#traffic separation scheme

[stllmnstr]

starlight

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: soulmates au, university au

word count: 13.4k

warnings: swearing, angst (but a happy ending because I’m not a monster), soulmate lore, copious amounts of pining and yearning and sighing

soundtrack: crying over you - honne, beka / a world alone - lorde / this is me trying / invisible string / daylight - taylor swift / spring day - bts / so far away - agust d, suran

note: this was another find in my old drafts that I spent a couple of days editing/rewriting. I have very much been in a jungwon mood these days, and it was fun to venture into some more angsty stuff that I haven't written in a while. happy reading! ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

There’s a word for it. Something that’s whispered behind closed doors, shunned like a bad omen you can’t quite shake.

Glitch. A cruel twist of fate. A failed soulmate match.

Something you’ve been marked as since the countdown on your wrist ticked to 00:00 two long years ago and left you lonelier than ever. Something you’ve been fighting since destiny carved itself into your skin with a dull, lifeless shade of gray.

But fate is a funny thing. And love, as you’ve learned, is often found in the most unexpected places.

or,

fate, with all of its cruel, incandescent scheming, leads straight to yang jungwon.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The overhead fluorescents in this particular lecture hall always manage to leave you with a pounding headache that even a strong dose of Advil can never quite seem to mitigate. 

“And with time, these bonds only strengthen. Until a point is reached after which both parties would experience immense pain were they to be physically separated, willingly or not.”

Well, it’s either the lightbulbs or your professor’s droning.

Today, his words are slightly muted where they reach your ears, as if you’re underwater. Drowning in a topic that’s been beaten to death a million times over. 

Still, this is information you should be taking in. Or, at the very least, jotting down notes of, since it’s all but guaranteed to appear on your final exam. But no matter how much you will yourself to focus, you can’t get your mind to cooperate. 

After all, it’s bad enough that you’re forced to be here in the first place. 

Sociology 112: Intro to Soulmate Theory. An absolute joke of a class. 

The very foundation your society is built around. A nagging reminder of the grayscale deficiency that stains the skin of your left inner wrist. 

Subconsciously, you tug the left sleeve of your shirt down a little further. There’s no need, not really. You made sure that your mark was fully covered before you left your dorm room this morning. Just like every morning. 

But long standing habits are rarely broken, and the last thing you need now is another reminder of what makes you different. What makes you wrong.

At the front of the lecture hall, your professor pushes forward in that same, monotonous stupor. He’s either unaware or unconcerned by the fact that some of his students may be affected by his lecture on more than just a purely academic level. 

Staring straight ahead, you distract yourself by scanning your professor, eyes taking in his appearance. At the very least, it will make it look as if you’re paying attention to what he’s saying. 

With the signature graying hair most men in their mid-fifties carry, a pair of rather plain, slightly round eyeglasses, and neutral button-down appropriate for most professional settings, there’s nothing particularly noteworthy about your professor. 

Like most people, he gets up in the morning, selects a plain shirt from his modestly sized closet. He enjoys a cup or two of black coffee before embarking on his morning commute to campus, leaving ten minutes earlier than strictly necessary, because he’s convinced it helps him avoid the worst of the morning traffic. 

His life is one of normalcy, you imagine. Nothing that most people would find especially enviable or extraordinary. 

But when he reaches up to point out an example on the lecture slide, the left sleeve of that beige button down lifts, just slightly. 

You only catch a glimpse, a tiny fraction of a look, but you see it all the same. The glossy, shiny, red 00:00 inked into his skin. 

You resist the urge to scratch your wrist. He clicks forward to the next slide. Life goes on.

“As per the syllabus, you’ll be completing projects with an assigned parter on a topic of your choice. Although I encourage you to consult a variety of resources and include several points of view in your project, the only firm guideline is that your topic relates to soulmate theory.”

Several points of view. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, right. In your experience, any arguments against the traditional soulmate model are scoffed at. Met with nothing but anger and ridicule. 

Although it makes for a miserable life, it does make for a simplistic assignment. Assigned partners are usually the bane of your existence, but no matter how incompetent this one is, you’re sure it will be easy enough to meet up once or twice in the university library and regurgitate common sentiment on how the soulmate system is nothing short of a wondrous gift to humanity. 

Glancing at the clock as your professor officially dismisses class for the morning, you suppose you do have something to thank the heavens for. He’s wrapped up fifteen minutes early, which means you’ll have enough time to grab a coffee before your shift. 

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and once again checking that the fabric of your left sleeve covers your wrist, you slide your laptop into your bag and stand up from your seat. 

No matter what particular strand of bullshit this class dragged you through, today will be a good day. Or at least a comfortingly neutral one. You’re sure of it. 

With one final scan of your desk, you head to the exit at the front of the lecture hall without a backwards glance. 

And in the very back corner of the lecture hall, tucked neatly out of both sight and mind, Yang Jungwon exhales a long sigh before gathering his things. 

…..

“Oh, you are an absolute angel.”

Playful frown tugging at your lips, you ask, “Why is it that you only praise me when I come bearing gifts?”

Jake’s too engrossed with taking a long sip of the matcha latte you just handed him to concern himself with giving your question a real answer. 

Despite his inclination to be most forthcoming with compliments when they’re a payment for caffeine, he’s hands down your favorite coworker. He’s genuinely kind, easygoing in a way that makes even the longest of shifts pass quickly. 

Setting your bag down, you slide into the seat next to his, turning on your desk computer. “Any new applications to process today.”

“Nothing yet.” Jake glances at the empty inbox to confirm his answer. He shrugs, adding, “This time of year is usually fairly slow, though. We tend to get the most applications at the beginning of the semester and around the holidays.”

“Right,” you nod. “That makes sense.” Times when people are fresh on campus, away from home and exploring a new environment for the first time. And times when people are lonely. 

It’s something you understand well. After all, you had been part of the latter group when you submitted your own application. 

Last year was your first year of university, and although the numbers on your wrist had already faded to a dull, matte gray by the time you enrolled, living on campus put you far away from your support system for the first time in your life. 

Even then, you avoided it as long as you could. It hurt something in your pride, felt like admitting a weakness, admitting a flaw. But the truth could only be avoided so long and on one cloudy afternoon in late fall, the loneliness crossed the line from painful to unbearable. 

So, with a rain jacket pulled tight around your body, you made your way to the Student Support Center on campus and sought out help for something you’d been grieving in private for the better part of a year. 

It had still felt like shame, to disclose the details of your condition. To tell another person about the cosmic cruelty etched permanently into the soft skin of your left wrist. 

And then it was done. Your secret belonged to someone else, too. Pain was shared, and over time, started to feel less like a cut and more like a bruise. 

It still ached when you pressed on it, of course, but you felt lighter. Able to breathe a little easier. 

But even with all of the support, all of the work you’ve done to feel a bit more like yourself, pain is still a shadow that lingers at your heels. 

Even now, months later, sitting next to a friend, you suppress the urge to tug at your sleeve again. 

You’re able to see your actions for what they are now. And you suppose it’s the same thing – injured pride, a deep sense of shame, that has you wearing long sleeves even as the last days of late summer cling to the air with stifling heat. 

It’s not as if your unfamiliar with the failure etched into your skin. You know what you would find, what everyone would see if you were to wear short sleeves for once. 

A dull, matte gray 00:00. A reminder of what could’ve been. What should have been, if the universe had just been a little kinder to you. 

Even as days and weeks and months pass you by, you still remember when there was a different number displayed there. One that got smaller with each passing second. One that, like your professor’s, like everyone else’s, glowed a bright, glossy red.

Just like everyone else, you were born with red numbers on your left wrist. There was no sign then, at your birth, that you were different. That you were a glitch. 

Just like your family, just like your friends, just like every stranger you passed in the street, your number was normal. In fact, it was enviable. Mostly because it was so much smaller than average. 

As a child, you’d reveled in it – the comparatively short length of your soulmate countdown. It wasn’t unusual for people to have to wait well into their twenties, thirties, or even forties to find their soulmate. 

But a quick calculation had revealed that your countdown would tick to 00:00 just after your seventeenth birthday. 

It feels stupid now, like some sort of cruel joke, that you ever thought of yourself as lucky. 

You still remember it as if it were yesterday. Two long years ago, at the delicate age of seventeen. On the precipice of a life-changing revelation. A moment that was meant to mark the beginning of your forever. Your happy ending. 

The air was clean that day. Lingering with the fresh scent of the earth after a rainstorm. Rebirth. A sign of something beautiful to come. Dew and humidity clung to you like a second skin as you raced towards the neighborhood park that had been haunting your dreams for the last few weeks. 

Soulmates and the bonds that connect them aren’t magic, not exactly, but there was still something divine about it, the cosmic energy that sang to you. That told you that this particular park was where your life was destined to change. That it was where you were going to meet your soulmate. 

The other person who felt the same gentle tug towards you, whose wrist was stained with a matching countdown, set to tick down to 00:00 at the very second your eyes locked with one another. 

Your heart was racing, nearly beating out of your chest. Your fingertips thrummed with it, that overflow of energy that didn’t come from you but belonged to you all the same. 

And like everyone else, your timer ran out. 

He was there. He was there, and you knew it was him without having to say a word. Across the park, under the shade of an old sycamore tree, you could see it, feel it in his eyes. 

Your soulmate. 

Handsome and a year older than you, if you had to guess. A perfect stranger that you felt like you already knew. That already understood you without the need for words. 

You had been too wrapped up in it, in him, to notice the one striking oddity. Because unlike everyone else, your completed countdown, that ever coveted 00:00, didn’t remain that gorgeous, shiny red. 

No, while your eyes were locked on his, heart singing with unfulfilled dreams and visions of a future you’d never have the privilege of knowing, it had faded to that same dull gray that mocks you now. 

It wasn’t the color that you noticed. It was the burning sensation that finally had you tearing your gaze away from him and landing on the skin of your left wrist. 

Confused, your brow drew together as you tried to make sense of it. As your mind spun, searching for a plausible explanation. 

And when you finally found it in you to look up at him again, the wrongness of it all began to sink in. The way he walked toward you with slow, reluctant steps. The way his mouth pulled tight at the corners, as if he wanted to prevent any words from escaping. 

The wedding ring wrapped around the finger on his left hand. The already occupied space you thought would belong to you one day. 

It was an accident, he told you. Even then, his voice had been steady. He wasn’t pleading for your forgiveness. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need you. 

It was nothing more than a drunken mistake between him and a girl he met at university. One that he wasn’t serious about, but damage had been done nonetheless. A single night that was meant to be a blip, a passing moment in time, but had turned into a child. One that the two of them had already made the decision to raise together. 

A child that had made them both decide to forgo the fate written on their wrists and forge a new life on their own. 

It hurt, he told you, to see you, to know that he was causing you pain. 

But one glance at him confirmed for you that his hurt was different from yours. For one, he could still speak, could form words with that same, even cadence that felt like knives embedding themselves into your skin. 

You had wanted to beg, wanted to scream until your throat was raw. It was him. It was him. He was supposed to be yours, and you were supposed to be his. Wasn’t it the same for him? Didn’t he feel it too?

But his mind was made up and you knew better than to plead with a man who had fought and forsaken destiny itself. 

It wasn’t your fault. He had told that day, and you’ve heard it countless times since then. From your parents. From your closest friends. From your own tear-stained reflection in your bedroom mirror. 

But blame with nowhere to go always had a way of ending up on your shoulders, and empty reassurances never stopped your mind from spinning with painful possibilities on sleepless nights. 

What if we had met sooner? What if he had never met her? What if they never had a child?

Or even worse, 

What if I found him again? Begged him to reconsider? Convinced him to leave her?

In the end, it was pointless. Fate had been written and then rewritten. Would in a tight string and undone in one fell swoop. The stars had aligned and shifted and still remained so terribly out of reach. 

There was nothing you could do, nothing to be done. 

But it didn’t stop the loneliness from seeping in. It was always loudest in the quiet moments, but it never truly left. It didn’t matter where you were – in class, with friends, surrounded by people, or completely alone. There was always an overwhelming sense of loss, of loneliness that followed you wherever you went. 

So last fall, when the burden of it felt too heavy to bear alone, you’d bitten the bullet and applied to your university’s support program for glitches. Although, of course, none of the staff dared to use that word. 

It’s where you first met Jake. And the bright red number on his wrist still ticks evenly, he had a friend once, one that shared a fate similar to yours. One who let the loneliness consume her instead of accepting help. 

Even though it wasn’t through firsthand experience, Jake knew the pain of a failed soulmate match intimately. And after a handful of weeks, you’d found genuine friendship in him. 

After a few months of attending support groups, he was the one who suggested you for an open position on the support team. It was him that thought you might find a renewed sense of purpose, a distinct kind of empathy for the other students on campus with stories like yours. 

You’re grateful beyond words for him, for all of it. For the people and the friendships and the small moments that remind you that life is worth living, even on the hard days. Even when you’re forced to sit through classes on soulmate theory and pretend like long sleeves are nothing but a fashion statement. 

So you’ll take his compliments with a smile, even when they come at the expense of a matcha latte from his favorite campus cafe. You’ll take the hard days and the good days and all the little moments in between. 

He knows it too, even if you don’t say it with words. Even if all you ask is, “The matcha’s good?”

But something in you still smiles, still feels a little lighter, when Jake turns to you with a grin and assures, “Of course.”

…..

If there’s one place you still find to be painfully devoid of optimism, it’s your damn Intro to Soulmate Theory course. Although it’s an important element of existing sociological systems and objectively relevant, it presses on your ever-lingering bruises more than just about anything else in your day-to-day life. 

As if that weren’t enough, it’s a morning class. Which means you’re already in a dreary mood as the clock ticks painfully slow through yet another monotone lecture. 

Thankfully, your professor’s cadence is beginning to slow, a surefire signal that class is drawing to an end. Again, you glance up at the clock, a spark of pleasant surprise flickering through your mind. Could you really be so lucky as to get out early two classes in a row? 

At the front of the hall, your professor scans his notes one final time. Nodding slightly, you really think he’s about to let you go ten minutes ahead of schedule. 

But then his eyes pause at the bottom of the page, a reminder he missed the first time. 

“Before we wrap up for the day,” he says, and you suppress the urge to groan audibly. “As I mentioned last class, you’ll be completing your next assignment in partners.”

That’s right. You’d almost forgot. Ugh, as if the disappointment of a full length lecture hadn’t been bad enough. 

“The instructions, rubric, and due date can all be found on your syllabus, and as always, you’re welcome to email me or attend office hours with any additional questions you may have. I’ve already taken the initiative to place you in pairs, so please listen for your name.”

Glancing down at his notes again, he reads out the first pair. 

“Kim Sunoo and Lee Heeseung.”

As he moves through the seemingly endless list of names, you begin to tune out. Have there always been this many people in this class? Admittedly, this is not a lecture that often commands your attention, but it seems like something you should have picked up on. 

A minute later, spurred by the sudden sound of your own name, your attention snaps back into focus. 

“... and Yang Jungwon.”

Yang Jungwon. 

It’s a name you’ve heard in passing, maybe. But it’s not one you’re familiar with. 

Standing as the list draws to a conclusion, you begin to look around the emptying lecture hall. You figure it might be easiest to exchange information now, but you’re not sure if you’ll be able to find him with everyone else trying to do the same. 

Sighing, you decide to try for a minute or two before just resorting to looking up his email on the online class list later and sending him a message there. 

Ultimately, it’s him who finds you. 

“___?” At the sound of your name, you spin around, looking back over your shoulder. 

His presence, like his voice, is unassuming. Still, as your eyes land on who you assume must be Yang Jungwon, there’s something about him that makes you want to keep looking. 

Dark hair falls over his forehead, framing equally dark eyes. Dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and oversized jeans, the attention doesn’t seem like something he’d seek out. Even now, he doesn’t quite match your gaze. 

“Yeah,” you affirm, somewhat breathless. “Yang Jungwon?”

“Just Jungwon is fine.” He smiles, but it’s a tight, strained thing. Doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s pressing forward before you have time to linger on it. “Do you want to go ahead an exchange information now? I’ll get my final training schedule this afternoon, so I can message you when I have a better idea of when I’ll be able to meet up.”

Well, he seems competent enough. Or at the very least, willing to put in effort. It’s more than you can say for most of the assigned partners you’ve been given. And it’s pleasant surprise in a string of disappointments and what is surely going to be a miserable project to work on. 

“That sounds good,” you nod, reaching for your phone. You open a new contact before handing it to him to fill out. As he types, you watch a strand of hair fall over his eyes. He doesn’t bother to brush it away, even as your fingertips itch with the sudden urge to. 

Instead, you busy yourself with asking a question. “Training schedule?” you echo his earlier words. “Are you an athlete?”

If he’s put off by your probing, he doesn’t show it. Steady as ever, he continues typing. “Mhm,” he hums. “Taekwondo team.”

“Ah,” you nod. “That’s cool.” Accepting your phone back, you type your name into the newly created chat. “Here, I sent you a message with my name, so you have my information, too. I work in the afternoons, but I have a pretty consistent schedule. Once you have your training times, we can figure out when we’re both free.”

Glancing at the message that comes through on his end, Jungwon confirms, “Perfect.” Hiking his bag a little further up on his shoulder, he pauses for a moment before turning his gaze towards the door at the front of the lecture hall. 

In the time that’s elapsed, most of the other students have made their way towards it. The room is significantly more empty than it was a handful of minutes ago. Still, Jungwon lingers for a moment. 

Finally, he looks back at you. This time, he does meet your eyes. 

You know it’s nothing but the overhead lights. The same obnoxious fluorescents that always give you a pounding headache. But reflected in his dark, searching gaze, they almost look like starlight. 

“I’ll see you around, then,” he says before turning towards the door. 

And if you let your gaze linger just a little too long on his retreating back, you’ll be grateful that no one is paying you enough attention to notice. 

…..

Your dinner is cleaned up, skincare is completed, and the events from your day are blurring into a sleepy sort of haze when his first message reaches you. 

9:36 pm Yang Jungwon I got my final training schedule. Looks like I should be free Tuesday and Thursday afternoons after 4 if that works for you?

Double checking your work schedule, you type a reply. 

9:38 pm You I work on Tuesdays until 6 but I can do Thursday at 4. 

9:39 pm Yang Jungwon Let’s plan on Thursday then 👍 Meet you at the library? I’ll reserve a study room on the first floor. 

9:40 pm You Sounds good, see you then!

With the semester well underway, Thursday is quick to roll around. Other than a quick wave and a small smile towards him during your last shared lecture, you haven’t had any contact with Jungwon since your last messages. 

Even though it’s still only early afternoon, you’re already feeling the weight of a busy day weighing on you when you arrive at the library. A handful of minutes before four, you’re working to locate the study room Jungwon just sent you the number of. 

Navigating your way through frazzled study groups and overworked, overcaffeinated upperclassmen, you finally find it with a few minutes to spare. Pulling the door open slowly, you’re half surprised to see that he’s arrived even earlier than you. 

Early and straight from practice, you assume, if his still slightly damp hair is anything to go by. Freshly showered, the faint smell of his shampoo reaches you where you slide down into the seat across from him. 

“Good call on the study room,” you add after your initial greeting. “I always forget how packed the library is once the semester really gets going.”

“Right?” Jungwon agrees. “I have a friend who swore by them last year, and now I’ll never go back.

“Letting you in on the study room secret,” you grin, pulling out your laptop. “That’s a true friend right there.”

“Yeah.” Something in Jungwon’s gaze softens as he nods. There’s a distinct fondness in his eyes, one that makes you think there’s a story there. One about more than just study rooms. “He is.”

When you finish settling in, you pull up your course syllabus again, clicking on the link to the assignment guidelines. “So,” you start, scanning the page one more time, “the instruction seem pretty straightforward. It looks liek we just need to pick a topic within the realm of soulmate theory and discuss recent research or developments.”

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you suppress the urge to tug at your left sleeve. Eyes honing in on the screen in front of you, you force yourself into a practiced state of detachment. The one you always revert back into when discussing this particular topic. 

“I don’t know if you have a topic in mind already,” you shrug, “but I’m pretty much open to anything.”

Across from you, Jungwon’s teeth start to worry at his bottom lip. He hesitates for a moment, the room suspended in silence before he ventures, “What about –” Shaking his head slightly, his words die on his lips. “Never mind.”

Looking up at him, you frown. “Is there something you’re interested in?”

“No.” Jungwon shakes his head again. “I doubt there would be any recent research, anyway.”

“Okay,” you concede. Part of you wants to push further, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Instead, you type in a quick search. “I just pulled up some recent research topics, and it looks like there’s been development related to countdown colors and location based soulmate matches.” Ignoring the sudden slight burning sensation on your left wrist, you fight to maintain an even tone as you ask, “Do either of those sound interesting to you?”

Jungwon pauses for a moment, considering. “Maybe location based matches?”

Exhaling, you release a breath you hadn’t been meaning to hold. With a small nod, you tell him, “That sounds good. Let’s look for publications to reference today.  We can divide them between us before we go and then take notes on them separately. We can meet up again next week at the same time to start an outline, if that works for you. We have a little over four weeks until the final paper is due, so that should give us a decent start.” 

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. “That works for me.”

Returning to your computer, you fight the urge to steal small glances at him as he does the same. In the minutes that follow, a silence settles around you. It’s not horribly awkward, but you still find yourself itching to fill it with something. 

Finally, you bite the bullet. “Would it be okay with you if I put some music on? Just something instrumental.”

Glancing up at you, your eyes meet. Again, you’re not sure how he does it. But tucked away in a library study room, his gaze reflects the lights above you in a way that looks all too much like starlight. “Sure,” Jungwon nods. 

Forcing your gaze back to your screen, you navigate to your study playlist and put it on shuffle. The first handful of notes spill into the silence, a calm piano melody that cuts through some of the stagnance. 

A handful of classical pieces and a dozen journal articles later, Jungwon breaks the easy rhythm the two of you have fallen into. “Clair de Lune,” he names the tune that has just begun to weave itself around the room. A small smile turns the corners of his lips upwards. “This is on my study playlist, too.”

You offer him a matching smile in return. A soft thing. A shared moment. “You like this song?” It makes sense. A boy with stars in his eyes listening to a love letter to the moon. 

“Yeah,” he nods. The quiet melody sings through the air, floats around tentative glances, delicate breaths. Lands lightly on two sets of shoulders. “You know, you’re better than I am. I always end up turning on my regular playlist and then singing along to the songs instead of actually working on anything.”

That earns him a full blown smile. “Believe me,” you lean in like it’s a secret. Something meant just for the two of you. “I do that more than I probably should, too.”

A shared grin later, the two of you are back to your own laptop screens. 

Even though it’s your study playlist that continues to filter softly through your speaker, you find yourself distracted for a different reason.

It’s all too easy to imagine.

Jungwon, alone in his room, eyes sparkling even as he fights off the clutches of sleep. A song playing through his speaker. An old favorite, maybe, or perhaps something he heard on the radio and hasn’t been able to get out of his head since. One that he sings along to softly, assignments lying untouched on the desk in front of him. 

…..

Despite your newfound fondness of your project partner, you’re sure that Intro to Soulmate Theory will continue to be your most dreaded class until the end of the semester releases you from its twice-a-week morning monotony. 

The universe, as always, seems determined to prove you wrong, though. 

Just as your professor steps into position behind the podium at the front of the lecture hall, a person slides down into the usually unoccupied seat just to the left of yours. 

Startled, you glance up .

“Jungwon?”

“Hey,” the boy in question smiles. Switching to a whisper as the professor begins his lecture, he adds, “I’m glad I made it on time. I thought for sure I was going to be late.”

Sliding his bag off of his shoulder, he pulls out his computer and finishes settling into the seat next to yours. Then, he sets something on the desk in front of you. “I brought this for you, by the way.”

Eyes landing on the iced coffee in front of you, you can’t find it in yourself to do anything but stare for a moment. 

“I noticed you have one sometimes, in this class.” With your silence, Jungwon suddenly seems unsure of himself. “I wasn’t sure what your order was, so I just guessed based on color. And I mean, light brown can be just about anything with iced coffee, so I hope you like it. I probably should have just asked, but…” he trails off, and you don’t think you imagine the light dusting of pink that settles across his cheekbones. “But I thought it would be nicer as a surprise.”

“I – thank you.” The fondness that’s been growing since your time together in library study room begins to swell again.

You glance at him, and your heart gives a strange, unsteady lurch. Not entirely unpleasant, but disquieting all the same. For a moment, it feels like something bigger. Something more.

Something you haven’t felt since a humid afternoon in a neighborhood park that you’ve been trying to forget for a long time. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Jungwon shrugs, but his cheeks retain their color. “I was stopping by the cafe anyway.” He gestures to the coffee on his own desk, proof of his claim. “Besides, it’s what a partner’s for.”

“Well, thank you,” you repeat. “I –”

“Again,” the sound of your professor’s voice, suddenly sharp, cuts through your words. “I’d like to give a firm reminder to you all that my lectures are not an appropriate place to carry on side conversations. Feel free to exit the room and forfeit your attendance points for the day if you are unable to refrain.”

Thoroughly cowed, you shrink back into your seat as a few wandering pairs of eyes land on you. 

At your side, Jungwon shakes with a silent hint of laughter. 

Despite the humiliation of essentially being asked to shut up in front of an entire lecture hall, the sight is enough to have you smiling. 

And when the two of you part ways an hour later with matching smiles and a promise to see each other again Thursday afternoon, your heart feels lighter than it has in ages. 

…..

When Thursday afternoon comes, it finds you and Jungwon tucked away in the same study room, sitting across from one another, laptops open, and outline for your project halfway formed. 

This time, the drinks that sit on the table in front of you are courtesy of your wallet. The iced coffee Jungwon brought you a few mornings ago wasn’t your usual order, but it is what you’re sipping on now. You can’t quite decide what you enjoy more: the taste or the sentiment. 

Either way, you have a feeling that a tradition of sorts may be blooming. 

You can’t say that you mind. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, to have someone to share it with. It doesn’t matter that it’s small. It doesn’t matter that it’s just an unexpected coffee to help a study session pass by just a bit faster. It feels nice, to be considered. To be thought of. It feels… special. 

With the same instrumental study playlist filtering through your laptop speaker, the two of you exchange a smile when Clair de Lune begins to play. 

With startling clarity, you realize that you enjoy this. It’s pleasant. A project that you were dreading with dragging feet has become something you look forward to. 

And you’re sure that it’s because of him. 

