#A New Round of Confrontation

[awkward-sultana]

"Amid this general mayhem Barbarossa savored a special kind of mission given to him by Ibrahim Pasha. The pirate was to attempt to kidnap the most beatiful belle in all of Italy, Giulia Gonzaga, painted by many artists, including Sebastiano de Piombo, and coveted by many. This ravishing beauty was the widow of a Colonna prince, and therefore the mission would bring the Turks into conflict with the powerful family that had sacked Rome a few years earlier. Ibrahim's scheme was for the Italian prize to be delivered to Suleyman's harem, and to supplant Roxellana, the sultan's wife, who was giving the Grand Vizier fits. But when the Turks stormed her castle at Fondi, Giulia Gonzaga fled into the night nearly naked in the company of a single knight and escaped the clutches of the Turkish pirate. In reprisal, Barbarossa burned her village and torched a nearby convent, massacring the Benedictine nuns within. When the Turks were safely gone, Giulia Gonzaga had the knight who had aided her escape killed, for he had seen too much." —Defenders of the Faith: Charles V, Suleyman the Magnificent, and the Battle for Europe, 1520-1536, James Reston Jr.

[kosemsultanim]

Every Hürrem Sultan Outfit: 150/∞

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Compromised Positions

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and Bucky find yourself in one too many compromised positions, not that he's complaining.

Disclaimer: Steamy moments with a slight hint of smut towards the end, swearing, multiple undercover kisses, he fell first, she fell second, he fell harder. Mentions of domestic disputes, criminal neighbours. Bucky ties Reader's heels, shirtless Bucky, him in joggers, a lot of physical touching (innocent...at first). Gala kiss, undercover as a married couple, Bucky admires Reader's nails. Not Proof Read.

“Guys, you’ve got like, two minutes until they’re gonna notice you’re gone.”

“Relax, little Falcon, we’ll be out in time.”

You heard Joaquin sigh over comms. “That nickname,” he groaned. “I’m the Falcon, now.”

Bucky smirked. “Whatever you say, Big Bird.”

You all heard Sam chuckle as a groaning whine left Joaquin. “Not you, too.”

You nudged Bucky’s arm and pointed at the room. “In here.”

He closed the door behind you both before he joined you in the search for physical evidence. Pictures were taken on his phone whilst you looked for the file. 

“Jesus, have they never heard of organisation? What the hell is this?”

Bucky just looked at you. “Seriously? The chaotic organiser is judging their organisation skills.”

“At least I know where everything is.”

It was another thirty seconds before your anxiety kicked in. You considered it to be the same kind of anxiety mother’s got before their kids threw up in the middle of the night. And Joaquin’s voice confirmed your suspicion. 

“Guys, they’re back early.”

Bucky looked around the room. There was one exit and that would mean running right into them. “We can’t-”

“I’ve got a plan.”

Instantly, you grabbed Bucky by his henley and threw him over to the sofa as you removed your own jacket. The room wasn’t exactly an office – it was more of an overflow of actual office stuff. A storage closet. 

There was a chance your plan would work better than you both being compromised. 

“What the hell are you-”

You held Bucky down by his shoulders. “Just shut up.” 

The footsteps out in the corridor were getting louder. They were getting closer. So, strandling Bucky’s thighs, your knees digging into the worn sofa in the middle of the room, you kissed him just as the door unlocked. 

Considering you and Bucky had gotten through the building door pretending to be members of the society, it wouldn’t seem odd that two new-ish members were in a room they had been told about. 

Your hips shifted as Bucky’s legs moved, his hands putting just the right amount of pressure on your back to make the whole thing look believable. 

There were strangled noises from behind you both which quickly disappeared with a soft click of the door, whispered awkward voices and then quick footsteps leaving down the other end of the hall. 

It took Bucky a moment to get his breath back. 

“Good…good thinking.”

You smiled. “Thanks. Now let’s go, before they come back.”

Neither of you mentioned how you managed to avoid a confrontation with top members of the group. You didn’t talk about it either. It was a kiss that saved you both from a compromised position, nothing more. 

Until it happened again. 

Three months later, you were on a – meant to be – solo mission. 

An undercover identity built through a long career at Shield meant you still maintained the yearly invite to a rather pretentious gala on the Italian Coast. And, since words had been brewing around another multi-million dollar deal over a key to a vault that protected certain secrets of yours, meant you had to go. 

However, somewhere between the extra security, extra guests and a faulty switch, you’d almost gotten caught. 

Almost.

The third round of security was about to turn down the hall to the faulty security alert just as a hand came to the small of your back. You were about to say something until you recognised the face it belonged to. 

“Bucky?”

“Just trust me.”

That was all he said before you found yourself pressed against the prestinely polished wooden door frame a few feet away. His steady right hand lay on your cheek, tilting your face to his whilst his left softly skated down the length of your body, over the dip in your hip and to the top of the slit on your dress. 

Your breath was taken away as his lips were pressed against yours, his tongue being granted permission to taste you properly. 

Somewhere behind the thrumming in your ears, the two security officials joked quietly in Italian before flicking the warning light off and moving on down the hall. 

When you finally caught your breath, you asked, “What the hell are you doing here?”

“You’re welcome,” was what he replied. 

“Bucky-” you warned. 

“Sam called me. Joaquin ran those checks you asked for and I was in the area.” He said it as if it was nothing. Like turning up, not only technically saving your ass but kissing you like that was nothing more than an average Tuesday.

That night you swore to yourself that it would only be a second one time thing. But apparently that was just another lie. 

A few months later, you had been put onto a mission. You were monitoring the supposed harmless janitor of the building. ‘Supposed’ as there had been warning’s flagged over his involvement with an elite terrorist group that had been targeting undercover Shield agents. 

And, despite knowing you were safe enough, Sam had provided you with a ‘boyfriend’ cover. 

And that boyfriend just so happened to be Bucky. 

He came to your apartment every few days. Stayed at least two nights a week. And helped you do laundry…

Even when you were both fighting. 

“I don’t need someone watching my every move, James. I’ve been in this job a lot longer on my own. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never not done it before.” 

You were sitting on top of the empty washing machine as your bedding was spinning around in the dryer. Bucky was folding the second piles of clothing considering they were his that he’d left overnight. 

“What if something had happened? What if you’d gotten caught?”

“I nearly did,” you told him. “When you came charging inside like some fucking-”

There were slow and heavy footsteps coming down the hallway. Without saying anything, Bucky reached out for you as you pulled him to stand between your legs. 

He leaned forward, his hands pulling you in by your hips as your hands pushed through his hair. Your mouth opened almost instinctively as his tongue swiped forward. A quiet groan left him and his fingertips gripped a little harder onto the soft skin exposed at your hips, before the door opened up. 

Sam rushed inside. “It’s just me.”

You and Bucky moved away from each other quicker than you’d come together. Bucky moved back to the laundry pile and wiped his lip as he thought about something other than the feeling of your legs hooking around his own and holding him in place. 

You wiped your own mouth, trying to hide the slight embarrassment as Sam stopped, realising what he, sort of, walked into. 

But there wasn’t time to question it. 

“Can you break your window?”

You looked at Sam confused. “What?”

“I need you to break a window in your apartment and call the janitor up. Joaquin is gonna come to ‘fix’ it. Eventually, he’s gonna have to sign papers in the office and we’ll be able to tag his desk top. It’s so old, Torres can’t hack it.”

“Jesus, really?” You hopped off the washing machine, ignoring the dull ache in your underwear. 

Sam nodded. “This dude is working with something from, like, the 90s.”

“For the amount that they charge for rent?” 

Sam nodded. 

Three hours, two struggling-attempts at a fitted sheet that decided for today to be the day it didn’t want to comply and one shattered window pane later; Joaquin had tagged the computer and you had a fresh window installed. 

Apparently, that mission was the catalyst for the next undercover assignment you received. Or rather, the undercover assignment both you and Bucky received. 

A new-ish wedding couple that have been house hunting for six months and had finally found the perfect one to try and start a family in. It just so happened to be across the street from a few different couples you would be quietly surveilling. 

Some for money laundering for elite underground teams that missed the idea of outfits such as ‘Hydra’ existing, some for potential involvement in weaponry sales overseas and some for recruitment to both groups. 

The other neighbours, however, were completely normal. 

Which seemed to be harder to deal with than the potential criminals living across the road. 

Considering you and Bucky had already made out more than once before, physical affection seemed to come a little easier than you had thought. It was still a little awkward, but overall, not as bad as it could have been. 

A week after moving everything in, you and Bucky agreeing to separate bedrooms, you’d gotten an alert one morning from the security camera doorbell. 

Someone was coming up the path. 

And you and Bucky were right in the way of the door. 

Still in your pajamas, bickering over which neighbour to start with, Bucky stepped forward and held onto your hips. He lifted you before your legs wrapped around him and you kissed him as if your life depended on it. 

Between each kiss came laughter to mask both the awkwardness and the fact none of it was real. It was all an act. It’s all it could be. 

The doorbell rang, then someone knocked on the window beside the frame of the door. You and Bucky pretended like you’d just been caught in the act. 

Your body practically slid down his as he let you down but kept an arm around your waist. As you answered the door, he remained fixed beside you. You opened the door enough to frame yourself and Bucky to the nine am neighbour who was holding a pie dish. 

As time went on, the affection became a little more subtle. Hand holding, open car doors, a helping hand down the front steps of the porch when you wore heels. 

Then, a few months later, you were both invited to the street BBQ. 

You were standing in the slightly open planned hallway, trying to get the buckle of your heels to play along. That was when your husband came jogging down the stairs in dark jeans, a fresh shirt and a brown jacket. 

“Need some help?” 

He didn’t wait for your answer after hearing you sigh as you lowered your foot, frustrated at your shoe. 

Bucky didn’t hesitate in bending down on one knee as you leaned against the back of the sofa. His hand gently holding onto your ankle,  he lifted your heeled foot to rest on him. He did the same with the next one, his thumb rubbing beside your ankle before he let you place it on the ground. 

His gaze didn’t leave yours as he stood. 

“You look incredible,” he told you.

A sundress, softer block heels to match and a smile that knocked him dead on his feet the first day he met you. 

“Ready to go?”

You nodded. “Let me just grab the food.”

“I still don’t see why we have to bring food to a BBQ we were invited to.”

“Because it’s good manners.”

“You know most of these people are criminals, right?” He asked you as he opened the door for you. 

You shrugged. “To them, we don’t know that…yet.”

Bucky locked the door before helping you down the porch steps. It was a short walk a few houses down. As one of the women ran over to you, holding your hands and complimenting your outfit, Bucky kissed your lips quickly before being ushered towards the buffet style table where the other husbands and partners were standing. 

But despite involving himself into the conversation, his eyes barely left you the entire night. 

Long after food, you found yourself sitting in your husband’s lap on one of the chairs. There were only a select few left, including you and Bucky. Which also meant chairs had become few and far between. 

You had planned to stand beside him, but without worry, Bucky had put his hand onto your waist and pulled you across until you were sitting comfortably. 

Your arm remained fixed on his shoulder and as the night went on, you started to get more and more tired. Your body practically melted against him as the faint buzz of alcohol took over and laughter passed between the remaining people, awake enough to hear the story. 

It was a little after midnight when you both returned home. Bucky pulled you into his side a little as his hand grazed over your hip and he kissed your head. 

“Go shower,” he told you. “You’ve still got sunscreen on.”

You nodded as you molded into his touch once again. “I know.”

“Give me them,” Bucky whispered quietly as he took the leftovers from your arms. “Go on, I’ll be up in a minute.”

By the time you had gotten out of the shower, you found a set of fresh pajamas on your bed. They definitely hadn’t been there in the morning. As you got dressed, you hesitated in the hallway for a second. Bucky’s room was just a little further. 

Yet, you stopped in your tracks when you saw his partially naked body through the crack in the door. 

He was buttoning his shirt on the hanger whilst he stood by his wardrobe door, jeans hugging his hips and the muscles a little tense in his back. 

It wasn’t like you’d never seen him shirtless before. But in those moments, he’d been hurt. You’d been cleaning a wound he couldn’t reach and wouldn’t let Sam touch since he considered him, “Too heavy handed.”

There was something far more intimate about how you were seeing him at that moment. 

Yes, he technically was your husband. And you were living in the same house. But, it was a mission. It was a cover. It wasn’t real. 

You’d thank him for the pajamas in the morning. After the feelings in your stomach had died down and the fictional image of you walking over and kissing the dip between his shoulder blades had disappeared. 

You tried to make it as casual as possible. And he accepted it as casually as possible. And you both very quickly moved on. A job still needed to be done. 

However, a few nights later, those lines blurred again. 

You’d been awake for hours, unable to sleep. Bucky had gone to bed an hour before you had, but you were the only one to wake up after having a rather intimate dream about your marriage partner. 

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t push the image of him away. So, with a sigh, you’d dragged yourself from bed and gone downstairs. You’d kept the TV volume low as you turned it onto a rerun channel.

Only, as Dorothy hit Blanche on the head with a newspaper, there was a knock at your door. 

You muted the TV and reached for your phone to check the camera. 

You waited to the side of the front door until they knocked again. “Y/n? Are you awake?”

You rushed forward, shoving the hidden gun back into the security draw of the hallway stand. 

“Suzie?”

You unlocked the door to find one of the few women you’d become friends with in the last few months. She was one of the ‘normal’ neighbours. Only, it wasn’t normal for her to be standing in her casual clothes, sopping wet from the rain, outside your door at almost half one in the morning. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said with puffy eyes. “I-I saw the shine behind the curtains and I just…I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Come on in,” you pulled her out from the wet just as the familiar sound of Bucky’s feet came down the stairs. 

“Is everything okay?” 

The sight of him shirtless in nothing else but joggers was doing nothing to put a stop to your imagination. Considering he usually slept in his underwear – a fact you’d learned one morning when your kitchen fire alarm had decided to let its battery die at five in the morning – it shouldn’t have shocked you the way it did. 

“Everything’s fine,” you assured him quietly as you met him halfway. A hand landed on his chest over his heart as you leaned up and pecked his lips. He kissed back. “Go back to bed. It’s just Suzie.”

Bucky’s tired eyes opened wide enough to recognise your neighbour in the light of the TV. He looked back at you and you just nodded. 

“I promise,” you told him before kissing him again as you felt his hand at your hip. 

He just nodded. “Okay. If you need me-”

“I know.”

You watched as he turned around and went back upstairs to bed before you turned back to Suzie. “Let’s get you some fresh clothes.”

“Oh, no. It’s okay. I-I can just-”

You shook your head, taking her hand in yours as you dragged her to the laundry room. You grabbed her a towel from the dryer before picking out an old paint-flicked T-shirt and some wide-legged joggers. 

“Put these on, I’ll make us some tea.”

“Thank you, Y/n.”

You just nodded as you slid the laundry room door shut. She reappeared a few moments later, dressed and drying her hair with the towel, her eyes stained with tears once more. 

“What’s going on?”

“Me and Johnny had a fight.”

For the next two hours you sat with her in the kitchen as she cried her way through the story of how her and her boyfriend of three years had started their fight and how it had ended. 

“You can stay here for tonight. I don’t want you going back there.”

Suzie sniffled, “Thank you.” She hugged you tightly. “You’re such a good friend.”

Leading the way, you showed her the bathroom first which gave you time to tidy up the guest bedroom, as well as your own across the hallway – which just so happened to already look like nobody had been sleeping there.

By the time you reappeared, Suzie hugged you once more before you led her to the room and closed the bedroom door behind her. A few minutes later, you walked down the hallway towards Bucky’s room. 

He’d left the door ajar for you. 

Walking inside, you gently pulled the covers up and shifted under them until you were laying beside Bucky. And just as you thought he was dead-asleep, his arm came to lay across and pull you closer. 

As your hand ran up his arm and you settled against the mattress, you felt his nose brush against the crook of your neck. 

“Everything okay?” 

You swallowed a little before nodding. ��Yeah. Her and John had a fight. I put her in the guest room. Thank you, by the way.”

“For what?”

“My bedroom. You tidied it.”

Bucky had a hint of a smile on his lips. “You’re my wife. You shouldn’t be anywhere else but right here, beside me.”

The use of his words, with his deeper morning voice was a pairing that would be haunting your ovulation dreams for a good while. 

By the time you both woke up in the morning, you leaned over to check the time on his alarm clock. It was a little after nine. You’d both slept in. 

“Suzie and I are gonna have a girl’s day today, so I might be back late.”

Bucky nodded. “Okay. Need me to do anything?”

You shook your head. “I’ll handle John.”

You leaned on your side as you watched your husband stand from the bed in his boxers and pull on his jeans, before zipping them up and buckling his belt. Then he sat back on the bed, his arm caging you in. 

“Are you sure? Because, you don’t have to.”

You looked at him curiously. “Have you ever seen yourself mad?”

He then looked at you, curiously. “What?”

“Because, though you might not be him, you still have that glint in your eyes.”

“Glint?”

You nodded. “You know, that I’m gonna kill you and not regret it, look. I don’t think John needs to be threatened by the Winter Soldier look…yet.”

Bucky relaxed and nodded. “What happened?”

“It’s little things that became one big thing. What they both need right now is some space.”

“If you need me, call me.”

You smiled, before watching him pull a henley down his body. “I know.”

However, when the back of his t-shirt became stuck, you leaped up and onto your feet rather than watch him struggle for the next five minutes. 

“Here, let me.” 

Suddenly, the room became a lot more quiet. Bucky felt your fingers lightly graze his bare back as you fixed his shirt and helped pull it down his back. And for a moment, he felt you lean against him. Or maybe he’d leaned into your touch so much, his knees had gone weak. 

“You know,” his voice was low as he spoke. “I like waking up to you with me.”

He didn’t know where the sudden confession came from considering less than two minutes ago, you’d both been talking about something completely different. All he knew was that it was the truth. 

Your breath hitched. “So did-”

Before Bucky could fully turn around to face you, there was a sound of a lock opening down the hall. Suzie was awake. 

“I better get breakfast started.”

Bucky nodded, his hands rubbing up and down the top of your arms as you leaned into his chest. He pressed his lips to your head. “I’ll go and check in on Sam.”

And for a few moments, you were left standing alone, his voice circling in your head. 

I like waking up to you with me.

The rest of the day ran swiftly. Having pancakes for breakfast before driving out to the local shopping mall and cafe. From where, you both got a manicure before ending up at a diner on the edge of town; John had been racing around town to find his girlfriend. 

Following multiple threats – both spoken, and silent – and constant apologies, Suzie and Johnny made up. But his actions were definitely going to be watched closely by you. Though nothing terrible had happened during the fight, and you doubted John would ever lay a hand on his girlfriend, he’d still hurt her. 

Which put him in your bad books. 

By the time you got home, John still providing Suzie the space she needed, you’d dropped Suzie off at home before pulling into your driveway, where almost instantly, Bucky had come outside and was standing on the porch waiting for you. 

“Where’s Suzie?”

“She went home,” you said as you locked your car and climbed the steps of the porch, Bucky taking your hand in his. “John apologised. I’m still gonna be watching him, but they’ve made up.”

Bucky smiled. “Good. You got your nails done?”

“Oh, yeah.” Between the diner and the long conversation home, you’d forgotten. “Like ‘em?”

Bucky nodded. “Looks great.”

You smiled to yourself before looking back up at your husband. What followed was a debrief of the day, before you both collapsed onto the sofa with some desert you’d brought back home from the diner. 

As whatever show Bucky had found for you both was about to flick onto the next episode before a pop-up ad came on asking if you wished to continue, you both took a break. Meanwhile, you pulled the blanket from you and stood before taking both empty bowls into the kitchen and laying them in the sink. 

And you took a breather for a second. 

For the last two hours, Bucky’s presence had been overwhelming – in the best sense, if the marriage had been real. But considering you were still trying to stuff emotions and images down into a box you kept meaning to lock shut, his presence was becoming more difficult to be normal around. 

That fuzzy line officially broke a few weeks later. 

The feelings had been growing stronger and more noticeable. The way he held you, the way he kissed you – even if it was quick. It left you wanting more. You’d also been spending more time sleeping in with him beside you than on your own. 

First it had been the night Suzie had stayed. Then it had been the sofa, waking up on his chest with your back against the sofa cushions. A few sleepless nights after that, he slept beside you, holding you close to him. 

After that, it became…normal…to wake up with him so close to you. His legs tangled with yours, his arm over you or around you, his steady heartbeat calming your own erratic one. 

Then, one night, you couldn’t sleep. 

You’d carefully peeled yourself from his arms and padded downstairs into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. But after standing at the sink for a few minutes, your own thoughts too loud for you to notice him behind you, Bucky’s hands came to lean on the sink counter. 

His hands were on both sides of you, caging you in. 

“You okay?”

You jumped a little. Bucky noticed, his hand coming to rest on your hip for a moment. Somehow, it calmed you.

“Yeah,” you said. “Just…couldn’t sleep.”

Bucky stayed quiet for a second before asking his next question. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

You lowered the glass from your lips and swallowed the water in your mouth. “What?”

Bucky watched the side of your face, your lips freshly wet from the cold water, your mind spiralling and distant. 

His right hand came up to your left side to pull the hair away from your neck. Carefully, he called you back in before he leaned into you, his nose gently running up the length of your neck. 

Your breath hitched a little as you leaned against his bare chest but still held onto the glass as it balanced on the edge of the sink. 

“You’re tense,” Bucky said before he pressed a feather-light kiss to your exposed skin. And for a moment, he felt you relax. “Nightmare?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

“Then what is it?”

For a moment, you refused to face him. You were yet to know feelings that went away on their own when they ran as deep as they did, but maybe it was a fluke. 

Then he kissed the crook of your shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“It’s you.” The words came out a quiet sigh as your eyes closed. As his lips left your shoulder, but his arms didn’t leave the space he’d created for both of you, he looked at you. 

Your eyes opened. “It’s you, Bucky. You’re in my head and my…”

Heart.

“And no matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of you. It feels like somewhere between that first kiss on the sofa and…waking up beside you, you’ve seeped into my bones. And I…I don’t know if I want that to stop.”

Bucky’s gaze roamed over yours and for a long time, he was quiet. But his arms never moved. 

“That’s why I can’t sleep.”

The silence continued for a moment longer until Bucky finally spoke. 

“Your name has been tattooed on my soul since the first day I met you, doll.”

You looked a little puzzled, because you were. So he explained, “The first time you smiled at me, I’m pretty sure I got knocked off my feet. And that day you kissed me…I was thinking about it for weeks until I saw you in that dress. You looked fucking stunning. From then I knew my feelings for you would never leave, not that I tried to make them. You’re tattooed on my soul, doll.”

Your gaze narrowed playfully. “Are you really having a feelings competition?”

Bucky shrugged, a smirk on his face. “Maybe. But I know I’ll always win.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because I’ve got you,” Bucky answered sincerely. “You’re more than I could ever dream of. And that includes ‘dream’ you.”

You chuckled, “Such a romantic.”, before leaning in and kissing him with a smile. But as the softness moved away for a moment, the kiss became something more. Something deeper. 

Bucky stood a little taller as he moved his hands from the counter and held onto your face. The glass in your hand clattered into the sink as the water fell down the drain and you turned to step into your husband. 

Placing an arm around your waist, he lifted you up and onto the island in the kitchen before he held your face again, his tongue swiping at your lip before you granted him access. He felt your legs lock around him as he pulled his mouth from yours, letting his wet kiss trail under your jaw before catching at your pulse. 

You breathed deeper as his hand came to your thigh, his fingers pushing under the hem of your shorts, the ache in your underwear growing more needy. 

Making it halfway up the stairs, you held onto the handrail as Bucky dropped to his knees and trailed his tongue on the inside of your thigh before tasting you like a man starved of his final meal. 

By the time the sun rose, the sheets had been changed and the tile markings on your knees had settled down. But Bucky’s arm remained fixed around your middle, his fingers tracing up and down your spine. 

“Promise me this isn’t a part of the mission.”

Bucky’s eyes opened to meet your tired gaze. “I promise this isn’t a part of the mission. I meant what I said last night; I don’t plan for this to stop when we move out.”

The memory of Bucky on top of you, his gaze locked onto yours as he inched himself into you slowly, floated over you. You smiled. 

“Good.”

Leaning forward. Bucky kissed you lightly before rolling you onto your back, his arms wrapped around you as his kiss moved from your lips to your neck and collarbone. 

He heard you giggle softly as he did so. “We’ve got work to do.”

“It’s Sunday, doll.” Bucky told you, before leaning down and kissing your bare skin. “Work can wait.”

[mari-positas]

a safe haven | one

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

chapter summary: After the events in Salt Lake City, Joel and Ellie are back in Jackson, Wyoming to start a brand new life in the safe haven; Ellie has a difficult time fitting in, but she finds a friend in you; Joel meets you for the first time and a foreign feeling instantly takes root.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. AGE GAP (reader is 29 and Joel is 57). minimal physical description of reader, she is shorter than Joel and has longer hair (exact length/type is not specified). reader is married, reader’s husband is mentioned and makes an appearance at the end of the chapter. lightly implied domestic violence. mentions of character death (reader’s father, unspecified illness). tlou2 timeline deviations (maria has only just found out she’s pregnant).

word count: 6.1k

a/n: well, here she is! apologies for the delay. life happened. :( i had this huge nervous ramble-y note planned out, but instead i just want to thank anyone who has shown me kindness for this series. this is for you. <3

His dark eyes linger on you from across the mess hall.

He doesn’t mean to stare.

Though, truthfully, Joel Miller doesn’t even realize he’s staring in the first place.

It’s half past twelve o’ clock in the afternoon, Jackson’s designated lunch hour, and the steadily growing town’s cafeteria is nearly too overcrowded, buzzing loudly with obnoxious, overlapping chatter. He pays no mind to the commotion around him—bitching patrolmen, gossiping women, children running around as if the mess hall was their playground and it’s time for recess. He tunes it all out, much too focused on the prettiest damn thing he’d seen since the world ended two decades ago.

You’re sitting at a small, round table made for two that is tucked away over in the furthest corner of the packed eatery—as far away from the chaos as one can possibly be during midday mealtime.

Craning his neck slightly, Joel squints to get a better look and notices your only company for lunch is a large open book beside your plastic tray that takes up most of the table’s surface. In between bites of Cornish hen and roasted vegetables, you thumb through the book’s pages, occasionally pausing every here and there to scribble something in the notebook on your lap with a pencil.

It’s not the first time Joel’s seen you around. In fact, he still remembers the moment when he’d first laid eyes on you several months ago that cold, winter morning.

He’d been fresh on the heels of a devastating fight with Ellie. She’d confronted him about his plans to hand her off to Tommy—a choice Joel believed to be selfless, the right thing to do, had been mistaken as a selfish act of abandonment, leading to harsh words exchanged and a door slammed in the heartbroken girl’s face. Little had she known that it’d been just as painful for him to walk away from her.

His choice hurt him too, but he couldn’t keep on failing her.

Older, slower, his hearing no longer what it used to be, he feared he would only end up getting Ellie killed if she continued on with him. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen. He would not cradle another child’s dead body in his arms, not again. Not her.

Following a long, sleepless night of tossing and turning, Joel pulled himself out of bed the next morning, quietly slipping past Ellie’s bedroom door and out of the house with his pack in one hand and a map in the other. He’d quickly made his way across town towards the stables, hoping he could escape Jackson without notice from his brother—and more importantly, without notice from Ellie.

It’s not like he wanted to leave without saying goodbye to her, but Joel couldn’t be certain he could find the strength to stand firm on his decision if he saw her face again.

So there he had been, in one of the stalls at the stables saddling up a mare he planned to take off on when you walked by, the loud crunch of your heavy winter boots on the frosted concrete startling him.

“Good morning,” you’d greeted politely, flashing him a friendly smile over the top of the thick, knitted red scarf around your neck.

Silent, Joel’s lips pressed together into a tight, thin line, no trace of emotion on his hard, stony face.

“Getting ready to head out on early morning patrol?”

“Yeah,” he’d replied curtly.

Another smile. “Be safe out there.”

He’d almost forgotten about you since then.

Almost.

The next time Joel had seen you was on his second day back in Jackson. While Ellie settled herself at home, he took a trip to the market over on the main street to pick up vegetables for their dinner—it would be the first real, proper meal he cooked in twenty-one years. No more stale jerky, no more old, barely-edible Chef Boyardee.

“Regular potatoes or sweet potatoes?” he’d muttered to himself, hands on his hips as he stood in front of the bins, looking over his options for produce.

“Sweet potatoes aren’t in season yet.”

Eyes widening, Joel looked up only to see you standing one aisle over in front of a cardboard box full of carrots, a woven shopping basket hanging over your arm. Much like that winter morning in the stables, you offered him a friendly smile he didn’t return.

Surely by now you must think he’s an asshole.

He wouldn’t blame you if that’s the case.

“Hellooo?” Tommy waves a hand in front of Joel’s face looking thoroughly amused. “Anyone home?”

“Sorry, you say somethin’?”

“Maybe we should find you a damn camera,” he teases, chuckling when once he finally garners his attention. “Y’know, so you can take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Joel scowls at him, though he says nothing.

He can’t very well deny that he’d been caught gawking.

“Shut up, Tommy,” is all he can come up with before taking a large bite of seasoned carrots. Heat floods his face when he catches the mischievous glimmer in his younger brother’s eyes.

“Hey, I don’t really blame you.” Tommy reaches over for his glass of iced tea and picks it up, gulping half of it down in one swallow. Smacking his lips together, he casually shrugs a shoulder, shooting Joel a knowing smirk over the top the glass as he comments, “She’s certainly a sight for sore eyes, ain’t she, big brother?”

“Watch yourself. Don’t think Maria would appreciate you sayin’ that kinda thing about another woman,” Joel warns, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Much less now that she’s expectin’ your kid. Have a little more respect for your wife, asshole.”

Tommy shrugs again. “Ain’t no harm in just lookin’,” he remarks, although there’s a joking edge to his tone. He sets his glass back down on the table and leans back in his chair, glancing over at you. He lets out a long, low whistle, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh trust me, I get it, Joel—hell, every man ‘round here gets it, fuckin’ single or not. She’s gorgeous. And a real sweetheart, too. But don’t go gettin’ any ideas about her.”

He asks without thinking. “Why not?”

Tommy’s brows raise to his hairline in surprise. “Well for starters, that girl’s damn near half your age, you old fucker. Jesus, what is wrong with you?” Rolling his eyes, he adds, “And besides that, she’s already spoken for.”

“Oh,” Joel clears his throat awkwardly and sits back in his chair. “She’s got a boyfriend.”

“Husband,” Tommy corrects him. “She’s married, Joel. And here’s the real fuckin’ kicker. She’s married to the town’s doctor.”

“Luke?”

“You’ve met him?”

“Heard of him,” Joel clarifies. “Maria keeps on insistin’ I get checked out by him. Ellie too, but—” He glances at his own forearm. “Don’t think that it’d be wise.”

Stiffening in his chair, Tommy’s lips purse together. His one rule?

Ellie’s immunity was not to be mentioned.

Ever.

Joel clears his throat again, shifting gears and steering the conversation back into less sensitive territory. “He legit?” he questions before shoving another forkful of carrots into his mouth. “Luke?”

The younger man’s shoulders relax slightly. “Yeah, he’s legit. Well, as legit as he can be—he was still in medical school when the outbreak happened,” he explains. “Bit on the younger side, but he knows his stuff, Joel. Looks after everyone in town. Delivers the babies, stitches up wounds. Hell, I broke my arm in a ridin’ accident a year ago and he set the bone right back into place. Had me as good as new within a few weeks. It’s a miracle we’ve got someone like him ‘round here, y’know?”

“Mm,” he hums in response, twiddling his fork between his thumb and index finger.

Of course you’re a married woman.

And to a fucking hero doctor nonetheless.

Underneath the table, Tommy lightly kicks his shin with the steel toe of his boot. “Y’know Joel, there are plenty of other single women in the community. If you want, I could introduce you around. In fact, Maria has a friend named Esther, she’s a real cute blonde. I could set you two up if you’re interested—”

“I’m not,” Joel interjects with a tight shake of his head. “I just got got here, Tommy. Besides, I’ve got Ellie that I need to look after. She’s my priority right now—my only priority,” he emphasizes firmly. “Not meetin’ women.”

Knowing better than to push him on it, Tommy changes the subject. “Uh, speakin’ of Ellie, how’s she been doin’ by the way? I haven’t really seen much of her since you two got back. She alright?”

Joel hesitates, averting Tommy’s gaze.

It’d been a couple of weeks since the events that took place in Salt Lake City. 

Since the hospital.

Since the Fireflies.

Tommy’s clueless, had been fed the same bullshit story as Ellie about raiders invading the hospital—he had no idea about what Joel had done. How he ruthlessly killed all of those people. How he shot Marlene dead at point blank range without hesitation, not an ounce of mercy despite her gasping pleas for him to let her go. How he single-handedly prevented the Fireflies from perfoming that operation on Ellie, stopping what might have been humanity’s only chance at potentially finding a cure.

The surgery would have killed her.

So, he had no other choice but to kill them.

Joel doesn’t regret it. If it came down to it, he would do it all over again.

Though he doesn’t carry guilt over having done what he’d done, he does carry the guilt of having lied to Ellie about it after it was all said and done. 

“Swear to me,” she’d said, her eyes looking up into his as they stood atop the mountain overlooking Jackson Hole. “Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true.”

“I swear.”

Ellie’s smart—too fucking smart for her own good. She might not have known the extent of it all, but she knew Joel wasn’t being entirely honest about what had gone down in Salt Lake City.

Joel’s chest heaves as he exhales a heavy sigh, finally answering the question. “Not too great,” he admits, quietly. “I’m real worried about her, Tommy. It’s been a couple weeks now since we’ve been back and she still hasn’t made one single friend around here. She doesn’t fuckin’ talk to anyone, hell, she hardly even talks to me these days.” He sighs again, tiredly scrubbing his free hand down the side of his face. “She spends most of her time hidin’ out in the stables with the horses. She would rather be around them than people.”

“Think maybe it’d be a good idea to have her see Gail?” Tommy suggests lightly.

“You’re kiddin’ me, right?” Joel snorts. “Take her to see a fuckin’ shrink?”

“Don’t knock therapy. It’s been pretty helpful for a lot of folks ‘round here, y’know. Gail’s pretty good, she could give Ellie some guidance on how to make friends. Ain’t that what you want for her?”

Joel raises an eyebrow. “And how well do you think it’ll go over when I tell her I’m puttin’ her in therapy?”

“You’d have to sleep with one eye open,” Tommy muses with a laugh. He catches the tick in the muscle of Joel’s jaw and his smile falters. “Just give her time, Joel. After everythin’ she’s been through, it ain’t exactly a surprise that she’s strugglin’ to fit in. I know Ellie means a whole lot to you, and you’re worried about her. I would be too. But it’s only been a couple weeks. Give her some more time to adjust. She’ll get there, I know she will. She’s a strong kid, brother.”

“Yeah, I know she is,” he murmurs in agreement. “Hell of a lot stronger than someone her age should have to be.”

“She’ll be fine,” Tommy reassures him with a confident nod. “She’ll find her place here. You’ll see.”

Joel sighs in defeat. “I sure hope you’re right.”

You relish the feeling of warm sunlight on your skin.

Summer’s arrived in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, and after a particularly long, brutal winter that swept the western state last year, you couldn’t have been more thrilled to see warmer weather well on its way. Sure, summer heat can be just as unforgiving as bitter winter cold, but at least now, you’re not walking around ankles-deep in the snow or rubbing icicles out of your nostrils.

Clutching the thick strap of your old, but sturdy leather satchel, you leave the town mess hall and hastily make your way toward the horse stables. It’s after lunch, and there’s still plenty of work to be done before the end of the day rolls around—most of it which would without a doubt trickle into the next day, as it usually does.

You hold your together fairly well, bear the brunt of your stressful job without making too much of a fuss. But on those rare occasions where you feel completely in over your head, you wonder if maybe you’d made the wrong decision taking such an enormous responsibility in your hands. Then again, the more you think about it, it’s not like you had been given much of a choice. In a way, this had been expected of you.

Prior to his passing two summers ago, your father had been the town’s equine veterinarian. He had offered to begin teaching you to care for the horses, knowing one day, eventually, someone would have to take his place. Not long after you started joining him at the stables, he became ill, and over the course of a year, your father’s health began rapidly deteriorating, his sickness one you both knew couldn’t be treated, much less cured, not in the post-outbreak world. Even as he wasted away, he’d used every ounce of strength he had left to teach you. He spent countless hours in the stables with you, until he lost most of his mobility—when he became bound to his bed in the final weeks of his life, you curled up at his side, the ache in your heart growing more painful as you watched him scribble notes in the margins of his copy of Horseman’s Veterinary Encyclopedia with a weak, trembling hand.

“My body might be failing me,” he’d rasped. “But I still have my brain.”

Your father prepared you to the best of his knowledge and ability, and while you certainly know a thing or two, it’s still so daunting. Horses are how everyone travels when in search of supplies, how patrolmen and women get around while protecting the community against the dangers that lurk outside the gates. Horses are one of the most important, most precious resources Jackson possesses—they keep everyone moving, everything going, and you’d be lying if you said that being the sole person in charge of caring for them doesn’t put a tremendous amount of pressure on your shoulders.

“You need to stop doubting yourself,” Maria would tell you. “He believed in you. Everyone believes in you. It’s about damn time you start doing the same and believe in yourself.”

You rush inside the stables, already going through your mental checklist of all the horses that still need to be looked over for the day, including the group of horses that had just arrived back from that morning’s patrol.

But first, you decide stop in and see your favorite girl.

“Hi there, Stella,” you coo sweetly, walking into a stall housing a beautiful, chestnut-brown pregnant mare. “Hi, gorgeous. How are you doing today?”

“I’d be a hell of a lot better if I could have one of those apples I know you’ve got in your bag,” a voice answers, startling you.

Peering around Stella’s body, you find Ellie laying on a small bed of hay in the furthest corner of the stall, her head resting on her backpack as she flips through her favorite superhero comic book for the hundredth time.

“Ellie,” you sigh her name softly.

She offers you a silly, lopsided grin. “Howdy.”

“What in the world are you doing in here?”

“Keeping ol’ Stella girl here company,” she shrugs. “What else does it look like I’m doing?”

“Ellie,” you say her name again. “You can’t just hide out in here with the horses every single day, you know,” you point out, dropping your satchel onto the ground. Stella lowers her head and gives it a sniff, no doubt smelling those aforementioned apples.

“Wanna bet?” The teenager quips with a smirk as she sits up, tossing her comic book to the side. Bits of hay stick out of her brown hair and to her clothes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school with the other kids? Until you’re sixteen, that’s the rule isn’t it?”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “I already went to school. Back in Boston. FEDRA’s finest, man.”

You don’t know much about Ellie Williams—nor about the brooding older man that she’s here with, Joel Miller. The only thing you do know is that Joel happens to be Tommy Miller’s older brother, and he acted as Ellie’s guardian. Initially, you’d thought he was her father, and when Maria informed you he had no familial relation to the girl, you had been completely taken aback.

“I don’t believe it. They’re really not related?”

“I know, those two even walk the same. But nope, no relation.”

Their arrival in Jackson in the winter had caused a bit of commotion and had the entire town talking—but by the following morning, the pair were gone, not to be seen again for several months until their return towards the end of spring. Rumors flew once the word of their return had gone around, but in reality, no one had the slightest clue about where they had been, or why they decided to leave the safe haven in the first place.

Much like everyone else, you’re curious about Ellie, and you’re especially curious about Joel. You’ve seen him around, had a couple close encounters with him where your pleasantries had not been returned—a man of few words, he keeps to himself for the most part, seems to have no interest in getting to know the townsfolk.

Ellie’s just as reserved. She spends most of her days in the stables with the horses while she reads her comics or listens to tapes on the old Walkman she’d borrowed—stolen, rather—from Tommy. Having taken notice of the young girl hanging around your place of work, you began carving out some time in your hectic schedule to talk to her. You’d tested the waters with casual chatter about the most trivial of things, such as the weather or what had been served in the mess hall for lunch that day.

