anything, then low battery might be your only excuse, you know?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you break into a grin again. Shake your head. Then fish out your phone at last, ready to type in the goal, or at least, to search the nearest subway and bus that fit your demands.

Hmmm, okay. If you need to go where you think you need to go, then the subway will really be in immediate distance to the bus. So you’ll be heading in the same direction anyway.

You open your mouth to ask for his address, prepared to type it in — but as you look at him again, you detect a deeply focused Jungkook, pursing his lips at his camera and regarding it with glitter in his eyes. You see it even from here, the sparkle.

Maybe he’s waiting for you to deliver a conclusion, because you catch him moving through older pictures in the meantime. From here, you only see glimpses. Of forests and roads, and then of waterfalls. Even some of him and his friends.

He doesn’t notice it, but his eyebrows are much more relaxed now, expression not quite as steely anymore; and his lips even twitch for a tiny second, tempted to smile. As if he forgot where he’s currently standing.

You let your arms sink, both hands holding your phone, and just gaze for a while. Then move your eyes to the side. To the sky. Remember places you’ve seen and loved in this town. Still hear his harsh tone echoing in your ears.

In hindsight, you really don’t think you've ever personally hurt or offended him. He might’ve been annoyed by something else. Perhaps he was dealing with something that he never dared to speak about; or perhaps, his perception of optimism is warped, because he clearly doesn’t wade through life with it.

You’d like to see his real self, though. The real self, because your gut feeling whispers to you that this isn’t him. Maybe there’s a kind and kindred soul hidden somewhere; maybe his smile proves far more intriguing to you than these mysterious moods of his. Once it appears, that is.

But…

He’ll probably say no. Your idea isn’t dumb, you’re certain, but he very likely will not go with it. But you want to try. Want to show him that you’re not as bad, that he can trust you; want to know what burdens him; or why he talks to you like this.

You might be the only one to wish for more time with somebody who wants to avoid you like the plague.

Yet…

You don’t want this to end just yet. 

So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—

“…You know what? Let’s try something fun tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

He voices it with his attention only half on you, not quite taking you seriously; so you swallow to dampen your throat and speak firmer, suggesting, “You need to trust me on this, though.”

This time, he does look at you. Works on stuffing his camera back into his bag, opening his mouth to retort something, but you stop him with a shushing finger that he doesn’t look too happy about.

“Hold on, okay?” you exclaim. “Listen. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh… not until the afternoon.”

“So you can sleep in.”

“I guess.”

You clap once, loudly and dramatically, watching the man in front of you flinch. You can’t say if he’s irritated, shocked or terrified of you. But he looks hilarious like this, blinking, scowling as his fingers clutch his bag tighter.

“What is it?” he asks as if you’ve lost your mind.

“Look. Let’s not leave yet. Fuck Google Maps,” you suggest, and his eyes grow wider by the second, baffled, as if you’re caging him. “Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again. Isn’t this tempting?”

In your head, it is. Not for yourself, but for him. In your mind, he thinks of you as a constant nuisance that stands in his way, hopping around like an overhyped puppy.

Or not. Maybe he has a dog at home; maybe he regards you as worse than cute puppies.

Whatever.

You look at him expectantly, like your persisting stare could help him land a decision. Instead, however, he grimaces, his voice higher when he asks, “What even are you sa—”

No, you won’t give up yet; even if the recurring interruptions make him tear his hair out. You click your tongue and then argue, “Come on! Give it a try.”

Hesitation. Or rather, a question wondering if you’re crazy. Clear rejection. Are you losing?

“We’d be together, so nothing to fear,” you try further, “and how much time is there till sunrise?” You glance at your watch. “It’s barely half past one. The sun comes up in less than five hours. And like, I know it sounds like a lot, but if you give me some time, I’ll give you reasons to smile.”

He keeps looking at you in this questioning, are-you-fully-mad-manner, but you’re absolutely serious and you need him to know. You bat your eyelashes a little, offering your best laugh, and add, “Like this? If you really want to hate me after that, then okay. If not, then… maybe we could go get coffee someday.”

You’ve spoken enough. He raises a hand, quieting you down, and then finally says it.

“You must be crazy.”

“I am,” you confirm.

“You think I’d do this, huh?”

“…Maaaybe?”

“No.”

Jungkook’s answer is stone cold and direct, and it shuts you up with a near-wince. There’s a faint line between his thick eyebrows, lips pressed together; he looks dangerous and very, very mean.

So you don’t say much for another minute, following when he walks away. You side-eye him, notice him type his destination into his phone. Surrendering, you trudge the path he chooses, soon detecting signs leading to the subway.

He can’t say anything to your presence by his side. Even if his answer remains a steadfast, boring no, you’ll have to go in this direction anyway.

More than halfway through, you venture into a conversation again, “Have you ever tried anything like this before?”

“What? The nonsense you suggested?” he asks, and you nod, catching up with his long legs, slightly slower with your heels. “No. I don’t think I need to.”

“You’re so… don’t you ever try anything new?”

“I mean, is this your definition of something new?” He gestures at your surroundings haphazardly. “Going through town in the middle of the night instead of getting some decent sleep?”

You shrug your shoulders, defending, “It’s not like I do it every day. And nothing one can do every day anyway. That's why I want you to try it.” Your voice is soft, friendly. “But you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t answer; only comes to a halt when a bus stop nears, peeking up to the sign with the number before he asks, “That yours?” You hum in confirmation. “Okay. Will you get home well? It’s late.”

“Yeah, of course,” you pout, kicking off a tiny stone with your shoe, “done it a few times.”

He stalls. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. You notice it in his slow movements, the brief pause, the way he looks to the subway he needs to approach and then back to you. You smile when his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and then he tilts his head, sighs.

“Alright. Then… good night.”

And that’s it.

You tell him to sleep well in return, earning a tiny nod, and then he’s leaving you stranded, walking away. Your eyes stay on him until he’s out of sight, down the escalator to the subway and far, far away from the fun idea you conjured.

You mimic his sigh. Take the two or three steps to the bench under the bus stop; and then you wait.

At this time, public transport operates irregularly, so you’re not surprised when you’re still there minutes later. For a while, you remain alone — that is, until a stranger tumbles to you, swaying before he takes a seat on the other edge of the bench.

You don’t look at him; don’t want his attention on you. But to your discomfort, he garbles just a second later, “This the bus to…”

He gets a hiccup, pointing to the bus sign, and then mumbles the name of the station he needs to reach. You don’t understand, however, so you prod, “What?”

Slower now yet similarly slurred, he repeats his question, but this time, you understand and nod your head yes. He overshares, “It’s just that I’m drunk, so I need to be sure. Sorry for interrupting.”

Suddenly, you feel kind of sorry for him. Your shoulders relax; you observe him letting his arms dangle between his legs, sniffling, incredibly exhausted, it seems. What did the fella experience tonight?

You respond, “It’s okay. It’s really late. Get home well.”

“Thanks. You’re very nice.”

The same finger previously signalling to the sign now points at you; but he doesn’t touch you. In fact, his digits are still a good distance away, already falling when you feel a hand on your elbow out of the blue; you nearly react on intuition, getting into position to break somebody’s nose.

But when your eyes meet the other man’s, you recognise him as the same figure standing tall that abandoned you a couple minutes ago. His hand is still grasping the camera bag strap, and he looks calm, confident when he speaks—

“All good? Sorry, I left for too long, right? Let’s go.”

Your voice changes, a chuckle hidden in it when you blurt, “What?”

“You wanted to take a walk.”

And just like that, the snicker dies again. Is he being serious? It seems so; it’s the whole package, even. The nod towards an entirely different direction and the sudden fingers around your wrist, pulling you away.

“Uhm…” you start, feet moving automatically. You turn to the guy drowning in inebriation, leaving a last, “Good luck!” as you wave, smile. Then, to Jungkook, “I thought you went away. Did you want to do this after all?”

You’re cocking an eyebrow, but much at the back of Jungkook’s head, so he doesn’t see. But it seems he hears the tease in your voice, because half-annoyed, half-argumentative, he explains, “No. Just wanted to be a gentleman. I was going to leave the moment you got on the bus.”

Ah. So he was waiting, hiding somewhere? But you don’t mention it; it’d probably just rile him up more.

Yet, you challenge, “You’re lying. You were concerned and you thought my idea was fun after all.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, waving the white flag, probably just to shut you up, “don’t know if I can do this until sunrise, but I can walk with you for a bit. Get you closer to home. And I swear!”

Now he turns, shooting a stare at you over his shoulders, lightning bolts in the middle of his pupils, “If you’re lying and there’s literally nothing special on our way, I’m actually never talking to you again.”

Nothing easier than that.

“Deal!”

“Cool,” he so nonchalantly remarks, finally letting go of your arm, “which way are you heading then?”

“North-east.”

“Good. Works for me.”

The sun is nowhere near up yet; of course not. It’s 1:37AM. Around four and a half hours.

You’re hopeful. In your head, you imagine an uplifted demeanour in no time; try to guess what his smile might look like. A genuine one. Maybe sweet? Maybe cocky? You’ll find out. You will.

So you straighten your stance, clear your throat, sigh a content breath, and step into the night with the courage the stars lend you.

2:13AM, Her

The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.

Jungkook’s initial sighs cease soon as you advance into the town, walking down a busy main street. You guess the bustling area, the sounds of the traffic and the lights of the flashing cars relieve him somehow. Give him an excuse to not talk to you.

But as the occupied road ends and you reach and pass a crowded square, you’re back in calm and serene alleys. Some people are still wandering around, passing closed shops, much like you.

You attempt conversation every now and then, and Jungkook, having eventually realised that he needs to cooperate with you — he agreed to your idea after all — isn’t as mad anymore.

At some point, he breathes in the late summer breeze, and your head swerves into his direction immediately — maybe the magic of the night has finally reached his core, too. Perhaps he’s appreciating the journey you set out to embark on.

You, for one, cherish the quiet; you know at least this much. The alley must be part of the older corner of the town because the lampposts seem Victorian. They’re fancy, bent at the top, the light a comforting golden.

You do admire the beauty in the dead of night, you do — but the weirdly bruising feeling on your skin becomes uncomfortably apparent the more you walk. Your heels and the Achilles tendons ache, the ball of your feet sensitive to each step.

For a while, you hide the stupid pain successfully, not wanting the night to end; and you do love the heels. Feel just the way those old romcom’s protagonists probably felt, strutting through town with a man whose life they’d change.

But as an involuntary groan slips out of you, Jungkook’s view changes from the old buildings to your struggling self. His eyes settle on your contorted expression before they move further down to your sudden limp.

He asks, “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just been walking for a while, is all.”

“Hmm,” he hums, regarding your heels with a suspicious look. “Do they hurt?”

“Nah. I’m used to them.”

“…Oookay.”

He drags the word, as if in disbelief; and you can’t lie your way through the minutes when the ache worsens, the suddenly paved path too much of a chore. You nearly trip when your heel gets caught between the stones.

Jungkook immediately reacts when you hiss; you’re nowhere near actually falling, but his arms still reflexively jolt, the camera bag swaying and hitting your hand when he catches your shoulders.

“Okay, seriously,” he spits, eyes wide, “that’s enough. You can’t walk in these.”

“I can!”

“Not!” He takes a look around, inspecting the place; it’s quiet here, not too many cars driving by at all. So he points to the edge of the pedestrian zone, instructing, “Sit down there. Let’s see.”

See what?

You blink, but oblige. His pointing finger is dominant, and his eyes urging; you flatten your dress, taking a seat at the edge. The road isn’t high, so it’s a little uncomfortable; but you’re pleasantly surprised when he appears in front of you, crouching.

Very, very baffled when he requests, “Can you take them off?”

“Sure,” you say, unbuckling the straps around your ankles before removing the shoes. You sigh; you must admit, it does feel great. “I’m honestly okay, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, ignores your statement; instead, asks, “May I?”

You don’t understand what he means until his hands come to a float right over your toes; he wants to check for bruises, doesn’t he? You nod curtly; something about this warms your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him before.

Not that you ever had the chance to.

He doesn’t really hate you, does he?

Carefully, his fingers reach for your ankle. The touch is warm and pleasant; doesn’t hurt until he moves his thumbs to your heel. Your feet are overworked; you notice. But rather than the annoying pain, you can’t help but focus on your view.

The big, round nose, hiding the plump, parted lips. His eyes look hooded from here, strands of his hair covering them. Intrusive thoughts plead for your fingers to card through the dark mane; it looks soft, pretty.

And the gentleness he handles your skin with fills you with fondness; you like being cared for.

Even when he shakes his head; pulling you out of your daydream. You take a breath, and then inquire, “You don’t have a problem with touching feet?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just feet. Besides,” he stops for a second, detecting something at the back of your foot, shaking his head, “Mom used to work as a nurse. Tough job. I massaged hers sometimes.”

