#my sweet little ratties
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cw pet death under the cut
Well, I guess I largely vanished for the past couple of days for some people. We unexpectedly lost two of our ratties, one of which was one I had a close bond with, so that sure knocked me out for a day. I've been taking care of one of our little old ladies, Sammy, and we expected she would leave us fairly soon, but we lost Willow and Abbie within just a couple of days of each other instead.
Have some cute photos of baby abbie and willow since they were Very Loved and had happy lives.
Baby Abbie! When we saw how tiny she was (stunted growth, runt) and her little broken tail we had to take her home with us... somehow, miraculously, she could still move the whole tail! It's a mystery how it broke in the first place, and no one knew when we got her. We never had it amputated since it wasn't causing her any distress, and it just over time came to look like a little pikachu tail to us. She was my little heart rat and was glued to me near constantly.
all growed up button:
"FOUL TARNISHED...."
And baby Willow!!
So cute in her pot pie
the incredibly sweet /sadcute photos of her mommy, Bonnie (still with us!) protecting her the day we adopted them. They were adopted together due to their previous owners having to move and not being able to keep them. Bonnie was convinced we were going to steal her baby, so she kept sitting on her like this:
Willow was curious and wanted to make friends faster than Bonnie wanted, but Bonnie warmed up and finally stopped guarding so heavily. Part of her warming up included her adopting me, so uh... rat mom? She treats me like a baby rat. Mom, I'm a full grown Rat, thank you.
Willow was ***fascinated*** sitting and watching Resident Evil 4. She sat through the whole game and any time a loud noise would happen she'd ZOOP back into a sleeve...then poke back out, ears perked and whiskers going. She did the same thing last christmas when we opened presents, so RE4 gets called "CHRISTMAS 4" in our house.
also to the other ratty keepers out there, don't worry, the little cage is only a nursery/hospital cage and playtime cage, they lived in a giant critter nation with lots of friends.
Anyway, I'm a little sad still so I wanted to share some cute photos and celebrate them instead. We're probably going to be looking around at the local breeders to see if anyone has any baby girls ready for adoption.
#photos#rats#cw: death#cw: pet death#cute photos and cute comments under the cut though#since this is to celebrate them#my sweet little ratties#it's part of owning little animals with short lifespans#the joy they give outweighs the pain of losing them to me at least#and I always look forward to getting to spoil a new generation when one generation leaves#we still have bonnie / lei lei / sammy / wednesday / gizmo and coco#we had eight total in our mischief before#so I suppose we might be looking at getting two or more new little ones#depending on what the local area has and if there are already bonded siblings#willow and abbie both named after two of the soli characters#in our house we have a little headcanon that when they leave they go to a little rattie afterlife train station#so we were saying abbie had to go pick willow up at the station
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Here's a picture of Pidge with her feets out that I never got around to posting
#her passing is hitting my particularly hard because she was still under six months old#while my other girls were almost two years or older#pidge was such a sweet little girl though#she was tiny and always just wanted to hang out#she loved to play but she always wanted to do it like lowkey while her sister ran around like crazy#sorry to get really heavy in the tags here#i just miss her and i really love this picture and wanted other people to get to see it < 3#ratties#giga posts#giga pets#ratblr#rat#rats#fancy rats#pet rats
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I MET A RATTY TODAY!!! SHE'S SUCH A BEAUTY CUTIE AWWW
I LOVE RATS SO MUCH
it was her first time seeing me, she just woke up (sleepy baby)
here's she bleping water awh the cutie needs water
WHILE I WAS LOOKING AT A BUG SHE DID THIS🥺🤲🤲 I CAAAAANT WITH HER..
the bug!!! it was hard to make a photo but i managed
that is all!! it's not my ratty but i secretly dream about taking her with me home :((( kids here make her nervous and play with her too much i feel so sorry for the girl..i could give her better life pls :'(
#des-shitpost#the ratty girl awwhh#i wish you were mine....#i love rats i wanna have one for so long now#im gonna go and try to play with her a little#i gave her a cucumber and she liked it very much <333#she likes my hands she's too sweet#I WANNA TAKE YOU HOOOOME!!!!
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We need part 2 of that sub!coryo pls 😩😩
ᴛʜᴀᴛ’ꜱ ʜᴇʀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ, ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘᴏᴘᴜʟᴀʀ !
synopsis: Coriolanus will do anything to get to the top, right?
content warning . Power dynamics, edging, bondage, use of toys (ballgag + vibrator), degradation and praise . Dom! Reader, sub! Coryo
Notes: subcoryosubcoryosubcoryo !!! <333
He comes to you at midnight.
The walk to your apartment from Coriolanus’ own is not far, a mere few blocks over. When he gets there— knocks, greets you like the polite boy he is— he begins to unbutton his shirt. It’s an immediate demand from you, something that he suspected you would want the moment he walked through the door. He slips off his shoes, his suit, his ratty overused shirt. He looks away shyly, as if he’s not one of the most gorgeous men to ever walk the earth. It’s as if every ounce of his ego leaves the moment he enters your room.
He slips his underwear down his legs. Crawls onto your silky expensive sheets. You watch with a pleased smile, peeling off your red slip to bare your body to him. He gulps, his eyes never leaving the spot in between your legs.
You straddle him, just above his knees, not quite touching his cock yet. He bites his lower lip and blushes like a schoolgirl.
“Have you been a good boy?” You ask him, with precision. With calculation. With practice. He nods, and although he’s nervous like always, he grabs your perfectly manicured hand. He brings one of your fingers up to his mouth, suckles it with his soft pink tongue.
“Yes.”
You let him taste your digits for a little while longer, let him get used to this headspace you’ve taught him to embrace so openly. When he pulls the digits out of his mouth, your hands move up to stroke his blonde curls.
“My uncle has been treating your family well, I hope?”
Your uncle is one of the men you referred Coriolanus to, as a reward for letting you use his body for his own pleasure. The boy finds that he may like this situation a lot more than he thought. Your cunt is exquisite, your way of fucking so primal and raw. He’s completely infatuated with it. And the way you treat him, the way you care for him in such a way, makes him forget. Makes him forget his responsibilities, his past, his worries. He can let go when he’s with you, in more ways than one.
With fluttering lashes, he nods. His tongue brushes over his lip as he watches your naked cunt in between your legs.
“Very well.”
“And what do we say, for someone going out of their way to get you that position?”
He playfully lifts the back of your hand up to his mouth, and presses a kiss to it with soft, plush lips.
“Thank you, mistress.”
—
It’s not long before you’ve got the boy tied up. Red rope contrasts against pale white skin as the boy’s wrists twist and turn in the restraints. It was his idea, this bondage technique that leaves him completely helpless, and you know once again that the boy is a lot darker than you anticipated.
He’s got a vibrator pressed to his swollen, aching cock, held to it by an elastic band that’s just a bit too tight around his skin. A blue ballgag sits in between his pretty lips, and it’s caked with drool and spit. You lean down to lick it up, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you turn off the vibrator for a third time tonight. Tears pool on the boys crystalline lashes, a small whimper leaving him when you turn the device back on again with the remote in your hand.
“So handsome like this, Coryo,” you praise him, your nails scarping against his bare thigh. “Like a pretty painting. I’d love to keep you here forever.”
Coriolanus wouldn’t mind that, though he’s scared to admit such a thing to you. His hips thrust against the vibrator as you continue speaking to him in that sweet tone.
