#maybe its just a me getting older thing but like...i really do just get into doing the tasks and consider that enough

[thewertsearch]

You produce your most spirited LAD SCRAMBLE yet, and hop up to the next GOD TIER, achieving the illustrious REVENGE OF DOCTOR RAGNAROK. All of your vitals go completely bonkers. Your MAN GRIT is off the charts. You're embarrassed for us to even know what it is. It's that gaudy.

Remember when I described the God Tiers as 'less silly' than the Echeladder's levels?

...yeah. I should have known that wasn't going to last long.

You put forth your best LASS SCAMPER of all time, and clear another sweet GOD TIER, the nigh-unattainable SAYONARA KANSAS.

For Jade, these tiers are essentially meaningless now. She's the First Guardian of Earth, and wields powers far greater than the paltry parlor tricks of an ascended Sburb Player.

Jade's not a God Tier - She's a god.

Nobody should ever mess with you. Not even me.

And Hussie knows it.

You don't get boondollars anymore. That shit is for babies now. Instead, you are finally ready to have your first ACHIEVEMENT BADGE sewn on to your KIDDIE CAMPER HANDYSASH! You each receive the badge GIFT OF GAB, enabling you to engage in simple, direct dialogue with others, without requiring any gimmicks to facilitate communication. You don't need to type through a chat client, or talk to a sprite, or traverse through a memory in a dream bubble, or wander around in an interactive game environment, or any of that stuff. You seriously never thought you would live to see this achievement unlocked. It almost feels like cheating.

Getting a little sick of that restriction, eh, Hussie?

Sufficiently advanced Players are allowed to break the rules of the comic, a concept which is brimming with potential. Next thing you know, they'll be picking up objects without a Sylladex, naming their children before they're thirteen, or violating the sanctity of the alpha timeline wait what was that last one

A verbal conversation, with no Pesterchum handles in sight. This really does feel like a milestone, and it's incredibly funny (and on-brand) that we needed a Prestige Class to unlock it.

Also... this is decidedly not a three-millisecond journey. Just how long are they stuck here?

JADE: im not sure! JADE: some sort of limbo dimension between the two walls i guess JADE: like a realm with unusual spatial properties we have to cross through

Jade, for her part, is not aware of the metacanonical implications of this little trip. I think it was Scratch who first told her about the Fourth Wall, and it's clear he made a few tactical omissions concerning its true nature.

JOHN: we escaped the scratch? JOHN: like, we still exist and everything? JADE: yes! JADE: we still totally exist john JOHN: ok, just making sure. JOHN: i still felt pretty existy, but you never know.

A pertinent question, considering where they are.

Technically, they might be more real than they were before, since they've left the fictional medium(!) of their reality.

JOHN: i mean, we crashed through that giant window you magically made with witch powers to escape the scratch, so we can keep existing, right? JADE: yes JADE: i didnt make it with witch powers though, i captchalogued it hours ago because karkat told me to…

Wait, but wasn't it Future Jade who told Karkat to do that?

It certainly sounds like it was - and the current, post-session Jade should already be older than any 'future' Jade who talked to Karkat during the session.

By now, Jade should know why she arranged for herself to grab the Wall - but she's acting like she only did it because Karkat told her to. Maybe I'm just misinterpreting what she's saying.

JOHN: did you at least make it huge with witch powers? JADE: i did make it huge with witch powers! JOHN: so i guess that's what witch powers do, is make things huge? JADE: they also make things small JOHN: right, like you did with all those planets. JADE: yup JADE: also JADE: witch powers can teleport things, and fling things around through space at very high velocities JADE: all sorts of stuff! JADE: but to be honest, im not sure how much of that is attributable to inheriting becs abilities…

All of it, actually.

The only thing Bec didn't do was fling an object around at a high velocity...

...until you remember he did this, which absolutely counts.

So far, nothing Jade's done has been through her God Tier abilities. She's so powerful that her status as the Witch of Space is completely, utterly superfluous.

[chrepsi]

ˇ ⋆ ╱ sleeping - c. sturniolo

a/n ; THIS SONG. GIGI I LOVE YOU

wc ; 1k+

i should be sleeping.

the room is quiet, the kind of quiet that makes you feel like your own thoughts are screaming. the fan overhead hums a low, lazy rhythm and the streetlight outside chris’s window casts soft shadows against the wall. the glow slips through the blinds and lands in broken lines across the bed. it’s the kind of night that feels suspended, like time’s holding its breath.

chris is lying beside me, close but not touching. always close, but never quite close enough. his back is to me, shoulders rising and falling slowly beneath the worn fabric of his t-shirt. i can’t see his face, but i know he's awake. i can feel it in the way his body tenses every now and then. he’s not sleeping either. he just doesn’t want to admit it.

neither of us do.

this bed is starting to feel like purgatory. a place between being wanted and being forgotten.

i stare at the ceiling. my mind replays the same thoughts, the same questions, looping over and over like a song i don’t know how to turn off.

we shouldn't be here. not like this.

but i don’t move. and neither does he.

“i can’t sleep,” i whisper into the dark. my voice barely audible, like if i say it too loud, it might shatter whatever fragile thing we’re still clinging to.

he doesn’t respond at first. i wonder if he’s pretending again. pretending he’s already drifted off, that he didn’t hear me, that this isn’t happening. that we aren’t happening.

but then his voice comes, low and rough. “i know.”

just that. two words, and somehow they feel heavier than silence.

i shift onto my side, trying to read him. “why do we do this?”

chris turns slightly, just enough that i can catch the side of his face. his profile is outlined by the light, sharp and soft all at once. “do what?”

“this,” i gesture vaguely between us. “be together when we’re not really… together.”

he sighs, the kind of sigh that feels older than it should. “i don’t know. maybe it’s easier than being alone.”

his honesty stings. not because it isn’t true—but because it is. being here with him feels like pretending the loneliness isn’t real. like if we just lie close enough, maybe it’ll fill the space we can’t seem to name.

but I’m tired of pretending.

“do you ever think about what this even is?” i ask.

chris’s jaw tightens for a second. he runs a hand through his hair, fingers pausing near the back of his neck like he’s trying to anchor himself to something. “yeah,” he says finally. “i think about it more than i want to.”

“then why don’t we talk about it?”

he laughs under his breath, and it’s not a happy sound. “because talking makes it real.”

i sit up, folding my legs beneath me. my heart feels heavy in my chest. “and this isn’t real?”

he looks up at me then. his eyes are darker in the dim light, shadows dancing across his face. there’s something haunted in them. something tired.

“i don’t know what this is,” he says. “i just know it’s not simple.”

i press my lips together. i want to scream. i want to cry. i want to shake him and ask why he pulls me in just to keep me at arm’s length. why he makes me feel like maybe i'm the only one who sees the cracks—then acts like he’s already fallen through them.

but i don’t do any of that.

because i get it. he’s scared. so am i.

chris shifts and sits up beside me, our knees almost touching. he glances over, his voice quieter now. “you know i care about you, right?”

i nod. “but that’s not enough.”

“i know.”

we sit in silence, and i can feel the weight of everything we’ve never said pressing down on us. i wish he would just say it—that he loves me. that he’s afraid. that maybe he doesn’t know how to love someone without breaking them in the process.

instead, he says, “you’re gonna leave eventually.”

the words hang there like smoke in the air.

i look at him, stunned. “what?”

“you’ll get tired of this. of me. of… not being enough.”

my chest tightens. “chris, i'm already tired. but not of you. i'm tired of pretending like this doesn’t matter.”

his eyes meet mine, and i see something flicker—regret, maybe. or longing. i can’t tell which hurts more.

“i don’t know how to be what you need,” he says quietly.

“i’m not asking for perfect,” i whisper. “i'm asking for honest. i’m asking for real.”

chris reaches out then, fingers brushing lightly against mine. it’s the smallest touch, but it sends a jolt through me, like maybe we’re still alive in this mess.

“i'm trying,” he says. “even if it doesn’t look like it.”

we stay like that for a while. not kissing. not crying. just… being. two people tangled in a feeling too big to name, too fragile to hold.

eventually, he lies back down and pulls me with him. this time, he doesn’t face away. he wraps an arm around me, pulling me close. his hand settles on my back, warm and steady.

“i don’t want to lose you,” he murmurs against my hair.

“you don’t have to,” i say. “you just have to choose me.”

the silence that follows isn’t empty. it’s filled with something that almost feels like hope.

maybe tomorrow, he’ll wake up and stay. maybe next time, we won’t be sleeping next to each other, pretending not to feel anything. maybe one day, we’ll stop living in the maybe.

but tonight— tonight, i close my eyes in his arms and pretend it’s enough. even if we’re only half-awake. even if we’re still floating just shy of falling.

and in the quiet, in the warmth of his skin against mine, i let myself believe—

that love doesn’t always need to be loud to be real. sometimes, it whispers. sometimes, it lingers in the space between sleep and waking. sometimes, it’s just this.

chris. me. and the almosts we keep pretending are enough.

<3 taglist ; @trevorsgodmother @pr3ttylittleslutt @v4lsturn @wildfluer @delilahsturniolo @courta13 @kisses4chris @chrispycremedonut @chrisspussygang @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @baebadoobee4ever @emely9274 @mvkyis @mattsbug @sturniqloo @mattsleftball @tits4matt @mothstvrnz @joanakaulitz @mialovesyouchris @belle-ee @owenstar @sturnsalcohol @joanakaulitz @cherryystemm @angeliolo

( reply here to be added )

[mochamadeleines]

Frost and Leather

The stranger waits for you to shut up, and you being so kind, do just that. He scans your face, and bobs his head. The bits of white were actually greys. And hes definitely old. The deep lines and creases in his face tell you a lot. Hes older, and has been through hell.

