#i think I've moved past yearning

[crowttore]

If Dottore doesn't rawdog me while crying a little about how good it feels today I'll probably commit atrocities

[thatfaerieprincess]

.

[crybabycabin]

pressure points | b.b.

✮ synopsis: bucky's gotten good at keeping his distance from his harmless, sunshine-y neighbor. but when you get taken because of him—because someone figured out you're his weak spot—he realizes how spectacularly that plan backfired. turns out the winter soldier's soft spot is a lot more dangerous than he thought.

✮ pairing: post-thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader

✮ disclaimers: violence, kidnapping, blood and injury, torture (not graphic), angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, established feelings but complicated relationship, second person POV, fem!reader, miscommunication, intense yearning, emotionally constipated!bucky, past trauma, mild language, fighting sequences

✮ word count: 10.6k

✮ a/n: first fic on this blog and it's basically just 10k words of soft bucky yearning xoxo

main masterlist

The first time Bucky Barnes sees you, you're trying to shove a couch through a doorway that's at least six inches too narrow, and losing spectacularly.

He's coming home from another pointless congressional hearing—the kind where everyone talks in circles about defense budgets while carefully not mentioning the alien invasion from three months ago—when he spots you in the hallway. You're wedged between the arm of what looks like a vintage velvet monstrosity and the doorframe of 4B, hair escaping from whatever you'd tried to contain it with, muttering a stream of increasingly creative profanity.

"Fucking—come on—you absolute bastard of a—"

The couch shifts. You yelp. Bucky's halfway down the hall before he realizes he's moving.

"Need a hand?"

You twist around, and something in his chest does this stupid, inconvenient flip. Your face is flushed, one cheek smudged with what might be dust or maybe yesterday's mascara, and you're looking at him like—well. Like he's not Bucky Barnes. Like he's just some guy in the hallway who might know how geometry works.

"Oh thank god," you breathe, and the relief in it makes his mouth twitch. "I've been battling this thing for twenty minutes. I think it's winning."

He assesses the situation with the same tactical precision he'd use for a Bulgarian arms deal, if arms deals came upholstered in emerald green and smelled faintly of vanilla perfume mixed with fresh sweat. The angle's all wrong. You've been trying to force it through horizontally when it needs to go vertical, then rotate.

"Here." He steps closer, and you shift to make room, your shoulder brushing his chest in a way that absolutely doesn't make his pulse stutter. "If we flip it—"

"Oh, you're strong," you say, like an observation about the weather, as he essentially deadlifts one end of your couch. The metal arm whirs faintly. You don't flinch. "That's convenient."

Convenient. Right. He maneuvers the couch through the doorway in three efficient moves, trying not to notice how you smell like coffee and something floral, how you hover just inside his peripheral vision like you're trying not to crowd him but can't quite stay away.

"There." He sets it down in what's clearly the only spot it could go in your tiny living room. The space is chaos—boxes everywhere, art leaning against walls, books stacked in precarious towers. "You just moving in?"

"Yeah, from—" You wave a hand vaguely eastward. "Nicer neighborhood. Turns out freelance graphic design doesn't pay for Manhattan rent. Who knew?" The self-deprecation comes with a grin that transforms your whole face, and Bucky has to look away, focus on the box labeled 'KITCHEN SHIT' in aggressive Sharpie. "I'm—well, you probably don't care what my name is."

He does, actually. Cares in a way that makes his teeth ache.

"Bucky," he offers, even though you clearly already know. "4C."

"The grumpy congressman." Your grin goes wider, teasing. "I've seen you on C-SPAN. You look like you're being held at gunpoint during those hearings."

"Feel like it too," he mutters, and the laugh you give him hits like a shot of whiskey—warm and slightly dizzying.

"Well, Congressman Barnes of apartment 4C, you've just saved my Saturday. Can I pay you in beer? I've got—" You dig through a box, emerge triumphant with two bottles. "Hipster IPA or hipster IPA?"

He should say no. Should maintain boundaries. Should remember what happened the last time he let someone get close—the scar on his ribs from Belgrade still aches when it rains.

Instead, he finds himself accepting a bottle, listening to you chatter about the neighbor who warned you about the rats (definitely real) and the ghost (probably not real but who knows), watching how you gesture with your whole body when you talk, like you're too much for your own skin.

It's dangerous, how easy you are to be around. How you look at him like he's just Bucky, not the former Asset, not the killer, not the congressman who can't pass a single fucking bill. Just a guy who helped with your couch.

He stays too long. Drinks two beers. Helps you unpack exactly three boxes before some long-dormant self-preservation instinct kicks in and he makes excuses about constituent emails.

"Thanks again," you say at the door, and there's something in your eyes—curiosity, maybe. Interest. "For the couch. And the company."

"No problem."

He's halfway to his own door when you call out: "Hey, Barnes?"

He turns. You're leaning against your doorframe, backlit by the disaster zone of your apartment, smiling that smile that makes his chest tight.

"I make really good coffee. You know. If congressional hearings ever drive you to caffeine dependency."

It's an offer. An opening. Everything in him screams to close it, lock it down, maintain operational security. Instead, his traitorous mouth says, "I'll keep that in mind."

He's so fucked.

The thing is, Bucky's gotten good at keeping people at arm's length. Seventy years of being a weapon teaches him that distance equals safety—for them, not him.

When you're already dead, what's a little more damage?

So he shouldn't notice when you start leaving your apartment at 7:23 every morning, shouldering a bag that's always slipping off your shoulder. Shouldn't time his own exits to avoid those encounters, then feel like an asshole when he succeeds. Definitely shouldn't lie awake listening through the thin walls as you sing along to whatever pop music you play while cooking, off-key and enthusiastic.

But here's the other thing: you make it really fucking hard to maintain distance.

You leave cookies outside his door with notes that say things like "for emergency constituent-induced rage" and "survival fuel for C-SPAN." You knock when you know he's home, ask to borrow sugar or vodka or a screwdriver, then stay to chat like his apartment isn't just bare walls and a couch Sam made him buy. You touch—casual, constant. A hand on his arm when you laugh, fingers brushing when you hand him things, like physical contact isn't something that makes his brain static out.

"You're a really good listener," you tell him one evening, three weeks into whatever this is. You're sitting on his floor, back against his couch, because you'd knocked asking for wine and then somehow ended up staying. Your knee presses against his thigh. He's catastrophically aware of every point of contact. "Like, actually good. Not just waiting for your turn to talk."

"Not much of a talker," he says, which is true and also easier than explaining that he's memorizing everything—how you twist your rings when you're nervous, the way your voice drops when you're saying something real, how you look in his space like you belong there.

"Bullshit." You bump his shoulder. He doesn't flinch anymore, which is either progress or a sign he's completely fucked. "You're just selective. Quality over quantity."

You say things like that—observations that feel like being seen, really seen, not just looked at. It's terrifying. It's addictive. It's going to get you killed.

Because here's the thing Bucky knows down to his bones: everything he touches turns to ash. Everyone he cares about becomes a target. And you—with your sunshine laugh and your disaster apartment and your way of looking at him like he's worth something—you're exactly the kind of light that attracts the worst kind of dark.

He should stay away.

He doesn't.

"So," Sam says, watching Bucky check his phone for the third time during their coffee meeting. "Who is she?"

"What?" Bucky pockets the phone. You'd texted asking if he knew how to fix a leaky faucet. He knows seventeen ways to kill a man with a faucet. Fixing one can't be that different. "Nobody. Work thing."

"Uh-huh." Sam's doing that face, the one that means he's about to be insufferably perceptive. "That's why you just smiled at your phone. Over a work thing. You. Smiled."

"I smile."

"No, you do this thing with your mouth that's like a smile's evil twin. This was an actual smile. So. Who is she?"

Bucky takes a long drink of coffee, considering how much lying is worth the effort. "Neighbor."

"Neighbor." Sam leans back, grinning. "Cute neighbor?"

The memory of you last night, paint in your hair and gesturing wildly about your latest client, flashes unbidden. His silence is apparently answer enough.

"Buck. Man. This is good. You need—"

"I need to not get people killed," Bucky cuts him off. "I need to remember that anyone who gets close to me ends up hurt. I need—"

"You need a life," Sam interrupts right back. "You need to stop punishing yourself for shit that wasn't your fault. You need to let yourself have something good."

Bucky's jaw works. The phone buzzes again. He doesn't check it.

"She doesn't know what she's getting into," he says finally. "She's—" Bright. Warm. Good. "She's not part of this world."

"So keep her out of it." Sam makes it sound simple. Like there's a way to compartmentalize, to have you without putting you at risk. "Be her neighbor. Be normal. Be happy, for once in your goddamn life."

Normal. Right. Because nothing says normal like a centenarian ex-assassin with more kills than most armies and a metal arm that could crush a skull like an egg.

But then he thinks about your smile when he fixed your garbage disposal last week. How you'd said "my hero" in this teasing, fond way that made him want impossible things. How you treat him like he's just Bucky, not a weapon someone else aimed.

"I don't know how," he admits, quieter than he meant to.

Sam's expression softens. "Nobody does, man. You just try anyway."

The faucet thing turns into a whole production.

You answer the door in tiny pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt that says "FEMINIST KILLJOY" in glitter letters, and Bucky's brain shorts out for a solid three seconds. Your hair's piled on top of your head in what might generously be called a bun, and there's toothpaste at the corner of your mouth, and he wants to—

"Oh good, you're here," you say, grabbing his arm and pulling him inside. Your fingers are warm through his henley. "It's making this noise like a dying whale. I tried YouTube tutorials but I think I made it worse."

The kitchen is a disaster. Tools scattered everywhere, water pooling on the floor, YouTube still playing on your laptop ("—sure to turn off the water main first—"). You've clearly been at this for a while.

"Did you turn off the water?" he asks, already knowing the answer from the growing puddle.

"I turned off a valve," you say defensively. "Several valves. None of them seemed to be the right valve."

He finds himself fighting a smile as he locates the actual shut-off. You hover behind him as he works, close enough that he can feel your breath on his neck, keeping up a running commentary that's part apology, part stand-up routine.

"—and then the wrench slipped and I maybe screamed a little bit, and Mrs. Nguyen next door started banging on the wall, and I had to yell that I wasn't being murdered, just defeating by plumbing—"

"Hand me the—" He turns to ask for the wrench at the same moment you lean forward to see what he's doing. Your faces end up inches apart. Time does that thing where it forgets how to work properly.

Your eyes are very wide. There's a water droplet on your cheek. Bucky's hand twitches with the urge to wipe it away.

"Wrench," he manages, voice rougher than intended.

"Right. Wrench. That's a—" You scramble backward, nearly slip on the wet floor. He catches your elbow automatically, steadying you, and your skin is so warm under his fingers it feels like a brand. "Thanks. I'm not usually this much of a disaster. Actually, that's a lie. I'm exactly this much of a disaster, you've just caught me on a particularly disastrous day."

He fixes the faucet in under ten minutes. You insist on making coffee as payment, which turns into leftover pizza, which turns into three hours on your couch watching some reality show about people making elaborate cakes. You provide running commentary that's funnier than the show itself, and Bucky finds himself actually laughing—not the dry chuckle he's perfected for public appearances, but real laughter that comes from somewhere deep in his chest.

"See?" you say during a commercial break, grinning at him. "I told you this show was addictive. Next week they're making a life-size dragon cake that actually breathes fire."

"Next week?" The words slip out before he can stop them, too revealing.

Your grin softens into something else, something that makes his chest tight. "Well, yeah. You can't miss fire-breathing dragon cake. That's un-American."

It becomes a thing. Thursday nights, your couch, increasingly ridiculous cooking shows. You always have too much dinner ("I'm terrible at portions, shut up"), he always fixes something that's broken ("it's not broken, it's just temperamental"), and somewhere between cake disasters and your laughter, Bucky forgets to maintain distance.

"Your boyfriend's here," Mrs. Nguyen announces loudly when Bucky knocks on your door a month later, because apparently the entire floor has decided they're invested in whatever this is.

"He's not my—" Your voice cuts off as you open the door. You're wearing a dress, which is new. Red, which is newer. Lipstick, which is going to kill him. "Hi."

"Hi." His brain's stuck on the curve of your shoulder, the way the fabric clings. "Going out?"

"Wedding. Old college friend." You're fidgeting with your earring, a sure tell that you're nervous. "I hate weddings. All that optimism and overpriced chicken."

"So don't go."

"Can't. I already RSVP'd, and I'm a good friend even if I'm a wedding-hating gremlin." You pause, still fiddling with the earring. "Unless..."

He knows what's coming by the way you're biting your lip. "No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"You were going to ask me to go with you."

"...okay, so you did know." You lean against the doorframe, giving him a look that's probably supposed to be convincing but mostly just highlights how your eyes catch the hallway light. "Come on. You're a congressman. You must love overpriced chicken and small talk."

"I really don't."

"There's an open bar."

"Still no."

"I'll owe you one. One big favor. Anything."

That makes him pause, but not for the reason you think. The idea of you owing him anything makes his skin itch. You already give too much—your time, your laughter, your casual touches that rewire his brain. But the idea of watching you navigate a wedding alone, of other people getting to see you in that dress...

"Fine," he hears himself say. "But I'm not dancing."

The smile you give him could power Brooklyn for a week.

He's absolutely, catastrophically unprepared for how you look in candlelight.

The wedding venue is one of those rustic-chic places that thinks exposed beams equal personality. You're at table eight, which puts you safely in "college friends but not close enough for the wedding party" territory. You've been providing whispered commentary all through the ceremony ("five bucks says she wrote her vows the night before"), your shoulder pressed against his in a way that makes paying attention to anything else physically impossible.

"See that bridesmaid?" You nod toward a blonde who's definitely already three champagnes deep. "That's Amber. We were roommates sophomore year. She once tried to seduce our RA by leaving Post-it poetry on his door."

"Did it work?"

"Depends on your definition of 'work.' She did get his attention. Also a conduct violation." You're playing with the stem of your wine glass, fingers tracing patterns. "Thanks for this, by the way. I know wearing a suit and making small talk isn't exactly your idea of fun."

He could tell you that wearing a suit is nothing compared to tac gear, that small talk is easier than Senate hearings. Could mention that the way you keep unconsciously leaning into him makes any discomfort worth it. Instead: "It's fine."

"Such enthusiasm." But you're smiling, soft and maybe a little fond. "Dance with me?"

"I said no dancing."

"You said that before you had champagne. And before they played—" You tilt your head, listening. "Oh my god, is this Bon Jovi? We have to dance to Bon Jovi. It's the law."

"That's not a law."

"It's a law of wedding physics. Come on, Barnes. One dance. I promise not to step on your feet much."

The thing is, he can't say no to you. It's becoming a problem. You want him to fix your sink? Done. Need someone to hold your laptop while you Skype your mother? He's there. Want him to dance to "Livin' on a Prayer" at some stranger's wedding? Apparently, that's happening too.

You're a terrible dancer. Genuinely awful. You have no sense of rhythm, keep trying to lead, and you're laughing too hard to even pretend otherwise. It's perfect. He spins you out just to watch your dress flare, pulls you back too close, and for a moment—your hand in his, your face tilted up, surrounded by fairy lights and other people's happiness—he forgets why this is a bad idea.

"See?" you say, slightly breathless. "Dancing's not so bad."

His hand is on your waist. He can feel your pulse through the thin fabric. "No. Not so bad."

Someone bumps into you from behind, pushing you fully against his chest. Your hands come up to steady yourself, one landing over his heart, and he knows you can feel how it stumbles. Your smile falters, shifts into something else. Something that looks dangerously like realization.

"Bucky—"

"They're cutting the cake," he says, stepping back. The loss of contact feels like losing a limb. "Should probably watch. For your show."

You blink, then recover. "Right. Yeah. Cake."

But you're quiet for the rest of the reception, and he catches you looking at him with this expression he can't decode. Like you're working through a complex equation and not liking the answer.

He drives home. You spend the ride fiddling with your phone, uncharacteristically silent. When he pulls up to the building, you don't immediately get out.

"I'm sorry if I—" you start.

"Don't." It comes out harsher than intended. He tries again, softer: "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Feels like I did." You're still not looking at him. "I forget sometimes, that you're—that we're—"

"Friends," he supplies, even though the word tastes like ash. "We're friends."

"Right." You finally meet his eyes, and there's something careful in your expression now. Guarded. "Friends."

You're out of the car before he can figure out what to say to fix this. He watches you disappear into the building first, red dress like a wound in the grey evening, and knows he's fucked everything up without quite understanding how.

You pull back after that.

It's subtle—you still smile when you see him in the hall, still text him memes at inappropriate hours. But you stop knocking on his door for impromptu dinners. Stop touching him casually. When he offers to fix your eternally-dripping showerhead, you say you'll call the super instead.

"You're moping," Sam tells him two weeks later, during one of their mandatory "make sure Bucky's not spiraling" brunch dates.

"I don't mope."

"You're the Black Widow of moping. The Michael Jordan of emotional constipation." Sam pauses. "That neighbor you mentioned?"

Bucky's silence is damning.

"What'd you do?"

"Why do you assume I did something?"

"Because you always do something. You get close to someone, panic, and pull some self-sabotaging bullshit." Sam's voice gentles. "Talk to me, man."

Bucky stares at his coffee like it holds answers. "She wanted to dance."

"...okay?"

"At a wedding. And I—we danced. And it was..." He doesn't have words for what it was. How you felt in his arms, how the world narrowed down to just the two of you, how for a moment he forgot he was dangerous. "And then I shut it down."

"Why?"

"Because." He sets the mug down too hard, coffee sloshing. "Because she's sunshine, Sam. She's late-night cooking shows and glitter pens and leaving snacks for the delivery guy. She has no idea what I've done, what I'm capable of—"

"Did you ever think maybe she does know and doesn't care?"

"Then she's naïve."

"Or maybe she just sees you better than you see yourself." Sam leans forward. "Buck, you can't protect people by pushing them away. That's not how it works."

"It's worked so far."

"Has it? Because from where I'm sitting, you're miserable, she's probably confused as hell, and nobody's actually safer."

Bucky wants to argue, but then his phone buzzes. Your name pops up: my smoke alarm is having an existential crisis. is it supposed to beep in morse code?

He's already standing before he realizes it.

"Go," Sam says, shaking his head but smiling. "Fix her smoke alarm. Talk to her like a human being. Maybe try not to fuck it up this time."

Your door is already cracked when he gets there, smoke rolling out in lazy waves.

"I'm not on fire!" you call before he can knock. "Well, the oven mitt was, but I handled it."

He finds you on a chair, ineffectively fanning the smoke detector with a dish towel. You're wearing those little pajama shorts again and his brain still isn't prepared for the sight.

"How does an oven mitt catch fire?" He reaches up, disables the alarm with practiced ease.

"Well, when you forget it's on your hand and rest it on the stove burner..." You shrink a little at his look. "I was distracted."

"By what?"

You don't answer, just hop down from the chair. This close, he can see the flour in your hair, the way you're worrying your bottom lip. "Thanks. Sorry for texting, I know it's late—"

"Why are you apologizing?"

"Because—" You make a frustrated gesture. "Because I'm trying to give you space. Because you clearly regretted the wedding thing and I'm trying not to be that neighbor who develops inconvenient feelings—"

"Feelings?" His brain snags on the word like cloth on a nail.

You go very still. "Shit. I mean. Not feelings. Just. You know. Neighbor...ly concern. Very platonic. Super appropriate."

"You're a terrible liar."

"Yeah, well, you're terrible at—" You stop, visibly collecting yourself. When you speak again, your voice is carefully level: "I like you, okay? More than I should. And I know that's not what you want, and I'm trying really hard to be okay with that, but you standing in my kitchen looking all concerned while I'm having a feelings crisis is really not helping."

The words hit him like a physical blow. You like him. More than you should.

"You don't know me," he says, defaulting to the easiest argument.

"Bullshit." There's heat in your voice now. "I know you reorganize my bookshelf when you think I'm not looking because the chaos bothers you. I know you bring me coffee on Tuesdays because you noticed I have early meetings. I know you have nightmares—yeah, the walls are thin—and I know you pace afterwards like you're trying to walk off whatever you dreamed about."

Each observation feels like being flayed open.

"I know you're careful," you continue, softer now. "I know you think you're dangerous. And I know you've probably got reasons for that. But Bucky? I also know you'd never hurt me. Ever."

"You can't know that."

"Why? Because you're what, too damaged? Too dangerous?" You step closer and he should step back but he's frozen. "You carry my groceries. You fixed my faucet. You danced with me at a wedding even though you hate dancing. Really dangerous stuff there, Barnes."

"You don't understand—"

"Then explain it to me." Your chin juts out, stubborn. "Give me one good reason why we can't—"

He kisses you.

It's the wrong thing to do. Selfish. Stupid. But you're standing there in your flour-dusted pajamas, looking at him like he's worth fighting for, and his self-control just...snaps.

The sound you make—soft, surprised, maybe relieved—shorts out every rational thought in his head. Your hands come up to frame his face, fingertips cool against his burning skin, and then you're kissing him back like you've been waiting for this, like you've been drowning too.

You taste like smoke and whatever you were baking, sweet with an edge of burn, and he's dizzy with it. His hands find your waist, fingers spreading wide against the soft cotton of your shirt, and he pulls you in until there's no space between you, until he can feel your heartbeat hammering against his chest. You're so warm, so alive, radiating heat like a small sun, and he wants to map every degree of it with his mouth, his hands, his—

Reality crashes back like ice water.

He jerks away, but his hands won't let go of your waist, like his body's in revolt against his better judgment. You're both breathing like you've run miles—harsh, ragged pulls of air that fill the space between you. Your lips are swollen, kiss-bruised, and he did that, he marked you, and the savage satisfaction of it wars with the knowledge that he's just made everything infinitely worse.

Your eyes are huge, pupils blown wide, and you're looking at him like he's just rearranged your entire understanding of the universe. One hand is still on his face, thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth like you're trying to hold the kiss there, keep it from escaping.

"That's why," he says roughly. "Because I want—because you make me want things I can't have."

"Says who?" Your eyes are very bright. "Who decided what you can have?"

He doesn't have an answer for that. Doesn't know how to explain the mathematics of survival, how everyone he's ever cared about becomes a liability, a target, a grave.

"I should go," he manages.

"Or," you say, "you could stay."

The offer hangs between you like a lit fuse. He can see the future unspool in both directions: leave now, go back to safe distances and polite nods in the hallway, watch you eventually move on with someone who doesn't come with a body count. Or stay, and risk you realizing what a mistake you're making. Stay, and selfishly take whatever you're willing to give for however long you're willing to give it.

You're still looking at him, patient and terrified and hopeful all at once.

He leaves.

The word echoes in his head all the way back to his apartment. Coward. Coward. Coward. But it's the right thing to do. The safe thing. You'll hurt for a while, maybe hate him a little, but you'll be alive to do it.

He doesn't sleep. Just sits on his couch, staring at the wall that separates your apartments, listening to the muffled sounds of you cleaning up. The shower runs at 2 AM. He knows you cry in the shower when you think no one can hear—learned that three weeks into being neighbors, when your freelance client stiffed you on a big project. He'd wanted to break the fucker's legs then.

Now he wants to break his own.

You're a better person than he'll ever be, which is why you still smile at him in the hallway.

It's careful now, contained. The kind of smile you'd give any neighbor, not the one that used to light up your whole face when you saw him. You don't knock anymore. Don't text about your smoke alarm or your leaky faucet or the rat you're convinced lives in the walls. You just...exist, parallel to him, in a way that makes his chest feel like it's full of broken glass.

"Fixed it myself," you say one morning when he catches you wrestling with a new deadbolt installation. Your drill slips, gouging the doorframe. "YouTube University, you know?"

He could fix it in under a minute. Could show you how to align the strike plate properly, how to test the throw. Instead: "Good for you."

Your smile flickers. "Yeah. Good for me."

Mrs. Nguyen gives him dirty looks now. The whole floor does, really. Like they know he's the reason you don't laugh as loud anymore, why your music's quieter, why you started getting grocery delivery instead of making three trips up the stairs, arms overloaded, dropping things and cursing cheerfully.

It's fine. It's working. You're safe.

He tells himself that every night when he hears you through the walls, moving around your apartment like a ghost of the person who used to dance while cooking.

Three weeks post-kiss, Valentina calls them in for a mission that's barely legal on a good day.

"Weapons shipment," she says, sliding photos across the conference table with her usual theatrical flair. "Enhanced tech, off-market, very much not supposed to exist. The kind of toys that make governments nervous."

"So we're stealing them," Walker states, not asks.

"Recovering," Val corrects with a smile sharp enough to cut. "For the safety of the American people, of course."

Yelena snorts. Alexei's already studying the compound layout like there'll be a test. Bob's doing that thing where he shrinks into himself, trying to become invisible. Bucky catalogs exits, counts guards in the surveillance photos, and tries not to think about how you looked last night, hauling groceries with your hair falling in your eyes.

The mission goes sideways in minute three.

"Intel was wrong," Ava's voice crackles through comms, too calm for the situation. "Triple the guards. And—"

The explosion cuts her off. Then another. The "barely defended warehouse" is a fucking fortress, crawling with military-grade security who definitely got the "shoot to kill" memo.

"Fall back," Bucky orders, but Alexei's already charged ahead, yelling something about Soviet glory. Walker's trying to flank, Bob's panicking, and somewhere in the chaos, Yelena starts laughing like this is the best thing that's happened all week.

It takes two hours to fight their way out. By the end, Bucky's left arm is sparking, his ears are ringing, and he's pretty sure at least three ribs are cracked. Yelena's favoring her right leg, Walker's bleeding from somewhere he won't admit, and Bob—Bob's dissociating so hard Bucky has to physically guide him to the extraction point.

"Well," Val says over comms, observing from her safe distance, "that was bracing."

Bucky doesn't trust himself to respond.

They limp back to New York in sullen silence. No debrief—Val's already spinning the disaster into something palatable for the brass. Bucky goes straight home, ignoring Sam's calls, ignoring everything except the need to get somewhere quiet before he starts breaking things.

His hands are still shaking when he reaches his floor. Adrenaline crash, probably. Or the delayed realization that they'd all nearly died for some bureaucrat's idea of asset recovery. Or—

Your door is open.

Not open-open. Cracked, like it didn't latch properly. Like someone left in a hurry. Or—

The deadbolt is broken.

The one you installed yourself three weeks ago. The one he'd watched you struggle with, pride keeping you from asking for help.

Bucky goes utterly still.

His body moves before his brain catches up. He's through your doorway, cataloging details with mechanical precision: lamp knocked over, books scattered, coffee table shoved sideways. Signs of a struggle. Signs of—

Blood.

Not much. Just droplets on the hardwood, leading toward the kitchen. But enough. Enough to make his vision tunnel, his chest compress until breathing becomes theoretical.

"Sweetheart?" The pet name slips out, raw. No answer. He clears each room like he's back in Hydra facilities, except his hands won't stop shaking because this is your space, your things, your—

Your phone is on the kitchen floor, screen cracked. There's a handprint on the wall—bloody, smeared. Too small to be anyone's but yours.

Something inside him breaks. Clean, sharp, like a bone snapping. The careful distance he's maintained, the walls he's built, the conviction that keeping you at arm's length would keep you safe—all of it crumbles in the face of your empty apartment and that small, bloody handprint.

He's already moving, phone out, calling in favors he's been hoarding. Because someone took you. Someone came into your home—the home he was supposed to be protecting by staying away—and took you. And they're going to learn exactly why the Winter Soldier's name still makes people flinch.

His phone rings. Unknown number.

"Barnes." He doesn't recognize his own voice.

"Ah, the infamous Winter Soldier." The voice is male, amused, completely at ease. "I was hoping we could talk."

"Where is she?"

"Safe. For now. Though that really depends on you, doesn't it?"

Ice spreads through his veins, familiar as an old friend. This is what he was trying to prevent. This exact scenario. You, hurt because of him. You, taken because someone figured out—

"What do you want?"

"You've been playing house, Barnes. Getting soft. Forgetting what you are." A pause, calculated. "I'm going to remind you. And your little neighbor? She's going to help."

The line goes dead.

Bucky stands in your ruined apartment, surrounded by the evidence of his failure, and feels something fundamental shift. Not break—he's been broken before. This is worse. This is the cold clarity that comes after, when there's nothing left to lose.

Someone made a mistake today. They touched you. They made you bleed.

He's going to paint the city red for it.

"Buck, slow down—"

"No." He's already moving, gathering gear with brutal efficiency. The weapons he's not supposed to have. The tech that's definitely illegal. Every favor, every resource, every skill Hydra beat into him over seventy years.

Sam's on speaker, trying to be the voice of reason. "You can't just go in guns blazing—"

"Watch me."

"This is exactly what they want. You, isolated, operating without backup—"

"They have her, Sam." The words come out raw, flayed. "They took her because of me. Because I was stupid enough to think distance would keep her safe."

Silence on the other end. Then: "What do you need?"

That's why Sam Wilson is Captain America. No more arguments, no more trying to talk him down. Just immediate, unwavering support.

"Intel. Cameras in my building, surrounding blocks. Last twelve hours." He straps a knife to his thigh, then another. "And get me backup."

"I can rally your team. Get Walker, Yelena—"

"No." The word comes out sharp. Another knife. Extra magazines. "The Thunderbolts are compromised. That clusterfuck of a mission proved it."

"Buck—"

"They're not ready for this. Half of them can barely work together without Val pulling the strings." He's checking his tactical vest, muscle memory taking over. "This isn't a government op. This is personal."

"So what, you're going in alone?"

Is he? Bucky stops, considers his options. The Thunderbolts are a mess on a good day—Walker's still trying to prove something, Bob's hanging on by a thread, and Alexei treats everything like a performance. They're not who he needs for this.

"They touched her," he says simply.

"I know, man. I know. But—"

"Get me what intel you can. I'll handle the rest."

"Buck, come on. At least let me—"

"They have her, Sam." His voice cracks, just slightly. "Every second we waste talking, they could be—"

"Okay. Okay. Intel coming your way. But Barnes? Don't do anything stupid."

"Too late for that."

Bucky stops in your doorway, looks back at your apartment. There's a photo on your bookshelf—you and him at the building's July 4th party. Mrs. Nguyen had insisted on taking it. You're laughing at something, leaning into him, and he's looking at you like—

Like you're everything he never thought he'd get to have.

"I'm coming for you," he tells the empty room. A promise. A threat. A prayer to whoever might be listening.

Then he disappears into the night, and the Winter Soldier goes hunting.

The trail goes cold in six hours.

Whoever took you, they're not amateurs playing at being dangerous. They're ghosts—professionals who know exactly how to disappear in a city of eight million people. Every camera angle's been scrubbed. Every witness suddenly develops amnesia. Even the blood in your apartment leads nowhere; cleaned of DNA markers by something that makes Bucky's teeth ache with familiarity.

"Talk to me, Buck." Sam's voice through the earpiece, carefully level. "Where are you?"

Bucky stands on a rooftop in Queens, staring at another dead end. Another empty warehouse that should have had something, anything. "Nowhere."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one I've got." His metal hand clenches, servos whining. Below, the city keeps moving, oblivious to the fact that you're somewhere in it, hurt, taken because of him. "They're good, Sam. Too good."

"We'll find her."

We. Like this isn't Bucky's fault. Like his past isn't bleeding into your present, staining everything he tried so hard to keep clean.

He drops from the rooftop, lands hard enough to crack pavement. A passing couple startles, hurries away. Good. He doesn't feel particularly human right now anyway.

Hour twelve. Yelena finds him in your apartment, sitting on your couch like a grieving statue.

"This is pathetic," she says, stepping over the crime scene tape he'd ignored. "Even for you."

"Get out."

"No." She perches on your coffee table, uncharacteristically serious. "You think sitting here feeling sorry for yourself will find her? You think guilt helps?"

"I said—"

"I know what guilt looks like, Barnes." Her voice cuts, precise as the knives she carries. "I know what it is, failing someone you—" She pauses, searching for the English word. "Care about. But this?" She gestures at him, at the apartment, at the bloody handprint he can't stop staring at. "This is just... как это... self-pity? No, worse. Useless."

The laugh that tears out of him is ugly. "Thanks for the pep talk."

"Someone needs to knock sense into your thick skull." She leans forward. "Whoever has her, they want you like this. Emotional. Sloppy. Making mistakes."

"I know that."

"Then stop giving them what they want."

Easier said than done when every surface in this apartment carries your ghost. The mug on the counter with your lipstick stain. The book splayed open on the side table, marking your place. The sweater thrown over the chair—his sweater, actually, stolen three weeks ago when you'd claimed your apartment was freezing.

"Keep it," he'd said, trying not to notice how it made something primal in him satisfied, seeing you wrapped in his clothes.

"Just until I fix my radiator," you'd promised, but you'd worn it three more times that week, and he'd never asked for it back.

"Barnes." Yelena snaps her fingers in his face. "Сфокусируйся. Focus."

"I am focused."

"You're spiraling." She pulls out her phone, shows him surveillance footage he's already memorized. "Look again. Really look. Use your brain, not your bleeding heart."

He wants to tell her he's looked at nothing else for twelve hours. Instead, he watches you leave your apartment at 6:47 PM, mail in hand. Watches you come back at 6:53. The timestamp jumps—7:31 to 8:15, forty-four minutes missing. By 8:15, your door's ajar and you're gone.

"Professional crew doesn't need forty-four minutes for grab," Yelena says, her English getting rougher as she thinks. "So why take so long? What were they doing?"

Bucky's phone buzzes. Unknown number.

His blood turns to ice, then flame.

"You're going to want to watch this alone," the familiar voice says. "Though I'm sure your friend is lovely. Hi, Yelena."

She stiffens. Bucky's already moving, putting distance between them, some instinct screaming danger.

"Just me," he says. "Let her go."

"See, that's your problem, Barnes. Still trying to protect everyone. Still thinking you can control who gets hurt." A pause. "Check your messages."

The video file is already there. His hand shakes as he opens it.

You're in a concrete room—could be anywhere, everywhere, the kind of place that exists in every city's bones. Sitting in a metal chair, wrists zip-tied but not apparently hurt beyond the cut on your temple still sluggishly bleeding. You're still wearing his sweater.

"Say hello, sweetheart." The voice comes from behind the camera.

You look up, and the defiance in your eyes makes his chest seize. "Go fuck yourself."

The slap comes fast, snaps your head sideways. Bucky's phone creaks in his grip.

"Language." The camera shifts, focuses on your face. "Try again."

You spit blood, manage a smile that's all teeth. "Hi, Bucky. Nice weather we're having."

Another slap. Harder. Your lip splits.

"I told you he made you weak." The voice continues conversationally as you work your jaw, testing damage. "The Winter Soldier, reduced to playing house with some nobody. It's embarrassing, really."

"You talk a lot for someone hiding behind a camera," you mutter.

This time it's a fist. Your head rocks back, and when you look up again, your nose is bleeding. But you're still glaring, still unbroken, and Bucky loves you so fiercely in that moment it feels like drowning.

"Here's what's going to happen," the voice continues. "Every hour Barnes doesn't come alone to the address we'll send, things get worse for you. And before you get any ideas—" The camera pans to show three other men, armed, professional. "—we've planned for contingencies."

Back to you. Blood drips onto his sweater. You notice the camera returning, look directly into it. "Don't you fucking dare," you say, and despite everything—split lip, bloody nose, zip-tied to a chair—you mean it. "You hear me, Barnes? Don't you—"

The video cuts.

Bucky stands very still in your empty apartment, phone in pieces at his feet.

"That bad?" Yelena asks.

He can't speak. Can barely breathe around the rage threatening to tear him apart from the inside. Somewhere in the city, you're bleeding because of him. Hurt because he was selfish enough to let you close, stupid enough to think distance would be enough.

Another text. An address in Red Hook. Come alone or we start cutting.

"Is trap," Yelena says, dropping articles like she does when she's focused. "Obviously trap."

"I know."

"You can't just walk in there like idiot."

"I know."

"So what's plan?"

He looks at her, and whatever she sees in his face makes her step back. "I give them what they want."

"Barnes—"

"They want the Winter Soldier?" His voice sounds wrong, mechanical, like something dredged up from permafrost. "They've got him."

The address leads to a warehouse because of course it does. These people, whoever they are, lack imagination. Bucky counts heat signatures through thermal imaging—six outside, unknown inside. Doable, if he's what he used to be. If he's willing to be what he used to be.

"Don't you fucking dare."

Your voice echoes, but it's drowned out by older programming. By muscle memory that never quite faded, no matter how many therapy sessions or good days or shared dinners with someone who looked at him like he was worth saving.

"In position," Sam's voice, because fuck going alone. Fuck giving them what they want. "West entrance."

"Rooftop," from Yelena.

"Back door," Walker, surprisingly. "For the record, I think this is stupid."

"Noted," Bucky says, and walks through the front door.

The space is exactly what he expected. Concrete floors, exposed beams, the kind of place that swallows sound. They're waiting for him—five men in tactical gear, no identifying marks. Professional contractors, not ideologues. Which makes this personal.

"Dramatic entrance. I respect that." The voice from the phone materializes into a man in his forties, military bearing, forgettable face. He's standing next to a metal table laid out with tools that make Bucky's scars ache. "Though you were supposed to come alone."

"Yeah, well." Bucky spreads his hands, easy target. "I've never been good at following orders. Ask anyone."

"Funny." The man circles him, predator studying prey. "That's not what your files say. 'Perfect compliance.' That was the phrase, wasn't it?"

Old wounds, precisely targeted. These people have done their homework.

"Where is she?"

"Close. Alive. For now." The man stops in front of him. "You know, I studied you. The Winter Soldier. Hydra's perfect weapon. And then you just... stopped. Became this." He gestures dismissively. "James Barnes, failing congressman. Playing superhero. Pretending you're not what we made you."