“You know I want to let you cum. But we need discipline. Don’t we, darling? We need to be patient, to work hard for what we want.”
He nods. He understands perfectly, and you don’t think you’ve ever had a boy in your bed so obedient. It’s not what you originally anticipated, given Coriolanus’ selfishness and greed. But you assume that his need to please has to form somewhere— and you’re so glad that it has formed in your bed.
You’re aroused to no end, watching him struggle. Your fingers move down to rub your swollen clit between your fingers. Coryo’s eyes focus only on that movement.
You can see him getting close again, can see that familiar twitch of his cock right before his release. You turn the toy off again. He cries out, his wrists pulling against the restraints vigorously. He’s like an animal, twitching and moaning. You know that if he somehow releases himself from those ropes that you won’t be able to stop him from fucking his cock into your drenched heat.
He tries to say something through the gag, but you ignore him. If he really needed to tell you something, he would knock on the wood of your headboard. You stick a finger inside yourself, swirling your release around and getting the digit nice and wet. Coriolanus can’t completely part his mouth due to the ballgag, but there is an open space on the sides that gives you access to the inside of it. You stick your finger in that space, rub your wetness on the inside of his cheek. His tongue can’t taste it due to the ballgag pushing it down, and he has no choice but to leave your slick there, untouched.
The tears fall harder now.
It goes on like this, his release being denied again and again while you spread your cunt to him and get him all desperate and hot. The tip of his cock is so red that it’s almost purple.
Until it comes to one point, when the boy can’t seem to take it anymore. His orgasm hits before you can even notice it, and his cum squirts out of his cock in thick, heavy streams. You turn the vibrator off mid orgasm, and he flails helplessly as his high is ruined. He sobs through the gag, begging you to let him cum again, to let him feel you. Your cunt has been neglected for so long that you can’t help but say yes.
You remove the vibrator from him, taking note of the faint line from the band cutting off a bit of circulation. You rub him with your palm to get him all squirmy again, let his cock sit proudly against his stomach for a second time. You straddle his thighs, grabbing his cock from underneath you and positioning it at your entrance. His head tilts back, his breathing uneven and heavy. You sink down onto him with ease.
His cock is so thick, so long, and it fills up your cunt perfectly. Your thighs bounce up and down on him, your wetness leaving a creamy ring around the base of his cock, and the boy can’t do anything but take it. He wants to touch you so badly, to feel your tits that are practically bouncing in his face. But he knows that the feeling of being helpless, of not being able to move, makes the restraints all worthwhile.
Your ass slaps against his thighs as you ride him, the feeling of his heavy balls hitting you making you quiver with arousal.
“So good,” you moan out to him, as you watch his pretty, blushing face. “Oh, coryo. Your mistress is so proud of you.”
He whimpers, and wants to say thank you, but to no avail. You pull him in for a kiss. It’s an odd one, because of his lips being spread apart by the gag, but you do it anyway. You bury your face into his neck and reach down to rub your own clit. Coryo watches with a glazed, fucked out expression. You can feel yourself getting close, your cunt clenching down on him. Coryo desperately tries to hump against your pussy, tries to aid in getting you there, to that special peak that only he can bring you. His thrusts are weak, however; he’s close himself, the overstimulation now giving way to something incredible. He knows he’s going to fill your cunt to the brim.
“Coryo,” you groan out, desperate. “I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum around your fat cock. Do you want that, sweet boy? Do you want your mistress’ cum?”
He nods, fucking his hips up eagerly, as if to say “give it to me. Give it to me now.”
And you do. That coil in your belly snaps, white hot heat coursing through your veins as you ride out your orgasm. Coryo’s cock kicks at the feeling of your pussy squeezing him, and he practically screams as his second orgasm washes over him. Your cunt milks him with everything it has, his warm spend kissing your cervix and leaving you satiated.
When you slow, the boy’s eyes are closed and he’s breathing shallowly. He must be tired, so incredibly tired.
His used, softening cock slips out of your hole when you move off of him. His cum drips sticky strings onto the bedsheets below you, and your filled hole gives you content.
Your fingers gently undo the ropes around Coryo’s wrists. He groans as his sore arms are finally able to relax, his eyes still shut as he moves in and out of a post orgasm sleep. Your hands remove the ballgag, too. You move the objects off the bed and watch as the boy curls up on his side. You find it quite endearing, and you smile.
After you clean up, pee, and find a new pair of pajamas to sleep in, you slip into bed. Coriolanus has never stayed the night before, but there’s always a time for firsts, right?
Soft snores leave his mouth, spit leaking from the corners of his mouth. His body turns over, and his head rests gently on your tummy. He sleepily mumbles, something almost incoherent but you understand anyway.
“Thank you, mistress.”
#Coriolanus snow#Coriolanus snow x reader#Coriolanus x fem! reader#Coriolanus snow smut#sub! Coriolanus snow#sub! Coriolanus snow x reader#Coriolanus snow fanfic#tbosas#the ballad of songs and snakes#the ballad of songs and snakes fanfic#thg#thg fanfic#the hunger games#hunger games#hunger games tbosas#Tom blyth#dom! reader
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Harana | Jungkook
harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them
→ summary:
Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.
{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}
→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor
→ warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!!
→ words: 16.1K
→ a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)
part of the “heart full of hugot” series
Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.
Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.
Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.
Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.
It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.
“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.
“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.
You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.
When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).
Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).
Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.
So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.
The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.
He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.
“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.
“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.
Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”
“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.
You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.
“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.
“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”
From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.
“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.
When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.
“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.
You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”
You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”
And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”
“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”
This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.
However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.
So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.
xxx
Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.
On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.
It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.
An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…
It’s worse.
Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.
It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.
“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.
You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—
Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.
Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.
Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.
You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.
And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.
At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.
Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.
This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.
But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?
But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.
Painfully and pathetically you.
As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”
You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.
“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.
“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.
You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?
“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.
Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.
You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.
Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.
Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.
That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.
“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.
Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.
You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.
Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.
As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.
He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.
“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.
By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.
You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.
“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”
You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.
“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”
Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”
“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.
“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”
You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”
You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.
Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.
Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.
Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?
The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.
There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.
Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.
Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—
“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”
His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.
Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.
It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.
When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?
As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.
You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.
“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”
“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.
“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”
“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”
“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”
You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”
Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”
Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”
“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.
“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.
You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)
“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.
“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.
Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.
Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”
You pause. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.
You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.
The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.
Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”
His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.
Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.
“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.
He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”
You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.
Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.
xxx
Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:
Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.
You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.
Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.
Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.
You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.
He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”
Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.
“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”
You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.
Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”
You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?
“What are you talking about?” you exhale.
“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”
Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.
“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.
“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”
Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.
And so, you hear him before you see him.
“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.
Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—
Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.
You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.
He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.
“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.
Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”
You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.
Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.
Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.
Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”
Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.
But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!
“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.
You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.
Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.
It is clear to you that there is no other option:
You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?
You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.
Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.
“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.
At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.
Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”
You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.
When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.
You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.
You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.
“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.
You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.
This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.
You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?
xxx
He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.
“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.
Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.
However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.
At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.
But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!
(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)
You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.
You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.
Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?
Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.
“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.
In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.
It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”
“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”
Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”
You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”
Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:
“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”
“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.
Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”
“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”
“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.
You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”
“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.
“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.
Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.
You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.
“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.
“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.
“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.
Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.
The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.
Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?
You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?
You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.
The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.
Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.
“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.
“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.
This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”
He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”
Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.
You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.
Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:
You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.
He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.
(Not anymore.)
“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.
“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.
“What’s it about this time?”
His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”
You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”
He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.
