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d1stalker · 24 days

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This is Ours [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It's your first time back at your grandparents' farm in years, and while many things are the same, one thing is not: they've hired a new farmhand.

Warnings: fem!reader, SMUT, sexual tension, angst, fluff, lots of feelings WC: 18.8k - MASTERLIST

A/N: apologies for dropping another long fic but i literally could not stop writing the juices were flowing. i really hope you enjoy this! i think its my fave so far :)

----

For as long as you can remember, summers were synonymous with your grandparents' farm. It was a tradition, one you held close to your heart. To you, your time there embodied your entire childhood—days spent under the sun, where the air was thick with the scent of wildflowers and the soothing chorus of cicadas filling the long, golden afternoons.

Mornings began early, with you bounding downstairs to join your grandparents for breakfast. The kitchen was always filled with the comforting aroma of fresh coffee and pancakes. Your grandfather would be at the table, engrossed in his newspaper, while your grandmother hummed softly as she cooked, the sound of the morning radio playing faintly in the background. Your days were spent exploring the fields, helping with the chores and horses, or sitting on the porch with your grandmother, listening to stories from her youth.

It couldn’t get any more perfect than that.

But as the years passed, things changed. After you graduated high school, the summer visits became less frequent. University took up more of your time, and you were always busy—first with classes, then with internships, and finally with starting your career. The farm, once the centre of your world, became a place you could only visit if you were lucky, and even then, it was never for long.

You miss it.

This year, however, things were different. You found yourself in between jobs, with the first real break you’d had in what felt like forever. And when the moment the opportunity arose, you knew exactly where you wanted to go.

—

The drive to your grandparents' farm is a journey into the past. The country road, lined with trees that stretched out like old friends, brings back a flood of memories from your childhood: where you’re sitting in the back of your parent’s car vibrating with excitement. You pass the same fields, still as vast and green as you remember, dotted with flowers swaying gently in the breeze, and the old oak tree where you used to swing as a child stands tall, its branches reaching up to the sky as if welcoming you back.

When you finally pull up to the farmhouse, the sight of it fills you with a deep sense of nostalgia. The white paint is more chipped than you remember, the porch sags a little more in the middle, and you can tell that it’s been a while since the grass was last trimmed.

Stepping out of the car, the screen door squeaks open, and there’s your grandmother, standing on the porch, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s smaller than you remember, more fragile, but the smile on her face is the same—warm, welcoming, and full of love. “There’s my girl,” she calls out, rushing down the steps and into the driveway as fast as she can.

“Grandma!” you exclaim, hurrying toward her to wrap her in a hug.

She pulls back to look at you, her eyes twinkling despite the lines of age etched on her face. “You’ve grown even more beautiful, but you look tired. We’ll fix that with some good meals, won’t we?”

You laugh, nodding. “I missed your cooking.”

“And I missed having someone to cook for,” she replies with a chuckle, patting your cheek. “Come inside. Your grandpa’s been counting down the days until you got here.”

You grab your suitcase from your car and follow her into the house, the familiar scents of fresh bread and old wood enveloping you the minute you step inside. It’s just as you remember—cozy, lived-in, filled with the glow of years worth of love and memories. Your grandfather sits at the kitchen table, a pair of reading glasses perched on the tip of his nose as he reads a book. He looks up as you enter, and the moment he sees you, his face breaks into a wide grin.

“There’s my favourite farmhand,” he jokes, letting out a grunt as he places one hand on the table, slowly pushes out of his chair.

“Grandpa,” you say, meeting him halfway for a hug.

“Got here just in time,” he says with a wink. “Plenty of work to do, you know.”

“I figured,” you reply, playfully nudging him. “I’m ready to get my hands dirty.”

“Good to hear,” he says, leaning back against the table for support. “This old back of mine isn’t what it used to be.”

Your grandmother sets a glass of lemonade in front of you and sits down, her eyes flicking toward the window. “We’ve had to make some changes around here, sweetheart,” she begins gently. “Your grandpa and I… well, we can’t do as much as we used to.”

You hum, listening carefully. Seeing your grandparents grow older is difficult—it's a constant reminder that time is slipping away, and the moments you have together are becoming more precious with each passing day.

“We’ve hired some help,” she continues. “A man named Logan. He’s been a blessing, really, taking care of the heavier work. But he’s… well, he’s not much of a talker.”

“Logan?” you ask, glancing out the window.

That’s when you see him. Tall and broad-shouldered, he is out by the barn, carrying some hay. He’s wearing a worn-down flannel with jeans, and his dark hair is slightly tousled. Even from a distance, you can tell he’s strong—he looks like he knows what he’s doing.

“Yeah, Logan,” your grandfather confirms. “Keeps to himself mostly, but he’s get’s the job done. Don’t mind his gruffness; he’s just not used to people fussing over him.”

“He’s been here since last spring,” your grandmother adds. “We needed the help, and he needed the work. It’s been good for both sides. You should go and introduce yourself after you unpack, dear. Maybe get in some work before we sit for dinner later.”

Nodding, you walk up the stairs in the house and make your way to your room. It looks exactly the same as the last time you saw it. Your old stuffed animals are organized neatly on the shelf above the bed, and the quilt your grandmother made for you, with patches of faded fabric from old dresses and curtains, is spread across the bed the exact same way it’s always been.

The posters on the walls, the little knickknacks on the dresser—everything is a snapshot of your younger self, preserved in this room like a time capsule. It’s comforting, but also a little bittersweet, a reminder of how much time has passed since you had last visited.

After a few moments of reminiscing, you stand up and begin unpacking, carefully placing your clothes in the old wooden dresser. Each drawer creaks as you open it, the sound a part of this room’s charm. You smile as you come across some of the little treasures you left behind—a pressed flower between the pages of an old book, a seashell from a family trip to the coast, and last, a picture of you and your grandparents taken one summer when you were about ten.

You’re standing between them, beaming with a toothy grin, their arms wrapped around you in a warm embrace. The three of you are standing in front of the barn, with the sun setting behind you. You can almost hear your grandmother’s laugh as the camera clicked, your grandfather’s playful grumbling about having to pose for ‘just one more picture.’ The photo captures a moment of pure happiness, a snapshot of a simpler time.

Setting the photo down, you quickly begin to change into your designated farm clothes, and head out to meet the new face around here.

The trek to the barn isn’t very long, just a few minutes away from the main house, and from the outside, you can hear the familiar sounds of work—footsteps crunching on the hay-strewn floor, the creak of wood as something heavy is moved. You pause at the doorway, taking a moment to observe him before stepping inside. He’s focused, his movements efficient as he lifts another bale of hay and stacks it with the others.

You take a deep breath, and step into the barn. “Logan?” you call out softly.

He doesn’t stop what he’s doing, but with a slight pause and glance over his shoulder, his eyes, sharp and intense, meet yours, and there’s a moment where you’re not sure what to say. “I’m—”

“I already know who you are,” he grunts, cutting you off.

His abruptness catches you off guard, but you quickly recover, nodding. “Right. I guess that makes sense.”

“If you wanna help, there’s a broom in the back shed,” he continues, going back to his work as if the conversation is already over. “You could sweep up the hay.”

You bristle, a little surprised at how quickly he dismissed you, but you’re determined not to let it rattle you. After all, your grandparents did warn you that he wasn’t much of a talker. “Sure,” you say. “I can do that.”

As you turn to head toward the back shed, you find yourself lightly imitating his gruff tone under your breath, a flicker of irritation running through you. “There’s a broom in the back shed. Yeah, obviously, I know where the broom would be,” you mutter.

In the shed, the broom is in fact, exactly where you expected it to be, and you huff, grabbing it and walking back to the barn. When you return, Logan is still hard at work, stacking the hay, and doesn’t bother to acknowledge you yet again. You set to work sweeping, the rhythmic motion of the broom soon lulling you into a steady state. The barn is quiet, save for the soft shuffling of hay under your broom and the occasional grunt from Logan as he moves the heavy bales.

Time seems to pass slowly, the light outside growing softer as the sun dips lower in the sky. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you barely notice when Logan’s footsteps stop. It’s only when his voice breaks the silence that you’re pulled back to the present.

“Your grandma called for dinner,” he says, causing you to jump a bit at the unexpectedness of his voice in the silence. Before you can respond, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there with the broom still in hand. You let out a small sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders. This is going to be a long few months, you think to yourself as you return the broom to its usual place and jog back to the farmhouse.

Inside, the kitchen smells like a warm hearty stew. The table is already set, the familiar blue-and-white checkered tablecloth in place, and your grandparents are seated, chatting quietly as they wait for you and Logan to join them.

You slide into the seat across from your grandmother just as Logan walks over from the sink, two glasses of water in his hands. He places one in front of you with a quick nod, and the other at his own seat, beside yours.

“So,” your grandmother says, her eyes shining with curiosity as she looks between the both of you. “I take it you’ve introduced yourselves to each other?”

You hesitate momentarily, your mind flashing back to your brief encounter in the barn. “Yeah, we have,” you reply, managing a smile, if you can call it that.

Logan doesn’t say anything, his focus on the bowl of stew in front of him. He doesn’t seem interested in joining the conversation, which only adds to the growing sense of awkwardness you feel. You glance at him briefly, wondering if he’s always this closed off or if it’s just his way of dealing with new people.

“Well, that’s good,” your grandmother says, either oblivious to the tension or choosing to ignore it. “Logan’s been a big help around here. We’re so grateful to have him.”

Your grandfather hums in agreement, scooping a spoonful of stew into his mouth before adding, “He’s got a strong work ethic. Doesn’t shy away from the tough jobs, that’s for sure.”

Nodding along, you feel the pressure to say something positive. “That’s great. It’s good to know the farm’s in good hands.” Even thought the words are definitely a bit forced, you mean it.

As the conversation continues, your grandparents shift the focus to you, asking about your job search and what you’ve been up to since you last visited. You give them a brief rundown of the interviews you’ve had, the options you’re considering, and the challenges you’ve faced. You try to keep it light, not wanting to worry them with your uncertainty, but you can’t help but notice the man’s presence beside you, still silent.

At one point, when you’re talking about finding a new apartment, you hear him let out a quiet scoff, and you cast a look over, catching the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips. It’s gone almost as quickly as it appears, but it’s enough to make you pause. You want to ask him what that was about, to challenge him on whatever it is he’s thinking, but you bite your tongue. This isn’t the time or place, not in front of your grandparents who are just happy to have everyone around the table.

They continue to chat with you, asking more about your plans and offering their usual words of encouragement. When dinner finally wraps up, your grandmother insists on cleaning up, waving you off when you offer to help. “You’ve had a long day, dear. Why don’t you go relax? Logan can help me with the dishes.”

You smile. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He’s already started collecting the dishes by the time you stand up, but it’s like he refuses to recognize your existence, and that pisses you off.

—

The next morning, you wake before dawn, the world still wrapped in the gentle embrace of night, and for a moment, you lie still, listening to the deep, pulsing of the house—the way the wooden floors creak slightly as they settle, the distant sound of the wind rustling through the trees outside. The comfort of knowing your grandparents are asleep down the hall brings a sense of calm that you haven’t felt in a long time.

Deciding to take advantage of the early hour, you slip out of bed, your feet brushing against the cool floor as you stretch, feeling the muscles in your body slowly wake. You dress quietly, pulling on a soft, worn sweater, and pad downstairs, careful to avoid the spots on the stairs that you know will creak.

You move through the kitchen as if on autopilot, your hands knowing exactly where everything is. You set the coffee to brew, and the rich aroma sills the room.

Reaching for the eggs, you crack a few of them into a bowl, and as you’re whisking, you let your mind wander, thinking about how to spend the day. The soft sizzle of butter in the pan gets your attention and you pour the eggs in, watching as they begin to set around the edges.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee, the steam rising from the mug in delicate spirals, and you take a sip, savouring the warmth and flavour hitting your tongue, while your gaze drifts over to the window that faces the back of the farmhouse.

Your grandparents’ own horses, and you recognize some of them from when you were younger. It makes you happy knowing that they’re still being well taken care of. The way the early light touches the land, and the morning dew covers the grass, you can’t help but smile into your mug.

Slowly, you walk a bit closer to the window, eager to take in the view you had been missing all these years, when a figure standing over by the horses catches your eye. It’s Logan, a small surprise given the early hour—you didn’t hear him wake up—but he stands there, leaning casually against the fence, an apple in his hand.

You watch as he holds out the apple to one of the horses, his rough hand moving gently over its neck as it eats. There’s something unexpectedly tender in the way he interacts with the animal, a patience and care that you didn’t expect to see from him, given how he acted yesterday.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another apple, offering it to the second horse, who hungrily accepts it. You continue to stare at the sight outside. This side of him—so different from the unapproachable exterior he’s shown so far—stirs something inside you, a desire to connect with him, to see if there’s more to him than meets the eye.

On impulse, you quickly turn off the stove, grab a second cup of coffee and some toast you’ve just buttered, and without overthinking it, you head outside. The morning air is cool against your skin as you make your way over to Logan.

As you approach, he keeps his attention focused on the horses. You take a moment, then clear your throat lightly, holding out the coffee with a tentative smile. “Thought you might want some breakfast,” you offer, trying to keep your tone light and friendly.

He finally glances at you, his eyes briefly meeting yours. His expression is just as unreadable his had been in the last sixteen hours you’ve known him, and then he grunts, “Already ate,” and turns his attention back to the animals in front of him.

His curt, and honestly rude rebuffals really frustrate you. It’s not like you’re asking him to wipe your ass after you go to the washroom, so you have absolutely no idea why he’s like this.

“Alright,” you mutter, lips pressed together in a thin line, and turn to head back into the kitchen.

Once inside, you set the untouched coffee and toast back on the counter with a sigh. You feel a tad bit awkward. You’re going to be spending the next however-many-months with him, and you would love it if you could at the very least, get along. His rough-around-the-edges personality is not making this enjoyable for you, and you’re sure that he probably just see’s you as an annoying nuisance.

And it’s not like you’re ever going to pull this card on him or anything, but you have been here longer than him, despite the fact that he’s acting like he owns the place. You get it, he’s been here for a for a while, and it’s only been him doing the work, blah blah. But you’ve been helping and doing the work your entire childhood—missing a few years doesn’t take away that fact.

With a heavy sigh, you open a cupboard and pull out a plate, scraping the eggs off the pan and setting them on it. Because your grandparents’ are still asleep, all you can do is eat in silence.

—

You’ve decided that today you are going to trim the grass. There’s always something to do around here, and since the long grass was one of the first things you noticed upon arrival, you think it’s best to just get that chore over with, considering how long you know it will take.

Once you’ve finished cleaning the dishes and pan, you go back upstairs into your room and get changed. Today, you put on a long sleeve, and a small vest over top. Your pants are some hand-me-down working pants from one of your older cousins, and you snatch a baseball cap from your closet for when it begins to get hotter out.

Walking to the back shed, you grab some tools for trimming the lawn. A lawn mower, a string trimmer, and a rake for after everything’s been cut. Moving over to the back section of the lawn, you set the trimmer and rake against the barn and start using the mower. It’s the same one your grandparents have used since you were a child, so it’s a reel lawn mower instead of those newer, more electrical ones you’ve seen around the city.

You can’t really complain about it, so you just begin, the steady repetitive action of moving the tool back and forth being somewhat therapeutic. The smell of freshly cut grass begins to hit your senses, and you truly feel at peace.

As the minutes pass, the sun rises higher, its warmth spreading across the fields. You’re completely absorbed in your work, the rhythm of mowing and the occasional chirp of birds the only sounds around you. You’ve missed this. The sounds of cars honking and early morning city traffic has nothing on the serenity of country life.

You’re just completing the first half when you sense movement nearby. Glancing up, you see Logan walking up to you, having grabbed the trimmer. He doesn’t say anything, just starts up the machine and heads over to the next patch of grass within the area.

There’s a brief moment of eye-contact, like a subtle unspoken recognition to the effort you seem to be putting in. He gives you a small nod, and turns to focus on his task. The two of you work side by side, the hum of the machines, the scent of fresh-cut grass, and the warm sun overhead creating a strangely comforting atmosphere.

When you finally finish, few hours have passed, and you walk back over to the barn and grab a lawn bag and the rake. And because Logan’s machine was electric, he seems to have finished his section as well, so you begin raking up all the stray pieces of grass.

You quick to find out how awkward it is to hold the lawn bag open with one hand while trying to rake with the other—the grass keeps slipping out of the bag, and you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous as you fumble with the task. You scan around, hoping Logan won’t notice, but of course, he’s right there, watching as you flail around.

You feel a flush of embarrassment creep up your neck, but before you can say anything, he steps forward. Like usual it seems, he doesn’t say a word, just holds out his hand as if asking for the rake. You falter briefly, not wanting to seem like you need his help, but at the same time you understand how much more efficient it would be if he joined.

Reluctantly, you hand it over, and he immediately starts working with the same steady efficiency he brought to trimming the grass. With both hands free, you manage the lawn bag more effectively, holding it open as Logan rakes the grass into neat piles.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable; instead, it feels like a natural extension of the morning’s work. The sound of the rake scraping against the ground, the rustle of grass being gathered, and the occasional whinny from a horse nearby.

After the last of the grass is finally raked and bagged, you tie off the lawn bag and glance over at him. He leans the rake against the barn wall and meets your gaze. There’s something in the way he seems to stare at you head on this time, rather than just a quick look, that makes your chest fill with satisfaction.

You nod. “Thanks.”

Logan dips his chin in return, then turns and heads back toward the barn. The heat of the sun really starts to hit you now, and you take a peak at your watch, noticing that it’s already lunch time. Knowing that even if you tried to invite him, he’s probably say no, you just walk back to the farmhouse alone.

—

The next couple of weeks unfold in the same way, moving with an almost predictable rhythm. Each morning, you wake before the sun, quietly slipping out of bed while your grandparent’s are still asleep. As you prepare and eat breakfast, you take your usual place by the kitchen window, watching as Logan interacts with the horses.

Then, as the sun rises higher, you head out to begin your chores around the farm. Sometimes, Logan joins you without a word—his presence now a familiar and abating part of your routine—or sometimes, you find yourself working alone, but even then, you know he’s never far away.

You’ve learned to read his silences, to understand that his gruff demeanor isn’t necessarily unfriendliness, but rather his way of navigating the world. And though he doesn’t speak much, his actions have a way of communicating more than words ever could.

One morning, as you’re finishing up breakfast, your grandparents announce their plans to head into one of the nearby cities for the day. “We need to run some errands and pick up a few things,” your grandmother explains, her hands busy packing a small bag. “But we were thinking it might be nice for the horses to get out and see some different scenery too.”

“They haven’t been to the pond in a while. It’s good for them to stretch their legs and take in some new sights.” Your grandfather chimes in.

You nod, smiling at the thought. The pond is a beautiful spot, a peaceful place where the water runs clear and cool, surrounded by tall trees and soft grass. It’s the perfect place to spend a day with the horses. “That sounds like a great idea. I’ll take them out there for the day.”

Your grandmother’s eyes light up as she hands you a basket. “I packed some food and a blanket for a picnic. There are also a couple of towels in case you want to swim. It’ll be a lovely day for it.”

“Thank you,” you say, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind the preparations. You take the basket and head upstairs to get ready, the idea of spending the day by the pond filling you with excitement. It’s been a long time since you’ve been there last.

In your room, you change into your bathing suit, a simple bikini that you’ve always loved for its comfort and ease. You slip on a loose shirt and shorts over it, then grab a few essentials before heading back downstairs. Your grandparents have already left, so you make your way out to the barn to prepare the horses.

As you start saddling them up, you notice Logan nearby, focused on his usual tasks. His presence has become so customary to you that you hardly think twice before calling out to him. “Hey, Logan,” you say, catching his attention.

“I’m heading to the pond with the horses,” you tell him, nodding toward the saddled horses. “Grandma’s packed some food and a blanket for a picnic. There are even towels if you want to swim. You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”

He hesitates, his gaze shifting to the horses, then back to you. After a moment, he mutters, “I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

The admission takes you by surprise, and you raise an eyebrow. “Really? But you’ve been here for over a year. I just assumed—”

He shakes his head slightly, cutting you off. “I’ve always just walked alongside them. Holdin’ onto the reins is one thing, but I’ve never actually been on top of one.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “That’s okay,” you say gently. “You can still join us. You can walk alongside like you usually do, and tomorrow, if you’re up for it, I’ll teach you how to ride.”

Logan peers at you for a long moment, considering your words. Finally, he nods. “Alright. I’ll come with you.”

“Great,” you reply, your smile widening. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

With that settled, you both finish preparing for the trip. Logan helps you load the picnic basket, blanket, and towels onto one of the horses. You mount your favourite horse, and gently click your heels into its side, starting the trip as he begins walking, horses in tow, beside you.

The journey to the pond is beautiful. The green trees that frame the pathway, the soft buzzing of nature, the sound of the horses’ hooves. You and Logan exchange a few words, but for the most part, it’s silent.

When you reach the pond, the sight is just as picturesque as you remembered. The water sparkles under the sunlight, the tall trees casting dappled shadows across the grassy bank. You untie the horses, giving them plenty of room to graze and explore, before you grab the picnic basket, while he grabs the towels and blankets. Making your way over to the other side of the creek, you find a nice open patch of grass to set up on.

“I’m going for a quick dip,” you say as you go about stepping out of your shorts. Logan, who is sitting down, looks up, but his eyes seem to stop dead in their tracks when they settle on your body. You swear you can physically see his gaze darken as he takes in the sight of you stripping off your shirt. It’s subtle, but a small shiver runs down your spine at the attention nonetheless.

Without waiting for a response, you turn and and head toward the pond. The temperature is perfect: just cool enough to be refreshing without being cold.

You dive in, the reservoir embracing you as a much-needed relief from the heat. Everything feels perfect—the gentle current against your skin, the refreshing sensation of being submerged, and the weightlessness of floating just beneath the surface.

But when you lift your head out of the water, you and Logan immediately lock eyes.

He’s lying back on the blanket, propped up on one elbow, and his focus is squarely on you. The intensity of his stare is like a physical force, pinning you in place. The world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended in time. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can feel a heat build within you, starting in your chest and traveling down, deeper, and deeper…But then, just as suddenly as it began, he looks away, and if you were any closer, you may have been able to spot the red flush creeping up the back of his neck and to the tip of his ears.

The moment is over, but the enduring feeling of it stays with you as you swim back to the shore. Water drips from your body as you step out, and you reach for one of the towels your grandmother packed. Once you’ve dried off, you walk over to where Logan is sitting and drop down beside him on the blanket.

You are aware of eyes on you again, though this time there’s a hesitation in the way they travel over your form, as if he’s trying to be discreet but can’t quite help himself. You pretend not to notice as you reach for the picnic basket.

“I’m starving,” you say, pulling out the sandwiches your grandmother packed. “Want one?”

He nods, sitting up a little straighter as you hand him a sandwich. After a few bites, curiosity gets the better of you, and you decide to break the ice. “So,” you start, glancing over at him, “how did you end up here, working on my grandparents’ farm?”

He takes his time chewing and swallowing before he answers, his eyes focused on the food in his hands. “I was passing through,” he says finally. “Didn’t plan on stayin’. But your grandparents… they’re good people. Needed help, so I stuck around.”

You nod, taking another bite. “They are good people,” you agree, thinking of how much they’ve done for you over the years. “But where were you headed before that? Where are you from?”

Logan pauses for a moment, then looks over at you. “Alberta,” he says. “Grew up there, mostly. Been a lot of places since, but Alberta’s home—or was.”

You smile, finding comfort in the fact that he’s sharing a bit more. “Alberta’s beautiful,” you say, remembering the few times you’d traveled through the province. “Why’d you leave?”

He shrugs, glancing out toward the creek. “Needed a change. Wanted to see what else was out there. Guess I got used to movin’ around, never really settlin’ anywhere.”

You nod thoughtfully, taking in his words. “Must have been hard, never really having a place to call home.”

His gaze meets yours, and there’s a hint of something softer in his eyes. “Yeah,” he admits, his voice quieter. “But your grandparents… they’ve made it easier. This farm… it’s good.”

You smile warmly at him. “I’m glad you’re here. You’ve been a huge help to them. And… well, I’ve liked having you around.”

He glances at you, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, it’s been alright,” he mutters, a small, imperceptible smirk on his lips. You smile bashfully.

The next couple of hours pass by in a blur. Not much conversation happens, but rather, these weird periods of time where you feel as though your eyes are glued to him, and he you. It’s different—unexpected—and to put it frankly, you feel a bit shy underneath his gaze.

Logan is attractive, anyone with eyes could see that, but it really wasn’t just his face that pulled you in, it was him. The way he would silently help you with chores, his soft moments every morning with the horses, the way he subtly looks over your grandparents’ when he thinks they arent watching. All of it. You want to spend more time with him, learn more about who he is, what he likes… all of it.

Soon enough, you both begin to pack up the picnic supplies, load up the horses, and head back to the farm. The horses seem content, having had a fun day grazing and napping by the pond, and you ride beside him as he walks. Every now and then, you catch him peeking up at you from under his eyelashes, his eyes lingering just a bit longer each time.

You can see your grandparent’s car in the driveway as you near the farm, meaning they’ve also returned from their day in the city. Leading the horses back into the barn, the two of you go through the motions of the familiar routine of unsaddling them, brushing them down, and making sure they’re comfortable for the night.

Once they’re all settled for the night, Logan steps back, wiping his hands on his jeans as he looks at you.

“So ‘bout tomorrow…” He begins, shifting slightly, as if unsure how to phrase what he wants to say. “You really think you can teach me to ride?”

You grin excitedly. “Of course. I’ll come out after I’ve eaten breakfast.”

“Alright then,” he says, pivoting toward the doors, his lips twitching just barely, but enough. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

Your fingers are twitching at your sides as you watch him leave. You wait a few moments, then head out as well, closing and locking up the barn for the night. When you step into the house, you find your grandparents in the living room, their faces lit by the soft glow of a lamp as they relax on the chesterfield.

“How was your day?” your grandmother asks, looking up from her knitting with a bright smile.

“It was nice,” you reply. “The horses loved it, and the pond was as beautiful as ever. We had a picnic, and it was really peaceful.”

Your grandfather, who’s been quietly sipping his tea, sets down his cup and regards you with a knowing look. “And Logan? Did he go with you?”

You nod, feeling a bit of warmth rise to your cheeks at the mention of their helper. “Yeah, he came along. He’s never ridden a horse before, so he just walked with us. But I’m going to teach him tomorrow.”

Your grandparents exchange a look, and your grandmother’s eyes sparkle with amusement and something more tender as she smiles at you. “That’s good, dear. He’s a bit of a mystery, that one, but I can tell he’s got a good heart. Sometimes people just need a little time to open up.”

Chatting with your grandparent’s a bit longer, you listen intently as they fill you in on their activities. You can faintly hear the sound of Logan’s footsteps upstairs as he gets ready for bed. The memory of his gaze on you makes your heart beat a smidge faster.

—

Logan is unsurprisingly already at the barn when you arrive the next morning. He’s leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest.

“Morning,” you greet. “You ready to get started?”

Logan glances at the horses, then back at you. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

You lead him over to the horses, choosing one of the gentler ones for him to work with, and begin by showing him how to properly saddle the horse, explaining each step as you go. Logan watches intently, though you can see the slight furrow in his brow as he takes in all the information.

As soon as the horse is all saddled up, you hand him the reins. “Okay, now it’s your turn. Go ahead and mount up.”

He wavers for just a moment, his eyes on the horse as if weighing his options. But then, with a deep breath, he grabs the saddle and swings himself up with ease. He sits stiffly at first, his hands gripping the reins a bit too tightly, but he doesn’t look as uncomfortable as you would have expected. Definitely better than your first attempt.

“You’re doing great,” you reassure him, moving to stand beside the horse. “Just relax. The horse can sense if you’re tense, so try to loosen up a bit.”

He takes another breath, visibly trying to relax his posture. It’s clear that he’s out of his comfort zone, but he’s determined to push through. You walk him through the basics of steering and controlling the horse, keeping your tone calm and encouraging.

After a few minutes, you guide him around the paddock, walking alongside the horse to make sure he feels secure. Logan follows your instructions with serious concentration, his movements becoming more and more natural as he gets used to the rhythm of the horse’s steps.

“You’re doing really well,” you tell him, smiling up at him. “Want to try picking up the pace a little?”

He glances down at you warily at first, but then he nods. “Yeah. Let’s give it a shot.”

You guide him through a gentle trot, staying close enough to offer guidance but giving him enough space to figure things out on his own. The horse picks up speed, and you watch as he adjusts, his body moving in sync with the animal’s movements. There’s a moment when he looks down at you, a spark of surprise in his eyes as he realizes he’s actually getting the hang of it.

As the morning progresses, Logan becomes more comfortable in the saddle, his confidence growing with each passing minute. You spend the next hour practicing different techniques, guiding him through turns, stops, and even a slow canter. He’s a quick learner, and despite the initial awkwardness, you can tell he’s starting to enjoy himself.

Eventually, you lead him back to the paddock, bringing the horse to a stop. He dismounts, still a bit tense but clearly pleased with himself. He hands you the reins, his eyes meeting yours with a look that’s both grateful and slightly sheepish.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” you say with a grin, patting the horse’s neck.

He huffs a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… you’re a good teacher.”

The compliment, simple as it is, makes your heart skip a beat. There’s something about the way he says it, the sincerity in his tone, that makes you feel a warm glow inside. He begins to walk toward the back shed, undoubtedly going to start on his morning chores, but you find yourself wanting to hold onto this moment just a bit longer.

“Logan,” you call out, stopping him in his tracks.

He turns back, his eyes questioning.

“Thanks for this morning. I really enjoyed it.”

Logan studies you for a second, then he gives you a small smile. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

—

The days come and go, blending into one another as your first month at the farm passes by in what feels like the blink of an eye. The sun seems to rise earlier and set later with each passing day, stretching the hours out in a way that makes everything feel both languid and endless, and the heat only intensifies, something you didn’t think was possible.

Despite the longer days and rising temperatures, you and Logan’s daily routines have now intertwined in a way that feels as natural as breathing. The once solitary moments you spent watching him out with the horses have now become something shared. Every morning, without fail, the two of you meet by the barn, where the horses greet you with soft nickers and eager eyes, ready for their daily ride.

He’s improved a lot. He no longer looks uncomfortable or stiff, and he’s able to guide his horse with an ease that surprises even him. You can see the subtle shift in his posture, the way he holds the reins with a sureness that wasn’t there before.

And just like when you work on the farm together, sometimes, the two of you ride in a comfortable silence—the only sounds being the soft snorts of the horses and the creak of leather saddles. But more often than not, you chat about everything and nothing, your conversations easy and unforced.

Logan, who once spoke only in short, clipped sentences, has begun to open up more, sharing bits and pieces of his past, his thoughts, and his observations about life on the farm. You learn that he has a sarcastic, dry sense of humor, one that often catches you off guard and leaves you laughing in spite of yourself. He even joins you for your usual morning breakfast of eggs and toast, something that started only a few days into your new morning ritual.

Yet throughout all of this, there’s a something growing between you and Logan, simmering just beneath the surface.

It manifests in the little moments, the stolen glances, and the accidental touches that don’t really seem to be as accidental as you may think. It’s in the way his eyes follow you when he thinks you’re not looking, how they intensify when you laugh, or how he seems to fixate on your hands as you work, as if he’s memorizing every movement.

You’re not immune to it either. You find yourself hyper-aware of his presence, the way his proximity seems to alter the air around you. In one afternoon, you’re in the barn, and sorting through a pile of hay bales. It’s hard, sweaty work, but the it’s kind that leaves you with a satisfying ache in your muscles by the end of the day. Logan is beside you, lifting the heavy bales with ease, his shirt sticking to his back, outlining the broad expanse of his shoulders. You catch yourself staring, and quickly look away, but not before he flicks his eyes over to yours.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can see it in his eyes. It’s like they’re telling you that he knows exactly what you were thinking, where you were staring.

And when you’re both tending to the horses, something happens again. You’re brushing one down, your fingers working through its mane, when Logan comes to stand beside you, so close that you can smell his natural musk.

“Here, let me help,” he says lowly, not waiting for a response as he reaches out, his hand covering yours. You glance up at him, and he’s already looking down at you. You’re acutely aware of the feel of his hand over yours, the callousness of his skin against your own, and the way his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles as if testing the waters.

Another time, while fixing the fence out in the field, you’re both working in tandem, passing tools back and forth. At one point, you reach for a hammer at the same time Logan does, and your fingers brush against his. It’s a fleeting touch, but it feels like a spark in the summer heat, and for a heartbeat, you both freeze, caught in that split second of contact.

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling your hand back, but the apology feels hollow in the face of what you’re actually feeling.

“No problem,” Logan replies, his voice gruffer than usual, as he hands you the tool.

You can feel it. You’re not stupid. You know something is there, and you wonder how much longer you can resist it—how much longer you can pretend that everything is fine. But Logan is a hard man to read, and you’re not sure if what you’re feeling is reciprocated, or if it’s just wishful thinking on your part. So you stay silent, letting the tension simmer, hoping that one day, one of you will have the courage to break it.

—

You’re not the only who see’s it.

“You know,” your grandmother says one afternoon, as you’re helping them with a puzzle. “Logan has really come out of his shell since you’ve been here.”

You blink, and glance over at her. “What do you mean?”

She looks up from the table, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous light. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean,” she says with a knowing smile. “He’s been here for over a year, and in all that time, we’ve never seen him quite like this. He’s always been polite, of course, but distant. Reserved. But now… well, it’s clear he’s become quite comfortable around you.”

Your grandfather places a piece in the board and nods in agreement. “She’s right, you know. Logan’s always been a bit of a mystery, keeps to himself mostly. But ever since you arrived, he’s been different. More… engaged, I suppose you could say.”

You feel a flush of heat rising to your cheeks, your heart skipping a beat at their words. “I-I don’t know about that,” you stammer, trying to brush it off. “We just… work together a lot. That’s all.”

Chuckling, your grandmother leans forward slightly. “Darling, don’t be modest. It’d be obvious to anyone that there’s something going on between the two of you. He’s practically a different man when he’s around you. Why, just the other day, I caught him actually smiling while you two were out riding. I nearly fainted!”

“You’ve managed to do in weeks what we couldn’t do in a year. Whatever it is, it’s good for him. And for you, too, I’d wager,” your grandfather pipes in, sending you a wink.

Fidgeting with your hands, you feel like a deer caught in headlights, and you’re honestly not sure how to respond. “We’re… friends,” you say, though the words feel inadequate even as you say them.

The woman across from you raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Hmm? Well, maybe so. But it seems to me that there’s potential for something more there, if you’re both willing to see it.”

“I… I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling flustered under their scrutiny. “He’s just… he’s a complicated person.”

“Everyone’s complicated, dear,” your grandfather says gently. “But that doesn’t mean they’re not worth the effort. Oftentimes, the best things in life are the ones that take the most time to understand.”

There’s a moment of silence as their words sink in, the weight of their observations leaving you feeling exposed and uncertain. You hadn’t fully allowed yourself to consider what you felt, let alone what Logan felt. But now, with your grandparents’ teasing remarks, it’s impossible to ignore the possibility that there might be something more between you and Logan than just a budding friendship.

Your grandmother reaches over and gives your hand a comforting squeeze. “Just take it one day at a time, sweetheart. Whatever happens, we’re here for you.”

—

The following week, you find yourself itching for something new—a change in scenery. While the farm has been everything you’ve wanted and more, you think it’d be nice to go on a drive, explore a small laketown you used to go to when you were younger. So, one morning, as you and Logan are unsaddling the horses, you muster the courage to extend an invitation that’s been on your mind for days.

“So…,” you begin, trying to keep your tone casual. “I was thinking… maybe we could take a break from the farm this weekend and go into town. You know, just to get out for a bit, see something different.”

He pauses in his work, his hand stilling on the brush as he peers over at you with a raised eyebrow. “The town?” he repeats, as if the idea is foreign to him.

“Yeah,” you say, turning to face him fully. “I need to pick up a few things, and I thought it might be nice to have some company. We could grab lunch, maybe do some exploring… It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just a change of pace.”

There’s a beat of silence as he considers your offer. His expression is guarded, as always, but you can see the wheels turning in his mind. It’s clear that the idea of leaving the farm, even for a day, is something he hasn’t done in a long time—if ever.

“I don’t know,” he eventually gets out, his tone uncertain. “Busy places are not really my thing.”

You feel a pang of disappointment at his hesitation, but you’re not ready to give up just yet. “I get that,” you say. “But it’s not about how many people are there, really. It’s about taking a break. You’ve been working so hard, and I think you deserve a day to relax. Plus, I could use your help carrying a few things,” you tease, hoping to coax him into agreeing.

Logan’s lips twitch as if he’s suppressing a smile, and for a split second you think he’s going to turn you down. But then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright,” he says, the word coming out almost reluctantly. “I’ll go.”

You beam, unable to hide your enthusiasm. “We’ll leave early on Saturday, okay?”

“Saturday it is,” he confirms.

—

The rest of the week passes quickly, your anticipation for the trip into town growing with each passing day. You find yourself planning out the day in your head, imagining the places you might visit, the food you might try, and most of all, the chance to see Logan in a different environment—away from the farm and the routine that has defined your relationship so far.

So, when Saturday morning arrives, you’re up before the sun, too excited to sleep in. You dress in your favourite casual clothes—something comfortable but a bit more put-together than your usual farm attire—and head downstairs, where you find your grandparents surprisingly already up and about.

“Off to the city today, are you?” your grandmother asks with a smile as she hands you a thermos of coffee for the road.

“Yep,” you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face. “and I’m dragging Logan along with me.”

Your grandfather chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, that should be interesting. Don’t think he’s much of a city slicker.”

“Be patient with him, dear,” your grandmother adds, laughing. “He’s stepping out of his comfort zone for you.”

“I will,” you promise, taking the coffee and heading out the door.

Logan’s already waiting by the truck, and when you see him, you can’t help but falter in your steps. The shirt he’s wearing clings to his muscular frame in a way that draws your eyes, accentuating the strength that’s always been evident. His hair is slightly disheveled, and there’s an almost shy quality to the way he stands there, his hands shoved into his pockets as if he’s not quite sure what to do with them.

You try to hide the fact that you were just checking him out as you ask, “Ready?”

“‘Course,” he replies, climbing into the passenger seat as you slide behind the wheel.

The highways are empty and the sky is clear. You chat easily about the things you need to pick up, the cute boutiques you want to visit, and even a few memories of the last time you visited the place. Logan listens more than he talks, but you can tell he’s starting to relax, the tightness in his shoulders easing as the distance passes by.

When you finally reach the town, the energy along the streets is a stark contrast to the quiet calm of the farm. The buildings tower above you, and the sidewalks are crowded with people going about their day.

Stepping out of the truck, you glance over at Logan. It’s clear that he’s out of his element, but there’s something cute about the way he takes it all in. “Where to first?” He questions.

“Well,” you say, smiling at him, “I was thinking we could grab some breakfast at this little café I know, then hit a few shops. There’s a bookstore I love that I think you’d like too.”

He nods, his expression softening slightly at the mention of a bookstore. “Lead the way.”

You spend the morning wandering around, exploring the shops, and enjoying a nice breakfast together. At the bookstore, you lose track of time, browsing through the shelves and picking out a few titles that catch your eye. Logan surprises you by finding a book on woodworking, something he’s always been interested in but never had much time for. You can see the way his eyes light up as he flips through the pages, and it makes you smile, happy to see him enjoying something for himself.

After spending a few more hours of exploring, you suggest one last stop before heading back—a lookout point that offers a stunning view of the lake and the surrounding landscape. Logan agrees, and you drive up to the spot, parking the truck and leading him to a bench that overlooks the water.

The view is breathtaking. You both sit in silence for a while, just taking in the scenery, allowing the peacefulness of the moment to wash over you. He is staring out into the water with a thoughtful expression when you decide to interrupt his stupor.

“Logan,” you begin, the gentle breeze from the lake rustling through the trees, “what did you think of me when we first met?”

He turns his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of surprise, as if he wasn’t expecting the question. Then he pauses for a moment, looking back out at the lake, as if gathering his thoughts.

