#like the universe has righted itself again

[monarisse]

— The Hex paradox [arthur nightingale x gn!drifter]

Arthur asks, why are you still here.

You can't believe that he thinks you see them as pets.

SFW, second pov, hurt/comfort, misunderstanding, angst with a happy ending | 3.6k

ao3

There is a flex of a hand — meat under the skin is terribly tense, just like their owner. Long unclipped nails, map of the old scars with pigment just a little bit lighter than everything else. Further: burn, raw marks from laser. Further: a contaminated virus from the elder beast of Deimos. Further-

This is just a body that holds your consciousness when there are no more metallic constructs of dead people that should be controlled. It was... actually, not so horrible to unfold the truth behind the creations of Ballas. Or others. There was always something more than you in these turned-to-be-bones metallic wires and engines. Always lurking in shadow; just not enough to be found, but enough to feel the sudden twitch of a cobalt fingers or unknown step of feet. Sometimes, even more: dance with a weapon, full of joy; murmur in an unknown language; search for something behind the back. Unnecessary. Unasked. Unprovoked. But... familiar, almost to the pain in your drifting mind.

It's ironic — that they all called you The Drifter. Not The Operator — not anymore, at least. Even if there was someone, in this time of the universe, who would gladly use this title on you, it would not be the truth. And you will not allow it. Hundreds of years after all of this, there would be a child with angry eyes and a thirst for power, who changed too much and too little to be completely you again. So you give them the future and keep yourself in the past — it seems right. Especially because (it's ill-fitting, it's wrong, and it's foolish, but deep down it's what makes them and you one person), The Operator can't travel here. They ask in rare times together how it was.

And for you, it's never "was." It's still here.

———

After winter, spring and summer together, they became steadier, softer. Smoother. Happier. Amir sleeps better. Angered only by some unnecessary presence before, now Quincy finds serenity, covering your back on missions. Aoi plays on the borrowed piano from the music store, and Eleanor whispers in your mind stories that she read in the past about Great Britain. Sharpened on the edges Lettie, today holds her hand to yours, so her beasts could crawl on the skin of this body with hushed squeaks, smelling with their little noses acid and kerosene, that scaldra pours on you every day. Lettie clicks her tongue in disappointment when she sees a new wound on the meat of shoulder — because in this body you can't heal as fast as they, and it's hypocritical to come out of frame when they're — the Mighty Hex, batch of soldiers of the future, your Friends, in the end — still here. And-

It's so. Fucking. Funny. A snicker falls from your lips before you can stop it.

Lettie furrows her eyebrows. In her eyes — something eats the previous light joke and fills it with thick tension.

"What did he do?" Anita squeaks, runs to her siblings, and you just blink.

"Who?"

Oh, it's not a secret. You... can guess who she talks about. And Lettie knows it.

"¡Pendejo! You know who. Don't play an owl with me."

Sharp teeth of the future crash into each other. Smile on these lips — sugary sweet from lies. This is not something new. How many people "The Great Hero" of the New War has deceived around the years of the Narmer regime?

"Nothing. Why you-"

She smacks your arm.

"Shut up. Don't want to hear your explanations. His brooding takes its toll on you," she painstakingly cleans her fingers from void-touched blood. From all of them, Eleanor is one who can feel lies, but Leticia is... another deal. She doesn't have the need to hear your thoughts. Magic of doctors, you guess.

It's strange that she cares about you. After all, these six are a team. And the seventh angle doesn't belong in the hexagon, even if it forces itself inside.

But, for Lettie, you let it slide. Hold her palm in yours and blink a little bit slower.

"I take care of that. Promise"

———

You know it — even too much of something good can be poisonous. Like trivia: this body was not ready for the delicious food that they have here, so on one night with beer and Hex you threw up in the bathroom on the second floor. But... Compare this and... your genuine worry for Nightingale seems like a wrong play of komi, where no one could win.

Worse: you remember Umbra. His blind eye and this wordless trust between him and The Operator. This wordless care that travels with them everywhere. How could you not feel envy when this child not only found the way from Zariman 10-0, but even saved the frame that could think without Tenno? Well, now you have protoframes. They joke with you in their bones, and they help you when it becomes unbearable — this world, this time, this loop. So why, when you stretch out your hand only how you can, it turns out... It is too much. Or too little.

And... what even happens in this thick skull of his, when he abruptly leaves a conversation on KIM, then agrees on Amir's play and, after... drowns you in questions?

Broadsword

So what is it? Pity? Or are you stupid as well as crazy?

Broadsword

Stop dodging! Why. Are. You. Still. Here?!

There is a reminiscence of a dull ache from Duviri. Another swing of an axe above the head. Endless swirl of colors. And buzzing in the skull. This body trembles, unable to comprehend all emotions from a feverish mind, and you pull your hand to clean your face from... something. Anything.

How could he even ask this shit? Like you some bystander that already left them after a week of knowing, just to start a new adventure far far away. Like you didn't search abandoned markets for his favorite beer, didn't bring special ammunition to Quincy, didn't practice with Aoi and Amir on the transmission of intel. Just some guest, not important to add in their ranks.

Nidus quietly shrieks when you transfer back to him. It is something of a habit. You can't even feel the exact moment when his broad frame already exits the backroom, too busy with boiling emotions inside your mind (the biggest question there: what if Kid would be able to help them without this mess of emotions. What if Hex liked the Operator more?).

Höllvania Central Mall never sleeps. Especially now, when there are not seven, but many more breathing shadows waiting for the other day to live, so... It is a little bit of awakening — see disbelief and caution in the eyes of bystanders when the form of Nidus makes his way from the second floor to the first in one jump. But still not enough to stop the heavy steps of the infested frame.

He's in his usual spot, crouched between some ammo for his rifle and computer, and Arthur... seems a little bit surprised. Like it wasn't you who he wrote just seconds ago.

Pity. He called your carefully crafted relationships with the Hex "pity." And you, yourself: crazy and stupid.

"You could just-" There is something more behind his dazed expression, some dark undertone, but it is not about him. Not anymore.

"How could you," Nidus freezes like a mannequin in the doorframe. This body constructs itself right against Nightingale; scarred fingers cling to his shoulder to feel something else beside the usual eerie words of KIM-messages and hushed phrases under the sick sky. His brows rise up even more now, "How could you even think of something like that!"

Arthur's lips twitch.

Prince of fire Lodun, in all his ugly glory, paints your mind with blood and red.

"It's bothering me already enough time to just let it slide," his words twist something in the pit of your stomach, and Lodun's voice screeches somewhere around the frontal lobe. He shouldn't say such words to you. It is blasphemy. Lie. His hand rips your own from himself almost like you hurt him, and the scar around the palm that he left you with starts to pulsate, "You walk around the Mall like everything is okay and we're not just some dead meat to your future."

He is poisonous. Some sort of divine punishment for you, as if you didn't suffer enough for years and years of survival. There are no more light jokes, no more strange, vigorous words with the undertone of something bigger. Only a stern glance on this body.

Prince Lodun fist his finger and crack another hole in your mind walls.

Body of the Drifter winces.

"Are you fucking kidding?" teeth clacks. The jaw's strained to its limit. All of this time together, just drained in the sink, "What do you think? That I stayed here just to forget about you all in the next minute?"

He doesn't need to say it aloud. The answer is written on his face already, and it's making Lodun more loud in your mind.

"How many times have you already done that?"

Lodun roars. This head is pounding.

"What?!"

It's unbelievable. He looks at you with such a sardonic expression, as if he knows that you did something so bad that you even can't stand with him in one room, and... you want to go right in his head to fucking show Arthur how terribly wrong he is.

The worst of all: he keeps going.

"It's convenient, isn't it? To play "friends" with people you can just leave behind," his grip tightens, and Arthur steps forward. A little more and it would become a fight.

You hold back. Just a little bit, but the patience in this body already wears itself.

"So that's what's stuck in your head?" You snarl, "Not bad enough, don't you think?" One step to him, and you feel — one more, and you can crash in his metallic chest. Eyes squint, "Make me a villain more, why not? Maybe I should take control of one of you and dispose of everyone else, huh?" Luscinia weeps in the corner of your mind with these harsh words, but you are unable to hear her — spiral of Loduns anger in its all-power captured you. There is something of a hurt in Arthur's face. But you only use his own method on him. It's almost like he didn't think of this — that you could use his friends against him or even make him a bystander in the nonexistent massacre.

"You can," his voice drops lower. Grip tightens even more — soon bones in this body would be broken by his fingers. "So I advise you to stop pretending like we're important to you," Nightingale bends his head, and you can see the hues of his blind eye for the first time, "and put us all out of this misery."

You're tugging this hand away — alas, it's not working, and a wave of dull pain passes through the body. He never thought that it was as hard for you as for them.

Luscinia crying. The Sorrowful Soprano of Duviri weeping like a mother who lost something too precious for her, and with Loduns anger, it's too much to feel in one moment. Your mind makes itself the battleground of the old Tales.

You want to say: maybe you're right.

You want to say: maybe I should just leave things like they are.

But... the Hex already made themselves important for you. So much that you gladly would stay here forever, with this ancient technology and people of the past. The Operator has their people. Why shouldn't you have yours?

You take a deep breath. Close tired eyes.

"If you think that I should go, I'll do it." There is something too heavy in these words, so you can't raise this head anymore, with your gaze a little bit blurry. Not from tears, "You all became too important for me, so if it would be better for Hex, I'll be gone to my time."

You know: without you, they will all be dead in the New Year of 1999. The reactor will blow up, and Arthur will bleed on the floor of the radiated room, near the bodies of Aoi and Amir.

And you can just feel the power of Spiral, to send it all back in January, to start again.

"Don't make yourself a martyr. You can leave when you want."

That's it.

You snap.

"My fucking Sol," you twitch this head, "you are as dense as Razorback," Nightingale becomes a little bit puzzled by the unknown comparison, but you continue, "What should I say? "Sorry, Arthur, I stayed here because I know that without me you all will die." Your voice becomes louder and louder; it breaks in some words, and you feel: the dam was broken, "And I developed feelings for you, and all of this embarrassing flirting was so bad because I had never done it before? You know, because I was trapped all of my youth in an endless loop of my own death, and I didn't even think that I could feel something like that"," his grip finally becomes loose, and you break the palm from him, only to point the finger at Arthur, "Everyone knows about it. I thought that you-"

Wait. You thought that he already knew about your feelings for him — it was so obvious that Eleanor even asked you not to think about her brother on united missions. But... You shut this mouth and looked at Arthur. He's... flagger-basted. No more anger in his eyes, only genuine surprise, and — worst of all — he continues to keep silent.

"Great," you roll this eyes. Fuck it. Maybe he knew, just feelings weren't mutual, and Nightingale didn't acknowledge it, to leave things as they were. But now you spelled it all aloud, and there is only one way to turn it back. Maybe... no. You don't want it.

Sol, you should just go to the backroom and decay in some corner.

You take a deep breath.

"I'll be going to throw up somewhere on the second floor from embarrassment," you transfer back to Nidus, "don't message me," and head towards the escalator.

Worst: he didn't even stop you.

———

Quincy screams in your comm and it's almost unbearable how he just throws a stash of Scaldra supply on the garage floor, just to head back to civilians in the old supermarket without another word to you.

Blew up the tank without care of flying too far away to not be hurt; melted one of the other stashes; almost got Kalymos dead. You've gone more hectic. But it's still better than lying on a couch with nausea and a sorrowful expression (it's still better than nothing — you remind yourself — you still feel something, and it's better than apathy).

Funny: if the Kid could see you, they would be furious. Throwing some tantrum about how such a mindless thing would wreck you, The Drifter, to some pathetic ordinary human. They were always like this: more hard than you, more prideful. They could chew Arthur's words and twist them so much that the man would not be sure what he even wants anymore. But the Operator is too far away. And you are too arrogant to travel back to them. Lotus would calm you down, embrace you in a motherly hold; however... you don't want it right now. One thing that surely helps: killing. Scaldra or Techrot — doesn't matter.

"I'm worried about you," tells Aoi when the sharp talons of Garuda give her a package full of CDs, "I heard your argument with Arthur." She seems a little bit sheepish, but... you know, that you actually can trust her. Of all Hex, Aoi is the most understandable. You can tell her all your worries, and she wouldn't laugh or write off your feelings. "It's hard with him sometimes, but Arthur cares about us all," of course he is, "you included."

You hum. The sound comes a little bit muffled.

"I'm sure." No, you're not, but there is no need to talk about it right now. Aoi squints her eyes in disbelief. "Sorry, Aoi. It's between me and him and i-"

"Drifter," his voice is too loud in Aoi's lair, but you don't turn to Nightingale. Maybe he will disappear if you don't acknowledge his presence. "We need to talk," Morohoshi shows some kind of gesture that you don't recognize, with her big finger pointed out, and she shakes her head, smiling.

If there were only two of you, you'd find a reason to just vanish in the air.

Damn. Why is it harder than killing an archon with a bow?

"Alright," you sign. Garuda turns around to Excalibur and he is already heading somewhere in an unknown destination.

What does he want to say? That he made a decision to stay with you on friendly terms so that you could save Hex's lives? That he'll save them by himself? Good luck with that. You'll still be here, even if he wants to banish you from others, just not in his line of sight. And when clocks turn 23:56 without catastrophe, you'll let them go and transfer yourself back to Loid, to solve problems of Deimos.

It's some sort of warehouse — you've never been here before, and it's strange how music from the hall becomes only disoriented muffles when Arthur closes the door. You stand a little bit farther from him than usual — not to make yourself comfortable here.

Arthur leans on some kind of cabinet.

Heavy silence falls on you two.

And when you think that this was a bad idea — to come here with him — Arthur starts talking.

"You know that all my life I was a military man," he spins that damn sword — Arthur's voice... not so loud. He speaks almost carefully, like his words already were chosen before this talk, and... you don't know what to think about. Emotion without name, without personification in Tales of Duviri, born in a pit of stomach, "and... I think I was ready to leave some things behind," he's not looking at you; his gaze stops on scratches on the floor, "because there was not enough time, or... I didn't try to understand others more."

You gulp. Garuda's scales tremble.

"And I tend to search for enemies where there aren't any." Finally, Arthur looks at you. There is more than tiredness from endless nights; quiet longing, a hint of uncertainty, something... tender.

He sighs.

"And," Arthur chuckles, and you grit your own teeth, thrashing about to step from Garuda or stay in her bones, "I'm not even entirely human. I mean, look at me," he gestures at the metal skin of his body, "not a usual choice of the mass."

Still, it's better to talk face to face. Especially on topics like that, you make a decision in one moment, to reappear beside him in another.

"Arthur," your own voice strained with hoarse hesitation, "you're a good person. You shouldn't talk about yourself like that." There is a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips, and Arthur blinks a little bit slower.

"You're always saying such things that give me hope." Spinning of his blade comes to an end, and the warehouse becomes more... steady. Peaceful.

Nightingale clears his throat.

"Did you mean it?" comes almost in a whisper, "that you have... feelings. For me."

You tear your gaze from him and put it down, not able to look in his eyes. Yes. It is definitely harder than killing an archon.

Fingers dip in the elbows.

"Yes."

Nothing more. Just a short, clear answer to put any misunderstanding behind.

Remarkably, the stomach stops swirling. All of this body became... calm, like all the worries just disappeared with this one word. Even if Arthur doesn't feel the same, you are glad that you two talked about it. Finally, you can open a new page in-

"It's mutual."

What?

You snap this head to him, and, for the first time in an eternity, you see Arthur smiling. Without some undertone in it, without pressure. Just a clear, happy smile on his scarred face, and you even see some little dimples on his cheeks.

And, maybe it's too early and you should wait some time to do such things, but these hands — your hands — reach out to him, to bury your fingers in his hair and press an uncertain but full-of-burning-emotions kiss to his lips.

It's raw — skin to skin, first too gentle to feel something more than the texture of others, but with every passing moment, all of this bottling adoration for him seeps through the motion. And Arthur answers you, laying his metallic palm in the crook of your neck, to deepen the kiss — he opens his mouth, presses you to himself more, to finally give you something that you wanted too long to confess.

In reality, it's still better than in imagination.

When there is not enough air in your lungs, when your shuddered inhale mixes with his own and both of you break away for a moment, you press your forehead to Arthur's, holding onto his shoulder.

"You know," he starts after a moment of silence, with a voice a little bit rough on the edges. You open your eyes and move your head a little bit to look at him once more. Cold fingers start to play with the strands of your hair. "If someone had told me that I would want to kiss someone from the future who trespassed my mind, I think I would kill them," Arthur breathlessly laughing and-

"Sol, you're unbelievable." You smack his shoulder and move to get out from his grip, but Nightingale presses you even more into himself, and you feel how his laughter starts to seep through your bones.

"You're stuck with me now. No refunds, sweets." Arthur pressed a chaste kiss on the crown of your head, and... you hug him, closing your eyes back.

The Harbinger of Joy, Mathilda, smiles for the first time in what feels like eternity.

[angelsdean]

thoughts based on this anon to @queermania

no but really they should’ve had jack have to kill Michael!dean and not be able to bc despite telling Cas he’d kill dean if it meant saving the world from Michael when it comes down to it he. Can’t :( that’s one of his dads ! And he knows dean wouldn’t fault him for doing it. He’s right when he said it’s what dean would want. Oh self-sacrificing dean. But jack can’t do it, so instead he uses up all his power and burns his soul to expel michael out of dean and kill him. And hey, sacrificing souls for family…that’s something dean understands too. He doesn’t Like it but he gets it. Then later, the parallel to this comes around when dean’s gotta kill soulless!jack but he can’t !!! Jack tells him it’s ok, he understands. Just like dean understood why he needed to be killed as Michael!dean. But that’s his kid!! So he tosses the gun away bc he doesn’t care if jack doesn’t have a soul, he’s still worth saving, still worth loving. He’s still family. And, god, they really do love in similar ways. Anyways dean gets down on the ground in front of kneeling jack and pulls him close, hugs him to his chest and says, “it’s ok, I got you, kid.” And THEN, chuck burns out Jack’s eyes while dean’s holding him, powerless to do anything. And dean shuts his eyes instinctively at the burst of light and he hears Cas’s anguished scream shake the world and he doesn’t want to open his eyes, thinks if he keeps them closed it won’t be real. Anyways, it all could’ve been done SO much better and for maximum grief and despair. Esp during the divorce arc to have them BOTH deeply mourning jack instead of having all of dean’s grief be focused on Mary which, tbh, didn’t really fit.

[kulvefaggoth]

I'm excited for fanfest and the next xpac announcement but have become slightly afraid of 7.0 since i was talking with a friend the other day and we reached the conclusion FFXIV is at a very similar point point to where WoW was before Cataclysm 🫠🫠🫠🫠

[joelsgoldrush]

“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you. 

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.” 

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend. 

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong 

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair 

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison 

Allison: 

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch 

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss. 

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.” 

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features. 

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules. 

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up. 

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail. 

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients. 

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment. 

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you. 

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him. 

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his. 

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat. 

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic. 

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on. 

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?” 

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days. 

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you. 

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble. 

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[froody]

I guess what I think is that suicide is a symptom of a problem and not the problem to fix, you know what I mean? To stop suicides you have to stop people’s mental health from getting to the point where they consider it, you have to treat the disease, trying to treat the symptom itself is almost completely useless.

For instance, Japan has spent a great deal of money on anti-suicide infrastructure, doing genuinely cartoonishly things like putting rollers on bridge railings so you can’t climb over them and slide right off, putting blue lights in the subway so it’s harder to see to throw yourself in front of a train. It’s not working. Japan’s suicide rate rose again in 2022. They are not addressing the root causes and stressors in their citizen’s lives and social barriers to mental health care and psychiatric medication.

It’s the same with universities in America, many have spent an exorbitant amount of money on turning their dorms into psych ward like environments. Anti-hanging chairs that you can’t stand on, bunks you can’t hang yourself from, slanted doorknobs etc. And yet suicide is still the second leading cause of death for college students. They make no attempts to make college easier, to make pausing and resuming your studies better, to make the pressure of an academic environment feel less life or death. They make no accommodations for the individual. They just make it a little harder to hang yourself in a few rooms on campus and call it a day, say they’re being proactive in terms of mental health.

[thewhizzyhead]

you know now that I'm like in my 2nd year of college and everything, I'm starting to realize that I have not actually been talking much about my college life here. like, damn, we got a lot to catch up on

[luveline]

I wanted to know how Aaron Hotchner would react to discovering the existence of a daughter (something from college perhaps), she would be his copy both in appearance and personality

—Hotch has a surprise visitor and the world spins on a new axis. daughter!reader, 2.2k

readers physical traits like hair and skin colour are not mentioned, but she is described as looking like her mother (also not described) and as sharing some characteristics with Hotch!<3 I also altered canon so that Hotch and Haley take a break at college 

“There is a kid in your office.” 

“Morgan?” 

Hotch pulls his phone away to check. D. Morgan blinks on his phone screen. It’s a slightly absurd sentence. 

“There’s a child in my office?” he asks, returning the phone to his ear. 

“I’m standing with her right now. She won’t tell me who she is. Anderson let her in.” 

“How old?” Hotch asks, scratching his cheek. God forbid he steal two minutes of peace in the bathroom. 

“How old are you, sweetheart?”

“I’m twenty two,” a feminine voice says. 

“You said kid,” Hotch says, frowning. 

“Anyone under twenty five is a kid to me. Are you on your way?” 

He sighs. “Yeah,” he says, and hangs up, dropping the small body of his phone into his pocket. Twenty two isn’t a kid, it’s a year younger than Spencer was when he started at the BAU; Hotch doesn’t underestimate the intelligence of young adults. Why you’re in his office is another thing. He can’t have one day without inconvenience. 

Hotch makes his way into the BAU office and up the stairs to the half level where his own office resides. Morgan leans against the door with his arms crossed, standing to attention when Hotch passes. 

“Thanks, Morgan,” Hotch says. 

Morgan nods, sending a curious gaze at you before he leaves. 

You’re dressed very formally for someone your age, but it’s not as though this is different from the norm of the building. You have on a dark shirt with a starched collar and a fitted blazer, a crisp skirt, and leather Mary Jane heels, one pressed flat to the back of the other. 

You stand when he comes in. 

“Mr. Hotchner?” you ask. 

“Yes?” he asks. 

You have a small file in your hand. Paper with worn edges pokes out of one side as though you’d been looking through it and put it hastily away, and the Manila file itself is fresh.

“Do we know one another?” he asks. 

You look familiar. It’s possible he would’ve known your parents —it could make sense. A colleague or acquaintance assumed he could help you with something, and you in your naivety you made your way in. 

“I think you know my mother.” 

“And she was?” he prompts. Not impolite, but needing to move forward. He’s very busy. 

You take a small step back. “Mr. Hotchner,” you say again, something nervous in your eyes as you lift your chin, “I don’t want to waste your time. I’m aware I might sound foolish, or that this… might not be something you want to hear, but. My mother told me you met in college, and that…” 

You bite your lip. 

He’s incredibly confused now. Not one to let a stranger suffer whether in real pain or awkwardness, he opens his hand. “Can I?” 

“Yes, sir,” you say.

You don’t want to pass it over, but you do as he’s asked. 

The photograph is a shock, held with a paperclip to a magnolia sheet of paper. It’s of Hotch, undoubtedly, a much younger Hotch sitting on a bench with a woman he recognises immediately. He only looks at her, and he knows why you’re here, and he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

“Do you remember her?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t answer.

“She says you’re the only man that could… possibly be my father.” You hold your hands behind your back. 

He lifts the photograph. There’s not much else to look at, only your photo ID, your birth certificate where he is glaringly not listed, as well as your mother’s birth certificate, and proof of her enrollment at George Washington University. 

You look a little teary. Trying very hard to be sober, as you have been since he laid eyes on you, but clearly getting more and more upset as time goes on. He’s feeling a similar ache, a searing pain in his chest, staring at you from over the Manila folder to really, really look at you. He swears he can see something of himself in your face, though he’s not sure what. Perhaps it’s wishful thinking. 

There’s certainly some of him in your frown. 

“I think you should sit down,” he says softly. 

You sit down immediately in the chair you’d inhabited a few minutes ago. 

He’s not sure what to say. Are you sure it could only be him? Is your mother? But you’re looking at him with an expression he practically trademarked, whether he wanted to or not, and the proof is in his hands: you’re your mother’s daughter, and Hotch would have slept with her almost twenty three years ago. He doesn’t need much time to do the math. 

“I realise my word alone isn’t a lot to go on, sir, so– so if you’d want to, I’ll of course submit for a paternity test. Or if you want nothing to do with me, that’s okay too.” 

“It’s not okay,” he says, closing your folder. 

Your eyes widen just a touch. 

“Can I sit with you?” he asks. 

You push your chair back to make lots of room. He sits in the chair besides yours, cautious that being across a desk from you is insensitive, or cold, at least. 

He looks at you and he’s sure that you’re his. The longer you sit there, the more sure he becomes.

“I do want a paternity test,” he says, watching your tight nod. 

He believes you. And truly, if he was unsure of what you’re saying he’d still give you grace now, because the first time you meet your father should be full of love. He should’ve been there to hold you in one arm twenty two years ago, he should’ve been there for you through everything he’s already missed. 

“But I believe you,” he says.

“You do?” 

“I’m a very good judge of character. I know that you believe what you’re telling me completely,” he says.

“How?”

“When you’re nervous your hand drifts to your chest, but you didn’t move when you suggested I’m your father. You haven’t once checked the door or looked toward the camera in the corner of the room.” And the full truth. “I want to believe you.” 

“Why?” you ask.

“You look like your mother, but…” He lets himself smile. “You sound like me.” 

You laugh under your breath. “Hopefully not so deep.” 

“I’ve had it described to me as mellifluous.” 

“I’ve wanted to hear your voice since I can remember. My mom didn’t talk about you much, but I’ve always wondered. She told me she didn’t know who you were, and…”

“And you believed her. Any child would do the same.” 

“She’s made mistakes.” You look to him with eyebrows gently pinched, asking him to understand. “But I looked you up. When she told me your name, I looked for you online, and… I always thought I never needed you, even if I wanted to know you. I thought you might want to know me. I thought that a man like you would want to know.”

There’s something you’re not saying. Hotch doesn’t mind. “Of course I want to know you.” 

You chance a smile at him. “You really believe me?” 

“You were expecting me to turn you away.” 

“No, just– I’m not a kid, even if your colleague said so. And I’m not an image of you, I don’t have your eyes. All I have is that photograph. There's not much evidence to go on.” 

He sees no reason why a young girl like you would walk into his office and tell him who you are. Self preservation insists on a paternity test, and soon —UnSubs haven’t ever done something so conniving as imitating a family member yet, but there’s no prediction for evil— but Hotch has an inherent sense of the truth.  

“What do you do?” he asks. 

You frown. “Sorry?” 

“What do you do?” he asks again, “You’re dressed like a lawyer.” 

You nod with a smile you’re pushing into a flat line unsuccessfully. “I’m at GWU. For law, like you and my mom.” 

“She only just told you who I am?” He speaks each word carefully. 

“The photo fell out of an old album, and I had a funny feeling. I asked her about it and she said I’m too much like you. She admitted it like the secret had been eating her alive.” You look at your hand on the armrest. “We aren’t getting along right now.” 

“I don’t know why she wouldn’t tell you. Or me,” he says honestly. 

“I don’t know either.” 

Hotch is expecting a lot more awkwardness than he feels as he puts his hand over yours. You stay very still. 

“Thank you for coming here today.” He gives your hand the barest squeeze and stands. “Have you eaten? I could take you out for dinner,” he suggests. 

You stand with him. “Are you serious?” you ask, gentle and pleased at once. 

“I think you have a lot to tell me, and I’d love to listen.” 

“You’re not working?” 

Sometimes, sometimes, there are things that can be worked around or held on the back burner. You and Hotch go for lunch. 

—

Aaron Hotchner knows many important people. Your paternity test takes a day, less than twenty four hours from the time you both submit samples, but you have a class you can’t miss and he’s sure you’re nervous, so you don’t meet again for two days regardless. By then, you both know the results. (And Aaron’s had to have a very strange conversation with his wife, in which she doesn’t believe him, and then has to sit down.) 

He can admit to being far more protective of you once he knows the truth for sure, though he knows it before the results come back. You’re his daughter, and he’s left you without a father for two decades of your life, your formative years, time he can never get back. 

He doesn’t even know what to do. How can he make up for it? Twenty two years of birthday cards? He feels like buying you a diamond necklace with a stone for each year, and then he wants to buy you a house, but mostly he wants to give you a hug. He thinks about it for so long the morning before he’s scheduled to meet you again that it makes him as upset as he’s ever been in his life, desperate to say sorry to you and your mother and furious with her for keeping you a secret. 

He thinks of all those years without an inkling of your existence, and now you’re the only thing he can think about. His remorse makes him sick. 

You’re smiling when you see him. For a millisecond, you look like Jack. 

“Hi, Mr. Hotchner!” you say, standing from the table, your formal dress and cardigan pressed neatly, your hands held behind your back.

‘Mr. Hotchner’ will need to be fixed quickly, though he won’t force you to call him anything else. He can’t help himself, however.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says softly. 

You pause, and you laugh. “This is weird.” 

He doesn’t mean to make it weirder, but he opens his arms, and he waits for an indication that you might not want a hug before he leans in to hold you. You’re still so young. There’s still time for him to be a good father to you. 

He can’t say everything he needs to in his hug, and at the end of the day he’s a stranger to you; you probably don’t want him to hug you for too long. But he rubs your back, and he promises himself that he won’t let you down twice.

Your arm curls tentatively behind his back. For a second, you press your face to his shoulder and breathe. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling away. 

Your lip twitches to one side like his would when presented with such heavy sincerity. “I’m okay. How did, um, Haley take the news?” 

“She just wants to meet you, okay? You’re part of my family now.” 

You give no indication you’ve heard what it is he’s saying to you, or whether you like it as you sit down at the dinner table. He quite likes that some way, somehow, you’ve become like him, but he wonders if he might not love it so much when he asks how your mom is taking this new development and you just smile. 

“We’re going to tell Jack about everything this weekend,” he adds. “He’ll be excited, if no one else.” 

“And Haley doesn’t mind?” 

“She’s not going to ask you to babysit anytime soon, honey, but no, of course she doesn’t. He should meet his sister before she’s too old for legos.” 

You actually laugh. 

Dad humour transcends age, and for that, Hotch is grateful. 

—

only after I finished did I wonder if I misinterpreted the request and this was supposed to be x reader with a shared daughter so if that’s the case I’m sorry original requester!! and I can totally write that if that’s what you meant 🫶❤️

[voidhope]

The Other Woman

(Part 2 FINALE)

—

Synopsis: Miguel had left Y/N for another version of his old wife in hopes of getting his old life back. To only realize the mistakes he’s made.

Link to Part 1

Pair: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!reader

Warnings: very heavy mental health, ANGST LIKE A LOT OF ANGST, ALL OF THIS IS ANGST, mentions of death/almost dying, long term establish relationship, cheating, swearing, therapy, physical fight, blood, feral protective miguel?

—

A/N: hello again! this one is more heartbreaking and longer than the first part oof… Very low dialog up until closer towards the end! wanted to just get through telling the story itself and the emotions. It’s just a very heavy storyline!! I want to say thank you so so much for showing so much support for part 1 i had no idea it would receive that much attention :O !! i wrote this out kinda fast as i didn’t want to loose the momentum of the idea. so apologies for any mistakes! all feedback is greatly appreciated ~

—————————————————

You used to make Miguel coffee everyday, with one cream two sugars, and he would nag about how he hated the taste. It was to your liking, not his. As you would sneakily take sips out of his mug while working next to him. Why didn’t you just get your own coffee? You claimed you could never finish it and just wanted a taste out of his. Miguel would roll his eyes at you every time he caught you but he adored it. He had secretly grown to love the way you made it and had become his only way of making coffee after meeting you.

Now as this version of his older wife made it the way he is suppose to like coffee, bland and straight, he found himself bothered by it. Going as far to correct her even though this was what he had been claiming to have missed so much. He was now seeing himself teaching someone else how to love him like you did…

He was only a shell of the man he was when he had Gabriella. Even though the copy of his old wife has her same personality, the relationship couldn’t be exactly how it was before because he had changed so much. You had helped him become whole again. His tastes and likings had all switched to everything about you. The charm he found in his old wife doesn’t hold a light to you now and he was getting frustrated. He had wanted this so badly. He felt like those babies who whine and cry wanting to eat a lemon and once they get their way they realize the sour truth.

Miguel never truly realized what it was like to loose you until three weeks after he told you the truth. Over the years the idea of losing you terrified him but he only ever thought of it being in death. He never considered separation when everything was perfect for both of you then. There were times he believed that you were made just for him and he treated you like his queen. Which you truly were to him in his spider society. Why would he ever throw that away? Look at what he did.

He gave himself every excuse in the book before you knew he was cheating on you. ‘This is only for research.’ he would think every time he found himself back in that universe. As everyone knew he was so serious about his work, obviously this is just him getting to know more about certain universes and canons. Lyla was the only one seeing straight through him knowing where he was actually going. Things kept tumbling and the more he found out about the place and spent time with her the more his grief and yearning returned. It was all just there, so reachable.

