#they are around the same age at the start

[gutsby]

Stiff

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Or, your old man wants to knock you up. Viagra helps.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v (obviously 😵‍💫🤙🏼). Breeding kink. Age gap. Peepaw Joel. Blue Pill Joel. Post-apocalyptic-Viagra-dosage-gone-horribly-wrong-and-now-his-dick-won’t-deflate-for-a-day…but it’s OK!

Note: This is the crackfic counterpart/sequel to ‘Make It Stick’

Word count: 2.9k

Forty-five minutes.

Forty-five minutes until his fate was sealed for the night. His pulse would quicken. His head would start to swim, and any last sliver of rational thought would be lost to the ether or the cold, snowy air around him. Joel Miller had to hurry now, because that bite-sized blue pill he’d just taken was in his belly, and if his dick didn’t find its way in you, he was fucked. Or at least huge and swollen and leaking out beads of hot desire the size of golf balls.

Well, maybe that was just his cock.

Joel looked down, scanning his pants.

Yeah…definitely just cock. He walked faster.

At home, he knew he’d find you curled up on the couch, nose in a book. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, if he had to guess. Then, sure enough, you’d lift your eyes and smile—‘Thank goodness you’re back, daddy’—and lift the hem of your night dress just slightly. Spread your legs and beckon him in. It was a nightly routine by now.

You wanted to be knocked up as fast as possible, after all

At almost sixty years old, Joel couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words aloud. But here he was—crawling overtop you on the couch, situating himself between your legs, and pulling his cock out, mumbling:

“Gonna let me put a baby in you tonight?”

You nodded sweetly—eagerly—every time.

Joel knew he could never resist that look. He was as good as finished the first second you let him sink inside your tight, weeping hole, and when he stretched it, he could already tell this was all he would ever want to do. Make you happy, fill you up, give you lots and lots of him.

It was why he’d stopped by the apothecary tonight. Why he’d hesitated only a moment before clearing his throat and asking for a pill like Viagra—Joel knew that the man behind the counter would flash him a wry, knowing grin.

Trouble keepin’ up with that sweet young thing’a yours?

David was a dick.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, either.

Ever since agreeing to start trying for a baby, Joel had become acutely aware of his own physical limitations in that department, and one of them was stamina. He could scarcely fuck twice in the same night without needing a long and rest-intensive breather. You were young and could roll over ready to go in five minutes.

It wasn’t fair to deprive you now on account of his age.

If you wanted his cum, you were getting it, no question.

Not just once, but multiple times. Again and again and—

“Again,” Joel grunted once he’d shot off his last spurt.

Fifty-eight minutes had passed since he’d taken that pill. It had fully kicked in, and his dick was still hard, even after finishing inside you with a sticky, white-hot flood.

You blinked dreamily up at him.

“You mean it, old man?” you teased him lightly.

I’ll show you what I mean, Joel thought to himself before flipping you over on the sofa. He had your hips tilted up and his cock driving back inside your freshly-fucked cunt in no time at all. He felt his spend coating your walls; it let him glide right in. Joel groaned and jerked himself back out, then fucked back in again and again and again.

“Again?”

Your word was exhaled in a laugh.

You stood in front of the bathroom sink, trying to tidy up the insides of your legs and push some more of Joel’s load back in, when you felt a presence at your back.

Stabbing your ass.

You started to turn then, puzzled.

“Bend over,” Joel commanded before you could.

You did as you were told because, frankly, you loved getting fucked wherever your old man wanted it—even if he had broken the sink one time he’d pounded you here.

But there was palpable confusion, too. How in the hell had Joel Miller, certified silver fox and owner of a dick old enough to remember Woodstock and the moon landing, managed to get his dick hard in the five minutes since he’d had you face-down, ass-up on the couch?

Or had his dick gotten soft at all?

You wanted to question him about it, or else give a long, hard look at his uncharacteristically long, hard friend, when the next moment had you gripping the counter. Stretching between the legs as Joel pushed back in.

“There she is,” he murmured affectionately.

Really, you’d never been wetter. Or warmer. Or filled to the brim with more sticky-white spend than you could ever hope to hold inside, it felt like. You bent at the waist and let him have his fill. You closed your eyes and rested your head on your forearms while Joel’s hot, bulbous tip grazed your cervix with dizzying alacrity. A smile crept in.

Whatever this was, you wanted more of it.

His dick was still hard.

Four mind-numbing fucks and another forty-five minutes later, Joel’s cock hadn’t deflated the tiniest bit.

The thing had hammered you so thoroughly he’d nearly destroyed the sink again. You’d whimpered, and whined, and warned him quietly, ‘We just fixed the porcelain, baby,’ and right before he’d painted your walls with his seed, you’d cum for him practically shrieking. Shaking.

Letting him turn you around for a kiss, only to mumble against his mouth with a sleepy, cockdrunk sort of lilt:

“I think you gave me twins.”

Then he’d fucked you in the shower to make it triplets.

Now you were laying out on the bed, truly spent, eyes following him in the semi-darkness of your bedroom after you’d toweled off and collapsed among the pillows.

“What’s gotten into you tonight, Miller?” you breathed.

Joel made it over to the dresser, back turned to you. He rifled through a drawer looking for something extra tight.

“Just missed you is all,” he said, shrugging.

What he needed right now was fabric that was very thick to hide the boner he was sporting. Joel could tell from the way you spoke that you were too tired for round five, and he didn’t want you feeling like you had to go again.

He would be fine.

His dick might not deflate until dawn, but that was okay.

“Wish you missed me like this every day,” you giggled.

When Joel turned around, he was shocked to find you sprawled out on the bed—hands between your legs.

There was a shy smile on your face.

“Baby…” he trailed off, watching your fingers flit through that sticky mess where he’d left it. Where you glistened.

Where you slid your index and middle fingers up and down your slit and drew circles on your clit, eyes shining.

“What? I missed you too,” you said, tone all faux protest.

You had no idea what you did to him when you talked like that. Especially when he was drowning in a state like this.

Hard as a rock.

Throbbing.

Needy.

Scarcely even knowing what he was doing, Joel found himself over by the foot of the bed in a second. Watching your every move with a wild, wipe-open stare he still couldn’t believe you found appealing. He swallowed.

He not only looked perverted, but he felt it, too. It rarely ever left his mind, save for the four or five seconds he spent in ecstasy emptying the contents of his balls inside your cunt, that he was his age, and you were yours. That perhaps the rest of Jackson was right, and he was wrong: he had no business being around a girl like you, much less getting off inside you every night. Was this really what you wanted? A bewildering mixture of guilt, lust, and love all circulated through his skull at that moment, and the longer he spent looking at your fingers, ogling the way you teased them through his cum between your legs, the more he felt certain he was bad.

No one corrupted a thing this sweet and got to call themselves good, anyway, he thought to himself idly.

“I keep gettin’ that…feelin’,” you said under your breath.

Joel’s hand tightened in a fist, and it was then that he realized it was wrapped around his cock. Still watching.

“Yeah, baby? What feelin’?” he returned, almost as quiet.

Still stroking himself up and down, up and down, softly.

You had your legs spread open—knees splayed wider than they’d been before. And your eyes had a tender, placid sheen to them, like they just might cry if they didn’t get release of some kind soon. Then you slowed.

Your touch slipped from your clit to the opaque, sticky globs between your thighs, and that look got even softer.

More desperate.

“Can’t…explain it.” You shook your head, as if pained, and then you sank two fingers inside. Joel could hear the tiny schlick from where he stood, and it almost did him in.

You sucked in a breath and added, “It’s a special feelin’.”

Joel’s fist had already worked its way up to a ridiculous speed. Again, he sensed this might be the worst and most pathetic he’d ever looked, but by the glint in your eyes and the way you kept holding him there, he also knew you weren’t asking him to stop, either. You were needing something else—something he could provide.

Thanks to that one stupid pill.

Joel’s smile was strained as he gripped the edge of the bed, like he was trying to assuage you and him at once.

“Try me, baby. Tell me ‘bout that special feelin’.”

Your middle and ring fingers disappeared inside you.

You whined, “Ain’t fair to say it now. You’re tired, daddy.”

Like hell he was. Joel crawled over the footboard and made his way straight to you, where your body was limp.

His breaths were coming in so fast and his pulse was thrumming so hard that he almost couldn’t hear himself talking. But he ventured to speak as gently as he could.

“I’m wide awake, sweet pea. I’m all ears. Talk to me.”

And if his words didn’t communicate as much, surely the look in his eyes would’ve told you all the rest. Quietly, he slipped his torso between your legs, where you’d inserted a third finger and were moving your hips again. You were fingering yourself, breathing shallow and quick.

“It’s a feelin’ like I wanna be…stuffed…a-and full’a you.”

Joel’s whole body could’ve liquified on the spot. His brain, presently, had all the consistency of a plate of scrambled eggs if he’d had to guess. Feeling his cock swell even bigger and his hips sink lower to yours of their own accord, he had only to grit his teeth and nod his head. He felt the tip of him bump your fingers, and the sensation and the expectation nearly drove him insane.

He mumbled quietly, “Then move your hand.”

You did. You winced again. You looked as though you might be ashamed for wanting him to fill you with his spend, and Joel simply wouldn’t allow that any longer.

Without saying another word, he slid back in.

Your cum and his facilitated the slide, and you opened right up for him. You whimpered, while Joel grunted like an animal. He couldn’t help it; it all felt so fucking primal.

How you could ever feel the need to apologize for wanting more of this was more than he could take.

“Every inch of me,” Joel said, rutting deeper, “is yours.”

He withdrew to the tip, and he could feel strings of arousal linking him to you in a sickeningly sweet way.

You could scarcely even nod, just waiting for him again.

When Joel plunged back in, he heard a feral little cry, and he felt your legs wrap around his waist. He went faster. You fisted the pillow behind your head in one hand, while the other laid flat on his chest, like you were checking for a heartbeat. You could probably hear it thudding a million miles per minute right now. Your hips collided in tandem.

“D— Daddy,” you whimpered.

“That’s it, open up for daddy. Good girl. It’s all yours.”

The sounds his thrusts were making were obscene.

“Every inch?” you breathed, “E-Every drop, too?”

“Every fiber of my fucking being, sweet girl.”

That made you smile, at length. Your hand slid from his chest, down his round belly, straight to a groin that was pounding hard and fast against your own. Joel groaned when he felt your touch sweep inside your legs—right in the space where his cum had come trickling out. You slid your fingers through that mess, then whimpered again.

Then you brought your hand up to your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around your cum-soaked fingers like they were the single sweetest thing, and you sucked.

Joel had no say after seeing that: he had to cum again.

It likely stunned you both—you more than him, by the look that crossed your eyes the second you felt him throb and pulse inside your cunt—but then it kept going.

Rather than stop, or slow down in the slightest, Joel found his hips pistoning faster than they had before. The whole bed frame shook, and your body trembled with every thrust, and the noises between your legs grew even louder; the sound of skin slapping skin was only amplified by the addition of Joel’s hot load in the mix.

The man was operating on impulse. You, through sheer awe and an animalistic need to have every crevice filled. You held him and you grit your teeth, and you let him keep using your body, while you used his. You kissed him.

“Go on, then—make me a daddy. Take my cum, baby,” Joel babbled, brainless, “Make your old man a daddy.”

He couldn’t tell if it were the words or the rhythm or the pleasure that had already been blossoming deep in your gut this whole time, but he felt you fall apart. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist than you had all night, and you screamed his name. Begged for more.

“Cum in me, daddy—pleasepleaseplease just cum, ju—”

And there he went. Again. Flooding your insides with his warmth and letting his cock carve a wild, relentless path through your cunt like it was all the man knew how to do. He filled you up. He felt it leaking down his length with every stab of his hips, and frankly, he didn’t care what he looked like now. You were smiling big, drawing him in for more kisses as he panted and grunted and whimpered like he never had before. He kissed back. Slowed down.

Found himself lost in your mouth as your tongue wove delectably through his own and your hands made their way to his wild, greying hair. You tugged, and he moaned.

He fucked his spend deeper without even meaning to.

All instinct again, it seemed he couldn’t get enough.

Suddenly, he felt a new, strange urge bubble up.

“I-I-I took a pill tonight,” he blurted out, “Know how badly you want this baby, and I wanna give you one.”

Or two. Or twenty. He was barely capable of speech, let alone rational cognition, so he just spoke whatever came to his mind then, still snug inside your legs and panting.

“A pill?” you whispered back.

Joel’s gaze locked with yours.

He felt stupid for it all at once.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just— I know I’m gettin’ on in years, and I probably can’t fuck the way I used to. And you deserve someone who can…Maybe a guy your age, but that—”

“—is the single dumbest thing you have ever said to me,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing swiftly in a scowl.

When Joel tried talking again, you cut him off.

“I don’t care what any guy my age is doing, or could do. I want babies with you, and that includes every part, OK?”

Your look softened momentarily, seeing his lips twitch down—you could probably see he wasn’t believing you.

Then you cradled his face in your palms. You smiled. You brushed his nose with yours, and you kissed him again, and with what little strength you likely had left in your body, you dug your heels in his ass and pulled him deeper. Both of you let out soft, low grunts at the effort.

“If you fucked like this at twenty-five, my body wouldn’t have survived anyway,” you whispered in reassurance. Biting back a laugh as Joel smiled, too, “I like things just the way they are. Just like how I hope you like me, too.”

“No—I love you.” Joel shook his head, almost plaintive.

And for the first time that night, he felt himself soften.

Whether it was the pill wearing off or that first thread of vulnerability stretching out between your body and his, he didn’t really care. He kissed the tip of your nose and was about to say something more, when you cut back in.

“I love you more. And since we’re being honest tonight,” you started quietly, nipping at your bottom lip a second, “I might…need you back at the apothecary tomorrow.”

Joel’s face fell.

“Wh— is something wrong, baby?” His voice was tight.

He hated seeing David, but, of course, he’d go back there in a heartbeat if it meant getting you the medication you needed. His stomach was starting to churn, when you reached up to hold his face again. You shook your head.

“No, no, Joel, I’m fine. But I may need prenatal vitamins.”

Now his eyes were going wide. His cheeks heated under your palms, and his cock twitched inside you, reflexively.

“You mean…” he murmured, unable to finish. Swallowing.

Beneath him, he saw you smile and nod.

He nearly choked hearing what followed:

“I meant to tell you earlier, but…my period’s a little late.”

[itneverendshere]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - NINE

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of leukemia; death; pregnancy; abortion.

💌MASTERLIST

Rafe had been through a ton of traumatic bullshit by the age of fourteen. 

His mom had been battling leukemia since he was ten, it started off as an infection—but it turned into one of those long, drawn-out wars that tricks you into thinking there’s hope when there isn’t.

It would go away for a bit, just enough to make everyone think the fight was over, and then it’d come slamming back worse every time.

When he was fourteen, it finally took her for good, when he’d been silly enough to believe she might pull through. 

To be fair, he was only a little kid waiting on a miracle, praying she’d wake up one day magically cured.

Now, when he looked back on it, he hated himself for being so naive. The signs had been there all along, the nurses whispering in the hallways, Ward turning into this void of a human, who looked at him like he didn’t know how to fix it anymore. The talks his mom would have with him about how “no matter what happens, you’ll be okay.”

That phrase haunted him for years.

Her death didn’t wreck him; it tore him apart and left him in tiny pieces that didn’t fit together the same way. He wasn’t the same kid afterward, not even close.

He got angrier, distant. 

He didn’t recognize who he’d been before it all—some kid who really believed in happy endings.

He didn’t believe in much after she died, people let you down, life ripped everything good out of your hands. Why bother holding on to anything at all?

It wasn’t just the grief; it was the guilt.

He’d get mad at her, sometimes, for being sick. He’d slam his door and cry into his pillow because he just wanted a normal life, a mom who wasn’t always tired or in pain or hooked up to some machine.

He hated himself for that. 

The day of her funeral, he remembered everything, even though he wished he didn’t. The church smelled like old wood and lilies, that smell that never left you once it sank in.

People kept coming up to him, patting his shoulder, saying things like, “She’s in a better place now,” or “Stay strong, buddy.” 

He wanted to yell at them, shake them, make them shut up. She wasn’t in a better place. A better place would’ve been here, alive, laughing at his dumb jokes, or rolling her eyes at him for leaving his shoes in the hallway. It wouldn’t be six feet under, locked in a box, shoved into a hole in the ground like she never existed.

He didn’t cry, not when they opened the casket for everyone to say their final goodbyes, not when his dad stood up and choked through some half-assed speech that was mostly apologies and memories, not when they lowered her into the ground, the ropes creaking as her casket disappeared into the earth. 

He just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead, as if he wasn’t even present. Inside, though?

His his chest was on fire. 

He refused to let even a single tear fall, it felt pointless, it wasn’t going to bring her back. It wasn’t going to fix anything. And deep down, he thought he didn’t deserve to cry, if he’d been stronger if he’d prayed harder, or been a better son, she’d still be alive.

The sound he remembered the most was the thud of dirt hitting the coffin after the service. It was final, loud, the earth itself mocking him. People around him sniffled, hugged each other, wiped at their eyes, but Rafe just stood there, staring down into the hole, fists buried in his pockets until his nails dug into his palms. 

He kept thinking about how wrong this all was, this wasn’t where she was supposed to end up, and none of this was fair.

She should’ve been there.

She should’ve been standing next to him, arm around his shoulder, telling him to stop slouching, whispering something to make him laugh in the middle of all this sadness. Instead, she was in there, soon the dirt would cover it up, and that’d be it. 

Gone. Just like that.

After the service, Rafe didn’t try to stick around for the house gathering, he wasn’t going to survive that. All those people crowding the living room, balancing paper plates of casserole, acting like they gave a fuck about his mom. It was fake, all of it. 

They’d forget about her in a week.

He slipped out when no one was paying attention, cutting through the side yard and heading to the only place that felt halfway normal—the old skate park behind the rec center. It was run-down as fuck, but he and his friends used to hang out there all the time, sitting on the busted ramps, talking trash, or just doing nothing.

When he got there, it was empty, which was exactly what he wanted. He climbed up on the old half-pipe, sitting cross-legged with his elbows on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement below. 

He couldn’t stop replaying the day in his head, the casket, the dirt, the stupid better place comments. His chest felt like it was breaking in a million tiny pieces, but he still couldn’t cry, his body just wouldn’t let him. 

Instead, he just sat there, wishing the world would leave him alone for five minutes.

That’s when he heard footsteps behind him.

He thought about running—didn’t need anyone seeing him like this, especially not now. But then you spoke.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

He didn’t look at you right away, just exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? Well, congrats. You win the prize.” 

He wasn’t in the mood to be nice, even to you.

But you didn’t flinch, you never did. That’s one of the things he liked about you—you didn’t get scared off when he got like this. You just climbed up next to him and sat down. 

You didn’t try to say all that comforting bullshit people had been feeding him all day, and he was grateful for that.

“You okay?” you asked eventually.

He snorted. “Do I look okay?”

"Sorry, stupid question."

He sighed, hating that he was being asshole to his best friend, "It's fine."

When he finally glanced at you, you were watching him, trying to figure out what to say. It made him nervous, the way you looked at him. You always did that—you cared about what was going on in his head, you saw more than what he let people see.

“I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I know what you’re feeling,” you said finally. “But you don’t have to do this alone, Rafe. You know that, right?”

If only you knew what you would be going through just three short years later.

He wanted to snap at you, tell you to leave, he was fine, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stared down at the pavement again, “Feels like I do.”

You didn’t say anything, just moved closer, close enough that your arm brushed against his. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him feel…something, less alone.

Rafe didn’t know how long you both sat there, could’ve been ten minutes, could’ve been an hour. Time didn’t feel real anymore, you didn’t push him to talk, which he appreciated more than he’d ever admit, you didn’t throw out any of those awkward “it’ll get better” lines. You just sat with him. 

“You can talk to me, you know.” 

He shook his head without looking at you. “There’s nothing to say.” His voice was rough, flat. “She’s gone. That’s it.”

“You don’t have to pretend like it doesn’t suck."

He clenched his jaw, staring at the pavement like if he looked at you, everything would break.

“What’s the point?” he muttered. “Crying’s not gonna change anything. It’s not gonna—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force it back.

“Rafe.” You sighed, and this time “You don’t have to hold it together for anyone, okay? It’s me.”

That broke him, actually broke him. His chest felt tight, suddenly he couldn’t keep it in.

His breath hitched, his shoulders shook, and before he knew it, tears were sliding down his face. He tried to stop it, to hide it, scrubbing his hands over his face, but it was no use.

“Shit,” he choked out, his voice cracking once more.

“Hey, hey,” you said quickly, and before he could pull away or do something stupid like tell you to leave, you scooted over.

He froze for a second, unsure what to do, but then he remembered the funeral, the whispers, the dirt hitting the casket, all the things he couldn’t stop thinking about—he just let it all out.

The first sob ripped out of him so suddenly it startled him, he hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands gripping his hair, as if he could physically stop himself from breaking. But it didn’t work.

Another sob followed, and then another, and soon they were pouring out of him—loud, messy, completely out of his control. He couldn’t stop it, and he hated it.

He leaned into you, his forehead pressing against your shoulder, and just cried. When he felt your arms instantly wrap around him, pulling him into a hug as if you’d been waiting for his permission, he shattered completely.

“She’s—” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to stop, gasping for air as the tears kept coming. “She’s gone. She’s gone, and I—” He broke off.

It was ugly and loud and nothing like how he’d pictured himself breaking down, but he didn’t care. You didn’t tell him it’d be okay or try to make him stop, just held him, your arms tight around him. 

“I miss her,” he whispered, his voice so small it barely sounded like him. “I miss her so much, and I—I don’t know what to do.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried like this, and part of him hated how exposed it made him feel. He hated crying in front of people—anyone. But right now, with you, he didn’t feel embarrassed. 

“I know,” you nodded, your hand moving in small circles on his back. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“I—” he choked out, his voice breaking. “I can’t—this isn’t—it’s not fair.”

“It’s not,” you didn’t want to scare away the fragile pieces of him that were finally surfacing. “It’s not fair. None of it is.”

He couldn’t stop shaking or gasping for breaths that hitched in his chest. The more he tried to push it all backdown, the harder it fought to claw its way out. For years, he’d kept it buried—buried so deep he thought he’d never have to deal with it.

“I hate it,” he managed, the words tumbling out in a jagged mess. “I hate that she’s gone. I hate that I didn’t—” He stopped, gripping his hair harder. “I didn’t do enough. I should’ve been better, done something—anything.”