 “Me neither. Still shouldnt be out here by yourself.”

Your heart pounds loudly in your ears with each word that passes his lips. The southern twang hitting all the right consonants. The softening of his ‘T’s. His voice is soothing and somehow anxiety inducing at the same time. Maybe youre just anxious that it is soothing in the first place. You dont know this guy.

“But, its safe here.” You say, mentally slapping yourself when it comes out more meekly than it was supposed to be.

“But, its cold.” The stranger clarifies. You feel goosebumps blossom up your body. Fuck, it is cold.

tags!! - 18+ meet cute !! fluff! first chapter set in part one/s1 banter, playing in the snow, fix it fic if you squint HAHA,written with game joel in mind but works for hbo joel!! nsfw sneak peak for ch1, smut will be in ch2! reader is like ten years younger, fic mostly set between games/seasons! sort of slow burn but not really, first chapters like all flashback , teasing uhhh more tags later just read it bestie

Your face is melting. Youre melting. Its winter and youre in a sweater but youre scorching.

Joels someone who enjoys working with his hands, so it makes sense, to you, why he wouldnt immediately jump to fucking you. He wants to know what gets you ticking.

One hand unbuttons the front of your jeans, while the other slides up to your waist. You whimper feeling his fingers again. Its too much. Your hands need to be somewhere, anywhere-

Joels voice comes back to you, gruff and affectionate, close to your ear. “How do ya like it?”

“H-How do I like what?” You kick yourself for stammering. 

“Do you like it slow, like i've been doin’,” As if to demonstrate, he slides his middle finger down to the opening of your cunt, teasing the edges of it like it isnt gushing into his hand ever so often. His fingertips kiss your sensitive nub, just barely. “Or,” 

Somehow, through all the slipperyness, Joel swipes a few quick circles against your clit. You try not to let your knees buckle, but his free arm holds you more securely to his chest. 

“Joel- Joel-” You choke out. You can feel his dick, hard and alert through his jeans and against your back.

“Well?” 

You breathe, “Uh- Fast- Please.”

“Thas’ a good girl. Good job for sayin’ please.”

Joel adjusts you in his hold a bit, bucking his hips into your ass with a grunt and holding you up just enough that your boots are barely planted onto the ground. Your hands fly to hold onto his wrists.

If you went back and told your past self you and Joel were fucking in a public space she would laugh in your face.

Oh how things change.

When youre born into this world- This new world- one of the things you learn is how to fight to survive.

Sometimes the fighting isnt even using a gun, or your fists, but with your heart. Sometimes the most valuable thing you can do for someone is let them know you see them. Let them know you care.

And thats how you survived. By getting on peoples good sides. By getting them to trust you. Its a wearing your heart on your sleeve kind of thing. 

Obviously, it doesnt always work. People are assholes. People are monsters. Theyre backstabbers, theyre liars, theyre murderers, theyre thieves.

But you dont regret being as open as you are.

Its always them that do.

So when you sneak up on the FEDRA soldier outside the gates of the zone, cover his mouth with a rag soaked in chloroform, and swipe a blade across his adams apple, you dont regret it one bit. Collateral. You were supposed to escape the QZ in peace. Quietly. But your fuckass “friend” ratted you out and you barely managed to get down the fire escape before the soldiers broke your door down to get you. 

Thats another thing about being nice in this world. People fall in love easy if youre not out to get them. And if you have boobs. 

So after all of that, and you end up in Jackson, you dont know what to do with yourself.

You actually didnt know where to go, and for a second there you thought you were going to die in the woods until a group of men found you. Not ideal. But they brought you to the commune, fed you, and gave you warm clothes. Very ideal.

You spent the next few weeks of winter recovering from a nasty stab wound, and settling in. It wasnt hard at first. Everyone was friendly, people checked up on you. The head of the commune, Maria, gave you a nice haircut to make you feel all brand new. Shes soft spoken, helpful. Her husband, Tommy, is too. Though he provides you with more comic relief than anything.

Its the fourth week in the commune that gets to you. Its like a vacation that lasts too long. You get this horrible anxiety that things have just been too good and that, inevitably, something fucked up is going to happen. Youre in a constant state of feeling doomed.

You fall asleep with this ache in your chest, and wake up with your clothes soaked in sweat. In Fucking. Winter.

You walk around your bare room in your bare makeshift studio home, trying to steady your breathing. You need to get out. Away from these new clothes and this soft bed and these warm walls, and the safety of being inside. You pull your (new) coat on and (new) boots before heading out. 

Youre waddling over the snow, arms awkwardly hovering around your sides. Youre sure you look like a penguin. Sometimes you wish you were a lot older. You would have loved to see videos of penguins sliding on their bellies across the ice. Seeing them in books will never be as good.

The trek further into town is less than ideal with all the snow piling up, and the ice cold wind is starting to hurt your face. But its a good pain. Its keeping you distracted, but awake.

The feeling stays bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and crawls up and down your throat. Feels like the vertical version of one of those pendulum things you saw in school.

Everything looks so clean. No ones been out for a while, so the blankets of snow layered over the houses and streets are untouched. Like powdered sugar over donuts in those cooking magazines you loved to look at once upon a time.

You should go to one of the restaurants, see if they can make you a donut. Just one. A chocolate one. Maybe you could trade for it? You dont really have any skills to offer. You kind of just got here. Maybe you should ask if they could teach you?

Your waddling comes to slow stop, the last bits crunching under the stillness of your boots.

Someone else is out. This late? 

Around the corner, a few houses down, a man is sat on the first step of his porch, one leg arched up on a step while the other stretches, boot and pants catching some of the snowfall.

He has this intense look on his face with a shiny flask gripped in his hand. Maybe hes had a rough day. The stranger has a course beard and short hair, with little flakes of silver peeking through. Probably greys? He looks old. 

For some reason- For some fucking reason, you stay put, observing curiously. How could you not? Hes the only one out here besides you, and everyone else is way more well adjusted than you are. Theyre humbly appreciating the comfort of their beds and their blankets and…Youre out here. You cant sleep. Havent been able to sleep well for a few days now. He cant sleep either by the looks of it.

You watch him take a swig from the flask, then push himself up. Oh shit. Thats youre cue to leave. But the weather makes your escape less than ideal. Okay, it makes it fucked up.

You only manage to penguin away a few feet before eating shit. “Fuck!”

You grunt, long and exaggerated and tired and you fucking hate yourself. You try to push yourself up, and the sting of the snow under your hands pushes you to do it more quickly, which was fucking stupid because you eat shit again. 

Third times a charm, you remind yourself, and push yourself up one more time. 

“Probably shouldnt try that one again.” 

You still, and your next few movements are very slow. The pair of big boots still infront of your eyes.

“C’mere.” 

The owner of the boots suddenly has arms, and strong hands wrap around your forearms and pull you up to your feet. Of course its the random you saw sitting on his perch. You didnt expect anything else. Hes just…Different to look at up close. Tall.

The words start rolling off your tongue before you can properly rehearse them in your mind. “Im sorry- I didnt know anyone would be out here- I probably look crazy walking around here like some kind of- Uh- Anyways! I needed- I was out on a walk. I couldnt..Sleep”

The stranger waits for you to shut up, and you being so kind, do just that. He scans your face, and bobs his head. The bits of white were actually greys. And hes definitely old. The deep lines and creases in his face tell you a lot. Hes older, and has been through hell.

 “Me neither. Still shouldnt be out here by yourself.”

Your heart pounds loudly in your ears with each word that passes his lips. The southern twang hitting all the right consonants. The softening of his ‘T’s. His voice is soothing and somehow anxiety inducing at the same time. Maybe youre just anxious that it is soothing in the first place. You dont know this guy.

“But, its safe here.” You say, mentally slapping yourself when it comes out more meekly than it was supposed to be.

“But, its cold.” The stranger clarifies. You feel goosebumps blossom up your body. Fuck, it is cold.

You nod along, feeling a bit dumb. “Thanks for helping me up. Wouldve been stuck on the ground till morning.” You joke, smiling a little.

He doesnt laugh, but the edges of his eyes bunch up a little in amusement. “By mornin’, ya wouldve looked like a big lump of snow. Snowfall’s real heavy right now. You should head on back before you get sick.”

“Cant get sick if im wearing all the right gear.” You pat some of the snow off your coat, a little proud. Youre double layered.

“S’that what you think?”

“Yes. Yes?” 

He cocks his head to one side, eyes flickering down. “Youre not wearin’ gloves.”

Damn him. “Well,” You stuff your hands in your coat, feeling stubborn. “Youre not wearing them either.”

“Been keepin’ myself warm other ways.”

“Oh Yeah? You should share your method then.”

“Go home.” He emphasizes, voice thick and raspy. His voice is low like hes afraid of waking up the entire commune.

“I..I cant. I feel like I’m suffocating in there.” You confess. He doesnt seem very moved.

“Suffocatin’?”

“Yeah.”

“In your warm house? With a bed? Blankets?-” 

“Uhhhghhh. Why did I even bother saying anything.” You grumble, waddling past him, making sure you elbow him on the way. Fuck him, he doesnt get it. You should hurl some snow at him.

“Wait, wait- Don’t start walkin’ away so fast. Youll fall.”

You huff. “Must be fate if I do.”

“What did ya mean when you said that?”

“Said what? I say a lot of stuff.”

Unamused. “That you felt suffocated.”

