#Trust Build Windows and Doors

[alexdovwindows]

Custom Full Round Top Fiberglass Door with Sidelights – Project in Barrie

We recently completed a beautiful custom front door replacement in Barrie, and the transformation is truly worth sharing.

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To achieve this look, we custom-built a fiberglass door with an oak grain finish, giving it the rich appearance of real wood while providing excellent durability and strength. The door was stained inside and out to match the client’s aesthetic and to provide a maintenance-free woodgrain door that looks stunning from every angle.

The new entry system includes two narrow sidelights and a full round top fiberglass door that fits perfectly within the original brick opening—no transom needed. Thanks to the current door replacement promotion in Barrie, the customer received an incredible value, along with a 25-year exclusive warranty from Trust Build Windows and Doors.

For added security and performance, the door was outfitted with a 4-point multi-lock system, which secures the top, middle, and bottom of the door in one motion, in addition to a central deadbolt.

If you’re looking to upgrade your front entry door with something modern, secure, and timeless, contact us today. At Trust Build Windows and Doors, we’re not just a windows and doors company—we’re your long-term partner for quality, value, and peace of mind.

[slowfuckintheafternoon]

18+ only please and thank you

Roommate Ghost who’s basically a rehomed cat.

You barely saw him at first. He’d come out of his room to do laundry, and you’d occasionally spot the back of him as he’s leaving for work, but otherwise it was like living with a ghost. A large, moody ghost who seemed to think eye contact was an unforgivable breach of privacy.

So you did the obvious thing, and coaxed him out with food. You’re lonely, he seems nice enough, and he’s also just conveniently there. It’s no big deal to make something that smells really wonderful when he’s home, and hope he’ll take the bait.

It takes three whole entire dinners. Two delicious meals without so much as a stir from his room, and you’re just about to give up on the whole scheme, when you’re finally rewarded with a tousled head poking out of his room on the third attempt.

“Want some?” you immediately pipe up, giving him an encouraging smile while you scoop noodles into your bowl. Realizing your mistake, you quickly relocate your gaze back to the food, so as not to scare him off.

Cmon, take the bait. Come on out, kitty. You know you want it.

Silent as ever, your massive roommate indeed emerges to fill his belly.

A soft, “Thanks,” is all you get for your efforts, but it thrills you. You sit there practically vibrating with glee, trying to play as cool as possible while you both eat and purposefully don’t speak to each other. There’s just chewing and silence, and the quiet clatter of spoons and forks, and you love it.

The next day, the contents of your personal grocery list have magically appeared in your refrigerator. The meat you needed, vegetables, your special milk for your cereal. Bemused, you step over to your pantry and verify that, yes, he got the dry stuff too. You weren’t planning to cook anything fancy two days in a row, but hell, if he’s around again tonight, you might as well.

But he’s not around. You don’t see him again for several weeks, never even got a text that he was leaving. You were just starting to make progress, and now it’ll all be erased when he returns. You lost your one window of opportunity for building trust, and it’ll be back to silence, back to emptiness, back to being strangers.

But to your surprise, when he does finally come home, he meows at you.

Not officially. Not in, like, actual cat language, but he drops his bag by the door and responds to your quiet greeting with a heavy sigh, and, "It’s good to be back.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, so you quickly hide it by staring at the TV.

He joins you for dinner the next time you cook. And the next. Groceries pop up like spring flowers, anything you write down, even if it’s snacks he never touches.

He starts hanging out with you while you cook. On the other side of the counter at first, looming like a dark shadow, just listening to your music and offering answers to your small talk.

You keep it light. Keep it friendly and easy, and entice him over occasionally to taste what you’re making. He starts lingering closer, letting the kitchen light touch him, leaning against your side of the counter. The scary side.

And then one day he tells you a joke. Just completely out of the blue, “What do you call an angry carrot?”

“Uhh…” you pause peeling carrots for a second, trying to wrap your head around some scenario where this is a legitimate question, because surely he's not about to tell you an actual joke. “I dunno?”

“A steamed vegetable.”

You return to your carrots with a delighted laugh. He's being friendly, he's making jokes! Best not comment on the progress he's made, because you don’t want to scare him off.

Good luck with that.

He starts following you around like an actual stray cat. You can’t bear to close the door on him, so he’s just always there, hanging out in the doorway, telling you little bits about his day while you brush your teeth for bed. He doesn’t talk a whole lot, prefers to listen to you yap, but he’s shut in his room less and less.

Except for the bad times. Simon goes through phases where he recluses himself again. Sometimes it’s only a few hours, other times it’s days, but he occasionally needs time to himself, and you don’t mind. You still get a thrill every time he appears again, metaphorically meowing at you and rubbing up against your leg.

God, you wish he would. You could use some good leg rubbing, actually.

Is he the rubbing type? He’s never made a pass at you, never touched you at all, and even the times when you’ve hung out together in your room, he always stood politely in the doorway. Always turned his head to the side when you’ve had to open your underwear drawer or spilled sauce on your shirt and had to strip it off. He’s just like that, always aware of your personal space and his, uncomfortable about the two bubbles touching without warning.

When it finally happens, it's you who's surprised.

You've just halted mid-step in the middle of the kitchen, staring down at the corner of the cabinets because you swear you just saw something move.

When all of a sudden, and actual mouse scampers across the floor, doing erratic zig zags like it's too scared to decide where to go, and all you can do is scream because it's coming right for you--

A thick arm clamps around your stomach, and your feet abruptly lose contact with the floor. You've completely lost track of the mouse, you're just frozen in shock from the fact that your whole back is glued to Simon's side, and he doesn't even bother to hold you up with both arms as he swivels around searching for where the mouse went.

"Thanks," you squeak, patting his forearm as a signal to put you down. "You're really strong, holy shit."

He grunts like he doesn't agree. "Doesn't take much to lift somebody."

Your feet touch back down to the linoleum, and you just hope your hot face isn't too evident. "Right, uh huh. Cause I could definitely lift you."

"Probably could."

You eye him skeptically, all the way from his socks, to the always-mussed hair at the top of the mountain. "I don't feel like throwing out my back, but thanks for the offer."

"I wasn't offering."

It's just small talk. Regular jokes, with his usual deadpan delivery, but you swear there was something he meant to say in those words. You try to discern them, gazing up into those brown eyes that don't mind meeting yours anymore.

It's hanging in the air, the thing he meant to say. You don't want to try and guess. It's too risky, and you might hurt yourself if you get it wrong.

"What is it, Simon? What's wrong?"

His eyes stutter for just a second, like he's ripping himself out of a train of thought. "I think you should hide in your room while I find that mouse."

Stupid, cockblocking mouse.

You don't sleep well that night. You keep thinking about your quiet roommate, end up having to jerk off at two in the morning just to get a little bit of relief, and your sleep is fretful even after that.

You ask about the mouse the next day, and he swears he not only caught it, but released it in the woods a mile away. There's absolutely no telling if he's pulling your leg or not, so you just drop it, too absorbed in the questions that were haunting you all night.

"I'm not good at... fucking."

Your head snaps up, staring wide eyed at Simon's troubled expression across the table. "What?"

"I've never been with a woman before. At least, not... like this. Wager I'll make a fool of myself, so I might as well get it out in the open."

"Oh. Um." Your heart is pounding, your mind whirling to comprehend how you got here so suddenly. He looks so scared, holding himself rigidly into place without so much as blinking, and you're taking far too long to answer at this point.

"I'm good at it," you finally tell him, hoping it sounds more comforting and less like a brag. "We can figure it out together, if it's something you want to do."

"Okay."

It takes a little while to get there. Some time to find a natural moment to take his hand in yours, for him to return the gesture by wrapping his arm around your waist and bringing your body over to his. But then his hand finds the back of your neck, and he's definitely not a beginner at kissing.

You've wanted it for so long, imagined it so often, that the press of his body against yours almost feels familiar. The seeking movements of his lips, the soft breaths coasting over your cheek. It's quiet and slow, in the corner of your shared kitchen.

He tucks your body into his, lets you saturate yourself in each second of this moment while you both learn the way the other likes to kiss. You end up in your bed soon after, just for the sake of comfort and lining up your mouths a little more conveniently.

It's easy to lose yourself in the safety of him. Your body feels at home in the muscled softness of his, in the thoughtful, patient movements of his hands exploring under your clothes. It feels like he's belonged to you far sooner than today.

His first time isn't perfect, but he makes up for his inexperience by taking his time. Laughs at your breathless, "a hole is a hole" statement, and insists on exploring with his mouth and fingers first.

Simon makes the prettiest noises when he finds your wetness waiting for him. He seems to enjoy the feeling of it on his fingers, sliding them in and out so carefully, studying the textures inside you. He tastes his own fingers, less like a scientist and more like a little kid who's discovering new flavors in the sandbox.

He makes a sound then, a warm, rumbly one, and then pulls his fingers out of his mouth to lean down and find your clit with his lips.

A hole is a hole, but there's something special about whispering little cues at him in the dark, and the way he efficiently adjusts himself, ever the dedicated soldier. A hole is a hole, but you cum like that, with your roommate's strong hand gripping your hip, and his mouth accomplishing exactly the motion you need to draw a slow, brain-melting orgasm out of you.

"Yeah, just like that," you pant a few moments later, shoving his face away from your oversensitive pussy.

Just like that.

[lesbianstarlightglimmer]

Last day of new teacher orientation tomorrow and I had better get my questions answered tomorrow or I’m gonna explode

[kooklovee]

HOLD ON TO ME (m) - JJK

Your husband forgets your second anniversary. What starts as disappointment and heartbreak soon spirals into doubt- about your love, your marriage & whether he even sees you anymore. But when Jungkook realizes his mistake, he’s willing to do anything to prove that his love has never wavered..

Can he make it up to you, or is it already too late?

Pairing - CeoHusband!Jungkook x Wife!Reader

Genre - 18+, established relationship au, angst, fluff, smut, some more angst MDNI

ONESHOT - 11k words

Warnings - angsty ride, hurt/comfort, workaholic Jungkook, miscommunication, crying, deep emotional intimacy, slow build, Jungkook is an idiot but trust me he's sweet alright😭, Explicit smut- unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom Jk, nipple play, lots of kissing, love-making, creampie, pet names <3, praises, happy ending (sad ending's not in my veins🫸)

a/n- snsjkqkw It's my first fic (well more like I've taken the courage to actually post it)🥹 do let me know your thoughts on it <3 n consider a reblog if you like it, thank you for reading! 🫶

Masterlist kofi☕

---------------------------------------------------

The soft glow of the overhead light casts long shadows across the dining room. But its warmth does nothing to chase away the cold emptiness creeping into your chest.

You sit in one of the dining chairs, fingers idly tracing the gold band on your ring finger, the once-familiar weight of it.. feeling heavier than ever. The house is silent, except for the distant hum of the city beyond the huge windows.

Jungkook is late. Again.

You’ve lost count of how many nights have passed like this, curled up alone in bed, the space beside you growing colder with each passing hour.

He always has a reason. A meeting that ran overtime, a last-minute project, something urgent that demands his attention more than you do. And you’ve always understood. Until now.

Your second anniversary is just around the corner, and for the first time in weeks, you have something to look forward to. Something that, surely, he wouldn’t forget.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the untouched dinner on the table. It’s the third time this week you’ve set two plates, only to eat alone. The food has long gone cold, but you still can’t bring yourself to clear it away. Some foolish, desperate part of you still hopes Jungkook will walk through the door, pulling you into his arms, murmuring apologies against your skin.

But the door stays closed. Your phone stays silent.

You check the time—almost midnight.

He used to call. Even when he was busy, he always found a way to let you know he was thinking about you. A quick text. A voice note. Something. Now, hours pass without a word, and you’re left wondering when exactly you started feeling like a ghost in your own marriage.

You clench your fists, blinking back the sting in your eyes. This isn’t you. You don’t doubt him. You don’t overthink things. But these days, love feels a lot like waiting, and waiting feels a lot like breaking.

And you’re so damn tired of breaking.

You close your eyes, trying to remember the Jungkook from before, before work took over, before the distance set in. The man who, despite his quiet nature, always found a way to make you feel cherished. He wasn’t one for grand speeches, but his words had always carried weight. Small, simple confessions once meant everything. Now, silence is all you get.

It wasn’t always easy with Jungkook. Back in college, he was cold, reserved, a storm you could never quite predict. But little by little, he let you in. His love had been careful, deliberate, whispered promises in the dark, stolen glances across crowded rooms, fingertips brushing against yours like a secret only the two of you understood.

And now, it feels like you’re losing him.

The thought sends a sharp ache through your chest. You tell yourself it’s just work, that the weight of being CEO is heavier than either of you expected. That he still loves you, even if he doesn’t say it as often.

But love isn’t supposed to feel like this.

The clock hits midnight.

You don’t know what you were expecting. A text? A call? Maybe the sound of the front door unlocking, Jungkook stepping in, exhausted but still managing to hold you close?

But there’s nothing.

Your throat tightens as you stare at the small cake sitting on the dining table, the frosting slightly uneven, the decorations a little clumsy. You were never a good cook. Jungkook knew that better than anyone. But in the early days of your marriage, you had tried. Because back then, cooking together had been something special. Flour-dusted fingertips, shared laughter over burnt pancakes, stolen kisses between stirring batter.

So tonight, with him too busy and too stressed, you thought a quiet, cozy celebration would be enough. Something small, something just for the two of you.

But now, looking at the untouched dinner, the unlit candle, and the cake that no longer seems worth eating, you realize how foolish that hope was.

You glance at your phone—no messages, no missed calls.

You put away the plates. You put the cake in the fridge, even though you know it’ll probably stay there, forgotten.

And then you crawl into bed alone, wrapping your arms around yourself because if Jungkook won’t hold you, who else will?

----

You stir, feeling the warmth of an arm lazily draped around your stomach. The weight is familiar, and for a moment it feels like everything is okay.

Jungkook is still asleep. Shirtless, his toned chest rises and falls in steady breaths, his face soft in the morning light. His dark lashes cast faint shadows on his skin, and his lips parted just slightly, making him look so much younger, so much more at peace.

You take your time looking at him, memorizing the exhaustion on his face, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep. He must’ve come home late—so late that you hadn’t even heard him.

Still, he’s here. Beside you. And that alone is enough to make something flicker in your chest.

Maybe he’s planned to stay home today.

Of course he remembers.

You can’t help but lean in, pressing a soft, loving kiss against his cheek. His skin is warm beneath your lips, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels like it used to.

Jungkook mumbles something incoherent, his brows knitting slightly before relaxing again. A small, sleepy noise escapes him, and the sound makes you giggle softly.

He stirs, his grip on your waist tightening just a little before his lashes flutter open. His dark eyes, still hazy with sleep, land on you, and for a second, there’s nothing but quiet warmth in them.

"You're up early," he murmurs, his voice thick with drowsiness. His thumb absentmindedly brushes over your waist, a touch so familiar yet so foreign all at once.

You smile, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. "Couldn't sleep much," you admit softly.

Jungkook hums in response, his eyes falling shut again for a moment. He nuzzles into the pillow, his grip on you still firm like he has no intention of letting you go. And for a brief, fragile second, the weight of last night, of the distance, of everything, seems to disappear.

Maybe he really did plan to stay home today. Maybe this morning means something.

Your heart clenches with the smallest trace of hope.

Jungkook lets out a long breath and shifts onto his back, stretching his arms above his head before blindly reaching for his phone on the nightstand. His warmth leaves your side, the air turning cold almost instantly.

You watch as his expression shifts, sleep slipping away as his screen lights up. His brows furrow, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Then, with barely a glance in your direction, he mutters, "Shit, I need to get to the office."

The hope you held onto so desperately?

Gone.

You blink, your mind scrambling to catch up.

Maybe he's kidding. Maybe this is just one of his teasing games, the kind where he acts all nonchalant just to catch you off guard later. That’s how it used to be. Him pretending to forget something important, only to turn around and surprise you in a way that left you breathless.

So you wait.

You wait for the smirk to tug at his lips, for him to toss his phone aside and pull you into his arms. You wait for him to kiss you insane, to murmur a husky "Happy anniversary, baby," against your skin.

You wait for him to prove you wrong.

But he doesn't.

Jungkook swings his legs over the bed, rubbing a hand down his face before standing up. He moves through the motions—grabbing a fresh shirt from the dresser, checking his notifications again, already half-immersed in whatever work emergency is pulling him away.

The realization settles in. suffocating. He’s not playing. He’s not pretending. He really forgot.

And with that, the last flicker of hope inside you dies.

----

The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut barely registers in your mind. The faint rush of water follows soon after, but you’re still frozen in place, staring at the empty space where Jungkook was just moments ago.

Your fingers grip the sheets as you try to process it, try to make sense of the ache settling deep in your chest.

He forgot.

The thought circles endlessly, refusing to fade. It should be simple, just a mistake, something easily fixed with an apology. But it doesn’t feel simple. It feels like another crack in something that’s already been fragile for weeks.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, the screen lighting up with messages from friends and family. Warm wishes, sweet texts. All reminders of the day that Jungkook should have been the first to acknowledge. And of course, they must have messaged him too.

But you know the answer before you even have to question it. Jungkook has two phones—one for work, one for personal use. And these days, his personal phone sits untouched, collecting dust somewhere in the house while his work phone never leaves his side.

Your throat tightens.

Even if someone did remind him, would he have even seen it? Would it have even mattered?

You swallow hard, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes.

Maybe you should say something. Maybe you should remind him.

But a part of you, one that you don’t want to acknowledge—wonders if it even matters anymore.

You push yourself up from the bed, the weight in your chest making it harder than it should be. You don’t want to sit here, waiting for him to remember, waiting for an apology that might never come.

So you move. Just as you step toward the bathroom, the shower turns off. The door opens a moment later, as Jungkook steps out, towel slung low around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his toned chest.

For a brief second, your eyes meet. He looks at you, blinking away the last remnants of sleep, his expression unreadable. There’s no sign of realization, no flicker of guilt or hesitation. Just the same tired, distracted gaze you’ve been seeing for weeks.

You say nothing. Instead, you walk past him, entering the washroom to go about your usual routine. brushing your teeth, washing your face, anything to avoid the tightness in your throat.

The sound of the sink running is the only thing filling the silence between you.

By the time you step out of the washroom, Jungkook is already dressed for work. His tie is slightly loosened, one hand adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves while the other holds his ever-present work phone. He looks like he’s in a hurry, but that isn’t surprising. He’s been having breakfast at the office for weeks now—always rushing out, always too busy.

Still, you can’t grasp that he’s actually forgotten.

Some part of you still expects him to pause, to turn around and say something. But he doesn’t. He’s focused on his screen, scanning through emails like today is just another ordinary morning.

Your chest tightens. You need to look away before the emotions creeping up inside you spill over. So, you pretend.

You settle at the table, opening your laptop like it’s just another workday. Since you’ve been working from home for the past couple of months, this isn’t unusual—but today, it’s not about work. It’s about avoiding him. About keeping your head down so he doesn’t see the way your hands tremble slightly.

If you act normal, maybe it’ll hurt less. Maybe you won’t break in front of him.

And maybe, just maybe, if you pretend hard enough, you can fool yourself into believing it doesn’t hurt at all.

“Baby, can you help me with the tie?”

His voice is smooth- like every other morning before this one. Like today isn’t supposed to mean more.

You hesitate for half a second before standing up, walking towards him. Your fingers move automatically, looping the fabric, tightening the knot, straightening it against his crisp shirt. You should pull away the moment you’re done, return to your seat, to your laptop, to pretending like everything is fine.

But just as you step back, Jungkook’s hand catches your wrist.

Before you can react, he tugs you closer, his warmth enveloping you as his large hand cups the side of your face, fingers splayed against your skin like he’s memorizing the feel of you. His touch is tender, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek, his dark eyes holding yours for a beat too long. like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, for the first time in days.

Then, he kisses you.

Warm & lingering. Like he actually means it. Like he actually feels it.

“Need it for good luck,” he mumbles lovingly against your lips, his voice deep, hushed.

You blink up at him.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, offering a small smile. “Big deal with the Kims today.”

And just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your mind struggles to process, to understand how he can be like this. How can he kiss you like this and still not remember.

His mind is somewhere else. His thoughts, his focus—none of it is here. None of it is with you.

You force a smile, nodding wordlessly. Because what else is there to say?

----

Jungkook moves around the house, gathering his things- his wallet, his keys. You stay where you are, settled on the couch with your laptop open, pretending to be busy, pretending that your heart isn’t sitting heavy in your chest.

Just as he’s about to leave, he steps toward you, bending down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Love you,” he murmurs.

Before you can even respond, he’s already halfway through the living room, his focus elsewhere, his steps hurried.

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it.

You remember a time when things were different. When he used to whine, pout, and nudge you relentlessly if you didn’t say it back right away, just to tease him.

Flashback

The movie playing in the background had long been forgotten, the dialogue drowned out by the soft moans slipping from your lips. The purple neon glow cast dreamy hues across the living room, painting Jungkook’s skin in shades of violet as he moved above you.

His fingers laced tightly with yours, grip tightening slightly as his thrusts grew more desperate.

“J-Jungkook…” you moaned softly, nails digging into his hand.

He groaned against your neck, his breath hot, voice wrecked. “Fuck, baby…”

Your body arched beneath him, pleasure building to something uncontrollable. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, voice deep and rough, sending you tumbling over the edge.

You both unraveled together, gasping, shaking, holding onto each other like the world outside didn’t exist.

Jungkook pressed lazy, loving kisses all over your face, his lips brushing over your cheeks, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. “You alright?” he whispered.

You nodded, a sleepy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. But then he just stared at you. A little too long. A little too intensely.

And then, barely above a whisper, like a secret meant only for you—he said, “I love you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, a playful grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you bit down on them, trying to contain your smile. He’d been saying it more often lately, slowly getting used to voicing what he felt.

But when you took a second too long to respond, he groaned dramatically, dropping his head into the crook of your neck like a kicked puppy.

“Say it back,” he grumbled.

“What?” you teased, laughing.

Jungkook huffed, then playfully bit down on your shoulder, just enough to make you squeal.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice muffled against your skin.

Still giggling, you cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his nose. “I love you, you big baby.”

His grin was instant, arms wrapping around you as he pulled you even closer, like he could never get enough.

End of Flashback

Now, he just says it in passing. quick, thoughtless, already moving on.

The front door clicks shut, and just like that, Jungkook is gone.

You sit there, fingers motionless on your laptop’s keyboard as the weight of what just happened settles deep in your chest. He forgot. He kissed you, held you, told you he loved you, but none of it was because he remembered.

Is this what your relationship has become?

Work, work, work. Always work.

It’s not that you expect Jungkook to run behind you all the time, to ditch his responsibilities just to shower you with affection. Hell, you supported him through everything- through college, through late nights chasing his dreams, through every stressful moment leading up to him becoming CEO. You believed in him.

But what about your love? Your marriage? Communication?

You’ve been patient. Too patient. more understanding than any normal wife would be. And you know Jungkook. You know he loves you, would bring you the whole damn world if you asked. But then why—why are you beginning to question it all?

Jungkook stepped into the CEO position a few months ago. At first, things were fine. He handled it well, still made time for you. But then… everything became about work. Slowly, then all at once.

You can’t even remember the last time you had truly loving sex. Not that Jungkook doesn’t love you but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. There’s tension in his touch, frustration in the way he moves against you. It’s not the warmth, the desperation to be close to you like it used to be.

Is this how life is going to be from now on?

Sure, you could talk to Jungkook about your feelings. Tell him that the distance is starting to feel unbearable.

But when?

When he’s always checking his phone? When he barely even looks at you in the mornings? When you feel like you’re living with the CEO rather than your husband?

Well, happy anniversary to you.

----

Your gaze drops to your hand, to the delicate band wrapped around your finger.

Your wedding ring.

For the first time in a long time, you really look at it- tracing the intricate details, the subtle shimmer in the morning light. And suddenly, it feels… heavier. Like you’re only noticing the weight of it now, as if it’s trying to remind you of everything it once meant.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your fingers slip beneath the band, sliding it off. It’s only when the cool air brushes against your bare skin that it hits you.

Your breath catches, eyes widening at the sight of the ring resting in your palm. You hadn’t even thought about it—you just did it. And now, staring at the small, beautiful piece of jewelry, something inside you cracks. Tears gather before you can stop them.

Jungkook had spent weeks searching for this ring. Dragged you to countless jewelry stores, analyzing every cut, every design, obsessed with finding the perfect one. And no matter how many times you had told him that anything would make you happy, he had refused to settle for less.

"It has to be special," he had murmured against your temple the day he finally found it, slipping it onto your finger with the softest smile. "Because you’re special."

A broken sob escapes your throat as you clutch the ring tightly in your palm.

How did you end up here?

----

Jungkook leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he watches the final contract details appear on his screen. The deal with the Kims had gone smoothly, better than expected, actually. It should’ve been a moment of satisfaction, of relief.

Instead, he just drowns himself in more work.

The hours blur together, his coffee going cold beside him as he moves from one task to another. Another meeting. Another report. Another email. The same routine, the same cycle.

It’s later than evening when a familiar voice interrupts the quiet hum of his office.

“So you’re really here.”

Jungkook glances up, his fingers still typing as Taehyung steps into his cabin, arms crossed, a deep frown on his face.

“Hey, hyung,” Jungkook greets, barely looking away from his screen.

Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head playfully. “I really didn’t believe it when Yuna said you were still in your cabin.”

Jungkook blinks, confused. “Why?”

Taehyung gives him a look like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. “Y/N must really love you to let you work even today. My wife—dude, she would’ve killed me.”

Jungkook hums absentmindedly, still typing, still lost in work. “Mmm.”

Taehyung clicks his tongue, watching him for a second before letting out a chuckle. “Anyways, you’re still an asshole for working on your anniversary.”

Jungkook’s fingers freeze over the keyboard. The realization crashes into him all at once, like a punch to the gut, like ice spreading through his veins.

Fuck.

Jungkook’s fingers hover motionless over the keyboard.

His mind races to catch up with Taehyung’s words, but they don’t make sense. Not right away.

Anniversary?

No, that can’t be right. His brows furrow slightly as he glances at the date on his laptop screen.

November 22.

His wedding anniversary.

For a second, he just stares, as if the numbers might shift into something else, something that doesn’t prove what an absolute idiot he’s been. His heartbeat picks up, but his body doesn’t move. It’s like his brain refuses to register it fully, like if he doesn’t react, it won’t be real.

He’d forgotten.

Completely.

No hints, no reminders, no last-minute realization before heading out this morning. Just an entire day of emails, meetings, and a deal he had been so damn focused on that he hadn’t even spared a single thought for you.

His wife.

But—no, that can’t be right. He would’ve remembered. He should’ve remembered.

His jaw tightens, his mind scrambling for some excuse, some reason. anything to justify how this happened. But no matter how many ways he tries to twist it, the truth doesn’t change.

You had expected something. Of course you had. And Jungkook had given you nothing.

Taehyung’s voice barely registers now, his casual teasing just background noise to the way Jungkook’s pulse is starting to hammer against his ribs.

His wife. His love. His anniversary.

And he had let it pass him by like it was just another day.

How the fuck is he supposed to fix this?

Taehyung squints at Jungkook, waiting for some kind of reaction. When Jungkook stays quiet, his fingers frozen over the keyboard, Taehyung lets out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He leans forward, palms flat on Jungkook’s desk. “You just realized, didn’t you?”

Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Hyung, not now.”

“Oh, no. Especially now,” Taehyung shoots back, shaking his head. “Damn, man. Y/N must really love you to put up with this shit.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, his mind already spiraling. He checks the time—late. The entire day is gone. He’s spent hours sitting here, drowning himself in work while you—

Fuck.

He pushes his chair back abruptly, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. His coat is next, yanked from the back of his chair as he moves on instinct.

“Whoa, whoa.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “So now you care?”

Jungkook levels him with a glare, his voice lower, sharper. “Hyung.”

Taehyung lifts his hands in surrender, though his smirk lingers. “Go. Try not to get divorced on your second anniversary.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for another word. He’s already out the door, moving faster than he has all day.

And for the first time today, work is the last thing on his mind.

----

Jungkook’s mind races as he grips the steering wheel, his fingers tightening with every passing second. The city lights blur past, but all he can focus on is the suffocating weight in his chest.

How the fuck did he forget?

His phone vibrates in the passenger seat- probably another work email but for the first time in months, he ignores it. Instead, he swipes through his contacts, pressing the first name that comes to mind.

“Pick up, pick up,” he mutters, jaw clenched as the dial tone rings.

“Yes, Mr.Jeon?”

“Yuna.” His voice is rushed, urgent. “I need you to get me something. Flowers. A gift. Something big—just—fuck, anything.”

A pause. “Sir?”

“Now,” he snaps.

There’s a shuffle on the other end before his assistant hesitantly speaks again. “I…Mr.Jeon, it’s almost 10 p.m. Most places are closed.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. Of course they are. Because he’s too fucking late.

His grip tightens around the wheel. “Just—check. Call whoever. I’ll pay whatever.”

“Understood,” Yuna replies before hanging up.

What the fuck is he even doing?

No expensive gift, no overpriced bouquet, no last-minute grand gesture can erase the fact that he forgot. That he spent an entire day drowning in work while you—his wife, his love, the woman who has stood by him through everything—sat at home, waiting for him to remember.

His hands clench the wheel.

How much had he missed? How much had he ignored?

And the worst part—the part that makes his pulse spike, that has panic clawing at his ribs is the question he doesn’t have an answer to.

What if you’re done waiting?

Jungkook slams his foot down on the gas.

He’s not losing you. He won’t.

----

Jungkook steps into the house, and immediately, something feels off. The air is still. The silence stretches, suffocating, pressing against his chest. Almost all the lights are off, the space eerily empty, like no one has been here for hours.

His throat dries. “Baby?”

No answer.

He frowns, dropping his keys onto the counter with a sharp clink. His feet move quickly, checking the kitchen, the living room, even the hallway leading to the bedroom. nothing.

A weird feeling starts creeping up his spine. His heart beats faster as he strides toward the bedroom door, only to find the bed untouched, the sheets exactly the way he had left them this morning.

You’re not here.

His pulse spikes, a cold sweat forming at the base of his neck. His hands tremble as he yanks his phone out, immediately dialing your number.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three.

Straight to voicemail.

His stomach drops. A shaky breath escapes him as he stares at his screen, the call log mocking him with the lack of response. His fingers tighten around the device, his mind spiraling.

Where are you? At this time of night, alone- where could you have gone?

The walls feel like they’re closing in on him. His lungs strain for air.

Then, another thought claws its way in, violent and unwelcome.

Did you leave?

No. No. His chest tightens, his breath coming faster now. That’s not—that’s not possible. You wouldn’t just leave him. You wouldn’t—

He swallows hard, shaking his head. Don’t go there, Jungkook. Don’t even fucking go there.

