#something something love its what makes the pain of living worth it

[1117-yungi]

SONG BIRD. jung wooyoung x fem!reader [4.8k]

in the infamous lounge, a singer performs for the one man who always breaks her heart — the untouchable owner. their reunions crackles with passion and pain. in his world of glittering façades, love is never enough, and you're left singing to ghosts of what could have been.

genre. rich!wooyoung, club owner!wooyoung, singer!reader, smut, angsty, toxic situationship, he is kinda insufferable but its hot, little porn with a lot of plot

warnings. toxic woo, swearing, manipulation, gaslighting, smut, pull-out method (don't do this guys), choking, switch!wooyoung, switch!reader, oral: m receiving, fingering, orgasm denial, pet names: songbird, angel, darling, baby, and bunny, hair pulling, praise and degradation, bittersweet ending, they're not good for each other guys!!!, size kink if u squint, implied dub-con tbh, power play dynamics, let me know if theres anymore!

note. hide the scissors from wooyoung rn

the dim haze of the lounge cast long shadows on the plush, velvet booths and the lacquered piano. smoke curled lazily in the air, mingling with the faint clink of glasses and the low hum of idle chatter. you stood beneath the spotlight, a figure draped in silver, your dress catching the low light like a thousand tiny stars. your voice pouring over the room like honey over jagged glass. the microphone in your hand felt heavy, but nothing was heavier than the weight in your chest as you sang.

each word slipped from your lips, the kind of voice that made people stop in their tracks, made them feel things they'd been too afraid to feel. your voice was sweet, but raspy in the best way possible — the crowd watched with newfound fascination, the other acts providing background music for the illegal activities. but you, you were the main act. though tonight, your eyes weren’t scanning the crowd. you weren't looking for applause. you were looking for him.

and there he sat in the corner, a million-dollar smile on his face, surrounded by men in sharp suits and women with sharp laughs and seductive stares. his watch gleamed under the dim light, a beacon of everything he was — untouchable, unattainable, a mirage with no end. but when your voice reached him, his head turned ever so slightly, like the string you had tied between them had just been tugged. his eyes had found yours.

you didn't falter, didn't let your emotions bleed into the lyrics. not yet.

you'd met him before, on nights much like this one, when the world seemed coated in gold and the air hummed with possibility. he was the kind of man you never really forgot; the man who walked into a room and owned it without hesitation. a man made of money, of charm, of tragedy.

tonight, though, there was something different in his gaze. as you sang the final note, he rose, leaving behind the world that adored him, the entourage, the whispers. he walked backstage towards where you were.

"you always knew how to break my heart," wooyoung murmured, his voice like bourbon, smooth but burning. it made you freeze in your tracks, turning your head towards the voice.

"and you always knew how to make me let you," you replied, your lips curving into a bittersweet, forced smile.

it was always the same between them. he was a million-dollar man, but his worth was his undoing. you were the girl who saw through it all and loved him anyway, knowing he could never stay.

"play me a song, darling," he said, his voice low, as if he knew this moment might be their last.

you didn’t ask why. you never did.

fingers trembling as the two of you sat down on the bench of the piano you had practiced at for ages. with a deep sigh, you played the melody that lived in your heart, the one you'd written for him long ago. the room around them disappeared, the crowd, the smoke, the lights. it was just them, a girl in silver and a man who carried the weight of the world in his eyes. even backstage, away from the crowd, it felt suffocating.

when the final note faded, he pressed his lips together in a firm, his tongue playing with the ring in his lip. he let his fingers ghost over the keys, not playing, just feeling. "you deserve better than this," he murmured, his gaze distant, his hands now stilling against one of the keys, his pinky grazing yours. "you deserve more than me, angel."

"and yet, here you are." you replied.

he laughed softly, the sound bittersweet yet intoxicating. "yeah. here i am."

for a moment, the world shrank to just the two of you, a singer and a man who could never be yours. he leaned in, his lips brushing your forehead, his warmth lingering even as he pulled away.

"you deserve better," wooyoung said again, softer this time. then, just like always, he was gone.

you stayed at the piano, staring at the spot where he'd sat, your heart aching but your resolve steady. your eyes moved up to the piano, staring at the empty glass he left behind. you hadn't even realized that he brought it with him. a tear slipped down your cheek, but you wiped it away, knowing you'd sing the song again tomorrow night.

for the million-dollar man who never really belonged to you, but who’d stolen your soul all the same.

the lounge felt heavier tonight, like the air itself was steeped in tension. the usual haze of smoke clung tighter, the shadows darker, the applause quieter. they all felt like ghosts, lingering echoes of the night before. and you, you were here again, draped in the same silver as always. you noticed your fingers trembling as you adjusted the microphone stand, your heart heavy with a burden only he could bring. you didn't bother scanning the crowd this time — you already knew he was here.

he always was, especially when you swore you wouldn't let him get to you again.

you hadn't seen him since last night, but you could still taste the remnants of his touch on your skin, still hear the soft murmur of his voice, still feel the weight of his words pressing on your chest. you deserve better than this. you deserve more than me, angel.

it was the same old routine. the promises of distance, the whisper of something more, followed by his sudden disappearance. but this time, there was something different in the air — a thick tension that gnawed at your insides, something you couldn't shake.

when the crowd settled into their usual spot, half-distracted by their own secrets, the music began. you took the stage like clockwork, the spotlight cutting through the gloom. the microphone felt colder tonight, like it was in on the game. as you sang, your voice wavered, only for a moment, when you caught his silhouette at the corner table.

but he wasn't alone this time.

she was draped across his arm, some attractive woman with a laugh like crystal shards, glittering and sharp. she leaned into him, whispering something that made him smirk — that signature smirk as he played with his lip ring. but those fox like eyes? oh, they were on you. they always were.

the song ended, and the crowd clapped, but you barely heard it. he was already standing, already moving toward you as his hands clapped for you; it seemed taunting. the woman that had previously accompanied at his table barely seemed to notice when he had left.

"you're something else tonight, angel," he murmured when he reached you, his voice low and familiar. the way he said angel made your stomach twist, equal parts longing and fury.

"don't start," you said, stepping down from the stage. you tried to walk past him, but his hand caught your wrist, firm but careful, like he knew exactly how far he could push.

"start what?" his lips curved into a crooked grin, but his grip didn't loosen. his gaze flicked to the other patrons around him, then back to you, something unreadable behind that cool, confident exterior. "just giving you a compliment. you look beautiful, as always."

you glared at him, yanking your arm free. "you should be telling her that."

his grin faltered for half a second, but it was enough to make you feel the smallest spark of satisfaction. still, he recovered quickly, his tone dropping into something softer, almost apologetic. almost.

"don’t tell me you're jealous."

you laughed bitterly, stepping back, needing space. "of her? no. of whatever hold you have on me? yeah, maybe."

wooyoung's expression shifted, the smirk giving way to something darker, sharper. he stepped closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear. "you're the one who keeps singing for me. what does that say, angel?"

you stiffened, trying to keep your gaze steady, but something inside you recoiled. that voice. that look. the way he made everything feel like it was slipping through your fingers, made you doubt your own choices. you wanted to hit him, to scream, to walk out and never come back. but the worst part? he wasn't wrong.

"you don’t own me," you said, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with anger — at him, at yourself, at everything.

he tilted his head, his smile softening, dangerous. "don't i?"

"i told you," he continued, his lips curling slightly as he drew away, taking a slow, deliberate sip from his glass. "i'm not here for anything long-term. you're not the kind of girl who gets a happy ending, not with me. but i do like the way you play along."

"play along?" you repeated, voice thick with disbelief. "is that what you think this is?"

his gaze darkened, though his smile never wavered. "you're a smart girl. you know exactly what this is. you always have." his eyes softened for a moment, almost like a mask slipping. like even he didn't believe the facade. "but don't get too attached. i'm not the one you should be putting your heart into."

a sharp, bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. you crossed your arms over your chest, feeling exposed, vulnerable in front of him. "i know who you are," you said, voice steady but laced with a cold edge. "i'm not an idiot."

"good," wooyoung said, still leaning in, but this time there was something colder in his touch when his fingers brushed yours. his eyes held that cruel, knowing gleam. "but don't act like you don't want to be a little bit more than this."

you didn't say anything. you couldn’t. because, despite everything you told yourself, part of you did want more. you were tired of the games, the lies, the promises that never meant anything. but another part of you… the part that still clung to that impossible hope, the part that still wanted him to be something better than what he showed the world… that part wouldn't let you walk away.

and he knew it.

you watched him turn on his heel, his expensive shoes clicking against the polished floor as he started to walk away. you felt the pull, the magnetism of him drawing you in even as you knew you should turn and leave.

but then, just before he disappeared into the crowd, he glanced back over his shoulder with that same smirk, the one that never quite reached his eyes. "i'’m not done with you yet, songbird," he called out, his voice dripping with that familiar, dangerous promise.

the next few hours dragged on like a blur of muted lights and endless faces. the lounge seemed to buzz louder, more insistent, as if the world were trying to drown out the weight of the space between you and him. but you couldn't escape it. not when you could still feel the pressure of his fingers on your skin, the weight of his words on your chest.

when you finally left the stage, the air around you felt too thin, too oppressive. you hadn't seen him leave, but you knew he was gone. you always knew. he didn't need to announce his exit. it was his absence that left you hollow.

you went to the dressing room to get out of your stage outfit and into your normal clothes. it was routine and becoming old, but you hadn't made an effort to leave. you pushed through the crowd of people, smiling at their empty compliments before freezing as you tried to excuse yourself by pushing past a patron.

but wooyoung was standing there, looking as if he'd never left. his dark eyes locked onto yours instantly, the room falling away as if it were just the two of you, frozen in time. the crowd moved around you, oblivious, but you couldn't stop looking at him. couldn't stop feeling the electric pull between you.

"you always do this," you murmured, half to yourself, though your words carried across the silence.

"do what?" he asked, his voice cool but laced with something dangerous. the smirk was back, that crooked grin that never seemed to falter, like he enjoyed the power he had over you. like he knew the exact moment to strike.

"you know what i mean," you said, trying to steady yourself. but your heart was racing, your pulse quickening as he stepped closer, narrowing the gap between you.

he reached out, fingertips brushing against the back of your hand — light, gentle, but the touch sent a shiver through you.

the heat between you, the tension that had built up all night, was palpable. it was always like this, when he came close. the air turned thick, suffocating, and you couldn't tell if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. but you didn't have to decide. not yet.

he didn't wait for an invitation. without breaking eye contact, he reached out, a single finger brushing your arm — just enough to send a wave of electricity surging through your skin.

"come with me," he said simply. "i don't like waiting."

his eyes scanned your face, his gaze sharp, like he could see past every defense, every wall you'd tried to build around your heart. for a moment, he said nothing, just watching you. watching the battle in your eyes.

there was no hesitation. you knew what it meant when he said that. he wasn't asking. he was demanding — as always. you had learned long ago that when he made these kinds of demands, you couldn't say no, not really. but he always gave you an opportunity to for it.

"your friends won't like that," you said, a small attempt at playing it cool, but the words felt weak as they left your mouth. you knew it was pointless.

he raised an eyebrow. "the only person i'm interested in right now is you."

he didn't wait for you to respond. instead, he turned, almost arrogantly, like he owned the space around him, and without a word, you followed him. his presence was commanding, and you could feel the weight of it behind you. you kept your distance at first, though every step you took felt like it pulled you deeper into his orbit.

you clenched your fists, trying to fight the tremor in your hands, trying to ignore how badly your body was betraying you as you trailed behind him. you wanted to say something sharp, something cold, something that would break the connection between you. but he was already too close. his presence was too much, suffocating in the best way. and you followed him without question. god, you were weak.

"i'm not playing your games anymore, wooyoung," you said, your mouth moving faster than your thoughts could comprehend your voice wavered, and you cursed yourself for it.

he stopped in his tracks, about to reach the exit of the lounge. his lips quirked up at the corner, an almost fond smile creeping into his expression as if your defiance only made him more interested. "you say that, but you know you like it. you like the chase. the danger."

the words hit harder than they should have. you looked away, your chest tightening as he stepped even closer, until there was nowhere for you to go.

"then let me end it," he said, his voice quieter, and this time, there was no smirk, no cruel amusement. only an intensity that left your breath caught in your throat. "come with me." wooyoung looked like he would have gotten on his knees for you right then, pleading for you.

you opened your mouth to protest, to tell him to leave you alone for good, but the words wouldn’t come. so instead, you found yourself nodding, against your better judgment, against the part of you that knew this would only make things worse.

the crowd was still swirling around you, but it felt like you were in a different world. the moment he stepped closer, his hand grazing your arm as he guided you toward the exit, everything else faded. you were lost in him again.

no turning back.

the drive to his apartment was short but felt like hours. the silence between you was thick, suffocating, each passing second dragging you deeper into the inevitable. he hum of the engine only adding to the tension. you sat next to him, your hands gripping your bag tighter than necessary, the familiar burn in your chest threatening to crack you open. he didn't speak, didn’t ask you any questions. he just drove, as if this moment was already scripted. you were a part of the plan, whether you wanted to be or not. you couldn't stop your mind from racing, from thinking of everything you’d tried to ignore — the past you’d buried, the future you were too afraid to face.

when you reached the building, he didn't wait for you to say anything. his hand was on the small of your back, guiding you up the elevator without a word.

inside, his apartment was exactly what you remembered: sterile, cold, all glass and steel, but still holding that dangerous allure. the kind of space that made you feel insignificant, like a blip in a world too big for you to understand. the moment the door closed behind you, the outside world seemed to vanish. all that remained was the quiet atmosphere of his space and the man standing in front of you, looking at you as if you were the only thing that mattered, and the only thing he could destroy.

there was no pretense this time. no smiles. just that intensity that always left you breathless. he stepped toward you slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, until you were backed against the edge of the sleek, black sofa.

his hands reached for you, but this time, there was no game in his touch. it wasn't the same as it had been before, when he made you feel like a toy he could play with and discard. this was different. this was raw.

"you keep pretending you don't want this," he murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, his thumb lightly brushing your lips. "but you do."

you wanted to argue, wanted to push him away, but your body betrayed you again. the warmth of his touch, the deep pull of his presence, was too much to fight. you wanted to say no. you wanted to walk away.

but you didn't.

his lips were on yours before you could say anything else. a kiss that was all heat and demand, a kiss that made you forget everything but him. his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

and maybe, just maybe, you couldn’t get enough of him either.

you should have known better. you should have walked away when you had the chance. but instead, you stayed. you always did. his touch overwhelmed you completely, you couldn't bring yourself to fight it. because deep down, you knew you were already lost.

you grasp onto his expensive shirt, pulling him even closer until the two of you fall down onto his lavish couch. his lip ring felt cool against your soft lips, making your mind become foggy with pleasure. he chuckled into your mouth, as if he could tell you enjoyed his piercing. he adjusted the position, resting between your legs. your legs naturally wrap around his hips, making him rut into your clothed core. you gasped at the feeling, whining against his lips.

wooyoung pulled away from your lips, much to your dismay, before he started to kiss along your neck, biting down and sucking on the flesh to create a dark mark. you mewled at the feeling, your back arching off the couch as you grabbed onto him with a newfound aggression. he whimpered from how tight your hold was on his long hair, providing him with pain mixed with pleasure.

at this revelation, you tugged his head back by hair and returned the favor. you decorated his neck with dark marks, sucking harshly on his sweet spot, which was easy enough to find. his slutty hips rubbed against your core desperately, clearly enjoying the feeling as he moaned shamelessly while you felt his cock hardening.

he tried to take control of the situation again, but you didn't let him. you flipped the both of you around, now straddling him before ripping his shirt off by the buttons. he frowned, letting out a whine, "that was expensive, baby."

