#and she & everything that was on her turned into ash

[urvape1kz]

Wedding Crasher

Pairing: Jason Todd [RH] x !Reader

Word Count: 2536

There were moments Jason had wished he’d died a second time, not in fire or ash, not in some dark alley with a crowbar splitting his bone, but in the small, colorless hours between breath and regret. The kind of death that isn’t violent but slow and quiet, like grief that won’t let go. That’s what it felt like the day he left you in that hospital bed, not just like running, but like burying a part of himself alive. You’d gone down because of him. A mission gone wrong. One turn he shouldn’t have taken. He saw the moment unfold in reverse over and over, how he’d barked the call too soon, how you’d followed without hesitation, how the explosion ripped through the corridor seconds later. You never blamed him, not once, but you hadn’t opened your eyes either. 

They said it was a coma. Temporary. But Jason couldn’t stand to hear the word. He couldn’t stand the machines, the smell of bleach and loss, or the way your skin looked paler with each passing hour. 

He hated hospitals, really hated them. Not because they were cold or quiet, but because they reminded him of his mother. The way she used to lie in beds just like yours, skin gray and breath shallow, tubes in her arm from the overdose before and the one still coming. The way she'd always looked at him with that empty kind of apology  like she didn’t know how to be better, but wanted him to forgive her anyway. 

That same sick helplessness had crept up his spine as he sat beside your bed, fists clenched in his lap, begging a God he didn’t believe in to trade places with you. And one morning, just before sunrise, he realized he couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t sit there and wait to see the moment your eyes opened and saw him, the man who had let you down. So he left.

He didn’t disappear entirely. Not the way he wanted to. He sent a letter, short, cowardly, a bleeding wound dressed in too few words. Every year after that, he sent something else. Small gifts, all without a return address. A book with your favorite author’s first edition cover. A pressed flower sealed in a leather-bound journal. A new set of combat gloves, custom-stitched with reinforced knuckles, like he still knew what you needed. He tracked you the way ghosts haunt places they used to love. Always close. Never seen. He watched you recover from afar, watched you start walking again, training again, laughing again, even when he wasn’t sure it was real. You moved on, and Jason stayed frozen in the space you left behind. Because every time he tried to come back, something stopped him. The shame. The fear. The memory of your body broken under flickering lights. He lived in rooftops and shadows, always near but never known, and maybe that was his punishment: to see you live a life he no longer had the right to touch.

And then, the invitation. It showed up in his PO box one Tuesday morning, sandwiched between two burner invoices and a half-empty pack of nicotine gum. No return address. Just a name. Yours. He knew your handwriting instantly, the way your Y curled slightly too long at the base. It punched the breath from his lungs. He hadn’t realized you’d found him. 

Inside was a photo, printed in soft matte ink: you and another man, Cole Harren. Jason knew him. Not well. But well enough to know he was the kind of guy who looked clean on paper, did everything by the book, checked all the right boxes  and thought that made him worthy. He didn’t love you like Jason did. He couldn’t. Not really. And it showed in the way he held you in that picture, possessive, polished, too proud of what he had in his arms. Like you were something he won, not someone he loved. 

You weren’t smiling. Not really. Your lips were curved like they were told to be, like someone was watching. And that was all it took.

Everything Jason had buried, every feeling, every ache, every moment of silence he’d forced himself to live with, snapped its chains and came clawing back like vengeance. The jealousy, the rage, the guilt. The love.

It should’ve been him. It was supposed to be him. He knew it the way a man knows when a gun is pressed to his ribs, in his bones, in his breath. And maybe he always knew this day would come. He just never imagined he’d be the one who let it happen.

Not without fighting. Not without seeing you one last time.

So he did what all lost dogs do.

He found his way back home.

He didn’t stop moving for three days. Ran names through blacklisted servers, bribed crooked bartenders, cornered old contacts in alleys and smoke-filled basements, all to find you. Everyone knew something, even if they didn’t realize it.

Piece by piece, he followed the trail until it brought him here, to the kind of house you used to dream about. A small colonial. White picket fence. A creaky porch and a garden so perfect, it looked like you’d poured yourself into it every quiet Sunday.

A home big enough for a family of three. Maybe four. Big enough for the life he never stopped seeing when he closed his eyes.

He stood across the street, half-hidden behind the frame of his helmet, watching as Cole stormed out of the driveway. Jaw tight. Hands clenched. He looked pissed, like you’d fought. Like he’d lost. Jason smiled, not because he enjoyed the scene, but because it confirmed what he already knew: you two weren’t as picture perfect as you seemed. You could do better.

As soon as the car disappeared, he crossed the street in a few quick strides, moving straight to the side of the house. He kept low, close to the siding, until he reached the kitchen window. It was cracked open, just enough to slide your fingers in and lift. Maybe a coincidence. But it didn’t feel accidental.

He climbed in without hesitation, boots landing soft on the kitchen tile. The air smelled like apple and cinnamon. A dark red candle flickering out on the counter. The space looked warm, lived-in. A perfect little domestic postcard. 

He felt his stomach churn, a wave of something sharp and sick hit him as he looked around, imagining what could have been, what he gave up.

He crossed the floor in slow steps, each one quieter than the last, his hand dragging across the white walls, pausing when his fingers brushed against a frame. A photo of you and Cole on the beach. You were smiling, but now how he remembered. His jaw tightened, a sharp twist of jealousy curling low in his chest, bitter and ugly. He hated the way Cole touched you. Hated the frame, the house, himself.

But all of that disappeared the second he saw you.

You stood in front of the mirror, veil in hand, dress half-zipped, spine rigid like you were holding yourself together by sheer will. And just like that, every thought bled out of his head.

You looked breathtaking. Like a fucking princess.

“Jesus…” he whispered. “You look beautiful.”

You turned slowly. Like you already knew he’d be there. “Jason…” you breathed, voice trembling. 

You stepped toward him, slowly, like your body didn’t believe he was real. “What are you doing here?” you asked.

Jason stared at you, eyes wide, like he was trying to memorize everything, the curve of your cheek, the way your hair was pinned back, the dress clinging to your body like it had a future. And then he laughed, a short, broken sound that had nothing to do with joy and everything to do with disbelief.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here,” he said, voice raw. “I could be ruining your life right now. I know that. I know what this looks like. But I couldn’t stay away. I saw your name in that invitation, I saw your face next to his, and it felt like I couldn’t breathe. I thought I could handle it. I told myself you’d moved on, that it was better this way, that I made the right choice by leaving. I thought if I watched from a distance, if I kept my head down, if I stayed out of your life, you’d be safer. I believed that, I really did, and that’s what scared me most. Because I wasn’t thinking about what you needed, I was thinking about what I could survive. And I couldn’t survive seeing you in that hospital bed, I couldn’t sit there day after day and watch the person I love more than anything in the world waste away because of me. I blamed myself, because it was my fault, it was always my fault. I led you into that mission, I made the call, I should’ve taken the hit, but it was you, and I looked at you lying there and I saw my mother, I saw every hospital room I’ve ever hated, and I panicked. I told myself walking away was the merciful thing to do. But the truth is, I was a coward. I didn’t leave for you. I left because I was too fucking scared to stay.”

You opened your mouth, tried to speak, but he kept going, voice louder, faster, like he’d been holding this in for years and couldn’t stop now.

“And then you found me,” he said, taking a shaky step forward. “You found my goddamn PO box, something no one else has ever managed to do. You sent me that invitation, you knew I’d see it. And you left the window open. Don’t tell me that was an accident, because I know you. You wanted me to come. You knew I would. And I did, because I can’t stay away from you. I never could."

He could feel his throat clench as his voice rose, his knees bruising against the cold floor as he fell, staring up at a goddess. His goddess. 

“I’m begging you,” he whispered, voice hoarse and strangled. “Please. Please don’t marry him,” he cried. “I’ll do anything, fucking anything.”

“Jason—” You moved toward him, trying to pull him up, your hands tangled in his jacket, but he wasn’t listening.

He grabbed your waist like you were the edge of a cliff and he was about to fall off.

“I’ll be anything. I’ll be your stray. I’ll sleep outside the door like a dog if I have to. Just don’t marry him. Don’t do this. Not to me. Not to us.”

“Jay, get up—please—get up—” you sobbed, collapsing beside him, your knees hitting the floor with a thud.

But Jason was gone, or close to it. His forehead rested against your stomach, his arms wrapping around your waist, like you were a boat drifting away from him, and he was trying to anchor himself to you before the current pulled you out of reach.

“It should’ve been me,” he gasped. “God—it should’ve been me.”

“Me at the altar. Me holding your hand. Me waking up beside you every morning, bickering about baby names and the smell of burnt pancakes. Fuck, I saw it all. Every detail of our life and I still let you go.”

When he finally looked up at you, his eyes were bloodshot, swollen with the kind of grief that simply festers in the soul. Whatever was left of the fight in him had bled dry. All that stared back at you was the shell of a man who’d already buried the best part of himself.

“You were all I had,” he said, breathless. “And I destroyed it—you, us. I walked away like a coward. I’ve lived with that lie every damn day, and it’s eaten me alive. But if you give me one more chance—just one—I swear, I won’t let go again. I’ll love you better. I’ll love you louder. I’ll love you through the pain, through the healing. The way you always deserved."

You were both sobbing now, shoulders trembling, your fingers in his hair.

“Please,” he breathed into your skin. “Don’t marry him. Let me come home.”

—Ten years later—

“You were such a romantic Dad!” Catherine squealed, jumping onto him with a giggle. Natalia followed right behind, both of them toppling him over on the living room floor.

“Catherine, Natalia, be careful!” you scold, trying to hush your voice as you bounced baby Peter on your shoulder. “You’re not five anymore, you’re going to crush him.”

“You’re the only thing that can crush Daddy, always breaking his heart,” Natalia teased, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

Catherine snorted, adding, “...and maybe Cinderblock. That one time.”

Jason groaned dramatically from the floor. “Okay, one time. And he didn’t crush me. I was strategically retreating.”

“Right,” you said dryly. “You ‘strategically retreated’ into a pile of dumpsters.”

“The important part is that I lived. You’re welcome, Gotham.”

The girls broke into laughter, piling even closer around him like they were babies again, all limbs and noise and warmth. You smiled as you watched them, the way Jason played it up, let himself be soft for them. Like he'd learned how to stop running, and finally stand still in love.

You kissed the top of Peter’s head and moved to his crib, gently laying him down and brushing his tiny curls off his forehead. He shifted, sighed, then settled again.

Before you could step away, you felt him. Strong arms wrapping around your waist like muscle memory. His forehead rested against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

“You ever think about having one more?” he asked, almost shy.

You leaned back into him, a quiet laugh slipping out. “That’s what you said before Catherine.”

“And before Natalia,” he said, pressing a kiss to your neck. “And look how perfect they turned out.”

“Debatable,” you teased, but your smile said otherwise. And Jason didn’t need the words, your eyes had always told him the truth first.

You turned in his arms and kissed him, soft and slow, just the way you liked.

From the couch, the girls sat in hushed awe, their eyes fixed on the two of you as if watching their favorite celebrity couple live, in love, and utterly unaware of the audience. Catherine cradled your wedding portrait in her lap, quietly comparing it to the scene unfolding just a few feet away.

In the picture, Jason was kissing you like he still couldn’t believe it was real, his hands trembling at your waist, your veil slipping down your back like silk. 

She studied the two of you now, then looked back at the photo.

There was no difference. Not in the look in his eyes. Not in the way he leaned toward you, still pulled by the same invisible thread of devotion.

Natalia leaned her head on her sister’s shoulder.

“You think they’ll be like this forever?”

Catherine smiled, eyes still on the photo, then on you and Jason in one another's arms.

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Yeah, I do.”

[queenshelby]

Just a Dream

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x Reader

Part 18: Calliope

TAG LIST: For Dream Fics - Please comment on the fic or message me for tagging.

DREAM’S POV

Calliope crossed the threshold like she’d never left.

The Dreaming did not shift to greet her. No wind stirred. No welcome was offered. Even the hall—sprawling, eternal, a cathedral of starlit marble—seemed to grow still.

She had not set foot in this place since the day they ended it. Since the last time he had spoken her name with anything but silence.

And yet, there she was. Dressed in flowing gold, the light catching in her hair like memory, like poetry turned blade.

“You have not visited this realm in centuries,” Dream said, his voice low and measured. “Why now?”

She stopped several paces before him, chin lifted with familiar defiance. “I heard you just returned from Hell.”

“So?” His face gave nothing away. “That gives you no reason to visit.”

“I understand that,” she said, her eyes narrowing, “you went there… for a mortal woman.”

The accusation hung between them, hot and sharp. Not just curiosity. Not just disdain.

Wound.

“And this is why you come?” he asked softly, each syllable carved from restraint. “To pry? After all these years?”

“No,” she said, folding her arms. “I came to speak of our son.”

The air grew cold. Not in temperature, but in weight. The Dreaming responded to the name unspoken. Orpheus.

“I have pleaded my case to the Fates,” she continued. “They were unmoved. They always are. I now ask you—beg you—to try again. As his father.”

Dream inhaled slowly. It was not breath he needed, but something deeper. A pause to stop the cracking beneath his ribs.

“You do not think,” he said at last, “that I have already tried?”

“You should have gone to Hades,” Calliope snapped. “When Orpheus asked you. Pleaded. He was your son, and you—what? Turned your back on him?”

Dream opened his eyes. “And what do you think Hades would have asked of me? He would not have shown mercy. He would have demanded a trade. A life, Calliope. Our son’s life—in place of Eurydice’s.”

“And better that,” she spat, “than the existence he was left with.”

Silence bloomed between them. Not the cold kind. The kind that suffocated.

Dream’s voice broke through it, low and unwavering. “Then know this—I live every day knowing I failed him.”

He turned toward the vaulted ceiling, as though trying to find the stars.

“I thought I was protecting him. I thought time would bring clarity. But I was wrong. I was wrong, Calliope. And I will carry that regret for the rest of my existence.”

The words rang like bells muffled by ash.

And then—she looked past him.

Calliope stilled.

Her golden eyes narrowed with something sharp and deliberate.

“Is that her?” she said, soft and cruel. “That is who you’ve chosen?”

Dream turned.

There you stood—wrapped in a pale robe, halfway down the stairs, frozen like a creature caught in the edge of light.

His heart clenched, because your eyes were wide. Your mouth parted. He didn’t know how much you’d heard, but it didn’t matter.

You’d heard enough.

YOUR POV

Lucienne had made you tea.

After pulling the robe tightly around yourself—trying to gather what little dignity and steadiness you could—you followed her from the tower, down through the winding halls of the palace. The robe, soft and cool against your skin, trailed behind you like mist. The Dreaming itself felt hushed, as though it too was listening.

Lucienne said nothing, and you were grateful. Words felt too sharp—like glass between your teeth. You weren’t ready to speak, not with everything still unsettled in your chest.

She led you toward a corridor you hadn’t taken before, past a series of pale arched windows and silver-threaded tapestries that shimmered faintly as you passed. Eventually, she stopped before an ornate set of double doors carved with symbols you couldn’t place.

“This way,” she said softly.

Inside, the room was quieter than the rest of the castle. Elegant but strangely warm—book-lined walls, a hearth that flickered even though there was no fire, and delicate furniture shaped from pale wood and starlight. It was a tea room, tucked beside the great hall. You hadn’t even known it existed.

You stepped inside, the silence welcoming and deep.

You held the porcelain cup with both hands, the steam curling gently toward your face as you stood near the threshold of the room, facing towards the grand hall, just far enough to remain unseen.

You hadn’t meant to listen.

But you could hear them.

Your hearing had always been good—annoyingly sharp, even in the Waking World—but this was different. You were too far to catch their voices clearly, and yet… you heard them. As if their words travelled not through air but directly into your mind.

It freaked you out.

Almost as much as the conversation itself.

You heard his voice—lower, clipped. You heard hers—lilting, familiar in a way that made your stomach twist.

And then, the name: Orpheus.

You froze.

The name sat heavy in your chest, thudding like a second heartbeat. It made something inside you drop.

He had never spoken of a son. Never once. But even without seeing his face, you could hear the pain in his voice. The brittle pause between his words. The ache behind each breath. They were estranged. It was obvious. And whatever had happened between them—whatever rift stood between father and son—still ran deep.

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but your feet began to move before you could stop them. Tea forgotten. Reason abandoned.

You climbed the stairs that led to the upper landing of the grand hall and stopped, hidden in the shadows above.

There he was.

Dream—Morpheus—Oineros.

Standing in the center of the great hall, dark and composed, cloaked in quiet power.

And opposite him, radiant and furious, was Calliope.

She was stunning. Of course she was. A Muse. A goddess. Hair like sunlit honey. Skin that glowed. Robes that shimmered when she moved, as though poetry clung to her body.

You stood there, a breath caught in your throat.

And then she turned.

Her eyes found yours instantly—like she’d known exactly where to look. And her lips curled, not in cruelty, but in something far more cutting.

Curiosity. Possession. Pity.

“Is that her?” she asked Dream, her voice like spun gold and venom. “That is who you’ve chosen?”

You flinched—visibly. The words sliced clean, barbed not just with judgment, but with something colder. Something personal. You weren't sure what struck deeper: the dismissal in her tone, or the name she used for him.

A name you had never heard him called aloud. It felt ancient. Intimate. And she wielded it like a blade.

Calliope did not stop.

“You’ve become pathetic,” she said, her voice silk-wrapped steel, each syllable dipped in disdain. “This realm may still kneel for you, but you… look at you. Hollowed by longing and weakened by attachment—for a mortal.”

The word mortal hit like a curse even though it was not.

She let it hang in the air, not shouted but dropped with precision, as if she knew exactly where it would hurt him most and for a moment, he didn’t respond.

Then Dream turned his head slightly—just enough for you to see his face. There was no anger in it. No shame. Just calm, quiet certainty.

“She may be mortal,” he said evenly, “but she is not lesser.”

Calliope’s eyes narrowed.

Dream didn’t flinch.

“She is more aware of life and love than you ever were—than I ever was,” he continued, voice low but unshakable. “Because she knows time is short. She feels every moment fully. Where we have eternity, she has urgency. And still, she chooses me.”

His words struck like truth carved in stone.

You stood frozen above them, breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief and he did not stop there.

You stood frozen above them, breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief— And he did not stop there as the conversation circled back to where they had left of. Their son.

“You always blamed me for our son’s fate,” Dream said, his voice soft but laced with centuries of grief, “but you never accepted your part in it.”

Calliope’s expression darkened, the composure in her posture cracking—just slightly. Her hands clenched in the folds of her golden robes.

“You speak of loss,” he continued, “as if you were the only one who carried it. As if you did not bind me in silence when I grieved. As if you did not turn away.”

Her eyes blazed. “It was you who condemned him. You who refused— and now it is only you who could end him,” she hissed. “But you won’t.”

Dream’s reply came without hesitation. “Because I can’t.”

His voice echoed like thunder held in a glass.

“I am forbidden to,” he said. “And you know that. To grant true death to my own son would break more than law—it would unmake what I am.”

Calliope stepped forward, fury rippling from her like heat. “You cling to rules. To function. While he suffers.”

Dream’s gaze didn’t waver. “It is not only about Orpheus. It is not only about us. It is about my realm—as much as it is about the millions of mortals who walk the waking world. I was forged to serve them. To carry their dreams and their stories. I do not get to choose selfishly. Not anymore.”

Silence fell.

Heavy. Unforgiving.

The weight of grief, of years unspoken, of a child neither of them could save—it settled in the space between them like a third presence.

Calliope’s expression twisted, the fury returning sharp and focused.

“The man who claims he cannot act selfishly,” she said, voice low and cold, “is the same one who marched into Hell for a mortal woman.”

Dream’s jaw tightened. Not in shame. Not in denial.

In pain.

Because it was true.

He had walked through the gates of Hell. Had suffered. Had bled and bartered and nearly broken—not for an ideal, not for duty.

But for you.

And still, he did not look away.

“I went to Hell to save the woman I love, yes,” Dream said, his voice quieter now—no longer defensive, only true. “But you know as well as I do… Hell cannot unmake me.”

His eyes met hers fully, unflinching.

“The Fates, however… can.”

Calliope’s expression froze, her breath catching for just a heartbeat.

“They govern the tapestry. The strands. The story. Even mine.”

His voice dropped lower, more hollow. “And for all that I am, I am still bound. I cannot break the laws that shape my function without breaking the Dreaming itself.”

A beat.

“And if I broke the world to save our son… I would lose him anyway.”

The weight of it settled over them—centuries of choices, consequences, and the unrelenting cruelty of inevitability.

Calliope looked at him like she wanted to hate him. Like she should.

But something cracked in her eyes. Something old and exhausted.

She stood frozen for a heartbeat, then two. Her shoulders rose with a sharp breath—but no words came. Only bitterness in her eyes. And perhaps, buried somewhere deeper… regret.

Without another word, she turned. Her hair swept like a banner behind her, her footsteps light but final as she strode toward the doors of the great hall.

Dream did not stop her.

The doors opened of their own accord.

And she was gone.

Leaving only shadow in her place.

***

As soon as the doors closed behind her, so left.

You turned from the upper landing like a shadow retreating from light, your bare feet silent against the marble floor, robe trailing like guilt at your heels. You didn’t run—though every part of you screamed to. Instead, you moved quickly, hollow with shame, barely aware of where you were going.

What had gotten into you?

You weren’t the type to eavesdrop. Weren’t the type to linger in other people’s grief, to pry open wounds that didn’t belong to you. But still—you had listened. You had stood there, hidden in the quiet, while two beings older than history bared their centuries of pain.

And for what?

To hear truths you weren’t ready for? To see a goddess with fire in her veins and memory in her voice, reminding you—without even trying—how small you truly were?

You slipped back into the tea room before Lucienne returned, heart hammering. The warmth there felt false now, too gentle for the storm you carried in your chest.

You sank into one of the pale wooden chairs, curled into yourself, the steam of the forgotten tea long gone cold.

Shame flooded you.

Why had you stayed? Why did you feel so hollow?

You didn’t have an answer.

You barely lifted your head when the door creaked open again—not sharply, but with the soft gravity of a tide pulling in.

He was there.

Dream.

And in his silence, you felt everything.

He said nothing at first. Only watched you, his posture unreadable. But you couldn’t bear it. The weight of what you’d overheard, the weight of her, and the endless thread of your own insecurity wound tight in your throat.

“I didn’t mean to listen,” you blurted. “I was passing the hall and then… I don’t know. I heard you. I just— I stayed.”

You winced at your own words. Stayed. Like it had been a choice. Like you hadn’t been rooted there by something beyond logic.

“I shouldn’t have,” you whispered, looking down. “I shouldn’t have heard any of it.”

He stepped closer, quiet as moonlight. “And yet you did.”

There was no accusation in his voice. No judgment.

Just truth.

You nodded. “I know. I feel awful. I didn’t mean to… invade.”

Still, he did not seem angered.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, softer this time. “It wasn’t just curiosity. Lucienne said that she was your wife. A long time ago.”

You swallowed. The words tasted strange. Foreign.

“I didn’t know,” you added quietly. “About her. About your son. About… any of it.”

Dream remained silent, his expression unreadable—but not cold.

“I suppose,” you continued, faltering slightly, “it shouldn’t matter. The past is the past. You don’t owe me anything, and it’s not like I asked, but…”

You looked up at him. “But it’s hard not to feel… like I walked into something I was never meant to touch. Like I’m just a shadow in the doorway of a life that once belonged to gods.”

You laughed weakly, dry, breathless. “And then I saw her and…well…she wasn’t what I imagined. She was more. So I froze. And I… I wasn’t ready for what I heard.”

Dream came to kneel in front of you now. His face didn’t change. But something in the air did—like the hush before a storm, or the first breath after breaking water.

“I have no secrets from you,” he said quietly. “But there are things I have not spoken of. Because they still hurt. Even after thousands of years.”

A pause. A beat where the Dreaming itself seemed to still, listening.

“My marriage to Calliope,” he continued, voice soft as falling ash, “was not born of the heart, but of function. Our union made sense to the realms. And for a time, we tried. I loved her and we even found joy in one another.”

You listened, breath shallow, as he spoke like he was unspooling memory from a deep, locked place.

“But it was not a love that endured. Not the way it should have. And when Orpheus was born…” His voice caught, just faintly. “He was light. He was hope. He was everything Calliope and I could not be for one another. And when I failed him, what little foundation we had, crumbled.”

He looked at you then—really looked at you.

“And still, Morpheus, she is a goddess and I’m just me. I don’t shine like she does. I don’t carry poetry in my voice or divine fire in my bones. I’m small. Human. Why would someone like you even…”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

But he heard the ache in it anyway.

“You are not small,” he said, each word like a vow. “You are vast in ways no goddess has ever been. You are wonder stitched with grief, resilience carved from flame. You shine, not like her—no. You shine in ways she never could.”

Your breath hitched.

“I have known power,” he went on. “I have danced with divinity, ruled over realms forged in nightmare and light. I have been worshipped, feared, adored. And yet…”

He reached for your hand, lifting it slowly to press a kiss to your knuckles—soft, near trembling.

“None of it ever brought me peace. Until you.”

You blinked fast, a tear slipping free before you could catch it.

“I have watched galaxies burn and rebuild,” he whispered, “but I have never seen anything as beautiful as the way you look at me. As though I am not a god. As though I am yours.”

His other hand came to rest at your cheek, gentle but unyielding.

“I do not love you despite your mortality,” he said. “I love you because of it. Because you know how to live with urgency. Because you love without guarantees. Because you wake each day knowing time is finite, and still—you give some of it to me.”

You couldn’t look away from him now, even if you tried.

And then you broke.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Just a quiet shudder that began somewhere deep in your chest and rose like a tide too strong to hold back. A sob slipped past your lips—fragile, trembling—and then another. Your shoulders curled in on themselves, as though trying to keep the emotion from spilling out. But it did. It always did, where he was concerned.

Dream didn’t flinch. He didn’t look away or recoil from your grief. He remained there, kneeling before you, his pale hands steady as the stars, his eyes endless and heartbreakingly soft.

You lifted your hands to your face, ashamed of the tears now streaming freely, but he reached up gently—one hand on your wrist, the other brushing against your temple.

“Do not hide from me,” he said, voice low. “Not this.”

You lowered your hands, only just, blinking at him through the blur.

You lowered your hands, only just, blinking at him through the blur—his face the only thing steady in a world that felt like it might unravel.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whispered, a fractured sound. “I’ve never felt so full and so fragile at once.”

Dream’s fingers remained at your cheek, his touch reverent. “There is nothing wrong with you,” he said, quiet but firm. “You are feeling deeply. That is not weakness. That is what makes you—” His voice caught, softened. “—extraordinary.”

You leaned into his hand then, letting your forehead rest against his, the closeness of him a balm you didn’t realize you’d been starving for.

But then—sudden, sharp—a shift.

It washed over you in a slow, queasy wave, curling in the pit of your stomach and rising uninvited to your throat. Your breath caught. Not painful, just… off. Disorienting. Like the world had tilted slightly, and your body hadn’t gotten the memo.

You pulled back a fraction, pressing a hand to your abdomen.

Dream’s brow furrowed, gaze immediately drawn to the motion. “What is it?” he asked quietly. “What troubles you?”

You exhaled slowly, offering a soft, dismissive smile. “Nothing serious,” you murmured. “Just a bit nauseous. Maybe I caught something or ate something wrong.”

His eyes remained on you, searching—not with suspicion, but concern.

“It’s already easing,” you added quickly. “Truly. Nothing to worry about.”

Still, he didn’t look entirely convinced. But he didn’t press either. That was the thing with Dream—he could be relentless in pursuit, but when it came to your pain, he gave space like it was sacred.

You shifted, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I should probably head back soon anyway. To the Waking World. Before my coworkers think I’ve disappeared entirely.”

Dream’s face softened, though a flicker of reluctance passed through his eyes. “If you must,” he said. “But not just yet.”

His fingers grazed yours again—barely a touch, but steady.

“Stay a while longer,” he added, voice like dusk. “Let the weight of all this pass. The Waking World will still be there when you return.”