But the panic is already curling around his ribs, suffocating, unrelenting.

You’re not here. And right now, that is the worst fucking thing in the world.

Jungkook’s fingers tremble as he redials your number.

Voicemail. Again.

“Fuck.” His breath comes out uneven, panic clawing at his throat. His hands are clammy, his chest tightening with every passing second. Where are you?

His mind is spiraling now, every worst-case scenario flashing through his head. His jaw clenches as he swipes to his contact list calling your friends.

Each time, the same response.

No, I haven’t seen her.

Did you check with—

Wait, what’s going on?

Jungkook grits his teeth, his hand tightening into a fist. His breathing is shallow, his pulse out of control. You weren’t with your friends. You weren’t picking up. You weren’t home.

And he still had no idea where you were.

Jungkook grabs his car keys with shaky hands, his mind racing. He doesn’t know where to go, doesn’t have a plan. All he knows is that he has to find you.

His feet move on instinct, carrying him toward the door. But just as he reaches for the handle, something catches his eye.

A small glint.

His breath stills. His gaze shifts toward the couch, and that’s when he sees it.

Your wedding ring.

Sitting there. Abandoned.

For a moment, everything stops. The pounding in his chest, the rush of his movements—everything.

The air in the room feels heavier, suffocating. His fingers twitch at his sides as he stares at the delicate band, his stomach twisting into something painful.

You never took it off. Never.

Jungkook swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He steps forward, slowly, almost cautiously, like touching it will somehow make this nightmare real.

His hand trembles as he picks it up, the cool metal pressing into his palm..

Jungkook stares at the ring in his palm, his vision blurring as a lump lodges itself in his throat. Tears burn at the corners of his eyes, his chest tightening painfully.

You wouldn’t just leave him like that… would you?

The thought alone knocks the air from his lungs. His grip on the ring tightens as his mind spirals, drowning in questions that only make the ache worse.

Were you thinking about this before today?

How long have you been feeling like this, so alone, so unloved that taking off your ring even crossed your mind?

A sharp breath escapes him, shaky and uneven. His knees buckle, and before he can stop himself, he’s sinking onto the floor, the weight of everything crashing down at once.

The ring feels heavier than it should, pressing into his palm like a cruel reminder of everything he’s neglected, everything he’s taken for granted. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling a slow, trembling breath.

He needs to find you. He needs to fix this.

Before it’s too late.

Jungkook exhales shakily, forcing himself to move. His legs feel unsteady, but he pushes through, gripping the wedding ring so tightly it bites into his skin.

Somehow, he manages to stand, his entire body tense with desperation. He stumbles toward the door, his heart pounding, his mind racing with every possibility of where you could be.

But just as his fingers reach for the handle—

The door swings open.

And there you are.

Jungkook freezes, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, everything stills. His panic, his thoughts, his entire world narrowing to the sight of you standing in front of him.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he moves.

He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. His grip is desperate, his hands fisting into your clothes, his entire body pressing against yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You stand there, stunned, your own arms hovering slightly, unsure of what just happened.

"…Jungkook?” your voice comes out confused, hesitant.

But he just clings to you, burying his face into your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin.

You don’t know what’s going on.

But Jungkook?

He feels like he just got his heart beating again. You feel the way his body trembles against yours, his grip impossibly tight, like he’s holding onto you for dear life.

Then, the sound reaches you. A broken, uneven breath, followed by the unmistakable hitch of a sob.

Your heart clenches. “Kook…” Your voice is soft, laced with worry as you try to pull back, just enough to see his face. But he doesn’t let you. His arms only tighten, his body curling into yours, as if letting go would physically hurt him.

Panic bubbles in your chest, your hands instinctively reaching up to cradle his face, your fingers threading into his hair. “Hey… what happened?” Your voice wavers slightly. “Are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

But Jungkook just shakes his head against your shoulder, another quiet, shaky breath leaving him.

You don’t understand.

But whatever this is, whatever’s breaking him like this—your own heart aches just watching him fall apart. Your concern deepens with every shaky breath that leaves Jungkook. He’s still clinging to you, his body trembling slightly, his face buried against your shoulder like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t know what’s wrong, but seeing him like this—Jungkook, your Jungkook—completely unraveling, is enough to make panic rise in your chest.

Gently, you pull back, your hands cupping his face. His skin is warm, slightly damp from his tears, and when his glassy eyes finally meet yours, your stomach twists painfully.

“Come inside,” you whisper, your voice softer now, coaxing. “Please.”

He swallows thickly, nodding ever so slightly, but his grip on you doesn’t fully loosen. You guide him inside anyway, one hand wrapped around his wrist as you lead him toward the couch.

He sits down heavily, elbows resting on his knees, fingers threading through his hair as he exhales shakily. His shoulders are still tense, his whole body radiating something raw and unspoken.

You kneel in front of him, reaching for his hands, but he doesn’t lift his head.

Your worry deepens. “Jungkook… please tell me what’s wrong.” Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. His fingers twitch against his temples, his breath uneven.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, cracking slightly. He swallows hard, gripping his knees. “I thought you left me.”

You blink, his words settling in, but it takes you a moment to fully process them.

He thought you left him?

Your brows furrow slightly as you shake your head. “Jungkook, I was babysitting Hanuel.”

His breath is still uneven, his hands gripping his knees like he’s trying to ground himself. His eyes flick up to meet yours, confused, searching.

“Hana and Seokjin had a date night,” you explain gently. “They asked me to watch him for a few hours.”

Hanuel, your neighbour's son. Jungkook stares at you, his body still tense, like his mind hasn’t caught up yet. You watch as his lips part slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the ring still clutched in his hand.

His fingers tighten around it, his knuckles paling. A beat of silence passes before he swallows thickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…Then why was this on the couch?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, fragile and uncertain, as if he’s afraid of the answer. And for the first time tonight, you don’t know what to say.

“I…” The word barely escapes your lips before you stand up, turning away from him. You can’t meet his eyes, not when your emotions are still raw, not when the weight of everything is pressing so heavily on your chest.

Jungkook notices immediately. Panic flickers across his face, and in an instant, he’s scrambling up after you. “Wait—baby, please.” His voice is desperate now, thick with emotion, his hands reaching out like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, stepping closer, his tone cracking under the weight of his own guilt. “I—fuck, I forgot—I don’t know how, I don’t even have an excuse, but—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his eyes glassy as they plead with yours.

“I never meant to make you feel like this,” he whispers. “I swear, I didn’t.” But you still don’t look at him. And that alone is enough to make his heart sink.

You swallow hard, your arms wrapping around yourself as you stare at the floor. His words, his desperation, his guilt—they all swirl around you, but they don’t erase the ache in your chest.

“Do you even realize how much this hurt?” Your voice is quiet, but the weight of it makes Jungkook flinch. “I spent the entire day thinking—hoping—that maybe you had something planned. That maybe you were just pretending to forget.”

Jungkook’s throat bobs as he steps closer, hesitating before reaching for your hand. You don’t pull away, but you don’t hold onto him either.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know I fucked up, baby. I—I was so caught up in work, I just…” He trails off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not an excuse. Nothing is. I should’ve remembered. I should’ve been there.”

You let out a hollow laugh, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “Jungkook… this isn’t just about today.”

His brows furrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You take a shaky breath. “It’s been weeks..maybe even longer—since I felt like your wife instead of just… someone waiting for you to come home.” Your voice wavers, but you push through. “And it’s not that I don’t understand. I do. I’ve always understood. But at what point do I stop being understanding and start being invisible to you?”

Jungkook’s breath catches, his grip on your hand tightening like he’s afraid to let go. “You’re not invisible,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “You never could be.”

“Then why do I feel like I am?”

Silence.

Jungkook shakes his head, his jaw clenching as he exhales unsteadily. “I never wanted to make you feel this way,” he murmurs. “You are everything to me, baby. Everything. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

Your eyes sting, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Then show me, Jungkook. Because I can’t keep being the only one fighting for us.” The vulnerability in your voice nearly breaks him.

He’s been losing you, piece by piece, for a while now. And he hadn’t even noticed.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, the weight of your words hitting harder than any argument, any fight you could have thrown at him. His grip on your hand tightens, but you don’t squeeze back.

He’s losing you.

And it’s not because of one forgotten anniversary—it’s because he hasn’t been here.

He swallows hard. “Baby…” His voice cracks, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, but you step back before he can touch you.

The distance, however small, is enough to make his chest ache.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice barely holding together. “When was the last time we sat down and had breakfast together? When was the last time you really looked at me—not just kissed me on the forehead before rushing out the door?” You shake your head, a bitter chuckle escaping. “When was the last time we made love without it feeling like you were trying to release your stress instead of loving me?”

Jungkook’s breath hitches.

You let out a slow exhale, your voice calmer now but even heavier with hurt. “I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need fancy gifts or a picture-perfect romance. I just… needed you to see me.”

His entire body feels cold. Because the truth is—he doesn’t have an answer.

He’s been so caught up in his responsibilities, his work, his stress, that he’s let the one person who has always been there for him slip through his fingers.

And the worst part? He didn’t even realize it was happening until now.

“Fuck.” His voice is raw, his hands running through his hair as he looks at you, really looks at you. At the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lips tremble slightly like you’re holding back everything.

His heart clenches painfully. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you hold his gaze for a long moment before whispering, “I don’t know, Jungkook. Did you?”

Jungkook's breath is unsteady, his chest rising and falling too quickly as he stares at you, at the distance between you, the weight of your words suffocating him.

He moves. Before you can react, his hands are cupping your face, his touch desperate, almost shaky. His forehead presses against yours as he exhales a trembling breath, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I see you,” he whispers, his voice raw, strained. “I swear to god, I see you, baby. I just..I lost myself somewhere along the way, and I didn’t even realize I was dragging us down with me.”

His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, a silent plea laced in his touch. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your heart clenches, but you don’t push him away. You should- you should make him sit with this, make him feel what it’s been like for you all this time. But then his grip tightens, his voice breaking.

“Please, baby.” His lips hover just above yours, not quite touching, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me it’s not too late.”

His vulnerability shakes you to your core.

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t want to lose us either, Jungkook,” you whisper. “But I can’t keep being the only one holding on.”

Jungkook shakes his head instantly. “You’re not. You won’t be.” His lips ghost over your forehead before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Let me prove it to you. Please.”

His desperation is tangible, seeping into every word, every touch. And for the first time tonight, you wonder if maybe, just maybe—he really does see you now.

Jungkook watches you, searching for something—anything in your eyes that tells him he hasn’t completely lost you.

Before doubt can settle in, he takes your hand, pressing it over his chest, right where his heart is hammering wildly. “Feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. Always.”

Your fingers twitch against his shirt, but you don’t pull away. You don’t move at all, just staring up at him, your expression unreadable.

He swallows hard. “I know I don’t say it enough. I know I don’t show it enough, but fuck, Y/n—” His hands tighten around yours, his voice barely above a breath. “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you.”

You let out a slow exhale, your gaze flickering, like you want to believe him. like a part of you does, but the hurt is still too fresh. So he gives you more.

“I’ll fix this,” he promises, his thumb brushing soft circles over your wrist. “Not with flowers, or gifts, or some last-minute bullshit—but with me. With us.”

His voice drops lower, thick with emotion. “Just tell me it’s not too late.” Your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak. Instead, you finally—finally press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the way his heart beats erratically beneath your touch.

It’s enough to break something inside Jungkook. His grip tightens as he leans in, his lips brushing against your temple, then your cheek—slow, hesitant, as if he’s still afraid you’ll slip away.

And when you don’t, when you let him, he exhales a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours once more.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Like if he says it enough, he can make up for all the times he didn’t. And maybe, just maybe—you’ll believe him again.

Jungkook’s breath is warm against your skin, his forehead still pressed against yours, his grip on you unwavering. His words linger in the air between you. raw, desperate, filled with a love that had always been there, even when he’d failed to show it.

You swallow hard, blinking against the tears clouding your vision. He’s waiting—watching you so intently, so hopelessly, as if your next words will either put him back together or completely shatter him.

You take a shaky breath. “Jungkook…” Your voice wavers, and his grip tightens instinctively. “I love you too.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, his entire body sinking slightly in relief. But before he can say anything, you continue. “But this hurt,” you whisper. “More than you realize.”

Jungkook stiffens, nodding quickly, his hands cupping your face again, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. “I know, baby. I know. And I hate myself for it.” His voice cracks, his jaw clenching before he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a second, exhaling slowly. “I don’t want promises, Jungkook,” you murmur. “I just… I need to feel like I matter to you again.”

His hands tremble slightly as they slide down, wrapping around yours. He lifts them to his lips, pressing gentle, reverent kisses to each of your knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

“You do,” he whispers. “More than anything. And I’m going to spend every damn day proving that to you.” His voice is steady now. no hesitation, no doubt. Just quiet, determined love. And though the ache in your chest hasn’t fully faded, something shifts.

Because this time, you don’t just hear him. You believe him. Even if just a little.

Jungkook presses another lingering kiss against your knuckles, his touch reverent, as if grounding himself in you. But before he can lose himself completely, you gently murmur, “Have you eaten?”

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He shakes his head, gaze still searching yours. “No… I—"

“Go freshen up,” you say softly, stepping back just a little. “We’ll eat together.”

His fingers twitch against yours, hesitating to let go, but eventually, he nods. With one last glance—like he’s making sure you’re really here, he pulls away and heads toward the shower.

While he’s gone, you move to the kitchen, setting out dinner in quiet contemplation. The ache in your chest hasn’t completely faded, but there’s something else now- a warmth that wasn’t there before.

----

By the time Jungkook emerges, hair damp, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants, you’ve already placed the food on the table.

He hesitates for only a second before joining you, sliding into his chair. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice softer now.

You nod, offering a small smile as you take a seat. The conversation is light, effortless. Jungkook fills the silence, stealing glances at you like he’s still memorizing you all over again. And through it all, his hand never leaves yours, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

After dinner, he helps with the dishes, working beside you in quiet understanding. The air between you feels lighter, yet still fragile, like something delicate being pieced back together.

Jungkook sets the last dish onto the drying rack, wiping his hands on the towel before turning to you. There’s a soft, almost hopeful look in his eyes, like he’s clinging to this moment.

You step away, hesitating for just a second before opening the refrigerator. Jungkook watches in silence as you carefully pull out the cake, placing on the counter, your fingers grazing the edges of the plate, before finally speaking.

“I…I’d made this.”

The words are quiet, but they hit harder than any raised voice ever could. Jungkook’s entire body stiffening as guilt crashes into him all over again. His eyes flicker to the cake- to the careful details, the effort, the thought you had put into it, for him. And suddenly, it feels like the walls are caving in.

His throat tightens. His fingers curl at his sides. He can’t look at you. He doesn’t deserve to. Tears gather in his eyes, blurring his vision, his heart breaking all over again, not just because he forgot today, but because he had broken you in so many ways without even realizing it.

And that? That’s something he doesn’t know how to forgive himself for.

“Jungkook..”, your voice barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the heavy silence like a knife.

He wants to look at you, wants to say something—anything, but he can’t. His head remains bowed, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, as if holding himself together takes everything in him.

You take a small step forward, the space between you feeling larger than it actually is. His silence is deafening.

“Jungkook,” you say again, a little firmer this time.

His lips part, a shaky breath slipping through, but no words come out. He wants to speak, to apologize again, to tell you how much he loves you, to somehow fix this- but his throat feels tight, his chest heavy.

He doesn’t know if words are enough.

“I… I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” Jungkook chokes out, his voice trembling as he finally speaks. His hands shake at his sides, his eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I’ve been an asshole—a terrible husband. I don’t even know how to make this right.” His breath stutters, his words spilling out faster now, raw and desperate.

“I wouldn’t even be surprised if you left me,” he continues, shaking his head. “You should’ve. You deserve better. I—I can’t believe I—”

“Jungkook.”

You don’t let him finish.

Instead, you reach up, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that have already begun to fall. His lips part in surprise, his rambling cut off as you rise onto your toes.

A gentle kiss on his lips.

Soft. Loving.

Tear-streaked and real.

Jungkook exhales shakily against your lips, his whole body melting into yours. His hands find your waist, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

The kiss is slow, there's no desperation, no urgency. Just you and him, emotions bare. Tears continue to slip down your cheeks, mixing with his, salty and warm, but neither of you pull away. Because in this moment, there’s no need for words.

Just this.

Just love.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing heavily, your tears still wet against each other’s skin. Jungkook’s grip on your waist is firm, like he’s grounding himself in your touch, afraid to let go. His lips part, like he wants to speak, but before he can, you whisper,

“You’re not a terrible husband, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes glisten with more unshed tears, his lips pressing into a thin line, unable to speak. You wipe his tears away with your thumbs, offering him the smallest smile. “Just… love me better, okay?”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, nodding again, more determined this time. “I will.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you believe him.

You press one last gentle kiss to his cheek before stepping back, glancing at the cake still sitting on the counter. “Come on,” you say, nudging him lightly. “Let’s cut this before it melts.”

Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, wiping at his face as he nods. He steps beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours again as you both move toward the small cake. The two of you cut into it together, Jungkook’s fingers lacing through yours around the knife handle. He doesn’t let go, even as you both take small bites in comfortable silence.

Once the plates are cleared, you tug at his wrist, nodding toward the bedroom. “Come to bed?”

Jungkook exhales, relief washing over his features as he nods. “Yeah.”

A few minutes later, you’re both under the covers, warmth surrounding you as Jungkook pulls you against his chest. His arms wrap tightly around you, his breath fanning against the top of your head as he whispers,

“I love you.”

This time, you don’t hesitate to say it back.

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep in his arms, where you’ve always belonged.

Jungkook’s fingers still tremble against your skin. Even as he holds you, his grip is laced with hesitance, a silent fear lingering beneath the warmth of his touch. It’s in the way his hands press into your back yet remain careful, as if he’s afraid of holding on too tightly.

You can feel the erratic thud of his heart beneath your palm, his breaths uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he’s struggling to keep himself steady.

And something about that, about him—makes your own heart ache.

Slowly, you lift your head from his chest, your eyes locking onto his in the dim glow of the room. His lips part slightly, his gaze unreadable, but the moment you lean in, his breath catches.

You kiss him.

It starts soft, so gentle, full of longing. Filled with everything you can’t put into words.

Jungkook melts into it instantly, his grip on you tightening, pulling you impossibly closer. The warmth of his lips, the slight hitch in his breath when you press harder. It sends a familiar heat curling through you.

The kiss deepens, your fingers gripping his t-shirt with urgency, needing to feel more. It’s desperate, heady, the space between you charged with something deeper than just want—something raw, something that had been missing for too long.

Jungkook pulls back gently. His forehead stays pressed against yours, both of you panting softly, but his hands shake slightly as they hold you in place.

His lips part, his breath uneven. “I… we shouldn’t…” He swallows hard, voice thick with hesitation. “I mean… I don’t want you to think I’m gonna fix this with sex.”

His words cut through the haze of warmth between you, grounding you both back in reality. You understand. Because even now—even now, he’s afraid. Afraid that this isn’t enough. Afraid that he isn’t enough.

Your eyes soften as you take in his hesitance, the uncertainty in his gaze, the way his breath trembles against your skin.

You reach up, your fingers threading gently through his hair. “I’m never gonna think like that, Kook,” you murmur, your voice quiet but sure.

His lips part slightly, his brows still knitted in concern, but before he can say anything, you lean in again. This time, the kiss is softer, filled with nothing but love.

You linger for a moment, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “I just… I need you.” Another soft kiss. “Please.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, his entire body shuddering under the weight of your words.

And just like that, whatever hesitation he had left—it’s gone.

Your breaths grow uneven as your lips move against his, the heat between you intensifying with every passing second.

Jungkook shifts, his body hovering over yours, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel him. His hands slip beneath the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing, his touch still hesitant, fingertips ghosting over your waist like he’s memorizing the feel of you all over again.

But you don’t want hesitation.

You tug at his shirt, a silent plea, and Jungkook obeys without question, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Before he can think, you pull him back in, capturing his lips in another deep, hungry kiss.

A quiet groan escapes him, his hands finally exploring freely, pressing against your skin, feeling the warmth beneath his palms. His lips leave yours only to trail down your neck, his breath warm as he presses soft, lingering kisses there.

You shiver when he reaches the collar of your shirt, your own hands moving to help him remove it. Dark, love-filled eyes roam over every inch of your skin, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s trying to find the words but nothing he could say would ever be enough. Still, he tries.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucking perfect.”

Your breath catches when he lowers himself again, his lips planting soft, reverent kisses along your collarbone, trailing lower over your shoulder, your chest. Your husband's mouth mapping you like you’re something sacred.

His lips slowly wrap around one breast, his tongue flicking teasingly before sucking softly. A moan escapes you, your fingers tangling into his hair, tugging lightly as he hums against your skin. His other hand moves to your neglected breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak as he keeps mouthing sweet nothings against you.

“You’re everything,” he whispers between kisses, his voice muffled against your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”

And as the heat between you builds, his touch grows bolder. A desperate whimper escapes your lips as your fingers tangle deeper into Jungkook’s hair, your body arching toward him, silently pleading for more.

He groans against your skin, the sound low and warm, vibrating through you. “Patience, baby,” he murmurs, pressing another lingering kiss to your chest before trailing lower, his lips tracing the curves of your body. “Let me take my time… let me make love to you.”

The way he says it, love—makes your stomach tighten, your heart aching as much as your body craves him. His hands glide down your waist, slow and purposeful, before slipping between your legs. His fingers find the damp fabric of your panties, pressing just lightly enough to make you gasp. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing his touch, and Jungkook groans at the feeling.

His dark eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission. You nod, unable to form words, and that’s all he needs.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he tugs your panties down, dragging them slowly along your legs before discarding them somewhere behind him. His gaze never leaves you as he lowers himself further, trailing kisses down your stomach, over the sensitive skin of your hips.

He settles between your legs. You feel completely bare under his intense gaze, the way his lips part slightly, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with something reverent, something devoted. His hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing along your skin in slow, soothing circles.

“My wife.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, making your core clench in anticipation.

Finally, he closes his mouth around you. One long, slow stroke of his tongue, and you fall apart instantly, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as your head tilts back against the pillows.

Jungkook hums against you, pleased, his hands gripping your thighs as he licks another slow, teasing stripe through your folds. “So fucking sweet,” he groans, the heat of his breath against your slick skin making your body tremble. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

He isn't just making love, he's devouring you.

Jungkook hums against you, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as his tongue moves with slow, deliberate strokes. learning you all over again, savoring every little gasp and shudder that escapes you.

“Jungkook—” Your voice is breathless, almost pleading, your fingers tightening in his hair, tugging him closer.

He groans at that, the sound reverberating through your core as he laps at you with more purpose. His tongue flicks over your clit, teasing, testing, before he sucks gently, making your back arch off the bed.

“Fuck—” You whimper, your thighs threatening to close around his head, but his strong hands keep you spread wide, completely at his mercy.

His lips brushing your sensitive skin as he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His lips are slick, his dark eyes burning with desire.

Your cheeks burn, he dives back in, this time with more urgency. His tongue moves in tight circles, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deeper, firmer licks that have your breath hitching.

One hand slides up your stomach, fingers splaying across your skin before reaching your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers. The combined sensation makes your thighs tremble, a moan tearing from your lips as your hips buck against his mouth.

Jungkook groans, clearly enjoying how responsive you are, his grip on you tightening as he eats you out like it’s his last meal. He flicks his tongue over your clit again, then sucks, harder this time, sending sparks shooting through your body.

“-fuck, Jungkook—” Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure builds, coiling tight in your stomach.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against you, “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

The heat inside you is unbearable now, hot and consuming. You nod desperately, your moans spilling freely as you grip his hair, your body teetering on the edge. Jungkook doesn’t stop. He pushes you closer, his mouth working you over with expert precision, his hands holding you steady as your body starts to tremble.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispers against your heat. “Let me taste you.”

And with one final flick of his tongue, you shatter. Pleasure crashes over you, your back arching, thighs trembling as you moan his name like a prayer. Jungkook groans, drinking in everything you give him, his hands stroking your body as he helps you ride it out.

Only when your body goes slack does he finally pull away, pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs, his voice thick with pride and adoration. “You’re so perfect,” he breathes between kisses, his voice thick with adoration. “My love. My wife.”

Jungkook moves up, trailing kisses along your body, over your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone. When he reaches your lips, he captures them in a deep, languid kiss, his hands cradling your face like you’re something fragile, something cherished.

Your fingers roam over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles before moving lower, brushing over his abdomen until you reach the hardness straining against his sweats.

A groan rumbles from his chest at your touch, his hips twitching into your palm as you cup him, feeling just how ready he is.

“Baby…” he breathes against your lips, voice thick with want. You tug at the waistband of his pants, wordlessly asking for more. Jungkook obliges, sitting back just enough to push them down, kicking them off entirely.

He’s fully hard, the sight of him making your stomach tighten, heat pooling between your legs again. But before you can even reach for him Jungkook takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The intimacy of it overwhelming.

His other hand moves between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, searching, making sure-

With a final nod from you, he pushes in, slow and careful, stretching you inch by inch.

A soft moan escapes your lips, but Jungkook kisses you instantly, swallowing the sound, his own groan muffled against your mouth as he sinks deeper. The moment he’s fully inside, he stills, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in. And as he holds you close, as your bodies mold together so seamlessly, you realize- this isn't just sex.

This is home.

Jungkook moves slowly, each roll of his hips deep and deliberate, as if he’s trying to make up for every moment he let slip away. His body is pressed flush against yours, warmth seeping into every inch of your skin, his breath shaky against your lips as he kisses you between each movement.

Your fingers dig softly into his back, nails pressing just enough to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensation of him. One hand moves to his hair, your fingers threading through the strands, tugging gently as his lips travel from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses that make your heart ache.

It’s slow, it’s deep, it’s love.

And then, suddenly, you feel it.

A faint tremble against your body.

Something warm and wet against your neck where Jungkook has buried his face.

Your breath catches as realization dawns- he’s crying. Tears gather in your own eyes without warning, the sheer weight of the moment crashing over you all at once.

You tighten your hold on him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you press a soft kiss into his hair. “Kook…” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

He shudders at your touch, at the way you hold him, like you’re not just letting him fall apart but falling apart with him.

“I—” His voice cracks as he exhales shakily, his thrusts faltering for a moment. “I’m so sorry, baby.” His lips find your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he presses kisses there—apology after apology, praise after praise.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs between kisses, his words thick with emotion. “You always have been.” A tear slips down your cheek as you cup his face, guiding him up until his forehead rests against yours.

“I know,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I know, Jungkook.”

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss slow and deep, his movements resuming, gentle but full of something raw, something unspoken. His hands grip your waist tighter, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, as if this moment is rewriting everything.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, voice laced with love. “I’ll always have you.”

Jungkook shudders, gripping you tighter, his lips pressing against your shoulder, his movements slowing but never stopping. You can feel the love in every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath against your skin.

And when the pleasure builds to its peak, you come undone together, your bodies melting into one as waves of warmth crash over you. His name spills from your lips, his deep groan following right after, his arms holding you so tight you swear he never plans on letting go.

Silence lingers, only the sound of heavy breathing filling the space. Then, Jungkook shifts, lifting his head just enough to press the softest kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse but full of devotion. “I don’t deserve you… but I swear, I’ll spend my life proving that I do.”

You cup his face, your thumb brushing away the remnants of dried tears. “Just love me like this, Jungkook,” you whisper, voice steady. “That’s all I need.”

His hands tightening around you as his forehead presses against yours. “I’ll love you more,” he vows, his voice breaking slightly. “More than this, more than anything. Always.” His words settle deep in your chest, warm and real, and when he pulls you impossibly closer, tucking you into his arms, you believe him.

His heartbeat is steady now, no longer frantic with fear. Just warm, solid, home.

As sleep begins to pull you under, you hear him whisper one last thing against your hair.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

---------------------------------------------------

[muntitled]

Protecting His Investment

Pairings: The Salesman x Fem!Reader

Summary: No one gets to hurt you except him.

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Language, Implied Violence, Age gap, God Complex, Brainwashing, Psychopathy, Murder, Blood, Gore, Codependency, Yandere!Salesman, Stalking, Smut (+18) mdni, Voyeurism, Blood Kink, Sadomasocism, Dom!Salesman, Sub!Reader, Choking, Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Blood Play, fingering, Massive Degradation Kink, Praise Kink, Sadism, Punishments, Dom/Sub Dynamics, Squirting, Overstimulation

A/n: I'm not responsible for the media you consume.

This can be read as a continuation of this fic but not strictly

“Shouldn't I be blindfolded?"

If it weren't for the silence simmering between you both, in this monotonous taxi drive, he might’ve not heard you at all and perhaps you should have been more careful with your choice of wording but you were feeling a tiny bit reckless this Wednesday afternoon. He hadn't ever offered to personally fetch you from campus, and you felt incredibly juvenile when you spotted him standing there like a dad, in his grown-up suit while his briefcase hung in his hands in front of him. You'd almost convinced yourself that you were imagining things. That somehow your obsession with the man who kidnaps you every Wednesday to fulfill all his messed up fantasies was truly taking a toll on your mental health.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he was real. And he had come to pick you up and you were feeling awfully giddy as he ushered you both into a taxi while a few of your peers stood and stared.

By now he would've blindfolded you. Keeping you completely clueless to the location he brings you to every Wednesday. See, your Salesman had myriad deep rooted issues. Mania. Sociopathy. Sadism. But the issue that irked you the very most was his inability to trust. Before you know it, you're pouting up a storm as you ask him. "Why aren't we using the blindfold today?"

He slowly removes his gaze from the window, where he had been pondering like the old man he is. He quirks up an eyebrow, letting the intensity of his attention wash completely over you.

"Would you like to be blindfolded?" He asks playfully. His eyes are sparkling with amusement and his lips are quirked up like it usually is when he's being sardonic. Still, you remain cautious as you lean forward. You send one quick glance to the taxi driver, wondering if you were being led in some kind of hearse on the road to your death.

"A-Are you going to kill me?" For the first time, cold, white fear ices the warm blood rushing through your veins. Come to think of it, he did seem far chirpier than usual. Perhaps that should have been your first warning. The flags were blood red but you were wearing rose-tinted glasses.

He only snickers before placing a heavy hand on your head, patting it down.

He doesn't answer you for the duration of the taxi drive, causing you to slip more and more into your thoughts of morbidity and despair. Why else wouldn't he blindfold you if not to end your life once you got there? It seemed dreadfully logical and so on-brand for him. He'd get bored of you sooner or later and then he'd dispose of you. There'd be no need to blindfold you any longer while he took you to his place because you'd soon become a corpse and-

"Doll." The voice cuts through the chatter filling your brain. All at once, the car has stopped, and warm air rushes into the interior as he holds the door open for you. "Get out of the nice man's car." He jests politely, quickly prompting you to unbuckle your seatbelt and scramble out of the taxi.