"you can afford it." you whispered with a grin on your face before taking one of his nipples into your mouth. he gasped at the sensitivity as your tongue swirled around his perky, hard nipple. wooyoung had never experienced anything like this, always being the dominant. and he certainly didn't expect you to be like this. what else are you hiding from him? after a few more moments of teasing him, you crawled down to where he needed you the most.

you tugged down his pants, leaving them pooling at his ankles. oh, he was big. somehow you knew that. you gave his tip a swift kitty lick, his body visibly shaking. his eyes stayed on yours as you shoot him an innocent bat of your eyelashes. "fuckin' brat," he whispered, reaching down to your hair while he whimpered while your tongue swirled around his tip, gathering the pre-cum that leaked out.

he brushed a few stray hairs away from your face as your mouth worked him up and down in perfect rhythm, bobbing up and down. one of your hands kneaded his thighs while the other played with his balls. wooyoung let out a desperate moan at the sudden touch, he hadn't even noticed how sensitive he really was. all for your touch. you were both drunk on each other — without any alcohol in your systems. besides his very few sips of whiskey.

your jaw was hurting, pleasurably stretched by his cock, but the sensation of his tip hitting the back of your throat was too addictive to care about the pain. you hollowed your cheeks, trying to fit every vein that popped out as wooyoung breathed heavily, holding back with all his might not to mouth-fuck you. he felt dumb from the pleasure, growing more and more needy and desperate.

"you're gonna make me cum if you keep doing this, angel," wooyoung laughed with a whine as your tongue glided against the underside of his length, sending goosebumps all over his body. unable to hold back any longer, he harshly yanked you down, forcing his entire length into your mouth, his tip deliciously hitting the back of your throat, making you gag.

you moaned at the sudden rough treatment as he rolled his hips into your mouth. despite the intensity, your tongue continued to lick and satisfy him, while he used your mouth like his personal toy, sending vibrations through your entire being.

you could feel him twitch inside you — he was almost there, ready to release. your hands pulled and kneaded his balls, giving them one cheeky little squeeze, pushing against them before pulling off of him, denying his orgasm.

wooyoung whined at the loss of your touch, pouting before raising up. he grabbed your throat and pulled you against his lips with an unmistakable hunger and desperation. he stripped off your clothes while kicking off his pants that you left. he picked you up with ease, carrying you into his room and onto the bed.

and then you ended up on his lap, with his long fingers stuffed deep inside you, curling and making a mess of you. you couldn't even remember how you had gotten into this position, too drunk and intoxicated on the feeling of his fingers hitting all the right spots. you rolled your hips eagerly, making him grin as he watched you with a smile on his face, clearly getting off on how he was making you feel.

"you're such an eager bunny, baby," he murmured over the pretty moans ringing in his ears as you leaned back against his chest, head resting on his shoulder, while he whispered the filthiest things in your ear. his hot breath tickled your skin. god, he was like a drug. "humping my fingers like you're in heat."

his thumb was rubbing your clit, making your toes curl. his words made you embarassed and your face hot, but you didn't dare correct him. "no matter where you go, you always come back to me. won't you, pretty girl?" he teased, your moans answering him.

he slid another finger inside you easily, stretching you even more. your eyes widened from the sensation; it was a mix of pleasure and pain that made tears brim in your eyes. a whimper left your throat, going straight to wooyoung's hard cock that rested against your thigh.

your tiny hand went straight to his cock, trying to stimulate him as his fingers worked your dripping cunt, moving in and out, curling, hitting all the right spots. he groaned quietly before kissing you, his tongue exploring your mouth. you tried your best to kiss him back, saliva pooling at the corner of your lips as your vision was slowly going blank, stars starting to appear. your body trembled under his relentless pace, lips parted, gasping. but he started pulling his fingers out of you.

"woo," you whined which made him scoff, watching you looking like a doll. his perfect, little doll. he slid his fingers covered with your slick into his mouth, a hum vibrating through him while swirling his tongue around them while your mouth watered at the sight. you took a heavy breath, and without speaking, reached out, pulling his fingers from his mouth, looking at him expectantly.

he swallowed hard, the look you gave him was flipping a switch in his brain. "go on, take them into your mouth."

you obliged, sliding three of his long digits into your mouth. wooyoung groaned, his eyes closing as he could fell the back of your throat at his fingertips. he couldn't take it anymore, and clearly you couldn't either.

you aligned him at your entrance, your pussy practically begging for him to fill you. that signature smug smile remained as his eyes held yours, and you gripped his shoulders as his tip pushed through your walls, stretching you deliciously as he finally bottomed out. he paused, letting you adjust to his length, and you gasped before nodding him to continue.

he began to move, each thrust slow but steady, reaching deep, hitting that perfect spot inside you. your vision blurred with pleasure as he drove into you, his pace intensifying, while his lips found yours again. he could tell you were trying to hold your moans back, and that wasn't sliding by him. he gripped your throat tightly, pulling away from the messy kiss. "sing for me, baby," he moaned.

and you did. you moaned for him, your back arching off his mattress and into his chest as his pace quickened, thrusts growing deeper. they started out calculated but soon turned sloppy and messy. his lips pressed against neck. each movement, each kiss, each moan that escaped his lips only pushed you closer to the edge until you couldn't hold back anymore.

your hands gripped his shoulders tightly, fingers digging into him as the building tension finally snapped, sending you spiraling into release. your nails had dug crescents into his shoulders, drawing blood slightly. and then building tension finally snapped, sending you spiraling into release. you clenched so hard around his cock, pleasure consuming you completely with your body trembling in his arms as you released your orgasm. his hips never faltered as he rode you through the high.

wooyoung's thrusts slowed as he guided you through the last waves of pleasure, his own breaths turning ragged. "come on, baby," you whispered to him, trying to catch your breath slightly. he shivered at your tone, trying to chase his own high. "cum for me." you commanded, making him whine while pulling out of you quickly. his hand jerked his cock once then twice, and warmth spilled onto your thighs as he held you close, his load shooting out onto your plush skin. he fell down beside of you after every drop left him.

after leaving for a moment to retrieve a towel, he dragged the fabric to clean you and him up. he tossed it aside and held you close to him, his fingers grazing against your skin.

when he finally pulled back, his breathing heavy, he looked at you with that same inscrutable expression. "i'm not going to let you go," he said, his voice thick, almost possessive. "not this time."

you didn't say anything. there was nothing to say. you knew you were already lost. your breath was shallow, as you tried to forget the words, tried to remember that he didn’t matter. that he couldn’t hurt you anymore. his words were just empty promises, as always.

he had already left his mark. the damage was done. and you, despite everything, knew you'd sing for him again and again.

even if it meant losing yourself in the process.

[bwobgames]

Previous First

"... I have made a decision"

"Yeah?"

"You asked me before, remember? Of what I think about the law?"

"Yeah? You said something about fairness"

"I did.

Ángel you are not being fair, to me or yourself.

This place could keep us aging forever, yes.

But we won't be alive"

"Uh, you're using synonyms"

"I'm not

You know why Coli died?"

"Because we pushed him out the window?"

"Well, I pushed him out the window, not us..."

"He was already dead

He was so blinded by the fear of running out of time that he didn't realize all of what he had accomplished during that time. Never taking a second to enjoy it"

"He lived in fear of the clock"

"And now, look at us, look at how far we've made it! All the things we've accomplished! We've survived all these years with no supernatural help!

We are alive! We are living!"

"I understand not wanting to die. believe me, I don't want to go through it again

But what's the point of aging forever if we are trapped here, unable to enjoy everything life has for us?

I'd rather live a short and happy life than an endless stagnant one"

"I mean, C'mon, A man like you, daring and full energy, trapped in this coffin of a house? It's unfair"

"I promised that I'd save you from this place. And I will"

"I can't tell you what will happen tomorrow, or the day after or the day after"

"But I want to find out with you"

"Even if the sky breaks tomorrow, and all stars fall to the earth

If I have you by my side, then it will all be worth it"

"... Aren't you scared? Of running out of time?"

" Yeah, of course.

That's why I want to enjoy it, to use the little time we have here to be happy.

To love my family, my friends, my pet, places, food, Tv shows, everything!

That's what it is all about, Ángel. Can't you see it?"

"I want you to come home with me"

"I want to share the time I have on this earth with you

If it's with you, I can face anything"

"But what about everything that happened? Don't you want to forget it?"

"Well, I certainly don't enjoy the memory of being stabbed

But I really enjoy the memories of you"

"Even if they were bad?"

"That's just how it is, isn't it? This isn't my first time in a deeply traumatic house.

If I could go and erase all the bad memories from my mind, I would be tempted to "

"But not at this cost. This whole night, it's too valuable for me now to forget it"

"Do you understand? I'll stay by your side."

"All the dangers, the uncertainties, the rock bottoms, the bad memories

We'll live through them, hand in hand"

"And we'll be okay"

"We'll see the sunrise"

"I'm sorry for not saving you"

"It was not your fault"

"I'm sorry for not being enough"

"That's just not true"

"...Please don't die again"

"I'll do my best."

"... Do you really want this? Me of all people?"

"Of course"

"We might fight, or have issues"

"So?"

"I want to see the chickens"

"There's duckies too"

"I'd like to see them"

"C'mon, dont you wanna steal something so I can pursue you through some roofs?"

"...Hah, you're even offering crime to cheer me up"

"You can get one crime, a gift from me"

"I'll steal a national treasure"

"I don't doubt it"

They stay like that for a while

"I know I won't automatically change his mind now, and we'll probably have to go through this conversation again.

But that's okay, it's going to be a slow walk out of this hole we've been put through

But we'll get out, mangled and scarred, but out

I can't wait to show him my cat

What is that smell?"

"OH FUCK THE FIRE"

"Wha- THE FIRE!!"

"Quick! Where's the room?!"

"Ah, here here, let's go"

"Why do we keep forgetting the fire?!"

"It's the fire's fault for not being more obvious"

[faaun]

procrastination is starting to have its consequences finally

[kit-katsuki]

ohhhb venting...

[pears-trinkets]

.

[taegularities]

meraki | jjk (m)

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

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

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

1:04AM, Her

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1:04AM, Him

Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1:12AM, Her

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

Or so you think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d guess so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t you going, too?”

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

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

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

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

“I guess so.”

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

So you question, “You taking the bus?”

“Nope. Subway.”

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

“…Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean… you know me.”

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

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

“I don’t. You approach me.”

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

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

“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

Right… you need to go home. You forgot.

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just a lot later than necessary.”

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

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

1:25AM, Her

You catch up to him fast.

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

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

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

“And you’re idiotic.”

“Well… shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s it. This look of his.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But…

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

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

Yet…

You don’t want this to end just yet. 

So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

“Uh… not until the afternoon.”

“So you can sleep in.”

“I guess.”

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be crazy.”

“I am,” you confirm.

“You think I’d do this, huh?”

“…Maaaybe?”

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Then… good night.”

And that’s it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks. You’re very nice.”

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

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

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

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

“You wanted to take a walk.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing easier than that.

“Deal!”

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

“North-east.”

“Good. Works for me.”

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

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

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

2:13AM, Her

The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He asks, “You good?”

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

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

“Nah. I’m used to them.”

“…Oookay.”

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

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

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

“I can!”

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

See what?

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

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

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

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

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

Not that you ever had the chance to.

He doesn’t really hate you, does he?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

“Found anything?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…”

You hesitate.

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

“Yes?” he prods.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Watch.”

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

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

“What?” you question.

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

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

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

“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”

“You’re…”

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

Warm and soft; gentle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah… why?”

“No reason. I do, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I don't.”

Ah. Ah.

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

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

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

2:19AM, Him

You’re irritating to the core.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your… what now?

Excuse me?

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

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

“I know what I’m doing.”

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

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

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

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

“Was it really?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right?

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

Anyway…

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

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

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

Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.

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

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

He pauses. Where… are the flavours?

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

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

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

He answers, “It’s fine…”

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.

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

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

It does look good…

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

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

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

It’s good. Very damn good.

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

“Alright. Be right back.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm… was it, though?”

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

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

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

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

“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”

2:49AM, Him

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bingo. He thought so.

“Ah… why?”

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

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

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

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

“Doesn’t it?”

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

Jungkook frowns.

“Jieun?”

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

“Ah… Right, right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And…

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. It happens to me, too.”

“Really? How?”

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…But?”

He knows what’s missing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shu—”

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

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

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

“…You think?”

Damn.

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

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

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

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

“Oh… right…”

Right.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s so nice,” he says.

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

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

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

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

You know…

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

That type of thing?

But he doesn’t say any of it.

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

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

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

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

But somehow, he can’t stop looking.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, a vehicle roars from afar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? You were lau—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah… Yeah? Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”

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

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

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

“Would she be awake, even?”

“She’s a night owl. I know that.”

“Uhm…” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your body is so clearly encircled by it.

Bedazzling.

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

3:25AM, Her

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

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

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

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

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

“What for?”

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

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

“How old is… Jieun anyway?”

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

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

‘93, as far as you remember.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile.

“Just a friend,” you repeat.

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

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

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

“I know you won’t, baby.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. Thank you so much.”

“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.

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

So you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm. Okay.”

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

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

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

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

You laugh quietly at yourself.

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

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

But his body won’t move.

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

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

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

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

“…The couch is too small.”

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

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

“Why?”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“…Why not?”

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

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

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

“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”

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

But all he responds with is, “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well.

“That you are,” you verify.

“Damn.”

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

“Maybe.”

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

“Is it uncomfortable down there?”

“Uh… a little.”

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

“…What are you talking about?”

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

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

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

Your answer is immediate.

“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay… okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thought so. Are you tired?”

“Definitely.”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

“Because you’re talking.”

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

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

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

“That’s really why, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“The only reason there really is?”

“What else could there be?”

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”

And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…

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

Reacts so effectively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s loving this.

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

Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.

“Good. Good, good, good.”

The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.

His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.

And you’re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.

But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”

Oh, he didn’t just…

Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”

“Ah? Where are you going?”

“Wait.”

He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.

“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.

You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.

“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”

“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”

“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”

“Ah?”

“Mhm.”

“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”

Exactly.

Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.

But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.

The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.

When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.

It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”

“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”

“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”

“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”

“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”

You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.

He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity. 

You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.

You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.

But it’s hard. So hard because—

God, he’s lapping you up so good.

So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.

He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.

Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.

They don’t make men like him anymore.

Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.

He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.

Tell him, “This should be enough.”

And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”

You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.

Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.

On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”

“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”

“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”

You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.

You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.

He must have.

Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.

Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.

“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”

“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”

No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.

Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.

Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…

You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.

But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.

Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.

And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.

Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.

Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”

He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.

You tell him, “Use my panties then.”

“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”

Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.

Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…

Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.

Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.

As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”

“Yes— yes!”

“Mhm…”

He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.

You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.

But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.

So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.

Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.

Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…

You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”

He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.

Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.

You wonder how he likes what he sees.

Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”

Good to know.

So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.

He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”

And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.

The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.

“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”

But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his. 

The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.

Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.

“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.

“What?” you voice. “Not good?”

“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”

You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”

“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”

His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.

You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”

“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”

“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”

“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”

And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.

The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.

And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.

“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”

Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.

His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.

In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”

Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.