And somehow, just like that… you stayed for another day.

@crispyduckpirate @stranger-chan @hiraethmae

@friendstolobsters @queenofstresss @iamempty13

@marsmallow433 @eveiiiscorner @villain-in-the-dark @boywivlove @anatheladybug

@new-author3 @drunkennunicornn

@sandmanmasterlistblog @phythius @miarabanana @ladyofhisrelam

[andy-15-07]

Hello Andy, could you write a oneshot about Joel Miller and female reader who reunites after years of being separated?

Like these two had known each other before the outbreak, and the reader was pregnant during that time. So when they meet again, her child, dosen’t matter which gender it is. They are currently around their early twenties.

Joel can't help but to feel envious, maybe a bit bitter at times at the idea that the reader's child got to live whilst Sarah didn't. He knows it's dumb, but he can't help it, especially with how the reader's offspring tends to be selfless and reckless. Like her offspring will stand up and keep going even if they have a deep wound on their legs.

Still Here

PAIRING: Joel Miller x reader

WORD COUNT: 1201| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist | Pedro Pascal Masterlist II

Joel Miller Masterlist

You never expected to see Joel Miller again.

Not after the world fell. Not after everything burned and died and turned to ash, and people you loved became names you whispered to the dark.

But there he was,leaning against a broken gate at Jackson, shoulders heavy, hair peppered with gray, eyes scanning faces like maybe he’d forgotten what he was even hoping to find.

You saw him before he saw you. That old ache bloomed in your chest like it never left. Joel. The man you’d loved before everything changed. The one who’d kissed your cheek the night before the outbreak, resting his hand on your stomach as if he already knew how precious that little life would become.

You’d been two months pregnant. You never got the chance to tell him.

Now, more than twenty years later, your child,your son, Jesse,was grown. Twenty-one. Stubborn as hell, all heart and fists, the kind of person who’d take a bullet for a stranger and smile through the pain.

Just like Joel.

And Joel… Joel had lost everything.

When his eyes finally landed on you, the world tilted. His mouth parted. His face crumpled, just for a second, before he blinked it away.

“…You,” he rasped. “You’re alive.”

You nodded, a hand pressed to your ribs to keep your heart inside. “Yeah. Still kicking.”

Joel stared. “You look… You look the same.”

You wanted to laugh. Instead, you said, “You don’t.”

He huffed, shoulders relaxing just slightly. “Fair.”

There was so much more you wanted to say. But it wasn’t until he stepped closer, until you caught the flicker of hope in his eyes, that you knew you’d been waiting for this moment,aching for it,for longer than you admitted.

“I didn’t know where you went,” you whispered. “I looked for you. I tried.”

“I thought you were dead,” he said, voice rough. “When everything went to hell… I couldn’t find you. I lost,”

He stopped himself. Swallowed.

“I know,” you said gently. “Me too.”

---

Joel stayed.

Not just for the night, not just for the week. He stayed, like someone who didn’t know how to leave anymore.

You didn’t push him. You let him come to you slowly. You let him talk when he was ready,and when he told you about Sarah, you listened with everything you had.

He said her name like a prayer.

“She was smart,” he told you once, his voice cracking. “Kind. Funny as hell. I keep thinkin’… if the world hadn’t gone to shit, she’d probably be doin’ somethin’ amazing right now.”

“I’m sure she would’ve,” you said, brushing a hand across his. “She had you for a father.”

Joel didn’t answer. Just held your fingers like he was trying not to fall apart.

---

The first time he saw Jesse up close was when your son limped into the Jackson gate after a patrol,shirt torn, jeans soaked with blood, a gash running up his leg.

You were already moving toward him with panic tightening your spine, but Jesse waved you off. “It’s fine. It looks worse than it is.”

“You’re bleeding through your damn pants,” you said, clutching his face. “What happened?”

Jesse shrugged. “Wasn’t gonna let them take Mia. She froze up and they had a knife.”

You stared at him. “So you got stabbed?”

“Barely,” Jesse said, leaning on one foot. “Besides, I got a few good swings in.”

Joel was standing behind you.

He didn’t speak, didn’t move. But something in his face flickered. A twist of pain,raw and familiar,tightened his features.

He watched Jesse like he couldn’t breathe.

Later, when your son was being stitched up by the medic, Joel sat beside you on the porch of your small house, staring out at the street.

“He’s brave,” he muttered.

“Too brave sometimes.”

Joel was quiet for a long moment. “He don’t care if he dies, does he?”

You looked at him. “He does. He just… he cares about other people more.”

Joel shook his head, something bitter curling his mouth. “It’s like lookin’ at a ghost.”

You swallowed. “Sarah?”

He nodded, barely. “She was like that. Always helpin’ other people. Always standin’ up when she should’ve stayed down.”

You put a hand on his arm. “That’s not a bad thing.”

Joel’s jaw clenched. “It is when it gets ‘em killed.”

You exhaled. “Jesse’s alive.”

“Yeah.” His voice dropped. “And mine ain’t.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. You couldn’t say anything. Because he wasn’t wrong,grief never made space for reason. It just was.

“I see him,” Joel said, almost to himself. “I see him bein’ reckless and strong and tryin’ to be the goddamn hero and I,I get so angry sometimes. Not at him. But at the fact that he’s still here. And she ain’t.”

You turned to face him fully, your voice low. “Do you want me to tell him?”

Joel looked at you, startled. “What?”

“Do you want me to tell Jesse the truth? That you’re his father?”

He froze.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “I don’t know if I deserve that.”

“He’d want to know.”

Joel looked down at his hands. “He’d hate me.”

“He wouldn’t,” you said. “He’s your son, Joel. He’s a piece of you.”

Joel’s eyes were glassy. “I already failed one kid.”

“And you survived it. Barely. But you did. And now you’ve got another chance.”

He didn’t answer.

But a week later, Jesse came home from a patrol and found Joel waiting on the porch.

You stood back and watched from inside, heart racing as the man who loved you and the boy you raised faced each other in silence.

“I need to tell you somethin’,” Joel said, voice steady. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

Jesse frowned. “What’s going on?”

Joel swallowed. “I’m your dad.”

Silence.

“I knew your mom before all this,” he continued. “Long before. We… we were together. She didn’t get the chance to tell me about you before the world went to hell. I didn’t know. And I ain’t tryin’ to take the place of the people who helped raise you. But I,if you want,I’d like to be in your life.”

Jesse stared at him for a long moment. His face unreadable.

Then, with a half-smile and a cock of his head, he said, “That why you’ve been scowling every time I almost get myself killed?”

Joel blinked. “…Maybe.”

Jesse nodded. “Figured. You’ve got the same pissed-off look my mom gets when I come home bleeding.”

A long pause.

Then Jesse stuck out his hand. “Alright, then. Guess I’ve got a dad now.”

Joel stared at it like it might disappear.

Then, slowly, he reached out and took it.

---

Later that night, Joel came to your door.

You opened it without a word, and he just looked at you,eyes soft, heart open in a way you hadn’t seen in decades.

“You were right,” he said.

You stepped closer. “About what?”

“I still got somethin’ good in this world.”

You smiled, a little broken, a little whole. “Yeah. You do.”

Joel leaned in, forehead resting against yours.

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was quiet. Like breathing. Like coming home.

[myheartsaysyes]

The Remedy: Part 2

Chapter 1

Warning: ‼️ SMUT/EXPLICIT ‼️ Language, use of N-word.

Note: Soooo……there wasn’t supposed to be a part 2, but per the request of @margepimpson I wrote a part 2 from Smoke’s POV (partially). I hope y’all enjoy!

Word Count: 3.7+

The room smelled like gun oil, stale cigars, and quiet money.

Smoke sat near the back of the warehouse office, a lit Newport hanging from the corner of his mouth, slow curls of smoke drifting toward the flickering light overhead. One leg bounced lazily beneath the table. His twin brother Stack stood next to him near the window with his arms crossed, fitted hat turned backwards, chewing a toothpick like he was bored but watching everything.

At the head of the table sat Brewster Gaines aka Old Man Brew, silver-bearded and sharp-eyed in his linen shirt and creased slacks. He spoke low and smooth. Flanked by two walking brick walls—Demetrius and Malik—stone-faced and silent. He spoke low and smooth.

“This job clean if it’s done right,” Brew said, tapping the ash off his cigar. “First Federal bank in Meridian. Full-on vault hit. One inside man stalls the alarm, two on perimeter, two goin’ in. We hit it fifteen minutes after close, back door through the alley. In and out before they know what’s missin’.”

Smoke half-listened, dragging on his cigarette, exhaling slow. His eyes traced the blueprints and marked-up map on the table, but his mind was slipping—sliding back into soft sheets, her legs trembling, his name gasped against her pillows.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He didn’t hesitate. Slid it out, thumbed the screen with one hand while the cigarette smoldered between two fingers.

Annie: What you doin’ tonight?

The corner of his mouth curved. He typed back.

Smoke: You, if you let me.

A low chuckle came from Stack. “Damn nigga, you hittin’ her with the one-liners now?”

Smoke didn’t look up. Just puffed again and tapped ash on the dusty floor.

“She must got you twisted,” Stack went on, pushing off the wall. “Nigga actin’ real pussy whipped. Textin’ in meetings and shit.”

Smoke blew out a slow breath and said nothing.

Stack grinned. “Yo’ lil nurse got you out here smellin’ like lotion and sleepovers.”

Still no response.

Old Man Brew raised an eyebrow. “Y’all done with the comedy hour?”

Stack shrugged. “Just sayin’. Lotta weight on this job. Be real inconvenient if somebody’s attention was split.”

Smoke finally glanced up slow.

Eyes sharp. Expression blank. But the look he gave Stack?

Cold. Unblinking. The kind of stare that said keep runnin’ your mouth and see what happens.

Stack caught it. He didn’t backpedal or apologize, just waved Smoke off with a flick of his hand like whatever, and leaned back against the wall, chewing that toothpick a little harder.

But he didn’t say another word.

Smoke went right back to his phone, locked it, and tucked it into his pocket like the conversation never happened.

“Back door’s the entry, right?” Smoke said, calm. “What time the inside man cuts the alarm?”

The conversation picked back up, but Smoke’s body wasn’t in it. 

Not really.

He was back in her bed.

He didn’t even have to think about it. Since last night, she’d been all over his thoughts. Every time he blinked, it was her face again, head turned to the side, mouth open, saying his name like it was the only one that ever mattered.

Elijah.

She ain’t never said it like that before. Not in passing, not even soft and sweet. But last night? Last night she screamed it. Gave it back to him like she was blessing it. And he’d felt it everywhere; in his chest, in his bones, deep down in the parts of himself he didn’t show nobody.

He closed his eyes, let the memory roll through him.

She was so fuckin’ pretty under him. Face in the pillow, hands clawin’ at the sheets, body open and shaking, and wet as hell for him. The sound she made when he told her not to run, that soft gasp, that helpless moan, it had burned into him like a brand. And the way she said “please” right before he came inside her? Yeah. He’d never forget that.

He could still smell her on his skin.

Could still feel the way her hips pushed back into him, greedy and giving all at once. That body was made for him. Soft and strong in all the right ways. And she let him in, like really let him in. Not just her pussy, but her self. No walls. No hesitation.

And he felt that shit.

Felt it deep.

That’s what had him pacing this morning, head gone, half-hard in the damn shower thinking about her little sounds. That shy little “Oh my God” when he first slid in. The way she shook after, curled up with him like she didn’t wanna be anywhere else.

Hell, he didn’t either.

She was changing him. Little by little. And he felt it happening.

Used to be, he’d smash and leave. Simple. No sleepovers. No sweet talk. Just a nut and a back turned. But Annie? She had him laying there, tracing circles on her back with his thumb, breathing in her hair as if it was the only air that worked.

His phone buzzed again.

Annie: You still there?  

He texted back instantly.

Smoke: My mind ain’t left yo’ place since last night. Just been replayin’ that shit like a movie.

Pause. Three dots. Then—

Smoke: You sore?

Her response took a little longer this time. Then:

Annie: Boy, shut up! 😳

He laughed low, but not low enough for the room not to notice. Especially not Old Man Brew.

“Get your fuckin’ head back, boy.” Brew didn’t raise his voice, but the steel in it could’ve cracked concrete. “I don’t care what bitch in yo’ bed. You lock the fuck in, or you get the hell outta my sight ‘til you can. I don’t do distractions. Not on my time. And if I gotta remind you again, it won’t be with words. You hear me?”

The room froze.

Stack stopped chewing his toothpick. Even Demetrius and Malik stiffened.

Because this wasn’t normal.

Brew had never reprimanded Smoke before, not like this. Not ever.

Not the boy he took under his wing at fifteen. Not his sharpest shooter. His quietest shadow. His most dependable blade.

Smoke was like a son to him.

Which made the words cut deeper.

And when Brew said, “If I gotta remind you again, it won’t be with words.” Smoke knew that wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise. And a warning. One meant to snap him back in line.

But Smoke didn’t get defensive. Didn’t puff up or push back.

He met Brew’s gaze, jaw tight, pulse steady, and nodded once.

“Yes sir,” he said, voice low. “That’s on me. Won’t happen again.”

Not a hint of attitude. Just respect.

Brew stared at him another beat—long, then gave a small nod.

“See that it don’t.”

He sat up straighter, the phone tucked away like it never existed, eyes now on the map in front of them.

And just like that, they were back on track.

He flicked the cigarette stub into a nearby tray and leaned back.

Let ‘em talk.

He knew what he was doing tonight.

Tonight, he’d take it slower with Annie. Kiss every inch. Put her on top and watch her fall apart.

But not before he fed her first. Girl was on her feet all day, tending to everybody else. And he’d be damned if she was gonna do that with an empty stomach.

Smoke already had in his mind, after leaving this meeting, he’d grab takeout from the Jamaican spot down the block from her place that she liked. She always smiled when she got curry on her fingers, and he loved watchin’ her lick it off, eyes lazy with content.

The meeting dragged on another twenty minutes. Stack cracked jokes under his breath, Brew handed out assignments, and Smoke played it cool, but his pulse was already moving in a different rhythm.

Annie’s rhythm.

He stepped out of the warehouse as the sun dipped low, the air thick and humid, sky smeared pink and gold. Smoke slid into his 1970 blacked out Coupe DeVille, the leather hot under his thighs, turned the key, and let the low hum of the engine settle him. He cracked the window, lit another Newport, and took a long pull before pulling off.

He didn’t drive fast.

Didn’t need to.

The day had been all business. But the night? The night belonged to her. To the softness of her voice. To the look in her eyes when he kissed her slow. To the memory of her body wrapped tight around his.

He turned down the block to the Jamaican spot she loved, double-parked like he always did, and grabbed two orders—curried chicken for her, brown stew for him. A Snapple, a soda and two bags of her favorite chips from the corner store.

Didn’t matter how hard he moved in the streets, he’d still remember the snacks she liked.

He had just turned onto her street when the playlist hit that song. The one she moaned through last night. Jagged Edge. “Remedy.”

Yeah. Tonight was about to be a repeat.

Only slower.

Only sweeter.

Smoke reached for his phone.

Smoke: Come open the door, baby. I brought dinner… and dessert.

He grabbed the bags and crossed the street, pausing at the curb just long enough to snuff out the cigarette beneath his boot. His boots hit the steps slow. Steady. His heart, though?

It had already beat its way to her.

The door creaked open before he even knocked. And there she was.

Hair down this time, skin still warm from the shower, wearing a pair of soft shorts and a tank top that did nothing to hide the glow she was still carrying from the night before.

That glow he put there.

Smoke stared for half a second, then stepped inside.

He was gonna kiss that glow right back onto her skin.

_______________________________________

Annie heard the low rumble of his car before she saw the headlights flash across her window. Her heart skipped.

She was already at the door, hands fumbling the lock faster than usual, because she didn’t want him to ring the doorbell or knock. Didn’t want to wait. She cracked it open just as he stepped up to her door.

Smoke looked up.

No smile, no greeting, just that heat in his eyes, slow and steady as he took her in. But this time, Annie noticed the brown paper takeout bag in one hand and the crinkled corner of a gas station snack bag peeking from the other.

“You come bearing gifts?” she asked, stepping aside.

“You like curry and red bag Doritos, don’t you?” he said, brushing past her with a low chuckle.

Annie shut the door behind him, heartbeat quickening.

He set everything on the counter without fanfare, then pulled two Styrofoam containers from the bag, the scent of curry and browned stew meat filling the kitchen like incense. She saw it then, her favorite chips, tucked behind a Snapple and a Sprite.

Her lips twitched. “You remembered.”

Smoke glanced at her sideways. “Course I did.”

They ate standing up at the counter, bent over mismatched plates like it was something they always did. Between bites, they passed small talk back and forth.

She asked about his day. He said, “Same shit.”

He asked how many patients she’d seen. She rolled her eyes and said, “Too many.”

He teased her about the way she devoured her plantains.

She teased him about still drinking Snapple in 2025.

But under the laughter, under the casual bites and half-finished stories, something else was simmering.

It was in the way her eyes kept flicking up to his mouth between spoonfuls.

In the way he leaned just a little too close when he reached for a napkin.

In the quiet moments when neither of them said anything, just sat with the low hum of the fridge and the sound of lips parting for breath.

Halfway through her meal, Annie set her fork down. She hadn’t even finished the curried chicken. Didn’t care.

Because he was looking at her now with that same look from the night before; the one that peeled her open without a word. The one that said he was already tasting her in his mind.

“You not hungry no more?” Smoke asked, voice low.

Annie shook her head slowly. “Not for food.”

He didn’t answer. Just wiped his hands on a paper towel and stepped closer.

And when he kissed her—slow, deliberate, hand cradling the back of her head, she tasted the brown stew meat, the heat, and something sweeter.

Desire.

She pressed into him before she could think better of it, fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, needing skin.

He groaned against her mouth. “Damn, baby.”

That was it.

Dinner was over.

Now it was just them.

And the hunger they couldn’t pretend not to feel anymore.

“You still sore?”

Annie swallowed. “A little.”

His hands gripped her hips. “Good. Let’s make it worth it then.”

He lifted her, smooth and strong, carrying her into the bedroom without another word. He set her down soft on the bed and peeled her shirt off slow, his eyes dragging over every inch of newly revealed skin.

And then he paused—mouth going still, breath catching in his throat.

Damn.

Her breasts were full, heavy, beautiful. He watched the way they moved as she breathed, nipples already tightening in the cool air. They sat high, framed by the curve of her arms as she lay back, dark and plush and real in a way that made his pulse stutter.

He reached out, slow, slid his palm up her side and over one, fingers spreading like he couldn’t help himself. He squeezed gently, then he dipped down and kissed the top of one, dragging his lips across soft skin, letting his tongue trace the edge before slowly taking her nipple in his mouth.

She gasped, body arching toward him.

“You been in my head all day,” he murmured, voice gone husky after dragging his mouth from her breast. “At work. In the car. Couldn’t think straight.”

Annie reached for the hem of his shirt. “Then stop thinking.”

That flipped a switch.

Smoke kissed her hard then—hands rough in her hair, mouth firm on hers, tongue dipping past her lips with hungry intention. He pulled back only to tug her shorts down, kissing each inch of skin as it was revealed. When she was bare, he stood and stripped out of his clothes, eyes never leaving hers.

He didn’t tell her to turn around.

This time, he wanted to see her.

He dropped to his knees without a word, lifting one leg onto his shoulder and pressing a kiss just above her knee. Then another, higher. His mouth moved slow and deliberate, traveling up the inside of her thigh.

He took his time there. 

Because she made this soft little sound—half breath, half moan and he liked it. Liked it so much he kissed her again, right at the curve where thigh met hip.

Annie trembled, her fingers digging into his shoulders, and Smoke grinned against her skin.

He slid her up the bed, pressed her knees apart, and dipped between them. His mouth moved slow, tongue circling her clit with practiced patience, lips soft, hums deep in his throat that made her toes curl. She arched, whimpered, tried to close her thighs, but he pushed them wider.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said. “I wanna see you.”

His fingers joined his tongue, stroking slow and deep while he licked her through a building quake. That was her undoing. She came with a soft cry, chest rising, head thrown back. But he didn’t stop. He kept going, licking her until her thighs shook again and her hand found his head, fingers trembling.

“Smoke—”

“Elijah,” he corrected, voice thick. “Say my name while I’m eatin’ you.”

“Elijah…”

He moved up her body, kissed her mouth, her collarbone, the swell of each breast. She felt him hard and hot against her thigh, leaking already.

“I want you on top,” he murmured, voice rough against her skin, eyes locked on hers. “Wanna feel you take this shit.”

Annie’s eyes went wide. She blinked up at him, face flushing hot. “What?”

Smoke brushed his knuckles along her cheek, slow. “You ever—”

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “But…”

He tilted his head, brows raised. “But what?”

Her mouth opened, then closed again.

She looked down—anywhere but at him because the heat creeping into her cheeks wasn’t from desire this time. It was nerves. A knot of embarrassment twisting low in her belly. Her heart thudded loud.

“I just…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know if I’ll be good. Like that.”

Smoke didn’t move. Just watched her.

Annie swallowed hard. Her mind raced.

She wasn’t small. She’d never been. Thick thighs. Full hips. Breasts that drew attention whether she wanted them to or not. There’d always been a quiet voice in her head reminding her to cover up, to shrink herself, to not take up too much space. Especially when it came to sex.

Especially when she was the one expected to lead.

“What if I look stupid?” she added softly. “What if I mess it up or… I don’t know. You not exactly……small.”

That last part came out quicker than she meant it to, and her hand flew up to her face in embarrassment.

But Smoke just chuckled. Low. Deep. 

He leaned in until his forehead touched hers.

“Baby,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip. “Ain’t nothin’ you could do that’d look stupid to me. You know how bad I want you right now?”

Her breath caught.

“You are perfect to me,” he said. “I want you. All of you. That body, them thighs, the way you look at me when you nervous like this… I want it all. Let me see it.”

Annie blinked up at him, lips parted, heart rattling in her chest.

“You sure?”

“I’m damn sure,” he said, reaching for her hand and guiding it to rest over his heart. “And you gon’ feel how much I mean it when you’ ridin’ me.”

Her pulse skipped.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel self-conscious.

She felt wanted.

Her thighs were trembling—not from fear or shame, but from the weight of everything he made her feel.

Smoke laid back against the pillows, hands behind his head like he was relaxing. But his eyes? His eyes were locked on her like she was the only thing worth looking at. And he didn’t rush her. Didn’t tell her to hurry up. Just watched. Patient. Hungry.

Annie straddled his hips slowly, skin burning, breath shaky. She could feel the heat of him against her thigh—thick and hard and already leaking for her.

She reached down to guide him, fingers curling around his dick, and his jaw flexed.

“Damn,” he hissed. “That’s it, baby. Take your time.”

She hovered over him, the tip just pressing against her slick entrance, heart racing so loud she thought he might hear it. Slowly, she sank down—inch by inch—stretching around him, her thighs tightening as her walls gripped him deep.

Smoke groaned. “Fuuuuck… you feel good.”

Annie gasped as her hips met his. He filled her completely. Thick and deep, the stretch both overwhelming and perfect.

He didn’t move.

Just let her settle.

Her palms braced against his chest, nails curling slightly as she adjusted to the fullness. His skin was hot under her fingers, the steady thump of his heart matching hers.

“You good?” he asked, voice thick.

She nodded. “Yeah. Just… hmmm.”

Smoke chuckled low. “Told you. Ain’t no rush. Ride me how you want. I’m yours.”

She started slow. Rocking her hips forward, then back. Finding her rhythm.

At first, it felt uncertain—clumsy even, but then something shifted. The look on his face changed. His mouth dropped open, eyes half-lidded, hands gripping her hips now, anchoring her.

“Shit, Annie. Just like that.”

Her confidence built with every roll of her hips. Her body bounced softly over him, thighs spread wide, her breasts swaying with every movement. His eyes never left her chest—fixated, hungry.

“You so fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathed, one hand sliding up to cup one breast, thumb flicking over her nipple. “These titties…” He sat up a little, catching one in his mouth, sucking slow while his other hand gripped her ass. “I could live here.”

She moaned, grinding deeper, pleasure building sharp and fast now.

“Elijah,” she whimpered.

That name always did something to him.

He growled, pulled back just enough to look up at her. “Say it again.”

“Elijah,” she gasped, looking down at him, riding him faster now. Her hands found his shoulders for balance, hips slapping against his lap.

He grabbed her ass with both hands, helping her move, meeting every bounce with an upward thrust that hit deep, right where she needed it.

“You feel how you squeezin’ me?” he gritted, sweat beading at his temple. “This pussy was made for me.”

She nodded, couldn’t form words anymore. Just moans. Breathless and needy. Her body took over, rolling and grinding against him, chasing that edge.

“I’m close,” she gasped. “Oh my God—I’m—”

“Come on, baby. Let it go,” he urged. “I got you.”

And she did.

Her climax hit in waves crashing over her—sharp, wet, loud. Her whole body shook, legs trembling, voice breaking into soft cries as she pulsed around him. He held her steady, growling through clenched teeth as her pussy milked him tight.

“Annie—fuck—” He bucked once, twice, and then spilled into her, hips jerking, dick twitching deep as he came hard.

She felt all of it.

The heat. The weight. The way he collapsed back against the pillows, dragging her down with him, still buried inside her, his arms locking around her waist.

They were sticky. Breathless. Tangled.

And perfect.

_______________________________________

Smoke kissed her shoulder, lips brushing her damp skin.

“You did better than good,” he whispered. “You ruined me.”

Annie laughed into his neck, still catching her breath, still blushing, but she felt it now.

That glow?

It was back.

And this time, she knew she earned every bit of it.

Soooo….l what did you think? 🫣🫣 Also, would yall like to see this story be a full fic? I’m liking writing grown and sexy Annie/Smoke. 🥰

@brownskincheyenne @lizbehave @partylikemajima @anniensmoke3 @pennopencil @brownsugarcoffy @lb-xci @wakandamama @thebumblebeesworld @theegyal @nicanotnika @numb1smokeanniestan @aellesa @lilblckraincloud @hdfen2474 @milkywayzard @sunshinerepublic @shereeluvssinners @chknnwffls

[l-lenny]

The time I twisted into a loophole

Fred Weasley x timetraveler reader

No time turner au

⸻

The air was thick with smoke and ash, the remnants of the battle curling around Y/N like a cruel shroud. She stumbled through the wreckage, heart pounding, searching for any sign of him.

Then she saw him.

Fred.

Lying still, broken beneath the shattered stones.

Her breath caught in her throat. She dropped to her knees, trembling hands reaching for his face, tracing the lines she knew so well—his cheekbone, the faint freckles, the stubborn grin that used to light up the darkest rooms.

“Freddie…,” she whispered, voice cracking. “Don’t do this…”

Tears blurred her vision as she cradled him close, the world narrowing to just the two of them in that endless silence.

Her fingers brushed his hair, and for a moment, she wished she could rewind time, change fate, rewrite the stars.

—

The candle flickered weakly against the dark walls of her room, shadows twisting like restless spirits. Scrolls of ancient runes and broken spells lay scattered across the floor, a chaotic map of her desperate attempts.

Y/N’s eyes were wild, haunted—dark circles etched deep from sleepless nights spent chasing impossible threads of time.

She muttered incantations under her breath, each failed jump leaving her more hollow.

“No… not like this. Not without him.”

Her hands trembled as she clutched a cracked hourglass, watching the last grain of sand fall.

Every time she tried to travel, time clawed back harder—memories splintered, moments faded. And sometimes injuring her severely.

Faces blurred.

Voices twisted.

Her reflection in the mirror cracked like broken glass.

Time was cruel.

It erased her efforts, fractured her mind, and left her chasing ghosts.

And still, she wouldn’t stop.