The second you're out he walks ahead of you. The building that comes into focus before you have your brows crinkling.

You quickly catch up to him, gazing up at his monotonous face. "Why are we here? You never come to my house."

He doesn't respond as you both walk into the foyer. He walks briskly and powerfully, like a man on the move while you send a small wave to the security manning the front desk. You both enter an empty elevator and he presses a button without you ever having to tell him which floor.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

He lowers his gaze to you, one eyebrow quirked up.

"You only die when you disappoint me and as of late," he stares directly ahead, "You haven't disappointed me."

The elevator dings and he steps out. You follow him like a puppy without a leash. "In fact I'd say your work ethic as of late has been-" he blows out a long sigh as he makes it your apartment door- recalling all the weeks you two have spent together in vivid kaleidoscopic images. All the pain you let him inflict on you and pleasure he'd offer as a reward.

"-nothing short of stellar. I'm proud of you." He punches in the code to your apartment and you both enter. The curtains are drawn shut because your roommate hates sunlight. You preferred it but there was no communicating with something like her.

He kicks off his shoes at the door.

"What are we doing here?" You ask nervously, "My roommate will be back soon and she isn't very nice."

"We won't be playing at my place today." He says finally meeting your wild and nervous eyes. He seems so lax and so in control. "We'll be playing here."

"B-But my roommate."

"Is that why you were crying?" His gaze keeps you rooted to the floors, unable to move even if you wanted to, "Because of your roommate?"

"Crying? I wasn't crying-"

"Back at the university," he says, casually removing a microscopic piece of lint from his grey blazer, "Your head was beant and you looked up at me with bloodshot eyes." His eyes shine with amusement as he says, "Usually with our sessions, the crying only comes later on." Then he quirks his head and asks, "What happened?" There's a bang somewhere in the apartment and your head snaps forward. Your eyes scan over the adjoining living room and kitchen but he seems unfazed.

"It's stupid-" you shake your head, "Like who even still gets bullied in uni?"

You laugh pitifully, leaning against the nearest wall. He stands tall before you. A brick wall.

"Your roommate's threatening to kick you out of this apartment to move her boyfriend in?" He asks before adding, "Again."

Your head snaps up to him, "H-How-"

In that moment, he turns rather robotically, making his way deeper into your home. It's clean. Thank God.

"You don't realize how chatty you get when you're about to orgasm." He says before stopping right outside your closed bedroom door.

"My roommate- she... decided last night that- well- she would really like her boyfriend to live here instead-"

"Without consulting you first?" He clarifies, staring blankly ahead at the door, listening very attentively.

"Y-Yes without consulting me." You bring your hand to the doorknob, on your way to open it but he stops you with an iron grip around your wrist. You wince.

“Continue talking.” He says and you do.

"This morning they both kinda sprung on me that they'd like to be living here now. She went behind my back and already placed the deposit down our landlord, well," you clear your throat. "I might be homeless soon." You laugh but then swallow very thickly as the gravity of the situation falls onto your shoulders.

"And still you decided to have our sessions today?"

"If you'll have me," you nod.

"Remarkable." He replies. "Well I've never been very fond of my things or my toys getting dirty." He begins mysteriously as he places his hand directly over yours on the doorknob.

"Pardon?"

"I can't have my favorite toy living out on the street. Who knows what kind of animals would try to rape you or drug you or fucking stick their slimey dicks inside you-" he turns the doorknob, clicking your room open.

You're not even sure when this started happening. These 'private sessions' with your Salesman that quickly bled into something much more concerning. Before you knew it, he was seeping into your brain, polluting you with obsession. There had never ever been anyone else involved.

"What the hell did you do?" You ask, slowly entering your room to find two chairs placed directly in front of your bed. As soon as you enter, you hear the blood curdling, muffled screams being ripped from the throat of the two people strapped to those chairs.

"I'm protecting my investment," Says your Salesman as he pushes the door closed behind you.

Your feet feel like lead as you watch them and their panic-stricken eyes. There in front of you, they sit opposite one another, both with a haggard countenance and tears streaming down their cheeks.

At the sight of you, your roommate screams something horrid but it's muffled by the gag placed in her mouth, a gag the shape of a dog bone.

He's there too. The boyfriend. He's not as loud or as frantic as she is but he's significantly startled. His eyes are wild and vacant. The same gag.

"Oh my god-" you begin but he cuts in front of you, making his way to the couple seated across from each other.

"We're all gonna play a game- a quick one," He says, "Can't play for too long because I've been dying to get inside you since I saw those pretty little bloodshot eyes."

"Sir- I"

If you knew his name you might've screamed it in this moment. 'Sir' is your only point of reference to address the manic man in front of you.

This isn't right.

Right?

You're so confused, you barely register than you've thought out loud. It hits you as he slowly shrugs his blazer off.

"What isn't right is them thinking they can rape this apartment from underneath you." He says, folding it and placing it meticulously over your desk.

"I- have neighbors!?" You begin but he has a plan for that too.

"I had your room soundproofed since our first session." You're pushed into even more confusion.

"WHAT!? When did you even-"

"While you were at school-" he says before uncovering a handgun from his briefcase. A handgun and a silencer.

"Point is, Doll, I'm going to need you to play a game for me, ok?"

"DOLL!?" Comes your roommates' mortified and muffled cries.

"I need you to make one tiny decision for me." He says, screwing on the silencer onto the barrel of the revolver. It strikes you then that even when the mask is off, and the worst workings of his personality are on display for all to gaze upon, you still find him breathtakingly attractive.

"If-" tears burn the back of your throat, "If this room is soundproof why-why do you need a silencer?"

"I'm nothing if not a cautious man, you know this." Then his expression turns very grave and very dark as he says. "Don't you?"

“Yes, Sir,” you reply almost automatically. Like your need to respond to him- to please him, greatly overpowered your moral compass. “You're extremely cautious.”

Your roommate releases a shrill noise from the very back of her throat, her eyes pleading with the humanity she desperately tries to find in yours.

“Out of these two, he's my least favourite,” Your Salesman says, standing beside you. Eyes wild as he points his gun to the boyfriend's head.

“But this isn't about me,” he turns to face you, slowly dragging you gaze away from the victims that had once been your tormentors. You look up at him with a broken sob slipping through your lips. “I need you to choose.”

There it is.

His words seem to detonate what little fate you had in his humanity. There is nothing in his eyes except hedonism and violence.

"I'm going to have you to choose very quickly, baby-”

You're already shaking your head as frazzled braids tickle your shoulders. Your eyes find theirs and you immediately say, “I'm not going to do it.”

When you look at him again, you're almost horrified to find the smile that had once been on his face, completely wiped away. His face is a shadow and it strikes you way more than anything ever has. Something in you scolds you. It gnaws at you to make things right.

“Don't do that.” He says darkly. “Don't disappoint me.”

His hands -one still holding a gun- moves to cup both your cheeks. He cranes your neck further back, gazing deeply. “I can't have you living on the street.”

“You don't have to kill anyone-”

His jaw ticks, “Pick.”

“Sir…”

“You're disappointing me.”

All it takes is those three words to have your world crashing to the floor. Tears blur your vision as you raise a trembling finger.

“Him. I pick him.”

It's the first time you realized that you were brimming with codependency

Or stupidity.

Or maybe both

“That's a good girl.” He coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The father you never had.

He lets his eyes meet that of the boyfriend who is shaking and writhing in seat.

“What a good fucking girl I have, wouldn't you agree?” He asks the boyfriend yet he only cries and cries and cries. Meanwhile, you're bathing in the warm, milky words of praise.

"I suppose you wouldn't be able to agree to much in a second-"

He raises the gun.

Wait-" but the trigger is already pulled, and the bullet slices through the air and the deed is done.

It's remarkable how fast it travels. The speed of the bullet. Like it's competing with light itself. One moment his head is there and his brain is inside it, functioning like usual and the next moment, it's splattered all across my bedroom wall, coating your stuffed animals and drenching your pink bedding.

“You killed someone…”

“We killed someone, and you did such a good job. Now we're real rich people-”

You shake your head.

“Oh my fucking god we killed someone-”

It's stupid, but the first thought that comes to mind is-

“How- How am I gonna get the stain out!?”

“I'll get you new sheets, Doll, I promise…”

Meanwhile the roommate is crying and screaming her throat hoarse. You watch gravely as vomit soaks her gag.

“That's fucking disgusting.” He says before turning back to you. A spray of blood scatters across the side of his handsome face. He'd just committed murder and yet you still describe him as handsome.

“You're not disgusting at all.” He says, “You're so clean and beautiful.” His large hands rub over your face. “And now this apartment's yours. Ours. Maybe.”

Ours.

That word somehow affects you more than the murder you'd just lay witness to. It has you staring up at him with grateful, love-filled eyes. You're still scared but, you were his. And that was a powerful feeling. You'd never belonged to anyone before. Certainly not any man as handsome or smart as this. This isn't rose-tinted glasses anymore, it's rose-tinted vision.

“We killed someone.” You say. Solidifying the fact that you were a couple.

Your heart rages in its cage when his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

“Fuck yes we did,” he moans before smashing his lips down onto yours. Confusion and discomfort wage a terrific and bloody war inside you as he kisses you absolutely dizzy. Your insides are swirling and your stomach is turning at the sight of the blood drenching your walls.

he tips your head up, forcing his tongue in and he moans when you let him. Your tongues touch and coax and he pulls you in close.

“You know how good you looked when I picked you up earlier, Doll? I loved seeing those bloodshot eyes of yours.” He mumbles, “I just hated not being the one to make you cry.”

You sob something awful. The sound escapes you while your lips are still plastered to his.

“But this is all me,” he says proudly, gazing down at your watery eyes as he pins you up against the wall. “This is all me.”

Your roommate sits in a daze. Over his wide shoulder, her eyes stare blankly into yours and you almost find yourself mouthing the words 'I'm sorry'.

Almost. But you never do.

Your brain is too clouded by feelings of fear, regret, pleasure and… satisfaction. In your defense her boyfriend really fucking sucked.

"Take this off." He groans, lowering his large build to the floor to shove your shorts and underwear down. Undressing you almost formally as he lifts your one leg out followed by the other.

Your eyes are still on her.

Every vile word she's said to you. Every occasion she'd bring her equally cruel friends over and they'd gossip about you loud enough for their words to carry through the walls.

You realize very gravely that your care is waning.

That humanity that was still left inside you is thinning.

And he's pressing wet kisses against your legs, worshipping the soft cellulite at your thighs.

A man in a suit at his knees for you and she's forced to watch.

It makes you feel so-

"Fucking beautiful, fuck." He groans.

The more riled up he is, the less care he gives to how crass his language becomes. As if trapped in a daze, with your eyes still on your tormentor -your bully- you hook your fingers into his hair. Parting your legs you lead his mouth to your exposed cunt and he slurps you up for all your worth.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he eats you out with vigor. He flattens his tongue and suctions his mouth against your clit, causing a deep and guttural moan to spill from your lips.

He pulls back, breathing raggedly, "Fuck my face," he commands, before placing both hands on your ass, enough to have your cunt riding his open mouth. It feels so fucking good your eyes are stinging with tears. You let them fall because you'd know he'd appreciate it. He appreciates every tear in your confidence. Every waver in your air-tight judgement. It undoes him completely to see you so fucking pathetic.

He looks up at you while you're riding him. Those morally black eyes are urging you to hump his face and you do.

At the sight of your tears falling his nails dig into your ass and you moan more. All the sounds you're able to make are in intelligible sounds of pleasure. But you force yourself to come to your senses. Just long enough to whisper

"Th-Thank you, Sir,"

He stills. Completely stunned.

You come. It crashes down on you all while your roommate tries to squeeze her crying eyes shut, shaking her head as if trying to delude herself into believing none of this is real.

"You are fucking fire, you know that?" He croaks, slowly rising. You're breathing oh so quickly and it only speeds up at the sight of your arousal casting his jaw.

“I wanna fucking hurt you so bad. I wanna eat you. I wanna fuck you. I wanna do so many unspeakable things to you- you're so perfect.”

He throws one more gaze over his shoulder. His almond eyes scan over the body, then the girl and he groans, furiously undoing his belt.

"How the fuck did I get so lucky?” he says, almost to himself.

"Answer me." He presses his body firmly against yours, until your spine is straight against the wall. "Fucking answer me when I talk to you."

He growls before bringing a hand up to your chin. It's painful the way he grabs you, but you're so used to pain. It lives here now. Between you both.

"I-I- don't know-" you really don't know and he melts at that.

"I'll tell you how, Princess. " he wraps your leg around his waist, "People like me- people we call crazy and evil-” His eyes are so wide, his smile too. -we get nice things. And people like that-" he quirks his head backwards, “The weak? Those people on the streets, they die.” He says, grinding his cock agaisnt your cunt, “And we don't die, yeah?"

"Oh fuck." You're seeing stars when his cock sinks into your cunt. It's hard and raging and he's already doing multiple shallow thrusts to force it deeper. "S-So big-" you can't talk, you hardly ever can when he's like this. Fucking you into an absolute frenzy.

"You gonna squirt for me, Doll?” he grits his teeth, hips stuttering as he ravages you against the wall. "F-Fuck." Some

“She's a really good squirter-” he turns his head to watch your roommate over his shoulder. Her head is slumped forward, she's fainted perhaps.

After weeks of trying to impress him, to show him that you were not the weak little thing he had first kidnapped- you realize it's paid off. He caveman grunts as he fucks you deeper and harder and a cry rips itself from your throat.

“Y-You want me?” You ask with trembling lips.

“Baby,” he breathes directly into your mouth. “I need you.”

"F-Fuck-" your orgasm sneaks up on you and he watches with immense gratification as you come undone on his cock.

“You're making a mess on my cock-” clear liquid streams out of hou, threatinging tk lush his cock out but he fucks you through it.

“Gonna fucking cum inside you, baby. You're gonna take it, aren't you? My good girl's gonna fucking take it,” he throws his head back as his eyes flutter closed and soon he's fucking spurts of warm cum into you.

It fills you completely until the mess is coating your thighs. Through your wave of endless euphoria you see stars, the planets and him in the very centre of it all, guiding you and coaxing you through the bountiful high.

Even when he's done, his cock is still nestled deep inside you, pushing you over the brink of stimulation.

"You're very promising.” He admits, “Always have been.”

© to @muntitled on tumblr; do not repost

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - modern!au, kidnapping, stalking, semi-public masturbation, and toxic relationship dynamics.

Thinking about Crime-Lord!Sukuna, who's literally never jerked off. Not before he meets you, at least.

He just doesn't have a reason to. He's never had much of a sex drive, and even in a world without cursed energy, he still finds that he'd rather fight than fuck the grand majority of people he meets. He's not a virgin or anything - a handful of drunken nights with Uraume made sure he wouldn't be carrying around that title for the rest of his life. That doesn't mean he's some loser who needs to have his dick in his hand every five seconds, though. He's got more self-control than that, more dignity.

Or, he's trying to have more dignity. You're so fucking loud - barely bothering to try and hide the fact that you're still crying twenty minutes after he gruffly admitted that you wouldn't be going home, tonight. You've got yourself huddled against the car door, trying to take up as little room on the bench seat you currently share with him as possible. There aren't interior handles, he's got a driver for that kind of shit, but your hand darts out to look for one every couple of minutes, every time the car dips to a speed that might let you jump out relatively unscathed. Like you think he wouldn't be prepared for that. Like you think you're just some unlucky random he decided to haul out of his own goddamn club on a whim.

It's loud. It's annoying. Honestly, it's a little insulting. It's not like you couldn't feel him staring you down every time you stepped into his fucking front-of-a-business, like you hadn't noticed he's only ever in the building when he knows you're already there. It's your own damn fault. If he could trust you not to shake your ass for anyone willing to watch, he wouldn't have had to do this. If he thought you were ever going to pull your head out of the clouds long enough to so much as glance in his direction, he wouldn't have had to force you to.

Like he said - it's annoying. Annoying, and really fucking hot.

He can feel the strain against his slacks, the damp heat crawling down his spine. There's another thirty minutes 'till you get back to his apartment, and every fractured whimper that makes it past your lips is another bolt of agony straight to his cock. You're not going to shut up, so he grits his teeth and bites the bullet - tearing open his fly and freeing his cock. The damn thing was already stiff enough to press into his stomach, to drool over the back of his hand as he clumsily wraps a fist around his shaft. There has to be something wrong with him, with you. He's too sensitive, barely able to flex his hand without feeling the ache in his stomach. Pre-cum drips down his wrist, spilling onto the leather of his seats. Great. Now he has to find time to get the car detailed, too.

He forces his hand to move, pumping robotically from head to base. His attentions moves involuntarily to you, still huddled as far from him as possible, still trying to bite back the little sobs and whines that got him into this, in the first place. The only difference is that, now, your eyes are glued to his lap, your lips parted and your expression horrified. That doesn't help. He pictures you making the same face as he carries you into your new bedroom, all deep velvets and barred windows, as he explains that you're his, now. It's enough to have his cock twitching his hold, demanding friction his awkward, faltering pace can't provide. He curses under his breath, throwing your name into the blend of foul words. It couldn't be enough for you to ruin his fucking life, to force him to spend the last few months on the wrong side of a leash you didn't even know you were holding. No, no, you had to make him humiliate himself while you-

"You're doing it wrong."

When he snaps out of his thoughts, he finds you - now uncurling, brows furrowed in concern and lips pursed. You rest a hand on his bicep, and when he doesn't shove you away, you slide into the seat next to him, wrapping your hand gingerly around his own.

"It's supposed to be, uh, more delicate. With more of an angle." Your voice is light, soft, just a little raspy. There's still a hiccup every now and then, but you seem distracted - a crying child lured out of their tantrum with the introduction of a new, more interesting game. "You're going to hurt yourself."

"Shut the fuck up," he mutters, and you hum, rubbing the pad of your thumb over his tip in slow, deep circles. When you move his hand, it's with intention - slower towards the head, faster towards the base, the heel of your palm grinding into the underside every so often. Sukuna throws his head back, shutting his eyes. You don't seem to notice, thoroughly captivated by your shiny new toy.

He always knew you were going to be the death of him.

He just hadn't thought you'd get around to it so fucking fast.

[beloveds-embrace]

the fae animals ask made me kinda have some confidence of the fae boys being able to appreciate and care about even readers soft and more human qualities.

I hope the boys become desperately obsessed with both her strong more far likeness but also have a crisis realizing that they like her softness. I think some panicking is deserved on the boys part. I am still partial to our boys

also I think reader need some others in her corner and the fae animals are such lovely supports.

masterlist || cw: neglect and angst but it’s getting better trust me

It started, as most catastrophes do; with something terribly, innocently mortal.

A scarf, of all things.

It was nothing of note- no glamour woven into the threads, no whispering enchantments stitched along its hem. Just wool, soft and worn, hand-dyed in a shade of pale lavender that clashed horribly with the obsidian and ivy of your usual wardrobe. But you wore it regardless, looped twice around your neck as you wandered barefoot through the frost-touched gardens, your breath blooming into the mist.

Simon saw you first; he’d stepped from one of the doors, summoned by a courtier’s sniveling request, only to stop dead beneath the frostglass archway. The trees were alive with quiet, with fireflies and will-o-wisps watching from between the thorns- but none moved as you crumbled honeyed bread in your palm, scattering it over moss and stone.

He did not expect the birds that came for you.

Iridescent and shimmer-feathered, their glassy eyes gleamed like dew-wet gems. Birds that usually only sang for moonblood offerings or circled above dying kings- Simon remembers seeing them when Queen Mother publicly slaughtered the late King- came when you called, soothed by your voice as you hummed something heartbreakingly human.

And now, you scolded one when it snapped too eagerly at another. “Mind your manners! There’s enough for everyone!”

Simon nearly groaned aloud. Not from annoyance- but from the pressure building in his chest. Like a curse long slumbering. He needed to pull you close, squeeze your soft safe between his hands- ugh.

You were not cloaked in fae glamour. You did not drip moonlight from your lashes or speak in riddles.

And yet… all the old trees leaned subtly toward you; he didn’t tell the others of that, nor of this occasion, and instead cradled in the space between his ribs just for himself.

But things like you- tender, strange, human- don’t stay hidden long. Not when you were the Queen.

The next week, Johnny found you curled into the window seat of the great hall. Sunset painted molten gold across the high walls, catching in the floating motes of pollen-dust that always drifted lazily through the wings of the palace, especially in spring. You were barefoot again, your legs tucked beneath you like a child’s, nose buried in a battered mortal book whose cover had long since faded.

You were snorting with laughter- head tossed back, a hand slapping your knee like you couldn’t help it. The crown you’d worn that morning, spiked with garnets and bone, lay forgotten on a nearby table, half-buried under a folded shawl of spider-silk.

Johnny was halfway across the hall before he realized he was moving. He stopped only when your laughter faded and you turned, eyes crinkled and warm, still in the cozy world within your book.

He fled.

And sulked about it for the rest of the day. He was a creature of battle, of storms and songs sung in blood. A King’s advisor. He was not supposed to be enchanted by the softness of your laugh, the little crinkles in your eyes. Yet it was all he could see whenever he closed his eyes for the new hours.

It got worse when Kyle caught you in the kitchens; the palace’s heart at night was strange- lamplit with flame-flowers that opened only after sundown, their petals flickering like winking eyes. Everything pulsed with magic, every door could lead to a dream or a trap. Yet there you were, barefoot again (why were you always barefoot? Did you maids not ensure your comfort?) sneaking across tiled mosaics made from the bones of long-dead sea beasts, clutching a slice of chocolate cake like it was sacred.

Kyle froze. The moth that lived in your sleeve- the little beast could change its size- blinked sleepily at him. You looked up, wide-eyed, and your sheepish grin dimmed but you still held on and raised your chin.

“… You won’t tell?”

He gave you another piece.

Then sat outside your door later that night, staring up at the star-swallowed sky, and didn’t sleep a wink. Glowy and Thrain kept him company by glowing and growling at him, respectively.

John, then, watched you handle the court with a precision that could slice a man in half. You were everything they’d hoped a human queen wouldn’t be- poised, unreadable, willing to he adorned in thorns and black petals that whispered curses in dead languages, not making enough mistakes for them to consider throwing you back to the human kingdom. The fae bent for you, even when they didn’t want to. Because you were a good Queen- and you were slowly gathering supporters.

And then he found you, days later, curled in an oversized dress by the fireplace in your study.

You weren’t weeping. But your eyes were red, and Thrain, your antlered beast, had curled around you like a fortress, one massive antler tipped toward the fire. Your giant moth rested across your shoulders, wings twitching dreamily as it glowed soft golden light.

You looked up at him and said, in the voice of someone who had not spoken all day- who had no one to speak to all day:

“I didn’t think it would end that way.”

You said no more after that, but it was just enough to crack open the hollowed, ancient stone of his heart.

They all began to spiral after that, unsurprisingly. Curse you and your frustrating, beloved humanity.

Johnny wouldn’t wear anything you hadn’t touched, and even better if it held the scent of your soaps and perfumes. Kyle started leaving small gifts on your desk- tiny, enchanted things, but useful, and he smiled when he saw you using the little quill that liked to dance across parchment. Simon wouldn’t let anyone stand within a breath of you if they weren’t announced, glaring from behind like death incarnate- as if Thrain wasn’t enough.

And Price began to carry your scarf.

Not visibly, never that. But in the inside pocket of his coat, tucked like a relic he didn’t dare speak of. He’d raise it occasionally, when he was left alone-

And simply kiss its soft wool, and imagine to himself it was your forehead. It woukd suffice until he fixed this terrible mistake they’d made in their treatment and seclusion of you.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Slowly…

Bucky and Y/N have been dating for a while, but have yet to explore anything more intimate than making out like teenagers. Maybe things will change when Bucky finally faces his fears.

Warnings: smut. Oral f!recieving. Protected p in v sex. Slight fear of intimacy. Touch starved Bucky?

The hum of the Stark Tower HVAC system was basically white noise.

Bucky Barnes sat sprawled across the couch, one arm looped loosely around Y/N’s shoulders, the other cradling a steaming mug of chamomile tea. Both of them contently sleepy. The windows stretched tall across the living room wall, casting gold-tinged light from the setting sun over the exposed brick and sleek furniture, remnants of Tony’s compulsive over-design.

Y/N, nestled into Bucky’s side with a blanket tugged over both of their legs, sighed softly. Her head was tucked perfectly beneath his chin, like it belonged there. Bucky liked that. He liked that a lot more than he’d ever admit aloud. Especially since Sam would absolutely never let him live it down if he caught wind of Bucky Barnes being the little spoon. Again.

“You know,” Y/N said, voice low and thoughtful, “you’re actually not as terrifying as everyone makes you out to be.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, lifting his mug in mock salute. “Thanks, doll. I’ll make sure to update my LinkedIn.”

She laughed against his chest, the sound vibrating into his sternum and tugging a rare, genuine smile from him. “No, seriously. You’re... sweet. You hold the door open. You bring me coffee just the way I like it. You’re weirdly obsessed with The Great British Bake Off.”

“I plead the Fifth.”

“Oh, come on. You cried when Rahul won.”

He groaned, tilting his head back against the couch and covering his face with the vibranium hand. “I didn’t cry. I just - had feelings. That’s normal. Rahul is a very talented man.”

“You’re soft.”

“I’m six feet tall and made of war crimes.”

She snorted. “You’re my soft war crime.”

“Jesus Christ.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. The kind that only came after months of slow trust-building, of soft confessions over late-night tea, of tentative hand-holding and the quiet awe in Bucky’s eyes when she didn’t flinch away from the cold press of metal fingers. It wasn’t perfect, Bucky still had nights where he woke up gasping, sweat-soaked and angry at ghosts only he could see, but Y/N never left. Never treated him like he was broken or dangerous. Just… human.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed being seen as human until she came along.

“You ever think about…” Y/N began, then paused, fingers tracing idle shapes along his thigh. “Us. Like, going further?”

Bucky blinked, the words taking a second to register through the sleepy haze.

“Further?”

She tilted her head to glance up at him, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Like… more than just kissing on your couch and pretending we don’t both want more.”

Oh.

Bucky’s breath hitched, but not from discomfort. Not exactly. More like the entire world had suddenly gone still and very, very focused.

He’d thought about it. Of course he had. He was a hundred and six years old, not dead.

But there was always a wall. Not one she had built. Y/N had never rushed him, but one he’d carried with him since Hydra carved up his mind like Thanksgiving turkey. Intimacy meant vulnerability. And vulnerability had always gotten him hurt or used.

“I do think about it,” he said finally, voice soft. “All the time, actually.”

Y/N shifted slightly, giving him room to see her expression. She looked open. Patient. Like she wasn’t expecting anything except honesty. That helped. That grounded him.

“But I also think about messing it up,” he admitted. “I think about what if I freeze up? Or what if I have some flashback in the middle of it and ruin everything?”

“You wouldn’t ruin anything,” she said immediately. “You could never ruin this.”

He wanted to believe her. Hell, part of him already did. But old instincts didn’t die easily. He reached for her hand with his metal one, letting their fingers twine together. That felt real. Solid.

“I guess I just need to know you’re okay with taking it slow. That you don’t feel like you’re waiting for me to turn into someone else.”

Y/N’s smile was soft and fierce all at once. “Bucky, I didn’t fall for the Winter Soldier. I fell for the guy who leaves sticky notes on the fridge reminding me to drink water. Who calls Sam ‘bird brain’ like it’s a love language. Who watched all three Lord of the Rings movies with me even though he thought Frodo should’ve just used the eagles.”

“Don’t tell me I was wrong.”

She laughed, then leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m okay with slow. I’m okay with whatever pace you want. I’m here because I want you.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, tension he hadn’t realized he was holding bleeding from his shoulders. “Okay,” he murmured. “Then yeah. Maybe we take that step. Sometime soon.”

A beat.

The quiet stretched out like a warm blanket, thick with anticipation. Bucky’s thumb traced the line of her knuckles, and the room felt too hot and too cold at the same time. He knew he could say no. He knew she’d understand. But the way she said it - so gentle, so earnest - he couldn’t find the words to refuse.

“Soon,” she murmured, reading the hesitation in his eyes. “Whenever you’re ready. I just - I want you to know that I’m here. That I want to be there for you, every step of the way.”

Bucky nodded, his throat tight with emotions he hadn’t let himself feel in so long. It was strange, this feeling of safety, of belonging. It didn’t sit easily with him, but it was growing more familiar with every beat of her heart against his side. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words.

“You make it easier, doll,” he said finally. “You make a lot of things easier.”

Y/N leaned into him, her arm curling around his waist. Her hair smelled faintly of coconut shampoo and mint toothpaste. The scent was comforting, like home.

“I’ll always be here for you, you know that,” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck. “For all the hard parts. And the easy ones too. For the baking shows and the bad jokes and the quiet nights just like this one. I’m all in, Bucky. Whatever it takes to help you feel whole again.”

The weight of her words settled into his chest, nestling in alongside his beating heart. It was a heavy burden, but somehow, with her, it felt lighter.

They watched the light change outside the window, the sky deepening into shades of purple and pink. The sounds of the city grew distant, swallowed up by their shared warmth. Bucky’s arm tightened around her, pulling her closer, and she curled into him, her hand coming to rest over his heart.

It was a promise. A silent vow.

He took a sip of his now lukewarm tea and sighed, the warmth of her against him a stark contrast to the cold metal of his arm. It was moments like these that made him feel alive, made him realize that maybe, just maybe, he could have a life beyond the shadows of his past.

“What’s the first thing you’d wanna do?” he asked, turning to look at her. Her eyes searched his, looking for any signs of doubt or fear. But all she’d find was the truth. The reality was that, at present, their sex life was non-existent.

Y/N thought for a moment, her expression softening into a smile. “I don’t mind….what would you want to do..?” She didn’t want to commit to something that he wasn’t comfortable with.

Bucky considered this.

"I just want to be with you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I want to hold you, and kiss you, and just… explore. Nothing crazy, just… us. Getting to know each other that way."

Her smile grew, lighting up the room even as the shadows grew longer. "That sounds perfect," she whispered.

The air was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with desire. He could feel the pulse of her heart beneath her palm, and he knew she felt his too, a steady rhythm that grew stronger with every breath they took together.

They sat for a while longer, just watching the day turn to night. Bucky's mind raced with the possibilities of what this could mean for them, but he forced himself to stay present, to enjoy the simplicity of their entwined fingers and the warmth of her body.

Eventually, Y/N sat up, her hand slipping away from his heart to rest on his cheek. She turned to face him, her eyes searching his, looking for any trace of doubt. But all she found was a man who was ready to take the next step.