There was a time his mind tried to snap him back out of it while cheating on you and made him realize the guilt. The first time he kissed this woman you were there in his mind. He came home right after and held you without saying a word. You never questioned him, just showed him comfort as much as you could. Lightly stroking his back, you never over stepped or pushed him when he was vulnerable with you. He only closed his eyes and held onto you tighter processing how you were always too good for him. He was converting to living two different lives; his old self during the day and then coming home to you. He didn’t want to let go of either at the time.

Once he found out he could safely have Gabriella again was when he became distant with you. The shame of using you for research made him become stoic. He didn’t want to admit how wrong he was treating you. All while you were always being so loyal and trusting towards him. Things were slowly slipping through the cracks and he knew he couldn’t up keep it. He wished he could have had that conversation with you so much differently but it was over. Now he had his old life back, a dream he had his mind set on.

He ignored the shakiness in his hands when he returned to her after letting you go. ‘It’s all for the best.’ is what he would repeat in his mind as a mantra. His new girlfriend truly had no idea who he really was or what his background was. Miguel continued to feed her lies to the point where he even started believing them himself getting too lost in avoiding what he’s done. He believed he was happy as he spent time with her.

When she got too close to finding the truth after finding his wedding ring in one of his pockets, he set her off course from it by revealing his spider identity and taking her to HQ. This was the day that everything felt like it was crashing around him. Being reminded of his marriage, having to face his friends with his new lover, sharing his personal spider life, his work with someone who wasn’t you. He excused himself rushing to an unused office room while his chest was tightening. Pupils dilating as he realized it was his first time having a panic attack.

Nevertheless he continued to push it all aside and act completely normal with his girlfriend. He was feeling your absence the most while working. You had became an extension of him. He had trained you from scratch and you helped him build this society he has now. You knew the ins and outs of everything and fought perfectly alongside him. Now that he was on his own he let his girlfriend be there for him when he got stressed, but there always was a knot in his stomach he never could get rid of.

The more his mental health ate at him late at night the more he considered searching out for you. There was no closure between both of you and he never got to listen to how you feel. What was your opinion on all that happened? Do you hate him?

He wanted to speak with someone so badly but he dug himself in a hole too deep. You were gone, he was lying through his teeth to this poor woman he’s kept for some fantasy, he felt too ashamed to say anything to his friends, he would rather die if all his workers found out how big of a piece of shit he is. Anytime Lyla tried peeping a word that wasn’t work related he would snap. He had pushed everyone away and now he just felt alone.

Regardless he would wake up in the morning and swallow all his dark feelings. He would remember his grief of when he lost his family and it would put him back in the moment. He has another chance. He was happy with the direction he was going in now.

Right?

—

The day he found out you were at HQ he felt his heart stop. He was mid mission trying to call for Lyla but she wouldn’t answer. Frustrated he tried looking into what was happening only to see her busy having a conversation with you. It felt like something took over him when he opened a portal in less than a second. Without thinking nor wasting a heartbeat he rushed back. Just a glimpse of you, maybe just to hear a word out of your mouth. The feeling of having you back in HQ was making him ignore all his insecurities. How he would coward at the thought of trying to reach out to you before. You were in his home, your home, and the thought drove him wild.

You were already long gone though. Lyla stared at him not saying a word. The quietness in the room making his ears ring but his thoughts were screaming in his head. He stood there frozen still trying to recollect himself. He was the one that left you, what is wrong with him?

Again he went back and forth in his own head trying to convince himself ‘You wanted this.’ but if he did why is he feeling like someone just killed a puppy in front of him? Why is he here fighting with his self if this is really his dream? Why did he try chasing after you? The wounds of his past grief were too deep. He never took the time to properly heal and now look at what he’s become.

“Miguel, what’s this?” He was startled turning around seeing his girlfriend holidng your watch and skimming through the divorce paperwork addressed to him.

There was no more hiding, no more lying. He swallowed hard even though his throat was dry. He let everything he had kept away rise to surface. It hurt him to see the beautiful face his old wife shared contort into such anger and pain while finding the truth.

She didn’t stay, but for some reason he wasn’t upset. Though he longed for his daughter, he knew it would have never been the same now. He finally closed the door on his past. His heart had made the choice this time but it’s too late. Now grasping onto the divorce papers left by you, emptiness spread through his soul.

—

You on the other hand did not find yourself crying by yourself on a rooftop for long. The shift in the air from your arrival alerted the local spider-man immediately.

“It didn’t work out, did it?” He crouched down next to you as he noticed your watch gone and your missing wedding band.

Peter Parker knew both you and Miguel. Your husband had come to do many rounds of research in this universe when he took you. Eventually offering this Peter a spot in the society, which he politely declined due to just being busy enough here. You both never spoke much but always had an appreciation for each other.

“Do you need a place to crash at?” He continued while trying to get you to look at him. Reaching his hand towards you.

You had absolutely no one and you had been gone so long you couldn’t even go back to the little you had. When you met Miguel you didn’t hesitate to never look back and now it filled you with regret. How naive were you to put all your trust and reliance on him.

You took Peter’s hand. You were ready to start your own life and be your own person now.

—

Peter Parker was nice enough to let you stay with him as long as you needed it. You both had became ‘besties!’ as he would love to poke at you. The first month with him you were a disaster really but he showed you how he liked to cope using his spider abilities.

The first thing he helped you with was getting a new suit. Your old one resembled too much to Miguel’s and you felt suffocated every time you put it on. Peter had taught you to use your current emotional pain on whichever sad little villain was making trouble out in Brooklyn that night.

“Come on, we got multiverse spider-woman helping me keep these streets clean now!” He would taunt at the men while watching you easily take them out a little bit too aggressively. His feet kicking up and down while he sat on the side of a building watching you. The crime rate did go down a bit once word got around how strong your punch was. Peter’s just happy he can now spend some nights to himself.

You got yourself a job at the mart on the corner to help cover bills for Peter and save up. You were grateful enough the owners never batted an eye when you would disappear during a shift to either suddenly go cry uncontrollably or beat the shit out of someone at a nearby robbery. Next thing you were enrolling yourself back in university, wanting to finish that degree you never did.

It wasn’t too long that some of your older spider friends would stop by to check in on you. Seeing them was difficult sometimes, you were internally itching to ask about Miguel. Things were going okay for you on a very slow path of breathing step by step. You never wanted to feel that hurt again and so you very well pretend like Miguel didn’t exist if you could.

You couldn’t ignore the hurt resurfacing when you passed couples on the street. Or when you found yourself going to fidget with your wedding ring just to remember it’s gone. You can’t just move on from a relationship that was so deeply apart of you and lasted so long. You gave everything to him and it will take you much time to get yourself to build trust again.

After two semesters, you finally had your graduation. All the things you learned while in Earth-928 paid off as you barley had to study. Passing top of the class, you immediately got an offer for an internship opportunity with Alchemax and was able to get an introduction tour of the building beforehand.

What you hadn’t realized was that Alchemax had been looking for that girl who snuck into their offices a couple years ago. Who made another dimension’s spider appear and then went missing herself soon after. They had kept as close tabs on you as they could and how foolish you were to think your little break in wouldn’t come back to bite you. The moment you stepped foot back in their building, it was over for you.

—

Miguel had spent a whole year in much deserving therapy. Nothing could stop the embarrassment he felt when Peter B signed him up with HQ’s best spider-therapist after 3 months of constant out bursts. No one could come near the man when he felt like he had lost everything. Those first initial months were difficult for everyone around him.

Therapy did help, he hates to admit it, but it was a very rough ride. He finally was able to understand his deep inner term oil and heal his issues but moving on from you? No, he could never.

You were the only one who had sincerely stood by his side, always rooting for him. He never fell out of love with you despite of everything that he did. He just pushed everything down too deep and was blinded by obsession. Till now he could never deny that he still loves you. Maybe if he just would have went to therapy years ago instead of acting out on unsolved grief none of this would have happened. The guilt always making him toss and turn at night.

He would have big temper tantrums when he would find his coworkers going to visit you time to time and not sharing any details. He needed to know if you’re okay. Did you already move on? He longed to find you and speak with you but he knew he wasn’t ready yet. He was so self destructive and this was what he deserved.

Everyone avoided him completely when he overheard someone saying you were living with Peter Parker. Fighting crime with him and having a cute little home life. Peter followed you around now like a puppy. Miguel did not take the news well at all. Let’s just say, the large bill replacement for his monitor screens was what snapped him out of that rage.

He also wanted to strangle Hobie Brown every time he saw a glint in his eye when your name was mentioned around. Yet Miguel couldn’t hate the kid either, as Hobie was one of the people to try help repair the damage he did to you. How badly he just wanted to hold you and shield you in his arms from any other people taking you from him as if he wasn’t the idiot to let you go in the first place.

Everyone’s big, powerful, scary boss was really just a grumpy, wallowing-in-self-pity, sensitive, lonely man now. Mention your name too much to him and watch him start crying or take it out on whatever he could find nearest to him. He would some nights scroll through your wedding photos while listening to your last tracked log with Lyla. Your words cutting through him deep like long sharp knives. How he urged to go tell you it was all wrong and how guilty he was for making you feel like this.

Despite it all, he still believed in being the best of the best. He used his work to distract himself from his sorrows, to become numb. Even though his divorce paperwork were set next to him on his desk to remind him the pain. He never signed it.

—

“We can’t tell him!” Jessica gritted through her teeth. Small group of spider-people were hovered around Lyla taking in the new found information.

“Her canon events have always been uncertain, we can’t just stop and fix this one?” Gwen Stacy suggested in hopes.

“We have never prevented a canon event of hers or the people involved in it. It could be even more dangerous than a regular canon.” Peter B spoke grimly.

“When ‘as danger ever stopped us?” Hobie spoke up.

“Everyone get your gear.” Lyla added to the stress of the situation.

—

You couldn’t open your eyes properly with a strong blinding light being held above you. Arms and legs secured on top of a metal surgical table. You could feel the warmth of blood scattered on certain parts of your body, slowly starting to dry. It was a mix of yours and the people you had tried fighting through to get out of here when you realize the trap you were reeled into. Different people in lab coats poked and pried all around you while you were tied. Your mask was thrown on another table and your suit had large gashes across it.

Soon you also could feel the presence of Peter Parker being brought to the room, thrown slumped in the corner breathing heavily. They had gotten you too good. They knew everything and had planned this so detailed.

“Now you’re going to help me open the multiverse.” Kingpin loomed around you. All you could feel was searing pain as a laser aimed right at your chest.

—

Miguel was already staring out the window to the glowing night lights of Nueva York when he saw a big hole appear in sight of the skyline. His eyebrows furrowed while he was trying to process what he was looking at. It wasn’t a second later when all alarms started going off in his office.

“Qué carajos?” He exclaimed seeing the alerts of a possible universe collapse. “Lyla! Why wasn’t this being taken care of already?”

“I already sent people.”

“Then what are they doing?” He yelled. His confusion and anger only furthered when he saw a red alarm for a canon event.

“Canon event?” He whispered to himself. He always knew when these were happening, there were none scheduled for today. There was no way he would let one passed him, it’s not like this could magically appear? His jaw dropped in realization… a new canon event.

“Lyla, tell me the truth. Why wasn’t this reported to me?” He made the atmosphere turn cold. She knew he already figured it out.

“A new canon event was received this morning being given to Peter Parker. Of Y/N L/N’s death.” The words from Lyla made Miguel’s body go still. His eyes raced side to side while he processed it.

“No!” He roared, a fist slamming into the nearby desk. His massive strength breaking it in half.

“Boss, you can’t go on this mission only using your emotions.” Lyla warned. However Miguel was already half way stepping through a portal to find you.

He appeared, watching his team struggle to shut down the machine causing the collapse. Outnumbered by the amount of Alchemax puppets. A different kind of rage filled him as he saw you, for the first time in a year, suffering. Miguel was never one to act reckless while on missions but he had no plan here and just ran off the pure adrenaline the fight or flight had hit him with.

His claws tore into the backs of his enemies as he jumped beast-like across the room. Not hesitating spilling blood across the wall while he took everyone down as fast as he could. His team could only watch wide eye with an unsettling fear as they saw Miguel lose himself to his spider sense. While he fought they took the opportunity to take apart the machine.

Miguel was panting heavily, pupils blown wide glowing red, and fangs dripping with venom as the room slowly silenced. Kingpin laid on the floor slowly trying to drag himself after being beaten to a pulp. It was over. Peter B stopped him from doing anything further. Knowing Miguel would kill the man, Peter B let the team finish up to give Kingpin to authorities. Miguel turned frantically to look at you seeing the other spiders step away. Peter Parker was hunched over you in tears. Miguel fought the urge to snap at Peter and grab his hands off of you.

Your vision was too blurry and everything felt like it was burning. A shape that seemed too familiar came into your peripheral vision and you tried to push yourself up.

“Miguel?” Was the last thing you croaked before slumping back passing out. Miguel catching you in his arms before you could hurt yourself further.

“It’s her time.” Jessica spoke behind him. Yet he was refusing to let go. He had never defied the way the timeline worked since he created his society. He would never break the rules and you both had promised each other before not to. If there was a situation like this you both agreed to save the universe first. How stupid was he to think he would listen to that now facing it in-front of him.

He never got to tell you what happened. He never got to apologize. He never got to tell you one more time that he loved you. Even if you in result just spat in his face, at least he was able to talk to you one more time. You were never a placeholder or someone to fill a hole in his heart. His whole heart belonged to you and he couldn’t let you go thinking you didn’t mean anything to him. No matter the consequences, he needed to tell you.

“Call all the teams to control the damage of a possible universe collapse.” He turned to Jess with Y/N tightly in his arms. The spider-people watched speechless as he opened a portal and disappeared.

—

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—

—

—

—

Two weeks you laid motionless in the HQ’s medbay.

The clean up after breaking the canon was a little intense. They were able to get it under control as the event started to fade from your timeline once you were returned and starting to heal in Earth-928.

The spider society would remain silent near the medbay. The lights always being dimmed and hushed whispers between staff to not bother the distressed O’Hara. He refused to leave.

Your Peter Parker had now joined the team, much to Miguel’s dismay. Everyday your friends would come in and check to see how you were. Some telling stories about their day or any gossip updates you missed, in hopes that it would get you to wake up. They would ignore the gloomy Miguel who was basically glued to the seat next to you not saying a word to anyone.

At night Miguel would play with your fingers and softly stroke your hair all while pleading “Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me. Por favor mi alma.” He knew it wasn’t his place to beg this after what he did, but he didn’t mind the words falling on deaf ears.

Miguel hadn’t eaten in days, he felt too nauseous from anxiety to even try anything. Pavitr had done the favor to bring you and Miguel’s favorite empanadas from a small street vendor downtown. Hoping to get Miguel to at least try the food before he ended up in a hospital bed next to you due to starvation.

You started to blink open your eyes, spots surrounding your vision. You could hear a soft breathing to your right side and you slowly felt your sense come back one by one. It felt like you just had a really rough nap.

“Oh my god that smells so good.” You moaned, sitting yourself up to try to look at where the smell of food was coming from.

You were met with a wide eyed Miguel holding a box of empanadas. His jaw slacked open acting as if he’s seen a ghost looking at you. Confusion hit you first for a second and then you start to panic.

Why was he here? Why was your ex-husband sitting right here? You started to push away from him and Miguel caught on to your panic.

“No, no, no mi amor stop.” He tried calming you. “You’re hurt, you’re going to open your stitches.”

You suddenly remembered everything that happened right before you blacked out. At that moment you forgot the hurt you had towards your ex-lover. Gathering yourself you just stared at him. “I’m suppose to be dead.”

Tears rimmed your eyes. Why did it feel like life just hated you so much?

Miguel engulfed you in his arms as you started to cry. You didn’t care right now. You had ached for this feeling again, so alone, with the comfort Miguel used to bring you. Just for a moment you could pretend like how it was before.

“We can’t do this Miguel.”

He knew what you were thinking. He didn’t want to let you leave his arms yet, as he let his self hold harder and push your head closer into his the crook of his shoulder. The tickle of your breath on his neck, he just wanted this forever.

“She left. Almost a year ago.” He let out to you. A big weight coming off of his chest. You pulled back from him and looked up into his eyes while you watched him avoid your gaze. You felt bad to say you could feel a bit of satisfaction bubbling in you.

“Good, she deserved better.”

“So did you.” Miguel sighed playing with his hands. Your eyes widened when you saw the ring still on his finger. He let you stare. “I-I could never. I couldn’t.” The emotions struggle to come out of his mouth. You understood him though. You always did. Placing your hand on top of his you just nodded.

“Please stay here.” He whispered.

Miguel had broken you in so many ways. Yet he almost ruined another universe just to keep you alive. You both needed time to talk and coming out a coma right now isn’t good timing.

“I finally became my own person when I went back in my universe. I enjoyed my independence.” The words pelleted at him. He could only hold his breath as he waited for you to continue. “I’ll stay… but not for you.”

It wounded him deeply; but he deserved it. This place will always be a home for you even if he wasn’t apart of it. Before he can tear his gaze and turn away, you reached out to hold his face close to yours. Your fingers gently rubbing on his cheeks as you slowly look at him properly after so long. You let your thumb smooth over his frown lines and he leaned into your touch closing his eyes.

“Let’s give us time.” Was the words you blessed that opened every door of hope he could find. He would take it, he would absolutely take it. He has to fight for you, he has to prove to you. He would do anything but for now he’ll be on his best patiently waiting for you.

Both of you sat comfortably without speaking, only the faint background beeps of the hospital monitor making up for the silence, while passing small glances. For once both of you felt a missing warmth you didn’t realize you needed. Sharing empanadas with each other, just maybe it will be alright…

—————————————————

The end!!! Thank you so so much for your time in reading my story. i really really was so happy with all the comments and feedback on pt 1 it really meant a lot!!!

i hope this was ok ~ i apologize for how long it was i was thinking of doing another part but just wanted to finish this up. I was in such a conflict how to end this. i hope it wasn’t too cliche or anything i’m just a sucker for very wanty needy dramatic stories. It’s a hopeful ending tho~ i couldn’t pick with just happy or sad.

So many of you had tons of amazing suggestions which I appreciated so much. I was such a mess trying to figure it all out. Many of you wanted to see Y/N move on with another person but I ended up going this route. I used Peter Parker as an obv character in y/n’s universe but it’s not tied to any specific one and you guy can think of him more to your liking if you want to!

If any of you would like a small drabble or imagine of another route of this story or just anything angsty/possessive and rarwrarwbarkbark miguel. I’d be glad to help lol!! My request box is wide open~ i had so much fun writing this!

—

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[astrowarr]

i just watched scott's session 7 and noticed a pattern: every single person forgot about grian.

grian hasn't been caught yet, cleo and scott establish. barely a minute later, scott is leading cleo and bigb by the hands to his secret spot and saying "i think we're the last three." like the name has slipped right out of his hands.

as etho tells the other zombies that no, actually, he doesn't want to kill cleo, it occurs to him suddenly. "actually, i kind of want grian to succeed on this, don't i? he's my teammate," he says, not like he doesn't care for grian, but like he's shocked he even forgot in the first place. (seconds later, he lifts his gaze to the sky, and he sees where grian is hiding. he's the only one who sees. he carries this secret with him as he watches grian run, an apology of sorts; sorry I forgot. I hope this makes it better.)

but it got me thinking: this is what grian does, isn't it? even since 3rd life, where he hid in the shadow of scar, whose face was always, always in the light, as he burrowed under doorways, covered in redstone and days-old blood. no one thinks of him as scar sells them the coffins grian will put them in.

grian has mastered the art of becoming nothing. he's so nothing, in fact, that his presence glances off the skin of even his friends. his name slips away from them. he disappears time and time again, falling through their fingers like sand. there are brief moments: "where's grian?" someone asks, but their blood is boiling and their fingers are itching. the image is a mirage and the sand crumbles at their fingertips. it's gone as soon as it comes; back to cleo, green cleo, uninfected cleo.

a reminder, perhaps from the universe itself. he is nothing but a ghost of a memory, a whisper of a promise. this is by design. the universe is telling him this, as it strings grian up limb by limb: you were only ever meant to watch.

[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Estrella Damm: don't drink and run

Contents: general dumbassery, cursing, slight sexual language, violence, lots of cursing, wrote this high so idk if this even makes sense, I'll reread it and let you know whether its bs lol

It’s the same scene again. 

Three guys are circling you, laughing so irritatingly, and you’re just sitting there, doing your very best to shrug them off. The park is empty, it usually is at 3pm and especially these days with the nippy weather. Whenever Gojo strolls along the place to get to campus, he sees you resting on a bench, watching the tree branches sway above the pond. 

You’re hard to miss. 

A mass of black like an omen amongst the peace of nature, a blob of ink on a Monet, and he sees you everywhere. It’s funny, he thinks, how prior to the announcement of the engagement during the summer, he had never seen you on campus before. 

He can’t fathom how it was possible that he missed you. You stand out so badly, all eyes are on you everywhere you go. What with your lace frocks, thick platform boots, and terrifying piercings. 

You’re rolling your eyes at the lanky guy in front of you, thin lips curling over yellow teeth to snarl insipid insults that the other two chortle at. You just wanted a peaceful break in between your lectures, to take in the fresh autumn air, and watch people pass. But then again the universe has never really liked you. That became abundantly clear when your parents threw the news at you.

Was Nietzsche right?

So now you’re stuck watching disgusting idiots pick up a layer of your dress, mocking the fabric as if it’s something cheap. Little do they know.

“Where’s the funeral, hot stuff?”

You cringe. It’s the repulsive roll of his tongue, the way he flashes you a grin as if he’s such a catch and you should be happy he’s giving you any kind of attention. He probably thinks of himself as something akin to a wolf, wild and feral in the sexiest way, but from where you’re sitting, he more closely resembles a rabid hyena, slobbering all over itself. 

His breath surely smells like it too. 

Exasperated, you stand, snatching your dress from their grimy hands and sneer, “Don’t touch me, you ugly trolls.”

They don’t like that. 

Just as you’re stepping away, someone grabs your hair with a harsh pull and you gasp, tears brimming in your eyes from the burn on your scalp. Whoever has your hair drags you back to him, his face too close to yours, and you can see every pore, every hair, and you resist the urge to gag at the feeling of his breath skimming your skin. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are, you prissy little pri—“ 

Before he can finish his sentence, a hand is gripping his wrist, wrestling it back at an awkward angle, forcing his body to follow suit. He yelps and you stumble back on the bench, rubbing at your head. 

Your heartbeat is galloping like crazy, air robbed from your lungs and you’re rearing back to see a white-haired man looming over all of you with a menacing grin.

Gojo looks terrifying. 

A shiver claws up your spine, fear prickling your skin, and it feels as if the park had just become colder, dropping into the negatives. There’s something devoid of light in his eyes and it knocks you off balance. You’re dazed and his withering look full of disdain and contempt isn’t even targeted towards you.

"You guys again?"

The sheer revulsion, the abhorrence and loathing seeping through his words creates a flurry of shame through you all. You see it in the flush that reddens one’s guys face, and in the deep gulp the second one makes. It’s as if you’ve committed a fundamental wrong, like the whole affair was an abomination that he had happened to stumble upon.

He’s still twisting the guy’s arm back and ignoring the broken moans coming from him, choosing instead to direct his ice cold stare at the other two guys. They stand uneasily, glancing between each other as if deciding what to do. Seeing the resolve in the newcomer’s eyes, and the promise of pain, they grab at their friend and hastily walk away, not sparing a glance back. 

Not even at you, like you were never there to begin with. 

Huffing, you stand up, brushing imaginary dirt from the skirt of your dress and muttering a reluctant ‘thanks’ to Gojo. He’s studying you, sunglasses hanging low on his nose bridge so he can look at you over them. 

What kind of idiot wears sunglasses when there's no sun?

He doesn’t say a word and you begin to feel uncertain. 

The man before you is a mystery. You don’t know what he’s thinking. One minute he hates you and has declared you public enemy number one and the next he’s defending you from slimy perverts.

What is wrong with him?

Sure, you’re glad he didn’t just leave you to fend for yourself but you also wish he just left as soon as he came so you wouldn't have to deal with the awkward aftermath. Now, you’re left staring at him waiting for a stupid comment to come. 

But it doesn’t. 

“Got something to say?”

Your voice is snarky, but wavers just ever so slightly, the effects of the shock still coursing your veins. Gojo doesn’t flinch, he just shrugs and gives you one final look over, before he’s stalking off, long legs carrying him away like he was just strolling past to begin with. 

One step for him is like three for you. 

You begin walking too. And you scowl when he looks back at you over his shoulder, his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, swinging his crazy long legs like a giraffe.

Why does he walk like that?

“You following me?” 

His tone is so disgustingly arrogant you feel a sudden urge to whack him over the head with your boots. But you don’t. Because your boots are limited edition and much too pretty to scuff up with his ugly face.

Not to mention your parents would kill you, and so would his, probably. And maybe even the entire campus. 

Because according to the 'Bulletin' and this so called ‘List’ Gojo introduced you to, your fiancé is apparently the most beloved man in EdenU. Known for being friendly, approachable, charitable and charismatic, everyone either wants to be friends with Gojo, date Gojo or be Gojo. 

Having read every single piece written by some girl with poor tastes in men, clearly, you realise that there must be something wrong with the entire student population-- and even the staff, if the blushing some lecturers do when he passes is anything to go by. There are direct quotes from people detailing first-hand experiences with Gojo’s ‘kindness’, with how he took the time out of his day to give directions, helped an old lady cross the street, claps at the end of lectures as an expression of gratitude.

Classic bourgeoisie propaganda.

How could anyone consider him as a) a good guy, and b) a hot one?

That question has been bothering you for about a week now. And it continues to do so as he looks at you like you're bothering him.

You speed walk, pumping your legs as hard as you can so you can glide by him. Who’s following who now?

It’s petty, you know that. But for whatever reason, the guy just brings out that bitter child inside of you, the one that wants to be mean, to spit back as good as you get, and to put him in his place. 

Because clearly, the campus gossip has gotten to his head. 

You hear him scoff before he starts speed-walking beside you. It looks effortless on him. What a prick. 

His jacket brushes against you and you recoil, aghast that his bacteria touched you. With a new wave of determination, you begin jogging. It’s the most exercise you’ve gotten in years but it’s so worth it to see him jog as well. 

“Give it up, I’m way faster than you.”

Wordlessly, you jog a little faster every time he does.

“Surprised to see you sober enough to walk in a park,” you voiced with a taunting tone.

Gojo retorts, just as quick, “And I’m surprised you’re out in broad daylight.”

Dodging fallen branches and puddles, you leap and clutch your dress, lifting the thick skirt so your legs can push and push. There is no way you'll lose to the likes of him. You just need to reach the park edge, where grass meets concrete, and once you pass it, you'll claim victory.

Huffing, you barb, “I’m sure you like the weather just fine, right, Periwinkle?”

He snorts. “That must make you Vidia.”

“She’s hot so I’ll take that.”

Throwing you a side glance, he rolls his eyes and maintained, with a singsong voice, “Silvermist is hotter.”

Eventually, you’re both running through the park, overtaking each other in a give and take, and you grin every time you get the best of him by cutting corners. You know this park like the back of your hand. The cool wind doesn’t even register on your skin, adrenaline urging you forward, winding along the path and dodging bystanders who look on with half confusion and half amusement. 

This is probably the most excitement this park has seen in years.

Gojo doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed. 

"Move, you're in my way, Eric Draven," he jab, not even slightly breath.

You sneer.

"No, you're in my way, Johnny Bravo."

You screech when a sudden force knocks you into a hedge. Sharp twigs poke at you, you struggle to gain footing against the mud, and you flail your arms. Your hair is caught, so is the lace of your dress, like a moth trapped in a spiderweb.

The motherfucker shoved you.

He actually shoved you.

Gojo's staring, with his mouth gaping, at his hand and then at you and then back to his hand, like he didn't mean to push you, like his body just moved on its own. And you see him take a step, hands stretching out to reach for you.

The fucking dick is so childish you don’t feel any guilt when you grab him by his jacket and yank. He falls with laugh like he had been anticipating your revenge, a light and airy sort of chortle, so childlike and youthful it almost makes you smile. Almost, because then you're both going quiet when he lands on top of you. 

That wasn't very well thought out.

You’re both angled slightly back on the thick hedge, so out of breath, the tiny branches prick at you both, leaves no doubt catching on your dress. Gojo’s holding his body weight, trying to find his footing on the wet grass but struggling to press his hands on anywhere concrete. Your legs are tangled, hips pinned to each other, and your hands are clinging to his jacket so you don’t fall deeper. 

“Woah,” he breathes out, panting slightly, “you want me this badly?”

Your frown deepens until you’re sure your lips will stay stuck in that position. He really just can’t help himself. It’s like it’s in his DNA to say something stupidly arrogant just to avoid the silence. With a grunt, you try to push him off you, feet kicking. The fucker is heavy. And he doesn’t even look like he’s trying. 

Gojo smells clean and you hate it. He smells like fresh laundry and sea salt and fluffy clouds. With every movement you make against each other, you become more aware of his broad shoulders and narrow hips. It’s like he’s got a sleeper build. His chest is firm beneath your palms and  your face is buried in his neck, feeling his Adam’s apple bob. 

“Move, fat ass,” you say through gritted teeth. 

He makes a sound of indignation, “Fat ass? Me? How dare you! I don't calorie count for nothing.”

Always fucking joking, the little shit.

You shove at his chest. “Move, Gojo, I swear to God.”

"Yeah, yeah. I'm trying," he huffs and puffs, clambering away, and then he adds, like he just cannot fucking help himself, "Siouxsie Sioux."

With awkward shuffles and uncomfortable twists and turns, you both manage to free yourselves. There’s a blush on both of your faces, yours is certainly from anger, raging at the sudden turn of events and the sheer humiliation at falling, and ashamed that you had stooped to his level and raced him, like a toddler. 

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You were raised better. For goodness sake, your mother would keel over and die if she saw you sprinting in a park, almost pushing an old lady out of the way just to beat your fiancé. God, you hate calling him that.

And you hate to admit even more that you might have actually enjoyed it.

Catharsis, that’s all it was.

Just a physical and mental need to let out the pressure building up from months of the most restrictive schedule, with the frequent dinners with stuffy guests, the constant handshaking and ass kissing, the indignity of it all.

Sometimes you wished you could be Murakami's Ice Man, maybe then you could rise above these petty emotions and let nothing bother you. But you aren’t free of your past. You’re defined by it.

Gojo isn’t meeting your eyes. He’s settled on adjusting his clothes and sunglasses, plucking leaves from his jacket, mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something. But you don’t let him. You dash past and ignore his existence, like you should have done from the beginning, and head to your lecture. 

Your hands are clenching and unclenching, neck creaking as you try to relieve the tension wound so tightly in your body you’re afraid you might combust. Everything about this is wrong. 

An engagement with Gojo is one thing, but to like the feel of his body on you, is a whole other thing. It’s stupid and it’s dangerous. Just like your mother said, emotions have no place in a marriage. You only need respect, and sometimes not even that. And as much as you hate her Machiavellian attitudes to life, you understand. You need a husband who'll mind his own business. Gojo is not that kind of man.

The guy refused to be friends, despite the many opportunities and chances you had granted him, so you won't do yourself the disservice of seeking a friendship.

You will not let the ‘hottest guy on campus’ sway you. His charming grins and arrogant comebacks will not warm your chest, and his muscular frame will definitely not haunt your dreams. There’s too much riding on this arrangement, on you. You cannot be distracted.

Man might be condemned to be free, but that doesn't apply to women. Not women like you, anyways. Thanks for nothing, Sartre.

Those are the thoughts you come away with from the encounter. 

Gojo, on the other hand, is still standing where you left him, hand rubbing his chest whilst lost in thought. His head is tilted, sunglasses hanging low on his nose bridge again as he watches your retreating figure. 

It’s kinda hard to see your features through the pile of black clothing and accessories, but having been close enough to rub noses, he realised, you’re pretty. The kind of pretty that would inspire art, not that he knows much about that.

He licks his lips and he swears he can taste the sweetness of your scent lingering, and when he looks down on his chest, he also swears he felt the unmistakable sensation of small metal balls scraping at him through his thin jacket. 

A Cheshire grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. He stuffs his hands in his pockets once more and carries on walking at a leisurely pace, a slight pep in his steps gained from a victory over a game he didn’t even realise he was playing. He strolls to class with just one thought filling his mind. 

My future wifey’s got nipple piercings.

[awrkive]

NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 2 — JJK (m.)

in hindsight, you should have seen it coming. had always known your luck – or lack of it, thereof – and the universe's meticulous plan of your downfall made it easy for you to get tangled up in a series of unfortunate events, which presents itself as the neighbor that lives across from you, jeon jungkook.

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

GENRE r18+ (fluff, angst, smut) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 22.5k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, mature language, lots of screaming into your pillow moments FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF, lovely hot nerdy jk ): (i think i speak for all women when i say that nerdy jungkook is the best jungkook say I IF U AGREE),[explicit sexual content: masturbation (f)], has the budding romance finally hit the second towers? read more to find out

NOTES hey everyone thank you so much for the overwhelming support on this silly little fic. i hope you guys enjoy this update and let me know your thoughts in the replies/reblog section and in my inbox, wherever you prefer hehe <3

NB!JK VISUALS | TAGLIST OPEN

READ ON WATTPAD | AO3

PART ONE | TWO | THREE

You usually finish prepping for the office at around 7:40 am, just enough time left to walk to the station and catch your bus at exactly 8 am.