Because some loves refuse to die.

~~~

The corridors of Hogwarts feel colder than they used to.

It’s Fred Weasley’s sixth year, but everything’s changed. Teachers whisper behind closed doors. The twins still joke, still prank, but there’s a weight now—a sense of war creeping in from the edges.

One late evening, Fred is sneaking out after curfew—something harmless, maybe nicking food for the common room or pulling off a corridor prank—when he sees her.

A figure.

Standing in the Astronomy Tower corridor. Soaked from the rain, hood down, shaking. He blinks. Something about her makes his heart stop cold.

She looks at him like she’s seen a ghost. Like he’s a miracle.

“Fred,” she says softly.

He frowns. “Not bad. Though I prefer ‘Your Handsome Highness.’”

She almost smiles—but it crumbles.

“You’re really here,” she whispers.

“Well, yeah,” he says, unnerved. “Didn’t know I was missing.”

She takes a trembling step closer. Her eyes are rimmed with red. Her hands twitch like she wants to touch him but doesn’t dare.

“You don’t recognize me,” she breathes. “Of course you don’t. It’s too early.”

“Too early for what, exactly?”

“For us,” she murmurs.

He stares. “Alright. Who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter”

Fred is pale. “Look, if this is a prank—”

“Its not Freddie…”

His blood runs cold.

She swallows hard.

He’s silent. The wind howls behind the tower windows.

She looks at him for a long time, like she’s memorizing him. And then she says “I won’t bother you again. I just needed to know you were still breathing. I wanted to see you one last time”

And before he can speak, she turns and disappears down the stairs.

He doesn’t sleep that night.

⸻

The days after Y/N’s disappearance feel like a fog rolling in.

Fred goes through the motions—joking, teasing George, fixing things around the castle—but there’s a weight pressing on his chest he can’t shake.

Sometimes, in quiet moments, a strange feeling bubbles up—a flicker of memory that isn’t his own.

A laugh that’s not quite familiar,

A touch on his wrist that vanishes before he looks,

It’s déjà vu—and it haunts him.

—

That night, he waits in the Astronomy Tower, eyes scanning the shadows, heart pounding.

Hours pass.

And there she is.

Wet hair framing a pale, determined face.

Eyes that hold sorrow and fierce hope.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I know this is impossible.”

Fred swallows the lump in his throat.

“I’m Y/N,” she says. “Your wife. If you’ll let me be.” She blurred.

“You are a lunatic-“

“Your Patronus is a fox,” she blurts. “No one knows that. Not even George. You only discovered it this summer. And you call it ‘Trouble.’”

He stop.

“We eloped few weeks before the war. In my time, I watched you fall under rubble while laughing at your own damn joke.” She presses a hand to her mouth, tears spilling. “You were my husband…. I came back to see you. Just once more. Before the world takes you away.”

The spark that lights between them is both terrifying and beautiful.

“I tried everything…I was living mad after your death. Studying necromancy, after life and time travel. And when finally I got it… I really tried. I really tried to save you”

She choked on her tears.

“Every time…I got back and tried to change it…you always died …if not by the rubble them by a misfire if not that than the bloody pillar…”

—-

In the dim glow of the Astronomy Tower, Y/N pulls Fred closer, her hands trembling but fierce.

“But now I think I found something. A loophole in time magic—one that could change everything.”

Fred frowns. “A loophole? Sounds dangerous.”

“It is. The rules of time travel are strict. If I overstep, if I change too much… the timeline could unravel. People could forget. Worse things could happen.”

She takes a breath, eyes locked on his.

“But it’s the only way to save you. To save us.”

Fred swallows. The weight of her words presses down, but he nods.

“Then we do it. Whatever it takes.”

Y/N’s fingers brush his cheek.

“This version of you… you might not remember me afterward. Not fully. But I promise, part of you will always know. It’ll be like a whisper in your soul.”

Fred smiles—a brave, shaky thing.

“I’ll carry that whisper with me.”

She stands, eyes glistening.

“I have to leave soon. The magic will pull me back. But before I go…”

She presses the gold ring—their wedding ring—into his palm.

“Keep this. A token of every timeline where I love you.”

Fred clutches it tight.

“See you on the other side.”

Fred pulled her closer. She is older, but beautiful and she is still in love with him. Bending time itself. He finds it so attractive. Their lips touch.

She smirks “Still that soft boy you used to be”

Then, with a soft crackle of magic, Y/N fades into the night air.

⸻

The moon hung low over the Diagon Ally, silver light spilling like liquid through the ancient street. The shop loomed, heavy with silence and shadow—an uneasy calm before the storm.

Y/N slipped through to the flat above.

She cast a sleeping charm on her past self.

She couldn’t risk her past self seeing her—not yet. The timeline was fragile, delicate as glass.

She gently shook Fred awake.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“Fred, I need to tell you everything. About the loophole. About what has to happen.”

His brow furrowed still but sleepy. “I’m listening.”

“For the timeline to fix itself, to save you… you have to disappear for a while. Hide.”

Fred blinked. “Hide? For how long?”

“About a year. Maybe more. You’ll have to stay away—safe, quiet—until the world calms.”

She reached across the table, taking his hand.

“Your life will be switched with a kind of… dummy in time. Someone who looks like you, takes your place in the battle. It’s dangerous, and it’s not perfect.”

Fred squeezed her hand back, determination flickering in his eyes.

“So I’m supposed to vanish. Let everyone think I’m gone.”

“Yes. But it’s to protect you—to give you a chance to live beyond the war. When the time’s right, you come back.”

A faint smile curved Fred’s lips, tinged with sadness.

“For you, Y/N, I’ll do it. I’ll hide. I’ll wait. We’ll get that future.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered.

“Thank you, Fred. You’re braver than anyone I know.”

—

The smoky air hung heavy over the Hogwarts grounds, filled with the sounds of distant spells and shouts. Past Y/N gripped Fred’s hand tightly, eyes wide with fear and fierce determination.

“We will get through this” Fred said, voice low but steady. “No matter what.”

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Suddenly, a shimmer of magic sparked near the edge of the battle lines.

Future Y/N appeared, breathless and desperate, her cloak fluttering like a dark flag.

She gestured. Wildly.

Fred’s eyes widened, and Past Y/N kissed him one last time before running ahead to prepare.

From the shadows stepped the life-like dummy—a perfect replica, every detail painstakingly crafted, every breath magically animated.

“This is him,” future Y/N whispered. “The switch. You have to disappear now.”

Future Y/N’s heart shattered, watching Fred take a final look at her as he ran.

“I’ll wait for you,” she whispered. “I’ll find you again.”

The dummy raised his wand with a fierce grin—Fred’s grin—and charged forward.

Past Y/N watched as the dummy skip behind her, heart aching but full of hope.

And future y/n knew, she was sure..somewhere, in the shadows, the real Fred was still alive.

~~~

The lake was quiet that evening. A soft mist hung low over the water, brushing against the reeds like ghostly fingers. The same lake where they had eloped—where love once shimmered on the surface like moonlight.

Now it was only a reflection of her despair.

Y/N sat on the edge of the weather-worn dock, legs pulled to her chest, chin resting on her knees.

“I did everything,” she whispered to the wind. “I switched him. I hid him. He should be back by now.”

But the days had turned into a week. And then two.

Nothing.

Grief gripped her again like iron vines wrapping around her chest. Her hands trembled as they hovered just above the still water, fingers aching to let go. Just… fall. Slip away. No more waiting. No more failing.

She closed her eyes.

And then—

A dip in the dock beside her. The creak of old wood shifting under weight.

A familiar scent. A heartbeat she knew even now.

“Hello, love,” came the voice, so casual, so heartbreakingly Fred. “I missed you terribly.”

Her breath caught, and for a second, she didn’t dare look.

“Fred?”

He nudged her shoulder with his playfully. “You were just going to dive in without saying hi?”

Y/N turned her head, eyes wide, already flooding with tears.

There he was. Whole. Smiling. Real.

Not a memory. Not a ghost.

Just Fred. Her Fred! The one who was a man! The one who was her husband.

She threw herself into his arms with a choked sob, burying her face in his neck. His arms wrapped around her instantly, warm and sure and solid.

“You took your bloody time,” she cried, half-laughing, half-sobbing.

“Hiding for a year is boring, Y/N,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Next time you time travel, try and aim for spring. I hate winter in a cave.”

She laughed into his chest, clutching him as if she’d never let go.

Because this time—she wouldn’t have to.

—

Next day as the summer sun glowed over the crooked rooftops of the Burrow, laughter and clatter echoing through the open windows. Everyone had gathered — Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Percy, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, George, and Molly — for a quiet dinner after everything they’d survived.

They hadn’t spoken Fred’s name out loud in a long time. Not since the war. Not for a year.

The grief had dulled into silence, into glances exchanged and stories left unfinished.

Then came the knock.

Ron, frowning, opened the door — only to blink at the stranger on the doorstep.

A girl. Around their age. Bright eyes. Big smile. Nervous but glowing like she knew a secret the rest of the world hadn’t caught up to yet.

“Er—hello?” he managed.

“Hi!” she chirped. “I’m Y/N. Y/N Weasley. Your sister-in-law. I’m just so thrilled to finally meet you properly.”

Everyone’s eyebrows nearly launched into their hairline.

Chairs scraped against the floor as others peered around the corner. Molly wiped her hands on a towel, brow furrowing.

“I’m sorry, dear—what did you say?”

Y/N beamed as she stepped inside like she owned the place.

“Oh! Yes. I married Fred. So technically I’m your daughter-in-law now, Mrs. Weasley. Which means I really should help with dinner, but I’m a disaster with gravy, so maybe I’ll just observe.”

She walked in, hands behind her back, humming a little tune as she surveyed the kitchen. Everyone stared, mouths slowly opening.

Bill whispered, “Is she mad?”

Ron muttered, “She’s definitely mad.”

Ginny leaned toward Hermione. “Do we call St. Mungo’s?”

But George just squinted. There was something familiar in the way she spoke. That half-charmed, half-unhinged energy.

“Wait—you’re the girl from Fred’s letters?” he asked slowly.

Y/N turned, eyes twinkling. “The very one. We eloped, you know. By the lake. Beautiful moment. We cried. There was a duck.”

Before anyone could respond, she added with a smirk

“Oh! And my husband should be arriving shortly.”

As if on cue, the front door creaked.

Boots on floorboards.

And then—him.

Fred Weasley stepped into the Burrow.

Smiling. Whole. Very much not dead.

Silence shattered.

“HOLY SH—”

“Fred?!”

“Is that—?”

“He’s real?!”

George stood, unmoving. “That’s impossible.”

Fred threw his arms wide. “Told you I’m always fashionably late.”

Molly dropped the towel.

And then chaos erupted—shouting, hugging, crying, disbelieving. Ginny slapped him, Hermione burst into tears, Percy sat down abruptly, and Molly clutched his face like she couldn’t trust her eyes.

Fred finally made it to Y/N’s side, wrapped an arm around her waist, and kissed her temple.

“Everyone,” he said proudly, “meet the woman who cheated time for me.”

She gave a little wave.

“Surprise?”

—

Everyone had cried themselves into exhaustion or into the firewhisky. Somewhere upstairs, Ron was still muttering, “How—how is he alive?!” and Fleur was demanding answers from Bill like he was part of it.

Fred and George sat outside on the crooked back porch under the stars. There was a bottle between them, half-finished. Neither had touched it in the last ten minutes.

Fred tossed a pebble across the yard.

George broke the silence.

“Mate… do you know how long I thought I was going mad?”

Fred turned, softer than usual. “Yeah. I saw.”

George’s voice cracked, “I heard you die. I felt it. And now you’re here. With a bloody wife.”

“Yeah, she’s mental, isn’t she?” Fred grinned. “Stole ne some more time. Fought fate. All so she could get me back. Told me not to be late to our forever.”

George laughed once, bitter and amazed. “I should hate you for cheating death.”

Fred leaned in.

“Then don’t hate me. Hate her. I was very dead. I just got lucky that love doesn’t follow rules.”

George blinked. And then smiled. Slowly. The first real smile since the war.

“You better make it count, Freddie.”

Fred raised the bottle.

“To second chances.”

They clinked it. And for a while, they just sat there — two halves, finally whole again.

⸻

The kitchen was warm. Smelled like herbs and old bread and peace.

Y/N stood by the sink, helping dry dishes. Molly was beside her, quiet for once.

“You really married my son?” Molly finally asked.

Y/N glanced up, a little shy. “Yeah. In secret. I—I didn’t want to wait till after the war. So we didn’t wait.”

Molly nodded. Still drying a plate. Then—

“I lost him once.”

Y/N swallowed. “I know. I held him.”

Molly turned to face her fully now. “And then you brought him back.”

“I tried a thousand times,” Y/N admitted. “I failed 999. But the last one… it worked.”

Silence. Then a tear slipped down Molly’s cheek.

“He’s my son. But now I see… he’s yours too.”

Y/N’s voice trembled. “He’s all I had left.”

Molly stepped forward. Pulled her into a hug so tight Y/N forgot to breathe.

“Then you’re ours now too.”

Y/N clung to her, heart finally starting to feel safe. “I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

[muses-of-the-memory]

"I guess it's time we're out of here." Brock spoke as it was time for him, Ash, Misty and Pikachu to continue their Johto Journey. "Goodbye now, Snubbull!" Ash waved. "Bye Tina!" Misty waved. "Pi-Pika! (Bye Tina!)" Pikachu waved as our heroes turn to walk away. "Good luck on the rest of your journey!" Madame Muchmoney said seeing them leave. "Thank you so much for everything you've taught me about Snubbull!"

"With our heroes' help and the assistance of Tina, Snubbull's trainer is learning that her Pokémon's affection has to earned by paying attention, not money. And so our heroes are on their way again, but they may not be the only ones." The Narrator said in a voiceover.

Snubbull bumps into a vine that resembles Meowth's tail, and she then overhears her trainer talking about something. "Maybe we should've made it bigger, Jeeves. Let's draw up some plans for an expansion. We could put in a waterfall." Muchmoney said on how toe expand the exercise yard. "Snubbull! (Uh-oh!)" Snubbull, overhearing this and thinking it's a bad idea, runs through the hedge wall and off towards the wild woods to find Team Rocket and Meowth.

Happy 26th Anniversary to Pokémon the Series

Everyone, today is the 26th Anniversary of one of the greatest 4kids English dubs of all time,

Pokémon!

Already it has been 26 years since we have seen the adventures of

Ash Ketchum, Pallet Town's future Pokemon Master, his first partner, Pikachu alongside his friends,

Misty and Brock across the Kanto region

while fighting against the Team Rocket trio; Jessie, James and Meowth!

So, for today, I will make this is an open roleplay for anyone interested to RP with my Pokémon muses in the original series verse.

Ash Ketchum and Pikachu

Misty

Brock

Jessie

James

Meowth

Tagged by: @hoshi-neko-hikari, @spirits-of-nature16, @the-world-hopper, @bluemajingirl, @themultiverseheroines, @smashingveteransandnewcomers, @champofpallet

[askkaimei]

I personally think Miku in BMATTOA is a bit Mary Sue, no ofense

bro, if she charged to the tower by herself, overcame all the trials alone, somehow alive, ran to the top, jumped so high she punched the gods herself & saved THE ENTIRE WORLD FROM ANY MORE TRIALS IN THE FUTURE,

i would say she is mary sue

BUT BRO, she did nothing but CRYING AND ACCEPTING HER MISERABLE FATE while LOSING HER FRIENDS

probably never gonna step down from that tower ever again because u saw neru was there, probably she is going to be there just like her until the next messiah that went through JUST the same kind of despair come hundred years later

[zestyzigzagoon]

I won't write this because I'm still in a rut and I have other things to catch up on, but fun AU idea: famous person x normal person AU, except the normal person lives under a rock and has no fucking clue who the famous one is

[widowshill]

the locket, motherhood, & marriage.

139 / 139 / 136 / 136 / 191 / 191 / 191 / 142 / 134 / 143 / 143 / 144 / 144 / 139 script / 144 / 280 / 144 / 144 / 192 / 279 / 279 / 279 / 279 / 143

[bunnibombz]

Viking! Simon who you never expected to be the one to court you. Bringing you massive bucks and wolf pelts from his hunts, jewelry made for you from woven iron and shining beads, racks of firewood brought to you through the wintertime to keep your home warm. Simon hadn't said more than a handful of words to you, but his intentions were clear.

Viking! Simon who was waiting near your front garden for you one early morning when you were leaving to wash clothes in the creek, his hand clinched tight around something in his fist. He greeted you softly, reaching out for your hand and placing the object in your palm. You smiled as you held the necklace up softly in your fingers, studying the woven iron anchoring a black wolf's tooth into a pendant, the chain made from delicate silver.

"I knew i would give this to my future bride" he murmured quietly as if to himself as he tied it around your neck, a giddy smile stretching your cheeks as you turned in his arms, pressing against him and hearing his heart pounding.

Viking! Simon who asked for you to do his war paint before he went off to a raid at the end of winter. Promising to come back to you in quiet murmurs over the crackling firelight in his main room, the softness of your fingers dragging the charcoal paint across his skin puling out all the words he had wanted to say to you before but was afraid of admitting his feelings.

Viking! Simon who returns from the raid the first hot morning of summer. The bag of loot falling from his shoulder and his strong arms encircling you against his chest the moment he sees you. He chuckled lightly at the concerned look on your face as your hands grazed the fresh scar on his chest.

"Did everything I could to get back to you lovie" He said, rough hand soft as he cupped your jaw and turned your face closer to him. Your heart felt it would skip out of your chest as his lips pressed against yours, a satisfied hum in his chest as his hands gripped your waist.

Viking! Simon who marries you the following day. Not wanting to wait anymore, that journey having made him wait long enough to make you his completely. He keeps you close that night as the festivities of your wedding go on far past moonrise, his hand or arm never leaving you. Feeding you juicy meat from his fingers and tilting his cups of mead and water up to your lips. Finally things died down a bit, and Simon lifted you up over his shoulder and carried you giggling back to his house. He had already moved your things in before the ceremony.

Viking! Simon ravaged you in his bed that night. His fingers were gentle as he squeezed and rolled your nipples while his lips and teeth sucked and nipped roughly at your bare flesh. His cock throbbed deep in your gut when he breached your virgin entrance, both of your voices raised in broken moans as you learn each other's bodies for the first time. Your mouths were locked in a messy tongue filled kiss when he filled you up, hot cum shooting in creamy spurts against your womb as you locked your legs around him. Limbs tangled and covered in sweat, he takes you until the morning birds begin singing.

Viking! Simon who is beaming with pride as he lays his rough hands against your swollen belly months later, his baby growing big and strong and kicking fiercely against their fathers touch.

"A warrior already" he chuckled when your stomach jumped a little, the impression of a little foot or hand pressing against your skin. Your husband holds you close, pulling you in tight to his warm chest and just breathing you in through the cold night.

"Strong like his father" you whispered with a soft smile, caressing your stomach lovingly.

Viking! Simon who has tears in eyes a month later when his baby is born. A strong, beautiful little girl that makes his heart swell. She's so tiny in his arms as he holds her while you rest, the safest place in the world with her father who would burn the world to ashes before he let anyone hurt either of you. He presses his lips to her forehead in a soft kiss as her tiny fingers wrapped around one of his and he realized that with you and her, he finally found something to live for.

[snekdood]

every blonde girl should be able to eat the light-haired brunette boy that lurks around her if he doesnt stop trying to get on her dick

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 66

Chapter; Highlights, etc. (you know the drill😂)

Aelin awoke to the scent of pine and snow, and knew she was home.

Not in Terrasen, not yet, but in the sense she would always be home, if Rowan was with her.

His steady breaths filled her right ear, the sound of the well and truly asleep, and the arm he'd draped across her middle was a solid, warm weight. Silvery light glazed the ancient stones of the ceiling.

Morning—or a cloudy day. The halls beyond the room offered shards of sound that she sorted through, piece by piece, as if she were assembling a broken mirror that might reveal the world beyond

Apparently, it had been three days since the battle. And the rest of the khagan's army, led by Prince Kashin, his third-eldest son, had arrived.

It was that tidbit that had her rising fully to consciousness, a hand sliding to Rowan's arm.

A caress of a touch, just to see how deeply the rejuvenating sleep held him. Three days, they'd slept here, unaware of the world. A dangerous, vulnerable time for any magic-wielder, when their bodies demanded a deep sleep to recover from expending so much power.

That was another sliver she'd picked up: Gavriel sat outside their door. In mountain lion form. People drew quiet when they approached, not realizing that as soon as they passed him, their whispers of That strange, terrifying cat could be detected by Fae ears.

Aelin ran a finger over the seam of Rowan's sleeve, feeling the corded muscle beneath. Clear her head, her body felt clear. Like the first icy breath inhaled on a winter's morning.

During the days they'd slept, no nightmare had shaken her awake, hunted her. A small, merciful reprieve.

Aelin swallowed, her throat dry. What had been real, what Maeve had tried to plant in her mind-did it matter, whether the pain had been true or imagined?

She had gotten out, gotten away from Maeve and Cairn. Facing the broken bits inside her would come later.

For now, it was enough to have this clarity back. Even though releasing her power, expending that mighty blow here, had not been her plan.

Aelin slid her gaze toward Rowan, his harsh face softened into handsomeness by sleep. And clean—the gore that had splattered them both was gone. Someone must have washed it away while they slept.

As if he sensed her attention, or just felt the lingering hand on his arm, Rowan's eyes cracked open. He scanned her from head to toe, deemed everything all right, and met her stare.

"Show-off," he muttered.

Aelin patted his arm. "You put on a pretty fancy display yourself, Prince."

He smiled, his tattoo crinkling. "Will that display be the last of your surprises, or are there more coming?"

She debated it-telling him, revealing it.

Maybe.

Rowan sat up, the blanket sliding from him.

Is this the sort of surprise that will end with my heart stopping dead in my chest?

She snorted, propping her head with a fist as she traced idle marks over the scratchy blanket.

"I sent a letter-when we were at that port in Wendlyn."

Rowan nodded. "To Aedion."

"To Aedion," she said, quietly enough that Gavriel couldn't hear from his spot outside the door. "And to your uncle. And to Essar." Rowan's brows rose. "Saying what?" She hummed to herself. "Saying that I was indeed imprisoned by Maeve, and that while 1 was her captive, she laid out some rather nefarious plans."

Her mate went still. "With what goal in mind?"

Aelin sat up, and picked at her nails.

"Convincing them to disband her army. Start a revolt in Doranelle. Kick Maeve off the throne. You know, small things."

Rowan just looked at her. Then scrubbed at his face. "You think a letter could do that?"

"It was strongly worded." He gaped a bit. "What sort of nefarious plans did you mention?"

"Desire to conquer the world, her complete lack of interest in sparing Fae lives in a war, her interest in Valg things." She swallowed. "I might have mentioned that she's possibly Valg."

Rowan started. Aelin shrugged. "It was a lucky guess. The best lies are always mixed with truth."

"Suggesting Maeve is Valg is a fairly outlandish lie, even for you. Even if it turned out to be true."

She waved a hand. "We'll see if anything comes of it."

"If it works, if they somehow revolt and the army turns against her..." He shook his head, laughing softly. "It'd be a boon in this war."

"I scheme and lie so grandly, and that's all the credit I get?"

Rowan flicked her nose. "You'll get credit if her army doesn't show up. Until then, we prepare as if they are. Which is highly likely." At her frown, he said, "Essar doesn't wield much power, and my uncle doesn't take many risks. Not like Enda and Sellene. For them to overthrow Maeve ... it would be monumental. If they even survived it."

Her stomach churned. "It's their choice, what they do. I only laid out the facts." Carefully worded facts and half guesses. An absolute gamble, if she was being honest.

Rowan smirked. "And other than attempting to overthrow Maeve's throne? Any other surprises I should know about?"

Her smile faded as she lay back down, Rowan doing the same beside her. "There are no more." At his raised brows, she added, "I swear it on my throne. There are no more left."

The amusement in his eyes guttered. "I don't know whether to be relieved."

"Everything I know, you know. All the cards are on the table now."

With the various armies that had gathered, with the Lock, with all of it.

"Do you think you could do it again?" he asked. "Draw up that much power?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. It required being ... contained. With the irons."

A shadow darkened his face, and he rolled onto his side, propping up his head. "I've never seen anything like it."

"You never will again." It was the truth.

"If the cost of that much power is what you endured, then I'll be glad not to."

Aelin ran a hand down the powerful muscles of his thigh, fingers snagging in the rip of fabric just above his knee. "I didn't feel you get this wound through the mating bond," she said, grazing the thick ridge of the new scar. A trophy from the battle. She made herself meet his piercing stare. Did Maeve somehow break that part of it? That part of us?

"No," he breathed, and stroked the hair from her brow. "I've realized that the bond only conveys the pain of the gravest wounds."

She touched the spot on his shoulder where Asterin Blackbeak's arrow had pierced him all those months ago. The moment she'd known what he was to her.

"It was why I didn't know what was happening to you on the beach," Rowan said roughly. Because the whipping, brutal and unbearable as it had been, hadn't brought her to the brink of death. Only into an iron coffin.

She scowled. "If you're about to tell me that you feel guilty for it—"

"We both have things to grapple with—about what happened these months."

A glance at him, and she knew he was well aware of what still clouded her soul.

And because he was the only person who saw everything she was and did not walk away from it, Aelin said, "I wanted that fire to be for Maeve."

"I know." Such simple words, and yet it meant everything-that understanding.

"I wanted it to make things ... better." She loosed a long breath. "To wipe it all away." Every memory and nightmare and lie.

"It will take a while, Aelin. To face it, work through it."

"I don't have a while."

His jaw tensed. "That remains to be seen." She didn't bother arguing. Not as she admitted, "I want it to be over."

He went wholly still, but granted her the space to think, to speak.

"I want it to be over and done with," she said hoarsely. "This war, the gods and the Wyrdgate and the Lock. All of it." She rubbed her temples, pushing past the weight, the lingering stain that no fire might cleanse. "I want to go to Terrasen, to fight, and then I want it to be over."

She'd wanted it to be over since she'd learned the true cost of forging the Lock anew.

Had wanted it to be over with each of Cairn's lashes on the beach in Eyllwe. And all he'd done to her afterward. Whatever it might bring about, however it might end, she wanted it to be over.

She didn't know who and what it made her.

Rowan remained silent for a long moment before he said, "Then we will make sure the khagan's host goes north. Then we will return to Terrasen and crush Erawan's armies." He brought her hands to his mouth for a swift kiss.

"And then, after all that, we'll see about this damned Lock." Uncompromising will filled his every breath, the air around them.

She let it be enough for both of them.

Tucked away his words, his vow, all those promises between them and extended her palm in the air between them.

She summoned the magic-the drop of water her mother's bloodline had given her.

Mab's bloodline.

A tiny ball of water took form in her hand. Over the calluses she'd so carefully rebuilt.

She let the gentle, cooling power trickle over her. Let it smooth the jagged bits inside herself and sing them to sleep. Her mother's gift.

You do not yield.

When the Lock took everything, would it claim this part as well? This most precious part of her power? She tucked away those thoughts, too.

Concentrating, gritting her teeth, Aelin commanded the ball of water to rotate in her palm.

A wobble was all she got in answer.

She snorted. "Faerie Queen of the West indeed."

Rowan huffed a quiet laugh. "Keep practicing. In a thousand years, you might actually be able to do something with it."

She whacked his arm, the droplet of water soaking into the sleeve of his shirt. "It's a wonder I learned anything from you with that sort of encouragement." She shook the wetness from her hand. Right into his face.

Rowan nipped at her nose. "I do keep a tally, Princess. Of all the horrible things that come out of your mouth."

Her toes curled, and she dragged her fingers through his hair, luxuriating in the silken strands. "How shall I pay for this one?"

On the other side of the door, she could have sworn that cat-soft feet quickly padded away.

People gawked in the halls, some whispering as they passed.

The queen and her consort. Where do you think they've been these past few days?

I heard they went into the mountains and brought the wild men back with them.

I heard they've been weaving spells around the city, to protect it against Morath.

Rowan was still smirking when Aelin emerged from the communal ladies' bathing room.

"See?" She fell into step beside him as they aimed not for their room and ravishment, but for the hallway where food had been laid out.

"You're starting to like the notoriety."

Rowan arched a brow. "You think that everywhere I've gone for the past three hundred years, whispers haven't followed me?" She rolled her eyes, but he chuckled. "This is far better than Cold-hearted bastard or I heard he killed someone with a table leg."