“Okay,” she said, her voice steady. “Let’s go slow. We’ll figure it out together. No pressure, just us getting to know each other more intimately. I’m here, Bucky. We’re in this together, remember?”

Bucky nodded, his pulse quickening at the thought of what lay ahead. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to be this open with someone, to let go of the fear that had become second nature. But with her, it felt possible.

They stood up, and he set the mug of tea down on the side table with a gentle clink. Y/N reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. She led him to the bedroom, her movements sure and unhurried.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn just enough to allow the fading light to cast a soft glow over the bed. Bucky felt his heart rate spike as she turned to face him, her gaze never wavering from his own. She stepped closer, her hand sliding up to his chest, then around to his neck.

Her touch was tentative at first, a gentle question. But as Bucky leaned into it, she grew bolder, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, her thumb brushing against his lower lip. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath, and she leaned in to capture his mouth in a kiss that was sweet and full of promise.

Her other hand slid down his side, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. Bucky’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, the heat between them growing with every second. The kiss deepened, and he felt the first stirrings of something he’d almost forgotten - desire, untainted by fear or duty.

When they broke apart, panting slightly, Bucky opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him. She reached for the hem of her shirt, her movements slow and deliberate. He watched as she lifted it over her head, revealing the soft curves of her body.

He took a deep breath, his metal hand hovering over her bare skin for a moment before he let it rest gently on her waist.

Y/N's eyes searched his, looking for the answer to the unspoken question. Bucky nodded, his decision made.

They moved in unison, Bucky helping her to remove the rest of her clothing, his movements slow and careful, as if handling something fragile and precious. Each piece of clothing that fell away revealed more of her, and with it, a part of her soul that he hadn't seen before. Her trust in him was palpable, a silent demand that he not break her. And he knew, with a sudden fierceness, that he never would.

Her skin was warm under his touch, and she shivered as he traced the outline of her collarbone with his thumb. He felt his own heart racing, a thunderous beat that echoed in his ears.

They lay down on the bed, the mattress giving slightly under their combined weight.

Her eyes never left his, the same gentle expression on her face that had been there since the moment she’d brought it up. He felt the pressure of her hand, the softness of her skin, and the way her breath hitched as he kissed her again, his metal fingers brushing against the softness of her stomach. It was a strange sensation, this mix of cold and warm, of hard and soft, of past and present.

Bucky’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but he pushed them aside, focusing only on the here and now. He didn’t want to think about the past, didn’t want to ruin this moment with the specter of his former life. This was about them, about what they were choosing to build together.

He leaned over her, pressing tender kisses along her neck and collarbone, feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath his lips. Her skin was like silk, and her scent was intoxicating, a blend of warmth and vanilla that he’d come to associate with home. Her breathy sighs were music to his ears, each one a silent encouragement to explore further.

Her fingers danced over his shoulders, her nails lightly scraping against his skin as she guided him closer, urging him to explore. His heart hammered in his chest, a reminder of the life he had reclaimed, the humanity he had fought to keep.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if they were both trying to convey the depth of their feelings without words. Bucky’s hand traveled up her side, feeling the curve of her hip, the softness of her skin, the warmth that emanated from her core. He was acutely aware of every touch, every breath, the way she arched into his mouth when he kissed her just right. It was as if he was mapping out a new territory, one that was uncharted and full of wonder.

The room was filled with the sound of their mingled breaths, the rustle of fabric, the quiet sighs that escaped their lips. Y/N’s hand slipped under his shirt, her fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. He stilled for a moment, waiting, but she didn’t pull away.

Bucky felt something unlock inside of him, a door that had been sealed shut for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there. It was a rush of sensation, of need, that made his head spin and his heart race. He kissed her again, harder this time, his hand sliding down to the small of her back, pressing her closer.

Y/N’s legs parted, inviting him in, and Bucky’s heart stuttered in his chest. He’d never been this intimate with someone who knew all of him, who had seen the darkest corners of his soul and chosen to stay. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

He took a moment to breathe, to steady himself. He didn’t want to rush this, didn’t want to scare her away with his intensity. But when he pulled back, her eyes were dark with desire, matching the pulse in his veins. She didn’t look scared. She looked hungry.

They moved together in a dance that was both new and familiar, their bodies speaking a language that didn’t require words. He felt the heat of her skin, the softness of her curves, the way she molded against him as if they’d been made for this. It was a revelation, a reminder that he was more than the sum of his parts.

Bucky’s hand slid up her thigh, his thumb brushing against the lace of her underwear. He felt her shiver and knew that she was just as ready as he was. He took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart. This was it. The moment he’d feared and craved in equal measure. But with her, it didn’t feel scary. It felt right.

Y/N’s hand reached for the hem of his shirt, her eyes never leaving his. He raised his arms, letting her pull it off. The cool air of the room kissed his bare skin, making him shiver. She traced the lines of his abs with her fingertips, her eyes taking in every inch of him with a mix of awe and affection.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice a warm caress against his ear.

Bucky felt a blush creep up his cheeks, a rare and welcome sensation. He’d never been one for compliments, but coming from her, it felt like the most profound truth he’d ever heard. He kissed her again, his hand sliding up to cup her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm.

They moved together, exploring each other with gentle touches and whispered sighs. Bucky’s mind was a blur of sensation, each new discovery a revelation. The way she tasted, the way she felt, the way she made him feel. It was like coming home after a long, cold war, finding warmth in the most unexpected of places.

He felt her hand on the elastic of his sweatpants, and he stilled for a moment. This was the part that had always been a minefield before. But she didn’t look up at him with fear or hesitation. Just love. So he let her continue, his breath catching in his throat as she touched him, skin to skin.

Y/N’s hand was warm and sure, and Bucky couldn’t help but gasp as she touched him, her thumb rubbing against the sensitive skin just beneath the waistband. The fabric was the last barrier between them, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear.

With a trembling hand, Bucky reached down to help her, his heart racing as he pushed his pants down. The coolness of the air against his skin was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, and he watched as she took him in, her eyes wide and filled with a hunger that made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t been in decades.

They kissed again, a kiss that was more than just a meeting of lips, it was a declaration of trust, of love, of the shared hope that this could be the start of something beautiful. He felt her hand slide down, her fingertips dancing against his skin, until she reached the bulge in his boxers, and he let out a soft groan that seemed to resonate through the very core of his being.

Her hand was tentative at first, exploring his hardness with gentle strokes. But as Bucky’s grip tightened on the sheets and his breathing grew ragged, she grew bolder. Her touch was a whispered promise of what was to come, a gentle reminder that she was here for him, that he wasn’t alone.

He slid his hand down to cover hers, their fingers intertwining as they found a rhythm that sent shockwaves through his body. The warmth of her hand, the softness of her skin, the way she looked at him - it was almost too much to handle. But he didn’t pull away. He leaned into it, craving more.

With a tremble, Bucky reached for the clasp of her bra, his metal digits fumbling slightly. But she was patient, smiling up at him as he finally managed to free her from the garment. Her breasts were perfect in his eyes, the soft mounds fitting perfectly into his palms. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, watching as they pebbled beneath his touch, and she gasped into his mouth. The sensation of skin against skin was electric, sending currents of pleasure through him that he hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. He’d been so afraid of this moment, but here it was, and it was nothing like he’d feared. It was gentle, it was kind, it was everything he’d hoped for.

He broke the kiss to kiss his way down her neck, her chest, her stomach. He took his time, savoring each new inch of her that was revealed to him. Y/N’s breath hitched as his mouth reached the apex of her thighs, his tongue tracing a line along her inner thigh before dipping closer to where she was wet and waiting for him. He felt a small twist of doubt and self consciousness, he hadn’t actually done this since the 40s.

Her legs fell open to encourage him, and Bucky took a moment to breathe her in, to appreciate the trust she was giving him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” She assured. He kissed her gently, his tongue teasing against her slit, her taste a rich mix of sweetness and desire. Y/N’s body arched off the bed, and she let out a soft moan, her hand sliding into his hair to guide him, to show him just how she liked it.

Bucky took his cues from her, his touch gentle and explorative. He’d never been with someone who knew the extent of his past, who had seen the monster he’d been made into. But here she was, her body open to him, welcoming him in. Her thighs trembled around his head as he worked his way down. His tongue found the spot that made her gasp. She was wet, slick against his mouth and he groaned, his cock pulsing with every soft whimper she made.

He could feel the tension coiling in her, tightening like a spring. Her hips began to move in time with his strokes, her breath coming in short and sharp gasps. He didn’t know how to do this, not really. But he knew he wanted to make her feel good. So he listened to her body, her sounds, her whispers of need. He focused on her reactions, learning what she liked, what made her squirm, what made her moan.

Small, quick flicks of his tongue over her clit seemed to send her reeling.

Y/N’s hands tightened in his hair as he worked her over, her body shaking with the force of her restrained pleasure. He could feel it building, the way she moved against his mouth, her legs tightening around his head, her breaths turning to pants. Her nails scraped against his scalp, a delicious pain that only served to drive him on, to make him want more, to make her feel more.

And then she was coming, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm, her muscles clenching around his tongue. Bucky felt a surge of pride, of accomplishment, of pure, unadulterated joy.

He pulled back, kissing his way back up her body, feeling her pulse throb against his lips. She was beautiful, so beautiful, laid out before him like this. “Bucky,” she breathed, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with pleasure. He leaned over her, his forehead touching hers. “You’re sure?” he whispered. She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Bucky reached for the bedside drawer, his hand shaking slightly as he pulled out a condom. He’d had them there for months, hopeful and terrified, but they’d remained untouched. The foil packet crinkled in the quiet room, a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the wake of their shared intimacy. Y/N watched him, her eyes never leaving his face, her trust in him unwavering. He rolled it on, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest, the echoes of fear that had haunted his every intimate moment. But as he positioned himself over her, her legs wrapping around his waist, he knew he could do this. For her, with her, he could overcome his worries.

He pushed inside her, slowly.

The world outside the window had gone dark, but the room was bathed in the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Her eyes were wide, watching him with a mix of excitement and concern, and he knew he had to get this right. For her, for them. Her heat enveloped him, and he felt his own walls crumbling, the last of his barriers falling away. He’d never felt this connected to anyone before, not like this. It was as if they were two lost pieces of a puzzle finally finding their place.

Their movements grew more frantic as the passion built, their kisses deep and desperate. Bucky felt the ghosts of his past trying to claw their way back in, but he pushed them away, focusing solely on the woman beneath him. Her nails dug into his back, her legs tightening around him as she matched his rhythm, urging him on.

The sounds of their bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of sighs and gasps and moans. Each thrust was a declaration of his need for her, each kiss a promise to keep her safe. Bucky’s heart thudded in his chest, a drumline of hope and desire. He’d been so afraid of this moment, but here it was, and it was nothing like the horrors he’d anticipated. It was raw and real and everything he’d ever dreamed of.

Her nails scored down his back as she arched up to meet him, her breaths growing shallower, her hips rising to meet his thrusts. Bucky felt the tension in her body, the way she tightened around him, the soft mewling noises that escaped her throat. He’d never felt so alive, so present in the moment. Each stroke was a promise, a declaration that he was here, with her, and nothing else mattered.

Their bodies moved in harmony, a dance that transcended the chaos of the world outside. His metal hand found hers, their fingers entwining as if to anchor themselves in the present. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch, the way she clung to him as if he were her lifeline. And maybe, in a way, he was.

The world narrowed down to just the two of them, the only sounds the slap of skin and the harsh pull of their breathing. Bucky’s eyebrow was furrowed. He watched her face, the way her lip got pulled between her teeth in concentration, the softness of her cheeks flushed with passion.

Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as she neared the precipice again.

Their passion was palpable, a force that transcended the physical, reaching into the depths of their souls.

Her eyes flew open, meeting his, and in that moment, something changed. He saw her, not just the woman he desired, but the person who had seen his darkest moments and chosen to love him regardless. And she saw him, not as the damaged soldier, but as the man who had fought to survive and come back to life.

Their movements grew more deliberate. Bucky’s rhythm slowed, his strokes deepening, as if trying to etch himself into her very being. He felt her inner walls quiver, a sign that she was close, and he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. But he wanted to give her everything she needed, to show her just how much she meant to him.

Y/N’s breath was a pant on his skin, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He leaned in, pressing kisses along her jaw, her neck, the soft skin of her collarbone. They were both hurtling uncontrollably towards the edge…

Her body tensed around him, a silent plea, and Bucky knew he couldn’t hold back anymore. He thrust into her, feeling her nails dig into his back as she cried out his name, her body shattering into a thousand pieces. He watched her come undone, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure that sent him over the edge.

With a guttural groan, he followed her, his orgasm tearing through his muscles, leaving him trembling and spent. He collapsed onto her, his heart hammering against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. The warmth of her body was like a medicine to his soul, a gentle reminder that he was more than just a weapon, that he was loved.

They laid there for a few moments, their hearts beating in sync, the only sound in the room the gentle rustle of the blanket around them. Bucky felt the warmth of her skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, and the reality of what they had just shared settled heavily on him. It was a moment that had been months in the making, a moment where fear had been vanquished by love and trust.

He leaned up on his elbow, looking down at her. Her eyes were closed, a soft smile tugging at her lips. He couldn’t help but trace the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand, feeling the heated skin under his fingertips. He’d never felt more alive, more human, than he did in that moment.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him with a softness that made his chest ache. “More than okay,” she said, her voice a whisper.

He leaned down to kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her lips. Her hand slid up his chest, her touch featherlight and reverent. It was as if she knew just how much this meant to him, just how much of a milestone it was.

They lay there, tangled in the sheets, their bodies still slick with sweat. Bucky’s mind was racing, but in a good way. He’d done it. He’d faced his fears and come out the other side. And she was still here, her arm wrapped around his waist, her breathing evening out as she snuggled closer to him.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still rough from their earlier exertions. Y/N opened her eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. “For what?” “For making it okay,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “For making me feel like I can do this. Like I’m not just some… some broken toy that nobody wants to play with anymore.”

Her eyes had a glassy pain in them. “Bucky, you’re so much more than that. You always have been. And I want to play with you.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound low and warm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

——————————————————————————————————

A small gift 🎁🫶 (We’re ignoring mistakes)

[nadvs]

the power play (part three)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

Rafe is waiting for you in front of your building, this time to take you to a frat party.

“Hi,” you say cheerfully, settling into his passenger seat, “for the third day in a row.”

Apparently, Emma always goes to these parties, and since Beck is friends with a lot of the frat’s members, you’re almost certain he’ll go, too.

You’re also meeting Lyla there. She’s been open-minded about Rafe. You hope he doesn’t make her regret it.

“You’re going to have to be nice tonight,” you say, then shut the door with a hard thud.

“Why?”

“Because my best friend will be there and I want her to like you.”

Rafe stares ahead, his mood plummeting. He doesn’t want to deal with this.

He didn’t care what Emma’s friends thought about him, until she started bringing up how much they don’t like him. You’re not even his real girlfriend, and the thought of being subject to that sort of judgement again makes his blood run hot.

He drives out onto the road. You wait for him to speak, but he doesn’t.

“Don’t tell me you’re already mad about something,” you say with a quiet laugh. “What’s up?”

You haven’t even been in his car for half a minute and you’re already trying to open up his wounds again, clueless to the fact that you’re reminding him of the things he wants to forget.

“What am I supposed to say to her?” Rafe murmurs.

“Just be polite,” you reply. “And act like you like me.”

He tensley rakes a hand through his hair. Something’s off with him. He’s never had to ask you how to navigate this.

“Are you nervous?” you ask.

“Nah.”

“What are you then?”

“I’m fine,” he says tersely.

You roll your eyes. You thought you’d gotten past feeling uneasy about pulling this off, but right now, you have no idea if this is going to work when you and Rafe are so out of sync.

You already aren’t in the mood to go to a party. He’s not doing anything to change that.

“I guess I should take back what I said about us being friends,” you tease.

He doesn’t say anything. You gaze up at the starry night sky through the window, letting out a sigh.

“I’m okay to cancel if you don’t feel like doing this,” you offer. “I’m in the middle of a great book that I’d like to get back to anyway.”

Rafe doesn’t know what to do with the things you say sometimes. It’d be easier if you snipped back or iced him out like everyone else does, because then, he wouldn’t feel shitty like he does now.

It’s annoying how much you unknowingly push these touchy, complicated topics. Even though you’re giving him an out, it’s hard to ignore how rotten he feels when he shuts down your innocent chit-chat.

So, he relents.

“I don’t want to – to have to think about impressing someone,” he admits with a stammer you haven’t heard before.

You look at him again, somewhat stunned. You almost make a joke about how this whole ruse, which he thought up, sort of hinges on impressing people. But the tension is too thick.

“You don’t have to impress her,” you reply, your eyes drifting over the outlines of his profile. “I just want her to believe you like me because she might mention it to her brother. But it’s not like… a test. If it were, I’d make you study. That’s kind of my whole thing.”

You find relief when he cracks a small smile, his eyes still on the road. You smile back, wishing he thought of you as someone he could trust, and wondering why he’s stressed about his fake girlfriend’s best friend's opinion, when he doesn’t seem like the type to worry about what anybody thinks of him.

“I’m surprised you care what she thinks,” you say, your tone lighthearted.

Rafe chews on his lip.

“I know this isn’t…” He motions between you, aware of how ridiculous it is to be tense about this when you’re not even really dating. He exhales, giving in. “Emma’s friends didn’t like me. She always brought it up.”

His words hit you, sadness twisting your heart. His ex did badmouth him minutes after she met you; you wouldn’t be surprised if she complained about him to her friends, handing them reasons to dislike him, using it against him.

That’s what’s bothering him. This is a bad reminder.

“All you have to do is what you did last night,” you tell him. “You don’t even have to talk much. I honestly think Lyla expects to see me with a guy who lets me do all the talking.”

You continue to stare at him. He’s stiff. On edge. It’s another crack in the facade, another peek into the things he hides.

“Why would she… always bring it up?” you ask quietly.

Rafe turns the car onto a narrow street, the steering wheel sliding underneath his hands.

“We said shit just to hurt each other all the time,” he mutters.

You gaze forward, your chest tight. At this point, you’re sure that what they had was toxic. His ex said he had red flags, but it sounds like she was the same way. You still don’t know why he liked her so much.

He’s obviously worked up. You shouldn’t push. You decide to put yourself in the spotlight to even the score.

“I never told you how Beck rejected me,” you say. “He hugged me, then said I’m a better friend than his sister.”

“Shit,” he winces.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “You know when you can’t fall asleep and you think about all of your most embarrassing moments? That’s one of mine.”

Rafe breathes a quiet laugh. He grips the wheel when he reaches a stop sign, frustrated that he’s so curt with you, and even more frustrated that he cares. You’re slowly claiming a soft spot he didn’t know he had, whether he likes it or not.

“I’m… still pissed off,” he explains, his syllables sharp. “At her. Not you.”

It’s something that you didn’t expect about Rafe when you first met – that he can tell when he’s being too harsh and then tensely backpedals. You have a feeling he’s not really mad. He’s hurt. But he’d rather hide behind anger.

“I would be, too,” you say.

He offers an appreciative nod, avoiding eye contact.

════════

Lyla greets you with a big hug once you find her in the crowded frat house.

“I haven’t seen you in forever,” she says, then looks up at Rafe. “You stole my best friend.”

“Can you blame me?” Rafe replies, putting his arm around your shoulders. You smile up at him, the uneasiness you’d felt dissolving. He can put on a good show when he wants to.

You quickly catch up with Lyla while Rafe quietly stands next to you. When there’s a gap in conversation, you turn to him and motion for him to come closer. He leans down.

“You can go hang out with your friends now,” you whisper. “Or should we stay together? What do couples do?”

Your words echo in his head. He didn’t think about if you’ve actually been part of a real couple before. He gazes at you, wondering why you never said anything about it.

“They should see us together first,” he finally says.

“Good point,” you say. “Let’s do a lap.”

Lyla finds a friend in the crowd and you take the opportunity to get a drink with Rafe. You walk to the kitchen, nudging past people together, your fingers interlaced with his.

Behind the worn laminate kitchen island, a lively game of beer pong is taking place. Emma is standing by the far end of the table, playing next to a guy who’s standing close to her.

You look up to see if Rafe notices. He does. His jaw tenses as he stares at her.

When you step up to the stack of empty solo cups, you catch Beck on the other side of the living room, leaning against a wall and chatting with a couple of his friends. You hate that your stomach still goes numb at his smile.

“They’re both here,” you tell Rafe.

He turns to face you, your hands still joined. You know what he looks like when he’s concentrating. You’ve seen it through your tutoring sessions, the way his eyes narrow and his dimples cave in as he flattens his lips together.

“You have your thinking face on,” you laugh.

“On the counter,” he says.

“Excuse me?” you nearly shout, eyes widened.

He nudges your hips with firm hands. The edge of the counter is hard against your lower back. He steps forward to push the clutter behind you aside.

Rafe’s brows lift in expectation.

“Sit on the counter,” he explains, “so they can’t miss us.”

You let him take the lead and feel for the counter with your palms. With Rafe’s grasp on your hips and your own force, you settle on the hard countertop. He guides your knees apart and shifts to stand between your thighs.

Your throat goes dry.

He’s smooth, experienced, clearly having done stuff like this before. The thought of it, of him, makes your skin burn and you force yourself not to picture it.

You’ve been close to Rafe before – you sat on his lap just last night – but this is the most suggestive position you’ve been in together, and it’s sending your thoughts into an uncontrollable frenzy.

Just a second ago, you were standing a few feet away from him, and now he’s between your legs, his frame big and dominating, his palms hot on your thighs.

“Hands on me,” he instructs.

You stiffly rest your forearms on his shoulders, the crisp smell of his cologne dancing over you. Your eyes dart to Beck, who hasn’t noticed you, and you tell yourself to do with Rafe what you always imagined doing with him.

You cradle the back of his neck, gently lacing his soft hair between your fingers. The conversations and music fade away as you and Rafe settle in a moment that looks private, but is really just for show.

Your mind slows down as you remind yourself that this isn’t real and there’s no reason to be shy.

Rafe is eye-level to you now. It’s still bothering him – why wouldn’t a girl who never stops talking tell him that she hasn’t been in a relationship?

“You haven’t dated before?” he asks.

“What?”

“Why are you asking me what couples do?”

“Oh.” You laugh and shrug, as if it’s apparent. “When you’re in love with someone for, like four years, you don’t really pay attention to other guys.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Rafe murmurs.

“Is it important?”

“A lot of things you say aren’t, but you still say them.”

You laugh, lips parting in shock.

“Jerk,” you mutter under your breath.

“You’re name-calling now?” he says, amused at the way that calling him that, even as a joke, seemed like it made you a little uncomfortable.

“Sure am,” you retort. “I’m kidding, though.”

He scoffs, amused again. Of course you had to clarify that you didn’t mean it.

“That’s why you’ve been so freaked out about this?” he realizes, cluing in that all your nerves have been because this, all of this, is entirely new to you.

“Paired with the fact that this is a ridiculous thing to be doing,” you say. “I thought it was obvious. So much for being easy to read, huh?”

Rafe’s brows furrow. It makes no sense. You two couldn’t be more different, but he can imagine what other guys would see in you now that he’s used to your unrestrained cheerfulness. You have a rare sincerity to you. It’s absurd how many years you wasted on Beck.

“What the hell do you see in him?” he asks, an unexpected sense of protectiveness pricking at him.

You look up to the ceiling in thought. Your fingers continue to lace through his hair, and he ignores the goosebumps that are blossoming on his skin.

When you look back down again, you notice Beck’s gaze on you from across the room.

“This is a first. I’m telling my pretend boyfriend why I like a guy that’s looking right at me,” you say. “I had fun with him. He’s hardworking and he’s nice to everybody and I respect that in a person. And when I talked to him, he cared about what I was saying. He remembered little things about me. He’s kind.”

“He led you on, though,” he remembers.

“Maybe. I do wonder if he knew I liked him and kept me around because he enjoyed the flattery or the help with school,” you say. “But I don’t know. He could’ve hoped I’d get over it and wanted to spare me the embarrassment. Or maybe I read into things and imagined he was flirting with me when he never was. I could’ve built all this stuff up in my head.”

Rafe takes in all the words you just threw at him, bringing out a touch of amusement from you.

“I fell for him because he made me feel special,” you conclude. “Isn’t that a big part of loving someone? You like the person you are when you’re with them?”

He looks at you silently, reminding you of when you met him and all he would offer you is a blank stare. Then, his face drops in melancholy.

While he’s usually drowning in his overwhelming thoughts, with his ex, life was simple. He could forget about the shit he didn’t want to think about because she never pushed.

Before they started fighting so much, he could do his best impression of who he always wanted to be. A man who’s steady. Who’s strong.

“Yeah,” Rafe says.

“How’d you feel with her?” you ask. “When things were good, I mean.”

You hope he meets your eyes again. He does.

“Everything was easy,” he says. “It’s like I wasn’t as…”

“As?”

“Fucked up,” he admits.

Your shoulders drop. For the first time, you see a piece of why he was with Emma. She made him feel uncomplicated.

You wonder what Rafe has been through to make him think of himself that way, but you’re treading carefully, avoiding any risk of embarrassing him. No matter how rude he can be, you’re almost certain it comes from a place of sensitivity, and of wishing it didn’t.

“Isn’t it kind of funny?” you say, trying to lighten the mood. “He made me feel special and you make me feel annoying. She made things easy for you and I literally nag you to do your homework. And we’re supposedly dating.”

Rafe’s lips curl into a smile. You mirror it.

Just past his shoulder, you spot Emma’s gaze on you. She’s still playing beer pong, laughing with the guy she’s standing next to, but her eyes land on you and Rafe every few seconds.

“She keeps looking over,” you say. You think of their shared history, of how many memories they must have made together. Maybe Emma just needs to see him with someone else long enough to realize she wants him back. “What will you do if she wants to get back together?”

Rafe squints. He kept trying to make things work after she broke up with him because he just wanted the peace he’d once had with her back.

But when someone fucks him over, he’s done. The way she’s been dragging his name to anyone who’ll listen, to you the very day she met you, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. She may have broken his heart, but she doesn’t own it anymore.

“I’m done with her,” he tells you. “What if Beck asks you out?”

You’re not sure how to answer him, because you’d written off Beck being interested in you as a possibility. You hate that your heart skips thinking about it.

You shouldn’t want a man who could only want you once he thinks he can’t have you. But it’s easier said than done. The years of infatuation have a hold on you.

“I don’t know,” you confess. “But no matter what happens, we should have an easy-out clause. No hard feelings when one of us is done with this. Cool?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Cool.”

“Beck’s looking, too,” you say. “I think they’re buying it. Can I…?”

You bring your hands forward to gently rest on Rafe’s jaw, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones.

“You don’t have to ask,” he says with a subtly irritated shake of his head.

His hands are splayed over your thighs and your knees are pressed against his hips. It might be a good thing to get some practice with a guy you’re not really with. Affection won’t be as intimidating if you’ve already done it in a controlled setting.

Rafe waits for you to say something, to do something. Maybe you’ll break your ‘no kissing’ rule, even though now he’s pretty sure it’d be your first kiss.

“You know what?” you say gently.

He takes in the way your eyes travel over his face, and for a split second, it’s like you can see just how much he hides below the surface, like you’re going to keep digging until you find out what it is.

He nods once, silently beckoning you to continue.

“The next book on the syllabus is one of my favorites,” you say.

He smirks, relieved you’re joking instead of prying.

“This really is the type of shit you’d talk about with your boyfriend,” he realizes. He thought you were just nervously rambling the other night because you had nothing else to talk about, but he was wrong.

You purse your lips in thought, memories trickling in.

“Yeah,” you say, sadness clouding your features. “It’s one of the reasons I thought Beck liked me back. He liked to listen to me ramble about whatever I was reading. And he was interested. Or he acted like it. I really… I wish I could get over him.”

Rafe’s face falls again, confused over why a guy who did shit like that for years, who stared at you the way he did last night, pushed you away.

“I know,” is all he can offer, because he really does understand the desperation of wanting to feel whole again after somebody breaks you.

“Sorry to interrupt,” you hear.

You glance up to see Lyla, her eyes darting to where Rafe is standing between your legs. You almost want to pull away, explain that it’s not what it looks like, nearly forgetting that you’re supposed to be fooling her, too.

“Hey,” you say.

“You want to do a shot with me?” she asks.

“Sure.”

You grip Rafe’s shoulders and shift forward. His hands tighten on your hips and you gently drop to the ground, pressed against his body.

“I’ll find you later?” you ask him.

He leans down low again, his temple brushing against yours.

“Take it easy, lightweight,” he replies.

You look up at him with a big grin.

“What?” he mutters.

“You’re worrying about me,” you whisper. “We are friends.”

“Get out of here,” he sighs.

You laugh and squeeze his hand before you step aside.

════════

You meant to keep count of your drinks. You really did. But every drink was like a temporary antidote against the heartbreak that’s been haunting you, and before you knew it, you were drunker than you’ve ever been before.

The night slips in and out of focus. You’re laughing with Lyla, then you’re playing beer pong, then you’re looking for Rafe.

You find him in a pocket of the crowd standing with a few other hockey players, your mind and body dizzy and hot. You cover his hand with yours, gently tugging him closer.

“I came here to ask you something,” you mumble into his ear when he leans down, his cologne hitting you again. “And… I don’t remember what it was.”

He shakes his head disapprovingly. You were stone cold sober earlier in the kitchen, and now you’re plastered.

“I told you to take it easy,” he says.

“I thought I was. I’m usually very responsible.” You shift to meet his eyes. “You smell great, by the way.”

“Okay?” he replies stiffly.

“Are you always this bad at accepting compliments?” you ask.

He is, and he hates how quickly you figure this kind of stuff out about him.

“What do you want?”

You squint, looking out at the crowd as you attempt to put your fragmented thoughts together. You spot Lyla.

“Oh! Could you give me and Lyla a ride home?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I’m done here anyway.”

Just a few minutes ago, Rafe watched Emma leave the house with the same guy she was playing beer pong with. It screwed a hole into his chest and he’s been wanting to get the fuck out of here since.

════════

You crack open the window as Rafe drives away from the frat house. Lyla’s in the backseat, tapping on her phone.

He glares at the road. Who was that guy Emma left with? And how the hell does he stop giving a shit? Is he doomed to spend the rest of his life wishing he didn’t care about things as much as he does?

Thinking of her with him doesn’t bring up jealousy. It’s anger. Disappointment. Because he’s losing this game.

“Did you have a good time tonight?” you ask Rafe, the cool spring breeze pressing against your face.

He glances at you. Even though you hardly ever see eye-to-eye, you genuinely want to be kind to him, consoling him on the way to the party, paying him compliments when drunkenness took away your filter.

