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awrkive · 3 months ago

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NEIGHBOR BLUNDER, pt. 3 — JJK

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

PAIRING jungkook x (fem) reader

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

CHAPTER WORD COUNT 18.7k

CHAPTER WARNINGS/MISC neighbor!jk, bsf!jimin, accountant!oc software engineer!jk, jk and jimin are chaebols lol, minjoon boyfriends <<<<3, mature language, lots of screaming into your pillow moments, litol bit of #domesticity, FLUFFY FLUFF FLUFFFFFFFFFFFFF, angst if you squint??????????, the x file spoiler lol, suits cameo (me inserting my niche interests into conversations), the biggest warning of this part is: naked jungkook 💀

NOTES sorry for being almost 3 hours late efhkjdhfd i overestimated my abilities a bit mb mb anyway, AGAIN, i want to thank you guys for the overwhelming support! i want to take this opportunity to announce that i'll be taking a break from nb for around 2 weeks to work on my new jungkook one-shot fic that i will be posting for his birthday ❤️ if you are interested, i have posted the teaser on my tumblr page. LASTLY pls let me know your thoughts!! i LOVE LOOOVEEE reading every single one of your replies/reblogs/asks. i hope you enjoy this one and have a good weekend ahead!!!!!!

NB!JK VISUALS | TAGLIST OPEN (REPLY IN THE COMMENT SECTION. PLS DO NOT SEND AN ASK ABOUT IT)

READ ON WATTPAD | AO3

PART ONE | TWO | THREE

You always wonder how a company this big seems to not have any budget lent for a copier that actually works – something that one doesn’t need to violently slap just for it to function perfectly.

You’ve been a victim not just once but five times to its inefficiency, the recent mishap being a month ago when the ink blots jumped right over the cuff of your shirt.

With the way that you’ve been harassing the copier at the very moment, you’ll say it’s about to do you wrong for the sixth time and you absolutely can’t let it happen anymore – not when you’re currently wearing a white polo shirt that stupidly costs a little too much more than anything in your wardrobe (you decided to spend a little more than usual last New Year’s).

So, with a last unnecessary kick to the bottom of the machine (out of pure spite) you left the copier room of your floor and think, fuck it – go to the IT department and ask Taemu to back you up from his supervisor so you can use their copier instead – which is something you’re not so sure of.

It’s embarrassing to go there just to ask him for help. Not with your history. But admittedly not that much of a history. After all, he seems to be cool with you and everything seems to be pretty chill. You can just go there; ask a little favor from a friend, and then hurry down to your floor.

There are some other options, though. Like, you can always ask the intern to do it for you. But the thing is, you kind of feel bad for those three. Your co-workers are doing a lot already; asking to fetch them things all around the building, buy them snacks, stuff like that. There’s another one but she’s way too quiet and didn’t really take shit from any of her seniors… which is kind of intimidating – but she's someone you wish you were when you were also an intern. You personally don’t want to help cultivate a somewhat toxic journey for the other three because you also started the same way as them. Beyond that, it would also be too rude to ask favors from Taemu indirectly.

You’re ultimately left with little and only one choice.

The elevator dings and the doors open after it does so.

One of the people in it is a woman you’ve never met around before. Long, black hair; tailored suit, slender figure, and a posture that screams she’s never hunched her back in her entire life.

Other people that entered at the same time as you start to bow their heads down slightly and greet a polite, “Good afternoon.”

You mirror their gesture as well.

As you step inside and settle on a spot, you wonder who she is.

An executive, maybe? She looks very put-together, and there’s authority that hangs over her frame… but exceptionally young in the physical aspect. Jungkook is also young, though – and he’s an executive, so that’s entirely possible. Additionally, others seem to know her. Or they're just pretending to know her like you did. Did you miss a ceremony? A meeting? Or did you gloss over some HR email again? You’ll have to check later to find out if that’s the case.

Anyway, your curiosity doesn’t last long when the elevator doors open once again, indicating the IT department floor.

You already texted Taemu awhile ago that you were on your way so he should meet you on-time.

As you walk down the hallway with your phone in your hand, your attention is caught by a familiar voice.

“Hey,”

You look up from your phone and see Taemu waving not too far away, heading towards your direction. It doesn’t take him long to get near you. When he does, you give him a smile.

“Taemu, hi.” You say as a small greeting. Taemu lifts his hand and you thought he was going for a high-five, so you lift your hand as well to meet the gesture. But then he leans in closer, one arm about to enclose your waist, and that’s when you realize he was actually gearing up for a hug.

Taemu seems to register that you weren’t exactly going for the same thing, so he steps back. He seems shy when you look at him in confusion.

“Oh, okay, sorry,” He offers his hand again, but just when you’re already thinking about hugging him because that was what he originally meant to do, he speaks just as you lean in closer to hug him. “I thought we were high-five-ing?”

Embarrassed, your hands retreat to yourself.

“I thought... you wanted to hug?” You chuckle.

“Okay, let’s just—” Taemu steps closer again and this time, it’s more than clear to you what he wants to do.

You reciprocate the hug he gives.

“This is so stupid.” You say, chuckling against his neck. The contact is quick as you two simultaneously break apart.

Taemu laughs at your remark, nodding his head. Then he gestures ahead, pointing to the direction of the copy room.

“Your copier not working again?” He asks as you walk down the hallway together.

You heave a sigh. “Yeah, they really need to change that one. Anyway, have you told Mr. Lee?” You ask, referring to his supervisor.

Teamu nods his head, opening the door to the copy room for you.

“Yeah, it’s fine with him. Just sign the logbook and stuff.”

“Thanks, Taemu.” You say, quickly getting to work, feeling slightly delighted at how their machine smoothly does its job and not like the one at all in your department. “Hey, I’m really sorry for bothering you with this.” You lament as you wait for the paper to slide out.

Taemu waves his hand, shaking his head at you. “It’s fine.”

You purse your lips into a thin line, giving him a somewhat apprehensive smile. The paper comes out and you get your thing. After a quick scan to see if the copier got everything right, you look back at Taemu to say, “Thanks again, Taemu. I really appreciate this.”

“No worries. Anytime.”

When you announce that you’re done, Taemu calls your name.

“Hm?” You hum, looking at him and wait for his next words.

He looks coy when he rubs a hand on the back of his head.

“Can I take you out for lunch?” He says, and you still in your position. Taemu seems like he surprised himself with his own words. You open your mouth to speak but then he beats you to it quickly, “It’s not a date. I phrased that as a date – but it’s not – ah, this is all coming out wrong,” Taemu chuckles, interrupting himself. With his hands in his slacks' pockets, he leans to a random table inside the room and looks at you with a more confident stance this time, as if he just gave himself a quick internal pep talk after jumbling his words. “What I meant to say is, if we can go out for lunch together today?”

You chuckle. You were just about to say yes. Contrary to his assumption, you didn’t really take his first question as an invitation for a date. Besides, he helped you with the copier today.

Nodding your head, you offer him a grin as you say, “Yeah. I’ll go to lunch with you.”

Taemu walks you to the elevator even though you said he doesn’t need to. He's insistent but you let it, anyway.

Taemu puts his hands on both sides of the door before it closes. The ride is pretty much empty except for yourself.

“When are you off?” He asks.

You think about it for a moment. “Is 12:15 okay?”

Taemu nods. “Sure. See you at 12:15?”

“Yeah. Later.”

The elevator closes and you laugh to yourself when you catch Taemu awkwardly waving his hand at you goodbye.

“No, you didn’t, I kicked your ass at mini golf!” You say, laughing as Taemu looks at you with squinted eyes, obviously saying that was absolutely not what happened on your date a few months ago.

“Uh, you disregarded all the rules.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, fine. Rules do not matter, though. It’s just some stick and a ball and… fake grass.”

Taemu laughs, surrendering his hands to the air, nodding when he says, “Fair, fair.”

You’re currently at a restaurant not too far away from your company building. It took Taemu and you about five minutes to get here; just a quick waiting time to cross the pedestrian lane to get from one street to the other.

Looking around, you can actually see some people inside wearing your company lace. The restaurant’s sort of like a famous spot around the company, though, so it doesn't necessarily surprise you. You’ve also had a few company dinners here some time ago.

Safe to say, lunch with Taemu is going… okay so far.

No – actually, it’s way better than you thought it would be.

You could have never, ever predicted that you’ll be out with him alone again after… you know, ghosting him. Your whole assessment of his character has also changed a bit after the whole fiasco.

See, some guys start feeling entitled over your permission and consent when you entertain them even just for a bit. When you go on dates and you break it to them that it’s just not working out between you two, they start to act weird. Like you’ve hurt them. Or that you lead them on – even though it’s absolutely not the case.

But Taemu’s proving himself to be different. You honestly expected him to act like that guy because he seems the type after your first date. But he surprises you by acting the total, complete opposite.

He’s so… nice. So casual. Like nothing happened. You feel bad because right now, you've officially confirmed to yourself that you totally misjudged him.

You can’t believe you’ll say this, but Taemu is not an asshole. Like at all.

Even now, you’re recalling what happened to your date and laughing about some of the memories of it, and it feels so long ago you’re starting to remember it differently.

“Anyway, this milkshake’s really good,” you say, taking your glass and looking at it curiously.

“Yeah? I told you,” Taemu grins, eating from his own plate.

“You always come here?” You ask out of curiosity since he seems to be familiar with the menu.

“Sort of? I mean, I try to take in the city as much as I can.” You nod, recalling what he told you before. He came from Daegu, and it’s his first time in Seoul.

Before you can say anything to that, the waiter comes to your table and gives you your bill.

Taemu and you simultaneously take out your wallets. When he sees you do it, though, he’s quick to shake his head, gesturing for you to not bother.

“No, no, it’s fine. I got it.”

“I got it, too,” You say, smiling at him, already picking out your card, ready to put it inside the check presenter.

“__,” Taemu says your name while chuckling. “I swear, it’s fine. I was the one who invited you for lunch.”

“Taemu,” You call him, using the same tone he used. Taemu grins at that. “I think we should split the bill.”

It’s only fair, you think. You ate pretty much the same thing.

You hold what felt like a minute staring competition until Taemu gives in and lets you stack your card on top of his in the booklet.

You’re about to resume eating – pick up on the conversation you left a few minutes ago – when your phone dings on the table, a message popping out on the notification center.

When you read the contact name, your eyes widen but you relax your face real quick lest Taemu asks questions.

“Sorry,” you say, pointing to your phone. Taemu nods, understanding. You pick the device in your hands, turn to your other side to not be rude, and read the text from Jungkook.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:47pm]: hey I bought you lunch Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:48pm]: i was gonnna ask you to go with me earlier but I got busy with some papers

Shoot.

You’ve done a pretty good job of not thinking about Jungkook at all for the entirety of the day. You woke up so early this morning that you waited for twenty whole minutes for your bus just so you can avoid seeing Jungkook because everytime his name pops up in your thoughts, you remember what you did the night before and it just messes with your head so much.

Listen, you aren’t embarrassed about trying to get yourself off. It’s just masturbation. It’s a carnal need and it’s totally normal. What you are not proud of is the way you thought about him – out of all people – and how it actually made you feel… a little more motivated to get yourself there.

But it’s a slip-up. A big mistake.

How are you supposed to look him in the eyes after that and act like you didn’t do what you did? Granted, you did stop before it escalated. But still, the point is that you thought about him while you were pleasuring yourself. Even if it was for a tiny bit second, it still counts!

Stupid fucking ovulation, you think to yourself with bitterness. You’re a much better person without it, you swear. You don’t go around thinking about men when you try to get yourself off, not at all! Personally, your head is mostly blank when you go through it.

But Jungkook left two texts. And he’s probably seen the read tag on his end already.

You [12:49pm]: I just got lunch ): thank you for buying me one tho that’s really nice ofu

You turn your phone off after sending your reply, placing it on the empty space of your table. When you look at Taemu, he’s eyeing something behind you. With furrowed brows, the question about what he’s looking at is on the tip of your tongue when he suddenly says,

“Isn’t that Mr. Jeon?”

“W-what?” You stammer, not sure if you heard him right.

The knots on Taemu’s forehead fades, and then he nods to himself. “I’m pretty sure that’s Mr. Jeon. He’s going this way.”

“Wha—”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeon.” Taemu stands up from his seat and does a slight bow for greeting.

Without thinking about it, you mirror Taemu’s action, bowing your head longer than necessary.

“Good afternoon, M-mr. Jeon,”

It’s no use to avoid his gaze, though.

When you look at Jungkook, he seems pretty much just as surprised to see you. You look away, but your eyes fall to his hand, and you see that it carries a take-out paper bag from the restaurant. You think about his text.

“Good afternoon.” Jungkook says with an easy-going smile. He goes from surprised to casual real quick and glosses over you as if he doesn’t know you.

You don’t really know how that makes you feel.

“I was just going, have fun with your lunch.” He says and politely bids his goodbye, going straight to the direction of the restaurant’s door.

“He’s really cool, you know?” Taemu brings up when you both sit down again.

“I— huh?”

“You must have heard about the new project they’re starting at the end of this month, right?” He asks curiously.

You sit there stunned. Stunned from earlier’s interaction with Jungkook but also because you don’t really know what the hell Taemu’s talking about.

“No… I didn’t get any memo…?” You say instead, trying not to act way too oblivious lest he thinks you’re lazy or something. Not that it matters! You’re not trying to impress him or anything.

Taemu nods. “Well, you’ll probably know about it soon.”

But your head's too far gone now, still stuck on what happened a minute ago.

You look over at your phone while Taemu speaks, hoping for it to light up with a new notification from the messaging app.

A few minutes passed by and it doesn’t, even when you leave the restaurant.

You don’t really know why you’re here.

It’s been three days since that night in Jungkook’s place where you tried to bake in his kitchen, so it’s also been three days since you started practicing during the nights after work to perfect your cookies. Tonight, it just so happens that the cookies finally taste edible and honestly, it’s more than okay.

So, maybe that’s why you find yourself in front of Jungkook’s door with a plastic container in your hands, decently-baked cookies prettily arranged inside.

Jungkook was with you when you made those pathetic excuses for cookies, so you thought it’s only fair for him to try these ones and tell you what he thinks. Brag a little. Maybe have a little chitchat if he’s free or whatever.

It’s also… sort of like a peace offering for something he doesn’t need to know about. You can’t tell him you’re sorry for thinking about him when you did the deed because that’s just plain weird.

Speaking of weird, though, the interaction from yesterday left you feeling a little empty. There’s this gnawing feeling inside of you that something went wrong – but you can’t exactly point out why. Jungkook also hasn’t texted you after that – which isn’t out of the ordinary. You don’t text everyday and you don’t meet every single day, either – for the record. You’re both busy people. You can only imagine Jungkook’s schedule.

Anyway, if there’s anything that you learned about your friendship with Jungkook, it’s that you don’t need to lie to him. You just have to knock on his door and he’ll unintentionally clear your doubts by being the voice of reason because he’s nice like that.

You do hope though that tonight clears any weird air between you. Maybe you’ll find out later on that there’s nothing weird going on at all and you’re just overthinking stuff as usual.

You’re about to ring the doorbell twice when the door finally opens, showing you Jungkook still wearing his polo shirt. He looks like he’s just gotten home from work, red tie undone around his neckline and a few buttons popped open.

“Hi.” You smile.

“Hey,” Jungkook looks at you, obviously wondering what brought you to his door.

“I wanted to give you this,” you hand him the plastic container which he takes with a confused look. “Those are cookies. I baked them. I didn’t give you anything when I baked two nights ago because they were bad.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods, looking down at the plastic. He smiles, then leans on his doorway. “So it’s good now?”

You gesture a so-so with your hand. “Don’t set your expectations too high. It’s not exactly Poilâne. But it tastes like matcha cookies, I swear.” When Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a while, you decide to add, “You also won’t get food poisoning, if you’re worried about that.”

Jungkook gives you an amused look. “I wasn’t… worried about that.”

“It’s a simple disclaimer. Just in case, you know, you suddenly feel weird in the stomach…” Jungkook arches his brow while you trail off. You roll your eyes lightheartedly. “I’m kidding.”

He lets out a chuckle and then stands upright. “Thank you for this.”

“No worries,” you say. You shift your weight from one foot to another. “Uh, do you wanna grab dinner? Right now?”

Jungkook looks at you apologetically.

“I really wish we could, but I have to finish something tonight. Work stuff.”

“Oh,” You nod immediately. “Okay. Uhm, good luck with that.”

He smiles at you. Lifting the container up, he arches his brows, saying, “Thank you, again. It looks good.”

“Yeah, I hope you like it,” You say. Realizing that there’s nothing more left to say, you turn on your heel ready to go. But before that, you look back at him one last time. “Bye.”

Jungkook grins.

“I’ll text you what I think about them.” He says, pointing to the cookies.

“Okay, Anton Ego.”

You both laugh at that, and you enter your apartment with a small smile on your face.

You don’t want to admit it even to yourself, but you might have taken Jungkook’s words about reviewing your baked goods too seriously that you waited for it last night longer than necessary. Even when the night ended and you go to work the next day, which is today, none of his texts come, and you don’t think anything’s coming anytime soon.

You try not to think about it too much because he did say he’s busy with work. You’re sure that’s the case, so you feel slightly bad for him.

Right now, you’re looking for Ms. Seo to get her signature on a document. So you head to the elevator, rushing a bit to get inside the one that’s about to close. It’s a little urgent, so you cannot waste any more time.

As soon as you enter though, you notice who’s in it.

It’s Jungkook and the woman you saw in the elevator two days ago.

You’re starting to think you need to start using the stairs from now on because your elevator trips are getting too ridiculous.

It feels like you’re running on auto-pilot when you greet them both, walking to the side to make space for the other people entering.

You wish you went beside the woman instead and not Jungkook’s side because you then have to try real hard not to look at him.

It proves to be an uneasy task when more people squeeze in as the elevator takes a few stops in between floors. You had to taut all the muscles in your body just to not get into any contact with Jungkook, but even with all the effort, it goes unsuccessful, as you brush his arm when you step back to move a little.

Jungkook looks at you the same time you do.

“I’m sorry.” You utter, low enough to not cause any unnecessary attention.

A few do turn to stare, anyway. And you can’t help but notice the way the woman’s hand moves towards Jungkook’s to hold it as she takes a look at you.

Jungkook, meanwhile, gives you that same professional smile he seems to have reserved for every employee that greets him around the building, warm voice saying, “It’s okay.”

You’re thankful that the next floor is where your stop is.

As you go back to your cubicle, you wonder who the woman is. Again.

There's something about her that feels familiar. She looks familiar. Like you’ve seen her before. You can’t just figure out where exactly.

“__,” Sol calls beside you.

“Huh?”

“You’re not having lunch?” She asks.

“Oh…” Right. It’s currently your break time. “Are you guys going out?” You say, looking at Joonhwi who’s two cubicles away from you.

Sol shakes her head, taking her coat from the back of her chair. “No, just at the cafeteria.”

You nod your head. “Okay, I’ll follow in a few minutes, just need to look over some stuff here,” You point to your computer.

“Okay. Just text me.”

You give Sol a smile and watch as she and Joonhwi head out of the office.

Your gaze falls to the time on your computer.

12:10pm.

Is Jungkook possibly having lunch right now? You remember him buying you one two days ago and feel a little sense of regret about not taking it even though it isn’t your fault and he should’ve told you first to give you a little heads-up.

You never really talked about it. You never really talked for the past three days.

But then again, he seems to be busy.

With a little hope in your heart, though, you pick up your phone and decide to send him a text.

You [12:12pm]: hey do u want to go out for lunch?

Or should you just buy him one like he did for you? It’s not like you’re trying to up him in a kindness competition. It can just be a small, thoughtful gesture from a friend to a friend.

You receive a reply a few seconds after.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:13pm]: hey __ I’d love to

Your lips curl down when you read the next one that comes in a second.

Jungkook (Unit 446) [12:13pm]: but I have a work meeting in 5mins

Oh. Okay. That tracks.

You [12:14pm]: okii!! That’s totally cool! good luck with work 😊

You stand up from your chair and take out your wallet from your bag, going out of your office and sending a quick text to Sol that you’re coming to the cafeteria.

When you get there, your peripheral vision catches a familiar figure.

You look back, trying to see if it’s someone you know.

Turns out it is. Because it’s Jungkook.

You’ve seen him in the elevator this morning and he wore a grey pair of suit. You’d also recognize his stature anywhere, but just like how it was inside the elevator, he’s with the woman again; long hair down like it was yesterday, this time adorning a suit dress that hugs her figure really well, her stilettos making her legs look longer but somehow Jungkook still stands a little taller.

For the very brief moment that you laid your eyes on them, you saw how Jungkook had his hand placed on the low of her back, how she laughed at something he said, and how they looked good together from your point of view. It seemed like they were on their way somewhere.

You realize that was what Jungkook meant when he said he’s busy.

They say a silver lining comes in every worst situation possible, and you’re more of an optimist rather than a pessimist so usually, you believe in the concept of silver linings even though right now – it looks like it’s going to be winning the jackpot in the lottery or… free education for everybody across the world.

“The contractor estimates it would be a week-long repair.”

“One week?” Is your immediate response, disbelief coloring your tone. “I’m sorry—” You try to fix your tone, salvaging yourself from being seen as outright rude in front of your building manager. “You mean seven whole days?”

The building manager, Mr. Han, nods his head. He looks genuinely apologetic as he delivers the news, for the record.

“That’s… really long.” You say, albeit calmer now. But you still can’t imagine it.

“It’s just an estimate. Contractor said it might be faster than that, but they still need to do a full assessment of your unit tomorrow, together with the water damage restoration company. We’re doing all we can to respond to the situation. We’re also talking to your upstairs neighbor about the stipulation of his negligence.”

You nod along to his words.

Obviously, it’s his job to ensure everything’s taken care of, but still, you’re appreciative of the way they are going about the current situation. You’ve heard horror stories about tenants getting into arguments with their building managers or landlords when their apartments experience accidents.

“Can I ask about relocation?” You ask. You have to read your lease again to make sure.

“Unfortunately, it’s not indicated in your lease policy, but your renter’s insurance should cover it. You can also talk to your landlord about reducing your rent for this month due to the inconvenience.”

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Okay. Thank you.”

The plumber and some of the help the building manager employed to dry up your place from the accidental flood had already left a while ago, and soon, Mr. Han’s figure disappears entirely after a few seconds as you watch him walk down the flight of stairs and away from the building.

You can hear the loud whirring of the air movers placed inside your unit from where you stood on your porch. Your hair’s damp, including some spots on your work clothes from the water that trickled down your ceiling as you panicked earlier to pack some of your belongings in a medium-sized luggage you managed to grab in the timeframe.

It’s the state that Jungkook catches you in when you see him emerging from the stairs, looking like he also just got back from work.

“Hey, what happened?” Jungkook, with his brows furrowed, looks at you with worried eyes, sounding equally concerned.

You sigh. “Hey,” you greet weakly. “My apartment got flooded.”

“What?”

“It’s the upstairs neighbor. He apparently left his tub running while he went to work this afternoon,” You take a sharp breath, getting pissed again at the negligence. So goddamn stupid, really. “He flooded his own place and the water leaked to my ceiling, and when I got back home from work I was welcomed with two inches of water on my floor.”

“What the hell?” Jungkook says in disbelief. You nod at his reaction. That is exactly what you said when you heard the story from the property manager. “Are you okay?” He asks, and you appreciate it.

“Not sure about that.” You answer honestly.

Jungkook furrows his brows. “You called your landlord immediately?”

Letting out a sigh again, you nod and move to sit on your suitcase – the lonesome bag that you’re planning to bring with you to wherever the hell you’re going to stay tonight. You don’t even think you have enough clothes in it.

“My place is a complete wreck. Most of the water’s drained, though, and the building manager brought some help inside and they put air movers inside to dry the place right now.” You blow air to the strand of hair that escapes from your ponytail out of frustration. “It’s a shitshow, I know.”

“Good that they responded fast,” Jungkook comments, but concern is still etched on his face as he asks you, “Have you called your insurance company yet?”

“Yeah, we’re emailing right now.” You tell him, showing your phone. You hate sending email through such a small device but you left your laptop back at the office – which is kind of a good thing, now that you think about it – because it would’ve gotten flooded had you left it in your place.

“Did you document everything?”

Your response comes in a little curt.

“Yes, Jungkook. I did.” The onslaught questions just somehow seemed to prompt irritation in you, and you can’t help but add, “I know everything I have to do. I’m an adult.”

Predictably, you render Jungkook surprised.

“I— I didn’t mean it like that. I apologize.”

When you look up at him, you see his expression softening – and you feel bad for what you just did.

Chill, __. He’s just asking logical questions.

“No, I’m sorry,” You shake your head, feeling a little ashamed for bursting like that. You shouldn’t have talked to him like that, anyway. “I don’t know why I snapped, you’re just asking the important questions.”

Jungkook hesitantly hovers his hand on your shoulder, and the look he gives you seems to be asking for permission to touch you. You don’t even know if that’s his intention, but you give him a nod.

He smiles, tapping your shoulder for a brief second, saying, “It’s okay. You must be really stressed right now.”

“You think I can’t be calm in this situation?” You look at him with a blank expression. Jungkook’s taken aback and you witness the very split second his smile drops form his face, probably thinking he said something wrong. Then you can’t help it, you break. “I’m just fucking with you.”

Jungkook’s brows furrow as he sees you bursting into a gentle laugh, breaking your serious demeanor.

He shakes his head slowly, seemingly incredulous of the stunt you just pulled.

“You and your jokes…”

“You should’ve seen your face.”

“You got me.” Jungkook chuckles.

“I’m sorry… it’s just me trying to ignore the fact that my apartment literally got flooded and those loud and big ass fans they placed inside are about to tear my ears off.”

You see the way Jungkook’s face winces.

“Where are you staying for the night, then?” He asks.

“I don’t know,” you shrug, genuinely not sure about your options. “Probably gonna book a hotel or something.”

Of course you’ve thought about Jimin. He can probably easily help you find a place for the meantime but it’d probably be hard with him not being physically in the country just yet. Sol also crossed your mind, but you remember she has a roommate.

Getting a hotel to temporarily stay at is the most obvious option there is. It would be too much of a hassle, not to mention expensive, but—

“You can stay at mine for the night.”

You think you’re getting around to Jungkook offering you help without you even asking – but it doesn’t mean you still don’t get a little taken aback when he gives it so willingly and so quickly like this.

“No.” You shake your head.

“Seriously.” Jungkook stares at you.

You stare at him right back.

“I can’t.”

“Why?” He raised his brow.

“I can’t think of reasons right now.”

“You don’t need to think at all.”

You squint your eyes at him, he does the same.

Soon enough, Jungkook breaks first and laughs.

“Come on! You’re gonna freeze in here.”

Hesitantly, you say, “… Are you sure?”

“What are you worried about?” He cocks his head to the side, awaiting your response.

Well. There’s a lot to be worried about.

There’s the thing where you always just seem to be caught into some shit and then he catches you right exactly in it. It’s starting to get embarrassing.

But Jungkook just doesn’t really seem to mind it.

“Nothing, really.” Is what you weakly settled for.

“Okay…” He trails off, raising a brow, obviously a bit confused. “Then what’s the big deal? Do you really want to go through the hassle of picking out hotels and booking a room at this hour? You have to go to work tomorrow.”

You visibly wince at the mention of work.

He’s right and you kind of hate it.

“You’re right…” you say after a while.

“You’re staying at mine?” Jungkook asks again, in which you nod your head in confirmation.

You stand up from your suitcase and pull up the handle. Then you look at him sincerely to give him a smile. “Thank you. I think this is like the five hundredth time this kind of thing happened between you and I.”

“Not counting.” Jungkook shrugs. “Have you had dinner yet?”

You nod your head. “I went with a friend— a co-worker.”

Jungkook visibly stills.

“The guy from a few days ago at the restaurant around work?”

You perk up at that, surprised he still recalls that day.

“Yeah, that’s him. Taemu. From the IT dep.”

He nods. You don’t know if he’s interested or not.

You think it’s a bit random that he brought that up, though, but you shake the thoughts away and call his name.

Jungkook looks at you.

“Thank you.” You say, hoping he hears the sincerity in your voice.

He chuckles. “You’re welcome,” Jungkook then gestures to the luggage you’re holding. “Let me.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for you to say yes before he takes the handle from you and carries the luggage with him to the direction of his place just across from yours.

You consciously try to make your steps lighter as you walk out of the shower box, making your way towards your suitcase to check on the clothes you packed.

When you open it, you thank the heavens that there are underwear – and a lot of them, for the record – but as you rummage around some more, you find that other than your work clothes, you only have nightwear inside. And when you say nightwear, not the comfortable cotton pajama kind but the nightie one – and that basically means the baby blue silky set of tiny camisole and shorts that can pass as a pair of panties.

I can’t possibly wear these, you think to yourself, hastily burying the pieces of clothing in the bottom of your luggage.

It shouldn’t mean anything – those are nightwear after all! But it was already embarrassing to ask Jungkook earlier if you could use his shower and his towel. You can’t come out of the bathroom wearing clothes that Jimin once tagged as “slutty pjs”. Not when you’re in Jungkook’s place.

“__?”

You look over to the door when you hear Jungkook’s voice, a knock following.

“Yes?” You answer.

“Do you have clothes in there?”

At the question, your gaze automatically falls to the suitcase where the thin strap of the camisole peeks out in between some other clothes that are completely useless for the night.

With hesitance, you say, “Uhm… do you possibly have a shirt I can borrow? I promise to clean it and return it to you tomorrow, ASAP.”

You hear him chuckle from the other side. “I brought you some. There’s also a pair of sweatpants but I’m not sure if they’ll fit you.”

It’s hard to not celebrate silently when Jungkook says that – but you might have jumped a little at his words.

When you walk towards the door and open it, you give Jungkook a huge smile as you tell him, “Thanks!”

He stops. And then you stop.

You realize you’re only in your towel – his towel, to be exact.

You feel the blood rushing to your cheeks the moment it registers.

Before you can do or say anything, Jungkook moves on quickly and stretches his arm, thrusting the clothes he’s mentioned into your way.

“There.” He says simply, smiling at you.

You take them from his hand, giving him a smile too, albeit a bit awkward.

“T-thanks.”

Jungkook turns on his heel to leave, and you lock the door to the bathroom as soon as he walks away.

You settle his clothes on top of the flat surface of the lavatory, physically shaking your head as you look at yourself in the mirror to shake your thoughts away.

Thoughts of his slightly parted lips when you opened the door while you’re only in a towel.

But it happened in such a split second that you’re not sure if it even happened.

When you take his white shirt, it feels soft to the touch and there’s a scent of fresh laundry that wafts through your nose when you wear it on yourself.

It’s loose on you, the sleeves almost covering your whole arms and the hem stopping mid-thigh. But because of that, it feels comfortable – like the oversized shirts you wear to bed that you, unfortunately, weren’t able to pack with you in the heap of panic.

But the pants show a different case. It’s so big that it drags on the floor as you wear it.

You made do, though; drawing the strings tightly and and knotting them together, pulling up the gartered hems up to your calf.

When you come out of the bathroom, Jungkook welcomes you with nothing but a towel wrapped around his lower half.

“H-hey,” You stammer, eyes meeting his own to avoid looking at his naked torso.

“I was just going in. You done?” He casually says, as if he doesn’t mind being naked in front of you.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m done. Thanks for the clothes.” You say, gesturing across your body.

“Looks good.” Jungkook comments before entering the bathroom.

You think your cheeks just got impossibly hotter.

The sound of water running is heard before you scramble to the living room.

Why was he naked?!

Okay, he wasn’t actually naked naked but still, he had no clothes on. Why did he have no clothes on? You’re trying to erase the image of his torso, the lines that draw an obvious four-pack, his firm-looking chest, and the way the tattoos over his right arm apparently go way above his shoulder. It’s obvious that he goes to the gym and works out from the way those polo sleeves of his always hug his biceps a little too tight – and with a body like that, you completely understand why he wouldn’t mind parading it around.

The AC in his unit is turned on, but it suddenly feels way too hot from where you currently sit on his couch.

Shut up. Ugh. You tell yourself internally.

Completely wanting out of that headspace, you decide to take out your iPad to get in contact with your insurance company to discuss your current situation, and it does a good job of keeping your mind off Jungkook for a while.

You’re so deep in the activity that you don’t even notice a few minutes has already gone by, and with that, you don’t notice Jungkook coming out of the shower.

When you see him in your periphery, he’s now thankfully dressed in a shirt and some basketball shorts. He’s drying his hair as he walks over to your direction in the living room.

You look at him in surprise when you notice the pillow and comforter he has in his hands.

“Sorry. You should’ve called me, I could’ve helped,” you say, standing up from the couch, ready to help him with it, assuming that you’ll be on the couch tonight.

Jungkook looks at you with furrowed brows. “I’m taking the couch.”

You stare at him, ready to hear him say he’s kidding or something but he doesn’t look like he’s joking.

You shake your head vigorously.

“No, that’s ridiculous.”

“What’s ridiculous about it?” Jungkook says, putting the pillows on the couch, starting to make it all the while looking at you through the process to engage.

“It’s your place.” You reason.

“And you’re my guest.” He says as a matter of fact.

“But—”

Jungkook cuts you off before you can even finish your sentence.

“__, it’s fine, really. You can take my bed. I insist.”

“Jungkook…” you trail off, sounding more like a whine.

He laughs and then looks at you with a playful smile. “Okay, should we compromise? Like, what, share the bed or the couch?”

You ignore the way your cheeks heat up at the suggestion.

You honestly don’t know why Jungkook says these kinds of things. You know it’s just his usual teasing, but he’s about to confuse you one of these days…

“God, no.” You respond with a shake of your head.

He chuckles. “Oh, is sleeping with me that repulsive to you?”

You push a little at his shoulder and roll your eyes.

When Jungkook’s done fixing the couch, he gestures to the door by the far end of the room. “Come on, I'll take you to the bedroom.”

You both walk towards that direction and as much as you’ve been over his place for more than once now, you’ve actually never seen his room – and for the record, why would you?

But it looks nice. Just like the rest of his apartment’s interior, his room is also almost the same. Kind of bare, but there are some sleek furniture that add character to the whole place.

“Too cold?” Jungkook asks, and you look at him to see him holding the remote of his AC.

“The temp’s fine.”

He hums and puts down the remote.

“Alright, then. Just call me if you need something.” Jungkook says, gesturing to the door. He’s about to leave when you call him again.

“Good night, Jungkook. Thank you for your bed.”

“Good night, __. Uh… sweet dreams?”

You roll your eyes. Jungkook laughs.

When he leaves, you sit on his mattress covered by black duvets and sheets. It’s soft, and you let yourself bounce on the fluffy surface, delighting at the feel.

It’s about the same size as yours, and when you lay on it, you smell that usual scent that Jungkook always emanates. Clean, crisp, a little sweet. Like fresh apples. Or fresh laundry. He just always smells so… clean.

You feel a little sense of strangeness at the different environment you’re in, but the bed is too soft that you feel like you’re almost floating – and maybe it’s because you are tired from work and drained from the whole fiasco at your apartment, but you fall asleep fast and heavy within just a few minutes.

You almost jump from the bed when you open your eyes and see a different type of bedding, only to realize that you’re actually not in your apartment and in Jungkook’s instead.

After processing that, you begin to do a little stretching, finding that you slept quite well. As you do so, your eyes catch the digital clock on the bedside table, and you read 4:30 am.

It’s a bit too early to start getting ready for work, but maybe if you start prepping now, you’ll be ready to go out just as when Jungkook is waking up.

When you stand from the bed, you discover the absence of pants around your waist, the cold air sending goosebumps over your bare legs – and as expected, you see the sweats getting caught in between the heaps of dark sheets on the bed.

You must have taken it off in the middle of the night. It’s why you usually forgo pants when you sleep.

You decide against wearing it again, though, assuming that Jungkook is still sound asleep by now so he can’t possibly see you walking around his place naked from the waist down. Besides, the shirt’s big and almost serves as a dress.

Carrying the pants with you, you silently open the door to his bedroom to tiptoe on your way to the bathroom.

“Hey,”

“Jesus christ!” You clutch your heart at the sudden sound of Jungkook’s voice booming across the unit.

When you look at him, he’s… working out. Apparently.

Jungkook takes out the airpods from his ears and drink from his tumbler.

“What are you tiptoeing for?” He asks, brows furrowed.

From where you stand, you see droplets of sweat on the side of his forehead, his chest heaving from the push-ups you catch him doing a few seconds ago on the mat that he laid on the floor. There are small weights on the side, and Jungkook is still wearing his clothes from last night.

Did he possibly just… wake up and then choose to exercise? Is this his everyday routine?

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you make up an excuse that’s kind of partly true. He slept on the couch in the living room, after all. And from the sala, everything is pretty much visible to the eye as the unit has an open layout. So one single noise could’ve awakened him.

“Too late for that,” Jungkook chuckles. He looks at you longer than a second and you’re just about to get conscious when he asks, “You get ready for work at four?”

You purse your lips into a thin line. “Sort of. I also have to check my place.” Jungkook nods, understanding. “Uh, Jungkook?” He hums to acknowledge you. “Can I use your shower? Again?”

He laughs at the way you smile at him awkwardly. “Sure. Your towel’s just over the rack.”

“Thanks.” You smile at him and go straight to the bathroom.

You make quick work of washing yourself, and the shower, just like last night, isn’t your usual routine because of course, most of your stuff are still over at your place. Though Jungkook is kind enough to lend you some of his unused products – even giving you a spare toothbrush which now sits beside his own on the bathroom sink.

When you finish showering, you wear his shirt and his pants once again. As you go out of the bathroom, the sound of oil popping from the kitchen doesn’t escape your ears.

“I made breakfast.” Jungkook says as you make your way towards the kitchen island. He’s a few steps away, working around the stove, frying up some sausage. He takes some eggs and then turns to you. “How do you like your eggs?”

You’re sure he doesn’t mean anything by that, but then you both laugh at the realization anyway.

“Sunny side up.” You say after a while, seating yourself on one of the high stools. “Can I help you?”

“It’s okay, just sit there.”

You put your elbow on the island as you watch him work. “Wow, do you really treat all your guests like this?” You tease, deciding to poke a joke.

Jungkook laughs as he starts breaking eggs into the frying pan.

“You’re the first one.” He raises a brow your way, lips tilted into a playful smile.

“Awe.” You pretend to curtsy which makes Jungkook laugh.

It doesn’t take long before Jungkook serves you a plate of sausage and perfectly-made sunny side up. You say a delighted “thank you!” in which Jungkook returns an adorable smile for.

You thought he was going to eat with you, but he only ate the sausage and began to work on cutting up some bananas while you continued to eat.

“What did they say about your apartment? How long is the repair?” Jungkook asks while he takes out a mixer.

“Week-long,” He visibly winces at your answer. You purse your lips. “I’m trying to look for a place to stay for the remaining days.”

Jungkook furrows his brows. “Lease doesn’t cover relocation?”

“Talked to the building manager and the landlord last night and they said it doesn’t. I also read the policy again myself last night, though, just to be sure. Anyway, landlord’s cutting my rent this month for up to thirty, so that’s something.”

“Okay… how about your stuff?”

As you watch Jungkook during the whole conversation, you realize that he’s apparently making a protein shake, and when he finishes shaking the bottle, he gestures it towards you, silently asking if you want to try it.

You shake your head, also answering his question. “I already filed a claim on it with my insurance company, so they’re handling it for me. They’re probably going to seek reimbursement from my upstairs neighbor’s insurance if he has one,” You shrug. “And I’m also gonna have to ask him to pay for the deductible.”

Jungkook nods, consuming his drink. You watch as he leans back on the kitchen sink, putting his protein shake down and crossing his arms, looking right at you.

“Why don’t you stay here for a while?”

You look right back at him weird.

“You’re not serious.”

“When am I not serious?”

You hold a staring competition after that, but Jungkook’s eyes are way too intense so you break away first.

“I just can’t.” You say, interrupting the silence.

“It’s friend to a friend. I bet you’d do this for me too.” Jungkook shrugs.

He doesn’t understand, though. Staying at his place for the remaining six days would mean that you’d be both living under the same roof together, and while it’s true that you would probably do this for him if he was in your shoes, it’s just not the same.

But you don’t want to get into all that. It’s too complicated to explain, even to yourself.

So you decide to joke a little.

“Probably not.” You tease.

Jungkook chuckles. “Mean.” He comments, shaking his head at you and playfully clicking his tongue.

“I’m joking,” you smile apologetically. “It’s just for six more days, though. The manager told me it might take faster.”

“Where do plan to stay, anyway? A hotel would be really inconvenient. The nearest one around here is too far from work, not to mention it’d be expensive as well.”

“There’s loss of use coverage,” You say, even though you know the stipulation, and your apartment flooding because of your neighbor’s negligence might probably not be in the clauses.

It’s just to reason with Jungkook, but he’s quick to present another point.

“It’s gonna take a long while, no?”

You pout. Sighing, you say, “You’re right.”

“Okay, so why not stay here?” Jungkook asks curiously. “You know I don’t mind. I won’t mind.” He says and it sounds so convincing and genuine.

You decide to deflect a little because you feel like giving in any seconds now.

“You say that but wait until you find that I’m not very likeable as a roommate.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “Shoot. Hit me.”

Pursing your lips into a thin line, you try to think of your bad habits.

“I…” you trail off, but it stretches into seconds way longer than necessary.

Jungkook chuckles. “See, you can’t even list one.”

“I don’t cook.” You point out.

“I already know that.”

You frown. “So we can’t take turns cooking while I stay here.”

Jungkook only shrugs. “There’s take-out.”

“You’re gonna eat take-out for a week?”

“I can cook.” He chuckles.

“Okay… but sometimes, I get super cranky.”

He nods. “I’ll be out of your way, then. You won’t even notice I’m here.”

You sigh, out of reasons now.

“I’ll try to be helpful with you in the kitchen for the next six days. And I’ll also be nice.”

Jungkook’s brows perk up. “You’re saying you want to stay here?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “But… I wan to pay you.”

“__, the whole reason why I’m offering is because a hotel is gonna cost you,” Jungkook laughs.

That prompts you to put a frown on your face.

“Fair point. But I’m going to take your couch the entire time, okay? And that’s final.”

It takes a little longer for Jungkook to agree to that. But he nods his head, anyway, saying, “Sure.”

It sounds so non-committal. You think he's going to still try insisting taking the couch.

“Okay.” You say, ignoring that thought, smiling at him. “Thank you.”

“You know you’re always welcome, right?” Jungkook says.

You’re thankful he turns around after he says that to tend to the stuff he used a while ago in the sink, giving you a perfect leeway to avoid his gaze lest he takes notice of the way you can’t help a big smile.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Finish your breakfast.” He says, pointing to your unfinished plate.

You give him a small salute.

Before he goes to the direction of the bathroom, Jungkook turns around to ask. "Do you want to go to work together?" He raises a brow, but then a second after his question, he puts a hand up, effectively stopping you from answering. "You're gonna say no. But I insist. Say yes, I made you breakfast."

You laugh at his squinted eyes.

"I was going to say yes, anyway."

"No, you weren't." Jungkook fires back.

You shoo him away playfully before he finally leave for the shower.

All you can think about is that maybe silver linings are indeed true.

Sharing a space with somebody has always felt… weird.

You had a roommate back in college for the whole four years, and while it wasn’t the worst thing that ever happened to you – it was just an experience that didn’t really strike you as something memorable or fun. Min Heeji was a Bio major who was an extreme introvert, and past the casual hi’s and hello’s, you both just never hit it off.

After moving out of your dorm, you rented around Itaewon. You found the unit through a listing you saw on Facebook – some woman who was finding a roommate to split the rent with. You found out later that the reason why the previous people before you left was because she was quite an interesting lady… let’s just say – she was a person who dabbled on the arts of illegal drug trading. Jimin jokingly told you he wondered about how her weed tasted like. Sometimes, you want to smack him on the head.

You pretty much decided on being against roommates for the entirety of your life after that.

But Jeon Jungkook is thankfully not a total hermit, nor does he sell weed.

It’s been long since you lived with somebody, and being under the same roof as him is different – the good kind of different, to be clear.

