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scarletwinterxx · 4 months ago

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magnets - choi seungcheol imagine 2/2

hellooooo ~ and here we are. thank you to all those who waited and loved the first part. tight hugs to all of you! may we all find love like this irl🤍

tbh the longest story I HAVE EVER WRITTEN. i hope you enjoy it🤍for part 1, click here

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

The days that followed were… different.

Not in a dramatic, world-altering way, but in small, quiet shifts that felt almost imperceptible if you weren’t paying attention.

For one, Seungcheol didn’t push. He didn’t bombard you with texts, didn’t corner you into a conversation you weren’t ready for. He gave you space but remained present in the ways that mattered. And somehow, it was worse than outright confrontation.

Because this wasn’t the Seungcheol you’d prepared yourself for. This wasn’t the pushy, arrogant, untouchable man people whispered about.

This was someone who was willing to wait.

Of course it was Jeonghan who finally called you out on it.

“You’re sulking,” he said flatly one night, stretched out on your couch with a bowl of popcorn. “And don’t say you’re not because I’ve known you too long for that lie to work.”

You glared at him from your spot on the floor, cross-legged and stubborn. “I’m not sulking.”

Jeonghan popped a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Right. And I’m a morning person.”

There was a beat of silence before Jeonghan sighed and sat up properly, setting his bowl aside. “Okay, let’s try this another way. Why are you still running?”

You scowled. “I’m not—”

He shot you a look. “Don’t lie to me.”

You pressed your lips together, feeling cornered. “I’m not running. I just…” You exhaled sharply, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know how to trust this.”

Jeonghan softened slightly. “Trust what?”

“That it’s real.”

He studied you for a long moment before speaking again. “I get it,” he said, and somehow, that was worse than him arguing. “After everything, I get why it’s hard to believe someone when they say they won’t leave.”

“But, you know,” he continued, “there’s a difference between being careful and shutting people out completely.”

You scoffed. “This coming from you?”

Jeonghan smirked. “What can I say? I’m evolving.”

"Okay Charizard" you rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. After a pause, Jeonghan’s voice turned quieter. “He’s not your past, you know.”

You swallowed, throat suddenly tight. “I know.”

“Do you?” You didn’t answer.

The days that followed you found yourself stuck in a loop of indecision.

You weren’t actively avoiding Seungcheol anymore, you told yourself it was because you were busy—work had picked up, your schedule was packed, and frankly, you weren’t in the mood to deal with whatever emotional battlefield is going on inside your head.

But Jeonghan’s words had burrowed deep. "He’s not your past."

It should have been easy to accept. Seungcheol wasn’t them. He hadn’t walked away, hadn’t dismissed your feelings, hadn’t made you feel like you were too much or not enough at the same time.

Still, knowing that and believing it were two different things. You're aware that the only person making it complicated at this point is, because for him, liking you is as easy as 1 2 3.

One random day he texted,

Seungcheol: Are you free Friday? Seungcheol: If you’re not, it’s okay.

You stared at the messages longer than necessary, fingers hovering over the keyboard. And then, before you could think too hard about it—before you could talk yourself out of it—you typed out a reply.

You: where are we going?

Friday night, you found yourself standing outside a tiny, quiet restaurant tucked into a side street, arms crossed as you waited.

You weren’t sure what to expect. The last time you’d properly talked, you’d been pushing him away. Now, he was here again, proving that no matter how much distance you tried to put between you, he wasn’t going to let you disappear so easily.

“Nice choice,” he said, glancing at the restaurant. “You trying to make sure I can’t impress you with an expensive dinner?”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t impress me in general.”

He chuckled. “Sure.”

You turned toward the entrance, pretending you weren’t affected by how effortlessly charming he was. “Come on.”

Dinner started off… civil. You talked about safe topics—work, Jeonghan’s latest antics, Mingyu’s questionable life choices. It was easy, familiar, almost like nothing had happened between you.

But of course, that was never going to last.

“You’re still shutting me out,” Seungcheol said suddenly, mid-conversation.

You froze, fingers tightening around your glass. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he countered. “You’ve been doing it since the beginning.” Seungcheol leaned back, watching you with that unreadable expression that made you want to both slap and kiss him. “What are you so scared of?”

You scoffed. “I’m not scared.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You know what’s funny? You keep saying you don’t care, but you do. And it’s killing you trying to pretend otherwise.”

Your fingers curled into fists. “If I do, will you leave?”

Seungcheol’s expression didn’t change. “No.”

No hesitation. No doubt. Just a simple, steady refusal.

You hated how much that made your chest ache. And just like that, the walls you had built so carefully started to crack.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers against your temple. “I’m being difficult.”

Seungcheol leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I know.”

You glared at him. “You’re supposed to argue.”

“Why? You already know it’s true. Atleast now you can admit it”

You clicked your tongue, looking away. The restaurant was cozy, dimly lit, a quiet contrast to the storm brewing inside your head. “I don’t know why you’re still here.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “Because I want to be.”

You scoffed. “Yeah? Even when I keep pushing you away?”

“Yes.”

You stared at him, waiting for the usual signs of frustration, the ones you were so used to seeing from people when you made things difficult. But there was nothing. No irritation, no exasperation. Just Seungcheol, calm and steady, like he had all the time in the world.

After dinner Seungcheol walked beside you, hands tucked in his coat pockets, the cool night air making his breath visible in the dim streetlights. it was quiet. Comfortable.

Then, out of nowhere, he smirked and nudged you lightly with his elbow. "What happened to the girl who walked up to me at the bar all confident?"

You raised an eyebrow at him. "What about her?"

He shrugged, feigning innocence. "Just wondering where she went. Thought she had me all figured out that night."

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, well… turns out, I bit off more than I could chew."

Seungcheol chuckled at that, glancing at you with something unreadable in his eyes. "Regretting it?"

You hesitated for half a second. "No." It was quiet again for a few beats, your footsteps echoing against the pavement.

Then, softer this time, he asked, "So what now?"

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you looked up at the sky, at the way the city lights drowned out the stars.

"Good question," you muttered.

Seungcheol stopped walking, causing you to take a few more steps before realizing and turning back to face him. His hands were still in his pockets, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes were locked onto yours, steady and unwavering.

"You keep running from me," he said, voice quieter now, but firm. "You keep pushing me away, shutting me out, making me prove myself over and over again. And I’ll keep doing it if that’s what it takes."

"I know you're scared," he continued. "I know you think this is going to end the way it always does. But I’m not them. I’m not going to leave just because things get complicated. I’m not going to get tired of you just because you have bad days. And I’m sure as hell not going to stop wanting you just because you're difficult."

Your throat felt tight. You hated how much those words affected you. How much you needed to hear them.

"You don’t have to let me in all at once," he said. "But stop pretending you don’t care when you do. Stop acting like this doesn't mean something to you when it does."

He stepped closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him despite the chilly air. "You can tell me, let me know if I’m waiting for nothing. Then I'll go"

Your heart was pounding now, an erratic rhythm you couldn't control.

"You’re not," you admitted quietly.

Something flickered in his eyes, relief mixed with something deeper, something warmer.

"Good," he murmured.

At first, it was small things.

A text here and there—nothing too much, nothing that would make you feel like you were giving in too quickly. You didn’t realize when it started shifting, when you stopped bracing for him to leave and started expecting him to stay.

One night, it was you who called first.

"You busy?" you asked, voice softer than you meant it to be.

Seungcheol chuckled on the other end of the line. "No. Missing me already?"

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see. "Forget it."

"Wait, wait," he said, laughter still in his voice. "Tell me."

You hesitated. "I just... felt like calling"

You didn't need to say it, he knew what it meant in your dictionary or atleast from what he learned so far. You wanted to talk, you're reaching out to him first and that made him smile.

There was a brief pause, then, "Stay where you are. I’m coming over."

And just like that, it became normal.

Some nights, he’d show up with takeout, and the two of you would eat in comfortable silence. Other times, you'd find yourself leaning into him when he sat next to you, your head against his shoulder without thinking. He never commented on it, never teased. He just let you.

One afternoon, after a long day, you called him again.

"Are you home?"

"Yeah," he said immediately. "You okay?"

"I don't know."

He was quiet for a moment. "Come over."

It wasn’t some grand confession, wasn’t some dramatic shift. It was just that—getting used to him. Letting yourself reach for him the way he had always reached for you. The moment Seungcheol opened the door, he took one look at you and sighed.

“You look like hell.” he says when you got to his apartment, holding the door open for you

“Wow, thanks,” you muttered, brushing past him

He didn’t argue, just closed the door behind you and followed you inside. His place was warm, dimly lit, the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. You stood there for a second, suddenly unsure why you even came.

“Did you eat?” he asked, already heading toward the kitchen

You shook your head.

“Didn’t think so,” he muttered, grabbing something from the fridge. You heard him moving around, the quiet clink of plates and the sound of water running.

You sat on the couch, letting your head fall back against the cushions. The weight of the week settled on you, exhaustion creeping in, but you fought it. Seungcheol came back minutes later, setting a plate of food and a glass of water in front of you.

“Eat first,” he said, sitting beside you.

You frowned. “I didn’t come here for food.”

“No, but you need it,” he countered. “And you need sleep, too. Don’t try to deny it.”

You glared at him, but it was weak. You were too tired to argue. “You really think I came here just to crash on your couch?”

“No,” he said, watching you carefully. “I think you came here because you didn’t want to be alone.”

Your fingers tightened around the glass of water. He wasn’t wrong.

When you were done, he took the plate without a word, disappearing into the kitchen. You let yourself sink deeper into the couch, your eyelids growing heavier. By the time he came back, you were barely awake, your body losing the fight against exhaustion.

“Told you,” he murmured, sitting next to you again.

You mumbled something incoherent, your head tilting to the side—against him. You didn’t mean to. But you were too tired to move, too tired to think. And he was warm, solid, steady.

Seungcheol didn’t say anything, just shifted slightly so you were more comfortable. And for the first time in days, you finally felt like you could rest.

Seungcheol didn’t move for a while. He just sat there, watching as your breathing evened out, your face finally softening from the tension you’d been carrying all week.

You came to him.

Not to fight. Not to push him away.

You came to him because you were tired, because you didn’t want to be alone, because—even if you wouldn’t say it out loud—you trusted him enough to just… be here.

That meant something.

His hand twitched like he wanted to reach out, to brush the hair out of your face, but he held himself back. You were already asleep, and he wasn’t about to wake you up now.

Instead, he just sighed, shifting slightly so you were more comfortable against him.

“Stubborn as hell,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real bite to it.

If someone had told him back then, on the night you first met, that the confident, sharp-tongued person who strutted up to him in a bar would be the same one sleeping against his shoulder now, he would’ve laughed.

But here you were.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like he had to fight to keep you close.

You were slipping. your head tilting lower, the weight of exhaustion making you lean into him without a second thought. Before you could slip too far, he moved, instinct guiding him as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in until your head rested against his chest.

And you didn’t even stir. Didn’t tense up. Didn’t fight it. Just stayed there, completely at ease against him. He let out a slow breath, his hand resting lightly against your back, fingers twitching slightly like he wasn’t sure if he should move or not.

This was new.

You letting him hold you. Trusting him enough to fall asleep on him.

Seungcheol leaned his head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment before glancing down at you again.

The first thing you register when you wake up is warmth.

The second thing is the steady rise and fall beneath your cheek. Your eyes snap open, and the moment you realize you’re still on Seungcheol, still curled into his side, your entire body goes rigid.

“Oh my god—” You practically throw yourself off of him, scrambling upright so fast that you almost trip over your own feet.

Seungcheol groans, his hand moving to his neck, rolling it slightly like he’s trying to work out a knot. “Good morning to you too.”

“I—” Your heart is racing. “I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t—”

He watches you, amused, as you struggle for words, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Didn’t mean to what? Fall asleep?”

You stare at him, still half in shock, like you’re just now registering that you slept on him all night.

“Exactly! I didn’t mean to do that!” Your voice is slightly panicked. “I just—oh my god, I used you as a pillow.”

Seungcheol stretches, the corners of his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “I noticed.”

You groan, pressing your hands to your face. “I’m so sorry. You probably have a neck cramp—”

“Oh, I definitely do.” He cracks his neck for emphasis.

You wince. “Ugh, I’m really, really sorry.”

He just looks at you, amusement laced in his voice as he leans back against the couch. “You gonna keep apologizing all morning?”

“Maybe.”

A few days later when you were out getting food, Jeonghan texted he was dropping by. When you return to your apartment, takeout bags in hand, you expected Jeonghan to be there waiting. What you didn't expect was Seungcheol sitting across from him.

The tension in the air is palpable, and Jeonghan looks far too smug for your liking, while Seungcheol looks—annoyed? Amused? It’s hard to tell.

You blink at them. “Uh… what is happening?”

Jeonghan leans back against the couch, arms crossed. “Your boyfriend came to visit.”

You scowl. “He’s not my— Never mind. Why are you here, Cheol?”

Seungcheol stands, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I wanted to see you.”

Before you can respond, Jeonghan cuts in. “He was just telling me about the night you fell asleep at his place.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh my god.”

Jeonghan smirks. “Did you know he was shocked that you actually slept well?”

Your eyes snap to Seungcheol, who is watching you carefully. “You—” You pause, shifting awkwardly. “I mean, it wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was a big deal.” Jeonghan hums. “Because she usually doesn’t sleep well.” He looks at you.

“You never told me you had it that bad.” Seungcheol is still looking at you, his gaze softer now.

You roll your shoulders, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not that bad.”

He sighs, stepping closer. “He said you only get four hours of interrupted sleep, if that.”

You groan. “Can you both stop?”

But Jeonghan is looking at Seungcheol with something like understanding now. “And yet, she slept well with you?”

Seungcheol nods. “Didn’t even wake up once.”

Jeonghan lets out a low chuckle. “Damn.” He glances at you. “Looks like you’re screwed.”

You glare. “How?”

Jeonghan gestures lazily between you and Seungcheol. “Because you like him. And your subconscious trusts him.” He grins. “And knowing Cheol? He’s not letting that go.”

You groan again, pressing your forehead against the door. “I should’ve stayed outside.”

Seungcheol chuckles, stepping even closer, voice softer now. “I don’t mind.”

You peek at him, hesitant. “Don’t mind what?”

He shrugs. “Being the person you can actually rest with.”

And that—that’s the moment you realize you’re in deeper than you ever planned to be. You don’t say anything for a moment, just stare at Seungcheol, feeling your heartbeat pick up. Then you turn sharply to Jeonghan, who is looking way too pleased with himself.

"Get out."

Jeonghan snorts. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." You point to the door. "Get. Out."

Jeonghan laughs, standing up. "Wow. I help you realize your feelings, and this is the thanks I get?"

"You’re not helping."

"Sure I am," he says, already grabbing his things and the take out bag. He turns to Seungcheol with an exaggerated pat on his shoulder. "Take care of our girl, yeah?"

Seungcheol smirks. "I plan to."

You shove Jeonghan toward the door. "Out!"

He barely dodges your foot as you fake a kick at him. "Alright, alright, I’m going! No need to get violent." He winks. "You two have fun." You slam the door in his face, exhaling hard before turning back to Seungcheol, who is now watching you with his usual unreadable expression.

"Sorry about him," you mutter, rubbing your temples.

Seungcheol just shrugs. "I don’t mind." Of course, he doesn’t.

You cross your arms, still feeling the remnants of irritation from Jeonghan’s meddling. “So? Why’d you drop by?”

Seungcheol leans back against your couch like he has all the time in the world. “You weren’t answering my texts.”

You blink. “That’s it?”

His lips twitch slightly, like he’s amused. “You usually text back, even if it’s just to tell me to go away.”

You look away, suddenly feeling warm. “I was busy. And you didn’t just come all the way here because of a few missed texts, Seungcheol.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I did.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You have a company to run. You don’t have time for things like this.”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t think you’re worth my time?”

You freeze. That wasn’t what you meant, but now, hearing it like that… You shift awkwardly. “That’s not—”

“Because you are,” he says, completely serious now. “And I don’t mind making time for you.”

Your throat feels suddenly tight, so you break eye contact, looking anywhere but at him. “…You’re annoying.”

He chuckles. “You say that a lot.”

You huff, turning toward the kitchen. “Whatever. I’m getting something to drink.”

As you walk away, you don’t see his smile soften, but you do hear him say, “I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering.”

As you set down a cup of coffee in front of him, Seungcheol watches you closely. His voice, quieter now, carries none of the teasing from earlier.

“Is it true?”

“What?”

He tilts his head, studying you. “What Jeonghan said. That you don’t sleep well.”

Your fingers tighten slightly around your own cup. You shouldn’t be surprised—of course Jeonghan would tell him. But something about hearing it from Seungcheol, hearing him ask so gently, makes your stomach twist.

You exhale, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not a big deal.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You sigh, setting your cup down. “It’s true. I’ve had trouble sleeping for a long time. Four hours on a good night, but it’s usually not restful.” You try to sound casual, but admitting it out loud feels weirdly vulnerable.

Seungcheol’s jaw tightens, like he’s holding something back. “And the other night? When you fell asleep on me?”

You hesitate, then force yourself to shrug. “I guess I was just really tired.”

He hums, swirling his coffee absently. “Or maybe you finally felt safe enough to sleep properly.”

His words make you freeze. Seungcheol watches you carefully, then speaks again, even softer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You scoff lightly, trying to cover the sudden, unsteady feeling creeping in. “It’s not exactly first-date conversation.”

He smirks, but there’s no real amusement in it. “We skipped that part anyway.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t let it go. “I mean it,” he says. “If it’s something you struggle with… I want to know. I want to help.” Your heart clenches. You’re not used to this—someone caring this much.

You exhale, looking away. “It’s just how it’s always been. I got used to it.”

Seungcheol watches you for a moment, then leans back, stretching an arm along the back of your couch. “That doesn’t mean you have to deal with it alone.” A strange warmth settles in your chest. You don’t respond right away, but for the first time in a long time, you think maybe—just maybe—you don’t have to.

Seungcheol is naturally thoughtful, in his own way. The way he takes up space in your life has always been subtle yet persistent. But then, you start noticing more.

It’s little things at first. A new set of blackout curtains showing up at your place with a casual, “Figured they might help,” when he drops by. A bottle of melatonin on your kitchen counter that wasn’t there before, though he never mentions it. One night, when you’re at his place, you find a weighted blanket neatly folded at the end of his couch. You give him a suspicious look, but he just shrugs. “Jeonghan said it helps,” is all he says.

And then there are the nights.

You don’t even realize it at first, but he starts staying later. It’s not obvious—he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. Some nights, when you’re curled up on his couch, watching some random movie, you doze off without meaning to and he doesn’t wake you up.

It only clicks when, one night, you stir awake just enough to register the warmth at your side, the solid presence of Seungcheol beside you. His arm is draped loosely over the back of the couch, but his fingers are grazing your shoulder lightly, like he’s debating moving you or just staying still.

Then, carefully you feel him shift just enough to pull a blanket over you. His fingers brush against your arm for a second before he stills completely.

The next morning, when you wake up in your own bed, you realize—he must’ve carried you there before leaving. For the first time in a long time, you’re sleeping better. And you know it’s because of him.

Another night, something unexpected happened. Your fingers are barely grasping the hem of his shirt, like even in your half-asleep state, you don’t want to let go.

He looks down at you—your face relaxed in sleep, your breathing even. It’s rare to see you like this, vulnerable and unguarded. He knows how much you struggle to sleep, how restless your nights usually are. And yet, tonight, you’re not just asleep—you’re at peace.

And you want him to stay.

He swallows, hesitating. His instinct is to leave, to give you space, to not push. But then, your grip tightens just slightly.

“Stay,” you murmur, voice barely audible.

His chest tightens.

He exhales softly before finally relenting. He carefully shifts, settling back onto the couch beside you. You naturally gravitate toward him, your head resting against his shoulder. He doesn’t dare move, doesn’t want to break the moment.

Minutes pass, and then, without thinking, he reaches for the blanket draped over the back of the couch and pulls it over the both of you.

You sigh, a content little sound that makes his heart clench.

Seungcheol stares at the ceiling for a long time, completely still. He was supposed to leave. But instead, he stays.

The morning light filters softly through your curtains, casting a golden hue over the room. You blink groggily, your body warm and comfortable in a way you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re in your room now, that’s when you notice him.

Seungcheol is still asleep beside you. For a moment, you just stare. His breathing is slow and steady, his face completely relaxed. The sight is… nice. Too nice.

The second he sees you awake, his lips curl into a lazy smile. “Morning,” he murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.

Then, before you can stop yourself, you mumble, “I like your dimples.”

It’s soft, barely above a whisper, but he hears it. Seungcheol’s smile widens, and just like that, his dimples deepen. You immediately bury your face into the pillow, realizing what you just said.

He chuckles, his voice still husky. “You like my dimples?”

You groan. “Forget it.”

“Nope,” he says, his amusement clear. “Too late. You said it.”

You peek at him from the pillow, your cheeks warm. He’s still smiling, still looking at you with that soft, fond expression. It makes your heart stutter.

You don’t talk about that night—not really—but you feel it lingering in the air, in the way he looks at you a second too long, in the way your body leans just a little closer to his without thinking.

He still checks in on you, still sends those random texts that somehow always come right when you need them. He still helps you sleep—whether it’s subtle things like sending you links to calming music or, on the nights you really struggle, staying until you doze off.

And then there’s you.

You find yourself texting him first sometimes. You don’t push him away when he’s close. You even catch yourself looking at him a little too long, memorizing the curve of his smile, the shape of his eyes, the way he somehow always smells really, really nice.

You don’t know when it happened, when he became someone you reach for instead of push away but it’s happening.

It’s a slow, quiet weekend. The kind where you don’t feel like doing much, so instead of going out, you’re at his place.

Seungcheol is on the couch, arm draped lazily along the backrest while you sit beside him, legs tucked under you. Your mind drifts, thinking about something, debating whether or not to ask.

You hesitate. You open your mouth, then close it. And of course, he catches it.

“What?” he asks, turning his head slightly toward you.

“Nothing,” you mumble, shaking your head.

But Seungcheol isn’t the type to let things go so easily. His hand finds your waist, tugging you just a little closer. “No, come on. What is it?”

You fidget, suddenly feeling ridiculous for even thinking about it. “It’s stupid.”

He scoffs. “You do realize I put up with your so-called ‘stupidity’ on a daily basis, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Great way to convince me to talk, Cheol.”

He chuckles, squeezing your waist lightly in encouragement. “Okay, okay. I’m serious. What is it?”

You hesitate again, fingers fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “I just… I wanted to know your favorites.”

“My favorites?”

“Yeah. Like… your favorite color, favorite food, drink—just… everything.” You shift, feeling a little embarrassed now. “But I didn’t want to sound annoying.”

Seungcheol stares at you for a moment, and then he groans. Like you just physically pained him. Like you just did something devastating.

You blink. “What?”

He grabs your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. “Do you even realize how cute you are right now?”

You push at his chest, groaning. “Oh my god, Cheol.”

“No, seriously.” He pulls you closer, practically caging you in. “You’re pouting. You’re actually pouting. Do you even know what you’re doing to me right now?”

“I was trying to be serious!”

“I am serious.” He presses a quick kiss to your forehead, grinning. “You’re adorable. And for the record, you could never be annoying.”

The action felt so natural you didn't even register what he did. You just let yourself relax against him. “So, tell me then.”

He hums, pretending to think. “Well, my favorite color is black.”

“Figures.”

“My favorite food…” He pauses, then smirks. “Lately, anything you make.”

You scoff. “Liar.”

“I’m dead serious. Even when you mess up, it’s good.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t fight the warmth spreading through your chest. “Okay, what about your favorite drink?”

“Hm. Coffee, obviously.”

You nod, committing each answer to memory. You keep going, asking about little things—his favorite season, his favorite scent, even his favorite childhood memory. And he answers every single one. Somewhere in the middle of it, you rest your head against his shoulder, and he lets you.

Eventually, he asks, “Why the sudden curiosity?”

“Just wanted to know more about you.”

He chuckles, resting his chin atop your head. “Then ask me anything, anytime. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Just the faint hum of the TV and the steady rhythm of his breathing beside you. Your head is still resting on his shoulder, and his fingers are tracing mindless patterns along your sleeve.

And then, so softly, you whisper, "Why do you like me?"

You don’t know why you ask. Maybe it’s been lingering in your mind for too long, sitting in the back of your thoughts, waiting for a moment like this to slip out. Maybe you’ve been too scared to say it until now.

Seungcheol doesn’t answer right away. You feel him shift slightly, his head tilting down toward you. His fingers stop their slow tracing. Then, slowly, his arms tighten around you, pulling you in closer, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

And finally, he smiles.

“Because it’s you.” Simple. Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like it was never even a question to begin with.

Your heart stumbles.

He keeps going, voice quieter now, like he’s letting you in on a secret. “You don’t even realize it, do you? The way you pull people in without even trying. The way you act all guarded, but deep down, you care so much it hurts. You pretend to be tough, but you—” He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’re probably the softest person I know.”

You swallow, suddenly unable to breathe properly.

“You make people want to stay,” he says, gaze warm, unwavering. “You make me want to stay.”

Your chest feels too tight, your throat closing up. It’s overwhelming, too much and not enough at the same time so you don’t say anything.

You just press your face into his shoulder, gripping onto his sleeve like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. He doesn’t push. He just holds you a little tighter. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just lets you bury yourself against him. His fingers move again, slow and steady along your back, tracing something soothing.

And then, in the quiet, he asks—

"What about you?"

His voice is soft, careful. Like he’s giving you a choice. Like he knows you could still push him away if you wanted to. You stay still, trying to ignore the way your heart is suddenly racing.

Seungcheol waits.

You don’t look at him when you mumble, “What do you mean?”

“You asked me why I like you," he says. "So now I want to know—" He leans in just slightly, enough for his breath to brush against your hair. "Why do you like me?"

You tense. He must feel it, because his arms stay firm around you, like he’s telling you it’s okay. That he’s not going anywhere. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

Because what are you supposed to say? That you like the way he makes you feel safe, even when you’re scared? That you like the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room? That you like how, even when you try to push him away, he stays?

"I don't know."

Seungcheol hums, but he doesn’t sound disappointed.

"You do," he says, amused. "You're just not ready to say it to me yet but that's okay" he bumps the tip of your nose with his finger

That makes your stomach flip. You finally look up at him, and he's already watching you. Not expectantly, not impatiently. Just there. Waiting. And somehow, that makes you want to say it more.

So you whisper, "I like you because..." You trail off, then exhale, pressing your forehead against his chest.

He chuckles. "Because what?"

You groan again. "I don’t know. Because you’re you.”

Seungcheol stills then you feel him smile against your hair, arms pulling you in tighter. He understood what that meant for he said the same thing, but in his mind it meant more and maybe that's how you felt too. But he doesn't push instead he presses his lips against your hair

"Okay," he says, voice full of something you can’t quite place. "I’ll take that."

You don’t know why you do it.

Maybe it’s the warmth of his arms around you, the way he looks at you like you’re something precious. Maybe it’s the way your heart has been hammering against your ribs since he asked but before you can think, before you can stop yourself, you lean in.

A quick press of your lips against his.

Soft. Barely there. You pull away almost immediately, heart pounding, and Seungcheol just blinks at you. Like you’ve stunned him. Like he wasn’t expecting it at all.

And maybe that should make you panic, but instead, you just breathe

"Because you make me feel safe."

Seungcheol’s eyes widen. You don’t stop.

"Because you always stay, even when I push you away. Because you don’t make me feel stupid for being scared." Your voice is quieter now, almost shaky. "Because I sleep better when you’re around."

Seungcheol exhales sharply, jaw tightening. His hands flex against your waist, like he’s holding himself back.

But you’re not done.

"And because—” You swallow, forcing yourself to look at him, to really look at him. “—because I think I like you more than I’m ready to admit."

Something shifts in his expression. And then he moves. His hand lifts, fingers threading gently through your hair, tilting your face up.

"Can I kiss you?" His voice is rough, barely a whisper. You don’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nod. And then his lips are on yours, slow and deep and warm.

And this time, you don’t pull away. You don’t know how long you stay like that. kissing him, feeling the warmth of his hands steady on your waist, his breath mingling with yours.

It’s slow, unrushed, like he has all the time in the world for you. When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless. He presses his forehead against yours, his hands still holding you close. His eyes are closed, like he’s savoring this moment, like he’s trying to commit every second to memory.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this," he murmurs.

Your fingers tighten around his hoodie. "Have you?"

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze soft but serious. "Yeah. Since the first night I met you."

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. "Liar."

"I’m not lying." His thumb brushes over your cheek, his touch unbearably gentle. "You walked up to me, all confident, all fire. And I knew I was in trouble."

You roll your eyes, but your heart is thudding painfully in your chest.

"I’m serious," he says, tilting his head. "You think you’re the only one who got caught up in something bigger than they expected?"

You don’t know how to respond to that. So you just stay there, pressed against him, his warmth seeping into you.

Eventually, he sighs, pulling you even closer, until your head rests against his chest.

