#<-......kinda sorta. just squint REALLY hard

[this-is-a-username124]

Gasp...the phantom miis....

(Just silly tomodachi life things :P)

[aeyumicore]

your fragrance

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: rafayel x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with plot, porn with feelings

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 10.4k (how?????)

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, switch!raf (like he’s both sub and dom in this, if you don’t like that then this may not be for you), knee humping, standing sex, against the wall sex, sorta rough sex, references to rafayel’s lore (no more than what’s talked about the actual memory), dry humping, slightly aphrodisiac sex, dub con if you squint really really really hard, ejaculating in pants, panty ripping, pheromone kink, lots of teasing (calling raf a cat/kitty), cum play? kinda, nipple teasing, slight use of y/n, reader is mc, second person pov

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3

━ ✧.˖ A/N: the raf fic is here!! based off the 5* rafayel memory ‘your fragrance.’ the build up is realllllllly long on this one since i wanted to stay as true to the memory as possible. you can def just skip to the smut if you’d like!

i struggled to write raf a lot but enjoyed it so much like he’s so fun to write. i’m def a sub girly so i love writing dom partners, thankfully i hc raf as a switch. if you do not like fics where raf is a switch, then this may not be for you! 

i can’t believe this fic ended up being 10k words too, i was thinking it would be a quick lil smut lol. i don’t even know how my zayne fic ended up being my shortest fic. enjoy my loves!

also this is dedicated to my bestie who is actually rafayel’s number one slut. follow her on x @/myusuchaa for so much good raf and other purple haired boy content. she is the master of rafayel lore, truly his wifey. a queen to us all.

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

You let out an exasperated sigh as your foot taps irritably against the protective painting tarp Rafayel always has laid out on the ground of his makeshift art studio, stray paint brushes strewn about. Impatiently, you waited for Rafayel to finish changing on the couch behind you, careful not to peek.  

Somehow, being Rafayel’s bodyguard also made you his keeper. And Rafayel was not easy to keep. Always dragging you with him on odd trips even if you had work, pestering you at all hours of the day and night, disappearing and unable to be contacted for days on end. This particular time it was the latter; Rafayel had gone mia three days before his important collab launch party with a high end perfume brand. Now, on the night of the party, Rafayel was still unable to be reached. 

Thomas had called you, in a sheer panic, as he always did when he needed help wrangling Rafayel. He knew you were the only one in this world that could level with Rafayel. And he’d never told you this before, but you were also the only one who could bend Rafayel’s unbreakable stubbornness; a perfect match for the purple-haired obstinate artist. And thus, Thomas had personally designated you as Rafayel’s keeper.  

And so, you found yourself at Rafayel’s massive house, in the most extravagant evening dress you owned, hauling him off to his own damn party. 

His annoyingly alluring voice cuts into the silence of the studio, "You can turn around now and give me a hand with something else.” You snap around to be met with the sight of Rafayel, irritatingly and devilishly handsome in his expensive white dress shirt and designer cardigan, leaning lazily against the sofa with the tie you’d previously used to tie his hands with, woven in between his fingers. He grins and holds it up to you expectantly, "Put this on for me.”

"Don’t you have hands?” You snap, but your feet have a mind of their own, and you’re already approaching him on the sofa.  

"My hands are numb from being tied up by you for so long.” You roll your eyes, knowing he’s being dramatic. While he waits deceptively patiently for you to give in, he leisurely takes a wristwatch out of his pocket to put on, as if he’s got all the time in the world. "Clock’s ticking, keep it up and we’ll be late at this rate.”

You gape at him. The sheer audacity of this man, as if you’re the reason he’d be late. He only smirks at you, and it just infuriates you all the more. How he could so easily annoy the hell out of you and look so beautiful doing it. But you keep your mouth shut, and exasperatedly lean down to put on his tie for him, doing your best not to strangle him with it. It feels strangely intimate, and the brief reprieve finally gives you an opportunity to speak to him. 

"Thomas said you have to be present for all parts of the event. There will be reporters at the entrance taking photos, and…” you rattle off, before you realize Rafayel is being uncharacteristically silent, "Are you even listening?” 

You look up from the tie in your fingers to glance at Rafayel’s face. He doesn’t look the least bit interested in your words, instead his eyes are fixated on your wrist. You tap his chest to get his attention but he remains still, eyes still on your hands atop his collarbones. You curiously wave your hand in front of his face, hoping to snap him out of his trance. Fortunately you do, but unfortunately Rafayel grabs your wrist suddenly and urgently. 

“...what’s the matter?” The bewilderment is unmistakable in your voice. You’re used to Rafayel’s erratic and quirky behavior, but this was alarming, even to you.

Finally his gaze breaks away from your wrist and he speaks, "I heard you talking about the event…” but just as quickly as you’d diverted his attention, it's back on your wrist. His voice is unusually clouded, deeper than usual. His eyes are back on your wrist that’s enclosed in his fingers, as a strange expression crosses his face. It almost feels as if he’s trying to hold himself back, but you’re unsure from what. 

"Your hand…” he trails off, inexplicable emotions caught in his hoarse voice. He suddenly tugs you towards him by your wrist, and you stumble forward.  

"Rafayel?! Wait!” As you fall forward, your feet run out of space and hit the bottom of the sofa, causing you to tumble on top of him. He catches you easily, sitting you on top of his lap while he brings your captured wrist right up to the side of his face. The awkward position forces you to settle your legs on either side of his thighs, straddling him against the designer couch. The half knotted tie comes undone and you’re left clutching the smooth material in your hands. If it weren’t for the compromising position you found you and Rafayel in, you'd be slightly disappointed at seeing your hard work unraveled.  

The grip on your wrist tightens impossibly, almost possessively, "Hold still.” His command is not totally unusual; Rafayel is always demanding things of you, his precious bodyguard. But his voice comes out in a strange and sensual husk, leaving you confused, nervous, and weirdly burning. His silky smooth dress pants shuffle under you, and you’re reminded of the expensive clothes you’re pressed up against, likely worth more than a month of your hunter salary.  

"Your suit! It’ll get wrinkled.” 

"I don’t care…let me smell this…” he trails off, his voice sounding impossibly far away. You can feel the tickle of his inhale against your wrist and it makes you shiver, goosebumps forming under his touch. 

"What is that?” He asks, mostly to himself, lost in his own little world, "It smells good. And smells familiar…” 

It wasn’t at all uncommon for Rafayel to be mysterious and even enigmatic, but this was a whole other level of confusion for you, "What…what’s wrong? Did something happen?”  

His behavior is starting to worry you. He’s unusually breathless, and you can see a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. The last thing you needed was him getting sick! You could already hear his needy whines in your head at the mere thought. Demanding to be taken care of and waited on. You almost want to smile at the thought of it; you act constantly annoyed with Rafayel but deep down you know you can’t live without his antics. 

 "No, I'm fine. Very well, in fact,” but despite his words, Rafayel sounds anything but. His voice, normally a bright and charming, albeit annoying, timbre, is now a hoarse and needy rasp. His ticklish touch on the inside of your wrist reminds you of where you got the perfume that he was so intoxicated by. 

"Come to think of it...I tried an unreleased fragrance in the back office of the exhibition hall. It was made with special ingredients,” you scratch your chin with your free hand, trying your best to recall the name of it.  

"Perfume? You spritzed the perfume sample on your wrist?” 

You glance at him, concern and confusion written all over your face. Isn’t that what you do with perfumes? Rafayel shifts his gaze to your eyes, but his breath remains on the inside of your wrist. It’s deafeningly silent and you realize the scent of the perfume gradually grows stronger as your body temperature rises at the proximity of your body to Rafayel’s. You’re suddenly reminded of the fact that you’re sitting on his lap, and his face is so very close to your own.  

He’s still lost in his own thoughts as he murmurs, more to himself than you, "It’s a bit bitter like fermented plants…but very fragrant.” 

"It could be a mixture of artificial chemical stuff. Now, unhand me please,” you’re desperate to detach yourself from him, unsure if you can trust your body when it’s pressed so readily upon Rafayel’s own hard and sturdy stature. 

"No.”  

Your jaw drops at his audacity. But before you can berate him, he’s reaching his free hand to undo the buttons of his collar, as if the clothing is restricting him and making it hard to breath. His purple eyes are glazed over, and a beautiful faint blush paints his cheeks. His exposed collar and chest have you biting back your words, completely losing your train of thought. You squirm at the sight, but Rafayel’s hand on your thighs grip you in place, not letting you move a single inch. 

"I could’ve sworn I've smelled this fragrance before,” he presses your hand against his cheek as he continues to slowly inhale the scent by the mouthful. It wouldn’t be completely out of the question, the unreleased scent had been developed for his artworks for the collaboration, so it’s very likely he could’ve sampled it during production. 

"We can worry about it later. Let’s go. Everyone is waiting” you urge, feeling yourself blush as he shifts slightly under you, brushing against your sensitive inner thighs. You pull your hand away from his cheek, only for Rafayel to yank it back, like a child unwilling to share his favorite toy.

"Let me smell it again,” his demand is meant to be gentle, but comes out rough and urgent. You sigh, letting him melt into your hand again. It’s almost endearing; you quite like being so intimate with Rafayel. 

"You know, for someone who hates cats, you sure are acting like one,” you tease, "A kitty that found some catnip to be exact. 

The mere mention of cats is usually enough to set Rafayel off, pouting like a little baby that’s been teased. But instead, he just distractedly responds, "So then are you a cat? I am not a cat. And also, you’re not allowed to say that. I just couldn’t resist…” 

You roll your eyes but can’t help but grin at his adorableness, tempted to just give in to his touch, savoring every moment you possibly can before the bubble bursts.

 "What is this weird perfume…” he’s talking to himself again, inspecting your hand carefully. His jumbled thoughts have you worried for him again. Although Rafayel did often have energy that bordered on adhd, this was much more intense than that. 

"Are you alright?” You repeat, softly. He doesn’t respond, but leans his cheek into your touch, his lips turning so they’re practically kissing your palm. Like this, he inhales the scent with his parted lips. His adam's apple bobs as he gulps, almost feverishly. His hand reaches to further loosen his collared shirt, pulling it open to let the cool air soothe his burning skin.  

"It must be an allergic reaction. This isn’t perfume. How dare they use such underhanded methods to trap me…” his words both confuse and scare you. You’re growing increasingly worried about his flushed and sweaty complexion, his collarbones shining under the faint glow of the city lights through the massive windows. His words fill you with a terror you do not understand.

Rafayel holds the area between the bridge of his nose and his forehead, like his head is pounding, before returning to grip the collar of his dress shirt. His hand that holds yours is shaky as he rocks slowly underneath you, inhaling as much of the perfume as he can. His lap brushes against yours and your brain short circuits at the feeling of him pressed against you. 

"H-huh?” Is the only thing you’re capable of getting out.

"Who gave you the perfume? Who sent it?” His questions are increasingly alarming you, but you do your best to keep calm. You can tell he’s nervous as well, and the sight makes your chest squeeze. Wanting to comfort him, you cup his cheek in your palm and he leans into the touch so contentedly and groaning in satisfaction. Truly like a cat.

You blushed despite yourself. It was so difficult to not be aroused in this compromising position. You’d long since had a crush on Rafayel, always craving his silly antics and theatrics. Missing him intensely when he’d disappear for days at a time. 

"No one. Um, why do you look like you’re drunk?” You try to deflect from the burning between your thighs, hoping he can’t notice how hot and bothered you’ve become. 

"I’m not drunk. I just don’t like the scent,” he pouts, but nuzzles your hand against his cheek like a cat getting cheek scratches. He turns his lips back into your palm, opening his mouth until you can feel his teeth graze your skin. He groans as he continues to inhale the scent, making you bite back a moan of your own at his gentle nibbles. 

"Rafayel…you…” but you find yourself at a loss for words as he continues to breathe in your scent like it's the oxygen he needs to survive. Your own breaths start to come out in shallow pants, and you squirm in his lap. Rafayel moans softly into your palm, biting down gently to get you to stop. 

"Are you trying to run away again?” He asks, almost painfully, his eyes piercing into yours, so intense and searching. The glassy look in them reminds you of how much you’re worried about his current well being.

"Rafayel, you don’t look so good. Shouldnt you go to the doctor?” You use the hand Rafayel isn’t gripping to take his face between your free fingers and inspect his beautiful and flushed features.  

Rafayel’s breath hitches at your touch, goose flesh littering the skin where your touch singes, "I’m not going anywhere.” And though he doesn’t say it, you can feel what’s left unsaid.

And neither are you.

But he continues, dazed, "You’re gonna lock me up again…you’re with them. I just know it. Don’t think I'm unaware of what you’re about to do.” He has both your wrists in his hands now, gripping them on either side of his neck. "Y/n, I won’t fall for it again. Not this time.”

Though his words scare the shit out of you, you’re unable to concentrate on anything but his eyes that are trained on your neck, where your pulse thrums erratically in anticipation. You’re suddenly hyper aware that your heart is beating so fast you can hardly hear him anymore, despite his face being mere inches from yours. Your breath is close enough to mingle with his. It seems he notices too, because he inhales deeply and throws his head back, gasping.

It's then you realize it's not just the scent of the perfume that's setting Rafayel off, but your own scent mingled with it. 

"Rafayel, snap out of it!” You beg. But Rafayel can’t seem to hear you as his cold hand grips the side of your neck, where you’d also dabbed the perfume along. Your breath catches in your throat at the icy touch, unsure of what to do. 

Rafayel senses your hesitation, "Don’t worry. I’m not gonna do anything to you.” His voice is a throaty groan, and you’re honestly unsure if that’s even what you want. His body is almost on top of yours now, his breath deafening in your ear. And all you can think about is how you’d wish he’d press into you harder, until you’re suffocating, only able to breathe him in. 

But you go with your better judgment, pushing him gently, putting some distance between the two of you. He glances up from your neck, eyes unfocused, and says nothing. He finds himself staring at your lips that are parted slightly to let out the short pants of breath you’re wheezing out. He leans in slowly so he can breathe in as much of you as he possibly can, just nearly closing the proximity between your lips.  

Suddenly, your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your little bubble with Rafayel, "Its Thomas! He probably wants to remind us of the time. Let's head out!” You shove your phone until Rafayel’s hands, forcing him to take Thomas’s call for you.  

While he’s distracted, you slip out from beneath him and bolt to the nearest bathroom. As you move your legs, you’re made acutely aware of the slick that has formed in your panties. But you focus first on furiously washing off the scent from your wrists and neck. As you scrub, you glance up at the mirror in front of you. You swear at the site of yourself, unbelievably disheveled and undeniably aroused.  

As you continue to adamantly scrub, you can faintly make out Rafayel on the phone with Thomas, just outside. 

"No, we’re not going to make it. I need to take care of something urgent. Don’t call again please, bye.” When you turn off the faucet, you go to lean against the wall adjacent to the sink, trying to steady yourself and collect your thoughts. You turn around and gently rest your forehead against the wall, sighing into the cool surface against your burning skin, willing the arousal between your legs to go away. You try to remind yourself of poor Thomas all alone at the exhibition right now. Your guilt is short lived as you hear the patter of Rafayel’s feet approaching the bathroom. 

"Where are you going?” Rafayel’s words are right behind you, and his hand presses against the bathroom wall that your forehead rests on. You whip around and find yourself trapped between Rafayel’s hard body and the solid wall behind you. You back up instinctively, but find yourself hitting the cold surface before you even take a single step back. 

"Gotcha,” Rafayel smirks softly, and you tremble at his proximity to you. His other hand grips a towel bar to your left, while his other hand leans against the wall to your right, so you’re utterly trapped against him. He’s so close, close enough that you can feel his rapid breaths fanning across your parted lips. As Rafayel’s eyes roam all over you, from your lips to your heaving chest, you feel very much like a lamb caught in a lion’s den. Except you don’t want to escape. 

"Rafayel…” you murmur using both your hands to gently push against his chest, unintentionally brushing against the exposed skin below his collar, under his unbuttoned dress shirt. You’re hoping he’ll have mercy and release you, afraid that the palpable sexual tension in the air would cloud your, and Rafayel’s, judgment.  

He shivers as your wet hands brush against his chest, knuckles turning white as they grip the towel bar next to you. His breath comes out in shallow pants, chest heaving up and down, with a light sheen of sweat painting his pale skin. The sight snaps you out of the moment, reminding you that Rafayel seems like he might have a fever. 

"Let’s go to the hospital...I’m worried about you,” your hands shift to grip his open shirt, bringing the fabric together to cover him up. Rafayel’s hand releases the towel bar to take both of your hands into his, trapping them against his chest.  

"What will it take for you to believe that I'm okay? I’m exactly where I want to be,” his gruff voice invades all your senses while his eyes burn holes through your own. He presses himself further into you, until his forearm is resting against the wall above you, only your joined hands pressed against his chest separating the two of you. He leans down, his face now impossibly close to yours, and for a second you find yourself lost in his purple and blue cosmic eyes.  

You take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself to reality, and remind yourself that Rafayel’s actions are only fueled by the strange effects the perfume has on him. He’s not in his right mind, and you need to think for him.  

You whisper, craning your neck up to look into his eyes, "You’re not yourself right now. Let me help you, I can take you to the doctor.”  

Rafayel leans down, resting his chin in the crook of your neck. He breathes you in, the smell of the perfume, still potent despite the scrubbing, mixed with your pheromones invading his very being. Slowly, almost like it pains him to do so, he lifts his head away from you. He releases your hands and uses that same hand that gripped them to lift your chin towards him. 

"Do you know the only thing you could do that would help me?” His hooded eyes lock yours in. His voice is the soft purr you know and love, slightly tinged with a rough and carnal desire that shakes you to your core. 

"Name it. I’ll do it for you.“ part of you knows that Rafayel isn’t going to ask you for anything regarding his health but you can’t stop the words from coming out of your mouth. You’re stepping into very dangerous territory and you can’t hold yourself back. 

"Kiss me,” his voice is low, but the assertive demand in it is undeniable. His command makes you shift in between his legs against the wall, becoming hyper aware of how deeply your bodies pressed into each other. You know you want to, you’ve wanted to for some time now. But you can’t shake the idea that the strange effects of the perfume are clouding Rafayel’s judgment and inhibitions. 

"R-Rafayel…” you stutter hesitantly. Trembling ever so slightly, you lean in to peck his flushed cheek. You watch, slightly amused, as Rafayel’s ears get even pinker.

"Why must you always make me beg?” He whines. His lips stick out in a signature Rafayel pout, one you’ve grown to absolutely adore, no matter how annoying it can be.  

You can’t help but laugh breathlessly, your chin still in his grip, "I don’t make you. You just love to beg.“ 

With your face still in his grip, he sighs dramatically, "Then I won’t beg anymore.” He brings his face to yours and captures your lips with his. He swallows your surprised squeak, which is quickly replaced by a throaty moan of longing and anticipation. Rafayel absolutely devours your noises, his lips so commanding against your own, bending them to his every will. They’re so soft, and you can’t help but think they fit so perfectly slotted against your own.  

Though you can taste the urgency on him, Rafayel takes his time with you, engraving the taste and feel of you in his mind forever. He takes it so tortuously and deliciously slow that you find yourself nibbling on his bottom lip, begging him to take you fully.  

You can just feel his maddening smirk against your lips. Instead of indulging you, Rafayel laces his practiced fingers under your dress’s skirt and onto your thighs. Only when you yelp in surprise does he finally slip his tongue into your mouth, always intentionally doing things to take you by surprise.  

The new sensation of your tongues on each other seems to have Rafayel equally feral, because you feel the unmistakable press of his erection into your stomach. Needing to do something with your hands, you trace the outlines of his chest muscles, enjoying the feel of them finally against your fingers. 

Rafayel’s hands venture to your back, expertly undoing the zipper of your dress, and then your bra. Gasping into his open mouth as his fingers return to the pebbling skin of your nipples. He gives a harsh flick to each, and your knees buckle against the sensitivity. You sink down against the wall, lips still attached to his for dear life, but Rafayel shifts so that he catches you with his knee instead. The mid length black dress your wore rides up and serves as a sheer layer of protection between your dampening panties and his knee. The friction of his leg against your crotch is unbearable, forcing you to throw your head back in pleasure. 

Your reaction only serves to spur Rafayel further, as he begins to knead his knee into your cunt slowly. Your body turns to mush at the ecstasy of his knee against your most sensitive region, but Rafayel holds you steady with his hands gripping you from the swell of your underboobs.  

Burying his face into the crook of your neck, he inhales again. Unbeknownst to you, he practically comes undone at the smell of you alone, "You say I'm always whining but look at you.”  

You whimper at his teasing words right against your ear, clutching the back of his neck for support as he continues to hump his knee into you.  

Suddenly, Rafayel stops, letting his knee still against your increasingly damp cunt. You can’t help but whine as you look up into his amused eyes. There’s mischief in them as he grins, "I’m getting tired. You’re going to have to do the work.” 

Despite your lust clouded brain, you can still think coherently enough to see through his brattiness. You narrow your eyes at him, "You’re tired? Let me take you to the hospital. I knew you weren’t feeling well.” You duck down to escape his arms that cage you in, but he only lowers them so that they now trap you at the waist instead. 

"You’re so mean to me Y/N,” he huffs, "Can’t you tell how vulnerable I am right now?” 

"Because of the perfume? Why does it affect you so much?” You murmur, squeezing his cheeks slightly.  

From Rafayel’s expression you can tell he’s unwilling to share too much information. And as annoying as that was, you trusted him wholeheartedly and knew better than to prod him too much. You would take what you could get. 

He rests his head on your shoulder, unwilling to meet your stare. Dusting your hair behind your ear, he sniffs you again, practically consuming the scent. You shiver at the slight breeze he creates at your exposed neck, "I-It’s not just the perfume. I’ve dealt with this scent before, and I've developed a tolerance to it.” 

You hold his neck against your shoulder, and gently knead his damp skin, letting him inhale the smell like his life depended on it, "Then why?”

Rafayel sighs, releasing the wall behind you but instead trapping you by wrapping his arms around your waist, pressing your bodies together. You sigh in satisfaction as his erection presses warmly against you again, your pussy craving his touch

Finally he speaks, but his voice is low and almost feels dangerous, "The marine plant the perfume is extracted from…on its own no longer does anything to me. But when it’s exposed to another scent that I cannot control myself around…the reaction it causes can be extremely potent.” 

The sensations of his body pressed tightly against yours makes your brain practically non-functional, so you’re not following his train of thought, so you ask dumbly, "Like the air?”

You can practically hear Rafayel rolling his eyes in his voice, "I need air to survive but do you think I can’t control myself at all times of the day?”

"Okay well I'm confused! And to be fair you do act like an idiot at all times of the day so how am I supposed to know?!” He ignores you, taking another lungfull of the scent on your skin into his body. This time, he growls through an intense shiver, his grip on your body tightening against him. As if the very smell of your skin drove him into a lust filled craze. 

And that’s when you realize what he meant.

"O-oh,” is all you can squeak out. Strangely enough, the idea that your scent is what is driving Rafayel to madness makes you leak further into the puddle that had formed in your panties. 

Rafayel groans again, one his fists releasing your body to gently pound into the wall behind you, "I-I can smell the arousal in your scent. It’s driving me insane.” 

Knowing he can smell the dampness between your thighs is both utterly embarrassing and completely erotic. Your heart lurches, wanting nothing but to take his discomfort away and make him feel good, "H-how can I help you?” 

Reluctantly, he removes his chin off your shoulder and turns to face you, gripping your biceps in his hands, almost to the point of pain, "Do you mean that? Because you can’t take it back.”

Shivering at the implications of his words, you nod slowly but more sure than ever, "Yes. Let me help you. I want to help you” 

"I-If you want to help me…” Rafayel’s voice is doubtful, like he’s scared you will deny him before he’s even gotten the chance to put his request out. Between your thighs, you feel his knee creeping its way back against your leaking cunt. The shock to your recovering clit causes you to clutch Rafayel’s firm shoulders and throw your head back with a breathy moan. Rafayel feeds off your pleasure, imagining what you would sound like when you were actually stuffed to the brim with him. 

"I want...I need to see you cum all over me,” Rafayels throaty plea makes you blush profusely. You almost want to smack him across the head for his shameless words, but the pout on his face reminds you that he’s absolutely serious that this will help him. That seeing you come undone for him will help take the edge off of the effect the perfume is having on him. 

"O-okay.” You gulp, nodding. The relief on his face is mixed with unbridled excitement that makes you squirm in anticipation of what's to come. Your feet shift, which causes you to grind down on his knee once more. Unable to withstand the unintentional teasing any further, you languidly moan and grind your leaking cunt against him to relieve some of the pulsing tension in your gut. 

Your broken groans grace Rafayel’s ears and you can actually see his eyes light up with pleasure while his ears burn an even deeper red. His breath is shaky as he dips his head back down, inhaling deeply and dusting a kiss to the pulse point on your neck. You shiver as he gently uses his tongue against your neck to soothe his raging desire. 

His reaction intrigues you, and you can’t help but want to tease him further, just a little. Peering at him through your eyelashes, you tip toe upwards so you can fan your bated breath across his face, letting him bask in your scent. Your tongue reaches out to gently swipe across his bottom lip, all the while you continue to pleasure yourself using his thigh. 

Rafayel is unable to contain his excitement as he watches you use his body for your own gratification. He pants desperately into the crook of your neck, high off your pheromones invading all his senses. Through both your whiny moans, you reach out to graze his cock through his dress pants. 

Rafayel hisses at the slightest contact, and his reaction ignites your confidence, provoking you further. You grip him through the silky smooth trousers, holding his throbbing erection in your hand, using your thumb to tease where you think his slit would be.

"Fuck–hah, be gentle please baby. M’sensitive,” he whines through gritted teeth. Your cunt clenches at his words, so teasing yet so endearing from Rafayel’s lips. You can feel the coil in your gut tightening as you continue to hump into Rafayel’s knee, using his body to chase your own high. Your black dress has ridden up, and now the only barrier between Rafayel’s knee and your sopping pussy is your equally soaked panties. You bite your lip and pray that Rafayel doesn’t notice the moist streaks that are starting to appear on his expensive pants. 

Through your hooded eyes, you can see Rafayel is enjoying this just as much, if not more, than you are. His eyes are thick with lust, and you can practically see the pulse of his neck pound against his delicate skin. He desperately gasps for air, or maybe he’s trying to breathe more of you in, as you near your earth shattering climax. 

"Touch yourself for me,” you purr at him, purposely jutting your bottom lip out in a pout. He obliges obediently, one hand quickly undoing his belt and slipping in to grab his unbelievably hard cock into his hands. 

As you watch his face contort in pleasure, you’re filled with the need to grab him into your own hands. "Can I touch you too?” You ask innocently with wide eyes, imagining just how smooth he will feel in your bare hands. 

Rafayel whines, still obediently pumping his cock in his hands, "Yes please, I need you to touch me.” At his plea, you let your hands find their way to his hands, still diligently pumping up and down. You wrap your smaller hand over his and mimic his motions. You gasp at the sheer size of him, your fingers just barely able to wrap around his girth. You can feel his veins throbbing against your fingers, begging you to continue further. The sheer amount of pre cum that already coats his fingers, and now yours, makes you wonder how delicious his spend would feel inside you instead.

"You’re so dam beautiful when you – fuck – use me like this. Dreamed about this for s’long,” he bites out, his hands finding your nipples once more. His long artist fingers tease you expertly, taking the peaks and rolling them gently.

His skilled hands and filthy words accelerate the intensity of your body’s peak quickly approaching you. His entire body is flushed and burns under the pumps of your fist, likely exacerbated by the effects of your scent. You respond to his endless stream of gasps and swears with breathless mewls of your own, whispering sweet words into his ear. 

"Let me cum Rafayel, please. Want to cum for you s’bad,” you beg against him, despite him having given you all the power already, knowing the begging will drive him insane. 

Rafayel drives his knee further into you as your core grinds into him like second nature. Your wrists vigorously pump his leaking cock, the thick heat of it feeling absolutely unreal against your palm. With your free hand you thread your fingers through his long soft hair, gripping gently. With a strangled groan Rafayel sinks his teeth into your neck, sucking at your pulse point as if he’s trying to devour your scent. Reluctantly he pulls away, throwing his head back in pure pleasure once more. 

 "F-fuck you drive me fucking crazy Y/N,” he pants, his thick length throbbing at your vigorous pumps along his shaft, almost as if his heart was beating inside it. The endless precum that falls from the tip coats your fingers, making a wet mess in Rafayel’s pants and your palm.

 He groans in disappointment when you release his erection, but his eyes are trained on your every movement. Overcome with your aching need for the gorgeous purple haired man before you, you bring your soaked fingers to your lips and slowly insert your index and middle finger into your parted mouth. You make a show of letting your tongue lap up his essence from your digits, never letting your eyes break contact with his as you devour him off your fingers. You can’t help but let out a muffled moan at the taste of him, sweeter than you could have ever fathomed, so deliciously Rafayel.

He nearly hyperventilates as you peer at him through the tears of pleasure that had beaded onto your eyelashes. "Look at you, hah, like a fucking masterpiece,” his thumb caresses your lip as his breathless praises make you squirm against his knee. The pre cum on his thumb swipes onto your tongue, and you itch to taste him again. You shift yourself so that you can take his thumb into your mouth, using your tongue to swipe all the slick off his slender fingers. 

Rafayel shivers at your touch, his mind a mush of lust and adoration as he watches your eyes roll back at the taste of his cum on your lips.  

"You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmurs, drunk off your pheromones invading his senses. You only smile at him and tip toe up to press your lips against his, wanting him to be able to taste himself on your tongue. He groans into your mouth at the odd sensation of being able to taste both himself and you all at once. Both his hands come up to thread in your hair, pulling you as deeply into him as he possibly can. You can feel his exposed chest against your own, his heart pounding rapidly against the swell of your dress covered breasts. The proximity lets him control every twitch of his quads against your cunt and you cry into his mouth at the stimulation. 

As you continue to fuck yourself onto his knee, you find yourself on the cusp of your orgasm, nearly blinded by the ecstasy of his leg wedged between your thighs and the salty taste of his slick on your tongue, "Raf-Rafayel, m’gonna cum.” 

Despite his furious blush, he smirks at you, as devilishly handsome as ever, "You gonna cum on my knee baby?” 

If it weren’t for the cloud of pleasure fogging your every nerve you’d surely have a snarky retort to throw back at him, but the need to have him is so great you can’t think of a single thing. Without even needing to enter you, Rafayel has rendered you utterly fucked out.  

So instead, you nod eagerly as your grinding against his knee becomes increasingly sloppy and erratic. Rafayel, entranced by the utterly fucked bliss in your eyes can’t stop himself from falling deeper into the abyss that is you: your voice, your eyes, your smell, your soul. He finds himself realizing that, though he’s seen millions of dollars in once in a lifetime artworks, even creating some of his own to add to this infinite world, the entire universe pales in comparison to you. The thick haze of emotions overwhelms him and he finds himself begging, once again. 

"P-please cum for me, my love. I need to see it,” Rafayel begs into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. The sensation makes your entire body shiver, causing your cunt to quiver further into his soaked knee. You’re not used to his voice, normally teasing and bratty voice, being this needy and adoring. It’s all enough to shove you viciously into your orgasm. You cling onto Rafayel as you release all over your panties and his leg, still languidly grinding into you.  

You can’t stop the screams that rip out of your mouth, pure ecstasy and satisfaction laced into your very breath. Rafayel holds you tightly against him, cooing into your ear, talking you through the waves of pleasure, as the excruciating ecstasy makes tears spill out of your eyes and onto your cheeks. 

Rafayel eyes widen in pure awe as he watches every shiver and twitch of your orgasm against his leg. He throws his head back, swearing as your scent becomes exponentially more potent. The smell of your spend is thick in the air, mixing with your pheromones and the perfume until it overloads every nerve in his body. The throbbing in his cock grows unbearable even with nothing touching it, physically twitching uncontrollably as he explodes inside his slacks. 

You cry out one last time when your thighs collapse from the intense climax, and Rafayel catches you by your waist, holding you steady against him and the wall behind you. The movements against your cunt slow as you ride out the final waves of your orgasm. With nothing separating his thigh from your cunt but your soaked panties, Rafayel can swear he feels your clit throb against him, the aftershocks of your climax wracking your body, just as the effects of his own orgasm sear through his. 

You’re a panting and sobbing mess against his flushed chest. Your legs are completely useless, supported solely by Rafayel’s strong and safe arms around your waist and his knee still wedged between you. He rests his face in the mess of your hair, breathing you into him. Unbeknownst to you, Rafayel is reeling from his own climax as he holds you protectively against him, almost for dear life.

Through the comfortable silence that has blanketed the bathroom, Rafayel’s voice vibrates on the top of your head, "You smell so fucking good baby.” 

You smile contentedly against Rafayel’s chest, your hands reaching up to smooth his curly hair away from his sweaty forehead, "Do you feel better?”

He smiles against your head, taking another deep breath of you into him. His voice is thick with satisfaction, but also unrelenting hunger, "Yes, but…” you wait for him to finish his thought, but there’s only silence.

"Rafayel?”

His reply comes out strangled and heavy against the top of your head, "I-I need more. I need you.”

You shift so you can look up at him. He doesn’t speak, but his hooded eyes tell you everything he’s thinking. Maybe it’s the post orgasm haze, but you find yourself being unable to deny Rafayel, wanting nothing more than to please him.