"We?"

The man smiles. "Not Hydra, if that's what you're thinking. Hydra was sloppy. Cult-like. No vision beyond control." He pulls out a tablet, shows Bucky a logo—a chimera, three-headed. "Cerberus. We're more... refined. We deal in weapons, not world domination. And you, Barnes? You're a weapon pretending to be human."

"Cool speech." Bucky's cataloging angles, distances, how fast he'd have to move. "Must've practiced in the mirror."

The man's smile tightens. "Bring her out."

Two more men emerge from a side room, dragging you between them. You're conscious but barely, feet stumbling, head lolling. They drop you on the concrete, and you don't get up.

Everything in Bucky goes very, very quiet.

"So here's the deal," Cerberus continues. "You're going to work for us. Exclusive contract. Your particular skills in exchange for her life."

"No." Your voice, cracked but clear. You push yourself up on shaking arms, meet Bucky's eyes across the warehouse. "No deals. No trades."

"Sweetheart—"

"Don't you 'sweetheart' me." You manage to get to your knees, swaying. Blood's dried on your face, but your eyes are blazing. "You think I don't know what they're asking? You think I'd let you—" You have to stop, catch your breath. "I'd rather die than be the reason you become that again."

"How touching," Cerberus says. "But not your call." He nods to one of his men, who pulls out a knife. "Barnes? Your answer?"

The knife moves toward you.

The world explodes.

Flash-bangs through windows, smoke grenades, the distinctive whine of repulsor beams. Cerberus shouts orders, but it's too late—the Avengers don't do subtle when one of their own is threatened.

Bucky moves. Not the measured approach of a soldier, but the brutal efficiency of a weapon. The man with the knife goes down first, arm snapping under metal fingers. The second barely has time to scream. He's not thinking, just reacting, just removing threats between him and you.

Someone shoots him. Barely feels it. Someone else tries hand-to-hand, which is adorable. He puts them through a wall.

"Barnes!" Sam's voice, sharp. "Shield up!"

He spins, catches the thrown shield, uses it to deflect a spray of bullets meant for you. You're trying to crawl to cover, leaving bloody handprints on the concrete, and the sight shorts out whatever restraint he had left.

When the smoke clears, Cerberus is the only one left standing. Backed against the wall, gun trained on you because of course it is. These people are predictable to the last.

"Come any closer and—"

Yelena drops from the ceiling, lands on him like gravity given form. The gun goes flying. Cerberus goes down choking on his own blood, Yelena's knife finding the gap in his armor like it was designed for it.

"Predictable," she says, wiping the blade clean. "I told you they were predictable."

But Bucky's already moving, dropping to his knees beside you. You're conscious, breathing, alive. That's all that matters. Everything else—the mission, the cleanup, the questions—fades to white noise.

"Hey," he says, hands hovering over you, afraid to touch. Afraid to hurt. "I've got you."

"Took you long enough," you manage, then promptly pass out in his arms.

He catches you, holds you against his chest, and something in him breaks. Or maybe it finally, finally mends. Either way, he's done pretending distance keeps anyone safe. Done acting like he deserves to make choices about your safety without you.

"Med team's three minutes out," Sam says quietly.

Three minutes. He can hold you for three minutes. Can keep you safe for three minutes.

After that? After that, everything changes.

But for now, in the blood and smoke and aftermath, Bucky Barnes holds the person he was stupid enough to fall in love with and makes a promise:

Never again.

Never fucking again.

The medical bay at the Tower is too bright, too sterile, too full of people who keep looking at Bucky like he might snap. Maybe he will. He's been sitting in the same chair for four hours, watching machines monitor your breathing, and every beep feels like an accusation.

"You need to get that looked at," Sam says, nodding at the blood seeping through Bucky's shirt. Gunshot wound, probably. He honestly can't remember.

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding on their fancy floors."

"I'm fine."

Sam exchanges a look with Yelena, who's been uncharacteristically quiet since they arrived. She's cleaned the blood off her hands but keeps flexing them, like she can still feel it.

"At least change your shirt," she says finally. "You look like extra from horror movie."

He doesn't move. Can't move. Because what if you wake up while he's gone? What if you open your eyes and he's not there, again, like he wasn't there when they took you?

"Barnes." Dr. Cho's voice cuts through his spiral. "She's stable. Three broken ribs, concussion, various contusions, but nothing life-threatening. She's lucky."

Lucky. The word tastes like copper in his mouth. Lucky is winning the lottery, not surviving a kidnapping because you had the misfortune of living next to him.

"When will she wake up?"

"Soon. The sedatives should wear off within the hour." She pauses, studying him with that look medical professionals get when they're about to say something pointed. "You, however, need treatment. You're actively bleeding on my floor."

"Sam already made that joke."

"It wasn't a joke." But she moves on, knowing a lost cause when she sees one. "I'll send a nurse with supplies. Try not to die before she wakes up. The paperwork would be tedious."

She leaves. Sam leaves. Even Yelena eventually wanders off, muttering something about vodka and terrible life choices. And then it's just Bucky and you and the steady beep of machines he'd tear apart if they stopped working.

Your hand is smaller than his. He knows this—has known it since the first time you grabbed his wrist to drag him to see some neighbor's new puppy—but it feels more pronounced now. More fragile. Your knuckles are split from fighting back, and there's still blood under your nails. His blood? Theirs? He doesn't know, and the not knowing makes him want to put his fist through the wall.

"You're spiraling again."

Your voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it might as well be a gunshot for how hard it hits. His head snaps up to find you watching him, eyes half-open but alert.

"You're awake."

"Mmm. Kind of wish I wasn't." You try to sit up, wince, immediately abort that mission. "Fuck. Did anyone get the number of the truck that hit me?"

"Don't—" He's hovering, hands fluttering uselessly, afraid to touch you. "You shouldn't move. Dr. Cho said—"

"Dr. Cho can kiss my ass," you mutter, but you stop trying to sit up. Your eyes track over him, cataloging damage. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing."

"It's literally dripping on the floor, Barnes."

"It's fine."

You stare at each other. Four hours of practiced speeches evaporate in the face of your actual consciousness, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your blood on concrete and the sound you made when they hit you.

"So," you say finally, voice carefully neutral. "Cerberus. That was fun."

"Don't."

"Don't what? Make jokes about my kidnapping? Process trauma through humor? Acknowledge that you're sitting there bleeding because you decided to Rambo your way through—"

"You could have died." It comes out louder than intended, raw. "You almost died because of me."

Something shifts in your expression. "Bucky—"

"No." He's standing now, needing distance, needing space between him and the way you're looking at him. "You don't get to—to act like this is fine. Like this is some funny story you'll tell at parties. They took you because of me. They hurt you because of me."

"They took me because they're assholes who thought they could use me as leverage." You're struggling to sit up again, ignoring whatever pain it causes. "That's on them, not you."

"You're only leverage because I was selfish enough to—" He stops, runs his hand through his hair. "I knew better. I knew what would happen if I let someone close, and I did it anyway."

"Let me get this straight." Your voice is gaining strength, and with it, heat. "You think you 'let' me get close? Like I didn't have any say in it? Like I didn't practically force-feed you cookies until you acknowledged my existence?"

"That's not—"

"And what, you think keeping me at arm's length would've magically made me safer? News flash, Barnes: I live in that building because it's what I can afford. That makes me a target for regular criminals on a good day. At least with you around, I had someone who actually gave a shit if I made it home."

"Don't." The word cracks. "Don't act like I was protecting you. I'm the reason you were bleeding. I'm the reason they—"

"You're the reason I'm alive!" You swing your legs over the side of the bed, bare feet hitting the floor with determination that makes his chest tight. "You think they took me because they wanted leverage? They took me because they were cleaning house. Because they knew you'd gotten soft, gotten close to someone, and that made you unpredictable."

You stand, sway, catch yourself on the bed rail. He moves forward instinctively, and you hold up a hand.

"No. You don't get to touch me right now. Not when you're about to do something stupid and noble and self-sacrificing." You take a step, then another, closing the distance between you despite your own warning. "They were going to kill me either way, Barnes. Whether you came for me or not. The only difference is that you did come, and now I'm alive to be really fucking pissed at you."

"You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly." You're close enough now that he can see the bruises forming on your throat, the way you're holding your ribs, the tears you're refusing to shed. "You think you're poison. You think everyone you touch gets hurt. You think the best thing you can do is be alone forever because that's what you deserve."

"Stop."

"No. Because here's the thing, James Buchanan Barnes—you don't get to make that choice for me." Your voice breaks, just a little. "You don't get to decide I'm better off without you. You don't get to kiss me in my kitchen and then run away like a coward. And you sure as hell don't get to sit there bleeding and act like it's some kind of penance."

The medical bay feels too small suddenly, like all the air's been sucked out. You're looking at him with eyes that see too much, that refuse to let him hide behind the careful walls he's rebuilt in the last three weeks.

"They hurt you," he says, quieter now. Lost.

"Yeah. They did." You reach up, slowly, telegraphing the movement. Your hand cups his face, thumb brushing over the bruise on his cheekbone. "And it wasn't your fault."

"How can you say that?"

"Because blaming you for what they did is like blaming a bank for getting robbed." Your other hand comes up, framing his face, forcing him to meet your eyes. "You're not responsible for other people's evil, Bucky. You're only responsible for what you do about it."

"I should have protected you better."

"You literally threw yourself between me and automatic gunfire."

"I should have never let them take you in the first place."

"Oh, so you're psychic now? Can predict the future?" Your laugh is watery. "Add that to the resume. Congressman, ex-assassin, part-time fortune teller."

"This isn't funny."

"It's a little funny." But your smile fades, replaced by something fiercer. "You want to know what's not funny? Spending three weeks watching you shut me out. Sitting in that chair, knowing you were hurting, and not being able to do anything because you decided I was better off without you."

"You are—"

"Finish that sentence and I swear to god, Barnes, concussion or not, I will punch you in your stupid, self-loathing face."

He almost smiles. Almost. "You could barely stand five seconds ago."

"Adrenaline's a hell of a drug." But you're swaying again, and this time when he reaches for you, you don't stop him. His arms come around you carefully, mindful of injuries, and you lean into him like you've been waiting for permission. "I'm so fucking mad at you."

"I know."

"Like, incandescently furious."

"I know."

"You don't get to leave again." It comes out muffled against his chest, but he hears the steel underneath. "I don't care if the entire population of supervillains decides I'm their new favorite target. You don't get to leave."

His arms tighten fractionally. "Sweetheart—"

"No." You pull back enough to glare at him, and even bruised and exhausted, you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "No 'sweetheart.' No soft voice and sad eyes. You're either in this with me or you're out, but you don't get to half-ass it anymore. You don't get to knock on my door at 2 AM because you had a nightmare and then pretend we're just neighbors. You don't get to dance with me at weddings and then act like it meant nothing. You don't get to—"

He kisses you.

There's no grace in it—just collision, pure physics as his mouth finds yours with the same brutal efficiency he'd use to take down a target. Except this isn't violence, it's something worse. It's capitulation. It's three weeks of want compressed into the space between one heartbeat and the next.

The noise that escapes you—half gasp, half sob—unlocks something feral in his chest. Then your teeth catch his lower lip, sharp and unforgiving, and his vision whites out entirely. You kiss like you fight: dirty, determined, taking no prisoners. Your tongue slides against his and his knees actually buckle, what the fuck, he's faced down alien armies without flinching but you're going to be what finally kills him.

His hands fly to your face, metal and flesh cradling your jaw like you're something precious even as he devours your mouth like you're anything but. You're pressed so tight against him he can feel every hitch in your breathing, every shudder that runs through you when he angles his head and deepens the kiss into something filthier, something that has you making these broken little sounds that he wants to bottle and keep.

The medical bed hits the back of your thighs—when did he walk you backward?—and you use the leverage to pull him down, down, until he's curved over you like a question mark, like gravity itself has reorganized around the heat of your mouth.

When you finally break apart, it's only because biology demands it. You're both wrecked—breathing like you've run marathons, lips swollen and spit-slick, staring at each other like you're not quite sure what just happened.

Your pupils are blown so wide he can barely see the color of your irises. There's a flush spreading down your throat, disappearing beneath the hospital gown, and he has to physically stop himself from following it with his mouth. His hands are trembling where they frame your face, thumbs pressed to your cheekbones like he's checking you're real.

"That's not an answer," you manage, but your voice is thoroughly fucked, and your hands are still twisted in his vest like you'll shoot him if he tries to move away.

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's really not. It's a deflection. A really nice deflection, but—"

"I'm in." The words feel like jumping off a cliff. Like defusing a bomb. Like coming home. "I'm in. Whatever that means, whatever that looks like. I'm in."

You study him for a long moment, and he tries not to fidget under the scrutiny. Finally: "You're going to therapy."

"I'm already in therapy."

"You're going to actually talk in therapy instead of just staring at the wall and hoping Dr. Raynor gets bored."

"...fine."

"And you're going to let me have a say in my own safety. No more unilateral decisions about what's 'best' for me."

"Okay."

"And you're going to teach me self-defense. Real self-defense, not just how to throw a punch."

"Deal."

"And—" You sway again, this time more dramatically. "Oh. Okay. Maybe sitting down now."

He guides you back to the bed, hands steady even if nothing else is. You let him fuss, let him adjust pillows and pull up blankets, and he tries not to think about how easily you fit into his hands. How right this feels, even with blood on his shirt and bruises on your skin.

"For the record," you say as he settles back into the chair beside your bed, "I'm still mad."

"I know."

"Like, really mad. There's going to be yelling. Possibly throwing things."

"I can take it."

"And groveling. Lots of groveling. I'm talking flowers, chocolates, the works."

"Noted."

You reach for his hand, lace your fingers through his. "And you're going to tell me you love me."

He freezes. You squeeze his hand.

"Because I know you do. I've known since you reorganized my bookshelf by genre and then pretended you didn't. And I love you too, you absolute disaster of a man, but I need to hear you say it. When I'm not concussed and you're not bleeding. When we're both safe and no one's trying to kill us and we can actually have a real conversation about what this means."

His throat feels tight. "I can do that."

"Good." You close your eyes, exhaustion finally winning. "Now get your gunshot wound treated before you bleed out on my watch. I'm not explaining that to Sam."

"It's not that bad."

"Bucky."

"Fine."

But he doesn't move. Not yet. Instead, he sits there holding your hand, memorizing the way your fingers fit between his, the steady rise and fall of your chest, the fact that you're alive and here and somehow, impossibly, still want him around.

The sun's coming up by the time a nurse finally corners him, threatening sedation if he doesn't let her treat the gunshot wound. You're properly asleep by then, fingers still tangled with his, and he lets the nurse work around your grip rather than let go.

"She's tough," the nurse comments, applying what are probably too many bandages.

"Yeah."

"And stubborn."

"Definitely."

"Good." She pats his shoulder, maternal despite being half his age. "You're going to need it."

He doesn't ask what she means. Doesn't need to. Because you're right—he's a disaster. A work in progress on his best days, a barely controlled catastrophe on his worst. But you looked at all that and decided he was worth fighting for anyway.

The least he can do is try to prove you right.

When you wake up again, he's there. When Dr. Cho kicks him out so you can rest, he goes to therapy and actually talks. When Sam asks if you're together now, he says yes without qualifying it.

And when you're finally released, when you're back in your apartment with its new locks and its carefully cleaned floors, when you knock on his door at midnight because the nightmares found you too—he opens it. No hesitation. No distance.

"Hey, neighbor," you say, and the smile you give him is worth every risk, every fear, every moment of doubt.

"Hey yourself."

You step inside, and he closes the door behind you, and for the first time in longer than he can remember, Bucky Barnes stops running from the possibility of happiness.

It's terrifying.

It's everything.

It's enough.

feedback is always appreciated! ♡

[writing-munchies]

NSFW HC'S— Dorian, Doug & Dunk x GN!Reader (MDNI)

A/N: Sometimes horniness from a tiktok edit over a dateable door makes you write so much smut that your fingers are aching. Sorry for any mistakes as English isn't my first language:-]

EDIT: a huge chunk of Dunk's part was missing that i didn't paste from the goodle doc i wrote this in... this is so embarrassing🥀

I've also decided to take requests, im working on finishing the game and im quite there! i dont mind writing just about anything so, go ahead! Mailbox is open!

WC: 2.3K

Dorian

He’s most likely going to be the initiator, especially after you’re both in a relationship. He is still hesitant with his boundaries not really being respected in his previous relationships, but when he’s all in on you when the relationship starts, he will willingly give himself to you, fully trusting of you. No questions asked, he knows you’ll respect his decisions, and that means more than the world to him. Which, in turn, makes him more inclined to initiate sexual or romantic encounters.

Every time you brush up against Dorian when walking around the house, throwing him a wink when you do so… to say he’s turned on would be an understatement. He’s relatively easy to rile up when he feels secure in your relationship.

Once he realizes how much you squirm when he talks real close to your ear, it’s over. He won’t stop doing it, he’ll be hips flush against each other kinda deep inside of you, not moving, just teasing you by talking breathlessly into your ear, “You like that feeling, love? Want more?” when you whine out his name, too sensitive to speak properly, he just chuckles and that makes you shiver; much to his delight. Though, every time you do shiver, moan or whine you can feel his cock throb inside you, his breathing gets jagged, and his self-control gets that much closer to cracking. 

Durable. Actually loves cock-warming but gets impatient when you won’t stop squirming on his lap so, he holds you by the waist and fucks into you with almost all the strength he can muster, you’re a delicate thing compared to him after all; whatever your size may be. He can hold off on an orgasm just fine, just so you can cum before him, it feeds his ego like you wouldn’t believe. Making you cum before him is a must, you’ll cum at least 2 times before he even thinks of letting that tight knot snap and fill you up in every way possible. He’s a patient man, he’ll wait for hours if it means you’ll be a crying mess under him.

This man loves getting his dick sucked. Whichever Dorian. Though front door Dorian seems to be exceptionally sensitive compared to others. You’ve never seen him so flushed as he is when his dick is in your mouth. You looking up at him with those pretty eyes has his dick harder than he ever thought possible. It’s sort of this rush of power too, like you’re his owner, practically his boss, and here you are, his dick in your mouth and moaning for him to cum down your throat- it makes him cum embarrassingly fast.

Whenever you’re naked in the shower or your room, he has to do everything to hide his very obvious boner from the other objects around. Especially if you, unknowingly so, accidentally brush up on him just as you’re out of the shower? God, he’d never think about neglecting his duty, but you’re wearing his patience thin.

A lover at heart. Loves foreplay, but he’s just been so deprived of you all this time that he’s yearning heart and body just can’t help but pounce on you with every opportunity you present him with. Be open with him, even if your shyness kills you, tell him to fuck you ‘till you’re crying, tell him to fill you up so fucking full that it gushes out of you with every thrust— directness turns him on so much.

Loves seeing you all tied up and pathetically helpless— completely at his mercy. He’s been the one protecting you all this time without faltering for a second, so you willing to be the most vulnerable you can be consciously with him, he can’t help but feast on every breath, every shiver and every moan you let out.

The biggest freak is trap door Dorian though, without a doubt. He’s never seen you half naked, let alone fully naked. When you show yourself to him for the first time, all the blood rushed to his dick, and he has to keep his composure. Though, his flushed face and breathless tone of voice really don’t help to hide it. Worships your body like it’s an art piece, loves playing with your nipples the most, though. Just the way you squirm and your hold on his hair tightens makes him groan with that husky voice of his.

I think the en suite Dorian (bedroom bathroom Dorian), loves a handjob more than anything else. Loves watching the way your fingers play with and tease his dick to hardness, the same fingers that touch him every day without thought working to make him cum? Ultimate fantasy of his, actually.

The one that wants to fuck you ‘till you forget your own name is bedroom door Dorian. He has seen you in your most vulnerable states, every whimper that you let out when you’re masturbating just gets his whole body so hot he has to stop himself from replacing your fingers with his own or his mouth. When given the green light, he won’t let you go until you’re a crying, full-with-cum mess. His thrusts are deep, cock head brushing against your sweet spot non-stop, making your vision dance with stars as he grunts and nibbles on your ear. His hands will massage your ass and thighs as he’s fucking into you, too, a grounding touch helping you to not zone out and feel everything that he’s doing to you.

Aftercare? He will do his best, and he is amazing at it! He will hold you in his arms, his scent developing your senses as he peppers kisses along your back and nape, his hands massaging your hips and ass non-stop as he asks you if you want water or if you want him to clean you up right away. Very considerate of your needs, 10/10. 

Doug

Do not be fooled by the way he talks and how he speaks, this man is all in on for being dominated. Though he prefers to say, “making him your bitch”, it’s the same thing anyway.

Horny for you 24/7, literally always ready if you are. When he sees that look in your eyes and how your tone changes when you speak to him, he already popped a boner.

Insatiable freak, loves going at it for round after round, for hours and hours. Tie him up and milk his cock with your mouth, hand or hole, make him a mess, and he’ll thank you for it, call him a good boy, and he’ll cum on the spot.

Tie him up and shove his cock down your throat, slap his thigh when he can’t help but thrust his hips up into the tight heat of your mouth- the way your tongue drags over that one vein on his dick makes him moan out your name and his thighs stiff up with self-control as he tries to just not fuck your face ‘till he paints your mouth white.

Loves picking you up and cornering you by pressing your back to the wall you keep looking at when you want to meet him, he just wants to fuck your brains out in the place you first met! Isn’t that romantic?

When you two first have sex, he’ll try to have this nonchalant attitude, but it crumbles easily when you moan his name so lovingly as he’s fingering you open to take his cock. Despite how he comes across at first he really is careful with you, he knows he is way stronger than you, so he tries to relax the hold he has on your hips as you’re riding him with that lovesick look on your face that has his cock throb and leak pre inside you.

His biggest fantasy is you being on your phone as he’s fucking you, maybe playing your favorite game, trying to win a match or trying to progress as every thrust just shakes or makes you shiver. He’d tell you to go on, you can’t cum if you don’t achieve your objective, he’ll fill you however times he wants, you can cry and beg however long you want, you aren’t cumming ‘till you complete that objective.

Loves taking you by the chin after he just came in your mouth, tells you to open up and feels his cock get full on hard again just at the sight of you with your tongue—covered in his cum— out, tugs you closer and bends down to kiss you, sucking on your tongue and tasting himself as he groans into your mouth. Your little shivers just spur him on more.

Ride him and tell him he isn’t allowed to cum ‘till you tell him to. When he inevitably fails to do so, he just can’t help it, the way you squeeze down on his dick like you’re trying to milk him out of every last drop is hard to resist for a being like him, overstimulate him and don’t get off of his dick ‘till he’s crying and begging you to stop and keep going at the same time.

He does jerk off, a lot. Especially to the photos of you, hell even when you’re just moving around the house, and he catches a glimpse of your armpits, inner thighs or your nipples? He’s stroking his dick and will take a video for you to show t to you later, he is shameless about anything to do with sex.

Aftercare? Well he doesn’t like to clean himself up right away, especially if it’s after a particularly long session, he’ll take a photo of his dick now covered in cum, he’ll take a photo of your sex and your whole body to jerk off to later and admire, then you’ll get to aftercare. He tries when he’s with you, but you’re going to be the one that ultimately takes acre of him, if you’re genuinely so tired out he will do his best, although stiff, he is trying his best.

Dunk

For the love of all things holy, be straightforward as you can with this man. He is great at sex, but he is bad at picking up innuendos and hints.

Will worship your body no matter how you look like or how you weigh, he is in love with you, in awe of you, he’ll kiss along your back, down your chest and your inner thighs all the while murmuring about how perfect you feel against him, how his skin on yours makes everything feel electric.

He feels the same rush he has when he’s trying out a new sport as he’s having sex with you, that makes you an addiction he’ll never want to put down.

The way you slam your hips against his when he’s being a little too gentle, and you just want him to fuck your brains out. Oh, he can do that, very well. His favorite position to turn you into a blabbering mess is full nelson, the way he can just fuck into you and feel your every moan and groan on his chest as his dick hits that sweet spot over and over again while you’re crying out his name is nothing short of an addicting adrenaline rush.

He also loves the mating press, just any position where he can use his weight and stamina to fuck into you, feel everything your body has to offer as you sing his praises with loud moans and cries of his name, fuck he can’t get enough. Maybe ask him about why he loves it when you use that fitness ball. It can’t be possibly because he can just feel every second of your crotch, ass, and thighs rubbing against him, sometimes even with your full weight? Of course not(!)

Loves giving oral pleasure the most, actually; take a fist full of his hair—what you presume that is, anyway—and thrust into his mouth/grind your sex down on his mouth. He loves being used for your pleasure, the fact that he is so durable that hours of sex won’t wear him down makes him the perfect toy to fuck yourself with.

He cums a lot, and I mean, a lot. He has to thrust at least six more times as he’s cumming inside you just to ride it out, even as it’s gushing out of you and making a mess. Will be licking your sex clean off of any cum, yes he will ask to make out, yes he wants you to suck on his tongue and taste both of you.

Loves a strip tease, too. Whether he does it or you, loves to watch you more actually, especially if you’re visibly aroused, his mouth always starts watering when your underwears finally off.

Dry humper. Loves to grind down on you, feel you squirm and beg for him to just touch you, loves to feel how your thighs tense as you cum just from humping him;

If you’re AMAB, he will purposefully grind down his hard-on on yours, just to feel it twitch and throb against his own. Will tease you if he sees the evidence of pre-cum already leaking, as if his dick isn’t wet already from his.

If you’re AFAB, he loves to just grind down ‘til he can feel the wetness through the fabric, rubbing against you just so that his boner presses down anywhere close to your clit to watch you shiver.

1000/10 aftercare, you will never catch this man lacking in that department. Big, secure, warm cuddles as he wraps all of his limbs around you, if you complain about the fluids he’ll tell you to give him 5 minutes, he just wants to bask in the afterglow. Definitely snuck some water into the room to give you some after or during sex, peppers kisses all over your face and affirms his love for you with words and gentle touches.

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Chapter 4: Listen

Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Doctor Female Reader Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Chapter Summary: Thunder clatters outside occasionally. He closes his eyes, but then, he hears it—a soft, barely audible sound from across the hall. A sigh, perhaps. Or a moan. Chapter Warnings: HEAVY SPOILERS FOR S2E2, FIX IT FIC, pov switching, joel survives abby's encounter, injuries, healing, domesticity in the apocalypse, pining and yearning, stairs, smut, male masturbation, female masturbation, voyeurism, fantasizing, joel miller with a towel wrapped around his waist alert. Words: 5,100

A/N: Imagine my joy when TLOU showed Joel hearing something in bed... as I've had this idea since I started outlining this whole story.

Healed Masterlist | Healed Playlist | Healed, The Video Edit | AO3

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

—-

Joel stands at the bottom of the stairs, one hand gripping the railing, the other clutching his cane. He looks up, toward the second floor he hasn't seen in months.

You stand beside him, waiting.

“Just two,” you remind him gently. “Up and down. That’s the goal for today.”

He nods, determinedly.

Just two.

The stairs are a challenge, the last obstacle that’s keeping him from getting back to his life after almost six months of recuperation.

They stretch longer than he remembers, longer than he thinks he can handle. But he knows he has to. He knows he can… with your help.

He takes a deep breath, trying to find his balance, trying to find the strength to make it. He thought he was done with this part of healing, feeling weak. But now that he’s facing the stairs, he knows it will be hard.

"One at a time," you instruct. "Good leg first, then bring the cane and your left leg up together. Ready?”

“Hm,” he grunts an affirmative.

His foot drags over the first step as he pushes his body up it. He tries to steady his legs, his muscles screaming and twitching as they move in a way they haven’t in months.

His cane shakes under the weight of him as he takes a breath before lifting his bad leg up behind him. A sound of pain that he tries to fight escapes his throat.

“Joel,” you say softly.

“I know,” he grits, looking over his shoulder at you. “Just give me a minute.”

He feels so fucking tired. So fucking weak.

He barely manages to master the second step before his body protests, before he can’t take it any longer.

Two fucking steps down, twelve more to go.

Shit.

He turns, awkwardly shifting his body around, and lowers himself to sit on the same step he couldn’t make it past.

His knee is killing him, but the short walk to the living room seems too daunting now.

You crouch in front of him, waiting for him to tell you what he needs. Your understanding eyes staring into his.

“Not today,” he finally says, feeling totally defeated.

“Tomorrow,” you say, your hand comes to rest on his knee.

He looks down at your hand on him, his heart begins to race even faster at the sight.

—-

You know it’s more than just a set of stairs.

Joel knows it, too.

The next day, he tries again. And the next. And the next.

Each time, he does a little more, a little better. He makes it further up the stairs, your hands steady on him, holding him, keeping him from falling, from doing it alone.

It’s slow progress, but it’s progress.

And you’re always there with him.

By the fourth day, he can climb five steps.

His confidence grows—until a setback on the eighth day. He makes it to the landing, you’re standing in front of him, ready to help him catch his balance when he steps up. But when he steps on top of it, his left leg buckles and he falls forward. You react instantly, surging towards him, but it’s too much, Joel falls… and takes you with him.

You tumble backward, gasping loudly when you land against the hardwood. He falls forward, catching himself at the last second, and his hands slam down on both sides of your head. His arms tremble as he holds himself above you. You’re pinned beneath his warm, heavy body that now hovers mere inches from yours.

His face is so close. His dark eyes widen with concern as they search yours. You can feel his ragged breaths meeting with your own, the heat of his warming your face.

“Are you okay?” he asks, the rumble of his voice radiating through you.

You try to speak, but you can only nod as you still try to catch your breath.

His weight is solid and real, it reminds you of how far he’s come from the broken man you first treated. It’s then that you realize your hands have been grasping his biceps this whole time. You look down at the sight of your hands wrapped around his big arms, and try to hide the hitch in your breath.

“I’m fine,” you finally manage to say, but neither of you move.

“Okay,” he whispers. His eyes move to your lips before he swallows hard, and pushes himself off of you, grunting as he rolls to the side.

“Shit,” he mutters, sitting up against the wall, breathing hard. “I’m sorry.”

You sit up, trying to hide your grimace from the pain. “It’s fine. Nothing broken,” you assure. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he says. His voice is tight as he tilts his head back in frustration, his jaw working. "Just frustrated.”

“You’ll get there, one step at a time, Joel.”

“I know. It’s just… my bedroom’s up there, the rest of my life is up there.”

The vulnerability makes your heart ache. “You’re making incredible progress,” you tell him. “But your body needs time.”

He nods. His eyes staring into yours. Finally, he sighs, straightening himself and reaching for his cane. “Tomorrow.”

—-

His days used to be filled with rebuilding and fortifying Jackson. Now, his days are filled with rebuilding and fortifying himself; all that’s left is the stairs. The goddamn stairs.

Today, two weeks after he began this journey, his goal is to conquer all fourteen steps.

He stands at the bottom, determination fueling his ascent. He thinks of how happy he’ll make you. How proud you’ll be.

"I'll be right behind you," you reassure him, "but I don't think you'll need me."

He takes a deep breath. His knuckles now no longer choke the cane. He moves easier. He’s stronger.

His ascent begins methodically.

Right foot, then cane, and left foot together. Pause. Repeat.

You follow a few steps behind, close enough to help but giving him the space to succeed on his own.

Halfway up, he pauses on the landing to catch his breath.

You wait patiently, a slight smile on your face.

He begins again.

Right foot, then cane, and left foot together. Pause. Repeat.

And then he’s there, standing at the top of the stairs, looking down the hallway he hasn’t seen in months. His former life is now within reach again. He never thought he’d be so happy to see Ellie’s old, scratched-up door.

You step up, joining him at the top.

“So, how’s it feel?”

“Good,” he simply states.

"You did so well, Joel,” you say. “And… you didn't need me at all that time.”

He wishes he could utter the words that travel from his heart to his mouth, that he swallows down. "I still like to have you there.”

—-

Two hundred rows of crocheted yarn lay in front of you. Mainly blue, with a couple of rows of grey and dark green… a small chain of black in the middle from when you had to wait for more yarn. You’ve been working on it for months now, a warm, comforting blanket for Joel.

It started as a project to keep you busy, but soon turned into a gift to give to the man you’ve slowly been falling for. With each stitch looped and each row created of the blanket, your feelings for him have been knitted into every fiber.

Something to protect him from the cold.

Something to comfort him.

You fold it neatly, running your hand along the section you worked on during the first terrifying days when you weren’t sure he’d even survive. Loose stitches from sleepless nights, tight ones from anxious times, soon turning smooth as his health improved.

You pick it up, holding it close to your chest as you take it to the front porch, where Joel has been spending his nights.

He looks so peaceful, his guitar in his hands, his fingers gently plucking a melody. You pause in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt the moment. It’s the first time you’ve seen him play.

He senses you, his fingers pausing on the strings when he looks over at you.

You give him a soft smile. “It’s beautiful.”

“Just messin’ around,” he says, setting the guitar down. His eyes drift down to the bundle in your arms. “What’s that?”

You step closer to him, suddenly feeling shy about giving him something so personal. “I-uh, made you this.” You unfold the blanket. “I started it when you were… when things were bad.”

His eyes widen as he takes the blanket in. His fingers reach out, brushing against the soft yarn. “You made this whole thing… for me?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, watching him trace the pattern. “It’s yours. “

He swallows, his eyes traveling across every stitch.

“It’s not perfect,” you add, suddenly self-conscious. “There are some uneven rows, and I ran out of yarn a couple—”

“It’s perfect,” he interrupts, as he looks up into your eyes. “Really. Perfect.”

—-

For five months, he was cooped up in his home, too prideful to let his fellow residents see him so bruised and beaten, relying on a wheelchair and others to get around. Now, his cane rests against the railing, and he looks more like himself.

The sun’s just setting, long, tired rays of orange and pink stretch across his yard. The leaves of the trees sway in the breeze rolling off the mountains. He missed this so much. The solitude of his porch, the peaceful sound of nature returning to itself at the end of the day. The quiet sounds of Jackson settling into the evening.

It still gets cold here when the sun goes down, but now he’s warm. He’s not sure if it’s from the beautiful blanket you knitted or the fact that you created it solely for him.

The door clicks shut behind you as you step outside with a mug in each hand. His eyes drift from the horizon to you.

“Coffee?” you ask, offering him one of the mugs.

He accepts it, his hand brushing your hand, his touch lingering against yours.

You’ve brought out a kitchen chair to sit next to him. Your chair doesn’t rock, but he notices how you sway slightly, holding your mug with two hands and sipping.

He takes a drink, savoring the coffee. “How much do we have left?” he asks. He pauses at we, as if this home, and everything in it, is also yours.

“Quite a bit,” you say, taking a drink from your mug. "I have tea. I’m saving the rest of the coffee for you.”

He swallows hard, looking down at his mug. You’re saving the coffee for him. Sacrificing again. It’s been this way for so long now.

As the stars begin to prick through the sky, the air begins to chill.

He takes the blanket on his lap, unfolding it, and offering the excess to you.

You scoot your chair closer, making the distance between the two of you disappear until you’re so close, he can feel your arm against his.

“Thanks,” you say, settling back in your chair with a contented smile.

He takes another sip of his coffee, relishing in the warmth of it, of his new blanket, and of you.

—-

Joel manages the stairs easier and easier with each passing day. Soon, he’s climbing them multiple times a day. Slow, but strong. You’re proud of him, but you can’t help but feel a bit melancholy as you watch him regain his independence. With each step he takes, it feels like a step away from needing you.

Lonesome Dove is still downstairs, unfinished with just a couple hundred pages left, resting near where Joel’s hospital bed used to sit in the living room, next to the recliner you used to sleep in every night. The furniture has all been moved back; no need to make space for Joel’s healing.

You’ve been thinking about it more. Joel doesn’t need around-the-clock care. He can walk, have a daily routine, and heal without your help. Soon, he’ll be able to go back to work, back to his normal life.

Back to being alone.

You should be happy. This is what you wanted—to see him recover, to watch him reclaim his life. But instead, you feel a hollow ache spreading through you.

You should be finding your own home to stay, should be forging your own path in Jackson, but you don’t want to leave the comfort of Joel’s home.

You’ve grown too attached to it… and him.

—-

After enduring countless years of tepid water and weak faucets, he can no longer resist the allure of a good shower. He’s been looking forward to it since he gained the strength to walk again.

Now, he’s alone. Under the hot water, steam billowing around him. It feels good, almost heavenly if it weren’t for the lingering aches and pains. He wants to wash it all away—the pain, the weakness, the need—but as the water hits him and soothes his muscles, he realizes he doesn’t want to wash away the memories of your care or the feelings he now harbors for you. Of how everything in his house now smells like you—sage and vanilla. Of how gentle your hands are when you touch him.

Of the glimpse of your bra, light purple, all lacy and pretty, hanging up to dry in your bedroom.

The water cascades down him, over the scars and marks that cover his body. The tap is hotter than it should be, almost scalding, but he likes the burn… it reminds him he’s still alive. That his body is healing, all because of you.

He can’t stop himself. He can’t stop his thoughts from drifting to you and staying there.

You’re everywhere, everything, and he can’t escape you. He doesn’t want to.

The water and the solitude should make it easier.

It doesn’t.

He knows he can’t hold back any longer. He knows he can’t fight it. He knows he can’t stop himself from wanting this, from wanting you.

He knows he can’t be strong enough.

He gives in.

His hand drifts down, over his chest, his stomach, and lower. God, it feels good. It’s been so long since he’s felt this way, since he’s wanted to feel this way.

His breath hitches and then he holds it when his hand moves over his cock. He gasps at how sensitive it is, how much it wants this, how much it also needs you.

He strokes himself slowly, letting the heat and pressure build inside him.

He thinks about you, the way you looked when you shaved him, the way your breath caught, the way your eyes went wide when you saw him.