As of now, it's 7 but the clock's longer hand has moved past the 40-minute mark, and you are still in your living room, supposedly all done and ready to go – except that you're stuck on the floor looking at your laptop perched on your coffee table, staring at it blankly, the HR email looking right back at you; almost daunting.

Subject: Invitation to Ceremony: Announcement of Interim CTO Dear Blue Nexus Inc. employee, We hope this email finds you well. We would like to inform you that a ceremony has been scheduled on July 29, 2028, 10:00 am at the AVR Hall 5, 12th floor. The purpose of this event is to announce the appointment of our interim Chief Technology Officer (CTO), Mr. Jeon Jungkook. As you may be aware, our previous CTO, Mr. Shin Juman, is currently on medical leave recovering from a stroke. While he is recuperating and undergoing treatment, it has become necessary for us to appoint an interim CTO for an indefinite period of time to ensure the continuity and effectiveness of our operations. Your presence at this meeting is highly valued as we introduce the new leadership to the team and outline our strategic direction moving forward. Light refreshments will be served. Thank you for your attention to this matter. We look forward to seeing you at the ceremony. Best regards, HR Department

You've been reading it over and over again you're sure you can recite it with ease if prompted. It's in the hopes that the name Jeon Jungkook will suddenly disappear somewhere in the email – that maybe you missed some detail, and it doesn't actually mention his name at all. You read the email repeatedly wishing that it is just a glitch in the system and what you found out about yesterday are all just a part of your extreme delusion. Maybe it's one of those nights with Jimin at his apartment where you would indulge in a little bit of guilty pressure – pots, to be exact – and just let it take you to a whole new world.

But you and Jimin didn't go home together last night, and you definitely did not smoke pot. He went straight to the airport and you straight home with nothing but mixed feelings inside, and you were more than thankful that Jimin was in a bout of panic himself about not getting there on time that he didn't notice you squirming in his passenger seat.

There is a vague memory in your head with him telling you he was going to come with Namjoon, but you can't be for sure. Everything that transpired that night is all reduced down to the very moment in the comfort room when you realized the glaring information about Jungkook being three eggs in your basket: first, he's Jimin's cousin. Second, he's an executive in your company – a CTO, to be exact – and while you aren't exactly working under his department and they are all the way up ten floors above you, he's still technically your boss according to the hierarchy. The son of the CEO of the very company you are working at. Not only is he the CTO, but third he's also your neighbor. Someone you've met weeks ago whom you may have developed a growing relationship with that will now possibly be bleak in a matter of hours or days depending on if you are going to tell him or if he finds out.

That is the thing that you're currently debating with yourself about as you let your eyes glide over the unsuspecting email from HR for the nth time.

7:50 am – the clock on your screen reads.

You think about the dock pay that you're gonna get if you come to work late. At this point, you can run to the station and still catch your bus, but you have to decide in a minute for that to be possible.

Groaning, you feel defeated as you shut your laptop close and stand up from the floorboards, your eyes going over to the door across from you which earns yourself a wince.

I'm gonna get a dock pay and it will all be Jungkook's fault. That jerk.

Okay – obviously, he's far from a jerk and he has nothing to do with any of this. You just like blaming anybody.

You sigh, grabbing your bag, finally making up your mind to just go and see for yourself what today has to offer you. A little optimism, if you will. But if you manage to bump into Jungkook at that company you aren't sure if you're not going to do something embarrassing because one thing about you, you do not know how to face certain challenges in life like a matured individual – you always have to be a little overboard and overdramatic with it.

You were heading towards the door when you suddenly remember your ID.

Your ID. Funny.

As you pick it up off the coffee table, you think about how you don't really wear it on the way to work and on your way home. You don't like the feeling of the lanyard wrapping around the skin of your nape, so you've always just worn it when you're in the office where it is mandatory. Otherwise, you make sure to take it off.

Suddenly, you think about a scenario where you're the kind of employee to wear their ID all the time, and those nights where you'd go to Midday straight from work to have dinner with Jungkook would've turned out differently because then if you were to have worn your ID during one of those meetings, he would've figured out that you're working at the same company. And maybe... the conversation about his relation to Jimin would've came up.

And maybe, you won't feel so... complicated about the whole thing.

How – in the two weeks that you've spent with him – do you know too much yet so little about him? How did you ever not ask each other where you work and how did this all come to you like a landslide and now you have no way out?

God's sake, you know about his dog, and you've exchanged numbers... and yet...

Although, granted, maybe you should've asked for each other's socials? Does he have Instagram? Twitter? Maybe if you had exchanged those sooner, you would've gotten to know him more and made the connections you only recently found out.

You want so badly to reach out to Jimin to talk to him about all of this. But he hasn't really contacted you since he sent off Namjoon to the airport. Maybe he really did leave with him, and it isn't just your imagination when he said something about going there last night when you sneaked out of the party.

But deep inside... you do not really want to talk to him about any of this, at all.

It is, to simply put, awkward.

You feel ashamed for gushing about your neighbor that is apparently the same person as his cousin. Feel embarrassed about how you ogled over him to Jimin when in fact, they're related. You don't know about other people, but you know the unspoken rule about not dating your friends' relatives? Not like you're dating Jungkook, but you have a crush on him for fuck's sake. The strings do not even stop at their blood relation because it extends to your workplace as well.

You know Jimin well enough to feel confident about not getting judged by him if you were to tell him about it, and if he actually does, he will directly say it to your face as far as you're concerned. But...

It's just all too awkward to tell anyone about. You're in too deep in the sea of embarrassment and shame you cannot think of ways to get out of it.

Your head is starting to hurt, and you know it's the sign to stop thinking. So, you shut up all the voices in your head and walk towards the door ready to go out, telling yourself that whatever happened, you're going to handle everything cooly like the grown woman you are.

Stepping outside the threshold of your apartment, you're just about to turn around to lock the door on your way out when suddenly, the door across yours opens and there welcomes you the man starring in your list of problems for the day: Jeon Jungkook, your neighbor Unit 446.

"Oh, hi. Good morning—"

You turn on your heel so quickly and open the door to your apartment so fast it's almost at the speed of light, entering your apartment once again and slamming the door closed, pressing your back on it as your eyes widen; heart beating at a staccato of thug, thug, thug as you take a moment to hold your breath.

What the fuck.

How in the hell is this the first time you see each other getting ready to work? It couldn't have happened in the first week you knew him or hell, the first day?! Why must you have bumped into him like that the moment you finally knew about who he is? Everything is getting way too ridiculous. It's like the universe is telling you once again that you'll always be her middle child: unfavorable by all ends.

"Shit." You hiss, biting your lip quite harshly as you think about how you must've looked like a goddamn fool turning on him like that for no reason. Jungkook must've been weirded the hell out – and rightfully so.

You face-palm. Damn, you were just telling yourself you're gonna handle everything like a grown, matured woman.

You unconsciously walk on your tippy toes on the way to the small window on the side of the door that lets you oversee outside your door, peeking from there like a creep as you watch Jungkook, still on his porch – with his grey coat over his arm – looking down on his phone and doing something with it.

That something is apparently sending you a text.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:52am]: why did u seem like u just saw a ghost?

The message read when you open your phone at the bell of notification. You haven't even read all of it yet when another one comes in.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:52am]: am I that appalling in the mornings? Haha 🥴

On any occasion, you would've laughed and go along with the joke, but you do not know what to say to him.

You stand there doing nothing, just staring at his two consecutive messages, poorly left on read. You purse your lips as you peek from the small window again, getting a glimpse of Jungkook standing still on his porch, eyes glued to his phone. He waits for awhile, and then you see him shaking his head with a hint of... smile on his face?

And then your phone dings once again.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [7:53am]: good morning by the way. Get safely to work

You stare at it so hard that the next second you look at the window, he isn't there anymore.

Letting out a heavy breath, you knock your head on the door, thinking about how you missed your 8 am bus and you have to wait for 30 minutes for another one to come and most especially, how you're going to get a dock pay for being late.

It's almost as if Jungkook is running for higher office the way his face is plastered all over the LED screens inside the building, showing the announcement of his ceremony. It's taunting almost, the way it was the first thing you see when you swiped your ID for entry.

Although, you do find it funny that it's the same man you just saw in front of you when you stepped outside of your place earlier this morning.

"Sol," you call your co-worker and also your friend, sliding your swivel chair closer to her desk. "Do we really have to go to the ceremony?" You ask, seeing that everybody in the office is already setting aside the stuff on their desks to head out to the 12th floor where the announcement ceremony will be held.

Sol fixes the post-it note on her computer first before turning to you, "Of course we do."

You pout at that.

"Is Ms. Jung really gonna be mad if we don't attend?"

"You know how she has this obsession of making our department look good, so I'm assuming yes." She answers, and you slump in your seat knowing damn well she's right to think that. Sol sees your seemingly grumpy disposition and asks, "Why? You don't wanna go?"

If only she knew.

You shake your head to her question.

"I just think it's gonna be boring," you shrug, the lie rolling on your tongue seamlessly.

"Eh, at least it's less work for today. Those things run for two hours and there's free lunch so that's that."

Events like these are supposed to be advantageous for you because again, Sol is right and those things do run for about two hours meaning less workload. Also, free lunch. Who doesn't like free stuff? But then again, Jungkook is going to be there and with your luck, you're starting to think that you're going to see more of him from now on. That is just how the world works against you.

"You're right." You say, frowning becoming more and more apparent, you're sure.

Sol chuckles at you and stands up herself, fixing her dress as you follow her out of the office.

Before you could completely go out though, you stop her on her tracks.

"Hey, do you think you have a face mask I can borrow?" You say, looking hopefully at her. Sol raises her brows, obviously confused at your strange request. Clearing your throat, you pretend to cough a little in your fisted hand. "I'm feeling a little under the weather today, but I drank my meds this morning. Forgot the mask." You reason with her, adding more lies to the conversation.

"Oh, I see. Okay, I think I have it." Sol perks up at the realization and you both enter your office once again, with your co-worker digging through her desk's drawer for the mask you were asking her for.

She hands it to you as soon as she finds it and you're quick to wear it around your mouth, silently rejoicing in your head at the brilliant last-minute plan you came up with in your head in order to avoid anything with Jungkook later. Not that you expect him to do something if he, indeed, sees you – you doubt he even will, given that the hall is huge, and you are planning to sit all the way back – but the mask is just a precautionary measure so there are less chances of him recognizing you or anything crazy like that.

Together, Sol and you ride the elevator down to the 12th floor and unsurprisingly, a lot of the company's employees are already there, finding their seats, chitchats heard across the hall.

"Sol, __!" Joonhwi, one of your co-junior accountants and also a friend, calls out to you both, separating himself from the other accountants and heading to your direction. "You're sick?" He asks as soon as he sees your face covered with the mask.

"A little." You reply.

Joonhwi nods his head and then say, "I thought you girls were planning to ditch the ceremony."

"I'll do anything to not see your face but then again we work together so I have no choice." Sol snarkily remarks.

"Sol, can you please refrain from professing your love to me with all these people around?" Joonhwi retorts back, smarmy and teasing, ever the expert on how to get on Sol's nerves.

"__, can you get this khia away from me?"

You laugh at both of their exchange, shaking your head at their silly antics. You don't know if Sol is just... emotionally constipated, but damn, she sure is clueless as hell about Joonhwi's feelings. It seems like everybody from the accounting department knows except for her.

Shaking your head, you go straight to the seats available with Joonhwi and Sol sitting on opposite sides of you.

"Anyway, I heard they're appointing Mr. Jeon's son." Joonhwi suddenly say.

Now that makes you squirm.

"Really?" You utter, just to give them a reaction.

Sol looks at you weird. "I thought everybody knew that?"

"Well, there are lots of Jeons in Korea..." you tell her, earning a laugh from Joonhwi which makes Sol frown.

"A man is not allowed to laugh in my vicinity, Joonhwi, shut up," she says rolling her eyes. Her tone shifts when she speaks to you though, suddenly sounding more gossip-y as she shows you a picture on her phone. "Look at the material, though,"

You look at the photo of a man who very much has the same and exact coloring of the one and only Jeon Jungkook you know and you have to swallow the lump in your throat.

"I mean, I've always thought Mr. Jeon was a DILF but his son is – damn." She adds, zooming in on Jungkook's professional head shot.

You and Joonhwi both give her the stinky eye.

"Have some class." you tell her, earning a laugh from both of them.

"For the record, you agreed to that before." Sol points out, referring to that dinner you three had at a barbecue house awhile ago. For the record, though, you were both drunk and Joonhwi had to haul Sol's ass back to her place and call Jimin to get you to yours.

"I refuse to acknowledge anything I've ever said when I was drunk."

"Okay but is anybody getting the urge to get transferred to the IT department expeditiously?" Sol jokes, obviously swooning over Jungkook.

Joonhwi snorts. "The CTO doesn't even go there."

"Killjoy much?" Sol frowns at him. "He'd visit, though. Imagine the eye candy."

You eye her in a teasing manner, "You have enough candy on your plate, Sol." And then you subtly look over Joonhwi.

Joonhwi himself doesn't seem to expect the insinuation, but nonetheless you know that he got the message of you implying he's good-looking and if Sol is looking for that, he's just there. That is why he suddenly loses his smirk and rests his back on the seat, crossing his arms as he retires himself from the conversation, obviously dodging your teasing.

Psh. Emotionally constipated co-worker number two.

"What the hell does that mean?" Sol asks, but she can't get an answer as the ceremony begins.

"Good morning, everyone. Today marks a significant moment as we gather to appoint our interim Chief Technology Officer," The host starts the introduction, "We are here to acknowledge the pivotal role of the CTO in our company's journey to ensure continuity in our innovation efforts. It is with great pleasure that I introduce Mr. Jeon Jungkook, our interim CTO, who has been selected to step into the position."

And there is him, in his grey suit that you've seen him in earlier. He's wearing his glasses as well, the one that has the thinner frame. You notice he switches between two kinds; he wears the thick-framed one off work and the thin-framed one during work, like right now. 

Jungkook smiles at the applause that reverberates all over the hall. There are LED screens that hang on both sides of the room and you can see his face clearly there. Sol gushes over how good he looks.

"Jesus, wow..." Sol whispers to herself, and you're sure she did not mean for you to hear that, so you try not to acknowledge it because deep inside, you agree with her. That's exactly your reaction when you saw him for the first time in the stairs of your apartment complex – and he didn't even clean up in his suit that time.

Jungkook stands on the podium with an easy-going smile on his face, his aura screaming confidence. He looks so sure of himself, like he's born to actually do this.

"Thank you, Mr. Park. Good day to all. I am deeply honored and humbled to accept the role of Chief Technology Officer at Blue Nexus Incorporation. As we navigate this interim period, my commitment is to uphold..."

You watch as he starts his speech, noting how well he speaks. You aren't a stranger to how people have different personalities when they are in and off work, but it's almost disorienting to see Jungkook going all professional, his voice soft but edgy at the same time, just enough for you and everyone to recognize a bit of authority in there.

He looks over the crowd, and for a brief second, you feel as if his eyes glossed over you far longer than he had other parts in the room.

But that thought dies down as quickly when he immediately goes back to speaking, and you're sure you just imagined it.

You're in the middle of your night routine when your phone suddenly dings.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:44pm]: just remembered we never really got around to that boxing machine, did we

Right. Today is Friday and you are supposed to go that boxing machine to determine if he's gonna supply your daily boba or if you're coming over to his place so he can cook you both a meal.

But that deal was made days ago when you still were clueless about his identity, and admittedly, you'd say that right now, you're doing anything to avoid him.

Scrolling through your message thread and seeing Jungkook's texts since that morning being left on read makes you feel bad. You know it isn't fair. It isn't nice to just suddenly go leave people dry like that, especially Jungkook who has been so strangely non-confronting about your sudden weird behavior.

It takes you a few minutes to give him a reply due to you erasing and retyping your message repeatedly.

You [10:47pm]: sorry ive been busy the whole day with work ):

Was what you lamely came up with. You couldn't have done better than that, to be honest with yourself.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:47pm]: I see Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:48pm]: so raincheck tonight?

You [10:48]: sorryyyy for cancellig im just feeling a little under the weather

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:49pm]: ohhhh ok ok sorry for texting late

You [10:50pm]: asbdbsfjshf its fine!!!!!!!!

Maybe you didn't think it through, but you find yourself typing the next message and hitting send way too quickly.

You [10:51pm]: maybe tomorrow?

You're thinking about taking it back, but Jungkook has already replied.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [10:51pm]: ok. I'll see you tomorrow 😊

Pursing your lips, you wonder what he's doing tonight.

Is he working? Maybe some take-home paperworks? What do CTOs even do? He must be really busy... though you think it has to be otherwise since he had the time to text you.

You stand up from the chair of your vanity table, patting your hair one last time and jumping to your bed, ready to overthink some more then sleep when an idea suddenly pops up into your head the moment your eyes lay on your phone.

Making yourself comfortable on your mattress, you pick up the phone from your night stand and unlock it, your fingers making quick work of opening the Instagram app and typing jeonjungkook on the search bar.

The results show you a few accounts that resemble the username you looked up, but as you check each one, none of them seems to belong to the man you're looking for. So, you try a few varieties: jungkook, jungkookjeon, jeon... JK?... but then you're sure you've milked out the last of your brain juice trying to come up with a possible username for him but to no avail.

Jimin must be following him, you think to yourself. Since Jimin is a snob on his verified and public account and isn't following anybody there, you go straight to his private account to try and find a Jungkook in his following but again – you guessed it, failed search.

"Does he not have an IG?" you ask yourself, feeling quite exhilarated.

You think about Twitter, but remembering Jungkook's face makes you share your head in disagreement with yourself. There is no way he has Twitter. That guy looks terminally offline and doesn't have the face of someone who likes tweeting in his leisure time.

You'd say it was curiosity rather than desperation when you decided to install Facebook and hoped to see some of him there. You did have little hopes though, as you started typing his name, thinking there was no way you'd see him on the app because, who even uses Facebook nowadays except moms and dads and grandparents?

But then as you jokingly type his name and enter it on the search bar, a few tagged pictures of him show up.

The first one is posted by a Jeon Junghyun, his brother, and the picture is from 2017. Said picture is of Jungkook at the airport sitting on his luggage, and the caption reads as: good luck in college brother.

You stare at the picture, noting how young he looked in it and suddenly feel disoriented when you see his arms with no ink around them. They're so bare, and he definitely looked more lean, not like the muscly guy you know him as now. He was starting college here, so he must've been only 19 in the photo... meaning he got his tattoos in the States while he was in college or maybe even later than that?

You click on Jungkook's page, the one that his brother tagged in the photo, but all you see is the default Facebook profile picture and a locked account.

Feeling disappointed at that, you go back to his brother's page and check it out, throwing all your shame away as you look through his photos.

He must've limited his audience since the public posts are all outdated, but there are a few pictures in which Jungkook is in them, as well as other recurring people who seem to be their parents.

There's a recent family picture of them in the Eiffel Tower – uploaded in 2022 – all four of them.

As you see Mr. Jeon, the CEO of your company, with his family, it's hard not to feel... whiplashed, for the lack of better term. From the looks of it, they seem to be... close? For the record, Jimin does not have any casual pictures of him with his parents, and as far as you know, they never went out on trips together – just galas and all that socialite events. You know they are only mere pictures, not solid enough to assume what Jungkook's relationship is with his family, but you're starting to think maybe it's a good one.

That'll honestly be surprising, given that every wealthy family you know has dysfunctional relationships. Nevertheless, it will be quite... adorable if what you think is true.

"Oh my god," you say, disbelieving, as you recognize Jimin in one of Junghyun's public photos while scrolling through more.

It's an event of some sort, and how can you not spot Jimin when he looks conspicuous in his orange hair? You remember this being in your sophomore year in college, and how much Jimin actually hates that hair and wants to burn down every picture that reminds him of it.

You snort as you zoom in on Jimin, taking a screenshot of the photo, mindlessly going to your messaging app; ready to send him the photo to poke lighthearted fun, but then you realize—

"Oh, I can't do that."

Jimin will ask you where you got the photo from, and you'll have to tell him that you were cyber stalking his cousin. Then, he'll ask why you were stalking his cousin, and he will find out the very thing you don't want him to find out.

That makes you frown, quick to delete the message you were just about to send and put your phone back to your nightstand.

Well, that ruins fun.

You wish you can tell Jimin or anyone for the matter, but you currently don't feel comfortable about doing that.

Sighing, you look up at your ceiling, then forcefully close your eyes to avoid more thoughts coming into your head.

You start counting sheep until you fall asleep.

There had been a lot of times where you felt like shit about yourself. They happen way too many times that at this point, you'd lost count. It wired you to think that there must be something wrong when a day goes all too well.

But there is no beating the feeling of self-antagonism when you ditch somebody – even if it's for a valid reason.

Sure, you've ditched Jimin a couple of times, and he always makes sure to rub it on your face as much as he can until you pout at him and explain to him that there are just some days you do not feel like going out. Jimin, as your best friend, understands that about you, of course.

A lot of times, though, it's the dates you tend to ditch the most. Three dates – you recall – is the number of times you'd skipped out of, just because you had a panic attack thirty minutes before the meeting that one time and two times for the plain, simple fact that you had a realization that you did not really like the guy you were planning to see.

Shin Taemu, the guy from the IT department asked you out last month for a second date and you texted him a last-minute, half-assed lame excuse about having gotten period cramps. Up to this day, you're still wary about using the IT department's copy room because his texts, since then, have been left unanswered. You saw him awhile ago at the cafeteria, though, and he seemed to be treating you non-differently even after you ghosted him suddenly. 

Recently, you're doing the same thing again to Jungkook.

It isn't dating, of course – just the whole ditching thing.

You feel terrible for canceling on him again on Saturday when you just told him Friday night that you would go to that boxing machine. He had texted you a simple "we still on?" with a smiley emoji that gave you the creeps (because that smiley emoji does not ever mean the person is smiling behind it – knowing Jungkook though, it's probably not the case, and you're just overthinking it). You've left that text to rot until Sunday morning, and only picked it up later during the night, telling him you were "sorry I just saw this now! I was swamped with work stuff" even though you've never brought paperworks at home in your whole career and you were just binging The X-Files, bashing those two idiotic emotionally constipated FBI agents when you are quite one, yourself.

Sometimes, you fear you're no better than a man. Jimin will willingly knock your head on a door to get you to your senses and tell you all the things about why you should never compare yourself to them – but there are times like these when your shortcomings – specifically your lack of proficiency in communication – mirror that of a man's, and you hate every single second of it.

Until then, you dreaded for Monday to come.

But it's ultimately inevitable 

And when you wake up from your sleep, it's Monday, and you have to go to work whether you like it or not.

And oh, to add, Jungkook hasn't replied to your message. Which – okay – ouch. But you're not supposed to be hurt by it; if anything, you kind of deserve it after ditching him so many times. He isn't an idiot, and you're sure he knows you lied... you're just thankful that he's not saying anything if he does know, indeed.

You have thought things over in the shower this morning, though.

If Jungkook is three eggs in your basket, why will it matter? So, what's the big deal if he is Jimin's cousin and that he works at the same company and lives in the same apartment complex?

You finally admit that those things matter to you initially because... you have a crush on him. If you didn't, you'll give fuck-all if he's related to your best friend. You won't care at all if he's your boss because you don't have to worry about fantasizing about him.

But the thing is, you do have some sort of romantic feelings for him, and that is why those things moved you in a way that makes you feel and act a little weird around him.

And now there's this feeling of guilt that has overtaken your entire system. Because if you just see Jungkook platonically, these things won't happen. And you hate it, because he's genuinely a good friend. Someone who may want a friend in you too, but you are ruining it all because you have trivial feelings for him.

Absolutely ridiculous.

But now that those realizations have become clear in your head, you've made up your mind by thinking that those eggs don't matter.

It doesn't matter that he's Jimin's cousin, doesn't matter that he's an executive. You are his friend, and it's was okay to have friends that are your other friend's relative and friends who are your boss.

Of course, it's still awkward to think about him catching you in your home clothes but on a more serious note, your crush will never see the light of the day and even if it does, there's no way Jungkook will accept it because guys like him never settle with people like you. And you don't even mean that in a self-deprecating way, not at all! You are just fully aware of the practical world you live in and know that the vast disparity of your economic status will never work, especially with the kind of family he was born into.

With that said, you are ready for things to be back the way they were. No more pussyfooting in the office in fear that you'll bump into him, no more canceling on his innocent invitations to dinner, no more pining over him secretly and putting malice over everything that he does because you're going to be a renewed person now.

You're ready to take on the big shoes and be matured enough to address his questions if ever he has one.

So, you enter the elevator of Blue Nexus Inc. with a sort of spirit that you're sure will be hard to take down, creating pictures in your head that depict a smooth-sailing conversation with Jungkook where you're ideally going to be cool in it and not at all panic-y.

It's alright. Nothing is going to change—

Your thoughts are disrupted when somebody enters the elevator and the people in it suddenly start bowing their heads, a series of greetings reverberating in the confined space.

Fuck.

"Good morning, Mr. Jeon."

"Greetings, Mr. Jeon."

"Mr. Jeon."

Your eyes widen when you see Jungkook walking in with his black suit and sleek black hair, his eyeglasses sitting on his nose.

Okay, so nevermind the illusion that you're going to be cool now – you're absolutely panicking in your position!

Thank fucking god you're at the back with two persons in front of you, hoping they are enough to at least cover your frame as Jungkook stands in front after greeting back the employees inside.

Oh my god. Fuck me.

You tilt your head to the side with a wince on your face, sneakily raising your arm over your head to take your hairclip off so your hair fans your face. It is a poor attempt at covering yourself lest Jungkook suddenly turns around and recognizes you as a result.

But in that moment, you must look stupid as hell that the guy beside you looks at you weird.

You stand upright, giving him a tight-lipped smile. He just snubs you.

That makes you roll your eyes.

You go back to staring at Jungkook's back agonizing the thought that you really aren't ready at all to confront him. You thought about it all morning, but the moment he got here, all those ideations of you being cool around him from thereon are suddenly thrown out the building.

A few seconds after, somebody drops off at the 13th floor, and it starts to make you feel nervous.

What if more people start going out and then you'll be left alone with Jungkook? You intended to go to the 16th floor where your office is... Jungkook is – wait, where is his floor? You actually have no idea. But you are certain it's floors above you. Oh god! How can you possibly move past him without him recognizing you? Shit. You didn't think about that.

Now, you're starting to lose your bottle, your head not able to form ideas to get through him. The elevator is small! And people are starting to head out...

You look at the position indicator of the elevator, telling you that you're going way up to the 15th floor. A few seconds after and it dings, the elevator door opening. The guy in front of you heads way out, and you can see Jungkook still on his spot.

You find yourself not being able to move, completely stoned in your position.

You sure as hell aren't going out unless he does first! That's your solution. If he's located at the topmost floor, you're going to wait until then. You're just going to ride the elevator down again.

But what you don't see coming is Jungkook suddenly moving to head outside the elevator.

Looking at the indicator once again, you confirm if he really is going to the 15th floor.

The door already closed by the time Jungkook is finally out, which eases your nerves. You're way too relieved to forget thinking about why he's in the 15th floor.

You stop at the 16th with a smile on your face, feeling like you just got away with murder. You've never done it – get away with murder – but that's exactly how you feel.

On your way to the office, your phone vibrates from the pocket of your trousers.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [8:56am]: Correct me if I'm wrong but I think I just saw you at the elevator today

You thought of ways to dodge his bullet, thought about denying his claim and telling him that he must've seen somebody else because you work all the way across town and him seeing you would've been impossible.

But you know the attempts will be futile.

If anything, though, you take it as a sign to finally make things right.

Avoiding Jungkook will never be efficient. In order to be successful in that regard, you'll have to hand in your resignation or move out of your apartment completely and you can't do that.

Besides, for what it's worth, you kind of miss hanging out with him and if you were to continue hiding from him, you will have to say goodbye to having him around at all.

The moment you got off work today, you think of plans to talk to him and maybe, just maybe, invite him for dinner – to, hopefully, make up for all the times you've bailed on him.

With a tail tucked between your legs, you stand apprehensively in front of the door of his unit, still unsure about your plans but doing it nonetheless. There's no going back now.

You ring the doorbell, taking your hand back quickly as if you just got electrocuted by it.

Please don't answer. Please don't be home. Please don't answer—

And there he goes, in his plain white shirt and grey sweats, hair wet from his previous shower – you assume. He's still drying his hair with a towel when he opens the door, but his ministrations stop the moment he lays his eyes on you.

You just give him an awkward smile that probably look more like a grimace.

"Hi."

The surprise is evident on Jungkook's face. Regardless, he is quick to get over it and gives you a big grin instead. An expression you did not expect to get.

"__, hey," Jungkook greets, placing the towel around his neck and letting go of his doorknob. "What brings you here?"

You balance your weight on your other side and purse your lips in a thin line.

"Do you, uh, wanna grab dinner?" You ask right away, not wanting to beat around the bush.

Jungkook's smile somehow grows wider at your question, and you don't know what to feel. If he's petty, he'll reject your invitation but with the look on his face right now, he doesn't seem to have the intention to do so. At least you hope so. It will be so embarrassing for you to have come all the way to his place instead of just asking him through text.

He was about to answer when somebody suddenly approaches the door.

"Jeon Jungkook?" The guy asks, and you immediately shot your eyes to look at him. With his printed shirt that reads a famous food delivery brand and his hands carrying bags of what you assumed take-out food, you figure what he's here for. "Here's your order, sir."

Embarrassed, you scoot to the side to give way to the food delivery guy and let him extend the bags towards Jungkook who grabs his wallet from the pocket of his sweats to pay for the food, thanking the man in the process.

He already has plans for tonight, you realize. Your invitation to dinner is futile because he already bought take-out.

The food delivery guy gave you a look before he took off in which you returned a timid smile for. And then, you turn around to look at Jungkook again.

"Nevermind, don't answer my question." You say, referring to your invitation prior to the arrival of his food delivery. "Uhm, bye. Good night."

You were just turning your heels to go the other way around when Jungkook suddenly speaks.

"Wait, don't go yet," Jungkook steps to the side and inserts his wallet back into his pants. He raises the bags of take-out and arches his brow towards your way, "Do you like Thai?"

"I do." You reply, not really understanding where he's getting at first.

Jungkook smiles. "Good. Do you wanna come inside?"

When you realize what he just said, you shake your head, "Oh, no, no. We could grab dinner outside tomorrow if you're free."

"This is enough for two?"

He's inviting you to his place. Is he insane?

You shake your head once again. "No, Jungkook, I really don't want to impose on—"

Jungkook cut you off with a hearty laugh.

"__, you won't be imposing. Come on, I bet you haven't had dinner yet either." When you don't answer, he insists again, "I think I have Thai tea around here somewhere."

You narrow your eyes at him.

"You think I'll go inside just 'cause you have Thai tea?" you say, raising your brow at him, challenging Jungkook to say something to that. He shrugs with a smile of amusement. Then you break your demeanor and sigh. "You're actually right. I can probably be bribed with daily boba supply."

Jungkook laughs at your absurd claim.

"No matter what's on the line?"

"Yeah," Then you decide to joke a little, "If you're the one on the line."

His laughter only becomes louder, and you shake your head at him because you genuinely wonder why he laughs so much at your nonsensical jokes. You would consider yourself funny but not that funny.

But this is good. Joking is good. This dynamic is surely better than you avoiding him.

"You're so..." Jungkook stops to look at you and you stare back at him. That moment stretches into a minute until you feel the hair on your nape stand.

It's the night air, and not at all the almost intimate way he looked into your eyes.

That's what you'll tell yourself tonight.

"I'm so what?" You decide to break the silence, seemingly snapping Jungkook out of the trance he's put himself in awhile ago.

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

"Okay, now you're just making me curious."

"It's nothing."

"Okay, I'm gonna let it pass this time..." you say, eliciting a low chuckle from him.

He must realize that you've both been standing on his porch for a while now.

"Come," he says, gesturing inside his place.

Your steps are a bit hesitant as you follow him inside. But nonetheless, you both get in, Jungkook offering you a pair of home slipper that are almost twice as big as your feet as he locks the door.

When you let your eyes wander, you're more than surprised to see the state of the interior.

Jungkook's place is surprisingly... clean.

Sure, it must be because there aren't any decorations or much furniture yet, but from your experiences with men, the one thing they have in common is that they are messy. It's almost impossible to not see clothes strewn all over their places or food wrappings on any surface at a corner, but Jungkook's is spotless.

Except maybe for the few boxes that stand beside the door of the room all the way across the room which you assume is his bedroom, but other than that, there's no indicator that a man is residing inside. Admittedly, it's even cleaner than your own.

"Sorry, it's a little messy. I haven't unpacked all of my stuff. Got busy."

He seems to notice you eyeing the aforementioned boxes, and hearing his words, you shake your head.

"Oh, no, trust me. This is the cleanest place I've ever seen." You say truthfully.

"Thanks." Jungkook responds with a smile.

His apartment, like yours, has an open layout so from where you are in the living room, you can see him putting the bags on the kitchen counter, unloading them and starting to transfer some of them into his own plates.

You approach his direction to find yourself useful.

"Is it okay if we eat at the coffee table? My table set hasn't arrived yet..." he rubbs the back of his head, a sheepish smile painting his face.

"It's fine."

His coffee table is wide enough for all the food to fit, anyway. That's what you thought when you bring all the food to the living room, sitting on the floorboards opposite of him.