Getting on your toes so you can reach him, you let your bottom lip brush against his, relishing in the way his breath catches in his throat, and whisper, "Take me Rafayel.” 

 "Sh-shit,” he mumbles and presses his lips the rest of the short distance into yours. He tears into you with such torrid intensity that your knees buckle. As his palms hold your face in place, you cling onto his shoulders for support, the feeling of him enveloping you so overwhelmingly addicting. As your legs give out under the excruciating anticipation of what’s to come, you hook your knee into Rafayel’s waist. He grips your thigh, lifting it to hook around his back. His hand kneads into your bare skin as he reluctantly tears his lips from yours. 

"You can’t stand anymore?” His cocky grin contrasts the deep blush on his cheeks. Before you can snap back at him, he hoists you up against the wall. Instinctively you yelp, wrapping your other leg against his waist as he holds you securely against the cool tiles behind you and his solid abdomen.  

His lips simultaneously find yours again, locking deeply with an unrelenting passion that quite literally takes your breath away. As your breath becomes his, your thighs clench at the crushing intensity of his lips, wanting him deeper, harder. His tongue explores every inch of you, and you whimper into him at the pure need that was manifesting in your gut once more. 

Feverishly, Rafayel breaks away, like he cannot possibly wait another second. He doesn’t even break a sweat as he balances your squirming body with one hand, his other hand reaching down to pull off his belt that he’d undone earlier.

You want to ask Rafayel if it’d be more comfortable to go to his bed or even the studio sofa, but you’re rendered speechless as he pulls his cock out of his slacks. You’d felt it in your hands earlier, but seeing it in all its glory under the light was a whole different story. 

Rafayel definitely took pride in how he presented himself, his hair, his clothes; everything about him was pristine and curated just how he wanted others to see him. And his manhood was no different. He stood absolutely proud against his naval, his impressive length erect enough to touch just below his belly button, curving straight up. He’s unsurprisinglt well groomed, but with a dusting of pubic hair along his happy trail to his glorious cock. Like Rafayel himself, it was nothing short of art.

But then you noticed that he has trails of white cream smeared all over his delicious length, matted into the hair along his pelvis. Far too much to be just pre cum. 

"D-did you cum earlier?” You can’t stop the grin that forms on your face as you realize Rafayel had finished earlier just watching you pleasure yourself against him. Literally came undone at the mere thought and sight of your pleasure.

Rafayel averts his eyes, hiding under his tousled bangs, his face tomato red, "Sh-shut up!” His reaction only makes you laugh and want to provoke him more.

"You’re such a bad boy Rafayel, cumming without me touching you,” you coo, using one hand to scratch his hair soothingly, "Just an eager little kitty for me.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrow as his lips form his signature pouty grimace, "I am not a cat.”

You open your mouth to tease him more, but Rafayel pushes you harder into the wall so he can free one hand to rub his thumb against your lips. You yelp at the feel of the stone cold wall being pressed further into your burning skin. With his finger on your mouth, his eyebrow raise at you pointedly.  His eyes light up with an intense and burning warning, "I’m about to fucking ravage you. Are you sure you want to keep teasing me?”

His words shut you up instantly. You shake your head vehemently and obediently, your cunt aching at his promises, needing nothing more than to be filled with him.

"Good girl,” he murmurs, his hand moving off your lips to reach under your dress, hooking his finger into the waistband of your panties. You shiver at the feel of his palm on your waist, as he attempts to pull them off of you. But he quickly grows impatiently frustrated at the tangle of your bodies. 

"I'll buy you another pair, ‘kay?” You’re about to protest but Rafayel wastes absolutely no time, bunching the delicate material in his fist and tearing it off you. You gape as the sound of fabric ripping sounds in the air and watch the lace material fall to the ground. 

"R-Rafayel! I liked that pair!” You scold, hitting his shoulder in a mixture of disbelief but also arousal at his primal urge. You know you should be more upset but you find yourself just melting into a puddle at his unabashed behavior. I mean honestly you wore those in hopes that he might see them anyways.  

"I'll buy you as many as you want, if you let me rip them off of you,” he grins in feigned apologeticness. At your expression he continues, this time earnestly, "M’sorry, just can’t wait anymore.” And with those words, Rafayel sheaths himself into you. You yelp at the alarming stretch, his girth much more than you’re used to. Even with the thick slick of your combined orgasms, it’s slightly painful to accommodate him.

Simultaneously, Rafayel cries out huskily as he enters you, your grip down there absolutely strangling his erection. The finish of your first climax thickly coats his cock, but it’s just barely enough to offset the stretch from how thick he is. His strong arms hold you securely in place as his pelvis slowly begins thrusting up into you, pushing you up the wall at every stroke. 

The angle he has you in meant every single thrust hits your cervix, his cock unbelievably lengthy. The curvature causes every stroke to drag deliciously against your g spot which makes you cream uncontrollably at each thrust, a ring of white forming at the base of his cock that splashes into you with every vigorous stroke. Your clit rubs roughly against his pelvis, his coarse happy trail rubbing against it with every movement, stimulating your body beyond belief.

"Fuck you’re taking me so well baby,” Rafayel moans into your ear, swallowing another mouthful of your aroma. You whimper as you feel him getting unbelievably harder at your scent alone, his solid flesh brushing against every single corner of your gummy walls. His veins throb inside of you as he twitches in pleasure. "So fucking tight, all for me yeah?” 

"Raf, s’big. Feel s’good,” you slur, the haze of ecstasy starting to cloud your consciousness. His thrusts go harder, deeper, at your praises, and you cry out, unable to stop your thighs, and simultaneously your cunt, from tightening around him. 

A strangled moan leaves his lips at your movements, his damp forehead pressing against yours as one of his hands leave your thighs to grip the wall next to you. "Sh-shit are you always this tight or is this jus’ for me?”

Before you can respond, Rafayel is babbling huskily into your ear again, "Wish you could see yourself right now. You look so beautiful, so fucked out, all for me huh?” 

Your eyes squeeze shut at his filthy words, and you can’t help but clench down on him again. Your profuse arousal coats the hair along his pelvis, creating the most filthy and lewd noises as Rafayel continues to bounce you onto his cock, his stamina absolutely unreal. Your lips chant his name, over and over, your brain only filled with him. 

"Look at me Y/N, need to see you,” Rafayel begs into your neck, still absolutely inhaling your pheromones, getting harder at every intake, "Jesus you smell so fucking good.”

You force your eyes open, fighting the ecstasy from taking over completely. As he shifts to stare into your eyes, he gives you the most gorgeous Rafayel smile that threatens to short circuit your brain and stop your heart. There’s an overwhelming swirl of emotions in his purple-blue eyes: lust, mischief, adoration, respect, longing, and…so much love. 

It’s all enough to make you want to confess the feelings you yourself had forced deep down, trying desperately to forget them for the sake of your friendship and working relationship. Rafayel keeps staring into your eyes, straight into your soul, and you finally open your mouth to try and find the words, "I–”

But instead, he cuts you off, bending down so your lips brush against each other again, "I know.” With those words, he presses himself needily into your waiting mouth

Grateful that he doesn’t need you to say the words, you return his kiss with equal fervor, doing your best to convey all the things you had wanted to say.

The bruisingly passionate kiss pushes you towards the edge as Rafayel continues to bounce you ruthlessly onto his cock. You’re forced to pull away from his lips to let out a strangled cry of pleasure. Through the overwhelming ecstasy, Rafayel takes the opportunity to shove his hand in between your bodies, easily finding your clit. The stimulation forces you to scream out uncontrollably, your eyes and head rolling back into the wall. 

"Jesus look at how soaked you are Y/N,” he mumbles in awe, eyes glued to where your bodies connected, "Look, baby.”

At his urging, you force yourself to lift your head off the wall and glance down at his fervent ministrations. The sight you’re met is enough to make you finish all over him right then and there. 

The veins in Rafayel’s thick forearm bulge as he paws at your clit furiously, the slick glistening on his thick length and splatters as the force of his thrusts rattle you deliciously against the cold wall. As he pulls out of you entirely with each thrust, you can see the throb of each vein of his cock, aching to be thrust back inside you. 

"Raf-Rafayel,” you gasp out, "I–”

"I-I know baby, I can feel it. Squeezing the life out of me,” he groans, shifting your entire weight onto his right arm while his left forearm slams into the wall above your head, anchoring him and allowing him to fuck into you with a new mind numbing intensity. 

His chin digs into your shoulder as he hammers into you relentlessly, "Ffuuck baby, gonna make me cum all – shit – over you huh?”

The force of the orgasm that chases you is utterly blinding, and against your better judgment you plead with him, "P-please cum inside Raf, I want to feel you.”

You can feel his panting breath hitch by your ear, and he whispers, "Are you sure? Don’t tease me Y/N. Y-you can’t take it back. Please.”

"Won’t take it b-back,” you wail as his thrusts bruise your walls, the painful pleasure edging you closer and closer to your undoing. "Please Rafayel, need you inside me s’badly.”

At your begging, Rafayel goes absolutely insane. He slams you so vigorously against the wall that you can practically feel the entire house shake. Every throbbing thrust pushes against your more sensitive spots, bullying right into your cervix. His breath becomes increasingly erratic and he sinks his teeth into your neck to contain his throaty moans. 

The sudden sensation of his teeth against your pulse, so dangerously aggressive yet gently teasing, sends you barreling into your orgasm. "Cumming, cumming, m’cumming Raf,” you wail repeatedly, unable to form any other words as tears stream down your face and onto his ruined dress shirt. 

Your hand roughly tears at Rafayel’s hair as he continues to ravage both your clit and your aching hole, finally sending your body into the mind numbing explosion of your climax. Your cunt grips onto him for dear life, throbbing uncontrollably to the sloppy rhythm of his thrusts. You ride the endless waves of your orgasm, vision blurring as tears continue to spill from your eyes. 

"Raf, s’too much,” you whimper, fingers releasing his hair and reaching down to scratch at his back, trying to relieve any of the overwhelming pleasure that threatened to make you lose consciousness. You couldn’t bring yourself to care about how you were destroying Rafayel’s expensive shirt under your nails. Your legs tighten around his waist as he continues to pound you into the wall. You’re almost sure your body will be battered and bruise tomorrow, not that you’d complain. 

"M’sorry,” he pants, but only thrusts harder and faster, "Jus’ hold onto me love. M’so – ffuuck – so fucking close.” You nod obediently, still riding the last receeding waves of your own orgasm, pussy quivering around every ridge and vein on his shaft. 

"Jesus if you could feel how tight you’re squeezing me right now,” Rafayel grits through clenched teeth, "You want me to cum inside you that bad? That you’re gonna force it out of me?”

Your lids feel so heavy as the pleasure of your orgasm ebbs into exhausted satisfaction, and you murmur, "M’not doing anything Raf, you jus’ feel so good. So deep.”

At your praises, Rafayel lets out a strangled groan and comes undone inside of you. You cry out as the warmth of his spend fills you, soothing the ache from the ravaging your poor cunt just took. He shoots rope after rope of it into you, a never ending stream of him emptying inside of you.

Rafayel rests his forehead against yours, his forearm still using the wall above your head to support him. You both pant into each other as the quivering of your cunt squeezes every last drop of him inside you. He shivers at the feeling of your womanhood throbbing around his softening member, completely spent.

Rafayel does his best to keep himself, and you, upright. His arms shake slightly, the aftershocks of his own orgasm devastating every muscle in his body. You can feel his biceps trembling, you fight to keep your eyes open, "S’okay Raf I can stand.”

"Okay love,” he murmurs into your hair, taking in one last whiff of your scent, before pressing a gentle kiss onto your forehead. You whimper as he slips out of you, your sore hole still wanting nothing more to be filled by Rafayel. You do your best to ignore the thick streaks of your collective spend dripping down your legs. As you unhook your thighs and let your feet touch the floor, your body gives out.

Rafayel catches you before your knees can crash into the tiled bathroom floor. You don’t have to look at his face to know he’s smirking at you.

"Need me to carry you baby?”

As you hold yourself up clutching his arm, you narrow your eyes at him, "No. Shut up.”

Rafayel chuckles, the smile in his eyes glowing brightly at you, "Come on Y/N, let me take care of you.”

Your snappy refusal is cut off by your squeal as Rafayel scoops you into his arms, like a princess. You wince at the feeling of the smearing of dampness between your thighs as Rafayel hooks his arms under your thighs. You hadn't even noticed that he’d put his belt back on. 

"Always with the theatrics Rafayel,” you grin, unable to stop yourself from burying your face into his chest. He smiles in response as he carries you through his home. You breathe in Rafayel’s scent, an intoxicating blend of sea salt, cardamom, and arousal. 

"You love me.” 

You sigh to yourself, love him you absolutely did. But that was a conversation you two would need to have another day. 

Looking up, you find yourself in Rafayel’s room, his white curtains billowing as the night time breeze cascades through them. As Rafayel sets you down on his plush king sized bed, your phone rings from the inside of his pocket. You’d almost forgotten you’d given him your phone when Thomas had called earlier. 

The phone keeps ringing as Rafayel sits besides where you lay, attention focused solely on you. You pat his thigh, "Raf? Can you pick up my phone?”

Rafayel grimaces as he grabs your cell phone from his slack pockets. "It’s just Thomas,” he grumbles like a child, "I told him not to call again.”

He takes one look at your unamused expression and sighs in defeat, "Fine fine.” 

Rafayel picks up the phone, snapping, "What Thomas?” 

"Speaker phone,” you mouth at him, only able to hear Thomas’s erratic mumbles through the phone. He rolls his eyes, but puts the call on speaker, holding it up between you two.

"You guys better be half dead in a ditch or actually dead,” he threatens sulkily, "How could you guys not show up?”

"Didn’t I say not to call again?” Rafayel fires back, but his tone is teasing. You know Rafayel cares about Thomas a lot, even if he makes the agent’s life hell. 

"Thomas, I'm so sorry! I’ll make it up to you I swear,” you apologize, feeling horribly guilty. You could only imagine how many angry sponsors and reporters he had to deal with. 

As Rafayel holds the phone with one hand for you to speak into, he notices your black dress had ridden up to reveal glistening streaks pooling down your legs. He uses the index finger of his free hand to scoop up the spend that continues to drip down your thighs. Your breath hitches as he smirks at you, his hand creeping up further, into your inner thigh. 

"You owe me so many dinners,” Thomas grumbles, but you have a difficult time paying attention to the rest of his words as Rafayel’s hands venture further up, dangerously. You give him a warning look, but his fingers only trail up further to tease you, grazing against your bare slit. 

"Are you guys even listening to me?” Thomas demands through the phone, his tone is as pouty as Rafayel normally is.

"Y-yes, I'm sorry,” you try to keep your voice as steady as possible, "I'll uh, I'll get you take out tomorrow!” You swat at Rafayel’s lingering hands but he doesn’t budge. His ears are pink and you notice his breaths are coming out in short pants as he quietly climbs onto the bed at your feet. You do your best to keep your own moans from bursting uncontrollably out of your lips as his fingers relentlessly tease you.

"Yes, and I want boba too. With extra – wait. What are you guys doing?” Rafayel and your eyes snap to each other and then to the phone. You’re about to speak when Thomas’s shrill voice cuts in again.

"You guys better not be doing what I think you’re doing! I swear to g–”

“‘Kay gotta go bye bye Thomas love you!” Rafayel interrupts sheepishly, ending the call with his thumb. There’s a brief moment of disbelief and silence before you both burst out into laughter. 

You clutch your stomach, trying to catch your breath as the uncontrollable giggles keep coming. But the thought of Thomas makes you feel guilty again, "Rafayel maybe we can still make it to the party if we hurry. We can’t just leave Thomas –”

Rafayel shushes you with his finger, his hair falling into his eyes as he leans over you, "I just got an idea for a painting and I have to start right now.” 

You’re no stranger to Rafayel’s spontaneous bouts of inspiration. In the past, he’d literally drag you to the oceanside and not ten minutes into the excursion, he’d race home needing to get started on an idea he had right then and there. And sometimes he’d forget you at the beach.

"Right now? But we’re not in the studio,” you squirm as Rafayel leans closer to your face, shifting his body so that he’s kneeling at your feet, in between your legs. 

"Oh. I meant a different kind of painting. Maybe on your stomach,” your brows furrow in confusion at his words as he smirks mischievously at you. You squeak as he climbs to hover over you, his body pressed against your still sensitive areas. Your body heats up again as the feel of his hardening cock against you. 

His thumb presses against your bottom lip, the salty taste of him invading your senses once more, "Or maybe…on your beautiful face.”

The implications of his words finally hits you all at once, and your face burns like a wildfire. You hit his shoulder weakly and unconvincingly, already succumbing to the arousal pooling back in your thighs as you watch the desperate need return to his eyes. 

"R-Rafayel!” 

"Then again you’re already a piece of art,” he murmurs, his voice groggy with desire. He presses a kiss to your parted lips, then to your exposed collarbone, and then to your covered breasts, "But you know me. I like to take my time with my art.”  Oh you were utterly fucked.

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[taintandviolent]

Hey sorry I keep putting in combo prompts! I just put one in but if you’d like I’d also love 111 and 113 together…

warnings: very forward, kinda' sorta' dom!gambit if you squint at it, mentions of gambling and touching boners. that's all.

“Just sit on my fuckin’ face already.” Gambit says, making eye contact that cuts to your bones.

Even Logan’s brows raise. Usually a gentleman, albeit one with the power of the tease down pat, none of them have ever heard him talk like that, and when he does, with his accent and the lilt of it, it sounds filthier than any of you can even fathom. 

“Holy shit. Talk about not bluffing. I don’t think he is.” Wade says, looking between the two of you like there’s an answer there. Spoiler alert: there isn’t, there’s just unresolved sexual tension and blushing. From you. Remy’s fine, but your cheeks have turned a lovely shade of red.

You laugh nervously, a horribly embarrassing sound, adjust in your seat and look back at your cards as if you can move on from that moment. It was your fault, really. You’d been teasing and taunting him for hours, and been so bold as to graze your knee against his thigh, since you two were sitting next to each other. 

A few moments pass, and he wins another hand. He’s too good for you, but you’ve played poker maybe twice in your life. Maybe it’s the liquor, maybe it’s his undeniable pull, but you’re tempted and give into said temptation again. As he’s focused on shuffling, you reach your hand over with an impassive expression, crawling your fingers along his thigh. He doesn’t flinch. Not even so much as a blink out of place. All that you can hear is the fwwwwiiip of the cards as he flays them out, and begins dealing another hand.

Dude has a mean poker face. But when he finally finishes, he reaches down, wraps his hand around the leg of your chair and yanks it over, closing in the space between you. You gasp at the sudden closeness, and the exertion of his strength – he pulled you over like it was nothing. You readjust on your chair, and swallow hard.  Remy leans over, brushing your hair away from your ear with his free hand, that isn’t holding the cards. 

“What did I just say?” he whispers hotly into your ear. His hand drops to his thigh, where your hand still rests. He tugs it over slightly, just until your fingertips graze the growing bulge between his legs. 

“Don’t start what you can’t finish, cher.” 

And he’s back to playing cards, like it never happened.

[lovieku]

Good Luck, Babe! #4 ☆ jeon jungkook

what happens when you leave everything behind, only to be faced with it again years later? eunbi is convinced she was given another shot at keeping all she ever wanted, but it’s difficult when that all is her childhood best friend who doesn’t want to do anything with her anymore. how to earn his trust back?

☾ pairing: non idol!jk x fem!oc

☾ genre: childhood friends to strangers, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, smut

☾ word count: 21.8k

☾ warnings: huhhhh. Angst! jeongguk being a pain in the ass for no reason. well sorta kinda! lots of cute fun moments with the group. until jeongguk comes and ruins it all. (no but i love him). unserious banter until it gets serious, again. pov switch! angst angst angst. mentions of blood!!! fluff if you squint. jealousy if you squint, like, really hard.

☾ author’s note: HELLOOOO first of all happy (late) birthday namjoonie <3 second of all IM FINALLY HERE!!! and this chapter is so long omfg. i got carried away and realised way too late. was too deep in! hope you can enjoy, i love love them sm, its worth getting to the end!

ps: if you read this, lmk what u enjoy more between eunbi’s pov and jk’s pov. it wont change the way i write the story, im just curious!! okay bye <3

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four ⋆ good 4 u

Sleep doesn’t find Eunbi that night. Her mind runs from it, busy searching for something else, grasping for answers to questions that don’t have one. And if they do exist, they get lost in a haze of sadness. Anger. Helplessness. Sadness again.

When Dahye joins her in their shared tent, Eunbi’s eyes are hollow, devoid of any emotion. Her ears still ring with a distant noise, struggling to pick up her friend’s passionate reassurances. Still, she lets herself be held, and comforted by words her brain can’t quite grasp, head resting on Dahye’s chest, a gentle hand running through her hair. For a moment, feeling the soft rhythm of her friend’s breath, she clings to the comfort of her presence, hoping it might anchor her in some way, keep her from completely drifting away.

But everything she has been trying to shut out comes crashing down on her fragile figure the moment she feels Dahye’s arms grow weaker around her, and her breaths getting heavier as sleep takes her. Silent tears trace a path down her cheeks, while loud, screaming thoughts make her head throb and keep her awake all night. She regrets being here; regrets naively hoping things could be mended so easily; regrets the way she stayed quiet the first moment she laid eyes on Jeongguk after all those years; knows it’s her fault.

By morning, the sun having climbed its way in the sky for a couple hours already and its rays forcing themselves in their shelter with unwanted light, she can sense Dahye subtly stir under her. Immediately, Eunbi shuts her eyes closed, feigning deep slumber. Instead, her very awake ears perk when she can feel fussing, Dahye sitting up and ultimately shaking the seemingly unconscious girl’s shoulder, “Bibi?”

If all goes wrong, at least Eunbi could win an Oscar for her performance, the way her eyelids flutter open, slow and heavy, only after rubbing them, and a big yawn escapes her mouth. That wasn’t too fake after all, her body weary with the all-nighter. Dahye doesn’t notice, her smile soft, “Did you sleep well? Are you feeling a bit better?”

Eunbi simply nods, her expression void. She barely registers the other girl mentioning something about washing up, and breakfast, “I’ll leave you some time. But if you’re not out by the time I’m done in the bathroom, I’m dragging your ass out.” Just like that, she slips out of the tent.

Left alone once again with silence, Eunbi listens to the faint noises outside— the muffled voices of her roommate greeting Hoseok and Yoongi. At that, the urge to cry returns, and she feels tears sting at her bottom lashes, threatening to spill. But this time, she holds them back. She knows she can’t let herself break down, not now. Not with everyone outside, and especially not with Jeongguk. Still, she doesn’t think the sorrow written all over her features will go unnoticed.

She feels like an outsider, an intruder trespassing on sacred ground. As if the moment she steps out, all eyes will be on her miserable figure, stripping her bare, judging her poor choices, the ones that lead Jeongguk to spit venom in her face hours ago. Making it clear that she doesn't belong there, that she will never be part of what they already have. Of what Jeongguk has built after her.

Last night, she tried to blame him. She wanted to be angry at him, to turn her hurt into something tangible, something outside of herself. But she couldn't. In the end, she could only turn the anger inward, could only blame herself. Being called a bitch by the best person she's ever known, in front of her university friends, was a brutal wake up call. A reminder of how far she has fallen.

The weight of those thoughts paralyses her for a long moment, while a squeaky, high-pitched voice in the back of her brain screams at her to move, if only to avoid the pitying glance she might receive when Dahye returns. Still, her body protests, limbs heavy and muscles tight from the lack of sleep in the small, uncomfortable place.

With a deep breath that quivers in her chest, she forces herself up. For a second, her hand hesitating at the tent’s entrance and hovering over the zipper, she contemplates hiding in here forever, away from the discomfort. But she knows better. The world outside is waiting, and no amount of hesitation will make it disappear. Quickly throwing on a light pink crewneck over her pyjama shorts, she steps out.

Cool air brushes against her skin in a tender manner, gently welcoming her and seemingly easing her nerves. Before she’s forced to acknowledge the others, she moves quickly, her flip flops clad feet making their way to the small wash station. She hopes the freezing water she repeatedly splashes on her face will cleanse away the fog of the sleepless night, and wishes it could also wash away the weight pressing down on her chest. In the mirror, she convinces herself the dark circles under her eyes aren’t that dark after all, and that the unsettling smile she’s practising is convincing enough to finally join Dahye outside.

The makeshift breakfast setup is simple: a few snacks, some bread, fruit. Namjoon, Taehyung and Aera have also joined the small gathering, making it seven of them now, while the others seem to still be asleep in their tents. Eunbi can hear the casual chatter of the group, the way their voices blend together in an easy rhythm that feels foreign to her now.

With her head down, she picks at the small offerings, not really tasting anything, her appetite almost nonexistent. She almost misses Yoongi’s voice beside her, “Did the creams work?”

Eunbi startles slightly, her gaze darting to the older boy, who wears a sweet grin on his lips. She nods, mirroring his smile timidly. Yoongi makes a show of inspecting her nose as he leans closer, without going over the invisible boundary, his eyes squinting with exaggerated seriousness as he impersonates a doctor’s authority, “Yes, yes. They definitely worked. My patient looks so much better now.” His voice mocks a solemn tone, and it makes the girl heartily giggle.

She’s surprised to see this side of the boy, and she briefly wonders if he’s putting on this act just for her sake, because the misery on her features is that obvious even to him, who left the campfire way before the incident had happened. Either way, it works— she feels herself relax, if only a little, sinking back into her chair with a bit more ease.

Then, Aera asks her about the hoodie she’s wearing, going on about how it compliments her complexion perfectly and Dahye chimes in, explaining how it had originally belonged to her, but after the other girl borrowed it once she decided it looked so much better on her friend that she insisted Eunbi kept it. The recalling of those times keep her distracted, the smile on her face growing bigger as Namjoon makes sure she’s refilling her stomach properly, insisting that she needs her strength for the day’s activities, the worry in his furrowed brows making her feel part of something again.

Just as she begins to think she might make it through this, she senses a shift in the atmosphere. Besides her, Dahye tenses, and Aera clears her throat. Eunbi doesn’t have to look up to know why. Jeongguk has joined them. She can feel his presence like a dark cloud hanging over her, suffocating.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, her eyes lift to meet his. His gaze is sharp, eyes shadowed by dark circles that suggest he’s had as restless a night as she has. There’s no trace of warmth, no hint of the familiarity they used to share. Just cold, hard resentment. For a fleeting second, she wills herself to desperately search his face for any sign that she hasn’t lost everything, that there’s still something worth saving. But he quickly diverts his eyes, turning his attention to the others and slipping easily into their conversation. Once again, she feels like a stranger intruding on his world.

As the group’s attention shifts to the boy, Eunbi finds herself spiralling back into her thoughts, struggling to grasp onto anything solid, anything that makes sense. She knows how this will play out: both of them only pretending the other doesn’t exist, but making it clear that same presence is despised, the petty glares and spiteful comments building until one of them finally snaps, just like last night.

To some extent, she understands his frustration. After all, she’s the unwanted guest at his birthday, a painful reminder of a past he’d rather forget. But understanding doesn’t make it hurt any less. She wasn’t expecting to be openly degraded, with such hatred in his face; to feel small and unwelcome in a place that feels as much hers as his. What can she do? It’s not as if she can just get up and disappear. She’s there, he’s there, and they’re stuck in this awkward dance.

He hasn’t tried to make it any less awkward. Her attempts at being civil have been outright dismissed, and the memory of it fills her with the same rage that bubbled up last night. And as she observes him, it only intensifies. She feels herself cycling through the five stages of grief at an inhumane speed and without following its original order, having skipped straight to depression and now bouncing back to anger. When Jeongguk’s eyes meet hers again, the smile he had been giving Jimin fades instantly. She hates that look.

All that heaviness from last night feels like it has been sucked out of her chest, suddenly devoid of any of the previous gloom that had led her to sad tears streaming her cheeks and impending guilt putting her at fault. Nothing’s left, except this tight, burning knot. It’s not sadness anymore, it’s a hot, fierce feeling coiling in her stomach.

It’s Hoseok who breaks the spell, demanding all of their attention on him, his voice taking on a loud and excited tone. Eunbi struggles to make sense of his words through the fog of anger, her slowed down thought process only registering them when the collective holler that follows fully snaps her out of her trance and pulls her back to the present. The first, opening activity of the trip would be trekking. She doesn’t even bother to fake enthusiasm.

It’s only the second day at the campsite, and Eunbi already has a list long enough to fill an entire notebook of reasons why she never should have come. First of all, whatever fragile hope she had about making things right with Jeongguk has probably died a quick death only in those first few hours. And the rest of the trip? It’s packed with outdoor activities that she wouldn’t really proclaim herself a fan of. Did she even consider that before agreeing to this? The small kid still living inside her most likely saw the words “Jeongguk” and “birthday” and hit yes without a second thought. Not paying any mind to the fact that the two of them are no longer those kids in Busan.

When she glances back at said Busan boy, the previous negativity is washed off his face and instead, his eyes are bright and animated, geeking about today’s trek. Her chest tightens, again. It stings. He looks exactly the way he always has, like the Jeongguk she knows, except she’s not the reason for that look on his face, anymore.

It makes her think. Overthink. Weigh her options. Trying to map out the safest way to move around this minefield. Just moments ago, the sight of him had her blood boiling, the fire in his eyes igniting a stronger spark in her own. But she’s also aware her current position doesn’t paint her as the one entitled to put all the blame on him. Especially when this is supposed to be his trip, a way to celebrate with the people he’s building a new life with. She was never part of the equation, and she gets it. A wrong combination led to unwanted results, and now neither of them know how to find the right pieces and put them back together. None of the numbers are adding up.

She doesn’t feel like letting her resentment take over, at least not here and now; last night only went to show emotions are definitely not needed to decode the problem. She’ll carry them quietly, maybe even figure out some kind of solution along the way. Discover different sequences of calculations that could make sense.

For now, she’s set on ignoring him and making sure her presence is ignored back; avoiding a problem and avoiding creating one. Is this the stage of acceptance? If that’s what it can be called, she welcomes it with a long, liberating breath, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Dahye.

Except, several more huffs follow, and Dahye is there to endure all of them: when they’re back in the tent, Eunbi slapping on some concealer to cover her dark circles, then trying to disguise her pallid complexion with blush, ending up groaning and turning to her concerned friend with drawn up eyebrows, “Did I overdo it?”; as she’s zipping up her white tennis skort; rummaging her bag for ages only to slip on the most basic black oversized t-shirt; taking forever to tie her Converses.

Dahye stalls. She’s aware they’re late, can sense it in the way Hoseok is subtly raising his voice outside to make himself heard, “It’s not like we’re totally late on our schedule. Take your sweet time, guys!” He’s sarcastic, if his shaky laughter is anything to go by.

She also knows she doesn’t want to be eaten alive by her best friend, knows better not to rush her right now. She’s had enough experience living with her. So she stays quiet, puts up with her friend’s small crisis and lets her deal with it on her own. Only when it seems like she’s over with it, Dahye calmly asks Eunbi if she feels like she’s ready to go. The answer is uncertain, but Dahye grasps on that small percentuality of sureness and exits the tent either way, before Hoseok turns out to be the one eating her alive.

When they finally step out to join the group, Eunbi releases one last dramatic sigh, and the prolonged sound of it translates into Dahye’s right eyelid twitching. She tries composedly, at first, “Bibi, will you stop doing that?”

”Doing what?”

”Sighing like you’re a damn war veteran!” Her exasperation draws a few chuckles from their friends, including a sneaky giggle from Jimin, observing the interaction and getting Dahye’s attention in the process.

Eunbi mutters a small sorry, the apology dismissed by her now distracted friend, seemingly having forgotten the whole ordeal in a matter of seconds. The other girl seizes the moment to vent, “I’m just getting more stressed by the minute about this whole thing. I told you I shouldn’t have come. What if, I don’t know— I get hurt?” Her eyebrows are raised, dramatic act on, pout displayed, “I’ll blame you.”

Dahye is clearly unimpressed, rolling her eyes amusedly at Eunbi’s efforts, “Bi, you’ll be okay. Just fine.” She faces the shorter one now, hands on her shoulders like a mother sending her child off to summer camp. Well, technically she is about to do that, “Why don’t you try mingling with the others? Let’s pretend I don’t exist. Yeah!”

Dahye’s convincing nods are comically mirrored by Eunbi shaking her head, the desperation on her features going ignored by her taller friend. The last thing she wants right now is exactly mingling with the others. Dahye goes on dissimulating, “Stick next to Namjoon. He, huh— he knows about this kinda stuff. I guess? I’ll catch up with Jimin, okay? Bye, babe!”

Eunbi’s childish protests fall on deaf ears as the other girl slips away. Her one anchor, gone. Not even her best pleading tactics have worked. The muffled curses under her breath are vile, and she wishes Jimin would just make a move on her friend already. Maybe then, all of this would make sense.

Still, she merges with the others. It’s hard to find her place in there, especially with the insecurities plaguing her mind, as everyone splits off into their little duos and trios. Taehyung and Seokjin try to pull her into their usual, weird hypothetical debates, “Let’s say you have a penis. Would you still jack off if when you came your semen was just one big sperm, and afterward you'd have to fight it?”