Although Ellie seemed annoyed at first, she’d quickly warmed up to you, and by the end of the week, you had yourself a little foul-mouthed shadow following you around.

You walk over to her. “Listen Ellie, as much as I really enjoy having you around me all the time, you really do need to make friends.”

She blinks. “But you’re my friend.”

“Friends your own age,” you rephrase yourself, biting back a smile. “My husband has a niece about your age. Her name is Dina. I could introduce you to each other if you’d like?”

Ellie furiously shakes her head. “No.”

“Ellie—”

“Everybody around here looks at me like I’ve got two fucking heads or something. She probably fucking will too,” she mumbles. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. “Fuck that.”

Sighing softly, you squat and lower yourself to her eye level. “I know how hard it is when you don’t fit in with others,” you emphasize. “It’s tough.”

“You? Not fit in?” Ellie scoffs and rolls her eyes in reply. “I don’t believe that for one second, sweet cheeks.”

“Hey, I was fifteen once too,” you chuckle. “When I was your age, I was living in one of the quarantine zones. In Albuquerque. My mom was a nurse there, so she had the privilege of enrolling me and my little brother into their best school—a preparatory school. She hoped he and I would become officers, have a chance at a decent life. She didn’t want us working in the sewers.” There’s a, strange glimmer in Ellie’s eyes, but she says nothing.“So, as you can imagine, I went to school with a bunch of kids whose parents were officers and other higher-ups in the zone.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And?”

“And it was the worst three years of my life,” you tell her. “The world may have ended, but teenagers are still fucking assholes.”

Ellie laughs loudly. “Jesus, I thought you were too prim and proper to curse!”

“I’m not all that prim and proper,” you counter, winking playfully. “Besides, I think you might be starting to rub off on me a little bit.”

You grin, but upon meeting her gaze, it falters.

Ellie certainly isn’t the only child refugee who has lived a life outside these gates. Yet, there is something about her that sets her apart from the others.

She’s different.

There’s no telling what unspeakable things this girl has survived, but one thing is for certain, the haunting look in her eyes confirms your suspicion that she has been through a horrific kind of hell.

“So,” Ellie finally says after a minute. “Is it okay if I keep coming to the stables to spend time with you and the horses?”

“Of course it’s okay.” Rising to your feet, you glance at Stella. “But on one condition. You have to help me out with the grooming. I’ve been really short-handed lately and I could use the extra help. Plus, if you aren’t going to school, then you need to pitch in around here. Do we have a deal?”

She jumps up, nodding eagerly. “Deal.”

Joel dumps his plastic tray and used dishware into the designated dirty dish bin before shoving through mess hall’s double doors. He steps outside and starts toward the horse stables to find Ellie, who had skipped lunch.

He keeps his sights set straight ahead of him, trying his hardest to avoid eye contact with anyone who so much as even throws a glimpse in his direction. People seem to be getting used to him, but they’re still wary, and he feels like something of a pariah.

He can handle it, though.

Stares, whispers, pointed fingers.

Being an outcast.

It’s his Ellie he’s worried about. Between her survivor’s guilt and her struggle to fit in, Joel feared for her well-being. He can only hope Tommy’s right, and all that she needs is time—that she’ll find will find her place here.

Joel walks into the horse stables. “Ellie?” He calls her name, peeking into each stall. “Ellie? You in here?”

“Wait, what?”

He hears her voice.

“Stella’s pregnant? I didn’t fucking know that!”

Rounding the corner into the very last stall, Joel finds Ellie standing there, her hand resting on the muzzle of a brown horse. In her opposite hand, she holds a mane brush.

She’s not alone.

You stand in front of her, one hand planted on your hip, the other resting on the animal’s back. Joel takes in the sight of you, your lower body clad in a pair of well-worn blue jeans, the legs tucked into weathered black riding boots whose soles are caked in muck. He recalls you in a long-sleeve red, flannel shirt, but it’s now tied around your waist, leaving you in a white cotton tank top—the material fits snug on your frame, and his eyes wander, settling on the patch of smooth skin peeking between the hem of your shirt and the waistband of your jeans for a brief moment before trailing back up to your face.

“She sure is,” you reply to her question with a wide grin. “We just found out about a week ago and believe she’s about a few weeks along. We’ll have a sweet new baby in a year.”

Bewildered, Ellie glances at the horse. “Really? They’re pregnant for a whole year? That’s fucking insane!”

“Well, eleven months,” you clarify for her, giving Stella a gentle, but firm pat. “This is Stella’s first. I’m hoping to see her pregnancy reach its full term, but sometimes babies decide to come sooner than expected.”

Joel’s lips part slightly.

He almost can’t believe it.

Ellie hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in two weeks and yet there she is, engaging with you so effortlessly. His gaze flits over to her just in time to see her crack what had to be the first real, genuine smile he’d seen since they had fed the giraffe in Salt Lake City. Ellie is being herself, cursing up a storm and all, and you don’t seem the slightest bit bothered by it, not like the other adults whose jaws dropped in utter horror at her use of such foul language.

Joel wills himself to move and steps inside of the stall. He lightly clears his throat. “Ellie.”

Simultaneously, you and Ellie both whip around in his direction.

“Joel? What are you doing here?” Her smile falters as he approaches her.

“Lookin’ for you. It’s lunchtime. Y’need to eat, kiddo.”

She holds up the brush in her hand. “But we were just about to—”

He stops her with a stern glare. “Lunch. Now. Go.”

“Fine,” Ellie huffs and rolls her eyes at him. Picking up her backpack, she hands you the brush and stomps out of the stall, roughly shoving into Joel’s shoulder as she pushes past him without another word.

Suddenly, the stall feels much too small, and just as he opens his mouth to excuse himself and leave, you say, “You’re Tommy’s older brother, right? Joel?”

He nods. “Yeah. I am.”

Stepping away from Stella, you walk over to Joel and introduce yourself, extending a hand for him to shake. Your name is just as beautiful as you are—he repeats it, and it rolls smoothly off his tongue. He takes your hand in his own; it’s small and soft in his large and rough, a stark contrast but perfect fit.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Joel.” Your eyes find his, meeting them in a way that makes something inside of him that had been sleeping for decades stir.

Realizing he’s been holding onto your hand longer than necessary, he drops it and takes two steps back, lightly bumping his back against the stall door. “I’m—uh, I’m sorry about Ellie,” Joel apologizes to you after a minute. “I know she’s been spendin’ a lot of time in here. I hope she hasn’t been botherin’ you or gettin’ in the way of things. If she is, I can have a talk with her.”

“She hasn’t been bothering me at all,” you assure him, shaking your head. “It’s been nice having her around. I enjoy her company very much.”

“You do?”

You toss him a puzzled, but amused look. “Yes. Is that strange for me to say?”

Joel places his hands on his hips and leans back against the stall door. “Ellie’s been havin’ a little trouble,” he confesses. “Adjustin’ to her new life here. Meetin’ people and things like that. She, uh—she ain’t like all the other kids around here, y’know?”

“I know.”

His raises his eyebrows.

“I was just talking to her a little while ago. I told her I know how hard it is being a teenager and trying to fit it in with the crowd, even in a world like this one.” You let out a humorless laugh and shake your head. “It’s even harder when you’re just so different.” You seem to pick up on the way that your statement triggers something of a negative response from Joel—the way his eyes darken in a flash of anger and his nostrils flare slightly warn you he doesn’t take all too kindly to anyone talking negatively about Ellie. Her being different is something he already knows, of course, but hearing it from someone else isn’t easy for him, and it certainly isn’t welcome. You hold your hands up and reassure him, “There’s nothing wrong with being different, by the way.”

Joel sees the sincerity in your eyes that go hand in hand with your words and his defenses switch off almost as quickly as they’d switched on. “There isn’t,” he agrees with a careful nod of his head. “Nothin’ wrong with it at all.” He clears his throat. “M’sorry, I didn’t mean to—it’s just that I don’t really like it when people start runnin’ their mouths ‘bout my kid, that’s all.”

Waving a hand, you assure him, “No need to apologize, Joel.”

Little by little, he starts to relax. Taut and tense muscles that have been wound up for years and years are suddenly beginning to loosen, and all it is taking is being in your presence for him to understand why Ellie’s taken such a quick liking to you. 

You’re bright, and radiate such warmth—a different kind of warmth Joel hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

He glances around the stall. “So, uh—what’s the deal? You one of the stable hands around here or somethin’ like that?”

“Something like that,” you repeat after him, a tiny grin tugging at the corners of your mouth at the way he speaks with a heavy, but still incredibly charming Southern drawl. “I’m the equine veterinarian here in Jackson.”

He chuckles. “Veterinarian? Y’mean, those still exist?”

“Sort of. My father used to be the veterinarian here,” you explain to him. “That was what he did for a living before the outbreak happened. When we got here a few years ago from one of the quarantine zones, he told Maria what he had done for a living before this and he was asked to care for the horses in exchange for our place here.”

“And you?” Joel can’t help but wonder out loud. You seem quite young, can’t be older than your late twenties or early thirties at most, which would still have made you a child when the outbreak happened. “No offense darlin’, but you seem a little bit too young to have gone to vet school before shit hit the fan.”

Darlin’.

He doesn’t mean to call you that. But it’s too late—and you don’t appear bothered by it.

Instead, you laugh, and the sound is like a gorgeous melody he could listen to on repeat for the rest of his life if given the chance. “No, I definitely did not go to veterinary school. Actually, my dad taught me everything I know.” You speak fondly of him as you continue to say, “He educated me. Well, as best as he could considering the circumstances and all. He tried to teach me all that he could before he died a couple of years ago.”

Joel frowns. “Oh. M’sorry to hear about your dad.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to be sorry.”

He peers at you, unable to mask his curiosity.

“He died of illness,” you tell him, as if having read his mind. “And before you say it again, you don’t have to be sorry.” You cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head at him as you change the subject and ask, “So, how are you settling in?”

“S’been alright, I reckon. Real different from what I’m used to—from what we’re both used to,” Joel answers, referring to Ellie.

“I can imagine it is. It took me a while to get used to this place when I first got here too. It’s such a different way of life,” you empathize with him, sighing as you drop your arms back down at your sides. “You stay just a couple of houses down from Tommy and Maria, right?”

“Yeah, we’re two doors down in the brown and greenish lookin’ unit.”

“I’m in the light blue and white house right across from them,” you inform him, your pretty eyes twinkling as you give him a smile. “I guess that kind of makes us neighbors, doesn’t it?”

Joel’s stomach somersaults. “It does,” he manages to say. Remembering Tommy’s warning from earlier, he decides it's time for him to leave—and the quicker, the better because he’s beginning to notice how easy it is to fall under your spell. He pushes himself away from the stall door. “I should probably get goin’ now. Got some stuff to take care of before evenin’ patrol,” he says. “Listen, uh, I really appreciate you spendin’ time with Ellie and bein’ so kind to her. Thank you for that.” He gives you a small grateful nod and turns on the heel of his boot to leave the stall.

“Joel?”

He stops dead in his tracks, his back stiffening slightly.

The sound of your soft voice saying his name is sweet like pure, raw honey.

If he isn’t careful, he’ll become addicted to it—he fears he already is.

Swallowing harshly, Joel turns back around to face you. “Yeah?”

“We’re having this big get together on Saturday night in the barn that’s right across the way,” you say, jabbing a thumb over your shoulder, towards the open window. “We do it every single year on the first day of summer. It’s for the kids more than anything, but everyone comes out.” There’s a subtle hint of shyness to your tone. “I’m not sure if Tommy or Maria have mentioned it to you yet, but there’s going to be a big cookout, drinks, and even a band to play live music. The whole nine yards.”

Joel has to bite back a small scoff of disbelief. “You serious?”

“People still know how to party,” you joke. You observe the genuinely perplexed look that crosses his face and giggle. “I know, it must sound really bizarre. But it’s a lot of fun and it’s a great way to really get to know the folks around here. I think it would be great if you and Ellie both came.”

“Ain’t too sure if it’d be Ellie’s thing. Or mine,” he admits, raking a hand nervously through his hair at the thought.

“You won’t know unless you give it a shot, Joel.” You gift him with another brilliant smile that just about makes his heart stop inside his chest. “Please?”

Joel hardly knows you. Hell, up until five minutes ago, he hadn’t even known your fucking name—how is it possible that he can’t say no to you?

He mulls over it in his mind for a moment. He doesn’t like the idea of having to interact with anyone outside of patrol duty, but if going to the thing means seeing you again, then he’s willing to at the very least give it a shot. 

“Maybe we’ll both stop by for a bit and check it out,” he finally replies, exhaling a small sigh of defeat.

“Great!” You beam happily. “I’ll see you both on Friday night, then.”

“I’ll see you Friday night,” Joel repeats, giving you one last nod before turning and leaving the stall.

As he leaves the stables and heads home, he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards at the mere thought of seeing you again.

Shit.

He’s in fucking trouble. 

His fork scrapes against the plate a little too loudly, the noise echoing throughout the kitchen. Your fingers curl tightly around your own silverware, and you flinch—it’s been a calm, quiet, and uneventful few weeks between you and your husband, but it’s a knee-jerk reaction you can’t control when you’re alone with him.

He doesn’t seem to notice, thankfully.

Loosening your grip around your knife and fork, you let your shoulders drop and force yourself to relax. You eat slowly and in small, measured bites, every move careful and contained, purely out of habit—because as tranquil as things have been, his moods are unpredictable, and you never know which version of your husband will be coming home to you.

Your marriage to Luke hadn’t always been a nightmare—in fact there was a time where you could have sworn there was love. Somewhere along the way, he began to resent you, and now anger and control fills the space where affection once lived.

Nights like this one, where it is silent and hollow, you’re almost grateful for it. His coldness can be painful, but his fists hurt even worse.

Luke abruptly pushes back from the table, the chair’s wooden legs scraping harshly against the tile.

You flinch again, your stomach twisting.

“I’m going to bed,” he murmurs. “I have a long day at the hospital tomorrow.”

“Okay.” You bring yourself to meet his dark green eyes, giving him the best smile you can muster. “Goodnight.”

He doesn’t say it back, simply nods and disappears out of the kitchen.

It’s not until you hear the door close upstairs that you exhale a small sigh of relief.

After finishing your dinner, you bring both plates to the sink. You run the water but make no move to wash them, and instead you stand there, hands braced on the counter.

Your wedding band gleams under the bright, overhead lights, catching your eye, and all you can do is wonder when—or even if—he will ever let you go.

i do not have a taglist, for fic updates, please check out my notifs blog, @mari-positasupdates!

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🤍

[twinterrors29]

what if Owen Lars wasn't lying about Obi-Wan Kenobi having died a long time ago during A New Hope

the 'Old Ben Kenobi' that Luke finds out in the desert is a strange man, with dark skin and a faded scar curled around his left eye

the man protests that he's not Obi-Wan Kenobi, although he is Kenobi, but Artoo seems to recognize him nonetheless and shows them the full message from the Princess

Kenobi, of course, accepts her mission, and explains to Luke that he is holding his father's lightsaber for him and offers to teach him about the ways of the Jedi

he readily agrees to drop Luke back off with the Larses on his insistence though

after the tragedy of the Lars homestead is revealed and they make their way through the drama of hiring Captain Solo, Kenobi gets to work on Luke's Jedi training, which mostly seems to consist of Luke trying to dodge or block random stunners throughout the trip and intense physical training (Luke didn't realize he had some of those muscles in his legs)

eventually, they exit hyperspace in the remains of Alderaan, where the Death Star remains hovering in the now-empty black

they hide from the scanners and sneak off the ship and into the control room, where Kenobi decides to sneak off to disable the tractor beam while Luke waits with the ship (and eventually manages to convince Han and Chewie to help him rescue Leia)

while Kenobi is sneaking around the station, Darth Vader unfortunately notices a familiar presence...one he hasn't felt in some time...he thinks it might be Obi-Wan Kenobi, but it's faint...

Vader, of course, immediately sets out to track Kenobi down, and finding an old man wearing a brown cloak with a deep hood pulled over his face, wielding a familiar lightsaber, makes a few assumptions

Cody Kenobi, widow of the deceased Obi-Wan Kenobi, lets him make those assumptions for long enough to see Luke, Han, Chewbacca, and the rescued Leia sneak back onto the Falcon out of the corner of his eye

then, after a dramatic pause, he burst into motion with a jetpack-assisted round house kick to Vader's face, allowing him to make his escape to the ship

they make their daring escape back to the rebel base on Yavin, and Luke prepares to join the pilots targeting the Death Star's weakness; when he hears a faint but somehow familiar voice urging him to trust in the Force rather than the targeting computer, he decides to trust it, and his choice is immediately supported by Kenobi back at the base

once the celebrations have died down, Luke tracks Kenobi down again, and they get ready to continue his training

once Cody is satisfied with Luke's level of physical fitness and willingness to trust the Force (and after a quiet conversation with Leia about what she wanted to do), he flies himself and Luke out to Dagobah, where his husband told him to bring the boy for Jedi training with Master Yoda

Yoda is grudgingly impressed with Luke's ability to hold handstands, but is more focused on his sidequest to catch Cody off guard and smack him in the shins (he does not succeed)

they leave every so often to go on missions for the Rebellion, frequently teaming up with Leia and Han, but always sneaking back to Dagobah after a short period of socialization

several years into this pattern, Luke has a vision of his friends in danger on Bespin, and insists on going to rescue them despite both Cody and Yoda urging him to stay

Cody, however, grudgingly decides to go back into the field with Luke to help Leia and Chewie (and Han. he guesses.)

Luke runs off to confront Vader, despite being advised not to, and opens their fight with a Force-enhanced round house kick to Vader's face

(Vader is experiencing war-like flashbacks, but manages to rally enough to finish that confrontation)

Cody, meanwhile, got wind that Boba was here and snuck into his ship

the moment Boba reenters the ship and starts preparing for takeoff, Cody emerges and hijacks the ship by way of an ori'vod'ika headlock, regrettably rescuing Luke and Leia's bad influence friend/crush

once Luke is out of surgery on Home-1, he finds Cody and demands answers about his parentage

Cody tells a brief version of what happened with his parents, and with Obi-Wan, and how that led to the present set of conditions

when Luke demands to know why Cody didn't tell him that from the start, Cody asks him why he thinks that Cody didn't teach him the Force-enhanced round house kick during their first training session

Luke admits that he wasn't ready to learn that, or to learn about Vader, but then insists that he needed to know before facing Vader again

Cody reasonably responds that there was no way he, Cody, could have known that Vader was going to be on Bespin, and that if Luke knew and didn't share that intel that was certainly not Cody's fault

and did Cody mention that he also tried to convince Luke not to go in the first place?

Cody ends the conversation by telling Luke that he can do whatever he wants with this new information about his relationship with Vader, but that it's his responsibility as a Jedi to weigh the consequences carefully

Luke sometimes wishes that his mentor wasn't so implacably rational

months later, after the second Death Star is destroyed during the Battle of Endor, Luke watches Cody sit down on a bench some distance from the celebration, only to be joined by a transparent blue figure, who laces their fingers together

the Force ghost meets Luke's eyes and smiles sadly, gesturing for him to return to the celebration

when Luke goes to find Cody in the morning, he finds the man still in the exact same position on that bench, eyes closed and with a soft smile on his face

[this-is-tiny-mia]

Of Spilled Drinks and Spilled Truths (H.S One Shot +18)

General Masterlist

Summary: A weekend getaway with friends was supposed to be a break, but for Y/N and Harry, it becomes a turning point. After years of friendship riddled with unresolved feelings, some heated arguments gives way to confessions neither of them expected.

A/n: Hello, my loves! Here’s a smutty one shot with some good friends to enemies to lovers plot, i hope you all enjoy this!

Word count: 9.2k

Warnings: Smut, spitting, some confrontation between friends.

You needed a break—a well-deserved one. So when the group chat lit up with the message, “Roadtrip to Willowmist!” your eyes widened with excitement. Your 9-to-5 office job had been grinding you down, inch by inch, to the point where you’d even started contemplating quitting. But there were bills to pay: rent, groceries, your beat-up car, and a never-ending list of expenses that wouldn’t magically disappear.

Every year, you and your friends planned a road trip. And every couple of years, that road trip led to Willowmist—the cozy cabin owned by Eliza’s parents, who were generous enough to let your group use it whenever you needed an escape and the timing was perfect: it was May. The weather sat comfortably between warm and cool, ideal for hiking, swimming, and late-night bonfires.

Your friend group was a patchwork of personalities, a collection of memories, and an unshakable bond. Four girls and three boys: Aurora, Eliza, Harper, and you; Theo, Jasper, and Harry rounded out the crew. You’d been inseparable since high school. Even as life pulled you to different colleges and jobs, you’d stayed close, bound by shared histories and inside jokes that no one else could ever understand. At this point, you all knew too much about one another to ever drift apart—let alone become enemies. Normally, the trip always included all seven of you—plus the occasional “I’m seeing someone, can they come?” that inevitably added a new face to the mix.

You remembered how Aurora’s heart had been broken a dozen times (and how she still threw herself into love with reckless optimism), or the time Theo tripped and landed face-first in mud on the way to prom. Then there was Harper and Jasper’s ill-fated kiss—a spur-of-the-moment thing that had ended with Harper nearly gagging because, as she later admitted, she was into girls. None of you had known it at the time, but looking back, it made perfect sense.

And then there was you and Harry—the “typical friends” who, back in high school, everyone loved to tease about how cute of a couple you’d make. But that idea never quite stuck with either of you. After Aurora, Harry was the one you were closest to in the group. He was the friend you’d call and put on speaker whenever an Uber driver seemed a bit too sketchy. He was also the one who knew exactly how stubborn and moody you could get—and somehow, he never seemed to mind. Until recently. Lately, you and Harry had been clashing more often—not full-blown fights, but tense discussions that always seemed to end with you sighing, "I don’t really want to talk about this anymore," just to avoid things escalating into something worse. You weren’t entirely sure what had changed, but lately, Harry seemed irritated by almost everything you said. If you shared a funny video, he’d roll his eyes and mutter, “That’s lame. How can you even think that’s funny?” Or there was the time he showed you a picture of a redhead, casually mentioning, “This girl winked at me the other day,” to which you snapped back, “And? Like that means anything?” It was like every little exchange between you two had turned into a spark waiting to ignite.

The rest of the group had definitely noticed the growing tension between you and Harry. Whenever one of your “discussions” started, they’d jump in to ease the mood, steering the conversation before it could get too heated. Still, you couldn’t deny that you missed the late-night calls with him—those moments when you could rant about things that felt too personal or odd to share in public. But then again, you were stubborn. And giving in first? That just wasn’t your style.

Aurora: WILLOWMIST??? I’M IN!

Harper: I’m still seeing Becca. Can she come?

Eliza: Yes, of course! We have my car and Theo’s, but he’s bringing Cassie plus the food. I think we might need another car just in case.

Harry: Mine’s available too.

Theo: That’s settled then. Let’s meet at my place on Friday to arrange everything—rooms, cars, food, etc.

Aurora: YAY! I’m so excited!! You were excited. You always had a great time on the annual road trip. Now all that was left was to ask your boss for vacation time, and in three weeks, you’d be enjoying margaritas with the girls while the boys attempted their best backflips into the lake—or whatever crazy stunt they wanted. You just needed a break.

When Friday arrived, you all gathered at Theo’s apartment, greeted everyone, and slid onto the couch next to Harry.

“What’s up, idiot?” he said, nudging your shoulder.

“What’s up, arsehole?” you replied with a smile.

This banter was your usual rhythm—teasing and familiar—but somewhere between these playful jabs and the more serious arguments, the line was starting to blur.

“Okayyy, here it is,” Eliza announced, passing around a sheet of paper. She was crazy organized when it came to the annual trip—laid out in neat detail were all the meals, groceries, how much each person would pay, gas expenses for each car, liquor—everything.

“This looks better than ever,” Jasper said. “What about the cars? Which one am I in?”

“You’re with most of the food—Cassie and Theo—in his car,” Eliza replied. “I’m with Harper, Aurora, and Becca. And Y/N goes with Harry in his car.”

Everyone turned to look at both of you with unreadable expressions. You and Harry exchanged glances, then looked back at the group.

“What?” you both said in unison.

“Nothing,” they murmured, and you frowned, sensing they knew something you didn’t.

As everyone agreed on Eliza’s plan, the group scattered—grabbing beers and drifting into conversations about everything and nothing. You found yourself in the kitchen with Harper, listening to Aurora ramble on about some new guy, laughing every time Aurora made one of those hopelessly smitten faces.

“Why don’t you just invite him?” you asked.

“Oh no, we’re not there yet,” Aurora replied. “BUT WE WILL BE.” And there was that face again.

“Rori… get a grip,” Harper said with a chuckle, taking a sip of her beer.

Aurora made a mock glare at Harper and sighed. “Are you sure you want to ride with Harry? I can switch spots with you.”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” you asked, confused.

“You two have been fighting a lot,” Harper said.

“Yeah, well, he’s been annoying lately. But if he can manage to not be annoying for four hours, I think I’m good,” you said with a casual shrug, as if it was no big deal.

“Right…” Harper said, smirking. “You both just need to shut up for four hours.” She chuckled, then flinched as Aurora playfully pinched her arm.

“Hey!” Harper protested.

“Girls,” you said, waving off the tension, “I swear it’s fine. Yeah, we’re not getting along like we used to, but that’s okay. We’re not going to kill each other in four hours.”

Harper laughed. “Well, if you say so. Just don’t come crying to us when you two end up yelling at each other halfway there.”

Aurora rolled her eyes but smiled. “Honestly, I think you guys need this trip more than anyone. Maybe some fresh air will remind you why you’ve been friends all these years.”

You glanced at Harry across the room, who was chatting quietly with Jasper. Despite the tension, you could still see that familiar spark in his eyes—the same one from all those years of friendship.

“Yeah,” you said, taking a deep breath. “Maybe this trip is exactly what we need.”

The thought made you feel a little lighter. For now, you pushed the worries aside and joined the others, ready to enjoy the night.

The night was winding down, and the group was slowly saying their goodbyes. You and Harry ended up together by his car, the quiet tension between you still lingering.

“Want a ride home?” he asked, opening the door for you.

You nodded and slid into the passenger seat. As he started the engine, there was a brief silence before he glanced over and said casually, “So, maybe after this trip, you’ll finally admit I was right about everything.”

You blinked, caught off guard, and opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Aurora’s voice came through the open window from where she was standing nearby.

“I think I’m taking Y/N home tonight. Don’t want you two turning a simple ride into a battlefield,” she said, opening your door.

Harry shot her a quick look, a half-smile tugging at his lips, and you let out an angry breath as his car left the driveway. “Are you sure you don’t want to switch places with me?” said Aurora going to her car “I’m sure, i’ll just get distracted with music or maybe i’ll sleep” you said

🌷

The morning of the road trip was crisp and buzzing with excitement as everyone gathered at Jasper’s house. The driveway was a chaotic blend of backpacks, duffle bags, and coolers being shuffled between the cars. Harper and Becca were already snapping pictures by the front steps, while Eliza checked her meticulously detailed list for what felt like the tenth time.

“Alright, everyone, let’s make sure we’re not forgetting anything,” Eliza called, waving the list like a baton. “Food? Packed. Gas? Topped up. Harry?”

“What about me?” Harry asked, lugging a box of snacks toward his car.

“Just making sure you’re actually listening" Eliza teased, earning a small chuckle from Jasper.

“Y/N, have you met Becca yet?” Harper called out, motioning you over while Harry busied himself adjusting something in the trunk.

“Not officially,” you said, walking over.

“This is Becca, my girlfriend,” Harper said, her tone warm with pride. “Becca, this is Y/N, one of the best people I know, though a little too stubborn for her own good.”

You laughed and extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Becca. Anyone who can put up with Harper’s karaoke marathons gets my respect.”

Becca chuckled, shaking your hand. “Nice to meet you too. I’ve heard plenty about this trip—it sounds like a blast.”

“Oh, it will be,” Eliza  chimed in as she passed by, lugging a cooler. “Especially once we start roasting Theo at the bonfire. It’s tradition.” Across the driveway, Cassie leaned over to Aurora with a sly grin. “Hey, is it just me, or is there something weird going on between Y/N and Harry?”

Aurora raised an eyebrow but didn’t look surprised. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know,” Cassie said, glancing toward Harry, who was now arguing with Theo about fitting a cooler into his car. “It’s like... charged, you know? Are they a thing?”

Aurora laughed, loud enough to catch your attention for a second before she waved you off. “Harry and Y/N? Please. They’ve been like that since high school. It’s their love language—bickering and driving each other insane.”

Cassie smirked. “So they’re not a thing?”

“Nope. They are now in an “i hate you” mood but give it time,” Aurora said with a wink before walking off to join Eliza.

Back by Harry’s car, he closed the trunk with a loud thud and looked at you expectantly. “Ready, or are you going to keep bonding with Harper’s girlfriend all morning?”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry, I’m all yours for the next four hours. Try not to cry from excitement.”

Harry smirked, opening the driver’s side door. “Trust me, I’ll manage.”

“Alright, people!” Theo’s voice boomed as he clapped his hands together. “Let’s hit the road before Eliza has a heart attack over her schedule.”

Everyone laughed as the final bags were loaded and doors slammed shut. As you buckled up, you heard Aurora shout from across the driveway, “Remember, no fighting! Or at least wait until we’re all out of earshot!”

The group chuckled as the caravan of cars started rolling out. You couldn’t help but glance at Harry, who had a small, knowing smile on his face.

This was going to be a long drive.

The morning sun was starting to peek over the horizon as Harry’s car merged onto the highway. The steady hum of the engine filled the silence between you, and for a while, neither of you said a word.

You stared out the window, watching the trees blur by. Harry tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the road. The silence was heavy but not unbearable—at least, not yet.

“You want music or something?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Sure,” you said, reaching for the aux cable. You scrolled through your playlist, finally settling on something upbeat to lighten the mood. The opening chords of a pop song filled the car, and Harry let out a dramatic groan.

“This? Really?” he said, glancing at you with mock disapproval.

“What’s wrong with this?” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s just… basic,” he said with a smirk.

You scoffed. “Coming from the guy who listens to dad rock like it’s still the ’80s?”

“Excuse me, dad rock is timeless,” he said, and for a moment, the tension lifted as you both chuckled.

A few minutes later, he glanced over at you. “So, are we going to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” you said, feigning ignorance.

“The fact that we’ve can’t get along for weeks now,” he said bluntly.

You stiffened in your seat, not expecting him to bring it up so soon—or at all. “I didn’t know there was anything to talk about,” you said, keeping your tone light.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You know what I mean. It’s like… everything I say pisses you off lately. And everything you say—”

“makes sense?” you interrupted, your voice sharper than you intended.

He glanced at you briefly before turning back to the road. The silence returned, heavier this time. The song ended, and the playlist moved on to another track, but neither of you made a move to acknowledge it. After a while, Harry spoke again, softer this time. “Look, I don’t want this trip to suck because we can’t figure out how to talk to each other anymore.”

You looked at him, his profile illuminated by the soft glow of the dashboard lights. “Me neither,” you admitted quietly.

It wasn’t an apology, not yet, but it was a start.

🌷

Eliza’s car was buzzing with chatter and laughter as they sped along the highway. Aurora was leaning back with her feet propped up on the dashboard, while Harper and Becca were cozied up in the backseat. Music played softly in the background, but the main soundtrack was their conversation.

“So,” Aurora began, twisting in her seat to look at the others. “Is it just me, or is something definitely brewing between Y/N and Harry?”

Harper chuckled, resting her head on Beccar’s shoulder. “Brewing, as in tension so thick you could cut it with a knife? or brewing as if they are probably becoming the biggest enemies ever?”

“Exactly!” Aurora exclaimed, waving her hand dramatically. “They’ve been at each other’s throats, but like… there’s something there, right?” 

Harper rolled her eyes but smirked. “Oh, totally. Y/N swears it’s just because Harry’s being ‘annoying,’ but she gets so worked up over it. You don’t react like that unless you care.”

“Or unless he’s genuinely annoying,” Becca teased

Eliza, who had been quietly listening, finally chimed in. “Okay, okay, but hear me out—I might know something.”

All three of them turned to her, eyes wide with curiosity.

“What do you mean ‘know something’?” Harper pressed, leaning forward in her seat.

“Well…” Eliza hesitated, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Remember last year’s trip to Brighton?”

“Yeah?” Aurora said, practically bouncing in her seat.

“I overheard Harry talking to Theo one night,” Eliza said, glancing at the others for dramatic effect. “He said something like, ‘It’s frustrating how she doesn’t see it.’”

“See what?” Aurora gasped, clutching her chest as though this were the most scandalous thing she’d ever heard. “”She” as in Y/N?”

“That’s the thing—I don’t know!” Eliza replied, laughing. “But he sounded serious. And you know Harry never talks about his feelings unless he’s pushed to the brink. AND, who would he be talking about to Theo?

Harper’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, that’s interesting...What if he’s into her and just doesn’t know how to deal with it?”

“That would explain why they’ve been so weird lately,” Becca added. “It’s like they’re trying to keep things normal, but it’s not working.”

Aurora clapped her hands together. “This is better than a rom-com. I’m calling it now—they’re either going to kill each other or finally kiss on this trip.”

“I’m betting on the kiss,” Eliza said with a knowing smirk.

“Should we meddle?” Harper asked, half-joking.

“Absolutely not,” Eliza said, shaking her head. “They need to figure this out on their own. Besides, the fireworks are way more fun to watch from the sidelines.”

The car erupted into laughter as they all imagined the chaos that might unfold, their gossip making the drive pass in no time.

🌷

The hum of the car engine filled the silence between you and Harry. The tension was palpable, like a balloon stretched too tight, ready to pop at the slightest provocation. Both of you seemed acutely aware of it, navigating this territory of forced civility.

“So,” you started, fiddling with the zipper of your jacket. “Eliza’s car looked packed. Wonder if they’ll even have room for their bags once they hit the liquor store.”

Harry let out a dry chuckle, his eyes focused on the road. “Knowing Eliza, she’s already calculated the exact cubic inches of trunk space available.”

You smiled slightly but didn’t laugh. “Yeah… probably.”

Another beat of silence.

“Did you, uh, bring anything for the cabin? Snacks or whatever?” Harry asked, his tone deliberately neutral.

“Yeah, a couple of bags of chips and some candy,” you said. “Not that it’ll matter with Aurora and Theo around—they’ll eat it all by day two.”

“True,” he said with a faint smirk. “I brought some stuff too. Protein bars and trail mix.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “Trail mix? Are you eighty?”

Harry shot you a look, his brow arching. “Excuse me for being practical.”

“I’m just saying, nobody ever gets excited about trail mix,” you said, trying to keep your tone light but failing to hide the underlying edge.

“Yeah, well, nobody gets excited about chips for the fifth year in a row, either,” he countered, his voice a little sharper than he probably intended.

You both fell silent again, the air in the car thickening.

This was it—the moment you both knew could spiral into yet another argument. But instead of pushing further, you bit your tongue, staring out the window.

Harry exhaled heavily, gripping the steering wheel. “This is stupid.”

You glanced at him, your brow furrowing. “What is?”

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Tiptoeing around each other, trying not to say anything that’ll set the other off. It’s exhausting. You’re exhausting.”

You folded your arms across your chest. “Well, maybe if you didn’t always have to have the last word—”

“There it is,” he interrupted, Harry’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw clenched tight. He pulled the car off the road into a small clearing, gravel crunching loudly under the tires. The sudden stop made your body jerk forward slightly

“What the hell are you doing?” you snapped, your voice rising with the frustration that had been bubbling beneath the surface.

Harry turned to face you, his green eyes sharp and stormy. “I’m tired of this, Y/N. I’m tired of the constant bickering, the walking on eggshells, the... whatever this is!” He gestured wildly between you both, his voice rising in exasperation.

You blinked, taken aback by his outburst, but your own stubbornness flared up. “Oh, so this is my fault now? You’re the one who’s been acting like everything I say is a personal attack!”

Harry scoffed, running a hand through his curls in frustration. “Maybe because half the time it feels like one! You can’t even make a joke without it sounding like you’re trying to one-up me.”

You glared at him, heat rising in your cheeks. “Oh, please. You’ve been nitpicking everything I do for weeks, Harry! And for what? To make yourself feel better?”

“I’m not—” he started, but then stopped himself, taking a deep breath. His jaw tightened as he looked away. “I’m not trying to make myself feel better, okay? I just—”

“What?” you pressed, your voice softer now but still firm.

“Nothing,” he said quietly, restarting the car and merging back onto the road.

You were mad, but with an hour still left in the drive, you decided against saying anything else. Exhaustion was setting in, and all you wanted now was a bit of calm before reaching the cabin. 

The silence stretched between you and Harry for the rest of the drive, thick with unspoken words. Neither of you tried to break it, too stubborn or too tired to make the first move. Outside, the trees blurred by, but inside the car, the tension was almost suffocating.

Finally, the cabin appeared, surrounded by tall pines and the quiet sounds of nature. One by one, the other cars pulled into the gravel driveway, laughter and chatter filling the air.

Aurora was the first to jump out, her bright smile unaware of the mood between you two. “We’re officially here, and we all are alive and ready!” she called cheerfully.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you quickly opened the door, stepped out, and headed straight for the cabin, slamming the front door behind you.

Aurora froze, then gave an awkward laugh. “Well… almost,” she said, glancing at everyone, who looked just as uncomfortable

Harry sighed heavily, resting his head on the steering wheel before looking over at Theo, who met his gaze with quiet understanding. Theo knew what was wrong—and so did Harry.

The group exchanged uneasy looks, the happy arrival now tinged with tension no one quite knew how to ease.

Aurora caught the look Harry gave Theo and immediately picked up on the unspoken message. She bit her lip, nodding subtly to herself as if filing it away for later.

She stepped back from the group, pretending to check her phone but really watching Harry’s car. Something was definitely off.

As everyone started unpacking, the usual buzz of activity returned. Jasper and Theo carried most of the groceries inside, while Eliza directed who should bring what where. Harper and Becca helped organize bags and handed out snacks and drinks. Laughter and chatter floated through the air, easing some of the earlier tension.

Aurora lingered nearby and after a moment, she quietly excused herself from the group and headed your way. She knocked gently on the door before stepping in.

You looked up, surprise flickering across your face but your frustration was still evident.

“Hey,” Aurora said softly. “You okay?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Just needed a minute.”

Aurora gave a small smile and sat down beside you. “If you want to talk or need anything, I’m here.”

“We had an argument…again” you said “I know…about what this time?” Aurora said coming near you and sitting on the bed next to yours “About everything, nonsense stupid stuff…” you said sighing “i really think this is it..this is were our friendship comes to an end”

Aurora’s eyes softened as she looked at you. “Hey, don’t say that. Friendships go through rough patches all the time. You two have been through so much together—this can’t be the end.”

You shook your head, feeling the weight of it all. “It just feels different now. Like we’re not even on the same page anymore. Every little thing sets us off.”

Aurora reached out and gently squeezed your hand. “Maybe you both just need some space to breathe. Sometimes distance helps clear the fog.”

You looked down at your hands, considering. “Maybe… but it still hurts.”

“I get it,” Aurora said softly. “But you’re not alone in this, okay? We all want this trip to be good—for you, for Harry, for everyone.”

You let out a shaky breath, grateful for her presence. “Thanks, Rori”

Aurora gave you a reassuring smile before standing up. “Come on, let’s get out there. Eliza’s schedule says today is a free day—no planned activities. Perfect chance to just relax and breathe.”

You nodded and followed her out of the room, the tension in your chest easing just a little. Downstairs, the others were unpacking and settling in. The cabin already smelled like pine and wood smoke, a comforting scent that reminded you why this place was special.

Some of the group were organizing groceries, laughing as they juggled bags of snacks, drinks, and supplies. Theo was stacking firewood near the porch while Jasper and Harper were debating which music to play first.