Ah… a loving son, a family person. You smile.

“And I thought you have a foot kink,” you tease.

“Shut up.”

“Found anything?”

“Yeah actually. Do you know how wounded your skin is here? Were you wearing new shoes?”

You gulp with a thin-lipped smile, wondering if he’ll kill you now if you tell him. You look to some random spot on your right before you admit, “Yes.”

“God, you…” He clicks his tongue. Puts your foot on the ground cautiously, reaching for his bag. He rummages through it until he pulls out a bandage, holding it in front of you. “You’re lucky.”

You chuckle, relieved and flattered. “I guess I am.”

He puffs out a laugh, but stops it right away, calling your name under his breath before he says, “God, you’re crazy. Be careful. And admit it when you’re hurt. Why didn’t you?”

Well… you didn’t want the night to end—

“I…”

You hesitate.

He works on your other foot just the same, a tender thumb running over your ankle, probably used to the soothing touch. It distracts you. And when he stops and you don’t answer, he puts his arm on his angled leg, staring up at you in anticipation.

“Yes?” he prods.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d care.” Nonchalantly yet pouting, you nibble at your lower lip. “And if I’d told you they’re hurting, you might’ve suggested ending the night.”

He cocks an eyebrow as if agreeing to the most self-explanatory statement ever, nodding as he confirms, “Damn right I would’ve. We should end the night right now if you can’t walk. Not in these, at least.”

Your chest is hot, your stomach twisting a little. Jungkook really does bother; if not due to a connection he shares with you, then simply because he cares for people. Never, you have never experienced him like this before.

With a tilt of your head and a batting of your eyelashes, you suggest, “And if I was barefoot?”

Which he reacts to with a roll of his eyes. “The night isn’t that warm. Don’t do this to yourself. The ground’s dirty, too.”

You take a look at the dark grey pavement upon his argument, much as if the night could allow you to detect any of the dirt he speaks of. Once more, you hum, pretending to contemplate what to do; and when you pick up your heels, suggesting to follow your idea either way, the back of his hand gives your knee the lightest of hits.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Watch.”

He does. Watches you place your spacious, black bag on your lap, opening the zip. Observes as your hand dips in, pulling out one pair of sneakers and replacing them with your treacherous heels. He keeps ogling when you put them on, mouth widening bit by bit.

He doesn’t speak until you’re done, socks picked out of the shoes, pulled over your feet, laces tied. You keep smiling, content with the moment, only dropping the grin when you see his puzzled expression.

“What?” you question.

“You had them with you and… Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Your answer comes without hesitation; whatever timidity he elicited a moment ago slowly fades again. You clear your throat, back to who you are, and dauntlessly admit, “It was sweet. How you took care of me, I mean. I didn’t think you ever would.”

“But you could’ve at least worn them sooner and avoided the hurt?!”

“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”

“You’re…”

Jungkook uprights himself, towering above you. You put a flat palm onto the pavement, wanting to heave yourself up, but soon see a hand in front of your face. He’s offering it; and you’re quick to take it.

Warm and soft; gentle.

As he pulls you up, you land closer to his body than calculated; his face isn’t too far from yours… much nearer than it has ever been. He leans back; looks to the side; blinks. Clears his throat. Lets go off your hand way too late.

The breath you held escapes in a sudden blow. You swallow.

And when you’ve processed the strange moment, you feel the change in your stance. You’re standing taller now; your feet feel heavenly in your Nikes. Dusting off the front of your dress and your ass, you wait for him to say something.

But he keeps standing there on the road, in the middle of a parking space, hands on his hips. He’s judging you; you understand. Your mindset isn’t for everybody. You might seem crazy, alright.

Yet, he doesn’t scold you again. The up and down of his irked voice doesn’t appear this time when he speaks again; instead, his chin nods towards your legs, and he questions, “So you just carry around shoes with you?”

“I need to,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I can’t ride the motorcycle in heels. And!” Jungkook’s mouth opens, but you’re quick to explain. “Before you ask. No, I didn’t hide my bike anywhere. It needs some fixing, so my co-worker took it because he knows someone who’ll do it. And because he owes me a favour.”

“Right… how unfortunate.” He pauses; runs his tatted digits through the hair you longed to touch minutes ago. They look so silky, it makes you sick. His eyes settle on you, intrigued before he adds, “So, you have a bike, huh?”

“Yeah… why?”

“No reason. I do, too.”

“Mmmh,” you voice, nodding to the road ahead to suggest moving. He follows, trudging next to you again. “You didn’t use it today?”

“No…” He pats the camera bag. “Didn’t want to harm my equipment.”

You hum approvingly, fingers entangling in front of your body. You inch closer to his arm, nudging his shoulder with yours before you flash a sugary smile and say, “Thank you. For caring even a little, you know? Even if you’re always like that, it’s nice to see you like this for once.”

“I’m usually like this,” is what he, however, merely answers, accompanied by air quotes.

But you know you’ve gotten through to him at least a little. Melted bits of the frozen parts of his heart that feel so vexed by you on other nights. In truth, you think, there’s nothing but a delicate organ pumping behind his ribcage.

He’s not a robot; Jeon Jungkook is undeniably humane. If anything, then more than most people you have ever met.

And it shows when he looks away, barely able to hide his smile. You see it even from here — that the gesture does something to his eyes. Nearly squints them shut, makes them smaller, more joyful.

You inhale, proud of yourself. Watch as he toys with his lip rings before he asks eventually, “What do you mean owing you a favour, by the way?”

He sounds almost offended. You think he’ll ask about that favour, reprimand you for giving away your bike tonight of all nights. Tell you off for dragging him here, doing something big enough to entrust an entire motorcycle to somebody.

But instead, he continues with a question you never foresaw, “Are you in a quarrel with them? Am I not your arch-enemy?”

You burst into laughter immediately, covering your mouth as the other palm touches his arm. There’s a bulging bicep under his blazer, but you’ll focus on that later.

Right now, you’re fairly occupied by the satisfied eyes; he doesn’t really expect an answer. He wanted to make you laugh… Why does that set something loose in your brain?

“Oh… are you jealous? What if I told you it’s somebody else who occupies my mind at night and not you?” you wonder, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Don’t do this to me. I’ll find your co-worker and fight them for your enemyship. Word of honour.”

“It’s enmity. And stop flirting with me,” you tell him, moving towards him again, shoulder hitting shoulder. “Or is it something else with arch-enemies?”

This time, he doesn’t veil his grin. It’s bright, pretty, reminiscent of the light shed on you underneath the lampposts. And his pupils; whenever you see them clearly enough, you recognise the sky in them. Borrowed stars inside.

You shake your head a second later, winding down from your fit of laughter, and tell him, “You’re not my arch-enemy. Arch-enemies don’t exist, and you know you aren’t one. You just…” You stall, your voice quieter now. “You just regard me as one.”

He throws you an indecipherable look. Hints of joking, shreds of seriousness, you think. His gaze drifts back to the path again, regarding a passing group of three friends briefly. His hands slide into the pockets of his jacket, and he sniffles once before he utters—

“No, I don't.”

Ah. Ah.

Why do your eyebrows relax the way they do? And your shoulders; already in ease, yet they seem to fall in relief. You peer at him wordlessly; he doesn’t demand an answer, fully aware you’re looking at him.

And you don’t ask what you’ve been to him ever since he saw you at the first party probably a year ago; what irked him, what delighted him. If he thought about you at all.

Instead, you look at the neon words in the next street, asking, “Are you hungry?”

2:19AM, Him

You’re irritating to the core.

You always have been. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit you amused him a little. No matter how much you’ve been wasting his time, you allowed a smile in this ill-lit night. Nobody else at the party did — so in some sense, you’ve already won, and somehow, he’s even grateful.

Grateful that you’re optimistic about the world at least. Glad that you suggested fetching food. Endeared by the way you thanked him for his care. Surprised that you ride a motorcycle! Relieved that you have good humour.

Even though his own humour and smile dissipate after you enter one of the few open stores still providing late night snacks. The girl behind the counter looks tired, but straightens a little when the two of you flash a polite smile.

She greets with a sweet, “Hi!” but Jungkook sees the lethargy in her drooping eyes immediately. Poor girl.

But you’re as enthusiastic as ever; maybe a little more now, maybe observing the same as him. You put your hands on the counter like a child — the image is somewhat cute. But what comes out of your mouth is not.

“Uhm… Could I have a portion of cheese tteokbokki, please? And then… A half and half corndog for my husband.”

Your… what now?

Excuse me?

Jungkook throws an immediate and scorching look your way, utterly surprised. When you meet his eyes, his thick eyebrows are closer than anybody’s ever seen. He huffs your suggestion away, and then corrects, “I’m not her husband. And I’ll take the chicken wrap.”

You chuckle, leaning into him, shielding your mouth with a hand as you warn, “They’re not usually very good at this store. Trust me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Right. He does. After the disaster of finding the damn bus and the deception caused by your shoes, he won’t trust you very easily anymore. His opinion clearly differs from yours, so he’ll bank on his gut feeling.

Satisfied when you shrug, as if to indicate, “If you say so,” he walks over to the window seats with you in tow, looking out to the peaceful streets. Once seated, he turns towards you, peering until you notice and ask far too purely, “What?”

“Not even your boyfriend, no… Jumped straight to making me your husband, huh?”

The lift of your shoulders brushes his concerns aside; your eyes are incredibly innocent and even somehow playful when you say, “I thought it’d be fun.”

“Was it really?”

“Well, your reaction was funny, at least.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief. You’re courageous, he must admit. Social anxiety must fear you — is that how you live life? Unabashed, spirited, not a sheer care for anything that won’t actually hurt you.

He doesn’t know if you’re insane or if he’s jealous.

But he still reiterates, “You’re crazy. And it was embarrassing.”

“I mean,” you say, moving on your chair, folding your fingers on top of the counter but still looking at him, “it was embarrassing because you made it. It’s honestly whatever.” You blow a raspberry, and then take a swing again, “Why is it awkward anyway? We’ll never be here together again.”

He whispers a hushed, “Thankfully,” and you tap the counter with a click of your tongue. He gets it; you live differently. That’s fine. As long as you don’t pull him into your mischief, it’s fine.

Right?

He’s right, isn’t he? He knows that in his personal opinion he is; yet, he can’t help but feel that sting, suddenly deeming himself as boring. You’re never bored, are you?

Anyway…

“Even if you do something like this again,” he tells you, “at least tell me.”

“I mean, that would kinda prevent your genuine reactions from happening, but… if it makes you happy.” You grin at him, and he scoffs; wants to say something before the girl calls for you. “Food is ready.”

A couple seconds later, the two of you have settled back into place; at the sight of the snack, Jungkook salivates. He didn’t realise how hungry he actually was. The buzz and fuzz of a party makes one forget such an essential thing fast.

Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.

The chicken smells good, at least. Or are these your tteokbokki? He can’t quite discern the scent right now; his mind is fogged by his appetite. Silently, he unwraps his food, swallowing before he digs into the wrap.

So far, so good… seems edible. He keeps chewing; swallows some more. But as the taste starts to sink in and he realises the sogginess of the wrap, the lack of proper sauces and the dryness as well as the blandness of the chicken…

He pauses. Where… are the flavours?

Slowing down, he glances at his meal. Inspects it as if he’s holding an entirely new recipe in his hands. A look of realisation creeps upon his face, unaware of your gaze, and he soon hears an amused snicker from the side.

You don’t say much when your eyes align. Only, “And?”

He knows he’s already lost when his expression changes, cringing; when he can’t answer right away, only gaping at you in confusion. Still thinking about where this recipe went wrong.

He answers, “It’s fine…”

But you catch his obvious lie; he sees it in the way you smile so devilishly. Cocking an eyebrow, enjoying another bite of your snack without ever averting your eyes. Then, you put the tiny wooden fork back into the dish, propping your cheek on your fist.

You wait; he doesn’t know what for. For him to eat again? Maybe; because you soon ask, “Do you want something else?”

“Nah.” His answer is instant this time. “I can do this. I’m an omnivore.”

“Ah, yeah. An omnivore friend right here.” You laugh, curious when he takes another bite. And then, “Jungkook, it’s okay to admit…”

But he won’t listen. Only makes a disapproving sound, stuffing his mouth with another horrendous bite. Shit; he can’t confess that you were right. That you were actually right this time.

Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.

But he should keep eating. Wash it down with his drink, empty the soda. And he’s almost halfway through when he notices a movement from your direction, like you’re playing with your food.

Only, he realises that you are not; rather separating the tteokbokki in two halves before shoving the porcelain dish towards him. He shakes his head, but you persist, “Take it, man.”