“I thought you were different,” he says slowly, each word carefully chosen. “You didn’t act like you were above the work. You jumped right in, got your hands dirty. Most people wouldn’t do that.”

You smile at the memory, remembering how you started working together the moment you met. After all, you weren’t just a visitor—you were there to help, and you knew your way around the farm. “And now?” you ask, your heart beginning to beat just a little faster.

He remains quiet for a few moments, his focus still on the water. When he finally speaks, he’s timid, almost bashful, as if he’s revealing something he’s kept hidden for a long time.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he admits, his eyes flickering back to yours. “I thought that the first time I saw you, too. It was one of the first things that hit me. But it’s more than that. Now… now I think you’re perfect.”

The sincerity in his words catches you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless. Your mouth parts in surprise, and all you can do is gawk, trying to process the depth of what he’s just said.

Logan shifts slightly, his gaze dropping to his hands as he continues. “I was… cold at first,” he murmurs, “Didn’t know how else to act. You weren’t like anyone I’d ever met. I didn’t know how to handle it. But what really got to me was how you didn’t shy away from that—you didn’t let my attitude push you away. That changed somethin’ in me.”

You want to say something—you should say something—to acknowledge what he just said, bearing in mind that was probably the most amount of words to come out of his mouth in one go, but for some reason, you can’t. The only thought running through your head is that you want to reach out and touch him, to close the small distance between you.

“What about you?” His voice is slightly more tentative now, and he definitely just asked that to fill the silence that you were ungraciously leaving. “What was your first impression of me?”

His question snaps you out of your thoughts, and you gulp, now knowing that your first impression of him was very different to his of you.

“Honestly? I thought you were rude as hell,” you say a bit nervously, watching as his eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. “You were so gruff, so serious… I didn’t know what to make of you at first. But then I saw the way you took care of the horses, the way you looked after the farm, and… it didn’t take long for my opinion to change.”

He shifts, clearly caught off guard. You can see the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck as he takes in what you said, and it makes your smile widen.

“And…You’re kind,” you continue. “There’s this gentleness about you that I wasn’t expecting.” You suck in a shaky breath. “I think you’re pretty perfect now too, if I’m being honest.”

The tint on his cheeks only deepens, and he looks away, flustered. It’s a rare sight—seeing him like this—and it makes you swoon.

“I don’t know about that…” He mutters, a small, embarrassed smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I do,” you reply firmly. “You’re more than you think you are, Logan.”

The genuineness in your words makes him look back at you, his eyes searching yours for something—reassurance, maybe, or confirmation that what you’re saying is real. Slowly, almost unconsciously, you both lean in closer, locked in a stare, your breaths mingling as the space between you shrinks. You can see the way his eyes flicker down to your lips, and you feel the same pull, the undeniable urge to close the distance and see what it would feel like to kiss him overriding all your senses.

Your chest pounds as you inch closer, until you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. But just as your lips are about to meet, a loud, piercing scream shatters the moment.

You both jerk back, startled, and whip your heads around to see a kid nearby, his face scrunched up in disgust as he frantically wipes at his shoulder. “Ew! A seagull just pooped on me!”

The kid’s parents rush over, trying to console him as they pull out napkins, and you can’t help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of the interruption. The sound of your laughter is contagious, and soon Logan is chuckling a bit too.

“Well, that’s one way to kill the mood,” he mumbles under is breath.

You’re still laughing, the remnants of your almost-kiss still in the back of your mind, but you know the moment has passed. “Yeah,” you agree, trying to catch your breath. “Guess we should be thankful it wasn’t us.”

Logan grins, warm and wide. “Yeah, maybe we should.”

—

Driving back to the farm, neither of you say a word about what almost transpired at the lookout point, and you’re fine with that. There’s no need to fill the silence with words, no need to dissect the moment or what it could have led to. You don’t want there to be any sort of pressure between you, any expectations. Even if, deep down, all you want is to climb him like a tree, to feel the solid strength of him beneath your hands, and to finally give in to the attraction that’s been building throughout your time together.

Pulling into the driveway and shutting of the engine, you turn to him, and turns to you, his eyes meeting yours. “Thanks for today,” he says sincerely “I… enjoyed it.”

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. “Me too,” you reply, your voice just as soft. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah,” Logan agrees, his gaze holding yours a hint longer before he turns away, his hand reaching for the door handle. “We should.”

—

A few days later, as everyone sits around the kitchen table after dinner, the evening suddenly takes on a new tone when your grandmother clears her throat and shoots an exchanges a conspiratorial glance at your grandfather.

“We’ve got some news,” she begins, her eyes shining with excitement. “Your grandfather and I have been invited to spend a week at the Summers’ cottage by the lake.”

You smile, genuinely happy for them. The Summers are longtime friends of your grandparents, and the idea of them getting a little vacation away sounds perfect. “That sounds wonderful! You two deserve some time to relax.”

“Well, we thought so too,” your grandfather says. “But that means we’ll be leaving the farm in your capable hands.”

It takes a moment for the full meaning of his words to sink in. You and Logan… alone… for an entire week.

Your heart skips a beat and you glimpse over at Logan, who’s sitting across the table from you, his expression neutral as he listens to your grandparents. But there’s a quick flash of something that suggests he’s as aware of the situation as you are.

A voice brings you back to the moment. “Now, don’t worry,” she says with a reassuring smile. “There’s not much that needs doing, just the usual stuff. And we’ll be back before you know it.”

Your grandfather leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he scans between you and Logan. “We trust you both to keep everything running smoothly,” he says, before he drops his voice to an embarrassingly low tone. “And to keep an eye on each other.”

You can’t help but blush at his not-so-subtle innuendo, and you quickly drop your gaze to your hands, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your cheeks. The thought of spending an entire week alone with Logan is both thrilling and nerve-wracking. The lack of a buffer—your grandparents—means that literally anything could happen.

“Don’t worry,” you finally manage to say. “We’ve got this. You two just enjoy your time away.”

Logan, who has been uncharacteristically quiet during the conversation, finally speaks up. “Yeah,” he agrees, “We’ll take care of everything.”

—

Over the next couple of days, your grandparents pack their bags and make sure everything is in order before they leave. You help them with the small details, ensuring that the house is stocked with food and that all the usual chores are delegated properly.

Finally, the morning of their departure arrives. You stand by the front door, watching as your grandparents load their bags into the car. Your grandmother gives you a warm hug, “Take care, dear,” she says, kissing your cheek before hopping into the passenger’s seat.

Your grandfather shakes Logan’s hand, giving him a firm nod. “Take care of things.”

He hums. “I will. Enjoy yourselves.”

With that, your grandparents climb into the car, and after a final wave, they drive down the long, dusty road that leads away from the farm.

There’s a pause.

Suddenly, you’ve become extremely aware of how close you two are standing.

“So,” you start, hoping to ease a bit of the electricity beginning to spark. “I guess it’s just us now.”

Logan swallows thickly, his adams apple bobbing up and down. “Yeah,” he replies a bit deeper than usual. “Just us.”

“What should we do first?” you ask as casually as possible.

He shrugs slightly, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “Same old, I guess. Can’t let everythin’ fall apart right when they leave..”

“True. Let’s start with that.”

The two of you move into that familiar routine of farm work. Mucking out the stalls, hauling bags of feed from the shed to the barn, tending to the vegetable garden, you do it all. But even though you’re busy with work, there’s an underlying jitter to everything you do, a heightened awareness of each other’s presence that just wasn’t there before. And it’s impossible to ignore. Each time you make eyecontact it feels charged, almost like a promise of what’s to come, and it has your heart racing with exhilaration.

That evening, after the chores are done and the sun has dropped below the horizon, you’re in the kitchen, preparing dinner while Logan finishes up outside. The quiet of the farmhouse feels different without your grandparents there—emptier, yet somehow more intimate. Domestic. You can hear the soft creak of the floorboards as he enters the house, the sound of him washing up in the sink.

And as the evening wears on, you find yourself drawing out cleaning the dishes, not wanting to end the day just yet. Logan stays close, drying the plates and placing them back in the cupboards.

“Long day,” he grunts.

“Yeah,” you agree, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “But it was nice. Peaceful.”

His eyes find yours. “Peaceful,” he echoes, though the word seems to hold a different meaning when he says it.

You both stay there, unmoving, until eventually, he takes a step back, as if sensing that the tension between you needs a moment to cool. “I’ll check on the barn,” he says gruffly. “Make sure everything’s locked up for the night.”

“Okay,” you reply, your voice softer than you intended.

Logan leaves to check on the barn, while he’s gone, your thoughts are a whirlwind of anticipation and nervous energy as you busy yourself with finishing up the remaining utensils.

Finally, unable to stay inside any longer, you decide to step outside, hoping the cool evening air will help clear your mind. You sink down onto the old porch swing, and pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you observe the darkened landscape.

A few minutes later, you hear the soft crunch of gravel underfoot, and you glance over your shoulder to see Logan approaching the porch. He walks up the steps and pauses momentarily as if debating whether to join you. Then, with a soft sigh, he settles down beside you, his shoulder just barely brushing against yours.

It’s now or never, you think. “We have the place to ourselves now,” you state.

He turns his head slightly, giving you a sidelong look, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a small, knowing smirk. “Indeed we do,” he replies.

The simple acknowledgment—and the way he says it—makes your pulse quicken, and you can’t help the small huff of exasperation that escapes your lips. He’s always been so tame, so careful with his words, and while you appreciate the way he’s respected your space, you’re done with tiptoeing around.

“Do I need to spell it out for you, or—” But before you can finish the sentence, Logan moves.

His hand reaches out, rough and warm, to cup the back of your head. Your eyes widen, and your heart thuds in your chest upon realizing what’s about to happen. And with a firm but gentle pull, he closes the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours.

You lose track of your surroundings—the night, the farm, everything—as you give yourself into feel of his lips against yours. It’s intense and claiming, a declaration of everything you’ve both been too afraid to say.

His hand tangles in your hair, holding you close as he deepens the kiss, his other hand coming to rest on your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if to ground yourself in the moment, to make sure this is real, that he’s really here, kissing you.

Moving your lips against his with equal fervor, you pour the longing you’ve been feeling all this time into it. The taste of him is intoxicating. It’s something that’s so uniquely him—so uniquely Logan—and you can’t get enough. You’ve imagined this moment in the dead of night, but nothing compares to the reality of it—to the way he kisses you like you’re the only thing that matters.

When you finally pull back, out of breath and a little dazed, Logan’s forehead rests against yours, his breath coming in heavy, uneven pants. His eyes are smoldering and intense and his smirk is gone, replaced by a deep look of yearning.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits huskily. The way his voice has dropped three octaves isn’t missed on you. You can practically feel it vibrate down in your pu—

“You’re not the only one,” You whisper, interrupting your own thoughts. The connection between you has finally been acknowledged, and you feel a huge sense of relief.

He exhales a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, and his hand slips from the back of your head to cup your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because I don’t think I can hold back anymore.”

You lean in, pressing another kiss to his lips. “Then don’t,” you whisper against his mouth.

The spark that has been ignited between you flares up into a full blown fire, and the next kiss quickly becomes more heated. Without breaking it, Logan’s grip on your waist tightens and you let out a soft gasp as he effortlessly lifts you onto his lap. Your legs straddle his hips, and you can feel the beginning of something growing underneath you.

The sensation is dizzying, and you instinctively press yourself closer, your fingers curling into his hair. The swing beneath you creaks softly with the movement, but neither of you pays it any mind, too lost in each other to care.

You shift slightly on his lap, grinding your hips against him, and the movement draws a deep, throaty groan from him. He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, “God, you drive me crazy,” and then he’s on you again.

It’s wild. Hot, and heavy, and utterly consuming. His hands move from your hips to grip your ass, guiding you to move against him. It feels so good, you release a relieved sigh into his mouth, before dropping your head onto his shoulder, too caught up in the pleasure.

The sounds of your moans fill the air as he continues grinding you against him, his own hips bucking up into your core.

Biting your lip, you lift your head slightly, a teasing smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as your eyes dart toward the open door of the farmhouse. “You know,” you begin tilting forward to bite his ear, your voice low and playful, “as much as I’m enjoying being out here, I think we should take this inside.”

Logan’s lips quirk up into a sexy smirk. “As you wish,” he murmurs.

As you stand up, your legs a little shaky from what just occured, you peek back at him, and see that he’s already risen to his feet. Stepping closer, you slip your hand into his as you guide him toward the door. But just as you reach the threshold, a thought crosses your mind, and you pause, turning to look up at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“We gotta go to your room,” you say, running your hands up and down his arms, feeling them flex underneath your touch.“I don’t think I’m ready to defile my childhood bedroom just yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face as he catches on to what you’re implying. “Oh, is that so?” he asks, his tone filled with mock seriousness. You wink in return. grabbing one of his hands and dragging him inside.

By the time you reach his door, you’re practically vibrating with excitement, your breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. The room is simple, and the bed, neatly made, sits in the center of the room. You can’t help but laugh at the thought of how different it will look in just a few moments.

You turn to face Logan, but he doesn’t give you time to say anything, his hand reaching out, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a touch that is both tender and possessive. His thumb traces the line of your jaw as he cups your face, his eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation.

But there’s none. You’ve never been more sure of anything in your life. The need for him, for this, is so overwhelming that it’s taking every ounce of strength in you to keep from throwing yourself onto him.

His lips find yours once more, this time more urgent, more demanding than before. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours. “Are you sure about this?” he asks in between kisses.

“Absolutely,” you mumble breathlessly, your hands sliding up his chest to curl around the back of his neck. The word barely leaves your lips before Logan reacts, a low hum rumbling in his chest as if your answer has unleashed something primal within him.

He kicks the door shut behind him with a force that makes the room tremble slightly, and in the same fluid motion, he pins you against the wall, lips never leaving yours as his body cages you in.

One of his thighs nudges its way between yours, the rough fabric of his jeans brushing against the sensitive spot between your legs. The friction is maddening, electric, and it hits just right, sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine that rips a moan from your throat.

The sound only spurs Logan on, his own need evident in the way he moves against you. He moves his mouth to your neck, trailing up and down it with hungrily. The feel of his mouth on your skin, the way his teeth graze your pulse point, causes you to arch against him, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support.

You can feel the warmth of his breath as he presses his lips to the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin, as his hands explore your body. They’re everywhere—one gripping your hip, holding you steady against the wall, the other sliding up your side to brush against the curve of your breast. His fingers find the hem of your shirt, tugging it up, and you lift your arms to help him, the fabric sliding up and over your head before it’s tossed carelessly to the floor.

Bringing his lips back to yours, the kiss is fiery, stealing all the oxygen from your lungs as he pushes you even harder into against the wall, his thigh still working its magic. You can’t help the way your hips rock against him, the need for more—more pressure, more friction, more him.

Logan seems to sense your desperation, moaning when his hand slips down from your breast to the waistband of your jeans. He fumbles with the button for only a moment before he gets it open, his fingers slipping inside to brush against the soft skin of your lower belly. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze tempting and filled with a desire that matches your own.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he mutters, voice thick with want. “No idea why I waited so long.”

You can barely think, let alone form words, but you manage to breathe out, “Don’t need to wait any longer.”

The words seem to be all the encouragement he needs. In one swift motion, he slides your pants and underwear down your legs, his hands careful as he helps you step out of them. You’re left standing before him, bare and vulnerable, but the way he’s staring at you—like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—makes you feel powerful, desired in a way you’ve never felt before.

He pulls you back into him, and this time, you can feel the hardness of his own desire against yours—bare— and it drives you insane. His grip finds you thighs as he lifts you off the ground and carries you the short distance to the bed. He lays you down gently on his bed, and breaks away long enough to strip off his own clothes. The sight of him—strong, muscular, yours—makes your breath catch in your throat.

There’s a moment where he’s standing above you, just staring, his chest rising and falling with the effort to control himself. But then he’s on you again in an instant, his body pressing yours into the mattress, his lips claiming yours and leaving you dizzy.

You lean up into him, your hands sliding up his back, feeling the play of muscles beneath his skin as he moves against you. The need for more builds up to a breaking point, and you can’t help the soft moan that escapes your lips as he grinds into you, hard and insistent against your core.

“Logan,” you breathe out. “Please.”

His name on your lips seems to break the last of his control, a desperate groan ripping out of him. He begins travelling down your body, taking his time, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path, each kiss leaving a burning trail in its wake. His hands follow the curve of your waist, your hips, his fingers digging into your skin with just the right amount of pressure to make you gasp. Your body is practically begging for him, and you know that you’re on the verge of begging too.

Once he makes it down to your thighs, he nudges them apart, giving him better access to you. He nips and bites at them, moaning along with you. And then, with a deep, almost possessive growl, he finally lowers his mouth to you, his tongue flicking out to taste you. You react immediately, a wave of pleasure coming over you, your hands fly into his hair, tugging at the strands as you try to pull him closer.

Logan’s hands tightening their grip on your thighs as he delves deeper. You’re lost in the sensations, the pleasure growing and growing until it’s all you can think about, all you can feel. Your body is on fire, every nerve ending alight with desire, and the only thing that matters is the way he is making you feel, the way he’s driving you toward a release that you know will be earth-shattering.

And then, just as you think you can’t take any more, he pulls back slightly, his lips still hovering over you as he looks up at you, eyes black. “Tell me what you want,” he commands.

You can barely think, let alone form coherent words, but you manage to breathe out, “You. I want–I need you.”

That seems to be wanted he wanted to hear, so with a final kiss to your inner thigh, he moves back up your body, connecting his lips to yours again. You can taste yourself on his tongue as his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you slightly to position himself at your entrance.

The anticipation is almost too much, the need for him so immense that you can’t hold back the whimper that escapes your lips as begins to push, the tip of him just barely inside you, teasing, testing your patience.

“Oh god,” you moan. “I need you. Please.”

And then, finally, Logan gives you what you’ve been wanting since that time at the pond. With one slow, deliberate thrust, he pushes inside you, filling you up completely.

Everything seems to stop for a moment, the only sound the ragged gasps of breath between you, the only feeling the overwhelming pleasure of being joined together like this, of finally having what you’ve both wanted for so long.

He pauses, lowering his head in the crook of your neck as he lets you adjust to the feeling, his breath hot and heavy against your collarbone. And then he begins to move, slow and steady at first, each thrust driving you closer to the edge, the coil inside you tightening with every stroke. The feel of him inside you, the way he moves against you, is everything you’ve been dreaming of and more, and you can’t help the way your body responds to him, your hips lifting to meet his every movement.

The gentle, deliberate pace soon gives way to something more urgent, more desperate, as the need for release takes over. Each thrust drives you higher, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level, until teetering on the edge.

And then, he sends you over it. The orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, your entire body shuddering with the intensity of it, your voice lost in the cry of pure ecstasy that escapes your lips. Logan follows you a moment later, his own release crashing into him hard, his body trembling against yours as he buries himself deep inside you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as a loud, deep, groan reverberates in his throat.

Neither of you can move, lost in the aftermath of your shared pleasure, your bodies still entwined, as you come down from the high. He tightens his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your temple as he tries to catch his breath. And when he does, he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

You nod, reaching up to cup his face in your hands, your thumbs gently brushing over the rough stubble on his cheeks. “I’m more than okay,” you whisper back, voice full of emotion. “That was… everything.”

A small smile tugs at the corners of Logan’s lips, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his arms still wrapped securely around you. “Yeah, it was,” he agrees.

Eventually, he eases out of you with a tenderness that makes you sigh softly. He walks out into the washroom, and gets a warm towel, wiping you and himself down. After, he settles beside you on the bed, his arm draped over your waist, holding you close. The two of you stay like that for a long time, wrapped in each other’s arms, until the exhaustion of the day begins to catch up with you, and you feel your eyes growing heavy.

“Get some rest,” you hear, “We’ve got plenty of time… no need to rush.”

You nod sleepily, snuggling closer to him as you let your eyes drift shut, the steady pulse of his heart lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

—

You wake to the feeling of warmth and security, Logan’s breathing against your ear, his arm still clinging possessively over your waist. The events of the previous night come rushing back, and a satisfied smile curves your lips as you snuggle closer to him.

But it isn’t long before that peaceful contentment becomes something more. As you move around, the feel of his skin against yours, the warmth of his breath on your neck, and the memory of the passion ignites a familiar heat low in your belly

He stirs beside you, his hand tightening around your waist as if sensing your thoughts. Pulling you closer, his nose nuzzles against your neck, his lips brushing over the sensitive skin there.

His voice is rough with sleep as he murmurs against your skin, “Morning…”

The simple word, spoken in that deep, gravelly tone, is enough to make you ache for him all over again. You turn in his arms, meeting his gaze, and the look in his eyes—dark and hungry—tells you that he feels the same way.

The morning starts in the best way possible, the both of you breathless, spent, and with the knowledge that this isn’t a one-time thing. The connection between you is too strong, too consuming to be satisfied with just one night or even one morning. And as the day stretches out before you, the realization hits that this hunger, this need, will follow you both everywhere you go.

Throughout the week, the two of you are completely insatiable for each other. It’s like the floodgates have opened and have no intention of closing. Every moment you’re together becomes an opportunity.

It starts innocently enough—just a kiss in the barn when you’re supposed to be checking on the horses. But that kiss quickly spirals and before you know it, Logan has you pressed up against the wooden wall, his lips on your neck, his hands roaming your body. The scent of hay and leather mixes with the heady scent of him as he takes you right there, the barn filled with the sound of your moans and the creak of the old wooden beams.

Or when you’re in the back shed, ostensibly looking for some tools to finish up some chores, the moment the door closes behind you, and you both know there’s no point in pretending. Logan’s hands are on you before you can even say a word, lifting you onto the workbench with ease as he claims your lips in a searing kiss.

At the pond too, the tranquil, secluded spot now holds an entirely different kind of allure to what it had before. One afternoon, you find yourselves there again, the cool water calling your name. But as you strip down to swim, the sight of him watching you is enough to make it seem less inviting than the feel of his hands on your skin. You pull him in with you, the rippling water doing nothing to muffle the sounds of your shared pleasure.

By the end of the week, you’re exhausted but in the best possible way, your body and soul both filled with the kind of satisfaction that comes from truly giving in to what you want, to who you are together. And as the sun sets on the final day of your week alone together, you find yourselves back in Logan’s room, the place where it all began.

The bed, once neat and tidy, is now a tangle of sheets and pillows, the evidence of your shared moments of bliss scattered around the room. Logan lies beside you, his hand gently stroking your hair as you rest your head on his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear.

“This week… it’s been more than I ever expected,” he admits quietly, his fingers brushing gently over your skin. “I don’t want it to end.”

You lift your head to look at him, your eyes meeting his, and you can see the same emotion reflected there—the same desire to hold on to what you’ve found together. “It doesn’t have to,” you reply. “We don’t have to go back to the way things were before.”

Logan’s hand tightens around yours, a small, almost imperceptible smile curving his lips. “No, we don’t,” he concurs.

—

The morning your grandparents arrive, you and Logan are in the kitchen, finishing up lunch. Your grandmother is the first to step through the door, her face lighting up as she sees the two of you. “We’re back!” she announces, her voice cheerful as she sets her bag down by the door.

You rise to greet her, giving her a warm hug. “How was the trip?”

“Oh, it was lovely,” she replies, her eyes twinkling as she pulls back to look at you. “The cottage was just as beautiful as ever. And the Summers send their love.”

Your grandfather enters next, a gleeful smile on his face as he takes in the sight of you and Logan in the kitchen, together. “Everything go smoothly while we were gone?” he asks.

You blush. “Yes, everything was fine.”

Then they do that thing they’ve been doing the whole time you’ve been with them, where they exchange a glance—and share a look that speaks volumes. It’s the kind of look that only comes from years of understanding each other without words, and you can tell they knew exactly what they were doing when they left you and Logan alone for the week.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” your grandmother says with a mischievous smile, her eyes flicking between you two in a way that makes you wonder just how much they’ve guessed.

“Seems like you two managed just fine without us.” Your grandfather says, patting Logan on the shoulder.

You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you steal a look at Logan, who meets your eyes with a small smirk. It’s a way to tell you that he’s just as aware as you are of what your grandparents are thinking. But there’s no embarrassment on his face, only a quiet confidence, a certainty that whatever happened between you was exactly what was meant to be.

—

The next month flies by, the routine of everything staying largely the same except for one thing. You and Logan are inseparable, drawn to each other like magnets, and with each passing day, it seems like that attraction only grows stronger.

It’s not just the passion that binds you, though that spark is always there, and most often times doesn’t go ignored. It’s the little moments that fill your days—the way his hand brushes yours as you walk side by side, the way he rests a gentle hand on the small of your back when you’re working together in the barn, or the way his fingers grip your waist as he helps you mount your horse (even though you don’t need it).

The work on the farm continues to get done, but there’s a new layer to everything you do—a sense of shared purpose, of partnership. And even though the days are long and tiring, you find yourself looking forward to each task, knowing that Logan will be there beside you, sharing the load, offering his quiet support and his easy, comforting presence.

As the sun begins to rise one breakfast, you grandfather announces that he needs to run into town to pick up some tools for a repair project. He’s heading out the door, and as he grabs his keys from the hook, he turns to Logan with a nod.

“Logan, why don’t you come along? Could use an extra pair of hands,” he suggests, his tone casual.

Your man agrees without hesitation, always ready to lend a hand. But as he follows your grandfather out the door, he pauses for just a moment, whirling back to look at you, and what you see on his face is insane—there’s a deep yearning, a longing that tugs on your heartstrings. It’s almost as if to say that he wishes he could stay, he doesn’t want to be apart from you, even for the short trip into town.

You have half a mind to join them.

The intensity of that look lingers in the air long after he’s turned away and stepped out the door, and your grandmother doesn’t miss a thing. Once the men are in the truck and begin to drive off the property, she turns to you with a teasing smile, one eyebrow raised in amusment.

“He’s really got it bad for you, doesn’t he?” she says affectionately. “I’ve never seen a man look at a woman the way he looks at you.”

Your heart blooms in your chest. “I guess he does,” you reply, your voice soft, breathless as the weight of your feelings for him wash over you.

Your grandmother chuckles, stepping closer to place her hand on your arm “And you’ve got it bad for him too, I’d say.”

You laugh. “Yeah, I do.”

—

Several weeks later, it’s raining. That should have been the first sign that this day wasn’t going to go to plan. You’re sitting inside, curled up next to Logan on the old chesterfield, his arm wrapped around you as you both enjoy the warmth and quiet of the afternoon.

But then you decide to go through some emails—just a quick check, nothing more, to clear out any lingering notifications. You unlock your phone and start scrolling through your inbox, Logan’s fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder as you do. Most of the emails are routine—newsletters, updates, the usual clutter—but then you see it, nestled among the others like a tiny, unexpected bombshell.

It’s an email from the company you applied to months ago, the one you almost forgot about in the blissful haze of farm life. The subject line makes your heart skip a beat: Congratulations! Offer of Employment.

Your breath catches, and you sit up a little straighter, your heart pounding in your chest as you open the email. The words leap off the screen: We are pleased to offer you the position, starting in two months.

You stare at the email, a mixture of shock and elation washing over you. This is it—your dream job, the opportunity you’ve been working toward for years. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted, the kind of position that could set the course for your entire career. But as the initial wave of excitement begins to ebb, a heavy weight settles in your chest, pulling you back down to earth.

You glance over at Logan, who’s still relaxed beside you. His eyes are closed, his head resting back against the couch. The sight of him, so content, makes your heart ache, because with this job offer comes a harsh reality: accepting it means leaving him, leaving this life you’ve built together, at least for a while. And you don’t know when—or even if—you’ll be back.

Suddenly, his eyes flutter open in response to your shifting, and he looks over at you, concern flickering across his features. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. “I… I just got an email,” you begin shakily as you turn the screen toward him so he can read it for himself.

He takes the phone from your hand, his eyes scanning the email. You watch his expression carefully, searching for any sign of what he’s feeling. At first, there’s no reaction, just the steady, focused way he reads the words. Yet as he reaches the end, you see it—the subtle tightening of his jaw, the pinching together of his eyebrows.

He hands the phone back to you wordlessly.

Then, “This is what you’ve been waiting for.” His voice is steady, but there’s a sadness there too, a heaviness that you can’t ignore.

You nod, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Yeah… it is.”

There’s a long stretch of nothing, the sound of the rain outside filling the silence between you. Logan looks away, his gaze fixed on the fire as if trying to find the right words. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, measured. “You have to take it.”

You swallow hard. “But what about us? I don’t know when I’ll be back… or if I’ll even be able to come back.”

Logan’s hand tightens around yours, his grip firm, grounding. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, though you can hear the strain in his voice, the way he’s trying to hold back his own emotions for your sake. “You’ve worked too hard for this to pass it up.”

His words are supportive, encouraging, but you can see the the way he’s starting to close in on himself, as if already bracing himself for your departure. The thought of being apart from him is unbearable.

You lean into his touch, your head resting on his shoulder, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close. “I don’t want to leave you,” you whisper as the tears finally spill over.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as if trying to convey all the things he can’t bring himself to say. “I don’t want you to leave either,” he admits. “But I’ll be here when you get back. However long it takes.”

And so begins the countdown to your departure. You always knew it was going to come, always knew you were going to have to leave your grandparents again, but you didn’t expect to find the love of your life here, and that makes it so much harder.

—

The remaining two months become a bittersweet blend of cherished moments and a looming sense of inevitability. Each day feels both precious and fleeting, a constant reminder that your time together is running out, and it shapes every decision, every action, every word between you.

In the past, your days had been filled with the rhythm of farm life—early mornings, long hours of work, and evenings spent in each other’s arms, exhausted but content. But now, there’s a conscious effort to carve out time just for you two, time that’s not dictated by chores or routine. You start taking more trips to the pond or into town, something you hadn’t quite as often before.

These dates are different from the intense, passionate moments you’ve shared on the farm—they’re softer, more tender, as if you’re both trying to imprint each other’s presence into your memories. You hold hands as you walk on the streets, your fingers intertwined, and every now and then, Logan will pull you close, pressing a kiss to your temple or your lips, as if he needs to reassure himself that you’re still there with him.

Even the way you make love changes during these months. The hunger and desire that had once defined your physical relationship are still there, of course—Logan’s touch still ignites a fire in you, and the need for each other still burns as hot as ever—but now, there’s a new dimension to your intimacy, a slow, sensual depth that hadn’t been there before.

Your grandparents, upon hearing the news, immediately noticed the change too. While they were so extremely happy for your new job opportunity, they also knew what it meant. They’ve seen the way you and Logan have grown closer, the way your connection has deepened, and there’s a quiet sadness in their eyes whenever they see you together.

It’s not a sadness for themselves, but for the both of you.

They don’t say much, but their understanding is palpable. They seem to give you more grace when it comes to doing work around the farm, trying to volunteer and do as much as they can so you two can spend time alone. No matter how much you refuse, they insist, pushing you two out the door with picnic basket and blankets.

Sitting on the porch one evening after a long day, your grandmother comes out to join you. She sits beside you, Logan’s arm is draped around your shoulders, and for a brief second, the three of you just sit in silence, watching the sunset.

“You know,” your grandmother begins, her voice soft and filled with emotion, “I see the way you two look at each other. It reminds me of your grandfather and me when we were young.”

You smile, leaning into Logan’s side as you listen to her. “You two have always been such an inspiration,” you say, meaning every word.

She chuckles, a wistful sound. “It wasn’t always easy, you know. There were times when we had to be apart, times when I wasn’t sure if we’d make it through. But we did. And looking at you two now… I know you’ll find a way.”

Logan squeezes your shoulder gently.. “We’ll figure it out,” he says, echoing the promise he made when you first told him about the job.

Your grandmother nods, reaching out to pat your knee. “I believe you will. But just know… it’s okay to be sad, to be scared. That’s part of loving someone.”

The words resonate with you, and you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

She smiles, a small, sad smile that holds a lifetime of wisdom. “You’ll be alright, my dear. Both of you.”

The days continue to slip by, and as the final weeks approach, your chest constantly feels tight. You try to make yourself feel better by lying in each other’s arms at night, whispering about the future, about the dreams you have, and the plans you’ll make when you’re together again. But still, it’s sad.

—

Your last day creeps up on you like a shadow at dusk—inevitable, inescapable, and suddenly there, looming over everything. You wake up with a rock on your heart, the realization that this is it—your final day on the farm, your last full day with Logan before everything changes.

He is still asleep beside you, holding you close, his face peaceful in the early morning quiet. For a moment, you just watch him, memorizing the lines of his face, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the way his hair falls across his forehead. You want to remember everything, to carry this image of him with you when you leave.

With a soft sigh, you carefully slip out of his embrace, trying not to wake him. You pad quietly to the window, staring out at the familiar landscape that has become so dear to you. The fields, the barn, the trees swaying gently in the breeze—it’s all so beautiful, so full of memories.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you feel the wetness on your cheeks, and you quickly wipe the tears away, not wanting to start the day with sadness. But as you turn back to the bed, you see that Logan is awake, his eyes open and watching you. He doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes says it all—he knows what today means, and he feels it just as deeply as you do.

Wordlessly, you crawl back into bed, curling up against him, and you can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek, grounding you in the moment.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” you whisper back, your voice trembling slightly as you press your face into his chest, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to fall..

You just lie there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the weight of the day pressing down on you both. Eventually, Logan pulls back slightly, his hand cupping your face as he looks into your eyes. “Let’s go to the pond,” he says delicately. “Just you and me.”

You nod, unable to find the words to respond. The pond has always been your special place, a sanctuary where you’ve shared so many intimate moments, where it feels like it all began, and so it’s only right that would spend your last day there, away from everything else, just the two of you.

You decide to walk to the pond. Logan’s hand is warm and solid in yours, and you hold on to it tightly, physically unable to tear yourself from his touch. And when you reach it, a fresh wave of emotion crashes over you.

You and Logan stand at the water’s edge, just staring out into the pond. Then, you turn to him, your eyes filled with tears, and without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close.

The kiss that follows is desperate, full of the need to feel connected, to hold on to each other for as long as you can. It’s not like the slow, sensual lovemaking of the past weeks—this is something desperate. Stumbling back toward the soft grass by the water’s edge, Logan gently lays you down, his hands trembling slightly as he undresses you, tears stinging behind his eyelids. As he moves over you, his body pressing against yours, there’s only this moment.

With his skin against yours, his breath on your neck, your bodies move together. Tears spill from your eyes as you hold him tight, your hands unable to stay still, running over every part of him you can touch, needing to feel him, to anchor yourself. His lips find yours again, and the kiss is deep, full of all the love, all the emotion that neither of you can put into words.

It’s a kiss that says goodbye, that says I love you, that says I’ll wait for you.

After reaching the peak of pleasure, you cling to each other, the tears flowing freely now, a mix of sorrow and love and everything in between.

Logan holds you close, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged, his eyes wet with tears. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’ll always love you.”

“I love you too,” you choke out. “More than anything.”

—

Driving away from the farm was probably the hardest thing you've ever had to do in your entire life. Harder than moving away for university, harder than securing your first full-time job, harder than living alone in a city where you knew no one. This was different—this was leaving behind a piece of your heart, a part of your soul that you knew would never be whole until you returned.

Your hands grip the steering wheel tightly, your knuckles white as you try to focus on the road ahead, but it’s impossible to shake the image that’s burned into your mind—the image of Logan and your grandparents standing on the porch as you drove away. The sight of them, standing there side by side, watching you leave, is something that will haunt you for a long time.

Logan, his stoic expression barely masking the pain in his eyes, his hands clenched at his sides as if holding himself back from running after you. Your grandmother, her face a mixture of sadness and pride, eyes glistening with unshed tears. And your grandfather, standing tall and strong, but with a heaviness in his gaze that spoke of understanding, of experience, of knowing just how hard this had to be.

The tears that had been threatening to fall finally break free, streaming down your face as you drive, blurring your vision and making it hard to see the road ahead. You swipe at them angrily, frustrated with yourself for breaking down like this, but it’s no use. The emotions are too strong, too overwhelming, and soon you’re bawling your eyes out, the sound of your own crying filling the car.

You can barely catch your breath, each sob wracking your body with a force that leaves you feeling drained, exhausted, and utterly broken.

—

The time apart is worse than you ever imagined it would be. In the beginning, you and Logan make every effort to stay in touch. The calls and texts are your lifeline, little threads that keep you connected to the farm, to him, to the life you left behind.

At first, you talk every day. his voice a comfort, a reminder that you’re not alone, that he’s still there, waiting for you. He tells you about his days, about how he still rides the horses every morning, just like he used to when you were there.

But as time goes on, the time between each call grows. Your demanding work schedule, and the unreliable service in the countryside, make it harder and harder to find moments when you’re both free to talk. The texts, once long and filled with details about your lives, become shorter, more practical. You try to stay connected, but the distance feels like a growing chasm between you, one that neither of you can quite figure out how to bridge.

Years pass by in a blur. You have no time to spend at the farm, with it being too far away for just a weekend trip, and other commitments seem to always get in the way.

Then, one day, the call comes—the call you’ve dreaded but somehow always knew would happen. It’s your grandmother, her voice trembling as she tells you that your grandfather has passed away.

You take leave from work immediately, making arrangements to drive back to the farm and spend a night. The funeral is simple, attended by a few close friends and neighbours, but the absence of your grandfather is felt deeply by everyone.

And he’s there too—Logan. He’s standing off to the side, his broad shoulders slightly hunched, his face etched with grief. When your eyes meet, it’s as if no time has passed at all. You walk over to him, and without a word, he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if afraid to let go.

The few years apart, the pain of the distance, all of it melts away in that embrace. You bury your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him that you’ve missed so much, and the tears you thought you had run out of begin to fall.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, everything hitting you at once—the loss of your grandfather, the years you’ve spent apart, the life you could have had together.

He hugs you tighter, his hand gently stroking your hair. “I miss you,” he murmurs thickly. “Every damn day, I miss you.”

You spend the rest of the day together, holding each other, talking, catching up, and remembering your grandfather. Logan tells you about the farm, about how he’s kept things going, but you can hear the weariness in his voice, the toll that time and loneliness have taken on him. It’s clear that the farm hasn’t been the same without you, just as your life hasn’t been the same without him.

Later that evening, after the guests have left and the house has grown quiet, your grandmother pulls you aside. Her eyes are tired, full of sorrow, but there’s a calm acceptance in her expression. “I’ve made a decision,” she says softly, her voice steady. “I’m going to sell the farm.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but before you can protest, she continues. “Not to just anyone,” she adds quickly. “To Logan. He’s been more than just a farmhand, you know that. This place is as much his as it was ours. But… I need to move into permanent care. I can’t manage on my own anymore.”

You nod, understanding but feeling a deep sadness all the same. The farm has been a part of your life for so long, and the thought of it changing hands, even to Logan, feels like another loss. But there’s also a sense of relief, knowing that it will be in good hands, that it will stay in the family, in a way.

That night, you’re tangled in Logan’s arms. Leaving him the next morning is just as hard the second time as it was the first.

—

Five years since that fateful summer have passed, and in that time, your life changes in ways you never expected. You’ve built a successful career, made some amazing friends, travelled the world, but the hustle and bustle of city life has taken its toll. The stress, the strain, the dissatisfaction—it begins to weigh on you more and more.

You make a decision.

You quit your job, find something remote, something that allows you to work from anywhere, as long as you can drive into the city every few weeks to drop off documents. It’s a drastic change, but it’s one you need. You realize that the life you want, the life you’ve been yearning for, isn’t in the city.

It’s back at the farm.

And as you step out of your car, you see him. He’s by the paddock, feeding the horses apples, just like he used to. His back is to you at first, but then he turns, and his eyes meet yours, and time stops.

There’s a lifetime of emotions in that look—love, longing, hope. Most of all, there’s recognition, as if both of you know that this is it, that this is the moment you’ve been waiting for all these years.

So, when you’re finally standing in front of him again, he reaches out, his hand trembling slightly as he cups your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek the same way it did all those years ago.

----

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acepalindrome · 10 months

Text

Alternatives to Squishmallow

So as many of you have probably already heard, Jazwares, the company that produces Squishmallows, is donating to charities that support Israeli soldiers and the IDF. They’re also supporting Canary Mission, which has been doxxing people who speak out against Israel. BDS hasn’t called for a boycott against them, but I can’t in good faith spend my money on their products, and I would strongly encourage everyone who enjoys plushies to really think long and hard about if you want to give your money to a company that’s helping support genocide!