Before you start dinner, Jungkook asks if you want to watch something on the TV.

"It's like a jumbotron." Is your throw-away comment when he turns on his huge ass TV. It's genuinely so big you aren't even exaggerating. You are not that good with estimation but the screen is probably the same height as you...

"What?" Jungkook chuckles, looking at you all confused.

"Nothing. Just that your TV is so big."

"Yeah? I wanted to buy this one for so long and I got really lucky to get it on sale here. I have the Criterion channel so I've been wanting to watch stuff with an OLED screen—" he cuts himself off and looks at you with a hint of embarrassment. "Sorry."

You look away before you can go on a spiral about how cute he looked with a proud smile on his face while he was going off about how he got his jumbotron on sale. He was geeking out about a freaking TV. But you guess it makes sense for a tech guy like him.

"Uh, what do you want to watch?" He asks, going through his streaming services.

The big TV and the streaming services just click so much in the context of him. You, in contrast, cannot relate. After forgetting to unsubscribe to Netflix a few months ago, it automatically stole the thirteen thousand won from your account, and since then, you're more than traumatized to pay for any streaming services until today. Pirating is bad but so is capitalism.

"Anything is fine."

"Okay."

You really couldn't have cared less about what he's going to click on, but National Geographic pops up on his big screen and you think he must be joking but he starts tuning in with genuine interest.

Oh. Wow.

He's just a big nerd trapped in a hot human body, huh?

How cute. And how unbelievably hot to discover this about him.

After a few minutes into the documentary, it turns out that whales are interesting to a certain degree. Sure, Jungkook's huge ass screen made it a little funny because the pictures are too big, but they did pique your interest a little, especially when Jungkook would add in a little of his own knowledge about them. When you asked him about the weird little stick thing on their mouth, he told you that they were tusks and only male narwhals had them, and that they used it as some sort of sensory tool. He admitted he hyperfixated on whales for a while when he saw them first on Discovery Channel as a kid.

You didn't even have to pretend to be engrossed, you were just in genuine awe of his interests and how enthusiastic he was about sharing them.

Food is starting to run out, making you realize that it's been awhile since you've eaten Thai food and you should probably eat them once again tomorrow.

You're just about to ask Jungkook which restaurant he got it from when he beats you to speaking first.

"You're still in your work clothes."

You stop.

"Yeah..."

And then you're reminded of why you're here in the first place.

It isn't for the whales or for Thai food, that's for sure.

You haven't changed out of your work clothes, indeed, since you planned going out for dinner in hopes of talking to Jungkook while ago. The night is going so well so far that you actually forgot about that. But then since he already cocked the gun, might as well just pull the trigger and get it over with.

You look at him, an uneasy feeling settling in your nerves.

"So... about your text earlier."

There is a hint of a smile on Jungkook's lips when he nods his head.

"Yeah?"

"It wasn't me." You say, trying to look for a reaction, trying to see if he'll insist or anything.

But Jungkook just nods his head again.

"I see."

He does not seem to see, though, and you know right then and there that your cover is finally and officially blown.

"Okay, I lied. That was me." You take back your words, jutting your bottom lip out when you add, "Turns out we work at the same company. And that you're apparently my boss."

"And you're my cousin's girlfriend."

You gasp audibly.

So he knows you were at that party! How? And what? He thought you were Jimin's girlfriend for real? Wait, does he not know it was all Jimin's ruse?

"How did you know that?"

"They mentioned Jimin's girlfriend was in the bathroom when I arrived. I asked Jimin about it and he told me her name was __."

You would face-palm yourself if Jungkook wasn't present.

Ugh. Of course, Jimin doesn't know.

"Well, okay, just so you know, I was a paid actress." You tell Jungkook, which earns you a laugh from him. Then you cover your mouth, realizing you shouldn't have said that. "Oh—uhm, do you know...?" You trail off, looking at him expectantly and hoping he knows what you meant.

You swear you remember Jimin telling you that Jungkook knows about him being gay, but now you are second-guessing yourself and you will be in trouble if you did slip up.

Thankfully, Jungkook nods, seemingly understanding where you're getting at.

"Don't worry, I know." You heave a sigh of relief at his verbal confirmation. Jungkook takes the tom yum goong and started peeling the shrimp from the bowl, continuing to say, "And Jimin brings a fake date to every family gathering, so I knew right away he was lying about dating somebody," Jungkook chuckles, and as if an afterthought, he adds, "I wish I could've seen you act. You two left so early."

Well... you did play a role in that, you think. But you can't tell him you purposefully didn't go back to the table that night because you saw him.

"Oh, Jimin had to send Joon off at the airport." You say, which is actually true. For a change.

He nods. "His boyfriend, yeah... did he go to Italy with him?"

You wonder how he knows about the Italy thing. Jimin, probably. They're close after all—

"Namjoon's a close friend as well." Jungkook adds, as if having read your thoughts.

"Ah," you nod, not surprised at all about their apparent link.

Wealthy people do have a tiny world.

"Jimin hasn't actually contacted me yet since that night."

It has been a few days, and you're starting to think he's dead or something. Your calls go straight to voicemail and your messages do not send. You've sent him a few on social media as well but it seems like he hasn't been online at all.

"I'm worried about him. Has Namjoon said anything?" You look at Jungkook, hoping he'll say yes.

But he shakes his head instead.

"I wouldn't be worried, though. I think they're together."

"In Italy?"

"Yeah."

You won't be surprised if that's the case. Jimin is the king of spontaneity and if he did fly off to another country abruptly with his boyfriend, you won't question it.

You do miss him though and you're gonna make sure to make him feel bad for not telling you anything soon.

"You're right." You sigh.

Jungkook has been peeling shrimp for awhile now, setting them aside in a small bowl. You think he's gonna eat it himself, but you're surprised when he slides off the bowl to your direction.

"There. I noticed you weren't eating the tom yum. You don't like it?" Jungkook asks, smiling at you.

You can't help it; blood rushes to your cheeks at the realization that he just peeled shrimps for you.

Is this normal for him? Like, does he just go around and do things like these for friends?

You will scream in your bathroom later when you get home.

"Oh, no, uh... I'm actually allergic to shrimp." You give him a tight-lipped smile.

You feel bad at the way Jungkook's expression drops as soon as you said that.

"Shit, sorry, I didn't know," He takes the small bowl quickly and looks at you apologetically.

"No, it's fine! I didn't tell you either."

"I'm really sorry. I should've asked first."

"Jungkook," you chuckle. "It's fine. Thank you, anyway."

"I could've done serious damage to you, huh?"

"Yeah, you'd have to tell Jimin you killed me because you fed me shrimp."

"Don't say that," Jungkook laughs. "How long are you friends now, by the way?"

You nip on your chopsticks, answering him.

"We've been friends since college... so almost ten years."

"That's really nice."

And then you remember to ask, "Did you tell him?"

"What?"

"That you know me?"

"No. Not yet, at least. Didn't have the chance." Jungkook proceeds to eat the shrimp himself and you have to keep yourself from letting out a breath of relief at his answer. "Did you tell him?"

"No. Uh— I know this is weird. But... can you not tell him?" You ask. Jungkook looks at you for a bit, studying your face. You clear your throat when seconds passed and he still hasn't said anything. "It's just that I want to tell him on my own time." You decide to add.

"Okay." He says after a while, smiling.

Thank god he doesn't ask any more questions.

"Thanks."

And now there's another elephant in the room that you still need to address.

A bit hesitant, you open with, "Did you uhm..." You think about how to word it, but then you think, fuck it. "Did you know by that time at the party that I work at Blue Nexus?"

Jungkook shakes his head.

"No, I saw you at the company and only put two and two together."

Your brows furrow. "When?"

"Uh... earlier this morning."

"Oh. Yeah..."

You don't know exactly why, but you feel a tinge of disappointment that he meant earlier. You really thought he recognized you at the ceremony.

But then you shake the feeling off and jokingly narrow your eyes at him. "Why didn't you tell me about the party, then?"

"Why, did you see me there?"

You shut your mouth. Right. You're supposed to pretend you didn't seen him that time.

"No." You lie.

"So I thought it didn't matter... though I was pretty surprised when I saw you today."

"Ugh, I thought I hid myself pretty well." You lament dramatically, embarrassed that you really thought covering your face with your hair would do you any good.

"Nah," Jungkook shakes his head while laughing at your misery, "I thought, "who is this five-foot woman hiding in the back","

"Wow." You gasp, not believing his audacity. But you're also thankful that he makes talking to him so easy. The way your conversations goes from funny to serious is so seamless, all because Jungkook knows exactly how to turn the wheels around.

"Kidding. I actually recognized you by your blouse..." he gestures at your baby blue polo sleeves, making you furrow your brows, not quite sure how he meant. But then, he continues, "Did the ink ever come off?"

Oh. Right! He had seen you wear the blouse before and even heard you tell him the story about how the jammed printer caused a blot of ink to stain your cuff.

You're surprised he even remembers that. It seems so long ago.

Raising your arm to examine the cuff area of your blouse, you look at it with small amusement.

"Yeah, it did, actually."

"How did you do it?"

You deadpan, "You're not asking me how I do my laundry, Jungkook."

"Hey, I love doing laundry," You raise your brow, not believing him, but Jungkook insists. "No, I really do."

"Okay." You nod, chuckling because he really seems way too eager to prove to you that he loves doing laundry.

What you've found out about him so far is so... mesmerizing, to say the least. With how he looks like – you meant, the tattoos and the body – you would most likely assume he likes guy stuff. You know, big macho man stuff like that. But turns out, he's just a guy who likes big TVs and NatGeo and... laundry.

He's such a fascinating person.

"I'm also not your boss." Jungkook suddenly says, making you look up at him.

"Well, you're CTO, you technically are." You point out.

"Technically, yes. But I don't oversee the accounting department, so you're not really working for me, which means I'm not your boss."

The mental gymnastics make you frown but you get his point.

"Okay, that's true. But still... your father is Mr. Jeon."

"Would you believe me if I denied that?" He jokes, the tilt in his voice telling you he is.

"You kind of look the same, so I probably wouldn't believe you."

"Really? A lot of people say I look more like my mother..."

You've seen the pictures. It's more of a split, really. But you can't tell him that obviously.

Silence sits in his living room for a while, the NatGeo narrator serving as background noise at this point.

You drop your chopsticks down and sigh. Jungkook looks at you with furrowed brows, worried about your sudden seriousness.

"So, you're not like weirded out about this whole thing?" You ask him straight to the point.

Joking is good, as you said. And this night is going better than you thought. But it feels like you are just glossing over the facts, and you need to address it with him lest it becomes a problem in the future. You don't know how exactly they are going to be; you just have a feeling in your heart that they are going to.

"The what?" Jungkook says, looking genuinely confused, as if he doesn't know what your deal is.

"The I'm-your-cousin's-best-friend? And the fact that you're an executive at the company I work at and we live in the same building?" You lay out, sounding exasperated now that you're taking it all out.

Jungkook stares at you for a bit.

"Why would that weird me out?"

He isn't being dense, you can see that. He's just plain confused.

You sigh once again. Seems like you've been doing a lot of that these past few days.

"Because it's just... too many eggs in the basket."

Jungkook chuckles, wiping his hands with a tissue. "Isn't it good you have many eggs in the basket?"

You glare at him, and it makes him raise his hands as a peace offering.

"It's bad because..."

"... because?" Jungkook, now with his hands clean, props an elbow on the coffee table, looking right into your eyes as he leans closer to your direction.

You look away.

"Because it means I can't hang out with you anymore."

When you look at him again, the smile is wiped off his face, suddenly exchanged with a frown.

"Why?"

"Because again, it's too many eggs in the basket and—" Running out with metaphors, you say the first thing that was off the top of your head, "That makes you my uncle."

Jungkook's jaw drops a bit.

"Your thought process really amazes me."

You grimace, already expecting that. "Thanks, I get that a lot."

"No, it's really... interesting."

He doesn't look judgmental at all, just full of genuine awe, but you're eager to come to your own defense and so you say, "You don't get it? It's like—" You fling your hands around, trying to explain what you just said. "You don't have a close relationship with your uncle, right? 'Cause it's awkward. When you're with them it's like being with your boss, which means you can't be friends with them 'cause, again, it's awkward."

Jungkook still looks like he doesn't know what the hell you're talking about, but he nods his head, nonetheless.

"Okay... but I have a very close relationship with the CEO..."

You pout. "That's not what I meant."

And when he chuckles at that, you know he's fucking with you and understand exactly what you were trying to say; fooling around as if you aren't having an internal crisis.

Jungkook must've seen how you're genuinely not finding anything funny and stops.

"Is that why you've been avoiding me the past few days?" He raises his brow, but his voice is gentle as he speaks.

You didn't think he'd confront you about that, but you decide to look away when you try to lie as an answer.

"No...?"

Jungkook only chuckle at your indignation.

"Okay, okay, let's divide and conquer, yeah?" He smiles at you. Warm and soft. "First, you're Jimin's best friend, what's the issue? It just means you must be a good person to hang around with because you're friends with the person I'm close to. Second, I'm not your boss, will you please stop saying that? And third, we're neighbors... so what? We just happened to rent in the same building. No big deal."

Your frown just gets deeper at what he said because... he's right. So right.

You overreacted the whole time you tried to hide from him.

With nothing else to add, you weakly ask, "Okay but... can you fire me?"

In your head, it's a relevant question. You don't know how the chain of command worked at the company. He's an executive which probably means he has firing rights, right? What if he finds you too rude towards him over the past few days that he wants to take your job away from you? Can he fire you because of personal vendetta?

"Asking the important question?" Jungkook teases.

"Damn straight, I am. I mean, I did complain to you about my job before, and it turns out you're one of the executives at the company."

"I can see the wheels in your head turning but sorry to say I'm not actually an official executive. I'm just an interim CTO. And no, I don't have the right to fire you," Jungkook chuckles, seemingly amused at your thoughts. "And you can complain to me about your job all you want."

You send him a suspicious look.

"No, thank you."

"Seriously?" He asks incredulously. "Interim CTO or Jimin's cousin or not, I'm still Jeon Jungkook. Just your plain ol' neighbor."

"You say that but what if I arrive to my desk tomorrow with my things packed because you told Ms. Jung all the things I told you about her?" You squint your eyes at him.

"God, you're unbelievable." Jungkook says in between his laughter.

"Okay, but I wanna ask you something." You say. Jungkook hums. "I'm curious... why here?"

It isn't like your apartment complex is abominable or anything of the sort. When you were still on the look-out of apartments five years ago, here was the only decent one that did not cause you a 3-month pay. It's why you chose it in the first place. The unit is big enough for yourself and it's located at the center of the city, which means that it's near establishments that are relevant to your daily living. The bus station is also just a few minutes walk, and it only takes you an hour commute to get to your company building. It was the best out of all your choices back then.

However, for a guy like Jungkook, you wonder why he isn't at the big shot complexes like in Cheongdam or Hannam. You don't doubt he can afford those.

But Jungkook surprises you with his answer.

"It's cheaper."

You can't help but raise your brow.

"What?" And then as if realizing your look, Jungkook chuckles. "Oh, I see... you think I'm, like, rich?"

You shrug.

Jungkook answer with a simple, "My parents are loaded. And anyway, it's near the company. I also really like it here so far. Hannam felt like prison when I stayed there in my first week. Guards were way too strict."

Nodding, you recall Jimin's stories about that gated community when he himself stayed there for merely three months. It makes sense for it to almost seem like prison, though, given that most people who live there are high profile.

"I commute on my way to work. What about you?"

"I bought a parking spot nearby; it's surprisingly cheap compared to America."

You wouldn't know because you've never had a car in your life. First of all, you refuse to apply for a driving license because you're sure you'll kill yourself on the road. Besides, cars are expensive. You'll stick to your buses and trains all your life even though commuting sucks ass sometimes.

But you nod at Jungkook's words.

Soon, you both engage in more conversation about yourselves until you notice the time.

"It's getting late, I should go. I have work tomorrow." You tell him with a pout, genuinely disappointed about having to go.

Jungkook looks over at the clock hanging on his wall and then turns to you, "We have work tomorrow, you mean."

You blush at that for no reason.

"Well..."

"Okay, I'll walk you to your place."

"What?" You laugh. "That's ridiculous."

"What's ridiculous about it? You're so short, the crickets might attack you." Jungkook says with a serious face.

That makes you frown instantly.

"Ugh, you've got to stop saying that. I'm starting to dislike you."

"Hmm."

Jungkook indeed followed you on your way out, though, but not without you insisting that he didn't need to walk you to your door because it was literally just across his, but Jungkook was persistent and you had no choice but to walk the five steps it took to get in front of your apartment from his own.

He's still laughing when your face is still contorted into an unpleasant expression.

"Okay, good night." You say. You point to his chest absent-mindedly, but you quickly take it back when you feel how hard it is. "A-and stop calling me short, I'm not. The __ karma is real, I have Jimin to prove that."

"Fine, I'll stop." Jungkook smiles, watching as you enter your threshold.

"Good."

You stand on your door, leaning over the frame and not closing it just yet.

Jungkook gives you a heart-warming smile before he says, "See you tomorrow."

And he speaks the words so gently that you feel your cheeks heating once again.

"S-see you as well."

"You look banging in that polo shirt." Jimin says, obviously chatting you up because the moment you accepted his call earlier this morning, you did not hesitate to tell him off about going MIA on you so suddenly.

"It's literally just a plain white polo."

"Okay, and you still look good in it, so..." He shrugs, but you can see the look on his face, sheepish and apologetic.

You scoff.

"You can't compliment me out of sulking. I'm mad at you."

There's a pout that forms on his lips quickly; a tactic so predictable you almost roll your eyes.

"I know... but I told you! Joon and I spent the last week—"

"Fucking each other to Sunday and back, blah blah blah. Still, you could've told me you went to Italy, you slut."

Jimin lets out a loud laugh at your blunt words.

"Slut shaming in the big year of 2028? I thought you were better than that." He shakes his head, pretending to be pointed and curt with the bitchy look on his face. But you know he's just teasing to get you out of your own bitchy mode as well.

It works every time.

You don't fight the way your eyes roll on their own accord as a response this time. Jimin compromises, "Okay, I'm sorry! For not telling. It's just that I've turned off my phone for the past week because I'm sure dad and his secretary are going to blow up my phone— they are, by the way, so cut me some slack."

Forgiveness comes easy when you take into consideration what he's been through for the past few weeks. The spontaneous trip to Italy and him flying along with his boyfriend may come off as immature, but you know deep inside he's just wanting to get away from the reality of his life: which is pretty much toxic family with incredibly high expectations and boring ass management school.

You are certain they are giving him shit, and you don't need to add more to that.

It's 7:20 and you're currently prepping for work. Privacy is almost moot in your friendship with Jimin, so you're quite literally dressing up in front of him on call, sweeping your hair to the side as you pull up your trousers.

"Okay... are you having fun there?" You ask instead.

Jimin smiles a knowing grin. "Babe, I just told you me and my boyfriend are having sex 24/7 in here, I'm having the most fun in my life."

You button your trousers and groan at his words.

"I wish I was also in Italy."

"I mean, you could."

You give him a look.

"And what? Third wheel you and Joon? No thanks."

Jimin just shrugs, the angle of his camera going shaky for a bit as he moves to lay on what you assume is his bed.

"I don't know, girl, maybe you'll find a nice Italian man here."

That earns him a snort from you while you duck to wear your sandals.

"I've long forgotten that fantasy since I was 19."

"You're not a stranger to relapsing..." Jimin clocks and that makes you shoot up straight so he can see the look of incredulity on your face as an immediate reaction to what he just said.

"Rude!"

Jimin just snorts. "Okay but for real, how are things going over there for you?"

You sigh. "Same old, same old. Pretty and single and working a very boring job."

Your best friend can't help but mirror the wince on your face.

"You could change the last two but never the first one, babe. So, you see, you're still miles ahead." He says as a matter of fact, sounding like he's giving out some sort of motivational speech.

"Lucky me," you noted with a straight face. You start rummaging your bag to see if you got everything you need. Then, there's something at the tip of your tongue. Something you've been wanting to open up to him. So, you start by clearing your throat – subtly, you hope.

"But you know, life's pretty... eventful the past few days."

Jimin quirks his eyebrow at that, obviously catching onto what could possibly be a new news.

You bite your lower lip, nibbling on it slightly as you contemplate whether to tell him about what you've been up to.

For some weird reason, you still haven't told him about Jungkook, and it seems like Jungkook has made good on his promise not to tell your best friend because if he did break it, Jimin would be inquiring you all about it now.

You figure now is sort of the perfect time to... maybe tell him.

"Uh, well... not eventful, per se, just a little..." you trailed off, finding a bit of uncertainty in your voice. You see Jimin's face morphing into more of a confused look rather than intrigued as the second passes. Pursing your lips into a thin line, you finish your previous sentence with, "Just a little different, I guess."

"Don't edge me, I swear to god." Jimin threatens playfully, making you chuckle.

"It's not something groundbreaking, okay? It's just the, uh, do you still remember Mr—"

The yawn that Jimin lets out stops you from completing your words, and you remember him mentioning a while ago that it's currently midnight from where he is.

"Ugh," Jimin groans, "Sorry, I slept so late yesterday. Anyway, go on, what were you saying?"

The uncertainty you felt a while ago increases, and you decide that maybe, now is so not the perfect time to bring up Jungkook, his cousin.

So, you shake your head, smiling at him, packing the words of your confession in a box that that you place at the back of your head, ready for unpacking when the time calls for it – which you don't exactly know when.

"Nah, go to sleep. This conversation can wait."

"You're gonna kill me with curiosity."

Rolling your eyes, you make a gesture of shoving him.

"I have to catch up with my bus soon, anyway." You say, dodging his insistence.

"Just tell me pretty please, I won't be able to sleep!" He dramatically says.

You roll your eyes again at the theatrics.

"It's really nothing big."

Well, it is. Sort of. Or maybe it's not, and you're just doing that thing again where you put too much thought over something inconsequential.

You swear you were ready to tell him about Jungkook, having even hyped yourself in the bathroom a few days ago and practicing what you're going to tell Jimin. But as of this moment, right now, it suddenly feels... unimportant. Not in a negative way. Just in a... does-it-really-matter way.

Jimin will find out eventually. But not now when you're not totally ready.

"I know what this is," Jimin suddenly says. At his suspicious tone, your heart starts to pick up the rate of its beat. You can see the way Jimin squints his eyes at you, and you wish he doesn't see the way you're slightly frozen. "You got back with your ex, Hansung."

You hope he sees the disgust on your face the moment he let out the words.

"Oh my god, hell no!" Is your instant response. Just hearing that name again made the hairs on your nape rise. "Jimin, what the fuck."

Jimin rolls his eyes. "You look so nervous, that's how you look like when you're about to tell me you've done something stupid."

Okay, fair. The assumption is coming from a valid basis. It makes you frown at him.

"You're such a bitch." Jimin laughs at the way you deflate. You let out a sign. "It's just... Taemu. From the IT dep."

"That guy?!" He exclaims and quickly covers his mouth. "The cute guy you refused to date a second time... you're finally dating him again?"

"What do you mean, finally?" You narrow your eyes at him, surprise at the positive comment about Taemu. "Jesus, I thought you were with me when I said I found him boring."

"What can I say? He can be cute and boring." He points out, as if he did not talk behind the Taemu's back when you ranted about the guy to him.

"You're fake as hell." You laugh, unbelieving.

Jimin joins your laughter, finding his sudden switch up funny as well.

"But you're, for real, dating him again? It means he still likes you?" He asks, obviously intrigued at this newfound information.

Unfortunately, it's a bit of a lie. You feel bad, but it is a great scapegoat to dodge the bullet of the conversation about Jungkook.

"I don't know... we're talking."

Which, for once, is true. Taemu and you did not exactly end on a good note (courtesy to you, boo), but you work in the same company, after all. There are times in the company's cafeteria where you bump into him, and it would have felt weird if you just snub him and act like you did not have an acquaintanceship before he asked you out to a date. Taemu's ultimately still your friend, and there are no hard feelings on his part, you can confidently say. He's... nice, you guess. Somehow of an afterthought. You're starting to think you completely misjudged him on your first date.

You take a quick trip to the fridge to grab a glass of cold water since Jimin is on loudspeaker anyway.

"That reminds me," Jimin suddenly quips. You hum to acknowledge him. "My cousin now works at your company, right? You still remember Jungkook? Have you met him yet?"

You couldn't help it; the water splattered all over the place when you heard Jungkook's name from his mouth.

Jimin quickly asks you a series of "are you okays" and you respond with a "yes" that's interrupted with a cough every time; a weak nod with a raised hand, telling him not to worry.

"Water just got in the wrong track." You reason, coughing and slapping your chest to regain your breathing. When you see wet spots on your shirt, you let out a whiny groan.

"You're so jumpy today. You're sure you're fine?" Jimin checks once again, and you have to bite your tongue to not show the way you froze a little at his observation.

You nod at him, showing him an expression that hopefully conveys he's the one being weird and definitely not you.

"Yeah, it's fine." You look down on your shirt. You're debating whether to stick with it and just let it dry in the bus later or completely change out of it. "But uh, your cousin! I did see him. We had a ceremony a week ago."

You would've said that with a smile, but Jimin knows you too well that he'll surely know it's fake. So, you spoke with an almost straight face. What Jimin says next surprises you a bit, though.

"I hope you meet each other," Jimin's excitement is visible on his face. "It'd be kinda fun; my closest cousin and my best friend... imagine that? I think you'll like each other." He seems to be so geeked about the idea that even when you're internally having a crisis, you can't help but find it cute. But then his smile gets wiped off his lips just as quickly as it showed. "It'd be awkward, though. He's, kinda like, your boss, right?"

You suddenly remember Jungkook's words about him not being your boss. It makes your lips curl, but you have to shake off the thought.

You give him a hesitant look.

"Well, not really, but he's an executive. So... it would be awkward. I guess."

Jimin nods, agreeing with you.

"It's crazy though, I never thought he'd be working at uncle's company so soon..." He trails off and he looks deep in thought, like his words were just supposed to be inner thoughts and you're not supposed to hear them. But he shakes his head after a while, moving on to another subject that makes you quietly sigh in relief. "Anyway, I'm sure I'm keeping you up. I'll sleep and you better tell me all about Kang Taemu when I wake up, okay?"

You chuckle, shaking your head at the threatening tone of his voice.

"I will. When will you come home, anyway?"

He groans, obviously not wanting to discuss home for the reasons you know exactly what. He confirms your assumption by telling so.

"Honestly, I don't know. I'm trying to avoid responsibilities as much as I can. God, I wish you were also here. There's a bar Joon and I discovered that sells these insane bottomless mimosas."

Before you could reply, Jimin goes off the frame suddenly, but the lower part of his face makes you see the way his lips curling up into a smile and saying, "Hey, hon."

There's a greeting from another person on the other end of the line – one that you are certainly familiar with.

Jimin moves his camera and as expected, you see Namjoon waving at you.

"Hey, __,"

You mirror the smile on his face. "Hi, Joon."

"Let's not keep her up. She has to go to work," Jimin tells Namjoon. "Anyway, bye. Kick some ass at work."

Laughing, you tell them, "I'll be off. Good night to you both."

When the call ends, you look down to your shirt once again, seeing that the little wet spots still haven't dried yet. Sighing, you decide to change out of it because it looked untidy.

Too bad you didn't check the time when you were doing it though, because as soon as you were done buttoning the new shirt you've worn, the clock hits 7:55 am. You bus arrives at exactly 8 am.

"Shit." You hiss, scrambling out of the apartment hoping that you can somehow run your way fast to the station and hop on it on time.

But you're no The Flash or Usain Bolt. To piss you off more, the strap of your bag got caught up with the handle of your door.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" You whisper, hastily untangling the strap off the door which won't let up.

"__?" As soon as you hear the familiar voice, you stop with what you were doing and turn to Jungkook, conjuring up a what you can only hope a pleasant enough smile.

"Hey!" You say, chirpy in that weird way. You hope he didn't catch you cursing the door.

But with the way he was looking at your hand on your door, you knew he did.

Sigh. He just really has to catch you in your most vulnerable moments, huh?

"Good morning," Jungkook greets with a smile, ignoring the case at hand. As usual, he looks put together with his sleek suit and styled hair and eyeglasses.

"Morning," You say, slowly taking off the strap around the handle, gentle and slower this time.

Fucking door handle, you thought bitterly.

As you do that, you catch a glimpse of your wristwatch. Shoot.

You look back at Jungkook apologetically, moving away from your porch. "Nice seeing you. I have to catch my bus."

"When is it coming?"

"At exactly... two minutes from now. Bye! Gotta run!" You were about ready to literally run but Jungkook calls out your name.

"Wait!"

You stop coming down the flight of stairs to ask him, "What?"

"I can drive us together there."

"Oh," You slap your hands on your trousers. "That's so nice of you. Thank you—" And then suddenly, his words register, and you take back your quick agreement. You hate that you're so slow sometimes, but it's innate at this point. "I mean, no! That's a nice offer, but no, thank you."

"You won't catch your bus at this point," Jungkook says as a matter of fact, even taking a quick glance at his own watch. He begins to walk down the stairs to walk with you. "It only takes thirty minutes to drive by car to the company." When it takes you long to answer, Jungkook insists, already predicting the "no" that you're going to hit him with. "Come on, do you want to be late?"

"No."

Jungkook smiles at you. "Okay, so...?"

You purse your lips into a thin line, blowing your bangs and giving him a sheepish look.

"Okay, fine. But I owe you."

The smile on his face only grows wider. "More than fine by me."

He leads you both to the parking building nearby where his car was, only taking about a few minutes to walk towards.

When Jungkook points at his car, you follow his behind him shortly, stopping on the one side of the door. You're just about to open it when you feel Jungkook looming behind you, his hand extended forward to open the same door. You stretch your neck to look at him in question, making sure to keep a decent distance between you both.

"Uh...?" You utter.

And then it hits you.

He's trying to open the door for you.

You take a step back after the realization, feeling shy about the prospect of such a chivalrous act from him.

"This is the driver's seat."

"Oh!" You exclaimed. Eyes widening, you walk backwards to give him more space. "Yeah! Fuck... sorry," You apologize, cheeks starting to heat in embarrassment.

You round about the car and enter the passenger seat quickly, seeing Jungkook already set in his own place. You look to the side, almost pressing yourself to the window just so he won't see the way you wince.

So fucking embarrassing. This is exactly what you write about in your diary during high school days.

"Your seatbelt," Jungkook says, and you look at him with widened eyes. Right. You were way too deep in embarrassment that you forgot about it. You fiddle with the seatbelt a few seconds before he speaks once again, "Let me."

And you couldn't have stopped him from leaning closer to you to grab the seatbelt and wear it around your waist, carefully and gently, making you hitch your breath at the sudden proximity.

Of course you've noticed it way before, but this is the first time you were close enough to deduce that he smells like green apple and fresh laundry. A little different from the musky scent that you were used to smelling on men that you've been with before.

"There." He smiles at you before sitting back on his chair, wearing his own seatbelt.

You are way too stunned to acknowledge what he did that for the first few minutes, you're just quiet, mind flying to some place. You only snap out of it when Jungkook speaks again.

"Slept late last night?"

You shake your head at his question. "No... just facetime with Jimin this morning. You were right to tell me not to worry, he's with Joon."

Jungkook nods at your words, turning the ignition of the car. He starts to reverse, and you feel yourself growing embarrassingly hot when he does the thing of putting his arm around the back of your seat while the other spins the wheel, stretching his neck to look back.

You decide to look away for your own sake.

"Uh, anyway, I'm really sorry."

"Hm?" Jungkook hums, eyes on the road as he starts driving.

If you think about it, you were just at his place a few nights ago eating dinner with him, and now, you somehow find yourself in his car as he drives you both to work. His constant kindness is not lost on you... but Jungkook's casualty makes it seem like this is just his plain nature.

You quirk your head to the side.

"Are you free later for lunch?"

"I can arrange my sched. Why?"

"Do you want to go together?" You ask. You'd say the offer is a form of compensation for his help today, but getting lunch together for the pure sake of it doesn't sound bad, either. Both works, so you're only a bit hopeful as you try to look for his reaction.

Jungkook has a hint of surprise on his face when he takes a quick look at you before turning his attention back on the road.

"Really?" There's a little lilt to his voice, as if he's not surer if you're being serious.

You shrug to appear casual. "If you're not too busy, that is."

He shakes his head, smiling. "Where are we going?"

"You're gonna find out later." You tell him. Jungkook cocks his head to the side, intrigued.

"Okay... where should I meet you, then? At your office?"

"Oh, god, no." Is your quick response. Jungkook immediately looks at you in offense, but it's more like amusement when he stares longer. At that, you wave your hand so he doesn't get the wrong idea. "No, no, I mean— it's just rude if an executive, like, comes to our office."

"You're still not hung up on the boss thing?" You roll your eyes at his teasing tone which earns a hearty chuckle from Jungkook. He shakes his head playfully at you. "I doubt anyone would care."

You jut your bottom lip out because he's probably right. But still, your co-workers would ask, and you're not trying to dig yourself a hole by making yourself news of the day because the newly appointed interim CTO just walked into your office for what? Lunch? The HR would have a field day.

"Maybe we can meet at the parking lot?" You offer, thinking it's the sensible place.

Jungkook smiles. "Alright."