To the way you touch him, working his muscles, washing his body, getting so close he could feel your heat, feel your breath, feel you.

He pulls and squeezes, trying hard not to make a noise as his knees feel shaky. It’s not going to take him long, especially as he thinks about how your skin would look against the white tile of his bath, as he fucked into you.

He strokes himself harder and faster, imagining the silk of your pussy wrapped around his cock, his breaths racing faster, his body trembling with the effort, with the need, with everything he’s been holding back. He squeezes his eyes shut as he pictures you underneath him, writhing and moaning for him.

It feels good. Better than he remembers, better than he thought it would, better than anything he’s had in a long, long time.

He braces a hand against the slippery tile. His legs are shaky and still weak, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

The tension tightens his body, his stomach clenching, his balls drawing up. He tries to fight the low groan that escapes his throat, but he loses. The sound radiating off the smooth tile.

He wants so badly to moan your name, to hear how sweet your voice is when you whisper his name in his ear.

He’s so close. He strokes his cock faster, more desperate to reach the first climax he’s had in months. “Fuck,” he whispers, remembering the peek of your tongue when you lick your lips. He imagines your lips wrapped around his cock, how warm your mouth would feel as he fucked it. His hips thrust forward, chasing the pleasure.

His back slams against the tile wall, the impact of his broad body hitting the hard ceramic makes the bottle of soap teeter before crashing to the shower floor.

Then, a knock. His vision blurs, the pressure crawls up his spine, the grip on his cock tightens.

“Joel? Everything okay in there?”

His heart stops. You’re right outside the door. How long? Did you hear him?

Oh god. The thought of you listening, of hearing his desperate grunts, of the wet sound of his strokes, maybe picturing what he’s doing, maybe even wanting it too—

“I’m—” His answer gets stuck in his throat as his orgasm shatters through him without warning. His mouth opens in a silent cry as he spills over his fist, pulsing hot ropes of his cum all over himself before it’s washed away with the spray of the shower. “Fine,” he finally manages.

He watches as his seed disappears down the drain, his legs trembling so badly he has to hold himself against the wall to stay standing. His chest rises and lowers rapidly as he tries to catch his breath.

“Just… dropped something,” he adds, instantly wincing at how wrecked he sounds.

"Alright,” you say. “Don't push yourself too hard."

He slumps against the tile, spent and suddenly exhausted. “Yeah. I won’t.”

He hasn't felt this way in... hell, he can't even remember how long. Not just the physical release, but the wanting. The needing. The way his thoughts constantly circle back to you.

He reaches for the soap. He needs to finish what he came in here to do. His movements are more clumsy than he wants them to be. Exhaustion weighs on him. He knows he shouldn’t have done what he just did, but he’s a selfish man, even when he’s the victim of his own circumstances.

He turns the tap off… and tries to lift his leg.

It hurts too much.

Fuck, he knew he overdid it. Getting in was a hell of a lot easier thanks to his cane and the towel rack, but now, the exhaustion weighs heavily on his already sore muscles.

He tries to move it again, and the pain shoots through his whole body. He can’t stifle the deep sound of pain that bellows from his mouth.

—-

Joel’s loud growl jolts you from your thoughts as you wait outside the bathroom. You heard the sounds earlier, your ear pressed against the door, trying to get closer to the muffled grunts. But this sound—it’s different.

"Joel?" you say, your hand on the doorknob. Your voice comes out higher than you wanted it to. “Are you okay?"

"Yeah,” he sighs.”I… hate to ask you this, but I need some help in here.”

“Now?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Are you… decent?”

“Yeah.”

You push the door open slowly, your heart hammering against your chest. The bathroom air is humid and thick, smelling of Joel’s soap. It’s already heady enough, and then, you look over at him.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a sight more beautiful than Joel’s golden skin against the white tile of the shower. One of his large hands is braced against the wall, while the other clutches the gray towel that’s haphazardly wrapped around his waist. Water drips from his slicked-back hair, trails of it run down his broad shoulders and chest before disappearing beneath the towel. You wonder what one of those drops would taste like against your tongue. Your eyes stay focused on the hint of his thigh for a moment too long before you force your eyes to stay on his face.

You can feel your breathing quicken, your heart feels like it’s going to clatter out of your chest as you take each step closer to him.

"What do you need?" you ask, your voice husking at the end.

He shifts in the shower and winces slightly. "I can't lift my leg," he explains, gesturing awkwardly toward the tub edge.

"Okay," you say, handing him his cane. “Use this first, and we’ll get your good leg out.”

Clinical. You try to keep it clinical… but again, it feels different.

You stand outside the tub and wrap your hand around his waist. He’s so warm, so soft, so comfortable.

"On three," you instruct. "One, two..."

He leans his weight against you, heavier and more overwhelming. You brace yourself, supporting him as he lifts his good leg, grunting and groaning with each movement.

“I’ve got you, Joel, you’re doing good.”

Your shirt becomes wet where it presses against his damp skin. Water drips from his hair onto your shoulder, running down your neck.

You get him half out before you quickly drop down onto the floor, reaching for his leg still in the tub.

“I’ve got you,” you reassure. “Now, lift.”

You carefully guide his leg over the edge of the tub as he breathes through the pain. He settles, both hands bracing on the cane.

His towel has slipped low from his movements, you can just see the delicate trail of dark hair leading below his navel.

You’re still on your knees before him, you look up, your eyes meeting his, dark and intense as they look down at you.

“Thank you,” he says lowly.

“Of course, Joel,” you respond, standing up, his eyes watching your every move.

Your shirt clings to your skin, wet and transparent in patches. You catch Joel’s eyes sweeping down to your chest before he turns away.

Clinical. Keep it clinical.

"I'll let you get dressed," you say, attempting to cut through the tension.

He nods, still not looking at you. "Thanks," he says roughly.

The door closes behind you, you feel slightly dizzy at what just happened. Your skin feels too hot and sensitive where it touched his.

It's just the steam, just the exertion of helping him.

Lying to yourself is becoming harder by the day.

—-

Joel stares at the ceiling, listening as the rain clatters against the roof. He should be comfortable; he’s slept easily in his bed for the past couple of weeks since he made it up the stairs, and yet, tonight, he can’t find comfort. His mind won’t stop racing to allow him to sleep.

The more he tries to push away the thought of you, the more vivid it becomes. The way your hands felt against his bare skin. The subtle scent of vanilla that always surrounds you. How your shirt had gone nearly transparent when soaked, revealing the outline of your bra beneath.

"Christ," he mutters to himself, throwing an arm over his eyes.

It's been so long since he's wanted anyone this way. So long since he's allowed himself to feel this way. The years of survival had dulled those needs, buried them beneath more pressing concerns—staying alive, keeping Ellie safe, building something resembling security in Jackson.

But now, in the quiet of his healing, his needs have awakened again.

It’s all because of you.

You.

With your sweet smile, your understanding ways, your beautiful body, your gentle hands that know exactly how to heal him, inside and out.

He knows he shouldn't think of you this way, but he’s already too far gone. You're his doctor, his caretaker. You saved his life, you watch over him daily. This crosses a line he's not sure he has the right to cross, even in the privacy of his own mind.

And yet, the thoughts persist. He’s far beyond the line.

His cock begins to twitch beneath the sheets as he thinks about what you’d look like in the shower with him, how good you looked on your knees, how you stared into his eyes as he hovered above you when he fell on top of you.

He reaches down, brushing his hand against his cock that’s slowly growing hard.

And then, he hears the steps creak as you make your way up the stairs.

He hears you approach his door—the nightly check you always make before going to bed. He no longer needs your help to get ready for bed, but you still always make sure he’s comfortable and situated. Quickly, he adjusts the sheets, closes his eyes, and regulates his breathing to pretend he’s sleeping.

The door opens slightly. He can feel your eyes on him.

You softly pad over and stand near him, he hears you place a glass of water on his bedside table.

He keeps his breathing steady, fighting the urge to open his eyes, to see your face in the dim light from the hallway.

"Good night, Joel," you whisper finally before retreating.

He listens as your footsteps cross the hall to your room.

He exhales slowly, turning and opening his eyes to stare out the window, watching the raindrops fall as the moonlight shines in. He wonders what your bare skin would look like in the low light.

He stays there for a while, staring out the window as he tries to let sleep take him, but it eludes him, his mind too full of you, his body aching for more than just sleep and rest.

Thunder clatters outside occasionally. He closes his eyes, but then, he hears it—a soft, barely audible sound from across the hall. A sigh, perhaps. Or a moan

He goes completely still, his eyes widening, turning to lift his good ear as he strains to hear. There it is again, slightly louder this time. Definitely a moan.

The thought of what you could be doing in the private of your bedroom sends a flame up his spine, his cock throbs painfully, straining against his navy pajama pants. Before he can think better of it, he sits up and gets out of bed. Pain shoots through his injured leg as he stands, but he barely registers it.

He needs to be closer to the sound.

He opens his door slightly, and he can just make out the sound of your bed creaking and more muffled moans.

He grips the wall for support, limping silently across the hallway, still listening. He moves with the rumbling thunder outside.

Your door isn't completely closed. He stands outside, heart hammering in his chest, blood rushing in his ears.

He can see you in your bed, illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through the window. He was right, you look gorgeous under the light of the moon.

You’re sprawled on your stomach, face buried in your pillow, your hips raised. Your sleep shirt has ridden up your back, revealing the swell of your ass. God, you’re beautiful.

It’s so forbidden, but he can’t look away; your body is moving rhythmically against your hand, hidden beneath you.

He reminds himself to breathe quietly as he grips the doorframe. He knows he should turn away, he should give you privacy. But he can’t move.

Your back arches, and his hand drops to his crotch, palming himself through his pajama pants as he listens and watches.

He hasn’t seen anything like this in so long, his whole body thrums, he’s never felt more alive than now, he slips his hand underneath the waistband of his pants, and begins gently stroking himself.

He watches you like a goddamn voyeur.

He wonders if you can sense it.

—-

You’ve needed to do this for so long. Your body has been aching with this need for months. Every touch, every glance, every whispered word of gratitude from Joel has kindled the fire within you.

Your fingers easily glide through your slick, your thumb circling your clit as you bite into your pillow trying to muffle your moans. You can imagine his thick fingers as yours, his heavy body against your body, his low voice whispering in your ear. You’ve never wanted somebody so bad before.

You flip over, your eyes shut tight, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you spread your legs wide and fuck yourself with two of your fingers as your other hand pets against your clit.

You’ve been denying your attraction to Joel for so long. Too long.

You remember how it felt to have his weight pressed against you on the landing, the way his arms caged you in, his dark brown eyes looking into yours, intense and searing. You think of how those same eyes would look now, hovering above you, his broad shoulders blocking out the moonlight shining in through your window. The way his jaw would clench, the sounds he’d make as he fucked you.

You begin circling your clit tighter, your fingers pumping in and out of you faster. You’re so close.

You’re so lost in your fantasy that you don’t notice the shadow at your door as you fantasize about his weight, his scent, the scratch of his beard against your thighs, the heat of his skin against yours.

“Joel,” you whisper into the darkness as you orgasm.

—-

He heard it.

His name was just on your lips. He almost falls at the realization.

He strokes his cock quicker and harder. The floorboard beneath him creaks loudly in the quiet house, and he freezes.

Joel doesn't wait to see if you've heard him. He quickly moves back to his room as silently as he can.

Back in bed, his heart is pounding against his chest. He pushes his pajama pants down his hips, taking himself in hand, he knows he’s not going to last long. The image of you touching yourself, the sound of his name on your lips, has already made precum pour out of him.

He spits in his hand and fucks himself urgently, almost desperately, his breath coming in harsh pants as he tries to stay quiet.

It doesn't take long. He cums all over himself with a low groan he loses the fight to stifle, spilling over his hand and stomach.

In the aftermath, a different kind of tension settles over him. What has he done? What line has he crossed? Is he really going to get off to the thought of you twice in a day?

And yet, he can't bring himself to regret it. Not when he heard you moan his name, not when he knows that whatever this is between you, isn't one-sided.

His leg throbs with dull pain, reminding him of his limitations, of the reason you're here in the first place.

He is still your patient.

You are still his doctor. 

Next Chapter

—-

A/N: My taglist has grown too large. Please follow @whocaresposted and turn on notifications to be alerted about new chapters!

My perma tags: @forspringcleaning, @schnarfer, @mothandpidgeon

[coupsalchemy]

Hothouse Flower [Part 1]

Summary - Your five year relationship with him ended two years ago. You need to move on, have to, since you are the only one stuck in the past. Jeonghan moved on, happy, gallivanting away. When you finally agree to meet up a fellow heartbroken stranger set up by 'Get Love Quick', you didn't expect to see him there.

Tags: Jeonghan x f.reader, exes! au, second chance romance, angst, yearning, fluff, suggestive, SLOW BURN

Warnings: mdni, very suggestive (at least in the next part), fist fight, mentions of blood, just a very angry Jeonghan, swearing, and a lot of grammatical mistakes as English isn't my first language.

Word Count: 21k (this part, total 40k)

A's Note: I've been working on this for like four months. Please get ready for the angst and yearning. The birth of this story took place from Don't Wanna Cry Jeonghan falling onto his knees in yearning, and the song 'no one noticed by the marias'.

I wanted to write a story where reader gets to forget everything and be in the world of the fiction, enjoy momentary bliss instead of the bitter taste of life, at least for some time. So by the time you complete reading this part, next part would have already been uploaded. If I succeeded in making you forget everything and you enjoyed the fic please let me know so I can stare at your message for eternity in happiness.

Also I want to thank my two friends who have been patiently answering my questions, and kept on encouraging me all the time. If not for you two this wouldn't have happened. Thank you!!

divider credits to the rightful owner.

⌜ If anyone else were to kiss me, all they would taste is your name.⌟

— Clementine von Radics

“You should try this,” Seungkwan places the folded worn out newspaper on your work desk, looming over you like a dark cloud before rain. Nothing good is going to come out of this. 

With a sigh you minimize the word document you have been working on, and focus on the headline of the advertisement, Get Love Quick. “If you have time to find crap then you have time to prepare the deck.”

Seungkwan tsks. “I have time till this Friday.” He drags the chair from the next cubicle, making a home for himself. “Send in an application.” He shoves the paper back to you, sending your notebook flying.  “It’s high time for you to move on.” 

You reopen the word document glaring at the words and hit random letters on the keyboard with more force, “I have work unlike someone. If you leave me alone.” 

“Come on,” he insists, locking your system and turning your chair in his direction. “You have to get out of that four walls of darkness you call a room,” his gaze is firm, the frown line between his eyebrows makes you think. He isn’t going to back away like the other times, this time he is serious. 

You fall back into your chair, gnawing on your lower lip. The words on the newspaper glares at you, in mockery or a challenge, you couldn’t say. 

Find your other broken hearted half.. 

It’s been more than a year since you went on a date. You are sure that even the process of dating has changed by now. Fresh after the break up you were relentless, swiping right on guy after guy to rile up your ex, only to end up canceling most of the dates.

The two men you met were good, considerate and even attentive, something you begged from your previous relationship. Their questions and interest in your work, hobbies and daily life solidified their points in gaining the second date. 

If not for the constant comparison to a certain long black haired man, who would be cracking jokes on the other two for their pretentiousness. It’s safe to say that you didn’t get a second date with anyone. Eventually the fire to make your ex jealous and show him what he is missing has died down. 

“Are you still here?” Seungkwan shakes your arm. 

You faze out from your thoughts, “I'm not sure. It’s a lot of work.” You pull your hair to one side, playing with the ends. “I have to dress up, put on makeup and,” you suck in a breath dreading the worst of all, “I have to make stimulating conversations.” 

You click your pen, chewing on your lip, losing yourself in thoughts. What you don’t voice out is the fear of losing someone again and losing yourself in the process of clinging onto him to make him stay. You have done it once, and not sure you could do it again. Especially if it’s someone who is not your Jeonghan. 

Seungkwan holds your hands in his, he says, “you don’t need to put up an act this time.” 

“Hey.” A coworker greets you, crossing the office floor to the elevator. 

Seungkwan presses his lips in a thin line, nodding back at the intruder who is already out of earshot. “Anyway, as I am saying,” he goes back to the topic, “no need for an act. Be yourself and the right one will come.” 

The strong belief in his words sways your stubborn heart a little, a faint hope flickering in your chest. 

“Remember there’s no one you need to get back at this time.” He reemphasizes, “I don’t want to see you pulling that old shit.” 

You nod without a second thought, a little scared of his authoritative tone. 

“Good.” He presses your hand, eyes softening, studying you. “I have a gut feeling that this is going to be your turning point.” He adds, “a good one. You’ll find someone who understands you as you are.” 

The love in his words and caring gestures were what made you you till now. He always dragged you back whenever you were spiraling down the rabbit hole. He doesn’t have a reason to look after you, especially when even your mom has given up on you after a few tries. 

“Oh,” his soft voice makes your eyes moist, “I didn’t want to make you cry.” 

“I know.” 

He ruffles your hair, “straighten up and fight back, my warrior. You can do this.” 

You laugh, wiping the corner of your eyes. “Warrior?” 

“Frontline army?” 

You push him away, “go back, Seungkwan. Our boss is already glaring.” You backspace the crap you have written on the report. “We are one call away from the HR office.” 

“Ugh,” he fixes his tie, “that old retard should find someone else to stalk.” He slowly rolls away to the next cubicle leaving the chair in its rightful place. “Think about it. Okay?” 

“Thank you, Seungkwan.” 

“Anything for you.” 

—

You wake up with a start, your mind in a haze. The rotating ceiling fan spins your head making your dizziness worse. You fight with the comforter rolled around you to free your hand, the movements worsen the pounding in your head. 

“Ugh, Hannie.” You search for the other side of the bed, your fingers tracing the cold bed sheet. “Huh?” 

You open your eyes forcefully, the bright sunshine falling directly on you. You forgot to draw curtains again. The empty space beside you cracks your heart again, the unused pillow still in bright yellow cover mocks you. He is not in your life anymore. You pluck the pillow, hugging it to your chest and inhaling its scent. It doesn’t smell like him anymore. 

The warmth of this pillow doesn’t suffice the warmth of him, his midnight cuddles, kisses all over your face when he thinks you are in deep sleep. Your fingers grasp the edges of the pillow, legs curling into your stomach from the ache echoing your entire body.  

Longing for Jeonghan has become one with breathing. Each moment and thing is closely intricated with his existence, the reminder of him throwing you back into the pits of suffering. You eye your phone resting beside you, the temptation to check his whereabouts is gripping your chest. Your fingers hover over it succumbing to your desires, but no, not this time, not when he never cared about you. Does he even think about you? 

—

Jeonghan smiles at his date reassuringly, “it’s fine. It’s fine. Don’t panic.” He stands up from his seat, approaching her side of the table, “let’s go get you cleaned up.” He holds out his palm, interlacing their fingers.  

His confident stride leads them across linen covered tables, wafts of delicious food surrounding them. Familiarity with this restaurant propels his sense of direction, he took this path countless times. He grips her hand, almost crushing, anchoring himself to the present moment. 

She squeezes back, peering at him through his shoulder. He runs his fingers through his long hair strands, curling the strays behind his ear. She reaches out, tenderly running her fingertips at the back of his head. He ducks his head down, straightening his suit pants. Her steps stumble into one another, her cheeks blushing with embarrassment.  

The kitchen is bustling with waiters coming in and out with orders. A waiter carrying an order is craning his neck, waving his hand to gain Jeonghan’s attention. 

Jeonghan frowns at the unprofessional etiquette of the staff, and the waiter’s relentless efforts only irks him further. It strikes him, the reason behind the enthusiasm of the boy. Jeonghan exhales through his mouth. He knew it was a bad idea to dine in this restaurant, but two years is enough time for people to forget. 

Oh. How he never learns. 

The boy stops in his tracks confused at the lady hiding behind Jeonghan, and the rosary blush on her cheeks complimented with the shy glances at Jeonghan. He drops his hand, unimpressed. 

Jeonghan is annoyed, reading the judgemental stare he is receiving. He presses his lips in a thin line, not sparing another glance he leads his date to the washroom. “Go ahead. I’ll be here.” He leans on the wall opposite to the women’s restroom, pocketing his hands. 

She hurries in with a blush creeping up her cheeks, matching the red of her dress. He would have found it cute once upon a time, and would have even teased a little. But now, Jeonghan throws his head back a sigh escaping his lips, he can’t even bring to crack a joke or worse lead the conversation from topics other than weather or work.  

Silver lining out of all is, this is their second date. Maybe it can lead to something prominent one day. And he can go back to his old ways, find it in himself to laugh and joke around. His gaze flickers to the women’s restroom door, a memory creeping into his mind. 

You spilled wine on yourself on a date with him. He tsks, teased you for a klutz while leading you to the washroom. You expected him to stop outside but you should have known how crazy he was. He checked either side before following you in with a false pretense to help you wipe the stain near your chest. 

You rolled your eyes at him when his thumb caressed a little longer, understanding his actions. You pinch his arm and he bites his lower lip, suppressing a smile. He looks at you in mockery before squeezing your breast, eliciting a moan, he crashes his lips on you. 

“Been a long time,” the waiter reappears before him disturbing him from the memory of his ex. “I hope you remember me.”

Jeonghan’s jaw ticks. The boy, his name tag reads, Dino, is oblivious to Jeonghan's bubbling irritation. He continues, “well, if it was her,” he whispers, checking around for Jeonghan’s date, “she would have recognized me. I can’t believe you let her go.” He shakes his head in disappointment, sneaking glances at Jeonghan. 

Jeonghan stands up straight, looming over the younger boy. Darkness exuding from him, now he doesn’t need some little boy to preach what he missed out. 

Dino, bad with reading cues continues, “well,” he presses, drawing random figures on the serving tray, “can I… get her number?” 

Red flashes in Jeonghan’s eyes, “what?” 

Dino takes a step back, eyes shaking, “I-I-I me-mean..” he shields himself with the tray, “yo-you moved on, so, I thought–”

“Thought what?” Jeonghan spits.

“Th-that I sh-should shoot my shot,” Dino musters up courage, squaring his shoulders, head held high, “she is worth the–”

Jeonghan grabs Dino’s collar, “Fuck off you little—” 

“Jeonghan? Jeonghan?”

His date grabs his arm off the waiter, “are you crazy? Let him go.” 

His date looks at him in worry, her hand still holding onto his arm. Jeonghan snaps at her, “what?” She reels back from him, dropping her hand. Jeonghan closes his eyes, regaining his senses. “Sorry.” 

She nods, not meeting his eyes. He scoffs at Dino scurrying away without looking back. “Let’s go.” He leads the way back to their table. This time he doesn’t hold her hand. She jogs to keep up with his pace, reaching out to his hand only to fail. If she is upset she doesn’t show it when he slips his hands into his pockets. 

—

“I had fun tonight, Hannie.” She unbuckles her seatbelt, leaning into him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers in his ear.  

Jeonghan taps his forefinger against the leather of the steering wheel, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Yeah.” 

She holds his chin, gently nudging him towards her. Her thumb traces his bottom lip, her brown eyes focusing on the slight cracks and splits. “I don’t wanna ask what you are not gonna tell,” she taps on his lip twice, “but I can’t tolerate it happening again.” She holds his gaze, “if I am gonna have you I want all of you.”

He nods. 

She presses a kiss on his lips, her soft ones moving against his static ones. He closes his eyes, shutting down the images of someone who is not his date. He sucks on her bottom lip, the cherry flavour of her lip balm on his tongue. 

He unbuckles the seatbelt, slips his hand around her nape pulling her in. Their lips move in fervent need, tongues clashing, biting and nipping. Soft whimpers fill in the car, her hands roaming across his chest. “So hot.” She runs her hand through his long hairstrands, tugging at their ends, “You look—” she breathes as he nips her bottom lip “—fucking hot.”

He holds her roaming hand, intertwining their fingers, his eyes still closed, kissing her now swollen lips. 

Images of her clouds him, her cheeky smile when he catches her causing ruckus, her droopy eyes yet a blissful look of satisfaction, her kisses in the middle of the night, her taste, her, her, her everywhere. 

Her name slips past his lips in a shaky whisper. He backs away from his date, running a hand through his ruffled hair, “fuck.” He holds the hand slipping away from his grasp, “I am sorry. Sorry, it's just the,” he blinks at her teary face, “the..” he falters. 

“Goodbye, Jeonghan.” She exits the car. Her flowery scent lingering in his car, a constant reminder of what he fucked up just because he couldn’t forget his ex. 

He hits the steering wheel repeatedly. The ghost of his ex is still haunting him, in the corners of his apartment, the track sounds of her favorite sitcom, in his office, and fuck even in his car fiddling with the playlist. 

Does he miss you? He doesn’t (it’s killing him). 

Jeonghan ignites the car, clicking some random playlist on his phone. He reverses the car, driving through the silent empty streets, humming to the songs to clear his mind off the awkward date. 

The community he resides in is a mile away, small stalls and restaurants around the area are bustling. Familiar neighborhood eases his uneasiness. Few more minutes and he can go home to his whiskey and drown himself in sleep. He rolls the car to a stop at a red light. He keeps clicking on the next song. 

Her laughter plays on the speakers. Jeonghan drops his phone in a shock, startled to hear the voice he didn’t hear for months. Her giggles fill in his car, “Hannie, Hannie, baby,” cut off with a moan. 

Next song starts playing and Jeonghan stares at the screen with a frown. What just happened? He clicks on the previous song, the voice note replaying. A car honks behind him, he drops the phone checking the rear view, he accelerates through the green light, and pulls up to the side. 

The voice note replays again and again. The blinkers on his car keep flicking till a police car pulls up to check on him.

—

You fiddle with the silver band on your ring finger, staring at the blank application opened up on your laptop. It has been an hour, and not even one question has been answered. You let out a long sigh, still confused, still hesitant whether you are truly ready to give love a chance again. The questions are simple, What’s your heartbreaking story? The answer to them isn’t, you are not sure you can rehash your heartbreak in words, without getting the need to find him and see how life has been treating him. 

You close the laptop and throw it aside on the bed, burying yourself in the comforter, staring at the unoccupied side of the bed and bright yellow pillow. A stray tear wets your pillow, your hand tracing the empty bedside. 

—

Jeonghan punches in the words on his keyboard with force since he can’t punch the person in the face. He sits back cross-checking the draft email just in case his thoughts are translated into words subconsciously. Another visit to the HR will for sure land him in trouble. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” His senior, Soobin, raps his knuckles on the table. 

Great, Jeonghan can feel the universe breathing down his neck today. He folds the laptop screen, reclining in his seat listening to the rant.

“I can’t believe you messed up man.” Soobin rakes his hand through his hair, plopping on the empty chair, rolling the paper weights around the table. “She is the hottest one dude.” A sleazy grin on his lips, “a goddess in that red dress.” He mimics the shape of her waist line with his hands. Jeonghan raises his eyebrow at the detail. Soobin smiles sheepishly, adding, “She posted a picture on her account.”

Jeonghan wants to throw up at the vulgarity. “If you find her attractive then why don’t you date her?” He opens his laptop back, sending the mail.

“Have to wait till I break up with my current one.” He says with remorse. 

Jeonghan grits his teeth, irritation bubbling up in his chest. He tries to tone it down before it escalates into something like throwing him out of his room or worse, throwing a punch. He doesn’t have it in him to sort through another mess and complicate his already stressful life. 

Soobin, not heeding to any hints radiating from Jeonghan, dips his fingers into forbidden waters. “But, come on, man.” He leans in with a wicked expression, “admit it she is the hottest one out of all of your exes. And waaaay better than that sorry shit of your ex. I can’t believe you were stuck up on her. She was boring as hell, and I bet the sex was as dull as—” 

Jeonghan isn’t sure of his movements, how and when the things ended up in the way they did. Soobin is on the floor, spitting blood. Jeonghan holds the floor, helping himself to stand up from his senior’s body. Grabbing the opportunity, Soobin throws a punch. 

Jeonghan falls back on his ass, his ears ringing and knuckles ache like fuck. He clutches his head, watching Soobin scramble on the floor, sliding away from him. Their CEO is standing at the door barking at them. 

He stands up, flicking his hand and stretching his fingers. He grabs Soobin before he can go hide behind their head and puts his all into one last punch. 

The CEO drags bloody Jeonghan to his cabin while Soobin is taken to the hospital. “You were up for promotion next month,” the CEO scolds, “a director can’t hit a coworker in broad daylight.” 

This followed a two hour long lecture mixed with threats of termination. All the while Jeonghan stares outside the window, two birds coddling. Strangely, he is jealous of two birds for having something he once had. 

“Yoon Jeonghan!” The head of the company snaps, “do you feel any remorse for bruising one of our most important employees?” 

Jeonghan massages the ache in his hand, did he break his bones? He did keep punching Soobin’s jaw until he saw red. 

“He had it coming.” He stands up, buttoning up his suit. “I’m quitting. You can write it up as terminated or whatever makes your ass happy.” 

—

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!” 

You wake up with a jerk, disoriented. Light floods your room, blinding you for a second, and someone is singing happy birthday. A cake with a burning candle is shoved in your face, and were those cats on the cake. 

“Blow it,” a high-pitch voice screams in your ears. 

You blow the candle, still lost in the happenings in the middle of the night. Cheers and claps snaps you out of your drowsiness, awakening your brain. 

Seungkwan is busy squashing the remnants of cake on his girlfriend’s face, and your roommate is standing awkwardly near your bed end. You search for your phone, finding it under your pillow, you read the date. Ah, birthday. 

Messages from your friends and family flood your phone, a hope births inside you, maybe, maybe he remembered and wished you this time. You scroll through the notifications slowly in case you miss it. None. Tears brim your eyes, stupid heart, why does it still hope? 

“Come on, come on.” Seungkwan drags you out of your bed and into the living room, blasting music and orchestrating a sudden dance battle. You laugh at their antics, momentarily forgetting about the heartache.

— 

“We should go for drinks,” Seungkwan announces in the middle of you enjoying each bite of cold noodles. “Enjoy the fact you become a year older and wiser.” He stirs his chopsticks around the noodles.

“Overnight?” You raise an eyebrow, slurping in the noodles. 

The waiter refills the water jug, sets it on the wooden table with a clang. You grab Seungkwan’s glass, filling it to the brim before the waiter has an opportunity to do it. “Thank you,” you smile at the younger male, assuming a college student working for extra pocket money, “we got it. Go and take a breather.” You shoo him away. 

He bows in gratitude, scurries away grabbing the opportunity of a five minute break. You chuckle reminiscing about your days of waiting tables.

“Too kind,” Seungkwan berates, sipping on the water. “It’s gonna bite your ass someday.” 

“I can’t drink.” You go back to the main topic, “it’s weekday. I have an early meeting tomorrow,” you set the chopsticks down at the soar reminder, “a round of drinks sounds good tho.” You sigh wistfully, “but what can one do? I’m not young anymore to bound back after a night of drinking.” 

Seungkwan chews at his food a little louder for your taste. “This must be what they mean by growing pains. And you can’t handle drinks. It’s better to not have you drunk since we have an important meeting tomorrow.” He grabs the menu from the holder, skimming through the noodles section again. “Their noodles are tasty.” He murmurs, “ah,” he taps on a ramyeon picture. 

He flags down the waiter from before who approaches your table with merriment. Seungkwan narrows his eyes at the wandering gaze of the waiter towards you. 

“One ramyeon,” Seungkwan orders, “and a drink please.” 

“Anything else for the beautiful lady over here?” His dimple pops out waiting for you to swallow your food. 

“No, thank you.” You twirl the noodles around the chopsticks, you slurp the cold noodles enjoying the flavours bursting in your mouth. 

Seungkwan chuckles, “poor boy. Look at him walk away like a sad puppy.” 

“Huh?”

He shakes his head, “nothing.” He sets his chopsticks down, “did you hear that there’s restructuring happening? I just hope I won’t be transferred again,” he huffs, folding his hands, “I don’t want to leave Nari.” 

“And you,” he adds, after a beat. 

The meat floats in the broth, you dunk it deeper into the liquid. You prefer to not be mentioned at all rather than being added as an afterthought. Being someone’s priority is a luxury you realized, not after the break up, but rather when you were in a five year long relationship with your ex. 

The nights you laid on the bed waiting for your lover to join you were countless, his disinterest in your enthusiasm, and his laid back answers were the slow killers. Labeled as needy and clingy when asked for attention was the threshold point. And yet, you begged him to stay. 

A green feeling bubbles in your chest, stabbing the meat piece you nod to Seungkwan’s rant absentmindedly. You catch bits and pieces of how his girlfriend suffered from the long distance during his last transfer, and how he was helpless to pacify her. If only you got a transfer and Jeonghan was desperate for you back then, would he have realized your value? Does he realize your value now? 

The answer was glaring back at you. You have seen, stalked, his dates and flings profile, how happy he is, smiling at the pictures, posing intimately and sharing something that was yours first with strangers. How can he be happy after ruining you for anyone else? Making you incapable of loving someone else? Why, only you, can’t replace him where he is mingling as if you never existed?

—

You peek from your computer at the manager’s cabin. He is in a meeting with a team, and it doesn’t end for another thirty minutes. You click the third link of the web results for Get Love Quick. The cursor at the name field blinks, waiting for your input. 

It requires a lot more than momentary courage, you realized, your fingers hover over the keyboard hesitant. Are you really ready for this new step in life? The silver band ring glimmers under the fluorescent lights, you take it off and throw it in the drawer. You are going to fill in the form and submit it. If you are matched then it is a future you’s problem. 

Filling in the basic information was a breeze, you crack your knuckles preparing yourself for the big ones. 

What’s your heartbreaking story? 

The keys click-clacks under your fingers, momentary pauses, a tear rolling down your cheek. You hover over the exit button unable to articulate  it in words, but you don't want to give up. Not this time. 

By the time you press submit, the office is half empty. You check for your friend, he is clutching his head and looking close to breakdown. You clock out of the system for the day, grabbing your things and sauntering towards your distressed friend. 

“What’s wrong?” You grab an empty chair and settle next to him. 

Seungkwan looks up at you with red eyes, softly whispering your name. 

“Hey,” you panic, “tell me what happened?” You hold his hands bracing yourself. 

“My name is on the list for transfer,” his voice quivers, “I have to fill in an empty position at this new branch.” 

Your heart aches watching your friend breakdown. “Is there no other way?” 

He pulls his blue tie free, “I am not sure. God, I didn’t inform her yet. I just,” he exhales loudly, “I wanna try requesting the manager or the higher ups.” 

You nod slowly, gears turning in your mind. Seungkwan has been a steady pillar in your life even during the times of crisis. He didn’t walk away when you pushed him off your life. 

“By when you have to transfer?” 

“Soon, there’s an urgent requirement in Yangsan.” he answers, “I hate it so much. Why always me?” 

You pat his shoulders, “I know. But I think it will work out in your favor this time.”

He scoffs, shutting down the computer, and packs his stuff into his bag. “It never works out. One suffering after another is the theme of my life.” 

“Believe me, Seungkwan.” You smile. 

He pauses in his track, narrowing his eyes, “I know that smile. Don’t do anything stupid, please.” 

You smile wider. 

—

Jeonghan cradles nearly empty whisky glass to his chest, spreading his legs wide on the couch, reclining back. He sips from the bottle watching six friends lounging in the flat yapping on the TV screen, the laugh track accompanying the show irks him. How can one find comfort from this show? He can never understand it, but he never stops watching it again and again. 

He sips on the last drops of the drink, shaking it in hopes to get more out of it. He discards it on the floor, and grabs his phone. 

His thumb brushes over the date displayed on the phone. He used to be busy on this day in previous years, planning the day to its perfection, wooing his girl with carefully crafted plans and in the last two years buried in work. 

He misses his home being filled with delicious scents of his cooking her favourites, her laughter at some stupid reruns of sitcoms. It’s been so long since his home and his life has seen some daylight. 

His thumb hovers over her chat, uncertainty brimming up in his chest. He shouldn’t text her, he reiterates to himself. He scrolls through her unanswered texts right after their break up. 

Please. I’ll be better. 

-baby, May

Hannie… how can you do this to me? 

-baby, May

Don’t leave me, Jeonghan. Please, I can’t live without you. It can’t be that easy to leave me. I beg you. I’ll do whatever you want. I will text you less, call you less, and we can live separately and only visit once a day. Don’t leave me Jeonghan. 

-baby, May

[Voicenote 1:43 mins]

-baby, May

Jeonghan quickly scrolls past the voice note, he doesn’t have enough guts to hear you breaking down. If he does he will be standing outside your home, asking you to come back to this toxic union. Somewhere his mind nags, was it always toxic or were you scared to admit your wrongdoings?

Ridiculous

-baby, June 

For my sake? For my sake you broke up????? 

-baby, June

Be honest there’s someone else right?

-baby, June 

You wanted to get rid of me to be with her

-baby, June

Explains the late nights and unanswered calls 

-baby, June

YOON JEONGHAN YOU FUCKING BASTARD ASSHOLE AND AND I love you Jeonghan please… please reply I beg you

-baby, July 

I’ll change myself the way you want Jeonghan I won’t be needy please I will give you your space I would be one with the wall in your life as long as I can see you everyday I am okay with anything 

-baby, July

Did you loathe me that bad? I heard you already moved on. Is she prettier? Is she self-sufficient? Is she better than me?

-baby, August 

[photo of your date holding your hand]

-baby, August 

Ah so you really don’t care about me anymore. 

-baby, August 

I gave you five years of my life. You could have ended it in the first year. Could have spared me the heartache.

-baby, September 

It feels like dying. Is this how people feel in their last moments? How can you be so happy while I’m scraping myself off the floor? 

-baby, October 

Happy birthday

-baby, October 

Good luck with your life.

-baby, December

Jeonghan notices the unsent message sitting in the type bar. 