“Stop. You can’t do that to yourself.”

He shook his head violently, “But I did. I gave up on her. I stopped believing she’d get better, I—I got mad at her for being sick. What kind of son does that? I didn’t even say goodbye the way I should’ve. I just—I left the hospital because I couldn’t take it anymore, and then she—” His voice cracked again, and his hands dropped from his hair to his lap, clenched into fists “She’s gone, and I left. I wasn’t there when she—” His breath hitched, and he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re a kid. It’s not your fault, okay? None of this is.”

“But it feels like it is,” he shot back, “I should’ve done something, anything. I just feel so—” He stopped, letting out a shaky exhale. “Empty. Like nothing I do matters anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

The way you said it, so certain—He didn’t know why, but it cut through the noise in his head just enough to let him breathe again.

“I don’t know how to keep going,” he admitted, “I don’t know how t-to live without her.”

Growing up, Rafe had always been a momma’s boy. 

She was his safe place—the one person who didn’t make him feel like he had to be someone else. With her, he didn’t have to try so damn hard to be tough, or perfect, or whatever the hell his dad wanted him to be. 

Ward wasn’t the kind of dad who let his kids cry on his shoulder or told them he loved them every day. No, Ward was the kind of dad who believed in rules.

Men didn’t cry. Men didn’t show weakness. Men didn’t mess up—or, if they did, they sure as hell didn’t admit it.

He expected Rafe to follow those rules like they were gospel.

The worst part? His rules about what it meant to be a man stuck with Rafe, even when he didn’t want them to. When his mom got sick, he found himself choking back tears in the hospital bathroom, staring at his reflection and hearing Ward’s voice in his head: “Crying doesn’t solve anything. You’ve gotta be strong, for her, for your sisters.”

He had this idea in his head of what Rafe was supposed to be—strong, dependable, successful. He didn’t yell or lose his temper like some dads back then, he just made him feel like shit in this fucked up way.

Rafe tried, shit, he’d tried, but it felt impossible.

Every time he looked at his mom, pale and tired but still managing to smile at him like he was her whole world, he felt like he was dying too, then he’d feel guilty—for being so weak, for wanting to break down when she was the one fighting for her life.

It didn’t help that Ward had always had a soft spot for Sarah. Everyone could see it, even Rafe. She was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong, the one Ward went out of his way to protect. 

If Rafe screwed up, it was a lecture or a punishment, but if Sarah did? Ward would just shake his head and say, “She’s still young. She’ll learn.”

It used to piss him off more than he wanted to admit. It wasn’t that he hated her—she was his sister, and he loved her. But how could he not resent her? He felt invisible when she got all the attention and the understanding, while he was expected to man up and deal with it.

After her funeral, things changed.

Rafe became quicker to snap, to walk away from anything that felt too hard. He was only himself around you, behind closed doors, never for preying eyes. Sarah grew colder, retreating into her own world where everything was controlled and distant.

Every time they spoke, it ended in shouting matches, slamming doors, or long stretches of silence that neither of them attempted to solve.

Except when you were there.

Ward got even colder, the grief had frozen whatever part of him used to care. He threw himself into work, making sure Sarah was okay, and barely even looked at his son. When he did, it was usually to tell him to pull it together, or to stop being so “moody.”

Rafe started to wonder if he even cared that he was falling apart, if he ever noticed the nights Rafe stayed out too late or came home smelling like booze. If he saw the way he avoided talking to him, how he flinched whenever Ward brought up his mom. But if his dad noticed, he never said anything. 

He thought it was just Rafe being Rafe—angry, unpredictable, a disappointment.

Fast forward to the present, and he hadn’t felt this helpless since that day at the funeral, not even when Ward’s died four months ago. 

You weren’t in his life anymore—hadn’t been for a while and you were possibly pregnant. 

He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but it made sense, everything lined up with that possibility. He thought back to everything you’d been through together, the times you’d been there for him when no one else was, how you’d seen the pieces of him no one else cared to.

Now, you were having his kid—and he was hearing about it from Topper?

Rafe spent the first hour after Topper dropped the news pacing his bedroom like a caged animal, his heart wouldn’t stop racing and he felt like a ticking time bomb. 

The Rafe—the one who flew off the handle, yelled, broke things, and pushed people away—was begging to get out. But Topper’s voice kept replaying in his head, he had to act right, be calm, for your sake. To prove himself.

The problem was, that staying calm wasn’t his strong suit. 

He’d spent years burying every emotion he couldn’t control under layers of anger, and now he was supposed to sit with the hurricane in his chest and figure out how to make things right. 

For the first time in a long time, he realized he didn’t even know where to start.

That night, he locked himself in his room, ignoring his phone, his friends, everyone. None of it mattered anymore, the only thing he could think about was you—and the baby. 

He spent hours pacing, running his hands through his hair, trying to think of what the fuck he was going to say.

What was he gonna say after everything he’d put you through? After the fight, the distance, the way he’d shut you out when you’d been nothing but good to him until that point?

He sat down on the edge of his bed, head still in his hands, and let himself feel everything he’d been avoiding. The fear, the regret, the anger at himself. He thought about you—how you used to look at him like he wasn’t just a mess of a person, you’d stuck by him even when he’d given you every reason to leave.

You weren’t here anymore.

He’d pushed you so far away you hadn’t even told him about the situation yourself. Why would you anyway? He ghosted you and the next time you saw him he was with someone else. He could still see the look on your face when you saw him that night—arms slung casually around Sofia, while you sat in your car, eyes wild, you hadn’t tried to step outside, hadn’t yelled or made a scene, you simply drove off. 

It wasn’t until an hour later and terrible text message to you, that drunk and pissed at himself, he realized just how badly he’d screwed up. But by then, the damage was done, and he’d been too much of a coward to fix it. What followed was a sea of bad decisions and nights he couldn’t remember, trying to drown out the ache of losing you. 

He’d been drinking for Ward’s death until that point, now he did it for you.

Everything was catching up to him—the way he let his dad’s voice in his head drown out his own, making him let you slip through his fingers.

He didn’t deserve you—he knew that.

By sunrise, Rafe was still wide awake, sitting on the floor of his room surrounded by half-crumpled pieces of paper. He’d been trying to write down what he wanted to say to you, but everything sounded wrong. He’d never been good with words, not the kind that mattered.

He wasn’t a dad, wasn’t even close to being the kind of guy who could be a dad. 

What the fuck did he know about raising a kid? Changing diapers? Teaching someone right from wrong? Being patient? But the thought of you—of you carrying his kid—hit him differently.

At first, it had been pure panic. You hated him, what if you didn’t want him involved? What if he was just like Ward—cold, distant, always expecting too much? What if he screwed the kid up the same way he felt like he’d been screwed up? 

He pictured it without meaning to: you holding a tiny bundle in your arms, your face soft in a way he hadn’t seen in so long. A kid with your smile, your laugh—but his eyes. Or his messy hair. It scared the shit out of him.

What if she doesn’t even want to keep it?

Rafe hadn’t let himself go there at first, it was a lot to wrap his head around, the idea that there might not even be a child to fight for. 

The thought of you going through this, struggling to make a choice that he couldn’t help with, made him feel useless. 

Frustrated, he grabbed his keys and headed out, needing to clear his head. The island was silent this early, the kind of calm that used to make him feel trapped, but now, though, it was a relief. He drove aimlessly for a while, the salty air whipping through the open windows, until he found himself parked at the beach.

He didn’t know why he’d come here—well, you’d always bring him here when he spiraled. He sat there, watching the waves crash against the shore, feeling a weird sort of clarity that he hadn’t felt in months. 

Perhaps it was the silence, or the way the ocean didn’t care about all the fucking mess in his head, but something about it made him stop spiraling for a second.

He started to think about what Topper had said—not just about staying calm, but about proving to you that he still cared. That wasn’t something he could do with words alone, not after everything. He’d have to show you, he’d have to be the version of himself you used to believe in, the one who wasn’t ruled by his worst impulses.

Rafe knew the first step before he could even think about talking to you: he had to end things with Sofia. They weren’t official, but they might as well have been. 

People talked, made assumptions, and sure, he’d let them. It was easier that way—less explaining, less having to deal with the uncomfortable truth that he’d only been with her to fill the empty space you left behind. It was cruel, but at the time, he hadn’t cared. 

Sofia wasn’t you, but she was there, and more importantly, she didn’t expect anything from him. Keeping things going with her wasn’t just a bad idea; it was disrespectful. To you, to her, to himself. He couldn’t pretend he cared about her like that—not when his heart had never really left your orbit.

When he showed up at her place that morning before work, she didn’t seem surprised—not even a little. She’d seen the writing on the wall for weeks now, but tonight, seeing him standing there, just confirmed what she already knew.

She watched him like she was waiting for him to get to the point, but not impatiently—just resigned, she already knew what he was about to say.

“Can I come in?” 

She let him in without a word, she wasn’t mad, not really. If anything, she felt sad—mostly for him, a little for herself. How the fuck was he supposed to explain this without sounding like the worst person alive?

“You okay?” she asked quietly, she wasn’t being polite—she was trying to read him, figure out where this was going.

Rafe didn’t sit, didn’t take off his jacket. He stayed standing, hands shoved deep in his pockets, trying to find the words that wouldn’t make this worse. “I—” He cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about something. 

She raised an eyebrow, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “Be honest.”

“This...this isn’t fair to you,” he started, his words tumbling out fast, “I should’ve been real with you from the start, but I wasn't," He swallowed hard, “You deserve better than me using you to forget someone else.”

Sofia didn’t say anything at first, just crossed her arms loosely, not making it easy for him, but she wasn’t making it harder, either.

“I shouldn’t have dragged you into this,” he continued, forcing himself to look at her. “It feels wrong and it’s not because of you. You’re great. You’ve been...you’ve been more patient with me than I deserve.”

Her lips curved into a small, almost imperceptible smile, one that wasn’t quite happy but wasn’t cruel either. “But you’re still in love with her.”

He didn’t know why it shocked him—Sofia had always been perceptive—but hearing her say it out loud made it real in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I—” He hesitated, but there was no point in denying it. “Yeah.”

“I knew,” She nodded like she’d been waiting for that confirmation. “I figured. I told myself it didn’t matter because—because I thought maybe you’d move on. Maybe I could help you move on. But you didn’t, and I—” She pressed her lips together, shaking her head as her arms tightened around herself.

Rafe’s brows furrowed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, the movement almost casual. 

“Because I really like you,” she admitted, “I knew. The party? When you got blackout drunk after seeing her leave? Or the country club, when you nearly started a fight defending her? I know you drove her to the hospital too. I kept hoping—God, I kept hoping you’d see me, that you’d let me be enough.”

He’d known she cared—he wasn’t blind—but hearing her saying like that made him realize just how he fucked up. She wasn’t wrong. He had been trying to numb himself, to drown out the reality of losing you, and she had been the collateral damage.

He looked away, guilt twisting in his chest. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. That wasn’t fair to you.”

“No,” she agreed, her tone firm but not unkind. “It wasn’t, but I don’t think you meant to hurt me either, you were trying to hurt yourself. It's still stupid of me to try, knowing you need to figure your shit out, but you don’t have to end things. I know what I signed up for, Rafe. I’m not asking you to choose me over her—I’m just asking you to try."

There was no anger in her voice, no bitterness—just exhaustion. It made him feel like a piece of shit because she deserved to feel angry, to lash out at him. But instead, she was still trying to give him a way out, a way to make this easier on himself.

“I’ll take whatever part of you I can get.”

It wasn’t desperate or pleading—it was resigned. She already knew the answer, but she couldn’t help saying it out loud.

Rafe shook his head, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his composure. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “You deserve someone who can give you everything. That’s not me.”

“Why not?” she pressed, her tone insistent.

“Because all of me already belongs to her,” Rafe admitted, his voice breaking at the end. “It always has, it always will.”

Sofia blinked, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but she didn’t look hurt—just...sad. She nodded slowly, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

“I hope she knows what she has, and I pray you show her," She stood up and motioning toward the door. “We both deserve better than a guy who drinks himself to death after seeing her at a party. So do you.”

Rafe didn’t move right away, unsure if he should say something more, apologize again, explain himself better. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.

“Don’t thank me,” she replied, “Just do better.”

“I shouldn’t have let it go on this long,” he confessed, “I just—I didn’t know how to stop.”

Her expression softened just enough to show the tiniest sliver of empathy. “For what is worth, I think she still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now.” She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around, “Next time, please don’t do this to someone else, and don’t do it to her again, either.”

She still loves you too, even if she hates you more right now. He wanted to believe it, needed to believe it. The faint possibility, that you might still love him, it meant he had a chance but it also meant he could screw them up even worse.

He stood slowly, “Thank you,” he repeated,“For...everything.”

She didn’t look at him, but she nodded, opening the door and holding it for him. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and it wasn’t cold or angry—just sad.

By the time he got back to his car, he knew she wasn’t wrong, about any of it. 

She hadn’t screamed or cried or made him feel like the asshole he knew he was, that made it worse. If his mom was here, she would’ve smacked him across he head for hurting two amazing women at the same time. 

He hadn’t been ready to deal with his feelings for you—not when he started whatever the fuck it was with Sofia, not when he ran into you at that party, not when he defended you at the country club.

He’d been running, hiding, trying to bury everything under distractions that only made him feel emptier.

He leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes, and for a moment, it was like he was fourteen again, sitting on the edge of his mom’s hospital bed while his mom teased him.

“Come on, sweetheart” she’d said, her voice playful, even through the weariness. “You’ve been talking about her birthday for weeks. I think you like her more than you’re letting on.”

Rafe’s head shot up, and his ears burned red. “Mooomm,” he groaned, dragging out the word, “it’s not like that, she’s my best friend.”

“She’s your pretty best friend,” she’d corrected, smiling at him in that knowing way only she could. “You’re gonna pick out something nice for her, right?”

“I already did,” he mumbled, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket and holding it out like it was some great secret. Inside was a delicate bracelet he’d saved up for, something special, something he thought you’d like.

His mom’s smile had softened, the teasing fading into something more tender. 

“She’s lucky to have you,” she’d said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Even if you are a little knucklehead sometimes.”

He’d ducked away, embarrassed but secretly pleased, tucking the box back into his pocket.

“M’m not a knucklehead,” he complained, but she just laughed, and it was one of the last times he remembered hearing her laugh like that—free, unburdened, just his mom.

“She’s a good one. You’ve got good taste.” Her smile softened, and the teasing faded into something gentler. “I hope I’m still around when you get married. I’d love to see you happy like that.”

The words were a punch he hadn’t expected. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. What could he even say to that? He wanted to argue, to tell her she would be, but the look in her eyes stopped him.

She knew. She always knew.

He just nodded, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. “Me too.”

She squeezed his hand. “Promise me something?”

“Anything,” he said without thinking because he meant it.

“When you find that person—really find them—don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

He nodded again.

Years later, standing in a stupid fucking car alone, those words haunted him. He’d found that person, he’d had her and he’d let her go.

“God,” he muttered, the self-loathing reaching a new high, “I’m so sorry, mom.”

As terrifying as it was to think about being a dad, to think about raising a kid when he was still trying to figure out his own life… the idea of losing this chance—of losing you, or the baby, or both, for good —scared him even more.

For the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron felt something close to hope, but it was tainted in so much fear and uncertainty, that he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

The rest of the day, he forced himself to slow down. 

He went back home, cleaned up the disaster of a room he’d been holed up in, and tried to think like a normal guy instead of a walking disaster. He even let Topper come over, though his patience for his relentless commentary wore thin fast.

“You’ve got one shot at this, dude,” Topper said, perched on Rafe’s desk like he owned the place. “If you go in there guns blazing, she’s just gonna think you’re the same old Rafe. And honestly? You can’t blame her.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but he didn’t argue, Topper was right, as annoying as it was to admit.

He spent the evening coming up with a plan—just enough to make sure he didn’t go in blind. He practiced what he’d say in his head, pacing the kitchen while the sun sank below the horizon. Every time he started to panic, he forced himself to breathe, to remember why he was doing this.

By the time 24 hours had passed, he didn’t feel ready, but he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. The thought of you sitting somewhere, thinking he really didn’t care or that he wouldn’t step up?

That was worse than any fear he had about facing you. So he grabbed his keys, and headed out, this time, he wasn’t running away.

Rafe stood by your door, he’d gotten in the property using the gate’s code, one he’d hoped you had changed to keep him out, but you hadn’t.

He’d never been good at patience, never needed to be—not when he could push his way into anything. But this was different, you were different, always had been.

The wood under his hand was cool, in a way that pissed him off because it reminded him that there was a barrier between you and him, again, always.

He wanted to scream, kick the fucking thing down like the old Rafe would’ve, or instead use the keys you’d given him years ago. Instead, he stood there, swallowing his pride because you were worth it, even if it was tearing himself in half.

His knuckles dragged down the frame, fist clenching as if the pressure would ground him, keep him from losing his shit. He wasn’t here to fight, wasn’t here to make your life harder, no matter how much you thought he was. 

The door rattled slightly when he pressed his forehead against it, eyes squeezing shut. “Five minutes. Please.”

Nothing.

His jaw worked, teeth grinding against the words he wanted to say but couldn’t, not if he wanted you to open the door. He couldn’t do this anymore—the back-and-forth, the lies. He wasn’t sure what broke first—your resolve or the knot in his throat. 

When you didn’t answer again, he sank to sit on the porch, back against the door like he could still feel you on the other side. You were there—close enough to touch if there wasn’t this fucking door between you.

That was his fault.

He used to be the guy you’d let in without thinking twice, shit, there was a time when he didn’t need to knock.

He was in, part of your life, part of you.

Now, you were holed up, scared of him. Yeah, that ate him alive. He’d earned that fear—every cold shoulder, the slammed door, he deserved it.

He should’ve been different, been better, been someone you didn’t have to lock out. You were scared, and it killed him because it wasn’t just fear, it was him. He was the reason you didn’t feel safe enough to let the secret out, the reason your voice cracked when you told him to leave.

He had put that look in your eyes, the one he couldn’t unsee, no matter how hard he tried.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

He could almost hear you breathing, shakily, like you were preparing yourself to outlast him.

He wanted to push. Fuck, he wanted to shove the door open, make you look at him, make you tell him everything—but that was the old Rafe, he took what he wanted, and bulldozed through whatever stood in his way.

Where had that ever gotten him? Nowhere but here: on the wrong side of a door, the wrong side of you.

He exhaled, long and slow, hand falling limp to his side.

What the hell was he doing? Forcing his way in, forcing answers—that wasn’t going to fix this. It never did. You’d push harder, build the walls higher, and he couldn’t stomach the idea of you hating him more than you already did.

“Okay,” he said quietly, his voice strained. “I get it.”

He didn’t know if you could still hear him, perhaps you were blocking him out completely. Maybe you were curled up with your hands over your ears. He hoped you weren’t crying, though the thought twisted and turned something deep in him.

“I’m not gonna push you,” he said, hating how defeated he sounded. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He ran a hand down his face, swallowing hard, trying to keep it together.

“I just... I just want you to be okay.” He hesitated, then pressed his palm flat against the door, wishing he could reach you somehow, without scaring you, “Baby or not.”

He waited, hoping for something—a sound, a movement, anything, but the silence was absolute.

His heart clenched as he pushed off the door and took a step back, his shoes scraping against the porch. He didn’t want to leave, he never wanted to leave, but this wasn’t about what he wanted. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, almost to himself, "I'm so sorry. I’m sorry it took me this long, okay?”

He stopped halfway, looking back, hoping—praying—for some sign. A light flicking on, the sound of the door creaking open, your voice calling his name, anything.

But the house stayed still, it had already moved on from him. 

He didn’t remember deciding to drive to Poguelandia; he felt it in his gut, in the pit of his chest, this pounding certainty that Sarah knew something he didn’t. You wouldn’t tell him—but Sarah? You’d chosen her to drive you home from the hospital just a few days ago.

She was the only person that could lie to his face properly, he couldn’t fucking figure her out, she was always deflecting shit wherever they talked.

By the time he pulled up to the pogues’ little hideaway, the sky had darkened, the place lit only by the glow of string lights and the hum of voices inside. He sat in the truck for a second, staring at the house, willing himself to calm down.

Barging in—loud, pissed, impulsive—wasn’t going to get him what he needed. But fuck, it was hard not to.

He climbed out, slamming the door behind him with just enough force to feel better for half a second. The screen door creaked as he stepped up to the porch, and he could already hear them inside—Sarah’s laugh, JJ cracking some dumbass joke, the rest of them chiming in like they didn’t have a care in the world.

He hated this, hated how they all looked at him, as if he was some ticking time bomb ready to explode. They weren’t wrong.

Rafe knocked, hard and sharp, the laughter inside cut off instantly. Footsteps approached the door, hesitant. A second later, it swung open, and there she was, his sister, looking at him like he was the last person she wanted to see.

“Rafe,” she said, one hand still gripping the door. “What are you doing here?”

He didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We need to talk.”

Her brows pulled together, suspicion creeping into her expression. “Now? Seriously?”

“Yeah, now,” he snapped, stepping closer, his voice low enough to keep from drawing the others’ attention. “Don’t make me say it in front of them.”

She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder toward the voices in the living room. “Rafe, I don’t think—”

“Don’t,” he cut her off, his tone sharper than he meant. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to soften, to keep it together. “I need you to tell me the truth.”

She glanced back again, then sighed, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door behind her. He was already pacing, hands twitching at his sides, hardly able to contain the energy inside him. 

The way she looked at him—wary, guarded—only made it worse.

“What the hell is your problem?” she asked, crossing her arms, like she was already bracing for a fight.

“My problem?” he barked out a laugh, sharp. “You really wanna play dumb right now? You’ve been keeping something from me, Sarah. I know you have.”

Her brows knit together, feigning confusion, “Dude. What’s this about? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” he hissed, stepping closer, “Don’t lie to me. I already know, okay? I know about the baby.”

She didn’t say a word, didn’t confirm a thing, just stared at him like he was some wild animal.

“Where did you get the idea that she’s pregnant?”

His mouth opened, then closed. It felt wrong to snitch on Topper when he’d been one making him pry a little more.

“Well?” she pressed, “Answer me. How did you come up with that?”

Saying it out loud felt like admitting he’d been just as reckless and intrusive as everyone expected him to be. His hand ran over his face, trying to stall.

“I didn’t just make it up.”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed, her patience waning. “No shit. So where, Rafe?”