You had to stay behind Joonhwi and Sol as lunch came, making an excuse about going out with a friend as opposed to not coming with them. In your head, you think you were doing Joonhwi a favor.

After that, you were welcomed with text from Jungkook when you turned on your phone. It said he was already at the basement where he parked earlier, so it wasn't exactly hard to spot him right away the moment you got there.

The drive to your destination was quick enough to only amount to around fifteen minutes. As soon as Jungkook managed to park his car somewhere, you lead him to where the place you'd chosen for lunch.

When he finally registered where you were, his amusement does not go unnoticed.

"I've always wanted to go here," He tells you, looking around the stores in-line by the street.

You look back at him in surprise.

"You haven't been here?" Jungkook nods and you want to ask him if he's kidding around, but then you realize he's no ordinary person like most of the people you know in your life, recalling that Jimin's first time in a marketplace like this was only when you introduced him to it during sophomore year. "But you eat street food, right?" You ask him, even though you know he does. You did spend nights on that food truck around your building.

"Of course I do," Jungkook chuckles, rubbing a hand at the back of his head, seemingly shy. "I just never tried it here."

You give him a wide grin. "You're gonna enjoy it here. Follow me, I have a favorite store here that sells really good hotteok."

You spent the better part of the morning thinking about the place where you can bring him, opting out of going to cafes and restaurant because it was just getting kind of old. Aside from the fact that you stopped going to the food truck across your apartment building, it's also been a while since you enjoyed some street food yourself. You're also delighted to know that this is apparently Jungkook's first time going here.

The area is usually livelier in the later hours of the night, but there are still a lot of people by lunch time. Students, civilians, tourists... a usual day in Seoul, you can say.

When you reach the hotteok stall, you ask for your usual right away, almost asking the same thing for Jungkook but remember that he might actually want something else.

"Do you want other flavors instead?" You look back at him while he stands behind you with his hands in his pockets. He's forgone the coat – it's somewhere in his car seat – which left him with his usual polo shirt, sleeves folded up to his forearms. He kind of looks broody with his stance and you know... the exposed tattoos – but he looks adorable when he gives you that familiar easy-going smile at your question.

"I'll have whatever you're having."

You're hungry for a while now so you don't wait a long time to take a bite of the hotteok when it's finally served. It's hot, and Jungkook laughs as you learn it the hard way, sputtering as you move the food away from you.

"Fuck!" You curse, blowing air and fanning your mouth which doesn't really do anything.

"Slow down," Jungkook says in between his chuckles. You feel his arm resting on your back as some sort of support. "I'll get you some water."

It only takes him a few seconds to stop by a nearby stall to get you some bottled water, and you thank him after drinking it quickly.

"Sorry 'bout that," You apologize, smiling sheepishly.

"There's a—" Jungkook gestures at his mouth. You arch your brow at him, a bit confused. He tries again. "Something in your—" He interrupts himself, shaking his head, and takes out a handkerchief from the depths of his slacks.

Your immediate reaction is to take a few steps back when he goes to wipe at your mouth. Jungkook stops, pausing his movement. You give him an awkward thumbs up which prompts him to continue.

"Done."

You choose to gloss over that occurrence, taking another bite of hotteok after that.

"You know I always wondered why I don't see you going out of your apartment every morning." You start a conversation while you walk together mindlessly.

"You wonder... why?" Jungkook looks at you for a brief moment. With a teasing grin, he says, "You wanna see me every day?"

You gasp.

"Gross, Jungkook." You say, absolutely scandalized at what he said.

He just laughs, shaking his head, amused at your reaction. It makes you roll your eyes.

"I just figured you don't commute so you don't need to leave early." You tell him.

You notice he seems to be extra playful today.

"Oh, yeah, that's right."

"Lucky you. I'm so sick of commuting."

"You don't like driving?"

You shake your head, "I don't know how to drive, and I don't have any intention to."

"I think I've heard that from Joon before." Jungkook chuckles.

"Oh yeah, he told me one time he'll most probably kill himself if he drives. Which– same."

Jungkook bites on his hotteok, chews on it for a while before saying, "That's what I thought when I started to drive a motorcycle."

You almost snap your head to look at him.

"You drive a motorcycle?" You ask, just to be sure you heard him right.

Jungkook nods. "Hm."

"Oh, wow... that must be..." You trail off, looking blankly ahead of you.

Well, now you can't get it out of your head. Jungkook riding a motorcycle with his tattoos out. Jungkook riding a motorcycle with a leather jacket.

Ugh. You told yourself you were gonna forget about the stupid crush! This is so counterproductive. There's nothing special about a man who drives a motorcycle! Not at all.

"Must be...?" Jungkook curiously asks you.

"Nerve-wracking." You say, which you think is a fair answer. He doesn't have to know that you're thinking about a totally different thing.

He nods. "It was for the first time. Mom always gives me an earful whenever I use it." He shakes his head while laughing.

You can't help but ask.

"You're close with your mom?" It only registers to you that the question must be way too privy, but Jungkook doesn't seem to think so as he answers casually right away.

"Yeah. She was really glad when I came home."

You smile. You once thought he's close with his family... turns out you aren't exactly wrong.

"That's sweet."

He just gives you a soft smile. "You?"

"Oh, me? She, uh, died awhile ago. So."

The smile on Jungkook's face falters.

"That... sucks."

"Thanks." And then it makes you laugh. "You know most people say sorry. You're the first one to say it sucks."

"I..." Jungkook seems to track back on what he said. "I mean, I'm sorry, of course. But it must suck, right? I just... love my mom a lot. Can't imagine losing her."

You nod, completely understanding where he's coming from.

All your life, people have always felt sorry for you for losing your mom, your only parent. Of course, you're thankful for the sympathy, but sometimes... you just need someone to be real with it. Someone to say it sucks – because losing a parent is hard. Losing a mother suck.

"You're not so bad, Jungkook." you comment after a while, and as you take a quick look at Jungkook, you see him in another light. The same light you see a person in when you figure you want to befriend them and be in their life.

"What do you mean by that?" Jungkook asks with an arched brow.

You shake your head, smile not going away.

"Nothing!"

Jungkook annoyed you some more about it and you had to laugh at his curiosity because it was funny the way he insisted about something really inconsequential. Even when you went to another stall to buy some drinks, he still tried to bring up the same thing, but you're more stubborn than him so of course his efforts did not bear any fruit.

After a while, you sit on some bench while you eat tornado fries.

"I don't like this." You say, looking at your stick and frowning. Turning to Jungkook, you extend your tornado fries to him. "Try this one."

He takes a bite from your own stick. Surprisingly, he seems to like it.

"You wanna exchange?" He offers his cheesy tornado fries in exchange with your sour barbecue-flavored one. You nod, taking it from him. Jungkook chuckles at you. "I told you to get that one."

"I was feeling experimental." You tell him simply.

When you were in front of the stall, you told him how you didn't like sour barbecue at all but still wanted to give it a try. Obviously, that did not go well. Good thing Jungkook bought the cheesy flavor, though.

From your peripheral vision, you see a group of what seems to be a group of teenage girls sitting on the bench across from you. Judging from the very familiar uniform, they're in high school. They've been there for a while now and you notice they've been stealing glances at your direction.

You glance at Jungkook and snort.

"Looks like someone here has some admirers from Seoul High School." You tease Jungkook. He does not seem to notice the girls at all, looking at you with confusion first before turning his head to look across.

In a second, Jungkook turns uncomfortable in his seat.

"That's Seoul High School?"

You laugh at the obvious way he ignores them looking at him. Still, you nod your head at his question, "Yup. Went there."

You subtly look at the girls' direction again, catching them do the same and you can just see Jungkook's ears getting red by the second, visibly embarrassed at the unwanted attention.

"That's just across my high school." He casually says, trying so hard not to mind the girls.

"No way!" You gasp. "Yongsan International?"

He nods.

"The cheerleading teams on both schools used to have, like, this big beef before, you know that?" You tell him, ready to lay out the huge gossip that happened in your batch. And then you remember, "Oh. You've probably graduated when I entered senior year in high school."

Jungkook gives you a look. "Rude. I'm not that old."

The sass comes unexpectedly which makes you laugh out loud you almost choke on the fries.

You were just about to tease him some more when somebody approaches you both.

"U-uhm..."

When you both look at the girl, she's one from the group who was shamelessly looking towards your direction, which is obviously aimed at a specific someone by your side, Jungkook.

"Hi!" You greet cheerfully.

The girl blushes and then turns to Jungkook.

"O-oppa..." She utters, hesitant when she pulls something out of her skirt pocket. It's a small, crocheted sunflower.

You coo at the sight, looking at Jungkook in amusement. The man beside you just grow more uncomfortable in his seat. He looks so constipated, god bless him.

"My friend told me to give this to the eonni beside you."

Your smile is quickly wiped off your face the moment her words sink in, confusion slowly coming to paint your expression. You look at the girl but before you can say anything, she's already walking away as soon as Jungkook takes the crocheted flower from her. You watch as she and her friends ran, their figures slowly disappearing from your line of sight.

"Looks like you got admirers from Seoul High School." Jungkook quips beside you. "For the eonni beside me." He teases, extending the cute little flower to you.

Hesitantly, you take the flower from his hands.

"You know, it suits you." Jungkook says when you don't say anything, still stunned from the literal turn of events.

You look up, baffled. "Huh?"

"A sunflower. It suits you... you're like it." He smiles, soft and gentle. There's a look of fondness in his eyes that you couldn't have mistaken for anything else. "I'm glad they gave that to you."

You open your mouth to speak, but there's nothing at the tip of your tongue.

Shying away from his gaze, you mumble a low, "Thank you."

You don't think you hear his next word right.

"Cute."

You have a hobby of collecting hobbies instead of focusing on one thing to be good at, jumping from one activity to another, even if it means abandoning your previous thing. Hobbies for most people means time lent to be better with it every day, but in your defense, you don't necessarily think you have to be good at something.

You've tried drawing. You've tried dancing. You've tried the guitar and you've tried the ukelele and you've tried crocheting and you've tried to study astrology. You've built three huge boxes of storage containing the needed materials for each of them, but they end up collecting dust.

Why can't a hobby just stay as a hobby, anyway? Why can't you just feel goofy one day to suddenly start drawing and give up the next day the moment you realize shading is hard? Why can't you just buy dress patterns and only sew the skirt part because tops are complicated to sew? Why can't you just learn four guitar chords because it's enough to play at least five songs using them?

None of it matters, you think. People will pressure you to push and push until you can possibly capitalize on something you're good at, but it just isn't the case for you.

You'll collect all the hobbies in the world until your head is full of random things and you just burst with it.

And true to your words, you find yourself wandering about in the baking aisle of your local grocery store at the late evening hours.

Yep. It's 2028 and your hobby pick for the year is baking.

So, what if you're a disaster in the kitchen? Cooking and baking are two different worlds! At least that's what Google tried to tell you a while ago when you were cleaning your bathroom earlier this morning, suddenly craving for some matcha cookies after you were done.

It sounded about right in your head that you decided to pick up ingredients for it, deciding it will be your dinner. At the back of your head, you think you should've just gone to the hundred cafes surrounding your apartment complex like, you know, any regular person would if they're craving something. But you figured that if you know how to bake, you could get matcha cookies anytime you want.

What can you say? You like to live life on edge. (You'll probably burn yourself in the oven later, but that will just be another lesson that life is soon to give you. You're just taking it in advance.)

But living on edge doesn't mean getting your card declined when you turn it to the cashier to supposedly pay for your grocery.

"I'm so sorry, uhm, can I have a few seconds, please?" You tell the cashier, giving her an awkward smile as you grab your wallet from your tote bag again, taking your card from her. You take another one of your debit cards this time and offer it to her, subtly looking around in hopes that no one is watching.

"Oh, we don't accept debit cards issued by this bank, ma'am." She says, and you're just about ready to dig yourself a hole from this complete, utter embarrassment.

"Okay..." you trail off nervously, glancing at the computer to look at your total. "I'll just pay in cash."

You do not, in fact, have enough cash.

You can tell the cashier is getting impatient from the way she shifts her weight from one side to another, and you keep yourself from making eye contact with her, fumbling with your wallet.

Three hundred and sixty-five days in a year and your card chose to decline on this very particular day. Why don't they accept your debit card? And why don't you have enough cash with you? Are you really this broke?

This is going to be a disaster. You can't afford to go to prison for this. Can you even go to prison for not paying grocery? Okay, maybe jail time for like 12 hours? But you have work tomorrow!

"Excuse me, miss,"

Somebody says but you refused to look at whoever it was, still counting the bills in your wallet that do not even accumulate to half the amount of your total.

"You can charge her bill here."

At that, your head quickly snap to the owner of the voice only to reveal himself as no other than Jeon Jungkook.

You swear you almost sigh in relief at the sight of him and have the sudden urge to hug him big time.

Jungkook looks at you and gives you a smile.

"Hi."

"Jungkook," you breathe. "Thank god you're here."

The cashier looks at you both weirdly but nonetheless swipes the card Jungkook gave her., instructing him to type his code on the key pad. There's nobody in line for the cashier you went to other than you both because it is too late an hour to be getting groceries, so Jungkook is able to butt in seamlessly and get his cart checked out as well.

"You're very much welcome." He says warmly.

Jungkook's dressed just as casually as you; a combination of simple white t-shirt and shorts and a pair of sliders. His grocery contains a lot different than yours, showing all sorts of food ingredients. You wait for his stuff to get bagged until you both head out of the store.

His car was just parked nearby, so you follow him towards its direction to apologize.

"I'm so, so sorry for earlier. I'll pay you later when we get home, of course." You say, just now registering how embarrassing it is for him to catch you in that situation. You're no stranger to getting your card declined... but really, now?

You decide to add awkwardly, "Or... do you have Kakao Pay?"

Jungkook chuckles while he opens his trunk, picking up his bags of groceries to place them in there. He shakes his head, keeping his hand outstretched to upwards to hold the hood of his car.

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

You're about to speak in protest when he gestures at the bag in your hands, as if asking you to place it in the trunk as well. You shake your head repeatedly.

"No, it's okay, I'm just gonna take a cab home." You say, pointing to your back where the street is, politely refusing his obvious offer to drive you home.

He's done too much in the span of ten minutes you've seen each other tonight. He's paid for your groceries for heaven's sake, and he still has the intention to drive you again to your destination? Not adding the fact that he also just drove you to work yesterday to keep you from being late. It's like he's just doing you heaps of favors and so far, you've done nothing in return.

"__, please, I'm offering." Jungkook insists. As usual. "I really don't mind."

Shoulders deflating, you let out a sigh.

"It's just that..." You start, nibbling on your bottom lip.

"What?"

"You've just been doing me a lot of favors lately." You say, looking away from his gaze.

Jungkook calls your name gently. You train your gaze at him. He steps closer to you and gives your shoulder a soft tap. "Hey, I'm not counting."

The words in itself aren't all that special, but the way he said it and the way he looked at you while he did may have just did a little damage to your heart because why did it seem so genuine?

Still, you shy away.

"It's just really embarrassing." You say, out of argument now.

Jungkook lets out a sound of amusement and takes the bag from your hands. He didn't even give you the chance to protest before he managed to put it successfully in the trunk of his car, together with his own groceries.

"Why don't you pay me back by helping me make dinner tonight?" Jungkook muses.

You give him a weird look.

"You really want me in a kitchen? Have you not listened to my horror stories this whole time, Jungkook?"

He laughs as he leads you both inside his car. You follow quietly behind but this time, you don't mistake the passenger seat from the driver's seat and instantly wear your seatbelt as soon as you're sat.

"I dunno, I'm just offering. I thought it'll be fun." He shrugs, turning on the ignition of the car and starting to drive back to the apartment building.

"Okay, I can at least chop some onions and garlic..." You trail off. And then you remember as an afterthought, "Oh, I'm actually baking tonight as well."

Jungkook takes a quick surprise glance at you. "You never told me you know how."

You snort. "I don't know how, trust me. I'm just starting right now."

"Is that why you went out grocery shopping tonight?" He arches a brow.

"Yep. Totally a spontaneous thing. I wanted, like, this very specific matcha cookie..."

Jungkook laughs. "Should I help you with the baking as well? I might learn from you."

"Really? You want to help?" You ask him delightfully.

He nods, making your grin wider.

"Sounds fun."

You both agreed to cook and bake at his place, partly because you personally are not ready for him to see your own flat. When you get inside his unit, Jungkook cutely bragged about his table set that just arrived earlier this morning according to him.

Personally, you've barely cooked at your own place let alone somebody else's. The one time you were in someone else's kitchen was Jimin's but even then, it was just to microwave some pizza and other take-out food.

It should feel weird to be prepping ingredients with someone, to move around the kitchen with the goal to make yourself a homecooked meal – especially with somebody like Jungkook – but truthfully, it felt almost... natural. Probably because you're conversing casually while you're doing things so there isn't any awkward silence.

You're making tangsuyuk, according to him, and he's obviously taking the lead – expertly prepping the meat while you go chop some spices needed for the dish.

"Is this okay?" You ask, showing him your work. You hope he likes it because you're kind of under a weird pressure to be in here, helping him. Also, you're not sure if you minced the garlic right.

But Jungkook just gives you a hearty smile.

"Good girl."

And goes back to what he's doing as if he just said nothing.

Which—okay, he seemed to have unconsciously said it that now you're gaslighting yourself whether you heard him right or not. Did he really say what you think he just said? What the fucking fuck.

Thankfully, Jungkook's too busy to notice that you become a bit frozen in your position for a good ten seconds. If he truly didn't mean to say that, he needs to get those words out of his vocabulary before he sends you in a sudden cardiac arrest. It'd be the most mysterious death of humanity.

"Do you need the carrots?" You ask, raising the vegetable in your hand.

Jungkook nods and you start to peel it. He watches by your side when you begin slicing the carrot.

"Cut them into Julienne slices."

"Huh?" You look back at him. "Not the cooking jargon, Kook." You deadpan, the nickname seamlessly coming out of your mouth.

He apologizes and tells you exactly what he meant. You furrow your brows in concentration to achieve what he wants, but Jungkook just laughs beside you.

"Okay, let me just—"

He's behind you a second after that, towering over your form and circling his arms around you. Your breath hitches as Jungkook places his hand on top of yours – the one that holds the knife – and begins to guide you through slicing the carrot.

You can feel his breathing from the proximity of your position, and even though there's still distance between the both of you, it's only hairsbreadth away and frankly, the ridges of the front of his body are so prominent against your back.

Jungkook does not seem to face the same internal panic as you though, because as soon as he deems that you are staring to get it, he steps back and let you do the thing on your own.

He leans back on the countertop, crossing his arms while looking at you.

"You're not so bad at this like you claimed." He comments.

You feel your cheeks heating up, so you focus your full attention on the carrot, your hands seemingly having developed a mind of their own throughout the time. Well, at least it's doing the right job. You can only hope you don't slice through your fingers... imagine cutting them right into this very moment.

"This is a trauma response from watching too much Gordon Ramsay."

Jungkook chuckles at your joke, shaking his head.

"We're just gonna wait for another thirty minutes for the meat and the mushroom. Should we start baking? What do we do first?" He says, washing his hands first before walking towards your direction.

You take your phone out from your pocket, looking at him a bit apologetically as you say "sorry" for pulling up Google. For the record, you haven't memorized shit and this is your first time baking.

Jungkook shakes his head, telling you there's no need for apologies because he "can't bake for shit" himself. That makes you feel relieved. You thought he's just good at a lot of things.

You don't encounter any trouble while mixing the dry ingredients, but when it comes to the wet ones, you think you've done something wrong. Jungkook tells you to try it. When you dip your finger into the mixture and taste it, you automatically scrunch your face.

"What, why?" Jungkook asks curiously.

"I don't think this is quite right..." You say, looking down at the mixture sadly.

"Mayve we can add more vanilla...?" He takes the bottle with him, ready to pour some into the bowl.

You pout. "But it says one teaspoon and we already put one teaspoon."

"What do you want to do?"

"I don't know... give up?"

Jungkook chuckles as he says your name.

You sigh. "Okay, maybe we'll try some that."

You do as you say, and as you taste it again, you're delighted to notice the elevated flavor. Mindlessly dipping your finger again into the bowl, you offer it to Jungkook to try.

The very act just sinks into your head when he leans down to suck it off your finger.

It happened quick, not at all sensual and slow like the movies make it out to be, but you feel your heart rate picking up at the feel after-effect of Jungkook's hot tongue touching your skin. But as you look at him, his eyebrows are furrowed, assessing the taste, not at all in a trance by what just happened.

"Oh, definitely better." He comments, as if he didn't just... suck your finger?

... Which you offered.

That he took willingly.

You turn away from him and pretend to busy yourself with the electric mixer, fumbling with the paddle.

"Are you cooking the tangsuyuk yet?" You ask, changing the subject. Jungkook is completely unaware of the current chaos in your head, walking towards the refrigerator to take out the pork he marinated earlier and the bowl of mushrooms.

"Just tell me if you need help." He tells you, touching the small of your back as he passes by you to get to the stove.

You feel your cheeks heating at the touch, moving aside to let him start frying the meat with the batter he's busied himself with awhile ago.

"Shit!" You say, surprised at the sudden whir of the machine. Jungkook quickly looks at you. You laugh and give him a thumbs up. "I'm fine here!"

You both work together on your own thing, and when you let the dough to rest, Jungkook, at the same time, finishes frying the meat of the tangsuyuk. You don't want to feel useless while you don't have anything to work on, so you peer over what Jungkook is doing and ask him if you there's anything he needs.

"Do you want to make the sauce?" Jungkook asks you. You scrunch your nose and hesitantly nod. He seems to notice your uncertainty and chuckles. "I'll teach you."

"Okay, but don't blame me if it tastes like shit later, okay?" You warn but he just shrugs and laugh, telling you that he'll talk you through the process and there's no need to be nervous. You can just experiment with it a little, he says.

You've watched a lot of Hell's Kitchen episodes that you have this silly, unrealistic expectation on what goes on in kitchens, but thankfully, Jungkook isn't like Gordon Ramsay at all and is so unbelievably gentle in teaching you even when you almost spilled soy sauce on the countertop and put too much vinegar than needed. He shrugs your worries off by fixing the thing, thankful that when he offers you the ladle to taste the sauce from it, it's more than decent.

While Jungkook prepares the tangsuyuk for your dinner, you take the time to form your cookie dough into small circles, leaving it in the oven to bake while you follow Jungkook into the living room and start eating the food that you cooked – or he cooked.

Jungkook teases you that you lied about not being good at cooking, but you have to remind him you didn't do shit and only the bare minimum. He looks like he's not convinced.

By the time that you're finished with your dinner, the oven's timer went off. Jungkook insists that he wash the dishes even though you feel like you should be the one doing it, but he tells you to check your cookies in the oven and so you did.

You're not expecting anything, but it will feel really good if it tastes at least okay.

Crossed fingers, your mind says as you take out the sheet pan.

First impression: it looks okay to the eye. Like real cookies.

But soon, your parade is rained on when you try to bite into the cookie.

It looks like real cookie, all right, but apparently doesn't taste like one.

Your face contorts into a frown as soon as you bite down into it a second time.

Okay, that's it. Put them in the tupperware as soon as possible, you thought. So, you do just that, placing all of the pieces into the plastic box and securing them away.

From where you were, you can hear Jungkook shutting the water off on the sink, his footsteps coming near you. Once he gets close, he peers down at what you're doing. Intrigued, he asks for one.

"No." you shake your head. The cookies are to be gatekept not because it's too good but because it should not be consumed at all. Jesus. You just ate Jungkook's tangsuyuk and it tasted exactly like the ones you've eaten from restaurants; it'd be such an embarrassing contrast to your own work.

"Don't be stingy," Jungkook playfully says, already making a move to reach for the cookies in your hands.

You hide the tupperware behind your back and stop him with your other free hand.

"Don't come closer. These cookies are not for consumption. Go away."

But he just arches a brow, walking a few steps forward.

"Jungkook!" You whine. "They don't taste good, and I'm embarrassed by them."

"Just one bite," Jungkook chuckles at you, not understanding your mortification. "Come on, __."

But you're stubborn and you won't let him have any of it even if he tries hard.

Jungkook is just as determined though, as he threatens to get closer and closer to you.

You squeaked out his name when he takes a hold of the tupperware but thankfully, you're quick on your reflex and able to take it back.

The whole thing prompts you to burst into laughter as you run around the island of his kitchen, giggling at the silliness of it all.

Your efforts to get away from him eventually go to waste as he managed to get ahold of your waist with his one arm, the other not missing the beat to steal the cookies from you.

He's firm over his hold, lifting you up while laughing against your head as you try to wriggle away.

"Let me have one bite, __," He says, and with his one arm, sits you on the countertop, not letting you go just yet even when you're fully sat.

You try to snatch the plastic from him but he's much quicker this time. When he opens it, you have no choice but to cover your face in embarrassment.

"I told you it's bad." You say, pouting at him, noting the expression on his face as he chews on the cookies that tells you it definitely does not taste good.

"You're a first timer." Jungkook just says, putting down the tupperware.

"Don't try to make me feel better." You frown even more.

"I'm not! I'm just pointing out that this is the first time you tried so of course it's not gonna be perfect right away?" He offers, some sort of comfort, maybe?

But your shoulders deflate because he's right.

Still.

Jungkook must have noticed your mood and tries to cheer you up one more time.

"Come on, you still made a really good tangsuyuk."

That makes you chuckle, unconsciously kicking his knee slightly making him let out an ingenuine, "Ow!"

You don't notice one of the straps of your spaghetti top falling off until Jungkook fixes it for you in the middle of your shared laughter.

"Thanks." You smile at him, mindlessly touching the strap, keeping it in place.

Jungkook hums as he helps you jump out of the kitchen counter.

The night ended with him walking you to your unit again, a rather silly thing he keeps on insisting to do. It's hard to put a name on it, but there's a certain feeling in your chest when you went out of Jungkook's apartment.

A feeling that lingers its way through when you receive a text from him after you come out of the shower that night.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:05pm]: good night chef

You fight off the smile that forces its way into your lips as you type out a reply.

You [11:06pm]: good night :)))))

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:06pm]: i thought u already slept

You [11:07pm]: at 11oclock??? what do u think am i a grandma

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: fair Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: but i had fun earlier. we should do it again sometime

You lie on your back, can't help yourself from letting a small giggle.

You [11:09pm]: jungkook-a You [11:09pm]: just tell me u wanna be with me??

You meant that as a joke, obviously. Just like how he joked about you one time over lunch about wanting to see him every day when you brought up the topic of not seeing him come out of his apartment. You did not mean anything by it other than friendly banter.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:10pm]: 🤔 Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:08pm]: that can be arranged. you can be my personal sous chef and I'll build us a restaurant

You [11:11pm]: sweet

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:11pm]: you havent seen all, baby

Your lips part.

Okay...

Your relationship is absolutely platonic at best. But you can't help but think that he gets a little flirty at times... like the few moments in his kitchen earlier. Is it bad that you're thinking way too much about that specific memory of him licking your finger without thought? Of his strong arm effortlessly carrying you against his rigid body and putting you on the countertop, almost manhandling you? Is it bad you can't get the memory of him fixing your top out of your head?

His use of nickname ticks a little light at the back of your head, and you decide to poke the nest a little.

You [11:12pm]: really? what r u wearing right now

Just a little jokey-joke between friends and nothing more.

You don't even expect a reply to that, but your phone dings a second after, and when you open your message thread again, your jaw parts wider this time.

It's a picture of Jungkook lying his bed, his face cut off from the frame. But you know it's him from the arm that peeks out, his tattoos a familiar sight by now. The photo is taken at a low angle, just enough for you to see the sleeveless shirt he's sporting and the strings of his grey shorts.

You [11:14pm]: i meant that as a joke

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:14pm]: 🥴

You do not know what he meant by that. You look for a picture to reply with, and the HAHA reaction is expected the moment you pressed send.

You [11:15pm]: stripper patrick says good night

Laughing silently at the meme you sent him which was Patrick from Spongebob wearing a pair of black fishnet tights and boots, you wait as three dots appear on Jungkook's line.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [11:15pm]: you're a minx

You chuckle, reacting to his message with an emoji and turn off your phone, almost throwing it on your nightstand and scrambling to bury your face in your pillow to let out a sound of a weird sob, but you're smiling your face off and your cheeks feel way too hot.

The truth of the matter is that you ended the conversation because you're afraid of where it's going.

Turning around, you lay on your back and stare at your ceiling, calming the beat of your heart and forcing your eyes to shut close.

But the picture Jungkook sent you keeps on popping up in your head, almost like those ads from shady websites on the internet, and when you think about it, it triggers a slur of memories that play like a picture in your head: his lips wrapped around your finger... his strong arm... his subtle touch on the small of your back...

"Ugh," you groan, slapping your hands over your face.

You furrow your brows to appear serious, thinking that it'll make you think of something serious as well, wrapping a blanket over your body and sighing when the technique doesn't work.

Okay, think of dogs... and puppies...but that's apparently a wrong move because now you're thinking of Jungkook with his dog.

You're obviously awful at this.

You turn on your bed once again, muffling a sound in your pillow.

But then as minutes passed, your restlessness continues to prevail and you're about to cry with the unknown frustration that sits at the back of your head.

Laying in silence for a while, your hand finds itself roaming over your body, your thumb catching your nipple through your thin top. You pinch the nub, experimental, until it turns into a pebbled rock in your touch.

You bite your bottom lip as your other hand trails down over your panties, running it around the waistband, down until you reach down, down, down to your core.

Your lips part when you feel its heat, two of your fingers starting to stroke where your nether lips were. You sigh at the sensation, squeezing at your boob and turning your head to the side, thinking about how good it feels.

Slowly, you reach down under your parties to part your lips, moaning at the wetness that welcomes you below.

You start to stroke gently with your middle finger, drawing figure eights over your core and making sure to put friction on your clit. The ministration produces more wetness in your cunt, and you spread it over for easier access inside as you start to poke into your hole.

"Oh my god," you mewled, breathing heavily against your pillow, pumping a finger into you. It's a little tight, and you remember you haven't touched yourself like this for over a few weeks now.

But god, how could you forget the feeling of it? The feeling of something going in and out of your cunt, gliding so smoothly because of the abundance of wetness all over.

"Fuck." you sigh out, lips parted, eyes closed to feel more of the sensation.

Your other hand reaches under your top to fondle with your boob, helping you stimulate yourself into that familiar feeling of great ecstasy that comes with your pussy getting touched.

It's starting to feel hot, and you can feel the beads of sweat starting to form on the side of your head even though the AC and your fan are both on. There's a zap that starts from your spine that comes with a sort of electricity coming from within, transferring that tick into your belly which prompts you to pump into your hole faster.

The sheets are a mess at this point, with your feet kicking into them as your movement picks up pace.

"Oh god," you cry out silently, muffling your sob in the comfort of your fluffy pillow.

You chase the feeling of completion, closing your eyes once more, trying to figure out how to get there.

And there's one familiar man that pops inside your head.

Jeon Jungkook.

"Oh shit," you hiss, pinching your nipple and going in and out faster.

Jungkook with his lips around your finger. Jungkook pressing his body against your back. Jungkook carrying you against his body. Jungkook's electric touch as he fixes the strap that's fallen over your naked shoulder.

You let out a pathetic moan, trying to shake away the thoughts of him.

You aren't supposed to. It feels wrong. So wrong.

Suddenly, you feel frustrated over still not reaching your climax up to this point.

You let out a heavy breath, pulling out your fingers from your pussy and from under your panties.

You don't get off. You never do – with your fingers, anyway, that is. And that's why you have a trusted toy buried deep at the back of the drawer of your nightstand, kept away for occasional uses. You'd say you need it right now, but you're too flushed and tired to take it out.

And there's also a melancholic feeling in your heart upon realizing that you just thought of Jungkook while touching yourself.

"Shit, shit, shit." You hiss, the cusses mostly dedicated to yourself.

You shake your head as you sit on the edge of your bed, your hair a bird's nest and clothes strewn over your body as per your reflection on the full-body mirror across your bed.

Sighing, you let your head down and massage your temples.

"God, what's wrong with me,"

You feel guilty... because you aren't supposed to think of a friend when you're trying to get off. You told yourself you'd stop finding Jungkook hot or cute or what-the-fuck-ever so that stupid crush can go away finally. But it feels like all your efforts – or lack, thereof – always seem to fall short.

This isn't good. You need to think straight.

A sudden loud ping catches your attention, almost startling you because it's in the middle of the night, after all. When you snap your head to the side, you see your phone with the light out.

You instantly feel a little nervous. What if it's Jungkook? There's an irrational fear in your head that he knows what you just did, but you shake the thought away, scolding yourself for getting way over your head.

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you feel scared to open your phone but then, did you really have a choice?

Slowly trudging to the direction of your phone, you pick it up from the table and turn it on.

August 18: Your cycle forecast Ovulation in 2 days. Your sex drive may just be hitting its peak🌡️ Tap for tips to make most out of it👉

"Oh fuck me." You curse, throwing your phone on the bed, feeling pissed all of the sudden.

Fucking period tracker app... and ovulation.