Eliza was busy organizing the kitchen, checking off items on her meticulously planned list, while Becca was chatting animatedly with Cassie near the windows.

You found yourself drifting outside, the fresh air filling your lungs. Aurora stayed close, leaning against the railing beside you. For the first time in days, things felt a little lighter. Across the door, you caught Harry’s eye for just a moment. He looked away quickly, and you did the same, neither of you daring to break the fragile silence.

No words were exchanged between you two — just a shared glance heavy with everything left unsaid. The tension lingered, but for now, it stayed unspoken as the day slowly unwound around you.

In the Kitchen Theo grabbed Harry’s arm gently but firmly, pulling him aside near the pantry “Harry, man, what the hell…,” Theo said quietly, locking eyes with him. “Look, I get it — things with you and Y/N have been rough lately. But this silence, the cold shoulders, the snappy comments? It’s killing whatever’s left of you two.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt mixing on his face. “It’s complicated, Theo. I don’t even know how to fix this. Every time I try to talk, it just ends up worse.” he whispered

Theo shook his head slowly. “That’s exactly why you have to try. If you don’t say what’s on your mind, what’s really bothering you… you’re just building a wall between you two that only gets higher. You risk losing her forever.”

Harry’s voice dropped. “What if I say something and it backfires? What if it’s too late?”

Theo’s gaze hardened a bit, but his tone stayed calm. “Then you deal with it. But at least you’ll know you tried. Because not saying anything? That’s giving up without a fight. And you’re not that kind of guy. God, do you really like her? go on and fix this mess”

Harry sighed deeply, looking over at the cabin where you were. “I just don’t want to make her feel worse. She deserves better than the mess I’ve become.”

Theo placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “None of us are perfect. But being honest — that’s how you show you care. That you’re willing to be vulnerable. You owe it to her, and to yourself.”

Harry nodded, swallowing hard.

Night had finally fallen over the cabin, the sky a deep navy blanket speckled with stars. Inside, the group had gathered around the large wooden table in the living room, the soft glow of lanterns and fairy lights creating a cozy atmosphere.

Eliza brought out an old, well-loved board game she’d packed—a classic everyone enjoyed. The clatter of dice and the occasional burst of laughter slowly chipped away at the day’s lingering tension. Harry and you found yourselves sitting across from each other, the game forcing a casual proximity neither had expected. For a while, the conversation was light—teasing jokes about who was the worst at strategy and who always made the boldest moves.

As the game progressed, the distance between you started to shrink, the walls built by earlier arguments slowly softening under the shared moments and friendly competition.

Occasionally, your eyes met across the table, and though neither said a word.

But then

Harper rolled her eyes and said, “It’s not fair! I should be the one winning — you’re all just ganging up on me.”

You and Harry both blurted out at the same time, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be so bad at it.”

Everyone froze for a second, surprised by the identical replies. Jasper laughed and said, “Alright, alright, no team-ups! Let’s keep playing.”

The group quickly moved on, throwing dice and debating moves, but Harry and you exchanged a lingering look, the unspoken tension hanging in the air between you. Just as the moment stretched, Jasper, laughing too hard, accidentally knocked over his beer. The amber liquid splashed right onto your lap.

“Oh no, sorry!” Jasper exclaimed, reaching for napkins.

You stood up quickly, brushing at your pants. “Classic Jasper, I'll go clean this up,” you said, trying to keep your frustration in check.

Theo caught Harry’s eye from across the room and gave him a meaningful look — one that said, Go check on her. Harry immediately stood up and went to the kitchen, where he found you pressing a damp cloth against your shorts, trying to clean the stain. He stood there for a moment, saying nothing. The nerves were building up inside him—so this was it, he thought. Gathering his courage to speak, he was surprised when you beat him to it.

“Go ahead,” you blurted out. “You can say I look like I pissed myself.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” he replied softly.

“Sure you weren’t,” you said, rolling your eyes with a hint of sarcasm.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly.

“Talk? Like the talk we had on the way here?” you shot back.

“No, I mean…” he sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “Okay, then. Let’s just not talk. Just hear me out.”

“And why would I want to hear you?” you challenged.

“Please? Just… give me two minutes, and then you can even slap me if you want,” he pleaded.

The silence between you was thick, broken only by the faint laughter and chatter from the living room. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, staring at Harry with a mixture of irritation and exhaustion.

“Two minutes,” you said sharply. “Go.”

Harry nodded, exhaling deeply as he ran a hand through his hair. His nerves were on edge, and for a moment, he looked like he might bolt instead of speak. But then, he met your eyes, his jaw tightening as if steeling himself.

“I know I’ve been an ass,” he began, his voice low. “I know I’ve said things that hurt you, and I know I’ve pushed you away—probably more than you deserved. But it’s not because I hate you, or because I don’t care.”

You raised an eyebrow, your arms tightening across your chest, but you stayed silent.

“It’s the opposite,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before he looked back at you. “I’ve been pushing you away because I started to feel… things I wasn’t ready for. Things I didn’t know how to handle. And instead of dealing with it like a normal person, I acted like an idiot.”

“Harry,” you said softly, unsure of where this was going.

He took a step closer, the weight of his words visibly pressing on him. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had. I thought if I could keep things the way they were, if I could just bury it, we’d be fine. But I can’t anymore. Because somewhere along the way, I started falling in love with you.”

The words hung in the air, his confession knocking the wind out of you. Your breath hitched, your mind scrambling to process what he’d just said. You searched his face for any hint of hesitation or insincerity, but all you saw was raw, unfiltered honesty.

“You…” you began, your voice trembling. “You’re in love with me?”

“Yes,” he said simply, his eyes never leaving yours. “And I know I’ve done everything wrong. I know I’ve hurt you, and I don’t expect you to feel the same way. But I couldn’t keep it in anymore. You deserved to know.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the walls you’d carefully built around yourself cracking under the weight of his confession. A part of you wanted to lash out, to throw his words back at him for all the hurt he’d caused. But another part—the part that had always held a soft spot for him—wanted to believe he was telling the truth.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your arms falling to your sides.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly. “I just needed you to hear it. To know that everything I’ve done—even the stupid, hurtful stuff—came from a place I didn’t understand until now.”

The sound of footsteps in the hallway broke the moment. Theo’s voice called out, “You two alive in there? The game’s getting intense, and Harper’s threatening to flip the board.”

Harry gave a faint smile, his eyes still locked on yours. “We’re fine,” he called back before lowering his voice. “I’ll give you space if that’s what you need. Just… don’t shut me out completely. Please.”

You nodded slowly, the weight of his confession settling over you as he stepped back, giving you the room to breathe.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the tension between you wasn’t suffocating. It was heavy, yes, but there was something else there now—a flicker of possibility, of hope.

You returned to the living room, the hum of chatter and laughter greeting you as you stepped inside. The group was still gathered around the board game, arguing playfully over the rules. It all seemed normal, like nothing had changed—but for you and Harry, everything had.

Aurora caught your eye first, her brow furrowing slightly as she noticed the look on your face. You quickly glanced away, not ready for questions. Sitting back down in your spot, you tried to blend back in, but the weight of Harry’s confession was impossible to ignore. Harry followed a few moments later, taking his seat with a small, relieved exhale. He avoided looking directly at you, but the tension in his shoulders seemed to have eased ever so slightly.

Theo, ever perceptive, glanced between the two of you. His lips quirked into a subtle, knowing smile before he turned his attention back to the game.

Harper noticed something too, narrowing her eyes as she pointed her game piece accusingly at Harry. “You’ve got that look,” she said teasingly. “Like you just got away with something.”

“What look?” Harry asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he avoided the trap.

“The smug one,” Jasper chimed in, grinning. “But then again, you always look like that.”

The group laughed, and you used the moment to ground yourself, focusing on the lighthearted banter. The tension wasn’t gone, but it had shifted. Instead of anger and frustration, there was now a strange, unspoken understanding between you and Harry—an acknowledgment that something had cracked open.

Aurora leaned over slightly, her voice low as she nudged you with her elbow. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.”

She didn’t press, but her eyes lingered on you for a beat longer before she shrugged and joined the game again. The evening wore on, and the atmosphere gradually lightened. Drinks were poured, jokes were made, and for a moment, you almost forgot the storm swirling in your mind. Almost.

Across the room, Harry caught your gaze. It wasn’t intentional—just a fleeting moment when your eyes met. But in that split second, everything he’d said in the kitchen came rushing back. You could see it in his expression: the relief, the vulnerability, and maybe even a flicker of hope. You looked away quickly, your stomach twisting into knots. The rest of the group might not have known what had happened between you two, but they could sense the difference. It was subtle but undeniable, a shift in the air that no one dared to point out directly.

For now, the game continued, the laughter grew louder, and the night pressed on. But beneath it all, the conversation in the kitchen lingered, an unspoken thread tying you and Harry together in a way that neither of you could ignore.

The cabin had finally quieted down for the night. The distant sound of crickets outside the window filled the room, a gentle reminder of how far removed you were from the chaos of the city—and the chaos of your own thoughts. Lying on your bed, you stared up at the wooden ceiling, replaying the conversation with Harry over and over again. His words were etched into your mind, the way his voice cracked slightly when he confessed: “I started to fall in love with you.”

Your chest tightened at the memory, a cocktail of emotions swirling within you. Anger, confusion, disbelief—but above all, the undeniable realization that you felt something too.

You squeezed your eyes shut, frustrated with yourself. After all the fights, the snide comments, the years of stubbornness between you two, how could it have come to this? But the truth was impossible to deny: somewhere along the way, you had fallen for him too. You hated admitting it, even to yourself. It felt like losing a battle you didn’t even know you were fighting. Yet, there it was—the tug in your chest whenever he looked at you, the way your heart raced during those rare moments when you weren’t at each other’s throats.

A soft knock on the door broke your thoughts.

Your heart jumped, and for a moment, you froze, staring at the shadow under the door.

“Y/N?”

Harry’s voice was quiet, tentative.

You sat up slowly, your pulse quickening. For a second, you debated ignoring him, pretending to be asleep, anything to delay the inevitable. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t avoid him forever.

“Yeah?” you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause before he replied. “Can I come in?”

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. Taking a deep breath, you managed to find your voice.

“Okay.”

The door creaked open, and Harry stepped inside, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He stood there for a moment, as if unsure what to say or do.

“I know it’s late,” he started, his voice soft. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about… everything.”

Harry stood just inside the door, his hands in his pockets, looking more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him. His usual confidence was absent, replaced by a quiet uncertainty.

You nodded toward the chair by the window. “Sit.”

He hesitated for a moment, then moved to the chair, dragging it closer to the bed but not too close. He sat down, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and you could see the tension in his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper. “For everything. For pushing you away. For being such an idiot half the time.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the rawness in his tone.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking down at the floor. “I don’t know when it happened, or how, but somewhere along the line, I stopped just… seeing you as my best friend. And I got scared, Y/N. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I kept messing things up.”

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“All those fights, the stupid things I’d say—it wasn’t because I hated you. It was because I didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling. And I thought maybe if I pushed you far enough away, I could stop feeling like this.” He looked up at you then, his green eyes searching yours. “But it didn’t work. It just made me miserable. And I know I’ve probably ruined everything, but I had to tell you. You deserve to know.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. For once, there was no sarcasm, no walls between you two. Just Harry, laying it all out there.

“I don’t even know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “This—this changes everything, Harry.”

“I know,” he said quickly, leaning forward. “And I don’t expect you to feel the same way. I just—I needed you to know. Whatever happens next, it’s up to you. I just couldn’t keep pretending anymore.”

The room fell into silence again, the weight of his confession hanging in the air.

“I hated you,” you said suddenly, your voice trembling. Harry flinched, but you shook your head. “Not really. But I wanted to. It would’ve been easier if I did. Because the truth is, I think I’ve felt the same way for a long time. I just didn’t want to admit it either.”

His eyes widened, hope flickering in them.

“But you drive me insane,” you continued, a small, incredulous laugh escaping you. “And I’ve spent so much time convincing myself that you and I could never work that I don’t even know where to start, and maybe that’s why i wanted to be right all the time”

“We can figure it out,” he said, his voice steady now. “I know I’ve been an ass, but I want to try. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You stared at him, the sincerity in his voice breaking down the last of your defenses.

“Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay?” he repeated, almost as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Harry’s grin softened as he looked at you, his gaze lingering just a moment too long. The air between you shifted again, the tension returning but of a completely different kind. It was warm, electrified, as if the room itself was holding its breath. He stood slowly, moving closer to where you sat on the bed. His eyes never left yours, searching for any sign that you might change your mind or pull away.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice low and cautious, like he was treading on fragile ground.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned forward, quickly, closing the space between you in a movement so instinctive it surprised you both. When your lips met, it was hesitant at first, a testing of boundaries, but that hesitation didn’t last long. Harry’s hands cupped your face, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a release of everything unsaid, every argument, every stolen glance, every moment of yearning that had gone unspoken until now.

Your hands found their way to his hair, tugging lightly, and he groaned against your lips, the sound sending shivers down your spine. His touch was gentle yet demanding, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real but wasn’t about to let it go.

When you broke apart, breathless and flushed, his forehead rested against yours, and his eyes fluttered open to meet your gaze.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his voice hoarse, the vulnerability in his eyes unmistakable.

Instead of answering, you tugged him back down, your lips meeting his again with more urgency this time. You shifted back on the bed, and Harry followed, his weight pressing down on you in a way that felt grounding, solid, and intoxicating all at once.

His kisses trailed from your lips to your jaw, then down your neck, leaving a path of warmth that made your skin tingle. Your hands moved restlessly, exploring the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his back, as if trying to memorize every part of him.

“Y/N,” he murmured against your skin, his voice laced with reverence and restraint.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your breathing uneven. “Harry,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling within you. In one swift motion, you pulled your shirt over your head, leaving your chest bare. You had never been a fan of wearing a bra to bed, and the soft glow of the moonlight cast an intimate light over your exposed skin.

“Fuck,” Harry murmured, his voice low and rough as his gaze fell to your bare chest. His eyes darkened, and his lips parted slightly as he took in the sight before him. A wave of desire coursed through him, his body responding instinctively. Without hesitation, he leaned down, his lips capturing your left nipple. His tongue swirled over the sensitive skin, drawing a sharp gasp from you. At the same time, his hand slid up to your other breast, his fingers kneading gently yet firmly. “Are you sure?” he mumbled against your breast “If you ask me again, I swear…” you murmured, your voice already breathless and tinged with pleasure.

Harry paused, his fingers teasingly slipping beneath the waistband of your pajama shorts. His voice was steady but laced with restraint. “I need vocal consent,” he said softly, his eyes searching yours. “I need to know this isn’t just out of lust.”

Your body ached with anticipation, and your frustration spilled out in a desperate plea. “Harry, I swear, if you don’t fuck me right now—”

A grin tugged at his lips. “That’s good enough,” he whispered before crashing his mouth against yours, his kiss igniting every nerve in your body. Harry tugged at the elastic of your shorts, and you quickly wriggled out of them, your hands already moving to his shirt. You broke the kiss just long enough for him to pull it over his head, and your eyes lingered for a moment, taking him in. His well-built frame, the tattoos scattered across his skin, and… the undeniable bulge straining against his pants. You’d always known he was big—years of seeing him in wet swim shorts that left far too little to the imagination had made that impossible to ignore.

Before you could dwell on it, Harry’s lips found yours again with an urgency that made your head spin. His kiss was intoxicating, almost desperate, as though he feared you might disappear if this was nothing but a dream. One of his hands kneaded your ass, pulling you impossibly closer, while your fingers tugged at the waistband of his trousers, eager to free him of the last barrier between you, Harry quickly pushed his trousers and briefs down in one smooth motion, letting his throbbing cock spring free, the tip flushed and glistening as it slapped against his abdomen. The sight made your breath hitch, a mix of nerves and anticipation pooling in your stomach. “Fuck!” he groaned, closing his eyes and quickly looking away.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, frowning as you held onto his shoulders.

“I don’t have condoms,” he admitted quietly.

“I don’t either,” you said, the realization hitting you. “Theo might have some—he’s here with Cassie,” you added desperately.

“I can’t just ask him for condoms now. What am I even supposed to say?”

“Fuck…” you breathed out. “I’m clean, I swear. Haven’t gotten laid in the last six months, and my last screen came back clean.”

“I’m clean too. I can show you—I have it on my phone,” he said, looking around for his phone. But before he could reach for it, you cupped his face in your hands.

“I trust you,” you said softly. That meaning more than just trusting him on that specific thing. “I’m on the pill as well.”

He hesitated for a moment, then muttered, “Are you… fuck,” before snapping, and crashing his lips onto yours again.

One hand wrapped around his length, pumping slowly at the base, while the other found the damp fabric of your thong. Tugging it aside, his fingers quickly became slick with your arousal, making you whimper softly at the sensation.

“Shit,” he breathed, pushing two fingers slowly inside you. A small moan escaped your lips. “You’re a fucking dream,” he murmured, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “Look at me,” he whispered as he continued pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“I need you,” you gasped, voice trembling with need.

Harry’s eyes darkened with hunger as he withdrew his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth to taste you. “Fucking sweet” he whispered against your skin.

He positioned himself carefully, lips trailing hot kisses down your neck, each touch setting you aflame. Every second stretched, filled with raw, aching anticipation, dragging his tip through your folds, slowly “Harry” you whimpered

And he finally entered you, slow and deliberate, you both froze for a moment, breathing each other in, hearts pounding in unison.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he groaned, moving with growing intensity, every thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. “So fucking tight.”

You moaned at the feeling of him inside you, stretched perfectly, hitting every needy spot. “Yes… fffu—” your voice grew louder until he placed a hand gently over your mouth.

“As much as I want to hear those delicious sounds you make,” he murmured, pumping slowly, “we’re too close to Aurora and Eliza’s room.” You cursed silently, desperate to scream out in pleasure. You knew you were loud, so keeping quiet was going to be a real challenge. He began thrusting into you faster, filled with urgent need, feeling every inch of you. “You’re perfect... so good for me,” he groaned. “Fuck me harder,” you mumbled against his hand.

“Harder? That’s how you like it, love? Hard?” he asked, driving his thrusts with more force.

“Yes… yes, I like it hard,” you managed to say, but before you could say more, he slid two fingers into your mouth.

“Suck,” he commanded, locking his gaze on you, and you gladly obeyed “Look at me” he said still lost in pleasure “you look amazing like this” He pulled back, leaving you gasping at the sudden emptiness, your lips still tingling from the contact.

“Turn around,” he murmured, his voice low and urgent, as he gently helped you shift. His gaze raked over your curves, lingering on your ass for a moment before he delivered a sharp, teasing spank. With a slow, deliberate motion, he tugged your thong aside again, exposing your swollen, puffy core that ached with need. Without hesitation, he spat a warm drop of saliva onto you, the wetness spreading and glistening under the dim light. Then, with a powerful thrust, he sank back inside you, filling you completely once more.

His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding each deep, powerful thrust as he set a relentless pace. You bit your lip to keep from crying out but some moans escaped your mouth, the heat and pleasure crashing over you in waves.

“God, fucking pussy all mine,” he groaned, his voice thick with need. His mouth found your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses while his hips slammed into yours.

You arched back, your fingers digging into the sheets as he stretched you perfectly, hitting every sensitive spot. The room was filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin and your shallow breaths.

“Harry,” you gasped, barely able to hold back, “please, don’t stop.”

He smiled against your skin, a rough, hungry smile. “Say it again” looking down at where your bodies merged

“Harry…” you whispered, voice trembling, eyes fluttering shut. Your hips began to lift involuntarily, matching his rhythm as waves of pleasure started to ripple from deep inside you. “i’m….i’m about to” you moaned His hand slid from your hip to grip your waist tightly, anchoring you as your body tensed, muscles clenched.The heat in your core became unbearable, a delicious pressure pulsing and tightening until it felt like you were about to shatter. Your breath came in short gasps, your heart pounding so loud it felt like it would burst through your chest. “Come…come all over my cock” he murmured against your skin, voice rough but steady. And then—release. A shudder tore through you, your muscles spasming around him as waves of bliss crashed over your body. You cried out softly, the sound muffled by the pillow, your entire being consumed by pleasure. He kept moving, slow and sure, prolonging the moment, grounding you as you rode out the tremors of your orgasm. Still buried deep inside you, Harry’s own control snapped. With a low, guttural groan, his hips jerked harder, driving into you with desperate need. His breath hitched, and his grip on your waist tightened as the tension built to an unbearable peak.

“Fuck—” he gasped, his voice rough and raw, before his body tensed and he spilled inside you, every shuddering thrust fueling the powerful release. You felt him fill you completely, hot cum now drenching your insides, warmth spreading through you as he held you close, grounding both of you in that intense, intimate moment.

Slowly, his movements softened, and he collapsed gently beside you, forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing heavily, connected and utterly spent.

You stayed still for a moment, your breaths mingling in the quiet room. The tension that had hung so heavily between you felt like it had finally begun to melt away. Harry’s heartbeat was steady against your skin, grounding you in the here and now.

“I’ve wanted that for a long time,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You looked up at him, your eyes shining with a mixture of relief and something softer—something hopeful. “Me too,” you admitted, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.

He smiled, a tired but genuine curve of his lips. “Maybe this is the start of figuring things out. Together.”

You nodded, leaning into him, feeling warmth spread through you—not just from the moment you’d shared, but from the possibility of what could come next.

🌷

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the cabin windows as everyone bustled around the kitchen, the smell of coffee and frying bacon filling the air. Plates clattered, eggs sizzled, and casual chatter floated through the room, but there was an unspoken agreement—no one was quite ready to bring up what had happened the night before.

You and Harry sat a bit apart on the sofa, exchanging shy smiles and quiet giggles, both pretending to focus on the morning but clearly still wrapped up in your own bubble. Last night was still a secret between both. Or so you thought.

Suddenly, Aurora appeared in the kitchen frowning “Thanks, Theo and Cassie, for fucking so loudly last night,” she said loudly, teasing. “I couldn’t even mute the sounds with my noise-cancelling headphones.”

Everyone froze, exchanging confused glances. Cassie blinked, genuinely puzzled. “We didn’t fuck last night. I was too tired—I fell asleep pretty quickly,” she replied, her voice calm.

Everyone was confused, if Theo and Cassie didn’t fuck and Aurora was certain he heard a male and female voice then…

All eyes swung toward you and Harry on the sofa.

“They’re looking at us” you said whispering

“They are stupid don’t worry” he said making you giggle

In fact, they weren’t, they immediately knew everything.

Taglist: @hermionelove @mads3502

[hannieoftheyear]

LUCKY STRIKE [C.VN]

Vernon would never let anything happen to you. But when the time comes, and he's standing at your doorstep, flowers in one hand, and bloody cuts in the other, it's your turn to take care of him for once.

pairing: mafia!vernon x fem!reader

word count: 4,5k of lazy and messy sex for you

genre/au: mafia au, established relationship, smut with the barest plot, a bit of fluff.

content warnings: vernon is terribly down bad, light mafia themes, implied violent encounters, blood, bruises, cuts, minor injuries, reader takes care of his injuries and he gets horny, this is corny, you were warned!! | explicit smut: couch sex, switch!vernon, switch!reader, sucking fingers, they both have a thing for hands and fingers, biting, spit kink, spit as lube, handjob, unprotected sex (don't be stupid pls), cumming inside, nicknames: baby (both).

♥︎ thank you to everyone that tolerated me sending clips of vernon on the thunder stages for days ♡ this is for you

🎧: shining star (vernon solo) — seventeen

THIS FIC IS FOR +18 READERS ONLY. I can't control what people read, but I can control who interacts with my blog. MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED

check out my main masterlist ♡

note: i'm a sucker for lazy couch sex with vernon and i won't apologize for it!! i hope you enjoy this silly thing ♥︎

this was, of course, heavily inspired by all the 'happy burstday' concept photos and stages

mafia prompt taken from here ♥︎ dividers here

"Being adopted into the local mafia has its pros and cons."

Pros: You can safely do your 2 am. grocery shopping at the one superstore that's open all night without fearing for your life. Those scary looking men, the ones you'd normally cross the street to avoid, treat you like their little sister. All except for the cutest one of them all.

The gloomy night accompanies the swift movements of the crochet needle between your fingers, tangling the strings of light blue and red knitting wool you bought days ago in a whim. In the search for a new hobby, your algorithm acted out again, and you ended up on the granny activities side, peaking your interest enough to sit on your uncomfortable couch for hours trying to make a usable piece of clothing.

Normally, on a weekend night, the cold wind would be welcomed by your barely covered skin, walking hand in hand with the only guy your self proclaimed body guards allowed you to be in close proximity to. But something, or rather, someone, told you to stay home for the night.

Another pro of being close with the bad guys: they help you avoid confrontations with threatening rival gangs. You're left blissfully out of the mess, but, as you're still able to hear the rounds of loud noises on the streets around the neighborhood, you're also not unaware of the bruises you see covering the guys' arms and faces the next day.

Your forehead hurts from all the frowning you've been doing for the past hour, trying to figure out the pattern you should be following and restarting every few rows.

A soft, unsure knock takes your concentration away, but it quickly puts a smile on your face as you realize who's the only person that'd show up at this hour at your door. The amateur crochet project is left forgotten on the coffee table, the metal needle crinkling against the glass as you get up from the couch.

But, whatever excitement you had, it drops completely as soon as the doorknob turns under your hold, and the door opens to reveal who you were expecting.

Vernon stands at the entrance, with his side smile painting his face as if everything was okay. You instantly know it's not. His lower lip is swollen red, probably from a punch, the neck line of his t-shirt is stretched far more than normal, with a tear visible on the side.

Cons of being adopted by the local mafia: your big bad mafia boyfriend constantly gets hurt on the job.

With one hand busy holding a bouquet of your favorite yellow flowers, he wraps the other one around your waist when you don't move, frozen analyzing his state. "Not happy to see me?"

Vernon's teasing smile so close to you, mixed with his breath fanning your face as he leans in to give you a peck, is intoxicating. His bruised lips are soft against yours, taking seconds longer to feel you on him than normal. One would never guess he's hurt from the way he's pushing himself against you.

"Baby, what happened?" Your hand reaches for his behind your back, the cuts on his knuckles harsh under the pads of your fingers.

He sighs against your parted lips, chuckling lightly before taking a step back and letting himself in into your apartment. "You should see the other guys."

"Multiple?" Your wide eyes follow him as he searches for a vase to put the flowers he brought.

It's natural for him to have his way around your home. After all, he's the only one that you, or your neighborly mafia, ever allowed in. It's your sacred place, safe from the dangerous outside world, the only place where you can be truly calm, be with him with no fears.

While he occupies himself with his gift, you take the chance to escape to your bathroom, wash the dried blood from your hands, and find your first aid kit. The one you've never had to use before.

You were always the one who he took care of, who he protected, made sure you were intact. After so many times he was there for you, it's your turn to take care of him and heal his wounds the best you can.

"Remember I told you to stay in today?" His gaze is trained on you as you sink down next to him. The click of the aid kit opening breaks the silence as he waits for your answer.

You only nod, half hearing him, half focusing on grabbing what you need to disinfect the cuts in his hand. His hand that places itself on your thigh to draw your attention.

"We're okay—I'm okay," his voice is soft, knowing you worry every time he goes out to parts of the town they don't have under their control, "it was just a small payback."

"Baby, you're bleeding," Vernon hisses as you clean the wounds around his knuckles with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball, "who did you go with?"

"Mingyu and Wonwoo," your insides burn, feeling his stare, boring holes on the side of your face, "they took on the bigger guys." Vernon jokes.

You shouldn't sigh in relief hearing that, but you do so anyway.

It's a regular occurrence for the guys to tease him for his objectively smaller build, but he counters it with a perfectly learned strategy. He knows how to fight, knows the places that hurt the most being punched, where to kick, poke, slap to make his opponent lose their balance, and ultimately, the fight.

"Let's hope these people don't come back after you."

"Believe me, they won't." He smirks, charging his words with smugness.

You wrap the little bandage you had saved around his hand with care. Not too loose, not to tight. You feel his eyes on you as you leave the aid kit on the table, right besides the mess of knitting wool you alredy forgot was there.

"I have the best nurse ever." Vernon wastes no time, lifting your hips with his, now working, hands, and sits you on his lap, both your legs fitting naturally at his sides as he realizes you're only wearing panties under your t-shirt. "I should come here hurt more often."

"Then you'll have to replace the stuff I use on you!" Looking slightly down to connect your eyes with his, your teasing tone vanishes at the soft glimmer in his eyes. "Please, just… be careful next time."

The side of his face feels warm against the palm of your hand, and he leans into your touch, feeling your care even through the smallest, most mundane touches.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shown up like this." His doe eyes turn glassy, searching for any anger indicators on your expression, but only finding worry. "I just wanted to see you."

You could never get mad at him. Not when you got to know him well aware of what his life was like. Not when he pursued you by showing you he can still be a gentleman despite his shady life. Not when he never gave you any reason not to trust him.

"I wanted to see you too," you reveal as if you didn't constantly wait for him. Sitting on this very couch every night, longing for that knock on the door you always know it's him. "I don't mind taking care of you."

"I should be the one doing that." Vernon's hands fix their grip on your hips, reminding you that they're still there, holding you close to him.

"Well, I'm not the one getting into fights with 6 feet tall buff guys on the daily."

He chuckles, full of endearment, and your stomach tightens. If you could rank every sound you ever heard, Vernon's kinds of laughs and giggles would all be at the top, not a very close race with anything else. It's a distinguishable sound you never want to forget.

Your hand goes down the side of Vernon's neck, his pulse accelerating under your touch as you check to see if he's real, if he's really sitting on your couch with you straddling him.

His focus get lost on your touch now going down the side of his arm, and soon finds your hand with his. He interlocks his fingers with yours as soon as he gets a hold of it, directing your hand to his mouth and leaving a gentle but teasing kiss on the back of it.

"Vernon," you reprimand, but don't stop him as he places peck after peck everywhere on your hand, each triggering a wave of different feelings down your nervous system. He's uncontrollable and always finds the way to get you in the mood with him.

"You look so pretty over me, all worried." His hot breath tickles your fingers that were just taking care of him.

Your thumb swipes gently over his busted lip, raw from his habit of gnawing at them with his teeth and from the fight you're nursing him from. He purses his lips, teasing your awaiting skin, goosebumps waking up all over your body at the anticipation.

"You can't seriously be turned on by this," you snicker to try and hide the very real reactions he's eliciting from you.

His eyes snap back to you at your words, as if a challenge was set.

So quick you barely have time to register it, the hand at your hip travels to your lower back and Vernon's sliding you across his lap, showing off his strength to get you closer to his torso until you're completely against him.

Every part of you is against him. His right hand on your back, holding you electrically close to his growing hard, pulsing against your core. Your hand's held hostage by his left hand just above where your chest flushes against his.

"You have no idea how crazy I am for you." Every word he says reverberates through his chest and into yours.

Gasping is your only answer. You don't trust your ability to apeak properly in your current state of increasing bodily heat.

"When I wake up and you're not next to me," he continues, "my first thought is always to come looking for you." His fingers wander inside the big t-shirt you're wearing, one you stole from him after your first night together.

"Nothing stops you from staying the night here." Your voice draws the smirk back on his face.

"I'd stay here every night if it didn't mean putting you in danger." Longing bleeds through his words, true and hurt.

"But you'd be here to protect me." You're not naive. You know what he means. But that doesn't stop you from wanting to be close to him every second of every day.

Vernon nods in acknowledgment, a silent agreement between the two of you. It's dangerous. Everything about your relationship is risky. But even if he's willing to put himself at risk for the chance of seeing you, he'd never put you in danger. He'd never take that chance.

His lips kissing your hand again catch your attention, every fiber of your body now focused on his next move. Your fingers, cold against the warmness spreading across his face, seem to be the only thing on Vernon's mind.

When he wraps his mouth around your index finger, gently sucking on it with a new admiration, fire expands from your insides and out, taking everything with it, filling you with a new, unexpected want.

"Vern—" Your breath halts at the mention of his name, fueling his need as he dives in further, playing with his tongue around your finger like it was his new favorite toy.

You've never felt anything like this. A hot, sizzling arousal rushing through your veins at the sight of your boyfriend worshiping the fingers that were just nursing him.

A choked up moan escapes you as he sucks another finger in his mouth. Your index and middle finger are now coated in his spit, making a messy, wet toy out of your hand.

The couch moves just slightly as you push yourself against him at every swirl of his tongue, feeling his length hardening with every uncontrolled grind of your hips against his.

Vernon's other hand travels all over your torso, finding you're wearing no bra under the shirt that was once his. He loves making a moaning mess of you, mixing the arousal from sucking on your fingers with the touch you've been craving on your chest.

Everywhere. He's everywhere. His thighs under yours, his hard pressing against your barely covered core, his hand feeling your chest up as your fingers scrape the sides of his mouth.

Every second it passes, you search for more of him, pressing against his chest until he has trouble fondling your breasts.

He pulls your fingers out of his mouth slowly, a string of saliva connecting them with his lower lips stretching until it breaks, undoing the trance you were in while watching Vernon have his way.

"I should be taking care of you," your voice breaks into a whisper, your boyfriend’s dark stare punching away any thought you had.

"Having you on top of me is all I need," your wet fingers trace his jaw as he speaks, and he smirks at the sounds you make when he flicks one of your nipples with his thumb, "making you moan my name when I've barely touched you."

His eyes train on your parted lips, exhaling heavily as he plays with your nipples exactly how he knows you like it. You can only fist the stretched neckline of his t-shirt, making it worse but making it yours.

Your other hand finds the back of his head, his growing buzz-cut threading between your fingers.

"Have I told you I love your hair?" How you find it in you to speak is beyond your knowledge, but he chuckles at your nonsense, and the fire burning at the pit of your stomach spreads down your thighs and soaks your underwear further. "I love it so much."

Vernon's hard groin twitches under the needy grinding of your hips, his throat swallowing with trouble as you break down his facade little by little.

"Let me," you know he won't take his hands off of you willingly. You don't really want him to stop either, but you're focusing on him tonight.

He groans as you push yourself off him, quickly finding the zipper of his jeans. "Baby…" his words trail off seeing you kneeling on the floor against him.

Trying to slip his jeans and boxers down, he gives in and lifts his body to help you. He'd never deny you of anything you want.

You don't restrain yourself, your hands finding the flesh of his thighs and traveling up and up until you're barely touching where he most wants to.

But a hand sneaks under your jaw, tilting it up until you're connecting eyes with Vernon again. "Don't," you barely whisper, a plea for him to let you make him feel good.

"Want you on top," he doesn't ask, doesn't order you, only outers his wish, with his eyebrows quirking in the way that always has you melting for him, "I'd feel much, much better."

You snort with an endearing smile, "I thought you were fine." Even after your teasing remainder, you oblige what he wants.

"Every time you get off of me, I start feeling sick," he coughs a few times to get his point across, "my body needs you to feel well.

Vernon's always been able to make you laugh, even when you're on the brink of tearing all his clothes off. "Then we better listen!"

His bare legs find themselves under your weight again, the skin to skin contact igniting every connecting point of your bodies. You tug at the ends of his damaged t-shirt until he gets the hint you want it off.

Vernon groans as the dampness of your panties rubs against his length, gripping your hips to flush you against him harder, not wanting to wait any longer to feel you all over him. You waste no time, holding his face between your hands and closing the electrifying distance between you.

A moan fights out of him a soon as your lips take his, molding together perfectly, as if they were meant to be connected forever. You can feel where his lower lip is hurt, swiping your tongue over the bruise as he moans on your mouth again.

Your hand caresses the side of his face, not letting his lips go as the other travels down his heaving chest. His muscles tense under the teasing touch of your fingers, nails raking down his skin.

Another moan coming from him is exactly what you need as you sneak your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock that craves your touch.

He chases your lips as you lean back, revealing the state he's in, all because of you. His lips glisten with the mix of yours and his spit, parted and calling for you again as he catches his breath.

The changing shine in your eyes alerts him that you're planning something, an idea planted by the sight before you.

You swirl your tongue in your mouth, gathering as much spit as you can before locking eyes with him and letting it drop out of your lips, falling in a glob until it sits at the tip of his hardness.

Vernon's eyes darken at every one of your moves, his gaze entranced on your lips. Lips that were spilling all kinds of worried words minutes ago, and now are coating his cock with saliva so your hand can glide up and down at your desired pace.

"God, baby," your hand squeezes around him, spreading the mix of spit and precum so slowly on his girth that he's having trouble breathing, "you're so good to me."

The back of the couch holds his head as he leans back with another groan. His neck stretched out, glistening with sweat, calls to you. And who are you not to answer?

Your core traps his erection against your hand as you lean in, leaving wet kisses on your boyfriend's throat, feeling his every sound vibrating against your lips. He mumbles praises into the air, letting his hands wander across your back and squeezing your ass to press your further to him.

The wet fabric of your panties sticks to your folds in the shape of his length, everything pushing your cores together harder and harder. You let the swift rhythm of your hand on his cock and you grinding your covered clit against him take you to another world.

"Feel better?" Your lips graze the sensitive skin on his neck as you half ask half gasp.

Vernon's automatic response is to tighten his hold on your ass, grinding your hips against his with more force, the friction between your cores breathtaking. "I could," he teases.

"Greedy," your hot breath hits under his earlobe, and even you can feel the shiver going down Vernon's body.

His cock twitches as you slow down the pace of you hand. The combining feel of your folds and your hand stroking him almost make Vernon go crazy.

"You feel so good, baby," his eyes close in concentration, every touch of yours too much for him, "can't wait to be inside you."

In the midst of his senseless words and your desperate touches, Vernon finds the way to sneak a hand under you. Between his legs, his digits find the dampness growing at your core. "So wet already, for me."

Another hand grabs a fistful of your hair, detaching your mouth from licking your way up his jaw. He forces you to look at him, eyes full of desire, waiting for your answer.

"Yes—all for you-u," your words break in a moan as two fingers sneak under your panties, collecting your arousal and triggering another wave.

"Good." It is all for him. All because of him. The only one who can have you like this.

Smirking, his eyes lock in with yours, full of fire as his hand appears in your field of view. You don't stop looking into his eyes, the mischievous glint on them keeping you there, all while he sucks your juices off his fingers.

It takes all your strength to get up from the couch again, with only one objective in mind.

Your boyfriend gawks as if you were putting on a show only for him, slipping down his favorite panties, now stained with an unholy amount of juices. He stares with his mouth agape, but he's not patient. As soon as the fabric's off, he's grabbing your big t-shirt and pulling you towards him again.

Lips crash with lust and desperation, messily craving more and more. His teeth nibble at your lower lip, a matching bruise waiting to appear, but you don't care. You moan in his mouth, tangling your fingers with the short hair growing at the back of his head.

His thigh becomes a mess of your arousal, careless about your position as you let Vernon have his way into your mouth. Your tongues dance around the other, slowly melting into each other.

"Spit," you chase his lips as he separates to demand. Seeing his non-injured hand under your jaw, you quickly realize what he's doing.

Your living room's filled with gasping sounds and hot breaths, time stopping as your eyes lock. Vernon's eyes are on you as you let your spit drop into his hand.

You hover over his groin, dripping into his hand as he lowers it down between your cores. The tip of his cock grazes your entrance as he pumps his hard with his spit covered hand, the wet sounds reaching your ears.

Sinking down on your boyfriend's lap, the head of his cock enters you just right, your walls welcoming to mold into his shape.

Your lips stop working as you're filled to the brim, sitting on Vernon's thighs and gasping into his mouth trying to get used to the unprepared stretch.

As you're draped over his torso, he easily finds his way down your neck.

"Relax, baby," he says against the skin of your neck.

Every spot he knows you like, he kisses, whispering encouraging praise that gives you chills. Under your ear, along your jaw, over your pulse point, his lips press and suck at your skin, feeling how you warm up around him.