He glanced away, then back, his voice defensive. “Topper said something, okay? He heard—he thought—” Rafe stopped, knowing how weak it sounded.

 “Topper? You’re taking life advice from Topper now?”

“He didn’t mean anything by it!” Rafe was quick to defend him, “He just... he mentioned some things, and it got me thinking. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Sarah repeated, “You barged over there because Topper mentioned ‘some things’ ? Jesus Christ.”

His hands flew up in frustration. “What was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn’t hear it? Ignore it and hope it went away? I needed to know!”

“No, you didn’t,” Sarah shot back. “You wanted to know. There’s a difference, and it’s the difference that keeps getting you into this shit.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Rafe pointed a finger in his direction, “Like I’m crazy or something. I’m not stupid.”

"You’re just not worth the energy right now."

Instead of crying like he wanted to, he let out a dry laugh, pacing back and forth in front of her.

"Right. Sure. I can see it all over you, just say it."

She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You don’t know what you’re talking about. Neither does Topper.”

“Stop lying!” His voice rose, loud enough to echo into the dark yard. “Just stop. You know something.”

Sarah’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, Rafe thought he’d finally cracked her. Except instead of giving him what he wanted, she just let out a slow breath, meeting his eyes with a steadiness that made him feel like a child fighting for his favorite toy.

“You want to know the truth?” 

“Yes,” he bit out, his chest heaving.

She stepped forward so they were only inches apart. “The truth is, you don’t deserve to know. Not yet.”

Everyone kept telling him the same thing, couldn’t they see he was already trying?

He staggered back a step. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means, that whatever you’re looking for, whatever answers you think you deserve, they’re not yours to take. Not until you can handle them without breaking everything you touch."

He flinched, her words striking something inside him, “You don’t get to decide that for me,” he said, almost desperate.

“I’m not deciding anything,” she replied, her eyes never leaving his. “You’ve spent these last few months making everything about you. Your pain, your anger, your needs.”

He glanced away, “So, what? You don’t trust me?”

Her silence was louder than anything she could have said.

“You don’t,” he murmured, the realization bitter in his mouth.

"I don’t," she agreed, “You’re still not the person she needs you to be, and until you can prove you can do that—without me, without anyone holding your hand—you’re better off not knowing.”

“I’m trying. I swear to fucking God, I’m trying. I don’t know how to fix it.”

“She’s scared you’re going to hurt her again—whether you mean to or not. You’re dating someone else, for god’s sake.”

“I ended it. This morning.”

Sarah’s eyebrows lifted slightly, “Doesn’t change the past, Rafe. And it sure as hell doesn’t make everything better overnight.”

Rafe flinched, the words sinking into him like stones. "Why the fuck do you think I’m here? I don’t want to hurt her—I can’t do anything if she won’t even talk to me."

Topper still had that number. 

You hadn’t hidden it well enough, he hadn’t done anything with it, but it was tempting. All he had to do was call, just to confirm, he told himself. Not to pry, simply to know for sure.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t. This isn’t something you can force your way into. She would never forgive you, please be smart.”

His first instinct was to lash out, fire back some venom-laced retort that would sting as much as her tone. He nodded, swallowing hard.

“Okay,” He dragged a hand through his head, “I know that, I know. But I can’t just sit here, doing nothing. I need to... I need to show her I can do better. That I am better.”

“You need to crawl through hell to understand a fraction of what she’s going through; you need to stop thinking about what you want and start thinking about her.”

His hands fell to his sides, limp, the fight suck out of him. She was right—he hated that she was. This wasn’t about him anymore; it never had been.

 “What can I do?”

Her expression softened, not with forgiveness but something sadder—she wanted to believe he could. “You start by fixing yourself, then you wait. Until she’s ready, if she’s ready. You’ve got to mean that, Rafe, you screw this up again..."

"I won’t," he said firmly, cutting her off. "I can’t."

“Okay.”

“What if she’s not ready?”

He had no right to demand more.

“You keep going, keep trying. Not for her, not for anyone else—just for you.”

By the time he got back in his truck, the hurt in his body hadn’t lifted. His mom’s words echoed in his mind one more, “When you find that person, don’t let them go. Not for anything.”

Maybe that started with learning to be the person who deserved to hold on.

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[danexist]

Going to actually make an addition instead of hiding in the notes because this will be LOOOONG.

So. Doctor Who: one of the longest running, most loved shows on television to date. I love it, my parent's generation love it, my great aunts and uncles love it. But this great show that's been running for longer than my father has been alive, recently, it's gone downhill according to MILLIONS of viewers.

So what made it so loveable in the first place? Well, it was a really fun show about a time-travelling alien who runs around in a blue box with a companion. That's basically the gist, if you haven't seen it. But I hear stories from my grandma even, she and her siblings would watch Doctor Who on TV after dinner whenever it was on, well, after they got a TV that was. When it wasn't on, my grandma's generation would talk about what would happen in the next season, who the Doctor would be next, everything! They knew a next season was coming for certain. And I think that's what made it a really great show for my grandma and her siblings at least, a sense of reliability.

But what's that got to do with us, here in 2024? Since 1972, a lot has changed. Channels have been added, you could tape things, record them for later, DVDs came out, and now, we are in the age of the streaming service. The show has been running since 1963, and television as a whole has changed. Through 15 Doctors, 41 seasons and 2 different renewals, it's DEFINITELY changed. But it followed mostly the same 'alien-of-the-week' format, and I'd say the new season does that, it's just how it has been excecuted.

So, the show that kids have grown up loving for the past 60 years, FOR FREE might I add, is basically hidden behind a pay wall. In Australia, we grew up with the show on the ABC. I don't actually know if the new season was ever shown on the ABC, but it sure as hell isn't on iview. To find the absolutely appalling, very very short season of television, you have to find it on Disney+. It's no longer the show you'd get on Channel 22 after Spicks and Specks, it's another streaming service 8-episode show that's going to be forgotten in 8-10 weeks.

But what in the new show is bad? What about it makes it so easy to hate? First of all, Ncuti Gatwa is a fantastic actor, but it's similar criticism to Jodie Whittaker's Doctor, great actor, terrible writing. Why is that? Well, opposed to Russell T. Davies' first seasons of Doctor Who, it is complete and utter garbage. We have gone from Rose Tyler, the girl who wrote herself into the stars because she loved the Doctor so much, to Ruby Sunday, an overall forgettable companion who could do so much better if they had better writing happening. People talk about Rogue, saying it was a really great episode of television, but look me in the eyes and say it didn't remind you of series 1, episodes 9-10, The Empty Child and The Doctor Dances or Torchwood series 1, episode 12, Captain Jack Harkness. Why is that? Because Russell T. Davies has basically just recycled the same character he wrote 20 years ago, Jack Harkness. He could have done something better, like recast the character of Jack Harkness (don't get me started on that drama, that's a whole different can of worms) with Jonathan Groff and created a seriously great few episodes, but he didn't. And to end a first series with a finale relating to episodes of television tons of the viewers don't remember or are too young to have watched, it's a crappy way to end it.

The fact that it is only 8 episodes long totally astounds me. They have been doing 22 episodes or 12 at the least per series, but this time it's different. It's nearly like they're TRYING to create an immediately laughable version of Doctor Who. I, personally believe Disney had something to do with that, but that's a different post. We used to have action-packed 22-episode series of television we could talk about until the next one came out, but now, we are simply left with an overall forgettable series of television.

Do better, BBC.

[mist-the-wannabe-linguist]

Most Antivan Crows do not live long enough to experience a midlife crisis

The Crows supply their ranks generally from orphans, illegitimate or abandoned children, children purchased from slavery, whore houses and other similar sources. Some are born into the Crows already, but those would be a very small minority, for reasons explained below.

Lucanis mentions that Crow training involves a lot of acrobacy. After a brief search, sports with similar physical requirements such as gymnastics, ballet and martial arts have the ideal starting age in the range of 4-10 years, 15 at the latest, when the children's joints are still flexible (and their minds can be easily manipulated). Zevran is canonically stated to have been taken at the age of 7.

Crow training is intense and brutal, involving straight up torture as tests of pain tolerance. From the 18 fledglings of House Arainai taken in the same year as Zevran, only two survived to the end of their training (World of Thedas Vol. 2). Training with real weapons, harsh punishment, possibly the Spartan custom of underfeeding the children and driving them to stealing food for themselves to encourage learning stealth and resourcefulness, and very likely killing any who try to run away, all these are very likely factors for the high death rate among fledglings.

If the average age of newest Crow fledglings is 6, they might be ready for promotion to the rank of Assassin very well as early as the age of 14-15. This is where the second meat grinder starts, these new Crows will already have plenty experience, but the first solo contracts will still likely take many of them, either killed by their targets, by their Masters for failing the contract, or by themselves to avoid the pain and humiliation of returning to their Masters unsuccessful. This period might likely have the highest suicide rates in general, as the new Crows are still relatively emotionaly vulnerable but old enough to comprehend their position in the world and the weight of their actions.

Promotion to the rank of Assassin also certainly brings great benefits that only increase as the Crow's career progresses and their contracts bring them more coin. The comforts and opulence of Antiva are for them to take, and someone who has grown up only knowing hunger and pain will certainly not hold back. Alcohol, drugs, sex, all the addictions and diseases will surely take the lives of many Crows.

An Assassin's career begins early and ends early. To use sports and dance once again, most porfessional gymnasts and ballet dancers retire between the ages of 25 and 35 as their physical capabilities decline. Those who have survived this long will be granted the rank of Master and oversee the distribution of contracts and the training of fledglings, and will participate in actual assassinations much less. This is also where one might strive to become a Grandmaster or even a Talon. At this point, a Crow will have enough prominence within the organization that they might become a target themselves. Only the most skilled, well-connected and ruthless Crows will continue to rise and, most importantly, continue to live.

If a presumed average number of fledglings per House is around 20, 2-3 will make it to Assassin. In one Assassin's 20 years long career, that would make only about 50 new Assassins out of 400 fledglings. Probably only about a half of those will make it to 35. Even fewer will make it to 50. Out of 400 children bought or stolen from the streets.

Caterina Dellamorte is over 70 years old.

[noxiwrites]

Forbidden

Synopsis ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

The new teaching assistant is too hot for his own good, distracting most of the girls in your class. You’re not too bothered by him, he’s just another pretty face- until you get pulled by him for failing the class. It’s every girls wet dream, getting taught by the hot new teacher- and you find yourself slowly falling into a sickly sweet situation.

Warnings ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

Age gap, inappropriate touching, arguments, angst, eventual smut, obsession, hidden relationship, public sex.

Word count ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪

2.3k

Chatter mulls through the room as you sit quietly at your desk, reviewing some of the content for the final year of your class here. You can tell everyone is excited, the final year of this four year course upon you.

You, on the other hand, were less excited. The pressure of the material was very demanding already and you just wanted to get on top of it, keep it down to a minimum so it wouldn’t collapse your entire life.

A door opens at the back of the classroom and the chatter is suddenly gone, a stiff silence falling over the rest of your classmates as they take in someone who is definitely not your teacher, stood at the desk at the front of the class.

Immediately, you hear the hustles of chatter from all the girls in class as they take in the very obviously handsome man stood waiting. He grins, looking around the room and soaking up the attention. You roll your eyes and scoff, not bothered by his pretty face as you look down to review the material for what felt like the ten millionth time.

“Okay guys, enough chatter, let’s get started,” his voice scratches at the back of your brain, something about the way he sounds making you turn all mushy.

“So, you’re probably wondering where Dr.Mendez is, right?” A murmur of agreement washes the room and you glance upward, watching as his hands clasp around a book, stance all flexed as he leans against the edge of the desk. You can see him scanning the room and your eyes meet for a second, him flashing you a brief smile before you’re looking back down, again.

He’s hot. He’s making you all flustered, no doubt like all the other girls in the class- and it frustrated you. You’re just here to learn.

“Well he’s swamped with other classes this year so I’m stepping in to teach, you’re stuck with me,” you can hear the smugness in his tone, basking in the attention from the girls fawning over him.

“I’ll die a happy woman stuck with you, sir,” a whiny voice giggles from behind you and you already know it’s Kendra, a self centered bitch who has done nothing but make your life living hell while being in this class.

He laughs, thanking her, before moving on. You look up again, watching him as he strides around the desk to take a seat on the front of it and opening the book in his hands.

“I’m Rafe by the way. I’d prefer if you guys just called me that,” he looks around the room, thumbing the page he’s currently on as he takes in the entire class. Again, your eyes meet and he smiles again, something you don’t return as you expectantly wait for him to move on with the class.

“Right, so, I’ve been filled in on what you guys have been learning for the past three years, and this is your last year, yeah? Very important.” A chorus of further murmurs flow from the class and Rafe, now you know his name, nods. He slaps his knee, standing as he walks back to his laptop, clicking some buttons before it connects to the large projector.

“I won’t keep you waiting then, let’s get started shall we?”

By the end of the three hour class, you’re exhausted. You’re so ready to climb into your car and get home, climb into bed and have a fat nap. As usual, you’re one of the last to leave class, hating getting caught in the throngs of people all leaving with the same goal as you.

Kendra and her cronies are stood talking to Rafe at his desk as she giggles and twirls her hair around her finger about something he’s saying, and you roll your eyes as you shove your book bag further onto your shoulder and descend the steps down the the bottom of the class.

It really makes you want to scoff, how fucking sleazy she is- really, the guy has just started to teach the class and she’s already trying to get her claws into him. You wonder, sometimes, how she managed to get into an advanced class, but then you remember she was born into money, her perfectly bleached blonde hair and always perfectly manicured nails reminding you of that.

“See you later,” you hear Rafe say and you turn, to see his focus completely on you instead of Kendra. Her scowl could kill if it were possible, mad that his attention is on you rather than her. You smile and nod, waving goodbye before rushing for the door and leaving.

It’s cold out in the parking lot, and you regret parking your car at the far side this morning when you were in a better mood. You’re thankful, however, that this is your only class today and you can just go home and sleep.

The drive to your apartment only takes fifteen minutes, traffic light as a slight drizzle begins to fall on your windscreen, rolling your window down to scan your badge to get into your estate gate.

Your cat greets you through the window of your ground flat as you pull into the parking spot in front of it, turning the engine off and grabbing your stuff before rushing to the door, leaving down to greet whiskers as you close the door.

“Let’s go to bed, eh?” You ask, and he purrs, following you down the hall. When you’re finally relaxed in bed, you find yourself thinking of the new teaching assistant, wondering if he knows what he’s signed himself up for.

“Good morning guys, we ready to start?” Rafe asks the room, cup of something steamy in his left hand. You can hear Kendra giggle from behind you and you just know she’s twirling her hair in her fingers, which makes you sigh.

Today, your friend, Molly, had decided to turn up. You’re grateful, telling her about yesterdays events in a hushed tone as her eyes grow wider the further you tell.

You drop your eyes down to Rafe to see him setting up his PowerPoint again, clicking away on his keyboard.

“Yeah and he literally said goodbye to me, and she was all like grrrr and scowley like? I didn’t do anything,” you tell her, Molly flashing a frown over her shoulder to signify her displeasure. She hates Kendra just as much as the next person.

“To be fair, he is very attractive. I’d be mad if I put that much into my appearance and you stole his attention just like that,” she snaps her fingers to give you an idea of what she means and you blush. You definitely didn’t steal his attention, he was just saying goodbye. Right?

You both fall into silence as Rafe begins talking to the class about different formulas, all the basic stuff that you noticed at the beginning of the content paper. This class is shorter, only being an hour and a half, before you’ve got another class in the afternoon with another teacher.

As you work through the slides, you find yourself glancing at Rafe more and more. You had to give it to him, he was very attractive. Buzzed hair, sharp jawline and sparkly eyes that everytime they looked into your own, sent you dizzy.

Alas, he was your teacher. It begged the question in the back of your head of how old he was, because he didn’t look much older than you to be honest. The slides soon come to an end, Rafe clapping his hands as he thanked everyone for turning up today. Everyone grapples to leave, Kendra hanging by his desk as he lazily entertains her while typing away on his computer.

You bid Molly goodbye as she rushes off out the door, desperate to see her boyfriend before he goes to his next class, leaving you to pack your things as you earwig on what Kendra is saying.

“I think I could do with some extra tutoring, Rafe,” she twirls her hair around her finger again, eyes blazing down at him. Rafe grins, laughing up at her before going back to his computer.

“You’re fine Kendra, I reviewed your papers from last year. No tutoring needed,” you can practically hear the sarcasm from here, and you’re sure Kendra is one more comment away from bursting into tears and ringing her father because the teacher won’t fuck her.

“Oh, okay. If you say so Rafe, but I’m always free,” she scrapes her fingers along his desk, and act that makes you wince as you walk down the steps.

“See you next week, Rafe,” she drawls, before throwing you a scowl, leaving the classroom. You’re about to follow, not wanting to stop and chat, but Rafe does so anyway.

“Hey, I’ve been meaning to speak to you, actually,”

You turn on the spot, swallowing despite suddenly having a dry mouth. You walk back, standing in front of his desk as he closes his laptop and smiles up at you.

“I uh, had a look at your papers from last year,” he begins, but you can’t help your mind from racing already.

“What? I’m not doing anything wrong am I?” You ask, words rushing out of your mouth like you’re spewing.

Rafe shakes his head, eyes never leaving yours. “No, no. I just think you’re lacking some certain aspects that could definitely help you be the top of the class,”

You breathe out, not realising you weren’t breathing at all. He grins, lazily, as he begins to toy with the edge of one of the books on his desk.

“I think I can help you be the best. I’d like to tutor you, if you’d like the help. You can say no and still pass the class but I think the extra help will get you to the top,” he concludes, fingers dancing along the edge of the book.

“I uh, I don’t know. I don’t think that’s very fair one other students,” you quip, pushing your bag up your shoulder. As you do, your skirt pulls up your legs a bit more and you see the brief second his eyes flicker down, before looking back up at you and gulping.

“I can see that, yes. I just think you have the most potential,” you eyes wander back down to his hand, now playing with the edge of the book, other moving up to rest under his chin.

He has nice hands, you think, and immediately want to slap yourself. He’s your teacher.

“Uh, thank you?” It comes out as more of a question and Rafe laughs, circling the edge of the book. You have to pry your eyes away from it.

“You can think. Let me know next Monday, after class. Have the rest of the week.” You nod meekly, smiling lightly at him as you bid him goodbye, heading for the door.

“Oh, and before I forget, make sure you read up on pages one hundred to one hundred and sixty for next week. I know you like to get ahead.”

“You’re going to say yes, right? I mean it’s a no brainer,” she continues, rambling. Truth is, the more you’ve thought about it, the more appealing it sounds. You’d love to be top of the class, make your dad proud, and rub it in Kendras face, like a reminder that money can’t buy grades.

“Like imagine? What if he tries to make a move on you, I mean look at you? Why would he not? Oh my god, this is perfect,” she almost yells, before taking a sip of her wine. You’d not actually thought about that part of it, choosing to mostly ignore it.

But then, if that were his motive, who would he ask you and not Kendra? She was the better option for something like that. You would like to think that it wasn’t one of those deals, that he actually wanted to help you, and that was the part that was convincing you.

“I think I’m gonna say yes, but just for the tutoring, I wanna get better grades,” you tell her, taking a sip of your own glass of wine. Whiskers jumps down from the windowsill next to you, fawning around in your lap before collapsing down and falling asleep. You scratch his head, looking over at your friend who wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“But you wouldn’t turn him down if he made a move, no?”

“I don’t know Mol, he’s just another pretty face to me,” you say, looking over at the tv. You were trying to watch twilight, until you got distracted by rambling Molly who only comes out after some wine.

“Cmon, he’s so totally into you! Turning down Kendra to then offer the exact same thing to you,” she declares, pushing your shoulder back. You have to admit, there may be some truth in her statement, because why would he do that for you but not her?

“I just hope I actually get taught what I’m missing,” you say, causing Molly to roll her eyes. “You’re not missing anything, you’re already one of the top in the class, he just likessss you,” she drawls the likes, making you giggle at her as you bite the edge of your wine glass, contemplating the pros and cons of letting Rafe be your tutor.

You’re going to do it.

Note ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ Hello!! First series I’m actually excited to write ! Teacher Rafe is just 🤩 much love, let me know what you think <3

[hysteria-things]

Reverse countertop scenario where instead of you getting eaten out while seated on the countertop, Matt gets sucked off 🫣

TEMPTATION (part one)

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅!𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dilf!matt x babysitter!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: one heated moment crosses between you and forbidden desire.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUT, swearing, slight size kink if you squint, oral (male receiving), subtle face slapping (he taps her on the cheek once), praising

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2,766

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: first dilf!matt fic of the collection :D

you’ve met matt through one of your mom’s work friends, who was talking about how her son needed a babysitter because of how busy his work has gotten. against your will, your mother gave you the job, saying that it’ll be a fun and new experience.

because you like kids, you genuinely didn’t mind. you’ve only been nannying for a few weeks now, and the routine isn’t that bad.

you drive to his house every weekday, arriving at seven on the dot. you wake up his five-year-old daughter (who is already fond of you) and make her breakfast along with getting her ready to drop her off at school.

she’s a cutie who looks a lot like her father—with his blue eyes and brunette hair—but she has a bubblier personality and is much more talkative. on the other hand, matt keeps to himself, and rarely says more than three sentences to you: “good morning.” “don’t forget to pack her lunch.” “see you later.”

on this particular day, a couple of hours after dropping his little girl off, you realized you had forgotten something at matt’s house. cursing to yourself when you notice, you drive back to sleuth your way into grabbing what you left and leaving.

however, when you walk through the door, a familiar figure is kneeling in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattoos and grunting as he’s fixing something under the sink.

you pause, genuinely surprised. he always leaves for work when you arrive at his place at your scheduled time. today, he hid from you upstairs the whole morning that you didn’t even acknowledge he was home. you stare at the gruff thirty-year-old for a few beats, not knowing if you should make yourself known or just sneakily retrieve your item and head back out.

so, instead, you swallow a lump in your throat, and start walking slowly to the living room hoping he doesn’t notice you. with the short weeks that you’ve been working for him, you’ve always felt intimidated by his presence. matt doesn't immediately catch on, but as he listens to footsteps getting closer to him, he perks up. he turns around, just in time to see you starting to walk toward the living room.

he raises a brow, his arms now crossed. “i thought you left already.”

jolting from his voice, you turn around to see him still in the kitchen by the island, but he’s gotten closer to you. “i-i forgot my wallet.” you stutter, scratching the back of your neck. “i’m sorry. i’ll get out of your hair when i grab it, i just didn’t know you stayed home today.”

he eyes you, looking up and down in silence for a second. he lets out a groan, not exactly happy that you're back here, but he's not angry. just… annoyed. “when did you realize you forgot your wallet?”

your face burns up when he looks at you like that, his eyes mesmerizing but also frightening at the same time. your anxiety rushes through your veins, fingers playing with the necklace around your neck to try and calm your nerves.

he’s just so intimidating.