During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.
How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.
You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.
You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.
“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.
“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.
“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.
You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”
Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.
“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.
Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”
“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.
“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.
At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.
Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.
“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.
“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.
When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.
Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.
“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.
He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.
He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.
With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.
You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.
Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.
Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”
You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.
Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”
“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.
He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.
When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.
You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.
Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.
When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.
You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.
Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)
Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.
“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.
To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.
You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.
Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.
“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.
You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.
You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.
In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.
You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.
What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?
Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.
“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.
“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”
He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.
He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”
“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.
Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”
He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”
A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?
You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.
Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?
Who are you, even? And where do you stand?
(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)
You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.
xxx
Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.
Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.
His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.
He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.
It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.
During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.
As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.
What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.
Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.
You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.
You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.
“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.
You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.
As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.
Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”
Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.
Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”
All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.
It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.
Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.
“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.
“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.
“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.
“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”
“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”
Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.
You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.
Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.
In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.
At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.
He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!
“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.
You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.
Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.
You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”
“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.
You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”
Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”
“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.
Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—
“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”
Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.
“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”
There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.
Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.
When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"
Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”
The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.
There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.
Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.
Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.
You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.
You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”
“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”
“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”
“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”
In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.
“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.
You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?
The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.
But you do know, the universe responds.
I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?
Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.
Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.
“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.
“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.
Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.
You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?
You nod, and seal your fate.
He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.
Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.
He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.
Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.
Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.
“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go
xxx
Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.
In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.
Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.
“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.
You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.
#bts scenarios#jungkook scenarios#bts x reader#jungkook x reader#bts reader insert#bts fanfiction#bts imagines#bts fluff#bts angst#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jeon jungkook#jungkook#bangtan#bts#bts fanfic
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the cars that go boom | (daddydom!sadist!eddie)
this fic isn't related to the title song reference at all, it's just stuck in my head.
needed to get this out of my drafts so here's some ddlg themed sadist eddie that's been sitting in my draft folder for fucking ever and i'm sick of looking at it.
tw: 18+ mdni ddlg dynamics, daddy kink, eddie being all over a cocky shit bag hottie who likes control but it's consensual, use of a vibrating toy. lots of allusions to other sex.
You watch him get out of the bathroom after his shower, tattoos stretched taught over softly cut muscles. You almost drool. He tried something new with you this week, an orgasm ban -- nearly a sex ban -- in fact, he didn't even want you to see his dick. And much like he always does when he finds a new way to torture you; he was feeling really pleased with himself about it.
'That's more than you deserve,' he hissed at you Monday night while you knelt obediently between his legs. He pet your hair while you watched TV and he jerked himself off, you were not allowed to turn around until he was finished. You pouted all night, and when it happened the next day you started pouting all week.
But, the week was over, which meant your punishment was done. You'd spent all day getting ready, a long shower, smooth skin, body butter, his favorite perfume, everything you could do to feel perfect for him. You cleaned the trailer and made dinner, you kissed him when he got in the door to which he blushed and smiled.
'Hi beautiful,' he greeted you so gently, 'I missed you today.'
You watch him dress now, hair dripping while he tugs on a pair of grey sweatpants and a ratty cut off Iron Maiden t-shirt. You sulk a little. Those aren't normally the clothes he'd put on if he wanted to take you to bed, but you don't say anything just yet.
He goes to the kitchen table with a composition notebook and a collection of pens and markers, opening the beat up pages to what you can only assume is a new campaign, a new drawing of a map. You walk over while he mulls over it, adding new territory, scribbling in new lore. You let your hands slide over his shoulders.
"Hi baby," you say sweetly.
"Hi," he responds, focused on his notebook. Your hands slide forward, onto his chest, your face leaning down to his, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
"Whatcha doing?" you ask innocently.
"Workin' on a campaign," he responds, "We're gonna meet up on Wednesday night so I want it to be semi together."
"Okay," you nod, you run your fingers gently over his scalp, giving him a soft scratch. He keens into the touch, shoulders relaxing while he rolls his head back. You press your luck, letting your fingertip trace over the curve of his ear.
"Hey," he warns softly, "I'm tryin' to focus, sweetheart."
"Oh, I'm sorry," you apologize, but he can't see your grin. Your fingers continue to wander, giving him a sweet shoulder massage while he reads over his story. A quiet 'thank you honey', falls from his full lips while you work out the knots. You press your luck again, trailing your finger down the line of his neck that's the most sensitive to your tongue and touch. Eddie's shoulders tense and he sits up straight, turning to you with a sour pull at his full lips.
"Do you need something?" he asks pointedly. You feel heat rush to your cheeks, "Do you need some attention?"
You nod and he grins, pulling the other kitchen chair over, "Come sit next to me then, you can help."
You roll your eyes and sit down next to him, he bites his tongue at the offense, happy to get to spend some time with you like this. He gives you a chaste kiss on your cheek while you watch him work.
You barely 'help', just sitting there while he crosses things out and re-writes them. While he flips back ten pages and then forward twenty, grabbing a red pencil and putting it down for a blue pencil then picking the red back up and so on. You get restless watching him work, so you get up and grab each of you a beer. Another sugar sweet, 'thaaank you baby,' pours from him, this time deep and focused, dark and syrupy. Molasses tongue. It goes right to your thighs.
You press your luck a third time, scooting close to him, letting your hand smooth over his covered thigh and further up, skimming over his cock that was perfectly outlined in his sweats. He let's out a frustrated sigh when he takes your hand away from his crotch, gently putting it on your lap when he looks at you sternly.
"Daddy's busy, baby," his eyes look down at you, his dominance brewing under angry brows, "Why don't you go play by yourself in another room, hm?"
He turns his attention back to the campaign notebook, while you throb from being scolded. The humilation pools through you when he chastises you, eyes lingering on you while you continue to sit there. After a beat, you get up to walk to the bedroom hearing his voice as you do.
"Good girl," he teases, "Are you being a good listener?"
You look back and see his grin while he leans back in the kitchen chair, crossing his arms. His legs are spread wide under the table, cool authority flowing off of him.
"Are you?" he asks again, a smirk cracking his face as if to ask, 'Does this embarrass you?' It does, it's humiliating.
"I'm a very good listener," you respond quietly, heart dropping in your chest.
His brows raise, waiting for you to add more to the sentence. You let out an aggravated huff through your nose, crossing your arms.
"I'm a very good listener, daddy," you repeat.
"There we go," he smiles cruelly, "Go have fun, sweetheart."
'Have fun? HAVE FUN?' you think to yourself while you go to the bedroom and shut the door with a firm click, 'Fine! I'll have fun without you then! See if I care!'
It's not fair that you've been quite literally begging to be fucked for seven straight days, but to go straight into teasing you like this? The type of dominance that makes you feel the most -- god -- embarrassed? Degraded?
You'd rather gag on fingers and have him wipe your spit on your face. You'd rather him make you lick someone's cum out of his ass, literally anything but this.
With a huff you open Eddie's top dresser drawer and grab the Hitatchi he bought you as an anniversary gift last year. Hastily, you plug it in behind the bedside table before climbing on to bed, shimmying your jeans off and tossing them to the floor.
Your legs spread, bent at the knees, turning the toy on low and slowly lowering it onto your covered core. The hum is quiet, barely a tremble in the head of the wand when it meets the lacy fabric of your panties. A soft gasp escapes you at the feeling, it had felt like years since you'd been touched there. You move the toy up and down slowly, teasing yourself, little puffs of breath escaping you as you do.
