#it’s the abandonment issues isn’t it.. fuck

[honeypleasejustkillme]

why is it so hard for me to believe that someone actually cares about me and isn’t always going to replace me at any given moment

[whatareyoudoingwithamaserati]

You’d cut me open with a sword like it’s nothing, but you’re scared of me being in a little pain? Hypocrite.

— Illex Corva.

[pepprs]

ppl are being so fucking mean in the notes of this one wc post abt the new excerpt like. don’t get me wrong i think redacted is a deeply flawed character and i share everyone’s anger and frustration in his storyline being so badly written and lazily thought out and a perfect example of the misogyny in wc like that’s part of why i stopped reading the books bc they kind of fucking suck. but ppl in the notes are saying he’s a loser and should die over… resenting that he is the last person picked for the team? like is that not a universal experience. have we not all been through that. idk. like i know that’s not the most important aspect of this conversation and at the end of the day it’s a fictional character but also it’s like… lol

[zosonils]

dan from festival plaza if you’re a real person and you’re out there somewhere sorry i denied your trade request it’s just that the 3ds pokémon servers are 273829147% malware and i didn’t want you to brick the shit out of me

[giantsnweretigersnbugbearsohmy]

Some of the Yu apologist arguments in the tag really make me wonder.

[insanechayne]

~ ~ ~

[ki-yomii]

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.4k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; fwb, angst w/ a happy ending, teasing, finger fucking, squirting, praise kink, frottage, dirty talk, pet names, commitment issues, jealous!jk, possessive!jk, dom!jk, idiots in love, misunderstandings ➥ summary | after being stood up one too many times, you realize you're in love with jungkook. and that just won't do. ➥ notes | istg i've re-written this more times than i care to count 💀 enjoy!

🖤 masterlist | inbox | AO3 🖤

cnt make it 2nite

The text is blunt - biting. No explanation offered, and certainly no false platitudes found in the lifeless string of black letters. Rather simple and straight to the point.

As you should have expected from Jungkook. He wasn’t known for his verbosity, and even less so for his love of texting.

But as you chew the fat of your cheek, reading it over and over again in an attempt to glean some hidden meaning that isn’t there, you admit to yourself - at least privately - there’s no more avoiding the truth.

One that’s been hovering over your shoulder for weeks like a shroud; an unwelcome guest you can’t ignore anymore: Jungkook’s been avoiding you.

It shouldn’t be surprising.

Moreover, it shouldn’t hurt.

There shouldn’t be an ache in your chest every time you see his contact or the plummet of your stomach when that inevitable excuse comes through.

In the end, he owes you nothing. The arrangement between you is casual, just a little fun between good friends.

It still fucking sucks though, you think, sucking your teeth.

Night thoroughly ruined before it’s begun, it’s only a matter of deciding how to respond now. In the past you’ve used a plethora of options, but you’re stumped. Unsure how to correlate the level of hurt to the nature of your not-relationship.

Should you be petty, passive-aggressive, indifferent - or worst of all: honest?

Hah, no way. I’d rather die.

Beside you, the bartender politely averts his gaze and busies himself with polishing a stack of pint glasses. It’s a slow night, and that’s saying something as this bar’s a little hole in the wall.

It’s never overly busy, which is one of the reason’s it’s a favorite meeting spot of yours. The floors might be sticky, but the music’s decent, the strobe lights they kick on after 10 PM aren’t offensive enough to induce a migraine, and the drinks are cheap with a heavy pour.

Watching him work is impressive - and almost distracting enough for you to ignore the needle sharp ache taking root beneath your ribs, the churn of your stomach.

Humiliation burns hot, creeps up your neck to settle into the apples of your cheeks as you’re stood up.

Again.

It isn’t the first time - it won’t be the last.

But it cuts deeper than all the rest combined, harder to shake off. You can’t lie to yourself anymore. The growing distance between you throbs like an open wound, as if Jungkook himself plunged a hand into your chest.

Scooped out any tender, soft thing he could find and left you hollowed out. Drained.

Not taking his flakiness personally used to be so easy. And now… well.

Goddamnit. A palm scrubs over your decolletage roughly to soothe the throb of your heart. What the hell did you expect to happen, getting involved with Jeon Jungkook, huh?

Everything from his stupidly pretty eyes to the dangerous curl of his mouth, the thick soles of his boots to the lapels of his leather jacket scream walking red flag.

Never mind the fact his proclivities are an open secret among the group. He’s never tried to hide his distaste for commitment. Finds it too monotonous. Predictable.

An eternally free soul much preferring to flit from one experience to the next, never shackled down for long. The Icarus of myth made flesh.

He runs through women like he runs through shoes, and you witnessed enough of the ensuing heartbreak and tears to be wary.

But knowing and feeling something are two very different things.

The dichotomy throws you off-kilter and finds you abandoned in a bar, once again, to choke on a regret so bitter you swear it’ll burn a hole through your throat.

What’s going on with me, you think, this is nothing new. He does this all the time.

You used to get on so well.

Any initial misgivings faded away in the face of Jungkook’s blinding attention, his unfaltering kindness lurking just beneath that surface of grit and gravel.

Even after you fuck, he never acts any differently, as casual between the sheets as he is lounging on your couch.

It's been great, it's been enough - until now.

Just the thought of going back to your empty apartment, alone, only to wake up and fall back into Jungkook’s orbit tomorrow when he swings by with a half-assed apology on his lips, and your favorite drink in hand is enough to make your skin crawl.

Stomach twisting itself into knots, everything in you rebels against the sudden cold realization: nothing will change - least of all Jungkook.

He’ll continue to take-take-take.

You'll continue to give-give-give.

On and on you'll go; a distant star orbiting a black hole, losing little bits of itself until there's nothing left.

Then he’ll leave your life as quickly as he entered it, a blurry after-image there and gone in the blink of an eye.

Fuck, I - I can’t do this anymore, you think, a shiver rattling down your spine, Because I…

An errant thought gains teeth, sinks them deep. Refuses to budge as an awful truth - one buried so deep you forgot it was there, ever lurking in the shadows - rises to the forefront of your mind.

And then --

Oh.

It’s because I love him - because I’m in love with him.

Suddenly it hurts to breathe, your lungs burning as you drown on the air itself. The steel band cinching around your ribs threatens to crack you open.

Your heart lurches in your chest, despair following swiftly to settle over your shoulders. Moreover, there is no one to blame except yourself.

Even if you want it to, it will never work out because loving Jungkook is to love the ghost of a long-forgotten memory.

And there are too many hurts to soothe, too many disappointments to name.

I can’t believe I actually -- shit. You swipe a shaky hand over your forehead. When you swallow, a sour taste clings to the back of your tongue. Should’ve known better.

You glance at your phone, the cursor blinking back at you mockingly. Should’ve done a lot of things, I guess.

Now, you're in too deep.

Waiting without ever realizing you began to do so in the first place; a life on pause, surviving off scraps of half-measures and maybe's, what-ifs, and if only's.

Now, it's clear the only way out is through.

The time to let go is here.

You need to muster up some semblance of self, and work to untangle the threads of connection binding you together. You need space to rediscover the pieces of your heart you left with him.

How to live without the taste of his kiss, the clench of his muscles, the thrust of his cock.

A new life sans Jungkook which begins with a simple reply in place of everything you really want to say: ok.

Then you wave the bartender over.

He does you a kindness once more, pretending not to notice the tears brimming along your lower lash line. “You ready to order?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah - sorry, I was…”

His mouth twitches. You waver.

Then the screen of your phone lights up with a notification.

Refusing to look lest you cave, emotions too fresh -  scraped raw and tender, you switch on DND and turn it face down where it will remain until you go home.

You're far too fragile (and sober) to think about reading Jungkook’s reply, let alone engage with him in any meaningful way.

“I’ll take a double vodka cranberry.”

Maybe if you get drunk enough, you'll forget about the home he carved in your bones.

Bottoms up, bitch.

w8 nvm guys cnt make it

y/n?

i cn b ovr in 10

???

gn ttyt

hey, sorry. called it early.

wyd?

nothing much. you?

nm running some mtchs

cool, cool. you able to swing by today?

yeh b there in 30 :)

In hindsight, trying to have this conversation with Jungkook face to face isn’t the brightest idea. But if anything, last night showed you every choice you’ve made lately is a disaster waiting to happen.

Your life’s already a mess - and you’re hopelessly in love with a man that’ll never love you back - so what’s another mistake added to a long string of misfortune.

So what if your hands tremble and your stomach churns as you unlock the door to let him in.

So what if he leans in for a kiss and you duck to the side, his lips brushing the slope of your cheek.

So what if he pauses and gives you a long, searching look before toeing off his shoes and offering you the drink he picked up on the way.

It can’t get any worse, right?

Only the hungry, molten mixture of rage and rebellion fueling you thus far fizzles away the minute you see him head towards your bedroom with a wink.

Anguish and despair follows in its wake, nipping at your heels.

This is all you’ll ever be to him, you remind yourself as you step into the room. A fun time. Nothing serious. You have to break it off.

You shoot him a tight smile. “Did you have a good night?”

Jungkook shrugs, glancing around at the decorations littering your dresser. “Nah, not really.” His gaze slides to you, traveling from your head to your bare toes in a slow once over. “I definitely would’ve had a better time with you.”

Swallowing roughly, you rub your hands over your arms and suddenly feel far too naked - exposed in your light summer dress. “Hah,” you intone without humor, awkward and stilted. “Probably not. I was out by 11:30.”

“Mm, that’s not like you.” Jungkook hums, moving forward until he’s right in front of you. His hands reach for you, grabbing your wrists gently. His thumb strokes over your pulse point. “You’re acting weird. Is there something you want to talk about, baby?”

Of course he’d notice.

It would be annoying if it wasn’t so endearing. Jungkook always pays attention to the details, makes leaps of logic based on little more than quiet observations.

You stitch together a chuckle. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins, his lip ring dimpling the swell of his bottom lip. Your chests brush with every inhale, sharing space and breath. 

“Nothing,” he agrees.

It’s torture. It’s too intimate.

The glow of your overhead lamp highlights the sweep of his cheekbones, the curl of his lashes as he blinks slow and happy. The barely there impression of his body is too much.

You shrink back, clearing your throat.

“No, don’t do that. Where are you going?”

His eyes, shimmering with warmth, plead with you to stay, his shoulders curving towards you. A large palm settles over your shoulder, sparks igniting wherever he touches.

“Stop hiding. You can talk to me about anything. Come on, I want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

Steeling your resolve, you inhale and exhale with a shudder. His expression is open, soft. You know it won’t last, and take a few seconds to commit how he looks in this moment to memory.

For all you know, this will be one of the last times you’ll be this close to him again. At least until you can beat your feelings into submission.

And then you can’t put it off anymore, unable to take the ginger strokes of his fingers. The calming caresses as if he thinks you’re something precious. Quick like ripping off a band-aid, otherwise the words will never get past the bend of your throat.

“I want to stop.”

You catch the way his eyes darken, sharpen in the dim overhead light. He knows exactly what you’re talking about, but his half-smile never falters.

Of course, he refuses to make this easy on you. To acknowledge this is happening. He’s always been a greedy man; wants what he can’t have, and destroys what he does.

“Stop what?” Jungkook says. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that, baby.”

“Kook,” you sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “You know what I mean. I just - I can’t do,” your voice cracks, a hand motioning to the space between you, “this anymore.”

A vein throbs on the side of his neck, his jaw working in response. Muscles tense and release with every grit of his teeth. He asks, “You gonna tell me why, huh? Or are you just going to ditch me and act like it didn’t mean something?”

“Kook…”

There’s a certain grief that can’t be spoken, gnarled roots burrowing deep in your chest. A sense of loss so keenly felt it almost steals your breath.

You wish this wasn’t happening, you wish you could take it all back but this pantomime of a relationship isn’t fair to you. Not anymore. And you knew this conversation wouldn’t be fun, but Jungkook’s staunch denial still manages to surprise you.

“It didn’t mean anything though,” you say.

At least, not to you, you think. To me, it meant the world.

-- And that’s the problem.

You need to stop whatever this is between you from building. He’s already shown he doesn’t share your desire for more in a multitude of ways. He’s been avoiding you for a reason, whether he was consciously aware of your feelings or not.

Undoubtedly, you trust him with your life but not your heart.

As sweet as he is, has been, he won’t treat it gently. Not through any intentional ill-will but because he can’t contain his own commitment issues let alone make room for yours.

It’s better this way.

Let what you have - had - stay a memory unmarred by the ugliness of your hurt feelings and bitter disappointments.

Jungkook’s shoulders draw up towards his ears, his gaze glacial as his hands slide away from you. “Is there a reason you’re done with me now?”

Shadows lurk in the depths of his eyes, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. Everything about him looks weighted down.

“Well, is there? I mean, shit, I think I’ve earned an answer after all the time we spent together.”

Your heart breaks for him, everything in you calling out to close the gap and offer him comfort. But you can’t. You don’t trust yourself to touch him without wanting more than your heart can bear.

“I’m not done with you,” you say. “I would never do that to you, Kook. I just - I can’t be with you like that anymore, that’s all. I need space but I’ll still be around, I promise.”

The glare he shoots your way freezes the blood in your veins. “Cut the bullshit,” he snarls. “Tell.me.why.”

You avert your gaze, arms wrapping around your chest. “Why does that - I -”

You only had one rule at the very beginning of this mess: if there’s someone you’re serious about, you stop fucking. It comes as a handy lie - a believable excuse that’ll stop any further questioning.

You don’t think you have the fortitude if Jungkook keeps pressing you, cracking under the weight of your grief and the anger in his eyes like fine china.

“I think I - I think I want to start looking for a boyfriend again.”

An expression flashes across his face, there and gone in the blink of an eye. But there’s no doubt he recognizes it for the goodbye it’s supposed to be.

This is it, you think.

You can put what you had to rest and move on, a memory on a shelf you’ll dust off years down the line when the hurt isn’t so prevalent. And hopefully, with time, you can relearn how to be friends.

Though the strange gleam to his eyes sends a prickle of apprehension down your spine, and then you find yourself being manhandled as he snaps forward like a snake coiled to strike.

Air flees your lungs as Jungkook shoves you with a firm palm, your feet stumbling over themselves as you trip backwards into your bed frame.

Wood knocks into the backs of your knees, and you fold like a stack of cards. The sheets puff out around you, the scent of your laundry detergent tickling your nose.

You blink at the textured ceiling, mouth agape as you try to process what happened.

The empty space above you doesn’t stay vacant, Jungkook quickly crowding you into the mattress with his weight as he settles over top of your body.

He molds himself to your front, his firm hips slotting themselves between your thighs. Broad palms, warm and calloused, skim your sides and ruck up the skirt of your dress as he reaches under you to grip the soft globes of your ass.

He yanks you into him, your pelvises slotting together. You whine before you can stop yourself, eyes fluttering shut at the heat of his body.

Teeth scrape along the delicate skin of your neck, the sharp pricks of pleasure-pain coaxing a shiver down your spine.

Lips brush the shell of your ear, his minty breath puffing against the side of your face as he speaks, low and husky, “So that’s it, huh?”

“What--!”

Teeth nip your earlobe, and you wince.

“My girl thinks she’s going to leave me for someone else?” Jungkook snorts. “Like I’d ever let that fucking happen.”

“I’m not your girl.”

You squirm, a bolt of awareness slicing through you as your body responds to his proximity, the weight of him over you electrifying. Liquid desire blooms behind your navel, uncomfortable and unwelcome.

“I never was.”

Blunt nails dig into the fat of your ass, and a cruel mouth latches onto the corner of your jaw. “Ah, is that right?” Jungkook asks, the rumble of his voice vibrating through your torso, your nipples tightening as they drag over the plains of his chest. “You’re not my girl?”

You swallow, and ignore the throb of your clit as the line of his cock ruts into you. “I’m not your girl, Jungkook.”

“If you’re not my girl,” he grinds into the cradle of your hips, teasing - taunting, “then why the fuck are you so wet?”

Keening, you twitch, involuntarily rocking up into the firm pressure of his shaft. The angle’s just right, spreading your folds beneath the thin cotton of your panties and giving your neglected clit the perfect stimulation.

Exposing your soaked core to the chill of your room as your body warms with mortification.

Jungkook hums in approval, giving the side of your neck a sloppy kiss followed by a stinging nip. “You think some nobody can fuck you better than me?”

“That’s not what I - ffuck!”

Heat pools low in your belly, blood pumping fast. You’re steadily losing control, the aborted rolls of your hips increasing in frequency.

“Answer me.”

A sharp burst of copper floods your mouth, your skin splitting open with how hard you’re chewing on it. Blood clings to the swell of your bottom lip, a ruby red bead you lick away with a nervous tongue.

Sweat dappled your brow, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the molten desire curdling your stomach.

The softness of your body knows the hardness of his, every curve has a matching divot. The heady, pleasant scent of his cologne floods your lungs with every stuttered inhale.

Your senses are overwhelmed as he surrounds you.

“Shit, Kook, please,” you plead, hands tangling in the sheets by your head.

You’re not sure what you’re asking for but at the same time, you’re not sure how you ended up here. Again.

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

This was supposed to be an amenable end to a dubious affair. It’s anything but.

“I want you to tell me who your cunt belongs to.”

Fingers inch down to tease along the soft flesh of your inner thighs, and play with the elastic of your panties.

You tremble, gooseflesh dimpling the exposed skin of your arms as knuckles brush over the length of your soaked pussy.

Your clit pulses, the pressure enough to tease.

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook coaxes, working his way beneath the fabric clinging to your core, “tell me you’re my girl.”

His cock nestles into the crook of your hip, hot and heavy through his jeans as a darkened patch blooms across the denim crotch. The sticky wetness of his pre-cum smearing into your skin as arousal swells, crashing over you.

Leaving you a whimpering, trembling mess in the cage of his arms.

“You just have to say it - say you’re my girl and I’ll be so, so good to you.” His breath warms the shell of your ear. “All you have to do is say it, and I’ll make you cum so hard you see stars.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to cobble together a response, sliding a thick finger through your sticky folds and into your needy pussy just as your lips part.

All words leave you, your mind wiped clean as a low, broken cry echoes out into the room. Swallowed up by the sounds of city life outside your apartment as he works to stretch you open.

You clamp down at the sudden fullness, walls tight and fluttering around his finger like they would be around his cock.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You always feel so soft and wet.”

Whining in agreement, you give up any pretense of resistance, letting primal desire chase away the despair, the guilt that threatens to choke you. Wiping your mind clean of any thoughts until the only thing that remains is the thrust of his fingers and the ache in your cunt.

Your hands slip, scrambling for purchase with sweaty palms. “J-Jungkook!”

Your knees tremble where they dig into his sides, air rushing from you in heavy pants as the space between your bodies heats up. You know you won’t last long, already hanging on the edge.

Never in a million years did you expect to be so turned on by Jungkook’s rough behavior. He usually treats you like something delicate.

Though he holds no such compunction now, raw in his desperate desire to make you cum.

Jungkook peppers kisses onto whatever skin he can reach, spreading your thighs wider with his torso. His knuckles strain against the fabric of your panties, stretching out the cotton and ruining them forevermore as he slips another finger into you.

Then his dark head bows, catching your gaze, and he says, “Hold on.”

Barely seconds after you anchor yourself to his shoulders, he starts finger fucking you to within an inch of your life. His forearm ripples with strength, the movements of his fingers pressing and rubbing against all the right spots. Curling up to massage at your g-spot until you’re shaking beneath him with hitched breaths.

“Shit, shit,” you gasp, eyes rolling back as your toes flex against his side, “Kook, baby, please don’t stop.”

He huffs a laugh, dark and amused. “Wouldn’t ever do that to you, baby.”

“S’good - I - I’m close.”

You sob, tears brimming along your lash line. The sloppy sounds of him fucking your pussy ring in your ears, as embarrassing as it is arousing. He’s making you gush, slick wetting your inner thighs, dribbling down your ass to stain the sheets.

“So close, gonna - hnnng - gonna cum.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that, baby. Give me that squirt.”

You shake your head. “I can’t - I can’t!”

If you could, you’d suspend time so this moment never ends. The finality of your arrangement hovering just on the other side of pleasure.

In the back of your mind, you know Jungkook’s only behaving this way because he’s jealous. Angry. He doesn’t mean it, and this is a mistake.

It’ll only hurt you in the long run but you’ll take what you can get.

After all, this is the last time you’ll be together like this.

“No,” he shushes, dropping a kiss to your sweaty brow, “No, don’t lie. I know you can. I’ll make you.”

There’s no escape.

He refuses to let you escape, using his weight to keep you pinned as he spreads his fingers open inside you, twisting and fucking so deep you feel a twinge behind your navel.

And then you’re right there, crashing over the edge as the bubble of pleasure bursts, crackling through your limbs.

You cum harder than you ever have before. Nails sinking into his shoulders with a hiss as a wounded, broken wail scrapes its way out of your throat.

Your pussy throbs, gummy walls sucking him deeper as a rush of cum gushes from you in spurts. Your ears ring with white noise, and you’re vaguely aware of the fact your hands have gone numb.

For several long moments, you float with a head full of cotton, only rejoining the atmosphere when warmth dribbles down your ass in sticky rivulets of squirt.

Jungkook’s arm is curled around your waist, holding you close as his nose nuzzles into the side of your head. Tender lips dust kisses over your crown. His cock is still a heavy weight digging into your hip but he doesn’t seem to be in any rush to relieve himself.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, a wave of fatigue crashing over you. Your eyes sting when you close them, a lump building in your throat. You ache all over pleasantly, satisfaction settling deep into your bones. In spite of that, a rift opens in your heart. “Jungkook, I--”

He kisses your shoulder, shushing you. “Don’t ruin it. Just let me hold you for a little while longer… please.”

The tears are almost impossible to stop. “It’s already hard enough, don’t make me -- I can’t just…”

Jungkook squeezes you gently. “I love you,” he says, “but I swear to god you can be so stupid sometimes.”

You jolt, eyes swinging up to meet his, wide and disbelieving. “What did you just  - I - I  don’t. ..Jungkook?”

“How could I not feel the same?” he asks, tone resigned and wary. “Honestly scared the shit out of me when I realized because, well, y’know I don’t have the best track record.” He averts his gaze, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I almost fucked everything up too, but Namjoonie-hyung helped me get my head on straight.”

Something unfurls in your chest, and you feel as light as air. Ridiculously buoyant with happiness. Hope.

Oh, how stupid.

“We’re kind of idiots, aren’t we?” you ask, sniffling as you shoot him a watery smile. “Like… the biggest.”

Jungkook hums in agreement, a boyish gleam to his eyes. “I mean, you said it. Not me.”

[shlonguru]

Lucifer x Fem!Reader - White Party in the Lust Ring

Pairing : Lucifer Morningstar x Fem!Reader (Alastor's sister)

Summary : Being Alastor's little sister can have its perks, but if you're fighting with him it can push you close to certain unexpected people.

Warning : 18+, Smut, oral, creampie, teasing, overstimulation, cunnilingus, daddy issues, daddy kink (shocker), edging, praise kink.

Word count : 5029 words (oml it keeps getting worse)

My hyperfixation on Lucifer is far from over (help) but I have received some requests that all contributed to this smut so I'm sorry that I couldn't reply to one specific request but I would like to thank you all. I hope you all enjoy~ Once again I want to thank @wipmoop for their amazing artwork for the cover! If you wanna check out the uncensored version of the cover, it'll be up on their page soon, they're genuinely awesome, check them out with love ♥ Shlonguru out! o/

~ At the Hazbin Hotel ~

Life was hard being Alastor’s little sister. He might have been very good at protecting you but he made sure your freedom was limited in return. In fact, you weren’t even sure if he protected you because he cared about you or because he was territorial. And he was hard to bargain with. You were living with him amongst others at the Hazbin Hotel and were more than bored during your days until you were offered a job working as Lucifer’s assistant. The only reason Alastor didn’t make a fuss about you working there, despite him absolutely hating Lucifer’s guts, was because Lucifer was powerful enough to make sure you were safe at all times.