"You did kill someone with a table leg." Rowan's smirk grew.

"And you are a cold-hearted bastard," she threw in.

Rowan snorted. "I never said those whispers were lies."

Aelin looped her arm through his. "I'm going to start a rumor about you, then. Something truly grotesque."

He groaned. "I dread the thought of what you might come up with."

She adopted a harsh whisper as they passed a group of human soldiers. "You flew back onto the battlefield to peck out the eyes of our enemies?" Her gasp echoed off the rock. "And ate those eyes?"

One of the soldiers tripped, the others whipping their heads to them. Rowan pinched her shoulder. "Thank you for that."

She inclined her head. "You're very welcome."

Aelin kept smiling as they found food and ate a quick lunch-it was midday, they'd learned-sitting side by side in a dusty, half-forgotten stairwell. Much like the days they'd spent in Mistward, knee to knee and shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen while listening to Emrys's stories.

Though unlike those months this spring, when Aelin set down her plate between her feet, she slid her arms around Rowan's neck and his mouth instantly met hers.

No, it was certainly not at all like their time at Mistward as she crawled into Rowan's lap, not entirely caring that anyone might stride up or down the stairs, and kissed him silly.

They halted, breathless and wild-eyed, before she could decide that it really wouldn't be a bad idea…

… If Aelin was being honest with herself, she was still debating hauling him into the nearest closet when they set off to find their companions at last. One glance at Rowan's glazed eyes and she knew he was debating the same.

Yet even the desire heating her blood cooled when they entered the ancient study near the top of the keep and beheld the gathered group. Fenrys and Gavriel were already there, Chaol with them, no sign of Elide or Lorcan.

But Chaol's father, unfortunately, was present. And glowered as they entered the meeting that seemed well under way. Aelin gave him a mocking smile and sauntered up to the large desk.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stood with Nesryn, Sartaq, and Hasar, handsome and brimming with a sort of impatient energy. His brown eyes were welcoming, his smile easy.

She liked him immediately.

"My brother," Hasar said, waving a hand without looking up from the map. "Kashin." The prince sketched a graceful bow.

Aelin offered one back, Rowan doing the same. "An honor," Aelin said. "Thank you for coming."

"You can actually thank my father for that. And Yrene," said Kashin, his use of their language as flawless as his siblings'.

Indeed, Aelin had much to thank the healer for.

Nesryn's sharp eyes scanned Aelin from head to toe. "You're feeling all right?"

"Just needed to rest." Aelin jerked her chin at Rowan. "He requires frequent naps in his old age."

Sartaq coughed, keeping his head down as he continued studying the map.

Fenrys, however, laughed. "Back to your good spirits, I see."

Aelin smirked at Chaol's straight-backed father. "We'll see how long it lasts."

The man said nothing.

Rowan motioned to the desk and asked the royals, "Have you decided-where you shall march now?"

Such a casual, calm question. As if the fate of Terrasen did not rest upon it.

Hasar opened her mouth, but Sartaq cut her off. "North. We shall indeed go north with you. If only to repay you for saving our army-our people."

Aelin tried not to look too relieved.

"Gratitude aside," Hasar said, not sounding very grateful at all, "Kashin's scouts have confirmed that Terrasen is where Morath is concentrating its efforts. So it is there that we shall go."

Aelin wished she had not eaten such a large lunch. "How bad is it?"

Nesryn shook her head, answering for Prince Kashin, "The details were murky. All we know is that hordes were spotted marching northward, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake."

Aelin kept her fists at her sides, avoiding the urge to rub at her face.

Chaol's father said, "I hope that power of yours can be summoned again."

Aelin let an ember of that power smolder in her eyes. "Thank you for the armor," she crooned.

"Consider it an early coronation gift," the Lord of Anielle countered with a mocking smile.

Sartaq cleared his throat. "If you and your companions are recovered, then we'll press northward as soon as we are able." No objections from Hasar at that.

"And march along the mountains?" Rowan asked, scanning the map. Aelin traced the route they'd follow. "We'd have to pass directly before the Ferian Gap. We'll barely clear the other end of this lake before we're in another battle."

"So we draw them out," Hasar said. "Trick them into emptying whatever forces wait in the Gap, then sneak up on them from behind."

"Adarlan controls the entire Avery," Chaol said, drawing an invisible line inland from Rifthold. "To pass north, we have to cross that river anyway. In picking the Gap as our battleground, we'll avoid the mess that would come with fighting in the midst of Oakwald. The ruks, at least, would be able to provide aerial coverage. Not so with the trees."

Rowan nodded. "We'd need to march the majority of the host up into the mountains, then—to come at the Gap from where they'd least expect it. It's rough terrain, though. We'll need to pick our route carefully."

Chaol's father grumbled. Aelin lifted her brows, but his son answered, "I sent out emissaries the day after the battle-into the Fangs. To contact the wild men who live there, if they might know of secret ways through the mountains to the Gap."

Ancient enemies of this city. "And?"

"They do. But at a cost."

"One that shall not be paid," the Lord of Anielle snapped.

"Let me guess: territory," Aelin said.

Chaol nodded. Hence the tension in this room.

She tapped a toot as she surveyed the Lord of Anielle. "And you won't give one sliver of land to them?"

He just glared.

"Apparently not," Fenrys muttered

Aelin shrugged, and turned to Chaol. "Well, it's settled, then."

"What is settled?" his father ground out.

Aelin ignored him, and winked at her friend. "You're the Hand to the King of Adarlan. You outrank him. You're authorized to act on Dorian's behalf." She gestured to the map. "The land might be a part of Anielle, but it belongs to Adarlan. Go ahead and barter it."

His father started. "You—"

"We are going north," Aelin said. "You will not stand in our way." She again let some of her fire kindle in her eyes, set the gold in them burning. "I halted that wave. Consider this alliance with the wild men a way to repay the favor."

"That wave destroyed half my city," the man snarled.

Fenrys let out a low, disbelieving laugh. Rowan snarled softly.

Chaol growled at his father, "You're bastard."

"Watch your tongue, boy."

Aelin nodded sympathetically to Chaol. "I see why you left."

Chaol, to his credit, winced and returned to the map. "If we can get past the Ferian Gap, then we continue northward."

Past Endovier. That path would take them right past Endovier. Aelin's stomach tightened. Rowan's hand grazed her own.

"We have to decide soon," Sartaq declared.

"Right now, we sit between the Ferian Gap and Morath. It would be very easy for Erawan to send hosts to crush us between them."

Hasar turned to Chaol. "Is Yrene anywhere near done?"

He leaned an elbow against the arm of his wheeled chair. "Even with the few survivors, there are too many of them. We'd be here weeks."

"How many injured?" Rowan asked.

Chaol shook his head. "Not injured." His jaw tightened. "Valg."

Aelin frowned. "Yrene's healing the Valg?"

Hasar grinned. "In a manner of speaking."

Aelin waved her off. "Can I see?"

They found Yrene not in the keep, but in a tent on the remnants of the battlefield, leaning over a human man thrashing upon a cot. The man had been restrained to anchors in the floor at his wrists and ankles.

Aelin took one look at those chains and had to swallow.

Rowan laid a hand on her lower back, and Fenrys stepped closer to her side.

Yrene paused, her hands wreathed in white light. Borte, sword out, lingered nearby.

"Is something wrong?" Yrene asked, the glow in her hands fading. The man sagged, going boneless as the healer's assault on the demon inside him halted.

Chaol steered his chair closer to her, the wheels equipped for rougher terrain. "Aelin and her companions want a demonstration. If you're up for it."

Yrene smoothed back the hair that had escaped her braid. "It's not really anything that you can see. What happens is beneath the skin—mind to mind."

"You go up against Valg demons directly," Fenrys said with no small amount of awe.

"They're hateful, cowardly wretches." Yrene crossed her arms and scowled at the man tied to the cot. "Utterly pathetic," she spat toward him—the demon inside him.

The man hissed. Yrene only smiled. The man—the demon-whimpered.

Aelin blinked, unsure whether to laugh or fall to her knees. "Show me. Do whatever it is you do, but show me."

Borte said, "It's not very exciting with them tied down, is it?"

Sartaq threw her an exasperated glare. As if this were a conversation they'd already had many times. "You can be on mucking duty, if you'd prefer."

Borte rolled her eyes, but turned to Aelin, looking her over with a frankness that Aelin could only appreciate. "Any other missions for me?"

Aelin grinned. "Not yet. Soon, perhaps." Borte grinned right back. "Please. Please spare me from the tedium of this."

"And you believe them?" Fenrys asked.

Hasar patted the hilt of her fine sword. "Our interrogators are skilled at retrieving the truth."

Aelin ignored the roiling in her stomach.

"So you free them," Gavriel said, silent for minutes now, "and then torture them?"

"This is war," Hasar said simply. "We leave them able to function. But we will not risk sparing their lives only to find a new army at our backs."

"Some willingly joined Erawan," Chaol said quietly. "Some willingly took the ring. Yrene can tell, when she's in there, who wanted it or not. She doesn't bother to save those who gladly knelt. So most of those she does save were either fools or taken forcibly."

"Some want to fight for us," Sartaq said.

"Those who pass our vetting process are allowed to begin training with the foot soldiers. Not many of them, but a few." Fine. Fine, and fine.

Yrene gasped, her light flaring bright enough that Aelin squinted.

Yrene slumped back, Chaol shooting out an arm to brace her. The healer only took a perch on the arm of his chair, a hand on her heaving chest.

Aelin gave her a moment to catch her breath. To manage such a feat was remarkable. To do it while pregnant ... Aelin shook her head in wonder.

Yrene said to no one in particular, "That demon didn't want to go."

"But it's gone now?" Aelin asked

Yene pointed to the man on the cot, now opening his eyes. Brown, not black, gazed upward.

"Thank you," was all the man said, his voice raw.

And human. Utterly human.

[moneerraed]

Hello, I am Mounir Raed I am 19 years old from gaza palestine 🇵🇸🍉 .

I was born in Gaza and live there. I worked in the field of sanitary supplies. With a lot of sadness, pain and sorrow, today on behalf of my grieving family My family consists of my father, Raed, who is 47 years old, my mother, Amani, who is 39 years old, and me along with my five siblings: my sister Rasha, who is 22 years old and married; my sister Rana, who is 21 years old and married; myself, Monir; my brother Mohamed, who is 16 years old; and my little sister Sham, who is 4 years old. Now, my entire family has become displaced after our house was destroyed, fleeing from bombings and death. Every day, we suffer more.

Before After

We are living in a school that has been turned into a shelter, housing many displaced people. Our lives have been upended multiple times due to the enemy's relentless bombings and destruction, forcing us to flee from death. My married sisters and their young children are with us in this dire situation, enduring severe shortages of food, water, and medicine, and we have received no assistance.

My mother, She's suffers from severe asthma and has undergone multiple surgeries with no improvement, depends on medication, inhalers, and oxygen for her chronic conditions. The ongoing conflict in Gaza has depleted the supply of these critical medications, causing her condition to worsen.

She also cooks food for us over the fire, and she is not supposed to approach the fire because the smoke from the fire affects her greatly and her condition deteriorates and her condition becomes very critical.

As if that weren’t enough, diseases are spreading among us due to the accumulated garbage, as there are no waste disposal systems and trash is piling up in the streets where we live.

Our situation is heart-wrenching and desperate.

We are engulfed in suffering and despair.

I plead for any support you can offer, even a small donation, to help us survive, find a peaceful place away from this relentless war, destruction, and death, and secure a safe and hopeful future.

I am sending you a plea to revive even a small part of hope.I have lost my home

, which was everything to me. I have so many memories of it, with my brothers who are everything to me as well. I lost my best friends, I lost my university, and I lost my job because of the war on Gaza and I also lost my shop 🥀����‍♂️

After Before

Everything was gone, the dream was lost, and nothing but became ashes. This war began and the smell of blood spread everywhere😔💔

Allow me to describe to you life here in Gaza. It is like a very small cage in which chicks (baby chickens) are placed. They have nothing to do with it. A bowl of water is placed for them, and you find them quarreling over this simple portion of water as well as food, and the aid planes that resemble a person being shot down Food crumbs on the cage and you find them fighting too

and this is our situation, but there is only one way to survive, which is to get out.

But going out will cost you a lot. It will cost you to forget your quiet and simple life, and forget your dreams and ambitions that you worked for and struggled for.

It will cost you money that you cannot afford, so I created this link for your contribution in saving what can be saved for someone like me who has an ambition and a dream that he wants to achieve and wants to complete his education. In order to be more successful.

I ask you to help and contribute to supporting me in order to leave the stricken Gaza Strip, and continue my life away from the ongoing wars there. I am striving hard to rebuild my life after the war.

Before After

After Before

goal : 🇵🇸🍉

Our goal is to collect the amount necessary for the evacuation from the Rafah border to Egypt. The money I raise will be used to pay the travel company responsible for the evacuation. This means the financial support needed to rebuild our lives and provide basic needs for me and my family.

How can you help : 💔❤

We need your support to achieve this goal. You can contribute in any way you find appropriate for you, even if it is a small portion, as every effort can have a meaningful impact and contribute to making a real difference through a financial donation. You can contribute any amount through this page. Share the campaign: Help raise awareness of the campaign by sharing it on social media and with anyone who can help. Provide any other support that can help me achieve this goal and be a support for us.🙏❤🙏

@90-ghost @sar-sar @mohammedalanqer

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the ( list #8 )

My Reblog post verify link

[ama3003]

Everything's Just Perfect

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Bucky's ex-wife and you always seem to be there whenever he needs you.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

“So…” John groaned, slumping against a cracked brick wall. Blood trickled from a cut near his hairline, and ash streaked his jaw like war paint. He held up what was left of his shield — warped, twisted, folded . “What now? Because we just got annihilated.”

“No shit,” Ava muttered, spitting dust from her mouth and flicking a burned scrap of fabric from her sleeve. Her split lip had swollen, and she could feel bruises blooming across her ribs. “I say every man for themselves. Bob’s gone full horror movie. This was fun — goodbye.”

She turned into the lingering smoke, already half-vanished — until Yelena’s voice cut through like a knife.

“We can’t leave him.”

Ava stopped, shoulders stiff. “Leave who? That wasn’t Bob back there. That was... I don’t even know what that was.” She turned, folding her arms. “Definitely not the guy who saved us.”

“No,” Yelena said, voice tight. “But he’s still in there. Somewhere.”

“Unless one of you has a secret anti-god laser in your back pocket,” Ava snapped, “what exactly is your plan?”

“I don’t have one yet,” Yelena admitted, stepping forward anyway. “But we’re not leaving him. Not like this.”

Alexei groaned and collapsed dramatically onto a half-shattered bench, which cracked under his weight. “If we go back in there, I need... at least ten minutes. And a cortisone shot. Maybe a priest.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Let me stretch, drink some water, and then we finish him.”

“We’re not finishing him,” Yelena snapped, rounding on him. “We’re going to help him.”

“Oh sure,” Ava muttered. “We’ll just hug the powers out of him.”

“He ripped Bucky’s arm off like it was a doll’s toy,” Alexei added. “We go in like this, we die.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky muttered as he calmly snapped the vibranium prosthetic back into place with a click. “Happens more than you think.”

John held up his bent shield, his face still a mix of shock and mild heartbreak. “He folded it. I mean—folded it. Like paper. Do you know what kind of force it takes to bend this thing?”

Ava raised a brow. “So… not vibranium?”

“It’s vibranium-adjacent,” John muttered defensively.

Yelena didn’t even look at him. “Maybe if it was actual vibranium, it wouldn’t look like a gas station burrito.”

Alexei lit up. “I could go for a burrito. Or a taco. The ones with the cheese in the middle. Mmm. I want that now.”

John groaned. “Focus! We got curb-stomped by Bob! Bob! The shy nerdy one!"

“Yeah,” Ava said quietly, brushing ash from her arm. “He’s not shy or nerdy anymore.”

That shut them all up.

Bucky exhaled. They were beat to hell, and morale was tanking fast. But more than that, they were scared. And for good reason.

He looked at them — bruised, dirty, half-limping, yet still bickering like middle schoolers on a broken field trip — and made a decision he was definitely going to regret.

“There’s a place we can crash. It’s not far. We lay low, regroup. Heal. Then we figure out what the hell to do.”

Yelena eyed him suspiciously. “Where?”

He didn’t answer. Just turned and started walking.

The group hesitated, then followed — slow and shuffling.

A few blocks in, Ava broke the silence again, jabbing a thumb at John’s mangled shield. “So… can’t you, like, unfold it? You’ve got super strength, right?”

“I have super strength,” John snapped. “Not unfold-a-shield-bent-by-a-living-deity strength. It’s toast.”

Alexei squinted. “Is that, like… covered under warranty? Or do you have to mail it back?”

John gave him a deadpan look. “Do I look like I kept a receipt?”

“And you—” he pointed at Ava “—Ghost. Can you even do anything right now or are you just brooding professionally?”

Ava raised her brow. “I walked through a wall and saved your sorry ass five hours ago.”

“She literally did,” Yelena added, smirking.

“I-oh. Right. I forgot,” John said, flustered. “In my defense, I was the one who cut the power so she could walk through the wall.”

“How convenient,” Ava said flatly.

Their argument began escalating again — nonsense mixed with sarcasm, interrupted only by Alexei trying to convince someone to buy him tacos — until Bucky turned sharply on his heel.

“Enough.” His voice was low, tired, and just sharp enough to cut through the noise. “We’re almost there. If you keep yelling, she’s not going to open the door.”

They all stopped short.

“She?” they echoed, suspicious in unison.

“Yes. She. No more questions.” He resumed walking, jaw clenched.

Yelena sidled up next to him, grinning like a cat. “Is this a she-she, or a capital-She situation?”

“I’m not answering that.”

Alexei leaned toward John with a conspiratorial whisper. “Is she a friend-friend or a friendly friend?”

John nodded sagely. “I bet she’s way out of his league.”

“Maybe she's his girlfriend,” Yelena offered with a shrug.

“Highly doubtful,” Ava muttered.

“She’s not my—” Bucky stopped mid-sentence, face twitching. “Just... shut up. All of you. Or I will let Bob use you as a jump rope.”

They finally quieted.

The townhouse appeared as they turned the corner. It was small, tucked between a dry cleaner and an old record shop. String lights framed the little balcony, and a warm golden glow spilled from the upstairs window. Too calm. Too normal. It looked like the kind of place where people had tea and talked about their feelings — not where half-dead super-soldiers crawled in to sleep off a cosmic ass-kicking.

Bucky stopped in front of the door, hesitating. His jaw tightened as he raised his fist, his metal fist hovering before he knocked.

He hated this.

He hated that he’d brought them here — hated the pit growing in his stomach — hated that this was the only safe place he could think of. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year. Not since they separated. And now he was dragging a human dumpster fire of a team to her doorstep.

Behind him, the others bickered in hushed tones.

“Does she cook?” “I hope she has a comfy couch.” “If she has tea, I’ll marry her.”

Bucky closed his eyes. Just for a second.

He almost turned around — almost told them it was a bad idea and they should just sleep in a sewer.

But then he heard footsteps approaching the door.

Too late.

The door creaked open slowly, and there you were.

Your eyes landed on Bucky first — bruised, dirt-streaked, arm slightly disjointed, and he was holding his ribs with one hand.

“Bucky,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. Your gaze swept across him, and the flicker of worry that crossed your face was brief, but real.

Then it was gone.

“What do you want?” you asked. Not cold exactly, but not welcoming either. Just guarded.

Bucky looked down for a moment. His voice, when it came, was low. Worn. “I know I’m the last person you wanna see right now. But we need your help.”

“I don’t play superhero anymore,” you replied, arms folding as you leaned slightly against the doorframe.

“I know,” he said quickly, “I’m not asking you to suit up or anything. We just need a place to lay low. For a night. Maybe two. We got our asses handed to us like ten minutes ago.” He gestured to the group behind him, and your eyes drifted over the chaos on your porch.

“Please, doll,” he added, quieter now. “I wouldn’t have come if I had any other option.”

The silence stretched between you. He held your gaze, waiting — wounded pride barely masked beneath the plea.

Finally, you sighed, the tension in your shoulders softening. Without a word, you stepped aside and opened the door wider.

“Come in before the neighbors start watching.”

The team shuffled in, dragging in a trail of soot, broken egos, and exhaustion. Bucky paused as he stepped through, eyes flicking to the living room. It looked exactly like he remembered — warm, soft lighting, a shelf cluttered with books and candles. Homey. Safe.

Except the framed photos of you two were gone. Replaced by art. Abstract pieces. Beautiful, distant things.

Then something soft brushed against his leg.

He glanced down and froze.

A pristine white cat was weaving through his boots, its tail flicking with recognition. His expression shifted—stunned, tender.

“Hey, Alpine,” he murmured, crouching carefully. “Hi, pretty girl. I missed you.”

She meowed softly and launched into his arms, immediately purring as she burrowed into his chest. He cradled her like porcelain, one hand smoothing over her fur.

You watched from the kitchen threshold. You and Bucky had agreed Alpine would stay with you — your life was stable, his wasn’t. It had made sense. But it hadn’t been easy.

Behind Bucky, the team just… stared.

“Are you seeing this?” John whispered to Yelena.

Ava elbowed him without even looking. “Shut up.”

It was a surreal image: The Winter Soldier, dusty and battle-worn, cuddling a white fluffball like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You took in the rest of them. They were strangers, mostly. Strangers who looked like they'd crawled out of a battlefield and onto your rug.

The blonde woman leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping her standing. The woman in the sleek suit by the door looked cool and dangerous in equal measure. Then there was the massive man in red. He smiled and gave a little wave when your eyes met. And then there was the guy with the folded shield and the “punch-me” face.

Bucky nodded toward the group. “Uh, yeah. That’s Yelena, Ava, Alexei, and... that’s John.”

They all gave awkward waves. Alexei’s was the most enthusiastic.

You nodded politely. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

They all looked like they were one nudge away from collapsing.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” you offered.

“Water, please,” Yelena said quickly, her voice scratchy.

John raised his hand like a kid in class. “Same.”

Ava glanced at you, almost apologetic. “Do you have tea?”

“Sure. What kind?”

“Anything.”

You turned to Alexei.

“Do you have anything… stronger?” he asked, hopeful.

“How strong?”

“Very strong.”

You smirked. “Got it.” Then disappeared into the kitchen.

The moment you were out of sight, all heads turned to Bucky — still petting Alpine, who had zero plans to move.

“So…” Yelena drawled. “You and her?”

Bucky tensed like someone lit a fuse in his spine.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

John leaned closer to Ava. “There’s definitely history here. Did you see the way she looked at him?”

“She also looked like she wanted to slam the door,” Ava replied.

“She likes him,” Alexei declared confidently. “There is affection. And the cat approved. Cats never lie.”

Bucky glared at all of them. “If you value your limbs, you’ll stop talking.”

Yelena held up both hands, grinning. “Okay, okay. No shipping the grumpy soldier. Got it.”

A few moments later, you returned balancing a tray with glasses, a mug of tea, and a tumbler of something amber.

“Bucky, seriously?” you said, seeing them all still hovering like awkward ghosts. “You could’ve told them to sit down.”

He shrugged, still holding the cat like a teddy bear. “Didn’t want to break anything.”

You waved the team toward the couches. “Please. Make yourselves at home.”

John and Yelena nearly collapsed into opposite ends of the same couch. Ava leaned against a windowsill, blowing gently on her tea. Alexei sniffed his drink, took a sip, then sat upright.

“You, my dear, are an angel,” he declared reverently. “Is this whiskey?”

“Only the best for unexpected guests,” you replied dryly. “I was meal-prepping earlier,” you added, glancing over your shoulder. “I’ve got a big pot of soup if anyone’s hungry. Showers are down the hall. Towels are in the closet. Clean shirts in the basket.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Soup would be heavenly,” John mumbled, eyes already closing.

You gave a small smile and turned toward the kitchen again.

Bucky hesitated, gently placing Alpine down as she curled onto a throw pillow. Then he followed you, slow and quiet.

You were setting down a basket of warm dinner rolls on the table when you felt the shift in the room. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Still, you glanced over your shoulder. Bucky stood quietly near the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim kitchen light, his hands shoved in his pockets, posture stiff like he hadn’t quite decided if he should be there.

“Do you need anything?” you asked, keeping your voice steady. The soup was already simmering; your hands moved automatically to the ladle.

He offered a faint smile — the kind that didn't reach his eyes. “Thanks for letting us crash here.”

You nodded, focusing on the steam rising from the pot instead of the way your chest clenched. “You all looked like hell. Someone had to be decent.”

“Look, Y/N—”

“Bucky, don’t,” you said quickly, sharper than you meant to. You turned to face him fully, hands still holding the ladle. “You don’t have to say anything. I know why you're here. Nearest safe house. Not personal. It’s fine. Really.”

He hesitated, jaw tightening before giving a slow nod. “We’ll be out of your hair soon. Just need some rest.”

“That's fine.” You turned back to fill the bowls. “Alpine misses you.”

His voice was softer this time. “I miss her too.”

You didn't answer right away. But when the bowls were full and the bread was out, you called out toward the hallway.

“Lunch.”

A few thuds and grunts later, the rest of the group shuffled in like survivors of a disaster movie. Everyone looked slightly cleaner than when they arrived — but still bruised, bandaged, and about ten seconds from passing out.

Everyone except Bucky, who instinctively sat down in the seat next to yours.

Yelena took a spot across the table, her hands wrapped around her water. Ava perched at the end, still sipping her tea slowly. Alexei helped himself to three rolls before anyone else had time to blink.

John hovered awkwardly before finally taking a seat beside Alexei, clearly not wanting to be anywhere near Yelena again after their last round of bickering.

“And then—oh! Oh! Bob folded his shield like a freakin’ taco,” Alexei said mid-chew, nearly choking from laughter. “Just snapped it like paper!”

Yelena chuckled. Even Ava cracked a smirk.

John looked personally offended. “It’s not that funny.”

“And then—wait for it—he ripped off Bucky’s arm.” Alexei nearly doubled over at the memory.

Your spoon paused halfway to your mouth. You turned your head so fast toward Bucky, it made your hair sway.

Bucky rolled his eyes at Alexei, but when he caught your expression — real concern flickering beneath practiced calm — his demeanor softened.

“It’s fine,” he said gently, lifting the vibranium arm a little. “Reattached it without a problem.”

“Are you sure?” You were already reaching out, ignoring the way your hand trembled just slightly. You turned his arm gently, inspecting the seam where metal met flesh, eyes scanning for dents or stress damage. “Did you check everything out?”

“I’m okay,” he said, holding your gaze. You gave him a look that said you weren’t convinced. So he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He squeezed your hand. “I promise. I’m okay.”

His eyes looked at your hand, and something flickered behind them — something like a punch to the gut. It was bare. There was no ring on her finger.

Automatically, he reached up to his chest, fingers ghosting over where the chain should’ve been.

It wasn’t there.

His stomach dropped.

Bucky’s fingers frantically searched under his collar, pulling at his shirt, then dipping into his jacket pocket. Nothing.

No. No no no.

He never took it off. Ever.

His pulse spiked as he started checking every pocket.

“Bucky?” you asked, watching him unravel. “What’s wrong?”

“The chain,” he said hoarsely. “My chain. It’s gone.”

Panic etched across his face.

At the end of the table, Yelena blinked, frowning as she slipped a hand into her coat pocket. She felt the cool weight of something metallic there — something she had shoved away mid-battle and forgotten about.

When she pulled it out, her heart skipped.

It was a chain.

And dangling from it — a simple gold wedding band.

“Holy f—” she whispered, catching herself before the full curse slipped. “Holy shit.”

Everyone turned to look.

Bucky’s head snapped up.

She held the chain in her open palm like it was glowing. “This is yours.”

He surged forward before she could say another word and plucked it from her hand like it was oxygen. His breath shuddered as he slipped it back over his neck, the ring resting once again near his heart.

Relief washed over his features — raw and unfiltered.

Your eyes locked with his.

“You still have it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand brushed your ring finger again, almost absentmindedly.