Despite herself, she enjoys the distraction. Trekking is not so bad when you desperately need your brain to unplug. The trail is not too far from the campsite, circling it and making it ideal for them to wander without getting lost. The summer air is warm, and heavy with the sweet scent of wildflowers and the earthy aroma of sun-warmed pine needles.

With the path gradually climbing uphill, the initially dense forest begins to thin, and with it Eunbi’s thoughts follow, loosening with each step. She’s not sure if it’s the silly joy filling her when colourful butterflies flutter past, or the brief interaction she entertains with a small chipmunk darting across the way, but there’s something calming about the rhythm of it all. The green all around her takes over her spiralling mind.

Eventually, Dahye’s suggestion turns out to be a good one, and soon Eunbi finds herself covering most part of the walk with Namjoon by her side, who’s a walking encyclopedia on the local fauna. His easy conversation and gentle humour slowly start to chip away at the tension in her shoulders. He’s good company— listens well, comes up with just the right responses, and somehow makes her feel less like she’s tagging along and more like she belongs.

Time slips away when being this disconnected to the chaos of the city but so connected to this bubble of green and quiet. Sharing that with her friends doesn’t make her worry about the clock, though. She laughs loudly, and speaks comfortably. And just like that, she’s unaware of the first two hours that go by with walking and chatting, this last part ceasing gradually when the path becomes steeper and more rugged, their breaths getting heavier with each large step. But the effort is worth it when they reach the summit and are rewarded with a breathtaking view. Eunbi’s eyes light up at the sight, even more so when she spots the perfect rock to plop down on and gulp water from her flask.

Before she can, it takes a few other seconds for her eyes to cover the whole scene, and when they do she notices Jeongguk. He’s sitting next to Iseul, his clothes similar to the ones Eunbi is wearing, just colour inverted with a white oversized t-shirt and black gym shorts. He doesn’t seem to be aware of her presence, yet. He’s laughing at something on the girl’s phone. Eunbi silently scoffs.

The attention is brought on her and Namjoon the moment the latter greets his friend, who acts as if she doesn’t exist. Eunbi is not any less of an actor, pretending to be much more interested in the panorama rather than the conversation the two men are having.

While her companion takes some pictures of the scenery, Eunbi drinks as much water as needed to feel hydrated without needing to go to the bathroom in the next 10 seconds. The walk is still long, and the campsite still far. For that reason, and totally not because she can’t stand the sight of Jeongguk sitting next to the short haired girl giggling about one of their inside jokes, she announces, “I’m ready to go again.”

Namjoon looks a bit taken aback, “Already?”

”Yeah. Let’s go.”

”You sure you don’t wanna rest?” Eunbi only shakes her head, fixing the backpack on her shoulders. The taller boy chuckles, “And here I thought you hated trekking.”

Eunbi lets out a genuine laugh. It’s refreshing to hear, even if she can feel the interaction being followed attentively by a pair of curious eyes, and when she gives in and looks their way, they immediately focus on the trees behind her. Whatever.

Just as she starts walking to follow behind Namjoon, her foot trips on a rock and she stumbles. Her first instinct, accompanied by a loud squeal, is to grab Namjoon’s shoulders for support, and luckily the boy promptly catches her. From the corner of her eye, she swears she sees Jeongguk nearly leaping to his feet. His hand twitches before he forces it back to his lap.

”Are you okay?” Namjoon’s eyes are wide with concern, hands steady on her forearms as he checks her foot with his gaze for any sprain, “Wait, your shoe is untied.”

He swiftly drops on his knee and works on the laces of her shoes, delicately inspecting her ankle in the process. Eunbi looks down at him, and she feels her cheeks flare slightly, both because of the embarrassment and the action feeling a little too intimate. She diverts her eyes, and her gaze automatically lands on Jeongguk. His face is immediately wiped from what, for a split second, looked like fright. Worry. He’s back to indifference, looking behind his shoulders, and she figures she must have imagined it.

”Can you walk?” Namjoon’s voice pulls her back, his figure now standing tall in front of her. She nods, shaking off the overwhelment, and assures she’s okay. Namjoon doesn’t believe her until she’s forced to take a walking test, going back and forth for one minute before he’s fully convinced she hasn’t twisted her ankle or anything.

When they set off again, laughter bubbles up between them as Namjoon cheekily makes fun of her squeal and her clumsiness, and Eunbi lightly shoves him. She’s glad she’s going through this with him; it’s making them closer and she finds they have so much more in common than she initially thought.

For a moment, she regrets not even sitting down for a second to rest, her feet protesting in her old Converses, but she quickly realises the other alternative and prefers having her legs hurt over being in the presence of Jeongguk, surrounded by quiet, and nature, and all the possible existent reasons to be kind to each other. Which they’re not really planning on doing, right now.

Even more with Iseul there. Eunbi doesn’t know why, but something about the girl rubs her the wrong way. It’s not like they ever got a chance to bond, but it feels like Iseul hasn’t even tried. They don’t have anything against each other, but the way she’s sticking to Jeongguk’s side after yesterday’s fiasco brings Eunbi to not really contemplate the possibility of them getting closer either.

The trail descends into a different path of the forest, this one denser and cooler, providing the duo with a break from the midday heat. Their pace is slower, and the talking quiets down too in favour of soaking in the tranquillity that surrounds them. Eunbi feels herself recover from the previous slip and sighs, this time contentedly.

The peace doesn’t last for long. Behind her shoulders, her ears pick up hurried footsteps, the cracking of the leaves stronger under them, the unmistakable sound of someone catching up. Eunbi doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, she can sense his presence like an itch she can’t scratch. Jeongguk reaches her, his voice almost touching her neck, “Can you move out of the way?”

There’s plenty of space. Hell, the path could fit five trucks. Her eyes close momentarily, searching for all the strength she needs to resist the provocation. She steps aside, set on not paying him too much mind. She doesn’t want to be affected by his tone. She’s decided to let him be, and think what he wants of her.

Jeongguk doesn’t seem too fond of the silence he’s met with, though. Was probably expecting her witty impulses to react. But she ignores him. He walks past her, but it looks like his initial aim at surpassing her goes forgotten. His steps are shorter, not covering big distances anymore and keeping him at an arm’s length from her, Iseul beside him oblivious to the tension.

He looks back after Eunbi thought he would limit himself to the snappy tone, but she was wrong, obviously, the glint in his eyes daring her to respond, “Wow, you’re really slow.”

Eunbi tries not to snap, she really tries. Thinks of brushing the comment with a simple dismissing chuckle, pretending it doesn’t make her hand twitch. Her tongue poke her inner cheek. But it’s like the minimal sight of him gets her burning with annoyance.

“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t aware this was a marathon. Good luck winning!” Is this enough of a bitch answer? She hopes so, the smile that accompanies it deathly sarcastic. She just doesn’t want to deal with Jeongguk after last night. Fears the resentment is still too alive for her to handle it better.

Of course, he doesn’t back down from a good childish banter, though, “You’re still slow.”

”Well, I’m trekking.”

”And you’re seriously wearing Converses to do that.” His eyes fall to her feet with a delighted scoff. He’s unbelievable.

”So sorry I couldn’t afford trekking shoes.” The concern is clearly faked, and she hopes she just imagined Jeongguk rolling his eyes subtly.

”That’s why you’re slow.” He has the audacity to raise his eyebrows and shrug at Eunbi’s speechless state, the argument resulting in the dumbest interaction she’s had in days, leaving her pissed nonetheless.

Jeongguk rewinds his fast paced walk, not really considering poor Iseul trying to keep up with him. Both her and Namjoon are left disoriented with the meaningless bickering they found themselves spectators of, but they wisely stay silent to prevent stirring the pot further.

Eunbi, however, doesn’t even notice the sudden quiet, the thoughts screaming in her brain making up for it. She feels completely blindsided. All those times she tried to make even the smallest kind of conversation with him, she was ignored. Her smiles, kind requests and efforts to maintain a friendly demeanour— completely fucking dismissed. And now, just when she’d decided the best thing she could do for both of them was to back off, to give them each the space they needed to avoid any further animosity, what does he do? He searches for it. Purposefully searches for it, as if he wants to provoke some kind of reaction out of her. She’s so fed up. What’s his deal? Why seek out conflict when they were finally starting to find some semblance of peace in their indifference? It’s infuriating. She can’t help the small growl of frustration that escapes her lips. God, what an asshole.

A small scoff from Namjoon pulls her out of her daze, and she glances his way, her face a picture of confusion and irritation. The boy shakes his head, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips, “He can be, sometimes.”

It’s only then that she realises she must have muttered her last thought out loud. She laughs softly at her slip, sheepishly brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, “Sorry about that. We’re just… not exactly on good terms, right now.”

Namjoon is silent as her admission hangs in the air, unpressured. Instead, he just nods, his eyes reflecting a quiet empathy, inviting but not intrusive. He’s giving her the choice, whether she wishes to open up or carry that baggage on her own. It’s not like he’s oblivious to the tension between her and Jeongguk; the whole group would agree it has been evident ever since Eunbi joined. But neither she nor Jeongguk offered any explanations, so there was no choice but to adapt to the hostility. Dahye had only once hinted at the fact that they’d known each other for a long time, letting it slip casually, much to Eunbi’s silent dismay, but beyond that, no other details were ever shared.

Eunbi hesitates. She trusts Namjoon, the way she trusts the others, really— would vomit all her feelings on his t-shirt right now. But it wouldn’t feel right to give only her side of the story, knowing Jeongguk has lived in the dark about certain truths for years. He probably harbours his own complicated feelings, ones he’s kept close to his chest for a long time, feelings that would be overshadowed by her own if she spoke out of turn. She doesn’t think it’s her place to say what happened.

The silence stretches on, and Eunbi is more conflicted with each passing second. Her eyes drift to the figure of Jeongguk moving farther away, his silhouette becoming smaller with every step until he rounds a corner and disappears from view. With him goes the moment, the possibility of Namjoon ever knowing what happened, at least from her. He seems to accept this, doesn’t push her to speak, and she appreciates it when he shifts the conversation, making a light-hearted comment about the trees and their unusual shapes. She smiles.

The afternoon sun beats down on them, making the air thick and sticky. Time drags on, more hours roll by, the trail winding endlessly through the woods. They find spots to sit now and then, taking short breaks to catch their breath. But the further they trek, the more Eunbi grows frustrated. Her calves ache, muscles burning from the climb, and she has to stop every so often to rub at them, cursing under her breath. Namjoon forces himself to not laugh at that, instead keeping his usual calm and patient, assuring her with a grin that they’re almost there. Though she’s pretty sure he’s just saying that to keep her spirits up.

Eventually, their slow pace brings them closer to some of the others who had lagged behind. They all wear the same weary expressions, the exhaustion etched into their features. They try to relieve some of it by distracting themselves from the thought of their feet hurting, one of them starting a game of Guess the Song by humming the melody. It quickly dissolves into a mess of off-key notes and missed beats, their tired brains unable to keep up, and it’s not long before they’re all laughing. The kind of belly laughs that make your sides ache.

Eunbi finds herself genuinely enjoying the moment, forgetting all about asking to sit down every five minutes, even catching herself humming along. She discovers Taehyung has quite a talent for singing, and notices how blatantly obvious Aera’s crush on him is.

By the time they finally reach the campsite, Eunbi feels a wave of relief wash over her, so strong it nearly brings tears to her eyes. The sun has started its descent, casting a golden glow over the clearing, and the heat of the day is beginning to be replaced by a cool, refreshing breeze that lifts the hair from her sweaty neck. She falls into step beside Dahye, who has reappeared after what feels like hours spent with Jimin. They don’t need words; they walk side by side in silence, until the shorter one bumps her shoulder lightly against Dahye’s, a knowing smile on her lips.

“Shut up,” the taller one rolls her eyes at the unspoken tease, though the grin on her face suggests she’s anything but annoyed.

Eunbi’s hands are immediately up in the air, mocking innocence, ”Didn’t say a single word.”

”Sure, you didn’t.” Dahye retorts, but her tone is playful. “Anyways, the others want to hit the lake before dinner. You in?”

”I’ll pass. I need a nap. I’m dead tired from all this. When I catch Hoseok, I swear.” Eunbi’s voice is half-joking, half-serious, her narrowed eyes suggesting she may be even a bit too serious, and Dahye just laughs.

They part ways, Eunbi disappearing in her tent and relishing the thought of a few quiet moments to herself. As much as she loves the company, sometimes it drains her. Sometimes, she just needs a moment to breathe, be with her own self and nobody else. Especially given the amount of times her sanity has been tested during the first two days of this trip.

Sleep comes to her easily, pulling her under as soon as her head hits the small, makeshift pillow. The muffled sounds of her friends outside — splashes from the lake, bursts of laughter — soothe her into a deep, much-needed, dreamless rest.

When she stirs awake, the sun has already dipped below the horizon, and she can feel the noises from the group much closer now. The air is filled with the mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat and vegetables, and it’s said delicious smell that puts her five senses to operate again. Her stomach grumbling wakes her before Dahye can, the tent flaps open just as her friend was about to poke her head inside.

Eunbi blinks awake groggily, stumbling out bleary-eyed, and Dahye mercilessly laughs at her still half-asleep face, “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

”Fuck you.”

The teasing is playful, and Eunbi cheekily grins as her friend giggles. She wraps a hoodie around her shoulders to ward off the growing chill and keep some of the warmth from the nap, then makes her way to the fire where the others are gathered. When they take in her sleep-dazed state, they don’t miss a beat and start poking fun at her, pulling her hood up over her head or sneakily tickling her sides until she’s laughing despite herself. The laughter feels good, like a release, and she finds herself slowly waking up, becoming more aware, more present.

A large campfire crackles in the centre of the group, its flames dancing in the cool evening air, Yoongi and Seokjin in charge of dinner. Someone’s turned on a portable speaker, and soft music drifts through the campsite, blending with the sounds of laughter and the sizzle of food. Eunbi sits back, letting the warmth of the fire seep into her skin, content to simply listen, to watch the way the firelight plays across everyone’s faces.

It’s almost too easy to relax into the peaceful rhythm of the evening, her still vulnerable brain unwinding the tension she wasn’t aware of from her shoulders. The heat of the fire, the hum of laughter, and the quiet murmur of conversation blend together, creating a cocoon of comfort she hadn’t realised she needed. It’s as she starts letting herself be taken over by that familiar, soothing calm — the same one she’d found in her tent — that a faint alarm goes off in her brain. Its tiny beep only grows louder until it’s impossible to ignore. Something’s off. Her contentment feels misplaced. Like she’s forgotten a crucial detail that’s only now creeping back into her awareness.

The realisation slams into her like a wave, jolting her fully awake, the moment her gaze lands on Jeongguk. Suddenly, everything snaps back into sharp focus. His face, illuminated by the flickering firelight, is a stark reminder of the reality she had temporarily escaped. The events of the past few days come rushing back. Right, quick recap: she’s on Jeongguk’s birthday trip. Jeongguk, who can’t stand the sight of her. Jeongguk, who had called her a bitch last night. How could she almost forget that minor detail?

So here she is, in the middle of the woods, surrounded by friends and food, but all she can focus on is Jeongguk. The one person here who probably wishes she wasn’t. No sense dwelling on it now, though. She’s there, there’s no going back. Her only aim is to make it through the night. Make it through the night without repeating yesterday, or making things even worse. For that to happen, she just has to ignore the object of her epiphany like she has been trying to ever since the stressful day started. She hopes he’ll be smart enough to do the same.

It seems like it when dinner goes by without any notable tension, which is a small miracle in itself. Jeongguk seems just as engrossed by the food as she is, its hot, comforting and delicious taste being a welcome distraction, especially with that distinct smoky flavour from being cooked over the open fire. Everyone is too busy devouring their meals to talk much, but their sparkling eyes speak with gratitude for their hyungs’ magic hands. Eunbi uses the unusual quiet to gaze up at the sky, the stars slowly coming out to dot its darkening blue.

Though, peace never lasts long with this group. Jimin breaks the silence as he cracks open a beer bottle with a grin that spells mischief, “Let’s play a game.”

Taehyung, already leaning back in his chair with a lazy smile, nods, chiming in, “Since we’ve got alcohol, how about Never Have I Ever?”

”Just don’t ask stupid questions because you want to get drunk,” Dahye warns, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Her comment earns a round of laughter, easing the tension that had settled during the quiet, their voices soon overtaking the crackling of the fire once again.

Jimin hands the beer bottles, making sure everyone has one as he sits back with a teasing glint in his gaze. He locks eyes with Dahye, challenging her, “Okay, I got the perfect one, then. Never have I ever… pooped.”

The absurdity of the statement catches the others off guard, and they all erupt in silly chuckles, taking a sip. Except for Dahye, who sits there with a perfectly straight face. Jimin raises an eyebrow, expectantly waiting for her to drink, but she just shrugs, “Girls don’t poop.”

The girls echo her sentiment with mock seriousness, filling the camp with sarcastic agreements and playful banter, while a debate kicks off between Dahye and Jimin about the biological impossibility of her assertion. It’s cut short when Iseul eagerly starts smacking Jeongguk’s thigh by her side, her excitement palpable and getting everyone’s attention in the process, “Ooh, I got one! Never have I ever stolen something.”

Most of the group drinks at that, Yoongi snorting blatantly, and Iseul frowns in disappointment, expecting a different outcome. Dahye chuckles, “Babe, everyone’s stolen at some point. That was too easy. It’s okay, let’s just keep going. Jeongguk, your turn.”

Next to Iseul, Jeongguk seems to think for a moment, then he grins, “Never have I ever… rode a motorcycle.” He gulps down a big sip from his bottle.

”Are you looking to get drunk tonight, Ggukie?” It’s his best friend teasing him with wiggling eyebrows, and the younger just shrugs with a lazy smirk.

Eunbi drinks too, at that. Now that she thinks of it, the first and only time she was on a bike, Jeongguk was taking her home and she was holding her arms tight around his torso, his helmet secured under her chin and his jacket wrapped around her body. That’s the last nice gesture she’s seen from him, and the thought stirs something complicated in her chest. She glances at him without meaning to, catching his eye for just a second before they both look away.

Hoseok is quick with another question, “Never have I ever gone skinny-dipping.”

Only Seokjin and Sora drink, and the group teases them with a long, exaggerated holler. The two love birds share a sheepish smile, their faces turning a soft shade of pink under the firelight.

”We should all do that right now.” It’s Taehyung proposing it, his tone half-serious, half-challenging.

Dahye pulls a face, “The thought alone is making me want to vomit.” She mutters, and the laughter that follows becomes the soundtrack of their night for what feels like hours, the game stretching on with each question getting weirder and more personal.

The beer flows freely, and Eunbi finds herself relaxing more than she expected, her body sinking comfortably into her chair. She laughs at Hoseok’s ridiculous question about eating bugs and groans at Jimin recalling the time he laughed so hard he pissed his pants as an adult, sipping on her bottle as the group continues to tease one another.

The loop restarts for the nth time, Iseul piping up again, “Never have I ever sneaked out.”

Surprisingly, only Namjoon, Jeongguk and Eunbi drink this time. The reaction is immediate, the group’s interest piqued, Dahye curiously turning to her friend, “When was that, Bibi?”

Eunbi doesn’t register the implications of her light giggle, nor the way her eyes soften as she gets caught up in the memory, “Back when I was in middle school.” Young and restless, desperate for the thrill. Besides her forever best friend.

Always a bit more noisy than he should be, Hoseok chimes in, “Were you with anyone?”

She chuckles, the answer coming to her lips almost instinctively, “Oh, I was with—“ Her gaze flickers to Jeongguk, and suddenly the smile drops from her face. Right. She always seems to forget where they stand now. It’s like the kid inside her is still desperately clinging to those moments, fighting to have him back, to drag him into her orbit.

Jeongguk lets out a small scoff, barely audible over the crackling fire, but she catches it. His expression is closed off, guarded. Eunbi clears her throat, “Huh, it doesn’t matter.”

The air grows thick with tension, the silence that follows almost deafening. Some of them understand the awkwardness, sensing the history that neither Eunbi nor Jeongguk ever fully explained. Others, like Hoseok, are a little clueless. He turns to the other boy, grinning like a cat who caught the canary, “Ooh, Ggukie, you drank too, right? Who was it with?”

Jeongguk shrugs, a dark, unamused smirk spreading across his lips. His eyes don’t leave Eunbi, his tone sarcastic but cold, “Apparently, it doesn’t matter.”

The affronted girl narrows her eyes, trying to mask the sting of his tone. The jab hits deeper than she’d like to admit, even more when they both know exactly why she said that. Why she had to say it. Unspeakable words are plastered on their wounded expressions, but she looks down at her hands before her heart betrays her, fighting its way up her throat to scream them all out.

It’s ironic how the questions that follow feel like one stab after the other, almost purposefully touching a raw nerve from the past, memories she’d rather not revisit now. Never have I ever used someone else’s toothbrush. Never have I ever climbed out a window. It’s small, silly moments that she knows — hopes — Jeongguk remembers too. And she can’t help but search for that sign of recognition in his face. Or anything, at this point. The slightest spark in his eyes. The imperceptible jolt of his hand. She wants to tell him. It matters. It matters. It matters.

But does it matter to him now? Did every single piece of the puzzle get lost in the storm? Did Jeongguk always feel so unreachable? Were his eyes always so devoid of light when he looked at her? She misses stargazing.

When the weight on her heart becomes too much to bear, the weariness from the day and the effects of the sleepless night tangling with the complicated emotions she’s feeling and translating into frustrated tears welling up in her eyes, she gets up muttering a half-hearted excuse about being tired and heads for her tent.

Inside, focusing on the fabric ceiling rather than both her heart and brain exceptionally teaming up only to scream at her to find a way to escape from all this (maybe steal Namjoon’s car keys, or swim her way back to the city), she wills her eyes to close and begs whatever god who might be listening to spare her from more misery. Just for tomorrow. Please.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The divinities Eunbi tried to reach with her desperate pleas must have been terribly busy last night, because tomorrow is here and it’s charged with even more tension and hostility than she thought they could ever harbour for one another.

Today’s activity is canoeing, and with the surprisingly adequate amount of sleep she managed to get, her first approach is even optimistic. She’s decided to start off with the positive mindset that things couldn’t possibly get any worse. Sat in the small two-person canoe, she’s determined to steer the day in a better direction, to navigate the rough waters of their fraught relationship. Even if a new wave of something worse than what already happened is aimed directly at her, she’d be able to handle it.

Only thing she didn’t exactly consider was the counterpart of the clash possibly not sharing the same intentions as hers. Which is exactly what is happening, Jeongguk never backing down from stirring the pot further only to obtain a rank, grisly soup made with pettiness and resentment, spoon-feeding it to her with every chance he gets. Though she can still say she’s tasted worse from him, the bitterness lingers, coating her tongue like bile.

The setting for their little showdown is picturesque, almost mockingly so. The river glimmers under the afternoon sun, its surface reflecting a golden hue that dances across the water, and the hills in the distance are bathed in a soft, amber glow. Nature itself is trying to soothe the tension, yet it only seems to amplify the dissonance. The universe must be testing her. Can you handle this one, Bee?

The group naturally splits off into pairs, reflecting yesterday’s layout, with Eunbi and Namjoon finding themselves navigating together, just as Dahye is with Jimin, and Jeongguk with Iseul. It starts off peacefully enough. They glide slowly along the river, their paddles dipping gently into the water, the only sound the quiet murmurs of conversation and the occasional splash.

Eunbi allows herself to relax. She chuckles at Namjoon’s poor attempts at taking aesthetically pleasing pictures of her, then shows him how it’s done when she points the camera at him, sealing the moment with a lovely shot of her friend enveloped in an ochre light, his dimples sheepishly showing. She grazes the cold water with her finger, getting lost in the simple way it dances with her movements. She closes her eyes and tilts her face up to the sun, letting its warmth seep into her skin.

Though she should have anticipated the serenity being almost surreal, and should have considered herself deranged to even think it could continue like that. She’s pulled out of her moment when the water beside her canoe suddenly churns with agitation.

What she sees on her right is a sight that throws all the optimism and positivity from this morning right in the bin, and replaces it with the effects of Jeongguk’s wicked soup. Said chef shoots past her at an unnecessary, almost reckless speed for what’s supposed to be a leisurely excursion among friends. His canoe slices through the water with aggressive precision, sending ripples crashing against Eunbi’s boat. See, she would keep her composure in any other situation; would continue straight on her path of ignoring him, no matter how unsuccessful the previous attempts had been. She’s afraid she’ll keep failing, though.

And it’s really just because when she sees how he’s paddling with a furious intensity, his muscles straining with effort while Iseul is squealing and screaming in front of him, her hands gripping the sides of the boat as she begs him to slow down, it’s clear Jeongguk is doing it on purpose. Acting out another one of his plans to get a reaction out of her, not caring how down things could go at that point. Why should she, then? It’s when his eyes lock onto hers as he passes, daring to push all her buttons, that she finds her answer.

Eunbi’s blood boils. She’s speechless with the immaturity, but best believe she’s coming on ten times stronger with it. She just can’t wrap her mind around the fact that it seems the more she tries to interact with him, the more she gets pushed away; but the more she keeps her distance, the more he seeks for her reaction. What is he trying to prove? What is he aiming to get out of her? Eunbi doesn’t exactly have time to entertain the moral, rational part of her brain and puzzle over his motives, her own childishness busying her with gripping the paddles tight, her knuckles turning white as she channels all her frustration into rowing. She puts all the strength she can muster to try and catch up to Jeongguk without popping a vein. Namjoon notices the sudden shift in pace, even if minimal with Eunbi’s laughable efforts at moving faster, nonetheless startled by the abrupt burst of energy.

”Bi, what are you—“

”Joon, help me overtake Gguk.” It’s said through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes, fixated only on the target ahead. Namjoon is disoriented. Does she even realise the use of the nickname? It doesn’t look like that as she keeps going undeterred, even with her companion initially not collaborating, too confused to settle on what to do. Eventually, he sighs and grips his own paddle, deciding to help his friend in whatever battle she’s waging. He glances back to see just how far Jeongguk has gotten and shakes his head.

”You two are literal kids, you do know that?” Namjoon mutters, his comment going ignored.

Jeongguk, meanwhile, senses them closing in. A competitive glint flashes in his eyes. He doubles down, paddling harder, sending more water splashing in every direction. Eunbi isn't far behind, and for a moment it feels like they’re the only two on the river, locked in this ridiculous race. They’re both too stubborn to back down, too caught up in their own challenge to notice how idiotic they look.

Namjoon sighs again, raising his voice over the chaos, “Guys, seriously, this is getting out of hand.”

Iseul echoes his concern, a nervous edge to her voice, “Yeah, Joon’s right. Please, Ggukkie? We’re getting too far away from the others. It’s going to be a nightmare rowing back!”

Her whines go unnoticed by Jeongguk, who keeps his gaze straight on Eunbi as she has managed to catch up and is now beside him, mirroring that same flame in her orbs. He distractly acknowledges the two innocent spectators, “I just wanted to go and see… that thing over there.” He calls back, voice strained as he keeps his eyes locked on his rival. He doesn’t even know what he’s pointing at— there’s nothing but more water and distant trees.

”Oh, that… thing,” Eunbi adds, equally unconvincing. They exchange a glance, both wearing narrowed eyes and gritted teeth, determined not to be the first to admit defeat.

Their canoes race neck and neck, the water splashing around them as if reflecting the tension in the air. It’s a childish competition, one that speaks to their unresolved feelings, both wanting to interact, to be noticed by the other, but neither willing to show it’s because they care.

And mostly, it’s messy. Definitely not what two people should be attempting to do on their first time canoeing. On one side, their inexperience comes handy as it doesn’t completely isolate them from the starting point, but it still shouldn’t be happening. And it becomes more and more frantic as shown by their drawn faces and clumsy movements. A disaster of any kind should have been predicted at any second from that only.

It happens when Jeongguk leans too far over the edge, his canoe wobbling dangerously. Iseul lets out a high-pitched scream, gripping the sides of the boat. Eunbi’s heart leaps into her throat, all thoughts of their petty race forgotten in an instant.

“Gguk, careful!” She shouts, her voice thick with concern. Without thinking, she reaches out with her paddle, trying to steady his canoe from a distance. For a moment, everything else falls away— the tension, the bickering, the hurt. All she sees is him, about to fall, and her instinct to protect him kicks in.

Jeongguk manages to regain his balance just in time, his canoe righting itself with a lurch. Everything pauses. He lets out a breath of relief, a small, surprised chuckle escaping his lips. Eunbi exhales too, a soft, almost involuntary smile forming on her face. It lasts a second, but it feels like more when they share a look different from all the others. Relief. I’m glad you’re safe. Recognition. Thank you. Stillness.

But then reality snaps back into place. They both realise what they’re doing, and their expressions harden almost simultaneously. Eunbi quickly looks away, her face flushing with embarrassment. Jeongguk mutters, self-reproaching, “God, this is so stupid.”

The brief moment of softness vanishes the instant Eunbi catches his words, and she snaps, her voice rising childishly with indignation, “You started this!”

Jeongguk scoffs, “Me? You’re the one who wanted to overtake me!”

“You were the one paddling like a maniac!”

“I literally almost fell in the water because of you.”

Eunbi’s eyes get unbelievably wider with disbelief, a sarcastic laugh escaping her, “Oh, that was not because of me. That’s because you are incompetent.”

“Don’t throw big words at me now.”

“Sorry, I’ll lower my vocabulary down for you to understand.”

The childish bickering stretches on for astonishingly long minutes, the volume of their voices rising over the gentle sounds of the river. Namjoon, who had been rowing quietly, finally has enough. With a frustrated sigh, he takes the paddles and makes it his own solo mission to row back toward the others by himself, muttering under his breath, “I can’t believe I have to do this.”

His comment is mostly drowned out by the relentless sparring between Eunbi and Jeongguk, who are too engrossed in their argument to notice that Namjoon is now paddling alone, their strained voices echoing across the water. Jeongguk even goes as far as to row his canoe back behind his hyung’s just so he can have the last word in. It’s ridiculous, really— a silly argument born from a place neither of them is willing to acknowledge.

“Wow, that’s real mature of you, Eunbi. What’s next, you gonna stick your tongue out at me?”

She bristles, her cheeks flushing with the effort the rage is taking out of her, “I might as well if you keep acting like a dick!”

Jeongguk sneers, “Oh, please. I’m not the one who started this whole stupid race.”

Eunbi is aware the more she keeps it going, the more she’ll fall right into his trap but she fears she’s already too deep to back down now, “You were showing off!”

“And you were just so jealous you couldn’t stand it.”

“Enough! Both of you!” It’s Namjoon who finally snaps, his voice cutting through the chaos like a whip. He gives the oars a decisive pull, the canoe cutting through the water with renewed force. His voice is stern, and much different from the calm tone Eunbi has grown accustomed to, his patience had clearly worn thin, “I can’t believe I’m stuck in the middle of this… whatever this is. My ears are bleeding. If you two want to sort out whatever childish feud you’re having, do it on dry land. And away from me.”

The sudden authority in the older guy’s voice silences them both, and the quiet that falls upon them is as much a blessing as deafening. There’s a beat of awkward tension as they both realise how ridiculous they must look. Two grown adults behaving like squabbling children and shut down by their yelling, frustrated father. The reality of the situation finally starts to sink in. They’re too far from the rest of the group, their petty race having pulled them far off, all because of their stubbornness and bruised egos.

What follows is what should have surrounded them right from the beginning, stillness only interrupted by the flushing of the water as it gets caressed by their paddles rowing back to their initial position. Eunbi’s face burns with embarrassment, and with the realisation of how low she’s stooped. The urge to apologise to Namjoon itches at the back of her throat, but pride prevents her from doing it in front of Jeongguk.

No one dares add a word, not even a breath too loud, the tension lingering but now tinged with a sense of shame. Other than the rhythmic splash of their oars and the distant laughter of their friends, the only sound that can be occasionally heard is Namjoon’s bewildered scoffs and muttered comments. The other two know better than to cut the thin thread they’re all clutching onto.

But the chop comes, and it’s Iseul’s voice breaking the silence, soft and tentative, “You know, we’re all here to have fun. Can we just… try to get along for a little while?”

Eunbi has to bite her tongue. Otherwise, she fears any words that might leave her lips could permanently push Iseul away from the already slim possibility of them becoming friends. She keeps her eyes closed, a long exhale escaping her lips, irritation flaring up at the simplicity of the comment. As if it hadn’t already crossed her mind that they should be getting along. What a genius idea, truly.

Jeongguk seems to notice the tense silence that follows, especially the tightness in Eunbi’s expression and how Iseul’s well-meaning comment has only added fuel to the fire. He turns to his companion and offers her a reassuring smile, even if it feels a bit forced, “It’s okay, Isu. Let’s just head back.” His tone is gentle, trying to ease the awkward atmosphere, the nod that accompanies it recognising her effort, as well as its effective uselessness.

Taking in Jeongguk’s unnecessary, oversweet tone towards the other girl involuntarily causes Eunbi to scoff audibly, the sound loud and deliberate, followed by nothing. She keeps her gaze fixed on the water, refusing to look at either of them. But she feels Jeongguk’s narrowed eyes on her, “What now?”

”Nothing,” Eunbi mutters, the sarcasm in her tone cutting through the air. “Just love how you can turn on the charm when it suits you.”