But the holidays are coming up, and lots of us enjoy plushies and were fans of Squishmallow, and were planning to give Squishmallows to friends and family this year.

Fortunately, there are a number of great plushie companies out there, and I want to promote some of my favorites in the hopes that folks will get their plushie fix from a source that doesn’t side with Israel. So without further ado:

Fluffnest

Fluffnest got their start on Kickstarter a few years ago, and I adore the round shapes of their PuffPal plushies! My favorite is Pete the Possum, which is probably the best possum plush I’ve ever seen. I’ve also got a beautiful moth from their Kickstarter and I’ve been wanting their bats for ages. They also recently had a Kickstarter for an Animal Crossing-esque video game featuring their plushie characters and it looks fantastic.

Squishables

I can’t get over the plague doctor plushies. They’re so perfect and cute, and they’ve released other variations of them called Alter Egos, like a ghostly version, an alien, or a really sweet cottagecore one! They’ve got a ton of variety, but what I like the most are the fantasy plushies. There’s a lich! There are dragons and demons! Cryptids! Biblically accurate angels! A lot of really fun stuff!

Also they do a lot of great charity work! Right now they’re doing an auction for the Food Bank of New York City.

AfternoonFika

AfternoonFika is a very small business of only three people, but their plushies are extremely cute. They tend to sell out fast, so I recommend following them on social media to stay on top of any restocks! They recently released a line of dinosaurs that are precious, and of course I love their iconic cactus cat and cinnamon bun bunny.

Jellycat

Jellycat has been around since 1999, so they’re the oldest of these companies. They’ve got great designs, a ton of variety, and a lot of their plushies are made to be cuddled on and not just displayed. All three of my tiny nephews sleep with a different stuffed dog from Jellycat. My mom has a sun and several succulents that she uses as decorations. There’s a little something for everyone who enjoys plushies!

If you have any other favorite companies I haven’t mentioned, feel free to add on! I’ve enjoyed Squishmallows for a while now and I’m sad to see their leadership coming out on the side that’s committing war crimes on a daily basis, but this is a good time to discover new favorite plushie companies! And remember, money speaks loudly. Even if BDS hasn’t called for a boycott of Jazwares, it sends a message when sales start dropping for companies that support genocide. It’s a small thing, but the little things we do can add up!

#squishmallow #squishable #fluffnest #afternoonfika #jellycat #gaza #palestine #long post

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hyper-fixates · 7 days

Text

Time After Time

Logan Howlett/Wolverine x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 15.2k never let me near him again

Tags/warnings: age-gap due to logan’s mutation (reader’s age not specified), mutant!reader, unprotected sex, teasing, friends to lovers, explicit language, dry humping, storm cameos, fluff, domesticity, the claws come out when he’s close (👁️👁️), detailed descriptions & scenes of nightmares/trauma/PTSD/panic attacks, one (1) ass smack, alcohol consumption, vomiting, biting/marking, angst, soft!logan, creampie, groping/touching, use of “baby” once, aftercare, yearning (kindly let me know if anything was missed!).

Summary: 4 times you end up in Logan’s bed, and the 1 time he does something about it.

Notes: this falls somewhere in between “which could mean nothing” and “we can fix each other” 🫡 (written with a mix of X1 & X2 logan!)

Your heart, despite always being alive and beating, sometimes wakes up before you.

You can feel it before your eyes even have a chance to open. It jolts your sleep-ridden body and collapses your lungs without giving your brain a chance to fight against it. Muscles and limbs feel lifeless and detached from your body, shaking from the sleep that your heart knows wasn’t completely dreamless.

You kick the blankets off of yourself and sit up in a panic, trying to regain some control of your sudden erratic breaths while bringing a lethargic hand to your heaving chest in hopes to ground yourself. It never works.

Maybe your ribs are shrinking and squeezing your lungs, making you delirious from the lack of oxygen, but you know that’s not the case. Your heart feels like it’s being squeezed and broken into a million tiny pieces.

No part of your body feels real, yet you keep your hand on your chest as firmly as you can, trying to focus on controlling the pounding of your heart that’s working so hard with each beat that it hurts.

“Fuck. Fuck,” you choke out, feeling the tears finally breach and roll down your cheeks as your nervous system catches up to what’s happening.

Panic. It’s all panic.

You can’t do anything but sit there and let the tears hit the freshly-washed fitted sheet on your bed. So you let it happen. Nothing can stop it.

Trauma is such a fickle thing. One moment you’re fine, and then the next, your heart is screaming at you and forcing your body to process something at 4 a.m. on a random Friday when all you wanted was some goddamn sleep.

There is no choice. Your mind doesn’t give you one.

The tremors subside slowly after a few minutes, giving you the feeling back to your arms and legs, albeit minimal.

You slide to sit at the edge of your bed, resting an elbow on your thigh and setting your chin into your palm with a defeated, yet shaky, huff.

You look to your window and see that the sun hasn’t even started to rise yet. You’ll be up for the rest of the foreseeable morning, but there’s not much to do so early besides wander aimlessly and think…then think some more.

You’re confident the professor isn’t even awake at this hour, which says enough about your state. You would typically go visit Storm for some comfort, but she’s been gone fuck-knows-where with Hank and Scott until Sunday at the latest. Thanks, Charles.

A questionable, and probably manic, decision comes to mind. One that’s only two doors down, one over from Storm.

Your impulsive feet make up your mind for you. The cold hardwood floor shocking you further into consciousness as if your heart didn’t do a good enough job.

You tiptoe a couple steps down the hall, forcing yourself to turn and face the large wooden door when you reach it. You just stand there staring at it, unknocking, analyzing the wood grains, suddenly very interested in what type of wood it is and what stain was used to—

“Uh. Are you okay?”

You refocus your eyes onto the man now standing in front of you in the doorway, adorning a barely-zipped school hoodie and black sweats.

“Huh?” You blink a few times, disoriented.

Logan quirks a brow, looking you up and down cautiously. “Are you okay?” He asks again, offering a look of concern—or maybe confusion—that you haven’t seen often. A look that’s never needed to be directed towards you.

You come back to yourself. “But—I…didn’t knock,” you respond, looking equally as confused as him as you point to the door.

He leans against the edge of the door, face softening. “I could smell you before you passed Storm’s room,” he clarifies, a hint of reluctance in his tone. Oh.

You feel like a child who has just gained awareness, all too conscious of your situation.

“You’re…awake?” Is all you manage despite probably needing to say much more than that to explain just why exactly you’re standing outside Logan’s room at 4 a.m.

“So are you,” he counters with a curious look. “So let me ask again. Are you okay?” He locks his eyes on yours, probably in hopes to understand why the fuck you’re outside his room at 4 a.m.

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” you say, and it’s the truth.

You should probably be embarrassed. You show up at Logan’s door unannounced, dressed in a flimsy shirt and matching sweats—thanks, Charles—that can’t fully hide the remaining quivers throughout your body.

Logan pulls his lips together at your admission. You can almost see the wheels turning in his head trying to figure you out.

“Can’t sleep?” He questions, but he knows he’s right.

“Yeah.” You don’t know why you’re making it Logan’s problem, though. Sure, he happens to be awake, but maybe this is all too personal to push on the guy who’s seemingly all pride and no solicitude most of the time.

It’s not that he’s not a good, nice guy, but you don’t know how you would define your relationship, or lack of.

You know each other well enough from existing in the same space over the past couple months, being part of the same “team”, but it’s nothing to call a close friendship like you and Storm. He’s a bit of a rare species in the mansion, not really lingering around.

He cocks his head in a half shrug, the soft points in his hair broken by sleep shake gently with the movement.

“I don’t think I can help you,” he says wearily. “I’m no better. Clearly.” He gestures between you, drawing attention to the fact that you’re both awake. The helpless cannot help the helpless.

“Oh—no, I’m not looking for help. I think I’m beyond that at this point,” you laugh but stop yourself short when Logan doesn’t follow. Tough crowd.

“I, uh, don’t actually know what I’m looking for,” you offer.

You knit your brows together in thought, still wondering why the fuck you’re here. Comfort? Entertainment? Some other unknown third thing?

“I’m not really used to Storm being gone for so long,” you admit. “I just feel…all over the place, I guess.”

Logan considers your vulnerability for a beat, eyes flicking to yours. “I can hear you sometimes,” he says, a knowing—almost sympathetic—look on his face. “We have the same problem.”

You go cold, any expression you had on your face sliding away. You wish the floor could swallow you right now. You know things have been getting worse recently, but you didn’t think anyone could hear that fact. Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise from someone who could smell you from down the hallway.

He steps back, pulling his door open further. An invitation.

You don’t move right away. Could this be a false awakening? You’re not sure what you expected when you came to his door, but you also didn’t expect him to open it without you knocking, so you have to suspend disbelief for now. You figured he’d offer a few words of advice and dismiss you, or maybe even tell you to fuck off, but he opened his door wider for you. But you didn’t exactly think any of it through in the first place anyway.

You force your feet to carry you into Logan’s room. It’s not much different from yours; scarce belongings, minimal decor, a small work desk, brown curtains that are drawn back, and a bed.

“Were you, uh…sleeping before I came?” You sit on the unmade bed, nothing noticeably different from it compared to yours.

He shuts the door quietly, moving to the small desk across the room and filing some scattered papers together neatly.

“Trying to,” he says, keeping his gaze on the desk.

Fucking duh. “Sorry if I disturbed you,” you wince to yourself.

You see him briefly shake his head at your unnecessary apology. “I had to get up anyway.” His voice is still gravelly from sleep.

It feels like you’re invading his space. But he invited you in. How many others have had the opportunity to be in here? Probably too many. There’s nothing to make this special.

“I’m fucking exhausted,” you sigh, flopping back on his bed defeated. Simply overwhelmed with the uncontrollable repercussions of your mutation.

“Try to sleep. If you want,” he offers, moving to the edge of the bed. “It’s easier said than done, but I have to meet with Charles in an hour.” It’s gruff, but he’s sincere.

Maybe the professor is awake after all.

You roll your head to the side to look at him. Was he really offering for you to stay in his bed?

“Oh, wow…uh, sure.” It comes off as more of a question, but he quirks his brows in acknowledgment, turning back to the desk and collecting a handful of other miscellaneous papers.

“I have to head downstairs and take care of some things. Stay as long as you need,” he says, zipping his sweater the rest of the way up. Thank God in heaven.

A shy “thanks” is all you manage as you situate yourself on the bed.

Is this fucking weird? You could name a handful of others in the mansion right this second that would kill without hesitation to be where you are. They’d probably kill you specifically to get it. It’s not much of a secret that Logan is the subject of almost all students’ desires. He knows it, too.

“See you later,” he adds, his lips forming the slightest hint of a caring smile as he sees himself out. You throw one back before the door clicks shut.

Should you be offended that he didn’t stay? That he left so quickly? No, no, he can’t. He couldn’t. Charles is expecting him. The timing is just horrid. But now you’re just…alone…in Logan’s room, expected to sleep because of a random act of kindness in his heart.

Lying in his bed instead of yours is an odd sensation. The sheets and mattress are exactly the same, the pillows are just as fluffy, yet it feels unalike.

You flop your head on his pillow, tugging the blankets up to your chin. Your fingers graze something by your hip as you settle in, making you push the blanket back down. Leaning over, you see three puncture marks in the mattress, fraying the bedsheet material into feather-soft strands around the deep holes.

Your eyes widen, remembering his words before he invited you in: “We have the same problem.”

Part of your heart fractures for the second time today. Your eyes cross over to the other side of you, seeing a matching set of holes just below the pillow. It’s suddenly easy to understand why no one besides him has been seen coming and going from this room in a while. One day, things just seemed to change.

Maybe his act of kindness was an act of mercy. Trauma will always find you, and it will make sure you feel it until you either destroy it or it destroys you.

Even the Wolverine isn’t an exception.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

The gold liquid is gone from the glass as quickly as it was poured.

Your throat clenches and protests the swallow as you try to suppress the urge to gag. You gently set the shot glass back on the counter, watching Storm chase with a piece of lime that does nothing to help the puckered face she makes from the tequila.

“No more, no more. I can’t.” Your arms anchor you to the counter to stop yourself from swaying too much.

Storm nods, still fighting off the sourness with furrowed brows and a scrunched nose. You giggle at her when she quickly screws the cap back on the bottle, sliding it out of reach.

“You’re a bad influence,” she scolds as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“No—I’m under the influence,” you counter, a playful smile on your lips. “There’s a difference. You still have your own free will.”

Storm rolls her eyes so hard you only see the whites of them. “We have training tomorrow,” she slurs. “Charles will not be happy if we show up half-conscious.” She rounds the counter to you, grabbing your shoulders for stability, and you do the same.

“He’ll be lucky if we show up at all,” you mumble.

The dim kitchen lighting embraces the two of you, the rest of the mansion blanketed in darkness with everyone fast asleep—like you both should be.

You close your eyes with a roll of your neck, more giggles falling through your lips as you clumsily grab onto Storm and rock and sway together for a moment, the alcohol quickly catching up to your motor skills. It feels like you’re spinning through time and space, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel fucking euphoric. At this rate, neither of you will be able to make it back to your rooms.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You lose a bit of your balance as you try to find the resonant voice, eyes shooting open. Storm unintentionally startles and stumbles away from you, white hair also jumping from the excitement.

You grab onto the counter again, sucking in a deep breath. “Fuck, don’t do that,” you growl through your teeth, a hand on your chest as you try to calm yourself.

“Don’t do what? Come to the shared kitchen to grab a drink?” Logan huffs a laugh, an amused smile creeps to his lips as he takes in your drunk and shaken state from the entryway.

“Doesn’t anyone sleep in this place?” He mumbles to himself.

“And with that, I’m done for the night,” Storm chuckles, fixing her hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her eyes lock intensely on yours, index finger firmly poking the middle of your chest to make her point for you to show up to training very clear.

“See you, Logan,” she dismisses, stumbling as she passes him.

Logan shakes his head, still smiling. He steps to the fridge, opening the double doors and plucking a bottle of soda from the bottom shelf. No alcohol is readily available in the communal fridge because, after all, you’re all in a school full of kids, so Storm had to get creative; Scott will be missing a rather large bottle from the now not-so-secret stash in his room.

As the alcohol continues to settle in you, you feel more and more lightheaded as it brings you to a new level of euphoria again. You only know this because watching Logan pop the cap of his drink with mindless ease feels a little more exciting than it would be if you were sober. But you’re not sober, and that’s the problem.

“Not gonna follow Storm?” He asks, taking a generous sip from the bottle as he casually places his free hand on the counter to lean on across from you.

A tight smile forms, mostly to yourself. “I don’t think I can make it down the hall,” you laugh in embarrassment. Maybe that last shot was one too many, and it’s not even fully done working its magic yet.

Logan raises a brow. “Want some help?” There’s no judgement in his tone like you expect. Then again, you don’t know what the fuck to expect from him.

Your already half-closed eyes, blurry and unfocused, meet his hazel ones in interest. Another favour?

It’s been two weeks since he let you sleep off the nightmares in his bed. Two weeks since you learned he’s burdened with them, too. You traced the holes in the mattress over and over before you eventually fell asleep, wondering what—or who—could have hurt him so badly. He plays it off cool; you wouldn’t suspect anything from talking to him. The same could probably be said about you.

“I didn’t know wolverine’s were chivalrous,” you tease.

The yellow hue of the lights dance over the quaffed points in his hair, making them appear sharper than usual. You would never admit it, especially to him, but you adore them. They give him an absurd amount of character that you’d expect a guy like him to not care about.

You’re not exactly complaining about the fitting grey tank-top he has on either.

“Not overly,” he plays along, taking another mouthful of the fizzy drink. “I like to think I’m special,” he says quieter.

“Maybe you are,” you say as you try and straighten yourself to see if you can stand unassisted.

The world tilts as you stand to your full height, eyes rolling into your head from the wave of dizziness. “Wow, okay,” you say to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the spinning. How many shots did you have again?

A warm hand presses between your shoulders. “Woah, nice and easy. Nice and easy.” Logan appears by your side to steady you, other hand grabbing your elbow to pull you straight. You wobble in his grip, letting him guide your useless, alcohol-ridden body.

His hand on your back rubs a few small, comforting circles as you work to regain your bearings. He watches your expressions intently, looking for the right moment to get you moving back to your room safe and sound.

Your arm crosses over your body out of instinct to grab the hand he has on your elbow for extra support.

“Are you okay?” He asks. He seems to ask you that a lot.

You lean into him, your shoulder to his chest, and you can feel the blackout creeping up on you like humidity from a thunderstorm—it’s usually too late to do anything once you notice it.

“I drank a lot,” you laugh deeply, rolling your head onto his shoulder to look up at him.

He looks so much more delicate under the ambient lights—his usual defined features have shifted and melted him into someone that doesn’t look like they should be a feared animal out in the world.

Logan all but cradles you, that same look of concern crossing his features from the night you went to his door. The only difference is that you’ve had a generous amount of tequila—and are currently being kept alert by the hot touch of his hands. That’s new.

“Can you walk?” He holds your squinty eye contact, probably searching for any signs of a coherent thought behind the blissful expression on your face. “Or will I have to carry you?” He muses, a hint of a smile crosses his lips as his hand moves up to gently rub over your shoulders.

Drunk you likes the sound of anything relating to Logan keeping his hands on you right now. You wonder what sober you would think.

“I’m not gonna tell you no, but it feels like I’m floating in a bubble that won’t stop spinning,” you hum as you let the sensation consume your senses. “I might fly away.” You dip your head back off of his shoulder in amusement as you laugh again.

“Yeah, you’re fucked up,” he mumbles lovingly. Just like anyone else who’s concerned for your well-being would.

“Hey, kitty cat—I’m perfectly buzzed,” you emphasize the teasing nickname, narrowing your eyes at him sternly as you bring your gaze back to his in defence.

“‘Kitty cat’? Really?” He snorts. “I think you’re past your bedtime by three drinks,” he remarks back with equal levity.

“Then take me to bed if you’re so concerned,” you sigh dramatically, going limp in his arms to make your point.

Truthfully, you’re probably past your bedtime by five shots. But he doesn’t need to know that. You just know that you can’t control your limbs like you were able to ten minutes ago.

“Maybe I will.” You don’t see it, but he does his quick little eye roll that you’ve seen pointed towards Scott too many times.

He slides the hand on your elbow down to the backs of your knees, pulling you up off the floor and into his chest as you fall into the arm that was rubbing your back.

Oh, so it’s gonna be like that.

An excited—or maybe shocked—noise escapes your mouth as he adjusts you in his arms. You extend your right arm up and over his shoulder to hug his neck and keep yourself stable.

The trip to your room isn’t one that should take long, but each sway from Logan’s steps goes straight to your stomach in waves of queasiness. It feels like forever before you feel him bend awkwardly to turn your doorknob.

You’re fighting to keep yourself conscious the entire time, not wanting to regret missing the feeling of being in his arms.

The room is only lit by the silver moonlight creeping through the window. It’s hard to distinguish anything through your bleary eyes besides Logan’s look of determination to get you in your bed.

He leans down, shuffling you out of his arms and onto the mattress as swiftly as possible. The care of it all pokes at your heart.

He silently goes around each corner of the bed adjusting the blankets. It may be dark, but the moonlight highlights the peaks of his shoulders as he moves. Your eyes might be involuntarily half-shut, but that doesn’t stop you from staring.

You’re now probably no better than every other mutant in this school.

“Logan,” you start before you can fully process the foolish thing you’re about to say next.

He rounds the bed back to the side you’re huddled on, looking down on you. “Yeah?” The subtle jingle of his dog tag pierces the quiet that’s lingering in the room.

You part your lips to speak but the words die in your throat. They’re replaced by a flood of saliva that has you sitting up at a speed that shouldn’t be possible for someone as intoxicated as you. You cover your mouth with your hand, feeling your stomach churning and finally rejecting the tequila.

You suddenly feel very awake.

“Hey, hey.” Logan squats down in front of you with his already permanently-furrowed brows pinched closer together than you’ve ever seen before, a hand coming to your shoulder in concern. “What—”

“Bathroom,” you mumble through your palm, eyes rolling shut at the nausea.

He doesn’t say another word. He pulls you to your feet by your arms, walking behind you fiercely with his hands gripping your shoulders to guide you to the small bathroom across the room.

You push the door open, falling to your knees in the darkness over the toilet as the mistakes from the night expel themselves from your body through rounds of coughing and gagging. He lingers in the doorway, keeping an eye on you but still giving you privacy.

“Fuck,” you cough, resting your warm forehead on your hand as you slump against the toilet. That definitely sobered you up fast.

Exhaustion hits you like a truck. “Logan…” you croak from your crumpled position on the tile floor.

He steps in, bending down again to reach your height. You can barely make out the shadow of him in the fading moonlight.

“Just…help me back to bed,” you groan, reaching for his arm as you use the toilet seat to push yourself the rest of the way up. You stumble against him as you try to make it back through the doorway.

He guides you to the bed the same way he did to the bathroom—steering you from behind.

“I’m gonna get you some water,” he says as you settle back into bed, head hitting the pillow with a quiet thud. “Even though you did this to yourself.”

“Fuck off,” you groan.

You close your eyes, hearing his footsteps fade back toward the bathroom. You hear the tap run for a couple seconds before he’s next to you again, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Drink. All of it,” he says firmly, holding the cup out to you.

You sit back up slowly, no doubt lethargic, an unimpressed look on your face that earns you a raised brow that tells you there’s no room to object.

You finish the cup in four mouthfuls, handing it back to him. “Thanks.”

You fall back onto the pillow, no longer feeling like you’re travelling through space and time.

The clothes you’re in are close enough to pyjamas. There’s no sense in undressing in front of Logan, especially with what you were about to say to him before you were rudely interrupted by the consequences of your own actions.

He returns the cup to the bathroom and you pull the blanket over your waist as you hopefully settle in for the rest of the night. You owe him big time for this. The thought of just how exactly you’ll manage that fills you with anxiety.

You turn on your side, fingers sliding over the mattress with the movement. They graze familiar strands of feather-soft fabric by the pillow.

This is Logan’s room. Are you just that drunk that you couldn’t tell the difference when he brought you in? Or are your rooms just that similar to each other?

You dip a finger in one of the three holes, hearing the bathroom door click shut as Logan makes his way back.

“Why am I in your bed?” You see him rustling through some drawers of clothing by the small desk, but he stops when you finish your question.

“You can’t take care of yourself tonight,” he says. “You’re too drunk.” He pulls the grey tank-top off, stuffing it in one of the drawers and shutting it.

You sit up at that, head still foggy and tipsy, watching him move to the foot of the bed across from you. You try to focus your eyes on anything but his bare chest and the dark hair that adorns it and trails down past the waistband of his sweats. His hair is somehow even more wild from mindlessly pulling the tank-top over his head.

“Ah. I was gonna ask you to stay anyway,” you reveal, almost whispering the bold confession.

You were planning to ask before the tequila decided to make another appearance, but maybe doing it this way isn’t so bad either. He did all the heavy-lifting.

A modest, tight-lipped smile graces his lips. “I think you still have some tequila to sleep off.”

Whether or not you still have some shots in your system, what you feel and want right now is real. It’s not influenced by anything besides some mild andronitis created by the fact that you share a common struggle.

“Is it…safe? To share a bed?” The most coherent thought you’ve had all night makes him stiffen from your sudden nervous tone. Your body could easily replace the mattress and become a new home for the deep punctures.

Your eyelids have been fighting against being pulled shut by alcohol-induced drowsiness, yet your eyes are wider than they’ve been all night in this moment.

You’re sat right in the middle of the bed and Logan comes around to the right, sitting on the edge of the mattress to come down to your level.

“You’re just gonna have to trust me.” His eyes are imploring and apologetic all at once. He understands the prospect of even having you here in the first place.

You nod, sliding over to the left to give him more room.

Logan wouldn’t put you in harms way, you reason with yourself. He wouldn’t risk potentially killing someone, especially a fellow mutant, if he wasn’t absolutely sure of his mental state. But you also don’t really know his demons.

You roll onto your right side, tugging the blanket up to your chin in comfort. “Why haven’t you been given a new mattress?” You ask as he turns to face you in the same position, his half of the blanket resting at his hip.

The bed dips significantly on his side, almost encouraging you to roll over against him.

“Forgot to ask,” he says quietly, running his right hand through his hair to push the shorter strands off his forehead.

From his tone you can decipher that he actually means “can’t be bothered.” It’s a devastating thing to imagine just how many he goes through, anyway. He probably doesn’t see the point in replacing something that will inevitably have the same fate as the others.

There has to be less than an arms length between you two. It’s a surreal situation to be in considering what you thought you knew about him. A recluse. Standoffish. Maybe it’s all a fluke and the alcohol is severely fucking with your perception of what’s actually happening.

“Thanks for everything,” you whisper as if someone else will overhear.

“Get some sleep,” he insists, rolling onto his back. You do the same.

You stare at the blank ceiling for a while, noticing the exact moment Logan falls asleep; his breathing grows slow and his body runs even hotter than before.

You think about how he could wake at any moment, claws accidentally sliding right through your stomach from a nightmare or two. You imagine all the others that have been in your position—if they felt scared, if they even knew.

He asked you to trust him, and that should be enough.

There is a body full of secrets and hurt sleeping undisturbed next to you with the ability to withstand and regenerate from any physical injury, yet there’s something that hasn’t allowed the same to be done for his mind.

━━━━

The bright amber sun hits your closed eyes through the window, making you roll your head away onto the other side of the cool pillow.

You want more sleep. Your head feels like a bag of bricks and your body feels like it got beat with them.

You stretch a leg out, gently grazing something solid with your foot. Your eyes shoot open, the night coming back to you as you drift into consciousness. Logan.

You shoot up, bouncing a little from the momentum.

Logan startles next to you, clearly interrupted from a deep sleep. “What the fuck…” he groans, rubbing a hand over his face, not seeming interested in making a move to sit up with you.

“What time is it?” Your eyes bounce around the room looking for a clock.

He grunts, reaching for a watch on the nightstand. “Seven-forty.”

You needed to be in the Danger Room for 7 o’clock.

“Fuck!” You rip the blanket off, almost tripping as you run to the bathroom.

Logan also wants to roll back over and go back to sleep, but he knows he won’t be able to. He doesn’t work like that. So he just lays there, listening to you swear and make a mess of his bathroom as the clattering of fuck-knows-what fills the room.

The surprise of how well he slept makes him feel uneasy. Although it definitely wasn’t eight hours, it was uninterrupted. He doesn’t want to credit that to you, though. He wants to believe that he’s getting better overall, and maybe he is, so he can’t offer you any flattery in his mind.

Another distant “fuck” escapes the bathroom, pulling him out of his thoughts. You exit a few minutes later, as refreshed and presentable as you could get yourself, and the sight of Logan still in bed makes something in you ache for another moment of feeling him care and tend to you. Maybe that’s your hangover talking.

“Thanks again. I’ll see you around,” you say hurriedly, offering an apologetic smile as you turn the doorknob to leave.

“Good luck with Charles.” It’s a genuine advisory. Fuck. You’ll be so incredibly lucky if he doesn’t give you more than a stern lecture in front of everyone.

You take a deep breath in and slip out of Logan’s room. There’s not a single cut, mark, or scratch on you, just like he promised.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“I was told it’ll take a day to fix,” Storm explains with a shrug. “You’ll have to find somewhere or someone to room with until tomorrow. Jean already offered to have me stay with her.” A contrite look passes over her face.

You stand outside your rooms, staring in at the remnants of the mess caused by two terrakinetic kids fucking around in the courtyard when they weren’t supposed to be. They somehow managed to throw, or launch, sizeable tree branches right through each of your windows. Of course it wasn’t on purpose, but the Danger Room exists for a reason—to avoid mishaps like this.

Shards of glass and fragments of wood splatter your floors. The branches are hanging half-way out both of your windows, caught on the window sills and bobbing in the evening summer wind. The kids are extremely fortunate that neither of you were in your rooms when it happened.

“It’s fine. It’s just one night,” you sigh, rubbing your eyes in frustration. You don’t love how quickly your mind picks out who to go to. It’s already nearing 11 p.m., so you have to work fast.

Storm squeezes your shoulder in comfort. “The living room is always free,” she suggests with a remorseful smile.

But you don’t want the living room. Stiff couches mixed with students clamouring and passing by at the crack of dawn isn’t exactly a recipe for a good nights rest. As if you usually get one, anyway.

“Not a fucking chance,” you laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you say again, dismissing her worries. You wish her goodnight when she steps by you to head towards Jean’s room at the very end of the hall.

You glare at the mess in your room, not daring to step in. The amount of shattered glass everywhere makes the floor look like a body of water from the reflections of the pale moonlight bouncing and refracting off of the jagged shards.

“Fuck,” you spit through your teeth, solely to yourself.

Not even a full week after Logan saw you at your worst, you’re going to go back and ask for the left side of his bed. Shameless.

You don’t have much of a choice; you’re not comfortable having it be anyone else. It’s only because Logan saw you at your worst that you feel he’s the most logical choice. Already having shared a bed with him this week may also have some weight in your decision.

You take the few self-assured steps to his room, once again standing in front of his door. This time you feel more confident in approaching the Wolverine in his den.

You knock three times, the piercing sound echoing through the hall.

“You start to miss me or what?” A bare chest enters your view. You note the dog tag hanging from his neck again before you find his unyielding gaze full of ambiguity, wondering why you’re here. Again.

You blink at him slowly in hilarity. “Ha, funny. Can I stay with you tonight?” You ask flatly, not thrilled with the situation, but not completely displeased with being here now. “My window—”

“I know what happened,” he interrupts. “Figured you’d go for the couch in the living room.” He looks at you more pointedly with teasing suspicion.

“I think you know no one would ever willingly choose to sleep out there,” you reason, running a hand over your face in both shame and defeat.

He makes a face that tells you “touché” and you smirk in satisfaction. “If you don’t mind giving up half of your bed again, I would really appreciate it. I promise I’m not trying to make this a habit,” you sigh. Spending the night in Logan’s bed three times in the past month has to be a record for anyone recently.

“I don’t think it would be a bad habit,” he argues. Oh. “C’mon.” He gives a jerk of his head to allow you in, his tufts of his hair bristling with the quick movement.

“Thanks,” you squeak. He wants you here?

He shuts the door behind you, following you to the bed that’s clearly already had him in it. The blanket rests in waves on the mattress that remind you of just how human Logan is despite his reputation and image.

“Do you have an early morning?” You ask, slipping under the blanket.

“No. Charles was feeling nice for once,” he raises his tone sarcastically to rag on Charles’ judgement, which has clearly been a much needed one before now.

“Not an early bird?” You roll onto your right side like last time, facing him as he settles on his back with a deep breath. The bed sinks in again where he lays, your body wanting to give in to the laws of gravity and fall into him.

“Fuck no,” he laughs lightly, eyes crinkling around the corners. It’s self-deprecating, but it’s still a genuine laugh. The condescension from it lingers in the air, all directed at himself in a way that tells you he’s thinking about how inconceivably fucked up he is.

The last time he had a decent sleep was when you were drunk in his bed a few days ago.

“People like us don’t usually get the pleasure of a full eight hours,” he notes, sliding his gaze to yours for a fraction of a second.

He props an arm behind his head, the other resting on his chest and idly twisting the dog tag between his fingers. You watch the thin piece of steel slide and flip easily, the chain tinkling with every movement.

People like us.

“You mean mutants,” you state. You see his jaw tense in what little light there is from the half-moon tonight.

You see his brows pull together. “Yeah.” He has a point.

You think about the mutants you know, how they all have some horrific story about their gifts or family, or both. How they either were shamed by society or experimented on like rats.

The scenarios are endless. If you can think of it, some mutant has probably lived it.

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. You and Logan are not isolated or special cases, but you’ve already shared a moment of vulnerability with him when you came to his door all those weeks ago seeking solace for the same thing he fights with: the inescapable ability of remembering.

You pull the blanket tighter against you. “I don’t think you’ll hurt me.”

He turns his head to you, confusion written on his face. “What?” He stops toying with the dog tag.

“Your claws. I trust you.” You didn’t feel like you were in immediate danger that first night, but you want to reassure him anyway. Or maybe you’re reassuring yourself.

He hasn’t had to say a single word for you to know his nightmares trigger something instinctive and combative that’s been hardwired into his DNA. In this case, it’s his claws needing to find a home in his mattresses, where another body could potentially lay one night. Like yours is right now.

You noticed the lack of holes in this mattress when you first got to the bed. Maybe you mentioning them last time was enough for him to finally request a new one.

Logan knows he shouldn’t make promises he doesn’t know he’ll be able to keep, but he wants to keep you here tonight, so he improvises. He abandons the dog tag between his fingers completely, turning onto his side and reaching to find your hand under the blanket. You meet him halfway, sliding your fingers between his as your palms lay flat on the bed.

A smile tugs at your lips for a moment. He watches your interlinked fingers, observing the size difference, wondering if he really just did that—and why.

You assume it’s his way of saying “thank you” for your trust when you probably shouldn’t be putting that much into him.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, pulling your fingers out from his just enough to caress the divets between his knuckles that conceal the claws.

He knows what you’re asking. “Every time.” He softly pushes his fingers back into yours, squeezing a little.

There’s a deadly stillness in the room despite his window being cracked. You both know you’re one in the same in a way, and that’s a connection that Logan hasn’t let himself experience. Not everyone likes looking in a mirror.

To be truly seen by someone, wholly, without judgement or fear, is what he deserves.

“What are you?” He asks, rubbing his index finger back and forth along the top of your hand. “Telekinetic? Psychic?” His curious voice grows quiet, hazel eyes fascinated with you and your lack of a physical mutation, at least nothing that he can see.

It never occurred to you that he didn’t know your mutation, or that you’ve never told him. It was never needed, but it seems unfair that you know about his when he wasn’t the one who told you.

“Ha, close.” Your eyes twinkle as you notice how intently he’s listening. “Psychometric,” you correct, watching his forehead crease.

“Sounds like math,” he quips, readjusting his head on the pillow. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he’s putting off.

You laugh quietly. “No, it’s extrasensory perception. It lets me see the history of any object or person I touch, but only if I accept the energy,” you explain.

You watch his eyes narrow and you know what he’s thinking, so you quickly interject as he begins to pull his hand out from yours. “I need to touch a pulse point to be able to see anything,” you reassure, feeling his fingers slide back against yours. “The heart remembers everything,” you clarify.

The catch? The person’s memories and past stay with you after you see them. It’s become hard to distinguish what memories are yours or someone else’s. They all become intertwined. Good or bad, violent or gentle. You see it all, and then it’s part of you. Forever.

“I haven’t looked. I promise.”

“Good. You don’t need to see that shit,” he huffs, eyes wandering over your face. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for, but he’s a little startled for the first time in a while.

“I’m sure I’ve seen it all,” you state. It’s probably not far off from the truth. Your gift came when you were all too young, and plenty of time has passed since then for you to rack up this amount of damage from near-strangers and their lives.

“No, you haven’t.” A sure expression passes over him, shaking his head as best as he can against the pillow.

“Then I’ll count myself lucky,” you say softly. You have no idea what Logan has experienced, but his demeanor makes you want to stay curious. Not everything needs to be known, and you’re definitely not entitled to it.

A faint smile appears on his lips, then it’s gone just as quick. “Get some sleep,” he rasps. He turns onto his back and his hand abandons yours.

It’s a complete repeat of last time.

Something twinges in your heart, and you don’t like it. What exactly had you expected from Logan? He’s just doing you a courtesy by letting you stay here for the night. Nothing more. And that’s what you should expect: nothing.

The hum of crickets outside eventually lulls you into a dead sleep. It’s heavy and deep, not a single muscle twitching in your body. Logan breathes steadily next to you, a hand on his chest as the occasional snore fills the air.

From above you two might look like you’re transient, only here in this moment for a short time. And, realistically, you are.

━━━━

Logan was no where to be seen by the time you woke up, and you made quick work to get out of his room. It always feel wrong to be in someone’s space when they aren’t there.

Just like Storm said, the windows in your rooms were fixed the next day. It looks as though nothing even happened.

“Thank fuck,” you mumble to yourself as you step back into your room.

If you ever have to spend another night in Logan’s bed, you might as well wear a shirt that says “yes, we’re fucking!”, even if it isn’t true. You could deny it all you want, but it won’t stop what students would say. Nothing gets past them, even if it’s behind a closed door.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“Are you fucking Logan?”

You almost swallow your tongue. “Sorry?” Your brows shoot up in surprise, eyes round in disbelief.

“Are you guys sleeping together?” Storm casually asks as she flicks through the T.V. channels, glancing over to you from her spot on the couch.

You’re sat comfortably in an arm chair, suddenly no longer caring what channel she decides on. “Why would you think that?” Technically you were sleeping together, but not like that. It may never happen again, no matter how badly you want it to.

“Things travel fast around here,” she deflects with a cheeky smile. “And, you know, Logan is…Logan.” She shrugs.

You don’t even know what to say to that. Is there a right or wrong answer?

“It wasn’t like that,” you grumble. “He was doing me a favour. As a friend.” It hasn’t even been a full day since he let you stay with him while pieces of your window laid on your floor, and people are already convinced you’re fucking.

You haven’t even managed a chaste kiss, despite how much as you want to, never mind his dick being balls deep in you.

“Right.” She emphasizes the word, not convinced. Or just pushing your buttons because she can.

You roll your eyes. “If anything was happening, you’d be the first to know,” you point out.

She looks back over to you. “I know,” she says with another, more sincere, smile. “You two would be cute, though.”

You give her some side-eye, not quite sure if you disagree entirely with that statement. Whatever happens, happens. Logan is not something you can control or influence. He does what—and who—he wants, when he wants.

━━━━

A bolt of lightening strikes you. You gasp, then release a choked cry, eyes flying open as you claw at your chest in terror.

Your throat tightens and you break out in a cold sweat as you sit up. The soft blanket around you feels constricting. Sporadic and short breaths make you heave as your body registers the horrors in your subconscious.

There was never any lighting. That’s just what the pain feels like.

The muscles in your shoulders and neck tense from your panicked state as your heart struggles to keep a normal rhythm. You yank the blanket off, feeling weak from fear and the onset of tremors. Your whole body gives up on itself as you sob through broken exhales. Your legs have gone cold, lungs shrinking inch by inch with every passing minute.

You crawl to the edge of your bed, wanting to just get out and leave—the blanket. The bed. The room. Most of all, you want to escape your own mind.

You sink onto the floor when a foot touches the ground, and you realize walking isn’t in the cards right now. You’re shaking too badly to be able to physically move. All your strength is gone, robbed by your memories.

Balmy tears paint your face in determination, making sure no part of you is left untouched by this spell.

You screw your eyes shut, tears still slipping out with ease anyway. Leaning your back against the bed-frame, you curl into yourself and wrap your arms around your knees on the chilled hardwood.

You try to focus on your breathing to at least slow your heart down to a pace that doesn’t hurt.

Wounded cries rip their way out of you, interrupting the breaths you try to steady. A hand touches your arm and you yelp like an injured dog, flailing at the contact as your arms swing out from around your knees in shock.

“Hey, hey, it’s me. It’s me.” Strong hands quickly wrap around each of your wrists to stop your arms from thrashing.

You try to focus your eyes, blurred and stinging from tears, on the person kneeling closely in front of you.

“L-Logan…” you whisper, balling your fists to try and expel the shakes.

He looks like someone who shouldn’t be able to be concerned about another person, yet the look on his face scares you. Brows pinched together in worry, eyes frantic, lips parted from heavy breaths. All because of you.

“It’s just me,” he hushes your cries. His thumbs stroke the undersides of your wrists tenderly, no doubt feeling your racing pulse.

You feel disoriented. “Wh…how…”

“I heard you,” he explains, watching you process everything. He drops your wrists when some recognition passes over your face.

“What do you need?” He follows your gaze as it wanders around the room, trying to keep you from spiralling further.

You look at him for a moment. He’s got his white tank-top on, the black sweats, and an intense need to help you written all over him. Fresh tears burn your cheeks as you come back into reality.