"Are you going to run away again?" he asks, voice quieter now.

You hesitate. Then, with a small shake of your head, you mumble against his hoodie, "Not this time."

Seungcheol chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Good," he whispers. "Because I’m not letting you go."

A few days passed since then.

You’re mid-story, animatedly recounting something that happened at work. something about a ridiculous customer complaint and how Jihyo nearly lost her mind handling it. You’re laughing, shaking your head as you lean back against the passenger seat

“So then, Jihyo turns to me and goes, ‘Do you think your boyfriend would cover bail if I strangled this guy?’ And I was like—”

You don’t notice the slip.

But he does.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything at first, but his grip tightens just slightly on the steering wheel. His lips twitch like he’s holding back a smirk. You keep talking, unaware, until the silence stretches just a little too long, and you finally glance at him.

“What?” You frown at his expression, at the barely concealed amusement in his eyes.

He hums, tilting his head slightly. “Nothing.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, what?”

He shrugs, but that damn smirk is there now, full and knowing. “Just thinking about what you just said.”

Your brows furrow, replaying the conversation in your head—until it clicks. Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he repeats, mockingly

Your face heats up instantly, and you groan, covering it with your hands. “Forget it. I misspoke.”

“Mmm,” he hums, clearly unconvinced. “I don’t know. Boyfriend, huh?”

You glare at him from behind your fingers. “You heard nothing.”

He chuckles, so pleased with himself. “I definitely did.”

You groan louder, sinking into the seat, but he just reaches over, lacing his fingers through yours as he drives.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, squeezing your hand. “I like the sound of it.”

You grumble under your breath, something about him not even asking you. Seungcheol hears it, of course. He always hears everything.

“What was that?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, looking out the window.

He scoffs, giving your hand another squeeze. “No, no, I definitely heard you.”

You sigh, shifting in your seat. “Just saying... You didn’t even ask me.”

He chuckles, amused. “Didn’t think I had to. Thought it was obvious.”

You turn to him, raising a brow. “Oh? And what exactly is obvious?”

“That you’re mine,” he says smoothly, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

“Cocky.”

He smirks, glancing at you as he slows at a red light. “So? Are you saying I should ask?”

You cross your arms, pretending to think. “Maybe. It’s the proper thing to do, you know. Can’t just go around assuming.”

He hums, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Alright then.” He turns to you fully, eyes soft yet unwavering. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

You blink. You weren’t actually expecting him to ask—at least not now. A beat of silence passes. And you just reach for his hand, he smiles looking down at your intertwined hands.

Dating Seungcheol is both a blessing and a menace. Most days, he’s a teasing little shit, poking fun at you, making sly comments just to see you get flustered. But then there are moments—fleeting but potent—where you do something that makes him completely malfunction.

Like now.

It’s like the universe is testing Seungcheol. You don’t even notice. Just plop onto his couch, tugging your knees up, he’s across from you, jaw clenched so tightly it might snap, fingers curled into a fist against his thigh.

“You okay?” you ask, tilting your head.

He exhales through his nose. “Peachy.”

Then there’s the way you touch him so casually, so carelessly. Like now, when you’re leaning over to grab the remote from beside him, palm resting on his thigh for balance. You don’t even think about it. But he does. Oh, he does.

“Sweetheart.” His voice is low, strained.

You pause, remote in hand, blinking at him. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to focus on anything that isn’t you.

But the universe isn’t done torturing him yet.

Because then there’s the time you’re at his place late at night, exhausted from work, and you decide to shower there And he’s fine. He really is, until you step out of the bathroom, steam rolling behind you, skin still damp, wearing one of his shirts.

And it’s too much.

You’re rubbing your towel over your hair, completely unaware of the way his gaze darkens. Your legs are bare, your collarbone peeking from where the fabric slips off your shoulder, and when you look up at him and pout because your hair won’t dry properly, he damn near blacks out.

“Come here.” His voice is hoarse.

You step between his legs as he grabs the towel from your hands, gently drying your hair. You close your eyes at the feeling, sighing in content, and something inside him snaps. The towel drops. His fingers card through your damp strands, then skim over your jaw, tilting your face up until your noses are almost touching.

“Why do you do this to me?” he murmurs.

You blink, confused. “Do what?” He exhales sharply, pressing his forehead against yours, trying to steady himself. You’re too close, too soft, too fucking tempting, and you have no idea what you do to him.

He can’t kiss you. He won’t. Not now. Because if he does, he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop. You look at him, genuinely clueless, which makes it so much harder for him.

“No, tell me,” you insist, voice soft but stubborn. You throw your arms around his shoulders, pressing yourself against him like you belong there. Like you have any idea what you’re doing to him.

Seungcheol swallows hard. His hands hover over your waist, unsure whether to pull you closer or push you away before he loses all control. He exhales sharply, eyes flickering between yours and your lips, and fuck you’re looking at him like that, all wide-eyed and waiting, completely oblivious to the war raging inside him.

His fingers tighten around your waist. “Sweetheart,” he warns.

“What?”

“You,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with restraint. “You drive me insane.”

You blink. “Me?”

He scoffs, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, you.”

You tilt your head, lips pursing in thought. Then, with a teasing smile, you press even closer, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Like… in a good way?”

He groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder, body tense under your touch. “You’re killing me.”

You grin, clearly enjoying this now. “Oh.” You hum, pretending to think. “Should I stop?”

Seungcheol lifts his head, eyes dark as they lock onto yours. “No,” he says, barely above a whisper. “Don’t.”

Instead, you shift, adjusting your position, and in doing so, you press even closer, your breath warm against his jaw. His fingers twitch against your waist. His breathing is uneven now, ragged. You’re playing with fire and you don’t even know it.

You pout. “Why won’t you just tell me?”

He exhales sharply. “Because if I do, I’ll do something reckless.”

Your brows knit together, still oblivious. “Like what?”

One second, you’re tangled in him, his lips hot against yours, his grip firm and possessive. Next, you’re suddenly weightless.

“What the—Cheol!” you yelp as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your arms clinging to his shoulders. He doesn’t give you a chance to react, he strides towards his bedroom like a man on a mission. Before you can even fully process it, he tosses you onto the bed.

You bounce slightly, gasping, and before you can sit up, a blanket is thrown over you, covering you completely.

Then, his voice, rough and absolutely wrecked— “I’m taking a cold shower.”

The bathroom door slams shut. For a moment, you just lie there, wrapped up in the blanket, in shock. Then, the realization of what just happened hits you.

You burst out laughing.

Seungcheol, the ever-composed, ever-in-control man, just physically removed himself from the situation because of you.

After his cold shower, you watch as Seungcheol grabs a pillow—no, two pillows—and shoves them between you, effectively creating a makeshift wall. His jaw is tight, his ears red, and he mutters under his breath, “I’m not taking another cold shower because of you.”

You blink at him, amused. “You make it sound like I’m the problem here.”

He scoffs, pulling the blanket over you properly, tucking you in like you’re some misbehaving child. “Oh, you are the problem.”

You grin, burrowing into the warmth of the bed. “Wouldn’t be a problem if you just—”

“Sleep.” His voice is firm, though the way he fluffs your pillow for you before lying back down betrays his exasperated fondness.

“Really? You think this will stop me?”

Seungcheol groans, throwing an arm over his face. “For the love of God, just close your eyes and go to sleep.”

You smirk in the dark, fingers lightly tapping against the pillow barrier. Then, just to mess with him, you whisper, "Seungcheol." You hear him exhale sharply, like he's really holding on to his patience.

"Baby, please." His voice is strained, almost desperate.

You giggle, completely unbothered, and finally, finally let yourself relax. “Okay, okay. Good night, Cheol.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just sighs heavily. Then, softer this time, “Good night.”

And with that, you finally fall asleep—while Seungcheol spends the next half hour staring at the ceiling, trying to get his heart to calm the hell down.

Things are going good, great even. But of course it's like your mind can't let you have a moment of peace.

The thought hit you out of nowhere, settling like an annoying weight in your chest.

You were out with the girls, sitting in your usual corner of the café, but your mind was far from the conversation. The last few nights replayed in your head—every time you teased Seungcheol, every time he pulled away, walked off.

It made you wonder… What if he doesn’t want you like that?

What if you’d misread everything? What if he was just tolerating you, indulging you even, but deep down, he didn’t actually—

"Okay, what’s up with you?" Jihyo’s voice snapped you back to reality. You blinked, realizing everyone at the table was now looking at you

"Huh?"

Irene smirked. "You’ve been spacing out. Something on your mind?"

You hesitated. You weren’t about to pour your heart out in the middle of a brunch spot, but at the same time, the thought was eating at you.

"It’s just…" You chewed on your lip. "Do you think it’s possible for someone to really like you but…not want you like that?"

Jihyo raised an eyebrow. "You’re talking about Seungcheol, aren’t you?"

You avoided their stares, but your silence was enough of an answer.

Irene sighed, setting her cup down. "He’s a grown man, babe. If he didn’t want you like that, he’d say so. Trust me, men are not subtle when they’re not interested."

"Yeah, but what if it’s not that?" you pressed. "What if he just doesn’t see me that way?"

Jihyo scoffed. "Oh my god, you’re actually dumb."

"Excuse me?"

She leaned forward, eyes sharp. "That man looks at you like you hung the damn moon. He gets all flustered because he’s trying so hard to be good for you. He’s literally suffering, and you’re sitting here thinking he doesn’t want you?"

Irene nodded. "You don’t see the way he looks at you, do you?"

You swallowed, suddenly feeling even more ridiculous. "I just— I don’t know," you admitted. "Every time things get…close, he walks away. And now I can’t stop wondering if maybe—"

"Okay, I’m stopping you right there," Jihyo cut in. "Because if we let you spiral, we’ll be here all day. This is you, the same woman who walked up to him that night all confident and emerged victorious after getting THE Choi Seungcheol's number. Babe, don't doubt what you do to that man"

"Then what do I do?" you asked, exasperated.

She smirked. "You stop overthinking and talk to him, obviously."

And that's what you do. When Seungcheol opened the door, the first thing he saw was your pout. His brows furrowed instantly. "What's wrong?"

You just walked past him, kicking your shoes off, before flopping onto his couch with a dramatic sigh.

"You don’t want me, do you?"

Seungcheol blinked. "What?"

You sat up, arms crossed. "I mean, you like me, but you don’t want me like that."

It took him a full three seconds to process your words. Then, he let out a sharp laugh like the kind you make when you’re so caught off guard you don’t know how else to react.

"Wait, are you serious?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Don’t laugh! I’m being serious."

He ran a hand down his face, inhaling deeply before crouching in front of you. His hands came to rest on your knees, fingers warm against your skin.

"Baby," he said slowly, as if trying to make sure you really heard him. "I want you so badly it’s a problem."

Your face heated. "Then why do you always stop?"

His jaw clenched, and he exhaled through his nose, like he was trying to rein himself in. "Because you’re not just some girl I want to mess around with. You matter to me. And if I’m gonna have you like that, I want to make sure you’re really ready."

You frowned. "I'm a grown woman I can make decsions you know"

"I know"

"And what if I am?" you ask, peering down at him

His fingers flexed against your knees, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Then you need to stop looking at me like that," he muttered, voice lower now.

"Like what?" you challenged, tilting your head

His grip on you tightened slightly. "Like you want me to lose every bit of self-control I have."

You held his gaze, feeling your own heartbeat pick up.

"And if I do?"

His jaw locked. For a moment, he just stared at you, like he was weighing every possible option. Then, in one smooth motion, he pushed himself up, towering over you.

"Get up," he murmured.

Your breath caught. "Why?" but you follow his words. Now you’re standing in front of him, look of frustration and something else in his eyes

“The next time you feel like I don’t want you, you have my full permission to hit me on the face”

“Cheol, I’m being serious” you mumble

“So am I, I want you. Always. In ways I didn’t even know I can ever want someone. That’s why I want to do this the right way. So tell your pretty little mind how crazy I am about you, because I will never get tired proving it to you. I want and I will kiss all those worries away, get rid of all those doubts in your head until all you can think about is me.”

The way he’s looking at you tells you everything you needed to know, and his words just proved to you that this man means everything.

The following days, that conversation floated inside Seungcheol's head. Even though you came to him full of worries, which he shut down quite fast, atleast now instead of running away from him you came straight to him for answers.

And to you, that's a big deal. A huge step for you, a big win for him. He's so proud of how far you've come.

That's exactly why now he's staring at his computer screen, but he wasn’t actually reading anything. His mind was elsewhere, circling the same thought over and over.

"Hey."

Joshua’s voice snapped him out of it. He looked up to see his friend leaning against the doorway of his office, arms crossed, a knowing look on his face

"You’ve been spacing out for the past ten minutes," Joshua said, stepping inside. "What’s up?"

Seungcheol exhaled, rubbing his temple. "Nothing."

Joshua raised an eyebrow. "You? Lost in thought like this? Yeah, that’s not ‘nothing.’"

Seungcheol rolled his chair back slightly, leaning against it. His jaw tightened before he finally admitted, "How do you know if it’s too soon to say something?"

Joshua frowned slightly. "Say what?"

Seungcheol hesitated, then shook his head. "Doesn’t matter."

Joshua scoffed, dragging a chair over and sitting down across from him. "Oh, it definitely matters."

Seungcheol let out a slow breath. He wasn’t the type to get caught up in things like this. He had always been rational, controlled. But now?

Now, he was thinking about you. How you felt curled up against him. How you whispered things when you’re half-asleep. How one pout from you and it’s messing with his head without even realizing it.

Joshua watched him closely. "You know you’re terrible at being vague, right?"

Seungcheol let out a humorless chuckle. "Shut up."

Joshua smirked. "It’s about her, isn’t it?"

Seungcheol didn’t respond, which was response enough.

Joshua leaned back, thoughtful. "You’re wondering if it’s too soon to tell her how you feel."

Seungcheol’s fingers tapped against his desk. "It’s... complicated."

Joshua tilted his head. "Is it? Or are you just scared?"

"I’m not scared."

Joshua just smirked, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh."

Seungcheol shot him a glare. "I’m not." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. "I know how I feel."

That was the problem. He wasn’t second-guessing himself. He wasn’t unsure. He knew exactly what he wanted, exactly how much he cared about you. That wasn’t the issue.

The issue was what if he said it and you freaked out? What if you weren’t ready to hear it? What if he messed this up when things were finally good between you two?

He had worked so damn hard to get here, to get past your walls, to get you to trust him. If he said the words too soon, would you take a step back? Would you run?

Joshua was watching him, a knowing look in his eyes. "So... what are you going to do?"

Seungcheol exhaled. "I don’t know."

Joshua nodded slowly. "Well, you better figure it out. Because from what I can see? You’re already in deep."

Seungcheol had been acting different.

It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing anyone else would notice, but you did. He was still the same—still teasing, still touching you when he could, still looking at you in that way that made your stomach flip. But there was something underneath it all, a tension in his shoulders, a weight behind his eyes, like he was carrying something he wasn’t saying.

And you hated that.

You hated when people acted like they wanted to say something but didn’t. It made you anxious, made your mind wander to all the worst possible reasons. Was he mad at you? Annoyed? Regretting something?

You tried to ignore it at first. You didn’t want to overthink things, didn’t want to make a big deal out of nothing. But it had been days, and it was still there.

Like now.

You were at his place, curled up on his couch, your legs resting over his lap as he scrolled through something on his phone. It should’ve been a normal moment but you weren’t relaxed. Not when you could feel it—his energy, the stiffness in his posture, the way he wasn’t fully present.

You narrowed your eyes. "Okay, what’s up with you?"

Seungcheol looked at you, brow raised. "What?"

"Don’t what me," you shot back, sitting up a little. "You’ve been weird. Tense. You keep looking like you wanna say something but then don’t, and I don’t like it."

His mouth parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. And that just pissed you off more.

You swung your legs off him and sat up properly, arms crossing. "Seriously? You’re still not gonna say anything?"

"There’s nothing to say," he finally answered, running a hand through his hair.

"Bullshit."

His head snapped toward you, startled by the change in your tone

"You think I can’t tell? You think I don’t notice?" You shook your head, jaw clenched. "I hate when people do this. When they keep things to themselves like I’m too fragile to handle it. So either say whatever it is, or stop acting like you’re carrying the weight of the world."

Seungcheol exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch. "It’s not that simple."

"Why not?"

"Because," he said, voice low, "I don’t wanna mess this up."

That gave you pause.

Your frustration flickered with something else, something softer, something unsure. "Mess what up?"

His eyes met yours then—dark and unreadable, but heavy with meaning. And suddenly, you felt tense. Seungcheol watched as you pushed off the couch, your jaw tight, your movements sharp. You didn’t even look at him as you grabbed your phone and hoodie from the coffee table.

"What are you doing?" he asked, voice low

"Leaving," you said shortly. That one word had something hot and annoyed burning in his chest.

"You’re really gonna walk out just because I don’t want to talk about something right now?"

You let out a humorless laugh. "I don’t wanna say anything else that’s gonna piss me off even more, so yeah, I’m leaving."

Seungcheol stood then, stepping toward you. "You’re mad."

"No shit," you bit out, finally meeting his eyes.

He could see it—the way your hands gripped your hoodie tighter, the way your expression was carefully set, like you were forcing yourself to hold back.

He took another step closer, his voice softer. "Hey."

You didn’t move away, but you didn’t soften either. "Fine," you said, shaking your head. "Don’t say it. Keep whatever it is to yourself. But don’t act like I’m imagining this."

Then you turned toward the door. And for a second, he let you but the moment your fingers touched the handle, something in him snapped.

"Wait."

You paused, but you didn’t turn around. Seungcheol exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He could let you go. He could pretend this tension between you wasn’t suffocating him, that he wasn’t overthinking every second he spent with you now.

But he couldn’t.

"Wait," he said again, softer this time.

You still didn’t turn around, but you didn’t move either.

"I—" He hesitated, clenching his jaw. He had to say something, or he was going to lose you to this stupid misunderstanding.

"I don’t want to keep anything from you," he admitted. "But I’m trying to figure out how to say it so I don’t fuck this up."

At that, you finally turned, your eyes narrowing. "Fuck what up?"

He let out a frustrated laugh, rubbing his face. "Us, obviously."

Your lips parted slightly, and for the first time, he saw the flicker of doubt in your eyes. "Why would you think that?"

"Because I feel something, and I don’t know if it’s too soon to say it. I don’t know if you’re ready to hear it."

Your breath caught, and he saw your fingers twitch by your side.

"But the way you’ve been looking at me," you whispered, voice quieter now. "It’s been messing with my head. I don’t like not knowing."

"I know," he said, stepping closer. "And I don’t want to make you feel like that."

You held his gaze, searching his expression for something, anything that would make this all make sense. "Then just say it, Seungcheol," you murmured. "Whatever it is."

Seungcheol took a deep breath, his fingers twitching like he was holding himself back. Then, with a quiet chuckle—one that sounded more like surrender than amusement—he finally said it.

"I love you."

The words hung between you, heavy and charged.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you just stared at him, like your brain needed time to process what he'd just said. "You—"

"I love you," he repeated, firmer this time. "And I know it’s fast, but it doesn’t change the fact that I do."

You were silent, and his heart pounded in his chest. He wasn’t scared of how he felt—he never was—but this was the first time he was terrified of what you’d do with it.

When you finally spoke, your voice was small. "You weren’t going to tell me?"

"I wanted to," he admitted. "But I didn’t want to push you before you were ready."

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. "You idiot."

His brows lifted. "What?"

Before he could say anything else, you stepped forward and grabbed his face, pulling him down into a kiss. It wasn’t gentle, wasn’t careful—it was desperate, like you were making up for every second you spent doubting him.

He groaned into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you impossibly close. When you finally broke apart, you stayed there, forehead resting against his, breath uneven.

"You love me," you whispered, like you were still trying to believe it.

"Yeah," he murmured, his thumb stroking the side of your face. "I do."

You swallowed hard. "Then say it again."

He huffed out a soft laugh, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before whispering against them, "I love you."

You just hug him, burying your face into his chest, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. You don't say it back—not yet—but you don’t freak out either.

"You're an idiot," you mumble against his shirt.

Seungcheol lets out a soft laugh, his hands running up and down your back. "I figured that much"

You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him. "You're an absolute idiot for thinking I’d run away now."

Something in his expression softens, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on your waist.

"So... you're not mad anymore?" he asks, a bit cautious, a bit hopeful.

You roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "Maybe at myself. The world, I don't know," you sigh, shaking your head before leaning back into his chest. "But I’m not running away, so you better deal with it."

Seungcheol chuckles, holding you even closer, his chin resting on top of your head. "Oh, I’ll deal with it just fine." he doesn’t let go. If anything, he holds you even tighter, like he's afraid that if he loosens his grip even a little, you might change your mind.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice warm against your hair, "I really wasn’t trying to keep anything from you. I just… I didn’t want to mess this up."

You sigh, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "You almost did."

He chuckles, but it’s breathy, like he knows how close he came. "Yeah. Noted."

You tilt your head back, looking up at him. His eyes are searching yours, and you can tell he’s still a little hesitant, still waiting for you to process everything.

But you stay there, in his arms, with him. No running away, no deflecting, no hiding away. Then you smile, kissing him softly like you know he'll know what you wanted to say.

And he does.

It's the end of another long workday, the only redeeming part of it is when your boyfriend texted you letting you know he'll come and pick you up. Though for Seungcheol it's the norm, he just likes updating you.

He barely has time to react before you're already right in front of him, practically bouncing on your feet. His eyes widen slightly at your enthusiasm, and then—he smirks.

"What’s with the happy energy?" he teases, arms already opening for you.

You don’t even answer, just throw your arms around his neck, hugging him tight. "I just missed you," you mumble against his shoulder.

He chuckles, wrapping his arms securely around your waist. "Yeah?" he murmurs, voice warm. "That much?"

You nod, still clinging to him. "Mhm. And my day was annoying, so fix it."

He huffs a small laugh and pulls back slightly to look at you. "Fix it, huh? And how am I supposed to do that?"

You dramatically sigh. "I don’t know. Be my boyfriend or something."

Seungcheol grins, tilting his head. "Oh? Thought I already was."

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your smile. "You are. I’m just reminding you."

He chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before opening the car door for you. "Well then, let me take my girlfriend home."

You pretend to think. "Hmm… ice cream first?"

His eyes narrow playfully. "So that’s why you missed me." He laughs, shaking his head, before pulling you into another hug. "Alright, ice cream first. Then home."

Seungcheol glances at you from the driver’s seat, watching as you hum along to the song playing on the radio, fingers drumming idly against your thigh. There’s something light about you now, something warm and unguarded.

He never thought he’d get to see you like this. Not after how hard you pushed him away in the beginning. But now, here you are—grinning at him like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

"What?" you ask, catching his stare.

He shakes his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing. Just… I like seeing you like this."

You blink. "Like what?"

"Happy," he says simply.

Your smile falters just a little, eyes searching his like you’re trying to understand him. You still have those moments, where doubt creeps in, where you hesitate—but they’re fewer now. And even when they do come, Seungcheol just holds on tighter.

"I am happy," you finally say, quieter now.

His hand reaches for yours, fingers intertwining effortlessly. "Good."

For a while, neither of you say anything. You just hold his hand, tracing little shapes against his skin absentmindedly. He doesn’t miss the way you squeeze his fingers, like you’re reassuring yourself that he’s really there.

It hits him all at once—how much he loves you.

How every part of you, even the difficult parts, even the stubborn parts, only makes him love you more.

That night, you’re at his place again, curled up on the couch with him. The TV is on, but neither of you are really watching. You’re leaning against his side, playing with his fingers, and Seungcheol just watches you—completely, utterly taken by you.

"You’re staring again," you mumble without looking up.

"Told you, can’t help it," he says, voice warm with amusement. You roll your eyes but don’t pull away. Instead, you let out a little sigh and shift closer, practically molding yourself against him.

"Comfy?" he teases.

You nod against his chest. "Mhm. You’re warm."

Seungcheol chuckles, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close. These are the moments he treasures the most—the quiet ones, when you let yourself just be with him without hesitation.

"You’re staying over, right?" he asks after a while.

You hum, considering it. "Do you want me to?"

He scoffs. "Obviously."

A small smile tugs at your lips. "Okay."

Seungcheol grins, satisfied. But then you shift again, resting your chin on his chest, looking up at him with that thoughtful expression he knows too well.

"What?" he asks.

You hesitate, like you’re deciding whether or not to say what’s on your mind. But then, after a beat, you ask, "What did you think of me when we first met?"

Seungcheol raises a brow. "You mean when you walked up to me all confident like you owned the place?"

You groan, burying your face in his shirt. "Forget it."

He laughs, pulling you even closer. "No, no. I liked it. I thought you were interesting. A little reckless, but definitely interesting."

You peek up at him. "And now?"

Seungcheol’s gaze softens, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. "Now I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me."

You stare at him for a moment, and Seungcheol swears he sees a million thoughts flicker across your face. But in the end, you don’t say anything—you just smile, a little shy, and nuzzle back into his chest.

He holds you tighter, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

Yeah, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

It happens so naturally that neither of you realize it at first.

It’s a lazy weekend morning, the kind where neither of you are in a rush to do anything. You spent the night at his place again, and now you’re curled up under the covers, half-awake, watching Seungcheol pull on a hoodie as he gets ready to leave for the gym.

"I’ll be back soon," he says, fixing his hair in the mirror

You nod sleepily, your voice still thick with drowsiness. "Okay. Bye, I love you."

Seungcheol freezes.

You don’t even notice—you just turn over, snuggling deeper into the blankets, eyes already fluttering shut again.

It takes him a full five seconds to process what just happened.

You said it. I love you. Just like that, so effortlessly, so naturally, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

His heart is pounding.

Does he wake you up? Does he say it back right now? Should he pretend he didn’t hear it and bring it up later? What is he supposed to do with this information?

Seungcheol lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair. He glances back at you—you’re already asleep again, completely unaware of the internal crisis you just threw him into.

With a small, almost incredulous smile, he leans down, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead.

"I love you too," he murmurs, even though you’re not awake to hear it.

And with that, he leaves, a stupid grin on his face the entire way to the gym.

Later when he comes back from his workout, he's practically bouncing on his feet. Seungcheol walks through the door with an energy that’s almost suspicious. He’s humming—actually humming—as he tosses his gym bag aside and heads straight for the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

You, curled up on the couch with your phone, raise an eyebrow at him. "Why are you so jolly?"

He grins, twisting the cap off his water bottle. "Can’t a guy just be in a good mood?"

"No, not you. You, specifically, are annoyingly smug right now," you counter, narrowing your eyes. "What happened at the gym? Did you beat Joshua at something?"

Seungcheol lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. "No, nothing like that." He takes a sip of water, still smiling

You watch him for a second, suspicious. "You're acting weird."

"Am I?" he teases, walking over to you. Before you can protest, he flops onto the couch beside you, pulling you into his arms with ease. "Maybe I’m just happy to see my girlfriend."

You squint at him. "Okay, now I know something’s up."

Seungcheol just chuckles, squeezing you tighter as he buries his face into your shoulder. "You’re overthinking, baby."

You poke his cheek, trying to get a read on him. He’s still grinning, a little too happy, but whatever it is, he’s clearly not going to tell you. You sigh, deciding to drop it—for now.

Instead, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He kisses the top of your head, and even though you don’t know why he’s in such a ridiculously good mood, you find yourself smiling anyway.

Seungcheol holds you close, his chin resting lightly atop your head. His voice is quieter now, softer, just for you. "I love you."

It’s not the first time he’s said it, and he never expects you to say it back—not until you’re ready.

But today, it feels different.

Today, he heard it from you first, even if you didn’t realize it. You shift slightly in his arms, letting out a sleepy hum, but you don’t react beyond that. You’re still completely unaware of what you said before he left earlier.

Seungcheol doesn’t mind, though. The words are still lingering in his chest, making everything feel a little bit lighter, a little bit warmer. He tightens his hold on you, just a little. He’ll wait until you’re fully aware of it, until you choose to say it again—because he knows you will.

For now, though, he just lets himself enjoy the moment.

What he doesn’t know is that you've been thinking about it too.

You didn’t realize how much space the thought was taking up in your head until recently. how much you wanted to say it, how much it sat at the tip of your tongue every time he smiled at you, every time he pulled you closer without a second thought.

You've always been cautious with your feelings, but with Seungcheol, it feels different. It is different.

"You're thinking too hard," he finally says, pulling you from your thoughts.

You blink, turning to him. "What?"

His eyes crinkle with a teasing grin. "You're staring at the TV, but you haven’t reacted to anything in the last twenty minutes. Either you’re really bad at watching dramas, or something’s on your mind."

You open your mouth, then close it again, hesitating. If only you knew that he was fighting the same battle—wondering when you'd say it, waiting to hear it again, completely unaware that it had already slipped past your lips once before.

You exhale, shaking your head. "It’s nothing."

Seungcheol just hums, reaching over to tug you into his side. He doesn’t press, doesn’t push. Neither of you knows that you’re both waiting for the same thing.

You feel the warmth of his palm as he rubs gentle circles on your back. His voice is soft, comforting, steady—just like him.