Despite the fact that you’re poring over research that would sting like a slap to the face under any other circumstances, Jungwon’s presence has a way of soothing the ache. Even as you scan over another promising article detailing the current research on soulmate matches in various geographic regions, you find yourself fighting smiles. Stealing glances. 

All Jungwon is doing is sitting next to you. Occasionally trading mindless conversations with you. But that’s enough to keep the reminders of a tragic fate lost to decisions and circumstances out of your control at bay for the time being. 

You’re not sure what it is, not sure why it seems to reach you somewhere that’s remained untouched for years, but the more time you spend with Jungwon, the more you start to like it. 

That odd sensation that almost feels like butterflies in your stomach. The stilted rhythm of a heartbeat that almost feels like it’s running a little faster, skipping a step every now and then. 

The warmth that sits high on your cheekbones and heats almost like a flustered blush whenever he catches your eye for a little too long. 

A million little almosts. A thousand little possibilities. The lingering ghost of a hundred somethings you thought you lost along with the dead countdown on your wrist two long years ago. 

But you don’t let yourself voice these thoughts. You’re afraid to even let your mind linger on them for too long. 

If it does, you’re worried that it will twist and tarnish whatever is taking flight into something ugly, something rotten. Will convince you that this glimmer of peace you’ve found is living on borrowed time and will only bring a future of misery in its wake. 

Because the semester will end, the class will finish, and your project will be submitted. 

Yang Jungwon will become nothing but a moment in time. A blip on a radar. A distant memory that you hope you’ll reflect on with fondness. 

Time will continue on with its incessant march, and the countdown on your wrist will still be that ugly, faded, gray. 

It doesn’t matter if the moments that pass between the two of you feel like almosts. Your fate was already written and unraveled by another man who didn’t want you. 

You’re a failure. A glitch. 

Pretty words and sideways glances and unexpected gestures imbued with kindness won’t change that. Won’t fix you. 

Yang Jungwon will move on from this project, from this class, from you. 

The countdown that you’re sure must tick bright red on his wrist will continue to get smaller and smaller, and you will be nothing but a forgotten memory. 

You’re not sure why it’s so upsetting, here in the sanctity of the study room. Not sure why this series of truths you’ve always known is suddenly so devastating. But something about the way they swirl in the recesses of your mind had you flailing, desperate for air, for distance, for space. 

Out loud, you choke out a halfhearted excuse about stepping out for a moment. The concern that immediately flickers across Jungwon’s features barely registers in your panic induced stupor. 

You need to go. Need to get away. Need to find somewhere to be alone and away from all of it, from him. You can’t breathe – 

“___?” You hear your name. You know it’s him. Hear him ask gently, “Are you okay?”

But it’s muffled. It’s all wrong. 

In your haste to escape, you knock over the gift, your gesture of goodwill in the form of coffee you bought for Jungwon. 

You watch, horrified, as it falls in slow motion. Hot, dark liquid spills over the table, narrowly avoiding his laptop and class notes. 

Of course. Of course you ruined this, too. 

“It’s okay,” you think you hear him say as he reaches for a spare napkin, dabbing at the growing puddle. But it’s not. It’s not. 

He reaches for his bag, pulling out another handful of napkins from the front pocket. Instinctively, he rolls up his sleeve, the left one, to wipe up the rest of the excess liquid. 

That’s when you see it. The inky 00:00 on the inside of his left wrist. 

It’s not red. It’s not shiny. It doesn’t make sense for him. A boy with stars in his eyes should have love on his skin. 

But even as you blink again, it remains unchanged. It’s a dull, muted, lifeless gray. 

A reflection, a twin, a copy of your own. 

A moment too late, his eyes fall to the skin of his wrist too. With the practiced reflexes of a trained athlete, he’s pulling it down just as quickly as he rolled it up. But it’s too late. You’ve already seen the truth. 

Shared pain. Shared shame. 

It grounds you. Reaching out a hand, you take a few napkins from the top of the pile. 

“Here,” you offer, voice unbearably small. A million questions swim in your mind, none of which you’ll ask. “I can help.” Hollow words and a hollow sentiment. There’s nothing you can do for him, and he knows it just as well. As luck would have it, spilled coffee is the least of your shared concerns. 

Nonetheless, the two of you wipe up the remainder of the spill in silence, a gentle piano melody still weaving its way around the space between the two of you. It wraps itself around both of your stained wrists, threads an invisible string between two lost souls, two shared fates. 

Finally, after long minutes, you are the first one to speak. “It didn’t get on your computer, did it?”

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. He reaches an outstretched hand towards you, taking the soiled napkins you still hold before discarding them in the trash can. “Just the table.”

“That’s good.” A moment passes. Two. And then, “I’m sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. You’re not sure what you should be apologizing for. In the end, you take the easy way out. “I should have paid better attention to where your cup was. You can finish mine, if you want.”

“That’s okay.” Running a hand through his hair, Jungwon explains, “I usually only drink it hot.”

“I can get you a new one –”

“Really,” he insists. “It’s okay.”

And it is. You can tell that he’s not upset, not about the coffee. But the tension is still there. Has yet to vacate the room. Has yet to drain from the tight line in his shoulders. 

You saw it. You have the sinking suspicion that he knows you saw it. 

That puts you at a crossroads. You can act as if nothing has happened, pretend that you saw nothing and do your best to return to your project. 

But you’ve had friends and family tiptoe around you for the last two years, and it never left you feeling anything but empty. Even more unwanted, more of an anomaly. More of a glitch. 

You don’t want Jungwon to feel those things. Don’t want him to feel as if he has to carry all of his pain by himself. So, you try your best, in a steady voice, hiding the shake in your hands underneath the cover of the table in front of you. 

“You know,” you nod towards his arm, taking great care to keep any sign of judgement clear from your voice. “I actually work at the Student Support Center. I know it’s rare, but there are lots of people and resources there dedicated to helping people that… struggle with soulm–”

“I think we should just work on the project.” Jungwon’s lips are tight, drawn into a thin line. Avoiding your gaze, he sinks a little further into his chair. Even with his eyes trained on the floor beneath him, you can see the tension in his jaw, the uneasy tapping of his fingers against his leg.

The way he tugs at the sleeve that sits over his left wrist makes you want to press matters further, to push just a little more until he knows that he has you on his side, but you’ll respect his wishes. 

You may have shared moments between the two of you, but you don’t know him, not really. The boundaries he sets are not yours to push. The lines he draws are not yours to cross. 

The last thing you want to do is increase his discomfort, even if you have the sinking feeling that you’ve already done just that. 

“Okay, yeah.” You take a deep inhale. “I overstepped. I’m sor–”

But Jungwon just shakes his head again. “Don’t worry about it.”

…..

But you do. 

You worry about it when you head back to your down nearly an hour later, after bidding him a goodnight that was still riddled with tension. 

You worry about it as you prepare dinner, accidentally leaving the stovetop on long after you’ve finished cooking. 

You worry about it as you try to fall asleep, unsettling thoughts of Jungwon suffering from the same pain, the same shame you’ve been hiding for the last two years. Distantly, you wonder how long it’s been for him. 

You worry about it when you arrive at your next Intro to Soulmate Theory lecture, two coffees in hand. 

Your worry turns to dread when long minutes tick by and still, the seat on your left remains horribly unoccupied, coffee going cold where it sits untouched on the desk. 

You worry when you arrive at work, the handful of messages you’ve sent still unanswered no matter how many times you check your phone. 

10:47 am You Hi Jungwon, sorry if this is annoying but you weren’t in class today and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay

10:58 am You I’m really sorry about the other day at the library. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

1:32 pm You Hey let me know when you see this. I just really want to make sure you’re okay. 

You’ve typed and deleted a million more, unsure of how to best approach the situation. You’re not close to one another, not really. You’re not even friends. You’re project partners, and not even of your own volition. 

You can’t seek him out, because you don’t know where he lives. Who he talks to. What his schedule is. 

The whole situation has you feeling a bit helpless. Your shift passes in an absentminded blur as you try to piece together some kind of solution, some way of making sure he’s okay. 

In your daze, you hardly notice that the clock has ticked all the way to the end of your shift. Jake finds you, an apologetic smile on his features. 

His voice sounds far away, muddled as he asks you for a favor, asks if you’d be willing to pull a double tonight since the person on the evening shift just called out sick. 

Usually you’d be hesitant, but right now you’re desperate for a distraction. Something to take your mind off of the fear that gnaws at your gut. 

But through the fog in your mind, you’ve forgotten one thing. In your old schedule, evening shifts were always your favorite. Primarily because they’re significantly slower than the daytime ones. Back then, the reprieve had been welcome, and you’d used the extra time to finish up assignments between tasks. 

But now, every agonizing minute feels like an eternity. 

And it’s an especially slow night tonight. From your office seat, you watch as the light rain showers outside turn into a torrential downpour. With a sigh, you resign yourself to the fact that no one will be visiting tonight. No one will want to leave their home in weather like this. 

In the silence, you’re left alone with your thoughts. Again, you check your phone screen, hoping that sometime in the last three minutes since you last checked, there will be a notification to ease your worries. 

But there’s nothing. The only thing that stares back at you is the time and the faint outline of your own reflection. 

Frustrated, you set your phone back down. There has to be something you can do. You’re halfway convinced that you should just go through everyone on your class list and send emails until someone knows something when the sound of the chime that hangs above the front door to the center rings out against the silence. 

Peering over your computer, you frown. Maybe Jake forgot something. 

But as the person draws closer, a familiar shape begins to solidify. And it’s not your favorite coworker. 

“Jungwon?” It’s him. You’re sure of it. Even if he looks more like a drowned cat than the boy you share a study room with. 

Your brow furrows, a strange mix of confusion and relief coloring your features as you stand from your seat. A million emotions flicker through your mind, running too fast for you to fully keep up. Annoyance that he’s been avoiding you and your messages. Confusion as to why he’s here now. And above it all, cold, sharp relief that he seems to be okay. 

But then you let your eyes scan him, falling from his dark hair to his soaked sneakers. 

He’s absolutely drenched, down to the bone. Rain soaked hair falls over his eyes, stray drops streaking over his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. Dripping from his dark eyelashes. His clothes, usually baggy, cling a bit closer to his frame with the added weight of precipitation. 

And his eyes. His sparkling, shining eyes full of starlight. 

They’re frantic now, imbued with a panic you recognize all too well. 

“Jungwon,” you repeat, letting your strides eat up the ground as you close the distance that separates you. 

He’s shaking, you realize. His entire body trembles. Without thinking, without even really meaning to, your hands reach up to smooth some of his dark, wet hair away from his eyes. Your touch only intensifies his shivering. 

He stands, motionless, dripping on the floor. He still can’t match your gaze, has yet to breathe a single word to you. 

“You’re shaking.” You can’t help but state the obvious. Removing your hand from his temple, you reach for his hand. It’s cold, too. Raindrops melt against your skin as you touch your skin to his. Finding no resistance, you envelop his hand in your own. 

Tugging slightly, you pull him into a nearby room, stopping only to grab a warm blanket. Guiding him gently into a chair, you drape it over his shoulders, let it cover his entire body beneath his neck. 

Stepping away from him, you begin to brew a warm cup of tea. After another minute of silence, you hand it to him wordlessly. 

You watch him take a tentative sip. His fingertips are red, evidence of the lingering chill in his bones, where he wraps them around the mug. 

A million questions bubble in your throat. You breathe life into none of them. Silence settles around the both of you. Not entirely unpleasant, but brimming with something heavy. 

You’re not sure how much time passes like that. It could be minutes, could be hours. Could be something not bound by the rules and restraints of physics at all. 

But soon enough, the mug is empty. Jungwon sighs. 

“I just,” he finally breathes, and you feel your heart clench in your chest. Seizing like his pain belongs to you. His voice is ragged, scraped raw. And so, so quiet. “I couldn’t be alone.” There’s a tremble in his fingertips when he adds, “Not tonight.”

“You’re not,” you assure him, shaking your head as you step closer. After a moment of consideration, you slide down into the seat next to him. “I promise you. You’re not alone.”

Jungwon closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the wall. You watch as his throat works around a swallow. 

“Okay,” he finally whispers. 

You mean it. He’s not alone. You won’t let him be. Not for the remainder of your shift. Not when the early traces of dawn start to streak in through the windows, clouds parting in the morning sky as the rain releases its grip on the world. 

Not as the sun starts to peek its head over the horizon, painting the sky in pastel watercolors and the promise of a new day. 

Even then, it’s just the two of you. Jugwon’s head it still against the wall. His eyes are closed, but you know he’s not sleeping. 

You don’t move until he does. Until he asks in a small voice if you’ll meet him at the coffee shop the two of you have started to become regular at. 

Until you honor his request with a nod and a promise to see him again in an hour. 

…..

The coffee shop is mostly empty this early in the morning. You watch, sipping absentmindedly on your iced coffee as a handful of patrons come and go, moving about their day blissfully unaware of the way your world feels a bit like it’s spinning on its axis. 

But you feel distant from them, too. 

The corner table you and Jungwon occupy feels private, secluded. A bit like the study room you’re also well acquainted with. A fitting place for revelations. 

After a minute of baited silence, Jungwon begins all at once, coffee warm between his hands. 

His match was supposed to be in a park, too. 

It’s interesting – the research you’ve been reading on location based matches supports claims that soulmate bonds prefer open air, areas surrounded by nature. Ironic then, that both of yours should end like this. 

Jungwon’s fate was set in stone later than yours. His match failed a year ago. Exactly a year ago. Today is an anniversary for him, a terrible reminder of your shared fate, shared shame. 

It was supposed to be in a park. His favorite one. A place he went often, a place he loved. He hasn’t been back since. 

Not when that eerie, cosmic, magnetic pull of destiny tugged at him until he was sitting on a bench, next to the rose garden that had just begun to bloom. 

Not when his breath stopped the second she arrived, and he knew, he knew that it was her. He was looking at his destiny. His soulmate. 

But she wasn’t looking at him. 

Not when he stood up to greet her, to meet his future with a wide smile and a fresh bouquet of wildflowers just as the shiny, red numbers on his wrist drew closer and closer to zero. 

Not when he watched, a distinct sort of dread building in the pit of his stomach, as someone emerged from the opposite side of the garden. He wasn’t carrying wildflowers, but he did hold a single, ruby red rose. 

Not when time ticked on, revealing with every steady, agonizing second that this stranger had the same intentions, the same plan. 

The same countdown. The same fate. 

Not when he watched, motionless, helpless, as this stranger met her first. 

Not when he watched in abject horror as both of their faces lit up with smiles. When she took the rose from him with care in her touch and love in her eyes. 

Not when he looked down at his own wrist, vision blurring as tears began to gather in his eyes, as bright, shiny red faded to a dull, lifeless gray. 

Not when he was a failure, a miscalculation. An unfortunate needle in a haystack of success stories. A glitch. 

Not when he watched the woman that was meant to be the love of his life fall into the arms of another man and leave him standing there alone. Lonely. Forgotten. 

Not when his fingers began to shake so bad that he couldn’t maintain the grip on the bouquet. 

Wildflowers stained the earth beneath him in a garish array of too bright colors, and he knew, even then, that part of his heart would be left there to die, too. 

Even now, in the seat across from you in the cafe, you can see the toll it takes on him. 

So you strain for a fragment of twisted comfort in the only way you know how. A reassurance that this particular cruelty is not his alone. That somehow, in an unlikely twist of fate, your paths crossed. 

Laying your left arm on the table between you, you slowly drag the bottom of your sleeve up. Only an inch. And only for a moment. 

It’s not a lot. Against the tides of his own agony, it’s nothing at all. But for now, it’s enough. 

…..

There’s an odd sort of balance, a distinct sense of comfort that comes from the simple act of understanding. Of being understood. 

It’s not quite as easy, as lighthearted as it was before, but you and Jungwon are quick to fall into a new kind of simple rhythm with one another. One that saves space for the intricacies of your shared pain and shame while still keeping them at an arm’s distance. 

It’s not solace. But it is something. 

You’re off tiptoes and on solid ground. For the first time in your life, you don’t feel the need to constantly check the length of your left sleeve. At least, not when you’re with him. You don’t have to pretend that it doesn’t hurt to sit through hours of lectures on soulmate theory every week. 

You don't have to explain any of it. Jungwon just gets it. He already knows. 

But when you meet him for your next Thursday study session, two coffees in hand, Jungwon’s eyes aren’t sparkling with their usual stars. There’s something different there now. A kind of fire you haven’t seen from him before. One that glimmers with determination. 

As you slide down into the seat across from him, he skips all pleasantries and says instead, “I think we should switch our project topic.”

It takes a concentrated effort not to knock over the coffee you set down in front of you for the second time in the span of weeks. “What?” At this point, your outline has long been finished and you’re well into writing your report. The thought of changing topics with barely a week left until the submission deadline is absolutely ludicrous. “Why?”

Jungwon doesn’t miss a beat. “I think we should do our project on glitches.”

You recoil as if you’ve been slapped. 

Glitch. It’s a word people usually tiptoe around, whisper behind closed doors. Not meant for respectable society and certainly has no place in a university research paper. 

You don’t even take a second to consider. “No.”

“What?” Now Jungwon is the one who looks surprised. Brow creasing, he presses. “Why? I mean, we’re both gl–”

“I said no.” You can’t hear him say it again. Features falling, Jungwon’s confusion begins to mingle with hurt at the sound of your sharp rejection. This might not be something that you’re willing to compromise, but your intention was never to hurt him, either. 

Sighing, you explain, “Look, I’m just not comfortable with it. Besides, we’ve done so much work on this topic already. It doesn’t make sense to switch so close to the deadline.”

Only a fraction of what you’ve said seems to resonate. After a pregnant pause, Jungwon echoes. “Not… comfortable.” His tone is flat, as if your words are indecipherable to him. 

He doesn’t continue, but you can tell that he has more to say. Can sense the words bubbling on his lips, begging to drip from his tongue. This is already a sensitive subject, and it’s made even more so by the way he tiptoes around it. 

Across from him, your cross your arms across your chest. “I can tell that you have something else to see.” You don’t mean to be combative, don’t mean to start anything. But annoyance is starting to creep in. It’s dragging dread along with it, like an old friend, like a dangerous reminder. 

“It’s nothing.” Jungwon shakes his head. “I guess I just don’t…” He trails off for a moment, deciding how best to tread treacherous territory. “How can you not be comfortable? I mean, you’re a glitch like me. Aren’t you curious at all? About why we glitched? If there’s anything we can do to fix it?”

And there it is. The lingering fear you’ve been working for two long years to overcome. The deep, aching insecurity that beneath it all, this is all your fault. That something is fundamentally wrong with you. “Fix me, you mean.”

Jungwon frowns. “I mean, I guess you could look at it that way, but I’m more curious about what kind of solutions there are.” He presses on, oblivious to the way every word sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. The way every syllable pierces like a knife against your skin. 

He’s not overflowing with hopelessness where he sits across from you. No, he’s enthusiastic as he tells you, “I did some research the other day, actually, and there’s this one scholar who thinks that all glitches happen for a reason. He thinks that you can still meet your soulmate and get your countdown to turn back to red if–”

“Stop.” Your voice is too loud, too sharp, too much, for the scant space of this small room. “Please,” you’re whispering now, but Jungwon flinches all the same. “Just stop.”

Jungwon’s eyebrows draw into a tight furrow. You thought he understood, but he doesn’t. He still doesn’t get it. He tells you as much. “I don’t understand why you’re so against it. I mean, we finally have a chance to look into why we gli–”

“I said, stop.” Jungwon looks as if you’ve pushed him. Dumped ice cold water over his head and left him out to dry.

But now he’s angry, too. There’s an accusation in his words when he says lowly, “I thought you would understand.” 

And you do. You know how flowers wither when they’re left to die without any water. You know how love blossoms and blooms and dies all within the span of a single breath. You know what it feels like to carry a constant reminder of your most intimate pain seared into your skin, your soul. 

There was a time when you wanted to be fixed, too. When you would have given anything to have a second chance at that day in the park two years ago. When you were sure if you could just do it again, you would walk away with a different fate. A red countdown. A soulmate. 

But the longer you spent with your grief, the more you realized that it didn’t matter. The what ifs didn’t matter. The maybes didn’t matter. The almosts didn't’ matter. 

You can’t reverse time. You can’t turn back the clock until your countdown glows red again. You don’t get a second chance at that afternoon in the park. 

All you get is the life you have now. And you can grieve for what you’ve lost. Part of you always will. But if you spend the rest of your life lingering on it, obsessed with it, trying to fix it, then that’s all your life will be. 

You won’t just lose a soulmate. You’ll lose yourself, too. 

You’ll lose new friendships and favorite coworkers and every goal and dream you’ve ever had. You’ll lose quiet moments in secluded study rooms, trading smiles and sharing coffee. You’ll lose every shred of happiness in search of something that never really existed. 

Sitting here now, across from Jungwon, you’re not just angry. You feel stupid, too. Ridiculous for ever thinking that maybe, just maybe, butterflies bloomed in the pit of his stomach when he looked at you, too. 

That maybe, just maybe, when he matched your gaze, your eyes turned ordinary things into starlight, too. 

But even with gray on his wrist and pain in his heart, the distance between the two of you has never felt wider. 

Jungwon won’t even match your eye now. He aims for the heart instead. “You know, you’re the only person I’ve ever met who I thought would understand. Who knows what it’s like. To lose the only thing in life that really matters.” His voice is small, but it’s teeming with frustration, with misplaced anger. There’s an unmistakable fury in his eyes when he finally lets his gaze land on yours. But you know him now, even better than you thought. You see the pain just as clearly. The confusion, the hurt. 

And where he expects to find an apology, or perhaps some sort of agreement, he’s met only with a rage to rival his own. 

“Fuck you.” It’s barely decipherable under your breath, but he catches it, even if just barely. 

“What?”

You double down. “I said, fuck you, Jungwon. How dare you. You think you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt, the only person that this stupid fucking system screwed over?” And now your anger has been let loose, the floodgates opened. It rises, ebbs and flows like waves against a shore. Weathering over all the sharp pieces and jagged edges that time hasn’t yet managed to erode. Spills over onto the table like his forgotten coffee from weeks ago.

“Why do you think I work at the support center? Why do you think you’ve never seen me in a short sleeve shirt?”

You’re angry and you’re hurting and you understand his pain. But it’s worse this time. You don’t know why his determination to fix his failed soulmate match stings like rejection. You can’t figure out why it burns in a way that’s all too reminiscent of that afternoon in the park two years ago. 

You feel it all, under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch, an ache you can’t get rid of. You don’t know why he didn’t just stop when you asked him, why he won’t just listen to you.

“At least you get to wonder what might have happened.” You don’t mean to do it, to throw his hurt back in his face. To compare pain, to stack your scars against one another and measure them like there’s a winner in this game. “I met my soulmate. I met him and talked to him and fell in love with him and he still didn’t want me. It doesn’t matter what some scholar says. You can’t fucking fix that.”

You’re standing before you know it, heading to the door before you mean to. But you can’t stay here, can’t watch him look at you like that. Not when every word that passes between you opens wounds you’ve spent ages trying to clean. 

Not when you know that none of it, even the parts you’d hoped you’d remember fondly, were ever done intentionally. He didn’t mean to hurt you. Didn’t mean to give you butterflies or look at you with starlight in his eyes, and that only makes it worse. 

You’re already beneath the doorframe when you find it in yourself to add, “You’re hurting and you’re lonely and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t deserve that pain, and you never will. But I refuse to do this again, to spend the rest of my life thinking there’s something wrong with me. That it’s my fault, that I can fix everything, fix myself, if I just try hard enough. My matched glitched.” You still can’t quite say the word without flinching. “I’m a glitch. But I refuse to let that be the only thing I am.”

When the door shuts behind you, it echoes, even in the crowded hallway. 

Your footsteps feel too heavy as they eat up the ground between you and the front door of the library. The late autumn air feels too cold as you walk back to your dorm, enveloped in the quiet of the evening, mind screaming with misplaced rage. 

The silence of your dorm room is too loud as you sit alone in it. 

And the mark on your wrist is too gray, no matter how you look at it. 

…..

Jungwon is antsy. 

Even with the space of a day between him and your argument, he’s brimming with a sort of uncontained energy that will only spell trouble if he doesn’t find a way to channel it. 

Taekwondo practice helps, albeit only slightly. Physically, at least, it grounds him. There’s a solace to be found in the repetitive motion of his well aimed kicks. 

He welcomes the familiar ache in his muscles like an old friend, sweat building on his brow as he lets the calm, flowing energy guide his powerful movements. 

But even after two hours on the mat and a long, overly warm shower, Jungwon’s thoughts are still spinning in circles, still doing cartwheels through his mind. He needs to talk, needs to process everything that’s happened, everything that he’s feeling. 

But save for one person, he’s not sure who to go to. 

It’s then, the last member of his team still towelling off in the locker room, that he realizes that under any other circumstance, the first person that he would want to reach out to, to spill his heart and guts and soul out to, is you. 

It’s been weeks, a handful of days, a smattering of hours, since you became a name in his mind. A person with an identity other than the pretty girl that sits in the sixth row of the lecture hall, and yet. 

And yet. 

Jungwon is suddenly overcome with the urge to reach for his phone, to send a message, make a phone call. His better judgement stops him before he can. 

Mostly because he has no idea what he would say. An apology is in order, surely. He still sees the look on your face against the backs of his eyelids. The way pain etched itself into your features, the way your shoulders never quite relaxed after he suggested the topic change on your project. 

He’s not sure if this is even something that can be remedied with words, but he is absolutely certain that he never wants to see that look on your face again. 

So an apology it is, then. But for what, exactly? 

If he’s honest with himself, he still doesn’t fully understand. 

He let his anger, his frustration, his pain get the best of him, yes, but it was more than that. He’s not sure why you seemed so personally affected by the idea of exploring research around soulmate glitches. Why that word seemed to eat at you so much. 

So he lets his confusion carry him to the only place where he thinks he just might find an answer. 

The Student Support Center looks different in the daytime. Jungwon still feels that nagging sense of discomfort as he forces his feet through the front door. 

His shame feels most prominent here, in a place where admitting that he needs help still feels like weakness to him. 

Swallowing his pride, he forces his footsteps forward. The desk he found you at a handful of night ago is empty. But the one next to it is occupied with another student, a boy. One that looks a couple of years older than you, if he had to guess. 

He smiles when he sees Jungwon, offering a generic greeting before he takes another look at him. 

Jake, he thinks it must be, if your descriptions are anything to go by. Another person that Jungwon has begun to become familiar with in the past few weeks, albeit only by your secondhand account. 