“I want it to fucking stop,” you weep, head falling into your hands in shame.

You don’t want him to see you like this, even though it’s a commonality between you two. It’s too intimate. You’d take him seeing you blackout drunk everyday of the year over this.

Then you do remember that it has stopped. Each time in Logan’s bed. There was silence. Peace. For the whole night. For both of you.

“Tell me what you need,” he says firmly, angling his head down to keep your eyes on him, desperately wanting an answer.

“You.” You suck in an agonizing breath to try and collect yourself.

He doesn’t flinch like you expect him to. If anything, his eyes become more pensive, clearly considering something. Then he shakes his head in wariness.

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of here,” he breathes, voice barely above a whisper. The only sound echoing in the room is your wobbly breathes, your body jerking with each one as you enter the aftermath and begin to go slack.

An arm slides behind your back, his hand grabbing ahold of your side while he pulls your legs over his other arm, picking you up off the floor.

He cradles you against him just like he did when you were drunk, carrying you out of your room.

He left your door open when he came in, and you hope no students heard or saw anything. He tilts to grab the doorknob, shutting it without a sound.

You wipe and rub at your eyes as Logan takes a few steps down the hall, quickly getting to where he needs to go when you feel him lean for his doorknob.

You’re sure a few rogue, leftover tears fall onto his shirt before he manages to sit on his bed lightly, you still curled tightly in his arms.

His hand pushes on your back for you to sit upright on his lap. “Face me,” he encourages, holding onto your sides as you twist around, bending your legs to slide over his thighs and straddle him loosely.

You look down at him, he looks up at you, feeling the quivers in your body dissipate as you melt further into his lap. A fondness crosses over both of your tired faces. He rests his arms over your thighs, warm hands linking behind your back as you do the same around his neck.

It’s nothing provocative or seductive. All you can feel is the care and concern rolling off of him in suffocating waves. He wants you to feel safe, and if that means overrunning your senses with his presence, then that’s what he’ll do.

“Got anything to say?” He murmurs, the fallen strands of hair around the edges of his forehead bristle with each move of his head. The rest of his hair fails to fully resemble the cat-like ears he had earlier in the day.

What does he want to hear?

You let your head hang a little, your nose almost brushing his. “I have nothing to say,” you assert, fidgeting with the chain of his dog tag at the nape of his neck.

You don’t necessarily feel embarrassed about him seeing you in such a helpless state, but you don’t want to simply unload your shit on him. So, in turn, you have nothing to say.

“Bullshit.” He almost rolls his eyes. There’s no real threat of him forcing you to say anything behind it. He won’t pry, but he doesn’t believe you.

An offended look overcomes your face, and you almost pull away. You don’t want to feel the humiliation of elaborating on just why exactly you said you needed him in this moment out of everything else.

“I just…” You roll your lips together in thought, measuring the words you could say but won’t. “Want to sleep. Here,” you sigh. “I don’t wanna go back.” You deflate in his arms, voice wobbly.

It’s already who-knows what time, and you need to pacify your wired nervous system; Logan simply holding you has already helped with that more than you want to admit.

His mouth quirks up briefly at that. “What happened to not wanting to make that a habit?” His eyes soften as his arms retract from around your sides, letting you slip easily onto his bed from his lap in a moment of calm, or relief.

Habit, if not resisted, soon becomes necessity.

“Special circumstances,” you reason, already pulling the blanket over you while he keeps his place at the edge of the bed, observing you with amusement.

“Seems like you get into those a lot,” he notes, pushing himself off the mattress.

He steps around to the other side—his designated spot—and slips the tank-top off, letting it drop to the floor. You’re not trying to be a freak, but you watch the whole thing.

The flex of his arms and shoulders are out of your mind as fast as they entered as you watch him hook his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and pull them downright in front of you, not even turning around or to the side to try and conceal himself.

Your eyes widen, then you reel in your thoughts before they get lost at sea. No one who is sane fucking sleeps in sweatpants. Duh.

But didn’t he the last two times? It’s hard for you to remember, but you’d certainly recall if you were face-to-face with the outline of his di—

“It’s rude to stare, y’know.” Logan pulls his lips together, interrupting your thoughts. You try to not eyeball the bulge too hard, but it basically looked at you first.

The snug briefs do little to hide anything. They hide nothing, actually.

You almost scoff, but the playfulness in his tone tells you he couldn’t give a shit. He probably likes it anyway. From what you know, he definitely does.

“Oh, yeah, like you’ve ever cared about modesty,” you throw back, averting your gaze to the ceiling anyway.

It’s not that he runs around the mansion naked, but he definitely isn’t shy about what he looks like or against showing some skin. You’ve seen and heard enough over the past few months.

You hear a stifled chuckle as he joins you under the blanket without a retort. He knows you’re right. He’s just glad you’re a little lively and alert.

“Will you be okay for the rest of the night?” He brings both hands behind his head on the pillow, propping himself up a little.

“I should be fine,” you say confidently. “The challenge will be getting back to sleep.” You laugh in exasperation.

It’s always hard to calm down and get back to a place of tranquility after everything has settled with your mind. You’re pumped full of adrenaline and there’s not much that can curb something that persistent flowing through your body.

You haven’t found anything to help with it. Yet.

“There’s not many people that’ll understand what you go through,” he starts, voice rough with fatigue. “But I do.”

You look to him, sliding an arm under your pillow as you turn on your side. “How do you…help it.” You’re not sure if you phrased that right. It feels crude to reduce something so complex to the likes of a common cold that has an array of over-the-counter solutions.

“You don’t. It just has to run its course.” He looks to you, wanting to see your reaction.

It wasn’t meant to be hurtful or insensitive, but he’s not going to lie to you and say that things can only get better and that the worst is over. Especially for mutants, that’s not always true.

Although you don’t know what Logan lives with every day and sleeps with every night, you do know that his capacity for empathy is still intact. Here you are in his bed after all, seeing and indulging in a side of him that many never will.

You sigh lightly. “We’re quite the pair.”

A comfortable half-smirk slips over his lips. “I think we’re just fucked up insomniacs,” he suggests with a breathy exhale that’s close enough to a laugh.

You wish you could slide a thumb over the pulse in his wrist and see what’s haunting him, just to understand what happened to the Wolverine, but you’ve learned that doing so usually isn’t worth the price you’ll pay after. If what’s in his head is horrific enough to cause him to go through a couple mattresses a month, then it won’t do you any good either.

“I sleep pretty good with you,” you offer, seeing how he raises a brow in doubt almost instantly.

He sleeps well with you, too. It kind of rattled him when he noticed a pattern of uninterrupted nights and you being by his side. Not a single mattress ruined on those nights.

“Try not to knee me in the stomach tonight,” he deflects with ease. He takes his hands out from behind his head, sliding his left arm under the pillow as he turns over onto his side and closes his eyes. Facing you.

You mentally smack yourself. Multiple times. You didn’t think you drifted that much when you slept.

“No promises,” you mutter. You catch a small shake of his head before you let yourself join him in unconsciousness as you mirror each others lonely bodies.

━━━━

Your eyes ache—to open, to move, to touch. Enough crying will do that to you.Your eyelids are heavy, but there’s something else weighing down on you.

A tired groan crawls from your throat as you try to place yourself for a moment. The morning sun is just beginning to shine too brightly for your liking, and you squish your face deeper into the pillow.

You’re still tipsy with sleep, lying flat on your stomach, but there’s something dense and hot resting over your back.

You prop yourself up on your forearms, giving yourself a minute to wake up. You twist your hips around to sit yourself up, feeling the thing on your back slide down to your waist.

The blanket pools around your hips, and you feel a hand reflexively squeeze over the meat of your hip in disapproval of your moving. Something in you clenches at the sensation of something invading the area with ease. A spot reserved for intimacy.

Your head quirks to your right, seeing Logan on his stomach with his right arm thrown over your midsection.

You blink in surprise, staring at his sleeping body. His hair is sticking up every which way, his head half-off the pillow, his side of the blanket not even covering the curve of his ass anymore. It’s endearing to see the Wolverine in such a normal, human state.

But if someone were to walk in, it would look like you two spent the whole night fucking. A lot. That wakes you up a little more.

You peek over at the nightstand behind him and see the time blinking on his watch. It’s already 8 a.m.

You rest a hand over his shoulder to gently guide his arm off of you, but you stop yourself. Instead, you lightly trace your fingers down his shoulders and upper back a couple times, occasionally scratching softly over the ridges of muscle.

A shiver quickly rolls through his upper body, but your touch doesn’t fully wake him. He knows it’s just you.

It’s the least you can do for him as a thanks for recovering your broken body from the floor of your room and bringing you here when he didn’t necessarily have to.

It almost feels like instinct to offer comforting gestures to him. There’s something inside you that just pulls to him. You want to be the one that can give him comfort and help him put himself back together.

You want to be the only one.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

There’s a shadow that’s been following you around the mansion.

As soon as you stepped out of Logan’s room that morning a few days ago, it started.

This shadow likes to be nosy about what you’re doing. This shadow likes to be in your space. This shadow wants to be in your space. And he is.

No one has seen Logan out around the mansion this much, including you, and that’s how you noticed he’s basically been attached to your hip ever since he decided your back was a comfortable armrest.

He’s always just there, like a stray cat begging for food or affection. There to entertain you, banter with you, indulge you, in any way he can, including now as you trail back inside the mansion well behind Storm from an evening walkabout in the garden.

“No smoking in the courtyard,” you sing as you pass him carelessly, not even offering a glance to him in interest.

You like playing this game. Whatever it is. Constantly poking and prodding at each other to see what you can do to get the other to break in some way, no matter how slight.

Your heart flutters and flips every time; maybe from the thrill of it all, maybe from the arousal you get from the tension. You hope he feels everything, too.

He turns his head to watch you cross into the entryway. “Blow me,” he throws back playfully through a thick puff of smoke, leaning against the brick wall with a cigar pinched between two fingers.

You suppress a chuckle, keeping your unwavering pace. “Yeah, you wish!” You yell over your shoulder. You know he hears you. He wouldn’t let himself miss it.

Logan smirks and shakes his head in amusement, always impressed with your quick rebuttals that occasionally tent his jeans. He takes one last drag out of spite before following your footsteps inside.

You have become, by definition, friends…in a way. Even if you sorely cross the line into other territory more often than not. Sexual innuendos and friendly flirting can only go on for so long before the underlying intentions and meaning reflects real desires.

It’s evolved into more than just borrowing his bed a couple times or helping each other out. It’s surpassed the fear of whatever habit you were afraid of forming from doing so. It’s become a dependency to get that adrenaline high from simply riling each other up.

You have an assumption that if you were to end up in Logan’s bed again, somehow, there will be a point of no return that you’ll be faced with. There aren’t many more excuses that can be used for explaining to yourselves why you’re together in bed before you have to recognize the truth.

That platonic line is being stretched too thin, and you’re not sure how much farther it can go.

━━━━ ● ━━━━

“How’ve you been sleeping?”

“Fine. You?”

“Could be better.” Logan hides his smirk, but you can hear it in his voice.

You narrow your eyes skeptically as he fishes around in the fruit bowl sitting in the middle of the kitchen island.

“How so?” You ask. Your legs swing leisurely as you sit upon the chilled countertop on his left, idly waiting for Storm to show up and go with you to training.

A smug, tight-lipped grin flashes across his face, a green apple rolling around in his palms before he puts it back. “You could be there,” he provokes, his eyes bright.

It’s your turn to raise a brow at him, but you can’t stop your smile. “Oh?”

He turns to you, tenderly grabbing the tops of your thighs and parting them slightly to stand between your legs.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and he knows it rouses you in all the right ways. But, neither of you will do anything about it. Not even a brief kiss.

“Come on,” he goads, planting his hands down next to your hips, bringing himself in closer as he bears his weight on his arms. “You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.” He sways his head side to side to emphasize his point.

Fuck. That’s good.

That may be exactly what you did for him, but it’s now a figure of speech for something else entirely. It’s almost impossible to argue against either way, as if you want to. This is what you’ve been patiently waiting for.

You put your hands over his as you lean back a little to put some distance between you. “How sweet,” you hum.

His eyes flick from yours to your lips one too many times before you continue. “You start to miss me?” You tease as you lean forward again, echoing what he said to you the night your window got smashed in.

“Smart-ass,” he mutters as you laugh quietly. The tips of your noses barely graze each other as he steps in closer again. You’re almost at the same height like this.

“Save me the left side,” you advise, bringing your hands to his shoulders as you fondle his white t-shirt between your fingers. You’re so close, and he’s already so warm against you just like this.

“Always do.”

━━━━

You want to rip your heart out of your chest from how hard it’s pounding against your ribs. It’s almost throwing you forward with each heavy beat.

Three resounding knocks fill the hallway as you shuffle on your feet, waiting for Logan to open the door.

It feels like you’re doing something bad. Something parents would warn their kids against. Something greatly envied.

Everything inside you feels on fire. Your thoughts, desires, anxiety, all jumbling together into one distorted state of mind and body.

“Ah, welcome back.” His sarcastic tone makes your face go hot. A satisfied smirk crosses his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy, unstyled hair.

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Knock it off.” You gently shove at his bare chest. Misbehaviour already. But are you really surprised?

Logan grabs your wrist, delicately guiding you into his room. “You enjoy it,” he says lowly, quickly shutting the door as soon as you’re in.

“Maybe,” you hum in response, pulling away from his grasp and seeking out your side of the bed. Logan follows closely behind, giving your ass a light smack in encouragement before he cuts away to his side while you jolt in shock, a stunned look on your face as you whip your head around to him across the bed.

“Oh, really?” You scoff. He’s biting back a smile, not moving until he knows what you’ll do next. He’s never gone that far before.

“I’m sorry, that was rude—how can I make it up to you?” He almost chokes on a laugh, pulling his dog tag back and forth along the chain while he considers you.

This Logan is very different from the one you were met with the first night he let you in his space. This one is attentive and exuberant, yet he hasn’t given you much up until this point right now. You’ve gotten way too comfortable with him without even doing anything to you.

In this moment, he isn’t the brooding, animalistic Wolverine many see him as. He’s just Logan—for you.

You watch him carefully, easing yourself onto the bed. “Get in the fucking bed,” you slap his side of the mattress with a thump of your palm. “And do what you promised earlier,” you stare pointedly at him.

He owes you that “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” favour he decided to pull out to get you here.

“Mm, alright, alright,” he surrenders, a look of amusement still on his face as he kneels onto the bed. “I thought of a pretty good idea for it,” he says softly, crawling to sit next to you on top of the blanket as the bed-frame creaks with the added weight.

Your shoulders almost brush against each other. You shift, turning your body fully toward him. “Oh? Wh—woah!”

You squeal when his strong hands latch onto your sides, lifting you just enough to pull you over his legs to plant you on his lap. He leans back against the headboard, pulling on your thighs so you straddle him tightly.

He looks devilish when you catch his gaze again, and you know what’s coming. What’s been coming. Your hands find their places on his shoulders, warm and taut, as his hands hold your hips.

The bond between you will culminate tonight. It will be wrapped in a blanket and trapped between two alike souls that lie heart-to-heart in the dead of night. It will be perpetual.

The heat of him between your legs makes you restless. It’s just you, him, and the darkness in the quiet room you’ve become too familiar with.

“Logan…” you trail off bashfully when you feel something firm through his sweats poke against your cunt. It clearly doesn’t take much to excite him.

“Hm?” He takes you in for a split second, hands running from your hips up to your chest leisurely with a sharp inhale, not yet completely bothered by the fact that you have a shirt on.

You suck in a shaky breath when your hips accidentally shift over his bulge from his hands pushing and pulling over you.

“What’s the idea?” Your voice wavers.

You know what it is. He knows that. You just want to hear him say it and fill the silence.

“Something I’ve wanted for a while,” he murmurs, eyes hyper-focused on you.

Your fingers dance their way to the sides of his neck, brushing along the supple skin while you feel muscles and tendons flex with every slight movement. You subtly press the pad of your index finger against the pulse point right under his jaw, just to ground yourself and truly feel that Logan is there in front of you.

His pulse is steady but hard, much like yours, and the prickle of energy festering against the finger almost makes it go numb from not accepting it into your body.

“Show me, then.” You smile sweetly, leaning in closer while you tilt his head up with the hand under his jaw, your finger slipping from his pulse and caressing over the dense, coarse hair along his cheek.

Your noses bump while your lips part in anticipation. His eyes flutter as he falls into you and frantically claims your mouth in an unbreakable kiss.

The first kiss. Nothing could tear him from you in this moment.

Your hands cradle his cheeks, keeping him from pulling off too far. His hands scratch and paw at your back, trying to find a way to somehow get you closer against him.

It’s all a little messy, your lips mostly just mashing together without any rhyme or reason, but neither of you care. You only care about how electrifying it feels to finally have Logan and feel how perfectly connected you are together after all these nights. You go together like a key and its lock.

“Logan,” you pant when his mouth releases yours for a fraction of a breath. The seconds between kisses dwindle the more you take from each other.

Your thighs tense as he pulls half an inch away just to reconnect more crazed as his lips lock over your bottom one aimlessly. Something deep inside you trembles and aches.

He grunts, accidentally sucking the tip of your tongue briefly before slotting his lips back over yours in an apology. “Hold on,” he mumbles in a rush against your parted lips. He knows what you’re asking—or trying to ask. He snakes an arm up along your spine and wraps the other around your waist.

Then the world is tilting.

He drops you on your back on the bed from his lap, hovering over you as he distracts you with harsh but pleasing kisses and wet bites along your neck, settling his hips heavily between your thighs. You squirm and feel how bolts of arousal are making your cunt pulse involuntarily.

Logan groans. “Fuck—I can smell it. I smell you.” He slowly grinds his hips into yours almost reflexively. He squeezes his eyes shut, and you tip your chin up to press a chaste kiss to his slick lips.

“Taste…if you want to,” you propose, lightly scratching up and down his shoulders and arms, only enough to leave faint red lines for a couple seconds.

Logan’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head before he gives it a small shake, a conflicted look overtaking his face. “Of course I fucking want to, but—fuck—next time. I promise.” He swallows whatever you were going to say with a deep kiss that has you nearly shaking when he sucks on your bottom lip.

“Let’s just take things easy,” he says roughly, bearing his weight on his left arm while he tries to get your sleep shorts and underwear off.

A promise of a next time makes your brain go fuzzy like static.

“I’ll hold you to it, then,” you resolve, lifting your hips as much as you can for him to lean back and pull away to wrestle your clothes the rest of the way down your legs, discarding them just as quickly.

“I hope you will,” he breathes through a small laugh as he shuffles on his knees. He doesn’t want to completely overwhelm you and scare you off, he just wants to enjoy you in a simple way that won’t entirely ruin you for tomorrow.

He doesn’t know what you can or cannot handle, but he’s going to find out.

The fresh air in the room brushes cooly against your wet cunt. It’s a nice contrast to how fiery your whole body feels, but Logan feels even warmer than you somehow. Maybe wolverine’s just run hot.

His sweats have ridden down his hips from his desperate grinding against you, and the dangerous cut of his v-line grows more and more narrow as the waistband teases the reveal of what’s underneath.

You watch him—palming his dick once as your knees sway side-to-side in waiting. His thumbs hook under the stretchy fabric, working what remains of his clothes down his sturdy thighs.

“It’s rude to stare.” He pops a brow, a smug, arrogant grin quirking his lips.

You push yourself to sit up, considerably shorter than him in this position as he stands on his knees, and walk two fingers up his toned stomach to his chest, avoiding the hard cock between you.

He looks at you with curiosity until your hand grabs his dog tag in a fist, pulling it towards you. “Then stop showing me your dick,” you say as he leans in to your pulling a little to not have the chain break away.

You knew the night Logan dropped his pants in front of you and let you eye-up his bulge would come back to haunt you. But it’s alluring. Big. Curves a little to the left, barely noticeable. A respectable amount of hair decorates the space between his bellybutton and the base of his cock.

He gives in to the tension on the chain, falling back to the mattress with you and trapping you between his arms as his cock rests heavy on your clit.

“How about I find somewhere to put it?” His smile pushes a whole new wave of arousal from you.

“It would be a damn shame if you didn’t,” you say against his mouth, giving your hips a roll just to tease him before hugging his waist tightly with your knees.

“Good.” He gives you a strong kiss with a small grunt, running his hands over your sides under your shirt. The movement pushes it up, up, up, until you have no choice but to stretch your arms out above you and let him slide it off between more thoughtless kisses, leaving you entirely bare.

He lets you breathe for a moment, dipping his head to bite and suck marks along your collarbones messily. You squeeze around his hips harder, trying to get him to give you something other than his scratchy cheeks rubbing against your skin and the chilled steel of the dog tag dragging over your chest.

The tip of his cock falls and catches over your clit when he moves lower, licking and sucking over your chest like a starved animal finding food for the first time in a week. You gasp from the mixed sensations.

“C’mon, kitty cat, you can do all this while inside m-me,” you say breathily, fingers digging into his shoulders to stop yourself from trembling too much.

Logan bites over a nipple before pulling himself back up to look at you. “Is that a promise?” He says lowly, that stupid smirk gracing his face again.

“Try it and find out,” you demand, enjoying the sting of the deeper bites blooming on your torso.

He purses his lips, shifting his weight back onto his knees to grab ahold of his cock to angle and guide it in.

“Hm, guess no lube is needed,” he muses when he gets a look at your cunt, sparing you a glance through his lashes.

You roll your eyes shut when your whole body lights up red-hot. “Jesus fucking Christ, Logan,” you slap a hand over your eyes as you grimace. You don’t want to be that aware of your naked self right now.

He suppresses whatever expression was about to cross his face when his cock notches itself between your soaked folds, teasing your hole with the blunt tip. His brows pinch together and you forget the embarrassment from his crude remark.

But he leaves his cock like that, on the precipice of sliding the rest of the way in with a snap of his hips. Instead, he carefully uncurls his upper body to crawl his way back up to you while holding his hips deathly still.

“Alright, stay with me,” he whispers against your neck when you moan, pressing a tender kiss to your rabid pulse in reassurance.

“O-okay,” you sigh, running a hand through his hair and tugging at the roots while the other squeezes around his arm as best as it can. You’re not even really sure what he’s saying.

He kisses up your cheek and over to your lips again. You try to keep up with his quick mouth, licking and sucking whatever part you can get ahold of, but you’ve become lost in the feeling of him all over you.

He’s in your mouth, on your chest, against your stomach, nudging your cunt. Everywhere.

He slips his tongue over yours, securing your lips together at the same time he pushes his cock in halfway. Now you understand what he was saying.

The lightheadedness from being filled, even just a bit, almost makes you lose yourself. The stretch makes your stomach drop, your legs shake, and your mouth fall open with a whine.

“A-ah—fuck. Fuck, Logan,” you whimper, fisting his hair with both hands to stop yourself from falling apart.

He groans, either at the grip you have on his hair or how good your cunt feels already, and runs a hand up your left thigh in comfort as you squeeze around his hips tighter to draw him in.

“Just a bit more,” he soothes, trying to resist the urge to slide into you in one fell swoop. It would be so easy to just let his hips fall into yours and fill your cunt.

Another heated kiss, another few inches. He works his cock into you the rest of the way with ease. You guess the lube thing wasn’t really a joke. His hungry, needy kisses may have also helped with that.

You choke on your gasps, not wanting to get too loud, and Logan does the same. He tries to muffle both of your moans with his mouth, attempting to form complete kisses, but it just turns into you panting against each other as he finally bottoms out, hitting his end.

Your legs relax around his waist as he deftly rocks his hips in small thrusts to get you familiar with his size, his small grunts filling the air each time you swallow him whole.

You let out a deep breath, dropping your hands back to his tense shoulders. He lines your jaw with soft kisses, fisting the blanket in his hands beside your head.

“Fuck. Already feels too good,” he moans, pressing into you harder and unintentionally rubbing himself over your tender clit.

You smile, squirming while he works down your neck again. “Best of luck,” you huff, amused at the fact that he might not last as long as he wants to.

He brings his face back to yours, a completely blissful expression controlling his features, but there’s still some mischief in his hazel eyes. “Oh? Yeah?”

You hold each other’s gaze, both equally dazed and overwhelmed, and he draws his hips back and pushes into your wet cunt with a complete, strong thrust. The sound of his pelvis hitting against the backs of your thighs makes him laugh in pleasure and satisfaction when you instantly roll your eyes and head back.

Your cunt quivers, gripping him tight, and then it’s Logan’s turn to lose composure. He drops his head to your chest, managing a few deep breaths as he slowly pulls out halfway just to push right back into you, over and over.

It’s a pace that isn’t quite pure, mindless fucking, but it’s also not somewhere near earnest love-making. It’s something that feels specifically curated for you. Something that feels measured and sincere.

The strength of his thighs hitting against yours pushes you up the mattress a few inches, and you don’t know whether to gasp or moan. He reaches somewhere deep inside you, and you know he can feel that, too.

A helpless groan slips through Logan’s lips. “Where have you fucking been, huh?” He muses through shaky breaths, the determined plunge of his cock hitting something that makes your muscles tense throughout your body.

Your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, keeping him close. “Two doors down,” you giggle, understanding that’s not quite what he was asking.

“Fucking smart-ass,” he grumbles, silencing any further rebuttals with a wet kiss. You don’t think you could manage much more of a conversation even if you wanted to.

The silence is quickly filled with obscene sounds that only seem to leave you wetter and Logan throbbing. You can hear your bodies connecting through your gasping for air and his choked moans, and you can feel the mess you’re making all over him. It’s smeared along the inside of your thighs from how deep he’s been hitting. The squelching only seems to make him fuck into you harder.

Something inside you starts to grow tight and wind up in your core, making you repeatedly clench around him while his cock strokes all the right spots inside you as he makes sure he’s fucking himself in to the base. He doesn’t deprive you of anything.

He drops his head to your neck, wedging his face in to latch onto the spot right where your neck starts to slope into your shoulder. The dense muscle there gives him something to basically chew on, sinking his teeth in as deep as he can without drawing blood.

“H-hah, Logan,” you whine, tilting your head into the side of his and squirming from the pleasant sting.

You feel his arm move beside you, then you hear the sound of tearing fabric as he gives a particularly brutal snap of his hips, followed by a deep groan against your skin.

You can barely form any thoughts, but you can guess what just happened. If he pulled his hand back, three long, slim holes would probably be where his knuckles are right now.

“Fu-uck, Logan, you just got t-this mattress,” you laugh a little, your words choppy from how hard he’s driving into you now.

He draws back from your neck, seeing your half-lidded eyes trying to focus on him. “Can’t always control it,” he reasons, giving you two short, fleeting kisses as you hear his claws retract from the innocent mattress.

You see the double-edged sword. You can guess that that’s the same explanation he would probably use for the nightmares. It can go either way, and now you’ve seen both sides.

“It’s okay,” you say in a hushed tone. You cradle his face, and he rests his forehead against yours. “Keep going…keep going,” you coax, face scrunching from your nearing orgasm.

You can feel it in your toes, your stomach, your shoulders—you’re tightening up everywhere, and he can undoubtedly feel it in your cunt as you pulse around him. It grips him just right for a couple seconds before relaxing completely and leaving him to chase for more.

“Keep squeezing me like that and you’ll get whatever you want,” he offers, fighting to maintain his steady pace for both your sakes.

You almost whine, knowing whatever your body does is beyond your control at this point.

“Just—inside.” You can’t even string together a full sentence anymore, but the urgency and stress on the last word makes Logan’s ears perk up.

He presses a soft kiss to your clammy forehead in acknowledgment, the muscles in his arms straining and flexing as he grabs ahold of his own orgasm after a particularly inviting flutter of your walls.

You’re both walking the line, teetering on the edge of utter euphoria, and you know nothing will be the same after. You don’t want it to be. You hope it isn’t.

He reaches an arm back, sliding his hand up your thigh again and slotting it behind the bend in your knee. He pushes forward—only slightly—bringing your leg closer to your stomach to stretch you open for him.

His cock brushes over something new. Something that makes you bite your tongue. The angle lets him fit perfectly against you, not hindered by the flesh of your thigh stopping his hips.

You want to cry from how good it all feels. You want to be suspended in this feeling forever. You want Logan to—

“Focus, baby. Focus on me,” he coos, bringing you back to reality. He holds the side of your head with his other hand affectionately. “Come on…come on, I know you’re almost there,” he encourages with a quick kiss that goes straight to your stomach.

The burn in your thigh from the stretch can’t overpower the sparks of your orgasm, and Logan just fanned the flames with a few little words.

You come with a broken sob, convulsing around his cock while he fucks you through it, submitting to his own orgasm only seconds after with deep, shaky breaths as he empties himself inside your cunt.

He doesn’t pull out or pull away. He relaxes on top of you, sweaty and sticky with cum, and he places the barest whisper of a kiss on your chin, your parted lips, your nose, and then your forehead.

Your ears ring from your orgasm, eyes still slightly out of focus. Your body trembles from your muscles finally releasing the tension they’ve been caught up in.

You desperately suck in air, trying to calm your pounding heart, and you just lie there and let Logan walk your body through a cool-down. Soft kisses. Soft touches. Soft looks. Between sweat, cum, and whatever else.

He rocks a little on his knees, weak from his release, and carefully pulls out of you with a huff as he caresses your stomach and thighs appreciatively to wind you down. You get a good look at him. Not a scratch. His hair tells a story, though—one where he’s completely possessed by bliss.

You probably look like you survived an animal attack.

“Are we even?” Logan says through a kiss against your stomach.

A mindless laugh crawls from your throat, caught up in the feeling of his hands rubbing circles over your hips. “I think I still owe you,” you argue, resting your hands over his as they travel smoothly up your side.

You’ll find a way to make everything up to him. Including the sex. The scale is now tipping to his side too much. All the nights spent in his bed, what he’s done for you, what you’ve done for each other, may just be immeasurable, but that won’t stop you from finding a way to get him back for it all.

“We’ll figure it out,” he mumbles, snaking back up your body and pressing himself against you. Face-to-face. Chest-to-chest.

You mindfully run your hands over the sides of his head, trying to tame his hair and style it back to how it was earlier in the night. It doesn’t work. He enjoys it anyway.

“Do I have the pleasure of staying here tonight?” You ask rhetorically, enjoying the warmth of him on top of you against the brisk air creeping in from the cracked window.

Logan blinks. “You can stay every night.”

A loving smile springs over your face. This may be the beginning of the end to your troubles and worries.

You—maybe foolishly—trust him. You trust that he won’t accidentally bury his claws in your side during the night, but you’ve had impressive luck with that up until this point. The only thing you can do now is continue to push that luck.

Healing isn’t linear, and you can’t expect someone to fix you, but everyone finds their thing at some point.

You slither your hand down to his neck, index finger grazing over his pulse again. You feel the energy biting against you.

Your lips graze over his, tempting him to give you a slow, deep kiss. “Can I have the left side?” Rhetorical, again.

Logan chuckles against your mouth. “Always.”

#did my best to appease readers from the criticism i’ve seen about logan fics so. lol #logan howlett x you #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #xmen x reader #xmen x you #xmen smut #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman x you #marvel smut #the wolverine x reader #x men x reader #logan howlett fluff #wolverine fanfiction

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inbabylontheywept · 23 days

Text

she was dead silent on the drive home, but that was okay. sometimes, after band practice, she was just out of words. it was a short drive to her house. the only part where it actually felt weird was after i pulled up her parent’s driveway.

after that, the silence stretched so far it smeared and left a weird residue. she kept looking at the car door like she wanted to leave, so i looked at the door too, then she looked at me, and i looked at her, and my first thought was that she was going to tell me that the door was stuck. i was used to that car always doing some damn thing. it was the car me and all my siblings had learned to drive in, and it was really beat to hell. there were dents all over the body, which we’d unsuccessfully tried fixing up with spackle. it had looked nice for maybe a week, but then the sun wrecked it - the spackle cracked up like the mud on the bottom of a dry riverbed and turned a sort of off yellow-white that made the car looked like it had been molded out of chicken shit. it also had a bullet hole it through the cabin that whistled like a toothless old man whenever the car went above 40, so loud it could drown out the radio, and a cabin that smelled so strongly of bugspray that even the arizona summer we drove everywhere we could with the windows down.

(if you have kids one day, you will maybe, possibly, begin to understand how much i loved that car.)

anyway, i was thinking about what else could possibly be wrong with the chickenshitmobile, and she just kept looking at me, and then i wondered if there was something on my face, and she just kept looking at me, and then the penny dropped and i realized she was trying to work up the nerve to break up with me.

now, i’d seen her work up the nerve to do things like this before – it could take quite a while. and knowing it was about to happen made the waiting immediately unbearable.

so i said hey.

and she looked at me, very startled, and said hey back real small. like she’d been caught. and in a way, i suppose she had.

and i said it’s okay. you can just say it. i’ll be okay.

i’m always okay.

and she said: i’m really sorry.

i loved her, you know? it was highschool, but teenagers are capable of love. the way people love changes over time just as much as the way they stand, or the way they talk, but things don’t stop existing just because they're different. opposite really – a thing only stops changing when it's fully gone.

and i said, nothing to be sorry for, and i meant it. she looked a little relived, and i was happy to give her that peace. then she left. i watched her make it through the front door, because that was just habit at that point, and then i sat there a while afterwards, checking how i felt. and the answer was not good, but good enough to make it home. good enough to limp on.

so i put my car in reverse, took my last look goodbye, and immediately backed into her neighbor’s car.

crunch.

air bags didn't go off, which was good. i left a decent dent in the bumper of the other car. genuinely couldn’t tell if i did anything to my car – anything wrong with it just kind of blended together into the general ecosystem of hand mottled, sun cracked, chickenshit spackle.

i checked my glove box, and my car insurance info was, of course, out of date. my phone was dead too. as a teenager, my phone was less my lifeline to my friends, and more my tether to my parents, so i wasn’t particularly conscious of keeping it charged. both my fault.

i sat there a few minutes, trying to think of the best way to handle things, and there was only one answer i could think of, and i hated that answer, so i spent a few more minutes trying and failing to think of a better one, and then a few more coming to peace with what had to be done.

then i went back to knock on my now ex’s front door.

her dad opened, which i was very relieved over, even if he seemed less than thrilled. he looked me over, and in a firm, but slightly apologetic way said: she does not want to see you right now.

(i think he assumed i was going to try and talk her out of the break up?)

and i said not here for her. i just backed into your neighbor’s car, and i need to call my dad, but my phone’s dead. could i borrow yours?

and he looked at me, then back at his neighbors car, which sure enough was dented, then he looked at the chickenshitmobile, and if there was something wrong with it, it just kind of blended into the general Wrongness of the car, then back to me, and i could see him imagining the last ten minutes from my pov: getting broken up with, backing into a car, having to walk up to your exes door and borrow a phone, calling my dad to tell him that i just reversed into someone.

and his expression shifted from stern and apologetic to truly sad, which felt more kind that i deserved. things only got here because i kept fucking up - forgot to look behind me, forgot to replace the insurance forms, forgot to charge my phone. it was my mess, but his sympathy meant the world to me. i probably would’ve cried if he said sorry, or patted me on the back or called me sport, but instead he said

stay out here – i’ll bring you a phone.

and then he left.

i found a nice spot on the lawn in the shade under a sycamore, then settled into his grass.i was trying not to freak out, and was doing an okay job. he came out a minute or so later, not just with a phone, but a juicebox and a jar of green olives, which really threw a wrench in the whole try not to cry thing. soon as i saw those, a few tears squoze out. i was still hoping i could pass them off as Manly Tears but then he told me that he’d gotten the olives a few weeks before and had been meaning to hand them off to me, and that this was his last chance for that. then i made a sound like a horse drowning in a bog, and he patted my back pretty rough, four solid thumps, like he wasn't sure if i was crying or choking on an olive, and was trying to cover both bases at once.

then he went back inside, and i made a few more bog horse noises while finishing off the rest of the entire jar of green olives, and then i called my dad.

he was about ten minutes away that day, and luckily was home. he drove over, and we went to the neighbor’s house, and from there things actually went quite nice. the neighbor was a retired man who actually said he could fix the dent himself, no need for insurance. he said he appreciated that i didn't just drive off, and i said i was really sorry about his car, and he said he was really sorry about my car, and then he gestured to the chickenshitmobile and i laughed because it really was a disaster on wheels.

then we left.

i thought we were going to head straight home, but instead we went to a gas station, and we both got several slim jims that we folded into thick enough coils that we could put them on a hotdog bun because the growing up mormon equivalent of having a sad brewski with your dad is just choosing to make bad decisions sober. then he took me to the canals and we watched the sun turn all orange and pink, and he looked over at me and said:

brains are good at remembering bad days. so you gotta make sure that a bad day has a good part in in, so you can remember that too. remember that when you have a kid. try to do a good job on days like that - they're going to be a big part of how they remember you.

and then he gave me a big hug and said he was never going to eat another slim jim again.

---

the year after that i went to college, which kicked my butt in new and exciting ways. and on a lot of those bad days, after a test that went sour, or a faux paus that was particularly embarrassing, or some other hardship of my new adult life, i’d stop by the gas station and pick up leathery, half jerkied hotdog before heading to the canals to watch the sun set. i’d take a bite and imagine my dad next to me, grimacing through the slim-jim wad, asking what good thing i was going use that time to remember.

and in my head, i’d say you, dad.

i’m going to remember you.

#babylon-lore #dad lore #stories #breakups #gas station hotdogs #i really like green olives okay #i dont have a sense of smell so if food isnt like WHAM in the flavor department it just doesnt do a lot for me #in my sophomore year i ate so many homemade pickles that i actually got a wee bit of scurvy #major autism L

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inbetweencreature · 1 year

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can’t believe I’ve been in love with you for going on 4 years now. I can’t believe the past four years how tumultuous it’s been. I remember before I met you I once said I was perpetually heartbroken. honestly, it still rings true.

#one of those things I guess #love is stupid !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#I’m gonna go to bed and when I wake up I expect everything to be fine #I’m not sad and the sun is bright and everything is okay and my dad hasn’t moved out and you’re still here #though I know now if you had the choice you wouldn’t have been by my side to begin with #I don’t mean that as a jab #I truly understand I forced you into a role.#a soulmate #my twin flame #I was trying to change you #I was desperately trying to make you be someone you’re not and that was someone who was this perfect image of my twin flame my soulmate my #lover #idk #you were sad and depressed and I thought I could fix you or be your friend and be your lover #or whatever idk #you had your own things and you’ve always wanted what was best for me #and I was just selfish I loved the idea of love so bad #and even though we did love eachother I expected so much of you #I expected you to be this person who was healed and could do things you said you had trouble doing #it’s not your fault #and I’m sorry really #about everything and I know we’ve said that to eachother a million times #but everything about us kept getting more twisted and twisted and it just became something unrecognizable #like that boat that gets rebuilt it’s no longer the original boat #just the name of us is what kept us going for a while I guess #fuck! idk #I know you don’t believe my apologies anymore #or believe in me #lord knows what you think of me now #obsidian

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frozenhi-chews · 1 year

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Me adding a certain piece of lore to an OC: Surely this won't have any consequences!!

Two years later, Tom is completely traumatized and he grins and bears it so hard he's gonna snap under the weight

#context: tom is a Portal 2 oc of mine. he's glados's son. like designed and specifically programmed to be her son #and she abandoned and left him. and consequently forgot about him #tom held onto his mother's memory like a rope. hoping that one day she'll come back and see all the science he's done (making tests and bots #unfortunately she die (P1) and tom finally went to check in on her. to find her dead. that wrecked him so bad he was numb #soon after he looked into what could have happened to her and found out some freakishly horrible things #and on top of that he's pressured by everyone around him because of his reputation as Glados's son. he has his own chassis #it functions similarly to the main mainframe's. urging testing and stuff. he hates it. and soon he hated her. why did she just leave him?#his reputation did not help and be began acting like an idiot just to drop people's expectations so they'd stop bothering him #he dated someone but she turned out to only like girls. but they still were friends but it affected him really badly. especially seeing her-#-new girlfriend. hes lonely. isolated. theres a bit of a barrier between Tom and his ex. he cant fully open up to anyone cuz he #-either created them or he fixed them up. he also has a reputation of experimenting on robots and being terrifying. so people-#-avoid him. that and being a child to Glados. he's isolated. feared. seen as a god in some cases. he wishes to see the sun but doesn't want #to see Glados (his only escape). to say he needs therapy is an understatement. he cant fathom why anyone would like him at all #so on top of being isolated he isolates himself bc he cant see himself being friends with anyone else. again cuz of reputation #he needs a hug. badly #tom #oc tag #wheatcake au

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orionremastered · 8 months

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could you do a batfam x oblivious reader who’s so close to finding out they’re a vigilante, but she doesn’t even know if that makes sense? like nightwing crawling in through the window when he thought she was asleep, only for her to be awake and go “wrong house?” not realizing it’s her boyfriend.. who thought she was asleep

this made me laugh. very good thinking brains y'all have

Masterlist

Oblivious

Dick Grayson

The sound of your window sliding open prompts you to look up from where you lie your head on the pillow. You can't seem to get to sleep and maybe it's a good thing— you grab for the lamp on the bedside table and raise it high over your head.