"You know you can tell me, right?" he murmurs, his eyes searching yours. "Anything. I’ll be here. But take your time."

Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of his hoodie. You want to say it. You really do. The words feel heavy on your tongue, but there’s still something in you that holds back—maybe fear, maybe habit.

Seungcheol doesn’t push. He never does. He just stays close, waiting, patient as ever.

You nod, resting your forehead against his shoulder. "I know."

And he just smiles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Good."

Little does he know, the next time you say it, you’ll be wide awake and it happened in the middle of a completely ridiculous argument.

“You’re doing it wrong,” you insist, arms crossed as you watch him attempt to assemble the shelf you bought.

He scoffs, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’m doing it wrong? I literally followed the instructions!”

“You’re not supposed to tighten that part first! It’s going to make the other side uneven.”

“That makes no sense.” He stares at you, completely baffled. “How does that even—?”

“Cheol, baby, I love you, but you’re being so stubborn right now.”

Silence.

Your own words register a second too late, and your eyes widen in horror. Seungcheol, on the other hand, freezes mid-motion, screwdriver in hand, looking at you like you just knocked the wind out of him.

You both just… stare at each other.

Then he slowly puts the screwdriver down, standing up to his full height, taking a step toward you. “What did you just say?”

You immediately backtrack. “I said you’re stubborn—”

“No, no, before that.” His lips are curving into a slow smile now, eyes practically glowing with amusement.

Your face burns. “I—nothing, it’s nothing—”

He traps you against the counter in a second, hands braced on either side of you. “Say it again.”

Your heart is pounding. “Cheol—”

“Sweetheart—” he drawls, voice teasing.

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “I hate you.”

He chuckles, effortlessly prying your hands away. “That’s not what you said.”

“I am never speaking again.”

His grin softens as he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Too bad, ‘cause I love hearing you say it.”

And just like that, he kisses you, completely ruining your ability to argue back. Seungcheol pulls back just enough to look at you, his lips still curved into that teasing grin. “Say it again.”

You groan, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t budge. “Cheol—”

“Come on, just once more.” His voice is soft, coaxing, as if he’s trying to savor the moment.

You purse your lips, pretending to think. “Hmm. No.”

His grip on your waist tightens as he buries his face against your shoulder, groaning dramatically. “Baby, please.”

You laugh at how genuinely desperate he sounds. “I already said it once—”

“You accidentally said it. I need to hear it properly.” He pulls back again, looking at you with those warm brown eyes, filled with so much adoration it makes your stomach flip. “Please?”

You bite your lip, trying to hold back your smile, but it’s impossible. “I love you,” you finally mumble, cheeks warm. A full-blown grin takes over his face, and before you can react, he lifts you off the ground, spinning you around.

“I knew it! I knew you loved me!”

You yelp, holding onto him for dear life. “Cheol—put me down!”

“Never,” he declares dramatically, but he does set you back on your feet only to pepper your face with kisses, making you giggle.

He pulls back just slightly, his hands cradling your face. “Say it one more time?”

You roll your eyes, but the way he’s looking at you makes your heart melt. So you cup his face in return, smiling softly as you whisper, “I love you, Seungcheol.”

He kisses you like he’s been waiting forever to hear that. And honestly, you think you could get used to this.

You never thought you’d be here. Wrapped up in Seungcheol’s arms on a lazy Sunday morning, his even breathing against your hair, your legs tangled together like there wasn’t a time you used to push him away.

It still amazes you sometimes. How this happened. How he happened.

Seungcheol shifts, arms tightening around you as he mumbles something incoherent. He’s warm, comfortable, and you let yourself sink into him for a little longer before peeking up at his face.

“Hmm?”

“I said,” he repeats, voice raspy from sleep, “you should get up and make breakfast today.”

You snort. “No thanks.”

He groans dramatically. “You’re lucky I love you.”

That makes you pause, thinking back to how long it took you to get here—to be able to hear those words and not flinch, to not shut him out at the first sign of something real.

When you first met him, you were all sharp edges and walls built so high even you weren’t sure how to break them down. You’d walked into his life all confidence and bravado, pretending like you could handle him, only to realize you’d bitten off more than you could chew.

And still, he stayed.

Through every time you tried to push him away, through every moment of doubt, through every scar you never wanted to talk about—he stayed. He waited.

“You okay?” he murmurs now, pulling back to look at you. His eyes are soft, filled with something so deep it makes your chest ache.

You nod, smiling a little. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” His gaze lingers like he knows you’re thinking about something, but he doesn’t push. He never does. He just looks at you with love you thought you'll never feel again, arms feeling like a home you thought you'd never find.

So, naturally, you decide to ruin the moment.

“Though, if we’re talking about luck,” you muse, dragging a finger down his chest, “you are the lucky one here.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes.” You hum, barely biting back a grin. “Because who else would deal with your ridiculous gym obsession, your clinginess, and—oh! The way you steal the blankets every night?”

Seungcheol gasps, scandalized. “I steal the blankets?”

“Yes.”

“Baby, you are the thief here. I wake up freezing at least twice a week because you bundle yourself up like a burrito—”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

He huffs before suddenly rolling over, pinning you beneath him. “You’re lucky I’m patient.”

You grin up at him. “You’re lucky I let you love me.”

"Baby, give credit where it's due. I worked hard to be here" he jokingly says, cuddling you even more. And he really did, he is exactly the man he said he is. He didn't leave, he stayed when it mattered. He never let you go when you wanted to disappear.

To him, you will always be worth all that wait. It wasn't luck. It was him being sure of you from that very first night. It was luck when you saw him that night at the bar.

But the rest, that's all him and you. It's hardwork but with the person, with you, it's easy.

And that’s why, despite all the teasing and the banter, you lift a hand to cup his cheek and whisper, “Thank you for waiting for me.”

That makes something flicker in his eyes, something real and tender, because you both know how hard it was for you to accept love—to accept him.

His face softens, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Always.”

And really, this is how life with Seungcheol is—full of laughter, playful teasing, and more love than you ever thought possible. You never expected to let someone in so completely, but here he is, and you wouldn’t change a thing.

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dreamersparacosm · 3 months ago

Text

jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part six)

warnings ; he’s on his knees for her <3, oral (f recieving)

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; two things. 1) this is the LONGEST part of tpod i think (might also be longest piece ive written in a fic so far.) and 2) if you don’t listen to guilty as sin on repeat while reading you are depriving yourself of an amazing reader experience. i don’t even know how we got here. one second she was yelling at him in a hallway, and the next she’s sleeping on his chest. godspeed to these idiots. they’re not surviving this. (also!!! there are a ton of nods to korean culture in this part, and i consulted some of my korean friends for this but please excuse any inaccuracies, i am just a wee little hispanic girl)

playlist here

series masterlist here

You feel sick.

Not like, “Oh no, I need electrolytes and sleep” sick. This is existential sick. Your organs are staging a coup and your soul is clenching in protest. Sure, your body aches, your temples are pounding, your limbs feel like wet cement, and your eyes burn from lack of sleep but that’s the surface-level stuff. That’s the kind of sickness you can fix with ibuprofen and a nap.

This ailment seeps into your bones. It hits you every time you close your eyes and see him again: his mouth, his hands, the way you let it happen not once but twice, like you had no self-respect or higher brain function whatsoever.

It’s that part that makes you want to unzip your skin and crawl out of it.

The first time was a fluke. A stress-induced catastrophe you swore you’d bury six feet under.

But then you did it again with full awareness and zero hesitation, like a woman possessed.

Now it’s as if your inner compass has spun a few degrees off course. You’ve crossed some invisible, irreversible line, and no amount of denial can rewind the tape.

You haven’t slept or eaten. Every time you try to focus on an email, a pitch deck, even something as simple as drinking coffee, your brain decides, “Hey, remember that time you moaned his name in a trailer?”

You actually haven’t seen him since that day. You’ve been dodging him like a coward, like some freshly heartbroken intern who can’t handle a one-night stand.

If you were smart like your two higher education degrees said you were, you would strut into that next meeting like nothing happened, as if he were just another brand ambassador. Like your panties didn’t hit the floor faster than your standards.

But every time you try to channel that version of yourself, the one who takes no shit and always wins, something inside you flinches.

You try and go back to your default setting. You sit through meetings with a frozen smile and fraying nerves, pretending like you’re not unraveling at the seams. You even let your team drag you out for drinks, which frankly, should’ve won you an Oscar for pretending to be fun.

Recently, being around people makes your skin itch. The laughter is too loud, lights too bright. All you can think about is how to not think about him.

Late at night, the guilt creeps in. Mostly because deep down, you know this isn’t just about you. For all the ways Jungkook is reckless and infuriating, you know he doesn’t deserve to be treated like some regrettable error code in your system.

Yet, that’s what you did when you left that trailer with no explanation. You ghosted him like he was the mistake, as if it wasn’t you who wanted him just as badly.

Somehow, that realization stings more than the memory itself.

It’s fine. You’ll figure it out. You have to. Otherwise, if it goes on a second longer, you’re not sure there’ll be anything left of you to come back to.

All this to say — you should’ve known this day was coming. Should’ve seen it cresting on the horizon like a storm you pretended wouldn’t reach you.

The second you step into the sleek, glass-walled conference room, Calvin Klein execs already seated, you go still.

Jungkook is seated in one of the chairs in a black T-shirt, silver rings, the glint of his bracelets catching in the fluorescent light.

You swear when your heels click across the floor, his fingers pause on the rim of his water bottle.

You don’t dare look at him. For one long, silent, bone-melting second, no one says a word. Then, as if summoned by the gods, Daniel drops into the seat beside you. His expression: the human equivalent of a side-eye emoji.

You ignore him, letting out an exhale and flipping open your laptop like this is just another Tuesday (It actually is.)

The meeting starts, the campaign rundown begins… and your body is here physically. But your mind is trying not to flinch every time Jungkook shifts in his chair and failing not to notice how quiet he’s being.

“Jungkook,” one of the execs says, flipping through mock-ups, “we wanted to confirm, you’re still comfortable with the shirtless set for this shoot?”

It’s a standard question. Practically in the brand guidelines at this point.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he turns his head and looks at you.

You don’t meet his gaze, you really don’t have to. It feels like heat crawling up your neck, threading beneath your skin, sparking every nerve that has spent the last few days pretending he doesn’t exist.

“Yeah,” he finally says,“I don’t mind.”

You hate yourself for the way your heart reacts like it’s just been told a secret. Daniel shifts beside you as if he just got confirmation of a theory he’s been waiting to prove. Like he’s watching a house of cards start to tremble.

You grit your teeth, returning your attention to the presentation. Focus on the words, the charts, the goddamn revenue projections.

“I do have one concern,” Jungkook says.

Of course he does.

“I’m not sure the creative direction for the final set is the right call. It feels kinda stiff.”

One of the execs frowns. “Stiff?”

Jungkook’s tongue presses to the inside of his cheek, and you genuinely consider stabbing your pen through your own laptop just to escape.

“I think we could push it further,” he claims. “Make it feel more natural. Less staged.” He glances toward the campaign boards, then right back to you. “More real.”

You know exactly what he’s doing. Seeing if you’ll crack.

You press your fingers against the cool surface of the table, and speak without even blinking. “If it were any more real, Jungkook, we’d be selling porn, not denim.”

A snort comes from where Daniel sits.

Jungkook blinks and there’s a gleam in his eyes like you just gave him exactly what he wanted.

The conversation shifts, and the meeting rolls forward and suddenly, every damn thing out of his mouth sounds like it belongs in an 18+ warning.

“We just need the right amount of tension in the shot,” he muses, “So it doesn’t feel forced.”

“It should build naturally,” he adds. “Slow. Like… foreplay.”

Okay, he didn’t technically say that last part, but your body hears it anyway.

“We want the final shots to feel… intimate,” the creative director chimes in, flipping through references. “Jungkook, how comfortable are you with that?”

You hold your breath and beg every god to spare you. Jungkook hums thoughtfully, as if he’s considering it.

“Oh, I don’t mind getting up close,” he says. “In fact, I think it works better when there’s a little resistance first.“

You keep your face blank, posture perfect. You will not give him the satisfaction. Then, deadpan as ever, you say, “Yes, Jungkook, we all know how much you like resistance.”

The creative director chokes on his water so violently you’re certain he is thisclose to calling HR. Daniel claps a hand over his mouth and one of the managers goes wide-eyed.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Jungkook retorts,”I’m just a professional. I take direction very well.”

Your grip tightens around your pen, not enough to snap it in half but the threat is present.

This exact scenario is what you didn’t want. The not-so-subtle slide from professional sparring to something laced with all the things you refuse to untangle mentally. Once upon a time, you could bicker with Jungkook without consequence. Once upon a time, it was just sharp words with no bite.

“Oh?” you inhale slowly. “Is that so? Because I was under the impression you didn’t take direction at all.”

One of the executives mutters something that sounds suspiciously like Jesus Christ.

He shakes his head, a lock of dark hair falling into his eyes, and when he looks at you again, it’s with a quiet intensity that makes your skin feel too tight. “I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises.”

You hate him with the force of a thousand campaign deadlines and every broken rule you swore you wouldn’t cross. You hate that it’s starting to feel easy for you, too. He’s not just a threat. In a way, you almost like the way he matches you and pushes back.

You force yourself and your colleagues to turn back to the agenda, but Jungkook’s still watching you out of the corner of his eyes, a small smirk on his plump lips.

After all, he’s the one who set the trap.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You tell yourself you’re counting down the days. The days until the final shoot wraps, the campaign boards come down, and Jungkook is no longer orbiting your every waking hour like some satellite with boundary issues.

You should be relieved, thrilled even. Practically dancing in designer heels down the halls of your career triumph.

There’s something off about it though. Kind of like you’re hurtling toward the finish line of a race you no longer remember signing up for, only to realize you might not like what’s waiting on the other side.

This campaign is a career-defining achievement, an international spectacle you crafted. It is a global masterpiece. You are exhausted over it, and not just jet-lagged. You are cosmically, soul-deep spent. Every fiber of you is stretched too thin like a rubber band pulled tight and desperate not to snap.

You know exactly what the problem is, if you put your finger on it. It’s Jungkook, with his stupid eyes and stupid mouth. He is a glitch in your meticulously controlled system, a variable you didn’t plan for. And no matter how many spreadsheets you bury yourself in, how many mockups you sign off on, how many creative calls you reroute just to avoid being alone in a room with him, he refuses to stay in the box you need him to fit inside.

So yes. You need this to be over. You need to get him out of your sight, out of your schedule, out of your brain where he’s taken up residence like an overconfident squatter who refuses to pay rent.

The hotel lobby is quiet at this hour. A soft hum of jazz leaks from the overhead speakers, and there’s a faint murmur of laughter spilling from the hotel bar, but it all blurs into the background.

Meanwhile you’re drowning in deliverables and deck revisions and approval threads that have turned your inbox into a graveyard. Your laptop screen glows against the dim, gold-toned lighting. Your fingers fly over the keyboard, mechanical and joyless. You haven’t looked up in at least an hour, probably longer. Your hair is a mess, twisted into a knot that started off intentional and devolved into chaos.

This is the version of you that never stops; the one who doesn’t get the luxury of rest and who runs on cortisol and cold coffee.

Your team had gone out earlier, and they begged you to come for one drink. One hour.

“You need to breathe,” they had said, like it was that simple. You told them you didn’t have time (you really didn’t.) Not when your brain is a warzone and the enemy wears silver rings and makes your knees feel like glass.

So there you are, hunched in a stool at the bartop, your spine begging for mercy, your wine glass sweating beside you, half-finished and entirely forgotten.

Your phone buzzes beside your laptop, the screen lighting up with a name you haven’t said out loud in weeks. Eomma. You glance at it once, jaw tightening, and then flip it over without answering. It’s muscle memory at this point, hitting decline or letting it go to voicemail. The call fades to silence, but the tension lingers, settling beneath your skin with something you don’t have the time or emotional bandwidth to unpack.

Your fingers return to the keyboard, determined. You don’t look up when voices murmur near the bar. Don’t flinch when the elevator dings in the distance. You don’t even care when some kid starts running around the hotel lobby being chased by overwhelmed parents.

Clearly, you have a knack for calling your own fate.

A shadow slices across your screen and your fingers stop mid-sentence, stomach dropping like it’s suddenly remembered how to feel.

When you look up, despite already knowing exactly who it could be, you see Jungkook, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, eyes half-lidded, dark hair disheveled.

You’re a little shell-shocked, because he’s supposed to be somewhere else. Specifically, at the bar, with the team you said ‘no’ to.

Your eyes flick to the wine glass, then back to him. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs like he didn’t just appear in the one place you swore he wouldn’t. “What are you doing here?” he counters.

You gesture vaguely toward your laptop, fingers sweeping across the chaos of open tabs, spreadsheets, and campaign briefs like it’s all self-explanatory. Because it is (or it should be.) “Working,” you say flatly.

Jungkook tilts his head slightly, gaze flicking from your screen to the half-drained glass of wine beside it, then back to your face. “So this is what you do for fun?” he questions, “Sit alone in hotel lounges at midnight, buried in spreadsheets, slowly becoming one of your Google Docs?”

You exhale sharply, shoulders aching from hours hunched over this chair. “I don’t really have time for fun.”

He watches you, expression unreadable, trying to parse the subtext between your sentences. He then shifts his weight lazily from one foot to the other, eyes still locked on you.

“Why aren’t you with everyone else?” you ask, frowning like he’s broken some unspoken rule by appearing in your safe zone.

He shrugs again, “Didn’t feel like going.”

Your frown deepens. “You? Skipping drinks?”

“I know. Shocking,” he says, lips curling slightly. There’s humor there, but it’s quiet.

You glance back at your screen and try to refocus. Try to pretend his presence doesn’t shift the entire room two degrees warmer.

He pulls out the chair beside you and sits down. “Have you eaten?”

Goddamnit.

Your fingers stop mid-sentence. You blink once, eyes still on your screen. “What?”

“Food,” he repeats. “When was the last time you ate?”

You shift in your seat and glance at the time on your laptop: 11:43 p.m. That tells you nothing, because time stopped meaning anything after 8pm. Maybe 7pm.

You think back and try to remember, but then your stomach growls, as if it remembers. You refuse to give him the satisfaction, so you shrug, fingers already hovering back over your keyboard. “I’ve been busy.”

Jungkook lets out a breath, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “That’s not an answer.”

Your fingers move again, faster now, as if typing at warp speed might drown out the sound of his voice.

He lifts his hand. Flags the bartender down with two fingers and an easy nod.

Your head jerks up. “What are you doing?”

He turns to the bartender, all calm and goes, “Can we get a plate of whatever’s still warm back there? And another glass of wine.”

“Jungkook,” you snap like a warning, like if the idea of ordering food is so preposterous he needs to be scolded like a child.

He ignores it. “Thanks,” he smiles, nodding toward the bartender before turning back to you with that maddening, infuriatingly smug expression.

You glare at him. “I don’t need you to order for me.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, arms crossing lazily over his chest. He looks like he’s settling in for the night. “Clearly, you do. Since you seem completely incapable of basic survival.”

You resist the very real, very violent urge to slam your laptop shut just to make a point. “This isn’t necessary,” you mutter, reaching for your wine. You don’t know what unnerves you more: the fact that he ordered you food without asking or the fact that he’s probably right.

“Neither is skipping meals,” Jungkook retorts, shrugging like he’s merely stating a fact and not casually inserting himself into your personal life. “But here we are.”

You sit there, blinking at him. What the actual fuck is this? Jungkook has spent time out of his days making your life hell. Willingly and gleefully. It’s practically his part-time job.

And yet now he’s sitting next to you, body plopped in a stool like it’s something he does often. Not because he cares, obviously not. Right?

You stare blankly at your screen, face bathed in the cold blue glow of your laptop, brows pulled in like they’re shielding you from the audacity radiating off the man to your left.

Jungkook drums his fingers against the table, light and absentminded, but you can feel the rhythm of it anyway. You haven’t really looked at him since he sat down. Not even when he forced you to acknowledge that the last thing you put in your body was probably a coffee you forgot to finish six hours ago and some white wine.

Normally, your stubbornness would amuse him. Your compulsive need to be in control. Your single-minded obsession with perfection. The way you pretend you’re made of steel, even when your body’s clearly crying out for rest.

Still, he tries. “What are you even working on this late?”

You exhale through your nose like he’s an annoying notification popping up mid-presentation. “Contracts. Final reports. Things you don’t need to worry about.”

He hums. “You ever stop working?”

“No.” Your shoulders slump even more.

He lets out a snort, “That’s depressing.”

You keep typing like the fate of the free world hinges on your ability to update a pivot table. Jungkook eyes you for a beat, then shifts forward, forearms resting against the marble bartop.

“What’s left on the campaign?” he asks, “Last shoot is this week, right?”

You make a noise, something between a hum and a sigh, and click through to another document. “Yeah.”

“And after that?” he presses.

You pretend to be oddly interested in adjusting a cell in a spreadsheet. “You know the deal. Press tours, magazine exclusives, and then launch.”

“And after launch?”

That makes you pause. He should know how this works like the back of his hand. You glance up, brow raised, annoyed. “What is this, an interrogation?”

He grins, unbothered. “Just trying to figure out when you’ll finally relax.”

You scoff. “I don’t relax.”

“Yeah,” he says, lips twitching, “no shit.”

You roll your eyes and go back to work, but he’s still watching you, fingers tapping idly against the wine glass the bartender brought out for him, gaze thoughtful.

For the first time since this campaign began, for the first time since your constant sparring became something else, seeing you like this doesn’t give him that same satisfaction. You look like you’re one poorly worded email away from full collapse, and that… doesn’t feel like a win.

The bartender returns quietly, placing a plate in front of you. A burger, fries, and a glass of water with more wine. The scent alone breaks your focus; crispy potatoes, buttery toasted bun, something grilled and undeniably American.

Your fingers hover mid-keystroke. You blink at the plate and let out a laugh. “Really? A burger? In Korea?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Hey, I asked for anything warm. Plus, you needed something quick and easy. Not too complicated.”

He pauses for a second, “Kind of like you.”

You shoot him a look, utterly unimpressed. “Ha. Ha.”

Jungkook grabs a fry off your plate like it’s his, gesturing for you to follow. “Eat.”

You cross your arms, “I don’t have time.”

“Yeah, you do,” he says, motioning at your food. “Besides, I’m not leaving until you do.”

You make a face, a full-body grimace of indignation and something dangerously close to a pout. You roll your eyes so hard it nearly counts as exercise and mutter something under your breath, but just as you’re about to double down on your disdain, your stomach growls. Your own body has betrayed you completely.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow with quiet delight, and barks out a laugh, entirely too pleased with himself.

You glare at him like you’re deciding whether prison time is worth it. Painfully and dramatically, you grab a fry. It’s an exaggerated, defiant motion. You nibble at the end of it like it’s a hostage negotiation.

Jungkook hums, “There we go. Not so hard, was it?”

You don’t dignify that with a response. You just take another bite with the same energy as someone doing squats at gunpoint, while your other hand keeps typing, eyes locked on the glowing blur of your spreadsheet. If you don’t look at him, it doesn’t count.

And then because he’s a menace and a flirt and apparently clinically incapable of shutting up, he leans forward. “You know, pouty looks good on you.”

Very slowly, very deliberately, you lift your gaze. To him, it finally feels like you’re not truly ignoring him.

From there, the conversation doesn’t happen all at once. It unfolds gradually, kind of like rain soaking slowly into the sidewalk. You’re still typing, still pretending to work, your attention split between whatever meaningless data is on your screen and the man next to you who won’t stop peeling back your armor with casual little flicks of conversation.

Somehow, between reluctant bites of fries and the low hum of hotel jazz, you start talking. Just… regular conversation that isn’t heavy.

“So,” he begins, fingers tapping the side of his glass. “Calvin Klein. How’d you end up here?”

You click through some Excel sheets. “Hard work, a few miracles, a lot of people underestimating me.”

He tips his head. “Didn’t you say you started in New York?”

“I did. But I had internships in Seoul during university. They were smaller houses. Luxury branding though. I moved to the U.S. after I got the global marketing position.” It’s all now rolling off your tongue so easily.

“And now you run the whole thing.”

You acknowledge him, arching a brow. “Surprised?”

Jungkook smirks, snatching another fry. “Not really. But you’re younger than most people in your position, right?”

You sigh through your nose. “Yes, and most of them don’t let me forget it.”

Jungkook nods slowly. He gets it; the pressure, the eyes, the constant need to prove you belong in a room they never built for you in the first place.

“People underestimate you a lot, huh?” he asks.

“Always.”

“And you love proving them wrong.”

That makes you take a pause. You don’t rush to fill the silence, mostly because you don’t have to. It hangs there, soft and strange and long enough to feel like the truth.

“What about you?” you ask, shifting the conversation, not because you’re particularly curious, but because he’s looking at you too closely and you need a second to breathe.

Jungkook leans back in his chair, “What about me?”

“You became an idol when you were, what…12? 13? That couldn’t have been easy.”

His expression flickers briefly. A shift too subtle for most to notice, but you do.

“No,” he says quietly. “It wasn’t.”

You study him now, less like a challenge or a puzzle. But more so… as a person.

“Do you ever regret it?” You take a sip from your wine.

Jungkook tilts his head, gaze drifting somewhere else. “No. But…” He pauses. “I wonder, sometimes what it would’ve been like to be normal.”

You weren’t expecting the honesty. The way he says it with curiosity, like he’s asked himself the same question in the quiet of his own head a thousand times and never said it out loud until now.

“To be normal?” you echo, placing your glass down.

He nods. “To be anonymous. To go to school like everyone else. To have weekends. To do dumb shit without it ending up on some gossip site three hours later.”

You sit with that. You need a moment to let it rearrange the version of him you’ve built in your head. This is someone lonelier, someone who has been living in a fishbowl since he was a kid and still managed to become this.

“I get that,” you say, and it surprises you how much you mean it.

Jungkook turns back to you, eyes narrowing slightly. “You do?”

“I’ve spent my whole life working. I was always the youngest in every room, and every board I’ve ever had to sit on. I had to prove I belonged there. And sometimes I wonder… what if I didn’t? What if I’d taken my time and let myself be young?”

He leans forward again, resting his arms on the table, “Would you change anything?”

Your mind flickers to the sleepless nights, the overexerted ambition, the girls you once knew in Busan who married young and stayed put, your childhood apartment with the leaky sink and cheap wallpaper. To the version of you that never left.

You shake your head, “No. But I think about it sometimes.”

Jungkook nods like he understands. The conversation doesn’t end. It just… shifts. The sharpness between you remains, but it’s dulled, like a knife put back in its sheath. You talk about Busan, about the beaches, the old seafood stalls, the sleepy summers that felt longer when you were kids.

Jungkook grins when you mention the accent, eyes lighting up like he’s been waiting for this part. “Ah, so that’s why I heard you mutter ssibal under your breath the other day,” he teases. “Sounded like it came straight out of 2012.”

You roll your eyes, feigning offense. “It only comes out when I’m stressed.”

“So… constantly?”

You throw a fry at him. He dodges it, laughing.

For a moment, it feels simple. Like you’re not two people who should absolutely not be sitting here at midnight, eating fries and sharing childhood wounds.

“Be honest,” he muses, “When’s the last time you actually went back to Busan?”

And just like that, the easy feeling catches in your throat. The question lands soft but inside, it cracks something. Busan isn’t just a city to you. It’s a memory you’ve kept sealed shut, a version of yourself you’ve outgrown but never quite buried. For all the years you’ve spent running away from it, there’s always been that quiet fear gnawing at your ribs: that if you go back, even for a second, you might not know who you are anymore. Or worse, you’ll remember. You’ll remember the girl who left because staying felt like failure. Some days, when you’re too tired to lie to yourself, you wonder if that’s why you haven’t been back. Not because you can’t, but because you’re terrified you don’t belong there anymore.

You hesitate. For some reason, your fingers are still hovering over your keyboard, mid-sentence, mid-excuse, the cursor blinking like it’s waiting for you to remember who you are.

And then, without thinking, without looking at him, you reach up and close your laptop.

You have unconsciously waved a white flag of surrender.

“I try to go back at least once a year,” you sigh, “For Chuseok, if I can swing it.”

Jungkook hums warmly. “Big family?”

You nod. “Very.”

He smiles, already picturing it. “So you were one of those kids with fifty cousins sprinting around the yard, screaming over food and stealing snacks from the kitchen?”

You can’t help it; the memory makes your mouth twitch a little. “Yeah. My mom used to cook like she was feeding the entire peninsula. And every surface in the house would be covered in something, rice cookers, trays of fried food. It was chaos.”

Jungkook grins, “Let me guess. Seafood pancake the size of a steering wheel, enough kimchi jjigae to fill a kiddie pool, and at least one auntie bringing her secret homemade makgeolli in an old Sprite bottle?”

You laugh, tipping your head back slightly. “God. You really are from Busan.”

He shrugs proudly. “Born and raised.”

“The second I walked through the door,” you say, a little more softly now, “they’d shove rice balls and hot soup at me like I’d just returned from war.”