With a click, the buzz intensifies, sliding the head upward to settle softly on your clothed clit. You whimper while your hips start to move slowly against the vibrations, the whirr of the toy filling your ears while your eyes shut. You keep yourself like this for a little, enjoying the slow sensation, the mild tease. You feel it start, like the hook looping into the first car of a roller coaster train, the first tug when the attendant hits 'go'.
“Huh!” you gasp out breathy while your hips twitch. Your lower lips start to swell against the gusset of your bottoms, slick building between them. A slow start. You savor it, a small smile pulling at your lips.
“Look so pretty like that, baby,” you hear his voice and gasp, tossing the toy next to you and snapping your legs shut. He smirks, a devilish chuckle bubbles from his chest, “Oh no, don’t let me interrupt. I said you could go play by yourself, and look at you…”
His voice raises in a lilt, while he sits on the bed. He passes you the wand and smiles, “You’re being such a good girl for me.”
“Go on,” he says with a nod, “Show daddy how you were playing.”
You lean back on the pillows, opening up your legs again slowly. He glances between them, eyes flitting down to your mound briefly before meeting your eyes again, he subconciously licks his lips.
You keep your legs up and bent up against your chest so he has a view, puffing out a soft sigh when you click the toy on again. He looks at you with a hazy gleam in his brown eyes, nodding slowly at you to remind you of his permission. You run it up your thigh before settling it back down on the center of your slit, letting the vibrations pulse over your entire core.
"Hm," you hum out softly as your brows pinch together in a tilt.
"Aw, yeah?" he coos out, "Does that feel good?"
"Mhm," you whine, lower lip tucked tight between your teeth. Yuo swallow when he reaches his hand out, smoothing over the soft plushness of your inner thigh. He squeezes, grinning when you let out a soft grunt with a twitch of your hips.
"You've been so patient this week," he purrs, "Such a good girl. Isn't that right?"
You nod hurriedly, watching his hand slide up your thigh, his index finger tracing up the hem of your underwear. It's a smooth hand off, watching his rings gleam in the bedside lamp when it wraps around the handle, both of your hands falling flat by your head. Your palms face the ceiling, matching your eyes when he turns up the vibrations.
"Isn't that right, baby doll?" he asks, adding a gentle pressure up against you. Your pussy strains against the fabric the more excited you get, back already in a soft arch while you push into the mattress.
"Y-yes, sir," you manage to mutter out.
"No, no, that's not who I am tonight," he admonishes, still in a soft and steady voice, almost sweet -- like you don't understand anything. He takes the toy away; making you whimper, leaning up on your elbows behind you.
"You know how to address me," he says, a serpentine confidence flashing in his face, "You're a big girl, aren't you? Or do I have to teach you?"
You let out a shrill groan, head leaning back on it's hinge while your legs kick out in frustration in front of you.
"Hmm, of course," he says, getting up off the bed to pull off his shirt and slide off his sweats. His boxer briefs hug him in tight but it's there and it's missed you more than you've missed it this week, "You act like this and you don't think I should treat you like a little girl?"
You look up at him, bitten lower lip jutting out with a sheen of spit.
"So pouty, too," he coos, crawling onto the mattress between your parted thighs. He sits up on his knees, tall over your frame splayed out on the bed. He lifts one of your legs, pressing it flush against his chest so your foot rests by his ear.
"M'not pouty," you say back while his other hand reaches over your cheek with a light back before splaying over your jaw. His thumb brushes your lower lip before pressing on the dip at the center.
"Open," he instructs, you don't even think to stop yourself. You suck his thumb slow, letting your tongue lave over the length all the while. Spit fills your mouth, wet and eager, already inching at the corners of your mouth. You might as well drool.
"Very good," he purrs again from the back of his throat, "Someone learned her lesson this week."
You nod, taking his wrist to steady his hand while you take more initiative with his thumb, implying what you really want.
"Don't get too ahead of yourself," he says lowly, taking his thumb from your mouth. He wipes the spit on your cheek before reaching back over to the wand, keeping your legs spread and holding thight to your thigh against his front.
Your hips shimmy when he holds the toy back in place, thumb running over the power button but not pressing down.
"Hey," he says, commanding, "Look up at me."
Your gaze snaps to his in unadulterated obedience, his distaste for even having to ask evident on his face, "You know better."
"I know better," you nod while you say it, confirming his words.
"You do not ever stop looking at me," he glowers down.
"I don't ever stop looking at you," you repeat back, needy for whatever he has for you next. Your hips shimmy again, you try to stifle the whine in your throat but it comes out just the same; desperate and childish.
"Oh, baby, do you need help asking for what you want?" his voice lilts, "Does daddy have to guess?"
"Turn it on, please," you whisper.
"Please what, princess?" he asks, voice mocking with a knowing stare, leaning down so your knee hooks over his shoulder. His chest hovers at an angle over you, chain and guitar pick dangling over your lips.
"Please what?" he asks again.
"Please daddy," you whine, "Please turn the toy on."
"Look at those manners," he grins wickedly, "My sweet girl."
He turns it on, speed setting high with the flick of his finger. It rumbles loud, thighs already twitching while runs it back and forth over your sensitive clit.
"Fuck," you gasp out, eyes rolling, "Oh my god, right there."
"That's not a very nice word, sweetheart," he chastises, "What do you say?"
"S-sorr-Oh! Oh my god! Oh! -- Sorry, d--shitshitshitshit-- sorrysorrysorrysorry," you nearly cry when the cord in your belly snaps, gushing into the fabric against your core. He greedily keeps your thighs apart, watching while you come undone under him.
You gulp when he doesn't take the toy away, your sensitive nerves screaming at the buzz of the vibrator. Your hips writhe and jump, trying to pull away from it all the while he's shaking his head no.
"Gotta hear that apology, princess," he murmurs, "Say sorry."
"Sorry daddy, I'm sorry," you babble out, "M'sorry I'll be so good, I'll be good."
He let's out a satisfied hum, clicking the wand off and placing it gingerly on the bedside table. His hand lingers for a moment to make sure it doesn't roll off and then finds it's footing back on the mattress.
"You'll be so good?"
"So good," you nod when he settles back between your thighs. He crawls forward like a cat, pressing his hips slowly up against yours. You sigh needily when you feel the drag of his erection against you, whimpering when you see it affect him the same way.
"Shit, baby," he smirks, trying not to break character while he grinds against you a second time, "Fuck."
"That's not a very nice word," you tease back, looking up at him through heavy lids.
"Well I'm not a very nice guy, am I?" he muses, leaning in to kiss you deeply before one hand reaches down to tug at your panties. You giggle, a sound that sends him reeling when he's in this kind of mood.
"You're very nice," you whisper against his lips.
"Hmm, yeah?" he growls, noses brushing while he lingers above you. He offers another roll of his hips right before he gets to work on pulling your panties down slipping them off of each ankle with ease.
Undressed completely below him, he admires you. He hadn't seen you like this all week, finally getting what you've been waiting for. So patient, so willing. He runs his hands from shoulders to hips, greedy fingers digging into you rough and tumble, grabbing and kneading with disregard to comfort.
"Daddy," you start, getting his attention in a voice that makes him ready to serve accordingly, "Fuck me."
A smirk splits his face, it's cute when you ask so brazenly when you're busy looking at him with those sad puppy eyes.
"Please, fuck me," you reiterate while he readies himself, boxer briefs peeling off to leave him bare. Your soft gasp at the release of his cock is more of an ego trip than he expected to have, never realizing how much you truly need him like this. How you can really only get off to him, how you've submitted in every way you could.
