#weather wood beams

[sadatmirza]

Miami Beach Style Bedroom Mid-sized coastal master bedroom idea with light wood floors, yellow walls, and no fireplace

[beta-isaac-lahey]

Miami Beach Style Bedroom

[josiahcarr]

Kitchen - Transitional Kitchen A large, transitional l-shaped eat-in kitchen with a farmhouse sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, marble countertops, a white backsplash, a marble backsplash, stainless steel appliances, and an island is one design option.

[mortalclace]

Enclosed in Dallas

Example of a small transitional enclosed dark wood floor living room design with a corner fireplace and a stone fireplace

[romerocarley]

Kitchen - Transitional Kitchen A large, transitional l-shaped eat-in kitchen with a farmhouse sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, marble countertops, a white backsplash, a marble backsplash, stainless steel appliances, and an island is one design option.

[nicothenick]

Charlotte Porch Backyard An example of a mid-sized rustic stone back porch design with a roof extension.

[aerithdaily]

Porch Backyard in Charlotte

Ideas for a decked, medium-sized rustic back porch renovation

[laylaheartphilia]

Front Yard - Porch An example of a mid-sized rustic front porch design with a roof extension.

[sol-domino]

Side Yard - Porch Inspiration for a mid-sized rustic side porch remodel with decking and a roof extension

[margarita-cansino]

Dining Kitchen Atlanta A large, transitional l-shaped eat-in kitchen with a farmhouse sink, shaker cabinets, white cabinets, marble countertops, a white backsplash, a marble backsplash, stainless steel appliances, and an island is one design option.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope (Part 2/5)

(part 1) (part 3)

The next time you go hunting, the Bahrs go with you.

“It’s really fine,” you protest. It’s early enough in the morning that the air carries a bite. With any luck, they’ll think the redness in your cheeks comes from the chill rather than embarrassment. “I’m not even going far in. It’s Hera’s birthday coming up and she likes squirrel…”

“You’re going to catch a squirrel without a blade?” Mr. Bahr – Ivan – asks. He tightens the strap on Mrs. Bahr’s back, making sure the quiver of arrows is snug along her spine. He pats her shoulder when he finishes and beams at you. “Are you very fast?”

Yes, you are. You’ve noticed that you’re even faster lately as your 15th birthday marches closer and closer. You purse your lips. “I set traps.”

“Don’t mind him, Isla,” Mrs. Bahr -Marie -  says. She fondly shoves Ivan off the porch of the orphanage so she can get down. “He’s always joking.”

“What sort of traps?” Ivan asks. He runs a critical eye over your coat and pack. “Will that be warm enough?”

You’re not sure if your coat is warm enough for the weather or not. Another rising power: you’re nearly impervious to the cold. You shrug. “I’ll be fine. And just simple snares and stuff.”

“We can’t wait to see,” Ivan declares. He gestures towards the road. “Lead the way.”

You bite your lip. It’s clear that they knew you were going hunting today by their garb. Both are in sturdy, worn leather with swords on their hips and bows along their backs. They probably heard from Director Sarah and came specifically to make sure you kept your promise not to hunt alone. But… “The other kids will be sorry they missed you.”

“We’ll see them when we return victorious with birthday squirrels,” Ivan says.

“What a sentence,” Marie says dryly.

You aren’t going to convince them to let you go alone. You silently lead the way towards the orchard. Or, rather, as silently as you can. Ivan talks the whole time, asking questions about the apple trees and pointing to ducks flying overhead. You answer the questions you know the answer to and hum whenever you don’t. You wish you knew more about the vegetation, but the most you can tell Ivan is whether or not something is poisonous.

“Those ones,” you say, nodding to the low, circular leaves Mr. Bahr is pointing to, “are tricky. The real ones taste kind of sweet. The other kind that looks like that makes your stomach cramp for three days straight.”

“How can you tell the difference?” Ivan asks.

You shrug. “You can’t. I just tell the younger kids to bring it to me before eating it. Usually, I trade it for something actually edible.”

Marie, trailing behind you both, makes a noise of interest. “Usually?”

You feel your ears go hot. “Sometimes I’ll try it for them just to see if they can eat it. I’ve had enough of the bad one that it doesn’t affect me so much.”

“You try it?” Marie’s voice is sharp. “Isla, there has to be a better way.”

“Not really,” you say. You scratch the back of your head and quicken your step. You’re almost to the tree line of the woods. “The kids like sweet things. If I didn’t give in occasionally, they’d try it themselves. At least this way they check in with me first.”

“I still don’t think—”

“Sounds like Marie and I’ll be bringing some sweets along with us next time,” Ivan interrupts cheerfully. He points past the last apple tree about a dozen feet ahead. “Looks like the path ends there?”

“There’s an animal track about ten feet into the woods,” you say. You’re uncomfortable with Marie’s reaction. You know it’s not smart to eat poisonous plants, but what else were you supposed to do? Your worst fear is that the kids will one day get hungry enough to eat them without caring about the pain. Your shoulders round. “We’ll need to be quiet once we’re there.”

“I’m the best at being quiet,” Ivan says. He elbows Marie. “Right, Marie?”

“Right,” Marie says. Her voice is still a little strained, but you can tell she’s trying to hide it. “That’s why I married you.”

“That’s a lie,” Ivan says. He stage-whispers to you, “She married me for my amazingly dashing good looks.”

Marie huffs a laugh but doesn’t say anything else. You’ve entered the forest.

You were worried on the way that you’d need to tell Ivan that he needs to be quiet in the forest. You needn’t have been concerned. Both adults are silent and walk with quiet steps, their dark eyes alert on their surroundings. They move through the undergrowth gracefully, their years of experience showing in every step. You try to copy Marie’s soft footfalls as best you can and are pleased when your steps get a little quieter.

The Bahrs watch as you pick places for your traps. Ivan silently points to one of your knots, eyebrow raised. Guessing what he’s asking, you undo the knot and then redo it slowly. He nods in satisfaction and then gestures for you to give him the rope. Curiously, you do. Ivan completes the same knot, fingers steady through each step. When he’s done, he presents it to you proudly as if to say, See? I did it!

It makes you do something you very rarely do in the woods. You smile.

After setting the traps you take the Bahrs to your favorite resting spot. The clearing lies just by the edge of the shallow part of the river. About a mile downstream the banks widen and the North River joins this one, making it a dangerous place of rapids. Here, however, the water moves slowly and is shallow enough to be warmed by the sun.

Finally, you speak. “Shouldn’t be too long. Maybe an hour or two and then we can go check on them.”

“Is this where you found the horned rabbit?” Marie asks. You sit on a large, flat rock by the river, but she stays standing. Her eyes carefully scan the perimeter of the clearing.

“Not quite. That was near the hills.” You point. “Fifteen minutes that way.”

“That’s close,” Ivan says. He frowns, concerned. “Was that the first demon you’ve seen here?”

“No.” When the Bahrs turn to you in alarm, you shrug. “Not all the time, but demons come here. They’re usually not interested in me though.”

“But the horned rabbit was?” Marie asks.

Interested is an understatement. You’re not an idiot. You know that demons are dangerous. That’s why you usually avoid them when you spot them. Normally they’re content to let you pass by, but not the horned rabbit. It followed you nearly all the way back to the orchard before you realized you needed to do something before it attacked you. “Yeah.”

“What other types of demons do you see here?” Ivan asks. His voice is light, but he’s looking at you with a very serious expression. “Maybe howling bats?”

“I hear them sometimes,” you say, “but I don’t stick around after dark.” Ivan and Marie exchange dark looks. You fidget on the rock. “What?”

“This is protected land, Isla,” Marie says. She purses her lips. “No demons should be south of those hills.”

“What other types have you seen?” Ivan asks again. He comes to squat by you so he can look you in the eyes. “And when?”

“Just horned rabbits.”

“Are you sure?” Marie asks. She runs a hand over her hair, slicking back the fly aways. “Horned rabbits aren’t usually sighted alone.”

You hesitate. It’s true that the horned rabbits are the only demons you’ve seen, but… “There have been some signs lately, but I don’t know if they’re demons.”

Ivan’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“Wolves,” you say. Both Bahrs stiffen, hands going to their swords. You speak quickly. “But I’ve never seen them! They might be regular wolves. I found the tracks at the base of the hill, and some bones, but they were a week old probably.”

“We’ll need to ask the Lord to investigate,” Marie tells Ivan. She looks deeply unhappy. “The patrol doesn’t cover this far south.”

“An oversight,” Ivan says grimly. He reaches out absently and ruffles your hair. It startles you, but it feels nice. Ivan makes an effort to smile at you. “Good eyes, Isla. Is there anything else you’ve noticed changing in the forest lately? Even something not demon related?”

Something funny is happening in your chest. Good eyes, Isla. You wrack your brain for anything else. “I haven’t seen any other tracks or anything and there’s only been four or five horned rabbits this season.”

Marie makes a small noise in her throat. When you turn to look at her, she hides whatever expression she’d been making. “That’s a lot. Did you need to use your sharp stick on all of them?”

Ivan startles. “Sharp stick?”

You rub the back of you neck. “Just two.” You look up at the sky. You only had a sharp stick that day, but there are times when you’ve come out here with a knife. Knife days are for when you’re looking for bigger game.  “I’ve been pretty lucky hunting lately, now that I think about it. There’s been more deer and regular rabbits south of the river.”

“What do you mean ‘lately?’”

“The past month.”

Ivan and Marie exchange another long look. Before you can ask them what’s wrong, Ivan turns to you with another smile.

“Say,” he says, “what do you think about trying to bag something bigger than a squirrel today? You ever fire a bow before?”

Your eyes widen. “No.”

“You can use mine,” Marie says, pulling it from her shoulder. She holds it out to you. “We’re nearly the same height. The draw may be a bit heavy for you—or not.”

Embarrassed by the shock in her voice, you release the string. “I’m, uh, stronger than I look.”

“Good,” Ivan says. “That’ll make it easier to actually catch something today.”

The next few hours are the most fun you’ve ever had in the woods. Marie and Ivan go over every part of the bow with you, explaining the weight of it, the flexibility, the length. Marie and Ivan carry several different types of arrows with different tips, all good for different types of shooting. They let you practice on a tree across the river and each time you’re closer to hitting the center of it, they compliment how fast you’re learning, how accurate your eye, how steady and consistent your draw.

By the time they let you hunt with it, you feel like you’re walking on clouds.

The feeling lasts even after you return to the orphanage, a deer slung over Marie’s shoulders and your hands full of squirrel. There’s a pleasant ache in your back and arms from practicing with the bow. You can’t stop smiling. Everything Ivan says is out of the blue and Marie’s tired responses make it all funny.

At one point you’re walking behind them, watching their shoulders brush when the path gets a little too narrow. They’re smiling at each other and talking softly and for a wild, wonderful, awful moment, you imagine that you can keep this. You aren’t sure what this is. Their attention and their companionship, their gentle guidance and the way they speak to you like you’re an adult?

After Hera’s birthday dinner, the Bahrs stay extra late to help clean up and to spend time with the younger kids. You are still feeling a sort of bone deep happiness you’ve never felt before. Everyone is full and sleepy-eyed from the amount of food you were able to put on the table. The kids gather around their slates in the common area, learning a new type of drawing game from Ivan and Marie.

Hera comes up to where you’re leaning on the doorway. Quietly, she slips her hand into yours. You squeeze it.