“That’s how you know you’re truly home,” Jungkook reminisces. “You’re not allowed to be hungry.”

Your stomach flips at that word. Home. It lodges itself beneath your ribs before you can stop it.

You clear your throat and shift in your seat. “What about you?” you question, redirecting the spotlight. “Big family?”

Jungkook plays with the stem of his wine glass. “Not as big as yours, probably. But it was enough. Me, my parents, my brother. We always spent the holidays together with food, board games, my mom yelling at us for eating before the table was set.”

“Did you ever get to do the normal Busan teenager thing?” You giggle lightly at the thought of it.

He raises a brow. “What, like sneaking out to Haeundae with your friends to watch the sunrise?”

Your eyes narrow into slits. “So you did?”

“Once or twice.” He shrugs again,. “You?”

You scoff, waving a hand in the air. “Please. I had it down to a science. Out the back door at 11:30. Home by 5:00, bed made, face washed, phone off. My mother never knew.”

Jungkook chuckles amusedly. “You were the responsible one, huh? The one dragging everyone else out of trouble?”

“Somebody had to be,” you say, lifting your glass for a slow sip.

“So serious,” he teases. “Even back then.”

You set the glass down, mouth curling. “You don’t get to where I am without a little discipline.”

His gaze drifts over your face, thoughtful. “I bet you still were rebellious though”

You raise a brow. “Oh yeah?”

He nods, lips curling. “I think you like breaking the rules more than you let on.”

You know he’s not talking about Busan or teenage rebellion or barefoot sprints down side streets with your shoes in your hands and curfews already blown to hell.

He’s talking about you and him. About how you keep drawing the line and then stepping over it. About the trailer, the conference room. About the fact that every time you say it’s the last time, whether it’s to yourself or to him, you never really mean it.You refuse to give him the satisfaction. There won’t even be a hint of agreement that shows. You roll your eyes and reach for another fry like it’s a mic you’re about to drop. You bite into it with the kind of pointed defiance usually reserved for toddlers.

“You think you know me, Jungkook?” you ask flatly.

He grins. “I think I’m getting there.”

The smart move, the safe move, the version of you that has this conversation under control would be to disagree with him.

Instead, you stare at him. Fingers still pressed against the slick condensation of your wine glass, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and indignation.

He says it so casually like he’s peeled back the first few layers and now he’s just waiting for you to stop pretending there’s nothing left underneath.

You need to remind him exactly who you are and exactly why you never let people get close. There’s this unfamiliar discomfort curling at the edge of your confidence.

What the hell is this? This slow, winding conversation that isn’t bait or bravado?

You pull your walls back up tightly. “Getting there?” you echo, “That’s optimistic.”

“I like my chances.”

You roll your eyes again. “You would.”

“I mean,” he says, mouth quirking, “you did close your laptop.”

Oh god. You hadn’t even noticed.

Jungkook watches it register and the way your posture stiffens. You shake your head quickly, a breath sharp through your nose, and reach for your laptop again with renewed purpose. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter. “I was just—”

“—taking a break?” he finishes for you,“Talking to me?”

“Admit it,” he keeps going, “I’m growing on you.”

You scoff instinctively. Shake your head like the idea is laughable. “You’re insufferable,” you say.

You really don’t know when it happened but you feel like you might be losing ground.

You tip your wine glass back, draining the last sip like it’s going to grant you strength, or clarity or at the very least the illusion of control. The warmth settles low in your chest, dull and steady, a quiet reminder that you’ve let this go on longer than you meant to. You exhale and push your chair back with a soft scrape against the floor.

“I need to go to bed,” you say, clipped with finality. “And so do you. Big shoot tomorrow.”

It should land like a period. A closing line.

Jungkook just sits there, no surprise and no protest.

Running is your specialty, isn’t it? Especially when things start feeling real.

You stand, smoothing your wrinkled hoodie tucking your phone into your pocket, gathering your laptop like it’s a shield.

Just as you turn, his hand finds your waist. It’s not demanding or aggressive. It’s simply there.

God, you hate how your breath stutters. Hate how, for one traitorous second, you almost lean into it. It’s not even the touch itself — it’s what it implies. The fact that he knows exactly how close he can get before you break.

You glance down at his hand, then up. He’s already looking at you, eyes dark, lips parted.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself, “Don’t.”

His thumb drags across the hem of your hoodie but you step back before you can fully indulge in it.

He lets go, hand falling back to his side. “You’re no fun,” he says matter-of-factly.

You exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “Go to bed, Jungkook.”

You turn on your heels, fingers tight around your laptop. You’re ready to walk away, to build distance, to pretend none of this ever happened—

“Wait. Hold on.”

You freeze. Clearly this is what he does. He gets you to stop.

Slowly, you turn back. Jungkook is still in his chair, spread-out limbs. “You’re wound up so tight, I’m surprised you can still breathe,” he notes.

You go stiff instantly. He just reached under your skin and found the part of you that you keep duct-taped shut. “Jungkook—”

“You’re stressed about tomorrow. The shoot. The campaign. Your never-ending checklist of things to fix, control, and solve.” He tilts his head, gaze locked on yours. “I can help you relieve some of that stress.”

Your feet are already pivoting away from him. “Shut up.”

“What? I’m being helpful. Offering a solution,” Jungkook’s shit-eating grin is a mockery of you.

You spin around so fast your hoodie sways with you. “A solution?” you snap. “You are the fucking problem.”

“Am I?” He stands up, shoulders relaxed. “Because from where I’m standing…”

He steps forward.

“…you look like you need me.”

Your stomach flips violently.

No. Nope. Absolutely the fuck not.

You straighten your spine, square your shoulders, roll every ounce of professional restraint back into place. “You’re delusional.”

“You push yourself too hard.” His voice is low, careful, almost maddeningly calm. “You skip meals. You forget how to sit still. You act like rest is something you have to earn.”

He’s not accusing you. Which somehow makes it worse. He’s just stating facts.

His gaze skims over your face like he’s cataloging every reaction, checking for any signs of a flicker of resistance.

Finally, after a minute, he says,”Let me take care of you.”

It doesn’t sound like seduction. It doesn’t sound like pity.

Maybe it’s the wine still buzzing low in your veins. Maybe it’s the exhaustion clawing at your spine. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve spent weeks holding yourself together, and he’s the first person to see it.

You don’t care or know.

Because when he extends his hand, rings glinting under the amber hotel lights, palm open like he’s not asking, but offering, you take it.

No quips. No eye rolls. No fight left to give.

You let him lead you through the quiet, cavernous lobby, past the sleeping concierge, into the elevator. The doors slide shut behind you with a soft click. Jungkook stands beside you, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw set. His reflection in the mirrored elevator wall watches you, even when he doesn’t turn his head.

You don’t look at him. You can’t. Somewhere between floor two and three, your mind flickers briefly to the last time you let someone in like this. The only man who ever got you to close your laptop without a fight. The only one who made you believe, for a second, that you didn’t have to choose between ambition and affection. You never really recovered from that, never fully trusted anyone not to resent the parts of you that needed to keep working. But now here’s Jungkook, pulling you away from your work without asking you to apologize for it.

Your skin is still humming from his touch, heart unable to stop tripping over itself.

The trailer was supposed to be the end. The final lapse. A mistake you could file under temporary insanity and bury beneath a mountain of brand deadlines and executive reports.

Now you’re here again. The numbers above the elevator door tick upward like a countdown to disaster.

Your grip tightens around your laptop, fingertips aching. In between the hotel bar and the lobby and this elevator, your resolve went quiet.

The elevator dings and you two shuffle out. All you can hear is the hush of carpet under your shoes, his steps right beside yours.

Jungkook stops in front of his door, pulls out the key card with one hand, swipes it through the reader, and the lock clicks open.

He doesn’t say anything. He steps aside, holding the door with one arm like he’s letting you decide.

You do.

You walk past him, cool air rushing out to meet your flushed skin, goosebumps blooming across your arms like your body already knows what’s coming.

When you turn around, he’s already looking at you. It’s not the usual look he wears. It’s not the push-your-buttons-and-watch-you-crack gaze he’s mastered. This one is quieter like he’s waiting for something to fall apart and praying it’s not him.

Before you can reason with yourself, before the part of you that’s still pretending to be composed can scream what are you doing, you move.

Your laptop slips from your hand, thudding softly against the carpet. Your phone tumbles after it. You don’t give a fuck.

Because your hands are already on him.

You push Jungkook back against the door, hard. He hits the wood with a quiet thud, breath knocked from his lungs in a sharp exhale, surprised, but not resisting.

And then, your mouth is crashing into his.

It’s not anything a sober, clear-headed version of you would allow. It’s reckless.

Your hands fist in his hair, dragging him closer like you’ve been aching to rip him apart. His lips part under yours, a groan caught between his teeth, his hands already on your waist, dragging you closer.

This isn’t like before. It’s not like that moment you swore you wouldn’t think about again and then did, over and over. It’s all the tension you’ve swallowed for weeks snapping like overstretched wire.

You moan into his mouth, and that’s it — he’s done pretending. His grip tightens, hands sliding down over the curve of your hips before curling under your thighs.

He lifts you up and your legs wrap around him on instinct, a breathless sound leaving your throat as Jungkook turns you, your back slamming against the door. His mouth drags down your jaw, down your neck.

“Fuck,” you whisper when his teeth scrape against the delicate skin beneath your ear.

His tongue flicks over your pulse point. His mouth sucks just hard enough to make your toes curl. His grip is bruising into your thighs, breath ragged against your skin.

“You’re been driving me insane,” he mutters. Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide.

You want to ruin whatever’s left of his self-control. You want to be the reason he snaps. If anyone’s going to unravel in this room, it’s going to be both of you.

Jungkook doesn’t even pretend to go for the bed. He sinks to his knees like worship comes naturally to him when it’s you he’s looking at. The door is still biting into your spine, but you barely notice it over the way his hands are already dragging your sweatpants down, knuckles brushing the bare skin of your waist. His breath is hot, lips swollen from the kind of kiss that could’ve shattered glass. Without hesitation, he yanks the sweatpants clean off your legs and flings them somewhere behind him. You’re ninety percent sure it lands on a lamp.

Maybe it’s the wine or the week you’ve had or the fact that you haven’t slept in days, but seeing him on his knees for you, hands splayed on your bare thighs, eyes hungry, does something catastrophic to your sanity. It really shouldn’t make your pulse skip like this.

His hands drag down your sides, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch he’s about to unveil. Fingers slipping just under the waistband of your underwear, knuckles brushing skin that’s already hot to the touch. He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, sliding the fabric down inch by torturous inch, watching it fall past your thighs, over your knees, pooling at your ankles.

And suddenly, you’re standing there completely exposed in nothing but your old hoodie and the heat of his gaze that burns straight through you.

His breath is uneven, jaw tense, eyes locked on your face. You try to stand still, to play it cool, but your chest is rising too fast and your hands are twitching like they don’t know where to go.

You opt to thread them into his hair instead. Your fingers tangle at the roots, nails scraping softly against his scalp, and that’s when he moves. Leaning in, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You suck in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans. His grip tightens around your thighs, anchoring you to the door, to him, to whatever this is rapidly becoming.

He mouths at your skin, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, higher, his tongue swiping gently, teasing, sending shivers up your spine so violently you nearly buckle.

When you look down, he’s already staring up. Like he could spend hours like this and still not get enough. Like you’re the answer to every sin he’s ever been tempted by.

“You look so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, hands skating up again, fingers curling just beneath the hem of your hoodie.

His teeth graze your skin enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You jolt instinctively, hips flinching forward.

“So pretty. So perfect,” he breathes, voice unsteady, like he means every damn word and hates how much he does. Before you can protest, before you can say anything about how close you are to the door, how thin the walls are, how anyone walking by could hear, Jungkook shushes you. “I want to take care of you.”

His hands spread you open. He licks up your slit as if he’s starving for it. That earns him a gasp from you, your head falling back against the door with a soft thud, fingers tightening in his hair so hard he groans into you.

Soft flicks of his tongue. Pressed kisses. A slow, slick circle around your clit that has your knees damn near giving out.

“Jungkook—” you whisper.

His hands grip tighter, holding your thighs open, making you take it. He looks up, eyes black with hunger, lips glossy with you, jaw set.

“Taste so fucking good,” he marvels, voice hoarse, lips hovering as his breath ghosts over your skin.

You can’t even answer. Can’t do anything but feel the drag of him licking into you like he’s rewriting your anatomy with his mouth alone.

He moans right into you, the sound vibrating straight through your core, and you cry out. “Oh my god,” you choke, nearly sliding down the door as your thighs start to tremble.

But Jungkook doesn’t let you go. He presses in deeper, groaning into your cunt like he’s home.

Jungkook is a goddamn menace. A man on a mission. On his knees like he’s praying, only you’re the altar, the sermon, the divine intervention he’s set on worshipping until you forget your own name.

His grip on your thighs tightens, fingers digging in like he’s trying to leave fingerprints behind. His palms press you wider, firmer, anchoring you against the door with nowhere to run.

His tongue is merciless, flicking over your clit, lapping you up like he’s dehydrated.

You’re past the point of composure or pride or anything that resembles logic.

“Fuck, Jungkook—” you choke out, the words punched out of your lungs in gasps.

Your head slams back against the door again as your thighs clench around his head, muscles spasming with every flick of his tongue.

He moans like he likes it when your legs shake. Like your desperation turns him on more than anything.

“That’s it,” he rasps, lips brushing against your soaked skin. “Fuck, baby. Give me more.”

He sucks on your clit, his mouth sealing tight around you like he’s trying to drink you dry.

The sound you make isn’t human. It tears from your throat, your core clenching around nothing, desperate for relief, for anything to ground you in the middle of how fucking good this feels.

You’ve never had someone so eager to fall apart between your legs. Had someone so content to stay there.

Jungkook groans again and it vibrates through your entire body like a shot to the spine. If anything, he goes harder. Two of his fingers, thick and deft, slide into you with devastating ease, like you were made to take them.

He doesn’t give you time. He just finds you already soaked and trembling and opens you up without mercy. Jungkook curls them upwards, knowing exactly where your sweet spot is, which normally would concern you that he knows your body well already, but instead you scream “Jungkook, oh my god.”

Your back arches clean off the door, fingers yanking at his hair like you’re trying to keep yourself from flying apart. His fingers pump into you at a brutal, perfect angle, dragging over that spot again and again and again.

His mouth wastes no time, already back on you, tongue flicking and sucking. “That’s it,” he pants, voice guttural, his mouth gleaming, his tongue ruthless. “You taste like fucking heaven.”

You moan out like you don’t care who hears, like you want the whole damn hallway to know. You’re too far gone to be embarrassed. You grind into his mouth like you’ve lost your mind, chasing the high he’s dragging you toward with no intention of letting up. “F-fuck, I’m gonna cum, don’t you dare stop.”

“Like I’d stop when you sound that pretty.“, he growls, “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

His fingers piston harder, his mouth sliding up and down with. You can’t take it. You can’t.

But he gives you no choice.

The orgasm hits you like whiplash. A cry tears out of your throat, your legs locking around his head, your hips jerking helplessly as you come undone on his fingers, on his mouth, on him. “Oh my, fuck, I’m cumming —“

You’re sobbing now, barely coherent. Your release gushes out of you, soaking his hand, his wrist, his lips and he moans like he’s grateful for it.

His tongue licks up every drop. His fingers move slower now, coaxing the last waves of pleasure from your twitching body. His hands never let go, one on your hip, the other buried inside you, keeping you still.

“My perfect girl,” he murmurs almost to himself, lips dragging over the tremble in your leg. “So perfect like this.”

And that’s when your knees finally give out. The second his fingers slip free, the second his mouth leaves your oversensitive skin, your body surrenders. You collapse onto the carpet and he catches you, strong arms sliding under your thighs and around your back. He eases you down to the carpet with him like you’re made of glass.

There’s sweat cooling on your neck, your pulse racing in your throat. He doesn’t dare say anything cocky or ruin it with a joke.

He’s not sure if he went too far. He almost knows he did and is waiting to see if you’ll push him away.

But you don’t. You physically can’t. Right now, in this moment, you don’t want to.

His breath is shallow, lips parted, glistening with you in the dim light. His eyes are dark, blown wide, barely human. Hunger carved into every line of his face. Like he’s weighing the options between dragging you back onto his tongue or flipping you over and fucking you from a new angle.

His hands sit idle on his thighs, slick with your release, itching to touch again. To finish what he started, even if you’re already wrecked. Even if he already knows you’d let him.

Your hands find his face, palms hot against his skin, and then your lips are on his, desperately and messy.

You kiss him like he’s oxygen. Like he’s the only way back to Earth. Like you’ve never tasted anything like yourself on someone else’s tongue and didn’t know it could make you need them more.

Jungkook groans into your mouth, and his hands fly to your waist, yanking you down into his lap like he’s been waiting for this permission.

You taste yourself on his tongue, feel how his chest heaves against yours, how his body is burning beneath you. His cock is straining, pressing into you with enough pressure to make your breath catch mid-kiss.

You just keep kissing him, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, licking into his mouth, gasping into every moan.

“Fuck, baby…” he pants. His hands grip your thighs again, “Can’t even stand after I’m done with you.”

Your nails drag down his back, scratching through the cotton of his shirt, your hips twitching against his, legs wrapping tighter around his waist like your body’s forgotten how to let go. “Shut up,” you mutter, catching his mouth again, nipping at his lip.

You could slap him. You could kiss him harder. You opt for the second thing.

Jungkook’s hands slide lower, groping your ass and his hips roll up slightly, a soft grind that leaves your mouth parting in a broken gasp. He’s still hard. Painfully so.

But he doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t move to unzip his jeans. He’s not making it transactional. He wraps his arms around you and breathes. The two of you lay on the carpet in a tangle of limbs and oversensitive skin and sweat, and this time, there’s no urgency. No rush to get dressed. No nervous backpedaling.

Your head drops to his shoulder, your cheek resting against the curve of his neck. He smells like you now with a hint of whatever subtle cologne still clings to his shirt.

You don’t remind him of boundaries you never actually set, don’t shove the moment back into the safe, distant box where you normally keep your feelings.

You just stay, fingers idly toying with the edge of his tattooed wrist. Breathing him in like he’s not the exact reason you’ve spent the last month losing sleep.

You’re not thinking about campaign briefs or product shots or the three urgent emails Daniel probably sent while you were pinned to a door. You’re not thinking at all.

“Feeling better?” He wonders out loud.

You dare to lift your head. “Mm. A little.”

Jungkook makes a noise of satisfaction, “So I was right.”

You scoff. “Don’t make me regret coming up here.”

His laugh is low, rumbling beneath your cheek. “Noted.”

Your fingers trace along the edge of ink on his skin like you might find answers in the lines. You tell yourself it’s still nothing. Another late-night lapse in judgment you’ll shove into the archives tomorrow.

It really doesn’t feel like nothing, though. And that scares you more than anything.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You wake before the sun.

The room is silent, painted in that hazy, blue-gray light that only exists for a few short minutes before the world remembers it has things to do. Sleep still weighs heavy in your limbs, but your eyes are closed.

You don’t remember when he carried you to bed. There was a vague, dreamlike sensation of being lifted off the floor, of something warm pressed against your back, of fingers adjusting a pillow beneath your head.

Now you’re here, cheek pressed against a solid chest, arm draped around your waist, fingers curled loosely in the edge of a hotel sheet you definitely didn’t tuck in yourself.

For one suspended, silent moment, you don’t move or panic.

And… reality floods in like a dam breaking. Your eyes snap open.

Jungkook. Sleeping soundly beside you.

Breathing slow and even, one arm still heavy across your waist. His hair is tousled, his entire face relaxed. He looks younger like this. Less like the Jungkook who flirts just to get a rise out of you and more like someone you should not be this close to.

You never sleep over at a man’s house. Not after the first time. Not after the second.

You bolt upright like the bed’s caught fire. There’s a moment of untangling, sheets twisted around your legs, hoodie riding halfway up your torso, laptop halfway across the room. You scramble through it all, adrenaline laced with embarrassment, stomach clenching with the kind of shame that only hits after you’ve slept beside someone who shouldn’t make you feel safe.

Jungkook doesn’t move while you cause noise. He lies there, all golden skin and easy breath, completely unbothered, as if you didn’t just crawl into his mouth last night and fall asleep on his chest like some kind of walking red flag.

He looks… peaceful.

You hate how different he looks when he’s not awake enough to be cocky. Hate that for a second, you wonder what kind of man he is in the morning.

You shake off that thought like a wet coat, pull on yesterday’s sweatpants with practiced indifference, and snatch your phone off the nightstand.

You don’t glance back, or hesitate or wait for him to wake up and say something that might make you stay. You walk out of there with your laptop in one hand, your dignity dragging behind you, and your heart pounding a little too fast for your liking.

By the time you make it back to your own hotel room, your pulse has calmed down enough. You shower, get dressed, do all trivial human things that deserve your attention rather than jungkook . You bury yourself in your inbox like it might dig you out of the mess you made.

And when you finally walk onto set, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, a perfectly tailored blazer slung over your shoulders, you’re never been more ready to pretend last night never happened. Ready for him to smirk as per usual and say something infuriating about how you’re obsessed with him. Ready for the back-and-forth, the teasing.

Except, that’s not actually what happens and your brain turns into mush.

Jungkook says nothing when you walk past or when you call out instructions. When he catches your eye, you brace for it. The smirk. The too-obvious stare that always lingers just long enough to piss you off. You wait for him to play the game — whatever little game this is.

Instead, he just nods at you so goddamn normally it makes your skin prickle.

“You look pretty today,” he says.

Simple. And then he’s vanishing far off to his team without a wink, follow-up or a trace of the man who had you trembling under his tongue last night.

Almost as if you didn’t wake up on his chest and forget, for one stupid moment, that you’ve spent your entire life keeping people exactly where they belong; at arm’s length.

You stand there, frozen mid-step, your coffee suddenly tasting like battery acid. This is worse than the incessant flirting, than the smug comments, thsn every heated, too-close, too-loud argument you’ve ever had with him.

Somehow, you’re still calling the shots but something feels off, and you can feel it in every bone of your body.

Jungkook moves quietly across the set, present but distant, on the edges of your world like smoke.

What really fucks with your head is you keep waiting for a comment to be made, some annoying little thing about how you can’t keep your eyes off him. Because at least when he’s pushing, you know what to do. At least then, the fire feels familiar.

By the time lunch break rolls around, your jaw aches from clenching, shoulders welded to your ears. You make your way to the break station, clutching your empty coffee cup.

This is fine. You are fine. This is nothing.

You roll your shoulders back and breathe deep, try to reset.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim as you jerk around, already scowling.

Daniel.

He’s standing beside you, arms crossed, eyebrows arched like he’s just been waiting to pounce. You glare at him over your shoulder. “What the fuck do you want?”

Daniel grins, completely unphased. “You tell me. You’re the one acting like you’ve got a body buried under the set.”

You roll your eyes and force your voice flat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The words leave your mouth quickly, in a way that’s soaked in a guilt you haven’t even admitted to yourself yet.

Daniel doesn’t buy it. He hums under his breath, gaze drifting casually across the studio until it lands on Jungkook.

Standing with the creative team, listening intently, nodding along like he’s never had his mouth on you. Like he didn’t pin you to a door and make you forget your own name. Like he didn’t let you fall asleep wrapped around him like it was easy.

And Daniel, that sharp-eyed little fucker, catches it immediately. A smile spreads across his features slowly, “You and Jungkook.”

That’s all he says.

Your hand slips. Coffee cup flies out of your palm. It falls to the floor with a crash, loud and sharp, echoing off the walls like a warning shot. Hot liquid splashes across your shoes, soaking into the hem of your pants. You stare at it, stunned, like your body forgot how to move.

Daniel blinks. “Okay…”

You’re already clenching your jaw, chest rising and falling way too fast.

Daniel tilts his head like he’s looking at a puzzle piece that just clicked into place. “I was kidding, but —”

“Shut up.”

He lifts his hands in surrender, but the smirk in his eyes is brutal.

You inhale through your nose and manage to grind out, “I need to change.”

And before Daniel can say another word, you walk away. Straight to the bathroom. Straight away from the fact that Jungkook has completely thrown you off your axis.

You have no idea how to fix it.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

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#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #bts x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jjk #jjk x reader

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dendroseelie · 7 months ago

Text

sweet distractions | alhaitham x reader

alhaitham doesn't appreciate being disturbed while he's trying to work and if you don't stop bugging him just because you're distracted, he'll simply have to take matters into his own hands and take his own sweet revenge.

word count - 2k+

pairing - alhaitham x reader; afab!reader

warnings - smut (mdni), oral sex (f!receiving), does this count as public sex lol? i think so

author's note: took longer than i wanted because i got super busy with irl stuff but here it is!! hehe :3 smexy time with alhaitham and as always, i would love it if you leave your thoughts :)

masterlist

request here | rules

When you agreed with Alhaitham to have a late-night study session in a secluded corner at the Akademiya’s grand library, you didn’t think you would be in this position. Three hours ago you both had your noses buried in the books and now, well - Alhaitham had his nose buried in you.

Assignment season was in full swing at the Akademiya. The dreaded middle-of-the-semester workload had students consuming way too much caffeine and staying up way too late. You were not immune to this. This week you had already turned in a total of ten assignments and you were working on your eleventh one which you had to turn in tomorrow. You had been putting this one off the longest as it was for the module you disliked the most. You couldn’t help but leave it for the last minute, something rather unlike you.

Alhaitham had kindly offered to keep you company - that is, study at the same table in the library - for the night as the two of you worked on your separate tasks. The first hour or two went by in relative silence before you started getting antsy. You hated this assignment, I mean who would in their right mind write five thousand words about “The Cultural and Socioeconomic Effect of Growing Radishes instead of Carrots”? You weren’t even sure it was relevant to what you were majoring in, let alone studying. It was frustrating, You generally weren’t the kind to slack off and not put in effort into the work you turned in. You were someone who cared about the quality of assignments you turned in and what you were learning. But this damned paper… What could you possibly write about radishes and carrots that could be invigorating to read?

You sighed frustratedly, pushing away the books you had gathered earlier as if it would make your assignment magically disappear. Your mind felt completely numb after working on this for hours at a stretch - one could only read so much about root vegetables.

Alhaitham, on the other hand, was completely engrossed in whatever he was writing about. His unwavering attention to the task at hand made it seem like it was interesting…But, well, you were not finding your own task very appealing. At least, not as appealing as the sight in front of you. Alhaitham was clad in a cream-coloured shirt, his sweater thrown over the back of his chair. His brown pants complimented his long legs and his shoes were halfway kicked off. By some miracle, his headphones were off today. His thin-rimmed glasses were perched upon his sharp nose and you couldn’t help but admire how the few strands of his ashy hair fell over his forehead. You almost wanted to reach out and tuck them back in place.

“Quit staring you creep.”

You feel your face flush, gaze immediately flickering away. You clear your throat. “I wasn’t staring.”

Alhaitham’s lips curve into a barely-there smirk. He looked smug - somehow, that pissed you off and charmed you just the same. “Sure, darling. You absolutely were not staring holes into my skull just now.”

“I wasn’t!” You insist indignantly, eyebrows bunching up into an ingenuine frown.

He still doesn’t look up from his assignment as he continues working. “Whatever, Y/N. Get back to your work and let me be in peace too.”

You scowl at his steady focus. You were mind-bogglingly bored and here he was, writing away - his sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, hair falling over his eyes just… so perfectly.

You try and turn your attention back to your work, you really do. But it was all…Alhaitham’s fault - him and his insufferably, stupidly handsome face. You try to continue writing your assignment, highlighting how switching between carrots and radishes will essentially affect culinary practices and in turn, affect the culture in the long run. But. But Alhaitham’s lips pursed between his teeth, the pink tips of his pale fingers, the rings clad on the length of them, the slow blinks of his gorgeous green eyes…were so much more interesting. So much more inviting.

It truly was as if you were captivated; eyes following the smallest of his movements like a kitten learning to hunt.

Alhaitham’s deep sigh and the clatter of his pen as he drops it pull you out of your trance. You return his sharp gaze with a blank gaze, blinking dopily. “Okay Y/N, what’s up with you? What’s got you so distracted tonight?”

“You,” you answer, only half-consciously.

He arches his brow, a thinly veiled simper stretched on his lips. “Me?” he enquires, voice dripping with a teasing lilt.

You flush at his words, internally cursing yourself for your loose lips - but also him, because that was also his fault!

“What? Cat got your tongue, darling?”

You roll your eyes at him, huffing. “Don’t bug me!”

“Bug you? I’m not the one gawking at you instead of working.”

“I was not gawking!” You protest - uselessly at that because it only makes Alhaitham chuckle cockily.

For a few seconds, Alhaitham watches you carefully, eyes taking in your flushed cheeks and your short breaths, and your tongue peeking out to wet your parted lips. He slowly tilts his head to the side, eyes drinking in the sight in front of him like a predator studying its prey. Then he smiles wolfishly. Your heartbeat stutters.