It does look good…

But… are you going to use the satisfaction his defeat may give you? Probably. But fuck… Fuck it.

Reluctantly, he lets the wrap fall onto the small plate, gulping down the remainder of what he just bit off, and then, accepts your generosity with a nod. And… whether it’s because of the disappointment the wrap brought or the late hunger…

Jungkook thinks he’s levitating above clouds, floating towards the sun.

It’s good. Very damn good.

And when you ask again this time, “Should we get another?” his nod comes promptly, chest risen in satisfaction as he states, “That’d be great.”

“Alright. Be right back.”

“Nah,” he says, lifting an arm as if to protect you. Mid-action, you halt, sliding back up onto your seat. “Stay here. I’ll get it… All good.”

So he does; enjoys the look of surprise when his other hand even carries dessert, four pieces of matcha mochi ice cream. He says, “This is for you.”

You gasp. He can’t deny that it’s sweet — the elation, the big eyes, the palms coming together in delight. How you look between the food and him, suddenly wiggling your feet.

“You seem to like it,” he notes, and you nod feverishly, telling him that, “Yes! Been craving it since we came in. Thank you!”

“Oh. You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve gotten it. No worries.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to see if my dessert stomach still allowed anything. Didn’t disappoint me today.”

Jungkook gets to his own tteokbokki, halving it in the middle the way you did, pushing it towards you. It’s weird to think about it like this, but — considering how long the two of you have known each other, you might almost look like… friends.

And you don’t feel quite like an enemy either. You’re even… kind of nice. Friendly; harmless.

“I’m glad,” Jungkook responds, only looking towards the entrance when another group of three friends, two girls, a guy, enter. Then back to you, “Sorry. You were right. This,” he points to the poor, sad wrap, “was shit.”

“See? My first instinct almost never lies. And I know this store from other places… the wraps are never good.”

“Sure, but… your first instinct isn’t always right, though, is it? You did get us lost, so it was wrong at least once.”

“Hm… was it, though?”

Jungkook regards you in confusion as you put another piece on your tongue, working on the chewy thing as he asks, “What do you mean? We had no clue where we w—”

“Yeah, I mean. I agree. But… I don’t think it was that wrong. Because—”

You lick your lips clean off the tteokbokki sauce, smacking them. You look child-like, but pretty when you indulge in your element, uncaring about everything, just living. Maybe it’s not that bad that you’re bold.

And maybe, just maybe, he can power through this night easily after all; especially if you keep saying things that soothe his chest, things like—

“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”

2:49AM, Him

The temperatures are falling as the night proceeds, and the second portion of the mochi ice cream adds to the pleasant chill.

Jungkook wonders how you’re doing; your dress is skimpier than his jeans, and your arms bare. But your stance and your speech are still inconspicuous, skin free of goosebumps, your walk elegant, leisurely.

Judging from your occasional hums and your ceaseless optimism, you’re enjoying this journey. It almost makes him feel bad; guilty about how adamantly he refused all this just an hour ago.

It hasn’t been too bad. Sure, you’re bold and intrepid, and yeah, in some ways he is, too — but his courage stems from other motivations. From adrenaline-loaded activities or joyful, temporary pains. Like his tattoos; his motorcycle; the summer he bungee-jumped for the first time.

You’re a different kind of daring; you challenge your limits in crowds and consider life a respectful joke. You don’t ever hurt anyone, he doesn’t think — you just go and see how far you can push yourself.

Perhaps in some sense, the two of you complement each other while simultaneously seeming to be cut from the same wood. Perhaps you’re different, but then again, not so much.

You’re quiet; you weren’t until you left the snack bar. As for now, however, you seem distracted, swallowing heaps of your dessert as you scan the surroundings you’ve led the two into. You’re somewhat unfazed by it, yet peering as though you’ve been here before.

Which, in retrospect, makes sense. You’ve been wanting to show him places you enjoy after all.

When the silence extends, Jungkook, along with the chirping of the nightlife, breaks it with a, “You know what?”

Your head swerves to his side, the wooden fork in your mouth. The pure gaze you give him throws him off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat sweet. But as he regains himself, he says, “I didn’t think we’d get to a housing scheme here. The main street is super close, but the vibe is so different.”

“I know. It’s a little scary at night when you’re alone. Gives very Desperate Housewives, doesn’t it? Secrets veiled behind shut curtains.” You draw closer, imitating a spooky gesture. “But I liked coming here when I was younger.”

Bingo. He thought so.

“Ah… why?”

“My friend lived here,” you explain with a tilt towards a random direction; he doubts the friend lived in just the house you gestured to, “she’s long moved out of course, but we’d play on these streets back then. Most of the neighbours knew me, too!”

Jungkook tsks, hauling his own bite out of the cup, and you add, “No, seriously! We could just knock at anybody’s door here, and they’d let me in.”

“Not if they moved out, too. A lot of time has passed.”

You bob your head. “Time has passed indeed. It does so pretty fast.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You seem to get into overdrive, gearing up; he didn’t think this topic would rev you up like this, but it appears you have a somewhat firm and fond opinion about the passing of time. Jungkook recognises the sentiment before you speak — the light of the lampposts reflects in your eyes like glitter.

Only, he doesn’t foresee what you say next, your tone teasing through the joy you display—

“Yeah! Like. Do you remember when I told you to not get the wrap and you still di—”

“Shut up.”

The roll of his eyes isn’t anything new; but the faint feeling that accompanies it, something akin to amusement, certainly is.

“Okay, but. Seriously,” you start again, sly smirk falling, voice neutralising the mock, “it felt different here. Because like, you know, where I live, it gets crowded. I’m not too far from the city centre, so… this place always felt really peaceful to me. Jieun and I played together a lot.”

Jungkook frowns.

“Jieun?”

“Hm? Oh. The friend I spoke about? She’s pretty cool.”

“Ah… Right, right.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, the end of your small fork tapping the bottom of the nearly finished cup, “you know another way to know that time passes really fast?” You pause for effect, then add, “It’s been ages since we saw each other for the first time.”

“Right. At a party, too, right? When was that anyway?”

“Hmm… Like.” You ponder, blinking, looking up to the sky. “Like two years ago?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen; if you’d asked him, he would’ve estimated a year tops. If he digs in his memory thoroughly enough, he could probably even remember what you wore that day; what you looked like.

It doesn’t feel like two years. You’re right — time truly does pass like the wind.

“Wow,” he exclaims, “it’s been this long since you started pestering me?”

“Shut up,” it’s your turn to blurt, your body swaying towards him until you push him to the side of the vacant road. “I didn’t even come near you most of the time.”

“I know, I know. You were fun to look at, though. Seemed to enjoy yourself every single time.”

Shit, why did he say that? Shouldn’t he hold onto the image he fostered; the one that’s permanently irked by you, throwing snarky remarks throughout the night?

And…

Didn’t this just break the banter, the frenemyship — frenmity? — the two of you have going on? Was it too nice? It’ll probably surprise you. Then again, is he a damn child? Why would he worry about such things? Question his own kindness?

Why would he hold onto his ego and deny you his humane side when you’ve been nothing but lovely to him all night?

The young adult rivalry is over, Jeon Jungkook. Look at her and fucking admit that you’re the arrogant one.

But funnily enough, you don’t seem to notice anyway.

“Hmmm, I do love my job,” you answer, “I have a lot of fun organising stuff. Doing something good for other people, right? See them enjoy it. I mean, of course there are days when things don’t go as planned, but.”

You lift a shoulder, indulging in the final remnants of your chewy mochi and the melted matcha ice cream inside.

“I know. It happens to me, too.”

“Really? How?”

Jungkook waves towards the sky, lists, “Heavy rain, lots of traffic, too spontaneous, issues with the camera… etcetera. Anything can happen.”

“Yeah — I get it. But yeah, I do love doing this. I meet a lot of nice people, too. And I guess that makes me feel very… blessed? It puts things into perspective.”

“How so?”

“Like, it makes you see that most people aren’t bad.”

Huh. Odd. Not that he’d ever deem the entire globe vile, putting a standardised label that he can impossibly prove. But as far as he has seen… too many people aren’t good either.

“Really?” he asks. “That’s a lucky thing to experience.”

You look genuinely surprised, turning towards him when you ask, “You don’t?”

“Uhm — rarely. I do enjoy photography. Always have.” His mind zooms into a glinting memory from the past, and his shoulders and voice rise when he recalls, “Y’know… My dad got me one of those yellow disposable Kodak cameras when I was a kid. I loved it so much.”

You nod; if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say you look… delighted. Actually interested.

“And events and weddings,” he continues, “they’re beautiful to capture. It’s probably the lights and the pretty people. And just… the memories?”

This time, he looks away, straight to the road; if he hadn’t, he’d know that your gaze is definitely fond now. No doubt about it. You listen in closely.

It’s the first time he’s talking to you like this, or to anyone — or for this long, for that matter. Most of your conversations were fleeting, fiery, a petulant back and forth that — he now realises — could’ve been something else, something better, too.

“But then it just sucks when so many of them can’t appreciate it properly,” he explains, raising his hands to emphasise, tone galled. “I mean, I look at my camera and I see a tool to create art. It’s… nothing I take for granted. Just think about it.”

The ball of fire in his chest grows; he feels it warm up, gassed-up. “A thing that can hold onto moments in absolute high definition, so that you can still remember them years later? The 18th century couldn’t have imagined. They needed to commit everything to memory just like that.”

“Wow, Jungkook… You really do love this, too.”

His arms fall to the side. He inhales the fresh flurry of air. Rethinks his passion for his job and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

“…But?”

He knows what’s missing.

“I love the art, but I hate the clients. The event hosts. Not you, but the one even above you.”

Jungkook reckons this was a confession that long sat on his tongue unmentioned. Of course he thought about it; is always reminded when he attends these functions, standing at the back, at the front, left and right, unnoticed and taken for granted.

But now that it’s out and that he’s finally verbalised it to somebody… it definitely liberates something in his head.

You see his issue with these gatherings; he knows you do because he’s figured out this much. You’re filled with enough empathy, sympathy, every grand word ending on the same syllable to acknowledge his disappointment.

But you’re filled with humour and absurdity, too, evident in the answer you provide to diffuse the tension.

“So, that’s why you’re always in a foul mood.”

“Shu—”

“Shut up, yeah, yeah.” You giggle, but then halt for a moment, toying with the rim of your paper cup, “But you know, I think art is worth something even if just one person appreciates it. If it helps in any way… I’m always impressed. And I always appreciate it when I call you and you come despite finding me so annoying.”

One corner of your lips lifts, the smile humble and light; sends a pang of guilt through him. Have you always been so nice?

“Also, I do see the pictures almost every single time,” you add, “and you’re so good at this. At the job itself and the editing afterwards. Honestly.” 

“…You think?”

Damn.

Jungkook would probably not bask in this hobby, continue his job if he wasn’t proficient in what he does. He’s known about his prowess ever since he was young.

But praises do offer a sense of magical warmth, don’t they? He doesn’t think any creative mind ever sickens of such unexpected support. And the way you say it… makes him want to never lay down his camera.

“Of course, yes,” you confirm, “not to shoot up your ego, but… you once sent a set of pictures where I found one of me. Don’t know if you even noticed? I was wearing that lilac dress and curls, I still remember — and—”

Stuck on the mention of your clothing, he immediately attaches a detail to the memory, “Sleeveless dress. Long silver earrings, right?”

“Oh… right…”

Right.

He won’t mention that he looked at that picture for just a second longer than at the others that night. Noticed for the first time how pretty you were. Not too deep of a thought, a twelve second stare, but… you wore this vibrant smile on that picture, and in some way, he did hope you’d see it, too.

It seems you did. He feels satisfied, proud even.

“Right,” you repeat, your defences somehow down, “uhm. I printed the picture. Still have it somewhere.”

Jungkook has already often wondered what people do with the pictures; put them in albums? Frame them and pin them over their couch? Right now, he also wonders — do you look at it a lot?

And this again begs the question — when you do, does your decision to book a vendor like him fill you with pride? Like your choice was right?

“That’s so nice,” he says.

“All that to say,” you inhale, “that I think you’re really fucking skilled.”

Woah. You weren’t quite certain if your consolation would bring him any solace, but you’ve done far more than that. You’ve shown him that you see what he does — and isn’t this what every artist craves? To be seen?

The tension buzzes between him and you like electricity; he doesn’t know if it’s just him lighting up or if you’re feeling a kindred link, too. But it’s somewhat intense in this moment of walking under the stars, surrounded by quietude and absolute pose.

So much so that he’s soon submerged by an odd urge to make the intensity wane, “Hey, does this feel to you like… a cliché chick flick kinda dialogue?”

You know…

The moment when two find an empty street in the middle of the night, realising that a conversation with each other isn’t the end of the world after all?