He’s somewhat a clean freak so it’s almost embarrassing to do anything in his place because it’s always so spot clean.

One thing that you learned though is that he’s a busy man. You had an idea about a packed schedule and non-existent free time for an executive person like him – but the idea feels more real now that you’ve witnessed it.

On the first day of your stay, after your apartment got flooded, he drove you both to work just like he offered. During the night, though, he seemed to have come home late. You slept at around 10pm and never saw him entering the door, and when you woke up the next day, he’s gone, only a note on the fridge telling you that he’s prepared some breakfast you can heat up to eat.

Nonetheless, you feel into quite an easy routine with him.

After a great deal of insistence from your side, Jungkook is rightfully assigned in his bedroom while you lay on the couch. It’s a bit bigger than the one you have on your own, so there’s space for moving around. Even when you wake up with shitty back pains in the mornings, sleeping on his couch is better than sleeping in your current wreck of an apartment as the contractor is already repairing your place.

As of the third day since the incident, they’ve already changed your ceiling, the flooring coming next. It was starting to look good as per your visit.

That made it clearer to you, though, that you’re indeed staying at Jungkook’s for another four days.

Jungkook was so busy that he even worked on a Saturday – told you that it was a hectic week for his team over a shared dinner that you thought will happen only once during your stay with his packed schedule. On Sunday, you kind of assumed that Jungkook will still be at the office, but he surprised you when he came barging in the bathroom while you were in it.

You had your leg propped on the edge of the bathtub, squeezing the bottle of lotion in your palm and spreading the cream over the skin of your shin, adjusting the towel up your thighs so you can cover your entire leg with the product.

You did so mindlessly, part of your usual after-shower routine, completely unassuming of the sound of the doorknob clicking and Jungkook suddenly barging inside the room with a hamper in his hand.

Frozen in your position, your eyes locked into his own as he stepped a foot forward on the tiled floor. You realized the hamper is his laundry.

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were here,” Jungkook apologized, and he looked genuinely bashful.

“I thought you were at work.” you said, adjusting the towel on the top of your head.

Jungkook raised a brow, but there’s a smile on his lips. “On a Sunday?”

You narrowed your eyes at him which prompted him to laugh. A beat of silence, and then you noticed Jungkook’s gaze. You felt his eyes to the direction of your raised leg on the porcelain tub – and if your own sight didn’t deceive you, you could’ve sworn he’d made a quick glance-over to the expanse of your bare leg before he snapped right back into looking at your face.

“Anyway, I was just gonna do my laundry,” Jungkook twisted himself away from the bathroom’s door. “I’ll wait for you to finish, though. I’m sorry again for barging in.”

At that, you quickly shook your head and planted both your feet on the tiles, standing upright.

“No, it’s fine. I��m done, anyway. Are you in a hurry? I just need to change into some… clothes.” You said, glancing at the heap of some pajama pants and a t-shirt on the bathroom sink.

“Not in a hurry. You can change here.” Jungkook gave you a small smile.

You nodded your head. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’ll be super quick.”

Your lips curled into an apologetic smile, but Jungkook waved you off.

He took one last look at you before he locked the door – one thing that you forgot to do in the very first place.

You blamed it on your habit of not really being mindful about it since you were used to living alone.

The day after that – one fateful Monday – Jungkook once again was MIA at his own place. You woke around 6 am, and as you got ready for work, you noticed a note on his fridge that he went to work earlier than usual that day, and he’d also be working late so you should lock up at night.

At the company, you did not even catch a single glimpse of him.

You bought some food on your way to his place later that day, thinking that maybe you could share a meal together – nevermind the fact that he had told you he was going to be home late. But you did not expect his “late” would exceed past 11 pm, and since you were also pretty much tired from your own activities for that day, you fell asleep on the couch without making it, lying on the surface with no pillows and comforter over your body.

In your dreams that night, you felt like you were floating.

Somebody has tucked their arms under your knees and neck, taking you off the previous surface you were lying on. The unfamiliar man cradles your body against his, carrying you somewhere and putting you on a much softer place. A mattress. A big, soft, mattress. And you noted that the man smelled of green apples and laundry. An almost familiar scent.

Needless to say, your dream was quite vivid that night.

When you woke up the next morning, you were welcomed with the familiar grey paint of the walls – the white ceiling, and the dark sheets and pillows that surrounded you. A waft of fresh laundry smell. The Iron Man figurine on the top shelf of the cabinet in the corner of the room. The black slippers on the side of the door that are way too big to be yours.

Jungkook.

The strange man in your dreams was Jungkook. And it wasn’t a dream at all.

It was Jeon Jungkook who carried you all the way to his bedroom from the sofa so you could sleep comfortably on it.

When you went out of his room that morning, ready to thank him and tell him he didn’t have to do what he did, feeling bad at the thought of him sleeping on his couch at his own place, Jungkook was nowhere to be found.

But as if it was becoming tradition, there was a note on his fridge that told you: I hope you don’t mind that I brought you to my room. I found you uncomfortable on the couch last night. Didn’t cook us breakfast because I have to go to work early again today, but I’ll have food delivered at around 7. Good morning, __ :)

— Jungkook.

That night, though, Jungkook miraculously came home early.

He arrived an hour after you, just in time as you finished doing the prep for the bibimbap you were planning to eat on your own, assuming Jungkook was going to be late again. When you saw him entering the door, you decided to make the portions of the ingredients bigger, thinking that it was the perfect opportunity to say thank you for the other night.

And you did not forget to say that either.

“Thank you for last night. You didn’t have to…” you trailed off, giving him a sheepish smile across the dining table as you both ate.

Jungkook, with his mouth full of rice – seemingly (thankfully) enjoying the meal you prepared for him – munched on it before he said, “You looked real tired. And uncomfortable, which reminds me, you should sleep in the bedroom as well tonight.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine, Jungkook. Last night was just – uh, I was waiting for you to come home because I didn’t want to just lounge around your living room while you aren’t around, but then I guessed you arrived a little late.”

Out of all the things you’d said, it seemed Jungkook only remembered one thing.

“You were waiting for me to come home?” He said, his hand reaching for the side dish pausing mid-air, eyes trained to you. Curious, his brow piqued in what seemed like genuine intrigue.

You stopped. You went over your words, not realizing those came out of your mouth.

Obviously, you didn’t mean for that to slip out.

So, you shook your head slowly. Hesitantly, you reasoned, “It’s just you’re always in your room first before I fix the couch for bedtime. So.” You shrugged, knowing your explanation didn’t suffice.

Jungkook gave you a nod with small a smile on his lips.

“I’m sorry for making you wait, then. It’s just extra busy at the company these days.”

Your brows furrowed in curiosity, “Yeah, I heard about the collaboration with Kang Tech.”

You found out about it at work that day. It’s in the accounts payable you’ve worked on the past few days, and when you asked Joonhwi and Sol about it, they confirmed the recent moves the company is recently making.

You also realized then that the reason why the mystery woman in the elevator was familiar to you was because you’ve seen pictures of her before.

Of course you’d know her. She’s the woman Jimin’s parents are trying to set him up with. The one and only Kang Heesu. She took over as CEO just very recently at Kang Tech.

Apparently, Blue Nexus and Kang Tech are collaborating on a product that will be announced later during the month – which explains her being at the company oftentimes, Jungkook being busy, drowned with work stuff – them working closely together.

Whatever you felt on that day you saw them together – you’d like to dismiss that as just a blip in the system. Your system, to be exact.

It isn’t any of your business whoever gets around with Jungkook. Whether he’s close with Kang Heesu outside work or not (like what you’ve pondered about ever since finding out about the information of their collaboration) – that’s their thing.

“Yeah, the team’s been working overtime because of it.” Jungkook added to your words from earlier.

“So, you’re more tired than I am,” You pointed out, noting the obvious. He went to work at the ass-crack of dawn, went home late, and whenever he was home – all he faced was his laptop.

You even doubt he was getting enough sleep. There were bags under his eyes that weren’t there the past month you first met him – and even though he carried them with a certain grace, you could still see that some of the shine in his eyes was becoming absent.

You were glad you were able to prepare something for him. Did something for him. You didn’t have to – but you did. Because you wanted to be a helpful roommate.

“Does it show?” Jungkook chuckled, leaning back on the chair, a bashful expression on his face.

You shook your head. “Nope. But yeah, you don’t need to give up your bedroom tonight. I’ll be fine here.”

“I actually bought something. Wait a minute,” Jungkook suddenly said. Your brows furrowed when you watched him saunter over the living room and in towards his bedroom. When he came back to the dining area, he was carrying a huge paper bag. You looked at him, visibly confused. Jungkook cleared his throat as he sat back down on his seat. “I was thinking you could use this. It’s a foldable cushion or whatever so you can sleep more comfortably on the couch.”

You gawked at the paper bag, and then at him.

“What?”

“I went to the mall yesterday and the lady told me this is one of their best sellers… I don’t know. Do you want to have a look at it?” Jungkook said, worry seeping in his tone.

“That’s a… cushion? For the couch?”

He nodded.

“Oh.” Was the only thing you could utter. You didn’t really know what to say. “I… this is really thoughtful. You didn’t have to, you know that, right?”

Jungkook shook his head and gave you a small smile.

“Thank you, Jungkook.” You told him sincerely.

“It’s nothing.” He waved you off. “I got that dry-cleaned already, by the way, so you can use it tonight if you really insist on sleeping on the couch.” Jungkook said with a teasing smile.

“That,” you point to the paper bag, “will single-handedly get me to want to live here for another three months.”

Jungkook raised his brow. “Really?”

You chuckled, leaving the conversation up on the air.

When you both finished your meal, you offered to do the dishes yourself, but Jungkook was insistent to do it, saying you’ve already done a lot for the day. You begged to differ, but you relented, anyway.

After you showered and made the couch, geeking internally at how soft the cushion he bought was, you couldn’t sleep right away, your mind finding it hard to focus on the lull of the crickets. So, at around 11 pm, you opened your laptop to pull up an X-Files episode, thinking it could condition you into being sleepy.

You promised yourself you were just going to finish one more episode, but the next episode button was too tempting and you found yourself binging the show into the wee hours of the night.

“__?” A voice coming from the far end of the room called, followed by the clicking sound of the lights turning on. With that, you found Jungkook standing on his door with his eyes half-lidded, hands rubbing his chest, seemingly having just woken up from his sleep.

“Jungkook,” you acknowledged him, straying your attention from your show. Jungkook started to trot towards the direction of the kitchen, and your eyes followed him as he stopped in front of his fridge, taking some water out and pouring it into a glass.

After he drank it, he looked at you to ask, “Can’t sleep?” You nodded your head. He made his way towards the couch, pointing at it. “Would you mind?”

“No, do you want to?” You adjusted the duvet you put all over your back to make room for him, and Jungkook placed himself beside you, peering over the screen on your laptop.

“What are you watching?” He asked, voice a little groggy.

“The X-Files. You know the show?”

“Heard about it a few times. Never gotten around to watch it, though,” Jungkook said, leaning on the back of the couch, eyes still glued to your laptop.

You smiled. “Maybe you can start it now.”

“What’s it about?”

“Uh… aliens,” you started off, feeling a little silly about it. Gauging his reaction, you waited for him to give you a judgmental look but he seemed to be intrigued when he looked at you, asking for more details. You perked up that, feeling suddenly excited. “Okay, so, the guy here – his name’s Mulder. He’s an FBI agent who’s tasked on cases that have, you know, unexplainable nature. Basically, he believes in aliens, all that ET stuff,” you explained. Right on time, Gillian Anderson appears on frame. Pointing at her, you looked at Jungkook as you introduced her to him, “And the woman – she’s so pretty – that’s Scully. She’s a skeptic. She’s an FBI agent who’s also a scientist and was assigned to be with him to debunk his work.”

“So, they investigate cases together?” Jungkook added.

You nodded your head. “Yeah, and it’s different for each episode. There’s the alien storyline which is like, the main plot of the show, but there’s the fun filler episodes. Monster of the week, they call it. I’m rewatching one of those right now ‘cause they’re fun and don’t have a backstory.”

“It sounds good,” Jungkook looked impressed, training his eyes back on the show.

You weren’t sure if he was just trying to make a conversation, but he seemed genuinely interested as you both watched the show, which tickled your excitement more. You’ve tried to get Jimin into it but he wasn’t really an avid fan of watching long shows, so you’ve given up on trying to convince him to be as obsessive of the show as you.

“Do they kiss?” Jungkook suddenly asked mid-episode, brows furrowed as he watched Mulder wiped something off the side of Scully’s lips. It’s the episode when Scully just got back from being abducted.

Amused, you looked at him and let out a chuckle. Jungkook turned to look at you, confused at the reaction.

“Hm?”

You shook your head. “No, it’s just funny. So, there’s a thing in this show, right? Scully and Mulder are not supposed to be a couple, but they act like one.”

Jungkook let out a seemingly enlightened, “Ah.” Then he looked at your screen again, “I’m watching it right now out of context and I’m assuming they’re a couple.”

“Right? They have such insane chemistry. It’s why I love this show so much.”

“Wait. They never get together? Or kiss, romantically?” Jungkook asked curiously.

“They kiss on the seventh season. We’re on the second one.”

“Wow,” He breathed, genuinely surprised. “That’s a long wait.”

“I know,” you chuckled.

You both sat beside each other as the episode finished. Jungkook would have some questions, and you happily answered each one. It was also fun to share some lore about the show – and you didn’t know if you were coming off too geeky about it – you were just unbelievably excited that he seemed to genuinely like it.

Time passed without you both noticing, and it was 2:23 am when you became hesitant on clicking the next episode button.

“Do you still want to watch another one or…” You trailed off, eyes glued to the screen, waiting to hear Jungkook’s response. But then a few seconds passed, and you didn’t receive one. Turning your head to the side, your eyes widened when you see the state Jungkook was in.

He was leaning far back on the couch with his head resting on the backrest, arms crossed over his chest, lips slightly parted with his eyes shut closed. You could see his chest rising and falling from the way he breathed in and out of sleep, looking quite peaceful regardless of his seemingly uncomfortable position.

You shut your mouth and closed your laptop quietly, trying to be careful with your movements so as to not disturb him and accidentally wake him up. Stretching your back to lean down, your breath hitched as you tried to set the laptop down on the coffee table, not daring to graze any part of Jungkook’s body, especially when his thigh was so closed to your own.

When you successfully put away the device, you went back to sitting beside him, contemplating on your next move.

You ended up staring at him, noting the way his biceps are bulging out of the sleeves of his white shirt with a thin material from their crossed position. Your eyes trailed down to the veins on his forearms, and naturally, you focused in on the one with the swirls of ink around it. It was a body of art on the first look – but looking at it at that moment – close up and free, you took time to identify the drawings on his skin.

There was that snake that trailed down close to his hand, the skeletal rock n’ roll hand, and the script that says “rather be dead than cool”. It was a shame that you couldn’t see from your current view the flower tattoo you were always curious about, nevertheless, the entirety of his inked arm was just… breathtaking, to say the least.

You wanted to ask him what they meant – or if they even meant something. You knew by now he only got them in college – when he moved to the US – and you were just curious about how he decided to get them; about the backstory, anything… Would love to trace down your fingers on his skin as he tells you the exact moment.

And then you realized what you were doing and suddenly looked away.

You felt like a creep. What were you doing, staring at him while he was unaware, unconscious in his sleep? It was not right, and you were supposed to scoot over to the edge to give him plenty of space all for himself.

But as you looked at him again, your eyes stopped at his face, and you couldn’t help but stare at it.

Again.

His nose was something you weirdly have a liking to, and there’s a scar on his cheek that once again bubbled up another layer of curiosity within you.

“Stop it.” You mumbled out loud – not loud enough for Jungkook to hear – but just enough to snap yourself out of the trance you were in.

It was stupid. So stupid. To stare at a sleeping man and have those thoughts inside your head. Jungkook would never do anything like this to you, and at that sentiment, you stood up from the couch to get away.

You caught a sight of the duvet that you used a while ago. As you looked at Jungkook, he seemed to be in dire need of one, so you made quiet steps to put it over him, stopping your breathing in case you did it too loud and he wakes up.

As you carefully laid out the blanket on top of his body, Jungkook stirred, and your breath hitched as you stopped on your tracks.

He mumbled something incoherent, his neck craning to lay on his cheek. Regardless, he stayed on his position, arms still crossed, seemingly going back to his deep sleep instantly.

You stepped out in front of him, letting out a breath of relief.

Standing there for a few seconds, you wondered about where you were going to stay. Jungkook was on the couch and unlike him – you could not carry him to his room without him noticing.

Looking at the direction of said room, you thought about staying there for the night, but decide against it. You didn’t get his permission to do so, it’d be rude—

But the couch is only one, though. And you could feel a yawn ready to come out of your own mouth, sleep lurking at the back of your head.

You could try to wake Jungkook up to tell him to go to his room so he could sleep more comfortably, but you couldn’t do it. The past few days, he had been so busy with work and seemed like he wasn’t getting enough rest. What if you woke him up and he couldn’t go back to sleep anymore? That would just make you feel bad.

Getting the pillow strewn over the edge, you walked towards the direction and fixed it against the arm rest, sitting on the spot and making yourself comfortable on it. Of course, it wasn’t – you were craning your neck too far to the side to try to lay your head, and your body was sprawled in a weird sitting and lying position.

It was fine, though. Jungkook was about two feet away from you, and you felt like you could sleep in the state.

But it was a few long minutes before it completely overtook you.

There’s a feeling of a hard plane against your back when you feel yourself waking up.

You’re in a curled position, hands tucked under your cheeks. As much as you’re starting to slowly feel conscious, you’re still not a hundred percent aware of your surroundings just yet. It’s why you ignore the blow of hot air against the crook of your neck.

When you blearily open your eyes, you’re welcomed with the sight of the back of the grey couch you’ve accustomed yourself with over the past few days. The white foldable cushion you’re lying on. The familiar scent of Jungkook’s apartment.

It’s another usual morning, as far as you’re concerned.

So, you stretch an arm up as well as your leg, groggily mumbling something as you go back to closing your eyes again to hopefully sneak in a few more minutes of sleep.

“Hmm…”

At the sudden sound, your eyes snap open, surprised at the embodied voice that came out somewhere that’s definitely not from your own mouth. It was close, though – something close to your neck; you felt it so – and at that realization, your eyes trail down to your waist, and your breath catches in your throat when you see an arm wrapped around it.

Under your head is another arm that adorns a familiar sleeve tattoo.

When you crane your neck to look behind you, you’re welcomed by Jungkook’s locks of black and messy hair, his face apparently buried in the crook of your neck.

He must’ve felt you move because he stirs in his position, mumbling something, arm tightening around you.

You feel your heart starting to beat faster than usual as you feel the tips of Jungkook’s fingers resting on the bare skin of your stomach due to your camisole riding up, and your eyes continue to widen when you saw that the shirt he’s worn last night is now lying haphazardly across the coffee table where your laptop is.

When Jungkook pushes himself against you closer, that’s when you feel something hard against the cleft of your ass.

“Oh my god!”

“What the fuck!”

“I’m so sorry!” You immediately say, retreating your hands that just pushed him off the couch once everything registered in your head.

You just… slept with each other! You woke up with Jungkook spooning you! The hard plane against your back that you felt earlier was his chest and the hot air blowing in your ear was his breath! You both fell asleep together on the couch!

Jungkook – the poor man – visibly winces as he cradles the back of his head, adjusting himself on the floor after you forcefully yeeted him off the couch.

He didn’t expect that, of course he didn’t! He still looks like he’s half asleep when you kneel on the floor in front of him, grabbing his shoulders and craning your neck to check if you’ve done damage to his head.

“What the hell was that for?” Jungkook asks, still lost about what just happened.

You grimace as you hesitantly put your palm over the back of his head and rub to soothe the pain you’ve caused him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you. I was just surprised and shocked when I–”

You stopped speaking when you notice that Jungkook is looking up at you, eyes half-lidded from sleep. Stopping your ministration on the back of his head, you retreat your hands to yourself and look away.

“We slept together.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, his tone incredulous, but more like confused. When you train your eyes to him again, you see him looking down on his body and then yours.

Your cheeks heat up when you realize what you just said.

“Oh my god, no! Not slept slept with each other! I mean, we slept together. Like, literally.” You say, looking at him in panic.

Jungkook furrows his brows. And then after a beat of silence, he lets out a low, “Oh.”

“Oh?” You parrot back.

“Yeah, oh,” He says drily. Jungkook rubs his eyes with his fists and then looks at you again. “I’m sorry, I feel disoriented. I just woke up.”

You wince at that, feeling bad for pushing him again.

It was just a reflex thing, okay! Especially when you felt that certain something in your ass.

When Jungkook stands up from the floor, you notice the strings of his grey shorts getting undone, and your eyes betray you as they pay a look at the noticeable bulge on his crotch.

Jesus H. Fucking Christ.

You stand up quickly, following after him, feeling your heart hammer in your chest.

Okay, boo-fucking-hoo! Men get boners in the mornings. What’s the big deal about it?

“What time is it?” Jungkook asks, brushing his hair back, and you have to physically look away and try to busy yourself by looking for your phone so you can ignore his naked chest on display and his abs and stupid big arms.

You spot your phone nearby and turn it on.

“Six thirty.”

“Shit.” Jungkook hisses.

You’ve never heard him let out so many curses before.

“What? It’s still early.” you say, in case he was referring to work.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Yeah, no. I was supposed to get ready at five am sharp. Need to go there early.”

“Oh.”

He groans, and the sound makes your stomach feel a little weird.

“I have to go shower,” Jungkook says, picking up his shirt from the coffee table. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

“Huh?” You realize what he’s talking about and is then quick to shake your head. “No, not your fault. I, uh, you fell asleep on the couch last night and I didn’t want to wake you.”

He nods, more like to himself. “How did we…?” Jungkook points between you, eyeing the couch.

“I didn’t want to use your bed without your permission, so I slept on the couch as well,” But then you decide to add, “But I didn’t sleep beside you, I was like –” you point to the edge of the couch, “there.”

“Ah,” Jungkook follows your eyes, and then nods. “Okay.”

“Yeah.” you purse your lips into a thin line. “Sorry about that. I should’ve just woken you up, huh?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He dismisses you with a wave of his hand. “Well, is it okay if I use the shower first?”

“Of course.”

Jungkook smiles before he saunters towards the bathroom. You try not to stare at the hard lines of his retreating back, taping down to his narrow waist.

You failed to do that, obviously.

Sighing out loud when you’re sure he can’t hear you, you busy yourself in the kitchen to make some toast.

After work, you paid a quick visit to your apartment to see how it’s going, since you’re supposed to be able to come back tomorrow.

Your building manager told you that you can pretty much move back already, but there’s no water yet, so you will still have to stay at Jungkook’s place for the last time. At least for another night.

Speaking of him, when you step out on your porch, you see him in front of his own unit, back turned to you, opening his door.

“Hey,” you call. Jungkook turns on his heel, and he smiles as he sees you.

“Hey,” He greets, his hand pausing on the door. Jungkook gives you his undivided attention as he looks at you. “Your apartment’s fine now?”

You nod happily, grinning widely. “Yeah. But I have no water yet. They’re turning it on tomorrow.” You saunter towards his direction and stop beside him. Pointing to the paper bags in his hands, you ask, “What’s that?”

Jungkook lifts them up. “Soju and Midday Miso take-out.” Then, hesitantly, he looks at you curiously. “Do you drink?”

That prompts you to laugh.

“Of course. Are you drinking tonight?”

He nods his head. “Yeah. I was gonna ask you to drink with me… but if you’re not up for it, I’ll just be in my room.”

You cock your head to the side.

“What’s the occasion?”

Jungkook chuckles. “Nothing. Just thought I could loosen up.”

You nod in understanding.

You think about asking him how work’s been, but decide against it, not wanting to pry in case he doesn’t want to talk about any of it.

As you both enter his apartment, it’s almost so domesticated how you take off your shoes and put them in the rack in the threshold. Jungkook wears his black sliders while you wear your baby blue ones. Following him into the living room, it’s almost wild to see yourself being so familiar with his place already.

“Where can we watch The X-Files?” Jungkook asks suddenly after he set the bags on the table, going for the remote and turning on the TV.

You look at him in surprise, not expecting him to ask that.

You answer nonetheless, and Jungkook clicks on the show once it shows up on the screen.

“Do you really want to start with the pilot episode?” You chuckle when he hovers over it.

Jungkook grins. “I enjoyed it last night. Maybe this could be a new favorite.”

“Woah,” you breathed, shaking your head. “Do you know how much I have to convince Jimin to watch this show?”

“Jimin doesn’t like shows. I wanted him to watch Suits but he said he couldn’t stand Harvey Specter – which is fair.”

“Oh my god, that’s also what he told me when I recommended Suits!” You say. You narrow your eyes at him, excited about the information. “So… you like Suits?”

Jungkook nods. “Sort of like a guilty pleasure? I used to watch it a lot in college. My roommate studied law and started telling me about how inaccurate it was, but it’s fun regardless,” He says with a shrug. “Sue me.”

“I know, right! People always wanna be smart about procedural dramas, but I think it’s just camp they can’t comprehend,” You shake your head, feeling a certain high bubble inside you. You lean your elbows on the coffee table. “Okay, okay, thoughts on Jessica Pearson?”

Jungkook grins. “A dream.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I’m so glad you have the correct opinion.”

Jungkook laughs at that, and you begin to eat the take-out he bought, The X-Files playing on the big screen before you.

“You went home early today,” you comment as you take the shot glass he offers you.

A few minutes has passed already and you’re beginning to open the bottles of soju, Midday Miso take-out boxes all finished.

“Managed to finish early tonight. That’s probably why I wanted to drink,” Jungkook says, tipping his head back to drink from his own bottle. “Also, it’s your last day here.”

You nod. With a teasing smile, you jab, “Are you going to miss me?”

Jungkook looks at you briefly.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” You ask incredulously, feigning hurt.

He chuckles. “I liked your little dance in the kitchen last Sunday.”

Your lips part, recalling that time when you reheated some pizza during the night. As far as you were concerned, Jungkook was in his bedroom at that time!

“You saw that?” You say, embarrassed.

Jungkook must’ve noticed, because he chuckles and begins to sound comforting when he says, “Some part of it, yeah. Megan Thee Stallion would love to perform with you, I think.”

“Oh my god, no,” You giggle, covering your face with your hands because if he caught you during that part, it means he saw you trying to throw it back. “Yeah, I think I’m packing my things right now.”

Jungkook laughs, and his eyes crinkle as he does so, overjoyed at your tactics.

“I thought you wanted to drink with me?”

You squint your eyes. “Just because I feel sorry for pushing you off the couch this morning.”

He shakes his head, still chuckling. “Yeah, that hurt. I think I have a bump on my head right now.”

You stop, eyes widening. “Seriously?”

Jungkook presses his lips together and nods. You grow concerned, ready to lean over the table to check the back of his head, but as you do so, Jungkook makes a sound of stifling his laugh and you realize he’s fucking with you.

“That’s so mean.” you say, going back to your side and pouting at him.

“Not meaner than you pushing me off the couch.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Ugh, I’m sorry. You just surprised me, 's all!”

Jungkook laughs and nods his head. “I know, I know. I’m sorry about that. I have a habit of being able to sleep anywhere.”

You scrunch your face. “Me too.”

And then a beat of silence.

Jungkook tips his head back for another sip of his alcohol. When he looks at you again, a gentle smile is playing on his lips.

“I had a good night sleep, though. Did you?”

He looks at you with something in his eyes – something soft and gentle – his gaze making the hair on your nape stand and your cheeks burn.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

The night continues to envelope your surroundings and as time passes by, the empty bottles of soju multiply.

You’ve always had a high tolerance for alcohol – and soju, in particular, is generally not too strong for you personally. With one bottle in, you don’t feel hammered just yet. There’s a daze at the back of your head that you’re starting to feel, though. One and a half is your limit, sometimes two – you’ve had that down since college.

Jungkook seems to share the same trait, it seems like. You noticed he’s on his second one, and even though his cheeks are starting to get painted red, he still speaks with you like he’s a hundred percent conscious and not like alcohol’s hit his system already.

“It’s so hot,” you say, popping open the first two buttons of your shirt. Jungkook’s coat has long been disposed on the couch, and his ties are loosened, with the long sleeves of his dress shirt pushed to his elbow, showing his tattoos.

“Should I adjust the AC?” Jungkook asks, looking at you as you gather your hair up in a ponytail.

You manage to secure it even without a tie and answer him, “No, it’s fine.”

When you feel like you can breathe again, you look at Jungkook. As you think about what to say next, you giggle lightly.

“Let’s have some fun with these,” You point to the empty bottle of soju. Jungkook quirks his brow, which prompts you to continue. “Let’s play spin the bottle. When it points at you, you have to answer some questions. If you don’t want to, then you’ll have to drink.”

Jungkook snorts. “Truth or dare? Really?”

You roll your eyes. “No, not truth or dare. Just truth because I’m sophisticated like that. Besides, are you going to entertain me if I dare you to wear a rainbow suit for work tomorrow?”

“This is your idea of fun?” Jungkook says, teasing you. Playful with a boyish grin.

You shrug. “I mean, it’s quite fun, actually. But I know about how thirty-year-olds get. If it’s past your bedtime, then…” you glance at the door to his bedroom.

Jungkook bursts out in laughter.

“You like making it sound like I’m sixty, don’t you?”

“Are you?” You pout.

Jungkook chuckles, although relenting to your game proposition.

“Alright…”

You do a little shoulder dance which makes Jungkook shake his head. As you spin the bottle, it stops and points at him. You let out a little sound of enthusiasm.

“Okay. What’s that mean?” You ask. Jungkook looks confused as he tries to see what you’re looking at. His arm. “That flower tattoo – or if it even has a meaning.”

“Oh,” Jungkook utters, realizing. He lifts up his right arm and twists it so that the flower tattoo is within both your sight. There, you see a full view of the flower drawing tattooed in orange ink. You find yourself staring at it as Jungkook starts to speak, “It’s a tiger lily. My birth flower. It means…” You can see Jungkook hesitate for a little while, and you’re just about to take back your question when he continues to say, “It means please love me.”

“Wow.” You gasp. “That’s… so pretty.”

Jungkook caresses his forearm, staring quite lovingly at the art. “I know. My tattoo artist did a really good job.”

He takes it to himself to spin the bottle again, and this time, it points at you.

“Well… do you have a tattoo?” Jungkook asks, and it’s obvious he meant to tease.

You nod your head. His playful smile drops.

“Are you serious?”

You raise your brow at him. “Sorry. Only one question gets entertained.”

He clicks his tongue playfully but then begins to spin the bottle one more time. When it points at you again, he gives you a smirk.

“Can I see your tattoo if you’re saying you have one?”

You scrunch your face, cocking your head to the side.

“Hm. I don’t think so. It’s under my boob. So.”

Jungkook stills, and you watch as his eyes trail down from your face down to your collar – although he did it quite subtly.

“Oh.”

You grin. “Yeah, “oh”,” you chuckle. When he shakes his head, you tell him, “What?” You look at him weird, regardless of the smile on your lips. He stares right back at you, and you narrow your eyes at him. “Ohh, I see. You think I’m lying.”

“No, I’m not,” he scoffs. “I just thought…”

“You just thought what?”

“I just thought you wouldn’t have one. Or if you did, it’d be a like a small thing on the leg or something. I don’t know.” He shrugs, still smiling.

You grin. “Interesting insight.”

“Nevermind that.” Jungkook rolls his eyes, spinning the bottle again.

When the rotation stills at his direction, you clap a little and put your elbows on the coffee table.

Your next question sounds stupid in your head, but you let it out anyway.

“What’s your ideal type?” You ask.

“Oh, are we doing that?” Jungkook says, sounding intrigued. “Are you going to ask me about my first kiss next?”

You snort. “This feels so high school. But answer my question.”

“Yes, ma’am,” He playfully gives you a salute. You couldn’t help but giggle. “Okay, well, I like women who are smart and… funny,” Jungkook says, and when he looks at you, you move back a little. With a soft smile, he adds, “And pretty.”

You break the eye contact. Raising your brow, you nod your head. “Pretty women. Like Kang Heesu, right?”

Jungkook looks surprised when he hears the name.

“How do you know her?”

“How can I not? Jimin’s mother has been trying to set him up with her for months now.” You shrug.

Jungkook chuckles, as if he knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Yeah. You’re right – not about the part that she’s my ideal type, though.”

You can’t help but let out a scoff.

“That’s such a cop-out answer, Jungkook.”

He looks at you incredulously, chuckling as he says, “What? It’s not a cop-out, it’s the truth.”

“You’re awfully close with her. I heard from my coworkers you’re both dating.” You raise a brow at him.

It’s true. Words are starting to get around the office that Jungkook and Heesu are more than just collaborators.

Of course, you know to ignore that. Not because you want to be in denial or anything – but because you just don’t think it is actually true.

But maybe poking fun at it will get you the confirmation. Or whatever. It doesn’t matter.

Jungkook laughs at your previous words, though, as if you just told him a big joke.

“God, no,” he shakes his head, as if he couldn’t believe it. “They’re really saying that?” You nod your head, your lips pressed into a thin line. “I ought to make everybody know we’re just working together. You know about the project the company has in collaboration with Kang Tech, right?”

“Yeah.”

“There you go,” Jungkook chuckles. “I’m not dating Kang Heesu.”

The words feel a bit different in your ears. Paired with the way he looked at you as he said it, he sounded as though he was… almost assuring you.

But of what?

You shake off the idea in your head.

“Okay. Next one.” you interrupt the silence to change the subject. You curse in your head when the bottle stops at you.

“Your turn. What’s your ideal type?” Jungkook asks as if his tongue is just itching to ask you that. You know he’s just excited to get back at you.

You think about it for a moment, though, and you find you don’t really know what to say.

It’s not a thought you ponder over a lot. The guys that you’ve been with were so… different from each other.

“I—I’m not sure,” you shake your head, genuine.

Jungkook points at the shot glass. “New rule. I’ll count to ten and if you don’t answer, you drink.”

You glare at him; he just gives you a grin.

“I really don’t know! I mean, my past relationships are so different from each other,” you say, pouting. “But— okay. I guess I like guys who are… confident,” You look at Jungkook and then let your mind float. “And I guess I also like somebody who’s…” You watch as he leans in closer to wait for your next words. Your feel blood rushing to your cheeks as you finish up with, “Attentive. I like good listeners. Yeah.”

“Ah,” Jungkook nods. And then, he adds, “Is Shin Taemu from the IT department a good listener, then?”

Your brows furrow. “Shin Taemu?” He nods. That earns a laugh from you. “No, we’re friends.”

“Friends?” Jungkook asks curiously.

“Well, we – uh – did date. Didn’t work out. So. We’re only friends now.”

“Date, as in, a long relationship?” His eyes are so full of genuine curiosity that you cower away from them.

You shake your head at his question. “No, no – not long relationship, it wasn’t like that. I meant date as in – dinner date. Once.” You look at the shot glass and down it because of the sudden nerves that enter you. “We’re doing this game wrong.”

Jungkoon chuckles at the way you drink another glass. He mirrors your action, though, and ask, “How so? We’re questioning each other.”

“Yeah, but it’s too many questions!” You complain, jutting your lips into a pout.

“You said you only wanted truth, so there goes your questions,” Jungkook says. You roll your eyes, which makes him laugh. “Okay, just so I can amuse you, I’ll do a dare if it points at me, and you’ll do one if it stops at you. Deal?”

When you nod, Jungkook spins the bottle. He did it quite forcefully that the bottle takes a longer time to stop. You both watch keenly as it begins to slow down. Nervous, you pray it doesn’t stop at you, and you let out a sigh of relief when it finally points to Jungkook.

Jungkook shakes his head when you let out a contained, “Yes!”

“I dare you to…” you trail off, watching as he looks at you curiously. “Let me pluck your brows.”

“What?” Jungkook asks incredulously.

“A promise is a promise.” You remind him.

“Like all of them?”

“What? Of course no!” You chuckle, seeing the genuine panic in his eyes.

“Oh.”

“You silly,” You say, laughing at him. “Not right now, though. I actually feel like I’m about to pass out. Oh my god, I have to tend to a hung-over tomorrow.” You let your face fall into your hands and stifle a groan.

“I’ll cook us some porridge or something, don’t worry.” Jungkook says. Curiously, he asks, “Why do you want to pluck my brows?”

You stare at him, and then focus your eyes onto his brows.

Pouting, you let your shoulders deflate as you sigh. “They’re so thick.”

“What?” Jungkook lets out, laughing incredulously. “I’m so confused.”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Okay… well, would you let me pluck your brows?”

You try to think about it.

“No,” you shake your head. You add, “Unless you’re flirting with me.”

Jungkook stops. And then raises a brow. “Unless I’m flirting with you…”

You snap your eyes to look at him. Mirroring his brow, you ask, “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” Jungkook looks at you, lips tilted into a barely-there smirk that suddenly makes your cheeks burn with heat. “Do you like it?”

It takes you a while to answer, processing his words. You don’t know if he’s joking or what. Is this just his usual teasing? It feels different this time.

But why are you denying it again to yourself, though? You may be stupid sometimes, but you know his teasing gets a little… borderline flirty. You’re scared to ask him about it outright, though – afraid to be faced with the possible truth that it’s just your head playing mind-tricks for you; that Jungkook, with his teasing, is not flirty at all and you’re just flattering yourself to think about it that way.

But right now, his question feels real.

If he is flirting with you… do you like it?

You pour a drink into the shotglass and down it quickly. You feel your vision starting to get a little hazy as you put it down the table.

Jungkook realizes what you just did, and then throw his head back to laugh.

“Now, that was a cop-out.” He says, pointing to the trick that you just did.

You give him a smirk. “No rules about not answering except down a drink.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Smart girl.”

He watches as you stand up, but when you trip over the carpet, he’s quick to follow and go over to your direction to hold your wrist, his arm going around your waist to guide you to stand upright.

“You okay?” He asks. When you look up, your faces are just a hair's breadth away.

“Hm.” You hum, blinking your eyes up at him. You find it’s because your lids are starting to get heavy.

“Be careful.” Jungkook says, but he doesn’t let go of your waist, nor your wrist.

You stand there in the middle of the living room with that position, and weirdly enough, you feel like you’re both glued on it.

You can’t move – or don’t want to. You wish you want to. But you don’t, and it’s why you let Jungkook’s fingers trail softly to your waist.

“You look real sleepy,” he comments – whispers, more like, his bated breath hitting your skin.

“I am a bit dazy.” You say, finding yourself indulging in his touch.

Somehow, Jungkook never makes a move to get away even when you’re already steady on both feet. You feel that fading away so soon though, your knees starting to feel like they’re about to buckle at the way Jungkook’s eyes bore deep into your own. You feel a sort of heightened sense within your body, his hand on your back making something in you tingle.

It’s so intimate – the position. Jungkook looms over you with his much bigger frame and with his support on your back, you can just let yourself fall back.

Can you, though? Are you sure he’s going to catch you?

“You do look a little dazy,” Jungkook comments, but his eyes have traveled down to your face, and you can see them stop at your lips.

That makes them part.

You see Jungkook’s adam’s apple bobbing at the action.

“I do feel dazy,” you say, parroting back his words. Maybe they’re coming off slurred. You don’t know. You find you don’t care.

Jungkook’s lips tilt into a gentle smile. Soft like his demeanor. Soft like his arm that somehow found a way to tighten its hold around you even though you don’t need it. But it’s Jungkook though, and as much as you deny it even to yourself – you do like his touch.

“Yeah, you told me so.” His voice becomes an octave lower. His hands start to rub your clothed waist, and the ministrations of his thumb distract you a bit.

You roam your eyes around his face – noting the scar on his cheek which story you want to know so bad. When you trail you eyes down to his lips, you see the mole under it. You don’t think you were being subtle at all – it’s quite obvious that you’re just staring.

And you know Jungkook notices.

“Jungkook,” you breathed out, calling him about nothing in particular.

His only response is a small, gentle hum.

A beat of silence, and you feel Jungkook’s face leaning closer to yours.

You don’t make a move away from him, just let your legs stay where they are, letting Jungkook slowly pull you to him. You can tell his movements are slower than usual – like he’s testing the waters, searching for something in your eyes, quietly asking if it’s okay – if what he’s about to do is okay.

It makes your heart hammer against your chest – his breathing becoming more audible in your own ears. His mouth reeks of the soju you both drank earlier, but you’ve always liked the smell of it, especially when it comes with a man as breathtaking as him.

You feel the tip of his nose touching yours, your chest pressing against his own, his hand travelling from your waist to the back of your head.

When Jungkook leans down to close the gap, you swerve your face just in time to have his lips press against your hair instead.

“I’m sleepy.” You say quietly, a nervous lilt to your voice. You duck your head a little lower, laying your face on his chest and bury it with his scent.

You can feel Jungkook freeze in his position, taken aback by the sudden turn of events. You hope he doesn’t feel the way your heart goes abnormal in your chest with such proximity – but right now, all you want to do is hide. Hide your face away from him because if he sees you, he’ll know exactly what you’re thinking.

He’ll know exactly the effect he has on you.

It takes a few seconds of silence before Jungkook comes back to you.

“Hm,” He hums, and you feel his hand letting go of your wrist to wrap around your waist, squeezing for a brief moment. Jungkook’s other hand cradles your head to his chest, swiping his hand against your hair in a repeated manner, and with the way he rests his chin on the crown of your head, you feel comfort in the whole thing. “We should sleep.”

“Yeah…” you trail off, and you can just feel your lids getting heavier at the remark.

“Yeah?”

“Hm.”

“I’ll take the couch. Do you want to shower first?” You shake your head against his chest. You feel it vibrating when he chuckles. “Okay.”

“My body feels like jelly.” You say, and you feel that to be actually true.

“Is that code for “carry me to your bed, Jungkook”?”

You’re thankful your face is buried in his chest as you smile widely.

“Do you want it to be?”

“I don’t mind.”

You nod. “Good. I think I’ll get alcohol poisoning tomorrow.”

You feel Jungkook lifting his chin off your head as he sounds scold-y when he says, “Don’t joke like that.”

You giggle against his chest.

“Carry me before I pass out.”

Jungkook snorts. “Ohh. Bossy.”

“It’s my last day here. I deserve some slack.” You grumble.

“Fine.”

TAGLIST: @mortal-body-timelesssoul @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lachimolalajeon @miniesjams32 @parkinglot-nights @peterstarkchrishiddleston @aznstoner @chuberry22 @tae-hibiscus @jungkooksmytype

note: pls check your account settings if you are enabling ur profile to be tagged.

#fic: nb #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts smut #bts fluff #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader

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skzdarlings · 9 months ago

Text

verisimilitude ; hyunjin x reader ; one-shot

masterlist.

( READ ON AO3. )

You are a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon. Your best friend is an eccentric pretty boy. You accidentally send him an explicit video of yourself. What's the worst that can happen?

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: romantic comedy. best friends to lovers. curly-haired reader because mood. accidental sexting. accidental voyeurism. sexual tension. resolved sexual tension. very explicit sexual content. not so much dom/sub but hyunjin explicitly prefer control. sexual discovery. very horny leads lol. (word count: 19500 words.)

You look like Hyunjin’s lawyer again.

Your best friend has gravitated to a somewhat more punk persona in recent years. You say somewhat because you are not sure it runs deeper than aesthetic, though he would probably be forgiven on account of his perfect face. His good looks combined with his natural charisma lets him get away with most things.

His vibrant red hair catches the sunlight like a painted flame, a perfect stroke of red against the beige canvas of the art gallery’s exterior. He is slouching against the wall, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, squinting in the light. He looks like a rather put upon a vampire given the dark garb and eyeliner.

Then he turns his head and sees you. You are wearing one of your usual blazers and modest skirts, your untameable mess of curls twisted into an updo that is fighting (and losing) against the wind. You try not to feel too preposterous, peeling bits of hair out of your mouth as you approach him.

He smiles. Some people think his smiles look a bit smarmy and you suppose they are not wrong, his lips perpetually quirked like a punchline just occurred to him, but you know your best friend well. Despite the intimidating ring of dark eye-make up, his eyes are alight with a great deal of affection. If you were prone to sentimentality, you might concede a heart flutter.