Alhaitham stands up from his seat, stalking toward you. His arms cage you in as you lean back against the chair. “What is it, hmm?” He bends towards you, words spoken softly right into your ear. “Finding the sight a little too distracting, perhaps?”

“N-no.”

“Really?” He asks, his hand coming up to tuck your hair behind your ear, trailing down the side of your cheek. His thumb brushes over your lips. “I could help, you know? Ward off the distractions… You just have to admit it.”

“Th-there’s nothing to admit,” you fumble over your words, tongue staggering at the feeling of his lips trailing the path of his hand like a phantom of his touch.

You swear you can feel his tongue on your ear as his fingers find their way into your hair. “Sure about that, darling? I could simply satisfy you, have you twitching in a much more interesting way.”

A sound somewhere between a whimper and a moan escapes you as Alhaitham places a wet kiss to your jaw, teeth grazing the side of your neck. He has the audacity to laugh. “Hmm, maybe I should also get my revenge for how you keep distracting me…What do you say?”

At your soft words of consent and a nod, Alhaitham does not waste a moment before his lips press into yours. His lips are softer and more pillowy than you had imagined. And… well you had imagined it embarrassingly often. His mouth coaxes yours open and the kiss turns sloppier, messier in a way that has you whining into the heated press of flesh.

Alhaitham’s hands shift down from your neck to the dip of your waist, grip squeezing. He nips at your lips before breaking apart, a line of spit stretching from your mouth to his. Both your eyes seem to be glassed over, minds a little too cottony.

He presses another fleeting kiss to your lips before he mutters, almost as if in a stupor. “Taste so sweet…”

He shoves the books on the table to the side, before yanking off his glasses. His grip on you is strong and unforgiving as he pulls you up from the chair and perches you onto the table. He presses wet kisses down the expanse of your neck. “I need you to be quiet for me, darling. Can you do that?”

You nod. Words seem to have left you. Alhaitham’s hands skim down the fabric of your dress as he kisses you, ghostly touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. His hands massage the soft flesh of your thighs, the skirt of your dress riding up as he stands between your legs.

His kisses are feverish over your skin as he slowly sinks down to his knees in front of you, between your limbs. “Remember to be quiet, okay?" He instructs you, as he props your legs over his shoulder. We don’t want anyone coming down to this section.”

A breathy agreement later, Alhaitham is nibbling at your thighs as he nears where you need him most. He follows his bites with a lick of his tongue and simply this has you trembling in his hold. Before you know it, his fingers are hooking on the elastic of your underwear and tugging it down in one, swift motion. The cold air that hits your core barely has a moment to make you shiver before his lips are on you.

What a sight to see indeed. Hours ago the two of you were occupied with your books and assignments. Wouldn’t one agree this kind of preoccupation was much more welcome?

He had you seated on the edge of the library's opulent mahogany table while your skirt was bunched up around your hips and your legs were thrown over his shoulders as he diligently ate you out. His tongue was skilled in its movements, swirling over your sensitive nub in a way that had you twitching. His palms had your thighs in a vice grip, fingers flexing over it as you shook under him.

Your vision swims. It’s as if there are sparks under your eyelids, your own personal star shower that Alhaitham has brought right to you. At least, that’s what his mouth on you feels like; an experience ethereal and cosmic enough to have you whimpering his name like a prayer. Reverent echoes of ‘Alhaitham’ bounce off the bookshelves and back within the sanctity of the moment. Alhaitham hums, acknowledging your pleas, the sound sending shivers through you. If your whispers of his name were a prayer then what was he, if not a deity on his knees, consuming nectar so divine that it could rival the heaven’s ambrosia.

“S-shit Alhaitham,” your voice comes out high pitched, sounding nearly unfamiliar to you.

Alhaitham nips you in response before he looks up from between your legs. His mouth is glistening — from spit and your arousal, and the mere sight of it has you clenching. “M’not done, sweetheart. Be good and let me finish, hmm?”

He dives back in before you can answer, his tongue prodding at your entrance in a manner that has you grabbing a fistful of his hair. Alhaitham’s hands tighten around the supple flesh of your legs, pulling them apart as you close your thighs around him. He groans, mouth still on you, and the vibrations of the sound hit you straight in the core. The feeling of your impending orgasm only grows as his finger joins his ministrations, the cold press of his rings urging you on. The knot in your stomach keeps tightening and tightening until a particular curl of his tongue and the bite that follows it sends you over the edge. You thrash in his hold as your orgasm washes over you, biting the back of your hand to curb the wanton moan that escapes you.

Alhaitham is still lapping at you, helping you ride out your high until you finally push his head away out of over-sensitivity. He presses scattered kisses to the inside of your thighs, before he looks up at you, a Cheshire grin resting upon his lips. “Doing okay?”

“Huh…? Shit.” Your words are thick with the lingering pleasure, your mind fuzzy and your eyes hooded as you raise yourself on your arms to take a peek at Alhaitham who is still on his knees. His fingers knead the flesh of your hips, the feeling of it grounding and comforting. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

“You sure?” He chides cheekily. “You still look plenty distracted to me, Y/N.”

“Fuck you,” you whisper, voice still breathless. Your cheeks are burning and your heart is still racing from the exquisite taste of pleasure that he brought to you. He had made a mess of you with just his tongue, and you couldn’t help the anticipation that shot through you at his suggestive insinuations.

Alhaitham’s smirk deepens and he arches his brow. “Oh? I'll be so honoured Y/N, but are you sure you want our first time to be on the library table?”

author's note: phew okay guys this is actually the first time I've written smut like this so I'm a bit?? I'm not sure if it's up to standard but I tried TT would love and welcome any constructive feedback you may have :) most of all though, i hope you enjoyed!

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stylesispunk · 10 months ago

Text

"I'll never leave, Never mind"

not outbreak! Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You and Joel met at the hospital that may have sealed your fate.

wc: 16,3k. Longest one I've ever written.

warnings: extreme angst, grieving, death,No proofreading.

a/n: There is no new chapter of 'Silent Strain' tonight, but here is a new one shoot. This is a sad sad and rushed one and it was heavily inspired on 'we live in time' cuz florence and andrew content made me think on it a lot. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Joel and you could have said that fate has its way to interlock threads among people.

Some people met through friends at a party.

Others had their long way from kids, from friends to lovers and getting married.

And others met by coincidence,

When both of them ended up with a broken arm and broken fingers in a hospital.

One breaking up with his lifetime girlfriend.

The other foolish being cheated on.

Joel was leaning back in the chair, his arm in a sling, his expression was pure irritation and pain. Across from him, you sat cradling your bandaged fingers, the sting of adrenaline still fresh from your impulsive decision. The silence felt strange and weird, after all everything was a dream engulfed in fire.

You glanced at the man in front of you, studying his profile, he way his brow furrowed slightly, the tension in his jaw. He caught your gaze and raised an eyebrow in question. Finally, unable to take the silence any longer, you blurted out, "What happened to your arm?"

Joel’s eyes flickered to his sling, a small, almost amused smirk playing at his lips. "A bar fight," he replied, his voice low and gravelly. "Didn't go quite like I planned."

"Sounds like it wasn't your night," you replied, trying to suppress a grin.

He chuckled softly. "You could say that." Then, nodding at your bandaged hand, he added, "What about you? Those fingers look pretty messed up."

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to tell the truth. "Punched my ex," you admitted finally. "Turns out, hitting someone with rings on isn't the smartest move."

Joel's grin widened, and for a moment, the tension between you both dissipated. "What about?," he asked, leaning back in his chair.

"cheating" You said, with a lazy smaile.

You both gaze at each other, still unaware that the woman your ex had cheated with was Joel's ex-girlfriend. Fate, or maybe the universe, had twisted your lives into a messy knot, and the hospital room was just the start of what would prove to be an unexpected connection between two strangers meeting at a hospital for the first time.

"How can people do that to you?." His gaze grew distant, him not saying the truth behind the statement and you wondered what ghosts were lingering in his past. The thought that you might be more connected than you realized hadn’t crossed your mind yet, but somehow, it felt like this conversation was meant to happen.

"So, what happened?" you asked, a little softer this time. "With the bar fight, I mean."

Joel shifted his gaze back to you, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a lopsided smile. "You wouldn’t believe me if I told you," he replied. There was a hint of challenge in his tone, as if daring you to ask more.

"Try me," you shot back, leaning forward slightly.

He chuckled, more to himself than to you. "Alright, then. I walked into a bar to clear my head. Turns out, my ex was there, drinking with some guy who looked like he thought he owned the place. Words were said, and, well… my fist got to know his face better than I planned." He winced, probably at the memory or the pain radiating from his arm.

"Your ex?" you echoed, a strange feeling creeping up your spine.

"Yeah," Joel said, nodding. "She was the reason I needed a drink in the first place. She cheated and we broke up, but seeing her with him… didn’t exactly help. And before you ask, no, I don’t know why I still care." There was a bitter edge to his words, one that made you think of your own ex and the anger still simmering in your chest.

You were about to respond, maybe tell him that you understood too well, when the door to the waiting room opened, and a nurse stepped in. She glanced between the two of you, holding a clipboard. “Mr. Miller?” she called, and Joel raised his good hand.

"That’s me," he said, pushing himself to his feet with a grimace. The nurse gestured for him to follow, but before he could move, he looked back at you, a strange expression crossing his face.

“Maybe when I’m back, we can still have this conversation” he suggested, a hint of a grin returning.

You nodded, feeling a pull toward him that was hard to ignore. "I’d like that," you replied, watching as he disappeared down the hallway.

You had just turned to leave when you heard Joel’s voice behind you.

"Hey," he called out, a little hesitantly. You stopped in your tracks and turned back to face him.

Joel rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not the type to do this often. "I was just thinkin’... I don’t really wanna leave things like this. Mind if I get your number?"

For a second, you were caught off guard. Joel, tough and reserved, asking for your number? It felt like one of those moments where the universe gave you a choice a small step toward something unknown but maybe worth exploring.

You smiled, this time a bit more genuine, and nodded. "Yeah, sure."

Pulling out your phone, you exchanged numbers, the simple act suddenly feeling like a big deal, like some invisible line had been crossed.

"Thanks," he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours again, and for a moment, there was that same unspoken connection between you.

"Guess I’ll see you around," you said, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

Joel gave you a small, almost shy smile. "Yeah. I’d like that."

With one last glance, you turned and walked away, feeling a little lighter than before. And even though you had no idea what would come next, there was something about the way Joel had stopped you that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new.

A new friendship,

A new story,

A new romance.

You didn't know, but there was a good feeling about those big brown eyes of Joel when he looked at you.

Joel had met a girl who made him feel at ease, like being bathed by the warm sun of a chilly autumn afternoom.

And you, you had met a man who made you believe not everyone wanted to hurt you.

Something like golden in color, something like dawn being seen from the beach.

Pure, fearless and sweet.

Later that night, as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the events of the day kept replaying in your mind. Meeting Joel, the strange connection, the shocking revelation about his ex—it was all too much to process. You turned over, trying to let sleep take over, but your mind wouldn’t settle.

Just as you were about to close your eyes, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You blinked in the darkness, surprised anyone would be texting this late. Grabbing your phone, you saw Joel’s name light up on the screen. Your heart did a small, unexpected flip as you opened the message.

Joel: Hope I didn’t wake you. Just wanted to say… It was really nice to meet you.

You stared at the message, feeling a warmth spread through you. It wasn’t a grand declaration, just a simple, honest text. And yet, something about it made you smile in the quiet of your room.

You hesitated for a moment, then typed back:

You: No, you didn’t wake me. I’m glad we met too. Today was...nice after all.

That's how it started between the both of you.

It was coincidental.

It was legendary.

Three months after talking, two months after running after each other and hanging out.

Joel finally asked you out on a date.

Joel stood in the doorway, scanning your coffee shop before his eyes found you behind the counter. For a split second, the same look of surprise crossed his face as it had the day you first met, like he hadn’t fully expected to see you here. But then his expression softened, and he gave you a small nod as he walked toward the counter.

"A cup of coffee, Miller?" you asked with a grin, trying to hide the flutter of nerves that came with seeing him.

Joel scratched the back of his neck, looking a little uncomfortable, but there was something different in his posture today, like he had something in the back of his mind . "Actually… I was hoping..." he beganhis voice low and a bit hesitant.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. 'What?"

He took a breath, looking almost shy for a man like him, and you could see him working up the courage. "I was wonderin’ if you’d want to go out sometime. Maybe grab a drink or dinner." His eyes locked onto yours, and despite the casual tone, there was a weight behind his words, like he’d been thinking about this since the last time you saw each other.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you found yourself momentarily speechless. The idea of Joel, this tough, guarded man, asking you out felt both surprising and strangely right at the same time.

"You want to take me out?" you asked, making sure you hadn’t misheard.

Joel gave a small, almost sheepish smile. "Yeah, I do. I mean, if you’re up for it. Something fancier, just… somewhere that isn't your coffee hop or a hospital hallway."

You couldn’t help but smile at that. His awkwardness was endearing, and there was something in his eyes that made it clear he wasn’t playing games—this wasn’t just about grabbing a drink. It felt like he was genuinely interested in getting to know you.

"Sure," you said, your voice soft but certain. "I’d like that."

Joel’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he smiled, a real one this time. "Alright, then. How about tomorrow night? I know a good place."

"Tomorrow sounds great," you replied, trying to ignore the excited flutter in your chest. "Just let me know where."

"I will," Joel nodded, and for a moment, he just stood there, the air between you charged with something unspoken.

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back at you with that same small, shy smile. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

You nodded, feeling a warmth spread through you as you watched him walk out of the shop. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

The next evening, you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your red dress. It was simple, elegant, and just a little daring, something you hadn’t worn in a while. There was a nervous excitement bubbling inside you as you got ready. It wasn’t often you went on dates, and certainly not with someone like Joel.

As you approached the restaurant, your heart raced a little faster. The soft glow of the lights spilling out onto the sidewalk set a warm and inviting tone, but it was the thought of seeing Joel that had your nerves on edge.

When you stepped inside, scanning the room, you saw him right away. Joel was seated near the window, dressed in a dark button-up shirt that suited him well, though it still carried that ruggedness you’d come to associate with him. His head was down, focused on the menu in front of him, unaware that you had arrived.

But then, as if sensing your presence, he looked up—and his reaction was instant. His eyes widened, and his mouth parted slightly in disbelief. Joel sat there, frozen for a moment, his eyes taking in the sight of you in the red dress. He hadn’t expected this. The sight of you knocked the air right out of his lungs.

You caught the way his mouth hung open just a bit, the look of awe in his eyes. It was as if, for a second, he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. You smiled shyly, stepping toward him, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks under his gaze.

Joel stood up quickly, almost knocking the chair back in his haste. "Wow," he breathed, barely managing to find the words. "You… you look incredible." His voice was low, almost reverent, like he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

"Thanks," you replied, feeling a little bashful under his gaze but also enjoying how flustered he seemed. "You don’t look too bad yourself."

Joel chuckled, but his eyes remained on you, still taking in the way the dress hugged your figure, the way the soft light from the restaurant made you glow. For a man who was usually so composed and reserved, he was completely undone by you tonight.

As you reached the table, Joel moved to pull out your chair, a little clumsily, but his gesture was sweet. "Here, let me," he offered, still looking at you like you’d just walked out of a dream.

"Thanks," you murmured as you sat down, glancing up at him with a smile. He was still standing, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer before he finally sat across from you.

For a few moments, Joel was quiet, his usual gruffness replaced by something softer, almost tender. He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slightly as if trying to process what he was feeling. "I wasn’t expectin’ this," he admitted, his voice a little rough. "You look… I don’t even have the words."

You laughed softly, feeling the tension ease between you. "I’m glad I could surprise you."

Joel leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his eyes never leaving yours. "You did. And I’m real glad you’re here."

As the evening unfolded, the conversation flowed easily, and despite the initial nerves, you both found a rhythm. Joel’s lingering stares, his quiet admiration, the way his eyes softened every time you smiled—everything felt charged with an undeniable connection. There was something between you, something unspoken but very real.

And as the night went on, you couldn’t help but wonder if the universe really did have its own funny way of pulling people together.

It felt like a movie. Waking up next to Joel felt like living inside a dream you never wanted to end. Each morning, as the sunlight spilled through the curtains, the reality of it all washed over you, how something that started so unexpectedly had grown into this, something solid, something that felt like home. It felt like a movie, the kind where everything was beautifully imperfect, but just right in all the ways that mattered.

You turned in bed, watching him sleep, his chest rising and falling steadily. There was a calmness in his face, a softness that most people never got to see. His hair was a little messier, a few strands falling into his eyes, and you reached out gently, brushing them aside. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and when he saw you, a sleepy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough from sleep.

“Morning,” you whispered back, smiling as you traced a finger along his arm. "Feels like we’re in one of those romantic comedies, doesn’t it?"

Joel chuckled softly, his deep laugh rumbling through his chest. "Except I’m no prince, and you didn’t have to kiss a frog to get me."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the truth was, every day with Joel felt like something special, like fate had somehow woven your lives together in the most unexpected way. You thought back to that first day in the hospital when you’d both been broken in different ways, and now, here you were, piecing each other back together.

"You say that like you’re not the most decent guy I’ve ever met," you teased, settling back into his arms.

Joel tightened his hold around you, his fingers brushing through your hair. "You give me too much credit."

"I don’t think I give you enough," you replied softly, your voice laced with sincerity.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stared at you with those deep, soulful eyes, the kind that always made you feel seen, really seen. Joel was never one for flowery words, but his actions spoke volumes—the way he looked after you, the way he showed up for you, every single day, even when he didn’t need to.

"Can’t believe it’s been a year," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Me neither," you admitted. "Happy anniversary" you said, kissing all of his face.

Joel smiled as your lips brushed across his face, his eyes closing briefly as he soaked in the tenderness of the moment. "Happy anniversary," he murmured, his voice low and warm, as if the words held more weight than he could fully express. His hands slid up to cradle your face, pulling you closer as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You’ve made this past year somethin’ I never thought I’d have again,” Joel whispered against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. His thumb traced the line of your jaw, the small, intimate gesture sending warmth through you. “Never thought I’d feel this way.”

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. "You deserve it, Joel. We both do." You kissed the tip of his nose, then his cheek, trailing kisses along his stubbled jawline. "I’m lucky to wake up next to you every day."

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as though he couldn’t quite believe it himself. "Feels like I’m the lucky one.

You laughed softly, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him closer. "I guess we’re both lucky, then."

Joel gazed at you, his eyes soft, filled with an emotion that words couldn’t quite capture. "Don’t know what I’d do without you," he whispered, his voice just a little rough around the edges.

"Good thing you don’t have to find out," you teased, leaning in for another kiss, this one lingering, as if the moment itself held a promise. The world outside the bedroom didn’t matter, not right now. All that mattered was this, the quiet love that had grown between you both over the past year.

The kind of love that, even in its simplicity, felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Later that morning, you and Joel stood side by side in the kitchen, working in comfortable silence as you prepared breakfast together. The smell of coffee filled the air, and the sound of sizzling bacon accompanied the quiet hum of morning. Both of you had decided to take the day off—no work, no interruptions—just a day to be together and celebrate your anniversary.

As you stirred the eggs, Joel suddenly cleared his throat, drawing your attention. You glanced over to see him watching you with that familiar, warm smile that always made your heart skip a beat.

"You know," he began, his voice soft, "I’ve been thinkin’ about somethin’." He flipped the bacon, pausing for a moment, almost like he was searching for the right words. "I know some people think we’re movin’ fast—bein’ together the way we are after only a year."

You set the spatula down, turning to face him fully. You’d heard the comments before—friends and family making subtle remarks about how quickly things had progressed between you and Joel. But none of that had ever mattered to you. It felt right.

"And… what do you think?" you asked gently, curious where his thoughts were leading.

Joel looked at you, his expression serious for a moment, before it softened into something deep, something real. "I think it’s the happiest I’ve ever been," he admitted, his voice steady. "And I don’t care if people think we’re movin’ too fast. Everything just feels right with you." He set the pan aside and stepped closer to you, reaching out to gently cup your face.

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of his words hitting you in the best way possible. You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were his whole world. And in that moment, you realized just how much you meant to him.

"I’ve got a surprise for you," Joel added, his voice a little softer, and there was a glint of nervousness in his eyes—something you didn’t see from him often.

"A surprise?" you repeated, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "What kind of surprise?"

He took your hand, leading you away from the stove and into the living room. His grip was firm, yet there was a tenderness to the way he held you, like he was holding something precious.

Joel stopped in front of the couch, turning to face you. He reached into his back pocket and, for a moment, your heart skipped a beat. Slowly, he pulled out a small box, and as he held it in his hand, you realized exactly what was happening.

Your eyes widened, and you brought a hand to your mouth as Joel got down on one knee, looking up at you with that same earnest, loving expression.

"I know it’s been a year, and I know some people might think this is crazy," he began, his voice steady, though you could hear the emotion in it. "But I don’t care about any of that. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life." He opened the box, revealing a simple but beautiful ring. "You make me feel like I’m home, every day. So, I’m askin’… will you marry me?"

Your heart nearly stopped as you stood there, mouth agape, staring at Joel kneeling in front of you with that ring in his hand. The weight of the moment washed over you, and before you could think, your body moved on instinct. You dropped to your knees in front of him, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

Joel immediately responded, his strong arms coming around you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. The words "Yes, yes," tumbled from your lips, breathless and full of emotion. Without even realizing it, you shifted, wrapping your legs around his waist as he held you securely.

His laugh was soft and filled with pure joy as he stood up, lifting you effortlessly with him. He held you tightly, your legs still wrapped around his waist as you clung to him. "You really mean that?" he asked, his voice a little shaky, but his eyes shone with happiness.

You nodded, burying your face in the crook of his neck, your voice catching as you whispered, "I’ve never been surer of anything in my life."

Joel’s arms tightened around you, his chest rumbling with laughter and relief all at once. "You’ve made me the happiest man alive," he said, his voice deep and full of love.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. You smiled; your heart full to the brim. "I guess we both found home."

Joel pressed his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper as he said, "I guess we did."

With your legs still wrapped around his waist, Joel gently lowered you to the ground, holding you steady as you found your footing. His eyes never left yours, full of warmth and something even deeper that made your heart swell. He reached for the ring, holding it up with a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Now," he said, his voice barely a whisper, filled with emotion, "let me do this the right way."

He carefully took your hand in his, and you watched in awe as he slid the ring onto your finger. It felt cool at first, but as it settled into place, it felt like it belonged there—like it had always been meant to be.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the ring, sparkling in the morning light. It was simple, yet beautiful—perfect, just like the moment.

Joel’s fingers brushed yours as he held your hand, pulling you close again. "Looks just right," he murmured, his voice low and full of affection. His thumb softly traced over the ring, and then over your knuckles, like he was making sure it was real, like this wasn’t just a dream.

You looked up at him, tears brimming in your eyes, but they were happy tears, filled with the overwhelming joy of knowing you had found your forever with this man. "It’s perfect," you whispered, squeezing his hand.

Joel smiled, pulling you into his arms again, his lips brushing the top of your head as he murmured, "You’re perfect."

For a long moment, the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other, savoring the silence and the weight of what had just happened. It was more than just a proposal—it was a promise, one that you both knew you would keep, no matter what life threw at you.

A month had passed since the day Joel put that ring on your finger, and it felt like you were living in a dream. Every moment with him was like writing your own love story—filled with warmth, laughter, and the kind of happiness you never thought you’d find. You and Joel had started to create a life together, and it felt like the world had finally aligned in the best way.

That night, as the moonlight spilled through the curtains, Joel was already in bed, the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm light on him as he flicked through a book. You were in the bathroom, hands trembling slightly as you looked down at the test in your hand. The two lines were unmistakable. Your heart raced, a mixture of excitement, nerves, and disbelief filling your chest.

"Joel?" you called out from the bathroom, your voice a little shaky.

"Yeah, darlin'?" His voice was calm, unaware of the life-altering news you were about to share.

"I… I have to show you something," you managed to say, your nerves bubbling into a quiet, breathy laugh.

There was a brief pause before you heard the rustle of sheets and Joel's footsteps making their way toward the bathroom. The door creaked open, and Joel appeared in the doorway, his brows furrowed in curiosity. "What is it?" he asked, his deep voice laced with concern as his eyes searched your face.

You turned toward him, holding the pregnancy test in your hand, your heart pounding. With a nervous laugh, you held it out for him to see. "I... I'm pregnant, Joel."

His eyes flicked down to the test, and for a moment, it seemed like time stood still. The realization hit him slowly, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief, and then to something far deeper. His mouth opened slightly, his breath catching in his throat as he processed the news.

"You're... pregnant?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, biting your lip, unsure of how he’d react. "I know it's a lot. I didn’t even expect it, but—"

Before you could finish, Joel stepped forward, pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. His face buried into the crook of your neck, and you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin as he whispered, "Are you serious?"

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded against his shoulder. "Yeah. I’m serious."

Joel pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his hands cupping your face.

Joel lifted you effortlessly into his arms, his laughter mixing with yours as the weight of the news settled in—a shared joy that filled the room. His eyes sparkled with happiness, and the grin on his face was infectious. He held you close, your legs wrapped around his waist as he spun you in a small circle, both of you laughing like kids.

"I can’t believe it," Joel said, his voice filled with awe as he gently set you down on the bathroom counter, still holding you close. "We're gonna have a baby."

You nodded, the happiness bubbling up inside you, barely able to contain it. "We are," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. "We're gonna be parents."

Joel kissed your forehead softly, his hands gently rubbing your sides. "I love you," he whispered, the words filled with a depth of emotion that made your heart swell. "You and this baby—we're gonna have the perfect story”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but they were happy tears, and you smiled up at him. "I love you too," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "We’re going to be a family."

He held you there for a moment longer, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. Then, with a soft chuckle, Joel stepped back, still keeping a hand on your waist. "Guess we better start gettin’ used to this idea. A baby, huh?"

You nodded, your eyes shining with excitement. "A baby."

Joel smiled, still shaking his head in disbelief as he looked down at you. “A baby,” he repeated, his voice soft with awe. "I can’t believe it."

He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to wrap his mind around the idea of becoming a father again. The joy in his eyes was unmistakable. After all the hardships, after all the loss, this was something he didn’t think he’d ever have again—a chance at building a family, a future.

“Guess we’re gonna have to start gettin' the place ready, huh?” Joel said, a playful tone creeping into his voice. "Crib, baby clothes… We’re in for a lot of changes."

You laughed, wiping away the last of your tears. "Yeah, we have a lot to prepare for."

Joel grinned, stepping back and taking your hand as he led you out of the bathroom. "But I’m ready for all of it," he said, squeezing your hand gently. "Every single part of it."

As the two of you stepped into the bedroom, the quiet warmth of the moment settled over you. Joel sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling you into his lap. His hands rested on your stomach, fingers gently tracing over where your baby would grow.

"Just think," he murmured, his voice low and full of wonder. "In a few months, there’ll be a little one right here. A part of you and me."

The thought of it made your heart swell with love and anticipation. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. "I can’t wait, Joel," you whispered. "It’s going to be everything."

For a while, the two of you just sat there, holding each other in the quiet of the night, the future ahead of you bright and full of promise. It was a life neither of you had ever expected to find—but it was yours now, and you would cherish it, together.

Joel kissed the top of your head, his voice soft and full of love. "We’ve got a good thing goin’ here," he said. "And now, it’s just gonna get better."

You smiled, closing your eyes as you whispered back, "Yeah, it is."

Time seemed to pass in a blur after that night. Every moment was a new memory, a new step toward the future you and Joel were building together. As the months went by, you prepared for the arrival of your baby while deepening the bond between you two. Joel was there for every ultrasound, every late-night craving, and every moment of excitement and nerves.

The day you both decided to get married wasn’t a grand occasion but something simple, just the way you both wanted it. You’d been sitting on the couch, going over baby names, when Joel looked at you with that soft, familiar smile and said, “Why don’t we get married before the little one arrives?”

At first, the idea seemed so casual, but the more you thought about it, the more perfect it felt. You didn’t need a big ceremony or an extravagant event. What you wanted was to make things official in the most meaningful way possible, with just the two of you and a handful of your closest friends and family.

The wedding day was intimate, held at a charming little venue not far from home. It was a crisp autumn day, the leaves turning shades of gold and crimson, and you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect setting. Your family and closest friends were there. As you walked toward him, your heart fluttered. Joel, standing tall and proud in his suit, his eyes filled with love and pride, made your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t believe that this man, who had once been just a stranger, was now the center of your world.

When you reached him, Joel took your hands in his, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. His eyes locked onto yours, and in that moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of you, standing together, ready to face whatever came next.

When you finally reached him, Joel took your hand, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. The look in his eyes was one of pure love and pride. He leaned in slightly and whispered, “You look beautiful, darlin’.”

The ceremony itself was short but filled with emotion. Joel’s voice wavered ever so slightly as he said his vows, and you could feel the weight of his words as he promised to love and support you forever.

“I never thought I’d be this lucky again,” he said softly, his eyes locked on yours. "You’ve given me more than I could’ve ever asked for."