"Daddy's gonna fuck you, sweetheart," he says steadily, climbing back ontop of you, pressing your thighs to your chest, "God, m'gonna fuck you real good."
He leans in for another hungry kiss, ownership laced in his lips. When he breaks away you catch his chin in your hand, an action that makes him bristle, jaw clenching at your attempt at control.
"Fuck me like I've been bad," you request in a timbre so low he nearly melts at the sound, "Fuck me how you fuck bad girls."
He's never flipped you over so fast in your life.
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Just a Taste | Johnny "Soap" McTavish x Reader
Follow up to Boyfriend!Soap drabble.
Summary:
You've given Johnny permission to fuck you while you sleep.
He needs a little encouragement.
Warnings: Somnophilia, consensual somno, pussy eating, dirty talk, PiV (unprotected, wrap it up folks).
Wordcount: 1.8k
[AO3]
CoD/141 Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Johnny can’t sleep.
Ever since you told him he could fuck you while you slept, it’s been on his mind every time the two of you go to bed. But every time he tries to muster the courage to do it, he chickens out. It’s like an itch at the back of his brain, taunting him mercilessly.
He rolls over, looking at you as you sleep with your back to him, stark naked with the covers loosely draped around your middle. He watches you for a few minutes, trying to ignore the way his dick twitches when you let out a soft whine in your sleep as you stretch.
“Depraved cunt,” Soap groans, reprimanding himself as he wraps his thick fingers around his shaft.
He lets out a pained moan as he pumps his length at a leisurely pace. His fingers are coated in precome already and he blushes at the realisation of how keyed up he is.
“You’re a fuckin’ siren, temptin’ me with that kinky little idea,” he breathes into the space between you as he picks up the pace, breath coming in ragged bursts as he tries not to jostle the bed too hard.
“Just wanna stuff my cock in yer slick little hole,” he groans a little louder this time as he feels his stomach flutter with his impending release.
He’s about to whisper more filth when you move suddenly.
Soap watches in awe as you roll onto your back, tits jiggling in the moonlight that spills in from the window. He tries to stop the inevitable, gripping the base of his cock as a sweet, soft sigh slips from your lips.
“Fuck,” he hisses as he rolls onto his back, exploding over his abdomen as he comes hard. His balls tighten as hot ropes of come splatter across his skin, his chest heaving as he sees stars. He huffs despondently as he feels his come cooling uncomfortably on his belly as you let out a soft snore.
He laughs to himself as he tries to muster the energy to get up and clean himself off.
“Temptress,” he growls under his breath as you sleep seemingly oblivious next to him.
~*~
You sigh as you hear the faucet running in your en-suite. You were certain Soap would do it this time. Ever since you told him he could fuck you while you slept you’ve been desperate for him to just do it already.
But there’s something painfully sweet at the way Soap is struggling to take the plunge and just use you. Last night you slept in just a pretty pair of pink cotton panties. He’d gotten as far as grinding against your ass before ducking out to wank in the bathroom.
Tonight, you thought sleeping nude would have tipped him over the edge. If anything, he seemed even more hesitant to touch you. You need to get creative.
~*~
Every day since, you’d put on a show for him. When you came home you had stripped bare, before putting on one of his old ratty t shirts and nothing else. Every other movement meant Soap had a front row seat to your ass, or your bare pussy, or sometimes a combination of both.
The worst part: You wouldn’t let him touch you.
Tonight, you had been sprawled out on the sofa, legs spread as you had your head in his lap as you watched TV. He’d tried to subtly cop a feel, his dick achingly hard as he trailed his fingertips up the inside of your thigh.
“Not feeling it babe,” you had whined, batting his hand away just as he reached the apex of your thighs.
“Hen, come on,” he had groaned, looking down at you with a pained look on his face. He had felt the damp evidence of your arousal, you made sure of it before batting his hand away.
“Going to go to bed,” you had yawned dramatically before sauntering off to bed, making sure to raise your arms up in an exaggerated stretch, baring your ass to him before disappearing into the bedroom.
Now, Soap is curled around you, dick pressed against the valley of your ass as you rock backwards on it, seemingly fast asleep. You’re still in his t-shirt, and he knows he won’t be able to hold back tonight. He can smell himself on you as he buries his nose just behind your ear.
“Hen?”
You grunt noncommittally as you feign sleep, wriggling away from him a little before turning on your front, purposefully riding your shirt up to expose your ass and lower back.
You hear him exhale heavily behind you and you panic, worried he’s about to give up and either wank alone or just go to sleep. You make a split-second decision and hitch one of your knees up, gasping sleepily as you feel cool air hit your cunt.
“Fuck it,” you hear him growl and you have to stop yourself from reacting as you feel the mattress dip behind you as he repositions, “Goin’ to hell for his.”
You feel him gently, gingerly, drag his calloused fingertips along your skin. They catch and drag over the backs of your heels, scraping up and over the meat of your calves. You can’t help but shudder as they weave over the tender skin on the back of your knees.
“So fuckin’ pretty like this, can’t help myself,” Johnny groans low as you feel his broad palms press into the backs of your thighs, spreading them out to expose your dripping cunt to him. You bite your lip, desperate to keep up the act of being sound asleep as his thumbs push your pillowy cheeks apart.
“Look at that bonnie little cunt,” he whispers, and you clench, unable to stop yourself reacting to his slurred praise, “Just a taste, that’s all I need.”
You tremble in anticipation as you feel his broad form settle between your spread legs, hot breath fanning against your thighs as he inches his mouth closer to your dripping folds.
Johnny’s tongue swirls around your entrance; the blunt tip teasing and cruel in the way he presses hard enough to make you clench, but not deep enough to breach your hole.
“Like fuckin’ honey,” Johnny groans as he continues to tease you, lapping up your slick as he settles further into the apex of your thighs, “Still asleep hen?”
You bite your lip as you shudder, trying to stay as still as you can as you feel him kiss your folds gently. His soft lips and tender tongue devour your slick cunt as he takes a heady inhale of your cunt.
“Wonder if I can make you come like this lass? Yeah, I bet I can.”
You try not to squirm as you feel his tongue flick over your clit. It’s probing, teasing, torture as he sucks it between his lips. The wet push and pull of his mouth on your sensitive bud is almost too much as you let a soft moan slip from your lips as you try and muffle it in the pillow beneath you.
“Yeah, you like that?” Johnny mumbles against your cunt as he brings two fingers up to your core, “Dirty lass,” he huffs as he pushes them deep inside you. You whimper as you feel the spill of arousal flood through you. You can’t hold back with the way Johnny is pumping his thick fingers inside you, suckling at your clit, and groaning deep as he ruts into the mattress below him.
“There you go, good lass,” he growls as he rakes his teeth over your swollen clit, pushing you over the edge, “Come for me hen.”
And you do.
Your whole body quakes with ripples of pleasure as you clamp down on Johnny’s fingers. Your teeth sink into the pillowcase as you stifle the scream that bubbles in your throat.
“Such a nasty girl,” Johnny groans as he eases his fingers out, “Be a shame not to fuck your desperate little cunt right now.”
You try not to squeal in anticipation at his admission. You’re so ready for this, so desperate for him to use you.
“Johnny,” you sigh, trying to sound sleepy as you squirm beneath him, and you feel him freeze behind you. You smirk to yourself as you wriggle beneath him, your knees pulling up under you as you bare yourself to him, silently begging him to fuck you.