Despite how irritating it can be when you pry, you don’t do it out of malice. And you even cracked him up a few times tonight.

He decides to answer you honestly, to be nice like you told him to be, ignoring the discomfort.

“When I was with you, yeah,” he replies.

“Aww,” Lyla coos from behind you.

You smile, discreetly giving him a thumbs up for his performance. He means it, but he’ll let you believe he said it just because your friend’s listening.

════════

Lyla directs Rafe to the front doors of her dorm, and when she tries to say goodbye to you, she laughs once she realizes you dozed off.

“Thanks for the ride. I still don’t really get this,” she says to Rafe, pointing between you two, “but I can tell it works.”

He knows why it looks like that. It’s because, as much as Rafe didn’t expect it, you’re right. You two genuinely became friends at some point over the last three weeks.

The sound of Lyla shutting her door snaps you awake. You quickly gauge your surroundings, realizing you’re on the opposite end of campus by Lyla’s building. The athletes’ dorm is practically a ten second drive away and the route to your building will be a long detour for Rafe.

“Isn’t your dorm like, right next door?” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll just sleep over,” you say in an exhausted daze. “So you don’t have to drive all the way to the other side of campus and back.”

It’s nearing two in the morning. Rafe just wants to be in his bed. So, he goes along with your idea.

════════

Your eyelids flutter open. You stare ahead to see a broad, bare back sitting at a desk. Then, you recognize the unkept dark hair you ran your fingers through last night, as well as your tabbed copy of Lost Horizon sitting on the dresser.

You’re in Rafe’s dorm room. In his bed. Your face buried in his pillow.

Last night flashes through your mind. You’d thoughtlessly suggested a sleepover. Rafe helped you out of the car and let you lean on him in the elevator and complained that you weren’t making enough space for him in his bed.

“I am so sorry,” you murmur.

Rafe turns around, taking out an earbud with an eyebrow raised.

“Finally awake?” he says.

Your chest stings and your stomach turns as you slowly sit up. You put your hand on your forehead, tangled up in his duvet, last night’s clothes tight and uncomfortable as you think back to how much you drank.

“I should’ve listened to you,” you murmur. “That was not taking it easy. I was stupid.”

“Thought that was a bad word.”

“It is,” you say with a pointed finger. “Thank you. It is.”

You finally look at him again. He’s in sweats, gray boxers peeking out the band, his muscular body curled over the chair. It’s unusual to see him like this; in his downtime, sitting at his desk, using his laptop, shirtless.

You’d felt his body against yours, felt the firmness of his muscles, but seeing him like this in broad daylight raises your pulse.

Rafe notices your gaze linger on his chest before you meet his eyes again. If he really is flustering you, it’s a good dose of payback, considering how he felt when you sat on his lap and played with his hair.

“What the hell did I drink last night?” you mumble.

“You tell me.”

He gazes at you as you try to remember. Even though it was snug sleeping next to you in his tiny single bed, it was nice to not spend a night on his own. He already knew he was lonely, but feeling you next to him, hearing your breath as he dozed off, showed him just how much.

“Shots? Beer? Something really sweet?”

“You mixed,” he realizes. “Bad move.”

“I feel like death,” you groan. “I’m going home now.”

You shuffle forward, your legs hanging over the edge of his bed. You slide off, briefly losing your balance before your feet touch the carpet.

You catch yourself, gripping his shoulder. He cups your wrist as you wobble. You pull your hand back and readjust your clothes, a wrinkled mess now, then pick your bag up off the floor, which you’re glad you thought to bring in your stupor.

“I’m sorry again. Thanks for… dealing with me,” you say quickly, smoothing back your hair. Rafe only smirks, entertained by how embarrassed you are. “I’m walking home because I might throw up and I don’t think we’re at the point where I can do that in front of you yet.”

“You already did.”

Your lips part in shock and he laughs.

“You’re kidding,” you realize. “I didn’t expect you to be a morning person.”

“I’m not.” He looks over at his laptop for the time. “It’s half past noon.”

You sigh in shame and make your way to the door.

“Hold on,” he says. You turn and almost miss the ball of fabric he throws towards you. When you hold it up and realize it’s one of his extra jerseys, you laugh.

“Wear it to the next game,” Rafe tells you.

“Good idea,” you say, imagining the way Emma, and hopefully Beck, will fume at the sight of you with Cameron across your back. “See you.”

You rush down the hallway, thrown out of your thoughts when you hear a loud click. Beck is unlocking his door a few feet ahead of you.

You internally groan. You feel awful and you’re sure you look it, too.

His eyes search your face, as if he doesn’t recognize you. On top of the embarrassment and anxiety you’re already feeling, the sight of him bombards you with the familiar pain of rejection.

“Hey,” you say with an awkward laugh. You need to act casual. You figure if you can pretend to like Rafe, you can pretend to not like Beck. “How’s it going?”

He looks past you, no doubt cluing in that you’re leaving Rafe’s dorm in last night’s clothes. You know what he’s going to think – you spent the night doing more than just sleeping. Suddenly, you’re glad you ran into him.

“Good,” he says absentmindedly. “You?”

“Good,” you reply, continuing to walk past him. Beck looks down, seemingly thrown off.

“I have to say…” He lets out a humorless chuckle. You stop and turn to look at him. “It’s kind of crazy that you’re hanging out with him.”

“Crazy?”

“He’s not really your type.”

Your heart hammers in your chest.

“What is my type?” you challenge.

Beck’s forehead crinkles in what you’d have to guess is disappointment. You swallow nervously. He could say so many things that would break your heart even more. And you hate that he has that much power over you.

“I just think he’s… intense,” he replies.

“I like intense,” you say.

Beck seems out of words. And as much as you want to stay, to ask what he’s thinking, you’re done waiting on bated breath for him, hoping he feels how you do when you share a private moment.

If you act like you’re not in love with him, your heart will eventually catch up. It has to.

“Nice to see you,” you say, carrying on towards the elevator. And walking away from him instead of the other way around for once gives you a newfound feeling of victory that you realize you really needed.

next >

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[97linelover]

Coming back to you - Jeon Jungkook

summary: you loved him while he was away, you loved him from far away. And now hes finally back.

Being in a secret relationship with Jungkook as his Make up Artist is not that easy, especially when you´re just waiting for his return.

pairing: idol jungkook x reader

genre: love, return from the military, cute, they´re just so in love

author's note: how can the time already be over? I´m so happy. I wrote this, this morning so don´t be to harsh on me :D

The BigHit building buzzed with quiet excitement, a kind of electricity in the air that only came when something huge was about to happen. Tomorrow wasn’t just another day—it was the day.

After what felt like an eternity, Jungkook and Jimin were finally being discharged from the military.

And you? You had the most important job of all.

Not only had you been BTS’s trusted makeup artist for the past few years—working with them through albums, concerts, and chaotic shoots—but you were also Jungkook’s secret.

Your secret relationship with him had started quietly, somewhere between powder brushes and soft eye contact in mirror reflections. Late-night texts turned into long walks. And before you knew it, he was yours, and you were his.

But today, there was no time to be sentimental.

“Y/N, do you have the list?” Namjoon called out from across the practice room, balancing a clipboard in one hand and holding a streamer in the other.

“Yeah, I’ve got it!” you answered, double-checking your notes. “And I picked up the cake this morning from that bakery Jungkook loves. Banana-flavored, right?”

Hoseok grinned, walking past with a handful of balloons. “You’re seriously amazing. He’s going to cry.”

“I hope not,” you laughed. “His contact lenses won’t survive that.”

Taehyung entered the room next, lugging a giant cardboard box full of decorations. “I got the banner! And the photo wall materials. Should we do it next to the window, or—?”

“Let’s set it up where the lighting’s better,” you said, already heading to help him. “You know how picky Jimin is about pictures.”

As the others moved around you, hanging garlands and preparing the playlist, you quietly checked off tasks in your head.

✅ Cake

✅ Drinks

✅ Decorations

✅ Playlist

✅ Gifts

Oh—and Jimin’s bag. You had picked it up for him, along with his uniform accessories. You made sure everything was perfectly folded, tucked into a duffel by the door, ready for tomorrow morning.

You paused, brushing a bit of glitter off your sleeve, glancing toward the small gift you hadn’t dared show the others. A small silver bracelet with Jungkook’s enlistment date engraved on it… and yours, next to his, in smaller print. You’d worn it every day since he left. Tomorrow, you’d finally give it to him.

You exhaled slowly, a soft smile pulling at your lips.

It didn’t feel real yet. But tomorrow, he’d walk through that door. The wait would finally be over.

And no one—not even the fans—knew the truth behind your excitement.

Tomorrow, the world would see BTS’s Golden Maknae return.

But only you would see the man you loved come home.

The HYBE building had never felt like this before.

There was always movement—staff hurrying, stylists adjusting lighting, choreographers shouting counts from practice rooms—but today was different. Today, it felt like a storm was brewing.

The Golden Maknae and the angel-voiced Park Jimin were coming home.

And you? You were right in the eye of the storm.

“Y/N, where are the black ribbons? They were in Box B!” someone shouted behind you.

“Box B is in Studio 3!” you called back, clutching two cups of coffee, a checklist, and a roll of tape in your other hand.

You hadn’t slept much last night. Honestly, you hadn’t really slept well in months.

Because even though Jimin was like a little brother to you, this wasn’t just about BTS returning to full strength.

It was him.

Jungkook.

You hadn’t seen him in person for months. Sure, you exchanged the occasional encrypted text. . A grainy selfie with his buzzed hair and sleepy eyes.

But nothing beat standing in front of him, close enough to hear the way he said your name like it meant more than just three letters.

Only the members knew. RM had found out first—he always did—and eventually, the others caught on. It had been unspoken between you all: protect this secret at all costs. Dating an idol as staff wasn’t just frowned upon. It was forbidden. A one-way ticket out the door.

But the moment Jungkook told you he was willing to wait, you knew you’d do the same.

And now… that wait was finally over.

“Y/N!” Taehyung’s deep voice pulled you back. He was standing at the entrance of the practice room, holding up his phone. “They just arrived. They’re on their way here!”

A chorus of reactions erupted.

“Ten minutes?!”

“Did someone check the microphones?!”

“Where’s Jimin’s jacket?!”

You were already moving—handing over coffees, adjusting decorations, shoving Jungkook’s duffel bag just slightly to the left so it would be the first thing he saw. Your heart was racing in your chest, matching the rhythm of footsteps echoing through the building.

Only minutes now.

You felt Seokjin gently nudge your shoulder as he passed. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, careful.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I will be. When I see him.”

Hoseok smiled knowingly. “You’re glowing. He’s going to lose his mind.”

Suddenly, the building’s atmosphere shifted.

The elevator dinged.

Silence fell like a heavy blanket.

And then: footsteps.

You stepped back, breath held, heart hammering, eyes locked on the hallway outside the studio.

The door opened.

Jimin entered first, smiling wide, dressed in his military uniform, looking tired but happy. He opened his arms, greeting everyone like the prince he was.

And then came him.

Jungkook.

Hair slightly longer now, military cap in hand, uniform perfect. His eyes scanned the room—and when they landed on you, the world stopped.

For a split second, the chaos faded. The balloons, the cake, the flash of cameras, the staff whispering—all of it disappeared.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t have to.

His eyes softened, just a little. The corner of his mouth lifted. That tiny look only you ever saw.

He was home.

His scent hit you before anything else. That warm, clean smell mixed with something distinctly him—even after such a long time.

Jungkook made his way through the room, hugging each staff member, bowing deeply, thanking them one after one. His smile was beaming, but his eyes were tired.

You stood near the back, pretending to adjust a mic cable that absolutely didn’t need adjusting.

Don’t shake. Just breathe. Don’t look like a love-struck idiot.

He was two hugs away.

Then one.

And then—

“Y/N,” he said softly, and you turned just in time to see his arms open.

There was no time to think.

You stepped forward, and he pulled you in for a quick hug—shorter than the others, less obvious—but his hand lingered just a second longer on your lower back. His breath ghosted near your ear as he whispered, too quiet for anyone else to hear:

“I missed you.”

Your heart nearly stopped, but you smiled politely, nodded, and stepped back, eyes lowered. “Welcome back,” you said quietly, your voice way too calm for the storm inside you.

He gave nothing away, not even in his expression. Golden Maknae mode fully activated.

You tried to focus as Jimin waved everyone toward Studio A, where the livestream was set to begin in fifteen minutes.

“Let’s go!” Namjoon called. “We’ll run audio while they change jackets.”

Everyone moved in sync.

You stayed close, like always, clipboard in hand, headset in place, watching them through the control booth window as they sat down, fixing their collars and joking about how weird it felt to be out.

And Jungkook—he kept glancing at the glass. At you.

You stood behind the main camera now, pretending to go over notes with the lighting team.

But you weren’t fooling anyone—especially not yourself.

Your whole body buzzed. You were giddy, jittery, anxious, overwhelmed.

He’s here. He’s actually here.

The way he had looked at you—the softness, the heat, the unspoken history between you—none of it had faded. It was all still there, hiding in his glances, in the calm stillness of how he carried himself.

And god, you wanted to run to him. Just for five minutes. Just to say everything you weren’t allowed to say.

But now?

Now, he was BTS’s Jungkook again. And you were just the staff.

So, you did what you always did: you kept working.

Even if your fingers shook.

Even if your cheeks burned.

Even if your heart was screaming his name.

The studio lights were warm and bright, casting that perfect glow on Jimin and Jungkook as the livestream began.

They looked… different. Grown. Sharper. Stronger.

But their laughter was still the same—soft, contagious, filled with inside jokes and memories you could only imagine from the past 18 months.

Jimin leaned forward, eyes sparkling as he teased Jungkook about almost crying during their farewell ceremony.

“Ya! I didn’t cry,” Jungkook argued, his voice deep, playful. “It was allergies.”

“Sure it was,” Jimin smirked, nudging him. “Military dust, right?”

The staff chuckled behind the cameras. You stood to the side, arms crossed tightly over your chest, pretending to check your phone. But really, you were just watching him.

Every smile.

Every gesture.

Every time his tongue peeked out as he laughed, or when he tucked his hair behind his ear—things you used to see up close, in quiet hotel rooms and stolen moments.

It was torture and comfort all at once.

And you didn’t even notice you were staring until someone cleared their throat beside you.

Namjoon.

He didn’t say anything—just raised his brows with a knowing smirk. His arms were crossed too, and his eyes flicked between you and Jungkook before returning to you.

You blinked, flustered. “What?”

Namjoon leaned a little closer, lowering his voice so no one else would hear. “Your face is giving you away.”

You felt your cheeks heat instantly. “I’m just—monitoring. You know. Makeup, lighting…”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Very professional.”

You elbowed him gently, half-laughing, half-dying inside. “Shut up.”

Namjoon smiled wider but backed off with a small shrug, as if to say, I won’t tell… this time.

You needed to breathe.

“I’ll be right back,” you mumbled, already stepping away. “Bathroom.”

Namjoon didn’t stop you—he just nodded knowingly as you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding in your ears.

Once in the hallway, you leaned back against the wall, closing your eyes.

You had handled months of separation. You had handled secrets and silence and waiting.

But handling him, in the same building again, so close and yet so untouchable?

That was something else entirely.

The hallway was quiet.

Too quiet compared to the buzz of the studio. Your heart was still racing, your skin still warm from the way Namjoon had looked at you like he knew. Like they all knew. Like he was just waiting for you to break.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out here. A few minutes? Maybe more. The voices and laughter from the livestream had faded behind closed doors, and your own thoughts had taken over.

He’s here.

He’s safe.

He’s right there.

And yet—you couldn’t touch him.

Not really. Not yet.

You exhaled slowly, about to head back inside when—

Footsteps.

Heavy boots, confident steps. You knew them instantly.

You didn’t have to look to know it was him.

Jungkook.

The moment your eyes met, the air shifted. The hallway suddenly felt too small. Too quiet. Too full.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you like he was making sure you were real. His uniform jacket hung open now, and his hair was slightly tousled from pulling off his mic.

And then—he smiled.

Not the public smile. Not the one from the livestream.

This one was just for you.

“You ran away,” he said softly, voice rough from laughter and emotion.

You smiled back, heart thudding so hard it hurt. “Maybe.”

He took a few steps closer, then stopped—checking the hallway quickly, like old habits kicking in. Still cautious, still hiding.

But when he was sure no one was around, he reached for you.

You didn’t hesitate.

You crossed the last step between you and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as he held you tight—so tight like he was afraid to let go.

God, he felt solid. Warm. Real. Like every second of waiting had finally led here.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered against his shirt, your voice barely holding steady.

His hand slid up your back, resting gently at the nape of your neck. “I thought about you every damn day,” he said, low and rough. “Every day, Y/N.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes searched yours, and you knew—he wanted to kiss you.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not here.

So instead, he pressed his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m home now,” he breathed. “We made it.”

You nodded, tears pricking behind your eyes. “Yeah. We did.”

And in that quiet, stolen moment—hidden between the walls of the company that wouldn’t approve of any of this—you finally breathed again.

Together.

The livestream had ended with cheers and laughter. Staff clapped, cameras powered down, and the room buzzed with post-shoot energy.

Jungkook and Jimin were surrounded by staff, all offering congratulations, handshakes, pats on the back. They took it all with grace, but their eyes were tired—especially Jungkook’s.

You stood off to the side again, pretending to review the footage on a monitor while your heart pulled in two different directions.

He was right there.

But you couldn’t go with him.

“Let’s go eat!” Taehyung called suddenly, grinning and throwing an arm around Jimin. “Gopchang and soju, my treat!”

“Ya, your treat?” Seokjin scoffed. “We’ll be waiting until next payday.”

Jimin laughed, tossing his cap onto a table. “I’m in. I want fried chicken and kimchi stew.”

Namjoon turned to Jungkook. “You coming?”

Jungkook looked up, glancing instinctively in your direction.

He didn’t say anything out loud. He didn’t have to.

The way his eyes softened, the tiniest flicker of disappointment flashing behind his expression—it was enough.

You gave him a small smile, one you hoped said I’m okay. Don’t worry.

Then you turned to the others, keeping your voice light.

“I’ll stay behind and help with cleanup. You guys go ahead.”

Jungkook opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. Maybe to argue. Maybe to ask you to come anyway. But he didn’t.

He just nodded slowly and picked up his jacket.

That moment burned a little. You wanted to go. God, you wanted to sit beside him at the table, hear him laugh, feel his knee brush yours under the table like before. But that wasn’t your place. Not publicly.

Then—

“Wait,” Jimin said, suddenly pausing at the doorway. He turned to Jungkook, then to you, then back to the group. “You all go. Jungkook and I will meet you later.”

Taehyung blinked. “Huh? Why?”

Jimin just shrugged with a sly little smile. “I forgot my bag. And I need to stop by Y/N’s place to grab some stuff.”

He looked at you. “You’re going home, right?”

You caught the look in his eyes. The message behind the casual tone.

He was giving you a way out. A cover.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’m heading back now.”

“Perfect,” Jimin said, already nudging Jungkook. “We’ll meet at her place first. I’ll bring chicken. And beer.”

There was a moment of pause before Seokjin narrowed his eyes. “You two are suspicious.”

“We’re tired,” Jimin said dramatically, already ushering Jungkook away. “Let us rest first. Then we party.”

Namjoon laughed. “Fine, fine. But don’t take too long. And don’t fall asleep!”

As the others disappeared down the hallway, you and Jungkook fell into step behind Jimin.

Your fingers brushed for just a second.

And for the first time in forever, you didn’t have to pull away

Jimin was true to his word.

He showed up at your apartment 30 minutes later, arms full of takeout bags and a six-pack of cold beer. Jungkook trailed behind him, freshly showered, in a hoodie and sweats—but he may as well have walked in wearing a crown for how your heart reacted.

The apartment filled with warmth and laughter. You ate on the floor around your coffee table, beer cans opening one by one as Jimin told story after story from their time in the military.

Jungkook didn’t say much—he was too busy watching you. Every glance. Every smile. Every time you laughed a little too loud at Jimin’s jokes, his eyes flicked over to you like he was memorizing it.

And you felt it too.

That magnetic pull between you. The silent countdown behind every look. The we’re not alone yet tension curling in your stomach.

Jimin leaned back eventually, yawning loudly. “Alright,” he groaned, stretching. “My social battery’s gone. I’m heading out before I pass out on your floor.”

“You sure?” you asked, even though your heart was racing.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Jimin said with a knowing look. “You two probably need some… catching up time.”

Jungkook threw a pillow at him, laughing. “Hyung!”

Jimin dodged it, grinning as he grabbed his jacket. “Just lock the door behind me. And don’t be loud.” He winked. “Your neighbors probably like their sleep.”

You flushed. Jungkook groaned.

And then the door clicked shut.

Silence.

Just you and him.

The second the lock slid into place, you turned—and Jungkook was already there, closing the distance between you in two long strides. His hands were on your waist, pulling you in, and then—

You kissed him.

Hard. Desperate. Months of distance crashing into one kiss that felt like breathing again after being underwater too long.

He groaned against your mouth, his hands slipping under your shirt, warm and searching. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he pressed you back until your spine hit the wall.

“I thought I’d go insane without you,” he murmured, lips brushing against your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

“You did,” you whispered back, tugging his hoodie off, breathless. “We both did.”

His mouth was on yours again in a second, hungrier now, like he couldn’t get enough. And you didn’t care. Not about the job. Not about the rules. Not about tomorrow.

Just this.

Just him.

Home.

The moment your back hit the wall, it was like a dam broke.

All those months apart — every aching night, every word unsaid, every kiss only imagined — crashed down in the space between heartbeats. Jungkook kissed you like he was starved, like he couldn’t decide where to touch first because he wanted all of you at once.

His hands were everywhere — your waist, your back, the slope of your neck. You pulled him closer, needing him closer, clinging to him like the last thread of something sacred.

“Bedroom,” you breathed between kisses.

He nodded once, jaw clenched, eyes dark with need.

You barely made it.

Clothes disappeared in a rush — hoodie over his head, your shirt peeled off, jeans undone with fumbling hands and impatient mouths. He paused only once, looking down at you like he was seeing you for the first time again.

“God,” he whispered, fingers brushing over your bare skin like he was afraid you’d vanish. “You’re real. You’re here.”

You nodded, heart pounding so loud you could feel it in your throat. “I waited for you.”

“I know.” His voice cracked, just a little. “I’ll make up for it.”

And he did.

Jungkook took his time — worshipped every inch of you like a man trying to memorize a dream. His mouth left a trail of fire down your neck, your chest, the dip of your waist. He moved like he knew your body — where to touch, where to kiss, how to pull that soft gasp from your lips that drove him crazy.

His skin was warm against yours, hard muscle meeting soft curves, and every second was filled with whispered confessions between tangled sheets:

“I missed this.”

“I missed you.”

“You’re mine.”

“You always have been.”

And when he finally sank into you, it wasn’t just physical — it was everything. A reunion. A release. A promise.

Your bodies moved in sync, slow at first, deep, unhurried. Like time had stopped just for you two. Like the whole world had faded except this one room, this one night, this one love.

“Say my name,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and ragged.

“Jungkook,” you moaned, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please—don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growled, moving faster now, lips capturing yours again. “I’m not letting you go again. Not now. Not ever.”

And when you both finally shattered — together, breathless and trembling, your bodies slick with sweat and love and months of longing — he held you.

Tight. Close. Like he still didn’t fully believe it was real.

And in that silence after, the only sound was his heartbeat beneath your ear, fast and steady.

“Mine,” he whispered again, kissing your temple. “All mine.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to

You woke to warmth.

Not just the kind that came from sunlight pouring through the thin curtains — but the kind that came from him. Skin against skin, tangled limbs beneath your blanket, the slow, steady rhythm of his breath against the back of your neck.

Jungkook.

His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, bare chest pressed to your back, his leg hooked lazily over yours. You could feel the slight rise and fall of his body, his heart beating softly behind you.

For a moment, you just lay there. Eyes closed, lips parted in a sleepy smile, memorizing the feeling of his body against yours again. It was quiet. Still. Like the world had pressed pause.

And then you felt him shift — just slightly — and his lips brushed the top of your shoulder.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, voice low and raspy from sleep.

“Mmm,” you hummed, turning your face toward him. “Barely.”

He smiled into your skin, nosing gently against your neck. “Good. I didn’t want to wake up alone.”

You rolled over slowly to face him. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes. His face was soft, eyes still heavy with sleep. And god, he looked so good like this — vulnerable, real, yours.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” you said softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “I’ve never slept so well in my life.”

You laughed a little, pulling the blanket higher. “Probably because you’re not being yelled at by a sergeant anymore.”

“True,” he said, grinning. “Also helps that I’ve got the best pillow now.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours.”

The words hit you straight in the chest.

And then he leaned in and kissed you — slow, sleepy, warm — the kind of kiss that tasted like comfort and home and everything you’d missed. His fingers brushed along your thigh, but there was no urgency now, no rush.

Just closeness.

You pulled back, barely, your noses still touching. “Do we have to get up?”

“Eventually,” he said. “But not yet.”

You nestled back into his chest, eyes fluttering shut again. “Okay. Just a few more minutes.”

He tightened his arms around you, voice barely audible as he kissed your hair. “Take all the time you want, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

So our babys are nearly 7 again, it´s unreal how fast the time had passed.

[clockwayswrites]

A Bird in the building is worth to in the car. Or something. Part 23

yes, I do have too much fun with these part titles masterpost

The efficiency that Danny and the kids were ushered, privately and securely, into the parking garage and the waiting car with was impressive. Bruce gave the order and then in a breath they were at the car. Unable to fight the instinct, Danny had kept his wings around the boys the whole way, as if he could protect them from the world.

Even in the car Danny still wanted to protectively drape his wings around them. He was grateful when both boys let him. He was grateful that Mr. Pennyworth didn’t comment on the wings at all. He just wished Bruce had gone with them.

It was completely understandable for Bruce to have to check on the situation and the people who had been in the building before leaving, but it left Danny feeling on edge. It would be better once Bruce was back in the car, and Danny knew that everyone here was safe. If it had been possible, he would have preferred to wait in the safe room. With the incoming cops that hadn’t been wise.

What felt like too long later, Danny watched Bruce walk towards the car through the tinted windows, flanked by very alert security. The door opening and closing felt very final. Danny let out a breath he hadn’t exactly been holding, but had still felt clogged up in his chest.

Bruce leaned across the center console and part way into the back seat. “Are you all alright?”

“Yes, Father,” Damian said where he was just barely leaning into Danny’s side and cradled by a wing.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “But, B, he was following me. He said he saw me going into the building. He called me a dormouse. I didn’t… I didn’t even notice him until he came into the building.”

Danny carded talons through Tim’s hair, hoping to calm himself as much as Tim or else he might go back and show the Mad Hatter how terrifying he could really get.

Bruce didn’t look any more pleased at that. “We’ll look into it, and I’ll pass along the information too. We’ll have to put some security on you for a bit in case he has others under control who are still after you.”

Tim frowned at that and Danny couldn’t resist leaning over to press a kiss to Tim’s hair, as presumptuous as the act was. “Let us protect you, hummingbird.”

Tim looked up at him. “Hummingbird?”

Danny just gave a little shrug. It seemed to fit. He didn’t think too much about it. It fit in the same way as being able to wrap his wings around them and the need to protect them.

“And what about you?” Bruce asked.

Danny glanced at the other man, tilting his head quizzically.

“Are you alright?” Bruce clarified.

“He was not before the event,” Damian jumped in quickly. “He was obviously fatigued and suffering from either a headache or over stimulation from the noise.”

“Or both,” Tim added. “We thought he might be leaving to go home.”

“I was just leaving to get lunch,” Danny sighed, even though they weren’t wrong about the rest.

Bruce frowned and held his hand out, which Danny just blinked at.

“Hand, Danny,” Bruce explained. “I want to check your pulse.”

Danny froze. He was suddenly, excruciatingly aware that his hand was still tipped in talon and small feathers. He snatched his hand out of Tim’s hair, worried now that his hand alone had been too much, as distorted as it was. He crossed his arms, hiding his hands against his body.

“I’m fine.”

Bruce didn’t pull his hand back. Instead his whole face softened in a sad way that confused Danny.

“We aren’t afraid of you, Danny,” Bruce said. His voice was a comforting low rumble that Danny wanted desperately to trust. “You’ve been nothing but kind to my family and today you kept them safe. The physical changes you went through to do that do not scare me.”

Danny glanced down and away, trying to avoid looking at any of them in the tight space of the car. “They scare me.”

Damian clicked his tongue and leaned further into Danny’s side, further in under the wing. Tim reached for a hand. Not wanting to accidentally hurt Tim with the sharp talons, Danny reluctantly let him take it. Tim wrapped his own fingers confidently around Danny’s.

Bruce still waited with his hand out.

Danny chewed on his lip, an old nervous tick. Bruce waited. The boys stayed close. Finally, Danny let out a huff of air and offered his hand up to Bruce.

“Your pulse is a bit erratic,” Bruce said after he had counted Danny’s pulse along to the ticking of his watch. He didn’t let go of Danny’s hand after it, instead he ran his thumb against Danny’s wrist. The touch almost made Danny shiver in a good way.

“I, ah, adrenalin crash, I figure,” Danny said once he could find his words.

“Are you alright returning to the Manor so that we can keep an eye on you?”

“Oh I get asked this time?” Danny teased. Teasing was easier.

Bruce just chuckled. “Well you are awake.”

“I… yes,” Danny answered. It was less about him being looked after and more so that he could look after the boys. If he went home now, he’d worry all night.

Mr. Pennyworth finally started the car. “Will you be needing medication or any such health items from your apartment, sir?”

Danny shook his head. “I keep some extra doses in my bag. And really, just Danny is alright.”

“Then to home, Master Danny.”

Danny tried not to miss the touch as Bruce pulled away and buckled in for the drive.

[joequiinn]

The Ache Inside the Hate | m.a. x reader

Summary | When a blizzard hits and the group gets separated, you and Manny are stuck waiting out the storm together.

Warnings, Tropes | 18+, fem firefly!reader, possibly ooc manny (idk dude has like 5 mins of screen time), smut, forced proximity, acquaintances-to-lovers, requited-unrequited, oral (f receiving), dry humping, some dirty talk, unprotected p in v

Author's Note | Danny Ramirez is haunting me so now I have to write fanfics for all his characters 🤷‍♀️

WC | 12.6k

!!! MINORS DNI !!!

Harsh, howling winds rattled the windows of the resort, glacial air seeping in through cracked glass and walls eaten away by time. You could hear the building creaking with the severity of the storm, shingles flapping on the roof over your head, wayward doors swaying opened and closed somewhere on the floors below. As you sat bundled up in moth-eaten blankets, a stained and ripped paperback folded in your hands, Manny stood at the window facing the road, his shoulders rigid and foot tapping with impatience.