“Thanks for the squirrel,” she says quietly.

You lean down and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Happy Birthday.”

She hums and watches the fun in the living room for a long moment. She’s eleven now, three years older than you were that Winter. She’s the second oldest in the orphanage and, for the first time, you wonder if she feels the same sort of responsibility as you.

“I’m happy for you, you know,” Hera says.

You make a low questioning noise in your throat.

“The Bahrs will be good to you,” Hera says. She looks up at you evenly, a small smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. “You deserve that, Isla.”

Every muscle in your chest locks, chasing away the pleasant languidness you’d been feeling. “That’s not—they’re not—”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Hera says. She stands on tiptoe so she can throw her arms around your shoulders, hugging you like she did when she was five. She whispers in your ear, “But I would be happy if they did.”

She lets go of you before you can tell her she’s being ridiculous, skipping into the room to join the drawing game.

You feel out of sorts for the rest of the night.

-----------------------.

(part 1) (part 3)

Thanks for reading! The full story is already posted on my Patreon (X)! If you'd like to support me, please consider checking out my page!

This month will be seeing two main things update on Patreon first: Dandelion (x) and my Cinderella story (masterpost coming soon!) updates for both coming later this week!

[erikatsu]

DON'T LET ME GO ⋆.ೃ࿔* ═ FUSHIGURO TOJI

˗ˏˋ PAIRING ˎˊ˗ fushiguro toji x fem!reader

˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ˎˊ˗ your ex’s dad comforts you after your break up.

˗ˏˋ WARNINGS ˎˊ˗ kinda angsty and soft. age gap, body worship (?), unprotected sex, pet names (baby, sweetheart), multiple orgasms, cervix fucking, baby trapping, creampie, aftercare, unedited

˗ˏˋ NOTE ˎˊ˗ repost from old acc !

The soft tapping of the beginning rain hitting your windshield calmed you as you shut off the car. You couldn't help but think it was funny that the sky matched your mood. Dark, cloudy, and crying for you since you refused to do so yourself. Not anymore. Not over him, the boy who broke your heart after being together for over two years. 

You sighed, shutting off your vehicle as you talked yourself up. You’ll be fine, you assured yourself. Just get your things and go. 

Easier said than done. 

You blindly reached for the door handle, slowly pulling it open. Your heart raced as you yanked your hood over your head, dashing out into the soft rain. The petrichor hit your nose as it began to pick up, and you pulled your jacket tighter around you as you quickly walked up to the large house. You'd been here countless times, but the traditional Japanese style of the home always left you in awe. The dark zegiel tiles that lined the roof and met the kawara with the family crest in the center on top of the white clay walls accented by black wood fed your aesthetic for juxtaposition. 

You could remember the first time you came here. You were left breathless as you stared into the koi pond in the backyard, watching the fish swimming and the reds of the palmate maples and whites of the plum blossoms dance across the water’s reflection. You made a comment to your ex’s father that a Wisteria would suit the garden nicely between the black and white pines, as it lacked blues and purples, upon meeting him before you could think about what you had said. Fortunately for you, he agreed. Seeing it planted exactly where you pictured made you smile to this very day. 

Fushiguro Toji had always given you what your heart desired. When questioned about it by his son, the answer was always a simple, “You two remind me of your mother and I.” But, that wasn't it. Not really. In truth, Fushiguro Toji had always been taken with you. It was wrong, as you were his son’s age and (at the time) his son’s girlfriend. However, it wasn't like Toji would truly act on these feelings. 

No, Fushiguro Toji was a gentleman. All class with a smart mouth and dashing good looks to top it off, not only would he not come between you and his son, he wouldn't risk his career. Pulling away from the Zen’in clan and getting married at a young age had been the wildest thing he’s done in his life. After losing his wife and working full time to support Megumi, he had to do and be better than his family. Risking everything he'd worked towards for a woman half his age would be a waste. Instead, he showed his interest through material things under the guise of “one day she’ll be part of the family, she gets the Fushiguro treatment.”

Because a thing like money was no issue to Toji, he didn't mind spending it on you if it meant seeing you smile. Being the King of Kabutochō meant as long as he had investors, there would always be money. 

Even in the dreary weather, the landscaping of the property was still breathtaking. You didn't realize you'd been standing, staring into the yard instead of walking up the wooden steps to take cover underneath the extension of the roof, supported by tall wooden beams. With one last look, you made your way to the door, raising a hesitant hand to knock. You were so used to just walking in, a backpack slung over your shoulder and full of clothes to stay the weekend instead of staying on campus. Having to knock was another reminder that this would be your last visit here. 

You let your hand fall against the door, causing the dogs inside to bark. A voice barked back at them, telling them to be quiet and go lay down. You recognized it, wondering why Toji was answering the door instead of Megumi. He knew you'd be by today. Was he avoiding you? Or was he with the girl who had stolen his heart from you?

The door swung open, revealing Toji and all his morning glory. His hair disheveled, still in his silk pajamas. His eyes widened when he saw you, not knowing you were coming over. Before he could ask why you were knocking, he saw the red of your eyelids and your bloodshot eyes. His brow furrowed, bottom lip pushing outwards in confusion. 

“You've been crying. What's wrong?” He questioned, causing the familiar sting of tears to torment you as you tried to keep yourself composed. 

You wanted to tell him you'd been crying for three days now, and that you swore you wouldn't anymore before leaving the house. But, when you opened your mouth to tell him the truth, your voice caught in your throat. Just like that, your resolve crumbled. You allowed the tears to form, unable to stop them from flowing as Toji pulled you into the house. 

You refrained from answering as you took off your shoes and faced them towards the door. As soon as you turned back to face him, he pulled you into his chest, causing you to break down in his arms.

“He– He broke up with me,” You managed to choke out, squeezing your eyes shut as if that would stop the tears that fell from them. A harsh sob wracked your body as you felt yourself latch onto him, clinging to him for comfort that you desperately needed. His large hands rubbed your back, trying his best to console you as you gasped for air and dampened his shirt. “There's– There's someone else.”

The twinge of anger he felt flare up was nothing compared to his heart breaking at the sight of you like this. Crying over his son, who damn well had been raised better than to play with something as fragile and delicate as someone’s heart. 

“I’ll kill him,” Toji muttered before placing a gentle kiss atop your head.

You sniffled, trying to quickly compose yourself. You were already embarrassed that you had gotten snot and slobber on his expensive silk. But bringing it back up had all your insecurities floating toward the surface. Your lower lip trembled as you found yourself questioning, “I-is there something wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough? O-or–”

Toji pulled away slightly, softly hooking a finger under your chin. He gently lifted your head up so you'd look at him, his eyebrows furrowed with bewilderment. He shook his head at you. “Stop right there. You're the most stunning person in the entire world. You're kind, you're funny, and anyone would be lucky to have you. Only an idiot would let you go.”

The sincerity in his tone had your heart racing as you stared at him, wide eyed at his revelation. Before you could realize what you were doing, you were leaning into him. Your lips met his, reminding him of honey with how soft and sweet you were. He was too stunned to move, never expecting you to kiss him. But, just as quickly as you leaned in, you were pulling away with apologies falling from your mouth. 

“Mr. Fushiguro, I'm sorry!” You stepped back, shaking your head as you internally scolded yourself for being an idiot. “That was wrong, I don't know what came over me. I just need to get my things from Megumi and I'll be gone.”

“He's not here,” Toji cleared his throat, letting his hand drop from your chin. “You can go to his room, I'm sure he's got it all there.”

You nodded, promptly heading upstairs so you could grab your things and scatter. You were absolutely abashed, kicking yourself for kissing him like that. He was a grown man, old enough to be your own father. You didn't know what came over you, just chalked it up to being lost in a moment of weakness. What person wouldn't swoon at his words? Or read too much into what he said and how he said it?

Shaking the fleeting thought away from your mind, you entered Megumi's room to see a box of your things sitting on the edge of his nicely made bed. You frowned, knowing your relationship was truly over. Your heart clenched tightly as you picked the box up and took one last longing look around his room. 

Another sigh left your lips as you left, going back downstairs to see Toji staring out the window in the living room, watching the steady rain turn into a harsh downpour. No matter how much he squinted, he couldn't fully make out the purple blooms of the Wisteria he'd planted for you in the thick of the gray rainfall. 

He turned, looking over his shoulder as you approached him. Your eyes were locked on the outside, wondering if it was even safe to drive home when the rain could turn into a monsoon at any given moment. Toji apparently had the same thought, taking the box from you and setting it off to the side. 

“I'd be more comfortable if you stayed until it calms down out there,” He admitted to you, just now noticing you were still soaked from the rain earlier. “I'll have a bath drawn for you and get you a fresh change of clothes.”

He insisted, even though you assured him you'd be fine. He wouldn't take no for an answer, leading you to the private ofuro at the back of the house. He slid the shoji out of the way, revealing the large wooden tub full of already steaming water. The warmth hit you as you stepped inside the sunroom, watching the rain heavily hitting the windows that allowed in the natural light. 

You'd never been in this room before, knowing this was part of Toji’s bathroom. You were taken away with the dark hinoki wood that not only made the tub, but filled the room with its natural lemony scent. You weren't listening as Toji told you where you could find everything, walking towards the tub and lightly feeling the water. It was hot, but not scalding as you pushed through the surface tension, swirling your hand for a brief second before pulling away. 

When you turned to ask for a towel, he was already behind you, smiling at you in amusement. You jumped, not expecting him to be right there. Your heart was beating rapidly in your chest again, more due to his close proximity than anything else. The thought of kissing him crossed your mind again, a thin veil of heat covering your cheeks as you looked away. He cupped your cheek, slowly bringing your gaze back to him. His free hand grabbed your hip, pulling you closer before delicately catching your lips with his own.

You don't know what drove you to move your mouth against his, but you didn't stop yourself as you wound your arms around his neck. Your head was spinning as he gently tugged at your bottom lip, unable to believe you were kissing your ex-boyfriend's father. Toji’s fingers dug into your side, gently rubbing his thumb over your hip. You opened your mouth, allowing him in as your mind went blank. Your hands trailed from his neck down to his chest, and just as he thought you'd push him away, you were undoing the buttons of his shirt. 

His breath hitched as you broke the kiss, looking up at him almost innocently, “Stay with me.”

All his morals had gone out the window the second he decided to kiss you. His hands were pushing your jacket off your shoulders and he was lifting your shirt over your head in response, knowing full and well this was crossing one hell of a line. But, it's not like Megumi would know. He'd already texted, saying he'd be at Yuuji’s until the weather slowed so he wouldn't be coming home anytime soon. 

Clothes were haphazardly thrown across the room before you slipped into the ofuro with Toji, back pressed tightly to his chest as he peppered light kisses against the soft skin of your neck and shoulders. The heat of the water mixed with the feathery soft touches caused goosebumps to rise on your skin. You tilted your head back, resting against him as hands traveled over your body, like tracing lines on a map. He'd sear every inch of you into his twisted mind, memorizing the soft gasps that fell off your lips as he gently cupped your breast and ran his down your belly. Once his fingers brushed your clit, you let out a sharp noise. 

He tenderly rubbed at your sensitive bud, kissing at your neck. You allowed your eyes to close as he toyed with you under the water, a whimper escaping you from the stimulation. Wrapped up with him had you forgetting why you had even come over, had you overlooking the fact this was Megumi’s father and he was over twenty years older than you. No, brushed all of that aside as you twisted your body, sitting in his lap as your mouth found his and you rolled your hips against his hard on. 