PART THREE | ...

all right reserved © awrkive, 2024. no reposts, modification, and copying allowed. if you enjoy my work/s and have the extra means, please consider supporting me on ko-fi <3

[serafilms]

the golden quartet

art donaldson x reader, slight tashi duncan x reader, slight patrick zweig x reader, wc: 2k

author’s note: basically just a way less toxic (?) version of the movie with the reader inserted. they’re all still incredibly codependent and tashi/reader are very much in love and art/patrick are very much in love and art/tashi have their own kind of friendship/relationship and so do patrick/reader, but really patrick and tashi are one couple, art and reader are another couple, but like they would all live together and probably sleep in the same bed hypothetically. but in a healthy way. i like to imagine a world where they’re all codependent but skip all the “villain” allegations in their mess, and it’s just a beautiful unspoken symphony of love and four-way fidelity and infidelity. will probably write more in this universe.

part two here

“Tashi, stop it.”

Tashi stops and her eyes lock in on you, racket dropping to her side. “Stop what?”

You watch the way she bounces the ball a few times and don’t miss the way her gaze keeps flitting to your hand.

“Stop analysing me.”

She lifts a shoulder in a shrug, and doesn’t break your gaze. “It’s my job to analyse the opponent so I know how to win the game.”

“Yeah, but you’re not looking at me like an opponent.” Your lips purse. “You’re looking at me like you’re trying to calculate how to get me back on the court.”

“You’re on the court right now, aren’t you?”

“You know what I mean, Tashi.” Your racket falls to the court exasperatedly and you manage a step towards the net. “It’s over for me, I’m done playing tennis and I’m okay with that, but I’m not sure that you are.”

There’s just a tiny quiver in her eyes before her gaze steels itself again and she nods. “Fine. I get it.”

She tosses you the ball. “Just help me train.”

You watch as Tashi gets into position, and pick up your racket slowly. Maybe you shouldn’t have snapped at her. You so rarely do, but you’ve closed the door on that chapter of your life now, and you’re sick of her trying to pry it open. You don’t want possibilities of what you could have had. You don’t want to put in more years just to watch yourself fail at something you never really liked in the first place.

There’s a dull ache in your chest as you serve the ball.

Tashi Duncan has been your best friend for five years. For the life of you, you can’t remember the details of the tournament you were at, but you had a game against her. It was electrifying. You’d never played tennis like that before. It felt like you’d never known what it was like to breathe before Tashi Duncan. She basically crushed you, but you managed to get in a good few points, had the audience and line judges on the edge of their seats, and at the end of it, when you shook her hand, you felt like you’d just discovered a missing limb.

She found you afterwards in the stands and sat with you to spectate the next few matches. And hadn’t let you go since. You couldn’t imagine a life without Tashi. She was there for your first boyfriend, she was there when you broke up with him, she was there when you failed a class and your parents threatened to pull you out of tennis, and she was there when your wrist shattered and you quit.

Tashi never really understood why it was so easy for you to walk away. “You’re one of the best,” “You have so much potential,” “You can learn to play with your other hand.”

She never seemed to hear you when you said you didn’t want to play anymore. She’d look at you, with her piercing gaze then look away and move on. But the conversation was never over. It was like you didn’t exist to her without tennis, like it was your one achievement, and she couldn’t gauge who you were without it.

You suppose you were flattered, touched even, that she cared so much about you, in her own weird way.

Tashi looks at you questioningly when you lower your racket. You smile, “You should rest up. Your drills are perfect. You’re gonna crush her tomorrow.”

She takes a look at her watch, then nods. You can tell she wants to stay longer, but there’s really no reason to. Especially when you can feel her itching for a real match. That you can’t give her.

You bump her shoulder as the two of you walk out. “Wanna grab some donuts?”

The unimpressed face she gives you makes you laugh. “Come on, we can get you one of those healthy ones. The gluten-free, vegan bullshit.”

“Sounds delicious,” she drawls, but makes no further comments. You grin. A success.

She says nothing as you swing your borderline crippled arm over her shoulder, but you feel her muscles underneath relax just a little bit.

The following day brings a new round of pretentious young assholes on the court. Some of them eye you up as you make your way into the bleachers, whispering to each other. A girl comes up to you and asks for a picture. You’re a little surprised, and feel a little blindsided, but you suppose it’s only been a year since your injury. And well, considering where you are right now, it sure does seem to the rest of the world like you’re not fully done with tennis.

“Yeah, no problem,” you say with a smile.

The girl takes the picture, thanks you profusely then leaves, and you make your way up to the bleachers, and find a nice spot in the middle. Tashi liked you to be right in the middle of the game so you could watch her and her opponent. You wonder if she’s secretly preparing you to become an umpire.

There’s a flurry of whispers all too close to you, and then there’s a shadow blocking the sun to your left.

Two boys stand facing you, staring at you with their mouths slightly agape. You can’t help the amused smile that splits your face.

“Can I help you?”

The brunet snaps back into reality first. “Sorry, we were just— are you Y/N L/N?”

“Yeah, I am,” you say, eyes flitting between the two. They’re cute. Really cute.

The blond shakes his head slightly, like he’s coming out of a trance, and says, “Sorry, this is just the first time we’ve seen or heard about you since….you know.”

He winces, and his head ducks a little like a scolded puppy. “Sorry to hear about that, by the way.”

You let out a laugh that seems to catch his attention again. His friend jabs him in the side with his elbow. “Oh, don’t worry about it, seriously. It’s been a year, I’m over it.”

“Huh,” he says, nodding a little absently. He glances to the brunet, who’s just grinning at him. “Um, by the way, we’re—“

“Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig, right?”

The blond, Art, looks a little speechless.

Patrick chimes in. “Yeah, that’s us.”

“I watched your game just before. That was quite some victory celebration.”

The way Art’s ears turn red makes you happier than you’d like to admit. There’s a little flip in your stomach as he fumbles, “Yeah, well…”

There’s a flurry of movement as Patrick puts his arm around Art’s neck and pulls him impossibly close in a one armed hug. “Social conduct’s not gonna get in the way of me celebrating with my boy.”

The blond leans away and fights to get Patrick off him, and you smile as you watch. “Don’t worry, it was cute. Plus, I get it. We’re sort of the same way sometimes when it comes to victories. I mean, not the same, but you know.”

That seems to catch Patrick’s attention. “By we, do you mean you and—“

“Tashi Duncan!”

The announcement rings loud and clear through the speakers as she walks onto the court.

It’s almost comical the way Patrick’s jaw goes slack and he slumps onto the seat behind him.

You watch as Tashi waves at her screaming fans, shoots her winning smiles and makes her way to her side. She catches your gaze for a moment and you nod. She looks away and begins to stretch, but you’re not bothered. She knows you’re here, and that’s all you need. Can’t try and take Tashi Duncan out of the zone.

As you sit down, you’re a little surprised to find Art mirroring the action, still looking at you. “So, you’re best friends with Tashi Duncan?”

You nod. “Since we were like, thirteen.”

“Oh wow,” his eyes widen and you can’t help but think how impossibly cute he looks, “that’s almost how long Patrick and I have been friends.”

“Really? Oh, wow.” There’s a beat of silence, just long enough for you to catch each other’s eye and look away with awkward giggles.

Luckily, that’s when the match starts. And your focus locks in.

“COME ON!” Tashi’s scream is palpable in the air.

It feels like the wind has been knocked out of you. You’ve heard it a million times before, but it never fails to strike you.

There’s something akin to awe in Patrick’s eyes. Art looks like he’s in disbelief.

You can’t help but agree with their faces.

“So, are you guys coming to the party tonight?”

Patrick’s eyes flit away from Tashi’s to look at you. “Yeah, we were just talking about earlier. Art was saying how excited he was. He just loves parties.”

You can’t quite decipher the smirk on his face, but he looks like the kind of guy who’s never up to any good, so you turn to Art expectantly.

His eyes meet yours and your stomach does another little flip as he says, “Yeah, I’ll— we’ll be there.”

“Cool,” you reply. “I’ll see you guys later, then.”

You manage one quick glance back as you walk away, and see Patrick grinning and shaking Art’s shoulders. A smile plays at the corner of your lips and you leave.

Tashi finds you at your agreed-upon meeting spot, and wastes no time in grabbing your hand. “Come on.”

“Don’t you need to take pictures with your trophy?”

“Got a few, they’ll take more at the Adidas party. We’ve got to get ready.”

There’s a warm feeling like sunlight dancing in your chest as you let her drag you away.

The party is in full swing by the time you finally spot Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig lurking in the corner of the yard.

You’d just stepped off the dance floor for a moment, telling Tashi you were going to get another drink. The two boys seem to be arguing about something, but as you close the distance, you can see that they’re grinning too.

“Hey,” you greet the two. Their heads turn towards you in unison and they both stand up straight.

“Hi,” they chorus.

You take a sip of your drink as your eyes flit between the two. “So….what are you guys doing all the way over here?”

“You know,” Art says dryly. “Just enjoying the ambience.”

(Cute and funny. Man, you’re screwed).

“It’s a lot less creepy if you actually talk to her instead of just staring at her.” Your words are directed at Patrick, whose eyebrows shoot up. A smirk falls on his face. His charm instantly covers up the awkwardness.

Art barks out a laugh. (It’s a sound you wish you could inscribe in your mind).

“What makes you think I’m here for her?” Patrick smirks, looking you up and down. It’s so clearly a deflection, but it feels so natural that you can’t help but smile, and you feel your cheeks warm just a tad.

You glance back at the dance floor, and see Tashi excuse herself, glancing at you as she goes for her drink. You reach over to pat him on the shoulder. “Come on, I’ll help you out.”

As you turn on your heel and walk towards Tashi, you hear a slap behind you and an, “Ow!”

“Tashi!” The smile in your voice is audible as she looks up.

“Hey,” she smiles back.

Then, her head tilts to the side and she looks at the boys. “Hi.”

“Hi,” they both say.

There’s a quiet moment in which you all exchange looks, a twinkle in each of your eyes. You can almost feel a spark of something in the air, and suddenly you’re thirteen years old again, meeting Tashi for the first time. Like another puzzle piece has finally fallen into place.

You feel your chest warm. If only you knew what your life was about to become.

[tgcg]

the master baiter

TG: dont be mad

TG: ok thats like asking water not to be wet but

CG: WATER ISN'T FUCKING WET GOD DAMMIT.

TG: look whatever remember when you said you would die for me

TG: is that karkat in the room with us right now

======

CG: I'M DYING "FOR YOU" EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU PEEL OPEN THOSE SHIT-EATING LIPS YOU KEEP PULLED TAUT OVER YOUR DRONING IGNORANCE SHAFT.

TG: heheheh

======

CG: YOUR WORDSLUDGE SPEARS EVERY PARTICLE OF MY BODY WITH PINPOINT STRIDERIAN IDIOCY.

TG: oh shit here we go

CG: A VERBAL BARRAGE THAT PULVERIZES MY FLESH INTO A FINE RED MIST, KILLING ME INSTANTLY. WIPING ME THE FUCK OUT, TO SUCH AN INCREDIBLE DEGREE THAT PALEONTOLOGISTS CAN'T FULLY DISCERN IF A "KARKAT" FUCKING EXISTED IN THE FIRST PLACE.

CG: THEY'D BE SCRATCHING THEIR NUGBONES OVER IT FOR FUCKING SWEEPS, IF NOT FOR THE SHOCKING REALIZATION MERE MINUTES INTO THEIR DEBATES THAT NOBODY ACTUALLY GAVE A SHIT.

======

CG: AND YET THE TEMPORAL DEVICE STILL SWAYS TO AND FRO IN CONSTERNATION. VEXED BY THE COMPLETE MENTAL VACANCY PUT BEFORE IT BY MY HUMBLE SACRIFICE, BOUND BY ITS COSMIC ROLE, BEGRUDGED BY MY UNSOLICITED DEATH CLOCKING IT INTO OVERTIME. IT HAS BETTER SHIT TO DO, GOD DAMMIT! IT HAS A LUSUS AND A HIVE TO GET BACK TO!

CG: "WHAT IS THIS. WHO LET THIS ASSHOLE IN HERE," IT SAYS. THEY AREN'T EVEN QUESTIONS, JUST ORBITAL SIGHS OF AN UNCARING UNIVERSE. A REALITY NOW KEENLY AWARE OF ITS OWN LAUGH TRACK.

CG: AND ITS PENDULUM TEETERS, TENTATIVE IN ITS OWN DISBELIEF AND PROFOUND APATHY.

TG: damn

======

CG: "THIS SCUMBAG ISN'T EVEN GODTIER YET," IT POINTS OUT. THE AUDIENCE FLIPS THEIR COLLECTIVE SHIT, AGHAST AT THIS REVELATION.

TG: hahaha

CG: IT WELLS UP SUCH A THRUM OF FUCKING ENNUI THAT THE TIMEPIECE FLIPS OFF-KILTER, LANDING SQUARELY IN THE "DUMBASS" ZONE WITH A "FUCK IT" LOUD ENOUGH TO REVERBERATE THROUGHOUT PARADOX SPACE.

======

CG: IT THEN ELECTS TO KICK MY PATHETIC FUCKING HALF-CORPSE BACK INTO THE LIVING PLANE AND FORCE ME, VENGEFULLY FROM THE AUDACITY OF MY OWN IDIOCY, TO REPEAT THIS CYCLE AD NAUSEAM

CG: UNTIL EXISTENCE ITSELF FINALLY CROAKS UNDER THE COMBINED WEIGHT OF OUR COLOSSAL STUPIDITY.

CG: BECAUSE WHO THE FUCK WOULD I BE IF I EVER GOT TO HAVE A BREAK?

======

TG: yep there he is thats him offincer

TG: the man after my own heart

TG: thats a karkat brand "soft yes" if i ever heard one and i know my karkatisms dude im a goddamn graduate in karkatology

TG: i got my degree in this shit

TG: im rocking up to our convos with the dumbass black square hat thing cocked 45 degrees

TG: literally incapable of snapping it back kinda by design of the stupid thing but damn if im not doing it anyways im emanating the snappitudes

TG: im rocking my intelligence right now

TG: also water is absolutely wet dude its like the wettest thing on the planet

CG: I'M NOT REPEATING MYSELF AGAIN

TG: yeah you are

CG: FUCK. I AM.

======

CG: I SAID THE LAST THREE TIMES IT'S A CONDITIONAL TERM--

TG: and im saying its common sense like being wet isnt conditional when youre the perpetual thing of wettening

CG: NO

TG: and brother it is THE wet

TG: like following your conditional argument

TG: if water isnt wet then the other water molecules are constantly making each other fuckin wet so its a moot point

TG: great philosophical debate

TG: which came first the water or the wet?

CG: DAVE

TG: think about it all those particles are wetting each other up all the time and shit

TG: its a fucked up display

CG: ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

======

TG: pretty much a perpetual orgy of the elements

CG: DUDE.

TG: that sounds kinda sick actually if you dont think about what it means

TG: h2orgy

CG: HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO VETO THIS STUPID DISCUSSION--

TG: tell me im wrong dude

CG: I'M UNIVERSE-APPOINTED TO HOVER AROUND YOU POINTING OUT EVERY DUMBASS TAKE YOU HAVE FOR THE REST OF TIME.

TG: thats so beautiful to me

TG: i could cry

[sttoru]

𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 .

⟣ sypnosis. a nightmare of your lover’s disappearance wakes you from your sleep.

⟣ tags. gojo satoru x female reader. angst, comfort, fluff. takes place after gojo’s unsealed but before dec 24th, bits of spoilers jjk leaks 236 at the end. mentions of death, blood.

⟣ note. based on it’s happening again by agnes obel. coping rn dhmu . . . not proofread bcs i cant read through my tears anyways hope u enjoy im gonna cry myself to sleep now

everyone has to die at one point — not even the strongest of all could avoid that tragical fate. not even the strongest sorcerer you call your lover.

no, not even him. the universe couldn’t spare him. you thought that maybe, it would. maybe fate wouldn’t apply to him. oh, how wrong you were.

blood splatter—a stream of red liquid. right at your feet. right in front of your eyes. a man in half. and not just any regular man;

“satoru !”

your dark surroundings become blurry with tears, your body jolts out of its current dreaming state. you could feel your heart in your chest—in your throat. your brain shut itself off for a few seconds as your eyes try to make out shapes and figures in the room you’re in. your bedroom.

you only then realises that it was all just a gruesome nightmare. a hyperrealistic one at that; one that will haunt you for years.

“hmmh.. ‘m right here, baby.” a groggy voice next to you replies to your yell in agony. the yell that was the shape of your lover’s name leaving your lips—

you instantly turn your head to the right and there he was; the man whom just met death in your dreams. gojo satoru, all alive and well. in your bed, in your presence, in your life.

satoru’s hand aimlessly pats the space next to him in search of your body whilst he rubbed his eyes with the other, trying to adjust his sight to the dark so he could find you. you seemed to be in complete distress. which he does not like.

“it’s okay, shh, shh,” your lover hums, hand finally finding your arm. he doesn’t hesitate to pull you on top of him—your head laying on his chest.

his body was warm. his heartbeat was there. loud and clear in your right ear.

“satoru. . .” a river of tears flows down your cheeks like a dam that has been broken into. your body trembles, lungs feeling like they couldn’t get any air in them from how hard you were sobbing. the pain of losing your loved one; it all came flowing back to you.

satoru frowns, “hey, hey. look at me — sweetheart, c’mon.”

he instantly sits up and pulls you along with him. his hands find your cheeks, tilting your head up. this time it was his turn to feel his heart break in pieces. you looked absolutely distraught. as if you just went through a traumatic experience of some kind. he hated it.

“shit,” satoru mutters under his breath before pulling you into his embrace again, arms circling your waist with his head buried in the crook of your neck, “it’s okay, i’m here now. you’re safe.”

it wasn’t the first time you had nightmares when he was with you. you had them regularly after satoru had gotten sealed in the prison realm for nineteen days—nineteen days of dread for you. of an empty bed, an empty house and an empty life.

when satoru had finally been released from the prison realm it was like a dream come true. a happy dream, that is. not those repetitive, bad ones you have every now and then. you still get those nightmares of your lover being either taken away from you by force or by death itself. your brain couldn’t give you a break — even after his return.

“take a deep breath in,” satoru instructs and sets an example by doing the breathing exercise with you, “hold it for three seconds . . . breathe out for six. mhmm, good—jus’ like that.”

you repeat it a couple more times, sobbing and shaking throughout the entirety of the exercise, but eventually manage to calm down a little. satoru sighs in relief at this;

“you okay, baby?”

you nod weakly and sniff, wanting nothing more than to be held by the man you thought had vanished from your life forever. you had that scare once, when he was sealed, and you never want to go back to those dark times. ever.

“it’s— i, just—“ you hiccup once, unable to complete entire sentences, “i thought you w-were gone. i thought you had died.”

it was silent after that (except for the sound your silent sobs and sniffles). satoru had guessed by now that you saw him die in your dream — that much was pretty obvious. but, the thought that you were this distressed because of it makes him. . . happy in a way.

happy that someone would mourn over him at least.

“well,” satoru pensively replies, hands rubbing your back up and down soothingly, “everyone has to meet their end one day, you know?”

that sentence was one that was meant to lighten up the grim mood somehow. one of his many lighthearted remarks that were supposed distract you from your tears. it would work during other moments like these — were you’d be too baffled by the things satoru says to care about what you were crying for — yet today it only worsens your misery.

“shut up.” you weakly punch his chest to which the white haired male chuckles softly, his slender fingers instantly interlocking with yours. satoru’s thumb brushes against your wrist before pulling it up to his lips, placing ticklish kisses among your skin.

another silence hangs in the air.

“seriously though. . . if i were to somehow die, i’d want you to live and move on, yeah?” your lover whispers in such a quiet tone that it was almost inaudible. satoru had looked death right in the eye before — he didn’t care back then if it were actually his end.

he does now. he has the world to lose — his world — his everything. you.

satoru wants to live a happy life with you. he doesn’t want to die now that he has you. the love of his life which he wants to grow old with. maybe have kids with. start an own family away from the busy streets, away from the swarming curses in the city and away from all that sorcerer stuff. it was a nice dream.

“shut it!” you huff and satoru takes another weak punch to the chest. his gaze lands upon your tear struck face and he instantly drops the serious ‘act’.

the sorcerer laughs, his usual boyish laugh that makes you feel better, and he flips you both over so that he has you pinned underneath him. satoru grins before kissing your tummy all over, making you giggle from the ticklish feeling;

“i’m playin’, baby! i’m not going anywhereeee!” he promises through wet pecks against your skin, the smile on his evident even if you couldn’t see it — you could hear it in his voice.

satoru leaves your tummy and moves on to your neck and face. he was smothering you in affection in hopes you’d cheer up some way. he just wants you to forget about anything bad happening to him. you didn’t deserve to think about all that stuff — you deserve to be happy and full of joy.

even without him one day.

“i’d never leave my princess all alone.” satoru shakes his head and pouts dramatically, “who else is gonna spoil you? or kiss and cuddle you to bed, huh?”

you finally show an ounce of joy. a tiny smile. that was all satoru had needed to see. he wasn’t going to stop there, however. his goal was to turn that small smile into a full blown fit of laughter.

“i’m one of a kind, baby. you’re never gonna meet a man like me.” he continues with a proud grin, putting all of his body weight on top of you which causes you to groan and grumble a lighthearted complain.

satoru knows you like it whenever he clings to you and thus he uses that piece of knowledge to help you feel better. his head was buried into your shoulder, limbs enveloping your body like a koala.

“whatever.” you roll your eyes and snuggle up to your lover, closing your eyes as the tiredness hits your body after all that crying.

“whatever !” satoru mocks you in a high-pitched tone, followed by a pair of giggles from the two of you. a third and final punch to the chest finally shuts him up for the rest of the night.

the sorcerer made sure you had fallen asleep first before he whispered the next words in your ear, hoping they’d calm your mind and body so that no nightmares would ever bother you again;

“don’t you worry, sweets. i’m not leaving you. ever.”

. . .

those were the same exact words satoru wished he could utter to you one last time before the current date — 24th of december.

[solar-wing]

⚣ Hal Jordan: NSFW Alphabet 🟢⚪

⚣🟢⚪️ A/N → Welp, you guys wanted more Green Lantern content (and lowkey, I did to), so Merry Christmas! Honestly, I'm quite shocked at how much came out of this. But then again, Hal just has a way of getting to me...🫦welp...enjoy!

⚣🟢⚪️ Word Count → 12K

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🟢⚪️

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

– Hal Jordan may swagger into the bedroom with the confidence of a man who’s saved the universe countless times, but his aftercare is where the duality of his character shines. Post-climax, he’s all about keeping the mood light, tossing out cocky remarks like, “Admit it, that was the best you’ve ever had, right? I mean, I did just blow your mind.” The grin on his face says he’s half-joking, but the glint in his eye says he’s fishing for confirmation. His ego loves knowing you’re thoroughly wrecked—and let’s face it, he probably did live up to the hype.

– But under the smug exterior lies a man who takes aftercare just as seriously as the main event. Hal knows how intense he can get during the act, with his relentless stamina and the sheer physicality he brings to every round. He doesn’t just leave you sprawled and dazed; he makes sure to check in, his large hands trailing softly over your skin as he murmurs, “Too sore? Need me to grab anything?” He’ll tease, of course—“Didn’t think you’d be able to keep up with me, but you did good.”—but it’s all part of his way of putting you at ease.

– Hal’s attentiveness extends to cleaning up the evidence of your activities, a task he approaches with the same confidence as everything else. Whether it’s a towel to wipe down your body or an exaggerated groan as he gets out of bed to find a spare blanket, Hal doesn’t let you lift a finger. He’ll even run a hand down your thigh as he tucks the covers around you, his lips quirking into a smirk as he whispers something entirely inappropriate, like, “Bet you’re still feeling me there, huh?” His playful arrogance is almost endearing—almost.

– The vulnerability he hides so well emerges in quieter moments. If you’re spent and too blissed out to move, Hal will gather you against his chest, still warm and slick from your shared efforts, and stroke your hair absentmindedly. He’s careful not to make a big deal of it—he doesn’t want you realizing how soft he can be—but his touch is deliberate, grounding you as you come back to earth from whatever peak he just sent you to. He might even whisper, voice husky, “You looked so good back there, you know. Couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”

– But if you call him out for being sweet or overly attentive, the cocky mask slips back on in record time. “What? I’m just making sure my partner’s in one piece,” he’ll quip, though the pink dusting his cheeks betrays him. Still, it’s clear he relishes these moments just as much as the action itself, even if he hides it behind his usual bravado.

– Hal’s aftercare is as intense and satisfying as the main event: a perfect blend of teasing, tenderness, and the kind of care that only comes from someone who pays attention to every detail—even if he’d never admit it outright.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

– When it comes to Hal Jordan, there’s no denying that his favorite body part is... well, all of him. And honestly, can you blame him? Hal’s Green Lantern suit—skin-tight and sculpted perfectly to his frame—shows off every inch of his physique in painstaking detail, from the broad expanse of his chest to the sharp definition of his thighs. The suit is formed by his willpower, after all, and Hal has no intention of leaving anything to the imagination. He’s fully aware of how good he looks in it and takes every opportunity to remind others, whether it’s through a smirk or a playful, “Can’t help it if the uniform does all the work.”

– If pressed to choose, though, Hal would probably say his favorite parts are the ones people notice first: his arms, chest, and back. His arms are undeniably impressive—thick and corded with muscle, the result of years spent as a test pilot and Green Lantern. He loves how they look when he’s lifting or holding you, the subtle flex of his biceps drawing attention without even trying. “Bet you can’t keep your eyes off these, huh?” he might tease, flexing just enough to make you roll your eyes (and blush).

– His chest—a feature that somehow manages to look both approachable and commanding. It’s broad enough to provide comfort when you lean into him, yet strong enough to carry the weight of his responsibilities. And let’s be real: Hal definitely notices when your eyes linger there, even if he pretends not to. He’s the type to smirk and say something ridiculous, like, “Careful, I’m starting to think you’re just here for the view.”

– His back, though, is what really sets him apart. It’s not about sheer size but the way every movement highlights the smooth, lean strength he carries. Whether he’s flying, creating a construct with his ring, or throwing a playful glance over his shoulder, his back tells its own story. It’s graceful and functional, a reflection of the precision and control that define both his role as a Green Lantern and his daredevil tendencies. He relishes the way your hands linger there too and is especially smug about the fact that his back is just as enticing when it’s bare, a fact you’ve undoubtedly confirmed more than once.

– And while Hal would never openly talk about it, his manhood absolutely makes the list. Of course, he’s proud of that too—he’s Hal Jordan, after all—but he’d rather let his partner be the one to sing its praises (and trust him, he loves hearing those praises). Still, when it comes to the parts of him that draw attention first, it’s the show-stopping combination of arms, chest, and back that take the spotlight. After all, what’s the point of saving the universe if you can’t look damn good doing it?

– Now, as far as you and Hal’s favorite part(s) on you, it’s all about your hands. As a man who thrives on touch and connection, he’s completely enamored by the way your hands look on him. There’s something intoxicating about how they feel clasped in his during a quiet, intimate moment, or the way they roam over his arms, chest, or back when things heat up. He lives for that tactile worship, his ego swelling every time your fingers linger on his muscles, tracing the contours of his body like you’re mapping out uncharted territory. – And when he’s carrying you—whether it’s out of danger or into the bedroom—he’ll revel in how your hands instinctively cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders or trailing down his back.

– But here’s the thing: Hal isn’t just a sucker for your hands—he’s an unapologetic ass man through and through. It’s practically written into his DNA. That skin-tight Green Lantern suit of his? It’s not just for show. Every inch of him is pressed flush against you when he’s feeling bold, and he loves nothing more than sidling up behind you, his front teasingly snug against your back. His gloved hands will inevitably slide down to cup you, pulling you closer as he murmurs something utterly shameless into your ear, like, “This is my favorite view. Don’t you think the suit was made for moments like this?”

– Hal doesn’t just stop at appreciating the visual—oh no, he’s tactile to the core. He’s constantly finding excuses to touch, grab, and admire every curve. Whether it’s a teasing slap as you walk by or his hands firmly gripping your hips while he’s pressing you into a wall, Hal’s all about staking his claim. And let’s not forget the sheer amusement he gets when he’s grinding against you, letting you feel exactly how worked up he’s gotten just from the sway of your hips or the way your body fits against his. He’ll chuckle low in your ear, his breath warm against your skin as he says, “You know, it’s really not fair how good you look in that. What are you trying to do to me?”

– But it’s not just a physical thing for Hal—it’s the reactions he draws out of you that really get him going. He loves watching your body respond to his touch, the way your muscles tense or relax under his hands. And when you let out a breathy moan or arch into him? That’s game over. He’ll double down, his lips trailing across your neck as his hands roam freely, all while whispering praises and downright filthy promises of what’s to come.

– For Hal, your body is a playground, and he’s intent on exploring every inch of it. But there’s something about the way you fit so perfectly in his arms—how your body molds to his—that makes him wonder if his ring knew exactly what it was doing when it chose him. And if that thought doesn’t make you blush, well, his hands slipping lower as he asks, “Mind if I take another look?” certainly will.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

– When it comes to Hal Jordan, let’s just say he’s a shooter—and an impressive one at that. Hal’s release is intense, a reflection of the passion and energy he pours into everything he does. You’ll know exactly when he reaches his peak because it’s overwhelming, almost explosive. The first few shots hit with purpose, leaving no doubt that Hal’s body is working overtime to ensure you’re thoroughly marked. He’s not just a Green Lantern; he’s practically a human firework in bed, and trust him, he’s proud of it.

– As for volume? Oh, Hal’s got you covered—literally. One load from him is enough to leave you a sticky, heaving mess, dripping with evidence of just how thoroughly he’s claimed you. It’s not a small amount either; Hal’s stamina translates directly into how much he can produce, and let’s just say his reserves are far from empty. You might even tease him about how much there is, only for him to smirk and fire back, “What can I say? I’m thorough.”

– The potency of his seed is no joke either. Hal’s the kind of guy who doesn’t half-ass anything, and that includes what his body produces. It’s thick, warm, and unmistakably him—a perfect mix of his raw masculinity and the relentless willpower that fuels him. He’ll revel in the sight of you completely covered, running his fingers through the mess he’s made and murmuring something utterly filthy, like, “You wear me so well, you know that? Might have to keep you like this for a while.”

– If you prefer things a little cleaner, though, Hal’s just as happy taking things inside. He loves the idea of filling you to the brim, of leaving you so full that you feel him even after the moment’s passed. And when you shift or move afterward, feeling the evidence of him still lingering inside you? That’s enough to send him into another round. He’ll press a hand to your stomach, grinning devilishly as he whispers, “Still feel me, don’t you? Don’t worry—I’ve got more where that came from.”

– With Hal, it’s never just about the act itself—it’s about the aftermath too. He loves seeing the aftermath of his passion, whether it’s the mess he’s left on your skin or the way your body trembles in the afterglow. And if he has his way, he’ll make sure you’re carrying the memory of him long after the moment’s over, in every possible sense of the word.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

– Hal Jordan’s dirty little secret? He gets off on the thrill of being caught. As fearless as he is in the field, there’s something about pushing the boundaries of propriety in his personal life that really gets his heart racing—and other parts of him too. The idea of sneaking away with you during a high-stakes mission or ducking into a secluded corner of the Watchtower for a quick, forbidden rendezvous? That’s his personal kryptonite.

– What makes it scandalous is just how close he’s come to being discovered. Hal has a habit of taking risks, from pulling you onto his lap in the pilot’s seat of his fighter jet to whispering filthy promises into your ear when you’re supposed to be focused on a meeting. And while he’d never let anyone else catch a glimpse of what’s his, there’s something about the risk of Superman walking in mid-act or Batman figuring out what’s really going on in the supply closet that sends a jolt of adrenaline straight to his core. He’d laugh it off if anyone accused him—“Me? Do something like that? Nah, you’ve got the wrong guy.”—but the flushed ears and cocky grin would give him away.

– The most shocking part of all? Hal keeps a personal collection of mementos from his riskier encounters: a photo snapped in secret during an especially steamy moment in the cockpit, or a pair of boxers he swiped from you after one of your more passionate nights. – – – Tucked away in his locker or hidden in his apartment, these little trophies remind him of just how good it feels to have something no one else knows about—something only he and his partner share. If the League ever found out, Hal would play it cool, but deep down, the thought of being confronted about it would absolutely mortify him... in the most thrilling way possible.

– For Hal, it’s not just about breaking the rules—it’s about bending them just enough to keep things interesting. And if that means taking a few risks to satisfy his insatiable desire for you? Well, that’s just part of the fun.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

– Hal Jordan might be a cocky flirt, but don’t let the snarky remarks from his teammates fool you—when it comes to experience, he’s far from lacking. Sure, he might have heard a jab or two about his supposed performance (thanks, Diana), but Hal’s not the type to let those comments get to him. In fact, he thrives on proving people wrong. Beneath his overconfident exterior is a man who knows exactly what he’s doing—and takes great pride in leaving his partner breathless, satisfied, and craving more.

– Hal’s history of flings and encounters isn’t just about notches on the bedpost; it’s been a training ground for him to perfect his craft. He knows how to read your body like it’s a flight manual, mapping out every sensitive spot and memorizing exactly how to bring you to your knees. His touch is electric, like the constructs he wields, and he’s not afraid to get creative—pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while his other works its magic, his mouth leaving a trail of heat down your neck. Hal is a man who studies his partner, and by the time he’s done with you, he’ll have your every moan, gasp, and shiver committed to memory.