When he shifts his position slightly, his length pushes inside you just a bit more, your walls clamp against him, sucking him further inside in a whine, "That's it."

His husky voice goes through your ear and down to your core, and you swivel your hips up just to elicit another sound from him.

Vernon's hands find themselves gripping your hips again, helping you as you start a lazy pace on his lap. Your teeth sink down on the flesh between his shoulder and his neck, and he moans in your ear at the sensation.

"You'll have to take care of that one too," his breath tickles down your ear, and the vibrations of your chuckle almost make you lose your focus on him.

You kiss on the dent shaped like your teeth, "like you don't love it."

He hums a broken moan, the combination of everything you're giving him finally working like you intended.

Your walls tighten around him just as your fingers find his scalp, short nails raking between his growing buzz-cut trying to have him losing his mind under you.

It's not long before his hips join the fun, thrusting up to meet your pace and making you lose your breath. You feel him up to your throat, every place inside you marked with his name.

Vernon's hands roam all over your torso, indecisive, keeping you close but in the search for his favorite places to grope and touch. Your body's on the verge of giving out, and he knows it.

When he wraps his arms around your back and leans back against the couch, flushing your chest completely against his, you both lose it.

You're not in control anymore, if you ever were. Your knees barely stay at his sides as he thrusts up incessantly, the sounds of your ass slapping against the flesh of his thighs echoing around your living room.

But his groaning in your ear, his rambling words about how good you are for him, are only for you to hear.

Intercalating between lazy and desperate, no matter the time or the place, Vernon always finds that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

So quickly, it'd be embarrassing if it was anyone else, your body starts quivering, every one of your senses losing focus as your insides get closer and closer to snapping.

"I'm c-close," you manage to form a coherent string of words in between a few merciless thrusts.

"I can feel it—" a breathless whine mixes up between his words, "cum around me, baby." He's as desperate as you.

With everything combined, Vernon's noises on your ear, his arms tight around you, and every spot inside you being abused at once, the world becomes a blur of fire and white light as your orgasm rips through you.

Your body shakes on top of him as Vernon chases his own orgasm, stretching yours for as long as his cock grinds inside you with a purpose. But he's a weak man when it comes to you, and with the way your walls clamp hard around him, making him work for every thrust, it's not long before he's lost too.

You feel the ropes of cum coating your walls, his length twitching as you take it all. All of him inside you as if you were one.

Silence, deep breaths and the smell of sex fill the room as your bodies take in everything you just did.

Only when Vernon's lips kiss along your shoulder, you realize he's still inside you, and you shouldn't rest.

"I have the best nurse ever," Vernon chuckles along his words as you get up from his lap to find your discarded panties.

Everything is still the same. His clothes disregarded on the floor, the flowers sitting on a vase you haven't seen since you moved in.

You turn around to find him putting on his boxers, his eyes a promise that he's not done with you yet, "I don't think a good nurse would recommend this type of cardio after a fight."

"Then I don't trust them."

Chuckling again, and knowing he'll join you later in the shower, you fall between his arms again, laying together on the couch like you've done so many times before.

Now is your turn to look up at him, the fire in his eyes not gone, but now overpowered by endearment.

You don't want to. You really don't want to. But your eyes close with tiredness, and the rhythm of Vernon's breathing is so serene that you fall asleep in his arms.

There, in your couch, everything around you forgotten and replaced by him.

note: thank you so much for reading! pls share your thoughts I'd love to read them ♥︎

[saintkaylaa]

𝐍𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲 𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫 🚬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐀𝐤𝐢 𝐇𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐗 𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: 2.9𝐤

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐯!𝐀𝐤𝐢, 𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭, 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐯𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱 & 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐞

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Kinktober 2024 || I love Aki so much, but something about pervy Aki but against his will really does something to me. Happy Kinktober you disgusting pervs ᥫ᭡ Also big big thanks to my beta readers, I love you! ART by yuonnoaii on X

𝐈 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬

Aki was a devil hunter, but when it came to you, he fought both devils and demons just to not touch himself to the image of you.

You, his new neighbor, from across his balcony in the building over. Aki, who had not been with a woman in God knows how long. Overworked, burnt out, anti-social, with extreme suppressed sexual desires.

That was until he saw you.

If he was honest, he had completely forgotten that sex was even a thing—in all forms. Sex with another person, self-gratification, porn, lust, urges, desires—all of it. In his line of work there wasn’t any time for that, and in Aki’s case the only desire he really had was revenge, but that was a desire that he knew was going to take time to satiate.

The encounters that he’s had with you got increasingly more difficult for him with every passing instance.

At first it was just fleeting glances—no stares—at you in the beginning. You weren’t like anything he had ever seen before. Beautiful, captivating, and intriguing, so just looking at you, trying to catch a glimpse at you while you lingered and occupied your balcony across from his eventually should have been his first signal to have built a stronger disposition against you.

Then you talked to him, albeit a little insulting, mean, and even, well, intimidating, because the first instance was when you had straight up called him a pervert. Confronting him for his blatant staring and or borderline offensive, not so sneaky glances at you while he dragged through cigarettes, distracted by you. Blowing through cartons faster than he would have liked, because of you.

And he felt disgusted.

Grossed out that although yes, he found you mean, intimidating, and believed you had every right to call him a pervert, and irritated by his actions, he also found you incredibly sexy for it. Curious over what really lied under that confident mean exterior.

Every instance after that was the same. You two would find each other on your respective balconies, playing with the tension that was undoubtedly there. Bad tension. Negative tension, but tension nonetheless. Aki would get caught admiring you (ogling you from your perspective), you’d call him out, and he’d have to retreat into his apartment fighting all that hell had to offer just to not to stroke his cock to you.

Admittedly, it did get better when you would tease him for looking and make fun of him for even peeking at you from behind his bangs and a pink tint on his cheeks. You were ruthless, and it only made his desire for you grow.

Fuck. Then he talked back, and in your response, he knew that he was fucked for sure.

He had been in the shared mailing room of both your buildings. Sifting slowly through his mail in a poor attempt to avoid going back up to his apartment and finding you lounging around in skimpy pajamas in your living room—as he noted that you tended to do a lot in the mornings. But then you were there. As if manifesting from his mind and rounding the corner to enter the mailroom with him.

At that point he had half a mind to ask you if you were a devil, because no way were you now crushing an attempt he made to not be so perverted against you. It wasn’t fair, and he feared you for it.

It was avoidance at first. He didn’t know what to say to you, but then you spoke to him again, and it was like he lost total control of himself.

“See you later, pervert.” You had told him. It was teasing, but not at all lighthearted.

It was then that Aki decided to do something.

 

Nearly missing you by an inch, he took hold of your elbow and spun you back to face him. You gasped, arms tensing slightly as you look up at him with surprise. But he wanted to make sure he had you at full attention.

“Hold on,” he says lowly, his chest rumbling.

"Look, I don’t want you to think I’m a pervert, okay? I apologize if I’ve made you feel that way. You’re very pretty, is all.” He struggles to compliment, but his gaze doesn’t break away.

“I don’t mean harm.” He finishes, and he truly means that. His hand lingers on your elbow as he locks his dark blue eyes with yours.

You seem to hold your breath as you register his words, then you glance down at his hand still grasping you and slowly trail your eyes back up to his. Realizing his touch, he slowly unfurls his fingers and releases you.

Both of their skins are cold from the loss of heat.

“You must not know a lot of pretty girls.” You finally say, voice tight.

“None that look like you.” Aki replies right over your comment. What compelled him to say that he was unsure. He was never that forward, bold, or even confident, and especially not with women, but something about you made him act out.

“What’s your name?” You ask, your eyes transfixed on him.

Aki held your gaze, his expression unreadable as he sensed the intensity between you. Your question broke the thick silence that had settled, and he felt himself hesitating for only a brief moment before responding.

"Aki Hayakawa," he replied, his voice firm and steady, a hint of curiosity coloring his words, "And you?"

“Aki.” You repeat his name slowly, sounding out each syllable.

He knows you did that on fucking purpose. Now wondering what it would sound like if you moaned his name.

After another frustrating pause, Aki speaks, “So is your name something I have to earn or what?” He says flatly. Meeting your eyes with just a bit of intimidating irritation.

Your mouth parts slightly like you have something to say, but then your tongue glides over your perfect white teeth in one slow swipe. Amused, you were fucking with him again.

Aki cursed you in his head. The sudden disgusting thought of how your mouth would look wrapped around his cock. Your tongue gliding over his needy tip instead of your teeth.

“I’ll see you later, Aki.” You tease, but your voice is soft. Different than the other times you have teased him.

 

That night Aki was chilling in his living room when he heard the faintest sound of a sliding door open and close. He knew it must’ve been coming from outside... His neighbor, most likely out on her own balcony.

The sound was like a command to him now.

He stood up from his seat on the couch and walked towards his own sliding door. When he got close enough, he opened the door to look out, his eyebrow rising at the sight of you once more across the other building. His heart racing just a bit, his skin running warm, and he could feel the telltale sign of an impending erection as you turned to look at him. Like a dog responding to stimuli; Pavlovian.

Now he was moving without control, crossing out into his balcony, hands buried in his pajama pants. His eyes fixated on your form. Watching your every move. Your eyes met his, and suddenly Aki’s mouth opened to speak.

"Hey," He greeted you simply, his voice low as his eyes looked you up and down with this newfound (misplaced) confidence. You looked over at him, not at all surprised by his presence. You nodded towards him.

You’ve got to be kidding me, Aki thought to himself as he looked over at what you were wearing. A fucking short fitted satin slip, that left no room for imagination. Aki's eyes widened as he took in the sight of you, his breath hitching in his throat.

The slip clung to your every curve, showcasing your body in a way that rendered him mute. He was captivated, unable to tear his gaze away from the provocative sight before him.

He had expected to have a casual conversation. Especially after the conversation from earlier, but the combination of your clothes—or lack thereof—and the charged atmosphere between sparked something primal within him that he struggled to suppress. His hands tightened around the fabric of his pajama pants pockets, his body responding instinctively.

He was fucking perverted.

Aki cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure and speak in a controlled tone, despite his body now pulsing.

"What are you doing out so late?” He asked, taking a step closer to the railing so that you could better hear him from your own balcony. You tilted your head a little confused. Crossing your arms over your chest, your tits being pushed up a little as you did it.

Aki cursed you in his head.

“What am I doing on my own balcony?” You quizzed from across the building.

Aki's gaze flickered down to your crossed arms, his eyes involuntarily drawn to the way your breasts were lifted and accentuated by the position. He suppressed a groan, feeling his desire flaring up. Your innocent question only served to increase the tension between you and him, heightening the forbidden allure of the situation. He clenched his fists, forcing his mind to focus on your words rather than the erotic image in front of him.

"Yes, what brings you out here this late?" he replied, his voice strained as he fought to maintain control. He couldn't allow himself to be consumed by lust, not when he had done so well by not giving in to his desires before. But with your tempting presence, it felt like a constant battle against his own morality.

“Aki, you’re asking a lot of stupid questions. I live here. I can do whatever I want in my own apartment on my own balcony. I could stand naked out here if I wanted.” You laughed, the faintest tone of annoyance. However, you knew what your words would do to him. Now that you were acutely aware of how you made him feel after earlier’s display.

The mental image of your naked body forced Aki to shut his eyes for a moment and let out the smallest groan. He knew you couldn’t hear, but he also knew that you knew what you were saying. What you were doing. Vexing him the way that you did. The lust was beginning to consume him.

It was a losing battle. He was fucking losing.

Aki's eyes snapped open, the intensity in his gaze now almost feral as he stared at you across the distance. He hated you for playing with his desires so effortlessly, for knowing exactly how to push his buttons.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the ache in his crotch only grew more insistent. The walls he had erected to protect his focus, his sanity, and his character were crumbling under the weight of his lust.

“Every word you speak is deliberate.” He declared, like he was accusing you. His eyes trailed up your body in a moment of weakness.

“Yeah, it is.” You assured quickly.

Then there was palpable silence.

Aki's mind was a whirlwind of desires and frustrations, his body seemingly betraying him at every turn. He watched you move to your door then, each subtle action a temptation that he couldn't ignore. His gaze lingered on you as you turned your back to him, exposing your ass to him. The throbbing in his pants intensified, his body craving release. He can only imagine the wet spot of pre in his underwear.

“You make it too easy.” You laughed; your voice, filled with taunting amusement, cut through his haze of desire, reminding him of his vulnerability and the hold you actually had over him.

If Aki was smart, he’d listen to his rational side, urging him to regain control and to retreat to the safety of his own apartment. But the magnetic pull he felt towards you rooted him to his spot.

“Don’t burst a blood vessel touching yourself tonight.” You mocked so boldly and bluntly it sent Aki reeling. But before Aki could even think of responding, you had already retreated back into your apartment. Aki stood there, stunned, face flushed with both embarrassment and frustration. How could you see right through him, exposing him so easily and without mercy.

Fuck.

He didn't have time to process your leave, as he felt himself unraveling. His body pulsed with need, his erection straining against the confines of his pants. God damn, it hurt.

With a frustrated growl, Aki turned abruptly and retreated into his own apartment, shutting the sliding door with a resounding thud. He paced back and forth in his living room, grappling with the overwhelming surge of desire that threatened to consume him. He knew he had to find release, to quiet the burning ache that clawed at him. But his thoughts were clouded, his focus scattered under the weight of it all. He needed to regain control and find his center once again. But in that moment, desire won out.

He had suppressed his urges too many times in the last few weeks for anything to work this time. He just kept getting harder the more he thought of you, so he stopped pacing and just stood in the middle of his living room looking down at his crotch. Groaning for it to go away. Flashes of his neighbor’s body, your tits, your ass, your mouth, your pretty face, the way you rolled your tongue, the way you said his fucking name. It was all too much, and Aki had half a mind to start touching himself.

It was over.

Aki hurriedly moved to the bathroom in his room, turning on the cold water with the intent of splashing his face. Instead, he braced himself on the sink, letting the water run, the cold ceramic helping alleviate his rising temperature but it wasn’t enough. He closed his eyes to breathe, only to prove a mistake. Because all that played in his head, over and over again, was your interaction this morning, and without even realizing it, Aki started to unbuckle his pants.

Your words played in Aki's mind over and over, along with your face and body in his head repeatedly. The way you looked at him—the way you had been teasing him—fucking with him—it was just too much.

He let out a little groan as his pants began to loosen, his brain barely registering the movement as his eyes closed and he fell into this trance. Aki’s hand slid into his pants to grab hold of his angry, needy cock. The touch instantly gave him relief. He breathed out shakily, his hand moving against himself a couple times to the thought of you in that satin slip. The way it hugged all your curves, the way it pressed up against your tits...

How would they look getting fucked by him?

“Fuuuuck…” He breathed out.

He couldn't help but moan softly, pleasure pinpricking across his skin as his hand moved faster and firmer. His mind filled with vivid images of you, and every stroke of his hand brought him closer to release. He could almost feel your presence, as if you were there with him, encouraging him to let go of his inhibitions and give in to his carnal desires.

God, what would you say if you knew what he was doing to the thought of you.

He imagined what it would be like to plunge his cock into your mouth, letting your tongue run along the underside of his cock and down his balls; hot and wet saliva coating his length.

What it would sound like if he fucked that mean, intimidating act out of you. Imagining how pretty your pussy must be—as pretty as you were? And how pretty that pussy would look clenching around him.

And then he replayed the way you had said his name. Trying to envision all the ways he would try to get you to scream, moan, and cry his name.

“F-Fuck Aki! Give it to me! Please more! Aki!”

Aki’s breathing grew heavier, his movements becoming more urgent as he neared the edge. His body responded with an intensity he had never experienced before.

 

And then he imagined your face.

 

With a final moan and a few more sloppy strokes, he came. His body shuddering, knees nearly buckling, as one of the hardest orgasms he’s had in so long consumed him. Ropes of hot, thick, white cum splurged out into the sink and swirled down the drain with the running water.

As he stood there, panting and spent, Aki couldn't help but feel a mixture of relief and shame. He had succumbed to his desires; let them consume him in the most perverted way possible. This wasn’t him. It was nasty and disrespectful... But deep down, he knew that the battle wasn't over. The allure of his neighbor still lingered, as did the pent-up lust that threatened to consume him later—again.

After cleaning up and taking a cold shower, Aki lay in bed annoyed and angry, to say the least. Still disgusted with himself, but also disappointed. Not only for giving in to his lustful temptation, but ultimately for letting you have this power over him. Worse was the fact that he touched himself to the thought of you, and he didn’t even know your fucking name.

 

 

If only he knew that just across his balcony, in the building over... you were still knuckles deep to the thought of him.

ꫂ ၴႅၴ𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

© saintkaylaa 2023-2024 do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work. reserved rights to any original ideas. I do not own any established characters. All rights reserved.

[awkward-sultana]

"In the popular version of Roxelana's history that would come to depict her as ruthlessly determined to eliminate all rivals in her path, she engineers Mahidevran's banishment from Istanbul to Manisa. The two women may well have been eager to put distance between themselves, but it was political tradition, not scheming on Roxelana's part, that sent Mahidevran into the field as mother to a provincial governor. Once in Manisa, Mustafa and Mahidevran would take up residence in their old home, together with their newly assembled entourages. For her part, Mahidevran was no doubt delighted that her son was finally head of his own household and she now in charge of its female court. As Hafsa had monitored Mahidevran in her early years at Suleyman's consort, she would look after the young women in Mustafa's harem." - Empress of the East: How a European Slave Girl Became Queen of the Ottoman Empire, Leslie Peirce 

[kosemsultanim]

Every Hürrem Sultan Outfit: 152/∞

[angelaness]

020525

Cycle Syncing 101: How to Stop Fighting Your Body and Start Flowing (🌚) With It

alright girls, gather ‘round. this is the full post i promised - the one about periods, moods, energy, and how to actually live in sync with your cycle instead of feeling like a chaotic mess every month. because once i started tracking and understanding my cycle… it changed everything. for real. my workouts, my eating, my planning, my self-talk all became softer, smarter, more strategic. so let's break it down.

your menstrual cycle has 4 main phases, and each one brings its own vibe, mood, superpowers, and kryptonite. when you know which phase you’re in, you stop blaming yourself and start working with your body, not against it. ready?

1. Menstrual Phase (Bleeding / Days 1–5ish)

Vibe: hibernation queen. inward. reflective.

Body: hormones (estrogen + progesterone) are at their lowest = low energy, fatigue, cramps, sensitivities.

Mind: introspective, quiet, intuitive. this is your “truth-telling” time.

What to do:

Exercise: restorative yoga, stretching, slow walks. if you need to skip your workout? skip it. your body is doing enough.

Food: iron-rich foods (spinach, lentils, beef, dark chocolate), warm meals like soups and stews. magnesium-rich snacks can help with cramps.

Routines: go slow. journal. say no to extra plans. light candles. wear comfy clothes. treat yourself like you're sacred.

Study/work: focus on review, reflecting on past tasks, journaling ideas. let your brain rest a bit—don’t force deep concentration.

Self-care: warm baths, heat pads, soft music, no loud people.

Mental tip: you’re bleeding out the past month. literally. let go of what didn’t serve you. Zdont feel guilty.

2. Follicular Phase (Post-period / Days 6–13ish)

Vibe: fresh start. springtime energy. main character in a coming-of-age film.

Body: estrogen rises. energy builds. skin glows. you feel light, optimistic, social.

Mind: creative, motivated, open to new ideas.

What to do:

Exercise: try something new—dance, pilates, running, gym sessions. you’ll feel strong and energetic.

Food: fresh and light—greens, fermented foods, seeds, citrus. boost that metabolism.

Routines: this is your reset phase. declutter. plan your week/month. start new habits. your brain wants structure right now.

Study/work: brainstorm, start new projects, prep for heavy tasks ahead. your memory and focus are sharper.

Self-care: vision boards, hair masks, cute outfits. say yes to life.

Mental tip: this is your most productive phase. take advantage but don’t overbook. pace yourself.

3. Ovulation Phase (Middle of Cycle / Days 14–16ish)

Vibe: glowing goddess. seductive. unstoppable.

Body: estrogen peaks, testosterone joins the party. libido spikes. you’re magnetic and bold.

Mind: communicative, charming, high-confidence. great time to network or confront someone (with love, of course).

What to do:

Exercise: go hard—HIIT, lifting, cardio, group workouts. you’ve got power and endurance.

Food: fiber-rich foods (quinoa, carrots, berries) and antioxidants. hydrate well.

Routines: do your “hard” things here—presentations, big meetings, social stuff, shooting your shot.

Study/work: speak, pitch, debate. you’ve got clarity + persuasion.

Self-care: romanticize yourself. take hot pics, go out, flirt with life.

Mental tip: your confidence is real. don’t downplay it. enjoy this phase but stay grounded.

4. Luteal Phase (Pre-period / Days 17–28ish)

Vibe: cozy but moody. nesting energy.

Body: progesterone rises after ovulation. if no pregnancy happens, hormones start to drop = PMS hits.

Mind: detail-focused, critical, sensitive. easily overstimulated.

What to do:

Exercise: lower the intensity. pilates, strength training, long walks. listen to your body.

Food: complex carbs (sweet potatoes, oats), calming teas, B6-rich foods (bananas, salmon). eat more often to manage cravings + blood sugar dips.

Routines: finish tasks. organize. clean your space. prep for your period like you’d prep for a storm—lovingly.

Study/work: editing, detail work, wrapping up loose ends. less is more.

Self-care: limit caffeine, go offline if needed, soothe your senses.

Mental tip: don’t trust every thought. the inner critic is loud but not always right. softness wins here.

General Tips:

Track your cycle: use apps like Clue, Flo, or just a paper calendar. know when each phase starts so you can plan smarter.

Plan around your phases: big goals in follicular/ovulation, rest + review in menstrual/luteal.

Cycle syncing ≠ perfection: life doesn’t always let you live like a hormone princess. do what you can. forgive what you can't.

Be kind to yourself: if your body is low-energy, that’s not laziness—it’s biology. honor it.

Final Thoughts:

nobody told us this. nobody said “hey, your whole system is a monthly pattern, learn the rhythm and life gets easier.” instead, we got shame, pain, and whispers. but no more. now we know better. and syncing your life to your cycle is not about being soft—it’s about being smart. strategic. in tune.

girlhood isn’t chaos, insanity, it’s coded. and when you read the code, you stop feeling like a mess and start feeling like magic.

if you made it this far, you’re already syncing, baby.

go be soft when you need, strong when it calls, and sacred always💕

[cherryblossom-heart]

Devour me (2.5/?)

modern!Sukuna x Reader

Sukuna's selfishness reaches a breaking point, forcing you to finally talk to him.

Content Warning: ANGST, apologies, confessions, violence, uncomfortable confrontations and agression, Sukuna is his own warning. Not proofread. I am not a native English speaker so please do forgive all the spelling mistakes or grammatical errors 😔

W.C: 5k

A/N: Hi besties! Finally, new chapter is here. Thanks for being so patient, life was a little too busy this week but hopefully everything is over now. I listened to a song basically on repeat while I made this. It´s Night Shift by Lucy Dacus so bestie @lizatonix, maybe we should add it to the playlist.

TAG LIST is CLOSED. But you can catch my updates here @cherrys--blossoms.

We have another addition to the chapter memes 😂❤️

<Part 2 Main masterlist. Part 3>

“She looks pissed.” Uraume remarked as she nursed the cup of soda Jin had brough to them.

Jin, his ever so innocent and naïve brother had welcomed him with open arms, a stark contrast to the welcome he had received from his father or even you. Perhaps it was the weird brotherly love, or the unconditional loyalty Jin always demonstrated towards Sukuna, no matter how many times he said hurtful remarks, how many times they fought or how many times Sukuna came in crashing like a meteorite, Jin would always welcome him back.

Unfortunately, Jin thought people were like him. That’s why he didn’t have a problem inviting him and Uraume to Yuji’s birthday party.

“When is she not?” he scoffed.

“More than usual.”

That would be an understatement.

Ever since Uraume and him had arrived, you hadn’t even bothered to look at their direction. Sukuna expected your anger to be loud and thunderous, he expected punches and screams, he expected cuss words, and he expected violence and rage a rage that could burn the entire world.

Instead, he found quietness and distance.

You hadn’t even spoke in his direction, the simmering quietness of your anger only showed through stupid text messages and angry looks in his direction. He had hoped coming to this birthday party would crack the walls of distance you had built. He hoped his presence would force you to talk to him, to say his name as you cursed him and his mother for even daring to come here.

God, when was the last time he had heard you say his name?

Both him and Uraume had only received a quick glance, too quickly he thought he had imagined it. Could he even call it a glance when his eyes hadn’t even made contact with yours?

Coming to the party had been a mistake as he now was stuck watching you prance around with your group of human dildos. Sukuna wondered if it had been intentional, the way you had casually gathered all of them in a group right across him as all of them laughed at something you said. Your hands would sometimes travel round, a light touch on Toji’s bicep here, a small pat on Nanami’s chest there and he knew for sure it had been a calculated move from your part.

Perhaps he had forgotten how vindictive you were, how much you enjoyed the pain and suffering of people that had hurt you. How you reveled in the anger your revelation of sleeping with his cousin had brought him, the intense sense of betrayal and sorrow he couldn’t get rid of.

But you had also forgotten how much of an asshole he was, and he was about to remind you.

Without a second thought he walked over to the little group conformed by five men and you. Choso’s face was still covered in purple and green shades along with a small but painful cut in the bridge of his nose. Sukuna chuckled at the memory of his cousin holding his face in pain as blood leaked through his fingers.

You saw him coming from the corner of your eye. The confident stride, the oh so punchable smirk that adorned his face, the fire in his eyes as he looked at you. He was daring you, daring you to confront him, daring you to explode.

Toji was the first one to notice him, his shoulders tensing as he prepared himself for the show Sukuna was about to pull. The group fell quiet as the now black-haired man joined them, standing right beside Choso and Kento.

“How’s the nose, cousin?”

Sukuna’s arm went behind his cousins back, giving him an almost too hard of a pat.

“By the way, how’s your car Kento? Heard it got trashed.” He sighed sarcastically. “Can’t think why anyone would do that shit, I mean look at you.” Carmesí eyes swept Kento up and down. “Plainer than wonder bread.” He wrapped his arm around him. “You wouldn’t even hurt a fly, would you? Unless…” Sukuna chuckled to himself. “…when it comes to fucking someone else’s girl, right?”

Choso, completely taken aback by his question, began choking on his drink.

“Careful there, don’t die on me now or my girl is going to have to find a new replacement.” He turned to you, his eyes almost dark as he gave you a smug smirk. “Isn’t that what you do, brat? You needed all five of them to replace me?”

You rolled your eyes at him, hoping his little temper tantrum was over but he had only just begun.

“I have to say, I’m curious how it works. Do you guys have a designated day, or does she just fuck all of you at the same time? I know for sure these guys do.” He nodded towards Satoru and Suguru, both their faces turning slightly red at the distant memory of him walking in on you three a few years ago. “I always thought you guys were too busy touching each other to ever actually touch a pussy but it makes sense even that you do together, fucking freaks.” He spat.

Neither of the men answered but that didn’t deterred Sukuna, he was as relentless as always. Jealousy, pent-up anger and sorrow coursed through his veins, fueling the already explosive personality he had. He knew this could only end up in you being hurt but he couldn’t stop, not when he missed the way his name left your lips. If anger was what it took for you to finally speak to him, he would bring your wrath like never before.

“Alright, man. I think you should–” Toji started.

“And you. You fucking joke.” The sarcastic, playful tone Sukuna had was now gone, only venom left behind. “I leave and you come sniffing around like a goddamed rabid dog. Can’t fucking find a pair of tits your age you fucking decrepit bastard?”

He walked over to Toji, standing face to face to him. Toji was a giant, not only in height but in volume, his muscles always easy to spot even in oversized clothes. Sukuna in the other hand had a slightly slimmer build yet equally toned but perhaps not as strong.

Toji’s eyes remained calm at Sukunas words making Sukunas anger boil over. He wanted to erase that fucking façade, and he knew exactly how.

“What would your wife say if she saw you’re already replacing her with a younger, better model? She’s barely even cold in the ground and you go fuck around anything that mo–“

A punch, square to the jaw, finally silenced him. Chaos ensued right after.

Toji pounced on Sukuna, pinning the tattooed man bellow himself. Punch after punch landed on Sukuna’s face, his jaw aching the more hits he received but the adrenaline in his body was a temporary painkiller. Emerald eyes looked at him, all signs of calm and composure were long gone, now replaced by anger he had never seen Toji display.

It made him laugh.

Loud enough to distract Toji at least.

Sukuna grabbed Toji by the neck of his shirt, pulling him down so his nose made contact with Sukunas forehead. Was a head butt necessary? Obviously not. Did he enjoyed hearing the crack in Toji’s nose as soon as his head collided with his? Absolutely.

Sukuna overpowered him, this time being the one to deliver hit after hit. The metallic taste in his mouth increased and he spit it out, landing in Toji’s face. The crazy frenzy of violence somehow helped sooth the inner turmoil he had, choosing to focus instead of hurting whoever was in his way as much as possible.

So, he kept punching, again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

“SUKUNA! STOP!”

His fist stopped midair, his senses overwhelmed by your voice. He turned around, your face swimming in fury as you walked towards him. You looked beautiful, three years of dreams hadn’t done any justice to you. His dreams weren’t as warm as your skin, or as peaceful as the sound of your voice, or as alive as the hatred in your eyes.

Choso and Ken pulled him away, holding him by the arms as he fought against them. Suguru, Satoru and you ran to Toji’s side, both men helping him get up. Toji’s lip and eyebrow were busted, scarlet liquid oozing slowly down his face.

“Dad?” a small voice broke through the crowd of people.

Toji’s runt and his nephew stood between the crowd, eyes flashing between Sukuna and the green-eyed man. You looked at both kids before sending Sukuna a death stare that almost scared him.

You knelt in front of the kids sending them a small, comforting smile. “Why don’t you take Megs and your friends and open your presents, Chucky?”

Yuji, as sweet kid as he always was, was also very intuitive. How the kid managed to always be a rain of sunshine for himself and others no matter how sad he was, you would never understand. His eyes opened wide as he pulled little Megumi along with him, distracting the little black-haired kid.

“C’mon, let’s go! I want to see if I got my LEGO set!”

When the kids were far away enough, you stood up, an apologetic smile in your lips.

“I’m so sorry about this, I’ll handle the situation. If you guys could please go with Yuji and his friends, I would really appreciate it.” You walked to Sukuna, Gojo and Suguru finally releasing him only to be grabbed by you. “Again, I’m really sorry about all this but let’s not let this ruin Yuji’s party. We’ll bring the cake in a minute.”

Your apologies kept coming, the words slowly muffling as he focused on your touch. Everything else disappeared the moment your fingers closed around his arm, your skin against his. Something that he could only compare to electricity traveled all along his body, making him shiver as it traveled through his spine.

He realized he was being pulled by you when his feet stumbled across a branch, almost making him fall. Sukuna’s face remained neutral, almost uninterested except for his eyes. His eyes had a storm brewing as they followed you while you guided him to a more private area in the park.

After crossing a couple of lines of trees you finally stopped, releasing his arm. You walked a couple of steps ahead of him, but you didn’t turn to face him. Instead, you remained in place as your hands shook with anger.

He whispered your name, so delicately you almost fell for it.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Your voice broke in the end, and you weren’t sure if it was out of pain or out of anger. Perhaps they were both the same.

“What in the actual fuck is wrong with you?” The words barely came out of you, your jaw clenched as you tried to find the strength to not murder him on the spot.

“You’re not talking to me.”

The indignation involuntarily made you turn around, your hands now turned into fists as you stared incredulously at him. You looked as if he had given you the most offensive answer ever, and he might’ve as well have.

“I’m not fucking talking to you? That’s why you’re behaving like a fucking Neanderthal? Have you lost your fucking mind? I’m not even surprised you did this; three fucking years and you’re still the same egotistical, selfish psycho you’ve always been. You couldn’t even control yourself for your fucking nephew’s party?” You scoffed, walking away from him only to come back and shove him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Push.

“You fucking–“

Push.

“–piece-“

Push.

“-of shit!”

Push.

Your breathing was ragged, your chest pumping up and down as your screams took away the heaviness on your chest that you had carried around ever since he came back.

You had a plan. If you ever saw him again you would scream, you would yell at him to get lost, you would punch and kick and you would make him suffer the same way you had suffered for the past two years. And you tried to, when you first saw him again at Toji’s –and yours– bar the words had formed in your mind, but your voice had died in your throat.

The same had happened once you saw him at the club, his eyes burning in you as Naoya Zenin whispered something on your ear. The barriers you had built up from scratch were buried too deep down withing you that you knew the moment you even spoke to him every feeling, every emotion, every ounce of pain you had put away would come back, crashing like a wave and drowning you within.

But now, as you both stared at each other, Sukunas eyes still looked at you with the same love and tenderness from three years ago. His fingertips burned with desire to touch you, his heart hammering in his chest as both of you stared down each other, waiting to see who was the first one to break.

It was Sukuna.

When it came to you, he was always going to be the first one to break.

He walked cover to you, and you weren’t sure if it was your ego, your own need selfish need to having him close or how intoxicating his presence was but you didn’t back away. Sukunas hand traveled to your face, his fingertips barely caressing your face. He was asking for permission because no matter how strong his own desires were, he would never force even his touch on you.

You didn’t slap him away, so he took his chance.

Strong arms enveloped you, constricting you in a desperate hug with little to no room to escape. Your hands remained to your side as your body entered a state of shock you hadn’t experienced before. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t talk, you could barely even move your eyes as you stood there with Sukunas face digging in the crook of your neck.

He was in heaven once again. Your attitude, your personality and perhaps your feelings towards him had changed but your smell didn’t. He could still smell the same shampoo and perfume you always wore, the combination of aromas making him relax for the first time in years.

The hug lasted for an eternity, and it still wasn’t enough, not when he had deprived himself of you for too long. Was he losing his mind? Was his fascination for you reaching a dangerous level of insanity? Maybe it was but it didn’t matter, his thoughts were already overcome by you.

You felt it coming, the tears in your eyes forming the longer he held you. You were right, everything came back as if it was fresh. The pain, the betrayal, the anger, every ounce of suffering was drowning you under the weight of his presence. You had expected that and somehow prepared for that, unfortunately they didn’t come alone. You felt your affection, your love and your adoration coming back. The memories of being in love, trusting and allowing yourself to love, you have shoved them down your heart you weren’t sure they still existed.

They only made the pain hurt more.

You pushed him away, breaking away from his grasp.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You spat at him, venom and resentment making him shiver.

He called for you again, hoping to get you to listen to him. “I’m sorry”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m really fucking sorry.” His voice broke.

“Fuck you and your ‘sorry’s’, you fucking asshole.” One tear escaped your hold, and it was all it took for the dam to open. “You lied.”

“I know.”

“You said you’d be back, and you didn’t.”

“I know”

He knows you probably are tired of the same response, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else when the ache in his chest couldn’t even let him breathe.

“Is that all you have to say? After three years all I get is ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I know’? Be a fucking man and say something else!” You scoffed again, but the angry front you displayed for him was long gone, exhausted after years of masquerading around because you would rather have people think you were angry than hurt. After they left, there was only three people that had seen your tears for Sukuna and Uraume and one of them was a child.

But Sukuna had always known how to break you.

A little too well.

His hands held your face, forcing you to look at him. You didn’t fight. You didn’t have the energy to keep pretending. His eyes, his god forsaken eyes could always read you like a book. There was no point in trying to masquerade everything with anger anymore.

“Why did you leave?” You cried.

“Why did you abandon me?”

Sukunas heart broke, each crack becoming bigger and bigger the more tears fell from your face. He hadn’t noticed he himself had begun to cry, his eyes prickling as he fought the uncomfortable feelings of guilt and self-hatred mixed with his usual load of sadness.

“I thought you would be better without me.” He finally the exhaled the words that ate him alive. “I thought you’d be safe if I left. I thought I was protecting you.”

“You… what?” You asked, the words barely coming out.

Your face contorted in an expression he wasn’t sure he had seen before. Anger? Sadness? Compassion? Sorrow? Maybe it was a mix of all or maybe none of them. As much as he prided himself with knowing you like no one else, he couldn’t deny something had changed in the yeas of his absence. As much anger, sadness or happiness you displayed, there was always an emptiness behind your eyes that always lingered around. Even now, as you finally allowed yourself to feel, that darkness remained, eating you from the inside.

The only time he had seen it was years ago, when those bastards had broken into the bar and attacked you. But now you coexisted with it, almost as if you didn’t even notice it anymore. As if you were used it it.

Was it his fault? Was he the one that made you like this?

How could he do this to you?

Your laughter broke him out of the self-pity spiral he was about to go down. Confused, he looked around, perhaps something funny had happened while he was stuck in his own thoughts but no, everything seemed normal. Then, he really listened to your laugh. He listened to the same misery his own voice had.

“You’re… you’re so fucking stupid.” You barely got the words out between breaths.

You struggled to get air in your lungs, backing away from Sukuna as you tried to calm down. You had to find it hilarious, right? You had to find the humor in this situation. You weren’t even sure why you were laughing but what was the option? More rage? More sadness? More of what? For what? Not like anything was going to change.

So, you laughed. You laughed at how idiotic he was. You laughed at how he had ruined both your lives in the process. And you laughed at how, as fucked up as it was, maybe you could understand it. If you could, you would run away and bring all your problems with you so the people you care about were safe. Maybe Sukuna was just ahead of the curve.

Sukuna waited until your howls winded down. You were bent over, finally being able to gasp for air as you held to your side, sharp pain between your ribs slowly fading away. A few second later you stood up, eyes watery as you stared back to Sukuna.

“Thanks for that. I haven’t laughed like this in a long time.”

You began fixing your hair that was now a mess thanks to the laughing fit you just experienced, not wanting to look like a lunatic coming out of the woods. You began walking towards the party and Sukuna panicked.

This was it? This was the big reunion he was waiting for?

No.

He couldn’t let you go. Not like this.

You walked in front of him, about to cross the trees to go back to the party when his voice stopped you.

“We did come back.”

You stopped in your tracks.

“We came back when we promised.”

Your head snapped at him.

“I wanted to surprise you.” He started, his right hand nervously scratching the back of his head. “I told Uraume not to contact you, I thought you would like the surprise.” He let out a sad, pitiful laugh. “I went to our apartment, the one you’re renting to those fucking weirdos.” He remarked, snarky. “I knocked but you weren’t home. I thought you were working late or some shit, so I went to the bar.”

He exhaled, looking down to his shoes. He couldn’t face you anymore.

“You weren’t working, it looked like you guys were celebrating a birthday or something. I don’t fucking know. Everyone was there, even Shoko.”

“Suguru’s birthday.” You whispered.

He looked up. “What?”

“It was Suguru’s birthday.”

You remembered that day. You remembered feeling like someone was watching you, the shiver that went down your spine as you thought you saw him.

Sukuna scoffed, of course it was because of one of your reversed harem fuck toys. “Yeah, whatever. The point is you were there. You were laughing and cheering a-and celebrating with everyone.” He stopped and you saw it. The pain in his eyes from that night. “You seemed happy. Happier than the last time I saw you at least. You were so full of life, and you seemed ok, like you didn’t go through all the fucked up shit I put you through. And maybe that was for the best.”

“So you fucking decided for me?”

The anger was back.

Hotter. Redder. Stronger.

“What the fuck did you wanted me to do, huh? You wanted me to come back and kept ruining you? You wanted me to drag you down with me into this fucked up world? You wanted me to bring you back into this-this fucking bullshit and hope nothing else happened to you?” Sukuna’s voice rose above yours, his short fuse not helping the situation as usual. “You could’ve fucking died!”

“And you decided for me!” You screamed back. “It wasn’t up to you to make that fucking choice, but you did. You fucking left!”

“I was trying to keep you safe! You know the life I live, you’re not fucking stupid. You know how things could end for me, forgive me for not fucking wanting to drag you along to your fucking death!”