You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.

Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.

Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.

The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.

You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”

“Crazy… right?”

“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”

He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”

You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.

Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”

“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”

“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”

You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.

But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.

Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.

5:12AM, Him

Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.

The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.

And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.

Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.

But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.

You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.

You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”

“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”

“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”

Well, shit.

Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”

He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”

“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”

“Woah. You sing?”

“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”

He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”

But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”

“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”

Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.

“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”

Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”

“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”

He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—

A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.

“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”

And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.

His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.

He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.

Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”

“Uh… all good.”

“Yes. All good indeed.”

Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”

Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?

And behind that, the town.

If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.

The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.

But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.

From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.

Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.

And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.

Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.

He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.

“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.

He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.

Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.

Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.

He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hidden spot then.”

“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”

The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.

It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.

He likes it that way.

No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.

Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.

He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”

He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.

If you did, you’d never let him live it down.

You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?

But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.

“Good?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”

The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.

He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.

But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.

“You… did it for me?” he asks.

You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”

“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”

“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”

“Thank you. Really.”

You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.

He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.

There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.

Because of you.

Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.

Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.

But…

He’d love to talk to you again.

However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.

“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”

Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”

“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”

“Sure? She is.”

He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.

“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”

Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.

“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.

“So she is your type.”

Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.

And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.

So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”

“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”

“You do not small-talk.”

“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”

He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”

“The type thing!”

“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”

The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.

Just for a second.

Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.

In some way, it still does.

You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”

“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”

“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Cute.

But he’s not giving in this easily.

He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.

For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.

He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—

They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.

You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.

Crazy.

But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?

Yes.

The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…

When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”

You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”

As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”

“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”

“I guess so.”

He guesses so.

It’s been a while since he fell in love.

Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.

His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.

He means it. And you seem to know.

Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.

Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him on.

READ BELOW!!

the fic isn't over yet – as always, tumblr has a 1k block limit that makes our lives harder than necessary lmao. read the last scene and the remaining 3k words of meraki here 🥰

[fanficsformyfaves]

She Got Away

Agatha Harkness x Fem Witch!Reader

WARNING: ANGST, SMUT 18+, Violence, Mentions Of Sickness And Symptoms, Mentions Of Murder, Lovers To Enemies To Lovers Trope, Agatha Uses Sex Magic To Give Herself A Cock, Rough Sex

PREFACE: Reader and Agatha were together back when they still lived in Salem, but when Agatha takes the coven's power and kills almost all its members, she fled, living only Reader alive

A/N: Flashback In Italics!

Marvel finally grew a pair and gave us the lesbian angst we deserved

And yes this was heavily inspired by Chappell's unreleased song 'Subway'

All I remembered seeing, as the last of my vision faded into darkness, was someone stashing me inside a hollow tree and growing vines shielding me from view. In the far distance, her silhouette turned to face me once more, before disappearing into the thick fog ahead.

I hadn't seen Agatha since then, but I was determined to find her. After everything we'd been through, the last thing I ever expected was for her to betray me the way that she did. She killed our coven and ran off like it was nothing. Like what we had was meaningless and insignificant to her.

From that day forward, I vowed to make her pay, if it was the last thing I did.

It took a while, but I managed to track her down in New Jersey. It became difficult when I couldn't sense her magic anymore, but I knew she was there. It was just a feeling I couldn't shake.

I walked down the lane of houses, wary of the eyes following me, when I arrive at the very last one at the end of the street. I take a quick glance through the window and that's when I felt my heart drop.

The woman I loved all those years ago. The same woman who made me feel like I was actually worth something, just to take it all away from me.

Amidst the blinding rage that coursed through my body was the agony I felt when I she first left. It was a knife twisting inside me with no way out.

Wanting to end this once and for all, I stormed the house by kicking the door open to find her huddled in the corner of her kitchen. She tried hard to mask her fear with a cocky grin, but of course I saw right through her.

"Well, if it isn't (Y/F/N). God, how long has it been?"

"Three hundred years, six months and six days"

"Awe, you kept count-"

She was interrupted by a dagger I threw her way. The blade striking the cabinet when she ducked.

"I see you picked up knife-throwing", she teased.

I lunge forward, grabbing the back of her head and slamming her into the wall. I wanted her to hurt the way I hurt. Only ten times worse.

She falls to the floor, holding her head, as I grabbed another knife, but before I could drive it into her chest, she stops me by my wrist.

"Remember pain? Kinda tickles doesn't it?", I said through gritted teeth.

I only managed to draw a drop of blood, before she reached for the chair and knocked me off of her. She gets back on her feet and makes a run for the door, when I use my magic to block off her only exit.

"I'm surprised you aren't using magic to get out of this one", I say, following her into the living room and blowing a fallen strand of hair away from my face.

She sighed through her nose, not taking her eyes off of me.

"Don't tell me you've reformed?"

"Another witch took my powers. The Scarlet Witch"

I scoff in surprise.

"So you finally got what was coming to you"

Her lips were set in a fine grimace.

"Well...almost. I'm just here to finish the job", I say, using my powers to launch her across the room.

She hits a glass case and falls to the ground with a thud, wincing. Just as I go to throw another one of my daggers, she holds a hand out.

"Wait! Wait", she pleaded, halting me.

"This isn't what you want. Me? Without power?", she chuckled nervously, carefully getting back up.

"This is- this is undignified! Don't you want me at my best?"

She stretches out the kinks in her neck, making sure not to take her eyes off of me.

"Admit it, you prefer me-"

"Horizontal? In a grave?", I cut off.

"Formidable", she answered.

"Come on, baby. You love it, the anticipation", she whispered, taking a step closer.

"Hm. That would be fun", I shrugged.

"Wouldn't it? Just...let me get my purple back and come find me after-"

"Not a chance in hell. Which is exactly where I plan on sending you. I promise to make it quick", I mocked, winding my blade back.

"Wait! Please!"

I roll my eyes, irritated with the stalling.

"Look. I hurt you, I'm not denying that", she swallowed thickly.

"But I didn't want to. I didn't have a choice", she shakes her head.

"You always have a choice. Like not killing our coven for example"

"You don't know what happened-"

"Or leaving me...when I needed you", I struggled to hide the hint of sadness peaking out from behind my anger.

Up to this point, I was able keep my composure, but the longer I looked at her, the more I felt the pain I'd been carrying around for years creep up on me.

"(Y/N)-"

"I woke up alone, surrounded by nothing but a pile of bodies and no one to turn to. You did that!"

Agatha bows her head, unable to hold my hurt gaze.

"I loved you, so so much", my voice was reduced to nothing but tearful whispers.

"So could you imagine just how much it killed me when you left? To find out it was all one-sided?", I hissed through gritted teeth.

"I did love you-"

"No, you didn't. You don't leave someone you loved behind"

I could tell that struck a nerve in her, when the brim of her eyes began to water.

"Why do you think I spared you and hid you in that tree? Hm? So you could exact revenge on me three hundred years later? Why not just finish the job?", her tone now angry at my accusations.

I was dumbfounded by the revelation. It was as if time ceased to move and the rest of the world disappeared around us.

"What?"

"I left to protect you. It was for your own good"

"That was you?"

"Of course it was. Everyone else was dead by the time I found you again"

My brows furrowed in confusion.

"What do you remember?", she questioned, mimicking my expression.

"I..."

"We were in the woods. I was confronting my mother about conspiring to kill me, when you showed up"

Suddenly, rushes of the past engulfed my vision. The grief of losing both my family and Agatha must've been too much for me to bare and caused my mind to distort my recollection of it.

I was walking through the forest, looking for my familiar, when I stumbled upon the empress and Agatha fighting.

"You were born evil", the empress snarled, as Agatha tensed at her tone.

"Empress? Agatha? What's happening?"

The empress turns back to Agatha with a look of disgust.

"No-", Agatha goes to intervene, but was interrupted by me getting struck with a bolt of magic.

"Obviously, I struck her back and when the other members overheard us, all hell broke loose. I was running and fighting for my life for hours"

"Why would she do that? Why would she try to kill you?"

"You heard her, I was 'born evil'. Finding out about the Darkhold was just the nail in the coffin"

Each missing piece of what happened finally began falling into place.

Back in Salem, a devasting sickness swept through the town and nearly claimed the lives of all its residents. Unfortunately, I was one of the unlucky few that fell victim to the disease's rampage.

It started with a fever and a few aches, but quickly escalated to me vomiting blood by the pint. I was bed-ridden for days and sure to die as there was no traditional spell to cure my ills, when Agatha made me a promise to keep me alive, no matter the means.

"I won't let you die", she sniffled, wiping the sweat off of my forehead.

"Agatha-"

"Don't. I'll find a way"

And that's what made her turn to Dark Magic and discover a book called the Darkhold. In the dead of night, whilst everyone was either asleep or nursing the sick, she snuck back into my hut and performed the ritual that restored my health.

"I don't know how she found out, but somehow she did"

I angrily wiped away the tears that managed to escape me.

"Let's say you're telling the truth about what really happened. You still left me", my voice trembled with each word.

"I couldn't risk people thinking you were involved. If they did, you would've spent the rest of your life running and you deserve better than that", she said, getting close enough to cradle my face in her hands.

I inhale, shrugging to get away from her.

"I don't believe you"

"Seems like you do"

Finally fed up with her mind games, I grab her by the throat and spun us around to pin her to the wall. I conjure another dagger and just as I raised it high into the air. This was it. The moment I'd been working towards for the last three centuries...only I couldn't move. She didn't have her powers, so I knew it couldn't have been her.

"You can't do it, can you?", she struggled.

"It's cause you know I'm telling the truth"

She was right. The realization knocked the wind out of me like a bat to my chest. I knew deep down, no matter how much she hurt me by leaving and how much I hated her for it, she only did what she had to...because she loved me. I took a shaky breath and felt another tear roll down my cheek.

She lowers the hand I held the dagger and cupped my face.

"That's it. Easy"

Once my hands were both to my side, she pulled me into a tight embrace, as I nuzzled into her neck.

"Oh, sweetheart. I missed you", she sighed contently.

Her own voice quivering at the feeling of my trembling sobs.

She eventually pulled away just enough to wipe my face dry and in that moment, my eyes poured into her baby blues.

I didn't know whether it was the adrenaline or the burden of the last few centuries being taken off of me, but before I could figure it out, I dropped the knife, grabbed her face and smashed my lips against hers. I backed her up against the wall, careful to guide her around the broken glass.

She quickly got to work on pulling my shirt off over my head and I followed suit, untying her robe. I couldn't help but take a moment to admire her hardened buds peaking through her nightgown.

"Missed me?"

"Shut up", I exhaled, pulling her back onto my lips, as she moaned at my man handling.

Once we were done ridding ourselves of all our clothes, she spun the both of us around to pin me now. She held my wrists against the wall and trailed her kisses down to my neck.

"You're so fucking pretty", she mumbled, painting my skin with shades of red and purple.

I whine at her nibbling down on my shoulder and throwing me around her waist. She takes us to the couch and I grind myself down on her lap, groaning at the sensation. As I returned the favor and left marks all up and down her neck, she mumbles something in Latin. Before I could question what she was doing, I felt something press against my core.

"Is that..."

"Really thought I forgot your favorite spell?", she grinned wickedly, running her hands up my waist to hold me in place.

"I always did enjoy fucking you raw"

I dive back into her lips and adjusted my hips to help her along. She grabs the appendage by the base and uses the tip to rub firm circles on my already aching clit.

"You're a mess", she chuckled, taking one of my nipples into her mouth.

"Please, take me", I moaned, grasping the back of her neck and bracing for her to stretch me out.

In one smooth thrust, she filled me to the brim, as I cried out. It was much bigger than I remembered.

"God, you were always so warm...and tight", she panted between each subtle thrust.

After giving me a moment to adjust, she started with a gentle pace, reminding herself to litter my neck and shoulder with kisses to soothe me.

"My sweet angel, fuck", she groaned.

As I began to ride up and down her length. Her eyes rake over my form and the way my hips dropped forward and pulled back over and over again. With each motion, her tip directly pressed into my g-spot, making her name fall from my lips repeatedly like a cursed hymn.

Her nails claw down my back, earning a wince.

"I'm sorry", she panted.

"Don't stop"

"I don't wanna hurt you-"

"I don't care", I whine, diving back into her lips and riding her faster.

She uses her biceps to hold me in place, ramming up into me harder.

"Agatha, fuck", I whimpered, holding onto her shoulders for dear life.

"That's right, baby. You're all mine"

My climax was fast-approaching and all I could do was fight it off as long as I could, until she gave me permission. Even after years of hating her, my body never forgot.

"I can feel you getting close", she moaned.

"Do it for me, come on, baby. I need you to come", she pleaded, reaching down between us to vigorously rub my throbbing clit.

I came with a scream that surely echoed throughout the neighborhood, but I couldn't care less. My vision momentarily faded to black, as my head fell back from the overwhelming pleasure that consumed me.

She held me against her, groaning as she coated my walls with her warmth.

"Fuck", she grunted, still thrusting into me to help us both ride out our orgasms.

Both spent and covered in each other's sweat and essences, we stay still for a while to catch our breaths.

"Miss me now?"

Too tired to think of a comeback, I simply nodded against her shoulder, hearing chuckle.

"Welcome home, baby"

[yandere-sins]

Monstober - Day 3: Alien

I've read so much alien romance by now—it's a good way to incorporate monsters ngl—I feel like I have seen it all. And yet, there is just something about it that I will never tire of ♥

Prompt: Day 3: Alien | Otherworldly // Uncanny Valley // Space Warnings: Yandere, Violence (Threats, (Alien) Blood Mention, Killing (of aliens), Getting cut), Abduction & being auctioned off situation, Belittling of Humans, Alien Manipulation

"And next up: A very rare pet of the type "human"! Directly imported from their home planet, "Earth," to be loved and cared for! Bidding starts at one million GSC!"

You felt terribly exposed without your clothes, merciless, harsh lights burning down on you, and no shade to hide in. Even with your arms tightly wrapped around your body, legs tugged in and crossed over, you still felt the stares of the creatures below, even if you couldn't see them. Their hungry growls and huffs echoed all around you while the price kept rising.

The lanky stature of the monster that hosted this auction paced back and forth on the edge of the stage, asking for participation and making this deal worthwhile. The creature looked like a humanoid cricket, with spindly legs, four arms, and three fingers on each hand that it kept pointing left and right.

"Four million GSC! Four-point-five million GSC! Do I hear five? Five million, thank you!"

You couldn't help the tears filling your eyes as you listened to the worth of your self, something you never had a say in determining. Even with your father swearing up and down that he adored and cherished you more than his own life, you knew that his gambling addiction would one day ruin everything you loved. You just didn't think he'd go as far as to sell you—to aliens nonetheless.

On earth, you had thought you had seen it all—highs and lows, in person or on television. But in your cell on the spaceship that flew you through the cosmos, you learned you knew nothing. You were a tiny speck in this endless design, and it left you feeling empty and meaningless.

You met quite a few species back when you were waiting for the auction to take place. Humanoids, insectoids, and some completely unexplainable. You learned that most aliens sold themselves to wealthier species to live a better life, not so much concerned with pride or shame as humans were. Thus, the existence of an enslaved human caused quite a ruckus in the galaxy. You had yet to learn the worth of GSC—the currency beyond your planet—but apparently, one million was akin to a yearly income here.

"Twenty-five million GSC! What an amazing price for a priceless pet! At this point, it will only be fair if you lovely participants know what you're getting into!"