You clear your throat and march ahead. He saunters up the path to you. You meet halfway.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says.

He is the only person allowed to call you that.

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say. You lack his playful charm so you do not have a nickname to return. You are more comfortable around Hyunjin than anyone else on earth, and you are still awkward around him. “Thank you for the invitation,” you say. “I appreciate you might have otherwise wanted the time to yourself, so I hope I am not imposing by accepting.”

He laughs. When all you do is blink at him, stone-faced, he covers his mouth with a delicate touch of his long fingers, still smirking behind them.

“Sorry, why wouldn’t I want you to say yes?” he asks. “We always go to the new exhibitions together.”

You tuck back an errant curl only for another to whip across your brow.

“Well,” you say, tucking that one back too. “Since I am temporarily living with you, I thought my company might grow wearisome in a way it usually does not. Familiarity breeding contempt and all that.”

Though you state this observation with your usual pragmatic detachment, you are very insecure about it. You gave this risk a great deal of consideration prior to moving in with Hyunjin. You are only staying in his apartment’s spare bedroom for a few months while your disaster of a townhouse undergoes repairs (the upstairs bathroom flooded again), but you have never lived with Hyunjin before. You are aware of your short-comings and you were very worried that your best friend was going to tire of you within a week.

It has been a month now and he has shown no signs of despising your existence, but it is still best to brace oneself for every eventuality.

He just smiles and puts both hands in his pockets.

“Are you getting sick of me?” he asks.

Another ringlet whips across your face.

“Good grief,” you say, frantically pushing it aside. “Of course not! How could anyone ever get sick of you?” What a preposterous thought. Hyunjin just has to wink for the universe to re-arrange itself. People adore him. He is handsome and funny and charming and talented and intelligent. You have known him for most of your life and you are still unearthing his many intricate layers. As if you could ever grow tired of him. “I think that’s the most foolish thing you’ve ever said,” you say with complete sincerity.

He laughs some more, tossing his head back so all that red hair flutters behind him. The wind co-operates with his hair, of course, working in tandem with the sunlight to flatter him.

“Are you sure? I’ve said a lot of foolish things,” he says.

You sputter when a curl flies into your mouth. You push it away.

“Yes, well,” you say. “That much is true too.”

He looks at you for a moment. You can’t imagine why. The sunlight is beaming right in your eyes and the wind is beating you to a pulp. Maybe you look so hideous that he is contemplating a means of escape.

Then one hand lifts out of his pocket, long fingers reaching for you. It is very unexpected. You stare into his face, a stoic mask concealing your confusion. His eyes do not meet yours, his gaze on a loose curl. He is gentle in the way he scoops it up and smoothly tucks it behind your ear. A shiver erupts under the brush of his fingertips, that heart flutter loosing itself when his touch lingers.

Then he smiles and puts his hand back in his pocket.

“Sweet?” he asks.

“Excuse me?”

“Do you want a sweet?” He whips an open bag of gummies out of his pocket.

“Oh.” You look at the bag. “Um. No.”

“Are you sure?” He shakes the bag. “It’s your favourite.”

“Oh.” Your attention went awry with the race of your heart but you do observe the candy is one you enjoy. “Okay. Thank you.” You take a few and pop them in your mouth.

He upturns the bag over his mouth, finishing off the sugar. You hope your eyes don’t widen at the flick of his tongue. Oh, it really is cumbersome when your nether region gets an idea about Hyunjin. You try to ignore the heat down there.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, already striding away. The man is at least 80% per cent leg so it puts him ahead rather quickly.

You are too refined to scamper-and-scurry, but you might pitter-and-patter to catch up.

You are able to lose yourself in the art exhibition. You and Hyunjin share a meal afterward, discussing everything at length. Hyunjin is a little quieter than usual so you apologize for speaking too much. He is gazing at you, his chin is propped in his hand. Surprise flickers in his expression when you apologize, but he recovers, waving his hand like it’s no matter.

You return to his home and separate for the evening. You to your studies, him to his evening work-out.

You are in the apartment’s quaint living room when Hyunjin gets back from the gym. He is an absolute sight, bare-faced, his red hair yanked into a half-ponytail. There is a subtle, rolling musculature to his arms, proudly displayed in his sleeveless shirt, and he is glistening with sweat from top to bottom. It should be gross. You pride yourself on cleanliness.

But good grief. He is gorgeous.

You are sitting cross-legged on the couch, comfortably dressed down in a sweatshirt and pyjama pants. You peek at him over the top of your book only to find him already staring at you. He is rubbing the back of his neck with a towel, his arm flexed. When he catches you looking, his lips pull into a lazy smile.

You duck behind your book again. It is a poor shield, or maybe he is a cunning adversary, because your heart keeps racing anyway.

“Whatcha reading?” he asks. You can hear his slow approach. The towel is tossed somewhere.

“A book,” you say.

“Funny,” he says. He is in front of you now. You have no time to strategize before he plucks the book out of your hand and holds it over his head.

“Hyunjin!” You muster all the indignant attitude you can. “That’s not funny. We’re not children anymore. Return my book at once.”

“I want a hug first,” he says, his full lips in a silly pout.

“Out of the question.” You hope you do not sound as flustered as you feel. “You’re disgusting. Look at the state of you.”

“Please?” He blinks his long lashes at you.

You stand up and try to look imposing, hands on your hips. His smile does not diminish. He waves the book in the air.

You lunge, diving at the book and failing spectacularly. He holds it out of reach, laughing, then he tries to wrap you up in a hug. He smells like sweat and exertion and it makes you think of sex. This is sufficiently startling enough to cause a fumble. You spill backwards, a frantic hand thoughtlessly grasping for an anchor. Your fingers hook in the neck of his shirt which has the predictable outcome of dragging him with you onto the couch.

His more athletic reflexes kick in, just enough that he drops the book and catches himself with his hands. He successively suspends his weight above you, which is nice, but you still thump your head on the arm of the couch, which is less nice.

“Are you okay?” he asks when you hiss and grab your head. The laughter has left his voice, replaced with genuine concern.

“No,” you say, petulantly. “A horrible sweaty man stole my book and beat me up.”

He laughs, a twinkling sound that enchants you despite everything.

“Poor baby,” he says. “That sounds so disgusting. Will a hug help…?”

“Don’t you dare—hmmf!” He lowers himself and squishes you. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you, partially because he swipes his nose on your neck and it tickles, largely because his laughter is infectious. “Oh,” you say, pushing his face away. “You are a horrible person.”

He giggles with boyish mirth. It is at odds with the man he is, all hard planes and sturdy lines, an unfamiliar twinkle in his dark eyes. You look back at him, at a loss for words. Even if you were the sort of person to confess attraction, you would surely seem strange for finding his dishevelled appearance so desirable.

Finally, you push him, diverting your gaze with an eye roll.

“All right,” you say. “That’s quite enough now. There’s a shower at your disposal and I recommend you make use of it sooner than later. Go on, get.”

He obliges, but not without a cheeky kiss to your forehead. It flusters you more than a chaste kiss should.

He just winks, because of course the charmer is unaffected by such an innocent touch. Hyunjin is too gushy and romantic to womanize, but he is certainly liberal with his sexual appetite. You had the displeasure of running into a one-night stand your first weekend here. Hyunjin left for work and let her sleep, assuming she would show herself out. She was a pretty chatterbox and she bounded into the kitchen to strike up a very one-sided conversation with you in your bathrobe.

He did apologize for that. He knows you do not like unexpected visitors at the best of times, never mind first thing in the morning, and certainly never mind ones he knew intimately. Fortunately, it was the first and last time you made scrambled eggs for his hook-up.

You are not in the habit of hook-ups, to say the very least, preferring a serving of scrambled eggs for one. You had one boyfriend a few years ago but he was not the sort of man to tackle you onto the couch in a sweaty, flirtatious tangle. You would have bopped him on the nose for trying, in fact. Hyunjin really does get away with everything.

Your nethers are getting ideas again. The territory below your belt is usually well-behaved but unfortunately it lacks any sense when it comes to Hyunjin. More time spent in proximity appears to be worsening its condition.

You assume a blank face in the hopes of concealing any trace of arousal, watching Hyunjin amble his sweaty way to the bathroom.

Oh dear. You are very wound up. Something will have to be done or you will never sleep tonight.

You are blessedly granted an opportunity to satisfy your baser urges when Hyunjin emerges fully dressed for an evening out. Some friends are at a bar down the street and they invited Hyunjin to join them. Hyunjin tries to cajole you into joining him, promising it’s just a few drinks and teasing that your book won’t go anywhere, but your book is not how you intend to pass the time alone so his encouragement does not tempt you.

“I’ll be back soon,” he says, shrugging on a leather vest. His back is to you so you openly admire his form, his arms on display, his long legs, his ringed fingers as they gather his hair to tie in a knot. He turns around before leaving, giving you one last finger-wiggle wave and a bounce of his eyebrows.

He looks sinfully good. You hope you look casual. Innocently awaiting a quiet evening.

Fifteen minutes later you are sitting in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, admiring yourself in a white satin babydoll. Flaws like frizzy curls or unflattering shapes seem insignificant in the soft lighting and lingerie. Your curls seem curlier, your face lovelier, your body more tempting than ever.

Though the idea of pursuing a real fling is mortifying, you lament the lack of company in an abstract way. You feel pretty and ready and wound up. When such a fancy strikes, the best form of satisfaction is found in self-appreciation.

The taboo of filming yourself always triples your arousal. Even if there is no real audience, you can’t help but feel regarded.

Eyes closed, phone camera filming, you imagine a certain pair of dark eyes on you. You make the vaguest attempt to think of something else, peripherally aware that you shouldn’t fantasize about your best friend like this, but the attempt is useless. It will always be Hyunjin. Hyunjin with his fiery red hair, his smirks, his expressive brows and dark eyes. Hyunjin’s hands, his fluid hips, his athleticism. Hyunjin in black and leather, so contrary to your modest simplicity. Hyunjin sweaty and raw and determined, pinning you under him.

Hyunjin, the person you know and like and love more than anything.

You lift the babydoll and twist, filming yourself through the mirror, showing where a thick toy disappears inside of you. You rock a little, so wet you can hear it, every nerve tingling as you become someone else in your reflection. With the apartment to yourself, you don’t restrain any noises, especially when you sit back and fuck yourself with the toy. You stop filming because you need that hand to finish, but you are so close that it only takes a few touches to climax.

You slump back, satisfied for a while, then a little embarrassed. You have a quick shower then climb into bed where you can’t help but watch your video. You imagine a particular someone else watching it and it winds you up all over again. You are still wet and sensitive, your fingers slipping smoothly into your shorts. Your put the phone down and think of Hyunjin’s long fingers, his breath on your neck and his lips grazing your skin as he works his lovely hand inside you.

When you are finished, truly finished, you feel momentarily miserable in your loneliness. You try to imagine a version of yourself that went with Hyunjin to the bar, but even that fantasy only gets you so far. Nothing would have happened. Nothing has ever happened.

Hyunjin interrupts your wallowing stream of self-pity. He texts you a rather exasperated-looking selfie, captioning it with, I miss you, I’d rather be at home.

It makes you smile. It is probably foolish, but suppressing it is useless so you surrender to the warm glow in your chest.

You text back a heart. He replies, you never told me what you were reading. He must be truly bored if he is texting about your books, but you dutifully reply like there is nothing unusual about the question. He sends back a smiling emoji and a string of hearts.

You fall asleep after that. You wake in the morning to a slew of missed text messages, Hyunjin insisting that he is having the worst night of his life because you didn’t come with him. This is nonsense, of course, but he attacks you with an arsenal of teary-eyed emojis so you send an obligatory heart his way. You are too sleepy to formulate a rejoinder, much less type one, so it will have to suffice.

You click through your phone to wake up, still foggy after exhausting all notifications. You open your photo album and find your video from last night. You click on it just as a message alert swings down. You instinctively swipe it away, but your clumsy finger opens the messenger. You click around a little haphazardly, finger flying everywhere.

After a bit of sleepy swiping, you close everything then check the message. The text you just swiped was from Hyunjin, some goofy good morning remark with a squinty-eyed selfie under it. Hyunjin does his make-up so severely these days so you like his softer, bare-faced selfies, especially because you know he sends them to no one else. He will post elaborate photos all over his social media, but the simple stuff is for you.

But you have no time to enjoy the selfie, because you are distracted by your own unwitting reply.

Oh no.

You snap up so quickly that it nearly causes whiplash. You are wide awake now, staring at the paused video of you in a white satin babydoll.

You slap a hand over your mouth. For a long moment, all you can do is stare. Your head feels fuzzy, a radiating aura of fantastical insanity clouding your periphery. Then you realize it is actually just your hair, because you fell asleep so suddenly and didn’t put on your bonnet.

You look in the mirror. You look like someone electrocuted you. Fitting, because that’s what you feel like.

Your phone buzzes. In your silent but sublime mania, you dropped your phone facedown on the blanket. You are tempted to hurl the demonic device across the room but that will solve nothing.

You pick up the phone. This is probably what execution feels like.

Hyunjin, perpetually artistic in every capacity, even the literary, summarizes the exchange with one poetic text:

You fling yourself facedown on the bed and kick your legs like a petulant child. The sky does not open, you are not struck by lightning, and the earth does not gobble you up, so you roll over and shakily type a reply.

That was an accident, you write. Surprisingly, once you start typing, it is hard to stop. You continue:

Oh my good gracious, Hyunjin.

Hyunjin, I am so sorry. I cannot apologize to you enough.

I assure you that was a complete accident.

I would never accost you so unsuspectingly with unprovoked licentious content.

An ellipses appears in the corner, Hyunjin typing a reply. It feels like your stomach has folded in on itself. You lay there with your hand cupped over it, willing yourself to explode. But no, it would be very rude to explode in Hyunjin’s spare bedroom. Bad enough you have attacked him with your inappropriate spank fodder, it would be uncouth to make him clean your spattered guts off the wall.

Hyunjin finally replies, that makes sense… you aren’t the unprovoked licentious content type usually…

I assure you I am not, you reply. I keep these videos to myself. I would never intentionally spring them on you.

There’s more than one?? he replies, and you are mortified all over again. Maybe you should just explode after all.

I assure you I will keep those where they are, you reply. I cannot apologize enough. If you want me to leave, I will pack my things immediately. You are not one for extreme emotion, but you feel an unfamiliar stabbing in your eyes. You realize with horror that it is the threat of tears as you imagine Hyunjin banishing you from his life forever. Other people come and go but there is only one Hyunjin. He is irreplaceable in your esteem, even if he dresses like a goth Las Vegas showgirl.

His replies come flying in, one after the other:

Whoa whoa

it’s okay

calm down

pretty girl hey hey hey

I don’t want you going anywhere

You take a breath and calm yourself. You do Hyunjin a great disservice by thinking he would destroy your friendship over an accident. You blame your embarrassment for your poor rationality.

I should be apologizing to you, he says. He continues swiftly:

I kinda clicked on it…?

I didn’t know what it was. But I stopped once I did

I feel really bad

See baby now we’re both embarrassed idiots <3

You can’t help but laugh, just a little, the entire mishap suddenly comically preposterous. You smile fondly at your phone. The unexpected address of baby gives you a heart flutter, but then the rest of it makes you pause. A different embarrassment creeps into the corner of your brain, something gross and mean that interprets his words ungenerously. Stopping would be the gentlemanly thing to do, so you should commend his restraint. Still, some half-insane part of you is offended that the only emotion it invoked in him was “bad”.

It made him feel bad. Goodness. Talk about an ego blow.

The least you can do is soothe his conscience. You have already put your foot in your mouth, not to mention toys in unspeakable places, so you figure another penetrative misstep cannot hurt the situation. You write, I don’t mind you watching it. I just feel horrific for sending it in the first place. I really am sorry.

The ellipses appears. Then disappears. Then appears. Then disappears. Then appears. Then disappears.

You start to wonder if you should check on him. He is just one room over, after all. But you would rather explode once and for all than face him right now.

The buzzer goes off in the main room, signalling a visitor outside. Hyunjin finally texts, one sec. Then you hear him clamouring around in the next room. Hyunjin is very graceful when he deigns to apply himself but other times he has the equilibrium of an overgrown gazelle. All those limbs clatter around his bedroom and you think he knocks a lamp over.

It sounds like the visitor is just a package delivery. You leave him to his devices. In the face of chaos, routine is a reliable companion. You get up to dress yourself for the day. Your hair is trying to force its way into a new dimension so it should take a while to fix.

Everything will be fine.

Everything is fine until it is not. Well, Hyunjin’s complexion is red as his hair when you meet face-to-face, but he recovers with an expected degree of poise and equanimity. Despite your own internal chaos, you feign a similar indifference.

Verisimilitude, you tell yourself. Pretend everything is fine and everything will be fine.

You think there might be an undercurrent of awkwardness to your interactions, but your social ineptitude makes it difficult to discern. Your usual frankness fails as deliberately enquiring after Hyunjin’s opinion would consequently highlight the very issue you are striving to ignore. Verisimilitude means nothing if you look him in the eye and ask if your pussy has made the friendship awkward.

After a few days of polite camaraderie, you opt to solve your problems by running away. You inform Hyunjin you will be occupied with a research project and thus mostly absent for the duration of its completion. By the time you emerge from the depths of the university library, hopefully this entire embarrassing situation will be forgotten.

You throw yourself into your academic distraction. A truly comprehensive research project encompasses obstacles, minute quandaries you inevitably resolve, but this time it feels like there are no answers to be found. No resolutions, no conclusions.

Your anxiety is ultimately exacerbated. Even your dreams suffer. You wake multiple nights in a row from nightmares caused by stress. Your usual pragmatic thoughtfulness abandons you in the dark, every shadow just another terror waiting to unleash itself.

You wake from yet another nightmare. Your heart is palpitating and you are too hot under your covers. You kick to freedom and swing out of bed, whipping your silk bonnet onto the floor in a rare display of aggression. You are frustrated with your seemingly inescapable burdens. You want to pick up your phone and text Hyunjin despite the late hour, but that is the one thing you vehemently cannot do right now.

You sigh and leave bed. It is the middle of the night so you cannot start the day, but maybe a glass of water will refresh you.

It seems your friend had the same idea. Hyunjin is puttering around the kitchen when you stumble into the soft golden lamplight.

“Hey,” he says, not unfriendly but maybe a little uncertain.

“Hello,” you duly reply.

You are definitely awake now. Hyunjin is standing there wearing a pair of black boxers and a t-shirt. His red hair is loose around his bare face, unkempt but somehow still charming. He is so effortlessly beautiful. You feel like a mongrel in your baggy shirt and panties, your hair down like a messy lion mane.

You try not to stare at him, meeting his gaze politely only to find him blinking quite wildly, a stuttering breath spilling over his full lips. He clamps his mouth shut and returns your stare, smiling a thin smile that does not reach his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

It is a thoughtless query, no doubt. The sort of inane question one poses because decorum dictates it is appropriate chatter. Are you okay. Yes, how are you.

But you are looking at the beautiful and completely unattainable man you are so irrevocably in love with, and you feel horrible and disgusting, and you sent an embarrassing video that somehow humiliated him even more than you, and even your reliable books and academic joys are lacking these days.

You can count on one hand the number of times you have cried over the years. It is not something that comes easily to you. You are not made of stone, despite the occasional lambaste at your expense, but your emotions seldom manifest according to the unspoken rules of human conduct. But right now your eyes strain and your throat feels rough. You sniff and shake your head.

“No,” you say. “I’m not okay.”

A single tear falls. From you, that is practically a waterfall.

Hyunjin snaps out of whatever trance had him so enthralled. You cannot see him clearly through your watery eyes, but you feel his hands as they wrap around your arms. Hyunjin is an artist, those long fingers deft and nimble and steady. You shiver when he brushes your hair off your neck, when he cups your face in his hand and strokes your cheek tenderly.

“Hey, hey, pretty girl,” he says. “What’s this? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say automatically. You hate being a burden. Feelings belong in bottles, not streaming down faces in salty rivulets in the middle of the night when everyone is in their underwear.

But it is too late to spare your dignity. Hyunjin is wiping away your tears and looking at you with abject concern, his expressive dark brows furrowed and his eyes so intensely locked on yours. You heave a sigh.

“A lot of things,” you admit. “I’m sorry, Hyunjin. It’s just stress. My research. You know how it is.”

He does not look satisfied, all that concern still scrawled across his face. He swipes his thumb across your cheek again. Then he is pulling you towards his chest, arms open for an embrace that makes no demands but simply offers. You are usually stiff and awkward when people hug you, but Hyunjin is not just people. You fall into his arms and all but collapse there.

Your next sigh is filled with relief, your head on his shoulder and your hands curled up on his chest. He runs his palm down your hair, soothingly, his other arm secure around you.

You do not know how long you stand there. Long enough he stops catching his pinky on errant curls. Soon he is smoothly running his fingers down your hair, a gentle rhythm that lulls you to drowsiness even while standing on your feet.

“Come on,” Hyunjin says when he sees your drooping eyelids.

You blink to attention, looking at him questioningly. He gives you a quick smile then takes your hand. To your surprise, he leads you to his bedroom. The lights are off but the blinds are open and an ocean of blue moonlight floods the room. It is bright enough you can make your way around his bed without stubbing any toes.

While he folds back the bedcovers, you stop at his desk, brow crinkling at the scraps littering his work space. His canvas depicts something floral, half-painted and oversaturated but clearly a bundle of flowers. The rough sketches scribbled in the margins of his drafts do not depict flowers. They are little portraits, some doodled distractedly with wiggly lines, and others more precisely drawn, painstakingly, almost lovingly.

That’s me, you think, looking at the woman who overwhelms his art. It must be. The unmistakable cascade of curls makes it irrefutable. But the likeness is far too flattering to bear your full resemblance. This girl is extremely pretty, even if she does have your quirky, lopsided smile. Either Hyunjin has met your better looking doppelganger, or… this is simply how he sees you.

“This is your room,” you say instead of that drawing is me. It would be embarrassing if he denied it. It would be even more embarrassing if he confirmed it.

“Ha-ha, yes,” Hyunjin says, none-the-wiser. He is arranging pillows for you. By the time he looks your way, you are facing the bed. He beckons you over. “Come on,” he says. “Like the old days. It’ll make everything better. I promise.”

Your heart is working overtime in its rushing and pounding. You shuffle to the bed, smiling your quirky smile then feeling even more feverish, thinking about him having your smile memorized. Oh dear, why is that so deeply embarrassing? It should be a compliment. Maybe it is because no one else ever looks at you that closely, at least not with such affection.

You are not good with attention. You were bullied for your peculiarities quite badly in childhood. Invisibility became something you sought, because the alternative was always much worse. Attention meant derision. If someone was paying attention to your half-smiles or awkward reactions, it was for the express purpose of mocking them.

When you were ten years old, Hyunjin and his family moved in next door. Those ramshackle houses, long weathered and much loved, leaned towards each other as if magnetized. At the closet joining, the sill of your bedroom window touched his.

An elderly widow previous owned his house. She had a puppy who would scamper up to that window. You were quite devastated to learn a boy would be replacing the dog. Boys and dogs were both slobbery creatures, but at least puppies could fetch.

You were resolved to ignore your new neighbours. You spared a fleeting glance at the moving van then occupied yourself with a book.

A few hours later, your peace was forever disturbed. A toy car flew in your window and landed at your feet. You popped your curly head over the sill to face a dark-haired, dimple-cheeked boy.

“Meet me downstairs,” he said. He did not wait for an answer, dashing away before you could even blink at him.

You picked up the toy car and marched downstairs, determined to return it and explain to this boy, in no uncertain terms, that he was not allowed to throw things in your window, that he could have hit your head or one of your dolls, and unless he was prepared to offer financial compensation he should keep his cars to himself.

The second your feet touched the lawn, he was there. He grabbed your hand and dragged you off, already prattling about where he came from and where he was starting school and his favourite food and – everything. You did not speak for a whole ten minutes.

“My name is Hyunjin,” he finally said, after regaling you with the detailed events of his decade-long life. “What’s yours?”

You told him. You also returned his toy car but you could no longer remember the script for your lecture. He smiled at you, took your hand, and raced off again, towing you behind him.

Hyunjin was very loved, even as a child. It never occurred to him that someone might not like him. He made friends so effortlessly. His confidence was easy, his gravitas electrifying even at that age.

His congeniality was infectious and you found yourself reciprocating his enthusiasm. He was a natural showman and a creative visionary even at that age, coming up with detailed games of pretend with very involved storylines. You ran amok in your yards, dressed in your costumes, and at night you giggled at your windows, close enough that if you stretched out every finger you could clasp hands.

Climbing across that meager gap was an obvious inevitability. When you were teenagers, your parents expressly forbade spending the night unsupervised. The boy-girl dynamic concerned them despite your ardent protestations that it was not like that. It just meant you got good at sneaking around.

You sit on his bed now, remembering the many nights you curled up together just like this. You would talk about utter nonsense and you would talk about your deepest thoughts, at least until the sound of your father’s footsteps sent Hyunjin hurtling back towards the window.

There are no interruptions now. You lay down beside him. You squeak when he tugs you across the bed, pulling you closer to him. You find yourself clinging to him, like you are suspended in that blue ocean of moonlight and he is your only life preserver. He does not seem to mind, wrapping his arm around you, fingers tracing circles down your spine.

“Your research will be fine,” he says. “I wish I could help with those things, but I’m not smart like you are. You’ll figure it out, okay, baby?”

You hope he does not notice how the pet name makes you shiver. It really is quite unfair. How is a person meant to maintain verisimilitude if Hwang Hyunjin is calling them baby so nonchalantly?

The flattery brings discomfort so you deflect. “I’m not that smart,” you say. “I’m just pathetic enough to waste my life in a stack of books.”

You concede the self-deprecation is fishing for reassurance. You burrow yourself deeper at his side.

“Hey,” he says sharply, tugging on a lock of hair so you look up at him. He tsks and shakes his head, wisps of red hair appearing dark in the moonlight and falling into his face as he gazes at you. “Don’t talk about my girl like that,” he says with another playful tug. “You know what happens when people do that.”

You find yourself smiling despite yourself. Because, yes, Hyunjin has often defended you. One time, when you were about fifteen, you were at his house with him and his school friends. You were all in the yard and you excused yourself to wash your hands. You returned just in time to see Hyunjin backhand one of the boys. The boy stumbled then swung back. Soon everyone was trying to pull the pair of them apart while they bit and kicked and swung at each other.

When everyone went home, you and Hyunjin sat on his bed. You were cleaning a nasty cut on his cheek, where the other boy’s ring broke skin.

“Stop that now,” you said, because he was dramatically hissing and cringing while you rubbed ointment in his wound. “You brought this on yourself,” you scolded him. “I hope you learned your lesson. There is absolutely no argument worth escalating to that degree of violence, you understand?”

“There is,” he said, pouting.

“No.” You pinched his arm and he yelped. “There isn’t.”

“This time there was,” he said. Your mouth opened with a ready retort, but he interrupted, “It was you.”

There was a moment of silence, your hand still on his cheek. He was pouting into the distance and avoiding your eyes.

“What was me?” you asked after a beat.

“He called you strange,” Hyunjin said. “And other things. I told him to stop and he didn’t. So I made him stop.”

It honestly never occurred to you that someone might stand up for you. You hardly even defended yourself, long since resigned to the reality that some people were just not nice. You were stunned into silence at your friend’s confession. Only when he looked at you, a tentative sideways glance, did you clear your throat and nod.

“Well,” you said. “I am strange. If you’re going to get into a fight, then next time make it about something worthwhile.”

He smiled. You smiled back.

You are quite certain you fell in love that day. Curling up in his arms felt different after that. You felt flustered and feverish, though you hid it very well. You could not bear the thought of losing his friendship and, besides, it was such a cliché. You at your nicest still looked like the before shot of every romance movie makeover and he got stopped by model scouts while lounging in his sweatpants. Cliché indeed. That story never ended well. You could not abide by it. It was better to repress and deny those feelings.

You are laying on his chest now, listening to his heartbeat, yours skipping erratically in your chest. You think your affection has only grown more over the years, despite your effort to quell the brunt of it. Those efforts seem ridiculous in the calming midnight blue, this comfortable little haven with no reality beyond the perimeter of the bed. Your thigh drifts over his naturally, your bodies angled to each other. He continues stroking your back.

“Please don’t say those things again,” he says, his voice gentler in the calming quiet.

“Sorry,” you grumble.

“So many people admire you,” he continues. “I… I do. I know I’m a dumbass and my opinion isn’t worth much… but I think you’re the best. You know that, right?”

“Yes,” you say in a weak voice, feeling watery again. You sniff. “And you’re not a dumbass. Your opinion means a lot.”

His hand slides up and dives under all that hair, then he cups the nape of your neck. You hide your face in his shoulder when he pulls you even closer. Your palm is over his heart. You feel the racing thrum.

“Were you having nightmares?” he asks, because he knows you too well.

“Yes,” you admit. “The usual stress dreams.”

“Poor baby,” he says, massaging your neck. “I wish there was something I could do.”

Keep touching me like that, you almost say, your frankness compelling you to blurt that vulnerable truth. That his touch feels so good it makes you forget all your insecurities and grievances. You will think clearly when he lets go, but right now his deft massage loosens the tension in your neck and shoulders. You feel yourself go lax against him, limbs like jelly, and warmth spreading from somewhere low and deep within you.

Your hand leaves his chest. Dreamy and absent-mindedly, you reach to touch him like he is touching you.

All you do is tuck some hair behind his ear, then trail your fingers ever so lightly down the side of his neck. It is barely a caress.

Despite the lightness of the touch, you feel his reaction. Quick and unquestionable, his breath catches like he is surprised and his whole body jerks toward you. Your leg is still thrown over his middle. You can feel how fast he gets hard.

Men just do that, you think, even while remembering your ex-boyfriend did not react that way, not that fast, and not to that kind of touch. You try to reason with yourself regardless, coming up with a million biological reasons why your best friend is getting turned on. It has absolutely nothing to do with you wrapping around him in bed wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties and tickling sensitive places on his neck.

No. It must be something else.

Feeling awkward, you lift your head to deflect. You force a smile and a weak laugh.

“You cannot judge me in the morning,” you say. “I am going to look awful. My hair is going to be standing up in ten different directions. You must promise me right now you will be gentlemanly and not deride me for the untameable monstrosity that latches onto my head overnight. Do you promise?”

He replies in a most ungentlemanly manner.

He kisses you.

His hand still cups your nape. He pulls you close. His lips are so full and his mouth so warm. You must seem limp in comparison, so shocked that you just lay there, mouth and eyes wide open. It is considerably more difficult to convince yourself this is not what it seems, that it has nothing to do with you. Unless he is in immediate need of CPR. Perhaps he is seeking resuscitation because he is feeling lightheaded.

That is ridiculous. It is you who is light-headed, eyes closing as you succumb to the dizzying dark. He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth against yours.

For all that his kiss is very thorough, it is not overly demanding. He coaxes rather than takes, all slow seduction as his lips take yours, as he sucks your bottom lip then licks at your open mouth. He swallows down your gasp.

It feels like his hands are everywhere. In your hair one moment then around your waist the next. You think you are floating but then you are being pressed into the pillows. When you open your eyes, he is half on top of you, propping himself up on one arm while his other hand tilts your face up.

A stuttering thought dances on your lips, your eyes wide and breath short. Is this real? This cannot be real. Can it?

That bemused thought, tangled in your breath, dissolves into a surprised whine – a pretty, mewling sound that you did not know was inside you. You have never made that noise, not once, not even alone.

Hyunjin draws it out of you, gracefully manoeuvring himself, his thigh pressed between yours. He nudges your legs apart, somehow spreads your thighs with a gentle push of his hips. Your shirt rides up over your belly and you feel so hot and flushed, realizing you are barely clothed. Somehow, before now, it did not truly occur to you. It was a mere observation as you fumbled through your various anxieties.

Now it is all you can think about it, how vulnerable you are, how little there is between you. You gather fistfuls of his t-shirt when he presses against you, when he keeps your thighs open with his own and brings your bodies together. You make a surprised sound, embarrassed because you are so wet and so hot where he is so hard and touching you. A million nerves come to life under his weight, sending sparks shooting to every extremity. It is a lot. It is so much. Too much?

“Hyunjin,” you rasp, clutching his shirt so tightly that your hands are shaking. “Wait.”

He stops immediately, holding himself above you.

He is out of breath, his chest moving as quickly as yours. His hair is as dishevelled for once, though it makes him look ruggedly sexy. There is already a sheen of perspiration on his hairline. His heart is thundering where you touch his chest.

“Okay?” he asks, breathlessly.

You nod, taking a few deep breaths before your voice is under control. “I just… overwhelmed… I think…”

It all happened so fast. One moment you were thinking about how he would never want you that way, and then suddenly he was kissing you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

Hyunjin is something of a rakish libertine, but his partners are always so enthusiastic and friendly, all his pursuits fully consensual even in their brevity. He would never use and discard someone. He would certainly never use you. But your heart is brimming with emotions and this is causing them to bubble and boil over. You cannot, under any circumstances, be physical with him and just move on. You do not work like that.

You have written papers, won awards for your ability to string sentences together. You cannot find two words to put together right now. Nothing to explain why you have to stop, how you do not want to stop, how desperately you love him, why you want him. Why is it so hard to say? Is it hard for everyone or is this another peculiarity of yours? It is always so hard to tell.

You close your eyes and catch your breath. He gives you space, laying down beside you while catching his own breath. He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back.

You look at each other at the same time.

“I still want to sleep here,” you say. You hope the words are enough. You are not upset. You still want his company.

He nods. “Of course,” he says, his voice rough in a way you have never heard before. It sends an electric shock through your body, igniting between your legs. You push your shirt down when his gaze wanders there and he swallows, hard. He lays flat on his back and closes his eyes, his lips moving like he is murmuring to himself. You think he might be counting.

You lay back as well, looking at his handsome profile then up at the ceiling. You are not sure that counting will slow the race of your heart or the muddled mess of your mind. You try anyway, backwards from one-hundred.

You are asleep before fifty.

You wake to a predictable mess of hair. You yawn and stretch and scratch your head.

Then you remember why your hair is a mess. Why your bonnet is on the floor in a different room. That you are in Hyunjin’s bed and last night—

You look at his side of the bed. The shape of his body indents the sheets and the space is still warm. He must have just left. Your heart is already pounding like it wants to leap out of your chest. It does not feel like the healthiest way to the start the day.

You are not sure if you are giddy or terrified. How do other people cope with the sheer inundation of sensation that is wrought by desire for another person? How are you expected to carry it inside of you, all day every day, with absolutely no reprieve? How on earth are you expected to walk into the next room and start a conversation with a man who had his tongue in your mouth last night, especially when that man holds a lifetime of friendship in his hands?

At least the video you sent was an honest accident. Verisimilitude will do you no good here. There will be no pretending it did not transpire.

You should have just exploded when you had the chance.

You slide out of bed and cross the room. You poke your head out the door. The bathroom door is closed and you can hear the shower running. You take the opportunity to scurry across the apartment, back to your temporary room where you close the door then slide down it.

You turn yourself into a boneless lump on the floor. Then you huff and stand.

Something will need to be done. Conversations will need to be had. That is simply the rub of it. If he clarifies it was all a physical reaction, you will politely inform him that such a dynamic will be impossible to pursue. If he claims it was because he likes you the way you like him –

It doesn’t matter. That will not happen. You convince yourself of this, running several scripts through your head as you get yourself dressed for the day. You have a conversation with your reflection in the mirror, making some very good points to the abstract Hyunjin of your imagination. He is very compliant. If only real people could stick to your pre-determined scripts the way their imaginary counterparts do.

You stand in front of the mirror, assessing your appearance one last time. Your hair is neat as possible, the more unruly ringlets pinned back. You are wearing a modest sweater and a long skirt. You slip into your shoes and finally leave your room. You hope Hyunjin is still home. You want to talk to him while the script is fresh in your mind and your appearance is composed.

But then you see Hyunjin, making his morning coffee, also dressed for the day. He is wearing all black, shirt and suit jacket and trousers and boots, with a sparkling slash of a silver necklace. His make-up is breath-taking, severe but beautiful. It leaves you slack-jawed. He looks sleek and sexy, but still this side of rebellious with his vibrant red hair and dark make-up.

You cannot help but stare, thoroughly looking him over before you blurt, “Wow. Why do you look so good today?”

A surprised little laugh bursts out of him, almost like a yelp

“I’m taking some photos today.” His gaze is very intense. Or maybe it is the make-up. It makes your heart palpitate regardless, dark eyes fixed so resolutely on you as he smiles and says, “Thank you. You look lovely, pretty girl.”

“Nonsense,” you say quickly. “I look no different than usual.”

“You always look lovely,” he says without any hesitation.

“Be quiet,” you reply. He is already preposterously off-script.

It makes him laugh again. He covers his mouth politely, shaking his head as he pours his coffee. He offers you some but you decline. You want to speak your piece and be done with this awkward situation once and for all.

Hyunjin takes a sip of his coffee, looking at you over the rim of the cup.

This should be easy. You have the words prepared; all you have to do is say them.

“I have to go,” you say instead, because your good sense flitters into oblivion and takes your words with it.

Hyunjin chokes on his coffee, sputtering while you dash to the door. Your purse is sitting on the shoe rack so you snatch it. Your heart is racing like a prey animal, your predator a red-headed pretty boy wiping coffee off his chin as he stumbles after you. He says your name but you ignore him, fumbling around for your keys.

“I’ll be back after dinner,” you say. “Lots of research. Reading. You know how it is. I might lose track of time. We’ll talk later, yes? Yes. Okay. Goodbye.”

He reaches you when you open the door. You can see he wants to talk. You know you should talk. No good ever comes from prolonging the inevitable. But you suddenly cannot face him.

You know you are being cowardly. You know it is unkind because he might want answers too. But you are not good and open like him. You are shut off and shut down and shutting doors.

You stand in the hallway, the closed door between you. Your heart is still pounding. You take a deep breath then turn to leave. You are halfway down the corridor when you realize you need your work bag. Your purse has basic necessities but no study tools.

You stomp your foot, frustrated with yourself and this stupid emotional tempest. If only you were as cold-hearted as people said. But you feel everything with so much burning intensity that you fear it will burn you down to cinders.

You pace in the hallway for a few minutes. It accomplishes nothing but stalling for time, because you cannot go anywhere without your bag. You don’t even have your parking pass or library card. With a resigned sigh, you glumly unlock the door and step back into the apartment.

Fate has opted to spare you a chagrined return. Hyunjin is in his bedroom and does not hear you come in.

You hurry to your room. If you grab your bag and bolt, he might not even notice you returned at all.

Unfortunately, you are a disaster.

You were so frustrated yesterday, overstimulated and erupting at the slightest provocation. Then your bag strap had the audacity to catch on the doorknob, sending papers flying. In mature retaliation, you dumped all the contents of your bag on the floor. It was a mildly satisfying expulsion of frustration at the time. Now you want to shriek because it will take a few good minutes to organize and pack everything again.

You lean your door closed, leaving it cracked just a sliver. You plan another mental script, despite what little good it did last time, explaining to imaginary Hyunjin that you have deadlines and, yes, it is inconvenient, and, oh, maybe we should order take-out for dinner, yes, because everything is normal between us and no one needs to grapple with the onward progression of time and the subsequent shifting relationship dynamics therein—

You hear a creak. You pause, kneeling by the door, holding a stack of papers. You peer through the sliver to see Hyunjin, sighing to himself as he ambles across the room and plops down on the couch. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, scrolling on his phone.

You find yourself once more arrested by the sight of him. He looks so beautiful but also starkly masculine, sophisticated but dangerous. A gentleman and a bad boy and every other dreamy amalgamation of boy crushes.

He tucks some hair behind his ear and you feel hot, remembering how you touched him just the same, remembering the reaction it garnered.

You fantasize about a braver version of yourself, someone brash and confident enough to approach him. He would look up at you with those smoky eyes, curious but wanting. You would touch him, that same simple touch, and he would rear up and kiss you with abandon once more. You would not even need a conversation because action would speak for itself.

Instead you are peering through cracks in doors, separated thanks to your own cowardice.

He touches his fingers to his chin. Whatever is on his phone is causing a great deal of deliberation. He turns off his screen and lays his phone facedown. His contemplation looks almost painful.

You want to comfort him because he is evidently perturbed by something. But the longer you wait, the more awkward it will be to reveal yourself.

He heaves a great sigh, doubling over, his face in his hands. He shakes his head. He looks truly forlorn, so you finally lay the papers down and try to think of something to say. You watch as he leans back, as he picks up his phone again. He stares down at the screen.

You are still psyching yourself up, preparing yet another useless script.

Then he turns up the volume.

You have rewatched the video you sent him more than once, assessing the details to torture yourself. Maybe, also, secretly, sometimes… imagining him watching it. Then shaking your head and turning it off, because he said himself it made him feel bad and nothing else. So that was impossible.

So why is he watching it now?

Because he is. Unmistakably. You know the sound of your own voice. You know the sounds in that video. You sit there, wide-eyed, staring at him as he stares at you – the you in the video, the you in white satin, the you moaning and touching yourself, fucking yourself while you thought of him.

He puts the phone on his knee, not moving his eyes from the screen as he peels off his jacket and chucks it aside. You can only blink, stupefied. This does not feel real, just like that kiss. Except that kiss was real, this is real, and you are watching Hyunjin as he slouches back and parts his knees and cups his hand between his legs. He touches himself with those long fingers, fingers you imagined while touching yourself in the very video that has him captivated.

He picks up the phone to rewind, all while undoing his pants then reaching inside.

You realize he is about to get his dick out, right here, right in front of you, completely unwittingly, and that snaps you back to reality. Far too quickly, because you make a surprised noise.

He freezes and looks up, first to the front door, then to your bedroom door. You make eye contact very briefly.

Then you slam the door shut.

You do the only logical thing.

You do not go to the library. Hyunjin leaves for his photography session and you pace your bedroom about a dozen times, then you sit down and write. You make a chronological notation of every emotional turning point in your friendship. You chart the data and sketch a few rough diagrams. You arrange all the appropriate paperwork and laminate a few important spreadsheets. Then you clip them all in a binder and pick up your phone and think of how to succinctly summarize three hours worth of deliberation.

The facts fall thusly:

You accidentally sent your best friend a sexually explicit video of yourself.

You granted him permission to watch it.

He watched it.

You caught him in a compromising position with it.

You made a spreadsheet.

Based on your calculations, the probability of Hyunjin returning your feelings seems fairly substantial. But you are not sure how to articulate any verdict based on the facts presented. Your spreadsheets contain data, not a resolution.

Hyunjin is a romantic and soulful creature. You wooed your last boyfriend with a portfolio but he was nothing like Hyunjin. That courtship was an amicable affair and little more. The break-up was cordial and tearless. You shook hands then walked in opposite directions.

A memory comes to mind.

You and Hyunjin. Starting university together. Back when the world first offered itself to your young adult selves.

One day he skipped class and you went to check on him, only to find him curled up in bed in his baggiest sweatshirt, sniffling away. He was blonde then, a burst of starlight in every room he occupied. It was so strange and so wrong seeing him so grey and dejected.

He laid his head in your lap and let you pet his hair. It took some cajoling to get the story out of him. His secondary major was dance studies and he spent months preparing a showcase. Apparently his instructor did not offer him the same thorough critiques he gave other students. You tried to say that was a good thing, but he insisted it was not.

“He doesn’t think I’m worth improving,” he said. “He told me I’ll get by because of my looks. That’s the only thing I have. No one really likes me or thinks I’m worth anything.”

“I know it’s hard because you are a natural drama queen, but don’t be dramatic, Hyunjin,” you said. “Plenty of people like you just fine. They adore you, in fact. And you are very talented. It is not your fault if this one person cannot see past appearances.”

“It’s not just one person,” he said. He sat up to wipe his tears.

You sat awkwardly beside him, hands twitching with the desire to do something helpful but at a complete loss. You never intentionally sought comfort, keeping your feelings to yourself, so you were bad at giving it.

You put a hand on his shaking shoulder. “Hyunjin,” you said, imploringly.