Jeongguk’s jaw tightens for what feels like the nth time, fearing a possible cramp soon affecting the muscles of his mouth, but he keeps his response measured, “I’m just trying to not make this worse.”

A fake coo follows, Eunbi’s voice mockingly replicating his sudden calmness, “Oh, how nice of you, Ggukkie.”

“For the love of God, will you two drop it? Please?” Namjoon’s frustrated groan interrupts once again the bickering from stretching on, his patience truly at its limit. He increases the pace of his rowing, as if trying to physically distance himself from the scene.

The uncomfortable silence lingers for the rest of the paddling back, and it stretches on endlessly, mirroring the distance they’ve travelled in their pointless, self-inflicted race. If it isn’t the consequences of their own stupid actions. Eunbi dips her paddle in the water with more intention, fixating on the ripples spread out from each stroke, refusing to meet Namjoon’s annoyed gaze. She’s ashamed of the way she’s let her emotions and bottled up feelings rule a situation that could have been easily avoided, though she stubbornly refuses to fully acknowledge it, let alone admit that she might be in the wrong.

Still, Eunbi uses the time it gets to reach the shore to work on her breathing, counting every pause between her exhales, willing to free her mind from the chaotic flow of thoughts before she regrets letting them cling to her like a shadow and cause a bigger scene. The sight of the land approaching should bring some relief, but instead it only amplifies the sense of urgency gnawing at her. The moment the canoe nudges against the land, the sun beginning its descent, bathing the landscape in a warm light, Eunbi wastes no time making herself aware of her surroundings, as she’s already on her feet, moving with a speed that betrays her desperation to escape the tension that’s been suffocating her.

She’s unsteady as she steps out, the ground feeling oddly solid beneath her after the wobbly rhythm of the canoe. Namjoon notices her haste and instinctively reaches out to steady her, but she’s stepping away, her shoes sinking into the damp shore.

”I’m going back to the campsite,” Eunbi says, her voice clipped, the words barely more than a whisper after the raw shouting followed by complete muteness.

Namjoon, still seated, frowns as he looks up at her. Concern clouds his features, and he’s quick to offer, “Wait for me, I’ll take you back.”

Eunbi shakes her head, her refusal as gentle as it is resolute. A tight-lipped smile plays on her lips, though it doesn’t reach her eyes, “You should stay and enjoy the rest of the day.”

There’s a sheepish, unspoken apology written in her eyes, a fleeting look of regret that she’s too proud to voice. She unconsciously scrunches her nose, a telltale sign of her lingering embarrassment, and doesn’t even register Namjoon’s nod as she turns to start walking, eager to put distance between herself and the situation, but mostly from Jeongguk’s attentive eyes still throwing jabs her way.

As she walks back to the tents, Eunbi’s mind is already racing ahead to dinner. It’s been her biggest concern for a while now, a sinking feeling settling in her stomach, an instinctive dread that tonight will go as badly as she fears. Dinner always seems to bring out the worst in them, the frustration of the day simmering just below the surface until it boils over and erupts in sharp words and bitter exchanges. She can feel that exact feeling brewing dangerously in her stomach, but she knows she’d rather suppress it than have it consume her completely only for more pieces of her heart to break.

Dropping onto one of the deck chairs around the campsite, she waits for it to dissipate with her knees up to her chest. It’s hard at first, the sudden quiet too loud and overwhelming her with the pent up exasperation from today. It only fuels that part of her that still hasn’t moved on from the very first night, the one that set the tone for everything that followed, who harbours anger and spite for what Jeongguk had spat in her face with apparently no remorse. She wants to get back at him, to make him regret those words, to hurt him as much as he’s hurt her. But the bigger, remaining part of her knows she’s already done enough of that.

Would it even be worthy? What would she gain from it? Would getting back at Jeongguk truly bring her any peace, or would it only deepen the rift between them? She knows the answer, but it’s a bitter pill to swallow. Normally, she wouldn’t let any other person get away so easily with such a comment, but with Jeongguk, she’s aware he has lived with worse feelings for years, and that probably isn’t even the worst of what his heart holds. She’s not ready to wake that monster. Doesn’t know if she’s prepared to confront the truth behind the look he gives her. Doesn’t want to know if that truth is dictated by resentment, or if it’s all that’s left of her in Jeongguk’s view. Because if she’s honest with herself, no matter how angry she is, she can’t deny that she understands why he feels this way. And that understanding, more than anything, is what terrifies her the most.

Hours slip by in a blur, Eunbi stilling on her chair and giving space for her thoughts to unleash before it’s too late to put a collar back on again. The sun continues its descent, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, and when it dips down the horizon, the campfire that has been just a pile of logs earlier is now crackling with life, its warmth spreading through the group as they gather for dinner. The smell of grilled food wafts through the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the forest and the cool breeze.

It’s a comforting atmosphere, one that’s filled with laughter and easy conversation, but Eunbi is yet to be shaken out her trance to realise none of what she fears is reflecting in the reality surrounding her. Only when Dahye finds a spot on the seat next to hers and launches into a breathless retelling of apparently the craziest experience she’s had so far during the trip earlier at the river, Eunbi reconnects with the present, and disconnects from the almost maniac way she’s been analysing her thoughts alone all evening.

As she follows Dahye’s lips moving, acknowledging her with small nods and chuckles that the storytelling gets out of her, she finds she’s been making one huge mistake all this while. She’s always been so wrapped up in her own fears, her need to control the narrative and anticipate the next emotional blow, that she’s missed the simple reality of what’s unfolding around her. The night easily moves forward without the weight of her expectations pressing down on it.

Maybe she doesn’t have to anticipate every move, every subtle shift in the atmosphere. Maybe she doesn’t have to keep trying to predict what Jeongguk might say or how the night might fall apart. For the first time, she lets herself be present— really present. She lets herself feel the warmth of the fire, hear the laughter of her friends without reading too much into it, lets herself stop preparing for a storm that isn’t coming.

There’s a quiet revelation in that. Tonight, she doesn’t want to brace herself for another argument or another disappointment. She can simply allow the peace of the moment to wash over her, instead of waiting for the worse. And by the time the stars are twinkling overhead and her tummy is full, she allows herself to let go of the anger and just be.

It’s when they start another one of their games that she fully lets her guard down and doesn’t focus on anything in particular, just how genuine her laughs resound in her own ears. Once again, it’s Jimin suggesting it, eyes twinkling, “How about a story-telling challenge? We each say one line and keep the story going around the circle.”

Eunbi chuckles and nods, feeling a flicker of excitement at the idea. It’s been a while since she’s done something as silly and spontaneous. They all shuffle closer, forming a tight circle around the fire, the flickering flames dancing in their eyes. Taehyung starts them off, his voice solemn as he leans in, “Once upon a time, in a forest much like this one, there was a squirrel who could sing opera.”

It’s impossible to keep straight faces at first, but they all try. The mock-seriousness in Taehyung’s tone only makes it funnier, and the story takes off from there, spiralling into absurdity. Hoseok follows up, voice filled with faux sorrow, “And this squirrel, right? He had a tragic backstory. He lost his most precious acorn in a dramatic flood.”

The more the tale escalates, the more their giggles can’t be stopped, with the squirrel also being a secret agent for a woodland spy network side by side with his best friend, a tap-dancing raccoon who dreamed of opening a dance studio in the big city. Seokjin adds that the talented animal was also training to perform in a world-renowned animal talent show, but was being sabotaged by a jealous porcupine who could juggle flaming pinecones.

Yoongi, usually the voice of reason, surprisingly leans into the layers of idiocy rather than trying to steer it back to some semblance of order, “The porcupine is actually being helped by an evil ninja rabbit who only speaks in riddles.” His voice carries a playful tone, and Eunbi can’t help but reflect his same look on her own face— unforced, genuine.

The fire crackles louder in response, almost as if laughing along with them and cheering them on. By the time the story comes back around to Jimin, he leans in with a grin caught up in the fun, “And then! The raccoon finally achieves his dream of opening a dance school in the city where all the animals can learn tap-dancing and perform in the biggest talent show ever.”

There’s a beat of silence before they all burst out laughing again, though this time it’s mixed with good-natured teasing. Namjoon chuckles and shakes his head, “Okay, now you’re just projecting.“

Hoseok, grinning from ear to ear, chimes in, “Yeah, come on, you’re turning this into your own personal dream story.”

Taehyung, never missing a beat, adds, “Next thing you know, you’ll have the raccoon choreographing the whole animal kingdom.”

The teasing banter continues, the group’s laughter bouncing off the trees. But Eunbi, still a little out of sync with their inside jokes, blinks in confusion, “Wait, what? What do you mean, reflecting yourself?”

The laughter fades, and Jimin turns to her, a bit of a sheepish grin on his face, “Oh, it’s just… I’ve always loved dancing. It’s been a silly dream of mine to— you know, maybe open a dance studio when I’m older.”

Eunbi’s eyes widen, genuine surprise lighting her features, “Wow, I had no idea. That’s so cool, Jimin! Seriously, I didn’t know that about you.”

There’s a brief, awkward pause, in which Jimin’s smile softens at her reaction, but before he can say anything more, Jeongguk scoffs audibly. The sound cuts through the moment like a sharp blade. He’s leaning back, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowing at Eunbi with something between disdain and frustration but his tone unbothered, “That’s basic Jimin knowledge. Everyone knows that.”

Once again, Eunbi couldn’t have anticipated Jeongguk being on a completely different agenda. She should have known, she’s aware of that. But she hadn’t wanted to. She only wanted to go by the foolish belief that tonight would be different. That just for one evening they could coexist in the same space, be civil, even share a laugh.

It was a naive hope. And now, standing crosshairs of Jeongguk’s fiery glaze, not only with the glow of the flames, she realises just how mistaken she’s been. How stupid it was of her to think Jeongguk wouldn’t jump at the possibility of adding fuel to the fire. Because, right now, she finds herself utterly unprepared to read his clenched jaw, contrasting with the careless, almost indifferent posture he tries to maintain. She struggles to predict how it might develop if she uses a slightly different tone, or takes more time to respond.

She doesn’t remember moving around Jeongguk ever being this difficult. The physical closeness forced upon them by this trip only makes the emotional distance between them more glaring. They might be sitting around the same campfire, but it’s clear from the way he bristles at her every word, every gesture, that in Jeongguk’s mind, she’s universes away. And it’s exactly where he wants her to stay. No spaceship will bring her back. There’s nowhere she can land on his planet.

Eunbi’s exhaustion reaches its breaking point. She’s tired of pretending she’s okay with this. Fed up with letting remorse gnaw at her insides and reduce her to a punching bag for his barely-contained rage. Willing to take every fist thrown her way, rendering her vulnerable to his every attempt at breaking her down. Though what she feels is not resentment. It’s pure, bone-deep weariness. She doesn’t want to take this tug of war any further. If letting go of the idea of fixing things between them is what he wants, she’ll give him that.

With a sigh, she lowers her gaze to her hands for a moment, her fingers twitching unconsciously. Time and time again, she’s the reason why the group can’t go a few hours without being drawn into their venomous war.

Her eyes glisten with shame and helplessness as she looks back up, her voice reflecting anything but that weakness, its sharp and snappy tone overtaking the crackling fire, “What is your problem?”

Differently from the silence that stretched on after the unnecessary jab caught her by surprise, each second going by the ticks of a bomb ready to explode and wipe out the frivolity of the night, Jeongguk doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even give her the courtesy of pretending to think it over. His response comes swiftly, harshly, as if he’s been waiting for the question all night, “My problem? My problem is that you’re here.”

Eunbi can’t help but scoff. It’s not meant to be arrogant, nor mocking. It’s almost an instinctive reaction, a defence mechanism against the disbelief that rises in her throat. Her words drip with sarcasm, though her voice remains calm, “Oh, I’m sorry I wanted to do something nice for you with the others.”

Jeongguk’s gaze is steady, unwavering, and his next words land like a punch to the gut, “Well, you shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t be here.”

Though she can say she’s gotten better at enduring, it still stings. None of that shows on her face, unflinching, neutral. A biting smile tugs at her lips, though it doesn’t reach her eyes, “Trust me, I know.”

There’s a pause— one brief, agonising moment where she thinks maybe, just maybe, this is still part of their aimless bickering that has been going on the past two days, a spat that will blow over.

But then Jeongguk speaks again, and his voice is so distant it’s even hard to hear him clearly, “I hope you do. You don’t belong here.”

Silence stretches on, the fire crackling softly the only sound between them. She’s sure everyone has stopped breathing, their exhales stuck up in their throat, afraid of releasing them, of stepping foot into something that doesn’t concern them.

Jeongguk’s eyes never leave hers, the coldness in them piercing through the thin veil of pretence they’ve both been clinging to. He doesn’t stop there, his voice deathly quiet, “Not with me. Not with the others. Can’t you see that?”

Eunbi’s heart lurches. She thinks she would prefer being called every name in the book. Have Jeongguk spit at her for all the pain she put him through. Say anything he wants about her being an awful person. But he knows just how to twist the knife. Still knows how to read her every faltering step, the doubts behind her eyes, the insecurities plaguing her mind. Surely, he also still knows how to be the one feeding her the desperate acceptance she needs, the assurance that none of her fears are true. So many times Jeongguk was there to swear she’s loved; that she wouldn’t be left alone ever again.

But now, he decides to use all that knowledge to spin it against her, to push all the right buttons that he knows will hurt her most. She doesn’t belong here. It’s what her mind has whispered to her over and over again since she stepped foot in his sacred circle, an outsider next to Dahye. She has been good at ignoring those hushed tones, to convince herself they’re lies. That these people are her friends, and they all see her as part of the group. That her fears were unfounded.

The proof her haunting thoughts have been right all along is in front of her though, and it presses down on her chest. It’s too much— too raw, too real. She should have seen it coming, but she’s still speechless. Her throat tight, her eyes burning with unshed tears. Though she refuses to let them fall for eleven pairs of eyes to watch. For his eyes to glow with satisfaction.

Eunbi manages to laugh bitterly, though the sound is hollow, “Right. Well, thanks for making it clear.” With her hands trembling slightly, hiding it by clenching them into fists at her sides, she pushes herself to her feet, “I’ll go now. Enjoy your night. Asshole.”

Her voice wavering on the last word, Eunbi turns and walks away from the fire, the warmth of it barely touching her anymore. She doesn’t let herself falter as she heads toward her tent, her footsteps hurried, the chill of the night settling in around her.

And as she shields herself from the outside world, its sounds accompanied by the group’s muttered voices escalating with agitation, words she won’t try to register, she doesn’t bother giving herself a headache trying to hold the tears in. This time, she lets them spill over freely, each one carrying the weight of every single one of her fears. She keeps the sobs in her chest, whimpering with the signals of panic taking over. And now more than ever, she really wishes she just wasn’t here.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

When it comes to this time of the year, Jeongguk inevitably becomes the worst version of himself. It’s a cruel irony that it all resurfaces right as his birthday approaches. It’s been that way for years now. In the beginning, when he was still in Busan, he found it hard to blow the candles on his cake without his shoulders feeling heavy, his eyes involuntarily searching for someone that was no longer there; with the unanswered questions dulling the sounds around, leaving him desensitised to the love so blatantly in front of him.

It took him a while to accept it, even with a missing spot unfilled. Jeongguk has never been good with changes. Has always lived by an unwavering, straight path on which he walked confidently, jumping over the cracks on the ground and ignoring any turns. The only deviation he allowed was the one that led him to Seoul. It was a long wait before the stoplight turned green, his own doubts plaguing him even with his parents’ encouragement; and when it did, he crossed the road alone reluctantly, glancing back more than once.

Jeongguk found that this lane was a little less preserved and far less predictable than the one he took his very first steps on. It was full of bumps, a lot of them causing him to trip and fall face first into the concrete. So many dead ends that forced him to make a choice, left or right. But on those same streets, he also recognised elements from the previous block: his love for filmography, the very reason he came to the capital; his mom’s goodnight tune, even over the phone; his thick Busan accent, instantly mirrored into Jimin’s own; the creeping dread as his birthday approached.

There are things he never fully got over, and every year, when August rushes to an end and September looms, he becomes highly aware of it. But over time, he’s learned to live with it. The questions that once consumed him have no answers, and he came to terms with the fact that he couldn’t help what happened. What he’s always had control over, however, was the small key to an even smaller room in his brain, where with great effort he locked Eunbi away once he turned 17.

She tried to break free multiple times, banging on the door and begging to be let out. Jeongguk even had to get maintenance on the lock. Eventually she quieted down, and only ever stirred whenever she knew September was coming from the little calendar she had hung up in the cramped space.

Jeongguk learned to handle it. The memories were still alive, but they didn’t hurt him the way they used to. They felt distant, resurfacing only when he himself noticed the final days of August being crossed on his own calendar. Using a red marker to draw those lines, his fingers still tingled with something close to familiar uneasiness. Sometimes, if it managed to spread to his whole body, it would overtake him, and in the days leading up to his birthday he’d snap more easily, feel more irritated.

But he’d gotten better at controlling it. Last year, his first time turning a year older in a place that wasn’t Busan, he didn’t even feel it. It might have been all the new, shiny people surrounding him in the small flat he was renting with Jimin, the fresh adrenaline from making sure he was feeding his friends with a fun time clouding every other thought. Back in that room, Eunbi peacefully slept through the entirety of it. Even forgot to wish him a happy birthday.

With the real Eunbi physically standing in front of him, all of Jeongguk’s efforts to keep her locked away shattered in one, insignificant instant. It only took a snap of the little-version-of-her in his brain for every wall he’d meticulously built to come crashing down. The door he had so carefully sealed off was now flung open, and little Eunbi burst through, running wild, mingling with thoughts she had no business messing with and wreaking havoc on all those parts of his mind that had been closed off, at least until that moment.

Behind her, an unstoppable flood of emotions he’d long buried surged in, filling his mind until it couldn’t hold any more. It spread to his chest, his heart straining under the weight of everything he didn’t want to feel. Little Eunbi, with her hair still short, worn bermudas, and a t-shirt stained with yellow paint, revelled in the chaos she was causing. She jumped and skipped back and forth between his brain and his heart, completely at ease, her presence so familiar yet entirely out of place. She seemed to enjoy every second of it.

And Jeongguk grew more and more unnerved by that. Little Eunbi was different from the Eunbi that avoided his gaze and awkwardly bowed. The latter had her hair longer, with short bangs softly brushing over her brows, her hands neatly manicured and her clothes spotless. She stood there, straight and put-together, a polished version of the girl who once got dirt all over herself and laughed too loud.

But what probably made him madder was that the more Eunbi started to find her place within the group, the more that seemingly dead part of her began to re-emerge, inching its way back into his life. It was like watching a ghost regain its form, piece by piece. The Eunbi he thought he had locked away was starting to blur with the present Eunbi, and every time she laughed it reminded him of how easy things had once been between them, back when her presence hadn’t been a thorn in his side but a constant comfort. Now, that sound twisted something deep in his chest, something he had long buried under layers of hurt and distance.

What frustrated him even more was that Eunbi seemed completely oblivious to it all. The way she eased into the group, gaining their acceptance, was infuriating. It was as if the distance between them meant nothing to her, as if she could waltz back into his life without consequence. The more they welcomed her, the more that old familiarity surfaced. She was becoming Eunbi again— the Eunbi who had once mattered. And that thought made his stomach churn.

It twisted even further when he found himself unconsciously reading into her every move. His knowledge of her, the way she used to be, crept into his mind without his consent, and he began to analyse her behaviour, picking apart her words and actions. It was almost instinctive, the way he could still understand her, still anticipate her moods. It only ended up poisoning him, because he soon realised those smiles — those little moments of reconnection to the past — were never directed at him. He could recognise her in the eyes of his friends, but never in his own.

Did she even care about what had happened between them? Did she think she could simply move on like none of it had affected him? Did she ever realise how deep those cracks still ran, or was he the only one haunted by the weight of their past?

At first, he forced the frustration to only translate into indifference. Bitter coldness. Not paying her presence too much mind, but still making sure she could feel his resentment dangerously tipping over the edge, and threatening to trip at any minute.

But the combination of his birthday approaching and Eunbi wandering around his space as if nothing ever happened caused the explosion. The rancorous version of himself, the one he thought he managed to successfully bury, now fought its way to the surface and dragged him back to square one: a freshly 16 years old Jeongguk with a freshly broken trust.

The intensity of those emotions hit him like a tidal wave, the kind that leaves you breathless, unable to distinguish between up and down. It wasn’t just anger. It was cold betrayal, and the sight of her, standing there so effortlessly among his friends on his birthday trip, made his skin prickle with irritation. Eunbi had slid into their plans with such ease, as if she belonged, and it was ironic considering she hadn’t even wanted to be in the same car as him.

Jeongguk only needed that last, littlest drop to fall, and with it, every ounce of restraint he had left evaporated. The thin thread of control he’d been clinging to snapped. He had thought he’d moved on, convinced himself that enough time had passed for him to handle her presence with maturity.

But he was wrong. Time hadn’t healed him like he’d hoped. Instead, it had just let the bitterness fester until now. He couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t hold himself back. The more he watched her fit in so naturally, laughing at someone’s joke or sharing a quiet moment by the fire, the more the frustration swelled in his chest. It was infuriating that she could act so unfazed, go up to him with a smile he has always recognised too well as if nothing ever was.

He didn’t even realise how tight the grip on his own emotions had been, until they were flooding out of him all at once. Jeongguk felt the words rising in his throat before he could stop them, the resentment spilling over like poison. And now he can feel the control slipping, the pain rushing to the surface like a dam had burst inside him. It’s almost addicting, even when his mind screams at him to stop, to take a breath. But his heart, the part of him still broken from all that time ago, drives him forward.

He needs her to feel it, needs it to be reflected in her eyes. This is what he’d been holding back for so long. This is the pain she’d left him with, and now he’s finally giving it back to her, forcing her to carry some of the weight. He isn’t the only one hurting anymore.

Each word that leaves his mouth is laced with venom, and he watches, wavering between satisfaction and regret, as they hit their target. Her eyes always widen slightly, the smallest flinch in her expression betraying her shock. For a second, he thinks he sees the cracks forming—tiny fissures in that calm, polished exterior she’d put on.

But the more he watches her crumble, the more he feels the bitter taste of victory sour in his mouth. There’s a part of him that hates what he’s doing. Hates that he has become the kind of person who lashes out like this, who takes pleasure in someone else’s pain. Especially hers. It’s like he’s caught in this vicious cycle of wanting to keep his distance but also wanting her attention. And the only way to get that is by hurting her before he himself can process his own hurt through different lenses.

Jeongguk knows he’s being unfair, but something in him can’t let it go. He‘s still simmering with unresolved anger, but there’s also a gnawing guilt, a nagging voice in his head telling him he’s pushing her too far, too hard. Last night, her eyes glossy with tears, he felt the pang that usually followed unleashing his poisonous words hit harder in his chest. He had picked his script with purpose, knowing exactly where to aim, only to shoot hard and leave her lifeless. She fought through the end to get her breaths out, until she couldn’t. Jeongguk waited for the sense of triumph to wash over him, but it never did.

Instead, her fragile figure retreating only after a weak attempt at returning even the smallest amount of the hurt she felt, Jeongguk still felt heavy. Heavy with remorse and guilt. Heavy with the pressure reflected in his friends’ eyes. And he couldn’t handle that. He stood up shortly after Eunbi left, his brain refusing to internalise Dahye’s affront and the group’s deafening silence.

Hours later, Jeongguk lies wide awake, his eyes staring into the void of the tent. He hasn’t been able to keep them shut for more than a minute, his mind a battlefield. He finds it’s impossible to resonate between the insatiable desire for revenge and the exhaustion rendering him numb to any possibility of feeding that need. There’s a part of him that just wants peace.

Glancing to his side, Jimin and Taehyung sleep soundly in the cramped space, blissfully unaware of the storm raging inside him. Neither of them had wanted to dive too deep into what happened, the spat words, the irrational rage constantly taking over their younger friend and keeping him stuck between fight and flight with no escape. Jimin only offered a soft pat on the shoulder and his warmest smile, “It’ll be okay, Jeonggukkie. Let’s just sleep now, hm?”

Jeongguk wishes it could have been as simple as Jimin made it sound. For his friends, it was. They both fell asleep without trouble, and Jeongguk is grateful for that. At least two out of three of them were getting the rest they deserved. Still, he’s careful not to wake them while he quietly slips out of the tent.

The early morning air is crisp, biting at his skin, but the sensation is grounding. Dawn is just beginning to break, soft light spilling over the horizon and casting everything in a faint glow. The quiet sounds of nature surround him, and though they don’t quite ease the weight in his chest, they provide a temporary lull. It’s the cool air caressing his face and threading through his hair that brings some sort of order.

His thoughts start to settle. They don’t feel like a stadium of shouting voices anymore. The yells quiet down and he’s able to sift through them now, picking each one apart, giving himself the space to breathe. It’s not perfect, but it’s better. He feels like he can move past this— if not for his own sake, then for the sake of the others.

Still, there’s one thought that refuses to be silenced. One question that lingers just beneath the surface, gnawing at the edges of his justified anger. It’s persistent, creeping into his mind with every inhale. Why does hurting her hurt him too?

It seems like the simplest of questions, but Jeongguk refuses to accept what appears to be the answer. It sits there, plain as day, yet he pushes it away. He doesn’t want to keep dissecting it, turning it over and over in his mind, trying to find any other plausible way out, but he can’t help himself. His thoughts spiral, stretching the minutes into what feels like eternity, until he loses track of time altogether. He zones out so deeply that when he finally snaps back, it’s only because the quiet sound of a tent zipper reaches his ears, followed by Hoseok’s hesitant head poking out.

Jeongguk blinks, suddenly aware that he’s been sitting in the same spot, on the same chair, staring at the same patch of dirt for who knows how long. Hours, at least. His body feels stiff, his mind trapped in an endless loop. He wonders if he’s lost his ability to pull himself out of this mental prison, if this is it. He’s stuck. His birthday is less than 24 hours away, and he’s more miserable than he’s been in months.

His chest tightens when he sees Hoseok walking toward him. Panic rises swiftly, because Hoseok had witnessed last night’s disaster. They all had. His hands clench into fists, his orbs trembling as doubt swarms his mind. Did he ruin the entire trip for everyone? Is the tension in the air his fault? Is he the cause of the awkward silence that lingered after he tore Eunbi apart with his words? Do they hate—

“Jeonggukkie? You okay?”

The softness in Hoseok’s tone almost makes Jeongguk flinch. It’s so gentle, filled with concern, and for a moment he questions everything he’s been telling himself. If Hoseok hated him, if any of them did, he wouldn’t be standing here now, looking at him with such care in his eyes.

Jeongguk only nods in response, the tension in his shoulders unwinding just a little as his older friend’s face softens into a sweet smile. There’s no judgement, no condemnation. Just quiet understanding. He waits in the lingering silence as Hoseok moves to freshen up. The moment he returns, settling into one of the chairs nearby, Jeongguk feels a sudden urge to speak clawing at his throat. He knows if he doesn’t start talking, the weight of the trap of his own mind will tighten around him again. So he talks, talks and talks about anything that doesn’t resemble the doom he was slipping into.

He’s a fugitive from his thoughts, and he keeps running even when more of the others join the small circle in the middle of the campsite. None of them seem to look at Jeongguk differently, the jokes flowing naturally as small laughs fill the quiet morning. It’s as if everything is as it should be, and he feels himself ease back into composure. Though, the guilt still lingers, heavy and unshakable. He ignores it.

The sun climbs higher in the sky, casting light above them and providing Jeongguk with warmth that he stores in his chest. He gets more of that from his friends’ smiles and the excitement flowing energetically out of them as Hoseok explains they’ll be cycling today, crossing scenic paths that round the campsite.

He watches as they all gather, geeking about today’s activity and stuffing their faces with as much food as they can get their hands on. The topic soon shifts to his birthday, which Jeongguk is particularly dreading. They’re already planning to get him wasted tonight, and the boy chuckles softly, though his laughter is hesitant, distracted.

His gaze keeps drifting to the one tent that hasn’t opened yet, the only place that remains closed off to the rest of the group. The only two people missing from their little circle haven’t joined yet, and it’s hard for Jeongguk to ignore that. To ignore her.

With more minutes going by and the tent unmoving, remaining still and almost mocking in its silence, he finds it even harder to focus on the laughter and the lightness of the morning. The world outside his head seems to move on without him, blissfully unaware of the turmoil inside him. On one side, he’s relieved that the attention has shifted away from him, that the day can unfold even without him being fully present. But that same realisation makes him feel like he’s teetering on the edge, dangerously close to falling back into the prison of his own thoughts.

Oblivious to it, his inner struggle is written all over his face, clear as day to anyone who cares enough to look. And Jimin notices right away. He doesn’t say anything at first, just reaches out to gently caress Jeongguk’s shoulder, the touch so light that the brown haired boy startles slightly before meeting his friend’s gaze. Jimin’s face is soft, a sweet smile tugging at his lips as he tilts his head, “Something on your mind?”

His tone is gentle, almost knowing. Jeongguk shakes his head, brushing off the concern, but his eyes flicker, and his own body betrays him when he instinctively turns once again to check for any movement from the tent. The subtle action doesn’t go unnoticed by the blonde, who hums and makes the other boy sigh wearily, an excuse ready on his lips, “I just haven’t had much sleep.”

“Why don’t you go call Eunbi and Dahye? They probably won’t get to have breakfast if we’re leaving soon.” Jimin’s suggestion comes with caution but it strikes a chord.

Jeongguk stares at his friend, though it feels more like he’s staring through him. The words hang in the air as he zones out, weighing his options. He doesn’t want them to miss breakfast, sure. And part of him just wants to check on them, to make sure they’re okay. Breathing, alive. Yeah, that’s it.

But a question lingers: is he ready to face Eunbi so directly? The task sounds simple enough—just call them over, remind them they’ll have to leave soon for the day’s plans. But the weight of last night still clings to him. What if he hasn’t recovered from the poison he spat? What if that anger rises up, unprovoked, and spills out again? Worse, what if he can’t say anything at all? Or what if Eunbi sees him and returns all the evil, even stronger and sharper? What if she hits back harder and he’s left bleeding on the ground?

The furious speed at which his thoughts churn makes Jeongguk’s head spin, a relentless loop that threatens to overtake him, before the weight on his lap pulls him back. He glances down to see a plate of food resting there—some leftovers from breakfast. When he looks back at his friend, Jimin’s gaze is comforting, “You could bring them this and check if they’re okay with leaving in 30 minutes, hm?”

Jimin is crouching beside him, eyes soft but knowing, not pushing or pressing for anything, but somehow encouraging him all the same. The reassurance he finds in his gaze is enough for Jeongguk. His rushed thought process slows down, and he has room to realise he was only letting irrational panic speak. There’s no reason why any of those scenarios and possible outcomes could roll out only from calling his friends (well, his friend and… Eunbi) over for breakfast.

Jeongguk nods as he stands, his movements stiff at first, his hands clutching the plate tightly. Even with the knowledge he doesn’t have to necessarily address Eunbi, each step toward the tent feels like he’s carrying the weight of the world. The ground beneath him crunches softly, and his heart unreasonably picks up. The idea of simply facing her makes him sick to his stomach. He doesn’t want to accept it, but it’s guilt that’s causing that.

He’s so consumed by trying to chase away his own thoughts he doesn’t immediately register he’s close enough now that he can see the outline of the closed tent flap. It takes him even more to discern the sounds coming from inside. At first, it’s just a faint noise—muffled, almost unintelligible.

But as he draws closer, it becomes clearer. His steps falter. Another second goes by before he places it, and then it hits him like a punch to the gut. Eunbi is crying.

Jeongguk’s body tenses. No, she’s sobbing. It feels like someone’s wrapped a hand around his heart and squeezed. Her words are barely comprehensible, choked-out syllables and pleading whispers. He can make out enough to know that she’s begging, almost desperately, for Dahye to take her away from here.

Jeongguk freezes, paralyzed by the intensity of each of her desperate gasps. The world around him fades. The raw sound of her pain consumes him, and it cuts through him in ways he didn’t anticipate. He had wanted this, hadn’t he? He had wanted to hurt her, to see her broken, see her exactly like this. He had succeeded. He thought it would somehow bring him peace, make things right. Then why does each sob that escapes her build a shattering pressure in his chest?

It all ended up feeling wrong. As if he’s the one falling apart, the one who can’t catch his breath. Her grief echoes in him, breaking pieces inside he thought were long buried. There’s that gnawing guilt, eating away at the anger he had used to justify everything.

With the cries growing louder in his ears, he finds an answer as to why it hurts to hurt her. And it’s a persistent whisper he can no longer ignore.

Jeongguk struggles. He struggles to process it all, his senses slow. He doesn’t know whether to walk away or step closer. His head is screaming at him to move, to do something, but his body won’t listen.

It takes him another moment to realise that Dahye is moving inside the tent, her voice low and soothing as she tries to comfort Eunbi. Then, the tent flap rustles, and Dahye steps out. The moment her eyes land on him, her expression shifts, hardening with disappointment that sends a new wave of guilt crashing into him.