At this, you finally raised your head again, bracing your eyes against the painful light as the thumping of steps closed in on you. A three-fingered hand reached out for your arm, and as green and gnarly as it was, its movements were fast and precise. You cowered away but weren't as quick and nimble, and the fingers were large enough to wrap around your upper arm, yanking you back.

Without any warning, a small claw emerged from one of the alien's free hands, cutting you right above its own fingers around your flesh that held you in place. You gasped but the creature hummed approvingly before it dabbed a white tissue to the wound, soaking up the blood. Unnecessarily harsh, the monster discarded your arm again, making sure to let you know how much you really meant to it with all its actions—nothing.

You were simply a means to an end. One that would hopefully bring lots of money.

If not for the precarious state, you should have been angry. Angry at your father, angry at the world—the whole galaxy even! How dare they sell you like a piece of meat with no regard for your well-being and wishes! Sure, they weren't used to the pridefulness of a race they deemed weak yet untouchable by the laws of their organization. But the way they treated you, abused you, and disregarded all of your self as if you truly were a mindless animal only seeking food and shelter to simply survive was beyond insulting!

You were still a human! The superior race on your planet. You still had intelligence and empathy and deserved so much more than their belittling treatment!

But here, you were nothing. The alien disappeared with the sample of your blood, and you saw it bend down at the edge of the stage, leaving you to assume it was passing the tissue to someone else, who, in turn, probably gave it to the patrons of this establishment. The crowd suddenly erupted in a heated cacophony of sounds. More groans and huffs spread through the masses, and the alien auctioneer clapped his four hands together as more offers were yelled into the room.

You were just a piece of meat. One to purchase and show off, play with, ruin, break, and then force to be the good pet that they paid millions for. At this point, you were pretty sure that they wouldn't stop and keep your dignity intact. That no one here truly cared whether you'd be happy or scared or embarrassed.

"Fifty-three million! Sixty-four! Do I hear sixty-five—Seventy million GSC!"

The enthusiastic grunts and murmurs made you sick to the stomach, and you hunched over, cowering in your position. Maybe they were right; perhaps you really were just an expensive piece of meat.

You hadn't given the future too much thought yet, too afraid of the present after you were kidnapped and shipped to space. But what if, despite them calling you "pet", you'd actually be killed and eaten? What if once you weren't new, weren't special anymore, you'd simply be discarded, ending up on the streets of an alien planet where you were at the mercy of those creatures? What would you do if they were all hulking, strong beasts that could throw you around like a ragdoll, hurting you, abusing you?

Or worse... Oh god, you could think of so many more things they could do, and yet you were too afraid to form the thoughts in your head.

There were so many cruel ideas in your head as you sat there, hunched over, despair filling your body and mind. You had to do something, had to get away. Pride was one thing, but survival was the most primal need you had in you. And as much as you wished for it all to be over, how could you possible achieve this? How could you, a simple human make them stop tormenting you? Secretly, you had already accepted their superiority; it had been this way since the old ages. Masses made you humans strong, but you alone? No chance.

"Do you wish to end all of this?"

Your ragged breath came to a halt, your head slowly turning to the side from where the voice came. There was no explaining what you were looking at, those humanoid features so similar to humans, yet somehow their features were sharper, elongated, cheekbones too high to be real, the nose too slim to look functional. The creature's body was lean and tall, its torso almost entirely in view from above the stage. You examined them for a long time, their blue skin standing out against the harsh lights. You spied the flick of a tail behind them every so often, sleek with a puff of hair at the end. And despite being so different, somehow, they scared you less than the aliens you had seen on your journey here.

"S-Sir, with all due respect, you're not supposed to approach them without them being restrained."

The auctioneer called out to them, stepping in front of you and blocking the line of sight unsuccessfully with its spindly, insectoid legs. You shuddered at the thought of going back into the restraints you had woken up in after being knocked out and readied for shipment. "What if they attack you or get filth all over you? These creatures are known to spit," he added more quietly, hoping to appease the one standing in front of the stage, their tail flicking more often now. Was it annoyance that crossed their features? Or did the light blind you to see the truth?

The creature's gaze lingered on you for a while longer, their eyes drilling into you from between the gaps in the legs before their head snapped upwards rapidly, lips parting in a menacing grimace. "Let them speak," they growled, and the auctioneer jumped back, sputtering before moving to the side.

Only now did you notice the deadly silence in the hall, and you slowly unfurled from your hunched-over position, looking up. But not without your arms tightening around you, shielding you a little from being exposed.

The alien's head fell back down, facing forward, the movement much gentler, less frightening—intentional. Their dark blue gaze softened, no pupils but swirls of lighter blues and purples swaying in them. And then they smiled, and it almost seemed comforting, if there weren't two rows of spiked teeth. One of their hands raised from below the stage—another uncanny feature as their arms were just too long—and the other settled on the stage tapping on it, beckoning you closer.

When the other arm emerged, it held a smooth kind of fabric in it, maybe a coat or a rag, but the dark blue color glistened in the direct light made you assume it was something better than a poor person's rag as they spread it out on the edge of the stage, pushing it in your direction as far as possible.

"It's okay now," they purred, and a sudden relief washed over you, their words sinking into you like a warm hug and reassuring backrub would, your jaw unclenching and shoulders sinking. Something about them calmed you, and although your brain was telling you to be extra careful, you couldn't help but feel connected to them. Hesitantly but curious, you inched closer, fingertips reaching for the fabric. Part of you expected the creature to pull it away from you the moment you attempted anything, but they didn't move, didn't even breathe. It was unnerving how still they could be, still like a trick of your mind, an illusion, but the soft fabric beneath your hand was very real, and you tugged at it warily.

It followed your pull, and soon enough, you pressed it to your chest, covering up your naked body. Greed settled in as you reached for more with your other hand, spreading the blue around you, the fabric seemingly never-ending, at least not until you had utterly cocooned yourself in it, nothing but your face and a few strands of your hair still looking out of it.

It had this grounding smell that enveloped you like a second layer of fabric, sweet and earthy, but also reminded you of the ocean you used to visit at home. Your heart ached as you took another deep breath, unwilling to part with the memory.

You couldn't help a shuddering breath from escaping as you looked back up at the creature. So much closer to them now, their size was even more towering, yet you didn't hesitate to look into these intriguing eyes of theirs, the swirls now creating pools of depth inside of them with how fast they were circling, looking as if they were entirely fixated on you.

"Thank you," you muttered, genuinely grateful for the help.

"My pleasure," they replied, their long-limbed arm reaching out, catching the loose strands of hair and twirling them in their fingertips. You felt like you needed to recoil, but for some reason, you didn't move, completely at peace with the creature touching you, their skin smelling much like the fabric around you. "Now, about my question. Do you wish to end all of this?"

It was a strangely phrased, hard-to-interpret question, but you didn't wreck your head before agreeing with a nod. You did want all of this to end; you didn't want to be a pet to some strange creature that was paying a lump sum just to own you. They were all the same greedy monsters that your father was: heartless and unsympathetic. Why would you not want to end this damned situation?

"Wonderful, but I'll have you know that that power comes at a price," they chuckled, hand falling from your hair to your cheek. A large palm cupped your face, thumb splitting off to caress your lower lip, pressing against it, their gaze fixating on the plumpness jumping back in place after being fondled. Then, their hand slid further down, unwrapping your neck from the fabric and slipping around your throat to the thumping spot of your puls that it wrapped around.

"Are you willing to pay that price?"

"B-But Sir! Please..." someone whimpered from beside you, but it was nearly impossible to break eye contact with the alien before you and acknowledge whoever was speaking. They had a mesmerizing aura to themselves, the swirls captivating your attention, and you felt ashamed to say they fascinated you. It felt wrong, yet... right. Was it supposed to feel that way?

"What's the price?" you mumbled, a part of you still a good human, aware that nothing came for cheap and everything should be in equal value.

"Mhm," the creature hummed thoughtfully, but not appalled by your question, their thin lips curving into a grin similar to that of a human but more foxish and uncanny.

"Your life to do what I please with, in exchange for..."

They made another thoughtful sound before the rumble in their chest turned into a purr. Their lips split into that menacing smile from before, many sharp teeth creating pristinely white rows, and you knew they thought themselves on the winning side. You felt their grip around your throat tighten, and with an unexpected yank, you were pulled forward, just a breath away from their face.

"How about every life that dares to look at you with appalling intentions? Every soul, or the equivalent in their respective race, in this room, calling you a mere pet? Every alien that touched you as if you were an object of their possession? Anyone that has ever or will in the future harm you? Would that be enough, little human? Do you require more from me? It shall be yours. Your life in my hands in exchange for everything you could want—and my coat."

You tightened the fabric around your body, a waft of the sweet scent you smelled before tingling your nostrils. It was a damn good coat, and an even better offer.

Somehow, it bothered you less to hear you'd still be sold like a slave—although perhaps better a slave than a pet. At least it would be on your terms, right? Or the alien's... Your head felt dizzy as you thought about it. If this was the promise, you could live with it. You'd at least get out of this situation and live to see another day. And you were so angry at these creatures around you, your father, everything! Why should you care about them? Right, you shouldn't. You should... agree. Take the deal and be done with it. Dealing with one alien was better than all the others.

"Do you swear to keep your promise?" you asked, and the creature sighed blissfully, nodding their head before resting their forehead to yours. Tension that you hadn't realized had been there before left their body, and you noticed their free hand creeping up on stage, closer to your bundled-up form.

"I swear," they uttered solemnly, and you nodded in acknowledgment.

"So do I."

"S-Sir! You cannot disrupt this auction as you please! There are rules on the Galactic Space Hub that prohibit direct selling of wares and—"

The sound of squashing flesh interrupted the auctioneer's speech, and your eyes widened—as did the creature's cheeky grin. You felt something hot and wet splatter on your coat but didn't realize what it was until it hit the alien in front of you on the face. Your head slowly turned with hesitant movements, but their free hand reached up, keeping your face forward instead while hushing you.

"Don't look," they chuckled, and chaos erupted in all forms of sounds around you. Neighing, squawking, and the occasional grunts were to be heard everywhere. You couldn't ignore the squashing, sputtering sounds of fluids and flesh being cut open, your body shivering with not even the coat being able to keep you warm all of a sudden as you came to a realization of what kind of deal you had made.

"Shh, shh," the alien hushed, bringing a hand up to their own face to wipe away the alien guts that had splattered them. With a flick of their wrist, they returned the arm to your back and wrapped it around you. "Just keep looking at me, don't look at them. It's your turn to keep your promise and not to disobey my orders. I hope you remember your part of the deal and spare yourself the misery."

Pulling you off the stage, you were cradled against their chest, flat and tight under what looked oddly similar to a vest and dress shirt from earth, intricate patterns decorating the seams. The curiosity of any human wanted you to look and witness the devastation that had taken place, but you couldn't tear yourself away from this strange, otherworldly creature, their command seemingly effective.

"Your Majesty, it is done. What do you wish to do now?"

"Hm," the creature hummed, leaning forward a little more, lips almost brushing yours. You held your breath, fingers clawing into their shoulders. You tensed in their hold as they carried you out of the harsh spotlight, shrouding you in the darkness that had once given privacy to the aliens trying to buy you for their own pleasure. But nothing more than silence was left now, and it was an eery one, paired with many pungent yet alluring smells around you.

"Ready my ship," the alien ordered, and you felt hypnotized by their eyes paired with their smell so close to you now. Tempted, almost, to have a taste of their lips, see if they tasted the same as they smelled. "Sent a fleet ahead of us and tell the court I am finally coming home."

They grinned again, and you should have recoiled from the sharp teeth shining in the darkness. Their whole body seemed glowing even outside of the light.

"And tell them I bring back my blood mate, my newly betrothed, and prepare for the harvest."

You gasped as you heard the creature announce their plans, pushing away from them and managing to tear away from their hypnotic gaze. No one said anything about your blood! What were their intentions? What did they want with your blood? How much blood did they want? You thought this would merely end in you being a companion, rather than a mere pet, but it seemed you had been entirely wrong.

"Ah, ah," they chuckled. "Remember, it's the price you promised to pay. My kind values clean bloodlines above all else. Imagine how hard it was to find one of your kind that matched mine? Otherwise I would have never been allowed the pleasure to keep one of you, be with one of you. You are simply perfect. Interesting, "fun". Exactly what I want in a blood mate!"

"What?" you winced, feeling a strange sense of betrayal. "Why me then? Why a human? Why not one of your own kind? O-Or the others!"

"Your kind is the most interesting of them all," they explained. "I can't wait to uncover all these emotions you are feeling, one after the other. I must know all about what it's like to feel "pain" and "happiness". You have no idea how boring these other species are, no matter what I do to them. I'm not wasting my time copulating with those simpletons. I want something more from my mate. Something they can't give me, but you can."

Their explanation sounded threatening even when they smiled throughout it, their intentions becoming awfully clear, and you squirmed in their arms that only seemed to tighten the more you moved. You fell for it like a fool! you thought, scolding yourself inwardly for not being more careful. You trusted the creature even though you knew better! None of those aliens would have treated you well! None of them had good intentions!

And you might have just fallen for the worst of them all—a curious one.

"Now, now," they tutted, a hand wrapping around your neck from behind, squeezing until you gasped for air.

"It's time to hold up your end of the bargain, as will I, always."