“I—I…” Bucky swallowed hard, words failing. His throat felt too tight.

Alexei broke the silence like a sledgehammer. “Wait—you’re married?! Congratulations!” he bellowed, raising his glass. “That’s adorable.”

Bucky flinched like he'd been shot.

The silence that followed was very loud.

He looked at you again — the weight of everything unspoken between you crashing back in all at once — then abruptly stood.

He didn’t say anything.

He just left the room, Alpine trailing after him as the others watched, stunned.

“Did I…” Alexei frowned. “Did I say something wrong? Is that not a wedding ring?”

Yelena sighed, rubbing her temple. “We’re gonna need way more soup.”

“Uh… we’re not married anymore,” you whispered, and the air in the room seemed to shift.

Everyone went quiet. You could feel the weight of their stares settle on you like a spotlight, but you didn’t look back. You just stood, heart pounding, and walked out of the room — your feet already knowing where to go.

Of course you knew where he was.

You and Bucky had lived in this house together for two years before everything fell apart. The bones of the place hadn’t changed — not the layout, not the memories buried in each room. And especially not the basement.

You made your way downstairs, the air cooler, quieter. The moment your foot hit the last step, he spoke.

“You kept everything the same,” Bucky said, his voice low but clear. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was you.

You crossed the room and slowly sat next to him on the old couch, the one you both used to fall asleep on watching bad movies. The cushions were still slightly sunken on his side.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice gentle. “It was our home. It felt wrong moving your things…changing your designs.”

Silence filled the space between you. Not heavy — just full. The muffled sound of the team arguing upstairs drifted down: something about dishes, someone calling someone a jackass.

“They’re a good bunch,” you murmured. “Very entertaining, too.”

Bucky let out a quiet, tired laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

Your eyes drifted to the chain around his neck — barely visible, but there.

“You kept the ring,” you said softly, watching him tense just slightly.

He nodded slowly, the admission coming with a quiet sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?”

He finally turned to face you, eyes tired but sincere. “It helps me. Grounds me. I didn’t have much left to fight for after Steve left. But then there was you. And that ring… it gave me comfort. Protection, in a weird way. It became my good luck charm. I couldn’t get rid of it after the divorce. I didn’t want to.”

You felt your chest tighten, but you gave him a small, sad smile. “So you’ve been wearing it around your neck this whole time?”

He nodded again, this time more slowly. “Every damn day,” he admitted, dragging a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t take it off. It’s stupid, I know. Makes me look like a fool.”

You shook your head and stood up, walking to the cabinet on the far wall. He watched you with guarded curiosity as you pulled out a small, velvet box and returned to the couch.

“You’re not a fool,” you said gently. You opened the box and held it out to him. “I couldn’t get rid of mine either. Every time I tried, it felt wrong, like throwing away something sacred."

His gaze dropped to the ring in your fingers, and his throat tightened. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours again.

“I really wanted our marriage to work,” he said, the words coming out like a confession.

“I know you did.”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“I know you are.” You reached for his hand and held it. It still felt the same — steady, calloused, familiar. “You needed to find yourself, Buck. I should’ve understood. Everything was changing so fast. Steve died. Sam had the shield. Walker was Captain America for a minute. And then… you got into politics. You’re actually a congressman now.”

He let out a breath that was half-scoff, half-laugh.

“I couldn’t keep up,” you continued. “And that was on me.”

“No. It was on me,” he said firmly. “I didn’t prioritize your feelings. I kept shutting you out — thinking I was protecting you. You were right to divorce me. I wasn’t a good husband.”

You looked at him — really looked at him — and shook your head.

“Bucky, no. You were an amazing husband. You just had things to work through. And I pushed myself aside instead of speaking up.”

You leaned in and wrapped your arms around him. The embrace felt effortless. Like no time had passed.

His arms went around you instantly, like they never forgot how.

“I’m also sorry,” you whispered.

Bucky’s laugh was soft and bitter. “What the hell happened to us?”

“I don’t really know,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “But I missed you.”

“I missed you more.” He pressed his face into your shoulder, inhaling like he needed the scent of you to survive. Alpine purred softly at your feet, curling between your legs.

And for a while, it was enough.

Peaceful. Quiet. Just the two of you and the cat you shared, back in a place that still remembered love.

And then—

CRASH.

You both jumped slightly at the loud clatter upstairs.

“Did you seriously just break their bowl?” John’s voice rang out, horrified.

“Well, if you think you can do better, then help me wash the dishes, Walker!” Ava snapped back.

You giggled, forehead still resting against Bucky’s shoulder. “We should go before they break more of our dishes.”

He smiled — a real one, one that reached his eyes. It lit up something in him when you said our. He tightened his hold. “A few more minutes. They’ll survive.”

You didn’t argue.

And without meaning to, both of you drifted off, curled into each other like no time had passed at all.

********

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up, Alexei. You’re being too loud.”

“We should wake him up, though. We haven’t even talked strategy.”

“We can’t. Look at them.”

“They look like a cute, happy family.”

“We should take a picture.”

The shutter sound was loud in the quiet room, with the flash blinding all of them.

Bucky blinked awake, eyes adjusting slowly. There was warmth on his lap — Alpine, purring softly. And in his arms, still tucked close, was you.

For a second, he didn’t move.

This was what peace felt like. This was home.

“You woke him up,” Yelena hissed. “Seriously, Dad, turn off the flash and the sound!”

Bucky looked at them — bleary-eyed and still half-asleep — and his expression dropped into something flat and dangerous.

“I’m going to give you ten seconds to leave,” he said calmly, voice low and sharp as a blade. “And if you don’t… Bob will be the least of your problems.”

The team scrambled out of the room like they’d seen a ghost.

He sighed, then looked back down at you — just as you stirred.

You blinked yourself awake slowly, eyes meeting his. He braced himself, just for a second, wondering if you’d pull away. Regret it. Pretend none of it happened.

But you didn’t.

You just smiled sleepily, and snuggled closer.

“Is everything okay?” you murmured, reaching over to pat Alpine, who purred louder.

“Everything’s just perfect,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And for once, maybe for the first time in forever, Bucky believed that was true.

[stylesispunk]

"I don't want to look at anything else but you"

post outbreak! Joel miller x f!reader

summary: You and Joel had found peace in the quiet life you had built together in Jackson. Despite him hurting from the growing distance between him and Ellie, he knows he has you and you have his back.

wc: 6,4k.

warnings: a bit of angst for joel but is mostly fluff. Age gap but not specified. Remember English is not my first language and i'm lazy when it comes to checking.

a/n: okay. I didn't write a lot of blind faith during this week and I'm giving you this other joel fic as a sorry and because i'm already grieving Joel. I hope you like it 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Ever since you and Joel had settled into a normal, quiet life in Jackson. The dynamic between the two of you changed. The cold mornings spent outdoors turned into mornings wrapped in sheets. Just the two of you, your head on his chest and his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. The first taste of normalcy Joel had experienced since the world had ended that September, back at more than twenty-three years ago.

It hadn't been the easiest path, not for you, nor for him. Years ago, when your paths connected, everything was just a form of ashes and violence; the QZ had been nothing more than a temporary shelter with concrete walls and a rot at its core. But somehow, in that rotten place disguised as the safe, you had found Joel. Or perhaps he had found you. Either way, you clung to each other ever since.

He was older than you, weathered by loss no human could even bear, hard edges above the walls he had built around himself, walls that didn’t crumble easily. And you, well, you were younger, yes, but you’d also seen enough to understand him without needing him to utter a word. You both learnt the secrecy of a language driven by gestures and glances. That's exactly what got him first. The way you looked at him, not with pity or fear, but with a kind of love that had grown as a rose after a long winter.

You were his constant, the thing he always saw beyond the horizon. The light at the end of the alley was where everything seemed to be driven by madness. He had never told you just how much that meant, how many nights he lost sleep, awake beside you in that worn-out mattress you both shared at QZ, eyes tracing the ceiling, wondering what he had done to deserve someone like you. Maybe he didn’t deserve it. But you stayed anyway. Even when the Fireflies spread lies about change. Even when the world outside called to you both with the promise of something more deserving of a life.

And then came Ellie. The girl who turned everything upside down. The moment Joel took her in, you followed without hesitation, without question. Because you never questioned, you followed your heart, and your heart was him. You were the only one who never questioned him. Not even when he made the choice that changed everything. You didn't utter the truth of your mind, but instead you just held his secret like your own, wore the burden of it in silence. And when the truth finally tore open the fragile thread between Joel and Ellie, you were the one caught in the middle, because you had learnt to love them both in different ways.

And what was love in days like these? A tool that could give you strength or weaken your strength. A tool, still, after all.

Ellie had barely spoken to Joel in months now, but you still caught her glancing toward your porch sometimes, like she missed him but couldn’t quite forgive what he did, what he had taken from her. You didn’t push. You gave her space, the same way you gave Joel comfort when he needed it. Even when he didn’t say it, you could feel the guilt radiating off him in waves crashing into his charade.

But he still came home to you. Always. His hands shook slightly when he poured whiskey into a glass at night, the ghosts of the past flickering behind his tired eyes. And you would press your fingers to the side of his face and whisper that he was not the man he used to be. That maybe, finally, after all this time, he deserved peace.

The quiet life he was used to before the world ended.

He didn’t say much in response. Joel wasn’t one for poetry or pretty words, but his love was there in the way he kissed your forehead in the mornings before you even opened your eyes. It was in the way he made sure the firewood was stacked high so you’d never get cold. It was in every silent glance across a crowded dining hall, in every soft murmur against your temple when the nightmares woke him.

Joel had built a warm home for you. A place where both of you would end up dying after cherishing all the love you had shared for each other. After a fulfilled life, a happy life.

He became a fundamental part of Jackson, a community that grew every year thanks to his efforts and help. A community where he had become loved, and not just by you. While Joel reviewed maps and extensions that could continue to be built, you were part of the group patrolling the outskirts of Jackson.

And when you rode out past the gates on patrol, he stood on that porch, arms crossed, waiting for your silhouette to disappear into the trees. He never said “be careful,” never asked you to stay. Because he knew you wouldn’t. But he always waited for you to come back home to him.

Because no matter how many years passed, no matter what came between him and the world, he knew one thing:

You were the one thing he had never wanted to live without. He would rather die before seeing life leave your body in a lifeless frame.

Joel had become a fundamental part of the heart of Jackson, a community that grew every year thanks to his efforts and help. A community where he had become loved, but not just by you.

And while Joel reviewed maps and extensions that could continue to be built, you were part of the group patrolling the outskirts of Jackson, bringing people in, making sure the community was at peace.

Today was one of those freezing days of winter when snow covered all paths. Winter had hit the streets, and each minute outside seemed to threaten to take one of your fingers away.

You'd been riding with Rick for nearly two hours in silence, save for the sound of snow crunching under your horses’ hooves and the occasional radio crackle from the patrol team. The morning was cold, but sunlight still broke through the trees in patches, casting gold across the frostbitten forest. You were glad for the silence. Patrols were always easier when you didn’t have to think too hard or talk too much.

But Rick was fidgeting, and that was making you nervous.

You noticed it as you dismounted to check the broken fence line on the north perimeter. He stayed unusually close behind you, clearing his throat every few seconds like he was about to say something and then thinking better of it.

You finally turned to him with a raised brow, snowflakes sticking to your lashes.

“Spit it out, Rick. You’re twitchier than those clickers.”

He looked at you, flushed already from the cold but turning visibly redder. “Okay, so, I wasn’t gonna say anything. Like… ever. But if I don’t, I think I’m gonna explode."

You leaned on the fence and blinked. “That sounds pretty dramatic.”

“It is. I’m being dramatic,” he admitted, letting out a nervous laugh. “Look, I know you’re with Joel. Everybody knows you’re with Joel. Joel definitely knows you’re with Joel. And he could probably kill me with, like, just with a stare. But… I....I kinda like you. I have for a while.”

You stared at him, not sure if you’d misheard him or if he’d actually just said that. “Rick.”

“I know! I know. It’s not cool. It’s kind of stupid. But I figured maybe if I just said it out loud just once, I could move on and stop acting like a dumbass teeneager every time you’re around.” He ran a hand over his face, half laughing, half mortified. “Jesus, you’re gonna tell Joel and he’s gonna bury me under the tomato garden, huh?”

You couldn’t help it; you laughed. Hard. Rick blinked at you like he wasn’t sure whether he’d just been spared or sentenced.

“I’m not gonna tell Joel,” You said, still chuckling as you shook your head. “Unless I need an excuse to make him do the dishes.”

Rick exhaled loudly, shoulders slumping in relief. “God, please don’t do that.”

“Hey, I might. That’s great blackmail material,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge with your elbow before getting back to work on the fence. “Look, I appreciate the honesty. I really do. It’s weird, but kinda sweet, in a ‘high school crush’ kind of way.”

He gave you a sheepish smile. “I’ll take it.”

“But Rick,” you added, glancing at him from the corner of your eye, your voice gentler now, “Joel’s it for me. I love him. He is my husband, law or no law. You know that, right?”

“I do,” he said quietly. “Hell, everyone does. Just needed to clear my chest.”

“Well, chest cleared,” you said, patting him once on the shoulder. “Now let’s go back to our work or something. You’re not gonna make me do all the work just because you embarrassed yourself, are you?”

He laughed, finally relaxing. “Nah, I’ll take point. You just hang back.”

“Perfect,” you muttered, smirking as you mounted your horse.

As the two of you rode off, the moment settled behind you like footprints in snow. Something a little strange, a little uncomfortable, but harmless in a weirdly comforting sense. You knew Rick wouldn’t cross any lines. He wasn’t that kind of guy. And besides, by the time the sun dipped low and Jackson came into view again, your thoughts were already back at home.

To the porch where Joel would be waiting, arms crossed, pretending he was there spending time instead of waiting for you.

The way his jaw would twitch the moment he saw you, trying and failing to hide the relief in his eyes. To the warmth of his hand on the small of your back when he pulled you close and muttered a “Took you long enough.”

Because no matter what happened outside those walls, you always came back to him. You always would. Until the end of your life.

The sun had dipped behind the trees by the time you and Rick made it back to Jackson. The patrol had been uneventful after the confession, thank God, and Rick had thankfully returned to his usual self, cracking a dumb joke or two to break the tension. You left him at the stables with a casual wave, brushing the snow off your coat as you handed off the reins.

As you stepped out into the chilly late afternoon, your breath puffed white in the air. The lanterns strung along Jackson's paths were starting to flicker on, casting a golden hue over the snow-covered streets. You shoved your gloved hands into your pockets and turned toward home.

And then you saw Joel walking your way, just down the path near the greenhouse, shoulders relaxed in that slow way of his, with the glasses still perched low on his nose that made you pause and smile like a fool. He rarely kept them outside. Said they made him look too damn old. But there they were, catching the glow of the lanterns as he walked, reviewing something in a worn notebook.

He looked up as if sensing you before he even saw you.

The second his eyes found yours, his entire face shifted, like watching ice melt under a flame. His mouth tugged into a lopsided smile, soft and real and just for you. And God, it still got you. After all this time. After all the hell, the healing, the hurt, he still looked at you like that.

“You’re late,” he said, voice low and warm as he closed the notebook and tucked it under his arm.

“You’re wearing your glasses,” you replied, unable to keep the grin off your face.

He huffed. “Didn’t mean to. Just got caught up in the numbers. Didn’t wanna strain my eyes again.”

You stepped closer, heart easing in your chest the way it always did when he was near. “You look good.”

Joel gave you a look, tilting his head. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No,” you said, wrapping your arms around his middle.  “I mean it. There’s something kind of... sexy librarian about you.”

He let out a dry laugh, hand coming up to tug the glasses off and hook them into the collar of his shirt. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know, but you love it, though.”

“I do,” he said without hesitation, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then his gaze shifted a little more serious, a little softer. “Everything went alright out there?”

You nodded, leaning your shoulder into his chest. “Yeah. Nothing we couldn’t handle. Rick confessed his love for me, though.”

Joel stopped mid-step. “He what?”

You burst out laughing at his expression. “It was harmless. Kind of awkward. I think he mostly just needed to say it to get it off his chest.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, but there wasn’t an ounce of jealousy in his face, just amused disbelief. “Poor boy.”

“Right?” you said, still grinning. “He looked like he was about to faint. Said you’d probably bury him under the tomato garden.”

Joel gave a thoughtful nod. “Not a bad idea.”

You swatted his arm as he slipped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close against him. His body was warm, solid, familiar.

“You know I only love one grumpy man in this town,” you murmured, tucking your hand into the space between his coat and flannel.

He looked down at you, something tender and unspoken in his eyes. “I know.”

Your steps slowed, gravel crunching gently beneath your boots as the space between the two of you closed even more. You turned to face him, chin tilted up, your hands sliding into the open edges of his coat to rest against his chest.

Joel's brows lifted just a bit, eyes flickering between yours and your mouth. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. You leaned up and kissed him softly, just enough to make him pause and breathe you in. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing over your cheek in that way that always made you feel like you were something rare. Something precious under his stare.

The kiss lingered, unhurried because you had all the time in your hands now.

When you pulled back, your forehead rested against his. “Tell me about your day,” you whispered.

Joel hummed low in his chest, his nose brushing against yours. “Not as exciting as yours, apparently,” he muttered, and you could hear the faint smirk in his voice.

You grinned. “Still wanna hear about it.”

He sighed, but it was soft. Content. “Well, I argued with Tommy about expanding the southeast fence. Again. He’s still convinced we need to pull it in tighter. I told him he’s just scared of dealing with the extra patrols.”

You chuckled. “He is scared of extra patrols.”

“Damn right,” Joel muttered, clearly pleased you agreed. “Helped Maria sort through some of the winter inventory. Got roped into fixing a leaky pipe in the clinic because somebody thought I was the only one with ‘good hands.’”

You looked up at him with a grin. “Well… they’re not wrong.”

That made him laugh again, the sound low and rough and good. “Are you flirting with me, darling?”

“Maybe.”

“After all these years?”

“Especially after all these years.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for a beat. “You keep that up and I’m gonna have to warm you up properly once we get inside.”

You raised a brow. “Promise?”

Joel groaned and gave a playful shake of his head. “You’re trouble.”

“You love it,” you said again, smiling as you slipped your hand into his and started walking toward home, where the hearth was probably still warm and the bed even warmer.

And God, you really did love this life. This normal, beautiful, quiet life with him.

As you reached your home, Joel’s hand squeezed yours gently before slipping away. He paused on the porch, his eyes drawn toward the garage across the yard. A faint flicker of light glowed from the crack beneath the door, soft, irregular, probably from that old lamp Ellie refused to replace. You followed his gaze, the air suddenly still around the two of you.

“She’s in there,” Joel murmured, his voice lower now. Not tense, exactly, but something sad, almost wary. You knew that tone. He’d been using it a lot when it came to her lately.

You nodded, shrugging off your coat. “Yeah, she seems to spend a lot of time in there.”

Joel lingered, eyes fixed on the garage like he could see right through the wall and into her thoughts. “Do you know if she’s going to the New Year’s thing tonight?”

You turned to look at him, reaching out to take his gloves from him as he pulled them off. “She didn’t say a lot to me this morning.”

Joel nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. He looked older when he worried, shoulders heavier, jaw tighter. “I wouldn’t blame her if she doesn´t.”

“Things are different now,” you said softly, brushing a bit of snow off his shoulder. “She’s still figuring out how to be... okay with everything. With you, okay. With both of us.”

“I don’t blame her,” he said after a moment. “I just… I hate not knowing how to make it better.”

You stepped closer, resting a hand against his chest. “Maybe it’s not the right time. You’re still here, waiting, still being there for her.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. He looked at the garage one more time, eyes soft with regret and longing, something like hope, but worn thin.

Then he turned back to you, lips brushing your forehead as he let out a long breath. “Come on," he said quietly. “Let’s get inside before you freeze that smart mouth off.”

You smiled and nudged the door open. “Too bad. I had plans to use it tonight.”

Joel laughed under his breath as he followed you inside, letting the door close gently behind you.

The world felt warm and still when you opened your eyes.

That fuzzy kind of stillness where the light was soft and golden through the curtains, and your limbs were heavy in the best way, boneless and relaxed under the weight of a thick blanket. You blinked slowly, adjusting to the calm, to the scent of pine still lingering from the firewood and Joel’s flannel shirt close by.

Your head was resting on his lap. Joel sat slouched back against the couch cushions, legs stretched out, a book open in one hand, his glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t noticed you waking yet. Or maybe he had, and just didn’t say anything.

The fingers of his free hand combed lazily through your hair, tracing slow, thoughtful paths over your scalp and down to the nape of your neck. Over and over again, like it was as natural to him now as breathing. That kind of tenderness that wasn’t loud or showy, just there, anchoring and steady.

You smiled, sleep still in your voice. “You’re gonna put me right back to sleep doing that.”

Joel’s eyes flicked down from the page to meet yours, and a slow smile spread across his face. “And that's a bad thing?”

“No,” you murmured, shifting just slightly to curl closer into his thigh. “It’s a really, really good thing.”

He hummed, the sound vibrating through his chest, low and warm. His thumb brushed along your temple in a soft arc. “Didn’t mean to wake you. You were out cold.”

“Blame your lap. It’s cozy for this kind of weather.”

He chuckled, eyes returning briefly to his book. “Didn’t think you’d fall asleep halfway through telling me about how Rick nearly dropped his gun while trying to impress you.”

“He did!” you laughed, eyes closing again. “It slipped right outta the holster when he tried to be all cool and stretch like nothing hurt. I nearly fell off the damn horse.”

Joel shook his head, the quiet amusement clear in his face. “That man is a disaster.”

“Mmm, but at least a harmless one,” you yawned.

Another beat passed, quiet except for the sound of pages turning and the fireplace crackling low in the background. His fingers never stopped moving in your hair.

“Do you ever miss it?” you asked softly, not even sure where the question had come from. “Before here. All the chaos we used to live in. The constant movement. The adrenaline. Sleeping on the dirt, perhaps?"

Joel’s hand slowed, just slightly. You felt the pause. Then the steady rhythm picked up again, gentler.

“Sometimes,” he admitted after a moment. “Not the danger, but the feeling of having to keep going. No room to think too hard. Now Ellie doesn’t talk to me.

You nodded, eyes still closed. “That will be temporary, you know.”

“Yeah.” His voice lowered, more thoughtful. “But I’d trade a hundred years of running for one of these. You and I like this.

That made you laugh again, and his hand cradled the back of your head as you shifted to look up at him.

“You’re getting soft in at your old age, Miller.”

He looked down at you over the rim of his glasses, brow raised. “Say that again and see if I let you keep using my lap as a pillow.”

You smirked. “You’d miss me.”

“I would,” he said quietly, and just like that, the teasing faded into something real.

You smiled at him, “I should start getting ready for the party tonight.”

“You look perfect just like this.”

“How romantic, Joel Miller, but I probably smell bad.”

Joel snorted softly, eyes crinkling at the corners as he closed the book and set it aside. “Darling, we’ve both smelled worse. Remember when we reached Bill’s house?”

You groaned dramatically, burying your face into his thigh. “Don’t remind me. That was not my best moment.”

“I didn’t mind it then either,” he said, his fingers grazing down your jaw, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You could be covered in mud and I’d still think you’re the prettiest girl in the room.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by how easily he could say something like that now. It hadn’t always been like this. It used to come out in actions, his silence, his worry, the way he stood between you and anything that even looked like a threat. But now he let himself say it. He let himself mean it.

And you never took that lightly.

“I’ll take the compliment,” you murmured, sitting up slowly and stretching under the blanket. Joel helped you out of it without a word, and you lingered just a second longer to brush your lips over his before standing.

He watched you, content and quiet, as you moved toward the bedroom. “Do you want me to wear that sweater you like?” you asked over your shoulder.

Joel raised an eyebrow. “The one with the buttons?”

You nodded, already pulling your hair back into a messy bun.

“Hell yeah,” he said, voice a little rougher now. “That one drives me crazy.”

You laughed as you disappeared around the corner, the sound making Joel lean his head back against the couch with a quiet, contented sigh. His hand drifted absentmindedly to the spot where your head had been resting only moments ago, like some part of him still needed to hold on.

From the window, he noticed the light in the garage had gone dark. Maybe Ellie was getting ready too. Maybe tonight would be a little bit closer to feeling whole again.

You stepped out of the bedroom a few minutes later, brushing the last bit of lint off the front of your sweater, the one with the buttons Joel never shut up about. It was a little snug at the waist, hugged you just enough to make you stand out. Paired with the jeans he said made your legs look dangerously good, you were banking on at least a solid double-take.

Joel looked up from the couch, still lazily sprawled across the cushions, glasses sliding down his nose.

And damn if you didn’t get more than a double-take.

His hand went straight to his chest like he’d been physically struck. His mouth opened, then closed again like he forgot how to breathe.

“Jesus,” he muttered, sitting up straighter, eyes trailing slowly from your boots to your eyes. “Are you trying to kill me?”

You grinned, one hand resting on your hip as you posed, just a little. “What, this old thing?”

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You look…” He trailed off, searching for the word. “I don’t even get a word for it. Beautiful doesn’t do it justice.”

“You’re such a liar,” you teased gently, though your cheeks were already warm.

“I’m not,” he said, still staring. “You walk into that party looking like that, I’m gonna have to fight half the town.”

You walked over and stood between his knees, his hands naturally coming to rest at your waist, thumbs sliding along the hem of your sweater.

“Don’t worry,” you said, brushing a hand through his hair with deliberate slowness. “I’m only going with one man tonight.”

His eyes met yours, serious under all the teasing now. “You’re mine,” he said lowly, not like a warning, but like a vow you would say at a wedding.

“I always have been,” you whispered back.

And for a second, it didn’t matter where you were going or who’d be at the party. There was only this, his hands steady on you, your breath soft against his, and the quiet thrum of a life you’d built together piece by piece.

“Come on, Miller,” you said, pulling back with a smile. “Get dressed. Can’t show up to a New Year’s party looking like you just came in from the stables.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully. “I was gonna wear the flannel you like, but now I’m reconsidering.”

You leaned down and kissed him slowly, “Wear the flannel. Then you lose it later.”

Joel groaned into your mouth. “You’re evil.”

You smirked. “You love it.”

He planted a kiss on your lips before standing up from the couch.

.......

The lights in the main hall of Jackson’s community center glowed warm and low, casting golden halos over strings of mismatched decorations, handmade banners, old Christmas lights, paper stars that crinkled every time the door opened and let in the wind. Music played softly from an old radio in the corner, laughter and voices mingling with the hum of people pouring in, already loosening up with drinks and stories.

You stood near the back wall, a glass of something vaguely sweet in your free hand, the other laced tightly with Joel’s. His thumb brushed slow circles over your knuckles as you chatted with Maria, who was animatedly retelling something Tommy had done earlier that day involving a runaway chicken and a very confused patrol dog.

You were half-listening, smiling and nodding along, but you felt it more than saw it, that Joel wasn’t really paying attention. His body was here, steady beside you, but his focus had shifted.

You followed the subtle line of his gaze, and there she was, Ellie.

She was standing on the edge of a table, watching Dina dance in the middle of the place. Her hair was surprisingly neat. She wore one of the jackets Joel had patched for her last winter, and she looked better. Not completely at ease, but not avoiding people either. Laughing at how Dina enjoyed herself, her face lit up in that rare, open way that used to be more common. That Joel hadn’t seen in too long.

Your fingers squeezed around his, gently tugging his attention back to you. He blinked, then looked down, sheepish.

“She showed up,” you said quietly, so only he could hear.

Joel nodded, but didn’t speak at first. His jaw worked slightly, like there was something caught there that he couldn’t quite get out. “Didn’t think she would,” he murmured eventually.

You leaned your head into his shoulder, your hand still holding his like it anchored you both. “She’s trying,” you said softly. “Just like you are.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just watched Ellie for another long moment. His face unreadable, but you could feel the storm behind it, the guilt and the love and the endless what ifs he carried like extra weight on his worn-out back.

“She still wears that jacket,” he said finally, voice a little rough.

“She still loves you,” you said, just as sure.