“You really fucked up this time.” She doesn’t bother to hide what seemed to only paint her features seconds ago. Jeongguk is left momentarily stunned, even more with her shoulder brushing against his as she walks past him. It’s suddenly too fast, and he can’t bring himself to respond, can’t find the words to defend himself or apologise.

His gaze falls down in an attempt to regain control over his actions, but as he searches for something, anything, to ground him he notices that the tent is left slightly open. Through the small gap, he can only see darkness and make out the quiet sniffles coming from Eunbi. His body stills, the sound only worsening the mess of thoughts crashing into each other.

One realisation sends a fresh wave of panic through him. Eunbi can see him. She knows he’s there, standing. Doing nothing, even while she cries. The jolt rushes all through his muscles this time, travelling from his brain, and it’s enough to finally get him to move.

Jeongguk takes a shaky step back, only to turn around fast when he’s met with a possibility he doesn’t want to confront. If he sees her face — red, tear-streaked, her eyes swollen from crying — he doubts he’d be able to handle it. Handle the sight of the pain that he caused. He’s sure he’d lose whatever fragile control he has left. He’s already on the brink of breaking just from hearing her. Seeing her like that would undo him completely.

As he retreats, the weight of everything he’s done settles in. He wonders if they’ve reached a point of no coming back. The hurt is too deep, the damage too irreversible. And for the first time, even the foolish kid inside him, the one that still craves for his Dal, wonders if they’ll ever be able to find their way back to each other. The bridge between them feels burned, reduced to ashes, and he’s terrified that there’s no rebuilding it. It’s falling apart for good.

It’s impossible for Jeongguk to keep the dread eating at his insides from showing on his face. It betrays him, every ounce of regret etched plainly across his features. He reluctantly lifts up his gaze. Especially when he’s met with Jimin’s concerned one, the pity there making his stomach twist even tighter, and Dahye’s flaring eyes cutting through him like daggers.

Eunbi steps out shortly after. She moves quietly, almost too quietly, as if she’s trying to blend and disappear into the air. He can immediately tell that she’s made an effort to mask the misery, the makeup she’s wearing is heavier than usual. Too much in places that don’t need it. A shield against him.

But he refuses to let himself look at her for too long. His eyes flit away before he’s forced to see too much. Before the truths he runs from hit him square in the face, before he’s able to discern the words that should be spoken but remain unsaid.

Once again, he lets his doubts speak louder than reason. He convinces himself that all of his friends are against him, that they’re watching him with eyes full of judgement. They’re at his throat, ready to pounce, ready to pin all the blame on him. He can almost feel their fingers pointing in his direction, like they’ve already made up their minds. He’s the guilty one. He’s the tainted, selfish asshole who ruins everything.

That’s why Jeongguk cycles slowly, deliberately hanging back, lagging behind the rest of the group. He can’t bear to meet their eyes, to force himself into their light-hearted mood. He doesn’t feel like belonging there, right now. It feels like he’s on the outside looking in, like he’s forgotten what it means to just feel at peace.

So, he keeps his distance. It’s easier to stay where it’s quiet. Where he doesn’t have to put up an act or force himself to be present. The silence feels more like a refuge than loneliness, a momentary escape from the relentless noise in his mind.

In front of him, Eunbi cycles just as slowly. They’re both drifting behind the group, caught in their own separate orbits, not really blending with the others. Jeongguk unconsciously fixates on the steady rhythm of her bike wheels, the way they spin effortlessly, guiding her along the path. It’s a repeated, ceaseless action that serves as a temporary anchor to avoid sinking under.

Without meaning to, he finds himself mimicking their speed, gradually inching closer to her, his bike mirroring the pace of her wheels. The space between them narrows, and when he notices it, he pulls back slightly. Only to repeat the same motion moments later, closing the gap again. And again. It’s like he’s automatically attracted to the movement, which unintentionally draws him to her.

It’s Eunbi’s weary sigh cutting through the soft hum of the tires against the ground that snaps him out of that mindless trance, the one that had briefly distracted him from the darker thoughts creeping at the edges of his brain, “Can you stop doing that?”

Her voice, edged with irritation, breaks through the fog in his head. Jeongguk stills, confused, not even realising what she meant. He hums questioningly, his brows furrowing.

“I’m not in the mood for a race,” she mutters, not even looking back at him, her tone flat but tinged with weariness.

Jeongguk blinks, caught off guard, and he feels a flash of defensiveness rise up before he can stop it, “I— I wasn’t—”

“Whatever.” She cuts him off, sounding more tired than angry, “I just feel... anxious knowing you’re— there. Behind me. Please, just go ahead.”

The words strike him harder than they should, hitting him in a place he doesn’t want to acknowledge. They settle deep, mingling with guilt and frustration. Her voice, so casual yet heavy with discomfort, only stirs up the irrational anger that always seems to bubble up whenever they interact, the same one that brought them to this breaking point.

Before he can stop himself, he bites back, “Oh, now you’re the one feeling anxious.”

Eunbi’s shoulders stiffen, and her words shake with fatigue, begging once again, “Please, I don’t wanna start this again.”

“We’re not starting anything,” Jeongguk snaps back, his tone biting despite himself. Even he doesn’t believe it. It always feels like they’re on the verge of starting something, like every word is a match waiting to spark.

This time, she whips her head to look at him over her shoulder, her voice rising as her patience thins, “Oh, really? Then what is th—”

The words die in her throat as her bike catches on something, and in an instant, she’s thrown forward. She’s sent tumbling on the ground, her body skidding against the rocky surface, the harsh sound of scraping skin filling the air as her hands and knees are victim to the fall.

Jeongguk’s heart drops. The fragile tension between them shatters, and his breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t think—he just reacts. “Dal!”

Before he knows it, panic overtakes him and he’s off his bike in a flash, letting it crash behind him as he rushes to her side. His voice shakes when he kneels beside her, the name escaping him again, raw and urgent.

Eunbi is sprawled on the ground, dirt smudged across her skin, her hands trembling as they try to push her own body up. Jeongguk immediately detects the blood seeping from the cuts on her knees, then scans through her face contorted in pain. He searches her whole body for more wounds with wide, desperate eyes and he notices her palms are also bleeding.

His hands hover uselessly, unsure where to touch or how to help without hurting her more. His heart is racing, pounding in his chest as the sight of her like this rips through him. It feels like the ground has been yanked out from beneath his feet.

When he speaks again, his voice is rough with fright, “Are you okay?” It’s the first thing he manages to blurt out, while helping her turn on her back. But it’s a stupid question—he can see she’s not okay. He can see the ache written all over her features, more blood dripping from her cuts.

Eunbi doesn’t respond immediately. Her breath comes out in sharp, shaky gasps. Jeongguk can see the shock of it all settling into her body and he watches as she tries to pull herself together, her face pale. Eunbi mutters, her voice small but strained, attempting to sit up in slow movements, “I’m fine.”

Jeongguk feels himself spiralling. The terror in her eyes is reflected in his, but it seems to hit him ten times stronger than what the bruised girl has to deal with right now. His orbs widen impossibly more as the seconds go by, and when her eyes seem to mist over with tears he can’t help his own palms from framing her face and searching for possible scratches he couldn’t spot with his attentive gaze, then grasps her arms.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to make her feel the hurt he carried, make her understand how deep his pain went. But now, as he looks at her, all he can think is how wrong that is. The sight of her suffering doesn’t give him any satisfaction. Only a pang deep in his chest, something ugly that he doesn’t know how to deal with.

“I’m fine,” Eunbi repeats again, this time with a little more conviction, a small, forced smile barely reaching her lips. But Jeongguk can see right through it. He hopes she can feel the intention seeping from his contact, his hold rough but warm over her goosebumps-covered skin.

The rushed moment gives no space for the resentment they had grown accustomed to these past days, and it wraps them up in a bubble from which the present is locked out. They’re outside Jeongguk’s porch, and Eunbi just fell on her hands and knees trying to learn how to roller skate. Her best friend sits beside her, taking care of her pain.

Even with their friends now hovering above them, throwing concerned questions at her, Jeongguk’s entire focus is on Eunbi. He follows her every slight movement, every shift of her body as she tries to mask the discomfort. His eyes study the way her face scrunches in pain, his heart aching in time with her every wince. And every time she looks at him, silently seeking reassurance, he’s right there, offering it in the softening of his gaze.

As the group’s voices become a chaotic hum around them, Eunbi’s low murmur slips past the noise, meant only for him, “Gguk. Maybe I don’t feel so fine.”

Her sheepish smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and the worry in her eyebrows betrays her light-hearted attempt. Jeongguk doesn’t hesitate. He immediately reacts, delicately leading her upper body down again. Seated on his heels, he lays her head on his lap and keeps her eyes on his face, his voice soothing, “It’s okay, Bee. Look at me. You’re going to be fine.”

Eunbi nods, trying to will herself into trusting him, but Jeongguk sees the uncertainty etched into every line of her face. Her eyes, wide with panic, keep darting down to her legs, where Namjoon holds them up steady, and Dahye works carefully to clean her wounds. There’s terror in her eyes every time she follows the blood trickling down her skin and notices how it keeps flowing out furiously. Jeongguk knows that look all too well. He’s seen it before, is aware of how blood unsettles her, how easily fear grips her in moments like these.

He acts instinctively, gently covering her eyes with one of his hands, the thumb subtly caressing her forehead, “Don’t look, Dal. Close your eyes, hm?”

Jeongguk can feel the hesitancy radiating from the group, their confusion practically tangible as they watch the scene unfold. They’ve seen him and Eunbi at each other’s throats, and now this tenderness feels foreign. But to him, it’s more familiar than any of the anger he’s harboured towards her. It’s like something pulling at the edges of his consciousness, reminding him of how it always has been, and should have been.

He refuses to linger on that thought now. Rational explanations and consequences can wait for later. Right now, all he cares about is making sure Eunbi is okay.

Her fall wasn’t severe, not by any medical standard, but the sight of her pale face and the cold sweat clinging to her skin keeps his nerves taut. He can't relax, not when he can still feel the tremble in her body and see the fright in her eyes. The panic washing over her features only makes him grip her a little tighter.

Namjoon breaks through the haze of Jeongguk’s focus, his voice concerned as he lowers Eunbi’s legs gently to the ground. “I need a shirt or something. Tissues won’t be enough here.”

It seems more as if he’s muttering to himself than anyone else, because he instantly moves to search in his backpack. Jeongguk is quicker, reacting without hesitation, still making sure Eunbi is shielded from the view of her knee scratched and raw with blood, “There’s one in my backpack. You can rip it if you need to.”

Namjoon pauses for a moment, looking at Jeongguk with doubt and something else he can’t quite place. But after a beat, he nods, unzipping the bag and pulling out the t-shirt.

The older boy calls Eunbi’s attention on him, and Jeongguk’s hand reluctantly slips away from her face, settling in her hair instead. Namjoon’s tone is gentle, keeping the girl grounded, “Okay Bi. I’m going to press very hard now. It’ll hurt a bit, but I need to stop the bleeding. You okay?”

Eunbi nods, her expression tight with fear but determined to stay calm. She focuses solely on Namjoon’s face, deliberately avoiding the sight of her knee, where blood continues to drip down, relentless and vivid against her skin. The second Namjoon applies pressure, she lets out a sharp squeal, her brows knitting together as soft whimpers follow, each sound striking Jeongguk with a deep sense of helplessness.

And it’s more than he can bear. Without thinking, he reaches for Namjoon’s wrist, halting his movement, his voice tight and edged with a protectiveness he can’t suppress, “Yo, you’re hurting her. Don’t press so hard.”

The other boy meets his eyes, a small scoff escaping his lips without going unnoticed, his expression steady, “I’m studying to be a doctor. I think I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re studying to be a vet, that’s not a fucking doctor.” The comment slips past him before he can do anything about it, sharper than intended, fueled by frustration and anxiety. The unnecessary weight of his words reflect in the surprised reactions from his friends and the slight arch of Namjoon’s brow.

“Bibi kinda looks like a deer. I’d say it’s quite appropriate,” Dahye’s voice slices through the small, sudden moment of tension, and it’s sweet but tinged with humour, her light-hearted tone meant to ease some of her friend’s nerves. Eunbi chuckles, light and genuine, for the first time that morning. She searches for the taller girl’s gaze and finds her crouching next to Jeongguk, close to her.

Jeongguk notices the shift in her immediately, the way her features relax, the calm that briefly washes over her. He scrutinises every subtle change, searching for the girl he’d spent years knowing. But as he looks down at her, still resting in his lap, her gaze lingering on Dahye before quickly finding his and then returning to Namjoon, he spots something that twists in his gut.

There’s a shift in her eyes. Uncertainty. It all comes rushing back. It’s not just the physical pain that’s pulling her away. The brief connection they had shared slips through his fingers. It’s like a switch has been flipped, and they’re back where they always end up, strangers that know everything about the other, even when they’re this close. The softness in her eyes is not directed at him, and it’s then replaced by doubt. The image causes an obnoxious alarm to go off in his head. He doesn’t know how to restore the moment. Doesn’t want it to end.

Frantic, he keeps combing his fingers through her hair, desperate to hold onto any remains. His movements are absentminded, mechanical almost, as if he’s afraid to let go completely. Then, the need to hear her voice becomes almost overwhelming, and his words come out soft, tentative, “You okay?”

When she only nods, he frowns. It does little to ease his mounting anxiety.

Namjoon resumes his work diligently, and Eunbi eventually sits up, the warmth of her body now gone from Jeongguk’s lap. It only leads him to further seek for a way to bridge the gap, forcing a gentle smile, “Dal, it’s not even bleeding anymore. See?”

“Oh god, is she dying? She’s gonna bleed out.” It’s Hoseok’s dramatic outburst shattering the moment and Jeongguk’s every possible attempt at mending it, as the boy crouches down to inspect the stained shirt wrapped around Eunbi’s leg with a grimace.

Eunbi, who had just started to calm down, now feels her breath quicken. She instinctively looks at Jeongguk, her eyes pleading for reassurance, but before he can offer his comfort, Hoseok’s over-the-top concern strikes again, “Bi, what’s your blood type? Just in case we might need to give you a blood transfusion.”

“What? Is he serious?” Her eyes widen in disbelief as she searches for the bloodstain but finds Jeongguk quickly pulling her shoulder to keep her still, “He’s just—”

"Actually, I once watched a tutorial on YouTube on how to do that. It’s not that hard. We just need to find someone with your same blood type and you’re set." Jimin’s sudden comment adds to the absurdity, and Jeongguk groans, his frustration mingling with the ridiculousness of the situation.

”You two, shut up and help me clean these,” rolling her eyes, Dahye puts an end to the foolish interaction and urges them to take care of the cuts on Eunbi’s palms, still unattended. Hoseok tries, he does, but he feels like facing blood this close will probably result in him fainting. He doesn’t think having another person on the verge of passing out would help. So, he calls for Taehyung to take over while he just resolves by trying to distract Eunbi, “I was just kidding, doesn’t look so bad. Where did you get this top, by the way?”

Jeongguk hesitates. He can’t focus on the banter. His anxiety is slowly eating at his insides, and he knows he should let go of whatever bubble he found himself trapped into. Should burst it with the slightest nudge of his finger, the mocking plop! sound eventually bringing him back to the present and making the sounds clearer, closer. But he can’t. He’s feverish as Eunbi seems to avoid his gaze further, only offering small smiles when he attempts to comfort her like he did while she was laying on his legs, her eyes trained on his and seemingly the only thing able to keep her stable. The chaos makes his head spin, but what’s worse is the feeling that she’s slipping away, again. Even if it was just an illusion to begin with.

Deep in the spiral of his thoughts, it takes him a moment to notice that Eunbi is being helped up by Namjoon, and that she’s holding onto his forearms while taking small, hesitant steps without applying too much pressure on the bruised knee. Namjoon hums in concern, then looks behind his shoulders, “Hey, my bike has a seat behind. I’m taking Eunbi back to the campsite.”

The words snap Jeongguk out of his daze, making him stand up and instantly pulling him back from whatever other mental trap he had fallen right into. Even if it seems to be too late now, Eunbi restoring the wall between them brick by brick, his heart kicks into overdrive, and before he even knows what he’s doing, he blurts out with more urgency than necessary, “I’ll come with you!”

The response is immediate, and not in the way he expects. All eyes land on him, doubtful, surprised. He can feel the shift in the air, a tension settling around him as his friends exchange glances, unsure of where this sudden burst of energy came from. The awkwardness of the moment seeps into his skin, and Jeongguk clears his throat, feeling the heat rise to his face, “I’ll— I’ll help take Eunbi’s bike back.”

Dahye pats him on the shoulder reassuringly, and Jeongguk is momentarily taken aback considering their earlier interaction and how she had looked at him with murderous intents. This time, she sports a soft smile, “Don’t worry, Gguk. I’ll do it.”

Jeongguk opens his mouth to argue, but Namjoon cuts in, his expression equally puzzled by the younger’s outburst, “Yeah, man. You should stay here and enjoy the day. It’s your birthday, after all.”

“But—“

”You did enough already, Gguk. Stay with the others, we’ll take care of her.” After throwing him a convincing nod, Dahye is already pulling Eunbi’s bike up and steadying it, quickly collecting her own that had stopped not too far away.

Jeongguk frantically searches for Eunbi’s gaze, for any sign that he should push further, that she needs him with her. But as they lock eyes, the weight of his earlier actions come crashing down on him, like a bucket of cold water. He let himself get carried away in a distant fantasy that doesn’t belong in his reality, that shouldn’t have unfolded in their present. It only led him to try and force his way into a situation where he wasn’t needed. No, where he wasn’t wanted. The thought stings more than he cares to admit.

He seeks for confirmation either way, hanging on the last remaining thin thread, the name slipping from his tongue again, tentative, “Are you sure, Bee?”

Eunbi hesitates, her arms wrapping around her figure, shielding herself from him. She also seems to be realising the unfamiliarity of the moment, of his sweet tone, his eyes never once hardening when they land on her. And it’s weird, because she should be accepting this version of him with much more ease. But instead, she finds support in their distance right now, and she lowers her gaze, “Yes, Jeongguk. I don’t want to bother you further.”

A small gasp fights its way up his throat, but he stops it. He tries to argue, stuttering, “You— You’re not— Whatever. Huh, call if anything happens?”

His eyes are still trained on Eunbi, but she doesn’t react. Dahye chuckles softly to try and soothe the air, “Hey, she’s okay. It’s just a few scratches. Right, Bibi?”

The oddly silent girl nods, her head up again and now meeting Jeongguk with confidence, firmly holding his gaze, the smallest remains of whatever they got caught into scattered to the ground. He mirrors her nodding, attempting to smooth some of her certainty in himself, failing, “Huh— okay. I’m just— okay. I’ll see you later, then.”

Later comes, and Jeongguk barely sees Eunbi. The night grows louder, he’s surrounded by friends, their energy infectious as they prepare for his birthday, now just a few hours away. They’re bubbling with excitement, eyes bright with anticipation, instilling that nervous buzz that always hits him just before midnight. Jeongguk smiles along with them, but his heart isn’t quite in it.

Despite the laughter and the way the campfire crackles as they pass around bottles of alcohol, Jeongguk feels distant, like he's watching it all through a fog. His friends are trying, he can tell. They’re making every effort to keep him distracted, to drown out the noise in his head with their joy. Jokes fly around the fire, and every few minutes someone checks the time, gasping excitedly as midnight draws nearer. It’s sweet, thoughtful, and he genuinely appreciates it. But no matter how much he tries to focus on them, on the present moment, his mind keeps drifting. His eyes wander, searching for Eunbi.

She’s always just out of sight. There, but not fully. Lingering at the edges, sticking close to Dahye. Laughing quietly, but never wholly engaging with the group like she usually would, despite everything. It’s just enough to not raise suspicion, but it’s clear she’s retreating. Closing herself off from the rest of them, from him.

Jeongguk tells himself he’s reading too much into it. That she’s probably still finding it hard to recover from the earlier incident, her bruises still visible. But he also knows this feeling too well. He felt it after that ride on his motorcycle, Eunbi seeking for something in his eyes, the moment so tender but broken in an instant. He’s acquainted with the slow drift, the wall quietly being rebuilt between them. Taller, sturdier.

The campfire crackles, and his friends’ voices rise around him, but he’s only half there. Jeongguk wishes he could stop his mind from racing, wishes he could just fall into the rhythm of the celebration like everyone else.

And then midnight comes. With it, a burst of chaos. His friends spring to life, hoisting him up into the air, passing him between them like a beloved trophy. Their spark is contagious, and for a moment, Jeongguk lets himself be burnt by it. The joy, the love surrounding him. They sing him happy birthday, off-key and loud, pouring drinks and making ridiculous toasts. He allows himself to be showered by that affection. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough.

As the hours drag on, the celebration settles into a steady hum. They stay by the fire, some leaning into one another, others still joking around, the alcohol loosening their tongues. The earlier buzz mellows into something softer, more intimate, and Jeongguk feels himself unwind, even a little. He laughs more freely now, the weight of the night starting to lift as he becomes wrapped up in their warmth.

Eventually, exhaustion begins to creep in. One by one, his friends start to peel away, calling it a night and retreating to their tents with promises to continue the celebration tomorrow. They ruffle Jeongguk’s hair, poking at him one last time before bidding him goodnight, the warmth of their presence lingering even as they disappear. Jimin and Taehyung make sure he’s okay before heading to their tent, only after throwing final teases laced with affection at him. Jeongguk sports a boyish grin as he watches them go.

Then it’s just him, the fire crackling softly and the bright stars above him. They whisper something to him, but he can’t decipher it. It makes his skin prickle with the chill and his eyelids shut heavier, slower with every flutter. He doesn’t hear his thoughts so strongly, now. Maybe he chooses not to. He’s been dealing with them all day long, seeking for even one of the millions to lighten him with something he actually needs. Does he even know what he needs? The ache in his heart that refuses to settle hints at a negative answer.

Jeongguk knows there’s something he wants, though. He badly wants these first hours of his birthday to be blessed by a certain someone’s wishes. He completely lost sight of her in the earlier chaos. Didn’t get to check if a smile, even a forced one, was painting her lips when midnight struck.

Perhaps it’s the universe pitying him, reserving him with a gift that could or could not change his misery. But he soon realises he’s not alone when a soft clearing of a throat breaks the silence.

He turns and finds Eunbi standing there, hesitant. She visibly struggles with what to do, her legs refusing to bring her closer to him but her brain willing to, sheepishly taking the seat next to him, “Um. Happy birthday, I guess.”

Jeongguk recognises it instantly, the way she says it, her subtle, small, playful smile not lost on him. It mirrors the same tone he’d used when he had blurted it out awkwardly at her own birthday not too long ago, the first time they’d really spoken one-on-one. A small chuckle escapes him, unsure but undeniably warm, “Huh. Thanks.”

And then there’s silence. It stretches between them, heavy but not uncomfortable, like there’s something waiting beneath it, something unspoken. The two are deep in their thoughts, words they want to say hovering on the tip of their tongues, but neither quite ready to let them loose. The crackling of the fire fills the space, the occasional pop of embers the only sound as they sit side by side, both not used to the feeling.

Jeongguk hesitates, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Do you… feel better?”

Eunbi hums.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

It goes quiet again, air thick and pregnant with everything left unsaid. Jeongguk hesitates, his mind swirling with the urge to say something, anything, but the fear of breaking whatever fragile truce they have keeps him quiet. He wants to ask her if she’s okay — really okay — but the words feel inadequate.

Eventually, it’s Eunbi who takes a deep breath, as if drawing in strength from the fire, from the quiet of the night around them, “I— I feel like… we should talk. Do— do you want to?”

Jeongguk’s chest tightens, his heart pounding, but then he nods.

“Yeah.”

[remotewatch]

no class, some integrity!

Jack Schlossberg x reader | 1.3k wc

Summary: All Jack wants is a round of golf, what a bore!

cw: shameless smut, fingering, outdoor recreation, sorry to the landscapers, and the ducks, unprotected sex, cum eating, if you want to safely reenact this get your ass up and VOTE, reader is on birth control but what’s a little plan b nausea for peace of mind, try to guess how serious I am about that, hate sex kinda sorta, this is a comedy

this one is for my oomf in editing! see you at the greek island queen out!

minors dni! get out! fuck off! shoo!

“Jack, fuck! Slow down!” Not because it hurts, but because he’s pounding you so hard he’s pushing you downhill, and any attempts you make to ground yourself against the grass just tear up the fresh sod in chunks. He’s bent and pressed flat against your back, panting whiny little “sorry-so sorry-I can’t, sorry-god”s into your ear as his hips piston uncontrollably.

You should’ve known better than to be all over him when you hadn’t seen each other in weeks; really, you should’ve expected this back when you selected your outfit.

-45 minutes earlier-

“Is that a skort?” You give him a half-glance over your shoulder from in front of the foyer mirror.

“No?” Jack leans back to peer under your hem in a way that only he can do without looking sleazy.

“You’re going to golf in a regular skirt?” God, he’s so simple, but you refrain from rolling your eyes.

“I didn’t pack anything else to go with this top. Does your course have a new dress code I’m not aware of?” With a practiced flick of your ponytail, you trot outside to the waiting golf cart before he can ask any more stupid questions.

As if Mother Nature herself means to mock you, the wind picks up as soon as he starts the engine. You spend the first few holes failing to hold your skirt down as Jack effortlessly outscores you, clearly not distracted enough to be beaten. If anything, the fluttering fabric is messing up your game as he watches from the drivers seat.

“If only someone would invent some sort of contraption with built in shorts, then you’d really be set.”

“Oh, fuck off!” he makes you miss your swing, sending the ball careening off to your left into a ditch. When you settle back into the cart, he’s wearing that mischievous little grin you hate to love.

“No, no, I’m serious. You should design one, bet it’d be a hit,” Alright, that’s enough of that. You swing your left thigh over his right, letting your skirt ride up enough to show off your underwear.

“Yeah, you’re always trying to get me to wear more clothes,” Jack suddenly appears very interested in the nearby duck pond despite the unmistakable tent in his chinos.

“We’re only on hole three, you know.”

“Ooh, the magic number!” He turns and squints into the sun, confirming you’re still very much in view of a security checkpoint, but you’re quick to stamp out his concerns.

“You’re seriously going to waste the one time we get the place to ourselves?” Another scoot and you’re practically sitting in his lap. “Or are you just worried about grass stains?”

“You’re ridiculous,” he mumbles, but he’s steering the cart out of sight nonetheless.

The second there’s a cluster of trees between you and the checkpoint, Jack is yanking your panties off hard enough to threaten rug burn. He’s grumbling all the way down to kneeling on the grass, like you’re asking him to repaint the whole property instead of rail you.

“You better spray all over these fucking seats if you want to act like this. I actually wanted to play today.” The leather squeaks as you slide fully onto his seat and place your feet on his shoulders. Your sneaker playfully nudges his cheekbone.

“That really depends more on you, you know.”

There’s a nearly imperceptible tic in Jack’s jaw, confirming you’ve pushed the right button.

For better or for worse, his hands simply don’t get tired. One presses on your pubic bone, pulling the skin just taught enough that every perfectly metronomic stroke on your clit sings through you uninhibited. He’s two knuckles deep and humming along to his own rhythm like an asshole, and maybe you’d say so if he wasn’t yanking your thoughts out with every hook of his fingers. Under any other circumstances, you might feel some type of way about the obscene squelching being the loudest sound on the course, but Jack has been gone for two weeks, and nothing in your toy box matches his fingers. He could make you sound like a foghorn without inspiring a lick of shame.

True to your word, the chair is utterly soaked, and Jack delights in the little bit that his fingers force out of you on each reentry. His tongue is snaking under you trying to clean every drop as it works its way up to your clit, but you more or less kick him to the ground before he can settle in.

“You still want to finish the game, right? We’ll be here all day if you keep playing with your food.” Jack tilts his head to one side like he’ll try and bicker back, but he elects to lunge for your waistband and drag you down with him instead. It would look fucking ridiculous if you were visible to anyone but the wildlife: both of you rolling around trying not to gain momentum and tumble downhill, kneeing each other and ripping up your cute little outfits like kids fighting for the remote. When you let your guard slip enough to fish his cock out of his pants, he takes the opportunity to pin you facedown to the turf and flood your nose with the smell of cut grass. You throw a weak elbow trying to flip him back over, but you’re no match for his years of paddle-boarding. A muttered “-can’t fuckin’ stand you-“ finds its way to your ear, and then he’s in and immediately slamming stars into your vision as your knees divot the green.

Jack always talks your ear off when you derail plans like this, complaining to the time of his thrusts in a way that nearly sounds convincing.

“We’ve never-completed-a whole-game! Never!” The breathiness of it deflates any sense of conviction from his words. Somehow you manage to crawl forward enough to get back onto your elbows, and it takes everything in you to keep your voice steady as you turn back to scowl at him.

“Get up and keep playing if you’re so upset.”

There’s that jaw twinge again. Before you can think to regret your words, he’s twisting one hand into your ponytail and pulling hard enough to make your grip slip.

He nearly knocks the breath out of you when he follows your collapse down to the ground, loose bits of grass sticking to both of your faces as he drools down your cheek. The new angle slots him even deeper, and the ducks resting by the pond’s edge actually fucking take off when they hear the moan he punches out of you. Despite it all, Jack is still a gentleman, one hand worming its way underneath you to paw frantically, sloppily at your clit. You’re driving him insane in the process of grinding down on his fingertips and bouncing off his pelvis in the little wiggle room you have, and soon he’s squeaking out little half syllables as his composure unravels. Any attempts at telling him to cum on your back are thwarted by your orgasm crashing through you and dragging his along with it. The way you’re twitching under him would be humiliating if he wasn’t matching you spasm for spasm. When he moves to scoot back, you grab a fistful of his ruined shirt and dig your nails into his oblique striations.

“Don’t even think about it. Clean that shit up, and then you’re driving us to CVS.” Jack snorts in annoyance, but he carefully pulls out to bend down and tuck in to his meal. The vibrations of him slurping his own cum out of you are almost overwhelming, but he switches to lapping you clean before you have to tap out. One last lip smack around your clit, and he’s leaning back on his heels to catch his breath. By now, the sun is just low enough to start stretching your shadows, and he looks nothing like the menace who just destroyed your outfit when he lies down facing you to pout about finishing up the game. You don’t bother to hide a giggle when you see how green his trousers are.

“That’s up to you. Do you feel more like changing or avoiding a speeding ticket?”

[friendly-neighborhood-boricua]

[2] Seeing Each Other Around Town

Summary: James discovers his favorite student and his mom are his across-the-street neighbors and now he can't stop seeing her everywhere.

Notes: Marauders modern elementary school AU, kindergarten teacher!James Potter x nurse!reader, mom!reader x son!OC (Liam), inspired by this post by @ravishinglavishingluvr. Tiny little bit of angst in this one but it's negligible. Y'all this is gonna be a slow burn but we'll get there. Also I'm updating sorta regularly now yay!!!

A/N (23/5/24): FINALLY edited this. I'm out of school, so hopefully I'll have time to continue this series <3

Previous Part: Parent-Teacher Conferences Next Part: Career Fair Series Masterlist here

Poor James is completely infatuated with you after parent-teacher conferences

He just can’t get you out of his head

And Sirius and Remus are usually the ones who suffer the consequences

Their apartment is on the way to school from James’ house, so they almost always carpool

And lately, the entire car ride, James Cant. Shut. Up. about you

(“Boys, you should’ve seen her—she’s so sweet—of course she’s Liam’s mom—Pads, you don’t understand—they’re so similar—Remus, she’s gorgeous—did you see her????”)

By the end of the week, Sirius and Remus are very amused with James’ adoration for you

But it also gets kinda irritating after a while, so they’re pretty thankful when the weekend rolls around and they (hopefully) get a small break from his incessant enamored babbling

Saturday rolls around, and James is up at six thirty (hard to break out of the habit when school starts at eight) and shuffling out to the lobby of his apartment building in his pajamas, robe, and slippers to get the mail and the newspaper

But just because James’ body wakes up early doesn’t mean James’ brain wakes up at the same time so he’s out by his mailbox looking confusedly at the newspaper and wondering why he suddenly can’t read

And after like a solid thirty seconds of him just squinting really hard he finally realizes it’s because he left his glasses inside

He’s doing his best guys, he’s doing his best

So James is about to turn around and go back to his own flat to get his glasses (and probably a cup of coffee) when he hears his own name— —just … well, kinda

“Mr. Potter?”

James just about jumps out of his skin because what teacher expects to see one of their students outside of school???? Like no thank you

Don’t get me wrong, James loves his kids to death and he’d die for them any day

But it’s the weekend

So no thanks

But then James realizes it’s Liam and he’s lowkey relieved because like

If he has to see a student outside of school, he’d rather it be this one

And then it occurs to James that if Liam is in his apartment building at six thirty in the morning, then he probably lives here

And if Liam lives here, then …

“Liam?”

Poor James can’t help the full-body flush that rushes through him at your voice

Boy looks like someone dunked him in tomato juice

His head snaps from Liam (or at least the blurry shape that has Liam’s voice) to where your voice is coming from, and it hits him that you’re whispering (very tiredly and cutely, if you asked James) from the floor below his own, leaning over the railing to watch as your son presumably gets the mail

How the hell didn’t he notice you lived in his apartment building????????