“after i dropped evelyn off at school, but i didn’t have time to grab it until now.” you start, trying to not sound shaky. “she had a rough morning getting ready today, so i was scattering my stuff everywhere trying to help her get back on her little feet. i’m sorry again. i’ll leave the moment i grab it.”

matt lets out a frustrated sigh when he hears about his daughter having a morning like that. “i thought i heard the commotion from upstairs…” he trails off. he takes a moment to breathe and to think, looking you up and down again, trying to figure out why you're shaking. “you're nervous.”

“it was a weird morning.” you still fiddle with your necklace. “other than her tantrum, she was good.”

a huff escapes from his nose, still looking at your figure as he thinks. you’re so damn small compared to him. it's almost adorable in a way he won't admit to himself. “she had a tantrum this morning? why? what started it?”

looking around the room, you shrug. “it was typical friday stuff.” you say, still nervous that you’re talking to matt rather than hearing three sentences from him. “she didn’t want to get out of bed, then she didn’t like the clothes i picked, whined about how she didn’t want to go to school, then she started crying when i carried her backpack to the car when she wanted to carry it.” you think back to this morning before continuing. “we were also running late and that makes my brain a mess, hence why i forgot my wallet, but after a small pep talk when i strapped her into her car seat, she got better.”

the man nods as you explain the events from earlier. you were pretty, in his opinion—he was looking at you from head to toe. a thought seems to hit him, and he bites the inside of his cheek. his next sentence comes out in a much more gruff tone. “come here.”

your eyes grow wide as you blink at him, your heart rate picking up from nerves. “w-what?” you stammer.

letting out a soft sigh, he repeats himself. “you heard me. come. here.”

when you slowly start to walk over to him, you rub the sweat from your palms onto your jeans. you don’t get too close, but you’re not too far, either. he watches as you walk over, his eyes not leaving your body. the thought that he could easily pick you up with one arm in an instant makes him laugh internally. you stop about a foot or so in front of him, standing there with wide eyes. “closer.”

you put your shaky hands behind your back, shuffling even closer to him with a million thoughts running through your brain. did you do something wrong with evelyn? did you forget something important that you needed to bring to school for her? are you going to be fired for forgetting your stupid wallet?

matt’s eyes dart all over your face as you step closer, his jaw clenching for a moment as his eyes linger on yours, then your hair, your nose, your mouth, then your body again. you are so small. it’s very clear with the way you’re shaking and the anxiety clear on your face that you are nervous. “closer.” he says again, his eyes flicking to your necklace for a moment.

smirk tugs at his lips as you step closer, his eyes locked onto you. you’re now standing directly in front of him as he leans on the counter, his height is much more intimidating up close, but you can’t make yourself pull away. it’s like he has a magnetic pull, causing you to stare at him with awe.

he watches your every move and the way you tremble. “you’re shaking.”

“i-i just want to grab my wallet. if i interrupted something important, i’m sorry, it won’t happen again.”

the chuckle in his throat is ticklish as you struggle to get any words out. “take a deep breath. calm down.”

surprised by what he said, you somehow listen and take a couple of deep breaths. well, he is the father to a toddler, after all. you’re sure he deals with a lot of temper tantrums that involve guidance in breathing. after a few inhales and exhales, you calm down just a smidge. “i’m sorry.”

matt watches as you finally start calming down, a slight sense of satisfaction washing over him as you do. he’s not exactly sure why, but he liked watching your shaky body slowly come together again. “you don’t need to keep apologizing, y/n.”

“sorry.” you reply, mentally punching yourself in the face when you say the word. “it’s a habit.”

although, your name rolling off of his tongue has between your legs tingle, but you try to blink away the dirty thoughts and ignore it.

he scoffs. you are so damn polite; it’s almost cute. “stop apologizing.” he orders, bringing his hand up to cup your cheek, his brows furrowing as his thumb grazes your lip. “how old did you say you are again?”

your breath hitches when he touches you, but instead of backing away, you stay put. your lashes bat in his direction as he continues to rub on your bottom lip. “twenty-one.” you exhale, as if you were holding your breath this entire time.

“you’re such a pretty young thing.” he whispers, hand moving down to your throat as he gently kneads at the flesh. “you must be so innocent still.”

grunting when he squeezes at your neck, you subconsciously glance down at his groin, where you can see his growing hard-on. your eyes widen, chest heaving and licking your lips. the pooling in the middle of your thighs only escalates, clenching them together.

this is your boss, y/n. stop.

“do you trust me?” he blurts out, a smirk growing wider once he notices you staring. he has you right where he wants you: at his mercy.

“yes.” and that’s true.

he grabs your hips and pulls you closer, leaning into where your noses are touching. “lift your leg.”

complying, his hand reaches under your thigh when you raise your leg to rest on his hips. you gasp, feeling his bulge rub against your clothed clit. he grinds against you swiftly. “you feel that? that’s what you do to me; every single time i see you.”

“fuck.” you exhale, subconsciously rutting your hips more into him to feel more friction.

“dirty girl.” he whispers, one of his hands reaching up to squeeze your breast while the other that’s resting on your thigh moves to the waistband of your pants. “do you want me to touch you here?”

you throw your head back, nipples peeking at his touch. “please.”

matt groans, leaning down to nip at that spot below your ear. a high-pitched whine leaves your lips, his fingers slipping under your panties. the pad of his pointer rubs at your bud, and you moan softly. he keeps leaving wet kisses on your jaw, toying at your clit. “so fucking wet.”

you keep moaning, clenching around nothing when he plays with you faster. this plus the rubbing of his dick against you makes you want more, but you fight it off. he removes his hand after a few seconds, leaving you aching before bringing his fingers to his lips. he laps at your juices, humming approvingly.

then, his eyes darken, voice extra demanding. “get on your knees.”

while you’re getting on your knees, the pumping of your heart is the only thing you seem to hear, matt starting to unbuckle the belt of his jeans. as you patiently wait, he unloosens it and his pants drop to his ankles along with his boxers. your mouth waters at what’s in front of you, being put under matt’s make-believe spell. he’s big—really big—and you can’t help but stare at it longingly.

tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he smiles a genuine smile. “open your mouth; good girl.” he cups both of your cheeks, sliding his cock agonizingly slow between your lips. he lets out a long groan the more his inches fill your mouth until you gag once his tip nudges at the back of your throat.

“awe.” he coos, wiping some drool at the sides of your lips with his thumb. “that’s not even all of it.”

you bob your head, moaning around his length at how good he feels in your mouth. slurps and gags continue when you go faster.

he grunts and hisses at your sudden change of speed. “ah, slow, slow.” he fists your hair and taps you on the cheek, causing you to wince and stop. “i said slow.”

matt hasn’t had his dick sucked since his ex, which had to have been over a year ago. hell, he hasn’t had sex since her. he was getting sick of his hand doing the pleasure for him, but the warmth of your mouth is a reminder that you’re here.

your eyes tear up when he lets go of your hair, the stinging there for a few seconds before you move again, this time at the slow pace he requested. he nudges your head up, forcing you to look at him through your lashes as you resume to suck him off.

“that’s it.” he exhales with a moan, back pinned against the countertop. “good girl, listening to everything i say.”

he licks his teeth as he stares down at you, your doe eyes going into his soul as you’re stuffed full with his cock. if only he had his phone nearby, he would take a picture of this.

it’s quiet, except for his groaning and the wet sounds. his mouth is agape, his dick disappearing in and out of those plump lips. deep down, he thinks he’s using you to get off, but little does he know, you wanted this as much as he did. it’s like he wants this image engraved into his mind forever.

without even realizing it, you start to bob your head faster again, gulping more of his cock in the process.

“mmph, fuck, wait.” he pants, voice getting higher when his dick twitches. “s-slow down. slow, slow—” he lets out a long groan, grabbing the back of your head to move it down to his pelvis. you gag for the last time, his cum shooting down your throat all at once. you relax your jaw, making his seed easier to swallow. “so fucking good. such a good girl.” he pants again.

when he pushes you off, you cough as you try to catch your breath from being able to breathe again. matt’s still looking at you, but this time with his original stone-cold demeanor. his eyes flick over to the stove clock. “it’s 2:45 now. you should probably start getting ready to grab evelyn soon.”

with that, he pulls up his undergarments, zips them, and walks away.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ❦ ⋆⁺₊⋆

matt’s seen walking towards the front door through the window of the white picket-fenced home when you park the car, and you take a shaky exhale. seeing him after what happened makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand, but you don’t know if it’s in a good or bad way.

because, well, you enjoyed what you two did. a lot.

after another short breath, you get out of the driver's seat to open the back door. avoiding matt forever is impossible, so you’ll just have to toughen up and deal with it.

evelyn’s kicking excitedly, the top straps unbuckled already when you reach to undo the bottom half of her car seat. just as she hops down onto the driveway, the front door opens as if on queue.

of course, she leaves her backpack and the little mermaid water bottle behind as she bolts to her father. “daddy! daddy!” you hear her squeal excitedly, closing and locking the car doors once you grab her school stuff.

matt scoops up evelyn with ease and kisses her on the head. he smiles down at his daughter, asking her a whole bunch of questions about the school day. he nods and pipes in here and there to keep the conversation flowing as his little girl rambles on. you notice how matt gets when he sees evelyn, and his demeanor completely changes. he’s happy and engaged, eyes showing the love he has for her. it’s so fucking adorable.

“what do you want for dinner, missy?” matt asks, adjusting her in his arms when she starts to slip.

you silently watch the interaction, not wanting to ruin their moment as evelyn brings her finger up to her chin to think. it takes her a few seconds, but she says something along the lines of ‘the dinner of champions.’

“dino nuggets and mac and cheese?” he questions with a quirked brow. “but you had that last night.”

evelyn puts her hands together and pouts, giving him the best puppy dog eyes she can muster. unfortunately for her father, that trick will always work on him.

he sighs, setting her down. “i suppose so…”

“can y/n stay for dinner?” evelyn tugs at matt’s pants as she pleads. “pretty please?”

you hesitate with your answer, because you don’t know what’s in store if you stay longer than usual. “oh, i don’t—”

“you should.” matt quirks a brow, turning to face you. “it will be fun, yeah?”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @moncherriis @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @mattslolita @sturnbaby @mattgirl4lyfe @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @raysmayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @tworosesblackthorn @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hearrtsturns @freshsturns @etershine @sukiipjs @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @ivyyyyyysposts @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @thesturniolos @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @hrt-attack @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog @meerkatzthings @bernardsbendystraws @hoes4matthew @sturnsmadl @starz4star

[random2908]

Tangent, but the creche model has, from everything I've heard, worked very poorly in kibbutzim (small-scale farming communes)--to the point where it was discontinued in most kibbutzim between 1 and 2 generations ago.

Back when it was still done, were various approaches with different amounts of parental involvement. Most commonly, though, children lived with same-age-groups, parents contributed nothing material (food, gifts) to their biological kids, but parents were expected to spend a certain amount of time with their biological kids on a daily or weekly basis. But the more "egalitarian" (less reliant on individual parents to take responsibility for their own kids), the more universally loathed by its children. At some point you get to orphanage/boarding school territory.

The other society I can think of that does a creche model is China, although the kids are separated from their parents starting around age 3-5, not from infancy. I'm not really sure how it works there; my lab partner in grad school was a product of that system, but he thought it was weird that I thought it was weird, and couldn't think of anything he thought was interesting to say about it, other than that he went home to his parents on weekends so I shouldn't think it was oppressive. (I'm distinguishing Chinese boarding schools specifically as being more creche-like than other boarding schools because: a) they often start younger, whereas people I know who went to boarding school in India, for example, didn't start boarding until age 11 or so, or in America not until age 14; and b) in China, boarding school is regional, whereas in other countries it's a sign of individual wealth.)

I think a lot of the reason there's not been a ton of big solarpunk-style media is because it's inherently utopian and that leads to a real lack of conflict. Which is a shame that there's not a lot, because I LOVE how Solarpunk looks! But A lot of it is very big-scale from what I've seen; theorizing about ways man can integrate technology with nature, but not really what man is actually doing after that. What are the kinds of lives people would live in a solarpunk city? Surely actual human stories don't simply end because a lot of our needs are met. There's gotta be something!!

[hannieween]

the shadow | yoon jeonghan

› pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader › aus: demon hunter jeonghan, supernatural au, demon reader › genres: angst, smut (18+) › word count: 10.6k

› 🎧: truth be told – baekhyun | blame – i.m | slidin' – kai | ribbon – dpr ian | burn it – bibi ft. dean | show me – devita | shadow – ten | lovememore – dosii | fuxxin' love (2019) – OoOo | hold me down – hyejin

› proofread by the lovelies @gyuhao5 and @monamipencil ty 🩵

› this one shot is part 3 of the curse - hannieween fest

› warnings after the cut! READ THEM CAREFULLY 🗣️

› warnings: violence: abduction (not jeonghan at reader or the way around), yandere undertones, toxic relationship, smut with plot, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, comfort fuck, switch reader, switch jeonghan, jeonghan is down atrocious, dirty talk, cowgirl, worship. pet names: little demon, baby, (hers)

› disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂

THE GROUND VIBRATED BENEATH YOUR FEET. It was a Friday night, and the city was alive with desire and sin. The streets were busy with people going around, and the buzzing from their souls was distracting, making you hungry.

But, living in the human world as a demon meant that you had to keep your head down. It would be incredibly dumb on your part to start a carnage in the middle of the street. Besides, you were odd, since you liked living amongst them like you were part of their world too.

In that same vein, you had adopted some of their nature too, so you were running late for work. It was your third month working in a small local pub in the town you used to live. It was a simple enough job. You had found out that you had a natural talent for tending to drunken people, and they found themselves naturally attracted to you. So, suffice it to say, that you earned a good amount of tips every night.

“I’m sorry, I’m late,” you said, removing the scarf you wore on your neck and hanging it on the coat rack.

“You’re only wearing that?” your co-worker, Daisy stared at you as though you were an odd bug. “It’s cold as a witch’s teat outside.”

“Witches are cool. That is why I am team cold,” you sighed, grabbing your pen and a notepad. “How’s it been?”

“Slow,” Daisy replied with a dead tone. “A passerby asked for you,” she mentioned offhandedly as she looked at her reflection in a hand mirror, checking out her lipstick.

“Who?” you frowned. You had a few regulars that admittedly only came to see you, but Daisy would know them by name.

“Some random weirdo,” she shrugged. “Didn’t say your name, but he gave your description to the last hair on your head. Creepy.”

You grew more intrigued, turning to her to see the disinterest on her face. “What did you tell him?”

“To fuck off, naturally,” she replied with the same ease. “He refused to give me his name, so I refused to give him details about you.”

“Is he still here?” you asked, walking towards the door and sneaking a glance through the small round window to the pub.

“He’s sitting on one of the stools. If it gets to it, I already warned Mike about him,” she smirked triumphantly, crossing her arms. “I wouldn’t mind having a little fun watching him throw that creep out. It would make my Friday night.”

In the bar, you saw a man, sitting on the far side of the row of stools. He kept his head down, so it was nearly impossible for you to discern the features of his face. But one thing you knew, it was the first time that you had seen him.

“Well, I suppose that my Friday night just got more interesting.”

Daisy sent you a knowing look, her shoulders going slack in a sign of defeat. “Don’t tell me you’re going to talk to that guy?” she asked with an incredulous tone. “I was a bitch to him, I gave him the middle finger already! All for nothing?”

“We’ll find out,” you smirked at her, pushing the door open and stepping out of the backroom of the pub and into the warm and cozy place, buzzing with the sounds of the people gathering, clinking their jars and laughing out loud.

Some people greeted you with nods and waves of their hands, some people called your name whenever you strolled around the pub, between the tables and chairs. Usually, you would make your way to the first table that waved you down, but this time, you walked straight behind the bar.

“Hi, Mikey,” you greeted with a sing-song tone. “How’s it going?”

“Like any Friday night,” the older man spoke, he was about a foot taller than you, his beard adorned with gray hairs. “A guy is looking for you, Daisy told me,” he pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “First sign of trouble, tell me.”

“Thank you, Mikey,” you sighed, showing him a smile. Something within you stirred with something akin to satisfaction. To be surrounded by people who take care of you, in the best way humanely possible, made you feel special, and welcomed.

If only they knew. If they knew that you were very much capable of handling any trouble, even more capable than Mikey to kick out any drunkard without batting an eye. But they did not have to know, in fact, you were trying your best to keep your head down, and avoid drawing attention to yourself.

However, that happened naturally to you. People glanced your way without you even looking for it. So you made your way to the end of the bar, stopping in front of the person sitting on the last stool.

He wore a black leather jacket, his hair equally dark was long and arranged in a ponytail, some hairs hanging on the sides in a messy fringe. He toyed with the rim of his jar, half emptied already.

“You’ve been looking for me?” you placed your elbows neatly on the countertop, leaning slightly so you could sneak a better look to his face.

The man beat you to it, raising his head so he could direct a careful glance over you, sizing you up. Once he gathered with his eyes every detail of your physique, he nodded. “Yeah, that might be you who I’m looking for,” he said offhandedly, tilting his head to one side.

You coughed, getting an uncomfortable feeling as he eyed you up and down. “What can I help you with?”

He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. You could not make out what he was about, and that was when you started to get a flight or fight feeling. Like a prey who is being sighted by its killer, far between the lines of discretion.

“I want you to tell me,” he began, keeping his voice low and his brown eyes on your face. “Why does a demon live between humans? Isn’t that surpassing the line of playing with your food?”

You froze in an instant, fear of being caught sizzling underneath your skin. “Who are you?” you asked.

“I should be asking that to you,” he frowned. “Listen, I see that you care about the humans that are around you right now, so, I’d suggest that we take this conversation elsewhere, away from any potential casualties.”

“What if I don’t care about the humans around me?” you countered, making him pause and consider your words. “Like you said, what if I like playing with my food?”

He narrowed his brown eyes, his lips forming a syllable, but then they broke into a grin. “You’re lying.”

You looked at him in pure perplexion. You had heard about demon hunters before in your short life as a demon. But you never had the opportunity to come across one, so you never really cared.

“Are you a hunter?” you asked, silently reprimanding yourself for showing that you were actually shaken by his presence.

He was dark. Alluring, even. If you dared to glimpse past his mask, you saw a smoking light dancing inside him, it was his soul.

“I am,” he nodded politely, as though he had a rule to keep diplomacy before he hunted you down.

“Suppose I don’t get a name?” you smirked, trying to keep your nerves in line.

“Only if I get yours first.”

That was smart. The hunter knew that there was a power in knowing your name. Demons were creatures of subservience. They were ruled by sin, by corruption. But as such, they had to be kept in check somehow. And when you knew a demon’s domain, you could practically rule them. If you were strong enough.

You stuck out your hand to him, smiling before uttering your name. “At your service.”

The hunter raised his brown eyes, you saw the confusion in them. Your brazenness was not something out of the ordinary for demons who were in the human world like you, but the nerve to give out your name like that did its work to shake him. But he took your hand, all the same, slightly parting his mouth. “Yoon Jeonghan.”

Both of you stilled, your hand instinctively tightening around his as a foreign, but also so familiar feeling crept inside you, gripping you wholly. You sucked in a breath, your eyes glazing over. Oh, no, your mind echoed. Is this…

A bond. And not just any bond.

Yoon Jeonghan frowned, his mouth agape, his eyes teary as he shared that feeling with you. And you waited to see if he knew the reason behind the preternatural sensation coiling around his heart. But he remained motionless, did not even protest when you slipped your hand out of his grip. The turbulent fire inside him calmed down when his dark eyes met yours.

The hunter cleared his throat, blinking dumbly as he jumped down the stool, exiting the place without saying a word.

And that is how you meet Yoon Jeonghan. Your soulmate.

A year went by like water slipping through your fingers. Seasons changed and you welcomed each one of them like any regular human would, except that instead of wearing a costume on Halloween like everyone else, you would just display your horns on your head. Instead of celebrating Christmas, you would go out on a hunt for sins, which oddly enough was a day with many to choose from.

But one thing that was a constant in your life for the whole year round, was the push and pull with Yoon Jeonghan.

Many nights had passed since your last encounter with him, the night you confessed to having been starving yourself of human sins in the fruitless attempt to become human yourself. Nights had turned into weeks, then months, three to be exact. Now you were running from him, only stopping to feed from him.

You were out one night, enjoying the buzzing from the streets of the city. The excitement you felt around you from human souls was nearly making your mouth water. That was until you felt someone tracking you, a distant shadow that kept you out of your line of sight.

He had been lurking for too long, following you from town to town, through the shadows that the tall buildings of the city cast. Following you like a monster on a leash.

You smirked secretly, looking over your shoulder to see his silhouette wrapped in shadows. Jeonghan had found you again, just like he always would. As long as you and him lived, you would always cross each other’s paths.

It had become a game for you. And now it was time to run.

Being a demon was freeing in so many ways. Now that you were at your full strength, you were also freed from all kinds of inhibitions. You did not need a house or shelter, you did not possess belongings or extra clothes.

So you just sprung into a run, quickly devising a plan to escape from this city, and hit the next town until Jeonghan found you again. The city passed you in a blur, and soon your surroundings turned into walls made of thick trees.

You were not sure if Jeonghan knew you were playing a game. At this point, he was just as enslaved to it as you were, running away, only to be found by him. An endless push and pull.

But this felt different to all the times he loomed on your back. No, this was a first. Jeonghan kept himself far away from you out of shame, yes. However, this time it was not a shame for liking you, nor not being able to resist you.

Jeonghan was sorry.

And he would watch you tear through a different town until he mustered all the strength he needed to come to you, announcing himself between the shadows, tail between his legs. You were completely familiar with that. But now you just decided to make him suffer a little.

Other times, you did not resist him; you would take him wherever you could, an empty alleyway. The last time you did this, you took him in the backseat of his car, fucking him until he was a complete mess. You would wait until he fell asleep to exit his car quietly and leave him to wake up completely alone.