“Sure you’re not awake lass?” He chuckles, already lining his weeping tip against your core. You feel the way his tip stretches you out instantly and you’re gushing for it. You offer him a soft “hmpf” in response that only compels Soap to press his thick cock deep inside you. You cry out at the stretch and there’s no concealing the fact you’re awake any longer.
“There she is,” Johnny growls as he slides his hands over your ass cheeks, landing on your hips as he pulls you back onto his thick length, “Knew you weren’t asleep.”
“Johnny,” you whine as he spears you from behind as he snaps his hips forward, “Jus’ wanted you to have fun, use me.”
“I know hen,” he rasps through gritted teeth, “Fucking idiot I am, next time I’ll fuck you stupid, wake you up as I split you on my cock.”
“Fuck yes,” you whine as he fucks down into you hard and fast, punching the air from your lungs as you look over your shoulder.
“Gonna come in this tight little cunt lass,” Johnny wheezes as you feel his brutal pace stutter as he reaches his climax.
“Fuck me Johnny, fuck me!” You scream as your orgasm hits you like a truck. You cry out as you come hard around his cock, clenching hard as you fall limp into the sheets beneath you.
“Fuck!” Johnny exhales with a low grunt as he empties his balls, coating your insides as he continues to rut into your sopping cunt as he fills you with his spend.
Your cunt clamps down on him as you milk him dry and it seems like a lifetime before both of your trembling, overstimulated bodies still.
“Fuckin’ bewitched me lass, that was somethin’ else,” Johnny wheezes as he falls forward, lips pressed against the back of your neck as he slides his softening cock out of you.
“Glad you liked it,” you huff as you feel his weight bear down on you as you fall forward, letting his broad form press you down into the mattress.
“Fuckin’ loved it,” he says with a huff as he nips at the column of your neck.
You lie there for some time, sleep pulling at your eyelids as you try and fight off the allure of sexually sated contentment.
“C’mon Johnny, let’s get showered and head to bed,” you say wearily as you let his large form smother you from behind.
“Aye, lass,” he breathes against your cooling skin, “After you.”
CoD/141 MasterlistMain Masterlist
#john soap mactavish#soap cod#soap x reader#soap mw2#soap call of duty#soap x you#soap x y/n#soap imagine#johnny mctavish x reader#johnny mactavish#Johnny mctavish imagine#johnny mctavish x you#cod imagine#cod mwii#fanfic#boyfriend!soap#boyfriend!johnny mctavish#somno k!nk#soft somno#tw somno#tw somnophilia
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𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ in the mornings ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚
ft: rin.
notes: just pure sunshine fluff ✧˖°.
part/series: 1.0 2.0 3.0
wc: 1328
he's doesn't wake you up, and prefers to let you sleep the night away to your heart's content (sleeping makes you happy), and he notices and cares about that.
it's the little things....
rin wakes up early before you. he's always been an early bird, up as soon as the sun rises, and a sleepy saturday is no exception. so you're left to be woken up by the birds chirping and the sun shining and the smell of your favorite food wafting through the open doorway. and you'll get up, slowly walk your way downstairs.
the moment's surprisingly domestic, rin's shirtless and clad in an apron (even though it's a little drafty downstairs), you're in his shirt, and for a second there's nothing but the sound of sizzling bacon reverberating on the walls and making you feel completely at home.
"did you sleep well?" you smile, because you suddenly feel refreshly rejuvenated.
"yeah, i really, really did."
rin is SUCH a sweetheart dasifjsdiofjjjsfdi LMAOO like...
you cannot prove me wrong once he gets to know you he's literally warm and allasdfjdfoi
and his cooking's mad scrumptious i am telling u
breakfast, as usual is warm and lifts you up. down to your veins, the utter core and heart of your being, because you can tell that he made it with love, and that's most important. and once you're done, you make a move to go do the dishes, but he won't let you. (the man's serious, what can i say?)
"i can do it-"
"don't worry," rin pulls you into a swift hug and you're suddenly surrounded by a cocoon of strong, comforting arms, "i got it."
"but you already cooked? we should split-"
rin looks at you fondly, amusement glimmering in teal eyes. it's a look that can stop time, shatter you, and pick you up anew. it's the look of the sunsets you saw together last september, and it's that look of pure adoration and love.
"you should rest," he whispers as he presses a soft kiss to your cheek that leaves your stomach whirling and your nerves dancing alight. "you're worth it."
oh if you only knew HOW BAD i need a rin in my life
we all need a rin tbh because he's sooo sweet and so caring when he's comfy around you
+ a little jelly bcs !!!!
this next scene is utter beauty... you'll see...
waking up is hard when you're utterly entangled in the strong arms of the one you love.
the sun hums softly through the windows, blanketing everything in golden radiance. a clear, blue expanse of sky gazes down at you from above. the clock blinks at you in soft red letters the time (11 P.M.), but neither of you seem to make a move to get up.
it’s the power of a sleepy saturday.
a soft murmur (the doorbell) cuts through your haze of thoughts. “i’ll get it-” rin starts but you push the covers back onto him, pressing him back down onto the soft mattress.
“don’t worry, i got it,” you smile, and he wraps you in a warm hug.
“if you’re gone too long, i’ll miss you!” he calls over your shoulder. you smile back at him. it’s so easy to fall back into that comforting, perfect rhythm, where it’s just the two of you. indelible touches and soft warmth, broken down to sand, it’s just the two of you. against the world, fighting together, the two of you.
your heart blossoms with a warmth that swells from your head down to the very core of your being, and sits happily there, a pleasant, steady heat that makes the silence feel so full.
at your door’s a cute, smiling pizza man.
“delivery for y/n?” he smiles down at you, while holding that cardboard box.
“thanks so much!” you turn to grab your wallet from the counter, and come back right after. the air’s crackling with some unspoken tension, and you feel and hear movement behind you, but you disregard it.
inhaling the aroma of cheesy goodness, you feel oddly refreshed.
the man looks you up and down, and you suddenly realize you’re in a ratty set of pajamas and cross your arms over yourself a little self-consciously.
“the weather’s gorgeous today, isn’t it?” the man smiles and you find it in yourself to smile back. he’s just being nice, you chide yourself.
“yeah-” you start, “it really, really is.”
as you move to swipe your credit card across the gleaming screen of the touchless payment scanner, your feet get caught on the rug and you fall down, down, down…
right into the pizza guy’s arms. as your cheeks color and flame, and you murmur a hasty apology and scramble away, the man smirks.
“fell for me already, didn’t you?”
you wince. he’s cute, with warm eyes and dimples, but he’s no rin itoshi. “actually,” you start, “i’m flattered, but i’m not interested.”
the guy looks at you in surprise. “what, do you have a boyfriend or someth-”
immediately, rin’s presence materializes by you as if summoned. it’s a little uncanny, you think to yourself. and you have to admit, seeing rin stare down his opposition is a sight to see.
it doesn’t help the other guy’s case that rin’s fit as anything, either. just the glare he gives his opponents is enough to make them recoil. he crosses his arms over his broad chest and gives the delivery guy a penetrating stare. (you feel a little bad for this poor pizza man). but also, it fills you with molten heat and just love that rin would even care about these little things.
“yeah,” rin drawls underneath the summer sun, “she does have a boyfriend.” he wraps his bicep around your waist and tugs you close.