You were going to drive him wild. 

Your perfect body pushing flush against his as you squeezed him in all the right places, your soft lips against his tasting like strawberries and mint. His mind was reeling, already intoxicated by how you felt and leaving him wanting more as you rocked your hips. 

You shouldn't have been surprised when he lifted you out of the water, carefully stepping out of the tub, but you scrambled to lock your legs around his toned waist as he carried you towards his room. Water dripped onto the floor, leaving a trail from the sunroom to the bedroom. He never broke contact until he placed you on the bed, kissing his way down your body until his head was between your legs as his tongue ran up and down your slick. 

“God, you're so fucking beautiful,” He mumurmed against your skin before gently pressing his lips to your clit. You whimpered as buried his head between your thighs again, lapping at your wet core as if his tongue was trying to memorize your sweet, gummy walls. Because he was lost in you and your moans, adding fingers and not stopping even as you came in his mouth. Overtaken with the need to have you, he ended up drowning in your heat, pussy drunk off the idea of making you cum until you couldn't anymore. 

You tangled your fingers into his hair, pushing him even further as you whined at the feeling of his fingers curling in and out of you, along with his mouth gently sucking at your clit. 

“Toji–” You panted, breath catching in your throat as your head spun from the overstimulation he was putting you through. “Nngh, s’too much.”

But he wasn't listening, working his two digits and mouth even faster. You keened, back arching as you rolled your hips up. Your entire body tingling and about to go through another wave of euphoria when he finally pulled away. 

He towered over you, cupping your cheek as he leaned in. Instead of kissing you, he rested his forehead against yours. He ran his thumb along your bottom lip, breathing heavily, “Do you want this?”

You were nodding before he even finished his question, staring into his dark blue eyes, “Yes. I want you.”

God, did you want him. Your mind was so overclouded with the thought of him, you had completely pushed Megumi far from your mind. You'd forgotten you'd spent days crying, sobbing over a boy as you were under Toji.

He groaned, reaching down to grab his cock, rubbing it over your entrance a few times before pushing inside. Your eyes fluttered, closing completely as he slowly fucked into you. He kissed you as he evocatively rocked his hips, high pitched gasps leaving your body at the feeling of his raw shaft working deeper inside you and stretching you out. You whimpered against his mouth when he bottomed out, brushing up against the entrance of your womb.

“So fuckin’ tight, baby,” He moaned into your mouth, finding a steady rhythm to roll his hips to. 

He was savoring the way you felt as you squeezed him, the way you tasted, how soft your lips were. He couldn't believe he finally had you, underneath him and taking his length like a champ. He never would've acted on his attraction for you if you hadn't done so first. As his cock dragged along your walls and his tongue danced with yours, the thought of filling your pretty little cunt full of his seed briefly crossed his mind. 

Toji pulled away from you, sliding out before rolling you over and pulling your hips up. He sunk back into your slick with heavy curses flying from his mouth. You mewled as he pressed his chest to your back, his lips brushing where your shoulder met your neck. He reached even further than before, his cock kissing your cervix with each stroke, eliciting soft yelps from you every time.

“Toji, please,” You whined out, gripping the sheets tightly in your hands. “Faster.”

His slow thrusts only picked up slightly, teasing you as he smirked against your skin. You let out a noise of complaint as he chuckled, moving his head to whisper in your ear, “You gotta be more specific, sweetheart.”

You groaned as he pushed deep inside, rutting into your tight hole as he turned your head to once again kiss you. As he locked lips with you, he kept his strokes short and deep, but faster as you had asked. Your moans filled his mouth, spurring him on as he bullied you from behind. The sound of his balls smacking against your wet cunt was all he could hear besides you, pushing you closer to the edge with each thrust. 

Your knuckles were turning white as your pussy clenched around his cock and you gripped the sheets even tighter. He groaned, pulling away from you as he murmured, “That's right baby, cum for me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, crying out as you felt a tight knot building inside you. Toji pushed himself up, grabbing your hips and forcing them back each time he rocked into you. A choked noise left you as he fucked you into your high, cumming around with his cock with a sharp whine. He rode you out, slowing down as your grip on him loosened and you were left breathless. 

He gradually pulled out, flipping you back over. Pushing one of your thighs back, he lined himself up before slipping back into you with ease. Your back arched as he worked his rhythm back up, long thrusts instead of short as he began to chase his own orgasm. Grunts fell from his lips as he rammed into you, yelps emitted from you in turn. You cried out his name, sending his mind into a frenzy. 

He loved the way his name rolled off your tongue instead of “Mr. Fushiguro”. You had always addressed him as that, even though he had told you several times that Toji was fine. He’s glad you waited though, making the experience that much better. 

As you squirmed under him, pleasured noises leaving your mouth, he found himself close to his own high, warning you he was going to cum. He had every intention of pulling out, but something in you snapped and you locked your legs around his waist, jerking him in as far as he could go.

“Nngh, you're playing a dangerous game here, sweetheart,” He groaned, losing all control of his hips as your actions threw him into his high. He drilled into you, his balls slapping your skin so hard you were sure they'd leave marks. With one last thrust, he pushed as deep as he could go, spilling his hot seed into your tight cunt. 

You both panted, catching your breath as he finally pulled out of you. He placed a gentle kiss on your lips before standing. Toji dipped back into the bathroom before coming back with a towel and silk robes. As he cleaned you up, you couldn't help but let your mind wander. 

Toji had always been intimidating, but you got to see that he wasn't. He was sweet and more gentle than he seemed. You couldn't help but wonder what would come from what just happened. Whether it continued, became serious, or was forgotten didn't much matter to you.

You slipped on the robe, lying back down on the side of the super wide king bed that wasn't soaked from the bath water or your juices. Toji flopped down beside you, running a large hand up your leg and stopping as he decided to rest it on your ass.

“If you wanted me to breed you, baby, you should’a just said so,” He teased, causing heat to rush to your cheeks.

The two of you had been so invested in each other, you didn't realize the rain had stopped shortly after it started. But, you were still wrapped up in the older man and how he made you feel so good that you'd completely forgotten the reason for your visit. 

You walked your fingers up his chest, about to give a coy response when a voice from the doorway had you immediately halfing in your tracks. 

“Dad!?”

˗ˏˋ TAGS ˎˊ˗ @sanzucide @dxlucs @mxnjiros @albedxs @suyacho

[marino6hughes]

IF SHE WANTS A COWBOY

ׂ╰┈➤ luke hughes x reader

summary: in which luke hughes wants to be your cowboy.

note: this is really short and my first time writting! enjoy.

warnings: fluff, childhood best friends to lovers.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Ever since you were little, you and Luke have been inseparable. Moving next door to the Hughes family meant spending countless afternoons out on the lake or out playing hockey on their drive way. Your friendship was the kind that weathered through all seasons. Over the years, the bond you shared only deepened, rooted in a shared history and an unspoken understanding that, no matter how hard you tried to deny it, you loved each other.

Luke's feelings for his childhood best friend had grown into something deeper, something he kept close to his heart. His love was silent but strong. He told no one about it. Not even his brothers. His love for you could be clearly seen and everyone knew was there even when nothing was told. He'd go to any lengths to make you smile, which was exactly what he was doing now. If you wanted to go line dancing with him he would be your dam cowboy.

She wants a cowboy, so I just might

Find me some boots that fit me right

You looked at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes, enthusiasm as contagious as your smile. "Come on, it'll be a fun!" you insisted, tugging at his arm gently. He raised an eyebrow, skeptical about the whole line dancing idea. Noticing his hesitation, you playfully rolled your eyes and promised, "I'll teach you all the steps, and if you really hate it, we can leave, no questions asked." with a reluctant chuckle, he agreed. "Alright, but only because it's you asking," he said, and you beamed, wholly satisfied with your small victory. You were so in love with this boy.

I ain't never rode a horse

Or worn a cowboy hat

But I find me one that fits my head

Your boots clattered against the brick steps as you walked up to the bars entrance. The sound of music and people talking, and the sound of boots dancing could be heard as you approached the two large doors. It was a warm summer night in Michigan.

You pushed open the door, instantly being greeted with the smell of whiskey and a sight of a whole lot of cowboy hats.

“Will a drink ease your nerves?” You turned to Luke a cowboy hat perched on his head. His brown curls peaking out from underneath it.

He smiles, softly. “I think it might- it’ll at least get me on the dance floor, right?”

“That it will do” You laugh slightly claiming two chairs at the bar top.

He takes a seat beside you, his shoulders brushing against yours for a brief moment as he settles into his chair. He stares at you for a moment as the dimly lit bar makes your skin glow, long brown hair pushed away from your face with two braids. You looked fucking beautiful to him.

“Can’t get you too drunk cowboy or you really wont be able to dance.” You laugh nudging his shoulder.

A roguish smirk forms at the corner of his lips as he leans in slightly. His lips brushing against your ear "Don't worry about me. I can handle my alcohol," He reassures you with a cocky tone, his voice lowering. "It's my dancing skills that might need the extra practice," He admits half-jokingly.

Seeing him in denim jeans with brown cowboy boots that fit perfect on his long legs, a white shirt that looks almost made for him as it stretches around his biceps and a cowboy hat. It was too much for you. Any second your heart would tell you to act on your desires.

As the lively country music filled the air, Luke and you stepped onto the dance floor with a mix of excitement and nerves. You were already moving with a natural rhythm as you’ve done this before, your steps confident as your boots hit the wood floor. Luke, on the other hand, was a bit more hesitant, his movements awkward as he tried to keep up. occasionally tripping over his own feet while muttering hushed curses. His cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and amusement as he glanced at you. You flashed him a reassuring smile and reached out to guide his hands to the right positions. "Just follow my lead," you laughed, pulling him into the dance. Step by step, he began to catch on, your laughter blending with the music as you slowly found rhythm together. It was a new experience for Luke, but with you by his side, he felt like he could eventually master any dance. And he would for you.

And I learned to two step so I can spin her

Off her pretty little country feet

If she wants a cowboy then I'll be as cowboy

As the song picked up pace, Luke felt a surge of confidence. With a cheeky grin, he took your hand and spun you around gracefully. you laughed, lose strands of your hair flying out of from your braids as you twirled under his arm. For a moment, Luke felt like as if you were the only two people in the world. As you came back into his arms, your eyes sparkled with amusement, and you both couldn't help but laugh, caught up in the joy and exhilaration of the dance.

In the midst of your laughter and twirling, You could tell Luke was caught up in the moment and feeling bolder than usual, he blurted out, "I want to be your cowboy!" His words hung in the air, a playful yet sincere declaration that seemed to make the music pause for a second. You paused mid-step, surprise quickly melting into a warm smile. It was Luke's spontaneous confession that made you pause dancing, “You wanna be my cowboy?”

Find me a horse that I can cover

Find me some stars to sleep under

Find me a train, I'll hop out west

If she wants a cowboy, I'll cowboy the best

“Fuck.” He breathed. “I do, I want all of you.” He confessed looking down at you.

What the fuck. You thought.

His fingers grazed over your blush pink cheeks as he held your face, “I need you.”

You looked up at him, his 6’2 body towering over you. You searched his eyes looking for a sign, anything. His brown eyes tinted a light green seemed to carry a desire and by the way they stared back at you. You could tell he was slightly nervous.