And you must have done the same for him, because Jake is quick to mask his shock with something careful, guarded. 

“Hi,” he repeats, standing from her seat. “I’m Jake.” Looking him over once more, something akin to a sigh escapes his lips. “You must be Jungwon.”

Jake, as it turns out, is surprisingly easy to talk to. He understands why you like him so much. 

In a matter of minutes, a fairly abridged version of your last library session has been reconstructed, laid bare in front of eyes that know you best. 

Jake is silent for a moment, turning over thoughts in his mind before he finally says, “It’s not my story to tell.” Jungwon figured as much. “But I think she would, if you asked.”

Jungwon nods. It’s permission. From an indirect source, maybe, but hope flutters through his chest all the same. He has a goal now, something to work towards. Something that he hopes will fix whatever has shattered between the two of you. 

There’s a brief pause before Jake speaks again. “What I can say is that she’s done a lot of work to move on. To find meaning in her life outside of the number on her wrist. To stop feeling incomplete, like a burden, like a problem to be solved.”

And I threw those fears back in her face, Jungwon realizes, something twisting unpleasantly in his gut. 

The despair must play out on his features, because Jake is gentle when he says, “I won’t pretend to know what it’s like, but I do know how it feels to grieve for what could have been. It’s easier, sometimes, I think, to let that consume you. To spend your life trying to get as close to that lost future as you can, even though you know it will never be quite right. Even though you know you’re chasing ghosts.” 

Jake folds his hands across his lap, lacing his fingers together. 

“She made the decision to let those ghosts rest, to let that part of her life go. To find something else worth living for instead. For the small moments, maybe. For joy, for love. All those things that she still gets to feel.” 

That you still get to feel. Jake doesn’t say it, but Jungwon hears it all the same. 

“Those things that nothing, not even fate, gets to take away.”

Jungwon glances down at his wrist. It’s covered, but he can feel the ever present weight of it. Of the gray mark that he knows, deep down, will never fade. Will never change. 

And for the first time in a long time, that truth doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

“I…” Jungwon isn’t sure how to wrap his gratitude in words. “Thank you.” For telling him. For helping you. For being here. “For all of it.”

“Of course.” Jake smiles. Lets his fingers fall to his sides as he stands, brushing invisible dust from his lap. “Joy is even better when it’s shared, no?”

Joy is even better when it’s shared. 

For the first time in a long time, Jungwon smiles. A real smile, a face-splitting, toothy, uncontrollably wide smile. One that hurts his cheeks and reaches all the way to his eyes. 

It’s still there when he’s walking back to his dorm. 

It’s still there when he sits down at his desk, reaching for his computer and turning on the last playlist he was listening to earlier, just for something to fill the silence. 

After a handful of moments, a familiar melody begins to lilt through his speaker. 

Clair de Lune. It’s a tune he would know anywhere. It reminds him of moonlight, of starlight, and everything in between. It reminds him of long study sessions and stolen glances and tentative whispers. 

It makes him smile even harder. 

Looking at the computer in front of him, Jungwon thinks fate just might be a tangible thing. 

He feels it in the back of his throat first and then the base of his nose. The telltale stinging sensations that always comes at the first sign of tears. 

He lets it. Welcomes it. Allows them to fall. 

Alone in his room, hard, long sobs wrack his entire body and leave him gasping for air. Sorrow and grief and anger and joy all tangled together in one.

Because Jungwon is done mourning himself, the ghost of a life that has haunted him for the last year. The future that was never his to begin with. The weight of possibilities that time cannot undo, that sheer will alone cannot change.

Joy is even better when it’s shared. 

And he thinks he’ll start with himself. 

…..

The knock on your front door is unexpected. And it comes just too late at night for you to feel comfortable opening it without a second thought. Footsteps padding as silently as possible towards the entrance to your dorm, you run through the short list of people you think could possibly be knocking at your door at this hour and come up blank. 

Against your better judgement, you undo the latch, opening the door slowly as if that will be enough to deter any unwanted visitors. 

Thankfully, the sliver of space doesn’t reveal a threat. But it does have your brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Jungwon? How did you–”

Explanations for how he found your address are not at the top of his priority list. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, words tumbling out all at once. “I don’t…” A pained expression crosses his features. “I’m not good with words, and I don’t always know what the best thing to say is, but I’m sorry. I never should have said those things about you, about us. I – we’re not glitches.” He pauses, frowning. “I mean, we are, but that’s okay. We’re okay. There’s nothing to fix, and I’m sorry that I made it sound like I think otherwise.” 

He trails off again, jaw working as he swallows the lump in his throat. “I… You have to know that I think the absolute world of you, ___. I would never, ever want to say or do something that makes you think otherw–oof.”

Jungwon’s words die with the sudden impact of your head against his chest, arms wrapping tight around his torso. Shock renders him immobile, just for a moment, before he’s melting into your touch. Returning your embrace as his arms twine around your back, fingers settling against your spine. 

It’s all there, wrapped up in this moment. A solid foundation. A warm place to land. Things that futures can be built upon. Things that can breathe life into possibilities, into almosts, into maybes. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his neck.

“For what?”

“For everything you said.” You melt a little further into him, and Jungwon hopes that he never has to move. “For being here.” 

You mean it. He knows it. 

He lets his cheek rest against the crown of your head. You feel the movement of his jaw when he tells you, “It’s the only place I wanted to be.”

He means it. You know it.

…..

epilogue. 

“Where are you taking me?”

“You know,” Jungwon rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his lips, too. “The more you keep asking that question, the less inclined I am to answer it.”

Huffing, you argue. “We’ve been walking for thirty minutes.” With still no destination in sight, mind you. “Don’t I deserve some kind of explanation.”

“That’s what the coffee was for.” Jungwon’s smile turns into a grin, one of those real ones that lights up his eyes. That has starlight reflecting in them. One that has you returning a smile o your own, despite your complaints. “To distract you from the physical labor.”

“Well, we can’t all be on the taekwondo team.”

Jungown just rolls his eyes again. “We’re almost there. I promise.”

And despite it all, you believe him. Because it’s been six months since you were first assigned as project partners and nearly two since your shared class ended. And he’s still here. Still a permanent fixture in your life. Still responsible for so many moments you’ve come to look forward to, so many memories you know you’ll cherish forever. 

Because despite the gray numbers on your wrists, you’re both dressed for the activity. It’s nearing winter now, but it’s unseasonably warm. With the physical exertion included, it’s weather that calls for short sleeves. 

Because there’s no one else you’d walk thirty minutes towards an undisclosed location for. 

Because there’s no one else that understands you the way he does, not just from shared circumstances, but also as a result of effort. Of honest conversations and the genuine desire to listen. To learn you. To know you like the back of his hand. 

Because to him, you’re just you. A person capable of joy and anger and grief and love and all of the beautiful, wonderful, messy things that comes with being a human. You’re not a failure, not something to fix. Your identity isn’t constrained to the gray mark on your wrist. 

Because you think you might love him for it. 

Because you know that you do. 

And when you finally arrive at the small neighborhood park ten minutes later, the only thing you’re thinking about is how beautiful the lake looks bathed in the glow of afternoon sunlight. 

Later, sprawled on a picnic blanket underneath the shade of an old sycamore tree, overlooking that same lake, you’ll turn to him and whisper some nonsense about recent studies claiming that soulmates often find each other surrounded by nature. Particularly in the presence of a body of water. 

Jungwon will roll his eyes, will brush a strand of hair away from your forehead while he tells you that he doesn’t care, that it doesn’t matter, that it’s all a bunch of nonsense anyway. 

His smile will be soft, as he hands you the small makeshift bouquet of wildflowers you hadn’t noticed him collecting on your journey here. You’ll tuck your favorite one behind your ear before you lean back against his chest. 

And it will feel a little bit like coming home, like resting after a long day, like basking in the first rays of sunshine as winter finally releases its grip on the world and blooms into a glorious spring when he intertwines his fingers with yours and whispers against the shell of your ear that he thinks you’re beautiful. 

Fate is a funny thing, you’ll think as his breath tickles the skin of your neck, sends a shiver down the length of your spine. 

And no matter how many nights we’ve spent berating it, cursing it, resenting it, I’ll always be glad that it has led us to this. Or maybe, you’ll wonder as he presses a gentle kiss to the curve of your cheekbone, the space between your eyebrows. 

Maybe we led it. Grabbed fate by the collar and forced it to bend to our whims like that masters of destiny we are. 

Whatever it may be, I’m glad that it brought me here. 

To joy. To love. 

And most of all, to you. 

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. As always, I love hearing your thoughts. All the best ♡♡

[sentient-stove]

“Cmon, I know you want to get out of your mentor’s shadow,” the ghost floated around him and Damian twisted to keep him in sights. “Make a name for yourself, ditch the traffic light color scheme. Get taken seriously, look out for the little guy.”

“You came out of an interdimensional portal and introduced yourself as a Crown Prince to a parallel realm. None of that screams looking out for the little guy.” He pointed out and Phantom pouted, looking oddly young.

“You’re right. Robin, join my emo band.”

“Who’s on it?”

“Um….. my ex girlfriend with a hoverboard and gun, a clone maybe, and hopefully you! And anyone else you put up for consideration. Also my sister.”

“You have a sister?” Did that interfere with the whole crown prince thing? Or was it something separate, like family by choice?

“She’s the most important member.” Phantom said solemnly. “She’s got a legal drivers license.”

[indulgentdaydream]

I added these two together. I hope you guys don’t mind! Since I added them together I’m also making this a two parter. My first one ever!!

Comparisons Pt.1

Jason Todd x Jealous!Insecure!Fem!Reader || Angst/Fluff || Word Count: 2,488

Part 2

Warnings: not proofread as of yet. Maybe will after i post who knows

After a six hour morning shift as a dishwasher, you were ready to head home.

It was the early afternoon, your shift having ended at 12. It was sunny. Warm, but not too hot. You were still in your work clothes, simple black pants and a black t shirt, your tote bag full of belongings over your shoulder. It was nice weather for the half hour walk you had back to your apartment. Better than the weather you’ve faired before.

Jason usually picked you up after your shifts, no matter where he was, as long as he wasn’t on patrol. He never wanted you to be seen in public near the Red Hood. He didn’t want you as a target.

“It’s bad enough I come straight here after patrol some nights.” He had said once.

“I’m just that irresistible, eh?” You had smiled.

He laughed, kissing your shoulder, “Damn right, baby.”

This day, though, you knew he was busy with a certain case he was working on. One he wouldn’t tell you about. He had been hard at work on it for the last few weeks, barely able to make much time for you. You didn’t mind. He tried as much as he could, even if it ended up being a five minute phone call, or a visit in the middle of night in between beaten-up thugs.

The sun hits your face and warms your skin in a comfortable way. Your headphones blocked out the Gotham noise, making the moment more enjoyable. Your favourite music instead of honking horns, sounds of engines, distant sirens, and people yelling.

You were stuck in your own world. You began thinking of asking Jason if he wanted to take you for a ride on his bike later. If he was free. You knew it’d be hard for him to say no. He loved taking you for rides. He didn’t have to say anything for you to know that.

You turn a corner, stuck in your head. Thinking about what you were going to do when you got home. You weren’t used to the morning shift.

You start your walk down the road, passing busy storefronts. Crystal shops. Pet stores. Mostly cafés and diners. You briefly considered working as a dishwasher at one of these places instead so you didn’t have to walk as far.

Maybe you and Jason could go to a diner tonight? That was a hopeful thought. There wouldn’t be time.

You’re walking past the third outdoor seating that takes up most of the sidewalk, small bistro tables hidden from the sun by large, white, beach-style umbrellas. Nearly identical to the two others you had passed, only different colour schemes.

You stare straight ahead, the extended seating narrowing the sidewalk and making it harder for people to walk around. You’re nearly halfway past the café when a hand reaches over breaching the shaded area and entering the sunlight to gently grasp onto your wrist.

You’re already twisting, ready to pull the mace Jason had bought you (though you more-so believe stolen from Batman himself, as you could see where he had scratched out the bat symbol on the canister) out of your tote bag and aim, when your eyes land on the owner of the arm, stretched across the thin barrier separating the seating from the sidewalk.

It’s Jason. His face hidden behind sunglasses, a small frown on his lips as he looks up at you from the shade. He waits for you to slip off your headphones before speaking.

“I was waving to you,” his thumb absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand. “You didn’t see?”

“Sorry,” You smile in relief at him, stepping closer to the barricade so as not to impede the flow of foot traffic. “I was more focused on getting around.”

There was someone sitting across from him. You didn’t think much of it at first. You saw red hair. That was regular with Jason, since he was always hanging around with Roy. Or Kory.

That’s who you thought it was. Roy. Nothing different at all. You turned to greet him, a smile ready on your face.

The second you clocked the pretty face, the waist-long, flowing, shiny red hair, your smile faltered.

Artemis gave you a sincere, friendly smile, her fingers swirling her straw in her cup.

Something churned in your stomach, “Hello.”

Jason’s grip on your wrist tightened slightly once, speaking up, “Why didn’t you call me to pick you up?”

You look back to him, “You said you were busy today.”

He frowns again. Technically, he had never said that. But it was true.

“Sit with us,” Artemis said, pointing behind her. “The entrance is there. We’re almost done anyways. Jason can drive you the rest of the way.”

You nodded, sending the best smile back to Artemis that you could muster in the moment.

As you approached, Jason reached towards the empty table behind him, flipping the chair and placing it at their own table, in between him and Artemis, facing where you had just been standing.

Something in the back of your mind noted how he didn’t even stand to do it, his face still pointed towards Artemis, his eyes concealed by his shades, hiding his expression. You sit down, placing your tote bag on the ground beside on, on your right, between you and Jason.

He picked it up and moved it onto the table without a word.

“This is my girlfriend,” Jason introduces you, his hands back on the table, folded in front of him. “This is Artemis. She’s helping me with my case.”

You nod, your mouth suddenly dry as she smiles at you again, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she smiles again, stretching out plump lips to present straight, shiny teeth.

Jason’s quick goes back to talking with her about whatever they had been talking about before you had walked past, wrapping things up.

You weren’t even capable of listening at this point.

You trusted Jason. You’d always trust Jason. This was for the case and nothing more. You knew that.

Jason had never really spoke about Artemis before. He had mentioned her once, in the early months of your relationship. You had done something. He had later asked you not to, saying he had a bad memory of it from his ex. He had never even mentioned her name. You knew he didn’t like talking about her.

However, you had been out with Jason and Roy at a bar once. Roy had briefly mentioned Jason’s ex, since she was included in the story. Jason had changed the topic fast after that. Then when he’d gotten up to use to washroom, you’d asked Roy to tell you more about her.

“Just what she looks like,” You reasoned. “So I can recognize her if need be.”

Roy hesitated in telling you, but he still did.

You trusted Jason. However, you were losing trust in Roy. He had never mentioned how gorgeous this woman is.

Her skin was smooth. Not a blemish or wrinkle in sight. You tried not to stare, but you couldn’t help it. Her hair was perfect. Her skin flawless. On further inspection you even realized she wasn’t wearing any makeup.

She wasn’t wearing any makeup and she looked that good?

Artemis lifted her coffee cup to her lips, nodding to something Jason was saying. Nothing you understood, anyways. Even if you were listening. You caught sight of her flexed arm as she finished off the drink. She was strong. Probably worked out nearly as much as Jason, but far more slim than he was. But in a good way.

She smiled again, wide, displaying her pearly whites. You ran a tongue over your own teeth, pursing your lips quietly in thought. Yours weren’t anywhere near that.

Your arms suddenly felt itchy as you looked over Artemis’ again. You looked down. You needed to take your eyes off of her. You were being stupid. Jason had broken up with her. Jason had picked you. He had been dating you for nearly a year and a half.

Your eyes drifted to your own arms, spots of acne along biceps. No definition in sight. Your under eye bags suddenly felt like they were on broadcast. Your face felt gritty, your hand coming up to absentmindedly scratch at the break out you had along your cheek. The frizz of your own hair visible in the corner of your eyes.

You looked back up, looking out at the busy street. Jason had chosen you. Jason loved you. Jason kissed you everyday and always made sure to tell you how much he loved you.

Except in the past few weeks while he had been busy with this case.

Had he been working with her this whole time?

You glanced back down as Jason placed his hand on your knee. He always did this when you guys were out. You look back up at him. He’s leaning on the table with her other arm, straight-faced, nodding along to something Artemis was saying. Even her voice is pretty. Her tone carrying a confidence you were failing to find in the moment.

You looked back down to your own legs, Jason’s thumb moving lightly back and forth over the side of your knee. He didn’t even know he was doing it. He never did.

You looked over to Artemis’ legs, hidden underneath a pair of jeans. Even then you could see how skinny hers were. Could see that her thighs weren’t spilling off the sides of the small metal bistro chair.

Soon enough, she was standing, beginning to say her goodbyes. You swallowed thickly. She was tall too. An amazon, you remember Roy mentioning. How could you forget.

The crop top she was wearing fit her nicely, showing off her toned stomach and even dipping down at the neckline to show some cleavage.

You looked away, your arms folding across your stomach, hiding your own torso.

She smiles at Jason. You quickly look to Jason and find him smiling, too. A genuine smile. One he had yet to give you while you’d been sitting here.

You’re his girlfriend, you remind yourself. He loves you.

She smiles at you and gives her farewell. You can only nod. You watch as she leaves.

God. She was nice, too. Nicer than you had wanted to be to her.

She walks in the direction you had come from. Her hair flowing behind her, an expensive-looking purse hanging from her shoulder. Most men walking past stop to turn and look at her. She ignored them all.

That never happened to you. In fact, Jason had been the first guy to ever even ask you out. You never understood why you were his choice. Not when he was able to pull women like that.

Jason pats your knee and pulls you out of your thoughts, “Want to get anything before we go?”

You can’t even face him. She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect. A fucking amazonian warrior.

You stare down at the table, catching sight of your own hands. Your nails worn from your shift at the restaurant, fingertips still wrinkled from the water.

Why the hell would he ever stay with you if she was still in his life?

“No.” You finally answer. “Thank you.”

He nodded, sighing as he fished out his wallet to pay for their coffees. He counts the bills and change, speaking with his head down, “How many times have I told you not to walk around with your headphones on?”

You lift your head to look at him, “What?”

He doesn’t look at you, his eyes still hidden by his shades. “Your headphones. You get so lost in your music you couldn’t even see me waving to get your attention.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the table, “I was looking past you. I didn’t expect to see you—”

“I was calling your name, too. If your headphones were off then you could’ve heard me.” He tossed a twenty onto the table, leaning forward on his elbows to look at you. “Anyone could sneak up on you.”

You pursed your lips, your brows tightening at him.

Why did she get a smile and not me?

Jason gestured to your bag on the table, “Same with this. The hell you putting it on the floor for? You wouldn’t notice it was taken until far too late—”

“You don’t have to drive me,” you interrupted. “I’ll walk.”

Jason cocked his head slightly, looking genuinely curious, “Why? Car’s right over there—“

“I’ll walk.” You repeated. Firmly.

You needed the walk. You had to try and work the jealousy out of your mind before you got into it with Jason. You didn’t want to argue. Not now. Not in public.

Jason sighed, running a hand over his mouth, “Don’t be like that.” He started to stand, his keys jingling in his hand, “Come on.”

He reached to take your bag for you, a large brown envelope already in his hand. Whatever Artemis had given him.

You reached out and snatched it from his hand. You stood, throwing it over your shoulder. “I’ll walk.”

Jason stared at you for a moment, seemingly frozen in place.

He sighed through his nose, “What’s wrong?”

You took a deep breath trying to control your emotions. This was stupid. Jason had broken up with her for a reason. Had been dating you for the last year and a half for a reason.

Unfortunately, your mouth was working faster than your mind, “Don’t act like you didn’t start this.”

Jason pushed his shoulders back. He tried again, “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, frustrated.

“Fine,” he stuffed his free hand in his pocket. “Just don’t be wearing your headphones while walking around.“

You were tired. Your shift had been long. You were worked up from your mind running all the comparisons between you and Artemis. It was still running them, you suppose, as otherwise you wouldn’t have said, “I guess you wouldn’t have to worry about her all the time. She can handle herself.”

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his first shown emotion since that smile he’d given her, “Who?” Then they shot up almost just as quickly. “Artemis? Is that was this is about?”

You felt your face heat up in embarrassment at his realization. He’d figured you out.

His shoulders tensed, “Do you really not trust me?”

The way he had said it, his tone, has made it sound like the silliest thing in the world. Now it made you feel even stupider. Of course you trusted him.

You caught people staring in the corner of your vision. You ducked your head back down.

You gripped your tote bag at the straps over your shoulder and stormed off.

You heard Jason call your name as you passed by him again, on the other side of the barrier, headed back to your apartment.

Hope you guys enjoyed!! Pt 2 will be out later this week!!

Update!! Part 2 is here!!!

Part 2

[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club)

(strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!x reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ only, minors i am ON PATROL

Chapter 011: Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Movie night is cut short when Billy and Eddie both show up to your door in search of compromise.

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

somewhat smut = *

smut =**

word count: 4.5k words

disclaimers — eddie’s bruised lil face, billy’s bruised face, no one is beating the living daylights out of the other this time. 😵‍💫 just a lot of ✨ fluff ✨ and you guessed it… ANGST , traumatic flashback, max being a mastermind with her plotting & scheming 👀

“My head is saying ‘Fool, forget him!’, my heart is saying ‘Don’t Let Go’…”

♡

Isabelle Munson is a menace and a half.

It’s obvious that Eddie’s ex wife married him for one thing and one thing only: his money. And, when caught in her web of lies, Isabelle quickly threw him under the bus to cover her trail.

“What, are you trying to take over Hellfire or something?”

It’s no wonder why Eddie freaked out on you like that. The clinginess and need for control over your ‘situationship’ probably set off all the necessary alarms in his head. Even though Eddie probably knew your intentions, he didn’t want to risk the possibility of another Isabelle. After all, she too started as an employee.

POP! Snap! Fizz…

Max pours a can of soda into her ice cold tumbler. She stirs it around before taking a few sips.

"Your boss’s ex wife sounds like a bitch," she comments.

"The biggest bitch," you shake your head. "I’m reading up on all the tea right now."

A paramour for control, Isabelle’s calling to make Hellfire all about her started affecting the work-life balance. So, Eddie sent her to NDA Gentlemen’s Club in order to keep their affairs separate. But then a romantic affair began to brew between Isabelle and Terry, the owner and actual culprit behind the scandal. And of course that opened up another can of worms.

“Why would Isabelle wanna put Eddie behind bars instead of the guy who actually tried to sex traffic her?” Max inquires.

“Terry Hobb was already gonna be arrested,” you discover. “If Eddie went under too, Isabelle would likely be entitled to his assets while he’s locked up. Probably what she wanted all along.”

Framing Eddie for a crime. Something that’s so easy to do in Hawkins.

Like Billy said, Eddie coming from a long line of criminals did NOT help his case. Drug dealer, murderer. Con-man and arsonist. Eddie being someone who trafficked the vulnerable would be easy to believe, especially in a town full of conservative women who were tired of their husbands coming home late — and drenched in glitter.

To bear the Munson name is not exactly a blessing. Even the woman Eddie made a Munson managed to do him dirty.

There’s another kind of wolf that Mom never warned you about: the one dressed in white — the wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“This is all so awful,” you swallow hard, finally planting your phone face down onto the kitchen table.

And now Eddie’s business is in jeopardy again. All thanks to two volatile Hargroves who have no sense of self control.

"Why do I feel like there's something there?"

Max brings you back to earth. When you turn, she’s smirking at you.

“What do you mean?” you ask her.

“Oh come on,” Max rolls her eyes. “You seem really bothered by this. And Eddie beat THE LIVING SHIT out of Billy. Doesn’t seem like he does it for just any employee.”

You feel yourself blushing. Not only that but Eddie never fights anybody, period. He’s always called on Henry to do all the dirty work for him.

But Eddie knew about Billy and how powerless he made you feel. Seeing your abuser meandering so comfortably around his establishment was probably the last straw.

“There…might be something,” you confirm. “It’s hard though. Eddie doesn’t wanna commit.”

“Well after a marriage that traumatizing I wouldn’t either,” Max shrugs. “I’d be deathly afraid of women for the rest of my life.”

She walks over to grab the two bowls of popcorn that you guys heated up for everybody. You two, along with Vicky and Robin, are having a movie night to wind down from all the chaos. Tonight’s choice is Grease.

"Alright kiddos, camp is almost set up!" Robin dances her way into the kitchen. "We ready for some Grease Lightnin'?"

Max swoons as she adds some more key ingredients to her popcorn. "Hell yeah! Love me some Travolta and showtunes."

“What are you doing?” Robin asks, watching your sister douse your shared popcorn bowl with cayenne pepper and lime.

“A lil California spin on mine and Sissy's popcorn,” Max shrugs. “A squeeze of lime and some tajín. Well — cayenne pepper — since we don’t have any."

“That’s outrageous.”

“Wait till you see what we do with street corn,” you gush, dreaming about elote.

“Oh god…” Robin goes pale white.

“No really, Robin! It’s pretty good,” you insist.

“Not that!” Robin shakes her head. She points out the window. “That…”

You turn in the direction that Robin points in, which is outside towards the street.

Billy.

“Billy,” you gasp silently.

Your brother is parked along the curb, climbing out of his rental car with a little pep in his step. You watch as he checks his, relatively bruised, appearance, tugging at his hair and giving his clothes one last pat-down before making his way over.

Concerned footsteps dart their way into the kitchen. Vicky looks just as mortified as Robin.

"Do y'all see this?" Vicky questions.

Everyone nods to validate.

"How does Billy know where we live?!" you demand turning to the only other person here who has his phone number.

Guilt spreads across Max's face. As mortified as you are, you can't blame her. The fucked up parts of yourself would've done the same thing. You and Billy were in dire need of a heart to heart.

"You guys need to talk," Max explains what you're thinking. "I'm not letting him leave without at least a word or two. He agreed to be civil when I texted him."

"Thanks," you mumble. "I would've done the same."

Anyone who didn't fully understand the dynamic would've thought you and Max were crazy. But there is a part of you that will always love Billy.

Billy’s getting closer now. You can hear him clearing his throat from outside.

“So are we going to need the fire department too?” Robin asks, phone readily in hand.

“Most likely,” Vicky shrugs.

“No one’s calling anybody,” you instruct. “At least not yet. Let’s just see what he wants first.”