“No,” he said, miserable, his face all scrunched up. “Everyone leaves me when I’m not what they want, and I’m never what they want, because I’m just a worthless face and nothing else.”

It was very strange to hear him express such a sentiment. Hyunjin was always surrounded by doting crowds. But you supposed he had his share of heartbreak as a consequence of knowing so many people. He gave away his heart so easily and it was sometimes returned in pieces. It did not stop him from trying again, which you always commended. You wished you knew how to express that.

“We’re friends, are we not?” you finally asked. “I care for you very dearly.”

“You do?” he asked. Even his voice sounded wet. You grabbed a tissue and shoved it at him.

“Of course I do,” you said. “Though statistically no one can be truly unique in every capacity, and friendships and relationships are often founded by chance and choice, I nonetheless consider your amalgamation of parts to be quite magnificent, and I find your character irreplaceable. You are, indeed, very handsome, but also witty and playful, dramatic to your detriment but nonetheless entertaining, creative and soulful, and you have a defensive streak and natural bite, but a fragile heart beneath that, and I rather admire that. I am afraid I will like you forever, regardless of our proximity or friendship status. Such is the nature of affection. Why are you still crying?”

You were immensely confused when your consolation generated more tears, but you accepted your best friend was an emotional riddle.

Hyunjin has many layers. You have always known this. You told him as much. You have done him a terrible disservice by assuming the worst, that he would be shallow in regards to you. He has always exhibited a fondness for your own depths.

It is more difficult to accept him finding your surface just as attractive. It seems conclusive, though. There is no shortage of sexual content in the world. He could have watched anything. So it is safe to say, touching his dick while watching you fuck yourself might have been a demonstration of a certain level of attraction. Possibly.

You sit on your bed, staring at your phone. You jump when it buzzes with a text alert. You open it, your heart skipping beats when you see it is from Hyunjin.

I’m sorry for this morning, he writes.

I can stay at Felix’s place until you’re comfortable okay.. Please just tell me

i deleted the video now. and the message where you sent it. I should have done that right away

I know you said you didn’t mind but still. I should have just

just done it all differently

The messages come flying in one right after the other. You imagine him a mirror to you, sitting somewhere, slouched over his phone. Hair dishevelled from jamming his fingers through it. A shaky breath on his lips.

You look up, picturing him across from you. You want to reach across the space between you, stretch out every finger, and clasp his hand. You never want to let go.

Your phone buzzes again. You read his words and your heart floods with more than desire. Rich with sentiment, it leaves you more breathless than a kiss.

you mean everything to me.

He is still typing. The ellipses in the corner flashes. You suspect he will send you an endless stream of consciousness if you do not reply soon.

You look at your binder of data, then you look at your phone, then you look at your binder, then you look at your phone. You take a breath. The decent and logical approach would be patience. To study everything you have compiled. To see if he concurs. To communicate the best way to move forward, what that looks like, and how it should happen.

You are not someone who intentionally takes risks. You are not wild and spontaneous. You are not brash or confident. You are not sexy.

Verisimilitude, you remember. Act like it is true, maybe it will be.

You type.

Hello, Hyunjin.

His ellipses disappears.

It is true. I sent that video by accident. But I did grant you permission to watch it.

You open your photo album. There is the video, so inconspicuous, one of a dozen. It is not your most extravagant nor the longest. You were too eager in the moment to prolong anything. You could film it better if you did it again. But it is nonetheless the video that started this whole thing.

Even though you were not trying, the video turned him on. You are hot all over, remembering how he warred with himself before submitting. You remember the amorous look on his face, how desperately he watched you while touching himself. He could not rip his gaze away for even a moment.

You click on the video. You send it with your next message.

This is for you.

You can keep it.

Then you take a chance and write, I want you to keep it.

There is a long moment with no reply. Or maybe it feels longer because you are holding your breath. You exhale with a whoosh and a breathless laugh when he finally replies.

fuck.

are you trying to kill me

You smile, though even that gets you hot, remembering your portrait doodled in the margins of his art. A lightness fills your heart, recalling that, picturing him now. You can imagine his wide, startled eyes, expressive dark brows lifting as he stares at his phone.

No, you write. You are not sure how to respond to a flirtatious overture so you opt for simplicity. You are not one to colour your statements with unnecessary artifice so you state your intentions without colourful obfuscations. To clarify, you write, I fully consent to you masturbating to it. It is only fair. I was thinking of you while I made it.

You wonder if he is still at the photography studio. You can picture him sitting behind the camera, waiting for the next set, his make-up touched up, his black ensemble pristine, and his face humorously contorted.

so you are trying to kill me, he writes.

and i thought you weren’t the unprovoked licentious content type....

You are fairly certain he is playing with you, but texts are even harder to construe than verbal tones. You tilt your head, staring at the message, imagining his voice. The little ellipses flashes in the corner, then you smile when his next message comes through.

I’m just teasing you baby.

He knows you so well. Years of friendship have fortified the affection between you. You were so foolish to ever think otherwise. Of course he can picture you like you can picture him. You feel as if he is holding you in those steady hands, comforting you with that loving touch as the tension leaves your body. You feel safest curled against him and you always have. The only difference now is he calls you baby and your heart does a flip.

I see, you write. Well.

Technically that was not wholly unprovoked. It was very much within the context of our discussion.

This one, however, is entirely unprovoked.

You send another video. This one you filmed a while ago, back in your own bedroom at your townhouse. You are wearing a sweater he bought you. The gift was touching because there was no occasion. He saw it and thought of you so he got it. And he knows your tastes so well, your fit and size and style. He knows you prefer a more modest ensemble in the world.

This video is not modest. You filmed the sweater from every angle then laid down, wearing nothing else. You held a vibrator between your legs and arched your back and filmed yourself, every whimper and sigh and breath. You stopped just before coming, dropping your phone to focus on your orgasm.

You send the video and wait. His ellipses appears and disappears then he finally writes:

fuck.

You flop back on the bed, biting your lip as his rather frantic messages fly in one after the other.

god. pretty girl. you know i'm obsessed with you right?

jesus we did all this backwards. i wanted to be cool when i told you but I’m a stupid mess.

fuck I’m about to have my photo taken

hiding in the bathroom because christ

what are you doing to me

where are you right now??

After all that, you simply answer, In bed. You realize it sounds suggestive only after the fact, but you do not retract it. Nerves gather inside you, blending into adrenaline and anticipation. You know him well but you are not sure what he will say now. This is new territory. It is exhilarating. You do not remember feeling this way with your ex. He was too much like you, so there was nothing to discover between you.

Hyunjin is so different but he fits with you like a puzzle piece, complimentary rather than contradictory. You feel sweltering hot, thinking he must reciprocate those feelings. Maybe he likes your hidden depths. Maybe he likes knowing it is all for him. He is romantic that way. So maybe he likes to see your articulate and intelligent self let go of inhibitions. Maybe you like it too, becoming a body and sharing it with him.

Show me, he writes, echoing that very sentiment.

Be polite, you reply, mostly to buy time while you temper your racing heart. It melts at his next words.

Please.

Show me you want me. want this. want us.

Pretty girl.

My girl.

Please.

Okay, you type. You are quivering but the sensation is not unpleasant. Last night was overwhelming, so much at once, but this you can do. This you want to do. There is a breath of distance, so it is a step rather than a leap. You are no stranger to aiming a camera at yourself.

Before you prepare, you take a breath and write, You show me too.

You get an idea. While he formulates his reply, you jump out of bed and hurry to the front room. He has an array of leather jackets hanging by the door, because of course he does. You rifle through them, looking for the one he wears the most. It smells like him, that rich cologne, a hint of his hair product. If your knees were not already knocking, it would send you swooning. You clutch it to your chest as you make your way back to your room.

You close the door, as if it matters, but this is between you and Hyunjin, the rest of the world insignificant.

You strip down to your underwear then don the jacket. You keep your hair pinned so you do not look like a mess, then you arrange yourself on the bed as neatly as you can. You try not to overthink, even though overthinking is your speciality. You pretend this is a video like any other.

Except the scent of his masculine cologne surrounds you. He is inside your mind, completely and irrevocably.

You open your phone to a new message, a video from him. The lighting is dark in the small studio bathroom, backlit in red. It makes it all the more erotic.

You have never unwittingly clenched. You did not even know you could be so aroused that your body would form a mind of its own. But you are, and it does, pussy very literally throbbing as you watch the video. His artist hand, long fingers curling around the hard curve of his fly. He lowers the zipper and you clench again, making that meek little whimper.

Apparently you like watching videos just as much as making them. You are a mess by the time he gets his dick out.

You turn up the volume to hear his breathing. You know he has to keep his voice down, but it makes his breathy little fuck all the hotter.

Oh Hyunjin, you write. Your vocabulary otherwise fails. There is no other word.

Yes please, he writes.

My pretty girl.

Say my name.

Your next sound is embarrassing and guttural. You are a little glad you were not filming yet.

You clear your throat and position yourself, holding the camera above you. You start recording. With your free hand, you touch the collar of the jacket. You rake your teeth over your bottom lip then lower the camera. The jacket falls open just enough to hint at every curve in contains. You skim down your body. You touch yourself and you are so wet and so ready that you cannot help but make another noise. Unlike him, you are free to be noisy, so you do not restrain yourself.

It feels so different, knowing someone will watch this. You have never been so wet in your life. You cannot even tease yourself, so desperate that you quickly push two fingers inside you. Oh, dear, god, you really sound filthy, ridiculously wet as you fuck yourself with jerky little thrusts.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur, the name that has often perched on your tongue while you do this. It feels so good to say it out loud.

You send him that much, continuing to stroke and fuck yourself while the video sends. You close your eyes and stimulate your clit, rubbing and circling, finding a rhythm. You need it. You need him.

Your phone buzzes and you turn your head. You open the message. You clamp your thighs around your hand, your pussy clenching around your fingers as you read his words.

God I wanted to film it but I just came all over myself

baby you are everything

I wish I was beside you I need to say so many things

god..

pretty girl if I ask so politely will you come for me? will you let me see your pretty face when you come? Please.

You do not type a reply because it is too difficult with one hand, and you will not stop touching yourself, not when you are so close.

It is just a few flicks of your thumb to open the camera again. You frame your face and hit record. You come only seconds later, releasing such a desperate cry as you unravel. It is so much yet not enough. You thoughtlessly shove your own fingers in your mouth, closing your eyes, imaging it is his hand, his wet fingers dragging over your tongue. You want to taste him. You want to choke on him. You just want to feel him so much that the rest of the whole world will fall away. You don’t need to be anyone else. You don’t want anyone else.

You say his name again. Your pussy clenches as if already trained to react to it. You stop filming and send it, breathing hard in the aftermath.

As your adrenaline dwindles, you feel a modicum of embarrassment, but no regrets. Your logical brain does make a grudging return, however. As much as you want him, you know if you rush into things that you will end up balking again. You need a proper conversation. You need spreadsheets. You need to do it his way and your way too.

But for now, you smile, giggling to yourself as you read his replies. Half of his texts are unintelligible gibberish, the other half completely and utterly worshipful.

Nonsense, you finally write.

I’ll come home right now and prove it to you, he says without hesitation.

Except by right now I mean in two hours, because I caught the train out here and it doesn’t leave until then.

Then you’re all mine.

You laugh in spite of yourself, curling up in his jacket. You take in a breath, the scent of him. You type.

I’ve been yours for a long time. I can wait two more hours.

Then… can we talk?

Yes, he answers quickly. Absolutely. I have so much I want to say to you.

Me too, Hyunjin.

He caught the bus to the train station but you offer to pick him up. He enthusiastically agrees, evidently eager to see you again. You find yourself laughing, such a light in your chest that it cannot help but spill out. You are somehow both anxious and excited, but so happy that you do not mind.

When the details are settled, you lower your phone and look at your binder.

You have two hours. That is enough time to laminate a few more spreadsheets.

You tell yourself you will be resilient. You are notoriously stringent and a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon at the best of times. Given you have expelled the brunt of your sexual frustration, you figure there will be no problem. You will meet Hyunjin at the train station, you will come home, you will share a meal and have a conversation, and everything will go smoothly from there.

Except Hyunjin changed clothes. It is not anything extravagant by any means. He is in black jeans and a red shirt, his black dress shirt shrugged overtop. The wind tousles his hair just so, and his make-up has been redone, a little less severe but still so sharp. It is more casual than you expected, and somehow that undoes your perseverance.

You are gawking at him, staring through the car window as he strides over. He gets into the passenger seat like nothing is remiss, tossing his bag into the back. He is wearing heavy boots that thunk when he sits. He closes the door and looks over at you with a smile.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says.

He is so atrocious at keeping to your script. Imaginary Hyunjin is much more accommodating.

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say.

You sit there for a long time. It is getting dark outside, which makes it easy to forget you are in a parking lot outside a train station.

Then he has the audacity to be sweet, at such odds to his daring appearance. He looks so rebellious and you look so meek. He is all vibrant colours and dark slashes, while you are in a blazer and a long brown skirt. Your shirt is buttoned all the way up to your chin and, despite your best efforts, your hair has come unpinned. The wind has never been your friend.

You are certain you make a funny sight, but he is not laughing at all. His gaze is so affectionate but so warm, burning you up. You gaze back at him, your heart already skipping beats. Then he reaches out and tucks a loose curl behind your ear. You remember him doing that at the art gallery. He was looking at you then like he is looking at you now. You realize you have been such a fool.

You lean in at the same time. This kiss does not even pretend at patience. It is a hungry collision, his hand in your hair and yours on his chest. You make a wanting noise when his fingers hook through the curls at your nape and he tugs just a little, just enough to move your head where he wants it so he can deepen the kiss. He makes a noise too, something low and needy. He licks into your mouth, far too hot and far too dirty for a parking lot kiss.

You remember yourself, vaguely. You break the kiss with a gasp. Your fingers curl on his chest and his grip tightens in your hair. Your foreheads touch. The only sound in the car is your mutual rough breathing.

“Right,” you say, your voice raspier than you expected. “Um. We should. Go.”

He nods. But then he proves he is as evil as he looks, because he tilts your head and exposes your throat. He leans in, presses his full lips on that soft vulnerable skin and kisses it so delicately that your whole body is wracked with a shiver. He exhales, warm breath fluttering over your pulse. Then he finally lets go and leans back.

“Okay,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

Home. You have a discussion on that very subject upon arrival.

Prior to departure, you arranged your papers on the kitchen table. You deposit your take-out boxes alongside it, then sit down to eat and discuss.

He furrows his brow as he holds up a spreadsheet.

“Is this laminated?” he asks. “You brought a laminator with you?”

“Of course I brought a laminator with me,” you say unflinchingly. “What kind of question is that?”

He cracks a smile and nods, then waves you on. He listens diligently to your proposed contingency. You prepared index cards so you would not be distracted and led astray. You are glad you did, because when he finishes eating he just stares at you, and he still looks hungry, but not for sustenance.

You clear your throat and try to disregard this, but it is difficult. You unbutton the top button of your shirt to breathe a little easier and he looks at you with more voracious intensity than a single button warrants. You might as well have stripped down naked.

You suppose you already have, halfway. You swallow hard.

“Look,” you say, lowering your index cards to speak frankly. “The bottom line is this. I desire you greatly. I believe there is some reciprocation in this regard. But we are living under a shared roof temporarily and I fear this may cause us to progress faster than I am ultimately comfortable. I would like some longevity in our blossoming dynamic. You are very important to me, Hyunjin. I want us to succeed. I would feel more comfortable if we waited to sleep together, at least until I am back in my townhouse. That means no sharing a bed too. When I am back home, we can properly date, and see how this grows between us. What are your thoughts?”

“When will your place be ready again?” he asks. He is sitting back in his seat, arms crossed, looking thoughtful. You appreciate he is not grabbing at you or immediately trying to convince you otherwise.

You knew he would not pressure you. Regardless, you cannot help the skip in your bloodstream, the natural nerves that surface when he looks at you. You have known him for years. You wonder if these sensations will ever diminish. Present research dictates no.

“The last estimation was six more weeks,” you say.

He smiles. It soothes your heart. You stare at his hand as it crosses the table, as he gently laces your fingers together and squeezes. You blink up at him.

“If you asked me to wait a year, I would,” he says. “If you told me there were things you never wanted, we would make it work. I’ve waited years for you, baby. Six weeks is nothing.”

Goodness gracious. Exactly how is a person meant to be strict and curmudgeonly with this man? He really is the universal exception to every rule. You have just outlined your rubric and you are already considering breaking it.

“Kisses are okay,” you say, hot under your skin. Writing your flirtations was easier than speaking them. Your tone is brusque because you are bad at this, but it just makes him smile. “Maybe other things when the circumstances arise. But we will wait for the rest.”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and places a soft kiss on your palm, holding your gaze all the while. You are quite certain your insides turn to complete mush.

It occurs to you in bed.

You have long since said good night and retired for the evening. You pick up your phone and sigh. You are already skirting the edge of your rules, fully aware you are about to poke a sleeping beast but unable to resist. The realization plagues you, the subsequent questions burning in your chest.

And you are wet. So, so wet, and so, so needy. Because Hyunjin walked you to your bedroom door like a gentleman. Then he kissed you like a scoundrel. He leaned you against the door, his hand planted beside your head and the other holding your face. He kissed you long and slow, like he wanted to draw it out, like he did not want to say good night. Your hands were clasped together because you did not trust yourself to touch him. If you did, you would have dragged him into the bedroom and regretted it later.

But in the moment, it felt so right. You are certain that no kiss, ever, since the dawn of time, had ever felt as good as that one. He took his time with each gentle press, each touch of his tongue, each shared breath. Your chests rose and fell in tandem, your legs turning to jelly where you stood. He fiddled with that one undone top button. You would not have resisted him tearing them all open.

He did not. He kissed you slowly. He kissed you sweetly. With one last peck, he whispered, “Good night, pretty girl. Sleep well.”

You could not find your voice. You made a weak gurgling noise and nodded frantically. He smiled. You rather suspect he knew his effect on you, the rapscallion.

Now you are in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about something he said at dinner. You debate texting him. It will open a floodgate. You lower your phone a few times, but ultimately determine you will not sleep until you have settled your mind.

Hyunjin, you write, if you liked me for years, that means you were already inclined towards affection when I accidentally sent that video. Correct?

Correct, he answers with a little emoji face, one with a quirked eyebrow. Why do you ask…?

I was just wondering…

If when I saw you was your first time watching it.

The ellipses is there for a while. Your heart is pounding in your chest. You are certain this man is going to send you into cardiac arrest one of these days. Then you will finally explode at the most inopportune moment.

You sink into the bedsheets, pressing your legs together when his reply comes through.

Honestly… I watched it more than once. I did stop when you first sent it. even though it got me hard in seconds. then you said i could watch it.. and i honestly thought i was still dreaming.

You cannot help but laugh a little. You turn on your side, smiling as he types some more. Then his message comes through and you swallow, flush with heat.

I tried to answer. I tried to flirt with you. I tried to be funny. It all sounded stupid. Then I got back in bed and tried to think of something to say… but god.

god..

Baby what was I supposed to do? if I resisted that they would have made me a saint.

You laugh again. You marvel at his ability to make you smile and get you hot at the same time.

Did you masturbate to it? you ask. It sounds too frank to be seductive but you are not sure how else to pose the query.

You really don’t pull your punches, he says. You think you can somehow hear a smile in his words.

yeah baby, he writes. I did. More than once.

I see, you reply. Okay, thank you, I was just wondering. Good night.

The ellipses flickers again. You release a torrent of giggles into the blankets when he sends you a very tortured looking emoji.

This is going to be a long six weeks.

He is not wrong. It is simultaneously the longest, most arduous six weeks of your life, but also the fastest, the most lively, and the most fulfilling.

You spend the first week stealing kisses. He is good to you, respecting your boundaries. He never asks to share a bed and he does not initiate anything beyond your established desires. He leaves space for you, his arms always open, but he does not force you.

This is sufficiently more seductive than if he started yanking on your clothes in the corridor.

You are watching a movie one night. He puts an arm across the back of the couch but makes no further demand. You settle under that arm, nestling closer at your own pace. You are not watching the film, all your focus on him. He has a foot propped on the coffee table, his arms spread across the couch, and he bops his head along to the music. Of course, he does that even when the music stops, so you think he not paying attention either.

Eventually, you succumb to the butterflies in your belly. They flutter free with an exhale. You touch his cheek and turn his face. He requires little convincing, kissing you without a word.

His foot thumps onto the ground. You find yourself in his lap. You do not know how you lose your head around him. One second, you swear you are on solid ground, the next you are floating. Someone should study this phenomenon. You, yourself, have no idea how to parse its logic.

You straddle his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck. He is dressed in all black again, black jeans and a black t-shirt, his eyes still smudged with black eyeshadow. It makes him look so utterly devastating, his eyes so dark and searching.

It makes you bold, coming to life under the intensity of that gaze. It is like some subliminal message passes to something rooted deep inside you, something primal and animal that he plucks with ease.

You dive in for another kiss, burning too hotly under his gaze. He cups your head with both hands. He tosses little hairpins everywhere, grunting with displeasure when he finds them. When you are completely free, he groans, a deep and ravaging moan as he buries his fingers in your hair and pulls you close.

“Hyunjin,” you say, once more at a loss for any other word.

He cannot even manage that much, nothing but a guttural sound leaving his throat. It makes you melt against him. Your body really has a mind of its own these days. You find yourself rocking against him, making his breath catch.

He tugs your hair a little more viciously, thoughtlessly, so entangled that it cannot be helped. You make another ridiculous mewling sound that will embarrass you later, but in the moment it slips free.

He holds you in place, palm cupping your head, keeping you steady while he rolls his hips under you.

It makes you dizzy. Your mouth opens and your eyes close. You slowly rock back. You dig your nails into his shoulders and you are amazed it does not hurt him. But, then again, he is tugging your hair inadvertently and if that hurts you do not notice. The seam of your own pants presses deliciously against you, the hard line in his jeans grinding against the softest part of you, again and again and again.

“Oh,” you say, or rather sigh. Your shoulders shake and surprise thunders into your racing heart. You realize are going to come like this. “Oh. Ohh.”

“Yes,” he says, and holds you steady, and keeps rolling his hips until you come apart in his arms.

You slump against his chest after, resting your head on his shoulder. You can feel him flicking your hair out of his mouth, but he doesn’t complain. You are breathing hard, clinging to him, still surprised you did what you did.

Eventually you find a modicum of strength in your arms. You somehow push yourself upright. You deposit a single apologetic kiss to his shoulder, which is doubtlessly riddled with crescents from nail bites.

He looks at you with a smile, a little breathless himself but evidently pleased.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, so reverently you actually believe it. Instinct still compels you to argue, but you cannot find your voice to do so. You just make a little noise and look down at your hand on his chest.

His heart races under your palm.

You think you need to see him come too.

You were previously too nervous to strike the endeavour. You sexted again in bed the night before, but leaving him to his devices is different than taking matters into your own hands. Literally. You are not inexperienced, but he is certainly more experienced. It is another reason you cannot rush into things.

He does not rush you. You arrive at the moment in your own time. And in this moment, it stops mattering. His heart beats under your palm and he looks at you with such an outpouring of affection, it makes your own heart stutter. You are tingling with aftershocks, feeling so alive and vibrant with his eyes on you.

You trail your hand down his chest to his belt. His eyelashes flutter, surprise crossing his own face. His hand covers yours and he lifts a questioning brow. You nod and he lets you go.

You get his belt open with a little struggle. You are a prestigious academic decorated with multiple literary awards, but a belt stupefies you.

He lets you work, twisting a curl around his finger, smiling a lazy smile. You pry the belt open and get his fly down, satisfied when some of his cockiness dissipates as your touch overwhelms him. It is a good overwhelming, given the noise he makes as he rests his face on yours. He murmurs your name and presses kisses all over your face as you work him in your hand.

The jeans are thrown into the laundry hamper immediately after.

The second week is mostly comprised of your usual routines. You have both shirked some responsibilities, too busy flirting like horny prepubescents to get any work done. You eventually return to your books and make remarkable progress on your research project. Hyunjin edits the photos from his latest shoot, uploading them to his profiles and collecting his sponsorships.

You go to your favourite café. You accompany him to his favourite bar because it’s a trivia night and you enjoy it more than you anticipated. You return to the art exhibition then rehash your previous opinions over dinner.

Some moments feel like dates, like when he holds you hand or gets the door or you dare to kiss his cheek in public. Some moments feel like the comfortable friendship you have long enjoyed, and for that you are glad. Gaining Hyunjin as a boyfriend would mean little if you lost him as a friend.

But he is still your Hyunjin.

He just puts his tongue in your mouth now.

The couch becomes a site of utter debauchery. It is the apartment’s no man’s land, given the beds have been relegated to solitary confinement. It really is for the best. For now. You will enjoy yourself more when you are truly ready.

Until then, the couch is subject to repeated episodes of defiling.

You and Hyunjin sit down with the intention of reading your own books, but they are both on the floor and you are on your back and Hyunjin is on top of you. It is not unlike a few weeks ago, when he stole your book and pinned you down. It feels like a lifetime since then. You never would have imagined yourself in this situation for real.

But it is real. You know that, because every nerve in your body is alive and shooting sparks. You make little moans, weaving your fingers in his bright red hair as he kisses you deeply. His jeans are blue today. You are in a long skirt. It makes it a little easier for the material to fall on its own, gathering around your thighs as he presses against you.

You take his hand and guide it up your skirt, resting it on your inner thigh. When he squeezes the soft flesh, you arch your back. A shaky please leaves your lips, breathing the word against his own.

He nods quickly, thumb stroking a circle high on your inner thigh. “What do you want, baby?” he asks.

“Hand,” you say, thinking about that video of him unzipping his fly, how many times you have gotten yourself off to his perfect hand sliding into the frame. His deft and nimble fingers, so precise for his artistic crafts. You blink up at him, hoping you do not look so dishevelled that it is ridiculous.

He clearly likes what he sees. He reaches under your skirt to slip your panties down and off, shoving them in his back pocket so they are not lost. His jeans have a long chain on the hip that he pushes out of his way when he kneels upright on the couch. He guides your thighs apart and angles your hips up, your thighs resting on his.

“Sorry,” you say when he touches you, because you are already so wet from just kissing.

“Sorry?” he asks in a rough voice, very lightly touching you, gathering all that desire on his fingertips and making you shudder. “For what?”

“Just… so… ready…”

It sounds ridiculous to say out loud. He must agree because he laughs incredulously. But you do not have time to feel ashamed because he slides two fingers inside you, your body offering no resistance to him. Then he starts curling up and putting pressure on your inner walls in a way that makes your head spin.

“Poor baby,” he says, his other hand sliding up your waist, holding you steady. “What should we do about that?”

You are coming minutes later, your shirt half-off, your breasts mauled with hickeys and your pussy spasming around his fingers. It feels so good, you do it again, and he ends up coming before you even touch him once.

Next time, you are not on the couch, but standing by the front door, preparing to go out. He is fully dressed with his leather jacket and boots, but you are missing a sweater and one shoe. He is standing behind you, your cheek pressed to the door as he works his hand under your skirt. You cant your hips up and back, grinding against him while he finger-fucks you.

You come so hard your knees buckle. Fortunately, he realizes what it is about to happen and catches you. He does not slow down, though, the bastard, and you keep coming, balanced in his arms.

You are halfway to the ground when you are satisfied. He puts you down gently. And maybe it is being half-dressed at his feet, maybe it his boots or his belt or that leather jacket, or maybe it is the way he looks down at you, but your mouth waters and you swallow hard.

“We don’t need to—” he starts, but you interrupt by opening his belt. You are much better at unbuckling it now, hardly wrestling with the leather at all.

You are acutely aware that you are not very good at giving oral. You are sensitive to sensation and it can be a bit much, but you like the noises he makes and the way he grabs your hair. You are certain he has had better, but you would not know from his reactions. He curses and sighs and groans, alternating between looking at you lovingly and ravenously.

He gets down on one knee after and cups your face and kisses you.

And that is just week two.

By week six, an amendment has been made to the bedroom rule. You will not share a bed overnight, but the morning is a different matter entirely. When the sun is up, the day is starting, so there is nothing wrong with climbing into bed together to talk about the day.

To be fair, sometimes you do just talk.

Other times, like now, your shirt is pushed up to your breasts and his face is buried in your pussy. He is wearing boxers and nothing else, his face bare. You like to look at it, his soft eyes glancing up at you as you push his hair back.

Unlike you who still administers oral with something of a polite and fastidious air, he gets messy with it. You are both drenched when you come, your pussy and thighs a mess while he wipes his face on a discarded shirt.

“So,” he says. “About the townhouse?”

When you finally step foot in your townhouse again, it is an abominable mess. You stand in the foyer with your luggage, slack-jawed and already so overstimulated that you nearly start vibrating.

Hyunjin joins you a second later, carrying the rest of your bags. He knows better than to yank you around when you get like this, but he does guide you to the couch to sit you on a clean cushion. He gets you some water and makes you drink. It helps, marginally.

“Oh dear,” you finally say, an understatement.

You made dinner plans, mostly to dissuade you from desecrating the foyer before you had an opportunity to unpack your bags, but those plans are cancelled in light of all the work that needs doing to make the place habitable again. You are immensely glad there is no longer a river of water leaking out of your shower and into the living room, but the contractors were not overly kind regarding dust and debris, to say nothing of plain dust and dirt.

Your poor bookshelves have been so neglected. They are the first thing to get a good dusting.

It is not an impossible task, when all is said and done, but pizza delivery replaces a dinner out. Whatever plans for seduction you might or might not have had, all evaporate, because you are so exhausted from cleaning that you fall asleep on the couch before it even gets dark outside.

You wake with a start in the middle of the night. You dreamed about giant dust bunnies devouring your poor innocent bookshelves. It takes a minute to ground yourself in reality, your surroundings unfamiliar. You have grown so used to the spare bedroom at Hyunjin’s apartment that you forget your own bedroom for a sleepy moment. When you fully come to consciousness, you remember where you are.

Then you remember you fell asleep the couch, a half-finished plate of pizza in your lap. Hyunjin must have gathered you in his arms and put you to bed. The thought is a little touching but also embarrassing, because that was not the plan for tonight. You suppose your provisos merely outlined not sleeping together until you were in your townhouse, not that it was a requisite for moving back in, but you still miss his company.

You search around for your phone. He left it on your bedside table for you. It is not as late as you thought it was, probably because you fell asleep so early. You text him an apology. You assume he went back to his apartment but you are not sure if he is awake or asleep.

You always liked living alone, but you suddenly lament the empty space. You miss the comfort of another person just one room over. No, not just another person, but Hyunjin.

hey it’s okay, he texts back. you were tired. you should go back to sleep it’s late

I am unfortunately wide awake now.

Yeah me too.

Why are you so awake?

Thinking about you.

If you were not already wide awake, that would have done the job of waking you all the way. You sit up in bed, all your attention on your phone now. You type a reply.

Oh? What about me?

You are not sure if his tone is flirtatious or not. You are getting better at verbal cues but it is still impossible to read someone, even Hyunjin, over text. You cannot even read your own tone, uncertain if it comes across as flirtatious or just curious.

That I’m kinda glad you fell asleep.

Don't laugh at me.. but I think I am nervous

About sleeping with you

You expect any number of answers, but not that one. You struggle with a reply for a moment, not sure if he is seeking reassurance or he just wants to speak his mind. When he starts typing again, you decide to wait.

I know it sounds stupid.

We spent all this time waiting

And god I want to. my girl

I’m so scared of messing this up and letting you down.

Hyunjin, you finally type, before he can descend in a spiral. You told me you would wait a year, or that we would work something out for ourselves if it was necessary. Do you not think I would do the same for you?

The ellipses appears and disappears as he contemplates this. His answer comes a moment later, You’re right.

Of course I am, you reply. I always am.

You hear a laugh. It startles you so bad, you drop your phone on the floor. You snatch it up quickly as possibly and frantically type, Please tell me that is you laughing in my living room.

Oh yeah sorry I just slept on your couch.

This man will be the death of you one way or another, that much is for certain.

You frightened me half to death. I thought you left.

Ah sorry baby..

Do you… want me to come upstairs?

That restless heart of yours skips beats for another reason, a different type of fear, one not unlike his own. You are not sure how the night will progress, but you know one thing for certain, one thing that is true and will always be true: you want Hyunjin. You want him with you, and beside you, now and always.

Yes please, you write, then wait.

His footsteps creak on the stairs. The human body really is a peculiar creation, because your fear seems to bleed right into newfound arousal.

You look up as he opens the door, using his phone flashlight as a guiding light. It is facing upward, illuminating him. Your phone screen is on, offering some light over your own features.

You are still wearing the sweater and sweatpants you cleaned in, absolutely not a sexy outfit for a first time sleeping together. You considered ordering special lingerie for the occasion but you are still quite bad about feeling embarrassed about those things. You made yourself nervous and balked every time you pictured walking in the room with them on. You think you will do that one day. You will probably have to make yourself comfortable with it first. Maybe you will send him a video.

You look up at him, your heart pounding just thinking about it. He gazes back at you. He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, also not an especially fancy outfit to celebrate any firsts.

His face is bare. Your hair is loose. There is something about the shadows and a new room that makes you feel like strangers for a moment. You tell him as much, mostly to fill the silence, because he is staring at you and his gaze is far too amorous to be directed at a silly woman who fell asleep in her cleaning clothes at suppertime.

He tips his head as he looks you. You shiver, as if it is the first time he has ever looked at you, as if he has not made you come a dozen times on his face and hands, as if he has not known you for most of your life.

He turns off his light. The room is plunged into darkness. That ridiculous heart of yours starts leaping around like it has an electric current.

“Hyunjin,” you say, reaching blindly. You gasp when he captures your hand, leading it onto his shoulder. Then you feel his whole body, his hair brushing your face, his hands on you. Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and see you him a little better, the muscle definition in his arms, the necklace dangling when he leans down towards you.

“I’d fall in love with you again,” he says. “If we were. Strangers. If I was seeing you now for the first time.” He touches your cheek, brushes his knuckles up your temple then slips his fingers into your unruly hair. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you a hundred different ways. I think I will again.”

“You know I am not good at speaking with poetic embellishment,” you say, swallowing around the lump in your throat, one caused by both sentiment and nerves. “So I will have to speak plainly with you. I love you too, Hyunjin. I always have. If we were meeting for the first time right now, though, I would probably be screaming and throwing things at you.”

He laughs and the sound make you feel like you are glowing. You need no other light. You reach up and touch his face and you see him perfectly, can picture his smile even before you trace your thumb across his bottom lip. You cannot draw like him, but if you could, you would scribble his likeness in the margin of your work as well.

“Good thing we’re not strangers, then,” he says. “Because I’d really rather make love to you.” He swoops down and kisses your forehead. “My friend.” He kisses a sensitive spot below your ear, the place he teases when he wants to rile you up quickly. “Baby.” Then he is tipping your head at the perfect angle to lean down, his lips brushing yours when he says, “My pretty girl.”

“Nonsense,” you say breathlessly, because of course you do.

And of course he kisses you.

He kisses you deeply, holding the back of your head as he gently lays you down. You push the covers away, opening yourself to him completely. You wrap around each other, sinking into the sheets, arching your back to feel more of him.

You gasp when he tugs your hair. He has already found so many ways to make you plaint and needy, to forget your skills of articulation and lose every word but his name.

“That’s it,” he says, hooking your legs around his waist. “Show me what you want, baby.”

You reach between your bodies, cupping where he is already hard in his jeans. Everything about him is so hard against you, you in your soft sweats with your pool of curly hair, losing yourself as his strong hands work their way down your body. He lifts your shirt off and tosses it to the side, then gathers your hands because you always have an instinctive moment of covering yourself. You are modest by nature, but you trust him with everything. It is exhilarating, when he takes your wrists and pins them by your head.

For a moment, you do imagine every version of yourselves. You and him, old friends turning into lovers. You and him, established lovers, finally coming together. Two strangers, finding each other for the first time. There is always something new to discover. You love him again and again.

“Say my name,” he says, working his way down your body. He is still fully clothed when he has you fully naked, writhing under him as he pushes his tongue in you. It is a slow seduction with his mouth on your pussy as he kisses you there as thoroughly as he kissed your mouth. “Say it.”

“Hyunjin,” you say, repeating it as you come, your legs wrapped around his head.

He spares you only seconds before his fingers are inside you. You cling to his arm, making noises that still surprise you, begging him with your eyes and hands and little cries. When he cups your face after, you open your mouth wide, wanting. He fucks your mouth like he fucked your pussy, two fingers gliding across your tongue until you are bucking and pleading, sucking on his fingers and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Fuck,” he says, then whips off his shirt.

He kneels and you help tug his jeans and boxers down to his knees. You curl towards him, situated so he can finger you while you wrap your lips around his cock. You are usually very neat about it, but you cannot think clearly with his fingers inside you. You mostly wet him, barely blowing him, but he still kisses you when you pull back.

When he gets the last of his clothes off, he surprises you by sitting back against the headboard and pulling you into his lap. He surprises you even more by folding your arms behind your back and pinning your wrists at the base of your spine. He holds them there in one hand, the other between you as he helps you settle on top of him.

He does know you well. The second his cock so much as brushes you, there is an instinct to cover up. You hands twitch but he holds you, speaking to you gently, soothingly. He eases you through it, breathing just as hard as you sink down until he is fully inside you. Then you are clenching sporadically around him, almost a mini-orgasm just from the initial thrust. He is still holding your arms behind you, guiding you through it with him completely in control. It seems to be the way he likes it, but you don’t mind at all. You can be a stern stickler everywhere else; here you can be his.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he says, free hand on your hip, holding you as he rolls his hips under you. “That good, baby?”

You answer with a mewl, dropping your face to his shoulder and staying there. He laughs, eventually lifting your head. Then he puts you on your back and lifts your leg onto his shoulder, and he fucks you in a way you once could only imagine.

He pushes your knees back, presses his body so close to yours. A sheen of perspiration covers his skin and you are certain you are not faring better. It feels good, it feels free. You wrap your arms around him and hold tight.

“My girl,” he says, with a strong thrust, then another. Sounding as deliriously inarticulate as you when he says, “Mine.” And thrusts again. “Mine.” And again. “Always.” Again.

You seek his hand blindly. He offers it, lacing your fingers like the romantic he instinctively is, but you lead it right to your throat where you want him to hold you. When he does, your body goes completely soft for him, like every worry flees at once. You are always so in your head, to be a body feels good, to share it with him even better. You hum with pleasure, mouth open like a good girl for your dreamy bad boy as he leans down and kisses you, his tongue fucking into your mouth with the same vigour he takes your pussy.

When he rubs his thumb over your clit, you last only seconds, your whole body shaking as you lose complete control. He holds you through it, rocking into you, kissing your face and neck. He pulls out and strokes himself to completion, coming on your thighs and pussy.

You wrap around each other after, rolling into the middle of the bed. You somehow migrated horizontally during your lovemaking. You will need to move eventually, but sleep is finally hitting you. You feel Hyunjin clean you up with his t-shirt, but you only stir when he kisses you. You wrap around him and return a few sleepy kisses down his neck. He slides a hand in your hair, cups the back of your neck, and stays like that.

“What next,” you ask sleepily, not fully conscious of your words.

“Mmm.” He sounds just as sleepy. “Still need our dinner date,” he murmurs. “Can decide in the morning.”

“Okay,” you say. And even though you are half asleep and barely conscious, you add, “I can make a spreadsheet.”

He smiles. You think maybe you should learn to draw just so you can draw that smile after all. Maybe there is an artist and a romantic inside you, or maybe it is just the parts of him so entwined with you, forever embedded in your heart. You are actually excited to learn.

You give him one more sleepy kiss. It is early morning now.

You fall asleep together at the start of a new day.

#hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x reader #skz x reader #hyunjin smut #skz smut

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woeswrites · 8 months ago

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Yandere Will Graham

Warnings: Yandere themes, Obsessive behaviors, Brief mention of rape/rapist, Dubious consent (mention of sex while under the influence), etc.

Notes: I am trying to be active again (fingers crossed). Headcannons are a really easy way for me to get the creative juices flowing. Don't be surprised if a few more come out after this one lol.

You were a recent survivor of an attack

No, it wasn't the Chesapeake Ripper

It was just some other wannabe serial killer trying to get his rocks off

He had a dumb, stereotypical name too

The midnight slasher? midnight butcher?

Something like that

The media wasn't very creative with it

Whatever his name was, he'd clearly had a type

Young men

All of a similar stature

With the same hair and eye color

All known to known be up at all hours of the day

It was a pretty open and shut case in Will's eyes

He was a plain and simple lust killer

Most likely white and in his 30s-40s

Classic closet case turned homicidal

He hadn't seen why the FBI was so stumped on the whole thing

The only real trouble was the lack of DNA evidence

He'd been real good at cleaning up after himself

Will knew he'd slip up eventually

This wasn't the type of guy to be so well organized for long

Well--

Does being murdered by your most recent victim count as a slip up?

Because that's exactly what happened

He was called to the scene with the rest of the team

The sight of you trembling, covered in blood, and standing over top of that creep was his first impression

You met his eyes and he was unable to pull away

Something about your tear blotched face held him captive

Jack tasked him with asking you questions about the events at hand

Normally this would have annoyed Will

He wasn't the talking type

Let alone someone sensitive enough to make such a traumatized person feel comfortable

But something in him didn't mind so much

Maybe it was the way you looked so vulnerable

Or the fact that no matter how much he pushed the idea away, he saw himself in you

An innocent man turned murderer under the right circumstances

"I'm Will Graham and I'll be asking you some questions."

"God, okay. I'm Y/n. Can't really say it's nice to meet you."

Will tried to start off slow

Ask the basics before moving onto the more pertinent information

You'd answer to the best of your abilities (considering the circumstances)

It took Will a second to jot down your responses

He'd get a little too caught up in your features to notice you'd stop talking

"Sorry, what was that? You got off work at 9?"

There was something admirable about your attempts to infuse your story with a bit of dry humor

Likely a coping mechanism

But Will found himself smiling a bit at your quips

By the time he'd finish up with you he'd felt a little attachment form

Sure the case was over on his end

But it didn't stop him from asking Jack about you

At least a couple times a week

"How's things going with that self defense case? Y/n's...?"

Will showed up the next day with your case fill on his desk

The sticky note stuck to it warned about annoying Jack with too many questions

He'd spend all night re-reading the details

Without noticing he began slipping in and out of re-enactment mode

Imagining you on top of him

Knife in hand

Crazed look in your eyes

He tried to shake the image away

He shouldn't be doing this

It wasn't right

You could've died that night

His guilt ridden thoughts did nothing to lessen the tent that had formed in his pajama pants

He tried to push the idea of you out of his head

Usually he'd have more control over himself than this

His resolve was strong at first

He'd hidden the manila folder away in the depths of his lower drawer

Telling himself he'd drop it

That worked for a couple of days

That was before he started dreaming of you

Events that he hadn't preformed himself took ahold of him

He became your attacker that night

He chased you

He ripped apart your clothes

He was the one who you fought off

He's the one who you thrust that knife into

And he loved every second of it

Wait--

No, he couldn't

This was just his empathy disorder

Yeah!

He was just in character

This definitely wasn't him

He would never want to do any of that stuff

And he'd prove it

He had memorized that file from front to back at this point

It wouldn't be weird that he'd known your address

He was an FBI consultant

It was basically warranted

Will found himself picking out his best clothes that night

His newest jeans, tailored shirt, the works

Not for any particular reason

And his bed was definitely not littered with rejected articles of clothing

This was just going to be a simple checkup, it's not like it really mattered what he looked like

He showed up on your doorstep with the nicest bottle of wine he could find

"Will? Is that you?"

"Uh, yeah it is. Would I be able to come in?"

You welcomed him in, albeit a little confused

"I thought my case was cleared..."

"That's not what I'm here for. I just wanted to check in on you."