Not that he’s complaining ofc :):):):):):)

James realizes after a minute that Liam asked if he’s alright, and he’s just like “Yeah!!” and utterly beaming

(Unbeknownst to James, you realize who exactly Liam is talking to and blush just as terribly as James does when you realize you’re still in pajamas and aren’t at all presentable)

You say good morning to him as well (from the balcony) and James is pretty sure he’s about to melt

(You call him Mr. Potter tho and it lowkey makes him cringe and remember that Liam is like RIGHT next to him)

So you and him exchange pleasantries like Romeo and Juliet with the balcony :) you get it?? :):):) while Liam gets the mail from your own mailbox and walks it up the stairs back to you

(he says “here you go, mama” in his sweet little voice as he hands the small stack to you and you say the gentlest “thank you, baby” back and James’ heart feels like goop in his chest)

James barely makes it back into is own apartment before he’s squealing and doing a goofy little dance out of overflowing joy

And the best part?

That's not the last time he sees you. Not even close.

Over the next several weeks, James begins to notice you everywhere around town

He sees you and Liam at the grocery store (you’re there with Liam and give him the choice between dino nuggets and spring rolls; he decisively choses the latter)

And on his way to work (on one of the few days where Remus and Sirius aren’t carpooling with him, as Remus was sick and Sirius stayed home to care for him), James sees you in your own car on your way to work

And when you and Liam go on walks on the weekends (James had taken to mowing Remus' mother's lawn, which was on your walking path, shirtless every Saturday morning—for entirely unrelated reasons, of course, and he will take no questions on the matter …)

James still isn’t sure how he hadn’t noticed you before because how could he have missed you?? You’re gorgeous????

(Of course, poor Remus and Sirius get to hear about his fawning even more now)

(They both find it cute though and they like to give him advice, so it’s fine)

So eventually one Friday night, James can’t sleep and is done with his lesson plans

And he’s just bored, so what does he do?

Go to the grocery store, of course

So James ventures out, once again in his pajamas, to the grocery store to get some treats to eat while he watches Antiques Roadshow until he falls asleep

And of course—he should’ve known at this point honestly—there you are

(Also in your pajamas)

And James says hi before he can really stop himself, and you look a little spooked for a second (because who tf would be talking to you in the grocery store at ten at night?) but then you realize it’s him and you say hi back with a sweet little smile that turns James' insides to warm fudge

Apparently, Liam is at Draco's birthday sleepover (Draco's a little shit, and James never understood how Liam could stand the kid) and you don’t have a shift at the hospital tonight, so you decided to indulge in some celebratory ice cream

James ends up helping you choose which ice cream you want (chocolate chip cookie dough—a classic) and as thanks, you go with him to the candy aisle to help him pick out treats

James ends up getting a container of pretty much every candy, cookie, and chip that grocery store because he didn’t want to leave yet lmao

And when you’re in line to check out, James mentions that there’s a career fair at school in a month and he’s wondering if you’d maybe want to come and talk about being a nurse????

Pretty please??????

James doesn’t notice how your face falls ever so slightly. You kind of forgot for a second that he’s your son’s teacher and not just some pretty guy that you’ve sorta had a crush on for the past couple weeks. Nothing could happen between the two of you—not if it meant messing with or—god forbid—hurting Liam’s education. But it’s okay. You’ll just suck it up and stick to your job and your son. It’s fine. It’s fine.

You’re agreeing in an instant, and James promises to email you the details so you can plan around it

James leaves the grocery store with like ten pounds worth of treats feeling full to the bursting with warmth and his eyes are glowing the rest of the night

He sees this really pretty pearl and gold necklace on Antiques Roadshow and catches himself thinking about how pretty it would look on you, but he doesn’t bother trying to stop himself at this point

It wouldn’t be any help anyway

Next Part: Career Fair

[fancifulflora]

Something New: Soda (Mychael x Reader)

I now am writing for a new character! He just gives me so much serotonin I had to crawl out of my cave to throw something down. The character for those who don't know, is Mychael from Mushroom Oasis. A VN by Deersphere Studios if i remember correctly

___________

Mychael stared down at the aluminum can with vague recognition, the tip of his tail swinging back and forth as he lowered his head down to be eye level with the drink.

It was really shiny. Colorful too.

"I picked up something from the store for you," you did your best to explain as you unpacked your groceries, fighting back a smile as you watched him cautiously wrapped his tail around the soda and lifted it for closer inspection. "You do know what soda is right?"

"A little... I've seen it on the sides of roads. Although not like this..." He muttered, squinting at the drink before giving it a small shake. For Mychael, who liked keeping his trysts to the modern human world short, soda was just crushed litter that filled the sides of roads and forest paths. Shiny litter, but litter nonetheless.

He gave it another shake, hearing the slosh of liquid inside.

Oh no.

"Wait!"

Your raised voice instantly cast a spell on the recluse, Mychael as still as a statue, only his his widened eyes daring to shift over to you across the table. Did he do something wrong?

"Just... be careful." You warned, placing a hand on his tail and lowering the can to safety. "It might blow if you shake it too hard."

Mychael's gaze turned fearful as he looked down at the nuke you had just brought into your shared home, a cold sweat sliding down his back.

Blow?

Now that would certainly explain all those crushed pieces of aluminum wouldn't it?

He placed down the can as gingerly as possible before pulling his tail to safety. Then he looked over at you an awkward smile given in thanks for such a dangerous gift.

Amusement, the corner of your lip was raised at the sight of him. Oh... You must have been joking... probably.

"I'm only teasing," Your confirmation lessened his worry as he watched your retreating form fetch two cups and crack open the can, the fizz bringing another twitch to Mychael's ears as he watched foamy liquid begin to be portioned out for the two of you.

"What does it taste like?" He asked, taking a cup from you and feeling a light mist hit him as he took a precursory sniff at the drink.

Not much to note smell wise.

Interesting...

"This one is lemon flavored. I'm pretty sure they take some flavored syrup and then inject carbonated water into it to make soda."

"What's car-bun-ate water?"

"Uh... I'll explain it to you another day," Mychael nodded at this, happy to settle for one new piece of information at a time. Carefully he tilted the cup and then took a deep sip of this mystery drink.

It stung against his taste buds... but not in any overly painful way. And there was an almost sickly sweetness to it. Like berries a little too ripe into the season, just, he supposed, without the berry flavor.

He could sorta taste the lemon flavor, perhaps lemons were different for the humans that made this drink. Or maybe it was a type of lemon he couldn't forage for or buy around this area.

Either way... it was good.

His best friend's laughter brought his attention back to them, a finger bring pointed at his tail.

"I can see you like it a whole lot," You mused, watching his tail wildly whip back and forth. It stopped the moment you pointed it out, a dark blue spreading across Mychael's ears and face as he frantically tucked the wayward tail away.

"I-It was really good, the drink. Kinda weird, but in a good way!"

"Well I'm glad you like it, it's not the best thing to have all the time but if you want, I can grab a new flavor every once in a while... let you see try them out and see what you like." The offer was almost as sickly sweet as the drink he could still taste on his tongue, Mychael looking down at his now empty cup before giving a small lick of his lips and nodding.

"Yeah...yeah, I think I'd like that, please..." he whispered, the shy request bringing an unnoticed smile onto his guest's face.

"It's a deal."

[bagopucks]

T. Zegras - Stand By Me

✄————————————

Trevor Zegras x Reader, platonic Jamie involved in one bit.

Requested✨

Word Count: 2.2k

Warning(s); general angst, the reader has an auto immune disease called lupus, one mention of blood, sorta-kinda-maybe smut if you squint.. but like.. not really.

I did some research, but because I didn’t want to cross any boundaries and be too wrong, I didn’t go into much depth over anything. I listened to too much Billy Joel while writing this. I’ve decided Billy Joel love ballads go well with Trev.

—————————————

Trevor Zegras as the world knew him:

The aggressive, egotistical, hotshot hockey player. Rough and tumble, always mouthy. The loud, constantly moving, big expressions and huge personality kind of guy.

Trevor as I knew him:

A kind, gentle, considerate boy. Who made sure he set my pill organizer out for me every morning before he went to practice. Who made sure we were always stocked up on prescribed lotions and ice packs. And would spring up from the couch at the first sign of a fever. And learned how to cook on nights when I was in so much pain I could hardly move.

It took forever to get officially diagnosed with lupus. Trevor had been there from the beginning, when symptoms first began. At first, we hadn’t thought much of it. I passed off body aches for period or ovulation issues. I assumed the rashes were allergic reactions, and the fevers were just random waves of California heat. We had been oblivious. When things got worse, I began seeing a doctor.

Test after test had been run through. I was prescribed various medications, some of which helped and others didn’t. But the ones that did help, never lasted long. Eventually, it got to the point that Trevor feared leaving me home alone. Especially on the days he would wake up, and I would be unable to pull myself out of bed. I hated it. He hated it. We feared the unknown.

As much as it overwhelmed me, I knew it overwhelmed Trevor too. All the road trips, calling me, feeling horrible for leaving and saying how he wanted me to call somebody at home if I needed them. He was scared, but it was knowing he wasn’t in control that freaked him out. I assumed that’s why he became so observant and vigilant when we finally did get a diagnosis. Because at last, he could control things. Not everything, but some things.

Trevor hadn’t been home the day I got the diagnosis from my doctor, but it gave me time to really figure things out on my own. I knew little about the autoimmune disease, and as much as I loved Trevor, I knew his endless questions would only overwhelm me more than this new information already did. So I did my own research, allowed myself time to process and cry. Come to terms, and eventually begin working on a game plan for myself.

When Trevor did come home, it was a process of sitting him down on the couch and talking him through it all with everything organized on my laptop. Trevor tried so hard to understand, but I knew it would be a lot of trial and visual learning for him. And I had been right.

“So.. so, this is what you have?” He pointed to the computer screen. I nodded. “And.. it’s permanent?”

“Yeah, babe.” Trevor nodded. He tried to understand. What did autoimmune mean? What was Lupus? Why did it have to have so many big words attached to it?

“So.. where does all the treatment start?”

“Do you have to take medicines?”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“We can still be together, right?”

“This is a lot.”

I answered most of the questions, at least the ones I knew answers to. The others I promised to answer when I knew what to say.

Trevor got so tense with himself when he was home. We used to be a pretty rambunctious couple, but after I got prescribed blood thinners, and the body aches got worse, a lot of that changed. Trevor became far more timid around me, and at first he was as gentle as a toddler when touching a newborn baby. I helped set the pace for what was okay and what wasn’t.

“T, lemme see that ribbon.” I reached across the living room floor. I tried to snatch up the red ribbon before his hand flew out to take it.

“Let me curl the ribbon.” Something I had always done during Christmases. But it involved open scissors.

“Trevor, it’s fine…”

“Yeah but.. what if you cut yourself? Just teach me how to do it.”

Outside and inside of the bedroom, we set paces together.

“Should I- maybe…” Trevor shifted, causing me to groan. Worst time to ask questions is when you’re already in somebody.

“Trevor.. you don’t have to be so gentle.” I reached up to rest a hand on his forearm. “Why don’t I take the lead this time?” He relented and turned us over. He feared hurting me even when he didn’t do much.

“I’ll be fine, okay? Just pay attention. I promise I’ll tell you if it ever hurts, or if something is wrong.”

I’d always told Trevor that he did extremely well, but he wasn’t perfect. I didn’t expect him to be. And accidents happened.

“Babe?” Sometimes the rashes simply broke out over night.

“Trevor, Shh.” I tried to roll away from him, but when his fingers ghosted over the irritated skin on my face, I gasped at the feeling.

“Fuck- T!” I scolded, my eyes opened immediately.

He hated when he felt like he messed up. I hated when I scolded him for things he didn’t mean to do.

“…I told Jamie you weren’t feeling good anyway, so he went out without us.” Trevor had been rambling for a while, both of us in the bathroom doing our own thing. He was busy grabbing an extra roll of paper towels from the cabinet under the sink. I was trying to brush my teeth. I attempted to step out of the way when Trevor harshly pushed the cabinet door shut, but the corner skinned my calf anyway. I gasped, and managed to choke on toothpaste in the process.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” Trevor was frantic all evening over my leg, apologizing over and over. After we got the arguably minimal amount of bleeding to stop, he still peeled back the bandages every so often to make sure everything was okay. I had to tell Trevor we were wasting bandaids.

The days when I felt absolutely disgusted with myself were the worst. I hadn’t lost all my hair, but it certainly thinned. And I hated looking in mirrors when my rashes got so bad that my skin would crack and bleed. Showers became hell. Trevor started to take them with me more often.

“It’s okay, baby.” He ran his hands through my hair, never commenting on the tiny strands that would remain on his hands long after he pulled them away. I stood tucked into his chest, arms folded up between us, fully enveloped by him.

My flawless boyfriend.

“I know it irritates.” Washing my body was the hardest on days when the rashes were all over. The dry skin never took well to the water, even if it provided a momentary relief.

There were days Trevor wouldn’t even bother with a washcloth. He would put the body wash on his hands and run them over my body from top to bottom. It made me cry. I would never understand how one emotion caused him to completely shift his personality around me.

Love was a powerful feeling, I suppose.

Love turned Trevor from a rambunctious loud, abrasive guy. Into a completely devoted and caring man. A gentle, expressive, and considerate man.

“We’re almost done,” he whispered as he ran his hands down my legs, kissing the patchy skin on my calves and ankles. I found the rashes were always the worst on my ankles after I wore shoes for long periods of time. The tongues of said shoes always rubbed my skin uncomfortably. I had to buy longer socks to help with that.

After Trevor finished lathering my body in wash, he’d trail his hands back up and all over. Sometimes I was lucky enough to sit on the lip of the tub while he shaved my legs. Times when my body hurt too bad to stand very long, or even bend over, he offered to help. Those moments he often found it easiest to make jokes and cheer me up.

“Haven’t mowed the lawn in a long time, eh?” He mumbled with a cheeky grin as he knelt in front of me, pulling my foot up onto his thigh while the other hand reached for my shaving cream. I giggled and ruffled his wet hair. Sometimes I found his comments embarrassing, but he was a guy. He was bound to find the weirdest statements amusing.

“I love you so much, T.” I whispered while his nose was scrunched and his brow was furrowed, face inches from my knee as he tried hard not to cut it with the razor. Hands that used to pinch and gently smack me when he was teasing or play fighting. Hands that used to throw me around like a rag doll after I challenged him to a wrestling match, now so light and tender. Like I was fine china.

Trevor also learned that dab-drying worked better for my skin than rubbing the towel all over my body after showers. It got the job of drying done, but it was far easier on my body.

I loved the tactic, but what I loved even more was the little sounds he’d make while he did it. They always made me laugh. Trevor always found a way to make our abnormal routines funny or cute. He always wanted to distract me from the fact that our lives were different.

After he’d finish drying my body, he’d whisk me away into the bedroom and how I felt usually dictated what we did next.

If I was tired, we’d take a nap. In pain, he’d give me one hell of a massage. The occasions I ended up horny? Trevor fixed that too.

And through Trevor’s learning, Jamie picked up on things too. When Trevor was on road trips and I was stuck with Jame, I learned I could lean on him. He was always one call away when I needed him. Even if it meant yelling across the house.

“Jamie!”

“I’m coming!” His thudding and rushed footsteps always endeared me.

“Hey!”

At times he’d find me on the floor.

“Hey, what happened?” He rushed to my side, helped me up slowly, and assured himself that I wasn’t injured.

“Guess I just can’t walk today…” I mumbled, embarrassed. The joint pain was always the worst to handle when I needed to be active.

“Alright.. what do you need to me to do?”

I found that Jamie was still on the ‘what do you needs?’ While Trevor already knew seconds in advance. And Trevor was far more confident with my illness than Jamie was.

He’d often text Trevor on my bad days to let him know. He’d also sit with me on the couch, never too touchy, not wanting to cross any lines. But when we’d sit at opposite ends -watching anything on the tv- occasionally, he’d pull my feet into his lap and gently rub them or my legs.

When Trevor would return from those long road trips, he’d always see me and tend to my needs and profess his love, before asking if I needed new pills, or if I needed him to stop by the store for anything. He’d been a domestic disaster before I got my diagnosis. Now, he was one of the most domestic guys I knew.

“This is it? Everything on this list?”

“All the groceries we need for the week. Yup.”

“Okay.. did you ask Jamie if he wanted anything?” I smiled and nodded. We were always taking care of Jamie.

“The store bought cookies are for him. And the purple Gatorade.”

“Okay. I’ll be back. Then I’m making dinner.”

Those words brought a huge smile to my face.

“Can’t wait, Trev.”

Sometimes I would go with him, but only on days when I felt on top of the world. Usually I tried to spend those days going out, but Trevor was always afraid I’d overdo it.

On those good days when he turned out to be right, he never told me so, or shook his head or laughed at me. He’d simply welcome me home with open arms and a sympathetic expression. Because he knew how much I missed my normality. How much I missed my old life.

And often times when I dwelled too much on that, he was always there.

“You’re beautiful. And I love you so much. And I’m happy with where we are right now. I’m happy to look after you, and love on you, and I’m happy you let me stand by you.”

His confessions were often spoken whispers in the darkness of our bedroom at night. Or on the rooftop. He hated when I went up there alone, but he still found me there from time to time.

He sat behind me, pulled me against his back between his legs, and wrapped his arms around me.

“We’re doing this together. I’ve been here from day one, and I’m not leaving now. I’m already in too deep.” He smiled. His breathy laugh would make me giggle.

“I’ve already seen too much.” He added with a playful touch of horror in his tone. I reached behind myself to slap his chest. I knew he was genuine. I knew he loved me. And I hoped he would never leave me. He always told me he was there until our last days on this earth. Until we both ceased to exist.

“I promise I’m sticking around. Me and Jambo. But mostly me.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[cl00udyyanan]

i need some royal!scara x servant!reader brainrot and pls give me a happy ending my poor soul can't take it anymore!! ily!

thank you sm for requesting! i hope this turned out somewhat to your liking and if you were thinking smth a bit dif you can always req again :)!

whose the cruelest of them all-?

synopsis: scara is a mean ruler but for some reason he just so sweet to you

warnings: abuse of power bc scara is mean, if you squint it probs is a bit suggestive but not by much, a bit angsty bc reader is a peasant but i think the ending is kinda cute

characters: royal!scaramouche x reader

notes: this was sorta hard to write i had no idea what direction i wanted to go with this, im working on being more descriptive with my writing so if you have any tips or constructive criticism that would be so appreciated hope you enjoy!

⊱ ───── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.}───── ⊰

rumors of your prince spread rapidly through the kingdoms of teyvat. they all spoke of a tyrant with too much power disregarding his helpless people, starving and desperate for their ruler to save them. they say he belittles and berates his servants to the point of tears at the slightest mistake. some even believe that prince scaramouche was not human, just the shell of a man with no heart at all.

you scowled at those rumors, they were nothing but wrong, the prince was kindest as ever to you. not once has he ever belittled you, he was generous enough to offer his palace as a home to you and the other servants, how dare they speak of him that way.

"oh is that my precious servant? come, sit." he beckoned, hand curling towards you and his lap. he had a glint of mischief in his dull eyes. often when it was dinner for the prince and he would ask for you to accompany him as he feasted claiming, 'no meal was enjoyable without his favorite little servant with him'. your cheeks flushed, eyes glued to the ground as you followed your princes orders to him. your hands clenched together as you knew the other servants were glarihn at you, the prince's little play thing. the stares they gave you as you placed yourself between his thighs were unbareable, you could hear what they were saying in their minds. as soon as you got comfortable, scaramocuhe disregarded his food, all his attention on you. your cheeks were practically on fire as he nuzzled into your neck, rough, frigid hands traveling to meet yours.

"people are staring, your highness…" you muttured. he knew how this seemed, how inappropriate it was but still scara shrugged as he placed small kisses onto the nape of your neck. the lavender eyed prince looked up breifly to see a handful of servants trying to hide their gazes. "let them stare," he chuckled "let these nosy rodents watch how i cherish you, my favorite little servant." with his finger, he turned your chin back to him, where his eyes met yours. the prince seldom smiled, but you could sense a sly grin on his lips, he leaned into your ear whispering, "i'd stare too if i was an adorable servant purchased on my rulers lap, huh?" after teasing you, he plucked a strawberry off of his plate, and held in the air infront of you. "open" he comanded. you parted your lips and took a bite of the juicy fruit. sometimes, you could forget the eyes that stared daggers, and the nasty words they spoke of when scaramouche treated you so sweetly. it made you warm inside, like you were on top of the world.

you knew scaramouche saw you as entertainment; it was too good to be true for him to really truly love you. you were just a servant dressed in rags, but you didnt care though. there are times where he had you wrapped in his arms, playing with your hair gently as he cooed at you, the rare times he gifted you expensive jewlery others would faint over, even gifting you a crown of your own. maybe he really did care for you in his own way you hoped. you were insignificant next scaramouche, but sometimes he made you feel like royalty.

⊱ ───── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.}───── ⊰

[wilcze-kudly]

idk why i just saw your response to the dadko image but it made me die. like holding someone by the shirt makes you a parent huh LOL

Honestly Zuko is really out here doing the bare minimum lmao. Like I can kinda see why people call him the Gaang's dad (if I squint really hard) but he just really doesn't have that vibe to me.

Especially that most of the qualities that make uin the dad friend are very similar to the ones Toph exhibits. Grumpy, sorta headstrong and pretty goal oriented? But of course calling Toph the dad friend is kinda silly because gender roles lmao.

In fact, I think the same qualities that get Zuko crowned as group dad often have people calling Toph a petulant child. Eh, the duality of how we view male and female characters ig.

Anyway I vote to replace Dadko with Dad Friend Toph, who's with me?

[arcadiabaytornado]

Sometimes I hate the polls on this site because they're literally:

"Who's The Gayest Character"

Option 1 *Person from an unpopular media that has a canon same sex love intrest.* - 10%

Option 2 *Person from a popular media that has maybe sorta kinda if you squint really hard looked at the same sex one time.* - 90%

It just has the same vibes as when I was in middle school, and a bunch of the artists in my class lost an art contest to the principal's granddaughter, who hadn't even followed the instructions.

[bubble-dream-inc]

Lemniscate (the place between sleeping and awake)

a chance encounter with your superior during a very lonely holiday season leads to an interesting conversation and an insight on yours and Ghost’s relationship.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 4,8k

a/n: i had to repost this bc tumblr was being fussy and hiding it oops. also i was listening to so handsome hello by woodkid while writing this so there’s my song rec for the day. i am down bad for this man someone help me! thank u loml @deafeningcat for being the best beta reader ever, always <3

warnings: explicit talk about death, war, trauma and violence, suggestive, profanity, ghost being ooc, sex as a coping mechanism for ptsd, heavy antimilitarism, angst to fluff, slight prey and size kink if you squint, non intentional liverpool slander, reader is part of 141, soap calls you "bonnie" once but otherwise no gender especified for reader, reader thinks they can fix him and is sorta emotionally dependent so its kinda toxic idk, intentional repeating of words, christmas/holidays ambience. MDNI

The puddles rippled under your boots, and right there under the faint street light which reflected the light drizzle of rain darkening the already pitch black night sky, you remembered how much you hate the holidays. Sure, it felt nice not having to worry that much about being ambushed or shot or killed for once, but you’d be lying if you said you looked forward to having time off from work. Having spent the last few years constantly living on edge, running solely on the primal instinct of survival for weeks on end had you addicted to the adrenaline, and you forgot what it’s like to be completely at ease a long time ago. 

You felt your skin dampen under your clothes in the humid air. You haven’t bothered with an umbrella; you have been through worse. Liverpool was never your cup of tea, the sky was too gray and the wind felt like tiny needles attacking your skin on the rare occasion it wasn’t raining, and in moments like these you missed the scorching summer sun from your hometown. But again, could you really call it home? That thought had been lingering in the back of your head as an ugly reminder of one of the shittiest parts of your job ever since a few days ago when the base you were stationed in was filled with the sound of rambunctious laughter and the smell of cheap cigarettes and beer, all of it a reflect of a mission well done. The intel was useful, the danger was dealt with, and your teammates could not be more grateful the timing was just right so that they could go spend some time off with their families for the holidays. You weren’t really thinking too hard about it, too absorbed in your teasing banter with Gaz, until Soap turned to you.

“What about you, bonnie? Where ya spendin’ your holidays at? Going home?”

You had shaken your head no with a chuckle, swallowing the bad taste the word home left in your mouth and masking your discomfort. Having all their attention on you as your team mates waited for your answer wasn’t inherently bad, but you did have to ignore Simon’s piercing stare from across the group, focusing only on Soap and trying to not give in to your instinct of looking back at your Lieutenant. As the years went by, you’d found out that was just the way that he was, and you had to learn how to differentiate when he actually wanted for someone to be scared by his constant, terrifying eye contact, and when to know he was simply looking in your general vicinity. Not that it worked that well, of course, since just his massive presence and the low timbre of his voice could make anyone’s fight or flight instinct blare sirens in their head, and yet, at some point you realized you liked it. You felt like a prey under his gaze, and the fact that it both terrified and excited you was intoxicating. 

“Nah. I’m heading to Liverpool, i think, as usual” 

Being in Liverpool for you was far from pleasant, but a few years before you decided to go there for your time off just because it was closer to the base you were stationed in and you had nowhere else to go, and it became a tradition, even if it sometimes felt like self punishment. It certainly seemed like it, you thought as you wandered aimlessly through a quieter part of the city, occasionally passing through a group of tipsy barely-of-age kids, or a happy looking family going back to the comfort of their cozy homes together. It made your chest ache, but the loneliness got duller after so much time being surrounded only by the 141 members and having to watch so many people you knew die on the front lines. 

“Do you regret it? Joining the military?”

You had asked Ghost one day after you two had to get holed up in a dingy safe house, trying to pass the time while waiting for exfil. He had stared at you for a few seconds, silently, and you wondered if you had crossed a line by asking something way too personal, but in a moment he was back to staring at the worn out coffee table in front of the couch you were in. 

“No. I did what had to be done at the time.” 

While somewhat cryptic, you accepted his answer without prying for more, but after a few seconds he looked back at you, not going unnoticed how his eyes looked a bit more tired than usual. 

“Do you?”

You remember sighing.

“Everyday. War is hell.” 

He only hummed in response, putting an end to the conversation that had barely been started, but your mind dwelled on your answer. It seemed like ages ago when you were a starry-eyed private, having been fooled by the military propaganda promising you’d be a hero, but that resolve quickly broke a few months later in your first mission, and you certainly didn’t feel like a hero after taking someone else’s life for the first time. 

Lost in thought as you walked, you almost paid no mind to the man in your path that was leaning towards a lamp post and having a cigarette, if not for the fact that even from a distance you could see he was massive. There was only one person you knew that seemed as tall as that, and that was your-

“Lieutenant?” You squinted, being pretty sure you couldn’t mistake your towering 6’4 masked superior over someone else, and he acknowledged you with a look. If he was surprised to see you, he didn't show it. “Liverpool sure is tiny, huh? I thought you were from Manchester.”

“I am.”

His answers were rarely something other than short and dry, and he knew you knew better than to pry into his own personal reasonings, even because you also had no real reason to stick around that city and yet there you were. Still, the laidback-ish atmosphere of being between missions made it easier for you to act a little more daring than usual, treading lightly as you questioned him, unable to hold back your curiosity. Alas, you found yourself hypnotized by the way Simon’s full lips wrapped around his cigarette as he took a slow drag, waiting for you to say something.

“Heading somewhere?” Your voice sounded foreign even to yourself, and you didn’t know whether to blame the cold, the awkwardness of feeling like you were bothering your superior on his time off, or the way just being by his general vicinity made your chest ache with a feeling you hadn’t quite been able to name yet, but you shrugged all of it off and focused on trying to act as normally as possible.

“Not really. Are you?”

“Not really” You mimicked his words, smiling faintly and wanting to imagine that you actually saw mirth in his eyes. “Lookin’ for a pub that’s still open, but I'm not having too much luck with it.” You paused, unable to stop the next words that came out of your mouth. “Care to join me?”

Ghost pondered your bold request for a moment before putting out his cigarette by stepping on it and nodding with his head for you to lead the way. His way of communicating with so little words made you uneasy at first, but nowadays you’d find it endearing. 

And that’s how you ended up in a beaten up looking pub near the port, sitting side by side with Simon by the bar, acutely aware of the bartender eyeing you two warily. You weren’t sure if he was angry for the fact that the bar actually had customers, which meant he couldn’t go enjoy time off at home, or if he was intimidated by Ghost. Maybe both. It was an otherwise cozy little pub, the warm lighting and the low ceiling made you feel slightly comforted by your surroundings, even if there were only three other customers around and the air smelled of burnt oil and deep fried food. You tapped your fingers on the wooden surface of the bar while waiting for the grumpy bartender to bring your beer, comfortable with the silence between you and Simon. When it arrived, you watched with a side eye, trying to be discreet, as he raised his mask slightly to take a sip of his bourbon, even if you knew he had noticed you.

Ghost’s face was somewhat familiar to you. Less than his body, admittedly.

There were a handful of times you had seen him without his mask, but you had barely committed its features to memory since it had mostly been in the dark confines of his quarters - which made you think how nice it must be to have a rank high enough to have your own room - and in times where staring at his face was not the first thing on your mind. It didn’t matter anyway, knowing he really was handsome after all under the balaclava didn’t change how your chest would tighten at the sight of him way before you dreamt of seeing his whole face.

Being alone with your superior was hardly foreign at this point, after so many years and everything you had been through together, and while you had never said it directly to him, his company was enjoyable. You remember clearly; It had happened the first time during mid summer after a mission gone particularly wrong in Somalia. One hour in the shower later, scrubbing your skin raw, you still felt dirty and grimy, as if you believed you could let go along with the blood-dirtied water the screams of all the civilians you had heard and the image ingrained into your brain of all the innocent people lying dead on the streets, massacred without a second thought. You tried showering, smoking, drinking, going for a walk, talking to your fellow team mates - all of them who looked just about as shaken as you were - but nothing could get your mind off of it. Mid walk, you had rounded a corner inside the base and locked eyes with Ghost, who was coming from the opposite direction, and, for reasons unknown, something instantly changed in the air between you. Sure, you had flirted a bit and perhaps given some indication of your attraction towards him before, but at that moment maybe you looked more distraught than you thought, and in only a split second after the very sudden eye contact, a non-verbal agreement was set, and quickly you found yourself glued to his broad chest, his hand lifting his mask just enough so you could connect your lips in a messy and aggressive kiss as he guided you to the door of his room. There’s no way to tell how long you were there for, but as you felt him blindly in the dark to hug his neck while he was inside you for the nth time, you were grateful he didn’t comment on your sobs that you now allowed to flow as freely as your tears, and, in turn, you didn’t comment on how tender your huge, scary superior could be, holding your face gently and whispering praises, comforting you the best he could. 

It became something akin of a habit. At first it was just fucking to destress or to not have to deal in a proper way with all the trauma that came with your line of work, but then you started to linger. His touches became gentler, his big hands would stroke your skin instead of just gripping it hard enough to bruise, and you found yourself staring at his strong and scarred back one morning as he slept somewhat soundly beside you. Your hands itched to trace them, and at the moment you decided you wouldn’t mind sharing a bed, literally, with your superior more often, it was when you also realized you were fucked. To the others, surely it looked just like a very unethical and paperwork-worthy sexual tension, but you weren’t stupid, and not a teenager anymore, so you couldn’t find any excuses for the lingering glances and touches, how you started worrying more for him in battlefield, and you didn’t know if it was comforting or terrifying for you to think that he probably realized what was going on inside your head whenever he looked back at you, even if his hardened and unreadable gaze never faltered. Some nights, you’d find yourself alone in your cot wondering if you were imagining it all or if the longing you felt for his reciprocity was too delusional, and the thought made your throat ache in the worst way possible. You knew it was a bad idea, but you were unable to restrain yourself from finding your way back to his bed more often than not - and whenever he’d open the door for you when the base was already dead silent, realizing he also seemed glad to see you made all of your rational thoughts go out the window. 

“Quit the starin’.” 

Oh. Right. You were still looking at him. You muttered out a low sorry and looked down at your cup, well aware of Simon’s gaze burning holes into your face. So much for not staring.

“Why don’t you ever go home?”

There’s that word again. You wondered if your experience with feeling so stateless after fleeing from the place you used to call your own such a long time ago was that uncommon between soldiers, and suddenly the beer in your tongue didn’t taste that bitter anymore. 

“It was just a place like any other. I’m afraid there hasn’t been anythin’ for me there in a while, so i guess i don’t really got one anymore.” 

But again, you did wonder why Simon was all the way over to Liverpool and not Manchester, and a part of you selfishly hoped you weren’t alone with the gut wrenching feeling of not belonging anywhere but your base. Not that he’d ever admit to something like that. Simon was not the kind of man to say his thoughts clearly, or with words, for that matter.

“No family? Friends?” 

Chuckling dryly, you’d let yourself linger a bit longer on Ghost’s sudden interest in actually knowing you more than physically if his bluntness didn’t amuse you in a bitter way.

“People realize really quickly how hard it is to keep relationships with someone who’s gone for months on end, and could very well be dead in a ditch the next time you try to call. Can’t say I blame ‘em.”