Billy's at the door now and you have no choice but to answer. You swing it open before he could even get a knock in, knuckle floating in mid-air but slowly drifting back down when he sees you in front of him.

Your big brother. At least by two minutes.

“Sup,” Billy greets you, almost jokingly. He flashes you a peace sign. Hi. I come in peace.

“You look awful.”

“Yeah, mosh pits aren’t really my scene,” he takes a sly jab at Eddie.

He requests entry into your new humble abode to which you deny. Billy backs down without question. So instead you walk out into the porch and close the door behind you.

“Before you press charges,” you preface. “I just want you to know how hardworking, kind, and empathetic Eddie i-”

Billy stops you with a raised hand. “I’m not…pressing charges.”

You’re almost stunned. “You…you’re not?”

“No,” Billy’s eyes are sullen. “I started it.”

“Eddie threw the first punch,” you point out. “If anything all you did was provoke him, which obviously won’t hold up well for him in court-”

“I…” Billy insists. “…started it.”

You don’t question it anymore because you can sense aggression brewing. And you preferred to talk to Billy when he’s calm like this.

Both of you take a seat right on the porch stairs. You can feel Vicky, Robin, and Max staring from inside.

“I deserved it,” Billy shakes his head. “And everything else coming to me for what I’ve done.”

“You don’t deserve it,” you try to convince him — and even yourself — of what you’re saying.

“YOU don’t even believe that,” Billy says, seeing through the bullshit. “Just fucking save it, okay?”

It's not like you can deny it any longer. Billy is the reason why you and Max are in this situation.

“I could’ve killed Max if I had been any more careless,” Billy grieves. “All because, what, she threw a box at me? And punched a hole in the wall because I said shit that made her do it. What I did made me lose everything I had left. Made me lose you guys."

Accountability, that's the first step. You turn away from him, refusing to believe this new change of heart.

"I didn’t honor your wishes to be left alone or at least given a little space..." he continues. "Showed up to your safe space and overstayed my welcome. And it blew up in front of me. Probably shattered my septum too."

"Do you see now?" you choke. "Do you see why we can't live with each other?"

"I'm sure we can, we just gotta change our ways."

"We've been trying to change our ways since Dad and Sue left!" you hiss. "Since Mom died, since the first crack in the glass. We change, but it just evolves into something worse."

Crickets on Billy's end. You can tell he's sitting with the words, no matter how uncomfortable they feel. But that alone is another big step.

You turn to stroke his face. He closes his eyes in dismay, soaking in all the affection radiating off your delicate, trembling hands.

“Look at what we do to each other, Billy," you plead. "It's not like this when we're apart."

Billy opens his eyes. They’re glistening with tears.

You fill him in on the friends you've made in Hawkins. How much your bank account grew. The payments you’ve caught up on since stripping at Hellfire. How you and Max sleep comfortably through the night. After what seems like forever.

Life is beautiful without Billy. As much as you didn’t want that to be true.

Billy finally speaks again. “What happened to us?”

“I don’t know,” you shake your head. “And until we can both get our shit together, we need to stay away from each other.”

And now it’s 1998. You and Billy are four years old, playing tug-o-war over the last chocolate chip cookie in the jar.

CRASH! went the jar when it fell to the floor.

You’re both in trouble now. Or so you thought.

Billy ended up winning this round, scurrying off with the cookie while you attempted to sweep the broken shards of glass away. But knowing Billy had gotten a beating several days prior — it was BAD this time — you decided to take all the blame.

“Say ‘Sorry Daddy’ right now,” your father ordered after three aggressive spanks to your backside.

Bent across his lap, you bite your tongue as he issues two more spanks with his large, calloused hands. It was sure to leave a mark.

“SAY IT,” Dad roared.

But you weren’t sorry. So it came out strained.

“‘m sorry Daddy,” you sniff. “And I’m sorry… Billy.”

The last word wasn’t worth it. It was never worth it.

Your buttcheeks were burning, eyes stinging with salty, resentful tears as Dad continued to use you as an outlet for his rage. When you thought it was over, Dad chucked you off his lap, pulling you by the hair to toss you against the wall like it was some dodgeball game at the Y.

Billy’s eyes watched in horror. Your eyes burned into his as he poked his curious head out from the wall he was hiding behind.

“Doing it for you,” you mouthed to him.

Later that night, your bruised behind hobbled side to side to your shared room after your bedtime routine. To your pleasant surprise, there was something waiting for you on a small plate at the foot of your bed.

The last chocolate chip cookie.

You and Billy never apologized to each other back then. So acts of service like saving each other the last sweet treat made for a good alternative.

Billy walked over to you as you fawned over the last cookie. You turned to him in disbelief.

“I thought you ate it,” you smiled.

“No, I was saving it,” Billy lied. “All for you, Sissy.”

“It used to be us against the world,” Billy recalls. “As cheesy as that shit sounds.”

“But now it’s just...not,” you point out. “We just can’t be in each other’s lives. We gotta love each other from afar, Billy. At least until we can figure out how to be civil with each other.”

Billy doesn’t speak for a while. Instead he takes a look around the neighborhood. The tall trees that decorate the telephone poles. The flat land that perfectly accentuates the edge of the horizon. The fresh air, slightly corrupted with the overpowering scent of Marlboro. It’s no quaint beach town, but there was something about it that screamed “home” in no way San Diego can.

“Are you sure this is something you wanna do?” Billy questions you, referring to your job. “It’s not a safe gig, sis.”

“I can handle it,” you insist. “It’s temporary anyways.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this…” he sighs. “But I’m proud of you… ass and tits out and all.”

“Gee thanks,” you joke as you nudge him. “I’m glad I have your approval.”

After a while, you two finally stand up and make your way inside. Max is reluctant to walk towards Billy when he walks in, but that same invisible cord inclines her to do so anyway.

“You still don’t like me, huh?” Billy infers.

Max crosses her arms. “How can I?”

A timid smile forms across Billy’s face. “But you don’t hate me?”

Max repeats her sentiment. “How can I?”

She runs to him and snakes her arms tightly around his waist and he swings her around. Max giggles like a child when he playfully ruffles her hair.

“Seriously, how can I?” she questions. “I’d really like to take an expert class on how to hate you.”

Billy chuckles. “You need money for school books?”

“No, Sis got me on that.”

“Of course she does,” Billy says, peering over at you. “You’re in good hands.”

You formally introduce your brother to Robin and Vicky but it’s an awkward ordeal. Can't expect your good friends to get along with the person whose choked you out on multiple occasions throughout most of your life. Slapped you around as well. Pulled your hair and tainted your body black and blue. Calls you "bitch" and "slut" wherever he sees fit. But still loves you with everything he's got. And you, him.

Trauma is a weird thing.

Billy didn’t intend to stay for long, so he sees himself out shortly after that.

“Alright, I’ll text you when I leave,” Billy announces. “Call me. Please. If you two need anything.”

“Okay,” you smile. “We’ll be sure to answer this time too whenever you call.”

Billy gives you a half-assed salute as he swings the door open. He nearly shifts himself backwards when an unexpected surprise greets him at the door.

Eddie.

Standing 5-foot-10 with a face full of contusions and cat-like scratches is your boss. Eddie cringes when he sees Billy, eliciting a similar reaction from your brother the moment they register each other.

The silence is deafening.

There’s an urge to pick up where they left off, but both men refrain from doing so for your sake. Billy stomps off, shaking his head without meeting Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie turns to you. Waits until Billy is out of earshot to speak.

“You’re right about your brother being a douche."

You laugh. Eddie gives you that puppy dog pout with his chocolate brown eyes. You want to forget about him so bad. You want to let him go. But your heart is yearning for more.

“Do you still hate me?”

“Kinda,” you shrug. “But less so by the minute.”

“I deserved that.”

You can’t help it anymore. Eddie tries his best not to wince when you fall into him, wrapping your arm around his waist and burying your head in his chest.

He rubs your back gently before ruffling your hair. Then he plants a gentle kiss onto your forehead. It launches you into squeezing him tighter.

“You okay?” he mumbles.

You nod into his chest and he strokes your hair, allowing you all the time you need to let you guard down.

“How long is he staying in town?”

“Forgot to ask,” you answer him honestly. “Probably not for long.”

“You should board up your windows just in case,” Eddie says half-jokingly. “Install a few more locks. Probably a few cameras.”

You tsk. “Okay, I don’t think I need to get that carried away.”

“Fine,” Eddie shrugs. “Of course I can always stay the night too.”

His fingers dance up the small of your back, causing you to inhale sharply out of arousal.

“Protect you a lil more…” he continues.

“Yeah I don’t think so, Munson,” Robin clears her throat, knowingly interrupting the sappy moment you’re sharing. “Movie night is for the girls only.”

“You know I can always leave it to you to cock-block, Buckley,” Eddie laughs. It’s a reminiscent one. “Thought your silhouette looked familiar at Hellfire.”

Your eyes dart between them both.

“You guys know each other?!”

“We all went to school together,” Vicky explains, coming back into sight as well. “The three of us were all in the same band class at one point.”

“Until ‘Dungeons’ over here thought he was too cool for us,” Robin adds. “And started his own band.”

“I was always a lil eccentric, wasn’t I?” Eddie winks. “Thanks for remembering. Though Corroded Coffin is all a distant memory now.”

“So that means you guys went to school with Steve too?” you direct your question towards Robin and Vicky.

Vicky raises an eyebrow. “Steve? Like… Steve Steve? Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?”

“You know King Steve?” Robin scoffs, completely baffled. She crosses her arms in amusement.

“Oh she knows King Steve,” Eddie smirks. “Knows him real well.”

“Jealous much?” you quip.

“I plead the fifth,” Eddie mutters.

“And I plead that we all know less and less about each other,” Max sighs. You almost forget that she’s there. “If you’ll excuse me.”

The girlfriends follow Max back into their room to continue with movie night. Now you’re left alone again with Eddie.

You stare up at him.

“Are you okay?”

“Just a couple ruffled feathers, I’ll be fine,” he dismisses your concern.

"You've got a great deal of damage control to do when we go back.”

“Eh,” Eddie shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time my business was in trouble.”

You laugh and roll your eyes.

“And for as long as you’re along for the ride? This probably won’t be my last.”

“Swinging at my estranged family members, my hero my hero,” you joke, finding yourself leaning into him further.

And then you kiss him. It's your first advance in a while that Eddie doesn't shy away from. He kisses you back, with an ignited passion that surpasses even the electricity from Saturday in his van. It's an aching, and a longing.

His lips interlace ever so comfortably with yours. He's missed you so. And you missed him too. Even when you were being irrationally jealous over Nina.

“Gettin’ me in so much trouble, Hargrove,” Eddie grazes your back as he slowly pulls away.

And your eyes can’t help but trail down to his hands. Knuckles bloody, fingers absent of any rings for once, tan lines on all but one special finger.

“Did you love Isabelle?”

Eddie stares at you like you’re insane.

"Of course I did,” he insists. “She was my wife. There were some warning signs that she was after my money though, but I was too stubborn to believe it was true.”

You nod.

"But now you know," Eddie grins in exhaustion. “Now you know why I’m guarded. Because like you, even Isabelle looked like a dream”. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he mumbles, “Too good to be true.”

Your heart shatters for him.

“You need to start saying what’s really on your mind,” you say to him. “Speaking up, asking for help. I’m tired of watching you fight battles alone.”

“Then don’t look,” Eddie jokes. One second later and he’s back to being serious. “It’s pretty hard to trust people when they prove to you time and time again why you shouldn’t.”

He steals some popcorn from your bowl, tossing it up into the air. It successfully lands in his mouth.

“Besides. I’ve come this far without anyone, but Wayne’s, help. And I turned out fine.”

You glare at him.

“Couple scrapes and bruises,” he continues, alluding to his scuffle with Billy. “But I’m fine.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

Eddie offers you a look.

“What, you think I’m bluffing?”

“No,” the pitch in your voice heightens. “I just think…a healed person would let a little love in.”

Then those sad doe eyes meet you again, the kind of gaze that would cause anyone to go weak in the knees. You swallow hard.

“Please be patient with me,” Eddie mumbles. “I’m really trying.”

“I know you are,” you rub his arm. “We don’t have to rush into anything.”

You both lean into each other again, the need to have and be with each other a palpable energy between your torsos. You beam up at him as you run your fingers down his hair.

“I am ready for something though,” Eddie proposes. “I’d like to keep whatever this is going.”

“I’d like that too,” you heart begins to flutter.

You picture yourself grocery shopping at Meijer with Eddie. He’d push for you to buy desserts, but you’d remind him that he needs veggies in his life. You see yourselves going to the pumpkin patch as autumn approaches and taking goofy Polaroids by the scarecrows. And it’s like he’s already in front of you on Christmas, his tongue poking out slightly — like it always does when he’s deeply focused on something — as he fixates on making his gingerbread house a gingerbread home. And when the ball drops on New Year’s Eve, he is going to be your kiss, dipping you like the one sailor did with the nurse in that one iconic picture of the world war being over. And then you two would recreate that same pose when you take him back home to experience a San Diego summer.

A romance for the books.

“Just…sex and quickies all the time!” Eddie speaks, instantly yanking you out of your daydream. “Smoking together…asking each other about our day…cuddling, in the nude…”

Suddenly, Eddie’s cock-blocked himself with his fantasy that he revealed to you. The familiar tinge in your chest returns again.

“Oh…hooking up is what you meant,” you nod.

“Duh, what else?”

You swallow hard again. So now you know what this is all about. You know now what he really saw when he looked at you.

“So… just purely sex. I gotcha.”

“Whoa, don’t put it like that,” Eddie grimaces. “It sounds bad. We’ll get to the titles eventually, I just gotta dip my toes in first.”

“I don’t want you dipping any of you in anything,” you glare at him with disgust. “Sorry but for a while I thought you liked me for me.”

“I do, Shy Girl,” Eddie insists. “I’m just not ready for titles yet. We literally just got done talking about that.”

“Oh, but you wanna keep me around as a fuck doll, that’s it?”

“Don’t act like you don’t have needs yourself…” he protests.

“Yeah and Steve is meeting those needs,” you hiss. “The reason I’m bouncing between you guys is because Steve is my fuck buddy, but I’m willing to let him go if you want to be exclusive with me. Which I don’t get why you won’t call it exclusive if that’s theoretically the case.”

But should’ve known Eddie only saw you as a booty call. You two hang out at nighttime, flirt, and touch each other too often for that to not be a case. And, of course, when something else catches his eyes, Eddie moves on and simply pays you no mind.

“I thought you saw this going somewhere,” you scoff as you cross your arms. “Beyond a mattress and the back of your van.”

“I thought I saw this going somewhere too,” Eddie shrugs bitterly. “But now that you mention it, someone who is always questioning my intentions without letting me explain myself doesn’t deserve the title anyways.”

Could Eddie stomp on your heart any more?

Did he just expect you to wait around for him? Did he expect you to run around with ‘Reserved For Eddie’ while he decided how much of himself to give you on whatever day? None of it is fair. But Eddie doesn’t play fair. He just calls the shots, as always.

And to think the two of you would come to any sort of compromise tonight.

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

“Hargr-”

“Good…night… Eddie.”

“The power you’re supplying… it’s electrifying.”

Defeated, you end up excusing yourself from the rest of movie night and lugging yourself to your room. Max is in the room too, a huge surprise considering John Travolta was metaphorically a room over.

“Oh she is cuuute,” Max raves.

She’s talking about the red lingerie set from Nocturna, you realize when you drag your feet into your room.

“Thanks,” you shrug sheepishly, taking the set back from jet. “Eddie bought it for me to wear actually.”

You take the set in your hands and smooth it out just a little. It’s such a pretty set. Now it’s just collecting dust, a shame because you loved how amazing you looked and felt in it.

“Why don’t you wear it to Hellfire?” Max suggests. “I’m sure Henry would love it if you did for his dance in a couple days.”

“You want me to wear it for Henry?” you scoff. “That’s a no. Eddie doesn’t wanna see me wearing that specific set for anyone else but him.”

“Hmmm,” Max thinks. “We’re talking about the same Eddie. Right? Eddie ‘Non-Committal’ Munson?”

You smirk. She smirks. Your sister is a genius.

If Eddie truly doesn’t want to commit to you and make you his, then there is no need for you to commit to him either.

And the DEVIL WOMAN set is clearly no exception. There’s no need for a hot outfit like that to go to waste.

“I’m picking up what you’re putting down…” you grin, a rather wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing grin.

Max rubs her evil little fingers together. “Figured you might.”

“TELL ME ABOUT IT!” you two hear Robin and Vicky yell from their room. “STUD!”

And ‘You’re The One That I Want’ starts blaring through the speakers.

Its a shame that you and Max were missing your favorite part of the entire movie. But you two have your own revenge plot in the works.

And you, you’ve got your own dance number to practice. A dance for the One that you want. In this case, it’s Henry.

“You better shape up because I need a man. And my heart is set on you.”

Oh Eddie…

Let the mental gymnastics begin.

—————————

author's note: when eddie goes low, shy girl goes lower…. do you guys think eddie will be mad seeing shy girl dancing for henry in the red set he bought her? 🤔😈

—————————

🏷️ tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerr , @jxps i , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron

[kybercrystals94]

Teal Paint

Read here on Ao3!

Angstpril 2024 | Day 18 | Prompt 18: Left Behind

Rated: G | Word Count: 1526 | Summary: Memories left behind... | Character Focus: Hunter, Crosshair, Tech, Wrecker, Omega, Echo

*some slight spoilers at the very end for Season 3*

Tech finds a reasonably tame city to spend their brief period of downtime between missions. It took several months, but they’ve finally scraped enough credits together, and today is the day. The streets are crowded with evening traffic, the Batch walking close together to avoid being separated.

“Did you know,” Tech says, informatively, “that facial tattoos are among the most painful, depending on the location on the face?” 

“Thanks, Tech,” Hunter grumbles, “that’s really helpful.” 

“You’re not going to talk us out of it,” Crosshair adds resolutely.

Wrecker nods. “Yeah, we’re gonna do it no matter what you say, Tech!” 

Tech huffs. “On the contrary, I’m quite eager to observe the process. I just believe that being well informed is beneficial when making a life altering decision.” 

“Maker, Tech, getting a tattoo isn’t life altering,” Crosshair says. 

“It’s awesome!” Wrecker declares. “You should get one too, Tech.” 

“I prefer modifications that can be modified,” Tech retorts.

Crosshair leans close to Wrecker, puts his hand up to shield his mouth from Tech, and loudly whispers, “He’s too scared.” 

“That is not true.” 

“Aww, Techie’s scared,” Wrecker crows, throwing an arm around Tech. “I can hold your hand, be brave for the both of us.” 

Tech tries to extract himself from Wrecker’s grip. “I am not scared! I have stated my reasoning clearly and concisely. Fear has nothing to do with it.” 

Hunter rubs his hand across the left side of his face, a fist of apprehension balling up in the pit of his stomach. He isn’t having second thoughts, he’s almost positive that he’ll be happy with the results. He and Crosshair spent hours with a pad of flimsi sketching and scheming. Crosshair wanted something subtle, meaningful, a reflection of himself. Hunter, to his brothers’ surprise, wanted something bold. A statement. Memorable. Of the Batch, he most resembles, in appearance and speech, a reg. But he is no more a reg than any other member of his squad. He might not be able to easily change his facial structure or vocal pattern; however, inking half his face with the dark contour of a skull seems like a good start. 

“What do you think?” Crosshair asked, holding up the sketch he’d made of Hunter. 

Hunter grinned, taking the pad and admiring the simple lined likeness to himself, the skull motif shadowed deeply with graphite. He loved it. It was perfect. Exactly as he’d imagined it. “Looks good,” he told his brother.

Wrecker, at the last minute, decided that he also wants a tattoo, although his ideas are scattered and untethered to any sort of theme. Even as they approach the tattoo parlor, he is still undecided, claiming that it is going to be a surprise. 

“A tattoo is permanent,” Tech tells Wrecker again, having resigned himself to being tucked under Wrecker’s arm for the remainder of their trek. “You should at least have some sort of idea.” 

“I do,” Wrecker says, “My idea is that it will be the coolest tattoo in the entire galaxy.” 

“That is not an idea,” Tech sighs. 

At Tech’s direction, they turn off on a side street, the crowds petering off the further they walk. It doesn’t exactly feel like a bad part of town; however, it is less kept, the buildings showing their age and wear. Hunter is beginning to wonder if Tech got them lost when they turn another corner and a neon sign blinks the word “TATTOOS” at them, the flashing light practically searing into Hunter’s retinas. 

“They should get a brighter sign,” Crosshair snarks, “we almost missed it.” 

They step inside, and find the business deserted except for a human who stands up from a chair behind the counter. He is covered in colorful ink, his natural pigment completely lost under the tapestry of mismatched designs across every inch of his exposed skin. 

“Now that must’ve hurt,” Wrecker mutters to Tech, but he might as well have screamed it from the rooftops. 

Tech rolls his eyes. 

The man smiles, flashing white teeth. “Only hurts ‘til the pain goes away.”

“Naturally,” Tech agrees sardonically.

“I’m gonna guess you lot are here for some ink,” the man says. 

“They are, I am not,” Tech replies quickly. “I am here to observe.” 

“Not a fan of needles, huh?” the man asks. 

Tech opens his mouth to deny the accusation, but Wrecker gasps out, “Wait, needles?” 

Crosshair groans. “We went over this, Wrecker.”

“Yeah, well” Wrecker says, “it sounds different the way he says it.” 

“How?” 

Wrecker heaves his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I’ll just wait on my tattoo. Until I think of something good, ya know?”

Crosshair steps around Wrecker and jerks his head in Hunter’s direction. “He and I are getting tattoos. These are what we want.” He pulls two pieces of flimsi from his pocket with their chosen designs, pushing them across the counter. 

The man takes them, looking over the details. “Straightforward and to the point. I like that. C’mon around and we’ll get started.”

Hunter takes a deep breath. 

He’s not turning back now. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Hunter and Crosshair decide to add to their armor to coordinate with their new tattoos. The next time they’re on Kamino, they find their leftover paint and set to work, Tech and Wrecker joining them. Inspired by Hunter’s new half skull tattoo, they decide to incorporate the symbol into all of their armor in some way. 

“So help me, Wrecker, if you tip over another can of paint…” Crosshair mutters, snatching up the at-risk bucket from Wrecker’s proximity. 

Wrecker is sprawled out on their barrack’s floor, taking up far more than his fair share of space. His paint brush flicks up, sending a spray of heavy duty white across the room. 

“You’re cleaning that up,” Tech says from his place at the table.

“No one will notice,” Wrecker assures them. “Maybe they’ll look like clean spots!”

Hunter sighs. “That’s not a good thing, Wreck.” 

Wrecker ignores the comment, instead dropping his paintbrush onto the tray Tech ordered him to use and holding up his helmet. “What do you think? It’s a skull.” 

“Not a human skull,” Tech points out. 

Wrecker shakes his head. “Human skulls are boring.” 

“There’s supposed to be red on your helmet somewhere,” Crosshair gripes. 

Wrecker reaches over and plucks Crosshair’s fine tipped paint brush out of his hand, the bristles still dripping red paint. Crosshair sputters a curse as Wrecker happily begins painting with the stolen utensil. 

“Hunter!” Crosshair cries, “Tell Wrecker to give it back.” 

 Hunter doesn’t even look up from his work. “Let’s share our toys like big kids,” he coos, earning a chuckle from Tech. 

“I’m gonna give it back in a second,” Wrecker says. “Almost done.” 

Crosshair growls something rude in Huttese. 

“There!” Wrecker says, tossing the brush back at Crosshair, the sniper catching it from the wrong end, paint staining the palm of his glove. Wrecker turns his helmet again to the room. “See? It’s perfect.” 

The number 99 is brandished across the forehead of his helmet in dripping red. 

“Subtle as usual, Wrecker,” Tech says. 

Wrecker grins. “Thanks!” 

Hunter sits back and admires his own helmet’s new design, carefully imitating his inked face. It’s exactly how he imagined it. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“I like this color,” Omega says, pointing at a swatch of teal paint. “Oh, and this orange is nice.” 

Tech glances at Hunter, clearly questioning the decision to let Omega choose their new armor colors. Hunter shrugs. At least it will look…different. Which is exactly what they want. 

“What about this one?” Wrecker asks, pointing at the yellow swatch.

“Yes! I like that one too!” Omega cries. 

They purchase the three cans of paint and some brushes before heading back to the Marauder. Omega is beside herself with excitement. “Do you think the paint will work on my helmet?” she asks. 

“Sure, kid, ‘course it will,” Wrecker says cheerfully. 

“I’m gonna use orange on mine, then,” Omega says. 

That evening, spread out under the Marauder’s wing, the Batch set about repainting their armor. Wrecker can’t bear the thought of covering up the skull on his helmet, so he settles for removing the bright 99 from it instead, sanding it down and repainting the area white. With Omega’s help, he uses orange and yellow to accent the rest of his armor pieces. 

Tech and Echo decide to monopolize the orange paint, leaving very little to Hunter. With a sigh, he picks up the teal paint, and pries it open. Omega beams at him. “I think that will be a very nice color on you,” she tells him sincerely, and suddenly, the color doesn’t seem so bad. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“All the armor’s been stripped. But we’re still not gonna blend in,” Echo says, tossing Hunter his helmet. 

The colors of his past lives have been removed with finality. He knows it is necessary; however, he can’t help but feel the pang of loss as he stares at the familiar piece of himself he’s had for so long, devoid of the visible memories lingering like ghosts behind him. 

Maybe they’ll paint their armor again, when all of this is over. 

If they all make it back. 

END

@the-little-moment and @just-here-with-my-thoughts 🥳 I can't believe we've only got 4 more stories/chapters each to go!

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[terrence-silver]

Hey could i make a request please. Terry X fem reader, her former abuser comes back into her life to torment her all over again and Terry buts them in their place and destroys them physically, mentally, financially and when it's all over they'll thank him.

Jerry and Terry.

A story of disproportionate revenge; Terry Silver x Fem!Reader in the background (with an appearance from John Kreese).

---

Jerry is a man with a common office job and the accidental assonance of their names never fails to amuse Terry.

Infuriate him some.

Jerry and Terry.