“Oh now you wanna know. Made it sound like I was an ungrateful brat for a second there.” You stop, carefully turning towards him again. He watches you for a moment, breathing. He looks intense again, still not saying anything. The wind tickles your nose, and you sniffle.

You lick the dryness of your lips, trying to think about how to explain. “It..I felt like I was going stir crazy. I got here a few weeks ago, and I was okay but..Lately..” 

He watches you try to find the words, indecisive by the way youre looking around, like maybe the words are sitting on top of the houses, ready for you to spot them. “Its too quiet- Everyones safe. Nothing really happens, you know? And thats good but Im-Im not used to it.”

You waddle close to a building- The bar- And lean against the hard wall to stabilize yourself. He follows suit. 

“I fought since the day one. Now, theres nothing to fight. Sort of. The adjustment isnt easy. Im used to strangers trying to kill me. Makes me antsy.”

“Antsy?”

“Uh- Paranoid I mean. My first day here- I punched a guy in the face. I was just scared, you know?"

He nods, and you watch his hot breath cloud up in front of him as he stares ahead. “I get it.”

“How?” And the handsome stranger looks as indecisive as you probably did earlier trying to explain. 

Oh shit. Handsome? What are you thinking! Your eyes trace down to his hands- theyre big, rugged and worn with use. Does he build the houses? “Bein’ scared of new things.” 

“Yeah. Thats exactly it. I think my body is used to all the adrenaline, and its getting all crazy without it. Like when youre on drugs.”

“Drugs?” And he has the audacity to really look amused this time.

“What, you interested?”

He snorts, only faintly. “Jesus christ. Should just report you for that alone. There are kids around’ere.”

You grin, puffing into your palms to warm them up before stuffing them back into the pockets if your coat. “Last I checked, Jackson has no law enforcement.”

He looks over, dark eyes squinting at you under the lowlight of the street lamps. “Mm. Does not. But it could. Maybe you jus’ dont know it yet.”

“I think youre just trying to make me paranoid.”

“I think,” And he turns to you fully, blocking out the closest lamp, letting the light halo his silhouette. “Im tryin’ta send you home, little lady.”

He looks a bit too serious for your liking- Almost like he actually gives a shit. Or maybe he is telling the truth about there being secret spies running around. You shrink under his gaze, just a little.

Your eyes stay glued to your boots, and in tandem, his. He has way bigger feet than you do. Youre a little jealous. Itd be nice to be taller and stronger. His shoes are less worn out, like your own. Makes you reconsider that building job. Maybe he hasnt been here before. Or maybe you're overthinking and he just happens to have new boots.

His hand moves into your field of vision, holding something.

A pair of gloves.

“I really-”

“Take ‘em.”

The gloves, knitted and black taunt you with their possible warmth. You look up at his face, meeting his eyes, and he doesnt look like hell back down anytime soon, face all hard and stubborn.

Youre stubborn too.

Just not right now.

“Okay,” 

He relinquishes the gloves to you, hand opening up to let you grab them. You take a glove one by one, pulling them over your fingers. Its warm as hell and you feel a little more cozy and less like your hands will thaw off. Theyre way too big on you.

“Feelin’ better? Not too awkward?”

You get the urge to be snippy because he knows youre feeling better so why does he have to ask!

Thing is, when you look at his face, his head is tilted to one side and his brows are raised. Its a genuine question.

“..What about you? Arent you cold?”

“Nah. Theyre better off with you than me.”

“Mister-”

“Joel.” He corrects. Joel corrects.

“Joel, these are way too big for me.”

“What, cant handle things too big for ya?”

Why the fuck did he word it like that? “Feels awkward.” You open and close your hands, letting him watch how floppy they are. 

“Oh” Joel says, seemingly dumbfounded. “They really are too big.” 

“You didnt notice?”

He makes no comment.

You shift from one foot to the other, and take off one of the gloves. “Give me your hand.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Joel hold a hand out, and you start sliding the glove onto his hand, first pulling it up his fingers. He sighs, somewhat annoyed.

“What the hell are you doin’.”

“Sharing the warmth. Work with me here.”

Joel, who huffs, wiggles around his fingers to get the glove on securely.

“Stop groaning and moaning about it. Youre being ungrateful.”  You pat the top of his hand, and Joel lets it fall to his side for a moment before crossing his arms, face tight.

“I’m groanin’ and moanin’ ? You skipped out on some good sleep to play in the snow.” 

“Play in the snow? I fell!”

“Looked like playin’ta me.” 

You want to beat him with a big mallet. You choose the next best option. You waddle a few feet from him.

“What’re you doin’?” He grunts.

You crouch down carefully, scooping some snow into your hands and smushing it between your palms. “Playin’ in the snow.” You mock, accent and all.

“Miss,-”

You pause to look up, correcting him with your name. Joels nostrils flare, a bit like a bull. If it was a grumpy old man. He says your name slow, letting it roll off his tongue like hes still getting used to the taste.

Your palm stings, but vengeance means more to you than the pain.

Joel idles in place, snow crunching around as he impatiently watches you work.

Satisfied, you stand up again, triumphant. 

“You’re goin’ta fall again-”

You hurl the snow ball at him like a baseball. Joel staggers back with a grunt when it hits his chest, smile lines settling into a deep frown.

“What is wrong with you-” Joel starts to say, tone flat, but youre quick with your next throw. 

“Too quiet around here!”

“Stop throwin’ snow at me!-”

“I need some real excitement!” Joels had enough, now walking towards you, all menacing. You cant help but grin. 

Another snow ball. “Come on! Snowball fight!”

Joel growls, hushed, setting an example of how loud you should be talking considering everyones asleep. “Its past midnight!-”

“Even better!” You were never one to disturb the peace, but this would be a good idea to get the energy out.

“Goddamnit-” 

You dont even think Joel himself wouldve ever imagined hed be having a snowball fight late into the night with some stranger. Its probably more wild than fighting a bloater. Those things are fucking nasty. Still, you watch him crouch down and scoop up a pile of snow, and throw it at you. Lands dead on your shoulder.

“Ow!-”

“Happy now?” And hes so dumb for thinking this is over. Its only the beginning.

“Ill be happy when I win.”

Joels grumbling to himself. “You cannot be serious-”

Your aims a little off, the snowball smacks him right in the face, then crumbles down on his shirt. Your hands fly to your mouth, eyes wide. Shit.

“Joel- Im so sorry- Are you okay?-”

Joel conjures up a fat ass snowball and launches it at you, full force. Its not fair his hands are so big. He has more room to make a bigger snowball. You wobble and fall right back into the snow.

You stare up at the sky, laying in your soon to be grave. There happen to be some stars out tonight, and they look rather pretty. Been a while since you appreciated the view.

You hear Joel crunch his way over, then watch him loom over you.

“How’s it feel to lose?”

“Feels cold.”

“Uh huh. Okay, c’mon now. And quit fallin’. One more time and Ill think youre doin’ it on purpose.” He holds his hand out- the one without the glove-, and you drag yourself up with it. Theyre surpisingly warm. Hard to let it go unnoticed with how freezing it is. 

“Thanks. Can I ask you something?”

Joels eyebrow arches up. “That depends.” 

“Why are you out so late.”

“Guess I couldnt sleep either.”

Youre busy swiping off the snow from your jeans. “Why?”

“I..” He stretches the vowel out, long enough to let you know he isnt sure if he wants to tell you.

“You-”

“Someone I care about is leavin’ tomorrow.”

“Oh. I see.”

“I was ‘sposed to go with ’er,” He adds, looking down at the snow. 

Joel doesnt say much more than that, and the silence between you stretches out for another mile.

You begin quietly, “Why arent you going with her anymore?”

“I dont think I can protect’er. Ive done.. A real bad job of doin’ so.”

“Did she say that?”

“Well, no-”

“So why do you think that?” You push further. Joel chews the inside of his cheek, narrowing his eyes.

“I always put’er in danger. I cant- keep her safe.”

“Mm.” You stroke your imaginary beard. One longer than Joels. Because you like to win. “I'm sure she wants to be with you just as much, Joel. I mean, you have protected her, yeah? That means things can always work out. You should go with. So she'll feel safe.”

You nod, more to yourself than Joel, satisfied with your own advice.

Joel just watches you, brows raised. 

“What?”

“Nothin’” He shrugs. 

“Why are you looking at me like that then?!”

“Im not lookin’ at you like anythin’.” 

“You so are!”

“Jus’ that.. I dunno. That was solid advice.”

“Solid? Solid?” You grumble. Hes teasing you. You fell on your ass four times and hes teasing you! “What? Like you could do better.”

“Jus’ sayin’.” The corner of his lips tip up and with his eyes, pleased. “Solid.”

“Riiiight.” 

You tell Joel about living in Atlanta, and he tells you a bit about Boston. You learn he doesnt like to talk much about himself, but you dont mind, only because hes good at being conversational. You dont need an entire biography. All Joel tells you he was born and raised in Texas, and you fumble around talking about having been allegedly born in a collapsed underground subway. You tell Joel how old you are, and he tells you how old he is. Somehow after all of that, Joel starts to tell you about how when he was a teenager, his dad would send him further down southern Texas during the summer to spend time with his Uncle who was a leather specialist.

You mimick Joel, leaning back against the wall with your arms crossed. “Hmm- Oh- You ever make shoes?”

“No, but-” Joel waggles a finger as he recalls the things him and his Uncle worked on. “We brought ‘em back to life, and lemme tell you,” He huffs, amused at the memory. “It was pretty much like makin’ em from scratch. Some of those boots were on their last leg.”

You grin, shaking your head. “So you guys only fixed the stuff?”