You had known a storm was coming as the team trekked through the Payette Forest - the temperatures were frigid, even by mountain standards, winds blowing crisp through the pines and woodland. For days, you encouraged Abby and the rest of the group to make camp in any of the nearby towns, as this had been a harsh winter already, but she kept putting it off, determined to make it to Jackson as quickly as possible.

It wasn’t until snow began to first fall delicately that you raised the matter again - after all, you were the pseudo-meteorologist of the group, for lack of a better title, so you knew how to predict the calm before the storm. And finally, they relented, hiking out of the forest and into the nearby cookie-cutter town of McCall.

The resort made the most sense for you to set up a base. Along the north side was a lake that had filled more and more through the years, flooding parts of the lower floor in a couple inches of icy water; the building was set back from the main roadway, allowing some isolation, and you could see for miles from the suite on the top floor, making it the ideal high ground.

Once the building was checked and secured, you all set out for a supply run, hoping to make it back before the storm hit. Knowing that time was limited, you decided to split up to cover more ground - you and Manny went south, Abby and Nora west, Owen and Mel south.

You’d gotten used to being paired off with Manny, as that had always been the case over the course of the past five years. For lack of a better word, you two were more akin to acquaintances than friends despite all your time together, the both of you not terribly interested in getting too close to anyone on the Firefly crew.

That shared attitude of detachment made you and Manny a good team - you could read one another and predict the next move, you could communicate easily through glances or gestures. Ironically, that also meant that you knew more about each other than anyone else, which wasn’t saying much in the grand scheme of things, but it bonded you nonetheless. Sure, he could annoy the hell out of you half the time, but if you had to pick someone to trust, at the end of the day it could only be Manny.

So, your partnership made the McCall supply run easy - the two of you rummaged through abandoned homes and a local game store, trying to find any possible provisions that you may need for the last leg on your trip to Jackson. Despite not finding much, you held out hope that perhaps the rest of the group may find things of more use.

But, as you’d come to learn, nothing was ever as easy as you expected. Considering your limited resources, your weather predictions weren’t an exact science - one moment, the snow was slow and beautiful, and then the next you couldn’t see more than five feet in front of you. You and Manny managed to make it back to the lodge, but now - some six or seven hours later - the rest of your group had yet to show up, and he was getting antsy, worrying over the lowering sun and the promise of nightfall.

“We should go looking for them.” Manny finally spoke for the first time in well over an hour. You took a deep breath through your nose, mouth tightening with agitation, though he couldn’t see the look with his back turned.

“We’re waiting.” You answered plainly without looking up from your book.

Manny turned to stare you down; you didn’t have to see his face to know that he was glowering at your seemingly nonchalant answer, “Something bad could’ve happened, and you sound bored?”

Here we go. Sometimes, you absolutely hated being left alone with him for more than an hour because it always ended up in some bullshit squabble over your attitude or Manny’s temper or something else completely irrelevant. Effective teamwork be damned, the two of you were nonetheless very different types of people.

Sighing, you dog-eared your page and dropped the book into your lap, matching Manny’s sour look with one of your own, “I’m not bored, asshole. I’m just following the rules that we made as a group. Or did you forget those already?”

The golden rules amidst the last remaining faction of Fireflies was simple: have a base to return to, wait there for each other when separated, and don’t go searching for anyone until twelve hours have passed. It stemmed from some kind of scout or camp guidebook, with a few tweaks, and it suited you all thus far. Everyone was more than capable of fending for themselves if need be, so it was better to avoid putting the whole group in danger whenever possible.

Manny’s eyes darkened a little as you stared at one another, neither wanting to be the first to look away, “By that time there’ll be no light left.”

“They know how to take care of themselves.” You countered, crossing your arms to retain a bit of warmth, “Abby said--”

“Doesn’t matter what Abby said.” He cut you off quickly, “None of us considered a goddamn blizzard when we set those rules up. Anything could happen to them out there - you just don’t care.”

An unamused laugh escaped you, rolling your eyes as sarcasm laced each of your words, “Wow, Manny, you’re so right, I never would’ve figured it out; I don’t care at all, that’s why I’m here and have been here all these years.”

“Stop with the attitude.” His jaw clenched as he took a step toward you, though he seemed hesitant to move too far from the window; he’d been practically glued to it since you got back, waiting for any sign of the rest of your team, “If you cared we’d be out there looking for them right now.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to continue mocking him the way you desperately wanted to right now. Eyes blazing, you stood, dropping your blankets and paperback carelessly while marching across the room towards Manny. You jabbed him firmly in the chest, but refrained from matching his temper; you were never one for arguments and confrontation, and nothing was ever resolved from your spats with Manny in the past.

“You really think I’m not worried out of my mind right now?” You asked through your teeth, “I’ve been stressed this entire trip just waiting for something bad to happen. Sure, I don’t feel good about sitting here reading a goddamn harlequin novel to pass the time, but it’s safer that we stay put, got it?”

Manny shook his head judgmentally, stepping back from you with a faint scoff, “You’re unbelievable. Why you’re still here is beyond me.”

Your brows shot up in stunned vexation at his hostility, “I’m still here because I give a shit, contrary to what you think.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fucking asshole.” You hissed under your breath while turning away from him, “We’re on the same side, so why do you keep fighting with me?”

“Because you’re willing to let them die out there!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

“Isn’t it!?” Manny grabbed your elbow, spinning you around to face him again, “I know we have rules, and I know why. But the storm isn’t letting up, and they could be in serious trouble out there. And we’re doing nothing.”

“And what about us?” You hadn’t intended to raise your voice, yet your words came out in a strained yell nonetheless, “What happens if we go out there looking for them? Stop trying to be a hero and think about all the variables involved. What if we get lost out there, or we get attacked, or our own friends accidentally shoot us because they can’t see through all this fucking snow? Have you thought about any of that?”

You shook off Manny’s hand, continuing before he got the chance to intervene, “If we go out there, we could be putting ourselves at greater risk than any of them are in. We’re smart, that’s why this group works. Owen will do literally anything to keep Mel safe, Nora and Abby are the best survivalists I’ve ever seen. And we should stay put because we’re supposed to have enough confidence in their ability to stay alive.”

Manny looked between your eyes with a harsh glare, working his jaw as your words sank in. After a long beat, a scornful grin spread across his lips as he leaned towards you, voice low, “I guess you do care.”

You scowled up at Manny through your lashes, turning away again to go scoop up your book and blankets, intentionally keeping your back to him, “You’re not going out there, got it? We need to stick together. So, why don’t you cool off a little.”

Heading for the door, you had to resist the urge to turn and look at him; considering you were trying to make a point, you had to be more stubborn than usual.

“Where are you going?” You paused, hand resting on the doorknob.

“Anywhere to get away from you.” You answered harshly before throwing open the door and walking out into the hall.

It was pushing nine hours since the blizzard started. And no one was back yet.

You holed yourself up in what was once a game room, arcade cabinets with cracked screens and broken buttons lining one wall, billiards and foosball tables covered in dust and cobwebs lining the floor-to-ceiling windows. Miraculously, this half of the building wasn’t puddling with water, which couldn’t be said for some of the other rooms you wandered through.

All things considered, the furniture was in half-decent shape; you’d been curled in the corner of a couch since you found your way down here, trying and failing to focus on your contrived, though somehow charming, paperback’s narrative. Once night fell, you pulled out your flashlight in a half-assed attempt to try to read, but eventually you gave up, staring blankly at the pages for god knows how long.

Manny always assumed you didn’t care; he always assumed nothing mattered to you. Since the massacre at the hospital five years ago, when you all came together, the two of you were always pushing each other’s buttons in such little, inane ways.

You, who liked to have a plan and to keep a level-head, were so opposite to Manny’s action and emotion-driven attitude, that you were bound to have your disagreements. He was a soldier, ready to throw himself at anything he had to, willing to get his hands dirty; you were made for the backlines, planning and mapping and researching before you’d ever think to pick up a weapon. With the group all together, it was easy to balance out your personalities, easy to maintain order. The two of you had never been left alone together for this long, though.

Despite what Manny might think, you didn’t hate him. You never did. He was irksome and frustrating, but at the end of the day you respected him - his skills, his loyalty, his drive. Perhaps in another life - one in which you all weren’t forced to grow up in a dying world - things could have been different, you two could have been… well, something.

You thought about it from time-to-time, what life would be like if the last of the Fireflies could live those ‘normal’ lives you’d read about in books or seen in movies. You figured that your personalities clashed enough that maybe none of you would have befriended each other, considering that you came together as a means of survival rather than out of kinship.

But then you’d think about the good moments you shared. When you would stumble across something strange in an old magazine and immediately show Nora. When Mel would bring back little odds-and-ends that she thought were interesting. When you and Manny would actually laugh together at a joke one of you said that the others didn’t find quite so funny.

Maybe normal wouldn’t have been so bad.

Somewhere nearby, a door creaked on its hinges, startling you out of your reverie. You shot up in your seat, eyes wide as you looked left and right and behind; forgetting about your book, you clicked off your flashlight and reached for the knife strapped to your thigh, just in case the noise wasn’t friendly.

Heart beating rapidly, you prayed that it was everyone else managing to make their way back despite the dark of night. You carefully stood, taking light steps towards the door, ducking behind furniture and posts as you went.

And then you heard Manny’s voice calling your name, his tone frustrated; your chest deflated with ease as you sheathed your knife. You flicked your light back on and wrenched open the heavy door, drawing his attention from across the expansive lobby; you weren’t sure if you were imagining it, but it looked as if he let out a sigh of relief.

He lifted his arms, indicating the building around him, the beam from his own flashlight dancing aimlessly across the wall, “Had me searching this whole damn place for you.”

Manny’s mood seemed to have calmed, if his easy tone was anything to go on; maybe you wouldn’t have to take anymore attitude with him. One of the nearby windows, though still mostly intact, was missing a corner of glass, the bleak night air making you tug your collar up as if that could protect you from the cold.

You shrugged ruefully, “That was kinda the intention.”

Manny studied you, eyes searching your face and looking you up and down; it made you wonder what the hell was going on in his head. His jaw flexed as he nodded, accepting your reasoning, while looking about the lobby - toppled over furniture, icy floors from where water flooded in, shelves layered in cobwebs and dust.

“We stick together,” he said simply, echoing what you’d said to him a couple of hours ago, “you’re right about that. So long as it’s just the two of us here, we aren’t splitting up again.”

You nodded in agreement, chewing at the inside of your lip thoughtfully as your gaze dropped to the floor. There was a part of you that wanted to discuss your earlier argument, but neither you nor Manny were the type of people to apologize, so you refrained.

“Any sight of them yet?” You asked as your eyes trailed to the wall of windows facing the lake - endless darkness, no lights for miles and miles. Not even the shine of the stars and reflection of the moon was visible through the heavy snowfall, which caused a wave of stress to roll up your spine; the weather hadn’t let up in the slightest.

“No.” You looked back at Manny, studying his face as best you could with the harsh light and shadows obscuring it. A sigh left you as he slowly crossed the room, “They’ll be okay.”

His tone wasn’t terribly convincing, but you were under the impression that he was saying it in an attempt to reassure the both of you. As he drew closer, you held his gaze, realizing that - despite everything - his deep brown eyes were a comforting sight right now. So, you straightened your shoulders, bolstering yourself to the best of your ability.

“They’ll be okay.” You repeated with far more conviction than Manny had, though you were still trying to make yourself believe it. For a long, tense moment, the two of you stood there in silence until Manny dropped his gaze in consideration.

“Let’s go back upstairs,” he instructed simply. You knew without him saying so that the high ground made him feel safer - from there he could see anyone coming, friend or foe. So, you nodded in agreement, following after him until the two of you were back in the top floor suite that was your temporary camp.

The two small flashlights you had were barely useful with how heavy the blizzard had gotten outside, beams illuminating your respective supply bags, shifted furniture, a small stack of shockingly pristine blankets sat atop a chair. You raised a brow at Manny, but he didn’t notice the look.

“Where the hell did you find those?” You questioned, because they definitely weren’t here earlier.

Manny knelt over his bag, steadying his flashlight between his shoulder and cheek as he dug through his belongings, “Searched some of the other rooms. Guess hotels used to keep them in plastic, so they were covered all this time.”

“Plastic?” You muttered to yourself, before determining that maybe it was a cleanliness thing and moving on; you had been far too young to remember what the world was like before it collapsed. Walking up behind Manny, you peered over his shoulder; he was digging out what food you two managed to find before the storm hit, which wasn’t much - mixed nuts, some kind of canned meat that you didn’t quite trust.

He held the bag of nuts up to you, “Hungry?”

Honestly, you weren’t. You probably should have been, but considering the stress that had been gnawing at you for hours, it didn’t seem possible for you to have an appetite right now. Glancing at your face, Manny must have read as much, shrugging as he closed his bag and situated himself in one of the chairs that he’d moved to face the window. Ripping open the bag, he scooped a handful into his mouth while gazing out into the haze of snow.

You stared at the back of Manny’s head, mindlessly studying his silhouette; there was strain in his shoulders, a slump to his posture. Was it because of his worrying over the rest of the crew, was it your fight earlier, was it something else entirely? You ruled it was most likely a combination of all the above.

Glancing towards your own bag, you began to make a mental list of all the stock you had between the two of you - the food, batteries, some scarce hygienic supplies, knives and guns and bullets. Did you still have fresh water? Would you run out of food while waiting out the weather? A surge of panic shot through you at all the variables that you simply couldn’t predict.

As if it would help anything, you clicked off your flashlight - at the very least, you could control how many batteries you blew through. So, you might be stumbling around in the dark for a while? There were far worse things than that. Manny either didn’t notice or care about the absence of an additional light, his own resting upon a table and shining into the room, casting harsh shadows across walls and furniture. You were nearly surprised that he wasn’t using it as a beacon for the others, but then again, it could just as easily be a beacon for less than desirable guests.

Swallowing down the anxious lump in your throat, you approached Manny, dragging over another heavy chair to sit beside him. Plopping down into it, you glanced over, but his gaze remained forward. You took the opportunity to study his profile - brow furrowed like it always seemed to be, jaw clenched, eyes intently staring into the dark night. Since you met him, Manny always seemed to have a wealth of tension in his body, like an animal ready to pounce if he ever had to.

Your gaze trailed down the length of his body studiously, his elbows rusting atop his knees, fingers knotted tightly together, heel tapping with that usual impatience you’d come to associate with him. Sympathetically, your brow turned down, as if you could suddenly see all his years of agitation and restlessness and irritation.

“Stop doing that.” Manny’s low voice surprised you; he still had yet to pull his eyes away from the flurry of snow.

Your expression knotted slightly, “Doing what?”

Did the corner of his mouth upturn ever so slightly? Maybe you were just seeing things. He sighed faintly through his nose, “Doing that thing you do.”

The confused furrow of your brow deepened. Sensing your confusion, a small huff left Manny as he finally swiveled his gaze towards you, straightening in his seat just a little.

“The way you watch people.” He said as if it were obvious, “It’s like you’re… seeing right through them, digging around in their heads until you figure them out.”

You could see, now that you were staring at each other, something akin to amusement in Manny’s eyes as he continued, “I’ve watched you do it dozens of times, but it’s different knowing that you’re doing it to me. I don’t like the idea of you seeing something that others aren’t supposed to.”

Suddenly self-conscious, you dropped your gaze, biting your lip, “I didn’t realize it was that… intense.”

“It’s why you’re good at what you do; you're observant. We wouldn’t be here without it.” He said almost dismissively, as if it pained him to give you anything even resembling a compliment. Despite your nerves, you smiled faintly to yourself, glancing back up at Manny through your lashes.

“I didn’t think anyone noticed. That I watch people, I mean.”

Manny worked his jaw in consideration, as if he had a response on his tongue but was hesitant to share it. Though, a moment later, he caved to his thoughts, “Not sure if anyone else has. Just me, far as we both know.”

That smile of yours grew just a little bigger, eyes narrowing slightly. Really, you wanted to ask him why and when he ever noticed it in the first place. Considering just how much he disliked you, you’d figured through the years that he’d want as little to do with you as possible.

As if reading your mind, Manny turned his gaze back out towards the sky; you could see the tightness in his expression even better now that he was looking away.

“So, what are we gonna do?” He asked firmly; he almost turned his eyes back towards you - you could see it in the faint twitch of his head - but he refrained.

You took a deep breath as you mulled it over. It’s probably been ten hours now without any sign of the crew, and the both of you were well beyond concerned about it. Per the rules, if they weren’t back in another two hours, then you and Manny should technically go looking for them. But considering the weather was only growing meaner and uglier, that seemed like the worst thing you could do right now.

You followed Manny’s lead, staring out at the heavy snow, listening to the harsh wind blasting against the building, rattling windows and paneling. You always seemed to run cold, but just the sound of the storm’s severity made you shiver.

“We wait out the night.” You finally said. You only briefly considered how strange it was that Manny was allowing you to make the calls, but then you figured it was his soldier mentality - he wasn’t the decision maker, though he was a devoted follower, “There’s nothing we can do with the weather like this. We rest, we prep, we head out once the sun’s up, and we find them. Storm can’t last forever.”

For a long stretch, the two of you sat in agreeable silence, watching the snow fall for lack of anything better to do. Briefly, you wished you hadn’t forgotten that paperback downstairs - didn’t matter how bad it was, it would have at least given you something to do.

You tried not to let your gaze drift back towards Manny, wary of making him feel uneasy under your eyes again, but you couldn’t help stealing glances. From his hard set brow to his lips, down to his tense hands and bouncing knee; if anything, he could use something to keep him preoccupied even more than you could.

“When you searched the rooms,” you started simply for the sake of creating conversation again, “did you find anything else? Anything we can use?”

Manny shrugged as if none of it mattered, “Couple bars of soap, bottle of water, half a dozen bibles.”

The both of you huffed out a faint laugh, “Well, if I’m feeling really desperate for something to read, I guess I know where to look.”

Manny glanced back towards you, looking you up and down once, “What, already finish that stupid book you’ve been carrying around?”

You gave him a teasing glare, “Forgot it downstairs.”

He hummed quietly, “Must not have been that good… If you want, we can go back and get it.”

A surprised smile graced your lips at Manny’s offer; you weren’t expecting such a simple kindness from him. Though you considered it for a moment, you shook your head, “We should stay put.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, making a measly attempt at relaxing in his seat. Another beat of silence passed between you, “What was it about?”

Your brow furrowed, another half-assed laugh leaving you, “Oh, you must be bored if you’re asking about some romance novel.”

Manny laughed as well, “What else are we gonna talk about? The weather?”

You gave him a faux affronted look, though you appreciated his ability to joke about the one thing causing you both intense stress. There was something in his expression that you couldn’t quite place, almost companionship or admiration or something else you couldn't name. Grinning, you, too, settled into your seat, curling up to keep your body heat in; if it got any colder, you’d be bundling up in every single blanket the two of you had.

“It was some old-timey story,” You started, trying to find the right word, “not, uh, Victorian, but something else like it. The guy’s a lord or a duke, butting heads with his love interest the entire book. The tension was pretty good, all things considered.”

You looked back towards Manny, chewing at your lower lip as you recalled the plot. Remembering what was next, you diverted your gaze bashfully, “I got distracted somewhere after the wedding - hard to focus on it while being worried outta my mind over everyone else. Things were just about to get sexy, too.”

Manny snorted slightly, “I thought those books were all sex.”

You shrugged with an amused grin, “Guess not this one. Maybe that’s what the second half is gonna be. Might have to grab it before we leave tomorrow, and let you know how filthy things get.”

“Looking forward to it.” He joked, laughing smally in his chest, “Might just have to borrow it once you’re done.”

“Oh, you’ll love it.” You continued to jest, finding ease in the calm between you two, your anxieties briefly lifted as you laughed together.

A huge gust of wind blew against the building, causing the windows to rattle again; from another room, you heard glass break, shards tinkling to the floor, and with it the suite was suddenly colder. You and Manny both straightened in your seats as a door creaked, swaying back and forth with the draft.

Cursing under your breath, you rose to your feet, feeling Manny a step behind you, following the sound of groaning hinges till you found the culprit. One of the bedroom windows had already been cracked, and it finally gave in under the strain of the storm.

You peered into the room, eyes having adjusted to the dark just enough to make out the shine of snowfall and glass littering the floor. Backing up, you bumped into Manny’s chest, not realizing how close he’d been behind you; muttering a quick apology, you yanked the door closed, hoping that the latch was still intact enough that you wouldn’t have to worry. Again, you shivered - were you actually cold, or was it simply because you knew the harsh weather had gained one more small way to seep into the building?

You and Manny were still practically standing on top of each other, so he must have noticed the tremble of your shoulders or the clatter of your teeth. He tugged up the collar of your jacket again, checking that it was zipped up all the way; you would have thought it intimate if it weren’t for the harsh, instinctive way that he did it.

“You can’t be that cold all the time; been shivering like a wet cat since we left Seattle.” His tone seemed mildly jesting, yet there still seemed to be something mean about it.

“Shut up, I’m fine.” You bit back, brushing past him, “We should check the other bedrooms; probably best to just close everything up in case any more windows decide to give up on us.”

You didn’t know what hotels or resorts were supposed to be like, but you knew this suite was big, considering it’s four bedrooms and full kitchen; you’d read somewhere about deluxe rooms, or something like that, so now you knew what the hell that was describing.

Splitting up, you both checked the rooms, closing each of the doors as you went. This place seemed sturdy, but it was still nonetheless worn away by time. Returning to the front hall, you checked the front door seal on the off chance that maybe the lock still somehow worked, though you were soon let down, as it was jammed and unable to be secured. You made a mental note that you two needed to be extra mindful before you turned your attention back towards Manny.

He’d left his flashlight atop a table, so you could only make out his silhouette; you had the feeling he was staring back at you, too. With a faint sigh, you tried to find the pile of blankets he’d set aside earlier.

“We should try to get some sleep.” You instructed, despite the fact that you were wide awake. Though, curling up in all those blankets sounded nice, and maybe you’d finally be warm. 

“You rest.” Manny answered with a small shake of his head, “I’ll take first watch just in case; wake you up in a few hours.”

He had a point - considering there were only two of you, it wouldn’t be wise for you both to drop your guard. But you nonetheless protested, “I can take watch, I’m wide fucking awake as it is.”

You heard him sigh, probably irritated with you yet again, “Then I guess we’re not sleeping at all tonight.”

“Manny--”

“I’ll sleep when I’m tired.” He interrupted, returning back to that damn chair of his, “Do whatever you want.”

You stared as he settled back into his seat, squaring his shoulders; you couldn’t help but roll your eyes while crossing your arms at him. For a long stretch, the both of you were silent, though you were unable to hold back the question that you’d been wanting to ask since the two of you made it to the resort, “What’s your problem with me, honestly?”

You heard Manny laugh without humor. Turning his head, you could vaguely make out his profile, that familiar sharp nose and strong jaw. Suddenly, you didn’t like that you’d asked the question, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over you. Silence stretched out between you, longer than you would have liked - Manny wasn’t the type to hold his tongue.

Finally, he took a breath, his voice less assertive than you were expecting, “I don’t have a problem with you…”

Now, it was your turn to give a deriding laugh, “You sure?”

Manny shook his head and sighed, returning his attention back to the storm outside, much to your annoyance. You continued to stare at the back of his head for a few long moments, before giving up; guess you’d let him take the first watch after all. Considering that your two options right now were to either sleep or sit around stressing out, you may as well sleep.

So, you began to arrange some kind of make-shift bed out of the blankets and a couple pillows that weren’t completely moth-eaten. You pushed the tattered couch, using it as a barrier between you and the door, with Manny and the window opposite of it.

You worked quietly, settling into the blankets, trying to ignore how uncomfortable it was to be wrapped up while fully clothed and on the hard floor. By now, you should have been used to this kind of sleeping arrangement, but maybe the stress and tension were just causing every little thing to bother you.

“Hey,” Manny urged in a hushed whisper. You knew for a fact you hadn’t been sleeping long because you could feel the groggy discomfort in your head. Groaning, you stirred, realizing that you could feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder, “You good?”

Your expression knotted as you came back to consciousness. The darkness was the same now as it had been when you lied down, though at some point Manny had clicked off his flashlight. As your eyes adjusted to the dark, you tried to find him in the shadows, tugging at the blankets as the cold somehow seemed to penetrate right to your core. Your voice came out hoarse and whiny, “What?”

“You were moaning in your sleep.” He explained, fingers squeezing your shoulder faintly as you shuddered from the cold, “Jesus, you still cold under all that?”

“Shut up…” You groaned, already wide awake again. That was the nature of living like this, always moving and on high alert - rest and relaxation were an impossibility, “I’m fine.”

Manny sighed before clicking his tongue decisively. He took his hand back, and you could make out the way he brushed it across his forehead and eyes as if he was already feeling peeved at you all over again.

“Scooch.” He instructed.

“Huh?”

Another irked sigh left him, “Make room. You’ll do better with some body heat.”

You scoffed, “Don’t, it’s fine--”

“Just do it.”

With an exasperated huff, you shuffled over, tugging and shifting the blankets around yourself as Manny sat beside you. Under your breath, you grumbled incoherently, growing tense at the feel of his body settling in right there next to yours, shoulder bumping against yours. He rested his back upon the uncomfortable floor, laying like a board as you continued fussing with the blankets as some measly form of distraction.

But you knew you couldn’t be avoidant forever, so you eventually forced yourself to lie back, body just as rigid as Manny’s beside you. Your arm brushed his, and you attempted to shuffle away.

“Will you stop moving?” He urged, pushing closer to you intentionally, “Defeats the purpose, I’m trying to help regulate your temperature.”

“I told you I was fine.”

“You’ve been chattering all damn night,” Manny pressed his arm against yours, knee nudging you as he grumbled in irritation, “Be thankful I didn’t suggest skin-to-skin…”

Much to your chagrin, you felt a small jolt through you at the idea, your imagination too vivid for your own good sometimes. Picturing - even if just for a brief moment - the feel of Manny’s bare skin on top of yours, warm hands and tangled legs, mouth exploring every inch…

“Gross.” You spat out despite that obnoxious little sensation that stirred in your stomach. No, you were not about to picture Manny, of all people, in a compromising position like that. Maybe that stupid paperback had gotten to your head - after all, you didn’t read quite far enough to get to the good stuff, leaving you hungry to know what happened next.

It was like you could feel the way Manny’s eyes rolled at you as he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly. You did the same, glowering up at the ceiling as if it had personally offended you.

For a long couple of minutes, the two of you stayed put, like two stubborn children unwilling to come to an agreement. Not that you would admit it, but having him there next to you did help warm you up, though you may also have your own dirty mind to blame for the flesh of heat through your body.

As the wind picked up even more aggressively outside, the creaking and rattling of the building around you sent another shudder through your body. Dutifully and without hesitation, Manny inched closer to you in response; you hoped the way you leaned towards his touch was subtle enough for him not to notice.

“We cool?” Manny asked in a low tone, causing your brows to raise.

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because it sorta seems like we never are.” He countered instantly, as if he had guessed exactly how you would respond. In your periphery, you could feel the way he turned his head to gaze at your profile, which caused you to tense up even more. An unamused laugh passed through his lips, faintly fluttering against your cheek; you had to refrain from sighing at its warmth, “You never really liked me. Sometimes it seems like you can barely tolerate me.”

Surprised, you turned your head as well, trying to make out his expression in the dark, “Says the guy who hates me.”

This time, you shivered with nerves, though Manny couldn’t have known the difference, as he tried to press closer to you again. He didn’t answer for a brief moment, mulling over his response before muttering dismissively, “Hate you? No mames…”

“Oh, come on,” feeling wide awake now, you rolled onto your side, propping your head in the palm of your head, “for five years we’ve argued over stupid shit, poking at each other all the time. What else am I supposed to think?”

You could vaguely see Manny’s lips turn down in consideration before he teased, “Maybe I just like arguing with you? Keeps things interesting.”

“Yeah right,” you laughed while shaking your head, “Why you so worried about it all of a sudden?”

This time, the pause between you was different, hesitant and strained. Though you couldn’t quite discern Manny’s expression in the dark, his head turned down slightly, jaw flexing. Something about it made you uneasy.

His voice was just above a whisper, serious and contemplative, “Well, on the off chance that something bad happened out there…”

He briefly stalled, as if he didn’t want to finish the sentence. It gave you just enough time to let the words sink in, the weight of them heavy upon you. Yes, for all you knew, all of your companions could be dead or sick or buried in snow out there. For all you knew--

“--you might be all I have left.” Manny’s confession had a somber quality to it, causing a pressure in your chest that was a confused mess of dismay and want and unease. You sucked in a breath, trying to maintain your calm.

Because Manny was right. You might be all he has left, just as much as he might be all you have left. The past few years aside, what would you two do if it were only you? Despite being able to keep a level-head, despite being rational, you couldn’t help but entertain those fears; in order to stay sane, you also had to be able to look into the mouth of the beast, so to speak.

In all this time, your group had never been separated this long unless it had been planned - for five long years, the last of the Fireflies had become the closest thing you had to family.

“Manny,” you whispered reassuringly, leaning towards him to make your point, chest lightly pressing against his shoulder and arm, “everyone’s okay. You and me, we’re good together; if they can’t find us, we’ll find them. And if for some fucking reason it is just you and me now, we’ll take care of each other.”

He faintly laughed, the sound uncertain, his warm breath tickling your cheeks again, “Like we always do…”

“I haven’t let you die yet,” you teased, hoping a bit of levity might put him at ease.

“I’m sure you thought about it at least once.” He quipped.

“Well, only when you were being really annoying.” You smiled contently, appreciating the sincerity between you two. With Manny, you’d always put up fronts or used jokes against one another - really, you’d never had much of a serious one-on-one conversation, even after all this time. There was another charged pause between you.

“I never hated you, you know.” Manny’s tone was so frank and warm and… perhaps affectionate, strange as that seemed.

You startled as his hand brushed your shoulder - you were so focused on his face that you hadn’t realized he moved. His fingers slid carefully along your collarbone, hesitating at the base of your neck; your body became tense, taken aback by the knot in your chest, by the tenderness of his touch. What the hell was this about?

With a sharp, sad breath, you leaned back, hoping Manny would allow his hand to fall away from you. Instead, he gently pressed his palm to the side of your neck, keeping you close, “Don’t.”

You could feel the intensity of his eyes staring at you, fingers lightly flexing against your skin, “Don’t what?”

Shaking your head, you tried to calm the skip of your heart, the spike of nerves that swelled in your body. It was like a surge of heat from head to toe, a part of you aching for it while another part wishing to get away from it.