Well, Jeremy, in actuality, just another information in the long mosaic line up covering everything he discovered about this schmuck, as much personally as through his sources, not that it was tremendously difficult seeing as how none of these common civilians were ever too much of a mystery anyway, granting him immense satisfaction in the hunt nonetheless — but the punk’s name might as well be worm or cockroach, because that’s in effect what he was, leaning over Colorado Street, in Pasadena, a two hour drive from LA, the July summer air after midnight still hot, the asphalt seeming to let off steams of a searing, stifling sensation, the cool breeze blown in from the Arroyo barely reaching the isolated steel ledge secluded from the buzz of the traffic; the city long since planned to put to preventive nets over the bridge — Terry should know because he personally funded the project with a generous donation and it was hilarious how life had a weird way of falling into place and connecting in the most bizarre ways on a bridge of occasional suicides where your ex was standing, hands in pockets, staring down into the dark depths of the river below, no such net in sight just yet except for a couple of signs issuing a warming that it was dangerous to lean over the railings, nothing separating him from the flowing abyss below. Him and the Mayor shook hands on the business venture two years ago. The news even reported on it with all the adulation in the world. Terry’s picture was in the paper. He was all over the news — long enough to distract from all his other ventures. But, it was one of those urban landscaping deals that would dawn on the news and then take years, perhaps decades, to be actually realized. Meant that Jerry could jump — and there would be nothing to save him from doing so. No cameras installed for security measures just yet either. Maintenance. Terry knew, because this was Terry’s city.

Terry’s country and State.

Nobody in sight right at this moment.

Merely a narrow concrete path along the bridge for pedestrians.

Terry, the stranger, snug in his leather jacket, not minding the heat, pretending to be an innocent bypasser.

Truth of the matter was, he ruined this man’s life and he developed the progression of the slow decay all along the way with great interest and like a cat eagerly eying a moving red string, Terry’s effortlessly led him here, deliberately, right to this very place, this very spot, on this very night, on this very bridge and the guy never even realized he had no say in any of it or that none of it was an accident. Jeremy got let off of work. Accused of embezzlement. Embroidered in schemes. In debt. Reputation ruined. Social circle gone. All that jazz. All the classics. And Terry did it all. Weaved it all. And it culminated in this. Do a flip, he thought to himself, approaching the man under the headlights, leisurely, acting like someone who accidentally stumbled upon a scene he wasn’t supposed to stumble upon, en route to somewhere else, haunting the city, stopping in his tracks, behind a steel pillar, watching Jerry climb over the ledge; He could say something now. It would've been expected. A hastily thrown in 'Hey, you there! Stop!' or 'Hey, you! Don't do it! Lets talk, man! Life can be good, actually. It can be good when you're not crossing Terry Silver, that is.' Something faux-poignant. Something mean. Something mocking. Something distracting or even infuriating to bait the man into arguing rather than hurting himself. Anything, so long as it distracts and causes the man to hesitate and think twice, but it’s only once Jerry’s heel is slipping over the edge of the pipe he was perched up on does Terry act, allowing himself to smile from where he's standing, seamlessly, feeling his mouth twitch upward, watching the shadow disappear over the railing into the darkness of the night. The next day, there's a suicide report briefly on the news and you never even catch it in the whirlwind of all the other crime circulating in the media. Your asshole ex, identified by his wallet and the documentation found in his soaked interior pocket, fished out by the loading docks. Just another statistic.

-"So, what he’d do?"-

John asked him on one occasion when Terry told him of his plans.

-"Nothing much."- Terry slings his arm over his driver seat leisurely, chuckling. He didn't treat you as well as you deserved? Tried to occasional get in contact with you again and stay on, quote-unquote 'good terms'. What did that even mean? Good terms? Wasn't that enough to warrant execution? Terry thought it was. It was a crappy, mediocre relationship and nobody had to put their hands on you for Terry to be convinced that deserved payback. Not to mention --- the said entanglement wasted your time. Time that would've been better spent with him if you weren't busy wasting it with some Jerry. Revenge. Reason for revenge, right there. They were parked near Griffith Observatory, in the embrace of a forested path, all zig-zags and steep rocks, the skyline of the city visible from a nearby slope, offering them both a view and sufficient privacy to talk. -"I just want him to die."- Terry confess bluntly, nearly cackling as the words rolled off of his tongue, sensing something exciting coil around in his gut like so many butterflies, seeing no reason to hide these things from his Captain after everything they've been through together and John gives him a lopsided, paternal smile, halfway critical, halfway entertained, like he was about to throw in the talk.

-"Terry…"-

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and Terry instantly protests.

Show mercy!? Why!? Since when were they the mercy-showing types!?

-"What? What!?"-

He finds himself whining slamming the palm of his hand against the backrest of the leather seats, feeling his own face furrow up. -"C’mon, Johnny!"- He sighs profoundly, rolling his eyes, annoyed and exasperated. This was some prime-time bullshit. -"Don’t you dare tell me that you never wanted anyone someone you loved loved before you to just, you know…"- He starts, trailing off, digging his teeth into his lower lip. Savoring the moment. -"Drop dead?"- He says it then, and it tastes so sweet, like caramel coated candy dipped in white powder. Terry knew all about Johnny nearly beating his beloveds Betsy's then-beau halfway to death on the parking lot of the Deli he worked in before the army. They were exactly the same, him and John Kreese. A Cobra doesn't tolerate competition. It's not in it's nature to. John says nothing. Almost as if contemplating that memory himself, looking off into the distance, pulling up the collar of his brown vest jacket on the passenger seat beside him, his face crinkling into a grim smile, not saying yes but not saying no either. Terry has the odd impulse to kick his feet up in the air in a flash of euphoria. -"We could always rough him up. Scare him. Hurt him, make him piss his pants and call it a day. I'm available for that."- John murmurs, the deep rumbling sound emanating from his throat recognized only as a suppressed chuckle. Terry grabs John by the shoulder and shakes him in excitement, halfway hugging him in joy. While kicking that Creature to a pulp did sound exciting it wasn't part of the plan. -"My man! Now we're talking! But, that would only martyr him!"- Terry lifts up his hands, engrossed in his own imagination. He felt more comfortable and content if this guy was just wiped out of existence altogether. Like, hit by a moving bus, perhaps. A guy that put his dick inside of you before being alive and well out there? Yeah. Unacceptable. -"No."- Terry says with a sense of looming doom. -"This is so final. There’s no coming back from it. And what’s best?"- He pauses slightly for dramatic timing, presenting the whole picture to John the way a storyteller would describe the synopsis of his newest magnum opus.

-"I’ll ensure he’ll do to himself."-

Six months into this special project and Terry never once put his hands on Jeremy. Could've. Itched to. But, he didn't. If Jerry deteriorated, it's because he ruined himself. With every drink, every cigarette and every sleepless, stressful night in tow. All Terry did was set events in motion and brought about the right environments for someone to start feeling profoundly unhappy.

-"I've put him through enough pain and now it's time to go to sleep."-

There can be only one, he almost halfway desires to add but he withholds at the last moment once he spots a shift on John's face --- that he didn't need any more convincing. Maybe it was an old habit --- an army habit --- but whenever Terry seriously wanted to end someone, he always came to Johnny first. To discuss the matter. Strategize. Get his greenlight from his Captain to go out into the field and terminate with extreme prejudice. That's how the hierarchy worked. Terry would do whatever he wanted anyway irregardless of John but he supposed he wanted to let him know. For old times sake. Reason why he invited him to meet here today. That and to gloat. -"Alright, Terry. If you say so."- John smiles that gruff smile of his, finally capitulating and Terry finally allows himself to breathe again after what seemed like an eternity of anticipation, letting himself be as jubilant as he wanted, turning the key in the ignition along with the steering wheel almost immediately, ready to get a move on, wasting not a second longer. There was a five star restaurant just down the road with their name on it. -"Of course I say so, Johnny! What I say is best!"- He exclaims, one hand on the wheel and another on the back of his John's neck, patting him triumphantly. Enough talk. Time to crack open the bottles before the big bang. You knew he was out with his oldest friend. You merely didn't know the context, is all. -"Reservations at five. Lets go grab that chow and celebrate!"- Terry practically shouts in euphoria, throwing a joyous glance at John, making a sharp U-turn. -"Ever ate a turkey stuffed with a chicken that's stuffed with a quail!?"- He snickers, knowing for a fact that Johnny would probably need everything in him not to roll his eyes at the option of orders, but regardless, he lived for treating his Captain to the finer things, just like he lived for removing each and every person from your past until nobody but him remains. Him, representing the future. -"I'd prefer plain good old bacon and some beer."- John mutters with a small, fox-like grin just like Terry knew he would, taking a relish in poking and prodding at him anyway. His Captain's wish is his command. They'd have so much to toast for today.

-"Done, baby!"-

Is all Terry says, laughing as he speeds away, down the woodland highway.

---

When you discover the news because he effectively tells you, deciding to control when and how the information reaches and that it might as well reach you from his own mouth, naturally, as expected, your mood turns gloomy. For days. Weeks. More time wasted and he despised it, deciding to immediately take you on a cruise of the Bahamas to distract you from it, but deciding tactically that you just had to ride it out. And you did. Week two on the deck of his yacht, eventually, slumped, looking out to the ocean, knees against your chest sitting on deck, you decide to speak. -"Terry, this will be such a weird thing to say."- You stutter, unsure of yourself and yet he's there, tracking your every movement and expression like a sonar radar. -"Maybe even meanspirited."- Will it now? Good. You were about to get whatever useless thing was still lodged in your system out of yourself. He's by your side, sitting beside you, looking at you intently, not wanting to miss a thing. -"But, I'm oddly glad I got out on time. That I met you."- You confess, holding back tears. Wasn't easy discovering that your ex was practically six figures in debt and wanted on several charges and that if you stayed with him, it would've reflected on you as well. Dragged you down with him. To the bottom of river Arroyo. That's what your pretty little head thought and Terry coos, massaging the edge of your scalp in gentle motions with his fingers, letting that beautiful brain below think whatever he wanted it to think. Oh, he loved you so. You were made for the greenest of pastures. For him. -"He would've destroyed his life as well as my own and I'm relieved the universe moved me out of the way when it did. That it brought me you. Thank you."- Ah. There it was. There were tears in your eyes flowing freely and you were thanking him, never even realizing you were unknowingly expressing gratitude that he effectively crapped all over your ex's life and led him to suicide. Stood by and watched while he did a triple Salto off of a bridge. The blood and the heat shoots down into his cock. How could it not? In any other situation he would've dragged Jerry's waterlogged swollen carcass fished out of the river at your feet and present it to you like a cat presents its owner a dead mouse. -"He was never bad towards me, exactly. But, he was never fully good either, you know? But, definitely not bad enough to deserve this."- Oh, Terry knew alright. It is just that he considered that your ex not being fully good towards you was a capital offense that found it's equivalent payback only in death. So, yeah. Punk deserved it.

Had it long time coming.

-"Is that fucked up and evil of me? To feel relieved I left on time? I feel so awful it's crazy! A man died!"-

A weak, nuisance man died, Terry wants to correct, but instead he settles into the act of collecting your tears with the tip of his fingers, letting none of them escape, feigning outrage, yet partially feeling said emotion in it's most genuine capacity; Jeremy died! Fuck sake, who cares! This guilt would evaporate and you'd find it fading overtime, because he'd be here to ensure it fades; there was almost nothing meaningfully positive for you to vindicate or romanticize and far too much crappy and mediocre to actually mourn or remember fondly. That was the good thing about measly, middle-of-the-road, middling, lukewarm individuals; too grey to be turned into saints and too grey to be turned into devils. The only thing one could do with them, whether one wanted to or not is to forget them. Where he could easily replace them and everyone else you ever trifled with, usurping their very vacancy and every emotion sent their way, be it good or bad. All of it. Only his. -"Fucked up!? Huh!? No way! It's not! Are you even listening to yourself!?"- He shakes his head vigorously, letting his disapproval grow visible, pulling you close, until the side of your body melts with his and you're effectively there, drying up your tears in his embrace, the open sea breeze against you. Terry grabs your face with both hands, making you look at him. -"You wanted a normal, stable life! Of course you did! Who wouldn't!?"- Terry explains, separating his gaze from you for but a second to point the tip of his nose out towards the blue expanse of the sunlit Atlantic.

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

Pub Crawl {3}

Oneshot Summary; Your mum warned you of getting into strangers’ cars, but John isn’t a stranger anymore, especially not when he remains with you as evening turns to night.

Pairing: John Price x reader

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 3/3

Word; 12k

Warnings; smut (MDNI, 18+), oral (f-receiving), dirty talking fingering, d/s themes, implied age-gap

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing​

A/N: The last part of this mini-series is here! I’m debating on whether to make this pairing a little universe, let me know if it’s something you guys are interested in xx

MAIN MASTERLIST

The pub lay on a one-way avenue, a strip of parking slots separating the sidewalk from a low-speed street. The main road you now rolled down sported twin lanes, opposite traffic and wide sidewalks on either side as if desiring to lure people from taking the car. Yet, there weren’t many driving at this time. 

Your eyes caught more pedestrians strolling down the sidewalk than cars. Some in groups, others in pairs, but everyone with the same desire to not waste one of the few perfect summer nights. Neve knowing when one would return.

Although your head shifted closer to the window as John steered the car into a different lane, your eyes flittered to watch him.

One hand retreats from the gear shift, settling on his jeans-clad thigh. ’Course I drive a manual; don’t find any smart cars in the army’, John said when you commented on the non-automotive choice earlier. 

His fingers tap in tune with the low beat playing from the speakers by whatever late-night station. Meanwhile, his right-hand grips the wheel at two o’clock, elbow resting on the window sill, relaxed as he navigates the near-empty streets.

He must feel your eyes on him because John’s gaze falls from the road to momentarily glance back at you. His brows lift slightly as those blues lock with yours, offering a smile before his attention retracts to the road. You follow the journey of his eyes as you near an intersection.

"Left up here”, you nod forwards, only earning a hum from John as he shifts before slowing down at the traffic light that's gone from green to yellow only to change to red long enough for the car to roll and not come to a complete stop before reversing its colour scheme. Late-night traffic lights never make sense.

”Know, love”, he replies whilst his left hand joins his right on the steering wheel to make the turn, straightening the car by letting the wheel naturally spin into place by easing his grip.

”You do now?” You believe him, as you’d forgotten to give him the heads up a few minutes ago, and he’s still shifted into the correct lane. Still, you tease him, giving him an amused glance he probably doesn’t notice, but your voice must be enough as he chuckles.

"Considerin' I know the city as the back of my hand, knew since you told me the street”. You angle yourself slightly more towards him.

”Sight-seeing your hobby aside from visiting Marissa when home?”

”Mhm, not all too shabby second choice for clearin' the head”.

”Wouldn’t call driving in a city anything near clearing the head, more so blood-pressure raising”, you scoff, John huffing in amusement.

”Not a bad way to be amongst folk without their presence”. He gives you a swift glance, instantly locking his gaze with yours as your eyes already were focused upon him.

Your head cocks, naturally resting more against the headrest. ”What do you mean?”

He looks back to the road.

”Bein' deployed ain’t the most challengin' part of our job; most times, comin' home is”. Your brows furrow as he continues. ”Sometimes it’s… not easy accommodatin' to civilian life. Outright horrid to be alone sometimes and at others-”, he let out a humourless laugh. ”-can’t really say crowds settle your nerves either”.

”I…”, you trail off, lips pursing.

Something in your chest twinged at John’s words. You want to say something, but… you fear you’ll misstep. He talks casually about it. But something in the way his gaze momentarily locked on the road with a faraway look in his eyes and his body seemingly pressing into the seat made you think some muscle memory kicked in for just a few seconds, implying it isn’t as uncomplicated as he wants it to seem.

Your swift cut-off and redirection of attention apparently earned John’s attention, as his hand suddenly settling on your knee pulls you out of staring at the road.

Your eyes flicker to find his eyes shifted back to you. ”If you got questions, ask ’em, and I’ll just say if I need to get to know you more before answerin' them”. He winked to lighten either his comment or the air your hesitation had created. And it worked. Your head dips, a chuckle leaving you and letting out the air trapped in your lungs, as John looks ahead once more, a smile forming on his lips as his hand retreats to the gear shift.

”Aside from your scenic drives, how do you spend your days after coming home?”

He hums, tapping the wheel twice before he speaks. ”Have a property outside of town, it was rickety when I got it, but I’ve been refurbishing the place in-between deployments. Still some bits to do, but it keeps me occupied”. He shrugs.

”So a handyman as well. Anything you can’t do?”

”Not too confident in my decoration abilities, but I can pick a comfortable armchair, and not much more is needed to sit down with a book and glass of scotch”. You smile at the image as it checks with the picture he's painted of himself during the evening.

Despite the old-fashioned sense of John, it felt refreshing compared to what the standard was today. And you find yourself sinking a bit further into your seat as if the image of him in an armchair, with book and scotch in hand, wasn't just a picture he painted for you but one you observed from a matching seat opposite him.

”So you’re able to relax then?”

”Have learned to unwind, can’t always be on your toes”.

”Hasn’t always been in your blood then?”

John chuckles, sparing you a soft glance. ”No, definitely not, but it ain’t healthy to keep so much excessive adrenaline lingerin' despite gettin' away from the battlegrounds”.

”Can’t imagine what it's like”, you breathe out, head rolling towards the window, watching the scenery for just a few seconds before your eyes fell back to John. ”The shifts back and forth”.

”Ain’t for everyone, that’s for sure, can’t even say that you get used to it”.

You suck your lower lip, nodding. ”What’s the worst, with coming back, that is?”

”Isolation. When you're on the field, your mindset changes; you don't think about anythin' else. And at the base, there are always people around, so it ain’t as easy fleein' the presence of others and gettin' stuck in your head there. But, away from all of those things... it changes”.

”That’s why you and the others go out?”

He nods. ”We try. It’s a shot at shifting routines when returnin’”.

”So, does that mean you came back recently, then?” You peek curiously at him.

”Mhm, touched down on base three days ago. The lads had some stuff to get out of the way first”.

”And you, I presume?”

He gave you an amused look. ”Still got things to finish up, love”.

”I guess that comes with being Captain”. You shrug, and he chuckles.

”Remind me to never accept a higher rank; paperwork will be what puts me on my deathbed." You can’t help the unfiltered laugh that escapes nor how it fades into a sigh as you silently watch John as he drives for a few beats with a smile.

”So the others are returning to base for what reason?”

”Eh, the lads got some trainin', but neither MacTavish have any planned disappearances to Scotland nor has Kyle planned to visit his Ma down south, so they’ll probably remain there until they fill their schedules”.

”And will you hang around there as well?”

John took a deep breath, his chest puffing out slightly before answering. ”Most likely. I may visit the property some days, but if I'm couped up there, I would need to resort to those drives”.

You made a small ah sound, understanding his choice of activities better now and yet you can’t but wonder if he genuinely doesn’t use those drives to meet someone. Despite what Marissa and Johnny implied, your thoughts wouldn’t rest until you hear it from him. Not wanting to face the embarrassment of having misinterpreted the evening.

”And you, John, ain’t no-one missing your presence aside from that property of yours?”

He pulls his eyes from the road, a second of silence following your heavily implied question. ”None but my superiors, and even they push me off base on leaves”. 

You could sigh out of relief when he finally answered. You even feel a giddy smile tug on your lips. But you school your expression, offering John a nod instead. One he must've caught through the edge of his vision as he faced forwards not long after speaking.

As your fingers play with the strap of your purse, you finally reply, ”Well, thank them next time you see them. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have met you along with the others tonight”. Despite being honest, you feel a warmth enter your chest as you say the words. And you feel even more bashful when John gives you a swift sideway glance accompanied by one of those smiles that makes his eyes seemingly shine.

”Already planned to, love”. John's smile is noticeable despite being mostly hidden by his beard.

You avert your eyes first despite him being the one who drives, and that’s when you notice John’s pulled into the familiar road to your apartment, only sealing that the night you’d spent with him neared its end.

Although the silence is comfortable, you dry-swallow when he parks in one of the visitor spots outside your building.

”Your stop”, John says, tearing your eyes from the apartment's entrance as he shifts his body to rest his elbow on the middle console, the other hand still on the wheel.

The streetlight shining through the front windshield highlights his face, those pretty blues sparkling. The longer you’d spent in his company, the more you desired to remain in it. And, it was precisely that feeling making you stall and not simply thank him for the drive home and jump out after unbuckling your belt.

Your eyes flicker over his face, lips parting only to close again when you can't find anything to say that would prolong the moment.

John's eyes crinkled in the corners, a soft smile quirking his lips. ”Somethin’ on your mind, love?”

Of course, he knew there was. He didn't need your dragged-out goodbye to know.

It felt like he'd paid just as much attention to you as you'd done to him during the evening, or it wouldn’t feel as if you and he been introduced for the first time tonight. Otherwise, he wouldn't assume your mind ran rampant, suspecting that you were debating whether if you should stop chewing and just spit out the words that hopefully would earn you his number. Though that’s precisely what you did, you hesitated for one reason. It didn't feel enough, or else you would've let him be on his way already, content that you'd be able to speak with him again with his numb rib your phone. But you didn't want the night to end.

"Want to make me company?" You bite your tongue the second the question leave you. 

Whatever surge of courage made you voice your thoughts disappeared upon his reaction. John's brows swiftly raise, clearly showing whatever he thought was on your mind, then this wouldn't have been his first guess.

"What now?" You tear your eyes from him, gaze trailing upwards to your dark living room window facing the road. A deep inhale precedes your tongue coming out to wet you lips, catching the flesh between your teeth. Fuck it.

"You heard me". 

John's blue eyes flicker down to your lips when you turn to him and release your lower lip. His attention remains there, causing your mouth to open and close, wanting to fill the thickening silence but unable to. The action makes his eyes ascend to yours.

He remains silent, but something has entered those blues when his gaze locks with yours.

"John?" The gentle question his name conveys triggers something.

He averts his gaze, eyelids fluttering close as he slumps back in his seat. Both hands now grips the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. With his head pressed against the headrest, his neck cranes, and he faces the roof. Something is mumbled beneath his breath, too low for you to pick up. And then, he jolts into action, swiftly ripping the key from the ignition, opens the car door and jumps out, closing it with a slam behind him.

You watch him with wide eyes as he hurries around the front of the car, half a thought if you misinterpreted the whole evening entering your mind. Just because he doesn’t have anyone waiting for him at home doesn’t mean he’s interested in you, even if he would give you whiplash from how he’d acted.

When John opens your door, the apology is on your tongue until his actions completely erase the words.

His hands settle on your legs, pulling them toward him so you are on the verge of slipping down from your seat and into his broad chest.

"Wanna use those big words now as well, eh?" Your heart beats at the base of your throat as John stares at you. Incapable of saying anything as your chest heaves on your inhale as his reaction isn't what you'd anticipated. "Use your words, love. Need to know you meant it".

You swallow. ”I want you to follow me up to my apartment, John”, you repeat. A full-body shiver rolls through his body, a curse leaving him as he takes a sharp breath.

”I’d planned to ask you out, take you to some pleasant little restaurant or somethin’. But then you turned out to be much less sweet than I ever could’ve thought, invitin' me up to your place at this time”.

John didn't admonish you, but you don't know whether his words were meant to make you smile, either. But you couldn't help the quirk of your lips, not when you realised the turmoil in his eyes was brought forth by you pushing the restraints of his gentlemanly fashion.

That desperate slip in his stoic nature rouses something. Something that had been dormant beneath your fluttering heart and near shyness beneath his gaze when in solely his composed and assured company during the night.

"Still think I'm pretty sweet." You muse with a tilt of your head. John's eyes narrow, catching the playfulness suddenly coating your sentence. He shifts on his feet. Fingers tapping against your lower thigh as his chin raises.

"That so?" John seemingly decides to entertain your game.

"Mhm", you nearly giggle as his defined eyebrows rose, silently commanding you to state why. As you lean forwards slightly, your upper body now more outside than in the car, his hand grips your legs to steady you. "Any man would think me sweet with a pretty dress like this".

"Would they now?"

"Don't you think I look sweet, John, be honest with me now?" His head cocks, eyes travelling over your body at the invitation.

As John's gaze drops, his hands gradually slide up your legs to your waist. You follow the action, your gaze only flickering to meet his when his big paws splay over your sides, thumbs resting over your hip-bones.

God, you didn't regret asking him to stay a bit longer with you, but it wasn't boldness that flowed with the heated rush in your chest as your gazes locked.

You swallow, lips parting as if challenging to draw in a proper breath with how you shrink in his overwhelming presence.

"You may be sweet-lookin' in this dress. But you've shown how your mind is too sharp to be shielded, and I know brilliant minds never are entirely sweet". John's lip curls into a smirk, something devious gleaming in his eyes. It ain't boyish but teases you of the playfulness the man you'd gotten to know preserves behind his front. "Indulge me, love, if knowin' that every man thinks of you as stunnin', what does it say of a man such as me acceptin' your offer?"

You look at him through your lashes, this time unable to honey your words, causing the teasing tone to dissipate and bleed into sincerity. "I've had fun tonight, meeting the others and especially you… I would think no different of you, John, especially when ending the night differently would possibly also mean you'll have to drive back to base alone”.  

There was such weight to your words that John’s eyes close, his shoulders falling.

Your eyes flicker over the features of his bowed head, his lips a neutrally set, the lines between his brows fading as his lashes rest against his under-eyes until you're met by those blues looking back at you when his eyelids flutter open. He steps closer, head barely tilting upwards to look at you.

”That’s so?” He receives a nod as an answer, words unable to form beneath his heavy gaze. John's eyes flicker between yours, seemingly searching for something in them before he speaks. ”Is it out of pity? You don’t want an ol'man like me alone at night?” This time, you sought contact, your hands finding his on your waist, testing the waters by slowly running them up his arms.

His muscles jump beneath your fingers as you trail them upwards until they encircle his neck.

”John…”, you sigh. ”You’re not old; you’re a handsome man, charming-”

”Charmin', eh?” He cocks a brow, and you give him a teasing glare.

”As charming as you military men come without being jerks”, you returned. He huffs with a shake of his head, an upwards tick curving his lip. "I'm trying to say that I can't remember when I've enjoyed spending time with someone other than Marissa this much."

"And so you offer me to stay with you?" The incredulous statement isn't explicit. Still, the tilt of his head to the building at his back insinuates enough.

"Oh, piss off", you defend yourself, the corner of his eyes creasing as he chuckles. ”I was about to say that anyone would be lucky to have you come home to them, but you destroyed that moment”. 

John tips his head, dipping closer. ”You offerin' something, love?”

"Already did". The reply is quick, but John doesn't tease you. Instead, he raises his brows in a 'fair' gesture.

"Should we head up then?"