“Well,” Joel clears his raspy throat. “We did make really simple satchels and what not. But really, it was jus’ belts.”

“Oooh. Yeah you know, belts are pretty basic- Not saying that to knock down the practice. Just feel like its straightforward to make.”

Joel nods in agreement, a smirk gracing his lips. “Bit more complicated than that, but yeah. Actually, the belt I’m wearin’ right now, I made.”

“Oh yeah?”

“S’pretty old, though.”

You lift your jacket, looking down at your loose fit jeans. All the anxiety has destroyed your appetite, and you lost some weight.

“You should make another one. Well- You should teach me how to make one and also another. For you.”

Joel holds your eyes, and you kinda regret asking him. You need the belt, but you also want to… Want to… What exactly?

Spend time with him?

Hes probably married. Or something. Youre so lame. You dont care. Hes just some guy. Not a threat. Yet.

“Okay.” Joel says. Simple. Easy. You blink a few times.

“Tell ya what. You go deer huntin’ for the leather. Bring back lots of it. Then, we can make the belts.”

You smile, big, and you dont regret coming out one bit.

“Now run along. Cant shoot a deer if youre fallin’ asleep.”

You roll your eyes, playfully knocking into him. “Copy that.” You salute, and look down the direction you came. The snows nearly done covering your tracks. 

“See ya, Joel.”

“See ya.”

[bwobgames]

“Woah… a real ghost…”

“You seem well educated, why are you scared of ghosts? Or even believe in them?”

“Well, its hard not to! Everyone says they are real and scary!”

“Also, ugh, I was forced to tell you sorry for being ‘creepy’ or whatever. I’m not creepy though!”

“It’s normal for girls to look at other girls and appreciate how attractive they are!”

“It’s true, I was the same at your age. Comes in every girl’s life”

She ignores the fact that she is married to a woman.

“But at the end you end up with a guy regardless, yeah?”

“…Maybe”

“I’ll have to end up with Fede, which is kinda gross but I’ll get over it probably”

“Wh- What do you mean you ‘have’ to? Is someone forcing you to marry him?”

“No, no, it’s not like, planned or anything, it’s just…”

“We know each other for a long time, and our parents know each other for a long time and are good friends and they love to say we’re like a couple and plan stuff for when 'our families become one' and …”

“I’m not like, being forced to marry him or anything but like. Seems like things are heading that way”

“It wouldn’t be awful really, he’s my friend so we already get along, And! I get to stay at home all day while he fucks around in his dad’s business! I’ll be set for life!”

“And then what”

“Huh?”

“Once you achieve the life of your dreams, the perfect life”

“What comes next?”

“Uh. Kids?”

“Would that make it better?”

“Well, I wouldn’t get bored with kids…”

“And you’ll be happy with that?”

“Of course! It’s the dream! Everyone wants that!”

She’s right, of course. Anyone would want that life.

The correct life.

The one she’s been following, set for her, sacrificed for her.

Her parents might’ve been strict, but they taught her well, she will never fault her for doing what they thought would make her happy.

(But did they ever really do it for me?)

They taught her to take shortcuts, to cut all possible loses, to cut the floor beneath another person if necessary, to lie, to cheat.

To live with the sacrifices of others.

To love numbers, to live numbers, to see people as numbers.

To recognize the opportunity of a lifetime when it’s presented to her.

She could always recognize people like her by the way they smile.

Too perfect, too controlled. Too aware of their teeth.

Unlike her uncle’s smile. Yellow and crooked. Unbothered.

She was not unhappy, by all means she cannot say she was miserable.

Having high quality health care at her hand is more than most of the population could ever wish for. Not having to worry to survive until the next pay is a relief as well.

She is with her best friend, working together, being successful.

She has reached the top.

But she’s hungry.

She can differentiate right from wrong, she has let her family into an idyllic state of never worrying about money again. She is what everyone desires.

So there must be something deeply wrong when she’s still hungry

A hunger that is only satiated when she brushes her own hair. When she chooses her own clothes. When she’s in charge of decisions. When she can stand her ground in an argument.

A hunger that only grows with every stolen glance, with small touches, with an unbothered smile, an understanding voice.

Something that beckons to her to run away, to forget everything and start anew, to call her uncle and finally have that camping trip he offered. To say No to the ring.

But she can’t.

Because it’s not right.

It’s not what’s supposed to happen. It’s not what’s supposed to make her happy. It’s what she was taught. It’s what made her who she is.

It’s what everyone says.

And they’re all full of shit.

“I don’t think you’d be wrong to share the rest of your life with your friend, as long as you keep things as they are”

“Forcing yourself to a role you didn’t ask for is… detrimental in the long run”

“You’re young, surely someone as tenacious as you won’t bend down to the whims of some old rich guys, yeah?”

“Huh…?”

“You’ll get it when you’re older. I know you got a heart in there somewhere”

“I know it wants more than what they can offer.”

“Oh, it’s dinner time. Let’s go. It’s rude to keep people waiting”

“Wuh, uh ah, yes!”

Sometimes she really wishes things were different.

That she didn’t make so many mistakes.

That she noticed the lie sooner.

She grieves her youth.

<-PREV START NEXT->

[lizzy-jailer]

lce cold

Summary: you go out to a bar to drink away your sorrows after a terrible day and let your anger out on a stranger.

Tags: Joel Miller no outbreak AU, anger, alcohol usage, irresponsible acting. No usage of y/n

A/n: This is one of my first works ever and my first work on Tumbrl, constructive criticism is welcome. And well l gotta say the classic "english isn't my first language" too because l'm sure you'll be able to tell.

●●●

Today had seriously been terrible. The workday was tiring and all of the painful feelings inside you were piling up, had been for a while... all you wanted to do was get drunk. So drunk that you wouldn't remember a thing about your day or about how your life was totally fucked.

After the day, you walked straight out of your office, in your dress and heels, leaving your jacket, stepping outside and feeling the winters cold pinch you but you didn't care, you didn't think of the future, you didn't think at all, just needed to drink.

You sat down and bought yourself a whole bottle of whiskey. The taste was pleasant, even though the burn was stronger than the enjoyment, still it was helping you forget.

After a while of sitting and drinking you saw a young man approach you. This was the absolute last thing you needed right now.

"Hi beautiful, what are you doing here drinking all alone like this?" The man asked with what seemed to be genuine intrest.

"Get away from me! Do l look like l want to talk to you?" You snapped at his question. You knew that your reaction wasn't exactly polite but it worked. It scared away the men that you didn't need. All of them actually.

"Woah, alrigh alright girl, l won't bother you... sorry" the man raised his arms in surrender and backed off in what seemed to be some kind of mix of fear and confusion.

You were glad to be left alone again. The bottle got emptier and your anger only grew. The anger for your life, for the man that walked up to you, hell maybe anger for men in general? You weren't even sure at this point.

Soon you saw another man approaching you. He was older than the previous one and he had this kind of calm look on his face that made you think he hadn't seen your encounter with the other guy.

"Hi darlin' you alright over here?" He asked in a deep voice, the southern accent clearly poking through.

"Shut up and leave me alone! Im tired of being talked to! Don't you see that?!" You basically yelled at his face, hoping he would back off and leave you alone. Even though you weren't even sure if that was what you wanted at this point... you were just used to it. Used to being left alone.

"Whats wrong honey?" He asked, weirdly unbothered by your agressive reaction. "I saw the way you acted with this other guy, poor kid was only trying to talk to you. What made you so damn cold, woman?"

"Why the hell do you care? I don't know you! I'm asking for some goddamn peace! Can l not drink alone?" You keep yelling, feeling the way you're pouring your anger out on some stranger in the bar.

"Alright sweetheart, l understand that you're in a bad mood, okay? Its alright, l don't mind." He said, keeping his calm tone that was irritating you even further. "Just let me sit with you for a moment, you don't need to explain whats wrong, we don't have to talk. All l'm saying is that l can tell when someone needs company, and you darlin' are really the textbook example."

You didn't reply to that, weren't sure what to say. This was confusing you. Why wasn't he backing off like the other guy? Why was he so goddamn calm?

Before you could say a word, the man sat across from you at the table. "I'm Joel by the way. Don't you think you're going a little overboard with the alcohol? I don't mean to sound like your father but it is a fact that it ain't safe to drink yourself into a coma when you're alone in a bar as a young woman."

You just sat there staring blankly at the wall behind Joel. You didn't want to talk. You didn't want to hear a word that he said. But it was kind of good not to be alone... You took another swig of whiskey straight from the bottle and felt as it burned your insides.

"Darlin' are you listening?" The man asked, looking at the grimace on your face after dinking. "You don't need to tell me about your personal life. We could talk about something else..."

Finally the rage and the alcohol caught up to you and you yelled to this face "l don't want to talk to you! I hate you! You should stay away from me!"

"I wanna make sure you don't hurt yourself, alright? I don't understand where all this anger is coming from but..." his voice trailed off "but l've been like you are honey, trust me, l know it ain't easy."

"What do you think you know about me or my life? I'm no good to anyone, you hear?! You need me to hit you in the face to understand that?!" You hit the bottle of whiskey on the table in anger. Making people in the room stare at you.

"Sweetheart, l'm not scared of your threats. Hell if hitting me helps you get out the anger there in your chest then get on with it, l can take it if it helps you any." He says, tone remaining calm. "And no, l don't know your life or what you have been through. But this anger, this... drinking your feelings away, l've been there. And l know that it doesn't help."

The way he talks just powers up the rage in your body. You stand up, feeling slightly dizzy from the alcohol, walk up to him and slap him in the face.