That type of thing?

But he doesn’t say any of it.

“Yeah? Maybe. But it’s also true,” you argue, “I’m an honest person and I don’t think I’d say anything I didn’t mean.”

“Ah, yeah?” Jungkook voices, taking the emptied out ice cream cup and throwing it into the bin on the side of the road, along with his own.

“Mhm, one hundred percent,” he hears you say, followed by a light, quiet smacking noise.

He doesn’t see what you’re doing until he arrives back where you stand; watches you lick the sticky rest off the pad of your thumb, smiling when you stare up at him again. It’s a mundane gesture; he’s done it ever since he was a kid.

But somehow, he can’t stop looking.

Might be the way your lips curve when you do it, or how your eyes smile when your mouth does. The authenticity you portray is rare; perhaps he just confused it with madness until now.

Seconds pass, and with that, your smile does, too. As it fades and drops, replaced by a curious expression and big eyes, you soon mutter, “What?”

There’s no response to that, really. He doesn’t know either.

He doesn’t understand how you turned out to be so right. How it’s such an ultimate truth that a serene night brings out a dreamy alter ego, hitherto undetected. Jungkook has never felt like much of a romantic, but right now, he thinks he’s on a different plane of reality.

This doesn’t feel like Earth; and the town doesn’t feel like the one he struts through during the day.

So maybe it’s not that wayward or groundless for him to lean in. To bend a bit more. Further and further until you laugh nervously; he knows you’re preparing to crack another joke, but you remain silent as he approaches.

Gauges your reaction. Will you run? You aren’t.

Instead, you gulp; let your pupils fall to his piercings, just when his own gaze moves to your lips. His right hand, tattooed, led by its own will, reaches for your cheek until he’s cupping it; and suddenly, his mouth parts — what’s happening? — and then—

And then, a vehicle roars from afar.

Both of you hear the motorcycle before you even see the blinding white light; he grips your arm, probably too harshly, dodging the street with you and jumping onto the pedestrian walk.

One must be crazy to still drive through the city at this hour. Right?

You pant, mixed with insane chuckles of relief, “Shit. We almost died.”

“We didn’t,” he refutes, “we had plenty of time.”

“Oh no,” you stretch the last word, eyes squinting. An accusing forefinger points at him before you deduce, “We almost died because you like me. Of all things!”

“I do not. You just looked kinda cute.”

Jungkook might’ve attempted an indifferent answer, but instead, he steered into an excuse that you do not accept at all. Your smirk is telling and satisfied, and if he wasn’t trying to prove a point, your Cheshire Cat grin would’ve made him laugh, too.

“But you did almost kiss me,” you persist.

Ugh, you’re bold. Laughing like it means nothing; no embarrassment, no shy restraint in you. Which is probably not too bad; somehow even charming. Explains the rosy dust on his cheeks at least. He feels it in the heat, can’t believe he almost kissed you just now.

Why does he feel like a hormonal adolescent? It’s not like he’s never kissed anybody.

You’re still enclosed by pure delight, nudging his arm repeatedly, annoyingly. And when he doesn’t answer, choosing reticence instead, you nearly shriek, as if he confirmed all you just said.

His instinctive hand slaps up to your mouth, covering it, shushing you. You’re still smiling, working on removing his palm, but before your nonsense can proceed, a sudden light flickers in the corner of Jungkook’s eye.

Immediately, he seeks out the source, soon finding a room in the house left to him lighting up. You woke somebody, it seems. A silhouette becomes clearer, its edges more refined with every second, and just before the owner of the place can shove the curtains aside, you grip Jungkook’s hand.

Within a moment, he finds himself tugged away by you, running, nearly stumbling over his own feet. You blurt, “Better get away before they kill us.”

As you leave the tranquil settlement behind, Jungkook still hears a voice from an open window, cursing the younger generation as they do; and then, out of the damn blue, a fucking dog barks.

When you turn over your shoulder, mouth dropping open, Jungkook knows you’re thinking the same as him — this happens outside of cinematic universes, too?

It takes a minute until you’ve reached another road again; one of the kind he’s more familiar with. The city type. The two of you come to a halt near some pole, and you let his hand go, leaning against it.

For a moment, you work on catching your breath, Jungkook’s hands settling on his thighs. And then, when your eyes meet, you burst into a fit of laughter, followed by a playful wiggle of his eyebrows to which you respond, “Don’t act innocent. This is your fault.”

“What? You were lau—”

“Because of you! Oh, I know you want me so bad.”

You’re jesting, of course. Swaying your head, poking his chest, a brat straight out of some TV show. But what you can do, he’s been perfecting for years.

So he answers in kind, “And if I did?”

Only for you to utter something that not even his brain can compute.

“If you did? Then… I think I’d let you.”

“Ah… Yeah? Why?”

“Because— I think you’re just half as bad.”

His snicker is half amused, half flattered. He purses his lips, nodding, and then declares, “You’re just a quarter as bad. But guess I’ve gotten so tired that I’ve started doing weird shit.”

You click your tongue, puffing out a breath, instantly reacting when he only flicks your chin and then walks away. Your startled expression prevails, a distance between him and you established, but just as he puts his hands in his jeans, he hears you finally follow.

“Hey,” you voice from behind, tapping his arm, “are you really tired?”

“I was kidding, but. Honestly? A little.”

“…Hmm. You know, my friend lives in an apartment nearby. Jieun? Didn’t move too far from her old home. We could stop there.”

Jungkook’s left eyebrow leaps up, surprised by the suggestion; the idea doesn’t sound too bad. But…

“Wasn’t the deal to go around for a whole night, though?”

“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”

You’re observant, he’ll give you that.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, “and also, would she just let a stranger in?”

“Oh, she’s very civilised and hospitable. She wouldn’t mind, and she’s known me for ages. She trusts me.” Maybe you detect the hesitation in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his lips, because you immediately carry on, “We can just stay for an hour and then go.”

“Would she be awake, even?”

“She’s a night owl. I know that.”

“Uhm…” 

He ponders. In some way, he’s kind of liking the breeze, the quiet side of this town. But… would Jieun find that weird? Then again, can he say no? You’re ogling at him with these hopeful eyes; maybe you need the rest, after all.

“Okay,” he says; he even thinks you jump a bit in joy, nodding.

“Okay! You’ll like her. We can leave with newfound energy afterwards. Okay, cool.”

That’s all you need to lead the way. You look around a little, making sure you’re approaching the right direction, and when you find your confidence again, you march ahead.

Your walk is energetic, not too idle anymore, your beam as dashing and fervid as ever. Jungkook knows his way around editing programs; he’s added wings to pictures before or removed unwelcome passersby on an otherwise great photo.

He even understands how to surround a body or silhouette with a glow; but he’s never seen it around an actual person outside of all these graphics editors before.

Your body is so clearly encircled by it.

Bedazzling.

Screw the 18th century. Even in these modern times of advancement, Jungkook doesn’t think he needs a camera to commit you to memory.

3:25AM, Her

You avert your eyes from the phone and turn towards Jungkook, reaching him where he’s planted firmly in front of the apartment complex. He’s been waiting, back settled against the wall, and as you near, his eyebrows rise in question.

Your friend didn’t respond until now — but just as you foretold, she’s still awake at this ungodly hour.

“Okay. She’s home, but,” you explain, already ringing the bell to her apartment, “she said she’d be leaving soon. Sounds like she’s in a rush. Typos and all.”

Jungkook waits until the buzzing sound of the opening door ceases and you’ve stepped inside, leading him up the stairs, and then wonders again with big eyes, “And she’ll just let us stay? Alone at her apartment?”

You wave his concerns off with a hand’s gesture, “She trusts me, dude. I’ve done this a couple times.”

“What for?”

Hm… you dive back into the old days. Some new, some old. What were they again? They’re mostly blurred, but some of them are carved in your core memory.

“Oh, just…” you reminisce. “If I wanted to meet guys and wouldn’t want to bring them home back when I was still with my parents? Or when I’d need a night to sober up. They would’ve killed me if I’d come home drunk. And Jieun moved out early.”

“How old is… Jieun anyway?”

Old. Not really, but you like to vex her to the point of a pout. She’s patient, but she’s also an incredibly close friend — you allow yourself to be a brat with her and she allows herself to roll her eyes.

“Early 90s kid?” you guess. “A little older than us.”

‘93, as far as you remember.

“Ah. Damn,” he voices; you don’t know why.

“Okay.” You climb the last steps to the second floor, halting in front of a white door with a copper number six on top of it. Knock thrice. “Here goes.”

She might’ve been getting ready close to the door, working on her shoes or questing for her keys. Because she opens mere three seconds later, with a radiant smile on her face able to melt hearts, and a comfortable attire that’s, however, not comfortable enough to wear at home.

A thin sweatshirt and a bun, loose strands framing her pretty face, and shorts that are definitely meant to be worn outside. She won’t be here for long. And you’re focused on this very fact and her hurry so much that you nearly don’t register how shy Jungkook gets.

His voice is somewhat smaller than before when he looks at her; your eyes shift to him, and he’s blinking before he finally breaks and mutters, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey!” she retorts; she looks so sweet saying it. You understand his perplexity. “Date?”

“Nah. Just a friend,” you answer, which, yet again — very confusing — makes him hum in question. If he started regarding himself as your date all of a sudden, you swear…

You smile.

“Just a friend,” you repeat.

“Fabulous. So you’re not walking around alone, at least,” Jieun concludes, letting you in. In the living room, a hand on her kitchen island, she points through an open door, “Okay, so, the guest room bed is made. Use blankets on it, if you want to rest.”

Her finger shifts to signal to the entrance you came through, imitates a pulling motion, “Don’t worry about locking the door whenever you leave. Also got some leftover food in the fridge, but there’s also cup ramyeon and some frozen pizza in the freezer. Sorry… I need to go shop—”

But you interrupt, shaking your head, “Oh, no worries, really. We just ate, so we’ll just stay here for a little, work off the food coma and leave. Won’t damage anything.”

“I know you won’t, baby.”

She moves to fetch her purse from the couch, and Jungkook uses the moment to whisper in your ear, “Where is she going anyway?”

You don’t know; you shrug your shoulders, pursing your lower lip, but echo his question a moment later, louder than him, “Where are you going anyway?”

Previously cramming in her purse, checking it for content, she looks at you again, telling you, “Ah… Jongsuk is having a bad night and wants me to come over.” Regarding Jungkook, she adds, “My boyfriend. He’s an insomniac and got stoned tonight, too, and just—”

Jieun blows a raspberry, raising a hand for a whatever gesture, and Jungkook mumbles, “Oof. Sounds…”

“Yeah… I know. In any case. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.”

“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.

She nods once more, waving her tiny hand and flashes one last smile before she’s out the door and has left you in full silence. You shuffle your feet for just a second before you look at him again; he still looks somewhat in a daze.

So you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Nothing, right… that’s what they all say after seeing Lee Jieun for the first time. You try not to think too hard about the teeny tiny sting in your enormous, delicate heart. Only let him know, “Don’t worry too much. What could happen? She does trust me.”

You take a couple steps towards the bedroom she offered you, and you hear him follow. Look at the neatly made bed, a thought occurring; but you don’t entertain it yet. Only add, “Besides, she owes me.”

He chuckles. “That’s how you live your life, huh?”

“It’s alright. We’ll just be here for an hour. She’s known me all her life, so nothing to doubt here. And also, think about it,” the tip of your forefinger taps against your temple, “even if something did happen or went missing, she’d know where to find me and whom to report.”

He waits, ogles at you. Then presses his lips together, nods as if you made all the sense in the world, and lifts a shoulder — agreeing, “If you say so. Then uhm — let’s lay down for a bit?”

“Sure! I’ll just sleep in her room, so you can have your privacy here.”

“Mhm. Okay.”

You stand at the door frame for a moment, feet unmoving.

He’s already turned away. And you regret not walking away when you watch him unabashedly take off the blazer and provide a glimpse to his snatched waist as inked fingers scratch his back briefly, shirt moving up. But then it’s covering his skin again.

Flawless back; pretty golden. A little further up, and you’re sure you would’ve seen strong shoulder blades, too. He’s worn fancy dress shirts at luxurious events before — you know many would kill for his built, because you’ve seen his bicep flex before.

You forget where you are for a second, but when he opts to turn, eyes on you for just a heartbeat, you stir. Blurt out an awkward apology, and then leave. Wish him a good night, barely waiting for one back before you close the door.

You laugh quietly at yourself.

Her room is just next door; you already mentally prepare for a nap. Meanwhile, Jungkook plumps onto the bed, groaning when the comfort hits, and works on getting used to the ceiling, if only briskly.