"Yes". You split into a grin, the expression mirrored on John's face before he surprises you when taking a firmer hold of your waist and heaving you down from the seat.

He set you down close to him, his neck bowing to look down at you for a second before he reaches around you, closing the door with less velocity than he’d done his own, swiftly locking the car afterwards. Then, as his attention retracts to you, he steps away, only to offer you his hand in the space he'd created.

This man. You wonder if you'll ever not be able to smile at him as you card your fingers through his.

...

You don't live in a skyscraper, but the stairs to your apartment seemingly never end. Thankfully, John is in better shape than you could ever get in, so you don't need to tug him after you. Still, you glance over your shoulder occasionally, each time you're met by those bright blues and his gentle smile, a reciprocated squeeze of your interlocked fingers.

When you're more than halfway, in one of those moments when you lock eyes with him over your shoulder, you realise your situation with the ridiculously handsome man. And if anything, it makes a silly smile spread on your lips.

"Regrettin' your choice?" John knows his guess is wrong. If not by the casual why he asks, then the shake of your head as you state your thoughts.

"It's astonishing how no one has claimed you as theirs, you know. You look too good to be in practically any setting". His step falters, bringing you to a complete stop two steps ahead. When you turn, you find him watching you intensely.

”Attemptin' to sweet talk me?" He smiles, brows quirking as he take a step so only one fleet of stairs separates you.

"Think I've already succeeded if you're here with me". You give John a one-shouldered shrug, to which he huffs in amusement. As his head dips, you sway on your feet. Should I…you swallow, wetting your lips, battling down the quiver entering your body as you step down so nothing separates you and lean close. "But I would do all the sweet talking necessary to help you relax, want to help you unwind, want to now”, you whispered against the shell of his ear.

Two things happened in quick succession. First, a low sound vibrates from his chest. Then, a slap to your ass.

You yelp, the hand not in his tightened grip shooting up in a too-late attempt to stifle the sound escaping you but only succeeding in smashing your purse against your chest.

Wide eyes stare up at him when you fall back to your feet. ”John Price!” You exclaim in a hushed voice muffled by the hand remaining in front of your mouth, fearing any of your neighbours catching the name following the not-so-smooth action.

”Should be careful with your words, love, can't expect a man to behave when you say things like that”, he chides, gently pushing your tangled hands against your stomach, signalling you to resume the journey to your apartment, with a new, darker, look in his eyes.

"We're there soon, and hopefully, you can behave until then". You reply, continuing to step up the stairs at John's wish.

"Depends". You feel him shrug.

"On what?"

"How much you're willing to push your luck."

A flush rush through you, and you withstand ducking to escape his heavy gaze pinned on the back of your head. Like a red sniper shot searing its aim into the base of your skull. But as you mount the steps, a quivering excitement settles in your marrow. Even though John can't see it, you hide the smile it unfurls on your lips by rolling them inwards.

When you finally reach your floor, you let go of John's hand to fish out the key from your purse. Despite the loss of contact, you can feel his tall frame at your back regarding how he steps closer when you come to a halt.

Despite it being your imagination or his breath you actually feel against your neck, you stutter in unlocking the door to your apartment. That’s why a relieved sigh unintentionally leaves you when you only need to juggle the lock once before entering your home.

"Pretty place". John's words were soft as you sense his head poking around yours to get a better glimpse into the apartment, following you into the foyer briefly afterwards.

There was no frenetic fumble towards each other. No teenage-like desperation. Instead, you hum at John's comment, glancing over your shoulder as you let muscle-memory help you discard your purse on the side-table only decorated with a bowl where you drop your keys.

"A city apartment can't be pretty. Functional, I'll give you, but not pretty". You smile when you hear him close the door behind him and turn the lock. "Your place, on the other hand, with something besides concrete and fake wooden floorboards, I reckon is a sight for sore city-eyes". You turn to face him, catching the shake of his shoulder at your dramatics.

"At this day and age, it's as functional as four walls and a bed comes", John says amusedly, swinging his body into slowly stepping towards you, moving so naturally in the space of your home. "So, in that regard, your place is more homely".

You huff, smile still present as you turn your face upwards. "I remain firm in my belief into proven otherwise". John cock his head, the side of his lips twitching upwards.

"Fishin' for an invite?"

"Would you grant me one?" He steps up close now, hands naturally seeking your hips from the close proximity. His hands radiate a comfortable warmth through your dress. You reciprocate his move by curling your arms around his neck.

He tips his head back and forth, making a show of contemplating your question. "Show up in a pretty dress once again, and I won't be able to say no to you".

"Sounds like a date", you muse.

"Must make it up to you somehow". John hums low and gravelly as one of his arms circles your waist and pulls you into his front.

Your legs suddenly felt weak, and at the moment, his hold stabilises you more than your heels. Coupled with those intense blues gazing at you, it was good, as you felt like melting against him.

"How so?" The smile John flashes may have been spurred by how you leant more of your weight against him as the breathy words left you. Or, it was the way you naturally tilt your head, lips seeking his even though he lingers just out of reach.

"From how I barely can think about anythin' else than what's underneath this pretty fabric at the moment".

"What says it won't end the same way?" That finally broke the tension.

John presses his fingers into the white textile at the meat of your hip, his head dipping towards you with a tilt, eyes simultaneously slipping close. You sigh when his lips finally meet yours.

The kiss was a slowly repeated slant and press of lips. A gradual desire that had built from the moment you two were introduced and acted upon for the first time.

But, you felt how John's control was just a slip away as his hand at your hip travelled up to your neck, a swift flex of his fingers inclining he wanted to bring you closer. You breathe your amusement through your nose, a gentleman through and through.

Deciding you want to push him past the gentleman he thought he needed to be, you let your hands slip down his chest until your fingers curl through his belt loops. Then, with a tug on his jeans and a lick of your tongue, you deepen the kiss, knowing his restraint snaps when a groan leaves him.

Your tongues slip against one another before John dirtily sucks your pink muscle. Something short-circuits in your head. A whine from far back in your throat leaves you. At the sound, John lets his teeth graze your lower lip in a light nibble before he pulls away. The both of you drawing in shaky breaths of air.

”Bloody hell, love”, he exhales, causing your eyes to open. You just catch his head dropping, shielding his eyes from yours for a moment before they return. You smile, fingers unfurling from his belt loops and spreading on his lower abdomen, the taut muscle flexing beneath, apparent even through his shirt.

He drops his body to you, seeking more of your touch. But, concerning no wall props you up, you stumble backwards slightly as his gait sets off your balance and makes your heels wobble.

John catches himself with a shuffle forward of his right foot. He chuckles against your lips, an unspoken recognition of his larger frame a incompatible combination with your heels.

"Whatcha' sayin', should we get you out of these?" He mumbles. Then, before you manage to comprehend his comment, let alone answer, John kneels down.

He raises one of your feet onto his thigh, making your hand reach to stabilise yourself on the table at your side.

You watch as he pulls on the textile ribbon wrapped around your ankle. It slips from your leg, and he eases the shoe off your foot, settling it beside him while letting your bare foot rest against the ground.

A pleased groan leaves you, finally able to rest your whole weight on your sole rather than just the front.

"That good?" You don't know when your eyes slipped close. But they open upon John's voice.

You glance down at him as he gently grips your other ankle, waiting for you to shift your weight to mimic his previous motion. "You couldn't imagine".

He shakes his head, yet a smile is evident through the bunched-up parts of his beard as he unties your other shoe.

You're about to answer him when the second shoe slips off your foot, but your lips remain parted without a sound leaving you when you watch John lean in and kiss your ankle. His beard tickles as it grazes against your skin when pressing another kiss to your calf and kneecap.

But he doesn't stand up when dropping your leg.

With wide eyes, you watch as John brushes his lips over the soft skin above your knee, leaving yet another tender kiss. 

A stuttering breath leaves you as you wordlessly follow his journey upwards as he disappears beneath your skirt.

John's head moves beneath the fabric. His puckered mouth leaving featherlight presses against the soft meat of your thighs.

The hand previously gripping the material of your skirt fumbles backwards to steady yourself against the wall half a meter behind your back, supporting the grip you already keep on the side-table.

You feel him nudge between your legs, his beard scratching the inside of your thighs. Without asking, you widen your stance. John's heated breath immediately flans against your inner thighs and upwards to your steadily heating and throbbing cunt as a groan immediately follows your action.

"These the only things you've gotten on all the time?" You think you answer him because the next thing you feel is his lips kissing your mound through your panties.

Your breath catches, soft sounds following the action as John switches between pressing kisses to your thighs and where you need him the most. The muscles in your neck go lax, head dropping back as a sharp last peck is placed on the fabric covering your clit before he retreats.

Head tipping forwards, you find John looking up at you, his hair ruffled and out of place, a lopsided grin curling his lips. You can’t help but stare down at him, attempting to stabilise your breath as your chest heaves. Fucking hell, he’s handsome and on his knees for you.  

"Looks so sweet lookin' at me like that". John rubs his hands on your thighs, and you can’t help but groan.

”Swear you’re trying to kill me”. He chuckles, rising to his feet, now even taller without the added inches beneath your feet.

"Only fair".

"Fair would be if you ended what you started", you huff at him, the heat he'd set off in your body only growing with the throb between your legs.

He squints with a slight tick of his head. "Careful with your wishes".

"What, the Captain too scared to finish a mission?" Something flashes in his eyes, the blues darkening considerably. Then, his strong arms encircle your body, hands resting beneath your ass, swiftly hauling you upwards as if weighing nothing.

You gasp, arms instinctively shooting around his neck and hooking your legs around his waist as your hips connect with his, a semi-bulge pressing into your core.

"Don't go make assumptions, love". His voice is a delicious drawl, even deeper than his natural husk. A shudder runs down your spine as he grabs fistfuls of your ass, pressing you closer to him. "I'll plan to finish what I started, but I'll take my sweet time with you and ain't gonna do that in the hallway", he states with finality.

You giggle, leaning in so your lips brush his as you speak. "Bedrooms straight ahead and on the right". A low sound escapes John, muted by the press of his lips against yours as he toes off his shoes before making you giggle as he carries you to your bedroom.

The door was already ajar, so you didn't need to fumble it open. Hence, John was at the side of your bed with a few strides.

He knelt sideways to drop you in the middle, making you bounce slightly. A smile stretches your lips when John climbs onto the bed and between your legs that widen to make room for him.

He keeps himself above you, silent as his eyes flicker over your form beneath him.

”You sure you want this?” He asks, looking into your eyes. ”You sure you want me? An old captain in the military?” Your hands rise, resting on his bearded cheeks, taking a second to linger on the fact that this man possibly had doubts about you wanting him. 

John's eyes flutter when your fingers comb through his well-groomed and incredibly soft beard. But he forces them to stay open, watching you, waiting for your answer.

”Yes, I am”. You suck your lower lip into your mouth, and John groans, shifting more weight to his legs as one hand beside yours raises and pulls it from your mouth.

”Don’t do that”, his voice has dipped, huskier. Yet the only thing you do is smile.

”Do you want me, John?” His eyes flicker up from your lips.

”How could I fuckin’ not? Look at you, that smile, pretty eyes”. His hands travel to the hinge of your jaw, your arm on the same side falling to his ribcage.

”Thinking the same thing about you. Didn’t call you handsome for no reason”. It feels soppy when the words fall from your lips, but you notice something in his body melting away as he lowers himself, moulding his lips against yours.

A soft groan vibrates against your mouth when your hand travels to the back of his neck, nails grazing his hairline.

It's fucking heavenly to kiss him. The feeling of only wanting more, more of him against you bubbling to the surface. And John must feel it as his hand slither to your nape, deepening the kiss with his fingers threading through the hair nearest your skull.

His dominance along his big frame surrounding you as he presses closer, makes you melt beneath him.

John detaches from your lips with a pant, only to rove down your jawline and downwards. His beard tickles, the bristles scraping against the delicate skin of your throat as his hand journeys from your neck and down your throat.

He brushes over your collarbones with his thumb before settling on the slope of your shoulder, playing with the straps of your dress. With a soft tug, the bands loosen. ”Gonna help an old man?” John mumbles against the column of your neck.

”Hm, almost like seeing you struggle”, you hum with a smile, tipping your chin downwards, signalling you want a kiss.

”Menace”. You feel John's smile against your lips as he lingers a peck while loosening the second strap over your opposite shoulder. You giggle as he pulls away, settling on his haunches to give you space to rise up.

You follow him, sitting up so he's positioned in-between your legs. It's the perfect position for your hands to land on his thighs, stroking the muscles you know are hidden beneath his jeans.

”The zipper is at the back”, you tell him, not shying away as he leans forwards, towering over you.

Expert fingers latch onto the small piece of metal you’d given him directions to. Cerulean eyes lock with yours as his chin dips to rest against his chest, lips centimetres apart, breaths mingling. John doesn’t point it out, but a quick flicker of his eyes tells you he notes the goosebumps the short nail of his thumb creates as it grazes along your spine.

”A piece for a piece?” Your fingers play with the hem of John’s shirt as his palm rest against your now naked spine, the fabric of the dress having parted as it barely was kept up by itself. Your elbows, pressing against your sides, are the only thing still pinning the fabric against your body.

”Bargainin' with me now?” Your teeth catch your lower lip, eyes falling, roaming over his torso, imagining what's underneath.

The white shirt only enhances his chest and muscled torso as he takes deep breaths.

Gaze trailing upwards, you see his eyes stuck at your mouth. A slight groan leaves him from how you’ve caught your lips between your teeth, something you slowly have gathered his obsession for.

With a smile pulling the flesh from your teeth, you straighten your back somewhat, getting closer to him, earning his attention from whatever thoughts he momentarily entertained.

”Concerning you’ve already seen the only other piece I’m wearing, I’d say it’s fair”.

The corner of his eyes creases with his smile. You knew he was about to say something from how his lips had parted, but his action curtly halts as realisation bled into his eyes.

John's gaze drops as something dark enters it. He let his eyes rove over your body, cursing, rushed and heated as he barely gave you enough time to lean away before grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking it over his head.

”Fuck”. The curse is breathed from you as you stare at John's bare upper body. 

You’d called it from the start. He was muscular, but fucking hell, he felt even broader up close, torso on full display for you to indulge in.

As if possessing a will of their own, your hands trail upwards. You prevent a moan from escaping as your thumbs brush the delicious happy trail on John’s abdomen. Though your eyes follow it downwards while your hands continue up, the fine line of hair disappears beneath his waistband, lower than your eyes could follow. Defeated, your gaze trails upwards, catching up with your hands as they travel over the outlines of his abs and his pecs covered in a similar dark dust of hair.

”Feelin’ me up?” Without any shame, you delay the shift of attention from the sight in front of you to John’s eyes. Once you do, a darkened gaze, barely lightened by his cocky smirk, greets you.

”Can you blame me?”

”Only if you don’t keep your end of the deal”.

You notch your head backwards as the side of your lip tick upwards. ”What would you do if I didn’t?”

”Only fair I would enforce it, wouldn’t it now?” He questions, leaning closer, his hand settling on your waist.

”Wouldn’t mind that”, you reply as you stop pressing your elbows against your ribs.

Now John was the sole one keeping your dress up, giving him the choice of proceeding.

You note the slight flicker of John’s eyes downwards before jumping back, seeking eye contact. As if to check one last time for any hesitation from your side. When finding none, he bunches the fabric of your skirt around your waist and pulls the dress over your head in a sweep of the layered textile.

You lay down in your now mostly naked form, panties the last article covering your body. Blue eyes, heated with intensity, follow your movements.

A warm wave rush over you at John’s attention. Your skin prickles, body vibrates as you practically feel his eyes trail up and down your body.

”So bloody gorgeous”. It’s a rumble when John’s eyes finally meet yours, iris blackened considerably by his dilated pupils. His hands settle on your hips, near boiling palms pressing into your flesh in repeated up and down movements and occasional squeezes.

You prop yourself up by one elbow, the other raising up to grab his neck and bring him into a kiss, one he readily accepts.

One hand falls from your hip to beside your body, supporting him as his body bends forward at the waist. As you part, you’re met by John’s lustful gaze, though it’s swift as he starts trailing kisses down the column of your neck, down to the swell of your breasts. He spares little time on kissing around them before he sucks your nipple into his mouth. His action pulls a soft sound from your lungs.

His fingers travel down from their place on your side to your pussy, fingers pressing into your heat. That's when you realise how wet you were. ”S’all for me?” He drawl with a low groan as he switches to your other breast, paying as close attention to your nipple as earlier.

”Y-yeah”, you breathe as he starts circling your clit through the fabric, thighs flexing, hips jumping toward this touch. As he lets his canine lightly toy with your nipple, he slips his fingers lower, pressing against your hole through the fabric, making you clench around nothing. ”Fuck, yes, all for you”.

You squirm as he rises from your breast, the air around you cooling your nipples wetted by his mouth, only pebbling them further. His eyes drift down your body to where he’s playing with you,

”S'pretty for me”, he mutters, moving down your body as his other hand drags along your side until it hooks beneath the fabric obscuring his view of your dripping core.

A sound conveying your protest leaves you when his other hand stops its administration, but it ebbs down as you watch John pull your panties down your leg.

You help him by lifting your legs slightly, paying no more attention to the white lace he finally frees from your legs and tosses to the side the moment his hands settle on your legs, parting them. 

Your eyes flicker over him as he sits back on his heels, a rumble vibrating from his chest as he admires the sight before him. You feel you’re wet enough that slick covers the apex of your thighs.

”Such a pretty cunt, eh?” You heat at his words and attention when his eyes flicker to you. ”Bet you taste fuckin' heavenly. You gonna let me eat this cunt?”.

You let out a stuttered breath as you follow John lying down between your legs. A smack of his palm against the meat of your thigh brings you out of the daze, blinking and refocusing on how he stares right back at you with a cocked head, beard tickling your inner thighs. 

”Come on, love, need to hear it from you”. His breath fans across your warmth, making you shudder. John notices, blowing pointedly on your heat, watching how you writhe in anticipation,

”Yes, yes, John”. His satisfied smile is the last thing you see before he closes the distance between his lips and your pussy.

When his mouth lands on your wetness for the first time, your head snaps back, and a shaky exhale leaves you. He licks a broad stripe up your heat. Instinctually, your hips roll to push his tongue further into your wetness.

Although not giving in, John flexes his muscle, pointedly flicking your clit, causing you to whine. It’s then you realise he knows what he's doing. Everything he did, from how your mind never strays from following the pattern his tongue draws to how he quickly has you writhing beneath him, speaks of his experience.

”Ah... fuck”, you moan as John presses his lips to your clit before drawing it into his mouth, the sensitive nerve-endings making your abdomen spasm, and your hand shoots down to clamp into his hair.

You tug John further into you, earning a pleased hum that travels through your body in return. But, when your hips buck, he locks an arm around your mid-drift to pin you to the bed.

”Gotta be still for me, love”. He parts from your wetness to mumble before diving in again. In response, he gets a keening sound. One that only increases as his tongue dips lower and presses into your wet hole.

He thrust his tongue into your quivering hole. Nose nudging your clit. You only become needier, attempting to buck against him but to no wail, his grip only tightening on your hips.

You physically feel how you become wetter, slick trickling to the slope of your arse. It fills the air with sloppy and wet sounds as Johhn switches to lap at you.

The noises, the loss of his tongue at your entrance, constricting around nothing, all produce a growing sensation of emptiness, a desire to feel full.

”John, I need more. Need your fingers”. You can feel his grin as he leans away, uncurling his hands from around your thigh that kept your spread open to trail along your wet folds.

”Such a good girl, eh? Beggin’ for what she wants”. You moan in response, feeling how your slick coats his fingers before he lodges his digit at your hole, slowly pushing in, stretching you for the first time.

”Yes”, you breathe out, his finger thicker and reaching further than your own ever could. Your hand falls from his hair, clutching the hand still around your hips, fingers worming themselves through his.

He pumps in and out of you, your wetness making the penetration easy. However, John doesn't continue long before he pulls his finger out. You protest, a noise ripped from your throat. Though it’s short-lived as you feel him trail not one but two digits up and down your wet and swollen pussy, both entering you when covered in what he deems is an adequate amount of your arousal.

A guttural moan leaves your parted lips. It’s a stretch, and you feel a slight burn even though John was gentler about thrusting two fingers in and letting you accustom to the feeling. He begins with only wiggling them gently inside before scissoring them when he feels you relax somewhat.

Although soon, his movement and the attention he gives your clit make the sensation fade, making you moan his name, letting him know he could continue and that’s when he starts pumping his fingers in and out of you.

You feel it somewhere in your body, how the tension slowly builds, nearing the edge from the continuous stimulus John drowns you in. Your head feels floaty, fibres vibrating, hands receiving a squeeze from him to ease how your curl your fingers into your skin.

”Ah, come on, love, you can do it, you can take it”, his mumble is distant, a gravelly sound that resonates through your ears and wrap warmly around your head. ”Come on, my good girl, you can take them”. 

At first, you think John’s encouragements are in the heat of the moment, mumbled nonsense edging you closer to the peak he must feel you neared from how you flutter around him. But when he continues, you realise it isn’t.

”Look at me”, your head is heavy as you crane it downwards to look at the man between your legs, his gaze already set on you. ”Look at you, s’good, takin’ all three”. Your eyes drop to where he’s pumping in and out of you. 

You need the visual of three of his finger entering to recognise how full you've come to feel, how he stretches you when having added a finger without you even noticing in your pleasure-ridden state.

Your mouth drops open, panted cries stuttering from you as you watch his fingers disappear, stretching you wide from their girth and reappearing slicker than previously. You feel how the muscles in your neck go slack. But rather than letting your head fall back onto the mattress, John's demanding voice stops you.

”Keep lookin’ at me, love. I want your eyes on me when you cum”. Your head bobs forward the slight amount it tilted back, reattaching with the heavy weight of his blues.

When he notes your attention won't stray, John keeps your gaze as he lowers himself, his mouth attaching to your clit once more. Fingers now stroking more than pumping inside you.

It feels downright fucking dirty to moan, not upward into the air, but forwards, so your breath travels down your stomach to fan against John’s face between your legs as your eyes lock. It makes your body buzz and head airy as your orgasm hurls closer.

You were close. So close. It becomes impossible to be still as the sensation in your stomach tightens, and the muscles in your abdomen spasm repeatedly. Your legs begin to shake. And then it just becomes too much. The flick of John's tongue, the push of his fingers as deep as they go, tickling that spongy spot at the roof of your walls.

You gape, time feeling like it stops for a few seconds as you go silent before jerking against John’s face, gushing into his mouth as your orgasm slams into you.

You can’t physically keep his gaze for more than a few seconds of your high as your back arches off the bed, eyes wrenching shut as your head slam back into the soft mattress.

As his sole free hand only lock your hips in place, your legs jerk upwards from the bed. Your thighs slot around John's head, knees bending so your feet brush against his back. He grunts, the vibrations along his fingers continuing the come-hither motion inside you while his tongue flicks your clit, only prolonging your high.

It’s intense. Never-ending. Your high seemingly continues for far too long for your body to know how to react. You wouldn't put it past yourself to estimate a similar time as John had when considering the last time anyone apart from yourself had made you cum. Still, it's hardly comparable as you writhe beneath him.

When your high finally ebbs, your muscles slacken so suddenly that your legs drop from their elevated position around John's head without much care. One of your knees falls to the side, and your leg falls to the mattress. The other dropped straight over John's shoulder, now resting on his back. In fact, your whole body goes limp as pants heave your chest.

That's when he finally also pulls his fingers from you. Although, he doesn't leave your puffy pussy without a final broad swipe of his tongue, lapping up your excessive arousal until a satisfied hum stems from him. In your over-sensitive state, the vibrations make you whine and twitch away from John's mouth.

A soft chuckle leaves him as his hand still intertwined with yours strokes your skin. The other settles at the hinge of your knee, leaving a slick spot from his fingers covered in your arousal, as he gently lifts it off his shoulder with a kiss to the apex of it, shy of too close to your pussy.

”Did so good for me”, John praises, planting another kiss at the middle of your thigh, then the inside of your knee on the same leg where his palm rubs assuringly as he moves down on the bed.

A lazy smile spreads on your face as one arm hooks over your face, the summer night apparently still too bright in your keyed-up state as it illuminates your room through your window, only covered by a thin curtain.

The loss of John’s touch as his hand slips from yours and how you feel him still shuffling ultimately pulls your arm away.

Despite sinking further into your bed due to the body-melting feeling of your orgasm, you watch John as he backs off the bed and onto the floor. 

Standing at the edge, he raises one of his hands to his beard, pulling his hand over the slick shining strands. Your heart jumps at the display and you feel the sluggishness in your limbs withering away with the steady rise of desire once again.

”John”. Your voice is a drawl, bordering on a gentle whine, as you call for his touch, for him to join you again. He cracks a smile at your voice, or display. You don’t know

”Patience, love”, he chuckles, unbuckling his belt.

The sound works as a spell. Your eyes immediately drop, watching him unzip his pants. His prominent bulge gets glaringly more apparent as he drops his jeans and steps out of them. He palms himself over his navy trunks, making you squirm as his head tilts back and he groans in relief.

Your pulse beats rapidly against your throat as you watch the show he puts on, testing your patience that’s swiftly thinning as your eyes are glued to him.

A soft breath leaves you, a whine following. It makes John's legs flex and hip jut forward against his palm. That's what breaks you.

”Don’t tease”. You sound broken even to yourself, but you feel just as desperate.

You’re just about to shuffle into a seated position and towards the edge of the bed, closer to the man before you. But his eyes land on you before you get any further than rising to your elbows. They're dark, unbudging, authoritative and without even voicing his thoughts, John’s demand is silent but obvious. 

Stay put.

You could thrash your head from how devastatingly much he makes you feel. How good he makes you feel. Instead, your hands only dig into your rucked-up sheets, fisting the material. Your nails press through the fabric and into your palms. Thankfully being propped by your elbows stops you from falling backwards when a low-spoken ‘good girl’ is breathed beneath his breath upon your pliancy.

Your jaws press together tightly. Gaze set firmly and unbudgingly upon John as he hooks his thumbs beneath the waistband of the single piece of clothing left on his body. As his briefs slip off, his cocks bob upwards toward his stomach.

He was big, not ridiculously so that you fear taking him, but he was above average and thick. Understand the prep better now. But it felt like it wouldn’t have mattered because at the sight of John's cock just as aesthetically beautiful as him and flushed at the tip, you grow wetter.

”My eyes are up here”.