Climbing through the window, however, is not a common thief. It's Nightwing.

"What are you doing here?"

The vigilante freezes, slowly looking up to meet your eyes. "I was told there was domestic abuse occurring in this apartment," he says smoothly. "You have a boyfriend?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Where is he?"

You look over to Dick's spot on the bed and only just now do you realise it's empty. There's a note written on paper that reads, OUT TO GET FOOD.

"He's grocery shopping."

"Ah, wrong apartment, then. Sorry to bother you." The vigilante then ducks outside.

Jason Todd

A loud crash prompts you to wake up— far earlier than you're used to. The sun isn't even up yet. Glancing to the side of your bed, you forget Jason's out on a business trip, what ever his business is.

You carefully climb out of bed, creeping to the bedroom door and slowly pushing it open. In your living stands Red Hood himself, dismantling an assault rifle.

"What are you doing in my house?"

The vigilante whips his head around, frozen like a deer in headlights. There's a long few minutes of silence where the two of you stare at each other.

"Gun's not working. I'll be out in a minute, just need to fix it. My apologies."

"Oh," you say, shrugging your shoulders. "Stay safe, then."

Red Hood nods, watching you return to your bed with a quiet sigh.

Tim Drake

Waking up at your usual time and kissing Tim gently on the forehead, almost as a reward for sleeping.

After eating breakfast as quickly as you could, you were surprised to see Tim still asleep and give him another gentle kiss, this time on the nose.

You've only got half an hour until you have to go to work, so you rush to the bathroom to get ready.

The Red Robin suit is draped over the shower wall, unmistakeable.

In your bathroom.

"Tim?" You shout, forgetting your boyfriend's need to sleep. "Tim!"

"What?" he replies groggily, slowly getting out of bed.

"The Red Robin suit is in my bathroom."

"Oh, uh, he asked me to clean it for him. We're sort of like, friends. I guess. It's weird."

"You never told me that," you say.

"It's a recent thing. Sorry."

You shrug and get ready for work, ignoring the suit at is it hangs in your bathroom.

Damian Wayne

"Emergency at work," your boyfriend had said. He gets a lot of those, you think. "Be back in the morning. Maybe later."

Now, going to sleep late— towards midnight, where Damian would have already dragged you into bed— you realised you didn't have on of his shirts to sleep in.

When he wasn't with you to sleep, you always sleep in one of his shirts.

You begin scrummaging through his wardrobe— which you never do— only for a shirt. You find one, your favourite black one, and pull it out.

Underneath the shirt, revealed as you yank it from the drawer, is a katanna.

"Oh. Oh."

It's late. You're tired. You've got the shirt.

It's probably just an antique piece anyway. Rich people have all sorts of things.

#batfamily x reader #damian wayne x reader #batfam #jason todd x reader #dick grayson x reader #tim drake x reader

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jjungkookislife · 22 days

Text

Navigating Tides

♡ pairing: ex-boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

♡ genre: exes to lovers, angst, fluff, smut [18+]

♡ summary: A cruise is the last place you expect to see your ex-boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook. You broke up six months ago, and your best friends Jimin and Yoongi assured you your ex wouldn't even remember this cruise that you booked a year in advance. However, on your first night on board, you discover your ex isn't only on the cruise ship, but there are no rooms available for him to stay in other than yours.

♡ wc: 18.9k

♡ warnings: alcohol use/mention, food mentions, mention of murder on cruise ship documentaries, threats of violence, sexual thoughts, jealousy, making out, marking (hickeys, biting, scratching), hair pulling, oral sex (f. giving and receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

♡ a/n: a huge thank you to the anon who suggested the title ❤

♡ date: September 1, 2024

“Jimin, I don’t think this is a good idea,” you sigh heavily as you adjust your sunhat. Your large sunglasses keep the sun out of your eyes and make it easier to take in your surroundings.

Passengers stand around you, some checking their tickets, others counting their luggage, and your best friend scoping out your next boyfriend while he checks his phone for messages regarding his beloved cat, Moon.

“Come on! You bought the ticket in advance! You know Jungkook isn’t going to show. You broke up six months ago, he wouldn’t come on this cruise if you paid him!” Jimin exclaims trying (and failing) to ease your worries.

“He’s right,” Yoongi chimes in once he gets a photo of his cat from his parents. “Jungkook wouldn’t leave his office to come on a cruise his ex and best friends booked a year in advance. He probably doesn’t even remember it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you give in as the line moves forward. You pull your luggage beside you. “There’s no way he’d be here.”

Jimin nods as Yoongi moves their luggage. You stand in line with your ticket and passport in hand as Jimin rattles on about all the things he wants to do for the next seven days out on the ocean. You half-listen, looking around at the passengers, hoping for a relaxing time.

“We’re a few doors down,” Jimin continues, “but we’ll come get you for all our meals and we can figure out what to do that day. There’s a casino and a karaoke night.”

You nod, smiling as the line moves again. The breeze ruffles your hair beneath your hat and you close your eyes momentarily.

A vacation was just what you needed.

Jeon Jungkook is a strong man. He’s got a lean body and hands that could rip open a pineapple with ease. He normally doesn’t demonstrate his great strength, but the women are eating it up at the bar closest to the dock.

His assistant had reminded him about his vacation last week. A cruise, she had informed him as she showed him the next ten days blocked off his calendar.

Jungkook had denied taking the time off but his assistant had insisted he go. When he tried to protest again, the assistant threatened to call his mother.

Jungkook took a bite of the pineapple before throwing a handful of bills on the bar.

“Gotta go!” He yelled over the ruckus he had caused and grabbed his suitcase with his sticky hands. The women were sad to see him go, but Jungkook had minutes before the cruise ship left the dock.

“Welcome,” Jungkook is greeted before his ticket and passport are checked. He was directed to his floor but Jungkook headed straight for the bar, where more passengers were gathered to get their vacation started.

By the time you get to your room, you’re pleased to see your luggage waiting for you. You head to the balcony, admiring the view as the ship pulls away from the dock.

You take a few minutes to fix your makeup and grab your sunblock before shoving your suitcase under your bed. Yoongi had insisted you cram everything into one large suitcase and he’d bring an extra one for souvenirs. Jimin had allowed you to sneak some more outfits into his luggage since Yoongi knew better than to try to limit his clothing options.

“That should do it,” you say to yourself as you head out of the cabin, just to spot Yoongi and Jimin heading your way.

“Let’s get something to eat and hit the pool,” Jimin grins as he takes your hand and Yoongi’s in the other.

Meanwhile, Jungkook has finished his drink at the bar and heads toward his cabin.

He’s glad to see his suitcase has been delivered and he slides it under the bed easily. He takes his room key and heads back out to see what there’s to do on this cruise.

He wishes he had paid more attention to the details when you had booked it.

Yoongi is soaking wet, shaking his long black hair, making you and Jimin scream. He laughs, his gummy smile makes Jimin melt.

“You’re drying yourself off like a dog,” you comment as he sits in the chair with Jimin.

Yoongi shrugs, leaning forward to take a large bite of the watermelon slice Jimin holds out for him.

Jimin had slathered the three of you in sunblock, lecturing on the dangers of the UV rays and whatnot. You knew better than to ignore his advice, seeing as he was a dermatologist and Yoongi was a plastic surgeon.

“Are either of you going to get in the pool?” Yoongi asks as he cards his fingers through his wet hair. Jimin bites his bottom lip as he watches Yoongi with a look that’s all too familiar.

“Don’t you dare!” You swat at Jimin with your book. The couple laughs.

“You promised I wouldn’t be a third-wheel,” you remind them.

Yoongi nods. “We promised.”

Jimin nods. “Of course, we’re just teasing.”

“More like setting up foreplay,” you mutter but they ignore you as Jimin hands you a slice of watermelon and a cube of pineapple. The two of you were waiting for this evening’s dinner to have drinks, though the cocktails of the passengers around you looked delicious.

“Since we’re on vacation, are you gonna be seeking a dance partner?” Jimin asks wiggling his eyebrows.

“You know, for the horizontal hula?” Yoongi smirks, earning a swat to his arm.

“No! I’m here to relax!” you insist as you open your book. You clasp your kitten bookmark before it can slip out of the worn pages.

Jimin sighs dramatically as he falls over onto your chair. “Come on! You don’t have to marry anyone, just flirt.”

“Min,” Yoongi warns, noting the shift in your posture.

Jimin mimes zipping his lips as he sits up.

“I just worry about you.”

“There’s no need, Minnie. If it happens, it happens, okay?” you ask as you close your book once more, giving up on getting any reading done.

Yoongi places his hand on Jimin’s shoulder, tugging him to their chair. Jimin goes easily, placated for the moment.

You steal a grape from Jimin’s plate before lying back on the chair with your hat covering your face.

Jimin smiles as he grabs his book and lies back to read, his fruit plate long forgotten.

As Yoongi reaches for a grape, his eyes catch a familiar tattoo sleeve but when he blinks, it’s gone.

Must have been the heat playing tricks on him.

Dinner had been a blast.

Yoongi and Jimin had gotten every cocktail that you had eyes on earlier in the day. You danced, laughed, and forgot all about Jungkook.

“We’ll see you in the morning,” Jimin said as he walked you to your cabin. Yoongi waited out in the hall outside of theirs’ to make sure Jimin was in his eyesight. He’d seen too many documentaries on shit going sideways on cruises to leave either of you unsupervised.

“Goodnight, Minnie. Love you,” you hug him tight before he leaves you with a kiss to your temple.

Once he’s gone, you kick your shoes off in your cabin. It’s just as you left it.

You let your hair down as you begin to unbutton your blue dress, allowing the thin straps to fall off your shoulders.

You’re startled when the bathroom door swings open, steam flooding out of it, obscuring whoever is there.

You scream!

The steam clears and out walks a man with a colorful tattoo sleeve on one arm, his other hand holding the white towel around his waist.

His doe eyes widen as he spots you.

“What are you doing here?!” you shout at the same time. “Me?! YOU?! Stop that!”

You both stomp a foot at the same time.

Water runs down your ex’s sculpted chest and abs—you can’t help but stare. You remember tracing those delicious abs with your tongue, ending up on your knees with his cock down your throat.

A shiver rolls down your back.

“What are you doing here, Jungkook?” you huff, stomping your foot. You hope your next-door neighbors don’t complain about the noise.

“I’m on vacation,” he answers in a duh tone.

“In my cabin?”

“I didn’t know you were going to be here! We haven’t talked since…” Jungkook trails off, sighing heavily. He feels the knots in his throat, the ache of holding back tears.

“You never take vacations. Why did you come?” you demand answers as you cross your arms over your chest, eyes widening when you realize your bra-clad tits are exposed. You immediately turn around, fixing your dress before facing him once again.

Jungkook rubs his nape awkwardly. He grabs the robe from the bathroom and puts it on.

“I know. My assistant insisted. I never canceled the vacation request and she made plans,” Jungkook shrugged.

“Well, you can’t stay here!” you exclaim, pointing toward the door sharply.

Jungkook says your name, but you glare at him. He raises his hands in defeat.

“At least let me get dressed, okay?”

“Fine,” you grumble as he grabs his suitcase from under the bed. You head to the balcony to sit while Jungkook gets dressed.

This was not how you wanted to spend your vacation. Was it too late to fly home from the next port? You couldn’t be stuck on the same ship with Jungkook for the next seven days and six nights. Just knowing he was on board would drive you up the wall.

Five minutes later, Jungkook is dressed as you reenter the cabin. You go with him to the front of the ship, flagging down someone who could help you.

Jungkook explains the situation, and the cruise worker listens while searching for any available rooms.

“I apologize, but there are no other rooms available. We’re fully booked. You’ll have to stay in the room, sir.”

“But-” You go to protest but the worker cuts you off.

“There’s nothing we can do, ma’am. I apologize but we’re in the middle of the ocean, hours from our first stop.”

“Thanks for checking,” you state in defeat as you turn on your heel with Jungkook behind you.

Back in your cabin, you go to the bathroom to shower. You come out in a robe, going for your suitcase to grab your pajamas before going back into the bathroom.

Jungkook stays out on the balcony until you’re getting into bed.

“I’m sorry. If I had known-”

“Just don’t,” you stop him. He shuts up immediately. “I just want to get through tonight, okay?”

Jungkook nods as you pull the covers over your body. You tug the pillows and place a few between you and the spot where Jungkook will have to sleep.

Silently, Jungkook climbs into bed.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Jungkook whispers as you turn out the lights.

Heat stifles you as you arouse from your sleep. You moan as you push the covers but the pillows’ warmth is still making you hot. You push at them, trying to shove them off the bed, but a grunt greets you instead.

“Quit,” a familiar sleepy voice wakes you up in an instant.

You scramble to sit up, but you’ve wrapped yourself around Jungkook, who is shirtless. His bed head looks adorable as he whines at the loss of warmth before he tugs the covers toward him, sleeping some more.

Quickly, you get dressed and storm out of your cabin.

You could not deal with this without a stiff drink and your best friends.

Part of you hoped you were dreaming.

“He’s here!” you yell when you reach Yoongi and Jimin’s table. Plates of fruit, eggs, and pancakes greet you along with glasses filled with water, some with various types of juices, and mimosas.

You plop down on a free chair, reaching for a mimosa and then Jimin’s. Both men watch you with wide eyes as Yoongi offers you his drink.

“Who’s here?” Jimin asks, befuddled.

Jimin and Yoongi exchange a look. They had watched you go to your room before they retired for the night.

Who could you have run into?

“Jungkook!” You hiss in explanation. “He’s here!”

Yoongi frowns. “I thought that was him.”

You whip your head to face him. “You knew?!”

Yoongi rapidly shakes his head. “I thought I saw him yesterday but when I blinked, he was gone. I thought the heat had gotten to me.”

You cackle, nearly losing your mind. “Well, he’s fucking here! And he’s staying in my room!”

Jimin and Yoongi’s mouths drop open wide in shock.

“He’s what?!” Jimin recovers first as he waves down a waiter and orders more mimosas for the three of you. This revelation demanded a drink.

“Can’t he get a room for himself? Lord knows he can afford it,” Yoongi grumbles as he picks at his buttery toast.

“No, it’s booked solid,” you sigh as you cover your face with your hands.

“Good morning, everyone!” Jungkook greets you before he takes the empty seat beside you. He helps himself to some fruit and some of your mimosa.

Jimin and Yoongi stare at him with wide eyes. So you weren’t lying to go home.

“Hey,” Jimin waves weakly. “Surprising to see you out of the office.”

Jungkook ignores the jab at him. “You look good, Jimin. Very good.”

“Watch it,” Yoongi growls. “Just because he’ll be amicable doesn’t mean I won’t wipe the table with your face.”

Jungkook raises his hands in defeat. “Just being friendly. We are spending the week together after all. Isn’t that right, roomie?”

Jungkook nudges you with his elbow.

“Eat dirt,” you respond as you ignore him and grab a stack of pancakes. You drown them in syrup and ignore Jungkook and Jimin catching up. Yoongi glares at him the whole time before breakfast ends and you head back to your room to get ready to reach the first port.

The first two days on board, you manage to avoid Jungkook after his appearance at breakfast that one morning.

You were three days into your cruise when you were hanging poolside with Jimin and Yoongi once again. The warmth of the sun felt nice on your skin, even with Jimin’s nagging about flipping over and reapplying sunblock.

Your swimsuit was something sexy Jimin had picked out to accentuate your favorite features of your body. He had picked out a few outfits for you and Yoongi to match his. You looked more like a polytriad than a group of friends, but you liked the outfits.

Your sun hat and sunglasses kept out the gazes of any men who would have the slightest interest in you, much to Jimin’s annoyance.

Jimin sits on his sun lounger slathering more sunblock on his skin while Yoongi goes off to get the three of you drinks. You’ve been busy the past few days shopping, eating, dancing, laughing, and enjoying life away from the claws of capitalism.

Shade casts over you, and you look up to see Jungkook’s smiling face, dimples and all.

“What do you want, Jeon?” you huff as you sit up, removing your sunglasses.

Jungkook stands over you, checking you out in your swimsuit. He briefly remembers the times he held you in his arms, when his touch aroused you, not repulsed you.

Jungkook sits down at the end of your seat. His body glistened as if he had just gotten out of the pool. You’re sure there’s at least a gaggle of men and women staring at the both of you. Jungkook attracted attention wherever he went. His glorious body, tattoos, hair, and a radiant smile broke more than just your heart.

His piercings catch the sun, the glint hitting your eyes.

“Yeah,” Jimin pipes up. “This zone is for loading future husbands only.”

You roll your eyes at Jimin but lean back as Jungkook’s body freezes.

“Husbands?”

“Yes,” Jimin retorts, “Husbands.”

“I didn’t know you were looking,” Jungkook said as he looked at you, perplexed.

You shrug.

“I figure the next person I date will be the one.”

Jungkook remains silent. He cards a tattooed hand through his wet hair, and you curse him in your mind. He knew how hot he looked, he just wanted to make you suffer.

You weren’t going to give in to his tricks though.

You move your legs toward you, pretending you don’t want to get hit with water droplets but you can’t ignore the rapid heartbeat between your legs.

“JK!” Yoongi shouts as he approaches, squirting Jungkook with a water gun.

“Hey!” Jungkook shouts as he chases Yoongi, quickly catching up to the older man. A fight ensues as both men try to gain control of the water gun before Jungkook acquires one from a bystander.

“Fuck,” you groan as you put your sun hat back on.

“He’s fucking hot,” Jimin groans as he lies back. You look at each other and burst out laughing.

“He’s a menace,” you sigh but your heart flutters as you spot him in the pool with Yoongi. The two are splashing each other and some of the other passengers but they don’t seem to mind as they join in.

Jimin is silent for a few minutes before he turns to face you.

“Be honest with me, babe. You still love him?”

“Do you even have to ask?” you respond as you watch Jungkook shake the water out of his hair before he pulls himself out of the pool.

Jungkook ignores the way his cock throbs at the sight of you in your sundress as you walk down the hall to meet Jimin and Yoongi. He nearly drools at the sway of your hips as your body shows off all your best assets.

His thoughts easily wander, you were the only one he ever felt like he could be himself. You were his best friend and he’d lost you over a heated argument about him working so much. He had said some things he had regretted, especially when he lost you.

He had spent the last six months thrown into work, avoiding any socialization wherever possible. He didn’t want to meet someone new, he wanted you. But you had blocked him, made it clear that you wanted nothing to do with him and now you were confined to a cruise ship and he would do whatever it took to get you back.

You turn when you hear your name being called, and heat rushes to your cheeks when you spot the captain, Kim Namjoon.

He looks divine in his crisp white uniform, his hat tucked under his right arm.

“Good evening,” he greets you with a dimpled grin. You smile brightly at him, asking him about his day.

He had heard about your predicament with Jungkook the following morning and had invited you to a special dinner with him tonight as an apology for the inconvenience.

Normally, you would have denied any sort of offer, not wanting to inconvenience anyone but Namjoon was hot, smart, and funny.

Namjoon offers you his arm, which you take giddily as he escorts you to your private dinner.

Within five minutes he had you laughing, wine threatening to shoot out of your nose.

Jimin had encouraged you to go to dinner after he spotted the captain later that day, and now that Namjoon’s schedule allowed, you sat in front of him in a candlelit room with a spectacular view.

A white ceramic vase sat in the middle of the table with fresh pink peonies. Soft music played from a speaker overhead, and the sound of the ocean filled the background.

Namjoon’s eyes lit up every time he shared a snippet of his tales from the sea. You listened intently, batting your lashes whenever he’d smile with his dimples on display.

You know this wasn’t a date, and it would never work out with how long Namjoon had to be out at sea, but it was nice to get back into the game after such a long time. You never imagined being tossed back into the dating pool after Jungkook.

The thought makes your smile waver for a moment, and you reach for your glass of wine instead.

Two silver-covered trays arrive shortly, stopping Namjoon mid-sentence as he smiles proudly.

“I caught tonight’s dinner. I had our chef cook it with a special sauce that you’ll enjoy,” Namjoon states as your tray is set in front of you and you nod excitedly.

All excitement vanishes as you see two little beady eyes staring back at you.

Jungkook looks immaculate. His undercut is on display, his tattoos pop against his white-button shirt, and his smile can dazzle just about anyone… except Min Yoongi.

Yoongi is the first to spot Jungkook heading to the table where he sits beside his boyfriend. Yoongi had loved Jungkook, still did but his loyalty to you made him pull away from the younger man. An annoyance brewed where he held brotherly love for him once. If you decided to get back with him, it would take Yoongi a while to thaw out.

Jungkook looks around the area, finally asking Jimin where you are.

“She’s on a date,” Yoongi smirks as Jungkook’s hopeful smile turns into a frown. The younger man toys with his lip piercings worriedly.

“With the Captain,” Yoongi continues, ignoring the jab of his boyfriend’s sharp elbow to his ribs. “So she’ll be late coming to bed tonight… if she goes to bed at all.”

Jungkook’s heart deflates further as he twiddles his fingers. His eyes shine as he blinks back tears. Jimin scowls at Yoongi.

Perhaps, he had gone too far. Yoongi slouches into his seat, abashed.

“It’s just dinner,” Jimin tries to assure Jungkook. “They’re on the balcony by the lobby.”

“Jimin!” Yoongi hisses before Jimin elbows his ribs again.

“What? He loves her!” Jimin exclaims, gaining the attention of a few patrons.

Jungkook feels his ears burn from the attention as he thanks Jimin quietly before leaving the couple to enjoy dinner.

Heartache is quick to consume Jungkook despite Jimin’s poor assurance of you and the captain’s night. He remembered how mesmerized Captain Kim had seemed when he offered his apologies before asking you to dinner right in front of Jungkook. As if he were invisible!

Okay, maybe Jungkook was jealous. He never wanted to end things, and he didn’t mean any of the things he said that awful night of your breakup. He had taken steps to fix himself, working less, going home more, and prioritizing himself and his family. He was a new man, even his mother had noticed the change. She was hopeful you and him would get back together.

Jungkook wallows in his sadness as he heads down one hallway and down another. He ignored the conversations around him and anyone who tried to strike up a conversation.

Before he knows it, he arrives at the kitchen with the swinging doors. He’s about to turn away when he gets grabbed by a man in a white hat with a stern look.

“Why are you just standing around?!” The man shouts as he hands Jungkook a silver tray with a thick lid that reflects his befuddled expression.

Jungkook looks at the name tag on the man’s white coat that reads, Soobin.

“Listen,” Jungkook tries to protest but he’s shoved in the direction of the other doors that lead who-knows-where. Jungkook stumbles before righting himself as the staff in the kitchen zoom back and forth adding garnish, stirring bubbling pots, and plating elaborate dishes in pristine white ceramic plates

“Hurry!” Soobin shouts from across the kitchen, his scowl sends a shiver of fear down Jungkook’s spine. He balances the tray in one hand as he pushes the black doors in front of him.

Jungkook’s not even sure where he’s going, or how he got into this situation from just losing himself in his thoughts but now he had to deliver whatever was under the tray and look for an exit.

Perhaps he could scale the side of the ship to get on another floor.

There was no way he’d be facing Chef Soobin’s wrath again. That much he was sure of.

“We’ve been waiting on you,” someone else hisses at him once he goes through the swinging door, biting his lip when one of the doors smacks his back and jolts him forward.

“I don’t-” Jungkook tries to explain but is interrupted as someone apologizes to a man clad in white.

Jungkook’s heart sinks as he recognizes you with every step he takes.

“Here is dessert,” the person grins as Jungkook sets the tray on the table.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him, confusion forming on your brow.

Jungkook looks to the side where the waiter is placing the remains of your dinner on a cart, and two black beady eyes seem to follow his movements as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“Kookie?” You ask in surprise and his heart flips at the nickname he’d only allow you to use.

However, before he can bask in the sweetness of it, you clear your throat and correct yourself, using his full name instead.

“What are you doing here?”

Jungkook bites his lip. This looks bad from all angles. The truth sounds like a fabricated lie and a lie would sound worse.

Namjoon raises a brow at the two of you, quickly putting the pieces together.

“Join us for dessert,” Namjoon smiles warmly as he waves over the waiter to ask for another chair but Jungkook shakes his head.

“No, that’s okay! I just got lost is all,” Jungkook blushes as he cards a hand through his hair nervously. You follow the action closely, studying Jungkook and the way his fingers twitch at his side. He avoids your gaze and Namjoon’s, apologizing as he takes a step back.

“I’ll go find my way back to Jimin and Yoongi. Please, don’t let me interrupt any further,” Jungkook can taste the vileness of his words but he’s at odds with his words and his thoughts.

“Why don’t I walk you back,” you offer, surprising him and Namjoon.

“Oh, no that’s not necessary,” Jungkook shakes his head but makes eye contact with the little beady eyes from before.

Had Namjoon tried to feed you that prawn? Did he not know food with eyes freaked you out? How long had you stared at those bead-like eyes before the plate had been removed from the table?

“Of course it is,” you say as you rise from your seat. Namjoon remains silent as you thank him for dinner.

“It was a pleasure,” Namjoon responds as he stands. He takes your hand in his and kisses it, making you smile bashfully.

“I’ll be going now!” Jungkook squeaks, his face red like the prawn still staring at him. Why hadn’t the waiter taken that abomination back to the kitchen yet?

Was he hiding out of Chef Soobin’s wrath too?

“Kook!” You huff, flustered as you take his arm to link with yours. Jungkook stays silent as you lead him out of the private dining quarters through a door he could have easily spotted if he hadn’t been so flustered by the events.

Weakly, Jungkook waves at Namjoon, who watches the two of you leave.

Jungkook gets a good look at the captain, admiring the long, thick hair that sits at his shoulders. He looks dapper in his uniform and hat, with thick arms and thighs to die for.

Jungkook was glad he had appeared just in time, or you’d be Captain Kim’s wife before the end of the cruise.

Hell, Jungkook would vie for Namjoon.

You remain silent as you drag Jungkook by the arm. He goes willingly as you lead him toward the giant dining room with the rest of the passengers.

You come to a halt before entering, ignoring the hunger pangs in your belly.

“What exactly is it that you are doing, Jungkook!” You ask as your anger bubbles over now that you’re alone with him.

Jungkook steeled himself, biting his lower lip in the way you love.

“I apologize,” Jungkook says sincerely, though the words taste like poison. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your date.”

“It wasn’t a date,” you respond automatically, cringing at the speed of your words.

Jungkook visibly perks up.

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” you mutter as you cross your arms over your chest, drawing Jungkook’s saddened gaze for a moment. “Though I did need some rescuing, so thank you.”

Jungkook perks up again, smiling cutely.

Before any more words are exchanged, your stomach rumbles loudly. Jungkook bites back his laughter as you cover your face.

“Oh my!” Jungkook giggles when your tummy rumbles again.

“Kook!” You whine, stomping your foot. “Stop laughing!”

Jungkook continues to laugh, broad shoulders shaking as he does so. You pout, flipping him off.

“Come on, let’s get you something to eat,” Jungkook smiles as he takes your hand to lead you to the buffet. You thank him sheepishly as he hands you a clean plate to fill with food.

You ignore the rumble of your stomach as you sit beside Jungkook in a booth. The dinner rush has come and gone, only you and a few stragglers are left behind as the servers clean tables and stack dirty dishes a few tables away.

“How long did you have a staring contest with that thing at the table?” Jungkook asks midway through dinner as he chews his food. For a moment he looks upset as he chews but you know it’s just him enjoying his meal.

“Hey! Namjoon is a nice guy!” You retort as you move your mashed potatoes around your plate.

Jungkook blinks owlishly, his cheeks stuffed with food. He resembles a cute little chipmunk.

He swallows, pounding his chest with his fist before he speaks. “I meant the prawn.”

“Oh!” you squeak as your body heats with embarrassment while Jungkook bursts into laughter.

His eyes crinkle at the corners, his pretty nose scrunches and his teeth make an appearance. Your heart flutters in your chest, his laughter healing the wounds he’d left behind.

No matter how much you tried to deny it, you were still hopelessly in love with him.

You’re up bright and early the next morning. Jungkook snores softly beside you, cuddled to the pillow between the two of you.

His hair is splayed on the pillow, one arm tucked under it to support his head.

His broad back is on display, the covers hanging on his hips as he rolls over an inch. You had spent several mornings waking up beside him, cuddled up, sharing kisses and each other's bodies. Mornings filled with happiness and love, memories you held onto, wishing to relive.

Instead, you get ready for the day. Jimin and Yoongi are excited to get to the port. There will be tons to do today before coming aboard for dinner and a show.

You put your swimsuit on under your sundress. You pack a change of clothes, sunblock, sunglasses, wallet, water bottle, mini first aid kit, and lip balm in your bag before heading out.

Jimin waits for you in the hallway, informing you that his other half has gone to secure a table in the dining room before the early risers can fill up the area.

“Soooo,” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows as the two of you sit down with Yoongi. Your plates are filled with eggs and sausage, fruits, and muffins.

“So what?” You ask as you eat a slice of an apple Jimin cut for you, the only way you could easily eat fruit.

Jimin is exasperated as he rolls his eyes at you.

“What happened on your date?” Jimin asks as he takes a sip of his iced coffee.

“It wasn’t a date,” you shake your head. “Just dinner.”

“Dinner with the cruise ship captain,” Yoongi cuts in. “That’s a big deal.”

“A private dinner with the cruise ship captain,” Jimin rephrased as he gave you his undivided attention.

A heavy sigh escapes your beeswax-sticky lips. Should lip balm tingle?

“He served prawns,” you whisper, looking around to make sure Namjoon and his staff are not around.

“Oooh,” Jimin smiles.

“No, they had beady little eyes like marbles. They stared into my soul,” you shiver at the memory.

“Yikes,” Yoongi shakes his head in disdain. He knew how much eyeballs freaked you out.

“I couldn’t eat it,” you continue as you munch on a grape. “Then Jungkook came in and I didn’t have to.”

Jimin and Yoongi exchange a bewildered look. “What do you mean Jungkook came in?”

“Yeah,” you nod as you stab a cube of watermelon with your fork. “He brought dessert? The whole thing was odd now that I think about it.”

“You didn’t ask him?” Yoongi questions but you shrug as you finish eating.

“We came to have dinner and it didn’t come up,” you explain with a second shrug.

Yoongi raises a brow at you. It wasn’t normal for you to be so nonchalant about this, especially with how you’d reacted to Jungkook interrupting your vacation so far. You always had a quip or snide attitude when it came to your ex, so interrupting your not date was major.

“Your ex-boyfriend interrupts your date and you don’t ask him why?” Yoongi is blunt with his question, seeking a direct answer. Jimin would have toed around it all day but Yoongi wanted to enjoy his cruise, plus he needed all drama set aside when he proposed soon.

“It wasn’t a date,” you remind him in a sing-song tone. “I didn’t want to eat the eyes, sue me if I was grateful he showed up.”

“Jungkook aside, how was dinner with Namjoon? Do you like him? Do you wanna go on a date date?” Jimin inquires, hopeful that his friend may move on from Jungkook at last. You seem to want to but he knows you still love the dark-haired, tattooed man.

“No,” you shake your head firmly. “He’d be away too much. That’s why Jungkook and I didn’t work out. Why go get involved in the same situation?”

“Fair,” Yoongi agrees as he clears his plate. “Come on then, we have a city to explore.”

“Yeah!” Jimin cheers as he takes your hand in his to lead you toward the exit with Yoongi in tow. You smiled brightly as you headed for the port, excited to spend the day with your two best friends.

No matter what life threw at you, they’d be by your side always.

Jimin was excited as he watched the waves crash against the boat.

You had stripped down to your bathing suit, and gotten lathered up in sunblock thanks to Jimin.

Your sun hat sat on your head and your sunglasses nearly covered half your face as you laid back enjoying the breeze.

You were doing your best to ignore Jungkook’s shirtless body. Jimin had rubbed his back with sunblock after he’d done you.

The three of you had been surprised to see Jungkook jogging toward you at the pier, making it just in time to join you for your scheduled scuba diving session.

Great.

Okay, so you were a little happy to see him. After all, you had planned this excursion with the four of you in mind.

Though after the breakup, you never imagined it would be the four of you here in the ocean breeze.

Music plays softly from Yoongi’s speaker. He’s got a thick book in his lap, as his sunglasses cover his shut eyes. He takes a cat nap, lulled by the sound of the waves crashing.

Beside you, Jungkook puts his life jacket on, tightening the straps to keep himself safe but all it does is draw attention to his tiny waist, a waist you used to trace with your tongue. You flush at the thought, memories of you on your knees licking him up and down, teasing him just to hear him whimper and cry out your name…

“Hmmm?” You look up when you realize someone is calling your name.

“I asked if you needed help with your life jacket?” Jungkook asks as he holds out the red monstrosity. You doubt it would look as good on you as it did him. You always felt like they were choking you.

“I’ve got it, thanks,” you say as you take the jacket from him. Cordial. You could do this. It was your vacation, you should enjoy it to the best of your abilities. You should be relaxing, and thankful to be away from the world of work.

The boat stops soon after and a tall, lean man comes to join you. Yoongi yawns as he awakens from his nap at Jimin’s prodding. He’d be damned if his boyfriend spent the entire vacation snoozing.

“My name is Taehyung or Tae. Whichever you prefer,” the man introduced himself with a boxy grin. His dark curly hair moved with the breeze and his sun-kissed skin seemed to glow beautifully under the early morning sun.

“Today we’ll be scuba diving in one of my favorite spots. We’ll be using the buddy system for this excursion, break for lunch, and then sail until four pm.”

You groan. The buddy system. You were shit out of luck as Jimin grabs Yoongi and leads him to the edge of the boat as Taehyung goes over a few more rules.

Your two best friends hold hands as they get into the water, laughing as they resurface.

Taehyung approaches you, smiling. “Let me know if you have any questions or if there’s anything specific you’d like to see today. The weather seems to be cooperating with us this morning.”

“Thank you,” you say graciously as you begin to snap the buckles of your life jacket. You cry out when your hair gets caught in one and Taehyung is quick to unsnap the buckle and release your hair.

“Here you go,” he coos gently as he pulls your hair upward to tie it in a loose bun. “Safety first.”

You lock your gaze on him as he easily ties your hair. He’s so close it makes your heart flip. His minty breath brushes your skin as he leans in closer to make sure he’s got all of your hair in one hand before tying a scrunchie around it.

“There we go,” he muses as he takes a step back to admire his handiwork. “Perfect.”

Jungkook glares at the back of Taehyung’s head, cursing him in his mind. Would pushing Taehyung off his boat be rude? Jungkook didn’t think so. However, he didn’t need to be charged and stranded overseas. So he’d play nice.

For now.

“Can we get in the water now?” Jungkook huffs as he puts his goggles on. “We came here to scuba dive.”

“Yeah,” you nod as you put your goggles on with Taehyung's help, much to Jungkook’s indignation.

“There we go, love. Don’t want you getting hurt,” Taehyung smiles warmly as he helps you into the water.

“It’s cold!” You exclaim, giggling as Taehyung dips into the water only to resurface moments later. He brushes his wet hair back, and you bite your bottom lip as he shakes the excess water off.

Jimin notices the interaction and swims toward you, easily escaping Yoongi’s attempts to stop him from playing Cupid in the middle of the ocean.

“Tae, can we go down now?” Jimin asks pleasantly, ignoring the death flares from

Yoongi and Jungkook.

“Sure,” Taehyung responds as he leads the group to an area a few feet away from the boat. He gives them some information about the sea creatures lurking about, warning them to be careful as all are not friendly.

Jungkook sticks close to you, grinning when you go underwater with him.

The two of you take photos with his camera, giggling at the bubbles that escape underwater before coming up for air.

“This is amazing!” You grin as you float on your back for a moment. Jungkook watches you, his heart fluttering giddily in his chest.

All he wanted was for you to be happy. How could he have allowed his work to consume him to the point of breaking up? He always swore to himself he’d be nothing like his workaholic father, and now here he was recreating his old man’s mistakes.

Never again, Jungkook swears to himself. He would not lose the love of his life over the company. You mattered more, you always would. He had lost sight of that but never again. Being without you these past six months had been torturous.

Somehow he had spent days in bed, wearing ramen-stained pajamas to go with his red-rimmed eyes. Jungkook didn’t know your eyes could hurt so much from crying, that the ache would almost rival that of his broken heart.

He didn’t want to imagine what you had gone through. The pain he had caused.

“Earth to Kook! Are you there?” Jungkook is startled out of his thoughts as you wave your hand in front of his face. “We’re going to the boat for lunch.”

Jungkook follows you as you swim back to the boat. Taehyung helps you out of the water, offering you a towel to dry off with before joining Jimin and Yoongi.

Taehyung gives the four of you space as the boat hits the waves once more.

“I’m so hungry,” Jimin hums as he takes a seat to look at the spread on the table.

“Ooh, guacamole, tacos, and burritos,” Jungkook nearly drools as you grab a plate for him and one for yourself.

The four of you enjoy lunch before Jimin falls asleep with Yoongi’s head on his lap. You dab some sunblock on their faces, and hope the sun doesn’t hit them.

“Today was fun,” Jungkook said as he sipped his beer. He sets it between you, and you reach for it to sip it. You weren’t a fan of beer but now and then you’d enjoy a sip of Jungkook’s. Old habits die hard apparently.

Jungkook remains silent at the indirect kiss. However, on the inside, he’s giggling to himself.

“It was,” you agree as you lie back, moaning as your muscles relax. You could easily fall asleep right there with the waves gently rocking the boat.

“I’m sorry for crashing your vacation,” Jungkook apologizes after a moment of silence. “I wouldn’t have come if I knew you’d be here.”

“Gee, thanks,” you huff, offended.

“No, no!” Jungkook shakes his head quickly. “I meant because I know you wouldn’t want to see me after…”

Your heart sinks in your chest as you toy with the edge of the towel to distract yourself. The wind ruffles your hair as you stare out into the ocean.

“Despite everything that’s happened, I’ve had fun on this cruise. We can be cordial, right?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, ignoring the crack in his heart. “Of course.”

You turn to face Jungkook, his dark brown eyes locked on yours. For a split second, you consider leaning in closer, kissing him for old-time’s sake but you don’t. No matter how many times you fantasized about being with him, he wasn’t yours. Not even the cute mole under his lip could tempt you enough to kiss him, and you loved that mole!

“I accept your apology,” you say, focusing your eyes on his instead of the mole beneath his lip or his tongue tracing his piercings like you used to.

Fuck, why were you denying him again?

“Friends?” Jungkook asks as he offers his tattooed hand for a handshake.

Your eyes flit from his to his hand and back before sighing. “Friends.”

Jungkook smiles brightly, fireworks going off in his chest.

“But try anything fishy, and you’re out of here!” You inform him.

Jungkook chuckles but agrees nonetheless. “I’m not planning on feeding you beady eyes or anything.”

“Good,” you stuck your tongue out at him and lay back on your towel. Jungkook lies beside you as you stare at the sky.

You’re dozing off, and you swear it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you when you hear a whisper, “I missed you. I still love you.”

“They’re adorable,” Jimin cooed quietly as he looked at you curled up with Jungkook.

“We should take a picture of them,” Yoongi agrees as he hands his phone to Jimin. Eagerly, Jimin takes a handful of pictures from different angles, all blackmail material for later.