[mononijikayu]

city of loving angels — gojo satoru.

angel! satoru who was assigned to be your guardian angel.

angel! satoru who thinks about how it's his duty to keep you safe from all unseen harm.

angel! satoru who doesn't understand human emotions or senses and yet still finds it interesting

angel! satoru who watches you, a doctor, lament to yourself in silence at your failure to save your patient.

angel! satoru who becomes transfixed in your daily life, trying to understand everything your expressing and saying. every feature of emotion, of relief— what your smile and tears mean.

angel! satoru who thinks about how many times he's asked human beings what their favorite thing in life is and yet none of them satisfied him more than just watching you express things he couldn't understand.

angel! satoru who finally reveals himself to you and found how you were kind to him the moment you saw him.

angel! satoru who thinks there's something about you, with how warm your hands are and how genuine your smiles are.

angel! satoru who thinks that every bit of his long, immortal life has become consumed by wanting to spend it looking at you.

angel! satoru who thinks that if there is anything worth doing, it would be protecting you from the uncertainty of life.

angel! satoru who meets masamichi yaga, his old mentor in heaven who was your patient in the hospital.

angel! satoru who is surprised but he thinks that its been a long time since his old mentor had fallen from heaven.

angel! satoru who is surprised that his old mentor didnt fall from grace but chose to leave and live a human life.

angel! satoru who asked what sort of life would that look like, thinking about you. his old mentor smiled and said, that human life is everything.

angel! satoru who returns to heaven and says that he can no longer serve the father when all he can think about the paradise of serving you.

angel! satoru who is no longer quite an angel, returns to the human world and starts to be overwhelmed by feelings.

angel! satoru who is no longer ignorant of what it means to be consumed by love, by humanity, by you.

angel! satoru who comes to you at the hospital and brings a bouquet of flowers as a gift.

angel! satoru who notices how lovely that scarlet blush was against your soft, supple skin.

angel! satoru who asks you if you'd like to have dinner with him that night.

angel! satoru who feels his heart beat wildly for the first time when he heard you say yes.

angel! satoru who lives his life devoted to you and taking care of you in all the ways he knows how.

angel! satoru who thinks that there is no regrets when it comes to leaving, because he is finally living, as he should, with you.

angel! satoru who thinks that he would love to just do laundry and taxes with you for the rest of your mortal lives.

angel! satoru who thinks about how he would like to go on and marry you one day.

angel! satoru who realizes that there are things he could not protect you from.

angel! satoru who finds out from you that you were diagnosed with terminal illness and that there is no cure.

angel! satoru who is devastated at the thought of losing you when he had just gotten to be with you.

angel! satoru who is comforted by your loving arms as he cried over and over about how he can't save you.

angel! satoru who starts to think that he should have stayed an angel, so he could have guided you back to health.

angel! satoru who thinks he should have loved you from afar so that you didn't have to be ill.

angel! satoru who stops thinking that when you tell him that his love being yours is what gave your life meaning.

angel! satoru who can't help but be overwhelmed with love for you when you tell him that no matter what, he was the best of life itself.

angel! satoru who devotes his entire self, his love, his soul, what remains of your life.

angel! satoru who lets himself put away the grief and pain to try and make you smile everyday.

angel! satoru who wonders how he could ever let you go knowing that he loved you too much.

angel! satoru who could sense everything knowing that today was that day.

angel! satoru who stays with you in bed all day, taking in the warmth of that last good day.

angel! satoru who felt your sweet tender kisses on his neck as you wrapped your arms around him.

angel! satoru who took in your weak voice speaking those sweet little lies, those sweet little nothings.

angel! satoru who asked you what your favorite thing in life was and you smiled at him and replied that it was him. because he loved you.

angel! satoru who watched you slipped away as you leaned closer to his embrace.

angel! satoru who could only be inconsolable as he held you even closer knowing your warmth will depart soon.

angel! satoru who holds your funeral and only a few had come but that didn't matter because he was there.

angel! satoru who gets a visit from angel! suguru as he watched him unfold in rough grief.

angel! satoru who looks up when angel! suguru asks him if all this suffering, this grief, this loss — if it was all worth it.

angel! satoru who looks at your memorial photo and laughs at the question angel! suguru asked him.

angel! satoru who without hesistation says that everything was worth it, because he was human with you.

angel! satoru who was so happy because he got to experience being so very loved by you.

angel! satoru who looks at angel! suguru and said that he had no regrets because everything was perfect even if it wasnt.

angel! satoru who looks at an appalled angel! suguru and continues to smile back, telling him that one day he'll understand.

angel! satoru who witnesses the first dawn of life without you in his life that morning.

angel! satoru who yells out a loud thank you, that he was human, that he was ever allowed to be one.

angel! satoru who starts crying and smiling all at once because he knows you heard him from above.

angel! satoru who promises to live on, because you know one day, you'd love to hear all the stories of his long life when you meet again.

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 03. BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER

a/n: we are getting down to the nitty and gritty of this man's pain. and he's finally starting to the accept the fact that he has to talk about what happened to him. honestly out of all the chapters this one might be my favorite. solely for the soft vibes i tried to shove into what is already a very angsty story. also somehow wade weaseled his way further into this chapter than i intended him to. so enjoy the humor i've tried to add throughout. (i am reposting this since it didn't show up in the tags yesterday.)

summary: to open up was like taking a knife to a steel door. he never saw the use in letting someone in. but dinner spent in your company and conversations over wine and whiskey is where things begin to take a turn.

word count: 8.3k+ (i don't even know how tf that happened.)

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: partially explicit scene, angst by the bucket load, vulnerable and emotional logan, grief, trauma, heartache, fluff, domestic vibes, alcohol consumption, wade breaking the fourth wall, wade being a shit wingman, the beginnings of something more.

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Blood poured over his hands and soaked into the ground below. The warmth of it coated his senses, dug into the grooves and lines of his palms. He swore he felt it down to his bones. Now permanently mixed with a version of him long forgotten—the man who used to smile.

Their shouts of pain rendered him immobile. Useless to help them, useless to save their lives. Useless. Useless. Useless. He fought against the restraints, the invisible shackles put there by his own hands. Whether to stop him from going or to keep him from harm—he'd never know—but he battled regardless. With a snarl, he felt them snap, his claws sliding free in all their familiarity. A weapon of destruction unable to be used for salvation.

When he began to run he felt it. The piercing echo of her. The power she emanated as they took her life, brought her to the brink of death. He felt her voice punch through his chest—puncturing him in his heart. She screamed his name with her final breath. Called out for his help; for him to save them all.

He could almost see her in his mind, the horror that befell a school of such powerful people. And he loathed himself for breathing. For living after they were taken so quickly from him.

His family. His home.

What once existed would no longer return. That alone broke him further than their deaths. The knowledge that his world—his universe—would be without their heroes. So much of their worth had been given to humanity. Only to be stripped of their lives within the blink of an eye.

And he couldn't save them. He could barely stand on his own two feet without stumbling.

"Logan!" The scream split along his skull, rupturing veins that healed far too quickly for his liking.

What the fuck was the point of his abilities if he couldn't put them to use? If he couldn't do the one thing they counted on him for.

Their blood stuck to him, burrowing into skin that would never scar. He'd never have proof of the wounds that rested along his heart. Forever damned to carry the weight of his own failure—the guilt that ate him alive. For what? To tell the story he could barely stomach himself? What was his life to the lives of those who meant so much more?

Why did he have to fucking live?

He stood on the doorstep. Death stained the walls, pierced the air with its pungent copper tang. He keeled over at the bushes, all the alcohol he'd consumed expelling itself from his body at the sight. His family was dead. His family was dead and he couldn't join them. He couldn't fucking die.

What once felt like a gift—eternity to find these people who loved him—now rang true with the only word that could make sense. Curse. His curse.

"No," he gasped, eyes bleary with tears as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted through the broken down door.

His claws came free, expecting a fight. Only to be met with silence. An eerie echo of nothing.

No laughter, no life, no chatter of students.

Nothing.

The breath ripped from his lungs as a blaring horn spilled in through the apartment's open window. In an attempt to get some cool air, he pushed the couch closer to what airflow there was. The only downside was hearing everything as he slept. Each little noise and loud mouthed fucker as they wandered the rather empty street. He wanted to leave—move to a better spot where humanity was sparse—but the pull of you across the street kept him there.

"Fuck," he grunted, eyes blinking away the nightmare that tore at his psyche.

The bottle of whiskey underneath the kitchen cabinet called his name. Offering a respite against the horrors he couldn't run from. And with a pained groan, he stumbled towards it—grabbing his coffee mug from the counter. The amber liquid felt bitter against the back of his throat. A familiar burn he welcomed.

He may not be able to stay injured, but this he could have. The darkness at the end of the bottle. The silence he found in collapsing drunk against the couch.

The streetlight outside lit the area filled with trash and the few people sleeping in darkened alleys. If he listened hard enough he could hear their heartbeats. Smell the pungent scent of the city as it seeped through the window. He could feel the thrum of New York beneath his feet—unfamiliar in its nature but home nonetheless.

The sight of a light flicking on grasped his attention—a glimpse of you staggering to the kitchen for a glass of water clear through your window. You should really get curtains, or blinds. He'd help install them for you. But then he'd never get this again. A small insight into your life, a peek into what he left behind a day ago.

Your lips against his still seared through his body—your moans and want for more left him breathless. And he had to go and fuck it up. Just as he did with everything in his life. He ruined the good. Corrupted the innocent.

Doing the same to you felt unfathomable—painful.

But how could he stop?

When you were catching his gaze in the window. Your glass of water was forgotten and the blanket dropped to the leather chair behind you. He left the bottle on the floor by the couch, his empty mug beside it as you grabbed for something. Logan yearned to hear your voice. To apologize for how he left things. But saying sorry never came easy and he found that keeping you at a distance was much safer than what he actually wanted.

The ringing on his phone broke his penetrating gaze. He reached for it quickly, pressing it to his ear as you brought your phone to yours. A breath was all that echoed through the small speaker—soft and warm. He swore he could feel it against his cheek. Hear the echo of your heart pounding beneath his.

"Can't sleep?" you uttered, finally putting his mind at ease. He exhaled a deep breath—hearing it fill your ears as warmth trailed down your spine.

"Nightmares."

You watched him stand still as stone. His fingers gripped the phone for assurance. A sense of stability from a past that had already cracked him in half. The sorrow in his eyes practically bled through the streets. Lapping at your feet like the waves on a shore. And in an act so unlike yourself, you took a step forward. You stood in his grief and offered to drag him to the sand—gave him hope that this world might treat him differently.

Logan wouldn't save himself because he believed he deserved it.

He'd save himself because he knew you deserved a better man.

"Do they happen often?"

The soft echo of your voice tinged with sleep set his mind at ease. For the first time that night he felt himself breathe properly. He could taste the sweetness in the air, the heat that clung to his skin held traces of you when you started to open your window.

Leaving you at your door suddenly felt like the stupidest decision he'd ever made. But the fear is what kept him at a safe distance. He couldn't hurt you here in this shitty apartment. He couldn't destroy what good you held in your heart standing here at an open window.

"Every night," he rasped. His hand clenched, the bones of his knuckles shifting as silver began to peek through the pierced skin.

He knew you could see it. He heard your heart speed up through the phone. And with a ragged sigh, he retracted them forcefully—hiding the beast within to present you with the man beyond.

"You don't have to hide them from me." If you turned, you'd see the punctures in your door you tried to hide with duct tape. The claws that came free because of your touch—your kiss.

They should have scared you.

Logan almost wished they had.

"You don't want to see that part of me honey," he muttered, watching as you stood closer to the ledge—your hand pressed to the chipped wood. "It's not all sunshine and rainbows."

You laughed and he felt it down his spine. "No. I think that's only in Wade's mind."

"Don't say that fucker's name please," he groaned. "Not while I have you here."

"Did I touch a nerve? Wolverine?"

Your smile deepened, mischief practically dripping from your words. Yet Logan couldn't help fixating on the way his title sounded off your tongue. The hero name he loathed for so long suddenly made his heart flip. He gripped the phone tight enough until he heard a faint crackling sound—his body going taut at the thought of you saying it under different circumstances.

Moving past the subject was all he could do. All he wanted to do.

"Why are you up bub?"

You sighed, leaning against the window frame. "Restless. Too much energy from the day."

"Not too much moving in the archives huh?"

"I'll have you know I walk constantly. It's a very demanding job."

He snorted. "Down to the end of the bookshelves and back?"

"Shut up." Your laughter echoed across the street and it nearly startled him how normal he felt. How human. "I can guarantee my job is a lot more work than yours."

"You're right. Saving the universe is nothin' when it comes to books."

"I'm going to hang up."

"Don't. I'll stop." Despite his serious tone, he didn't try to stop the chuckle you felt strike against your heart. The husk of its deep nature.

The memory of his touch still rang clear in your mind. How his lips molded against yours, his body firm and hot beneath your touch. You weren't restless because of work. In fact you felt the pain in your feet begin to spread up your calves the longer you stood there. You couldn't sleep because of him. Too busy replaying that moment to find time in your schedule to sleep.

"Logan." His gaze fell serious at the soft murmur of his name. "Tell me about your dream."

He bit back the urge to push you away, to claim he was fine. That nothing happened and acknowledging it wouldn't save him from himself. But that's not what you were trying to accomplish, and he knew that. He could see it clearly in front of his face. But he was a man hardened by the nature of silence—of ignoring his pain until it eventually withered and died inside him.

Changing that wasn't a battle he'd win tonight. Nor tomorrow.

He sighed, seeing how you fought back a yawn. "Not tonight honey."

"Why–"

"I will." Your breath echoed loudly in his head. He wished he could feel it. "I'll tell you everything. Just not tonight."

Your finger traced the silhouette of him against the glass. "When?"

"I don't know." He imagined your touch was against his skin, pictured how you'd trace the lines of his muscles. How you'd lick along his veins for a taste of him on your tongue. "Tell me about your day."

"That's boring," you groaned.

"Not to me bub. I like history." He smiled. "I used to teach it."

"Fuck off. Did you really?" You perked up within seconds, eyes alight as they were the other night. And Logan felt himself get dragged in a bit deeper. He knew he was fucked the second he saw you, but now...there was no stopping the inevitability of you. "I guess I learn something new every day. James."

He growled, low and hungry—pleasure filling his stomach. "Don't start somethin' you can't finish honey."

Silence filled the air and Logan felt the doubt pull at his nerves. He watched you lean into the glass, your scent filtering through the warm air. Sharp and heady. Darker than your usual honeyed sweetness; the taste of it spread along his tongue—shivers rolling down his back. You wanted him. No fuck that.

You needed him.

"And if I want to," you breathed, trepidation and hope overlapping in your words. "Finish this."

He bared his teeth in a grin that felt feral—as if he could taste your flesh. "We will," he stated with such severity. A promise lined in truth for once. "Now go on. Tell me about your day."

He awoke to the sounds of clashing pots and pans being tossed on the stove—the incessant beep of the coffee machine blaring off every thin wall. And Wade singing loudly—and horribly—to some fucking pop song from the eighties Logan would learn the name of against his will. He groaned, slamming his head back against the couch in the hopes that this was all a dream.

If he wished hard enough maybe he'd wake up to silence.

Or to you.

"Good morning peanut!" Wade's voice shouted, another bang sounding off behind him. "I've got coffee, Canadian bacon, and the final answer for what came first—the chicken or the egg."

Logan longed to stab himself in the skull. This quick healing factor became a fucking pain in the ass at the worst of times. He staggered into the kitchen, immediately wishing he'd drank the entire bottle of whiskey last night at the sight of Wade in a pair of white underwear and nothing else.

"What the fuck." He shut his eyes, reaching blindly for a mug and the coffee pot.

"Yeah..." Wade slammed the pan on the stove, a now broken yolk spilling over the edge. "Laundry day and Al called dibs on the top load. Just call me Risky Business."

Logan's sigh was ragged, beyond exhausted as he gulped down the first dose of searing coffee. "He wore a shirt in that fucking movie."

"Lookie here! Someone is up to date on their Tom Cruise movies. Don't tell me you're a Top Gun fan honey badger because I have some fucking news for you. We topped them for highest grossing movie of all time." Wade smiled as the destroyed egg slid onto a chipped plate. "Financially topped. Personally, I don't think scientology allows Tom Cruise to fuck anymore."

"I'm not listenin' to your fuckin' bullshit," he grunted, pouring another cup.

The charred egg was slid his way. "Aren't you gonna ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

Talking this early in the morning made the veins in his throat strain—his grip on the mug nearly cracking the porcelain. In times like this Logan felt the overwhelming need to throw his roommate out the fucking window.

If only to get thirty seconds of hearing him scream on the way down.

"What came first."

He moved to make another pot of coffee, ignoring the chatter that fell from Wade's mouth. In order to even feel coherent enough to make sense of it, he'd need four more cups. Or enough to bathe in if the morning didn't calm down. The sun blinded him as he turned to glance out the window; the air stale and hot choked his senses. He'd never felt this overstimulated before—this out of place.

"You look like you've seen better days in a horror movie. Up having late night phone sex?" Wade grinned and leaned across the counter—his head in his hand and love in his eyes. "Tell me about it, stud? Tell me more, tell me more. Did you get very far?"

"Oh god," Logan groaned, slamming the coffee pot back into place. "Can you shut the fuck up for once? I'm begging you."

"Did you beg her?"

His claws pressed to Wade's smug face—blood spilling against his cheek. "I will cut your fuckin' mouth off."

"I just wanna know why you're waiting so long to give her the Hugh Jackman."

"The what?" he growled, heat blistering against his face.