Joel looked down at you then, the depth in his eyes something that stole your breath a little. “Do you think it’ll ever go back to how it was?”

You turned slightly to face him, brushing your thumb along the inside of his wrist. “No,” you said honestly. “But maybe it’ll become something new eventually.”

He nodded slowly, like he was trying to believe it. Maybe tonight helped.

The minutes had stretched into hours, in a few ones. A new year would come into your lives and you were enjoying the hope that brought to all people in the community. Yes, you were enjoying the party, until something completely shifted the ambiance.

When Ellie’s voice came.

Loud. Angry. Hurt.

“I don’t need your fucking help, Joel!”

You froze. The room quieted, just a little. Just enough for you to react to it.

Joel didn’t say anything at first. You watched his face, how it closed off, his expression almost neutral except for the way his jaw clenched. There was something like shame in his eyes. Like he’d overstepped. Like he knew this was coming after him.

He turned. Not fast. Just quietly stepped back, like every inch he put between himself and Ellie was one he’d deserved. He didn’t look at you. Just walked toward the door of the hall, shoulders tight, hands in his pockets, and disappeared outside.

You turned slowly, your gaze falling on Ellie.

She was still standing there. Chest rising and falling like she'd just finished running. Dina was beside her, wide-eyed, unsure whether to step in or stay back. The room had started to move again around them, but you stayed where you were, heart sinking.

Ellie looked at you. And you didn’t say anything. Didn’t frown or shake your head. Just stare at her.

There was disappointment in your eyes—yes. A flicker of sadness too, not just for Joel, but for her. For the pain stitched between them. For the ways she still didn’t understand that Joel didn’t defend her to take control, or because he thought she was weak, but because he loved her.

Because she was still his. And whether she was ready to admit it or not, he would always be hers.

Ellie looked away first. Back to her shoes. Her jaw tensed like she was biting back words. But she didn’t say anything else.

You waited another beat, then gently set your glass down, excused yourself from the people at your table with a small nod, and went after Joel.

The cold had settled deep by the time you made it back home.

The porch light cast a soft glow across the wooden steps, and there he was sitting in the chair like he had nowhere else to be, guitar in his lap, hands quiet on the strings. He wasn’t playing. Just holding it, his fingers curled around the neck like they used to when he didn’t know what else to do with his hands.

His glasses were off, resting on the side table next to him. The soft creak of the porch boards under your steps made his head lift, and his eyes met yours.

You smiled gently. “Hey, cowboy.”

Joel didn’t say anything right away, just gave you the ghost of a smile before looking down at the guitar again.

You crossed the porch and crouched in front of him, resting your hand on his knee. “She didn’t mean it.”

He let out a breath, slow and tight. “Yeah, she did. Maybe not in the way she thinks. But she did.”

You didn’t argue. Instead, you just leaned your head against his leg, wrapping your arms around his knee. “Come inside,” you murmured. “It’s freezing.”

“I like the cold,” he said quietly.

“You’re getting old,” you teased, tilting your face up toward him with a smile. “Your bones can’t handle it anymore.”

That pulled the faintest smirk from him. “You keep talking like that, and you’re getting a snowball to the face next time it drops.”

“Promises, promises.”

You stood up and reached out a hand to him. He hesitated for a moment before placing the guitar gently against the wall. His hand slid into yours, warm and rough and steady, and you led him inside.

The house welcomed you with its familiar warmth, soft light spilling from the kitchen lamp. You tugged him into the living room and stopped, turning to face him, fingers still wrapped around his.

“You remember how to dance, Joel?”

He raised a brow. “Now?”

You nodded. “Now. Just us.”

There was no music, just the sound of the wind outside and the hum of life still buzzing faintly in town. But you stepped closer, placing your other hand on his chest as he found your waist, and you started to sway slowly, like there was a song only the two of you could hear.

You looked up at him, voice soft. “You know there’s no life for me after you, right?”

His eyes flicked to yours, searching. Quiet.

You swallowed. “Not just no one else… No life. I’m not made for this world without you in it.”

His jaw tensed, his hand tightening slightly on your hip.

“I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. More than I even thought I could love anyone."

Joel's voice was rough when he finally spoke. “You shouldn’t say that.”

“But it’s true.”

His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, and you saw the fight in him, the weight of it all, the doubt, the guilt. But you also saw the way his heart ached for you. How much he wanted to believe he deserved it.

“You’re all I have,” he said finally. “You and her. And I keep messing it up.”

You shook your head and pulled him closer, pressing your forehead to his. “You didn’t mess anything up tonight. You stood up for her. That’s what love looks like, even if she doesn’t know how to take it right now.”

Joel let out a shaky breath. You leaned up and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. “Always.”

And with his arms wrapped around you in the middle of that quiet living room, Joel let himself hold on.

You kept swaying with him, barely moving, your arms snug around his broad frame like you were afraid he might drift away if you let go.

The firelight from the hearth flickered softly across his face, casting shadows that danced along the lines etched into his skin. You lifted your gaze, taking him in, really taking him in.

His hair was more silver than brown now, especially at the temples, and his beard had followed suit, peppered with white that hadn’t been there when you first met him back in the QZ. The creases around his eyes were deeper, more permanent, carved by years of worry, loss, and that rare, secretive laughter you’d always tried to pull from him like a prize you needed to win. His hands, still strong, still steady, were rougher too, scarred by more than just time. And his eyes, God, those eyes. Still the same deep brown, still full of everything he never said out loud, but they were heavier now, more tired.

But even in all of it, in every reminder that time had passed, that the world had taken its toll on him, he had never looked more beautiful to you than this.

This was the man who had survived when others hadn’t. The man who had chosen you when he could’ve kept his walls up forever. The man who still held you like you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world.

Your fingers slid up his chest, fingertips brushing over the soft fabric of his flannel before curling lightly at the collar. You rose up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, slow and lingering there. Then another, along the edge of his jaw. One at his temple. His brow.

Joel's hand tightened on your hip, the other cradling the back of your head now, and his breath caught when your lips found the corner of his mouth.

You pulled back just an inch and whispered, “I love all of it. All of you. Then. Now. Always.”

He looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face.

And then you kissed him, soft, deep, like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. His lips moved against yours with that familiar tenderness, that unspoken hunger that had never gone away, no matter how many years passed. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slowly marked by the safety that glued you together.

When you finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, breath warm on your lips.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured.

You shook your head gently. “That’s not your decision to make.”

Joel let out a quiet, broken laugh and kissed you again, softer this time, like a thank you.

You leaned in again, drawn to him like the tide to the moon. Your lips brushed over his once more, slower this time, tender and unrushed. A kiss that said everything without needing words. His hand slid up your back, fingers splayed gently between your shoulder blades, holding you to him like he never wanted to let go.

When you finally pulled away, your noses still touching, you smiled against his mouth. “Happy New Year, Joel.”

He exhaled softly, his breath warm as his eyes opened to meet yours. “Yeah?”

You nodded, heart full. “This is to us,” you whispered, “to spend more years like this. Together.”

Something flickered in his gaze, quiet, reverent, a little disbelieving, like the weight of your love still knocked the air out of him every time. His thumb stroked along your jaw, rough and careful all at once.

“Until the end, darling,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with emotion.

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, resting your head against his chest, right over the steady thrum of his heart. And there, in the soft quiet of your living room, with the muffled echo of tiny fireworks somewhere in the distance and his arms holding you like a vow, you knew there was no one else you’d ever need.

Joel held you there for a long, quiet beat—his hand resting at the small of your back, the other curled at your nape, cradling you gently like the world might crumble if he let go.

Then he tilted his head slightly, eyes finding yours again under the soft glow of the fire. There was something raw in them now, unguarded, soft in that way only you ever got to see properly.

“Happy New Year, baby,” he said, voice low, gravelly, full of something deep and real. “To more years. However, we’re lucky enough to get.”

You felt your throat tighten, the words catching in your chest. But then he said it, firm, steady, like it had lived in him for years.

“I love you,” you said at the same time, putting a smile on both of your faces.

Your hand slid to his cheek, thumb brushing over the slight stubble there. His eyes closed at your touch, leaning into the warmth.

This was your beginning. Again, and again. Every year. Every moment. Joel was your home. You were his. As long as the world allows you.

[jjkeverlast]

accidental roommates | jjk

✧ pairing dilf!jk x fem!reader

✧ rating explicit (18+)

✧ summary moving apartments is stressful and difficult enough as it is. all the planning and packing and multiple moments of rearranging furniture; all you crave is peace. yet it seemed like peace was far within reach as the owner of the apartment had left out one tiny crucial detail from the ad — a ripped tattooed adonis, coupled, with a tiny baby daughter will come as your roommate.

✧ warnings & tags roommates AU, hate to love, fluff, angst, humor, reader hooks up w. namjoon (it's very brief!), mutual pining, hurt/comfort, smut, guk is a tease, fingering, oral (f. receiving), protected sex, cowgirl, happy ending!

✧ word count 14.7k

✧ author's note this fic is a re-upload! if you've seen it before, this is why:)

For the first time since a week ago, you’re finally able to breathe for once. 

The sigh you let out is comforting and freeing. The awful ruckus of moving has caused you to roam on the streets with a lack of sleep, eye bags that can be caught from miles away and a groggy voice not daring to disappear from your vocals. 

A mess, really. 

You know it, your ex-roommate Ash knows it too and even though she and her partner are at fault here, it was bound to happen. 

You see, Ash had met Lucca through a mutual friend, the mutual friend being you and you were surprised at how well they complimented each other. 

The night they met was filled with nervous glances and flushed red cheeks due to the excitement. They both deserved each other. So, when they finally announced their relationship with you, you were more than thrilled. 

Although, after a year of them dating they had come to the conclusion of moving in together, which was a big step for their relationship and a step back for you, due to you ending back to square one and having to find an apartment yourself.  

The image of Ash’s expression when she kindly asked you to move within the next month was imprinted in your mind. She didn’t want to kick you out this way, but it was an important and big step into her relationship with Lucca, and the decision needed to be made regardless. You didn’t really have a say in this. 

Firstly, the apartment was Ash’s and in the end, it is her decision on whom she wants to share it with. 

It took you a week. 

A whole week to find the perfect place for you. 

The pictures sold the place nicely, the living room looking spacious and decorated firmly with stable furniture, and being desperate to find anything, you called the owner. The conversation went great. He was very quick on letting you get the apartment, sending you a confirmation email the day after you had agreed on the deposit. 

You were doing it, and it felt great. 

Although, your lack of sleep had been caused by the last-minute packing, having to clear out your room as quickly as possible. It was mostly because of Lucca themselves, having to move out of their sister’s loft, so the timing was indeed tight. But hey, everything turned out well even though you look like a Yeti who hasn’t been able to find a place to rest. 

It’s fine really, now you’ll be able to at least lie down before unpacking everything. 

With a trembling hand, you manage to push the code in, the door opens and you’re just about to step in when you look up and find a shirtless man in your apartment. You don’t say anything, the both of you staring each other down for a quick second before you manage to close the door, convincing yourself you’re hallucinating. 

It’s a thing, Ash had told you countless times whenever you managed to withhold an all-nighter in your shared place. First, there’s being overtired where every ounce of energy left bounces like a little child on a trampoline, then there’s the lack of sleep eating you alive even though your eyes fail you to shut, being used to staying open, which creates the last step: hallucinations. 

Maybe it’s the lack of sex which made you paint a beautifully sculpted man with tattoos only in a towel in front of you. 

You’re praising your brain for creating such a lively picture that causes you to grin and shake your head before you decide to re-enter. 

He’s there again. Your horny hallucination. 

The hallucination takes a turn when he screams into your face. “What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?!”

It’s then that you snap yourself back to reality, realizing this indeed is a real person and you’ve managed to scare the shit out of him. The only thing you find yourself doing is scream back, which turns into violent screaming in unison and by now half of the neighborhood is probably writing a complaint to this very apartment. 

“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?!” You find the courage to finally scream back and the man in front of your eyes squints in discomfort, shaking his head as he swallows your words. 

“Y-your apartment”

You fold your arms, scoffing as your head turns towards the open kitchen. “Yes. Mine.”

He begins to laugh, his abs tensing along with the rhythm and you hate yourself for growing hot over his upper body. 

“You’re funny.” He points at you and to prove yourself to him, you look for the confirmation email that proves you have the right to own this place. 

“Here.” He steps closer, the scent of his shampoo infiltrating your nostrils and you notice a form of sweet yet musky scent. While you’re too busy trying to ignore it, the man in front of you has his full attention on your screen.

He smacks his lips, his composure straightening along. “There has to be some sort of mistake.”

You hum in agreement.

How wrong could this possibly go? 

The only solution that comes to mind like a wave, is to call the owner. You hold a finger up, pausing for whatever word is about to come out from the stranger in front of you while it starts to dial. It quickly gets interrupted, by a voice telling you the number doesn’t exist. You refuse to believe it, so you continue to call three to four times while the man crosses his arms, sighing out loud. It’s at that moment you notice the detailed and colored tattoos covering his arm in a sleeve. 

“He’s… he’s not picking up.” The defeat drags itself at your feet. The proof you once had to own this apartment is gone, except the confirmation email but then again there must’ve been some mistake — a big one to say the least. 

“Do you honestly believe that?” His tone indicates he’s irritated and the water droplets on his skin have almost dried out — the fact that you notice scares you more than the situation you’re currently met with. 

“I mean, clearly, you’ve been scammed.” The words swallow you whole, your composure losing against you and your head drops with your heart. Of course, it was too good to be true, because again since when have you ever been lucky when you’re on your own? 

“Fuck.”

It seems as if you’ve lost, but you’re not willing to give up just yet. You spent all of your savings on the deposit and the last thing you’ll do is ask your strict parents for money, which isn’t only super hard but exasperating as well. 

“Well now that this whole problem is settled, get out.” The tone is harsh and you flinch, tears threatening to spill as you slowly walk to the entrance. 

“Wait—” You hold your hands up, your feet freezing down on the tiled floor and the stranger’s expression turns into pure disgust yet confusion. You aren’t really sure, your mind is basically clouded; reasons being your lack of sleep. Which currently isn’t helping the situation you’re currently standing in. If only you could snatch it like Margot Robbie snatches bags and watches in ‘Focus’. This reminds you, you should probably watch it again, it was really good and—

“Hello?!” The sound catches you off guard, your eyes roaming back onto the half-naked stranger whose name still stays unknown. 

“Just. Please.” 

You’re fucking tired and this was the last thing that needed to be added onto your plate yet you’re still standing, except you’re hopeless and homeless. 

“Please?! Get. Out.” 

You drop down to your knees, your tears falling freely, and you plead. 

“I have nowhere to go. My old roommate is finally starting a new life with her partner, my parents are fucking strict and are the last I’m calling for help. I’m basically fucking homeless and I just wanted to lay down in my apartment after moving out last minute, and sleep.” You’re rambling all kinds of nonsense, throwing a whole scene in front of a guy who’s stepped out of the shower. You feel bad but you’re lost. 

You have nowhere to go. 

“Seriously, I’m fucked. Help me out, just—just for six months and I’ll be out of your sight.” Your voice cracks, every limb that has managed to withhold your posture, collapsing all together into one. 

You’re done. 

A deep sigh catches your attention, your glossy eyes looking up to see a semi-smile resting on the guy’s face. 

“Six months.” He repeats as he traces his fingers on the patterned ink, decorating his arm. “Fine. Just don’t make me regret this. I’m Jeongguk by the way.”

Finally, you discover the name of the pretty stranger. 

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” You’re holding yourself back from hugging him, mostly because of his naked chest and the last thing you need is to feel warm skin on your own. 

Instead, you introduce yourself and he smiles awkwardly making you reconsider your awful ruckus from before. You basically admitted how fucked your life is at the moment, bringing along the strict parents into the mix and we all know, this won’t end well. 

A sudden cry snatches every ounce of your attention, coming from one of the rooms. Has someone been here all this time? 

“Shit. I think we might’ve woken her up.” 

Her. Great, you’re gonna live with a clingy couple, after having no mercy in showing you were checking him out — multiple times. This is going to be absolute hell. 

All while you’re imagining the messy and mostly awkward encounters you’re going to face while living with a couple, you don’t notice Jeongguk walking back out accompanied by a certain someone. 

“A baby?!” 

Great. Not only are you going to live with a couple, but their newborn baby too. 

“You sound… surprised.” He decides to sit down, the baby’s head resting on his bare and tatted shoulder, doe-eyed and mouth agape. 

“Where’s… where’s your girlfriend?” 

Shit. Are you even listening to yourself? You met this guy not even an hour ago and you’re already invading his private life with intense questions. 

“Don’t have one. It’s just me and So-ah here.” He taps her back, a few burps escaping her as you stay quiet. 

The scenery in front of you causes a faint smile to appear on the brim of your lips. If you weren’t determined to own the apartment yourself, you’d let every ounce of you swoon over how careful Jeongguk is with his daughter. 

Jeongguk takes a hold of her, changing positions as she faces him, her eyes as big as his. It’s crazy how alike they look. 

Your heart melts into a thick puddle when Jeongguk rubs his nose against So-ah’s, a soft giggle sounding like a lullaby escaping her right after. 

“Oh my god.” Jeongguk’s mouth drops and before confusion seeps through you he continues. “So-ah, you just laughed for the first time.” 

Fuck. You’re so screwed. 

“She’s adorable.” You smile fondly, Jeongguk breaking eye contact with his daughter at your comment. 

His eyebrows frown, clearing his throat as he shifts in his seat. “Thanks.”

Okay, there were exactly two things that fumed you over his flat-toned answer. 

One was that he was still a complete stranger and you’ve always felt somewhat threatened and uncomfortable when people you didn’t know made or said anything that clicked an icky feeling at the pit of your stomach, which quickly turns to irritation. Because here you are being fucking nice and you get this in return? What a fucking asshole. 

Second, it’s probably an ego thing, thinking he’s hot enough to get away with being quite literally rude. If it weren’t for his sudden act of rudeness towards your very tired Yeti-looking state you might’ve actually grown fond of him, but that is all forgotten now. 

You’re getting that fucking apartment.

Working as a kindergarten teacher meant a lot of things. 

Patience, energy, and consistency. 

For you to reach there before showing up at work, you’ll need to fuel your body with a smoothie. 

The clock hasn’t even turned six when you push the mixer’s button, a loud noise erupting in the quiet apartment. 

Did you do this on purpose knowing Jeongguk isn’t starting work yet? Maybe. Did he notice, is fucking angry and walking up to you at this moment? Very much so. 

“Seriously? What the fuck?!” 

The shouting from your roommate pleases your early morning state and you force an annoying smile as you greet him with a cheerful good morning.  

“It’s for work!” You push the button for a little longer, his eyes rolling back when So-ah starts crying in the room next to you. 

The daughter does make you feel an ounce of regret but that’s mostly because you love babies and she’s made a good impression on you already. 

Jeongguk groans in frustration, his grumpy state returning back to his daughter to soothe her while you hurriedly get to work. Your colleague is probably already there, having a different schedule than you. 

Traffic isn’t terrible and you’ve caught onto the lack of sleep that vanished during your moving week. 

As you reach work, Taehyung waves excitedly to you from the entrance, while holding a cup of coffee. 

“You look awfully happy.” Taehyung remarks when you walk past him and inside, re-adjusting a few things before the parents begin to arrive with their sunshine of kids. 

“I am.” 

Your mood definitely has something to do with nailing to piss Jeongguk off early in the morning. That’s what he gets for being a complete ass after you’ve embarrassed yourself multiple times, and just trying to be kind. 

“Care to tell me?” Taehyung moves his eyebrows, suggesting you got lucky and you quickly shut down the idea, shaking your head no along with you explaining it was an early win for you. 

“I basically pissed off my roommate this morning. He’s an asshole so he deserved it.” You shrug your shoulders, Taehyung following behind you as you both make the place ready, the clock ticking loudly behind you. 

“Roommate? I thought you had the place all to yourself?” Taehyung hadn’t gotten any updates from you since your stressful week, so it made sense for him to be completely lost when you mention Jeongguk in the context of your cheerful mood this morning. 

“I got scammed. But I’m not surprised. I’ve carried bad luck all my life and I blame it on my strict parents.” You joke, Taehyung chuckling nervously unsure if you’re completely kidding or deadly serious. It’s hard to tell.  

“Scammed, meaning the apartment you thought you had was already occupied?” Taehyung has lived in the city all his life, has been familiar with the scammers roaming in between others, and cheating the system who carries a blind eye. 

“Exactly, and here I was thinking shit like that only happens in the movies.” You scoff at the ridiculousness of the overall situation. 

How come you ended here? Not only with a scam, but a buff tatted guy and his baby daughter? Truly fucking wild. 

“Oh babe, you’d be surprised. So who’s the roommate? An old cranky guy?” Taehyung jokes once again, the sounds of chairs clinging against each other roaming in the air, the both of you settling in the common room ready for the children. 

“I wouldn’t exactly say that…” Taehyung’s interest quirks an ounce higher, his movements stopping to a halt, waiting for you to spill. 

“His name is Jeongguk and he has a baby daughter named So-ah.” Taehyung’s face drops, eyes wide as his mouth hangs wide because clearly, no old cranky guy is named Jeongguk. 

“If you tell me right now he’s hot, I’m gonna think you’re outliving everyone’s fantasy.” Taehyung holds up his pointy finger, eyebrow intact with his overall movement and you cringe because you really don’t want to admit Jeongguk is hot — even though you totally ogled his abs for a good twenty minutes the first time you met him. 

“He’s—” You try to form it into words while your mind flashing images of Jeongguk with wet hair, droplets of water covering his abs that tensed whenever he chuckled at your ridiculousness the day you got scammed. 

“Oh my god… You’re living with a DILF.” The term Taehyung uses makes you wheeze, losing composure as you move your body along with the laughter that escapes you. 

Taehyung doesn’t get more of a word before the first pair of parents walk in, hand in hand with their child. 

The day has just begun. 

Meanwhile, Jeongguk is currently taking care of So-ah. She hasn’t stopped crying since you decided to be annoying, and flush down the good morning that Jeongguk had anticipated down the drain. 

Maybe he should kick you out, because right now? His left ear hasn’t stopped ringing while his daughter’s face is almost purely red due to her countless cries. 

“So-ah, please.” Jeongguk places her down on his chest, her face rubbing on it, wetting it along, the discomforting sound continuing. Jeongguk feels lost and he wants to avenge himself on you because you’re probably dancing at work while he’s here, with dark eye bags and a crying baby under his arm. 

Sometimes it makes him wonder if it would be different if So-ah’s mother were still around. Maybe she wouldn’t cry as much. 

Afterall, a mother’s touch is important for babies at her age, and Jeongguk feels guilty. 

In reality, he just wants So-ah to be okay, to feel understood, and frankly, at the moment understanding her is difficult. He continues to pat her back, rocking her back and forth in his gaming chair, set up by the computer that has an awaiting meeting for him in two hours. 

He can do this, he’ll just freshen up as soon as she goes back to sleep. 

The day spins around faster than possible, the sun already setting behind the building in an orange glow and Taehyung is currently wiping down the mess that was left on the tables since lunch. 

“So, regarding your DILF, is he single?” You’re close to spilling the scene where you asked Jeongguk where his partner was only to get a no, which only made you more curious than before. It isn’t likely for you in the span of living to have met a single father. In most cases it’s single mothers, so to say you were surprised was an understatement. 

“He—Yes, apparently he is.” You’re uncertain and Taehyung casually nods at the response, making you reconsider if you’re even allowed to be curious regarding Jeongguk’s living situation. 

“Well, this is the start of a beautiful love story.” 

You stick your tongue out in offense to Taehyung’s joke while he cracks himself up, boxy smile on display as well. 

“You’re the worst.” He trails right behind you as you close down the place, and leave it behind for tomorrow. 

“Right, but if anyone were to ask you’d still point at me for being the best colleague you’ve ever had.” He’s not entirely wrong and you get to prove it to him by remaining silent. 

After you and Taehyung part ways, you hurry home in desperation to see if the grumpy expression is still remaining on Jeongguk’s face from this morning. 

To your surprise, it isn’t. 

You find Jeongguk sprawled on the couch, his chest exposed and his baby daughter laying on top of him, both of them breathing in sync. 

If Jeon Jeongguk didn’t open his mouth from time to time you’d start to like him, because seeing him sleep in complete silence makes him seem…not so bad as you had thought. 

But then again he was rude even though he certainly helped you out after your scam episode. 

You decide to make dinner, leaving the both of them to rest while listening to soothing jazz music. Somehow with time passing by and the smell filtering through the apartment as it cooks, Jeongguk stirs awake, So-ah along with him. He manages to push himself upwards, holding onto So-ah and finds you swaying as you cook in the open kitchen. 

Memories cloud Jeongguk’s mind back when he was still with— 

“Oh! You’re awake.” 

You had felt a pair of eyes boring at your back, so when you turn to see Jeongguk spacing out you make yourself noticeable. 

“Yeah, it smells great by the way.” 

It’s then Jeongguk realizes he’s yet to wear a shirt and it’s become an accidental habit of being shirtless in front of you. The last thing he wants is for you to get the wrong signal. 

“Thank you.” You take the compliment lightly, letting it pass by your head so your focus remains on the main goal; having Jeongguk willingly move out. 

Jeongguk is completely oblivious to your plan, although it would make sense if he slowly started to catch on to your smoothie early morning surprise. But for now, you’re hungry and there’s still a good five months left before you leave each other’s sight. 

The dinner turns out successful, So-ah doesn’t cry once and both you and Jeongguk groan afterward, bloated from overeating. He thanks you before returning back to his room, leaving you to do all the dishes. 

Great.

Living with Jeongguk had run smoothly, your hopes in gaining the apartment fading the more time went by with him being extremely kind. It hadn’t offended you but you were certain he was rude and didn’t like you. 

But early Monday morning, Jeongguk proved to you exactly how much that apartment means to you. 

You hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep that night, the walls a lot thinner than you had anticipated, and So-ah had cried most of the night, not only waking her dad but you as well. 

Babies are wonderful creatures, but at night it surely paints a different motive than the one you’re being met with during the day. 

Blaming Jeongguk for your lack of sleep would be rude on your part, so you accept it by making a cup of coffee early in the morning. It was the next best solution, and as you’re sitting on the counter waiting for the water to boil, Jeongguk walks in dressed in black joggers and a white t-shirt. 

“Morning.” 

You’re holding back from laughing at how alike the both of you look. So-ah really destroyed you for the better. Jeongguk joins in on the coffee solution, making his mug ready right next to you in silence. 

When the water is ready, you jump down, pouring the warm water after adding a few teaspoons of instant coffee. Jeongguk follows you right after, stirring it with his spoon. As you walk towards the refrigerator, Jeongguk is quicker than you, pulling the milk out and pouring it into his mug. 

“Could you pass me the milk?” 

Jeongguk grins at your question and it’s then you notice he’s poured the remaining drops, leaving no milk for you. 

Fucking marvelous. 

“Better luck next time.” He winks at you, slowly walking back to his room as you flick him off without him noticing. 

Yeah, you definitely spoke too soon when you even let yourself think Jeongguk might be a nice guy. 

He’s not and he just started a war. 

Taehyung notices how different your state is today, the flatlined smile throwing him off guard. Being the good colleague that he is, he makes you sit down as he prepares everything. 

“I’m not doing this for free, spill.” 

You groan out of tiredness and anger, holding your face that can barely keep up with everything around you. 

“Fucking…Jeongguk.” You squint your eyes, already plotting how you’ll manage to rip every part of him apart. Taehyung would lie if he admitted that you in your current state aren't scaring the shit out of him. 

“I was beginning to think he was remotely nice, until this morning.”

Taehyung hums along, uncertain where exactly you’re heading with this conversation. It’s something Taehyung has learned about you in the past years you’ve worked alongside, your conversations always turn in a different direction no matter how precisely you start them.  

“Taehyung, would you get pissed if someone took the rest of the milk when you’ve already prepared a cup of coffee?”

“He didn’t—”

Everything makes sense for Taehyung. 

Jeongguk has practically started a war with you because one thing everyone should know when it comes to you is to never mess with your morning coffee. Specifically when you desperately need one. 