Should we try again 

He contemplates on sending it, but decides otherwise. He backspaces the message, he scrolls deeper into their conversation when things are rainbows and sunshine. 

Hannie Hannie my dear Hannie saw you again in the sky shining brighter than ever… my sun 🌞

-baby

😒

-Jeonghan 

Get back to work 

-Jeonghan 

He remembers smiling ear to ear in the office, rereading her message in the singsong tone of hers. He was fluid like water throughout his work that day, acing every meeting and task, humming all along. 

Saw a baby playing with a baby chick 🐤 

[photo] 

-baby

Sooooooooooo CUTE 

-baby

I JUST WANT TO GO AND BITE HIS CHEEKS 

-baby

Can I do that 🥺

-baby

Didn’t know our date is at jail tonight

-Jeonghan

Jeonghan laughs at their conversation. Rolling onto his side he scrolls deeper. He sniffles, tears falling onto the cushion. He wipes his blurry eyes, reading the conversation from another day.  

Rant incoming 

-baby

Uh oh  

-Jeonghan

That freaking bastard retard good for nothing asshole and the worlds most dumbest high paid person. How the fuck he got a job. Mr.know it all knows nothing. NOTHING EXCEPT MAKING MY LIFE HELL 

-baby

HAVE TO WORK OVERTIME AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!! 

-baby 

I MISS MY MAN!!!

-baby 

(I miss you too)

-Jeonghan

BUT DUE TO THAT FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT.. OH HANNIE MY PRECIOUS BABY MY LITTLE MUNCHKIN 

-baby 

[Incoming call from baby]

Jeonghan wishes he can go back to the time when you called him all the sweet things in the world. If the universe or whoever is out there, is willing to give them one more chance will he take it up? Maybe or maybe not. 

When will you be back? I miss you 

-baby 

… 

-Jeonghan 

Come on. It’s been like thirty minutes

-Jeonghan 

What can I do? 

-baby 

Your cum is still running down my thighs reminding me of you 🤷‍♀️

-baby 

FUCK 

-Jeonghan 

YOU CANT PULL THAT CARD 

-Jeonghan 

☹️ okayyyy don’t worry I pushed it all back in. 

-baby 

Happy golfing Hannie!!! Win and come home 🥰😘

-baby 

You DEVIL 

-Jeonghan 

I’m coming home

-Jeonghan 

😇😇😇

-baby 

Jeonghan locks his phone, closing his eyes, tears rushing out. A ripping pain in his chest makes him curl up into a ball, he holds himself, all the pain inside of him bursting out. The silence of his apartment is now broken with whimpers and cries for help. It's been so long since he felt something, he doesn’t want to continue to live in this pain. He doesn’t have the will or fighting spirit left in him. 

He messed with his career for the sake of his ex, he stopped going out with his friends, and it's been so long since he talked with his parents. Another sob escapes him remembering how you used to hold him whenever he felt low. Despite the thousand fights they had, you were always there to catch him. You are his sun, not the other way around. He is stupid, stupid, stupid. 

He ended things for their own good. He realised that no matter how much you love someone, sometimes you just end up hurting each other. He couldn’t bear seeing you standing in the middle of the apartment everyday mid fight with tears spilling out.  

He knows he is the problem, he wasn’t mature enough to handle his love with care, love and affection, the only thing you wanted out of him. He only gave you pain, sadness and a reason to cry. He was the source of your unhappiness. He tried to be a source of happiness, but things slipped right through his fingers.  

If only he could be more like how you wanted him, maybe today he would have been curled up in your warmth instead of the coldness of his apartment. 

—

The office is swarming, phones ringing, and hellos echoing around. You keep checking the manager’s cabin, eyeing the expressions of the director, manager and Seungkwan through the glass doors. It is hard to catch their words, or read their lips, as it is a few cubicles down from yours. You send a document to print, slipping on your heels, you march towards the printer next to the cabin. 

Seungkwan catches you, shaking his head subtly before answering to the director. The printer spits out the papers slowly with a wheezing sound, you adjust your hair straining your ears to catch at least a few words.

“... branch needs you,” the director’s firm tone makes you wince, “or…” you lose some words as the printer whirs loudly, and you swear you heard your name, “..can go in your place.”

“I am not sure,” Seungkwan replies, “I can’t..”

A colleague of yours watches you in suspicion, his eyes darting from you to the cabin you are eavesdropping. Fuck, he is HR. You bow in greeting, laughing, pointing at the old printer dying to print out some documents. He nods, mumbling a feeble, keep up the good work. 

You collect the papers just in time the director walks out of the cabin, noticing you, he smiles warmly in greeting before walking to his cabin. Seungkwan closes the manager’s cabin behind him, his lower lip wobbly at the sight of you. You step in with him to his cubicle, “what happened?”

Seungkwan lets out a big groan, “I have to start relocating by the end of the month.” He rubs his temples, “I have to tell her tonight.” He checks the time on his watch, “and she was looking forward to our date,” his voice shakes a little, “only for me to pour water over all her excitement.”

He plops down on his seat, keying in his password. You lean against his desk, thumbing the pages, “you know,” you muster up the courage, “I want to ask for this transfer.” You quickly add before he can jump in, “I really want this transfer, Seungkwan. I think..” you trail off, your voice dropping an octave, “I am done with this city.”

You blink back the tears with a laugh, you set the papers on his desk, turning away from him. “I am planning to talk it out with the manager, and,” you look at him from the corner of your eyes, “ask to get off your back.” 

He smiles, tapping his fingers on the armrest, “I don't want you to force yourself for my sake.” He raises his hand, stopping you from defending yourself, “someone going away in my place will loosen my burden but I don’t want that to be you. Got my point?”

“I understand, but,” you meet his eyes head on, “I really want to get out of this place, Seungkwan. I don’t have any fond memories left–” Seungkwan scoffs “–apart from our hangouts, of course.” 

With a deep inhale, you blurt out, “everywhere I go, I see us. I search for him everywhere,” you wipe away the stray tear, “I don’t want to live this way. Not when he is happy somewhere, in someone’s arms.”

Seungkwan evades your gaze, clicking on some email, “about that..” 

“I don’t wanna hear anything else.” You square up your shoulders, “I am going in now and ask for the transfer.” 

Seungkwan calls out your name but you are already at the manager’s cabin. 

—

“Cheers,” you clink the glasses with Seungkwan’s and Nari’s. You dunk the contents in a single gulp, a bitter sigh escaping your lips. 

“Congrats on the new role,” she congratulates, with a beaming smile, “I am very happy for you.” 

Seungkwan sips on his soju, not joining in the party of your transfer and beginning of new life. His girlfriend, not knowing the reason behind his silence, chats away about her new boss and the funny antics of his. 

Seungkwan grills the meat, the sizzling sounds of the meat grabs your attention more often than you let on. He places the cooked meat on Nari’s plate, your eyes fall on your empty plate, and the growling of your stomach. You pour yourself another glass of soju, laughing at the reenactment of the fall of her new boss. 

“I couldn’t not laugh!” she fans herself, “but I was the only one with a loud laugh. He saw me, I just hope he won’t get his revenge.” 

You grab the cooked meat from the grill, and blow on it, “he wouldn’t. You are one hard working person. He is lucky to have you on his team.”

She blushes, fumbling with her thumbs. Seungkwan drops the tongs, brushing her pink cheeks. You excuse yourself to the washroom, grabbing your phone. Few messages from your colleagues congratulating on the promotion, and also sad for the transfer. Your heels halt when the email from the Get Love Quick sits on your notifications. 

You open the washroom stall, and lock yourself in, calming your nerves. You open the mail.

Dear Heartbroken soul,

Thank you for choosing us to direct you to true love. We are sad to hear your pain, and with all the shit life threw at you, we just want to apologize on behalf of life. Along with the apology we also want to throw in some delight by informing you that, *drum roll*, your date has been fixed for this Sunday. Please find the venue details below. 

Ps. As a tradition of Get Love Quick the details of your date is a surprise. Builds the anticipation *wink wink*. 

With love,

Get Love Quick

It’s already Friday today, one more day and then you have a date. Your clammy fingers don't help in clicking the venue details in the maps. You rub your sweaty palms onto your skirt, and try again typing the details. This cafe is forty minutes drive away from your apartment. 

Is it worth it? You are about to move away from this place in a couple of weeks. You have to start packing away, look for a house in the new city, and break the news to your family and friends. Who would be interested in someone who isn’t available after the first date? Highly unlikely to convert this date into a long distance relationship. A part of you believes that there’s no aspect of you that will be appealing to the other person to make him leave everything too. 

For now you put the date on the back burner. You have one more day, and it's Sunday you to decide. 

Completing your business in the washroom, you saunter back to the table, slowing down, giving space to the couple kissing. You fiddle with the promotion mails on your phone, coughing into your fist before sliding onto your stool. Seungkwan hangs his hand around his girl, color coming back in his face. Ah, she does hold the key to his heart, no wonder he was desperate to stay. 

No matter how happy you are for them, to have each other through ebbs and flows, watching them, or spending time with a couple opens a part inside you that you aren’t proud of. It reminds you of what you don’t have in your life, or what you once had. 

“I’m done for the day,” you fake yawn, “my uber is on the way, I will meet you on Monday.” You sling your handbag, walking away before he can understand the urgency in your exit. 

“You didn’t even eat anything.” He points the tongs to your full plate, “why are you leaving so soon?”

“I’m tired from all those meetings, and I am not feeling good. Need some rest.” 

If he has doubts about your poor acting, he doesn’t comment on it. You greet them good night, exiting the restaurant.  

— 

The cafe is in a run down building, the ivy creeps all over the creaks, and the light illuminating the cafe name flickers. Sweet Life. No soul is seen around the empty street, a cat mewls from the garbage can, and rustling of covers echoes. The sun is already setting with an orange hue across the sky. You share your location with Seungkwan just in case, tugging the neckline of your dress up, you open the rusty door.

“Welcome!” A woman greets from the whirring coffee machine. “Please find a seat.”

You bow in a greeting, and turn to the almost empty cafe except for, your breath catches in your throat, one person. Your feet stay rooted, your gaze not moving from him, and him staring back at you with his lips parted. The exit door is two steps away, you can run away and sleep it off like it's a bad dream. 

The door rattles open, two sleazy men brush past you, stinking of alcohol. You grab the half open door, quickly slipping past the door, your vision blurry making your ankle twist a few times. You sit on your feet, leaning against the wall, rubbing your eyes and the runny nose with the back of your hand, your breathing becomes irregular. Seungkwan. You need him to tell you what to do. You search for your phone in your wallet, dropping the papers, lip balm and keys on the road. 

You gasp for air, breathing in through your mouth, hitting your chest. Five things. List down five things, you see a crumpled tin on the pavement, you smell stinky garbage, and you hear the crack of the door opening. Two black shoes step beside you, and you smell of him. 

Jeonghan separates a tissue from the stack, and holds the back of your head, wiping your tears. You push his hand away, shaking your head trying to get out of his grasp. He grips onto your neck, pulling you closer to him, his teary eyes glaring back at you. He cleans your wet cheeks. “Breathe in,” he commands, “one..two..do it,” he pleads. 

You turn away from his touch. He sighs, kneeling on one foot, “I get it,” his voice wavers, “I know you don’t want me here.” He wipes the corner of your eyes, and below your eyes, “but let's get you calm down.” He whispers, “please, ba–” he clears his throat “–not for me but for you, okay?”

“I-It’s be-because,” you gasp for air, “of y-you.” 

Jeonghan sits next to you, on the dirty pavement, “I know.” He holds a fresh tissue to your nose, “I am sorry.” His eyes run across your face, “I didn’t know, or else,” he trails off. 

You grab the tissue from him, and blow your nose, sitting on your bum next to him. “Or else you wouldn’t have come.” You hiccup, folding the tissue, “like always.”

He grabs the used tissue from you, stacking all of them next to him. He hands you a new one. Both of you sit in silence, his shoulder leaning against yours, while you catch your breath. 

He picks up your discarded items and puts them back in your wallet, “are you good now?” 

You pick on the ends of the tissue, sniffling, why is he my date out of all? Jeonghan clasps your wallet shut, drumming his fingers on the black surface of it, his long messy strands obscuring his face. 

He is here, next to you, after almost two years, breathing and you can feel his warmth unlike the Jeonghan in your dreams. But why now? When you were all set to move on with someone, anyone new. Leaving everything and him behind in a couple of weeks. What kind of cruel joke is the universe playing now? 

“Better than when you left me,” you reply. The bitterness in your words flinches him, he drops his head to his lap, fiddling with his thumbs. You scoff, “are you nervous now?” How dare you feel nervous? 

Jeonghan sighs, “I get it you hate me.”

“Hate, Jeonghan? Hate? You ruined me. You left me to tend to myself. I..” your voice wavers, remembering standing outside his apartment, begging him to open up, “what is the point anyway. Reiterating everything won’t change anything.” You grab your wallet from him, you hold onto his thigh helping yourself stand, “you will still be that bastard and I will still be.. me.” 

Jeonghan stands up, falling in step with you as you walk without any direction and your anger being the only navigator. “I’m sorry,” he holds your wrist, turning you to him, “I’m really sorry.” 

“Sorry?” You hit his chest, he stumbles back, “do you think saying sorry will heal me? All those nights,” you are crying again, “all…” you hit him, “those..” another hit “nights..” he accepts all your hits. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Stop saying that!” You shout. “You don’t even mean it.” You grab his shirt, his familiar warm woody scent cracks your semblance. “You don’t even.. mean it.” You inch closer, nuzzling into his chest, inhaling his scent. 

God, no!

You push him away, “no, no, no.” You turn around, running away from him and the dead feelings sprouting back. 

Few more steps and you will reach the road. Some taxis should be there for you to go back home. Before you can come into proper light, he tugs you back. 

“Please,” he begs, “one chance. One dinner,” he holds your hands, squeezing them. 

The streetlight falls on him, you forget your anger for a moment, reaching to his brown bruise on his chin and split lips. “What happened to you?” 

He leans into your palm, closing his eyes, tears falling onto your arm. He grips onto your other hand, “please, one more chance.” 

“What makes you think you deserve it?” 

Jeonghan slowly opens his eyes, his brown eyes flicking across your face, “you still carry my picture.” He holds up your left hand, tracing the print of the ring that used to be on your ring finger.  

You shove his hand away, “I’m not meeting you anytime soon. Or anymore.” 

You sink in the new details of him one last time, he lost weight, and the dark circles under his eyes are prominent. The bruise on his cheek is dark, and the split on his lip is red with blood. What on earth is he doing with himself? You don’t have it in you to know the reason, scared you will crumble here and now, taking him back into your life in a beat.

“Have a good life, Jeonghan.”

Jeonghan speaks up, halting you from moving away. “When you are not wanted or needed by anyone then you cease to exist.” You look in his eyes, the dark ones hold yours, “The moment,” he is towering over you, clad in black long coat, “you walked away, my existence went away with you.” He silences you, pressing his finger onto your lips, “I am an idiot who didn’t realize your worth and,” he brushes your cheek with his thumb, “took you for granted.

“I tried everything, baby,” he rests his head over yours, bending to your height, “nothing is you. I was searching for you in everyone,” his breath hits your forehead, “and no one is you. I am not asking you to take me back,” you look in his eyes, “yet. One dinner, one chance is all I ask.”

When he meets your silence, he calls out your name in a soft whisper. “Baby,” he pulls your chin up, “one dinner.” 

And you crumble like a historic building holding years of past, falling apart. You are nodding to his request even before you know. 

—

The day’s heaviness settles on your shoulder, the entire ride back home has been a blur. Pushing past the door, you enter your apartment, leaving your high heels and keys. Seungkwan is already at your flat, lounging on the couch, eating your snacks. He springs to his feet, rushing towards you, “what happened? Why are you crying?” 

You throw your wallet onto the coffee table, the potato chip bag crunching under your feet as you make your way to the couch. Seungkwan sits next to you, questioning you. Your phone vibrates on the coffee table, he grabs it at a lightning speed, opening it and his eyes going wide, dropping the phone on the carpet. 

“Fuck.” 

He pulls you into a bear hug. You sob into his shoulder, incoherent words leaving your lips in an attempt to explain what happened. He pats your head, cooing comforting words. 

“He is there, Seungkwan.” You rub your eyes, “he is my date. How can this happen?” 

“I am sorry,” he holds your arms, tears in his eyes, “I am so sorry. It’s all because of me, I shouldn’t have forced you to–”

“No,” you pick your phone from the carpet, unlocking it. “It would have happened sooner or later.” 

Did you reach home safely?

-Hannie

“Block him.”

Locking your phone, you hide it behind you. “Can’t.” 

He frowns, “why?”

You drop your gaze to your lap, “we are meeting on Tuesday for dinner.” 

The expletives leaving from Seungkwan’s mouth makes you shut your ears. “Hand me over your phone now.” He extends his palm, waiting. Your bottom lip quivers, you give a slow shake of your head. “For fuck’s sake.” He reaches for it, and you hold it with your entire being. 

“Listen to me, listen to me,” you plead, Seungkwan reclines back in his seat. “He just wanted one dinner,” you raise your arm when Seungkwan opens his mouth, “only one dinner. And with my schedule, I won’t be able to meet him more than that.” You reason. “I will be away, and he won’t be there. I think this will be the end.”

“End my foot.” Seungkwan snatches the phone from you, and hits the block button. “He is back at it again. Getting into fights, summoned by po—”

“Fights?” 

Seungkwan bites his tongue in grimace. “Nothing.”

“Seungkwan.” Your voice is firm, thinking about the bruises on his face. What on earth is he up to? Fights? You knew he had some issues managing his tongue but he never hit someone out of anger. “What are you hiding?” 

Seungkwan clutches his head in a groan, leaning back on the couch. “I’ll tell you if you promise me you won’t meet him.” 

You gape at him, your lips opening and closing without a single word escaping. Anger seeps into your thoughts, hating the way Seungkwan is interfering in your life. “I am telling you that it's going to be only one dinner!” 

He flinches at your sharp voice, glaring back at you. “And I know you!” He fights back, “I saw you. It's not gonna be a single dinner.” 

He holds your arm, handing you your phone back. “I am not against you,” he stands up, “I was with you, am with you and will always be.” 

Guilt crawls into your heart, god, it’s happening again. How can you lash out at Seungkwan? This is exactly why Jeonghan re-entering your life is catastrophic. The chaos he left took you long enough to calm it down. And now with your behavior you aren’t sure Seungkwan is going to stay with you this time. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologize, staring at the blocked contact on your phone, tracing his message. You lock the phone, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have,” you gesture between you two, “I’m sorry. I won’t meet him.” 

Seungkwan takes your hands in his, sitting next to you, “you have to believe me.” You nod, not meeting his gaze. “I know it seems tempting and you want to have him back but,” he tilts to the side, wanting you to look at him, “he is not worth it. Not worthy of your love.”

Flashes of Jeonghan holding you, calming you and wiping your tears and snort crosses your mind. The tenderness in his gestures, regularizing you out of the anxiety attack, and the desperation to meet you one more time. If this ain’t love then what is? 

But you don’t say this to Seungkwan, he wouldn’t understand you or Jeonghan. Your relationship with Jeonghan wasn't smooth sailing like Seungkwan’s is. You had your high tides, heavy rains and darkest sails but he was your port, your anchor, and the morning always came. 

“Yeah,” you pull your arms out of his hold. “Go home, Seungkwan, it’s late.” 

He is silent for a few seconds, but stands up ready to leave. 

“Should I know why Jeonghan is involved in fights?” You ask from the couch. 

Seungkwan holds the door open, turning to you, “it's better if you don’t.”

So it is because of you.

—

Packing your entire life and moving away isn’t as easy as you thought it would be. The boxes around you are overwhelming, and yet the packing is the only thing that’s keeping you sane. 

It’s been a week since your meeting with Jeonghan. Work has been hectic leaving you little time to think about the notifications of the blocked contact. It feels like a drink is placed before a recovering alcoholic, tempting yet restraining yourself. 

Your phone lights up again with another notification of the blocked caller. You flip the phone, tackling the old clothes into a box. Why did you buy all of these? Folding an old sweater your attention drifts to your phone. One call or text wouldn’t hurt, right? Or unblocking him is not going to hurt you. He is your Jeonghan after all. 

Shaking yourself out of it you shove the sweater into the box. You kneel down on the floor, bending to grab the clothes shoved inside of your cupboard. Jeonghan’s. Hoodies and oversized T-shirts of his you loved to wear. 

You pluck the blue oversized tee, running your hand over the softness, a laugh tumbling out of you at the memory.

He spent an entire week searching for the tee only to find you wearing it one night. He stood near the kitchen counter, hands folded across his chest, pissed. 

You didn’t dare to acknowledge him knowing he is waiting for you to give in. Or some explanation on why you searched for the tee along with him when you are very well aware where it is hiding.  

You chop the carrots into thin slices and pretend he isn’t standing near you. He scoffs, his slippers hitting against the wooden floors as he approaches you. You slithered to the side slowly, peeking over your shoulders. 

Anger is replaced with a lopsided grin on his face, he drags you to him by the shirt. He locks your wrists behind your back and grabs your face, leaving stinging kisses. Hearing your grumbles, and chasing lips for his’ in need of a proper kiss, he spanks your ass muttering, “punishment.”

You stuff his clothes into an empty moving box before it can pull you into the darkness of his memories. Wiping your tears with your shirt sleeve. The phone lights up yet with another notification. Another call from the blocked contact. 

A sob leaves your lips, why is he so insistent now? After all these months why is he adamant on talking to you. The urge to unblock him and text him is uncontrollable, but Seungkwan’s words run through your mind. You imagine his disappointed face once he knows that you didn’t listen to him, and honestly you are a little scared that he will stop talking to you. You are scared that the only person who cares about you will leave you, just like everyone else. 

Clearing the notifications you shoot a text to Seungkwan. 

Need to drop these off at Jeonghan’s. 

-sent

I’ll drop by and do that. 

-Seungkwan

One last glance at the box containing his clothes you are overcome by the need, and pluck one of his black hoodies. You pull over the hoodie, hugging yourself as you curl up on the floor next to a half filled trolley and dozens of boxes. 

—

Jeonghan is pacing around his living room, chewing on the unlit cigarette. He dials your number again and again. Blocked? How can you block him? You didn’t delete him away after the break up, but you did it now? Not when you agreed to meet him for dinner, and he can tell a lie, especially when it's coming from you. 

He drops the cigarette on the couch rustling through his drawers for the unused phone. It should have another sim, if he can contact you with it he can end this torture. Going to your house is also an option that he considered dearly, he didn’t want to cross that last boundary. Not especially when you are putting up a wall for some reason. Oh, how he so wants to fuck the rules. 

The knock on his door garners his attention from throwing the notebooks and mail from the drawer like a raccoon sifting through trash. He runs his hand through his unkempt hair watching Seungkwan standing outside his door. He leaves the door open, massaging the space between his eyebrows. Seungkwan visiting him will never end in peace.  

“Here.” Seungkwan throws a bag onto the couch. The bag bounces off the couch and falls on the floor. “Your clothes.” 

Jeonghan turns around at those words, frowning. His clothes? Why would Seungkwan have–ah. He pads over the strewn notebooks and papers on the floor, reaching for a new cigarette, his fingers shaky. The bits and pieces aligning themself, the abandoned dinner, blocked contact, and now—his clothes. He glares over his shoulder at the man who is ruining his life, along with yours. You would never ever even dare to discard a single message from him. 

“Don’t ever contact her.” Seungkwan warns, completing surveying Jeonghan’s dumpster called home. “She finally moved on.”

Jeonghan rests his hand on the wooden surface, the cigarette crushing between his fingers. He tilts his head to the side, giving a once-over at the friend of his ex. “Did she, now?”

Seungkwan takes a threatening step forward, “Don’t you dare, Yoon Jeonghan.” He fists his hand, “you are a bastard, and have you seen yourself,” he spits, “do you think she needs someone like you?” 

Images of you laughing at his mess and swatting his shoulder before dragging him to clean up crosses his mind. He loved those moments. 

“You don’t deserve a second of her attention.” Seungkwan continues, “Go back to your devious ways and party life. And leave her alone.”

He storms out of the apartment, leaving behind a seething Jeonghan. 

Fuck rules. 

—

You rustle under your blanket, the faint knock on your door stirring you out of your slumber. The night is up outside your window, the cool spring air blowing in, curtains flying in tune with it. Another knock. No one visits you at ten in the night, peeling off the thin blanket you step in the empty spots between trolleys and card boxes. Did Seungkwan need something from you? 

Your roommate winces at your sleepy state once you open the door. She looks over to her left scowling. “I tried.”

What? Your eyebrows pull in at the confusion, what’s going on? 

Jeonghan steps in, hovering over your roommate. The sleep goes away from your body, nervous system kicking in for the fight or flight response. What is he doing here? His blood red eyes doesn’t move away from you, drinking in your bed head, and the—shit, fuck, his hoodie. Your knuckles turn white from the deadly grip on the door handle, shut it. 

“Call me if you need me.” Your roommate steps away, giving space for him to come closer.

He crowds over you, his cozy scent mixed with cigarette smell messing with your senses. You push the door to a close on his face, his hand holds the door, his strength threatening over yours, he pushes it open with ease. If he was angry earlier, now he is pissed. His chest brushes your face, his hand coming over your shoulders, bringing you both inside your room, and shuts the door behind him, turning the lock in. 

“Why?” 

Desperateness clings to your voice. The grip on your shoulder causes you to jerk back, pushing his chest away from you. He backs away to the door, hands behind him. Your fingers hover over the light switch, wondering whether to turn it on or not. Seeing him might make it harder for you to handle all the emotions. The memories of him you have in this room, the ones that kept you going and also pulled you back, drove you crazy and now with him in the space won’t help you hold back anymore.  

The light stays off, the street light falling from your window is the only illumination outlining the shadow of him. You are standing next to the window a few feet away from him, your hands clasped behind your back. 

Jeonghan shuffles across the room, his hand tracing the edge of the table placed near the window, a few steps away from you but closer than before. He leans on the table with one hand, another stuffed in his jean pocket. A car headlights flashes across your room, he is wearing the blue t-shirt. He got his clothes back. 

“You aren’t picking my calls.” 

“Didn’t feel like it,” you answer after a beat.  

“You or Seungkwan?”

You snap your head from your fingers to him, “What?”

Another step forward. “You have so many protecting you,” he pauses, and adds with a slight shake in his voice, “from your villain.” He dips his head to the floor, his hair cascading his face. 

You prick on your fingers, locking them behind you. No, you can’t touch him. 

A chuckle escapes from him, he flips his head back, running his crooked fingers through the hair. “I earned the title.” He shrugs. “But,” he singled out his focus on you, “I would’ve stopped calling if,” another step, “you didn’t want me.” He tilts his head, the light from the window directly falling on him, his frown, “but for Seungkwan?”  

“I didn’t want to see you.” A half lie.  

His lip curls into a smirk, “you couldn’t lie then.” He nods to himself, “and you can’t lie now. So, don’t.” 

“Why are you here, Yoon Jeonghan?” 

He is toying with the bobble head on your desk. “Why do you think so?” 

The words rattles the last wall you are holding up. Tears prick your eyes, exhaustion creeps up your bones. “Stop,” your voice wavers, he looks up with confused eyes, “please.” 

The frown line between his eyes is prominent, he lets go of the bobble head and is standing next to you. His scent engulfs you, clouding all your thoughts. “Don’t cry,” his hand reaches for your cheek but stops, not touching. “Please.” The crack in his voice is too much. 

You step away from him, stumbling on the trolley. He stabilises you by your arm. You push away his grip, backing away to the bed. Pulling up the blanket you hide beneath it. A sob escaping. The bed dips, he holds your knee over the blanket. 

“Let me see you,” he pleads, “one last time, and I’ll leave. But don’t cry.” 

You shake your head. “You are the worst.”

“I’m sorry.” 

“Yo-you ca-can’t come-comeb-ack and.. and,” you hiccup, sobbing uncontrollably. “Ex-expect me-me to be ok.”

He pulls you into a hug, the blanket slips off your face. He pats your head, “please, don’t cry.” His cheek presses into yours, nuzzling his nose into your hair. “I don’t want you to cry. If being with me makes you cry then,” he grips onto your shoulder, pressing himself tightly, “then I’ll leave.” 

“You always leave.” You free yourself from him. Breathing in and out to regulate yourself. “Always.”

Jeonghan holds you down, “if you want me to stay, I’ll stay.” He brushes the stray strands off your face, “but if I’m going to be the reason for you to cry then I won’t. I don’t want you to cry, not again.

“I realise my mistakes. I shouldn’t have been the asshole, and ran away from our problems that day. I’m sorry. Hate me, hit me and slap me all you want till your anger subsides. But don’t cry. You and I, we both want each other,” he holds the drawstrings of your hoodie, “we are for each other. I’ll wait till you can accept me.” 

“Lies.” You turn away from his pleading face. “I have seen you. And your fuck buddies.” 

Jeonghan groans, rubbing his face in frustration. “I didn’t sleep with anyone. There was no one after you.” He clings onto you, “I did go out but it never worked.” 

You scoff, not believing his words. The pictures looked pretty chummy for you to believe that nothing happened afterwards, especially knowing how handsy Jeonghan can be. 

“I can dial all my dates and let them speak to you,” he pulls out his phone, opening the messaging app and scrolling through dozens of unanswered chats. 

You hold his hand before he hits the dial button. “No need.” Like Jeonghan, you can tell when he is lying or not. “But you moved on pretty quickly.” 

“I had to.” He answers quickly, “or else I would have sorted you back. And it wouldn’t have been a good choice.” 

“Why?”

“You weren’t happy,” his voice drops, barely a whisper, “and I wasn’t too. And it really gutted me to see you cry,” he sounds distant, like lost in a memory, “I hate to see you cry, whether we were fighting or not. It didn’t matter that I was angry at you. And when it became clear that I was the reason for you crying every night, I couldn’t do it any longer.

“I wondered maybe if I stepped away from–” his voice breaks “–your life then you would finally be happy. You don’t know how much my chest hurt when you were crying outside my door. Baby,” the nickname slips his mouth before he can hold it back, “I really thought you would be happy, and if I had known,” he wipes your tears tenderly, “it would break you this bad, I would not have done it.” 

“It’s for good.” You say, “we needed space. I was too much, too greedy for you and your attention.” 

“No–” 

You cut him off, “let me talk. I realized how it tortured you, I occupied your entire life. I restrained you, what not. I did later on hear from your friends on how.. how you cancelled all your plans and didn’t meet them.” You chuckle, fumbling with your fingers, “and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I am sorry. Truly.”

“I don’t want–”

“And as much as we want to rework on our relationship,” you cut in again, “I don’t think it’ll work again. Not only because of our pre-existing issues, but there are few others.” 

He shifts uncomfortably, “like?”

“Like, I am moving away in a week.” You gesture around the trolleys and moving boxes. “I was that needy when you were next to me, imagine us doing long distance.” You chuckle imagining the disaster it will be, the tears shining on the edge of your eyes. “I might even kill you.”

“You are moving?” 

The smile vanishes noticing the hurt laced in his words. “Yeah. That should explain the mess in my room. You know how much–”

“You hate messy room. I know.” 

“Yeah..”

Silence cascades between you two. He is ruffling his hair, a tic whenever he is in distress. You pick on your finger not knowing what to say or how to.. end things again. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did the first time, right? Maybe this time you may walk out unharmed as long as you don’t remember that Jeonghan wants to try things again. If only it was as easy as telling yourself to just forget. 

Jeonghan wouldn’t move from Seoul or quit his job where he put in his blood, sweat and tears. The long nights and weekends he invested, the ranks he climbed are too dear to him to lose now. You aren’t that special anymore for him to resign and find you. Bidding your goodbyes now is the right thing to do. 

“I–”

“Where are you moving to?” He asks. “What about your job? The lease? Your parents?”

You hear the unasked question. What about me?

“I am being transferred to another branch. Seungkwan was supposed to go but his girlfriend–”

Jeonghan snorts. “Explains. You are lifting your entire life just for a friend?” 

“He is my brother.” You snap. “If not for my father he will be the one to walk me down the aisle. Don’t downplay our friendship.”

“How can I not? He is the reason you weren’t talking to me. Me! He is ruining whatever we are having or would have.”

“Because he saw me. He helped me put myself back when you were galavanting with your dates and what not!” 

“This is too much to do for someone else. It isn’t right. If he is chosen he has to go no matter what.” 

You stare at Jeonghan in the dark, “this is nothing compared for people we love. If you loved someone then you would have understood.” 

Nodding to yourself at his silence, you pull your hoodie sleeves over your fingers. “I am not going to tell you where I am moving to, Jeonghan. It wouldn’t help either of us. I would be too stuck up in hopes that you would come, and you wouldn’t even bother to..” you shake your head, “what’s the point. We are running in circles.

“We had a good five years, maybe four before it all went down. But it's something I cherish for the rest of my life.” You cup his cheek, “have a good life, Jeonghan. Don’t drink too much, or smoke. Clean up after yourself, and,” you feel wetness crawling on your hand, “and, you are a good person. If we had met in different timelines where you weren’t distant and I wasn’t desperate, we would have ended up in an ocean side house with a little family like you always wanted.”

He rests his head on your forehead, his tears falling on your cheeks. “Bye, Jeonghan.”

—

Yangsan is a breath of fresh air. It’s more of a town than a city, reminding you a little of your hometown. Neighbors were friendly helping you lug your furniture up the stairs to the first floor. Your ears strained from listening to them go off about the highlights this city has to offer. Sparkly, full of life. 

Their words blend with the sounds of the ocean. You saunter to the balcony attached to the living room, sliding the glass doors. Salty air hits you in the face, a little treat for your sweaty self. The summer sun sits in the middle of the sky, shining brighter than ever you have seen, blinding you for a few seconds. Adjusting to the light, the blueness of the ocean pulls you further. 

The sounds of the waves rattles the serene feeling, an overwhelming emotion consuming your entire being. You gamble with the risk of staying near to the ocean, the stench and cyclones, but if you are going to live here for a year you want it to be somewhere you love. 

You got a feeling— a hunch, that you are going to love Yangsan. It’s about time.

—

Work at the new branch turns out to be better than your previous office—minus not having Seungkwan. The new role is full of heavy responsibilities as you have to carry a team of six. Growing closer to them was a task, and it took you three months to reach this point. 

“Thank you for all your hard work.” You beam at your small team cooped up in the meeting room. Tired smiles thrown back at you. “Should we grab dinner and have some—”

The team is already up, closing their laptops and hurrying out of the meeting room. You have never seen an enthusiastic team for a team dinner. Seungkwan and you had to drag yourselves to the dreadful and boring dinner which was borderline a self-boasting manager session. 

Hansol, one of your juniors, is closing his notes and capping his pen. Neatly coiling his charger cable, he sets everything on top of his laptop. 

“Hansol,” you approach him slowly, like getting near to a stray kitten afraid you might make it run away, “are you coming for dinner?” 

He straightens, rubbing his neck. “Ah..”

“I mean no big deal but the team would be happy to have you with us. Afterall you were the key player to lock in the client. You need to celebrate.” You persuade, or more like try to. 

Hansol is known for skipping the team dinners, happy hours and laying low until it’s crucial work. One month into the office, you heard the rumours floating around, Hansol moved back from Seoul. His childhood sweetheart and love of his life cheated on him. It’s his third year in this branch, and he still eats alone most of the time. You didn’t dig deeper, if time comes then he will be ready to talk about it. 

You would be lying if you say you don’t have a soft spot for him. You saw a part of you in him, in his absent stares, hunched back, and disassociated nature. Coming out of love can be heart wrenching, imagining a betrayal from the most trusted person is just dying. The dark cloud is always over his head, a smile as rare as a comet. All you could do is hope that he will find his happiness again. 

He traces his finger along the coiled charger. “I mean it's fine if you don’t want to,” you jump in scared that you are acting as your previous manager. “But I really appreciate all your help.” You smile when he finally looks at you. “Keep up the good work! See you on Monday.” 

Sunhee, your other junior is standing by the door, her handbag on her arm. Anxious eyes on the man trailing behind you. Turning off the lights you cross check the meeting room before closing it. 

“Are you going to your cats again?” Sunhee asks Hansol. 

“Ah..” he rubs the back of his neck, looking at her for a second before staring at the floor. After a brief moment he adds, “nah, coming for dinner.”

The girl’s cheeks tint pink, jaw slack open. You shake your head, walking to your desk and packing away your day. 

— 

The dinner turns rowdier than you anticipated. One by one of your co-workers are being sent home, leaving you with slightly buzzed Sunhee, Hansol, and two more of your co-workers waiting on their ride home. 

“I’ll pour you a drink,” Sunhee grabs the soju bottle, giggling at the swirling liquid, “round, round,” she mimics the movement with her head, “ah, dizzy.”

You slap her hand away from the bottle, “no more drinks. You are going home next.” 

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaat??!?!??” She cups her mouth, tears springing in her eyes. “You can’t do this to me!!” Coyly she flits her gaze to the man sitting across her, “Chwe Hansol!” 

The man, already tipsy with overly bobbing his head, said, “that’s me.” 

“Why??” She screeches, “for the love of the god—”

“Amen.” He bows. 

You throw your head back laughing at the ridiculous scene unfolding before you. 

Sunhee hits him with a crumpled up tissue. “CHWE HANSOL!” 

He straightens up, “yes, ma’am.”

“For the love of the god,” she repeats, he mutters another amen, “why? Why won’t you understand?” She continues over his giggles. 

His giggles die down. She slumps over the table, her long hair all over the place. You awkwardly look across the two, scratching your forehead wondering whether you should stay or give them the private space. 