"Ya know." The crude gesture to his groin had him digging his claws directly into Wade's cheek. But even then he mumbled around the metal piercing his skin. "The package. The full shebang. Rock her like a hurricane—or whatever the fuck that German band was talking about. Cause I sure know she's aching for it."

"Don't fucking talk about her like that."

Wade smiled until his cheek sliced down to his mouth. The sight was disgusting enough for Logan to forgo wanting breakfast. And lunch. And dinner at that.

"You don't believe me! HA! Let me tell you, you're pretty but there's nothing going on up there." A tap on Logan's forehead forced the claws to sink just a bit deeper. "That sweet angel across the street is ready to save that horse and ride you instead cowboy. All. Night. Long."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Yet even as he said the words he felt the lie stick to the back of his throat.

Last night's conversation was proof enough that Wade was telling the truth. Even Logan could fucking see what was right in front of him. Someone beautiful, someone smart. Someone...he wasn't worthy of. If he combined all those factors he only came up with one conclusion. The longer he stayed away from you, the better you'd wind up being.

The safer you'd stay if he wasn't constantly shoving his way into your life.

The loud sigh from Wade's healing mouth shoved another wave of guilt into Logan's stomach. "Look. Ignore it all you want, but sooner or later you're gonna wind up with only your hand for some company and she'll find someone who actually wants to be with her."

Wade was right. For once.

What Logan didn't expect was the anger he felt at the visual of you finding someone else. The rage that nearly overwhelmed him. That's how it should be. You with someone better, a man who actually gave you a chance at a relationship. One that wasn't doomed from the very start. He let the thought simmer, chewed on it for as long as he could.

And not a minute later came to the answer he'd been looking for.

Logan would rip apart any other man without hesitation if they came into your life.

This wasn't a fling. He'd known that on his Earth and knew it now. He clawed his way out of a grave once to get back to you. And he would do it again and again and again. As many times as it took to make sure he got a glimpse of your smile, felt the love in your touch.

"Grab your shit we've got somewhere to be," he grumbled, shoving the burned egg in his mouth and washing it down with fresh black coffee to kill the taste.

"Yes! Now there's the Wolverine I know." Wade shouted, pumping his fist in the air. Logan couldn't tell if he was being vulgar or not. 

"Let's go bang your girl!" A snarl ripped through his throat, blood splattering on his bare chest as he pinned Wade to the wall—his claws embedded in the man's heart. "Or you bang her and I quietly stay at home with the window open to serenade you two with the sensual sounds of Marvin Gaye."

He grinned, eyes flashing over Logan's shoulder. "Directly from Sam Wilson's playlist if you know what I'm getting at Marvel fuckers."

On days where people were stuck at work and students infiltrated the library above, you found the solace of the archives to be everything you needed. For an hour you'd been placing books in their correct spots, labeling boxes to be housed somewhere new, and theorizing where you went wrong the other night when Logan left.

You didn't want to let the disappointment get to you. Nor should you. The phone conversation last night clarified enough for you to know him leaving wasn't your fault. It wasn't due to your kiss or even because he didn't want to be there. He simply hadn't healed from what his world did to him. Whatever Wade mentioned to you in a ramble of semi-seriousness gave you enough of a picture to know what that might have been.

No matter how much you wanted to help him; to make him see that you weren't scared of what he had to give. This wasn't your war.

Logan made sure you understood that.

That still didn't stop the swell of dismay at his actions. The belief that you weren't good enough to hear his story began to eat you alive the longer he pushed it off. Each comment came tinged with pain you'd never be privy to. Agony he wanted to endure alone.

You would give him the space he needed—the time that was required in order to heal from wounds you couldn't see. They were there. Dug into the shape of his heart—carved into the metal of his bones—but Logan wouldn't allow you to bear witness to that. To a broken side of a man who wanted to be better. If only he knew he didn't have to be for you to ache for him.

The thought of him alone left your heart twisting in your chest and stomach fluttering.

You slid another book into the correct spot, silence echoing like a void that went on for miles. Only for the ring of your phone to shatter it like glass. You scrambled for the device in your purse, breath filling your lungs at the sight of his name as it flashed across your screen. 

Maybe this made you seem desperate—a type of clingy that would make any other man run. You couldn't find it in yourself to give a shit.

"Logan," you said—his name leaving your mouth in a breathy manner you regret within moments.

"Oh shit girl you've got it bad."

The pounding of your heart jumped at the loud echo of Wade's voice blasting through the small speaker. "Wade?"

"The one and holy." To say you were perplexed felt like an understatement. But before you could spill the millions of questions on your tongue, Wade kept going. "Hey! What kind of wood do you prefer?"

A loud rumble of an engine blared in the background—killing your ears. "What?"

"Oh right fuck me. Silly question. There's twelve thousand words already written about what type of wood you prefer." He laughed as the sound came again. "I'm talking the tree kind. Got a preference for scents?"

"She's not gonna be able to smell it you dumb fuck!" Logan shouted. You heard an audible screech before a loud rustle had you pulling the phone from your ear with a groan. "Honey?"

You smiled, walking towards the part of the room that didn't echo with your voice. "I'm scared to ask what you guys are doing today."

"Oh," he chuckled. You wished he'd bought a better phone, longing to see each expression that crossed his face. "I owe you a door."

That kiss reemerged in your memory once more. Burning through your body in quick rapid strokes. As if Logan was fanning the flames of something stronger—a fire that you wouldn't be able to control. You imagined what he looked like at this moment, if he still wore the exhausted look of grief from last night. Or if he'd covered it with a mask of annoyance due to Wade.

"I can just call the building manager to fix it." You put it on your list of things to do today already, but the idea of seeing Logan again was too tempting to pass up.

He huffed, falling silent. Wade's voice shouting about the Lorax became all you heard for a brief moment—Logan no doubt figuring out what he could say to fix this. The glimpse of him last night had set your teeth on edge in a way you'd never experienced before. You felt you could sink your canines into the tension and rip it to shreds with ease.

"Where I come from it's only right to fix what I broke."

What he broke.

This wasn't about the door. You could see it clearly in the pained way he spoke his words—each one more clear than the last. Leaving you in a rush with no fucking explanation left him worried that you weren't going to be around if he kept pushing you away. You were something good—a light he sought in the darkness he found himself in—and messing up this chance wasn't going to happen twice.

He'd done this before. He pushed those he loved away.

Doing the same with you only made his chest echo with the hollow emptiness that he'd grown tired of feeling.

"You can fix my door under one condition," you said, effectively breaking the silence.

"Anythin'."

The flutter in your chest felt lethal when he spoke to you like this; open and willing to bend where you wanted him to go. A man had never given you this before. The attention, the knowledge that he wanted all of you. Not just sex, or meaningless conversations. He wanted every piece you were open to sharing—every dark crevice and thought you felt embarrassed about.

You only wished he'd understand you wanted the exact same thing from him.

"Dinner. My place. Seven p.m."

Fuck what you wouldn't give to see his smile as he let out a sigh of relief. "I won't be late."

You smiled, worrying your lip between your teeth—that familiar gooey warmth now back in your chest. "You better not be."

"I've got great timing honey. Got nothin' to worry about."

Bullshit. You nearly said it, but a loud shuffle and a few bitten off curse words—mainly growled on Logan's end—cut your conversation short. A triumphant laugh you could only figure to be Wade's pierced your eardrum as the phone was unwillingly handed off once again.

"I just want to let you know I've got money on whether or not he nails you tonight. So don't let me down cupcake."

"You're betting on this?" you exclaimed, loud enough to hear your voice bounce off the walls and echo back to where your supervisor was no doubt sitting.

"Of course. I'm not one to turn down the sleazy art of gambling." He sighed wistfully. You'd never wanted to punch someone more in this moment; suddenly aware that this is how Logan must feel every day of his life. "Besides if you heard the sounds that came out of our shower this afternoon. Oh ho ho. Something tells me that he was letting off some Steam Boat Willy to the thought of his late night phone buddy."

Disgust at Wade's words was rapidly overshadowed by the thought of Logan in the shower. Naked and desperate to find some release after your conversation last night. To say you hadn't pictured what he'd look like hard and aching from your touch would be a lie. But actually knowing that's what happened left you winded.

Your chest heaved as your body grew warm—the image of him with his hand around his cock, his head thrown back in pleasure, almost made your knees give out.

"Your thinkin' about it huh?" The overconfidence in Wade's voice snapped you back to reality within seconds.

"Shut up."

"Got ya red handed angel."

With a roll of your eyes, you made to head back to your work—Wade's words only served to fluster you more than you wanted. "Don't piss him off too much okay Wilson?"

His laughter nearly appeased you as the piercing sound of a saw went off again. The both of them must have ventured to a warehouse to find materials. You wanted to confirm your thoughts when Wade did it for you. As if he could hear you loud and clear.

"Who knew our man had lumberjack experience?" He sighed dreamily, a shout of what you guessed was Logan saying fuck off filtering through. "God it's like watching X-Men Origins Wolverine. Back when his hair screamed Staying Alive and I went by the name Billy Butcherson."

A cough from behind you gave enough notice that you had in fact been caught by your boss—her glare burning through the back of your skull. The short break you were allotted passed five minutes ago. Normally you'd be fighting your way to the end of the day. Today though...you felt that delicious bite of excitement at knowing you'd be spending tonight with Logan.

"I've got to go. But Wade..."

"Yeah?"

"Take a picture for me will you?"

"Already done. Got my phone set to burst. Which is what Logan's gonna do tonight instead of tainting our shower walls–" Logan's roar of I'll fuckin' kill you came seconds before you heard a thwack overlapped with Wade's high shriek. 

The line went dead instantly.

The elevator wasn't moving fast enough for your liking—each flash of a floor passed sent another wave of nerves through your body. Work dragged on longer than you expected. And the groceries you picked up on the way didn't feel like enough to make a meal grand enough for a night like tonight. You tried to destress by saying he wasn't expecting much. This wasn't even a date.

That is until you realized...that's exactly what this was.

A date that felt long overdue.

You hadn't known Logan long enough to pursue a relationship as deep as this, but that's where things got fuzzy. He knew you. Or a version of you that felt entirely different to the person you were now. And maybe that's where the security that this would last came through. The knowledge that no matter what happened, Logan was in this for the long haul.

This wasn't temporary.

A creak of the doors opening didn't deter you from digging through your mountain of thoughts. Each one more worrisome than the last. You should be terrified that this was it. The future had already been written and Logan was at the end of the road. That alone would be reason enough to turn tail and run.

Then you turned the corner leading directly down your hallway.

Logan stood leaning against the wall, a lit cigar in his mouth, smoke trailing past his lips, and a heavy wooden door placed directly beside him. A toolbox that looked to have seen better days sat by his feet. A bouquet of honeysuckle and peonies placed directly on top—wrapped in brown paper with a yellow and blue bow.

Whatever fear might have lingered in your body dissipated when his gaze found yours and his lips pulled into a smile.

"You're early," you said—desperate to catch your breath. The scent of his cigar lingered on your senses, mixing with the leather of his jacket.

Suddenly Wade's words from earlier felt a lot more real than you expected. He showed up dressed casually. Jeans, flannel, the familiar dog tags strung around his neck. Yet whatever transpired the night before came rushing back with the promise of more.

This was a date. But whether it would lead to something else you'd leave entirely up to him.

"I told ya I had great timing honey."

Heat trailed down your body where his eyes followed. "I didn't believe you."

"I know."

The claw marks on your door brought a flustered smile to your face. As if to say you were okay with them staying. You wanted them to stay. Logan's eyes darkened at the sight, a flash of something worse taking hold of his mind as you pushed it open.

You longed for him to tell you the truth. He wouldn't either way. But the hope still remained—lingering on the edges of your heart.

"Easy enough to fix," he muttered, reaching for his tools—the bouquet of flowers gripped tightly in his large palm.

"I didn't know what exactly to get." He stood in your living room, eyes trained on the window. Finally he was on the other side—in your home—and yet he found he didn't belong here. "Do you have a preference?"

He sucked in another drag from the cigar before pulling it free—stamping it out on his palm as you watched. A heady wanton look crossed your features. You doused it quickly in favor of unpacking the groceries. He made sure to store it away for a later time. One that didn't feel dragged by the weight of his own thoughts.

"I'm not picky."

You nodded. "Feel free to use whatever's useful. I don't have tools though."

"I came prepared bub." He lifted the box with a smile and suddenly recalled that he bought you flowers. Much to Wade's annoying comments about this being a first date. Logan wouldn't push you in any direction you felt uncomfortable going towards. But in an irritating turn of events, Wade was right. Twice. "These are for you."

The smile on your face was worth every dollar and excruciating minute spent picking out what went with what. He reminded himself to thank Wade. Even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"They're beautiful." The delicate white lay atop pink flowers that filled your senses. An aroma you'd never known could work so well together. "Why these?"

A touch of crimson began to tint the tops of his ears as he let out a breath. "They're uh..." He coughed. "The day we met I said somethin' kinda awkward."

"I smelled different."

"Yeah." Logan wanted to bury himself six feet under at the teasing glint in your eyes. "That's how you smell. To me. Like honey and flowers."

There had to be an explanation for the way your heart split down the center—as if to offer him one half. To give him a part of yourself that once didn't belong to him. But that's where you were wrong. Even in a different universe, he would find you. You were once everything to him; the person he'd go through hell for. That fact never changed. Even if you did.

You wanted to spill every emotion, every truth about how your heart already longed for him in ways that left you reeling. But Logan wasn't a man to speak longer than he had to. And before you finally gained the courage to open your mouth, he was stepping back into the hallway. His hands busy with a project and mind eons away.

Dinner was simple to cook knowing he'd eat whatever you made. Pasta, some wine, and an old bottle of whiskey a friend of yours bought sat on the table as he put the final touches on the door. You'd spent the time at the stove combing over every word spoken. Every minute touch and fleeting look. As he worked effortlessly on setting your new door in place.

A dark honeyed wood with grooves throughout that almost resembled the small panes of a window. The quality was stunning. Beyond anything you'd seen before.

You wanted to prod and ask where he learned to do this. But the sight of him slightly sweaty, flannel tossed into his toolbox, and arms on display when he carried the door to its spot, left you dazed. Each movement caused the muscles beneath his skin to ripple—face screwed in a look of concentration while the sound of the drill echoed off the hallway walls.

For a moment you forgot dinner was cooking as you practically ogled his form. That familiar flame burned through your body when his gaze met yours and a smile crossed his lips.

Logan could feel your eyes on him—the aching burn of your gaze now seared into the bare skin of his arms and shoulders. And he fought himself to keep going. To ignore your now heady scent—the way your heart sped up with each shift of his body—and finish what he started. If he was being honest, which he rarely was with himself, he put on a show for you.

You liked him.

He just wanted to reaffirm that fact once in a while.

The smell of slightly burnt garlic had him biting back a smile as you rushed to fix what his distraction caused. His ego swelled. Heart pumping with a sense of pride the second he caught you flustered with your head bowed in the kitchen.

"Smells delicious honey," he said, testing the lock on the door a few times until he felt satisfied with his work.

"It's not much." You popped open the two types of alcohol, pouring a generous helping of wine in your glass. He fixed himself his own whiskey. "Something my sister taught me when I was in college. She believed if there was nothing else to cook, pasta was always the correct answer."

"Smart woman."

You pushed the plate his way and caught the grin he hid at the small act of domesticity. What began as a nerve-wracking date became an insight into what your future with him might look like. Dinner at a tiny kitchen table, his jacket draped over one chair, the scent of flowers twining together with the faint traces of his cigar.