You smiled at this

And Will felt his heart ache

You'd invite him to join in on your sorry excuse for a dinner

He'd never accepted anything so fast before in his life

It didn't take long before the two of you got into the wine he'd brought

It was innocent enough at first

Just drinking and talking

You'd mention how life was after the attack

Will shared a little about his experience with GJH

Its the first time he had ever felt so utterly connected with another person before

But then the two of you got a little more than tipsy

And Will found himself leaning in

One kiss turned into another and another

Will felt a sense of static overtake him

Every touch between the two of you sent shivers up his spine

He felt the strong urge to consume

Before either of you knew it your clothes were now in a heap on the kitchen floor

You woke up the next morning with a splitting headache

Oh-- and an FBI agent in your bed

Shock was an understatement

That was when the memories of the previous night flooded back

Will woke up at the loss of warmth

Last night was the best he had slept in years

You wrapped tight in his arms, bodies perfectly intertwined

His heart sank at the look of regret on your face

"We definitely shouldn't have done that. I think you should leave Will..."

He couldn't just leave now

Not knowing what he did

That you two were made for one another

He'd try to calm you down

"Y/n let's talk about this."

You weren't having it

Mentioning how inappropriate this all was

You'd shove his clothes into his arms

Will tried to console you

Not realizing why you were so worked up

You both did just have the best night of your life after all

You'd back away but he'd continue approaching

"C'mon I know you don't really want me to go. Let's just take a second before we make any rash decisions"

"We aren't doing anything. I want you to go. Now."

Something about him coming over while you were still recovering from your distress and it all leading to this...

It just didn't feel right

Will tried to approach once more but you pushed him away

He couldn't help the smile that made its way onto his face

"Push me. Go on, make it hurt."

You were absolutely bewildered

He reached out and grabbed ahold of you

His grip was almost crushing

Like he was holding on for dear life

"I won't leave you alone that easily. Fate brought us together for a reason. You feel it too right? We're one in the same. We're each other's destiny."

He looked crazed, sweat slipping from his brow

It felt just like that night all over again

The knife in your hand as your attacker bled out

Only now Will took his place underneath you

#he/him #male reader #will graham x male reader #will graham x reader #yandere will graham #yandere will #possessive love #NBC hannibal #hannibal #yandere hannibal #yandere NBC hannibal #will #will graham #yandere william graham #william graham

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denv2 · 26 days ago

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Felix and the Cats Around Him

Chapter 181~ I reread the part with Felix for the first time in a long time, and there were so many elements that I hadn't noticed before because of my relative lack of knowledge. It's so good... I like it👍

Below are my thoughts as I went through the chapters + drew pictures + IM chapter 181~ spoiler warning! (scroll through carefully lol)

When I first read IM, I knew Felix, but I didn't love him as much as I do now, so I hadn't seen the official cartoon anime (and I had seen all the Oswald anime by then, lol I love all the original characters, so if I like them, I'll watch all the original media and buy the game).

So when I read the Felix part during the hallucination created by the labyrinth in chapter 181, I actually... at that time... I just read it while just following the story, so I didn't remember much about it, and later, after I finished the fic and realized that my favorite character was Felix, I was thinking that I should read the part about Felix's past properly again later, and then I recently re-read that part...

So... so good.... I love the Felix storyline..... It's so interesting... I knew IM Alex was a badass (I really liked the Evil Author Day 2023 novella, so I read that a lot... I know it's a side novella, but I thought it had a great plot and the situation surrounding Bendy was interesting and I loved the Alex in it...) but I had forgotten all about the IM version of Kitty... WHAT?! Felix and EX relationship?!! What a crazy... Delicious (sorry for my taste buds) And it was Alex that caused them to break up? What the hell kind of crazy thing did Alex do that made Kitty feel guilty and Felix run away... Crazy! So delicious (sorry again)

I drew the original cartoon Felix and Kitty a while ago, and I feel weird because I drew them in an EX state in IM, and I feel a little sorry for them, but it's a worldview, right? The relationship between these two is so delicious... lol ahhhhh (yeah I love this kind of relationship too)

I also like villainous characters, so I'm very curious about Alex. Actually, he may not appear more, but after reading the above book... Of course, it may not have anything to do with the main story! To be honest, there's still a lot of information about the cult that hasn't been revealed, so I'm really curious to see what happens next.

Moving on to Felix... Felix was a ZANY superstar, but after Alex, he started to fall apart. Eventually, due to some sort of incident, Felix decided to give up on ZANY and left town. It's such an interesting backstory... But when I think about the early Felix, traveling the world after he left, I realize that he's so... Even better.

Giving up being zany and living with the things he was born with, like resilience and memory. I think he went through a lot of hardships... losing his wealth. He was really lost and confused, and then he met Professor Wilson, and he opened his eyes to archaeology, and he went to college, and he started studying, and he started doing archaeology, and he started adventuring... and that's how he became the skilled professional adventurer that he is today, and that's why I like him even more...

In fact, to be honest, the scene where he sees the last of Professor Wilson and he's so angry and fighting the cupbros, that was the first time I read that scene in the first book, I was surprised and bewildered because it was the first time I'd ever seen him this angry, and I was like, "Oh my god. Is this actually... Is this a fake Felix?" I was confused and then I was like, "What's wrong with Felix? He's fighting too much, that's too much!" But when I read it for the second time... I could relate to it now.... and I found the situation so interesting and I liked it... I liked Felix getting angry (this is just my selfishness... sorry to the cupbros) so much that I read it while screaming in my head. It's stimulating.

Wow...I talked a lot...I'm glad I reread it after a long time because there are so many elements I didn't notice back then. I should catch up and read it from the beginning, but you know, there are so many chapters...lol Anyway... I love Felix. I like cats and bunnies.... Of course, I also like the other friends!

I think the translator put too many and's in there... please understand the meaning and move on!

#quest felix #felix the cat #alex the cat #kitty kat #sheba beboporeba #babitim #the inky mystery #inky mystery #bendy and boris in the inky mystery #babtqftim

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cryptictongues · 4 months ago

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Purrfect Medicine

pairing: Joshua Rosfield x Fem!Reader rating: G word count: 4.2k summary: You find a stray cat and Joshua doesn't know how to feel. warnings: This is straight up fluff!

Author’s Notes: Remember when I posted a poll a while back and this and that Clive smut won? Well, here is this one LOL sorry for the wait!

Please read my pinned post before following me! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked as this blog’s content is NSFW.

[AO3 Link]

The deadlands near the Northern Territories were dreary and dark, something that the realm has become far too familiar with in recent years. Its void of life has created an eerie stain on the map of Valisthea; a tell-tale sign to people that nothing good survives there with its lack of resources. Joshua knew this, yet you had somehow convinced him to set up camp for the night right in the heart of them.

It wasn’t something the both of you had planned for, being that he wanted to get to Prince Dion sooner rather than later. However, you had insisted on stopping for the night when he started to cough non-stop, wheezing more and more with each stretch of travel. He knew you wouldn’t take no for an answer, the stubborn being that you are, and he wasn’t in any mood to argue. The last thing he remembers was you setting up the tent around him as he went in and out of consciousness, sleep taking over his brain until he was no longer present mentally. Now, as his mind starts to wake up, his first instinct is to locate your figure. He didn't sense any movement and the sounds of the deadlands were silent. Sitting up quickly, fast enough to make him dizzy, he pulls back the flap of the tent to see everything has been set up for the night, except you were nowhere to be seen.

Joshua groans. He can’t believe you ran off alone again. After telling you numerous times to not leave his sight, you still don’t listen. While marching to the beat of your own drum is a trait he admires greatly, it drives him absolutely insane at the same time. It is times like these where he wishes his body didn’t fail him so greatly; to have the energy to take care of himself better. It would save him a lot of trouble for himself, but for you especially.

Joshua has known you since the two of you were kids. You were kept in the medicine houses, learning how to heal Rosarian soldiers as the time for war was upon them. He recalls being there a lot as a kid, being as sick as he was. He would always watch you as you watched one of the healers work on him, concentrating on what to do and use for certain ailments. He was charmed the moment he saw you, his chest fluttering in ways he didn’t quite understand at the time.

Those were the only times he saw you. The two of you hadn’t spoken any words to each other unless needed for assessing, and that was that. It wasn’t until after the events of Phoenix Gate, where he remembers vague images of someone pulling him out of the rumble and loaded onto a carriage, where the girl who made his heart flare worked on him all the way until they went into hiding under the protection of the Undying. Long story short, being the only two children in isolation from the rest of the world made it very easy to become fast companions and the Undying declared you his guardian for his travel due to such a bond. Not that he would have accepted any other answer, for you knew him like the back of your hand.

Which means he knew that you knew leaving with no warning would upset him, especially out in the deadlands.

Joshua walks out into the open, starting to pace back and forth unknowingly. You have done this before and have turned up just fine. But the what ifs, the what ifs that fill his mind with dread, make him uneasy with the same questions. Does he go searching for you? Does he stay put? What would you do if he left with no sign? It is the same cycle over and over again.

“If you keep pacing like that, this stop will have been for not.”

Joshua whips his head around to see you standing a few feet away, smiling at him like you weren’t just gone for who knows how long. He takes a long, good look at you, examining to make sure nothing is out of place. But you looked just as you did when he passed out; clean and unscathed.

“I wouldn’t pace if you would just listen to me for once.” He grimaces.

All you did was smile at him, eyes turning into crescents as you walked towards him. “I apologize, Your Grace. I was out finding some herbs for your well-being, but I am sure you can assume how that went.”

“Well, my darling, this is the deadlands. One can assume that means everything is dead.” He feels his lip wanting to curve into a smirk, but he represses it. He can’t let you keep getting away with this: scaring him and shifting his mood back the minute he sees you. He wants to say more, but the second he starts to move his lips, he hears a chirp come from your satchel.

You laughed amusingly, from what Joshua can assume is his reaction to the noise. He watches you reach for the latch, opening it slowly. “If everything is dead, care to explain this?”

He watches the satchel move slightly, and then sees two black ears pop up. A moment later, he sees piercing green eyes, and not a moment too soon he sees a pink nose and whiskers. He is at a loss for words as he stares at a black cat. A bloody black cat.

“Isn’t he cute?” You exclaimed, removing the satchel from your body and setting it on the ground, revealing the cats full form. “I found him hurdled in a crevice off the outer cliff. I didn’t see any other cats, so I guess he is all alone.”

Joshua looks at the cat closely. “How do you know it is a boy?”

You smirked at him. “I can show you if you want.” You go to pick the cat up and immediately it clicks what you were about to do.

“No need!” Joshua rushes out, his face heating up from the embarrassment of his outburst, causing you to burst out laughing.

“You should see the look on your face!” You laughed, sitting down in the process and letting the cat crawl into your lap. “I was thinking of what we should name him. Lance short for Lancelot? Crow? Maybe something more common like Bernard?”

Joshua’s eyes go wide. “Don’t tell me we are keeping him.”

“Well, why not?” You shrugged. “He could be the best healer in the group, especially if I train him.”

“My love, he is a cat.” Joshua states the obvious. He doesn’t even know the first thing about taking care of a cat. Sure, he knew how to take care of a Chocobo and even a frost wolf, but a cat? That was out of his range.

“Cats can be wonderful companions, if you let them.” You smiled, slowly cradling the black ball of fur in your arms as you stood up. You walked over to him, holding the cat up by your face to give the most puppiest of eyes. “Come on, Joshua. Can we please take him with us? I’ll take care of him just like I take care of you. Besides, just you wait! I will make him the best healer you’ve ever seen!”

Joshua doesn’t want to give in, but the more he looks at you, the more his willpower crumbles. He hates how easily he folds for you, and as he continues to stare at you and the cat, he knows he has lost this battle. With a long sigh, Joshua nods in defeat. “Fine, but please, for the love of Greagor Herself, don’t run off again by yourself.”

In an instant, he feels your plush lips kiss his cheek. He watches as you buzzed with excitement, holding the cat close to you. “Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, Joshua! You will not regret this!”

He is going to regret this.

It had been a week since Crow, the name you decided to give your furry friend, was found. Like you had promised, you’ve been very good at taking care of both him and Joshua. Joshua was impressed with your ability to multitask between two beings. However, what was starting to crawl over him like a green second skin was all the fault of the little feline.

Joshua admits that Crow is very well-behaved. He doesn’t run off anywhere he isn’t supposed to. He is relatively quiet, letting out a meow or a chirp if he is hungry or wants some attention. He doesn’t get upset being carried in the satchel you carry, quite the opposite really. Joshua has noticed that Crow is quite keen on keeping his head perched over the bag to watch the surroundings during travel. There is nothing to complain about, except for one major thing: how much he got your attention.

The first night, you had been curled up into Joshua’s side, per usual, with Crow settled at your feet. It wasn’t until he woke up the next morning that he noticed your warmth seemed further away and saw you lying flat on your back with Crow curled on top of your chest. Joshua remembers a glimmer of jealousy in his heart but set it aside quickly. It is just one night. This will not be common practice.

Until it did. It always started the same and ended the same. Joshua started to loathe the damn cat, and he felt silly for it. “It’s a bloody cat!” He thought. He should not feel such negative feelings towards it, but every time he pushes the jealousy out, it rolls back ten-fold.

Joshua is walking side by side with you, the two of you trailing the Crystal Road, getting closer to where the two of you need to be. Joshua is deep in thought, negative swirls of green dancing around his head, when he feels a small bump against his leg. He ignores it, thinking he got too close to your bag, when he feels it again.

He looks down to see Crow looking up at him, eyes wide and mouth curled. Joshua watches him bump his head against his leg, only to look back up at him with his big green eyes.

Joshua is stumped. Is he hungry? Can he feel the negative energy enclosing in his brain? Can cats do that?

“Um… dearest…” Joshua says softly, not wanting to disturb the peaceful walk.

“Hmm?”

“Crow wants something.”

Joshua and you stop in the middle of the road, and you spread the bag apart. “What’s up, little guy?”

You scratched his head, and Crow started to purr. You chuckled, looking at Joshua who was standing there feeling lost.

“You are so knowledgeable, yet so clueless.” You smirked. “He wants attention. He wants you to pet him.”

“Me?” Joshua asks, seriously questioning how that could be true. Crow hadn’t been craving his attention; it had been yours.

“He wants you to scratch his head. He loooooves that.” You drawled out. “Go on. Just like this.”

You scratched his head around his ears, demonstrating to Joshua how to proceed. He hesitantly lets his fingers run across the back of Crow’s head, just petting him at first to get a feel for how he will react. Crow pushes his head into Joshua’s fingers, which encourages him to start moving his fingers back and forth quickly.

Joshua couldn’t believe his luck. Crow was purring at the attention he was getting, and it made Joshua grow bolder. He starts to scratch down under Crow’s neck, making him lift his neck further for more room. In a way, this felt very therapeutic to him. It’s as if the twangs of jealousy that filled his head left within seconds, putting a smile on his face.

He hears a small chuckle, and he looks up to see you smiling behind your hand. He perks up, still scratching Crow in the process. “What’s so funny?”

“It just seems like the sun has decided to come back out.” You dropped your hand, letting it reach for his free one. “You seemed rather gloomy as of late. I’m just happy to see you smile genuinely."

“I apologize,” Joshua followed up with. “I have so much on my mind.” It wasn’t a lie, of course. He did have a lot on his mind, but he doesn’t have the courage to admit that the main thing getting to him was jealousy due to a damn cat.

“I know, but that’s why you have me. You know I’m always here for you.” You swayed, pulling him in a little closer.

Joshua hums and brings his hand to your face. With a gentle grasp, he pulls you in for a soft kiss, reminding himself that you are indeed here for him. He knows you wouldn’t put yourself in such a dangerous position if you didn’t feel strongly for him.

The kiss is interrupted by another head bump, causing Joshua to pull away. He hears you laugh and next thing he knows the satchel strap is over his shoulder, the cat in the bag right by his right leg.

“I’ll let you carry him for a while. He seems to want your affection.” You grin. He laughs softly and takes your right hand to press on the long, winding road with his right hand in the cat bag.

Joshua and you made camp, and for once he thought it best to stop for the night. It wouldn’t be long before the two, well three of you, reach the Crystal Belt, so some time to gather himself in preparation for his meeting with Dion sounded best.

Joshua was settling into the tent, waiting for you to come join him. He had started to help clean for an early start tomorrow, but you insisted he go ahead. While he usually would insist right back to keep his gentleman roots intact, he could feel the long day weighing on his eyelids and chose to let your stubbornness flourish for the night.

His eyes were starting to flutter shut, until he heard the soft patter of paws near him. He opens his eyes to see Crow staring at him, or at least what he can see of him. His black coat completely camouflages him into the shadows of the night, but his green eyes glimmer in the dark.

Joshua sits up on his elbows, hesitant to move. He watches Crow observe him, the cat's head tilting by the way the eyes become diagonal from one another. Petting Crow in a bag, where he is secure, is one thing. To engage with him where he can make any move he wishes is another. While Crow has been friendly, it has been when you were around. This is the first time he has been alone with the feline, and he doesn’t know how to act.

Crow had gotten noticeably closer and was now at the crevice of Joshua’s left arm. He stiffed when he felt Crow sniffing him, goosebumps rolling over his body in anticipation. Great Greagor, he is going to jump me. However, not only did that not happen, but the next thing Joshua sees is Crow let out a yawn, stretching his whole body in the process, before falling on his side with his head laying in between Joshua’s elbow. Small breaths can be heard as Crow starts to relax further, causing Joshua to relax with him. He lays back down, getting more on his side so he is in a comfortable position that allows room for Crow to stay undisturbed from his slumber. Carefully, he pulls Crow closer to him, making him snuggle more into his arm.

“This isn’t so bad.” Joshua thinks, a small smile forming on his lips. His mom never allowed Torgal to sleep with him as a child, her excuse being the wolf dander would deplete his immune system more than it already was. To have an animal so close to him is comforting. It makes him feel oddly safe, even when he feels safe in your company.

He hears the tent flaps open, and the moonlight shines into the tent. He sees your expression as you look at him and Crow, and his heart melts at how your eyes lit up. He watches you tie the flap so it is slightly ajar, and then watches you crawl in. You sit criss-crossed beside him, very obviously admiring the scene occurring.

“Well, isn’t this a sweet surprise?” You said smugly, arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Joshua lightly laughs. “I guess I can understand why you would want to sleep with him and not me.”

“Awe, was My Lord jealous of the little pussy cat?” You pouted jokingly, and all Joshua can do is groan. He knows it is silly, but he can’t deny it.

“I won’t deny my feelings, though rather immature.” He huffs lightly, looking down at the sleeping ball of fur. He moves his hand to stroke the black fur of Crow’s side, his mood lighting up even further. “This is strangely healing, however. I don’t blame you.”

“Well, you can now have a turn with him. He is a great sleepmate.” You moved to set up a side for yourself, but Joshua carefully reached for your arm causing you to turn to him quizzically.

“I have a proposition, being that you join us instead of sleeping alone tonight.”

The warmth in your eyes at his statement makes his heart leap, knowing your answer before it slips your lips. He watches you undress to the undergarments that lie beneath your outer clothes, and lifts the covers when you go to lie beside him. He intertwined his legs with yours, both of your bodies getting as close as possible without crushing Crow. His forehead touches yours, inhaling with an ease he hadn’t felt in a while.

“What is it?” You asked, concern in your tone.

“Nothing,” Joshua mumbles, his left arm cradling Crow to his chest and his right hand settling on your waist. “This is just nice.”

You both fall asleep to the soft hum of Crow’s breathing.

Joshua’s perception of Crow has changed gradually as you all traveled. When he feels his mood sour, it’s like Crow knows and works to get his attention, and suddenly Joshua feels 100 times better. Crow was therapeutic, in a way, so traveling with him wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. If he was being honest with himself, he felt rather happy when Crow begged for his attention.

There had been a change of plans in the journey to Prince Dion’s camp. On the belt of the Crystal Road, Joshua had started to feel worse for wear. His coughing had grown rougher and more painful, more blood coming out of his lungs. His chest wound was growing bigger by the day. He knows he is running out of time, so he had insisted that the journey must continue. Once again, however, you did not listen. Which is why he is now laying in a bed at the Dalimil Inn.

“We really need to get a move on, dearest. We need to get to Dion.” He tries to sound healthy, but even he isn’t dumb enough to think he sounds convincing. He starts to move, wanting to sit up, before another round of coughing rushes out of his lungs.

“Yeah, and you struggling to stay up right is going to help us get there faster.” You snarked, still light hearted nonetheless.

Joshua wishes to retort, but he doesn’t have it in him. He falls back with a groan, his brain pounding and chest tight. He knew keeping Ultima locked away would be hard, but the agony that comes with it is more than he could have realized. Being naturally ill doesn’t provide any immunity to pain, and Joshua was learning the hard way.

You come into his vision, and like the angel you were, you pull the covers over him. Tucking him in like you were his baby, you pressed a kiss to his forehead, which Joshua relished in. He won’t admit it to you, but he has always loved being taken care of.

“I’m going to run out to the market and find some minerals and herbs for your medicine. I’ll also get you some food as you should eat something.” You twirled a piece of his hair, only to drop it to brush your fingertips against the baby hairs that meet his forehead. “Crow will be here to keep watch.”

Joshua turns his head slightly to see Crow sleeping in the desk chair beside the bed, curled up into the seat. He knew he had to be tired, and a weird sense of envy seeped into Joshua’s bones. He wishes he could sleep with such ease.

Fingertips graze his chin, rotating it until he meets your eyes again. The way you are looking at him makes his chest feel lighter, even with the chaos and muck that stirs within. Your skin on his soothes him, and he can’t help but to lean into your touch. His eyes flutter shut, and he hears you hum softly. “Try to get some rest. I shall return to you soon.”

Light pressure sets against his lips, lasting for a few seconds, before releasing. He listens to your steps, and continues to listen after the door shuts. The faintness of your steps disappear, but Joshua still hears them in his mind. The soft pitter-patter of your light feet tap away, and slowly pulls him into a deep sleep.

Even in the few moments before Joshua’s slumber ends, he can sense a difference within himself. He feels as if his chest is heavier than before, but not as it was before. The angry flourishes of pain have settled to a dull ache, something he isn’t accustomed to these days. There is a peacefulness that has taken homage, and it is the most calm he has felt in the last few days. The heaviness on his chest is comforting. It felt like the times he would wake up with your head on his chest, with deep breathing that vibrated his being.

In the early stages of being awake, he reaches for his chest expecting to feel your hair against his skin. His fingers brush against what he believes to be hair, until his brain reminds him that it isn’t coarse and surely doesn’t rise and fall. His eyes snap open, sleepy delirium resolved as he comes face to face with black fur. The light in the room had dimmed slightly, meaning it had been approximately two hours since his slumber. Sometime during the duration, Crow had taken it upon himself to rest on Joshua’s chest.

Crow was purring insistently loud, his eyes crescented as he rests with his body curled. Joshua couldn’t explain it, but the vibrations soothed the violent thumping that would make him stumble with each step. His whole body felt as if he had found an oasis; like he had discovered something that quenched his relief. Or more so, Crow had discovered how to help him.

Joshua scratched Crow’s head, getting behind the ears, making the black feline purr louder and lean into his hand. He could feel a lump in his throat, for somehow, a cat had come to his aid. A cat took one look at him and knew how to help him. Who knew such a remedy would treat him so diligently and work so well. He presumes Greagor knew what She was doing when you had come across the ball of fur; a healer with a healer cat.

Joshua was so immersed with Crow’s abilities, that the sound of the door opening and closing hadn’t caught his attention. It isn’t until he feels movement at the end of the bed that his head shoots up to see you with the biggest grin on your face.

“What did I tell you?”

“Regarding?” Joshua asks, confused as to why you are looking at him with such glee.

“I told you I’d make him a great healer!” You cheered enthusiastically. “Look at you! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look as comfortable as you do right now.”

“You’ve trained him well.” He continues to pet Crow, moving his fingers down to scratch under his neck. “However, I do believe you said he’d be the best healer I’d ever seen. I’ll admit I stand corrected, for he may even be a better healer than you.” He jests, knowing it’ll rile you up.

You gawked at him, “If he wasn’t lying on your chest right now, I’d make you take that back.”

“You can remove him if you’d like. I’d like to see what you’d do.” He draws out lewdly, loving how you are reacting to his quips.

“Whatever, you perv.” You laughed, moving to crawl beside him. You had gently wrapped an arm across him, right behind where Crow lays. Your head is now beside his and he can’t help himself as he leans in to kiss you. The two of you stay like that for a while, enjoying the tranquility of the moment before the three of you prepare to experience the rough world out there.

Him, his lady, and their cat.

#joshua rosfield x reader #joshua fluff #ffxvi x reader #joshua rosfield #ffxvi #final fantasy xvi #my fics #fluff

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sugoi-and-spice · 4 months ago

Text

Chapter Thirty - Yesterday

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn, Racism

A/N: Yeahhhh, so I ended up splitting the chapter anyway lol It was gonna be like 70+ pages, I freaking had to. So sorry for that wait just for a normal chapter!

Read Full on AO3

[excerpt]

Ugh, his head was killing him.

His neck too, although that wasn’t anything new. Nothing he shouldn’t have expected considering how badly he’d torn into it this time.

Shigaraki really couldn’t remember what about today had been so horrible and overwhelming (or maybe it was yesterday now, considering he had no idea how long he’d been out of it for). At any rate, it wasn’t just one thing, he supposed.

It was the anniversary of the day Sensei got rid of Mon-chan, that day each year was always a rough one. His dreams always seemed to be a lot worse, so he usually made a concerted effort to not sleep the night before, so he was tired. Not to mention the summer weather was sweltering, and it had rained the day before, that hot humidity causing his worn skin to sting in a strangely familiar and disturbing way.

And then he’d gotten to school. God, fucking school.

There were alternating stretches in his life among his school peers, where either they’d be scared of and avoid him, or be superior and bully him. He supposed actually that the former actions — the social isolation they consciously put him through — was technically a form of bullying too, but whatever. There was a difference. There were times where the general collective got a lot more hands on with asserting his pariah status to him.

This week fell during the “hands-on” period of the cycle, as evidenced by the words “die, pervert, die” scribbled across his shoe locker in sharpie. Not to mention the way he was continuously and subtly tripped by the other boys during their gym class. At one point he’d also accidentally bumped into that cute girl that sat next to him — Fuwa he was pretty sure her name was — and she had physically recoiled, whispering and giggling loudly with her friends after about how creepy and nasty he was. Practically making sure that he could hear every word of it.

But honestly, he couldn’t even say that that was the issue that really started to make his skin crawl. He didn’t really notice it much. His homeroom teacher sure had though. She asked him to speak with her in the faculty office during lunch. Expressed concern there over his antisocial behavior and lack of cohesiveness with his peers. Not to mention some of the unsavory rumors she’d overheard about him recently. At the end of the lecture she mentioned that if things didn’t turn around soon, she’d want to speak with his Guardian.

He supposed that’s what he’d ultimately been thinking about when calculus came around that afternoon, his fingers clawing deeper and deeper into the side of his neck as he tried to figure out what to do. Because, what the actual fuck was he supposed to do? How could he turn this around when he wasn’t the one to even put his life in this direction in the first place? He didn’t fucking do anything wrong, didn’t do anything to anybody. He had no control. He was helpless.

Even as he tried to stay in his seat when called up to solve an equation on the board, he could do nothing about it. There would be consequences if he didn’t get up right now. He was completely at the teacher’s mercy. At the other students’ mercy. At his Sensei’s mercy.

At everyone else’s mercy, just like he’d always been.

His life wasn’t his own, it never had been. And he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He didn’t want to die, but he wanted everyone else to. He wanted everything around him to just crumble away and leave him alone and finally give him some goddamn fucking peace — whatever that was.

Because he couldn’t imagine peace, truly. He’d never had it. All he had was hatred, the desire to destroy everything around him. He hated this school, these fucking people, this life.

Himself.

Jesus, that’s probably what he hated most of all.

And then he didn’t have many more thoughts after that. It was all a blur of screams and people grabbing him and blood loss. Overwhelming pressure and a searing itch that seeped all the way down into his bones.

Yeah it had been bad, even he could admit that. It was pretty hard to deny when the scratching episode had ended with him in a forced stretcher and ambulanceride to the, several stitches, and an express ticket to the stark white intake room of Jaku Hospital’s Psychiatric Ward where little Miss Nurse Ratched was currently watching him like a hawk as he unbuckled his belt.

Seriously, if he wanted a woman to look at him this unimpressed while he undressed, he would’ve accepted a night with one of Sensei’s hookers.

Whatever, it’s not like any of that really bothered him that much now. It was done, he was here. The bitch could glare and gripe at him all she wanted, but what was really irritating him the most about this situation was the pounding in his head. For fuck’s sake, they were in a hospital after all. Was it too much for him to get some goddamn ibuprofen before he took his pants off? The hell kind of operation was Garaki running here?

Free from the loops of his slacks, Shigaraki dropped his belt onto the ground, pointedly next to, but not in, the personal items bin that the Nurse had set out for him.

She didn’t so much as blink at the disrespect, only informed him:

“Dress shirt too.”

Shigaraki shot her a look, “Seriously?”

“You could swallow the buttons,” she explained simply in that obnoxious deadpan.

He scoffed at the explanation, but did start to undo his uniform shirt. Whatever, he figured, as the bloodied collar slackened around his shoulders and into his view. It’s not like he could wear this one again anyway.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be an asshole about it though.

“Sure you don’t need my pants too? I might make a noose out of them,” he spat as he tore the shirt from his forearms, “Ooh, or how about my underwear? If I’m determined enough, I bet you I could choke on those too.”

The Nurse just stared at him with that completely unimpressed expression.

“Just the shirt will suffice.”

Well, then. He was sure that she was just a blast at parties.

Stripped down just to his black undershirt and school slacks, the Nurse gave him a final onceover. She lingered for a moment on his uwabaki — having been rushed out straight from his math class, he hadn’t had the chance to switch out of them.

“No laces on those?”

“Does it fucking look like it?”

She circled around him, checking the shoes at every angle, before making another mark on her clipboard.

“You can keep those.”

“Well thank God for that.”

She looked up over her clipboard blankly, “You know, we have scrubs we can give you. Then we can skip this whole ordeal.”

Clearly she wished that he’d gone with that option. She wanted this over with just as much as he did. But the reality was that she was wasting her time even more than she realized. The doctor had told him that they were putting him on a 72-hour psychiatric hold sure, but they were fucking idiots if they thought that was actually going to happen.

He shivered a bit as a gust from the AC rushed over him, bringing up his bare arms to wrap around himself.

“I’d prefer you guys give me a jacket or something to put on in here,” he growled, “It’s cold as shit.”

“You can ask your guardian to bring any necessary items like that when you see him,” she explained, not looking at him, “Just make sure he reads all the guidelines first.”

Shigaraki rolled his eyes, because of course they weren’t going to offer him anything actually useful, “Whatever. Is he here yet? Are we done?”

Finally she seemed to be finished with her clipboard, bringing it down to rest at her hip and looking him in the eye.

“He just arrived, actually. Do you want to see him?”

Shigaraki gave her a confused look.

“Wha- yeah? Why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

“I’m just asking,” she explained, “I don’t know what your home-life situation is. And our goal here is to keep you safe and mentally stable. If he’s someone that might upset or trigger you, we want to respect that.”

Shigaraki’s eyes narrowed. God, this bitch was really pissing him off.

“Well I’m fine, so just get me the hell out of here already.”

She didn’t respond for a moment, just stared at him with that blank expression that Shigaraki was quickly realizing was a poker face. She was analyzing him, looking for cracks? Waiting for him to snap or break down or all of it? Whatever her aim was, it had him itching to grab the plastic bin next to him and cuck it right at her.

“This way then,” she finally relented, turning to lead him out of the intake room, “We’ll need you and your guardian to fill out a couple of forms before we can fully admit you.”

“Yeah well, good luck with that,” he said, happy to keep as much of that biting attitude in his voice as possible.

She paused for a moment after typing in her door code, remembering seemingly.

“Oh. One more thing before we go though.”

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crabdrabbles · 9 months ago

Note

Hiii Crab so happy to see you write outside of our rants/idea chats and my fellow delulu cod enjoyer! Would love to request Platonic!141 + Reader (sorry if this is long and somewhat confusing lol). You can do headcanons, drabble or whatever you comfy for. An idea that popped in my head kinda semi personal: Civ or 141! Reader though has parents and family is the reader is quite something else. Reader despite having somewhat normal upbringing still feel empty; they shouldn't be feeling this numb and empty deep inside of them. The reader craves the love that they give but couldn't or lack of receiving it back, though they don’t expect it or selfishly want it. Just someone who understands them even in their deepest darkest secret or flaw then boom cue the task force 141 unexpected yet welcoming to their life and maybe the one that the Reader can lean and let them be vulnerable on (finally).

Take your time on doing this Looking for to your other writing genuinely -Cee, your fellow Soap delulu

GN!Reader & 141 (Mostly Price)

Warnings: Slight angst Ships: None. A/N: This absolutely ran away from me and I do not at all regret it, hope you enjoy, Cee!!! Words: 3549

Almost your entire life had been a cycle of self doubt that also started to churn and twist into self-hatred. You blamed yourself for the feelings. Afterall, you had a relatively normal upbringing. Two parents who were both present in your life, both of whom worked so that you all had food on the table and a roof over your head. A luxury that very few had.

The least you could do for them is follow the path that they wanted to put you on, no matter how much you didn’t want to do it. Because you loved them.

So you excelled in your education, studying hard to try and impress your parents– to make them love you just as much as you loved them for everything that they did for you for your entire life. They wanted you to do all three sciences despite the additional workload it would add to your already stretched thin time? Then you would do them, take any extra classes after school in order to keep up with the work and not lag behind any of your peers.

There was no such thing as a social life, either, not when you had homework and projects due. Friends were few and far between. Generally, most people left when they realised how hyper focused you were on your grades instead of social interaction.

Did a classmate get a higher grade than you on a test? Well obviously you didn’t study hard enough, you just needed to dedicate more time to school even though school was all you had.

Did you get the highest marks in the class? Good, that was what was expected of you. Why didn’t you get full marks? You were better than that. You would do better because you loved your family. They showed it in their own way, of course, by encouraging you to study harder and get better grades. That was their love language, and yours was doing as they asked without a second thought. Because, at the end of the day, you were lucky to have an upbringing like you had. You would ignore the hollow void clawing at your chest because you had no right to feel that way– not when you had a roof over your head and parents that loved you(?).

It was when you came top of the class with full marks in a recent test, you came home with a beaming smile on your face and proudly showed the test to your parents. They took the papers from your hands, flipping through your work with critical eyes, before handing the papers back to you.

‘Well done, we’re so proud of you.’ That was all you wanted them to say to you. That was all you needed to hear. To know that they loved you.

‘Your penmanship is terrible.’ Was what you got instead. When you tried to point at the big 100% in green pen, you were waved away. ‘How are you expected to get a job when you write like a child? I’m surprised the teacher could even read your answers’.

After several years of balancing a work and educational life and paving a way for a line of work that you didn’t want for parents you should have been grateful to have, you decided that enough was enough.

No matter how hard you worked, no matter how high your marks were, they would never be proud of you. They would never return the love that you had for them until you nearly killed yourself trying.

Spending your entire childhood, teenagehood and all of your current adulthood trying to please your parents predictably would damage one’s psyche. You had no friends, family who had never been devoted to you as you were to them, and high grades serving as the foundations to a prison-like future.

You dropped out of University. The only option forward that you saw was joining the army in the vain hope that the empty feeling inside of you would dissipate when you actually did something that you believed was more worthwhile than any University course.

So you threw yourself into the military, working harder than all of the other recruits and training at every chance you could.

Your skills and determination became widely recognised amongst your peers. It took several years, but you eventually caught the eye of none other than Captain John Price.

Impressed by your willpower that not many soldiers possessed, he offered you a place on the 141.

Naturally, you agreed. You believed that being part of such a well renowned and respected team would finally beat back the lingering self doubt and emptiness that had curled itself around your heart.

It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.

You were invited to join the 141, sure, but they had already established their own relationships between each other, had already bonded into a close knit group, and you were simply an outsider. Yes, you had been hand picked by Price himself, but that didn’t mean you were part of the team. They had their own inside jokes that they told to one another, leaving you feeling left out on most days.

And you felt… lacking around them. Ghost was stronger, Gaz was faster, Soap was smarter (he was a demolitions expert for crying out loud!), and Price was almost all of those rolled into one. They all complimented each other as a team. Meanwhile you felt like a spare tyre, a master of nothing and barely a jack of any trade.

Despite how you felt about it all, they all called you ‘kid’. Regardless of age gaps between yourself and the rest of them, the nickname stuck mostly because you were the newbie. It came as a surprise that it wasn’t spat with vitriol as your peers before had, but it was in fact said with… an affection you couldn’t quite place.

You couldn’t ignore the hole in your chest that had been chipped at over the years, forming a gaping maw that no reassurances could really mend.

Doubt lingered in the back of your mind, chipping away at your sanity as you prepared for the worst. How long would it take before they realised you weren’t good enough?

You were so deep in your doubts that you didn’t realise that you had been distancing yourself even more than before until you overheard a conversation in Price’s office a few months down the line.

“-- they don’t belong on the team.” Gaz said as you passed Price’s office and your heart dropped. It was only the tailend of what he had been saying but you had gotten the gist. You wanted to stay, to listen to the conversation more and listen to what your team had to say about you, but you didn’t. What you were going to hear were likely things you had already told yourself right from the start. You keep walking on, ignoring the sting of tears burning in the corners of your eyes. The blood rushing in your ears prevented you from heating the rest of the conversation.

“-- not only are they acting like they don’t belong on the team, but they’re acting like they’re not good enough.” Gaz continued, sighing in frustration.

“Maybe they need more time.” Ghost rumbled in reply, “Let them come out of their shell a little bit. Best not rush these things.” He was talking from experience, after all.

“Aye… maybe I can invite them out for drinks or sommat? I wouldn’t want them getting transferred before we got to know them a little more.” Soap had been the one that had tried the hardest to get close to you but had also tried to give you space so as to not suffocate you with his personality.

“They won’t be getting transferred.” Price said with conviction, tapping his desk, “I chose them to be part of this team and this is where they’re going to stay. Let me have a word with them first.”

“Aye, sir.”

— — — — — —

You found yourself in the smoker’s shelter outside the main building. It was late enough that most of the soldiers had gone to bed or off to do their own things elsewhere so you doubted that you would be bothered for a little while. Just enough time for you to get your thoughts together. Your tears had dried in your eyes a few minutes ago, making them sting in the cold air. You didn’t need to look in your reflection to know that you probably looked like a wreck– entirely unbecoming of a soldier of your apparent status.

You didn’t want to get transferred. Despite your distance with the 141, you didn’t hate them. Far from, actually, you held a great deal of respect for each and every one of them. It was just that you felt like you didn’t have your place amongst them. Not good enough to be associated with them.

“Bit late to be out here in the cold, chuck.” A voice startled you out of your thoughts– one that you would recognise anywhere from the low rasp of a smoker's lungs.

“Captain.” You croaked, wincing at the patheticness in your voice. There was a scuff of boots as Price came closer, leaning into your line of vision with a furrowed brow which only furrowed more as he took in your dishevelled appearance.

“Something on your mind?” He asked kindly, perching on the arm of the bench to give you some personal space. He left his question open, allowing you any chance to steer the conversation how you wanted to. There was no judgement for catching you at your lowest, no disgust at your red rimmed eyes— just polite understanding and a non verbal offer of pleasant company.

“Why did you pick me, Captain?”

The question made him tilt his head, a frown beginning to tug on his features. You were worried you had insulted him.

“What brought this on, huh? Someone say something to you? Need me to have a word with them?” He straightened his back, scowling. Whilst you felt like you didn’t have a place in the 141, you could never deny the shield of protectiveness that Price held over his team. You remember in the back of your mind the day that some General who thought he was hot shit had the audacity to undermine Soap as nothing more than a ‘yappy dog’ when offered the Scot’s demolitions expertise. Price had appeared almost out of thin air and almost ripped the General a new one and things would have escalated into a fist fight had Laswell not intervened. It wasn’t as though Price didn’t think his own soldiers were capable of defending themselves, but he couldn’t care less about punishments aimed his own way over that of his Sergeants and Lieutenant. It was just a surprise that the protective streak extended over you, too, despite your distance to your teammates.

“I’ll sound stupid.” You mumbled, looking down at the ground as if expecting him to chastise you like a child. He didn’t.

“I’ve had my fair share of stupid over the years. Try me.”

“... and ungrateful.”

“I once had a guy punch me in the face two seconds after I took a bullet that would have killed him.” Price countered with a cut off chuckle once he remembered what was probably a mission long finished and cleared his throat. “C’mon, tell Captain what’s on your mind.”

And he sounded so sincere when he said it. Sounded like he genuinely wanted to hear what was going on in your head– that he was willing to waste what was already his important and limited time on someone like you.

“Sir—”

“John.” Price corrected gently, crows feet more noticeable at the corners of his eyes scrunched up when he smiled, “We’re off duty, you don’t need to be so formal.”

“... John.” You echoed, finding that you really didn’t like saying that. It felt like calling your teacher by their first name in primary school or a classmate’s parent other than their last name.

“Now, c’mon, tell me what’s on your mind. Might not be a therapist, but I’m better than bottling it up.” You wondered in the back of your mind how often Price did this. Sat with his soldiers and talked with them, offered them a listening ear to hear their vents and fears. You couldn’t help but feel honoured to be one of the few he willingly offered said time to. Your silence stretched on as you thought of the words to say, how to phrase what you wanted to say without sounding unappreciative of the opportunity that Price had offered you when he requested you join his team.

“I don’t feel like I belong here.” You blurted once the silence had stretched on for long enough to border on uncomfortable. John’s face fell and you quickly realised how bad that sounded and rushed to correct yourself.

“No, no, wait, let me explain–” the Captain closed his mouth to allow you to continue speaking, but you could tell that it was hard for him. “I just… you could have anyone better than me, you know? I’m not a demolition expert. I’m… I’m not the best Sniper. I’m the slowest on the team, pretty sure I’m the weakest–”

“Nope.” Price interrupted, finally breaking the bubble of your personal space as he took a proper seat next to you on the bench but still respecting the distance enough to keep a few inches between you. “Nope, not lettin’ you say another word.”

“But–”

“Nope.”

“Cap–”

“No.”

“But you could have anyone better—“

“But they wouldn’t be you.” He deflected easily. Far too easily. He leant back on the bench, crossing one leg over the other as he folded his arms over his chest. His fingers twitched and you could tell he was itching for a cigar but didn’t light one out of respect.

“Alright, sure, I can ask Laswell to give me one of the best soldiers in the SAS and have them brought here tomorrow. They could be the best of the best, top of their class, better than you and maybe even better than me. But that’s a bit of a stretch.” He winked and earned a weak chuckle from you. “But they won’t be you. I don’t pick just on skill alone, kid, I pick based on how I feel people would fit into the team. I chose you because I knew that you’d be perfect.”

“As for not being a demolitions expert, let me let you in on a little secret. I’ve no fucking clue about demolitions, either. And you don’t have to be on the team to be the ‘best Sniper’. You’re better than most, and that’s what’s important. As for being the weakest– did you or did you not bodily lift Gaz in a fireman’s carry during training the other week while he was trying to act as an injured civilian? Quite dramatically, might I add. Swooned and everything.”

You remembered that practice mission. Quite fondly, actually. Gaz was a civilian and , after being struck by a foam bullet from Soap, had dramatically screamed in agony and crumpled to the floor. When you had lifted him up and over your shoulders, the bastard continued to wail something along the lines of telling his non-existent spouse that he loved them and that his money be given to his equally non-existent children. Soap got in another shot to the man’s head, knocking off his cap in the process. Distracted as you were trying to haul your teammate out of the danger zone, you couldn’t help but laugh thinking about it now.

“Last time I checked, Gaz is somewhat heavier than a sack of flour. Don’t tell him I said that, I’ll hurt his feelings.” Price was right, you supposed. You were more than capable of carrying Gaz over your shoulders, maybe even Soap or Price himself if the time called for it. Ghost you weren’t so sure about, though. The man was a walking mountain.

“What I’m trying to say is that you have to give yourself more credit. You’re more than good enough to be on my team. I chose you for a reason.”