“And that was still not your choice to make! It was mine!” You came back and you shoved him, barely moving him. “It was mine and you took that away from me! You took yourself away from me, you fucking asshole! Not a fucking goodbye, not a fucking ‘hey sorry, I’m not coming back’, nothing!”

“I couldn’t do it. I knew the moment I saw you, and your fucking sad puppy eyes I wasn’t going to be able to leave.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit.” You sneered. “Say you didn’t have the balls to face me. Say that you’re a fucking useless coward that was too much of a pussy to tell me you didn’t want to me with me anymore.”

Tick.

His right hand flew to your neck, holding you tightly as his left hand grabbed the back of your head, pulling you towards him. Your words were venomous, their fangs sinking down in his soul releasing their pain within him, infecting him with the same resentment you carried.

To anyone else seeing the pair of you, they would think you were in danger. The redness in Sukunas eyes, the frenzy in his eyes and the boiling, hot and scaling fury behind his voice not convincing anyone else otherwise until they saw you. It was a battle of wills and pain, who had hurt who more, who was angrier than the other.

Who had loved more than the other.

“You think I fucking wanted this? You think I fucking wanted to leave you?” His fingers dug slightly deeper in your neck, but never enough to actually hurt you. “You think it didn’t pain me thinking of you making a life for yourself without me?” The last words came out broken out of Sukuna’s chest. “It killed me thinking that you would forget about me, that you would find someone else and you would move on but I forced myself to endure it to make sure you were ok.”

“Then why did you come back?”

That was the million dollar question, wasn’t it? Why did he return when he vowed to keep you safe, away from him?

“Because…” his eyes traveled to your lips for a second. “Because I’m fucking selfish. Because I can’t stay away from you any longer.”

Sukunas selfishness was always his downfall. The man who prided in his strength, not only physically but mentally, found himself breaking because of you, his best friends little, annoying, slut of a sister. For two years he had drowned himself in alcohol and drugs, trying to erase every memory of the two of you. It was for the best, he told himself every time his mind wondered to you. It was for the best, he reminded himself every time he picked up his phone, his fingers typing your number. It was for the best, he repeated to himself as he forced himself to wake up and face another day.

Every day for one thousand, one hundred and sixty-nine days he repeated the same mantra and for one thousand, one hundred and sixty nine days he missed you.

“You have never, once, in three years left my mind.” His closed his eyes, his forehead touching yours. “And I can’t stand it anymore. Not when I could be here, with you.”

With you.

He still loved you, you knew that much. As much as it pained you, maybe deep down you stilled loved him too.

But too much had happened.

Too much had changed.

You couldn’t risk it.

You couldn’t let him hurt you again.

You peeled off his hand from your neck, putting some distance between you. “You’re wasting your time here, Sukuna. Go back to whatever hole you came from and don’t come back.”

“I–“

“Hey”

Uraume’s voice cut through the argument that was about to ensue.

The once white hair was now completely covered in a dark, brunette tone, shorter than they usually sported it but everything else remain the same. Did they really think that was enough to cover up who they were?

Idiots.

Standing next to them there was Toji, whose face now was clean off from blood but had several cuts and bruising all over.

Another sin to add to Sukuna’s list.

“What?” You asked, your tone sharp and angry but your question was only directed towards your business partner.

The tension around his eyes made you worry.

“Naoya is here.”

Sukuna saw the shift. A complete 360-degree change. He saw your posture change, the broken down, angry demeanor long gone replaced by a coldness that almost made him shiver and the scowl that covered your face as soon as you head the name. He also saw the worry in the long look you exchanged with Toji, a silent conversation happening the longer you stared at each other.

That fucking old, decrepit bastard knew what the fuck was going on with you and his cousin.

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to face the owner of your nightmares.

Uraume, unaware of the emotionally draining conversation you and Sukuna had just been on, decided to step on your way and look for explanations.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Why is Zenin here?”

You didn’t answer, trying to get pass them.

“Hey, don’t fucking ignore m-“

Your fist colliding on Uraume’s face shut them up.

You grabbed your hand, not yet used to the pain of punching someone in the face. Fuck did it hurt but you wanted to do this for a long time. Sukuna took a step forward, trying to intervene but a furious side eye from you told him to not intervene.

Uraume turned back after almost falling from the hit, the shock still in their eyes.

“What the fu-“

“Listen to me. Both of you.” You spared one last glance at him. “Whatever it is you guys are looking for here, you’re not going to find it.” You turned to Uraume. “You’re dead to me. So, stay out of my fucking way.”

Your words were cold, calculated and distant, each one of them an icicle stabbing them in the heart.

You were only able to take a couple of steps before Sukunas arm stopped you, forcing you to face him one more time.

“I don’t know what the fuck you got yourself in or what the fuck is going on between you and that sadistc bastard but… let me help you.” He begged you.  “Whatever it is, I can fix it. You don’t have to do this alone. You don’t have to go with him.”

Sukunas demeanor surprised you. Years ago, he would’ve rather been dead that caught being nice to you, let alone begging in front anyone, especially Toji. Now, he hadn’t spared a second thought pleading with you. You even though he might’ve gotten to his knee if you asked him to.

He was desperate.

Maybe if you still had any hope or trust left in him, you would’ve accepted his help.

For a second, Sukuna saw another layer slipping away, faltering at his insistence. He saw fear and desperation as you considered his words. Whatever it was that Naoya held over your head, you were too scared to even let him know.

And as quick as the fear came, a melancholic look replaced it.

“Did you really think all my problems ended when you left?”

You ripped your arm away from his grasp, his fingers shaking as you made your way to Toji. Before you were too far out of reach you stopped in your tracks and Sukuna hoped you miraculously had changed your mind.

“And, Sukuna…” You looked at him over your shoulder. “Don’t try sending any of your men to sell your shit in my club.

It’s Zenin territory.”

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Taglist pt 1:

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[taegularities]

colour me in: the starry night | jjk (m)

Summary: You anticipated the trip to Jungkook's hometown with a thrilled yet nervous heart – and upon your arrival, your emotions prove justified: because as the days pass, you realise that gentle joy awaits just as much as ancient pain.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; angst, fluuuuuff, smut ➳ warnings: fluff fluff fluffluffulfufluf, flirting, daddy issues, arguments with his father, his dad is pretty much an ass and almost as bad as oc's mom, but his mom and brother are <3, ria <3, oc being a light in the dark, oc learns many new things, cursing, fighting, a lot of crying/tears, neglect, mental breakdown, panic and anxiety, anger, insecurities, too many mentions of nostalgia lmao, jealousy, mention of therapy, nara, christian yu lmAO, WEDDING TIME!!!, oc is so pretty (that jk loses it), alcohol/drunk stuff, more confrontations, making up, he loves loves loves her, childhood coping mechanisms; explicit sexual content: kissing, making out, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, eating out against the wall, bit of wall sex, drunk sex, manhandling omg, impatient koo, big dick!jk, dom!jk but this timeeee also sub!jk lowkey!!, tears of pleasure, masturbation, fingering, handjob for a bit, squirting, creampie, literally their orgasms are a MESS phew it's kinda hot lmao, moany/whiny/super turned on jk; no 'the ending' warning this time… just the whole chapter 🥺 ➳ word count: 45.9k lmfao pls do still read it tho ➳ a/n: this was supposed to be 30k i can just never shut up lol sorry <3 but this chapter honestly got me good. i cried sm writing it and i love them and i never want this story to end :') i hope you love it, too. thank you for supporting me at all times <3 i can't wait to hear what you think 🤍 ➳ listen to: dance me to the end of love by the civil wars (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s going to be okay — Jungkook’s hand gently clasping your thigh wants to convince you of this, you know.

But you can’t deny that the presence of the family you so long awaited is affecting you — your pulse is quickening to a heavily uncomfortable pace. You know his mom; you don’t fear his brother; but his father… his eyes are inscrutable.

They scare you to no end. There he is; the power continuously shattering your boyfriend’s heart. And Jungkook must be well conscious of your distress; because a mere moment later, he of all people, the one who's supposed to seek comfort, says—

“Angel? Breathe.”

Your eyes swerve to the side and remember to blink; you only now feel that you're jabbing crescent moons into your palm, just when you realise the sharp impact. You uncurl your fingers and nod, letting him cover the faintly scarred skin with his hand.

Sighing, you ask, “Are you okay?”

“I am,” he says, nodding, as if he’s practised and polished this answer over the years, “nervous, but… it’ll be okay.”

“Yes… I know.”

“Let’s go?”

You pull the handles on your respective sides at the same time, setting foot onto the stranger soil for the very first second in your life. You can’t quite discern your gut feeling right now, but you hope it’s not the last.

Waiting next to the car, you watch Jungkook round the vehicle, squinting your eyes; the noon sun is burning right above you. He heaves the suitcases with a faint groan and you join him right away to fetch the rucksack you brought.

Holding it between your knees, you flash his family a smile and a slight wave, awkward and unsure about what to do until his mother steps down the porch and towards you. She’s elated, and you see the same sprinkle in her eyes as in her son’s when she closes in enough for an embrace.

Her arms are comforting around you; somehow, you’re startled by it. Takes you a second to reciprocate the hug, hopefully not long enough for her to question your receptiveness. But then you put your chin on her shoulder, shutting your eyes for the briefest of seconds until you open them to a side hug between Jungkook and his brother.

In the slowly cooling weather, she feels warm, a motherly love that blasts heat to your cheeks until she lets go. “Finally a woman, huh?” she breathes, her voice so sweet and kind. “A great alternative to all the testosterone.”

“I can imagine,” you respond; the thought isn’t too much of a stranger to you. “I spent most of the week amongst men. They’re barbarians.”

She laughs, just in the moment that Junghyun, Jungkook’s brother advances towards you. He offers you his hand and a radiant smile that resembles your boyfriend’s. In fact, he does look quite a bit like his younger sibling. Lopsided smirk, fluffy dark hair, handsome features.

Not a lot older. Kind as he greets you with a, “Miss Novaura herself, yes?”

The name makes you beam, inundates you with pride. You appreciate that he doesn’t revert to Charmante as most people have done throughout your life, but sees you as what you are and what you do now. The manager of Novaura, damn it.

Yes.

Has he been keeping up with stuff?

“And Miss Novaura meets the second Jeon himself!” you respond, but as he grimaces, you bite your tongue immediately. What did you say?

“When,” he starts, overly dramatic, a little like Jungkook, yet somewhat more extroverted, “was I demoted to the second Jeon?”

“Oh, I’m…”

Jungkook clicks his tongue from the side, shoving his brother aside in the most sibling-like manner you can possibly imagine. Then, he threatens, “Don’t do this, or I’ll take her away from you guys again.”

“What’s that mean?” you ask.

“It means,” Junghyun interjects, “that everyone’s been dying to meet you. Mom and I even told Jungkook not to spill too much about you, so we can see ourselves.”

Oh, the pressure. The nervousness from the past couple of weeks skyrockets. Yet, your charming self conjures, “Then I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Jeon Junghyun speaks on, babbling something reassuring that you’re certain could warm your chest if you had the capacity to listen. But you drift off quickly as the side of your eyes follows a movement in the back: Jungkook timidly, almost fearfully nearing his father.

You’re alarmed and you can’t tell why — perhaps because you don’t truly know their situation yet. You haven’t seen them interact. But at this very moment, you’re surprised when Jungkook and his dad share a light side hug, too.

The occurrence is frigid, but somehow, you expected even more frozen behaviour. Rare glances, absolute ignorance. Your mind envisioned a world that harboured true enmity, but you don’t think that’s quite what these two have been maintaining over the years.

In some sense, it’s worse.

Because rather than pure silence, there’s a deep distance that is still disguised as a surface level of closeness in a family. Faking it might just be more difficult after all.

There’s no conversation between them. Nothing much as Jungkook comes back to his mother to give her a warm, genuine hug, a rainbow to a drizzle in comparison. As if to receive what his father didn’t provide.

You follow.

You’re not entirely keen on a too affectionate interaction between his dad and you, but you still smile when he lifts his hand, shaking it kindly. From here, as the corners of his lips raise, wrinkles around his eyes that he passed onto his next generation, he looks like a terribly nice man.

He gestures into the house and you follow, listening as he asks, “Was the journey okay?”

You nod joyfully, mustering up all kindness for somebody you know hurt someone you love for so long. After all, Jungkook has done the same for you, no matter how many times your mother shattered you.

And in the end, it’s still his dad.

“Oh, yes, pretty pleasant,” you answer, clearing your throat when you hear the formal tone in your voice. “We took turns driving. And since I fell asleep, I guess I can still seize the rest of the day… if you want to?”

You turn to Jungkook as the sentence fades out and he nods with raised, stirred eyebrows. “Yeah! It’s what we’re here for.”

His father smiles, a flat hand signalling towards the living room to invite you to rest for now. Matters seem normal so far; for a moment, you allow yourself to believe he isn’t so neglectful after all. Even with all your trust in Jungkook, you try to imagine a scenario in which he perceived his father’s distaste as something wrong.

You’re incorrect.

It doesn’t require more than a couple minutes and a bit more mingling until you recognise amidst the smalltalk that he doesn’t behave the same with his younger son as he does with Junghyun. There’s lightness in the way he converses with the latter.

Jungkook only moves around you and his mother; no particular intention to really connect with his dad. Understandably so. Their gazes barely meet.

Not even when his father’s tone drops as he approaches Jungkook, uttering a seemingly obligatory, “You alright? Is the job good?”

“Mhm,” Jungkook merely responds.

The interaction is awkward and quiet, yet too noisy for the lovely room. You focus on the homely furniture and small-town-vibed interior as you wait for the brief dialogue to conclude. You’re not at a place to intervene yet.

There are pictures of the family, yet fresher if you could judge. The ones showcasing memories are probably somewhere you can’t see yet; you’re buzzing to finally skim through his childhood pictures.

You listen in. Quiet again, conversation already at an end.

Jungkook’s fingertips graze yours, giving a short head tilt, wondering what you’re thinking about. His beam is different when he looks at you now, a much more blissful alternative to the timid words he voiced just a couple seconds ago.

But you can’t really answer when his mother emerges in the room to wave you towards the kitchen, eager to converse, yet suggesting, “If you want, you can freshen up before dinner.”

But you reject the idea kindly, flashing your best smile as you respond, “I’m excited to be here, so we can just talk a little for now. I’ll go wash my face after dinner!”

She nods slowly, politely, a the-guest-is-king-sort of gesture before you add, “How have you been?”

The family joins at the dinner table one by one; nobody interferes or barges into another’s turn. Only listens. You’re used to chaos from events and parties you used to attend, everybody dying to have the last word, to outsmart another.

This family is as patient at a conversation as you’ve witnessed in your boyfriend. They’re lively, interested; maybe there’ll be more of an ecstatic family tumult when you get used to them or when more people join. At the wedding, probably.

You’ve seen something like that with your friends, too. Especially on this vacation. You did fall into disorder quite often.

Yet, it differs from your usual experience. No discomfort. No fear of odd questions.

The Jeons aren’t out to reveal your little secrets, but to understand you as a person; so you appreciate the natural flow of the dialogue when Jungkook’s mother answers, “Just tired. The wedding preparations are tedious, and it’ll probably only get worse.”

“Yeah? You’ve been helping out a lot, yes?”

“Yes, somewhat. The bride… Gayoung, she’s close with us and relies on us a lot. And on top of that,” she shakes her head at this point; rolls her eyes as she turns on the stove, stirring and heating up some meal, “she’s getting cold feet.”

“Oh man,” Jungkook adds, chuckling a little, unsurprised, “wedding is definitely on, though. She always gets nervous. Almost missed her first day at work years ago,” he turns to you, “she’s a vet, and she was terrified of hurting the pets, but… everybody trusts her with their pets’ lives now.”

“Awh,” you voice, “I can imagine how stressful that must be. I’m pretty good at managing stuff, though, so if you need any help—”

“No way, you’re not here to work. You can do something else?” His mother looks over her shoulder, pondering. “Paint?”

“Oh, I do paint sometimes, but I’m not very good at it.”

“She is,” Jungkook argues, hand lifting to rub your back, “but she’s an even better writer.”

His father chimes in, arms folded, “Oh, I think you can get a ton of inspiration here, then. There’s a flower field nearby if you’re interes— what?”

Stopping when Jungkook interrupts with an exhale, he tilts his head at his son, and you follow his gaze, watching thick eyebrows kiss. “I already took care of that, but… way to spoil a surprise.”

Ah. You see the hostility increase with each second. You wish you could diffuse the moment; tell Jungkook to ignore everything that might irk him.

Instead, you only sneak your palm to his knee, imitating his rub to calm his nerves. He must be tense. He always must be.

“I wasn’t spoiling,” his father argues, “was just an idea.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” you intervene, patting Jungkook’s thigh. He looks at you just briefly, but it suffices for some of his muscles to relax. “I don’t know much anyway. Spoiler-free zone!”

It’s the best you can do. So you keep trying; diverge the topic to other aspects of your life when Junghyun asks about your job and the efforts connected to it. About the joys and hardships of it. About how your parents are doing — burdensome topic, yet a must to master. 

Then they speak about the passage of time in the city, and how it compares to this place; how the family perceived the differences and how their current life differs from their past here.

You learn that they still feel more connected to their hometown; obvious when considering the fact that they spent most of their years here. Initially uncertain about moving, they still decided to be closer to their children and the world’s opportunities.

The city called and it kept them.

You know it kept Jungkook the most; or maybe it was you who shackled him there, too.

“Apart from the obvious differences,” you start, “I can’t comment much on it yet, but… I’ve been really interested in being here. Super nervous.”

His mother coos, scrunching her nose the way he does, assures that there’s no need to be nervous; that this wedding might end up being the kindest you have ever been to. Adds, “Speaking of. Brought a pretty dress?”

“Oh, of course,” you say; your toes curl in excitement. “I’d show you right now, but I promised to keep it more or less a secret from Jungkook.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him. “He’s seen it, but not me wearing it.”

“Ah. Is it that pretty?”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

She steps closer as the dish simmers, playing with a couple strands hanging in Jungkook’s eyes. His lips twitch upwards, and his cheeks colour in a blush when she says, “Well, knowing this guy, you’re out to give my boy half a nervous breakdown, I see.”

“I’m trying to, really.”

Your answer is light-hearted, but a mere moment late. You can’t help but wonder what she means by knowing this guy. Then again, you presume a mother usually witnesses her children’s lives; watches them fall in and out of love.

You don’t like how the realisation makes you feel, but you smile it away either way.

And it doesn’t help when Junghyun seems to catch onto her statement, too, saying, “By the way… I’ve heard that at the wedding, we—”

But the interruption is sharp. Unnatural, abrupt, his mother’s voice strange when she interjects, “Ah. Listen. Let’s serve dinner, and we can talk more when we eat. A hand?”

You don’t know what it’s about, but you attempt your best to not be nosy. You can’t even guess it, so it’s probably easiest to let it go. To only stand up to help a little, Jungkook and you handing things around until you’re seated again.

She still scolds Junghyun silently, eyes wide when she sits next to him; perhaps it’s a surprise for Jungkook or for you.

You won’t spoil it. Focus on the food.

And despite the early tension, you survive dinner, albeit occasionally cut by things Jungkook’s father remarks and by Jungkook’s responses of retaliation. Like—

“Honestly, you not liking these is a perk,” Junghyun comments when Jungkooks puts the green beans aside, snatching them immediately.

His father is quick to deduce, “Didn’t you love them?”

Jungkook’s smirk is immediate, accompanied by a shrug and a click of his tongue, and a somewhat passive aggressive, “Yes. Fifteen years ago, though.”

It’s odd, the mixture of anger and fear. He reveals his agitation in his short answers, but he never extends them to something that might provoke a bigger fight.

His father then says, “I’ve never seen you put them aside.”

To which Jungkook mutters, “Should’ve looked more then, right.”

“That’s unnecessary.”

“Okay.”

Tense. Quiet. Gulping.

But you get it over with, breathe and touch through it all until the plates are cleared, stuffed in the dishwasher, the clock ticking. Jungkook leads you to the porch that his family greeted you at earlier. You intertwine your fingers deeper, hoping for some solace between the irate words exchanged.

His shoulders stand slightly higher than usual, eyes a little unfocused. You squeeze his palm, and he laughs when you bump your shoulder against his. Tapping his foot against the porch, he says, “This is where we were having a barbeque this summer. Remember when I called you?”

As if you could forget. Those calls got you through messy, forsaken summer days. He lets go of your hand to tug you into his side, tight in his embrace, and your voice grows a pitch when you answer, “Yeah. You were drunk.”

“I was.”

“And you still called me. Burned your finger, right?”

He scoffs. “I barely remember that. I just remember seeing you on the video call and… missing you really bad.”

You glance into his face, opting him to do the same. Eyes half on his lips, half on his pupils, staring to and fro, you ask, “You don’t miss me now, though, right?”

“Hm… I don’t hope I’ll ever need to again.” As he presses into your arm, you cuddle in. He nods towards the small front yard, “They were playing Linkin Park here. And way back, when I was like seventeen, I’d smoke here sometimes.”

Your eyes blow wide; you can’t imagine his gentle fingers holding a cigarette between them, but then again, you kind of can. He laughs at your surprise before he continues, “I know. Rebellious phase. It was stupid, because Mom would smell it right away and then ground me.”

“Damn, Kook.”

He nods, lifting a shoulder as if to say my bad, and then kisses your temple. Asks, “You feeling good?”

“Yeah. I really like it here so far.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

“Good,” you echo, just for him to do it, too.

“Good. I think we cou—”

Pause. 

Because the feast of interruptions continues still. A sudden, shrill call of his name reverberates across the streets, and you flinch, following the sound on the right before detecting somebody walking up to you.

You haven’t seen her yet, but she’s glowing; hair open behind her, just the top half held at the back with a butterfly claw clip. The breeze swirls her bangs, and just from the exhilaration in her voice, you can tell who it is.

Jungkook lights up equally when he squints his eyes and recognises her, loosening his grip around you as he exclaims, “Hey!”

“Helloooo!”

And then he lets you go. You watch the endearments unfold. He says, “Didn’t expect you here today.”

“Me neither,” she says, and he laughs; you join in, already curious. “I was going to binge some show, but Junghyun texted saying you’d arrived.”

She catches up with a somewhat heavy breath, widening her arms when Jungkook steps down from the porch and engulfs her in a firm, heart-warming hug. Loving, decades old.

They oscillate on the spot, and she rubs his back until they let go. She doesn’t waste a minute until her eyes drift to you; they’re so expressive, dark yet glimmering. They prove your assumption when you see her joy towards you immediately.

The moment begins a little awkwardly as the stranger approaches you with uncertainty about what to say, but then she asks, “Is it okay if I hug you, too?”

You giggle. Goodness.

“Gosh, sure!”

And you’re delighted to the bone. Her touch is warm, inviting. They all are. You’re not used to it; why does it make you sentimental? You don’t know her. You’ve never spoken to her. Why the clump in your throat?

Weird.

“Ria,” she introduces, “I’ve heard so much about you. Really, it’s a common thing to say, but I’ve been really excited like… man, why did you come so late when he was sooo whipped in the summer already and—”

Your face heats up impossibly; this thought of a passed summer that called upon a million unknown emotions and words and encounters and yearning… you might never get over it.

Jungkook gives her a playful whack on her clothed arm, eliciting a prolonged Owhhh. You lift a protective arm over her to jest back, and she gasps, infinitely pleased. It helps her open up more, because it seems that she doesn’t need more than this to suggest, “Can I take her?”

Wrinkles form on his forehead as he raises his eyebrows in confusion, and she, nearly jumping at her spot, explains, “Show her around a bit. We’re having dinner soon and then I won’t be able to move, so…”

Jungkook blinks, unsure, looking between her and you until you urge, “It’s okay. You drove most of the time, too, so try and rest a bit.”

Your reassurance helps; either way, you don’t think you would’ve gotten to much more today anyway, no matter how much you hoped to seize the evening. You’re beat from the last day and the terrible night and the tiring journey and the filling meal.

Taking a walk is all you can imagine to do right now.

Maybe he’s on the same wavelength as you, because the nods come slowly but surely. “Sure. Go. I’ll come later to bring her back.”

Ria places a sweet hand on your back, urging you forward and speaking back, “Gotta make sure I don’t kidnap her, what?”

Her house is nearby. The first of the conversation goes by similarly as it did in Jungkook’s house, but the moment she announces the arrival at her own home, your calm demeanour changes to a rather terrified one.

She’s not going to…

No.

Because she promises, “I’m not taking you inside, no worries. I wouldn’t overwhelm you like this.”

Your chest relaxes. You guess meeting one family officially, as if you’re being evaluated for marriage, might suffice. While sure her family’s as lovely as the other, you don’t want the overstimulation.

So instead of urging you inside, she takes you to the small cottage next to her house. Their property is a little bigger, the area spacier. You soon find out that the little house she’s taking you to isn’t some guest thing, but houses dozens of farm animals.

You didn’t think there was something to the cliché you heard about small towns; yet, the reality is much more endearing. How oddly cheerful the animals seem, even though you know the fantasy is just a fabrication of your mind.

You don’t know what they’re thinking or feeling.

One of the hens clucks as Ria picks it up, looking at you with big eyes as she says, “I thought you guys would come early in the night and then just sleep. I didn’t know you’d arrive so much earlier.”

“Oh yeah!” you say, hands in the back pockets of your jeans, “We left the hotel at noon.”

“That’s crazy.”

She bends, letting the hen go, and the little thing instantly rushes away. You flinch, stepping back. You’ve never done this before; you try to keep your cool, but you’re so inexperienced, mesmerised by your surroundings.

This place is so different, so much quieter, more serene. You understand the nostalgic vibe of romance movies set in towns like this. You’re suddenly thrown into The Notebook and into Footloose. Into everything that evokes warmth.

“What is?” you ask.

“Just. It’s so nice to meet you. We have so many guys here, so it’s cool to be with a girl for once.” She takes a deep breath. “And I love Kookie and I trust his judgement. So when he told me about you, I told him to get you here right away. It took you so long.”

Her tone is frisky, but you feel bad. Not quite because you let her wait, but because of why you waited yourself. Because of the breaks and pauses and the split hearts that you needed time for to sew again.

The weeks of insecurity and then the trials of life.

Something in the pit of your stomach stirs at the memories; you can’t believe you’re standing where he fell for you first, despite the distance. Where he reached for you through the rain and the clouds and the stars, and called to listen to your tears and your pleas to return.

You can’t believe it. In fact, yes, you believe it as little as her.

“I get it…” you say, “we have quite a few guys in our group, too.” You wait, watching her nod as she inspects the last of chickens running into the cottage. Then you ask, “What did he tell you about me?”

“What he told me? Mmmh. I mean, it’s difficult to say. He spoke of you highly, but I think his main focus was on not hurting either of you. Very, very worried about how things might play out.”

Yeah… yeah, it sounds like him.

You don’t answer; shift your eyes to the grassy ground. You hear her voice lift a pitch as she says, “Man, too many guys is simply too much, though, seriously. And then having to deal with Kook all the time must be so exhausting, too.”

Laughter erupts out of you, and you shake your head, “I mean, he’s a brat sometimes. But he’s the best man I know.”

“He is a good guy, yeah? I’m so glad.” She nods again, affirmative and positively confirming. “He’s always been. It sucks sometimes that he lives so far away.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, but she shrugs her shoulders, waves off your concerns. “I take it you’re not interested in living in the city?”

Her eyes narrow when she looks into the distance, met with the lowering sun as if it entails the entirety of her beloved town. It’s probably part of it, though; the one sun she’s known all her life, despite the same star rising and setting everywhere in your vast world.

“Not really,” she says, “I like it here… Even though so many left.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Some people I knew…”

You can imagine. Two faces flash into your mind, at least. Not that you like half of the thought; but it’s automatic, and so is your statement, “I feel like I know at least two.”

She seems surprised. Tilts her head, blinking, hands on her hips. “Really?”

“Yeah, well…” You avert your eyes, fearing an abundance of transparency. “Jungkook and Nara.”

“Oh.” Ria’s blinking fastens. She didn’t expect this; neither did you. But in some sense, it was inevitable, dropping Nara’s name here. “You met Nara, huh?”

“You say it so… weirdly.”

Her hands lift and she immediately works on objecting to your assumptions, “No, I mean. She’s nice! I liked her growing up. I just wouldn’t have mentioned her unprompted. There’s no need…” She studies your face. “He doesn’t either, you know? Talks about you mostly.”

You don’t know what to say. You gathered this much; but a very strange feeling in your chest presses against your heart, and you can’t quite decipher why. You shove it aside as best as you can, and then breathe it out, thankfully admitting, “That’s relieving.”

“There’s no need to worry. I think he and you will have a good time here and bond more than ever.”

You nod. You don’t feel like responding; not because you don’t like her or don’t want to. Your throat is tied, and you can’t really think of or form a productive thought. So you just keep nodding, smiling until a hen pops out again.

Ria, pushing away a stray strand of her dark hair, points to the little, excited animal, wondering, “Hey, have you ever held a chicken?”

“No!” Ah. Good tactic to distract you, considering how many times you mentioned this minor wish in the past weeks. “But I want to! Told Jungkook like a hundred times.”

“Okay,” she waves you closer and you dare to approach, hoping to neither hurt the hen nor yourself. You have absolutely no clue about these things. “Come here then. It’s not hard.”

It’s not. In fact, the process sounds logical, facile; but your hands are shaking, and often enough, animals seem to understand negative emotions when targeted. But Ria proves a good teacher.

Shows you to near the hen calmly, moving slowly to not startle her. She instructs you to soften your voice as much as possible, kindly noting that you’re soft-spoken enough to not worry about it. And then, once close enough, she demonstrates placing a hand around the tiny body, securing the wings to prevent flapping.

You imitate. Or try to, at least. It doesn’t work right away, your nervousness intruding; but at some point, you manage. You use your other hand to support the body, lift the hen gently. Hold it close to your body to give her a sense of security, much as Ria lectured.

Ria is patient, amazing, despite having done this probably a thousand and million times. Adjusting to your lack of knowledge, praising you, acknowledging your effort.

Her giggle is mellifluously sweet as she watches and hears you gasp; she applauds, but stops right away when she detects the third presence amongst you.

She calls, “Ah! You’re finally here.”

Your eyes follow hers, heart lighting up as you hold up the chicken carefully and nearly shout in uninhibited excitement, “Kook, look!”

His hands are in his jeans’ pockets; his walk idle. One of his eyes is squinting shut until he steps into the shadow, a tender smile playing around his lips before you realise that it looks… sad. Doesn’t reach as far. No crinkles around his eyes.

“Aren’t you the cutest, munchkin?” he responds before dropping into a crouch next to you. He seems brighter upon seeing your face, but you still keep wondering… What just happened in the house?

You don’t know. You don’t want to ask yet either.

So you only set the hen down, lowering her until she’s balanced and waddling — waddling? — away. You wrap your arms around him, providing a flicker of warmth. You don’t know what made his face fall like this, but you want to at least attempt to lift his chin again.

God. What a start to the first day. Is it odd to feel scared?

“Wanna go?” he asks, a thumb brushing the corner of your lip.

You hum, “I’m getting tired, yeah…”

“Then we can go and rest? And sleep if you want to.”

It’s early… but laying down and staring at the ceiling doesn’t sound too bad right now. Maybe he needs it, too. So you agree, pressing Ria to your heart once more and promising to return to her.

She’ll be at the wedding, too. You guess you’ll see everyone multiple times anyway; but as rude as it may sound, the thought of warming into this man’s body doesn’t allow you to bother with the world right now.

His steps are slow as you walk to the house. Eyes drooping. He might not notice; he’s been here so many times. But his presence, combined with the things you see, make your heart swell.

Maybe because you want to be there for him; maybe because you still can’t believe you’re here. But you perceive everything as if for the first time.

The cosy garden and the flower beds. A small-town house sitting on a quiet, tree-lined street. It’s more on the simple side, painted in warm hues, a light beige. Charming. You remember everything being charming.

The snug living room, the tender, partly wooden and partly modern kitchen, the clearly old and handmade dishes. A fireplace. Wooden floors. 

You haven’t seen the rooms yet, but as he leads you upstairs, you imagine him doing the same this summer as he approached his bed. He walked these same steps, a narrow and short hallway, opening the door to an inviting childhood bedroom with you present in his device.

Yearning.

But the man from the summer isn’t all you see. In fact, the place reminds of time travel; you soon recognise just how signature Jungkook everything is.

Because the moment you enter, you see him in everything. Like, in the soft quilts on his bed; he wouldn’t use them today, but you imagine a shy Jungkook and you imagine big eyes, small hands pulling the sheets over his body to cuddle into a warm night.

The window overlooks the backyard; the sunlight filters through the sheer curtains. It’s still just the middle of the evening. But you find it hard to want to leave this simple comfort. Lived-in, sweet.

Reminiscent of a youth.

Like a soft tune of a ballad. You don’t know what it is that makes you feel this way.

The cosiness? The pictures on shelves? The slightly tilted roof of the room? Or the posters reminding of a world a decade ago. It hasn’t been this long, if you think about it, but to you, all of this still tells a story.

“What’s this?” you ask, opening a random drawer and grazing rolled up paper, large, stowed away.

“Posters, I think? I haven’t seen or opened them in ages. Maybe we can—”

He pulls and rolls them out, glancing for a bare moment before he undos the action with a sudden bright red on his cheeks. You try to catch a glimpse, “What?”

He doesn’t answer, so you take the poster from him, only needing to open it halfway through to see a pretty face, followed by a swimsuit and a snatched body. Ah. Is this…

“Victoria’s Secret?”

“Shut up,” he instructs, and you hold yourself back, watching him, blinking until—

You puff out some air, nearly spitting as you laugh, teasing, “You were that type of guy, yeah?”

“Shut up,” he repeats, prying it out of your hands before he throws it into a corner. “I had this up for like two weeks. Forget it.”

“Never threw it away, though.”

“Never thought of it.”

He scratches the back of his head, a tilted smirk on his face, and you can’t help but want to keep annoying him. But he needs far more than this right now, and you’re not here to get on his nerves. So you walk up to him until determined arms wrap around his waist, kissing his chin.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Well…” He’s quieter than he’s been in the last few days and it disheartens you. Somehow fatigued, eyes halfway closed. “You know.”

You do know. Or perhaps, you don’t, but you can well imagine.

You’re not sure how he took all of this day in, day out for so many years, but you understand the weight of the situation a lot better now. Of course your mind would be rewired if you hurt this much all the time.

Whatever you’re seeing now is a fraction of what he experienced.

“It’s going to be okay,” you remind him again.

“Yeah.” He sniffles. “Hey. I have a little surprise for you tomorrow. It was spoiled a bit, but you’re right.” A peck to your nose. “You don’t know anything yet. But you’ll like it, I think.”

You don’t doubt it; you guess it helps, not being aware of much at all. Waiting for the surprise.

But then again…

When you look at him again, excitement flickering in those tired eyes of his and a hand pushing against the small of your back lightly, you think that you know a couple things at least.

“Okay. Hold on. You’re definitely going too fast!”

“This is too fast? You should’ve seen Junghyun and me racing years ago.”

You lower your head in an attempt to hide it from the wind, seeking his sweater; it’s impossible from this angle. You’re at the front, surviving between his arms as he navigates the bicycle recklessly. 

The wind slaps your face, cooler this noon than yesterday. The bike writhes on the road, and you yell out, “Man, I’ll die!”

“Baby!” he exclaims back.

His laugh is louder than the gust as you hold onto his moving thighs and then realise it’s of no help. You shift your hands to the front of the cycle, wondering when it’ll hit an unforeseen rock and tip over.

“Hey,” he tries again when you only scream back, “have you never been on a bike before?”

“Of course I have!” You resist the urge to add a curse. He’ll kill the two of you. The streets are steep, probably a hill, going downwards. “Just never two people at once.”

“I did it a lot! With friends, and mostly with Gureum.”

Gureum… his dog. You have yet to meet him.

“Gureum?” you repeat.

“Yeah! He’d sit in the basket and… and enjoy the wind. Eyes closed.” He pants between cycling. “I told you, no?”

But your thoughts are elsewhere, chin dropping to your clavicles as if not looking could save you. “Fucking hell—”

“Okay. Okay…”

The bike stops abruptly, and you yelp, shutting your eyes tight and preparing yourself to die. But death doesn’t come; a tap to your hip does. His fingers hold you, calming you, words the opposite as he orders, “Alright. Get off my bike. You can walk the rest of the distance.”

Between the sniffling and the reclaiming of control of your trembling legs, you register the surprising command, and mumble, “What?”

“You heard me, sweetheart. I’ll wait at the flower field.”

You dare a look over your shoulder. His expression is serious, an eyebrow cocking. You want to retort something snarky, tell him you’ll stay on if he just slows down, for the love of God; but instead, you look ahead, and decode the view immediately.

The grass is high and the place wide. You’re right where the field begins, the road more narrow here, only really enough for cyclists and walkers. You roll your eyes, getting off as you tell him, “You’re terrible. We’re already here.”

He laughs, dropping the bike to the side carelessly before he reaches for your messed up hair. Fixes at least the front of it, flattening it in the back. You’re glad there’s no mirror around.

Then, he proceeds to grab your hand, a finger pointing to the place and says, “Look around.”

You do. It’s widely open and empty. A decent amount of flowers; you imagine a plethora of them in the summer and the spring. Now that fall is in full effect and it’s a little colder here than on your coastal vacation, you reckon that this isn’t usually all how the field looks.

But it’s beautiful. In the far, far back, you see the forest expand. Slightest traces of autumn foliage. The leaves will fall and entirely bare the trees soon.

“This is so pretty,” you say.

“Right?”

“Was this the surprise?”

“I mean,” he cards his fingers through his hair, but as he grabs the willow wicker from the larger cycle basket, the mane is blown back into his sight just a moment later, “yeah. But the actual surprise is a bit further down the field. Come.”

He guides the way, and you put your all into deciphering what he might be hinting at, only for him to say, “Don’t look so hard. You will see it in a moment anyway.”

The laugh he elicits is sweet, a thumb touching the back of your hand. Your shoulders drop in relaxation, and you shift your attention to the grass and the flowers, trying not to stomp on any of those that are still left for this fall.

A couple feet forward, you tell him, “You know I still need to meet Gureum.”

“I know. He was with Ria since we can’t really take care of him when we’re away.”

“You could take him to the city.”

“I’d do anything to be able to. But Gureum is… a free dog. He wouldn’t enjoy life in a smaller apartment after running around for so long.”

Ah… You feel the opposite still; jumped from a large cage into a homey, sheltered cube happily. But you get it; the freedom here doesn’t compare to a crowded city, does it?

“But,” Jungkook continues, “Ria said she’d bring him over this noon, so he should be there when we get home.”

“Damn. Why am I more excited about this than necessary?”

“Oh, you should be. I am, too… he’s my old boy.”

The oxymoron grants you a smile; to a parent, a baby stays a baby. Most of the time, at least. Jungkook feels something for Gureum, and even a stranger, lost and unknowing, could piece this bit together within a heartbeat.

“He’s old?” you wonder.

“He’s twenty years old. A bit slower now but… the same amount of love in his heart.”

One shall learn how to love and be kind from Jeon Jungkook. Then again, he’d be an excellent example, but a bad teacher. Wouldn’t know what to say. Wouldn’t be able to really pick out what makes him so pure-hearted.

He just is… He just is.

“I can’t fucking wait,” you say, inspirited.

The sight changes along with his expressions as you walk down the field. From happiness to a smile to excitement and then contentment. The flowers mostly disappear, giving way to something you don’t really recognise.

Orderly rows, bright green leaves and… more plants? As you inbreathe the air, however, you swear you recognise the sweet and fresh scent. Even from here, it’s distinct and special.

And when you trudge closer, finally glancing down, you understand.

Jungkook…

He took you strawberry picking.

You see them low on the ground, clustered, ripe and red. Pretty. Enough to warrant a dozen adjectives; yet, you only whisper, “Wow.”