Simon said nothing in response, but his gaze on you seemed to soften a bit. Experiencing him outside of the battlefield was the kind of thing that would surely give you whiplash, years of military experience and living through horrors beyond comprehension would, of course, make him have a dangerous and reserved aura 24/7, but watching him let loose just a little bit and allow himself to be minimally vulnerable through his gaze and casually, softer spoken words were a new sort of fascinating. He was never the kind of person to ask things out of politeness, no, he was brazen and direct, so his genuine curiosity in you made it difficult to calm your already palpitating heartbeat. 

Under the lights of a very dimly lit pub in East Liverpool, you were seeing not Ghost, not your Lieutenant, but only Simon Riley. You came to the conclusion you really liked this side of him. So, you decided to take your chances and prod a little bit more.

“What about you, Lieutenant? Where is home for you?”

“Classified.”

You chuckled, and a tiny, barely-there smirk formed on his lips before he hid it with the rim of his bourbon glass. It was worth a try.

You lost track of how long you were sitting there, in silence, just listening to the static-ish audio of the shitty television on the corner of the bar or the idle chat of other patrons, occasionally muttering something to Ghost, but it all felt superficial. You wanted to jump him, to strip him bare, not of his clothes, but of all of him that was a façade, and lay down every word left unsaid. Maybe it was selfish, but you wanted him to let you care for him the way he cared for you. For every time he’d wordlessly patch up your wounds in a dirty alleyway, push you out of a sniper’s line of sight or bark orders for you to get to fucking safety, you wanted to help him through each nightmare (that he thought you didn’t notice it plagued his nights more often than not, leaving him restless the next day), and hold him close when the throes of carrying a whole team and an entire life of trauma on his back became too much to bear on his own. You felt like a fool, pining over a man who made no effort to hide how little he trusted people.

Soon enough, the pub grew quieter and more devoid of people, and at some point you and Ghost decided the bartender’s gaze was way too unwelcoming, as he clearly wanted to go home, so you wordlessly decided to go back to your aimless wandering. A few of your old army colleagues wouldn’t hesitate to pull off their military card to get what they wanted, whenever and however they wanted, but just the thought made your stomach turn in disgust. Your blood stained hands didn’t feel like the ones of a hero that deserved to be pampered. 

“Why are you still here anyway?”

He had asked you a few days after your conversation in that dingy safehouse. You had found yourself brushing shoulders side by side together after you went out for a smoke in the base, running into him leaned against a parked truck, lost in thought. For some reason, the question made you feel ashamed to meet his eyes, even if his tone wasn’t accusatory; just curious.

“I feel like it’s too late for me. I’ve seen too much. There’s nothing else I know how to do at this point.”

Your tongue felt like lead inside your mouth. A part of you longed for an early retirement so you could live a quiet and monotonous life somewhere in the countryside, but you also knew most people with your lifestyle wouldn’t live enough to see retirement.  Alas, deep inside you felt like it was impossible to not grow restless if you were to live a life free of the adrenaline you embraced as a vice. It felt hypocritical, suffering over the consequences of your own choices, but God knows you’d leave in a heartbeat if you weren’t already too far deep in. You’d suppose becoming a soldier had its good sides, though, even if just the idea of finding any comfort in your work made you uneasy. Surely you’d never have met the 141 otherwise and, consequently, made them your little dysfunctional found family. You’d hold onto that for the sake of your sanity. On your side, Ghost hummed, acknowledging what you were saying, and maybe you’d find he could relate to your feelings, somehow. 

“It’s difficult to let go of a whole life of violence.”

His words had stuck with you, as wise and cryptic in a way only he managed to pull it off.

Outside, the drizzle seemed to have gotten a bit stronger in the last few hours, but neither of you cared enough for it. It didn’t feel that bad compared to the storms that rained over you in open fields or the mud you’d have to crawl across to stay hidden sometimes. You’d feel pretty stupid if this little rain actually got you sick, but that was a worry for future you. It didn’t even cross your mind to ask Ghost if you were heading somewhere, you just followed him blindly, analyzing him in silence and noticing he looked good in civilian clothes, the plain black hoodie fitting him perfectly. From the little distance you walked besides him, you could notice he was smelling good, a mixture of cologne and his natural musk which you were already very well acquainted with.

The street was clearly in a commercial district, and it felt even quieter than the one you were before. All the stores were closed with only a faint night light illuminating a few of their interiors, and you appreciated the faint smell of the sea by being somewhat close to the port. 

You enjoyed the stillness of it all and the lack of people to make you jealous with their normal, happy lives. 

Subconsciously, you barely noticed that you ended up scooting even closer to Simon as you walked, happy he didn’t seem to mind it. 

Suddenly, he stopped mid-walk, and you became hyper aware of how much you were staring at him. God, you felt like a creep. After a second, he spoke in a murmur, not turning to look at you.

“Since when?”

You waited for him to elaborate what he meant, but it never came. Chuckling nervously, you peered up at him, confused.

“Since when…what?”

Finally, he turned to look at you with something indescribable in his eyes. It made you feel small, like he wanted to devour you, but it also made your heart leap in your chest, like he wanted to devour you. 

“I know how you feel about me. You’re not very subtle about it. I’m not bloody stupid, kid. ”

Your head snapped towards him at his harsh words, even if his low voice and gentle-ish tone didn’t quite reflect the true nature of them, but any witty reply you had died down once you saw how his eyes were downturned in unease.

Oh.

Oh.

You realized what he’s talking about, and turns out your late night musings were right - at least part of them. Simon leaves no opening to figure out by his body language what the bringing up of the topic means to him. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe he will reject you and reprimand you for being unprofessional (as if loving him was more unprofessional than fucking your superior). Maybe-

“I’m…not sure.” You admit, refusing to meet his steely gaze. “It just…happened. Stopped being just casual sex a while ago.”

His silence makes seconds feel like hours. You try to control your labored breathing by listening to the soft pitter-patter of the rain that’s back to drizzling on the store awning you’re both under. A part of you wishes the rain would suddenly get so strong it would break the awning and drag you away with the current from Simon’s soul-crushing silence. You feel stupid, foolish.

Fool, fool, fool-

He closes the distance between your bodies. Having never paid much detailed attention to the rare occasions when gloves didn’t adorn his hands outside the bedroom, you suddenly notice how much his palms feel a pleasant kind of rough and calloused when they don’t carry the intent of ravaging you, so big against your face as he gently cradles you. Of course, he knows you’re a soldier, not some porcelain doll to be easily broken, but God knows how much seeing him hold you as if you’re something precious makes your once-labored breathing come to a halt altogether. His eyes are soft, half lidded, and uncertain on you as he murmurs out sorrowfully.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, kid.”

For the first time ever, you feel like you’re the only person who’s ever seen Simon Riley look scared. You don’t know if he’s afraid of hurting you or the other way around.

Instinctively, your own hands gingerly go to the top of his in a light caress, and you fight against the urge to close your eyes and breathe in his musk as you lean into his touch. This up close he also smells faintly like cigarettes.  

“Maybe not.” You admit, and you hope he can notice the way you look up at him with hearts in your eyes and willing to wear your own on your sleeve. “But I want to find out.”

He doesn’t really smile - he almost never does - , but his gaze holds a promise in it, a vow. One of his hands leaves your face to hike up his mask, and you expect it to stop just below his nose, as always, but he keeps going until it rests on top of his dirty blonde hair, making your breath hitch once again. You were wrong about him; you didn’t need to strip him bare, no, you realize he’d do it for you if you asked. A long time ago you decided you didn’t give a shit about how his face looked, but you made sure to take a good look at him, finally committing his features to memory, acknowledging his trust in you and also how much you really were a fool by underestimating it before. The stubble on his jaw feels coarse under your fingertips, and you indulge yourself by lightly tracing the scar on his lip the way you wanted to do with all of his marks ever since that morning. It occurs to you that even when the hookups turned into something more, you had never seen him so vulnerable, and it sets an equally giddy and unsettling feeling in the pit of your stomach, as if you were witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, but you weren’t about to question his resolve. Taking the reins - as he always does - his lips are on yours in an instant, and you swear you’d die happily at that instant.

The way he kisses you is something new, slow and passionate, as if trying to savor every piece of you at his pace and communicate what he doesn’t know how to put into words. You’d kissed before, sure, but it was always animalistic, an aggressive dance filled with wanton growls deep from his throat and your involuntary whines whenever he would bite your lip - a gazelle in the jaws of a lion - and in the occasions sex was tender, it was most likely because something bad had happened, and you’d hide your face in the crook of his neck so he could pretend not to notice how much you needed it - him -  to cope and how much his touch kept you grounded; you’d like to imagine yours made him feel something of the sorts as well. Simon Riley was not the type of man to engage in raw emotional affairs without getting something out of it. And yet, as you close your eyes to hug his neck, bringing his large body impossibly closer to yours, you feel like he is finally giving all of him to you in the rawest way he knows how to. Of course, you’re not teenagers, and with the way of life you lead, emotional attachment can make any soldier feel dreadful for their future, so it would be foolish to expect a full on love confession in the rain, but, if anything, you suddenly realize you can feel Simon’s heart beating fast on his chest through your own, and that is enough for you, making you smile against him. 

When you separate, there’s still minimal distance between you two, the air around you feels lighter, and you surround yourself in affection by the way Simon looks down at you adoringly. Any outsider would be quick to say he has the look of a stone cold predator, and he is as unreadable as they come, but once you start dealing with the true man under the mask - even if only figuratively -, you realize that his eyes are truly the window of his soul, and any words left unspoken you’d die to uncover are visible in his dark hues the moment he looks at you. A few blocks away, a clock tower strikes midnight and you spare the building a look from where you can see it.

“Merry Christmas, Simon.” You murmur, knowing full well religious holidays are neither yours or Simon’s thing. The irony of it all is lost when he huffs out a small noise of amusement and distances himself just enough to extend his arm for you to take, his gaze never leaving your form. You could point out he hasn’t really lowered his mask yet but you enjoy the view too much so you might as well indulge in it while he doesn’t remember to do so. His bicep is thick and strong under your fingers as you grip him gently, and he nods forward beyond the awning.

“It stopped raining. Let's get going.”

[squintyeyedjoel]

Through Your Eyes | Part 1 - Hit the Ground Running (Joel x Reader)

A/N: Ahhhh! This is here!!! So. This is just an idea that I had, and I literally texted my friends screaming about it, and it’s been nonstop for the last few days, it just kept developing. It’ll be multi-part, unsure yet how long, it keeps growing. I’ve always loved Jackson Joel, his relationship with Ellie, and I’ve wanted more of their dynamic since day one. So here is a weird hybrid of both the game and show universe, but mostly game. I haven’t decided where exactly this will or will not deviate from canon yet, so bear with me. Here we go!

I do not own The Last of Us or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, and Joel is a warning in and of himself in this one. Canon typical swearing. No specific age specified for reader, aside from her remembering life before the outbreak, so I leave that up to you. No use of Y/N. Mention of loss. (Spoilers if you haven’t watched the show/played the game.) Ellie is a menace and having a Hard Time™️. Arguing? Banter. Some of Joel’s Texan accent. (You’ve been warned.) I guess kinda sorta spoilers for TLoU 2? Like if you squint? And not really???

Word count: 8,885

Thank you to @fordo-kixed-rex and @grippingbeskar for your endless hours helping me over goodness knows how long since I started this, for reading this over for me and letting me know I’m not crazy, and screaming with me about this man that captured our hearts first in the form of pixels.

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Next

Xxx

The door slamming below made some trinkets on your shelf rattle. That’s the third time today. A soft groan drifted up to you through the floorboards, coated in frustration and anger.

When you’d arrived in Jackson, the only new, private space available had been a spot above somebody else’s house. Technically in somebody else’s house. And technically it wasn’t even a place. When you arrived, you realized someone had literally volunteered their attic, spacious as it was, with several windows and a private doorway leading down through the home.

A mattress had been tossed in the middle of the floor, and it’d been so long since you’d seen a real, honest to goodness mattress, you didn’t care about the rest of the place. It suddenly felt like a castle.

That first night you’d flopped down on the fluffy padding on the floor, smiling as your body bounced a few times from the impact, the springs inside whining in protest, before you promptly fell asleep.

Sunlight streaming in through one of the windows early the next morning woke you up, making you blink bleary eyes open when it danced across your peaceful features.

With a stretch and heavy sigh, you didn’t move a muscle, but simply darted your eyes around your new small space, fully taking in the barren walls and the pile of junk leftover from whoever owned this house before the world went to hell. Curiosity got the better of you, pulling you to the pile like a magnet, on a search for something, you weren’t quite sure what yet.

Several hours later, you were lost deep in thought, the tip of your tongue sticking between your teeth in concentration when someone clearing their throat just off to your side made you jump. “Fuck!” You hissed, tossing the little metal toy you had in one hand in surprise, the screwdriver from your other hand being clutched in your grip like a vice, reared back and ready to be thrown at the intruder.

“Just me,” the man from downstairs mumbled. What was his name again? “Sorry.”

Sighing, you deflated, letting your hands fall to the mattress below you with a thump, your face scrunched in pain. “Shit, I bit my tongue.” Reaching up to rub your jaw, you glared at the man. “Maybe knock next time?”

He stared at you for a long minute, his eyes watching as you cradled your face, mumbling forlornly about your tongue. “I did,” he finally said lowly. “Twice.”

“Oh.” You heaved another sigh, this one heavier than the last, before plopping back on the mattress behind you, wincing and reaching under your back to pull out the plastic action figure that had poked you in the back. Looking at it, you grinned softly. “Was that your gun, or were you just happy to see me?”

Something between a scoff and a snort left the man still standing awkwardly by your door, pulling your attention back to him.

Everything had been so rushed when you’d moved in, something about a patrol spotting clickers nearby and the lack of space giving everyone a headache, you’d barely caught a glimpse of your housemates as someone ushered you past them, up into the attic late last night. You’d also made a point to stare at the floor as you walked past, not wanting to see the ire of the people who’d been woken up to open their home to you.

With no desire to dwell on your time before Jackson, you focused on the man in front of you, taking in his curious eyes and weathered features. The tilt of his brow told you people tended to run from him, his jaw set in a stern angle as his eyes darted around the room.

“Sorry, I know it’s a mess, I’ll clean it up.” Pushing up onto your elbows, you tossed the action figure to the side. “I assumed that pile was from before the outbreak, I hope I didn’t-”

“It was. All that was here b’fore Ellie and I moved in. Seemed a shame to waste it, and didn’t bother me none to sit in a corner, so….” Taking a few steps, he picked up the little metal car you’d been scraping at when he walked in, smiling fondly. “I had one’f these.” His expression darkened. “‘till my brother broke it.” After staring at it a moment, he looked up at you, handing it back to you gently. “What were you doin’ with it?”

“Oh.” Flustering a bit, being caught out for something you usually kept relegated to your home wherever that happened to be, you took a minute to think, staring at the chipped blue paint on the little car. “I…. I like to restore things. Bring little pieces of what we lost back. Especially toys. I remember as a kid…. As a kid the joy of just one new toy was….”

“Nothin’ like it,” he agreed softly.

You nodded, meeting his eyes, the kindness you saw hidden there catching you off guard. You’d expected judgment. In this world nowadays frivolous things weren’t usually accepted so readily.

“That yours?” He pointed to the little fanny pack overflowing with various tools, the contents spilling over the mattress.

Eyes darting over to the bag, you nodded again before looking at him with a soft smile. “Yes it is, kind stranger.”

This time his scoff was decidedly amused, and he rolled his eyes, making you grin.

“Joel.”

“That’s right!” Setting the car down, you got to your feet, dusting the back of your pants off, then your hands, before you extended one for him to shake. “Nice to finally meet you more than a passing face in the ‘welcome to Jackson’ shuffle.” He nodded as he shook your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Thank you. Again. For your attic, I mean.” Dropping his hand after holding it longer than you should have, you turned to look around at the space.

“Tommy said you needed your privacy. Didn’t say why, but I can respect the need.”

You turned back to him, hands on your hips where they had settled as you’d looked around. “That’s not by choice.”

His features darkened. “What’d’ya mean?”

“Oh! Nothing like that.” You waved your hands in front of you. “Nothing weird, I swear!” Chuckling nervously, you shifted your weight to one side. “Because I tinker, I often…. People don’t like the noises…. The smells….”

He just stared at you, silently waiting.

You looked down to your feet. “I’ll just pack up. I’m sorry, I’ll be out of your-”

“No,” he cut you off, reaching for your elbow gently but firmly. “No,” he said again, a bit softer. “Just explain a little less…. Vaguely, please.”

“It’s very hands-on. Lots of tools like hammers and whatnot, sanding…. And then if I can find it, paint thinner for some, or just paint for others…. And it doesn’t always help, despite all the windows being open, but I try to keep the place ventilated…..”

“People complain about a day job?” He sounded upset for you. 

“They get upset when I do it when I can’t sleep.”

He hesitated. “How often is that?”

“Whenever the nightmares come.”

Understanding flickered in his eyes. “Well people are stupid.”

You blinked before a laugh burst out of your mouth.

“I used to be a contractor, and I’ve been doing some odds and ends here since moving into town. I don’t mind some smelly noise.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at you. “Let’s just try to come up with a schedule of some sort, maybe nothing too loud after nine at night or somethin’. Not for me, I don’t mind, but the neighbors might, and I dunno about Ellie. Girl sleeps like the dead, so probably….”

“Ellie?”

His smile grew brighter. “Come downstairs for breakfast.” He gestured behind him with a tilt of his head toward the stairs, his body beginning that way. “Maybe she’ll say hello between bites.”

Xxx

Walking down the stairs, you looked around in the daylight, trying to discern what was your host’s and what was left behind twenty odd years ago. 

Outlines where pictures once sat on the wall, faded by years in the sun now decorated the outdated wallpaper, a layer of dust along a line of decorative trim halfway up. A fancy carpet was tacked to the stairs, worn in the middle most of the way up, zagging to the sides near the top, and you watched as Joel carefully stepped in the threadbare bits without thought, one of the steps squeaking under your weight when you didn’t follow suit. 

Noted. 

Once you were at the bottom, an open door down the hall showed a small little workshop, tools strewn everywhere. You smiled, glancing up at Joel to see him follow your gaze, realization dawning on him as a hand came up to rub the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

“Stay here,” he mumbled softly, holding up one finger before he jogged toward the door, pulling it shut. “Sorry about that. Had a, uh…. Last minute request.”

“My ears are burning. Are you talking about me again?” A young female voice yelled amusedly from around the corner behind you, a girl in her early teens stepping out with a plate full of food in one hand, a fork loaded in the other, and a mouthful as she continued. “Yeah, you were. It’s me. He’s talking about me. I asked him to fix the hole in the ceiling,” she looked at him pointedly, before turning back to you, “like fifty thousand times-”

“Since yesterday,” Joel murmured, making you chuckle.

“It only showed up yesterday,” the girl said unamused.

“I’m just sayin’,” Joel held up his hands in surrender before walking around the girl and into what you assumed was the kitchen. “Point was, I got right on it.”

Rolling her eyes, the girl set her plate down before wiping her hands on the front of her jeans, coming over and introducing herself. “Hi, I’m Ellie,” she spoke pointedly over her shoulder, “since grumpy in there didn’t feel the need to introduce us.”

Some dishes clattered and quiet grumbles were heard  as you smiled at the girl, introducing yourself. “If you ever need any help around here, just ask. I’m pretty handy, if I do say so myself.”

“Finally,” Ellie groaned, “Someone besides that lug who can help me out!”

You leaned in closer to her. “Why, you got bodies to hide, or somethin’?”

She leaned in as well. “You have no idea.”

“Time for food!” Joel called loudly, placing a steaming pile of scrambled eggs and bacon on the table. “Ellie made ‘em so I’m not makin’ any promises-”

“Hey!” You smiled at her protest.

“-but it’s nourishment, so…. Good as any.”

“I’ll have you know,” Ellie began, looking down her nose at Joel as you all sat at the table. “Tommy’s been teaching me how to cook.”

“Then we’re all doomed,” Joel deadpanned.

“Tommy, I met him last night. He’s….”

Joel and Ellie spoke at the same time.

“Oh no, what’d he do now?”

“His baby brother.”

Silence hung between you as you looked back and forth between the two of them, Joel’s eyes shut as he let out a sigh.

“He’s my brother,” he amended, adding quietly, “so you can tell me what idiotic thing he’s done now.”

“Joel,” Ellie warned.

“I’ve heard it all, just lay it on me.”

You shook your head. “Nothin’. Was just asking how he knew you two.” You gestured between them with your fork. 

Joel tucked into his food after a moment of silence, staring down at his plate.

“I tried to tell you,” Ellie muttered, shaking her head as she cleaned the crumbs off her dish. 

“That accent I keep hearing pop through, is that…. Texas?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Joel kept his eyes down, slowing his eating just a bit.

“I thought it sounded like home,” you smiled, the corners of your mouth pulling higher when his head shot up to look at you.

“You’re from….” 

You nodded. “Born and raised. Ain’t nothin’ quite like the Lone Star State, is there?”

“No, ma’am,” Joel grinned.

“What do you miss the most?” It was an honest enough question, you expected something like barbecue, late night drives down country roads, or the smell of bluebonnets each Spring….

But the joy on Joel’s face fell ever so slightly, just enough that you could see, the light in his eyes dimming, as his shoulders rounded forward just a bit. He stared at the table top for only a moment, lost in thought. You could have sworn his eyes flitted to the watch on his wrist briefly before he shook his head, lifting it back up, his gaze meeting yours and smiled again, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. “Too many things to mention. What about you?”

Holding his gaze for a moment longer than you should, you smiled softly before turning back to look at your plate. “Gotta say I feel the same.” Stabbing a bite of egg, you brought it to your mouth, chewing thoughtfully as you pondered what had just happened. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“Please do,” he said softly. 

More silence filled the space, Ellie heaving a sigh after a few minutes. “Well this has been fucking amazing-”

“Ellie,” Joel chastised.

“But I’m gonna go-”

“Sit,” Joel said in the most authoritative voice you’d heard yet. Gesturing with his fork, you caught the smallest smirk crawl up his face when Ellie groaned before plopping back into her chair in a graceless heap.

She stared at him in some sort of bored challenge before grumbling, “What?”

“I need your help before you go and skedaddle-”

“‘Skedaddle’? Is that even a fucking word?”

“Yes,” you answered before biting into a piece of bacon, smiling sweetly at her when her eyes flew up to meet yours.

“Just checking,” she grumbled, slumping further back into her chair as she heaved a world weary sigh. 

“As I was sayin’,” Joel pushed back from the table with both hands, leaning back in his chair so that the front legs left the floor slightly, balancing on the back two. “I need your help gettin’ a bed frame upstairs for her, and a few other pieces. Tommy’s droppin’ them by in a few here.” He checked a clock hanging on the wall, making you knit your brows in confusion as you glanced to the watch on his wrist. Closer inspection showed it was shattered with what looked like a bullet hole, making your eyes widen slightly. Suddenly his reservations about missing something in Texas made a bit more sense.

“Joel,” Ellie whined, going practically boneless in her seat, limbs draping behind her like a broken starfish.

“We should be able to handle that without her, don’t you think?” You mused, pushing your empty plate away and settling into your seat with a satisfied sigh, arms crossed over your chest. 

“Yes, totally, bye!” Ellie sat up so fast you got whiplash. But she didn’t make it completely out of the seat before Joel was saying her name again, and motioning her back down with just his eyes. 

“Sorry. I tried,” you shrugged, giving her a sad smile. “You should just listen to your dad and-”

The two of them interrupted you in tandem.

“I’m not her father.”

“He’s not my dad.”

Joel cleared his throat. “Now, I’ve asked you to stay and help- nicely, I might add- and unlike you, I don’t ask twice, let alone fifty thousand times,” he looked at her pointedly.

“Ugh, fine!” She threw her hands up, letting them slap back down on her thighs before pushing her chair back all the way, the scrape of the feet against the floor making you cringe. She finally got to her feet before she froze, looking at Joel with an exaggerated look you couldn’t quite place.

“What?” He asked after a long silence in a tone that said ‘why did I ask’.

She pointed to the other room. “Can I go this time? I mean….” Joel sighed heavily, rolling his eyes. “Every other time I’ve tried to execute my rights as a human being and leave this fucking dining room, you’ve stopped me. So, before I get too far and have to backtrack again, I wanted to-”

“Just go,” he waved a hand.

“Thank you,” she called, climbing the stairs, expertly missing the squeaks, a door slamming shut a few seconds later.  

“But be ready to help in-”

“Yeah, yeah,” her muffled voice came through the door before some 80’s song began playing softly. 

You chuckled, Joel picking his head up from where he’d cradled it in his palm to look at you with a raised brow. “I got food and a show.” His head fell back into his hand. “I’m teasing.” He grumbled something unintelligible into his palm. After the chorus of the song played, you stood up, taking the empty dishes over to the sink.

“You don’t have to-” Joel protested from his seat.

“I’ll never get used to hearin’ music again,” you changed the subject as you turned on the water, running it over the plates as you wiped them clean. “Don’t get me wrong, I love it. I’ve always loved music. It’s just…. After so long in the silence, coming here and having a teenager drown you out with a synthesizer, it’s so….”

“Normal?”

Looking over your shoulder, you smiled at him. “Yeah. And after everything, that’s just….”

“Not normal?”

You snorted. “Exactly.” After you turned the water off, you flung the stray droplets from the tips of your fingers before drying your hands on a dish towel. “I appreciate all the help, I really do. But, you don’t have to go outta your way for me.”

“It’s not outta the way. It’s just upstairs.” He looked proud of himself, the pleased grin pulling higher when you made a face of disbelief at him.

“None of that allowed up there.” You pointed toward the ceiling where the attic extended to. “That is a bad pun free zone.”

Joel shook his head ruefully, leaning his chair back even further on the rear legs, propping his boots up on the corner of the table, one ankle crossed over the other as his hands slowly came behind his head. “Darlin’, this whole house is one giant pun.”

You arched a brow, leaning back against the counter, your hands braced on its top at your sides.

“Ellie tries, she loves her joke books…. But me….”

“Bad dad jokes without being a dad?”

His whole demeanor deflated, just slightly, but enough for you to see. The light behind his eyes dimmed, his smile faded, and his arms dropped almost imperceptibly. “Something like that,” he mumbled, before the smile renewed, just a bit too tightly. After a brief moment, he dropped his feet back to the floor with a clatter, the chair coming back onto all fours with surprising delicacy. “Well, let’s get up there and take some measurements before the furniture gets here.”

Xxx

Joel had followed you up the steps, mumbling a “Lady’s first,” as he stepped out of the way, gesturing forward with one hand.

You arched a brow. “Oh, fancy.” He pulled a face, making you laugh softly. “Nice to know chivalry didn’t also die on outbreak day.” Starting up the stairs, he sighed as he fell in behind you.

“Oh, it did. I’m bringing it back.” Glancing over your shoulder you saw a smug look on his face, making you roll your eyes as you turned back to the task at hand, making sure to avoid the squeaky parts of the steps, sticking to the worn tread of the carpet. An amused hum buzzed out of Joel’s chest when he noticed, making you smirk. “Fast learner.”

Pushing open the door to the attic, it let out a mighty squeak. 

You grimaced. “Not quite fast ‘nough, it seems.”

Joel knit his eyebrows at the door as he reached out, swinging it back and forth, the hinges protesting loudly each time. “It just needs to be tightened up.” Stepping closer, he examined the brackets with a more studious eye. “This takes a….” He turned to you, before glancing at your pile of tools still on the bed where you’d left them. “It’s a specialized screw head. Used to use them all the time before the world went to shit. Surprised they already started complainin’. Normally they last twice as long-”

“Everything complains around you, Joel,” Ellie grumbled as she walked past him, going straight for one of the windows, her forehead falling against it with a dramatic thump before she just stared at the city below.

Joel scoffed, staring at the teenager for a moment before rolling his eyes. “I have one down in my shop in the garage. I’ll go grab it.”

“You got a screwdriver that can turn that musty old shop of yours into a kick ass room for me?” Ellie called after him as he took the steps two at a time. As his heavy footfalls disappeared below, she turned back to look out the window.

“What do you mean?” You asked against your better judgment. “Don’t like your room?”

She sighed. “I just want my own space. Why does he need a room for just his tools? They don’t need privacy! They don’t go through at least one crisis a week, or have to deal with him, or have music they want to play super loud. They’re fucking tools.”

“Well, hey, we could trade? I could take your room, share the garage and tools with Joel, and you could be up he-”

“No,” Joel’s tone was final. You hadn’t even heard him come in. 

“I think it’s a great idea,” Ellie started. “I mean, she’s offering, and-”

“I said no, Ellie.”

“Joel-”

“No!” His grip on the door handle tightened. “We aren’t having this conversation again. Drop it.”

The two of them stared at each other with loaded looks, an unspoken conversation being exchanged between them. 

“We’ll compromise.” Joel’s attention snapped to you, Ellie’s following soon after. “You ever need a place to ‘get away’? You can come up here and keep me company.” Ellie smiled. “That goes for you, too, Joel.”

“Why you gotta be like that?” Ellie mumbled, smiling when you arched a brow at her.

“There’s a catch.”

“Fuck,” the teenager moaned, turning back to look out the window, her head thumping against the frame.

“You have to help me with my projects while you’re up here.” Your eyes flicked between them. “Deal?” When neither of them agreed, but neither of them protested, you moved on. “Good. Now,” stooping down to pick up the various toys and tools that had taken over the floor the night before, you turned to Ellie. “I noticed during breakfast that you like to draw.”

“How-”

“Sketchbook on the counter by the oven. Next time wait until after the bacon is done. You got grease stains all over the pages.”

“I had an idea, I couldn’t wait….”

“How are you with paint?”

She shrugged. “Never…. Never really had the opportunity to use it. I’m sorry. What the fuck is that?” She pointed to the bag around your waist.

Looking down at the fanny pack you’d zipped your tools back into before putting it on, you lifted your gaze back up to her. “My fanny pack?”

“Ellie….” Joel warned, seeing the girl’s face begin to morph in a way he knew all too well.

“It’s called a….” She started snickering before she cleared her throat. “I’ve never seen one before.” Ellie’s eyes shot over to Joel, her features schooled into something almost professional, but it quickly melted into something more sarcastic.

“Very handy,” you said slowly, watching her through narrowed eyes. “Anyway, as I was saying, I’ll get my hands on some paints, and you can help me finish some pieces.” You turned to Joel, brows raised expectantly.

“I’ll ask Tommy when he brings the stuff,” he mumbled, leaning on the door and causing it to squeak again, pulling his attention back to the traitorous hinges.

“For now,” you focused back on the teenager, hands on your hips, “help me clean this place up a little before they get here? Maybe go grab the towel off the kitchen counter to dust off the windowsills?”

Ellie nodded with a small, sweet smile, but you didn’t miss how it twisted into a smirk as she walked past you toward the door. “On it, Miss Fanny.”

You stared after her with wide eyes, noting she had waited until she was a few steps down the stairs before saying it so you were less likely to retaliate. Smart.

Flicking your eyes over to Joel, an amused expression pulled at his features as he pointed toward the bag on your hip with his screwdriver. “It’s because of the….”

“Yeah, I got that,” you snarked. “What I don’t get is why she called you grumpy.”

“It’s kinda obvious,” he drawled, turning the screws on the top hinge.

“You don’t seem grumpy to me.”

“Give it time.”

Xxx

After the door no longer moaned, the hinges good as new, Joel took some measurements around the space while he talked about how he’d been meaning to build some shelves and stuff for storage up here anyway. It’d take a day or two, but he’d have them up and be out of your hair in no time. He also stepped out of one of the windows onto the roof, making you and Ellie exchange a confused glance.

“Joel? Last I checked, the attic was strictly inside the house,” Ellie asked cautiously.

His head appeared around the open window frame, scowling at the both of you. “I’m looking to see if I could put a doorway in here for a private entrance.”

“That’s not-” but he doesn’t let you finish.

Disappearing back around the window frame, his voice drifted back somewhat muffled as he turned away. “It’ll just make things easier. Once you get tired of the two of us, you can come in without having to look at our ugly mugs.” Ellie shot a sideways look at you, making you stifle a small laugh, tucking it into your hand as you looked away. “Could even make a little deck up here at the top of the stairs, good sun, you could plant somethin’ for eatin’. Plus it’s a good spot to,” his feet shuffled on the roof before stopping again. “It’s a good vantage point if things go sideways…. Again.”

Stepping up to the window, you went to poke your head out but had to step back as he hopped back in. “Joel, you don’t have to do all that. It’s-”

“It’s my house, and I want that vantage point,” he huffed, dusting off his hands before turning to close the window.

“The Contractor,” Ellie hissed in an eerie voice with a smirk, drawing out the words in a ridiculous way.

“Knock knock,” a voice said behind you, making you jump slightly, turning to find Tommy. “Sorry,” he said quietly, having the decency to look sheepish. As he pushed the door open a bit wider, it squeaked softly, pulling his focus to the hinges. “You need to fix that, Joel-”

“I-” The older brother looked at the younger, dumbfounded. It quickly melted into annoyce as he whispered an exasperated, “What did you do?” Stepping quickly toward the door.

Tommy stepped back slightly. “Nothin’! I just got here, big brother! So just hold your horses and don’t jump-”

“He just fixed those a few minutes ago,” you offered softly, understanding dawning on Tommy’s face.