This morning, you had just been in a fight. Some of your friends had invited you to a fun night out and Alastor had noticed you packing more than usual on your way to Lucifer’s. He had noticed as he walked by your room.

“Aren’t you packing a little heavy today?” He inquired.

You rolled your eyes already knowing what was coming.

“Yeah, my friends are going out in the Lust Ring tonight, so I packed another outfit and other stuff so I can change before I join them.” You replied.

“The Lust Ring? I don’t think so, dear. Do you want to end up like Angel Dust, with an Overlord owning your soul?” He calmly replied.

“Yeah, you’re right! Which is why I have the perfect solution for that, how about I don’t sell my soul to anyone? That should do it I think.” You stated snarkily, zipping up your bag.

“I’ve already explained to you that it isn’t that simple and that you have more value to the eyes of most people in hell than you seem to realize.” He countered, slightly losing his cool.

“Listen, I’m a fully grown adult, I know how to take care of myself.” You calmly tried to explain.

“You might be a grown adult, but you are not nearly as strong as you would need to be to take care of yourself.” He raised an eyebrow, knowing he had made a good point.

“Huh… So, what do you want me to do exactly? Rot here for the rest of eternity? No, I’m going out.” You started making your way out of the hotel when he snapped his fingers, making your bag teleport next to him.

You angrily walked back and grabbed it again.

“Stop that, will you? I said I’m going out!” You walked away only for him to snap his fingers again, repeating the same process.

You turned around red of anger. “You’re gonna make me late to work!” You shouted.

“You’re lucky I let you work for this minikin at all.” He replied defiantly.

“Fuck you!” You yelled, flipping him the finger and leaving, slamming the hotel’s door behind you and choosing to abandon your bag.

~ At Lucifer’s Tower ~

You got along with your boss really well, you both were very cheerful beings and your personalities just clicked, he had offered you the job of assistant because he was “having a hard time handling all of his important business”. You knew by now that he was actually just working on his ducks so much that he was never able to handle the rest of his business on time. He had also offered you the job when he saw how bored you were at the hotel, that and your common trait of fighting with Alastor almost every time you were in the same room. You enjoyed working for him and he was very grateful to have you.

You arrived at Lucifer’s tower a little late, but it wasn’t unusual for you. Lucifer was busy designing a new duck in his office when he heard you arrive and came to greet you.

“Hello y/n!” How are we doing in this fine morning?” He smiled, always happy to see you.

“Hello Sir, I’m ok.” You replied in an irritated tone, the difference with your usual cheerful self, alarming Lucifer.

“What’s up? You seem like, super down.” He questioned.

“Yeah, I got into a fight with Al.” You replied coldly, removing your coat and hanging it.

“Oh, that bastard, it’s like he can’t start his day if he hasn’t ruined someone else’s.” He rolled his eyes at the mention of Alastor.

“Right? That asshole...” You let out.

“What did he do this time?” He crossed his arms, resting his shoulder against the wall near you.

“My friends are going out tonight in the Lust Ring and they invited me, but he won’t let me go cause he’s afraid I’m gonna end up in danger. Fuck, I can’t do anything. Hell is literally filled with bad people, I can’t just stay locked up forever.” You whined.

“Wait, you frequent the Lust Ring?” He asked curiously. You looked at him and noticed a hint of red on his face.

“I would like to! But he won’t let me!” You moaned. “Why? Is that surprising?” You added.

“No…” He looked away, clearly embarrassed. “I guess I had never seen you under that light before.” He smiled. “But you are a bad bitch, so it’s not too surprising.” He finished.

Lucifer paused, looking away, kind of hesitant.

“What if I accompanied you? That way, he couldn’t say he’s afraid you’d end up in danger, you’d be with the strongest being of Hell~” He offered in a self-assured tone.   

“Really? You’d do that?” Your eyes sparkled at the offer.

“Sure! it’s been a while since I came by and said hi to Ozzie anyways.” He chuckled.

You paused for a second and remembered you had left without your bag.

“I left all of my clothes and stuff at the hotel though.” You sighed.

“I’ll get someone to go get your stuff for you, how does that sound?” He smiled.

“You’re the best!” You cheered excitedly hugging him. He smiled and hugged you back.

“Is there a theme to this party?” He asked.

“It’s a white party.” You smiled.

“Not very surprising of the Lust Ring if you ask me.” He stated.

You nodded and proceeded with your day, your mood back its usual merry self.

By the end of the day, you had gotten your bag back and had gotten ready at Lucifer’s place.

He was waiting in his living room for you to finish getting ready in the guest room. The blonde demon was wearing an all-white suit made perfectly for him.

He saw you come out of the room and looked like he had stopped breathing.

You were wearing a white dress that was perfectly balanced between cute and sexy, the contrast with your crimson mane was sumptuous. You had done your make-up for the party, a black smokey, making your usually ethereal ruby eyes look fierce.

“You like it?” You smiled, showing off your outfit.

“Oh damn…” He wiped his forehead, looking warm as he ventilated himself with his hand as he stood up. “You’re hot!” He blurted, catching himself and putting his hand over his mouth. “I mean, not that you usually aren’t, trust me I love your work outfits, you look very preppy it’s great, but you look, I mean, sexy!” He looked embarrassed at how surprised he was.

“Thank you?” You questioned. “Indeed, I wouldn’t wear that to work.” You chuckled. “It wouldn’t be very convenient don’t you think?” You teased, walking up to him. You were close in height, but you still won by a few inches.

“Right! Oh lord land me strength…” He muttered to himself.

“What was that?” You asked.

“Nothing! Let’s go!” He handed you his arm and you left together for the party.

~ At the White Party ~

You arrived at the party, it was huge, everything was screaming lust, and the whole venue was gorgeous. As you walked in, Lucifer spotted Asmodeus, with whom he had fun reconnecting with Asmodeus and even introduced the two of you.

“And this is y/n!” He introduced you after chatting for a while.

“Oh, is this your girl?” Ozzie asked boldly.

You unintentionally blushed and smiled to hide it.

“No…” He replied much more flushed than you. “She’s my assistant.” He added.

“You mean your assistant in bed, right? Cause you two got that chemistry if you know what I mean, it’s like, hard not to notice.” Ozzie continued, noticing how awkward you had both become, making him smirk.

“Stop it Ozzie! I told you it’s not like that.” Added Lucifer seriously before turning to you awkwardly. “Sorry about that y/n.”

“Yeah okay, Luci, then welcome to the Lust Ring to you and your totally-just-platonic-friend then.” He smiled mischievously before leading you to your VIP zone with your group of friends.

You and your friends enjoyed the party, and so did Lucifer. You danced with him, drank with him, in fact, you were all feeling tipsy and at this point acted much more casual with him than you thought possible, though he still made sure you didn’t go overboard. In fact, he had had way more than you but looked completely unaffected, however. You had noticed you two were getting closer and closer as the night went on. You enjoyed grinding against him and he enjoyed it just as much, as well as showing off his own dance moves. And after a few hours, you both sat down at your booth.

“Wow Luci! Thank you so much for tonight you sure know how to party!” You thanked him.

“Thanks! It’s been a while, but it seems like you don’t forget good habits.” He smiled.

“I can’t believe my dickhead of a brother would keep me from experiencing all of this.”

“I mean he sure is a dickhead, don’t get me wrong, but I think it’s fair that he doesn’t want anything bad happening to you.” He replied calmly.

“Well, I guess it depends on what you consider a bad thing?” You smiled teasingly at him.

“What do you mean?” He asked tilting his head slightly.

“Let’s just say I’m sure there are things he wouldn’t want happening to me that I wouldn’t consider bad in the slightest.” You looked at Lucifer intently getting a little closer.

“Oh yeah?” He said a smile forming in the corner of his mouth. “Such as what?” He leaned towards you slightly raising an eyebrow.

You took your opportunity and leaned in, pressing your lips against his, surprising him slightly but he immediately reciprocated, running his fingers through your hair. He pulled you slightly closer to him and you rested your hands against his chest. After a moment he started kissing you deeper, getting greedier by the seconds. He placed a hand on your cheek, and you felt his tongue slide in your mouth and your whole body became warm from the inside. You shared this deep kiss for what felt like hours but had probably been minutes before you slowly pulled away, your half-lidded eyes looking at Lucifer with nothing but lust.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, or I won’t be able to restrain myself.” He said looking back at you, gently holding your chin up, looking as lustful as you did.

You laid your hand on his thigh, squeezing it softly and earning a groan from him.

“Are you sure that’s what you want y/n?” He asked one last time. “Our relationship might never be the same.”

You looked him dead in the eyes. “Fuck our old relationship.” You smiled.

He smiled back. “Alright, then.”

And with that he deployed his six wings and took off, surprising you and holding you princess style. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and looked at him, you could tell from the serious and determined look on his face that he meant business.

You started kissing and sucking on his neck, making him shudder lightly.

“Hold on y/n, I’m going as fast as I can, but if you distract me, it’s only going to take longer.” He pleaded.

“I’m just trying to keep myself busy…” You whispered, licking his earlobe, making his flight pattern weaker.

“Okay, enjoy yourself, I’ll make sure to not restrain myself later…” He added, still looking ahead.

“I would hate it if you did.” You countered, reaching down, and placing your hand on his crotch. His pants were as tight as they could get and what was underneath was throbbing. He immediately stopped mid-flight, making you yelp in surprise.

“Now you’ve done it y/n.” He changed positions, wrapping your legs around him, pressing his crotch against yours and moving his hands to your ass. He proceeded to kiss you deeply, moaning softly as he felt your soft lips against his. You melted into the kiss, feeling how wet your own crotch had gotten already. He pulled out after a moment and looked deep into your eyes, you could see the desire burning in his eyes, though he managed to keep himself more composed than you.

“As much as I’d love to display such an amazing show to all of Hell, it is not really my style.” He smiled. “So, you’re going to be a good girl and behave so I can get us where we need to be.” He looked at you seriously.

You nodded.

“Good.” He smiled, before going ahead and moving you back to princess style as he continued forward.

~ Back at Lucifer's Tower ~

It was hard, but you had managed to keep your hands to yourself for the remaining 2 minutes of the flight.

Lucifer landed through his huge panoramic windows that were left open into his bedroom at the top of his tower.

You had never been into his personal bedroom, mostly just his office, but it was beautiful. The red theme was very elegant, and his Caesar size bed looked incredibly comfortable. You walked inside amazed at how luxurious everything looked.

“Y/n?” You heard from behind you.

You turned around only to be faced with Lucifer’s glowing figure, lit from behind by the moonlight. He had a plotting look on his face, a devilish smile perfectly formed on his confident face. He was calmly walking towards you, rolling up his sleeves.

“I hope you had fun with your little mid-flight teasing…” He fake-chuckled then sighed. “…because it’s time to take responsibility.” The smile was still there but his expression was much more serious.

You didn’t move, you just waited for him to walk up to you. When he reached you, he grabbed your face with both hands, kissing you softly at first. You kissed him back, but the kiss quickly turned into a much more heated one. You kept kissing as you stepped towards his bed, you removed his jacket from him, and he unzipped your dress as he approached the bed.

Your dress fell to the ground, exposing your white laced lingerie. As soon as your dress hit the ground you had found yourself with your legs wrapped around his hips once more, his hands holding you up effortlessly as you made out. You reached the bed, and he laid you on it. He took a good look at your figure, your expression, your curves, your hair.

“Stunning.” He whispered.

“You’re not bad yourself.” You smiled.

“Thanks!” He exclaimed, removing his shirt and exposing his fit figure. You stared just long enough for him to start smirking at you. “Are you okay?”

“Nope.” You answered truthfully.

He giggled.

“You’re funny, now get ready.”

You hadn’t had time to realize what he meant when you felt your thighs get lifted and spread with enough force to surprise you. You didn’t have time to vocally question what was happening that you felt your panties being pushed to the side and Lucifer give a slow lick to all of your womanhood, making you moan louder than you were comfortable with. You rapidly pressed your hands on your mouth. As soon as you had done so you heard him.

“Nuh huh~” He hummed.

“What?” You questioned looking down at Lucifer buried between your thighs, though not doing anything to you anymore.

“Remove those hands and let me hear it.” He looked playful and serious.

You slowly removed your hands, and he immediately went back to his business, licking you thoroughly, you could tell not only did he know what he was doing but he was also greatly enjoying himself while doing so. It was like he could feel your pleasure, giving him the ability to always adjust perfectly. You felt his tongue enter you and go deeper than you thought possible. Your moans were getting louder, he knew what spots were the most sensitive, and he teased them, building your pleasure. He loved the control he had over how you were feeling, he ate you out as tenderly and as roughly as you needed to turn you into a moaning mess, grabbing at the sheets. Every time he felt you get closer, he started teasing another spot, building your frustration alongside your pleasure. It drove you insane and soon enough you found yourself pleading with him to let you come.

“Luci please!” You implored.

“Yes, what is it love?” He asked innocently, playing coy.

“Come on please, stop teasing me.” You pleaded.

“I wanna hear you say it.” He smiled, enjoying the situation to the fullest. “What do you want me to do?” He added.

“Luci please let me come!” You begged; any ounce of pride you had having left your body at this point.

Lucifer got visibly aroused at those words, his eyes turning red for an instant as he went back at it, passionately eating you out and making you come the next moment, unleashing all your pent-up pleasure as your back arched into the leg-shaking orgasm. You moaned his name loudly as you melted into the mattress. You could feel him smile as he finished enjoying you.

You were catching your breath and recovering as Lucifer started kissing up your body, your stomach, chest then neck. That’s when you heard him speak softly.

“That’s for teasing me.” He looked into your eyes before landing a soft kiss on your lips.

You were too astounded to talk back.

At this point his crotch was pressing against yours and he looked more excited than ever.

“Good start now let’s get a little more serious.” He grinned before flipping the both of you making you straddle him as he laid back. You realized at this moment just how much he had planned for you tonight.

“Hmm…we won’t need that.” He snapped his finger making any remnants of clothes either of you wore vanish, exposing your breasts to him for the first time. His eyes devoured you as you felt a false sense of control back. You rested your hands on his chest, pressing your breasts together.

“Is everything okay?” You asked with a teasing tone.

“Nope.” He replied, realizing what you were doing. You grabbed his hand and pressed it against your breast.

“Want some of that, Daddy?” You sneered.

He squeezed your breast in a way that sent jolt in all your body, letting a moan escape your mouth, you face immediately flushing.

“Oh, what was that?” He smirked then proceeded to fondle your breasts again, making you feel weak as you moaned.

“I don’t understand how you do this!” You whined.

“Do what?” He said as he did it again, sending jolts up your body.

“You’re not using dirty tricks on me, are you?” You asked skeptically.

He looked at you and laughed audibly, before composing himself and propping himself up with one hand, placing his mouth next to your ear.

“No y/n, I’m just that good.” He declared confidently. Your face went crimson as you felt embarrassed and tried to hold your moans in as he continued teasing your now rock-hard nipple.

“I mean, besides the fact that I’m pretty confident in my own skill, that must surely mean that we are particularly compatible, don’t you think?” He asked nonchalantly.

You nodded, trying your best not to get lost in the pleasure this tease was inflicting upon you.

Your eyes widened lightly as you realized that your clothes having now been removed from the equation, your private parts were now directly in contact, you used that to your advantage and softly grinded against his shaft, earning a loud moan from him, surprising the both of you.

“I guess you’re right.” You smiled from the corner of your mouth.

He grinned lightly blushing before grabbing your waist and flipping you around as if you were a feather. You were still on top of him but you had now found yourself in a 69, your crotch inches from his face and his throbbing member right in front of you. You didn’t need to look at him to know he was proud of it.

You didn’t want to give him time to take control, so you grabbed the base of his shaft and took his tip in your mouth. You heard him groan as you swirled your tongue around it before giving his cock a hungry lick from the bottom up.

“Easy there, we have all night.” He cheerfully declared, panting softly.

You ignored him and kept enjoying yourself, savoring him like a lollipop.

“I see how it’s- gonna be.” He exclaimed; you could feel him struggling to fake his composure.

In one movement he pulled you even closer to his face and spread your pussy before passionately starting to eat you out again. You quickly felt weak, you pulled his cock out of your mouth, letting a long moan escape as a trail of saliva still linked your mouth to his head.

“Take it easy, I wouldn’t want you to choke~” He taunted.

“Don’t worry about me, this is nothing.” You replied with conviction.

You proceeded to lower your mouth on his cock all the way to the base, his whole member tickling more than the entrance of your throat.

“Oh god-“You had taken him by surprise, forcing an intense moan out of him, as he gripped the sheets tightly, pausing his own activity.

“Oh dear, you might wanna slow down a little.” He gasped.

You had him and you knew it, you moved in swift motions, your tongue wrapped around his shaft, hitting all the way down each time as you felt his body contract and his dick pulsate more and more.

“Holy shit y/n wait, I’m gonna- “He moaned as you felt his cum explode your mouth. This surprised you as you had been so focused on getting back at him, but you swallowed everything. Enjoying every bit of it, sucking him dry, or so you thought.

You finished swallowing and peeked at him, his head laying on the mattress as he caught his breath. He noticed you and grinned through his panting. “Nice play Y/n, impressive even, I hope you had fun.”

“I very much did, thank you.” You replied cheekily.

“Cause now it’s my turn.” He announced. You immediately felt two fingers enter your hole. He voluntarily pressed hard against your G-spot, the sensation so intense you screamed in pleasure. He grabbed your thigh tightly with one hand and fingered you relentlessly with the other. The pleasure overwhelming as you helplessly melted into it.

“Luci…please-“ You attempted but were cut.

“I don’t wanna hear it.” He continued. You grabbed his thigh tightly as you felt yourself getting closer to the edge.

“Come on go ahead, come for me.” He groaned, his calm and sarcastic demeanor replaced progressively by a heated passion. You tried your best to resist but it was pointless. You turned around, catching a glimpse of him, and were caught off guard, witnessing his horns out and his eyes red while he looked like he was intensely enjoying himself. He pulled out his fingers and proceeded to eat you with all his might, his tongue hitting your spot just right to make you climax against his mouth as he savored all of it.

He finished enjoying himself while you recuperated from it all. When you peeked at him again, he had gone back to his usual self.

“Do you often get all red and…horny, I guess?” You asked.

He flipped you around, pressing you against his chest, face to face.

“What was that? Oh, you mean my horns and stuff? Only when I get heated. Do you not like it? Cause I can try to tone it down.” He asked, a worried look on his face.

“No, I like that I get you heated…” You looked away, a light blush appearing on your cheeks.

He smiled softly. He cupped your face then kissed you tenderly.

“You do have that effect on me.”

You felt his member back to its throbbing state. You kissed him deeply yet delicately before looking at him seductively.

“Luci, time for the main course don’t you think?” You rubbed your soaked entrance against his hard member. “I’m at my limit.” You begged.

Having witnessed his previous reactions, you weren’t surprised when you felt his member grow even bigger after you had pronounced those words.

“Good because I’m also reaching my limit.” He answered.

You felt his tip press against your entrance and slide all the way in as you both melted into each other, a deep sigh of relief escaping your mouths.

“Holy-…you feel so good.” He groaned. He sat up, setting you both in a lotus position before resting his hands on your hips and starting to thrust. The pleasure felt so visceral you both moved cautiously as if trying to not come too fast, but without noticing, you both picked up the pace, panting and moaning filling the air. Your hands were gripping his shoulders tightly as you rocked your hips. One of his hands had migrated to your ass, squeezing your cheek tightly and the other was fondling your breast. You cupped his face and kissed him deeply, playing with his tongue as you felt his member twitch inside of you. You ran your fingers through his hair while kissing him and noticed him moan more as you did so.

Soon, the position wasn’t allowing him to move as freely as he desired and he was now standing on his knees, holding both of your ass cheeks tightly as he pounded into you. You were panting heavily as you felt it coming once again.

“Coming already?” He teased, his own panting giving away how he also felt.

You nodded no, not very convincingly. He took that as a challenge and precisely hit your G-spot repeatedly until you came, whimpering and your grip weakening.

“Good thing you’re not coming dear.” He kissed your neck, slightly sucking on it leaving a hickey.

This position had become too much for you, so he laid you flat on your stomach.

“You’re hanging there Y/n?” He asked eagerly.

“Of course!” You replied enthusiastically, it felt like your stamina was bottomless for all this pleasure.

“Good.” He replied. You felt him enter you again hungrily from behind, his body hovering over yours as he held both of your wrists, pinning them down onto the bed. Each thrust forcing a louder moan out of you. It was like the more he fucked you, the easier it became for him to make you come. His moans had also become deeper as he kept thrusting, your own increasing tightness making it harder for him. He moved his hands to your hips and dug his nails into you, allowing him a better control as he thrusted even deeper than before. You held the sheets tightly as you tried your best to match his movements, both feeding off each other’s building pleasure.

“Y/n.” You heard from behind.

You tried turning around to tell him you felt yourself getting closer when you felt his lips roughly take yours. He could’ve sent you over the edge with that kiss alone, but he also thrusted deeper than he ever had at the same time, you could only lean into the kiss as you felt the two of you come simultaneously.

As soon as the wave had finished washing over you, you collapsed on the bed, and he collapsed on top of you. He quickly caught himself though, rolling next to you and pulling you into his arms. You both relaxed for a moment, holding each other.

“Oh, my lord, that was amazing!” You heard him speak first. You turned to him, and he was smiling at you.

“It really was.” You calmly replied.

“I told you I was confident in my skill.” He smiled turning from tender to confident as he traced his finger over your body.

“I guess it was alright.” You declared.

The silence following made you look up, only to be met with a devastated look on his face.

“I’m joking!” You added, feeling bad about your joke.

“Ah! I knew that!” He fake-laughed awkwardly trying to look confident. You laughed at how cute he looked.

You pecked his lips.

You cuddled for a while before you heard a buzzing sound.

“My phone! It must still be in my dress.” You reached your dress, covering yourself with the sheet of the bed, grabbing your phone then heading back to the bed.

You checked your phone and noticed 20 missed calls.

“Huh, fuck him.” You both exclaimed at the same time before staring at each other in surprise and bursting out laughing.

You heard another buzz and was expecting it from your phone, but no new notifications had appeared.

Lucifer grabbed his phone and started laughing nervously.

“What is it?” You inquired.

“That’s, hmm…” He showed you a message that read:

From 'Ozzie 🍆💦' : I saw you took off early with your totally-just-platonic-friend. How’s the banging? 😏🍑

You stared at it for a second then you both exchanged a look and blinked, before bursting out laughing this time even harder.

~ The End ~

[ragnvindrgf]

fontanian men and empty places pt.1

☆ pairings: neuvillette x afab reader, wriothesley x afab reader, & lyney x afab reader

☆ warnings: glove kink (?), petnames, dubious consent, mentions of a relationship with a power imbalance, sex in public spaces

nsfw under the cut

neuvillette - in front of the oratrice mecanique d'analyse cardinale (pre 4.2)

usually, if he’s feeling bold, you’ll fuck in his office at palais mermonia. rarely ever HERE. but, on the rare occasions that you do…

it’s a rare quiet day at the opera epiclese. no trials and no shows held by the beloved magician twins. but, neuvillette still had to come down to oversee some maintenance done on the oratice mecanique d’analyse cardinale (omac for short plz). 

“mon coeur, i don’t know why you can’t just assign the overseeing to some garde or melusine. you and i both know there’s no issue with its ability to create indemnitium.” you stand at the center of the stage, pouting with your arms crossed. 

the silver haired man chuckles softly, “i know i could. but you and i both know this isn’t a delicate matter, it requires special attention no matter what,” neuvillette moves close to you and leans down to kiss your cheek, “somewhat like you.”