Joel feels the burning sensation on his cheek and puts his hand over it. Now he decides to as you the first serious question

"Honey what happened to make you like this?" The calm tone remains.

"None of your buisness asshole!" You yell. Gripping your bottle and walking away. Out of the bar, into the cold, dark winter night without even a jacket to protect your bare arms from the freezing cold. Just alcohol warming you up from the inside and heels that threatened to make you slip on the icy road.

You didn't know why you were acting as you were. You didn't know why you could only yell at someone in anger even though that wasn't what you meant at all...

Joel is left sitting in the bar, in surprise of her actions. Shes gonna die out there like that.

[midnightshindig]

Tattoo Hcs: Cecil, Donald, Mark, Rex, and William

Literally nobody wanted this but i figured it's better to write what amuses me than get caught up in requests lmao

i'm doing this so i don't impulsively text my tattoo artist bc I'm broke and fate is cruel.... (I want a tlou tattoo sooooooo fucking bad eughkbgsfhausofdfbgrnyht6e5yt4we)

enjoy <33

Cecil

he's a deeply professional man

He has the same philosophy to his body that my parents have towards cars: "NO identifying features."

He doesn't want to be undisguisable, and the only thing he wants on his body to be a constant reminder is the scar on his face

That being said, he'd probably get a very practical tattoo, like his social security number or some weird shit in invisible ink on his inner lip or smth

Like, purely pragmatic.

I could maybe see him getting a "cool" tattoo in college, probably something super small on his lower stomach or hip or anywhere nobody would ever see

Like a gun or a shark, or something a stupid college student would like

Donald

NEW Tattoo's are largely a moot point once he realizes what he is

they're not actually permanent since the GDA can never be fucked to replicate them on his skin now that he's uncovered the truth

That being said, I could see him finding some freedom with this and getting ridiculous tattoos for the hell of it

Comes into work with a heart mom tattoo, like the really traditional one

He gets random names tattooed just to fuck with his coworkers

actually I take back everything this man is getting some shit in binary code on him

and a fish

a big ass fish chest tattoo

I said what I said

Mark

The ONLY normal person about tattoos istg

I dont'..... think.... he CAN get tattooed?

Think PB and Marceline getting tattooed

like I think he'd just heal over? He doesn't scar or anything

poor dude....

it's for the best, his mom would murder him

When he's older he tries to get a tattoo of eve's symbol on his wrist bc he thinks it would be cute or wtv

but no matter how many times they go over it, it just keeps healing up

I can totally see him being the type of guy to draw on himself, though

wore long sleeves like all of high school so he could have notes and doodles alllllll up his forearm

used to get in trouble for it at work (mf burgermart...)

He probably still writes notes to himself on his arm when its menial shit like "take Oliver to park" or "Date @ 5"

Rex

He has a back alley shitty tattoo of an explosion on his ankle or something that he got when he was sixteen against Eve's will

When he's older he has the restraint to at least get tattoos that're safe and look good

Not one for patchwork tattoos, probably has something more like decorative

Maybe cyber sigilism? I can see him having a full back tattoo just bc it makes him look cooler

AND a lower abdomen tattoo, like in his v?

He gets most of his tattoos for the sex appeal ngl

William

He's sensible

oh my god I lied HE'S the normal one of the bunch

He's got a couple tattoos in discreet places, his hip/legs or maybe his shoulder/bicep or something

Places he can easily and often does hide

but his tattoos come without aesthetic priority, he gets stuff that he likes AND that looks good

Very fineline stuff

NO fandom tattoos, he's decidedly anti fandom tattoos bc he's still a little insecure about being "cringe"

That being said, I wouldn't put it past him to get a little bowling tattoo

Gets a tattoo for Mark at somepoint probably maybe idfk

I both feel like William isn't THAT close with Mark, like they have one of those "I'm here for you man *pat pat*" male friendships

But I can see Mark convincing him to get a tattoo "because I can't!" in like the whiny voice he does

it's probably some dumb shit like a seance dog crystal ball with sparkles around it

William initially is so mad he let Mark talk him into it but he grows to really love it

There's at least two men on campus with Williams name tattooed on them and he DID NOT tell them to and DID NOT date/hook up with them and he thinks its the funniest shit ever, absolute menace this guy

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

im really happy I have the relationship I have with my siblings ngl

[xamaxenta]

Kind of whelmed

[gifti3]

its been a long time since i found a game that had me excited for whats to come

this is a me thing that im talking about below... usually when i play games, its mainly about it preoccupying my brian with tasks and goals. this is why i gravitate towards sim and management games! to me thats whats enjoyable

i feel like its rare that i just play something just cause its fun to me if that makes sense. and i think infinity nikki is managing to do that like im not progressing through the story super quickly and kind of just letting myself explore, dress up and take pictures at my own pace and im really hoping it stays like this for me for a long time

[skeletalheartattack]

happy almost birthday :o)

:) thank you!!! there's gonna be a bounce castle at my birthday party and every body is invited

[technikki]

i adore thinking about the fucked up tpn stuff that was either not considered during the writing process or deliberately left unexplored.

tpn really said 'each house has about 6 shipments and receives about 6 new children to replace them each year. the minimum age a child can be shipped out is 6. tpn begins with conny's shipment in october, after which dominic is the only remaining 6 year-old at the house' without even considering the implications of that. how about 'we know literally nothing about anyone from the age group between anna+nat's and thoma+lanni's groups because theyre all gone by the time the story starts' also literally no one ever brings them up. or my personal favorite of 'isabella painstakingly hand-made little bunny for conny's 6th birthday. conny turned 6 in september, about a month before she was shipped out' like do you think isabella was at least a little pissed about that. i like to think she was

[eunhos]

.

[ceilidho]

prompt: you and Price get in an accident (1.6k)

-

He comes into your life like nothing less than divine intervention.

A fender bender, of all things. It’s a bad day and you’re distracted, too busy thinking about your dad calling to tell you that he lost ten thousand from his retirement fund when the stock he’d invested in crashed and how you’re supposed to help him out of this mess, and the roads are slick with that last snowfall of early spring, still unsalted even hours after the snow started. 

So when you slam on the brakes at the last second after noticing the car in front of you stopped at a red light, your car slips on the ice and slides forward, hitting the back of the stopped car and sending it forward a foot. It’s quick and sudden, and though you stepped on the brakes early enough to avoid a worse collision, your head snaps forward with the jolt and the seatbelt yanks you back violently, winding you. 

Your hands go tight around the wheel, eyes so wide that they nearly pop out of your head as you stare at the car directly in front of you. All of the dread in the world pools in your mouth and then down your throat when you swallow, heart galloping in your chest. You almost can’t believe it for a second.

Then the car in front of you—a big, fuck-you SUV that only worsens your anxiety because of all cars to hit, it had to be someone with a fancy, brand new car that probably has a lawyer on speed dial—puts their hazards on and the driver’s side doors opens and reality snaps like a rubberband back into you. With shaky hands, you put your car into park and put your hazards on as well. 

“Oh shit,” you whisper under your breath. An understatement.

A tall man in a brown parka steps out of the car and stares at you through the windshield, a stern expression on his face. He has a beanie pulled down over his head and a full beard, and for a second, the mental image of a bear emerging out of its den flickers in your imagination, all snow-dusted and irritable. 

He’s grizzled and older than you. The only consolation is that he doesn’t match the image of the driver that you had in your head—no seven thousand dollar suit or bluetooth earpiece; instead, he seems like the kind of man who’d drive an old pickup or a schooner, wearing an Aran sweater and a skipper's cap, with a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. He seems out of place in the middle of the road in your small town. 

But he is real, and even though you watch him march over to you, you flinch when he raps on the window with his knuckles. 

“Roll the window down,” he instructs, voice muffled through the glass, and you do because the command cuts through the buzzing in your ear. When you do, he reaches into your car with one hand and pops the lock, then takes a step back to open the door. You’d freak out if the situation were different, but you must be in shock because all you can do is stare at him dumbly as he leans into the car and undoes your seatbelt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Out.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing to get you to step out of the car. All he has to do is step back and you get out, knees nearly buckling, like jelly under you. He holds your elbow to steady you. Your elbow feels delicate and tiny in the width of his palm. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, looking all over your face.

You want to answer him, but all you can do is whimper, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. It was an accident. You alright though? Anything hurt?”

“Uh…I don’t…I don’t know.” It hasn’t really sunk in yet, you think. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be sore all over, but right now you feel fine. On the verge of shaking out of your skin, teeth nearly clattering together, but more or less okay. 

“Nothing too bad then. Wanna give me your insurance so we can deal with this, sweetheart?” 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Let me just—” You move to reach back into your car to fetch your purse, but he stops you, insisting on getting it for you. 

And you let him, docile like a doll, watching as he leans into your car and across the seats to grab your purse, big frame looking comically large in your little car. Looking like he’d barely fit in the front seat if he tried to get in. 

He comes back out with your little purse in hand and opens it, handing you your wallet and purse by its strap. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull out your insurance information and hand it to him. Everything feels surreal and muted, and the tears are going to flow at any minute now if you don’t get a handle on it. 

He must notice because a knuckle fits under your chin and lifts your head up. “Hey, what’s wrong? 

“No, no,” you say, reaching up to swipe your fingers over your eyes. “I’m just—I’m really embarrassed. I’ve never been in an accident before.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” His voice is much softer now, pitched low in the way handlers talk to spooked animals. He puts his thumb to your chin, holding you in place. “No one got hurt. Could’ve been worse than it was, and we’ve both got insurance, so what’s done is done. I don’t look mad, do I?”