“He surely fucking did.” You scoff out of disbelief. “He even laughed when he emptied it.” The images flash through your brain once more, a betrayal that has caused a lot of damage to your already ruined morning state due to So-ah. 

“Go make yourself some coffee, and don’t let him get to your head for now. It’s not worth it.” 

Taehyung was right, it would stupid to hold milk accountable for Jeongguk and your reasons for despising him. Hopefully, it was a mistake and you’ll return home with a better state of mind, Jeongguk leaving you rather at peace.

You follow Taehyung’s instructions, walking inside the semi-small kitchen for staff, and begin making your fuel for the day. 

Work turns out easier after you get coffee in your system. Taehyung takes most of the tasks throughout the day to ease down any forms of headaches that might come along due to your lack of sleep. Small moments and gestures like these, remind you how truly lucky you are to have a colleague like Taehyung. He has never made things more difficult, always managing to make everything easy and simple. 

As soon as the clock strikes, parents fill up the entrance awaiting their children who are too busy playing outside, enjoying their free time. The sun has already moved down further, creating a beautiful sunset, whose golden rays move along the filled playground that’s messy due to every toy in sight being used throughout the day. The parents were kind enough to teach their kids to always clean up after themselves, leaving the entrance the remaining spot to clean. 

When you’re about to reach for a broom, Taehyung catches it before you. 

“Go home. I got this.” His voice is stern as if he already knows you’re about to plead to do it yourself. 

You let out a sigh, thanking him as many times as you can in the span of you dressing yourself up to go outside. Taehyung brushes you off, a semi-smile resting nicely on his framed face. 

The apartment is empty, silent, and dark when you enter. You wonder where Jeongguk must’ve gone, the sky from outside already an ounce darker than when you stepped out from work. You’re not too worried, your petty self still being remotely annoyed with the morning incident. 

When you walk past the living room, you feel yourself crash down, wanting to watch a movie. 

It’s much needed after today and maybe it’ll slowly lull you to sleep. Since you were little, sleeping at night had always been a difficulty so a distraction in the background could likely push you towards the sleep you’ve been craving. 

You settle on watching a crime film that piques your interest on Netflix. You’ve managed to add a bit more lighting inside the apartment, a few lamps surrounding the couch.

The plot starts to reveal itself, leaving you speechless as you bite down on the blanket, eyes fully open, trailing along whenever someone moves on screen. You’re just about to catch a big lead to why the certain murder occurred when Jeongguk walks in with So-ah drinking from a bottle.  

“Oh, hey.” You quickly say before averting your attention back on the screen. Jeongguk squints his eyes, having trouble seeing the big screen but as soon as he catches on, he tsks. 

“Wait— Isn’t that the film where the protagonist is actually the killer?” The moment Jeongguk speaks, a clue leads to having the protagonist on the list of who might’ve done it and now Jeon Jeongguk just asked for a ticket to hell. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” You exclaim loudly, throwing both hands and arms in the air, frustration seeping through every vein coursing through your body. You’re seeing absolute red. 

“Oh shit, my bad.” You aren’t even glancing towards him, but you can hear the shit eating grin he’s trying to suppress. You close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself down, remembering Taehyung’s words from earlier. It’s not worth it. He’s right, it truly isn’t and you’re being weak by letting small annoying things set you off like a grenade. 

You’re not letting him win. Things have only just begun.

Returning the favor with annoying gestures had only turned the next two months into a living hell. The apartment went from walking on a dream to walking on eggshells. 

It had started with a minor mistake in the early morning with the dreadful lack of sleep and constant bickering. Your dreams of owning the apartment slowly crashing as you’ve been looking for new apartments, wanting to get furthest away from Jeon Jeongguk and his annoying behavior. 

If it weren’t for your colleague you would’ve handled the situation differently, but Taehyung has always assured you to stand your ground and not let him get to you. 

Jeongguk has already been kind enough for you to stay, so to make it easier, it’d be best not to mess it up by revenging yourself. But you badly wanted to. Just once. To see Jeongguk’s face twist to annoyance in a mere second, while you try your best not to sing happily right after. 

Although, the only thing keeping both you and Jeongguk on the ground from ripping one's hair out, was So-ah. Her magical baby powers overrule the both of you, and her eyes are wide and full of hope for what’s to come. 

When you had first moved in, Jeongguk wasn’t exactly fond of you being near his daughter but with time and his suddenly busy schedule, he had you keep an eye out for So-ah who was distracting him too much with her cuteness. So-ah quickly loved your company, your small jokes, and countless attempts in making her giggle. Jeongguk couldn’t keep you two away from one another, so he accepted it. 

The weekend had finally rolled around and after a week of none other than small bickering and disagreements between you and Jeongguk, you were finally at ease in your bedroom. The discussions between you were ridiculous — Taehyung’s words not yours. It could go from a minor detail, like the temperature in the apartment to a full-on debate on whether the film he wants to watch is better than your own choice. 

As you’re laying in your bed, you look up at the painted dark blue ceiling, your curtains open, accepting the outside light to shine in. You’ve always loved the natural darkness and how it covers every room differently than if everything is covered, turning to full darkness. You turn constantly, your mind being more awake than you had anticipated. It humors you that you always feel exhausted after speaking with Jeongguk, yet here you are alone full of energy. 

Tossing and turning continue for what feels like an hour and you decide to give up. Rather than reading a book, you walk out to grab a glass of water, your throat feeling a bit dry. You figure Jeongguk isn’t awake at three in the morning, which explains why you don’t put on pants, walking out in nothing but a satin white t-shirt paired with black lace underwear. 

Even though you don’t like Jeongguk, you still show respect to him and his daughter by carefully walking to the kitchen to not make any sounds. 

The living room has the same light as your bedroom, and as you’re about to turn, you bump into Jeongguk. His skin feels warm, but you quickly pull away and Jeongguk blinks at you with tired eyes. 

“M’ sorry.” His voice is deep, groggy even and you collect the dots that Jeon Jeongguk just woke up. 

“All good.” 

Thankfully, Jeongguk is too busy going to the bathroom to notice your sleeping attire that exposes half of your body. You sigh in relief, accidentally catching a glimpse of Jeongguk’s ass, being hugged by his boxers as he walks further away from you. 

You shake your head, ignoring what your eyes caught onto, focusing solemnly on getting water as planned. 

You’re just about to drink your last cup when Jeongguk walks past you once again. 

You’re not in the mood to talk to him, so you chug your water wanting to leave the kitchen as quickly as possible. It doesn’t exactly go as planned, the water trickling by the corners of your lips, further down your shirt. 

“Fuck.” You groan, realizing how much you’ve accidentally spilled. The fabric clings onto your breasts and as you’re about to pull on it, you catch Jeongguk turning his head quickly from your direction. The action doesn’t throw itself in your head, instead, you become annoyed. 

“What?” 

Why is he still standing here? Shouldn’t he already be back in his room by now? 

“J-just grabbing some water.” Jeongguk mumbles, his voice becoming an ounce lower, and somehow it catches your attention that he sounds nervous? 

“Be my guest.” You move further away, trying to cover your lower half that’s exposing too much to your roommate who has managed to piss you off for two months straight with absolutely no reason. 

Jeongguk keeps his eyes on the sink, although you throw a glance at him and you really wish you hadn’t. His arms are flexing as they hold onto the counter, and the prominent veins and lines of his definite muscles are showcased. You begin to notice each small detail of his tattoos that have managed to flow into one big art piece on his arm. 

You’ve been too annoyed with Jeongguk to notice the minor details of him. The Adam's apple bops in the rhythm of the gulps he takes, almost inhaling the water quickly. Somehow your body reacts quicker than your mind, shivers coursing through your body the longer you stand and watch Jeongguk. The staring gets cut off when Jeongguk places the empty cup down on the counter. 

He throws a glance your way, your skin already feeling hot by the close space. 

“Well, goodnight.” Jeongguk walks past you, your faces inches apart for a split second before he’s gone from your sight. 

When you lay back down in your bed, your heart is beating incredibly fast and your body doesn’t stop growing hotter. 

What is wrong with you? This is Jeongguk. As in your roommate, who’s made it his life’s mission in pissing you off and almost made you explode like a grenade for the whole world to see and the neighborhood to hear. 

All while you’re wondering why exactly your brain feels fuzzy, Jeongguk is freaking out in his own room. 

His dick has managed to betray him. He blames it on his lack of hookups, but deep down he knows it was because of you. His mind had fogged for a minute when he caught a glimpse of what was hiding underneath your t-shirt, but as soon as the water dripped down he didn’t even have to try, and guess. He’s angry and frustrated at himself and if it were possible to have a one-on-one fight with his dick, he would’ve. His body had only betrayed him and that made him certain that he had to stay far away from you. 

Although, whenever Jeongguk closed his eyes he could see your naked thighs, and the black lace seeping through the material of your shirt. He could see the water dripping down your neck, rolling further down your chest and creating a wet patch on your— 

This has to stop. Jeongguk begins to think of everything that turns him off until his state finally gives in, letting him sleep. 

It takes longer for you. Your mind has always loved to play tricks, letting you imagine the what if’s of every situation you’re met with. They’re simple at first, only showcasing what you had seen earlier when your eyes didn’t stop studying every minor detail on Jeongguk. 

But then they turn an ounce wilder. 

You’re tracing your fingers on the ink, while his arm is holding onto your waist, keeping you close and letting you feel his warm breath against your cheek. 

Fuck. 

Do you…do you want Jeongguk? 

Taehyung notices it the moment you step into work; how quiet you are, not daring to meet his eyes when he cheerfully greets you. 

Something happened and you’re not exactly proud of it. 

“So…am I gonna have to ask or are you going to tell me what happened?” 

Your eyes pop open, gulping down as you mumble out a weak ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’ and quickly move on with your tasks for the day. 

Taehyung isn't letting that slide so easily and sooner or later he’ll either find out for himself or you’ll tell him out of panic. 

It takes Kim Taehyung exactly four hours to find out exactly what has been bothering you, and just as you’re about to leave the kindergarten, he decides to bring it up. 

“You want to fuck him.” 

You stop in your tracks. 

Okay, now is the time to use your fifth grade theater skills, and act as if Taehyung didn’t speak your thoughts out in the open. 

“Fuck Jeongguk? As in Jeon Jeongguk, my annoying roommate who’s made my living situation a living hell the past two months? Oh please.”

“Y/N, you know that doesn’t work on me.” 

You sigh loudly, rolling your eyes. 

“Fine…fine!” You throw your hands in the air, giving up and Taehyung just shakes his head over your dramatic antics. 

“I thought you, ‘hated his guts’.” Taehyung quotes you from the past hundred conversations you’ve had regarding your roommate, and the new banter you’ve yet shared before you left for work. 

“I still do! This will fade, do not worry.” 

Not only are you trying to convince Taehyung, but yourself as well. 

Taehyung doesn’t argue with you. You have enough on your plate already and he knows you’re very much conscious of the mess you’ve brought upon yourself. 

When you leave work and Taehyung, your phone starts to ring in your pocket and you’re thrilled to see Ash’s name displayed. 

“Hi!” Your friend cheerfully greets you and the conversation immediately flows. 

She tells you how amazing it’s been living with Lucca and how they’re currently making her favorite dish. 

“That’s great, Ash.” 

When she’s about to ask you how your new apartment is, Lucca cuts her off, talking on the phone instead. 

“Y/N, come over! We have your favorite wine.” 

The offer tempts and you agree, taking transportation towards your old apartment. It doesn’t even faze you to text Jeongguk that you’ll come home a bit later, too excited to see your friends again after so long. 

Jeongguk has just finished changing So-ah’s diaper, when he realizes it’s dark outside, and you haven’t come home yet. Just as he begins to worry, he scolds himself internally for worrying about you as if he even cares about you in the first place. You’re doing fine without him. Right? 

So-ah grabs Jeongguk’s attention when she manages to roll over for the first time and Jeongguk cheers her on, grabbing her face to give her kisses everywhere, her small arms flapping excitedly. 

“Wait, you have a roommate?” Lucca asks, as they pour a glass of wine in your almost empty glass. You find yourself sighing whenever Jeongguk is mentioned and you quickly see the images of his body against the natural darkness in the kitchen. 

“Yes, two actually.”

You spend the following thirty minutes explaining your scam situation, Jeongguk and his baby daughter now being your roommates for the next six months. You mention your irritation towards Jeongguk due to his annoying antics, and the kitchen encounter. 

“Woah.” Ash’s mouth has gone dry from keeping it open for a while, and Lucca doesn’t hesitate to drink up the rest of the wine in their glass. 

The situation is indeed complicated and overwhelming, and you chug along with Lucca on the wine while Ash starts coughing. 

“But listen, just because I’ve thought about it doesn’t mean I would.” 

Excuses, that’s all you can bring to the table and Ash rolls her eyes at your ridiculousness. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? You haven’t had sex for almost a year. Babe, sorry but you’re gonna cave.”

Your mouth drops in offense and you turn to get Lucca on your side, but they stay quiet which indicates they agree with every word. 

“S-seriously? You’re gonna pick Ash’s side over mine?” You point at your ex-roommate who smirks, knowing she’s won. 

“Y/N, you need a distraction.” Ash speaks first, holding onto both of your hands for comfort because she’s worried, you can see it in her eyes that slightly crinkle when she speaks. 

“A distraction?”

“Yes, someone who isn’t Jeongguk.” 

Lucca winces at the idea, watching Ash explain an idea that’s nothing but awful and stupid. 

“Um, maybe this isn’t—” Lucca tries to butt in, but Ash is stubborn. 

“Nonsense. Isn’t your friend Han-bin still single?” 

“Well, yes but—”

“Perfect. Y/N, you should go on a date with Han-bin. Not only is he a very sweet guy, but he’s an excellent cook.” Ash tries her hardest to sell Han-bin as best as possible for you, and at this point you’re desperate to try anything. 

Anything to get Jeongguk and his beautiful body out of your mind. 

“Okay, you can give him my number.” 

Lucca is about to throw a fight with Ash, but you’ve already agreed so there’s no point. 

“You’re not going to regret this babe.” Ash convinces you but deep down your gut feeling shifts uncomfortably at the idea. 

Two and a half weeks.

That’s how long it takes for you and Han-bin to find some time for the date that he’s planning. The pictures frame him nicely and it’s no lie that the guy is attractive, although your mood is dreading a weird feeling that you can’t exactly pinpoint. 

As you walk towards the exit, Jeongguk notices how nicely dressed you are. Normally you don’t bother adding a formality to your outfits, but this…this is too classy, just not you. 

“Going somewhere?” 

You turn your head, Jeongguk watching you from the couch as So-ah is laying on his lap, holding onto her dad’s pinky. 

“Actually, yes I am.” You answer confidently, holding tightly onto the strap of your bag. 

The bag in whom your mom gifted you for your eighteenth birthday, when in reality you had just wished for Jackson Wang merch. The bag is more expensive than your rent, and you feel weird using it today. Somehow you aren’t that comfortable being yourself yet, also the restaurant Han-bin has picked out is way too expensive for you to just wear your casual attire. 

“But, I’m gonna be late for my date so I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

Jeongguk tries not to react to the word date but his jaw clenches as he tries to force out a fake smile. 

“Good for you.” Jeongguk expects you to leave right away, but you catch him by surprise, walking towards him and So-ah. 

“Bye, sweet girl.” You squish her cheeks softly, as she coos excitedly and Jeongguk’s heart skips a beat at the love seeping through the room. His daughter watches you with careful eyes as you remove yourself from the frame, walking towards the front door and Jeongguk’s heart doesn’t stop pounding, so much that he thinks he might faint. 

You’ve only been gone for an hour and Jeongguk can’t stop thinking about you. 

His mind constantly brings him back to the small kitchen encounter, and how both of your faces were inches apart for a split second before he continued to walk towards his room. 

He needs to make this stop. He’s here at home groaning and frustrated over you, you who’s currently on a date, and having a wonderful time. 

“And then, my roommate proceeded to drink the same water!” Han-bin explains jokingly, and you’ve lost track of the many experiences he’s had with his four roommates. You’ve lost your appetite halfway through, the gross details clouding your mind, but thankfully it’s that, and not Jeongguk. 

Before you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, Han-bin compliments your hair and you smile at the sincerity of his comment. It makes you realize that Jeongguk has never once pointed out something great about you. 

Wait, why are you even thinking about Jeongguk? 

There’s only one solution for Jeongguk to get you out of his mind. He’s collected the dots and it’s because he hasn’t sex for over a year that he’s acting this way. You just managed to set him off. It’s nothing more personal than that. 

So, easily he’ll just need to get out there, maybe Jimin would be down to go clubbing tonight, and hopefully Jeongguk gets to take someone home. 

Which explains why he’s now talking to his sister, arranging for her to have So-ah for the night. She gladly accepts, her husband shouting nonsense in the background which causes Jeongguk to laugh before his sister has to hang up because of her husband most likely messing up everything in the kitchen. 

The date for you might’ve started out a bit weird, but slowly you realize Han-bin is a really nice guy and you enjoy talking to him. The conversation has a good balance, both of you speaking equally about interests, experiences… 

“Want me to walk you home?” Han-bin suggests. 

You have a lot on your mind, even though you managed to have a nice evening it doesn’t stop the nonsense that you’ve created for yourself regarding your roommate who you have the hots for. 

“I’m okay, thank you for tonight Han-bin.”

It’s a little over midnight when you arrive home. 

The apartment is dark which is code for bedtime for the whole house. You move quietly, tiptoeing to your room and trying your best to not make a sound. 

You hear a sudden whine echoing in the apartment, and before you can ask any questions, Jeongguk’s name is being moaned loudly. Your body freezes in place, and you feel like you’re stuck to the floor. 

Unfortunately, the moans don’t slow down, only increasing — the thin walls doing no favor for you. 

Emotions are all over the place. You don’t know if you’re angry, irritated, sad, happy, uncomfortable…you’re just stuck with no words. 

As you finally lay down, you squish a third pillow over your head, blocking out the skin slapping sounds, and somehow, weirdly enough, the situation motivates you to get Jeon Jeongguk out of your head.

Two and a half weeks. That’s how long it takes for you and Han-bin to find some time for the date that he’s planning. The pictures frame him nicely and it’s no lie that the guy is attractive, although your mood is dreading a weird feeling that you can’t exactly pinpoint. 

As you walk towards the exit, Jeongguk notices how nicely dressed you are. Normally you don’t bother adding a formality to your outfits, but this…this is too classy, just not you. 

“Going somewhere?” 

You turn your head, Jeongguk watching you from the couch as So-ah is laying on his lap, holding onto her dad’s pinky. 

“Actually, yes I am.” You answer confidently, holding tightly onto the strap of your bag. 

The bag in whom your mom gifted you for your eighteenth birthday, when in reality you had just wished for Jackson Wang merch. The bag is more expensive than your rent, and you feel weird using it today. Somehow you aren’t that comfortable being yourself yet, also the restaurant Han-bin has picked out is way too expensive for you to just wear your casual attire. 

“But, I’m gonna be late for my date so I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

Jeongguk tries not to react to the word date but his jaw clenches as he tries to force out a fake smile. 

“Good for you.” Jeongguk expects you to leave right away, but you catch him by surprise, walking towards him and So-ah. 

“Bye, sweet girl.” You squish her cheeks softly, as she coos excitedly and Jeongguk’s heart skips a beat at the love seeping through the room. His daughter watches you with careful eyes as you remove yourself from the frame, walking towards the front door and Jeongguk’s heart doesn’t stop pounding, so much that he thinks he might faint. 

You’ve only been gone for an hour and Jeongguk can’t stop thinking about you. 

His mind constantly brings him back to the small kitchen encounter, and how both of your faces were inches apart for a split second before he continued to walk towards his room. 

He needs to make this stop. He’s here at home groaning and frustrated over you, you who’s currently on a date, and having a wonderful time. 

“And then, my roommate proceeded to drink the same water!” Han-bin explains jokingly, and you’ve lost track of the many experiences he’s had with his four roommates. You’ve lost your appetite halfway through, the gross details clouding your mind, but thankfully it’s that, and not Jeongguk. 

Before you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, Han-bin compliments your hair and you smile at the sincerity of his comment. It makes you realize that Jeongguk has never once pointed out something great about you. 

Wait, why are you even thinking about Jeongguk? 

There’s only one solution for Jeongguk to get you out of his mind. He’s collected the dots and it’s because he hasn’t sex for over a year that he’s acting this way. You just managed to set him off. It’s nothing more personal than that. 

So, easily he’ll just need to get out there, maybe Jimin would be down to go clubbing tonight, and hopefully Jeongguk gets to take someone home. 

Which explains why he’s now talking to his sister, arranging for her to have So-ah for the night. She gladly accepts, her husband shouting nonsense in the background which causes Jeongguk to laugh before his sister has to hang up because of her husband most likely messing up everything in the kitchen. 

The date for you might’ve started out a bit weird, but slowly you realize Han-bin is a really nice guy and you enjoy talking to him. The conversation has a good balance, both of you speaking equally about interests, experiences… 

“Want me to walk you home?” Han-bin suggests. 

You have a lot on your mind, even though you managed to have a nice evening it doesn’t stop the nonsense that you’ve created for yourself regarding your roommate who you have the hots for. 

“I’m okay, thank you for tonight Han-bin.”

It’s a little over midnight when you arrive home. 

The apartment is dark which is code for bedtime for the whole house. You move quietly, tiptoeing to your room and trying your best to not make a sound. 

You hear a sudden whine echoing in the apartment, and before you can ask any questions, Jeongguk’s name is being moaned loudly. Your body freezes in place, and you feel like you’re stuck to the floor. 

Unfortunately, the moans don’t slow down, only increasing — the thin walls doing no favor for you. 

Emotions are all over the place. You don’t know if you’re angry, irritated, sad, happy, uncomfortable…you’re just stuck with no words. 

As you finally lay down, you squish a third pillow over your head, blocking out the skin slapping sounds, and somehow, weirdly enough, the situation motivates you to get Jeon Jeongguk out of your head. 

Step one to get Jeon Jeongguk out of your head, find a clubbing partner. 

“Taehyung, shut up you haven’t done anything other than complain about the lack of sex you’ve been experiencing lately.” You reason, as you look through your closet for eye-catching clothes that surely will get you laid. 

“Fuck you, you always know what to say to get me to agree.” 

With a groan Taehyung finally says the magic word, telling you he’ll see you later. This was easier than you had expected. 

Step two to get Jeon Jeongguk out of your head, find a club loaded with hot people. 

Thankfully, Taehyung knows his way around town and the club he’s picked out is perfect. As soon as you both step in, the neon lights catch you off guard along with the hard base and the moving dance floor. 

Going out with Taehyung is fun, until he’s shoving his tongue down a guy’s throat. Apparently they met by the bar, and Taehyung being the flirt, persuaded the stranger easily. 

Sipping on your straw, you keep your eyes on a lookout for a potential hookup. Most are occupied, either sexting someone or having someone close by. The bartender in front of you notices the wearing frown that covers your face. 

“You okay?” 

The unrecognizable voice catches you off guard and when you set eyes on the bartender, your mouth tries not to drop. 

The bartender is wearing a tight black t-shirt, showcasing his pecs and built shoulders. His hair is long, pulled behind a snapback. He looks at you with a worried expression, holding onto the counter. 

“I’m okay.” You force a smile. 

“Come on, I can tell something is bothering you. I’m all ears.”

The offer is kind and just as you’re about to say no, he continues. 

“Listen, I couldn’t help but notice your friend making out with that guy for the past thirty minutes.” You turn around, Taehyung still going at it, and you roll your eyes over your colleague being better than you at getting some. 

“Yeah, he’s got more luck than myself.” You sigh, folding your arms over the counter, and the bartender cracks a laugh. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get lucky.” He winks and your body grows hot. 

“I’m giving it an hour, or else I’m leaving.” You crack, and the bartender raises his eyebrows. 

You watch as he walks to the far side of the bar and comes out front to stand right in front of you. He towers over you, and you have to lift your head to look into his eyes, watching as they darken. One of his hands snakes around to the small of your back as he pulls you towards him. Your chest is flushed against his own and now you can really feel the hardness of his pecs, and your mouth waters. He places his other hand around to the side of your neck, lowering himself closer to your face. His lips ghost over your ear, the skin making the slightest contact as he speaks.

“You don't need an hour.”

A shiver rakes through your body at the proposition.

“I don't even know your name,” you say with a hint of a giggle laced in your tone.

“The name's Namjoon.” You nod, tracing your finger on his broad shoulder while his eyes continue to explore every inch of you. 

“Y/N.”

His grip tightens on you, and before you get a chance to speak Namjoon beats you to it. 

“Wanna get out of here?”

It takes nothing more than for you to drag Namjoon home with you, leaving Taehyung and his hookup behind. 

Namjoon is so bold that you’re completely blown away by his confidence. He’s managed to make you wet before even reaching your apartment. His words only build up the intensity of the situation and when you finally reach the front door, you look back, Namjoon biting on his lip as he patiently waits. 

When the key is turned, you grab Namjoon by the collar of his bomber jacket as you push inside the apartment, until you reach your room. 

Namjoon doesn’t waste another minute, grabbing you once again by the waist to connect your lips in a needy and passionate kiss. It’s full of tongue, along with lip bites. You whine against them when the tip of his tongue coats your bottom lip as he mischievously smirks. 

Your hands tug on his neck, pulling him as close as you can, all while his hands slip under your shirt, and roam on your naked back. His hands are slightly cold, sending a shiver. With enough pulling on each other’s clothes in desperation, Namjoon is the first to pull away trying to catch his breath. 

“Take off your shirt.” You don’t hesitate to obey, tugging on your top in a hurry before it lands on your bedroom floor. 

Jeongguk had just finished a last minute task at work, realizing he had enough time for a game of Overwatch. He’s focused on aiming, fingers moving at a speed on the controller. Just as he’s about to reach a win, he hears the front door close. 

He removes his headset, in doubt if he should walk out and greet you, ask you about your night with Taehyung or stay, and play stubborn. The decision gets made for him, when he hears an unfamiliar voice coming from your room. 

Wait. 

Namjoon hovers over you, his hands wandering over your upper body, not missing one inch. His warm breath almost swallows you whole as you slowly spread your legs further beneath him. 

He catches the signal quickly, moving more downwards, letting his mouth trail wildly on your naked skin. He nips at it softly, before replacing it with a wet kiss. 

As he’s reached further down, Namjoon locks eyes with you, supporting both hands on your waist. 

“Can I eat you out?”

When Jeongguk hears the first moan from your room, he feels instant irritation. In reality, it’s not anything he can actually get mad about when not even twenty four hours ago, he was knees deep in a stranger. But something ticks in Jeongguk when he hears how someone else is making you moan like that. 

“Ah—Fuck!” Your grip tightens on Namjoon’s long dark hair, his tongue rolling over your clit in circles. 

Namjoon is making sure you feel every inch of pleasure, taking his time with his mouth and fingers. You’ve forgotten how great it feels, and Namjoon was definitely the right guy to bring home.

His mouth pushes further against your core, lapping his tongue wherever it can reach and your legs begin to shake under his touch. It’s been a while for you, so your body doesn’t hold you back any further from reaching climax.

Jeongguk has blocked out the sounds from your room with his headphones. The sounds from Overwatch are helping him hear only the gunshots and effects the game carries, yet the sounds don’t stop him from feeling a tinge of jealousy. He doesn’t want to admit it, too stubborn to do so. 

But the thought of someone making you come undone this second, settles itself as an uncomfortable pit in his stomach, and he grabs his controller more aggressively, frustration coursing through his veins. 

What are you doing to him?  

Time passes quickly, both you and Jeongguk distancing each other from one another. 

You barely throw a glance at one another. 

For example, yesterday when Jeongguk passed by the living room, you were sitting in silence as New Girl rolled in the background. He knows you could hear him passing, but you didn’t even bother to acknowledge him. 

Jeongguk wishes deep down that the action didn’t hurt him, but somehow it did and now he can’t be around you for his own well being. 

Which results in one month of barely any contact. 