”I know”, you reply, tongue pressing against your teeth. John moves towards the bed with a chuckle before he stops himself. At the sudden halt and redirection, his cock tap against his abdomen, coating his skin in a light sheen from the precum beading the tip.

At first, you don't understand why he stops and rummages through the pocket of his jeans only to pull out his wallet. Then it clocks.

”I’m on the pill”, his eyes jump up to you. His movement stilling. ”And I’m clean. Routine check a few weeks ago”.

A smile tug John’s lips as he drops the wallet onto his jeans. ”Haven’t had anyone for over a year. Clean since then”, he says, kneeling on the bed with one leg, head cocking as his eyes rove over you before meeting your gaze again. “You sure, love?”

”Mhm”, you hum, eyes dragging over his naked form. Sparing an embarrassing amount, despite how small it was, to feel giddy about the fact that John hadn’t had anyone else for a long time until you. Even though a hundred different rational reasons could be the cause rather than him simply not being interested enough to entertain anyone. ”Yeah, I wanna feel you, all of you”. He smirks in that boyish way at your shameless staring and shakes his head.

At this rate, the sway of his body, his heavy cock, made you wet your lips, swallowing down the saliva pooling in your mouth. You’d never wanted to devour someone, but at the specimen of a man before you, fuck, you never wanted it more.  

”Fuck, I want to taste you”. You sit up, but John simply grunts, pushing your shoulder so you fall down immediately.

”Another time”, he grouses, settling on the bed before crawling forwards. ”I need to fuck you now. Isn't that what you wanted, love?” You drop the thought of getting your mouth on him in a second, instinctually parting your legs, mumbling a ’yes, please’. John slots himself in between them with a low laugh. ”Desperate, huh?” He muses, gripping his cock, pumping his shaft, chest heaving with steadying breaths.

Leaning forward with a hand beside your head, John hovers over you, running his cock through your folds, slick coating his tip. As he nudges your clit, your hips jump, causing his cock to catch at your opening, forcing a moan from you both.

”Come on, love, ask nicely”. He dips his head beside your ear, hot breath cascading down your naked skin. Shifting his hips so you were unable to make him slip inside you. ”Said you were a sweet girl. Show me it ain’t only your cunt that’s sweet”.

”John”. Your arms encircle his neck as you lean up. With a slight tug, you indicate you want him to meet you halfway for a kiss. His lips find yours and you can feel a faint taste of yourself, even more so when you slip your tongue against John's. However, you don't go further than that before parting from him. Instead, you kiss the side of his lips, his bearded cheek, and the hinge of his jaw before you reach the soft spot beneath his ear. There you come to whisper, ”I need you inside me”.

You notice how he shudders as you breathe fans softly over his ear, and he doesn’t wait long until lining himself up with your weeping hole.

John keeps his thumb above your entrance when he slowly pushes into you. A low groan tears itself from his open mouth as he slips deeper into your wet heat while a keen escapes you when clenching around his length.

”Feel s’good, fuck”, John grunts. He rocks in the last bit, your hips meeting as he pants, filling you up, cock nestled so deep. ”So tight ’round me”, he moans when his thumb slip upwards, strumming your clit and making you clench around him.

”J-John”, you moan, head thrown back.

”Can I move, love?” You hastily nod, circling your hips as your arms tighten around him. But remembering what he said earlier, a few words are rushed from your tongue.

”Yes, yes, you can move”. He drags his cock out until only his tip rest inside you before roughly entering you to the hilt.

Your stomach clenches as John sets a steady pace, thrusting into you with a snap of his hips that makes you unable to silence your moans. It feels too good to have him in you, on you, around you. One of your arms remains around his neck as your other hand trail down the fine hair on his chest to wrap around his torso, fingers groping his muscled back.

The flush sensation flowing through slowly builds a thin sheen of sweat over your skin, a similar slickness coating John as he fucks you.

His dog tags swing above you, the cool metal quickly turning lukewarm from the heat emitting from your skin. He pushes one of your legs upwards and to the side, clutching the flesh as he spreads you wide, gazing down to stare at the place you’re joined.

You think you could scream. John looks so good, towering over you, mouth hanging open slightly, dog tags twinkling in the air. The grip digging into the meat of your thigh barely grounds you as he switches to long and plunging strokes, pulling out before he pushes his cock as deep as it goes. His well-trimmed pubic bone kisses your mound each time he bottoms out.

His gaze burns into the place where you’re joined. Only making more wetness rush from you until a wet sound escapes your core each time he drives himself into you.

You don’t know what urges you to do it, maybe from stopping the way your jaw works and accidentally chipping a tooth along the way. But you push upwards and, with a tilt of your head, catch the metal swinging above you with your teeth.

A metallic taste fills your mouth as you bite down, the carving of his identification uneven beneath your teeth as you quiet yourself.

John’s movements stutter as he’s tugged forwards slightly when you fall back onto the pillows, accommodating by swiftly bending down and stabilising himself on his forearm. The accompanying sound escaping him is not human. Deep, guttural, vibrating against you. Nothing can describe how primal it sounded stemming from him.

”Fuckin’ hell!” He pants, stilling inside you while the grip on your thigh tightens, meat spilling between John's fingertips. The bedding beside your head moves as you feel his hand fist in its new potion slightly above your crown.

He’s staring down at you. None of that pretty blue present, only a darkness shading them oceanic.

”The things you fuckin’ do to me”. You let go of the tags, the metal bumping against your chin, dotting it with a wet patch from the saliva your tongue coated his identifications in when pushing them from your mouth. When they slide off, the metal taps against your upper throat.

”And what are those, Captain?" A storm rolls over the oceans. Skies darkening, the air whispering silent promises of lighting that could flash any second. In its wake, cracks of thunder would growl, beautifully intimidating in its power. John’s the enigma now, with the lighting striking in his eyes, the thunder rumbling from his lungs.

”Threadin' dangerous ground now, love”. The pet-name he’d used during the evening lost its smoothness and got replaced with a reprimand, a warning.

The deep cadence rocked your core, making you squirm against him. He hisses at the shift of your hips. The hand splayed on your thigh falls to your hips, anchoring them to the bed with the rest of his body weight as he drops his lower body, immobilising any further movement.

”Happen to love those grounds when it comes to you”, you gasp, feeling full as he remains there, filling you up so deliciously.

”You do, don’t ya? Have a hard time convincin’ me of you being sweet when you act like a dirty fuckin’ girl”. A whimper rips from your throat, a shudder leaving goosebumps on your skin as your nails dig into his side, your core throbbing at the lewd sentence.

”John”, you attempt to rock your hips upwards, but his paw and weight keeps you in place. 

Noticing his effect on you, his head dips the crevice of your neck. Lavishing the skin there with kisses and nips, the bristles covering his lower face tickling the skin. It makes a quiver journey up your skull, causing an involuntary twitch of your neck as it cranes away from him.

”Don’t think so”. John shifts, the hand he'd kept himself up with by the side of your head worming under your arm and shoulder. It enables him to clutch the side of your head, stopping any reactions that would bring your further from him as he whispers dirty things into your ear. 

"Think I wanna let you go, eh? You're so pretty beneath me, love. Those eyes of yours, your dirty fuckin’ mouth", his voice dips into a growl, making you boneless, tipping more than pressing against the fingers at the back of your head.

He took the invite to once more pay attention to your neck, enough so it wouldn't be a surprise if a few love-bites would bloom. And as he does, he jostles himself inside you, causing your thigh to flex and the knee of your leg, having rested against the bed since his touch had left, press against his hip.

You need him to move, not comprehending how John could act as if he wasn’t inside you when you clench around him, only continuing to lave at your skin. The restraint on this fucking man would drive you insane.

”Move”, you pant, hand clenching, the pads of your fingers denting his skin as they curl.

”Didn’t hear ya”. John mumbles the response with the quirk of his lips against your throat. You groan both at his reply and the surging need.

”John, move, please”.

”You can do better than that, love”. He rose, face hovering above yours. Your gaze is unsteady and hazy as you blink, feeling wetness coat your lower lash lines. A rumbling chuckle left John upon the sight. ”Despite being so cockdrunk”.

Desire crawls under your skin and you wail, one hand slipping to grip his arm beside your head, the other just attempting to feel him all at once, gliding over his skin with no aim in sight. You open your mouth, but your tongue feels heavy.

”Need you”. The plea is barely coherent as you try to rock your hips upwards. Emphasis on tried, as John still pinned you down. Signalling he wasn’t satisfied. ”I-fuck, ’m need you to move, fuck me, whatever ya want, need to cum”. The end of your sentence became rushed, warbled as warm lust boiled over and constricted your throat. But this time, it was enough for John.

”That’s my girl”. You moan even before he pulls back and rocks into you. Your back arching, neck craning when he finally does.

His pubic bone rubs against yours as he sets a steady pace. Bottoming out each time with a grind that makes him kiss a part inside you that has your toes curling.

John drops his body to yours as his hand circles around your shoulder rather than your head. He presses impossibly close to you, the soft curves of your body moulding against the hard planes of his working muscles.

Your hand move to the back of his neck, fingers carding through his brown locks. Your nails dig, catching his skin, earning you a particularly harsh thrust.

You moan louder and John continues as the same pace as he punches into you with repeated snaps of his hips. Your body jolts, now thankful for his grip on you, or otherwise, you would’ve scooted up the bed until presumingly hitting the wall.

As he hits a spot that makes lighting sip up your spine and you arch against his unmoving front, a wrecked moan stems from your lungs to join his grunts. John notices the difference in your sound of pleasure and continues at the same angle, watching how your head lolls almost too easy to the side. And, if it hadn't been for the desperate noises escaping your open mouth, John would also have worried.

You groan a broken sound into his mouth when he presses his lips to yours, the kiss quickly turning from the press of lips to dirty slides and sucks of tongues.

John's hand on your hip settles on your waist, dragging you to meet each of his thrusts. In response, your legs curl over his hips, your heel pressing into the back of his thighs to drive him further into you. 

As oxygen becomes hard to pull in, your stuttering breaths incapacitate you from continuing the fervent exchange with him, simply keeping your mouth open, panting against him. John doesn’t mind. Not when his grunts bounce against your breathed whines as well.

You don’t know who loses the battle of eye contact first, but soon you find your cheek pressed against his bearded one, head tilting slightly backwards as his hung between his shoulders, breaths puffing against your clavicle.

He mumbles incoherent things, sweet nothings and lewd sentences. "Squeeze me so good”. ”Come on, love, need to feel you come around me". ”Fuck, I’m close”.

You latch onto the last one as you feel your high nearing its crest. 

”Inside, John, cum inside me”. He pushes deeper somehow, his first reaction entirely instinctual upon your sentence.

Your curse gets swallowed by his lips as his hand beneath you grips your neck, fingers pressing into the base of your skull as he claims your lips in a possessive kiss. It’s short as he swiftly parts from you when a moan is ripped from you both, as his dominant display made you clench hard around him.

”S-sure, love?” He groans.

”Yes”, you wail.

”Jesus, I-ah fuck”, his voice is gruff from breathlessness, pleasure-strained sentence clipped. John's eyes close harshly enough that his brows furrow, unable to hold his head up anymore as it drops.

Your legs start to quiver as John slips his finger to rub fervent circles to your clit with a ‘come one, love, need you to cum f’me’ mumbled against your skin.

Your orgasm builds quickly, cresting like the dent your nails press into John’s back. And then it snaps. 

You go rigid with an arch towards his frame, broken cry leaving you. You convulse, toes curling as your legs tighten around John's waist.

His thrust doesn’t stall, he continues to pound you down into the mattress. Though with more restricted movements. He barely pulls out, more so harshly grinding into you, pumping into the spot inside you that only prolongs your pleasure and trashing.

Barely able to moan any longer, mouth just hanging open in a silent scream, your arms envelop his neck once more, forcing him to rest more of his weight on you as he can't keep himself elevated with your insistent tugging and the weakness his nearing high causes.

His thrust turns sloppy when you whisper his name, urging him to cum, that you can't take it any longer, that you want to feel him, to warm you up.

You would've been embarrassed at the words that left your tongue if not for the seemingly continuous stream of ecstasy on your end and the man moaning shamelessly at your purred sentences. And it doesn't end until John's thrust turns erratic, a few more thrusts into your spasming cunt until he comes with a shudder.

A deep groan resonates from him as his back curl, seemingly wanting to crawl into you as he spills deep within you, warmth filling you and leaving you with a sated sensation. He collapses onto you then, his entire weight tending to a deep need of comfort emerging as you both heave for air.

The thin sheen of sweat covering your body cools you down, causing your skin to prickle and a shudder to work through you. Both of you let out near-whiny sounds as it makes you involuntarily clench around him.

But you can't help how you unconsciously clench around John in the wake of your orgasm despite your oversensitive bodies. It makes him grunt and gently pull out of you, sparing both of you the strained pleasure as he rolls to the side. 

Although feeling a sudden emptiness without his weight inside you and your mixed juices slowly trickling out with each spent tremor of your hole, one of John's arms remains around your waist and pulls you close to his side. Tending to your need for closeness.

Your laboured breaths fan against his ribs and back in your face as you feel his chest expand harshly beneath your palm. For a few seconds, you simply revel in the post-euphoria. Eyes closed, basking in John’s presence as you feel the usual drowsiness after reaching your high emerging. Still, you notice how he shuffles all too soon, his arm beginning to slip from around you and his warmth moving away.

”M’no”, you mumble, hooking your arm around John’s waist as he attempts to sit up, face burrowing more into his side.

”M’not gonna disappear, just gonna grab somethin' to clean you up”. Your heart flutters at his care, but at the moment, you need him here with you more.

”Not now, in a bit”. Your eyes flutter open, hooded gaze locking with John’s as you look up at him. Something stalls in his body, stopping him in his movement.

”S’alright then”, he speaks softly, falling down and pulling your upper body onto his chest, and you nuzzle into the column of his neck with a smile and sigh.

”Awfully cosy you are”, John hums beside your ear, shuffling a bit, and you feel the covers that slipped down your bed being pulled to your waist. His hand seeks your skin beneath the fabric giving the both of you some modesty, fingers running up and down your spine.

”Live with it, soldier”.

The air of his soft huff travels over your shoulders. ”Ain’t complainin'”.

”Good”. You kiss the base of his throat, receiving a rumble from his chest.

As you lay there, you slowly feel how you come to. God, you didn’t want to move, but if you didn’t, you would fall asleep. Attempting to stretch away some of the comfortable softness in your limbs, you emerge from his neck to look down at him.

Your hand settles on his chest, your pinky resting on the chain of his dog tags, moving the metal slightly with the flex of your fingertip.

Upon being so close to him, you notice the incredibly sparse, yet still present, specks of grey sprinkled in his hair and beard.

”Hi”. Your soft greeting earns you a smile, that one you liked so much on John's handsome face.

”Hello”. Despite its natural gravel and husk, John's voice is softer than you ever heard during the evening. 

The slow smile pulling your lips doesn’t stop even though he leans up for a peck, which swiftly turns into a few shared kisses. When he parts from you, his head falls back to rest against the hand behind his head, head tilted slightly from the position.

”Remember you mentioned you weren’t needed anywhere in the morning”. Your fingers play with the chain resting on John's chest. The hand around your waist slows until his thumb traces lazy circles against your lower back.

”What about it?” One of his brows quirks, and you glance down at your fingers, suddenly shy beneath his heavy-lidded gaze and confidently relaxed posture in your bed.

”Like to stay the night?” It feels like you mumble the question into his chest, and you even stop yourself from continuing with ’if you don’t want to, you don’t have to’, knowing he’s a grown man aware he has a choice without you plainly stating it.

A slight tap of fingers against your chin brings your gaze back up, and there, his lips meet yours in a deeper kiss than earlier. At the low hum his act pulls from you, he smiles and leans back to rest against your pillows again, index and middle finger resting along your jawline.

”Hadn’t planned to go anywhere if you didn’t shoo me out”.

”I won’t, or maybe just to re-park your car in the morning so you don’t get a ticket”, he chuckled before pulling you closer to him again.

[edupunkn00b]

The Gremlin and His Pocket Protector

Photo by Sean Bernstein via Unsplash

[ AO3 ] - Rated: G - WC: - CW: mild language - written for @ashtonisvibing in the Seasons Skirmish

Remus asks his brother's best friend to be his date at his roller rink birthday party.

“Hey, Pocket Protector! Wait up!” Remus called from the top step. Logan looked up just in time to catch him sliding down the banister separating them. He landed with a thud inches from Logan's feet, chains adorning his jacket clanking against the battered collection of buttons and patches that covered most of the worn leather.

“You are aware I do not even wear a pocket protector, correct?” Logan bit back a more acerbic reply as he glared at his best friend’s strange brother.

“Yeah,” he said, smirking back as though nothing could matter less than reality. “Your point?” Remus leaned in, one hand pressed against the wall just over his shoulder. The stream of students leaving that floor’s lecture halls flowed around them, parted like the sea by Remus’ shock of bright green hair topping his 6’4” frame.

“What do you want, Remus?” he inched toward his left, eyes searching for a break in the traffic for his chance to escape this conversation. He’d long ago gone through all the stages of Remus Avoidance: ignoring, shouting, even tattling when they’d all been back in grade school together. 

Unfortunately, the endless tenacity that had somehow gotten Remus into the same university as his inarguably superior twin was just as easily directed to his apparent favorite pastime: annoying the hell out of Logan.

“I want you to come as my date to my birthday party, of course!” Remus said, shoving a crumpled version of the invitation he’d helped Roman design into his hand.

Logan blinked up his’ manic smile before staring down at the gold foil invitation. “Your…”

“My date, yeah,” Remus nodded, squeezing in a little closer as a gaggle of freshmen moved behind him, nattering away about an upcoming final. “You’re going, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course I’m going!” A flash of irritation, too strong to hide, sharpened his tone. Remus didn’t seem to notice. Or care. “I am co-hosting the event.” The green-haired gremlin just nodded, smiling with too much teeth. “For your brother.”

“Oh, I know that,” he cackled, half-heartedly punching his shoulder. “But he’s got his own date already. I want you to be my date.”

“I am not attracted to your—” The lie died on his lips. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. He wasn’t attracted to Roman.

Thankfully, Remus was too distracted, staring up at a commotion on the landing above them. He briefly imagined he’d heard Roman’s voice, but his wish for an easy escape from this conversation he was in no way ready—would never be ready—to have was just that. A wish.

“So is that a ‘yes?’” Remus asked, smiling back at him.

“No, that is a ‘no.’” Logan said firmly, holding his books close to his chest as he worked his way into the crown leaving the building.

“But I’ll see you there!” Remus called after him, giddy with whatever scheme he’d devised to harass Logan further.

Logan didn’t bother to answer and instead moved with the crowd out to the Quad and off to his next class. He barely noticed the invitation still gripped tightly in his hand.

~

Remus grinned as he watched Logan maneuver his way through the throngs of slow-moving students. “It’s never going to work,” Roman said from the landing above, leaning over the railing to be heard over the midday tumult.

“Of course it is,” Remus countered, hoisting himself up and over the railing before taking the stairs up, three steps at a time. He shrugged, still smiling, at his brother. “He’s gonna be there, isn’t he?”

“He’s throwing the party!” Roman cried, eyes wide. “And since when do you actually like my friends?”

“Ew, I don’t,” he laughed, heading down the stairs and toward the door where Logan had just escaped. Roman followed, too much of a nosy bitch to let him get far. When the door swung open to release a squad of jostling frat boys, Remus caught just a glimpse of Logan’s raven hair out on the quad, shining in the sun. “Just that one.”

~

Heavy bass pounded inside the roller rink, muffled but not silenced by the door Logan let close behind him. He leaned against it, the June night air cooler than he’d feared. Or maybe it was just cooler outside compared to the muggy heat of fifty of Roman and Remus’ closest friends bouncing off of one another inside the crowded venue.

At least Logan had been able to convince Roman to limit the guest list with a Pairs Event theme. Even if it meant he would sit out most of the skating. But that was satisfactory. Logan had had his fill at actual skate competitions back in high school.

All things considered, the party wasn’t bad and there were parts Logan genuinely found enjoyable. It seemed Remus’ big plan had been to stand him up—Roman’s chaotic twin hadn’t bothered to show up for his own birthday party. Logan sighed and leaned a little heavier against the door. All the more reason to ignore the little spark that danced through his mind whenever he spotted that tuft of neon green.

A giggling couple approached, side-walking up the steps toward the entrance. Their mocked-up ‘competitor’ bibs half-hanging from their backs, the taller of the pair carried a large bottle partially hidden in a brown paper bag. They paused as they drew nearer, the large ‘Emergency Exit Only’ sign above Logan’s head making for a nice deterrent. He’d chosen his spot carefully, deactivating the alarm for a guaranteed space for air when he needed breaks from the party.

“Couples figure skating begins in fifteen minutes, if you’re ‘competing,’” Logan told them, tapping his watch. Roman’s muted voice buzzed through the gap under the door, his words unintelligible but his excitement palpable. More than likely, he was making the same announcement inside. “Roman’s crafted a secret prize for the winner.”

“Oh, thanks, Lo!” they cheered as they clomped past, taking the long way back to the main entrance. They stumbled slightly, leaning on each other until they turned just out of Logan’s sight.

“Thanks, Lo Lo,” Remus purred, too close to his other side.

Logan jolted, pivoting away too fast for Remus’ outstretched hand. His toe stop squeaked against the floorboards and he glared up at the wayward brother. He'd shed his usual motorcycle jacket and tight ripped jeans and was dressed instead in a long-sleeved green shirt under a deep blue denim vest and matching pants. A bit of sparkle flashed in the denim. It reminded Logan of his old skating competition clothes. What the hell is he playing at? “Where have you been? The party— your— party started over an hour ago!”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” he cooed but didn’t move closer. One hand was tucked behind his back, the other hand the railing next to them in a death grip. “Did you miss me?” he asked with a grin, eyebrows dancing in a spot-on imitation of Andrew Scott’s Moriarty.

“Of course not.” Of course he didn’t miss his vaguely derogative nicknames or how he stood too close or stared into his eyes when he spoke. “Roman was looking for you.”

“Eh,” Remus shrugged, his smile falling into a smirk. “So why are you out here? Looking for me, too?”

“No.” Logan looked out over the side parking lot. This vantage point specifically wouldn’t allow him to watch for the approach of Remus’ car or the entrance to see him slither in late to his own birthday party. He couldn’t look for Remus here. “But you are correct,” he muttered. “I should return.”

He turned and side-stepped upstairs. He was half-way up the flight when he noticed the lack of Remus’ skates tromping behind him. Logan looked over his shoulder and Remus had barely moved. “Are you not going inside?”

“Afraid you’ll miss the chance to skate with me?” Remus smirked back. Logan crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes. He was certainly not going to entertain the idea just to have Remus play some trick in front of everyone.  “Don’t get your pencils twisted. I’m coming.” He inched forward, one hand still gripping the railing. “Well, not yet, anyway. That would be rude without my date.”

“I’m not your date,” Logan reminded him, frowning at his remark. He waited another long moment and listened as the music shifted and Roman’s voice again filtered through the cracks between the exit doors. “If you wish to see at least some of your birthday party, we should return.”

“Oooh, ‘we…’” Remus laughed, sharp and bright. His smile had gone a little brittle and though he’d slid a little closer, he’d still not joined Logan on the stairs. He would have to let go of the side railing to get any closer, and he seemed… intent on keeping hold of it. Almost as though…

“Remus?” Logan asked, stepping closer. “Remus do you not know how to roller skate?”

“I can skate,” he insisted, hand still wrapped around the rail. “I’m just… just a little rusty.” Remus’ smile finally cracked and he looked up. Logan remained silent. “Fine!” he said, letting go of the railing. Remus slid closer to the first step, perhaps a little wobbly. He reached for the bannister and stepped up to the first stair. “I’ll show you. I’ll just—”

His words cut out when his front wheels spun out, toe stop catching on the edge of the step. His back leg shot out and he slammed to his knees, arms spread and revealing the small wrapped package he’d been hiding behind his back. The box skidded across the floor, a corner of the silver-starred paper tearing.

“Remus?” Logan hop-skipped down the stairs two at a time. He landed near him just as Remus was pushing himself up to sit, back propped against the railing to which he’d been clinging to. “Remus, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, Pocket Protector,” Remus muttered, looking away and brushing the dust off his knees. “Just go in. I’ll…”

Logan had sat beside him and stretched to reach for the small box. “You dropped your present for Roman.”

“Not for Roman,” Remus said, barely audible. “”S for you. If you don’t want it…” He shrugged, the bravado, the teasing, the confidence in his voice evaporated into the night.

“For me?” Logan turned the small package around in his hands. Remus had wrapped it in deep indigo paper and had apparently stamped a star pattern over the finished gift.

Remus shrugged. “You didn’t hafta get me anything this year.”

“Your gift is inside at the party,” Logan said, setting aside the gift and his curiosity. “I wouldn’t bring Roman a gift without one for you, as well.”

“Why?”

Logan didn’t have an answer for that so instead he shifted to face him. “Why did Roman ask for a birthday party at a roller rink if you can’t roller skate?”

“Brotherly love?” Remus’ laugh was hollow. Roman’s voice boomed through the building again, even louder this time. “Dick move, yeah.” He waved Logan on. “You should go in. He is your best friend.”

Logan pushed himself up to one knee and waited for another laugh, another smirk, another ‘Nerd!’ 

Remus was quiet and still wouldn‘t look at him. Logan pushed to his feet and turned his foot, bracing himself. He reached for Remus’ hands with both of his. “Not without my date,” he said.

Remus’ head shot up, eyes narrowed. “Getting me back for the time I put isotropic polymers in your chem lab final?”

Logan dropped his hands. “I thought that was you!” The music inside the rink shifted into a fanfare and Logan let out a slow breath. “No. I will not exact my revenge for that event tonight.” He crouched and took Remus’ hands, then stood, skates braced against each other as he helped him to his feet.

“Tonight,” he said, his own smile matching Remus’ tentative grin. “Tonight let’s show your brother how much of a dick move that was.”

“You really are my Pocket Protector, aren’t you?” Remus laughed.

Hands still wrapped around Remus’, Logan pushed his right hand back as he pulled the left closer, spinning the taller man until he faced the wall. “Tomorrow, you should watch your back.”

Still laughing, Remus nodded. “You got it, nerd.”