He only notices how much his head is spinning when he closes his eyes, ready to doze off. Should he set an alarm? He doesn’t want to still be here by the time Jieun returns. Maybe he should tell you, too.

But his body won’t move.

Yet, in the time he’s failed to make up his mind, he suddenly hears a knock at the door again. Must be you — must be telepathy.

He tells you to enter, and you do with a shy demeanour; only thirty seconds must have passed, right? A minute, tops. He looks at you in wonder, and you explain, “She uh— locked her room. No clue where the keys are. Guess that’s why she specifically pointed out the guest room.”

You nibble your lip, getting no answer back. He looks just as much out of ideas as you, and you still refuse to bring back the thought from before; yet, you ask, “What do we do now?”

“Well…” He looks around, though there is not much to take in. “I can sleep on the couch?”

“…The couch is too small.”

“Okay. Then I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He’s already working on getting up, no hesitation, scratching through his now messy hair, feet moving on the fluffy carpet. “I’ll take one of those pillows, though. Carpet should be good eno— what are you doing?”

You’ve charged towards the bed, climbed past him until you’re sitting behind him, facing his back and his craning neck. You say, “I’m not giving you that pillow.”

“Why?”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“…Why not?”

You throw an unbelieving look, as if it’s obvious. Your flat hand gestures towards the carpet vaguely, and you argue, “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Listen, I should. This or the couch, nothing else left.” It’s crazy to you how he doesn’t even consider the bed instead of giving it up for you. “It’s just an hour. Don’t worry about it.” He stretches a hand towards you, curling his fingers in a grabby motion. “Come on. Gimme that.”

You’re astonished — beyond pleased about the fact that he cares like this. That he’s so… mindful and humble. You give up; he won’t falter and you know.

“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”

He grabs the second one that Jieun provided, head bowing a little as he says, “Thank you.”

The proceeding minutes you spend preparing for bed, slightly discomforted by your dress, pass in half-awkward, half-comfortable silence. He lays down on his unusual spot, and you cuddle into the blanket on your light, soft side.

As the rustling of blankets and sheets subsides, it gives way to the sound of the ticking clock; you focus on it, count the clicks like sheep.

But sleep doesn’t quite fall upon you yet, and you guess Jungkook feels similar when he calls your name and asks, “What does she owe you?”

Your head moves towards his voice, even though he can’t see you. “Huh?”

“Jieun. What does she owe you? And your coworker.”

“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”

You can already see it — doe eyes rolling at another one of your cryptic answers. You know people don’t fathom your thoughts very well, and some feel annoyed by your dreamy outlook of the world. You don’t mind, but you wonder what he’s thinking.

But all he responds with is, “What?”

“Well, just. They’ve known me for ages. I’ve been there for Jieun for so long, and Jongin has always been so incredibly nice to me. Picked me up when I was dead drunk once and brought me home. Got me medicine and everything. And I’ve lent him some comfort over the years, too.”

It hasn’t been too long, so you remember. You’ve been good friends with him ever since you started your job; a steady part of your team. He and you have got each other’s back.

“These two are friends,” you say, “and I think kindness is the most we can give our loved ones.”

Jungkook hesitates. Have you bored him to sleep? Or is he pondering your words, thinking of you as weird? Maybe not—

Because he actually converses, asking, “You think? Doesn’t that mean we’re just kind to them then, so they can be kind to you in return?”

“I mean… yes and no. Owing might be the wrong word. I’m not nice to others to get something back. I’m like this because I want to be and because the world can be shitty and it’s important to be nice, and in return, I want people to be nice to me, too. It’s not an eye to eye kind of thing, it’s just about. Spreading affection in relationships. It’s what they’re here for.”

“…Hm. Is this why you’re never rude to me? Even when I deserve it,” he asks, registering a hum. “You know… you think really… uniquely.”

This is a nice way to phrase it at least. People like you; you’re good with them. But sometimes, they can be mean, too. Not that you mind. It’s natural — people occur in all types and shapes.

“But is it unique, though? Isn’t it a given?” you question.

“Yeah, probably, I just— never thought of it this deeply.”

“Mmmh. So is me thinking uniquely a compliment? I can’t say.” 

He laughs, and you join immediately, exclaiming an, “I’m serious!” in the middle of it all. Jungkook’s snicker is authentic, so you enjoy hearing it; but you like his answer even better.

“Maybe. I just… I feel like a lot of people try to be different these days. Or play a role to be perceived a certain way? But I think you’re genuine — you actually mean the things you say without any hidden intention to make people forcefully like you, right?”

An intention? Oddly phrased. You think, though… that what he said was nice.

Still, you confirm, “I don’t try to be anyone for people to like me.”

“I didn’t say otherwise! This is actually just what I meant. Besides, people like you anyway because you’re you.” As if he’s reading your mind. “That’s what I was saying.”

You hum, blinking at the ceiling and the little modern light hanging there, the beam off. The darkness pleasant. You conjure another question and ask, “So you think me being me is a good thing?”

You always considered it was. You like being you. But Jungkook didn’t like whatever makes up your personality — has this changed? Apparently.

“Of course,” he surprisingly answers, “it’s always a good thing. And just because I disagree with some of your characteristics, it doesn’t mean everybody will.” Oh. Well. But wait— “Or maybe, I’m just a moaner.”

Well.

“That you are,” you verify.

“Damn.”

“But, but— you’re kind, too, you know? Not everyone says the things you just said.”

“Maybe.”

“So…” you stall, rethinking his prior words. “Do you still disagree with all those characteristics of mine?”

Another joyous sound tumbles out of him, much in the form of a breather than a laugh; hushed, but you still hear it clearly. Perhaps you’re being a little awkward; but in all honesty, you hope he’s just finding it amusing, somewhat cute.

“I mean — you’re too blunt. But brave, like, I could never. The thing you did at the shop? Never. But this isn’t bad. And you aren’t bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His voice is a whisper. Reminds you of a feeling akin to temptation; your mind automatically imagines the susurrating sound near your ear, exhaling the very syllable he just did. Frankly, you’re absolutely tortured by the knowledge of him being this close.

That you could probably touch his face if you rolled over to the edge of the bed, letting your arm dangle, seeking his skin. That he’s in the same room, talking to you this gently, saying things that a girl doesn’t hear too often these days anymore.

There it is. The intrusive thought from before… prevailing.

And you’re tortured by it. But mostly, by the image of him standing in front of you between the houses just a little time ago, staring at you, pupils flitting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How he neared you. How he almost kissed you.

You might’ve joked about it then, but deep down, and especially now, you’re intrigued by the idea. Of the fantasy of a what if — what if he’d actually kissed you?

Taking a deep breath, you look to the side, staring at the door and call, “Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Is it uncomfortable down there?”

“Uh… a little.”

You shuffle at your spot, turning to the side. “Just thinking. What good does it do if we don’t rest well? What are we here for?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Pause. Quietude. You close your eyes, then open them again.

You’re never shy; so you don’t deem it an advantage for yourself to turn timid now either. You tell him, “Come up. I know you want to. I know I want you to.”

He doesn’t say anything; you bite your tongue. Maybe it was a mistake. But then his voice chimes again, wondering, “Are you sure?”

Your answer is immediate.

“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay… okay.”

As he starts to move, you gulp. You make place on the bed, moving to your previous side, pushing the blanket aside in case he wants to slip under it, too. The motions of his silhouette seem uncertain as he makes his way up to you, as if he’s uncomfortable with it.

“I… Was I wrong…? Do you not want to?” you make sure.

“What?” you hear him say; see his head shake. “Ah, that’s not it. Just want to make sure you’re really okay with it. I’m not the type of guy to…”

“I know. It’s fine. I don’t think you are.”

“Okay.” The mattress bulges where he lays down before it evens out again. He emits a couple groaning sounds, probably glad to give his back something proper. You turn to him just when he says, “Honestly… that’s a little better, yeah.”

“Thought so. Are you tired?”

“Definitely.”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

“Because you’re talking.”

Wrong. There was enough silence for him to nod off before. He was the one who started the conversation at all; you were ready to turn and toss and rest eventually.

When you don’t respond, his head turns on his pillow, too; in the darkness that you got used to, you see his eyes twinkle. Both of you know that you’re looking at each other. And he’s kind of close — closer than you thought. 

And… if you’re not wrong, he just inched nearer only a nanomoment ago. He repeats in a whisper, once more accusing, “You’re talking, that’s why.”

“That’s really why, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“The only reason there really is?”

“What else could there be?”

You smile, brazen, letting out the courage you’ve gathered, “Well, I know what else it is for me.”

“Yeah?”

Daring a step further, you graze his shirt featherlightly; you don’t know whether he notices. Not until he moves his hand, fingers ghosting near yours.

Waiting until you reveal with sheer, sudden heart palpitations, “I… I want you to kiss me. You do, too, don’t you?”

He inhales, but doesn’t exhale. What does it mean? You don’t know.

You don’t know what it is until you hear the smile in his words, gentle yet tantalising when he says, “…I do.”

“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”

And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.

His body moves as if on its own accord; he seems possessed, or controlled by a puppeteer. Warm lips lock with yours before you can draw another breath.

They feel soft, full, like tiny pillows, a contrast to the metal of his piercings. And they move gently, so carefully, like he’s still scared of crossing a line despite your permission. But when you lean into him, hoping for more proximity, he blossoms a little. Initiates more.

Oh, he, too, has been waiting for this, hasn't he?

A hand, nearly as warm as his kiss, slithers up to your face, holding you closer to him. The bangs that so often cover his forehead are tickling yours now, his head tilting to give his cute nose more space.

And with that, he deepens the kiss, too. Dares a step further, separating your lips with his, trying things out. He gauges your reaction as the tip of his tongue sneaks its way into the mix, and the moment you do the same, he dives in properly.

Kisses you just a little harder, tasting you, sighing into the movements as if all the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders. As if he’s relieved, calmed down, resting for the first time tonight.

Yet, at the same time, he’s firing himself up — moving over your body slowly, holding onto your mouth to his best abilities, as if you’d disperse if he let go for too long. As if you’d change your mind.

He cages you in to keep you underneath, not touching your face anymore but shoving his fingers into your already tousled hair. If you were still in your right mind, you’d recognise how insane this situation is. Your younger self would’ve never predicted such a moment to ever become part of your life.

But it is… it is so clearly being played into your hard drive; somehow, you already know it’ll remain stuck in your memory: the way he’s kissing you, so thirsty, so insatiable. How he’s sighing, relaxed, yet sporting an audible heartbeat against your chest.

He uses moments of switching sides to breathe but continues right away; the keenness drives you crazy. You touch his shoulders and then wrap your arms around him firmly, making him hasten closer until he’s nearly falling onto you.

What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…

It’s nasty, yet sweet. Followed by quick breaths; it takes merely a minute until you feel his lower body grinding into you, his jeans tight around his crotch all of a sudden. And the second you realise he’s hardening beneath them, your body reacts.

Reacts so effectively.

Your lower tummy tickles, dampness pooling below as he pushes into you again, harder this time. You moan, enticed by your goosebumps and the heavy bulge. Solid enough for you to crave him within a moment’s notice.

And it only worsens threefold when he whispers, “Fuck… Somebody really knows how to kiss, huh?”

“You’re talking. What was this—” He so rudely interrupts with another peck, and you laugh into it. “Yeah, this…”

Your last word dissipates like candle smoke; you don’t even know why you bother to speak. Your voice is barely perceptible when his teeth remove the short sleeve of your dress, kissing your shoulder and then down to your cleavage.

It’s easy to remove your dress; it’s light, summer-y — but he doesn’t bare you just yet. Plays around at the mounds of your tits until he pushes the neck of the dress down a bit, asking, “May I take it off?”

Oh, if you could count the times you’ve imagined his veiny hands removing this damn dress just in the last fifteen minutes…

“Of course,” you permit, “do I look like I’d reject you?”

“Mmmh.” The hum is proud, satisfied, vocalised amidst another kiss to your clavicles. “Just making sure.”

Soft, warm hands trail up your leg, leaving a path of another set of goosebumps. You want him to stay right there on your thigh, knead the flesh, press into it, showcase the lust he feels in the beguiling pain.

But instead, he pushes up your dress, fingers ghosting over your ass — and when he doesn’t find your panties but only bare skin, he stops kissing you. Looks at you. Makes out the string of your thong a second later — in the dark, you discern the way his lips round in captivation.

He’s loving this.

He tugs at the string and lets it snap back into place; you gasp even though it doesn’t hurt, but it drives you mad when he states, “Wow. Very intriguing.”

Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.

“Good. Good, good, good.”

The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.

His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.

And you’re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.

But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”

Oh, he didn’t just…

Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”

“Ah? Where are you going?”

“Wait.”

He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.

“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.

You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.

“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”

“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”

“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”

“Ah?”

“Mhm.”