As the song neared its end, Luke leaned in closer, his eyes locking with yours in a moment filled with anticipation. The playful energy that had surrounded you all night seemed to quiet down, replaced by a tender vulnerability. Gently, he brushed a strand of hair that had fallen from your face, his touch light but filled with intent, his fingers then grazed your cheekbone. Then, slowly, he leaned down to your level, “Can i kiss you?”. He whispered, you nodded as he connected your lips. You kissed him back. It was a soft, careful kiss, as he savored the moment with you. It held a promise of something more profound. The bar you were currently in seemed to fade away, and in the moment it was just the two of you lips connected by a kiss that spoke louder than words.

If you wanted a cowboy, he would be yours.

[luvrxbunny]

float

Pairing: Steve Harrington x F!Reader 

Prompt: Cockwarming

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, outdoor sex, a little bit of hair pulling, piv, unprotected sex (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 2.4k

A/N: i just realized this one is also poolside hahaha- also lets not talk about the physics of this float

Steve’s never felt more content in his life. He’s floating around his parent’s pool with you on him and him in you. It was your idea, you’d noticed how beautiful it was outside, how perfect the weather was, and woke him up immediately. You were throwing his swimming trunks at him and shouting your plans as you wiggled into your bikini. Steve- still half-asleep- got to watch you change into your bikini, basically posing for him as you tie it behind your head. He was already hard- morning wood- but you were just making it worse. He whined and begged for you to help him, to postpone your plans for tomorrow and take care of him now. 

Unfortunately, he can’t help but give you what you want, so when you gave him your prettiest puppy dog eyes and explained that you didn’t want to risk the weather taking a turn- he reluctantly got out of bed and pulled on his trunks. Your beaming smile made it worth it, as long as he ignored the throbbing. You squealed at him that you would put together a little picnic basket for the day by the pool while he went to brush his teeth, and maybe splash some water on his face to calm himself down. 

He can hear you singing and humming to yourself downstairs- not at all helping his situation. He groans to himself before heading down and watching you twirl around the kitchen, grabbing various snacks and drinks, your coverup trailing behind you almost mystically, making you look like a fairy. He has to dig the heel of his palm into his dick to calm himself down.

You turn and jump at his presence in the doorway. “Steve! Hi! Uh, do you guys have any like- floaties that you can lay down on? You know? Like the human-sized ones?” He’s smiling fondly at you as you try and explain yourself. Pride is filling his chest, it’s silly really- it’s just that he does have a few of those but he can think of one you’ll really love and he can’t wait to see the look on your face. Whenever he does something that shocks you, something that’s so amazing you’d never see it coming, you look at him in this way that makes him sure he’s going to marry you someday.

“I know what you’re talking about, baby.” He smiles at the way your face lights up at being understood. “Oh! Awesome! Do you have any of those?” He nods at you and heads to the garage, listening to your happy humming resume and the fridge open. 

It takes him a bit to find it but almost runs back to you once he does. It’s a big box so he’s holding it behind his back as best he can. He clears his throat and holds back a laugh at the way you jump. “Ready, baby?” He asks and you nod, confused. He slowly brings it around and your face immediately breaks out into a smile. He doesn't know how to describe your face, it’s like someone was able to capture pure sunshine into an expression, like you’ve seen a unicorn or a talking cat. “What?! No way! Steve, why didn’t you tell me you had this!” 

You snatch the box from him and his face is turning pink at your excitement. “I forgot I had it, honestly.” His hand is scratching the back of his neck with a nervous smile. You put the box down and place your hands on your hips, with an accusatory glare. “You just forgot that you have a person-floaty, shaped like a car, with little seats, and a roof?!” He’s laughing at your outrage as you walk toward him slowly, punctuating your points with steps to him. 

Once you’re in front of him all your fake anger melts away to that expression again, making his heart skip a beat. You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck and slowly pull him in for a soft, chaste but dizzying kiss. You press your lips to his so softly and hold him there for a little bit. When you pull away you have a hazy smile on your face. “Thank you, Stevie.” 

He takes a deep breath as he’s reminded of the throbbing in his pants. “I mean- I didn’t do anything.” Your smile widens then morphs into a smirk as you pull away. “No, I guess you didn’t” You’re already turned around, heading back to your basket when you say it but Steve can already hear the smile on your face. He scoffs and takes the basket for you once you close it, pressing a kiss to the top of your head in the process. 

You set up a few snacks and drinks inside the floaty and Steve holds your hand to help you get in. Your hands are on his shoulders, helping him into the shaking float. “I think I’m too heavy, babe.” He says after almost falling over, again. You try not to giggle and shake your head, too concentrated on keeping the float from tipping over as you pull Steve in. He makes a little jump and is finally in the float, you pull a little too hard and he ends up falling on you, your neck strength being the only thing keeping your head from dipping into the water. You’re both giggling in each other's faces before Steve leans in to kiss you, swallowing your last few giggles before kissing him back.

There are different ways you kiss him, when you’re sad, when you’re tired, when you’re drunk or high, needy, happy, or excited. The way you’re kissing him now is his favorite though, it’s like you’re pouring your love into him, like he can feel it radiating off of you. He loves that you love him, that you’re eager and open to all the love he has to give you. He pulls away from you and takes a slow breath as he’s reminded of the painful throbbing. You giggle and press one last kiss to his lips before pushing at his chest softly, and he lifts off of you. You scoot to the back and push the last piece of the float off the pavement, sending you guys off into the pool. 

You turn around with a smile. “Isn’t this nice?!” Nothing has really happened yet but you’re so happy about it, so excited for his feedback. “It’s incredible, baby. So peaceful.” You smile wider and look down shyly before making your way over to him. You know he’s being nicer than necessary to indulge you, but the fact that he cares enough to even do that makes your heart flutter. He settles himself against the backrest of the float, testing its strength and a surprised smile makes its way to his face when he finds it can actually hold his weight. He puts his sunglasses on and rests back. He hears you rummaging around next to him, he assumes you’re getting a snack or something but instead, you’re climbing over him. Your crotch places itself over the bulge he had just managed to start ignoring. 

His stomach tenses and his hands shoot to your hips, lifting them slightly to help him cope. You’re wearing an evil smile as you lean forward, resting yourself on his chest with your hips still lifted in the air, and your hands undo his trunks. His breath is speeding up, already working to a pant as you pull his shorts down a bit, the most you can without him lifting his hips. His hands are still gripping yours, flexing and tensing rhythmically as he tries to calm down. “What-”

He already sounds breathless and he can’t even finish his question. He doesn’t know what he’s asking, he doesn't want to question anything and you stop. You look up at him with an amused smile as you pull him out, pull your bikini to the side, and sink down on him with a moan. His head falls back and you rest your head on his chest, letting him know what was going to be happening here. 

After Steve took your virginity, you quickly discovered you just like having him in you, just the thought of your boyfriend being inside you, so you began cockwarming him at every opportunity. To be fair, he did tell you that you had free-range over his body to get you more comfortable with exploring him and things with him. So if you ever noticed his lap was empty, or he didn't need to lean over it to do something, you’d pounce. You’d just stay in his lap for hours at a time, letting him leak and throb inside you. Steve has no problem with it, he thinks it’s perfect in every aspect. He loves the romance, the intimacy of it, and how desperate it gets you, how you get into that pliant, reliant mindset. The only reason he’s panicking about you cockwarming him right now is because he’s been needing you since he woke up and he can already feel you drifting to sleep. 

You’re a sleepy girl, it’s adorable until situations like this, Steve has no clue how long you’ll be sleeping for and he’d never wake you up. He can already feel your pussy drooling on him, sliding down his balls, forcing a shiver up his spine. He tries to relax his muscles, to calm down but you’re shifting around a bit, tightening around him with every movement. He looks up at the roof of the ‘car’ and prays you wake up soon. 

-----------

You blink awake to a high-pitched noise, over and over. You’re still groggy, eyes squinting at the bright outdoors. You lift your head from Steve’s chest, your cheek sticking to him for a moment before you try to sit up, only to be met with a shouting moan and a hand gripping your hips so hard you’re scared they’ll break. Your eyes finally clear along with your head and you remember the situation you're in, the way you’re stretched around Steve, covering him in your slick for… hours? You can’t tell how long it’s been but Steve’s entire body is red with blush, his hands are shaking on your hips and he’s keeping his eyes clenched shut. A little whimper is pushing from his throat with every huff of air that falls from his lips. You can see his stomach tensing as it pushes the air from him, his adam’s apple is bobbing as he swallows his moans. 

You lean down slowly, watching his face contort at the way your walls slide around him. You keep your face right in front of his, testing to see if he’ll open his eyes but he doesn’t, in fact, he shuts them tighter. You giggle at him softly and press your lips into his, a little smile breaking through when he instantly kisses you back with a moan, his hand leaving your hip to cup the side of your face. He’s pulling you closer to him, bringing his other hand up to press against the back of your head, keeping you pressing against his lips as his hips begin to thrust into you on their own. He lets out a shocked moan at his own movements and you pull away gently, shaking your head at his still-shut eyes. 

“Are you okay, baby?” You ask him in the sweetest tone you can conjure and watch his eyebrows twitch and his hands fly to your hips again, gripping them as though you were the one moving his dick inside you. You kiss the apple of his cheek lightly and pull your hips forward, slowly grinding on him. His cock slides deeper into you as your clit rubs against his curls, a gasp falling from both of your lips into the mouth of the other. 

His hands slide from your hips, up your back, gripping your shoulders to fuck himself deeper, kissing your cervix with the tip of his cock. You whine into his hair, gripping it as hard as you can to ground yourself. Steve lets out an aching groan into your shoulder as you lift yourself up to let him fuck into you as much as he wants. His hips instantly start snapping into yours, you’re both moaning much louder than you should be, considering you’re out in the open but you just can’t. You’re fueled by his desperation, by his volume, and the way he sounds.

His name becomes the only sound that can fall from your lips, repeating it into his hair every time his dick moves inside you. His moans grow more insistent, more breathy and he pulls his head from your shoulder, finally looking at you. You immediately tilt his head up and kiss him with all you have, pouring every emotion you have into it- into him. He whines your name into your lips as his eyes roll back and you pull away, admiring the view. “Gonna cum-” His words sound choked up and strained, his lips trembling as he speaks. His hand unwraps from your shoulder and presses your forehead to his, moaning against you and surrounding himself in your sounds. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby- love. I need- cum around me, sweetheart, cum on me please.” His moans, his pleas for you, push you over the edge. Your hands pull his hair tightly, before stroking over his scalp and pull his head to your chest as you convulse over him. Your pussy is like a vice around him, he feels like you might crush his dick inside you, and his hips stutter into yours. “Can I cum inside? Can- fuck, please. Inside? Can I?” You nod aggressively against him and he floods your inside immediately. 

He swears he sees heaven, his eyes roll back into his skull, thighs tense and his toes curl as his voice is stolen from him. His mouth is making the shapes of your name over and over but nothing comes out. His head slowly falls back and one- two ropes pump into you before he crashes. All his moans fly out of him, his chest delating as his debauched sounds release into the air, letting more ropes of his cum fly into you, mixing with your juices and filling you to the brim. You whine his name deliriously, telling him how good he feels, how nice you feel. “Such a good boyfriend, Steve.” You pulse around him with a shiver. “I love you s’much.” Your eyes close and you rest your head on his shoulder. He places his head on top of yours, kissing it and mumbling one more thing before drifting off with you. “I love you more, baby.” 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[moondirti]

Hello! So not a request but a Dahlia thought: when getting to the boys place she's a little anxious but then she sees the perfectly set up spare room they just happen to coincidently have set up perfectly. And it's so comfortable and peaceful after a shit day and a equally shittier couple of months that reader just kind of releases the damn of tears. Which you know just inforcess that they are doing the right thing by taking her. It's for her own good.