-----

Full gift exchange series

[deityoftherain]

Traffic Life Superpowers AU - Ren/Martyn&Cleo

I have posted the second chapter of my superpowers au fanfic called the boogey (click here for the summary on Tumblr)! I have already posted what Tango, Scott, Lizzie, Joel, Etho, Skizz, and BigB's powers/abilities are if you want to look at those, but Martyn, Ren, and Cleo's powers are under the cut! I will be posting more powers for people when they are introduced to the story.

Martyn Littlewood (He/Him) Alter Ego: Knight Status: Human Villain Power(s): In the government database, Martyn is listed as having abnormally increased hearing. In addition to that ability, he can create and manipulate winter-like/aligned things such as ice, snow, frost, etc. but only when he bleeds. No, he doesn't understand it either and no, he doesn't want to talk about how he figured that out. Ren affectionately calls the ability "Red Winter" though.

Fun Fact: I got the idea for his abilities from the whole "Listener" lore thing and him being the start of Red Winter. Yes, it was Ren's death, but Martyn was the one who killed him. It seemed like a cool (haha, get it) ability for him, and there's a sort of charm to Ren being the one to name it.

Ren Littlewood (He/Him/They) Alter Ego: The Red King Status: Dog Hybrid Villain Power(s): Ren has some traits associated with his dog hybrid status, such as dog ears, a tail, and a decent nose for tracking based on scent. He can shift into a dog or a partway dog (think werewolves), usually on command. He typically uses the weredog form when out and about as The Red King because he finds that he performs better that way. It also helps separate his villain identity from his civilian identity.

Fun Fact: Ren has Martyn's last name, you are right, they are married in this fanfic's canon. Yes, I'm also super excited about that. His powers are fairly straightforward- he's literally rendog; what do you want from me? His naming scheme and Martyn's come from Third Life, otherwise known as the season where half the server was homoromantically devoted to their husband teammate.

Cleo Walker (They/She) Alter Ego: Zomblaze Status: Zombie Hybrid Floater Power(s): Cleo has certain features that contribute to her zombie hybrid status such as the following: being able to detach and reattach limbs at will, slow heartbeat, decreased need to breathe, decreased need to eat, high resistance to temperature changes, etc. They are known to carry a lot of gadgets and weapons, with fire/heat-related ones being their favorites and inspiring their alter ego name.

Fun Fact: I am strangely proud of Zomblaze as a name, not gonna lie. Their alter ego name is in reference to their username "ZombieCleo" (as are their abilities) and their tendency to be an arsonist. Cleo's last name is a play off of The Walking Dead, which are basically zombies. I had a list of possible last names so I asked my mom which one I should give a character and she picked the most normal-sounding one. I should have guessed that.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

i've been enabled and i'm making it your problem

@autisticempathydaemon and @zozo-01 are FAR better to me than i deserve - and so commences the most stupidly difficult, totally self-indulgent and utterly ridiculous game you may have ever seen 🥳🥳

somehow, i've racked up 31 redacted fics in just under a year (??? how on earth has THAT happened??) and for each one, i've picked my favourite favourite line - it's your challenge to match the line to the fic it's from!

(please, don't take this too seriously - i'm not trying to shamelessly promote myself, or fish for compliments or whatever. all that's happening here is that i'm really proud of some of the stuff i've written over the past year, and it's my blog so i can do whatever i want lmao)

under the cut: first off is my list of lines, and then a comprehensive list of fic titles (arranged by date published, and then separated by series) so that you don't have to go traipsing through my masterlist! there's 31 total - i wonder how many you can get...

(i'll probably reblog this post with answers later, for anyone who may be curious, but again it's not that deep lmao)

oh, and one last thing: MINORS DNI 💕💕 there's nothing explicitly nsft here, but the implication is HEAVY for a few of these, so i'm erring on the side of caution!

(also, it's fairly obvious, but beware spoilers for, like, everything i've ever written lol)

-

ginger's picks:

What do you get when you cross a bullet with a human brain?

Ask for the impossible, just once more, and know that he has never been able to resist you.

sitting cross-legged in the bowl of your pelvis, holding your stomach softly in his lap and stroking it like a pretty cat.

(That’s you, by the way. They’re watching you. Smile.)

his heart beats on. maybe you’re asleep, maybe you’re awake. it doesn’t matter. you dream of him either way.

Books be damned. You, the answer to his prayers, the apple that bit back, and he’s forever in your gentle grasp. What is magic, if it isn’t whatever he has with you?

he doesn’t stay to read it, but there is a small plaque attached to the front of the plinth, glinting in the light. the text reads simply, “THINGS TO HOLD ON FOR.”

Lovely, gorgeous, beautiful Gavin - the man who plays Mario Kart at full volume, and blows kisses to the mirror as he twirls around under your arm in his new dresses, and regales you with story after story of the time he and Vincent didn't mean to cause a low-speed traffic incident, we promise, deviant!

will you hate it, spit it out into your hands, dump it in the trash with the rest of his candied heart?

The tortured scream of an incubus, from whom the world just takes and takes and takes, sealed off from the stars and utterly alone.

(The mug is blue. Elliott is lactose intolerant.)

Vindemiator, the patron saint of the empty champagne glass. Always the bridesmaid, never the incubus bride.

it belongs to you. he does too.

How is it that you find him, over and over, sunshine in his moonbound soul?

He raises his nearly-empty glass to you, a polite suggestion of a toast, charming and melancholy in equal measure. “You love him. I love him too. In us, may he never disappear.”

the howl of your laughter, the flash of your teeth in the mirror - his sweetheart’s as animal as he is.

“When he holds your legs nice and wide, stretching you out, filling you up… Look down, honey, there it is - feel that? Feel how full he makes you feel?”

It's the look that means he's plotting something nefarious again - one of his diabolical schemes that should send anyone with common sense running for the hills, and that probably means you either need to find your passport, renew your life insurance, or check the stability of every flat surface in the house.

Laying herself down amidst the wreaths of flowers, shrouded in lace and tulle, a silver sixpence under her right heel and feeling oh so very blue.

they can’t make a dream like he can make you.

Pantomime villains, or not even that - a whole clan of half-baked sidekicks, tripping over themselves to trip him up, thinking they’re bigger and badder than they actually are.

“You think I need half an hour? Shit, sweetheart, you must be in the mood for more than I thought,” he laughs, phone already in hand. “And here I was thinkin’ you still wanted to be able to walk tonight.”

a rest can look like sleep can look like death. rigor mortis sets in. bleached to bones in the burning sand.

his jaw goes slack. you cannot seriously be expecting him to be fit for any sort of company, polite or otherwise, rose-tinted spit smeared across his face and eyes blown wide with stifled pleasure.

“i swear it on my life. every everlasting day of it.”

All you can do is stare down at the little post-it note by your right foot, bright pink paper stuck cheerily to the front of your current case folder, and try not to look like your heart is melting into caramel.

The smell of smoke, the sound of a campfire, and a single chair to sit on. Yes, a wonderful dream. When does Elliott get here?

head spinning, he pulls hazily at the hem of your shirt, too drunk on your touch to hear your laughter (he can’t quite tell if you’re calling him “needy” or “pretty”, and it really could be either), too desperate to worry about the careless way he’s practically tearing your clothes off you. whatever it was, he’ll buy you a new one.

You’re his, in this room most of all, his most treasured little darling that prefers the taste of his kiss to any wine he gives you, that craves the glow of his adoration as much as the sting of his disapproval, that knows every curve and line and swirl in the wood of his desk where he bends you over it.

Warmth and weight and water. A happy little inchoate, snoozing away in Vega’s arms, and you don’t remember if you dream.

All things are equal on the altar of his adoration and he is your greatest disciple, raising the knife up in his hands and swearing on your name that he will bring you back to life. Watch over him, bless him, smile upon him. Just you wait. One last miracle.

fic titles (standalone first, arranged by date, then series):

green umbrella trees

take a sip

ivory tower

thy fair imperfect shade

can’t help but see

knock knock!

sh-boom, sh-boom!

get in, loser!

I WON’T BOW OUT BRAVELY

ever thine, ever mine, ever ours

五二零

kingdom come

bury the hatchet

return to me

here we are in heaven

original sin

oops-a-daisy

LOVE HEART (the milo and sweetheart series)

SWEET TALK

SOUL MATE

ALL MINE

swings and roundabouts (imperium)

one more paradox

come into my parlour

stranglehold

five more minutes

blood sugar, baby!

wrapped up in clover

to the egress! (the barnum series)

hold on tight

a ring on the carousel

mad or sublime

motion capture (the elliott one)

motion capture

you’re the cat’s meow!

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

[blueberry-lemon]

Thoughts about social media's future

Not to sound too dire, but it sure seems like there's an uphill battle ahead for freelancers / creative folks on the internet. Platforms and audiences are clearly migrating over to short-form video and livestreaming. Platforms that were previously good at just being a good place for text or image posts are either crumbling under the weight of bad decision-making or have shifted priorities over to video. There are new platforms and niche platforms that ARE good for posting your work, but they don't have enough users on them to actually build an audience. In other words, if a platform is good for creators and somewhat calm/ethically designed, it might not accumulate enough traffic for you to be able to find enough people to keep your business afloat.

I don't know what the answer to all this is, if you're new and still trying to build an audience for your work. As the internet changes, and we change as people, it's possible that we will all just drift in separate directions and there won't be large centralized hubs for non-video posts anymore. I think, as a user, we'll all just find our own routines in our own little corners of the web. I can only really think of two approaches people can take, if they're worried about their freelancing or small business: Approach A: Embrace the new platforms and make short-form video, livestreams, or podcasts, etc. to accompany your other work. Approach B: Aim for an older / "more old-school" audience and make a blog, website, and email mailing list. Start making friends with other people doing the same thing and link to each others' sites, just like people did before social media. Or, obviously, do both. I know there's a lot of people out there who do freelance illustration, comics, music, etc. who don't want to do the song and dance of short-form video. I can relate, I have no interest in making short-form video either. In the grand scheme of life I don't know whether this is all a good thing or bad thing. Very bizarre to see things change so quickly in the past couple of years. I imagine that 5 years from now, the sites/platforms I visit will be very different. I also imagine, like a lot of other people, I will probably start LIMITING my time looking at social media in general. Even this fact (that we all might become more cognizant of our mental health and give ourselves less "screen time") might ironically also make it harder for freelancers trying to get shared. Lol.

[shayminlucario07]

I'd also like to add- in District Eleven, names tend to be intrinsically tied to nature, but also in many ways reflect the unfortunate circumstances of the district itself. Rue, of course, meaning regret or repentance, but also being the name of an herb; Thresh, meaning "to separate grain from a plant", a brutal-sounding name with a mundane farming origin, which is also quite similar to Thrush, a type of bird; and Chaff, the dry scale-like casing of the seeds of cereal grains, but which is also used as a derogatory term to indicate something viewed as worthless or valueless- "Cut down like chaff". Especially traffic when you realize that the character Chaff was a District Eleven victor- one of the most high status people in District Eleven, and his name means "Worthless".

And there's two characters who fit this District Eleven-esque naming scheme, but don't hail from District Eleven- Prim and Katniss. Primula Vulgaris, or the common evening primrose, is exactly what the name suggests- a common flower. It's a plant name, like many District Eleven names, but rather than explicitly negative connotation, it simply suggests something common- which I personally think represents how the love between Katniss and Prim is nothing particularly special, they're just sisters who love each other dearly. And as for Katniss, Sagittaria is a genus of aquatic plant that had many names, such as Swamp Potato, Duck Potato (Remember how Katniss called Prim "Little Duck"?), and Arrowhead- potatoes have a strong link to Scotland and Ireland in history, look up the potato famine if you want to know more about that, but the link between historical famines and "The Hunger Games" should be self-evident- and of course, Katniss' most memorable trait- the one that gets her through the games and the rebellion alive- is her skill in Archery, making "Arrowhead" make perfect sense, as well as Sagittaria, coming from Sagittarius, the constellation of a centaur drawing a bow.

Suzanne Collins knew what she was doing with these names, and she came up with them masterfully- I am thoroughly in awe and will probably never not admire her.

I unironically love the character names in the Hunger Games series.

Haymitch, Peeta, Hazelle, Leevy, Maysilee, Finnick and Greasy Sae look bizarre when you first see them written down, but then if you think about how they look and/or sound it's pretty clear that they're meant to be modern names, only modern names that have changed spelling and pronounciation over time— as you would have expected them to have done so over how ever many hundreds of years it's been since our modern day.

(Remember, though The Hunger Games themselves have only been going on for 75 years, the universe they're in is canonically post-apocalyptic— the reason nobody ever mentions what's happening in the rest of the world is that everywhere except America was destroyed in a nuclear war. We're not given much of an indication how long it's been since then.)

Peeta is Peter, Haymitch is Hamish, and Hazelle is Hazel, Maysilee is Maisie— the changes in pronunciation are slight (Peeta and Peter are already virtually identical in my accent), and the spelling has changed to match.

Leevy is either a corruption of Lily, or more likely I suspect 'Livvy', a common nickname for Olivia; Finnick is probably from Finnegan (shorten in to 'Finneg' and then say it over and over very fast); Sae could be short for Sarah, or Sally or even Susan— it's not uncommon for nicknames to become real names in their own right (look at Harry or Molly as examples).

I also love the trend of having District 1 parents give their kids names relating to the luxury items their district produces— Glimmer, Marvel, Gloss, Cashmere, Velvereen (presumably a corruption of 'velveteen'), Facet— because those things are all a) objectively pretty/nice (like naming a kid 'Diamond' or 'Star' today) and presumably status symbols in their district.

Meanwhile District 3 does the same thing, but all the pronunciations are corrupted. You've got technical names to do with the manufacture of electronics— Wiress (wireless), Circ (circuit)— but you've also got what I'm pretty sure are meant to be corruptions of modern brand names— Beetee (BT), Teslee (Tesla).

To me this kind of suggests that District 3 is less conscious of this influence than District 1. Like, parents in 1 are more likely to deliberately think "I'll name my kid Glimmer, because things that glimmer are pretty" whereas 3 as a culture might have genuinely forgotten that those names used to mean something, in the same way that most of us don't think much about how the name 'Arthur' comes from the old word for 'Bear'.

And of course, then you've got the Capitol leaning hard into those ancient Roman vibes with names like Fulvia, Plutarch, Seneca, Tigris… but still using the European/American personal name+family name format, which the Romans didn't really do. Like it's very clear that this is a future society fetishising the classical era, rather than an actual resurgence of Roman culture.

It's just such a cool world-building detail. So many dystopian novels just go for modern names (and there's nothing wrong with that, especially if you're only looking a couple of hundred years into the future) but thinking about how names might have evolved over the centuries and the different naming traditions that might have developed in different areas really adds a whole new dimension to the culture of Panem.

[wslinemarking]

How Warehouse Line Marking Enhances Safety and Productivity in 2025

In today’s fast-paced industrial environments, optimizing workspace efficiency is non-negotiable. One often overlooked yet critical factor? Warehouse line marking. This simple, cost-effective solution transforms chaotic floors into organized zones, ensuring smooth operations and reducing risks. Let’s explore why this practice is trending—and how it benefits businesses.

Why Warehouse Line Marking Matters

A cluttered warehouse is a recipe for accidents and delays. Without clear visual cues, employees may struggle to navigate aisles, locate equipment, or identify hazardous areas. Warehouse line marking eliminates guesswork by creating designated pathways, storage zones, and safety boundaries. The result? Fewer collisions, faster workflows, and a culture of accountability.

Safety First: Protecting Teams and Assets

Slips, trips, and forklift accidents cost businesses millions annually. Bright, durable floor markings act as silent safety supervisors:

Hazard zones (like loading docks) are highlighted with bold colors.

Pedestrian walkways are separated from vehicle routes.

Emergency exits and fire equipment stay unobstructed.

By prioritizing visibility, companies reduce workplace injuries and insurance claims—proving that prevention is smarter than reaction.

Boosting Efficiency Through Smart Design

Time wasted searching for tools or navigating crowded aisles adds up. Strategic warehouse line marking in Melbourne streamlines workflows by:

Labeling inventory zones for quick restocking.

Marking equipment parking spots to prevent clutter.

Using color codes to differentiate departments (e.g., red for QA, yellow for shipping).

Employees spend less time maneuvering and more time on value-added tasks, driving productivity gains of up to 20% in some cases.

Best Practices for Effective Implementation

Not all floor markings are created equal. For lasting impact:

Choose high-quality materials resistant to heavy traffic and chemicals.

Standardize color schemes across teams to avoid confusion.

Audit layouts regularly to adapt to changing needs.

Partnering with experts ensures compliance with industry standards—and maximizes ROI.

Final Thoughts

In 2024, smart warehouses aren’t just about automation; they’re about creating intuitive, human-centric spaces. Clear floor markings empower teams, safeguard assets, and unlock operational potential. Whether you’re revamping an existing facility or designing a new one, this small investment delivers outsized returns.

[mistarenomanagement]

Designing a Functional Layout for Your Second-Storey Addition

Source: pexels

Designing a functional layout for your 2nd storey addition can help maximise your home's space and comfort. So if you’re thinking of expanding extra bedrooms or adding a home office, you should do some careful planning to ensure the new level complements your existing structure.

Truth be told, every detail contributes to a practical and harmonious design. To achieve this, we'll give you tips on designing a second-storey layout that combines style and functionality below!

Steps to Designing a Functional Layout

Designing a practical layout involves creating a flow that maximises functionality and enhances comfort. That said, you need to follow some steps for better results!

Understand Your Needs and Priorities

When building a second floor, the first step is to evaluate your lifestyle and understand how the new space will be used. Are you adding extra bedrooms, creating a home office, or designing an entertainment area?

Think about your family’s current needs and how they might change in the future. For example, you may need separate spaces for work and play if you work from home or have school-aged children.

In addition to understanding how the space will be used, defining your must-have features is also important. Some examples include natural ventilation, privacy for each room, or an open-plan design.

Work with the Existing Layout

Consider working with your home's existing layout to make sure your 2nd storey addition blends in smoothly. The second floor's layout should complement the first floor in terms of design, flow, and traffic patterns.

For example, the staircase connecting the two levels should be thoughtfully placed in a central or unobtrusive location to ensure easy access without disrupting the space's flow.

Aside from the layout, it's also best to respect your house's structural constraints. The existing foundation and roof structure may limit the design and construction of the new floor. You can consult a professional, like an architect, to assess your home's current supports, utilities, and structural integrity.

Maximising Space Efficiency

Creating a smart design can help you maximise the space in your 2 storey addition. One of the first decisions is whether to go with open-plan living or defined rooms. An open floor plan can make the space feel larger and more connected, while separate rooms offer privacy and purpose-specific areas.

To strike a balance, consider flexible options like sliding doors, partitions, or convertible spaces that can adapt to your needs over time. Adding storage can also help you make the most out of your new space. Built-in solutions like shelving, closets, or under-bed storage can help keep the area organised without taking up extra room.

Design Aesthetics and Flow

For a successful 2nd storey addition, consider harmonising the new space with your home's existing style. Use materials, colour schemes, and design elements that complement the original structure to create a cohesive look. Avoid mixing clashing architectural styles between the first and second floors, as this can disrupt your home's overall appeal and value.

Creating a sense of flow is also important for a functional and comfortable home. When planning the layout, divide the area into functional zones to improve practicality. For example, you can divide the second floor into living, sleeping, or working spaces.

For added versatility, consider multi-functional rooms or flexible layouts so you can easily adapt them according to your needs.

Consult with Professionals

Working with professionals can make all the difference when planning a second-storey house. Hiring an architect or designer ensures that the layout optimises space, enhances aesthetics, and complies with building codes. Their expertise can also help identify structural challenges and suggest creative solutions to help you achieve your vision.

It's also important to collaborate with an experienced builder. They will help you optimise your space and budget while keeping your project on track.

Work with Mista Reno for Quality 2nd Storey Additions

Designing a functional 2nd storey addition requires careful planning and consideration of your needs, lifestyle, and long-term needs. Some ways to do this include focusing on how the new floor is integrated with the existing layout and prioritising essential features.

Working with reputable builders, like Mista Reno, can help you create a practical and aesthetically pleasing space. We are committed to delivering flawless remodels, extensions, and additions to the local community. For more information, get in touch with us today!

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Planning to build a second-storey extension, here are the answers to your frequently asked questions related to this matter!

Can you add a second story to an existing house?

You can add a second story to an existing house, but several factors should be considered. For instance, the structural integrity of your home and whether your local building codes permit it.

How much does adding a second floor cost?

The cost of adding a second floor can vary depending on several factors, such as the size of the addition, materials, and complexity of the design. Your builder can give you a quote on your project so you can adjust your budget.

[hommiesweet]

Creating Cohesive Spaces with Artistic Mosaic Tiles

In the world of home design, creativity knows no bounds. One of the most exciting trends in recent years is the use of artistic mosaic tiles to define and differentiate spaces within a home. Whether you're working with an open-plan layout or simply looking to add a touch of elegance to your living areas, mosaic tiles offer a versatile and visually appealing solution. Let's dive into how you can harness the power of these tiles to create a cohesive and stylish living environment.

The Versatility of Artistic Mosaic Tiles

Artistic mosaic tiles are more than just decorative elements; they are powerful tools for spatial definition. These small, often intricate tiles can be arranged in countless patterns, making them ideal for creating unique features that stand out. Imagine walking into a kitchen where the backsplash isn't just a backsplash—it's a work of art that seamlessly transitions into the dining area. That's the magic of mosaic tiles.

In bathrooms, artistic mosaic tiles can transform a simple wall into a luxurious focal point, while in living spaces, they can be used to create a statement wall that separates the seating area from a reading nook. The possibilities are endless, and the best part? They come in a variety of materials, from ceramic and glass to stone, each offering its own unique aesthetic and durability.

A Personal Touch: A Story of Spatial Definition

I once visited a friend's home where the living area flowed effortlessly into the dining space. What made this transition so seamless was a stunning mosaic tile installation that ran along the perimeter of the living room. The tiles, a blend of glass and ceramic in shades of blue and green, created a ripple effect that not only defined the living area but also added a sense of depth and movement. It was a masterclass in how mosaic tiles can subtly guide the eye and the foot, making each space feel distinct yet connected.

Practical Tips for Choosing and Installing Mosaic Tiles

If you're considering using artistic mosaic tiles in your home, here are some tips to help you make the most of them:

Consider the Flow: Think about how people move through your space. Mosaic tiles can be used to direct traffic or create a natural boundary between areas. For instance, a bold pattern in the entryway can lead the eye into the living room.

Color Coordination: Choose tiles that complement your existing color scheme. Mosaic tiles can either blend with your current decor or stand out as a contrasting feature, depending on the look you're aiming for.

Material Matters: Consider the material of the tiles based on their placement. Glass tiles are great for a modern look and are easy to maintain, while stone tiles add a rustic charm but may require more care.

Pattern Play: Patterns can influence the feel of a space. Geometric patterns can make a room feel more structured, while organic patterns can create a more relaxed atmosphere.

Maintenance Considerations: Different materials have different maintenance needs. For example, glass tiles are easy to clean, while some stone tiles may require sealing.

Embrace the Artistry

In conclusion, artistic mosaic tiles are more than just a design element—they are a way to tell your home's story. Whether you're looking to create a bold statement or a subtle transition, these tiles offer a myriad of options to suit any style. So, why not start small with a feature wall or a unique backsplash? You might just find that mosaic tiles are the perfect way to define your spaces and elevate your home's aesthetic.

Remember, the key is to have fun with it. After all, your home is your canvas, and mosaic tiles are your colorful brushes. Happy designing!

[commodore-fitouts]

Creating the Perfect Dental Design: Key Elements for a Successful Practice

In today’s competitive dental industry, creating a workspace that is both functional and visually appealing is more important than ever. Effective dental design goes beyond aesthetics — it directly impacts patient experience, operational efficiency, and the overall success of your practice.

This guide explores the essential elements of a modern dental design and how to create a space that aligns with your goals, maximizes comfort, and meets industry standards.

Why Is Dental Design Important?

Your dental practice’s design is a reflection of your brand. A well-designed space:

Enhances Patient Comfort: Patients often feel anxious about visiting the dentist. Thoughtful design choices, such as calming colors and comfortable seating, can help ease these fears.

Improves Workflow Efficiency: Strategic layouts minimize movement and ensure smoother transitions between procedures.

Increases Staff Productivity: A well-organized space reduces stress and improves morale for dental professionals.

Promotes Hygiene and Compliance: Proper design ensures adherence to stringent healthcare standards, reducing risks of cross-contamination.

Essential Elements of a Successful Dental Design

1. Patient-Centric Layout

Start with the patient journey in mind. From the reception area to the operatory rooms, every space should feel welcoming and accessible. Consider:

Reception Areas: Use warm lighting, ergonomic furniture, and entertainment options like a television or children’s play area to create a positive first impression.

Clear Navigation: Use signage and open spaces to guide patients effortlessly to treatment areas.

2. Ergonomic Operatories

Efficient operatory design is crucial for both patient comfort and dentist productivity. Features to consider include:

Adjustable chairs for patient comfort.

Optimized positioning of dental tools for minimal movement.

Adequate lighting to ensure precision.

3. Incorporating Modern Technology

From digital X-rays to 3D imaging, advanced technology is revolutionizing dentistry. When integrating technology:

Allocate space for equipment storage and installation.

Ensure seamless wiring and connectivity for tech-enabled tools.

4. Hygiene and Sterilization Protocols

A top priority for any dental practice is maintaining a sterile environment. Design considerations include:

Installing separate sterilization rooms to avoid contamination.

Using easy-to-clean, non-porous surfaces.

Ensuring proper ventilation and airflow in high-traffic areas.

5. Aesthetic and Branding

A cohesive aesthetic strengthens your brand identity. To create a professional yet inviting space:

Use a consistent color scheme that aligns with your practice’s branding.

Incorporate natural elements like wood and greenery to add warmth.

Utilize artwork or displays that showcase your unique practice philosophy.

Trends in Dental Design

Keeping up with the latest trends can make your practice stand out:

Biophilic Design: Incorporating nature-inspired elements such as plants, natural light, and organic textures to enhance relaxation.

Smart Technology: Voice-activated systems, smart lighting, and automated scheduling displays for added convenience.

Sustainability: Using eco-friendly materials and energy-efficient lighting to reduce environmental impact.

Conclusion

The right dental design can transform your practice, boosting patient satisfaction, enhancing efficiency, and setting the stage for long-term success. Whether you’re renovating or building from scratch, focus on creating a space that balances aesthetics, functionality, and compliance.

To learn more about dental design, we recommend you to visit Commodore Fitouts, as it is a dental & medical workspace specialist.