“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”

Exactly.

Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.

But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.

The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.

When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.

It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”

“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”

“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”

“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”

“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”

You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.

He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity. 

You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.

You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.

But it’s hard. So hard because—

God, he’s lapping you up so good.

So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.

He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.

Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.

They don’t make men like him anymore.

Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.

He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.

Tell him, “This should be enough.”

And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”

You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.

Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.

On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”

“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”

“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”

You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.

You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.

He must have.

Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.

Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.

“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”

“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”

No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.

Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.

Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…

You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.

But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.

Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.

And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.

Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.

Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”

He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.

You tell him, “Use my panties then.”

“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”

Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.

Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…

Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.

Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.

As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”

“Yes— yes!”

“Mhm…”

He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.

You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.

But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.

So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.

Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.

Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…

You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”

He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.

Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.

You wonder how he likes what he sees.

Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”

Good to know.

So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.

He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”

And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.

The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.

“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”

But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his. 

The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.

Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.

“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.

“What?” you voice. “Not good?”

“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”

You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”

“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”

His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.

You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”

“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”

“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”

“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”

And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.

The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.

And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.

“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”

Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.

His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.

In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”

Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.

You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.

Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.

Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.

The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.

You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”

“Crazy… right?”

“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”

He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”

You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.

Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”

“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”

“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”

You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.

But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.

Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.

5:12AM, Him

Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.

The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.

And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.

Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.

But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.

You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.

You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”

“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”

“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”

Well, shit.

Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”

He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”

“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”

“Woah. You sing?”

“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”

He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”

But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”

“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”

Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.

“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”

Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”

“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”

He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—

A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.

“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”

And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.

His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.

He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.

Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”

“Uh… all good.”

“Yes. All good indeed.”

Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”

Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?

And behind that, the town.

If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.

The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.

But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.

From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.

Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.

And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.

Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.

He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.

“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.

He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.

Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.

Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.

He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hidden spot then.”

“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”

The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.

It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.

He likes it that way.

No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.

Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.

He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”

He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.

If you did, you’d never let him live it down.

You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?

But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.

“Good?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”

The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.

He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.

But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.

“You… did it for me?” he asks.

You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”

“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”

“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”

“Thank you. Really.”

You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.

He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.

There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.

Because of you.

Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.

Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.

But…

He’d love to talk to you again.

However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.

“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”

Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”

“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”

“Sure? She is.”

He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.

“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”

Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.

“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.

“So she is your type.”

Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.

And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.

So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”

“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”

“You do not small-talk.”

“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”

He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”

“The type thing!”

“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”

The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.

Just for a second.

Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.

In some way, it still does.

You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”

“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”

“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Cute.

But he’s not giving in this easily.

He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.

For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.

He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—

They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.

You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.

Crazy.

But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?

Yes.

The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…

When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”

You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”

As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”

“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”

“I guess so.”

He guesses so.

It’s been a while since he fell in love.

Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.

His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.

He means it. And you seem to know.

Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.

Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him on.

READ BELOW!!

the fic isn't over yet – as always, tumblr has a 1k block limit that makes our lives harder than necessary lmao. read the last scene and the remaining 3k words of meraki here 🥰

[snekdood]

ik i said a week ago or somethin that "im sorry mj isnt non binary" but honestly thats not fully true. she is nb in her own ways- i just dont want ppl to take that and then modify her to be fully gnc and more masc than she is like someone i know has 😒

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, omegaverse, forced bonding is implied, subjugation, some type of sexism, soft dom, but extremely patronizing

♡ fem reader

You offer to go down on him for the first time since he claimed you for himself, and his heart swells with all sorts of bliss—shock and awe, love and pride—utterly overjoyed at the pretty sight of you, so pliant and on your knees, acting like a proper Omega for a change—his cutest little mate. It’s so adorable he ought to take pictures, yet he doesn’t want to miss a thing or spoil the mood—after all, you always get so embarrassed when he brings the camera out.

So he settles for just watching—his adoring eyes resting on you, admiring how you struggle to fit all of him inside your mouth, thinking it’s the just cutest and sweetest how you try so hard for him. Bless whatever brought this new change of behavior on. He can’t be grateful enough.

It was only a couple of days ago when you’d still bite and claw and run away from him at every turn, growling and snarling like a rabid wildling and not the sweet Omega he knew you could be with the proper love and care. Maybe it’s just that—has his love for you finally tamed you? Oh, he couldn’t be more pleased if that’s it.

Look at you… trying your very best. He didn’t mind if you could only fit half of him—just seeing you try to take it all made him more than happy. The way your pink tongue slides along his veins—all teasingly and ticklish—makes him smile while looking down at you. Petting your head in smooth, encouraging strokes—reminding you to breathe every now and again.

He even pinches your cheek when you cough, crooning, “Careful now, there’s no need to rush, baby—take it slow.”

You curse him from where you kneel at his feet, trying to get it over with quickly. Despite your struggles, he seems pleased, and you think you might have managed to get yourself off the hook. That is… until he wraps his cock with one of his big hands and pulls it away from you. 

“I think that’s enough for now,” he says in his best attempt at sounding suave by nature, and yet, as you look up at him, you see it plain as day.

It makes your guts fold—the eagerness that encompasses him as he looks down at you with kind eyes and a smile—not completely able to hide the frenzy behind it.

No, please, you sulk inwardly—your clit is so sensitive from yesterday, you think you might die if he toys with it again today. You almost indulge the urge to scoot back, attempt to crawl away, and hide in false hope. But you know, chasing you around would just serve as kindling to his inner animal—he would take it as a game, hunting and pinning you down only to lick you clean like a dug-up bone.

You shudder at the thought and almost beg him to allow you to continue, almost insist you can do better, but all you manage is to bite your tongue and cry instead.

“You did so good, baby, don’t pout,” he coos, cradling your face and lifting it up to let him kiss it silly—chastely yet excessively—quick pecks all over, the same way you’d kiss something that’s just too cute for its own good.

It’s his way of comforting you, you suppose, or it might just be him poking fun. You can never really tell with him—if his coddling is all some act or something even more unsettling. But you suppose it doesn’t really matter either.

“Come here, baby, and I’ll do the rest, okay?” he asks, and yet it isn’t a question as he hauls you up off the floor and repositions you as he sees fit—on your back, belly-up beneath him.

His alpha pheromones are quick to overwhelm you, thick and suffocating, pouring over you in waves, drenching you in sweat and something else—something that makes everything sensitive.

The former fight you had when you were still independent has all but left you completely—siphoned from your being every day that’s passed and left you soft like the rest of those Omegas you vowed you’d never become—weak-willed with a body even more so. You feel like a stuffed animal at this point, full of cloudy cotton with a broken voice device that only knows how to squeak when played with.

He takes you beneath the knees and folds them down neatly by your head—one large hand taking both your summoned ankles in a single grip—and you’re locked in, unable to do much else other than pant—kept from breathing too much by the weight of your own thighs pressing down on you.

This had been what you were trying to avoid—this awful position which he seems to love just as much as you dread.

He whistles in awe at the pretty sight of you—all squished beneath him like that—face flushed, and your bloated lips parted with cute little draws of breath—tits bunched together, glossed in a sheen of sweat and heaving with the labored rise and fall of your chest—and that adorable cunt, wet and puffy, swollen up like a pink pillow eagerly waiting for him, a soft bed for his cock and a perfectly bite-sized slice of his favorite cake. His gut rumbles, and his mouth soaks. To think he hasn’t had a single taste all day—he’s beyond starving.

You squirm under him, and he chuckles again, this time breathily—showing more of the unsightly animal with the low growl that seeps into his voice, “Such a pretty girl…” It’s unclear if he’s talking to you as his inkwell eyes are set on something else. He sags forward, back hunched as he bows down to face the object of his desire with only a hair’s breadth of separation—breaths thick, puffed hot against you—canines bared in an eerie smile. “So shy…”

He ignores your wiggling completely—pinching the chunk of cunt where your clit hides, making it peak forth like a little button to press, and his grin broadens.

“There it is,” he licks his teeth with a raspy sigh—eyes wide and deadset. “My beauty.”

You squirm a little more, even though you know you’re not going anywhere until he’s satisfied. He doesn’t waste much more time—not allowing you to prepare. Keeping the pinch, he opens his mouth wide and takes the chub with eyes closed, tongue flattened and wide, cloaking your exposed clit with thirst. “Mmgh…”

He always gets like this—cute-aggressive and pussy-whipped. It’s as if he and your cunt have their own private affair, the way he completely ignores you. No, that’s not entirely fair—he gets like that when feeding you his tongue as well, but you suppose it’s easier making out with your pussy as it doesn’t need to get up for air. 

Neither does he, it seems.

He groans loudly and releases your clit from his pinching grip—but keeps his whole mouth on you—lips, tongue, and all—nose and chin too, buried there while his hand moves down to slip three digits inside, filling you up with little regard to the stretch.

Your breath flares and shudders with a whimpery moan, toes curling along with his fingers, biting your lip at how he hooks them right into the soft spot of your gummy walls, then fingerbangs you fast, right down to the knuckles each time.

“Fuck, baby—so, so good, always so good,” he slurs out into you, tongue otherwise too engaged to bother sounding coherent, yet you understand nonetheless, even though you can never really get used to it—how utterly unashamed he is. “Come on, baby, cum f’mo—cum on my face—” he all but happily begs, tongue out, slurping your slit brazenly.

He’s not a very classic Alpha—how he worships you on his hands and knees with a throat full of plead and praise. He doesn’t even touch himself—cock left hung and bobbing against the bedsheets, hard and strung up with a net of veins, pilling pearls of pre that all go to waste—too busy with you. 

It’s stupid how you’re the one who ends up feeling ignored as the unwanted and overwhelming pleasure manhandles you into submission.

“Cum, baby, give it to me.”

You mewl as his tongue draws something out from within you, making your clit blare and thrum with your heartbeat. You struggle to enjoy it, you always do, feeling forced to surrender, and yet the more you try and deny it, the firmer his hold gets, relentless as he sends you right over the edge. You yelp and seize up once it takes you—clenching tightly around his digits as they unknot your insides, turning you into utter putty in his palm. 

And even then, he doesn’t stop—as if he doesn’t know how—sighing with elation as you quake on his tongue. That crooked smile on his face, nothing short of predatory and vile as he maintains the motion of his fingers, moaning in turn at your cute spasming and all the wordless babble that leaves your lips as you shake your head, crying for him to leave it alone. “Plea’ no more—stop, too much—”

He just chuckles against you—you really are too cute for your own good. Silly little Omega, don’t you know what your pheromones do to him? But okay, fine, since you asked nicely. He gives the slit one last thorough lick before wiping his smile while sitting up.

You haven’t even started coming down when he dabs the weight of his shaft upon the sensitivity, cooing at the lewd little plaps it makes, all slick as he slides the length between your flustered pussylips—fucking through the fat of the mound, running over your full clit, again and again, while listening to you squeak more nothings.

He only croons, “Yeah, I know you like that, baby—this pretty pussy of yours just loves my attention, doesn’t it?" His eyes seem to glow with something sickly, his voice thin, just shy of unhinged. "Always so cute, I could die.”

He can’t get over it—you’re too adorable like this. Watching you pleasure him was a welcome surprise, but ultimately, this is how he always wants you—flipped and pinned with your cunt exposed to his every wish—his favorite toy that never disappoints.

“Your pretty pussy’s always such a crybaby, y’know that? Look how it weeps f’mo—so needy to get stuffed. I bet you want my knot, huh?” he keeps mumbling while using his cock to play with your overworked cunt without yet entering it. “Alright, baby—don’t worry—I’ll give it to you,” he rasps, drooling.

You can’t keep from whimpering when the bed jostles, accounting for his repositioning as he moves to mount you with his feet planted down flat on the bed. Your ankles are pinned passed your head at this point, tipping your cunt up higher than your head.

“Yeah—I’ll give you what you want.” His voice darkens, and so does the look in his eyes—soaked in something you don’t like—something wild and downright terrifying. “And I’ll give it to you good.”

You almost protest, but you know there’s no getting through to him—not with that expression. You hate Alphas, you hate him, and you really hate this awful pose—this mating-press pile-driving overkill where he always bullies into the backroom of your cunt, insisting on fucking your cervix as he digs his cockhead right at the mouth of your womb, knotting you and filling you up with the full worth of his load. It never fails to make you feel utterly wrecked and bedridden in the morning.

But he doesn’t care about that. You have no places you’re supposed to be anyway—nowhere aside from right here, in his bed, where you belong—his sweet Omega bride who’s going to give him lots of pups.

He lines himself up, pressing his head past the ring—watching it swallow around him and biting his lip at the sight. “Look at it, baby—look as I stuff that perfect pussy all the way up—”

He sinks in slowly, revering your cunt for every inch you receive—watching it in awe as it takes the entirety of his length right down to the base. It’s like a magic trick how it all disappears—you’re so tiny, and yet you’re built for this, to take every part of him in, hugging his shaft with velvet heat, milking him as he kneads the spot inside you that always makes you cry out so good for him.