The team has already gone home except for you three. Sending them home is also your responsibility as the sober one and as a senior. One look at the distressed girl next to you makes you slouch back giving them the time they needed. 

It’s no secret that Sunhee loves Hansol. From bringing in his favorite coffee to staying back overtime just so she could leave with him. Countless conversation starters only to end with a nod from him. 

“Look at me,” she pleads, “please look at me.” Her voice quivers, “I’m standing here waiting for you to look at me.” 

Hansol twirls the liquid in his glass, her words going over him. He doesn’t reply or even acknowledge her words, all her efforts and love are one-sided. 

You attempt to stand up and leave them to talk, maybe without you between them Hansol might talk. 

Sunhee grabs your hand, tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes, “if you leave he isn’t gonna stay. Please.” 

You concede, patting her back in quiet encouragement. 

“I answered you.” He replies after a prolonged silence. “It’s not gonna change.” 

Your heart breaks watching tears spill from Sunhee’s eyes onto her lap. Her attention is not wavering from the one boy who is actively avoiding her. You slip your hand into hers, pressing it in a reassuring way. 

She squeezes back, a wavering smile and she picks her bag. “See you on Monday, senior.” She salutes, laughing with tears. “Bye, Hansol.” 

“Can I drop you home?” You ask. 

“I sobered up. Thank you.” She walks out of the table, and her wobbly steps towards the exit. 

Hansol refills his empty glass, sipping on it in silence. You check for the notifications on your phone, another missed call from Seungkwan. You sigh, you have to answer him one day. 

“I’m a villain in your eyes right?” Hansol’s question cuts through the awkward silence. “A bastard who broke the sweetest girl on the earth.” 

You set your phone down, shaking your head vehemently. “No, Hansol.” 

He chuckles to himself, pouring another glass of drink. “The funny part is my sweetest girl on the earth broke me beyond repair.” He looks at you, but distant, lost in thought. “I feel something after so long,” his hand is over his heart. “I feel bad for breaking her. But she deserves more than what I could offer.” 

You frown. 

“It’s for her best.” 

His words trigger the angrier side of you. You shouldn’t mix your past with their future. Before you can restrain yourself a scoff slips past your lips. 

His eyes widen, “what?” 

“If you don’t have guts to change yourself, then don’t say stuff like ‘it’s for her’,” you say, “if you want her then pick your ass up and get your life together.” 

Hansol blinks. 

“I mean,” you run a hand through your hair, “thinking about it, if you are letting her go because she deserves more, then you should have at least a little bit of interest in her right?”

He doesn’t agree nor deny. 

“Do you doubt Sunhee’s capability of decision making?” 

“No.” His answer is quick. “Her decisions led us to achieve the highest returns.”

“See.” You refill his empty glass, “she knows you for years, she likes you, and she has an idea of what she will get out of this relationship. So don’t bullshit yourself saying she deserves more.” 

Hansol is lost in thought. His gaze on the exit where Sunhee disappeared. 

“She isn’t your ex. I can’t say she won’t break your heart,” your voice lowers, “you never know what life makes you do but you can’t deny something beautiful just so you are scared.

“And that’s where I’ll stop. I have already butt in where I shouldn’t have. Do you have a ride home?” 

Hansol checks his phone, “yeah. My neighbor is around and he said he’ll pick me up.” 

“That’s kind of him.” You comment. “People around here are more hospitable than the ones in Seoul.” 

“He is from Seoul.” Hansol clarifies, “he came here,” he ponders, “one or two months back? But he is always travelling back and forth.” 

“Ah. Seoul has good people too then.” 

“You are from Seoul.” He frowns, “you are a good person.” 

You turn pink from his compliment. “Th-thank you. I’ll be right back.” 

You take a much needed washroom break. The day has been tiring, and very long. Did you overstep in counselling Hansol? Who are you to lecture him on what he should or shouldn’t think? You couldn’t help yourself listening to him say the same words once you heard from your ex.

Washing your hands you wipe them off with a paper towel. Yoon Jeonghan. It's been six months since your last conversation with him. How is he doing? You are actively trying to not think about your life from Seoul, pushing everything away that reminded you of that time. Sadly, Seungkwan also falls into that category hence screening his calls too. 

Jeonghan must be living his dream. He isn’t the one to fall back in life. The grit and passion he has shown is enough testament. He must have moved on by now. Found a girl who is of his ideal type, not someone needy and clingy. 

You rush out of the washroom before you submerge yourself in self-pity. This is Yangsan. And this is new you. No more Yoon Jeonghan. No more… 

A man in a long black coat catches your attention for having a similar build as your ex lover. You search for his hair to make sure if he is your Jeonghan. Sadly he is wearing a cap. Your steps pick up its pace, following the stranger amidst the drunken men going towards washroom. 

The stranger whispers something to Hansol and exits. Hansol’s neighbour? 

“Senior!” Hansol waves to you, “caught you in the right moment. My ride's here, see you on Monday.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” You crane your neck to get a sight of the stranger but he is already out of the restaurant. “Did your neighbour come?” 

He nods. “I have to go. I’m sorry. He’s a bit short tempered.” He winces. “But thank you for all your help. Thank you.” 

“No problem.” You pick your own bag ready to leave. “Have a great weekend, Hansol. Remember to get some sun.” 

He smiles before leaving. 

You pay the bill at the counter, berating yourself. What were you thinking? Yoon Jeonghan here? In a nameless city? He didn’t put his feet anywhere remotely as close to a town. Even your trips while dating were to some exotic places. 

Why are you following some stranger? Why are you still looking for him when you ended things with him? When will you learn? 

—

You are at a restaurant again. This time Hansol chooses a seat next to Sunhee. During the one month since the team dinner, there have been little changes in Hansol. He has been starting conversations—not every single time but once or twice in a couple of weeks. He tries to attend the happy hours every Thursday. 

Biggest change of all is he doesn’t shut down Sunhee completely. He sits in his chair when she comes around and doesn’t leave like previous times. Talks in sentences instead of one or two word answers. All in all you are proud to see the change. 

“You are drinking tonight?” Sunhee holds the soju bottle, suspicious of your sudden need for alcohol. “Are you really sure you can hold your liquor?” 

You roll your eyes, “I should be asking you that. Do you even remember what you do once you are drunk? Should I remind you of the countless times I have to drag your screaming ass?”

Hansol snickers. 

“You too. You were the worst. How can you sleep in the middle of the road?!” 

Hansol plucks the soju from Sunhee and pours you a drink. “Enjoy your night, senior.” 

He is shutting you up with alcohol but you don’t complain, drowning it in one gulp. Ah, the bitterness. You missed the feeling.

“Pour me one too.” Sunhee shoves her glass into his face. “Why are you hiding it? I need a drink too.” 

“Another!” You slam your empty glass on the table. 

Hansol fulfills your request. You drain down the contents. 

“Slow down.” Sunhee attempts to steal your glass. You slap her hand away. “What’s gotten into you today?” 

“The rain doesn’t look like it’s gonna stop soon.” Hansol sighs, “I can’t believe we are in October already.” 

Sunhee nods, momentarily forgetting about you stealing the bottle and pouring yourself another drink. “It’s getting chilly. I have to take out my scarves and cardigans.” 

“October,” you sigh, dragging all of your hair to one side, “I hate octobers.” 

“And that’s because?” 

“Just hate it.” You shake your head, pouting. The table starts to spin, “hate it hate it.” 

“She’s gone.” Hansol concludes. 

“Not even half a bottle? You are drunk only from four glasses?” Sunhee throws her arms in the air, “I can’t believe you.” 

You giggle into your palms. “Hehe.” 

Sunhee and Hansol sit in silence, dropping everything to watch you, the ever uptight senior, always in control of every moment, giggling to yourself. 

“Did you see what I saw?” Sunhee nudges Hansol’s ribs. 

He gives an affirmative nod. 

“What I’m saying is!!” You stand up holding the soju bottle as your mic, “hello! Everyone!” 

The elder men all hooted back. Sunhee grabs your arm from across the table, whisper-yelling you to sit down. 

The overhead lights are brighter than your future, blinding you for a second. “Hehe,” you snicker at the futile attempts of Sunhee to make you shut up, “I love youuuuu guysss.” 

“Love you back, princess.” One of the drinkers calls back. 

Few other voices overlap your muzzled brain can’t decipher. You turn to the audience, “what?” 

A hand clamps your mouth shut, another hand dragging you out of the restaurant. “Touch alcohol one more time and you’ll see my—”

You fumble over your heel at an unseen step, falling onto your knees and hands. You giggle remembering something similar happened to you. You sit down on the wet floor wondering when you fell on the floor. 

It was related to someone you love. “Loved.” You mutter to yourself, sadness washing all over you, “loved.” You toy with the sleeves of your shirt. “Is he celebrating now?” 

Sunhee picks you up by your shoulder, “I can’t with you and this city. I am fed up. Stand up please. I can’t carry you all on my own. Where the fuck is Hansol?” 

You lean on her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her. “Why do you hate this city so much? I love it!” 

“Are you being serious now? What’s there to love about this city? No one loves this city except you.” 

“That��s not true.” You watch a car approaching you two. “Hannie will love it.” 

“Hannie?” She steals a glance at you. “Hansol? Since when did you two become nickname basis?”

Hansol gets down from the parked car, grabs you from Sunhee helping you into the car. He drops you on the seat, you plop down from the sudden release hitting the roof of the car. Your mind blanks out a second, pain vibrating throughout your skull. 

“Careful.” Sunhee chides from behind, helps you sit up in the seat before buckling you up. “Are you okay? Should we go to the hospital?” 

You smile, shaking your head. 

“Are you sure?” 

You nod. 

Hansol drives you home. The rain hits the window harshly, the water sliding down in a hurry. Your eyes droop, blinking slowly at the blurry window. It’s October 4th. The day you dread, his birthday. 

You honestly thought you were doing great. Going out, talking with new people, actively not pushing away people who show interest in you and even went on a date. It ended on a friendly note but the point is you moved on. 

Until a memory or a food or a tv show reminds you of him. In the middle of the day when you hear someone hum a song he used to sing, you have to spend thirty minutes in the restroom consoling yourself, or overwork yourself to death. 

Then you realised you can’t tear him away from your life. He is going to cross your mind, strangle your heart, and it will always leave a bitter taste of what could have been if you weren’t scared. If you were a little brave to accept him again, brave to loose Seungkwan over Jeonghan, and brave to face another heartbreak, you would have been celebrating his birthday. 

Sunhee tugs you to your flat, holding your arm and keeping you from rain. The umbrella pokes your shoulder now and then, you stretch your arm enjoying the rain drops on your hand. 

“Rain is pretty,” you mumble. A little sad that you are already under the roof. “Pretty, just like Hannie.”

“Hannie?” Hansol asks, confused. 

“Hannie, Hansol.” Sunhee doesn’t spare him a glance, helping you up the stairs. “I didn’t know you were close.” 

Hansol frowns, trying to squeeze between you two to face her. “I’m not close with her.”

“Keys?” She searches for the pocket you pointed in your bag. “Are you hungry? I can whip something up in a minute.”

You saunter into your home going straight to your bedroom. Opening your closet you grab the yellow pillow and fall on your comfortable bed. You nuzzle deeper into the pillow, mumbling his name. 

“I don’t think she is calling for me.” Hansol stands at the door watching you cry into the pillow. 

“Unrequited love?” 

“Or an ex.” 

—

The first time you have seen Jeonghan is at a party you weren’t invited to. The infamous yet rowdy party happening at one of the houses near your campus is always the talk of the town—a whisper shared between two, and then three. Next you were hoping you could at least get a glimpse of the dancing crowd and games. 

Seungkwan, your almost knight in shining armour, dragged you along with him in hopes of shaking off the semester end exams. You were going back home tomorrow for the winter break, and he is staying back to work to save money. 

Girls dressed in the shortest possible skirts, and moderately covering their assets you realized how outdated you are living. The long skirt you are donning is a hazard from the number of times you tripped, and almost dragged a stranger along with you to the floor if not for the wall. 

Meandering the long halls, and along the locked rooms, you rest against the railing of the veranda. In spite of the chaoticness there was no one accompanying you, Seungkwan took a detour when he saw his crush from the statistics class. The full moon is shining in the sky, shining tranquility upon the drunk hazed people, and from the clouds eclipsing the moon your gaze falls on him. 

He has neck length hair, mostly black, wavy at the ends. Bobbing his head to the chants from his group, “Yoon Jeonghan! Yoon Jeonghan!” He gestures his hand for them to chant louder, cupping his ear with a smirk. They comply, his name louder than the music blasting from a huge speaker. 

A beer bottle is passed to him. He chugs its contents in a single lift, his Adam's apple moving along with his each gulp. He throws the bottle to the side, brushing his wet lips with the back of his hand. People burst out in cheers. He ducks down his hair hiding his face, shaking his head once before he flips his head back, his hair forming a perfect arc. 

The clouds move away from the moon. His eyes fall on you. 

—

Yoon Jeonghan is a final year student you got to know at the beginning of the spring season. Another hushed whisper among your classmates about his scandalizing break up happened at the cafeteria. 

“He was drenched!” the girl beside you shrieks as slowly as she can without garnering attention from the professor but loud enough for you to hear. 

“I wouldn’t have done that.” her friend chimes in. “not gonna lie he looked hot.”

“And embarrassing! Who gets dumped near a trash can with chocolate milk dripping down their face.” 

“Yoon Jeonghan.”

—

Next time you hear about Yoon Jeonghan is from your best friend, Seungkwan. He is going off about his day, your daily ritual before sleep, when he comes to the part where his car has been crashed into (more like scratched but you weren’t going into details and spark another fire). 

“That bastard,” Seungkwan eyes flit to you, “pardon my words but that scumbag deserves it.” 

“Mmhmm.”

“He was so clearly in wrong, and he has fucking guts to say, ‘how much?’” Seungkwan’s face is as red as your pyjama pants. Should you be scared? “How much?! Where is the sorry and remorse? What happened to having decency?”

You nod. You swear you are trying your best to be empathetic to the victims of Yoon Jeonghan— the girl who got stood up in the rain, Seungkwan who got his car scratched, another girl who got dumped on the first date within ten minutes, another girl who you forgot about. 

“If you can’t drive then you should stay home tending your ego.” Seungkwan rants on. And you keep nodding. 

He is a menace. You know this, if you didn’t then you would be the dumbest person. But god isn’t he hot. That night still haunts your dreams, his eyes still on the back of your mind. 

You hear your name. “Are you listening?”

“Of course.” 

Would he kill you if you confess you are developing a crush on his enemy?

—

In a blink of an eye you were about to sit through your semester end exams. Library is bustling with drained and lifeless students, the smell of coffee lingers around you as you search for the row containing the textbook you are looking for. 

“History… literature.. AH!” You step on something, losing your balance. You fall on your hands, minimising the fall trying not to scrape your knees. “Fuck.” 

A male howls in pain. 

“Shhh.” 

Several shhs hit your face. 

You sit on your bum, brushing off your scraped hands. A head peeks out of the rows of the bookshelves. His frowning eyes soften landing on you, revealing more of him. Yoon Jeonghan. 

You tripped over his fucking feet. 

“Who sleeps on the library floor?” You scoff, picking up your textbooks. 

“Me?” He scoffs back. He crawls out of his hiding space, sitting in front of you. “Don’t you know to keep your eyes on the road?” 

Now you understand why Seungkwan hates Jeonghan. 

Jeonghan’s lips curl into a smile, as he clutches his ankle, “I think I hurt my ankle. What if I can’t walk?” He gasps, holding his chest. 

You roll your eyes at his antics. Yet with little apprehension you near him, crawling to him, peering over his outstretched leg. You poke a finger at his ankle with a frown. 

“Does it hurt?” 

You look up at him meeting his silence, curling your hair behind your ear so you can see him clearly. His eyes follow your hand as you do it, lingering at the side of your face before snapping to your eyes. 

“Ah, ah, it hurts.” He grins cheekily when you pinch his leg. “What? It takes time for your body to send signals to your brain.”

“I can’t believe you.” You stand up, dusting your ass off. You walk away from him, your heart clogged in your throat.  

Fuck that was Yoon Jeonghan and you had a conversation with him. 

“Hey,” he calls you. You turn around, hair obscuring your vision before you tuck it back, his head tilted to the side, “did we meet before?” 

—

The semester came to an end. You heard about the biggest party of the year from your best friend as you are stuck at home. 

Grad party of the century, and you are depressed that you missed your last chance of seeing Yoon Jeonghan.

Life works that way. 

— 

You aren’t sure whether to be happy as you are past the tumultuous student life or sad that you have finally become an adult. 

Adulting came with responsibilities, body aches, and magic ability to fall asleep anywhere and anytime. Tiredness is your second nature at twenty two. 

“I could have been sleeping but no. You fucking have to attend this fucking ridiculous reunion.” You exasperatedly throw your hands in the air. 

Seungkwan feigns a hurt expression. “That hurts right here,” he pokes at his heart. “It’s been a year since we last met and here you are nagging.”

“Gah!” You march into the restaurant, throwing the door open, only on someone’s face. “Ah,” you cup your mouth with wide eyes. 

Seungkwan slips past you pretending to not know you while the man you just hit is bent in half groaning in pain. 

“Is that blood!?!?” You gasp again. Seungkwan is now running to the others. He is so going to die tonight for leaving you at times of crisis. 

The man in the question stands up licking his thumb, “nah, that’s ketchup.” 

“You!” You gasp yet again not believing your eyes. 

“Yeah, me.” Jeonghan sniffles, touching his nose tenderly. “Why do you always inflict pain on me whenever we meet?” 

“What pain?” You frown. 

“You forgot?” He holds his left leg, “I still limp from the pain. And you forgot.” He clicks his tongue in annoyance, his eyes glimmering with mischief. “You wound me.” He later on adds touching his black nose, “literally.”  

You step away from the entrance to let the customers flow in and out. Jeonghan trails behind you, limping when you look over your shoulder and walking perfectly fine when you look at him in the glass reflection ahead of you. This man—

“But from what I remember I think I stepped on your,” you flit your eyes down his pants, “didn’t I?” You lie. 

His tongue pokes his cheek, interest blooming in his eyes as he watches you. “Well played.” He leads you to the boisterous table out of all, “remembering properly, didn’t you palm my—”

You hit his back with your wallet. “Fine! You win.” 

He throws you a boyish grin over his shoulder, snagging two empty seats and patting one to you. You comply, accepting it and settling yourself for the long night. The fatigue from work disappears at the sight of Jeonghan’s teasing smiles and intrusive questions. 

“We live ten minutes away!” He beams at the google maps displaying the route between his and your apartments. “So when are you bringing me homemade lunch?” 

He props his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his palm watching you suffocate under his scrutiny. You nibble on the chicken leg, suddenly shy. 

“Why would I ever do that?” You throw him a heated look. 

He grins, finally having your attention on him. “Why not? Korea is known for its hospitality. Are you denying it by not bringing me food?” 

This man’s audacity. A flicker in your heart. You toy the chicken between your fingers hundreds of thoughts running at a million speed. Is he insinuating what your overworking brain is thinking? 

“Why don’t you bring me food? You can tend to me to,” you pick up the chicken again, taking a big bite. You are starving for fuck’s sake. 

“Is this your way of roping me into your service?” He grabs a tissue, wiping your mouth as you chew. “Not only looks like a baby but is a baby.” 

He flicks his eyes to yours, cunningness apparent in them. His face glows watching the pinkness spread across your cheeks. 

“Should have opened the door harder,” you grumble under your breath. 

Yoon Jeonghan throws his head back, laughing. And man doesn’t his laughter tickle your insides, ending with a smile on your lips too.

—

You aren’t sure how you ended up here. It’s been two months since the reunion dinner. Suddenly there are two adult sized kids bickering in the middle of your flat. 

“That’s a lame movie.” Seungkwan points the TV remote at the Godzilla paused in the middle of roaring. Not a pretty sight and you are hundred percent sure those canines are gonna chase you in the dreams tonight. 

Jeonghan dramatically clasps his chest, bunching his eyebrows together. “You are saying that to an animal?” He searches for his phone, “should report you to animal protection authorities. Cruel cruel human.” 

Seungkwan grabs Jeonghan by the collar who just raises his eyebrow. “What are you saying?” 

And cue. Another WWE fight breaks out in your home. You pick up your delicate vase and move your coffee table away from them. Picking up the discarded remote from the floor, you plop on the couch exiting the movie and playing a recently released rom-com. 

Twenty minutes into the movie with you actively trying to catch the dialogues over two grown ups bickering, suddenly silence fills in. Did they finally kill each other? 

Two men loom over you. You gulp, setting your feet down ready to run. Seungkwan makes a grabby hand for the remote only to be blocked by Jeonghan’s body. He rests his knee on the couch next to you, the other leg between your feet, trapping you. 

You hide the remote behind you, not letting go of the chance to watch your most anticipated film. It’s Friday night, it's supposed to be your unwinding time from the week’s stress. And you haven’t tasted peace since Jeonghan started crashing in your spare bedroom regularly—despite having his own huge flat all to himself. 

He is a wall taking in Seungkwan’s hits. His fingers trail down your arm with a tickling touch. His fingers grazing your waist before slipping his hand between you and the couch. Seungkwan pushes him and Jeonghan crashes into you. His chest landing on your face. Your grip loosens on the remote momentarily as you try to push him off of you. 

He steals the remote from you, walking away in a second. Seungkwan berates you while you catch your breath, still feeling the softness of his shirt. 

Jeonghan resumes Godzilla sitting in the middle of the couch. The smirk never leaves his lips. 

—

Jeonghan is your unofficial roommate at this point. He is on your mind while grocery shopping and planning the dinners for the coming weeks. He hates greens and you can’t sit through another lecture on how we are stealing animals’ food. Ridiculous, yet you couldn’t help but nod along with his points. 

After getting used to his antics’ and finding him sprawled on your couch by the time you are home from the office, it is odd to not see him some days. 

You will find yourself sitting on the couch where he should have been and lay there for a few minutes wondering. Asking him will make it easier and can put your overthinking brain to rest. But there’s this meaningless fear of him finding out your crush. 

He is not home today, and the TV isn’t playing in the background. It is friday and usually he is at home, waiting for you. A sigh escapes your lips as you drop the keys in the bowl and neatly line up your shoes. You pause by the couch staring at the empty couch, what is he up to? 

Your shoulders snag realizing there is no movie night today. You can’t slowly find yourself resting against him, some days on his lap falling asleep as he runs his fingers across your hair. Is he on a date? Did he find someone? Is that why he is not with you now? 

Sadness engulfs you, the thought alone rattling your peace. What will you do if you see him with someone else? This whatever that is between you two is doomed to begin with. Seungkwan has been relentless about his hatred for your crush, throwing warnings everytime possible. 

“He is not right for you. I never saw him with the same girl.” Seungkwan’s words are an echo in your mind. “You deserve more than him.”

But you want Yoon Jeonghan. Whatever or however he is. You like him as he is. 

He doesn't reciprocate the same, apparently. You never find him looking at you twice or bringing up dating or anything he usually does. You heard stories of him but not one of them playing out in reality. Does he not see you as a girl? Are you his bro?

Before you can spiral into your downfall you rush into the shower to clean yourself of the miseries. 

—

One hour into a refreshing bath and re-energized version of you, you step out of the shower only to find you forgot to bring in change of clothes. Wrapping a towel around your wet body you open the bathroom door to rush into your bedroom. 

Watching over your steps trying not to slip and meet the floor, your eyes are rooted on the floor. A rustle of a bag of chips falling on the ground startles you. 

Yoon Jeonghan is standing across the hallway still clad in his work suit, his lips parted and gaze scanning over you slowly, lingering. You grab onto the knot holding your towel tightly, the sound of your heart too loud even to your ears. With a shriek you rush into your room slamming the door behind you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck.” You pull your hair in frustration. 

Did he see you? 

Of course he did. He couldn’t move his eyes off of you. 

“Ugh.” You groan into void. How to face him again? 

You are prancing around your room—clothed, you learnt your lesson now. Wasting time inside so that magically the night will deepen and he falls asleep. You will go out once everything is clear to grab some food. Your stomach growls, not agreeing to the timeline. 

Jeonghan knocks on your door, “come out.” 

“No.” The answer is swift, surprising yourself. 

“I ordered chicken and beer.” 

He can’t know the cheat code to your weakness. How does he know it’s your favorite? You didn’t mention it to him. Did you?

He raps his knuckles again on the door. “Come on.” 

You trace the doorknob pondering. Your stomach growls yet again. You turn the knob opening the door, Jeonghan is leaning against the door frame, his suit jacket missing and the top three buttons of his dress shirt undone. 

You avoid his eyes, tucking your wet hair behind your ear. He inches towards you, lingering for a second before walking back into the living room. 

The dinner passes in silence, the usual chatterbox Jeonghan is concentrating more on his chicken. You frown when he lets you pick the movie without a fight or random game. Not wanting to let go of the golden chance you choose the cheesiest chick flick to rile him up. Only for him to watch it without a comment. 

In the middle of the movie, amidst the hero and heroine yelling their love for each other, Jeonghan’s hands rest over yours. When the couple on screen is kissing, he interlocks his fingers with yours. 

—

“I can’t believe you!” Yoon Jeonghan is pacing around your living room. “Why didn’t you say anything to me?” 

“Why are you yelling?” You shout back and shrink back into the corner of the couch receiving a glare from him. 

“Why? Why?!” He marches towards you, gripping your cheeks. “You exactly know why. Don’t play dumb.”

A storm is brewing in his black eyes, but still pretty, and still lovely. This is the exact reason you did what you did. Went on a date arranged by Seungkwan. 

It was okay. Your date was plain, boring. Ending the date quickly, you came home only to find a fuming Jeonghan. 

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You push his chest, he doesn’t budge. “Let go, Jeonghan.” 

“She doesn’t know,” his voice is low, threatening. “Sneaking into my bed middle of night thinking I don’t know, and leaving before I wake up, what does that mean?” 

He curls the stray strand behind your ear, “stealing looks, clothes. What is my hoodie doing in your closet, baby?” 

“I’m not sure.” You fluster, gripping onto the couch, pushing yourself back into it as much as you can, away from him. 

“How was he?” He pushes your chin up, “look at me.” 

“Why do you care?” You snap. “You don’t even care. I am going crazy because you don’t even care—mmmph.”

He shuts you up, crashing his lips on yours. You imagined this moment countless nights, on your bed restless and desperate. He would do it slowly, sweetly just how he is with you. But you were wrong. His kisses are feral, biting and, and, so, so Jeonghan. 

He bites on your lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue. You gasp, your tongues clashing for dominance. Slowly you follow his dance, letting him lead. You are sprawled on the couch, Jeonghan hovering over you, his knee nuzzled just right between your legs. 

He breaks the kiss, a wet string of saliva trailing behind his lips. The storms in his black eyes shifted into starry eyes, ethereal, luring you right into him. 

“Pretty boy.” You cup his cheek. He leans into your touch, closing his eyes, inhaling big gulps of air. “Mine.” 

His eyes snap open, a glimmer, possessiveness shining in them. He shifts, his knee pressing into your core. A moan spills from your lips before you can stop it, eyes fluttering shut from the bliss. He presses further extracting moan after moan. 

His name, a prayer, chanting the entire night as he makes sure you know just how much he cares. 

—

“Don’t panic,” Jeonghan chuckles at your panicky self, rummaging through the first aid kit. “It’s just blood.” 

You slam the cotton on the coffee table, glaring at him. The smile drops off his face seeing the unshed tears. A sour taste spreads across his mouth, he doesn’t like it. He hates seeing you cry, he realized. 

You weren’t a crybaby, even during the fights and silent treatment you didn’t cry. His heart softens, grasping the meaning, oh, you love him. If you asked Jeonghan later on which moment solidified his love for you, he would point out this exact moment. 

You tenderly tend his bruised hands and legs, wiping your eyes with your sleeves. Once neatly bandaged you put back everything in the kit not meeting his eyes. 

He calls your name. You shake your head. He sighs, pulling you onto his lap not heeding your warnings. He circles his arms around your waist, resting his face in your chest. 

“Home.”

—

You wake up with a jerk, heart beating against your chest like you were running a marathon. Squeezing yourself out of the tangled blanket, you wipe the wetness off your face, eyes. 

Jeonghan. You dreamt of him. It’s been so long since you have seen his smile, the dream Jeonghan was your Jeonghan, the one you fell in love with. 

It’s the day after his birthday, you want, need, to check who he celebrated it with. Who took your place in his life. You trudge to the living room searching for the phone, a dull pound in your temples slowing your body. Why did you have to drink? 

The phone is lying on the kitchen counter next to your bag, and you see notifications from Seungkwan. Twenty messages and three calls. You swipe off his ‘don’t do anything stupid’ messages and open your fake account. 

You sit on your knees, pushing your hair away from your eyes. It would be a lie to say you aren’t scared. If he has a girl again you don’t know how you would stomach it. Your thumb shivers before clicking on his profile. 

No update. No story. Or any post. You sit back on your butt staring at the dry profile. Did he finally choose to go private? Or did he figure out that bloom_234 is you? 

Or what if he didn’t have any girl last night. 

You click on his contact, still blocked. Should you unblock him? He doesn’t even know if you unblocked him, it’s been more than a half year. You unblock him before nerves get you. Or Seungkwan. 

—

“He is still sulking,” Seungkwan’s girlfriend rolls her eyes, “you know how he is.” She says with an exasperated sigh, summing up the childish acts of her boyfriend. 

It’s Sunday, and it’s been a week since you unblocked Jeonghan. He didn’t realise it just as you expected. You weren’t going to push it, or beg him this time. At least you leveled up one bit from being a pathetic loser to a loser. 

Call with Seungkwan has become inevitable as he threatened to revoke your right to be one of his groomsmen. He proposed to his long time girlfriend last weekend. 

“You would have known if you picked up my calls.” He berates when you pout about missing out on a precious moment. 

His girlfriend who was already brighter than the sun is shining like a thousand suns combined in her. The green feeling births inside your chest and you snuff it out before it can blazes over. 

“I’m so happy for you.” Your eyes prick from the overflowing emotions. “So so happy.” 

You really are. Seungkwan and you have been attached to each other since high school, seen every phase, every embarrassing moment and every key event of each other’s lives. And now marriage. 

They both smile endearingly at each other, Seungkwan kisses her ring clad finger before turning to you with a serious expression. Uh-oh.

“What were you doing all these months? Why are you avoiding me?” 

You flip the pancake, pressing on it with spatula. “I didn’t avoid you.” You hold the phone away from your face, “I was busy getting used to a new place and settling in. Mind you of the fact I have to set up everything on my own.”

Seungkwan barks into the phone, his voice loud to your quiet apartment. “You are avoiding me now. Show me your face.” 

You wince, setting the spatula down and picking up your phone. “Happy?” 

“This is exactly how a guilty person looks.” He sits up from the bed, rubbing his swollen face, “spill.”

“Spill what?” You sweat, despite the cold autumn breeze flowing in through your balcony. “Ah, there’s new love blooming in my office. Cute I have to say. Didn’t confess yet, but they are on their way.

“Can you believe Hansol also tried ‘Get Love Quick’ only to be paired with a man?” You continue not giving a second for Seungkwan to budge in. If he knows you have opened the gate to Jeonghan again, he will manifest himself next to you in mere seconds. “Well, that’s that. Anyway, Sunhee is excited that they are going out this friday. She said some place but I don’t remember where it is.”

Seungkwan calls your name in a warning. 

“What?” You whine, turning off the stove, leaning on the kitchen counter. “What else do you want me to do? I made new friends, I am not wallowing in self-pity, and I am not saying no to blind dates. What else do you want Boo Seungkwan? Should I write off my life now?”

“Did you talk with Yoon Jeonghan? Again?” Seungkwan discards your rant like removing a cherry from a cake. 

“I didn’t!” 

“Guys. Guys.” Seungkwan’s girlfriend snatches the phone from him. “You have to chill,” she chides her boyfriend. “And you,” she gets down the bed and walks out of the room, away from Seungkwan. “He is just worried about you. You literally ghosted us for months. You know how he gets.” 

You hold the bridge of your nose, letting out a long exhale. “Yeah, I am sorry.” You pick your breakfast to your couch. “It’s just.. Its too much. I mean I am human, what if I did text him,” you quickly add, noticing her alarmed expression, “I didn’t. Hypothetically, I am saying. He isn’t a bad person, you know.” 

“If he was so bad, why would I,” you trail off, not seeing the point in explaining yourself again and again to someone who just couldn’t get you. “Enough about me. How’s the celebrations going on? How did your family react to the engagement?”

She lets the topic change with a side glance. “They knew about it. He met my family and asked for their permission.” She huffs in disbelief, a smile on her face, “I can’t believe my family knows how to shut up. Usually, we kims are very bad at keeping secrets.”

“I had to prepone the date a week,” Seungkwan joins in, resting his chin on her shoulder, “her sister almost spilled the beans and I was pissing in pants the entire time. You had to be there to see it.” 

You chuckle, taking a bite of the pancake. “I missed it all, didn’t I? I am sorry, I wasn’t there to help you with your big moment.” 

“That’s okay,” Seungkwan brushes it off, his girl bobbing her head. “My big moment will be in six months, and I am gonna kill you if you miss it.” 

You screech, dropping your fork to the carpet. You promise him to be there with him for planning and executing everything, letting him verbally bind you to a contract having you to be a slave for him as long as he wants if you miss even a small event. 

You should’ve stopped yourself, should’ve seen the red light glaring but you concede away blind in happiness. 

—

Universe is plotting against you. The series of misfortunate events should speak for itself. It started with a client imposing an urgent task, throwing you off your work schedule. Your heater at home crashed forcing you to experience a free simulation of how raw chill autumn nights work. The repairman is out of town, ranaway to marry the love of his life. Administration is on look out for a replacement. And, you had to catch the new love birds making out at the staircase. 

Awkward is just another word as you currently sit at your desk avoiding your juniors. You weren’t mad per say seeing them break rules it's more of a shock, like seeing your sister make out. Sunhee has grown close to you over the days, especially after the disastrous night of her taking care of you. 

“Come on,” she swivels her chair next to you, “till when are you going to run away. I am sorry!” 

“What? Who?” You blink at her feigning innocence after almost reaching for the bleach to clean your eyes. “Did something happen that I should know of?”

Hansol stretches his body, walking away from you guys with his hands in pockets and whistling his way out. Sunhee grumbles under her breath, “scaredy-cat.” She turns to you, eye-to-eye. You push your chair away from her slowly, scared for your life. “You are almost 30, and you act like you haven’t seen a kiss or kissed someone.” 

That hurts your pride. “What?!”

She has a teasing lilt, “but that couldn’t be true.” Her eyes shine, mimicking you, “‘Hannie, Hannie, my Hannie will like Yangsan’.”

You shove her face off of you. “Shut up. We are in the office. And I am your senior. I can easily report you—” 

“Who is he?”

“I have a deadline. And you have one too.” You roll her away to her desk. “If you could go back to working I’ll be happy that I won’t need to pull another all-nighter.” 

She is back at your side in a beat. “Who is he? Tell me. It’s only fair since you know all of my love story—”

“Only because you shove it in my face even when I don’t want to—”

“—I won’t stop pestering you until you go on a date.” 

“Don’t you have a boyfriend? I’m flattered that you find me attractive but I like men.” 

“Ha. Ha. Funny.” She folds her arms, “on a blind date. With a man. That’s the only requirement for you right?” 

“Excuse me!” You are offended yet again. “My bar isn’t as low as you think. I’m one sophisticated woman.” 

“This Sunday at 6. Be ready.” She rolls away humming a song. 

Did you just get blackmailed into a date? 

—

The restaurant is bustling. You check the message from Hansol again to confirm your date is at the expensive restaurant of Yangsan. Checking up on the details of the restaurant, you had to recheck the city and pin code to make sure it’s in the city.  

People in their fifties, pepper hair and classy suits, a woman on their arm, file in and out of the wooden doors. You press the black velvet dress, smoothing down your jitters. It’s been so long since you dined in a fine restaurant. Three years to be exact. 

How bad does your date want to impress you to choose this place? Can you back out now? Is it too late? 

He’s waiting. 

-Hansol

You groan reading the text. There’s no way out of it now. You put the phone back in your purse clicking it shut. Rounding your shoulders you get ready for the date, it’s going to be alright. You flick your hair back, pulling your dress a little higher and you climb the steps to the door. A sweet valet parker beats you in opening the door for you. Mumbling a thank you, you wait for the attendee to finish up talking with an elderly couple. 

“Welcome!” The lady dressed in a red jacket and red lipstick beams at you. 

With a small smile, you check the message from Hansol again. “Hey. My reservation is for table 17?” 

She checks her iPad scrolling through her list before leading you through the oak tables, servers tending to customers, different scents of food hitting your nostrils, awakening your dead hunger. All the anxiety numbed you from the usual munching of your snacks, and the dread of the date now settled in your stomach. You may throw up if food hits your stomach but you may faint if you don’t eat anything in the next hour. Workings of your body never leaves you amazed. 

“Here you are,” she points to the empty chair, her red lips still stretched wide in a smile. 

You look up from your phone reading the sender’s name. Seungkwan. “Thank you,” you bow to the lady. Your phone vibrates in your hand, your life tilted on the axis seeing the man sitting at your table, supposed to be your date. 

Yoon Jeonghan is occupying the other chair watching you with his hooded eyes, hard to read, hard to decipher his feelings. You hold the woman’s shoulder before she can leave you two. “Are you sure this is table 17?”

Her perfect grin slips, a frown dancing on her face, checking the iPad yet again. “I am sure. This is the table. Is there any problem?”

Jeonghan shifts in his chair uncomfortably. You made the mistake of meeting his eyes, the darkness in them pulled you in, his eyebrows pulled in, and a breath escaping his parted lips. You can't believe that you are again here, in the same situation as few months ago, set up with Jeonghan coincidentally. He anticipates your decision, not saying a word or asking you to join him. Should you go along with this dinner or take a turn and make a run?