Once the photos are taken, Yoongi kicks Jungkook’s butt. “Get up! We’re here!”

Groaning, Jungkook stirs before Yoongi kicks him again. This time harder.

“Hey!” Jungkook grunts as he swats Yoongi’s foot away. His shout wakes you, an annoyed frown on your face.

“What is it?” You ask as you rub your eyes. The life jacket is still tied to your chest as you sit up. You probably shouldn’t have slept in it.

“We gotta get back on the ship. We’re having dinner and a show, remember?” Jimin offers you his hand to help you up. You nod as you gather your belongings and Jimin helps Yoongi gather his.

“I hope you enjoyed your time,” Taehyung bows as Jimin and Yoongi climb off the boat and onto the dock.

“We did!” Jimin assured him as they waited for you.

“Oh, need some help?” Taehyung asks as you struggle to undo the buckles of the life jacket. They had gotten tangled while you slept.

“Please,” you pout as you try to untangle one strap only to tangle it more. Taehyung chuckles softly as his fingers make quick work of the buckles, setting you free in moments.

“There we go, love. All set,” Taehyung smiles warmly at you as he helps you out of the life jacket. You thank him sincerely as you put your sundress over your bathing suit.

“Thank you so much for today, Taehyung. I had a great time,” you say as you take his hand to get off his boat.

Taehyung kisses your hand gently. “I hope to see you again, love. Take care.”

You giggle as you wave goodbye to the curly-haired cutie.

Jungkook grunts as he gets off the boat last, rolling his eyes at Taehyung.

He knew he had no right to be jealous but that was easier said than done.

When you got back on the cruise ship, you were still smiling whilst looking at your hand.

Jungkook was beyond jealous.

“What was that between you and Taehyung?” Jimin clasps his hands at dinner.

You giggle at his excitement, knowing you’re gonna nip any hope of finding a man at sea in the bud.

“It was nothing,” you assure him. “He’s just friendly.”

Jungkook scoffs from his seat, his eyes glued to his menu.

Yoongi kicks him under the table.

The three men are dressed to the nines. Jimin wears a black tuxedo with a white button-down shirt and skinny black tie. Beside him, Yoongi looks just as hot in a matching tuxedo with a black bow tie.

Next to you, Jungkook is in all black. He looks delectable, and it takes all your willpower to keep your eyes off him. He had the same problem earlier when you stepped out of the bathroom in your maroon A-line dress with the deep v-cut that made your breasts look fabulous. He nearly proposed to you then and there.

“Looked like something was blooming,” Jimin insists as a server brings a basket full of fresh rolls and butter.

“We had a few conversations while I booked the excursion,” you shrug, nonchalantly. “Nothing came of it.”

“Until he kissed your hand,” Jungkook grumbles into his menu.

“Ow!” He yelps when Yoongi’s foot kicks him again.

“Anyway, he kissed your hand,” Yoongi grinned devilishly. “Could mean something.”

You wave him off. “He’s just being friendly.”

“He wasn’t that friendly with me,” Jungkook muttered.

You ignore him.

You take a roll from the basket, cut it in half, and share it with Jungkook out of habit. You don’t notice the surprised look on your friends’ faces.

“Who’s headlining anyway?” You ask as you spread butter on your roll. “I heard the act had backed out and someone else took their place.”

“Kim Seokjin,” Yoongi responds as he sips his whiskey. “I looked him up before dinner. He’s got an amazing voice. You’ll like him.”

You nod, eager to get to the show after dinner.

Jungkook looks up Seokjin on his phone, pouting when he sees an image of him on the screen.

Did everyone you came in contact with on this cruise have to be so fucking attractive?

The lights dim as the last member of the audience takes their seat. Jungkook pouts beside you, not the least bit enthused about the handsome man who will be serenading the crowd in a few moments.

Jimin is excited, chatting your ear off as he looks through the set list on the table. A few waiters come and go with trays filled with drinks and tiny napkins.

The candlelit tables are the only form of light until the spotlight comes on and the first few notes of a song fill the air.

“Welcome everyone,” a sultry voice greets the crowd from his spot at a piano. His hair is long and curly, it reaches his shoulders. He wears an all-white suit with a pink shirt underneath, the first few buttons undone to show a bit of his chest.

His lips are plush and look oh-so kissable. He’s gorgeous, more so than his pictures. He is truly a vision that your eyes are blessed to behold.

“Wow!” You breathe in awe as he sings a beautiful song about loving oneself. Jungkook frowns, what are the chances of him being able to steal the microphone and serenade you instead?

Nobody pays him attention as he watches Seokjin both in awe and jealousy. You seem enamored with the man as he dances with a group, never missing a note, and never sounding out of breath.

On top of it all, he’s funny too. After the first three songs, he takes a seat on a stool set out for him. He has a guitar beside him, and Jungkook wonders if there’s anything Seokjin can’t do.

“This one goes out to all the loves that could have been, the broken hearts, and the ones hoping for a second chance,” Seokjin introduces the next song as the lights dim and he strums his guitar.

“And it feels like you’re getting further away,” Seokjin croons as his eyes mist with tears but he continues to sing.

Jungkook sits up in his chair, turning to look at you. You’re focused on Seokjin but tears are rolling down your cheeks as you take in every lyric, feeling as if it’s being engrained into your heart.

Gently, Jungkook wipes your tears with his monogrammed silk handkerchief. You gasp in surprise but soon smile through your tears, thanking him. Jungkook nods, remaining silent as the song comes to an end, and you take a shaky breath.

The show goes on, and after a few more songs, Seokjin rises from his seat. He does a few upbeat songs, getting the crowd clapping and singing along with him.

Seokjin pulls members from the audience to join him, teaching them simple choreography before he has them perform alongside him.

Yoongi and Jimin get pulled on stage, and they do amazing beside Seokjin. You cheer the loudest for them as they do body rolls all while sending flirty gazes to the audience. They both enjoy the attention, smiling as they thank Seokjin once the song ends.

Jimin blushes once he’s back in his seat. You hug him tightly, kissing his cheek. “You’re wonderful!”

“That?” Jimin giggles. “That was nothing.”

“Please,” Jungkook adds. “You were made for the stage. The both of you!”

You nod in agreement, smiling when people stop by your table to compliment the couple. Seokjin takes the stage once more, sitting on the stool for a moment while he introduces the last song.

“I’d like to end this night on a higher note,” Seokjin states as he looks out into the crowd. “Feel free to grab a partner and dance.”

Seokjin heads to the crowd while singing. A few couples head to the dancefloor, swaying slowly to his beautiful voice.

Jimin and Yoongi join the other couples shortly after, whispering sweet-nothings to each other as they go.

Awkwardness bubbles inside you, as you look down at the tablecloth. Would it be possible to leave the show unnoticed? Seokjin was nearby, surely nobody would notice if you made a hasty exit.

You rise from your seat sharply, surprising Jungkook. He stares at you with wide eyes, wondering where you’re going.

However, before Jungkook can ask, Seokjin chooses that moment to take your hand, dancing with you at your table for a moment.

“When I’m with you, there is no one else,” he sings beautifully. Your heart skips a beat as you place your hand on his shoulder, smiling bashfully as he spins you once.

Jungkook is ready to head back to the cabin, not wanting to see another man fall for you just as he had. He knew when it was time to throw in the towel, and you may have accepted his apology and agreed to be friends, but how often did that actually pan out? Would you still talk to him once you weren’t stuck on a cruise ship? Jungkook wasn’t sure.

He wasn’t going to stand around and watch you fall for someone else. That much he was sure of.

Seokjin stills you once he finishes spinning you. He then places your hand in Jungkook’s before leaving to another table.

Jungkook’s doe eyes are wide with surprise. You look shocked, but lead him to the dancefloor beside Jimin and Yoongi.

“You were shining towards me, the only light found in the darkness,” Seokjin sings wholeheartedly as Jungkook holds you close. It’s been so long since the last time he held you like this; since he realized how perfect you fit in your arms. He promised if you gave him one more chance, he would make sure to never ruin it. He’d never hurt you again. He’d be more mindful of his words, he’d prioritize you over his company. Jungkook would make sure you never felt like you were an afterthought. It saddens him to think he had made you feel like that, and that it took losing you for it to snap him into reality.

How long had you been unhappy at his side? Was he selfish in wanting you back? In pursuing you still? Had his appearance on this cruise been a divine intervention or a simple coincidence?

Jungkook forces himself to focus on you and not the downward spiral of despair brewing in his mind. You rest your head on his shoulder, swaying with him as he holds you closer.

Perhaps tonight the two of you could have a private moment to talk things out. Or maybe he’d be asking for too much?

Too soon for Jungkook’s liking, the song ends. He blinks his unshed tears away as you take a step back, clapping with everyone else.

“I’m going to head to the bar,” you inform him as you leave as quickly as possible. Jimin and Yoongi watch you go, and Yoongi places his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Tough break, man.”

Jungkook nods as he watches you squeeze through the crowd, disappearing soon after.

Jimin and Yoongi leave him by himself, the two enamored with each other after a romantic evening, both eager to get to their room for some privacy.

Jungkook is a little envious.

“Screwdriver, please,” you tell the bartender once you reach the bar. You need something to take the edge off, just a few minutes away from Jungkook and your array of emotions.

“I’ll have the same,” the voice beside you says. The bartender nods as he goes to make the drinks. You turn to your left to see Seokjin.

“You were wonderful,” you compliment, smiling genuinely. You hope you’re not bothering him. Surely he has people circling him at all times, especially after his shows.

“Thank you,” Seokjin bows his head, his ears turning red.

The bartender places the drinks in front of you on black napkins with a gold border. You thank him before sipping your drink.

“Fuck, I needed that,” you muttter as you take a second sip.

“Trouble in paradise?” Seokjin asks as he sips from his glass.

“You don’t know the half of it,” you respond sadly stirring your drink with your paper straw.

“I’m all ears,” Seokjin smiles, disarming any protests you might have had.

“Don’t you have another show?” You ask with wide eyes, surprised this stranger would want to hear about your woes.

“Nope, that was the last one for the night,” Seokjin informs you. He holds out his hand for you to shake as he introduces himself. You shake his hand after giving him your name.

The two of you scoot to the end of the bar with your drinks. It takes you a few more sips of your screwdriver before you fill in Seokjin about your trip thus far and how you were stuck sharing your cabin with your ex.

“Sounds to me like there’s a lot of love there,” Seokjin responds after you’re done telling your tale. He waves down the bartender, asking for two glasses of water before he continues. “If you’ve forgiven him, what’s holding you back?”

You bite your bottom lip as you try to make a list of your doubts.

“What if he hasn’t changed? What if we get back together and I’m brushed aside again?”

Seokjin thanks the bartender as he pushes a glass of water toward you. He clicks his tongue before shrugging.

“There’s no way to find out unless you try. Second chances are few and far between. Some people don’t get second chances, most try to make it work the second time. If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again,” Seokjin grins as he chugs his water.

“So you do greeting cards on the side, huh?” You tease, playfully bumping into Seokjin. He laughs wholeheartedly, his eyes turning into half-moons.

“I could, couldn’t I,” he says after his laughter has subsided. “But on a serious note, the two of you looked great on the dance floor. I didn’t know you were broken up when I danced with you.”

“Why do things have to be so complicated?” You huff as you finish your water.

“They don’t have to be,” Seokjin assures you. “They’re only complicated if you make it so. You love him, he loves you, what more is there to it?”

You sigh heavily, you know Seokjin’s reasoning is a little half-baked but it makes sense. What’s keeping you from giving it a second shot? You love Jungkook so much, and despite Jimin’s attempts at fixing you up with someone, you always compare them to Jungkook. He was the love of your life, knew it from the moment you laid eyes on him in your flower shop. He had walked in looking frazzled. His black suit was well fitted and his broad chest showed from the few buttons left undone at the top. His hair had been brushed back, his undercut on display.

Frazzled, he’d asked you for a custom bouquet. His mother’s birthday dinner was that evening and though he had a birthday present for her, he didn’t want to show up without flowers. She adored flowers, he’d informed you. All kinds, any color, any array. He never went empty-handed but the last floralist he’d ordered from had sent him nothing but stems and wilted roses.

After that day, he made daily appearances, until eventually he asked you out.

On your third month of dating, he had you meet his mother, her house filled with flowers from your shop.

“It’s so nice to meet the woman responsible for my new garden,” she joked as she welcomed you into her home with a tight hug.

Jungkook had blushed, hiding his face in his hands.

His mother adored you right off the bat, and that’s when Jungkook knew he couldn’t live without you, didn’t want to.

Your relationship had been perfect at first, something out of a fairytale. You spent a lot of time together, went on dates, spent the night, and tried his hobbies which involved rock climbing, kayaking, and bungee jumping. He tried yours, cooking, baking, painting, candle making. However, as your relationship wore on, Jungkook spent more and more time at work at his company. Business trips overseas, meetings late into the night, days off spent sleeping or moody.

You understood at first. You were supportive and gave him space when he needed it but soon came the canceled dates, the forgotten anniversaries, and the forgotten birthdays.

“I’m tired of coming second all the time, Jungkook,” you told him one day in his office after another canceled dinner.

“I have to work, babe. I can’t put it off for dinner,” he said as he sat at his desk, barely looking up from his laptop.

“It wasn’t always like this, Kook. You used to make an effort to come home,” you frowned as you placed your hands on your hips.

“You know I would of I could,” Jungkook huffs as he rubs his face with his hands. He had a knot in his shoulders from the stress and a headache was building rapidly. He didn’t have time for this argument. The longer you interrupted him the longer it would take for him to finish and go home to your shared apartment.

“Kookie,” you sigh, defeated. “I’m tired of waiting for you.”

“Nobody asked you to!” He exclaims as he shuts his laptop.

His words shattered your heart and a knot formed in your throat. You held back tears, simply nodding.

“Don’t worry, I’m done waiting on you.”

You had walked out of his office without another word. You headed straight to your shared apartment to pack up your belongings and crash on Jimin’s couch.

Jungkook had gone home late that night exhausted from his day at work. He had been put off by the complete silence. The lights were all off which was unusual since you were scared of the dark. You always had one light on, whether it was the living room lamp or the light over the stove.

Jungkook called out for you but got no response as he made his way to the bedroom.

The silence was eerie, just like the darkness. When he flicked the light switch, his eyes widened and his heart sank in his chest.

Drawers were open and emptied. Your half of the closet had nothing but empty clothes hangers.

Jungkook shook his head, this couldn’t be happening.

He rushed to the bathroom to see your makeup, face products, and toiletries were gone. He heaved, resisting the urge to puke as cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

Jungkook went to the kitchen, opening cabinets to see if your favorite mug was gone. There wasn’t an item left that belonged to you in the apartment.

You truly had grown tired of waiting for him.

Jungkook fell to his knees on the cold kitchen floor. His heart felt like it was cracking into tiny pieces. He had lost you. He was sure of it.

You were gone.

“Hello?” Seokjin waves his hand in front of your face when his question goes unanswered.

You apologize before he repeats his question. “What more is there to it?”

Seokjin had a point. What was keeping you from making amends? Jungkook was here, you’d forgiven him, and secretly his mother had called you throughout the six months to check on you but also fill you in on Jungkook’s change. No longer was he missing dinner, he was at her home promptly at six every evening. He had his days off, and spent more time with her, which she loved but she missed the shine in her son’s eyes, the little sparkle he got when he was with you.

Fear wasn’t a good enough reason to stay away, not anymore.

“You’re right,” you give in with a small smile.

“I always am,” Seokjin chuckles as he reaches into his suit pocket and hands you a card. “Here, call me when you need a singer for your wedding. I’ll give you ten percent off.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Thanks, Seokjin.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Think nothing of it. Now go, get your man back.”

“You only want us together so we’ll book you,” you laugh as his cheeks turn pink.

“Hey, I gotta make a living somehow,” he winks at you to make you laugh. “Now quit stalling and go!”

“All right! All right! I’m going!” You laugh as you hug him goodbye, promising to update him before the cruise is over. Seokjin waves as you go, hopeful that you and Jungkook will make amends.

Seokjin orders a shot, raising it in your honor before downing it.

Perhaps his next endeavor would lead him to matchmaking.

You’re filled with nerves by the time you reach your cabin. You use your bracelet to let yourself into the room, hoping the butterflies in your stomach will settle.

However, your nerves are for naught as you spot Jungkook asleep in your bed.

Disappointed, you head to the bathroom to change and wash your face.

Jungkook opens his eyes once he hears the bathroom door shut. He looks at the time and notes you’ve been gone a little over an hour.

He hopes you and Seokjin will be happy together.

The next morning you’re up bright and early. You roll over expecting to see Jungkook, but instead, you find his spot empty and the sheets cold.

Frowning, you get out of bed to get ready for the day.

You were hoping to talk to him before reaching the next port.

“Good morning!” Jimin sings as he enters your bedroom after knocking incessantly while you get dressed.

“Morning,” you mumble as you grab your purse and sunglasses. Another sundress covers your body, this one purple with white flowers. Your bathing suit hides beneath the cool fabric, riding up a bit as you bend down to fix the strap on your sandal.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Jimin raised a brow at your response. “I thought you and Seokjin hit it off last night. At least it looked that way when we were heading to bed.”

“Nothing happened,” you roll your eyes at Jimin’s nosiness. “We talked about Jungkook.”

“Ew, talking about an ex on the first date is such a downer,” Jimin comments as he follows you out of the cabin and into the hallway.

“It wasn’t a date,” you insist as you face forward. “Have you seen Jungkook? He wasn’t in bed this morning.”

“He’s probably at breakfast with Yoongi. I sent him ahead to get us a table,” Jimin explains.

“Oh,” you say dejected. “So you haven’t seen Kookie?”

“Kookie?” Jimin’s eyes widen in surprise. “You’re calling him Kookie again? He’s not a dick anymore?”

“Jimin,” you huff. “Have you seen Jungkook or not?”

Jimin shakes his head. “Not since last night.”

You frown. You wanted to speak with him sooner rather than later. Tonight was one of the last nights on board, and if he was nowhere to be found you’re not sure if you’d have the courage to reach out to him once you went back home.

“Let’s have breakfast and go about our day. I’m sure he’ll show up at some point.”

“What if he doesn’t?” You bite your lip nervously.

Jimin scoffs. “Please, this is the man who somehow found you in the captain’s private dining room. He’ll find you.”

You giggle as you take Jimin’s arm in yours, feeling much lighter as you head to the dining area.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always,” Jimin states cheekily.

However, Jungkook isn’t at breakfast and he’s nowhere to be seen when you get off the ship at the next port.

“Don’t worry about him, babe,” Jimin links his left arm with your right. “He’ll show up.”

“I hope you’re right,” you sigh. “I need to talk to him.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Don’t let him ruin your day. We’ve got a whole day at the beach.”

You smile as you go with the couple to check out the market on the way to the beach. You fill your bag with souvenirs for your family and friends. Jimin buys you snacks, trying them all on the way to the beach.

“This weather is so nice,” you sigh happily as you rest on your lounger under a large blue umbrella Yoongi had set up for the four of you, despite Jungkook being nowhere to be found.

“I’ll go get us some drinks,” Yoongi volunteers as Jimin mentions wanting a blue drink with an umbrella that the person a few feet away from you was sipping on.

“Get me one too!” you call after him as he raises his hand over his shoulder to assure you he heard your request.

The sand is hot on Yoongi’s feet as he reaches the bar. There’s a crowd at one end of the bar, cheering as some shirtless dude rips open a watermelon with his bare hands. Yoongi rolls his eyes as he orders your drinks and a bottle of water for himself.

“JK! JK! JK!” The crowd cheers. Yoongi whips his head to the crowd, spotting Jungkook’s tattooed arm dripping with watermelon juice. He pours the juice into a few shot glasses, while the bartender adds vodka.

“Cheers!” Jungkook grabs a shot as do a few of his fans.

“Thanks!” Yoongi pays for the drinks, sliding the cold water bottle into the pocket of his swim trunks. He barrels through Jungkook’s onlookers, earning a few angry looks as he grabs Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Hey! No touchy!” Jungkook exclaims before he realizes it’s Yoongi grabbing his shoulder.

“Oh! Yoongi! What’s up?”

“You know your girl’s been looking for you all morning?” Yoongi raises a brow as he tugs Jungkook away from the bar, ignoring the onlookers’ protests.

“She’s Seokjin’s girl now,” Jungkook shrugs.

“You’re an idiot! You know that?”

“I do,” Jungkook agrees easily and Yoongi hands him his water.

“Drink this and come join us. I’m proposing to Jimin tonight and I don’t need you ruining this for us.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Oh shit! You’re proposing! Congrats! Does he know?!”

Yoongi’s forehead vein twitches. “I haven’t done it yet.”

Jungkook nods, smiling. “You should.”

“I’m gonna.”

“Good,” Jungkook grins. “You should.”

“I’m gonna,” Yoongi rolls his eyes at the younger man.

“You should.” Jungkook bobs his head.

“I’m gonna,” Yoongi insists before carding a hand through his long black hair. “Will you shut up?! Let’s go!”

Jungkook chugs the bottle of water before following Yoongi to where you and Jimin chat under the large umbrella.

“Hey stranger,” Jimin greets Jungkook as Yoongi hands you and Jimin your drinks.

“Hey,” Jungkook waves weakly as he takes a seat on the end of Jimin’s chair. Jimin eyes Yoongi, silently asking him what gives. Yoongi answers with a shrug.

“Okay…” Jimin grins. “Glad we’re all here.”

You nod as you sip your blue drink, not knowing what to say or do. Yoongi sits on your chair, stretching out. You poke his chest, and he pouts.

“Be good,” he swats at your hand, making you laugh as you and Jimin talk about the drink. Jungkook remains silent as he watches the ocean, wondering what he can do to make things between you less awkward.

Hours pass, and soon it’s almost sunset.

“It’s right over here,” Yoongi says as he leads Jimin by the hand to a place further down the beach.

“Hello!” A bright voice greets the four of you along with three giant horses.

“Horseback riding?” Jimin squeals in delight. He kisses Yoongi on the cheek.

“I’m Hoseok,” the man introduces himself. “I’ll be giving you a tour.”

You all introduce yourselves.

Hoseok has Jimin and Yoongi meet their horse, becoming familiar with the steed before helping them onto Pepper, a beautiful black stallion.

“All right you two, you’re on Sugar,” Hoseok states as he hands you and Jungkook sugar cubes for the horse. “She’s the sweetest I own. Be good to her and she’ll be good to you.”

Hoseok helps you onto the horse, his hands gently guiding you forward so he can get Jungkook on behind you.

“Place your hands around her waist and place them here,” Hoseok instructs before telling you where to place yours.

“Aren’t you a good girl?” Hoseok coos, and you giggle.

Hoseok pets Sugar, but winks at you before he gets on his horse, a beautiful sandy brown mare named Cinnamon.

Unknowingly, Hoseok is leading you to the spot Yoongi will propose. However, he takes the long way around, showing you as much of his beautiful city as possible.

Hoseok hangs beside you and Jungkook. He’s very outgoing, filling any awkward pauses with jokes, and information you’re eager to hear.

“Why don’t you two hang back a bit?” Hoseok raises a brow, winking at you once more before he goes to Yoongi and Jimin. Sugar comes to a stop, and Jungkook jolts forward, his chest hitting your back.

“Sorry,” he apologizes as he grips your waist tighter to keep himself on the horse.

“What’s going on?” you ask as you watch Hoseok lead Yoongi and Jimin further up before he hands Jimin a blindfold. Hoseok calls for Sugar, and she goes willingly.

“Whoa!” you hold tight to the horse and Jungkook, scared you’ll fall off and get a mouthful of sand in the process.

Soon, lights appear in the sand in the shape of a heart. Rose petals are spread perfectly throughout, spelling out the words, Will you marry me?

“Oh my god,” you whisper, tears immediately filling your eyes.

“What’s going on?” Jimin asks as Hoseok helps him off the horse once Yoongi gets into position. A photographer and videographer stand nearby, waiting as Hoseok leads Jimin to Yoongi. Hoseok then comes for you and Jungkook, helping you off the horse before leading you to the side.

“You may remove your blindfold,” Hoseok instructs as he grabs the three horses' reins to get them out of the photos.

Jimin is confused but does as he’s told. His heart is racing in his chest, his hands have grown sweaty from nerves, and butterflies swirl in his tummy.

A gasp escapes him as the silk blindfold flutters to the sand. His hands cover his mouth as he looks at Yoongi kneeling in front of him with a black velvet box containing a perfect amethyst ring.

“Will you marry me?” Yoongi asks with hope in his eyes.

Jimin nods, “Yes. Yes!”

You grab Jungkook, shaking him in your excitement as your two best friends kiss. Yoongi places the ring on Jimin’s finger, and you allow them to have their moment, waiting for the happy couple to turn to you and wave you over.

You wrap your arms around them both, squeezing them until they tell you they can’t breathe. You release them, admiring Jimin’s ring, giggling in your excitement as you begin talking about wedding plans.

“Congratulations,” Jungkook tells Yoongi as he watches you and Jimin bounce ideas off each other as Hoseok approaches with the horses.

“Thanks,” Yoongi smiles brightly, love in his eyes when he looks at Jimin.

“We should get going before the ship leaves without us,” Jimin turns to face the two, urging them onto the horses. Hoseok helps you back onto Sugar, his hand lingering on your waist as you settle. You laugh at something he says, gently swatting him as he laughs before he goes to help Jimin and Yoongi.

Jungkook gets on Sugar without any help, his hands gripping your waist as Hoseok gets on Cinnamon and leads the four of you back to his office.

Jimin and Yoongi are all smiles at dinner. Champagne glasses in your hands as you toast their engagement before they go off on their own.

“I’m so happy for them,” you grin as you watch your best friends leave.

Jungkook nods in agreement.

“What should we do now?”

“Want to check out the party on deck?” You ask as you see fireworks going off in the distance. Jungkook nods as he follows you out onto the deck.

The two of you haven’t had a chance to have a serious conversation due to all the excitement but now with Jimin and Yoongi gone, you were unsure how to approach the subject.

More fireworks go off as you find a spot for the two of you to watch the rest of the show, amazed by the beautiful colors and patterns of the fireworks.

Jungkook smiles as the last few go off before the passengers clap and disperse.

“Should we head back to the room?” you ask Jungkook as a chill runs down your spine, your hands rubbing your arms.

Jungkook nods. He takes his jacket off to drape over your shoulders as he follows you back into the ship, going down the halls until you reach your cabin.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you inform him as you set his jacket on the bed before going to the bathroom with your pajamas in tow. Jungkook nods, as he hangs his jacket in the small closet.

He cards a hand through his hair before he heads out to the balcony to watch the waves. Something about the endless ocean at night made him uneasy but he couldn’t stand the tightness he felt in his chest being in such a small room feeling somewhat awkward.

“Bathroom’s free!” You call twenty minutes later as you climb into bed before Jungkook can see you wearing one of his old t-shirts to bed. You had packed it with the thought that he wouldn’t be joining you on this cruise and now you were stuck hiding under the sheets.

“Thanks!” He responds before he heads into the shower. You scroll on your phone absentmindedly, humming until he comes out. He’s shirtless as he does his nighttime skincare routine, singing a song softly to himself.

You stare at his perfect abdomen, wishing you could run your hands over his broad shoulders and tapered waist. Your lips ache to kiss every mole and scar on his body, to taste him once more.

“Jungkook, can we talk?” You ask as you muster all the courage you can.

Jungkook's eyes widen in surprise, his toothbrush hanging from his mouth.

He nods as he rushes to the bathroom sink to spit out the toothpaste.

You wait patiently for him to finish before he sits on the edge of the bed.

Jungkook waits apprehensively for you to speak as you play with the sheets.

“I’ve been talking to your mom these past few months,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

“My mom?” Jungkook is surprised at the revelation. “Why?”

You shrug. “I didn’t break up with her.”

You’ve got him there.

“She says you’ve changed a lot these past six months,” you continue as you finally meet his gaze. “That you’re different now.”

“I am,” Jungkook nods eagerly. “I swear.”

“I want to believe you,” you respond honestly as you focus on the sheets, tugging them to peaks. “I’m just scared of getting hurt again.”

“I know,” Jungkook sighs heavily. “I’ve been kicking myself for how I treated you back then. I was an idiot. I said things I didn’t mean. I missed so many events and dinners. I’m truly sorry.”

“I still love you, Jungkook. I never stopped,” you admit sheepishly as you feel heat rush to your cheeks.

Jungkook moves closer, his hand gently cupping your face. He waits patiently until you meet his gaze.

“I never stopped loving you, baby. I want to be the man you deserve. I want to be everything I wasn’t. You are my priority. I’m sorry it took me losing you to figure it out,” Jungkook gently caresses your cheek. Tears well in your eyes as you try to blink them away.

When one rolls down your cheek, Jungkook tenderly wipes it away with his thumb.

“I never meant to hurt you, love. And I swear that I never will,” Jungkook promises as he hooks his pinkie with yours. You smile through your tears, wrapping your arms around him to hold him close.

Jungkook rubs your back softly, holding you tight, afraid to let you go. He can feel your tears land on his shoulder as he holds you, whispering assurances and sweet nothings until you’re sniffling instead of crying.

When you let go, you wipe your eyes and smile at him sheepishly.

Jungkook holds your hands in his, kissing each of them before pressing his lips to yours. His forehead rests on yours, and your gaze meets his hopeful one.

“You are my everything,” Jungkook whispers. “Today, tomorrow, and for the rest of my life. I love you.”

“One last kiss before we head out,” Jungkook pouts as he stands in front of the door to your cabin, his back pressed to it.

You roll your eyes playfully, but lean in close to kiss him. Jungkook’s large hands grip your waist, tugging you closer as he deepens the kiss, making you moan when he sucks on your bottom lip.

“Fuck,” you curse when you take a breath. Jungkook smirks, his hand moving higher on your back.

“We could say we’re sick,” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at you.

“Please,” you scoff. “You know Jimin would break the door down if he thought I was sick.”

Jungkook pouts, “But we just got together. I want to make up for lost time.”

You run your hands over the smooth planes of his chest. You have lunch plans with Jimin and Yoongi, some wedding planning, and more celebrating you’re sure. It’s why you’ve decided not to announce your relationship to the happy couple just yet.

Your plans for the day are very relaxed for your last night on board, until the farewell party this evening. Seokjin will be performing at dinner once again, and then the passengers will get to have one last big hurrah before going home in the morning. You were apprehensive about going home, would Jungkook keep his promise? Could you put yourself through a second breakup if things didn’t work out?*

Should you just come clean to your two best friends and ask for their advice?

“We can do all that tonight,” You assure Jungkook as you kiss the corner of his mouth and reach for the doorknob behind him.

Jungkook smiles, nodding as he steps aside to let you by.

“I was about to go banging on your door!” Jimin huffs as you and Jungkook sit at the table with Jimin and Yoongi.

“So dramatic,” you mutter as you stab a cube of watermelon from Jimin’s plate.

Yoongi looks at Jungkook with a frown. “I see you’re still here.”

“Where else am I supposed to go?” Jungkook asks with a raised brow as he reaches for a roll.

“Kinda hoped our girl here would have pushed you over the balcony by now,” Yoongi huffs, a disappointed look on his face as he turns to you. “I guess there’s always tonight.”

“Yoongi,” you roll your eyes. “Be nice. This is a happy time for the two of you. We should celebrate!”

“We have been,” Jimin giggles, ignoring Yoongi’s rosy cheeks.

“Did you bring your wedding binder?” You ask Jimin as you sip your mimosa. Jimin shakes his head but hands you his phone where he keeps a digital copy just in case.

“Of course, you’ll have to be my maid of honor!” Jimin exclaims as he shows you his ideas for themes and colors.

“Duh,” you grin as you scroll onto the next page on his phone. The two of you are lost in wedding planning mode but Yoongi is watching you.

Something about you seemed different and he can’t quite put his finger on it.

Jungkook eats his lunch quietly listening to you and Jimin chatter about the wedding. He keeps one hand in his lap as he tries not to look over at you too much. It’s harder than he thought pretending you weren’t back together. He wanted to hold your hand, to lean his head on your shoulder, or to even hold a conversation with you but he knew it would be too risky.

If it were up to him, he’d announce it to the whole ship, so that they knew you were his once again.

However, instead, he eats his lunch and keeps to himself.

Yoongi can’t shake the feeling. As lunch ends and the four of you head to the pool, Yoongi keeps his watchful eye on you.

He notes the way you laugh at Jungkook’s jokes, how you seem to lean into him more as the day goes by, sharing snacks and drinks when you would have poured them on Jungkook at the start of the cruise.

Jungkook’s longing stares are almost nonexistent. He seems to have regained the sparkle in his eye as he laughs with you and Jimin. His nose is scrunched, and his eyes are closed into pretty little half-moons.

“Something’s off,” Yoongi whispers to himself before the four of you split to get ready for the last evening on board.

Music played softly in the background as dinner was served to the passengers. Everyone wore their best gowns and suits. Diamonds, pearls, rubies, and all other colorful gems were in abundance on passenger’s necks and ears.

The candlelit room gave a softer, more romantic feel to the evening as you awaited your waiter to get to your table.

“I’m so sad it’s our last night,” Jimin pouts as he places his hand over his fiancé’s.

“I know,” you frown. “I wish we had more time on board.”

“You can always honeymoon on a cruise,” Jungkook suggests as he reaches for his glass of water, trying to ignore Yoongi’s intense gaze.

“Ooh, what a marvelous idea!” Jimin chirps as he claps. He turns to Yoongi with a smile, “What do you think, babe?”

Yoongi blinks once. “You’re fucking him.”

Jimin’s eyes widen as Jungkook chokes on his water.

“What?!” Jimin is scandalized, protests sitting heavy on his tongue. He was most definitely not fucking Jungkook or anyone else for that matter.

Yoongi looks pointedly at you, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Of course not!” You hiss, shaking your head as Jungkook coughs repeatedly. You pat his back gently, asking if he needs anything as his face turns red.

“There’s something up with you two,” Yoongi states as he stares into your soul. He quirks his head to the side as he notes the way you gently rub Jungkook’s back, offering him your glass of water and checking on him again.

“You’re back together!” Jimin exclaims as he looks at Yoongi, who is frowning now.

“Ew, I wish you two were just fucking again,” he spits.

“Oh, you love me,” Jungkook laughs but doesn’t deny Jimin’s allegation.

“Can we not do this right now?” You ask as you smile at the waiter approaching the table.

Surprisingly, Yoongi and Jimin remain quiet as your dinner is set on the table.

Jungkook stuffs his mouth with food, nearly choking so he can avoid speaking.

Once the waiter leaves, Jimin smirks. “So, are you two back together?”

Jungkook chews noisily beside you, looking at nearby tables instead of Jimin.

“Technically,” you answer, giggling when Jungkook pokes your side.

“Kookie!”

“Oh, no! They’re going to be insufferable again!” Yoongi whines as he pouts.

“I know,” Jungkook chirps. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Yoongi groans, but despite his outward displeasure of your revelation, inside he’s delighted to have you happy once again.

Though he will tear Jungkook a new one if he breaks your heart again. Jimin and you won’t be able to hold him back again…

“I’m so exhausted,” you groan as you kick your heels off in your cabin.

Jungkook is fresh out of the shower, drying his hair with a towel on his way to the bed as you unzip your dress before scurrying into the steamy bathroom with Jimin’s gift tucked behind your back.

Jimin had insisted you walk him to his cabin despite his confused fiancé being at his side.

“Go away, Jungkook! I’ll walk her back,” Jimin had pushed Jungkook towards your shared room, insisting he needed to talk to you.

“What is it, Jimin?” You ask as you follow him into his room. Jimin waves you off as he lugs his suitcase in front of you.

He searches through his clothing and some of yours that he’s packed for you. He pushed everything out of the way until he finally came out with a pretty bubblegum pink gift bag.

“What is it?” You ask with wide eyes as he hands it to you.

“You’re welcome!” Jimin grins as he stuffs everything back into his suitcase.

“Jimin!” You're scandalized as you see the tiny pieces of black fabric he expects you to wear for Jungkook tonight.

Jimin shrugs. “I had hoped you’d meet some hottie on the ship and bang his brains out. The fact that it’s Jungkook works for me.”

You turn to Yoongi who shakes his head, chuckling. “Leave me out of this.”

“Go,” Jimin pushes you gently towards the door. “Fuck his brains out. Get an orgasm or six, was that the record?”

Jimin looks over at Yoongi who holds up seven fingers.

“Ooh, seven like that song we like. Fuck him to that,” Jimin snickers as he leads you out of his cabin and walks you to yours.

“What if it’s too soon?” You whisper as you reach your door.

“Only do what feels right. Whether it’s on the cruise or later on,” Jimin says. “The gift is yours regardless.”

You unlock your bedroom door, leaning against it. You hug Jimin tightly, kissing his cheek.

“Thanks, Jimin. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” you squeeze him once more.

When you part, you spot Yoongi waiting for Jimin in the hall, you blow him a kiss and step into your cabin.

“Thank you, Jimin,” you whisper as you look at yourself in the mirror. You admire the way the ruffles are soft on your skin, the lace not itchy like some sets you’ve worn before. You’re thankful Jimin cut the tags off because you don’t even want to imagine how much your best friend spent on something to get you laid.

You smile, tugging on Jungkook’s shirt that you stole from his suitcase while he showered before dinner and hid in the bathroom for this moment.

It felt surreal to be back together, and you swore you’d take things slow this time around but tonight had been so lovely. From dinner with your favorite people in the world to dancing the night away under the stars.

Jungkook was just as he was, and you hoped he kept true to his word. You love him so much, sometimes it feels overwhelming but you’re sure he’s your person and you are his.

Your love knows no bounds, and being back together makes your heart sing.

“You can do this,” you tell yourself, trying to hype yourself up but it feels like the first time all over again. You had been nervous that night, spilled wine on his pants, and bonked his head with yours when you both reached for a napkin to dab at the wine.

Jungkook ended up wearing some of your Kuromi pajama pants while his pants were in the wash. Who knew he’d look so good in them?

Jungkook is in bed when you finally open the bathroom door. He’s shirtless, scrolling on his phone until he hears the door.

“Oh,” his doe eyes widen when he spots you in his t-shirt. You climb into bed beside him as he sets his phone on the nightstand.

“Hi,” you whisper shyly.

“Hi,” Jungkook giggles in response as you get under the covers with him. He lies on his side so he can face you, his hand rests on your hip while the other gets tucked under his pillow.

Silence envelopes the two of you, shy smiles on your lips. Your heart beats in tune with his as he pulls you closer. Your forehead rests on his, your noses brushed, and Jungkook breathed you in.

It only takes a moment or two before his lips meet yours, kissing you softly. Slowly, your lips move with his feeling the slight pressure from his lip rings.

You moan, gripping his bare shoulders as he tugs you over him, making you straddle his tiny waist.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes in between kisses and light touches. “So much.”

“Jungkook,” you whisper, afraid that speaking too loudly will pop this bubble of comfort.

Jungkook hushes you with a finger to your lips, shaking his head befo he moves his hand to the back of your head to pull you towards him. Fiery lips meet yours as desire pools in your abdomen.

“Fuck,” he curses gripping you tightly, afraid to let you go lest he lose you again. He’s not sure he could survive it one more time.

“I’ve missed you. I love you. I need you.” Jungkook states as he kisses his way down your jaw towards your neck. Your fingers thread in his thick black hair, tugging as he nips at your neck.

“I missed you,” you confess in a heady tone as he tugs the collar of the shirt to the side. He’s eager to kiss any bit of you within reach, wanting to familiarize himself with your body once more and hopefully hear those dulcet sounds he loves so much.

Just hearing you moan his name might be enough to send him into the stars, dispersing among the sky.

“I love you,” you admit. Jungkook pauses, his gaze locked on yours as his heart flits in his chest, a sweet grin on his lips. You kiss him. You kiss the mole on beneath his lip, the mole on his nose, the scar on his cheek, and the mole on his neck; your favorite.

Perhaps later you’ll kiss the scar on his shoulder, the one on his ribs, and any new ones acquired in your time apart. You’ll familiarize yourself with his body once again, and become one just like you were always meant to.

Jungkook’s hand cups your face, moaning your name as his hands grip the shirt you’re wearing. “Let’s get you out of this, love.”