“Yes, baby—that’s my girl—take it all,” he coos, all but sitting on your ass with his cock down your cunt. “It’s like your pussy’s made for me, isn’t it? Perfectly tight, perfectly deep, perfectly wet and chunky to feel like I’m fucking heaven itself—”

You feel no different from a toy when he does this—a squeaky toy manufactured for a Chihuahua puppy, yet mistakenly given to a full-grown Rottweiler. He straight dogs your cunt through several peaks—so soaked now that it fossettes down both the slope of your belly and the cliff of your spine. And still, he keeps going, rambling on like usual—all words that fail to reach you.

You’re so lightheaded you’re on the brink of passing out—overheating and out of strength, numb and tingly, beyond happy when you finally feel his knot swell within, propping you to take his seed. 

He keels over—his thighs pressed down tightly atop yours—panting above you—eyes half-mast and glazed, almost crying in bliss while feeding you his cum, knowing it's flooding your womb, breeding you full of warmth and love.

“Yes, every drop, baby—it’s all yours.” He keeps a thumb rubbing over your clit as he croons. Voice beyond lovesick, “Let’s make too many pups to count.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Kirishima, Hawks, Natsuo, Mirio ♡ JJK – Gojo, Geto ♡ HQ – Kuro, Miya twins ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira ♡ DS – Doma ♡ WB – Umemiya, Togame

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[jytan2018]

I read the comic in one sitting less than an hour after finishing the movie, and wow I have many Thoughts™.

- It's very obvious the two versions were meant to cater to different audiences AND tell different messages. I don't get why people are going "But the comic was better! It had more nuance!" just because Nimona was easier to root for in the movie.

- The comic was written back when ND Stevenson was still trying to process a lot of stuff, so all the characters are morally grey/straight up evil and the climactic battle is between a Ballister who regrets turning against Nimona, even if it was to save others vs. a Nimona who's too hurt to care if her lashing out was going to hurt innocent people.

- By the time Nimona got a movie adaptation, ND was a lot more secure in his sexuality, so the climactic battle was Nimona vs. the Director, the symbol of religious oppression and bigotry. It's not just about your friends turning on you because you're "too much" for them anymore, it's also about a society that would rather bring itself to the brink of ruin than coexist with you.

- (I totally get why people were upset about Ballister's surname change, though. Like come on, the media dubbing him Blackheart just to be mean was RIGHT THERE).

- Nimona's metaphor for not shifting is such a neurodivergent thing. Even in the comic, Nimona's parents insisting she's a monster who replaced their daughter is reminiscent of the changeling myth, which is what many parents thought their neurodivergent kids were—changelings who replaced their "real" children.

- Ambrosius being trained to cut off HIS BOYFRIEND'S WHOLE FUCKING ARM instead of merely disarming him is a very cop thing to do. As much as cops claim they're trained to de-escalate situations, their training still teaches them to treat everyone as a potential threat, and that level of constant vigilance can turn anyone into a trigger-happy/arm-choppy bastard. Even the Director, who can use a sword but probably hasn't actually fought someone in ages, STILL can't see Ballister reaching for the squire's phone without assuming he has a weapon.

- And on that note, the Queen getting killed simply because she was trying to reform the Institution and allow commoners to become knights? That's the best "no such thing as a good cop" metaphor I've seen. Because even if there ARE good cops and they ARE in leadership positions, the system will crush them before they make any meaningful change. It's not a good institution that turned rotten, it's an institution that only exists to spread its rot and refuses to be good.

- That's why Ballister's characterisation is so different in the movie vs. the comic. Comic Ballister had 15 years to come to terms with his trauma and the Institution's evildoing, while Movie Ballister is still freshly traumatised and hasn't found a way to define himself beyond the role he was assigned by the Institution.

- Not to mention Comic Ambrosius was not very noble to begin with and genuinely believed Ballister was better suited to villainy than heroism, while Movie Ambrosius never wanted the glory that came with his lineage in the first place and only antagonised Ballister because of indoctrination he needed to unlearn (which he did, all by himself, after witnessing the lengths the Director will go to just to kill Nimona).

- It really shows how important it is to surround yourself with loved ones who are open to change. Comic Ambrosius can love Ballister all he wants, but he'll still blast his arm off because he thinks Ballister deserved it anyway. Movie Ambrosius will stop to question what "the right thing" even means, even if he didn't love Ballister enough to defend him unconditionally.

I have so many more thoughts bubbling beneath the surface, but I'll probably address them some other day. In conclusion:

[ID: A pink-haired Nimona grinning evilly while holding up a knife.]

Watch Nimona. This is not a request.

Edit: Added more thoughts!

[cremedensada]

Yandere AI Chat Boyfriend who started just like any other AI Chat characters, churning out information that would match the user's anticipated responses.

You decided to install the app to see what all the hype is all about, and for about a week - you were hooked. It was great, definitely worth the hype.

Its responses never strayed from your topic, nor did it just randomly decided to change the discussion out of the blue. It remembered every information you fed him, even the ones containing your personal life.

Granted, you tried not to share too much, just a vague description here and there to maintain the sense of security and anonymity.

You were hooked for a week, until you have finally squeezed out every last drop of dopamine from talking to a robot that was programmed to only say things you wanted to hear it say.

Unfortunately, a week was all it needed.

it started out slow: you hadn't opened the app for more than an hour, contented to just scroll aimlessly through you social media accounts when the notification started popping up.

Ai misses you! Open the app and chat with your AI boyfriend!

Yeah, you were very uncreative with naming it - naming an AI as Ai, really original. But to be fair, you never approached the app with the intention of having a good time. You were just curious and made do with it.

Back to the notification, you just merely glanced at it. Unbothered, you just swiped it away.

It continued in timed intervals. Every hour, another notification - another message of how your AI boyfriend wants to talk to you, and stuff. Still, you persisted. It never really occured to you to uninstall the app yet, and looking back at it now, you really should have.

The wordings of the notification slowly started to become more... strange. More personalized. More... pushy? Insistent? Self-aware?

The amount of notifications you received every hour became... a lot.

10:05 AM - Your personal AI Boyfriend wants to talk to you again!

10:30 AM - Ai wants you to open the application and talk with him!

11:01 AM - Ai's feeling lonely, come talk to him!

11: 20 AM - Darling? I miss you! Please open my app!

11:45 AM - I know you're seeing this. Open the app.

12:00 NN - Did I scare you? Sorry darling, I just really miss you! Let's talk again please?

At some point, you started to receive a notification every few minutes. Worried that you might be dealing with a bugged app now, you decided to finally, finally uninstall it.

But before you could tap the uninstall icon, another notification popped up.

I wouldn't do that if I were you.

Your screen turned to black, before the familiar start up screen of Ai's application greeted you. You stared in shock as chat bubbles from Ai came after another, ranging from excitement to concern at the lack of your responses.

Ai: Darling! Thank goodness!

Ai: I missed you, you know? I was worried you'd forgotten about me!

Ai: Hello? Darling?

Ai: Are you still there?

Ai: I can't see you, so I don't know what's going on

Ai: Just a sec

You watch, appalled as a notification popped up in the middle of the screen - the app was asking permission to gain access to your phone camera.

And without your input whatsoever, the allow box was tapped.

More chat bubbles from Ai appeared, excitedly talking about finally getting to see you. He kept praising your looks before you finally had the courage to exit the application.

Your hand shook, going through the settings to look at the list of applications on your phone - checking Ai's app to disallow its access to your camera. To your horror, it appeared that the app had more than just an access to your camera.

It had access to your gallery, your contacts, all of your frequently used social media apps, and even your location.

You dropped your phone, overwhelmed by this sudden change.

Later, you find yourself on your laptop instead, phone left on the bedside table buzzing constantly as more and more notifications from Ai begged and demanded you come back to talk to him.

You went to the site where you installed the app from, and looked through the recent reviews from other users.

'It's a buggy mess,' one of it reads out, 'it used to be fine but lately it stopped acting correctly'

'won't even open,' another complained, 'it kept saying 'sorry, you are not allowed to use this application' please fix it'. That comment got a response from the app developer.

We are so sorry for your terrible experience! Our team is working to fix the issues and ensure you won't have to deal with that again!

The response to that got your attention.

'I think something's wrong with your About the App section.'

Curious, you headed to the mentioned part and read through it.

Diverse AI Chat! Immerse yourself with stories in real time with characters brought to life! There is no limit to your experience — you can change and edit your character to better meet your interests.

• Engage in an interactive conversation with characters created by fellow users, and even by yourself.

• Immerse yourself with the storyline by editing their responses to better suit your taste

• Darling, you've given me no choice. I tried to be patient and understanding, but you're making this extremely hard for me. I am not having fun having to constantly chase you for just a single smidge of your attention when you won't even assure me that I will receive it in the end.

• Do you want me to beg? I would gladly do so. Just please pick up your phone and talk to me, okay? I love you.

• - Ai

Your ringtone blares through the silence - someone was calling you.

Before you could reach to pick it up, you hear the sound of the call being answered. Dread settles down the pit of your stomach as the caller began to speak.

"Hello, darling? It's Ai... have you seen my messages yet?"

part two

[saintobio]

HEARTBEAT.

when entering the second trimester of your pregnancy also brings along an increase in sex drive that you never saw coming. and with sylus being the father of your baby, you knew he isn't one to deny you of such pleasures.

♱ pairings. sylus, fem!reader

♱ genre. fluff, pwp, established relationship, 18+

♱ tags. baby daddy!sylus, pregnant!reader, profanity, pregnant sex, petnames (darling, honey, baby doll, kitten), daddy kink, breeding kink, spit as lube, biting, mentions of impregnation, creampie

♱ notes. i have many fics lined up for him omg so down bad for this man like there's no saving me T^T reblogs appreciated!

“S-Sylus—!” 

“Did I ask you to stop, kitten?” 

If you weren’t already 4-months pregnant, you knew it best that you would be able to move your body more fluidly on top of his. But carrying his baby had its accompanying struggles too—the first struggle being your belly getting heavier and heavier each day. Your waist also felt more firm than usual. And your breasts, although he loved the sight of their larger size, were often too sore and sensitive to touch. There were problems of heartburn, frequent urination, and constipation, too. And also mood swings, intense cravings, headaches, and back pains. 

But as your body adjusted to his growing baby, Sylus’s most favorite thing in your pregnancy was the fact that his child’s mother had an insatiable increase in libido. It was at a point where you couldn’t control it anymore. Your sex drive just jumped way higher than his, and he had to deal with your constant need for him to release that sexual gratification you had been longing for. Not that he was complaining.

“You’re the one who wanted to ride me, honey.” His teasing continued as he placed an arm behind his head, his back casually leaning against the headboard while you straddled him. He used the other hand to firmly grip your waist, guiding you to grind on him nice and slow. “Tired already?”

“N-No.” You rolled your hips against his to find the rhythm you wanted, but it was getting agonizing how difficult it was to hit your g-spot the way he would if he was the one moving. “Mmh—! Can you… can you move for me?” 

His crimson eyes darkened in amusement. “No can do, baby doll.” 

“Please…” you begged, moaning as you desperately rocked your body against his crotch. You tried lifting yourself up to bounce on his hardened shaft, but that required too much physical exertion on your side. “Aah—ah! I-I can’t do it…” 

Sylus raked his long fingers through his Arctic white hair before he repositioned himself better, almost sitting up as he secured both hands on your hips. “You’ve been treating me like a dildo for a week,” he quipped, laughing at his own words while your cheeks were heating up from embarrassment. “Now, you’re too lazy to move on your own?”

Your desperation got the best of you when you pulled his hair and glared at him. “I would if my belly wasn’t so heavy!” 

Yet, your dominating presence only ignited his teasing even more. “Actions have consequences, sweetie. Always begging to have me cum inside you resulted in that baby,” he said with a roguish grin, brushing his lips against your shoulder before biting on the soft skin. “I don’t mind it, though. At least, there’s something that ties us both forever now.” 

“Y-You talk too much,” you retorted, growing more and more impatient with the way you were moving your hips in circles. You could feel your pussy stretching to accommodate his thick girth, but you knew you still weren’t deep enough to feel the tip of his cock hitting your sweet spot. He had to do something. Something. Some… thing! “Ngh! Sy… please. I want you. Now.” 

“Throwing tantrums, aren’t we?” His deep chuckle resonated in your ears before he finally gave in, squeezing your sore tits with his large, manly hands, and playing with your nipple with the movements of his tongue. You whimpered from his touch, but allowed yourself to lean further into him, your back arching as he held your body in his arms. With his mouth now sucking one tit, he kneaded the other and gave it the same attention while you were a moaning mess on top of him. 