“please, you pay this hunk of metal more attention than me some days,” you scoff. you were exaggerating, you both knew it but neuvillette still raised a brow. 

“oh? has my sirène been feeling neglected?” the hydro sovereign pauses, you feign puppy dog eyes and look up at him, your eyes meeting his soft azure blue ones. 

“wouldn't hurt to show me how special i am,” you say with fake sniffles

neuvillette cups your cheeks in his hands and your lips meet in a desperate need, lust clouding over you both so quickly. eventually, you part gasping for breath as you hazily look up at him silently pleading for more. 

just as you open your mouth to ask neuvillette to take you home, the man is pushing two of his glove clad fingers past your lips and down your throat. you gag around the intrusion but don’t pull away, keeping eye contact even if your vision blurs with tears. 

“indeed, allow me.”

wriothesley - in an abandoned production zone 

you and the fortress of meropide’s administrator have a hard and clear rule, keep it under wraps, no telling anyone and definitely no pda. so imagine your surprise when the duke himself is walking towards you in the middle of your evening patrol. 

“oh- sir, i was just in the middle of my patrol. did you need assistance in something?” you ask, putting up a facade to any other gardes that may be nearby. 

wriothesley puts a hand up, signaling the coast was clear. “no need for that, princess. it’s just us here,” he grins at your body relaxing, “did you check this area out already?”

you look back, an abandoned production zone. nothing but boxes of unused gear for clockwork mekas, “yeah, all clear back there.” you peer into the man’s icy eyes, wondering what he was doing here. wriothesley was usually in his headquarters’s at this time, or really just sleeping. the confused look doesn’t go unnoticed. 

the duke guides you deeper into the empty tunnel, “what, i can’t check up on my princess?”

you flush at the pet name. despite you being a mere garde in the fortress, wriothesley insisted on calling you such pet names. “no- i mean yes you can but-“

you’re interrupted as you hit the wall behind you, now noticing how deep into the tunnel you are and how close wriothesley is to you. the man flips you around with ease and presses you against the wall, your back firm against his chest. “i got tired of filling out paperwork, i need a break,”

your eyes widen when you feel his hard cock strain against his pants and push into the small of your back. “oh,” you breathe out. 

“think you can help me unwind?” the duke doesn’t even wait for your answer and begins unbuckling his belt, the sound of the light metal making you press your thighs together searching for friction. 

you lift up the skirt of your uniform and push down your panties, spreading apart your legs so the bigger man can fit in between them. wriothesley groans in approval at your eagerness, “such a perfect princess.” 

lyney - behind the bushes at café lutece during nighttime 

do not trust this magician’s innocent face, this man is EVIL!!! i fully believe he has an intense exhibition kink and gets off on the thrill of almost getting caught (poor melusines)

so, deep into the night when the usual bustle of fontaine court is now quiet, hiding from the sight of gardes, lyneys tugged you by the hand, all giggles and shushes, towards café lutece.

“the café is closed, lyney. what’re we doing here?” you question the perky blond. 

“oh but we’re not here for the cafe, ma cherie.” lyney continues to tug you, now behind the bushes near the walls surrounding the building, “i just though this would be the perfect place to make some magic of our own,” lyney winks at your puzzled face, softly pushing you against the walls and hiking your leg up his waist.

‘l-lyney! Have you gone mad?!” you gasp, trying to push off your insane boyfriend. yet, there was little force.

“hmm c'mon now, we’ll be quick,” his hands have already hiked up your skirt and are now toying with the hem of your panties, fingers dipping in between your thighs just quick enough to leave you longing for more. 

your heart skips a beat and you bite your lip to keep from making any noise as lyney gets bolder, his fingers slipping past your now wet folds. 

lyney grins against your neck where he’s been placing sweet kisses, “see, ma belle? just enjoy the show.”

to be continued whenever more fontaine males are released :3

[macfrog]

champagne problems sex on fire chapter ten

i'm not sorry!!!!! you'll never catch me!!!! (im, like, super sorry)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: the secrecy between you and joel comes to a head. one huge, explosive, painful head.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, whew boy the angst is big in this one sorry, reader has a lot of internal struggle, daddy issues and commitment issues to the max (ha), memories of parental abandonment and adultery, sort of vague mention/description of reader having panic attacks, attempts to initiate sex (but alas, only one small mention of previous sex), Big Argument, alcohol consumption, cursing, sugardaddy!joel, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 11.1k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 💚

The lavender is the first to wilt.

It stares glumly at the kitchen counter. Posture hunched and drooping. You stand before it, clutching a jug of water like you’re starving the purple sprigs for information. Why did he lie to me why did he lie why would he lie to me tell me why.

The daisies look on, awkward and curious. Their petals streaked with green – still fresh and still at least trying to bloom. The news hasn’t reached their delicate stamens yet – they still have blind hope. But they’re drinking from the same rotten water their lilac neighbors are. They must know it’s futile.

You fill the vase up and fix the lace bow – the one you’d transferred from the brown paper wrap to the vase last night, after seeing Joel out. He stayed until nightfall, until the rest of your apartment faded into a pale gloom, forgotten about while the two of you watched TV and kept secrets from one another in your warm-lit bedroom.

When he leaned down and held his lips over yours, you pushed yourself onto your toes and kissed him goodbye. He ruffled your hair, clipped your bottom lip lovingly. Said, I’ll call you tomorrow. Get some sleep, pretty girl.

You lay staring at the ceiling the whole night.

He was out all day Saturday at a charity event. He called you as he arrived home – you heard the elevator’s ding through the receiver, announcing its arrival at his top-floor apartment. And you stayed on the phone, the thing discarded on your mattress, as sleep blurred the edges of the world in and out of focus all evening.

Three times you thought about just telling him to come back over, hold you until you forgot what he’d even done. Pretend that the man who, possessed by lies and jealousy or something much worse, had taken your wrist and swept you off out of Jean-Marc’s penthouse isn’t the same one who brought you tea and Chinese food yesterday. The one who held you, blood and broken wings safe in his arms, while you wept into his body.

Three times you stamped the flame out, remembering. As if you needed reminding. Your stomach still sinks anytime the reel jerks back to its beginning behind your eyes. The words unfortunately and unavailable. The rustling of the bag in the kitchen. The padding of his footsteps drawing nearer and nearer.

Your phone buzzes somewhere across the room. You set the jug down and shuffle over, tilting the screen in the morning light.

We’re outside baby. Take your time.

You haven’t mentioned it to him, yet. Haven’t breached the conversation. You’ve no fucking clue where to start. It hurts too much to look at it just yet – like scalding yourself with boiling water and clamping a wet towel to the burn until you can stomach the sight of your skin, all blistered and bubbling.

The towel is still covering the wound. You’re still frantically pacing around the kitchen clutching it, heavy and sopping. You’re not sure what it looks like, but from beneath the cold cloth, it doesn’t feel good.

It doesn’t feel good at all.

Joel’s leaning against the Rolls when you totter down your front steps. Fall plucks the leaves from the trees one by one; they swirl down to the smooth pavement, brown and amber and golden. You’re in a floral tea dress, which took you an obscene amount of time to decide on, given the cocktail of nerves and confusion and outright panic rolling around your stomach.

Your heel scuffs to a halt in front of him. He pushes off of the car and swings your door open, squints at you in the sunlight. You watch his eyes move down your frame, a misplaced desire to impress him dripping through your veins, and then he looks back up.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says, and your veins sizzle. “You look…” he shakes his head simply, “…you’re beautiful.”

Your lips betray you. Your mind – that poor, dead lavender; your body – the poor, naïve daisies. Still has blind hope.

You can’t help but reflect his expression, attempting to mask it with a soft shrug. “Are the heels too much?” you ask, glancing down and lifting your foot.

Joel shakes his head instantly. “I like ‘em. And even if they were, we’re late. You ain’t got time to change.”

“You said you’d be here at twelve. It’s ten after.”

“I run a construction company, not a watchmakers. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. Unconvincingly.

“I mean,” he circles a hand over his stomach, lifts his eyebrows, “you feelin’ okay? We don’t have to go – Martha wouldn’t mind, you know that.”

“I’m fine,” you chirp, and your painted lips flatten against one another as you dip into the car. “Hi, Rand.”

The driver lowers his sunglasses and tips his head in the rear-view. “Hi, baby.”

Joel shimmies along the leather, shifting his jacket from between you to scoop your body against his. You glance down, eyeing his soft sweater, the light shade of it paired against that of your dress. The glint of his watch as his wrist slips happily between your legs, hooking under your thigh. The bloody crimson of the birthday card envelope, trembling in the door pocket.

The car pulls off, dragging you from your daydream. Stealing you back from the dystopia where you and Joel match, where you go together. A couple. Removing the notion of it from your makeup, each cell in your body slowly reverting back to yours again. Just yours. No CEO boss to stake his claim to any of them.

Martha’s place sits at the end of a cul-de-sac; neighbored on one side by a retired couple who spent their entire summer arguing in the backyard, according to Martha, and on the other by a row of quaint cypress.

The front door, bordered by polished mosaic squares of glass, sits inside one of four gable roofs. Dark green shutters either side of each stark-white window frame. A smooth path snaking between neatly-fringed grass, a hierarchy of tiny bushes growing greener and greener the closer they draw to the front steps.

Come in through the back, she’d said. Gate will be open. We’ll be in the yard.

Joel makes some quiet remark just to you about how perfect the house looks. The red brick and marengo tile. How much effort gone into polishing the front, only to tell you to use the back entry. ‘s only for looking, he decides, and then offers his hand to pull you from the Rolls.

He bends over the car, hand flat on the roof, and calls back to Rand. “Do me a favor – don’t go far. Just –” he jerks his head in your direction, “– just in case.”

When he straightens up and the car purrs off, you shake your head. “I’m fine,” you whisper, and he hooks two fingers around the string of the giftbag, taking it from your grasp.

He replaces it with his hand, his huge palm against yours. “I know,” he mutters, glancing down the drive, “but it’s an excuse for when I get sick of Alan ‘n all his damn friends.”

“Henry,” you remind him.

He tosses you a half-second look, smirk scrawled on his lips. He knows.

She’s waiting for you by the French doors when you arrive – Martha. Glass of sparkling champagne in each hand. Your fingers slip free from Joel’s before you’ve even rounded the corner.

“Saw the car pull up,” she tells you, leaning to let Joel kiss her cheek. “Here,” she hands you a glass, then one to Joel, “and here.”

You sip at the bubbling drink, letting the sharp fizz assault your tongue. Letting the feeling wash down your throat, stinging and bitter. Joel seems to swallow his just fine.

He swings the bag in her direction, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. “Just a little somethin’ from the two of us.”

You frown, holding a hand up to shield your eyes from sunlight too faint to cause the stiffness of your face and the drawn string of your brows. Where is Deb? And her two sons? And their shared gift? Isn’t it totally platonic and professional after all, to sign something from you and Joel?

Martha’s hands clasp. She reaches gleefully for the bag, smiling at the striped pattern. “I got no idea where he is. Last I saw, they were all headin’ up to his room. Some zombie game on his PlayStation. He promises me they ain’t playin’ the R-rated version.”

“That’s alright,” Joel says, “I believe ‘im.” He leans closer, a weight apparent at the small of your back. It shocks like a surge of electricity up your spine, hurts like a sudden muscle spasm. And then it soothes the pain, his thumb rubbing delicately. “’s a nice place,” he tells Martha.

She feigns disbelief. “Well, thank you, Mr. Miller, C-E-O,” she sings, and then, cocking an eyebrow, “y’all want a tour?”

You both nod politely, following her towards the kitchen doors. Joel nods towards a table by the barbecue – an island amongst a sea of candy and pastries, chopped fruit and bowls of nuts: a two-tiered, sky-blue cake. The name Henry piped in red icing – the letters swirling much like a birthday card you once read in a house on Maple Street.

“Nice little cake for Alan,” Joel mutters, squeezing your waist.

A stolen laugh shudders from your lips; the two of you snicker together, and despite your best attempts to cover your grin with your champagne flute, Martha spots you.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, sidling back over.

“Martha,” you clear your throat, “would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

“Would you please tell Joel your son’s name?”

She looks at you blankly. Blinks between you and the man at your side, both staring back expectantly. But her stone-set expression begins to crack, the lines deepening around her mouth.

“As in,” you clarify, “his real name. Not Alan.”

She makes to reply when the swish-thud of a window opening interrupts, the prepubescent bellow of an almost-teen from overhead.

“Mom!” Henry calls, his dark head of curls and long, boyish arms dangling over the sill.

Martha glares up at him. “What have I told you about hangin’ from there” she yells, fists propped on her hips. “What is it?”

“Mike brought Blood Cry III; can we play it?”

She shakes her head indignantly. “I have told you – how many times? No!” She holds her hands out in apology to you and Joel, and then scuttles off into the kitchen. “Go explore,” she waves, “I trust ya!”

Joel wordlessly takes your hand, leading you in Martha’s wake through the kitchen to the living room: its navy walls and white paneling, bookshelves spanning the entire length of one wall, and a pale-brick fireplace centering two leather couches. Very pristine, very perfect. Very Martha.

You amble around, slowing in front of the mantelpiece above which a gallery of framed photos hangs. Henry as a toddler on a green trike; Martha’s stepdaughter and her kid; Alan on a golfing trip. Your eyes jump from plump cheeks to missing teeth, sunhats and Thanksgiving meals, until they land on a photo of Martha and Alan on their wedding day – her veil pinned neatly into a permed updo, her puffy-sleeved dress and the lemon bouquet spilling from her hands.

Joel’s shoulder brushes against your own, his eye journeying across the photos, too. “Ha,” he tosses a finger towards the wedding photo, “nineties Martha. Nice hair, huh?”

You smile, lazily swatting his arm. “She looks beautiful. They seem happy.”

Joel agrees. “Wonder what their first dance song was.”

“I bet it was something classy. Sinatra or something. Martha wouldn’t be breaking the marriage in to anything cheesy, that’s for sure.”

He laughs, spinning off towards the dining room. “You ever thought about what you’d pick?”

You hesitate, rounding the table on the opposite side. “Uh…no. Not really.”

“Not your thing? Marriage.”

You chance a glance at him over a vase of lilies in the center of the mahogany table. The smell twists towards you, leering as it coats your skin and your clothes and the back of your throat in a sickly film that makes your head spin. “I guess not. I’ve never – Not since…”

He nods. He knows. “That’s fair,” he says, hands finding his pockets. The idea of Blake – his name, his shaking hands, the tiny box in his suit pocket – the thought of those images flitting through Joel’s brain pinches the air from your lungs.

You watch the silhouette of him as it crosses over the bay window, looking out onto the trimmed grass and smooth asphalt street. Something cracks deep in your chest. Something begins to unbind.

“What would yours be?” you ask him, and he turns.

“Depends,” he shrugs, “on when I’m gettin’ married or not. Makes no difference to me.”

You bypass the point he’s making. Turn away from it like you would a shadow in the night. “If you were,” you insist, “what would you pick?”

He nears you, never breaking your stare. His confident matches your nervous, his steady gaze on your shy. “Somethin’ special to me ‘n her. An our song kinda thing.” And then, as he brushes deliberately by your shoulder to head for the stairs, “AC/DC or som’.”

Your heels stick like they did that night in the dive bar. Ears hurt with a ringing loud enough to blur the edges of your vision. Your skin feels the same hot – only, not from the crowded room you’re in, or the mix of alcohol and sweat and something akin to lust seeping through your pores.

You stare fixedly at the view from the bay window, the perfect little cul-de-sac with its perfectly smooth roads; perfect for kids learning to ride their first bikes, perfect for couples wandering arm in arm, perfect for angry fathers taking off in cars packed with belongings.

When you were a kid, buckled into the back of your dad’s car, you used to fight sleep to watch the moon race you home. Her white glow surviving being split over and over again by the trees you’d whip past. Your eyes would flit from hers to the windscreen, watching the road up ahead as it threatened to twist and turn. No matter how fast you thought your dad must be driving, no matter which direction he turned – every time you looked for her, there she’d be.

It makes sense now. The notion of staying. Occupying somewhere in space or in time, and forgetting how to leave. Forgetting how to try. Forever fixed there, glowing in a brilliant melancholy, singing to nobody in the dark expanse of the sky. Waiting for the sun to make her return. Just waiting waiting waiting.

You – the moon, and your sky – that fucking driveway. The Toyota, the rust on its underside so bitter you could taste it like blood on your tongue. Searching all over for the scraps of yourself, the pieces he tore away as he fled: veins tangled around spokes, severed fingers tinged crimson and hooked around the steering wheel. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.

And then, the sun – some sharp-suited, quick-witted Texan; enough charm and ease to lift himself over the horizon, to give you something other than the glimmer in your own tears to reflect.

The moon stares down at you now as you sit, perched on your balcony. Your knees tucked under your chin, watching two cats wrestle down on the street below. It’s just gone two; Joel’s in bed fast asleep. You slipped from his grasp and crept out of your room, a blanket over your shoulders, and disappeared between the sheer curtains. Your chest tight, your breathing short.

It keeps happening, that thing from Paris. Your head begins to spin, your voice withers to nothing. Your legs push you to your feet and force you to flee, though you’ve still to figure out where to or what from. All you know is that blue-eyed stare of your ex-fiancé has been wiped, replaced by the dusted beard of your boss instead. The plastic ring between his fingers. The creaking leather of his office chair.

Those same four words keep circling your head, replaying on a loop between your ears: why did he lie why did he lie why did he lie. Like white noise droning around your skull, bubbling nausea in the pit of your stomach. No, darlin’. Why would I lie to you?

Why did you lie to me?

Why did he do any of it? Take you to Paris, let you meet his client. Why has he been sleeping with you, treating you like some kind of girlfriend? The word plucks goosepimples all over your body. His body around yours at Aspen Heights – what you wanted so badly to believe was endearment, was comfortability and generosity, now feels like territory-marking. Feels like the white-knuckled tightening of a leash in his wide fist.

The leaves of the trees across the street tremble, lit luminous green by the 7-Eleven sign they fringe. You watch as two men swagger out of the store; their chatter drowned by the buzzing of the fluorescent sign. They split off with a quick handshake at the curb, disappearing into two different cars, driving off in two different directions.

You sniff. Some skunky smell hangs low in the air. So thick that you can feel it coating your lungs from the inside out. You sink back into your chair, push your fingers into your eyes until you’re watching a mirage of stars pull across your vision. Blow a cracked, nervous breath into the sky. Slip your nose beneath the collar of your tee.

Joel’s tee, which pools in the dip between your stomach and thighs. You suck his scent in like one hit of some intoxicating drug, for every three hits of clean air. Just seeing you through. Pretending there’s no addiction there.

But fuck, if you’re not screwed. One half of you holding back on mentioning the email because – what the fuck do you even say? How do you begin to ask him about it? How do you approach the topic, without prefacing it with feelings you’re too afraid to admit even to yourself?

And the other half – for fear of what you might cause. What you might make him do. For the pure, cut-throat fear that he’ll become the third in a list of men to just – leave. To let you down, to let you go. Change between couch cushions. Wild flowers torn from the earth’s scalp.

Then, the fracturing realization that you don’t want him to go. That you’re used to him, now, in a way you never were with your dad or with Blake. Your dad – who would choose poker night over parents’ night. Who would choose a drink with his buddies over a movie with you and your mom.

Or Blake – who would schedule sex on the nights he figured he’d have enough energy to fuck you until at least he came, and would buy you chrysanthemums on your birthday even long after you’d told him you were pretty sure you were allergic.

And then there’s Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Who turned up at your door less than thirty minutes after Martha told him you were sick. Who said in the car ride to her house earlier, Tell me your favorite flower.

Why? you asked.

Just so I know.

Joel – who has never asked anything more than you’ve chosen to tell him about your father, but whose face still screws into an angry grimace anytime he’s forced to think of him. Who reaches out to adjust the broken heart around your neck, slip the clip back to your nape without you asking Who offers you the last slice of pizza, and when you refuse, compromises by splitting it. Giving you the bigger half.

Joel – with whom sex feels like a form of communication: Here are all the things I don’t know how to say, yet. Yet yet yet. A conversation, each movement deliberate; each nip and lick and bite weighted with purpose and meaning. It lives under your nails, behind your teeth. Here – I don’t know what else to do with all this longing.

Joel – who has not only set every foot right, but has carved his own path through your heart. Explored the caves himself, a lonely lamp hanging from his fist as he carefully, gently, politely weaved his way through a jungle of valves and tissue, monsters and darkness, slowly winding his way to the center.

Joel. Who has never let you down. Until that fucking email.

A 7-Eleven employee, some scrawny kid with a mop of black hair and a polo hanging from his skeleton, drags a cloth in wide circles on the inside of the windows. He swipes his forehead along his wrist, thick tresses disturbed, and stares out at the empty street.

You blink twice, and a figure materializes at your balcony door.

“Baby?”

“Jesus!”

“Woah, woah. Easy – ‘s just me.” The pale drapes surrender to his wide frame, letting him pass. “Sorry, pretty girl. You okay?”

“You scared the crap outta me.”

Joel bends before you, a sweet little chuckle in his throat, and presses a warm kiss to your forehead. You lift your chin, letting your eyes close over and your thoughts melt away on his lips. He pulls the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“What are you doin’ out here at this time of night?”

You shrug as he settles into the wireframe chair opposite. Groans as he leans back. His wide chest constricted by a tight, gray hoodie splattered with paint.

“Just can’t sleep. Nice hoodie.”

His eyes dip to the mounds of your chest under plain cotton, the blanket slack around your breasts. “Someone stole my T-shirt. Stole somethin’ of hers back. Why can’t you sleep? You hurting?”

Yeah. “No. Just – not tired enough, I guess.”

“You want company?”

Not really. “Sure.”

He laces his fingers over his stomach as he settles back, studies you as your gaze skims the street below. He knows you’re lying. But it’s two a.m., and you’re weeks into an affair that you’re both pretty sure has gone past the point of no return, and so, voice plain, he asks, “What’s on your mind, angel?”

“How d’you know there’s something on my mind?”

“There’s always something on your mind. It’s you.” And then, readjusting in his seat, “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

You scrunch your nose with a sniff. Pull your arms inside the sleeves of his shirt and cross them under your breasts. “Your dad,” you say, locking eyes with him.

Joel lets it hang for all of three seconds. “My dad?” His face curls into a perplexed smirk, jaw tilting. He thinks you’re so fucking adorable, or maybe you think he is, and you’re not sure which one scares you more.

You laugh, chest lightening disobediently. It felt more comfortable when you couldn’t breathe. “What he did,” you explain.

“What he did,” Joel repeats, lifting his chin. Like a dog, sniffing out the truth. Something concealed in your fist.

So you unfold your fingers, holding it out in the palm of your hand: “Do you think he would’ve done it, still, if he knew what would happen?”

And then he really shakes off the humor. Sits forward, elbows leaning on his bare thighs. “What’re you talkin’ about, pretty girl?”

“Like,” you sigh, “if he knew he would split his entire family in two. You and your mom cut him off; Tommy moved halfway across the country. Was it worth it?”

“To me, or to him?”

You shrug again. He’ll choose the one he wants to answer. You’ll figure him out either way.

“Look,” Joel says, and hooks his fingers under the seat of your chair to pull you closer. He takes your ankles and you stretch your legs out, heels propped in the boxer-clad valley between his legs. A deep breath, hazel eyes pointed upwards like searching the skies for the words, and then: “People want what they want, right? They’ll do whatever they think is necessary to get it. He wanted to cheat, so he did. And he paid the price.”

“He wanted to cheat?”