“We’re not doing the ‘all hope is lost’ thing. Don’t project feelings onto me that aren’t there, it isn’t fair to either of us.” You managed to sound more assured than you felt, your resolve already wavering.

You never ever hated Manny, either. Of course you never hated him; you wouldn’t have tolerated his bullshit otherwise. Yes, the two of you bickered and poked fun at each other, threatening to trade foraging partners when one of you was particularly irksome to the other. But neither of you ever followed through with it, because at the end of the day, neither of you would ever want to work with anyone else.

You and Manny fit together. He was resourceful, you were knowledgeable; he knew when to act first, and you knew when to plan ahead. You’d learned to read each other without speaking a single word; how to fight together seamlessly when shit went south. So what, you’d never had a serious, heartfelt conversation, even after years working side-by-side? Didn’t the knowing glances and elbow jabs and shared laughs make up for that? Hell, you knew for a fact that no one understood you like Manny did, and vice versa.

And, fuck, that was the problem, wasn’t it?

“I’m not doing that.” Manny insisted in that tone you knew so well - earnest and cross, adamant because he didn’t want to be brushed off. Allowing his hand to fall, he propped himself up, resting his elbows on the floor to be eye level with you.

“Aren’t you, though?” You argued, though your tone had no conviction to it, “All this time and you wait till now to, what, make a move?”

Manny scoffed and shook his head, but it seemed a measly attempt to protect himself rather than a reflection of any upset he felt. He took a deep breath, his attentive eyes searching your face candidly, “You ever think that maybe I’ve liked you this whole time, nena?”

The question caused you to inhale sharply, an anxious jolt shooting through your chest. Your mouth hung slightly ajar as you tried to believe him before you swallowed your nerves, asking quietly, “This whole time?”

Manny shifted before reaching towards you again, thumb brushing along your jaw before his hand tentatively returned to the back of your neck; a very faint, unamused laugh escaped him, “Think about it?”

And you were. You tried to recall all the times you two argued, only for you to realize he had a charmed glint in his eyes; all the times he was the first person you looked to whenever things went bad. When being in each other’s space went from being a necessity to being a comforting familiarity; when Nora started mocking the two of you for acting like an old married couple.

Those times you’d catch Manny staring at you, only for him to look away. How he’d whisper a stupid joke in your ear that he didn’t want anyone else to hear. Those little unnecessary touches - a hand at the small of your back, knees brushing when you sat side-by-side despite there being more than enough room for you both. You’d wake up sometimes in the middle of the night with an extra blanket draped over you. Or on foraging hunts when Manny would bring you a little something just because he thought you might like it.

Fuck, you were an idiot. How was it all so painfully obvious, yet managed to go completely over your head all this time?

A laugh of realization and disbelief escaped you, yet it was also a laugh of relief - like some weight you weren’t even aware of had finally been lifted from your shoulders.

“I’m so stupid…” You muttered, shaking your head at yourself.

Sensing your shift in attitude, your walls coming down, Manny jested quietly, drawing just that little bit closer to you, “Well, I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but…”

You giggled again nervously, rolling your eyes and biting your lip. Your nerves were like an electric current, static through your limbs, heart pounding in your chest. Hesitantly, you reached towards Manny, gently resting your hand to his chest, fingers splaying over his collarbone. To your relief, he leaned into the touch, resting his forehead carefully against yours while taking in a deep breath.

“For the record, I never hated you, either.” You murmured. Manny’s grip tightened ever so slightly on the back of your neck.

“I know.”

His mouth found yours urgently, a surprised hum rising in your throat; he tasted bitter and sharp, utterly intoxicating as you savored him. You could feel Manny’s smile against your lips, charmed by your reaction as his fingers flexed eagerly on your skin. Pressing closer, you wound your arms around his neck, kissing him as if you’d been starved and he was the only thing that could satiate you.

The two of you were in-sync just as you always were, hands groping, mouths insistent, bodies slotting together as Manny laid you back on the pile of blankets, his weight atop you warm and comforting like he belonged there. Just like all your silent glances, it was as if you knew what the other was thinking, moving together as his tongue slid across your lower lip, your hands tugging desirously at his curls.

Shamelessly, you opened your mouth to him, tongues swirling together as you moaned; Manny’s grip on you grew tighter, incited by the sound. He blindly groped around, fingers brushing over your breast and collarbone till he found the zipper of your coat, yanking it down in one fluid motion before sliding both hands inside it. You arched into the touch, tugging faintly at his hair as a searing coil knotted in your stomach.

Manny groaned salaciously, pushing up the hem of your layered shirts, his touch a scorching fire on your skin. Your hips bucked, heart thumping wildly in your chest. Gliding your hands down his neck and chest, you fumbled with his coat as well, causing him to laugh into your mouth as you struggled with it. His breath hot against your face as he pulled back, sitting up on his heels to rip the layer away, your chest heaving as you watched. Manny’s hands were on you again in a flash, swooping in to capture your lips again.

Propping up on your elbows, you hastily pulled off your own winter coat, not willing to break away from the kiss again so soon. Once your hands were free, you slid them over Manny’s firm torso, humming contently at the feel of him.Sliding your hands beneath his shirts, your body tightened at the guttural sound in his throat, your fingernails grazing over his abs and sides amorously. His hips twitched against yours, causing you to sigh with want.

Manny’s hands traveled down your neck and chest and waist, grabbing as if desperate to feel every part of you all at once. He kissed you ardently before withdrawing his lips, blazing a hot trail along your jaw and neck, sucking at the sweet spot just above your collarbone; the mewl that left you was downright sinful, causing Manny’s faint laugh to vibrate against your skin.

“Oh, that’s the spot, huh?” He teased in a growl that made your body clench wantonly, back arching into his touch, “Should’ve done this years ago…”

Fuck yes he should have. You should have, instead of letting all this want and desire pent up inside you. You were ravenous for Manny’s touch, finally having tasted the forbidden fruit, nails digging into his sides just enough to draw a sigh from him, mouth continuing to nip along the expanse of your neck. You pushed his shirts up higher, desperate to feel every inch of his soft skin, to memorize each curve and blemish with your fingertips.

As Manny rolled his hips far too alluringly against yours, you keened and scratched your nails along his sides, spreading your legs so he could slot between them more easily. The press of him against your center was maddening, making you realize just how long it had been since anyone aside from yourself had touched you. Your pussy clenched with anticipation, Manny’s body making your head spin as you imagined all the things he could do to you.

You groaned incoherently as his teeth gently bit your skin; Manny went rigid for just a moment, enthralled by the sound before he continued ravishing your neck.

You insistently began to tug at his clothes, deciding there were far too many layers between you. It should not have been this erotic to help someone strip, yet his hot breath on your skin and the feel of his body flexing beneath your fingers was dizzying. When finally his chest was bare, Manny leaned back, allowing your hands to explore, although you quickly knotted your fingers in his hair again and drew his mouth back to yours. He smiled against your lips, hips grinding longingly in response.

Manny pulled back after one more sweet kiss, mouth dragging down your neck and chest, hands sliding your shirt up to your breasts to expose your abs to his frenzied lips. His teeth grazed over your stomach, kissing along the curves of your body as your hands tangled in his hair.

Reaching between you, Manny undid your pants swiftly, hooking his fingers into the waistband as his lips hungrily nipped at your skin, biting and sucking feverishly. Your eyes crossed, feeling just how bad that hickey would be later.

Manny gave your pants a quick tug down to your knees, finally breaking his lips away from your skin with an audible pop. Breathing deeply, he shuffled lower, nose grazing over your panties as he pulled at your pants again, helping you out of them before they were tossed carelessly aside. You inhaled sharply at his warm breath so very close to your center, wet and needy and waiting for him.

“Shit…” He muttered, lips brushing over the thin fabric of your panties, your hips rolling instinctively, “Not fair that you smell that good.”

The compliment made you whine hungrily, nails scratching through his hair. He pressed a kiss to the fabric between you, causing you to buck again with a gasp. Resting his hands firmly on your thighs, he trailed down that little bit further, breath hot and moist along your slit, causing your eyes to roll back. His fingers dug faintly into your flesh as he took in the smell of your desire, making you squirm with anticipation.

And then he pressed his tongue flat to your pussy, spit soaking through your already damp panties as you moaned unabashedly, causing Manny’s own hum to rock against you. Your grip on his hair tightened as he began to lap at you slowly, tip of his tongue flicking over your clit over and over, making your toes curl.

“Oh, fuck…” You muttered, grinding your hips against Manny’s mouth in time with the strokes of his tongue. Another growl sounded in his throat as he held your thighs firmly as if to keep the both of you at a slow, steady pace. Your body jolted when he teased at your entrance, the measly layer of fabric the only thing keeping you two apart and causing you frustration.

As if he could read your mind, Manny slid a hand up your leg, hooking a finger around the fabric of your panties and pulling them out of the way, his mouth pulling back a mere inch. His hot breath teased along your slit, making you ache for him.

A desirous sound of approval rumbled in his chest before Manny pressed his mouth to your pussy, causing you to yelp at the feel of his wet tongue bare against you. The hand on your thigh tightened its grip as he hungrily ate you out, mouth ravenously sucking on your clit, tongue diving between your folds insatiably. You threw your head back with a vulgar cry, already seeing stars as you rolled your hips greedily, causing Manny to splay his hand across your pelvis in an effort to hold you in place.

“Slow down, baby…” He groaned into your pussy, the roughness of his tone doing nothing to make you any less wet and desperate, especially when he went back to devouring you in the same breath. Your legs were already shaking on either side of his head, five long years making it damn near impossible to keep yourself from coming undone.

It was like an electric spark each time his tongue teased at your clit, your whimpers growing only more desperate and carnal. Your legs began to clench around him, forcing Manny to firmly grip both your thighs, fingers digging into your skin to keep you from tightening around his head. You trembled in his strong hold, rutting desperately against his mouth, the both of you moaning with a drunken pleasure.

“Oh god--!” You stuttered with a gasp, Manny’s mouth unrelenting on your clit, eating you out like you were his goddamn last meal, “Manny--!”

You felt him tense before his mouth grew even more frenzied, the sound of his name on your tongue sinful and encouraging. Your breath came out short and gasping and desperate, head swirling with bliss, body trembling as you rode his tongue closer and closer to your release.

And then you spiralled abruptly, cumming hard and intense as your body tightened, moans spilling from your lips like prayer. Manny lapped at your desire, taking another deep breath of you as his hands held so tight to your trembling thighs that you knew it would bruise. You shook in his hands, body melting as he continued to cruelly tease at your clit with his tongue, incoherent words of pleasure falling from your mouth.

When your hands finally untangled from his hair, Manny relented, pulling back to catch his breath as you rode the high of your orgasm, eyes crossed and head fuzzy. His nose brushed along your inner thigh, causing you to twitch; an airy laugh tickled against your skin in response.

“God…” He grumbled, resting his forehead against your leg for a moment. The distinct smell of sex reached you, sweaty and sweet and musky, as your chest heaved with steady breaths. Though your limbs felt weak, you gently brushed your hand over Manny’s curls, staring up at the ceiling as you composed yourself.

Manny began a slow crawl up your body, lips grazing over your skin wantonly until you were nose-to-nose, tasting your own sex in the air between you two. He firmly pressed his groin against your sensitive core, drawing a faint whimper from your lips, which he captured in a deep, impassioned kiss.

Your hands explored his body, delighting in the flex of his muscles, the heat of his skin. His tongue slid into your mouth zealously, tasting you with a deep moan. For the first time in days, you finally felt warm, sweat dampening the small of your back. Without breaking away from Manny’s lips, you began to tug your shirts up, only splitting for half a second so you could yank them over your head.

Manny cupped your breasts, squeezing eagerly and groaning as your nipples hardened under his touch. He drew his lips away, kissing down your neck until he could tenderly bite the soft flesh of your chest; your toes curled as he sucked another hickey to your skin, hooking your heels on the backside of his legs while rutting your hips again.

Satisfied with the bruise he left, Manny captured your lips fiercely, rolling his hips, his erection strained and beguiling within his pants. Your legs tightened either side of him, using the leverage to move with him, grinding against his cock slowly, drawing an illicit groan from his lips.

Manny grabbed firm hold of you, flipping your bodies around in one fluid motion to put you on top. Sitting up, he practically devoured your lips, the kiss sloppy and salacious. In his lap, you continued grinding your hips, arching your back as the friction caused you to whine, your sex dampening through your panties to his jeans.

God, the feel of him swollen and hard against your clit was mouthwatering, your pace growing more urgent and needy as Manny groped at you with feverish hands, squeezing and rubbing and scratching like he was afraid someone might steal you away from him. He reached around your back, unclipping your bra and tossing it away; prying his lips from yours, he took one of your peaked nipples into his hot mouth, tongue swirling and teeth grazing. You cried out, head falling back as you leaned into his touch, your pussy slick with want as your hips stuttered.

You muttered achingly as Manny fondled your breasts, his hips bucking needily beneath you as he growled with impatience. Your fingers knotted in his hair again, tugging just hard enough to make him hiss as you rut against him.

Feeling like a tightly wound coil again, you pried yourself off Manny, much to his protest, shuffling down his legs just enough to undo his jeans, pulling them away before crawling back to him. You cupped his erection through his boxers, sighing sharply at his size and girth; you gave him a gentle squeeze, causing him to groan while grinding himself into your hand. You began to stroke him through the underwear, hand slow and firm as it teased along his length, thumb running over his tip, hitting a spot he must have loved given the way he twitched and groaned.

You grabbed the waistband of the boxers and drew them down, the head of Manny’s cock bouncing against his stomach with a dull thump. You stroked him again, lightly squeezing as you went from head to hilt at a cruel pace, teasing along the vein on the underside of his length. As your hand began to bounce at a steady rhythm, Manny lied back, mouth ajar and eyes closed.

“Baby…” He grumbled, hips bucking up to meet your hand, causing his thigh muscle to tighten beneath your pussy, making you moan right along with him.

Giving into your impatience, you yanked off your panties, crawling over Manny so you could press a fierce kiss to his lips. As you tried to pull away, he cupped the back of your neck, tongue sliding into your mouth as he kissed you like you were the air he breathed, moaning desperately in his throat. His opposite hand slid between you, fingertips swirling your swollen clit and causing you to shiver.

When finally your lips broke apart, you were gasping for air, Manny’s cock twitching against your inner thighs, your knees slightly trembling thanks to the lazy winding of his fingers on your sex. The glint in his hooded eyes caused you to smile affectionately, repositioning yourself till you were centered over his erection, his hands gliding along your thighs and hips and waist like you were something coveted.

Manny dug his fingers into your hip, grinding your wet pussy along the length of his cock, whispering endearments so low that you could barely make them out. Steadying your hands upon his firm chest, the friction between you nearly made you whine. Manny took a deep breath as he shifted you so that he was lined up with your entrance, the two of you lingering for a moment as you stared into each other’s faces.

And then you slowly lowered yourself onto him, groaning in unison as you stretched around his girth. You were so wet already, taking him hilt deep with a shudder at the feel of him inside you. Manny held still, composing himself as you adjusted to his size - five years without dick make you feel like a damn virgin all over again, the twitch inside you causing a yelp of pleasure to jump from your lips.

You stayed like this a moment longer before you unhurriedly rut against Manny’s hips, another raptured cry escaping you at the pressure against your clit. Manny’s grip became even more firm against your skin, deep breaths inflating his chest as he ground up into you, finding that sweet spot deep inside you far, far too easily. Your hips moved together, jerky and uncoordinated, desperately chasing the delectable sensation coursing between your bodies.

Manny’s hands drift around to your ass, squeezing encouragingly as he rolled his hips, your name hot on his tongue. He lifted you just a couple inches off of him, cupping your rear so he could thrust up into you, skin clapping together while your nails dug into his pecs. He hit you nice and deep over and over again, the thrust of his hips growing more unyielding with each mewl and cry that slurred from your mouth. Fuck, his dick was intoxicating, the way it stretched you out and filled you up, making your eyes cross and your limbs trembled.

Hungry for more, you began to bounce on your knees, stuttering until you matched Manny’s rhythm, bracing your hands either side of his head to get a deeper angle. You exhaled sharply as he buried himself inside you, thrusts growing feverish, skin slick with sweat. A growl rose deep in his chest, craning his neck to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing and tongues swirling. You moaned into his mouth, rolling your hips erratically.

Manny’s greedy hands trailed back up your body, fondling your tits, tweaking your nipples between his fingers. A fierce little “come here” rumbled in his throat, drawing your chest towards him so he could bite at your flesh again. The new angle of your hips caused pressure on your clit that made you cry out, body shuddering with pleasure as Manny drove his cock deep inside you over and over again.

“Fu-uck--!” You whined loudly, grinding your hips as Manny became more frantic, thrusts hard and lecherous and like a drug. His breath was hot against your breasts, your back arching as his hands explored your body, gripping firmly at your waist as he pushed just that little bit deeper.

Manny drew his knees up to press against your back, using the angle to bury himself in you, hand trailing down to massage your clit with the pad of his thumb. Your hips faltered with a yelp as you groped at his arms to keep yourself steady.

He rut his hips hard into you, the slick sound of your skin slapping together causing your pussy to clench tight around him, drawing another hiss from between his teeth. Your body became frenzied, hips rolling and toes curling, a string of gasps spilling from your mouth as his thumb returned to swirling your clit, sending jolts of desire through your body.

“Fuck, you’re falling apart, huh?” Manny growled with a dazzling grin, enthralled by the sight of you as he fought not to come undone himself, “Taking me so good…”

God, his voice made you squirm and moan, riding his cock with a hungry zeal, bouncing on shaky legs as your pussy tightened around him. Drool began to pool under your tongue, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your pace grew sloppy and graceless.

“That’s right, baby…” Manny breathed out, applying more pressure to your clit, stilling the upward thrusts of his hips so you could ride him until you fell apart. You bounced and rutted, chasing the cusp of another orgasm, nails racking harshly along his body before digging into his thighs, which still pressed firmly into your back, using him as leverage for your rapacious grinding.

You managed to find Manny’s intense gaze in the dark, the two of you staring intensely at one another, eyes hooded and mouths hanging open. Under his breath, he murmured a string of “come on, come on” like a mantra, thumb continuing its unrelenting pattern on your clit as your legs began to shake, nails scratching at his skin forcefully enough that you dared to draw blood.

And then it was like a white hot flash of lightning, an obscene cry leaping from your mouth as you clenched tight around Manny’s cock, throwing your head back as everything within you trembled, your release frenzied and wild.

You shook while bracing yourself, orgasm rocking your body, stars behind your eyes as a weak string of moans fell from your tongue. Manny held you tight, squeezing your skin in his hands, watching you with utter awe and ecstasy, the clench of your soaked pussy drawing guttural moans from his chest. His cock twitched inside you, desperate for release, but he resisted the urge so he could focus on how goddamn incredible you looked cumming all over his dick.

When you finally floated down from cloud nine, your body racked with pleasure. Manny’s cock was still buried inside you, rock hard and twitching, sending shocks of euphoria through your body. The tension accompanying your orgasm melted away, legs like pudding as you balanced your hands atop his chest again.

“Fucking hell…” Manny murmured, enthralled by you. A goofy smile graced your lips as you slowly lowered your lips back towards his, moaning into his mouth at the way his full cock shifted inside you. The kiss was deep and sloppy, breathing each other in with such ardent want, molding together as if you were made for it.

Manny gave a slow roll of his hips, hands exploring your hot skin as you continued to whimper against his lips. Slowly, he pushed up inside you, delighting in your gasps and spasms, his tongue delving into your mouth again with desperate desire. You held his jaw tenderly, pulsing around his thrusts; eventually, he pulled back, lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

“Got one more in you, cariño?” He whispered wickedly, smiling triumphantly as you moaned, walls clenching around him again. He was so close, feeling how desperately his body wanted release. When you nodded, nose bumping gently with his, Manny’s arms encircled you, flipping you onto your back faster than you could blink, the motion and accompanying friction making you gasp sinfully.

Manny sat back on his heels, hands stroking down your legs, cock still buried inside you as he positioned your bodies. He spread your legs, pushing them up either side of you, hands holding your knees as he bottomed out, moaning huskily at the feel of you. He rolled his hips steadily, hitting deep inside your wet pussy, fingers digging into your skin. You grasped at the mess of blankets beneath you, body curving up to meet Manny’s thrusts as skin slapped skin, hair sticking to your sweaty neck and forehead.

Manny grunted praises through his teeth, slamming deep into you with rapid strikes. Already so sensitive after your orgasms, you moaned wildly at the way he slid in and out of you, body starting to tremble again. Manny pushed your legs even higher and wider, eyes closed and brow furrowed as he used your body, burying into you with a hungry fervor.

You threw your head back as your thighs tried to clench either side of Manny’s torso, but his grip was firm and strong, holding you in place as your entire body shook with intense pleasure. His thrusts grew even more insistent, fast and deep and mouthwatering.

“That’s right, baby--” He hissed as he slammed into you, “so fucking good--”

His words made you whine delectably, pussy clenching around him, rhythm unrelenting. His breath began to come out in deep shudder, hips stuttering on the edge of release as he stole a few more deep thrusts before abruptly pulling out of you.

It was a shock to be so empty all of a sudden, a loud cry leaving you; in the next moment, Manny was spilling warm seed onto your stomach, his groans overlapping with yours. His hands shook as he clung tight to your legs, his head lulling forward as the last of him pooled on your hot skin, sweat gliding down his taunt muscles.

For a long beat, neither of you moved as you caught your breath. Eventually, you lowered your legs either side of him, reaching trembling hands up to cup Manny’s jaw as he balanced above you, swooping in to steal a needy kiss. The both of you moaned at the taste of each other, your body still yearning for him despite the three orgasms he already gave you. Pulling back, he pressed his sweaty forehead to yours, breathing you in deeply for a minute.

“Be right back.” Manny whispered roughly, grunting as he pushed back on his heels before rising to his feet, legs still shaky. You hummed in acknowledgement, watching his silhouette move through the dark, listening as he rummaged in his bag and opened a canteen. He returned moments later, kneeling beside you and pressing a damp cloth to your stomach, causing you to faintly gasp at the chill of it cleaning your skin of his mess.

“Thanks,” You giggled, cock-drunk and giddy, once Manny was done. He sat down beside you again, huddling himself in the blankets as a sweet laugh met your ears.

“For what - the mindblowing sex?” He teased, to which you gave him a half-assed punch in the arm, which only made him laugh again.

“Shut up, asshole.” You smiled fondly, eyes fluttering shut contently.

Your body had finally relaxed, a thin layer of sweat glistening over your skin, which finally allowed for the blizzard outside to chill you to the bone again, your teeth chattering. Looking about in the dark, it was hard to tell where exactly any of your clothes had ended up, but before you could even crawl away from the comfort of your blankets, Manny gently grabbed your arm.

He tugged you into him, muttering against your hair, “Worry about it in the morning.”

“And freeze in the middle of the night?” You countered, though being curled in his side and huddled together was doing wonders for your temperature. It reminded you of what he said earlier, which already felt lifetimes away, causing you to huff out a small laugh, “Guess we’re doing the skin-to-skin thing after all, huh?”

Manny laughed, too, arms tightening around you as he grumbled again, echoing your words back at you, “Shut up, asshole.”

“Sheesh, look at these two.”

A voice and accompanying snickers pierced through your unconscious, causing you to start abruptly, instinctively reaching for your knife that was nowhere to be found. The warm body beside you shot up with a gasp, seemingly fumbling around for something as well, which caused even more raucous laughter.

And then, of course, your mind caught up with you as you recalled last night, eyes straining to open against the harsh sunlight reflecting off the snow outside.

“So, this is what you were doing instead of searching for us?” Nora’s familiar voice taunted, your vision still heavy with sleep. Mortification shot through you like a bullet, feeling your neck and ears grow hot as you slumped under the blankets as if to hide your shame.

Manny’s body was warm beside you, his morning voice gravelly; despite yourself, it caused a faint stirring in your stomach, “Fuck off.”

The sheet over your head was tugged away, Owen’s teasing face there to greet you as you shivered at the cold, “Aw, don’t tell me you’re embarrassed.”

“Stop…” You whined sleepily, crossing your arms over your chest on the off-chance that you may end up more exposed than you would like.

Eyes adjusted to the light, you looked from one face to the next - everyone seemed to be amused, even Abby, who tried to hide that behind a glare. Fuck, this is just what you needed first thing in the morning.

Manny clicked his tongue, pulling a blanket around his bare shoulders and torso, “We were gonna look for you today.”

“Just had to get some first?” Mel asked with a laugh, rolling her eyes before shooting you a wink.

“Get dressed.” Abby chimed in before either of you could rise to the bait. Curling into yourself, you pressed closer to Manny to steal some of his body heat, “We gotta make some progress before another storm hits. Right?”

She looked at you with raised brows, as if you could simply predict the weather like some kind of magician. You sighed while weakly nodding, attempting to stifle a yawn.

“Yeah, yup, before another storm.” You answered roughly, raising your hand to wave it in the direction of the door, “Will you all go please?”

“Oh, she wants some privacy.” Nora continued to tease, even as she began to slowly back up towards the door, the others following suit.

“Five minutes.” Abby instructed, still fighting to hold in her own mirth at your predicament, “Any longer and we’ll drag you out.”

You and Manny watched as they trickled out of the room. Nora stopped to shoot you a big thumbs up, causing another wave of laughter through the group as they closed the door behind them.

Alone again, Manny looked down at you, dark stare taking in your disheveled appearance with a faint smirk. Sighing heavily, you sat up, shivering as the cold air hit your bare back, shoulders shrugging up to your ears.

“Fuck!” You chattered, catching the mischievous glint in Manny’s eyes, your brow knotting, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I mean,” he leaned towards you as if to whisper a secret, “we can do a lot in five minutes…”

You laughed abruptly at his insinuation, rolling your eyes as you leaned in as well, lips lingering just out of reach, “Shut up and put your clothes on.”

. .

Taglist | @flaneurpastel

[gghostwriter]

Out of Sunshine

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Having forgotten your dinner date, Spencer comforts his usually sunshine girlfriend Trope:Fluff & Comfort w.c: 1.2k a/n: been very overwhelmed with responsibilities and wants lately that I just needed to write a self-indulgent fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer’s knock on your apartment door was met with silence. It was a starry Friday night and he had arranged a dinner reservation with you, his girlfriend for a year and a half, to the newly opened French restaurant along the main street. With a certain spring in his step, he settled with Hotch, and by extension the team, that he couldn’t be disturbed unless an emergency case comes in—something he silently wished not to happen. He had also picked up a bouquet of your favorites from the local florist. An array of whites that reminded him of the dress he first saw you wearing at the park.

He knocked again, ears straining to hear anything behind the dark wooden door. There was nothing. He balanced the bouquet on one hand and reached for the phone inside his satchel. It was quite unlike you to not answer the door.

The number you dialed is either unattended—

“Strange,” he muttered under his breath. During his morning phone call with you, a much needed routine to tide him through the macabre of his job, you sounded so excited about the dinner he’d planned and had even promised to wear the same white dress that had plagued his eidetic memory. He chuckled in reply before asking any plans for the day. There was a slight pause on your end, no doubt thinking of ways to pass time before night winds down, and you answer—

The studio, he remembered. You mentioned passing by your art studio to occupy time. He sighed in relief as he enters his vintage blue car parked on the the sidewalk, bouquet placed securely on the passenger seat. The clock on the dashboard tells him there’s still time to make it to the reservation, granted he wasn’t sure if you were ready to go.

A non-descriptive tune played from the radio as he turned left to enter the designated parking space of your studio building. It was a mixture of soft piano keys that sounded like spring and sunshine, both adjectives he loved to use to describe you.

When he finally found the courage to fumble his way in asking for your number, the smile that flashed on your face was blinding. It was as if he stared directly into the sun with little to no protection for his vision.

Over the course of multiple dates, he found himself waxing prose about you in his head. The pinking of your cheeks reminded him of strawberries ripening, so tempting to touch with his own pair of lips. The twinkle in your eyes, full of adoration and trust, made him feel strong and protective—like he was some kind of crow guarding his loot of sparkling treasure. And the bounce in your step wherever you’d go had him envisioning a sprig of wildflowers growing from each footprint, the nymph of his very own Spring.

He let himself in the studio, grateful you’ve trusted him with a spare key. “Sunshine,” he called out.

The light inside the four cornered room was on, windows all open for the paint fumes to escape, and there you were, hunched over an easel, furiously painting without any care of your surroundings.

He called your name, softer this time, as if to slowly ease you out of the artistic trance. The timber of his voice and his sudden presence led you to squeak in surprise, paintbrush dropping on the wooden streaked floor.

“It’s me, sunshine,” he raised his hands in front of him in surrender. “It’s me.”

Your nose scrunched up in question, a streak of blue dried paint on your cheek, adorable. How adorable you were in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you bent down to grab the brush before resuming your old position.

“It’s 7:50, love.”

You swiveled to face him, eyes wide in distress. Hands promptly reaching to turn over the faced down phone. “No, no—oh my god, I am so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” he tries to placate you but his words of comfort seem to fall on deaf ears. “Really, it’s alright. It happens to everyone.”

Tears were starting to build up in your eyes. Your hands were wrangling with the apron tied around your waist as you mutter a series of apologies again and again. “I’m sorry. So sorry—we can’t make it to our reservation now, can’t we? Spence, I’m so so sorry. I—I forgot,” a sob escaped from your throat. “I don’t know what to do.”

He puts down the flowers on the nearest available space, your stool, and steps into your space. Filling it with his perfume and warmth meant to comfort you. He could see how distressed you were—rocking on your heels, hands unable to stay put, and lower lip sandwiched in between your pearly teeth.

“Breathe. It’s completely fine, love. No harm done. Really, it’s alright.”

The tears come rushing down, staining your flushed cheeks with its tracks. “It’s not—how could I forget?”

“Sunshine, it’s okay. It happens to all of us and I know you’re quite busy, it’s understandable.”

You burrow into his chest some more, afraid of separating from him and the haven he brings.

He continued on. “I also know you’re overwhelmed, the exhibit is just around the corner and I know how important it is to you, I understand.”

Laying your cheek near his beating heart, you mutter a reply. “It’s really not—I don’t want you to think you’re not important to me too.”

His hands cupped your face to stare into your saddened eyes. Spencer couldn’t see the warmth and brightness that was always present in his sunshine. There was a cloud of rain and doubt covering its’ greatness. He understood no one could always be happy all the time but it bothered him to see you breaking down from stress.

“Shouldn’t I be the one worried about that?” he lightly joked. “I’ve cancelled on dates so many times and did those ever make you feel less important to me?”

“No. Never,” you sniffled.

“Then what makes you say I’d think that, sunshine? I would never, I promise.”

The corners of your lips lifted up to a small smile. There it was, the rays of sun peeking behind the clouds, bringing warmth back to the dark crevices of his being.