A life that felt perfect enough to keep forever.

"I hope you know Wade's betting on tonight," you said, pouring another glass of wine.

You were settled next to him on the couch, dinner resting full and warm in your stomachs. The alcohol tasted sweeter on your tongue compared to an hour ago. He lounged with his legs spread, glass balanced in one hand. A lazy look of satisfaction in his hazel eyes.

Logan had never felt this comfortable. Soothed by the scent of you beside him, the whiskey on his tongue, and the sight of you with your legs curled beneath you. The red wine made you smile more, laugh easier. He noticed how you bloomed before him, light shimmering between small jokes and half assed teases.

All his life he wondered what home would truly feel like. What would having a place be? And this...you beside him with an endless night stretched before you, gave him the answer.

Home felt like you.

He groaned, head falling against the back of your couch. "He's a lucky fucker with that can't die bullshit. What's the bet?"

Your eyes dragged to the door—tracing the carved marks as his hand hesitated to settle on your thigh. "That you'd and I quote nail me."

"What?" he spit.

The laugh that bubbled to the surface echoed with the heady effects of too much wine. "I hate to break it to Wade. But I don't have sex on the first date."

Logan's lips turned up, hand finally against the bare skin of your leg. Your skirt fanned around your lap, covering your soft skin that lay beneath. "So this is a date huh?"

"Yeah." He tugged you closer. "At least I think it is."

"I think so too."

Unconsciously, you toyed with the chain of his dog tags, catching a glimpse of the worn letters of his name. Any other time you'd push the questions away. You would claim that tonight wasn't the right time. After all this felt good, right in ways nothing had before. But the wine made you loose lipped. Braver than the other times you pushed past the line he drew deep in the sand.

Except this time...he started the conversation.

"You asked about my nightmares last night."

Your eyes caught his, fingers stilling against his chest. "I know you don't want to talk about it."

He shook his head with a deep exhale he felt down to his stomach. "If this is what I think it is. What we're startin' here. Then you should know what you're getting into honey."

"I know what I'm getting into–"

"No. You don't." He sat up straighter, tugging you close until your legs lay over his lap. "You don't know what happened to me. What I did..." He sucked in air as his heart began to twist. The cold wash of anxiety suddenly brighter than a few minutes earlier. "What I couldn't do."

The pain in his eyes chipped off a piece of your heart. Oh how you longed to give it to him.

Cupping his cheek, you felt the scratch of his beard against your skin. "Logan. You're not a bad man."

"Yeah bub. I am," he barked in a half laugh meant to discourage you from seeing his grief.

That's what this was. The full spectrum of his emotions scared the shit out of him more than any villain he fought. More than the thought of dying alone one day. The moment you saw them for yourself, he knew you'd run. He almost expected it. Which is why he'd taken so long—put it off each time the curiosity lingered in your gaze longer than he liked.

He told himself you didn't need to know.

It was better this way.

Tonight proved that all those reasons—all those excuses—stood no chance when it came to you.

"I don't believe that," you whispered, your other hand curling around his dog tags.

"Gotta remember I'm not him. I'm not the hero and never have been." When you looked at him like that—eyes wide and lips turned down—he felt the full weight of the words he was about to say out loud. Words he hadn't spoken since Laura met him by the fire way back in the Void.

Somehow saying it to the other Logan's daughter felt easier. As if he couldn't disappoint her anymore than he had. She'd been there at his death, watched him struggle to protect her, and loved him in spite of all that. She called him Dad and spoke over his grave with a smile. Knowing full well he'd never come back to life, he'd never find his way back to her.

Laura wasn't his kid and yet...he knew she'd understand.

But saying it all to you…

He wasn't sure he'd survive it if you never understood.

"The X-Men in my world weren't as respected as the ones in yours. We were heroes, but the humans. God they fuckin' hated us." His eyes burned with each memory that came rushing back. A river that threatened to drown him. "And I always had to be an asshole. I didn't know what home felt like—what...family felt like. So when I got it, I pushed it away."

"Oh, Logan–"

"No, let me...let me finish honey." He gripped the glass until he heard a crack—his eyes dazed and mind lost to a different time. The night that would later become his ghost. "So I left and did the only thing I was fuckin' good at. I drank until I couldn't feel anythin' anymore. And the humans decided they'd had enough of the X-Men."

Grief struck your heart straight down the center. Tears spilled down your cheeks at the sight of him so broken—so raw from a time that would never leave him. You finally knew why Wade never explained it to you.

This wasn't his story to tell. Not his past to share.

"I came home and they were–" His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh in an attempt to ground himself. Claws slipping free as he struggled to get the final words out—the truth of why he pushed you away. Why he should keep pushing you away. "They were dead."

You pressed yourself against his side, lips against his temple as he silently bit back the emotions he refused to set free. What would become of him once they were finally out? He couldn't risk hurting you because of it.

"They called for me." His breath was ragged, voice thick with tears that never fell. "Jean. Charles. I heard them die in my head. But I was too fuckin' drunk to save them. I got home and all of them were...Jesus. The humans called us mutants vicious, but I'd never seen anythin' like this."

The worst part crawled up his spine with a chill that had his claws coming free. "And you. You survived due to your gifts. Apparently you hid in the future—snapped there without even realizing it. But by the time you returned they were dead and no matter how many times you tried to go back, you couldn't." He raised his head, eyes red and glassy. "You tried to kill me that night. I couldn't blame you for it cause I wanted to die."

"That's not me."

He shook his head. "I know, but you have to know why it happened. I couldn't protect you honey. I couldn't protect any of them."

"The humans did this. Not you." You dragged his face to yours, forcing him to see the sincerity in your eyes—the fire that burned no matter the variant. "You did not kill your family Logan. Don't take their shame."

"It's easy for you to say that bub. You weren't there." He felt your touch mark against his skin and fuck how he wished it would leave a scar. "I'm not the fuckin' hero. I'm the man who fucked it all up because he was too proud for his own good. I need you to see that."

Your gaze hardened. "Why?"

"So you know what you're gettin–"

"Bullshit," you demanded. "I know exactly what I'm getting into Logan. I knew the second I met you. So don't do that. Don't push me away." The press of his forehead to yours leveled the pain and allowed him to breathe. "I'm here to stay. Whether you want me or not."

He grinned, tears finally falling as your lips found his. You breathed life back into his chest, made his heart worth beating again. For all that time he damned himself, loathed the reflection in the mirror, he never thought he'd get this. The soft press of your kiss, the bitter tang of wine on your tongue as his hand gripped your hip—his claws retreating back into his body.

"Trust me. I want you," he mumbled against salt stained lips and broken smiles. "I'll always want you."

"Then it's a good thing I want you too."

That familiar flicker of sparks still existed in the air, begging for more. But you were content to stay here. Kissing him over and over again in order to embed the sensation in your mind.

"Thank you for telling me," you sighed, fingers curling into his hair to drag his lips back to yours.

The thud of his heart ran through his whole body. "Can I show you somethin'?"

You nodded, pulling away as he dug into his pocket. As much as he longed to keep kissing you, to spend all night right there on that couch. He knew there'd be time for that. A night where you were both unburdened by the weight of a past that defined who you were. Tonight was not that night.

The picture was old, burned slightly at the edges and crinkled, but he handed it over with a grin. A group photo like the one stored in the archives at your job. Only this time you recognized two faces among the small team of people in yellow suits. You were smiling with an arm around Logan's waist, your face pressed against his chest.

The sight of his smile—wide and unfiltered—made your heart leap. But the blue aura that seemed to wrap around your body is what gave you pause.

"The blue..."

"Your powers." He pointed to the way it ended at your hands, seeming to stem directly from your chest. "Turning them off wasn't really a thing you could do. Somethin' about time being a constant flow of energy. Charles always explained it better."

Thousands of questions came to mind. All of them pertaining to the powers and the team and more specifically him. He sunk into the couch with a sigh, his eyes hazy with a different kind of need. An ache that no doubt begged him each night. Sleep. Rest without any nightmares, free of the shackles he'd placed on himself.

So you stood, nearly startling him when you did. Nothing had to be said about your intentions, or why you held out your hand for him to take. He simply followed. Each step heavier than the last. The kitchen could be cleaned tomorrow, the bottles put away later. You couldn't find it in yourself to care when his hand was in yours and he smiled at you as if you'd hung the moon in the sky.

"Thought you said Wade was losin' tonight honey?"

You laughed, pushing the flannel from his shoulders as you led him to your bed. "He is. We're just sleeping."

There was no mistaking the doubt in his eyes, the trepidation of his nightmares. "I might hurt you."

"No you won't." Drawing his hand up to your mouth, you lay a kiss along his knuckles. "I trust you Logan."

"You shouldn't." His breath was a shuddered exhale at the sight of you pulling your dress up and over your body.

"Well too bad," you replied, tugging the covers back while he pulled off his shirt—leaving his boots by the door. "You don't scare me Wolverine."

"Wolverine huh?" Crawling into bed with you was easy. Though the mattress sunk under the weight of his bones, you still let him tug you closer—his arms wrapped around your bare waist. "It was James the other night."

"Careful," you said. "Or I'll start calling you Howlett."

A growl rumbled in his chest, his teeth nipping at the bare skin of your shoulder as you laughed. And suddenly he remembered what it was like to live. To want more than just the bottom of a bottle and a peaceful night's sleep. He could recall nights like this in the past. A different you curled up against his body—the love resonating in how you clung to him.

It all slammed into him at once.

Although tonight he didn't push it away. He kept you close, his nose burrowed in your hair, and welcomed the gentle tug of a few hours rest.

Tonight—for the first time—he slept.

Without nightmares.

[stillfrownyclownlol]

Gonna throw up If I can't talk about them-

Bunch of Aiden analysis under the cut because he's just SO OBSESSED CODED AND NOBODY TALKS ABOUT IT 😭 (I will be very weird about it)

The way it's so doomed from the start. He's already so fascinated by her. It's in the little jump he does when she sits in front of him, like a secret they're both in on, like her sitting in front of him is some obscure way of her inviting him into a conversation.

Why is he like this (not positive but not negative either)

He has such a cocktail of personality traits and, most certainly, mental disorders, and his own history that makes it so, when he's in love, that it WILL blow up in his face.

The fact that he's been homeschooled for his entire life- he has no idea. HE DOESNT EVEN KNOW. He doesnt realize that its not normal. of course he doesn't :( His parents obviously leave him alone for long stretches of time and he doesn't seem to mind this. He hasn't had the chance to develop his social skills at all-

It's why he's so, let's be real, creepy. Ash makes it very clear she's not interested and he just keeps worming his way into her life. He plots so that she'll go on the field trip, he follows her around, he goes to her fucking house on the first day. LIKE, HELLO? RED FLAG?

He's having evil thoughts here I swear 💀

And already so quickly after meeting her he makes Ash his priority. He asks to sit next to her, he engages and makes an effort to talk to her. Tries to joke around with her. Gives her a nickname. Touches her. He's so touchy.

And defends her!!! When Tyler gets pissed at Ash, he honestly goes off on him even tho he KNOWS Ash can defend herself- and he's so...dark about it. There's a threat hidden behind his words. He's MAD here, right? Tell me I'm not crazy, please-

He also very clearly has violence on the forefront of his mind 💀 He's the first one to actively attack the phantoms; not to defend himself, not to defend somebody else (well, he pulls Ash out of the way), but for fun. And he's disappointed when they don't scream. He's sadistic, he likes causing pain, it's something he relishes in.

I mean look at how he smiles!!! None of the other kids have such an...active ENJOYMENT in fighting the phantoms, but for Aiden, it's almost like he finds relief in it, some way to vent out his frustrations. He's eager for a fight, for a thrill.

That's how Aiden sustains himself, he pretty much operates under "I'm here for a good time, not a long time." Everything he does gives him a boost of adrenaline, no matter the consequences. He got into a fight? Eh, who cares about all the bruises, at least it got his blood rushing. Broke a bone while doing parkour or smth? Whatever, the way his stomach dropped when he was falling as totally worth it.

It's a very dangerous mentality to live with, obviously. He's an adrenaline junkie. He's an addict. More than anything else, Aiden wants something that makes him feel alive.

And what makes you feel more alive than love?

Like not to minimise or anything but he's known her for like. 2-3 months- and he's already SO scared of losing her. Like I just don't think he would have had this type of reaction with anybody else besides Ben. He would have absolutely lost his shit if Ash 'died'.

He's a straight up love junkie. He's obsessive. Nothing beats the high love can give you. It overrules everything else. If Ash (or whoever he's interested in) feels bad because of smth, he's done with it.

He LIKED dying. He LIKED the adrenaline rush. But he won't do it again. Not because he had some realization that he didn't want to die, that he still wanted to live and do things, but because Ash was upset. Because this, this rush of care from her part, the way she was so scared of him dying that she was shaking, nothing could fill the hole in his heart better than that. And now that he has a taste for it, he won't let go easy. He will keep on living- if it means Ash will be by his side.

Which is a very dangerous position to put her in. Ash already feels responsible for her friends, and she doesn't even know that Aiden has "put" his life in her hands, not that it's her responsibility, because it isn't, but she will certainly feel responsible if Aiden does something FOR her.

Like He's so fucking obsessed and he doesn't even realize it- like look at how he sees her 😭 THE HEAVENLY GLOOOOOOW, LIKE SHES AN ANGEL AND HE THINKS SHE CAN SAVE HIM. BABY SHE CANT, YOU HAVE TO SAVE YOURSELF.

He could spiral so fucking bad. He could do some absolutely heinous things. Because he just doesn't know. He doesn't know how to love truly, yet. For him love really is that rush of adrenaline, the knife carving out his heart, he could be putty in her hands, or her executioner. This love that can be so obsessive, that he NEEDS it to function, like its water, like its the air he breathes. Its a compulsion, a fixation, a longing that burrows into your very soul. Ash doesn't even know what she's getting herself into-

Godddddd, it makes me so sick/ pos, it's SO FUCKING INTERESTINGGGGGG. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

I literally cannot function around this drawing 🫠

The. The hand. That way he's grabbing her. He's pulling her back. Towards HIM. like "this is mine. And I'm not sharing." And that little fucking look in his eyes, he just looks SO fucking pleased with himself. And Ash looks so...resigned. they're so doomed-coded, i love them so bad.

I don't know how I was supposed to NOT make a killer au, when he's just...like that around her.

Love is a wonderful thing. But love is also cruel, it is vicious, it is possessive and obsessive, and it will leave carnage in its wake.