He waits… then waits more. Lets your eyes scan the area and the fruits, permits you to take in what he probably reckons you’ve never seen before in this form. And he’s right — you haven’t.

“You like it?” he questions. “I was unsure, like… maybe you’re underwhelmed?”

Your head turns towards him at light speed. “What? I’m not. I’ve never seen anything like this before,” you confirm, repeating your thoughts, “I am definitely not underwhelmed. This is… this is something my younger self craved.”

“Oh— Really? How so?”

You hum. Think back to late nights in the back of your bed, a room larger than what you needed, yet smaller than your imagination. Smaller than your heart.

“I read stories,” you tell him, “fairy tales. Watching tales of love in the countryside. We don’t have these places in the city, do we?”

Jungkook’s hand, on your back a second ago, travels up to the back of your neck, touching it gently. “I guess you’d have to find a farm.” He stares ahead where you do, still standing there, unmoving. Then, “Angel?”

“Yeah.”

“You said you went on a field trip to a farm, right?”

“I… can only really remember once in school. Kids were shitty.” You spoke about this once; last month, he promised you’d see Ria’s farm, too. Funny that she actually did show you. “And my parents weren’t really interested in that stuff. Which I do kinda get because many city people aren’t.”

“Mhm, I can understand.” He shuffles his feet, presumably a little sad for you, regarding the long row of strawberries stretching to his right. You’re about to crouch and try without a clue what to do when he, instead of commenting on things much more, asks, “Okay, so. Wanna pick strawberries?”

“Yes!” You rub your hands, taking a step forward, but pausing again; you could start anywhere. “Will you show me how?”

“Of course.” He hums, looking for an easy spot with an accumulation of easy-to-pick fruits; then, he lifts his jeans by a couple inches and lowers his body. “Look. You can crouch or kneel.”

You give your clothes a lookover. Just some everyday jeans; they should be able to take some dirt. In actuality, though, you might’ve joined him on the ground anyway. So you do, kneeling with your hands on your thighs, obediently listening.

“You look so cute.” He chuckles, the back of his fingers barely grazing your cheek for a moment. As he sniffles, his chin nods towards the plants, hands reaching for them. “So. You gently pull the leaves aside and just pick the strawberries. Avoid those that aren’t red, though, okay?”

His pinky touches parts of an unripe strawberry still in the ground, and he explains, “You’ll know that one’s ripe when it comes off easily. Like this,” he tugs at it, “isn’t ripe. Won’t come off so well. Mmmh. Let’s try this one.”

You follow his movements until he settles for a particularly pretty and seemingly juice berry; with ease, he plucks it off by grasping the stem and twisting a little, and says, “See? You could eat this one right now. But… basket?” You shove it towards him and he throws the berry inside. “We’ll wash it before that.”

It’s quiet and sweet here as he works on explaining the process to you. An atmosphere you haven’t ever witnessed anywhere before. It’s probably different in the spring, but you’re alone here; even if someone’s around somewhere, you can’t see them from where you sit.

And it helps you focus: on how concentrated he looks, lower lip pouting, crouching easily with his sweater sleeves rolled up. It’s unusual how his tattooed hand works on the plants. Your first imagination of such a task always involves straw hats and dungarees.

“Try it, too,” he then instructs.

He puts a gentle palm on your back as you get up from kneeling, now crouching as he is, and cast about for a couple good pieces. Whenever you think you’ve found one, you seek confirmation in his eyes, repeating, “Is this okay?”

And he always promises, “You’re doing well. Look,” he inspects one of your choices, “picking the best even.”

“You’ll have to eat mine, then.”

“Sure will. I knew you’d be so good at this.”

You’re surprised; you never saw yourself doing this, even though you yearned for a life so different than the one you lived. Until you stepped off his bicycle twenty minutes ago, you had never come up with such an idea. All the more reason to be thankful to him.

But you do wonder why he’d perceive something like this far before you did, so you ask, “Really? Why?” 

He uttered the words so casually, pupils fixated on the basket; he might not have noticed how immediately you reacted. Because he hums now, looking at you with immense eyes, matter-of-factly spelling out, “Because you’re gentle. This called for you.”

Because you’re gentle. Because you’re gentle.

The reasoning, so clear to him, repeats in your mind. It’s not as obvious to you; it’s been a while since you thought of your qualities, and in the last months, being gentle often meant the same to you as quietly enduring.

So you’re touched, silenced by the lump in your throat; such an easy sentence, but so filled with  knowledge about a person that only truly occurs with the purest of affections.

As you stare at him, you feel the fondness spreading over your countenance as much as the leaves tickling your ankle; you hold the current strawberry delicately as you conclude, “That’s why you brought me here, yeah?”

“That too.”

Oh.

“What else?”

“You can’t do this every day,” he argues, “I want to show you new places and things.”

You graze the vulnerable skin of the strawberries collecting in the basket, watching it fill enough to feed a couple people. Grabbing it, you lift your body with a smile. For a minute, your knee aches from the crouching, and your brain gathers the sensations into one to create another core memory.

Lost for words, you merely tell him, “Thank you, Kook, I…” You heave the basket to your chest, touching his hand as he rises, too. “How do you even come up with all this?”

“How I come up with it? Hmm… I guess you make it easy to do.” He laughs, and you follow, reading your mind as he voices the same thought flashing through your brain. “I know I’ll be so nostalgic about this someday. In ten years, maybe.”

Cheeks hot despite the autumn wind, you register the butterflies immediately. Right under the basket, underneath your skin, like a swarm awaking from metamorphosis. The fact that he thinks ahead like this, paints a distant future with you… wanting you for this long drives you insane.

Jungkook’s voice always lacks uncertainty when it comes to you.

Mellow when he speaks to you, gentle even when he asks, “More?”

“Mmmh… yes. Can do a few more. And it’s fun.” So you do; picking and plucking until you can barely carry the basket anymore, already wondering what to do with the bunch until you pop the idea, “Can we eat some of these?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Gotta wash them, though.”

Which isn’t as easy as it sounds. It takes you a good moment to find a water tap on the wide field; one only crosses your way when you travel back to where the bike stands, proving as dysfunctioning and broken.

And only once you’ve reached nearly the end of the field and already detect the narrow path that you cycled along from afar, your luck strikes. You wash a handful of your harvest and place them neatly at the top of the rest, right above a handkerchief Jungkook whipped out from his pocket.

The grass isn’t high everywhere; you find an ideal spot for a brief, spontaneous picnic, pleasant and comfortable; a fluffy blanket of nature. You watch ladybugs and ants crawl over blades of grass; not too much more, considering the season.

Jungkook works through the content of the basket, soon holding a piece to your mouth, “Take this,” he says, pushing it through your parted lips; waits until you’ve chewn most of it. “And?”

The initial taste is good, but the aftertaste dramatically makes your world quiver. Whatever you’ve known about food and fruits so far must have been a hoax, because you can’t fake the way your eyes widen and your voice raises in pitch, delighted as you say, “This is… so damn good.”

“Right?”

“They don’t taste like this in the city!���

“Yeah,” Jungkook chooses a smaller one from the collection, throwing it into his mouth as a whole, “these are fresh. No bullshit berries.”

“No bullshit berries indeed. So good.”

“You picked good ones!”

“But this is a curse, too!” you exclaim, urging a laugh out of him that he transforms into a kiss to your temple, observing as you munch the strawberries as though encountering them for the first time. And you pout as you say, “ Keep me from eating them all. I want to take the rest home.”

“Sure, don’t worry. We can put them somewhere and take them back on the last day.”

“Hm? Oh. No, I meant today. Home, your house…” You realise your mistake. “Sorry.”

Only, he doesn’t deem it a mistake for a moment. He didn’t think you’d feel this cosy this fast — but it was what he’d hoped and opted for, so it’s a win either way. His family as your home, him as your home.

He thinks, you finally do feel at home. It took you years of endurance, didn’t it?

“Home, yeah?” he mutters. “An apology is the last thing I’d want, angel. You’re home, alright.”

You wish you had an equally meaningful answer; whatever you might babble now, you don’t think you could do justice to the soft tone he settled on. You can’t even outdo his gaze, so round, eyes so big on his otherwise clear-cut face.

What you can do is smile. Draw closer until your shoulders touch. About to taste the strawberry-flavoured, red tinted lips before a sudden motion drowns your plans.

The bunny flits over your feet; you’re sure it jumps onto yours for a moment and then uses them to push itself off into the grass, journeying on. The yelp it elicits out of you merges with the startled sound Jungkook emits.

His elbow lightly hits the side of your breast, and you pull your legs into your chest as self-defence. But it’s gone as fast as it appeared, and barely a second later, you’re watching it hop away, little ears disappearing in the distance.

“Well,” Jungkook breathes, “at least that’s normal. I’ll tell you about my snake encounters later some day.”

A hand on your chest, you exclaim, “Oh my God. You know what?” You calm down your lowkey panting, hand falling back into your lap, “Maybe you were right. We’re home for sure.”

“Oh… yeah?”

“Yeah! Totally looked like you… thought we were back home.”

Jungkook laughs out, head throwing back, and then, amidst his giggle, he throws a “Shut up” at you. The tackle nearly pushes you to the ground before his lips attack your face all over; making out on a countryside field wasn’t on your bucket list, but you sure as hell will add it only to tick it off.

His tongue really does taste like strawberries. His lips are sweet; the hand on your waist careful yet explorative. If the grass wasn’t this cruel, tickling all over your body, you’d probably remain here for the next hour.

Let him strip you bare. Kiss you into the earth. Nobody’s here; you don’t think you’ve ever fantasised of such a moment before, but suddenly, you don’t mind loving him right here.

But maybe he’s fostering the same thoughts as you, pulling back with a little groan when the blades prick his cheeks and closed eyes. Endurance isn’t easy right now; and you have a lot planned for the rest of the day anyway.

So you pull yourself together, and nod when he finally asks, “Wanna go?”

Somehow, it takes you a little longer to get home than it did to reach the field. Perhaps because he’s cycling uphill now, or maybe because the sun is at its zenith, warming the colder day. The comfort makes you want to stay in this moment, have his voice laughing next to your ear.

On a bike swaying when he loses focus, rolling dangerously to tease you on purpose.

And when you get back to his house, you’re greeted with yet another surprise. It’s fluffy and sweet and white like a cloud, living up to its name. A tongue sticks out, tail wiggling, right at the door when Jungkook opens it.

Gureum is small, smiling as far as you’re aware of a dog’s joy. You once heard that upon seeing their owner, the same hormone floods their tiny bodies as a human’s when they fall in love. Gureum must feel much like you do when Jungkook comes home.

You understand.

Understand when Gureum jumps up to Jungkook’s legs, licking his human’s face when your boyfriend picks him up. Jungkook’s voice changes so much that you barely recognise it; you’ve never heard him talk like this. Higher, lovelier, slurred to imitate the language babies speak.

The affection is unfiltered and crystal clear.

Jungkook’s smile brightens until it reaches its maximum, bunny teeth flashing, the laugh erupting so deeply from his chest. Authentic. Eyes nearly closed as he calls Gureum’s name, plays with his face, as if communicating with a child.

Twenty years, and he still thinks of him as his baby. Sometimes, all golden stays.

“Baby,” he says after a while once Gureum has stopped licking his face, introducing, “this is my Gureum.”

You set the basket down next to the door, reaching a careful hand to Gureum’s head; but he’s cooperative. Lets you easily. “Hi Gureum,” you whisper, “nice to finally meet you. You’re so cute!”

“He’s a little sick these days, but,” Jungkook gazes down again, kissing Gureum’s ears. “He gets through it so well, doesn’t he? Yes, he does.”

The laugh is real. The affection is real. Tender and deep-rooted. He smooches him again, and then puts a cheek to his warm fur. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve never fallen deeper.

“I missed you so much, too, buddy,” he says, “so, so much.”

You swear you see Gureum cuddling into Jungkook’s chest. Doesn’t move even when you’ve settled in the living room, resting from the journey. You’d drafted plans for the rest of today, but it doesn’t seem they’ll separate, and you don’t want them to.

You can wait. Things can wait.

You sit by Jungkook’s side as he pets him, his head soon on your shoulder, one hand in the white fur, the other holding yours. It’s how you remain for a bit.

In hindsight, albeit never having plucked strawberries before, today wasn’t some grand adventure across the world. You didn’t strike a deal at work or fight off some paparazzi hiding in an unexpecting corner. And you didn’t climb a mountain.

But you guess that’s what you craved all your life. Somehow, this is better than any crazy escapade.

The serenity that comes with a mundane moment. A love that consumes you and a love that helps you commit the most casual of acts to memory.

Maybe this is enough. An old couch lightly creaking as you move; a cloud blinking as you caress its head. Surprises to help you experience saccharine afternoons.

You remain for a bit, and then remain a little longer.

Ria came through the door not too long after you’d returned, ready for the evening plans. She’d promised to accompany the two of you to the centre of the town, giving you a tour of the most important and ancient of places.

You learned about the town’s only drapery seamstress and the best flower shop. Much as it so occurs in 70s and 80s movies, you met the son of a mechanic. He told you he’d be inheriting the company one day, and that it was okay because he never intended to leave anyway.

Ria’s eyes suspiciously widened as she spoke to him, and she lingered for a moment longer than you did after your farewell. The guy had forgotten that there was work to do by the time she finally bid him goodbye.

Jungkook’s eyes squinted at the sight, but not even he could hide his endeared smile. Pressed into Ria’s shoulder with a teasing hum.

You rewarded yourself for the day’s many steps with some soft serve in front of the city hall, talking and delivering anecdotes until the sun started setting.

As the evening concludes, you’re the last to appear at dinner. His family is already sitting here, politely waiting and sweetly welcoming once you’ve washed up and hopped into the dining room with a vibrant smile.

You’re in a good mood. Evidently so; the scent of strawberries and the taste of his mouth still linger, and you’re still coming down from the high when you chime, “I’m sorry for being late.”

“Don’t worry about it at all,” his mother assures, “we just sat down.”

“I really wanted to help, though.”

It’s true. His mother has been nothing but the ultimate host. You wanted to prove productive and useful, but then Eun had called to check in on you and delayed your plans.

“Hmm, you know what?” his mother utters, pouring you some Jjamppong. “The wedding isn’t until one, so we could get up earlier and make strawberry jam in the morning? If you’d like.”

The wedding has been in the back of your mind constantly, slowly sneaking to the forefront with an intense nervousness. You’re timid because of how it’ll turn out, how people will perceive you, if they’ll talk to you. How Jungkook will look at you.

How much love might spread; how much certain people might tone down their resentment.

Learning yet another skill such as making jam might just be the best distraction. So you nod wildly, only interrupted when Jungkook asks, “Can I join, too?”

But you change the movements of your head to a shake, jesting about quality time and whatnot until he surrenders, “Alright. Way to shut out the boyfriend and son, I see you.”

“Speaking of food,” you say, pausing, slurping a big bite of noodles; they’re spicier than you’re used to from city restaurants. Better, too. You point your chopsticks to your dinner. “May I have the recipe?”

As his father and brother indulge in their food, acting as quiet listeners, his mother answers, “I’m sure Jungkook has it. I’m offended he never cooked it for you, since they had it a lot growing up.”

“Offended indeed. You learned this?”

“Oh, this?” Jungkook’s eyebrows, hitherto sporting a crease between them — a telltale sign of a well-eating Jeon — relax. “Yeah! I was learning when I was like, what, fifteen?” He seeks approval from his mother, who soon nods. “I fully butchered it when I tried it for the first time.”

Junghyun chuckles. “Even I remember.”

“Yeah, you refused to help!” Jungkook complains, whining when Junghyun hits his brother’s elbow with his own. “And I burned my wrist and had the wound for ages. Couldn’t do much in P.E.”

Much as yesterday, it seems his father hasn’t learned; because as you feared, it’s only now when he melts and intervenes. You almost surmise he’s provoking on purpose when he queries, “When you were fifteen when? I can’t remember any wounds.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Are you telling me I’m making it up again?”

“No, I’m just saying I don’t remember.”

“That’s because you were at work and didn’t pick up my many calls. Mom was sick that week… It's why I wanted to cook and learn at all.” He nods towards his brother. “Junghyun remembers because he went to a friend and then rushed home to bring me to the hospital. None of it sounds familiar to you, does it?”

Jungkook lists and narrates the happening with a flat voice, as if recalling items still left to purchase for tomorrow’s meal. He’s stirring his soup and his father is stirring everyone else’s, uncaring as he responds, “I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. You probably didn’t care.”

“Nonsense.”

Another, “As much as the last years,” added to the mix, you opt for his hand under the table again, but he pulls away. You’re left dumbfounded, looking at him in surprise. This has never happened before; he’s never been upset in such a way.

As if to signal, “It’s fine. It’s whatever. Let me deal with this.”

But he can’t deal with it; you see the beginning signs of a rising chest and a decreasing appetite. Nobody just plays with the content of such a rich soup for this long; least of all a foodie like him. He’s busy looking at it, propping his elbow on the table.

You stare for a little longer, and then turn back to your food.

It sounds like it’s over. And it’s quiet; maybe you could interrupt with something else, change the course of the conversation. But his father isn’t done yet.

No. You notice everybody else’s irritation when he opens his mouth to speak again. They sigh, forming a line with their lips when he emits a question that leaves even you in disbelief, “Why are you saying this?”

“Come on,” his mother tries, wanting to ease the tension, but Jungkook is faster.

“What? I mean, I don’t know?” he starts, once again an equal amount of fear and annoyance in his voice. “I barely ever hear from you, Dad.” With each word, he grows more daring, at the end of his capacities when he eventually curses, “We live in the same city, for fuck’s sake—”

“Jungkook—” Junghyun interrupts.

“What? It’s true. Even the last hundred times, Mom visited alone. Could’ve at least come over and said Hi to my girlfriend.”

“I’m here now and saying Hi, though,” you try, weakly smiling.

“And he’s here, too. How grand of him.”

Fuck.

“Stop the attitude,” his father warns, “you could’ve come over plenty of times, too.”

“Are you hearing yourself? News flash, I did. I tried to talk to you, too. If I was still fourteen, I’d still be apologising. Oh, or is that what you want? Is it what you want?”

“What are you talking ab—”

“I’m talking about how I really wanted to tell you about a shit ton of things. Like when Nara and I broke up,” amidst the already tense moment, your heart pains for a second, “or when I graduated. Or when I was having a really fucking hard time this summer and needed somebody and then when I fell in love and needed to tell somebody, and… where are you all the time anyway? Who fucking knows — I don’t!”

It worsens and worsens. Crashes and burns; every word splits the air in the room. You don’t know how to save the moment anymore; maybe you’re not supposed to. You can only lend him courage. Perhaps he’s supposed to finally say all this.

But it’s hard to listen.

Because as the waterfall of grief cascades, you hear Jungkook’s voice quiver. He’s about to break. Right here, in front of everybody, you’re about to witness the woe this man inflicted on him all his life.

And you see it; see parts of this very torture when his father reveals who he’s become over the decade. The one Jungkook described to you; empty of empathy and understanding.

Because again, he renders you in shock when he speaks again. Fucking nasty, nitpicking and focusing on only one aspect, attacking somebody’s pride.

“Get a grip over yourself! You graduated in arts — you didn’t conquer the world. And you hold a grudge when—”

“I hold a grudge? I do? You’re the fucking one who shunned a kid because of a mistake and—”

“I do not want to hear about this. Not again.”

As their voices grow, so does your heartbeat. The anxiety is unbearable; you can barely imagine the one spreading through Jungkook’s chest. His face is red, neck hot, veins about to pop. If you could, you’d slap your hands over your ears.

But you can’t listen away; can’t ignore the panic, either.

“Please, stop,” you say, moving, but Jungkook frees himself of your grip again, stands. You attempt again, “Stop it, baby.”

But he won’t listen, mind somewhere else entirely.

“You won’t blame me for shit you did years ago, you can’t—” his father insists, but…

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Watch your mo—”

“Or wha—”

His father’s face, similarly scarlet as his son’s, grows a shade darker at the shameless counter, and his large hand lifts in slow motion for you. Comes down with a thump, intending to slap the wooden table, but hitting the edge of his small kimchi bowl again.

It flies up inches into the air before suddenly rolling off the table, aligning with you and soon falling onto your lower arm with a painful impact. It topples down onto your knee before it meets the ground and shatters into a handful of pieces.

You gasp and shriek, more out of surprise than pain; but Jungkook’s reaction is immediate. He bolts towards you, protecting you from whatever danger might be left. Pulls you off your seat and away from the shards as dead silence befalls the room.

It’s filled with your shaky breaths and the way his mother and brother shove their chairs back, hands reaching for you. Jungkook keeps you out of their reach. Looks at his father for a couple seconds; then to the kimchi on the ground; then back to him.

You can’t see him properly until you move to glance at him, wanting to keep his anger low, but… you don’t think you can do much anymore.

The fire in his eyes is blue.

And his voice is strained but furious when he finalises through gritted teeth, “You are fucking insane.”

This time, the man doesn’t answer. You hear his wife utter something as if scolding him before she speaks up and offers to clean up the mess. But Jungkook shakes his head, “No need. He can do it.”

Then, turning to his father, he repeats, “You’re fucking insane. You’re a terrible parent and we all know and only you can’t admit it to yourself. I just didn’t think you’d develop into a terrible person, too.”

Still long fingers around your wrist, he moves you towards the stairs, rounding off the fight with one more, “Don’t fucking get near me or her, do you understand? Fuck.”

So many words exchanged, but it was the stupid kimchi covering your pyjamas to make him topple over the edge. You feel guilty, but you don’t. It’s the man downstairs that has so fucking much to reflect on.

God. You wanted this vacation to relax Jungkook, to soothe you, to turn the first painful half of the year into something glorious.

But…

Then again, didn’t you expect this? Weren’t you scared of this?

Didn’t you fear the exact manner in which he now leads you to his room, in which the slamming of the door rings in your ears, his hands in his hair?

He’s let you go and stranded in his room. It’s odd, the way you stand here, clothes dirty and the grief dirtier. 

You walk towards him cautiously, watching him shiver, and reach for his wrists in turn this time. It’s a featherlight touch, but you feel the tremble underneath your fingers. And you instantly notice when he starts coming undone. When his lips shake, too.

Even with his head lowered, you recognise the wet waterline, and how it takes a handful more heavy breaths until you hear the first sob. You hug him. You hug him right away. Hold him close and closer.

You make a weak attempt at pulling him to the bed, but he’s already in the process of breaking down, his body getting heavier, falling. The carpet offers solace as his knees suddenly hit the ground. His arms hold onto your hips and his face buries in your chest.

When his breathing turns irregular, so does yours; you feel like the world is splitting and the sky crashing down. 

His leg comes in touch with your messed up clothes, and when he looks up into your eyes, he’s already crying. A trail of tears courses down his cheeks as his pupils suddenly shake, looking for something, asking you, “Did he hurt you, baby?”

“Kook…”

“Let me see, you must be hurt, you— you were just wearing these thin ass slippers without socks, right? The fucking bowl shattered and…”

“I’m okay, Kookie. I’m not hurt, I promise.”

“No, but… it fell on you, it must— did it bruise your knee?” he continues hectically, inspecting you, never seeing anything. He cradles your face, still crying and sniffling, shoving his pain aside to make sure, “Please tell me if anything hurts, ‘kay? I will get something, I’ll— dunno, fucking smash his fucking face, I’ll—”

His mind is going haywire. A proper downward spiral, and you don’t know how to stop it. What the fuck— what the fuck…

“Jungkook— Jungkook, please,” you try, lowering his hand, but he won’t stop searching for signs of injury. “Baby, please.”

“Why is he like this? I just… man, I am trying, angel.” His voice falls at the last word; your heart fractures at the same time as it tries to keep his intact. “I am trying so hard in life for him to like me, and you… you’re here, so I thought he’d behave and instead—”

“I know. It’s okay.”

It’s not, but you can’t say it. Can’t say how much the meaning behind your stained clothes hurts. How much it connects to what the weeping man in your arms feels; how he looked forward to this, planning ahead, a surprise for everyday without anticipating such ruin.

And he’s as clueless as you. More broken than you ever anticipated. Resembling the burst dish one floor beneath you, holding you like an anchor, crying into your chest.

He keeps repeating the same things as you repeat yours, soon mumbling his words of trying and trying and constantly trying. Of wanting to be loved. Attempting to understand if it’s too much to ask for. Is it?

Why can’t he love me?

And you whisper back, He loves you. He does.

It’s easy, falling into such misery. There were moments not too far in the past where you were on the receiving end of such pain, and he was your life vest. You don’t know if you’re keeping him above the surface as well as he did, because you keep susurrating the hopeful mantra to him.

But he keeps believing—

“No… no, he never fucking did. Wh—who treats someone like this?”

“Some people forget, you know… how to show affection. Sometimes, they deem their pride more important. It says nothing about you.” You lift his chin, heartbroken upon detecting his reddened eyes. “Everyone else in this stupid world loves you.”

“Your mother doesn’t either…”

“My mother? The woman who hates literally everyone?” You smile, trying to make him imitate it, but he doesn’t. You brush his cheeks and then his hair. “I do. I love you. I knew who you were even when I was unbiased.”

“Didn’t you… hate me, too?”

Once again, you try a faint smile. Not for him to join in, but because you’re reminded of a foolish friendship; it had already long bloomed into more when you’d finally named it one.

“Not for a second,” you say.

Break in discussion. He’s still shedding tears, snivelling. Stays frozen like this, all of him unable to move except for his lips. They mutter, “I don’t ever want you to get hurt. He can do whatever the fuck he wants with me, but…”

“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“I love you,” he maffles weakly, “I love you. I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

You feel as though offering solace to a child. As if he’s shrunk into what he used to be, in the very room he used to sulk. The trauma still belongs to a kid, and when hurt, he’ll turn him into one, too.

You hate it. Hate that his sorrow still belongs to such a young heart. That he never processed it.

Before you came here, you spoke about it. And once you’re back in the city, you’ll have to figure things out further; the time constraints just before you drove away didn’t allow you to take much into consideration.

You can only cry now, can’t you? Detest the dampness in your own eyes. Stay right here until some sign occurs, lifting you up from the ground.

And it does fifteen minutes later.

The knock is gentle, just two of them, and you tell Jungkook to wait, that you’d be back in a minute. As you stand, his back is bent, his head lowered. As if he’s sleepwalking or slowly fainting.

You shut your eyes for a second; then open them again.

Behind the door, his mother awaits. In her soft hands, she’s balancing a tray holding some food. She lifts it towards you, tells you, “The two of you barely ate.”

Upon a closer look, you realise that her eyes are swollen, too. The view nearly forces you to tear up again, your face seethingly hot. You want to hug her. Want to tell her you’re sorry. Instead, you only touch her shoulder, and mutter a grateful thank you.

“It’s okay.”

She sounds so pained. You wonder if she said something to her husband. Reprimanded him, cried for his son, grieved a childhood and life that could’ve been.

But she doesn’t say any of it, and neither do you mention it. You only agree, “It will be. Are we still making jam tomorrow?”

“Yes. Tell Jungkook he can come if he wants to.”

“Yeah… I was thinking that, too.” You stare down to your food, never noticing how she peeks past your shoulder. Sees her son unmoving on the floor; she knows she can’t do more than you are right now. So she only nods when you repeat, “Thank you so much.”

You wish her a good night, bringing the food to where your boyfriend sits. Put it down in front of him.

“Sit upright, baby?” you ask him, crushed by the sight of swollen cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. His lips are parted, his breathing still stagnant; he only stares at his food until you push the tray closer to him and say, an attempt at a smile, “Let’s eat a bit. Mother-in-law brought it for us.”

No smile back, but a sniffle. The crying subsides just a bit as a shaking hand grabs the spoon, slurping the soup before he can even think of the noodles. He eats a little, slowly, surely. You help when he needs it, feed him a bite, encourage him to one more.

Every other minute, he cries again. You wipe the tears away, try to make him eat more.

His father fucked him up. You knew about the issues and demons Jungkook combatted. Of course his mentality suffered; of course there are parts of him that might never heal… But you never quite understood the full effect. 

His father fucked him up good; got him so bad. Parts of both of them are so ultimately ruptured, aren’t they?

Whenever he winds down, you eat in silence, right there on the ground on top of the old carpet. When he can’t swallow anymore, still some left in his bowl — Jungkook barely ever doesn’t finish his food — you move up to the bed with him.

You kiss his hair repeatedly, as if it could heal him just a little, to even the tiniest percentage. You don’t know how much of an effective bandage you are to him, but you know you’re doing at least something.

Because he whispers another I love you before the gut-wrenching sounds of his sobs have finally faded out, still echoing in the room. His tiny, shrunk voice says, “I’m looking forward to tomorrow with you.”

And somehow, it pains you even more. The hopeful tone; the wish for a day to not hurt.

“Me too, baby,” you say, “it’s nobody but us, okay?”

“Yeah… yeah.”

And that’s it. It’s all you can do for now; understanding the heavy heart the night cursed you with.

But as you drift away, you keep pleading. Pleading and pleading and pleading for a better tomorrow without getting a promise back.

To your chagrin but least of your surprise, Jungkook doesn’t join your jam-making session the next morning.

When you stirred awake for a little bit, eyes still sleep-drunk and body falling, your phone flashed seven thirty in the morning. Not ready to start the day yet and doubting anybody else had gotten out of bed, you cuddled into his body, and he, while deep in his slumber, must still have noticed.

Pulled you in more, smacking his lips and sighing a little, a warm hand at the back of your head. Secured in his embrace, you fell asleep again.

Only to awake two hours later without him by your side. You’re already washed up and somewhat sobered up from sleep, and you’ve looked on the first and ground floor. You can’t find him.

His mother informed you that she and her husband would be leaving to join the wedding earlier, to help out with the preparations and make sure the plans all sit. You offered your help, but she claimed they’d be okay, and that you can still use the morning after the jam lesson to rest.

Perhaps Jungkook has embarked on a journey then, using this time to do something in the early morning. 

Once you’ve walked into the kitchen, greeting his mother with a smile and a good morning, you ask, “Nervous for the wedding?”

“Mmmh, kind of,” she answers, locking the phone she held, putting it aside to sip her tea, “but it should be good since we took care of most of the stuff pretty well. It’ll be wonderful. Except the damn Wedding March — we couldn’t settle on any song but this.”

“I can’t wait. I bet it’ll be beautiful.” You take a seat in front of her, hearing the sounds of the TV and quiet conversations. Among the voices, you recognise two, but his is neither of them. You’re not interested in joining. So you look at her, scratching your temple as you inquire instead, “Where’s Kook gone?”

Her forefinger points downwards, another blow to the tea and another swig. “Basement. I brought him some coffee, but he seemed busy and quiet, so I left him there. But,” her voice grows louder, enthusiastic, “you can go! Maybe he’ll be okay with that?”

Hmm…

“What did he go down for?” you ask.

“I think he was looking for something.” Now, she lowers her tone again, lower arms on the table. “He also just… did that sometimes when he was younger, or after a fight.”

After a fight.

Like the breakdown last night. You understand.

You should probably walk down and check — but then again, this has seemingly been a coping mechanism ever since he was younger. So perhaps, you need to let him be for a little; give him a chance to entangle his thoughts and regain some peace.

You repeat your decision to her and she nods in understanding, throwing a glance to a huge jar on the kitchen counter. You’re ready to deliver an answer before she even asks, “Want to help out then?”

“Sure!”

The process is a patient one. Reminds you of when Jungkook told you how to pick the strawberries yesterday; gently, sweetly, with a tender touch and an even more delicate voice.

Jungkook’s mother takes the fruits out of the jar with care, explains to you to mash them and cook the jam with absolute soothing composure. The minutes pass so serenely that you imagine preparing meals with her on a cold winter evening, pleasing your soul to ensure not only a good night’s sleep but lasting quiet of the soul, too.

You add the sugar and lemon juice to your mix, stirring and boiling the delicatesse before you put it in sterilised jars. She shows you how to sterilise them at all; you didn’t think or know that such a step was necessary at all.

The making of it doesn’t take too long; forty-five minutes tops. As you scanned the internet just before entering the kitchen almost an hour ago, it said it takes barely half an hour. But she demonstrated it all to you slowly, unrushed.

You’re thankful.

“Have you ever made jam before?” she asks as you admire your creation.

You shake your head. “No… I don’t think I’ve tried such a thing at all. It’s fun making things on your own. I mean, I do like to cook sometimes, but I’m nowhere on Jungkook’s level, I don’t think.”

She chuckles, nodding as if to confirm. Then clarifies, “Yes, he’s enjoyed being involved in the kitchen ever since he was a teen. Especially before he left town and realised he’d have to cook on his own.”

You giggle with her, like with a friend or a trusted figure. It’s so consoling, talking to her. Fun, smiles intact, still present when she asks, “How are the two of you doing? I mean, you did move in together quite fast, so I’m just wondering.”

Yes; she doesn’t need to spell it out. You get it — you’ve heard about this.

So-called relationship experts claim that taking decisions in the honeymoon phase isn’t too healthy, warping your sense of reality and perception of the other person. You don’t disagree, but you guess in this case…

“Honestly, it’s been good,” you respond. “We have a couple heated evenings where we argue about stuff, but… it’s been healing. And he offered to move in when I really needed it.”

“Yes, Jungkook told me.” Oh. “You weren’t at a very good place before. Please don’t mind.” You shake your head in reassurance, urging her to go on. It’s his mother; it’s fine to tell her if any of you is struggling. “I’m glad you’re there for each other because he wasn’t at a good place either.”

You nearly don’t dare to ask; in a way, she might know her son better than you know your boyfriend. Maybe; maybe not. You fear a disheartening answer when you ask, “Do you think he is now?”

But she, careful as ever, tells you honestly, “It’ll probably take time to get over things, but— it’ll be okay. Things seem a little better, though, if you want my neutral POV.”

“Ah… okay. That helps.” You play with the white-dotted red band around the jar. Your mind circles around a million questions that only she might be able to answer; yet, cautiously, all you query is, “Do you ever… have you ever spoken to him? Or his dad? About all the things…”

You reckon that if he’s talked about the two of you before, he probably mentioned spilling his secrets to you, too. At least from your perspective, it’s obvious that he entrusts her with his heart.

And once again, she affirms, “I have. Often. Even before the two of you came. It’s why I told you to take your time getting here.”

Ah… Makes sense now. So that’s why you had to roam the hotel until noon a couple days before. You sigh.

She continues, “It just doesn’t end well most of the time, so… And I’m not a good talker. I don’t know what to say anymore after so many years. Both want me on their side, though Jungkook never persists on it.”

She’s so wrong. Both she and him.

Jungkook has told you for months that he’s bad with words; yet, he comes in with every word ever written by any bard, singing poetry to you and bandaging your heart when needed.

You remember…

I’m not good with words, baby. And I don’t know how to ever properly verbalise something like this.

You sigh again. Tell her, “I understand. I also wouldn’t expect you to go against either of them.”

“Sure. But… It's difficult sometimes. Seeing how broken some of our bonds are.”

You’ve used and formed this word so many times before. Broken. For him, for you, for the world. Hearing somebody else share these sentiments and confirm your fears hurts.

And you’re out of words, wishing for a higher power to grant you a curing skill. If you could lift somebody’s burden with a single touch, just the way you’re reaching out for her hand now, you’d be busy circling the globe at all times.

“I’m so sorry,” is all, however, you can offer.

You hate how helpless she is. You urge to say something more, to hug her and promise that the world always regains its colours at some point. But you remain like this, watching the jam in the jars; hearing her say—

“You know. Jungkook has my number. I don’t know how much you and your mother still talk, but… you can talk to me, too, if you ever need to. I mean, I’m a mother.” She laughs at this part, raising a shoulder to her chin in pride, “And you’re part of him, so you can be part of us, too.”

Your eyes, locked onto the jar until now, flit up to her, and you blink to keep them dry, admitting without another thought, “I might actually cry.”

“Oh. Awh,” she voices, lifting her hand from underneath yours to cover it again. “Don’t. I didn’t mean to be all kitsch. I meant it.”

Gathering your prior thoughts into words, you puff out a breath, sporting a reprimanding look as you say, “You’re so wrong. You and your son, you always know what to say.”

Teeth flash again as she grins; she looks so innocent and pure. “Well, where do you think he got it from?”

Shit…

“Thank you…” you mutter, body already twitching, yearning to bolt forwards until you finally dare to ask, “Okay. May I… Can I hug you?”

“My goodness, love. You don’t need to ask! C’mere.”

You instantly tear up when she pulls you in. Last time you met, she left a fleeting touch. You barely knew her then; in some way, you don’t know her much now, either. But this… this is impactful.

The way she presses you into her; her chin on your shoulder. The slight pat and then the following rub up and down your shoulder blade. So warm; so salving.

One or two more pats, with a little more impact this time, she gently moves you back by your arms again, sucking in a breath as she suggests, “Alright. Wedding time, yes? We should start getting ready.”

“Yes. But…” You hesitate, wonder how much you can interfere. But then you diminish your mental concerns, and simply utter, “If you don’t mind. May I suggest something?”

You walk down the steps to the basement.

The light is on; other than what mainstream movies might suggest, they’ve set up the interior of the basement prettily. The few furniture — a table and a couch chair, as well as a couple common chairs — is a light beige, the wallpapers light, flowery.

He’s in the middle of the room, on the ground despite the many options to sit, sifting through pictures and objects lying around him. When he detects you, he flinches a bit, eyes big, moving suspiciously as if to hide something.

But you guess he’s just startled; and once he catches himself, he calls your name, wishing a sweet, “Morning, baby. Sorry for leaving the bed.”

“Oh, hey. It’s your house, you can do whatever you like. Besides, your mom and I had the time of our lives.”

He smiles brightly. You love, love, the wrinkles around his eyes. “Made some groundbreaking jam, yes?”

“You’ll see when you taste it.” You walk closer, recognising photo albums and frames. Yet, you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Uhmmm, just looking through old stuff.”

The pictures are flipped, upside down from where you stand, so you round his body, legs folded on the floor. You come to a kneel, and just when you’re close enough, you see the pure sugar spilled in front of him.

It’s in the form of fat baby cheeks. An open, surprised mouth. Then, in form of a photograph of a toddler crying. The same tremendous eyes and the same curve of his upper lip. A tilted smirk on one of them, just the one you know.

They’re adorable. You dissolve at the sight; at seeing him in a red vest, holding a half chewn corndog, tiny fingers forming a peace sign, and an unsure expression as if he’s seeing the world for the first time.

He does this often. Zone off like this.

Not rarely do you tease that he’s trudging through his first life, but he often refutes your theory with an immediate expression of shock. Chuckles back that it never feels like he’s loving you for the first time.

“Why are you looking at these, Kook?” you ask, hands on his shoulder before you settle your chin on one of them, cheek to cheek.

“Just so. I knew there was a picture of my cousin somewhere, too. Look.” He shoves aside some of the photographs on top, fishing out a very old one. “This is her. Gayoung.”

A lovely girl next to him, clearly older. They’re both holding car toys; he’s busy indulging in it, laughing, not noticing the flashing of the camera. But she’s staring right into it, caught off guard, eyebrows high and mouth open.

“I can’t believe she’s getting married today,” Jungkook says. “She’s like a daughter to my parents, but… I didn’t get to talk that much with her anymore when she grew into an adult. Was more with Ria. And then I moved, too. But… it’s still crazy. I still remember her as a young but older sister.”

“Of course. Time’s pace of passing is pretty strange. Very fast.”

“Yeah…”

He throws it back into the pile, shutting two of the handful of photo albums. Humming, he flips a couple pages of a third album; your eyes follow as he combs through them. You almost don’t notice when he pauses, and when you do, you understand why.

It’s another old picture, Jungkook tiny, mouth wide open to say something as he points towards the camera slash photographer. And he’s in the arms of somebody who’s undeniably his father. The man looks more like Junghyun than Jungkook.

But they seem happy here. His big hands are firm on Jungkook’s body, holding him lovingly and smiling at him with even further tenderness.