PART 1 • PART 2 • PART 3 tags: simon x f!reader x johnny. alluded abuse (not by ghoap). kidnapping (but is it really kidnapping anymore?) pregnancy.

Their home is nice.

You don't know what you expected. Nothing bad, certainly – one look at their car and you guessed they were comfortable – but whatever approximation you rendered in your head didn’t come close to hitting the mark. Perhaps it was the remnants of your misgivings, then, that convinced you they lived in some squalid house off the side of the freeway. No one is kind enough to offer free room and board without there being some sort of catch. 

But it's nice. Spacious. Secluded, though not to a concerning degree. You pass through a quaint town in order to get to it, and it's only another two miles out, tucked on the outskirts of a neighbouring forest. A two-story chalet, understated and painted dark to deliberately sink into its surroundings. If you had to guess, it was the pick of the one in the mask; the style suits him more than the other one, you think. Elevated inches off the ground. Weathered cedar exterior, softened by time, and a modest front porch with three Adirondack chairs positioned around a bonfire pit. 

“Did someone else live here with you?” You ask, tucking your thumb into your bag strap as you follow them to the front door. The shorter of them throws a look over his shoulder, brows furrowed in an endearing way. “I just ask because– well, you mentioned a spare bedroom, and there are three seats out here. So…” 

“Johnny’s mum stayed with us for a while after his father passed.” The masked one says, unlocking the entrance before pulling it open for you. Your heart twinges uncomfortably in your chest, and you give a sad smile to ‘Johnny’ on your way in.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” 

He appears astounded for a second, gaze flickering back and forth between you and his partner, before settling in place. “Ah, dinnae be. Wis a long time ago.” 

You’re pleased to find that the interior is a lot brighter. Where the outside boasted a dark green paint job, the inside glows in a smattering of honeyed wood and sage tones. All open-plan; you can see the dining table and kitchen from where you step into the living room, brown leather couches serving as the only divisors of the space. You allow your eyes to rove over the walls, the plush carpets underfoot, up and over to where the lofted second-story overlooks the bottom floor. Large picture windows allow ample light to flood in, yet it seems to have the particularly concerning effect of illuminating how… empty it all is. Because apart from a strew of personal belongings – boots by the foyer, a half-filled water bottle on the breakfast bar, a coat thrown over the back of an armchair – there’s nothing to indicate that they actually live here. 

For all you know, they could’ve rented the car and the house to lure you in. 

A pit opens up in your stomach. You pat your pocket for your phone, then turn to where they await your reaction. 

“I didn’t catch your names.” You ask, cringing internally at how straightforward you seem. You have to remind yourself that it’s better to be blunt, to scope this situation out before you’re in too deep. If it takes playing oblivious, then so be it. “I’m embarrassed I don’t know. You’re being so kind, after all.” 

“Johnny. John Mactavish, if ye wanna be proper.” The Scotsman beams, stepping forward to take your bag off your hands, that which you tentatively. The other one merely stays still, peering out on you from above his fabric mask. You shift from foot to foot, waiting. 

Eventually, he blinks. “Ghost.” 

The pit deepens. You breathe through the nausea climbing up your chest. That’s not a name, you’re tempted to say. Tempted to take your bag back over your shoulder and call a cab. But it’s so early in the morning that you know you’ll have a hard time reaching one. And even if you manage, where would you go? Certainly not home. 

The callous echo of your ex’s voice still bounces around in your skull. It’s just a matter of probability. Risk it here with these perfect strangers, who may or may not be ill-intentioned. Or risk it back home, with a man you know only means to do you harm. 

So, you give them your name. 

(Just the first. Though that isn’t without its precautions, either; later, when you finally tuck in, you’ll be sure to send your location and the name Mactavish off to a trusted friend.)

Johnny’s grin widens, something warm and molasses-thick radiating from the lines it carves into his cheeks. It’s so genuine, so welcoming and hospitable, that you have a hard time imagining him as a bad guy. And however Ghost unnerves you, he’s obviously decent enough to have bagged such a positive force of nature. Decent enough to have offered you a ride, and a place to stay when you were so desperately in need of one too. 

It all tallies up in your head, sand on a scale that dips in favour of one side. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, or the pregnancy hormones schooling your common sense into accepting the two, strong men who have demonstrated their willingness to provide – but you’re quickly softening up to the possibility that this is something good without exception. A reward for putting up with so much over the past few months. Some reality where life isn’t looking to beat you down.

If only for the night. 

You blindly follow as Johnny gives you a brief tour. Their bedroom is just to the left of the living space, and he tells you to knock if you need anything at all. 

“Ye'll be staying upstairs, hen. Unless th' stairs ur awfy much fur ye?” 

“No.” You shake your head, stricken by the utter graciousness. “Please. I’m so thankful you’re helping at all. Upstairs is just fine.” 

“Promise?” He demands, eyes wide like a quizzical pup. Ghost sidles up behind him, large hand clasping onto his shoulder, right where his shirt's collar ends to reveal the base of his neck. You stare at that touch, that point of skin-on-skin contact, for what must be too long before you can bring yourself to respond. 

“I- Yeah. I promise.” 

Your room isn't really a room at all, but a loft as large as half the first floor. Three walls and a missing fourth, polished wood railing and opaque curtains offering a degree of separation from the rest of the home. It's all you can do not to flop down on the bed immediately, stripping down to your panties and undershirt before relieving yourself in the attached bathroom.

Despite the modicum of hesitation still planted in your gut – which you doubt will go away until you’re absolutely sure you haven’t made yourself victim to a pair of crazy sexy serial killers – you unwind at record speed. Surprising how easy it is when you aren’t confronted with the burden of your real life. When everything is warm and provided for. When your bed is made with crisp clean sheets, a homemade quilt folded neatly on the edge, and the outside ambience isn’t singing drunks but quiet. 

And of course, once your guard comes down, so too does your strength. A ball of devastation snowballs in your chest. Your sternum burns and your nose grows hot. You hardly remember to clasp a hand around your mouth before you burst into an ugly sob, fat tears slipping off your lash line. Only when a stressed hiccup seizes your frame do you become thankful for your sense; you’d really hate for them to hear you cry after having been so kind. You’re not ungrateful in the slightest, but already you prep yourself for the disappointment of returning home come night. A preemptive grief for the life you can never give yourself.

A chorus of morning birdsong and your own, miserable sniffles lull you to sleep.

if anyone's curious, here's the floorplan i used to imagine ghoap's chalet! (source)

[skzdarlings]

08. sharing a bed series ; skz ; i.n.

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 8/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: sexual content. enemies2lovers(&friends2lovers?), sharing a bed trope. reader is older than him but exact age difference is not mentioned. reader was previously married and the ex-husband is described as bad to her, though there are no detailed specifications of exactly what went on. reader going thru some growth, being rude to jeongin, resolving it. the sex is playfully rough, reader mentions "mafia" style romance novels for inspo lmao but it stays pretty tame considering that.

last chapter of the series :)

-

Of course it’s raining.  On top of everything else that went wrong, of course a torrential downpour would hit your party.   

There is a large expanse of wood on the vast acreage behind your house.   To break some of the social tension, someone suggested playing hide and seek in the woods on the property.   It wasn’t part of your plan but seeing as the party’s awkward tension was your fault, you agreed that an outside game sounded like fun.  With the springtime sun beaming down on you and your friends, it seemed like a fine afternoon diversion. 

You were already deep into the woods when the storm started.  You strayed farther from the main path, confident in your familiarity with the terrain.  It did you little good when the weather took a turn.  The rain was not slow-coming but an immediate sheet slamming into the ground like blocks of solid concrete.  You could barely see in front of you and the uneven earth quickly turned to a muddy sludge.  Unsurprisingly, you slipped and twisted your ankle.

Now you are stranded, alone in the forest and far away from everyone else, shivering in the pouring rain as your wispy white dress was not designed for such fickle weather. 

You seldom let your emotions get the better of you but today you let yourself cry.  The tears come as rapidly as the rain, leaving you gasping and shuddering.  You stumble towards a tree and slouch against it, trying to take the weight off your hurt ankle.   You doubt anyone would hear you screaming over the storm and from this far away, and you don’t have a phone because this stupid dress doesn’t have pockets so you left it behind. 

You are crying against the tree when rescue comes in the form of the last person you want to see. 

You lift your head to Jeongin.  He is also drenched but the thick denim of his overalls covers most of his body and his heavy-duty sneakers are marginally better than your flats.  His glasses are streaked with raindrops and his black hair is a mop on his head.   Still, he sees through the foggy glass and the messy bangs, his expression one of surprise and concern. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks without hesitation, because of course he does.  Jeongin is a good person.   You have never met anyone as genuinely sweet as him.  The guy is all dimple, his eyes constantly scrunched up with glee, always ready with a humorous comment and a steady hand on a friend’s shoulder. 

He also has every reason in the world to hate you.  You have done everything in your power to push him away, treating him like an enemy, no doubt convincing him of it.  

He never stooped to your level.  You are older by a few good years but you have undoubtedly been the immature one.  You wouldn’t blame him for abandoning you now.    

He doesn’t do that.   He rushes toward you, leading with his hand outstretched. 

“Where does it hurt?” he asks loudly over the rain. 

The emotional parts of you are especially vulnerable right now.  When he asks that, you stupidly want to gesture to your heart.  Ridiculous and sentimental, you know, you know, but true regardless. 

You point to your ankle and he dutifully looks down.

His bangs split unevenly when his long, ringed fingers push through his hair.  He shakes his head like it will clear his vision. 

“Okay,” he says.  He opens his arms.  “Come on.”

You hesitate.  You have no reason to distrust him but he should distrust you.  He should hate you.  You want him to hate you.  You know what to do when someone hates you.  You know what to do when someone treats you badly.  You do not know what to do with Jeongin, someone so sincerely himself, sincerely kind, sincerely good.   He looks at you with nothing but concern, his arms open with a desire to help. 

You suck in another unsteady breath. 

“Come on,” he says again, a little more forcefully but not unkindly.  He seems more perplexed than angry. 

You make a slight motion towards him, still hesitant.  He accepts it as an invitation and crosses that last step to swing his arms around you.  Your hands find his shoulders as his arm slides under your legs.  He hoists you into a bridal hold, so secure that you choke on more tears. 

You want to apologize.  You want to say so many things.  You just hide your face as he carries you away from the tree.

There is a moment of shared panic when he stumbles in the mud, but he finds his footing again.   He stops for a second under some thicker foliage, looking around, out of breath. 

Your tears have subsided.  With the pain alleviated from your ankle, your senses are slowly returning to you.  You recognize where you are in the woods: far from the main path and even farther from home, but close to the old hunting lodge.  You don’t hunt but your ex-husband did.  When you took over the property after the divorce, you turned the little lodge into a cozy getaway.  You haven’t visited in a while but it will provide a roof over your head until the rain subsides.    