Your heart swelled, and when it was your turn, you spoke from the heart. "I didn’t know life could be this good until I met you, Joel. You’ve changed everything for me."

The officiant declared you husband and wife, and Joel didn’t waste a second, pulling you in for a soft, meaningful kiss that felt like the beginning of a new chapter.

“By the power vested in me…” the officiant’s voice seemed to fade as you looked at Joel, your heart overflowing with love. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Joel’s smile widened as he gently cupped your face and pulled you into the sweetest, softest kiss. The world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you in that moment, forever bound to each other.

After the small, intimate wedding, life felt like it had settled into a beautiful rhythm. Every morning you woke up next to Joel felt like a dream you never wanted to end, and as your belly grew, so did your love for the life you were building together.

It was a calm morning a few weeks after the wedding, the sunlight streaming through the windows of your cozy home. Joel had already gotten out of bed to make breakfast, and you could hear the sounds of him moving around the kitchen. You smiled to yourself, feeling content and full of love.

You got up slowly, your hand instinctively resting on your growing bump. The baby had started kicking more frequently, and every little movement filled you with awe. You made your way to the kitchen, and there he was, standing at the stove, making scrambled eggs like he did every Sunday morning.

Joel looked over his shoulder when he heard you approach, his face breaking into a soft, adoring smile. "Mornin’, sweetheart. How’re you feelin’?"

“Good,” you said, wrapping your arms around him from behind, resting your cheek against his back. “Hungry, as always.”

He chuckled, placing a hand over yours. “That’s a good sign. I’ve got breakfast ready in just a few minutes.”

You sat down at the kitchen table, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face as Joel brought over plates of eggs, toast, and some fruit. As you both started eating, Joel couldn’t take his eyes off you, his expression full of love and admiration.

"You know," Joel started, his voice soft and thoughtful, "Every time I see you, like this, carryin' our baby… it just hits me how lucky I am."

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. "I feel the same way, Joel. I can’t believe how much life has changed for the better. I never thought I’d get to be this happy."

Joel reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His thumb gently caressed the back of your hand as he gazed at you with that familiar warmth in his eyes. "We’ve been through a lot, but every bit of it led us here. And I wouldn’t change a thing."

After breakfast, the two of you spent the day together, enjoying the simple moments that made your life so full. Joel had taken time off from work to be around more as the baby’s due date got closer, and it felt like every day was another beautiful chapter in your love story.

As the evening drew near, you sat together on the couch, Joel’s hand resting protectively on your belly as the baby kicked softly. He looked at you, his eyes filled with a sense of peace and joy. "You’re gonna be such a great mom."

You smiled, leaning into him. "And you’re going to be the best dad."

Joel pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand never leaving your bump. The two of you sat there in the quiet, simply enjoying each other’s presence, the future stretching out before you, full of hope and love.

Months had passed, and the day finally arrived. You were in the hospital room, your hand gripping Joel’s tightly as you went through the final stages of labor. The pain was intense, but Joel was right there by your side, whispering encouragement in your ear, his voice calm and steady despite the chaos around you.

"You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart," Joel murmured, brushing a few strands of hair out of your face. His hand was firm in yours, grounding you as the contractions intensified. "Almost there. Just a little longer."

With one final push, the room filled with the first cry of your baby. Relief, exhaustion, and overwhelming joy washed over you as you collapsed back against the pillow. The doctor carefully placed the newborn in your arms, and when you looked down at her tiny face, everything else in the world faded away.

Joel stood beside you, his eyes wide with awe as he looked down at your daughter. "She’s here," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. His hand hovered above her small head before he gently stroked her soft hair. "She’s perfect."

You smiled up at him, tears filling your eyes as you whispered, "Sarah."

Joel’s breath hitched, his gaze softening even more as he took in the name. "Sarah," he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before brushing his lips over your daughter’s tiny head. "Welcome to the world, baby girl."

Sarah’s little fingers curled around your thumb as she lay in your arms, her cries quieting as she settled into the warmth of your body. The love that filled the room was almost overwhelming, and you couldn’t stop the tears that flowed down your cheeks.

Joel sat down beside you, his arm slipping around your shoulders as the two of you gazed at your daughter in awe. "She’s gonna have your strength," Joel said softly, his voice filled with pride. "I can already see it."

"And she’ll have your heart," you whispered, leaning into him. "She’s a little piece of both of us."

For hours, you sat together in the quiet of the hospital room, marveling at the tiny miracle in your arms. Sarah yawned, her tiny eyes fluttering open for the first time, and Joel’s face lit up with a joy you’d never seen before.

"You’re gonna be a great dad," you whispered, resting your head against his shoulder.

Joel smiled, his eyes never leaving Sarah’s face. "And you’re gonna be the best mom," he replied, his voice soft but full of certainty.

In that moment, everything felt complete. The life you had built with Joel had come full circle, and now, holding Sarah, it felt like the perfect beginning to something even more beautiful. The three of you were a family, and nothing could ever take that away.

As you both sat there, watching your newborn daughter sleep peacefully in your arms, Joel leaned down and kissed you softly. "Thank you," he whispered. "For all of this. For her."

You smiled, tears filling your eyes once again. "We did this together."

And as the night settled in, the three of you together, you knew that this, this was everything you had ever dreamed of. A love that had grown into something extraordinary, a family you never thought possible, and a future that was full of hope and endless possibilities.

Time had passed, and life settled into a beautiful, busy rhythm. You found yourself balancing the challenges of raising Sarah while managing your work. Your coffee shop was thriving, and although it wasn’t always easy, the love and support Joel gave you made everything seem possible. Every morning, you’d drop Sarah off with her babysitter before opening the shop, your heart swelling as you kissed her little cheeks goodbye.

Joel and Tommy had built up their construction company together, working side by side like they always had. It was their dream, and they took pride in what they had created. Most evenings, they would come home late, tired but fulfilled, dust and sweat still clinging to their clothes, but there was always a smile on Joel's face as soon as he stepped through the door and saw you and Sarah.

It was a happy life, a busy one. Sarah was growing fast, and every day brought something new—a first laugh, her first wobbly steps, her fascination with the world around her. Joel had fallen completely in love with being a dad, always the first one to scoop Sarah up when he got home, carrying her around on his shoulders as she giggled.

One evening, after a long day of work, you were at home, feeding Sarah in her high chair while Joel and Tommy sat at the kitchen table, talking shop over dinner. You couldn’t help but smile as you listened to them go on about their latest project—something about expanding a new office building downtown. It warmed your heart to see Joel so happy in his work, and even more so knowing that you were all building this life together.

Joel caught your eye from across the table, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He stood up, coming over to where you were standing with Sarah. Gently, he wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he whispered, his voice filled with admiration as he watched you interact with Sarah.

You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. “We’re doing this together,” you said softly, mirroring the words you’d told him in the hospital that day Sarah was born.

Tommy chuckled from the table. “Look at you two, bein’ all sappy. I’d say I’m jealous, but I’m just happy y’all found this.”

Joel laughed and shook his head, glancing down at Sarah, who was reaching out for him. “We’re lucky,” he said, picking her up and holding her close. “Wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

As you watched Joel with your daughter, your heart swelled with a deep, contented happiness. The busy days, the challenges, and the long nights—it was all worth it. You had a family, a home filled with love, and a future that was built on the strength of the bond you shared. Every piece of your life had fallen into place, and there was nothing more you could ask for.

Later that night, after Tommy had left and Sarah was fast asleep in her crib, you and Joel sat together on the couch, the soft glow of the living room lamp casting a warm light over the room. Joel had his arm draped over your shoulders, and you were curled into his side, a blanket wrapped around the both of you. The house was quiet, a peaceful kind of stillness that only came after a busy day with Sarah.

You sighed contentedly, resting your head on Joel's chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It had been a long day, but these quiet moments together always made it feel like everything was exactly where it should be.

Joel pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, his hand gently rubbing your arm. “Been thinkin’ a lot about our future,” he murmured, his voice low and thoughtful.

You looked up at him, curious. “Yeah? What about it?”

He smiled softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that familiar way that always made your heart flutter. “I mean… look at us,” he said, glancing down at you and then toward the hallway where Sarah slept. “We’ve got a beautiful baby girl, a home… but I wanna make sure I’m givin’ y’all the life you deserve.”

You reached up, cupping his cheek and turning his face toward you. “Joel, you’re already doing that,” you said earnestly. “We have everything we need. We have each other.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes softening. “I know, darlin’. But I’ve been thinkin’ about what’s next for us. I want to keep buildin’—for us, for Sarah. Maybe someday, we could get a bigger place… one with a backyard where Sarah can run around. And who knows, maybe she won’t be the only little one runnin’ around.”

You blinked in surprise, your heart skipping a beat at the thought. “Are you saying you want more kids?”

Joel chuckled softly, his hand finding yours and lacing his fingers with yours. “I’d be lyin’ if I said the thought hasn’t crossed my mind,” he admitted. “But only if you want it too. I just… I love this, our family. I love seein’ Sarah grow and thinkin’ about what’s ahead for all of us.”

You smiled, the thought of expanding your family filling you with warmth. “I love it too,” you said softly. “And I love the idea of giving Sarah a sibling someday. But… no rush, okay?”

He nodded, his gaze full of understanding. “No rush,” he repeated. “I just want us to be happy, however that looks.”

You nestled closer to him, feeling an overwhelming sense of contentment. “We already are, Joel,” you whispered. “But I love that we can dream about our future together. Whatever comes next, we’ll figure it out, just like we always do.”

Joel smiled, pulling you closer, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “Damn right we will,” he murmured against your mouth, his voice full of promise.

Life was passing, and you were living it. Every day you woke up feeling the most content person alive, waking up to a wonderful husband and to a beautiful daughter you both had created was the best prize you could have won.

So the time passed, and Sarah’s third birthday arrived. a day filled with laughter, cake, and the joyful chaos of a toddler’s party. The backyard had been transformed into a wonderland of balloons, streamers, and a small play area for the kids, all running around with boundless energy. Joel and Tommy were manning the grill, flipping burgers and laughing as they joked about who had the better cooking skills. You were sitting on the porch, watching Sarah play with her friends, her smile wide as she tore into the wrapping of her presents.

The sight of her beaming with happiness filled you with warmth, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. It had started earlier in the day, a subtle dizziness that washed over you while you were setting up for the party. At first, you brushed it off, assuming it was just the exhaustion of planning and preparing for the celebration. But as the day went on, the feeling persisted, a faint buzzing in your head that wouldn’t go away.

You stood up from your seat, intending to join Joel and Tommy at the grill, when the dizziness hit you again—stronger this time. Your vision blurred, and your legs wobbled beneath you. You reached out, gripping the railing of the porch to steady yourself, but it felt like the ground was shifting beneath your feet.

“Hey, you alright?” Joel’s voice cut through the haze, his hand suddenly on your shoulder, steadying you.

You blinked a few times, trying to shake the feeling. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you said, offering him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just… a little dizzy. Probably just need to sit down.”

Joel’s brow furrowed with concern, his hand gently guiding you back to the porch swing. “You’ve been actin’ off all day,” he said, kneeling in front of you. “Maybe you should take a break from all this. Let me handle things for a bit.”

“I’ll be okay,” you insisted, though the pounding in your head was starting to grow. You didn’t want to worry him, especially on a day like this, but the unease settling in your chest was hard to ignore.

Just then, Sarah came running over, her tiny hands grabbing onto Joel’s leg as she tugged at his jeans. “Daddy! Come see my new toy!” she squealed, her face lit up with excitement.

Joel gave you a quick look, clearly torn, but you waved him off. “Go, Joel. I’m fine. I’ll just rest for a bit.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours, before he nodded. “Alright. But promise me you’ll tell me if you feel worse.”

You nodded, watching as he stood up and scooped Sarah into his arms, spinning her around as she giggled in delight. You leaned back into the swing, closing your eyes for a moment, hoping that maybe it was just the stress of the day catching up to you. But deep down, you knew something wasn’t right.

The dizziness wasn’t going away. It was getting worse.

A few hours later, after the party had wound down and the guests had left, you were helping Joel clean up when the room suddenly tilted, and your vision blurred again. This time, the dizziness was so overwhelming that you couldn’t stop it. The world spun around you, and before you could call out to Joel, everything went dark.

When you opened your eyes again, you were lying on the couch, Joel’s worried face hovering above you. His hand was gripping yours tightly, and there was fear in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before.

“Hey, hey,” he said softly, his voice shaky. “Stay with me. I’m gonna take you to the doctor, alright? You passed out.”

You tried to sit up, but your head throbbed, and Joel gently pushed you back down. “No arguments,” he said firmly. “Somethin’s not right, and we’re gettin’ it checked out.”

You nodded weakly, the fear creeping in as the gravity of the situation began to settle. You hadn’t felt like yourself in days, and now it was clear that it wasn’t just exhaustion. Something was wrong, and as much as you wanted to stay strong for Joel and Sarah, the worry was starting to gnaw at you.

Joel pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes.

So the next morning, you decided to go to the doctor alone. You assured Joel over breakfast that everything would be fine, putting on your bravest smile as you sipped your coffee. "It’s probably just stress or maybe… maybe even another pregnancy," you joked, trying to keep things light.

Joel wasn’t entirely convinced. His eyes followed your every movement, lingering with concern, but you pressed a kiss to his cheek and promised you’d text him as soon as you knew something. "You’ve got Sarah to watch today. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine."

As you sat in the doctor’s office later that day, waiting for your results, you kept replaying those words in your head

I’ll be fine. You wanted to believe it. You needed to believe it.

The doctor finally entered the room, a somber expression on his face. You sat up a little straighter, a nervous laugh bubbling up as you tried to break the tension. "So… what’s the verdict? Am I pregnant, or do I just need to get more sleep?"

He didn’t smile. That was your first clue.

"We ran some tests based on your symptoms," he began slowly, carefully. "And… I’m sorry to tell you this, but it’s not what we hoped."

Your heart plummeted, the air in the room suddenly thick and suffocating. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice trembling despite your best effort to stay calm.

The doctor took a deep breath, his gaze steady but filled with sympathy. "The dizziness, the fatigue… it's not stress or pregnancy. The tests show signs of a rare, aggressive illness. I’m afraid it’s terminal."

For a moment, you couldn’t comprehend what he was saying. It felt like the words were echoing in a tunnel, distant and surreal. "Terminal?" The word barely escaped your lips.

He nodded gently. "I’m very sorry. It’s advanced, and from what we’ve seen, it’s progressed faster than we anticipated. There are treatments to manage symptoms, but… it’s not curable."

Your world shattered in that instant. Everything around you seemed to blur and slow, the weight of the news crashing down like a tidal wave. The future you had imagined, raising Sarah, growing old with Joel, suddenly felt like a distant dream, slipping away before you could grasp it.

You sat there in stunned silence, your mind reeling. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, trying to keep some semblance of control. You didn’t want to break down, not yet.

"What… what’s the timeline?" you finally managed to ask, your voice barely a whisper.

"It’s hard to say," the doctor replied gently. "Months, maybe a year. We’ll need to monitor closely and discuss the best options moving forward."

The rest of the appointment passed in a haze. You nodded at the right moments, accepted the information he gave you about treatment options, but none of it seemed to stick. The only thing you could think about was how you were going to tell Joel. How you were going to explain to him that your time together was now limited.

As you walked out of the office, the afternoon sun seemed too bright, too cheerful for what you had just learned. You felt numb, as though you were moving through a dream, detached from the reality that had just been placed in front of you.

You sat in your car for a long time, staring at your phone, trying to figure out how to text Joel. You had promised him everything would be fine. You had been so sure of it.

But now, you had to go home and face the hardest conversation of your life.

How were you going to tell the man you loved, the father of your child, that you were dying?

With trembling hands, you finally typed a message

On my way home:)

++++++++

You pulled up to the house, gripping the steering wheel as if it could somehow anchor you to reality.

A year.

You had a year to watch your daughter grow, to be with Joel. It felt so impossibly short, like sand slipping through your fingers. Every moment from now on was precious, but how were you supposed to tell him?

Taking a deep breath, you got out of the car and made your way to the front door. The smell of lunch wafted through the air as you stepped inside, your mind momentarily distracted by the warmth and familiarity of home. Laughter echoed from the kitchen, and your heart ached knowing how much this place had become your safe haven, filled with the people you loved most.

"Mommy!" Sarah’s excited voice snapped you back to reality as she came running towards you, her little arms outstretched.

You bent down, forcing a smile as you scooped her into your arms, hugging her tight, burying your face in her hair. "Hey, baby girl," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you held her a little longer than usual.

As you straightened up, you felt Joel’s eyes on you instantly. He was standing in the kitchen with Tommy and his new girlfriend, Maria, preparing lunch. His gaze locked onto yours, concern immediately flashing across his face. He knew something was wrong.

"We’ll talk later," Joel mouthed quietly, giving you a look that said he wasn’t going to let it go. He always had a way of reading you, knowing when something wasn’t right.

You nodded, your heart sinking further as Sarah wiggled out of your arms and ran back to play. Tommy greeted you with a grin, oblivious to the weight of the news you carried.

"Hey there!" Tommy said, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder. "You’re just in time for lunch. Maria made her famous chili. You’re gonna love it."

You forced another smile, but it felt hollow. "Sounds great, Tommy," you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

Maria looked up from the stove, giving you a warm smile as well. "It’s good to see you. Hope you’re hungry."

But your appetite was the last thing on your mind. You felt like you were moving on autopilot, helping set the table, making small talk, but your thoughts kept circling back to the doctor’s words. Every glance Joel shot your way reminded you of the conversation you still had to have.

Lunch passed in a blur, the clatter of plates and the hum of conversation surrounding you as you tried to stay present. But every time you looked at Joel or Sarah, your heart clenched tighter. How could you tell them? How could you face what was coming?

After lunch, Tommy and Maria offered to clean up, and you were grateful for the momentary reprieve. Joel came up behind you, gently placing a hand on your back. "Come with me," he said softly, leading you into the living room.

As soon as the door closed behind you, Joel turned to face you, his expression filled with worry. "What’s going on?" he asked, his voice steady but laced with fear. "You’ve been off since you got home."

You looked into his eyes, the man you loved more than anything, and you felt the tears welling up. This was it. There was no avoiding it now.

"Joel…" Your voice cracked, and you took a deep breath, trying to find the strength to say the words. "It wasn’t another pregnancy."

Joel’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer, his hand moving to cup your cheek. "Then what is it? What did they say?"

Tears finally spilled over as you choked out the words you’d been dreading. "I’m sick, Joel. It’s bad. The doctor… the doctor said I have a year. Maybe less."

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Joel’s hand dropped from your face, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What?" he whispered, like he couldn’t quite process what you’d just said.

You nodded, tears streaming down your face. "I’m dying, Joel. There’s nothing they can do. It’s a terminal illness, and… and I only have a year."

The room was silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Joel just stared at you, his face pale, as if the ground had been ripped out from under him. "No… no, there has to be something… some kind of treatment." His voice cracked, panic seeping in.

You shook your head, your own heart breaking as you watched the man you loved fall apart in front of you. "There’s nothing, Joel. They can manage the symptoms, but… it’s only a matter of time."

Joel let out a ragged breath, his eyes filling with tears as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, like if he could just hold on, it would somehow change everything. "No, no… not you. Not now."

You clung to him, sobbing into his chest, feeling the devastation in every fiber of his being as he held you. "I’m so sorry," you whispered. "I’m so, so sorry."

Joel pulled back, cupping your face in his hands as tears streaked down his own cheeks. "We’ll fight this, okay? We’ll fight this with everything we’ve got. We’ll make the most of every damn second." His voice was thick with emotion, his determination cutting through the pain.

Joel's resolve was fierce and unwavering, a beacon of strength amidst the overwhelming sorrow. His hands gently but firmly cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that continued to fall. "We’ll fight this," he repeated, his voice steadier now, a promise amidst the anguish. "I know it's not fair, but we can't give up. We have to make every moment count."

You nodded, trying to draw strength from his determination, though the weight of the reality still felt crushing. "I just want to make sure Sarah has the best memories of us," you said softly, your voice trembling. "I want her to know how much she's loved, even if I'm not there."

Joel's eyes softened, and he nodded in understanding. "She will know, darlin'. We'll make sure of it. We'll do everything we can to give her the best of us, to show her how much she means to us."

The raw emotion in his voice was palpable, and you could see the resolve in his eyes. He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, his touch as gentle as ever.

“I won’t lose you” he whispered, to himself mostly.

+++++++++++

The house was quiet, the gentle hum of the night providing a somber backdrop to your restless thoughts. Despite the late hour, you found yourself unable to sleep, your mind racing with the weight of what you’d just shared with Joel. The sadness and anxiety seemed to follow you as you moved through the house, a heavy blanket of worry that pressed down on you.

Driven by an instinctive need to be close to your daughter, you quietly made your way to Sarah’s room. The hallway was dimly lit, the soft glow of a nightlight casting a warm, reassuring light. You carefully opened the door, trying not to disturb the peacefulness within.

Sarah’s room was filled with the soft, comforting clutter of childhood—a colorful mobile spinning slowly above her crib, stuffed animals scattered around, and drawings she’d made hanging on the walls. You stepped inside, your heart aching at the sight of your little girl sleeping so innocently.

She was nestled under her covers, her tiny chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a serene glow on her peaceful face. You approached the crib quietly, your footsteps muffled on the soft carpet.

You stood there for a moment, just watching her sleep, the tears that had previously flowed now subsiding into a quiet sadness. Seeing her so calm and content was both comforting and heartbreaking. You reached out a hand, gently brushing a lock of hair from her face, your touch tender and full of love.

As you gazed at her, the reality of your situation seemed to crystallize in a new way. This precious child, so full of life and promise, was the center of your world. The thought of not being there to watch her grow up was almost too much to bear.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself. "I love you so much, Sarah," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I’m going to make sure you know that, every single day."

The soft rustle of the door alerted you to Joel’s presence. He had followed you quietly, sensing your distress. He stepped into the room, his eyes softening as he saw you standing by Sarah’s crib. Without a word, he came to stand beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders in a comforting embrace.

"She’s beautiful," Joel murmured, his voice gentle, filled sadness.

You nodded, leaning into him, the warmth of his presence a small but significant comfort. "I just… I want to make sure she’s okay. I want to make sure she remembers how much I love her.”

Joel’s breath hitched as he listened to your words, the weight of your statement crashing over him like a tidal wave. He stood silently for a moment, his arm still around you, but his grip tightening as he tried to hold himself together. The reality of the situation—the harsh truth of your illness and the limited time you had left—was almost too much for him to bear.

As your words sank in, Joel's composure began to crack. The tears that had been pooling in his eyes finally spilled over, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. He buried his face into your shoulder, his body trembling as he let the pain and grief flow freely.

"I can't… I can't believe this," Joel choked out, his voice breaking. "You’re not supposed to go… not now. Not when we’ve finally got everything we ever wanted."

You turned to him, your own tears mixing with his as you gently cupped his face in your hands. "Joel, I wish there was something I could do to change this," you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. "But right now, all we can do is make the most of the time we have left. I need you to be strong, for Sarah, for us."

Joel looked at you, his eyes filled with a mix of anguish and determination. "I don’t know how to be strong without you. You’re everything to me."

You wiped away his tears with your thumb, trying to offer some solace. "You have to. For Sarah. She needs you just as much as I do. We both do."

Joel nodded slowly, his sobs subsiding into a series of ragged breaths. He pulled you closer, holding you tightly as if he could somehow shield you from the inevitable. "I’ll do it," he promised, his voice hoarse. "I’ll be strong.”

You rested your forehead against his, your hearts beating in sync as you shared this painful but precious moment together. Every second between you both counted.

“Let me be with you through this. Let me go with you to the doctor and take care of you” he pleaded.

+++++++++++

You felt the warmth of Joel’s breath against your forehead, the intensity of his love and fear palpable in every touch. His words were both a comfort and a heartbreaking reminder of the reality you were facing.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice trembling, "I need you to be with me through this, too. I can’t do it alone. But I want to be strong for you and Sarah, and I want you to be strong for us."

Joel nodded, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "I’ll be here. Every step of the way. I promise."

He gently pulled you back from the crib, guiding you to sit on the edge of Sarah's bed. He sat beside you, taking your hand in his and holding it tightly. The simple gesture of his hand enveloping yours was a small but powerful symbol of his unwavering support.

"We’ll face this together," he said, his voice steadying as he spoke. "We’ll go to every appointment, handle every treatment, and make sure you’re as comfortable as you can be. We’ll make every day count."

You squeezed his hand, a faint smile touching your lips despite the tears streaming down your face. "Thank you, Joel. It means the world to me."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "I love you," he murmured. "And I’ll do everything I can to make sure you know that, every single day."

You both sat there for a while, the quiet of the night punctuated only by the soft, rhythmic breathing of your sleeping daughter. In that intimate space, amidst the uncertainty and fear, you found a sliver of peace. Together, you faced the daunting road ahead with love and resilience, clinging to each other and to the hope of making the most of every precious moment you had left.

Eventually, Joel helped you up, and you both quietly left Sarah’s room, closing the door softly behind you. As you walked back to your own bedroom, you felt Joel’s steady presence beside you, and though the future was uncertain, you knew that, with him by your side, you would face whatever came with the strength and love that had always defined your life together.

++++++++

Time seemed to slip through your fingers, each day marked by the weight of your diagnosis and the ever-present pain of knowing how limited your time was. Every sunset felt like a reminder of the time slipping away—one day less to share with Joel, one day less to hold Sarah. The urgency of every moment grew more intense, and you clung to each precious second.

You and Joel had a scheduled visit to the doctor, and the tension in the air was palpable. The doctor explained a treatment plan that could help manage your symptoms and ease your pain, but the prospect of spending even more time in a hospital filled you with dread.

As you sat in the sterile, white room, Joel's eyes were fixed on the doctor, but he kept glancing at you, searching for some sign of agreement or understanding. The doctor’s voice was calm and professional, but Joel’s anxiety was palpable as he tried to take in every detail.

"You should start this treatment as soon as possible," the doctor said. "It will help manage the pain and improve your quality of life."

You shook your head, your chest tightening. "I don’t want to be in and out of hospitals. I want to be with Joel and Sarah. I want to spend whatever time I have left with them, not stuck in a hospital room."

Joel’s face reddened with frustration and concern. "But this could make things easier for you. You don’t have to suffer through the pain if you take this treatment!"

"I don’t want to spend my days in a hospital!" you argued back, your voice rising. "I want to be with my family, not lying in a bed surrounded by machines and IV drips. Every day I spend there is a day I lose with you.”

The argument grew heated, both of you caught in the clash between your desire to make the most of your time and Joel's desperation to find any way to alleviate your suffering.

Joel’s face was a mixture of anger and helplessness as he tried to make you understand. "I’m just trying to help you! I want you to be as comfortable as possible. I can’t bear the thought of you in pain."

You took a deep breath, your emotions raw. "I know you’re trying to help, Joel. But I need to live, not just survive. I want to hold Sarah, kiss you goodnight, and make memories with you. I don’t want my last days to be filled with hospital rooms and treatments. I want to be where I can be with you both, as much as possible."

The room fell silent, the gravity of your words sinking in. Joel’s shoulders slumped, and he looked away, his hands gripping the edge of the chair tightly. The fight had left him, replaced by a deep, painful realization of the limited time you both had.

Finally, Joel reached out, taking your hand in his with a gentleness that belied the struggle he was feeling. "Alright," he said quietly, his voice weary and tired.

“I don’t want you both to forget me” you said, “I need to know I was important.”

Joel’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He looked at you with a mixture of sadness and determination, his voice cracking as he spoke. “You’ll never be forgotten. You are the most important person in our lives. Sarah will know all about how much you loved her, and I’ll make sure she knows how much you meant to me, too.”

You nodded, your heart aching at the depth of his words. “I just need to be sure that I’m leaving something behind—something that tells you both how much I love you.”

Joel wiped a tear from his cheek, his face softening with a pained smile. “You’ve already left us with so much. Your love, your laughter, your strength… it’s all a part of who we are. And it will be with us, always.”

You squeezed his hand, finding some comfort in his words, even as your heart ached with the reality of your situation. “I want to make sure we make every day count. I want Sarah to have the best memories of us together, of our family.”

Joel nodded; his expression resolute. “We will. Every day will be filled with love and laughter, and we’ll make sure Sarah knows how much you meant to her. We’ll make the most of this time, I promise.”

++++++++

The days that followed were a whirlwind of bittersweet moments, as you and Joel made the most of every precious second together. Despite the heaviness that lingered over your days, there was a sense of determination to fill them with love and joy for both yourself and Sarah.

Every morning, you and Joel would wake up early, watching Sarah’s tiny face light up with a smile as you all shared breakfast together. The simple pleasures of family life became even more cherished. You would spend afternoons at the park, where Sarah’s laughter rang out as she chased butterflies and played on the swings, with Joel pushing her higher and higher.

One of the things you enjoyed most was having movie nights. The three of you would snuggle on the couch, watching animated films and eating popcorn, with Joel often making silly faces to make Sarah giggle. You cherished these moments of simple happiness, knowing they would be treasured memories for your little girl.