It seems obvious to him. As though people seek out ways to hurt the ones they’re supposed to love all the damn time. The silver glint of a Labrador’s teeth as he sinks them into his owner’s skin.

Joel nods. “Wanted it badly enough that he did anything.”

“Lied?” you offer.

“Lied, cheated, left. Yeah.”

“And he risked everything.”

His head tips in agreement. “I guess he did. He was a damn idiot, you know? Had a wife who loved him, had two kids. He had the whole world in that house, and he threw it all away.”

“And,” the soles of your feet rest gently on the curve of his stomach, “would that – would it stop you? If you at least knew you were riskin’ something?”

“From cheating?”

“Anything. If you knew what you were risking was everything to you – would it stop you doing what you really wanted?”

His face tightens, brows knit with confusion and something else more difficult to place. “It depends. I wouldn’t risk something like you. I would n–”

“Somethin’ like me?” you interject.

Joel clears his throat. Looks up to the pitch-black sky again. “You…” He sighs. His answer is simple, black-and-white. There’s no way to hide it anymore. “I wouldn’t risk you, no. Not for the world.”

You fall silent. The moon stares down, seeming to melt around you. Her light like two steady arms holding you together, nudging you to ask the last question – the one spiraling around your mind like circling a drain.

Joel squeezes your ankle. “Where are you goin’ with this, baby? Are you asking me if I would cheat on you?”

Your heart jumps. The moon scatters.

Does he fall into the category of people who could cheat on you? Two months ago, he was just your boss. Two months ago, you hadn’t touched him more than a slap after a witty comment, the brushing of fingers as you handed him his morning coffee. But now…now, you’ve kissed his lips to shut him up. You’ve felt him come inside you. You’ve set foot inside his childhood fucking home, for Christ’s sake.

He makes you feel as though your heart is made of glass, delicate and laid bare but safe in his hands. He makes you feel as though a part of you exists outside of your own body – like there’s a piece of your soul wandering the earth by itself, touching base every time his hands are on your hips, his teeth in your neck.

Yeah. Fuck – yeah. He’s someone who could cheat on you. The way that email made you feel – he’s someone who could break your heart.

“I know you wouldn’t cheat on anyone,” you say, voice breaking. “No, I just – I don’t know what counts as a good enough reason to hurt someone you’re supposed to…supposed to love.”

Joel sits back in his chair again, the frame creaking under the weight of him. He reckons he gets it, now. You reckon he’s still wrong. “Come here,” he says, fingers flicking.

“What?”

He leans forward, takes your waist in his hands and pulls you from your chair into his lap, curling you up between his thighs. Safe. Protected by the shell of his body, protected by everything except from the thing scaring you most: the quickening of his heartbeat when you settle against it.

Your head slots under the curve of his chin, his voice a deep rumble over your skull.

“Your dad,” his chest swells, “he did what he did because he wanted to do it. Wanted it badly enough that he gave up you and your mom. And there wasn’t nothin’ you or her could’ve done to stop him, or convince him otherwise. You hear me?”

You turn into his neck, letting your tears fall hidden from view of streetlight or moonlight. You feel fucking tiny – a kid again, sat in a grownup’s lap, asking a never-ending series of why questions. Then, why did he do it? Why did he leave? Why are you staying? Why did you lie to me?

Joel presses his lips to your head, shushing you quietly, his body rocking back and forth like a boat on light waves. When he hears you sniffling, he holds you closer. Tighter. Your heart melds to your chest wall, desperate to seek his out. The hoodie he’s wearing smells like you, smells like him, smells like the chemicals of paint and the poison of love.

“It wasn’t your fault, darlin’, none of it.”

His arm hooked over your bare knees, the cotton keeping you warm. The other around your back, keeping you whole. You unstick yourself from his embrace, pulling your body straight until you’re straddling his lap, face to face with him in the light.

He looks up at you, almost afraid to blink. Afraid to lose sight of you at all. Your thighs lean heavily against his, your bodies locked together. You link your arms over his shoulders, anchor yourself to him as though the storm in your mind might sweep you away. And in the glimmer of light in his eye, the dazzling bulb of a lighthouse – you see the reflection of yourself.

Joel notices the shift in your expression. Holds you by the hips, follows the turn of your head. “You okay?” he asks, and you look down, avoiding his eye.

Glowing brilliant and lonely, blinking slowly. Your towering silhouette and caged-glass top. Drawing ships nearer just to ward them off when they pull too close. When they begin to notice the jagged shape of your shoreline, the ugly mess of your soul. Casting a blinding light on them, warning them to flee. And he didn’t fucking listen.

He docked anyways. Drew up on the beach, pulled himself into your body time and time again. You kept moving, kept warning him with each flicker of light, kept daring him to leave. And he never did. And there are pieces of you now living in him because of it, pieces you don’t understand how to take back. All you know, all you’ve ever known about Joel, is –

Your body sinks, hips lowering until you’re sure you’ve proven yourself right.

A stubborn weight between his legs. Not quite as hard as you’ve felt him before, not quite as heavy, but – a shape which sends a hot hiss between his teeth when you move over it, when the thin strip of your underwear courses over the thin cloth of his.

“P-retty girl,” Joel says, a groan seeping from the corners of his lips. A groan he holds onto with his molars, letting it snap like elastic when your hips circle again.

A weight as stubborn as the need slowly swirling in your chest. And pulled up into the cyclone are those same words: It wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t nothin’ you could’ve done to stop him. Why did you lie to me? It wasn’t your fault.

It hits you at once, the sudden realization that you’re lighter than you were before you first touched one another – really touched one another. Parts of you missing, passed over gladly the second his hand reached for them. The taste of you behind his lip, gums absorbing you like nicotine.

And you’re kissing him, your lips harsh against his, his stubble hurting your skin. Your tongue seeking out those parts of yourself. No. You don’t have me anymore. I’m taking me back.

“Hey,” Joel whispers into your mouth, steadying your hips. He pulls back and holds you still. “Why don’t we slow down? It’s late, you ain’t feeling too good –”

“I feel fine. I want to do it.” You lick again between his lips though he doesn’t budge; your attempts to move again, ineffective. “Joel.”

“It’s been a long day, you’re tired. Work in the mornin’, baby, I just don’t think we oughta –”

“You don’t wanna fuck me?”

He pauses, his tongue between his teeth. His brows pinch, almost painfully. “That is not what this is, ‘n you know it. I can see how tired you are – you ain’t even slept yet.”

“I don’t care. I want you to –”

His voice lifts to something you’ve only heard within the four walls of his office. Like chiding one of his guys, like snapping back at their red ties and crumpled collars. “I know what you want me to do. I just think we should go back to bed.”

“’n what if I don’t want to go back to bed?”

Joel sighs, looking out across the street. His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t get what the problem is,” you complain, still holding onto his shoulders. “You’ve fucked me in public before.”

“It ain’t that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Why don’t you go grab a sketchbook or something? Show me some of this artwork you been promisin’ since Paris?”

You blink back at him, watching the lighthouse swirl. The black waves begin to carry him off, sweep him from your view. “Maybe some other time,” you mumble, pushing yourself off of his lap.

Joel watches you, defeated. Keeps ahold of your hand when you stand between his knees. He swings your interlocked fingers gently. “Can you…can you tell me what’s wrong? Do you know?”

Your lungs pull in a deep breath, your shoulders rolling. “Same thing as always, I guess. Let’s just go back to bed.”

“Wait, pretty girl,” he tugs on your hand, reeling you back in, “waitwaitwait.” And then he’s standing, enclosing you in his arms again, asking, “What can I do to fix it?”

That same shrug. Tired. Deflated. Terrified. “If I only knew.”

You wait for Joel to move first, a sigh falling from his lips as he pulls the sheer curtains back, taking you by the hand and ushering you between. He follows your lead back into your apartment, sliding the door closed behind.

The living room is flattened by a gray silence, the liminal night swallowing up the air. Joel’s hand comes to rest at the nape of your neck, and when you turn to him, he says, “You wanna know if he thought it was worth it?”

You pause, fingers playing with the hem of his tee at your thighs.

He’s close enough that you can feel the heat near enough sizzling from his body. The right side of his face is shrouded in darkness; the chalky wash of streetlight painting the left. “My dad.”

You swallow hard, blinking in the shadow cast by his tall figure. The light clings wearily to his beard.

“She left him after two weeks. Went back to her husband. My dad died alone in an empty four-bed in Rosedale. You tell me.”

And then he pats the small of your back, takes you back through to bed – where you let him fall asleep on your chest, listening to make sure your fractured heart is still beating.

Joel Miller is in your shower. For the second time this weekend.

He’s not fucking you, not holding you against the rough tile wall as his cock draws come and blood and tears from your body. He’s not wrapping a towel around you, handing you a fresh tampon, kissing the parts of your skin still alight from your orgasm.

He’s just showering, before work. Using your peach-scented soap, pushing suds under his arms, over his stomach, between his legs. Lathering your shampoo like treacle between his palms, hair slick and foamy white between his fingers. Fixing the head so that his height fits under the stream of water, turning the knobs until it’s as hot as he likes it.

You’re lying across your bed, suffocating in the smell of his side and pretending none of it’s really happening. Face buried in his pillow, waiting for the intoxication to throw you under or wipe your mind clean or maybe just cut the air supply from your lungs completely. Whichever’s quickest.

The bathroom door opens; the sound of footsteps padding over to you. His weight sinks into the bed by your hip, then hovers over your back. His nose, still steamy and damp from the shower, nuzzles into the spot behind your ear. His lips leave a wet trail down your neck.

“You need another day?” Joel asks, kissing.

“I’m good,” the cotton absorbs the nervous edge of your voice, “just coming.”

“Stay home if you want, angel,” he says, hands roaming south to hold your waist. Like warning the pain, tempting it to show back up. See what he does about it. “I gotta go take this shareholders meeting, but I can come back as soon as it’s done.”

“Nah,” you groan, pushing your heavy frame up. Joel’s grip slackens. “I need the distraction, I think.”

He sits back, smiling dumbly when you straighten. His tongue runs along his teeth.

“You can use my toothbrush,” you mutter, heel of your palm wiping sleep from your eye.

“Hm?” He’s fixing the mess of your hair. Brushing one side flat, then the other; leaning back and forth with this dumb, half-there smile on his face. And your chest heaves, and you almost surrender to the impulse to throw yourself into his arms, almost lean into his cupped hands and burning caresses.

“I owe you. From Paris. You can use it, just this once.”

He scoffs. “I won’t use your toothbrush, darlin’. It’s alright.”

But you’re indignant. You already have every other part of me, don’t you? What’s one more? Just fucking –

“– use it. I swear I don’t mind.”

Joel’s head tilts, conceding. “Alright. Come get ready, then.”

Martha’s at her desk when the two of you wander back into the office. “Wait!” she calls, clicking around her desk as you pass by. She twirls a blue envelope between two glittery nails, holds it out to you.

Joel takes it, examining the childish scrawling of your names. “Nice, but – your calligraphy needs a little practice, Martha.”

“Hilarious,” she drones, sitting back against the desk.

You drift over to your own, dropping your back over the back of your chair, and shrug the coat from your shoulders.

Joel’s voice draws nearer as he speaks. “He have a good time?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Martha replies, and Joel sits the card from Henry by your monitor, “barely saw ‘im the entire day. Thanks for comin’. For his gift, too – y’all really…You ain’t gotta do that.”

“Was all my idea, wasn’t it?” Joel asks, smirking to you.

An airy laugh pushes from your chest, loose with nerves. “Som’ like that. Glad he had a nice birthday.”

Joel saunters back toward his office, hands in his pockets. Fucking casual, like the world isn’t crumbling beneath your feet. Like the walls aren’t closing in, the sky lowering by the hour, the sun being steadily eclipsed minute by minute. He nudges the door closed with his foot, leaving you, Martha, and an awkward mist of realization between you.

“Your idea,” she muses, once you’ve plucked up enough courage to face her again.

You pick up Henry’s card, staring at the smudged handwriting to mask the horror peeling its way across your face. “Thought it was easier that way, y’know?” You gulp. “Don’t make it into anythin’.”

She grunts, something shaped like Ha. Her arms cross over her body, her eyes flitting between Joel’s office and you. “I sure as hell don’t remember me ‘n Alan ever doing something like that before it meant anythin’.”

“What are you saying it means?” you ask, rhetorically, dryly – a little meaner than you want it to sound. “What’s…?”

Her plucked eyebrows lift, forehead creasing. “Nothing, sweet. I’m just saying – you two are close, now. It’s nice.”

“We were always close.”

She holds her finger up. “Uh, no. Not turn up at my son’s birthday party together, leave together, then turn up at work the next day also together close.” Her eyes narrow, and you almost believe she might’ve been hidden between the trees last night – hell, for a second, you believe she might’ve been that scrawny kid wiping down the windows of 7-Eleven.

“I’m just saying,” she continues, when your throat closes around your nothing answer, “if something’s happening, I’m rooting for it.”

It shoots from your jaw like a bullet. “Nothing’s happening.”

Martha’s just as quick. “Okay,” she says, sweet and light. Breezy.

And then she shuffles back to her chair, resumes focus on some email. Twists the dial on her radio and fill the tense silence in the office with some smooth seventies song which lifts the hairs on the back of your neck the same way it did in that Parisian hotel. The dark suite, his eyes black and seeking. His hands on your body like he knew every curve and dip already.

Didn’t you believe that he might? That his hands were sculpted to fit the space below your ribcage? The plush cushion of flesh above your hips. The hinge of your jaw between his fingers.

Didn’t you think, for one fleeting moment, that maybe he was made just for you? As if you were so fucking lucky. As if anyone might stick around long enough to earn that label. Yours.

You settle back into your chair. The bubble writing on the front of the card stares menacingly back at you, the shapes seeming to swell and shrink in size the longer you stare at them. A bad trip, you think, this whole thing is just a bad trip. I’m gonna sober up any second, and I’m gonna be in bed, still dizzy after that night at the bar.

And none of it’s gonna be real. It’s not fucking real.

But then – lying on the opposite side of your computer, delicate and tiny, sparkling in the sunlight from over your shoulder: your ring. Your ruby ring, two euros in a gumball machine by the Seine. Like it’s winking at you, the accent rhinestones a taunting smirk. And the sight of it slings a thin wire around your heart, tight tight tightens until you’re sure you feel the tissue slice in half.

You take the ring in two shaking fingers, eyes bleary with sleep and salt. Blinking the dispersed light away, red rays bleeding all over your vision as you tilt the plastic. Joel’s voice muffles against his office door, like fists echoing against the flimsy walls of your little daydream. Time’s up. Hand him back over. It’s not fucking real anymore.

You roll the prize back onto your desk, letting it scatter shards of ruby until it hits the keyboard, the rattle echoing around your ears as you pace over to his office door. Your knuckles drum once, twice, three times against the wood before he opens it, and then he’s –

Staring down at you, breath shallow between slack lips. And he reads it all over your face, the panic and the words swimming around the tears in your eyes, and he steps back, and you step forward, and then the door’s closing again, and you’re settling against the arm of his couch.

“Ken? Hey, Ken?” Joel strides back over to his desk, hastily reaching for the phone. The voice from the receiver doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow. “Ken. Can I –? Jesus Christ.” He lifts the handset and drops it less than a second later, cutting Ken’s fucking droning, cutting the only sound in the room, cutting your blood short in your veins.

And then – “Alright. Talk to me.”

You don’t reply. He seems to tense up. Moves almost robotically over to you, lifts his hands to hold your shoulders. And when you lift yours to push him away, he almost flinches.

“Baby.”

Your jaw shakes once. You wrap your arms around yourself, squeezing the breath from your lungs.

“You’ve been actin’ off since yesterday,” he mutters, giving you some space. He’s moving slow, like he’s afraid you might lunge for him. “You gotta tell me. You’re scaring me, now.”

You haul your gaze from his open arms, his broad chest, the idea of letting him pull you in and calm you down. Your eyes land on his monitor. The text of that email flashes before you again. And your shell hardens.

“Is there anything you wanna tell me?” you ask, staring at the Apple logo. Your voice sounds timid, sounds so little that you swear you see Joel catch the words as though they’re made of glass.

His head tilts. His eyes narrow. It’s genuine confusion, you think. The penny hasn’t dropped yet. “…What?”

It pisses you off. Seems to shatter that glass into fifty angry shapes, brittle and sharp. The shards cut like a knife through the air between you. “Nothing you think I oughta know?”

He shakes his head slowly. “No, baby, I don’t…”

Your glare finally lands directly on him. Piercing straight into his eyes. But your jaw locks shut around the words.

“What the hell are you about to accuse me of?” Joel asks, mirroring your stance. Pulling his arms over his chest, jaw tight. “Cheating on you?”

Your chest jumps with a tiny laugh. “Why would I accuse you of cheating on me?”

“Sure sounded like that’s what you were thinkin’ last night.”

“No. I don’t think you’re cheating on me.”

“Then what is it?”

The gun fires. Gates open. Thunder rumbles. A fire lights in your stomach, blazing through your entire body.

“When were you planning on telling me about Jean-Marc?”

He goes quiet. Still. Realizes exactly what you mean in almost an instant. “How did you…? Where did you –?”

“I saw the email. On Friday. Gave me your phone to look for Alan’s Twelfth fucking Birthday, didn’t you?”

His face drops; a broken sigh falls from his lips. He looks up to the ceiling, something of a disbelieving, disappointed, fucking dismayed laugh loose between his jaw. “I wasn’t,” he eventually concedes.

“You weren’t?”

“No.”

You can’t believe him. You actually can’t believe him. Fists balling to hold your nerve, to hold the tremble in your voice steady, you ask, “Why?”

Joel’s body twists, rolls like some awkward wave as he readjusts, searches the surrounding room for an explanation. “There’s – there are a number of reasons why.”

“Start with the first one.”

“Alright.” He grips the wooden desk either side of his hips. Meets your stare, and it’s almost fucking admirable, the bravery with which he’s walking into this. You don’t scare him at all, not yet, anyway. Not even in the midst of a standoff in his office – guns loaded, eyes never blinking.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and then lifts his arm, waving his palm like he’s swatting the image of the Frenchman away. “He’s…He freaks me the hell out.”

“He freaks you out,” you repeat, voice flat. “Really, Joel? Big guy like you?”

You can’t help yourself. This is so fucking insane, it’s laughable. You’re like a snake shooting sharp shots at the ankles of a bear – and it’s too easy to take jabs when you’re still in disbelief at what’s fast turning out to be the truth.

“He’s sleazy, and inappropriate, and he doesn’t respect boundaries.” He counts them with three steady fingers. “Not mine, certainly not yours. I don’t like him, darlin’.”

“You like him enough to go have two meals with him in one weekend. Fly all the way to fuckin’ France for ‘im.”

“That was business. At least, the lunch was. The breakfast was a mistake.”

“What’s the second reason, Joel?”

He licks his lips. You can’t tell if it’s anxiety or anger. “You’re too good at your job. I didn’t wanna lose you.”

It’s simple enough. It’s more believable than six-foot-two Joel being afraid of five-foot-two Jean-Marc. You accept it a lot quicker.

“Any more?”

His expression drops. Yeah. There’s one more. And he doesn’t know how to say it.

“Joel.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Got that one.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. Expression unmoving. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

You suck in a deep breath, chest wobbling as your lungs fill. The snake retreats from the bear, jaw slackening. Your eyes sting, Joel’s figure blurs a little, and then you rein it back in.

“I didn’t want you to go. That’s all,” he offers, plainly. “Just…wanted you to stay here. With me.”

“’n what if I wanted to leave?”

“Then…” Joel’s arms lift again, gesturing to nothing, “…then we’ll work something out.”

You lift your chin, some sick expression pushing your eyebrows up. “We’ll work something out?”

He nods.

“Who’s we?”

And it’s the first time you see him falter. The first time he has to catch himself. “You said it yourself,” he says, “you ‘n me. This.”

You shake your head. No no no no. Not this. Not now. The snake coils up, preparing to strike again. “What, us sleeping together?”

“That’s…What?”

“You don’t think there are plenty other women you could be sleeping with here, ‘n plenty other men I could be sleeping with over there? You really want me to stay here just so you got someone to fuck?”

Joel’s lips fall apart. His grip loosens on the desk. “That’s all this is to you?”

“Uh, yeah. Last time I checked.”

You don’t believe yourself. You know you don’t. You don’t believe a fucking word being tossed out of your mouth. You’re being an asshole, deliberately being a dick to him, and you can’t stop. There’s a wall being built at rapid pace, shutting him out. Shutting you in. Bricks made of angry words, each one separating you a little more, hiding you from his view.

And then his mouth closes. Lips form a thin line. Brows lower, blocking any of the light you’re so used to seeing from his eyes. Dark, cloudy, angry. “Got it,” he snaps. “Anything else?”

“Huh?”

“Do you need anything else? Or are you just in here to piss me off?”

You lift from the couch, arms loose, hitting your hips with a slap. “Fuck off, Joel.”

“Oh,” he nods, “right. Fuck off, yeah. Keep goin’, baby. Tire yourself out. ‘s all you’ve been doin’, ain’t it? All this time? All you’ve been using me for?”

Good. It’s good. You want him to argue back. You want him to hate you as much as you hate yourself right now. You want to see the bear’s claws; make all the hurt you’re dragging up through yourself, just to dish at him, worthwhile.

“You know what?”

“What?” he spits.

“I knew you were gonna do something like this, eventually. I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Joel follows suit, pushing himself off the desk in one motion, and then the pair of you are chest to chest, squaring up to one another atop his five-thousand-dollar rug. “You knew what?”

“Knew there was something about him. Knew you couldn’t stand him. And this is why, right? All ‘cause he wanted to hire me?”

He turns away and laughs, almost recognizable as the same laugh you could draw from him with a silly look on your face – except sharper, colder. “Not even close,” he says, reeling back in. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you? The way he talked to you? About you?”

“Of course I saw it, Joel, I’m not fucking stupid.”

“Then use your good sense ‘n catch up, baby. You’re right: you’re not fuckin’ stupid. You were like fresh meat to him, and what? You reckon I should’ve let him just – sink his teeth deeper? Really?”

It lights something in the back of your mind; a memory flickers to life. Loops like a static radio message through your ears. “Right,” you nod, “right. Because you don’t like other people’s hands on things that belong to you, do you?”

His head jerks back, face warped with confusion and…disgust. “The hell are you talkin’ about?” he demands, voice muscled with anger.

“Martha said it once. You don’t like people playing with your toys, or whatever.”

And that seems to hit him low in the stomach. Seems to knock the wind from him.

“Are you kidding me?” he asks, and you swear his breath cuts in his throat. “That’s what you think?”

No, you think, it’s not. You know him better than that. But admitting that you know him better than to use you as some little plaything – something he had any control over, some accessory to wear on his arm – would mean admitting that the problem lies elsewhere. Lies with you.

And that’s not something you’re prepared to do right now, either.

Maybe before you found that email. Before you found out he’d been keeping you on some invisible leash. Maybe when he had you in his arms, kissing you so soft you thought you might die right then and not even notice.

Maybe when he looked at you, twirling chopsticks clumsily in his fingers, face lighting in a grin when you giggled at him – and three words floated through your head. Dared to dance over the tip of your tongue before you caught them and hissed, What the fuck are you doing here?

But – no. It’s all fucked up now. And you can’t break the tightness in your jaw to admit any different.

“You don’t think there’s a chance I actually care about you? That I – Jesus, that I respect you? Are you this goddamn hellbent on convincing yourself that everyone’s out to hurt you?”

“Joel,” your voice says, and it’s not you controlling it. Some gravely, pained thing. A shriveled part of yourself, cowering from the light. You’re recoiling, physically backing up from him.

“Darlin’, I can’t –” He reaches for your wrist.

You whip it away. “Stop.”