“Turn up past those bushes there,” you say, pointing ahead.  “We can get out of the rain until the storm passes.” 

You can’t raise your voice too loud, still blocked by residual tears, but you are close to his face.  He hears you and does as told. 

You crest a small hill and the single-room cabin comes into view.   You swear it has never looked so warm and cozy. 

He puts you on your feet once you are under the awning.  Only when you are at the door do you remember you don’t have any keys on you. 

“Fuck,” you say, welling up with exasperation.  You slouch against the doorframe.  “I don’t have the key.  What was I thinking?”

Jeongin takes off his glasses and wipes his forehead.  He blinks at the door.

“Um.”  He looks at you sheepishly, raking his fingers through his messy hair again.  “Do you mind if I—”  He gestures with his shoulder to the door.   “I don’t want to break it but you’re hurt and—”

“Yes,” you say, cutting him off and looking away.  Those dark eyes are brimming with concern and you think your guilt might overflow.  You don’t want to cry again.  You wipe your nose on the back of your arm.  “That’s fine,” you say, steady as you can.  “I can get the locks fixed after.  Just get us inside.”

He nods and folds up his glasses then awkwardly looks around.  He gives you another sheepish look before handing them to you.   You take them and hold them against your chest while hopping back on your good foot.  You get out of his way, watching him roll up his wet sleeves and mutter something encouraging to himself.  He cringes when he thumps into the door and it doesn’t give. 

Much as you want to get inside, you don’t want him to hurt himself.  After the second heavy thud, you reach out.  Before you can stop him, he determinedly throws himself against it. 

The lock finally gives.  It takes one more shove for the door to fly open.  He kicks the broken pieces of the shattered lock aside, too focussed on his task to notice how startled you are by the display.  You are still processing it when he scoops you up again.  He carries you across the threshold and kicks the door closed behind himself. 

It is blessedly dry inside the little lodge but it is also freezing cold from lack of use.  You are both soaking wet and the chill wastes no time stabbing its way to your bones. 

There is a small couch that folds out into a bed and Jeongin sits you on it.  He goes down on one knee as he gently places you down, mindful of your shivering.  You look at him, his face not far in this position.  

He ducks down, taking your hurt ankle carefully in hand.  You hiss, instinctively withdrawing, but he holds you in place. 

“How bad is it?” he asks. 

“Not too bad,” you say.  “Just sore.”

“Are you sure?”

You would say yes even if it wasn’t true.  Jeongin kneeling in front of you, holding your foot in his lap, looking so attentive and concerned – it’s all a bit much. 

You nod.  Satisfied, he moves onto the next thing and reaches past you to hit a light switch.   The room stays grey, lit only by the overcast light outside the windows. 

“Of course,” you say bitterly, groaning.  “Oh, of course the power’s out. Why wouldn’t it be?”

He snorts, his dimples deepening as he looks at you.  Your gut instinct is to recoil from the flicker of heat under your skin, to look away from his smile.   You let yourself hold his gaze a little longer than usual. 

“You’re funny,” he says with another smile.   He looks over his shoulder at the same time a shiver crawls up his spine.   He shakes his shoulders and looks back at you.  “Is that electric or will it work?” he asks, pointing over his shoulder to the unlit fireplace. 

“It will work,” you say.  You are about to explain how it works when he gets up and goes over without further preamble.  You are watching him work when you realize you still have his glasses.   “Jeongin,” you say. 

He looks back at you, those silver-ringed fingers once more raking through his hair.  His face is open as always, attentive, brows lifted.  He really is very handsome. 

“Yes?” he asks when you are quiet for too long. 

“Oh, uh, sorry,” you say and hold out his glasses.  “You probably need these.”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling up in that delighted way. 

“Thank you.  They’re just for distance,” he says.  “I can see everything in here.” 

He turns back to the fireplace and resumes his work.  It only takes another second for the flames to sparkle then roar, an orange glow flooding the room.   He smiles and claps his hands with satisfaction.

“Not bad,” he says.  He is still smiling but his eyes look glassy with faraway thought.  His breath of a laugh is not very humorous, smile softer when he says, “I’m not totally useless, I guess, right?”

You close your eyes.   You don’t want to see his face.  You don’t want to know if he feels good about throwing that at you.  You definitely don’t want to know if he feels bad for saying it, because he shouldn’t feel bad.  He did nothing wrong. 

Jeongin has been nothing but kind to you from the day you met him.   You have a mutual friend in common so at first you only saw him in other people’s company.   Then your husband hired a team to do some renovations in the kitchen and, by sheer coincidence, Jeongin was one of the crewmen.  You started seeing him a lot more often, and in your own home at that.   

He was respectful and distant, at first, as was appropriate.  Jeongin is nothing if not polite. 

Jeongin is also undoubtedly a young man with a strict internal code.  The better he knew you, the better he knew your husband.   Your husband’s moral compass skewed considerably contrary to the kind-hearted Jeongin.  You had thus far survived a bad marriage by pretending the worst of it away. Jeongin’s sudden affection and sympathy – his sudden acknowledgement of your situation being bad – was too much for you to handle. 

You reacted badly.   He only ever tried to help you but you were not good at accepting help; it meant admitting something was wrong.  Even when you finally got around that stage, you still recoiled from his kind eyes and gentle words. 

Jeongin likes you as more than a friend.  He liked you from the start, when he was puttering around the worksite and you brought him lemonades and laughed with him about nothing. 

You liked him too.  You still like him.  But Jeongin is young and sweet and hopeful and you…

You know it’s silly, but your heart feels used up.  Someone like him should be with someone younger and full of equal hope, not you with your mess and baggage and nonsense. 

You resented his kindness, his youth, his hope.  You didn’t know what to do with his love. 

You tried to convince yourself you actually hated him.  When that didn’t work, you tried to convince him and everyone else.  If you couldn’t hate him, maybe you could make him hate you.   Maybe if he hated you, you could both move on.   But Jeongin isn’t like that.  He just kept moving along, just kept smiling, just kept looking at you like he could see right through your nonsense. 

Today you went on a little tirade to your friend.  You complained about feeling obligated to invite Jeongin to your party because you shared a friend group.  You complained about Jeongin in general, describing things that weren’t true.  You claimed he was naïve and annoying and always in your face, but that for all his pestering he never actually did anything useful. 

You weren’t exactly careful about who was listening.  Apparently, most of the party overheard you. 

It was that foolish, twisted feeling: you wanted to be heard because you were bursting inside, but then you realized that was the wrong release.  It brought no satisfaction, only shame.  You embarrassed him and yourself, and for what? 

“Jeongin,” you say in a small voice, already knowing that any and all words will fall woefully short of rectifying the situation.  Still, you have to say something.  With your eyes still closed and arms still crossed, you sigh and say, “I’m so sorry.  You know you’re not— You know I didn’t—  You know I don’t—”

You open your eyes.  He is illuminated by the fire, all traces of his smile dissolved.  He shivers and it seems to pull him out of his trance.   He rubs his forehead, then he turns to you and smiles politely. 

“It’s okay,” he says with a forced smile.  “I’m sorry.  Um.  Miss.  I shouldn’t have said—” 

“Don’t apologize,” you say as firmly as you can.  “Or speak formally.  It’s fine.  Jeongin, you—  Me—  I mean—”

Your stammering is half emotion, half the cold.  His expression changes as he seems to recognize that.  You are shivering so much your teeth start to chatter.  You haven’t even dropped his glasses because it would mean uncrossing your arms. 

He gets to his feet so quickly that he almost falls, slipping in the puddle caused by his own dripping clothes. 

“D-do you have a phone?” you ask, to which he nods and retrieves it from the front pocket of his overalls.  “C-can you call or t-text one of the boys and t-tell them we’re okay?  We just need to w-wait out the st-storm.  Sometimes th-they last a while.”  You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, your gaze on the middle of his chest, but you can see he is shivering too.  “We n-need to w-warm up so we don’t get s-sick.  There’s sh-sheets— there—can we m-make a bed—”  You nod your head vaguely in the right direction. 

You close your eyes and rock a little, trying to warm up.  It’s useless with your soaking heap of a dress clinging to every wet inch of you.  

You can hear Jeongin bustling around, doing everything you asked.  When you open your eyes, you see he has made a makeshift bed out of blankets and pillows near the fire.  

He is facing away from you.  A proper little burst of heat sparks inside you when he takes a breath and starts unclipping his overalls.  He kicks off his shoes at the same time.  You look away as he strips down his outer layers, sensibly removing his soaking wet things and laying them out by the fire.  You open your eyes at the same time he turns to look at you, his hands on the waistband of his briefs.   His ears are very red, chest and cheeks likewise dusted pink.  

You think your mutual shyness might be providing more heat than the fire.

“Sorry,” he says, grabbing a blanket and covering himself.  “It’s just—we should probably take off—”  His voice squeaks and he clears his throat. 

You find yourself smiling in spite of yourself.  You nod. 

“No, you’re right,” you say.  “S-sorry for, um, looking.” 

“That’s okay,” he says with a relieved laugh.   He smiles and says, “You can look if you want.” 

Jeongin has a remarkable ability to flicker between shyness and confidence.  The sparkle in his eyes tells you that his comment was not a thoughtless blunder.   Especially because he doesn’t wait for you to look away before tying the blanket around his hips and reaching under to shuffle out of his last article of clothing.

You look away and back again.  You suppose he works a fairly laborious job and is in good enough shape to haul you up a small hill, but still.  You find your breath stolen by his lean, subtle musculature, an effortless elegance to the long lines of his body.  

He smooths down his hair.  Your eyes are on his hands when you realize he is looking at you.  You look away quickly. 

“Haha, um, here,” Jeongin says.  He holds up a sheet in offering and turns his face away, eyes closed.  “You should change too.” 

You stand slowly, arms still crossed though you finally drop the glasses on the seat. 

“Thank you,” you say.  “For everything.”

He looks at you, probably supposing it is appropriate because you are still dressed, but your thin white dress has soaked completely through.  It is plastered to every inch of skin, the vaguest sheen of translucent white pulled over every dip and curve from your neck down. 

His gaze jumps, surprised, dark brows lifting as he looks down the whole length of you.  His mouth falls open and he looks away with the tips of his ears flaming red.  He holds up the sheet again. 

“Sorry,” he says.  “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” you say.

“No, sorry,” he says again. “I know you don’t… always like me…” 

You lower the sheet but he still doesn’t look at you.  You say his name and he replies with a hum. 

“Jeongin,” you say again, heart pounding.  “You can look too.”

He fumbles and drops the sheet.  He leaves it on the floor and looks at you with surprised eyes. 

Despite your words, he awkwardly covers his eyes when you reach for the straps of your dress.  Your laughter is breathless from the cold, but he still paints a charming sight with his red ears and hand over his eyes, contrasted to just how lovely those big hands are, to the shape of him, to the flattering shadows cast by the fire. 

You peel the dress down and let it hit the floor with a splat.  You feel better to have it gone but you are still cold.   You instinctively cross your arms again, rubbing your biceps.  

“Jeongin,” you say. 

“Hello,” he replies, eyes still covered.

“C-can you help me?” 

“Oh.” He pauses for a second.  “Help you… get undressed?” 

You really are too old to act like a little girl with a crush, but you feel that way.  You don’t remember the last time you felt like this, if you ever have.  It’s nice, a little scary.  You feel vulnerable and it has nothing to do with the amount of skin showing. 