You… did not expect that sort of reassurance from Price. You had hoped for something along those lines, yes, but perhaps with a thrown in criticism or three. You waited for a ‘but’ that never came. The man snorted beside you and when you gave him a quizzical look, he waved off your concern.

“Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think the next thing out of your mouth would be that your parents never hugged you as a kid.”

Your silence made him slowly turn his head towards you. It would have almost been comical if the situation wasn’t. His face crumbled and a wounded sound emerged from his throat.

“Sometimes they did!” You rushed to defend the people that raised you. “And they gave me food and shelter, clothes when I needed them–”

“Fucking hell. No, that’s what they’re supposed to do because they’re your parents. What about telling you that they were proud of you? That they loved you? I saw your records. Top of your class in not just your training but in your education, too. Triple sciences, mathematics, all of it. They had to be proud of you for that? My parents would have killed for me to get even a passing grade in my GCSEs.” You looked down at the ground and it was Price’s turn to have his eyes fixed on you.

“They were proud of you, weren’t they?” He asked again, leaning forwards so he could catch your eye, his own filled with concern. “Kid?”

“I don’t talk to them much anymore.”

Price inhaled sharply and he leaned back again, looking around and clenching his jaw as if fighting back his anger. His fingers twitched again. You admired his self control as he was still yet to grab a cigar that you knew he kept on his person. Usually in his breast pocket while his lighter was in his right pocket.

“Listen to me.” The Captain said, a more stern edge to his voice now that he had gathered his thoughts together. “Whatever your family said to you— how they treated you? Forget it. They showed you obligation. Not love. They didn’t want what was ‘best’ for you, they wanted bragging rights. What you’ve achieved– here, in bootcamp, in university and in school, is something to take pride in– no, no, look at me.”

Your gaze had trailed to the side so you avoided looking at your Captain in the eyes. He noticed and clicked his fingers to gain your attention back on him.

“Don’t look away from me because I want you to listen to what I’m gonna say and I want you to look at my face as I say it.” Your eyes met his blue ones, “You should be proud of everything that you’ve achieved in your life. I’m sorry that your family never told you that and I’m sorry that I haven’t said that enough to you since you joined 141.”

You opened your mouth to say something– to argue or disagree but he shook his head.

“No. It’s my turn to speak now. I’m proud of you. I am so proud of you. Everything you’ve done and everything that you’re yet to do, I will always be proud of you. You’re an exemplary soldier and I knew the moment I saw you that you would be a perfect addition to the 141 and you have proved me right time and time again. You belong on this team just as much as the rest of the boys. Do you understand?”

So many words– proud, proud, proud. That’s all you had wanted to hear for so many years from someone whose opinion mattered to you. You wanted to be seen and Price, this godsend of a man, had seen you and more.

“Kid, do you understand me?”

You nodded once and then realised that Price wouldn’t have been able to tell through your shaking. Tears blurred in the corners of your eyes and you nodded again, not trusting your voice in case it shattered.

“What do you need from me?” Price’s voice was oh so soft, like he was talking to a frightened fawn. He could see how much his words had affected you and it clearly broke his own heart.

“A hug.” Your bottom lip wobbled and his face softened as he opened his arms, twitching his fingers to urge you closer.

“I can do that.”

You leaned into him and he quickly wrapped his arms around you, drawing you in close. You could smell the lingering scent of his last cigar. The smell of his office and cleaning oil. You felt his chin on the top of your head and felt how his chest rumbled as he spoke.

“You’re part of the 141 whether you like it or not, alright? Me and the boys want you here for as long as you want to be.”

At that moment, for the first time in your life. You felt wanted. You felt appreciated and you felt seen.

have a request? send one in!

#modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 3 #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #platonic task force 141 #platonic task force 141 & reader

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joels-shitty-puns · 1 year ago

Text

The Key To Your Heart - Track 4

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x Musician!Reader

Gif by:@sh214

Series Summary: After writing your feelings for Pedro into a song, it gains a lot more popularity than expected. Ultimately it brings both criticism and support, with new possibilities around the corner.

*! New warnings will be listed first !*

Series Warnings: 18+ only (MDNI). Mentions of food, weight loss, weight gain, dieting, weighing, potential eating disorder, food guilt. Potential for puns/dad jokes (name of my blog, and the fic) should give that away. This is my first fic which should be its own warning, lol. Also some cursing. Mentions of masturbation (f) maybe more smut later idk. Sadness, reader is pretty depressed. Poor body image. Rude people. Bullying-ish and just lack of support? Anxiety. Age gap! Reader is in her mid 20's, Pedro is current age (48).

Other stuff: Reader is plus sized. AFAB. Inexperienced. Also has a dog, but you can pretend it is another creature probably. Further, in case it isn't clear, italics almost always are the reader's inner thoughts!

Word Count: ~2.3K

Series List: Here!

Miss last chapter? Here!

Hi there! To those of you who have read and are still with me, THANK YOU! I love you all. I'm sorry that my chapters are taking longer and longer. Work has been a bit more hectic lately and I also just had some serious writer's block with this chapter. That being said, it feels a little rough and I apologize if its awful lol. But either way, thanks for hanging in there with me and please let me know what you think! Your comments make me happy!

__________

You groaned, stepping out of bed and drifting towards the bathroom. Your face was sticky and your eyes stung from crying late into the night. It was silly, naive, and frankly stupid… but sometimes you can't control how hard emotions hit. Seeing that Pedro didn't actually watch your video was a let down - to put it mildly. Obviously he's a popular guy. A star. He has better things to do.

You should be grateful he even responded to your Instagram message before. Even though it hurts, surely he has more interesting things to do than message someone like you. Just because you wrote a song and he said he liked it doesn't mean he owes you anything more.

So after a fitful night's sleep, you were utterly exhausted; physically, mentally, and emotionally. Luckily, it was still your weekend and you could rest today.

More like spend the day wallowing in your self pity… you think, disdainfully at yourself.

Looking in the mirror, you notice your puffy eyes. There's some new acne, and a mop of frizzy hair on your head. After using the toilet, you step on your bathroom scale before your shower; a morning routine you started during years of dieting. Another 3 pounds. Up again?!

You look in the mirror, pinching your stomach with a sigh. I guess I shouldn't have had those cookies yesterday…

The food guilt creeps up as you think of the goodies you've eaten recently. Cookies yesterday, fast food the day before. You were bitter that you weren't one of those people that could just magically eat whatever they wanted without gaining an ounce.

But you aren't, and you should know better.

Frustrated with your appearance, you begin your usual internal debate about how to fix it.

Maybe I should go back on the diet…

But the diet caused you so many problems. Remember the stomach issues? The hunger? The lack of joy? Binge eating on cheat days until you were sick?

But! I lost so much weight!

Yeah, until you started gaining weight…

Maybe I didn't cut enough. People said I looked so good. I was *almost* skinny.

Maybe people would like me more if I was skinny… Maybe Pedro would like me if I were skinny. There's no way he would be with me looking like this.

These were the debates that plagued you for months… years… a lifetime.

You showered, tears beginning to flow again as you tried to push out the thoughts. He was probably just busy, but either way you knew you didn't have a chance.

Your friends were right. You were an obsessed fan. It was… concerning, as they said. They pitied you when you felt sad about your feelings. Just find someone you actually have a chance with, they pushed. Someone real.

But... he did message you. Maybe he didn't even know you had an interview yesterday? Maybe he watched it later. You were being utterly ridiculous. It didn't matter anyway.

But what you didn't know was that Pedro felt just as disappointed. He wanted to be the one on your list. The one you loved. He went to bed just as mopey as you did and woke up just the same.

_____

Having washed away your bad feelings as best as you could, you gave Skipper a kiss on his little forehead and made some coffee while scrolling Instagram. You were nervous to see what people had to say about your interview, but you had to face the music eventually.

As you could have predicted, people were running through the potential suspects (or prospects, that is) who have brown curly hair and brown eyes. Some supported you and loved your interview. Others criticized you for being too chicken to show yourself.

You weren't used to this level of attention, and you really weren't sure you enjoyed it. But you were grateful to have your two lives kept separate, your true persona still shaded in privacy.

What you did not predict, was a notification popping up from Pedro, interrupting your scrolling. Forgetting to breathe, you immediately clicked on it. If the message were food from the oven, you would've burnt your hand the way you grabbed it so fast.

Perhaps I should've been a little more chill about opening this so quickly... Oh well.

Pedro Pascal messaged you: "Hey! I watched your interview yesterday. You did fantastic. I know fame is new to you and you're nervous, but you're a natural."

Your heart swelled. He did watch it!! He must have just been busy during the live stream.

You replied: "Pedro! You watched it!?! Thank you so much. That really means a lot to me."

Pedro read your message immediately, but instead of sharing in your level of excitement, he was hit with a wave of confusion instead. She must just be trying to not hurt my feelings. She already knows I watched it.. unless she didn't even notice my name. Or she didn't care enough to look for it…?

He decided to play along with it anyway. "Absolutely, I did. I've had it marked on my calendar since the day it was announced a couple days ago and watched it as it was streamed live."

His response took you by surprise, and then made you angry. If he really watched it, he would know that they gave you a list of the people who watched it live. Why was he lying to you about it?

You started to plan out your response, maybe even send an accusatory comeback, but then you thought about it again.

Why would he lie about it? What would he gain by lying? He messaged you.

With this in mind, you instead chose to take a different approach. One better designed for fishing. One you had to be very careful about, so as not to reveal the fact that you looked for his name.

"Wait!? You watched it live? I didn't see you on the list. You're one of the few people I've spoken to who actually seem genuinely friendly and interested in having a conversation with me. I had sort of hoped you were listening."

There. That doesn't sound too revealing, right? Totally friendly…

Pedro opened your message and was met with both confusion, and something else he wasn't expecting. Hope. Did you look for his name??

Still, he wanted to address the confusion. "You didn't see me on the list? That's odd.. but I'm sure there were a lot of names to scan through. Maybe my name was just buried in that list."

You knew it wasn't buried. He was the only name you looked for. The only name you cared about seeing on that list, not that you'd admit that to him right now. But you also didn't want him to feel that insignificant either.

"There were a lot of names, I'll give you that. But I swear you weren't there. Were you logged into your account? Maybe your Internet crashed, or you missed part of it?"

Instantly he remembered the ten or so minutes that Oscar interrupted him.

Oscar!

"Oh shit! That's it. Oscar barged into my house while I was watching it and I slammed my laptop closed."

"Oscar… Isaac? Wait, why did you slam your laptop closed?"

"Yeah, that's the one. And… I don't know. He just surprised me, I guess. It wasn't a planned visit."

Slamming your laptop closed is an odd reaction to your friend visiting, but okay, you thought.

"So you closed your laptop, and missed a few minutes. And that must have been the moment they pulled the list of viewers."

Pedro replied. "It must have. But I was there, more than happy to listen to what you had to say"

If my name had been on the list, would her answer have been different? When asked whether the man she loved was on the list and she said no, would my name have changed anything? Pedro wanted to ask you these questions. But he couldn't. Not only was he scared, but he also didn't want it to come off as some douchey comment that made you uncomfortable. He wanted to get to know you better, even if just as a friend, and he wouldn't let a silly little crush ruin that.

You sent a response that could be deemed as friendly or neutral, still cautious. "Thank you Pedro. I'm really glad you watched it."

He replied without hesitancy. "Of course. But, I am sorry that your guy wasn't on that list."

He sounds genuine. Not like he's fishing for information like everyone else on the internet. In turn, you decide to be playful with your response. Risky, but still not too revealing. "It's okay. It turns out that list wasn't as accurate as I once thought it was" you typed with a smirk.

"So maybe he was watching after all," Pedro answered.

"Maybe he was."

Pedro soon changed the subject, "I did enjoy hearing about your favorite things, though. You may know this already, but I love movies. Some of the ones you mentioned are a couple of my favorites as well. But as for your favorite books, I haven't read them, but I've been meaning to find a new book to read."

The fact that he was a reader made your heart flutter; the thought of him sitting with a book, his glasses perched on his nose, brow furrowed as he stroked his thumb over his lip in deep concentration. You were overjoyed at the thought of him reading *your* favorite book and potentially having someone to talk to about it. Before you knew it, you had frantically sent multiple excited messages.

You: "Oh! If you read any of my favorite books we HAVE to talk about them!"

Second message: "AGH the first book I mentioned is my favorite, out of all of them. The ending blew my mind. And the characters were just so amazing! Well except for that one guy.. but I won't spoil that…"

Third message: "But my favorite character has the greatest lines!!! Sometimes I like to quote it but nobody else gets it. And the way the author describes the settings is so magical, it makes you want to be there."

Pedro caught himself smiling at his phone, wrapped up in your excitement, as you were finally able to talk to someone about your favorite book. It was adorable how happy you seemed.

He started to type a reply when you sent another message. "Shoot… I'm sorry. I got a little too carried away…"

"Who told you that?"

Huh?

"Who told me what?" You asked.

"Who made you feel like you had to stop talking when you became excited about your interests?"

His question took you aback, but your mind struggled to pinpoint the answer to it. There's been so many people that have told you that over the years. People you assumed were friends. An old crush who didn't like multiple text messages at once. Classmates who would complain or make fun. It was routine.

"Oh. It's not a big deal. It's just something I've heard over the years. But I also know how I get and I don't want to be too much. I'm sorry. I don't want to monopolize the conversation too much either. But hey, you didn't mention, what are your favorite books?" You tried to change the topic.

Pedro felt that protective feeling bubble up in his chest again.

"Over the years!? There have been multiple occasions?" Pedro shook his head, even though you couldn't see through the text. "I'm sorry anyone ever made you feel that way or said anything to imply that your interests weren't worthy of being heard. Fuck them. They should be thankful that you shared your interests."

They should be grateful to hear your beautiful voice get so excited. To get to see your excitement and smile, Pedro thought to himself angrily. He hoped he could someday witness you getting excited over your interests in person too.

"Thank you Pedro. But really, it's okay. I know I get a little… obsessive and crazy, especially with sending multiple texts, so I don't blame them. Haha. :)" you tried to soften the mood.

"I don't want you to ever feel that way with me. I liked hearing you talk about your interests."

You began to type, but Pedro beat you to the punch.

"In fact… if you'd like to talk more," he gave you his phone number. "Feel free to text me, or you can call me too. I like talking on the phone, but I know not everyone does."

Holy shit. Is this real life? Did Pedro Pascal just give me his phone number? And ask me to call him?

Truthfully, your introverted self really didn't like talking on the phone. But the idea of talking to Pedro, hearing his voice on the other end of your phone was too much to handle.

What you didn't realize, was that Pedro wanted it just as bad.

Your fingers danced over your phone keyboard, trying to find the right words for a reply. What do you say when the love of your life (that you didn't think you would ever have a chance with) gives you his phone number?

Pedro watched anxiously as the three dot-dot-dots of typing appeared and disappeared over and over. His heart was racing, and he began to worry he may have overstepped this time.

Why did you give her your number? She's going to think you like her!!!

But you do like her, you idiot, Pedro berated himself.

He ran his hand down his face, waiting for your response in agonizing suspense. But instead of hearing the pop of a notification, his phone began to ring instead, an unknown number displayed on the home screen.

Wait… is that her? Is she CALLING me?!

He answered frantically, practically dropping his phone in the process.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Pedro? It's me.."

You heard him give a breathless laugh before answering with a gentle "Hi."

_____

Thank you for reading!! Let me know your thoughts :) More will be coming soon. I know this is a painfully slow burn lol. Thanks for being patient.

Next chapter! Here

_____

Taglist: (Want in? Let me know!)

@pedrotonin @starcrossed02 @lightupsketchersperson @cartoon-garbage04 @tyferbebe @maryfanson @gwendibley84 @faithfullyyours2000 @brilliantopposite187 @hc-geralt-23 @jenniferpendragon

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal x you #a! wrote a fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader #rpf #pedro pascal x musician!reader #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x plus sized! reader #pedro pascal x afab!reader #key to your heart

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theteasetwrites · 2 years ago

Text

Merciless Beauty

Chapter 6: Through Life and After Death

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: SMUT (18+)―missionary, body worship, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (do not endorse), loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, sir kink if you squint, "fucked dumb" (lol), language ❧ Word Count: 15k (I am so sorry.)

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: With the threat of Negan and the Saviors' imminent return heavy on your mind, you find solace in one last excursion outside the castle walls, with your knight. A chance discovery, and the knowledge that this may be your last moment alone with him, leads you to the logical conclusion of your longing.

❧ A/N: Babe, wake up. The knight and the princess are about to boink. Btw I wrote most of this while I’m on my period so that might explain a lot.

The night before last had haunted you, tormented you, until you saw Sir Negan’s arrogant face in every shadow in your bedroom, every darkened corner of the castle, and even every forlorn hollow amongst the foliage in the courtyard where you took your afternoon strolls.

Your own home became a house of horrors, and now, you could not stand to be there another minute.

Before that night, the castle was only a place of sadness for you, but now, it was a looming threat, with each rising and setting of the sun marking another day closer to the day he would come back. You couldn’t even bear to speak his name, so you didn’t. You couldn’t, as though somehow even using your voice to acknowledge his existence was giving him more power. And yet, it was impossible to avoid the plague of unease that the man had infected you with.

Afterall, your situation was dire, no matter what transpired in the coming days leading up to his return. If your father decided to appease Negan, the best option for the survival of the kingdom, it would mean you’d be given to him willingly, taken to the Sanctuary to be his wife. If your father refused to give you to him, you’d be taken by force, and there was no way that Alexandria’s now weakened defenses could fight the Saviors from taking you―they were going to take you, no matter what. There was no outcome that would be in your favor. You were going to be Negan’s now, and you had to accept it.

But you didn’t.

Late last night, the king had left Alexandria in the hopes of making alliances with neighboring kingdoms against the Saviors in a last ditch effort to fight them. It was a noble pursuit, but worthless. Even with the help of the other provinces, the Saviors had weakened those kingdoms as well. Their armories were ransacked, and their numbers were increasingly dwindling. Still, you took advantage of your father’s absence―for one last excursion outside the walls before you’d surely be ripped away from your home in a matter of days.

It was the easiest breakout yet, given the lack of guards roaming the corridors of the castle. The journey through the tunnel was quiet, none of the usual talk of knighthood or herbalism or the knight’s stories of his adventures in exotic, faraway lands. It wasn’t until the meadow when you asked Sir Daryl to treat this day just the same as the others―as if nothing had changed, and this wasn’t your last journey with him.

And so, the knight being simply unable to refuse your wishes, he buried his sorrows to speak of things that pleased you, and you continued regaling him with quotes from your favorite tales and poems, all of which he listened to attentively, pulling Phantom’s reins as you both approached the familiar little cottage, its new outer walls now the first thing you saw.

It was only recently that Sir Daryl had commissioned a mason to build the protective border round the little house, an additional safety precaution to keep the walkers out, he said. Sometimes, you wondered if he’d had that built just for you to be safe, but perhaps that was a self-centered thought. The notion still produced a fluttering feeling in your abdomen, one that you became accustomed to since you first felt them with him. It was the most pleasant feeling you’d ever had, and no matter how you experimented to see if any other source of happiness could replicate that feeling, you always failed.

The sun was setting now, the usual ending to the usual day out, only now, the knight had offered to prepare you a real supper, not just the usual loaves of bread and rosemary butter. This eve, he was set on something special―venison he’d hunted himself just days prior, accompanied by vegetables you’d collected from the cottage garden, many of which you’d never even tried before. “Peasants’ grub” the nobles called them, but they were simple potatoes, onions, cabbages, leeks, carrots… Everything you’d need for a good stew.

But Daryl would not let you lift a finger, relegating you to sitting upon one of the straw-filled pillows strewn about on the floor, just a handful of feet from the warm lit hearth, where Daryl stood laboring over a steaming pot.

“Are you sure you do not need any help?” you peeped, though you and he both knew that you had less skill in cooking than him. In fact, you’d never even cut a vegetable before today. That was simply not your responsibility.

He looked at you through curling smoke, his eyebrow raised at the notion. “Told ya I’d do it. Isn’t much left to do, anyway… Just gotta let it cook a bit more.”

With your posture as straight and perfect as ever, you nodded and wrapped the blanket he always gave you tighter around your body. At this point, it smelled distinctly of your sweet perfume. “Thank you again, Daryl. I know… I know this is not the most ideal time to leave the castle, but I could not stand to be there another second. I swear I can still smell that man’s stench.”

Daryl swallowed hard before clearing his throat, disturbed by the very thought of him, the man who he knew he could not stop from taking you, but he’d do anything in his power to prevent it from happening.

He’d thought of many things, in fact. He hadn’t slept in two nights, the time spent instead thinking of ways to stop Negan, but they all had their weaknesses. Of course, his first thought was to hide you, to take you away from the castle and keep you somewhere else, but that wouldn’t stop the Saviors from pillaging Alexandria, from killing more people. The one thing keeping Negan from destroying the kingdom was you, and even then, it was still uncertain.

And killing Negan and enough of the Saviors to render them powerless was next to impossible. Alexandria was a small kingdom anyway, and now it had dwindled down to almost the size of a large village, with hardly any defenses or military-trained citizens to even stand a chance against an army of the Saviors’ size. The situation was hopeless, and he hated that all he could do was wait.

“But it’s nice to be here,” you said. “I like it here… With you.”

He met your sweet smile with a boyishly lopsided one. The man was quite a bit older than you, but he had a youthfulness about him you couldn’t quite place. Perhaps it was in his eyes, which glimmered just as brightly as you’d imagined they had when he was closer to your own age. His face was weathered, but mostly, he was very handsome to you, with a softness to his features that mesmerized you at times.

Particularly, you’d developed a fascination with his lips, the way they moved. He had a habit of folding in his lower lip and chewing on it, especially when deep in thought. Sometimes he’d purse them to the side when he was frustrated, or the top lip would snarl a bit when he killed a walker. You’d become attuned to the patterns of his smiles, grins, and smirks. Your favorites were the ones like this, uneven and slightly bashful, as though you’d said something that flattered him.

You’d been flattering him a lot more lately, you realized. Perhaps your attraction to him was becoming more and more difficult to hide. Strangely, you did not feel the usual urge to combat it. Maybe it was the particular kind of heat from the hearth that evening or the way his hair was pinned behind his ears to keep it out of his way as he cooked, but the fluttery feeling in your abdomen was more persistent than usual, more continuous. At some point, you knew it would be impossible to hold back, but you had to.

“I like being with you, too,” he replied, sprinkling some freshly ground herbs into the cast iron pot. “I wish I could…” He trailed off, stopping his train of thought before he spoke improperly in front of you.

“Could what?”

Gut Negan ‘fore he lays another finger on you. “Nothin’.”

You huffed in amusement at his shyness. “Keeping secrets from your princess,” you teased with a wiggling brow and a squint of faux offense. “That is not very knightly behavior, sir.”

My princess, he thought. Mine.

He shook his head with a huff, ridding himself of his intrusive thoughts. “Wish I could… do somethin’ for you, s’all.”

“Oh, Daryl,” you said. “You’ve already done so much for me. There’s nothing you could do… It is in my father’s hands. Well, it is in Negan’s hands, really.”

“But it shouldn’t be like that.”

“No, it shouldn’t, but it’s how it is, no matter what. Even if Sir Negan had no interest in me, my father would expect me to marry a noble, or a prince or king from some other kingdom. He’s a good father, but he is still a king. Really, I am quite lucky he has not married me off yet. Many princesses marry men they do not love. My mother, her marriage to my father was arranged. Somehow, it worked. They grew to love each other very much. I do not believe I could ever love Sir Negan, though… Not ever. He is evil.”

I won’t let him take you, he wanted to say, but he knew that would be an empty promise. Tonight, for all he knew, could’ve been one of the last nights he’d ever see you again. One thing was certain, this was going to be the last time he took you outside the castle. The last time he could truly be alone with you. And yet, he could not work up the courage to tell you how he felt, how he cherished you much more than he should’ve, how he believed he loved you.

“Wish I could take you away from here,” he said, his lips moving faster than his brain could process his words. “Wish you could stay here, and Negan would never find you.” When his rationality caught up with him, he cleared his throat and shook his head in an attempt to take back what he just said, even though he meant every word.

“I do, too,” you said, surprising him a bit. “I wish I could, but then what would Negan do? He’d destroy Alexandria. He’d kill my people… He might even kill my father. I couldn’t let that happen. No, I have to face it. There’s nothing anyone can do, Daryl, though I appreciate how much you care about my safety.”

I love you.

Instead of voicing his thought, he eyed the weakening fire of the hearth, its flame no longer adequately heating the bottom of the pot. “I’m sworn to protect you,” he said. “As your knight.” He felt your soft gaze caressing his face like an invisible hand, though he tried to remain nonchalant as he poked at the fire. “If I let you get taken against your will, I’m not protecting you.”

That was almost amusing to you, as Daryl seemed to rarely care about performing his official knightly duties. When it came to you, though, he took his job quite seriously. In fact, you began to wonder if he cared more about protecting you than his own lord to whom he owed fealty. What he owed to you meant much more than mere feudalism, though. What he owed to you was his mind, body, and soul.

“And I am sworn to protect my kingdom. If I run away, I am endangering my kingdom.”

That all being said, the idea of Daryl taking you far away from all your troubles was dangerously tempting, to the point that you forgot to breathe for a moment, until it came back to you in the form of a heavy swallowing of air.

“I do not want anyone else to die,” you continued. “I… certainly do not want you to die fighting for me, Daryl, though I am so very grateful for everything you’ve done for me. In truth, I don’t think I have ever felt as close to someone as I feel with you.”

There was more you wished to say, and it seemed as though Daryl had something on the tip of his tongue, but once again, he held himself back, despite every cell in his body screaming out to you professions of love and adoration that had only grown stronger with each passing moment he’d known you. With every way he’d begun to see you for who you were, he fell harder in love. With every angle of you he feasted upon with starving eyes that tore themselves away despite their hunger, he grew more desperate, more bereft of your warm, soft, supple body that he dreamed of cherishing and worshipping every waking moment of everyday.

God, he couldn’t keep you from his mind, your presence overwhelming and intoxicating and mesmerizing, even in this moment when your voice spoke so innocently and with the dignity and poise of a princess. That’s what you were, he had to remember—a princess. He was a knight. He needed to know his place… Though it was becoming increasingly harder to do so.

With the heady air of silence meandering between you in the tiny hovel, Daryl concentrated on rousing the flame of the hearth, but there was nothing he could do to build it up again without collecting more firewood to fuel it. It was the perfect moment to excuse himself and go out to gather tinder while he collected himself, before he did or said something… improper.

In fact, he swore that if he opened his mouth now, he’d wax poetic about all the sinful thoughts he’d tried to keep at bay. Only your voice stopped him from heading out without an explanation.

“Where are you going, knight?”

He palmed at his forehead with a huff, remembering that he was in a social situation, with a sacred woman he cared for too tenderly. He couldn’t just leave you without saying what he was doing, after all.

“Hearth needs more tinder,” he spoke over his shoulder as he donned his black wool cloak. “I won’t be far, just at the splitting log right outside.”

“I shall stir the stew,” you said dutifully, rising elegantly from your seat, with delicate handfuls of your dress to lift it as you crossed to the hearth.

“Don’t poison it,” the knight replied, to which you flashed him a smirk.

“Why ever would I do such a thing? That would be foolish, anyway. I am going to eat the stew, too.” He turned to look your way. It was a mistake. He got lost in your face, your cheeks high and full with your smile, and your eyes sparkling with the reflection of the dying fire. “Hurry along, now,” you said, your voice low now, almost husky. “You mustn’t keep me waiting.”

You did not intend the phrase to sound… suggestive, but perhaps your emotions were beginning to cloud your better judgment, and now every word you spoke betrayed you.

“I won’t,” he replied, a barely audible crack in his voice, though you chalked it up to his already raspy way of speaking. “Be right back.”

Before leaving, he took up the splitting maul he kept beside the door, a burst of cold from the spring night air chilling you for a moment as the door swung shut. Absent-mindedly, you found yourself studying the stew as you stirred it. You tilted your head in amused curiosity at the simple, yet appetizing, concoction. Whatever mix of herbs Daryl had thrown together had created a pleasant kind of aroma that filled the small one-room cottage with a comforting warmth.

A mischievous grin spread across your face as you thought to taste a bit of the stew before Daryl came back. Afterall, it couldn’t hurt to get a small sampling. Careful to get a little bit of everything in your spoonful, you purposefully sought out a large chunk of perfectly cooked-through venison. Raising the large wooden spoon to your pursed lips, you tasted the warm soup, letting it sit on your tongue for a few thoughtful moments as you attempted to study every flavor and texture.

Though the stew was undoubtedly delicious, it was still missing something. You’d seen Daryl sprinkle several different herbs and spices, but it lacked the savory, peppery taste of one of your favorite herbs: sage.

There was a tall wooden pantry across the room, where Daryl had stored most of his dry ingredients. You quickly crossed to the cabinet, your eyes looking back every few moments to keep an eye on the rolling boil of the stew. The pantry doors opened with a creak, you biting your lip and furrowing your brow as you scanned the dim shelves for the dried herb you sought. Daryl had an impressive selection of both culinary and medicinal ingredients, each jarred in their own glasses with a label of faded paper glued to its side, indicating the ingredients’ names. You’d pushed back several jars, all of which weren’t the dried sage you were looking for.

He had everything—rosemary, saffron, ginger, grains of paradise, cloves, parsley, cinnamon, spikenard, alecost, thyme, southernwood… Everything but sage. “Good heavens, sage cannot be that difficult to come by, can it?” you spoke to yourself. “Sage… Sage…” You began to impatiently rearrange the jars, rereading each one a few times to ensure you weren’t going mad, though it began to feel like it. “How could he not have—”

You’d reached the back of the dusty old shelf, where no more pesky jars of spices and herbs could taunt you. Instead, a lone small chest of plain cedarwood sat undisturbed against the back wall of the cupboard. It wouldn’t have fazed you, as you’d most logically assume it was just another container for some special exotic spice, but what had silenced you and your mumbled self-ramblings was the chain of iridescent white pearls that poured out from the little chest, rendering the lid slightly ajar, but just open enough for your to catch a brief sparkle twinkling in the darkness.

And those pearls… You recognized them.

They weren’t cheap freshwater pearls, the kind you could get from any silver-tongued peddler on the street in Alexandria’s market district. No, they were distinctive… Their luster and nearly perfect roundness betraying their expensive nature. Akoya pearls, you recalled the explorer saying. It was not long before the Scourge broke out, when you were just fifteen. The only jewels you had kept now were those inherited from your mother or family heirlooms. The pearls were beautiful, and they were important to you, but they were sacrifices you had made in the name of gratitude for the knight’s kindness.

You gave them to him, but under the impression that he’d sell them.

Why would he keep this?

But it wasn’t just one necklace, no. The faint glimmer of light from deep within the box enticed you, leading you to lift the lid, despite your high-society etiquette telling you that snooping around in other people’s things was hardly becoming behavior. You believed, though, that you had a right to see. That was once your necklace, after all.

There was more, just as you’d suspected. The box was brimming with a colorful assortment of precious jewels from your collection, all of which you’d had distinct memories of gifting to the knight after each excursion he’d accompanied you on. Pulling the box forward, you stared wide-eyed as you rummaged through, recognizing each and every piece—the pair of pearl and amethyst earrings, the ruby and silver brooch, the gilded ring of jade with an intricate claw setting, the red coral rosary given to you at your first Holy Communion, the repoussé chaplet set with refined diamonds and sapphires… Each trinket was unique, and undeniably yours.

There were a few possible explanations you could think of. The first explanation, and the most logical, was that Sir Daryl was saving your jewels for a rainy day, intent on selling them all together for a larger sum. The second, and the most amusing to you, was that he was wearing the jewelry himself, and he was hiding them to spare himself the embarrassment. The third, and the most worrisome, was that there was a lady he was intent upon giving your jewelry to, or at least that he was keeping the jewels in the event that he would find a lady to woo. This thought made your heart race, but not in the way it usually did when the knight crossed your mind.

But all these explanations were useless to you. There was no way of knowing now exactly why he kept your jewelry. Perhaps it meant nothing at all, but you couldn’t let it go. You needed to know, otherwise you’d never think clearly again. Without your sage, you replaced the chest and its contents to close the cupboard and return to the boiling pot, though not without a nervous pitter patter in your chest.

You were startled from your thoughts with a jump and a gasp when the knight kicked open the front door, a pile of freshly cut logs in his arms. He cursed himself for his lack of grace.

“Y’all right?” he asked, keeping a concerned eye on you as he crossed to the hearth to prepare the fire.

“Fine,” you replied with a nod. “Stew’s ready, I think.”

He furrowed his brow at that statement, then responded with a slight chuckle to his voice. “How do you know?”

“I tasted it,” you said. “It’s ready.”

“Yes, your highness,” he replied with a huff, amused by your certainty.

At length, he procured two wooden bowls and two silver spoons, the both of you settling for casual seating in front of the hearth, sitting upon the floor cushions with criss-crossed legs and a strange silence between you. Silences like this were uncommon. Of course, whenever it was quiet between you, there was always this presence of heaviness, as though something needed to be said by one of you, or both, but right now, there was no comfort to it. Now, the weight had become so unbearable that there would be no comfort to this usually pleasant silence until one of you spoke.

And it had to be you. You were the one who had seen the chest, who knew now that Daryl kept all those payments for whatever reason instead of cashing them in. You had to know why, there was no other way around it.

You only hoped he wouldn’t resent you for it.

“Daryl?” You let your spoon clink against the side of the wooden bowl as you relished the recent aftertaste of the savory soup. “May I ask you something?”

He was hoping you would. He’d spent enough time with you, had known all your habits and quirks and idiosyncrasies, that he knew when there was something on your mind. Given the weight of this silence, it must’ve been important.

“Yeah.” He wiped his lips with the sleeve of his off-white chemise. You took extra care not to become distracted by the crop of pale brown, wiry chest hairs just barely visible at his loosely laced up collar.

Without even noticing, you licked your lips as you thought of what to say, hoping he wouldn’t be offended. Afterall, you’d gone snooping about in his pantry. Still, you believed you had a right to know.

To focus on your words, you set your near-empty bowl on the stone edge of the hearth. You straightened to sit up taller, your hands carefully folded in your lap. You looked like the picture of a princess, except in your eyes. They were downturned, as you couldn’t bear to look him in the eye in case your actions were misconstrued as mischief. “When you were out chopping wood,” you began with a small nervous croak in your voice, “I… Well, I tried the stew, as I said, but I thought it could use some sage, you see, and so I—I looked in your pantry.”

It was then that the knight began to choke on a chunk of venison, having swallowed it too soon with the realization that you could’ve seen his jewelry box, the one he hid because of his embarrassment to admit that he kept those jewels because they were yours. No practical reason at all, just the thought of you, something part of you belonging to him. It was silly, he knew that, but to him, there was a comfort in having those trinkets. If he’d sold them, all he’d have would be measly bits of dirty metal that had been in thousands of different hands and would be in a thousand more. Those jewels were worth more than that. They were once yours. As far as he was concerned, they were still yours.

The man turned away from you, covering his mouth with the inside of his elbow as he coughed to help the meat pass down his throat. You leaned forward, reaching your hand out to touch his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled between his coughs. “Just… just…”

“Here,” you said, scooting closer to hand him a tankard of water. He waved you off, but he was still hunched over to the side and refusing to face you, both as a result of his embarrassment and his coughing fit. You huffed and spoke more harshly now. “Daryl.”

He knew that voice well enough now to know you were serious. He turned towards you slowly, taking the cup from your hands as he still sputtered our grunts between coughs. “Th—thanks.”

He choked a bit more on the water now, but only because he felt your hand soothing his back in slow, languid, yet careful, movements. “There…” Your voice was smooth and velvety, like sweet whipped cream. With each pass of your hand, you felt the silk fabric of his shirt pucker against your palm. The heat of his body drew you closer subconsciously, til you felt his strong, hard shoulder nearly digging into your chest. Despite your attempt to pull away, it felt too good to rid yourself of his closeness. “Better?”

With the delicate pressure of your hand caressing him, of course he felt better. He grunted in acknowledgement as he nodded, setting the tankard on the floor beside him. “Yeah… Please forgive me.”

You shook your head and laughed at that. “For what? Swallowing your food too fast?”

He felt like a blubbering fool, wiping his lips and chuckling under his breath to match your contagious giggles. But then, with a diminuendo of laughter, he realized he’d interrupted you, and he needed to know now what you were going to say, just in case you did see his hidden treasure. Well, your hidden treasure.

“For interrupting you,” he said. “You were sayin’ something… D’ya find the sage?”

He knew full well there was no sage in that pantry. He’d run out just a few days prior.

“Oh,” you sighed. “Well, no, I…”

You’d made the grave mistake of lifting your wide eyes to meet his, though the both of you were trying to hide your gaze from one another. It was inevitable that they would meet at some point this evening, but now that they had, you could not bear to look away, neither could he. For several moments, you could not even blink for fear of missing him and his deep, almost dark blue eyes, filled with the mystery of something nearly inscrutable, but not impossible to figure out. In fact, the more you looked, you swore you got closer to finding the answers to all the questions in his eyes.

“Daryl,” you started again, this time holding his gaze with a nervous, fluttering blink of your curled eyelashes. “Why… Why have you not sold the jewelry I paid you with?”

There were many replies he could have made, but the only one that was remotely coherent was the one with the fewest number of words: Because I love you.

Several heavy moments passed in silence, with only the crackling of the now roaring hearthfire filling the space where words might’ve existed if only he had the courage to speak without thinking first in this moment. This, however, was a delicate situation, and he could not face it with the usual impulsivity and carelessness that he might’ve had in other situations.

There was a contradictory sense of both a need to profess his love to you and a need to brush it off with some lie, but how could he lie to you, his sweet princess? You were worth so much more than that to him, so much more than a paltry lie, but you were also worth more than every jewel in that box.

“You, uh… You saw that?”

Your shoulders shrugged as you smiled bashfully. Daryl’s cheeks seemed to heat up, too. “I did. I know I had no right to look, but with the gold those jewels are worth, you could purchase your own manor and petition to become a lord. My father would happily grant you that position, I’m sure. You would not have to be a vassal. Of course, it is your property to do with as you wish, but I cannot help but wonder why.”

Titles and property were of no consequence to Daryl. They never meant much. He grew up with next to nothing, raised by poor merchants who struggled to buy a single loaf of bread. Perhaps one would think that growing up so poor would make him value money, but it was quite the opposite. It made him hate it, how it could make or break a man. No, what you gave to him was worth so much more.

“I—” He paused to think more thoroughly about what he was to say, but there was no way around it. He had to say it. “I couldn’t get rid of them. Couldn’t just give ‘em to somebody else.”

Though his words seemed sentimental, his eyes still strayed from you. Leaning forward, your heart aching with a desperate hope, you tried to coerce his eyes to meet yours. Your hand still traced invisible shapes across the broad expanse of his back.

“Why?” You wondered if perhaps your secret fourth explanation had been correct. The more he stalled, you began to realize that it was. “Daryl…” Your other hand lifted cautiously, its movements foreign to you as your fingers delicately cradled his chin, then brought his head up until those soft, deep blue eyes greeted you. Perhaps you were torturing him, begging him to admit his feelings despite his fear, but you needed his words. That was all you’d need. You smiled to comfort him as you spoke. “Why could you not bear to sell my jewels?”

Your touch was in two places now—his back and his chin. Both points of contact were burning, a fire that spread through him and touched him in places he didn’t dare even think of at this moment. Your touch was innocent, it had to be. He wouldn’t let himself believe otherwise. His task was to keep you safe, to never let harm come your way. Indulging in his desires, no matter how much he wanted to, would only take advantage of the trust you and your father had in him. But, oh… The way your chest heaved against his shoulder. You were so close. So incredibly close. Almost as close as he’d imagined, in his darkened bedroom where his sordid thoughts took root. Even his dreams were full of visions of you, hazy and ethereal, like you were made of clouds. So soft, so warm.

“Daryl?” you pressed again. “Won’t you answer me, please?”

“It’s wrong,” he said quickly. “It’s all wrong.”

“No, it is not.”

“I just couldn’t… Couldn’t give part of you away.”

“Part of me?”

“Part of you,” he repeated. “Someone else, with a part of you… I can’t let anyone else have you. Those things belonged to you, so they’re precious to me. You’re precious to me.”

There. That was enough. Enough for you to know the truth, enough for you to lean even closer, your eyes nearly closed despite a sliver of vision focused on his lips, slightly agape and quivering. With your hand still holding his chin, you pulled him closer, too, his body and mind paralyzed for a moment, rendered helpless by you.

But for a moment, when your lips were just an inch or two from his, you fluttered your eyes open to meet his. “My knight,” you whispered, the soft wind of your breath tickling his aching lips. “Kiss me.”

“I—I can’t.”

“Yes, you can…” Just like that, you spoke in your most regal tone of authority, the same you’d used to threaten to have Negan executed, though this time, a little more sultry. “I am your princess, and you will do as I say, knight.”

Yes, your highness.

With a burst of desperation rising up in his abdomen, he leaned forward to close the gap between you, not just at your lips, but at every part of you. His hands grasped hard at your waist, pulling you nearly onto his lap. Your chest was pressed so tight against his that you gasped for breath from his mouth as he kissed you, heavy breaths exhaling from his nostrils like a wild animal just freed from its cage.

You felt one hand wildly rise up your back and tangle in your hair, loosening the lone braid at the back of your head, until cascades of hair hung freely over your shoulders and back. Your hands had no choice but to cling tight to his shoulders as his hands explored you to the extent he would allow himself, though it felt so wonderful that you wished he’d unrestrain himself even more. Just when you started to think he was becoming more unhindered, his hand slowly melting down your lower back and inching closer to your bottom, he stopped himself.

His mouth tore away from you, the cold of the night air stinging your moistened lips as they trembled, and you felt your throat already begin to swallow back a lump. “What is it?”

His hands were still on you, but he panted as he looked worryingly at you, his head shaking as if to reprimand himself, though he couldn’t hide his blown out pupils and the increasingly noticeable hardness of his lap. Still, you feared he’d deny you.

“I can’t control myself,” he said. “If we… kept goin’…”

“I want to keep going,” you said. Your hands moved to grasp at his shirt collar, where your fingers began to undo his lace. “I want whatever you would do.”

“You don’t know what you want,” he said. “You don’t want me, princess.”

“I do want you, knight.”

“You can’t. I can’t. If your father—”

“I love you.”

He fell silent. Scared. Not of your words, but of himself, of what hearing those words in your voice did to him. They ignited a deeper, inextinguishable fire.

“Don’t say what ya don’t mean, milady.”

A single shiny tear glimmered as it rolled down your soft rouged cheek, settling into the corner of your mouth. You weren’t sure exactly why you began to cry. Perhaps it was the idea of rejection, or the thought of Sir Negan taking you away before promising yourself to the only man you’d ever cared for, but one thing was certain: your love for him was strong enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“I do not say things I do not mean, Sir Daryl. When I say I love you, I am speaking from my heart, and my heart would not lead me astray. I love you, and that is the truth.”

And it was his truth, too. Now, your words were enough to convince him.

He lowered his eyes, his lips turned stern. It was an earnest, serious gaze. He said what he’d been thinking for months, what he would never stop thinking no matter what. He would always love you. He would always do anything for you. It was time he made it known. “I love you.”

It was simple when he said it, but you knew it to be true by the way his hands clung tighter to your waist. Hesitantly, he raised his right hand, allowing the back of it to caress your cheek. His touch was rough, but only because of his worn skin. The way he moved was soft, gentle, sweet. Even in his evident lust, he still touched you with the innocence of a white daisy’s petals brushing against your skin.

Hesitantly, he let his lips ghost your other cheek as you exhaled a heavy breath against his neck. “Daryl,” you whispered. He kissed your skin, his lips spread open and tongue just barely stretching out to tickle you. As he moved his mouth lower, dragging sloppy kisses along your jawline, his arms wrapped fully around you, tugging you against him. Your hands held tight to his shoulder blades, and you felt them flex and jolt with each movement he made as his lips met yours again. This time, his tongue breached the entrance to your mouth, finding yours and almost attacking it. In your inexperience, you only gasped against his lips, then jutted out your own tongue in an attempt to keep up with him.