You nod, raising your arms to aid him.

“Wow!” Jungkook exclaims, admiring the lace that barely covers your body. He tongues his lip rings, his eyes dark and hooded as you grab his hands to place on your hips.

“Don’t just stare, baby.”

Jungkook nods, smiling as he pecks your lips before you guide his hands to your breasts.

His fingers toy with the string tying the two cups together, knowing he could easily get this undone.

Without a second thought, Jungkook easily flips the two of you over. You giggle when your head meets the pillows, your body caged between Jungkook’s broad shoulders and deliciously thick arms. You run your hands over his bicep, clenching around nothing when he flexes for you.

The list of things you’d love to do to him is endless but right now all you can focus on is him and the needy whimper that escapes him when his cock rubs against your cunt.

“I don’t want to rush,” Jungkook admits but a roll of your hips has him seeing stars.

Your hand laces with his, your thumb gently stroking his skin. “We can go slow, babe.”

Jungkook nods as he kisses you again, his hand cupping your cheek as your legs wind around his hips to pull him closer. Your name escapes him in a groan, the sound shooting straight to your cunt. Your eyes flutter shut as you curse, kissing him hungrily as your nails drag down his back. Jungkook kisses you feverishly, his tongue meeting yours, sucking it into his mouth. He pulls back, nipping your lip before he kisses his way down your body until he settles between your tits.

“I’ve missed these fucking tits,” Jungkook grunts as you tug his hair.

“Kook!”

He smirks, “Soon, baby. Be patient.”

“It’s been six months,” you whine as you tug his hair again, earning a tiny bite on your wrist.

“I know,” he responds, kissing your sternum. “But we have all night and I want these in my mouth.”

Jungkook grabs the black string between his teeth and tugs until the bow comes undone. Your breasts are exposed as the thin lace material goes in opposite directions.

It feels like heaven when his lips meet your heated skin. His soft lips draw out the sweetest moans from your parted lips with each kiss pressed to your skin.

“So beautiful,” Jungkook whispers as his eyes meet yours for a brief moment. He grins when you whine his name, begging him to keep going.

Jungkook aims to please as he takes a hard nipple into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around it slowly, gently tugging on it to make you groan before he sucks it into his mouth.

His hand grips your other breast, rolling your nipple between his fingertips before he switches.

Your nails scratch at his scalp, gripping his hair to hold him closer to your tit. He sucks until your legs clamp around him, your hips writhing as you grind against him.

You’re soaking wet, dripping through your lingerie and soaking his sweatpants.

“Stop teasing me,” you plead as you arch into him, head lolled back as your hair splays on the pillow.

Chuckling, Jungkook releases you before he licks and sucks his way down your body until he’s gripping your hips with his hands. He tugs you onto his lap.

“I love you so much, baby,” Jungkook says as runs his hand over your mound. He pressed his index finger to your pussy, teasing you for a moment before he undoes the bows on your hips.

You lay bare underneath him. He’s transfixed by your arousal slick on your thighs, and he licks his lips. Fuck, he’s missed you so much.

“I love you, Koo,” you respond as he grips each of your thighs in his hands. He lies flat on his stomach as he drags you closer, draping your legs over his shoulders.

His tongue is flat as he licks a stripe on your folds. His tight hold on your thighs makes you moan as he teases your clit with his tongue.

A sigh escapes you as you stare at the ceiling, thighs trembling as Jungkook buries himself in the apex of your legs. Your hand reaches for his, fingers laced as he continues to feast on you. The sounds that escape the two of you are lewd, and if you weren’t so focused on the pleasure you’d be embarrassed by how loud you were being.

“That’s it, baby. Pull my fucking hair,” Jungkook encourages as you do as he’s asked. You squeeze his head between your thighs as his experienced tongue makes you cry out his name, covering your mouth with your hand to muffle your pleasurable cries.

“Don’t,” Jungkook huffs as he licks his lips. His dark gaze makes you clench around nothing as you focus on him. His lips and nose shine with your arousal, his hair is in disarray from all your tugging and pulling, and his eyes darken further as he moves your hand off your mouth. “I want to hear how good I make you feel. I want all your moans. I want everything.”

You nod, cursing as he slides two fingers into you and you arch, moaning when his thumb rubs your clit in circles. Jungkook kisses your thighs, his lips joining his fingers soon after.

Heat races through your veins as Jungkook curls your fingers, watching you intently as you begin to unravel. Your breathing has changed, your moans have risen in octave, and you dig your nails into his shoulder as your orgasm hits, and your back arches off the bed as a loud moan of his name fills the room.

Jungkook rubs himself on the mattress, your moans going straight to his cock as his chest fills with pride.

“Kookie,” you whine when the last tremors of your orgasm leave you feeling overstimulated.

Giggling, Jungkook kisses your clit before sitting up between your legs. His hands move up and down your thighs, settling on your hips.

“It’s been so long,” he admits in a soft tone. “Way too long.”

You sit up, cupping his face in your hands. Your noses brush as you look him in the eyes.

“Let’s make up for lost time.”

Nodding, Jungkook kisses you gently, falling deeper in love, if that were possible. With each kiss, he promises to be a better man for you, to be the one you deserve.

“Lie down for me, baby,” you instruct as you get on your knees to allow your “beefcake” of a boyfriend to take your spot. Perhaps you should have laid down a towel before ensuing your activities but it was too late now.

With Jungkook beneath you, your hands are free to roam where they please. You straddle him, your bare cunt on his erection with only the sweatpants keeping you from feeling him. Soon, you promise yourself. Soon.

A kiss here, a kiss there. You kiss each of his moles, licking and sucking his skin beside his neck mole to leave a pretty little mark. Perhaps you’d be more cautious, knowing he’d have work soon but you don’t care in the moment. You’d cover him in love bites from head to toe if you could.

Your finger traces the scar on his shoulder, and Jungkook watches you with bated breath. When you kiss it, he gives a quick anecdote of how it happened before you move across his chest to the scar on his ribs. You trace it as Jungkook fills you in on what occurred.

Your hands run over his chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath. Jungkook’s always had a wonderful body. Such a beautiful man, inside and out. Everything about him makes you fall for him even more.

Your lips trail kisses down his taut abdomen, leaving hickeys on his hips, near his navel, and below his scar.

Teasingly, you stroke his hard cock over his sweatpants. He moans your name, begging you not to tease him. You giggle, kissing his cock over the sweatpants before slowly tugging them down his thighs.

You help him take them off before wrapping your hand around him, but your fingers still don’t meet. You smile as you stroke him, his soft whimpers making you wet.

“So pretty like this,” you coo, and Jungkook gasps when you spit on his cock.

“Please, baby,” he pleads as you lower your mouth, kissing the underside of his dick.

“You can beg better than that, can’t you?” You smirk.

Jungkook nods hastily, begging for you to touch him and stop teasing him. You reward him by wrapping your lips around his cock, your tongue swirling around the leaking head.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans as you slowly bob up and down his length. His hand finds its way into your hair, gently gripping it to steady himself.

You start slow, ignoring the ache in your knees as you slurp and tongue at his slit. His moans flow prettily from his pretty pink lips as you take more of him in your mouth. You do your best to take all of him but you gag, spluttering around him as you focus on breathing through your nose.

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Jungkook breathes as his eyes roll back when he hits the your throat and you choke on him before pulling off. A bridge of saliva connects your lips to his cock as your eyes water before you take him back in.

You spit on him, using your hand to stroke him while taking his balls in your mouth. Jungkook curses, eyes squeezed shut as the knot in his stomach tightened. Fuck, if he didn’t know any better, he’d be sure you were torturing him to get back at him.

But you want to please him, you’ve missed having him just like this.

His whimpers encourage you as you release him, kissing the head of his cock once more before you bob up and down his length.

It’s Jungkook who stops you with a tug of your hair, wiping the tear that rubs down your cheek.

“I’ll cum down your throat if you keep going, my love,” he chuckles as you release him petulantly.

“But I want more,” you pout as Jungkook kisses you, his hand on the back of your head as yours winds around his neck.

“So greedy,” he chuckles before kissing your nose. “Don’t worry, I am too.”

“How do you want me, Koo?” You ask bashfully as you sit back on your knees, ready to get into any position he desires.

“Lay down for me, baby. I want to look at you while we make love again,” Jungkook helps you lie down beneath him.

His fingers lace with yours when you settle under him. Your heart races in your chest as he kisses you gently..

You spread your legs further for him, wrapping them around his waist to pull him closer. Jungkook lines his cock at your entrance, moaning when he slides home.

“Fuck,” he grunts as you curse against his lips. “Fuck, love.”

“I know,” you sigh as you take all of him, the stretch delectable as you remember. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you free your hand from his to grip his forearm. “Fuck, Kook.”

Jungkook tongues his lip piercings as he watches pleasure overcome you. He gives you a moment to adjust to his length. Your nails dig into his arm for a moment before your lustful gaze meets his.

“More,” you plead in a whisper as Jungkook pushes a little deeper, bottoming out when you feel like he’ll reach your throat.

Fire blooms in your belly, desire swirling deep inside you as you kiss Jungkook.

Jungkook pulls out nearly all the way before sliding back into you. Your back arches as he sets a pace that makes you moan incoherently. He kisses you, all teeth and tongues, and dulcet moans.

His lips trail kisses to your neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks behind as he moves his greedy lips to your breasts.

Jungkook’s broad frame cages you beneath him, his hips meeting yours as the lewd sounds of your lovemaking fill the room.

“Jungkook!” you cry out as you drag your nails down his perfect back.

“Baby,” he moans, slamming into you again and again, enthralled by the way your tits jiggle with each of his thrusts. You tighten around him, biting back a guttural moan as fire courses through your veins.

“So fucking wet for me,” Jungkook praises. His hand moves between your bodies to rub your clit while his lips find your tits.

“Love you. I love you,” you gasp as he grabs your hips, squeezing as he pulls you onto his cock.

“I love you,” he responds, groaning when your thighs quiver at his sides. You whimper, eyes fluttering shut as his name rolls off your tongue in a heady tone that makes his head spin.

“Jungkook, fuck,” you can’t think straight, too overwhelmed with pleasure to warn him of your approaching orgasm, but this is Jungkook, he knows you better than you know yourself.

“I know, baby. I’ve got you,” he assures you as your hips meet his, and his lips meet yours in a messy kiss that swallows your moans as you hit your high. Your body tightens for a moment, your cunt milking Jungkook as he moans your name into your neck.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he whines as he fucks you through your orgasm and then through his. Sweat beads on your forehead and his. His black hair sticks to his face as he rocks his hips, sure he’s fucked you full of his seed before he pulls out and lays at your side.

Silence envelopes you two for a moment before you’re giggling with each other.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” you grin foolishly as you roll onto your side to face Jungkook, who is already watching you.

“Definitely,” he agrees, his hand pushing your hair out of your eyes. “You’re amazing.”

“Don’t get cheesy with me,” you poke his chest, smiling when he bites your finger playfully.

“You love it when I’m cheesy,” Jungkook responds as he pulls you to his chest. You’re both hot, and sticky with sweat but you’re willing to ignore it for now, at least until you can drag yourself up to use the bathroom and shower again.

“I love you,” you confirm as you place your hand in his. He laces your fingers together, moving your joined hands over his heart, kissing them.

“I love you too, baby. I always have, and I always will.” Jungkook swears as you lay your head on his chest, beside your joined hands, falling asleep to the sound of his heart beating for you.

The next morning is a haze.

You wake with Jungkook draped around you, his leg over your hip as he snores by your ear. You hate to wake him, but after you fell asleep, Jungkook had to wake you to shower, clean up, and change the sheets.

“Don’t get up,” Jungkook whines in his sleepy tone. “Stay with me.”

“We leave in a few hours and we haven’t packed,” you remind him. Jungkook groans as he clings to you.

You kiss him, morning breath not bothering you. “You’ll get more kisses if you get up.”

Jungkook whines. “No up, just kiss.”

“That’s not how this will work,” you laugh as you wiggle out of his grasp. Jungkook sighs as he sits up, his adorable bedhead makes you smile.

Lazily, Jungkook gets out of bed, yawning as he heads to the bathroom to brush his teeth and style his hair.

“I don’t wanna leave,” he says, well, you think that’s what he said with his toothbrush in his mouth. You shake your head when he spits into the sink as you pack your belongings in your bag, including the tiny pieces of fabric Jimin gifted you.

“We can vacation again soon,” you tell him as you shut your bag, and tug on the zippers to close it. It’s funny how you didn’t even want to come on this cruise, and now you weren’t sure you wanted to leave. However, you’d come without Jungkook and now you were leaving with him at your side.

Perhaps this trip hadn’t been so bad after all.

“I’ll hold you to it, babe. Now, when are we having breakfast? I’m hungry as hell after last night,” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “And this morning.”

You laugh at him, throwing a shirt at him.

Jungkook ducks out of the way, cackling as he shuts the bathroom door.

Jimin and Yoongi meet you for breakfast. The two are in their bubble as you approach with Jungkook at your side.

You sit beside Jimin, kissing his cheek. “Thanks for the gift.”

Jimin brightens, “You used it?”

Jungkook and Yoongi look at each other confused.

“Used what?” Jungkook asks as he takes a biscuit from the basket on the table. He bites into it before Jimin answers.

“The lingerie.”

Jungkook chokes on his biscuit, hitting his chest with his fist before he forces himself to swallow. Yoongi hands him a glass of juice, and Jungkook thanks him with a thumbs-up.

“You’re so back together!” Jimin cheers as he hugs you tightly. Yoongi rolls his eyes in annoyance, but a pleased smile appears on his lips.

“Can we stop talking about them fucking and move onto our wedding plans?” Yoongi asks as he stifles a yawn.

“How about a destination wedding?” you offer as you rub Jungkook’s back soothingly. He smiles weakly at you, his cheeks pink.

“I like the way you think,” Jimin grins as he rattles off ideas with you and Yoongi. Jungkook is too focused on breakfast to offer any input, but he’s sure you’ll catch him up on the way home.

Things were looking up for him.

Jungkook would have to give his assistant a bonus upon his return.

“Do we have to go?” Jungkook whines as he wraps his arm around your waist.

Jimin and Yoongi are packing the bags into the trunk of your airport shuttle.

“We do, work awaits,” you remind him as he frowns.

“What if we take a few days for ourselves? Just the two of us?” Jungkook questions.

“Oh?” You raise a brow. “What did you have in mind?”

“It’ll be a surprise until we get to the airport,” Jungkook smiles brightly. “I want you all to myself for just a little longer.”

“Then I am all yours,” you rest your head on his chest as he leads you to your friends.

“Ready to go?” Yoongi asks as he shuts the trunk.

“Definitely,” you answer as you take Jungkook's hand in yours.

You’re not sure what the future holds for the both of you, but you’re hopeful it’ll be bright with Jungkook at your side once more.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader insert #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst and smut #captain!namjoon #cruise au #exes to lovers jungkook #fic: navigating tides #jimin x yoongi side pairing #ex!jungkook

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stealingyourbones · 24 days

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Tucker was his way to meet up with his friends at Nasty Burger at sundown when a massive BOOM! was heard above him. Expecting a ghost he whips around with a fenton lipstick at the ready…

That isn’t a Natural Portal.

Whatever it was, it was some sort of portal, The blinding white lined wormhole was undulating 10ft above the ground. Tucker couldn’t even get a good look at it as its event horizon was like staring at the sun.

Tucker shielded his eyes but kept his weapon pointed at the wormhole looking thing.

Then a part of the event horizon dimmed as it was blocked by a human shaped figure. It took mere moments for Tuckers’ awe to transform from “holy shit someones coming through” to “OH SHIT!” as the figure promptly fell 10 feet from the entrance of the portal to the cold hard cement sidewalk like a bag of rocks.

Tucker creeped toward the figure in awe, barely even noticing the wormhole close above him. The man unconscious at his feet was an absolute tank of a man. Maybe not just metaphorically a tank either, metal cybernetic parts covering so much of his body were a gleaming silver chrome, the light reflecting off of the parts made his dark skin seem to glow.

Tucker’s fascination and awe stuttered when he noticed the injuries. One of the man’s mechanical legs looked like it was put through a woodchipper. The torn metal and ripped wires reminiscent of old train steam boiler explosions, the twisting and melded wires near hypnotic to look at. His torso and head wasn’t doing good either. A good chunk of the cyborg’s paneling was either dented or torn off and half of his cybernetic face had a bite taken out of it. Some holes deep into the intricate cybernetics below leaked a dark oil. Not only was that concerning, ever since his fall he hadn’t opened his eyes or moved.

Tucker shakily put two fingers to the neck of the man. A wet shaky laugh escaped his throat when he felt the cyborg’s pulse. With hands equally as shaky, he grabbed his iDalv 3 from his pocket and called Danny.

A tired yet happy voice was heard over the line, the background ambience of beeping fryer alarms and background chatter feeling jarring to the sounds of oil dripping from the cyborgs injuries and the quietness of the night.

“Hey Tuck, What’s up?”

“I- There’s a wounded cyborg man-”

Danny’s tone switched from jovial to serious “A what now?”

“I don’t think I can explain it over the phone. I’ll send you my location. This is all together ooky man.”

“On it.”

The tri tonal beep of the call ending was momentary before the soft dripping and crickets was all Tucker could hear. The crumpled man showed no signs of waking.

Tucker can’t help with the human part, but he sure as hell can fix the mechanical parts.

All he hopes is that the mystery cyborg man can explain what’s going on when he wakes.

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dp x dc #bones prompts #it's Cyborg if ya couldn't tell. also the portal he went through was a Boom Tube #Danny and Sam work on the first aid part #Tucker works on repairing Cyborg. He might even give the guy some upgrades! Who knows!#I'd just like Tucker and Cyborg to be buddies.

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friiday-thirteenth · 1 year

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#three weeks is my limit!#aka have been Doing Stuff for three weeks straight no weekends working 7 hours a day 3 days in a row (friday sat sun) and then having to #go to school monday and deal with some bullshit in my physics class #and i snapped.#by snapped i fixed things for myself but it was verys tressful and im burnt out and im going up north tomorrow and wow i need to relax #[physics was. thru correspondance bc pe and physics clashed so i was like theres no way in hell im not doing pe so i said id do physics by #correspondance and then i was placed with this other kid. and because of how i am it ended up trainwrecking into me not worryign about my #own learning and instead becoming responsible for his and so i eventually had to pull the plug and switch and now its okay! because i got #a different classroom and a huge weight off of my shoulders and i'm so proud of myself. i havent told the guy yet tho but i am 1005 going t #lie and not tell him that i hate him and hes made my life a living hell for the past term and 3 weeks because that. is unnecessary and id #feel bad. so im going to say that due to mental strain that im going thru right now myself and the school have decided to place me in a #seperate classroom in order to have a period to myself to Process Shit and that i'm cutting back on my physics (big lie) but also its the #road of least hurt for anyone #yk?#and physics has been ruining school for me for the last term and three weeks but walking into that new classroom actually shifted my mood #so drastically. and now im enjoying mechanics and im nearly done with getting my waves stuff done. tangent over]#also i missed the anniversary of my cousins death and i didnt get to go the the cemetary with my family + extendeds and so that fucked me u #also i think people overestimate my ability to keep up on work i'm not there for and also stay mentally stable.#ALSO my dean had the AUDACITY to tell me that she chose this guy to go with me on a trip because hes easy to get along with.#like miss. im literally the most cross-friend-group person in the year #i vibe with everyone. im everyone. you have put me with the most boring fucking guy. do not pretend you know me #god i love the internet its like therapy but im not dumping on anyone who didn't click readmore #plus im just an internet person. none of my problems should really matter to you please find them entertaining #like i do with reddit posts

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rafecameroninterlude · 2 months

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can you pleaseeee do some angst with pogue!sweetheart!reader, like she overhears some of the girls at the country club talking about her and saying things like “i don’t know what rafe see’s in her, she’s still a pogue.” and rafe possibly reassuring her? thank you!

warnings: bullying (?), classist comments, slight fluff

a/n: i got carried away (like always lol) leave requests if you’d like!

“rafe, as much as i love you, i don’t think i can stand out here much longer.” you fanned yourself, using your hand to block the sun from hitting your face. rafe and topper were currently playing golf while you played cart girl for them, the summer heat quickly becoming far too hot for you to handle. rafe paused their game, jogging over to you as he took his wallet out of the pocket of his pants.

“start up a tab at the bar, go ahead and cool off, baby.” you accepted his card, silently asking ‘are you sure?’ before he pressed a kiss to the corner of your lips. “go, on.” rafe reassured you, smiling to himself as he watched you make your way inside the country club.

you couldn’t help but sigh in relief when a gust of cool air blew past you, immediately ordering a virgin piña colada as you took a seat at the rather empty bar. rafe loved to bring you over to the country club, especially since you pretty much knew everyone from all the times you came to sell your baked goods, although it wouldn’t hurt to make some actual friends instead of acquaintances.

speaking of friends, you spotted a table not too far away, all three girls already looking at you before you smiled at them. no one smiled back. clearing your throat awkwardly, you fiddled with the rings on your fingers as you waited for your drink to be made. “you see rafe out on the golf course today? he is just so handsome.” oh, god. your breath hitched, your heart dropping as you continued to listen in on their conversation.

“he is! why he’s dating some pogue baker girl? i’ll never know.”

“that’s literally her over there.”

you shut your eyes, wishing the ground could swallow you whole. “i mean.. she’s pretty and all, but at the end of the day she’s still a pogue.” the girl’s laughter echoed in your ears, your skin flush with embarrassment. “well, it’s obvious that she’s just a charity case. rafe probably feels bad for the girl.” the way they all collectively agreed with one another made tears prick at your eyes.

just when you thought the comments couldn’t get any worse, your jaw nearly dropped to the floor at the next accusation. “maybe he’s paying her to have sex with him or something. i could imagine she has to scrape for some kind of change if she lives on the cut.” you were crying now, refusing to let them see any kind of tears running down your face. “one virgin piña colada.” the bartender placed the pretty drink down in front of you, a round of laughter erupting from behind you.

“a virgin piña colada? what is she? twelve?”

deciding you couldn’t take it anymore, you left a cash tip on the counter and muttered a ‘put it on on rafe cameron’s tab, please.’ before leaving without sparing them a single glance. to say you were mortified would be an understatement. rafe was probably going to freak out once he saw that you just up and left, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stay there another second.

you didn’t even make it out of the parking lot when you heard rafe’s voice calling after you. “y/n!” he was panting when he finally got to you, “hey, wait a second baby.” you quickly wiped your eyes before turning around, your boyfriend immediately sensing something was wrong. “woah, woah, what happened?” rafe tucked your hair behind your ears, cupping your chin before using his thumbs to stroke your tear-stained cheeks.

“nothing, i just don’t feel so good-”

“it’s not that.” he cut in, eyes flickering between yours. “what happened?” rafe asked once again. you knew it was impossible to lie to him. “tell me, baby, so i can fix it.” his jaw clenched, blue orbs wide with concern. you laughed bitterly. “you can’t fix girls who gossip.” at your words, rafe blinked before looking back at the country club. “are you talking about the snobs at the table near the window?” rafe took your silence as his answer, nodding slowly before draping an arm across your shoulders.

“what did they say?” his voice was eerily calm as he walked you two over to his truck. “it’s stupid, really.” you sniffled, letting rafe place you in the passenger seat. he kept the door open, leaning on the frame as he took your hand in his. “tell me.” rafe’s voice was stern, his chest rising and falling with each breath. you sighed, avoiding his gaze as you spoke. “they said that you have to be paying me to have sex with you because apparently i’m ‘scraping’ for change since i live on the cut.”

rafe’s jaw ticked, his eyes narrowing as he took your words in. “is that it?” he cleared his throat, his vision slowly blinding him with white hot anger. “they also said that they couldn’t understand why you would want to be with a ‘pogue baker girl’.. maybe their right.” rafe’s head shot up at your last statement, his face twisting in confusion. “what are you talking about?” he took your hand in his.

“i’m not even worth half of what these girls are,” you bit your lip to keep yourself from crying again, “i don’t have rich parents, i don’t have a trust fund that ensures i don’t have to work a day in my life, who am i kidding?” you shook your head. rafe studied you for a moment. “you know what you do have?” he lifted your chin, “a heart.”

“that’s something that no amount of money can buy. you have something priceless, y/n. you carry it with you everywhere you go.” rafe pressed a kiss to your temple, mumbling a ‘i’ll be right back.’ before he shut your door. you were a mess after that, his words not only being a comfort to you, but affirming.

rafe was gone for a few minutes before he strided out of the country club, a new piña colada in his hand. “here. now we sit and wait.” you took the drink from him, taking a sip as you watched two security guards escort the group of girls out. “what did you do?” you relaxed in your seat, glancing between rafe and the scene before you.

“got them blacklisted from the club. their parents aren’t as rich as you think.” he laughed, moving his attention to you. “don’t ever question yourself like that again. please.” he turned the engine on. “where are we going?” you asked. “we are going to go get you your own card, with your own little ‘trust fund’, alright?” he nodded.

“you’ll never have to worry about anyone talking like that about you ever again.”

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cythena · 9 months

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TOUCH ME TEASE ME FEEL ME UP

❥ — ꒰ notes ꒱ gojo, yuuji, toji, nanami x fem!reader, making out, public (yuuji), semi public (gojo, toji, nanami), cursing, tit sucking (gojo), there’s no sex but very suggestive, everyone gets cockblocked

❥ — ꒰ synopsis ꒱ you looked so good for them and they couldn’t resist getting their hands and lips on you

SATORU GOJO ✰ BACKSEAT

he always had ijichi take you two around. he still has no idea how he convinced ijichi to drive you both around. satoru decided to take you on a date to a high class sushi restaurant in the city. you deserved it after the stressful mission you had. so you dressed up. you wore a tight deep blue dress (that he bought for you) and these black heels. he loved the way your legs looked in heels. they shaped your body nicely.

as you walked into the restaurant, he rested his hand on your back right before your ass curved. he couldn’t resist touching you when you looked so perfect. when you sat in front of him he admired your chest and collarbone adorned by the jewelry he gifted you. seeing you made the strongest’s ego swell up even more.

on your way back to the car ijichi texted satoru he would be back to the car in a minute and he didn’t mind at all. he didn’t tell you but he did start rushing you to the car just a little. when you were in your seat he pounced.

he protected your head from hitting the window with his hand. his body crawled on top of you and caged you in. he rubbed his hands against your thighs to pull your dress above your hips. you pushed his head harder against your collarbone. he sucked harshly at your skin until he was confident you had a dark purple bruise. “oh! s-satoru! ijichi-”

“isn’t here right now,” he cut you off and pressed another kiss to your lips. he moved to pull the top of your dress down. now he could see your braless tits. he slurped your nipples obnoxiously loud. “you just look so fucking sexy right now. i’ve been so hot for you since i saw you.”

you whined at his words. he sat up and pulled you down to lie flat on the seat. he lifted your ankle onto his shoulder. his lips focused on kissing your soft ankle and higher. your tits were covered in bite marks illuminated by the moonlight flowing into the car. satoru rubbed two fingers right against your clit through your thin panties.

“you wearin’ a thong?” he teased. you nodded with a loud moan when he squeezed your skin. he shifted his arm underneath your waist to flip you over. “shit- ‘ve gotta see that.”

suddenly someone cleared their throat. satoru languidly pulled himself away from you. his fingers still rubbed at your slit. you scrambled to fix your appearance. in the rear view mirror ijichi’s glasses reflected. you shamefully pulled your dress up and smoothed out the bottom.

“these tinted windows shouldn’t be abused,” the driver muttered to satoru. you could only wished to be as shameless as your boyfriend.

YUUJI ITADORI✰ BEACH

yuuji loved the beach. there was only one thing he loved more, your ass. so imagine his delight when getting to combine his two favorite things. nobara was a genius for planning this day. you had on a cute pink bikini. he remembers you picking it and showing him. it looked pretty online but he didn’t imagine it could look so perfect on you.

the small cups hugged your boobs to your chest and at first you had on the matching beach skirt. he held your hand while you walked to a nice secluded spot to hold for you and your friends. when your spot was ready, you untied the knot at the side and let the skirt fall.

yuuji was looking through your bag for sunscreen at the time. you were facing the ocean while talking to him. when he looked up he caught a beautiful sight of you. your skin was barely covered, it was so delicious to look at. it glimmered in the sun too. he could’ve sworn his mouth was watering. you turned around when he didn’t respond to your question.

“c’mere baby, real quick,” he murmured in a trance. he pulled you onto his lap. his hands played with your ass, fondling and squishing it. your tits were right in front his face too. “you look so pretty, my pretty girl right.” he said with a kiss to your shoulder.

he kissed up your neck and onto your lips. you held the sides of his face as your tongues met. your cunt rubbed against his crotch. he groaned into your mouth. your tongues swirled around each other’s.

“yuuj, calm down,” you giggled. he only pouted and leaned back in to kiss you. you didn’t resist him. your nails tickled his scalp from his undercut. he cock pressed through his shorts. he brought his hand to play with your boob from underneath the thin layer of your top. he pinched and toyed with your nipple.

“‘m sorry baby, your lips taste good. i can’t help it.” his cheeks flushed furiously. your head fell back in a laugh. you kissed his cheeks and stroked his hair. he tasted your strawberry lips again. they were so soft and delicious against his own.

“looking hot y/n! i missed you!” you turned around to see nobara, maki, and megumi walking over. yuuji’s mood deflated now. he hugged you to his chest until you eventually freed yourself to say hi. he laid back on the chair with a towel obviously laid on his lap.

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✰ ELEVATOR

getting toji out of the house was a struggle. he didn’t want to get dressed and go to your friend’s party. the entire time you were doing your makeup and getting dressed, he was right behind you pawing at your hips.

you were grateful you made it into the building. your friend rented out a penthouse for her birthday. you stared at the buttons on the wall to the elevator.

“didn’t even know they made buildings this damn tall,” your boyfriend grumbled as he tugged on his collar. you looked at the mirror next to you — bending over to reapply your lipgloss. when toji turned to see what you were doing his eyes immediately fell to your ass sticking out for him.

his hand flew to grab a handful. the impact jutted to you forward a bit and you smeared your lipgloss. angrily, you stood back up about to reprimand him when he shoved you against the mirror. your lip gloss tube clattered to the ground.

his hands swooped your wrists together above your head. one hand locked them together while the other took advantage of the full access to your body. he nipped at your neck, exposed collarbone, and took his time in between your breasts.

“look so good, gotta mark ya up, make sure no man looks at you.”

“toji! control yourself!” you whined. he played with your thighs. his tongue licked a wide stripe back up your neck.

“mad i fucked up your lips?” he taunted. your leg wrapped around his waist, shifting your dress higher. the mirror revealed your lacy black panties that you were saving for him for after the party. you nodded with your lip stuck between your teeth. “poor baby.” he pecked your lips and wiped away the wine colored smudge. his husky voiced whispered, “i’m gonna ruin your whole look.”

the elevator dinged once before both doors began sliding open. toji loosened his grip for a second giving you the chance to push him off. you swiped your lip gloss from the ground and frantically reapplied it while toji fixed your dress. as soon as the doors on either side of you were exposed to the crowd of people.

you hurried to greet your friend with a nervous smile. your hands still smoothed out any wrinkles he left. toji followed behind you, blocking out the bit of your ass left hanging out just for him to see.

KENTO NANAMI ✰ OFFICE

kento was so proud of you for getting a promotion. now you got a new office that needed to be moved into. he offered his assistance to move your boxes into the new place. it wasn’t hard but he just wanted to spend some more time with you.

“you look so gorgeous, princess. i’m very proud of you,” he praised you. he picked you up and spun you around. you giggled once he put you down on your desk. he stroked the side of your cheek. you leaned into his touch.

“thank you, baby.” now kento considered himself a higher class man. he would never act on his perverted thoughts but when he looked down, the button on your blouse was open. multiple actually. enough for the plum colored lace of your bra to peek out.

he checked the time. it was about to be your lunch break. your body relaxed in his arms while he kissed up your neck. he kissed your ear and jawline.

“mhm. what’s gotten into you kento?” you sighed. your hand rested in his hair as he worked around your face. your eyes shut to intensify the feeling of his warm lips on your body. his thumbs stroked the dimples of your back.

“you smell good. do you have time?” he asked already knowing your answer. you followed his steps and checked your clock. he pulled away to look into your deep eyes. you gave him a nod and he reflected your mischievous glint in your eyes and smile.

he helped you to your back and rocked against you. he shoved his suit jacket off, disregarding where it landed. your buttons flew open, displaying your bra. he kissed them before his hands could meet them. your legs wrapped around his waist as your pencil skirt rose. he rubbed your thighs and snapped the strap of your garters against them.

“kento… ‘ts good, feels good,” you purred. he breathed in the alluring scent of your perfume. he’d have to buy you more. it had him rutting against you desperately. he grunted into your skin.

he locked hands with you against your desk. he wrapped the side of your panties around one knuckle to pull it down. he just needed to hear more of you. he had to hear you beg for more of him.

a rhythmic tapping sound echoed in the room. it only hit twice before kento was off of you and pulling your panties up and skirt down. you worked quickly to button up your shirt again.

“just a moment,” you called with a shaky voice. he smoothed out your hair and fixed any details you might’ve missed. “come in!”

the new intern walked in with some papers for you. his eyes flashed around the room nervously. they landed on kento, his slightly wrinkled shirt and gray pants. then they landed on the matching gray suit jacket in the corner.

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hvseung · 2 months

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unspoken truths - (p. sh)

pairing: skater!sunghoon x skater!reader (f)

genre: childhood friends who grew apart, ewb??

warnings: explicit smut, angst (just a tad), profanity, oral (m recieving), rough sex, cum eating, minor mouth play, fingering, degrading, unprotected sex🫣, minors DNI !

wc: 10.4k

🎵 now playing: love my harder by ariana grande

.｡.:*:.:**:.☆*.｡.:*:.:*.｡.:*:.:**:.☆*.｡.:*:.:*

The cold air inside the ice rink felt refreshing, a stark contrast to the sticky heat of the summer sun just outside the doors. The crisp clack of metal against ice echoes through the rink, polished blades gleaming with the promise of precision and grace. Today was another day of practice, another opportunity to perfect this routine and another chance to prove yourself. It was early, just after dawn, and the rink was almost empty. Almost.

Gliding effortlessly across the ice, Sunghoon was already practicing. His movements were fluid, each glide and turn a seamless display of expertise. They’re flawless, but there’s a certain detached precision to them. He didn’t seem to notice you at first, too focused on his routine, his breath measured, and his eyes fixed on some invisible point ahead. You tightened your grip on your skates and walked to the benches, trying to ignore the knot of tension that always formed in your stomach when Sunghoon was around. You hated Sunghoon, and Sunghoon hated you.

Sunghoon, with his effortless charm and silver-spoon origins, had always been surrounded by luxury. His path to the top was paved with privilege; he never had to struggle or scrape by, his every need catered to from an early age. He glided onto the ice with an air of nonchalance, his routines executed with the kind of polish that came from years of top-tier coaching and expensive training facilities.

In contrast, your journey to the elite level was marked by grit and determination. Each routine was the result of countless hours of practice on less-than-ideal rinks and under the scrutiny of a modest budget. You had worked tirelessly, often sacrificing personal comfort and financial stability to reach the same heights as Sunghoon. Every jump, every spin, was a testament to your resilience and relentless effort.

Off the ice, tensions were even higher. Sunghoon's casual arrogance clashed with your no-nonsense attitude. While he was used to people bending over backwards to accommodate him, you often felt you had to assert your value and demand respect that should have been freely given. Conversations between the two of you, when they happened, were laced with hostility, each remark carefully measured and barbed.

Things weren’t always like that though, in fact, they were the complete opposite. You and Sunghoon used to be very close, a rock to each other on the rink. He was your partner, after all. But as the years went on and pressure to be perfect rose, you grew apart. The distance between you caused a sour taste in both of your mouths, but you stayed supportive to each other nonetheless. Until Sunghoon decided to do a complete 180 one day. He began throwing petty remarks at you whenever he could about whatever he could, and after a while, the remarks turned into forward insults, which you would then reciprocate. You’re not even sure where things went wrong between the two of you, some stupid rumour apparently. But that obviously wasn’t the case, not that you were going to get the truth out of him now.

"Again," Your coach snapped, his voice carrying an edge that cut through the silence. "You need to nail this lift."

You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes as you approached him. "Is this really necessary? I mean, why can’t he just do this routine with someone else?"

Sunghoon shot you a look that was heavy and that carried opposition. "Maybe if you actually listened for once, we wouldn’t be stuck here."

You planted your hands on your hips, trying to ignore his gaze. "Oh, right. Because clearly, it's all my fault that you keep messing up the timing."

The two of you faced each other, locked in a silent battle that spoke volumes. This wasn’t just about figure skating; it was about clashing wills and unspoken grievances. You both knew that you needed each other to succeed, but the ice was a battleground where that truth was often buried beneath layers of resentment.

Sunghoon's eyes narrowed, and he skated back to the starting position. "From the top, then. And try not to mess up this time."

You forced yourself to take a deep breath, focusing on the smooth, fluid movements that you both needed to execute flawlessly. It was a routine you’d practiced countless times, but today, each misstep felt like a personal affront.

As the music began to play, the same haunting melody you had grown to loathe, you couldn't help but wonder if the real performance was not the one on the ice, but the one you two were constantly rehearsing off it: the delicate dance of patience and frustration, the unspoken challenge of learning to work together, despite the discord that seemed to define every practice. But once again, one of us messes up one too many times.

“This is ridiculous!” Coach pinches the bridge of his nose, obviously at widths end. “Can’t you two just get along? For the sake of the routine.”

“That’s like asking for blood from a stone.” Sunghoon scoffs. Coach lets out a defeated sigh, holding his hands in surrender.

“I’ll see you both next week.” He turns on his heel “And those cones need to go away, can you both put them in the locker rooms?”

Sunghoon grumbles under his breath, not liking the idea of having to be in an enclosed space alone with you, even if it only was for a few seconds. But knowing better than to argue with the coach, he picks up the cones and heads towards the lockers. He can feel you trailing closely behind him, your presence making his skin crawl. He quickens his pace, trying to put some distance between the two of you as you approach the desolate space. You push through the double doors, placing the cones down in the far corner before getting changed. It was the closing hour, so Sunghoon was in a particular rush, and knowing he couldn’t lock up without you was pissing him off.

“You can hurry up, you know. I don’t have all night.” He leans against the wall, folding his arms. But his impatience only makes you move slower. He huffs loudly, annoyed at your attempts to spite him. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?”

“Obviously.”

Sunghoon pushes himself off the wall, taking a few steps closer to you. “Why do you have to be so difficult, huh? Can’t you just do what you’re told without being so annoying?”

“Not when you piss me off and rush me. Do you think I’m gonna listen to someone who’s rude to me?” You turn around to face him

He glares at you, his frustration growing by the second. “I’m rude to you because your no better.” he scoffs lowly “You act all sweet and innocent, but I know you, you’re just as stubborn and spiteful as I am.”

“Shut up.” You grit your teeth, turning away from him again to pack your bag.

“No, I won’t shut up, not when you won’t accept the truth.” He tsks, smirking slightly “You’re not the perfect little princess you pretend to be, it’s quite pathetic actually.”

“And your nothing more than a sad loser who thrives off of daddy’s money, isn’t that right?” You coo. This isn’t the first time you’ve brought up Sunghoon’s upbringing to gain the upper hand in an altercation. Sure, it’s a little low, but you deserve to poke at him after everything you’ve done to get here.

Sunghoon’s eyes darken, his jaw clenching. Calling him a loser was one thing, but to bring up his family and his background? “You know I hate it when you bring up money. You think I’m just some spoiled rich kid who had everything handed to him? You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit Sunghoon. You should be grateful, some of us didn’t have money to aid them to where they are now.” You dig.

“You’re just jealous, aren’t you? Jealous that my life was easier than yours and your spiteful because I had money and opportunities you didn’t.” He laughs bitterly, stepping uncomfortably close to you. “You’re jealous that I’m better than you and I’ll always get further in this field than you ever will because I have actual talent. Talent that money didn't buy.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, shoving at his chest to create some more space between your heated bodies.