– And let’s be real—Hal is absolutely the type to let his mouth run before the action even starts. He’ll tease you relentlessly, his voice dropping to a low, seductive drawl as he leans in close, murmuring things like, “You sure you’re ready for this? I don’t do anything halfway, sweetheart.” It’s not just a promise; it’s a warning. Because once Hal gets started, there’s no stopping him until you’re trembling, spent, and begging him for mercy.

– His rhythm is as smooth as his piloting skills—precise, confident, and utterly relentless. Hal knows how to pace himself, starting slow to build anticipation before ramping up into a rhythm that leaves you seeing stars. And when he hears you lose control? That’s the moment he turns it up even more, using his strength and stamina to push you further than you thought possible. Hal doesn’t just take you to the edge—he shoves you over it, holding you steady as your body writhes beneath him.

– But the real kicker? Hal gets off on the aftermath just as much as the main event. He loves seeing you absolutely wrecked, skin flushed, legs shaking, and lips swollen from his kisses. He’ll grin down at you, smug and satisfied, as he brushes his thumb across your jaw and murmurs, “Told you I was good. Don’t worry—I’ve got plenty more where that came from.” And he means it. Hal’s stamina isn’t just impressive—it’s almost unfair. One round is never enough for him; he’s determined to make sure you’re as thoroughly claimed as possible, inside and out.

– For Hal Jordan, sex is an art form, and he’s a master of his craft. He doesn’t just want to satisfy you—he wants to ruin you for anyone else. And judging by the way you’ll still feel him long after he’s done, there’s no doubt he succeeds every time.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

– For Hal Jordan, sex isn’t just about intimacy—it’s a performance, a chance to show off exactly what he can do, and trust him, he’s got the moves to back up his bravado. Hal thrives in positions where he’s in control, his strength and endurance on full display, and where he can quite literally see the effect he’s having on you. Here are his absolute favorites:

1) Standing Carry: Hal loves nothing more than showing off his strength by picking you up and taking you wherever he pleases. Wrapping your legs around his waist, he holds you effortlessly, one hand supporting your back while the other grips your ass firmly, pulling you flush against him. He loves how you gasp when he moves with purpose, his hips slamming into yours as he presses you against a wall—or, if you’re really lucky, carries you straight to the bed without ever breaking rhythm. His smug grin is practically glued to his face as he growls, “See? Told you I’d take care of you. You just sit back and let me handle everything.”

2) Plank Position: Hal has an almost stubborn need to prove his stamina, and this position is all about endurance. With you lying beneath him, your legs wrapped around his hips, Hal supports himself on his forearms or hands, driving into you with a controlled, steady rhythm. He loves the full view of your face, watching every reaction as he angles himself just right to pull moans and gasps from your lips. Bonus points? The way his body flexes above you, his arms and chest on full display as he leans down to murmur dirty praises in your ear, “You feel that? Only I can make you like this.”

3) Missionary (With Legs Over His Shoulders): Hal’s favorite twist on the classic. With your legs draped over his broad shoulders, he gets deeper than ever, watching with smug satisfaction as you arch and cry out beneath him. He thrives on the intimacy of it, how close he can get to your face to see the full effect of his thrusts. And if you grip his biceps or claw at his back? That’s just icing on the cake. He’s not shy about reminding you how good he’s making you feel, whispering things like, “No one else can fuck you like this, can they?” as he picks up the pace to leave you breathless.

4) Standing From Behind: Hal is all about leverage and control, and this position lets him put both on display. With you bent over in front of him—whether it’s against a table, a bed, or even the nearest wall—Hal takes full advantage of the angle to hit all the right spots. His hands grip your hips firmly, pulling you back against him with every thrust, while he murmurs filthy things like, “You feel that, don’t you? Tell me how good it feels, baby.” He’s absolutely the type to catch sight of himself in a mirror mid-act and smirk at the view—because let’s face it, the sight of him owning you so thoroughly is just too good to resist.

5) Seated Position: This is Hal’s go-to when he’s in the mood for something slower but no less intense. Sitting back in a chair—or more likely, the cockpit of a jet—he pulls you into his lap, letting you ride him while his hands roam freely across your body. He loves the control this position gives you while he leans back to enjoy the view, guiding your movements with firm hands on your waist or thighs. And if you falter, he’s quick to take over, thrusting up into you with a wicked grin as he mutters, “Come on, sweetheart. I know you’ve got more in you than that.”

– For Hal, it’s not just about the position itself—it’s about how much effort he can pour into it, how much he can make you feel. Whether it’s holding you up with ease, driving into you with relentless precision, or leaving you utterly wrecked in the aftermath, Hal’s favorite position is always the one that lets him prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that no one else can even come close.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

– Hal Jordan is the king of cracking a joke at the most inappropriate moments, and the bedroom is no exception. He thrives on keeping things lighthearted and fun, even in the filthiest of moments. Expect a cheeky comment like, “Careful, don’t get addicted,” when he’s going down on you, or a smirk and a playful, “That all you’ve got?” when you’re clawing at him for more.

– If something unexpected happens—like an awkward slip or an overly enthusiastic move—Hal doesn’t just roll with it; he makes it part of the fun. He’ll laugh, kiss you breathless, and say something ridiculous like, “Guess we’re trying out the blooper reel tonight.” But don’t let his humor fool you—Hal’s still relentless in his focus on making you come undone. He just thinks it’s more fun when you’re laughing and moaning at the same time.

– And if you ever try to match his banter mid-act? Oh, he’s all in. Hal loves a partner who can keep up with his sharp tongue, turning your playful remarks into fuel for his dirty, teasing retorts. But don’t be surprised when he shuts you up the fastest way he knows how—with his lips, his hands, or a deep, calculated thrust that leaves you too wrecked to respond. “That’s better,” he’ll say with a grin, “Guess I’m the funny one after all.”

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

– Hal Jordan is the type of guy who keeps things just well-groomed enough to look effortlessly sexy without seeming like he’s trying too hard. His hair on top? Always a little tousled, like he just stepped out of a fighter jet or rolled out of bed (and let’s be honest, half the time it’s probably both). Thick, dark brown, and naturally wavy, it’s the kind of hair you want to run your fingers through—whether you’re pulling him closer during a heated kiss or grabbing a fistful while he’s buried between your legs.

– Now, when it comes to body hair, Hal keeps it natural but tidy. His chest and stomach are dusted with just the right amount of dark hair, enough to highlight his rugged masculinity without going full-on lumberjack. He doesn’t wax or shave it entirely, but he trims enough to keep things neat—because he knows you love running your hands over the ridges of his abs and feeling the soft, fine hair beneath your fingertips. And trust him, he loves it too, especially when your nails scrape over his skin just enough to leave marks.

– As for below the belt? Oh, Hal’s definitely a “clean it up but keep it real” kind of guy. The carpet absolutely matches the drapes—a deep brown that’s just as rich and inviting as the rest of him. He trims it down regularly, ensuring there’s no jungle to navigate, because Hal’s all about making things as inviting as possible. He’s the type to smirk and say something cheeky like, “You like what you see? Took me a whole five minutes to get it just right.” But the truth is, he puts in just enough effort to make sure you’re as comfortable and distracted as possible when you’re exploring down there.

– And while he might not admit it out loud, Hal secretly loves it when you pay attention to his hair—whether it’s tugging on the strands during an intense moment, raking your fingers down his chest, or pressing your lips to the soft trail leading below his waist. It’s those little touches that make him feel completely irresistible—and trust him, with Hal Jordan, that’s exactly how he wants you to feel.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

– Hal Jordan may come across as cocky and overconfident most of the time, but when it comes to intimacy, there’s a side of him that’s deeper, softer, and entirely devoted to making you feel like the only person in the universe. Sure, he starts things off with his trademark smirks and filthy teasing—murmuring things like, “You ready for me to blow your mind?”—but the moment things get serious, Hal pours every ounce of his focus into you. For him, intimacy is about connection, and he’s determined to make sure you feel every bit of his passion.

– Hal’s not afraid of getting close—really close. He’s the type to hold your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones as he kisses you deeply, making you forget the world outside. His eyes stay locked on yours whenever possible, dark with lust and affection as he whispers against your lips, “You’re so perfect like this, you know that?” And while his words are hot enough to melt you, his actions speak even louder. Every touch, every movement is deliberate, designed to pull you deeper into his orbit and remind you that in this moment, it’s just the two of you.

– He’s surprisingly patient too, despite his usual impulsive nature. Hal takes his time exploring every inch of you, memorizing the way your body responds to his touch. He’ll kiss a slow, tantalizing path down your neck, across your chest, and lower still, pausing to murmur against your skin, “I could spend all night right here, you know.” And if you shiver or moan in response? That’s all the encouragement he needs to keep going, to push you higher and higher until you’re completely undone.

– But Hal’s intimacy doesn’t stop at the physical. He’s just as intent on making you feel seen—like you’re the center of his world. He’ll whisper things that make your heart skip a beat, like how stunning you look beneath him or how he’s never felt this way with anyone else. And while he might throw in a cheeky comment here or there to keep things light, his softer side shines through in the way he holds you close, his hands roaming your body like he never wants to let go.

– When you’re completely spent, trembling and dazed from his relentless attention, Hal will wrap you up in his arms and press kisses to your forehead, your nose, your lips. He’ll murmur something cocky but sweet, like, “Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I? And I’m not done yet.” Because for Hal, intimacy isn’t just about the act—it’s about leaving you so overwhelmed with pleasure and love that you never question how much you mean to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

– Hal Jordan may radiate cocky, overconfident energy, but even he has his moments of pure, primal need—when there’s no one around to satisfy him, and his hand becomes his only option. And trust this: Hal doesn’t half-ass anything, not even when he’s jerking off. It’s a performance for one, and he makes sure it’s just as intense and satisfying as if you were there to help him out.

– When Hal gets in the mood, it’s usually quick and unplanned—a flash of a memory from a heated moment with you, the way your body felt against his, or the sound of your breathless moans replaying in his mind. He’ll grip himself firmly, his strokes starting slow as he leans back against whatever surface is closest—a couch, his bed, hell, even the cockpit of his jet if it’s been that kind of day. His teeth catch on his bottom lip as he imagines your touch instead of his own, and it doesn’t take long for him to get lost in the fantasy.

– Hal’s not quiet, either. He groans low and deep, his breath hitching every time his hand squeezes just right or his thumb grazes the sensitive head. He’s filthy, too, muttering your name under his breath along with fragments of the dirty things he wants to do to you. “Fuck, baby, you’d look so good on your knees for me… God, I can’t stop thinking about how you’d take me, begging for more—just like that.” His free hand trails down his abs or grips his thigh, needing something to hold onto as his pace picks up, faster and harder with every stroke.

– Hal’s fantasies are vivid, too, and they only fuel the intensity of his release. He imagines your mouth on him, your hands gripping his hips, or the way your body trembles beneath him as he takes you apart piece by piece. When he comes, it’s explosive—hot ropes of cum spilling over his fist and onto his stomach, his head tipping back as a guttural groan escapes his lips. He doesn’t stop immediately, either, riding out every wave of pleasure with slow, teasing strokes until he’s spent and panting.

– And afterward? Hal’s the type to chuckle to himself, wiping his hand on the nearest towel or his discarded shirt before muttering something cocky like, “Damn, you’ve got me wrecked, and you’re not even here.” But deep down, it only makes him crave the real thing more—because as satisfying as it is to take care of himself, nothing compares to having you there to help him finish the job.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

– Hal Jordan isn’t just adventurous in the skies—his tastes in the bedroom are just as daring and varied. He’s got a few kinks that keep things interesting, and he’s more than happy to indulge them with the same cocky, confident energy that makes him irresistible. Here are five of his favorites:

1) Dominance and Power Play: Hal lives to be in control, and nothing gets him off more than seeing you submit completely to him. He loves the way you melt under his touch, letting him take the reins as he orders you exactly how to move, what to do, and when to let go. His commands are firm but laced with filthy praise, like, “That’s it, baby. Keep those legs spread just like that for me—don’t move unless I tell you to.” And when you follow his lead perfectly? Oh, he rewards you in the best ways possible, leaving you shaking and begging for more.

2) Worship and Praise Kink: Hal’s ego is as big as the universe, and he loves it when you make him feel like a god. Whether it’s kissing and licking your way down his chest, whispering how amazing he feels inside you, or simply moaning his name like a prayer, he thrives on being the center of your attention. His favorite? When you’re on your knees, eyes full of need as you take him into your mouth, only to hear him groan, “Fuck, you look so good like that. I could watch you worship me all night.”

3) Exhibitionism and Risky Encounters: Hal gets off on the thrill of being caught, and he’s not shy about suggesting public or semi-public escapades. Whether it’s pulling you into a closet on the Watchtower, sneaking a quickie in the cockpit of his jet, or taking you against the nearest wall at a party, he craves the adrenaline rush that comes with pushing boundaries. He’ll chuckle wickedly in your ear and say things like, “Think anyone can hear us? Let’s give them a show they won’t forget.” And the more you squirm, the harder it is for him to hold back.

4) Overstimulation and Edging: Hal loves to draw things out, teasing you until you’re a writhing mess beneath him. He takes his time, pushing you to the brink over and over again, only to pull back just before you fall apart. His hands, mouth, and even his Green Lantern ring become tools in his arsenal, all designed to make you beg for release. He’ll smirk down at you and say, “Come on, baby, you can take more. Let me see how far I can push you.” And when he finally lets you come? It’s so intense you’ll feel like you’re floating in zero gravity.

5) Marking and Claiming: Hal’s possessive streak comes out in the bedroom, and he loves leaving his mark on you—bruises from his grip on your hips, bite marks on your neck, or the feeling of him dripping out of you long after he’s finished. He’ll revel in the sight of you wearing his marks, leaning down to kiss them tenderly before growling, “Now everyone will know exactly who you belong to.” And when he’s filling you to the brim, his hands pressing against your stomach to feel just how deep he is? That’s when he’s completely in his element, making sure there’s no doubt in your mind—or anyone else’s—that you’re his.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

– For Hal Jordan, location isn’t just about where—it’s about how risky and how hot the situation can get. As a man who thrives on danger and excitement, he’s not content with keeping things confined to the bedroom. Hal’s favorite locations are as bold and daring as he is, each one chosen to satisfy his craving for adventure while pushing your limits in the most delicious ways.

1) The Cockpit: As a test pilot and Green Lantern, the cockpit is practically Hal’s second home—and he loves nothing more than breaking the rules in the very place that defines him. Whether it’s in a grounded jet during a late-night hangar visit or mid-air with the autopilot engaged, Hal gets a thrill out of having you straddle him in the pilot’s seat. His hands grip your hips as he whispers, “Bet you’ve never joined the mile-high club like this before.” And the thought of anyone catching you in the act only spurs him on, his thrusts matching the intensity of the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

2) The Watchtower (Semi-Public): There’s something undeniably thrilling about sneaking away with you aboard the Justice League’s headquarters, finding a secluded room or corner where you almost won’t be discovered. Hal loves pinning you against a wall, his body shielding yours as he murmurs into your ear, “Think Batman’s got cameras in here? Let’s give him something to watch.” The sheer audacity of it drives him wild, and he makes it a point to leave you trembling and breathless before you both return to the team meeting like nothing happened.

3) Against the Wall (Anywhere): Hal is a firm believer that walls were made for pushing you up against, and he doesn’t care where it happens—as long as he can have you. Whether it’s in a dark alley, the side of a building, or even a shower stall, Hal takes full advantage of the position. His hands grip your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he presses you against the cool surface, his lips capturing yours in a heated kiss. And if someone’s nearby? Even better. The risk of getting caught only makes him move harder, faster, whispering filthy things like, “Let them hear how good I’m making you feel.”

4) The Lantern Construct: Has no one ever even considered the perks of being a Green Lantern? Unlimited creativity with your constructs! Hal loves creating a glowing green bed, chair, or platform in the middle of nowhere—a floating masterpiece designed just for you. Whether it’s high above the city skyline or deep in a secluded forest, Hal revels in the freedom of taking you wherever and however he wants. His cocky grin says it all as he murmurs, “Only I could pull off something this good, right?” And when the glowing green light illuminates your body beneath him? That’s a memory Hal will never forget.

5) The Beach (Under the Stars): Hal may love risk, but he’s not against a little romance either. Late at night on a secluded beach, he’ll lay you down in the sand, the sound of waves crashing in the background as he makes love to you under the stars. His cocky attitude takes a backseat to his more tender side, though he still can’t resist murmuring things like, “Bet you’ve never had someone fuck you under the Milky Way before.” The mix of intimacy and raw passion is enough to leave you breathless, completely captivated by him.

– For Hal, location is all about adding excitement and variety to the experience. Whether it’s somewhere bold and risky or a place steeped in intimacy, he makes every moment unforgettable—just the way he likes it.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

– Hal Jordan isn’t a hard man to arouse—his cocky confidence and thrill-seeking nature mean that just about any situation has the potential to set him off. But there are a few things in particular that really get him going, driving him to the brink of control as he works to take you apart piece by piece.

1) Challenge: For Hal Jordan, there’s nothing more arousing than a challenge—whether it’s your confidence daring him to step up, or his own insecurities lighting a fire under him to prove he’s the best. Hal thrives on the thrill of competition, and when he feels the need to silence his inner doubts, that sharp edge of desire takes over. He pours every ounce of his energy into you, determined to leave you utterly wrecked, your body trembling and your voice hoarse from screaming his name. It’s about staking his claim, making sure you know, without a doubt, that he’s unmatched. For Hal, the challenge isn’t just about winning—it’s about proving, again and again, that he’s the only one who could ever leave you begging for more.

2) Jealousy and Possessiveness: Piggybacking off that, naturally, this is something that also riles up the Green Lantern just as much. Hal is competitive by nature, and nothing stokes his fire quite like the thought of someone else eyeing what’s his. A passing comment, a lingering glance, or even a harmless laugh shared with someone else is enough to set his possessive streak ablaze. You’ll know he’s jealous when his touches become rougher, his kisses more demanding, and his voice drops to a growl as he pulls you closer, whispering things like, “You’re mine. Don’t forget it.” He won’t stop until you’re screaming his name, every moan and shiver a reminder of exactly who you belong to. Pinning you down, his voice will drop to a low growl as he thrusts into you relentlessly, whispering filthy promises like, “No one else could ever fuck you like this. Say it. Tell me I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.” He doesn’t just want to hear it—he needs to, each word soothing the flicker of insecurity hidden beneath his cocky exterior. But it’s not just about jealousy—it’s about staking his claim, proving to you and himself that, without a doubt, he’s unmatched.

3) Clothing (or the Lack Thereof): Hal has a thing for how you wear—or don’t wear—your clothes, especially when your frame contrasts with his. Catch him off guard lounging in nothing but his Green Lantern shirt, the hem barely covering your hips, and he’ll be on you in seconds, his hands sliding beneath it as he growls, “You trying to kill me? This looks better on you than it ever did on me.” Or tease him with a snug outfit like a tailored suit or a good crop top paired with some short gym trousers that hugs all the right places, and he’ll spend the night failing to keep his hands to himself, his touch lingering on your back, waist, or hips as he mutters, “You know I can’t focus when you look like that.” But the real killer? Watching you undress, piece by piece, until he can’t take it anymore. He’ll pull you into his lap, his big hands gripping your hips possessively as he murmurs against your ear, “Keep going—I want to see everything. And don’t think for a second you’re getting away with teasing me like that.”

4) The Thrill of the Moment: Hal thrives on adrenaline, and it’s no different in the bedroom. The idea of sneaking away during a party, finding a secluded corner at the Watchtower, or even stealing a moment during a mission sets his blood on fire. He’ll push you up against the nearest surface, his lips on your neck as he growls, “We shouldn’t be doing this here... but damn, I can’t stop myself.” The rush of being somewhere you shouldn’t be, coupled with the risk of getting caught, makes everything ten times hotter for him.

5) Your Reactions: At the end of the day, Hal lives for your responses. The way your body arches into his touch, the sounds you make when he hits the right spot, or the way you moan his name when you can’t hold back anymore—those are the things that drive him wild. He’ll do anything to pull more reactions from you, murmuring things like, “That’s it, baby. Let me hear you—don’t hold back.” The louder and more desperate you get, the harder Hal goes, fueled by the knowledge that no one else can make you feel the way he does.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

– Hal Jordan might be open-minded and adventurous, but there are some hard limits he won’t cross. Anything involving cruelty or humiliation is a firm no for him—he’s here to build you up, not tear you down. He also draws the line at anything that takes away your ability to give enthusiastic consent; the thought of you not being fully into it kills the mood instantly—unless we’re talking a Yandere situation or even something like the scenario from “Love’s Punishment." And while he thrives on teasing and pushing boundaries, anything that genuinely hurts or scares you is off the table. “I want you to feel good, not afraid,” he’ll say, his voice soft but firm. At the end of the day, Hal’s all about mutual pleasure, trust, and making sure you’re as satisfied as he is.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

– Hal Jordan? Oh, he’s all in when it comes to oral—both giving and receiving. His cocky confidence extends to the bedroom (or wherever you’re lucky enough to find yourselves), and oral play is no exception. Hal knows exactly how good he looks when your lips are wrapped around him, and he’s not shy about telling you. His hands thread through your hair, his grip firm but never forceful, guiding you with murmured praise like, “That’s it, baby—fuck, you’re so good at this.” And the way his hips occasionally buck into your mouth? Pure reflex, a testament to how much you’ve got him unraveling.

– Hal lives for the visual: the sight of you on your knees, your smaller frame between his thighs, taking him inch by inch while his head tips back and a groan escapes his lips. The stretch of your mouth around him alone is enough to push him close to the edge, but he prides himself on his willpower. He’ll hold himself back as long as possible, savoring every flick of your tongue and the way your hands work in tandem, his breaths coming out in shallow gasps. But don’t mistake his stamina for disinterest—if you keep going long enough, the sight of you combined with the pressure building inside him will eventually win out. And when he comes? It’s hard and fast, his grip tightening as he spills into your mouth, his voice rough as he groans, “Fuck, just like that. Don’t stop—take all of it.”

– As much as Hal loves being on the receiving end, giving head—pole or hole but hole may be his preference—is where his competitive streak and ego really shine. He loves the idea of reducing you to a trembling mess, completely at his mercy as he takes his time exploring every sensitive spot. He starts slow, his tongue swirling and teasing, pulling you to the brink before backing off just to hear you beg. And when he finally decides to let loose? Hal is relentless, his lips, tongue, and fingers working in perfect sync to drag you over the edge. He thrives on the sound of your moans, the way your hands clutch at his hair, and the sight of your thighs trembling beneath him. “That’s it,” he growls, his voice muffled against your skin, “Give it to me. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

– Hal’s ego ensures he’s very skilled—he’s fully capable of bringing you to a mind-blowing orgasm with just his mouth, and he takes immense pride in doing so. It’s not just about the end result for him; it’s about the journey, the control, and the satisfaction of knowing he’s the one who left you completely undone. Whether he’s giving or receiving, Hal makes oral play an unforgettable experience, one that leaves both of you gasping for more.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

– Hal Jordan’s pace depends entirely on his mood—and yours—but no matter the tempo, he’s all in. When he’s in the mood for something slow and sensual, Hal turns the experience into an art form. His movements are deliberate, calculated, and unbearably teasing, designed to make you feel every inch of him as he drags out your pleasure. He’ll keep his hips rolling in a steady rhythm, his body pressed flush against yours as he whispers, “You feel that? Every single stroke? Yeah, I’m not stopping until you’re begging for it.” He thrives on the way your body arches into him, his hands gripping your waist to keep you right where he wants you.

– But when passion overtakes him—or if you’ve been teasing him all day—Hal shifts into a much rougher, more relentless gear. His thrusts are deep, hard, and fast, each one landing with enough force to leave you gasping, your nails digging into his back or shoulders for support. He loves hearing you cry out his name, the sound driving him to push even harder as he growls, “Come on, baby. Take it. I know you can handle it.” Hal’s stamina means he can keep this up for as long as it takes to have you completely undone, leaving you trembling and breathless beneath him.

– What makes Hal so intoxicating is how easily he switches between the two. He’ll start slow, teasing you until you’re clawing at him to go faster, only to smirk and say, “Patience, sweetheart. We’ve got all night.” And then, just when you think you can’t take another second of the teasing, he picks up the pace, his body driving into yours with enough intensity to leave you seeing stars. Whether it’s slow and torturous or fast and punishing, Hal’s pace is always designed with one goal in mind: leaving you completely wrecked by the time he’s finished.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

– Hal Jordan lives for quickies. The thrill of sneaking in a fast, filthy session when you’re both supposed to be somewhere else? It’s practically tailor-made for him. Whether it’s dragging you into an empty room at the Watchtower, pinning you against a wall in a dimly lit alley, or pulling you into the cockpit of his jet for a little “pre-flight stress relief,” Hal knows how to make every second count.

– There’s no buildup with him during a quickie—he’s on you the moment the door closes, his hands everywhere as he growls, “We don’t have much time, so spread those legs for me. Now.” His pace is relentless, his thrusts hard and fast as he works to get both of you off before you’re caught. He’s not shy about talking dirty, either. “You’re so tight—fuck, I’m not going to last long with you clenching around me like that,” he groans, his breath hot against your neck as his hips slam into you.

– Hal loves the risk, the danger of being caught. It’s not uncommon for him to smirk and whisper, “Think anyone can hear us?” as he covers your mouth with his hand to stifle your moans—or maybe he doesn’t cover it at all, daring you to try and stay quiet as he fucks you so hard your legs give out. His cocky streak shines through even in these rushed moments, and he’ll make sure you know exactly how good he’s making you feel, muttering things like, “Damn, look at all that pre-cum, baby. Stop trying to pretend you don’t love this as much as I do.”

– And if you can’t finish in time? Oh, that only makes Hal more determined. He’ll adjust his grip, angle, and pace until he feels you trembling around him, pulling you over the edge just in time for him to finish inside you with a low, guttural groan. When it’s over, Hal is already straightening his uniform or pants, smirking as he watches you try to catch your breath. “What? Don’t look at me like that,” he teases, running a hand through his hair. “You’re the one who couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

– For Hal, quickies aren’t just about release—they’re about the rush, the adrenaline, and the satisfaction of leaving you wrecked and barely able to walk while he’s already back to business like nothing happened.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

– Hal Jordan isn’t just comfortable with risk—he thrives on it. Whether it’s in the air or in the bedroom (or somewhere far less private), the thrill of danger lights him up like nothing else. He loves the idea of pushing boundaries, crossing lines, and taking you to places you’ve never dared to go. And when the stakes are high—when there’s a chance someone might walk in or overhear? That’s when Hal gets truly reckless, and his need for you becomes uncontrollable.

– His favorite risks are the ones that make you squirm with both nerves and arousal. Pulling you into an empty meeting room on the Watchtower, pinning you against the door as he growls, “Think Batman’s gonna hear this? Good. Let him know who makes you scream.” Or finding a quiet spot on a rooftop during a mission, bending you over the edge while his lips press against your ear, murmuring, “Don’t look down. Focus on me, baby.” The added element of danger, the risk of being caught or seen, only makes him harder, his thrusts more desperate as he chases the high of knowing he’s taking you right where he shouldn’t.

– And Hal doesn’t just stop at the usual locations. If there’s a way to push things further, he’s the first to suggest it. Creating a glowing green construct in the middle of the sky, high above the city, where anyone looking up could spot the faint light and realize what’s happening? That’s exactly the kind of risk Hal craves. He thrives on the way your smaller body trembles beneath him, your moans carried on the wind as he smirks and mutters, “You’re so fucking loud. Think they know what we’re doing? Good.”

– It’s not just about location, either—it’s about power and control. Hal loves when you trust him enough to let him take charge in situations that feel downright dangerous, like fucking you on a moving jet or in the back of a parked car in broad daylight. His confidence is contagious, his hands steady as he grips your hips and whispers, “I’ve got you. You’re safe with me. Now hold still and let me ruin you.” And if you hesitate or shy away from the risk? Oh, that only makes him more determined to convince you, his voice dripping with lust as he adds, “Don’t be scared, baby. I’ll make it worth it.”

– For Hal, risk isn’t just about breaking rules—it’s about making you feel alive, your heart racing as much from fear as from the way he’s fucking you senseless. Every gasp, every whimper, every desperate moan you let out only fuels his need to push further, harder, leaving you completely undone and breathless from both the pleasure and the adrenaline rush.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

– Hal Jordan’s stamina is, quite simply, superhuman. Whether it’s his time as a test pilot, his duties as a Green Lantern, or the sheer force of willpower that drives him, Hal has the energy and determination to keep going long after most would’ve given up. And in the bedroom? That same relentless spirit shines through, making him the kind of lover who doesn’t just satisfy you—he completely wrecks you.

– One round with Hal is never enough. He’s insatiable, his body still humming with adrenaline even after you’re left trembling and breathless beneath him. He’ll grin down at you, brushing the hair from your face as he murmurs, “Tired already? Come on, baby, I know you’ve got another in you. Let me see it.” And before you can protest, he’s moving again, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you with the same intensity as before, determined to pull even more moans and cries from your lips.

– Hal doesn’t just rely on physical stamina, though—it’s his mental focus that makes him unstoppable. He thrives on the challenge of seeing how far he can push you, how many orgasms he can pull from your trembling body before you’re a shaking, incoherent mess. His cocky smirk only grows wider every time you beg him to stop, to give you just a moment to catch your breath, and he leans down to whisper, “Not until I’m done with you. And I’m nowhere near done.”

– Even after he’s come hard and fast, Hal’s recovery time is impressive. He barely needs a moment to regroup before he’s ready to go again, his hands already roaming your body as he growls, “I can’t get enough of you. You’re too good for me to stop now.” It’s that endless drive, that need to keep proving himself, that makes Hal unstoppable. He doesn’t just want to satisfy you—he wants to leave you so thoroughly used and spent that you’ll still feel him the next day.

– And even after the physical part is over, Hal’s stamina carries into the aftercare. He’ll hold you close, his hands tracing lazy circles over your skin as he murmurs sweet, filthy praises in your ear, already planning how he’s going to take you again the moment you’re ready. For Hal Jordan, stamina isn’t just about lasting long—it’s about making sure you’re left completely and utterly satisfied, no matter how many rounds it takes.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

– Hal Jordan isn’t the kind of guy to keep a drawer full of toys—why would he, when he’s so confident in his ability to satisfy you all on his own? His ego practically demands it. “You don’t need anything extra when you’ve got me,” he’ll say with a smirk, his hand sliding down your body to emphasize his point. But despite his pride, Hal’s no prude when it comes to spicing things up, and if the opportunity to use a toy arises, he’s more than willing to give it a try—especially if it’s going to make you moan louder or come harder.

– The kicker? Hal’s cocky streak means he’d absolutely get a silicone toy molded after himself. Whether it’s a gag gift or something he genuinely thinks you’d enjoy, the thought of you using him even when he’s not there is enough to make his blood run hot. He’d hand it to you with that signature smirk and say something like, “I figured you might need this for the nights I’m saving the galaxy. Just make sure to tell me which one feels better—me or the toy.” And if you tease him about it later? Oh, that’s only going to push him to prove there’s no comparison.

– When it comes to using toys on you, Hal’s enthusiasm is unmatched. The moment he sees how much they turn you on, he’s hooked. His favorite? Vibrating toys that he can use to tease you mercilessly, watching as you squirm and gasp under his control. He’ll press it against your most sensitive spots, holding it there until your body arches off the bed, only to pull it away at the last second with a low chuckle. “What’s wrong, baby? You can’t handle it? Guess I’ll have to take over myself.” Hal’s skillful hands and mouth might leave the toy feeling like second-best, but the combination of the two? That’s a recipe for complete and utter destruction.

– And if you ever decide to surprise him by bringing a toy into the mix yourself? Hal won’t be able to hide how much it turns him on. He loves the thought of you taking control for a moment, guiding his hands or showing him exactly how you want to be touched. But don’t think for a second he’ll let you have the upper hand for long. Hal’s all about reclaiming control, using the toy to push you even further until you’re gasping his name and gripping his arms, completely at his mercy.

– At the end of the day, Hal doesn’t rely on toys—but he’s more than happy to use them if it means making you fall apart in ways you never thought possible. And let’s be honest: the smug satisfaction he gets from watching you come undone, whether it’s his hands or his molded toy, is more than enough to keep him experimenting.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

– Hal Jordan is the definition of unfair in the bedroom. Teasing you until you’re a whimpering, desperate mess is practically a sport to him, and trust him, he’s a champion. He thrives on making you beg, dragging things out until you’re trembling beneath him, clutching at his arms or shoulders and gasping, “Hal, please.” And even then? He doesn’t let up. Instead, he smirks down at you, his fingers trailing maddeningly close to where you need him most as he murmurs, “What’s that? I didn’t hear you. Say it louder, sweetheart.”

– Hal’s favorite game is edging—pushing you right to the brink before pulling back, over and over again, until you’re practically crying with frustration. His hands, his mouth, his Green Lantern ring—everything about him is designed to drive you insane. He’ll kiss and lick his way down your body, his lips brushing over sensitive spots but never quite giving you the pressure you need. “You’re so sensitive here,” he’ll muse, his voice low and smug as his fingers ghost over your thighs. “I bet I could make you come just from this. But I think I’ll wait. You look too good like this—needy and desperate for me.”