“Daryl,” you panted between his kisses. He grunted under his breath, still indulging in your taste. With your fingers on his cheeks, you pulled back for a moment, looking into his darkened eyes. You’d never seen his eyes like that before. It almost frightened you, but mostly, it only made you realize exactly what you wanted. “I want you to take my maidenhead.”

Of course, he wanted to. It wasn’t a question of whether or not he wanted to, it was a question of whether or not he should, and he knew he shouldn’t. He knew such a thing was against his code, perhaps the most egregious way to break it. The law of chivalry held all knights to a certain standard, a law that governed their every action. Sleeping with the daughter of the king he served, much less taking her virginity, would certainly be cause for execution.

“I can’t,” he said, though his eyes portrayed another answer. “You know I can’t.” You shook your head, opening your mouth to latch onto his jawline, kissing him as he’d kissed you. He muttered your name, though he could not tear you away, your sweet lips wetting his skin as your hand combed through his hair. “It would…”

Your hand lowered to his chest, grasping at his bare skin underneath his chemise. Your fingers seemed to tremble, your body not knowing what to do without his guidance. He grasped at your hand, though he did not push you away. He kept it there, keeping it steady. He turned to face your lips, and they trembled, too. To steady them, he raised his thumb to your plump bottom lip, moving it gently side to side. It felt like sacrilege to touch you like this, but it also felt like the most holy, sacred kind of worship.

“It would be wrong. I’m not your husband. It would be against… Against my code of chivalry.”

It nearly made you laugh. “You’ve already disobeyed my father and taken me outside the castle walls into walker-infested woods. You’ve done a hundred things that broke your code.”

Leaning ever closer, you pressed your soft chest against his firm one, the heat rising between your bodies almost as strong as the roaring hearthfire that painted his face in rich, warm burnt oranges and browns. The smile on your face curled delicately as you brushed aside the curtains of his hair till they were pinned behind his ears. In this light, his face was both worn yet youthful, like an old painting of a young man.

In a hushed, honeyed voice, you whispered against his cheek, “What’s one more?” Innocent lips coated with that floral musky balm grazed his stubbly cheek. It was not scratchy, though, it was soft and ticklish, like how your fingers felt on his chest.

For a long, torturous moment, he only held you close, his grip still tight on your waist. He leaned into your kiss, though he still was trying to cling to the last thread of chivalrous honor he had within him. That rope was threadbare, though, with only a fiber or two to hold on to, and the more your lips grazed his skin, trailing to his neck in clumsy, inexperienced movements, you felt his hand return to your hair to tangle itself in your now tousled locks.

The low, dulcet moan escaping your lips marked the moment the tether snapped, and no longer could he say he had any respect for a code of conduct that left him bereft of your body and the pleasure he could give you, as your servant, your escort, your knight.

With a throaty grunt, he took your mouth in his, devouring it much more deeply than he had before. There was no cautiousness now in his embrace, his hands lowering to cup both sides of your bottom as he lifted you more fully to his lap, with his legs outstretched underneath you.

Both of you became engulfed in a tangle of limbs, furiously clawing at each other like you were both tearing at your own flesh to escape from its confines. Yourself now made taller than him as you sat upon his lap, you parted from his lips for a moment to look down at him, panting and lips shiny from your saliva, and made plump and red by his impassioned kiss.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, looking up at you with hazy, dark eyes. Indeed, you were the most beautiful sight he’d ever had the chance to behold. Sometimes, he did not even think himself worthy to utter your name, or to have his name uttered by you… You in your sweetness and kindness and sensitivity and grace and—

Your small laugh reawakened him. How dare he even begin to wax poetic about you in his own head when you were in his arms now, your hands on his shoulders and your chest heaving with each beautiful breath. To know you were so alive, warm and trembling in his strong arms, safe and protected… That was the greatest pleasure of all.

And yet, the carnal desire for you was quick to overwhelm him. He squeezed you tighter before leaning forward, taking you with him. “Mm!” you laughed against his lips as he kissed you.

How he could be so gentle and yet so strong you did not know. With your back arched and your head cradled by his hands, you felt the support of your floor pillow underneath you, your legs now wrapped around his waist.

Propping himself up by his arms to look at you, he gazed in awe, your hair sprawled out from your head in every which way like an angel’s halo made from a sunburst. Where your gown of sage green silk brocade met your breasts, he let his gaze linger. Finally. Without the worries of being improper, he could admire the gentle, supple curves of your décolletage.

And now your gown sank down to your upper thighs, exposing much more skin than he’d ever seen—or felt. He sat up straight, his hand gently petting your soft bare calf, then moving down slowly, torturously, to touch your thigh.

Never had you been touched like this. Not even by yourself. In fact, you felt rather foolish, stiffening a bit as your eyes widened the more he moved his hand, now lifting up the rest of your skirt.

“Daryl…” you all but whined, a moan somewhere between a begging lust and a nervous embarrassment. “I know nothing,” you said simply. “I—I—”

Your own gasp cut short your stuttering admission. “Oh.”

All you could feel was his hand cupping your mound, now completely exposed without the cover of your gown.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away, each fold and crevice and speckling of your dainty hairs that matched perfectly the locks on your head. In fact, he ran his fingers through the little forest above your womanhood. It was soft, warm, untouched until now.

“You’re beautiful,” he spoke again. “Very… royal.”

“Royal?”

He laughed under his breath, biting his lip as he trailed his pointer finger around your lips, tickling you as you writhed a little. “Everything about you,” he said. “Even this… So perfect and clean and royal.”

Flushed with rose-tinted clouds of excitement and shyness, you rolled your shoulders as you watched him lick his pretty pink lips, over and over. “Have you seen many women like this, sir?”

He returned his gaze to yours with a raised, mischievous brow. Sir had never sounded so intoxicating as it did now. “None as sweet and virtuous as you.”

Indeed, he slightly feared his first movements towards intercourse. Never before had he taken a maiden’s virginity, and he was sure he’d hurt you if he was too hasty. He would have to tread carefully, though the subtle glisten of your entrance beckoned him, and those soft, intricate folds of supple flesh sparked a fire in him he’d never felt before. This was the image he’d dreamed of—your untouched womanhood naked before him, just waiting for him to release you from the bonds of chastity forevermore.

And, oh, that moan, of which he had only gotten a sampling of. He needed more, he needed to be drowned in that sound. He needed to be the one who showed you the carnal pleasure of love, and to experience it himself, too. It would be the most potent kind of intimacy, and he wanted the both of you to be consumed by it. Together.

All he could think of, all he wanted to do, was get a mouthful of you. Drink from the fountain that was your body.

“Can I… taste you?”

A genuine expression of innocent confusion spread across your face. “Kiss me?” Your eyes fluttered shut as your lips gently pursed, prepared to receive his sweet kiss.

“Nah, not like that,” he said, a subtle laugh under his low, gruff voice. Two calloused fingertips grazed the top junction of your lips, where an almost overwhelming tingle spread through you. Then, his fingers moved apart as they descended slowly, spreading you open. The reddish, taught flesh seemed to pulse on its own accord as your breath shuddered and your eyes widened at the strange feeling. “Here. I wanna taste you here.”

Finally understanding, and yet not understanding at all, you looked up at him with a furrowed look of concern. “Why? Is that not… unsanitary?”

An amused grin spread across his face. “Looks clean to me… They bathe you good, my princess.”

His princess. Oh, that sent an entirely new shiver through you.

But only with your permission would he do such a thing. Only with your word would he let his common tongue invade your royal maidenhead.

So he’d beg for it, like he knew he should.

“Please,” he said, voice sweeter and softer than you’d ever heard. He even lowered himself, his lips hovering above your navel as he looked up at you with those crystal clear eyes. “Please, your highness… I will be gentle.” His hands held firm to your thighs, rubbing them softly, up and down. When his lips met your abdomen, just below your navel, you sighed unexpectedly, and he could feel your heat.

“I’ll beg for it.” The reverberations of his rough voice tickled your lower stomach. He dragged his lips progressively lower, to where the hairs upon your mound began. A trail of kisses began to form between each mumbled plea.

“I’ll beg to taste you…” Kiss. “Lick you…” Kiss. “I’m beggin’…” Kiss. “Let me taste how perfect my sweet princess is.”

Though you were still puzzled by his desire to kiss you there, you decided to oblige, especially as the strange tickly feeling became more and more intense with each kiss he bestowed upon your mound. Somehow, his begging even excited you.

“Yes,” you sighed. Blindly, you reached for him, your hands tangling in his chestnut colored hair, strands messy and wild. The ends of those locks tickled your skin as they hung around his face, dragging with each movement of his mouth downwards. “You may taste me… Though I do not understand why you want to, sir.” You laughed as you looked down at him, kissing the soft little hairs you always found to be unsightly, but it was not in vogue to shave, of course. At least, not for a lady of your status. He seemed to like it, though. “You are rather strange,” you teased. “Do you think I will taste nice?”

“Know you will,” he said, and you watched as he wetted his fingers with his tongue, then circled them over your now puffy lips.

With a little gasp, you giggled girlishly at his touch. It was all so strange to you, but it felt nice. You’d had no idea this part of you was so sensitive, as you’d never bothered to touch it besides your daily baths. Even then, you hardly touched yourself only to clean, and when you felt an unfamiliar tingle as you’d slide your wet hand between those little folds of sensitive skin, you’d quickly pull away. All you knew of that part of you was that it was for your future husband, and you’d never cared much for trying to find one, especially since the world was the way it was.

Now, you could only dream of a husband like him, the knight who lowered himself once more, slotting his head between your bare thighs. His hands holding them, he coerced your legs to spread wider, allowing that crevice to widen and open the small fleshy hole. He could already tell you’d never even touched yourself, your entrance half-obstructed by a small stretch of skin-colored tissue—your maidenhead.

He’d not touch that for now, instead only focused on slowly licking a stripe up your open slit, marking his first taste of you.

There was a strong reverberation that jolted through you, causing your legs to flinch closed, Daryl’s head now sandwiched between the fat of your thighs. “Oh!” you cried out, back involuntarily arched against the cushion and hands tangled further in his hair until your fingernails clawed at his scalp. There was a muffled growl between your legs in response. At first, you assumed you’d hurt him. “Oh, I—I am sorry, my love…” you sputtered, almost with a nervous laugh at your sensitivity, and massaging his scalp more gently now. “Did I hurt you?”

On the contrary, your scratching and pulling and squeezing only excited him. He did not answer your question, only pressing his face harder against you, smothering his nose and mouth between your folds, wettened by his saliva. If he suffocated between your legs, he’d die happy, as the taste was intoxicating, sweeter than the finest honey wine he’d ever had, and the feeling a more lovely warmth than the hearth that illuminated the dim cottage with that dreamy glow.

With a renewed lust, he moved his head wildly, licking up and down and swirling in tight circles round the bundle of nerves above the entrance. It seemed to elicit the most beautiful moans and gasps and sighs from your pretty mouth, of which he often took a glimpse when he raised his eyes to admire your innocent beauty.

And though he could lick you like this for hours on end, he’d grown desperate to taste you deeper, just a little. So he parted your legs with a jolt. “Keep ‘em open,” he ordered, voice more hoarse and throaty and deep than before. His desire was becoming more urgent, more primitive as the very last of his decency was chiseled away by his need. “I want more of this pretty cunt.”

You nearly gasped at the vulgar word, having only heard it once or twice in your presence—both times from a slightly inebriated Lady Margaret, who used it to pejoratively refer to Lady Caroline behind her back, but now you knew where it came from. It sounded devilishly dulcet on his low, panting voice.

Legs spread further apart, he caught another glimpse of that hole, coated in a sparkling sheen that was damp to the touch. The corner of his lip lifted slightly as he spoke. “You’re gettin’ wet,” he said, much to your confusion. “D’ya like what I’m doin’ to you, princess?”

“Y-yes,” you stuttered. His fingertip traced the rim of your wet entrance.

Before he dove down once more, he couldn’t help but just admire the beauty of your womanhood with his eyes. He felt a sudden wave of unworthiness well up in him. After all, this sight was never for him. It was forbidden, and yet, you’d decided he was worthy to have you.

You, his lady, his mistress, his princess, his queen. In every sense of the word, you ruled him, and he had no choice but to bask in the glory of your trembling body, every inch perfect and unique and, soon, his.

He’d make you his, but first he had to make him yours.

“Oh!” His lips spread open wide to envelope the hole, where his tongue flattened out to lick at the source of your arousal. All you could feel was his long tongue poking inside you, wiggling to adjust to how small the entrance was.

Meanwhile, the tip of his soft button nose pressed up against your most sensitive spot, where a fresh tingle surged through you. To get a better angle, he slid both hands underneath your bare rump, pulling your body closer and angling your core upwards as your legs found their home upon his shoulders, just the perfect width to accommodate your thighs.

“That’s it,” he spoke against your inner thigh, where he left a series of frantic, desperate little kisses. They weren’t just lustful, but affectionate, as though he was bestowing these kisses to reward you for your obedience. “Sweet royal cunt.”

That word again made you flinch, or perhaps it was the suction of his lips around that bundle of nerves that pleased you so.

“Y-you’re so vulgar,” you sighed with a gentle laugh rolling under your voice. “Where… is my gallant knight?”

“Between your pretty legs, milady.”

His tongue wiggled in spastic movements between his lips, reddening and engorging the sensitive spot as a strange tightening feeling formed in your lower belly. Unbeknownst to you, the walls of your passage squeezed involuntarily around the empty space inside you. In this moment, you never felt more empty, in fact. All you wanted, the longer his mouth devoured you, was to somehow feel whole.

“Please!” you cried out, voice strained and high-pitched with a desperate plea for him to satisfy you, somehow. You did not know how, but you needed it, whatever it was. “Oh, I…”

The knight knew what you needed, and he needed it, too, but you were so close to ultimate pleasure. The wetter you became, the more of his saliva that soaked into your crevices and your increasingly gaping entrance, the more your body would accept his. That much he knew.

But the feeling was so powerful, so overwhelming. Each burst of pleasure erupted within you, like a volcano that had lain dormant for a millenia or two, and only now was that red hot magma spewing forth, until one final eruption would leave you satisfied. It terrified you. Was this normal? Surely a woman should not feel such euphoria. All you’d known of your womb was the pain and shame of that period in which blood would flow from you. You’d been told it was divine punishment for women. Eve’s betrayal, the fall of Eden… Why should you pay for that? Now, there was only pleasure, no pain.

The pleasure, though, was so intense, so frightful, that you panicked, your thighs clenching tight round his head once more as your back arched in agonizing bliss, his tongue now thrusting into you again. “Oh!” you cried out. “I… Wh-what… Daryl, I’m frightened!”

His eyes flashed up to look at you. “What is it?” he asked. He tore himself away from you, while his hand reached up to cradle your trembling cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I…” Gasping for air, you writhed and wriggled underneath him, squeezing your thighs together as if to provide some relief. “I do not know… I feel so strange.”

Tears trickled down your cheek, and the knight’s brows furrowed in concern. He brushed a few away with his fingers. “Why’re ya cryin’, girl?”

And you knew now why, as your hips gyrated and bucked up towards him, as if demanding for him to return to you. The sensation was just so strong, but so lovely. “Please,” you whimpered. “Do not stop.”

Now he knew, too. A laugh forced his mouth into a wide grin. “Oh, I see,” he said, hands moving achingly slowly back down to your thighs. He spread them apart again, a feeling which made your breath hitch for a moment. “Feels good, doesn’t it? My tongue…”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Please, more.”

And so he gave you more, his mouth quickly returning to that puffy, reddened flesh between your thighs, eliciting from you a visceral moan as your head fell back against the cushion. “Ah!” you cried out.

After the brief period in which he’d separated from you, you now felt the sensation returning, this time even more intense. Sounds of wet flesh being licked and sucked and kissed surrounded you, accompanied by soft, muffled groans from your knight.

How he’d wanted this for so long, to have your taste and to feel your restless, writhing body involuntarily grinding against his tongue. For a moment, he pulled your outer lips further apart, allowing more direct exposure to the now throbbing, swollen protrusion that gave you so much pleasure. He sucked at that flesh again, this time bringing his finger to the hole that begged to be filled.

“Oh, oh!” His finger breached the entrance, just a few centimeters, but enough to stretch you more than you’d been stretched open ever before. “My god!”

“Come,” his voice murmured between furious sucking. “Come, my princess. I want you to come.”

“C-come… Where?”

“On my face,” he laughed.

“Wh-what… are you… talking about?”

The vibration of his laughter tickled your flesh. “You’re too innocent,” he said. “You’ll see what I mean.”

He knew you must be close, so it did not take much more effort to get you to the brink of orgasm. All he needed to do was curl his finger upwards inside you as he swirled his tongue with more pressure, practically digging a brand new hole with the tip of his tongue.

And, with your hands shooting out to claw at his shoulders, the tingling and tightening and tickling finally reached its peak as the feeling of the final, strongest eruption came forth, exploding from the pit of your abdomen and spreading throughout every cell in your hot, squirming body.

Moans of his name were falling softly, repeatedly from your lips, where bite marks had embedded themselves after several minutes of your teeth digging into the skin. He’d never heard his name being spoken so much, so sweetly and with so much bliss. After all, it was the name of the person who’d given you the greatest feeling you’d ever experienced.

You were left jolting, your body gently rocking up against his face, which was still buried between your lips as his tongue gathered every drop of the arousal that slowly dripped from you. His own arousal caught up with him, too, a noticeable feeling of a strain, and a tightening in his chausses.

Panting and moaning under your labored breaths, you felt the pleasure begin to die down as his lips praised you with small kisses all over the outside of your pulsing entrance. Deviously, he stuck his tongue out to deliver short, sweet licks to your still throbbing bundle of nerves.

A soft, delirious giggle erupted from your lips as your fingers tangled in his disheveled hair. All you could see was his head bobbing between your legs, and all you could hear was the crackle of the hearthfire and the sounds of his pursed lips kissing your wet folds. Feeling his finger curling at the shallow part of you, you squeezed on purpose, much to his amusement.

“I feel ya,” he mumbled. “You feel so good.”

“Daryl.” Your hands grasped both sides of his head with some pressure, as if to pull him up. “Come here.”

He let you guide his head until his lips met yours and your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, weighing him down. His body weight covered you completely, a sensation which excited him even more.

On your lips, you tasted yourself, his tongue and lips now coated with your arousal. “What did you do to me?” you asked between his kiss. “Your tongue is magical… Some kind of wicked sorcery.”

His laughter tickled your cheek as he kissed you there. “I jus’ made ya come,” he said simply. “S’why you’re so wet down there now. Got you all ready.” His hands raised up to tug on the collar of your dress, as if trying to yank it off you.

“Ready for what?” you laughed, though you had a few ideas of what he could be referring to, as innocent as you were, but you hadn’t heard the word he’d said next before.

“For my cock.”

In genuine confusion, you furrowed your brow. “You have a rooster?”

“Yeah.” The mischievous, lop-sided smirk on his face as his finger traced your jawline told you he was messing with you. “I’ve got a big, red rooster.”

“Oh?” you said, playing along with him despite your ignorance. “Well, won’t you introduce me to your rooster?”

By now, you knew what he meant.

When he dragged your hand down to his clothed erection, a deep blush bloomed upon your cheeks. “Oh,” you sighed. “Hello, rooster.”

To say you hadn’t thought of it before would be a lie. Of course you had. While you did not know much about sex, or that part of the male anatomy, you knew that part of a man was meant for that complimentary part of a woman. You knew that was the part of him that would put a child in your womb, though you knew not the exact details of the whole ordeal.

Interrupting your thoughts of his “rooster,” you were suddenly lifted from the ground and tangled in his arms, with your feet dangling off the ground as he dragged you towards the hay-stuffed mattress you’d rested upon a few times before. You exclaimed a laughing, “Daryl!” before being laid gently, yet almost impatiently, upon the bed.

You propped yourself up on your elbows to see him at the foot of the bed, lifting his shirt above his head as he panted.

Eyes wide, you felt your heart thump in your chest when his broad frame was bare before you, his chest just as bulky and strong and wide as you’d imagined. Your eyes were drawn to the charming smattering of little hairs, and the small pink nipples that hardened against the air.

You couldn’t help but follow the trail of those same hairs that began at his navel and led down to the waistband of his pants, which he began to untie frantically. Meanwhile, your mouth fell agape at the shape of his… cock, you supposed it was called—so big it looked like it could rip through the cotton of his chausses at any second.

Involuntarily, your thighs rubbed themselves together, where you could now feel your own wetness seeping from you. Seeing the size of his cock, now you knew why you’d need to be wet.

Just like that, he was naked, his cock springing up as soon as he pulled his pants down enough. It nearly startled you, almost eliciting a gasp. Never had you seen something so… odd. You couldn’t even wrap your head around the testicles just yet.

But he left you hardly any time to think about the new body parts you were faced with. Instead, he laid himself down on his side next to you, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. The motion soothed you, though his dark, lusty stare made you shiver.

“Sit up for me,” he said. You did as he told you, as an unspoken dynamic had appeared: he would lead you, as you were much too inexperienced to know your way around this territory.

And yet, he was not forceful, nor domineering. Indeed, he knew you were still his princess, his ruler. He knew that you held the utmost power over him, and that whatever you’d say, he would have to do it. There was no mistake of who was ultimately in charge, whose body he was compelled to worship and please. Still, he’d lead you physically.

Now sitting up, he scooted back to unlace the back of your gown, each silk knot coming undone with a beautiful cascade of fabric, until your back was nude, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your spine.

He pulled on your sleeves gently, but with a noticeable waning of his patience. “Lay back now,” he said. Like a mindless servant, you obeyed him.

Your surcoat was loose enough to pull off you now, so he did, letting the expensive garment sink to the floor. Now, your kirtle, which he pulled over your head, manipulating your body like a rag doll. With each movement he made, another sweaty, glistening muscle flexed under that tan, workworn skin, stretching across which were many faded scars from battles and jousts and God only knew what else.

Lastly, your chemise kept him from your supple nude body, so he pulled it off with a slight growl under his breath. Now, you laid back fully, your completely divested skin meeting the thick, buttery soft pelt of the fur blanket beneath you.

Your body was a sight to behold, so marvelous that he stood up again, stepping back to let his eyes roam all over you.

It was enough to bring him to knees, literally. He sunk to the floor, where he attached his lips to your ankle, which had caused him some trouble in the past. The many times he’d caught sight of your ankle, he felt perverted, sinful. Then your calf, soft and smooth against his lips. He covered as much skin as he could in his kisses, then he reached your knee, and your thighs, where he spread apart your legs to leave more kisses at your womanhood.

“You’re insatiable,” you laughed, watching as his lips trailed through the hairs on your mound. “You cannot kiss every part of my body, sir.”

“I can try.”

His tongue circled around your navel, then he continued his kisses to the slope of your left breast, where he quickly latched to your nipple, causing you to flinch at the new feeling.

His other hand found your other breast, squeezing it just enough to make you gasp a little. After all, with his lips and hands worshiping your entire body, you weren’t sure how else to react.

“You’re so perfect,” he mumbled against the pillowy surface of your breast. “I’d die for you.”

Even the thought made you shiver and cling to his flexing shoulder blades. “N-no, my love… Do not say such a thing. My… my heart c-could not bear to even think of it.”

“I’d kill for you,” he said now. “I’ll do anythin’ you ask of me… I belong to you.”

As you processed his pledge, you hadn’t even noticed two of his fingers digging into your entrance, spreading you open, little by little. His sweet, raspy voice soothed the pain.

Now, his lips trailed to your collarbones, where he left dozens of kisses and licks across your skin.

“I live to serve you,” he whispered. You gasped, not at his words, but at his two thick fingers going deeper, a sound of flesh upon wet flesh. “Only you… My sweet princess.”

“Oh, my sweet knight… Ah…”

A slight tearing feeling at your entrance made you wince in pain, but the knight paused for a moment, nudging his nose against your cheek to get your attention.

“Am I hurtin’ ya?”

“No, no.” If he stopped, you might die of emptiness. The stretching hurt, but you could not go much longer without him filling the emptiness within you. Once he started, you wouldn’t be able to be without him.

“Need to stretch your cunt a little,” he said. “My cock’s gonna hurt ya more if I don’t.”

Judging by the size, you believed him. Your eyes were transfixed on the thing as you wondered how in the world he’d get it in your tight hole, but you trusted him to take care of you.

And you wanted it. You couldn’t explain it, but your need for that big length of flesh, with engorged veins and a droplet or two of clear liquid beading at its reddened tip, was greater than any pain you might’ve felt.

“I want it, sir,” you practically purred. “Your…”

He smiled against the cheek he was busy kissing. “My rooster?”

“Your cock.”

He tore his lips away to give you a wide-eyed stare as he tried to fake a serious look of shock, but the upturned corner of his snickering lips betrayed him.

“Your highness,” he scolded in jest. “Where’d ya learn such a dirty word?” His fingers inched deeper, so deep that your back arched as you laughed a visceral moan.

“Oh, you scoundrel!” Your hand delivered a very weak slap to his chest.

Pulling his fingers out, he laughed as his hands gripped both of your wrists. His face turned serious, yet still soft. “You think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes, but… I mustn’t have your child now.”

You weren’t totally unaware of the true purpose of sex. In fact, it had been drilled into your head by archbishop Gabriel, whose responsibility seemed to be deterring you and all other maidens at court from engaging in premarital sex that was not for the express purpose of procreation, as such an act would brand one “a whore in the eyes of God.” Conveniently, the archbishop’s sermon had overlooked any consequences for men.

“You won’t,” he assured you. Indeed, he had intimate knowledge of one of the world’s most time-honored methods of contraception: coitus interruptus. “I’ll be careful.”

Removing his fingers from you, he rubbed his palm up and down your slit, spreading the wetness of your arousal all over you. He leaned back for a moment, looking down to spread apart your lips and see your hole, which opened quite a bit wider now for him. Redness pooled around the opening, but you couldn’t notice the dull pain, not when his eyes held yours so intently. “Think you’re ready,” he said. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

Don’t stop. “All right, my love.”

The hard, spongy surface of his tip grazed over your clit, and slid with his body as he rolled forward over you. “You ready?”

At this point, the suspense was killing you. Each drag of his length through your sodden flesh was agonizing. Your body grew restless, arching your back up to meet his chest and pull him down. “Yes,” you sighed, then ghosted your lips over his. “Make me yours now. I want to be yours.”

He eased himself in as your mouth latched to his, your whimpers of combined pain and pleasure melting into his kiss. The tip was inside you now, just beginning to stretch you further to meet the wide girth of his thick cock. The slow, tearing feeling was enough to make you bite down on his tongue, nearly drawing blood. He only growled into your mouth, digging his cock deeper.

Your suffocating tightness tested his willpower, his ability to keep himself from moving so fast that he’d lose control of his cock, but it felt so good, so warm and snug. As he sank further into you, he tore his lips free to whisper against your ear, “How ya feel?”

With a deep swallow, you held back your tears. “Fine,” you said. “Just… it hurts a little. Does it fit?”

He looked between your bodies, where half his length was inside you, the other half twitching with bulging veins and redness only darkening. He stayed still, brushing back your tears as you sniffled. “Yeah, it’ll fit. You just need stretched, s’all.”

He pushed himself in a little further as his lips caught another tear. Clawing at his back, you let out a sharp gasp. “Oh! Daryl! It’s too big, you’re too big… I can’t…”

His hand reached down to tickle his fingers against your clit, attempting to ease your pain by giving you more pleasure. He knew his cock would hurt you before it felt good. “Sh… sh… D’ya want me to stop, princess?”

“No, no!” you cried out, nearly startling him. He felt your arms tighten round his back, as if to keep him exactly where he was. “Please don’t stop. I—I…” Tears trickled down more now, like a torrential rain over your cheek.

He stopped again, this time pulling himself out a little to prop himself up and look at you with the utmost earnestness. “Why are ya cryin’ now? I don’t wanna make you cry. Am I hurtin’ you too much?”

In truth, the physical pain of being stretched by him was not strong enough to elicit these tears. What made you cry, in fact, was the simple truth that tonight, you’d give yourself to your true love, but in a matter of days, Sir Negan would take you away from him, and you might never see him, or your father, or anyone else you loved, ever again.

To think you may never be here, like this, with him again… It broke your heart, though every cell in your body was demanding for another burst of euphoria. It was all too much emotion, too much stimulation. And yet, you’d never want him to stop. You’d like to be this way forever, if you could. If only you could.

“It’s just… Promise me…”

Furrowed brows contorted his face. He brushed the back of his hand over your cheek. “Promise ya what?” He wasn’t sure of the point of asking, as he knew that he would promise you, his lady, anything anyway. A knight’s ultimate test of chivalry, afterall, was his undying, unyielding, uncompromising devotion to his lady.

“Promise you won’t forget me.” When Negan takes me, you wanted to say, but you hesitated to even mention him at this moment, when the only man who really mattered to you was looking at you with his own tears beginning to well in his cunning blue eyes.

“I could never, ever forget you, milady.”

And he knew now what you meant. He knew the fear in your eyes, the same fear from the other night. He could feel this fear inside him, too. The fear of never seeing you again, of you being trapped in a place you could not escape from, not unlike how you’d been trapped in your own castle. Yet, this would be so much worse, for you’d be chained to that wretched, evil man, who would do God knows what to you.

But those thoughts were poisonous. “Don’t think about that now… Just feel me.” So he came into you again, just as far as he’d gotten before. “That’s it… Can you take more?”

That was all you wanted, actually. More. All you needed was him, filling you as deep as possible, taking you over and marking you as his. You’d never be Negan’s now, and that gave you a sense of power, a relief in knowing that there was at least one thing Negan could never take from you—your chastity.

“More, Daryl. Please.”

By now, he was almost all the way inside you, but he could go no further, for his own fear of hurting you too much. He pulled out a bit then, to which you grasped at his shoulders and pulled him back against you. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he laughed. “I’m just movin’. Calm down, you’re all rigid. Ease up.” Taking his words to heart, you let out a deep breath and relaxed your muscles, allowing you to settle more comfortably into the plush fur underneath you. Slowly, he pushed himself back in, your body welcoming him in with the hug of your slick tightness. “There ya go… Look, your cunt’s already gettin’ used to me. You’re takin’ it good.”

So good, in fact, that you couldn’t help but smile at the feeling—the warmth, the hardness, the fullness… The feeling of his cock sliding back and forth, but never completely leaving you. The sensation was beautiful, far more intimate than anything you’d ever imagined. When he lowered himself down again, his chest laid snug against yours, the feeling of his nipples rubbing yours hard and slow the more he thrusted. As if on their own accord, your legs loosened to lift and wrap around his lower back, taking him in just a little further. There was pain again, but not enough to hurt you. It only felt good.

He had to be careful not to move too fast, though the involuntary squeezing of your walls drew him closer to his breaking point. He could feel both your arousal and his, surrounding him inside you. But he had to make you come again, he thought. He needed to know that his cock had pleased his princess just as much as his tongue.

Your soft, whimpering moans made it clear that he was, indeed, pleasing you, your tearing pain having given way to that tingling feeling again, making your writhe and shiver underneath him.

“Daryl,” you panted. Spurred on by your pulsing body, his movements became faster, more sloppy, more passionate. Now you could really feel his size, his length digging into a particular spot that made you roll your head back against his pillow, your lips trembling and gasping for air as you spoke. “Oh, it feels so… Yes, my love, my knight… You’re so big.”

“Princess… I feel your cunt squeezing me.”

“Oh, I—I am s-sorry.”

He huffed a laugh against your cheek. “Feels good,” he said. “Keep squeezin’ me.”

He pressed a firm kiss to your cheek as his hips thrusted non-stop, now molding you to fit his cock perfectly, forever. Well, for however long you had left together.

“God, you’re soakin’ me,” he said, his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of wet skin on skin.

Your well-trained manners urged you to apologize again, but the sensation of his cock hitting into you was enough to render you speechless, except for the breathless sighs and sultry moans escaping your lips as you clawed at his shoulders, fingernails digging into his scarred flesh to nearly break open new wounds.

He continued on for a while now, though you could not tell how long he’d been thrusting, you only knew you were drowned by his mouth, his lips finding every part of your skin that he could reach in this position and leaving sloppy trails of open-mouthed kisses. That tightening and tingling within you strengthened with each movement he made, each thrust reminding you of how deep inside you he was, and how strong he was, his body weight driving the force of each hard, deep stroke.

Only when your moans had faded into heaving breaths and your body had loosened into jelly did he speak to you again, though not stopping his thrusts, as he couldn’t bring himself to even think about stopping now.

“Hey, sweetheart? You all right?”

You were hardly responsive, only opening half-lidded eyes to gape at his reddened, sweat-dripping face. His chestnut hair hung wildly, tickling your cheeks, though all you could feel was the pounding, the swelling of his cock inside you, the growing sensation of that volcano about to erupt again.

“H-hey.” You felt his hand cup your cheek as he said your name, his own voice shaky and stuttering as he began to lose his ability to keep himself in control. Tears welled up in your eyes once more, only now, they were those same tears of overwhelming, astounding satisfaction.

Stimulated to the point of near-catatonia, you were released by a sudden wave of vibrations that surged through you like electricity, bringing you back to life. Your legs clenched tight around his waist as your head shot back, exposing your strained neck. His lips did not spare you in your moaning, crying state. They attacked your neck as you pulsed all around his cock and grinded up against his pelvis by instinct. He held his hips still now, though, letting you ride the multiple waves of your intense orgasm until you shook like a leaf in a cool autumn wind beneath his strong, stabilizing body which your hands clung to desperately.

“Oh, Jesus!” was all you muster. You’d never said the Lord’s name in vain as many times as you had that night. Granted, you had never said the Lord’s name in vain before. “Christ!” Surely, you would be going to Hell.

“Shit,” the knight muttered into the crook of your neck. “I—I’m…”

Ears pounding with the sound of your heart, you could not process a word he said. You could only allow your glassy eyes to roll back as your lips formed a delirious, open-mouthed smile. “Oh, Daryl.”

He propped himself up on his bulky arms, dripping with sweat and bulging with flexed, aching muscles. As if to soothe them, you ran your hands up towards his biceps, holding onto them for dear life as he began thrusting again, almost completely inside of you.

All you could do now was smile up at him, murmuring his name, interspersed with declarations of your love and breathy moans that tortured him the closer he came to releasing himself.

“You’re so beautiful,” he panted. “You’re mine.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “Yes, yours. Forever.”

“Mine.”

With an almost helpless groan, he pulled himself completely from you, sinking down on his arms to press against you, but with his cock angled to release on your heavy stomach. Though you missed the feeling of him inside you, you moaned at the feeling of warmth near your navel, where he spilled himself onto you.

Curiosity overcame you as you looked between your bodies, watching his strange… attachment release a silky, cloudy white liquid in spurts. For a moment, your eyes widened in slight fear. Truly, you had absolutely no idea what was happening. For all you knew, he’d suddenly contracted some strange disease that caused his cock to leak a new humor.

“Wh-what is… Daryl, are you all right?”

Once again, he laughed at your innocence. “I’m just fine… Better than fine,” he said, sinking down into a deep kiss. He only parted from them for a moment to say, “That’s s’posed to happen. Did they not teach you anythin’ about sex?”

“Th-they said…” You laughed at your lack of breath. “They said my husband would show me.”

He sighed as he lifted himself off you, then rolled over onto his side. With a huff, he yanked the fur-lined blanket from underneath you, then draped it over himself and you, much to your relief, as it was cold without his naked body on top of yours.

“Your father,” he began to say, wrapping an arm around your rather limp, flimsy body to pull you close, “he wanted ya to marry my lord, didn’t he?”

A puzzled look contorted your face. “How did you know?”

“He tells me everythin’.” The touch of his calloused fingers tickled your hairline as he brushed back your bangs. “Told me the king brought us here because he thought Richard would make a good husband for you… Why didn’t you want him?”

Duke Richard hadn’t crossed your mind much since that night he first arrived, though you never thought too much about why exactly he did not attract you as much as Sir Daryl did. Now, it was quite clear.

“Because he isn’t you, my love.” A laugh escaped your lips as you settled your hand upon his chest, twisting your fingers between the hairs that intrigued you so. “The duke is… He is a good man, but you are better. That is all.”

A rosy blush blossomed on his cheeks as his mouth curled with a lopsided smile. You admired the lines in his face, the crows feet and tired bags around his adoring eyes. “He would’ve made a good husband for you.”

“Mm, perhaps.” Your pointer finger traced lines over his sharp collarbone. “Lady Michonne is rather fond of him, though. I think they make a lovely couple. Besides, my heart does not belong to him. It belongs to you.”

Shaking his head, he offered you a somber smile. “You know you can’t marry me, even if Negan didn’t want you. I’d be killed.”

“My father would not kill you.”

“You don’t know that for sure. If he… if he knew that I took you outside the walls, let alone that we—”

“We could go somewhere, someday.”

Your name fell on his lips, but you interrupted him again. “Negan will take me, I know I cannot escape that, but someday, when Alexandria is strong enough, you can find me, and we’ll go away, somewhere you’ve been on your travels. My father would understand. We could be together, we could marry. Someday.”

But you knew it was a pipe dream. You knew that, if it could ever happen, it would happen so long from now, and you could not leave your father without him knowing you were all right. It seemed as though there was nothing to stop the world from caving in. For someone who had so much power by birth, you felt so powerless, the most powerless you’d ever felt in your whole life. That was saying something, as you never truly felt in control of your own destiny. You never thought it could get worse, until now.

“You know I won’t let him take you,” he said. “Maybe we can be together like that someday, but right now, all I care about is you, not me and you.”

“But… I care about you.”

And for the first time in his life, he believed those words.

“I know you do.” Upon your forehead, he placed a chaste kiss. “Ya know, once a knight gives his heart to a lady, he can never give it to anyone else, and he’s bound to her forever.”

Of course you knew that. There wasn’t much about knights you didn’t know. If only you had as much knowledge of human sexuality as you did of knighthood, but alas.

“Does that mean you will marry me one day?”

His eyes narrowed in playful suspicion as he pretended to think it over, mumbling a pensive, “Hm…”

“Sir Daryl,” you teased, “if you do not agree to marry me, I will send you to the stocks.”

“Your highness,” he said, his arms pulling you in closer to his chest, “I promise myself to you.”

“And I, you… My sweet, brave knight.”

That evening, you did not return to the castle until the sun began to rise again. Sleeping on a straw-stuffed bed was quite the adjustment from your feather-stuffed one, but he did not let go of you, not even in his sleep, and that made all the difference to you.

Despite the uncertainty that loomed in the air all around you, the fear that settled in your heart from the moment you realized you might never see Daryl again, you had a strange, persistent sense that, someday, every night could be like this one.

Someday, you repeated in your head, lulling yourself to sleep in his arms.

But that was the future, and this was now. Now, you knew only one thing to be perfectly, virtuously true: you were his, just as he was yours.

Through life, and after death.

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

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shawtythatluvsurgut · 10 days ago

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What made you go from feeder/ffa to feedee?!

Also, what is your biggest feedism kink that really gets you going?

(before you read this, please know that nothing i said in response should be taken as me being upset with OP because i am not at all upset with this ask)

i’ll answer the bottom part in my video, but i want to address the top question because i received it more than once.

I am still a feeder. I am still a FFA. I’m a part-time feedee and FULL-TIME feeder.

I am not saying that i’m not a feedee because, I mean, cmon look at my page lol. but i am still a feeder first and foremost. that will never change. i decided to get into testing out the feedee role because i didn’t have anyone irl who i knew that was into feedism or even willing to try it. my last partner made me think he was into it for a bit, but then did a huge 180. it wasn’t until one of my close ‘friends’ (😏) and i started flirting a bit that i realized he was actually into the idea and it brought me back into feeder mode. just because i am dipping my toe into the feedee realm does not mean that i am not a feeder first, so please stop taking that title from me.

i know i have a lot to prove. between my dad’s health rapidly declining which led to my disney arc being cancelled and also my constant switch between feedee and feeder content, i know i’ve disappointed quite a few people recently. for that, i am sorry, but i also don’t regret spending that time with my ill father instead of making feedism content at disneyland ngl. i know a lot of people were pissed (i can tell by how many subs i lost) and i do feel bad and sincerely apologize, but life gets in the way of work at times and i needed to prioritize life in that moment. as for my indecision between being a feedee and a feeder, ive realized that im much more into the feeder role. i love eating and doing it for you all to enjoy which is why im not rejecting the feedee position and am still leaning into it, but i get much more pleasure from being a feeder. i’m much more into the dominance and control that i get as a feeder. however, i do like the plushness on my body that i obtained from being a feedee. i say this all to make the point that i still play both roles, but Feeder will always be my main role. it comes to me naturally and sometimes i have to force myself to be a feedee which can kinda ruin it over time.

also please keep in mind that i’m 21, so i’m still at an age where i flip flop between my sexual identity so so so frequently. I like being a feedee at times, but i always have and always will LOVE being a feeder. now that i have the december trip planned and have someone willing to let me feed them that i also happen to know really really well, im excited to get back into my feeder mode. i will probably switch between the two for a while, and i’m sorry if that annoys any of you.

also, just because i mainly feel like a feeder does not mean i am planning to get ripped or skinny again or any of that. i’m just not focused on gaining right now and haven’t had the appetite or $$ to do stuffings. i am not trying to lose weight; it is just happening naturally due to life circumstances. please stop messaging me accusing me of being a fake feedist or saying that im ‘intentionally getting skinny again’ because that is not true. i don’t care what my size is tbh, im comfortable in my body, i just have other priorities right now and a lack of appetite.

just please stop trying to imply that i’m no longer a feeder because that couldn’t be farther from the truth. it sucks having other people tell you who you are, especially when you’re still figuring that out for yourself. please keep that in mind.

thank you and ily guys. and NO I AM NOT MAD lol. i am not mad at this ask at all; just wanted to clarify what my role in this community is and that is full-time feeder/part-time feedee.

Thank you.

Nico

#ffa #female feeder #ask box #my asks #female feedist #submission #female feedee #nico speaks

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heavenbarnes · 9 months ago

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hi!! i’ve never done this before but id like to request a sydney adamu x femreader :) like maybe with the reader being a new sous chef at the bear or old culinary school crush or smth along those lines haha or literally any other ideas u might have!! there’s an unfortunate lack of sydney fics in general so i’ll rly take anything lol. also LOVED the one you wrote recently (im losing it lately) i have been re-reading it over and over again omfg

Already better for knowing you

Sydney Adamu x female reader

Warnings/Contains: swearing, syd is so fucking awkward, carmy is a meddling shithead, mature themes (involving fruit), beginnings of a praise kink, no actual smut (can you believe it?!)

Thank you so much for requesting this, I thoroughly enjoy writing for Syd! Also sorry that I always write her the same way (awkward-lesbian-munch) but I genuinely think that’s how she’d be. Also cannot believe you’ve read my work multiple times! I didn’t know if you wanted this to be smut so I only hinted, but lemme know if you want more. Anyways, hope you like this!

Sydney and Carmy had to have the difficult talk.

With the success of The Bear, how much it had taken off with their hard work, it was time to bite the bullet.

They needed more hands in the kitchen.

Experienced hands, they needed someone that Syd could rely on. She could give an order and that person would follow.

She needed a sous chef.

They put up the ad and, sure enough, they had a number of chefs in for the interview. They were keen, mostly young, hungry for the chance to break out into their first kitchen.

Both Syd and Carm knew you had to start somewhere but they both really needed the experience, the trust, the reliability.

Their last day of interviews rolled through and Sydney couldn’t help the feeling of helplessness creeping in her chest. Last day of interviews and still no closer to a new sous.

Were they being too picky?

As she shuffled her papers of interview questions and old CVs, she watched Carmy scratch the back of his neck as he read over the last applicant’s details.

“Well, she sounds good on paper.”

Syd couldn’t help the snort she let out, elbows on the table and head resting in her hands. “They’ve all sounded good on paper.”

Carmy shrugged his shoulders at that, but nevertheless sat down beside his chef de cuisine still reading over the paper.

“Says she’s worked in a couple restaurants, out of state- she’s only recently moved to Chicago.”

Syd listened to him speak, trying to find herself a little bit more excited at the prospects.