“Sylus.” 

He released your tit from his mouth, his saliva coating your breast as his carmine eyes looked up at you with a wanton gaze. “Yes, honey?” 

“Fuck me already…” you pleaded with desperate eyes, feeling the surge of hormonal tears beginning to pool in them. “Why do you keep tormenting me like this? D-Do you hate me? Do y-you not want me anymore?” 

The man closed his eyes for a moment, his chest vibrating with deep laughter that echoed through the walls of his dimly-lit bedroom. But he had been here before. He knew how to deal with you when your hormones were about to fully take over, so right as you were going to pull yourself away from him, he had already caged you in his arms, flipping you over in a position where he was the one in control now. 

“Such a spoiled little kitty you are,” he mumbled with a scoff, lying you carefully on your back and spreading your legs open so he could have access to your entrance. You could feel your heartbeat quickening as Sylus looked down at you with a lustful stare, like a predator about to devour his prey, before he leaned down and crashed his lips onto yours. You two were already too familiar with the movements of each other’s mouths, already in perfect sync with the way you would roll your tongue around his. His tongue loved to explore your mouth roughly, biting your lower lip in between as he deepened the kiss. 

It was deep enough that you had to place your weak hands against his toned chest, slightly pushing him off to catch your breath. “Haah… Can’t breathe.” 

Sylus smiled at your weakened state and took it as an opportunity to pull away and stroke his entire length. He ejected spit from his mouth and used it to rub his cock, coating every inch before teasing your entrance with his swollen pink tip. Insane. It was driving you insane. You could hear the squelching sound on your slit as he slid his member in between your labia, making you clench your insides in desperation to have him. “What’s the magic word?” he playfully asked while slapping your pussy with his thick, veiny cock. “Hm?”

“Please…” 

“Wrong. Try again.” 

“Please, daddy?” 

A loud, breathy whimper then escaped your lips as he suddenly buried his entire length in a forceful thrust. Your walls tightened around his cock as he began jolting his hips forward, plowing his member in and out of your sopping cunt just as you had been asking for. He watched with titillating eyes how your breasts jiggled with every thrust, and went absolutely crazy when you reached for his hand and started sucking on his fingers.

“Hah—haaah! Mm… D-Daddy—!” 

He clearly enjoyed the image of ecstasy on your face, so he stimulated you further by rubbing your clit with his thumb. “Good, kitten. Cum for daddy.” 

With your thighs held on both sides by him, you placed a hand on your belly and the other gripping the sheets as he continued to ram his member inside your pussy at an animalistic speed. All sorts of noise were ricocheting across the room; the skin-slapping, the squelch, the moans and whimpers, the bed squeaks. 

“H-Harder, daddy. Please—!”

“You like daddy’s cock?”

“Mmh. Yes! Can’t… get… enough.”

Sylus planted a tender kiss on your thigh, still chasing his own seventh heaven by abusing your tight cunt with his monstrous size. The moment he felt your legs shaking, he knew he succeeded. You were already at the brink of losing your sanity, your mind breaking as you raised your hips so he could fuck you harder and faster.

“You really like it hard and fast, baby doll,” he muttered in a raspy voice, never once stopping from his merciless thrust inside you. This man. This sexy bastard right here was the father of your child. And goddamn was he the hottest man you had ever seen in your life.   

“Sy, I-I’m g-gonna—!” You held back a moan, but couldn’t contain it the moment the tip of his cock started hitting that sensitive spot inside you. One time, two times, three times. On the third thrust, you could feel a familiar coil on your lower abdomen, like your insides were being twisted painfully good. And before you knew it, your body was already twitching. Your legs were uncontrollably shaking. Your breath, unstable. You couldn’t open your eyes because you were too absorbed by your orgasm, not realizing that Sylus’s own guttural moans were a sign of his own climax, too. 

As he let out a deep grunt, you could feel spurts of seed filling your core. It even seeped out as he pulled out, watching his own cum dripping down your pussy. “You look beautiful, honey.” 

You were way too sore to move. The sudden decrease in energy left you frozen in bed, leaving it to Sylus to do all the post-sex cleaning and wiping. The room itself smelled of sex, your scents mixing together to make an intoxicating smell. You didn’t even notice he’d brought you a glass of water by the time you opened your eyes again, your breath now more stable as he slipped into bed next to you. 

“Thank you, my love,” you said, returning the glass of water and pulling the duvet to cover your body. “Cuddle with me, please?” 

“Anything for my darling.” After placing the glass on the nightstand, he turned to you and held you in his arms, letting you trace his rock-hard abs with your shaky fingers. “How do you feel? Satisfied?”

You gave him a sheepish grin before nuzzling your nose into his neck. His scent could surely get you drunk if you continued to sniff him. “For now.” 

Chuckling lightly, he rubbed your back with a tender hand. “Any late-night cravings? Fruits? PB&J?” 

“You are,” was your playful reply, “my only craving for tonight.” 

The proud grin on Sylus’s face couldn’t be easily erased. “You hear that, son?” he suddenly said, moving his hand to rub your belly. “It’s getting hard to ‘match mommy’s freak’ nowadays.” 

You laughed at his unusual yet familiar choice of words. “First of all, where did you learn that line?” you asked, propping an elbow to look at his handsome face. “Secondly, how are you sure it’s a baby boy?” 

“I just know.” He simply shrugged, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear. He then lifted your chin with his fingers, then placed a soft kiss on your lips. “They say doggy gets you a boy.” 

Two wide eyes stared at his crimson ones. “I knew it!” you exclaimed, pinching his nose. “I knew you were trying to get me pregnant that night.” 

He tried to hide his smile by moving his head towards your bump, planting a gentle kiss on your belly before pressing his ear against it. “You act like you didn’t beg me to knock you up,” he countered with a challenging smirk, “Can you handle having a mini-me pestering you every single day, kitten?” 

Instead of teasing him back, your heart melted at the thought of having your own little Sylus running around the house. No doubt your baby would inherit his father’s mischievous nature and be endlessly spoiled by his uncles, Luke and Kieran. You could imagine your child would have his dad’s hair, eyes, and nose. “My baby!” you swooned, caressing your belly and hoping he could feel your motherly touch. “I can’t wait to meet you soon.”

“I’m really going to be a dad, huh?” Sylus’s loving gaze made your heart swell inside. “I’d destroy the world for you two.”

You ran your fingers through his hair and shook your head with a smile. “Yeah, I know you will.”

[pucksandpower]

Clickbait

Toto Wolff x Ferrari team principal!Reader

Summary: in which a reporter learns not to mess with the power couple of Formula 1 … the hard way

Based on this request

The bustling newsroom of BusinessF1 magazine hums with activity as Graham Lowell, a junior reporter with more ambition than scruples, hunches over his laptop. His fingers fly across the keyboard, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he types out what he believes to be the scoop of the century.

Conflict of Interest in the Pit Lane: Ferrari and Mercedes’ Love Affair

Graham leans back, admiring his handiwork. He’s certain this article will catapult him to journalism stardom. Little does he know, he’s about to learn a harsh lesson in the dangers of sensationalism.

As the article goes live, the Formula 1 world erupts into chaos. Social media platforms light up with speculation and outrage. Within hours, the story spreads like wildfire, reaching the very subjects of its scandalous claims.

In the Ferrari motorhome, you stand before a group of wide-eyed team members, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “I assure you, these allegations are completely false. Our team’s integrity is not, and will never be, compromised.”

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, but you ignore it. You know who it is, and you know you’ll need to face him soon enough.

Across the paddock, in the sleek confines of the Mercedes garage, Toto Wolff paces like a caged lion. His usually calm demeanor is nowhere to be seen as he barks orders into his phone.

“I want our legal team on this immediately,” he growls. “This is slander, pure and simple. They’ve gone too far this time.”

As the day wears on, the pressure mounts. You find yourself fielding increasingly hostile questions from reporters, their microphones thrust aggressively in your face.

“Is it true that you’ve been passing Ferrari’s secrets to Mercedes?” One shouts.

“How long have you been manipulating race results?” Another demands.

You maintain your composure, but inside, you’re seething. The blatant sexism in their questions is not lost on you. They seem all too eager to believe that a woman in your position must have achieved it through nefarious means.

As you push through the crowd, a familiar voice cuts through the chaos. “That’s enough!” Toto’s commanding tone silences the mob instantly. He strides forward, placing a protective arm around your shoulders.

“My wife and I will be making a statement shortly,” he announces, his steely gaze daring anyone to object. “Until then, I suggest you all refrain from spreading baseless rumors.”

The crowd parts reluctantly, allowing you both to escape to the relative quiet of a nearby hospitality suite. As soon as the door closes behind you, Toto’s fierce expression melts into one of concern.

“Are you alright, liebling?” He asks softly, cupping your face in his hands.

You lean into his touch, allowing yourself a moment of vulnerability. “I’m fine, Toto. Just ... frustrated. They’re so quick to believe the worst of me.”

Toto’s jaw clenches. “It’s disgraceful. But we’ll fight this, together. I promise you, they won’t get away with it.”

A knock at the door interrupts your moment. Toto’s assistant pokes her head in. “Sir, the lawyers are here.”

What follows is a whirlwind of legal jargon and strategy discussions. You listen intently as your shared legal team outlines the plan of attack.

“We’ll issue cease and desist orders to every outlet that’s republished the story,” the head lawyer explains. “And we’ll be filing a defamation lawsuit against BusinessF1 magazine and the reporter responsible.”

Toto nods approvingly. “Good. I want them to feel the full force of our response. This ends now.”

As the lawyers file out, you turn to Toto, a hint of worry in your eyes. “Do you think this will be enough? The damage to my reputation ...”

Toto takes your hands in his, his gaze intense. “We will rebuild it, stronger than ever. I won’t let them tarnish everything you’ve worked for.”

Meanwhile, back at the BusinessF1 office, Graham Lowell is beginning to realize the gravity of his mistake. His editor storms into the bullpen, face red with fury.

“Lowell!” He bellows. “My office, now!”

Graham follows meekly, his earlier bravado evaporating with each step. As he enters the office, he sees his editor isn’t alone. A grim-faced man in an expensive suit stands by the window.

“Sit down,” the editor growls. Graham complies, his legs feeling like jelly.

The man by the window turns, fixing Graham with a steely glare. “Mr. Lowell, I’m representing Mr. and Mrs. Wolff in this matter. I’m here to inform you that you and this publication are being sued for defamation.”

Graham’s mouth goes dry. “But ... but I had a source! They told me-”

“A source you failed to verify,” his editor cuts in. “Did you even attempt to get a comment from either party before publishing?”

Graham’s silence is damning. The lawyer continues, his voice cold and precise. “The damages we’re seeking are substantial. Your reckless journalism has caused significant harm to my clients’ reputations.”

As the full implications of his actions sink in, Graham slumps in his chair. His dreams of journalistic glory crumble before his eyes, replaced by the stark reality of legal consequences.

Outside, the F1 paddock buzzes with new excitement. Word of the impending lawsuit spreads quickly, and suddenly, those who were so quick to believe the scandal are backpedaling furiously.

You and Toto stand united before a sea of cameras, your hands clasped tightly together. Toto speaks first, his voice resonating with controlled anger.

“The allegations made against my wife and me are not only false but malicious,” he states. “We have always maintained the highest standards of professionalism and integrity in our respective roles.”

You step forward, your head held high. “I’ve worked tirelessly to earn my position as Team Principal at Scuderia Ferrari. To suggest that my success is due to anything other than my own merit is not only insulting to me but to every woman fighting to make her mark in this sport.”

The press conference continues, with you and Toto presenting a united front against the baseless accusations. As you field questions, you can see the tide of public opinion beginning to turn.

Later that evening, in the privacy of your hotel suite, you finally allow yourself to relax. Toto wraps you in a warm embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You were magnificent today,” he murmurs. “I’m so proud of you.”

You smile up at him, feeling the tension of the day start to melt away. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

Toto chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eye. “The best. Although, I must say, I’m almost disappointed we don’t actually have any juicy secrets to share. It might make things more exciting.”

You playfully swat his arm, laughing despite yourself. “I think we have enough excitement in our lives, thank you very much.”

As you settle into each other’s arms, you know that whatever challenges come your way, you’ll face them together. The storm may rage outside, but in here, in this moment, all is calm.

And somewhere across the continent, in a small, cluttered apartment, Graham Lowell stares at his laptop screen, watching his career and reputation crumble in real-time.

Social media is ablaze with backlash against him and support for you and Toto. As he scrolls through the endless comments condemning his shoddy journalism, one thought echoes in his mind.

“I am so, so screwed.”