Trapped between his thumb and knuckle, you can only give a slight shake of your head. “No.” 

“Then let’s just take it one step at a time and no tears. Okay?”

You sniff. “Okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to call the insurance, so you get back in the car and sit tight, alright?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl,” he says, a hint of praise in his voice. “Put the heat on too. It’s too cold for that jacket.”

That makes you go warm all over, flustered and tongue-tied. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to expect a response out of you. The only thing he expects you to do is get back in the car and turn the heat back on, the warm air billowing into your face when he leans in to crank it up all the way. 

Though most of the sound is muffled from inside the car, you turn down the heat and crack the window open slightly to hear him give his name to his insurance company. John Price. Even his name evokes the image of him somewhere else in the world, settled into the nooks and crannies of history. 

John handles everything for you while you sit in the car like he told you to, settling everything with the insurance companies and calling for a tow truck right after that. You don’t realize that, of course, until the tow truck pulls up in front of his car and he comes back to usher you out of your car. 

“How am I supposed to get home?” you croak. The tow truck driver hitches your car to the bed of the lift and pulls it up, your little car looking pathetic all alone up there. 

“I’ll drive you home then bring mine in later.”

“Why can’t I drive my car to the garage too?” You’re petulant now that you’ve learned that he won’t bite, and you know it’s petulance because you don’t actually put up much of a fight to get your car taken off the tow truck. 

That petulance trembles when his expression grows stern again. “You’re getting it checked by a mechanic before you get behind the wheel again,” he tells you in no uncertain terms, eyes daring you to contradict him.

You don’t. It’s hard to argue with someone so adamant on your wellbeing. A mechanic in later days will tell John, with you by his side, that your car was mostly fine apart from some slight damage to the bumper, but that you made the right call to bring it in just in case the frame cracked during the accident.

John’s arm will be around your waist at the time and he’ll pull you tighter into his side when the mechanic says that. And what do you do but go with it, curling into his side like it’s natural. You’ll have already fucked him by then anyway. It’ll be no less forward than letting him take you for coffee and then back home, following you up to your apartment and into your bed. 

Now though, you let him usher you into the passenger seat of his car and shut the door behind you, the wind cutting off abruptly. It only comes back when the door opens on his side. 

You rattle off your address and watch bemusedly as he programs it into his GPS and hits save. You don’t have the temerity to question him, to poke a hole in the bubble of familiarity ballooning around the two of you. The real world seems far away in his car, like you’re in limbo, the rules different here somehow. 

“How about a coffee?” he asks at the next light, putting his hand on your thigh and shaking when you don’t respond right away. “Does a hot drink sound good right about now?”

“I guess?” you say. In truth, it sounds great, but you’re losing the thread of this conversation, your old preoccupations getting further and further away from you. 

John gives your thigh a squeeze, lingering for a beat before pulling away. “Good. It’ll be a nice little pick me up before we go home. My treat.”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry.

[snekdood]

wish i didnt hafta cut off my conservative family members but they were all so abusive that I can hardly tolerate being around them

[stellewriites]

:/

[voyter]

LOVENOTES .. ( 정국 / JJK ) !

pairing. jeon jungkook x fem!reader

trying your hardest to avoid valentine’s day, you suddenly find yourself at the center of it when a secret admirer starts leaving notes at your door.

⟡₊ ⊹ VALENTINES SPECIAL !

word count. 5.2k words warnings. neighbor au. secret admirer koo (hes giving stalker a little more ngl). wrote this while on my period so if reader sounds like a moody bitch you know why. me highkey lowkey channeling my hatred for valentines day in this. pure filthy smut. protected sex. blowjob. titty fuck !! COWGIRL YEEHAW !! kinda subby jungkook (BACK TO MY ROOTS). kinda dom reader.

ana's notes. happy valentines day xx !! wrote this one in a few days so its short and sweet (also rushed it so i can get back to my other stuff oops). hope she is still somewhat enjoyable .. heh. keep your comments positive or say nothing at all, besos my babies !!

You hated February.

Maybe it was because you were utterly single. Or maybe it was the bitterness that still lingered after all these years. Your last relationship had ended just days before Valentine's Day, leaving you with nothing but a broken heart and a newfound hatred for the most romantic month of the year.

You despised the store displays overflowing with pink and red, the obnoxious heart shaped balloons, the overpriced bouquets of roses, and the sickly sweet scent of chocolates that seemed to mock you at every turn. Love was everywhere — except in your life.

You fucking hated February!

February 10th, 4 days before Valentine’s Day.

“Hi, Jungkook.”

Jungkook, your cute neighbor, lived in the apartment across from yours. You weren't exactly close, but there was an unspoken familiarity between you, built on polite greetings and the occasional small talk. He was the only person near your age on this floor otherwise occupied by older residents, making your interactions feel practically inevitable.

"Hey," he greeted back, glancing over his shoulder as he jiggled his key into the lock. "How've you been?"

His voice was warm, casual, like he wasn't in a rush to disappear behind his door just yet.

"I'm good. Haven't been doing much but working," you say, fiddling with your keyring in search of the right one.

Jungkook chuckles, nodding in understanding. "Yeah, same. Feels like that’s all I do lately." Work had been wearing him down too — you could see it in the slight slump of his shoulders, the way he rolled his neck like he was trying to shake off the tension.

"Ugh, tell me about it," you groan, exhaling dramatically. "What about you? How are you? How's Bam?"

"We're good, yeah," he says, perking up slightly at the mention of his dog. "He just goes to daycare while l'm at work, so he surprises me when he actually listens well.”

"How cute!" you exclaim. "Your baby's growing up so fast."

"Stop," he whines dramatically. "He's gonna be my baby forever."

You giggle, finally finding the key you were searching for and sliding it into the lock. As you turn it, Jungkook shifts on his feet, hesitating for just a moment before his mouth betrays him.

"Hey, you doing anything for Valentine's Day?"

The question lingers in the air, casual yet hesitant, like he hadn't really planned to ask it. His gaze flickers to you, gauging your reaction, but you're too busy scrunching your nose in mild distaste as you push your door open.

"Not really my thing," you admit. "You?"

"Yeah, not my thing either," he chuckles breathily, looking down at his feet.

"No flowers or chocolates for either of us, huh?" you tease lightly.

Jungkook smirks, shaking his head. "Guess not."

You step inside, gripping the edge of the door. "See you later, Jungkook."

"See you," he says with a smile, just before you shut your door.

With a deep exhale, you toss your keys and purse onto the kitchen counter, the weight of the day settling into your shoulders as you slip off your heels. The relief is instant, but the irritation still lingers.

Why was everyone so obsessed with Valentine's Day? The heart shaped decorations, the endless conversations about sappy plans and gifts — it was exhausting.

Fuck Valentine's Day. Fuck February.

You groan, running a hand down your face. All you wanted was to get through the month without being constantly reminded of how single you were.

Was that too much to ask?

February 11th, 3 days before Valentine’s Day.

Work ends the next day — neither good nor bad. It just ends. The hours blur together, another day checked off the calendar. But the one thing you are sure of? You’re more than ready to get out of this pencil skirt and heels and sink into a nice, warm bubble bath.  

The elevator ride up to your floor is quiet, and you shuffle toward your apartment, already mentally unwinding. But something stops you in your tracks.  

A bouquet of roses sits on the ground in front of your door, deep red petals almost glowing against the dull hallway lighting. An envelope rests beside it.  

Flowers for you. – Ian

Ian… 

You stare at the note, brows furrowing. There was no one named Ian that you knew. No one on this floor by that name either — at least, not that you were aware of. And you weren’t in the mood for some weird mystery admirer situation. You turn it over as if more context might magically appear. But there’s nothing — no last name, no explanation, just those three little words.

With a huff, you unlock your door and step inside, kicking off your heels with a sigh of relief the second you're through. The roses are still clutched in your hand, their scent lingering in the air, but you don’t bother appreciating them. Maybe these were sent to the wrong door. Some poor soul was probably expecting a grand romantic gesture, and now their flowers were here, at your feet.  

Not your problem.  

You glance at the bouquet one last time before scooping it up and marching straight to the trash can. With zero hesitation, you drop the roses inside.

Sorry to whoever was supposed to receive them — should’ve given Ian the right apartment number.

February 12th, 2 days before Valentine’s Day.

Just like yesterday, something was lying by your door. This time, a box of chocolates.  

After just coming back from the gym, sweaty and exhausted, you were just as over this as you were yesterday. If anything, it was even more annoying now.  

You sigh, scooping up the box and envelope before unlocking your door. The weight of exhaustion clings to your body, the post workout soreness settling in. You step inside, kicking the door shut behind you with more force than necessary, and set your keys and water bottle on the kitchen counter.  

For a moment, you just stand there, staring at the envelope. You should shower. Eat something. Do literally anything else. But instead, curiosity — or maybe irritation — gets the better of you, and you rip open the note. 

The handwriting inside is neat, precise — almost too careful, like every letter was written with intention.  

Something sweet for someone even sweeter. – Ian

So… Ian was persistent.  

You scoff, grabbing the chocolates and tossing both the box and the note straight into the trash without a second thought. For all you knew, this person could've been a psycho, and you sure as hell weren't going to risk getting poisoned.

Shaking your head, you make your way to the bathroom, stripping off your gym clothes as you go. The hot water is already running by the time you step in, steam curling around you, but even as the warmth soothes your sore muscles, your mind keeps turning.

Who the hell is lan?

Maybe it was someone from a different floor. But that didn't explain how they knew exactly which apartment was yours.

No, whoever it was has been watching you.