Your comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated as they encourage me to write more! Here is the like to part 2

[taegularities]

upcoming… | (m)

Summary: Jungkook once planted a garden in your chest that he watered when he smiled and you killed when he left. But flowers withering isn't enough; that doesn't mend the ache. No – you want this entire story to die.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: exes to ?, college!au; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: heartache, past breakup, flashbacks, memories, memory erasure (eternal sunshine of the spotless mind vibe), tears, angst angst angstttt, fights but also such tender moments, college sweethearts 🥺, smut (details to be added when the fic drops)… the ending 👁 ➵ est. word count: around 25k ➵ a/n: another angsty taegularities special :D coming next, so stay tuned!! 👁

–

"I do fear… what if one day, it's just me and my thoughts, and you're nowhere to be found?"

Jungkook laughed; not at your worries, but about how improbable the words sounded. It flooded a sense of relief through you when he promised, "To leave… I'd have to un-meet and forget about you entirely, you know?"

Summary: Somewhere out there, a sinister castle roams the hills behind the dense fog. And somewhere hidden inside, there is a man you need to find; to charm; to wreck. Provided… he doesn't destroy you first.

➵ pairing: Taehyung x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: howl's moving castle au, fantasy au, s2l / e2l; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: magic and stuff, spy stuff, frenemies?, bickering and initial dislike, fights, sexual tension, based on the movie version of HMC, multiple (2) smut scenes (details to be added but expect… quite smth :p) ➵ est. word count: 20k ➵ a/n: this has been a wip for literal years now, and i think it's time i sent it out into the world :') since i'm rereading the book (but the fic is based on the ghibli movie!), i've been feeling some sort of way, soooo… howl oneshot soon?

–

“Do you feel anything?”

You can't. There is no heartbeat, no steady rhythm, nothing. Yet he breathes, walks, smiles as if he's missing nothing.

You shake your head, and he chuckles, a crooked smirk that confuses you in the best way possible. He loosens his firm grip around your hand, but you still leave your touch right there, rubbing over his chest until he adds,

“A heart's a heavy burden.” The warmth of your fingers sprawls across his torso, his eyes closing. “Especially if you’re me.”

Summary: Jungkook and you try something very, very new.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: fwb/fake dating/established relationship; fluff, smut; series ➵ warnings: smut smut smut (everything else is redacted bc that'd just spoil the whole thing ha ha :D) ➵ est. word count: 10-12k ➵ a/n: this is part of my colour me in series – for those who don't know! the series is still paused, but i might continue it sometime this year if things work out. this drabble would come next <3

–

"I've been promising it for so long now," he whispers, fingertips wandering along your bare sides, beneath your crop top. "Haven't I?"

Summary: Jeon Jungkook barges into your unproblematic life unexpectedly. He's supposed to stay for the summer; but it doesn't take long for the bright days to turn grey, stirring, bittersweet; a trigger for bleak memories and a reminder that sometimes, closeness shatters more than it heals.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: s2l, summer/college au, dancer!jk; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: love triangle!!, yearning, thin walls lol, tears, fighting, old memories/childhood stuff, (mention of) drugs, abandonment, camping, multiple smut scenes (details will be added when the fic drops), plot twists, heartbreak, THE ENDING PLS ➵ est. word count: 40k lol; might split it in 2-3 parts if it gets too long ➵ a/n: i am most excited for this oneshot (?), and i have been for so long. it's a scary amount to write and i don't know when it'll be done. if i could, i'd write and post it rn… it's hella intimidating, but i love this story and i'm also hella excited, so… stay tuned and bring tissues <3

–

“Maybe… I don't know,” he pauses, blinking, and then starts anew, “maybe I'm this much with her, so I don't end up knocking at your door.”

A sting of guilt pierces your heart; you ask, “You… you guys hook up all the time. Doesn’t she feel… that way for you?”

“She doesn't.”

“And you? Do you feel anything for her?”

“I don't.” He hesitates again, shrugging a shoulder. “Well, friendship.”

“...Don't end up breaking hearts, Jungkook.”

Summary: In a world fractured by hatred, Yoongi seems your quiet salvation. But when a boy from your past returns, cloaked in secrets and unfinished memories, battle lines blur and you find yourself faced with a choice between the peace you built and the fire you never truly forgot.

➵ pairing: Yoongi x female reader, Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: royal au, s2l, childhood bf2l, love triangle; angst, fluff, smut; series ➵ warnings: there's a battle/war thing going on, love triangleeeee of the best sort, tender yoongi and fierce jungkook, some scenes are extremely tense – again in the best way possible, sexual tension, heartbreak, hate, betrayal (and nope, no cheating), multiple sex scenes (with both yoongi and jk (but not with both of them together lol)), falling in love hard, jealousy; the… the ending…… ➵ est. word count: 150-200k (around 10 chapters) ➵ a/n: THIS WILL LITERALLY RUIN US LMAO no seriously, i'm going to pour my everything into this. it's a story with quite some angst and heavy tension that even gave me trouble breathing when i was just outlining it :') yoongi in this is achingly sweet and jk is absolutely delicious. i think it'll be a piece i'm most proud of… and someday, i want to turn it into a novel. i hope you all love this 🤍

–

"I am in love with you," Yoongi whispers; your eyes water. "Even if you aren’t only in love with me. I know how this might go. And I am not saying we should make this official because – I am scared you might realise you need him more."

"It’s not about needing anybody…"

"But it’s about who sits in your heart so deeply that it feels like you need him to survive. I don’t know if I am that for you. But you’re that for me."

–

"Why are you still here, Jungkook? Why are you always around me? It’s not me you came back for."

"Sweetheart–"

"Would you have? If not for this?"

"If not for this… I would have come sooner."

Summary: A casual hook up morphs into a fierce fever dream when roommates slash best friends Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook bring heaven and hell to you – all at once, in one single night.

➵ pairing: Yoongi x female reader x Jungkook ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: kind of fwb, threesome, college au; fluff, hella smut ➵ warnings: yoongi and oc are fwb, teasing, flirting, kissing booth stuff, jk wears glasses and has long hair (manbun beloved), sexual tension, mid-sex convos, threesome, smut (e.g., double penetration, degradation, spit stuff, manhandling,.. (will expand on this once the full thing drops), aftercare, valentino yoongi and ck jk!! ➵ est. word count: 12-15k ➵ a/n: back to the ruin you days, i guess. am super excited for this to finally drop. gonna give y'all the best version of it possible, love you <3

–

“I’m just saying. Tonight might be a little too much for you with the two of us, you know? I’m not as easy to handle as you think.”

“I don’t think you are,” you confess. “But I don’t want to handle you. I want the opposite.”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes. A hint of desire, hunger growing in the predator’s big gaze. If he wants to reject you now, you’ll walk away.

But you don’t think he will.

And once more, courageous, you say, “Handle me, Jeon Jungkook.”

full teaser that i once posted!

Summary: You carve your name into Jungkook's mind with constant affection and care, and he keeps hoping that both your hearts beat in unison, synchronised and wild. But in reality, it’s only ever him who falls – you're as still as time... until, you're not.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: singer!jungkook, bf2l but also brother's best friend; angst, fluff, smut; trilogy ➵ warnings: jealousy, another love triangle lmao, namjoon is her brother and his best friend, oc playing wingwoman, confessions, pain, tears, moving away, yearning, idiots to lovers too tbh, smut <3 ➵ est. word count: around 60-70k in total ➵ a/n: this is part of my evermore series which was supposed to have a oneshot/twoshot/trilogy per member with unrelated stories; but since life has gotten so crazy, i might not be able to write all of them. but i still have tae's fic 'cotton candy' written and want to work on timbre; so these will drop at least and i am so thrilled to share them. especially this lil mini series 🤍

–

Jeon Jungkook has been in love with you since the very first time he met you.

At least that's what he'd tell you if you ever asked.

He won’t tell you that whatever respect he housed for you since you were teenagers evolved into something far more advanced along the way.

That it was over time that your friendship started blooming like the tiger lillies he liked so much. You must have been sixteen then.

Now, around eight years have passed, and the thriving musician and your best friend Jeon Jungkook is still in love with you. Boundlessly, irreversibly.

–

a/n: hey hey!! this is a small overview of all the things i shall start preparing very, very soon. i will work on these wips whenever i can, and i am excited about every single one of them. i will ofc also drop longer teasers to each story when we reach that point!

i do also think you guys will love each story! so i can't wait to drop them one by one :') this post is also sort of to motivate and inspire me, so if you want to talk about any of these or hype them up… let's talk :p

–

also, here's the taglist! <3

[sxorpiomooon]

Random things about your future lover - a pac reading

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Pile 1-

Wow these are some huge cards for some reason this picture actually reminded me of a home and looking at the cards I'd say this is the person you will set your home with or atleast share a roof with. This has got to be one of the most obvious and purest stack of cards I've ever pulled. Your future lover will be like a dream come true, everything that you have always imagined and yearned for you will find in this person. You will find your inner happiness with this person and this is most likely a soulmate connection. I think it will be love at first sight for both people and things will move pretty fast for you guys for some reason "well I'm sure that I could be a movie star if I could just get out of this place" keeps on playing in my head anyways I see alot of dancing happening between you guys. This connection will be very mutual and balanced I keep hearing ketu so this is a past life connection you guys might've been past life lovers. This connection and person will provide you with alot of courage and you will see that your luck will almost open as this person enters your life I'm seeing a pot filled with gold coins.

Pile 2-

They might like bread🙏🙏🙏 this is the first thing that I saw and it might be something you guys do alot I'm seeing alot of walking also newspapers? Brown colour seems prominent too very rusty and crispy wind and leafs. Your future lover might be someone from your friend circle or perhaps someone that you will first become friends with the only thing that is concerning for me is that this might be someone very controlling or stalker vibes? As in someone observing your each and every move in a creepy manner almost the second scenario that I'm getting is that perhaps this is someone that you stopped being friends with bc they seemed too creepy, possessive or controlling? This might also be someone who wants a lot of praise from the public and gets it. Someone who does a lot for the attention of the public to be praised and appreciated. This person is a winner

Pile 3-

Let me tell you something..... I'm trying very hard to get or pull atleast something positive and there is nothing... This person seems like a control freak worse than my pile 2 very controlling and possessive all three cards point in the same direction. This person might put alot of restrictions on you or just creepy in general. Someone who acts less like a lover and more like a father. Will act very authoritative and treat you very lowly I don't wanna channel no more🙏 IN NO CIRCUMSTANCES MUST YOU GET INVOLVED WITH A BAD BOY BECAUSE YOU THINK ITS COOL MY PILE 3 IN NO WAY

Pile 4-

Huge chances that this is someone from your past. when you meet this person the next time whether it's your first or not you'll observe that this is someone who is going through healing like very big healing physically as well as mentally. I keep thinking of the word rehabilitation there is something very strange its almost as if you will meet them in a completely different personality or persona that they have. They might have gone through some very painful betrayals and might be healing from that. However I do see that this person is very gentle you might not be able to get a grasp of how they truly are in the beginning because they might be still going through their healing I keep thinking of the fault in our stars as well. This is someone who is very compassionate, might give and donate to others alot, very providing of others need. They might have no dreams nothing very empty or lost when you meet them. A very pure person and this connection will unravel beautifully.

[httpwintersoldier]

opla men hc || when there's sexual tension between you and them

ᴢᴏʀᴏ ; ᴍɪʜᴀᴡᴋ ; ʟᴜғғʏ ; sᴀɴᴊɪ ; sʜᴀɴᴋs ; ʙᴜɢɢʏ ᴄᴡ: ɴᴏ sᴘᴇᴄɪғɪᴄs

ᴢᴏʀᴏ

⤷ zoro can't place a finger on what it is he's feeling, he just knows he's feeling something

⤷ and that something substantially increases when you're near

⤷ it especially increases when you wear tight clothes and little dresses

⤷ it wasn't until you placed a hand on his thigh and got him thinking where he really wanted that hand that he pieced everything together

⤷ he would try to calm himself down and ignore the feeling but he would eventually just give up

⤷ zoro wouldn't talk to you or confront you about the issue - that's not his style

⤷ the swordsman would just touch you a little more and a little closer to the places he shouldn't have his eyes on

⤷ and eventually you'd give in and make a move - he would definitely make you think the whole thing was your idea, that he hadn't been teasing on purpose you for the longest time

⤷ "you're better than I've been imagining..."

ᴍɪʜᴀᴡᴋ

⤷ he's a very intense person, and he gets what he wants

⤷ so when he set his eyes on you and felt the heavy air in the room whenever you two were together he knew you wanted him as badly as he wanted you

⤷ but mihawk wanted to see you work for it

⤷ he would touch you and whisper in your ear, he would say things in a sexual manner on purpose to get you to blush while thinking improper things in front of him

⤷ mihawk would only be satisfied when you were desperate and begging for him, even if that meant he had to wait - he was a masochist, that was for sure

⤷ "when you're ready to beg for me I'd be more than delighted to bend you over on this table and fuck you"

ʟᴜғғʏ

⤷ luffy, like zoro, wouldn't really know what the funny feeling he got in his body when he was around you meant

⤷ but one sure thing was that he always felt like something pulled him towards you whenever you entered the room

⤷ he wouldn't be able to stop himself from touching you, sometimes inappropriately

⤷ luffy and social cues weren't a match, so whenever he'd feel like it he would sneak his arms around you and grab your tits, or sneak his hand up your skirt when he got a peek of your ass

⤷ and you didn't stop him, of course

⤷ you'd scold him in a pathetic attempt to pretend you somehow disliked it, but the combo of his innocent face and dirty hands roaming your body excited you

⤷ "but y/n your tits are so soft... and it makes me feel good when I touch you"

sᴀɴᴊɪ

⤷ sanji swears up and down that he has a connection with everyone - but he swears just as hard that it's different with you

⤷ you even begin to think that you might be the only person on the face of the earth sanji didn't flirt with

⤷ what you didn't know was that sanji's head was so occupied with thoughts of everything he wanted to do to you that any and every word meant for you would get stuck in his throat

⤷ it would get to the point where you'd actually go and ask him

⤷ and boy would sanji have to restrain himself

⤷ seeing you all sweet, shy and adorable... looking at the ground as you asked if he disliked you, just basically yearning for his approval... it took everything in him not to fuck you dumb in the very hallway you stood

⤷ "oh chéri, you've got it all wrong... it's not that I hate you, it's that I really want to fuck you"

sʜᴀɴᴋs

⤷ your and shanks' sexual tension would be there from day one

⤷ when he wants something, he wants it - and he gets it

⤷ it was just a matter of when you'd give in and let him fuck you

⤷ but shanks was subtle, he wanted you to want him, shanks would never ask someone to fuck him, let alone beg - he would work his magic and the people he wanted would come crawling

⤷ you were no different

⤷ it would start with small touches that would progressively get more and more bold - the hand on the small of your back would brush past your ass when he passed by, the kisses on the cheek as a greeting were so close to your lips he might as well just kiss you and half of the things shanks told you were whispered in your ear, with a hand holding your jaw

⤷ you'd find yourself leaning more and more into his touch, slowly yearning that his actions became more bold, that shanks would grab your ass, that he'd make out with you and that he'd put his pretty mouth to good use somewhere else

⤷ "Come take a seat on my lap, princess, you might want to extend your stay on it and all... just not with any clothes on"

ʙᴜɢɢʏ

⤷ unlike most above, buggy does not beat around the bush

⤷ when he wants something he wants it in that moment and it will either happen the good way or the bad way

⤷ but this time he was sure the glances you stole and the way your hand would brush past several of his body parts was not a coincidence, and that the heavy air wasn't humidity - you definitely wanted him too

⤷ buggy would smack your ass and squeeze your body as you passed by, hissing when you teased him back

⤷ he didn't care if people saw it, he wanted to feel you and he was going to feel you until he got you alone so he could fill you up - and he was impatient

⤷ "if you're not in my room tonight I will find you and fuck you wherever you are, and whoever is nearby will be our audicence. I'm sure they will enjoy your pretty noises"

[theonottsbxtch]

AMNESIA | OP81

a/n: y'all i am so sorry. i've been sitting on this baddie for ages and i just couldn't be bothered to edit it, this is top level oscar angst. it's based off of amnesia by 5sos. SORRY.

summary: one night oscar let himself think about the one who got away

wc: 4.6k

Oscar gazed out over Monaco's glittering lights, the city sprawled before him like a velvet tapestry studded with jewels. The night lay in deceptive calm; the sea mirrored the stars in a still, silken sheet, but inside him, a tempest churned. All the luxury, all the glamour that gilded his world now felt hollow—empty without her presence. His fingers brushed the cool glass of the window, tracing the outline of a city that seemed distant, belonging to another man, untroubled and free, unburdened by memories.

The places they once roamed together, the routines they’d crafted, played like a mournful melody on endless repeat. He’d passed by their café today—the quiet refuge hidden from the world’s demands, where they’d while away hours, lost in each other’s gaze. He could still catch the faint scent of fresh coffee, could almost see her across the table, her smile as warm as the dawn. Yet now, the café was just another reminder, another ghost in the shadowed gallery of what they’d been.

The memory of their last kiss lingered, a phantom warmth on his lips he couldn’t shake. He had been the one to walk away, thinking it was right, believing he needed to chase ambition. But the choice had hollowed him. Each race, each practice, each night spent alone in this lofty apartment felt empty, robbed of meaning in her absence.

Even his team had begun to notice the change—the sharpness, the fire that once defined him, had dulled, blunted by the ache lodged deep within his chest. But how could he explain it? How could he tell them it wasn’t distraction, but a haunting? That he saw her everywhere—in the empty passenger seat of his car, in the fleeting reflections of strangers, in the vast, cold expanse of a bed that was now too wide without her beside him.

Oscar clenched his eyes shut, hoping to block out the onslaught of images, the merciless surge of memories. He should have been fixed on the next race, on reclaiming his rightful place, yet his mind clung only to her—how she’d felt in his arms, how her laughter had once been the melody of his days, how he’d let it all slip away.

They’d said she was fine, her friends—moving on, happy with someone new. But the thought of her wrapped in another man's embrace twisted like a blade in his chest. Did she ever think of him? Did she lie awake at night, swallowed by the same hollow ache that now gnawed at him? Or had she truly found happiness, leaving him behind in the shadows?

He opened his eyes, gazing into the darkness beyond the window, his breath misting the glass. The city slumbered, but for Oscar, the night stretched on—a sleepless expanse, each hour chafing like a missing piece of himself. He wondered if she felt it too, this void, this yearning.

Pressing his forehead to the cold glass, he tried to silence the storm of thoughts that would not leave him be. His reflection stared back, but all he saw were the ruins of their love—cracked, scattered, yet searingly vivid in his mind. He’d tried to move forward, to focus on what lay ahead, but it was impossible when the past clung to him like a shadow he could not shake.

Sometimes, in the small hours, on nights like these when sleep eluded him, he found himself wondering if it was all some quiet fiction. If it had ever been real—how could she be at ease now? How could she smile, laugh, and carry on while he lay adrift, lost in the wreckage they’d left behind? He was the one who ended it, yes, but it made no sense—how could she be whole when he was anything but?

The memory of her leaving was burnt into his mind, sharp as a fresh wound. He could still see the tears tracing lines down her cheeks, smudging the makeup she’d so carefully applied that morning. She’d looked at him with those eyes—eyes that once overflowed with love—and told him she loved him, one last time, before stepping through the door. Her words had broken him, though he’d tried to hold steady, to let her go, thinking it was the right thing to do, for her, for himself. Only now did he realise, with an ache that sat heavy in his chest, how terribly wrong he was.

Now, he couldn’t help but feel that something precious had been left behind—something beyond recall. The dreams they’d woven together, the fragile plans they’d made for a shared tomorrow—all vanished, tossed aside as if they held no weight. But they mattered—to him, they meant everything. Every wish whispered in the dead of night, every quiet promise wrapped in the dark—they’d been the scaffolding of his life, and without them, he felt himself unravelling, thread by thread.

There were days he wished he could simply wake up with amnesia, that he could shed these small, lingering ghosts. The way it felt to drift off beside her, her warmth curled into him, the ease of knowing she was near. He longed to erase the moments that had become his prison, holding him captive in a past that no longer existed. But try as he might, he could not outrun them; they were carved deep into his soul, and the pain of them remained unyielding.

He wasn’t fine. He was far from fine. Each day was a struggle, a battle waged against the crushing weight of what he’d lost. And as much as he tried to tell himself it was for the best, that she was better off without him, the truth haunted him: he couldn’t stop thinking of her. He couldn’t stop wishing he’d done things differently, that he’d fought harder to keep his career alongside his life with her, instead of letting it all slip so easily through his fingers.

Now, all he had were memories—memories that lingered no matter how fiercely he wanted to leave them behind. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, the sadness in her gaze as she walked away, the dreams they’d once shared now scattered fragments of a life that might have been. And the hardest part was knowing it had been his own undoing. He’d unravelled the best thing in his life, and now he was left alone, gathering up the broken pieces in silence.

Beside him, his phone began to buzz on the floor, its screen lighting up with a familiar name and picture: Mum. The ringing seemed louder in the stillness of the apartment, an unwelcome noise that echoed off the walls, rattling something deep inside his chest. He knew why she was calling—she’d fallen into the habit of phoning him at this hour because she knew he’d be awake. For him, it was the dead of night; for her, the garden back home would be bathed in sunlight. He loved talking to his mother, but tonight, the thought of words felt heavy, too much to bear.

He watched the phone vibrate, his thumb hovering over the screen, torn between the urge to answer and the weight of guilt that kept him frozen. It wasn’t just any call—it was his mother, the one who had stood by him through every triumph and every heartbreak, who had supported him in ways no one else ever could. But answering meant facing the truth he’d been desperately avoiding, the truth that gnawed at him in the quiet moments when he was alone with his thoughts.

A minute slipped by before he finally chose to call her back.

He leaned forward, his face buried in his hands, the cool press of the bracelet she’d given him once biting into his brow. He’d turned everything into a mess, and now he sat alone, left to sort through the pieces with only his guilt and the hollow ache of knowing he’d hurt the one person who mattered most. With a trembling breath, he lifted his phone and dialled her, listening to the ring on the other end, each sound stretching the seconds to a taut and silent ache.

"Hello?" Her voice came softly through the line—gentle, patient, as if she'd been waiting, as if she knew he would find his way back. A quiet relief coloured her tone, and it twisted something deep within him.

"Hey, Mum," he managed, his voice barely a murmur. "Sorry I missed your call."

"It’s alright, love." She paused, and he could almost see her there, sitting with a slight crease of worry between her brows, waiting for him to speak, to let her in. "I just... wanted to check on you."

He forced a laugh, aiming for something light, but it fell flat, hollow. "I’m fine, really. Just… thinking, I suppose."

But she sensed it immediately—the weight in his voice, the heaviness he hadn’t managed to hide. "It’s alright if you’re not, Osc. You don’t have to pretend with me."

He swallowed, his eyes pressing shut against the sudden sting of tears. She’d always been able to see through him, to know when his heart was shadowed. "I know, Mum," he whispered, feeling his walls begin to crack. "It’s just… I- I don’t know." He stopped, the words tangling and tightening.

Her voice was soft, urging him gently. "What is it, darling?"

He opened his mouth, but the confession he’d been burying for so long felt like a lead weight on his tongue. Finally, he managed, “She seems to be doing well, Mum,” he murmured, forcing a fragile smile, one that remained unseen. “I saw some photos on her Instagram… she’s smiling, with a new lad. It appears she’s finally moved on.”

A long pause unfurled, stretching until it became almost unbearable. Oscar shifted on the floor, the weight of silence gnawing at his insides.

When his mother finally spoke, her voice, soft yet sharp, sliced through the stillness like a knife. “No, sweetheart, she’s not doing well.”

Her words struck him like a punch to the gut. For a moment, he forgot how to breathe, the air trapped within him as if his lungs had lost their way. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the tide of emotion threatening to engulf him.

“What do you mean?” he whispered, his voice barely escaping his lips.

A sigh escaped the line, heavy with a lilt of disappointment. “She’s just… she’s not the same anymore, Osc. She wears a brave facade, but when I look into her eyes… I see the hurt. She’s been suffering for far too long.”

Guilt, which he had desperately tried to bury for months, clawed its way to the surface, tightening around his heart like a vice. His hand trembled as it pressed to his forehead, battling to hold himself together, but the truth was a burden too great to bear.

“It’s my fault,” he choked, voice cracking. “I hurt her, Mum… I did this to her.”

Tears began to cascade down his cheeks, unbidden, and he made no move to wipe them away. Deep within, he knew that no amount of regret or self-loathing could alter the past. The girl he had loved, the one who had given him everything, lay shattered because of him. And nothing, ever, would set that right.

His breath hitched as he fought to control the tremors coursing through his body. Tears streamed down his cheeks, hot and relentless, and he made no effort to hide them. “I messed up, Mum. I thought I could manage it all—balance my racing and us. But I was wrong. I didn’t realise how deeply I’d hurt her until it was too late.”

His mother’s voice broke through the haze of his despair, filled with a blend of concern and compassion. “Oh, Oscar… you were so focused on your dreams. You believed that if you succeeded, everything else would fall into place. But in your pursuit, you lost sight of what truly mattered. It’s okay.”

He winced at the truth in her words, the painful reality sinking in deeper. “I thought I could make it up to her later, that she’d understand. I convinced myself it was just temporary… but now she’s gone, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

The guilt twisted in his gut, a constant reminder of his choices. “I pushed her away. I didn’t see how much she was struggling, how lonely she felt while I was out there chasing trophies and glory. And now?” His voice cracked under the weight of his regret. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Every time I step into the car, all I see is her face, and it breaks me.”

“She was proud of you, Osc. She wanted you to chase your dreams, but she needed you too. You can’t forget that,” his mother said gently, offering solace amidst his turmoil.

“I should have been there for her,” he sobbed, shaking his head violently, as if trying to rid himself of the haunting memories. “Instead, I just kept pushing her further away. I thought I was doing the right thing, focusing on my career. I didn’t realise that she was suffering… that I was breaking her heart.”

His mother’s voice softened, filled with empathy. “It’s okay to make mistakes, sweetheart. What matters now is what you do next. You can’t change the past, but you can strive to make things right.”

He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, frustration boiling beneath the surface. “But how? How do I even begin to make it right? She deserves better than what I gave her. I don’t know if she’ll even want to talk to me.”

“She might need time, but that doesn’t mean it’s over,” she replied, her tone reassuring. “If you truly care about her, you need to show her that you’re ready to listen, to support her, and to be there. It won’t be easy, but it’s worth it.”

Oscar looked up at the ceiling, wiping the remnants of tears from his cheeks. “I’ll talk to her, Mum. “

His mother’s voice came through the phone, steady and reassuring. “That’s a brave decision, Osc. But remember, you can’t expect it to go your way. She’s been hurt, and it’ll take time for her to process everything.”

“I know,” he replied, his voice steadier now, but tinged with uncertainty. “But I want her to see that I’m serious about changing, about being there for her this time. I just… I don’t know how to start.”

“Just be honest with her,” she advised, her tone gentle yet firm. “Let her share her feelings without interruption. If she needs to vent or express her pain, listen to her. Don’t try to fix everything in that moment. Just let her feel heard and understood.”

Oscar nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “You’re right. I’ve spent so long focused on what I wanted to say that I forgot about what she needs to hear. She deserves that.”

“Exactly. And keep in mind, this conversation might not go the way you hope. She may still be angry or hurt, and that’s okay. It’s part of the healing process. You have to be ready for any response,” she cautioned, her voice steady and comforting.

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me at all?” The thought knotted his stomach again, a fear he couldn’t shake. “What if she’s moved on for good?”

“Then you respect her decision,” his mother replied, her tone still calm. “You can’t control how she feels or what she chooses to do. All you can do is be honest about your feelings and show her that you’re committed to making things right. If it’s meant to be, it will find a way.”

He took a deep breath, the reality of the situation washing over him. “I just want her to know that I’ve changed. That I see now what really matters. I won’t let her down again.”

“Show her, don’t just tell her,” she emphasised softly. “Actions speak louder than words, darling. If she sees that you’re genuinely trying to be better, it may help rebuild that trust. But remember, trust takes time to restore.”

“I understand,” he murmured, feeling a mix of hope and trepidation. “I just wish I could fast forward to the part where everything’s okay again.”

His mother sighed, a sound heavy with experience. “Life doesn’t work that way, my love. But taking this first step, reaching out to her, is where it all begins. Just be patient with yourself and with her.”

He nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Okay. I’ll reach out to her today. No more waiting.”

“That’s the spirit,” she said, pride shining through her voice. “And whatever happens, remember that you’re not alone in this. I’m here for you every step of the way.”

Oscar took a deep breath. “Thanks, Mum. I love you.”

“Just keep your heart open, Osc. You’re strong enough to handle whatever comes next.”

When he hung up, he looked at his phone, looking for her familiar contact. He’d never removed the heart from her name.

His thumb hovered over the text button and before he could second guess himself, he texted her.

Are you up?

He’d seen that she was in England on holiday, it was two in the morning, she probably wasn’t awake.

Then his phone buzzed.

Yes.

A surge of adrenaline rushed through him, and without thinking, he pressed the call button, the sound of the dial tone echoing in the quiet of the night. Each ring felt like an eternity, his heart racing with anticipation and anxiety. Finally, her sleepy voice broke through the silence.

The silence stretched between them, heavy and filled with unacknowledged tension. “Hey,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “How are you doing?”

There was a pause, a rustling on the other end as she shifted, likely pulling the blankets tighter around her. “Why are you calling, Osc? It’s three in the morning.”

His heart warmed at the sound of the nickname, a reminder of their intimacy, but it quickly sank as he realised what was happening. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to articulate his thoughts. “I just… I wanted to hear your voice. I miss you.”

The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw. There was another silence, and his heart skipped a beat, fearing her response. She then spoke, her voice trembling slightly. “You can’t do that to me, Osc.”

“I know,” he rushed to say, desperation creeping into his tone. “I messed up. I know I hurt you, and I’m sorry. I just… I can’t shake the feeling that I need to talk to you. That I need you to know I care.”

Her voice cracked. “You can’t just call me out of the blue and expect everything to be fine. It’s not fair.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, the weight of regret settling heavily in his chest. “I thought focusing on my racing would help us, but I see how selfish I was. I should have fought harder for us.”

There was a long silence, and he could hear her breathing unsteadily on the other end. “I’ve moved on, Oscar,” she finally said, her voice steady but laced with a hint of pain. He knew she had, but he wouldn’t tell her that. “I’m in a relationship now.”

He felt like the air had been sucked from his lungs, those words seemed like there was a finality to them. “Are you happy?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I think I am,” she replied, her words soft yet resolute. “It’s been a while since you left, and I’ve built a life for myself. I’ve found someone who makes me smile.”

Oscar’s heart sank further. “And us? Did I make you happy? Can I still-?”

She took a shaky breath, and he could almost picture her struggling to hold back tears. “You don’t get to decide that now. You can’t just call me and ask me to forget everything that happened between us.”

“I know,” he said, his voice filled with desperation. “But I didn’t call to erase the past. I just wanted you to know that I care, and I’m sorry for what I did. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I can’t keep going back and forth,” she said, her voice trembling. “You can’t just pull me back in when it’s convenient for you. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“I know it’s not fair, but please—” He stopped, the reality crashing down around him. “I just want you to be happy.”

He heard her wipe her tears through the phone, and he could hear the anguish in her voice as she spoke. “It hurts too much to think about us, Osc. I thought I could just move on, but then you call, and it all comes rushing back. You can’t do this to me.”

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, his heart breaking for her. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”

“Do you even understand what it feels like to be in love with someone and then have them walk away?” she asked, her voice choked with emotion. “I had to put myself back together. I can’t just let you waltz back into my life and expect everything to be okay.”

“I don’t want to disrupt your life,” he said, anguish threading through his words. “I just wanted a chance to make things right.”

“I appreciate that, but it’s too late for us,” she said firmly, though her voice trembled with pain. “I’ve spent too long trying to heal, and I won’t go back to that place.”

“Are you sure?” he pressed, desperation creeping into his tone. “Is there no part of you that wants to try again?”

“I can’t,” she replied, her voice steady despite the tears. “I have to think about myself now. I deserve to be happy, and I’m finally starting to feel that way.”

The finality in her words shattered something deep within him. “I understand,” he said, his heart heavy with defeat. “I just wish things were different.”

“Me too,” she said softly. “But this is where we are now.”

The finality in her words shattered something deep within him. “And what if I quit? Could we try then?”

There was a pause, a moment where he hoped for a glimmer of possibility, but her next words were like a cold splash of water. “Osc, your career wasn’t the only problem. There was more. We were just two kids in love who ignored all the signs.”

He felt the weight of her words press down on him, the truth of their shared past enveloping him like a fog. “I know I was blind to everything else. I thought racing was all that mattered, but it wasn’t. It never was.”

“It was part of it, but not the only thing,” she said softly, the pain evident in her tone. “We had our own issues—communication, trust, the way we handled our dreams. I can’t just pretend those things don’t exist because you’re ready to start over.”

“I wish I could change everything,” he said, feeling the reality of their situation wash over him. “But I can’t undo the past.”

“Exactly,” she replied, her voice heavy with finality. “And I can’t keep holding on to what might have been. I need to let go.”

The ache in his heart deepened, a hollow feeling that filled the silence between them. “I understand,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I just wanted one more chance.”

“Sometimes, Osc, wanting isn’t enough,” she replied gently. “I wish you all the best. Truly. But we can’t go back.”

As the silence settled between them, Oscar felt the gravity of their words hanging heavily in the air. He took a shaky breath, gathering the strength to say what he had been holding back. “I love you,” he finally confessed, the vulnerability of his admission pouring out like a lifeline into the void.

“I hope one day you find someone who loves you the same way you love me now,” she replied softly, her voice tinged with sadness but also warmth. “You deserve it, Osc.”

The sincerity in her words pierced him, both a comfort and a heartache all at once. “I wish it could have been us,” he said, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill over anew.

“Me too,” she whispered. “But sometimes love isn’t enough. Take care of yourself, Osc.”

With that, there was a final, lingering pause before she hung up. The sound of the call ending echoed in his ears, a quiet punctuation mark on the chapter of their story that had abruptly closed.

Oscar sat there on the floor, phone still in hand, the world around him fading into a blur. He let the tears flow freely, each drop a testament to the pain and regret he felt. It was as if all the walls he had built around his heart crumbled at once, leaving him exposed and raw.

He hugged his knees to his chest, letting the sobs escape his throat uncontrollably. The quiet of the night felt suffocating, amplifying the silence left in her absence. Memories of their laughter, their shared dreams, and the warmth of her embrace flooded his mind, each thought a dagger twisting deeper into his chest.

He could still hear her voice, the way it had trembled when she spoke about moving on, and the way she had wished him happiness even as she let go. It felt impossibly cruel that she had found a way to be happy without him, while he remained lost in the wake of his choices.

Hours felt like minutes as he sat there on the floor, surrounded by the darkness of his room and the echo of a love that had once felt invincible. It was hard to imagine a future where he could love someone else the way he had loved her, knowing that part of his heart would always belong to the girl who had slipped through his fingers.

But it was his fault.

And there was nothing he could do now.

the end.

taglist: @iimplicitt @marshmummy @piastrams

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 04. FELLED BY YOU

a/n: i've served three chapters of angst and teasing and almosts that never came to fruition. but today is the day! today logan howlett gets fucked. i mean...does the fucking. you know what i mean. there's gonna be some hints of pain, but really he's starting to focus more on getting it right this time around. so be prepared for the filth to come.

summary: the importance of you slammed into him during your two weeks spent apart. yet when he's forced to confront the truth, he finds himself stuck between having you or hurting you.

word count: 9.7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, wade continues to be the worlds worst wingman, yearning, angst, fluff, flirting heavily, nasty sex, p in v sex, logan gets flashed in a good way, oral (f receiving), reverence and romance, logan is an idiot until he's not, exhibitionsim (kinda if you squint really hard), pain play cause he's a whore, he lifts you cause he's strong like that.

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Time didn't exist in a linear line for him. Never a single point that drew his life from one spot to another. His constant loss of memories and different universes left him numb to the concept as a whole. He found it better to ignore the thought—move past the tragedies that came next quicker than what already happened.

What was time to an immortal man who'd lived through too much already?

What did he have left to lose?

He never found himself counting the minutes, hours, and days before you. To him, they were a jumble of things that only shifted to become one solid fact. A year he'd never get back. Moments he might one day lose. Faces he would one day come to outlive—to see grow old and pass. People he'd never meet again.

He didn't bother with it.

Until he spent a night wrapped around you and fell asleep with no nightmares. He woke up long before you ever would—dawn barely cracking across the night's darkened armor. The clock on your nightstand read five a.m., but his body shouted something different. He wasn't fatigued like every other morning coupled with endless nights of no sleep, dreading the next time he had no choice but to close his eyes.

Logan almost wished he crawled back into the bed in order to watch you be roused from sleep with the beep of your alarm. He should have. At least then he'd be counted as a smart man for not sneaking out and heading home. Even thinking of what came to your mind when you woke up sent pain down his chest.

"Punch buggy!" A gloved fist slammed into his shoulder with enough weight behind it to cause the car to jerk left.

"Fuck!" he growled, slamming his foot on the brake and whipping around to embed his claws in Wade's leg. "Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up!"

"Rules of the highway Log–"

Red splattered against his makeshift yellow suit as he dug his other set of claws into Wade's chest with a roar. In his peripheral vision he caught sight of a small red car whizzing by. The driver laying on the horn with an anger Logan felt at the base of his stomach. Wade pointed to it with a smile in a meager attempt to lighten the mood.