“I am trying to understand you,” he pleads. “I’m tryin’ to figure you out. Why won’t you let me –?”

“I don’t want you to.”

A laugh ejects from his throat and plummets straight to the floor. “Yes, you do,” he says. “You don’t do everything we’ve done unless you’re in it.”

“In it?” you seethe. “In what? What are we in?” You pinch your fingers: air quotations around the words, or possible claws digging four more wounds into the same chest you wept into last night.

Your head shakes rapidly as you speak. “We were just sleeping together. We were just having sex. That’s all. We were just having sex,” you repeat under your breath.

“I wasn’t,” Joel says. Matter-of-fact. Like reading from a contract. He takes a deep breath, and then repeats, “I wasn’t.”

The words splinter painfully from your tongue. “Well, I was.”

And though your eyes are pinned to the buttons of his shirt, though his expression sits just too north for you to see the way his face pulls – you notice his head lift. Know that there are creases digging between his brows at the same rate cracks appear across his heart. You feel the warmth of his gaze slowly cooling. Freezing over.

“I’m sorry,” he says, holding a shaky palm out. The fear begins to sink in, plunging through ice water. He’s beginning to bargain. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I should’ve, I should’ve told you ev–”

Your body moves as the words ricochet, refusing to let him finish his plea. “Glad we got that cleared up, Joel,” you say, near-leaping for the door.

But he’s faster. He steps in front of you, blocking your exit path. “Please hear me out. Please listen to me.”

Your body writhes under his gaze, twists like some little creature under a microscope. He waits for your go ahead before he continues. You toss your head, acquiescing.

“I just – I couldn’t stomach it. I couldn’t sleep at night thinkin’, what if you went for it? What if he managed to swindle you into taking him on? I wanted to get you the hell outta that penthouse the second he laid eyes on you.”

“So why take me in the first place?”

Joel scoffs. “I ain’t in control of you, baby! You had to figure him out on your own – and I thought you had. Christ, one minute you want me to step back ‘n let you make up your own mind, next you’re askin’ me why I took you somewhere? The hell am I supposed to do here?”

Read my mind. Don’t let him near me. Don’t let me go.

And at the same time –

Mind your fucking business. Let me make my own decisions. Keep your hands off me.

The truth is: you want him to go back in time. Take you back with him. Never touch you, never look at you any more than to ask for a coffee, or thank you for fixing up his office. Never make your heart skip that first beat, never set your skin on fire with that look in his eyes.

You want him to go back in time, and undo every knot he ever tied in your body. Let go of every string of your heart he has his fist around, every nerve which undoubtedly belongs to him, now.

Undo it all, so you might have a half-decent reason to hate him.

In the deepest, darkest parts of yourself, echoing around the caves you were always too frightened to explore yourself – you want him to tell you why he kept it from you. The real reason. And you want him to grab your wrist and pull you back into the room, back into his arms, when you inevitably flee at the sound of his reasoning.

Because you fucking know why he didn’t tell you. It’s scrawled on his face right now. And even though Jean-Marc is all of those things – sleazy, inappropriate, a scumbag in thousand-euro moccasins – that only makes up for part of the reason.

There’s a bigger piece to the puzzle, and you both know what it is, only neither of you will turn to face it. You’re simply cast in its shadow, playing blind chess under the silhouette of something you both refuse to acknowledge.

“You’re supposed to be my boss, and nothing else.”

He just stares at you. As if he’s waiting for you to say, Kidding! and laugh. As if he’s waiting for what you really mean to shove what you just said out of the way and tell the truth. It hurts all the more.

After a few seconds of awful silence, his breath falls from his lips in the form of a sigh, staggered with a laugh of disbelief. “I don’t…I don’t get it.”

But you’re tired now. You feel drained. You’ve less fight, energy gone to waste before you could make it to the real contest. Kicking his door down and yelling at him over Jean-Marc was the pregame show.

“What don’t you get?” you whisper, slumping back against the arm of the couch.

His answer terrifies you more than anything.

“You.”

You sigh, eyes falling closed in time with the drop of your head. Your breathing labored, your heart pounding. Fear. Adrenaline. Anger. Fear. Fear. Fear.

“You never let me in, did you? All that stuff you told me – your dad, your ex – like you want me to know. Like you’re lookin’ for me to do somethin’ about it. And then when I try, you slam the door closed again.”

“I don’t…I don’t want you to do anything about any of it,” you cry, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes.

Lie number one.

“Then what do you want? Tell me, pretty girl, ‘cause I’m – I’m at a loss here.”

“I want you to – fuck, Joel, why can’t you just –? I want you to back off.”

Two.

“I can’t,” he whispers, leaning closer. “’s the thing. I care ab– I lo– I…”

He rubs his eyes with his palms. Maybe his head hurts as bad as yours does. Maybe the office is becoming too bright for him to look, too.

“You think you’re broken,” he mumbles, “you think all that stuff makes you – I don’t know, what is it? Unlovable?”

There’s a spotlight creeping over you – bright white and burning. Lighting every inch of you up, every dark shadow uncovered. The monsters and the phantoms and the six, eight, twelve-legged beasts scuttling off in search of refuge.

Jeers and cackles from an audience behind him as he cranes the neck of the lamp and positions it right on you.

“Don’t –”

“…Worth nothin’? I don’t know, angel, but I can’t do anything about it if you won’t let me, and –”

“Joel –”

He’s not listening. He never fucking listens. He’s still going on, but your ears are ringing, and your vision is whitening, and your chest is constricting, and your throat is dry and your lungs are closing and your skin is hurting and your –

“What the fuck did you even expect?” you hiss, before your brain catches the words.

Joel halts. He finally stops talking. The room finally dims again. You can hear cars on the street. Your phone is ringing at your desk.

You repeat your question, quieter. Heavier. “What did you want from me?”

He’s frozen. Looks concerned. Looks…afraid of you. “I never wanted anything from you,” he says.

“No? Sure sounds like you wanted something.”

He doesn’t say a word. It gives you time, you think – time you know you should put into backing up, thinking it through, not saying it. But you don’t do any of those things. You fucking say it anyway, don’t you? You are your father’s daughter. The anger is woven into your skin, ivy around your bones. The fire behind your eyes isn’t love, or passion, or determination.

It’s rage.

“Is this what you did to Avery? This why you didn’t wanna marry her?” And then, steeling yourself, gritting your teeth: “What secrets were you keeping from her, Joel?”

He still doesn’t bite. Avery’s not the sore spot, and you know it. There’s a different weakness to him, now. Newer. She’s stood right in front of him.

“I mean,” you scoff, incredulous, “what did you think – that we were gonna end up married or something? AC/DC first dance? Big wedding in Italy, three kids and a fucking prenup to save your ass ‘n your millions?”

You swear you hear the crash from here. The bear hitting the ground, or the door of the Toyota slamming shut, or Joel’s heart falling apart, maybe. He gathers it up, sweeping it into his hands with what little dignity you’ve left him with, straightens, and –

He’s angry. Looks it, sounds it. Feels it. A way you’ve never seen him before – not directed at you, anyway. Accounting, when they fuck up the budget for the year. Jean-Marc, when he flirts with you too much. Never you. He’s never this mad at you.

Like kids in a playground, coming up with the worst, most poisonous insults to throw at one another – your words swing fast, and he only just manages to swerve them, hitting straight back with a punch made up of his own.

“Naw, you’d probably say yes to my face ‘n then break it off two days later, wouldn’t you?”

It’s low. It stings. Shocks the life back into you, once it’s looped twice around your ears.

Joel knows it. Sees the glint in your eye before you have the chance to clear away the tears. Hears the tiny gasp that escapes your lips. The bear just stepped right on top of the snake.

“Fuck,” he says instantly. As soon as the sentence leaves his mouth, he’s undoing it. “That wasn’t – I didn’t mean…” He’s stepping forward, trying to wrap his hand around your arm. “Baby, I’m so sorry –”

Your wrist slips from his grasp. “Don’t – don’t touch me. Don’t.”

“Hey,” he says, almost cooing, almost trying to fan the burn with light breaths, “look at me. Please look at me. I did not mean that, alright? I was just –”

You shake your head, staring off past him. “It’s fine, Joel. No, I knew exactly what you meant.”

He staggers backwards, running his hands through his hair; almost growling into his palms when he drags them down his cheeks. “Darlin’,” he says, and leans in again. He speaks slow and seriously. “I would give you anything. There is not a thing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you. I would do anything. In the whole damn world. This is – It’s not –”

“Anything?” you ask, your stone-set gaze refusing to meet his.

He mirrors your curious expression, his own brows lifting. He can’t believe you’re even asking him. “Yes. Anything. I care about you more than anyone in the fucking world.”

He probably says more to convince you. Probably promises a load of stuff, apologizes a couple more times. Probably says sentences that would lodge themselves between your vertebrae and paralyze you with fear, if your hearing weren’t muffled and your mind elsewhere.

Your shoulders tighten. Jaw ticks. When you pull your eyes to finally meet his, you nod. “Alright,” you interrupt, pursing your lips, “okay.”

“Okay?”

Another nod. Yeah. You’re about to do this. Father’s daughter aren’t you just your father’s daughter always running out always running off –

“This is over. It’s done. You don’t look at me, you don’t touch me, you don’t talk to me unless it’s somethin’ in your job description or mine. Hell, even then – see if Martha can do it before you ask me. We’re done.”

It wipes him clean. Every thought, every desire, every motivation – gone. Dissolved, by the venom seeping from your fangs. No more bear. He stares back at you, eyes glossy, lips trembling. He flattens them against one another, steadies himself. Angry, upset, fucking – heartbroken.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. His voice breaks. It sends a blade through your chest.

You hesitate. Your eyes are searing. Between your tears and the nauseating tilt of the room, you can barely see him.

The third lie rolls from your tongue like a marble.

“Yeah. It’s what I want.”

And you know it, better than anyone: you’re lying through your fucking teeth. The way you have been this entire conversation. Pasting over wounds and scars, bricks laid over sodden sand foundations. But you’re petrified – stood on your own, fighting your own corner. The only person who ever managed to make you feel safe, calm you down, lower your gloves for you – now stood opposite with his fists up, too.

Joel nods. Anything in the whole damn world.

“Fine,” he says, eventually. “Fine. We’re done.”

[tarrynightss]

How jealous are they and how do they show it?

Characters: Jake, Quaritch, Tonowari, Tsu’tey

Warnings: None

Jake Sully

Jealousy level; pretty low. He’s a fairly confident man who knows that you are his, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just let others flirt with you. He’ll put his arm over your shoulder, his back straight as he does his best to appear strong and steadfast. He won’t tell the person off. Jake will inject himself in the conversation, holding you close and putting in a “isn’t that right, sweetheart?” here and there.

He’ll tease you about the situation later, betraying that it does bother him a little bit. “Seems like you made a new friend today,” “You would think you have honey on your ass from the way he was following you,”. When you settle on his lap with a smile, it’s clear that you see through him. He’ll sigh in defeat before shrugging his shoulders and pulling you against him, his jealousy quickly forgotten as he is the one who holds you in his arms at the end of the day.

Miles Quaritch

Jealously level; high. Miles is a possessive man who doesn’t like people ogling what’s his. Fuck, he can’t blame them, you being the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, but that doesn’t matter. He’s not opposed to hitting someone square in the face if they stare at you too long, nor will he apologize for it. “What? That fool should mind where his eyes wander.”

Him constantly hovering around you to make sure you are safe also allows him to see every little thing, which is not good for his sanity. Some days it feels like he’s pulling you aside every few minutes, his ears pinned against the sides of his head as he kissed you angrily. He needs to feel you, needs to assure himself that you want him. Blowing off some steam that way allows him to calm down a bit, and saves others some nasty bruises.

Tonowari

Jealousy level; medium. Tonowari has that quiet but intense type of jealousy. He’ll watch something happen from a distance. A look that crosses your conversation partner’s face, or a touch to your arm or hand that’s just slightly too familiar. He won’t approach, won’t say a word. He’ll watch and wait for the person to come anywhere near him afterwards. When they do, he’ll grab onto their arm, and stare. The normally kind chief can give an angry stare that would shake even the toughest soldier. He doesn’t need to say a word, holding the other’s eyes for a minute before letting go of them with a slight push. The message is clear; don’t come close to my mate.

Tonowari won’t mention it to you, his jealousy only noticeable because of all the extra affection he shows you. He’ll give you a massage, kiss all over your body and give you one compliment after the other.

Tsu’tey

Jealousy level; high. After everything this man has lost he definitely has some abandonment issues. When someone else expresses interest you, Tsu’tey panics and lashes out. He’ll jump the other, pressing a knife to their throat as he makes it clear you are his mate, and the only way they’ll ever get to you is over his dead body. It takes him a long time of laying in your arms afterwards before he can calm down again, his breathing rapid and his muscles tense. His fear is clear to you, and if you do your best to comfort him and give him physical affection, he’ll stare up at you with such intense loving that it makes your heart hurt.

JUST GIVE THIS MAN A BREAK OKAY.

[boneblushed]

Glitch

synopsis Rafe has a bad fall on the ski slopes. A temporary amnesiac, he falls in love with you all over again.

a/n oh Euro Trip Rafe I have missed you so bad 🥹

The velcro of your left glove snags, the worn edge catching on the handle of your ski pole. You sigh. The gauntlet cuff on the right side isn’t looking much better, all scruffy and threadbare so the underlying skin’s exposed.

“Hold on,” you call out, skidding to a reluctant stop.

It’s high time you replaced them with a newer pair, especially considering you’ve been using the same gear your parents bought you post middle-school growth spurt. But you don’t come to Aspen nearly enough to justify doing so at the moment; not that money’s a particular issue, it’s more so the inconvenience an unnecessary shopping trip will bring you.

“Dude. Again?”

You abandon the broken strap to send Topper a helpless frown. He’s a little way ahead, partially obscured by the crowd, but the exasperation on his face is made evident by his tone.

He draws nearer and glances down at the shaggy velcro, shaking his head disapprovingly. “We’ve gotta buy you a new pair.”

Above him, the sky is a gauzy blue, juxtaposing the sugary white hue of fresh snow.

“Not worth it Top,” you argue. The strap hitches again, an objection. “They’ll barely get used.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he answers, turning again. “Come on. I’m going to buy you a new pair.”

He’ll buy you a new one, your heart sings. And then it stops. You know better than to read into this gesture — he isn’t being chivalrous on purpose; when is he ever? This is the fourth time you’ve had to stop to untangle or readjust, and you’re pretty sure he’s just getting sick of you holding him up. Logic prevails, but your traitorous cheeks warm anyway, demure about the offer.

“It’s fine,” you insist. The velcro barely sticks when you refasten it. Fine enough. “Let’s keep going.”

You continue to push through the horde ahead of you, making your slow way toward the chairlifts. As you near, the ant-like skiers and snowboarders on the mountain become clearer, and you pull down your goggles, blinded by the sun’s glare.

That’s when the accident happens.

All of a sudden, but crashing in dusky orange slow-motion. Some guy hits a rocky bit of the slopes, losing control of his snowboard and nosediving into the snow. It’s a gnarly looking collision, made worse by his concerning lack of helmet, and you share a worried look with Topper before making your way toward him.

“Dude, fucking move—hey, sorry, best friend coming through—”

You startle, halting abruptly. You’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“—sorry, ‘scuse me gorgeous, I’m just gonna squeeze past you real quick—”

“Noah!”

In the split second that follows, you endure several emotions at once. The first: concern heightened ten-fold. Because if Noah’s referring to himself as the best friend, the some guy in question is actually Rafe Cameron.

The same Rafe Cameron that you love to hate, almost as much as your poor heart avows it.

The second: a concerning ache. Right at the centre of your chest, within your ribcage, as if the tired ligaments that hold it together are as weak as your velcro straps. The feeling swells, and you feel your heart squeeze through the cracks.

And then there’s apprehension, some excitement, a sudden bashfulness that makes your cheeks burn.

All round pathetic. You force a smile that’s more a grimace, hoping that Noah doesn’t notice your disquiet.

He pauses en-route, a surprised expression on his face. “Y/N!” He exclaims, breathless. The surprise melts into a mixture of delight and amusement. “Tell me you witnessed him bailing just then.”

You sigh. “Unfortunately.”

“Good,” he replies soberly, linking his arms in yours and tugging you forward. Your ski poles cross in protest, your centre of balance askew. “You’re coming with me.”

“What?” You ask, evidently bewildered. “Noah…”

You twist around and find Topper in the crowd, who shrugs, equally perplexed. Help me, you mouth, though you’re moving ahead too fast for the poor boy to discern it.

“…uh,” you try again, turning back to the face him, “I don’t know if this is —”

“Y/N,” he interrupts matter-of-factly, zig-zagging through the crowd with ease. “If there’s one person that can talk some sense into him, it’s you. I mean, shit, did you see how fast he was going? He’s going to board himself into a fucking coma if he keeps doing stupid shit like that.”

This brings a pause. It’s sort of endearing, really, how fiercely he cares about Rafe.

Your gaze softens a smidge. “You’re a good friend, Noah,” you say. “He’s pretty lucky to have you.”

“Us,” Noah corrects.

Your pulse jolts. “He doesn’t have me,” you reply, frowning a little.

“Everyone else may believe that Y/N, but I don’t.”

And again, a terrifying emotion bounding forth in your chest. “I —”

You’re saved the trouble of sputtering through an excuse by Rafe’s languid groan, a thready-sounding, “Shit.”

The crowd parts at Noah’s command, and the pair of you squeeze through, now face to face with Rafe.

He’s splayed out on the snow with his limbs in disarray, only one of his boots still strapped onto his board. His cheeks are a chilly rouge, dirty-blonde hair sticking out at odd angles. You resist the sudden urge to reach forward and comb your fingers through it.

“Idiot,” Noah mutters, crouching down beside him. “Absolute fucking idiot.”

He unfastens the aforementioned boot and tosses his board to the side, the nose-end looking notably abraded.

“Huh?” Rafe mumbles, a little dazed. He gropes at his purple-hued goggles blindly, pulling them off to squint up at Noah. It takes a worrying number of seconds for recognition to dawn on his features, and when it does, finally, Noah turns around and beckons you forward.

You hesitate, your gaze flitting down to Rafe’s face. “Someone should call Ward.”

“No!” Rafe yells suddenly, attempting to push himself up before collapsing backward languidly. He clutches his left side and groans, his eyebrows pinching in pain.

His discomfort makes you wince. You spring into action without meaning to, that concerning ache in your chest pulling you forth until you’re crouching down beside him like Noah.

“No Ward,” you murmur, placing your hand on his shoulder. “Noted.”

Up close, you can see a cut on his bottom lip, the rough stubble on his jaw all dewy from the melted snow. Your brow furrows. As he tears his gaze away from Noah to face you instead, you brush back his dirty-blonde fringe, searching for any more injuries. He has a graze on his upper forehead and you thumb over it gently, the furrow in your brow deepening with concern.

You glance up at Noah and nod. “Absolute fucking idiot.”

Rafe tries to do the same, but a sharp ache sears through his head when he attempts to turn it again.

“Stop moving it,” you instruct sternly, exerting more pressure on his forehead to hold it in place. “Noah isn’t going anywhere.”

“Have to,” he groans, his voice all gravelly and rough, “make sure he’s still here.”

He’s almost certain that Noah won’t be, that he’ll turn to him and find that the two of you are the only people sitting on the slopes. He imagines it like that scene at the end of Deathly Hallows, everything in blinding white and playing inside of his head.

You know, because he’s almost definitely dreaming if you’re crouching down beside him right now. With a soft hand on his shoulder, another pressed over his forehead. Two points of contact, he marvels, dazed. He squints up at you again, his reverent gaze falling over you in paces, and it feels as though a fog is descending on his surroundings. Everything blurs. He blinks abruptly.

“Dude,” Noah chastises, leaning over Rafe’s torso so that he’s within his line of sight, “where the fuck would I go?”

Rafe’s eyes widen, and he looks between you and Noah, evidently bewildered. “Bro,” he groans after a pause, his head falling back defeatedly. “I’m fucked.”

Your heart lurches worriedly, and you frown, looking over his figure for more injuries. “R’you in any pain?”

“Not physical,” he mumbles, lifting his head tentatively to squint at you. He drops it again and groans, overwhelmed by your closeness. “You’re really fucking beautiful, by the way. It’s messing with my head.”

You roll your eyes, feeling a tell-tale warm creeping up your neck. “Alright, you guys can go,” you say, turning to address the crowd. “He’s totally fine.”

Noah grins down at him, looking equally parts proud and exasperated. “There he is.”

Rafe isn’t sure what that means. All he knows is that he doesn’t feel fine, his head’s all jumbled and there’s a dreadful ache in every one of his limbs. The sound of blood pounding through his ears is unrelenting, and the chill in the air is downright abrasive. Not to mention, there’s this angel reincarnate that’s leaning over him at present, a concerned expression on her face that’s somehow making her look prettier.

Two points of contact, Rafe thinks again, agonised. Your softened features come to him in slow motion, the light reflected in your wide eyes, the shine of gloss on your frowning lips. You look extremely familiar, but he’s having difficulty recalling your name. There’s this overwhelming pull in chest that tells him you’re a big deal to him—his girlfriend, he hopes, aghast and probably deluded. That’s the concussion talking.

Besides, he isn’t even entirely sure that you’re actually real, all things considered.

“We should probably get him checked out, huh?” You ask Noah.

Noah knits his brow thoughtfully, peering down at Rafe. “You good, Cameron?”

“I feel fucking hungover,” Rafe mutters, pushing himself into a sitting position. Your hand falters as he hangs his head forward, and he reaches up, pressing it back into his skin. The rough pressure makes your breath hitch, less languid and more sure than he’s been since he bailed.

“You’re concussed,” you correct meekly, frowning down at him.

Rafe tries to shake his head, wincing as another bolt of pain shoots through it in dissent. “No,” he says, quick to fix his features. He grins dazedly. “I’m Rafe Cameron. And you’re… well, I hope you’re my girlfriend or something, because otherwise this heart attack in my chest’d be pretty concerning.”

You breathe out a scoff, mildly exasperated. A little relieved. If he’s well enough to remember to be an incessant flirt, he’s well enough for the concussion to not have caused any permanent damage.

“Alright, nevermind, no medical attention necessary,” you mutter, sending him a glare. It’s hard to hide the fact that your palms are clammy when you pull them away.

Noah loops his bicep under Rafe’s and pulls him to his feet, steadying him in place. The throbbing in his forehead intensifies, and he groans, staggering forward and doubling over.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” Noah replies then, frowning. “Maybe I’ll give my mom a call, just to be safe.”

“Your mom?”

“Dr White,” Rafe supplies, forcing himself to straighten. He tries to control his breathing, ignore the way his surroundings seem to be spinning.

Everything except you. His focus acquiesces. He must look pale or something because your gaze is apprehensive, this pretty furrow in your brow that he wants to smooth his thumb over. God, he must look pathetic right now, weak and mildly concussed, the aforementioned bail notwithstanding.

So he lies, adding, “Don’t worry about it White, I’m good,” mostly for your benefit—so you don’t think he’s some fucking chump who can’t handle a bit of a tumble.

He wants to impress you, bad. He plasters on another grin, going for roguish and landing on dense. “Would be better if you let me take you out later.”

“No way you’re asking me out right now,” you reproach, sending him a glare. “You almost just died five minutes ago, and that’s the first thing on your priority list?”

“You are, yeah,” he agrees, still grinning. He tries to walk toward you, staggering a little. “Seriously though, this has gotta be fate — bailing real fucking hard and finding a beautiful stranger along the way.”

You blink. “Beautiful stranger?”

“Heavy on the beautiful,” Rafe agrees, lumbering forward clumsily.