Yoon Jeonghan was no fool. He knew you were playing hard to get. He knew that what you were doing was payback for all the times he tried to resist you. All the times he tried to pretend that what he felt for you was some sort of divine retribution.

But in truth, he could not keep allowing himself to be with you. You showed up in his life like a comet falling out of the sky, crashing and burning everything around him, leaving him blind to all reason, too stupid to do anything. So stupid that he lost whatever made sense in his life, and he lost you as well.

Even if he did not actually have you.

Jeonghan sat alone in a booth pushed up to the corner of the diner, where he was slowly chewing the last bits of his breakfast, looking out the window pensively.

The pull he had towards you grew stronger, sometimes thinner, but it was always there. Now that he knew that what he felt was a result of something bigger than him, and than you, he had resorted to analyzing it.

After finishing up his plate, he raised his hand to flag the waitress down, asking for another cup of coffee.

You slid to the seat in front of him with a short sigh, fixing your hair with your hands as if you had just finished jogging, which, Jeonghan thought, could have been the case.

The waitress refilled the cup of coffee, and Jeonghan kindly thanked the lady, pushing the cup to you to then hand you the sugar.

“Did you know I was close?” you asked, bewildered at noticing how quickly Jeonghan had learned to discern your proximity by using the bond.

Jeonghan was tempted to say that he also knew how you liked your coffee. Two sugars, no milk. But that had nothing to do with the bond. So, he just nodded with his head.

“Well, that’s no fun,” you muttered, pouring the sugar on the teaspoon, one, two and sending him a look, you poured a little more sugar.

Jeonghan smiled quietly, it was not a happy smile. “I supposed you would grow bored if I stopped following you across the country. I was right.”

You rolled your eyes. “No. I’m here because I’m hungry,” you said flatly, raising your hand to flag the waitress down.

He also knew that. And not only that, but he also knew that you did not need waffles and bacon, your favorite. You needed something that would never be found on a diner’s menu. Or any restaurant’s menu for that matter.

“Can I have waffles with syrup, please?” you asked with a sweet tone, beaming at the lady. “Oh, and can I have bacon with that?”

Jeonghan looked at the way you smiled at the waitress, his stomach tightening a little in both nervousness and something more, it was a foreign feeling.

He noticed how the woman tensed up at your presence. Humans had a natural fight-or-flight response to demons, but with you, they just assumed it was because of your natural beauty. Or your assertiveness.

“And you suppose I can help ease your hunger?” Jeonghan asked, keeping an eye on the surroundings for any signs of danger, in case you and him needed to run.

“Yeah,” you responded in an obvious tone, taking a small sip from your cup of coffee.

Jeonghan noticed the way you carefully pressed your lips on the rim, as though you could burn yourself.

“I mean, how else am I going to pay for this?” you smirked, placing your chin on your hands, expecting him to laugh, or to say something quippy at you.

“Fine,” Jeonghan said, releasing a puffy sigh in annoyance.

He wondered if this would lead to a serious conversation about what happened the last time you talked. But chances were, you were just having more fun torturing him.

He deserved it.

Something deep inside him pulsated, kicking the air out of his lungs. The feeling rippled, it went on as he blinked and found you, looking equally astounded. But you recuperated faster than him, you usually did.

“How did you know?” Jeonghan heard himself blurt, his tone rough as though he had been screaming for hours. “About the bond?”

You cleared your throat, composing yourself on the seat by resuming to stir your coffee. “I’ve lived in the underworld, Jeonghan, I know how a bond behaves and feels like,” you said, eyeing the woman closing up to leave your breakfast on the table. “Thank you, ma’am,” you smiled politely.

“I thought bonds were only made after making a deal with a demon,” Jeonghan mumbled, keeping his tone in a volume only you would be able to hear. “You and I have never struck a deal.”

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Einstein,” you quipped, taking a generous piece of waffles bathed in syrup to your mouth. You moaned blissfully, the sound was not sexual, but it had several eyes drawn to you.

Jeonghan knew why, your voice was sweet, appealing to the human senses. It also had an effect on him, but that was because of an entirely different reason. He cleared his throat too.

“Bonds made with deals or promises are quite common. No, this is different,” you said after gulping down the waffles with coffee. “You and I were made with this bond. It’s always existed for us.”

He looked at you confusedly as you tore through your breakfast. “What do you mean we were made with the bond?”

You dragged the last bit of waffles through the pool of syrup on your plate. “We were born with it.”

“You were born…” he trailed off.

“I was made, Jeonghan,” you pointed your fork at him, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I knew that,” he said, blinking slowly. “But following your logic, you had to be born at the same time as me.”

“Time is different in the underworld,” you reminded him, chewing slowly to enjoy the last bit off your plate. “I’m actually a little bit older than you.”

Jeonghan had assumed that as well. Though he knew you were a fairly younger demon from the ones he has faced, you had to be older than him, guessing by your physical strength alone. “So you’ve known all this time.”

You nodded, pushing your empty plate aside. “Ever since we spoke to each other,” you crossed your arms on the table, directing a serious look at him. “I’ve always known, Jeonghan.”

“You could’ve told me just to toss it at my face,” he pointed, there was no venom in his words, he was as confused as he was the night you left him. “All this time, I thought that this was some sort of retribution, a divine cause and effect I had to endure for wanting to be around you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

At that, you lowered your eyes in guilt. “I never thought it would make a difference. I never thought you would believe me, so I never said anything.”

Jeonghan felt a kind of pain he had never felt before he met you. It coiled around his heart, it was remorse because he knew what you did not want to say, what he could not bring himself to do.

Because even after you told him, he did nothing. It did not make a difference. He still refused you, he refused to give in.

“Can I help you with something else?” the waitress approached, addressing him intently.

You kept your head down, so Jeonghan never saw the glimmer in your eyes from the tears that were beginning to form.

“The bill, please,” he said, but he was quickly distracted.

You were sliding on the seat, walking away from the table, and then pushing the door open, exiting the diner.

“Shit,” Jeonghan muttered under his breath, reaching for his wallet, and pulling out a bill, quickly leaving the place to follow you, knowing that by the time he reached outside, you would be gone.

You were nowhere to be seen, Jeonghan scouted with his gaze his surroundings, were you mocking him again?

When he turned around, he let out a short breath in relief. You were sitting on the passenger seat of his car, aloofly checking the roots of your hair, pretending to ignore him while hiding a smile.

Jeonghan sent his gaze skyward, trying to find some patience in the grim-looking sky. It would rain soon, and you did not have somewhere to crash now that you were effectively on the run and alone.

He decided to go along with whatever crazed plan you were crafting, he felt he was in no position to do otherwise, but to follow. Even if you were just toying with him in revenge.

You followed him with your eyes as he went around the car, yanking the door open and sliding to the seat silently. “Where are we heading to?” you asked, primly tucking your hands between your thighs.

“We’re skipping town,” he said, turning the key on the engine.

“Already?” you turned slightly to get your seatbelt on. “I thought you would like this town.”

“Why is that?” he kept his town flat, trying to keep the discontent at bay.

“It’s lonely,” you said sweetly. “For lonely people such as you.”

“We need the opposite of lonely right now,” he replied, trying to ignore to the best of his ability to omit the fact that the last town he lived in was solely because he could keep an eye on you that way.

“Mn,” you hummed pensively. “You’re no fun when you’re angry and quiet,” you pointed with a knowing tone, turning to look out the window.

Jeonghan arched an eyebrow, trying to appear as nonchalant as ever, he leaned his head to his hand, an elbow propped on the windowsill.

You read his silence, your lip curling a little in a smile. “You know that I can also read you, right?”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he muttered tiredly, avoiding to look your way.

You clicked your tongue but decided to keep quiet. Jeonghan was frustrated, that much you knew, telling from the rigidness of his movements, the way his hand tightened around the steering wheel. Two fingers rubbed his bottom lip harshly, he kept that motion for so long that you thought that it had to burn him at some point.

But aside from that, you could see the enraged flame inside him, dancing erratically from the moment you showed up at the diner. You knew that your tantrum had run its course, and he was now trying not to tell you how miserable you had made him these past few weeks.

And he knew that you were only turning to him so you could feed. That had been obvious from the moment he saw you. Your skin was colorless and dry, the bags under your eyes were prominent, and not only that, Jeonghan probably assumed that you no longer wanted to consume human souls, only his sins.

Soon, you entered a new city that welcomed you with a big sign, Welcome to Veridian Bay! leading to a bridge crossing over the waterfront and into the big city with big, tall buildings.

You leaned to the window to take a look at how tall the buildings stood, the streets were busy with people, and everything was alive with buzzing sounds. Jeonghan kept driving deep into the city, until you reached a quieter part, away from the tall buildings, the shiny stores and flashy signs.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, looking curiously at the big shopping mall he just parked his car in front of.

“We need to buy clothes,” he directed a judging look at you.

“What’s wrong with mine?” you asked to no end. Your clothes were torn and filthy, another reason why people threw you second looks at every place you walked into, demon allure or not.

Jeonghan exited the car, and you followed him closely, as though you were trying not to lose him in between the people.

“I have a question,” you said, sticking to his side to shield yourself from the weird looks you were receiving. You did not care about it, but you wanted to keep a low profile as much as you could. “What happened to the two hunters?”

“They stopped chasing you,” he replied in a quiet tone, leading you to a department store.

Everything was bright with colors, and shiny lights hanging from the ceiling. Rows of clothing racks are laid in front of you in an elaborate maze. You had been to malls before, but never to one as big as this. And definitely never with Jeonghan.

“Do you think I’m free from them, then?” you yanked your gaze from a row of pretty blouses, your fingers itching to touch the fabric.

“Not by a long shot, no,” he answered, tensing beside you when your arm brushed his. “Choose something quickly, the shorter we stay here, the better.”

You grabbed a plain white t-shirt, measuring it over your torso and facing the mirror where Jeonghan stood, watching you intently. “Do you think this one goes with my body type?” you asked fruitlessly.

He just huffed, rolling his eyes swiftly. “Stop playing,” he said, looking around precatively. “We need to find somewhere safe to stay, and you need to feed soon.”

The way he gritted out the words allowed for the quiet rage simmering inside him slip through. A light shock appeared on his face, much as if he heard his own words and quickly forced himself to composure.

Jeonghan was mad, and you were the reason why the flame inside him was growing into a merciless fire burning inside him.

“Alright,” you hummed, picking a pair of jeans, a long t-shirt and undergarments.

Jeonghan followed you as you made your way to the queue line to pay. His mind was once again buzzing with questions, if anything, the conversation back in the diner left him even more confused.

He had thought all this time that what he felt for you was some kind of joke. The insane lust, the deep craving, the endless nights he spent thinking about you, dreaming about you… all because of a supernatural bond he never had control of.

You made a tiny cooing sound, making him snap his gaze to where you stood in line. You were lifting a finger to match with a baby’s pointer finger. The baby girl was looking over the shoulder of her mother who queued up in front of you. Somehow, you had attracted the focus of the baby, and you were now caught up in her big eyes, in her dimpled hands.

Jeonghan’s stomach twisted violently. You smiled at the baby as she wrapped her tiny hand around your finger, laughing with you. The feeling tightening inside him was completely alien to him, he wanted to get rid of it as you would an illness.

He never understood why it was impossible for him to fight against you. He used to think that your innate allure created that attraction he felt for you, he used to think that you were playing games on him.

But that did not explain one thing. As he watched your joyous smile, he realized that what he felt was not entirely carnal. He recalled what he felt that night he knew you were slipping away, the fear of losing you.

The tight feeling coiled inside his chest when you lifted your eyes at him, keeping that joy with you from being paid attention to by an innocent baby. The interaction had been so pure and out of the ordinary for you that it brought a spark to your dark eyes.

The knot inside him broke free, blooming inside him freely, filling his chest with a warmth that was nearly intoxicating.

“Are you okay, hunter?” you asked quietly, noticing the change in his eyes, the quiet rage dying down at the same time the look of bewilderment on his face set in.

“Yeah,” he forced out, pulling out his wallet from the pocket of his jacket and handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you whispered awkwardly, still shocked at how suddenly his erratic mood disappeared. What added to the shock was that Jeonghan did not lie to you, he was indeed fine, however, the shock on his face was confusing to you. 

“One bed, again?” you deadpanned.

Jeonghan closed the door to the small motel room. This one had a leather couch that looked decent compared to the thin white curtains that allowed for the light coming from the street outside to seep through.

“What’s the point in asking for two beds?” Jeonghan shrugged, taking off his black leather jacket as he let out a cough.

“I’d appreciate it if you actually made some effort in swaying me,” you mentioned off-handedly as you started zipping down your hoodie. “I’m still a lady, you know?”

At that, Jeonghan chuckled. “You are as much as a lady as I am a gentleman, so,” he shrugged. “There’s the couch, if you care that much.”

“You’re right,” you snapped your fingers at him. “You can sleep on the couch, I’ll sleep on the bed!”

Jeonghan rolled his eyes. “Whatever,” he said, raising his arms to grab his tight black shirt and pull it over his head.

You stopped, dead in your tracks. Jeonghan had a very deceiving build, most would think he was lean and due to his affection for dark clothes, he masked himself well to curious eyes. But in fact, Jeonghan had a toned body, a low bulk that had been built up due to the nature of his work.

His milky white skin was adorned with scars, bruises and bitemarks from creatures he hunted down. As he removed the sleeves from his arms, he sent you a look. “What?” he blurted.

You were too caught up to come up with a lie, but something deep inside you recoiled in nervousness. “I was just looking at you,” you mumbled meekly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “You’re gawking.”

You shrugged. “Can’t blame me. You’d be gawking too if I suddenly decided to strip naked.”

“Tsk,” he smiled playfully, throwing the t-shirt on the couch. “It would be fair game, at least.”

“Shut up,” you sighed, rolling your eyes at him. But still, you stared at his fingers undoing the belt of his black denim jeans, pulling it from the hoops.

“Alright, then,” he said, giving his belt the same treatment, discarding it on the couch. He placed his hands on his hips, his torso forming a perfect inverted triangle. “Are you going to keep playing dumb with me?”

You arched one eyebrow at him, too surprised at his bluntness to even speak. Gaping, you stood there for a second, trying to decide on deflection or acceptance.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you turned your back on him, mustering all the will in you to not glance his way. You started rummaging in the bag of clothes, pulling out an I love kitties shirt that you got as a nightgown. It had a doodle of an orange cat on it.

“Please,” he huffed, and you bit your bottom lip. “You can’t lie to me so don’t try to treat me like I’m stupid.”

“Take a hint, hunter. I don’t want to talk about this,” you said but failed to coat your words with enough venom.

A hand circled around your wrist, pulling you to his body, commanding you to face him. With a gasp, you yanked back, looking at him furiously. But his gaze smothered that fire inside you at once. “You left,” he said, the trouble in his mind mirrored in his dark gaze. “You left me.”

“Yeah, I left because you could not even talk to me, Jeonghan,” you replied, trying to step back from him, the back of your knees finding the bed.

He gave you an incredulous look. “I’ve spent three months chasing you across the fucking country,” he said. “You only stop running when you need to feed from me. I’ve paid enough, don’t you think?”

“I’ll be the one to decide that,” you gritted, betraying yourself. Your eyes started brimming with tears, angry tears, sorrowful tears. They carried all the misery that you had lived as his soulmate.

“What do you want from me?” he demanded, his tone rising in exasperation.

“Nothing,” you muttered, shying away. You lowered your face, bringing a hand to wipe the wetness on your cheeks.

“That’s not true.”

As you raised your head, you involuntarily sniffled. “Well, you know what I want, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan gaped at you for a moment, choking on his argument. He knew then that nothing would give peace to this fight because there was no solution to this.

You wanted to become human. In your mind, it was the only way you could stop feeding from his lust, his greed. It was the only way to make you stop feeding from human souls. And by that, you would not be hunted down for being a demon. Jeonghan would not have to feel remorseful every time he looked at you.

But it was something uncertain. You did not know whether the path to becoming human would even work, or if you would survive it.

“Is there a way to end this?” Jeonghan asked, his heart stammering painfully in his chest.

“End what?” you asked slowly.

He blinked for a long second, gathering his strength. “Is there a way to break the bond?”

The question robbed you of air, and Jeonghan could see it in your gentle exhale. Your eyes glinting with sorrow, wide and looking at his face as though you had trouble assimilating his words.

“You-you want to break the bond?” you asked, stuttering under an overwhelming pain.

“Is it possible?” he pressed, breathing hard, trying to shake off the numbing pain in his heart.

“N-no, I don’t know,” you sucked in a breath, which he understood to be a sob. “D-do you want to break it, Jeonghan?”

“If it means we’re free from each other then yes,” he whispered, hating the look in your eyes with a passion that he could not stand. He was causing that pain and in turn, he felt it too.

But maybe what you felt for each other was not real. Maybe once the bond is broken, you would realize that what you felt for him was all a farce, he thought.

You rubbed the pads of your fingers against the corner of your eye. “M-maybe,” you mumbled. “But I don’t think so. One of us would have to die, I think,” you spoke with uncertainty because you were sure that the bond would not be broken, not even then.

“You don’t know if your way of becoming human will work,” he mumbled, trying to reason with you. But the truth was, he felt guilty for making you cry.

And you could feel the guilt, it swarmed around him like an angry cloud.

“I know one thing,” you raised your eyes, heedlessly showing him how affected you were by this. “I wouldn’t have to feel how fucking miserable you are when you’re with me,” you spat.

Jeonghan went still, as though petrified. The only thing that moved in him was his gaze, heavy with a dangerous darkness, it coasted over the features of your face. “Is that what you think I am? Miserable?”

“No, Jeonghan, I know it,” you replied with a shaky tone. “I can feel it in you. When you look at me when you touch me.”

He yanked his gaze from you, running a hand on his face while blinking his anger away rapidly. “You don’t know shit,” he hissed at you, motioning to turn his back on you but quickly decided against it.

“Oh, yeah?” you taunted.

“Yeah, you don’t know shit,” he doubled down, his voice raw. “You think that because you can sense what I feel it means that it’s all because of you,” he spat, taking a step closer to you but you raised a hand, trying to stop him, but he insisted, grabbing your hands to stop you instead.

“Then what is it?” you pressed.

“Ever since I met you nothing has made sense in my life,” he hissed, leaning over you. “I hate myself,” he shuddered, swallowing hard. “I hate myself because even if you were human, I wouldn’t have anything to offer you. I can’t even say that I’m sorry because it’s the truth. I can’t give you what you want.”

You looked at him in plain shock. It was such a shame that the only person in the world who saw you for who you were still rejected you. The pain from that realization shook you hard, so hard in fact that you physically recoiled from him, closing your eyes to let your tears go.

Jeonghan watched your tears roll down your cheeks, the silence in the room broken by the occasional intake of breath coming from you. But he stood there, silently cursing life and its way of making fun of him. He was raised to not want anything in life. Not shelter, nor warmth. His sad world, cold as ice and hard as stone. He would have followed this path blindly until the day of his untimely death.

But the truth was, he did want one thing in life. He wanted you. And it was killing him not to admit that.

“I…” you croaked, opening your eyes after a long second. A gaping hole in your heart tried to suck you in. “I thank you for the clothes, Jeonghan,” you said dejectedly, turning away from him and walking towards the door.

Jeonghan stared at the wall in front of him, your arm brushing his as you passed him by. His mind reeled wildly, considering what he went through the last time you walked away from him. “Where do you think you’re going?” he blurted.

“That is none of your concern.”

“Like hell it is,” he said, grabbing your arm before you could reach for the doorknob. You sent him another one of those looks, a dangerous animal realizing it had been caught. “You’re not safe out there.”

“Like you give a shit,” you said, pushing him away with one hand on his chest.

But he grabbed that hand, pulling you to his frame with a sharp tug. “Yeah, what do you even know about me?” he challenged, his words cold. “I wouldn’t be protecting you, chasing you if I didn’t give a shit about you.”

“I would prefer that you didn’t,” you bit back.

“That’s not true,” he said, but his tone rose in desperation. He released your arm, fear crossing his features when he realized that if you walked, he would have to let you go.

“You have a very weird way to show that you care, Jeonghan,” you mumbled, understanding where that fear came from. Because all this time, you accepted the turbulence in his thoughts, in his soul. If you decided to go, he would let you.

The heavy darkness in his gaze dissolved as the features of his face relaxed. The gentle resignation swept over him, reminding you how hard it was for him to even comprehend what the bond was.

Jeonghan had two ways to show his emotions, either through carnal desire or brute force. One of them was the one that was unleashed in the vicious cycle he had with you.

But you welcomed it all the same. He took one step towards you, reaching for you as though fearful you might step away. His hand found the side of your head, the other sliding on your waist, gripping you gently before his lips met yours.

The kiss was slow, tentative at first, showing you an apologetic need to you. But you were still to fueled up from the argument, finding his bare chest with your hands to push him off you.

Jeonghan looked sad for a second, but he quickly understood that you were angry, and looking to make him pay. You pushed him again, more forcefully, but he was stronger than you, stepping towards you like a magnet that refused to keep away from you.

His hands returned to their previous positions, as you found his shoulder with one hand, his nape with the other, welcoming him with a vehement kiss. He groaned under your touch, revelling at the fact that you were kissing him even though you were being harsh with it.

Jeonghan broke the kiss abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, the turbulence inside him dying down, like smothering a fire.

“You should be sorry,” you mumbled on his lips, diving for another hungry kiss before pushing him by the shoulders, and shoving him onto the couch behind him. He sat down, gasping in surprise at the brute force you used on him. A wolfish grin appeared on his lips when you walked over to him, sitting down on his lap, straddling him.

His hands welcomed you, grabbing you by the waist to give you a squeeze. He thought of all the nights he has had the opportunity to be like this with you, and the nights he wished he had never let you go. “I don’t want to break it,” he confessed, tilting his head back to meet your eyes. “The bond. I don’t want to break it,” he repeated.

“Then why did you say…?”

“What if what we feel for each other isn’t real?” he blurted the tight feeling inside him protesting in pain when he spoke those words.

You smiled at him sweetly, making him feel worse. “What do you feel for me, Jeonghan?” you baited.

He swallowed hard, instead of communicating with words, he carefully brought a hand to cup your cheek, his fingers caressing your skin in the process. He pulled your face closer to his, eyeing your lips and then your eyes before giving you a sweet kiss. You reciprocated the kiss, outlining his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue, slowly meeting his.

“Do you think all people with bonds feel this for each other, Jeonghan?” you mused. When he was unable to speak out an answer, you continued. “I think the bond only helped us find each other. The rest just happened on its own.”