His eyes shifted to his brother, wide and somewhat worried. “Now, Joel, I didn’t do nothin’. They’re old, like you, and-” he turned his eyes down to the floor when Joel’s head snapped up to level him with a menacing gaze. “-and,” he repeated pointedly, “before you jump up my ass about somethin’ I didn’t do….” He lifted his head just enough to look at his brother again. “Can we please talk about this like the grown men we sometimes are now?”

Joel simply stared at his brother for a loaded moment before turning back to the door, wiggling it back and forth, making a sour face as it squeaked again softly. “You had to’ve done somethin’….”

“I guess not then,” Tommy sighed, hands that had been held up in surrender falling down to his sides in defeat as he sent an unimpressed glare toward his brother. “You’ve gotten meaner as your hair’s gotten greyer.”

Joel rolled his eyes, turning to inspect the hinges more closely, but reached up a hand to run through his hair after a moment, bringing it down to rub at the back of his neck in what looked like embarrassment as he kept his back to the room.

Ellie strolled over easily toward the two men. “You’re an old man, Joel. That’s how it’s supposed to happen…. I think. I mean, look at Santa Claus….”

Joel slowly looked at her over his shoulder before he let out a strangled grunt of frustration, cleaning his throat to try and cover it up as he shook his head, turning back to his task in an attempt to hide.

Ellie went on as if nothing had happened. “I mean I think that’s how it works.”

Tommy snickered, tucking the lower half of his face into his hand, pointedly ignoring Joel looking at him through the crack of the door by the hinges.

The teen turned to Tommy. “You’re an old man, you tell me. Am I right?”

The hand fell from his face, and Tommy immediately stopped laughing, glowering at Ellie while Joel lost it, a series of growing snickers falling from his mouth as he turned his face into the wall to try and subdue the sound.

You looked on, watching the whole exchange with a smile. Joel may not be her father, but these three were every bit a family unit. They teased and called each other names, but it was all in fun. All from love. You had no doubt that when push came to shove, they’d be there for one another in a heartbeat, and probably be willing to sacrifice close to anything in the name of that bond, that thing they shared but they didn’t dare put that name to. For family.

Joel was still chuckling into the wall, his forehead pressed against it as he rocked it side to side in disbelief. “I swear I didn’t tell her to say that.”

“Fuck you, Joel. I say what I want,” Ellie proclaimed.

“Ellie,” Joel groaned, finally turning to face the room with a sigh, as Tommy snapped a, “Language!”

“Oh, bite me,” she mumbled, turning and meandering slowly to the window to begin dusting again.

“So, Tommy,” you began, clasping your hands in front of yourself. “I hear you have furniture for me?”

His eyes widened in recognition. “Shit! Yeah.”

“Language!” Ellie mocked him from her spot across the room.

“It’s downstairs. Why don’t you come with me, take a look and see what all you wanna bring up while Joel finishes on this door.” He turned to his brother, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Come down when you’re done, we should know by then.”

He nodded, fiddling with the screwdriver in his hand. “Give me five minutes.”

“I used to work with you, Joel,” Tommy called, starting down the stairs. “We both know it’ll take you ten.”

Joel laughed humorously. “Fuck you, Tommy!”

“Language!” Ellie yelled again. 

Following the younger Miller, you smiled. He stepped on every squeak in the steps, almost like it was on purpose.

Once the two of you were downstairs, Tommy stepped out onto the front porch, showing you a small array of furniture leaning up against the outside of the house. 

You were about to start pointing to some of the pieces when he began talking to you about something else altogether.

“So how’s it been today? They been treating you okay?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you tilted your head back to look up at him, holding his serious gaze. His eyes were kind, and you realized he was asking just as much from a place of worry for them as for you.

“Yeah. It’s been great so far.” He looked relieved. “Ellie cooked eggs and bacon for breakfast.”

He smiled proudly. “You have me to thank for that.”

You couldn’t help the grimace tugging on your features. “So I hear.”

Tommy scoffed, hands going to his hips, making you chuckle.

“Ellie called him grumpy earlier, but I haven’t seen any particular reason why.” His eyebrows shot up near his hairline. “I asked him about it and he said to ‘give it time’.” 

He rolled his eyes with a muttered, “Sounds like him.”

You lowered your voice, taking a step closer. “Am I missing something? If he’s not always sunshine and rainbows, that’s fine, I get it. This world we live in now ain’t always deserving of it. But still, I’d like to know what I’m getting into.”

Tommy took a deep breath, but before he could speak, Joel stepped out the front door.

“What should I take up first?”

Turning and pointing at the bed frame you knew for sure needed to go up, you smiled. “Definitely that, please.”

Joel nodded, grabbing the headboard and footboard. “Tommy, will you grab the rest of the frame? The girls can be putting it together while we take up the rest.”

The man beside you nodded, staying silent until his brother disappeared back in the house.

“Joel’s not always the easiest to get to know.” You scoffed. “It’s true. I’ve known him my whole life, and I still have days where I wonder why he’s so prickly. He has his reasons,” Tommy looked up toward the attic windows before looking back down at you. “And I’m sure he’ll tell you them eventually, I can already tell he trusts you more than most others here in Jackson.”

With a shake of your head, you chuckled. “You’re crazy. He just met me. I’m sure he-”

“You saw a side of Joel right out the gate some wait a lifetime to miss.”

Staring up into his eyes, your own wide, you saw nothing but sincerity.

“Tommy! Come on, man!” Shaking his head, Joel picked up the rest of the pieces of the bed. “And you say I’m slow.”

The younger Miller held your gaze as he spoke. “That’s because you are slow, big brother.” Lifting his eyes to follow the older man, they narrowed playfully. “Come on, come on, lift those feet!”

“I’m gonna hit you,” Joel grumbled as he passed back over the threshold of the house, Tommy hot on his heels. As Joel continued to complain, Tommy stopped, looking back at you pointedly before turning and heading inside, shouting something you couldn’t make out up at his brother.

Xxx

Once a few of the pieces were set up around the attic, you dug some things out of your backpack to put out, get settled in. Pulling a chair up to the small dining table, you got your screwdriver out of the pack on your hip and began scraping at the paint on the blue metal car from that morning.

“What’cha doin’?” Tommy asked, pulling another chair up and swinging his leg over it, sitting on it backwards. He rested his chin on his wrists on the back of the chair as he stared at the toy in your hands.

Not stopping, you answered him. “I restore things, especially toys.”

Your eyes flicked up to find his face twisted in confusion before darting back to what you were doing. 

After a moment he asked in a quieter voice, “Why?”

You shrugged. “Why not?” Pausing in your efforts, you looked up at him. “It makes me happy, and it makes others happy. And if there’s something people need more of these days, I’d say that’s it.” You turned back to your project.

“Toys?”

You froze, your hands flopping onto the table as you lifted your gaze to look at him flatly.

“Happiness, dumbass,” Joel grumbled lowly from across the room, tightening the screws on one of the window sills.

“How would you know?” Tommy sat up straight in the chair, glaring over at his brother. “You wouldn’t know happiness if it bit you on the ass.”

“Oh, I think I’d be plenty happy if someone bit me on the ass-”

“That’s not-” Joel’s chuckle cut his brother off. “I like how Ellie said it earlier. Bite me.”

“Okay. But not on the ass.”

“You know what….” Tommy pushed away from the table, turning toward his brother.

“Even if I don't, I know you never do.” Joel turned to face his brother, screwdriver once again in his hand. “You’re not the brightest-”

“Boys!” They both turned to look at you, startled, Ellie jerking awake from her spot on your bed where she’d been napping for the last hour. “Enough!”

“Yeah, shut up,” Ellie grumbled, rubbing her eye with the palm of her hand. “I don’t even know what you were arguing about, but I know it was stupid.”

“How would you know?” Joel turned his head slowly to look at his brother, his eyebrows knit in disbelief that he was arguing with a teenager.

She stilled, her hand falling to her lap with a plop. “Because I know you.” She turned to you, speaking over a yawn. “What were they arguing about?”

“That toys and happiness aren’t necessarily important nowadays, and that devolved into name calling.”

Ellie nodded. “Sounds right.” She looked at the two men. “Grow up.” She arched a brow right back at them when they lifted theirs at her. “I babysit for the kids across the street, and if it’s one thing they are severely lacking, it’s toys. We watch the movies down at the town center or a video Joel brings back from a run, and they won’t shut up about all the toys and stuff. They don’t care about the animals or the songs, I mean they do, to an annoying degree, please, somebody, explain how giving children that age singalongs was a good idea, but I digress-” she took a big breath, the corner of her mouth twitching up when you failed to suppress a snort of laughter. “Anyway. Some toys around here wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“I’d be more than happy to restore toys for the kids here in Jackson. But up here there isn’t really enough space for that type of output, plus the noise and smell would eventually bother you, despite what you say, Joel.”

Tommy looked at his brother who shrugged. “We talked about this earlier. Briefly.”

“I see,” Tommy mused quietly, turning back to you with a smirk.

“Would you mind sharin’ your garage?”

Joel grimaced.

“Come on, Joel,” Tommy teased. “Be a big boy, and-”

Joel rounded on his brother, getting close to his face. “You don’t stop talkin’, I’m going to-”

“Okay, so that’s a no,” you chuckled.

“The old book store,” Joel’s voice had calmed, and he turned to look at you. “It’s empty, is filled with shelves to display stuff, and has a wide showroom in the middle you could convert into a workshop.”

“Are you sayin’ she opens a toy shop?” Tommy asked, his voice tight with disbelief.

“Why not?” Joel looked at his brother before turning to Ellie for her input. “Like she said, it’s a need in the town, would boost morale-”

“How?” Tommy scoffed.

“Happy kids, happy parents.”

Joel made a gesture after Ellie spoke, like a ‘there you go’ as he turned his attention back on his brother, smiling as understanding softened the other man’s features.

“A need, morale,” Joel turned to look at you, a playful curl of his upper lip as he went on, “and I get to keep my garage.” The mock disdain melted into a smile and a wink before he turned back to his brother. 

“For now,” Ellie muttered under her breath, her face instantly schooling into something sweet and innocent when Joel whipped his head her way. 

Xxx

With a sigh, you set one of the things on your shelf back upright, looking at the blue metal car that sat beside it, fully painted and restored. It was one you weren’t willing to get rid of, and it held pride of placement on one of the shelves Joel had built not long after that conversation about the shop.

You’d opted to stay out of these arguments, letting them sort their differences out on their own, but something felt different this time. The weight of Joel’s sigh hurt just a little bit more, felt a little bit heavier, and at breakfast this morning, his eyes seemed…. Sad.

Walking to the door that led downstairs through the house, you opened it, smiling when it swung without a sound. Making sure to step on the proper parts of the steps to stay silent, you walked almost all the way up to Joel before you finally cleared your throat to get his attention.

He’d been cradling his head in his hand, but he snapped up to look at you.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

He stared at you for a long moment before shaking his head, looking at the floor. “No, no, don’t worry. Am I in your way? I’ll move, just let me-” 

“Joel.”

At the sound of his name, he relaxed, slumping back against the wall with a sigh, scrubbing his hand down his face as he looked up at the ceiling. “I know.” He shrugged slightly, tilting his head back into the wall with a soft thump, rocking it back and forth. “I don’t know what it is. I can’t….” He looked back down at the floor for a second before his face screwed up. “Goddamnit!” His hand moved up to thread through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. “I don’t know what I’m doing. It was so much easier with-” Joel stopped with a shuddering breath, his eyes wide and frantic as they flew to you.

He’d done this a few times, started down a train of thought about someone or something in his past, but always stopped just before actually naming them. You couldn’t tell if it was a decision made out of pain or a desire to maintain privacy. Either way, you didn’t push it.

“She’s just being a teenager, Joel. That’s what they do. They drive you crazy, it’s kind of their job.” The corner of his mouth twitched up just slightly, but just as quickly fell back into the frown that twisted his face so painfully. “Didn’t you have teenaged girls in your family? Nieces? Distant cousins?”

He let out a wet laugh, swallowing roughly before he answered in a raspy voice, “Somethin’ like that.”

You leaned on the wall across from him, sliding down to sit on the floor, knees pulled tightly to your chest.

“Did you need something?”

His question pulled your focus back up to his face from the pattern of the weave of your jeans you’d been staring at.

“Yeah. I mean no.” He tilted his head in question. “I needed to come down and check on you two.”

He swallowed again, nodding. “Thanks.”

“Want me to go after her? We’re still learning each other, but we get along well enough. She’d probably listen to me. Maybe.” You grimaced. “I mean I hope so.”

Joel laughed softly. “Don’t do it on my behalf, you don’t need to villainize yourself, too. She needs to trust ‘least one of us.”

“She doesn’t think you’re a villain, Joel,” you groaned, getting back to your feet, taking his outstretched hand he offered in help.

“She sure don’t think I’m a hero,” he said lowly, his hand holding yours longer than it should, his thumb tracing your knuckles as he held your gaze. 

As you studied his face, eyes tracing the laugh lines by his eyes, the scars here and there, the strong angle of his jaw and light smattering of facial hair, you found yourself wishing he never actually had to let go. “I think you’d be surprised what people see when they look at you, Joel.”

He let go of your hand, taking a step back. Somehow you’d both gotten nearly toe to toe as you talked.

“I just need to get my jacket from upstairs then I’ll go look for her.”

He nodded, leaning back against the wall as you went back up to the attic.

Once you were back inside, you spotted Ellie at your desk, painting a little model plane you’d been working on. Looking over at the private entrance Joel had installed, you saw the door was not quite shut all the way. Smiling softly, you set your jacket you’d taken off the hook on the back of a nearby chair, then you walked over, shutting the door softly, clicking the lock into place. Closing the last few feet left between you, you leaned your hip against the edge of the desk as you watched her detail the left wing. 

It was weird to see her so subdued. Normally she was such a spitfire, something sarcastic or sassy coming out of her mouth at all times. You laughed every time she opened her mouth.

Keeping your voice quiet, you finally asked, “Wanna talk about it?”

She didn’t answer at first, but when she did it was as quiet as you had been. “Not really.”

You studied the way she painted the lines meticulously. “That’s fine.”

Pulling up a chair, you sat beside her, arm braced on the desk, head cradled in your palm as you continued to watch her in silence. 

The sounds of the town below you slowly drifted up through the open window. A songbird flitted by. Crickets began to chirp as the sun went down, and a lone owl hooted across the valley as the stars began to shine. One by one they started their march across the sky, twinkling in their dance with the moon, a slow procession of light for those of you left down below.

After a few minutes, you handed her the cup of water to rinse the brush. “He’s trying, you know.”

She rinsed and dried the brush, switching to the next color. A few more minutes passed before she answered. “I know.” 

After the wing was done, she rinsed the brush again and spoke while she dried it on the towel. “We need more paint. We’re running low on these basic colors. I could mix some of the others to make more, but they wouldn’t be quite right.”

“Okay,” you agreed softly. “I’ll see what I can do. There’s not much here in town, but I know there’s a lot out there left over from before.”

She whipped her head toward you, eyes wide in excitement. “Maybe you and I could go together to find some?!”

“No, no,” you didn’t even let her finish before you began objecting. “It’s not safe out there for you. You’re too young.”

She looked back down at the plane, her features immediately turning sour. “You sound like Joel.”

“Well, he and I agree on this.” Picking up the paintbrushes and moving them to the side, you leaned forward on both forearms, trying to catch her eye. “Do you trust me?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Leaning back a little bit, you sighed. “You always have a choice, Ellie. You know that.”

“I know,” she grumbled. “I just…. Yes, okay? Yes, I trust you. Why?”

Pushing the chair back, you got to your feet, going to the door back downstairs. “Because I have a plan.”

“What is-”

Turning back to her, you raised one finger and wagged it at her. “Ah ah ah! You said you trusted me. Now do it.”

Opening the door, you stepped through, laughing when you heard Ellie’s muffled voice call through as you shut it, “This sucks!”

Making your way back downstairs, you found Joel at the dining room table, nursing a whiskey. 

“Do you trust me?”

“You know I do, why?”

Smiling, you sat in the chair beside him. “Ellie’s doing really well with her painting, isn’t she?”

His brows narrowed in question, but he answered. “Yeah….”

“Problem is, there isn’t a lot of paint here in Jackson, and she’s already running low on some of the basic colors.”

“I noticed. She was complainin’ about it last week. I was gonna look for some on my next run for her.”

Sitting forward in your chair like you had at the desk with Ellie, you leaned on your forearms as you started in on your idea. “Well, where I stayed before coming here is about a week out. I had a stockpile. All different colors, types, whatever she could want for a long, long time, it’s all there.” Joel’s eyes were wide, you could see his wheels turning. “If we could each take a horse, maybe even a small cart or something, we’d cut that time in half, be there in a few days, and we could go raid my old supply. I had some real specialty stuff, stuff she’d love. Craft brushes…. I just need someone to come with me to keep me safe. I know what I’m doing, but once everything is loaded, the horses will be slower and I need someone to watch my back. Whaddya say?”

He started to smile. “You had me at ‘stuff she’d love’.”

Xxx

The day to leave had come. You’d be leaving tomorrow to get your old stash while Joel watched your back.

You were about to close up the shop for the night when someone came in. 

Smiling up at the woman, your features softened when you saw the tired expression on her face. “Can I help you?”

The woman sighed, the most exhausted sound you’d heard in a while. “Yes! My daughter is sick, and I want to give her something to cheer her up. I can trade you some bread for it. Fresh made this morning.” Flipping a towel back on the small bundle in her left hand, a golden loaf of bread came into view, making your mouth water, the shop filling with the yeasty aroma and making your stomach growl softly.

You would have done it for free, given the circumstances, but since you were leaving the next day, the bread would be handy. And damn did it smell good. “Sure! How about something soft for her to hold while she’s laid up in bed?”

She smiled gratefully. “Sounds perfect.”

Pulling a basket down from a shelf that was filled with a few teddy bears Tommy and Joel had found on supply runs and you’d cleaned up, you set it on a table in front of the woman.

“Beautiful day today,” you said offhandedly, looking out the front window and smiling, your grin growing when you saw Joel appear across the street and wave at you through the window. You waved back, making the woman in front of you look over her shoulder to see what was going on. 

She heaved another sigh, rolling her eyes before turning back to the basket. “Don’t bother. That one’s never gonna crack.”

Your smile faltered, hand falling down to rest beside the basket as you looked at the woman in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She scoffed. “He’s a tough ass. I don’t think he’s ever smiled in his life. Probably made his mom cry when he was born. Something is just off about him.”

Snorting a laugh, you shook your head. “That’s crazy. I live with him.” You paused, ignoring her raised brows as she looked at you through her lashes. “Well, above him. In his attic.” Turning your head just slightly, your face twisted at the way that sounded, too. “But not, like, in a creepy way. His brother set it up.” You tilted your head to the side, staring out the front window, before turning to look at the woman point blank. “I’m renting a room from him.”

The woman looked up at you in pity. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not so bad.” You shrugged, reaching out to straighten the ear of one of the bears.

Resting her hand on your forearm, she gave it a gentle pat. “That’s the right attitude.”

After she picked her bear and you had the bread, you locked up and walked across the street to meet Joel. “Got some extra food for the trip.” You held up the loaf with a grin.

“Good. We’re gonna need it,” he grumbled, his face a sour expression, hands in his pockets as you both turned toward the house.

“What bit your ass?”

“Tommy mentioned to Maria about our little trip. The council didn’t want to lend us the horses for ‘just paint’.”

“Okay. So now what? We walk?”

“No,” he ground out. Turning the corner by the stables, you found a group of people buzzing around, preparing bags and supplies for them and their horses. When you looked back up at Joel, he sighed, speaking lowly. “We have company.”

Xxx

Tags: @dilf-din, @lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker, @what-the-heckin-heck, @telarnidaniela, @kalea-bane, @morgaussy, @enjoythelittlethings, @paleidiot, @telepathay Wanna be tagged if/when I write any future Joel stuff? Here’s how to sign up!

[calciumdeficientt]

i realized i haven’t done a canon request in a while but

norton headcanons plz he’s an underrated king

I never see stuff for this big guy.. i love him

NORTON WILLIAMS HCS

Most in tune with his emotions and most well-regulated of all the greasers. He’s a big sap and he’s not afraid to show it, he cries openly and frequently too its good for him, and no one can say shit because he’s like 6’2 and 200 pounds of pure muscle. He cries a lot at movies, even if they’re not that sad. He’s just got a big heart, okay? Is that a crime? He’s also the most empathetic, he’s like an emotion sponge, he soaks up everyone else’s shit and helps them work through it, even if it ends up in a breakdown on his end.

Norton has a pretty tense relationship with his dad, of course he loves him, he raised him up to be the man he is, but he puts so much emphasis on the importance of masculinity, and finding a good wife, and following the law to the letter. It’s hard to be on good terms with your dad when he’s a cop with a stiff upper lip and a mean streak when he really puts his mind to it, and you’re a teenaged delinquent that enjoys painting and poetry and sobbing silently to Landslide by Fleetwood Mac

He honestly can’t wait until they make stuffed animals for boys, he’s been sleeping with his sledgehammer in his bed for literal years now. He just likes having something to cuddle, even if what he is choosing to cuddle is cold, hard and puts dents in the floor when he inevitably pushes it off his bed while he sleeps.

Struggles a lot with his self image, he doesn’t think he’s that cool, or attractive, or interesting. He sees himself as sorta… average. He doesn’t like being average, he wants to be excellent. He’s a midddle of the range greaser and he acknowledges that, but in the girls department, he feels like he’s falling short. He wishes that girls would get to know him a little better, he’s not all that scary, he’s actually a very sweet, thoughtful and intelligent young man.

Needs and uses reading glasses, even if he gets the piss taken out of him. If he needs to see, he’s not going to not use the devices that help him, he’s not some asshole who’ll sit, squint and struggle. He’d take some mean names over strained eyes any day of the week. He reads an awful lot too, so they are in constant use. Grandpa Norton frequents the library often, and is particularly fond of Westerns.

Struggled very hard getting a jacket that was the right size for him, he’s a big dude with very VERY broad shoulders, so he ended up having to size up a good deal to accommodate for this. Even then, his shoulders are just barely contained by the jacket. He’s reluctant to get a new one despite fears that its getting old and kinda smelly, because he had to go through the 12 labours of Hercules to get his current one. He’s not strong enough to go through all that again.

Has an apprenticeship lined up and ready to go after Bullworth. A big guy like him is the perfect asset to any construction company, but despite his outward excitement for the opportunity to demolish houses, he has his doubts about the whole ordeal. Norton’’s a smart cookie, he’s pretty well rounded academically and enjoys studying. Especially art class. He’s not the best at it but, if he can gather up enough money in construction, he hopes one day to go to art school and paint like Ponyboy.

[searenbound]

This is a long overdue thirst piece about pit bull hybrid Bakugou

Warnings: hybrid au, breeding kink, mild somnophilia and dry humping, sorta hurt comfort like if you squint?, mentions of past abuse and fighting, fem/afab reader, vaginal sex described, dubious consent cliffhanger ending because I got tired but don’t worry there will be a part 2

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x reader

He doesn’t understand her.

How she could be so kind to someone with his past. No fear or hesitation, like she didn’t see his scars or cropped ears. Like she was unaware of how he’s won fighting tournament after tournament just to survive because winning meant living another day.

He doesn’t understand her, but he was grateful none the less. Happy she saw his tattered and bruised form and took the chance on him despite his risky reputation.

He didn’t have to fight for the privilege of food, it was a readily available right for him to enjoy. Didn’t have to make do with dirty stained clothes that weighed heavy with the reminders of his desperate for life actions. He actually got to bathe and keep himself clean and well groomed. Didn’t have to worry about where he slept at night, being given a room of his own as well as access to hers whenever he needed

He loves her, but he knew he was probably ruining everything he had right now yet he couldn’t stop his rutting hip.

He didn’t know when his feelings started to shift, but that frankly didn’t matter at the moment. If she woke up in this moment she’d be beyond disappointed and disgusted, he was sure.

Who wouldn’t be if they opened their home to someone like him only for him to lose his sense of self control? Who would be so forgiving if they wake up to his heavy pants and desperate attempt to pleasure himself by dry humping their ass?

He knew it was fucked, but he convinced himself that it’ll just be this once. He’d been so good! He had tried so hard to ignore this! He really had, but he could smell her ovulating and knew she had been masturbating just moments before she went to bed.

He could just feel his lust build like a boiling pot about to spill over and he was convinced that this was better than breaking down and begging to stick his knot in her. The thought of which pushed him over the edge with a howling moan forcing its way out his throat.

“W-what are you doing?”.

Fuck.

“I… listen I just—” “Katsuki, you’ve been here a year, you don’t think I’ve noticed how you get before my period?”.

He didn’t hear that right, right? This has to be some fucked, shitty fantasy he’s using to escape his reality. This couldn’t be her actual response.

“It’s kinda cute to see you tongue tied, but I would really like my normal Tsuki back now” and like she knew that somehow touching her would snap him out of his stupor, she guided his hand over clothed pussy. Letting him feel how she was beginning to soak through her panties and telling him to do what has to, what he’s been wanting for so long.

“You could’ve saved us both some fuckin’ time and told me before dumbass!” he snapped not even bothering to wait even just a moment more.

With a growl he tore her panties off her and positioned her on her hands and knees, too excited to finally feel her little cunt around him to deal with foreplay when he knew she was already worked open just enough for him to fuck her now.

Besides, judging from her needy moan and bracing herself for his thrust, she didn’t care if this was rushed and messy this first round either.

The only time she had to adjust being when he sank his cock into her, enjoying the way she parted around him, but once he was settled he was absolutely relentlessly in his goal of knotting her.

“Gonna knot you and breed you so fuckin’ good, you want that don’t you?” he growled tugging her head back to give her a sloppy kiss. Letting her know exactly what she was getting into for the rest of the night.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

oohh i love number 2 on ur ideas list .. im pretty deep in my twdg hyperfixation rn so id love that x clem, marlon and louis maybe? happy to see theres still writers for the game

(Hello anon! Thank you for requesting and I jist finished it so here ya go! Enjoy!)

CLEM, MARLON AND LOUIS WITH INTIMIDATING READER

CLEMENTINE

She wasn't scared of you

But she wasnt that trusting with you

She didn't think ill of you, just didn't really know you

But you very much so did have her attention

You were pretty hard to miss

With the height, numerous tattoos, scars along your body and what seemed to be a permanent scowl on your face

When she was new to the school her eyes immediately caught you, you had been lugging some firewood in the courtyard and when you looked up caught her eyes

She had been staring at you, what she didn't know was that you had also been staring at her

She did have quite the introduction

But you also noticed how she acted towards you, you got it though

You were a stranger after all and growing up you always knew people acted different around you

You knew it was about how you looked, made you a bit sad but what could you do about it?

Until she finally actually spoke to you

Clem looked around the courtyard, every one here was different but she immediately noticed the one person who looked to be 6'0, maybe even taller.

'Holy hell.' She then noticed the tattoos, the scars and you turned around. Fuck, you looked right at her. She had been caught.

But she wasn't very alarmed when you squinted at her, your face forming a bit of a scowl. She wasn't scared, but kinda made a mental note that you weren't someone to be messed with.

After time went on she saw more and more of you, when speaking to you, you were a bit blunt and cold. So she got the hint, thinking you didn't like her. 

Didn't bother her that much, but it did bother you.

You felt a bit guilty when you were a bit rude, you didn't mean to but you were sorta anxious. When Minnie and Sophie went missing you guys hadn't seen anyone else, and then she just came outta nowhere.

You liked her but you also thought she didn't like you and you wouldn't blame you. You also knew a part was your appearance, you knew from literally anyone at the school you came off as intimidating.

Lots of kids were scared of you, hell, Tenn was terrified of you for a while, not Willy. He was a weirdo. So you were shocked when after a few days AJ came up to you, asking to play a random game.

And you happily accepted.

Clem had walked out the admin building, looking for AJ when she spotted him. But with you, she wasn't shocked, more surprised as you held a small firefighter toy in your hand and played along with AJ's dialogue for his game.

She walked over, looking at the sight amused.

"What's going on?" She asked, AJ and you looking up as the boy smiled. "Y/n said they would play firefighter with me!" He smiled, Clem softly smiling at the boy as you chuckled.

"AJ!" Tenn called out, you all looking over as he waved his friend over to him. AJ lit up, immediately going to his friend and leaving you two alone.

"Thanks, for playing with him. You didn't have to." Clem thanked, looking over at you as you shrugged. "No problem, he reminds me of my little brother." You smiled, chuckling a bit as Clem looked at you surprised.

Not only did you enjoy playing with AJ, but you were smiling and laughing?

"You had a little brother?" She asked, sitting on the picnic table beside you. You hummed, nodding your head a bit as you leaned back on your hands. "Yeah, I lost him a while back. I think at the beginning?"

"Sorry about that." Clem said, sympathetic as you waved her off. "It's cool, he just reminds me of him." You smiled at her, your eyes soft as she returned the smile.

You then saw Vi waving you over, sighing you sat up and hopped off the table. As you walked away you waved over your shoulder.

"See ya around, Clem."

She shook her head with a small smile, her eyes lingering on you as your frame got smaller.

She realized that even with your intimidating appearance, you weren't actually. Hard to be when a 6 year old asks you to play firefighters. Maybe she was wrong about you, you were pretty cool in her book.

LOUIS

The boy was fucking terrified of you

I mean who wouldn't?! 

When you first woke up after being taken in with Clem and AJ you were scowling at everything!

You also at one point had a knife to his neck

You were like a caged lion on steroids when you woke up from the crash

You started a ruckus the moment you woke up and didnt see neither AJ nor Clem in the room with you

They were all you had so you panicked, and you had a hidden knife in your boot so you took it out

Louis was unluckily the one in the room first and as he entered he was thrown against the wall, knife to his neck as he looked up at you terrified

You were tall as hell too, towering over Louis by a bit

He didn't hate you, he understood why you acted the way you did

Also you were pretty but he didn't wanna get on your bad side

Didn't wanna find out what it was like on it

You didn't smile a lot, he heard how you talked with AJ and Clem, all soft

He also noticed the way you would take care of AJ, when someone even looked at any of you wrong thry always met your glare

Kinda scary when a 6'3, tatted, scar filled and muscular teen is standing behind the ones behind thrown dirty looks

He sorta wished he got to see that soft side of you but understood why he didn't

He loved your tattoo's though

Thought they were amazing pieces of art

And he kinda wanted to know the stories behind the scars

But he knew they eere probably personal

He didn't think he would get close to you at all

Until a game of war…

You, Clem, Louis, Vi and Marlon were all playing war the first night after you guys had woken up. You noticed the looks the others gave you, but eh, who cared?

Louis had noticed your look, you were intimidating as hell with the height. He could tell you had been through some things, you had the scars to prove it.

But as you all played war he saw you come out of your shell a bit, but when he was really in awe was when you laughed.

He had made a small joke, the others laughing while Vi gave a sarcastic remark, he laughed too before he abruptly stopped. There was an unfamiliar sound mixed in, your laugh.

He slowly looked over at you, seeing the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. You were laughing, holding your side a bit as your smile was a bit crooked.

You were laughing? At his joke?!

He stared at you like you were a goddess/god for a moment before a smile broke out on his face. He made a promise to himself he would make you laugh as much as he could.

And he succeeded, something he is now and always will be proud of. Cause he got the intimidating, scar filled, tattoo covered goddess/god to laugh. If that ain't an accomplishment he doesn't know what is.

MARLON

He was sorta put off by you

He didn't hate you, just didn't know you

He was mostly intimidated, you were way taller than him and he was one of the tallest at the school

But that doesn't mean he didn't absolutely love your tattoos

Even if he didnt know you he loved 'em

Before it all he had been into all those heavy metal, punk bands and all that

You sorta gave him a feeling of nostalgia when around, he liked it

He thought you would be a great addition to the school

And he had been right

Ever since they found you roaming the woods, taking out walkers left and right

It took a while to convince you but eventually they came back with you in tow

It took a while to get used to having you around, you were cold and blunt at first with a glare on your face

But that was because you were in a new place, you took a while to settle in but you were grateful they gave you a chance

And Marlon one day realized you were actually not that bad

Thanks to Rosie

Marlon had been looking for Rosie for a bit. The dog had run off and he hadn't been able to find her at all.

He tried everything, asking everyone and nobody seemed to have found her. But he also noticed you weren't there either, kinda suspicious.

He walked around the admin building, looking around for her before sighing as he began to walk back. He then paused his step, hearing the sound of laughter and Rosie's familiar bark.

He was confused, looking around the corner before freezing at the sight of you tossing a stick and Rosie coming back with it, her jumping up a bit and accidently knocking you down, barking before starting to lick your face.

You laughed. "Rosie!" You giggled, trying to cover your face as you got mud on your clothes. You then shrugged, you'll wash them later. You then began to scratch behind Rosie's ears, the dog laying on her side as you began to scratch her belly.

From by the wall Marlon watched surprised. You were so cold but when with Rosie you seemed so nice and sweet? He didn't know what to feel but couldn't help but smile.

You actually looked peaceful as you sat on the ground with Rosie, scratching her belly as the sun began to set. 

He actually liked it, he would like seeing you like this more. You didn't seem to care that you were getting dirty, playing with his dog and tossing a stick.

Hey, maybe he'll join you guys one day. But for now, he'll just watch from a distance.