“so if i were you,” rin leans in towards the guy and whispers, “i’d probably leave now.”
somehow, the pressured worker manages to keep his wits intact. “you haven’t paid-”
“i’ll handle it, y/n,” rin whispers in your ear and waves you off. as you sit down on your sofa and calm your racing heart, you’re hit with such a wave of emotion that your heart weeps. because you’re rin itoshi’s, and he doesn’t care if the whole world knows it.
rin’s by your side minutes later and he sees your tears. “why’re you crying? is it me- don’t cry because of me-” he hugs you close, and wipes away your tears with gentle fingers.
“i’m not sad, rin,” you smile up at him, “happy tears. happy because you love me, and you don’t care if the whole world knows it-”
“even if you are a jealous-”
he pulls you in close and whispers fiercely. “damn right i’m jealous, because i got the best person in the world right beside me. and i’ll never let you go, and i’ll always love you. let the world say what they want to say, because you’re mine.”
“i love you too, rin-”
and then he pulls you into a searing kiss, embedding himself into your very soul and your entire mind is consumed with just rin itoshi. featherlight touches leave trails of heat down your face, and you breathe a soft sigh.
because rin in the mornings (and any other time) is truly just a sight to behold.
“say it,” rin murmurs and pulls away. you’re both breathing a little heavy and he looks at you with such love and emotion in his eyes that you know what he needs.
“i’m yours.”
the next kiss sends off fireworks in your heart and ignites your world in a blaze of life because you’re rin’s, he’s yours, and the two of you together are unstoppable.
there will be ups and downs. highs of unimaginable greatness and lows and worlds of hurt. but you’ll get through it.
together.
OH MY GOD MWA MWA MWA AHHHHHH
rin is truly the best lover when he's with you, i refuse to believe othwerise.... well i know he''ll prob be AWKWARD and cold at first.. (i'll totally do an arranged marriage sitch on my ao3 oh i love the idea already)
stay tuned for part two (guess which character in comments!!! or request which one im open) i'll link it under the series column when it's rdy ;)
thank u sm for reading, and thank you to @enchanthings for these lovely page dividers. grateful foreva 🫶
(rin pics bcs i love him sm, look at that penetrating stare and bro has hella eyelashes..)
ASJFDSOIF ok THANKS FOR REEADING AGAIN!!
part two is up and linked!!! happy reading :)
#blue lock#bllk#bllk x reader#bllk fluff#rin itoshi#rin itoshi x y/n#rin itoshi x reader#bllk imagines#blue lock x reader#blue lock fluff#itoshi rin
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Oh god - I’m still stuck on this.
18+ MDNI / explicit sex, dark and twisted themes
I've been thinking a lot about Simon Riley who doesn't want the divorce.
Simon who never wanted to be separated, who hates living apart. Simon, who would drag you to a tattoo artist to get your ring permanently inked to your skin so you could never be rid of him, if he could. He’s been actively avoiding the stack of papers that are waiting for his signature, staying on longer Ops, picking up extra work.
Can’t be divorced if there’s no signature.
Simon, who unbeknownst to you, still comes home. Still pushes open the back door in the dead of night, keeping his steps silent so he doesn't wake you. Simon, who stands in the doorway of your bedroom, his old bedroom, and watches you sleep on his side of the bed in those little, ratty shorts with your ass perked up in the air like you're waiting for him. Like you’re ripe, and ready.
Simon, who checks your birth control every night. Who’s pleased when he realizes this month’s pack hasn’t even been opened, every color coded pill still in place, foil glinting at him in the low light of the vanity.
Good girl, he thinks to himself, shutting your medicine cabinet with a silent click. Getting yourself all ready for him.
Simon, who agrees to meet you for dinner.
"Let's just sign and get it over with. We can catch up, too. Talk about what we want to do with the house."
"Alright, love. Whatever you want."
You're a bundle of nerves when he shows up, seated at a little table in the back, glass of wine already half gone.
Normally, he'd try to soothe you. You've always been naturally anxious, a little dependent, and in a social setting, a little high strung. He's well versed in navigating your emotions, calming you into a relaxed state with a few words or a reassuring touch.
But this time, he doesn't bother. He sits there with his arms crossed, watching you nervously chatter away, one hand flat on a manilla envelope. He stays quiet, letting you go on, watching your hands seek something to do, fingers finding your wine glass over and over.
You drink two glasses of wine before the entrees are served, dangerously close to your usual self imposed "three drink" limit.
One thing bleeds into another. You start to lean a little, in your chair. He nurses a bourbon, you order a shot after the meal.
"Want one?" Your tongue follows the seam of the lime wedge, dabbing along the spongy, white fibers before your teeth sink into the flesh of it, lime juice squirting across your tongue.
“You know I don’t like tequila, but you go on.”
You’re a bit sloppy by the time he gets you home, but still sweet like honey, like you used to be years ago. Before everything changed. Before you asked him to move out.
You’re giggly, excited when he bends you over the kitchen table, the kitchen table where you used to eat together, breakfast for dinner when he’d come home, waffles and bacon at one in the morning.
You don’t protest when he slides your skirt down your hips and over your ass, thumbs spreading you wide to reveal your glistening cunt, twitching and desperate.
“My poor girl, has it been so long?” He cooed, relishing in the way you moaned with your lips on the wood. He knows it has, knows you haven’t been with anyone since the last time he fucked you, months and months ago, on the night you asked for the divorce. “Don’t worry, I’m gon’ take care of you and this neglected little pussy.”
“You have to pull out.” You slurred, breath hot, fogging against the finish of the table. “Promise.” He grunts something under his breath, nonsense, but you can’t tell the difference, and when he slides inside your scorching cunt, you howl, breath hitching with the stretch.
Bleedin’ Christ. You’re so tight, so wet, soaked enough that it sticks to the curls around the base of his cock. How could he ever give this up?
“That’s it.” He kisses your shoulder, pressing his chest to your back with his weight, pinning you in place, his hands clamping down around your wrists like shackles. “Squeeze me tight, good girl. Show me-“ Show me how you’re going to hold my come in your tight little pussy once I fill you- comes to mind, but he bites his tongue instead, not willing to tip you off too soon.
To have and to hold.
“Simooon.” You sing, hips start to push back with him, fucking yourself onto his cock, chasing him, chasing your pleasure, mouth half open with the little pants and whines that are music to his ears. He keeps you pinned, flat against the table, fingers between your legs, stroking your clit, shoving you closer to your orgasm, delightfully pleased by the way your pussy pulses around him.
“Come on.” He urges, big hand between you and the table, pressing against your lower belly, still tapping away at your clit, indulging in the trembling of your legs.
“Fuck- fuck, Si.” You cry, clenching down around him with your orgasm, voice breaking.
“There it is… what a good girl.” He hisses, keeping his pace, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s notching himself nearly inside your womb. It’s overwhelming for you, he knows, but he doesn’t stop swirling his fingers around your clit, zapping electric pulses through body.
“Nngh Si. Too- ooh it’s- it’s too much.” You wail, a tear on your cheek, and he nods, nosing above your ear.
“You’re doing so good for me, so perfect.” It’s whispered with a groan, hands stroking your hip, keeping your steady, in place. “Just need a little more, just- just a little, I’m gonna-“
“What-” You ask, more with it now that you recognize the edge he’s riding, the roughness in his voice clueing you in to where he is, but he sends you back into orbit, pressing your clit and working you in circles. “Oh, oh.” Your hips rock, and he moves with the momentum, fucking into you faster, grunting the truth as he speeds towards the cliff, desperate to drive the car over the edge, eager to change the course of his life, your life, his marriage.