“Yes please,” you say.  “I can’t reach behind me to unclasp my bra.” 

“Oh,” he says again.  “Oh.  Okay.” 

You turn around.  You give in to your smile, helplessly charmed by his sincerity.  Then he is touching you, his proximity radiating warmth, and the next shiver feels like the cold leaving your body all at once.  He fumbles a little with the clasp but that might be because his fingers are still stiff, but he gets it undone.  He steps back while you remove it.  When you turn around, he is already holding the sheet in offering.  He doesn’t cover his eyes though he does make a point of only looking at your face. 

“Thank you,” you say, taking the sheet.   

Despite his undoubted gentlemanly politeness, you catch him sneaking a peek before you wrap the sheet around your body.  You tuck it under your arms and tie a little knot.  Like him, you shuffle out of your underwear from under the sheet. 

He gathers your wet clothes and lays them beside the fire with his own.  With a little limp, you approach the nest of blankets and pillows, all arranged cozily on the thick, fluffy rug not far from the heat.   Even though it is obvious you will have to share the makeshift bed, you still hesitate just outside it.  Jeongin is kneeling in the centre, stretching out the clothes so they will dry faster.   He looks up when he sees you waiting. 

He holds out his hand. 

“You should rest your ankle.  And warm up,” he says.  “You’ll get sick.” 

With only a little struggle, you manage to overcome your hesitation.  You take his hand and step onto the rug. 

You swear more heat alights under his gaze than from the fire. 

He shuffles back, making room for you between him and the fire.  You would try and argue, to offer him the warmer space, but you doubt he would let you and you are still so cold.  You sit down gingerly, minding the sheet.   Your movements are mutually stilted and awkward, but then you smile at each other and relax a little.   You lay down so you are stretched in front of the fire, Jeongin sitting upright behind you.   You gaze up at him, watching him look around the room. 

“This place looks different,” he says, an understatement.  The ugly little lodge has been redone, stripped of the hunting gear and tables and replaced with a little library and reading nook.  There are plants under the window and little paintings on the mantlepiece.  It is a lot more welcoming than before. 

Perhaps it is that gentle coziness that makes you suddenly braver.  This space feels safe.  You do not hesitate in raising your hand, in stroking a few fingers softly down his arm.  His skin does not feel cold anymore so when he shivers, you don’t think it’s from a chill. 

He looks down, blinking those dark eyes at you.

“It’s still a little cold,” you say.  You already know your next words are going to be so blatant and so cheesy, so you have to bite your lip to stifle your own amusement at them.  “Maybe we should cuddle up for warmth?” 

“Oh.  Yeah.”  He smiles, dimples deep again.  “Good idea.” 

There is some embarrassed, breathless laughter as you shuffle around.  He pulls up a thicker blanket to cover you both.  Even with your explicit invitation, he is clearly still uncertain about what you want.   You show him, taking his arm and pulling it around you, laying down with your back to him, pressed close and separated only by your individual sheets.  

You look into the fire, taking a few deep breaths.  You feel him settle around you. 

“Okay?” he asks. 

“Mhm,” you say.  “Definitely.” 

“Good.  Good.”

You smile, biting your bottom lip again. 

You lay there for a while, listening to the fire crackle, letting the heat wash over you.   He doesn’t budge an inch, as if scared jostling you will disrupt the peace.  His arm is slung over your middle and you touch his hand.  You trace your fingers over a ring.  He exhales. 

“Can I ask you something?” he says, his voice low.   “It’s a little serious.” 

Your heart races as you know there are a million serious questions he could ask you, but you nod.  “Of course,” you say. 

There is a breath of a moment.  His hand turns under yours, fingertips brushing yours. 

“Why,” he says slowly, “would you ever pick that wallpaper?”  He points to the far wall.  “It’s dark in here and it’s still so ugly it’s hurting my eyes.”

You burst out laughing, caught off guard.  Your laughter makes him laugh, his hand catching yours when you lightly slap at him. 

“Jeongin,” you say with a little whine, “don’t torture me.”

“I’m not!” he says.  “It’s a serious question!”

“Ahh!”  You laugh some more, rolling onto your back and covering your face with both hands. 

He laughs, tugging at your wrist to uncover your face.  You pout at him and he just smiles back.  He lays on his side and props his head in his hand, grinning down at you.  You take his free hand and trace the shape of his ring again, looking up as his goofy expression softens. 

“You’re funny too,” you say.  “I’m sorry for being an idiot to you. I was wrong and you didn’t deserve it.” 

“You’re not an idiot,” he says softly, looking down at where you are fiddling with his ring.  “You were going through a lot.”   

“Still,” you say.  “I’m a grown woman and I’ve been acting like a child, bullying the nice boy I like because I don’t know what to do with my emotions.”    

You thought that would be hard to say out loud, but once it’s out there you feel a lightness in your chest.  You take in a deep breath. 

“That’s not being an idiot,” Jeongin says after a moment.   He curls his fingers around yours and squeezes lightly.  “Maybe just a little stupid,” he adds.  

You laugh again, rolling to face him and his silly grin. 

“I really am sorry,” you say.  “I know it’s not enough to say it, but—”

“It’s enough,” he says.  “You know, I followed you when you came this way because I wanted to tell you that.”  When you cover your face with your hand, he moves it.  “Also,” he says, “you were running too far away from everyone else.  They wouldn’t have found you if you hid so far out here, you know.” 

“That’s the point of the game,” you say.  “It’s hide and seek.”

“Yeah, but…”  His free hand finds yours again.  He looks into your eyes.  “I don’t think winning like that is actually fun?  If you’re alone, and never let anyone find you again.” 

Oh.  Of course Jeongin would ask ‘a serious question’ to spring a joke on you, then sneak the truly serious topic in a discussion of hide-and-seek. 

You drop your gaze to your joined hands. 

“I guess,” you say.  “I guess also it’s… um, well.”  You figure you might as well drop the metaphor as it isn’t fooling anyone.  “You don’t get hurt when you’re alone, Jeongin.  And the happier something makes you, the worse it feels when it hurts you.”

“I would never hurt you,” he says, completely serious.  He squeezes your hand. 

You look at him, smiling gently.  You know that promise is a big one, and nearly impossible as people can hurt each other without trying.  The declaration is innocent but also heartfelt.  You understand what he means. 

He seeks your gaze to ensure you understand him, so you look at him and nod.  You feel a bit watery again. 

“I know you would try,” you say.  “Is it stupid how that scares me even more?”

“Oh,” he says, separating his hand from yours so he can cup your face.  You think he is going to say something tender when he just smiles and nods and says, “Yeah, probably.”

You snort with laughter, grabbing his hand and moving it off your face.

“You’re terrible,” you say.

“Maybe,” he says, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.  “But… you’re the one who likes me, or so you said…” 

“I take it back,” you say, starting to roll away. 

He grabs your shoulder and pulls you back, giggling.  “You can’t take it back,” he says.  “We’re sharing a bed so… that’s the rules.”

“Oh, really.”

“Yes.  Sorry.”

You find yourself endlessly charmed by him.   His cocky smile is cute, especially because the tips of his ears are still red.  You find yourself tracing the curve of that ear, his blush darkening with your attention.  His smile turns affectionate, his eyes creased with happiness.   The unremitted pleasure draws you in and grants you access to the more confident parts of yourself.  You let your body lead you, experience fueling instinct as you guide him onto his back and lean over him.

You touch the side of his face, fingertips tracing his jaw.  His mouth opens and he blinks away his surprise.   

“What?” you say.

“Nothing.”  His smiles widens.  He raises a hand to touch the side of your face too, surprising you in turn.  “You’re pretty.”

The simplicity of the compliment makes you a little shy.  You smile, leaning into his touch. 

“You’re cute,” you say, only for his face to scrunch up with theatrical displeasure. “What?” you say, laughing.  “You are!”

“Puppies are cute,” he says dryly.  “Babies are cute.  I’m not cute.”

“You are.”  You can’t help but tease, his smile encouraging you.  You poke his dimple.  “Soooo cute.  The cutest.”

You laugh until he slides one hand around the back of your neck.  With his hand protectively cradling the back of your head, he flips you over so it’s you laying under him.   You find yourself looking down the length of him, his chest and abdomen, the place the blanket parts.  You look up when his nose nudges your chin, tilting your head back.   You realize you were holding a breath and swallow one down, shaky. 

He laughs but gently. 

“You’re cute,” he says, voice barely louder than the crackling fire.

“I’m not cute,” you say, tipping your chin up.  “I’m older than you.”

“Sooo cute,” he copies you.  “The cutest.” 

You realize this game of one-upping each other could quickly turn into a torturous teasing session – each of you just looking, daring, goading the other into more without fully surrendering. 

You smile and tip your head, sighing in a feathery-soft voice and wetting your lips. 

“Am I?” you ask, lifting a leg so it separates your sheet.  You can see his breath catch. 

You have butterflies inside you, fluttering away like never before. 

You undo the knot of the sheet.  You watch his eyes lower as you slowly peel the whole sheet open.  All the playfulness leaves his face, his jaw gone slack, surprise once again taking over as he stares. 

“Wow,” he finally says.  “Wow.  You’re— wow.” His expression shows he means it. 

“You’re exaggerating.”  You turn your face aside. 

“I’m not,” he says.  His hands move to either side of your head as he holds himself over you.  It draws your gaze back to him.  “Stop hiding, okay?” he says softly. 

“I think I’m doing the opposite of hiding right now,” you say, a gentle joke that he answers with utmost seriousness: swooping down and kissing you. 

It is not a soft kiss, burning and wanting, his mouth a hungry thing against your own.  It feels like a kiss he has thought about, a kiss he can’t help but hurry towards. 

Just as desirous, you fall too, the kiss so hard that you find it hard to slow down.  He eventually guides you to a gentler press, closing his lips against yours, letting them linger. 

A breath passes between you.

“Remember when you hated me,” he says, smiling, “and you tried to convince me we were incompatible?”  He kisses you softly.  “I think you were wrong.”   

He doesn’t leave room for a reply.  He kisses you again, just as hotly as before.  This time he rests more of his body against yours and you can feel where he is already hard beneath the blanket.  You can also feel it is more than substantial, drawing a gasp from your lips as he presses against you. 

“Jeongin,” your voice comes out breathless.  It is still more coherent than his reply, which is just a grunt as he starts kissing down your throat. 

It is dizzyingly hot.  You have to close your eyes to stay grounded, arching against him, running your fingers through his already messy hair. 

You are still able to giggle when he struggles to remove the blanket.  He laughs back.  You can’t remember the last time you laughed during sex.  It makes you feel like you are floating, light and carefree, driven by pleasure and nothing else. 

He gets the blanket off but before you can look down, he is sliding his hand between your bodies.  Your eyes close again, head falling back as his fingers stroke your inner thigh.  He teases there for a long time, making you strain and buck and chase his fingers.  Finally you whimper and grab some of his hair, pulling his face close to yours.

“Are you trying to make me hate you again?” you tease.

He smiles against your lips, his fingers just barely brushing between your legs.  Your thighs part, making room, but he waits. 

“You never hated me,” he says. 

Your reply gets caught in your throat when he finally slides one finger against you.  It is torturously not enough. 

“Jeongin,” you say again, running your fingers to the back of his neck.  “Please.”

“Tell me you hated me,” he says, even while proving you very much do not hate him: gathering so much wetness on his fingertips, lightly circling them up and over the most sensitive part of you.  “Can’t you?” he asks.  “Let me hear you say it.” 