He wouldn't say he was on edge. That would be a pathetic attempt at lying.

He passed edge one week and six days ago. Twenty-four hours after leaving your apartment Logan met the edge of his anger, and flew right off without bothering to keep himself in check. Two weeks without your presence. The sound of your voice, the warmth of your scent. Two weeks of a fucking mission Wade convinced him to go on; with the claim that they'd be back before Friday.

Which wound up extending to yet another five days of being stuck in the back fucking woods of Virginia—stuffed into an already small truck. The rhythmic clunk of the shovels in the bed slamming against the side already had him gritting his teeth. An hour of driving with Wade's game of spotting cars caused him to almost crack his molars.

Logan wasn't a patient man.

He swung first and asked questions later. That was his way of living. Two weeks of counting the seconds as they passed by like molasses only seemed to reaffirm that fact. He knew irony lingered in the truth; an immortal man who held less than an ounce of patience in his body.

There had to be a joke in there somewhere that Wade would no doubt yank out before the end of this trip.

Retracting his claws, he settled back in his seat to glare at the deserted long road ahead of them that seemed to lead nowhere. The car became a prison he couldn't escape an hour ago. And the appeal of trying to kill the man beside him only grew the longer he sat there. Logan already felt like a piece of shit for leaving with no explanation. He didn't need Wade's blood to make it worse.

With a huff he slammed open the car door and got out. The air was hot, stale, and left him choking in the leather suit that already clung to his skin. He tugged at the collar, sucking in air to get his heart to stop racing.

It proved to be difficult when your face distraught with tears began to morph, take shape into the you he couldn't save.

"Something tells me this has nothing to do with not getting to visit pound town before we left." When he was met with a wall of silence, Wade's head fell back with a groan. "Please hold while we deal with another existential crisis guys. He'll get there eventually."

Logan's fingers curled into fists. Wade—relentless as he was—refused to be pushed away this time. He leaned against the car, twirling his baby knife as Logan tried to hold back every ounce of fucking anger that needed an outlet. None of it was pointed at the Merc with a Mouth. Not even the nonsensical comments could penetrate Logan's otherwise silent exterior.

No, Logan knew exactly where the anger was directed. He knew that all of this rage stemmed from his own self loathing. For doing to you what he knew would hurt the most. For doing...exactly what the other you did.

Leaving wouldn't give him the opportunity to run from his pain. Fuck he figured that out a long time ago, but that never stopped him from trying.

He was an old dog with one singular trick. Hurting the ones he loved.

"Just call sweet angel up, say that you're with your old pal Wade, and explain in extreme detail how you'd love to bend her over every surface in that apartment you stare longingly at like you're waiting for her to return from war."

Telling him to shut the fuck up would only incur more bullshit to leave his mouth. Logan chose the easier route and stared into space; focused on the way his heart began to slow the more he thought about that night. How you slept against him without fear. Your hands pressed to his chest, face tucked into his shoulder. Somehow in the span of a few hours you were able to make him feel normal again.

"How much longer do I have to deal with your fuckin' bullshit?"

"One day give or take who drives."

"You're not driving."

Wade shrugged. "Your mistake." With a swift turn, he leapt into the bed of the truck and grabbed the two shovels. "Now give me a smile with those Tony award winning teeth of yours cause we've got work to do."

The endless nothingness of fields and flat ground would eventually drive him insane. One more day didn't sound awful if he knew that you were waiting for him at the end of all this. But that remained the problem he couldn't solve—the nightmare that followed him in his waking world. What if you weren't there? What if that was his final chance and you made the choice for him?

He sighed, squinting his eyes against the sun. "Alright. Give me the damn shovel."

The constant tapping of your boss's pen was going to drive you insane. Although if someone were to ask you, this wasn't the first time in the past two weeks that you were holding onto your temper by the skin of your teeth. In fact, you couldn't recall a time where your body and mind had been this on edge. As if you were a rubber band pulled tight, ready to snap at a moment's notice.

"Three days off?" Her voice remained monotone—grating against your already racing mind.

"Yes," you replied.

The request would go through without issue; you'd been here before, asking the same routine questions. Only this time you felt the unease from that morning begin to work its way through your body. Doubt lay heavy on your heart the more you ran each minute in your mind. Combing over where you might have gone wrong—what would have made him want to leave.

Waking up without Logan wasn't what set you on a path to self-destruction. At first, you were logical enough to assume that he was a busy man; being a superhero and all. He must have a good reason as to why he slipped out of your bed before the sun could fully rise, leaving behind nothing but flowers that now sat dead in a vase, and a brand new door.

Two weeks without a single word—without an explanation or a reason—began to grate on your mind. Pulling at each worry with an intensity that left you winded. Until you were forced to confront the idea that this whole thing...what you and Logan intended to start...wasn't what he had in mind to begin with.

"I'll grant you the days." The slow build of relief flooded your nerves that were already shot to shit. "Just next time you decide to sneak a guest in, please make sure he signs for a visitor's pass."

A familiar wave of discomfort spilled in your chest. Getting caught wasn't on your schedule of things to happen when it came to your job. Then again, having Logan in your life wasn't a part of your plan either. Yet somehow that happened as naturally as taking a deep breath of fresh air.

He didn't step into your life with a stoic aura of peace.

Logan crashed into it head first without a choice.

You remained a gravitational pull, an orbit he couldn't escape from, and without warning he'd been pulled to you. Where he'd exist until it was time for him to be set free.

What remained of your fear—the one thing that kept you from falling wholeheartedly—was that one day Logan might come to the decision all on his own. Without bothering to tell you, or let you in on the secret. That after all that happened...he might want to be set free. If he didn't already.

The walk back to your apartment dragged longer than it should. Your steps were slower, mind entirely distracted from the task at hand, and body aching from lack of sleep. Two weeks without Logan left you questioning why you bothered to pursue him at all. Why had you given him so much freedom to roam in and out of your life? Especially when you'd never done that with any other person before.

You knew the answer.

Logan offered you a chance to live in a way you never thought of before. Fear of the unknown kept you complacent; stuck in your ways. In such a short time he managed to slowly peel away what still remained. The anxiety that lingered in your heart at the thought of being loved—of falling in love.

He shattered your walls without even trying.

Accepting that is what left you struggling to breathe after drowning in what he gave. You were supposed to be the one to lead him out of the dark waters, back to a shore of safety, yet somehow he pulled you right in with him.

That is what kept you right on the edge of whatever this could possibly become.

You wanted to ask him why he left. Dig into his thoughts and pull free your answers. He might give you a fight—knowing what Wade told you about him having a tough exterior—but this wasn't nothing to you. All you wanted was to know that he held the same belief. That this meant something.

Calling his phone never worked—going directly to a voicemail box he never set up. Texting him wasn't an option, and you couldn't exactly write him a handwritten letter to send off without an address of where to go. Which left you here. Stuck in the radio silence and waiting for a response to crack through all the static.

Digging for your keys at the bottom of your work bag nearly caused you to miss the woman standing by your door. Her hair was tied into a messy updo, showcasing the familiar white streaks you'd seen before. Something akin to joy flushed through your body as Vanessa pushed away from the wall—two coffees held in her hands and a paper bag that smelled eerily like bagels tucked into her arm.

"I wonder when I'd see you again," you said, catching her smile as you slid the key into your new lock with ease.

"Blame Wade. He's been keeping me hostage for weeks."

You snorted, tossing your bag and coat on the table. The flowers—now dried and falling to pieces—still remained the centerpiece of your apartment. Petals were scattered along the wood, some now on the floor. But you couldn't find it in yourself to throw them out. You still held out hope that they might bring him back to you, even if he didn't want to return.

"I don't need to know the gory details," you sighed, accepting the tepid coffee and cold bagel. "How long did you wait?"

"Thirty minutes." She fell to your couch with a groan, kicking off her heeled boots. "I figured you were well into the first stage of wallowing and might need someone to drag you out of it."

"I'm not–"

Her eyes fell to the bouquet, lips pursed as if fighting a smile. "And those are from who again?"

"Just because I kept them doesn't mean I'm wallowing." You collapsed beside her, exhaustion withering your body quicker than the sun did with those flowers. "I just haven't cleaned yet."

"Right."

Vanessa had been your friend since Wade moved in across the street and accidentally almost killed you in the middle of the street. She wound up apologizing for him with two bottles of wine and hours of conversation. Even in the midst of their breakup, she still solidified herself in your life with nights of movies and days out in the city. You never thought you'd get a friend out of living here, but somehow life without Ness in it felt bleak.

Which gave her the ability to read you like an open book. She'd seen what you looked like after a breakup—she’d endured countless talking stages with you—and was able to pick out the signs of what your pain looked like.

"He's coming back, you know."

Your heart fluttered at the mere mention of his existence; you silently cursed yourself for it. "Did Wade tell you that?"

She nodded, taking a sip of the shitty cold coffee with a grimace. "I love the man, but he has the worst timing."

"Timing?" You sat up, alert for the first time since waking up alone. "What are you talking about?"

"I figured you didn't know," she sighed. "Logan didn't leave because he wanted to. Trust me I'm pretty sure if given the choice he'd lock both of you in here until we had to call the police." She didn't give you room to interject—even as you started to speak. "He's an X-Man babe. And well Wade—dipshit that he is—decided to drag him on a mission at the worst fucking second."

The words hung in the air for longer than either of you wanted, but your mind was racing a mile a minute. Mission. A fucking mission. How could you have been so quick to jump to conclusions?

You knew who Logan was the second you met. Understood the importance he held. Yet you never pieced together that two weeks of no contact might have meant something entirely different than a breakup.

"He's..."

"On a mission," she replied—lazily biting into her bagel.

"With Wade?"

She spoke around a mouthful of cream cheese. "If he could die, he'd be a goner."

Already the picture was starting to form. Logan stuck for two weeks with a shitty phone that didn't work, constantly bugged by a man who had a mouth that shit talked faster than he could think. He left to try and be the man he wanted people to see him as. The man that still held a legacy in this universe.

You simply forgot to contend with the fact that you weren't just opening your life up to James Howlett...you were making space for the Wolverine too.

"A year's worth of panic just crossed your face. Wanna talk about it?"

What was there left to say? That you'd been an idiot for believing Logan would leave you high and dry? For letting your doubts get the better of you yet again? Or should you explain that for two weeks you felt an emptiness that scared the absolute shit out of you? As if he ripped a hole in your chest with his claws and had no intention of patching it back up.

"Wade told you this himself?"

She stood, heading straight for the vintage cabinet in your living room that held whatever liquor you kept in stock. "More or less. It was hard to hear him over all the screaming in the background."

Somehow her words didn't phase you—even as she continued to speak about the possibility of what they were up to. You caught the words shovel and stole a truck but nothing beyond that. You took the glass of wine without question—mind focused entirely on the man who managed to turn your word on its head in such a short time.

"When do they get back?"

Her lips curved into a smile that told you one thing: I got you right where I want you.

It took no time at all for you to be thinking of the next time you saw him and hiding it from her felt like trying to build a wall with space on the sides. Enough room for her to sneak into your mind and tug out the truth.

"Tomorrow." She took a sip, settled back down beside you, and reached for the remote. "Wade's throwing a party. Your attendance is mandatory."

A second barely passed before your response was spilling free. Excitement now replacing the doubt that willed itself to stay.

"I'll be there."

"Who had money on the great honey badger expedition?" Wade called out to the rather full living room.

You sat curled on the couch beside Vanessa—a red solo cup filled with shitty beer perched on your knee, condensation spilling across your hand. Dopinder was halfway into a story about his first solo job, Colossus was crammed into a small seat, and Logan sat at the table—his eyes a searing burn against the side of your face.

"Shit," Vaness sighed, digging into her front pocket—a twenty slapped into Wade's hand with a kiss.

You gasped. "Traitor."

"I really thought we were gonna win."

"Who did you bet against?" Your eyes caught sight of the cash getting slipped in Althea's hand—her smile cocky enough to give Wade a run for his money. "Of course."

"If it makes you feel better, Wade is done trying to play matchmaker between you two."

You wondered if you said the word bullshit loud enough it would penetrate through Wade's wall of not listening. The temptation was there. Though you decided to remain silent...for Logan's sake.

Since they returned, he barely said more than a few words to you. Them being hello and I tried to call. You both knew the second part was purely fictional, but figured it was easier to remain silent about it. Arguing wasn't something you were keen on doing—given that he had more than enough time to offer an explanation.

Yet he chose to put distance between the two of you. Sitting in sullen silence, a glass of whiskey nursed slowly and eyes latched onto the way you laughed.

He wanted to speak to you. Tell you how often he thought of you—how many times he made a note of something interesting or funny to regale you with once he returned. But the knowledge that you might very well hate him for leaving silently and without a promise of return, put everything to the back of his mind.

Reconciling with you was the first thing he planned to do.

Yet like he did in his own universe, he chose to keep you at arms length. Away from the insanity of his volatile emotions and dangerous demeanor. You were too good; too breakable.

"Fox and friends!" Wade's voice dragged his attention away from you. Even mere feet away Logan felt you right down to his fucking bones. "I have a special surprise for you heathens. Yeah that's right I'm looking at you Sugar Bear."

A hand gripped Logan's shirt, dragging him up from the chair as he struggled not to slam his fist into Wade's throat. "We're gonna play a little game I like to call Forty Five Minutes In The Closet. I'll pick two people and they'll have to hide the two hundred and seventh bone in the human body."

"It's called seven minutes in heaven. Dumbass," Al muttered.

"No. No, that's something else."

Logan felt the hair rise on the back of his neck at the sight of your smile. How you lit up at Wade's humor. You wore a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, yet he couldn't place a time where you looked more beautiful. If it weren't for the grip Wade had on his shoulder, he'd be asking you to meet him in the hallway—an apology already set on the tip of his tongue.

"Anyways!" Wade shook him violently—knowing that if Logan met his irritation with violence he'd have another problem to worry about. "I nominate this broad shouldered—thick muscled—thunder cunt from down under cunt to be our first contestant."

His eyes flicked to the side, lips curving into a smirk that could only be categorized as diabolical. "Drink some water girls cause things are about to get good."

Vanessa smiled, yanking your arm into the air without warning. "I nominate her to go with him."

"That's right you do baby!" Wade shouted.

"No," Logan growled, yanking his arm away from Wade.

Only to catch how your face fell. You tried to mask it with a laugh, but he could see the damage was done. All the doubts that you fought against began to slowly rise to the surface; each moment spent with him now a time you wanted to get back. But like a trooper, you stood with a glare in Vanessa's direction, and walked towards the hall closet barely big enough for two coats and a broom.

"Go go," Wade shoved him (violently) in your direction, and held the door for Logan to squeeze in beside you. "Now some ground rules. The walls are paper thin so if you end up dancing the Devil's Tango, we'll be making popcorn to go along with the show. Oh and any procreations that come out of this automatically get named Wade."

"You're disgusting," Logan snarled.

"Wade I don't think–"

You heard a loud have fun from everyone outside before the door slammed shut. Darkness swallowed the both of you whole. Yet you felt how close he stood even with your eyes still trained on the door. Heat radiated off his body in waves, soaking into yours with ease. His breath came in quick but released slowly as if he was trying his best to keep his temper steady.

At this point blaming him for losing it wasn't an option. Not when you never expected the night to wind up like this.

You sucked in a deep breath, hands shaking when your heart began to race. You tried to appease every improper thought that entered your mind, but failed spectacularly as they kept on coming. Another sharp inhale echoed mere inches away—his body tensing as your scent deepened. Calling to him like a siren song he needed to answer.

"Stop that," he ground out, fingers curling into fists to keep himself apart from you.

Your eyes met his searing gaze even in the pitch black. "I'm not doing anything."

"You're not. But your body is." He huffed, feeling his willpower begin to splinter when your heart jumped. "How long do we have to...ya know..."

It took you a minute to realize that Logan was suddenly bashful. The urge to reach for a flashlight to see the red that most likely tinted the top of his ears reared its head. You would have done it if it weren't for the way his entire body flinched. His back now pushed against the wall furthest from you.

"Seven minutes," you murmured. "Are you okay?"

"'M fine."

You'd never seen him this on edge before. So close to snapping.

Perhaps it was the way he reacted whilst in your vicinity, or the fact that this was the most he'd said to you in twenty four hours. But the doubt you harbored for two weeks slowly began to shift into a wave of anger. One that demanded at least one final answer as to what you were doing here. What this meant to him.

You wouldn't continue pining after a man who couldn't give it to you straight; not after you gave him so much.

"At least now I can ask you what's going on."

He stiffened, his head snapping up to see your face begin to shift—your tone sharper than before. "What?"

"You heard me Howlett." His lips twitched at the sound of his last name. You fought the urge to land a punch to his jaw he'd barely. "Two weeks of no contact. You gave me nothing. And I was fine with it because I knew you were with Wade, but this? Avoiding me so you don't have to give me a reason as to why?"

"Honey–"

Your eyes narrowed, shutting him up quicker than he expected. "I'm not done talking." Another deep breath set off the last of your rant. "If you don't want to continue whatever this is then that's fine. I've moved on from guys like you before. I can do it again. But now you don't even want to be near me. I don't know what I did to make you–"

The step he took came unexpectedly. As did the next and the next until you were pinned to the wall behind you—his hands on either side of your head. Whatever fight you had left in your system fizzled out when his head dipped and lips slid down the side of your neck. Kissing gently at the vein he longed to sink his teeth into.

"Logan," you gasped, tilting your entire body his way. The reaction was involuntary. As if he possessed you in ways you never expected.

The smile he pressed to your cheek told you he liked it.

"That's what you think huh bub? That I don't wanna be near you?"

"Y-Yes..."

He chuckled. "I just spent two fuckin' weeks in a car with that walking mouth. You think I went of my own free will?" The breath that ghosted along your cheek caused your whole body to shiver. "'M stayin' away honey cause if I get too close I'm gonna do things to you that you aren't ready for."

A fire began to unfurl in the base of your stomach, rapidly coursing through your body without a single warning. He let it happen. He held you there, lips so close you could taste his whiskey on the tip of your tongue, and waited for you to speak. Waited for you to make your final choice about him.

"And if I am?" Your fingers curled into his shirt, chin lifting in a show of defiance. "Ready?"

He groaned at the sight of your fire coming back, his forehead falling to press against yours. "Don't say shit you don't mean."

"I do mean it."

Logan felt his entire body crumple as the familiar sound of his claws echoed in the small space—dust from the now split wall dropping onto your clothes. He could hear Wade's shout of disdain through the already thin walls. But his sole focus was on the way your breath quickened, how your fingers dug beneath his flannel and onto his thin beater.

"What do you want from me honey? Say it. I'll fuckin’ do anything."

The echo of your breathy whine fucked him up for good; ruined any chance of sanity for the rest of the night. If the closet wasn't so damn small he'd grind you along his thigh to watch your mouth go slack. He'd drop to his knees to taste you and drag you over the edge again and again without any intention of stopping.

"I want an apology," you replied, shaking him loose from the haze of lust he found himself stuck in.

His lips curled into a smile. "That right?"

You nodded, fighting against everything in you that screamed to keep this going. To let him kiss you senseless and fuck you against the wall. You didn't care that you were still in Wade's apartment, you didn't care that you were probably down to four minutes and a handful of seconds.

This felt pivotal to the shaky ground you both balanced on. And you were desperate to see what became of the mess that would no doubt come crashing down around you.

"You left." The words were a high gasp as his hand splayed against your stomach. "I-I missed you."

A rumble echoed from the bottom of his chest. "Yeah bub? Ya missed me?"

The words were on the back of your tongue, an explanation on just how much you ached for him. How nights without hearing his voice left you battling demons you usually kept at bay. But his hand was rucking up the bottom of your shirt and the heat of his calloused palm was against bare skin. Dipping lower as your mouth dropped open.

"You got no idea," he growled, lips so close to yours it caused your heart to scream. "How much I fuckin' thought of you. Of this." Fingers slipped beneath the top of your jeans and your head fell back against the wall. "Thought about how sweet you'd taste for me."

"L-Logan–"

He smiled. "Let me give you a proper fuckin' apology."

Echoes of laughter filtered through the already thin door as someone (most likely Wade) told yet another joke. At any other time you would dig up the last strand of your common sense and put an end to Logan's movements. Any other time you'd have enough coherency to understand that if you got caught neither of you would live this down.

Any other time that would have been the first thing on your mind.

But Logan's fingers brushed the edge of your navy blue laced underwear, effectively killing every thought in your head before it could fully form. Your hips canted up into his touch, fingers burying in his hair to tug his face closer. He felt too far even as he pressed you against the cold wall—his body emanating enough heat to have you gasping for air.

"I can smell it," he rasped. "Drivin' me insane honey."

A moan climbed up your throat, but he silenced you easily. His lips found yours in the darkness and you felt your heart cry at knowing he was back. That he wanted you.

You clung to him, tongue meeting his in a messy reunion. All teeth and quick stunted breaths and spit you felt cling to your joined lips. You swallowed his groan with a soft whine of your own. His hand dipped one inch further, fingers prodding against your patch of hair, and you felt your stomach clench.

"Oh–" Your gasp was sharp, loud enough for Logan to cringe as it echoed in the small space.

That didn't stop his fingers from sliding through your slick with a stunted moan. His lips a hot press against your cheek—body caging you into the drywall.

"Gotta be quiet," he whispered.

"S-Sorry–" You dug your teeth into your lip hard enough to taste copper. All in the hopes that it would silence every sound that was desperate to be set free. With the curl of his fingers he struck against your clit in rough strokes, dooming you to the shame that would no doubt come once the both of you stepped out of this closet. "Ah!"

His lips slammed against yours, tongue plunging into your already gaping mouth. He tasted like whiskey. Like everything you longed for in the past two weeks.

Your heart clenched in your chest as he upped the pace of his fingers—the wet echo of your slick now bouncing off the walls. A tremble began to form in your legs and you tugged on his hair to signal what was about to come. But Logan remained one step ahead of you.

He smiled, ignoring the aching throb of his cock as he coaxed you towards a quick and blinding release. One he would replay in his mind for the rest of the night. He knew Wade probably stood outside the door with his ear pressed to the wood, but found he didn't mind. Because you were in his arms, with your lips against his in a dazed kiss, and he had never felt such bliss before.

"C'mon honey. Lemme see you."

"'M almost there," you breathed, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted.

He wanted to eat you alive.

"I know you are. Can feel you leakin' on my hand." His teeth scraped against the shell of your ear, hips grinding along your thigh for some relief. "Let go so I can fuckin' taste you."

A blinding heat began to build faster than you had time to latch onto it; his fingers now tapping roughly against your pulsing clit. You reached for it, let that feeling begin to consume you. Only for something heavy to slam against the closet door—startling the both of you.

Logan ripped his hand away, his body stumbling to the opposite wall. He looked flushed. As if you were the one about to rip a mind numbing orgasm out of his body. Not the other way around.

You coughed, fixing your shirt and jeans as the door swung open. Wade's cocky smile told you everything you needed to know. Being subtle and playing this off was no longer an option, because he knew what you were up to. He could read it on your face.

"What ya thinkin' about?"

"Wilson–" Logan growled, moving to stand in front of you—his claws itching to slide free and dig into Wade's super-healing flesh.

"Wasn't talking to you peanut." He peeked over Logan's shoulder, his smile big and bright and glaringly obvious. "Don't tell me. You two were also debating the logistics of bringing back Robert Downey Jr. to the MCU."

"Shut your goddamn–"

"Because I think it's a money grab. I mean come on Iron Man? Again?"

Logan began to reach for his neck, but your hands pressing to his waist forced him to freeze. You pressed a kiss to his shoulder with a laugh as you squeezed past the both of them. He felt his heart twist in his chest tight enough to send pain down his spine.

Wade still smiled like an all knowing asshole, but the sight of you joining Vanessa on the couch with a sheepish smile eased the nerves that still jumped under his skin.

"Not another word," he spit, shoving a finger into Wade's chest to force him back a few feet.

The man merely smiled—eyes flicking down to the glaringly obvious bulge in Logan's jeans. "Don't tell me. Whiskey dick again? I've told you it's common–"

His claws came free with a roar. Wade's familiar shriek now echoing through the apartment as he sprinted towards your spot on the couch. In the hopes that you might be able to tame the animal intent on ripping him to shreds.

He could count on one hand how often silence echoed throughout the apartment at night. Each time being when Wade disappeared to Vanessa's place with the intent of returning well past the afternoon. Trash still lingered here and there after the small party, but he ignored it in favor of pouring another glass of whiskey.

Falling to the couch with a groan, he felt the weariness of two weeks with Wade on the road resurface in his body. Eventually he'd will himself to sleep. Still plagued by nightmare after nightmare. Except his mind was stuck on the thought of the closet. How you arched into his body with a whine, how wet you were for him in such a short span of time.

There was something addicting about seeing you confront him with your anger. All the fire you kept locked away suddenly became the sole focus of your energy and Logan found he couldn't get enough.

An hour after you were walked home by Vanessa (Wade in tow behind her), he still could smell you on his fingers. The way your scent clung to his shirt when you were up against him. How you moaned for him. So pretty and willing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd sported a hardon for longer than an hour; yet in your presence they always seemed to fucking happen.

The whiskey kept his mind settled on the present moment. On Althea's snores in the background and the city noise that spilled in through the open window. If he was lucky, he'd get twenty minutes in a hot shower with his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock.

That alone kept him from passing out on the shitty couch—his mind hazy and drunk on lust.

A beep from his now charged phone drew his attention to your window across the street. The light was on. So he knew you were awake. But the sight of you walking out into your living room—a black robe wrapped around your body—had him sitting up straight. He reached for the device, flipping it open to see your name flash across the small screen.

Logan couldn't even remember pressing answer. All he knew was that your voice filled his ear seconds later.

"Hi," you said, tone breathy and high. Flashes of you from earlier began to enter his mind.

"Thought you went to sleep honey."

You smiled, pushing the window open—your phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder. "I tried."

"Nightmares?"

"No," you sighed. "Something else."

The feeling from earlier began to lick at his veins again, smoldering beneath the surface of his skin. "Yeah?" You nodded. "What is it?"

The sharp inhale of breath gave him a clear and straight answer. One that had him spreading his legs a bit wider on the couch—eyes fixed on the way you fidgeted with your hands. He wasn't able to get you off earlier; just barely on the precipice of an orgasm before you were rudely interrupted. And though you wouldn't say it out loud, he knew you still felt the remnant of an ongoing fire.

"Wade was kind of an asshole earlier about it," you mumbled.

Logan had never seen you this shy before. He wanted to sear the sight into his mind.

He chuckled, low and raspy; you felt it in your stomach. "He's usually that way."

"He got in the middle of us," you sighed.

"He did." Logan leaned forward, elbows braced on his thighs, and watched as you stepped a bit closer to the window. "What about it honey?"

"Well–" Your fingers toyed with the tie of your robe, eyes glued to the way he got to his feet and moved towards the glass. "My door is unlocked."

The robe dropped to the ground with a soft flutter and Logan's mouth went dry. You stood bare before him, the phone clutched in your hand—determination on your face. He felt every part of his body scream at the sight of your skin—your breasts and cunt—presented to him this way. You were a marble statue straight out of a museum and he wasn't worthy of even getting a mere glimpse.

Your heart hammered in your chest at the sight of his claws coming free—a growl ripping through the phone line. He looked starving. Practically feral at the sight of you like this. You'd never wanted a man to devour you this way before; as if you were the meal to be served up on a silver platter.

Cold air seeped in through your open window, tightening your nipples, and Logan clutched the side of his window frame hard enough for the wood to crack. Your scent lingered in his nose—driving him past the brink of sanity.

"Don't fuckin' move," he snarled, slamming the phone shut in his large palm and heading straight for his door.

Counting the seconds, you remained stuck on the sight of his now empty apartment. People milled along the street down below—the late night goers that headed towards the subway entrance. You only hoped that no one bothered to look up. Or else they'd see you naked and standing before an open window.

Five minutes barely passed before your door was being shoved open, his boots a loud echo in the stark silence of your apartment. You turned—gasping at the sight of him disheveled and panting. His claws slid back as he shut the door with a soft thud that felt like a gun going off. Whatever words you wanted to say—explanations you longed to give for your behavior—died the second he walked towards you. Intent painted blatantly on his face.

Meeting him halfway, you collided against his body with a breathless kiss. Your fingers clung to his back as his hands gripped your bare thighs and hoisted you up. He stumbled forward, slamming you softly against the nearest wall, and took your mouth with a possession you'd never experienced before.

Logan kissed you with a heady fervor that left you dizzy. After so long, the aching need for you began to ebb into a madness that swallowed him whole.

One that demanded to be felt in its entirety.

"I'm sorry," he gasped against your lips, tongue licking along your teeth. "For leaving."

"Logan–"

He shook his head, gripping the back of your neck to draw you in for another kiss. "'M never leaving you again honey. Got that?"

With a nod, you pulled him back—tasting the remnants of whiskey and a cigar he must have smoked after you left. He growled into you, hips chasing your dripping cunt as it slid along the crotch of his jeans. Soaking him before he could even get a chance to taste.

There was no denying what this would lead towards. What those days of conversations and quick glances would amount to when the tension finally broke. Logan expected to be left with the fragments of a broken relationship that never was. You were adamant on making it become more.

"I want–" You pulled away with a sharp gasp, his lips slotting against your neck—working down the skin with gentle bites. "Want you inside me."

His forehead pressed to your shoulder, a groan ripping from his chest. "Fuck."

Your lips connected to his neck when he began to walk, teeth sinking into the veins that ran down into his shirt. Logan had to struggle to keep his feet straight—his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your ass. He couldn't figure out how he managed to have such a stroke of luck. What occurred for him to have you in his arms, naked and wanton and grinding against his leaking cock that smeared inside his jeans.

A soft moan was pressed to his ear when he dragged your hips along his. The final steps into your bedroom now turning into a race to get you spread beneath him. To finally have you in ways that left him worried for his own psyche.

"Driving me fuckin' insane honey," he bit out against your ear, dropping you onto the soft mattress.

You smiled—eyes dark and shining with a cloud of lust. "So are you." Your fingers tugged at the bottom of his shirt. "I've been wanting you to touch me for weeks."

He wasn't going to fucking last.

Yanking off his shirt, he let both of them fall to your floor—giving you free reign to drink in the sight of him above you. The soft touch of your fingers trailed down his arms, tracing the veins in fascination. Your lips parted, chest rising and falling with each quick breath, and Logan felt the strings holding his self control in place snap.

He dipped down, sucking your peaked nipple into his mouth with a groan.

"F-Fuck," you sighed, nails digging into his shoulders so hard he felt his skin rip before it healed over. His cock jumped with the pain—hands fisting your soft comforter to keep himself stable.

"Do that again."

He caught a glimpse of your fucked out smile before your fingers were digging into his back, scratching lines across his skin. A loud moan slipped past his lips as he worked his way down your body. Lips trailing along your stomach—teeth sinking into your hips so hard it would hurt tomorrow. And you scratched line after line into his skin.

Adamant on leaving a mark that might stay till the morning.

"I didn't get to taste you," he murmured, hands moving to spread your soft and supple thighs.

"The closet was too small—oh–"

His nose pressed to your mound, inhaling the scent that drove him feral for weeks on end. Logan was fully aware how animalistic he turned the second his eyes landed on your glistening cunt. He wouldn't be surprised if drool began to slip from his mouth at such a pretty sight.

"Fuckin' gorgeous."

Hazel eyes darkened at the sight of you clenching around nothing—your hand delving into his already mussed hair. No response existed when he looked at you like this. When his thumbs spread you obscenely with a hoarse groan.

"Logan," you mewled.

Trying to form a coherent word flew out of your mind, his touch all you could focus on. A sharp cry fell past your lips when his mouth sealed over your cunt. Tongue flicking your clit and thumb sliding between your dripping folds.

Your legs were hitched to his shoulders, body bent upwards as he ate you like his last meal. His eyes fluttered shut with a moan and he sucked at your clit, rolling it along the tip of his tongue. Sounds you'd never heard before ripped from your chest, your fingers scrambling to grab onto his arms. To find an anchor in the dizzying pleasure he dragged you towards.

The simmering heat from hours before rose up in your body quicker than you expected. Reminding you that he'd already brought you to the edge once.

This time wouldn't take long at all.

He groaned, two fingers prodding at your entrance, and buried his tongue between your folds. The wet sound of his mouth sent a flare of need through your chest—drawing your lungs tight and near the precipice of pain. Breath became nonexistent as he lapped at you—his fingers sinking right down to the knuckle. You clawed at his skin, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Fuck–" Rough pads curled along your walls, striking against a spot you'd never reached on your own. It tore a cry from you, your legs now a trembling mess over his shoulders.

But he kept going. Ate you without stopping. As if breathing was secondary to the taste of you spread on his tongue.

"I-I'm gonna—fuck Logan!"

A growl was mumbled into your cunt, eyes now sharp and focused on your face as it screwed up in pleasure. The echo of your slick filled your ears, his fingers pumping into you and mouth drinking down everything you gave him. It all became too much. Until something bright and searing began to unfold in your body.

His teeth scraped your clit with another rumbled sound, and whatever remained to hold you together snapped. A sob of his name was yanked from your throat, fingers gripping at his hair to keep him still as you grinded against his tongue. And he collapsed onto the mattress, hips pushing into the bed while you used him.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes when the final dregs of your release began to seep from your body. Even while his tongue continued to lap at you—roughly moaning at the taste of you leaking into his eager mouth.

"Wait," you sucked in a breath, hand pressed to his head to keep him at bay when pain sparked through your body. "T-Too much."

His lips curled into a smile, canines on display and mouth shiny with your slick. "'M gonna do that again." Your eyes widened in protest, only for him to get to his feet. "But first honey. I'm gonna fuck you."

The flame sparked to life again, slowly simmering at the base of your stomach. You met him halfway, crawling to your knees to reach for his belt buckle. Lips sliding against his in a messy kiss as he shared your taste, licked it into your mouth with a sigh. It wasn't until your hand dipped into his jeans that he stopped you—his eyebrows pulled together and lips swollen.

"Hold on."

"What's wrong?" you murmured, kissing his chest and biting at the muscle.

"Not—ha—" His hand gripped your ass at the feeling of you tugging at his jeans; your fingers slipping down to cup him gently. "Not gonna last very long if you do that bub."

You grinned. "It's only fair. After you got to taste me...James."

"Shit." A hand on your throat dragged you back to his lips, to the hot slide of his tongue along yours. "Later. I'll let ya do whatever the fuck you want with me later."

Oh how you liked the sound of that. Images of getting him beneath you, of his head tipped back in pleasure, filled your mind. They begged you to make it reality.

Logan however had other plans.

"But I want to suck you off," you pouted.

He felt his cock leak down your hand, the pearly precum now spread along your thumb that rubbed at his vein. Weeks of starving for you left him an impatient man. Yet something told him you saw it clearly in the way his whole body tensed. His fingers digging sharply into any part of you he could reach.

Reaching for your leg he hooked it around his waist and knelt on the bed—his jeans and boots in a heap on the floor. Your lips never strayed far from his, fingers dancing along his bare back—feeling the muscles shift beneath hot skin. He wanted to lay you out beneath him, but the need for more began to eat at both your hearts.

This wasn't a quick and fast fuck. He wouldn't leave in the morning with no notice. No, Logan knew that when it came time for the sun to rise in the sky, he'd be back between your thighs with a sated smile on his face.

"Gimme a second honey," he panted, gently removing your hand from his cock. "Don't want to fuck this up."

You laughed, nuzzling his cheek as he dragged his head through your folds. "You won't baby."

The word slipped off your tongue with ease, but he felt like a shot had just gone through his chest. Somewhere between the two weeks spent apart and getting you like this—wrapped around him entirely at peace—Logan made a choice. He understood what this meant. He knew that you weren't temporary.

Perhaps it was stupid of him to dive in so quickly. Perhaps you’d regret this choice in a month or two. But he was tired of hiding from a past version of himself that continued to haunt his waking life.

He wasn't going to be the man who ran.

He would forever remain the man who stayed.

Your face contorted the second he began to slip into your dripping cunt—fingers sharply digging into his shoulders as he stretched you slowly. Teeth sunk into your bottom lip before your head fell back—a guttural moan pulling from your throat at the feel of him.

"Big," you rasped, hips canting down to help him.

White flashed behind his eyes when you clenched, a broken grunt pressed to your chest. "You can take it for me."

"I–" Another short thrust had him slipping into you with a sigh of your name. "O-Oh fuck."

He felt his claws bite at the skin of his knuckles, his teeth now a sharp prick at the top of your breast, as you settled into his lap. Sitting on his cock with a garbled shout of his name. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face back to his, and Logan could feel the pull of his orgasm draw tight in his body at the sight of you entirely fucked out.

"You with me?"

Lips curled into a soft smile, your eyes fluttering open. "Feels like you're in my chest," you mumbled.

Pride bloomed in his stomach, mixing with the heat that ate him alive. "Yeah?"

No answer was given because you'd decided it was time to move with a shift of your hips. He let you take the lead, giving what you could take and pulling back when your face screwed up in pain. He wasn't a small man—that he understood plainly. But the sight of you grinding along his lap, fucking yourself on his cock, had him nearly begging for more.

You gripped his shoulders, clambered to your knees, and sunk down on him again in one swift plunge. Logan choked on his spit the second you started to ride him in earnest. Sinking down on him in short repeated thrusts, you found his lips in a kiss that melted away into a mess of teeth.

"So fuckin' perfect." He gripped at your hips, pulling you down on his red and aching cock. "Takin' me like you were made for it honey."

A whimper met his ears at the slight shift in angle—the head of his cock now pounding against the spongy part of your walls. He grinned at the sound, helping you move just a bit quicker in order to chase the high that built rapidly in your body.