“Watch your mouth, princess. You don’t get to swear at me because you can’t accept the truth.” He closes that gap between you once again, pressing your back against a wall.

“You’re a lowlife Sunghoon and I fucking hate you.” You spit your venom at him, throwing your bag over your shoulder as you attempt to leave.

“You hate me, yeah? Well, I hate you too! I hate that you think you’re a perfect, good girl when all you do is put others down and tear them apart. You act all nice and innocent, but your just as cruel as I am. You can call me a low life all you want, YN, but at least I’m not a fake, two faced bitch!” He’s visibly angry, his eyebrows furrowed, and his pointed canines show as he retorts back. “don't push me.”

You scoff loudly, trying to cover up the obvious hurt in your voice as his words burn a hole in your chest. Part of you knew he was right, but another part of you knew that you only acted this way towards him because he made you like this. “Or what?”

“Or I might do something we’ll both regret.” Sunghoon’s eyes rake over your features as he pushes you further against the wall, completely closing any gap left between the two of you as his chest presses against yours, gripping your wrists. The tension between you was palpable, the air around you thick with anger and… desire? For a moment, his eyes flicker down to your lips before trailing back up to meet your eyes again, anger still present in both of you.

“Try me.”

That was all it took. All it took for Sunghoon to capture your lips in a rough and forceful kiss, a kiss fuelled by years of anger and pent-up need. His hands release your wrists, moving to grip your hips instead. Once your brain had fully processed the situation, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, kissing him back.

He grips your hips tighter, pulling you closer and swiping his tongue along your lower lip. The simple action elicits a soft moan from you, allowing his tongue to greedily explore your mouth. His fingers begin to trace the outline of your curves and up the length of your arm before settling on your cheek, holding you in place whilst he tilts his head to practically swallow your tongue. The kiss was sloppy and messy, if anyone walked in and witnessed it, they might have internally retched. But it was perfect, every ounce of anger and hatred seemed to dissipate in that one moment, replaced only by the raw and primal need that had been building for years.

“God, I hate you,” He mumbled against your now swollen lips “I hate you so much…”

“I hate you too.” I mumble back, playing with the hair on the back of his nape as he pulls away fully

“Prove it.” Sunghoon can’t help the wicked smirk that forms on his lips, moving his hands back to your hips to allow his thumbs to trace small circles on the skin.

“Prove it?” You push him down onto the bench beneath you, landing with a soft grunt. “You really can’t play nice? can you?”

You hover over him, leaning down to kiss him softly, almost ghosting over his lips. Sunghoons breathe hitches. Despite the tension earlier, even the gentle brush of your lips against his causes his body to react involuntarily, his head tilting back slightly to give you better access. He lets out a soft, almost meek noise at the feeling, his hands brushing against your thighs. But the pleasure is short lasting, as its not long before you’re pushing him away and sinking to your knees. Sunghoon opens his mouth to protest, but the words die in his throat as he gazes down at you, your head dangerously close to his growing bulge.

“Want me to show you how much I hate you?” You whisper breathlessly, his eyes darkening at your compromising position.

“Yeah? You gonna show me, princess?” He tries to control his body’s reaction as you reach for the drawstring of his shorts, but its futile. He lifts his hips up, letting you pull them past his thighs and down to his ankles, only the thin cloth of his underwear separating the two of you. The hardness between his legs was visible, and fuck- were you even going to be able to take all of that?

You lean up a little to kiss the outline of his prominent v-line, causing him to shiver a little. Your finger finds its way underneath his waistband, pulling it back before letting it snap against his skin. He whines, leading your hands to push them down. Without the fabric in the way, nothing was left to your imagination. Sunghoon’s breath hitches as his fingers thread through your hair, tugging on it lightly to encourage you. He can’t quite believe that this is actually happening, and that he’s just letting you do it.

You grasp his dick in your hands, the length making them almost look smaller. Pre-cum leaks from his red tip as he hisses, tipping his head back at the contact he has craved since the second he stepped foot in the locker room alone with you. You circle your finger over his tip, smearing the sticky fluid around before flattening your tongue, lapping up the mess you just made and teasing his sensitive slit. You swirl your tongue around his hot head, making him buck his hips up against your tongue.

“Fuck, YN,” he hisses, gripping your hair a little more to push your mouth closer to him. You close your lips around him, sucking and teasing his tip a little more, eliciting soft whines from him. “Take it deeper”

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him to have some patience, but instead he pushes your head down a little, shoving him further into your mouth and taking advantage of your relaxed throat. You gag at the sudden intrusion, your hands lifting to grip against his thighs. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Sunghoons eyes widen as your mouth envelopes him, a strangled gasp escaping his throat at the sudden sensation. His hips involuntarily buck upwards, his head falling back against the bench once more as he lets out an involuntary moan of pleasure.

He groans as you hollow your cheeks, trying your best to fit every inch in your mouth. Every AGONISING inch. You wrap your hands around his base, rubbing your hands up and down whatever you can’t fit in your mouth. “Yeah, that’s right baby.”

You moan as he tugs at your hair, bucking his hips a little faster to gently fuck your throat. His balls slap against the underside of your chin, causing your eyes to flutter closed as you focus on trying to keep his whole length down. He wraps his palm around your hair, creating a makeshift pony to pull you back.

He slaps his dick against your lips, watching as drool spills past and onto your chin. "You're enjoying this aren't you? You say you hate me but you love sucking my dick, isn't that right?" He pulls at your hair again, making you whimper and nod your head. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

He pushes you back down again, forcing you take every inch this time. Tears brim at your eyes as you slap his thighs a little. "Take it. You can take it, can’t you?"

You moan, his dominance making your pussy clench around nothing. You relax your throat even more as your nose presses against his lower abdomen. Tears spill past your eyelashes as you gag, bobbing your head up and down even more. You're determined at this point, determined to taste him.

You lift my hands to his balls, massaging them softly. Sunghoons head falls back, his breath escaping him in a sharp exhale. The sensation is overwhelming, his body shuddering at the contact. He lets out a soft, strangled moan, his hands clenching at the bench in a desperate attempt to keep himself anchored. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his body coiled tight with tension. His fingers grip your hair more tightly, his breaths coming in sharp gasps as he struggles to hold on.

"Dont stop, fuck you're so good-" He pants out, fucking into your mouth relentlessly. At this point, you're completely wrecked, drool spilling down your chin and onto your chest as hot tears sting your cheeks.

You cry out around his dick, your tongue swiping the underside. You feel his balls tighten in your hands. "Im- fuck im-" he whines a warning (barely), practically ripping your hair out and his head falls back and his back arches. "Fuuuuck! Fuck YN!" he cries out. Who knew Park Sunghoon was so vocal?

You almost double your efforts as his orgasm hits, desperate to milk him for everything he has. His hips jerk forwards as he shoots his load down your throat, the salty liquid overwhelming your tastebuds. He collapses bonelessly against the bench, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His mind is hazy with pleasure, his body thrumming with aftershocks as he tries to regain his composure.

You pull your mouth from him, swallowing his cum with a soft moan. You push yourself up on his thighs, dusting your knees. Sunghoon watches, dazed, his body still sensitive and raw, as he stares up at you from his crumpled position on the bench. "That was- shit YN."

"Yeah, exactly. Fuck you." You snarl, grabbing your bag.

Sunghoon watches, his body still buzzing with the aftermath of their encounter. He manages to sit up, albeit a bit shakily, and looks up at you. His expression is a mixture of anger and confusion, his mind still reeling from the events that had just transpired.

"You... you're just going to leave? After that? You're just gonna walk away like it didn't happen?" He finally manages to find his voice, the anger and confusion evident in his tone.

"What else were we gonna do? Prance around and hold hands?" You scoff, almost laughing bitterly.

Sunghoon's jaw clenches as he considers your words. He knew you were right, that they weren't going to become some sappy couple after one moment of weakness. Still, the thought of you leaving after what just happened was irksome. "No, obviously not. But... we can't just continue acting like we normally do after this."

"Sure, we can. This was a one-time thing to settle some tension. We still hate each other..." You roll your eyes.

His gaze narrows. He's tempted to argue, but he knows deep down that your right. One moment didn't erase years of tension and animosity between the two of you. "Fine. It changes nothing. And I still hate you."

"Good, I still hate you too.”

──────────────────────

It had been almost a week since... whatever the fuck happened in that locker room, and Sunghoon couldn't stop thinking about you. He found himself unable to focus on virtually anything; training, schoolwork, his friends - nothing was able to keep his mind of those 15 minutes you had shared in the locker room. He couldn't understand why it was affecting him so much, why he couldn't shake the memories of your touch? He hated it. He hated that you were able to get under his skin like this. He was a rational person (mostly) who didn't let emotions get in the way of anything, yet here he was, his mind consumed by thoughts of you. It was so frustrating, so infuriating that he couldn't seem to push you away, no matter how hard he tried, especially after everything that had happened in the past.

He tried throwing himself into training even more than usual, hoping the sheer exhaustion would drive you from his mind. But no matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter how much his muscles burned and ached, he couldn't find the peace he was looking for. You were like a ghost, haunting him at every turn.

"Again!" The rink echoed for the tenth time today. "This is ridiculous."

Sunghoon watches with a critical eye as you attempt the jump again, his arms crossed over his chest. He can see your balance is off, your form flawed, and he feels the familiar irritation bubbling up in his chest. How can’t you get that right? He doesn't know why he's even irritated, your form on your jumps doesn't affect him whatsoever. But it's as if he can’t help it. Everything you do just stirs some sort of negative emotion within him.

"Im trying!" You snap back at coach, running your hand through your hair. Your facial features are etched with exhaustion and frustration. This jump was getting to you, and you didn't know why.

Coach's expression turns stern at your snappy reply at him. "Trying isn't good enough, YN. You cannot be skating with that kind of mistake. Focus."

Sunghoon's eyes flicker between you and coach, remaining quiet for the time being. He's not surprised you're exhausted already; your form has been off all day, and it's beginning to wear down on your stamina. He can’t help the shit-eating smirk that plasters his face as he watches you try and fail.... again.

"I think that's enough for today." Coach huffs. "Somethings obviously throwing you off. This needs fixed before regionals, got it?"

Sunghoons arms are still crossed as coach calls it a day. He can see the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin, and a small twinge of sympathy pulls at his heart. He quickly snuffs the feeling, replacing it with his usual stoic, unreadable expression. But as you make your way the locker rooms, he can’t help but glance in your direction, that sympathy rearing its head again.

He trails idly behind you, his eyes watching the slump in your shoulders. Despite his best efforts, he can't seem to shake the feeling of sympathy gnawing at him. His usual irritation that he feels whenever he's around you are strangely toned down, replaced with the unsettling feeling of concern. He silently follows you as you push the double doors, watching as you start pulling your gear off in silence.

He stands by, watching as you start stripping off your gear. His eyes linger on your sweat-soaked figure, taking in the way the droplets cling to your skin, gleaming under the artificial light of the locker room. You're hyperaware of Sunghoons presence behind you as you strip yourself of your gear, but instead of the usual feeling of discomfort and irritation, knowing you weren't alone in the room was comforting? Especially after today's events.

Until he opened his mouth.

"You were a bit sloppy out there." The smirk evident in his tone. "Your form was horrendous."

You sighed loudly, almost groaning at the sound of his voice cutting through the comforting silence just to spit venom at you. "Not today Sunghoon."

"What? It's the truth. It's pitiful, really. Your jumps were pathetic. You're really going to compete in that state?" He chuckles bitterly

"I said not today." You snap, finally turning to face him. "Can’t you just shut the fuck up, for once?"

He leans against a locker, a smug smile plastered on his face. Your irritation only serves to fuel his amusement. "Why are you being so sensitive today?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. "I'm just pointing out the obvious. You're tired, you're distracted and your form is shot to hell. You're going to embarrass yourself if you don't figure it out before the competition."

You don’t answer and turn away from him, the slump in your shoulders becoming more prominent. You pick your bag up, slinging it over your shoulder before walking to the doors silently. You don't have the patience, nor time for his bullshit today.

"And now you're running away." Sunghoon mutters, unable to stop himself from speaking. "You always do that. I point out an obvious flaw, and you run like a coward." He can't help the hint of irritation in his voice. Despite the sympathy thats clawing at his chest, he can't let himself show weakness. It's just who he is.

He steps in front of the door, blocking your way out. He's unsure why he's even stopping you in the first place. Maybe it's the concern he feels deep inside, maybe it's his own stubborn pride. Whatever it is, he can't seem to stop himself. "Where are you going?" He asks, his eyes narrowing as he looks down at you. "Just ignoring me? Not even going to defend yourself?"

"Please Sunghoon." You avoid his gaze, not wanting to betray the obvious troubled look that’s etched into every line on your face. "Just let me go home."

Sunghoon's irritation falters for a moment as you speak. There's something in your voice - a mix of exhaustion and pleading. It tugs at that sympathy inside him like a fishing rod

"But..." He starts, his voice gruff, his eyes glued to you. "You can't just-" He cuts himself off, not fully understanding his own motivations, not wanting to admit the truth to himself. He lets out a frustrated, resigned sigh, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to calm himself down.

"Can you at least tell me what's been going on with you, lately? Why you're so... off your game." It's an olive branch, more sincere than anything else he's said to you.

"And why would I do that?" You scoff "So you can make fun of my personal life too?"

Sunghoons irritation flares back up at your snippy response, but then he looks at you, really looks at you. He sees your pained expression and the defeated look in your eyes. For once, he can't find it in himself to match your snark with more snark, can't find it in him to kick you while you're down like he usually does.

"Look, I promise... I won't make fun of you. I just..." He takes a deep breath, his expression unusually vulnerable. Is he really going to say this? "I just... I don't like this.” He motions vaguely to you, trying to find the right words “I don't like seeing you like this. It's..." He hesitates, as if he's admitting something he'd rather keep to himself. "It's pissing me off."

"Pissing you off?" You finally look up from the ground. He holds your gaze, his eyes uncharacteristically soft and vulnerable. He's not used to being this open with you - hell, he's not used to being this open with anyone. It's new and unfamiliar, but for some reason... it feels right.

"Yeah, it's pissing me off." He repeats. "I don't like seeing you like this. Exhausted, frustrated, down on yourself. You're... you're supposed to be putting your all into the competition... into being better than me." He adds the last part quietly, almost as an afterthought.

"My parents are divorcing." You sigh, admitting quietly.

"Ah." Is all he can manage to say at first, unsure of how to respond. He's not a naturally comforting person, but his irritation at the situation shifts. He feels... sorry for you?

"There. Happy now?" You roll your eyes, waiting for the snarky comment or dig about your situation, like he always does.

"No," He says bluntly, not even trying to hide the compassion in his voice. He knows, instinctively, that you're trying to push him away, that you're waiting for him to throw some smartass remark or mean response. But he can’t bring himself to do it, to want to. He steps forward, slowly closing the distance between the two of you. He lifts a hand, hesitating for a moment before placing it gently on your shoulder. "I'm sorry."

You tense at his touch. You weren’t expecting any sort of compassion from him, never mind physical comfort. But the comfort makes it real. You look away again as tears sting in your eyes, batting your eyelashes to push them back. He moves his hand from your shoulder to your chin, tilting your face back up.

"Hey, don't look away from me." There's a hint of a command in his voice, but he keeps his tone soft, uncharacteristically comforting. He gently angles your face back up to him, his eyes searching yours. "You don't have to act so tough, you know. Not with me."

"You're the only person I have to be tough with." Your voice cracks, betraying your lack of control when it comes to your emotions. You were about to break.

The sound of your cracking voice has a strange effect on Sunghoon. Instead of the usual smug satisfaction that would accompany your emotional turmoil, he just feels... an aching in his chest. Seeing you so vulnerable, so open and bare, and knowing that you're only like this with him does something to him, and he's not sure how to handle it. He lifts his hand to your cheek, cradling it gently. "You can let go. I won't think any less of you."

As soon as the words of permission fall past his lips, a soft sob escape yours. It's as if your heart tore in half to allow all the emotions, all the frustration and anger that had been building up, flow out freely. You lift your hands to your face, almost shielding yourself from him, hiding from him.

The sight of you crying, the sound of your sobs echoing through the empty locker room- it goes against everything he knows about you. You're supposed to be strong and fierce, always giving as good as you get. He's never seen you like this before, completely shattered. But he's also the one you've decided to show this side to. Despite everything, you trust him enough to bear it all without judgement.

He steps even closer to you, gently pulling your hands away from your face and taking them in his own, his thumbs brushing against your knuckles in a soothing gesture. A strange, almost protective feeling washes over him, urging him to comfort you further. So, it's as if his arms move on their own when he reaches out to pull you into his chest, gently rubbing your back with one hand and threading his fingers through your hair with the other.

You don't know what even possessed you to allow yourself to be this vulnerable in front of him, and after a while, you calm down. You attempt to pull back, but it's as if he can’t bring himself to let you go. He's not sure if it's the vulnerability that you've just shown, or that damned aching in his chest, but he just needs to hold you for a little longer.

And you don't resist. You relax against him completely, nuzzling into his chest almost. You needed this. You needed this comfort, and if Sunghoon was the only person willing to give it then so be it.

He feels you nuzzle against his chest, and his grip on you tightens slightly in response. He can almost feel the tension leaving your body, the way you're completely relaxed against him. And it feels good. It feels right. He's never felt this protective, this intimate, with anyone before. But with you... it feels natural. Almost easy.

"I'm sorry." You speak softly, lifting your head to meet his gaze. He's pitiful, and it's genuine. The sorrow on your face sparks a pang of guilt deep inside him. He's never really seen you look this this broken.

"Don't apologise." He says, his voice gruff but gentle. He lifts his hand from your back to brush away some of the tear stains on your cheeks. "You have nothing to apologise for."

He holds your gaze, his eyes searching yours, taking in every detail. The way your lashes are still wet with tears, the way your hair falls over your eyes, the way your bottom lip trembles slightly. He's not quite sure why he's still holding onto you so tightly, why he's still caressing you so gently. It's like his body is moving on its own, responding to all his confusing, new feelings.

Your arms practically move on their own, lifting to cup his cheeks, the intimacy of the situation stirring an in-ignorable need to touch him, to feel him. "Sunghoon..."

The sound of his name falling from your lips, whispered so softly, sends a shiver down his spine. The new, almost unfamiliar vulnerability in your eyes, the way you're suddenly touching him so gently... it ignites something within him, that same protective, almost possessive feeling that's been stirring in his chest for the past 20 minutes. And as your hand presses against his cheek, he finds himself leaning into it, seeking your touch. His eyelids flutter shut as he savours the feeling of your fingers against his skin.

Your body fights with itself. It fights the urge to push him away and never show your face to the world again, and the opposing urge to lean in and do something you will probably- no, most definitely regret. But Sunghoon can practically feel the turmoil warring inside you, the conflicting needs playing out on your features.

He knows he shouldn't act on these unfamiliar feelings, shouldn't give in to the need that's threatening to overcome him. But the way you're looking at him, the way you're holding onto him so mildly, it's as if he loses all control over himself. And then he's moving forward, closing the already diminished distance between them.

He mirrors your touch, cupping your cheeks to smoothly guide you closer. He pauses for a moment, giving you a chance to pull away if you want to… but you don't. You stay exactly where you are, looking up at him with an expression he's never seen on your face before. And then he leans in, closing the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss.

This kiss was different to the one you shared in this exact same spot just last week. That kiss was filled with anger and sexual frustration, but this kiss was meaningful. It was romantic, an intimate connection between the two of you that went beyond physical at this point. Sunghoon doesn't care about the context in which you've kissed before. He doesn't care about the hatred and hostility that usually exists between the two of you. In this moment, all he cares about is the feel of your lips against his. Nothing else matters.

He pulls away after a while, his lips parting from yours with a soft, wet sound. He keeps his face close to yours, his breath warm against your cheek. He gently runs a thumb over your bottom lip, the pad of the digit tracing the soft, plump flesh.

"YN..." He whispers, his voice hoarse, his breathing ragged. It almost sounds as if he's in pain, as if he's struggling to control his own emotions. His eyes bore into yours, searching for something. He's not sure what he's looking for, but right now, with you so close to him, he feels... desperate. Desperate for something he can't even name. "What the fuck are you doing to me?"

"I could ask you the same question." You mutter, before pulling his lips to yours once again.

──────────────────────

Sunghoon's mind wouldn't shut off. Every time he closed his eyes, images of you flooded his mind. He relived their moment over and over, the memories replaying like a broken record in his head. He tried counting sheep, meditating, even reading a book - nothing worked. He was exhausted and losing his fucking mind.

He couldn't believe he was doing this; can't believe he was so desperate that he's resorted to texting you. He knows it's a bad idea, knows that it's bound to lead to more hassle than it's worth, but he can't seem to stop himself. He types out a quick message, his thumb hovering over the send button for a few moments before he finally presses it.

Part of him is hoping, no- praying that you're asleep and won't respond. But another part, a small, traitorous part, is hoping you are awake and might answer him. He doesn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he craves your attention. It doesn't matter what kind of attention he's getting; he just needed it.

The notification jolts you a little as you just settle into sleep. You groan, reaching for your phone to turn the ringer off, but the contact on the notification momentarily stops me. You stare at your phone screen, eyes zeroing in. You hadn’t expected him to text you. You never texted each other, unless it was for information about training. Seeing his name causes something in you to stir, a mix of confusion, and as much as it pain you to admit it, hope.

SH: Hey, you awake? (12:18am)

You bite your lip, opening the message. You debated answering, weighing out the pros and cons. Which was ridiculous. It's just Sunghoon, what’s the big deal? But you had opened the message now, and you weren't heartless enough to ignore him, even if you wanted to.

YN: Unfortunately, what do you want? (12:20am)

Sunghoon lets out a sigh when he sees that you're awake, typing out a quick reply.

SH: Don't sound so enthusiastic, I could almost mistake it for kindness. (12:21am)

He leans back on his pillows, waiting for her response. He can't believe he's actually doing this, actually talking to you like your friends or something. But now he's stumped, he hadn't expected the conversation to get this far.

Should he just be direct and ask you to come over? Should he come up with some stupid excuse to lure you to his apartment? He hesitates for a few more moments before sending another message.

SH: Come over. (12:25am)

You mentally curse yourself as the back of your knees press against the cold metal of the bed frame as your feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. Why did you even get up for this? "Are we just gonna sit here?"

Sunghoon eyes you silently from the other side of the bed, his expression giving away nothing. He's not sure what possessed him to text you, let alone ask you to come over. But now that you're here, he can't deny the thrill that's coursing through him. "Do you have anything better to be doing?"

"Yeah, actually, sleeping?"

He rolls his eyes at your response. Even now, you still irritate him. But then he notices the way you dangle your legs over the edge of the bed, looking small and almost vulnerable. His eyes rake over your form, taking in the way your oversized sweater swallows your slender frame. You look softer like this, less like the stubborn girl he's used to seeing every week.

"You could've slept. No one forced you to come over." He pats the space next to him on the bed. "But now that you're here, you might as well make yourself comfortable."

"What do you think this is?" You scoff a little.

His eyes flash with a mixture of annoyance and amusement at your response. "You always have to argue, don't you? I'm just offering you a comfortable place to sit. Nothing more." He pats the bed again, gesturing for you to come closer.

You scan his face for something... anything? A smirk, a falter in his gaze, but his face remains stoic. OH, SO HES SERIOUS. "Im fine over here."

Sunghoon lets out a huff of frustration at your stubbornness. Why couldn't you just do as your told for once? "Come. here." He pats the bed a second time, his voice taking on a commanding tone. He doesn't understand why but right now, he wants you closer. Closer than the width of his king size bed would allow.

You roll your eyes, crawling over to sit next to him cross your legs and letting your knees brush against his thighs briefly. You and Sunghoon had known each other for years, even if most of those years weren't pleasant, but you had never been in such an intimate space like his bedroom before, and it nerved you. "Happy?"

He tries to ignore the way his chest clenches as your knees brush against his thighs. He tries to tell himself it's just a physical reaction, an involuntary response to the feeling of your body against his, but he knows deep down that there's something more to it.

When you finally settle next to him on the bed, he leans back against the headboard, eyes studying your face, noticing things he's never noticed before. Your eyelashes, the way they fan out against your skin. The delicate curve of your nose, the rosy hue of your lips. "Yeah, I am."

"Well, I’m glad you're enjoying yourself." Your voice shakes a little at the proximity. This is normal, right? Giving your sworn rival a blowjob in the locker rooms, breaking down in front of him in the same said locker room, then coming to his house 5 days later? You try to convince yourself, but your attempts are futile.

He reaches out, his fingers grazing your arm, feeling the softness of your skin. He's acutely aware of the fact that you're in his bed, that he has you this close, this vulnerable, and for once, he doesn't feel the need to provoke you. Instead, he's content just sitting in silence with you, his fingers continuing to trace your skin, feather-light.

He lets his fingers trail up your arm and across your collarbone, tracing the line of where your sweater meets your skin. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, the faint scent of your shampoo filling his nose. He wants to lean closer, to bury his face in your neck and just stay like that indefinitely, but he reigns in the impulse.

"Sunghoon what are you-"

He doesn't answer, his fingers continuing their path up your body. His hand moves up to your neck, gently wrapping around your throat. He applies just the slightest pressure, his thumb grazing against your pulse point. He can feel your heart beating faster under his fingers, and he loves it. Loves knowing that even with your tough exterior, you're just as affected by him as he is by you. So affected that it pisses him off. He wants more. He wants everything. "You're so confusing, you know that?"

"I-I'm confusing?" You can’t help but trip on your own words, the feeling of his fingers wrapped so delicately around your throat making your palms sweat. "You're the one touching me like this..."

His fingers tighten slightly around your throat, his hand now fully encircling the length of it. He can feel your breath hitch and sees the flutter of your eyelashes, the only indication of your discomfort. His eyes lock onto yours. He's always loved how expressive your eyes are, how they seem to mirror your every thought. They're filled with a mixture of confusion and desire, a combination that makes something in him stir. "And you're enjoying it, aren't you?"

You open your mouth to speak, but it's as if the words die on their way out, a meek "No" being the only thing that falls from your lips.

"No?" He repeats, the word practically dripping with mockery. He tightens his hold on your throat, using his grip to tilt your head up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes roam over your face, taking in your flushed cheeks and widened eyes. He sees the mixture of defiance and vulnerability in your gaze, the way your lip trembles slightly under his grip. His own body responds to your helplessness, a heat pooling in his gut as he imagines all the things he could do to you in this state.

"Hoon..." You whine softly, the heat between your thighs too much to ignore now. Your panties were practically soaked through at this point, and as much as it killed you to admit it, this was affecting you.

He's unable to suppress the shiver that runs down his spine when you whine his name. Hearing his nickname in your voice, so soft and needy, practically drives him crazy. He tightens his grip on your throat again, relishing in the way the pressure makes your body squirm. "Yes, baby-girl?"

He lifts his thumb, ghosting it across your bottom lip again. He can't help but notice the way your lip trembles and parts slightly at his touch and he can't resist the urge to press his thumb deeper into your mouth. He wants to hear more of those little whimpers, wants to see you completely undone. He runs his thumb across your tongue, feeling it swirl around the digit. He can't believe you're letting him do this to you, that you're submitting instead of your usual resistance. It emboldens him, makes him want to push you further, to see how far you'll let him go.

"You have no idea how pretty you look like this." He murmurs, his voice hoarse with desire. He releases your throat, bringing his other hand up to cup your chin instead as his other thumb still rests against your tongue. He forces your head back, angling it so that your neck is fully exposed to him. You whimper softly, your lip quivering underneath his finger as he pushes it a little further into your mouth, your tongue flicking up to meet the salty digit.

Sunghoon can't believe the sight before him, can't believe that he's seeing you like this, the tough girl that reciprocates his hatred, reduced to nothing but a whimpering mess from just a finger in her mouth. He can see the conflicting emotions warring on your face, the part of you that wants to fight back, to resist the desire that's coursing through you. But he also sees the way your legs shift restlessly on the covers, and he knows you're only holding back because you're stubborn and prideful. He pushes his finger deeper into your mouth, forcing you to take more as he leans in, his lips hovering just above your ear. "That's it, give in,"

You curse at the way your legs involuntarily and almost instantly spread the second his fingers meet the plump flesh of your inner thigh, the fabric of your pants riding up to reveal the expanse of smooth skin that's usually hidden underneath layers of clothing. You can’t help but let out the shaky breath that you didn't even realise you were holding as he traces small, delicate patterns, dangerously close to your pussy that was practically leaking through onto his bedsheets.

Sunghoon can't help but relish in the fact that he's the one who's making you react like this, that no matter how much you push him away, you still subconsciously crave his touch. His fingers continue to trail up your inner thighs, his touch deliberately light, drawing soft noises from your throat. He loves the way your body betrays your attempts to keep some semblance of control, no matter how hard you try.

"Sunghoon, please-" You whine as he retracts his finger from your mouth.

"Please what?" He teases, his fingers still tracing patterns around your sensitive inner thighs, always stopping short of where you needed him the most. He knows exactly what you want, he can hear it in the way you whine, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants to hear you beg him; he wants you to give up your pride for him.

He gives your inner thigh a quick smack, his hand coming down harshly on the sensitive flesh there. You jolt forwards at the sudden contact, moaning softly. "Touch you where?"

"Touch my pussy Hoon, please." You whimper.

He pushes you down onto the mattress, manoeuvring to hover about you. He reaches one hand down to spread your sticky thighs, pressing his other palm beside your head. "That was easy, wasn't it?"

His hand finally connects with your aching core, teasing you through the thin material. "Fuck, baby. You're so wet, you're practically drenched through"

He pushes the material to the side, instantly slipping a singular digit into to your pulsing hole without giving you a second to register his actions, ca8using your head to spin. But he doesn't move the digit. "Beg for it."

"What? No-"

He gives your thigh another harsh smack, making you slam your legs closed around his palm, whining. "I said beg for it. Beg for me to touch your pussy."

"Please don’t make me-"

He gives you another smack, harder this time, and relishes the way your legs clamp down around his hand, trying to get some friction, any friction "Do you really think you're in a position to make demands?" He scoffs. "Beg."

"Please Hoon... please touch my pussy." You whine meekly. As soon as the words leave your lips, he moves the finger thats buried deep inside you, plunging it in and out.

"Thats a good girl." He smirks, his bottom lip tucked snuggly between his pointed canines. You can’t even reply, your mind too clouded with pleasure to come up with a response to his praise.

Sunghoon lets out a huff, taking in the look on your face, the way your eyes are squeezed shut in pleasure, your mouth open and panting. It's a satisfying sight, and one that he wants to take advantage of. He continues moving his fingers inside you, adding another thick digit and applying a little more pressure to your clit, enjoying the soft gasps and moans that escape you.

He can tell by the way your body trembles and the whiny, breathless noises falling from your lips, that you're close. He can feel it in the way your thighs squeeze around his hand, the way your walls clamp down on his fingers. "Thats it," He increases the pace of his fingers "are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?"

"Mhm- wanna be a good girl." You whine, arching your back.

He lets out a moan, his fingers starting to work a little faster. He can feel the way your body starts to tense up, preparing for it. He wants to see you fall apart completely, wants to feel you come unraveled under his touch. "Then cum"

Your orgasm hits you like a ten-ton truck. Your hips stutter forwards and a guttural moan rips from your chest. "Fuuuck!"

Sunghoon watches the way your face twists in ecstasy, the way your eyes roll back, and your hands clawing at the sheets beneath you. He guides you through it, his fingers slowing until you come down from the high. He reluctantly pulls his fingers from you, bringing the glistening digits to his plump lips and sucking them clean with a chesty moan.

But he isn't done, not even close.

He brings his hands to the bottom of your top, his fingers slowly tracing the hem, teasing the exposed skin of your stomach.

"This needs to come off." He mutters, his hands pulling at the material, trying to lift it over your head. He's impatient, his desire overriding any attempts at gentleness. He wants to see all of you, wants to feel your bare skin against his hands and lips.

As he finally gets the top off, he lets his eyes rake over your exposed body. He can't help but let out an appreciative moan, his hands coming up to grip at your waist, his fingers almost indenting into the soft flesh. He looks at you, the way your chest is heaving with each breath, he looks at the way your cheeks are still flushed from your previous release, and he knows he needs more.

You can’t help but shift uncomfortably under his heavy gaze, practically feeling the holes being burnt into your skin. And Sunghoon notices the way you shift, how your body tenses under his scrutiny. He's not trying to make you uncomfortable, he's just trying to take in every bit of you, to memorise every inch of your skin, to commit it all to memory.

"You're so beautiful" He whispers, his voice full of reverence, his fingers tracing the curve of your bra. He leans down, attaching his lips to your collarbone, his mouth trailing a path down your chest. He can hear your breathing pick up again, can feel your heart hammering in your chest. He's gentle, his lips and tongue exploring every inch of your skin, and his hands following suit.

He pulls himself further on top of you so that he's almost completely covering you, his weight pressing you down into the bed. He continues his path down your body, his mouth and hands working in tandem, every touch and caress designed to heighten your pleasure. He can't help the possessive desire that rises within him. He wants to leave his mark on you, wants to claim you in a way that no one else ever will. He bites down on the skin above your breast, enough to leave a small bruise, causing you to arch from the bed with a soft whine.

He can't get enough of the way you respond to his touch, the little gasps and whimpers that escape your lips fuelling his desire. He moves lower, his mouth now on your stomach, his tongue tracing the dip of your belly button, his teeth scraping across the sensitive skin. He wants to take his time, to savour every moment, but the need in his body, the need to claim you completely, is growing harder to ignore with each passing second.

"Sunghoon," you whisper with soft moan, grabbing his attention "I can’t wait any longer."

"Neither can I." He mutters, his voice low and rough. His lips find yours, his tongue delving into your mouth as he kisses you hungrily, his hands roaming your body, everywhere he can reach. His hands slide down to your hips, hoisting them up so that you're pressed even closer to him, his bulge poking against your throbbing pussy as he kisses you feverishly. You tangle your hand in his soft lock, tugging at the roots.

"That's it," He moans lowly, mumbling against your lips. "Pull harder." He grinds his clothed dick against your clit, making you hiss and tug at his hair again, harder this time.

He lets out another low moan, the feeling of your hands in his hair and your body against his almost too much to handle. "Keep pulling." He instructs you, his voice low and rough. He ruts against you harder, watching as your juices stain a wet patch on his sweats. It's so dirty, filthy even, but he fucking loves it.

You continue to tug on his hair, arching into his touch, the combination making his head spin. He lets out a strangled noise, his hands gripping at your hips as he starts to grind against you harder, faster.

"Fuck me Sunghoon, need to feel you deep inside me" You pant, rolling your hips gently against his as you grow more impatient by the second.

Sunghoons breathe hitches at your words, the raw desire behind them almost too much to handle. He lets out a low, guttural groan, his eyes trailing over the curves of your body once more, his hands leaving bruises on your hips.

"Are you sure?" He asks, even though his body is already screaming to take you, to claim you completely.

"Please." You meet his gaze, biting your lips as you continue to gently roll your hips against his. He doesn't waste another second before pushing his sweats down, his hard cock springing up.

His tip was angry and leaking pre-cum. You whine at the sight, swiping the beads the continued to pour out before bringing it to your lips. But before you can do anything more, he rolls over so that you're on top of him, your body straddling his. His hands move to your waist, holding you in place as he bucks his hips up, running the veiny underside of his dick between your folds.

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, rutting against you like this a few more times before positioning his tip at your soaking hole. He slowly guides you down onto him, his eyes locked with yours. Sunghoon felt big when he was down your throat, but fuck, he was practically splitting you in half right now. He groaned as you sucked him in, watching as you tip your head back with a loud whine.

"Are you okay?" He mumbles, trying his best not to moan and ruin his moment of concern.

You nod, manoeuvring yourself to your knees to sink down on him more, taking him deeper. Sunghoon, bucks his hips up involuntarily, causing you to jolt forward with a loud moan.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he hisses, parting your legs to watch his dick disappear inside of you. "You feel so good."

You moan loudly, biting your lip to suppress any whines or whimpers that might give away your slight discomfort. He felt good, really good. But he was so big, big enough that it was a little painful.

Despite your best efforts, he can tell that you're having a hard time taking him, that he's bigger than you're used to. He lets out a low moan, his hands moving to gently soothe your hips, trying to help you ease onto him carefully. His eyes are locked onto yours, taking in the way your face twists with the mix of pleasure and pain. He tries to go slow, to be gentle with you, not wanting to cause you any unnecessary pain. But he can only hold back so much, his body begging him to just lose control and take you as hard and fast as he can.

You gasp once you're fully seated on him, deliciously stretched and full to the brim with dick. You circle your hips, trying to adjust to him before lifting up a little and bouncing on him. You were slow at first, almost painfully slow, but once you had become accustomed to his size, nothing was stopping you.

“Oh fuck,” Sunghoon groans, tilting his head back as you slam down against his thighs, the wet squelching noise that emits from you almost making him dizzy. His back arches against the mattress, his eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of your hot walls wrapped so snuggly around his dick. “Ah, that’s- yeah just like that.”

You moan loudly, muttering soft curses under your breath as you continue your vigorous movements. Sunghoon lifts his hips, thrusting them up to meet yours, causing your body to jolt as he reaches that one pressure point deep inside you that sends you reeling. “Right there!”

“Yeah? Right there? Is that the spot baby?” He groans, gripping your hips to keep them still as he thrusts up into you relentlessly. You practically fall limp, your chest crashing against his as his tip kisses your cervix over and over again. “Fuck you feel so good, so fucking good princess.”

“D-don’t stop- gonna cum!” You cry out, reaching up to claw your nails at his bare chest, leaving red and angry bumps in their wake. But Sunghoon doesn’t have the time, nor the ability to care about the pain.

“I'm not gonna stop, not gonna stop.” He groans, before flipping you both over. He positions you on your hands and knees before pushing your chest against the mattress and slamming back into you, knocking the breath straight out of your lungs.

He continues his onslaught and you can feel the tightening in your stomach become almost unbearable. “Fuck I’m cumming!”

“No, your not.” He slams his palm down on the soft, plush skin of your ass as it jiggles against his lower abdomen before stopping his movements. You whine as you feel your release slipping from you.

“No!” You cry out, almost choking out a sob.

“Beg.”

“What?”

“Beg me to let you cum.” The shit-eating grin plastered on his face is prominent. Even if you can’t see it, you can hear it in his voice. He was loving this. Loving the power that he had over you and loving the fact that as much as you don’t to, you will follow his commands.

“Please let me cum.” You whine

“Oh come on. That was pathetic. Beg like you mean it.” He slaps your ass again, making you cry out.

“Please! Please let me cum! Please Sunghoon!” You circle your hips against his abdomen, causing him to hiss.

“Good fucking girl.” He slaps your ass again, harder this time, before moving his hips again. He pounds into you, his balls slapping against your clit. You’re teetering on the edge of release, and you’re not sure how much longer you can hold back.

“Can I cum? Fuck, please! Can I cum?” You plead, gripping onto the headboard in front of you.

At this point, Sunghoon can’t even deny his own release, never mind yours. “Cum baby. Cum for me like a good girl.”

At that was it. You shriek as he slams into you one last time, hitting your g-soot deliciously and sending you completely over the edge. Your pussy clamps down on him before fluttering as you cum, your juices spilling down your thighs.

“Fuuuuck!” Sunghoon cries, shooting his warm load into you. Into you. He stays nestled in the warmth of your velvety walls before reluctantly pulling out with a filthy squelch. He watches as his cum almost instantly pools out of you, also running down your thigh. He smirks, using two fingers to scoop up the liquid before leaning over and shoving the fingers into your mouth.

You gag at the unexpected intrusion, but once you realise what he’s doing, you clamp your lips down, sucking and swirling your tongue around the digits, letting the salty liquid flood over your tastebuds. You moan at the taste, almost craving more. He slips his fingers out and swipes the saliva down your cheek.

“Now this. This is not a one-time thing to settle tension.” He says, flopping down onto the mattress beside you, running his fingers through his sweaty hair that’s clinging desperately to his forehead.

“No way.”

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@ hvseung, 2024. do not repost or reuse in anyway. thankyou :)

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#enhypen #kpop #fanfic #fanfiction #sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #kpop smut

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