Joel also made sure to capture these memories. He took countless photos of you with Sarah, documenting every milestone and every cherished moment. There were days filled with arts and crafts, with Sarah’s tiny hands covered in paint as she created colorful drawings that you proudly displayed around the house.

In the evenings, when Sarah was asleep, you and Joel would sit together, talking about the future and reminiscing about your past. There were tears, but also laughter, as you shared stories and dreams. Joel’s presence was a constant source of comfort and strength, and you found solace in the way he held you close, even as you both faced the reality of the time you had left.

On weekends, you would go on family outings—visiting the zoo, going on picnics, and taking long walks in nature. Joel made sure these outings were filled with joy and wonder for Sarah, creating a world where she felt loved and cherished.

As the months passed, there were moments of quiet reflection. Joel would often hold you close while watching Sarah sleep, whispering reassurances and promises to you. Even in the midst of your struggle, you found strength in the love and support of your family.

And when the time came to say goodbye, it was with the knowledge that you had filled your days with love, laughter, and unforgettable memories. You left behind a legacy of warmth and affection that would continue to live on in the hearts of those you loved most.

++++++++++

the moments you shared with Joel became even more precious. Despite the looming shadow of your illness, you both found solace in each other's arms, drawing strength from the love that had always been a cornerstone of your relationship.

In the evenings, after Sarah had gone to bed, Joel would take your hand and lead you to the quiet sanctuary of your bedroom. There, you would spend time talking, reminiscing, and dreaming of a future that, though limited, was filled with love. You’d sit together on the edge of the bed, holding each other close, sharing whispers of gratitude and affection. The conversations often revolved around how much you meant to each other, the deep love you had for one another, and the life you had built together.

“I’m so grateful for every moment we’ve had,” Joel would say, his voice soft and filled with emotion. “You’ve made my life so much richer, so much more meaningful. I don’t know how I’ll manage without you, but I know I’ll carry you with me every single day.”

You’d look into his eyes, feeling a profound sense of connection and love. “You’ve been my rock, Joel. Through everything, you’ve been there for me. I’ve loved every second of our life together, and I’m so glad I got to share this time with you.”

Joel would gently brush your hair back from your face, his touch tender and loving. “I’m going to make sure Sarah knows just how much you loved her. I’ll keep your memory alive in everything we do. She’s going to grow up knowing how special you were.”

You’d smile through your tears, finding comfort in his words. “And I’ll be with you both in every step you take, every laugh, every tear. I’ll be in the memories we’ve made, in the love that we shared.”

On weekends, you and Joel would find small adventures to embark on, just the two of you. Whether it was taking a scenic drive to your favorite spots, having a quiet dinner at a restaurant you both loved, or simply sitting together in the backyard under the stars, you made sure these moments were filled with love and laughter.

One night, after a particularly special dinner where you reminisced about your favorite moments together, Joel held you close and whispered, “I love you more than words can say. I want you to know that you are everything to me. I can’t imagine my life without you, but I’m so grateful for the time we’ve had.”

You snuggled closer, feeling the warmth of his love. “I love you too, Joel. Every day with you has been a gift, and I’m so glad I got to share this journey with you. You’ve made my life so full.”

++++++++++

One evening, you and Joel had invited Tommy and Maria over for dinner. It was a comforting routine that allowed you to share joyful moments with family, despite the shadow that loomed over your days. The table was set with your favorite dishes, laughter and conversation flowing freely as you all enjoyed the meal together.

Sarah was in her high chair, delighting in the company and the food, her giggles adding a touch of lightness to the atmosphere. Joel was by your side, occasionally glancing at you with a mixture of love and concern. Tommy and Maria chatted animatedly, their warmth creating a cocoon of familiarity and comfort.

But as the evening wore on, you began to feel a growing unease. A wave of dizziness washed over you, and you tried to brush it off, attributing it to the long day and the stress you had been under. However, the feeling didn’t subside. Instead, it intensified, leaving you feeling weak and disoriented.

Joel noticed your discomfort immediately. His face tightened with concern as he reached out to steady you. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

You forced a smile, but the effort was clearly draining. “I’m just feeling a bit off. I think I need to sit down for a minute.”

Tommy and Maria’s conversation faltered as they noticed the change in the mood. Tommy’s eyes met Joel’s, and the unease was palpable. “Maybe you should go to the hospital,” Tommy suggested gently, his voice carrying a note of urgency.

Joel’s expression shifted to one of determination. He stood up, helping you to your feet with a steadying arm. “We need to get you checked out,” he said firmly, his worry evident.

Maria quickly gathered your things, while Joel helped you into the car. Sarah, sensing the tension, looked up with curious eyes as Tommy comforted her, assuring her everything would be alright.

The drive to the hospital was a blur of anxious thoughts and unspoken fears. Joel’s hand remained tightly clasped around yours, offering both support and strength. The hospital’s bright lights and bustling atmosphere seemed almost surreal as you arrived, your strength waning with each step.

Joel rushed you through the emergency room, the urgency of the situation clear in his eyes. The doctors and nurses quickly took over, guiding you through a series of tests and assessments. Joel remained by your side, his presence a constant source of comfort amid the chaos.

As the minutes ticked by, you could see the worry etched deeply on Joel’s face. He paced back and forth, occasionally glancing at the clock as if willing time to slow down. The tension in the room was palpable, with Tommy and Maria waiting in the hallway, their faces etched with concern.

Finally, the doctor emerged, and Joel’s heart sank as he saw the somber expression on the doctor’s face. He immediately went to the doctor, his voice trembling as he asked for information. The doctor’s words were gentle but clear: your condition had worsened, and it was only a matter of time.

Joel’s world seemed to tilt, and he struggled to hold back his tears as he returned to your side. He sat beside you, his hand gripping yours tightly. “I’m here with you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m not leaving.”

You looked into his eyes, feeling a profound sense of gratitude and love despite the pain you were experiencing. “Thank you for being here with me”

As you lay in the hospital bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the overhead lights, you found solace in Joel’s presence beside you. His hand was still gripping yours, the warmth and strength of his touch providing a small measure of comfort amidst the uncertainty.

Joel looked at you, his eyes brimming with tears, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "You know," he began, his voice trembling slightly, "I keep thinking about how we first met."

You managed a faint smile, despite the heaviness in your chest. "At this very hospital," you said softly. "It feels like a lifetime ago."

Joel nodded, a chuckle escaping his lips, though it was tinged with sadness. "Yeah, I remember that day.

You squeezed his hand gently. "And now, here we are again. It's almost poetic, in a way."

Joel’s eyes filled with tears once more as he looked at you, the weight of the moment crashing down on him. "It’s just… so damn unfair. We had so much more to experience together, so many more memories to make. I thought we’d have years, not just a few precious months."

The tears fell freely now, streaming down Joel’s face as he struggled to contain his grief. He bowed his head, his shoulders shaking with sobs. "I don’t know how to say goodbye. I don’t know how to live in a world without you."

You reached out, cupping his face in your hands. "You don’t have to say goodbye yet," you whispered, your own voice breaking. "We still have these moments, these precious days together. And even after I’m gone, you’ll carry my love with you. I’ll be in your heart, in Sarah’s laughter, and in every little thing we’ve shared."

Joel nodded, trying to steady his breath as he wiped away his tears. "I’ll hold on to that. I’ll remember every moment we had, every laugh, every kiss. I’ll make sure Sarah knows how much you loved her, and I’ll keep your memory alive in everything we do."

You gazed into his eyes, finding strength in his resolve. "And I’ll be with you both, always. In the memories we’ve made and the love we’ve shared."

Joel leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his tears mingling with yours. "I love you so much," he murmured. "More than words can ever express."

"I love you too," you whispered back. "Forever and always."

The night wore on, the hospital room growing quieter with each passing hour. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor became a solemn reminder of the fleeting time left. Your breaths were growing shallower, each one a struggle as the weight of your condition became increasingly apparent.

Joel stayed by your side, his hand still holding yours with a steady grip. His eyes, red from crying, remained fixed on you, his face a mask of heartache and determination. He knew this was the final chapter of your journey, and he was determined to be with you every step of the way.

With a tender and measured touch, Joel reached for Sarah, who had been resting in the care of Tommy and Maria. He gently carried her into the room, her small body nestled against his chest. The sight of her, innocent and unaware of the gravity of the situation, brought a new wave of tears to your eyes.

Joel carefully placed Sarah in your arms, her soft, warm weight providing a bittersweet comfort. You looked down at her cherubic face, feeling a surge of love and sorrow. Your heart ached knowing that you wouldn’t be there to watch her grow up, but you were determined to leave her with a sense of your love.

“Hey, my sweet girl,” you whispered, your voice weak but filled with affection. Sarah looked up at you with curious eyes, her tiny fingers grasping yours. “Mommy loves you so much.”

Joel sat beside you, his hand resting on Sarah’s small back. He looked at you with a mixture of pain and gratitude. “She’s beautiful. She’s going to grow up knowing how much you loved her.”

You smiled faintly, your eyes meeting Joel’s. “Promise me you’ll tell her stories about me. About our time together, and how much we loved each other.”

Joel nodded, tears streaming down his face. “I promise. She’ll know all about you. She’ll know how amazing you were, how much you loved her, and how you made every moment special.”

As your breaths grew slower, the room seemed to hold its breath with you. Joel leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m here with you,” he whispered. “You’re not alone.”

You turned your gaze back to Sarah, your voice trembling as you spoke to her. “I’ll always be with you, sweetheart. In your heart, in your dreams, and in every beautiful thing you do. Mommy loves you more than anything.”

Sarah cooed softly, her tiny fingers reaching out to touch your face. You gently caressed her cheek, feeling the warmth of her skin. “Be good for Daddy. He’ll take care of you, and he’ll love you just as much as I do.”

Joel’s tears fell freely now, his face buried in his hands as he struggled to contain his grief. He took a deep breath, his voice cracking with emotion as he spoke to you. “We’ll be okay. We’ll remember you. We’ll make sure Sarah knows how special you were, and we’ll keep you in our hearts forever.”

You took a final, shuddering breath, your strength waning. You looked at Joel one last time, seeing the depth of his love and commitment. “I love you,” you whispered. “Forever and always.”

With that final promise, you closed your eyes, feeling a deep sense of peace. The love that had defined your life, the love that you had shared with Joel and Sarah, would continue to live on in their hearts, a testament to the beautiful and profound bond you had created together.

+++++++++++

The room fell into an overwhelming silence after your final breath. The beeping of the heart monitor ceased, replaced by the quiet sobs of Joel and the soft, rhythmic breathing of Sarah, who remained nestled in your arms. The gravity of the moment settled heavily on Joel, and he carefully took Sarah from your lifeless embrace, holding her close as he struggled to contain his grief.

Tommy and Maria, who had been waiting outside, came in quietly, their eyes red and their faces etched with sorrow. They stood at a respectful distance, offering their support and understanding as Joel cradled Sarah in his arms, tears streaming down his face.

Joel gently laid you back onto the hospital bed, his fingers lingering on your hand as if hoping to feel a last trace of warmth. His heart was shattered, but he knew he had to be strong for Sarah. He reached for the small bundle of joy that was their daughter, holding her close and whispering words of comfort to her.

He glanced around the room, taking in the reality of the situation. The once lively conversations, the shared laughter, and the promises of a future together seemed like a distant memory now. It was a stark contrast to the present, a heavy silence filled with the echoes of your love and the pain of your absence.

Tommy stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on Joel’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of everything,” he said softly. “You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Maria nodded; her eyes filled with compassion. “We’ll help you with all the arrangements. We’re here for you, for Sarah.”

Joel managed a nod, his voice hoarse as he replied, “Thank you.”

It was all he managed to say.

+++++++++++

Joel stumbled through the front door of the house, the once familiar warmth now replaced by an overwhelming coldness. Each step felt heavier as he moved through the rooms, his heart aching with the absence of your presence. The house, once filled with laughter and love, now felt hollow and silent.

He made his way to the bedroom, the place where you had shared so many moments of intimacy and comfort. As he entered the room, the emptiness was palpable. The bed, once shared, now seemed too large and lonely. The space you had filled with your presence and love was now a void, echoing with memories.

Joel collapsed onto the bed, his chest heaving with the intensity of his grief. He buried his face in the pillow, the scent of you still lingering faintly. Tears streamed down his face as he allowed himself to fully embrace the sorrow that had overtaken him. The silence of the room was only broken by the sound of his sobs, a raw and unrestrained expression of the depth of his pain.

He clutched the pillow, imagining it was you, and whispered your name through his tears. “I miss you so much,” he choked out, his voice breaking with every word. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

The room felt like a shrine to your memory, filled with remnants of your life together—the framed photographs on the nightstands, the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and the faint traces of your touch. Each item seemed to amplify the void left behind.

Joel’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and regrets. He replayed moments from the past—times when you had laughed together, held each other, and dreamed of a future that now felt out of reach. The memories were both a comfort and a torment, a reminder of what had been lost and what would never be again.

As he lay there, the exhaustion of the day and the emotional toll finally began to weigh on him. He knew he had to be strong for Sarah, but in this moment, alone in the room that held so many of your shared memories, he allowed himself to grieve. The night stretched out before him, a long and lonely vigil as he wrestled with the enormity of his loss.

Hours later, Joel eventually drifted into a fitful sleep, the weight of his grief a constant companion. He knew that tomorrow would bring more challenges, more pain, and more adjustments to a life forever altered by your absence. But for now, the quiet of the night and the space you had shared was all he had, and he clung to it as a bittersweet reminder of the love that would always remain in his heart.

+++++++++++++

On Sarah’s thirteenth birthday, Joel felt a mix of pride and bittersweet nostalgia. It was a significant milestone, and he wanted it to be special for her. The day had been filled with laughter, friends, and celebrations, but there was one more moment that he had been waiting for—a moment he had kept close to his heart.

After the festivities had calmed down and Sarah was surrounded by her friends and family, Joel gently called her aside. “There’s something I want to give you,” he said, his voice carrying a tender note of emotion.

Sarah looked at him with curiosity as he led her to a quiet corner of the house. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, carefully wrapped package. The paper was adorned with a delicate floral design, and a note was attached with a ribbon.

“This is something your mom left for you,” Joel said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “She knew this day would come, and she wanted you to have this.”

Sarah’s eyes widened with surprise as she carefully untied the ribbon and removed the wrapping. Inside was a beautifully crafted jewelry box, its surface intricately designed with floral patterns and delicate engravings. As she lifted the lid, a soft gasp escaped her lips.

Inside the box lay a locket, its surface engraved with the initials “S” and “J,” and a small, framed photo of you and Sarah, taken when she was just a baby. The locket contained two small, precious pictures—one of you, and one of Sarah as a newborn.

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she looked up at Joel. “I’ve never seen this before,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Joel nodded, his own eyes misty. “Your mom wanted you to have it on your thirteenth birthday. She wanted you to know how much she loved you and how proud she was of the person you’re becoming.”

Sarah carefully picked up the locket, her fingers brushing the photo of you. “Thank you,” she said, her voice choked with emotion. “It means so much to me.”

Joel pulled her into a gentle embrace, holding her close as she cried softly against him. “She loved you more than anything,” Joel said quietly. “And she’s always with us, in our hearts and in our memories.”

As Sarah held the locket close, she looked up at Joel with a grateful smile. “I’m going to keep this forever,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “It’s a piece of her that I can always carry with me.”

Joel smiled through his tears, feeling a profound sense of peace. “She would be so proud of you,” he said. “And she’ll always be a part of your life, just like she is a part of mine.”

As Sarah clasped the locket around her neck, a gentle warmth seemed to fill the room. Joel noticed a soft, iridescent glow forming in the air, gradually taking shape. His heart skipped a beat as he saw what seemed to be a delicate butterfly, its wings shimmering with a myriad of colors that danced in the light.

The butterfly hovered for a moment, almost as if it were assessing its surroundings, before it gracefully fluttered over to Sarah and Joel. It landed gently on Sarah’s shoulder, its tiny wings fluttering in a serene, almost ethereal manner.

Sarah’s eyes widened in awe as she reached out a trembling hand. The butterfly, with its captivating, almost familiar patterns, seemed to radiate a gentle, comforting presence. Joel stood beside her, his tears now mingled with a profound sense of wonder and calm.

“It’s her,” Joel said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s really her.”

Sarah’s face lit up with a smile, her earlier sadness replaced by a serene joy. “Mom,” she said quietly, her eyes fixed on the butterfly. “It’s like she’s here with us.”

Joel nodded, his heart swelling with emotion. “She’s always with us, in every moment, in every memory. This is her way of reminding us that she’s never truly gone.”

The butterfly remained perched on Sarah’s shoulder for a few more moments before it gently took flight, circling the room in a graceful dance. It finally settled on a nearby windowsill, where it continued to flutter its wings, casting a soft glow in the dim light.

Sarah and Joel watched in awe, their smiles reflecting the profound connection they felt in that moment. The butterfly, with its vibrant colors and delicate grace, was a symbol of the love and presence that transcended time and space.

As the butterfly eventually fluttered away into the night, leaving a trail of shimmering light behind, Joel wrapped his arm around Sarah, pulling her into a warm embrace. “She’s always here, with us,” Joel said softly. “And we’ll carry her memory with us, every day.”

Sarah hugged her father tightly, her heart full of the love and comfort that the butterfly had symbolized. “I know,” she whispered. “And I’ll keep this locket close to remind me of her.”

+++++++++++++++

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xesnox · 5 months ago

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(Post fall) Ancient builder x Illager toxic old man yaoi when

WIP, was planning on doing a ref for every human race but a mutual of mine practically begged me to post these two on their own so you’re probably gonna see this image again. Colors are not yet where I want them to be so I’ll definitely go over it a few more times.

I’d like to take this moment to point out that the way you summon allays in legends, where you play as an ancient builder, is pretty similar to the way evokers summon vexes.

Design / AU rant below cut, as always.

This one’s a little worse written than usual, I’m just rambling.

I practically have an infinite amount of Ancient builder designs because I draw them differently with every piece depending on how I’m feeling, but for this design I got more genuinely speculative and turned on my pattern recognition.

Steve and Alex are canonically 6’2, both of them, and all undead mobs seem to be the same height, if not taller than they are, so I made them average around 6’5. To add to that, all undead builder mobs either don’t have eyes or have solid coloured glowing ones, so I went with the latter.

Minecraft isn’t a stranger to making lifeforms appearances change drastically depending on circumstance, this render is of an Ancient builder post wither attack, around ancient city time, which meant I could adopt the idea the devs mentioned about villagers/illagers, of human skin turning desaturated if they stay out of the sun for long enough, which, if the single generation of Illagers already show signs of I bet the god knows how many decade long underground escapades of the builders probably hit ‘em hard with that trait.

I also for the longest time for some reason forgot cosmetics were very likely a thing, so they’ve got some protection spells and luck enchantments tattooed, both of them do. Doesn’t work very well, as one can probably guess. But they’re superstitious so it felt in character enough.

For the post wither attack Ancient builders I also tend to think of them as more frail, not only because they had no access to their former overworld food supplies and had to rely on the little stuff that did grow in complete lack of sunlight underground, which definitely wasn’t a lot, but also because beyond the military force that did seem to remain from the nether war (ancient city structure name: Barracks, disk 5 marching.) they definitely were no longer strong enough to properly defend themselves against the wither or the warden/mourner on their own accord.

And because they were cowards and skedaddled when the overworld was in danger AND got beat up by the piglin despite being the main kingdom in power which I just find really funny. So think tall and boney but hiding it under a lot of clothing layers to still appear strong. Definitely can’t put on armor anymore though, that back would snap like a twig.

When it comes to the robes I used some of my older armor template designs for reference, made them black and blue to fit the most well known ancient builder sprite as well as vaguely match the one of the evoker. Because, oh well, you caught me, I do believe the cargo cult theory. Got my own interpretation but I’ll leave it at that till the next bestiary entry.

I generally want the villagers to look more varied, and human, while the builders, both neo and ancient, look more unsettling, as if they’re clearly a person, but something just looks, or moves wrong. They’re too symmetrical. Too far removed from what once was flawed but sincerely their own.

A lot of villager beauty standards are inspired by medieval-renaissance era Europe, like for an example having a larger visible forehead and appearing more boxy in shape being seen as more visually appealing, I think despite the illagers trying to subvert that they do still live in a society, so having grown accustomed to it as children they probably still at-least somehow adhere to the beauty standards they know, whether consciously or not.

They perform similar experiments on themselves as the builders, they’re just ever so slightly worse at it, as they haven’t been doing it for as long, so it leaves marks like scarring or visible stitching, though I believe they wear these with pride.

There’s gonna be a dedicated post about them at some point, as I said so I don’t know how much of my design I want to pick apart for now, but I’ll just leave it at that for now.

Here’s some alternative versions.

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takes1 · 1 year ago

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bratty tsukishima x manager!reader enemies to lovers

warnings. none for this part. stay for steamy stuff in later parts ;) content. tsukki not knowing how to handle a crush/enemies to lovers!/manager!reader/gn!reader for this part, could change?/passive-aggressive tsukki/daichi being a friend/suga being a friend/future smut/future sexual frustration notes. i'm branching out! first haikyuu fic! not done with mha but it just doesn't motivate me to write rn :( links. masterlist for mha. my ao3. PART TWO HERE. PART THREE HERE. PART FOUR HERE. FINAL PART HERE. haikyuu collection

You were walking back with a full case of freshly mixed sports drinks for the team when the whistle blew for a break. The entirety of Karasuno was on you at a moment's notice, rowdy despite their long practice.

A plethora of 'thank you's and appreciative mantras filled your heart as you were able to hand out bottles.

The first to swipe them were the first-years that sprinted up to you, trying to beat each other in their own intense, but good-natured race. Then the less excitable members, like your fellow seniors, that gave you slower and sincere thanks, shoulder pats, and tried to engage you in conversation.

Except, you had to make sure everyone got theirs. Which left the bane of your existence.

He sucked his teeth and looked away, disinterested in hydrating as soon as he realized you were handing them out.

"Tsukishima, come on," Suga heeded a subtle warning, but his mistake was turning away to speak to the others- and not following up to ensure the first-year did this simple task.

You weren't going to hold up a bottle for the kid all day. This was ridiculous and beneath you. Your arm slapped down to your side.

Everybody knew he had some issue with you. His disliking for you was nearly automatic upon being placed on the team, but it had somehow grew to a new intensity each day you had to interact.

Little instances like this one added up quick. And it didn't take long to notice, especially amongst your longest friends.

It boiled down to something about you being enough to piss him off, much like Hinata and Kageyama of his own class. For those two, it was relatively harmless bullshit. For you, the structure of the team hinged on him listening to you as his senior and manager.

"I really don't know what's gotten into him-- I-I'm so sorry," Yamaguchi spoke through gritted teeth.

He would've blabbed for much longer on his friend's behalf like usual, but he stopped short with a chill when he found your mirrored cool, upward stare.

"You don't need it anyway," You set his full bottle back into the case with a loud thump, "You haven't even sweat today."

It was a tad bit of an exaggeration, but his growing habit of letting certain spikes through had been prevalent enough to catch your attention. It bothered you because not only did he so quickly run out of steam -much sooner than the others who got the same court time as him-, but Coach didn't always notice his faults the same way you could.

You didn't try to look at him more than the others, truly. Your job hinged on being objective and you liked to think you did a great job at that. Lately though, it'd been tough not noticing every little shitty idiosyncrasy of his.

The way he hit the ball. The curve of his body into the net when he leaped into the air. The angle he liked to hit. The side he favored. The amount of steps he took before he jumped.

He wasn't as skilled as he let on. They could all use improvement, but his cockiness really ate at your patience. The others at the very least pretended to listen to you, and most took your criticism as a chance to improve. God forbid you comment on his faults, though.

The last time you did, his face had frozen with that ugly, twisted expression for the rest of the match.

Almost as soon as your accusation met his ears, that unbelievably fake calm demeanor crumbled into one serious mixture of aggravation.

His jaw tightened and he glanced around your stone-cold stare.

Bitter, he almost seemed to loom over you as he wiped his forehead with an oversized palm. His gaze remained unfaltering, ever so hateful, and he squeezed a closed fist in between you.

Sweat drip, drip, dripped onto the gym floor.

Head cocked, he opened his mouth to speak-- but Daichi slapped a mighty hand onto Tsukishima's upper arm. His forced grin -a welcome sight at this point- came into view.

"Thank you for volunteering to mop today, Tsukishima!"

Sometimes, when you had these types of exchanges, everyone else just sort of... fell away. Despite some polite cover-up conversations, most of the other players had a sensitive ear to his attitude problem with you. They were practically trained to listen to you speak-- this, compounded with Tsukishima's quiet demeanor, and the gym usually fell just short of completely still.

The blond's scowl elicited your covered laugh as you were pulled away. Suga warned you quietly to not get too caught up in talking to the first-years, but it was difficult to focus on his words.

"Thanks," Was punctuated with the sound of Coach's whistle- he gave you a sympathetic expression and ran off.

You didn't realize how worked up you got until they all returned to the court to finish their spiking drills. They formed up in a neat line, one after the other.

Clipboard gripped a bit tighter, you took a big breath in. Then, out. Your heart settled.

Nobody likes confrontation.

SLAM!

Not unless they're a masochist or something.

SLAM.

Why did he have to pick on you? And not some bigger fish that was actually on the team? Your heart squeezed from the burden of it all.

S L A M !

Tsukishima turned to move to the back of the line, but made sure to catch your eyes before you could even think to ignore him. His expression was indescribable but nothing short of trouble.

@ me to be added to the taglist for this fic series! i have at least 4 more parts i want to do that will be substantially longer

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eddiernunson · 11 months ago

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Bikinis, Ice Cream and Other Ways To Torture Him | Older Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Harrington Fem!Reader | 18+

Prev |

Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your dad and him, young and dumb. You’re home for the weekend, which happens to be the same weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum gloss for the fun of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Warnings: Older Rockstar!Eddie, Harrington!Reader (Steve’s daughter), use of excessive nicknames, no use of y/n, ambiguous ending, smut

Describes: long hair, shorter than Eddie by a few inches, reader is described to look like her mom (can be ANY race) with Steve’s freckles. No skin Color or body shape/type.

Word Count: 6.8k

This is the last chapter so…enjoy! Thanks for reading! Sorry for the delayed posting today! Parenthood is kicking my ass.

Chapter 6

You hesitantly accept his offer, getting up to sober up a little and grab a bathing suit as Eddie comes from behind you, hands grabbing your shoulders and resting his chin on one of them as he asks, “Where are you going?”

“Grabbing a bathing suit,” you answer, gulping at his stubble pressed directly against your cheek.

“Don’t think so,” Eddie jerks his head, not giving you a moment to wonder what he meant before you hit the icy cold depths of your pool, hearing Eddie also hit the water as you went under.

“Jesus!” You cry as you hit the surface, wiping your face from the water that got into your eyes. “Warn a girl!”

“We were going into the pool anyway, we got towels, where’s the fun in that?” Eddie asks, starting to swim circles around you.

“You could’ve at least let me take my shorts off, they are already falling off my legs,” you whine, grabbing the pair from below the waters’ surface around your shin to throw on the pool’s edge.

Eddie scoffs, attempting not to leer to your underwear under the water, wondering if the pool’s liquid had made it see through, or what kind you were wearing. It occurs to him he hadn't thought this impromptu swim very well through.

He swims to the edge to take another drink of his beer, offering you one as well when you pout to your beer still sitting by the dwindling fire. “Alright, I bet…” he trails off, his eyes shining mischievously, “I could beat you to the other end of the pool,” Eddie announces, already starting the race.

“Hey, it’s not fair if you’ve already started!” You huff, quickly starting some breast strokes right behind him.

He beats you by mere seconds, grinning at you cheekily when your face lifts from the water. “You got a head start,” you pout, splashing him childishly.

He splashes you right back at twice the force, a tidal wave completely drowning your head. “You’re just a sore loser.”

“Alright, then, one two three go!” You launch yourself off the wall, giggling when Eddie gives the same attitude towards your unfair headstart as you did to his.

Somehow, he manages to get ahead, out of breath as you reach the surface but grinning stupid all the same, proud of his besting you once again. “Cheaters never prosper.”

“Yeah, or you just have better lungs and longer legs, Munson,” you sneer, not letting him be too proud of his second win.

“Better lungs? Prove it. Wanna test it?” He teases, his eyelashes dripping with the chlorine water but not paying any mind how it drips into his eyes.

“By what, by seeing who can hold your breath under water the longest?” you joke, giggling when he nods in all seriousness.

You agree to it, but just as you could’ve predicted, he wins all three tries. He shrugs, saying something about you must’ve been right about his singer’s lungs.

You usually don’t take losing so well, a competitive streak from having three siblings who all succeeded in almost everything they did, but you were getting so much joy from your adventure in the water with him you forgot to be sour.

“You talk a big talk, but I could beat you in math any day, Munson,” you jeer, internally panicking when it doesn’t affect him in the slightest.