Jeonghan listened to your words intently, his gaze coasting the features of your face. You’re your eyes, to your mouth and back again. His fingers grabbed the hem of your t-shirt, tugging it up your torso.

You raised your hands, helping him take your t-shirt off. He sighed, his hands returning to hold you, caressing your naked back freely, his breath fanning on the plain of your breasts when he leaned over to plant a kiss on your skin.

You raked his hair with your fingers, getting rid of the hair tie holding his ponytail, making him groan as your fingernails caressed his scalp. His lips reached the swell of one of your breasts, planting wet kisses, enjoying the way you always responded to his touch; your skin prickling in the wake of his lips.

He encircled his arms around your waist, using his strength to trade the positions of your body, placing your body on the sofa, him crawling on top of you. Then he kissed you, he kissed you with such force that you thought you might break. It was electrifying to have his lips on yours, him moaning your name in between kisses.

Your hands explored his chest, fingertips lingering on his scars, his nipples, his bellybutton. You undid the button of his jeans, tucking your hands between his underwear and his ass, feeling his skin freely as you pushed his jeans and boxers down.

Once he was completely bare, and on top of you, he took his turn taking your shorts and underwear off. He did so without wasting time, effectively leaving you bare on the couch, and under his body.

He leaned over you, placing a hand beside your shoulder to prop his weight on it, lowering the lower half of his body on you. His skin was warm, you could feel everything, the beating of his heart, the soft pubic hairs brushing your skin. He was hard already, his cock pressing on your lower tummy.

There was a pause, as soon as your naked bodies came into contact with each other, something came alight inside you. You knew Jeonghan felt it too, because his reaction was the same as yours. Like sparks firing wildly inside your chest, lingering on your skin, robbing you of air.

“Jeonghan,” you whispered shakily, trying to hold onto the feeling fluttering in your chest.

“I know,” he breathed, leaning so he could give soft pecks to your lips. “I know, baby.”

You sighed a moan, it sounding pathetic as you let him adore your skin. He continued kissing you, your lips, your earlobe, your throat. He hummed softly when he breathed in the scent of your skin when he tasted you on his tongue as he licked your breasts.

You sucked in a breath, caressing his hair as he took one of your nipples in his mouth. “Fuck,” you whispered.  

But he was in a hurry, trailing down your torso with soft, open-mouthed kisses. You moaned, trembling under him as he inched closer and closer to where you needed him the most. Jeonghan knew you better than anyone else on earth, sometimes, you thought he knew your body better than yourself.

“Shit,” you hissed, clenching your jaw as he kissed your mound, pressing his tongue on you’re your skin with a raspy moan on his part. You parted your legs for him, allowing him to lick a broad stripe between your pussy lips, blissfully drinking you in.

The room was flooded with a series of sweet, airy moans from your part. You called out his name multiple times as he ate you out, licking your pussy with soft smacking sounds and low hums. All you could focus on was his tongue on you, gliding on your folds, teasing your clit with flitting motions.

His hands cupped your breasts, the pads of his thumbs swirling around your nipples, pinching softly to bring out more sweet noises from your mouth. You writhed uncontrollably on the sofa, keeping your hands on the back of his head to try and anchor yourself to enjoy his mouth pleasuring your pussy.

But as you drew nearer to your release, you could not just hold out any longer, pressing your hands on the back of his head and pushing your hips to grind your pussy on his tongue. Your mouth parted. “Jeonghan,” you whined, feeling his mouth relax, letting you ride him.

Moving your hips faster on his mouth, you felt his hands squeezing your tits gently, his thumbs teasing your nipples, pushing you to the edge. You closed your eyes as your sweet, sweet release washed over you, sizzling beneath your skin.

Your muscles went lax on the sofa, moaning out his name repeatedly as you felt like dissolving in the aftershocks of your orgasm. But you decided against it in a second, grabbing Jeonghan by the shoulders and urging him to sit back on the sofa.

“What–,”

“Let me ride you,” you mumbled, cutting in before he could protest.

Jeonghan nodded obediently, and you took one whole second to comprehend that he was just letting you do whatever you wanted to him. No complaints, no snarky comments.  

You straddled him, grabbing his cock with one hand and jerking him off a few times just to see the muscles of his face go soft. You smiled, shifting on top of him so you could guide the tip of his cock to your pussy, sinking in him slowly. “Gods,” he breathed, closing his eyes.

“Keep your eyes on me,” you said softly, holding his chin with one hand. You lifted your hips slightly, letting them roll on him as you sat back down, eliciting a short groan from him. “That’s it, baby. Feel me. Do you like that?”

Jeonghan blinked slowly, pushing his tongue on his bottom lip before nodding.

“Words, Jeonghan, use them.”

He obediently kept his gaze on you, like you were the moon, and he was looking at you for the first time in ages. “I love it,” he replied with a strangled tone. “I love your pussy. I love how it feels around me.”

Jeonghan dropped his head back on the headrest of the couch, swallowing his moans, his fingers clenching around your hips. “I love your taste too,” he choked out, much as if he needed to say it but barely found the strength to do so, enraptured by pleasure.

One of the corners of your lips curled slowly as you rolled your hips on him, inch by inch, tortuously slow. “Oh, yeah?” you breathed, closing your eyes briefly to savour the feeling of his worshipping washing over you, making your blood dance under your skin.

“Yes,” he hissed out the word and now you knew he was trying to resist himself. “I miss your smell when you’re not near me. Drives me crazy.”

You giggled quietly, knowing that he was letting go of his deepest thoughts.

His fingers dug into your skin hard enough to leave marks. You opened your eyes, seeing the strain in his voice reflecting on his face, his teary eyes coasting all over your body. “Le-let me come, please. I needed you so much, baby. I don’t think I’ll last any longer.”

You held onto his lean shoulders to lift your hips off him, his wet cock slipping out of your walls and leaning to one side on his lower abdomen, the tip was reddened, a vein tracing on his wet shaft.

Jeonghan groaned, closing his eyes tightly to let out a shaky sigh. “Please,” he sighed. “I want to come inside you,” he said but did not make a move to slip his cock back into your cunt.

“Say you’re sorry,” you murmured.

And there it was, the hole in your chest opening once again, sucking you back in.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, not wasting a second, he said again, “I’m sorry, I let you go.”

You showed him an empty smile, which you pressed onto his lips, grabbing his chin again. “Don’t let me go again,” you pleaded but masked your words to sound sweet, not letting it show that his apology, though forced out of the need for release, was making you feel pain.

Jeonghan returned the light smile, though he was genuine with it. “Never,” he whispered, wrapping an arm on your lower back to keep you in balance as you sank down on his cock again, making him shudder in pleasure. “I promise.”

“Jeonghan–,” you gasped, pausing the sway of your hips on him to look at him perplexedly. “Don’t make promises, you’ll–,”

“I promise I won’t walk away from you,” he said, his dark eyes coasting all over the features of your face.

You closed your eyes, shuddering hard at the tingling rush of blood swimming in your veins; the bond tightening due to the force of the promise setting. “Jeonghan, don’t,” you whispered in plea.

Stopping the movement of your hips completely, you hugged his shoulders, trailing the hair of his nape with your fingers. You breathed raggedly, just as he was by the weight of a new promise binding you both.

“I want this,” he whispered shakily. “Let me.”

“You don’t know what this means for you,” you warned, a violent shudder shaking your body on top of him.

He hugged you tightly to his body as if shielding you from the world. “I do, and I want it,” he reassured.

“Jeonghan…”

But he just went on, “Like you said, we’re meant to be, we’ve always have been,” he said with a low raspy tone, blinking in an enamoured way at you. “And I am sorry it took me so long to accept it. I’m sorry.”

A sob coiled in your throat, fingers curling around the long strands of his dark hair. “I forgive you,” you whispered, daring to give him a shy kiss.

Jeonghan trembled underneath you, reciprocating your kiss with so much delicacy that it could break your heart. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

You stilled completely, your breath coiling in your throat. “Me too,” you finally confessed.

“It’s okay, baby,” he breathed, moving his arms so he no longer wrapped your body in them, but his hands gripped your hips, urging you to retake the motion that he so desperately needed.

So you did, swaying your hips on top of him, moaning sweetly when his hands roved all over your back, caressing your skin, his fingers trailing on the spot he knew your wings grew. You shuddered hard, sinking on his length with more urgency. “Jeonghan,” you moaned, crushing your mouth on him.

Jeonghan hummed in response, smiling at you when you broke the kiss off to see his face. The smile was of genuine bliss, mixed with the pleasure of being so utterly yours, forever. It was something similar to insanity what he felt, but he was aware of it, giving himself into it. “I love you,” he drawled lazily, his eyes glazing over the image of you on top of him.

“J-jeonghan,” you forced out, a euphoric wave swarming inside you, better than anything you had ever felt in your life.

And he felt it too, consuming him in fiery waves. “I love you,” he repeated, enjoying the feeling sizzling beneath his skin, lingering on the muscles of his face.

“F-fuck,” you grabbed onto the headrest of the couch, your fingers ripping into the fabric. “Please–,” you choked out, slamming your hips down on him, moaning out loudly as another orgasm hit you hard.

Jeonghan did not love you. Not like in fairy tales, or romance movies. But he was not lying either, you could feel the genuine calm of his realization as he drawled the words out. He could no longer resist it, nor keep the feeling to himself any further. Jeonghan did not love you, he was worshipping you wholly.

It was rapturing, if it was not before. You came on top of him, loudly, walls clamping around him, making him moan with you. His hands held your hips, urging him to keep moving them so he could also reach his high with you.

But the only thing he needed was to sneak a glance up your face, tears of pleasure brimming in your eyes as your orgasm shook hard inside you. That tipped him over the edge, pushing his hips up so he could spill himself deep inside your walls with a loud, raspy groan that resounded across the room.

“Jeonghan,” you kept moaning his name, hiding your face on the curve of his neck. Your breath fanning on his skin forced out a shudder that made you smile.

He responded with a smile of his own, but his was lazy, drunk over the euphoria coursing through you, the same that coursed through his. “I love you,” he whispered again, clutching your hips gently, moving his hands to your thighs.

Ever since you met him, his lust and need for you have been making you stronger. But now, the near maddening love that brimmed for you drove you to feel so full that you seemed to glow. You stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, breathing hard. He was still inside your body, relishing in the warmth, the wetness, the blissful look in your eyes.

Your hand slid beneath his chin, leaning towards him to prop a featherlight on his lips. “I love you too,” you breathed, feeling like a child who felt pure joy for the first time.

He cursed under his breath, his hands roaming all over your skin as you littered his face with kisses, trailing down to his neck where you sucked his skin into your mouth, marking red spots all over him. He chuckled lazily. “Ready for round three?”

“Mmn, I think I’ll pass out,” you said, giggling at yourself.

“Tired already?” he asked, searching your face with his gaze.

“It’s just…” you sighed, catching your breath but your heart stammered in your chest. “I didn’t expect this.”

“Didn’t you, really? Was it too much?” he hummed bringing his hands to cup your cheeks.

You shook your head slightly, pressing a palm to the back of his hand. “So is this your way to tell me you want this?” you asked.

Jeonghan went still for a second, his gaze lingering on the features of your face illuminated only by the warm light of the lamp. “The odds will be against us,” he said.

“Well I’m willing to bet on us,” you said with a light smirk. “Are you?”

Jeonghan nodded, the avid look in his eyes not quite brushing off. “I’m tired of running from this,” he slipped a hand on your nape, pulling you to a quick kiss. “I want you. I want it to be you and me, as we’re destined to be.”

You drew in a shaky breath, reciprocating the featherlight kiss. “Okay,” you whispered. “Then it’s us.”

“I want nothing more, baby,” Jeonghan said.

 You bumped the tip of your nose with his gently, eyeing him. “What about what you said? About not being able to be with me?”

“I don’t care. I’ll quit that life. I’ll stop hunting,” he muttered.

“And then what?” you mused.

“I can adapt quickly,” he replied, and you chuckled. “I’ll take up a boring human job, we could find somewhere to live in a small town. You’re not the only one who can blend in the human world, you know?”

Okay, you breathed, the glint in your eye told him that you were happy. It was the first time he saw that in you, the first time he had been the cause of that glint.

So he kept going. “I can take you to dates, take you to those fairgrounds, do normal boring shit humans do,” he muttered faintly, closing his lips on yours.

“You would do that, Jeonghan?” you asked softly, pulling back to see his face. “I mean, you would quit everything?”

“To be with you, I would.”

You leaned your face forward again, pressing your forehead with his. “I love you,” you mumbled, brushing his lower lip with the pad of your thumb.

Jeonghan shuddered gently, but everything inside him came alight with the strength of a thousand suns. Now, if he knew whether a demon could be capable of loving or not was beyond his lucidity at the moment. You were only capable of feeling such things after you first attempted to become human. So the concept of love was as new to you as it was to him.

“I love you,” he whispered back.

“Can we go to bed?” you asked sheepishly, fighting off the urge to nestle in his warmth, to press your nose against the crook of his neck. “I’m ready to pass out.”

“Let’s go to bed,” he replied, noticing the languor in your eyes, blinking slowly.

That was the first time Jeonghan held you through the night without wondering what the morning would bring. For the first time in knowing you, he did not feel guilty for nestling in your warmth.

He stared at your face as you both shared the bed. You were lying on your tummy, one arm draped over him, your head lying on his chest, sleeping soundly in his arms. He languidly brought the pads of his fingers to draw circles on your shoulder, earning soft hums and sighs from you.

He had never felt this happy.

The following morning, you were skipping town again. Jeonghan had woken up with the idea of searching for a town to settle down for a while, and in the meantime, you and him would start planning.

You were returning to the bedroom, draped in a bath towel, your hair damp as you watched Jeonghan grabbing your clothes and his from the night before. He was dressed already, clad in black clothes: jeans, boots, a sleeveless tank top and a zipper hoodie.

Jeonghan approached you to drop a featherlight kiss on your lips. “I’ll go downstairs to return the key,” he informed you. “See you in the parking lot.”

“Yeah, okay,” you whispered, closing your eyes to enjoy the light kisses he left on your face before he stepped back.

“Don’t take too long,” he advised, reluctant to step away from you. So much so that he came back, taking two steps towards you just so he could kiss you quickly, eliciting a joyful laugh out of you.

“Okay, okay, I won’t,” you replied, watching him leave the room finally.

Jeonghan sucked in a breath, shuddering from the cold air receiving him as he went down the stairs. First, he crossed the parking lot in front of the motel, opening the door to his car to leave your bag on the passenger seat. Closing the door, he walked back to the front desk where he rang the buzzer, propping his elbows on the high top and waited.

He felt you before you could even make it to him, drawing a smile on his face when you hugged him from behind. “Go to the car, I’ll be there in a minute,” he mumbled, turning over his shoulder to see your face.

You showed him a playful smile, standing on your tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Don’t take too long,” you whispered, turning away to cross the parking lot to where his car was parked.

He rang the buzzer again, tapping his fingers impatiently. He looked around, but no one was to be seen or heard around the place. In fact, it was too quiet for a Friday night in a motel. Something’s not right, he thought, leaning over the desk, only to discover that there were no personal items, nothing to indicate that anyone was working in the place.

He focused his hearing, the noise coming from the ice machine making it harder to find another sign of life around him. But the fact was, there was no one else around. His heart sunk to his stomach.

“Jeonghan?” you called, worry echoing in your voice.

He turned around, facing the parking lot. It was too late. “Run!” Jeonghan bellowed from the opposite side, starting to run towards you as two hunters emerged from the thicket of trees, grabbing you. One of them seized you with his arms, while the other brought his fist to the center of your face, knocking you out on the spot.

He would have been able to reach you, but another hunter got to him first, knocking him to the hard ground, making it impossible for him to fight back, or to stop the hunter from getting his car keys out of his pocket.

So he watched as you were shoved into the trunk of his own car, and the two hunters who had grabbed him got into it and drove away, leaving him with another hunter to fight against. And you, being taken from him. 

› author's note: heyoooooo

this has been such a ride huh. i never expected my short drabble to turn into series but i guess i should've known better lol

stay tuned for more!

!! PART FOUR COMING SOON !!

toodles

support me on ko-fi?

© RIGHTS RESERVED TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[httpstes]

* ˚ ✦astro observations VII* ˚ ✦

Links to other astrovations: Astrology observations l, Astrology Observations ll, Astrology observations lll, Astrology observations IV, Astro Observations V Astrology observations VI

✩ Aquarius and pisces moon's can get annoyed with others for no reason, they might even beat themselves up over it. I’ve noticed with these individuals (unless strong 4H placements are involved or cancer) that they tend to not like people who are constantly in their vicinity 24/7, especially friends or lovers, these people rlly enjoy their personal space and alone time so they recharge their social battery as well as their tolerance for others.

✩ Aqua and Pisces moons may also feel that they can’t be their real selves around others, this authentic version of them may only truly be revealed to family members or a very close friend or lover. This could also add to the need to be alone as they could feel no one will ever understand them, their mind, mannerisms and behaviour. It’s like they want someone to pick apart their brain and understand who they are at their core but at the same time they’re afraid of letting others into their internal world.

✩ North Node in the 7th house seems like a difficult placement for the NN to be in. NN in the 1st house would symbolise finding your direction in life independently, therefore being encouraged to rely on oneself. North Node in the 7th house is quite the opposite, in the worst cases, I've seen it manifest in individuals who feel like they're incomplete without a romantic life partner and never properly heal, jumping from one person to the next in order to not be alone. Positively, this placement can indicate being encouraged to work with other people and to develop deep connections to others as with SN in the 1st, you may be more inclined to do things your way. NN in the 7th pushes you in the direction of compromise and balance within relationships.

✩ Chiron and Neptune in the 3rd house can indicate troubles with speaking (speech impediment, afraid of speaking in front of a group of people etc).

✩ Chiron and Neptune in the 3rd can also show early childhood bullying or being purposefully left out/made fun of by other kids your age. I've seen quite a few people with this placement deal with this, and years later they develop social anxiety and in worst cases agoraphobia :(

✩ Going back to the first point of Chiron/Neptune- they may have felt stupid or "slower" than other kids their age when it came to school further adding to the sense of unease and anxiety when it comes to school or dealing with their peers.

✩P.S I love you Chiron/Neptune in 3H individuals ❤️, yall are so strong and you are smarter than you realise 🙏

✩Venus/Sun/Moon/Mars in the 5th house start getting into/doing more creative hobbies. Idc if it's music, writing, poems, acting, knitting, painting, dancing, fashion hell even sculpting and becoming a DJ, JUST DO ITTT. Trust you are blessed with a mind that inclines to the creative side, use this please esp if the moon is in the 5th house it will heal your inner child. Mars here could show you feeling energised from creative pursuits and hobbies, a creative career could be well-suited. Even if you don't pursue a creative career, or (from what some of these people have told me 😭) don't consider yourself creative, do anything where you can add your own twist and opinion to it. Even if you don't think so or see it yourself, others will definitely be able to see the emotion/innovation/vision in whatever you create.

✩Having a lot of placements in the lower hemisphere of the chart especially the 4th house can indicate having an introverted personality.

✩ Furthermore, this can also indicate an individual who has a lot of layers, and it takes a while to get them out of their shell. This or they choose who they want to see the real them, no matter the years you've known them or the closeness.

✩Martian ruled 12H (Scorpio/Aries) or Mars in the 12H can indicate having wild ass dreams. Might involve a lot of fighting, and chasing, honestly it's giving war-zone. Your dreams could be very, very vivid too.

✩ Martian-ruled 12H or Mars in the 12H can also indicate repressing your anger a lot. This could stem from childhood trauma and with Taurus/Sag in the first (Whole signs), you could've felt bad expressing your anger, being taught it's not a good thing to show outward. With Taurus in the 1st this could show developing a put-together and calm demeanor since a young age and not wanting to break that peace wall you have built up. With Sag in the 1st this could show wanting to or being taught to come across as happy all the time or only being positive. Sometimes I've even noticed these individuals would rather come across as wild, carefree and happy than ever admit or show their more...plotting side 😈 (scorpio12H)..ig you could say LMAO.

✩Saturn in the 6H could show an individual needing a routine to keep them mentally in check and sane. Without one, they may feel like their whole life is crumbling right in front of them.

✩9H/3H placements can get on with anyoneee I swear. Even if they don't think so or if they are more introverted in nature, others just feel they give off this carefree, relaxed vibe making it easier for conversation and getting to know them. (Unless there's like Pluto on the Ascendant lol or sumn, this placement by itself tho does give off carefree knowledgeable energy).

✩Venus conj Saturn can show your boundaries constantly being tested and the universe sending you the same people in a different font, testing your ability to blindly love others until you get it straight lolll.

✩Saturn conj Venus can also show; dating/attracting older people, those who fuck with you romantically get screwed over eventually #karma, and or being serious about love like only wanting/pursuing relationships that are long-term.

✩Saturn conj Venus can also indicate meeting your "true love" later on in life, and by later I mean whatever point in time it is societally deemed 'oh that's very late to get married' blah blah.

✩These individuals could also just have good standards for what they want from their partner/future spouse (love that for you guys)

✩Back to NN in the 1st, stop serving other people and be of service to yourself!! It's okay to be selfish sometimes.

✩Uranus in the 1H, Aqua asc, yall weird 🤓. You already know that but I just felt the need to reiterate it, love all your little quirks and hyperfixations tho ❤️

✩Mars in the 11H be up to some crazy stuff in the bedroom (notice the Aquarian themes here)

✩Saturn overlaying the 4th house in synastry, 4th house person may feel like the Saturn individual is their 4lifer and can see them staying in their life long-term.

✩Not an observation just a personal opinion, I love people's charts where their planets sprinkle EVERYWHERE in the chart, it's so cool IMO and these people tend to be very balanced and have knowledge on all areas of life. I also don't know why but these charts are rare for me to find. Individuals who have planets in nine different houses is crazy I wanna see your chart.

PS- The astrovations are so back 🙏

ღAll my notes are personal observations and thoughts. I am not a professional astrologer and like to have a sense of whimsy in my life by looking at peoples charts, thankyou.

[ashkabbom]

Temporary stresses - Mouthwashing

A/n: I disappeared but I'm back. I finished school and I'm officially on vacation 😋. I had another idea initially, but then I gave up writing to Curly with that one.🎀 Tell me if I wrote something wrong, English is not my first language and I use a translator a lot.