“Graduated from the CIA, experienced with-“

That perked her up a bit, knowing it was a long shot with the number of campus locations and students that came and went from the institute.

But there was still a small chance.

“What’s her name?” She turned to read the paper over Carmy’s shoulder as the sound of the door opening filled the space.

It all happened so quickly.

The door opened.

Carmy said your name.

You appeared before her.

Still as beautiful as the last time she saw you.

As if she could forget that day, for a few reasons. One, it was graduation, obviously she was going to remember it. Two, well, you were there.

If anyone cared enough to ask, she could tell them what you wore. The way your smile shone under the stage lights. The way you smelt as you hugged her and wished her the best.

Sometimes, when things got quiet, she’d play that moment over in her head.

Sydney thought she might’ve been dreaming when she saw you striding across the auditorium right towards her. You smiled, bright smile, hand coming up to give her a quick wave.

She’d even looked over her shoulder, trying to find out who you were even waving at. By the time she looked back towards you, you were smiling harder and giggling a little.

“Yes, that was for you.” You’d teased, making a heat grow on Syd’s cheeks.

“Yeah- yeah, I knew that.”

Your smile turned into a smirk as you nodded knowingly. “Course you did.”

Then you both stood there quietly, Sydney couldn’t really focus when you were dressed like this. Granted, it was just your chefs whites, but she couldn’t deny you wore the hell out of them.

You’d been wearing them nearly every day, and it still took her breath away every time she saw you. She didn’t even notice you were speaking until you shifted to get into her eye line.

“Sorry- what was that?”

“I said I’ll miss seeing you in the kitchen.”

Syd nodded, earnestly, face softening as she spoke. “I don’t think I’ll enjoy cooking as much without you there.”

She’d surprised herself with her confidence, actually being able to say it. She was pleased to see your smile growing. There was also a glint in your eye that she couldn’t place.

Her chest tightened up as you stepped forward, hands reaching out to pull her into a hug. She melted into you, taking a deep breath to remind herself of your sweet scent.

“Soon as you make it big,” You spoke knowingly, like it was inevitable. “I’ll come find you.”

And here you were now, standing before her in her own restaurant.

You’d found her.

Her mouth fell open as she tried to find the words she’d wanted to say to you all this time. How are you? I’ve missed you? I’ve thought about you every day since the last time I saw you?

Instead, she just stayed silent. She closed her mouth, blinking up at you with those beautiful eyes of hers.

“Syd,” Her name sounded at home in your mouth. “How long has it been?”

“Three years, eight m-months.” She’d only realised how quickly she’d answered when she saw your eyebrows raise.

Carmy shifted beside her, too. It snapped her back into reality, the reality where you were standing right before her and she was acting like a fucking dickhead.

“Well, here’s hoping I’m right on time.” You didn’t look put off, you assumed that same smirk you’d given her all those three years, eight months ago.

You were, you were always right on time. Always in the right place. Always just right.

Syd managed to pull herself together enough to stand up (for whatever reason) and gesture to the seat before her and Carmy. You graciously accepted, sitting down and placing your hands on the table.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to them, the way your fingers intertwined together, the lines coming off your palms. Sydney remembered back to the institute, the distractions she’d face watching you handle a knife or split a citrus fruit.

She couldn’t think of the latter right now.

The way your fingers would pierce the skin, pulling it apart with juices spraying up your wrists. You’d scoop out the flesh with your bare hands, not caring for the way it’d leave you sticky and dripping.

You’d look up at her, finding her watching you and not minding the way she stared. The fateful day you threw the rest of the grapefruit into the scraps, bringing two fingers to your lips to lick the excess off before you washed your hands.

Sydney was completely and utterly-

“Obsessed,” Your voice brought her back into the room, only for the second or third time in the short span of time. “Obsessed with what you’ve done with this place.”

She saw Carmy smile out the corner of her eye, his cheeks blushed a little at your words. You had that effect on most people. Sydney knew better than anyone what you could do to a person with just a few words.

“Well, we’re quite impressed with your CV,” He responded, laying it out on the table. “Aren’t we, Syd?”

By the time she looked away from him, she found you were already staring at her expectantly. She nodded, mumbling an affirmative sound to the both of them.

“Really impressed, seems like you’ve done a great job since graduation.”

You lit up, that’s the only way Sydney could describe it. It was as if your heart was swelling in your chest as your cheeks rose.

“Thank you, that means a lot,” She had assumed you were referring to the both of them until you finished. “Coming from you, Syd.”

If this was how she was at the interview, lord help her in the kitchen. There was no doubt you were getting the job, that was an absolute given. But Sydney would have to think hard about how it’d work practically.

Her sous chef. Following her every move. Responding to her every word. Reliable, obedient, willing, responsive.

Syd had seen you in action at the institute, but never following her own orders. She didn’t know if she’d be able to cope with hearing your “yes, chef” and knowing it was directed at her.

Even the way you were looking at her now, so expectant, hanging on to everything she was saying. She knew that look in your eye, on your face, you’d given yourself away just a little earlier.

“Coming from you, Syd.”

Praise. You were looking for her praise.

The thought sent Sydney into overdrive, forcing her to stand up abruptly and knock her knees into the table as she did.

Both you and Carmy looked up at her in confusion, your mouth opening to ask if everything was alright.

Syd cut you off, babbling as she walked away from the table. “I just remembered- remembered that the stove is on and- that’s the number one cause of kitchen fires- and I will be right back!”

She kept talking as she eventually made her way into the kitchen, hiding in the space right next to the oven (that hadn’t been on all morning).

Sydney knew she was fucked. Royally, totally, well and truly fucked. The crush she’d had on you at the institute had been debilitating and, whilst she’d missed you, these three years and eight months had meant she was finally able to focus.

Now here you were, in her kitchen and looking like everything she’d ever wanted.

Syd had no idea how long she stayed hiding in the kitchen but sooner or later Carmy came through with a stupid smile on his face, leaning against the bench.

“Think you handled that really well.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m begging you.”

He laughed, laying the brown folder he’d been carrying down beside him as he crossed his arms. She looked up at him, wincing a little as she already knew what was coming.

“You gave her the job, didn’t you?”

Carmy laughed louder, looking down at the heap of Sydney on the floor. She could kick his shins right now.

“Of course I did,” He responded, pushing up from the bench as he turned to leave. “Have fun training your new sous chef.”

Fucked. Completely fucked.

#sydney adamu x reader #sydney adamu x fem reader #sydney adamu x female reader #sydney adamu one shot #sydney adamu Drabble #sydney adamu blurb

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sykestarot · 9 months ago

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who's watching your social media?

1-2-3 (left to right)

I DO NOT OWN THESE IMAGES

Hi guys sorry for the break last week it was my birthday lol! But this week I felt called to do a who's watching your socials post. Maybe it can give you some insight right before valentines day! Thanks so much for the support and for stopping by :)

Pile 1

“cause when you’re fifteen and someone tells you they love you you’re gonna believe them” (knight of cups; 8 of wands (rx); 3 of cups; 6 of wands; 2 of swords; the world)) Hi pile 1 I hope you guys are doing well!! So for you guys I see for who’s watching your social media is someone either you knew when you were younger or you are young right now. You could either be with them or broken up but I see this being your first love. I’m leaning more towards you guys who aren't talking or havent started talking yet because there is a sense of longing and a lack of communication between you two. This energy is very sweet. This person still carries at the very least a nostalgic love for you and wonders what could have been. For others you guys haven’t even started dating yet but there’s a mutual attraction and curiosity about one another. This pile is filled with youthful energy!! I would also say that the energy that Enchanted by Taylor Swift carries is the same energy you carry about each other. But I do see hesitance in communicating feelings and stolen glances from one another across a room. Maybe you guys have mutual friends and are around each other but never alone? I feel for this pile that this person is a masculine and also quite youthful. I don't feel an age gap so you guys are probably the same grade/age. I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t feel like this person notices you and like it’s one sided but I promise they notice you for sure! I see that advice for you guys in this situation is to let the universe bring the blessings to you. Don’t try too hard! What’s meant for you will always find you and trusting the divine is the best and quickest way to receive your blessings. This reading was so sweet and cute. I hope everything works out Pile 1! Signs: first love; highschool ; beat up car; friday night lights; screen doors; fireflies; innocence; brown hair; green eyes; levi jeans; converse; crisp morning air; dmv?; childhood friends

Pile 2

"can you hear the silence?" (8 of swords (rx); 6 of cups (rx); 5 of swords (rx); 2 of wands; 9 of wands; The Hierophant (rx)) Hi pile 2! I hope you guys are doing well, I’m going to preface this with I don’t think you want to speak to this person. So they’ve taken up stalking your social media. I feel like this person could make you feel uncomfortable or unsafe. This could also be someone who you’ve recently cut off or stopped talking to. I see them being obsessed with your life. I’m not getting a specific masculine or feminine energy, but I do feel that this person has lots of envy when it comes to you. Maybe you got a job they wanted or achieved something that they couldn’t. I feel like this person could’ve been someone you considered part of your close circle. I also feel like you didn’t really give them an explanation as to why you stopped talking to them. You just kind of distanced yourself, either for your own safety or for your own peace. This could have also been a person you dated for a short time. If that’s the case I feel like you didn’t date for that long. This person might have worn glasses, I feel like black frames in specific and this person could also be a blonde. I do feel like you had felt some form of betrayal from this person though. I feel like they’re looking at your social media a lot because they want to know what you're up to in terms of who you’re with. Whether it’s a new person you're dating or new friend you’re hanging out with. However I just feel you minding your business so they’re obsession with who you’re with is a little eerie ngl. I do hope you guys are safe and know whether or not to take action against this person because for some I feel this could be a very serious and heavy energy. However for those where it is not so serious I see you genuinely not caring about this person which is so funny because they’re literally so stressed about what you’re up to and who you’re with. Anyways pile 2 I hope you guys are safe and sound and continue to do well for yourselves! Signs: crows; open fields; halloween; fall; october; wheat fields; dilapidated houses?; long distance; orange sunsets; midwestern; muddy boots; cigarettes; tattoos; brick walls?; night life

Pile 3

"I'd like to get know you, I'd like to take you out" (5 of swords; 2 of wands (rx); 9 of wands (rx); The Hierophant; 3 of pentacles (rx); 7 of wands (rx)) Hi pile 3! For you guys I see that there’s someone who watches your social media who wants to ask you out but they’re too shy. I also think that they might think you’re in a relationship? (are you?) But I see them having taken interest in you for a long time. I also feel like they have known you for a while. Maybe you guys are close friends and they think that telling you how they feel might ruin your friendship? I feel like though when someone flirts with you they get jealous and wonder if you would be receptive to them the way you are others. It also reminds me of not allowed by TV girl. I feel like they long to be close to you so much but just can’t find the guts to tell you and maybe even the words. I feel like you don’t event realize the effect you have on this person! I’d say that this person really loves you as a person and so to think about losing you completely would be so upsetting to them. I also see that you probably have had feelings for them as well at some point within this friendship. I think that you two might blame life matters for not getting with each other but if one of you doesn’t confess sooner or later I see that you could miss out on a beautiful relationship. I do feel like there is also the possibility of being childhood or family friends here. This person might have dark curly hair that they like to keep at their shoulders. I feel like they also like to wear flannels or they are cold easily. There’s an innocence to how this person feels but I also think the idea of other people touching you in that way also really makes them upset. Out of all the piles this one is the most fueled with jealousy so I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone else feels like they could cut the tension between you two with a knife. Maybe you truly don’t realize or you play oblivious but I promise this person harbors some real feelings for you! Signs: film photos; ballet shoes; tutus; ballet buns; hailey baldwin; clean girl aesthetic; 80’s; pretty in pink; molly ringwald; muscle cars; europe; 555

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wordsinhaled · 4 months ago

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transmasc haircut woes ahead...

so i was growing out my hair again but it is starting to become annoying/a sensory nightmare this summer/doesn't feel like me/kinda gives me some dysphoria.

so i wanna give it the chop (again).

but the thing is i am. like. very intimidated by barber shops??? i live in a significantly queerer and more progressive city now than i used to which helps. but i'm still a tiny 4'10 pre-T transmasc person and i do not feel like i look like someone who "belongs" in a barber shop, if there is such a thing (i'm sure there isn't but the anxiety tells me there is).

i am sure i am overthinking it but being in like... a Designated Male Space feels quite scary. i struggle to even walk past florsheim's in the mall or have other men see me in the men's section of stores, if that gives you context on how scary all of this is for me. i have no idea what i think is gonna happen if i walk in there - like, anxiety brain says i'm gonna be gatekept out, people are gonna be like, "what are you doing here?" or "you're not masc enough to be in here," or whatever, i have LITERALLY no idea - and i'm sure i'm making a mountain out of a molehill and no one will actually be mean to me or bully me in a barber shop!

but the thing is i have like, no idea what goes on in there? and that's part of the anxiety, i guess. mind you, i know queer cis women go and get their hair cut in barber shops as well, so i guess... i also don't want to be read as that either?

i have gotten my hair cut before by a male hairdresser at a hair salon and it was a person my parents picked, a hair style my mom picked, and then he would dye my hair a Different Shade of Brown and my mom would give me frosted highlights or whatever at home, because she told me my natural hair color was boring and lacked depth. i had more or less zero control over the experience in terms of what i came out looking like. i was like... 23, 24 when this was still happening.

at one point, she took me to a consultation to get my hair chemically straightened (keratin, i think it was going to be) which would have gotten rid of my natural wavy texture, because i was "too lazy to put in the work" to do anything with my hair (because i wanted it to be short, most of the time, if anyone asked me). that was like, the one thing i brought myself to be able to say no to because. i didn't want to do that.

it took a while for my hair not to be processed to shit and to grow back in nice. but i fucking LOVE my natural hair color and texture and volume actually, it's beautiful, in my opinion, if i do say so myself. it's a lovely shade of brown and it's got amber/chestnut highlights in it in the sunshine and it has nice texture and it's soft. come pet my hair, basically.

anyway, sorry for the detour about Hair Styling Trauma but maybe this will help explain why the fuck i feel like i can't go and just Get My Hair Cut. lol, gotta love finally getting out from under the thumb of a narcissist and still having Shit Going On years later.

even up until the most recent time my hair was short, i have been going to hair salons (not barber shops) and i have been in that weird limbo of "girl asking for pixie cut," which is NOT the experience i want this time. every hairdresser i've ever had is always like, are you sure you want it this short? the last person who cut my hair was a pretty chill italian guy (like, came recently from italy, spoke italian in his shop, not like long-time italian-american type italian) who felt... probably the safest i've found because he was sort of relaxed about the whole thing and didn't get weird about it. but even with him, as close as i managed to verbalize what i want was to ask for something "gender neutral" because it felt like. incredibly scary to be like, "i do not want to look like girl. please do not make me look like girl."

he understood the assignment and is probably the one who would give me the best haircuts i've had. but even then it still sort of felt like i was... asking for it in a sort of weird adjacent-to-what-i-really-meant way and getting there by sheer coincidence of a person understanding the assignment vs like. please make me look more like boy. am not girl trying to look like boy. am not edgy girl with pixie cut. you feel me???

edit: also. i don't think that hair is inherently gendered one way or another, it's just like... the way that people tend to gender the process/different types and styles of hair that makes me uncomfortable and makes me feel misgendered. and like the perceptions of you that people have. and that a lot of the vibe is going to depend on how whatever individual haircut works with my face. and that when i go on T these things may also change. so i'm not trying to like... binary the hair but also... it's the dysphoria of how people talk to you/look at you/etc. at personal care places, you know?

i don't even necessarily want something with zero length, because my hair tends to look good when there's something there to style, but i just ... i don't want a Women's Short Haircut, you know??? at the same time i know that i have a Lot of Hair and people have fucked up my short haircuts before so i don't want a Bad Haircut either. i don't feel like i can do the same shit i always do again where i come in and sit there silently and slightly embarrassedly while i secretly hack my way into gender euphoria while the person thinks they're cutting a girl's hair.

anyway, what the fuck do i do and how do i not feel like dysphoria central during this whole process? what is a barber shop like? what do people talk about in there? can i just be quiet? is everything going to clock that i have not socialized with men like ever but want to? idk, do i lead with being transmasc? do i just bring sample photos of men's haircuts only and have a conversation about how they will work with my face shape? do i just say i am trying to look Not Like a Girl? that seems. incredibly terrifying. i would bring a queer friend to chill me out, but i haven't made any here yet to be able to bring.

asdjdjfj if u have read this far thank you and sorry for being a hot mess !!!

#transblr #uhhh how else do i even tag this #personal

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book-of-baba-fett · 9 months ago

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Illicit Affairs - Chapter 22

Captain Rex x OC

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary: In the final chapter, Talia reflects on how she's grown once receiving positive news from the war front that gives hope to the future.

Chapter Rating: M

Warnings: MAJOR angst, death, grief, alcohol,

A/N: Y'all it's finally here. More notes to come at the end, but thank you for your support in this wild ride. Firs though, a shoutout to @cyarbika for letting me use Kork in this fic, tbh defining how I view 79s, and for holding this plot in for what, a year now lol?? and the biggest love to @galacticgraffiti - you have been my guide for this entire fic, I wouldn't have made it here without your beta reads. ilysm 💜. also thanks for letting me borrow your OC, Eya!

Ao3 Link

Series Masterlist

21 BBY – Coruscant

Talia had been in bars probably from too young an age; her early missions with her Master often brought them to the seedy corners of the galaxy in search of information. What she lacked was the experience of going out and enjoying a bar, and 79’s was a much different atmosphere than the bars she had been in before. When the doors opened, she was slammed by the bright lights, the loud music, and the thrum of relief and energetic comradery bouncing off every surface.

There were holoscreens illuminating half the walls, clones engaging in drinking games or other friendly bets, beautiful men and women dressed in revealing outfits in the hopes of finding a partner for a night. It was a lot for Talia to take in: the lights, the noise, the energy a near concussive assault on her senses. But once she settled in the booth with the men she had only known a short amount of time yet had already grown to care for so much, it all calmed down somewhat.

Talia was surprised by how easily they welcomed her, but then again it had beenChurch’s insistence that had brought her out in the first place and Storm’s assurance that had swayed her. She didn’t want to be in the way, thinking that going out with the men she commanded would just burden their night off. But as she sat with them, and they tossed around jokes from the recent campaign, she saw it for what it was: a need to debrief and decompress after the stress. She felt honored that they included her, and even realized how much she needed something like this instead of going to the Temple or even hanging out with her civilian friends who just wouldn’t get it. Talia was still getting used to the title of General, still felt weirdly empty when her hands ran through her hair and she no longer felt her Padawan braid. So, it was nice to have a night where she didn’t have to think about any of it.

The downside to her inexperience in bars was she had no idea what to drink. She followed the boys lead and drank the awful free beer they were served, but decided she couldn’t stomach the stuff. When Storm noticed her displeasure he did her the favor of ordering her a gin and tonic, which he informed her was his usual drink. After she downed it and was already sporting a light buzz, she decided to treat her men to something a bit better than the standard beer, and ordered a round for all of them. She excused herself to a round of cheers, her cheeks warming in a flush from the alcohol. The bartender was more than happy to give her a recommendation for a better ale and recommended a cocktail for Talia to try.

The feeling of being out of place inched back in as she patiently waited for her round of drinks, tapping her fingers on the counter and trying to blend into the crowd when she was bumped from the side.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry ma’am, the crowd pushed a lot more than-“ a clone’s voice sincerely apologized, only to cut off as Talia turned to see Captain Rex’s face darkening from a flush as he recognized the Jedi next to him. “Oh, General Riva! I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there. And I’m sorry again for knocking into you-“

Talia chuckled at his flustered words, but shook her head, “It’s ok, Captain. It’s crowded in here; I had to fight my way to the bar.”

Rex’s face relaxed at that, a small grin even toying at his lips, “Well, you could just use the Force to part the crowd, be more efficient.”

Talia snorted, then blushed from the embarrassing noise that had escaped her, but Rex didn’t seem to notice. “The men already seem intimidated by a Jedi being here, I don’t need to draw more attention to it.”

“That reminds me, I should probably make sure my boys are on best behavior tonight then,” Rex grumbled, tossing a look over his shoulder at a booth filled with clones in the 501st blue armor. Talia hadn’t worked with them enough to know all their names yet, but she recognized a few from a recent mission. They seemed to be having fun, or maybe having an argument by the way some of them were pointing and shouting at each other. Maybe a bit of both, Talia supposed.

“Don’t dampen their fun on my account,” Talia said, “We all need a break.”

Rex huffed out a laugh and nodded at that, “You can say that again. And you wouldn’t dampen their fun at all; in fact, I’m worried it would be the other way around.”

“What do you mean?” Talia asked confusedly.

“Oh, nothing,” Rex answered quickly, as if he had gotten too close to admitting something he didn’t want to say. “Just that...I think my men wouldn’t leave you alone, that you wouldn’t be able to enjoy your night without them bothering you.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t bother me!” Talia insisted. “I liked working with you all on Taanab; Fives and Echo had me cracking up.”

Rex shrugged. “Echo can control himself, Fives on the other hand…”

“Oh yeah, he’s a flirt,” Talia cut in. Rex looked at her wide eyed then laughed. “You think I didn’t catch any of that? I can’t imagine what he’d be like with the influence of alcohol.”

“Again, why I hope they don’t bother you.” Rex muttered, once again casting a glance back at the booth, only to see some of the brothers, including the one in question, watching them at the bar.

Rex sighed and murmured something under his breath then glanced back at Talia. He straightened himself up, facing the bar again, “What are you drinking? Can I get you a round?”

“I already ordered,” Talia explained, nodding her head in the direction of the bartender, “and I wouldn’t let you get me a drink anyway. In fact, I’m getting you one.”

Rex shook his head, “I can’t let you do that.”

“I insist. You serve under Anakin; I know you must be in dire need of alcohol,” Talia said.

Rex laughed again, still shaking his head, “I’m fine with just the Kork.”

“Wow, you are a horrible liar,” Talia observed, smirking as the Captain attempted to deny it. She wasn’t even using the Force, but after experiencing the stuff herself she assumed you had to lack taste buds to enjoy it. “I don’t see how you guys can swallow the stuff.”

“The fact that it’s free helps,” Rex admitted, “But really General; I’m fine.”

“Nonsense,” Talia waved off as the bartender came back around with Talia’s drinks. She glanced at Rex, ready to take his order when Talia cut in, “Could you get another one of these ales for the Captain? And put it on my tab?”

The bartender was off before Rex could argue, “Thank you, but you don’t have to.”

“I know, but I want to,” Talia insisted. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, usually it’s the clone buying the girl a drink in here,” Rex offered, a slight smirk on his face. Talia’s face felt warm – a weird reaction, she thought.

“Guess you’ll just owe me a round the next time, Captain,” Talia replied. “I have to say it’s nice to see you on a night out, you seem a lot less... stressed.”

“In truth, this isn’t my usual thing. I was convinced to join,” Rex explained.

“Same here,” Talia added, “Sometimes, our men know what we need more than we ourselves do, I guess.”

“But we can’t admit that to them.” There was that smirk again. Talia tried to ignore the way it lit up his face, how it enhanced how handsome he was. It had to be the alcohol in her, making her warm and encouraging her eyes to linger on his face.

“And for what it’s worth, it’s “You kind of have,” Talia said, earning a confused look from Rex. “Naboo? The Gala?”

“Oh well… I don’t think that’s fair to count because I didn’t know you were a Jedi.” Rex offered, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck. “And you weren’t exactly off duty.”

“Fair, fair,” Talia shrugged. “But then I was much better dressed for a night out.”

“You look perfect,” Rex said it so simply but stopped himself suddenly, the skin on his neck and cheeks darkening slightly. Talia’s own cheeks burned once more, but she didn’t know what to say in return. Rex also seemed speechless at his own admission, and for a moment they lingered on it, silent but surrounded by the loud music and conversations echoing around them. Talia searched for a witty response, or even hoped some words of thanks would leave her tongue, but instead found herself horrendously lacking any reply. Not from embarrassment or discomfort, but almost because Rex’s words had caught her off guard. Talia felt she should say something to ease the blush creeping in on the Captain as he obviously seemed as surprised by the compliment he had paid her. She supposed she could offer the same reply back, but felt lame and she didn’t even know why she was at a rare loss for words, but she didn’t get a chance to salvage her own lapse.

“Captain!” They were interrupted as Fives pushed his way in beside Rex, wrapping his arm over Rex’s shoulder and admonishing his brother teasingly, “Stop flirting with Talia so we can get on with the game!”

Talia didn’t think it was possible, but Rex’s face darkened further as his jaw dropped. His eyes darted back to Talia as he sputtered out “I wasn’t-“

“Sure sure,” Fives waved off, his voice slurring a bit, “you’ll just deny it again. General, looking great as always, but I’m going to steal our captain for a bit.”

“Sorry for holding him up for so long,” Talia answered, her cheeks still aflame. She directed a small smile back at Rex, who looked torn between dying of embarrassment and like he had the temptation to kill his brother. “Have a fun night, hope to see more of you soon.”

“Thanks, you too, Talia,” Rex said as Fives dragged him off. Talia watched them go, her cheeks aching from the smile stuck on her face. It was weird, he had only ever referred to her as General. She liked the way her name sounded coming off his lips.

19 BBY – Coruscant

79’s hadn’t visibly changed much in the time since Talia had first walked through its doors, yet the way she knew it had evolved entirely. It wasn’t an unknown space; it was filled with memories. Its walls echoed with the joy of time spent away from war with friends who she would never forget, some who had grown to be like family… and Rex, who was so much more. Talia knew the workers, had collected bits and pieces of their lives through conversation and they felt as ingrained to the place as the clones who it was built for. As she walked in, Talia smiled in greeting at the large Nautolan bouncer, Eya. Those who didn’t know them would see them as imposing from their size, the tattoos decorating their violet skin, the spikes protruding from their knuckles and the cybernetic eye that contrasted to the deep black of their organic one, but Talia recognized there was a strange, comforting softness underneath the façade. They were also friends with Storm, who Talia had come to 79’s with that night, and he stayed back to chat with Eya while Talia grabbed a booth, seeking a private space for the conversation she wanted to have.

The 412th’s last campaign had been relatively easy work, but they had missed the battle on Coruscant, something that seemed to bother the men as they wanted the chance to defend the center of the Republic themselves, but sometimes other duties called first. They were granted leave as soon as the campaign had ended, and Talia felt relief when they approached the planet and she didn’t see much damage on the surface. Coruscant had been her home for as long as she could remember, the whole planet and the temple especially had always seemed so untouchable before the war. The bombing of the temple was a stark reminder of how war could always hit unexpectedly, and she was grateful the siege of the planet hadn’t lasted long.

As the Venator approached Coruscant, they received the news that was the cause for her and Storm’s meeting tonight. Master Kenobi had engaged Grievous in battle on the Utapau system. With Count Dooku dead, the Separatist leadership was fractured, and if Obi-Wan could defeat Grievous, they would crumble and the war would be over. It was strange to hope, considering how many times the General had evaded defeat before, but something felt different this time. He didn’t have Dooku to crawl back to for support, and Grievous didn’t garner the same level of following that the charismatic Sith had. Without Grievous and Dooku, there was no one to step in, no way the Separatists could still fight.

In other news from the war front, Talia had received word from Rex. Ahsoka’s mission on Mandalore had been a success, and they had captured Maul. Talia had never been more afraid for Rex than she was when she heard what his mission was; Maul had haunted her dreams for too long. She had taken that as a warning that something would happen to Rex on Mandalore, fighting against the former Sith. It would have been too cruel for Talia to lose Rex to Maul, to someone who had caused so much pain and suffering for her already. Especially when they were finally at the cusp of victory, on the brink of what they were fighting for.

Things with Rex weren’t fully back to what they had been, but that was what they had agreed upon. They needed to focus, be on their best without the distraction that they brought to each other. But it was better than the weeks they had spent apart, trying to act as if the other didn’t exist. They still sent each other messages, updating with what was going on in their respective corners of the galaxy, chatting if they had a free moment but truth be told, those were rare to come by. It wasn’t much, and it left a craving for more, but it also gave a promise for what they could have when this was all over. Somehow, Talia knew they would come out of this stronger than they had been before, that Rex and she could build something new off the foundation they had. And it felt like the will of the Force was suddenly on their side, like something would finally move to end this war, to end all the pain that had been inflicted on the galaxy. But to Talia, it would be a new beginning.

Storm joined her, with two gin and tonics in hand, and slowly slid into the booth. They had come here together a few times one on one. Sometimes they said a lot, like in the early days of the war when they took time to learn more about each other in ways they couldn’t just by being in proximity commanding together. Other times, they sat in silence, too weighed down by exhaustion or grief to thread words together. Storm had even confided some of his personal life to Talia, some nice stories about a handsome Pantoran man he would see sometimes on shore leave. Talia had never been able to divulge the same level of information – until today.

“Everything alright, General?” Storm asked as he watched Talia staring thoughtfully across the table, her mind distracted as she tried to ignore the apprehensive twist of her gut.

“Everything’s fine,” Talia said in a half truth. “And how many times do I have to tell you, when I’m here you can call me Talia.”

“Just as many times as I’ll have to remind you: as long as you’re my general, that’s what I’ll call you,” he said as simply as always.

Talia’s gut twisted further, “That’s actually why I wanted to come here today.”

Storm nodded but didn’t probe. Storm wasn’t the type to pry or push people beyond what they were ready to talk about. But he could always tell when someone needed to talk or would be there if they asked. Talia took a sip of her drink and took a deep breath before addressing what she invited him here to say.

“I’m going to be leaving the Jedi Order,” Talia blurted out, a bit more bluntly than she would have liked, but it felt easier to expel the news rather than to linger on it. “This campaign was my last with the 412th, unless something goes wrong with Grievous on Utapau and we still have a war to fight, but I don’t see that happening; all the signs are saying this is about to end.”

Storm’s face was unreadable, but he nodded. “Does the Council know? Does Master Plo know?”

Talia’s gut twisted again at the mention of Plo’s name, in all her thoughts of how this would go, she still had a hard time picturing how her master’s master would react to her defecting from The Order. “I wanted you to know first, I felt like I owed you that after all we’ve been through together.”

Storm nodded once again, but this time, his demeanor shifted. He seemed less tense, like the meaning behind Talia’s words struck a chord with him in a sentimental way. There was also a flicker of mourning in him, or maybe it was just the echoes of Talia’s own feelings for him – how she would miss working with him. Storm settled back in the booth, his eyes meeting Talia’s again as the curve of a rare, teasing smile toyed on his lips.

“Does this have anything to do with a certain blond captain of the 501st?”

Talia’s jaw dropped as her cheeks burned – there was no way… ”How long have you known?”

“Had my suspicions for a while; I knew you had a crush on him,” Storm teased as Talia sat mortified. “And it was obvious he had a soft spot for you. Then I saw him sneak into your tent on Turia, and that confirmed it.”

Talia shook her head in disbelief, “But you never said anything-“

“What would I say? It’s not my business what you do in your personal life,” Storm said simply. “I figured if you wanted to tell me, you would. Which is what you’re doing now. So I assume I’m right then, you’re leaving the Order for him?”

“Yes, well, partially,” Talia admitted. “The truth is, the path of the Jedi isn’t one I see myself walking anymore. At least, not in the confines of the Order. I want more, I need more from my life. And Rex gives me that.”

“What will you do? Without the Order?” Storm asked.

“I don’t know,” Talia answered, and for once those three words weren’t laced with fear or anxiety. They felt oddly freeing. “There’s so much out there. I could go to school, I could volunteer with shelters like the one we found on Turia. I could visit planets without having to fight a war on them. Hells, I could get a job here at 79’s if I felt like it. I could also just do nothing for a while. I’m not sure what I’ll wind up doing, but I feel like that’s a good thing.”

That seemed to be all Storm needed to hear, because he softly smiled at her in that reassuring way. “Then I’m happy for you, even if I’ll miss working with you, General.”

“I just said I’m leaving – you can say my name!” Talia laughed. Storm only shook his head.

“Technically you haven’t told the Council, so you haven’t relieved yourself of duty. Therefore, you’re still my General.” Storm took a sip of his drink, his eyes flashing as he teased.

“You have to be so literal?” Talia rolled her eyes but still giggled.

“Rex knows if he ever hurts you, he’s a dead man, right?” Storm said seriously, though a crack of a smirk lingered on his lips as he continued, “Though I guess I should give you a similar threat since he is my brother.”

“I can bet a few members of the 501st will beat you to it, maybe even Commander Cody,” Talia shrugged, earning a chuckle from Storm.

The doors to 79’s slid open, and a group of shock troopers marched in, heavily armed. Talia frowned; she didn’t recognize the patterns on their armor as being any of the Corrie Guard members she knew. She glanced a curious glance at Storm, and saw her look of inquisitiveness mirrored in his face.

She began to ask him what he thought was going on, when a sharp pain pierced her head.

It was an ache that seemed to shake her entire body, drenching her in a cold sweat. Images flashed in her mind of barrages of blaster fire, flashes of clone armor, piercing blue lightning, a Jedi fighter falling from the sky, and a menacing laughter mixed with cries of pain. She couldn’t focus on any of it, feeling too much and nothing all at once. She was vaguely aware of Storm attempting to check on her, his voice muffled by the others that echoed in her head crying out. A comm was going off, its shrill beep adding to the pain in her head. Every hair on her body stood on end, she was overwhelmed by the cold that had seeped into her, chilling her straight to the bone. She couldn’t make out anything, her visions were too blurred, but through all the chaos she could tell something was horribly wrong.She had to push through it, numb the visions and try and warn Storm that something had happened, even though she couldn’t make sense of it. Catching her breath, she looked up to Storm to explain what she had felt.

All she saw was his blaster pointed at her.

It was a beautiful night on Naboo, with the stars shining brightly over the navy sky. The full moon cast a glow over the gorge their spaceship was hidden in, its light reflecting over the river as it flowed through. Rex could see the outline of the palace in the distance, illuminated by lights in its windows and balconies, a symbol of the culture and beauty of the planet. It didn’t seem right that a place of such beauty was the setting for such mourning.

Everything seemed to be in a haze still. Rex couldn’t easily place how much time had passed in Galactic Standard time since the Order. Nothing felt real as he tried to process all that had happened, all that had changed. He never would have thought it possible that the Republic would fall, yet it happened in a matter of minutes with work completed by his own men. He still had blood and dirt caked on his armor from burying his brothers on the moon. He still winced when he moved from the shots that had hit him in his escape, his head still ached in the spot his chip had been removed. The chip that had been a part of him since he was created, the one Fives had discovered, exposed and tried to warn them about but instead was shot over. He had tried to look into it more after Fives died, but he could accomplish little without arousing suspicion. He knew Kix had his own questions too, then Kix disappeared. Rex should have questioned that more too, but he was too numb, too in denial over losing another brother. The idea of it all being connected was too much. Now he cursed himself for his own idiocy, seeing what should have been obvious. If Rex had pushed harder, if he had fought alongside Fives or continued the search after his death, would that have been enough to prevent this madness?

After their escape, finding out news while evading any attention had proved difficult. They knew the fighter they had would be flagged at any Imperial controlled port, but they needed fuel and to confirm how widespread the Order was. Ahsoka had held on to some small semblance of hope that it wasn’t as bad as she feared, but Rex knew better than to hope. He knew what it was like, to lose control of his mind and identity at a simple phrase. He saw how it instantly changed the brothers he was with and he knew there was no chance any clone could fight it. Once they had finally landed on some asteroid fueling station, the news was so much worse than they had feared.

Rex had never seen Ahsoka so broken as she was when they saw the news about Senator Amidala’s death. Ahsoka had been muted when they were burying the dead from the Venator, devoid of emotion in a stoicness that fit what Rex knew of the Jedi and how they dealt with grief. But when the report about Padmé played, it seemed to break the thread that had been holding Ahsoka together. She burst into tears, a wracking sob shaking her entire body, and Rex knew it was more than just from her closeness with the Senator, for he knew that if Padmé didn’t survive, that meant Anakin was gone too.

The final blow was the news broadcast they caught of the Jedi Temple, with smoke billowing from its great towers as the reports broke about the Jedi’s treason. Ahsoka had to watch her old home burn, and Rex watched in muted terror, keeping himself together so it wouldn’t be worse for the kid, but the only thing on his mind was Talia and praying to things he didn’t believe in that she had somehow made it out.

When Ahsoka asked if they could go to Naboo so she could see Padme’s funeral procession, he couldn’t find it in his heart to tell her no, even if every bit of reason in him was screaming that it could only be a bad choice. He cursed himself even more for letting her go alone, but as a clone he couldn’t blend in. So instead, he kept watch, left alone with his own thoughts as he tried to avoid glancing back up at the palace too often, because it reminded him of a night a lifetime ago, and the woman he met there.

Half the reason Rex was in such a haze was because his thoughts were filled with Talia. When he had been under control of the chip, he had not been Rex anymore - he was CT-7567. But there had been a small portion of his sense that tried to force its way through, a dull nagging in his head. He couldn’t make it out, it was like a rustle in the wind on the back of his mind. Through the haze of trying to accomplish his mission, to follow the order to execute the Jedi, images of Talia kept entering his mind. The second he woke up after Ahsoka had removed his chip, and he realized the implications of what had happened, those images were brought to the forefront as he feared for Talia. But he couldn’t dwell on it then, he had to focus on surviving. But she was in the back of his mind the whole time, that fear plaguing him whether she was fighting in the same way he was that very moment. Or had it been quick, had she not even noticed before anything happened?

No, he couldn’t think like that. Rex shoved those thoughts deep inside him, because if he dwelt on them too long then the air was too thick and he wouldn’t think of anything else. He would think of the images of the Temple burning, of the Emperor’s speech about how all Jedi would be hunted down, and he would think about how all the messages Rex had tried to send her had gone unanswered.

Ahsoka’s figure appeared out of the darkness, slowly walking back towards Rex and the ship. She didn’t say anything, and he wouldn’t probe her and ask about it. They had agreed it would be safer for the both of them if they separated soon, rather than risk attention by traveling together. Rex didn’t like thinking about the kid on her own in the Galaxy, but he already had plans in the works that he knew she didn’t want to be a part of and he didn’t blame her. She had fought enough. He had agreed to take her to Naboo, just to make sure she was OK on an Imperial controlled planet. He would drop her off after, but before he did, they had one more stop.

Waves crashing filled Rex’s ears, the thick smell of salt water lingering in his nose. It was hotter, more humid than when they had been here, something that would have been unbearable when they were stranded. In all honesty, at first it was hard to tell if this was the same island; Rex had charted the planet after they had been rescued, but its surface was littered with many similar atolls and sandbars that disappeared as they were covered by the tide. But as the fighter approached, Rex could see the shuttle still crashed on the shore, only in a further state of disrepair than what they had left.

Its durasteel floor creaked under Rex’s footsteps, the hull was weakened by rust and damaged from their original crash, plus the repeated bashing of waves. Barnacles and other traces of ocean life had left their mark in the shuttle, with a coat of sand and grime lingering over what was once a well-engineered shuttle in the Separatist army. Rex approached the cockpit, stopping as he examined the scorch marks still visible from when he had to cut the door open. The cockpit was in equal ruin to the rest of the shuttle, its controls long lifeless and stripped for the communicator they had made to call for help. He glanced at the wall where he and Talia had first kissed, where he had first lost control and plummeted headfirst into their reckless, beautiful, tragic love affair.

Rex exited the shuttle, trudging through the ankle-deep water back to shore. Ahsoka stood in the distance, giving Rex his moment. For what, he didn’t even know. He had avoided her gaze when they first arrived, and just like he didn’t probe her after the funeral, she asked no questions now. Rex supposed she had a feeling there was more to this visit than pure sentimentality, and he guessed a part of her had always known that his and Talia’s relationship went beyond a soldier and a general.

The beach held no signs of the camp they had set up, it had been washed away by weather and the sea, no memory of what had been. As Rex stood alone, he wondered if he was the only person left in the galaxy who this insignificant spot held any memory for.

As his vision fogged, he wondered why he had bothered to come here, as if he was expecting Talia to be waiting along the shoreline, ready to meet him like they had promised the last time they were together. But that was a promise for a different outcome, a different galaxy. He had hoped being here he could somehow feel her presence, and know she was out there, but he felt more blind than he ever had in his life. And the words ran through his thoughts, words he didn’t want to think but were becoming more and more real by the minute.

Was she gone? Was Talia dead?

He didn’t know whether to scream or cry. He kicked the sand at his feet, a fruitless attempt to get out the rage and frustration festering in him. He fell to his knees, eyes locked on the horizon as he watched the sea, swallowing thickly as he failed to hold in the tears that cascaded down his cheeks. He had done well, holding it all in through everything, but coming to the one place he associated so heavily with Talia, where the memory of her took over his mind, broke him. Half of him wanted to take on Palpatine himself, to seek revenge for Talia, his brothers and all the Jedi. But then another part of him wanted it all to be over, for his fighting to be done. He had done enough of it, and what good had come of it?

Rex wiped his face, and breathed in and out, placing his palm on the ground and clenching his fist around the sand. He had come all this way, for what? To be with the ghosts of his past, of Fives, Jesse and Talia, all whose deaths could have been prevented had he been a stronger man?

He reached into his belt, dug in the pocket of his pouch and pulled out the thin silver chain with the coin-like pendant, his thumb gliding over the raised bumps and lines etched into it. In his hand was the last thing left of her, the only tangible proof that she had been real. Rex considered burying it in the sand, the only memorial that she would get. But he couldn’t find the strength to let it go.

Should he wait? Spend the rest of his days on this beach, motionless as the galaxy spun on, just for the chance that she might arrive one day? Rex almost chuckled as he imagined how frustrated Talia would be at him if he did that, that she would roll her eyes and make a comment about his stubbornness. Then she would flash him that teasing smile, with that steely glint in her eye and say, “You can’t give up on me that easily, can you?”

The sound of the waves was rushing over him, a faint line of pink tinting the sky as the sun began to set. They had been so close to having it all, so close to finally starting a new life without the war and a hope for what they could really be without all the obstacles around them. Instead it was the end of everything. But as much as his muscles ached and urged him to rest and to grieve, that wasn’t in his nature. As Talia always liked to remind him, he was too stubborn for that.

Rex collected himself and pushed up from the ground, clasping the chain around his neck; now it wouldn’t matter if anyone saw him wearing it. Sitting in his grief wouldn’t bring back the brothers he had lost, but he could do something for those still out there. And Talia…the harshness of reality had already settled in his mind, but he had to still fight for her, had to believe she was out there. She had survived more hells than anyone should, but he knew she had more fight in her. If anyone could have made it out, it was her. That’s what Rex told himself as he approached the fighter. Rex still had some fight in him, and he would fight till the last breath to take back what the Empire had stolen from him.

Author's note - so how much do you hate me lol.

I know what you're probably thinking - 'wtf iris where's the rest of it' 'how dare you'' 'WHAT ABOUT THE MAUL SUBPLOT??" and to which I say - all will be answered in time. But I really wanted to thank you - because anyone reading this note is someone I basically owe my life to. When I was a kid, I used to write little flipbook pages and had a mini dream of being an author one day. That dream got kicked out of me quickly just through my own insecurities because I would try and write in middle school and hated every word. Then during covid, I was binge watching the clone wars and rebels and reading fic and thought "hey, what the hell why don't I give this a shot" and the ideas of Talia and Rex were the first I had, even before I was publishing any other fics. I posted other ones as a test, just to see if anyone would even bother to read and I was always so lucky from the beginning to have such fantastic support. Some of you have been here from the beginning, some have joined along the way, and you've all been so patient and understanding as I've dealt with blocks. It's cliche but I could not have finished it without having y'all around. I've cried reading some of your comments, and have been so touched when some of you have messaged talking about how much you've connected with Talia. She's so personal to me, I really have a part of my soul in her and I was terrfiied that people would hate her but the responses to her have been so positive and I can't express how much that means to me. I also got so much more love for Storm than I was expecting (but I guess I shouldn't be surprised because who doesn't love a good clone captain) but I also am so sorry to y'all. I won't leave y'all hanging long, in fact things have been in the works for awhile (in fact I was more hyperfixated on those things and that's why finishing this felt so long).

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