– He’s not just unfair with his teasing—his stamina and control make him downright cruel at times. Hal can hold himself back for what feels like an eternity, watching you squirm and arch beneath him as he keeps his thrusts slow and deliberate, just enough to make you moan but not enough to push you over the edge. “You’re close, aren’t you?” he’ll whisper, his lips brushing your ear. “Not yet, baby. I want to see you beg for it first.” And when you finally do? That’s when he snaps, pounding into you with all the intensity he’s been holding back, leaving you breathless and trembling as he grins and mutters, “See? Wasn’t that worth the wait?”

– And let’s not forget his playful side—Hal’s smug remarks only make the teasing worse. If you try to take control or rush him, he’ll pin your wrists above your head, his grin infuriatingly wide as he murmurs, “Oh, you thought you were in charge tonight? Cute. Let me remind you how this works.” He doesn’t just tease; he turns it into a performance, loving every second of your frustration and the way you eventually melt under his touch.

– For Hal, being unfair isn’t just about the power trip—it’s about making sure you fall apart completely, begging for release until he’s ready to give it to you. And when he finally does? You’ll be too wrecked to care how long it took—you’ll just know it was worth every second.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

– Hal Jordan is not the type to keep quiet during sex. Subtlety? That’s for someone else. Hal’s the kind of lover who wants you to know exactly how good you’re making him feel, and he’s not shy about letting it show. From the low, guttural groans that rumble deep in his chest to the sharp gasps and growls that escape when you squeeze around him just right, Hal’s sounds are as intense and raw as the way he takes you.

– When you’re going down on him, he’s especially vocal, his head tipping back as a strained, “Fuck, baby, just like that,” falls from his lips. If you hit a particularly sensitive spot, he won’t hold back a loud, desperate moan, his hand tightening in your hair as his hips buck uncontrollably. He’s not afraid to be loud, and honestly? He gets off on the idea that someone might hear him losing control because of you.

– But Hal’s not just about his own sounds—he lives for yours too. The louder you get, the more it fuels him, driving him to go harder, deeper, until your cries and moans fill the room. He’ll mutter filthy things in your ear, his voice low and gravelly as he growls, “Come on, sweetheart, let me hear you. I know you’ve got more in you.” And if you try to stifle your sounds? Hal will take it as a challenge, doing everything in his power to pull those desperate, uninhibited noises from you. “Don’t hold back,” he’ll command, his grin wicked as he thrusts into you harder. “I want the whole damn building to know who’s making you scream.”

– When Hal finally comes, it’s loud, unrestrained, and raw. His groans morph into a broken cry, his voice rough and hoarse as he gasps your name like a prayer. Even in the aftermath, his breaths are heavy and labored, interspersed with occasional murmurs of “You’re too fucking good, you know that?” as he pulls you close.

– For Hal, volume isn’t just an afterthought—it’s part of the experience, an auditory testament to the pleasure he’s giving and receiving. And trust him, whether it’s your sounds or his, he’s making damn sure you both leave the room with hoarse voices and no doubt in your mind about how good it was.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

– Wouldn’t it be funny if Hal had a secret kink for doing it in zero gravity. Like, the man’s job–outside his actual job, that is–literally involves him being in space majority of the time. Like…take him off-planet, and the man is in his element, turning the vastness of space into his personal playground. He discovered it the first time he created a floating green construct bed with his ring, pulling you into his arms and realizing how much fun it was to move without gravity’s constraints. Now, it’s one of his favorite things to do during his time away from Earth and if you’re able to come along with him.

– The lack of gravity only amplifies the intimacy—and the filth. With no weight to hold you down, Hal takes full advantage of being able to flip and reposition you however he pleases, all while murmuring dirty praises like, “Look at you, floating here like you were made for me. Bet no one else could fuck you like this.” His hands and body keep you perfectly balanced, one arm pulling you tight against him as he thrusts into you in deep, deliberate strokes that leave you breathless. And the way your smaller frame moves so effortlessly in his grasp? Oh, that’s just another power trip for him, and he loves every second of it.

– The best part for Hal, though, is how gravity—or the lack thereof—makes everything feel more intense. Every touch, every thrust sends you spiraling, your moans echoing in the silence of space as his cocky grin grows wider. “Don’t hold back, sweetheart,” he’ll growl, “No one’s around to hear you but me.” And when you finally come undone, your body trembling and weightless in his arms, he’ll hold you close, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmurs, “Told you space sex was the best. Ready for round two?”

– For Hal, the thrill of zero-gravity sex isn’t just about the novelty—it’s about taking something ordinary and turning it into something unforgettable, just like everything else he does. And trust him, once you’ve experienced it, you’ll never look at Earth sex the same way again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

– When it comes to Hal Jordan’s cock, let’s just say it lives up to his cocky personality—impressive, commanding, and damn near unforgettable. Hal is absolutely a grower, though, which feels almost like an ego flex in itself. He might look average when soft, but the second things heat up? He’s packing more than enough to make your breath hitch. By the time he’s fully hard, he’s sitting at 7.5 to 8 inches in length, thick enough to leave you gasping as he stretches you wide with every thrust.

– His girth is substantial but not overwhelming, perfectly balanced to hit that sweet spot between pleasure and a delicious burn. He’s slightly thicker at the base, tapering just enough to make the first few inches feel like a challenge before he slides the rest of the way in, the stretch leaving you clawing at him and gasping, “Fuck, Hal, you’re so big.” And trust him, he lives for those words—there’s no greater turn-on for him than watching you struggle to take all of him, your body trembling as he pushes you to your limits.

– Hal’s cock has a very slight upward curve, enough to hit all the right spots with devastating precision. He knows how to angle his hips just right, making sure that every stroke leaves you moaning his name. The head is prominent and slightly flared, giving you an extra stretch as he slides in and out, the sensation almost too much to handle. He’s circumcised, the skin smooth and warm under your touch, and you’ll notice the faint veins running along the shaft, adding just enough texture to make every thrust feel even better. And trust him, he knows exactly how to use it. Every thrust is calculated, designed to leave you trembling and clinging to him for more. “You like how deep I’m hitting you?” he’ll growl, his cocky smirk widening as he drives deeper. “Told you I’d ruin you.”

– He’s circumcised, with a flared head that’s perfectly shaped for dragging along your most sensitive spots, leaving you shuddering with every stroke. The veins running along his shaft aren’t overly pronounced but enough to add texture that sends sparks through your body when he slides into you. The skin is smooth, warm, and a natural, slightly darker shade than the rest of his body, adding to the raw, rugged appeal of him.

– Hal takes pride in how clean and well-kept he is, always making sure he’s trimmed and ready for action. His scent is faintly musky but not overpowering—just enough to drive you wild when he’s got you pressed close, your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock sliding in and out of you with an almost unbearable rhythm. And when he’s fully hard, the weight and heat of him in your hands or against your body is enough to make your mouth water.

– For Hal, his cock isn’t just a part of him—it’s a weapon, and he wields it with the same confidence and skill as he does his constructs. He knows exactly what he’s packing, and he’s damn proud of it, using it to make sure you’re screaming his name long before he’s finished with you. And trust him—once you’ve had Hal, nothing else will ever compare.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

– Hal Jordan’s yearning is nothing short of all-consuming. When he wants you, he doesn’t just feel it—he’s overtaken by it, his every thought consumed by the need to have you, touch you, and claim you as his. It starts with a slow burn, a lingering glance that turns into an unrelenting hunger. Once that fire is lit, Hal doesn’t hold back, his need for you dripping from every word, every touch, and every shameless groan as he pulls you closer.

– Hal is the type to obsess over every detail of you when he’s caught in his longing. The way your body feels pressed against his, the sound of your breath hitching as his lips trail down your neck, the way your smaller frame fits perfectly beneath his. The sight of you—clothed, half-dressed, or completely bare—is enough to send his mind spiraling, his cock already straining against his pants as he mutters, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

– His yearning can be subtle at first—lingering touches, his thumb brushing over your wrist, or the way his hands grip your hips just a little too firmly. But when it boils over, Hal becomes utterly insatiable. He’ll pin you against the nearest surface, his lips crashing into yours as his voice drops to a desperate growl: “I need you. Right now.” His hands roam your body like he’s memorizing it, his grip firm yet reverent, as though touching you is both a privilege and a necessity.

– Hal’s yearning isn’t just physical—it’s deeply emotional. Beneath the cocky smirks and teasing words lies a man who craves connection, who wants to feel you shatter under his touch and know that he’s the reason. He lives for the way you cry out his name, for the way your body responds to him so perfectly, as though you were made just for him. And when you whisper his name in that breathless, needy tone? It drives him to the brink, making his yearning shift into something primal and raw. “Say it again,” he’ll growl, his lips brushing your ear as he grinds into you. “Tell me you need me as much as I need you.”

– For Hal, yearning is more than just desire—it’s a burning ache that only you can quench. And when he finally has you? He pours every ounce of that longing into the way he touches you, moves inside you, and whispers filthy praises into your ear. Because for Hal Jordan, nothing is more satisfying than turning his yearning into your undoing.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

– After an intense session, Hal Jordan is the type to pull you close, his broad chest pressed against your back as his arm drapes possessively around your waist. He’s not the quickest to fall asleep—his mind tends to wander, replaying every sound and reaction he pulled from you like a highlight reel. But once exhaustion catches up with him, he’s out cold, his breathing steady and his grip on you firm, as if even in sleep, he refuses to let you go. And if you’re still awake, don’t be surprised if he murmurs something smug in a half-asleep haze, like, “Told you I’d wear you out,” before pulling you even closer and drifting off completely.

☀️ | Hal Jordan/Green Lantern | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part6

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: pregnancy symptoms

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You're sure it’s all coming to an end.

This is how things will wrap up. You didn’t expect to experience these days like this. You hoped for a nice pregnancy, one full of flowers—no, not flowers, they wouldn’t do. You’d imagined a cozy, cushioned, perfectly comfortable pregnancy.

You were sure you could handle anything that came your way. There was nothing you couldn’t accomplish. At least, that’s what you believed.

But today, you’re convinced the world is ending.

Everything, everyone feels like an enemy. It’s not that you think the world revolves around you, but you’re pretty certain that everything in it holds a grudge against you.

It’s the moment where your life seems to be unraveling, every piece of familiarity breaking apart. As if every sense you have has turned against you, you stand in a moment that should be ordinary, but instead, it feels as though the universe has designed a unique form of torment just for you: an assault by smells.

At first, it starts small. A faint, floral scent wafts in on a gentle breeze. You take a breath and recoil—suddenly aware that every scent you’d barely noticed before has escalated to the level of catastrophe. And this assault feels custom-made for you.

It’s not just annoying; it’s tragic. The life-wrecking kind. As if the whole world conspired to make you sense every odor within a fifty-kilometer radius. Maybe you’re exaggerating, but with good reason. Even the air itself feels like it’s joined a scheme to turn your life into a living hell.

“Is this really how it’s going to end?” you wonder, brows knit in frustration and disbelief. “Not with some grand, heroic moment, but because of the lovely scents of spring flowers and who knows what else?”

You tug the collar of your shirt over your nose, hoping for some relief, but it’s no use. The smell is still there, ruthless and unavoidable. Every little thing—each faint whiff of grass, distant barbecue smoke, even that fresh ocean breeze—seems to assault you from every angle.

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to step outside again. Ever. What if this is your reality now? The girl who can’t even stand a pleasant spring breeze.

Before going to bed, you’d hoped today would be a good day. With the cooler weather, you figured you’d finally be able to sit on the balcony and enjoy the day. But the moment you woke up, you knew that was never going to happen.

You didn’t wake up normally. It was more like waking up in a storm. Your hair a tangled mess, all those stupid smells already churning your stomach. For a moment—a brief, ridiculous moment—you thought the smell was coming from you, and you ran for a long shower, hoping to wash off whatever it was that haunted you. But even in the shower, every scent seemed so overpowering—you honestly thought you might die right there.

You barely remember dressing and making it out of your room. You didn’t even have time to dry your hair. Even though the warmth of the air was no real threat, you normally liked taking time to do your hair. But today, you hated it. Just like you hated everything and everyone else.

Your parents had already left for work, but the lingering scent of their perfume filled the house. Not like a fading scent, either, more like they’d moved in. They might as well have been living with you now…

Just one more thing to hate.

And the worst part? Even if you threw up, the nausea wouldn’t subside. It was killing you from the inside, torturing you. Almost as if it were enjoying watching you suffer.

Of course, you hated that, too—classic.

You can’t deny that stepping out onto the balcony brought a bit of relief. The only smell that didn’t bother you was the salty sea breeze. But even if the sea and salt provided some comfort, those damn blades of grass. The green monsters.

You hated every single one of them—every blade of grass on the planet.

This world reeked. You definitely needed to move to a different planet.

Your phone lights up with notifications, and you glance at it, rolling your eyes at the useless updates. You hate the sound they make, but you’re too lazy to turn off the notifications.

The first video on Instagram has you widening your eyes.

You really might die.

Right on the screen are juicy cherries and strawberries. Right there, in front of you. You want to lean in and take a bite. Just seeing them makes it feel as if their scent is reaching you, and for once, you don’t hate it. For a fleeting moment, you think the world might be a good place again.

It doesn’t take long before you’re in the kitchen, searching every possible spot for fruit. You scour the fridge, praying there’s just one, but there’s nothing.

If you don’t eat a cherry or a strawberry right now, you know you won’t make it. And the fruits staring back at you from your phone screen aren’t helping.

Your pregnancy has been…unique. You’ve turned against the things you once loved. You used to be a banana fanatic, but now even seeing one makes you queasy. The smell alone is enough to make you throw up. You could catch the scent of a banana even from the other side of an open field.

Thank goodness your family finally understood and stopped buying them. You didn’t want to see or smell them.

Chocolate was a different story. You used to love dark chocolate, but now it was a love-hate relationship. Some days, the smell was unbearable, and others, you felt like you couldn’t get out of bed without it. Milk chocolate was fine. A classic. You always loved it. But white chocolate…that was your sworn enemy. You hated the greasy feel it left in your mouth; it didn’t even taste like real chocolate.

Disheartened by the lack of cherries or strawberries in the house, you leaned against the counter, your gaze fixed on the screen. They looked so inviting. Juicy, fresh, bright red—they were calling your name. They were crying out for you. They wanted you.

You couldn’t hold back—

You tried to calm yourself. You could ask your family to pick some up on their way home. But waiting until evening felt impossible. It wasn’t just that you needed the fruits; the fruits needed you.

Besides—it wasn’t you, it was the baby. Right?

Without thinking twice, you dialed JJ’s number. You didn’t have many friends. JJ wasn’t really a friend either, but they knew you were pregnant. And since they’d brought you ice cream the other day, you thought maybe—just maybe—they’d do this too.

If they didn’t, well, you’d just hate them.

They whined at first, like a baby. And you hated them for that. You’d asked politely. In your way, but still polite. But the call ended in a minor argument, and you hung up on them.

Yet about twenty minutes later, as you lounged on the balcony watching a video, you noticed a blonde figure approaching your house from afar, a smile creeping onto your lips.

You still hated him. But if there were strawberries or cherries in that bag he were carrying—well, let’s be honest, you’d still hate him, but just a little bit less.

“Don’t get too excited,” JJ said, climbing up the steps to your porch with a cardboard bag in hand. You quickly closed your laptop and nudged it aside.

You could’ve hugged him, but that would’ve been too much. And unnecessary.

As you got up and walked over, he looked at you with a smug grin. His hair was tousled from the wind. He looked a bit…tired, but still the same, with that empty look in his eyes—the one that always made him seem a bit clueless.

As you pulled the bag toward you and peeked inside, your eyes sparkled at the sight.

He’d gotten you the fruits you wanted. He practically glowed before you. You could almost hear them calling, “Mommy!” or “Eat us!”

As you gazed at the berries, you heard JJ muttering, “It’s for the baby, not you. And do you have any idea how expensive these were? The guy ripped me off! Told me they were organic and pesticide-free—these better taste good, or I’m going back to give him a taste of my punch.”

Honestly, you couldn’t care less about what he were saying. Even if you wanted to listen, your eyes and mind kept drifting to the fruit. JJ, noticing this, just smiled as you slipped a strawberry from the bag.

Before you could even get the strawberry to your mouth, JJ’s hand shot out, grabbing yours. You turned a questioning look on him, but he was staring at you in horror.

“Don’t eat that, dude! Are you crazy?” he practically shouted.

“Let me eat it! What is wrong with you?” You tried to pull your hand away, but JJ let the bag drop to the floor, using his free hand to pry the strawberry from yours.

“Wash it first, will you? You’ll make yourself sick.” You made another grab for the berry, but he jerked back, hiding it behind him. Was he playing some kind of sick game? You could just about strangle him.

When he still wouldn’t give it up, you lunged for the bag on the floor, but JJ was faster, snatching it up and holding it out of reach. “You’re acting like you wash every berry you eat! Give it here; one berry won’t hurt me.”

JJ only smirked, raising the strawberry to his own mouth. You stared in disbelief, seriously considering murder as he bit into your strawberry. He had a special way of making even a good deed annoying.

You watched as he took a bite, juice dribbling down his chin. That should have been you. That strawberry was yours.

“Look, I get it, you think I’m crazy. But in case you’ve forgotten, I’m the one eating it, and I’m definitely not pregnant, so if anyone’s getting sick, it’s just me, not some baby. Now, once you wash these, I won’t say a word,” he said with a sarcastic eye-roll.

Did he… did he just… gently parent you?

While he finished the rest of the strawberry, he nodded toward the kitchen. You took a deep breath, reluctantly heading inside, leaving the door open behind you. You heard JJ following, his footsteps close behind, and ducked into the kitchen as quickly as possible.

He let out a low whistle, glancing around at the kitchen. “Nice place you’ve got here. Get me a bowl. I don’t trust you with that, either.”

You rolled your eyes but grabbed a big bowl from the cabinet, handing it to him. He accepted it with a smug grin, eyes fixed on you. “Your hair’s wet.”

Was he stupid, or just messing with you?

“Yeah, and?” Did he think you didn’t know? You’d left it wet on purpose. Besides, drying it would’ve taken extra effort.

Setting the paper bag on the counter, JJ gave you another pointed look. “Idiot.”

Was it even possible to spend time with JJ and not roll your eyes?

Absolutely not.

That guy had a sixth sense for irritating you. So what if your hair was wet? It wasn’t the end of the world.

You hopped up onto the kitchen island, quietly watching as JJ washed the berries with exaggerated care. His back was to you.

As annoying as he was, you knew you probably owed him a thank you for going out of his way like this. Not many people would’ve done it, and if you’d asked anyone else, they would’ve asked too many questions. And then, somehow, everyone would know.

When JJ finally came over with the bowl of freshly rinsed fruit, a draft blew in from outside, bringing a horrible smell with it.. It was as if the air itself was rotting.

“What is that smell?” JJ looked around, half-thinking maybe it was him.

“What smell?” He was giving you a look, probably convinced you were imagining things. He’d just showered, put on fresh clothes, so he was certain it wasn’t him.

Watching you pinch your nose, JJ started sniffing around. You looked ready to bolt, but you clutched that bowl of strawberries like your life depended on it. Wherever you were going, they were coming with you.

“It reeks, JJ! Don’t you smell it?” You took your hand from your nose just long enough to give his a quick flick, making him wince. You hadn’t even hit him that hard.

“Are you crazy? There’s no smell—it’s the air freshener. You’re seriously losing it.” Your eyes widened as you realized where the stench was coming from. No way were you staying here a minute longer.

That air freshener—that evil little device—was getting tossed tonight. The second your parents got home. You weren’t about to suffer with that scent for another second.

You leapt down from the counter, sidestepping JJ and covering your nose as you rushed for the door. “Not going to die in there today.”

As you darted outside, you could hear him laughing behind you, and your brows furrowed. Was he actually finding this funny?

“Dying? Seriously? It’s just an air freshener—it’s not like it’ll kill you!”

Oh, it was going to meet its end in his mouth if he kept this up.

You dropped into the big armchair on the veranda, finally popping a strawberry into your mouth.

The taste was indescribable. Pure sweetness and flavor exploded as soon as you bit down, almost overwhelming. You actually closed your eyes, a satisfied sigh escaping you as you sank back, like you’d just tasted a little slice of paradise.

“You good?”

You opened your eyes, finding JJ grinning at you as he sat down in the chair next to yours. You smiled back, nodding.

“Thanks,” you said, popping another strawberry in, and JJ’s smile widened as he nodded, murmuring, “You’re welcome.”

Not going to lie, you wanted to keep every last one for yourself. But since he’d gotten them for you, it felt wrong not to share. You held the bowl toward him, and he took a cherry, tossing it in his mouth.

“You know what just hit me?” JJ looking at you with a glint in his eye as he munched on the cherry. You set the bowl between you on the armrest, curling up in the seat comfortably. “The air out here stinks.”

While JJ just looked at you, his brows raised. He paused for a moment, sniffed the air, and then shook his head. “Honestly—not trying to mess with you, even if I do enjoy annoying you. But there really is nothing. It doesn’t smell like anything.”

He looked at you seriously as he leaned back and took a bite of a strawberry.

Even though you stared at him like he was an alien, he just kept looking at you. You searched his face for some sign of judgment or that classic “you’re crazy” look, but nothing. Just seriousness.

“I hate these pregnancy symptoms. They ruin everything.” You leaned back, refusing to let go of the bowl. But when you heard sounds beside you, you looked up.

You watched as JJ pulled his phone from his pocket, and you popped a cherry in your mouth. Just as you thought he was bored with you and about to ignore you, you heard him start reading: “It says here: Eat smart. Leave your windows open. Sniff the good stuff. Distract your nose. Chew on a piece of gum or suck on a hard candy…blah blah blah. Show me the conclusion here—yep; Unfortunately, there’s no way to train your nose not to be super sensitive while your hormones are surging. This is one of those mom-to-be experiences you’ll have to wait out until the later months.” With a deep sigh, he tossed the phone aside.

Did he just… no. You weren’t even going to think about that. Not now, not ever. He actually just… no. Stop.

Eat a strawberry. Yes. Strawberry.

“To summarize, that’s all nonsense. I’m sure there’s a fix. Don’t worry.”

You took a deep breath, shoved a couple more strawberries into your mouth, and nodded. You weren’t going to stress about it. Of course, it would go away.

“Calm down, Strawberry Monster. They’re all yours.”

Feeling an odd pang, you looked down at your hand. Slowly, you put an untouched strawberry back in the bowl, sitting up and chewing the berries in your mouth as you brought a hand to cover it. JJ was watching you with that—idiotic expression. He really needed to stop looking at you like that.

You just… felt weird. In a way you’d never felt around him. Almost like—like… embarrassment.

You hated it. You hated this feeling. Who did JJ Maybank think he was to make you—feel embarrassed?

He… he couldn’t. It didn’t even make sense to feel that way. You didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Just—ugh.

“What did you do today?”

What did you just say? No, you didn’t. You didn’t actually ask him about his day, right? This was just a dream. Yes, a daydream. That’s all.

JJ looked at you in surprise, like you’d thrown him off, and you hated yourself for that moment of panic. Was there never a time you could actually think clearly?

Out of all the ways to switch the subject, out of all the things you could tease him about, you asked him about his day? Like you were close? Like friends who ask each other how their days went?

Why don’t you send a good morning text while you’re at it? You’re such an idiot.

JJ glanced at you in shock, fidgeting with his hands as he pursed his lips. He pulled his hand away from the bowl and set it in his lap, looking away thoughtfully. Then he turned back to you.

“Stayed home,” he said, lifting his hand to scratch his neck. Things had suddenly gotten so awkward. Had either of you ever asked this kind of casual question before? “Well, my dad’s place. I left the house this morning. Surfed for a bit; the weather’s getting colder. Feels like the last few days of the season. You should try it—before it’s too late, I mean. Took a shower, stopped by John B’s place. Was there most of the day. Then you called.”

Besides the strange awkwardness of the question itself, you listened carefully, actually a little surprised he answered. You expected him to tease you for it.

You nodded to show you were paying attention. But still, you couldn’t help but wonder. John B and his other idiot friends—did they see that you’d called? Did they talk about you? Did they know you were pregnant?

No. He would’ve told you if they did. You didn’t want to admit it, but you trusted him. He wouldn’t tell.

“You said’ JJ, please, please bring me strawberries. I’m begging you.’ And, because I’m a hero, I immediately grabbed the strawberries—” JJ barely managed to shield himself as a pillow you tossed at him hit him square in the face, and he let out a pained groan as you laughed.

You hadn’t begged him. He was exaggerating, as usual. You didn’t.

“You’re rude.” JJ took the pillow and set it in his lap, grabbing a cherry and biting into it. “You’re liar.” You chuckled as juice from the cherry ran down his white shirt. “And an idiot.”

As he looked at his shirt in dismay, he tossed the rest of the cherry in his mouth. “Oh, shit.”

As you both sat in silence, you handed him a napkin from the table, but there was no saving that cherry-stained shirt. It was a goner. A small part of you felt guilty, knowing it was sort of your fault. Hormones were a nightmare. Getting upset over a shirt was stupid. But you felt bad anyway.

“Want me to lend you a shirt?” You didn’t really care what he said. You were going to grab one anyway. You just asked to make him feel like he’d made the decision. He was still grumbling as you stood up. You grabbed a strawberry as you turned to go. You could hear him calling after you, but you didn’t look back.

“It’s really not necessary. Hey!” Whatever he said, it didn’t matter. Your hormones were all over the place, and you’d rather just give him a shirt than obsess over that stain for days.

In your room, you stopped to look through your closet, pausing when you saw certain shirts. It felt like the universe was playing a joke on you. There was Rafe’s shirt. And not just his—the one JJ had given you on that day at the beach was in there too.

Caught up in the memories, you took a deep breath. Without a second thought, you grabbed Rafe’s shirt and shoved it to the back of the closet. He didn’t belong in your life anymore. He’d chosen that, and you’d accepted it.

You didn’t want to see him. You’d gone out of your way to avoid certain places just because you knew he might be there. You weren’t sure if you were more scared of bursting into tears or slapping him if you saw him. You just didn’t want to see him.

You were afraid of people noticing your stomach. It was barely showing, still small enough that no one else would see, but you knew it was there. And you didn’t want anyone else to know. You were scared. You weren’t ready to tell anyone, so you kept to yourself.

You stayed home, knowing no one could see you here. But lying around all day had gotten boring. Your chest ached with growth, and your back was screaming. You needed something to distract you, anything to focus on. But instead, you let your fear keep you stuck here. And you couldn’t stand it.

Thinking of JJ waiting for you downstairs, you pulled yourself together and glanced at your closet. You could give him his shirt, but—your hand went to your own white T-shirt instead. For reasons you didn’t quite understand, you chose that over JJ’s sky-blue, detailed tee.

Shutting the closet, you pushed memories away, focusing on what lay ahead. Your future. Your small family. You and your tiny baby.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t get hung up on the past.

Straightening the shirt in your hands, you stepped out onto the veranda. JJ was out there, taking in the massive front lawn. Probably imagining he could play golf on it—it was that big. His attention turned to you as you came outside, his gaze settling on the shirt in your hands. Realizing you were about to make him wear it, he took a deep breath as he watched you settle into the big chair beside him.

When you handed him the shirt, there was a quiet understanding between you. Without a word, he took it, stood up, and, without hesitation, took off his own shirt.

So—he was undressing in front of you.

It wasn’t as if you hadn’t seen a guy shirtless before, but it still felt...weird. You’d seen him like this hundreds of times—hanging out on the beach, at parties, surfing, or just swimming with you.

But this felt different. He wasn’t doing it for fun or the beach. He was changing clothes. And you felt like some creep, like you were spying on him.

You couldn’t remember ever looking at him this closely. His skin was smooth like porcelain, and he looked like he’d been drawn to perfection. But his shoulders were the most noticeable feature. His V-line was just barely visible above his low-riding short—

You were startled out of it when his shirt smacked into your face. “Stop staring, creep.” JJ chuckled as he put on the shirt you gave him.

You hated him for that. But, honestly, you deserved it. You’d been staring. And you hated that even more.

You knew JJ would keep teasing you, as always. Soon enough, he got a call from John B about something “urgent” and said he had to go. You didn’t stop him.

The rest of the day, you ate all the strawberries and cherries JJ had brought over. The day was so dull you thought you might pass out from boredom. You even tried to sleep just to pass the time.

Hours later, you were stretched out on the couch, arm draped over your forehead, letting out a deep sigh. You’d tossed the automatic air freshener out in the yard earlier, so the house finally smelled right.

The door opened, and you didn’t need to guess who it was—it could only be your parents. Your mom set her bag by the door and approached you with that concerned “mom look.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted with a soft smile. Too exhausted from battling weird smells all day, you barely opened your eyes. As her footsteps came closer, she sat beside you, stroking your hair.

She’d finally come to terms with the fact that you were keeping this baby. She was being kinder, warmer to you, and you were grateful for it. With your hormones already wreaking havoc, you couldn’t handle your family being harsh on you. And, honestly, you couldn’t blame them. If your own daughter had gotten pregnant, you’d probably react the same way. “How was your day?”

Turning to face her, you let out another dramatic sigh. Your mom was the only person you could let yourself be a little dramatic around. She’d even started indulging your mood swings. “It was awful. The air...smelled wrong. Like I was breathing in something sour and flowery at the same time. I wanted some fresh air, but everything outside felt too much. The neighbors’ lawns smelled like they were on fire. I even threw out that air freshener because it was practically a health hazard!”

Your dad, standing by the door listening to the conversation, exchanged a knowing look with your mom. That silent parent communication—they didn’t need words to be on the same page. They probably chalked it all up to pregnancy hormones. But to you, the world really did feel like a sensory assault.

He came over and sat on the edge of the couch, giving you that serious look he used when he really wanted to listen.

When he gently said your name, it caught your attention. Sitting up a bit, you looked over at him, and he took a deep breath. He seemed ready for a serious talk, but your mom beat him to it. “Have you...thought about taking a tour of the island, love? Maybe it’d do you some good.” You shook your head, rejecting the idea right away.

Not anytime soon, anyway.

You’d barely managed to go to the hospital, and only on the condition that it was on the mainland. The last thing you wanted was for people on the island to find out you were pregnant. The thought of anyone gossiping about you made your stomach churn, so no. You weren’t doing it.

“Couldn’t you just try?” Your mom’s voice softened. She knew what was going on, understood how you were feeling, but it bothered her to see you isolating yourself when your bump wasn’t even showing yet.

It hurt her to see you wearing yourself down like this. She already felt like she’d failed as a mom for not protecting you, and seeing you holed up inside just twisted the knife.

“I don’t want to. I’m...happy here at home. I’m not going outside.”

Your parents weren’t oblivious. They knew exactly what was going on. They shared another look, and your mom let out a deep breath, still stroking your hair.

Your dad, sensing he should step in, spoke calmly, saying your name again. He stood and leaned against the table in front of you. “Your mom and I...we know this is a tough time for you.” He glanced at your mom, who nodded, eyes full of tender concern. “We don’t want you feeling trapped.”

His words didn’t quite make sense. It was like he was speaking another language, and as you failed to understand his point, your mom straightened up and explained, “What your dad means is…” You sat up, looking between them both. “If staying here is too hard, we’re open to other options. Maybe somewhere quieter, where people don’t know you.”

You blinked, feeling a spark of surprise and maybe a little hope. Were you hearing this right? “You mean...move?”

A place where no one would judge you, where you could tell people you were pregnant without a second thought?

And they’d do this, just for you?

Your dad nodded, his voice steady and reassuring, his face calm with a soft smile. “If it’d make you feel better. Yes.”

Your mom smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, her face lighting up. She didn’t want to see her daughter feeling trapped. She’d rather you be happy somewhere else than miserable here. “We could find you a place. And even though your dad and I might not be able to leave because of his work, I could come see you whenever you needed, love.”

Watching the warm look they shared, a tangle of emotions filled you. The idea of changing things for something better felt comforting. You knew your parents had their work, friends, and lives here—roots in this town. But even so, they were willing to shift everything if it meant you could have a fresh start.

But then the reality of it hit you. Your dad’s work was here; your mom had built a life in this town. They couldn’t always be there. You’d have to face some things alone.

You pushed that thought aside and looked back at your dad. His face held that unwavering, supportive expression you’d grown up with. “If a new start is what you want, we’ll find a way. It could be short-term or long-term, whatever you need.”

Your mom reached out, holding your hand, her eyes full of encouragement. She only wanted what was best for you. They could find you a home and make sure you had everything you needed. “We want you to know you’re not alone, love. We may have made mistakes at first, but we’re here now, ready to support you however we can. We’ll be right here.”

You nodded, moved by the weight of their support. Your heart felt like it would break from gratitude. You almost wanted to cry right there. You felt like you could hug them forever. Moving to a place where no one knew your life, away from judgment and rumors, felt...right—a fresh start for you and the baby.

But as you imagined this new life, you realized that, even with their support, you’d be walking this road mostly on your own. They wouldn’t always be there. You’d told yourself you could do this alone, but the thought of being without them was still daunting. What if you needed them?

“Thank you… to both of you,” you say, your voice soft but filled with gratitude. There weren’t enough words to fully express your thanks for their decision to stand by your side. “I’ll think about it. I really will…”

Your dad reaches out to take your hand, giving you that reassuring smile. With your mom and dad standing behind you, you feel a strength you haven’t felt in a long time. “Whatever you decide, we’re here for you.”

Your mom nods, wrapping you in a warm embrace. “And if you change your mind, we’ll start packing those boxes,” she whispers, giving you a little wink, trying to bring a smile to your face. And for the first time in days, you find yourself truly looking at the future with a real sense of hope. This was real…