Romantic love is an obsession. It possesses you. You lose your sense of self. You cannot stop thinking about another human being. -Helen Fisher

[honeytonedhottie]

simple ways to improve ur diet⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍈

the saying "you are what u eat" is TRUE. a quote that rly resonated with me and inspired this post was : you are what u eat, so dont be fast, cheap, easy, fake and not enough.

drink water - buy urself a cute water bottle and DRINK WATER. water is literally life. literally just drink water, its so worth it, for ur skin, hair, nails, immune system etc

TAKE UR VITAMINS

start drinking teas - i started drinking peppermint tea before bed every single day and its so PLEASANT and it literally improves ur health on multiple different levels. drink herbal teas, find one that u rly like and indulge in it. one that i rly loved was peach and strawberry oolong tea. one that i also rly recommend is green tea

peppermint tea : its so refreshing and easy to drink if ur someone who dislikes tea. it improves digestion, reduces pain, eliminates inflammation, relaxes ur body + mind, and boosts ur immune system

green tea : great for ur metabolism, rich in antioxidants etc

start eating fruit - FRUIT IS BETTER THAN CANDY and i'll stand on this till i die. especially if ur someone who has a massive sweet tooth (like me) stock up on fruits and enjoy them. i like to eat my fruits frozen (like green grapes or watermelon)

eat ur vegetables - it doesn't even have to be drastic but you need to be incorporating vegetables into ur diet every single day. i usually like to eat a small serving with every meal, or i'll have one meal a day where its purely veggies (like a salad). snack on vegetables, vegetables r so delicious and so good for u.

u can get vegetables into ur diet without having to eat them by themselves, you can eat them in pastas, put them in smoothies, turn them into sauces, dip them in sauces etc, just EAT THEM

cut out soda - if u can't cut out soda entirely pls minimize it because its so bad for u + it throws off ur pH balance

treat urself - always remember that ur diet should be like : 20% what u crave and 80% whats good for u. dont deny urself the foods that u wanna eat. eating healthy doesn't have to be boring and eating healthy doesn't mean that u can't enjoy the foods that u love. literally let urself live.

meal prep - if ur someone that often forgets to eat or u just dont have time to make a meal, try meal prepping. make urself snack boxes so that then u can stay eating consistently and if u haven't eaten yet, go eat something 💗

[cuntylouis]

2.07 made it more clear than ever that everyone in the story (except perhaps Madeleine) views Claudia as a symbol for something rather than really seeing her. The scene where Louis is dragging Claudia on the floor like a doll begging Lestat to look at their 'beautiful little daughter' is both heartbreaking and deeply unsettling. This young girl who Louis doesn't even know is given the impossible weight of being everything to Louis; his light and redemption, replacement for his sister, fulfilling his longing to have children and to take care of something, his friend and confidante, fixing his relationship with Lestat, proving that living as a vampire could be worth it, giving him happiness and purpose. She called Louis an angel and saw something good and beautiful in him when Louis himself felt there was none, so Louis desperately hopes that he can be her savior and she can be his.

For Lestat she's something that keeps Louis tied to him, and to the world and vampirism and existence itself. He spitefully tells Claudia to come home and make Louis happy - because it's her purpose. Lestat sees himself in Claudia and detests it, but as he says he also sees his best vampiric self in her and is proud of it. Louis and Lestat both love Claudia deeply but i think they also see her as a living physical symbol of their eternal connection to each other, their union and its breakdown, and all their shame and guilt. In the modern day Louis' house in Dubai is like a mausoleum built for the memory of Claudia - and himself.

In Paris she's forced to assume the role of a little girl over and over again, the audience loving her but only the image of her that doesn't really exist. To the coven she ends up meaning everything they despise and on her last day she's completely dehumanized. In the book Armand says "I never loved her. I didn't know how", and i think that's reflected in the show too. I don't think Armand felt much toward Claudia other than resentment and something almost like fear, and that's what allows him to kill her with such coldness. Claudia is a living obstacle to his relationship with Louis, and like Lestat i think he's uncomfortable with seeing himself and his trauma and pain in Claudia.

But i think above all Armand too sees her as the embodiment of the connection and love between Louis and Lestat. I think Armand views Claudia first and foremost as Lestat's child and an extension of him, particularly obvious from the scene where he calls her Claudia de Lioncourt, and he's reminded of Lestat every time he looks at her. It doesn't matter if Claudia was going to leave with Madeleine, even if she and Louis never met again. As long as Claudia exists Louis will never be fully his, because he's connected to Lestat through her and thus belongs to Lestat. Claudia must be destroyed so that connection can be severed

[gay-dorito-dust]

Benjicot, a man made lord far too young, had little to no experience with the soft, sweet tenderness of an love as pure as yours when battle was seemingly the only thing he knew.

He didn’t find the callouses embedded in his hands all too appealing nor the scars that littered his body never less the prominent one that made its home on his upper lip. His childhood had been ripped away from him and he was given no time to mourn nor grieve over it, but instead was thrusted into an unforgiving war that cost countless their lives, lives that he’d often wept in your arms over in the dead of night.

In the midst of the fighting and death, you were Benjicot’s reprieve, his safe haven where he could freely be seen as vulnerable and emotional without fear, so much so that he swore he could feel his heart heal by your soft words alone. You hold his face so sweetly within your hands and look at him as though he were the only thing in all the realm that was worth your loving gaze.

Why? Why did you look at him as though his hands weren’t soiled with blood?

Why did you look at him like he was the one you wanted to be with, even more so when you grew old and grey with deteriorating mobility?

What was it that you saw in him that made you smile upon seeing him, for that very smile had Benji feeling as though he was being set aflame but without the excruciating feeling of flesh being melted off of bones.

Your love left him breathless and aching for more simultaneously that he was certain that you would be the death of him, but he wouldn’t mind that being the case if it meant being comforted into the sweet release of death in your comforting arms.

You held his calloused hands as though they were precious things to behold, kissing the inside of his palms and all the way up to the pulse point in his wrists gently, so gently and gentle that Benjicot found himself choking on all the words he wants to say in that moment as tears brimmed his eyes.

You held him close to your body and whispered words into his ear in hopes of soothing him of his pain and suffering, so much that made Benjicot cling onto you even tighter as though he were scared that you were merely something he had made out of guilt, of loneliness. Benjicot didn’t want to think that you weren’t real, he doesn’t think he could handle the chance that you weren’t, not when you have never felt more real in those moments where he needed your soft and tender affection more then ever.

You were his solace, his strength, his courage and so much more that Benjicot couldn’t fathom his life without you in it, he just couldn’t and didn’t want to. So while he could still had you in his arms, Benjicot could pretend that you were meant to be forever, even if it was for only a little while.

Aeron Bracken was a man so ethereal and beautiful it was enough to make you cry.

Even now as you laid on a field together, you found yourself looking at him more than you did the stars that hung above. How could you when the most gorgeous thing in existence was lying beside you with a peaceful expressing across his face, a stark contrast to the expression of furrowed brows and frustration that you often saw plastered across his face in stressful situations.

Even his hair was perfect as it framed his face beautifully so that you got a good look at his dark eyes that looked like whiskey in a crystal glass or honey when the light hits them in certain angles. Aeron Bracken didn’t feel real sometimes, he was a man who valued his duties and all they entailed and did them to the best of his abilities, his voice was as soft as a feather that you sometimes found yourself leaning closer to hear him without noticing until he moved his head to look at you directly.

He smiles knowingly while concealing the fluttering feeling within his chest, Aeron doesn’t speak many words but his eyes spoke for him in a way the surpassed the need for words. You could see his soul through his gorgeous eyes and it was as beautiful as he was as you allowed your pinky to gingerly touch his own, only for him to respond in kind by linking pinkies with you all the while his warm eyes stayed glued on you.

You hated how easily Aeron could read you sometimes but other times you were glad that he could, that he always knew what you were feeling and what you wanted in that moment and gladly give it to you without hesitation or complaint. Aeron would wait on you hand and foot as though you were royal, but you would always gesture him to stand up and meet your eyes so you could tell him that there was no need for him to do so; only for Aeron to disagree by claiming you should be treated as such without obligation.

Aeron knew where your mind was like the back of his hand, he knew the lingerings of your gaze but didn’t say anything until he felt the moment was appropriate. The tension was there between the two of you, but the thought of overstepping what you were to one another in hopes of becoming even more was a feeling unlike any other, for finding genuine love in Westeros was scarce and unheard of; You and Aeron knew something was there between the two of you but were skittish about indulging in the desires of your heart, forcing yourselves to a life of wanting and yearning for something that was right in front of you.

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐀 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 . ( a collection of lyric prompts based on various works by florence + the machine . adjust phrasing as necessary , will likely be updated in the future . )

it's always darkest before the dawn .

we will find new saints to be canonized .

holy water cannot help you now .

the horses are coming , so you'd better run .

i never felt so alive and so dead .

i'm damned if i do , i'm damned if i don't .

i've always been in love with you .

what has been done cannot be undone .

i don't care whether i live or die .

we will never be afraid again .

i feel nervous in a way that can't be named .

it was so far a fall , but it didn't hurt at all .

the saints can't help me now .

i want to find you and tear out all of your tenderness .

sooner or later , the things you love , you lose .

run fast for your mother , run fast for your father .

i like to think , at least , things can't get any worse .

i would give all this and heaven too .

i was in the darkness , so darkness i became .

all my stumbling phrases never amounted to anything worth this feeling .

in order to get to the heart of things , sometimes you have to cut through .

i'll be dead before the day is done .

time after time , i think "oh lord , what's the use ?"

the heart is hard to translate , it has a language of its own .

it was all so strange and so surreal .

i'm not here looking for absolution .

now and then , it seems that life is just too much .

be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers .

if you could only see the beast you've made of me .

pretty little face stopped me in my tracks .

i'm aching to attack .

you want a revelation , some kind of resolution .

it's so easy to say it to a crowd , but it's so hard to say it to you aloud .

i don't want your heart , it leaves me cold .

i am no mother , i am no bride , i am king .

she's a cruel mistress , and a bargain must be made .

well , me and my ghosts had a hell of a time .

with all my education i can't seem to command my heart .

it's a conversation i just can't have tonight .

you left me in the dark . no dawn , no day .

jesus christ , it hurts .

a woman is a changeling , always shifting shape .

the very thing you're best at is the thing that hurts the most .

i'll cut your little heart out 'cause you made me cry .

i knew that somehow , i could find my way back .

a thousand armies couldn't keep me out .

i'm ready to suffer and i'm ready to hope .

you've got the love i need to see me through .

is this how it is ? is this how it's always been ?

you keep me up at night .

oh , tell me it's not over yet .

no walls can keep me protected .

i'm going out , i'm gonna drink myself to death .

time goes quicker between the two of us .

would you leave me if i told you what i'd done ?

now , there's no holding back .

oh god , you're gonna get it .

you need your rotten heart and dazzling pain like diamond rings .

in the dark , i can hear your heartbeat .

i never knew my killer would be coming from within .

i was never as good as i always thought i was , but i knew how to dress it up .

don't forget me when i let the water take me .

this world is a beast of a burden .

you know i still like you the most .

what a thing to admit .

sometimes i think it's getting better , then it gets much worse .

i'm on fire , but i'm trying not to show it .

you are the space in my bed .

would you have it any other way ?

things go wrong , no matter what i do .

you make a fool of death with your beauty .

now she sleeps with one eye open , and that's the price she'll pay .

they were there when i woke up this morning .

heaven help me , i need to make it right .

until i wrap myself inside your arms , i cannot rest .

when someone looks at me with real love , i don't like it very much .

would you leave me if i told you what i've become ?

i'm always running from something .

it's good to be alive , crying into cereal at midnight .

okay , but let's discuss this at the hospital .

i know everybody lets you down , and i'll do the same .

your heart is the only place i can call home .

i wish to remain nameless , and live without shame .

sometimes i feel like saying "lord , i just don't care" .

i would put my words into poetry for you if i knew how .

if they ever let me out , i'm really gonna let it out .

but know , in some way , i'm there with you .

i've been wandering the streets for days .

don't let them get you down , you're the best thing i've ever seen .

how could anything bad ever happen to you ?

you couldn't have it any other way .

it's the only way i can escape .

what a place to come from .

little did you know your home's really only a town you're just a guest in .

run for your children , for your sisters and brothers .

you can't choose what stays and what fades away .

you'll be sorry that you messed with us .

call me when you need me .

although we stick together , it seems we're stranging each other .

this is as good a place to fall as any .

in your place there were a thousand other faces .

here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my rope .

lay me down , let the only sound be the overflow .

there's no salvation for me now .

i'd do anything to make you stay .

what's in a name ? i still remain the same .

i've been taking chances , i've been setting myself up for the fall .

tell me what you want me to say .

you are the silence in between what i thought and what i said .

i've been a fool , and i've been blind .

i never knew daylight could be so violent .

regrets collect like old friends , here to visit for your darkest moments .

so you packed your bags just to wait out the shitstorm ?

my doe , my dear , my darling ...

you're my head , you're my heart .

everyone lets you down in this brief hole of a town .

i'm not giving up , i'm just giving in .

i've been losing sleep , i've been keeping myself awake .

sometimes i feel like throwing my hands up in the air .

the only solution was to stand and fight .

i don't know how it started , don't know how to stop it .

i'm done with my graceless heart .

i can never leave the past behind .

do they speak to you ? 'cause they speak to me too .

i thought that love was a kind of emptiness .

it's hard to dance with a devil on your back .

sometimes i wonder if i should be medicated .

every demon wants his pound of flesh .

tell me what all the sighing's about .

could you tell from the moment we met ?

i heard your voice as clear as day ... you told me i should concentrate .

all my girls have their lace and their crimes .

i like to keep some things to myself .

no one asks any questions here .

the feeling comes so fast and i can't control it .

you came over me like some holy rite .

i was screaming out a language i had no idea existed before .

i thought that love was on stage , giving yourself away to strangers .

leave all your love and your longing behind , you can't carry it with you if you want to survive .

i thought that love was in the drugs , but the more i took the more it took away .

i never wanted anything from you , except everything you had and what's left after that too .

i don't want your future , i don't need your past . one grand moment is all i ask .

[crookedteethed]

18+

⋆ ★ for what its worth, it's not a bad thing that rafe fantasizes about his little (step)sister.

A/N: This was suppose to be a full fic, but I forgot where I was going with this and now I'm just trying to clear out my drafts 😭 Also, barely proofread.

Rafe often thought about how snug your tight little cunt would fit around his length. He wondered about the type of sound that would escape your plump lips the moment he first sheaths himself inside of you, he imagined it’ll be lewd whimper sound, analogous to a baby kittens purr.

He’d like the idea of taking you raw, taking you raw with no sort of preparation. Of course, you’d be wet, he thought. But it wouldn’t be enough lubrication in the world to get you accustomed to his size.

But that’s what Rafe liked. He’d like your aching pain at the expense of his aching pleasure, and boy did he ache.

You’ll be begging him, and god does he love your begging.

“Rafe s’too big” you’d whine or “Rafe, it’snot going to fit.”

He’d smirk at himself and continue to slowly sink into your cunt because your callow mind wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between the ache his fingers could cause you or his swollen red tip—which would be how far he’d gotten inside you before you started to whine.

When he’s fully inside you, he’d still. Enveloping himself in the delicious pleasure of your warm, velvet cunt. He’d be flourishing in every little squeeze or spasm you’d make, and he feels like he’s going to bust his load on the spot.

But it’d be something more to it then just your warm cunt squeezing him, or your little whimpers.

It’ll be the sheer thought that he was inside the only girl he knew he couldn’t have on the island, which in the years have made you desirable, and made him want you even more.

And for what it’s worth, it’s not like you were his blood sister or anything. And it wasn't like the two of you had grown up side by side all your lives like say him and Sarah.

So when Rafe saw you that morning, a little sleep in your eyes, and in a pair of tiny sleep shorts that made your ass look so plump, he knew Ward or your mother would have a fit if they saw you walking around the house in them; he saw it as a sign that you wanted to fuck him too, just like he dreamed of fucking you.

So, tonight may be the night, he thought. Ward and your mother'll be out on buisness, Sarah and Wheezie with their friends somewhere, leaving you all alone at Tannyhill.

He'll postpone the plans he had made with Top and Kelce that night, as tonight was going to be the night Rafe finally got to fuck his little (step) sister.