Jungkook remains on it for only a split second, but you get it.

You replay his mother’s words in your mind, and suddenly, you remember; a revelation clears up like a sunny day after a fog, and God… you remember.

And still, you act like you don’t. Like you haven’t understood that he’s here to reminisce about a life when things were still okay; when he still felt loved. Reliving moments when shit hurt less. Of course he’s here; it makes sense, so directly after a fight.

He seeks comfort in moments he barely remembers to escape the pain he recently suffered.

You’re out of damn words. This shouldn’t be happening to anybody.

You hug him from behind, arms around his chest. Attempting to ease his possibly disturbed soul, you ask, “Hey. Do you know that you’re the sweetest being alive? These pictures cause cavities. Good that you kept them from me.”

“Oh, yeah?” He turns his head slightly, lips grazing your nose, warm breath falling on it. “Coming from my munchkin herself.”

“I mean it! You’re so cute. And look at these cheeks,” your finger gestures towards a chubby baby, “they’re still so soft, by the way.”

You press your face against his, squishing his scarred cheek, and he states under a laugh, “You’re too much.”

“Too much of a fool for you, yes.”

He clicks his tongue, though playfully. You hear in his voice and see in his beam that he’s delighted, flattered, loving and loved. You ask, “Are you feeling okay now?”

To your relief, he nods. “I’m feeling better, I guess. Looking forward to the wedding. And your dress!”

“Oh, I am, too. I was going to show it to your mom just before, but… I want you to be the first to see it.”

“And then you say I’m not the luckiest man alive.”

“I just said Ashton Kutcher is. Mila Kunis is pretty cool.”

“Shut up.”

You pause, watch him tidy up; after a minute, you tell him, “You should’ve joined when we made the jam. Could’ve been fun, too.”

“Yeah… I mean I thought about it, but. Then I was like, maybe it’d be good for her to get to know you, like, unfiltered. She’s always careful not to be weird around me.”

“Ah. That’s kinda sweet, though.”

“Isn’t it?”

You nod against his cheek; then, drum lightly against his chest, a peck to his ear, getting to your feet a second later as you ask, “So… are you coming up? It’s a little after eleven. We should probably get ready soon.”

“Yeah, I’ll be up in some. You should go first, though. I’ll need a bit less time.”

You’re already taking steps towards the staircase leading up, but you can’t refrain from throwing one last tease, “You sure? Not sure with your skincare routine. Have you even eaten?”

“Yes, I did. Don’t be a brat.”

You lift your lips to a last provoking, tight-lipped smile before you ascend to his room. The dress is still almost flawless between your clothes. You heavily worried about damage in the few days you travelled, but aside from a few spots that need to be ironed out, it’s as gorgeous as ever.

Flattening out the creases with a borrowed iron, you soon rummage in your suitcase for the curling iron and the rest of your make up. You look at the mess scattered on Jungkook’s table, wondering where to start.

Make up, probably.

Okay. you have one, two chances max to try what you want to achieve. The goal is to remain casual, natural and humble; considering your dress, you cannot overdo it. You don’t want to look excessively over the top. Want to keep your essence under the make up.

So you keep it lowkey, pretty much content with the results before you slip into the dress.

And when you look into the mirror, you nearly squeal. You don’t struggle with your appearance. But while you’ve largely been satisfied with how you look, you did occasionally find things to possibly improve.

Normal. Doesn’t everyone deem certain spots flaws, regardless of whether they actually are?

But today… today you’re sparkling. You’re happy; in love with what you accomplished.

If you could, you’d immediately rush down to him again, show you the results. But it seems you don’t need to — because half a minute later, you make out his voice outside. He’s talking to his brother, laughing about something; seems the rest of the family is leaving. The door shuts just before you hear him moving up the stairs with quick steps.

And… when he finally opens the ajar door to his own room, his body locks at the spot, as if somebody screwed his feet into the wooden floor.

The reaction is easily imagined; most often seen on TV. You didn’t know how real it was, but then again, clichés always have an origin in real life, don’t they?

You’re surprised, a little shy by how he looks at you. And how he looks in general — black trousers hugging his snatched waist and well-formed hips. The white dress shirt is still in progress, collars up, suit jacket not yet on.

And he’s olding something in his hand that you can’t recognise.

He looks breathtaking and mesmerising, despite missing half of the preparation still. Fuck… fuck, fuck, fuck.

Does he feel the same about you? Probably.

Because he curses, “What the fuck.”

Like a statement, not a question. You touch the silky soft material of your dress, widening your eyes as your quiet voice asks, “What?”

“What are you even?”

You burst out into a brief, fleeting laugh at the question, repeating, “What I am?”

“Like, a fairy or something. Shit, it’s as if I’m getting married.”

Another near-squeak falls out of you. But you can’t blame him this time; you chose this attire carefully.

The sheer chiffon fabric, light and airy, sparkling; it called your name the moment you saw it. Floor length, lavender, spilling to the floor like a waterfall; a spicy slit on the side that Jungkook’s eyes remained on for just a tiny heartbeat longer, you know.

And off-the-shoulder sleeves; most of the back bare.

Sheepishly, you ask, “So you like it?”

“Like, I—” he starts, yet stops. He blows a raspberry. “You’re so pretty. You’re the prettiest. Oh my God,” he exclaims, dramatically touching his forehead, “I need to keep other’s eyes off you. Look at you!”

You laugh out loud, a hand on his wrist to keep your balance, no other productive response in your bright pink entangled mind than, “Babe—”

“No, seriously. Okay, I concur. It was right for me to wait to see you in the dress. Getting a heart attack as we speak.”

Your cheeks still glow brightly when you wiggle a finger at him, disappointed that there is no reality show camera pointing at you to hear you say, “If your boyfriend doesn’t react like this, girl, you don’t want him.”

You instinctively move to the buttons of his sleeve, helping out, resisting the urge to give in and fix his collar, too. You want to see the end result so badly, but he’s still missing the tie and the jacket. 

So you settle on merely touching the buttons over his chest, nodding as if approving before you say, “You already look so good, too. You know, maybe it’s you who should hide behind me today. What if some middle school girl crushing on you jumps you?”

He chuckles. “They can try.”

“They? Well, shit.”

“I’m kidding.” He lowers his chin, bringing your knuckles to his rosy lips, kissing one or two of them. “Hide me, then.”

“Mhm… Do you need help getting ready? With the tie or something?”

“Oh, it’s okay. You can lean back for a bit, tell me a story or something? I shouldn’t take too long.”

It’s a ritual of sorts. Sometimes, when you wait for the other on a date or dinner night, the faster one acts as the night’s entertainer. Sings songs or tells stories or plays DJ or serves the latest, hottest work tea.

You tell him, “Okay. But before I do,” your hand wanders down to his; it’s stubbornly closed around an object, dangling on his side. You uncurl his fingers. “What’s that you got there?”

“Oh, I…” He comes to life, as if he forgot that he was holding it at all. He lifts it between your faces, straightening his palm, and presents you something incredibly sparkly and nostalgic. “It’s part of the reason I went down at all. With my mom’s permission since she wore it at her prom…”

Damn it. Both of them deceived you.

“You were looking for it?” He nods; your heartbeat accelerates as you urge, “And…”

“And I got it for you.”

Words, you notice, are only your specialty when you’re jotting them down and narrating a story from within your mind. When it comes to answering to the grand gestures he always makes you fall in love with, you’re such a zero.

Odd, considering how he, in contrast, has claimed over and over again that he’s not as eloquent as he’d like to be. But you’ve long figured out that if he was to preach the truths he holds in his heart to an audience, the stage would drown in a flood of tears within minutes.

You reach for the shiny, pearly, flowery accessory. It’s rose-gold, a little vintage, clearly older, and so strikingly beautiful. It looks like…

“A comb… for me,” you say. Not the one to untangle your hair. The decorative type; fancy and gorgeous. He nods again, lets you take it between your fingers. “Why?”

“Just,” a shrug of his shoulder, “I wanted to give you a little something to remind you of this place and the love you got here. Besides, it’d look so pretty on you.”

A reminder that you’re loved. You wonder — who thinks of these things? Does anyone else in this universe heat up their girl’s chest like your boyfriend does?

They can tell you what they want; you’re the luckiest being alive. And in return, you want to love him as much as nobody has ever loved before.

You whisper, “Thank you, Kook… Your mom is okay with this?” Another enthusiastic nod of confirmation. “Thank you so much. I— I wish you could see yourself the same way.” You squeeze it in your hand to feel it properly, then open it again. “This is so pretty.”

“It’ll suit you.”

“Yes?” Softly, you hand it back to him, turning to the mirror, with him right behind you. “Do you want to put it in?”

“Ah… I can try.”

“Right there?” You point to the back of your head; to the braid in your loose half updo. “Near the hair pins I used. The comb might hide them well, too.”

And he does his best. Regards your hairdo focused, eyebrows knitting in concentration, so gentle with it. No getting stuck, no intentional tugging.

“Wait,” he then says, tapping his trouser’s pocket, and then fishes out his phone for a picture. He shows it to you; the accessory sits there perfectly, not crooked or ruining a single wisp of hair. “How’s that?”

“You did it so well. Thank you, Koo.” You face him again, smile bright and endless. “Your turn?”

“Yes.” He rubs his hands, looking around. “Let’s get this over with. Give me feedback, okay? And tell me a story?”

You take a seat at the edge of his bed prettily, coming up with a short tale about personified instruments and what they’d symbolise. The guitar for the heart and the love in it, the drums for thunder and the excited pulse of the soul.

“The flute for the breeze and dreams?” Jungkook adds.

And you urge in a thrilled tone, “And the violin for the rain and longing. They’d learn from each other, right?” You sigh. “I’ll think about the piano, too. Can’t figure it out yet… it could be a lot.”

Jungkook nods, distracted and interrupting the story when he asks for brief comments on his progress. Barely any feedback, though; praises largely.

You watch as he slips into the rest of his clothing and gels his hair back — it’s grown quite a bit since the press conference in September. You get to your feet, amped up when he finally claps and rubs his hands in anticipation a bit later, announcing that he’s ready to leave.

And you’re still euphoric when you jump into your car, letting him drive through the streets he knows much better. His fingers wander to the passenger seat every now and then; minutes after the last scolding, you keep reminding him to keep his hands on the wheel.

I want to kiss you so bad, but your damn make up won’t let me today, huh?

A tease here, a flirt there.

You feel like you could do anything. The sky's the limit. And it soon proves that the statement has never rang truer, even if in a vastly different context now.

Because once you reach the wedding — your metaphorical sky —, Ria is already standing at the parking lot, waving the moment she spots the two of you stepping out of the car. From afar, you already see the wedding’s venue; a lake in the back, a huge tent and a field at the front.

The parking lot right next to it, but still a couple minutes of a trek away.

Ria’s parents indulge Jungkook in a conversation about something you barely register right away, and she gestures towards herself, hugging and greeting you with an odd half-smile.

“You look so pretty,” she says, and you beam benignly, returning the compliment.

She’s rocking a dark blue dress, sleeveless, her hair in a loose bun. Wavy strands frame her face. But somehow, she looks demotivated. Worried to the slightest, though still mostly cheerful. So you ask, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! I just wanted to tell you something. But don’t freak out, okay?”

Well, shit. Doesn’t start as you imagined, does it? You glimpse over to Jungkook. He’s laughing from the heart, button nose crunched; why is she not telling him, too?

Your chest feels tighter; the usual human response to a menacing statement such as hers. You upright yourself, take a deep breath, ground yourself as you encourage, “Yes? I won’t. What’s up?”

“Well… we’re in this town and like, people know each other. And since we’re all in a very close circle here, I just wanted to say that,” her face changes; she kind of grimaces, as if apologetic for something, “Nara came, too.”

Ah.

Ah…

The sky's the limit, and you reached it, and now you’re kind of crashing.

Well. You never thought about this; but it makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? Of course she’d be here. She was part of this town and Jungkook’s life for so many years, so naturally, she’d be familiar with his relatives, too.

Besides, even if she hadn’t been with him… Didn’t Jungkook and Ria already establish with you just yesterday, when you were inhaling your ice cream, that this small town strives on familiarity?

Meetings at the town hall, the shop owners’ affection for most of their year-long customers. The Stars Hollow vibe you already recognised.

Ahhh…

So that’s what Junghyun might have been trying to tell you on the first day, too. You remember his mother interrupting.

How annoying. You did not want to feel annoyed. Maybe it would’ve been better if Ria hadn’t told you; if you’d bumped into Nara randomly and suffered the temporary heart attack. Or perhaps, you wouldn’t have seen her at all…

Come on. Unrealistic.

Fuck, you feel childish. There shouldn’t be any burning in your chest or an uncomfortable warmth in your cheek. You shouldn’t be feeling the urge to run over to Jungkook, to actually hide him behind you.

To rush to his ear, whisper your worries, make him promise that he only loves you and won’t ride into the sunset with her.

Delusional, paranoid concerns that you wouldn’t entertain on any normal, sane day; then again, the news Ria delivered wasn’t going to leave you unbothered anyway. This whole thing around exes really sucks.

“I… I shouldn’t spiral, though, right?” you answer, your voice a little weaker. Ria immediately nods, though still not relaxing the wrinkle between her eyebrows. “I mean, of course she’d be here. This is her place, she was born here and…”

Ria takes your hands in hers, assures, “I promise you it’s nothing too bad, okay? Nara and Jungkook have been here at the same time before and literally nothing happened.”

What? When?

“When?” you echo.

“Uh, like last summer? He only came down for a couple days, though. College exams and stuff.”

Ah… you wouldn’t even know. Back then, you’d only encountered him once, at the blurry frat party that you spent in locked rooms and on tiled roofs. When you sang together and spilled your hearts to each other.

For the very first time.

Whatever he did before or after that… how would you know?

Only, you feel even sicker at the thought that after that party, and after he allegedly met Nara here again without anything literally happening, he still linked with her back in the city. Still shared his nights and sheets with her.

Does this count as nothing happening? What if the time here evoked something? What if it happens again?

Fuck, what if it happens again?

“I’m going to panic,” you tell Ria.

“What? No,” she exclaims, though instantly lowering her voice, rubbing your arm soothingly, “it’s okay, I promise. He didn’t even think of it. Either that or he doesn’t care ‘cause he didn’t mention her once.”

“But now I might keep thinking about it.”

“Seriously. Fuck, I feel bad for saying it—”

“No… no, it’s okay. You should’ve.”

“Okay, look. It’s honestly fine. She’s nice, she won’t do anything shady; not if she knows about y’all.” Another caressing touch to your shoulder. “I just wanted to warn you. Please don’t feel startled. I’m here, okay? I’ll smash his nose if anything happens.”

She looks to the side. The other conversation has seemingly ended, too, and you swallow as Ria’s parents wave her over. She says, “Okay. Gotta go, but I’ll meet you guys inside and reserve seats, okay? There’s just limited assigned seating.”

She pats your coat-clad arm, and then walks away. 

Well. Okay.

You guess you’ll have to get over this one way or another. You focus on your clothing. Focus on how you look, how Jungkook looks. The weather, the tent many many feet away. Your boyfriend’s gaze on you as he walks back to you, offering his hand.

He pauses when he sees you, asking, “Is everything okay?”

“Hm?” you hum. “Yes. Just nervous, I think.”

“Me too.” He flashes the sweetest grin known to mankind, genuinely excited, childlike joy. Tilts his head at you. “You seriously look so fucking pretty. Like really, really.”

You smile.

Okay…

It should be alright. Jeon Jungkook is so in love with you; damn it, he even peels your oranges for you when you don’t feel like doing it. You need to trust the process; need to hold onto your excitement.

Okay.

You glance at the event warming up in the far. Halfway through, people have gathered, standing on the grass or the man-made path. There’s still a bit of time; so naturally, they’re still busying themselves with conversations.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’ve met her before. This isn’t different.

You look down to where his and your fingers intertwine; put particular attention to the way he holds you. Firmly, as if protecting and loving and keeping you close at the same time.

His smile lifts your spirits a little, the wind enclosing your mind and easing it. You nod only slightly, telling yourself it’ll all be good — and then, let him tug you towards the wedding.

The wedding is as bustling as you expected. It’s bright, colourful, flowers draped over the place in abundance. Even before you enter it, the huge tent leaves you breathless, gasping.

They put so much effort into this; it’s clear as day. Jungkook’s mother isn’t around, but the moment you lay your eyes on her again, you’ll praise her for what she helped mount. Somehow, the beauty nearly makes you forget that you’re among pure strangers.

But that at least one familiar face is roaming here somewhere.

You take a deep breath.

All these people know each other. They probably grew up together, know the ins and outs of the town, have gathered at weddings and funerals and school events. You don’t know how well you’ll be able to integrate, but you do hope for their support.

It’s not too much to ask, you reckon.

At least not when Jungkook pulls at your hand and the two of you into certain directions, coming to a stand multiple times when he sees a person or two calling him to them. Some are old school friends; some adults he knew when he was a child.

Candy store owners. Somebody who sold him his first scooter. Or a pal he used to share his banana milk with.

The sentiments are clearly there and they bask in them, but none of them ever forgets about you. Jungkook introduces you, tugs you into his side, enskies you with praise. And they respond with kindness and interest; tell you he’s mentioned you before.

You remember. Jungkook told you how his friends spoke about you or saw you on TV, eager to meet you — they react according to the excitement he foretold, and you reciprocate it with ease. Very sweet.

Yet, it seems that even in a small town, or especially in a small town, enmity runs just as deep as affection. Some people remember friendships, others still resent rotten memories.

You soon meet the first one of the latter kind.

He’s standing near the entrance of the spacious tent; you glance inside, unsuspecting, not a single familiar face in sight. You don’t notice him until Jungkook does, coming to a stand, walk interrupted as the guy exclaims, “Jeon Jungkook! My goodness, Jungkook—”

You meet thick eyebrows, long-ish dark hair, full lips. He’s handsome, his smile bright. 

And his voice is mellow and sweet, and at certain tones, it reminds you of Jimin’s; then again, some syllables come out much deeper. You don’t know who he is; of the pictures Jungkook has shown you, he wasn’t in any of them.

“Hey,” Jungkook greets, somewhat distant. You don’t think standing here is his first choice, but your boyfriend is as polite as can be. Even waves towards the guy, and tells you, “This is Christian. Barom, but he lives in Australia now, so.”

“Hi,” you reach out a hand, “nice to meet you.”

The accent is heavy and somehow cursive when he responds, “Likewise.”

Jungkook is definitely not delighted about him. Follows the touch of your hands, then your gaze up to Christian’s face. You notice it before Jungkook can probably even think of it: the odd look the stranger throws at you.

Up and down. Smile telling. Uncomfortable.

And when Jungkook suddenly does catch it, he intervenes, “You came all the way from Sydney?”

“Yep. And you came over from the city?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook answers. You barely register it, but you’re certain he’s been pushing you behind him inch by inch; but you remain at your spot. You can deal with this. “We were on vacation before, but I was gonna come anyway.”

“Nice. And wait, sorry, you were…?”

You recall never introducing yourself; but you’re positive he’s figured out your relationship to Jungkook just by the steadfast grip around your palm. But Jungkook still officially voices your name and informs him, “My girlfriend.”

Christian must be seeing or hearing something you aren’t — strange since it was him who asked — but he laughs, teasing, “You’re being defensive.”

“I’m not. I literally just told you she’s my girlfriend.”

“Lucky. You look pretty together.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You have not a single clue what’s going on. Jungkook is never really rude, so there must be something about this Barom or Christian — he’s never mentioned him before.

Then again, you guess growing up in a tight space comes with all sorts of relationships. Christian is probably the sort that never earns a mention until actually met with the person themselves.

It’s funny though — in some way, the rejection seems one-sided. As if Jungkook is still holding something against him and Christian remains uncaring; while it might not be a universal truth, you’ve experienced that those utterly calm are often the ones at fault.

And Jungkook isn’t an angry human being. He’s kind. Patient. Needs a reason to be mad.

Christian doesn’t take the hint when he smiles, a heavily tattooed hand patting Jungkook on his shoulder as he suggests, “See you later then? Let’s take a picture or get a drink afterwards.”

Jungkook only stalls for the tiniest seconds, but you know him — he’s probably already made up his mind. You look between the men, baffled by the nearly visible bolts shooting from one pair of eyes to the other.

“Sure,” Jungkook eventually says, your hand still in his, and works on moving to the coat check and then to the chairs without adding anything else.

You don’t inquire yet what this was about as you walk, catching glimpses of the priest, of the stranger guests and of the people lingering at the front of the tent. You’re busy gauging Jungkook’s eyebrows, observing as they relax more the further he gets away from the guy.

And neither do you need to pop the question when you’ve settled somewhere in the middle-ish, you on his right side, Ria on the other. Next to her, her parents that you briefly met when you brought her home yesterday.

Previously turned on her seat, she now uprights her body, hooking her arm with Jungkook’s as she whispers to him, yet clearly enough for you to hear, “Was that Yu Barom?”

Jungkook nods. “Christian Yu now. Yup.”

“Right.”

They nod, understanding each other wordlessly, but you’re still floating in between a couple theories and the actual sentiments. So you lean in; you’ve become one of the gossipers at a wedding, you guess.

“Okay,” you start; the two of them stare at you with the same big puppy eyes. “You don’t seem to like him.”

“Oh, we don’t,” Jungkook bluntly admits.

“Why?”

Jungkook smacks his lips. Eyes drift to the roof of the tent, the polyester fabric swaying in the gust. Then, they shift to his cousin, presumably seeking approval, because she shrugs her shoulders, gesturing with her hand and says, “Oh, go ahead.”

So he explains, “His little cousin was a constant problem for Ria. Same age… harassed her and all. Constant flirting and phone calls and didn’t take the hint, just an uncomfortable dude in general.” He pauses, shaking his head. “I had to threaten him for him to get lost. And Christian didn’t like that.”

Okay, now you definitely feel like somebody indulging in tittle-tattle. Some more and you’ll be one of the aunties. Your mouth gradually opens as he speaks, and you emphasise, “No way.”

“It’s true— the guy was on a break from college for just a month and decided to argue with a fifteen-year-old.”

“What? Did you get into a fight with him?”

“Nah.” He pauses when a group of random three girls in green dresses walks along the aisle, even though they’re barely facing you, sending a perfumed breeze towards you. Then, “Not a physical one. But it was a bit messy. Didn’t like that night.”

“Me neither,” Ria confirms.

Of course he didn’t like it.

He’s largely non-confrontational. You’ve learned this much in the time you’ve known him, and have given the fact utmost sense ever since he revealed his innermost fears. Jungkook keeps quiet; he dreads repetitions of a direful past.

Yet, initiating and risking a conflict for his baby cousin increases the respect you harbour for him.

People are cruel; but Jeon Jungkook is good-hearted to his core, no matter how flawed.

You touch the back of his hand, caressing it when he says, “Stay with me tonight, okay? And if you can’t, then do come to me when he nears you.”

“Okay.”

His eyes meet yours, concerned but also suspiciously fiery when he states, “Because like, I really didn’t like how he was looking at you.”

Ah…

“Hm?”

“You didn’t notice?” he asks, his voice higher, thick eyebrows closing into each other again. You lift a thumb, clearing the crease and his stress. “I almost plucked his eyes out.”

Of course you noticed. You just didn’t think it irritated Jungkook to this point.

“Oh— Kook—”

“No seriously,” he stresses, turning his hand to get ahold of two of your fingers, “guy was sweet half his life and then tried stuff with so many girls. I wouldn’t be surprised if he approached you again, so please stay away from him, okay?”

“Yes, baby. But I wouldn’t let him do shit anyway. Don’t worry.” You nudge his shoulder. “And don’t be jealous. Have you seen yourself?”

He rolls his eyes at the accusation, but there’s a sliver of a smile on his face and relief in his gaze. You guess hearing you say it does wonders to him; sometimes, you truly praise the connection between you, based on a clear foundation of trust and communication.

Well… at least now.

“I’m not jealous,” he insists, “it was just gross how he looked at you. Fuck this. Not with my girl.”

You can’t help but break into a chuckle, way too loud for your row. You slap a hand over your mouth, careful not to ruin the lipstick, and nearly give into the urge to release his pout. But it’s too sweet — it can linger for a second.

Removing your hand, you near him until your mouth grazes his, assuring, “I love you,” before you peck his lips curtly. He still looks a little grumpy, though. Your man. “It’s okay, baby.”

The grip around your hand intensifies. It doesn’t seem it will vanish for the rest of the night. You sure hope it doesn’t.

And you’re immensely grateful for the luck you’re enjoying. Not only because of this place’s beauty and the palm holding onto yours — but you haven’t seen Nara either. In fact, you become hyper aware of how much you’ve been thinking of her.

Like; what is she wearing? How is she doing? Is she thinking about Jungkook; expecting him here; feeling a sort of way? Is she imagining his smile and how she saw it in this very town so many times, dedicated to her?

And did Christian ever flirt with her, too? Did it irritate Jungkook?

You’ve been thinking it all dead.

Unnecessarily so if Jungkook hasn’t even mentioned her, never sought her out. Instead, he’s busy protecting his girl from past bullies.

In all honesty, you’ll probably cross ways with her still. The guest list isn’t endless; the place vast but not infinite.

But for now, you forget about her, trashing all thoughts and possibilities. Shake your head. Breathe it out. Relieve your chest.

You diverge into conversations about anything and everything, reminiscing about yesterday and the places you saw. Listen into stories Ria and Jungkook tell: about injuries, about pleasant nights and about the fights they had.

Ria was like the sister Jungkook never had; Junghyun was a good older brother, but when seeking another opinion, she was on speed dial. Sometimes, growing up in a certain environment makes all the difference — hearing a girl’s thoughts at all times might have made Jungkook the way he is.

Thoughtful, respectful. You have encountered sexism a million times — not to mention just minutes ago, checked out so shamelessly — but you don’t think Jungkook has such a notion even in any crevice of his heart.

You’re fond and happy when they laugh together; her crinkles match his. Their laugh contagious.

It still echoes and fades, slowly and lovingly when the tent quietens. All heads turn, but you don’t see much from here. Maybe a couple moving bodies at the entrance. Someone coughs, interrupting the silence and lowering their head, and the moment allows you a peek at the sensation.

The bride is waiting, holding a bouquet. Her father is touching her veil to fix it despite having nothing to fix; but she doesn’t notice.

Gayoung is glancing ahead, breathing in. Everyone’s eyes remain on her, but your head turns to follow her eyes. The groom is already standing there in a standard groomesque position, hands folded, upright like a post.

He looks insanely nervous. His shiny boot taps the ground, lips parting and unparting. And he’s blinking; then forming a circle with his mouth, releasing the pent-up tension.

She hasn’t moved yet. The ceremony is yet to begin.

But even before all that, as people indulge in the sight and wait for their eternity to start, Jungkook has already mimicked your turn, fingers still intertwined. When he speaks, you flinch; you didn’t notice his voice this close.

He’s looking at the groom, too, before he settles his gaze on you. Stares with affection in his gems that bursts your heart, splinters your ribs and implodes your chest. You know he’ll say something to fade out the entire crowd before he actually says it.

“Can I tell you something mainstream?”

You hum, “Hm?”

He regards your digits, plays with them. “If you ever choose to marry me…” Your heart stops. “I’ll look just as tense as him.”

“Would you… want to marry me one day?”

“It’s just a thing people do, right?” he questions. “Whether it’s like this or in any other way— I’ll spend my life with you anyhow.”

I’ll spend my life with you.

Not a question. Not a need.

But a confession. A goal. A plan. 

You don’t get to answer when the first tunes of a guitar play. It’s a song you recognise; paints a smile onto your face. The melody is soft, slow, so gentle. They didn’t choose an orchestral track or the usual Wedding March after all.

It’s a song.

Jungkook’s eyes blow wide, and he immediately seeks yours. Mutters into your ear, “Do I know this?”

“You probably do.”

“Wait—” He listens in. Pupils roll up as he ponders. Then, “Didn’t someone sing this in the lobby this week?”

Almost. It’s why it delights you so. You already had half an idea back then, and you managed to somehow incorporate it into this wedding without really being part of these people.

“Yoongi played it on the guitar,” you clarify, “I suggested it to your mom this morning. I guess she liked it enough to forward the request so spontaneously.”

“You did? Then she must’ve…”

You can’t decipher what he’s thinking. His stare is fixated on the passing bride, her slow steps, the beam she wears as she nears whom she’s decided to be the rest of her life.

You can’t peep into his brain, but you notice when he tilts his head. See the tiny gap between his lips and the way he catches the groom blink away tears the moment you do, because Jungkook smiles at just the same moment as you do.

Gayoung lowers her head when she comes to a stand in front of his still-fiancé, and then delivers the most magnificent, most mesmerising grin. She’s happy, you know. You don’t think you’ve seen this intensity of joy a lot of times in your life.

You recognised it when Jungkook woke up still in your bed after the blue night. When he opened up to you, vowed to stay, brought you to his home. When you announced to the world that you’d be his to remain, that you’d do what you enjoy.

When you got home that evening, and he kissed you right against the door, deemed you crazy, deemed you his.

You haven’t seen this very happiness much in your life, but you’ve seen it in him. And you’ve felt it in your chest. Growing, blossoming, never wilting.

The couple at the front speaks its vows like a song. The words are melodic, poetic, and you’re almost entirely sure that they’re not rehearsed. It’s all real. The love in them and the memories in them, accompanied by the liquid bliss swimming in his and her waterline.

No, you haven’t experienced this too many times before. You’ve felt it. He’s felt it.

And you don’t need to know much more than this; don’t need to know what he’s thinking to understand what he means when he says—

“This… this is it.”

THE CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

1k block limit as always!! you can read the second half of the chapter in this reblog!! the reblog begins with a new scene <3

[i2sunric]

𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 (l.hs)

PAIRING: toxic!heeseung x reader

SUMMARY: after confronting your boyfriend with his neverending addictions, worried that he might just ruin himself, you two end up in yet another fight. it wasn’t new that the best way of resolving it was fucking you in his car, was it?

WARNINGS: toxic relationship. based on the newest single by chase atlantic ‘die for me’, fighting, alcohol consumption, mentions of weed and drugs in general (+ ecstasy tabs), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!!), rough sex, degrading kink, car sex, doggystyle, he gives reader a finger in asshole (literally), spit kink (?), why is this slightly angst (if u squint ig), riding, creampie, pet names (angel, baby, good girl, slut), manhandling, meandom!heeseung, kinda cnc (but i’m not sure), humping, overstimulation, lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 25th August 2024

WC: 4.7k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @destinyhoon @jakeflvrz @emisloves @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike (oneshot) @dollyrst @mitmit01 @heeseungsbm @rayofsunshineeee @seungjiseyo @simja3 @sweetlyxaqq09 @cloud-lyy BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED.

NOW PLAYING: ‘DIE FOR ME’ by Chase Atlantic — ‘on your knees’ by ex habit — ‘Sinners’ by Ari Abdul ft. Thomas Larosa

a/n: please REBLOG & COMMENT and not only like since i’ve been shadowbanned nowadays. i highly recommend listening to the songs i previously listed while reading for a better experience 🫶 take care!!

With your heart in your throat and your whole body freezing due to autumn’s weather, you hurried towards Jay’s house, which was fortunately a few blocks away from yours.

You had gotten yet another call from the poor guy, asking you to come and fetch your boyfriend, who was apparently making a fuss.

It wasn’t rare, but it had gotten more frequent for him to go batshit at parties.

And it was your job to clean after his mess.

The music that came inside was so loud it only added to the headache you already had.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open and found Jay waiting for you, biting his nails.

“Thank God you’re here.” He breathed out, quickly turning around “He’s gone mad, I swear.”

You had to just round the corner to the living room and there stood Heeseung, taking a guy by the collar, his fit raised in the air.

“Heeseung!” You shouted, but he was so deep in his own mind he couldn’t hear you.

“What the fuck did call me?” Heeseung growled, his mouth straight into a grimace.

The boy’s eyes were wide, as if he understood he had just poked the bear and couldn’t step back anymore “I’m sorry man, ok? I was just joking.”

Heeseung scoffed, “Oh, and I am joking too.” He raised his fist higher and was about to strike, but you stepped in and held his arm.

“Heeseung.” You hissed, lower this time, a whisper only meant for him.

He turned to you with an annoyed expression until his eyes took in the sight of you, recognising you.

Safe. He knew you, so he slowly lowered his arm.

“Let go.” You said, beckoning to the guy’s collar. Heeseung gave him another dangerous gaze before pushing him away.

He fell, but at least he didn’t have a broken nose.

Heeseung turned around and placed his hand on your waist “Did I hurt you?” He asked and by his bloodshot eyes and how you could barely see any white in them, you knew he was far gone.

You shook your head, “I just arrived.” Heeseung took in the sight of your baggy and cozy clothes.

Obviously, you had hurried there as soon as Jay made the call, not even bothering changing.

All the people in the living room were watching the two of you with both curious and wary expressions, “Let’s get in the car.” You said, Heeseung wasn’t their circus.

Mouthing a quick ‘sorry’ to the guy who almost had an encounter with his fist, you dragged your boyfriend out of the house.

Jay gave you a sympathetic nod before closing the house behind you, blocking out the deafening music.

Heeseung grabbed your hand and walked to the parking lot, opening the car door and shoving you in the passenger seat before rounding it and entering the vehicle as well.

The walk and fresh air should’ve sobered him up, at least just a little. You hoped.

As soon as he sat beside you, a scoff left your lips “Seriously, Heeseung?” You asked, “It’s the third time this week and it’s barely Thursday!”

He let out a low sigh, and reached out to caress your cheek. He had a sheepish look, and he was staring at you guiltily, though, you were sure he doubtfully had any regret.

“Just once more,” He said quietly. “And I'll control myself after this.” Both of you knew that it was just another empty promise.

“Like last time, and the time before that.” You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms “I don’t buy your bullshit, not anymore.”

His jaw tensed as he tried to remain patient. He knew you had every right to be mad at him, but could he blame him for wanting an escape?

“I’ll behave for a week, okay?” He asked, his leg bouncing, unable to stay still “Just give me this one last time.”

You frowned, noticing his strange behaviour “What did you take?”

Heeseung was caught off guard by the sudden question, and averted his gaze away from you, “It's just alcohol,” He replied, a slight edge in his tone “Quit fussing. We’re just going for a drive and letting off some steam.”

“You’re not driving,” You replied, your eyes widen “You’re as high as a kite, you think I don’t know that?”

Annoyance was now brewing in his gaze, and he clenched his jaw.

He wanted to snap at you for not trusting him, but a rational part of him knew deep down that he didn’t deserve your trust.

He hated that you knew him so well.

“I’m fine,” He insisted, stubbornly, taking out the car keys from the front pocket of his jeans. “I've driven drunk a hundred times. this is nothing.”

“That’s not something to be proud of,” You replied, stealing the keys from his hand. His reflexes were sloppy, so he couldn’t stop you in time. “One day you’ll either kill or get yourself killed.”

“Give it back.” He demanded, his voice low “I’ll take us to your house, we can’t stay here all night.”

“But we will if you don’t start talking.” You snapped, hiding the keys behind your back

Heeseung was taken aback by the harshness of your tone, and he was starting to get impatient as well.

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” He asked, his voice dropping an octave. “Just shut up and let me drive, I know what I’m doing.”

“You can’t speak without tripping over your tongue,” You questioned again, “What did you take?”

“I told you, it’s just alcohol,” He lied, his words coming out in a frustrated hiss. “Why won’t you just trust me?”

“Because you don’t give me reasons to trust you!” You spat back, your brows furrowed “What did you take?”

Heeseung was getting tired of the repetition, and the tone of your voice was starting to wear him down. He leaned in to bring his lips next to your ear.

“I just took a few ecstasy tabs, okay? And alcohol. Nothing major,” He whispered, his breath hot against your skin. “Just leave it be, alright?”

You willed your body not to show any signs of how his vicinity was affecting you “Nothing major? Heeseung, you were doing drugs.”

He leaned back and rolled his eyes, trying to brush it off “It’s just to have some fun.” He retorted “And I can make my own choices, you don’t need to be so uptight.”

“Being uptight is different from being worried!” You snapped “Getting high is not having fun. I closed an eye with the occasional weed you smoke, but this? Taking ecstasy tabs?”

Heeseung rolled his eyes as you nagged him about his life choices again. He knew that you weren’t wrong, but he hated admitting it.

He hated feeling like you were lecturing him, like he was a kid being scolded by his parents.

“Why are you so fixated on what I do?” He asked, his tone growing harsher. “I can handle myself, dammit.”

“Oh, I can see that very well.” You eyed him up and down, “You were about to attack a guy, and what for? Because he foul-mouthed you?”

He raised a brow. “He deserved it, if you didn’t come I would’ve done more than break his nose.”

The seriousness in his voice made your stomach churn. You hated to admit it, but you were scared of him sometimes.

You knew he would never lay a hand on you, deep inside he cared for you, but he didn’t care about himself at all and it served him as hatred towards others.

“Please, Heeseung.” You sighed, “Drugs aren’t something to play with. They’re dangerous.”

“A few ecstasy tabs or edibles won’t kill me, ya know?” He scoffed, running a hand in his hair.

He looked so beautiful, despite his bloodshot eyes and angry frown, he was still attractive.

“Jay called me again because you were ruining his party.” You pleaded with him to listen “Can’t you see that not even your friends want to be with you anymore?”

That worked.

Heeseung suddenly grasped your waist and pulled you onto his laps, holding you firmly in place “Enough,” He growled “I’m done listening to your lectures.”

You frowned, trying to move from his iron grip “I am not done.”

Heeseung let out a frustrated huff, and pulled you even closer, “Well, too bad,” He retorted. “You talk too much, and you nag too much, it's so annoying.”

He brought his lips close to your ear, and his voice dropped even lower. “Maybe I should just shut you up, hm?”

You didn’t like the way your body grew so weak for him, how it seemed to melt under his touch.

You needed to be strong, to let him hear your worries, so you tried to fight his grasp again.

But his grip on you was unwavering, and he didn’t even budge as you tried to push him away.

“Don’t you get it, baby?” He whispered huskily, his voice holding a hint of condescension. “I don't listen to you,

especially not when you nag.”

“I’m not doing this with you,” You said, feeling his hands on your body “I’m worried about you, Hee, we all are.”

“Enough,” He grumbled. “I don’t need your lectures.” He nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck “Why can’t you just let me be?”

His hands moved to hold your hips, forcing them to rock against his “Heeseung, stop.”

Heeseung wasn’t listening to a word you were saying, his mind clouded by the alcohol and drugs in his system.

He continued to press his face against your neck, peppering it with rough kisses, his hands began to wander to the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it up.

“Let me have this,” He murmured, his voice deep and desperate. “I need you right now.”

You closed your eyes, a soft sigh escaping your lips “No.” You tried to say firmly “You need to go home and sleep the drug off.”

Heeseung let out a frustrated whine as you tried to resist him, and he dug his fingers into your skin.

He pulled away from your neck to look at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of irritation and desire. “I need you. I need you right now.”

He leaned closer, his lips brushing against yours. “Baby, please,” He pleaded, his voice growing soft and gentle. “Just for a little bit, please.”

Seeing him in such a desperate state made your heart ache.

At least, he had exited the party and followed you in the car.

At least, he was there with you and not in the streets, causing messes for both himself and others.

“Okay,” You whispered, gulping down the good sense.

He pressed his forehead against yours. “I just need a little release,” He mumbled. “Just a little bit... you’ll give it to me, won’t you, baby?”

As he made you grind on him you quickly matched his rhythm, slowly moving on him.

He was growing more desperate for you, his body craving yours “That’s it,” He muttered, his voice thick with lust “Hump me just like that, baby.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his face close to your clothed chest “I’m just worried about you.” You said quietly.

Heeseung felt a flicker of guilt as you held onto him, and he reluctantly pushed it away. He didn’t want to be reminded of his mistakes.