“Stranger?” You repeat, and then you falter, glancing down at his feet. “Rafael —”

He loses balance far too quickly for you to intervene, and he falls against you heavily, causing you to topple into the snow. Biting cold on your back, delightful warmth on your chest. His instincts must be somewhat intact, because he manages to hold his weight up despite being right on top of you.

Like, right on top of you. A terrifying emotion sears through your chest. The smatter of freckles on his nose are almost faded, his cheeks a brilliant rouge, snow-burned lips parted slightly. His overgrown locks brush against your forehead, just.

“Sorry,” he breathes out, and then he pauses, his gaze flitting to your lips. In the beat that passes, he agonises over the soft planes of your face, how pretty your eyes are up close. His heart’s just about pounding through his skin. How kissable your lips look, your cheeks, your neck, how right your figure feels pressed into his. His palms feel clammy; that hasn’t happened in a long while. He thinks, oh shit. And then, I’m absolutely fucking fucked.

You swallow, watching his pupils dilate. “Cameron. I need you to focus for a second.”

“Listen,” he murmurs, ignoring you, “D’you believe in love at first sight?”

“Rafael —”

“Because I know we’ve only just met,” he continues, drawing closer still, his heady gaze deepening, “and that — shit, I don’t even know your name, but I’m pretty sure that if I don’t kiss you right now I’m going to go fucking insane. That’s crazy, huh? I think you make me crazy. Have I mentioned that you’re really fucking beautiful yet? It’s messing with my head. Wait — I think I might’ve said that already —”

“Rafe Cameron,” you interrupt again, your eyes widening slightly. “If this is some stupid prank —”

“Prank?” He echoes, frowning slightly. He leans forward a little, brushing his nose against yours. Your pulse jolts. “You’re a prank.” He groans then, dropping his head to your shoulder. Your closeness may quell the pounding a smidge, but not completely. “You’re not real are you? I’m dreaming all of this?”

Your lock eyes with Noah over his head, sending him a worried look.

“Rafael,” you try again, pushing him off you and sitting up carefully. “This isn’t funny. I’m so beyond serious.”

Rafe, still splayed out on the snow, angles toward you with a furrow in his brow. “I’m confused.”

“Noah,” you say then, your voice louder, a little panicked. “I think you will need to call your mom after all.”

Noah frowns, crouching down beside the pair of you. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong,” Rafe answers, groaning in pain as he sits up. “Is that I’ve made a fool out of myself in front of this gorgeous stranger.”

“Ask her,” you continue, your heart feeling a little odd, “how long post-concussion memory loss takes to wear off.”

Noah eyes widen, searching Rafe’s face for any signs of mirth. “No way,” he says. “He’s gotta be fucking with us.”

“There’s an us?” Rafe echoes, raising his eyebrows at Noah. “Dude. Did you know your girlfriend’s a fucking smokeshow?”

“If this is some new pick up line you’re trying,” he replies, eyeing him warily. “It sucks ass Cameron.”

“Oooh, territorial,” Rafe answers, grinning dopily. He props himself up further, leaning closer to you and lowering his voice to a stage whisper. “You’re totally out of his league, by the way. Pretty sure you’re like, out of the Earth’s league.” He frowns. “That doesn’t make sense,” then groans, “fuck. Having a concussion is like drinking on an empty stomach.”

The pillow of his bicep presses into yours, full well engulfing it. You turn to face him, chewing on your bottom lip worriedly. If this was his idea of a prank, you want to believe that he wouldn’t let it go on this long. Especially not when you and Noah look so concerned, the latter retrieving his phone to give his mother a call.

“Hey mom,” he says, sandwiching his phone between his shoulder and ear and getting to his feet. You do so too. Rafe staggers to a standing position far more clumsily. “Yeah — no — the snow’s been sick, but I’m calling because something’s happened with Rafe. No, no, nothing too serious, he’s just a little concussed and may have some temporary amnesia. I was wondering if…”

“Maybe we can go on a double date,” Rafe tries again, grinning hopefully. There’s a bit of snow that’s melted on your bottom lip from the fall, and he aches to thumb over it, tuck his fingers under your jaw. “You, Noah, me.”

“No, no, he remembers me,” Noah continues, sending you a significant look. “But he doesn’t remember — yeah, it’s pretty selective — uh, maybe a few meters? Uh… no, what the hell’s a trigger? I’ll…”

“What d’you reckon?” Rafe prompts.

Noah turns away and you move your gaze to Rafe, half amused, half exasperated. “You, me, and Noah? Who’re you going to bring?”

“You,” he replies, like it’s obvious.

“And Noah?”

“Me.”

You breathe out an exasperated laugh, shaking your head. Rafe thinks it’s the prettiest sound he’s ever heard. His already muddled brain short-circuits for the billionth time.

“…half an hour?” You hear Noah affirm, the frown on his features audible. “Yeah — no — it’s been just over that — a trigger like what, though? What d’you mean you don’t know him as well as I do, he’s been coming to our house since he was like six years old…”

You don’t realise your brow’s furrowing until your feel Rafe’s rough thumb brush over it. You startle, feeling your skin warm as you look up at him.

“I’m lucky,” he murmurs, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You swallow. “Why?”

“You’re worried about me.” His hand drops to your jaw, thumb swiping over your cheek. You swallow instinctively. “And you’re way too beautiful to be worrying about someone like me.”

“You’ve lost your memory,” you answer weakly. “Anyone’d be worried.”

“I find that hard to believe.” He draws closer.

“Which part, exactly?”

“That people would worry,” he answers quietly, his voice gruff. Closer still. “That I’d forget about someone like you so easy.”

“But you have,” you prompt.

“Then remind me, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart, Rafael,” you murmur, trying for a frown.

“Not my — wait.”

The thumb that’s swiping over your cheek freezes suddenly. “Wait,” he repeats, blinking several times. He scrunches his eyes shut, retrieving his hand to clutch it against his forehead. “Wait — fuck.”

You lean forward instinctively, tugging his arm away to look over his features, his concerning graze. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I knew…” he answers, shaking his head and groaning, “…but…shit, it’s so fucking obvious now —”

You furrow your brow in confusion, locking eyes with an equally bewildered Noah.

He holds his phone away from his ear, walking over and surveying Rafe’s features. “You good, brother?”

“Fine, shit,” Rafe curses again, scrubbing his hand over his face before meeting your gaze, chagrined. He grins hopefully. “That might’ve been quicker with true love’s kiss, though.”

You aren’t about to believe that he’s back without concrete evidence. “And my name is…?”

“Mrs Cameron,” he replies seriously.

You let out a scoff, more relief than indignation, catching the twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Don’t ever do that again, you hear me?”

“Maybe,” he answers, raising his eyebrows, “if you let me take you out I’ll be too busy to bail.”

You roll your eyes. “Nice try.”

“But I’m maimed, sweetheart,” he adds, brushing back his dirty-blonde locks to show off the forehead graze. He pouts for good measure. “C’mon. Not even a pity date?”

You shake your head exasperatedly, catching Noah’s eye over his shoulder. “You’ll take it from here?”

“What? You aren’t gonna hang out with us?” Noah asks, pressing the phone against his chest. “I thought you were my girlfriend, Y/N.”

“Off limits, bro,” Rafe says matter-of-factly.

You’re about to protest when he draws closer and ducks his head, his warm breath on your earlobe cutting you off. “I won’t ever do that again,” he murmurs, the smile on his face audible, “I promise.”

“Good,” you answer, frowning sternly.

“Oh, and Y/N?”

You turn toward him, startling at his closeness. “Hm?”

He grins wider, brushing his nose against your fleetingly. “Missed remembering you bad, dream girl.”

[pxperstxrwishes]

OOC:// Imagine getting abandoned on game night for doing something so minuscule as a joke. Couldn’t be me.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Break Up with Your Toxic Boyfriend (3 of 4)

John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief discussion of verbal and emotional injury, implied cheating, canon-typical swearing, protective / possessive Price, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Price might be your ex, but the two of you still consider yourselves friends. When you call him up about your current boyfriend’s horrible behavior, Price comes running with the intention of making you his again

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // break up with your toxic boyfriend masterlist

Price sits opposite you at your kitchen table. The muscles in his jaw fucking ache from clenching it. He has to keep reminding himself to release the tension before he gives himself a headache. Between the two of you rests an open whiskey bottle. There are two glasses. One directly in front of you, and one directly in front of him.

You don’t want to have this conversation like this, but Price forced it. You’ve brought up the issue countless time, but it’s almost always been over the phone. You’re not afraid to contact him to seek advice or to vent. Price likes that you call him because it gives him an excuse to talk to you.

But he’s fucking sick of this. He is sick of you taking this man’s—no—this immature fucking boy’s bullshit. A real man doesn’t act this way. This time, there will not be a phone conversation, but a face-to-face one. You don’t have a choice.

The truth is you were once Price’s woman. The two of you almost made it to the altar.

Price nearly made it all the way you with, but that was all yanked away from him. He was younger then, and just earned the title “Captain.” But Price was glued to his job, making that a priority over you every time.

He had fucked it all up, and you were right in leaving him.

Over the years, the two of you worked it out, falling back on a friendship that Price deeply values but silently wishes could become so much more again. You should be with him. You could be happy. Price knows what he did during your relationship was wrong. If you gave him another chance, he’d show you all the ways he’s fixed himself.

Instead, you’re dating this fucking prick who isn’t even worth a lob of spit. Price met the guy once and that was enough. He made nice for your benefit, but right now, Price isn’t feeling particularly nice anymore. Not after your phone call.

This relationship isn’t working for you. Unhappiness oozes out of every pore every time Price sees you in person or speaks with you over the phone. He knows it lingers. He knows it clings. But you are far too hesitant to admit it.

Maybe, Price just needs to give you a little push.

He takes a deep breath, unclenching his jaw before he speaks. “This time he abandoned you at the bar.” Each word unfurls slowly as Price tries to suppress his rising anger. “Do you know where he went?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter where.”

Of course it matters. This bastard gets so ragingly drunk that he ends up fucking leaving you whenever the two of you go out. Sometimes he’s taken the car or wandered off or left with others. Those times, you never tell Price whether he’s left with a friend or a stranger.

And Price is almost always the one coming to your rescue.

Just like now.

It has happened yet again.

Price is here and your boyfriend isn’t.

“It does matter,” replies Price, biting back the annoyed growl threatening to crawl up his throat. “Have you even heard from him?”

You frown, and that tells Price all he needs to know.

Your boyfriend has a pattern. The amount of time between leaving and contacting you all depends on what he’s up to. By the look on your face, Price starts to form a semblance of an idea.

“How long?” he asks. You remain silent. “How long?” he repeats.

Your fingernail idly scratches at the tabletop. “Almost two days.”

“Two days?” Price nearly knocks over his whiskey glass as he leans forward in his chair.

You shrug. Glance away.

Price softly scoffs and tosses back his drink, rubbing at one of his temples. The whiskey leaves a lingering burn. He knows what this means. Two days and no contact mean this fucker is likely in a stranger’s bed.

Everything within him wants to lecture you, to chastise and argue like he would with any of his subordinates. But you are not a soldier. You are the woman he nearly married. Price expected the rest of his life to be filled with you and the children you might have together.

He needs to do better. He needs to be gentle.

He needs to make you see that you should come back to him.

Price reaches for the whiskey bottle, pouring some of the amber liquid into his glass. “Remember the pub we’d always go to when I was off? The one by the coast?”

He’s changing the subject, but it’s only to move you away from your thoughts. Like Price, you already know what your boyfriend is up to. You already know but you won’t say it out loud because doing so is too painful.

The corners of your mouth turn upward, and Price sees victory on the horizon.

“The sea salt always stuck to everything.” You sigh with pleasure. “And they had the best armchairs.”

Price keeps his gaze fixated on your face, observing your softening features. “The walk back to the cottage was nice.” He shrugs. “A bit cold but…quiet.”

Romantic is what he wants to say.

“It was,” you laugh, becoming more animated. “You’d always shove me into your coat with you. But you only wanted to—”

You cut off abruptly, those soft features turning inward, embarrassment clear on your face.

Price knows exactly what you’re thinking.

He always wrapped you up in his coat so he could touch you. You’d warm up in his arms, and by the time the two of you arrived at the cottage he rented, you’d be needy for him. The moment Price would walk over the threshold, you’d be on him, nearly climbing him like a tree in an effort to fuck him.

Price says nothing but he doesn’t need to. You speak first.

“I miss those days,” you murmur.

“Do you miss me?” His question comes out automatically. Price didn’t even think before it flitted off his tongue.

Your gaze turns back to him, and while Price believes he sees brief desire there, you do not answer.

Swallowing, Price leans back in his chair. “You don’t need to answer that.”

This time it is you that leans forward. “I do.” Your gaze falls to the table before returning to his face. “I know you don’t feel the same way but—”

“I don’t?” interrupts Price, setting his whiskey glass down to address you completely. “You can read my mind now?”

You roll your eyes and start to recline but Price surges forward, reaching out to snag your wrist before your hand drops below the table. “Why do you think I still come around? Why I come when you call?”

There is no tug. You don’t try to snatch your arm back.

“You should be mine,” murmurs Price.

The confession is liquid, seeping into everything. He cannot take it back but he doesn’t want to. This is his chance to reclaim what he lost all those years ago.

There is a hesitation before you act. Slowly, you turn your wrist in his grasp, presenting your palm. Price glances down at it, and then shifts his grip, sliding his hand into yours. You’re a bit cold and his instinct is to wrap his fingers around yours, warming them.

The sigh you release is soft, and Price wants to breathe it in. To take it into himself.

“When I said it doesn’t matter where he went, I meant it,” you whisper. “I don’t care. He left me behind. It’s not the first time. Haven’t heard from him either. He’s left as far as I’m considered. That only makes it easier. Means I don’t have to be the one to do it.”

Is this it? Are you finally his again?

You lick your lips, and he follows the movement, wanting to taste what he’s been missing.

“Make me forget, John. Please.”

The way you say it breaks something inside him. You could ask anything of him in this moment and he’d gladly give it.

Releasing your hand, Price stands, walking around the table to get to you. You are already on your feet, reaching for him. Price tugs you into his arms and you go easily, wrapping your arms around his neck as he comes in for what he’s been craving.

You are sweet, bursting on his tongue. Your fingers thread through his hair, and Price pulls you even closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, hands falling low to squeeze the gentle curve of your ass.

Breaking apart is agony.

“So, you have missed me,” teases Price.

The gentle smile on your face is all the answer he needs. You want to forget, and so he’ll make you forget.

You are in his arms in moments. Price already knows where the bedroom is, and the second the two of you enter, Price is laying you on the bed, tugging at your clothes. He needs them gone. He needs you bare.

And you are happy to oblige, helping him remove each layer.

Price brands your skin with his mouth and tongue. He brings your nipples to hardened peaks, he kisses the valley between your breasts, creates a trail down to the space between your thighs. When he drops between them, he decides to stay. He decides to worship.

He will not leave. Not until you’re fucking begging for him to fuck you.

Price runs his tongue up your pussy, swirling the tip of it around your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Your nearly come off the bed, hands threading through his hair. Twisting. Your grip is rough, but Price could give a fuck.

He wants you screaming his name. He wants you riding his face.

That is exactly what you do, but Price takes his time with it, savoring every inch of your body, tasting and remembering the space between your thighs. He could stay here forever. Each orgasm that surges and recedes is a victory.

Price is prideful. Smug.

Your hips roll against his mouth, and he has to grip them to keep you from accidentally breaking his nose. Even if you managed to do so Price would wear it like a badge of honor.

“John,” you moan, voice breaking. “Please.”

Price stops teasing your clit, retreats a bit, pushing up until he can plant a soft kiss on your belly.

“Please, what?” he asks, all mock innocence. You whimper, fingers digging into his skin. “Words, love. Use your words.”

You shake your head. “I need you.”

“How?”

“Inside me, John.”

A flare of possessiveness rages through him, consuming every nerve and muscle and bone. Price pushes up from the bed and moves up your body. The moment his face is level with yours, you kiss him. Your hand is reaching between your bodies, gripping him, stroking him. Legs parting further, you hook them over his, pressing inward, indicating what you want.

Price shifts, lining up to your entrance. You press more but he is stronger. He resists, grabbing the back of your neck. “Tell me. Truly. Are you mine?” He tugs on your hair, exposing your neck. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whimper.

Price starts to sink in. He’ll make you his again with more than just his words. Price will fill you up, have you dripping with him, just like he used to do.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @saoirse06 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @nelladowney @miaraei @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

[jeonqkooks]

our beloved summer | jjk (07)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, mentions of oc's mother because we know girlie is hella traumatized, mentions of drinking, mentions of an almost physical fight, abandonment issues, jk forgets to practice safe driving for 2 seconds, and uhmmm kissing 🤫, anddd that cliffhanger? 👀 rating: 18+ (minors dni) word count: 10.8k note (1): this is the longest it has taken me to update obs and i do feel pretty guilty about that. but it's finally here now and this is one of the chapters that i'm the most nervous about posting. massive thanks to @daechwitatamic and @wintaerbaer for beta-ing this for me or else i would've screamed cried thrown up and scrapped the whole thing, and to @jeonwiixard for being a wonderful cheerleader as i was writing this, and to everyone in my beloved obs discord server for always being so sweet and kind and putting a smile on my smile every day since the server was created. also to my sunshine ☀︎ for introducing me to the song mentioned below bc HELLO is it not just one of the most obs coded songs ever. love you all my babies <3

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist join our OBS discord server ✨

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

Somewhere in the multiverse There's a me and you that works We never fuck it up We're out there still in love Somewhere in the multiverse Maybe that's enough

multiverse - Maya Manuele ft. PEMRBOKE

Sometimes, whenever you look up at the moon at night, you wonder if Jungkook is doing the same thing.

Even when you fall out of love with someone, it still hurts. It hurts because you once loved them so much it felt like the sky would collapse if you couldn’t be with them. It hurts because the love wasn’t taken from you, but rather it started slipping away on its own, more and more each day until you realize you’re holding onto nothing when there once was everything.

You can’t say that you’re too familiar with that kind of hurt though. You’ve never fallen out of love before.

You don’t think Jungkook is too familiar with it either, at least not when he left you.

You wonder if he thinks about you from time to time and gets sad. You think he does, because you know that he loved you. Something ended for him too. The memories that you shared were his memories too.

You hope that it’s painful for him whenever thoughts of you cross his mind, because that would mean that he cares. That a part of him still cares.

And if he still cares, then he might come back.

Despite the front that you try to parade around, there is a part of you that will always leave your heart vacant for him, regardless of whether or not he would return. It’s a scary thought, one that you would rather avoid at all costs, one that says there will be no one that you love more than you loved Jungkook. Maybe there can’t be another person that you will love at all.

You can come back quietly, like the wind slipping through the crack I leave in the window at night; or you can announce your return resoundingly like a sudden downpour quenching the summer heat. I don’t care. I kept your side of the bed empty and warm, waiting for you to come back. Hoping that you would come home.

[08:47] Yoongi: sure you don’t want me to drive you there? [08:48] Yoongi: i can pick you up in 30 [08:52] You: positive 🤧 i told you i already booked the train. it’s only 4 hours away [08:53] You: i’ll survive, yoongs [08:55] Yoongi: did you not watch Train To Busan? [08:56] You: ? [08:57] Yoongi: what if there’s a zombie apocalypse [09:00] You: yoongi if there’s a zombie apocalypse, how is your CONVERTIBLE supposed to keep me safe [09:01] Yoongi: i’ll put the roof up [09:02] You: stop talking [09:02] You: please stop talking. [09:03] Yoongi: 😡😡😡 [09:03] You: 😇 [09:03] You: gotta get dressed now though. i’ll see u when i get back? :) [09:05] Yoongi: fine [09:06] Yoongi: safe travels. text me when you get there :)

You plop onto your bed with a sigh, glancing at the bag that’s already packed and sitting near your wardrobe, lonely. You stay like that for a while, contemplating whether or not you should bail at the very last minute.

It was not on your bingo card that you’d be here, agonizing over your ex-boyfriend’s brother’s wedding. Nope. Absolutely no one saw it coming.

For fuck’s sake, why would they invite you to a wedding? A celebration of love? It feels like you’re being forced onto a prank show, just waiting for someone to jump out and scream in your face.

You learned that the wedding was for close friends and family only, so it would be a relatively small event, which makes it even more confusing why you were also asked to join. Maybe the world is changing too rapidly and you’re just a little old-fashioned for it, but you really don’t understand why your ex-boyfriend’s family would want you there.

Taehyung and Jimin were invited too; they’re Jungkook’s best friends after all. They’re practically an extension of the family, Jungkook’s brothers by choice. But Taehyung doesn’t come back from his work trip until the day of the wedding, and Jimin… Well, he just doesn’t want to go to a Busan wedding in the middle of winter.

So why are you even going?

You could’ve declined. Said you couldn’t attend because the invitation came in so late. Made up a work trip or a family emergency. There’s a plethora of excuses you could’ve used.

Or you could’ve simply said no. That would’ve been perfectly fine too. No one would even need to ask why.

But maybe it was because his mother had customized the invite with her own handwriting in the back. You would’ve missed it if you hadn’t spent hours meticulously studying the card like someone was going to quiz you. It wasn’t anything special - just We hope to see you there - but you think you’d feel really bad to decline after she’d made the extra effort to ask you to come.

When you told Yoongi that you would be attending Jungkook’s brother’s wedding, he didn’t seem upset. Still cool as a cucumber. Although if he was bothered by the announcement, you don’t think he would’ve let it show. It did take him a minute to take it in, but then he just pecked your cheek and asked if you could bring a plus-one. You both knew that you wouldn’t even if that was an option.

Pushing your body off the bed, you drag yourself to the bathroom to splash some water on your face. Then sunscreen. Then change into the clothes you’d already picked out last night. Your train doesn’t leave for another hour and fifteen minutes, but you want to be there at least twenty minutes early just in case. This is one of your only good habits.

You rub your eyes when you finally haul yourself outside, thinking you must still be dreaming because what is Jungkook’s car doing here?

You blink a few times, expecting the vehicle to disappear in a puff of white smoke.

Spoiler alert: It doesn’t.

The car is in front of you, but the man is nowhere to be found.

You stand there dumbfoundedly, contemplating whether you should wait it out for a little bit to see if he’s actually here. He comes running up to you a couple minutes later, holding two paper cups in his hands, one of them a chai latte. A memory you’d buried long ago comes rushing to the surface. It’s too early for you to be feeling.

“Hi,” he says, his warm breath coming out in a huff of smoke in the crisp morning air.

“Hi?” you mutter dumbly when he trades the bag in your hand for the drink. There’s a moment where you’re genuinely baffled, wondering if this is a memory reel playing right before your eyes. This is your Jungkook, wearing that same old smile whenever he used to come bounding up your dorm building so you could walk to the library together, where he would hang out with you during your shift if he didn’t have classes. “What are you doing here?”

You don’t remember telling him what time your train was, so he’d probably badgered it out of Taehyung or Jimin somehow.

“I thought I could drive us there,” he says. “I texted you about it.”

Well, that explains it. You don’t bother with his dozens of messages anymore. “Oh, uhm, I already booked the train.”

This doesn’t seem to faze him at all. “Free cancellation up to 15 minutes before departure.” Jungkook grins, clearly eager despite your obvious reluctance. It’s too early for this, whatever the hell this is.

When you told him that you had RSVP’d yes to the invitation, he was surprised that you even knew about the wedding. He even seemed nervous that day.

“What if I’d already left?” you ask.

He blinks, then stammers like a confused child. It’s cute, and you have to mentally slap yourself over the head for even thinking that.

“Then I’d go after you.”

How? you scoff internally. Unrealistic.

Regardless, not even an hour ago, you were declining Yoongi’s offer to drive you there. Now, you’re standing here, in front of your ex-boyfriend, contemplating whether or not you should go with him.