February 13th, the day before Valentine’s Day.

It's different this time.

No chocolates. No bouquets. Just an envelope.

A single, unassuming envelope resting against your door like it had been waiting for you.

You grunt as you bend down, fingers hesitating for half a second before you rip it open, right there in the dimly lit hallway.

The answer is right in front of you. – lan

A slow, creeping unease washes over you. Your eyes flick up, scanning the hallway, suddenly hyper aware of how empty it is. The silence feels heavier now, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly.

Right in front of you.

Your breath hitches as you turn your head, your gaze landing on the only thing in front of you.

Jungkook's door.

No fucking way.

You hesitate.

You could just pretend you never figured it out. Walk inside, close the door, and let Jungkook keep thinking you were oblivious. Maybe it would be easier that way — to let him stew in his own nerves, to pretend you were just some ditsy neighbor who never connected the dots.

But he was cute. So, so cute.

And that was enough to make you lift your hand and knock.

The door swings open within seconds, like he'd been waiting on the other side.

Jungkook blinks at you, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

"It's you," you say, holding up the note between your fingers.

A breathy laugh escapes him, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

He'd been watching you through the peephole this whole time, waiting.

Jungkook practically knew your schedule — when you left for work, when you got back, the perfect window to sneak out, place his little surprises by your door, and disappear before you could ever catch him in the act.

It was him. All this time.

Jungkook was Ian.

You stare at him, expression unreadable as he leans casually against the doorway, a lazy, almost sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

"Thought you'd never figure it out," he says, eyes flickering to the note still pinched between your fingers. "Had to give you a clue."

"How was I supposed to know it was you?!" you exclaim, waving the note in his face. "And what's the deal with lan?"

Jungkook leans against the doorframe, utterly unbothered. "Fake name," he admits with a small smirk. "Thought it'd be fun. Didn't realize you were this clueless, though."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "Well, sorry I was too busy thinking I had some creepy stalker to suspect it was my neighbor."

His smirk falters slightly, and he scrunches his nose. "Right... yeah, that part wasn't my best move." He shifts on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. "I apologize on my behalf. I probably should've kept the letters a little less terrifying."

You let out a small chuckle, shaking your head. "Yeah, you think?"

Jungkook grins, tilting his head slightly. "But now that you know it's me... can I ask again what you're doing tomorrow?"

You smile, a little too amused. Girly, even. "I told you, Jungkook. Not really my thing."

He exhales dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest like you've just wounded him. "How can I make it your thing?"

You bite back a laugh, shaking your head as you turn on your heel and walk toward your door. “Goodnight, Jungkook."

"Really?" he asks, almost desperately.

You pause at your door, glancing at him over your shoulder. "My favorite flowers are lilies," you say simply, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

Jungkook watches you, lips parting slightly like he wasn't expecting that answer. Then, he exhales a quiet laugh, tonguing his cheek. "You're unbelievable."

You shrug, a satisfied little smirk in place. And with that, you slip inside, shutting the door behind you — leaving him standing there, grinning like an idiot.

Maybe, for the first time in a long time, February didn't seem so awful.

February 14th, Valentine’s Day.

You woke up today not absolutely hating it. Which was crazy. Because usually, the moment you remembered it was Valentine's Day, you'd launch into an internal monologue about how stupid, overhyped, and downright annoying this holiday was.

But today? Today was different.

You'd gotten dressed with a little more care, taken your time with your makeup, and even picked out a cute outfit. Now, in the kitchen, seamlessly baking cookies, you spot something slip beneath your apartment door.

Your lips twitch into a smile.

Quickly, you set the pan on the stove, turning off the oven before rushing over. You scoop up the envelope, fingers tearing it open with far more excitement than the past few days.

Your heart does a little flip as your eyes scan the words inside.

Be my Valentine? – Jungkook

Squealing, you completely neglect the cookies as you rush to his apartment. You barely wait a second after knocking twice before the door swings open.

Jungkook stands there, dressed simply — jeans and a shirt — but his hair is styled, and in his hands, he holds a bouquet of pink lilies.

His smile is boyish, teasing. "Yes?"

You beam at him, heart racing. "Yes." You take a step closer. "Yes, yes, yes.'

And then, before you can overthink it, you throw your arms around his neck and kiss him.

Jungkook grins against your lips, pecking them once more before pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes are warm, filled with something soft, something you think you could get used to.

"Come," he says, lacing his fingers with yours. "I wanna show you something."

He sets the lilies down on the counter, just for a moment, before taking your hand again and leading you down the hallway of his apartment. The quiet hum of the space feels different now — charged with something exciting, something you didn't expect.

He stops in front of a door, pushing it open to reveal a room that takes your breath away.

Rose petals scatter across the floor, leading to the bed. The curtains are shut, dimming the room into a soft, intimate glow. Candlelight flickers from every corner, casting warm, golden shadows on the walls.

It's romantic in a way that feels like it could be a dream, but it's real. And it's all for you.

"I would've never pegged you for the romantic type," you tease, your smile playful as you look up at him.

He smirks, rubbing the back of his neck. "I try..." he says, almost shyly.

He sounds humble, as if he hadn't spent the entire day making sure everything was perfect — setting up every little detail, making sure nothing was out of place. Even dropping off Bam at his brother's house so there'd be no distractions.

Your smile deepens, and you reach for his hand, gently pulling him toward the bed. "Well, I'm glad you did."

As you guide him closer, your heart beats a little faster. The room feels smaller now, with just the two of you in it, the soft flicker of candlelight casting shadows that make everything seem more intimate.

"Yeah?" he asks, his eyes darkening with desire, a playful curve to his lips as he watches you.

You nod, humming in response, your fingers lightly brushing his chest before you gently push him to sit on the bed. His hands rest on the mattress, steadying himself as he looks up at you, his gaze almost too intense — wide eyes, glossy with something hungry and eager, like a desperate puppy awaiting a command.

"I think you deserve something in return, don't you think?" you ask, your voice dripping with sweetness and something more, something sultry.

His breath hitches, a nervous tension creeping into his expression as he stutters, "W- we don't have to..." His eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your eyes, a mix of hesitation and desire.

You smirk, moving closer, your fingers grazing along the fabric of his shirt. "Oh, come on..." you press, leaning in just enough for him to feel your breath on his skin. "Don't you wanna open your present?"

His chest rises and falls with each breath, and you can see his resolve starting to crumble. The space between you feels charged, and with that one simple question, everything shifts.

You grab his hand, guiding it to the hem of your slip dress, your fingers curling over his as you urge him to pull it up. His breath hitches, and he obeys without hesitation, dragging the fabric higher, exposing the soft skin of your thighs inch by inch. With your help, the dress finally slips over your head and pools at your feet, forgotten. Your breasts bounce slightly in the confines of your red lingerie, the delicate lace pressing against your flushed skin, a sinful contrast that has his gaze darkening with desire.

You climb onto his lap, your knees pressing into the bed on either side of him. His hands settle gently on your thighs, warm and steady, but you want more. Grabbing his wrists, you guide them lower, pressing his palms firmly against the curve of your ass.  

"Go ahead," you whisper, lips brushing his ear. "I'm all yours."  

A low moan slips from his mouth as his grip tightens. His fingers trail upward, skimming the curve of your spine before reaching the clasp of your bra. With practiced ease, he unhooks it, the straps slipping from your shoulders as the lace falls slack against your skin. You slide it off completely and toss it aside, where it joins the heap of your discarded dress.

"You're so pretty," he breathes, almost whining, his voice dripping with desperation. His fingers flex against your bare skin, and before you can respond, he surges forward, capturing your lips in a feverish kiss.  

It’s all heat and urgency — the way his lips move against yours, the way his hands roam, as if he can’t decide where he wants to touch you first. His grip tightens, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the way his heart pounds just as wildly as yours.

Suddenly, you're slipping off his lap, sinking gracefully to your knees in front of him. His breath hitches, eyes dark with anticipation as he watches you settle between his legs.  

Your fingers trail down his chest, slow and deliberate, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath your touch. Down, past his firm abs, until you reach his belt. You toy with the buckle, teasing, letting your nails scrape lightly against the leather before you start to undo it, dragging out the moment just to see him squirm.

You make quick work of his belt, unfastening it with a deliberate slowness that has him shifting in anticipation. Then, you tug at his jeans, dragging them down along with his boxers in one smooth motion.  

The moment he's freed, his cock springs up, thick and aching, the tip flushed and already leaking. A shaky breath escapes him as he watches you, his hands gripping the sheets like he’s barely holding himself together.

His cock is so pretty — long, thick, and flushed a deep, needy red. It twitches under your gaze, and you swear you hear him let out the softest whimper.  

Since you had the audacity to throw away his roses and chocolates, it’s only fair you make it up to him. And what better way than giving him a night to remember?  

You start slow, wrapping your fingers around his shaft, feeling the heat of him pulse against your palm. Your thumb swipes over the tip, spreading the precum before you lean in, lips barely grazing him. Then, with a teasing flick of your tongue, you kitten lick the head, tasting him, savoring the way his thighs tense beneath your hands.

You take him deeper, your lips stretching around his thickness as you sink down slowly, inch by inch. The weight of him on your tongue makes your thighs clench, and the deep groan he lets out only fuels the heat pooling in your belly.  

His hands fly to your hair, fingers threading through the strands before he gathers them into a makeshift ponytail. He tugs just enough to make you hum around him, the vibration drawing a sharp hiss from his lips.  

"Ah fuck," he breathes, his grip tightening, his hips twitching like he’s holding back from thrusting deeper.