“Oh yeah? Well math ain’t gonna help you here, sweetheart.” He lurches forward, initiating a chase that sends a thrill up your spine, immediately turning away and freaking out when you hear his splashes grow closer and closer.

The pool wall ended up being much closer than you had expected, turning around to him nearly colliding with you from the full force of his momentum. He’s breathing heavily, his bare chest after complaining about his shirt dragging him down pale in the blue night lights, two hands right next to your shoulders on the tiles. He licks his lips, a playful grin still on his face yet slowly fades.

Your shirt has also dragged you down, having taken it off and throwing it just a few feet from where your shorts lie. Your underwear does little to hide what it’s meant to, two thin fabrics between you and the wall. You recall when you considered putting on a bathing suit after your shower earlier but thought it would be silly.

Now all of that seems silly.

The music, now faint, still carries on in the background as Eddie nor you move from the spots, the space between your chests seemingly smaller and smaller.

You’ve held back from this tantalizing temptation so many times, you’ve lost track. You don’t have the strength to hold back any more, so you don’t. You finally take a bite of the damn apple, whether or not there’s hell to pay for it.

Your legs wrap around his waist, tugging him in as you finally press your lips to his gorgeous pink ones. Eddie immediately tenses up, going stiff as a rod. Your first instinct is that you’ve obviously made a blunder, misreading all the signs and were waiting for the humiliation to start, for his apologies to bumble out.

When you attempt to let go and apologize profusely, he cuts you off, pinning your back against the pool as his hands work their way up your body, restless and careless until they stay still on your ass, rough and commanding as you feel his boner right on your desperate heat. His lips against yours take complete control, one hand landing on your cheek as he opens his mouth just a little bit more to allow your tongues collide, beers and smores and musk and watermelons and oh fuck he’s a good kisser.

His stubble collides with your cheek and burns in the best way, drinking in every moment as he kisses you slow but desperately, not wanting to waste a single second after burning for it, his lips on yours.

“Do you know what you do to me, you beautiful little tease?” He mutters, rutting himself as if to demonstrate what he meant.

“I have an idea,” you smirk, gasping the smile away as soon as the boner collides again, harder.

“Do you? Do you know that everytime I see you in a new slutty little outfit I get fucking hard? Every small action you make, taking joints out from your fucking bra, licking jam off your hand,” he ruts again swallowing a whimper that leaves your mouth, “the fucking ice cream, fuck, it is torture just being near you.”

Your legs cling onto him, heels digging into his thighs as one hand wedges itself between your panties and your hip, toying with the thin fabric, his hand roughly digging into the doughy skin of your thigh. “Tell me more,” you plead, chasing his full lips as they messily plant kisses all down your neck, teeth scraping against your skin while his nose nuzzles it, taking deep inhales on his trek.

“God, baby, everything about you had me ready to mark you as mine, I just needed you so fucking bad it drove me insane. Did you need me too? I-I fucking know the answer, but I need to hear it, you need me too, right?” He borderline begs, his voice gone from rough and aggressive to needy almost instantaneously.

“I-I need you, Eddie, I really, really need you,” you answer him in full honesty, overwhelmed by the force of vulnerability that rushes through you like a gust of wind.

The only thing that you can call what comes out of him next is a whimper, his brown eyes searching both of yours rapidly as his hand tightens on your bare hip. “Say it again?”

“Say what again?” you frown, your face close enough to his that the only thing that passes through it are the loud gasps in the quiet of the night. Even with the music still playing in the background, it really only feels as its you and him alone in the world.

“Say my name?” He licks his lips right before scattering kisses all along your collarbone, sucking and nibbling weaved with little whimpers, his wet hair brushing against your chin in the meantime.

You smile, not having noticed the subconscious attempt at distancing yourself. Referring to him as Eddie, even in place of Munson, feels too personal, too real. If he’s Eddie, he’s on your level. Attainable.

Something you have told yourself all weekend that he is anything but.

Your mouth opens to give him exactly what he wanted, but you decide against it at the very last second, “Make me,” husking out instead.

The breathy, seductive tone took him aback, his brow scrunching for just a fraction of a second until a change cascades over his face. Half of his open mouth quirks itself upward, and it’s dark out, the sun having said its final goodbyes, but his brown doe eyes darken as he collects himself. “Make you, hmm? S’that my pretty girl asking me to make her moan my name?”

You nod, out of focus but staring up at him through your lashes all the same, arching your back when he takes you by surprise as he gropes the soft skin of your ass.

“You have been a very good girl, I suppose,” he hums, as if still considering your offer, like he wasn’t just begging for it only moments ago.

You could argue against that, but you won’t if he’s offering you this leeway. “Mmhm,” you nod eagerly, your breaths growing shorter and faster biting your lip in anticipation.

“Alright, then be my good girl and say please,” Eddie mutters, landing one hand next to you on the pool tiles.

“Please,” spills out your lips before you even process it, your legs slowly wafering through the water as he remains still, his lips and hand once all over you now a simple tease in comparison to the touch he finally granted you.

“Please?” Eddie mutters, tilting his head in false curiosity. “Please, what, baby?”

“Please, please t-touch me,” it ‘s so simple, so delicate yet so intimate, crossing a boundary the both of you tried so hard to refrain from. “Want you to please make me moan your name with your fingers, Please.”

“See?” Eddie’s hands start again, hand on the tiles slotting itself on your cheek, the other abruptly slotting itself on your heat. “See, I knew you were a good girl.”

Just his touch alone sends a jolt up your system, a hot flash of lightning as your body jolts up weightlessly held up by his support but mostly the water. He watches you, his jaw dropping as his fingers start moving with purpose as the searing pleasure overwhelms and electrifies your nerves, starting to gasp out little mewls for him no more than two minutes after they started their pattern.

You leant in to kiss him but he keeps your forehead glued to his, turning away from your quivering bottom lip when you lean in again. “No, I know, I just wanna watch your pretty fucking face fall apart for me,” he whispers, his eyes raking across your increasingly ruined form. “Jesus your pussy is so fucking wet f’me. Did checking me out really get you this hot n’ bothered, baby?”

Your eyes start to close, fading out as that similar heat starts to build low in your stomach, as slow as his circles on your clit are, the impending orgasm is rushing at you in a record speed.

Your eyes jolt open as he shoves a long digit in as he barks out, “Nuh-uh.” You’re even more weightless as you practically float on his finger, jaw dropped as his actions have completely halted. “Keep those pretty eyes open and on me, got it?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clenching around the digit three knuckles deep.

“Good, good,” Eddie mutters, slowly moving his finger, watching your face carefully. “Jesus, you’re tight,” he bites out, adding a second finger without any warning. You sob through a little moan, the skin of his shoulders dimpling around your nails as they dug into it.

Slowly your moans have gotten louder, the temptation to allow your eyes to flutter closed fizzling at your vision but you push through it, bobbing up and down in the water in sync with his arm, giving your weight completely to him.

Your tongue laps across your bottom lip easily into a bite, still watching his face with his eyes on yours, what was just half a grin now spread into a manic smile. “You’re being so fucking good for me, sweetheart, just like you have all weekend. You take my fingers so well, can’t wait to see how you fucking take my cock.”

A whimper gasps through your lips, spasming around his fingers at his deliciously filthy words. “Fuck–Eddie–p-please–”

“See, making you moan my name wasn’t so hard,” Eddie whispers right as he leans in to capture your lips in his. His thumb starts rotating on your clit, quickly flooding you with an orgasm that you weren’t even aware you were that close to.

Eddie’s lips muffle the cry that otherwise would’ve been heard by the entire neighborhood, a shout of pure ecstasy that has you writhing up against his strong chest.

Your lips let go of his in a gasping breath, your lip trembling your elbows dig into the delicate skin between his ear and shoulder, pulling him closer as you bore into those big brown eyes. They’re as dark as the night sky yet they shine just as bright as the stars.

Smile lines and dimples are present as he stares up at you, his thumb still rotating slowly and fully responsible for the shaking of your poor thighs. His fingers are still in you, nestled and happy as he feels you flutter around them.

“You,” he drawls, slowly moving his fingers, “are radiant,” you can barely focus on the next kiss he seeks from you, your thighs clinging onto his hips, the momentum building even quicker and hotter than before.

“Oh m’god,” you whimper, throwing all your weight on one forearm as you suddenly have to get his fingers out, its too-too fucking much. “Ed–fuck!”

“You can take it,” he mumbles, one arm across your back as he peppers wet sloppy kisses along your collarbone. “Right? You can handle one more little orgasm.”

You buck into his hips as a silent confirmation, the splashing water around your forms loud from all your thrashing.

The kisses along your collarbone have moved south, the sudden scrape of his teeth against the curve of your breast a welcome shock as he starts to peel back the soaked fabric now glued to your skin like latex. “Look at these fuckin’ perfect tits,” Eddie growls, his hand movements turned sloppy as he wraps his tongue around the peaked nipple.

The added sensation clouds your head, bucking against him and practically sobbing into little whines while he perfectly works you like he already knows you.

“That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers, you look so good like this, baby,” the praise lights your body ablaze, clutching onto him tighter.

Oddly enough the thing to send you over the edge again was a long lick up your sternum, an image you’ve seen time and time again on the edge of his guitar. Stars crash into your vision, knocking you senseless as you tug him in for a kiss, more teeth than lips as your legs shake but the giggles bubble out from your chest.

“Just one more?” He smirks, adding, Jesus, a third fucking finger.

“Eddie–” you startle, choking on your own oxygen.

“I really need to repay you,” he mutters, starting back on your jawline.

“Repay me?” You manage out, choking back a near shout when he curls his fingers just so.

He nods, focusing a toxic mix of his tongue and teeth against your racing pulse. “Mmhm. Repay you for every little time you managed to make me rock hard.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t worry.” he laughs, gnawing down your shoulder line. “I couldn’t repay you for every time, you’d be here for hours. And we both just found out how quick I can make you cum.”

You gulp, barely able to think through any of what he had just told you. “I-huh?”

“Jus’ one more, baby? Jus’ one more after being relentlessly teased by those fucking thighs of yours? Your pretty tits? That chokable neck–baby fuck you really make me fucking crazy–” his voice has somehow gone from commanding back to whining, his voice drowning in pure, needy, wanting.

“You are–” you start, cut off by a kiss he throws in as he becomes restless in his motions, “you are going to be the–” you giggle as he kisses you again, nipping at your bottom lip. “Ah–the end of me.”

“You fuckin’ like it, don’t you?” He laughs, one hand spread on the back of your neck as his eyes remain on yours. “You love how much my fingers can ruin you.”

“Your–your voice,” you choke out, eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Your voice does a lot-a lot a lot-of the work.”

He chuckles darkly, curling his fingers against your g-spot impossible harder, an impossible fire somehow hurling through your pussy still submerged in the pool. “I think I know why Hell’s Angels is your favorite album, hmm? It is a very carnal album.”

You giggle, somehow more cognitive. “My number one most played on Spotify.”

Eddie huffs out a chorus of laughter, leaning down to lick a wide fat stripe up your neck. “That is so fucking hot to me.” You shiver, blinded by the roll of ecstasy that just ran through you. “Would you believe I am just as obsessed with you?”

“It-it’s a high bar,” you admit, peeling your other arm out of its bra strap to completely expose yourself.

“Oh my god you’re fucking adorable,” Eddie hums, nibbling all down your chin, his lips seemingly unable to rest as they roam around you. “Now fucking cum for me so we can get out of this pool and I can finally fuck you.”

Something that’s only been possible under perfect circumstances while bonding with a vibrator occurs, you squirt all over his hand following a sudden heat that boils in your skin and acts like an anchor in your body weighing you down. The weightlessness water usually brings to you has disappeared swiftly, clinging onto him as he peels his fingers from where they sat still nestled as they finished working you through it.

He reciprocates the tight hug you give him, strong arms holding you close to his chest as your legs still spasm and quake.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers encouragingly, gently petting your dampened hair. “C’mere, I’m gonna see if I–” he grunts, the muggy air engulfing you whole as he lifts you up onto the edge of the pool as if you weighed nothing, winking playfully as he lifts himself out.

“Ok, you obviously lift,” you mumble, being tugged by his hands and escorted into the house, leaving only the still lit embers of the pit and the scattered ingredients and clothes behind.

He chuckles, momentarily squeezing you as he wraps his arms and clasps them together in front of your torso. “Please, you weigh nothing.”

He stays like that every step on the cement to your house, playfully nipping at your neck, tickling it with his deep breaths until you reach the threshold of the double doors. Eddie lets go of you, watching your ass for a moment, your hand yanked by his hand in yours as he leans against the island kitchen counter.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he doesn’t give you a chance to respond, tilting your head as he lays a wet one on you.

“U-upstairs–” you sigh as he interrupts you again, magical, only the smell of beer left over but his lips so nice and plump.

“I don’t think so,” he mumbles, working his other arm around your torso to single handedly undo the bra clasp. It falls from your chest,Eddie eagerly kneading his hand on your left tit, two fingers playing with the nipple as you sigh into his mouth.

A whimper passes through your lips, gyrating your hips against his needily as you crave more friction despite your greedy cunt still soaked from its three releases. “Well then hurry up,” you huff, starting to play with the band of his boxers. “Can’t wait much longer.”

Your panties are yanked down, landing on the floor with a wet plop. Eddie lifts you effortlessly onto the counter, working his tented fabric against you roughly, watching your jaw drop as he rolls his hips against yours. “Please.”

“I would tell you to be patient but ever since I heard you yesterday I can’t think of anything else, baby,” Eddie sighs as you pull down his boxers, gasping as it bounces against his taut belly.

A sudden urge fills you to have its weight on your tongue, the girth down your neck, to fill your throat, the primal need alerting you as you never knew wanting a cock like this so badly was even possible. By pure instinct you reach out to grab him, basking in the moan he chokes out.

His voice could satiate a hungry belly, if you had one.

His previous confession suddenly sparks, looking up at him curiously as you work your hand along his devious length. “What did you hear yesterday?”

“Baby, your house has some thin fucking walls,” he husks out, watching your eyes go bug wide in the revelation. “I didn’t hear anything but moaning, but if it's any constellation, I hope you were thinking about me, because I sure as shit was thinking about you right outside your bedroom.”

You start to guide his leaky tip toward your mound, biting your lip as you peer up at him with doe eyes. “Please?”

“Were you?”

You sob out of desperation, your forehead landing on his shoulder. “Eddie, please–”

“Patience, slut.” You pause, pouting as you look up at him. “Were you thinkin about me while you greedily came over and over again?”

You nod, biting your lip anxiously as you glance down to his length only mere inches away from your weeping, begging entrance. “You used your tongue on the soft serve like it was–”

“I know I did, baby.” Eddie smirks, watching the shiver roll through you as the head collides with your clit. “So glad you noticed.”

You sigh impatiently, clawing your nails into his shoulder as he continues to tease you. “Eddie, pl–”

Your pathetic begging is turned off as soon as he pushes in, splitting you open as he slowly works his way to the hilt. “Jesus.”

“Eddie,” you moan, the heels of your hands digging into his collarbone. “F-fuck!”

His dark eyes bore into yours, labored breath piercing the air in the otherwise deadly quiet house. “I fuckin’ knew your pussy would be like this.”

“Like what?” You ask, pulling him closer as he did with you.

“Like a fuckin’ drug,” Eddie growls, rolling his hips against yours, the symphony of moans swallowed as he crashes his lips onto yours with an almost angry force.

It begins with a few stings, but the pleasure drowns it out before you even get a chance to revel in it, his cock hitting places you didn’t even know possible.

Your legs cling onto him, lapping kisses and nibbles down his chest hungrily as he works into you with choked out moans, seemingly losing himself in the heat of your pussy.

You slowly bruise your way down his chest, remembering every time you’d ever said how badly you’d wanted to bite him and to mark your territory as yours. All through the night he has called you his girl, but you finally get the chance to claim him. “Mine.”

“Feelin possessive, are we, baby?” He gasps out, curling his fingers through your hair and pulling at your scalp.”Wanting to claim this old man all yours?”

“You’re all fucking mine, Ed,” you claim again, moving to lap at one of his peaked nipples.

“As long as you’re mine,” he gasps back, pulling your head back up to where you can kiss him again.

You nod eagerly, the double meanings of the words seemingly lost on you to what he actually might mean. Regardless, the following kiss is desperate, even more so as his hips continue on their relentless pace.

You whine at the sudden loss, feeling empty and lonely when his body warmth leaves yours for the moment. “Bend over the fucking couch.”

It takes a minute to register, floating on the kitchen counter in a daze.

“Awww, my cock drunk slut,” his voice is sweet, malevolently so as his fingers dig into your hair and pull on your scalp as he leans in against your ear. “I said, bend over the fucking couch.”

You whimper, scrambling to climb down and run shakily to the living room. You’re guided by his hand in your hair again to the arm rest, using his foot to widen your stance. “Arch your back. More. There you go. Now be a good slut and tell me how fucking good it feels to be ripped in half by the rockstar of your dreams.”

Eddie lets go of your scalp to smack your ass, the thwack startling you in the best of ways as he watches it jiggle from the force. “Shove your face into the pillow, there we go.”

No more warning is provided when he pushes himself into you, making what you used to think was hard and fast into slow and pathetic. Eddie’s relentless hips are in their own fucking league. He sirens primal moans from you, your fingers digging into the cushions as he pounds into your pussy relentlessly.

“I just started, and you’ve already gone completely dumb? God I’ve ruined you for every bad fuck you’ve ever had.”

It’s true. Eddie Munson has ruined you in ways you simply could not comprehend, your torso practically flat on the couch as he tightens his grip on your hips. You push your ass against him, somehow communicating how fucking much you need him.

“Bet you’ve dreamed of this, yeah?” He mocks as his grip tightens on your hip. “Well for the last three nights I guess I returned the favour because I have dreamt of nothing but you. What you’d sound like, what you’d look like, god what you’d taste like— you’re in my fucking head.”

Your knees dig into his legs, your toes curled close to your ass as they possibly can be as you feel the impact of his hips start to form an ache against your thighs, your cheeks, fuck–your hole. Regardless of the spreading throb, you squeeze him tighter, silently begging for more. Just when you thought you understood what the term fucked stupid meant, you realize you had no idea as your brain starts to turn into mush.

“You’re taking it so fucking well, princess,” fuck, usually princess is a massive turn off but even you could tell the immediate reaction of you gushing around him. “Likes bein’ called princess, hmm? Give me your arm, then, princess.”

It’s a reflex how your hand raises backwards toward him, limply hanging as high as it can go which is barely a foot over your torso.

“Good, other one, too,” you whine, cut off by a sharp thrust as he grabs your other wrist to hold them both together in one hand. You think you’ve gotten the new position figured out when one hand moves up to your forearm, yanking it harshly so he has his good arm slotted between your elbows and the small of your back. “There we go.”

You’re practically standing on your two feet again, your back arched at an impossible angle as his other hand wraps itself around your neck. “Aah, that's much better. Look up.”

Your eyes flutter up to see a small round accent mirror on the wall directly across from you on the wall directly above a record player, yours and Eddie’s reflection featuring your faces, your hair tussled and eyes dazed. You blink to Eddie’s who’s smirking over your shoulder with hot cheeks and half-mooned eyes. You shyly look way from his possessive hold, having pulsed around him at how fucking gone you both look.

“Look back in the fucking mirror,” he commands, tightening his once lax grip on your neck so he constricts your airway just the littlest bit. “Look how fucking gone you are, you’re just covered in me, hmm?”

All you can do is bite your lip and push back on him, begging for his hips to continue that oh so powerful trek.

The following movement of his hips are barely noticeable, but your reflection gasps, her jaw dropping to the needed friction. “Ed–”

“Keep being my good princess and watch yourself be fucked in the mirror for me, won’t you sweet girl?” You nod, but Eddie doesn’t seem to care to wait for your answer, his hips colliding with your in a harsh slap, officially rendering any left over brain you might have had completely useless.

“Look at your fucking pretty face,” he shudders, starting to sound quite desperate himself. “There’s not a thought behind those gorgeous eyes of yours. Every muscle on your face is relaxed, your jaw falling open as if begging for me to shove my cock past those lips of yours, fuck you look so fucking perfect for me, princess.”

Your brain begs you to say something, to tell him how fucking good his cock feels, how he’s splitting you open as he feels impossibly deep as if he were kissing your cervix with every hit, how sex like this was only supposed to exist in softcore porn. How watching yourself get stupider with every hit with his hand wrapped around your neck in a claim of ownership turns you the fuck on, adding fuel to an out of control forest fire.

But your brain has turned into a puddle.

“That’s it, baby, keep bein’ good for me I’m almost done,” he lets go of your neck just to grab a handful of your hair once again. “G’nna fill that fuckin pussy up, s’ that ok?”

You find it in you somewhere to nod yes in direct juxtaposition against the grip on you, vision now fizzling as your eyes slowly fall closed. Whatever you have ever wasted time fantisizing clearly will never live up to the real thing.

Eddie’s words have warped into grunts and half finished sentences, hitting somewhere deliciously deep until his sticky ropes cover your walls up in him, filling you to the brim to make you impossibly, impossibly full.

He works himself through it, whimpering at his own sensitivities when the arm clutching yours sets you free but works itself on your clit once more, jerking you up from where you crumpeled forward onto the couch.

“Just need to feel you squeeze my cock while you cum, princess,” he mutters, sounding utterly destroyed as his voice croaks.

You try to wiggle away from him, feeling so oversensitive it forces its way up your throat in an intense sob. “Too-too much!”

“I know you can take it, princess,” he drawls, darkening his voice in the way he knows you like.

“Ed–”

“Please, jus’ for me?” He asks, his grip on your hip too tight for you to keep crawling forward.

“I-I c–” stars crash in your vision, thrashing as you feel his strong torso directly against your back.

“See?” he mumbles, peeling his arm around your tummy as he maneuvers you and him on your sides, spooning you on the couch, both covered in sweat. Eddie lifts your chin in his grip, shoving his tongue down your throat, the vibration of his humming helping you come back down to earth. “I knew you could do it.”

Somewhere in the kisses he slips himself out, distracting you with his marvelous kissing expertise as his hands find themselves enwrapping yours, fingers intertwined against your sternum fiercely as you get lost in his taste. Eventually you need to catch your breath, gasping as your head lands on the fabric of the sofa roughly, slowly drifting off to sleep.

Eddie gets up, ignoring your calls to stay with you. After some loud rummaging and swearing he returns, shocking you with a yelp as a wet cloth cleans you from the dripping cum out your full pussy. “Sorry. Didn’t want to ruin the nice couch.”

“Think we past ruined long ago,” you comment, peering up at him as he sends you a soft smile.

“Might be true.”

First thing you notice is he’s gotten dressed again, and just like that the spell is broken, and the aftermath of your adventures settle in.

His brown eyes tentatively meet yours, pensive and careful as you slowly sit up on the couch. What now?

He wears no smile on his face, searching yours as he leans in, his pointer finger hooked under your chin as he plants a gentle kiss on your lips that makes you miss the feel of him already. “I’m definitely not tired, would you like to watch a movie with me?”

You nod, eyes still closed as you reel from the whiff of emotions that repeatedly compound through you. “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I’d be insulted if you could,” he huffs, planting a sweet kiss on your nose. “Be right back. You want sweatpants or something more akin to those pretty dresses you’ve been flouncing around in?”

“Hmm, happy middle, please,” you ignore his jab, if just for the obvious amusement in his voice.

“Aah, a thong and a necklace coming up,” he jokes, running up the stairs before you could playfully glare at him.

He brings you a matching tank and shorts and a light blanket, setting up Smile for you two to watch as he curled you into his chest. When the movie is over you glance up at him, worried for what exactly came out his mouth next.

We probably should keep it as a one time only event.

You reluctantly agreed, crawling into a too big bed as you already miss his comforting weight right next to you. Sleep never comes, in fact, sleep has stopped texting you back because you have never been more wide awake.

Sweat seeps through the sheets and shines on your forehead as you wrap yourself up in an accidental burrito from all the turning and tossing, your emotions one puddle, thundering and storming into a lake of aroused confusion and clouded judgment as your weekend plays on repeat.

By the time the sky shines a periwinkle blue once again you’ve decided you could not take it for two more seconds, impulsively getting up to run back across the hall.

The door opens to a wildly disheveled head of curls, his hand raised as if he was about to knock. His mouth opens but you don’t give him the chance to tell you Yeah, no, fuck that, because your lips are on his in a flash, arms recklessly thrown around his shoulders and pulling him into your bedroom for some more of his lips, his hands, his hips, his tongue.

Neither of you had enough resolve to decide it would only be a one time thing.

Six Months Later

Eddie huffed a few bouts of laughter as you litter kisses all over his neck, refusing to listen to his out of breath protests as you nuzzle into his intoxicating stubble. “Babe, babe! I have to take a shower, I fucking stink!”

You giggle, working your hands up his fishnet shirt layered under the graphic tee. “Mhmm,” you hum, lapping up some rank sweat that has built up at the hinge of his jaw. “Smells amazing.”

“You’re a fucking freak, have I ever told you that?” He laughs, intertwining his fingers through your hair as he shoves his tongue down your throat.

“You’ve mentioned it,” you sigh, gasping against his minty breaths. “Helps having a smoking hot boyfriend, you know?”

“Baby, I really need a shower, I will meet you in the lounge,” he sighs, sounding like he’s about to give up.

“I could join you,” you suggest, pulling him in closer against you.

“As tempting as that is, we both know neither of us are getting any cleaner if that happens,” he sternly holds your face at a distance from his, his eyebrow flickering up pointedly when you attempt to lean in for more. “I promise to fuck you into the mattress, against the couch, and wherever else you might want later, okay, my sweet princess?”

“Fine,” you huff, grinning against his lips at the final sweet kiss he gives you, at the shivers down your spine that have never stopped, that have never shown signs of stopping.

The dressing room door closes behind you as the spray of the water hits the shower floor, a taunt that you are not in the cramped space with him, the one place you crave.

After offering his bandmates your best compliments, you act as a wallflower, watching the moon-eyed fans get their selfies as you played with the guitar pick chained around your wrist. You scrolled through your twitter app, saving photos of your gorgeous boyfriend in quality photos and the litter of hickeys you had spent hours giving him for hours the previous night.

A sudden impossible yet familiar laugh fills the air, your eyes snapping up to your dad’s familiar swoop of brown locks tossed back in a full body chuckle. Your stomach falls into the pits of hell.

You had checked with Eddie before hand that Steve hadn’t gotten any tickets emailed to him to avoid this very particularly sticky situation. You had agreed to keep it quiet until it started getting more serious.

Well…it had turned serious but you knew for a fact your dad wouldn’t be too happy with the coupling.

Your eyes jolt around the room to look for a quick escape, forgetting there’s only one door in, and unless you were going to turn unrealistically stealthy in the next minute, sneaking past him was not an option.

Your hesitation turns out to be your doom, just as you make a choice his brown eyes landed on you, lighting up in surprise.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Sunshine!” He calls out, holding his arms out and reaching for a hug. “What are you doing here? Thought you were staying with your roommate for the week!”

You had specifically told him you were stuck with your roommate who was getting over an ex boyfriend. The ex boyfriend part was right, but you were assisting from afar, with your own boyfriend luring you off the phone.

You hug him back, a wave of guilt washing over you, unable to relax in his familiar arms. “I made it down last minute!” The lie is forced, reminding you of times you knew you were caught but chose to dig deeper rather than climb out.

Sometimes it's just easier that way.

Steve’s brows furrow, crossing his arms just as something occurs to him. “How-how did you even make it down so quickly, I just called you this morning—“

He is interrupted by a familiar set of arms thrown around you from behind, squeezing you tight until you weasel out of them, your nerves on a hotwire.

For a moment that stretches out, lasting forever enough for you to see the V between Steve’s brow deepen, his head tilting ever so slightly, a slight frown downturning his lips.

And the panic that shifts every muscle of Eddie’s face when he sees Steve.

Finally, things set back into motion as puts on a facade of surprise, well not a facade as he’s actually surprised, he certainly knows how to put on a face of delight.

“Steve, my boy!” He collides his chest with his best friend, back pats exchanged as they embrace one another. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

Steve shrugs, his hands slotted into his pockets once they separate. “You didn’t answer my email, but Gareth did.”

When you switch your gaze to the drummer, he winks, telling you he has been paying attention to the shit show the entire time.

A few beats in the conversation, Steve starts to wonder if he was making everything up in his head, if he was just imagining your awkward stances and the way you’re standing just an inch too far away from one another.

Because there is no other reason you’d have to lie.

But all the little things keep sticking out to him. Your disheveled hair, in a way that couldn’t be manufactured. A bruise on Eddie’s neck, no bruises, but this one seemed familiar—

Steve’s eyes dart to your smudged lipstick, just barely fixed.

The fidgeting of a bracelet around your wrist, your anxious swaying, Eddie’s nervous rambling.

The way Eddie rushed to hug you like an old friend yet can’t seem it dare keep his eyes on you longer than a second.

��Eddie Munson, tell me you are not hooking up with my daughter.”

Oop.

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This is the last chapter hope y’all loved 😭

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