I wanted a story with a happy ending, although it wasn't supposed to end 100% like that 😭

Versão em português no wattpad: Livro de One Shots - Mouthwashing (Conta: ashkabbom)

•Captain Curly x Fem!Reader

Summary/Synopsis: You hate being emotionally raw and your husband has been acting strange lately.

Notes: I wrote this with a happy ending, but in situations like this stress can actually be very dangerous, so be careful if you are going to do this to someone or if you are the person to receive this one day.

You were uncomfortable, to say the least.

It had been seconds, minutes, HOURS, since he had answered you, he avoided you whenever he could! The worst part is that you don't know the reason for all this, even though you told him to tell you when something was bothering him.

He's been acting kind of strange since yesterday. It seemed like you were the only one who was out of touch with all that nervousness and discomfort.

You had been a bit paranoid for some time now, because of these attitudes you didn't know if you had done something and it was eating you alive.

Searching through all your memories and finding nothing you realize you did wrong. Maybe he just got tired?

"I did everything like I always did..." You were rambling on to yourself. Maybe you said something wrong? You know very well that words, no matter how simple they are sometimes, can hurt.

This was all giving you a huge headache and leaving you a mess of emotions. You were just too exhausted.

You were out of the house now, on your lunch break from work, messing around on your phone for a few minutes, more specifically texting your husband, hoping he would answer you like he always did.

He didn't answer you properly, the messages were short and seemed more direct than ever, your husband didn't write and talk to you like that. God, you just wanted to go home.

"You've got that look on your face again." You hear your co-worker, Linda, say and let out a sigh. "What happened now?"

"This is the fourth time we've seen you with that sad, sullen puppy face in the space of 15 minutes," her other friend, Charlotte, says..

"Do you think I'm old?" You ask suddenly.

"What happened to 'Hi friend, I missed you too'? It doesn't exist anymore?" The first woman says.

"Exactly, calm down. You're not old, you're perfect for your age. And old age comes to everyone! It's inevitable." The second friend explains with a raised eyebrow.

"But now it's so different... When we met I was different, my hair, my body... My age..."

"Girl, seriously, what happened? You haven't had these low self-esteem spikes in months, you were so happy" Charlotte says with a sad tone, sitting down next to you.

"That's the problem, I don't know what happened... Since yesterday Curly has been acting a bit strange, avoiding me and being vague at times, but at the same time he's been very short and direct." You think about what your morning had been like that day.

"Oh my, don't be like that, men are a mess all by themselves. I'm not going to put ideas in your head, but let us know if you need help with that." Linda says, running her hand over your back.

"You're still as beautiful as the day you met, so don't worry. If he's going blind and can't see it, take the trash out of your house before it starts stinking up the whole house" Charlotte says, making it clear what she originally meant.

"I just don't know if something happened and he didn't tell me, if I did something and he was uncomfortable..." You love your husband with all your heart, otherwise you wouldn't have married him.

"Girl, put your cards on the table and that man against the wall, if something is going on he will tell you, he is not a lying man" Charlotte advises you in a lighter way now.

"She's right, you have to talk to him, but really talk to him. Just starting a conversation with him won't make him tell you anything... Ask what's going on and if everything is okay." Linda hugs you affectionately. Honestly, maybe this stress is just in your head? You don't know.

"Okay okay, but I'll do it after work, there's still a few more hours until it's time to leave." Grumbling you and your friends get up, heading towards the door while talking about anything now.

You don't know what you would do without them.

Hours had passed since that conversation, it was already getting dark and you were driving home almost completely peacefully.

Being with your friends relieved you a lot, but you still had a little bit of a nagging feeling, not to mention that you also knew that life is not a strawberry and anything can happen.

You were together for 11 years, dating for 4 years and married for 7 years. There was no reason for it all to go down the drain. At least you told yourself that.

You had texted him earlier, saying you were going home now... He hadn't even seen the message, but that's okay! Sometimes he's just busy with... Anything, you think.

Parking the car, you sigh, You hated feeling as tired as you had been feeling lately, you wish you could enjoy some of your time at home instead of just passing out in bed. On the bright side, you were on vacation from your job in 2 days. Just two more days.

Today you would confront him! You would know what was going on with him lately and everything would be okay! Everything has to be okay.

You open the door to the living room and notice the loud silence, seeping through your entire house. You didn't have a good feeling about this..

"Curly? Love?" You call out as you walk through the door and into the room, feeling a little anxious.

You turn to the kitchen and then–

"SURPRISE!" Some voices say/scream at the same time, scaring you at first, but then you notice the cake on the table, balloons, birthday hats, coxinha and other things on the table.

A wave of relief washes over you.

It was your birthday today.

"Happy birthday my love, you don't know how much- Wow, hey, hey! What happened? Why are you crying?" Your husband's cheerful tone soon fades, quickly replaced by a tone of concern.

You hadn't even realized that the wave of relief had brought you to tears, you were crying.

Did something happen? Is she okay?" Anya, Curly's work friend and maid of honor at your wedding a few years ago, asks worriedly, approaching.

"Honey, is something hurting?! Do you need anything? Anything at all? Do you need to go to the hospital?" He was quick to come closer, putting his arms around you as he checked your body with his tender and concerned gaze. God, this was all you wanted.

You try to explain, through your tears, that you're okay, that everything is okay now.

"I thought-" You stop to sniff a few times "I thought you were mad at me. Acting different and distant."

"I told you you sounded thick, but it's amazing how your head doesn't work sometimes." You hear Swansea's voice and let out a laugh through your tears.

"I'm so happy that everything is okay and that you're not mad at me." You explain as you wipe away your tears, soon feeling Curly's hand on your cheek while the other rests on your waist.

"I'm sorry my love, I would never be mad or upset with you, a thousand apologies darling" He says as he peppers your face with kisses, apologizing several times. "Please, I'm so sorry"

"We told him to hide it and not tell you or give you any hints about your surprise party and such, since last time he ended up telling you... But I think asking him to disguise himself wasn't... the best idea" Daisuke says as he analyzes the situation with a disappointed face.

You laugh a little and soon they join you, then a small silence arises, but it is quickly broken.

"So?" Swansea begins

""Is everything okay in there?" Anya asks, looking at you calmly and with a little concern. "Are you feeling any pain?"

"How are you and she?" Daisuke asks in the most direct way.

You sniff one last time and look down, running your hand over your belly.

"I will never make you cry like that again." He finishes with a peck on the lips and runs his hand over your belly. "I will never worry the two girls in my life again. I promise"

You look at him fondly. "We're fine, we just went through a hurricane today and yesterday." You laugh lightly. "Now let's eat this cake, I'm hungry for two."

The others laugh at your answer and soon everyone gathers around the table to celebrate your birthday.

You really hope you never have to go through that worry again, not even Curly would do it again.

You have the most caring husband and your daughter would have the best dad.

[jessica-problems]

There is SO much to complain about in regards to the sexualization and infantilization of female characters in anime, but we'll never get anywhere if we blame the problem on a cartoony artstyle instead of the shows that have actual rampant misogyny. The moé style is about emphasizing a specific kind of cuteness. Astroboy wasn't moé because the concept of moé wouldn't even exist for another 30 years.

Works outside of japan draw on similar moé-inspired design cues as well. The Amazing World of Gumball and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic use the same types of stylization. Even Steven Universe does to a limited extent.

They all have big heads, small bodies, big round eyes, and bright colors. Nicole Watterson doesn't exactly look a real 38 year old woman either, Because she's a cartoon cat. Here's an example from Nichijou of the same stylization applied to an old man. I hope it's obvious that he is not intended to look like a sexy child.

Even on a character who is specifically intended to look old and wrinkled, he gets bare minimum tiny crow's feet. Characters who are just incidentally adults don't get age-related features, because, as I said above, they're simplified down to the bare essentials for ease of animation. Bocchi the Rock applies the same stylization to the men too. The left one is 37, and the right one's age is unspecificed, but probably around the same age as his 38 year old wife up there.

Everyone in Bocchi the Rock, young and old, male and female, is drawn exactly the same way. They're barely a step above stick figures with blob faces.

Emphasizing cuteness in female character designs often goes hand in hand with disempowerment and sexual objectification, but not this time. Bocchi The Rock is using moé to set a light hearted cartoony tone.

Also, like, even if none of this stuff about the artstyle convinces you, if you just watched a single episode of Bocchi the Rock you'd see that the characters simply are not sexualized. It's a show about a loner struggling with social anxiety and making friends, and it's really sweet and heartwarming. They start a band together. It's about as harmless as you could possibly get.

Bocchi the Rock is a great show, and I'd hate to see someone dismiss it because of stereotypes about the art style.

I know you can design anime women that look over 17 sooooooo what's the fucking problem lately why are they all prepubescent looking and claiming to be "in their 30s"

[tfgalore]

SwapCorp: Theo

Most people didn’t believe in swaps. Theo was among the many who thought that SwapCorp, a new company claiming to be able to transfer people’s consciousness across bodies, was a complete hoax. But that didn’t stop him from hearing about it daily. Even as he finished up his pull-ups at the gym, the TV that sat in the corner was blaring out some news about it. They were mainly criticisms of the companies shadier transactions and an investigation into where exactly SwapCorp got the young, youthful hunks it seemed to specialise in. There were even reports of criminals using the bodies to get a fresh start.

Theo shrugged it off though. That will never happen to me, he thought to himself, happy to keep pumping iron. Little did Theo know, SwapCorp’s nefarious intentions was going to hit a lot closer to home than he thought.

The hunk had forgotten all about SwapCorp on his walk home. A silent midnight, with nobody around. The perfect spot for a kidnapping. It was faster than Theo could realise. There was rush of footsteps behind him, and a sudden sting in his neck before he could even turn.

“Hey! What the hell?” Theo whipped around to see a thick, burly figure standing in front of him. He couldn’t make out the man’s face though. Like the rest of his world, the man’s face swirled into a mix of colours. The fast acting drugs already coursed through Theo, knocking the jock unconscious within seconds.

“Target acquired. Preparing for transport.” The words echoed through Theo’s head, seconds before he passed out.

The next time Theo awoke, the damage had already been done. His bones ached. His muscles felt pathetically weak. It took all of his strength to even sit up. His palms spread out across the soft sheets he laid in, and that’s when Theo got his first shock. The back of his hands were wrinkled, the skin looked more like aged parchment compared to the usual veiny and toned hands he sported.

“What the-“ Theo croaked on a voice he didn’t recognize. It was grained and higher pitched, nothing like the sultry, treble tone that he’d used to seduce plenty of girls in the past. His first instinct was to shoot out of bed and find out what was going on, yet everything ached again as he tried to move. His knees felt like they were on the verge of giving out.

Theo’s eyes darted across the room, looking for clues. He seemed to be in a bedroom. An old, well furnished room that reminded him of his past childhood home even. Theo’s eyes brushed across the mirror. And then they shot back. Where he expected to see himself in bed, there was a 50 year old male looking back. He wore the same shocked expression Theo was making.

“Who are you?” Theo yelled. The man yelled too. That’s when it hit Theo. The man in the mirror was him! Somehow, he had aged 30+ years. Gone was his youthful and stunning features, worn away by age. He looked too different to be himself though, Theo recognised. He brought trembling hand up to his head. There were signs of balding, his hair was a snow-white instead of his usual coiffed and rugged black.

This has to be a dream! There was no way that could be him! Theo’s mind raced with rationalisations. Maybe he’d worked too hard at the gym and caused himself to pass out. Resulting in this crazy fever dream…

“Ah, good, you’re awake.” The voice snapped Theo out of his stupor. A man in a business suit walked in. And right on his heels, Theo entered next! Or at least, Theo’s body did. It was a mindfuck for the jock to see his own cocky smirk staring back at him. Whoever it was, was wearing a sleeveless tanktop, and was grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s going on here!? Where the fuck am I?!” Theo yelled, which came out in a course and croaky tone. Even his vocal cords sounded aged.

“Mr Stone, please take it easy. You need rest after the procedure, especially in your current state and age.” The man donning the suit put up his hands placatingly.

“I’ll take it easy when you explain what is happening! How am I in someone else’s body! And who’s in mine!?” Theo could feel his breath wheezing. Not only was he old, this body he was in was wildly unfit!

“Your body has been paid for by Mr Woods, here. Thanks to a large donation and help getting the authorities off our back, Mr Woods is currently the sole proprietor of one Theo Stone.” The man explained.

Theo was stunned. Some proprietor!? This wasn’t some piece of estate or a patent they were talking about! This was his damn body! And yet, he wasn’t even in it. The man continued before Theo could speak. “There is no chance for you to bring this up to the cops. After all, who is to believe you when Mr Theo Stone himself will be denying these accusations.” The man gestured to “Theo” who had been quiet until then. “You will be given help adjusting to your new life, and we urge you to accept these changes.”

Theo wanted to scream, kick and punch. But his frail body wouldn’t let him. Instead, he sat in disbelief, watching as his former body, now held by a pervy old man, began to flex. The real Mr Woods seemed perfectly content with his renewed youth. Watching Theo’s muscles ripple and flex in the mirror at his command brought a wide grin to his face.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take great care of this body. Promise.” Woods said with yet another smirk…

————————————————————————

It had been five months since the swap. Mr Woods had grown perfectly accustomed to his new life as Theo. In fact, plenty of people in his life saw the changes. In their eyes, the previously homophobic jock had taken a full 180. From having a different girl in his bed each night, Theo was now hooking up with hunks and twinks left and right. Every gay bar in the city knew his name. “Take it off Theo” they called him, thanks to his proclivity to strip off and flex for fun in the clubs and bars. Of course, the managers never did mind. It was just more good business for them when the hunk pulled in desperate and horny guys.

Even at the gym, Theo got plenty of action. His clothes got tighter and tighter over the weeks, his bubble butt on full display under the 5 inch shorts he’d switched to in place of the usual grey sweatpants he used to wear. Hunks seemed to love it, plenty of them pulling Theo aside in the locker room to give his bubble butt a few swats before giving him a raunchy fuck in the locker room.

Theo loved it all of course. And to make matters worse, he’d dropped out of college. He wasn’t going to waste his second chance at life on something he’d already gone through once before. Instead, the new Theo decided modelling was his calling. After all, with a body like his, recruiters were practically lined up for him.

That was the only morsel of his old life that Theo got. Now left alone in an old age home affiliated with SwapCorp, the real Theo could only watch his old body through the pics and vids posted on his Instagram and his modelling gigs. Each time, he’d sigh as he felt his heart break at what he’d lost. Nobody had listened to his deranged ranting about forcibly being swapped. After all, most people believed it was SwapCorp was a hoax…

[sukist4r]

hey assholes it's your girl himi and im gonna prove to you that the new leaks are FAKE (credits to Sammy and fawx on twt for alot of evidence) some evidence (mostly in the end) is just my own speculation!

1) FIRST OF ALL THE CHANGE IN ARTSTYLE like sure horis artstyle has evolved and improved but the artstyle is easily distinguishable, the leaks just don't look right

2) the missing scars -- in the new leaks both izuku and shoto are missing their new scars

3) ochako holding things with her pinky is odd because everywhere else she doesn't use her pinky to make sure she doesn't make them float HORI CAN'T FORGET A DETAIL LIKE THAT

4) the official leaks are supposed to come out on the 4th of december

5) theres too many pages – every other time there were 3-4 pages max, why the hell would the leaks have these many times this time ONLY

6) the english translations took time, why did they come out this early this time..

7) we have no clue where leakers are finding these leaks

8) none of the leaks picture a book and theyre all digitized unlike every other time..

9) a japanese speaker went on the official website and the extra chapter is NOT official

10) in the previous leaks other credits are tagged

11) izuocha being canon would be forced and rushed – like it doesn’t add up to me, ochako putting away her feelings about izuku is the start of her character development.. It doesn’t make sense if she goes back to those feelings she put aside BEFORE THE WAR this late into adulthood

12) the fact that there’s barely any mention of the suit in general is throwing me off too – like in the last chapter there isnt enough info about it either so id expect the extra chapter to have atleast A LITTLE MORE INFO

13) himiko and katsuki just being izuochas wingmen makes zero sense to me like this feels like fanfiction its OUT OF CHARACTER FOR THEM ALL

14) hori HINTS romance rather than stating it – like bkdk his hinted in the japanese manga and togachako isnt as subtle but its HINTED so him randomly deciding to make izuocha obviously canon just feels wrong

15) NO MENTION OF HAWKS?? A MAIN PRO HERO?? OR ENDEVOUR?? ANOTHER IMPORTANT CHARACTER??

16) WHERE THE FUCK IS THE LEAGUE..? LIKE HIMIKO AND DABI ARE THE ONLY ONES MENTIONED. WHERE IS SHIGARAKI. THE MAIN VILLAIN. IZUKU COULDNT SAVE HIM PROPERLY SO THAT MUSTVE SCARRED HIM SOMEWHAT..?

17) okay so its said that izuku joins KATSUKI’S AGENCY first of all its wonder DUO, ITS SUPPOSED TO BE THEIR AGENCY – putting that aside no way in hell would katsuki open an agency that fast.. like since izukus still a teacher here, we know he went to get a teachers degree after highschool so its confirmed that hes in his early 20s, and katsukis the same age, its unlikely that he could open an agency that quickly

18) adding to my last point, in the last chapter, katsuki kept his hero ranks low on purpose until izukus suit is over so its way more likely that he probably working for an agency and also the fact that he probably started working after most of his classmates because of his heart issues SO NO WAY DID HE SET UP AN AGENCY ON HIS OWN WITHOUT IZUKU THAT FAST

19) THE PAGES AREN’T RELEASED DIGITALIZED UNTIL THE OFFICIAL RELEASE

20) text bubbles from the leaks look like theyre from some shoujo more than horikoshis

21) if a handhold is soooooooo romantic then what the hell was bkdks handholds…. handholds plural btw BKDKS HANDHOLDS ARE ALSO WAY MORE INTIMATE.. LIKE?

22) how are you still dreaming about toga after like a decade and then u decide u want some guy who u liked for like half a year and who you GOT OVER

23) ochakos character revolves around izuku in these leaks which makes NO SENSE BECAUSE CANONICALLY SHES MORE THAN THAT. THAT CRUSH IS OVER. ITS BEEN ESTABLISHED. HER DREAM WAS TO SAVE PEOPLE AND SEE THEM SMILE, NOT WIN OVER IZUKU,, HER CHARACTER IS SO MISUNDERSTOOD BY FANS SO ITS VERYYYYYYYY LIKELEY THAT A FAN LIKE THAT DREW THESE LEAKS

anyways in the actual last chapter bakudeku kiss and himiko comes back to life for ochako and everybody lives happily ever after ❤️

[logoleptic-since-06]

Every Corner of This House is Haunted

Pairing: Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader Content: Fem!Reader, Marriage in Crisis, Angst, Reader and Nanami are in their 30s, Not Proofread

Chapter I ■ Chapter II ■ Chapter III

“I want a divorce.”

The silence after you utter those words pierces through your mind, making you second guess your comment. You don’t want to repeat them, afraid the next time you say the words, you won’t even mean it. Kento simply continues driving, pretending like you never spoke. Anxiety blooms in your chest, so tightening you almost feel as though you can’t breathe.

Once you reach your apartment building and get on the elevator, you give into your nerves.

“Kento,” you call.

He looks up from his phone. “Hm?”

You push back the tears that are so desperate to come out of your eyes. “You heard me.” Your voice is barely a whisper. The elevator rings and he steps out into your penthouse. 

“Kento!” you finally shout.

He turns around with a stern expression masking his face. “What?”

“Please.”

“You’re being ridiculous. There’s no need for you to say something like that.”

Letting out an exasperated scoff, you hear your voice break as you speak. “You cannot possibly be saying that, Kento, when you damn fucking well know we haven’t even talked in ages.”

“Yes, we have,” he claims calmly.

“No, Kento, we haven’t. And see this is the issue– you don’t even realise we may be drifting apart.”

“We aren’t drifting apart.”

“Stop invalidating me like that!” you snap. “You think you’re so mature and you know every fucking thing when in reality you’ve grown emotionally unavailable. You only talk about work, we never go out on dates, and when was the last time you kissed me Kento?”

His demeanour shifts slightly, which makes you wonder if he realises his faults.

“We are both busy, my love.”

“Too busy to even see each other?”

He sighs. “You’re right. I have been neglecting you.” He comes forwards and touches your arms. “How about you give me a chance? Let me take you out on a date tomorrow.”

You look into his eyes, the same ones you fell in love with so many years ago, the ones that feel like an ocean you can happily drown in. He pulls you into a hug and you melt, his arms both your greatest kryptonite and strongest warrior. How could you ever leave him?

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says, his voice as soft as ever. “I’ll make it right, I promise. Be ready at 7pm tomorrow, okay?”

–

The next day rolls in in a matter of moments. As Kento sits behind his desk at his office with his thoughts laminated with guilt, his mind replays the moments you said you wanted a divorce. He had felt his life flash before his eyes, like someone ripped his heart apart from his ribcage. Had he been so blinded by ambition and competence that he forgot to consider the feelings of the reason he breathes?

“Sir?” the voice of his assistant breaks him away from his thoughts.

“Yes?”

“The clients are here, the meeting can start now.”

–

Hours pass in the meeting, but eventually, the deal is finalized. Kento returns to his cabin and relaxes into his chair, satisfied with himself. Stretching out his arms, he finally peeks into his phone that seems to be flooded with notifications from you. Why would you send him so many–

Oh.

Fuck.

He checks the time. It’s 9:42 PM. The meeting had taken longer than it should have. But worst of all, he had forgotten about the plans with you. With shaking hands, he sprints out of his office, maniacally driving to your place.

He stumbles out of the elevator. “Y/N,” he calls out. “I’m so sorry for being late, my love, I was occupied with very important clients.” He goes up to your bedroom and opens the door, expecting to find you there.

“Y/N?” he calls out again when he doesn’t. His heart almost leaps out of his chest as he hysterically moves around the house, shouting out your name and calling your phone. All to only be responded with nothing. 

You were gone.

A/N: Sorry, I was feeling a little silly. 🤭

[alex51324]

Yes, and, this is another example of something I was talking about on another post, where the pop-culture understanding of prehistory is massively compressed*. Most people know that the Earth is a lot more than 6,000 years old, but they don't know how much older it is, and how very long human prehistory was--while still being a small fraction of the overall timeframe of life on Earth.

(*And it's done this way specifically to avoid young-earth creationists going apeshit.)

So here are some dates:

The generally accepted date for the emergence of anatomically modern humans--homo sapiens, our species--is at least 300,000 years ago. Depending on the exact criteria used to define the species, it could be as much as 200,000 years further back than that.