“Let’s go,” he says after a minute. “We don’t wanna be stuck in traffic.”

“I haven’t said yes.” Yet. “It’s a 4-hour drive.”

You don’t have to clarify what you mean. He understands it.

You both just stare at each other for a moment, the tension suddenly thickening with every passing second. Four hours on the road. Four hours alone in a car with Jungkook. That’s about two hundred minutes more than you think you can handle.

It’s like he can see right through you. “Don’t think about it,” he says, voice dropping lower. “It’s just a weekend. Everything will still be here for you to think about when we get back.”

In your head, it translates to: All of our shit will still be here when we get back. You can keep being mad at me then.

You hope that’s not true. You hope that when you get back, the things that keep you up at night will simply cease to exist. That in the two days you’ll be gone, a genie will materialize and solve all your problems for you.

Either way, it’s probably for the best that you aren’t mean to him this weekend. You’re stuck with him for the next 48 hours or so; it’ll only stress you out even more if you channel all of your energy into tormenting him. Besides, you’re already the ex girlfriend who has no place alongside his family. You don’t want to be the dark cloud raining on everyone’s parade too.

Maybe you’d already made up your mind when you let him take the bag from you.

For the first half of the drive, you were unconscious.

It’s a useless superpower that you have, the ability to fall asleep anywhere - literally anywhere, including in the passenger seat of your ex-boyfriend’s car while he escorts you to his hometown. Melatonin gummies manufacturers hate you.

You could’ve slept the whole drive, but around the second hour mark, you were startled awake when your body jostled forward, straining against your seatbelt uncomfortably. There was an arm trying to hold you back, despite the seatbelt having done its job well.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses before he turns toward you, worry written all over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, are you okay?”

You blink, still half asleep. “I’m okay,” you say. The minivan that Jungkook almost rear-ended continues on its merry way, carrying what seems to be a family of five. “What happened?”

He sighs, his outstretched arm retreating back to his side. “I got a bit distracted, that’s all.”

You take in your surroundings then. There’s barely any other cars in sight, no tacky billboard that sticks out like a sore thumb to catch your attention. There’s just the freeway, stretching on empty for all you can see.

“By what?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he says. “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

See, you have the superpower of falling asleep anywhere and everywhere, but once you’ve been woken up, it’s not as easy to fall back asleep.

That, and the fact that you’re hungry as shit.

You open your mouth, about to say no, about to offer to drive the rest of the way if Jungkook is tired, but your stomach doesn’t let you get a word out. It growls, filling the space of the car, making you want to chuck yourself out the fucking window and run all the way back to the city. This wouldn’t have happened had you taken the train, because if you had, there would’ve been food services and no one would be subject to hearing your stomach sing like it’s chewing out a small puppy in there. Life is nothing but an endless pit of embarrassment and despair.

Your arms hold themselves tighter around your frame, practically squeezing into your abdomen as you will it to please, please, please be quiet. Jungkook stares at you, and you can tell by the teeny tiny quirk of his lips that he’s trying to bite back a smile. He’s relaxed, but there’s still something hesitant on his face. It takes him a minute before he finally throws the question out.

“Do you want to go to that guksu place that we used-” that we used to go to, “you know the place. The one that’s right off the freeway?”

The sun is out today. The sky unfolds endlessly just outside the window, coloring blue everything your eyes land on. There are strips of clouds scattered here and there, like delicate strokes of white paint on an azure canvas. Even the winter cold has to soften.You bite into your cheek. Don’t think, that’s what he had told you.

Not much about this quaint restaurant has changed. The quirky decorations are still where they used to be, the windows still the same unique stained glass that you never came across anywhere else. You remember the elderly woman who runs the place, even if she doesn’t have a single clue who you are. The golden retriever you used to fawn over every time you stopped by, sits quietly by the door and watches the cars pass by, his fur now graying as weariness begins to settle into those old bones.

You would’ve been displeased if the place had changed, because, well, you don’t like change. But then again, this familiarity is dangerous. It tricks you into thinking that everything is still the same, even you and him. Deludes you into believing that you’re still in love and that he’ll walk out of here holding your hand.

Regardless, the first spoonful has you biting back a smile.

“How is it?” Jungkook asks.

It makes you feel all warm inside, and then a little sad, nostalgic.

“Tastes just the same,” you tell him simply.

“Hmm.”

He lets you satisfy your hunger in peace. It’s the least he can do anyway.

There’s a wall near the back of the restaurant, where people could hang polaroids of themselves and cute handwritten notes. You think if you dig through the hundreds of photos scattered across the space, you might be able to find you and Jungkook there, if you two haven’t already been thrown out long ago to make room for new memories.

He pays for your food after you’re both finished, despite some protesting on your side. As you leave, you’re busy thinking that if you could have a moment to marvel at that far-back wall of memories, if you could find a photo of you and him there, you would probably sneak it into your coat pocket.

It’d be another thing to add to your pile of Jungkook memorabilia - the old clothes in the back of your closet, the stack of dusty polaroids at the bottom of your drawer. You wonder if he keeps anything of yours, maybe an old t-shirt that you forgot to take back. It’s probably unlikely, but a girl can hope.

You miss the way Jungkook glances back, thinking the exact same thing.

You survive the rest of the drive with more ease, probably because of the food. You spend most of the remaining 2 hours leaning against the window, humming to the radio, closing your eyes but not really sleeping. You even forget to be nervous about what is to come.

That is, until the car pulls up to the venue.

It’s absolutely gorgeous, and a lot bigger than you imagined - a modern beach house overlooking the waters. It’s not as extravagant as one would expect to see when they come to a wedding, but considering the small crowd in attendance, this is more than enough. You see people rush in and out of the place even from far away - planners, caterers, the bridesmaids and groomsmen, probably.

You feel a bit comforted just watching this. His family seems to be doing a lot better than before. It’s nice to know.

You barely make it out of the car before someone calls your name, and pulls you into a hug that knocks the wind out of you. Although, when you catch the scent of her hair, you instantly know who it is.

Parents usually have a scent that’s distinct to only their kids, a scent so cozy and homely that no perfume can ever mask. You can only describe your mom’s scent with a feeling, specifically the feeling of your chest tightening, tingling with a bittersweetness that you never found elsewhere. 

Strangely enough, Jungkook’s mother has always made you feel the opposite. She makes you feel relieved to be in her embrace, like she accepts you for who you are even if all you are to her, at the end of the day, is a stranger.

You hug her back awkwardly, hesitantly, in front of Jungkook’s dad, his brother Junghyun, and a girl you don’t know. You assume that she’s the bride-to-be, the main character whom this weekend revolves around. Sooji, you remember that was the name on the wedding invitation.

You get choked up suddenly, eyes turning glassy though you quickly blink it away. You’re not sure if you’ve had someone be so happy to see you. Bypassers might even think that you just found the cure for cancer.

For a second there, you wonder if your mere presence has ever made your mother this overjoyed.

You look at Jungkook for help, silently asking him to rescue you. Who else are you supposed to turn to if not him?

He understands that look. “Okay, mom,” he says, entangling her arms from you with ease, “Y/N’s tired from the drive. Let’s let her rest, yeah? I’ll show her the room.”

She ignores her son. “Honey,” she says, brushing your hair away from your face so she could see you better. “Thank you for coming.” She used to insist that you call her “mom”, or at least by her first name because “Mrs. Jeon” was too formal for someone she considered family.

You now have to opt for the latter, because “mom” isn’t an option for you anymore.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Jeon,” you tell her with a smile. You’re not really sure what else to say, but it makes you a little sad just calling her that.

She opens her mouth before closing it again, seemingly about to jokingly scold you for the formality before she recognizes the bittersweet look in your eyes. She just smiles at you then. There’s not much to be done about it.

You don’t know if anyone else sees how the moment is weighed down. Probably not. Maybe it’s just you and her who share this sentiment.

Jungkook doesn’t wait for his mom anymore. Sons, typical. He wedges himself between the two of you like a bulldozer and leads you inside the house. 

Even though all you have is an overnight bag, Jungkook carries it for you all the way up to your room, which is only down the hall from his. Then he disappears pretty quickly afterward, saying something about his best man duties and putting out fires. He seems apologetic as he tells you this, but it’s not like you’re expecting him to babysit you all weekend.

You bore yourself to death in your room for a while, before you remember you have to text Yoongi to let him know you got here safely. Though, you stop short of telling him that it was Jungkook who drove you here. It’s trivial enough, right? You don’t want Yoongi to feel bad over nothing. You do, however, inform Taehyung and Jimin when you text them about it, to which Jimin only responds with a preemptively disapproving ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

When you get too stir-crazy, you wander outside, hoping to explore the beach before it gets dark and colder. You try to stay out of everyone’s way, because a good guest is a quiet guest. You seem to be doing a good job. No one notices you, not even Jungkook’s mom but that’s because she’s the person you actively want to avoid the most. You don’t know what you’d even say to her if she gets you alone.

Everything is hectic, as one can probably imagine when it comes to wedding preparations. You haven’t had anyone close to you get married yet, so it’s safe to say that you’re pretty much clueless about all of this. You wonder what it’ll be like when your big day comes around, if you even ever get married. You haven’t thought about it in a long time. Why would you? You don’t really have a reason to think about this. It’s much easier to picture Taehyung’s or Jimin’s wedding day than your own.

Your opinion on having kids still remains the same, and you were never one of those girls who daydreamed about having a big and extravagant wedding, but it’s not such a bad idea to ponder about. You still think marriage is a scary thing - it’s one of the biggest commitments a person could ever make - but you’re not entirely opposed to getting married. 

Why are you even mulling over this? Your time might never even come.

When you round the corner to get the steps that would lead you down to the beach, you run into Sooji and a woman holding a thick binder - must be a wedding planner. You give Jungkook’s future sister-in-law an awkward smile in greeting, which she returns much more gracefully before she tells the woman that she’ll be with her in a minute.

So now you’re stuck here, about to make small talk with a person you have never met before, and will likely never see again. Great. 

“Hi,” you say, extending a hand. “I haven’t had the chance to introduce myself. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Sooji,” she replies warmly as she shakes your hand, and you have to stop yourself from being a little weirdo and thinking about how silky her hair looks up close. “You’re Jungkook’s… friend, right?”

You purse your lips before nodding with a chuckle. The pause tells you that she knows, and you wouldn’t be surprised if she’s uncomfortable having you here. 

“I’m sorry if this is weird. You probably don’t want a complete stranger at your wedding.”

Sooji shakes her head instantly, waving her hands around to dismiss your apology. “Please, it’s totally fine. Junghyun’s mom talked to me about it before we sent out the invites. I wouldn’t have agreed if I was really bothered. Don’t worry about it, seriously.”

“Why did you agree?” you ask, trying to sound as polite as possible. “You don’t know who I am.”

“I guess I was curious.” She shrugs, before laughing lightly as she says, “I used to think you weren’t real.”

“Huh?”

“She talks about you constantly. Never in front of Jungkook, of course. But she’s really fond of you, and you probably already know that doesn’t happen very often. She really does see you like a daughter. She made you sound too good to be true.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. His mom still thinks about you, still talks about you after all this time. You’re just his ex-girlfriend, but she considers you her family. You don’t know what to do with this information nor the way it pinches your heart.

“I-” You purse your lips, fumbling with the responses in your head. You settle on a light laugh, because Sooji can probably tell that you’re struggling with the words too. “I have to be honest. I don’t know what to say to that.”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you should know that you’re still very much loved here.” She gives you a kind smile, and it looks like she wants to tell you something else but decides against it in the end. Sooji’s eyes land somewhere behind you before she points in that general direction. “I have to go take care of an issue with the flowers, but look, Jungkook is here. Why don’t you ask him to show you around?”

And then she’s already off. Overall, what a… strange interaction.

You turn around to see Jungkook standing near one of the entrances to the house. As you watch him talk to someone - a bridesmaid, you assume, or just one of the other guests - you try not to think about the fact that there’s a stirring sensation in your stomach, and that it only intensifies when she throws her head back in a pretty laugh, a perfectly manicured hand landing on his arm like he’s the most charming person she’s ever met. 

You don’t give it a name, don’t label it green in color even though you’re blue and he’s golden sunshine. You don’t acknowledge that it’s a feeling, because doing so would make it real and there are certain truths that you’d rather delude yourself into thinking are lies.

When Jungkook’s eyes catch yours and he cuts off the woman mid-sentence with a curt excuse me, you don’t acknowledge that feeling either, but it’s warm and it blooms in your chest as he makes his way to you. It’s something victorious, something that tickles your ribs.

He comes to you like you’re a destination he’s been waiting all his life to reach, and you certainly, adamantly don’t acknowledge the spectacularly dizzying feeling that swallows you whole when he places a gentle hand on your arm, his voice soft as he says, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

The familiarity, it’s catastrophic.

“I was just walking around,” you tell him. “There’s not a lot to do here. I was bored.”

“You have me,” he says. Probably not in that way, but you’d like to think that’s how he means it. “I don’t have any more fires to put out. What do you want to do now?”

You glance over your surroundings, still set on your original plans. You wanted to go alone, but you suppose you can let him accompany you. You check the time on your phone before asking, “Can we go down to the beach? I wanna see if we can catch the sunset.”

You used to do this whenever you came here to visit - walk along the beach, hand in hand, sunlight in your hair and the cool breeze holding you tight in the afterglow.

The keyword here is “used to”. Now, you have to stuff your hands in your pockets just so you don’t reach for him every time you shiver.

It’s late enough in the afternoon for you to see the moon faintly shine against a blue and orange backdrop. Sun and moon, together in the same frame. It feels symbolic somehow. You’re not really sure.

“The moon looks like an egg,” Jungkook observes astutely, taking casual strides next to you. It makes you burst into easy laughter, which makes him laugh with you too. You stop walking when you reach what you think is a good spot to watch the sky. 

“Let’s sit here for a bit,” you say. It’s not the greatest idea - sitting idly by would only make you colder - but you just want to stop and look at the sunset. Once you’re seated in the sand, you respond to his moon remark, “That’s true, y’know. NASA said so.”

“Yeah,” he says, settling down beside you, “you made me read that.”

You’d forgotten about it, and you didn’t think that he’d remember. It’s freezing cold and the moon looks like an egg, but you’re not thinking, and you feel safe. Nothing can hurt you here, or at least that’s what you’d like to tell yourself.

You wrap your arms around yourself to keep from shivering, but you still shiver anyways.

“Are you cold?” he asks.

“A little,” you admit. “I should’ve worn a thicker sweater. But it’s o-”

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence, just smoothly takes off his jacket to put it around your shoulders.

You put your hands atop his to stop him. When you touch him, there’s an electric tingle that almost makes you flinch. He feels warm, still resembling a human furnace. 

“No, you don’t have t-”

“Take the jacket, Y/N,” he says. “It’s just a jacket.”

The jacket smells like him. It only makes you want to crawl further into the warmth.

He seems more self-assured here, that’s what you notice. More like the version of himself that he used to be. Confident, sometimes borderline cocky. Annoying but oddly endearing, you came to love that about him.

His relaxed demeanor is understandable. You’re merely a visitor here, while this is his homeground. 

“I’m curious about something,” he says after a while.

“Okay.”

“What’s the deal with Wednesdays?” he asks. 

“You know how they say bad things come in threes?” You purse your lips, thinking it over, feeling something bitter in your mouth as you recall the events that led to this. “My parents got divorced on a Wednesday. I moved out of mom’s house on a Wednesday. And…” You hold your knees close to your chest as you hesitate to utter this last part, “we broke up on a Wednesday.”

You see the exact moment Jungkook mentally slaps himself, paling a couple shades as he tongues his cheek, not expecting his question to inadvertently lead back to this. It wasn’t your intention to guilt trip him. It was true that he dumped you on a Wednesday, but you don’t want the mood to turn sour, to have to mull over this again. Like he said, it will still be there for you to worry about when you get back. You’re not looking forward to returning to a shitshow, but what you’d hate even more is to tarnish the memories of this place just because you can’t keep from being vindictive for not even a weekend.

“I was born on a Wednesday too, so I guess bad things come in fours sometimes,” you continue, chuckling to yourself humorlessly.

A frown appears on his face almost instantaneously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

You shrug. Jungkook turns his body toward you, which makes you spare him a glance before you return your gaze to the horizon. His face is so serious that it’s almost funny. “Y/N,” he presses. “Why would you say that?”

“C’mon, it’s a joke. I was just being self-deprecating. Lighten up.”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Like what? Contrary to popular belief, I don’t walk around with a thundercloud over my head all the time,” you laugh lightly. “I figured if there was a day to be nice to you, it should be today. And tomorrow, I guess.”

“This is you being nice?”

Funny how just a few weeks ago, you were fighting with him and calling him a hypocrite. Now, you’re sitting together, watching the sun set, trying not to be mean to him.

“I’m not picking a fight with you,” you say. “This is nice enough.”

“It’s not even my wedding.”

“Okay.” You glance at him again, letting words flow without a single thought. “I’ll be even nicer to you on your wedding day then.”

You don’t know where that even came from, but something aches the very second the words leave your mouth. The thought of him getting married one day makes you just nauseous, even though you always knew that it was a possibility. It might even be inevitable.

You clear your throat, waving the sullen feeling away. Your body shivers then, even after the added warmth of his jacket. Maybe you’re not shivering because of the cold anymore.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his eyes linger on the side of your face. The both of you keep tiptoeing around an elephant that follows you wherever you go. 

You hug your knees close to your chest, watching the blue sky melt into the golden horizon, splattered with ribbons of cotton candy clouds.

You want to scooch closer to him and have him wrap his arm around your shoulders. This isn’t the spot where you used to draw your names in the sand, enveloped in a giant heart like two lovesick kids, but wouldn’t it be nice to imagine that it is?

“I was always really happy here,” you mumble to yourself.

You were, truly. This city was your pocket of hope, your piece of peace.

Being here brings back so many memories.

It’s the same feeling you get every time you pass by somewhere you used to live. The nostalgia of walking down the same road you used to walk every day until your shoes wore out. The familiarity of your surroundings. The bittersweetness of looking into a past you cannot hold anymore, of remembering the person you were at a certain period in your life, of knowing the things you do now that you didn’t back then.

You long for things you cannot change.

Nostalgia only grows stronger with time, you can always count on that.

He hums in agreement, before admitting quietly, “I miss you.” One pulls, the other pushes. The water wavers, like it’s touched by his words, simple but earnest. You’re touched too, somewhere in your heart, where you know you should be writing someone else’s name now.

Should?

“You’re pushing it,” you say softly.

“I know.”

You look at him. Maybe it’s because you’re back in the city that holds only good memories of you two. Maybe you’re hypnotized by the way the pink and purple hues kiss his side profile, making him feel like a fever dream and not someone you loved. Maybe it’s the cold, making you yearn for any source of warmth. But instead of returning his sentiment, you say, “It’ll pass.”

He meets your eyes. There’s something pleading in his gaze. All things pass eventually. Time moves forward, people move on. Bad things will pass sooner or later. Your worst heartbreak, your most arduous trials, your saddest moments, they will all pass.

And good things… good things will have to pass too, whether you like it or not.

Your fingers twitch from where they’re still holding onto your body. You itch to reach for his hand. You don’t tell him what he wants to hear, even though here’s a part of you that wants to say it back. In a better world, you would be telling him I love you too, instead of having to suppress an I miss you too.

“All things have to pass eventually. This will too.”

[20:05] Taebear 🐻: we could go to that bar near the gallery. Y/N likes the cocktails there [20:06] Mimi 🐥: kay kay [20:06] Mimi 🐥: soooooo next friday? [20:09] Mimi 🐥: why is y/n reading our messages. shouldn’t she be at dinner [20:09] You: i approve of the bar choice [20:11] You: if you didn’t want me reading your messages, you shouldn’t have sent them to the gc [20:11] You: and if you must know, i’m skipping dinner. i’m avoiding Jungkook’s mom [20:12] Mimi 🐥: understandable. i figured you would do that [20:13] Mimi 🐥: how’s it going? are we regretting going yet? i told you to just stay home and we could binge watch the office together [20:15] You: and EYE told you that you could be a good friend and go to this wedding with me but nooooo baby doesn’t like the cold [20:16] You: you could’ve visited your parents while you’re here you know. two birds with one stone [20:18] Mimi 🐥: babes my parents stayed with me for a whole month last month. i reached my quota for family face time  [20:19] You: son and friend of the year 👏 [20:20] Mimi 🐥: 😎😎😎😘

[20:22] Taebear 🐻: hey [20:23] You: uh oh. am i in trouble? why is this not in the gc? [20:25] Taebear 🐻: lol shut up [20:26] Taebear 🐻: you okay? [20:28] You: feels like that could’ve been a perfectly good question to ask in the gc [20:29] Taebear 🐻: because it’s a serious question and we both know Jimin can’t be serious for one minute to save his life [20:32] You: why does it have to be a serious question? 🤪 [20:32] Taebear 🐻: 😕 [20:33] You: stop pouting. i’m fine [20:35] Taebear 🐻: are you? [20:36] You: i am! you don’t have to go all mama bear on me [20:39] Taebear 🐻: ha ha ha. you’re so funny [20:40] Taebear 🐻: want me to call you? [20:42] You: i said i’m fiiiiiine 🙄 [20:43] You: but also no because i told everyone i was tired and i’m pretending to be asleep in my room right now [20:43] Taebear 🐻: okay [20:43] Taebear 🐻: did you eat something at least? [20:44] You: i have a cup ramen in my room [20:45] Taebear 🐻: okay [20:46] Taebear 🐻: how was today? did JK make you wanna strangle him? [20:48] You: okay Kim Taehyung at least act like you have some faith in your friend lol [20:50] You: but mmmmmm it was ok. he was mostly behaving himself [20:51] Taebear 🐻: mostly? [20:54] You: we were down at the beach and he just told me he missed me out of the blue [20:55] You: Mimi is asking why no one is replying to him  [20:57] Taebear 🐻: i can see that [20:58] Taebear 🐻: what did you tell JK? [21:01] You: i quoted fleabag to him [21:09] Taebear 🐻: i had to google that [21:10] Taebear 🐻: i still don’t know what that means [21:11] You: i know you don’t lol. you’re adorable [21:11] You: i’ll tell you when i get back.  [21:13] You: ok bye i have to sleep early or i’ll look like ass in the morning [21:14] Taebear 🐻: oh. okay [21:15] Taebear 🐻: sleep tight. remember not to gorge yourself on booze tomorrow [21:17] You: thanks for the reminder. love you mom 🙄💕 [21:17] Taebear 🐻: :) [21:20] Taebear 🐻: you won’t look like ass btw

You clocked out right after you told Taehyung that you would. It wasn’t a peaceful sleep though. The anxiety simmering in your belly woke you up a few times throughout the night. You don’t even know why you were anxious. It’s not like you were the one who was about to walk down the aisle.

When morning finally came and you managed to untangle yourself from the surprising comfort of your familiar bed, you practically dragged your feet for the subsequent two hours, trying to get ready. As if that would actually slow down the passage of time.

You had to compartmentalize the things you needed to do in a mental checklist. Makeup. Hair. Dress. Stare at yourself in the mirror for half an hour and internally freak out while waiting for Jungkook to come get you from your room.

Now you’re sitting in the wedding hall, watching people filter into the room. It’s not even a lot of people, but you’re still overwhelmed regardless.

You feel so exposed, even though he’s the only one looking at you in this room of strangers. He’s been looking at you like that ever since he first saw you this morning, in a dress that you got just days before the wedding. You still don’t know if it’s entirely appropriate for your ex-boyfriend’s brother’s wedding - maybe a bit revealing - but it was the only one you could find on such short notice.