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” your lower lip jutting out in a pout. The air of anxiety slowly dissipating around you.

Spencer laughed, noting the tear stained marks littered on his purple button down. “That’s alright. Why don’t we order from your favorite Indian place down the block? We can get your favorites and have our dinner date here instead?”

“You’d be okay with that?”

He leaned in to kiss your temples, taking in the twinkle back in your eyes framed by your wet long lashes and the flush on your cheeks from emotion—good and bad.

For Spencer, you had never looked more beautiful. The reason behind of your breakdown was raw, intimate, and it made him see you in a new light. Heat bloomed in his chest, like a series of red roses, filled with love for you.

“Anywhere with you is good for me, sunshine.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[novelistwriter]

Paranoia eats the Phantom

DP x DC Prompt

I've always read stories where Danny and the Bats end up together in many ways, but one story caught my eye, 'A Heart Worth Breaking', one chapter in that work on a03 has Danny snapping at the Bats for looking into him when he hasn't done the same, and it inspired me to make a prompt similar to that chapter

Danny escaped the horrors of both the GIW and his parents. They cut him open, seen what makes him tick. They run tests on the 'samples' they collect from him. They put him in a room and see what is best to work on him to hurt him. They put him in different Ghost Containment devices that are modified to inflict harm on him. They... they killed those he 'manipulated' (Jazz, Sam and Tucker) in front of him... just to see if he would reveal his 'true colors'.

He escaped to Gotham when the Justice League began a raid on the GIW base he was being held in. None of the heroes had shown interest in the calls coming from Amity, so why now? He wouldn't find that answer, as he just wants to live. He wants to be a person and not a 'thing' to be studied or a hero. Gotham has enough ambient ectoplasm for him to live in, so he had Technus Forge him some identification papers on the digital plane to be "Daniel Jasper Folson".

He did his best to avoid the radar of the Bats and Birds, but he couldn't ignore his obsession. He went out at night as Phantom to try and discreetly help those in need. He failed at being discreet and was discovered by the Bats and Birds.

He wasn't expecting to be requested to help them during some big hits on Trafficking Rings or gathering Intel on the big name rogues that are obviously hiding something behind the scenes. Sure, he only has Nightwing, Red Hood, and occasionally Signal to hang out with, but he's slowly coming to trust the Bats and Birds of Gotham.

He should've known that it was too good to be true. During a quiet night, where he was hanging out with Wing and Hood on a roof, eating Batburgers together, he overheard Oracle and Red Robin tell one of the two with Danny about their progress on finding more information on him or trying to get through the GIW logs kn him.

This causes him to snap on Wing and Hood, saying that they didn't care for him as another being, treating him as a thing to be studied and contained. He stops himself from revealing too much and runs away. He runs away to be with the lesbian couple that both remind him of his sister and best friend in some ways and who have helped him on occasion when he ran into them on the streets, trying to build up enough money to get a home for himself.

He is at their front door, waiting for one of them to open it after he knocked on it, tears still streaming down his face and looking heartbroken. They do let him in and do their best to comfort him. He is just staring blankly at nothing in front of him as the couple trues to get him to talk to them. He vaguely hears Harley tell Pamela something about flowers, someone called B-man, and about himself.

Before he registers Pamela coming into the room with the flowers, he sees one of the Bats or Birds land by the window. It's only after the Bat or Bird almost knocks on the window to be let in when he registered the flowers that Pamela has offered to Danny. Blood Blossoms. His body hurts, and with the bouquet of Blood Blossoms so close to him, his body begins to melt in a grotesque way into a puddle of Ectoplasm, and then thay puddle evaporated into nothing.

But that wasn't Danny. That was a duplicate he sent to Pamela and Harley. He couldn't fully trust them, as they were known to be, on occasion, working with the Bats and Birds, but he wanted to be with people he knew he could trust. And now he thinks that trust is broken, as he connected the dots, seeing one of the Vigilantes go to them, figuring out that B-Man is Batman, and the Blood Blossoms that Pamela had.

Maybe it's time for him to use his Ghost King title to the fullest. He can't trust the heroes of the world because of that trust had been betrayed by the Bats and Birds of Gotham, and he's going to make an announcement to the world.

[shariasweet]

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

p.sunghoon x f. reader

𝓦c ::: -1k 𐙚𝓢harinote ::: I let my hg proofread this so if it’s shitty, blame her (not really I love her) anyways boom! double post (it’s 11:50) 𐙚 warnin𝓰.ᐟ ::: hate sex (?) • unprotected sex (wrap it urp) • they do it in the kitchen • handyman hoon • uhm idk what else please lmk what i missed

It's unbearably hot. summer's the worst season to live somewhere like—well... here.

sure, the rent's cheap. it's spacious enough for you and maybe a even roommate. the layouts damn near perfect. the location is good too. It’s tucked away inside of a family neighborhood.

safe. very... homey.

none of that meant anything right now though. warm sunlight poured in through your windows. the sticky humidity crept in at every seal… every crack and crevice in your home was just yet another way for the summer heat to break in…

and it is certainly no help at all that the AC is, ironically, cold out.

usually, that wouldn’t be a problem.

not a big one at least—not for any normal tenant, with a normal landlord. but nothing about your situation is normal.

your landlord’s a prick. he’s a huge pain in the ass… a cheap, condescending, meticulous pain in your hardly tolerant ass.

“hello?” you pressed the phone up against your ear, already annoyed before he could even pick up. “if it isn’t miss y/n,” his arrogant drawl came through the phone thick. “I thought you were done calling me.” you rolled your eyes.

“I was, mr. park… but my AC’s out. It’s completely busted and the forecast says it’s 102°.” you grimaced—somehow, saying it aloud made it all the more worse.

heat pricked your skin.

sweat was already starting to drip down your neck. “oh really?” there it was again… that condensation you wished he’d take and shove 12 inches up his—

“yes, really.” you snapped, mocking his arrogant tone. “well what do you suppose I should do about that, miss y/n?”

“come and fix it.” your gritted your teeth. wasn’t that obvious? “send someone to come and fix it, I don’t know. it’s your building, mr. park. I’m sure the other fifty angry, sweaty tenants would appreciate your hard work and effort.”

“I’m sure you all would.” he groaned. “look , I’ll send someone to fix your unit. but seriously, some of us are on vacation. don’t call me again.”

“trust me, you huffed, “I won’t.”

it took half an hour—only thirty minutes that felt like an eternity for him to arrive.

in those long, sticky minutes, you’d stripped out of at least two layers of clothes: your hoodie came off in the first five minutes, discarded carelessly as you sprawled out on the couch, trying to let the heat rise.

then your sweatpants—you’d ditched them in favor of something more breathable. a pair of worn-in little shorts that clung to you sweat-flushed skin.

by minute twenty-five, your bra had joined the pile of disregarded clothes. your armpits were sticky, your tank top clung to your chest, and honestly? if it would’ve taken a minute longer, you might’ve gone fully naked, just waiting.

luckily, before you could peel the thin cotton material over your head—there were three hard knocks at the door (which you ran to answer, almost giddily)

“my dad sent me,” the man announced flatly. he shoved past the doorway without waiting for an invitation in. before you could even open your mouth to speak, he was inside.

you blinked.

“well, welcome in,” you muttered sarcastically beneath your breath, letting the door slam shut behind you as you watched him walk over to the AC. “so,” you asked, arms crossed, rocking back on your heels, “what’s wrong with it?”

he turned. sharp jaw, dark lashes, a faint sheen of sweat already building across his collarbones.

he was annoyingly attractive. “it’s your AC. shouldn’t you know?” suddenly, you could see the resemblance. sure, this guy was wayyy hotter than his dad could ever be—but that attitude? It was unmistakably mr. park.

you scoffed. “i’m not the one here to fix it.” you trailed. “sunghoon,” he added. you raised a brow. “my name,” he clarified, before crouching in front of the unit and yanking off the front panel.

you rolled your eyes, arms still crossed against your chest as you spun on your heel. “whatever. just fix my unit, sunghoon.” his name rolls off your tongue effortlessly as you toe off.

you don’t wander off too far, just go hover in the kitchen pretending to scroll on your phone, stealing glances at sunghoon when you think he won’t notice.

he’s knelt in front of the unit with his tools scattered on the floor beside him. his sleeveless shirt rides up just enough to expose the small of his back every time he shifts or reaches for something else—sunghoon’s arms flex, veins stark against his cool skin as he tightens a screw or grunts under his breath, leaning in to get a better view.

it’s almost too much… the heat, the tension, him. you press your thighs together feeling arousal pool into your underwear.

the air doesn’t get any cooler and neither does your skin. heat creeps up your neck, flushed, you know he can see you too—he hasn’t said a word in five minutes… even his soft grunts are quieter, his eyes keep drifting:

to your chest, your thighs, the way your tank top turns almost transparent dipping into the valley of your breasts. the two of you take turns playing eye tag.

you watch as a bead of sweat rolls down his neck and disappears beneath the collar of his shirt. god, he may be a pain in the ass (from what you’ve seen so far)… but he’s admittedly, ridiculously attractive… making your core absolutely ache.

“you always stare like that?” his voice cuts clean through your thoughts. sunghoon’s voice is seemingly unbothered—but there’s a detectable edge, a slight rasp. he doesn’t even look up front the unit, still working as you straighten up.

was your staring so obvious? “excuse me?” he finally lifts his head, eyes looking you up and down whilst he runs a hand through his dark hair. “you’ve got a staring problem.”

“maybe if you didn’t make so much noise,” you bite back, refusing to look flustered in front of him. “you’re over there grunting like you’re fighting for your life.”

he smirks. “I’m focused.” standing, he wipes his hands on the hem of his shirt, lifting it just enough to give you a full view of his lower abdomen—glazed in sweat and flush, happy-trail taunting you as it disappears beneath his wasitband. “if you’ve got something to say,” he murmurs, stepping closer, walking towards the kitchen. “say it.”

you don’t. not at first… why would you? you don’t owe him.

his chest nearly brushes yours as he steps closer. you can feel the heat radiating off his body, his breath fans your lips.

his eyes flicker down—your nipples are hard beneath the thin fabric, they’re obvious. he noticed them peaking through as soon as he entered your home, that and the way your thighs flexed every time you once-overed him.

he doesn’t even try to hide the way he looks at you. your mouth gapes open then closes before opening again.

“i said,” he repeats, voice lower now, almost amused—he’s even closer, your chests flat against the other. any space closed. “say it.”

you push him. not too hard, your palms against his chest but he catches your wrists, pressing you back into the island.

“is this what you wanted?” he coos, nose brushing yours. “dressed like that? acting like a brat the second i walked in?” your breath catches in your throat. “‘being all mean when i came all… the way down…” he trails, hands finding your waist. “here,” your thighs clench. “just to fix your AC?”

“fuck you,” you hiss. “yeah?” his knee slots between your legs. “i bet you want to.” you don’t even realize you’re nodding with swollen lips until he moves, hands on your hips and his mouth crashing into yours.

his lips are warm, a little chapped. he moves aggressively—like he’s been waiting to do this since the second he stepped through the door, like he’s trying to eat you whole.

every snippy comment, every ‘dismissive’ glare you threw his way only made him want you more.

you gasp when his tongue darts out and slips past your lips. he swallows the sound of your little whines, continuing to kiss you just the same with his knee bumping against your clit through your shorts.

“‘so fucking bratty,” he breaths between kisses, hand holding your jaw firmly as he picks you up. “‘mouthy little thing.” your fingers dig into his shirt. “fuck… y’know… i hate guys like you.”

he huffs out a laugh. “yeah? ‘doesn’t seem that way, does it?” he places you down against the counter. “‘keep saying that, see what it gets you.”

“I hate guys like you—I hate you.” you frown, your lips inches apart.

just like that, his hands are everywhere—creeping beneath your tank top, pawing at your waist, brushing over the curves of your ass. he continues his assault, trailing kisses from your bruised lips down your jaw and neck.

"’no bra, huh?" he murmurs against your collarbone, hands groping at your chest. his tongue swipes at the sweat gathered there. "’figures."

“shut up,” you breathe, but your voice is barely there. It’s lost somewhere between your frustration and desperation to feel him. he pulls your top up, exposing your chest fully, and groans at the sight.

“fuck… just look at you.” he ducks his head, lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking harshly. greedy. “been thinking about this since you opened the door.” you tug at his shirt, eager to feel his skin against yours. sunghoon’s surprisingly complient, he pulls away just long enough to rip his shirt off and toss it aside.

and then he’s back, grinding against you, diving into your chest. his lips are all over your chest, biting, kissing and mouthing at your flesh like he’s got something to prove. your fingers find the waistband of his pants, sneaking into the waist and tugging. “take them off.” you pant, head tilted back as pleasure and heat consume you.

“someone’s eager.”

“someone’s dripping,” you correct. “and you’re wasting time.”

that gets him.

he shoves his pants down, briefs going along with them—and to no one’s surprise he’s hard, tip already fat and leaking, flushed against his stomach. your shorts are next. he hoists you up, tugging them down with one hand as he cups your cunt with the other, groaning at how soaked you are.

“jesus,” he swears, running a finger through your glistening folds. “you were like this the whole time?” you glare at him through your lashes. “and what about it?” embarrassment nips at you only slightly, you’re burning up.

he doesn’t answer to your snarky remark… just lines himself up, presses in slowly—so thick and hot you feel the stretch immediately. your hands claw at the edge of the counter beneath you, sunghoon’s girth sending sparks up your spine. “fuck,” you gasp, “sunghoon—”

“say that again.” he’s obsessed with the way you say his name. you once firm tone suddenly soft.

“sunghoon!” he slams in the rest of the way, burying himself to the hilt before you can speak. you cry out—legs trembling, nails digging into his broad shoulders. “say it,” he repeats, not giving you time to adjust, fucking into you hard enough to make the cabinets shake.

“s-sunghoon,” you whimper, again and again, chanting his name like a prayer. his hips snap into you at a restless pace, he bullies his cock deeper and deeper between your silken walls with every cry. “oh my god—”

“you’re not so mouthy now, are you?” he pants, holding your hips tighter, pounding into you relentlessly, you feel every thrust, drag, pull of his cock. “can feel how fucking tight you are. ‘squeezing me so good.” he whispers against your neck, leaving little marks and bites.

the slap of skin on skin fills the kitchen, along with your broken moans and his rough grunts. It’s obscene. his thumb finds your clit—rubbing fast circles. you jerk, legs clamping around his waist. “‘gonna come for me?” he growls, fucking into you harder. “all over my cock like a good girl?”

you don’t even get to answer. you clench around him, clamp around him as you hold on tighter—hanging on for dear life.

your stomach coils and snaps tight, eyes rolling back as you fall apart… nails dragging down his back as your orgasm hits. his own follows soon after, thrusts growing sloppy, desperate, until he spills inside you with a low, wrecked moan. hips twitching against yours as he attempts to ride it out—movements stuttering as he comes to a halt.

for a moment, all you can hear is the tick of the kitchen clock and the sound of your heavy breathing. then—his forehead presses to yours. “so,” he mutters, voice rough. “still hate me?”

you blink up at him. smirk. “depends. you fix my AC, pretty boy?”

[myloveer0]

Caught in the Act

Ambessa medarda x Fem!reader x Sevika

Ambessa x Sevika

🔥🔥🔥❤️❤️❤️

⚠️warning contain smut⚠️

Summary: As Ambessa Medarda’s secretary, delivering bad news was part of the job—but interrupting her day off? A nightmare. When she didn’t answer the door, you made the reckless decision to enter her penthouse uninvited. What you found inside was not what you expected.

A secret. A scandal. A side of your boss you never imagined.

This is my fav ship in the show. Ambessa x Sevika. My mind is wild making this!! But anyway enjoy....

Part I

The elevator ride to the top floor was silent. You watched the numbers on the panel climb, each second dragging before the occasional ding shattered the silence. Your grip tightened around the folder in your arms—the one containing a crucial document that needed your boss’s immediate response.

You had been Ambessa Medarda’s secretary for five years, and if there was one thing you knew so much about your boss, was that she's a perfectionist, she did not tolerate incompetence. Yet, now you had made a grave mistake. A crucial document—one she needed to sign—had completely slipped your mind. And now, here you were, standing outside her penthouse on a Sunday—her day off.

Way to go, self. You’re dead the second she lays eyes on you.

This wasn’t like you. You were a competent secretary—sharp, efficient, the kind people envied for your flawless work. The very reason why you survive for five years. Damn perfect at your job. But ever since your twelve-year-old cat was sent to the vet, you’d been struggling to balance everything while taking care of him.

And now, here you were.

If this had been something minor, you would have brushed it aside—waited until tomorrow to deal with it. But it wasn’t. This was a million-dollar contract. People’s jobs were on the line—their livelihoods. Your job. Maybe even your life. The last thing you needed was to be fired and left jobless in this economy.

You reached her door—the only room at the top of the building. A sleek black panel with a high-tech lock. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but your heart pounded mercilessly against your ribs. You felt like shit.

Your boss wasn’t just strict—she was ruthless. A demon hiding behind that beautiful face, a wolf in silk and steel. She's the scariest woman you know, and now, you were about to knock on her door with nothing but a mistake and an apology.

Swallowing hard, you pressed the doorbell.

Silence.

You waited, adjusting your posture, trying to calm the nerves. You rang again.

Still nothing.

"Madam Medarda?" you called out, voice firm but edged with hesitation.

You rang the doorbell. No response.

Frowning, you tried again, letting you knuckles rap against the sleek surface door this time. You glance at the camera at the ceiling waving your hand hoping it would grab her attention.

“Madam Medarda? It’s me.”

Silence.

You checked the time. You couldn't afford to wait. The deadline was closing in, and without her signature, the entire deal could collapse. If only they didn't have a persistent business partner this time. Urgh..

A sigh escaped you as you reached into your pocket, pulling out the spare key she had entrusted you with for emergencies. This certainly counted as one. Your fingers hesitated on the handle—Madam Medarda valued her privacy, and even with her trust, stepping into her home uninvited felt like crossing a line.

But you had no choice.

Sliding the key in, you turned the lock. The door clicked open. The first thing you noticed was her favorite red heels. She was here. Then why wasn’t she answering?

You step inside. The penthouse was a world of its own—immaculate, luxurious, the kind of wealth most people could only dream of. The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in soft, warm light, the midnight skyscraper stretching endlessly beyond the glass. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne and aged whiskey, a scent that clung to the very essence of the woman who lived here. No matter how many times you had been here, you could never quite get used to it.

You closed the door behind you, your heels muffled by the plush rug as you ventured further in. "Madam Medarda?" you called again, your voice echoed back by the sheer space of the place.

Still nothing.

Your grip on the folder tightened. Where was she?

Your mind raced back to her schedule. Sunday—empty. She had specifically told you yesterday that she would be here, and didn’t want to be disturbed. You wouldn’t have even thought about coming if she had just picked up her phone. You have emailed her the soft copy but didn't get any response, and her phone had been silent.

It wasn’t like her.

Your mind ran through possibilities as you checked the kitchen—pristine, untouched. The gym where she mostly spend her free time, training. But now, the room was empty. The punching bag hung still, the dumbbells neatly racked. The scent of faint sweat and metal lingered, but it was clear no one had been here for hours.

Your unease grew.

You checked her office next. Papers were stacked in perfect order. Even the chair was pushed in as though she had left everything undisturbed.

It was too empty. Every space you searched empty. Maybe she was really out?

That left only one place.

Your gaze lifted toward the mezzanine floor above. The master bedroom.

Your fingers curled around the folder in your hands hesitating, it felt invasive, disrespectful even, but… what if something had happened? She wouldn’t ignore an emergency. Taking a breath, you steeled yourself and ascended the staircase, each step echoed. Reaching the top, you hesitated before the door.

Then, with quiet resolve, swallowing, you knocked lightly.

“Madam Medarda?”

Silence.

Your pulse quickened.

You knocked again, louder this time. “Madam, it’s me.”

Still nothing.

You didn’t have the courage to open the door. This was her personal space—crossing that boundary felt wrong. She also strictly instructed that no one is allowed inside. But what if something had happened to her? She was an older woman, in her sixties, even if she looked nothing like it. What if she had tripped in the bathroom? Had a heart attack or something?

Your eyes widened with concern.

Your heart pounded as you pushed the bedroom door open, half-expecting. But the room was just as pristine as the rest of the penthouse. No boss.

It was your first time seeing her bedroom. Black and deep red dominated the space, a striking contrast of power and luxury. The king-sized bed was immaculately made, the silk sheets untouched. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn back, revealing the vast cityscape below. And oh god it smell so good in here.

But there was no sign of your boss.

Your breath hitched as you hurried toward the en-suite bathroom, pushing the door open with mounting anxiety.

Empty.

You exhaled, relief washing over you. Maybe she was just out. Maybe she was with friends.

…Wait.

Does she even have friends?

You checked your watch—8:10 PM. Where the hell could she be?

Your grip tightened around the folder in your hands. The document needed her signature before ten, but you still had a few arrangements to make after that.. You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to stay calm. Pulling out your phone, you redialed her number, pacing back and forth. The call rang, but there was still no answer. The silence only made your anxiety spike further.

Then—something caught your eye. A faint glimmer of light, just at the corner of the room.

Your brows furrowed as you glanced around. The room was empty—so it was just you in here. Is that a camera? Your heels clicked against the floor as you turned toward it. Small, barely noticeable, but it was there. But the way it flickered against the dim lighting grabbed your attention. Should you leave it? Maybe you were overstepping—prying into things that weren’t your business. You should stop being nosy and just leave the room. Focus on finding her.

But your feet stayed planted.

Curiosity gnawed at you. Beside what worse could it be? right?

Slowly, you pulled the cabinet open.

But the moment your eyes registered what you were looking at, your entire body froze. Your jaw dropped. The folder in your hands slipped through your fingers, hitting the floor with a quiet thud.

“Holy—” You barely managed to stifle the curse, slapping a hand over your mouth as heat rushed to your face.

Rows of neatly arranged sex toys filled the cabinet. Leather, silicone, metal—each item meticulously placed, organized by size, color, and, judging by the different harnesses folded at the side.

Mostly strap-ons… and there were so many. And was perfectly maintained.

You blinked. Then blinked again, your body paralyze as if maybe your brain had conjured this up in some fevered hallucination. But no—the collection was very real. A fresh wave of heat flushed up your neck as your mind betrayed you, painting lewd images started to grace your mind.

''S-shit...''

You had always known your boss as a workaholic—ruthlessly efficient, with little patience for nonsense. She hate useless people and embodied the very definition of a strong, professional woman. The idea of her indulging in this kind of pleasure? You had never once considered it. You even though she hate sex since she was basically married to her job.

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together to silence any more wayward thoughts. A warmth crept up your legs. She's a dom. Of course she’d be the type to take charge, you couldn't imagine a person knocking your boss out. And you weren’t gonna judge. Everyone had their preferences and hobby. It just so happened that your boss—the most perfect strict woman you had ever known—had this particular… taste.

But then, an image flashed through your mind. Her in those straps, mercilessly pounding—

NO—!!

What the hell were you doing?! That was your boss. Seriously? Yes, you had a secret crush on her—who wouldn’t? Half the women in the office did. She was tall, older, powerful, sexy as sin, and filthy rich. But this? This was too much.

Goodness… stop it.

You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to steady the storm inside your head. Calm down. Get it together. This has to stop. Let's just pretend you didn’t see anything, forget about it, and get the hell out of here. You reached down, to pick up your folder. You needed to leave this cabinet alone before your boss arrive. But your body froze and your ear perk up. The sound of the penthouse door close thud echoed through the space.

Your entire body ran cold.

Shit. Are you kidding me?

The sound of the penthouse door sent a jolt of panic straight through you, but now—now you could hear the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps. Not just one pair. Two. Comin in your direction.

Your mind barely had time to spiral. Your boss wasn’t alone.

The realization hit you like a freight train. What to do? what to do?!

If she found you here—inside her private bedroom, inside here with her cabinet of secrets—there would be no explaining yourself. Not only had you trespassed into her personal space, but you had also stumbled upon something you were never meant to see.

Your panicking. Pulling your hair you look around looking for a place to hide but everthing was spot on. Your body moved before your mind could even process a proper escape plan. You snatched the folder from the floor, and shoved yourself inside the cabinet, tucking yourself into the bottom shelf just as you pulled the door shut.

Then—

BANG.

The bedroom door slammed open.

You clenched your jaw, pressing a hand over your mouth as heavy boots crossed the threshold. From your cramped hiding spot, you could barely breathe. You barely swallowed a gasp as you scrambled backward, pressing yourself as tightly as you could against the back of the cabinet.

Then came the voices. Low grunt and breathy, needy moan into the room.

“—been waiting all day for this,” a unfamilliar woman voice.

“You’re impatient. Little one..” Your boss voice response with a deep chuckle..

Your body froze with your eyes widen holding your breath so that you can't make a single sound. You shouldn’t be here.. Your cheeks heat up, your face burning. Please, this can't be happening. The rustling of clothes fills the air, followed by the creak of the bed. Your breath hitches as a series of moans began to echo through the room. You can't believe it—you’re secretly listening to your boss having sex while hiding among her collection. You whimper and your legs started to squirm.

Your breathing starts to hitch as you hear those horny moans. The door is closed, and you don’t dare to move. All the worries about the paper vanish, replaced by panic—how are you supposed to get out of this situation? You definitely don’t plan on hearing them the entire night. Unless… you’re willing to stay hidden in this shelf for the rest of the day.

Please be done already.

"Let me get my stap—" You heard Ambessa’s voice, clear and commanding voice.

Her strap?

You almost screamed in horror when you heard that sentence, her footsteps drawing closer. Your eyes wide in immediate shock. What to do? Your mind went blank. Panic surged through you. You had to move, had to do something—but were would you go!

No, no, no— Someone help!

You braced for impact, panic tightening around your throat—this is how you die. Caught. Hiding. Under your boss sex toy collection. You curled into the smallest ball humanly possible, silently praying and begging the universe to spare you. You recite all the godess you knew. If she opened this cabinet—if she found you—it was over.

You could already see her face, the sheer disbelief, the inevitable horror. Her secretary. This would be the single greatest humiliation of your entire life. And you weren’t sure you’d ever recover.

The cabinet slowly began to open and light started to enter inside before a voice interrupted.

"Tch, just get your stupid ass here, do it later...!"

The tone was dispreate, deep and unmistakably familiar.

Ambessa chuckled, and then—mercifully—she left the barely open cabinet. Instead, you heard her footsteps shift away, followed by the rustle of sheets. You almost collapsed from relief, pressing a hand over your mouth to muffle you shaky breath. Your squeeze your shirt against your chest your breath hoarse with intense nervousness. Frightened the hell out of your nerves The folder in your hand was now all cramp out didn't care. That was too close...

But just as you started to calm down, the room filled with a new sound—

A creaking bed.

Then, the sharp, rhythmic thud of the headboard tapping against the wall.

And finally—

A low, sultry moan.

Ambessa chuckles darkly, “Look at that wet pussy it's clencing for my touch,” she mocks, her tone saccharine and taunting.

You bit down on your knuckle so hard it almost drew blood. Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Heat rushed to your face in shame, but—worse—your body reacted to the noises in ways you really wished it wouldn’t. You had always known Madam Medarda was an intense woman, but hearing her like this? Dominant, teasing, making someone beg—

Your thighs clenched involuntarily.

No. Stop.

You were not getting turned on by your boss getting laid. Absolutely not.

And yet—against your better judgment—your palm inched toward your pelvis, your body betraying you. Before you knew it, you were peeking through the small gap in the closet door.

Your breath hitched as you adjusted your view. The warm glow of the bedside lamp cast flickering shadows across the room.

''Ohhh yess keep going! Shit!''

In the center of the room, propped against the wall, was a bed stripped bare. The deep red, quilted mattress dipped under the weight of two naked muscular women tangled together, the relentless pounding of the bedframe against the wall echoing.

And then—you froze.

Your eyes went wide, your heart slamming against your ribs.

The woman with your boss—was Sevika!?

Sevika lay on her back, one leg raised high, the other bent in a loose butterfly stretch. Ambessa straddled her holding sevika legs up, their pussy grinding together out. The slick sound of skin against skin, mingled with husky grunts and breathless moans, filled the air. Your entire body trembled as you watched. You should have looked away, but you couldn’t. The sight was magnetic—two powerful, sweat-slicked women moving in perfect sync, their abs tightening, their muscular thighs and arms flexing under the dim, golden light. It was raw, unapologetic, and utterly impossible to ignore. It was like masterpiece painting..

Sevika. Her love-and-hate business partner. The woman who constantly stormed in and out of your boss’s office, always bickering, at each other. You never would have guessed. She wasn’t your boss’s lover—at least, that’s what your boss claimed. She had insisted she wasn’t interested in dating. Yet you had no idea they had this kind of secret affair. Not once had it crossed your mind that their constant arguments—their sharp words and heated glares—could have been hiding this.

Your boss wrapped her strong, wide fingers around Sevika’s throat, squeezing just enough to leave her gasping for air—but Sevika didn’t resist. She only smirked, locking eyes with Ambessa meeting her brutal grind their bodies colliding, tits bouncing with every movement.

Your breath hitched. You should have looked away if you want to be spared—but you couldn’t. Your were scared but they were too mesmerizing and intoxicating. The way their muscles tensed, the way sweat glistened on their skin under the dim light—it was too much. Too damn good. Too damn hot.

“Cum for me, Sevika,” Ambessa commanded, her tone leaving no room for defiance.

“Yes! Harder, Ambessa!” Sevika begged, her voice raw with need.

Ambessa leaned in, following the demand without hesitation. Sevika seized the moment, gripping Ambessa’s breasts, kneading them before pinching her stiffened nipple. A sharp whimper escaped both of them, fueling the fire between their bodies.

They grind against each other cunt in a desperate, feverish rhythm. Just watching them made your body throb, heat pooling low between your legs. Your toes curled, fingers twitching at your sides as moans filled the room. Ambessa’s pace quickened, her movements relentless, chasing and harsh. You imagined yourself between them, and the thought made you wetter, needier.

Sevika’s body tensed, her back arching off the bed. “Fuck’s sake—I’m coming! Don’t stop!” she gasped.

“Fuck, yes…” Ambessa threw her head back, her muscles flexing as their slick bodies moved in perfect sync. Their juices mixed, the scent of sex thick in the air. Their cries filled the room, bodies shaking as they rode out their climax, hips still grinding, chasing every last wave of pleasure. You couldn't look away. You keep watching them didn't blink every second.

Then—BZZZT!

The sudden blare of a ringtone shattered the moment. Your breath caught as your phone lit up in the dark closet. The sound startled you so badly that you jerked up, hitting your head on the shelf with a loud thud.

Shit.

''Who's there!!?''