“I—I—”

“Hate me?”

You shake your head, opening your eyes to look at him imploringly.  You gasp against his lips when he slides that finger inside you.  There is a ring on the one beside it, the smooth ridge gliding against you.   You cant your hips up, wanting more while he teases you. 

“You don’t hate me,” he says, to which you shake your head again.  He kisses you, licking into your mouth at the same time his fingers sink deep inside you.   He is good with his hand, his fingers long and steady, working you up until you are soaking him and clawing at his shoulder. 

“Please,” you say, dizzy from the stars bursting in every place his fingers reach.  They curl inside you as if telling you to come.  Your head falls back and his lips go down your throat as he brings you over the edge with his touch.  

He doesn’t stop when you come, drawing the whole thing out so the peak seems to last minutes.  Tears of pleasure spring to your eyes.  Only when you are gasping does he carefully withdraw his hand.  

He looks at you with a smile then kisses your cheek.  With a smile, you lean in to kiss him, then he suddenly ducks.  His hands dive under your thighs and then his face is right there, tongue taking a swipe at your still distended clit, making your whole body shudder.  You dig your fingers into his hair, holding on and closing your eyes.  It feels so good but you are still sensitive and not good at coming multiple times in a row, so after enjoying his very adept movements, you tug on his hair to lead him back up your body. 

You grab his face and kiss him hard, tasting yourself all over his wet mouth.  He moans into your mouth and presses hard against you.  His hands cradle your hips.  You spread your legs around him. 

You feel lighter after coming.  Relaxed, not just physically.  Suddenly words are easier too, spoken thoughtlessly in such close proximity to his lips. 

“I wanted you so much,” you admit.  “For so long.  Even when I was pretending to hate you.” 

“I was here,” he says, kissing along your jaw.  “I’m still here.” 

“I know.” You tug on his hair, tipping his head back so you can kiss his face too.  You nip under his jaw, his neck, luxuriating in the sound he makes.  “This is going to sound silly, but I used to fantasize—no, never mind.” 

“Wha—”

You roll him over before he can ask, taking a turn to work your mouth down his body now too.  It sufficiently distracts him as your mouth dives down, down, down.  You pause for a moment just to look at him, your gaze one of admiration and maybe slight intimidation.  You haven’t slept with anyone since before the divorce and that was a while ago.  Jeongin is bigger than most of your toys.   When you put your mouth on him, you barely get past the head before you have to use your hand for the rest of him.  You try to take a little more but you are very out of practice, choking a little and drooling all over him. 

It used to confuse you: the idea anyone would enjoying giving pleasure this way.  For the recipient, it made enough sense, but not as the giver.  You realize now that difference in desire was partner.  When Jeongin moans and curls his fingers into the rug, thighs parting to make room for you to comfortably sit there, you understand.   Messy as it is, you eagerly dive back down, wetting him with your mouth and working him in your hand. 

When he closes his eyes and drops his head back, he misses the pillow.  The rug is plush and softens his landing, but you still hear a very heavy thump when his head hits the ground.  He hisses, his face scrunching up in pain as he reaches to cup the back of his head. 

“Oh my god,” you say, sitting up and wiping your mouth.  You try not to laugh.  “Jeongin, are you okay?” 

He gives you a thumbs up with his free hand.  Then he curses and sighs in exasperation. 

“My hand is stuck,” he says, jerking the arm that is folded under his head.  “My ring—is in my hair—”

“Oh nooo…”  You are laughing properly now, in a fit of giggles as you climb up beside him to look behind his head.  You help untangle the hair from the ring, though a few strands still get yanked out of his head.   The sudden swing makes his head bounce, thunking into yours.  You both groan in pain.  You grasp your forehead and sit back on your heels. 

“This is not how I pictured this going,” he mumbles. 

“Which part? The storm, the threat of hypothermia, or the multiple injuries?” you ask. 

He grins at you, then moves to kneel in front of you.  He kneels upright while you are sitting back, putting you close to eye level with your previous task.  You look there, reaching, but he takes your hands in his and holds them. 

“Actually,” he says, “the part that surprised me most was you saying you thought about us,” he smiles here, “and it was so bad you couldn’t even admit it.”

You try to cover your face but he holds your hands, still grinning.  You throw back your head and groan. 

“It’s not bad,” you say.

His hand runs up your arm to your neck, thumb stroking your chin as he gently pulls you forward.  You go up on your knees too, following his angle for a kiss.  He leans close but doesn’t seal it, saying, “You know if you don’t tell me, I’m going to imagine the worst.”

“It’s nothing,” you say, hiding your face in the crook of his shoulder.  He pats the back of your head, still giggling to himself.  You lean back to look at him again, pouting just a bit, then reaching between your bodies to take him in hand.  You smile sweetly at him.  “Can we fuck?” you ask, watching the flicker of surprise and desire cross his face.  “Birth control, so I’m good if you’re good.  Come on.” 

You go to lay down but he catches the back of your neck, pulling you back to him.  He lifts one eyebrow. 

“You’re not gonna let this go,” you say dryly. 

“I would never force it out of you,” he says, “but the curiosity is killing me.” 

“Well,” you say, tingling under the attention of his intense gaze, of his hand so strongly holding your neck, of his nonchalance.  He isn’t even trying.  You take a deep breath.  “It’s sort of what you just said.”

“What… killing me?  You wanted to kill me?” 

“No!”  You smack his chest.  “I hate you again.  No.   I just…  Not that I wanted to the truth forced out of me but…”  You look at his face, his expression curious but not judgemental yet.  “You know all those cheesy romance novels?  Like… mafia leader stuff?  That.”

“You wanted me to be Italian?”

“Genuinely gonna kill you.”

“I’m kidding, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, continue.”

“You know what I mean!  The button popping and bodice ripping stuff.”  You mime tearing his nonexistent shirt open.  “I liked you and I wanted to do something about it, but I also didn’t want to do something about it.  So I wanted you to do something about it.  No one needs to tell me what it’s like for a shitty guy to take advantage of you, so that’s not what it was—  I just—”  You sigh.  “I wanted it to be easy.  I wanted it to be you.  Because you aren’t a shitty guy.  You’re the best guy I know.  So I would’ve let you have anything, because you would be taking what I wanted to give.  And there would be no need to talk about it or work it out.  It would just be… easy.”

“I like talking,” he says, tipping his head as if studying you.  “But I think I get it.”

“Mhm?” you ask, a little dryly.  You quirk an eyebrow at his cheesy, dimpled grin.  “Sure about that?” 

“Yes,” he says, smiling so bright it goes right up to his eyes.  “I’m sure.” 

His grip tightens on the back of your neck, pulling you right up against him.  Your chests press together and you gasp, shivering when his lips graze your ear. 

“Like this, right?” he speaks lowly.  He threads his fingers into your hair, close to your scalp so there is a controlled, gentle burn when he tugs.  “Just take.” 

“Yes,” you say, rasping.  “It’s already yours.” 

“You’re mine?” he asks. His other hand is suddenly between your legs and this time he doesn’t tease, his knuckle parting your wet folds.  Two fingers curl inside you.  “Or this is mine?”  

He tugs your head back, looking in your eye as he finger-fucks you, all the playfulness gone from his expression.  His sharp features look suddenly more severe: the cut of his jaw, his cheekbones, his brow.   You swallow hard. 

“I can’t say,” you speak in a husky voice.  “My husband would be angry.  You should go before he finds you.”

His fingers move out of you, your thighs shaking in their withdrawal.  The hand in your hair stays steady.  Then he squints, looking almost cartoonishly fierce when he says, “I’m in the… mafia.  I killed your husband?”

“Oh.”  You bite back a laugh.  “You don’t literally need to be in the mafia.”

“You did say—”

“That was just, like, a genre example—”

“Oh, okay, I get it now.”  He nods his head.  “I’ll stop if you say stop.”  He clears his throat.   “You don’t want a guy like that.  And you don’t want your husband.”  He puts a hand on your lower back and tugs, sweeping you over.  His arms hold you safe as he spills you onto your back.  One hand skims your body, hooking under your knee to bring it up around his hips.  “You want me,” he says.  

The gleam in his eye seems very genuine. 

“That would be inappropriate,” you say, not needing to fake your breathy voice when he moves against you, the length of him hot and hard and close to where you want him.   You clench around nothing, your heart picking up in speed with anticipation. 

He smiles, not quite his usual smile. 

“It would be very inappropriate,” he says. 

Then his hands are on your hips and he is turning you onto your front.  You sprawl with some genuine surprise, getting your arms under you only seconds before his hand is back in your hair.  You lift when he pulls, his grip careful but strong.  He holds you there, up on your hands and knees.  He goes up on one knee behind you, careful when pushing inside you, then sliding in all the way and staying there. 

Oh, you feel him.  Not just because it’s been a while.  You let yourself enjoy it, happily sinking into pleasure with the secure knowledge he will listen if you ask to stop, that his pleasure is tied to yours.  So you let your mouth fall open and eyes close, let the heat of the flames brush over you, let him hold you how he wants.  You take as much as he does, soaking in all that sensation.  He fills you up and fucks you deep – fast then faster.   You squeeze around him, practically singing with how you moan and sigh. 

“Yes,” he says, pulling you back into his arms as he moves to lay on his side.  He stays inside you, drawing your leg up and fucking you like that. 

You look back at him and don’t mind at all when he breaks character, yet again, this time to kiss you sweetly. 

“It doesn’t hurt?” he asks in a whisper, slowing down.  “You’re so… small.”   

“I’m not,” you say with a little laugh.  “You’re just big, baby.” 

“Baby—okay.  That’s good.  I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I know, Jeongin,” you say, hiccupping a little because he is still fucking you hard despite his gentle words.  It makes you feel a little insane in a good way, him so very nonplussed as he screws your brain out.   “Thank you,” you say. 

“For what?” he asks. 

“I don’t knooow,” you say, reaching behind you to hold onto him.  “Just thaaank you, auugh, it’s good.”

“Oh, I get it,” he says.  “For this. Okay.” 

How he’s simultaneously cute and insanely sexy, your brain will just never compute.  But he wraps an arm around you and puts his hips to use, fucking you until you can feel an orgasm building without even rubbing your clit.  You think to try but all you can do is cling to him, letting your worries fly away as he pants and groans and holds you steady in his arms. 

“Like that, like that,” you say, your last coherent sentence until you fall apart, repeating his name as he follows you over the edge. 

He holds you tight, kissing whatever he finds first.  He rocks you through the end of it, easing you into rest.  When he pulls out, you shiver, and it has nothing to do with the cold. 

You roll over in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck.  He kisses your cheek and temple, then rests his forehead against yours. 

“I’m not cold anymore,” you say, making him laugh lightly. 

“Me too,” he says. 

“Thank you,” you say, leaning back to look at him.  “For everything.” 

He smiles that smile you love, cupping your face. 

“Thank you,” he says, “for showing me your hiding place.  Can I come here again with you?” 

Joking right after sex was never a habit before, but you find yourself bursting into a silly grin and saying, “Baby, you already know you can come wherever you want—” 

It makes him laugh too, the unexpectedness sending him over.  You laugh at him laughing so much, curling up close to him with the heat of the fire at your back. 

The cabin is warm.  Your clothes are probably long since dry.  The storm stopped a while ago and you only notice now.