“You worry too much,” he mumbled gruffly. “I'm fine, just stop nagging at me.”

You let out a small moan when his hips bucked up to meet yours and he said “Let me have you, baby.”

He could sense you surrender and smirked, leaning his head to suckle on your neck.

He wasn’t gentle, he left bites, brushing his tongue against it to soothe the pain.

But he wanted you to feel it, wanted you to know that pain was an occurrence if you stayed with him.

And you were too lovestruck to care, you realised.

Heeseung raised your shirt and tossed it on the passenger seat, burying his face in the middle of your breasts still contained by your bra.

He looked up at you, his gaze was clearer but darker as well, like the drug's effect was replaced by lust.

His cheeks were tinted with pink, his lips parted and you couldn’t help but grind on his clothed bulge, as if to reward him for being there.

Heeseunge closed his eyes and let out a deep moan as he felt you grinding on him, the friction sending waves of pleasure through his body.

Hee leaned his head back against the seat, his mouth slightly open as he let out a shaky exhale. “Fuck, angel,” He groaned, gripping your hips tightly, “Keep going, just like that, baby.”

Such a nickname was reserved only to you, because you were his angel, too good to be with a devil like him.

Still, you didn’t run. You never tried to.

What a fool.

His brows furrowed, only then remembering the reason behind your argument. He wanted to make you forget it, he had to.

“Angel,” He whispered, stopping you from moving, “I need to be inside of you, please.”

You bit your bottom lip and murmured, “But we don’t have a condom…”

Heeseung cursed under his breath as you reminded him about the lack of protection, his frustration growing once again.

He didn’t want to be denied, and the last thing he wanted right now was to stop.

He leaned forward and captured your lips in a rough, possessive kiss, his hands roaming all over your bare back. “I don’t care,” He mumbled against your lips. “I need you now, I don’t care if we have a condom or not.”

You were a weak girl, you knew that despite how much you tried to resist; you would always give in. And Heeseung was very much aware.

You stared down at him, your voice quiet as you said “I guess I could buy a pill tomorrow?”

He pulled away from the kiss with a sly grin “Good girl,” He murmured, his eyes dark and lustful “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

You hadn’t even realised he put a hand behind to pull the seat back until you were thrown in the backseats of the car, manoeuvred not so gently.

Heeseung was behind you in the matter of a second, your head was resting on the seat while your backside was in the air.

He leaned down, his body pressing against yours, and he started to plant a trail of rough kisses down your neck.

His hands roamed over your body, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to him. “You look so sexy like this, baby,” He murmured, huskily.

You felt his bulge pressing in between your ass cheeks while his skilled fingers unclasped your bra, rough callous grasping them, kneading at the soft flesh.

Heeseung pulled your pants down, without even bothering to remove them properly, and dove in to lick a stripe out of your wet folds.

You moaned, your eyes squeezing “Hee.”

Heeseung murmured “Fuck baby, you always taste so good.”

He hummed at himself when you felt you press your backside against him, eager to be filled.

“Such a good girl,” He whispered “Always so willing for me. mh?”

He quickly worked his jeans down, enough just to take his hard cock out.

You yelped when he aligned it to your entrance and pushed in without any warning, the stretch too painful without any prepping.

Fighting was your favourite type of foreplay, anyways.

Heeseung leaned down, his mouth hovering over your ear. “Too much, baby?” he whispered, his voice soft and mocking.

Your eyes were squeezed tight as you tried to adjust “T-too much.” You replied, feeling jolts of pain shooting through your lower region.

He smirked at your response, feeling a sense of pride at your admission. Heloved knowing that he was the one causing you to feel this way.

“Oh angel,” He chuckled mockingly, “But you can take it.” And with those words he started moving. Rather slower than his usual pace, and that you were thankful.

You yelped in pain and so, Heeseung moved his fingers to gently circle on your clit “You need to relax, baby.”

Because for how much of an asshole Heeseung could be, he would never intentionally hurt you.

At least, not like that, he wanted to bring you the good kind of pain.

“Relax,” He groaned, feeling your walls clenching so hard around him “You’re almost pushing me out.”

You took steady breaths, trying to will your body to adjust to the thick intrusion.

Slowly, your frown contorted into an expression of pleasure.

He picked up the pace, his movements becoming more forceful.

“You feel so good baby,” He gripped your waist, your flesh burning in his grasp “So sweet and tight, just for me.”

You nodded, giving yourself completely to him “Just for you.” You mumbled, your voice muffled by being pressed against the seat.

“Ah, ah.” Heeseung pulled your hair into a makeshift ponytail and raised you, adding pain to the pleasure “I didn’t quite catch that.”

You whimpered, trying to reach his hand and pull your hair away but Heeseung caught both of your arms, pinning them behind your back “Answer me.”

“J-just for you.” And Heeseung rewarded you by picking up the pace, the sound of skin slapping and squelch filling the car, its windows fogging up.

“Good girl,” He smiled, releasing the grip in your hair and moving it to choke you instead. He licked your earlobe, tasting the saltiness of your sweaty skin “Tell me, who do you belong to?”

You shut your lips, you weren’t going to give in to his contorted and possessive kink.

You were your own persona, no one else’s.

And Heeseung didn’t like that, no, he pushed you back on the seat and held your head down, smashing your cheeks.

He slapped your ass, so hard it must’ve left a red mark “Fucking answer me, who do you belong to?” His voice was low, dangerous.

A broken whimper left your lips, the sweet sensation of his cock rutting inside you combined with his rough handling making your head spin.

“That’s not the right answer.” He taunted, his thrusts becoming deeper, hitting all the right spots.

Heeseung knew you were close, but he wasn’t going to make you cum if you wouldn’t answer such a simple question.

“Having a cock inside of you makes you so dumb?” He mocked, slapping your ass once more “You’re such a slut, can’t think when you have me buried deep inside ya?”

His words only made you clench around him, you were mad at him for treating you like that, but you were mad at yourself for liking it.

“Say. It.” His voice was dripping with impatience but you shook your head.

Heeseung scoffed, leaning down next to your ear “I can do this all night, baby,” He whispered huskily “I can keep going until you give in. Say it.”

He raised a brow, waiting for your answer.

You opened your eyes and looked at him “I’m not an object, Heeseung.” You groaned.

“No?” He tsked, moving painfully slowly inside you “Yet you act like my personal sext toy, giving yourself to me whenever I ask.”

He let go of you and crossed his arms, stilling. You frowned, a complaining whimper leaving your lips.

“Fuck yourself on my cock.” He said, his voice icy “Since you’re not mine I don’t have to provide you anything.”

“Fine.” You raised your upper body, gripping the car door as you started to move back and forth, fucking his cock in and out of you.

You groaned when it slipped out, and when Heeseung made no move to push it back, you did it yourself.

A smug grin formed on your lips when you noticed how his breath hitched when you touched it, but his expression didn’t give anything away.

You tried again, trying to move faster, but it didn’t work well. Not like when he was the one doing it.

And it seemed as if your lack of skills was starting to affect Heeseung as well, a groan leaving his lips “I know I said I had all night, but I’d like to get some action.”

You scoffed “I’m trying my best,” You replied, pushing your backside against him, trying to reach the sweet spot he seemed to always find.

Heeseung clicked his tongue and shook his head, yanking your pants off your ankles.

He took you by your hips and turned you around until he was sitting and you were straddling him.

His cock was still inside of you, but this time you were on his lap, “Let’s see if you can ride me, mh? Or you can’t do anything alone?”

You frowned at his words and gripped the seat behind your back. Heeseung rolled his eyes and removed your hands, placing them on his shoulders.

You moved up and down, your head thrown back as you could feel him whole in you.

“That’s better,” He replied, leaning back against the seat and watching you riding him, still not moving a muscle.

You whined when he made no move to touch you, usually he’d play with your nipples or send jolts of pleasure by rubbing your clit. Yet, he did none of that.

“You know the magic word.” Heeseung smirked, “Say it, and I’ll make both of us feel good.”

He tilted his head “Don’t say it, and I’ll make you ride my dick until I cum, and judging by your slow pace, it might take forever.”

A few seconds passed where you pondered on your decision.

He was still high so there might be a chance that he wouldn’t remember you had give yourself completely to him. Against your morals.

You leaned close to his ear and whispered “M’yours, Hee.”

He growled, a deep rumble in his throat as he grasped your hips and moved you.

He didn’t guide your movements, he straight up used you like you were his fleshlight. You didn’t even know how he could move your body so easily.

He kept hitting the spot that had your eyes roll, your grasp on his shoulders making your nails dig in his flesh, only fuelling his desires.

Your expression full of lust made him smirk, he leaned to capture your lips in an hungry kiss, his tongue swiping over yours, tasting you.

As you kept clenching around him, he groaned, and ordered “Open up.”

You complied and opened your mouth, Heeseung gathered some saliva and then spit it on your tongue just to swipe it away with his own right after.

You moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

Heeseung chuckled, he knew you were close to your orgasm from your body language.

Breath laboured, loud moans escaping your lips and your walls sucking him in.

“Raise yourself.” He said, holding your body up to help you.

He placed one finger inside your asshole, gaining a gasp from you.

He held it still as he started fucking into you at a fast pace, needing to reach both of your orgasms.

You started mumbling nonsense, something that resembled ‘Yes’ and ‘Harder, please’ but not even you were sure.

It was like he had fucked your into oblivion, the only thing you could think about was how good he felt inside of you.

“Close, angel?” He asked, your walls clenching around him to the point of pain.

You hummed brokenly, managing to give him a small nod.

“You want to cum?” He asked, his voice slightly softer “Want to milk all around my cock?”

You nodded “Yes, Hee, want to cum.” You mumbled, your head dizzy.

“Cum for me, baby.” He whispered in your ear, pushing his finger deeper into your asshole.

You felt the knot in your stomach tighten so hard that when it snapped, you bit down on Heeseung’s clothed shoulder, making him groan and tighten his grip around you.

Your legs were shaking and you were panting from the intensity of your euphoria, your ears ringing.

Heeseung held you close to his chest, slowing his pace to bring you back to reality.

Slowly, your teeth let go of Heeseung’s shoulder, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth.

You gulped and looked at him through half lidded eyes, but his own were fixed down.

He was staring at where your bodies connected, the circle of your white liquid around his shaft, you could feel him twitch inside you.

“You can take some more, can’t you, baby?” He questioned, but you shook your head.

Heeseung frowned, “No? But I still haven’t finished.” Your body was tired and so was your mind, both from the fight and the intense sex.

“Let me finish,” He kissed you, deeply “Let me fill you up to the brim, please?”

You moaned at the thought, despite always taking precautions, you have always wanted him to make you his in the most primal way.

Seeing that you weren’t making a negative comment, Heeseung started moving you, slowly.

You moaned, feeling overstimulated as you gripped the arms that held you “Hee— I ca-I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” He groaned, holding you still, flush to his chest as he started rutting his cock deep, hitting your cervix.

His moans were low, more like rumbles deep in his throat as he held your head on his shoulder, his eyes squeezing.

“Fuck,” He panted, moving so fast you could barely finish a moan that another one was coming, your voice hoarse “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He fisted your hair, his other hand on your waist with a bruising grip “Gonna fill you so good, fuck my cum right back into you.”

You didn’t know if he was rumbling to you or more to himself, not like you minded.

Letting out a deep growl, he hit the deepest spot in you and emptied his load.

With some more deep thrusts, you could feel him twitch, and you felt so full.

His pace slowed until he finally stopped and you fell on him, fucked up.

Your whole body was bruised from his grip, your mind dizzy and your breath ragged.

“This was so good,” Heeseung whispered, holding your face in his hands and kissing you deeply.

He tried to move again but you grasped his arm, shaking your head “No, stop.” And he had the decency to comply, this time.

He pulled out and placed you beside him, putting his now softened cock back into his jeans.

Heeseung retrieved your shirt from the passenger seat, and tossed it to you, as well as your sweatpants.

Only when you were fully dressed did he speak again “I’m sorry, for what I did.”

Your eyes widened, not expecting his apology at all “Hee…” You murmured, your gaze soft “I’m just so worried about you, I get mad because I care about you.”

You placed one hand on his cheek, caressing his skin with your thumb. “If I didn't, it wouldn’t matter that you snorted things or… injected shit into your veins.”

Heeseung frowned, “I’m not a junkie, all I did was take some ecstasy tabs.”

You sighed, knowing there was no way to make him reason when he was still drunk and high “Okay, Heeseung. Whatever you say.”

“I’m driving.” Your tone was firm “Y/N.” He tried to say but you stopped him.

“No, I am driving,” You retrieved the keys that had fallen and climbed on the driver’s seat.

Heeseung let out a sigh but didn’t talk back, instead he climbed into the passenger seat and shut his mouth, probably all that he had drank and snorted was taking a toll on him.

You hadn’t realised when you took him into your apartment and showered with him, which led into another round of love— sex making.

You hadn’t realised when he apologised for his behaviour and kissed each mark he had left on your skin.

You hadn’t realised when he let you sleep on his chest, gently rubbing his hands through your hair.

But you did when you woke up to an empty bed, with a plan b pill and a glass of water wishing you a good morning. The only trace of your boyfriend being the wrinkled sheets beside you.

Only then, did you realise that Lee Heeseung was going to be the death of you.

[quarterlifekitty]

I just read the baby trapping HC’s… what if it was the reverse? reader baby trapping THEM

I think that depends entirely upon how cleverly you went about it! I’m gonna answer this with the assumption that they match your freak on the matter lmao

cw: dubcon, baby trapping

And as a preamble: it’s literally so easy for you. For any of them. Because quite honestly if they’re hard, and you say you’re on birth control, they’re gonna believe you. And really, most of them probably would’ve just assumed you were if you let them hit it raw. But we’re gonna say you lied about being on the pill for this ask.

Gaz is such a sweet guy. He’s literally just like “I’m happy if you’re happy, love” when you tell him the news. These things happen, and he has no reason not to believe you, right? What does it matter as long as you’re both happy?

Soap has his suspicions about it. But again, it’s not like he was really pressing you for reassurance that it was safe when he came inside you— when he gets like that, the dog in him takes over and there’s no stopping him. And maybe he’s not sure initially, to be honest, but then he thinks about a little bundle that has the same eyes as you, and he just can’t bring himself to be upset. Even if you are a liar.

Ghost, regardless of how he feels on the news, is going to investigate. He can’t help himself. Fucker is nosy. And you would’ve known this! So you’ve got it all set up for him to find. Water glass on your nightstand, the drawer just slightly ajar— not even enough to see inside, but enough to make him curious. He opens, sees the round of pills, and the timing all checks out. All taken right up until recently— when you tested positive. And you’re not careless to leave them in the trash. They were flushed. And from before that— you have drawer in the kitchen where you often shove the stray contents of your handbag. And there are receipts. A few months worth, from the pharmacy, with exactly what you bought. If you have a menstrual/symptom calendar app on your phone, it’s all logged. There are notifications in your reminder app telling you to refill your prescription. A number in your contacts that matches up with the doctor listed on the prescription. It’s the fact that it’s too neat that tips him off. Every piece of evidence he could’ve ever asked for is there, and that’s how he knows it isn’t natural. And it makes him smile. It’s touching— how much care you put into securing him in your life forever. Kid’ll be a terror, with the two of you as the parents. Too capable.

Price had a feeling in his gut when you told him you were on the pill. He thought about pulling out just to see how far you’d take things. In the end, finishing inside of you was like calling your bluff to him. He’d be fine with waiting a month or two to see if he was right. In the meantime, he’ll be looking at paint swatches for the nursery.

König is not looking a gift horse in the mouth. But if he does find out, he’s actually grateful. Saved him the trouble of asking you to have his baby, which was just one of a few questions wracking his nerves when it came to you. And this provides him the perfect opportunity to ask you to marry him! Doesn’t have to torture himself with sussing out your ring size, the kind you’d want, waiting for just the right moment. He asks you when you tell him you’re pregnant— it’s like everything is coming together. It’s a fairy tale ending for him!

Nikolai confronts you when you tell him that you’re pregnant. There’s a sly smile on his face. He teases a bit. Isn’t that just so strange? That you’d be unlucky enough for that tiny little chance of it failing was enough. And he has a way of making you squirm, of prodding you until you tell him what he wants. You can’t help but smile when he smiles, feeling a little giddy. He makes it seem all light and cute— so you do spill the truth. And he’ll pick you up and spin you as he laughs. His malyshka is so naughty, isn’t she? Lying to him like that, like he wouldn’t find out. Like wouldn’t give her a baby just as soon as she asked. Like he wasn’t planning on pulling a similar move in the near future.

[untitlzd]

rich boys don't get dirty

top!park sunghoon x btm!male reader smut

After a strange blog post makes its rounds, Y/n is already on edge. While rushing down the hallway, he accidentally bumps into Sunghoon, spilling tea all over his pristine white shirt. It could’ve ended there—but Sunghoon doesn’t let things slide.

a continuation of ''silence doesn’t stop rich boys.'' & continued in "rich boys don't lose."

warnings: elitism, power dynamics, possessiveness, semi-public sex, rough sex (kinda?), some praising and degrading, unprotected sex, no prep, lowkey inspired by gossip girl.

Y/n was still dizzy from that night at Jake’s penthouse. The memories flickered behind his eyes like the afterimage of a camera flash—bright, disorienting, and impossible to ignore. Every glance, every whispered word, every brush of skin lingered in his mind like a wine stain on silk: impossible to clean, even if you tried. He’d hoped that time might dilute the tension, bring clarity, or at least let the city’s rhythm carry him past it. But Manhattan didn’t pause for introspection—and neither did Jake Sim.

Jake still moved through the polished corridors of St. Augustine’s with that signature ease: every step calculated, every smile polished to perfection. Nothing about him had shifted. Not his posture. Not his expression. Not the untouchable air of someone born with secrets and taught never to drop them. It was unsettling how well he wore the mask. Unsettling... and, in some twisted way, comforting.

Because despite everything, Y/n couldn’t say things had changed between them—not outwardly. Their connection still lived in stolen glances and wordless tension, the quiet understanding that bloomed in shared silences. But something had cracked beneath the surface. 

Jake’s touch lingered now. His fingers brushed just a second too long across Y/n’s wrist. A palm hovered at the base of his spine. A thigh pressed under a desk—deliberate and slow. There was a new weight to it all, something close to possession, and far from accidental. In their world, nothing was meaningless. Especially not touch.

Y/n didn’t lean in, but he didn’t pull away either. He watched. He waited. Stillness was a skill here, and patience was armor.

But even a perfect performance could be ruptured by one thing: the blog.

It was gospel in their world. Not just read—followed, worshipped. The kind of institution that could break a trust fund kid faster than a scandalous divorce or a dropped IPO. It didn’t matter how careful you were. When that notification hit—sharp and distinct as a gavel—it cut through everything.

Conversations stopped. Phones lit up. Eyes flicked to screens with the urgency of addicts chasing a fix.

This time, the post was simple.

A grainy photo. Blurry hallway. Shadows. A figure entering a guest bedroom.

Jake.

Y/n’s blood turned to ice.

The image was just vague enough to be deniable—but to him, it may as well have been high-definition. He recognized the hallway. The moment. The angle. And the caption?

“guest list was private. so who’s slipping into places they don’t belong?”

Fuck.

Y/n’s hands tightened around the edges of his school uniform blazer. He pulled the fabric closer, as if it might shield him from the wave of cold crawling up his back. His steps echoed down the corridor—too loud, too fast. His mind reeled. Should he call his father? The man whose firm name protected their family’s reputation like armor? Or should he confront Jake? Demand answers? Apologies? Or maybe he just needed to walk. To not stand still long enough to panic.

Because in this city, names like his could be scrubbed from history in a single rumor. 

He wasn’t born into whispered legacies and summer homes in Tuscany. His power came from crafted strategy. From effort. And effort didn’t impress anyone here.

Which is why, when he turned the corner—distracted, anxious—he didn’t notice the figure in his path until it was too late.

The impact was jarring. A sharp slap of shoulder against chest, a splash of liquid, the hollow thunk of a paper cup hitting the floor. Silence followed, stretched taut like a pulled wire.

And then Y/n looked up.

Park Sunghoon.

Sunghoon was one of those people who seemed immune to chaos. His posture never broke. His tone rarely wavered. But his eyes always said enough. He was elegance without effort, manners without warmth. Y/n had never figured out exactly where the Park family fortune came from—only that it had existed for so long it felt like the bloodline itself bled gold. He, Jake, Y/n and others stood at the top of the social food chain at St. Augustine’s, but Sunghoon was the most enigmatic. Reserved. Impossibly polished. A ghost at charity galas, a blur on Monaco racetracks. His entire existence whispered wealth and control—not loud, not bragging. Just... undeniable.

He wasn’t intimidating because of what he had. He was intimidating because he never had to explain it.

Now, standing in front of Y/n, a half-empty cup of tea dangling from his fingertips and his pristine white uniform shirt soaked clean through, he looked like something carved out of old money and diamond-cut confidence. The tea had turned the fabric translucent—almost clinging—making the faint outlines of his toned torso suddenly, undeniably visible.

Y/n’s gaze caught on the defined lines of his chest, the subtle curve of his waist, the elegant slope of his collarbone. He didn’t mean to look. It just... happened. A second too long. A beat too still. And when he tore his gaze away, he felt the warmth bloom across his cheeks, betraying him in a way words never could.

But Sunghoon didn’t speak.

Not at first.

His eyes raked over Y/n with practiced disinterest, jaw locked, expression unreadable. His silence was heavier than yelling.

Y/n swallowed, carefully. “I didn’t see you, I—”

“Obviously,” Sunghoon snapped, interrupting. His voice was low, but edged like a knife. “You never do. You walk around here like it’s all yours. Like the uniform gives you permission to forget who you are.”

Y/n’s heart stammered in his chest, but his face remained composed. “I said I’m sorry. I can—”

He didn’t get to finish.

Sunghoon stepped forward, grabbed Y/n by the wrist with cool, firm fingers, and yanked him down the corridor without another word. No room for protest. No explanation. The door to the marble-floored bathroom swung open and slammed shut behind them with a resonant echo.

He let go only to strip the soaked shirt from his body in a single smooth motion. Then, he tossed the wet fabric at Y/n with precise contempt. It hit his chest, heavy and damp.

“Wash it,” Sunghoon said, voice like silk threaded with steel. “Old-school. With your hands. You do know how to clean something that doesn’t come with instructions, don’t you?”

Y/n stared at him. His fingers clenched slightly around the fabric, but he didn’t rise to it. He didn’t have to.

Sunghoon turned away, retrieving a second shirt—crisp, folded, untouched by scandal—from his bag. He slipped into it effortlessly, movements meticulous.

He didn’t face Y/n when he spoke again.

“You pretend like you’re one of us,” he murmured, tone almost idle. “But this place wasn’t made for people who think money is something you earn.”

Y/n looked up, voice calm but clear. “And yet I’m here.”

Sunghoon paused. A twitch at the corner of his mouth. Then he moved to the door.

“88 Fifth Avenue,” he said without turning. “Penthouse three.”

There was a beat of silence before he added, more quietly—

“Try not to spill anything this time.”

And with that, he was gone.

For the next two days, Sunghoon didn’t speak to Y/n. He didn’t look at him in the hallway, didn’t nod in acknowledgment when they passed in the courtyard, didn’t even breathe in his direction during the late-morning economics seminar they both sat in—the only shared class that tethered their routines.

It wasn’t a cold shoulder. It was worse. It was complete, surgical dismissal.

And it drove Y/n insane in a way he couldn’t quite articulate. Because he didn’t crave attention—not in the loud, performative sense of it. But he despised being underestimated, overlooked, or worse—forgotten. And Park Sunghoon knew that. Knew it so well he didn’t even need to weaponize words. He could reduce someone like Y/n to silence with a glance withheld.

Y/n wasn’t used to chasing the current. He was used to directing its flow.

So when he finally reached for his phone one Thursday night—long after the campus had dimmed and the skyline outside his window melted into velvet black—he didn’t think twice. The text was short. Barely more than an address and a time.

Tomorrow. Midnight. Don’t be late.

He deleted the thread after sending it.

When he arrived at the penthouse the following night, the doorman didn’t blink before letting him in. The elevator climbed in total silence, numbers glowing gold as the city fell away beneath him.

By the time he stepped out into the sleek, dim hallway of 88 Fifth, his nerves were a live wire. He wasn’t sure what version of Sunghoon he’d find tonight—apathetic, aggressive, elegantly cruel—but he wasn’t turning back. Pride wouldn’t let him.

The door opened before he could knock.

Sunghoon stood in the doorway barefoot, dressed down in a crisp navy sweater and slacks that looked casual only to the untrained eye. His gaze swept over Y/n like a scan—impersonal, slow, deliberate. There was no greeting. Just a silent nod toward the interior.

The penthouse was exactly what Y/n expected—clean lines, a museum-level art piece above the fireplace, everything curated to whisper generational wealth and architectural precision. He followed Sunghoon past the living room and into a study that smelled faintly of cedarwood and leather-bound books.

It was almost too quiet.

Then Sunghoon finally spoke. “You’re late.”

“I’m two minutes early.”

“And yet, I’ve already waited.”

Y/n didn’t answer. He just stepped further inside, letting his eyes skim the rows of antique shelves, the single crystal glass of something amber resting untouched on a marble tray. His voice, when it came, was low. Unapologetic.

“You don’t call people here without a reason.”

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly. “And you came anyway.”

A beat. Silence stretched between them, fine and fragile as thread.

“I wanted to return your shirt,” Y/n said evenly. “It’s clean. Hand-washed, like you so condescendingly instructed.”

Sunghoon’s lips curved, just barely. “I wasn’t expecting you to actually do it.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Y/n replied, stepping forward until only a foot of space remained between them. “I did it to prove a point.”

“And what point was that?”

“That I’m not afraid of you.”

The room stilled. Sunghoon didn’t blink. But something shifted in his expression—something minute and dangerous, like the first tilt of a chess piece.

“You should be,” he murmured. “You don’t even know what you’re playing with.”

Y/n’s chin lifted. “No, Sunghoon. You’re the one pretending this is a game.”

A pause. The air between them grew heavy.

Then, without warning, Sunghoon moved.

He didn’t kiss him. That would’ve been too easy. Instead, he raised a hand and let his knuckles trail lightly down Y/n’s jawline—just enough to set every nerve alight without granting the satisfaction of contact.

Y/n didn’t flinch. Didn’t lean in. He just breathed—and it was shaky, goddammit.

Sunghoon’s voice was quiet, intimate in a way that didn’t ask for permission. “You’re still trying to figure out who I am.”

“I’m not interested,” Y/n lied, pulse racing.

“You are,” Sunghoon said, stepping even closer, their breath almost mingling now. “You’re just not sure if you want to understand me... or unravel me.”

Y/n’s throat went dry. He swallowed, but his voice remained intact. “And which would you prefer?”

That almost-smile returned, sharper now. “Surprise me.”

Then he stepped back.

As quickly as he’d closed the distance, it was gone—like heat leaving a room. The moment snapped.

Y/n exhaled, blinking once, twice. He felt simultaneously dismissed and pulled deeper, like being handed the first clue in a puzzle that wasn’t meant to be solved.

He didn’t stay long. Fifteen minutes, maybe. Just long enough to return the shirt, leave a verbal landmine or two, and let the echo of their proximity hang between them like perfume on collarbones.

But by the time the elevator doors shut behind him, Y/n knew two things for certain:

One — Sunghoon had never invited anyone to that penthouse without intention.

Two — whatever this was, it wasn’t over.

It didn’t happen all at once.

It started subtly, like fog creeping through cracks in the morning. A brush of eye contact across the quad that lasted a breath too long. A half-second delay when their shoulders passed in the hallway, neither boy quite moving out of the other’s way. No apologies. No acknowledgment. Just proximity that buzzed like a live wire under skin.

By Monday, the silence between them had transformed. It wasn’t avoidance anymore—it was anticipation. A taut string stretched between two points, daring someone to tug.

And it was chance that snapped it.

Lunch hour. The bathroom down the south hallway—less trafficked, tucked behind the library’s east wing. Y/n wasn’t planning to wait there. He just needed a moment. Away from the cafeteria noise, from the orbit of too many eyes. But when he pushed the door open, already mid-thought, he froze.

Sunghoon was at the sink.

The sleeves of his uniform were rolled just once, exposing clean veiny wrists. His posture was textbook-perfect. He didn’t look up, but something shifted—like he’d sensed Y/n’s arrival before the door even clicked shut.

Y/n lingered, hand still on the handle.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said.

Sunghoon met his gaze in the mirror. That reflection made it worse—elevated it into something cinematic, deliberate.

“You broke into my Saturday night and now my lunch hour?” he replied coolly. “You’re persistent.”

He turned off the faucet slowly, water dripping from his fingers in neat, measured taps, reaching for a paper towel with that unbearable Park-level precision.

“Persistent,” he repeated, tone dipping. “Or desperate.”

The words lingered in the citrus-scented air.

Y/n stepped forward, not even sure why. Instinct, maybe. Or something harder to name.

“Curious,” he corrected. “You’ve been watching me like I’m a puzzle you can’t quite solve.”

Sunghoon turned then, leaning back against the sink. Water darkened the back of his shirt, but he didn’t care. He looked almost amused.

“Maybe I’m waiting to see how long it takes you to realize you’re playing a game you can’t win.”

A distant bell rang beyond the bathroom walls. Lunch ending. Classes waiting.

Neither moved.

Y/n stepped closer, until there was barely a breath between them. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

That was the trigger.

Sunghoon moved fast—no warning, no hesitation. His fingers wrapped around Y/n’s wrist with a sharp snap of contact, firm enough to anchor him in place. Y/n didn’t get a word out before Sunghoon pulled, dragging him past the sinks, past the mirror, into one of the stalls. The metal door slammed shut behind them.

He locked it. Quick. Mechanical.

Y/n’s back hit the tile with a dull thud. Not rough—just sudden. The air between them was tight and breath-warm.

Sunghoon didn’t step back.

His hand lingered, fingers still curled around Y/n’s wrist. The tips of them were flushed pink from the water—that soft, almost tender pink that made Y/n’s breath falter. The image stuck. Something involuntary twisted low in his gut.

“You really don’t know when to stop,” Sunghoon said. His voice was low, nearly flat—but the kind of flat that vibrates with warning.

And then—

BAM.

The bathroom door flew open. Loud. Careless. Footsteps echoed in—quick, sharp.

A pause.

Whoever it was had just stepped inside. The shuffle of a shoe scuffing tile followed. Then—

“Occupied,” Sunghoon called out. Crisp. Cold. Like a blade.

Silence. The footsteps hesitated… then turned. A retreat. The door swung shut again with a huff of finality.

They were alone.

Y/n's pulse roared in his ears. He hadn't moved. Couldn't.

Sunghoon's breath ghosted against his cheek, infuriatingly steady. Though his grip loosened, he didn't step back. His gaze dropped to Y/n's mouth—just for a heartbeat—before snapping back up with predatory focus.

The bathroom air grew thicker, the stall walls closing in around them. Just as Y/n opened his mouth to respond, Sunghoon's fingers dug into his waist, drawing a sharp gasp that echoed off the tiles.

"You want to play this game looking so pathetic?" Sunghoon's whisper was velvet-wrapped steel. "Tell me, has anyone ever touched you properly? Or do you just pretend to know what you're doing?"

Before Y/n could retort, long fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head back against the stall door with a loud bang. The impact rattled the metal frame—a stark contrast to Sunghoon's careful whispers.

Y/n's nerves sparked as his body arched instinctively, his backside pressing flush against Sunghoon's growing hardness. The expensive fabric of Sunghoon's slacks did nothing to disguise the thick outline straining against him.

"You've wanted this," Sunghoon breathed against his ear, each word a brand. "All that arrogance, that superiority—just an act. Isn't it?" A deliberate grind drew another gasp from Y/n. "You're just a stray puppy begging for attention. Tell me—do you even deserve what you're asking for?"

The filthy promises in that cultured voice—usually so measured at galas and board meetings—sent heat coiling low in Y/n's belly. His own erection strained painfully against his zipper, the friction of fabric nearly unbearable.

"Someone could—ah—catch us," Y/n managed, rolling his hips back despite himself as Sunghoon's palm slid down to grip his thigh.

"Then shut the fuck up," Sunghoon commanded, his cultured whisper sharpening. "Unless you'd like to explain to the entire student body why you can't finish what you started."

His hips pressed forward with deliberate force, the thick outline of his arousal grinding against Y/n's backside through layers of expensive fabric. The risk of discovery hung heavy in the air—Sunghoon's breath remained perfectly even while Y/n's came in shallow gasps, his body taut with equal parts anticipation and apprehension.

With practiced efficiency, Sunghoon’s fingers made quick work of Y/n’s uniform trousers, pushing both pants and underwear down in one fluid motion. Then, in a gesture both clinical and devastatingly intimate, he loosened his tie and pulled it from around his neck. The silk slithered between his fingers like a living thing before he brought it to Y/n’s mouth.

A soft, involuntary sound escaped Y/n's throat as long fingers wrapped around his leaking erection, the slow drag of Sunghoon's palm sending electric currents up his spine.

"Pathetic," Sunghoon murmured against the shell of Y/n's ear, his aristocratic diction at odds with the filthy words. "You haven't even been touched properly and you're already this desperate?"

His thumb swiped across the glistening head, spreading precum with cruel precision.

"Tell me—do you always make such a mess when someone finally pays attention to you?"

Y/n's hips jerked forward into that maddening grip, his fingers clawing for purchase against the stall wall.

The sharp sound of his nails against metal seemed dangerously loud—

A firm slap landed across Y/n's cheek—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make his eyes water.

"Disgusting, how you fall apart at the first touch. Like you were made for this." Sunghoon's hand never stopped moving, his pace brutal and perfect, twisting just the way that made Y/n's thighs shake. "You should be thanking me for even handling you. Though I suppose stray dogs need to be put in their place sometimes."

Somewhere beyond the stall, a faucet turned on. Sunghoon’s hand stilled instantly, his entire body going preternaturally still against Y/n’s back. The sudden absence of friction was its own kind of torture.

“Quiet now,” he breathed, his lips brushing the reddened shell of Y/n’s ear. “Unless you’d like our audience to hear exactly what happens to spoiled brats who can’t control themselves.”

The threat hung in the humid air between them, more intoxicating than any touch. The sound of running water from the faucet outside the stall seemed deafening in the charged silence.

Y/n felt the last shreds of composure unravel as Sunghoon’s belt buckle clinked softly in the confined space—a quiet, dangerous sound that sent his pulse skyrocketing. Before he could even process what was happening, the cool press of Sunghoon’s zipper against his exposed skin made him stiffen, the reality of their situation crashing over him in waves.

Sunghoon didn’t ask. Didn’t warn.

The first breach was brutal in its efficiency—his thick cockhead pressing against Y/n’s unprepared entrance with a single-minded determination that stole the breath from his lungs. Y/n’s fingers scrabbled against the stall wall, knuckles whitening as he fought to stay quiet, to stay still, to not give them away.

“Shhh,” Sunghoon murmured against the damp skin behind Y/n’s ear, his voice a velvet-wrapped threat. His hands gripped Y/n’s hips with bruising precision, holding him in place as he pushed forward with deliberate, controlled pressure. “You don’t want them to hear how tight you’re clenching around me, do you? Be a good boy. Take it.”

Y/n bit down hard on the silk of Sunghoon’s tie, the fabric muffling his ragged gasp as Sunghoon’s cock stretched him open with relentless intent. It was too much—the stretch, the heat, the way Sunghoon’s breath hitched ever so slightly when Y/n’s body finally yielded to him. The obscene slick of precum easing the way shouldn’t have been as filthy as it felt, but the wet sound of it, the way Sunghoon groaned low in his throat at the sensation—it unraveled something primal in Y/n’s chest.

Outside, the faucet still ran.

Sunghoon didn’t wait for Y/n to adjust. The first thrust was slow—agonizingly so—a deep, rolling push that dragged every inch of his cock against oversensitive nerves. Y/n’s entire body jerked, his teeth sinking deeper into the tie as Sunghoon set a punishing rhythm, each movement calculated to wring the most reaction from his trembling frame.

“Look at you,” Sunghoon breathed, his lips brushing the shell of Y/n’s ear with every word. “Biting down like some feral thing. Do you even know how pretty you are like this? Desperate. Messy. Mine.”

The water shut off abruptly.

Sunghoon stilled, his grip tightening imperceptibly on Y/n’s hips. The sudden silence was heavier than any touch, any word—a suspended moment where the only sound was Y/n’s ragged breathing through the gag of Sunghoon’s tie.

Footsteps faded, swallowed by the heavy thud of the bathroom door closing.

Y/n’s body went slack with relief—a fatal mistake. The momentary relaxation allowed Sunghoon’s cock to slide deeper, brushing against that devastating spot that made Y/n’s vision whiten at the edges. A filthy chuckle vibrated against his back as Sunghoon tightened his grip on the tie still stretched between Y/n’s teeth, the silk biting into the corners of his mouth.

“So dumb…” Sunghoon murmured again, his voice dripping with aristocratic condescension even as his hips snapped forward with brutal precision. The sharp slap of skin against skin echoed off the tiles, each thrust perfectly timed to wring another choked sound from Y/n’s throat. “Taking it so well…”

Y/n could feel his thighs trembling, his cock leaking against the stall wall as Sunghoon’s free hand wrapped around him, stroking in time with each punishing thrust. The air thickened with the scent of sweat, sex and expensive cologne, their movements increasingly erratic despite Sunghoon’s composed exterior.

“Not yet,” Sunghoon commanded, his breath hot against Y/n’s ear as he deliberately slowed his pace. The sudden denial drew a broken sound from Y/n’s chest, his body arching desperately into the touch. “Such a greedy thing. Do you really think you deserve to come?” His fingers tightened just shy of painful around Y/n’s cock. “Prove you can take it.”

The words sent a fresh wave of heat curling through Y/n’s stomach, his nails scraping helplessly against the stall door as Sunghoon resumed his relentless rhythm. Every drag of skin against oversensitive nerves pushed him closer to the edge, his body strung tight as a bowstring.

Y/n came with a silent scream, his body clamping down around Sunghoon as stripes of cum painted the stall door.

Sunghoon’s laugh was dark with triumph when Y/n’s hips began stuttering uncontrollably. “There it is,” he purred, voice rough around the edges despite his composure. “That desperate little tremor. I wonder—” A particularly sharp thrust stole what breath remained. “—how long you’ve fantasized about this. About being bent over and fucked dumb by someone who actually knows what to do with you.”

He buried himself to the hilt, groaning low as he emptied thick, hot ropes deep inside Y/n, fucking him through it until their mixed release began to leak out around his cock.

For several heartbeats, the only sound was their ragged breathing and the distant drip of a faulty faucet.

Then—

Sunghoon sighed with all the grace of someone who hadn’t just wrecked Y/n against a bathroom stall, adjusting his cuffs with practiced ease. His gaze raked over Y/n’s disheveled form, lingering on the bite marks blooming across his shoulders.

“Clean yourself up,” he said coolly, as though discussing the weather. “You look obscene.”

He didn’t pull out immediately. Instead, he pressed a possessive bite to the juncture of Y/n’s neck, the sharp pain blooming into a perfect purple claim beneath his lips.

“Remember,” Sunghoon murmured, finally stepping back with infuriating nonchalance, “this doesn’t make you special. Just convenient.”

The dismissal should have stung. Instead, Y/n’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile as he watched Sunghoon stride toward the door—his perfect posture the only tell of how affected he truly was.

note: hey everyone! popping in a bit earlier than i thought hehe. but you were all so sweet about what i wrote that i got super motivated to keep going! first of all — thank you so so much for all the love and kind words. seriously, it warmed my heart more than i can say t.t and second — good news! this little universe is getting a continuation, yay! maybe four chapters? i don’t know yet! i don’t wanna promise too much too soon, hehe. either way, i’m really happy and excited to keep writing for you all. thank you for being here, really. sending a big tight hug — take care and see you soon!