Traditionally, paleoanthropology has put a second split at about 50,000 years ago, marking the beginning of behaviorally modern humans. This is where the archeological record starts showing things like art (cave paintings, and carved figurines of people and animals), a much wider variety of tools, and evidence of sewn clothing (as opposed to tied or draped hides).

Currently, there's quite a bit of debate over whether this division makes any sense at all. Certainly, there's a lot less support for the old idea that Something Happened around 50,000 years ago to suddenly jumpstart human technological progress, and more support for gradualism, where humans were developing technologies and symbolic behavior at a fairly steady pace over the 300,000 years, and the 50,000-year mark is just where it becomes visible in the archeological record*.

(*The human population increased a lot as the last Ice Age ended, which means there are more archaeological sites to find, and also the coastlines have changed a lot, meaning that many places that ice-age humans would have found pleasant to live in are now underwater, and thus unavailable for study. And, of course, the so-obvious-it's-easy-to-overlook fact that, of all the materials that early humans would have had to make things out of, rocks are the one that preserve the best. We have very little evidence of what people 300,000 years ago were doing with wood and other plant materials. It's a safe bet that they were using them extensively, but we only have a handful of examples.)

Finally, at around 12,000 years ago, farming and livestock herding really took off, followed by pottery and then metalworking. These developments are a huge watershed in the archeological record. Of course, the pottery and metalworking created a new class of artifacts that preserve well over the timespans we're talking about, and also farming meant that people were living in the same places year-round, which means houses that were durable enough to reliably show up in the archaeological record, as well as people having more possessions than they could carry. Again, there's no reason to believe that these people were more intellectually sophisticated than their forebears for at least 38,000 years, and perhaps the whole 300,000--they just lived in a way that leaves more traces.

And that's just anatomically modern humans! If you want to go back to when we started using tools*, that's at least 3.5 million years ago, and upright walking was 7 million years ago. These people would have resembled the existing great apes more than they do us, but it's only if you collapse them into their descendants of about 6.5 million years later, that you get the cartoon "caveman." In real life, they would have been skilled and sophisticated navigators of a way of life that had more in common with the other great apes than ours, not shambling versions of us.

(*Stone tools; again, people could have been using other materials much earlier. Modern chimpanzees use sticks, branches, and leaves for various purposes, sometimes lightly modifying them; we don't know whether our common ancestor with chimpanzees did as well, but if so, that would have been about 8.5 million years ago.)

Not pertinent to anything in particular but I do think it's kinda weird that we keep depicting cavemen in media crawling around on all fours covered in dirt with tangled, matted hair, speaking in broken, cobbled-together toddler language when like.

They were us.

Like literally genetically they were US, just like. A while ago.

Like

Would you trust a TV caveman with a baby? Probably not

A real life caveman though??? I think they'd be at least okay at it

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (8)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Word count: 3.7k

Chapter Warnings: tensionnnn, seokjin (you'll see why)

A/N: literally fell in love with this jugnkook as i was writing this chapter. something abt him makes my heart flutter like why don't i have a man like this. AHHHH is the chemistry chemistrying for you guys? let me know your thoughts hehehehe.

part 8: when the camellia revs

The fairgrounds buzz with life as preparations continue, but you manage to steal a quiet moment under the shade of an old oak tree. The wooden bench you share with Sunjae feels like a small oasis amidst the hustle. Around you, the rhythmic sounds of hammering, laughter, and the shuffle of footsteps continue. Yet here, with Sunjae beside you, it feels as though time slows down.

A mischievous glint sparks in your eyes as you nudge him lightly. “So…” you begin, dragging the word out, savoring the way his ears turn pink before you’ve even finished the sentence. “How’s the boyfriend?” you giggle.

Sunjae tries to mask his shyness, but it’s a futile effort. He rubs the back of his neck, his smile growing wider by the second. “Yeonjun’s great." he admits, his voice soft but brimming with affection.

“We moved in together recently, and honestly? It’s been... perfect. He’s been crazy busy with work, but he still does these little things, you know? Leaves notes in my lunchbox, surprises me with flowers. The other day, he even cooked me dinner because I was too tired. I don’t know how I got so lucky.” he says, unable to hide his smile.

Your heart warms at his words. Seeing Sunjae so smitten makes your chest swell with pride and happiness for your best friend. “Oh, please.” you scoff, grinning. “You deserve every ounce of that happiness and so much more. If anyone’s lucky, it’s Yeonjun for having you.” you admit.

Sunjae chuckles, the light in his eyes undeniable. “You always know what to say to make me feel like I’m not completely fumbling through life.” As he speaks, he paints vivid pictures of their life together... how they met at a seminar, how Yeonjun’s attempts at karaoke had sealed the deal, and their shared dream of opening a quaint café someday. You can’t help but smile at his happiness, the way his words pour out like a gentle stream.

“You look well.” you say once he finishes, your voice soft but sincere. “I'm so happy for you, Jae.” you comment and he smiles at the nickname. It feels like he hasn't heard that in ages.

He beams at you, his grin infectious. “I could say the same for you, Y/n. You look… peaceful. I'm guessing your business is doing well, huh?” Before you can reply, an enthusiastic voice interrupts.

“Sunjae? No way!”

You glance up to see Taehyung striding towards you, his wide grin lighting up his face. Namjoon, Seokjin, and Juwon follow close behind, all breaking into delighted smiles at the sight of your old friend.

“Still stealing Y/n’s time, huh?” Taehyung teases, pulling Sunjae into a warm hug. “Some things never change.” Sunjae shrugs as he pulls away, looking towards the others.

The bench becomes a hub of lively chatter as introductions, laughter, and playful jabs fly around. Though Sunjae had grown closer to you over the years, his bond with your group remained intact, and their warmth feels as natural as breathing.

//

The next day dawns with a golden hue spilling across the horizon, but the calm of the morning doesn’t last long. As the sun rises higher, the town square transforms into a hive of activity, buzzing with a sense of urgency. The fair is just a day away, and it seems like everyone is working double-time to ensure everything is perfect.

Vendors rush to set up their stalls, the sound of hammers striking nails mingling with the rustle of fabric as colorful banners and canopies are hoisted into place. Children dart around, their laughter piercing through the air as they weave between workers. Volunteers carry boxes of supplies, their voices blending into a symphony of instructions, encouragement, and occasional exasperation.

You’re busier than ever, balancing tasks between your flower shop and the fair. Deliveries need to be organized, decorations have to be finalized, and last-minute adjustments seem to crop up at every corner. Even as you wipe the sweat from your brow, there’s a sense of exhilaration in the air, the anticipation of tomorrow’s festivities driving everyone forward.

Sunjae is bustling around too, overseeing the setup of a handmade crafts stall he’s managing. Every now and then, he glances your way, offering a quick thumbs-up or a smile, his own excitement mirrored in your expressions.

By mid-morning, your friends have gathered to help where ever they can. Namjoon is reviewing schedules, his meticulous nature ensuring no detail is overlooked.

Seokjin is joking with some of the younger volunteers, lightening the mood despite the frenzy. Juwon is coordinating with the food vendors, her authoritative tone cutting through the chatter, while Taehyung flits between tasks, his energy boundless.

And then there’s Jungkook.

You catch glimpses of him every now and then, his leather jacket swapped for a simple black tee, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his tattooed arm as he unloads heavy crates. The sight of it snaps something inside you and you have to look away to collect yourself.

He works silently but efficiently, his brows furrowed in concentration. Despite the chaos around him, he carries an air of calm focus that you can’t help but notice.

Occasionally, your eyes meet across the crowded square. Each time, it’s fleeting, just a moment before one of you looks away, but it’s enough to send a ripple of something unspoken through the air.

The hours blur together as the sun climbs higher. Despite the hectic pace, there’s a shared unity among the volunteers, an understanding that they’re all working towards something meaningful.

By late afternoon, the square is almost unrecognizable, transformed into a vibrant space brimming with life and color.

But as you glance at the clock, you know there’s still more to be done. The final stretch is here, and tomorrow, the town will come alive in a way that makes all the effort worthwhile.

For now, you push forward, the excitement bubbling beneath the surface, ready to see it all come to life.

//

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting a golden glow across the fairgrounds, Mr. Jung’s voice booms from the gazebo. “Everyone! Can I have your attention?” he calls, clapping his hands. The volunteers pause their work, turning to face him.

“To thank all of you for your hard work, we’re hosting a little barbecue right here tonight." Mr. Jung announces, his smile wide. “Consider it a token of our appreciation. You’ve earned it!”

A ripple of cheers and applause follows, and your friends exchange gleeful glances. “Free food?” Seokjin exclaims, clutching his chest as if overwhelmed. “It’s a dream come true.”

“I’m claiming the first plate!” Juwon declares, practically bouncing on her toes. “Not if I get there first,” Taehyung counters, already sprinting toward the gazebo.

The group bursts into laughter, following him in a loose, carefree parade. The atmosphere is electric, buzzing with excitement for the evening ahead. After days of hard work, this feels like the perfect way to unwind... a celebration of effort, friendship, and shared memories.

As the preparations wind down and the golden hour fades into twilight, the barbecue at the gazebo comes alive. Bright fairy lights strung around the wooden structure cast a warm glow over the gathering, making the evening feel almost magical.

The air is filled with the enticing aroma of grilled meat and roasted vegetables, mingling with the faint scent of flowers still lingering from the day’s decorations.

You find yourself seated on the cool grass with Sunjae and your friends, the laughter and chatter creating a cozy bubble around you. Plates of food are passed around as everyone digs in, their voices blending with the soft strumming of a guitar someone brought along.

Namjoon is in the middle of telling a ridiculous story about one of his childhood escapades, which has Seokjin doubling over with laughter while Taehyung and Juwon argue about its authenticity.

The atmosphere is laid-back yet so so rewarding, just a close-knit group of volunteers unwinding after days of hard work. It’s one of those rare moments when you feel completely at peace.

Sunjae leans back beside you, his head tilted towards the sky as he points out a constellation he learned from Yeonjun. His excitement makes you smile, and you can’t help but feel immense joy for your best friend, who seems to have found his place and love in this world.

But amidst the relaxing chaos, there’s a tension simmering not far from where you sit. Jungkook has arrived with Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jimin, finally all done with their work for tomorrow.

The group makes their way to the grill, exchanging greetings and grabbing plates of food. Jungkook, however, doesn’t linger with his friends. His gaze immediately shifts to you, sitting closely with Sunjae, the man whose name he had just learned, as both of you laugh together.

His jaw tightens as he observes you leaning towards Sunjae, smiling so brightly it feels like the world revolves around you in that moment. And the man beside you... the same one from earlier who’d already occupied far too much of your attention is the cause of that smile. Jungkook feels his grip on his plate tighten, the urge to look away battling with the undeniable pull of watching you.

Throughout the evening, he steals glances at you. It’s infuriating how effortlessly you seem to light up the space around you. You laugh, tease Taehyung about his mismatched socks, and playfully swat Sunjae’s arm when he mimics Seokjin’s dramatic storytelling. Each stolen glance chips away at Jungkook’s resolve to keep his distance, leaving him restless.

As the night deepens, the cool evening breeze carries with it a sense of tranquility. The gazebo grows quieter, with fewer people remaining. Mrs. Kim, an elderly woman who’s been a pillar of the town’s volunteer efforts for years, approaches you with a soft smile.

“Y/n-ah, can you please fill my water bottle for me? They seem to have run out of water here, and I need to take my medicines now that I’ve eaten.” she says, holding out the bottle. “Your shop is nearby, so I thought I’d ask.”

You nod immediately, rising to your feet. “Of course, Mrs. Kim. I’ll be right back.” you reply warmly, taking the bottle from her. Your shop, just a few meters away from the gazebo, is still illuminated from earlier in the day.

Jungkook watches the interaction from his spot, his gaze sharpening as you walk off into the night with your usual grace. His chest tightens, and before he realizes it, his feet are moving.

He doesn’t know what compels him, but the idea of you being alone, even for a short while sends a strange urgency coursing through him.

Leaving his friends behind, who are too engrossed in their conversations to notice his sudden departure, he slips away. The cool breeze brushes past him as he strides towards your shop, his heart pounding in his chest.

He doesn’t know what he plans to say or do when he catches up to you, but he’s sure of one thing... he can’t keep this longing bottled up any longer.

The bell above the door jingles softly as you enter your flower shop, the familiar scent of blooms and fresh greenery enveloping you. The quiet of the shop contrasts sharply with the lively chatter of the barbecue behind you, making the space feel almost sacred.

You step past the counter and towards the storeroom, where your water filter is kept. It’s a cozy, tucked-away space filled with neatly labeled boxes of vases, floral foam, and ribbons.

The faint hum of the filter greets you as you flick on the light, placing the water bottle on the counter.

Humming softly to yourself, you begin filling it, the cool water rushing steadily into the bottle. While you're still inside, the shop’s door creaks open again and you don't really hear it.

Jungkook steps inside, his boots making almost no sound against the wooden floor as he closes the door behind him, careful not to alert you. The warm glow of the shop lights reflects off the rows of flower arrangements on display, casting soft shadows on the walls.

As he takes a step further in, his gaze locks onto the passage leading to the storeroom. It’s a narrow corridor lined with shelves holding tools and floral supplies. He knows you’re just beyond it. His pulse quickens, his resolve faltering for a brief second before he moves forward, his boots brushing lightly against the polished floor.

In the storeroom, you screw the cap back onto the filled water bottle, ready to return to the barbecue. Just as you turn around, you nearly jump out of your skin at the sight of Jungkook standing in the doorway.

“Jungkook?” you ask, startled. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. His dark eyes meet yours, intense and unreadable, and for a moment, the small storeroom feels even smaller. His shoulders are broad, nearly filling the frame of the doorway, and his presence is so palpable it makes your breath hitch.

“I… I saw you leave,” he finally says, his voice low and rough. “Thought I’d check if you needed help.”

You blink at him, confused. “It’s just water, Jungkook. I can manage.” He steps further into the room, closing the door halfway behind him. The quiet hum of the water filter fills the silence between you.

“I know…” he admits, his gaze never leaving yours. “But… I just… I had to see you.”

There’s something in his tone... hesitation, maybe desperation, or even vulnerability that catches you off guard. You clutch the water bottle tighter, unsure of what to say. The tension in the air feels almost unbearable, like a string stretched too thin between you, threatening to snap.

“Why?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his dark hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know.” he admits, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I just… uhh... seeing you with him...”

“Sunjae?” you interject, your brows knitting in confusion. The name tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.

The effect is immediate. Jungkook takes a sudden step forward, his entire frame taut with an energy that feels almost dangerous. His eyes darken, their intensity cutting through you like a blade. “Don’t say his name.” he murmurs, his tone low, sharp, and commanding.

The air between you shifts. When did it get this heavy? You don’t even realize you’re retreating until your back meets the cold wall behind you.

A shiver runs down your spine, though you’re not sure if it’s the chill of the wall or the heat radiating from Jungkook’s advancing figure. The room feels smaller now, the walls closing in, leaving only him and the electricity thrumming between you.

He’s close... too close... and yet not close enough. But he inches forward, the words still hang in the air, and Jungkook hesitates, his frustration now palpable. He reaches out, his hands finding your waist, pulling you towards him. The water bottle slips from your hold, rolling away across the floor.

You’re not sure when the line between resistance and surrender blurred, but here you are, breath hitching as Jungkook’s grip tightens, pulling your body flush against his. The space between seems to vanish.

This moment, so surreal and unexpected, pulls you in. You don’t understand it, but who are you to question it? It feels like this is exactly what you've been craving for days... months... even years.

The warmth of him envelops you, igniting a fire in your chest that spreads to your fingertips. It’s overwhelming and terrifying, but it’s also exhilarating.

“Jungkook…” you whisper, breathless, feeling his body as he pulls you in even closer. His grip tightens, pulling your waist to his as he presses you against the wall, your bodies completely aligned now.

The room seems to shrink, too small, too warm with him so close. His eyes search yours, as if looking for something, and you meet his gaze. His hands, tentative but urgent, slightly slide under the hem of your top near your waist, his fingertips cold against your skin.

You part your lips, letting out a shaky breath, your body responding instinctively. He leans forward, his forehead resting against yours, both of you closing your eyes in the quiet intimacy. The world outside seems to pause, as if holding its breath, waiting for what might happen next.

Your knees weaken, and you grip the collar of his t-shirt, pulling him in closer. The distance between you is evaporating, but just as it feels like everything is about to shift, a loud bang of your store's front door opening from outside the storeroom causes both of you to snap apart, startled.

“Y/n!!!” Seokjin’s voice rings out, cutting through the silence. Him again? Really? you wonder, frustration mixing with embarrassment. This is the second time now.

“Fuck.” Jungkook curses, his hands instinctively covering his face, a flush of heat rushing through him as he tries to regain control of his rapidly escalating emotions.

Seokjin’s voice blares again, louder this time, and that’s when it hits you. He cannot see you like this, especially not with Jungkook.

“Fuck.” you curse under your breath, panic rising. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You scramble to move away from Jungkook, quickly grabbing the water bottle that had been abandoned on the floor.

Jungkook’s eyes widen in confusion, his head tilting slightly. Before he can ask, you hurriedly whisper. “He can’t know you’re in here!” Your voice is urgent, shaking slightly as you glance towards the storeroom door.

Realization dawns upon him like a light switch, and he nods. You're right, someone catching the two of you alone in a secluded space like this? Not good. He rakes his hand through his hair, already understanding how awkward this would look.

“Stay here until you hear us leave.” you plead, your voice barely audible but dripping with desperation. “Please don’t come out for at least five minutes. Promise me!”

Jungkook leans against the wall, arms crossed, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite your panic. “Five minutes?” he repeats, teasing lightly, but he nods all the same.

“Yes, five.” you insist, holding up your palm in a gesture for emphasis, fingers spread wide. You’re already backing towards the door, the water bottle clutched tightly in your hands. “Y/n-ah! Are you done yet?” Seokjin’s voice echoes again, impatient.

You close your eyes for a second, taking a deep, calming breath before yelling back. “Coming, Jin !! Just give me a sec !!”

Jungkook chuckles quietly at your flustered state, finding your panic oddly amusing. “You’re really worked up about this, huh?” he lowly murmurs, clearly entertained.

“Not the time.” you hiss, glaring at him before stealing a quick peek behind the door to check if Seokjin has entered the passage. Thankfully, it’s still clear. “Five whole minutes, got it?” you repeat, your tone stern, gesturing the number with your palm again for emphasis.

Jungkook leans casually against the shelf, his smirk growing. “Yes, boss.” he teases lightly, earning an exasperated roll of your eyes. Satisfied, you push the storeroom door open just enough to slip out. But as Jungkook watches you leave, his amusement is replaced by surprise when you suddenly pause.

Before he can process what’s happening, you turn on your heel and bolt back towards him, still clutching the water bottle in your hands. His eyes widen in confusion.

You don’t give yourself a second to overthink it. Standing on your tiptoes, you press a quick, feather like kiss on his cheek. Your lips linger for just a heartbeat before you pull away, the warmth of his skin burning against your own.

“I’ll see you out there.” you whisper, your voice soft and rushed, like a secret carried on the wind. And then you’re gone. The door creaks shut behind you, leaving Jungkook standing there, frozen in your storeroom. His hand slowly rises to touch his cheek where your kiss still lingers, his pulse racing.

An amused chuckle escapes him, low and disbelieving. He doesn’t move for a moment, still processing, before shaking his head with a small laugh.

Five minutes, huh? He’ll give you ten, if only to catch his breath.

//

Seokjin is here because, unbeknownst to you, you’d been gone far longer than you realized. As the two of you step out of the shop, his curious gaze falls on you. “What took you so long?” he asks, his tone casual but laced with mild concern.

Your mind races, briefly recollecting the moments that delayed you. Heat rises to your cheeks, but you quickly mask it, shrugging as you reply. “The water filter was acting up.”

Seokjin nods, accepting your explanation without question, and together, you make your way back to the bustle of the town square. The hum of laughter and chatter grows louder as you rejoin the crowd gathered near the gazebo.

Spotting Mrs. Kim, you walk over, handing her the filled water bottle with an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry for the delay.” you say earnestly. She waves you off with a warm smile, her kind demeanor easing the guilt that lingers in your chest. “It’s no trouble, dear... Thank you.” she sweetly says.

Minutes pass as you blend into the sea of familiar faces. Yet, your gaze is restless, scanning the space almost instinctively until it lands on him.

Jungkook.

He crosses the street with practiced ease, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans as he moves towards the gazebo where his friends sit. Though he tries to appear nonchalant, there’s a subtle weight to his stride, as though he’s aware of your eyes on him.

As he reaches his group and takes a seat, his dark eyes flicker across the crowd, until they lock with yours. And this time, the glance isn’t fleeting.

For the first time, the world doesn’t rush to pull you apart. His gaze holds yours, steady and unguarded, and you feel the edges of the universe blur. A shy smile tugs at his lips, one that mirrors your own, and in that moment, the air shifts.

It’s as though the tension that had wrapped so tightly around you both has unraveled, replaced by something gentler, warmer, a connection that hums like a quiet melody between your souls.

The world around you fades into a hazy backdrop. The night feels alive, not with chaos, but with a strange, unspoken understanding that flows between you and him like an electric current.

Soon enough, the barbecue flames dwindle, leaving behind glowing embers, and the volunteers begin to disperse, bidding each other goodnight. The air fills with the promise of something grand, a collective anticipation for tomorrow's fair.

The town settles under a blanket of stars, its streets shimmering with the preparations for the festivities to come. As your friends get ready to leave for the night, you glance towards the gazebo one last time, catching a glimpse of Jungkook as he laughs at something Yoongi says. He doesn’t look your way again, but that’s okay.

With a deep breath, you let the cool night air fill your lungs and start walking towards your shop, ready to lock up and head home. A quiet sense of peace settles within you, as if the evening had unfolded just as it was meant to... full of moments both subtle and meaningful.

<- part 7 // part 9 ->

series masterlist

taglist:@kimyishin @ghijkd @dolligguk @mimi1097 @jksusawife @yooforeaa @abbie1847 @myjungkookthighs @thesarcasmqueen-22 @fairypjminie @lovelytaes-blog @jjeonjjk7 @daddyjeonnn @vantelover1306 @jeeykey @shellyyy177 @daskewl @blackswan18 @korian97 @minimoninini @ericawantstoescape (lmk if i missed anyone<3)