When you tried on the dress for Taehyung and Jimin a few days ago, Taehyung said you looked beautiful. Jimin said you looked decent, “six point five out of ten,” which translated to “pretty nice” in Jimin-lingo. That would’ve been enough if you were going to any other wedding, not one where Jungkook would also be attending.

You had wanted him to see you and regret ever leaving you.

It was a silly thought, just a tad adolescent.

You had wanted him to see you in your dress and be consumed with thoughts of you until he couldn’t even see straight. To be the only thing on his mind, you didn’t think it was a lot to ask for.

That was before he told you not to think about it and you’d been convinced to just go with the flow just for two days. It was before he actually did see you earlier today in your dress - a simple midnight blue satin cowl neck with a slit in the thigh - but you were the one rendered helpless and speechless. He had stared at you for a minute when he came to walk you down from your room, then he’d said, all breathless even though both of you were just standing there, “You’re beautiful.”

You’re beautiful, not You look beautiful.

You don’t know why, but you appreciated it.

It made your cheeks burn underneath your artificial rosy blush. Stupid, you thought to yourself when you two made your way to the main hall. Stupid for letting yourself get dizzy because of a single compliment from him.

You’re seated with his parents, which makes sense because you don’t know anybody here except for them. Well, maybe you know one of his cousins whose kid you and Jungkook used to babysit whenever their family was in the city, but you doubt that he even remembers you anymore.

When the ceremony begins, your heart instantly feels like it’s about to drop to the pit of your stomach.

You can’t lie to yourself. It stings.

It stings just sitting here next to his parents like a daughter-in-law, like a member of their family, watching his brother solidify his happy ending.

It stings that Jungkook is standing up there, looking as handsome as ever, but his eyes aren’t on the couple. They keep flickering to you no matter how much you try to pretend that they don’t.

It stings that even though you don’t think about marriage often - or maybe you just don’t allow yourself to - you can’t deny that the thought does cross your mind from time to time. Any time that you’d wander the corridors inside your head, you’d pass the doors that you keep unopened on purpose but there’s always that one door marked with a bright red X that you can never sidestep.

You watch Junghyun and Sooji with their teary smiles and shaky hands, shaky but happy. There’s a sudden clarity that this could’ve been you and him in another life. Forever is a lie, but you would’ve perjured yourself a thousand times for him. I do - you would’ve meant it.

You imagine yourself in Sooji’s place, and Jungkook, standing right on the other side, holding both your hands in his. A beautiful and radiant bride terrified of the altar. A dashing groom with a smile that could rival the sun and shoulders weighing heavier than he lets on.

It would’ve looked clumsy, but it could’ve been right.

You wonder if he’s wondering the same thing. Maybe he is. You hope he is.

When the ceremony ends with a kiss shared between the newlyweds, you wipe away the tears that well up in your eyes. The people around you do the same thing, but they’re doing it for the right reason, out of genuine joy for the happy couple. You don’t think you can say the same for yourself.

Some of the bridesmaids fawn over him. It’s reasonable, you suppose. One tends to do that in the presence of Jeon Jungkook.

You watch as they come up to him one by one to ask him to dance, watch as he politely declines until they’re all stalking away with similar pouts on their faces. You watch him until his eyes lock on you, sitting at a table near the back, nursing a glass of champagne.

He weaves himself with ease through the people making their way to the dance floor. When he’s in front of you, he holds out a hand.

“Dance with me?” he asks, his doe eyes working overtime to lure you in with their sparkles, though you’d rather stay here where you can easily go unnoticed until the night ends. “One song?”

“I don’t know how,” you say, even as you’re taking his hand and standing up.

“I showed you how, remember?”

“That was a long time ago.”

He squeezes you reassuringly. “Just follow my lead,” he says, walking the both of you to the floor. “C’mon.”

Once the music starts, your heels stomp on his feet at least three times before you start finding the beat to move along to. Muscle memory, or whatever, is bullshit. You remember absolutely nothing of what he showed you.

You’re grateful that the song is slow, because it makes it easier for you to follow the beat with your two left feet. He takes one of your hands in his, the other settling on the small of your back, guiding you to move in a steady rhythm.

You feel his mother’s eyes on the two of you, because she must be somewhere nearby, watching you like a hawk. You feel his gaze on your face while you keep yours on the knot of his tie, just trying to keep your composure and to not step on his feet with your heels.

The blur of white that you catch from the periphery of your vision makes you turn your head. Sooji and Junghyun are close by, swaying together slowly to the soft music, both of them glowing with happiness. She must sense your eyes on her, because she lifts her gaze up to meet yours. She smiles at the sight of you and Jungkook, and you smile back, because you don’t know how else to respond to that.

You don’t say it, but you do think it. Your fingers tighten around his hand ever so slightly.

Could that have been us?

If the answer is yes, then it would hurt.

If the answer is no, then it would hurt.

The point of your story is that it’s painful however you choose to look at it. There’s no other way to frame it. It’s just painful, because you’re never going to get any of it back.

You bite your lip, then turn away from the happy couple but you still don’t look at Jungkook. You look at your hand in his, and that’s when you see it.

“How’d you get that?” you ask, gently tracing the inch of slightly raised skin on his knuckles. You never noticed the scar until now.

“It was four years ago, I think? After Taehyung and I almost got into a fight, I went outside and… punched a wall,” he says, wincing as he recalls the memory.

His answer takes you aback. “You and Taehyung got into a fight?”

“Almost,” he corrects. “It was a long time ago. Didn’t they tell you?”

“No, they didn’t say anything. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“If it was really nothing, you wouldn’t have punched a wall.” You frown. It makes you miss a few beats, but the song isn’t what’s important now, even if Jungkook is still trying to steer you back into the dance. “Taehyung isn’t violent. You aren’t violent.”

“I’m serious,” he says finally. “It’s nothing. We were just drunk and stupid.”

You know there must be more to it, that something must have happened or been said to trigger such a reaction from both of them. But you also know that you won’t probably get anything out of Jungkook if he doesn’t want to tell you.

You give up, for now. “Fine. If you say so.”  You’ll just have to weasel it out of Jimin later.

The song comes to an end, before another one comes on. If Jungkook remembers that he only asked for one song, maybe he’s counting his blessings that you’re still here and dancing with him, because he doesn’t mention it.

For some reason, you pull your hand away from his, only to slide up his shoulder to lock both of your hands behind his neck. He seems surprised, but he does the same around your waist.

Jungkook’s gaze flickers to your lips briefly, then back to your eyes again. You find yourself doing the same and wonder what he tastes like after all the time you’ve been apart. Is he still as sweet as you remember? You used to tease that it was because of the excessive sugar he put in everything, but you knew it was really just him. The few inches between you are so inviting that it’s practically tempting you to close the gap. You could, easily in fact. Blame it on one too many glasses of champagne later if you want.

He looks younger like this, like the boy you loved, starry eyes and dimpled smile. His shoulders are always the most comfortable resting place, the crook of his neck your long lost home. This is nice, you think, to see him again even though it feels like a fever dream. Memories of your first date, your first kiss, come to life before your eyes so realistically that you could almost touch them.

Loved? That sounds funny to you.

The people you used to be, souls wrapped in innocence, when the world was nothing but the arms of the person you loved. You reach out, and the memories quickly fade from view. The only trace they leave behind is a speck of gold on your fingertips, a memento of charming naiveté for you to tuck neatly away in the corner of your mind, but also a reminder that ah, they only exist in the locket of your heart now. Because he has changed, and you think you must have too. Life, as they say, goes on.

“We made it. Kind of. That’s crazy,” you find yourself saying.

“Did we?”

“You don’t think so?” you chuckle. “We’re in a group chat with the Kim Seokjin who spams it with bad jokes on a daily basis. I’d call that a win.”

That makes him laugh. “If you put it like that, yeah, maybe. Sure.”

Other people might be fooled, but it doesn’t sound at all convincing to you. The light doesn’t really reach his eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek, thinking of how to translate the sudden poignant turn of the moment.

“It isn’t everything you hoped it’d be?” you ask.

His shoulders rise then fall quickly in a second-long shrug. “I thought it would make me feel more… fulfilled. But it doesn’t. Not really.”

The way he says it and the way he’s looking at you makes your heart dive. You understand what he means. You’re good at what you do, and you don’t need reassurance from anyone to recognize that. But sometimes, it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Doesn’t feel like it’s real, like it’s validated.

When you landed your first big project, even before Yoongi, you were so proud of yourself. You were bursting with excitement but you weren’t happy, and you knew what the reason was. Something was missing that couldn’t be filled, not even with all your friends’ hundreds of messages of encouragement. 

It’s beyond stupid, this feeling like your wins amount to nothing at all just because of one person. You wanted him there to celebrate every achievement with you and he wasn’t, and the milestones seemed incomplete without the presence of him. It doesn’t feel like you’ve accomplished anything because this always used to be a dream you thought you’d make come true together.

“It’s lonely,” he concludes.

It sounds like he feels the same way, like he wanted you to be there too.

He suddenly holds you tighter than you think he needs to, like he’s afraid to let go of you. You imagine that he doesn’t want to let go of you, and it makes you feel better for a second. But it doesn’t change the fact that he still did in the end. And he will have to when this ends.

What was the point of this? Why did he bring this upon yourselves when he seems to be as hurt as you are? All of this time, all of these years, lost to what? You could’ve been happy together but instead, you were both lost and miserable.

When the music stops - you lost count of how many songs it’s been - you pull away from him. He looks disappointed, maybe even a little hurt for some reason.

“I’m gonna get some air,” you say, already turning away from him.

“Y/N-”

“I need some air.” Then you’re weaving through the dancing couples despite Jungkook calling your name. How did he manage it? How did he not look back when you called out for him?

You hastily grab your coat on the way out. It’s not going to keep you warm, but that’s not something you’re even remotely concerned with.

It’s everywhere, you feel it down to your bones.

The wind wraps itself tightly around you, intertwining in your hair, slipping through the cracks of your fingers, caressing your face in a chilling touch. You greet the cold like a long lost sister, shivering violently with nostalgia. It was there for you more than your own flesh and blood.

Is that why you like the sea at night? Because it reminds you of mom?

It’s dark out here, barely anything is visible except for a lighthouse sending out light in the quiet of the night. You can’t see much, but you can certainly hear it. You’re not sure if the music is coming from inside the venue, or if it’s still ringing in your ears. It’s probably the latter; you’re too far away to be able to catch the music anyway. But regardless, the tune is quickly drowned out by the sea.

The waves crash violently against the shore like it’s out for blood. There’s a magnetic pull, as if it’s calling out for you. You want to go to it, to reach out and feel the cold outside of your body for once, but you stay there despite your legs itching to stand up and run straight ahead. Into the water and down under.

You could lie down and close your eyes for a moment. The sound of the water, as sharp and brutal as it is, nurtures a part of you somehow.

You just want to be alone. You don’t want to talk to Taehyung, or Jimin, or even Yoongi.

Oh.

Yoongi.

It’s a terrible feeling, knowing that you’re going to hurt Yoongi. Knowing that you’re going to kill this even before it has a chance to truly begin.

Truth be told, you can’t envision a future with Yoongi. There isn’t anything wrong with him, because he’s not the problem here. Yoongi is fun, he’s considerate, he keeps things light on purpose for you, until you’re ready to initiate something more serious. He’s good for you, even Taehyung thinks so.

But you can’t love Yoongi, not in the way that he wants you to. Not more than you love Jungkook.

There you go. Ruining things again.

Did you ruin Jungkook? Is that what happened?

The layers on you are no match for the sea at night. The wind hisses relentlessly, biting at any part of your skin that’s exposed.

It takes you back to that night. Almost everything does, actually.

Maybe that’s why you never even stopped to consider starting anything with anyone, because it always ends. If there’s a beginning, then there will be an inevitable ending. Love isn’t made to last and you aren’t meant to carry love with you. You’ve been abandoned twice. If it happens a third time, it’s a pattern, and then your hypothesis will only be proven. That the problem here is you.

You’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered when it’ll finally be Taehyung’s turn to leave. He eventually will, right? That one’s gonna hurt.

Then, you’re startled when someone calls your name.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks. The wind and the waves masked the sound of his footsteps walking up to you. When you turn around to face him, his eyes grow worried, almost panicked. “Why are you crying?”

You breathe out irritatedly before you hastily wipe at your cheeks. You didn’t even realize that you’d been crying. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine,” you say, though you both know it’s a lie. “I’m just tired. I’m going up to my room.”

He catches your wrist in a firm grip when you try to walk away. You wish he’d just leave you alone, but you knew he wouldn’t drop it just like that.

“I said I’m fine,” you insist.

“You were crying,” he says. “Did I do something wrong?”

He didn’t, at least not tonight.

God, you really don’t want to do this right now.

“Jungkook,” you warn. “Let go of me.”

You try to free yourself from his grip, hoping that he’ll get the hint and back off for now. Instead, he pulls you into his chest, where you struggle to escape from his hold until you realize your efforts are futile. He takes the wind’s place, wound tightly around you, so tightly that it’s nearly impossible for you to move.

You hiss out his name, but he doesn’t budge. 

“Jungkook, can you just- Fuck!”

Damn him.

You realize he’s not giving up, which in turn makes you give up struggling, hoping that if you let this be a moment, then it’ll be something that can pass.

You’re just standing there, letting him hold you, letting yourself be held by the person who broke you in the first place. This feels exactly like where you’re supposed to be - in his arms, with your face hidden in the crook of his neck, his gentle fingers stroking your hair. There’s not a lot that you could do but lean into that feeling the same way you lean into him. One foot in the sand, one foot in the past. A hand on the doorknob of time, wondering if you should look back or look forward.

You want to be alone, but that never used to apply with him.

The wind stills, the sea calms. You remain unmoving too, locked in his embrace. You feel the faint rhythm of his heart, beating faster than you think it should. If you could, you would bottle this moment up and live there forever.

I miss you, you think.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

Then your arms are around him too. It only makes him hold you tighter, and all you can think about is how much you miss him, how painful it is to miss him, how you feel like you’re being pulled apart at the seams from the weight of missing him. 

Fuck.

Can you pretend that the last few years never happened? Is there a higher power that would allow you to go back to the night before that wretched Wednesday, when everything was still perfect? Hundreds of days of your life, can you pretend that it was just one long nightmare? When you wake up, you’ll be back in his humble apartment, tangled up together in his bed. Warm sunlight, your silken youth, and him. It was all you ever needed.

Again with the devastating familiarity. The city, the beach. His mother’s warmth that always made you reminisce about your own mother’s coldness. How Jungkook used to find you in moments like this and just stayed by your side until the dejection passed. He understood that he could never understand it the way you did.

You hear yourself sniffle, then you feel him press a kiss into your hair. Home is comforting.

Oh, you never want to leave.

You don’t want to leave, and that’s terrifying.

You allow yourself to stay there for one more second - one endless second - so you could commit to memory what it’s like to be with him. Back and forth. It’s always so easy to fall into him.

Jungkook releases you when he feels you loosen after a while, and you reluctantly meet his eyes as he tilts your head to face him.  His fingers cradling your jaw, how warm and delicate they feel on your skin.

You swallow thickly, your mind going blank. He’s the only person you see, the only one that matters. His eyes flicker south, and even then you don’t make any move to run away, despite his loose grip on your waist telling you that you can if you want to.

You told him that it would pass, and maybe for him, it will. For him, it’s the city and the moment, making him feel like he’s caught up in a page that he’s turned over a long time ago. He was fine with leaving, and he’s been fine without you. It will pass for him, as much as it hurts you to admit it.

But not for you. For you, there’s only him. There’s nobody else but him. It’s always been him, no matter how hard you try to tell yourself that there will be another person you can love as much as you love Jungkook. You might only be a page, perhaps even a chapter, in the story of his life, but he’s your entire book. He’s volume after volume after volume, until he takes up the whole shelf and leaves no room for anything else, not even for yourself.

And now here he is - at the biggest turn in your career.

He’s a bad blood cell you can’t ever get rid of.

You’ll never be able to truly let go of him. How could you? When you truly love someone, those feelings will carry on forever. They’ll always have a piece of your heart despite an ending. When you look back on a certain period in your life, you’ll think to yourself, You’ll always be a part of me. I loved you then.

But Jungkook is a force of nature. He has your whole heart.

Years and years from now, when you look back on your life, you know you’ll see him everywhere. Even when you’re old and gray, and when faces all just blur together in a mosaic of broken memories and long lost youth, you know you’ll still remember him - the person you loved, the one whom you let slip through your fingers. The great love of your life when you were young.

Sometimes, you regret that day. You can’t help feeling like it was your fault too. Maybe you should’ve tried harder to keep him. You should’ve fought harder, should’ve held onto him instead of standing there and watching him leave.

He lit the match, and you let the house burn. It takes two to tango, two to break a heart.

You’re quick to let people leave. Oh, how you wish it could be that easy to let them go too.

It isn’t until your eyes mimic the flicker of his gaze that he leans in. You meet him halfway. For the first time in years, you feel like you could breathe, truly breathe. It’s achingly slow, like neither of you can believe that this is happening. 

You sigh against his mouth when his tongue brushes your bottom lip, slips past the seal to devour you. It feels like a perfect dream. You could stay in this bubble with him forever, pretend that you’re the only two people who exist in the world and there’s nothing else, no one else, waiting for you in a city that seems so far away right now. The thought of him never left you, not even for a second. He’s always been with you everywhere you go, no matter what you do, always in the back of your mind.

He tastes like your youth, like remembrance. He kisses you like he’s still yours when deep down you know that you’re still his. The hand on your jaw is gentle but firm, and it makes you repeat a thought, I miss you.

Then a feeling, I love you.

Not then. Now.

I love you now.

I love you even when I shouldn’t. Even when it hurts. Even when you leave me. Even when you don’t love me more than I love you. If there comes a day where you love somebody else, I will still love you then. There will never be another person for me but you. My first and only love.

When he pulls away, you think it’s too quick, even though your lungs are grateful for the breath that you instantly inhale. You stare at his lips like you’re in a daze, mesmerized, wanting to chase them again. You don’t even know how you have it in yourself to utter these next words, but you hear your own voice saying them anyway.

You’re holding onto him now. Doesn’t that count?

“Let’s…” Your fingers tighten on the collar of his dress shirt. “Let’s go up to your room.”

note (2): so... what do we think?? will they?? won't they?? 😵 stay tuned for obs7.5 which will be dropping 29.09.2023! also i'm gonna pause obs muse asks for a little bit! 😬

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted september 24, 2023]

[theemporium]

The mission was supposed to be a simple lookout and scope.

The Order had received some intel about dodgy meet-ups and gatherings that seem linked to Voldemort, or at least some of his most loyal followers. But with little information on the place and the fine details, the Order had decided the safest option would be to send a few members out to sweep the area before they sent out a full team. 

The team sent out were you, Remus and Sirius—a strong team that should have been able to hold themselves pretty well if something went wrong. And to be fair, you were a strong team until you realised the whole thing was a massive trap.

However with all three of you trained in combat by some of the greatest wizards in the Wizarding World, the countless battles and duels were a breeze. The issue came from the smoke bomb thrown at the three of you as you fled to find a safe place to hide until backup came. 

The effects didn’t kick in until you had lost them, finding safety in a small abandoned building near the edge of the town you were visiting. The place was damp, creaky and cold, but it was far better than battling off an unknown amount of deatheaters without extra help. You didn’t even notice yourself until Sirius kept shuffling beside you, squirming as he pulled at the collar of his shirt.

“Would you stop?” You hissed, your eyes peeking through a slit between boards of wood as you waited to see if you had been followed,

“I can’t,” Sirius huffed, letting out a noise of distress as he tugged on his clothes. “‘m fuckin’ boiling.”

You rolled your shoulders back, trying to ignore the sudden acknowledgement of how hot it was in an abandoned tavern that should have had the three of you shivering for warmth without any heating spells. 

“Fuck,” Remus groaned, his eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his back against the wall. “It must’ve been that fuckin’ bomb they threw at us.”

“What was it?” Sirius groaned. 

“Not sure,” Remus bit back.

And for a while, it stayed like that. It stayed unbearably warm as the three of you squirmed and fanned yourselves and hoped that the others were coming soon—maybe even with a cure to whatever it was that was affecting you.

Your eyes wandered over the two boys, taking in their appearances. 

Remus was leaning back against the wall, the sweater of his long gone and leaving him in a tight t-shirt that moulded around his arms. His neck was exposed as he leaned his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed deeply and let out a shuddering sigh. Your eyes wandered down his body, noticing the faint outline of his abs through the shirt before you paused on the tent in his trousers. 

Your cheeks burned, your gaze quickly snapping over to Sirius. 

His chest was completely bare, the remainder of his clothes sitting in a pile beside him. His hair was tied into a low bun on the back of his head, his jaw softly clenching as he hummed and drummed his fingers against his thighs. Your eyes focused on his hands, on the way his rings glinted in the low light and the way they moved with such speed and dexterity. 

“You’re staring.” 

Your eyes snapped up, finding Remus watching you with hooded eyes. 

“What?”

“Don’t act all innocent,” he mused, his lips twitching upwards. “You were staring. At both of us. It’s making your lil’ head spin, isn’t it, love?”

“Remus,” you breathed out, but no further words came out.

“Shhh, don’t need to be shy about it,” Remus murmured as his eyes wandered over to Sirius. “I don’t blame you.”

“I—” You started, but you didn’t know what to say. You found them both attractive, you would have been fucking blind to think otherwise. But they were your friends. Your friends you had known for years. Your friends who you had never thought about in such a way—at least, not in broad daylight when you were around people.

“Bet you’re fuckin’ soaking for us,” Remus continued as he pushed himself off the wall. However, just when you thought he would be close enough for you to touch, he made his way towards Sirius and you couldn’t help but whimper in response.

Sirius let out a groan when Remus pulled the bun, unravelling his hair and making it easier to pull the boy’s head back. Remus glanced down at him, at the neediness in his eyes and the flush of his cheeks and he couldn’t help himself as he leaned down to kiss Sirius.

You squirmed in your spot as you watched them. As you watched Remus’ tongue slide into Sirius’ mouth. As Sirius’ hands gripped Remus’ waist before sliding over the bulge in his trousers. As both boys moaned and panted and kissed until their lungs were burning for air.

Remus’ hooded eyes found yours when he pulled away, his lips swollen and wet as Sirius desperately palmed himself. You didn’t even hesitate as you crawled over, settling yourself on Sirius’ lap even if your eyes stayed locked on the other wizard.

“Stinging nettle.”

You frowned. “What?” 

“A plant used for multiple potions, most harmful,” Remus stated as he gripped your face in his hand, his thumb brushing over your lips. “If brewed right, it can kill someone slowly and painfully.”

Your lips parted, wrapping around his thumb wordlessly as he pushed it deeper into your mouth.

“Brewed wrong and it can have many varying effects,” he continued as his eyes darkened. “Itchiness…overheating…dehydration…increased libido.”

“Some smoke made us fuckin’ horny?” Sirius scoffed, only to let out a low groan when your hips bucked against him, grinding down on his painfully hard cock. “Shit, sweetheart.”

“And there’s only one way to fix it,” Remus replied as he watched your eyes roll to the back of your head, your body seeming to move on its own accord against Sirius as you eagerly sucked his thumb. “Feelin’ needy, honey?”

You whined, nodding.

“You want us to fill you up? Make you feel better?”

You nodded again. You needed them. You needed them in a way you had never needed anyone before. You needed them both inside you. You needed them fucking you. You needed to feel them both fuck you, keeping your holes stretched and accessible to them. You needed to be pressed between them as they groped and squeezed and touched every single inch of you.

You needed them so bad, you could have sworn you would die if they didn’t fuck you soon.

“Then be a good girl and listen,” Remus said. “Gonna need to make sure we deal with this properly, okay? Now be a darling and get on your knees, I wanna see Sirius’ cock bulging in that pretty throat of yours.”

.