Although, it changes the day Jeongguk has to go to a meeting. His boss was okay with him bringing So-ah as Ji-eun didn’t have time to pick her up for a few hours — and he surely didn’t want to ask you. 

So-ah behaves, zero disturbance caused to the meeting and Jeongguk lets her hold his pinky while his boss throws in the plan for the upcoming year. 

When the meeting ends, Jeongguk gets a lot of praise from his boss which flusters him as he leaves the building. 

“Ready to go home So-ah?” She responds with her mouth doing all kinds of noises. She’s slowly growing more, and Jeongguk is touched by how beautiful his daughter is becoming with each passing day. 

Going home doesn’t go as planned. You see, Jeongguk had always worked from home, due to his job consisting mostly of online work. So he barely leaves the apartment except for grocery shopping or to meet Jimin. Which is the reason behind his big mistake; forgetting his keys. 

It was a new system. The code for opening doors had been dropped after scam episodes had increased. Last month the whole residency got new locks along with a pair of keys. 

Jeongguk hates himself, because now there’s only one solution and he really doesn’t want to go there. 

When he pulls up by the kindergarten, Jeongguk mentally prays the interaction won’t be awkward. Not that it hasn’t been awkward the last month, but this is different. He’s about to enter your workplace for a goddamn key because his ass rushed out the apartment instead of being smart and double checking that he had everything before leaving in a hurry. 

You’re gonna hate him for this. 

He can already imagine the slight frown you’ll have, trying your best not to scold him harshly. 

It’s empty when Jeongguk walks in, So-ah sitting comfortably in the infant car seat, which Jeongguk holds onto tightly. 

“Hello?” He calls out, the hallway completely deserted. That’s until a man peeks his head out, raising both eyebrows. 

“Hi, can I help you?” He walks towards him, drying his hands in what seems to be a cloth. 

“Hi, yes. I’m looking for Y/N.” 

The man in front of him drops his mouth before it turns to a boxy grin. 

“Oh my god. Are you Jeongguk?” The face Jeongguk makes, proves the man’s assumption. 

“Taehyung? Could you come help me with—Jeongguk?” He turns to see you, your brows in a frown as he suspected. 

“Oh, you’re Taehyung?” Jeongguk completely ignores your confused state, too excited to meet the Kim Taehyung that his roommate is very fond of. 

“An honor.” Taehyung bows comically, and Jeongguk cracks a laugh from the action. Just as Taehyung is about to crouch down to say hello to the little one, you step further, meeting Jeongguk eye to eye. 

“Jeongguk? What are you doing here?” You ask. 

Taehyung ignores your question, greeting So-ah gently as Jeongguk explains to you the situation. He tries to make himself sound less stupid than he was in the situation, but you don’t seem to buy it. 

You sigh, crossing your arms. “How do you even forget a key?” 

Great, you’re starting a fight. 

“It just happened, now can I borrow yours so I can go home?” Jeongguk’s tone is a bit snappy, and you notice, quickly fuming on the inside. 

Taehyung notices the tension, sending a glance to So-ah that screams ‘am I seeing this too?’ So-ah starts giggling and Taehyung knows internally that she agrees with him. He loves her already. 

“Fine, just—Don’t let this happen again.” You say sternly, before walking away to grab your keys. 

“Trust me, it won’t.” Jeongguk rolls his eyes when your back turns. 

You aggressively shove the keys in Jeongguk’s hand, Taehyung still having a conversation with So-ah throwing funny glances, but neither you nor Jeongguk notice, too busy staring each other down. 

“Great.”

“Great!” Jeongguk responds more aggressively, saying a calm goodbye to Taehyung who excitedly waves to So-ah. 

And then he’s out of there faster than lighting. 

“Jesus, what crawled up your asses?” Taehyung asks, scoffing in disbelief. 

“Nothing. Now come help me with the outdoor tables.”

He doesn’t ask any further, seeing you really don’t want to talk about it at this moment. 

Jeongguk has already started to cook when you ring the doorbell. He opens, greeting you with the expression he left you with at work. 

You return the same energy, not speaking to him as you remove your coat. 

You’re about to walk into your bedroom to avoid Jeongguk when So-ah catches your attention in the living room, rolling around on her own and chewing on a toy. She’s too cute to ignore, so you decide to join her, sitting beside her as you squish her cheeks in a playful manner. 

“Look at you, you’ve grown so much.” 

You can’t believe you’ve been a witness to So-ah’s growth. She’s already able to grab onto things, rolling around and rocking back and forth which is a sign she’ll be able to crawl soon. 

As you continue to play with her, letting her explore and sing as she babbles all kinds of nonsense, Jeongguk turns to watch the scene. 

You’ve always been careful with So-ah, grasping her as your own and caring a lot for her. He’s noticed how So-ah barely cries anymore, being more calm in your presence. He could get used to this, watching you play with his daughter as he cooks for all three of you. He’s at peace, comfortable with everything in front of him and—

The realization hits Jeongguk. 

He doesn’t hate you.

You don’t remember the exact moment you realized you didn’t hate Jeongguk. It just… happened. 

One day you were in the kitchen and he walked past you, minding his own business and you didn’t have any urge to throw a remark. No, you felt at ease, letting your eyes admire him rather than watch him out of spite. 

Panic seeped through you when you looked at the overall situation. 

You don’t hate Jeongguk, you’ve thought about fucking h—shit. What does this mean? Do you… do you like him? 

That’s crazy, there’s no way you possibly like Jeongguk or even starting too, which is how you find yourself agreeing to go on yet another date with Han-bin. 

Last time hadn’t turned out that bad. The company was nice, you felt comfortable and yet something just didn’t feel right. Maybe it was the gross experiences Han-bin wasn’t so afraid to share with you, or maybe… because he isn’t a certain someone. 

No. 

You’re going on that date. 

The moment you leave the apartment, Jeongguk is taking his afternoon nap with So-ah so you don’t bother notifying him where you’re going. There’s a certain ache in your heart the closer you are to the location picked out by Han-bin. 

Once again, it’s too fancy for your liking but Han-bin makes the environment comfortable with the company of his wild stories. They’re less gross this time and you find yourself laughing at a few of them. 

Time flies rather quickly with Han-bin’s company. 

If this weren’t a date, you’d be more at ease because Han-bin is a kind person. But dating him might be a stretch for yourself, seeing your mind keeps tracing back to your roommate who probably still hates your guts. 

“Hey, can I be honest with you?” Han-bin throws you off guard with his question, but you nod regardless. 

“I’ve had a great time hanging out with you but,” Han-bin looks at you with a genuine and soft smile, “I don’t really think there’s that spark you know?” 

“Spark?” 

Sure, you’ve dated a few people in the past but no one threw the word spark in the conversation. 

You’ve always found it to be a cliché, like every romantic comedy who makes the spark obvious from the beginning. The spark that messes with the main character and their love interest, them tumbling against it until they get in a fight or have to share the same bed, which results in them sharing a passionate kiss, and one of them magically proclaims the love they’ve always had for that person. 

That surely doesn’t exist in real life. 

“You know, the spark where you know that this person is much more to you. Someone who isn’t just a friend.” Han-bin says, his tone laced with hopefulness. 

It’s then you realize that Han-bin is a romantic, a person who believes in finding that special someone.

“Yeah. I’m sure you’ll find that Han-bin. You’re a great guy.”

“Wait, you’re not angry?” 

It’s cute how scared he is to offend you. 

“No, no of course not. I see where you’re coming from.” 

Han-bin’s shoulders loosen at your words, feeling more at ease since he’s decided to throw it in the conversation. 

Before you depart your ways, you both come to an agreement of keeping in touch as friends.

Arriving late at the apartment, you move quietly by the entrance. 

As you’re reaching your bedroom, Jeongguk catches you off guard. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?”

Jeongguk shakes his head. “You’re all good.’’ He doesn’t deny it and you feel a tinge of guilt, seeing the time is past midnight once again. 

You’re about to enter your bedroom door with a simple goodnight when Jeongguk catches you off guard with a question. 

“Hey, where were you?” Jeongguk is leaning against the wall, arms crossed which only showcase more of his prominent chest and his sleeve sneaking out of his loose t-shirt. 

“On a date.” You respond coldly, letting go of the handle. 

Jeongguk hums, mumbling something along the lines of, "Figured.’’ 

It throws you off, in a not so cute way. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

It’s almost as if he spoke in a tone for you to hear on purpose, and you’re falling into his trap. 

He shrugs lightly. "Nothing.’’ 

He’s about to turn around, wearing a smug smile when you continue, setting yourself up for whatever he’s trying to do. 

“Clearly it was something.”

“Not really.” His unbothered attitude sets you off like a grenade, and you’ve finally lost your cool with Jeon Jeongguk. 

“You know what? You drive me fucking nuts!” You don’t bother to care how much you’ve raised your voice. “You’re always pissing me off for no fucking reason!” Your face feels hot, the anger spilling out of you. 

Jeongguk scoffs, unfolding his arms and moving closer to you. 

“I pissed you off because you started this! With your fucking morning smoothie.” He isn’t helping with the noise, raising his voice as much as you. 

“That was one time. Do you need me to quote every time you’ve managed to throw me off?!” Your veins are straining against your neck, giving everything you have into your shouting. 

“Go ahead!”

“You took the rest of the milk. You spoiled the movie I was currently watching. You threw remarks whenever I did the slightest thing, and now? Now you’re commenting on my date!”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes at your comment, not bothering to answer you. 

Yet you continue, because you’re fueling on the inside. 

“You have no rights, when you were fucking someone else!” 

You’ve given the signal that you were somehow affected by it, and Jeongguk quickly catches it. 

“You sound jealous.”

“I’m not.” You cross your arms, determined to not let him think otherwise. 

“Just admit it!” 

Your faces are mere inches apart, both panting at a rapid pace. The whole room is heated and you feel yourself sweat underneath your shirt from all the shouting. 

“Fuck you.” 

It’s barely a whisper. 

Neither of you move. Eyes are wandering on each other’s faces and that’s when you notice Jeongguk’s gaze dropping down to your lips. 

You’re seeing red, although your body feels heated as you move closer, Jeongguk’s breath melting into yours. 

Jeongguk studies your gaze before he moves closer, lips about to brush against yours. 

As you’re about to lean in yourself, So-ah starts crying next door, snapping the both of you out of your trance. 

“I– I better…” Jeongguk starts. 

“Y-yeah, go ahead.” You stutter, moving further away and when Jeongguk leaves the hallway, you breathe out. 

What the actual fuck.

The following days you avoid Jeongguk like the plague. You’ve never been more confused and irritated before. And yet, you can’t stop thinking about it. How close his face was, how his lips were about to seek yours until So-ah started to cry. 

Decisions need to be made. You can’t continue on like this. You need to talk to Jeongguk, without screaming at him and wanting to rip his face off. 

As you’re laying under the covers, your thoughts are spiraling around you. You’re contemplating if you should ask him to talk now because your mind won’t let you rest if you don’t. 

Fuck it. 

You get up in a hurry, walking in a straight line directly to Jeongguk’s room. After a few minutes of just staring Jeongguk’s door down, your body gives in, knocking on his door calmly. 

When he opens the door, he’s surprised to see you. 

“Hey.”

“Hi, can we talk? No fighting, just talk.”

Jeongguk nods, grabbing a hoodie by his desk. 

Jeongguk doesn’t want to wake up So-ah, so you sit outside, with a cup of tea. It was your idea. Somehow tea always managed to calm down your nerves, and if you wanted to withhold your promise to not fight, you needed to drink some of it along the way. 

“What did you wanna talk about?” He sounds nervous, and your mind re-directs you back to when the both of you were about to kiss in the heat of the moment. 

Instead of bringing that onto the table, you want to ask Jeongguk some things that have never left your mind since you moved in. 

“It’s more of a question.” You make it clear and Jeongguk turns his head, nodding for you to continue. 

“What happened? Why is it only you and So-ah?”

Jeongguk lets your question sink in. He’s uncertain if he wants to talk about it, or rather with you. It has somehow been easier for him to distance himself, push you away as much as he could, but that isn’t enough. 

You’re still here, sitting next to him as you admire the stars while awaiting his answer. 

The silence overflows, the wind curving itself as a comfort blanket around you both as you admire the small lights peaking out in the city. 

Jeongguk has always been scared of your curious gaze, yet now, it makes sense for him to tell you everything, let his shield down and give you everything that’s needed for you to understand him completely. 

It’s what is needed for you to stop fighting and stepping on each other for no reason. 

“Her name was Seul-ki.” 

You turn, surprised he’s answering your question but you stay quiet, letting Jeongguk speak. 

“She was always selfish. I should’ve known better.” Jeongguk trails his finger against the mug, images of her flooding his mind. 

He looks up, meeting your eyes and you smile softly at him. The smile brings an unwanted comfort, but it helps Jeongguk to go through with answering your question fully.

“So-ah was around one month old when Seul-ki got a huge opportunity for her career. She didn’t hesitate to take the chance. But with So-ah, it made it difficult for her to go through with it, so she wanted to give So-ah up for adoption and I just—” Jeongguk takes a deep breath, slightly beginning to tremble. 

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t let her do it.” Jeongguk’s hand trembles against the mug, keeping his emotions locked in, even though they’re close to breaking out. 

“So, she left us.”

“That must’ve been really hard for you.” You’re trying your best not to hold him for comfort, knowing he isn’t exactly fond of you. But something aches in you when you see the tremble he’s currently carrying and how his voice has turned broken. 

“Yeah.” He’s in doubt of what to say. But something in him continues, letting his inner thoughts win him over. Every frustration, pain and heartbreaking moments he’s felt since Seul-ki left. 

“Sometimes I wonder if I have made the right choice. In the beginning So-ah would cry constantly, she’d be distressed and I couldn’t help because I’m not her mother. Sometimes you just need both of your parents and she—she hasn’t…” 

“Jeongguk.” 

Your warm hand lands on his, catching him off guard. 

“You’re an amazing dad. So-ah doesn’t need anyone else. You’re all she needs.” Your voice is soothing, melting him softly. He believes every word, trusting you much more than he had anticipated, and with the hopeful eyes you’re giving him, he knows he’ll be okay. 

So-ah and him will be okay, without Seul-ki. 

“Thank you.” Jeongguk smiles, the first genuine smile he’s given you since you moved in. 

You stay in place, letting the silence sink in between you as the cold wind flows. 

The starry night is beautiful, alive even. Sparkling and twinkling above you, reminding you of the beauty behind this earth. As you admire the details, Jeongguk looks at you, his heart healing the longer he does and he never wants to let go of this moment.

Everything becomes easier. 

You and Jeongguk don’t fight anymore, instead you talk and grow closer as time passes. 

You’re still looking for a new apartment, even though the tension has eased down. 

A plan is a plan. 

Whenever you bring up the apartment search into a conversation between Jeongguk and you, his demeanor changes quickly and he immediately shuts himself off. Here you were, thinking he’d be happy that you’re withholding your deal, not irritated. 

Instead of letting it get to you, you continue to hang out with Ash and Lucca. 

“So, Han-bin was a bad idea.” Ash repeats as you’ve told her how the two dates went. 

“I already called it the moment you recommended that idea. Like it was the best plan you’ve ever had.” Lucca intervenes, crossing their arms. Ash rolls her eyes at her partner, too embarrassed that they might’ve been right. 

“But, Ash was right. Han-bin is a sweet guy.” You say to hopefully cheer up your friend who’s about to mop in a corner. “We even decided to stay friends.” 

With that, Ash excitedly cheers, and it’s probably because she’s a firm believer in friends to lovers and that it’s the most realistic trope there is out there, meaning she thinks in two three months you’ll finally have a spark with Han-bin. 

“How’s the apartment search going?” Lucca directs the conversation somewhere else, mostly to cool down Ash who’s probably planning a Pinterest wedding board for you and Han-bin in the future. 

“It’s going, I think I found a place.”

The supermarket isn’t as crowded as Jeongguk anticipated when he came to the conclusion at the last minute that groceries were needed.  

So-ah is clutched tightly onto him, due to the baby sling that Jeongguk had mastered the older So-ah got. With her head squished under his chin, Jeongguk walks freely, collecting the products at a slow pace. 

“Jeongguk?” His eyes avert to the sound, catching Taehyung waving at him. 

As Taehyung moves closer, Jeongguk places down the item to greet him properly. 

“Hi, So-ah.” 

Jeongguk turns so Taehyung can get a better look at her, her eyes turning wide when she sees him. 

“She likes you.” Jeongguk notices, and Taehyung squishes her cheek carefully. 

“The feeling is mutual.” He cracks a smile. “How’ve you been? Last time I saw you, you and Y/N were about to bite each other’s faces off.” 

The tone indicates he’s joking, although still curious as to how the relationship stands between the two. 

“It’s… It’s better.” 

It actually is, and Jeongguk’s lips curl into a smile with the memory of your conversation. 

“That’s great to hear. She’s been super stressed with finding an apartment.” 

The information throws Jeongguk off guard. Are you that desperate to leave? Right after he opened up to you? 

Taehyung quickly catches how Jeongguk’s eyes turn downward, his jaw clenching. He’s uncertain if he should point it out, or leave it as it is. 

Thankfully, he gets saved by a call. 

“Hey, sorry my brother’s calling me. I’ll see you around?” Jeongguk nods, and Taehyung softly says goodbye to So-ah before leaving with his phone by the ear. 

The uncomfortable pit never leaves Jeongguk’s stomach after his run-in with Taehyung. He knows that there isn’t much time left, and you had made him the promise to leave the moment it hits six months but now? Now Jeongguk isn’t so sure if he even wants you to leave.

The last few weeks are spent on apartment hunting. You’re barely home, too busy with open houses after work and on the weekends. It’s an easy distraction from your repressed feelings towards Jeongguk, and it’s exactly what you need. Sooner or later you’ll leave your roommates and start over on your own. 

Jeongguk has an urge to tell you how he feels, how angry he is that you’re leaving but you keep missing each other. 

Whenever he passes by your room, he’s close to doing it but then you’re in a hurry to reach the next open house. 

If he hadn’t felt anything for you, he’d be extremely grateful that you’re doing all of this. You actually kept your promise and made yourself trustworthy. 

But, the clock is ticking and Jeongguk is running out of time. He needs to do something, fast.  

The weekend rolls around, and Jimin comes to pick up So-ah for the night. 

“I owe you big time. Thank you.” He hands Jimin an overnight bag, with everything he needs to take care of So-ah. 

“Don’t mess this up Jeongguk.” He gives a warning and Jeongguk’s palms start to sweat. 

“I won’t.” Jimin leaves quickly after, leaving Jeongguk alone with his thoughts. 

Work runs smoothly, Taehyung and you having fun with the children throughout the day but as soon as the golden sunset comes to view, you’re excited to go home. 

Home. 

Soon that home will turn into a different place and it makes your heart drop by the thought. You’ll miss Jeongguk, with his crazy and annoying remarks. You’ll miss So-ah, her galaxy eyes and her curiosity. 

But nothing lasts forever. 

The apartment feels empty when you walk in. 

You don’t hear So-ah or Jeongguk’s Overwatch that he always forgets to turn off. 

When you move to the living room, Jeongguk is sitting on the couch, his leg bouncing at a quick pace. 

“Jeongguk?” His head snaps up. 

“Y/N, hi.” He gets up, moving closer to you. 

“Are you okay?” 

He hasn’t stopped rubbing his palm on his neck, a nervous habit you’ve quickly caught onto while living with Jeongguk. 

“I’m fine. I need to say something.” His voice is stern and you quickly step back, nodding. 

“Okay.”

“I don’t want you to leave.” 

Your heart stops at his words. 

“What? Why?” 

Jeongguk steps closer, his breathing uneven as he studies your face. “B-because…” 

The nervous stuttering doesn’t stop and Jeongguk closes his eyes for a moment. 

“Because I–”

Jeongguk doesn’t continue his sentence, pulling you closer by the waist before he lets his lips glide above yours. His lips feel soft, and your breath hitches subtly right as he presses them down to yours. 

The kiss is short, Jeongguk pulling away just before you have a chance to act upon it yourself. 

“That’s why.” Jeongguk doesn’t let his arm fall from your waist, still holding onto you tight. 

You don’t respond, instead your hand moves upwards, resting it by his cheek. Jeongguk gulps by your action, leaning into your hand for more comfort and you smile softly at him. 

“I won’t leave.” You confirm and Jeongguk’s body loosens, melting against yours as he reconnects your lips in yet another kiss. 

You clutch yourself to him, as your lips move in sync, giving each other every comfort needed. 

Neither of you move away, letting the kiss grow heated. When Jeongguk slips his tongue past your lips, you’re almost drowning in his touch. He’s careful, teasing you along the way while giving you a taste of himself. You’re just about to pull him further in when he stops, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“Do you want to—”

“Stop? No.” You hover your lips above his, before you whisper. “Please, don’t stop.”

You’ve waited too long for this, and now that you finally have Jeongguk you don’t ever want this moment to end. 

Jeongguk’s demeanor changes completely, his softness somehow disappearing and an ache begins to grow between your legs on what’s to come. 

He turns you both around, pushing you down on the sofa. Jeongguk continues to kiss you, his hand wandering on your breasts, before it drags further down, grabbing your thigh softly. 

You offer to touch him everywhere, starting by his back. Your hands slip through his t-shirt to roam on the naked skin. It feels delicate against your palm the further you drag it upwards to his nape. 

Jeongguk’s breathing changes due to your touch, his lips moving further down, reaching your neck. His tongue traces patterns, letting you feel the wet sensation while your hold on Jeongguk tightens. 

It doesn’t exactly click for you that Jeongguk is hovering above you, giving you his time with his tongue on your neck. And it only excites you more that it’s finally happening. 

“Jeongguk.” You murmur under your breath, bucking your hips forward in hopes of grazing yourself against his bulge. 

He groans against your neck at your neediness, giving you a small bite which makes you gasp. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting this.” He says softly, his words trail gently on your skin, and you smile from the confirmation he just gave you. 

When he reaches your waistband, you grab ahold of his cheek. 

“What are you doing?” It’s not that you don’t want to, of course you do. You haven’t thought about anything else for the past three months of living with Jeongguk but you’re nervous. 

“Let me make you feel good. Can I?”

You gulp, nodding nervously, letting him have his way with you. 

Jeongguk doesn’t even struggle when he takes off your pants, removing them perfectly and it almost makes you crack up at how ideal it was. 

Your grin is exchanged with a frown of pleasure when Jeongguk traces his fingers on the fabric of your thong. He’s making you work for it and frankly, you don’t mind. 

The pad of his fingers press down on your clit, making your breath hitch by the sensation. You feel everything yet nothing and it makes your body buck into his hand. Jeongguk smirks by the sudden action, continuing to tease you with his fingers until you’ll plead. 

The touching continues, a few presses once in a while making you hiss. He hasn’t dared to move beneath the fabric and your patience is running on a thin thread. 

Without thinking further, you grab ahold of his wrist. You’re done with his teasing. It’s unfair that he’s here, taking his time with you when you’ve both been longing for this exact moment. 

“Jeon Jeongguk.” He grins at the use of his full name and you want to throw a fit. 

“I’ll stop, I promise.” He pecks your lips, and considering you trust him, you let go of his wrist. 

Some things truly never change. 

He keeps his word, removing the fabric instead of teasing you further. The cool air hits your core, making you shudder before Jeongguk can continue. His palm keeps itself rested on your thigh, while his tattooed hand comes in contact with your slit. 

The first few strokes are slow, collecting some of your arousal and spreading it all over. Jeongguk’s mouth is agape, eyes heavy as he watches your exposed heat and his fingers decorating it with slow movements. 

“Fuck, baby.” Jeongguk breathes out, stunned to have you like this. 

The pet name causes your cheeks to heat up, flustered by such. 

No warnings, and Jeongguk inserts both fingers slowly, stretching you with ease. The feeling causes you to moan, as you’re too entranced by the pleasure. 

There’s something about the way Jeongguk works with his fingers that almost sends you into orbit. The way he gently curls them, making them pet on your g-spot whenever he manages to get his fingers all the way inside. The way his thumb traces circles on your clit, increasing the feelings evoking. 

When you begin to feel overwhelmed, you grab onto Jeongguk’s forearm, pressing down. Jeongguk is even more determined to make you come, maintaining the same pace. 

You feel the familiar pit in your stomach, forming as time passes. Although, Jeongguk has a lot more on his sleeve than just touching you. 

Being too focused on the thrill of the situation, you don’t notice Jeongguk crouching down. It’s first when he replaces his thumb with his tongue that you’re aware of what he’s doing. Your legs are shaking beside him, feeling yourself get much closer and Jeongguk wants nothing more than to taste you. 

To his luck, your body shudders followed by a high pitched moan as you finish. Jeongguk pecks your clit, before moving upwards to face you. Your breathing is uneven, your whole body warm and you’re smiling softly at him.  

When Jeongguk pecks your lips, you take him by surprise, grabbing onto his cock through the material. He groans against your lips, astonished by your bold move. You don’t stop, pumping him while your tongues consume one another. 

Jeongguk is already hard. He’s been ever since you laid beneath him, spreading your legs out for him. Even though Jeongguk is enjoying your touch, he’s impatient. 

“Stay here.” Before you can even question anything, Jeongguk runs out directly to his room. He quickly returns, with a condom in hand. When he’s about to lay down, you push both of his shoulders, making him land in an upright position. 

You straddle him, wrapping both arms around his neck. “Come on big boy, show me what you got.” Maybe you’re saying this because you know Jeongguk will absolutely fall into your trap and amaze you. 

“I’ll show you.” His gaze is intense, yet he’s already fiddling with his pants, desperate to get them off. You aren’t exactly helping, grinding down on the material of his pants, which gets him distracted. 

“Y/N, please.” You’re suppressing a smile, commanding either way and lifting your hips to help him get his pants off quicker. You aren’t exactly better yourself, wanting nothing more than for Jeongguk to fuck you. 

Jeongguk is quick on his feet, rolling the condom with ease before gently pressing into you. Your knees sink further down, inviting more of him in and the unfamiliar stretch feels pleasant. When your knees have sunk fully down, you take a moment to adapt. 

“Shit.” Jeongguk moans, mind spinning at how nicely you wrap around him. 

You start bucking your hips, a hiss leaving your mouth as you ride him tenderly. 

“Fucking hell,” Jeongguk curses, his eyes now roaming your body and how smoothly you move above him. He takes the chance of grabbing your ass tightly, making you jerk your hips out of the sudden control Jeongguk is regaining. 

His eyes avert downwards, watching how your bodies dissolve and how he disappears inside of you. 

The movement of your hips slow down, your body still processing your orgasm from earlier which had somewhat made you exhausted. 

Jeongguk helps you, grabbing onto your hips, leaving you to sit still while he bucks his hips at a much faster pace. Your moans are clogged, too stunned to process the feeling of his cock hitting your g-spot repeatedly. 

“Fuck—” You breathe out, clutching yourself onto Jeongguk who isn’t slowing down. He’s surely showing you everything he’s got and you’re already close. 

With no warning, you tense above him, your orgasm washing over you, filling your body with warmth. Jeongguk follows soon after, giving one last thrust as he moans against your neck. 

The both of you stay put, trying to regulate your breathing. “Was that good enough for you?” Jeongguk asks between pants and you slap him lightly on the shoulder, because he knows it was better than good enough.

“Oh my god! Jeongguk hurry!” You scream excitedly, still holding onto So-ah who’s standing on two feet, ready to take her first step. 

“Don’t let her walk!” Jeongguk screams from the bathroom, finishing up his shower after his workout from earlier. You roll your eyes, holding tightly onto So-ah who’s trying to move out of your grasp to walk. 

Jeongguk runs out quickly not long after, in only a towel because moments like these are rare and there’s no way he’s about to miss out on his daughter walking for the first time. 

“Okay, come here So-ah.” Jeongguk kneels, spreading his arms open for his daughter and she screams softly, wobbling towards her dad but managing two steps in before Jeongguk has to sweep her in. 

You clap excitedly at So-ah having taken her first step and you catch Jeongguk’s eyes watering. 

“So-ah, you did it.” Jeongguk kisses her on the cheek. 

Moments like these are only the beginning for the three of you, and you’re thrilled.