You take him in until you reach your limit, his tip pressing against the back of your throat. Your eyes flutter shut as you breathe through your nose, adjusting to the stretch, the fullness of him. Then, with a deliberate squeeze of your throat, you swallow around him.  

The reaction is immediate — his whole body jolts, a shudder running through him as a deep, broken moan spills from his lips. His fingers tighten in your hair, his grip almost desperate as he fights the urge to push deeper.  

You bob your head a few more times, hollowing your cheeks as you suck him in deep before pulling off with a wet pop. A thin string of spit connects your lips to his flushed tip, and without breaking eye contact, you let it drip onto his cock.  

Wrapping your hand around his slick shaft, you start stroking him, slow and deliberate. The obscene, squelchy sounds echo in the room, mixing with his sharp breaths. His cheeks and ears burn crimson under the dim lighting, and when his hooded eyes finally meet yours, they’re filled with nothing but pure admiration — and need.  

Shifting on your knees, you move closer, the heat of his body radiating against your own. Then, without warning, you do something that catches him completely off guard.  

You grab your breasts, cupping the soft flesh in your hands, and press them together as you lean down, sliding his cock right between them.  

“Oh, gosh,” he moans breathily, his head falling back. His hands grip the sheets beneath him, knuckles turning white as he struggles to ground himself.  

A slow, teasing smile spreads across your lips. “You like this?” you ask, looking up at him through your lashes as you press your breasts tighter around his cock, moving up and down to create that delicious friction.  

His chest rises and falls with each shaky breath, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. “Yes,” he moans, voice rough, almost wrecked. “Fuckin’ love it.”  

His eyes flicker down, hooded and heavy with desire, watching intently as your perfectly manicured fingers dig into the soft flesh of your breasts, pressing them tighter around his cock. The way he glides so easily between them, warm and slick, like he was made to be there — it’s intoxicating. Addictive. And he never wants it to end.  

His breath stutters, his chest rising and falling in ragged pants as he forces himself to keep watching, to burn the image of you into his memory. Every sinful, wet glide. Every soft squeeze of your hands. It’s too fucking good.  

Then, his control begins to slip. His hips twitch, then jerk, chasing the pleasure you’re giving him, unable to hold back any longer. The spark of restraint he’d been holding onto is thinning, unraveling fast, and now he’s moving on pure instinct, desperate for more. His palms press into the mattress, fingers curling into the sheets as his hips start moving, bucking up into the tight warmth of your breasts. It’s slow at first, a gentle roll of his hips, as if he’s savoring the feeling of your soft skin gliding around him.  

But he’s losing himself, second after second. His restraint is slipping, his movements growing more desperate, more needy. The slick sounds of his cock sliding between your tits fill the room, mixing with his ragged breaths and the occasional shaky moan that escapes his lips.  

“You wanna cum?” you ask, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes — such a contrast to the sinful way you’re working him.  

“Yes!” he blurts out, voice strained and desperate. His grip on the sheets tightens, his hips jerking up a little harder, chasing the friction. “So fucking bad!”  

His chest heaves, abs flexing with each ragged breath as he watches you, pupils blown wide with lust. He’s right there — at the brink of his release, barely holding on, waiting for you to give him permission to fall apart.

But you don’t let him.  

Instead, you pull away, leaving him aching, throbbing, desperate. A strangled whine escapes his lips as his cock twitches in the empty space where your warmth once surrounded him. His hands flex against the sheets, like he wants to grab you, to pull you back, to demand you finish what you started.  

But before he can, you rise to your feet and climb back onto his lap, your lips crashing into his in a searing, breath stealing kiss. He groans into your mouth, rough and frustrated, his hands immediately finding your hips, gripping them so tightly you know you’ll feel it tomorrow.  

He’s all anguish, all need, kissing you like he’s trying to take back the pleasure you just ripped away from him. His tongue is desperate, his teeth grazing your lips, his hips bucking up into you on pure instinct. He’s losing his mind, and you love every second of it.

You grab the hem of his shirt, fingers slipping beneath the fabric to feel the warmth of his skin before tugging it up and over his head. He barely hesitates, lifting his arms to help you before tossing it aside, letting it join the mess of discarded clothes on the floor.  

With a frustrated grunt, he kicks off his jeans completely, leaving him bare and exposed, his cock still aching, flushed, and desperate for relief. His eyes stay locked on you, dark and heavy with lust as he shifts back onto the bed, settling against the pillows.  

You strip yourself from your panties before you climb onto the bed, straddling him with ease, your thighs bracketing his waist. His cock, hard and heavy, nudges against your thigh, smearing precum against your flushed skin.  

“Condom?” you ask.  

Without hesitation, he reaches over to his nightstand, yanking the drawer open. His movements are hurried, almost frantic, as he grabs a foil packet from the box inside. The crinkle of the wrapper fills the space between you as he rips it open with his teeth, his eyes flickering up to meet yours, dark and filled with anticipation.

He rolls the condom just over the tip, his breath shaky, but before he can finish, you take over. Your fingers brush against his as you grasp the base of his cock, sliding the latex down slowly, teasingly, making sure it fits snugly around his thick length.  

Then, with a steadying breath, you adjust yourself over him, holding his cock by the base as you position yourself just right. The anticipation is thick in the air, his hands gripping your hips, thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin — though you both know he’s barely holding himself together. Slowly, you sink down, taking him inch by inch, feeling the way he stretches you open. The delicious burn has you both gasping, your breath hitching as pleasure overtakes you. Beneath you, Jungkook moans, his jaw clenched as he fights to keep control, his fingers pressing bruising marks into your hips.  

Your hands find their way on his broad, sweaty chest, fingers splayed across his firm muscles as you start to move. Lifting up just enough before sinking back down, rolling your hips in a way that has him cursing under his breath.  

As the stretch becomes more comfortable and your pussy grows wetter, the glide becomes effortless, letting you move with ease. The slick sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room, mingling with both of your breathy moans.  

You start bouncing faster, your rhythm picking up with each passing second. His cock drags against your walls just right, hitting that spot that makes your back arch, your nails digging into his chest.  

“You’re so fuckin’ big, baby,” you moan, your voice breaking with every bounce, pleasure shooting through you with each movement.  

Beneath you, Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh — flustered, shy even. His cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as if your words are too much for him to handle. He doesn’t say anything back, just exhales shakily, completely overwhelmed by the way you feel wrapped around him.  

You push yourself up from his chest, hands moving behind you to plant firmly on his thighs, changing the angle. The shift makes everything deeper, makes his cock hit spots that have your head tilting back, a sharp moan escaping your lips.  

His hands roam up your waist, his fingers spreading wide as they slide up to your tits. He palms them with reverence, his touch almost hesitant at first, before he gives in, squeezing, kneading, his thumbs flicking over your sensitive nipples. His breath stutters beneath you, his head pressing back into the pillows, completely lost in the way you feel.

One of his hands slowly makes its way down, his fingers grazing over your stomach before his thumb finds your clit. The first touch is gentle, testing, but when he feels the way you shudder above him, the way your walls flutter around his cock, he starts rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your sensitive bundle of nerves.  

A sharp gasp escapes you, your thighs trembling as the pleasure intensifies. “Jungkook-” you whimper, your hands gripping his thighs behind you for stability as your movements start getting sloppy, more frantic.  

He just watches you, completely mesmerized. His breath is ragged, his brows drawn together in pure concentration as he works you closer to your high, his thumb pressing down a little harder, rubbing faster, perfectly in sync with the rhythm of your bouncing.  

His cock keeps hitting that perfect spot inside you, and with his thumb rubbing tight circles against your clit, the pleasure swells uncontrollably. It’s too much — all consuming, dizzying, rushing over you faster than you expected.  

Sensing the closeness of your release, Jungkook plants his feet against the mattress, gripping your waist tighter as he thrusts up into you. His pace stutters, his hips snapping up with more urgency as he nears his own breaking point, chasing the same high that you were.

At that exact moment, you clench tightly around him, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, intense and electrifying. It’s as if everything pulses in rhythm, the shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you. At the same time, he’s driven to the edge, hot spurts of cum shooting deep inside the condom, his body trembling as his release mixes with yours.

You both ride out your highs, your bodies trembling together as the room fills with your breathy moans, the sound thick with pleasure. Each shudder, each gasp, echoes in the stillness, a shared moment of pure connection and release.

Once the pleasure starts to subside, you gently pull yourself off of Jungkook’s softening cock, settling beside him. He removes the condom with a quick, practiced motion, tying it up before tossing it into the trash beside his nightstand. With a soft sigh, he reclines back, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you, burying his face into your chest. Your fingers find their way into his hair, lightly massaging his scalp as the two of you linger in the quiet, comfortable warmth of each other’s embrace.

“Thank you for today,” you say softly, your voice laced with gratitude.

Jungkook lifts his head from your chest, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. His smirk is playful as he teases, “Is it your thing now? Or should I have Ian sending you flowers and letters every year from now on?”

You laugh, giving his shoulder a light swat. “Maybe have Jungkook send them instead, yeah?”

He hums in thought, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Noted,” he says with a grin before leaning in, capturing your lips in another sweet kiss. He pulls back slightly, a playful spark in his gaze. “So, how about dinner and a movie?”

You sit up, a teasing smile forming as you push him back by his chest, then straddle him once more. You lean down, your breath warm against his skin as you whisper, “I was thinking maybe round two.”

He chuckles, a low sound of amusement escaping him as his hand reaches for another condom in the drawer. A playful glint dances in his eyes as he prepares for what’s to come.

Oh yeah, Valentine’s Day was most definitely your thing now.

© voyter 2025, all rights reserved.