"You were made to fuckin' take it huh?"

You nodded, eyes bleary with tears. "Uh huh," you sighed.

"Made to fuck my cock," he growled. "To cum on it."

"L-Logan–" you whined, thighs shaking with the effort of riding him. He noticed seconds before you did.

"I know baby," he cooed, pushing you back onto the bed and sinking into you with a sharp thrust that sent his name careening from your mouth. "'S too much for you."

Hooking your legs over his shoulders, he claimed your lips in a final kiss before setting a pace that had you clawing at his shoulders. It was almost punishing how good he fucked you. His hips pounded into yours, the repetitive slap of skin against skin now louder than your combined moans.

You felt the string begin to draw tight again, pulling at each muscle and tendon in your body. The walls of your cunt clamped down tight, drawing him in as your hands braced against his chest—your eyes rolling back at the feel of his body dragging against yours.

"There we go," he grunted, fingers sliding through your slickened mess to rub at your clit in small rough circles. "C'mon bub. Fuckin' cum on it yeah?"

"Ah!" Fighting for breath, you felt your entire body break as bliss flooded your system.

The scream of his name pierced his eardrums and Logan swore he felt his soul snap in half at the sight of you so lost in your pleasure. Chasing his own high, he bracketed his arms against your head, his claws now scratching at the wood of your headboard as he fucked into your pulsing cunt. The feel of your hand on his back, your lips against his jaw, sent him flying off behind you.

A rough snarl tore from his mouth as he came, burying himself deep enough to send pain down your thighs. The warmth of him spurting into you sent another flare of heat down your spine, sating whatever unconscious need you harbored to have him this way.

His head dropped to your chest, claws embedded in your now ruined pillow, as his cock began to soften. Your bodies reaching a level of comfort that hadn't been there before.

You ran a hand through his hair, toying with the locks as your eyes fell shut and legs moved to wrap around his hips. It shocked you how much you longed to remain like this. Pressed against his naked body with sleep lingering on the edges of your mind. You nearly asked if he felt the same, but the contented sigh that brushed against your breast gave you the answer you wanted.

"We're doing that again," he mumbled, kissing at your still hard nipple.

"Soon hopefully," you smiled.

"Mm." His cock stirred to life slowly, sending a wave of surprise down your spine. "Careful what you wish for bub."

"At least let me get some water," you mumbled, drawing his face back to yours—thumb running along his cheek. "Then you can–"

Your eyes flew open at the sound of something blasting from across the street. Logan turned with an irritated grunt as a song began to filter through your open living room window. One that you recognized instantly as WHAM!. Careless Whisper if you were shooting for accuracy.

Logan groaned, dropped his face to the crook of your neck. "I'm gonna fuckin' kill him."

A shout bounced off the buildings, Wade's voice suddenly louder than the song. "That's what I'm talking about honey badger! Al give me back my fucking twenty!"

You laughed, trying to listen to what else he said, even as Logan began to kiss a trail down your shoulder. His mind focused on far more important things than his fucking roommate. The song continued to play, Wade singing along horribly, and you suddenly felt your future encompass you with a warm smile.

A life of joy, of passion, of family.

Sinking into his touch with a sigh, you let the worry fall from you in layers. The promise of this, no longer a fantasy.

note: they finally fucked y'all! if you finished all of this then i love you. drink some water per wade's words from earlier.

[mikareo]

eternal sunshine ── itoshi rin

w.c. 841 content: itoshi rin x fem reader, post-break up angst

༘⋆📼˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

are you okay?

he keeps asking. that same question appears in your messages a few times a day, a few times too many. it's nice to know he cares, a little bit in the slightest at least, but it doesn't help with the raw aching in the center of your chest— where all of the affection you hold for rin is struggling to find a place in your body to settle. it's pulling at your skin and tugging your limbs, urging your fingers to type the infamous 'i miss you' that lives in the delusion your heart wants to come true.

but you do miss him.

you really miss him.

you want to move on, but you can't. you can't seem to push past the denial that you aren't together anymore. you broke up. he broke up with you. you aren't a couple. you aren't his girlfriend. you aren't the love of his life. rin will forget about you. he'll forget you. you don't matter.

you're nothing and he's everything.

he holds so much real estate in your chest that you find yourself starting the car, backing onto the street, and heading towards the home you once shared. will you regret this? probably. do you even care anymore? no.

so, when you raise your hand before the door, there's no hesitation, no anxiety seeping from your fingertips— just heavy grief that hasn't been processed yet. grief that you're begging to receive closure for; and you're one step closer to that gift when the handle turns, and you're face-to-face with the man who broke your heart.

his eyes look heavy. there isn't an ounce of surprise in them. it's almost as if he was expecting you...

...god, you're so predictable. you're so pathetic and desperate that he knew you'd cave and come. why can't you be strong like him? why can't you move on?

"i can't let you in." rin murmurs. his statement is firm and his body doesn't budge. "this isn't healthy, baby."

in spite of his words, he cups your face. the feeling of his palms is familiar. a touch that your dreams welcome when you can't find sleep, and yearn for the comfort you once shared. his blue gaze has love hidden behind those steely irises. you know it. there has to be some love left in there for you. you can't have just vanished from his heart. that's what you choose to believe— a perfect example of how you convince yourself to stay stranded in denial despite knowing otherwise.

"let's talk," you beg, "one last time."

"what's left to say?" his voice cracks and rin's strength wavers for a moment. "i can't do this. i'm not cut out for this. i don't have time for a relationship; i've already said all of this, please don't make me say it again."

you can tell he's on the verge of tears, lip quivering and eyebrows furrowed, rin pulls you closer. his hands magnetically find your body and he embraces you in a tight hug. it's selfish. he's leading you on once more and giving you false hope that maybe, this time, the conversation will end differently. he longs for the comfort you bring him, but won't provide that same favor when you ask for it.

it's too much to handle alone. you're tired.

this needs to stop.

"i've just been thinking so much lately." you begin, trying to find some courage. any courage. anything to help. "and i've realized that i put so much into this. i put my all into you. i gave you everything, and i'm not— i'm just not—"

"not what?"

a sigh escapes you.

"i'm not enough to convince you to stay."

rin's arms tighten. "you're perfect. you are. i'm the one who's not enough for you. believe me—"

"how can i?" you interrupt. "if i was perfect, you'd try harder. you'd want to keep me around so we can help each other be better. i hate who i'm becoming without you. i have no one to care for. i have all of these feelings and i don't know where to put them because they just want to feel for you. i'm running around in circles trying to process everything that happened because it was so abrupt, but i just can't do it— i want you. all i want is you. i don't know who i am anymore. rin please. you can still change your mind. i'm begging. i've begged so many times. let this work, just once. i love you."

his lips are on yours in a split second, deeply kissing you to end your mindless ramble, and his plan works. he shuts you up.

he ends the conversation, once again, with a kiss; never giving a real answer to your questions. never giving a solution to the dilemma. rin just restarts the cycle of manipulation that he doesn't even realize he's doing. you can't let each other go. your efforts will always fail. you'll be stuck in this loop forever. lonely, yet loving him.

[arclic-stuff]

What's been missing

Pairing: Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

Synopsis: You and Lilia have been dating for a few months, but she has felt you becoming distant over the last week. She confronts you, and you open up about your issues with intimacy.

Warnings: smut(18+), sexual tension, teasing, fluff, slight angst?, mentions of bad past relationships and intimacy issues, praise, fingering, begging, cunnilingus, petnames?, sort of dirty talk?

Word count: 3.1k

Author's note: This is the product of burnout and loosely based on my own experiences, whoops. Also, my first time writing smut, in case you couldn't tell lol. I've read over it but honestly fuck it y'all will get the vibe regardless of typos. Feedback is welcome, hope you enjoy!

READ ON AO3

MASTERLIST

The harsh bathroom light hurts your eyes as you contemplate your next move. You and Lilia have been dating for a few months since you started tarot lessons with the witch. The two of you clicked and soon the friendship developed further into a relationship that feels so right. All was going well until tonights movie date.

Apart from the occasional make out, things hadn't progressed far on the intimacy side of your relationship. Due to bad experiences in the past, you're hesitant to get intimate with her in case it goes badly and scares her off. So when her hand began to creep up your leg during the movie, you panicked. And so, you've been sitting in the bathroom for the last 15 minutes thinking of what to do.

Knowing you can't hide forever, you head back to your living room towards the couch. Lilia smiles as you approach before looking back at the TV. You sit down next to her, trying to focus on the movie, but Lilia has other plans. Once again, her hand finds your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze as she moves higher. Of course, it feels nice, but you dont know what to do with the feelings, so you shift on the couch, moving to the far end of the couch. You feel Lilia's head turn, but you ignore it, hoping for the moment to pass. Lilia sits for a moment before reaching for the remote, turning off the film.

"(y/n) has something happened?" Lilia turns to face you, worry painted across her face as she prepares for the worst.

"No, I'm fine" You offer a weak smile hoping it is convincing but her face remains the same.

"No, you're not. Why are you pulling away from me? And I don't just mean tonight, this whole week you've been distant. If something's happened between us, I need to know."

Sometimes you forgot how observant Lilia is. You struggle to find the words to explain yourself, instead sitting in silence trying to string together a sentence. The silence is too much for Lilia to bare and so she stands up.

"I should go, I don't know what I've done but I'm sorry. Goodnight (y/n)" The older woman tries and fails to hide the wobble in her voice as she rushes to get her jacket. You rise to your feet to follow after her.

"No please don't go. You've done nothing wrong" You rush to stand between her and the door, reaching for her hand which she pulls away.

"Then why?" Lilia asks, looking at you for an explanation. Struggling to find the words, you grab her hand and pull her back into the living room to sit down on the couch, hoping the movement can give her time to think. The silence of the space mixed with Lilia's pleading eyes pulls the words out of your mouth before you can stop them. Closing your eyes, you explain your issues with intimacy from your last relationship, how you're terrified of going further with her in case you mess it up, but also at the same time how you yearn for her and didn't know how to communicate it without sounding crazy.

You open your eyes, bracing for her reaction, but instead she looks at you with nothing but understanding, "Thank you for telling me this. How are you feeling now?"

"Good, it's been hard keeping it to myself. It's so confusing, I want us to get closer, but it scares me" You fidget with your hands, moving slightly towards Lilia without realising, meanwhile she sits back on the couch.

"We can start small?" Lilia opens her arms to you, inviting you closer, and you accept. Lying in Lilia's arms feels like a reward for finally being open with her and yourself. You sink into her chest as her arms envelope you. Lilia hums as she feels you relax in her arms and starts rubbing your back absentmindedly, making you press into her more.

"We can go at whatever pace you need Dolcezza" Her hand continues on it's path drifitng up and down your spine, making you shudder with every movement, her other hand moves your hair out your face.

"We're in no rush, we can try things out together when you're ready" Lilia plants a gentle kiss on your temple, sighing. Something about how gentle she is being with you fills you with curiousity, urges you haven't allowed youself to dwell on resurfacing with every touch.

"What if I want to try things now" You blurt it out trying to hide you face from the woman.

"Oh? What kind of things?"

You shrug, making Lilia chuckle, "Well, we need some ideas first" 

The hand on your back drifts down towards your waist, making you shiver.

"Do you like being touched like this?" Lilia's voice sounds more suggestive, as if she is being affected just as much as you. You hum as she continues rubbing your back, every often moving back to your waist then hip, making you whimper slightly, but once again lilia notices.

"How did you ex touch you?"

"Not like this" 

"That's not what I asked baby, what did they do? What did you like or dislike? Its okay you can tell me" 

"They never did things like this, it was just sex"

"What do you mean just sex" 

"You know sex sex" 

"Honey do you mean no foreplay?" 

You look up confused, as if it's an alien concept.

"Oh my God that explains so much" 

"There's more to relationships than sex, sweetheart, of course that's nice, but being caressed, worshipped, loved, that's different"

You stare at her in shock, shock of how simple the issue had been. It wasn't the intimacy you had issues with, it was the lack of.

"Can you keep going please?"

Lilia smirks tucking your hair behind your ear.

"Of course love, like this?" Lilia continues to rub your back, going in long movements covering your shoulders, waist, hip bone, it makes you fall back into her arms, head in chest, hand gripping her upper arm as she runs her nails lightly down your spine.

"Is this okay?" She using her other hand to caress your face thumb rubbing your cheek. You nod before nuzzling into her neck again, shifting closer to her in the process.

"(Y/n), I need an answer" 

"Yes" 

"Do you want anything else?" You look away awkwardly, still unsure how to verbalise your thoughts, instead trying to avoid her eye. "Do you want me to stop?" 

"What? No dont" 

"Then what do you want? This is about you right now" Lilia pulls your head out her neck so her mouth is against your ear.

"I just want to make you feel good baby, what can I do?" 

Feeling her breath against your ear gives you new found confidence and without thinking you sit up and move to sit on her lap, straddling her thighs. Lilias eyes widen at the sudden action, keeping her hands at her side, not wanting to push you any further. You slump, fidgeting with your hands unsure what to do now the two of you are face to face. Lilia senses your nerves, moving to hold you hands, making you look up.

"What can I do?" She whispered. Trying to act on instinct, you move her hands to your hips, bottom lip between teeth.

"Show me what I've been missing" 

"Are you sure?" 

"Please, Lilia" 

"Come here then" She hums looking down at you lips. Slowly you lean forward and finally kiss Lilia. It's soft, gentle, quick like the ones you've shared before, but this time it isn't just a sign of affection. Lilia moves her hand to the back of your neck, pulling you in for another kiss. This one goes on for longer, and has more heat contained within. Lips moving against eachother, hands finding Lilia's shoulders and neck.

Lilia's hands are still glued to your body, squeezing your hipbone, advancing upwards but this time under the barrier of your shirt making you sigh into the kiss. Her hand goes further up then comes down quick, nails lightly scratching on the way done. The action makes you break the kiss, pulling back to gasp.

"You okay?" lilia says lips grazing your jaw.

"Yes.." 

"Yes? And?" 

"Yes and keep going please" You whimper gripping onto her shoulders as if it's the only thing stopping you from combusting

"How about we take this to the other room hm?" Lilia tilts her head to look up at you, hands running across your thighs. You nod eagerly, standing up, pulling her up with you. The two of you head for your bedroom, Lilia stops at the doorway, slipping off her shoes before entering after you.

It occurs to you suddenly that Lilias never been in your room before. You feel self-concious about the space, the cluttered bedside table, piles of clothes, and the work desk with your sketches and projects spread out across the surface. Lilia inquisitively looks around the room as she takes off her robe, folding it over your chair. Her eyes settle on the sketches looking at them with genuine interest.

"Are these the commissions you mentioned earlier?" Lilia glances at the open sketchbook infront of her, you come to stand beside her pointing out a seperate drawing.

"Those are just warm up doodles, this is the actual work, it's been a very interesting process actually," You go on to explain when you feel hands snake around your wasit, realising Lilia has moved to stand behind you, looking over your shoulder at the drawing.

"Continue please" she rests her chin on your shoulder listening to you try and continue with what you where saying. You do try to keep talking but Lilia starts kissing your shoulder, hands gliding across your stomach resting on your hips, pulling you in closer. Somehow, she manages to continue asking questions about your work, asking about the process, the inspiration, showing interest in your work aswell as your body.

You can only take so much. The questions, the attention, the compliments, it all makes you feel light headed and wound up. It makes you turn around and crash your lips against hers, starting to back her up towards the bed, pushing her down.

Lilia looks up with a smug smirk, perched up on her elbows watching you catch your breath, the eye contact makes you shiver and suddenly feel self-concious. She moves on the bed to create space for you to join her, which you do, lying down so you're both facing eachother.

"How are you feeling now?" Lilia whispers, hand reaching out to trace your arm and side. You reach out towards her pulling her up to lean on her elbow.

"Like I need you on top of me" You huff, trying to pull her, but she stays where she is, running a hand along your jaw.

"Are you sure (y/n)? I dont want to push you too much" Lilia pulls her hand away but you grab it before it goes too far.

"I know, but I want you to" You kiss her palm before taking one of her fingers into your mouth. As you slowly suck, you look up at her with pleading eyes. The actions make Lilia's jaw clench, eyes darkening. Realising it's working, you lie down on the pillows, laying your arms up, resting around it. Making Lilia chuckle, she sits up.

"This is quite the view" Lilia moves to sit infront of you, gently guiding your knees apart, shifting to hover above you. Having her this close in this position makes your breath hitch, bottom lip going between your teeth.

"Aw do I make your nervous baby?"

She kisses you, hips pressing down into yours, making you moan at the sensation. She continues kissing you, going to kiss your neck again. She moves the collar of your shirt to find new skin, making you start undoing the buttons of your shirt, she swats your hand away.

"That's my job, Dolcezza" She unbuttons your shirt before pushing it off your shoulders, runs hands up your side, stopping just under your bra, making your back arch.

"Absoluting stunning my love, may I?" Lilia hooks her finger under a bra strap, you node shifting to give her access to the clasp. Lilia takes it off tossing it across the room. Her lips meet yours again as she palms at your chest, making you whine into her mouth, legs tightening around her waist keeping her close.

You roll your hips, she sits back looking at the mess she's turned you into, topless, messy hair, love bites painted across your neck and chest, but what she loves the most is your expression, the heavy eyelids, gaze fulled with lust, pure relatation and arousal. This is exactly how she wanted you, sunken between pillows, relaxed, needy.

"You look so good like this," Lilia ghosts across your lips, pulling back when you lean in. She keeps you like this, right on the precipice of contact, she moves to drift along your neck, breath fanning over you as you shiver. She settles next to your ear as she whispers, "Do you like how I take care of you baby?"

You whine at the words, unable to speak. Lilia moves to face you again holding your chin so you can't look away.

"What else can I do " She cooes placing quick kisses on your lips, "Where do you want me?" You look down, gesturing to your core. Lilia follows your gaze but returns a faux puzzled face, "I don't know what you mean?"

"Yes you do Lilia!" You try to move her hand down but she pulls it away to graze your inner thigh, just off where you need her.

"I can't do anything until you tell me what to do, please baby I want to take care of you" The hand on your inner thigh tightens. Finally you snap out of frustration, hands covering your face as you give her what she wants.

"I need you to fuck me Lilia, please however you want" Your hands are pealed away from your face, Lilia's fingers lacing between yours. She takes in your dishevealed appearance, how you lean forward waiting for her next move.

"That's a good girl", you gasp at the petname and Lilia notices, leaning in to ghost over your lips, "Thats my good girl"

Her lips crash on yours with a new hunger behind them. Teeth clashing, tongues advancing into each other's mouths, making both of you moan at the new territory. Lilia's hand fidgets with the belt loops on your jeans, pulling you closer. Wanting to speed things along, you reach between your bodies, undoing the button and zipper. Before Lilia can fully pull away and make a quick remark, you pull her bottom lip between your teeth, making her shiver for the first time tonight.

She eagerly pulls your jeans and underwear off in one go, the cold air of the room finding your exposed skin, goosebumps covering in its wake. Lilia kisses you once more before moving down your body to rest between your legs. The vulnerability and anticipation battle within you, stuck between rolling your hips in her face and shutting your legs from her, which is met with hands gripping your inner thighs.

"None of that", Lilia looks up at you through heavy eyes as she starts kissing and sucking on the flesh adjacent to your core. Her hand rubs the other thigh, helping to soothe any anxieties you have as she continues her assault on your skin. You gasp when you feel her teeth sink in, imprinting a similar mark on your thigh to the ones decorating your neck and chest. The sting of the bite mixes with the heat in your core, making you feel dizzy, unable to imagine how it gets better than this.

That was when she ran her tongue up your folds. Slow and gentle at first as you adjusted to the feeling, applying more pressure with her tongue alternating between long strips and sucking on your clit, making you arch your back and grip the bedsheets benneth you. You feel yourself tense up, closing in around nothing, making you whine at the emptiness. You grab her shoulders, clawing her to come back up to you. Lilia looks at you with concern, which you quickly resolve with your next request.

"Your hand," you pant, guiding her hand down between you, "I need you inside me," you whisper against her smiling lips. She moves to hover above you again with her hand exploring your core. She keeps her eyes glued to you as she gathers wetness on her fingers, teasing your entrance with her middle fingertip.

"I don't think it's just my fingers you want" Lilia moves so her face is inches from you, filling your eyeline with nothing but her inquisitive face. "I think you just want all my attention. You want to be touched here," She punctuates the last word with two fingers slipping inside you, watching you moan, "but you want me up here too, kissing you, looking at you, talking to you. You're a bit greedy, aren't you?" She starts thrusting her fingers, rocking her hips into you as well. Your legs find her waist again, giving her a better angle to curl her fingers.

"I want to hear you say it baby, say you're greedy"

Your hands fly to her back, scratching into her shoulders, the knot in your stomach tightening as your knuckles turn white around her arms. "I'm greedy, oh god Lilia!" You nearly scream as she adds a third finger and increases the pace to a brutal speed.

"Good girl, you can come now go on baby" Her encouragements are all you need to go over the edge. The climax runs over you, clouding you mind, stilling your body as you gradually come back down to earth. When you open your eyes, Lilia is already heading for the bathroom where she washs her hands and gets a wash cloth. When she comes back, she cleans you up then pulls you back against her chest like how this started on the couch.

"You did so well Dolezza" Lilia runs her hands along your back, feeling you shift against her. You start moving your hand down her body towards her stomach. You go to touch her further but is stopped by her hand moving it back to rest on her chest.

"But I want to-" You start when Lilia kisses you tenderly. "I know you do, but this was about you. I got what I needed, now rest, please baby" She lays her head back against the headboard, smirking.

"And besides, we have plenty of time for that later"

[mistywaves98]

Hii! Its my first time asking on here but could you do top!servant!scara with sub!noblelady!reader, also i dont know if you’re fine with writing corruption k!nks but if you are pls include that too ^-^ if not then completely disregard this part AHAHAH.

Also not related to the req but i love your works 😅 i

Aww thank youuu 🫶🫶

✧･ﾟ:* ->Servant! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader

✧･ﾟ:* ->¡Warnings!: NSFW, Corruption kink, Praise, lots of praise!

How you ran the estate inherited from your parents was beyond Scaramouche, with your weirdly optimistic views and naive tendency to try and see good in everything despite the cruel ways of society. It was so clear that you were overly sheltered as a child. Still, it was always a pleasure to work under you. And over you as well.

Your hands clawed at the sheets beneath you, hair splayed out around your face as Scaramouche absolutely ravaged your pussy. The slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of the gummy walls of your pussy reverberated throughout the space of your chambers. "Mmnh... Mistress, you've no idea how I've longed to do this to you... Fuck, you feel so good—" He barely manages to groan out as his hands rest on either side of your head.

It's felt like hours now since he finally caved into his desires, thrusting into your aching pussy with rhythmic jerks of his hips. It's truly not Scaramouche's fault, you know. Your innocence was just absolutely endearing, the fact you knew almost nothing about intimacy just making you all that much more corruptible. The soft expression that always adorned your face never failed to make his cock painfully hard. Oh, how he yearned to make those pretty eyes roll to the back of your head as he made himself at home within the confines of your tight cunt.

You look even better than he imagined, the needy noises slipping out of your throat as your plump lips part in pure pleasure are like music to his ears. The sight of you, splayed out under him and completely bare for his eyes alone sends Scaramouche into a frenzy as he fixates on the way your perky tits move each time he sinks his length back into you.

He suddenly grabs the back of your thighs and maneuvers them to rest over his shoulders. The sweet sound you let out as the blunt head of his cock meets your g-spot sends a shiver down his spine and he swears he just got hard all over again. You feel like you're seeing stars at this point, incoherent babbles and pleas leaving you as your hands reach up to cling to his back, manicured nails leaving crescent marks on the skin.

"Hn... You're so cute, y'know that? Taking my dick like a good girl...—Hngh— God, look at you..so cock drunk you can't even respond properly... You gonna cum? Yeah, that's it..make a mess for me.." He smirks as he feels you clench around him even more, practically suffocating him as he reaches between you both to rub gentle circles against your swollen clit, coaxing you towards orgasm.

His encouragement and extra stimulation makes the knot in your stomach tighten ever so slightly. You're so close... Release feels like it's right there, just getting closer, closer... You jolt as he suddenly delivers a sharp pinch to the sensitive bundle of nerves and that's all it takes to have you screaming his name for the nth time that night as your walls spasm around his cock. Scaramouche delights in the feeling of your cum coating his length as he buries himself inside you over and over again.

Your servant doesn't stop, simply slowing his pace a bit to help you ride out your high. He leans in and captures your lips in a tender yet possessive kiss, swallowing up your noises as his tongue slithers past your lips to explore the wet cavern that is your mouth,"Hmm.. Good girl, you're just as good at following orders as you are dishing them out... You looked so beautiful as you came, I want to see that expression of pure bliss again. Think you can give me just one more?"

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — beneath the stars, we became one: chapter 023 !

"i'm sorry."

you looked at him, your mind swirling. rin wasn't the kind of person to apologize unless it was necessary, but hearing those words from him made everything feel .. off. there was something raw, something unspoken in his gaze; it was a side of him you hadn't seen before.

he sat there, his hand twisting nervously with the edge of his sleeve, his eyes focused on the ground, avoiding your gaze. should i apologize or let him speak?

he finally spoke, his voice softer than it had been the entire time you'd known him. "i'm sorry for everything. for the things i said, for how i pushed you away. i never should've acted like that. reo told me a bit about your past ... i didn't know, and i regret my words more than i can say."

his eyes met yours for a brief moment, and you could see the sincerity there. his expression was heavy with the weight of his apology. before you could answer, he continued, and his voice lowered even further, as if he were admitting something that he'd never planned on sharing.

"you weren't even part of my plans," he said, the words so so quiet, you thought you misheard him.

"what do you mean?" you asked, your brows furrowing as you tried to make sense of his confession.

"i wanted to focus on school and soccer," he explained. "i never expected to care for someone as much as i care for you. you change everything. and i don't even know what to do with myself anymore."

your breath caught in your throat, your heart melted. the rawness in his voice made it race. rin, always so composed, was here, breaking down his walls. the vulnerability in his words took you by surprised. again, you opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, he added, "i wasn't sure what love really felt like until i met you."

you didn't know what to say, didn't know how to process the emotions swirling within you. your heart was pounding in your chest, caught between everything he'd just said and everything you'd felt in your heart.

but the words didn't matter anymore. you couldn't hold back. you couldn't wait for him to keep explaining. you needed to feel him, to show him that you understood, that you felt the same way.

fuck it, you thought.

before he could continue, you leaned forward and kissed him. you felt his breath catch in his throat as you kissed him harder, your hands instinctively reaching for him. all the walls you'd built, the fears, the hesitations - they crumbled in that moment.

when you pulled away, you could feel the heat of his presence surrounding you. without thinking, you moved to straddle his lap, your eyes locking with his, the space between you closing in a way that felt so right. his teal eyes were mesmerizing, almost otherworldly, and the way they softened as they met yours made your heart ache.

rin itoshi is so so pretty.

for a moment, you simply stared at each other, your breath mingling in the quiet space. it felt as though time stood still, everything else in the world fading away. but then, the weight of everything that had been building up inside you spilled out.

"i'm so sorry, rin," you whispered, your voice trembling. "i- i distanced myself because i was scared. scared of getting hurt, scared of how much i yearn for you. i've been holding myself back for so long, afraid that i'd lose myself again."

your words faltered as your throat tightened, tears welling up in your eyes. "i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm sorry .. i didn't know how to deal with it. i don't know how to deal with this."

rin's expression softened, and before you could say anything more, he gently brushed away the tear that had fallen down your cheek. his touch was tender, his fingers lightly tracing the path where your tear had been.

"you don't need to apologize," he murmured, his voice low, soothing.

and without another word, he pulled you into a kiss again, but this time it was different- slower, more deliberate. his lips were gentle at first, almost as if he was savoring the moment. but then, as the kiss deepened, it became more urgent, more desperate, as if both of you were finally allowing yourselves to feel everything you'd been holding back.

the world outside of this moment ceased to exist. it was just the two of you, and everything else was forgotten in the heat of the kiss. your hands found their way to his neck, pulling him closer, while his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you even closer, as if he couldn't bear any distance between you.

the kiss deepened, a perfect blend of tenderness and longing. his hands were cold, which sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, everything else in the world faded away - no past, no fear, no regrets; only him and you, in this moment.

your heart raced in sync with his, each breath between the kisses a quiet affirmation of how much you needed this, how much you needed him. the tension that had built between you finally began to dissipate, replaced by relief, like a weight had been lifted from your chest.

when you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, rin's eyes locked onto yours, intense and full of meaning. you could see the emotions flickering across his face, the same raw vulnerability you'd felt in him from the start.

"i want you to be mine," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "selfishly, thoughtlessly, mine."

"then, can i be yours?"

chapter 022 > here > epilogue

back to beneath the stars, we became one !

a/n: is this the end guys ...

taglist: @byakgans @bluberrymochi17 @levihanmyotp @x3nafix @etojlee @chuuyalvover @reocidal @syarc0re @azinniyaa @vashyuu @rwbie @idexmids @giaalorine @modxbea @nensi @anqelkoz @sapph1r3x @yuukigyatgyat @morgyyyyyyy @azharyy @chaerinmin @thenightsflower @narcjsistx @totheseok @meekydeeks @aerisevx @imas1mpp @t3chn0chan @lincqx @jadelynnrr @beellu @elpo1111

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[avenging-fandoms]

Watch - Joel Miller

Summary: requested by anonymous- HI!!! I have a Joel request! I need something along the lines of reader wanting to patrol and him being really upset because he doesn’t want her hurt and I just need the angst with a good ending. He needs to yearn for her safety and she needs to get mad at him for trying being over protective but he can’t stand the fact of losing her. TYSM!

Content warning: none

Bang!

“Fuck!” Ellie throws her head back and sulks as she walks back over to where you were watching. “I swear the targets are moving.”

You chuckle and take the safety off of your pistol, the summer breeze whistling through your ears. “Yeah, the inanimate glass bottles are moving away from you,” you tease the younger girl and she pushes your shoulder. You stand to where she was shooting, steadying your hands as you focus on the glass.

The trigger trembles as you pull it back, and with the bang came the boom of Joel’s voice. “Just what the hell do y’think you two are doin’?”

Ellie just turns with wide-eyes in your direction and you give a small shrug. You put the safety back on and tuck it back in your holster hidden under your jacket.

“Joel, we just wanted to practice. Yeah we’re safe in the walls of Jackson but you never know who or what could try to break them down,” you explain and Joel’s hands fly to his hips, shaking his head.

“Ellie, go on home. I’ll talk to you when I get back,” Joel commands without taking his eyes off of you. When Ellie starts to protest, you both give her a look and she’s off without another word.

“That girl is something else,” you chuckle but Joel sees nothing funny and your smile drops. “Relax, she was supervised and I taught her everything about the safety and-”

“Because I taught you that.” Joel takes a step towards you, finger pointing at his chest. “I taught you how to turn off the safety, how to reload. Do you think it’s safe for someone who had to learn a gun teach a 15 year old to use one?”

His brown eyes melt with anger, you put yourself and Ellie in an unsafe situation and deep down, you even knew it, but you knew she could hold her own.

“She already knows how to use one, she even taught me more than you! You have to stop treating her like a baby, she's been through so much shit." Joel shakes his head slightly, wiping his hand over his grey beard as he stares at the glass bottles. "And you've got to stop treating me like a child. I'm an adult, I've been one for many moons now, I don't need you berating me."

Joel's eyes flicker to you. The vein in his neck slightly pops out and his eyes darken, scanning your face. "Sweetheart, I just want you and Ellie safe," he sighs heavily.

"I know, but you've got to trust me. Like you said, you taught me, so I've gotta be pretty good." You start to walk past him and he grabs your shoulder softly.

"I trust you, Y/N. And I'm sorry if I've treated you like a child." He drops his hand but lets it drag down your arm. "I know you're not, I know you can hold your own."

The wind blows his scent your way and it sends shivers down your spine after his touch. You could only move your head in a nod as a response, starting the journey back home, Ellie waiting for you and Joel at the top of the hill.

"Didn't I tell you to go home?" Joel gives Ellie a look as the three of you start to walk, the girls on either side of Joel.

"You think she listens to what we say?" You snort and Joel curls his lip in a half smile.

The walk was you behind Joel and Ellie ahead of him, where he could keep an eye on her but you could be his back. Ellie went up to her room immediately and you lay on the couch, kicking off your sneakers with an arm over your eyes.

"Psst!" You sit up and find the teen crouching at the top of the stairs, waving for you to come up. Joel was in the kitchen and you quietly head up the stairs, Ellie pulling you in her room. "Are you going to talk to him?"

You sigh and shove your hands in your back pockets, looking at your socks. "I don't know, maybe I'll just talk to Jesse and start training and not tell Joel until I'm actually on patrol and he can't protest."

"He can't tell you shit! You're an adult, you can do it! Fuck Joel!" Ellie exclaims in a whisper and you both share a laugh. "For real, just tell him what you want. He can't tell you no," Ellie encourages and you nod with a big sigh, throwing your head back.

"You're right, I'll just.. talk to him." Your feet drag out of her room and you close the door behind you, heading down the stairs to find a quiet kitchen. The front door was open with a breeze making the house feel happy and it was you clue to finding Joel, who sat in his chair with a mug on his knee.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greets and watches you sit on the railing, wrapping your arms around the post and connecting your hands and staring your nails. "Somethin' on your mind?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something I've been thinking about doing for a while, and I've been nervous to bring it up to you because I don't know how you'll react but at the very least I hope you're proud," you inhale and Joel sits up, setting his cup on the table. "I'm going to talk to Jesse about joining patrol."

Joel freezes. You have been with him for 4 years, you two going on many adventures and patching many wounds together. He's helped you learn how to use every new weapon you've found, instilling on being careful and safe. He always protected you, no matter what, but with you on patrol, he had no control of your safety.

"Can you say something please?" You chuckle nervously and Joel blinks, looking at you and running a hand over his hair, squeezing the back of his neck and dropping his arm.

"I don't have anything to say." His voice was barely audible and his eyes were trying to speak for him. He stands up and walks next to you, holding the railing and bowing his head. "What do you want me to say?"

Your mouth falls open slightly and it was your turn to have nothing to say. He used your name. Not 'sweetheart,' not 'honey,' there was nothing sweet coming from his lips. He's only used your name in serious situations or when he's upset with you.

"I want you to be proud."

"I can't be, you're putting yourself at risk!" He squeezes the wood and looks at you with watery eyes. "It's great you want to help, but that is so dangerous. They're growing, they're evolving, there's probably humans more dangerous than those monsters."

You unwrap your arms from the post and place your hands on the railing, glancing down at your right one to see Joel's right hand inches away from you, knuckles white. "Why do you keep treating me like I can't hold my own?" You look at him with anger. "I told you today you need to stop treating me like a child, and that's exactly what you're doing.

Joel shakes his head. "No, no, it's not-" You jump off the railing and stand in front of him and stare up at the burly grey-haired man.

"Yes, that's exactly it! You have constantly been treating me like I don't know what I'm doing or I can't protect myself, I can!" Joel turns his body to you as you speak and his top lip twitches.

"You can hold your own, but it's so dangerous out there. The feeling of you being out there with all that just terrifies my soul."

You shake your head and hold his shoulder, stepping closer to him and looking into his eyes. "Joel, I promise you, I will take every part of my training from you and Jesse seriously. But please, talk to me like I'm not dumb. I know what's out there, we were out there together. I won't-"

"I can't protect you out there!" He exclaims and your expression changes to a surprised one with a blink, hands dropping from his shoulders. "I know. I know you can hold your own, I've seen it, but I never want to see it again. You got hurt and it killed me to see you in so much pain. And out there?" He shakes his head and sniffles, wiping his mouth. "Honey, I can't lose you." His voice finally breaks and he drops his head.

You put your hand on top of his that leans on the railing, resting your head on his shoulder and inhaling a deep breath of his scent. "You'll never lose me," you whisper and his other arm wraps around your back, squeezing you into him. "I'm not your kid, I'm not your wife, you can't tell me no."

Joel pulls you away from him, taking his hand out from under yours and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and dragging his fingers down your jaw, holding your chin. "Can't I?" He mumbles and you poke your tongue out to wet your very dry lips. "The thought of you being out there makes my stomach churn. I know you're good, but I can't be okay with me not being there with you. It's always been you and me."

You close your eyes and press your forehead against his chest and his large hand holds the back of your neck, rubbing your back with the other hand. "I want to do this, Joel, you're making it so fucking hard to do it. This is why I didn't want to tell you," you whine and he places his mouth on the top of your head. Your cheek presses against his chest to listen to his quick-beating heart. You push your hands up his back and grab his flannels in your fingers, hearing his heart go faster.

You two stay like that for a while. He starts to sway you both and hums a song that he'd sing for you during the bad days, and it makes you cry into his shirt, the thought of him losing you making him lose himself was too much.

You pull away from him and hold his sides with his rough palms holding your cheeks, wiping the tears. "I know what I want," you clear your throat and Joel looks with worried eyes. "I want you. I want a life here, with you and our girl."

"Talking about me?" Ellie makes you both jump but not away from each other. Joel drops his hands and holds out a hand, bringing Ellie into the hug. He wraps his arms around both you and Ellie, kissing your heads. "What the fuck happened out here? You're not joining patrol?"

You shake your head. "It would've been cool but it'd be cooler to spend more time with you and with Joel. I'll find something else, I'm not worried," you smile at the girl and kiss her forehead.

"Well, since she's not joining the patrol, when I'm 18 can we discuss me joining?"

You and Joel share a look and you widen your eyes a bit. "Okay, now I'm worried."