“Take it.” He spits, wide palm spread across your shoulder. Everything in him tightens, fire spreading through his veins, pressure rising in his body like a fucking tea kettle, about to scream out a whistle. He’s going to breed you, fuck you deep with his come and put a baby inside you, give you what you wanted years ago, the thing that made you cry alone in the middle of the night whenever he refused.
Well, he’s going to give it to you now.
“Fuck- here it comes.” You rock again, half lost to the world, eyes glazed over in pleasure, spasming around his cock with your second orgasm. He slams into you, burying deep and you keen, fingers gripping the edge of the table, his hips flush with yours like a lock.
And he’ll throw away the key.
His phone dings with a text, two days later.
“Still mad at you… Can we please meet up about these signatures?”
This became a full fic here.
#tw dark and twisty#tw forced pregnancy#🥞 anon#if you’re out there somewhere#this is for us#simon riley#simon riley x reader#I could write a whole fic#but I prob won’t#could prob be a sassy au honestly#peaches writes
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Say You Love Me (Joel Miller x f! reader)
1K Celebration | Masterlist
Part 2 - Coming Soon
Pairing: Joel Miller x f! Reader (pre and post outbreak)
Rating: M (18+, explicit smut)
Word Count: 6.2K
Summary: Red wine. Rage. Regret. Reunions. When pride separates you from the man that got away in 2003, you thought you’d never see him again. But when going to tie loose ends for Bill and Frank, you see him and a young companion.
Content: TLOU spoilers, slight changes to the story, age gap (~10-15 years), multiple sex scenes, dirty talk, unprotected p in v sex, fingering, cowgirl, creampie, oral (f), rough sex, alcohol consumption, grief, violence, mentions of death, the musical stylings of Fleetwood Mac
A/N: Happy TLOU day! This initially started out as a creation for my 1K celebration to "Maroon" by Taylor Swift, but as you can see it completely manifested into its own short story. Thanks to everyone for being patient for my writing. I hope y'all enjoy!
Every time you have a dream about everything before, you try to document it down in your ratty journal with your pen running on empty. Everything seems to run on empty.
You dream of your former life less and less as the years go by. It’s a hazy memory and you can’t remember how we were able to live on such luxuries and be comfortable and be happy.
You dream of the man with his large hands and warm smile on your living room floor, warm with wine.
Red lips. Red cheeks. Red wine.
The bitter taste of cheap red blends on his tongue.
Sticky Austin nights where you’d start outside in the thick humidity but end it in ice cold a/c. It never mattered anyway, Joel always ran hot like a furnace so you’d have to settle yourself in between thin sheets.
You met through Megan who was dating his younger brother Tommy, a Gulf War vet that was more serious about holding his liquor than he ever was fighting in the war. One night when he’d had too much to drink, Joel, the responsible one, picked him up. A sleeping baby girl in the backseat.
He barged through your front door. “Tommy, what the hell are you doin’ bothering these–”
He stopped as soon as he looked at you. From that moment it was like the two of you had this instant communication. He didn’t have to say anything, all you needed to do was look into his eyes.
“HI there.” He smile at you, that warm smile with that dimple on the side of his cheek. “I–uh–hope you’re not the girl my little brother’s been botherin’ “
“That would be my roommate.” You smile back at him. His smile grows even wider and you can’t remember the last time you had such electric eye contact with someone.
Tommy bursts through the door, coming out of the bathroom with Megan hoisting his large frame.
“Please get him in bed and away from vodka.” She hoists Tommy onto Joel.
“Tell me a bedtime story.” He slurs. Joel looks at you apologetically as he turns to bring him to the car. You and Megan exchanged a silent look as she could pick up on what was going on and she nudged you to go after him.
“Hey wait!” You call out, you try not to focus on his broad back muscles. “I think it’s clear Tommy needs some chaperoning whenever he comes over here.”
He furrows his brow in confusion at first. “Y’know, his big brother to come over and make sure he’s doing right?” ‘You smile.
“Just say when and I’ll tag along.” Joel winks at you.
He was always a man of his word.
The next weekend, Megan invited Tommy over and suggested he bring Joel along as well. Tommy came barreling in like a freight train and Joel laid back to greet you at the door. He held up a six pack of beer.
“I didn’t wanna come over empty handed. It’s all we had in the fridge.” Joel said.
“Yeah, Joel wanted to come right over after workin’ tonight. Even let Sarah stay at a friends house, ain’t that sweet?”
“Alright, Tommy. I still clearly gotta babysit you.” Joel rolls his eyes.
“We’ll, thank you for the beer, Joel but we’re more wine drinkers here. Do you like red blend?”
“I’ll drink whatever you give me.”
————————
A few hours later, Megan and Tommy have gone off on their own adventure. You and Joel split the bottle of wine between the two of you and despite him stating he could handle his liquor, his large body was sprawled out across your living room floor with his empty glass tipped over.
“Miller, I thought you said you could handle your liquor.” You grin at him from the couch.
“I usually can. I don’t know what was in your roommate’s cheapass screwtop–”
“Hey–don’t blame the alcohol for why you’re currently on our living room floor right now. And while she can’t defend herself.”
“You saying I’m a sloppy drunk?” He leans closer towards you and you observe the patches in his beard.
“I’m saying I don’t wanna hold your hair back above the toilet.” You grin at him. He looks at you, hard. You feel your heart rate rising and the moment is almost too much to handle. You need to ground yourself with something, anything. You turn to your vinyls.
“You like records?” You ask him, moving towards the shelf.
“Didn’t know people your age still listened to them.” He called out. You scoffed.
“I’m not that much younger than you. Besides, this is timeless. CDs might come and go like 8 track players, but these? These are gonna last through everything.” You hold up a record and he nods in approval, Fleetwood Mac’s self titled album. You flip to side two and the sounds of “Say You Love Me” flood the living room.
You join him on the living room rug and close your eyes, listening to Christine McVie’s voice.
Have mercy, baby, on a poor girl like me
You know I'm falling, falling, falling at your feet
I'm tingling right from my head to my toes
So help me, help me, help me make the feeling go
“God, her voice is just so ageless. I know everyone always looks at Rumours as their best but this one is just cla–” Your breath hitches when you feel his hand brush your cheek. You feel the warmth of his face coming closer and closer as you finally open your eyes to see Joel ready to kiss you.
But he forgot his wine glass in his hand as it spilled onto you with the remainder of his alcohol.
“Shit, shit.” Joel stumbles up and looks around. “I am so sorry, I can clean that up.”
You get up to him walking around your kitchen, looking for paper towels. When he turns around, you put your hand at his chest and look up at his beautiful brown eyes.
“Why don’t you help me find a new shirt?” You ask him in a low voice. His jaw is slacked as he slowly nods.
“Yes ma’am.” He follows behind you, taking your hand as you lead him into your bedroom.
One thing about Joel Miller? He takes his time. He takes his time giving you soft, syrupy kisses and drawing the anticipation by pulling at your lip.
He builds you up by meticulously touching every part of your body while peeling off your clothes, grabbing at the swell of your ass, the dips of your hips and pulling at the back of your neck. He wants to make you feel amazing.
Once you’re naked, he lays you on top of your bed and peers up at you as he pulls your knees apart.
He drags the tip of his tongue over your clit, savoring your taste as he moans in relief. You tremble against him, dragging your hand through his dark curls as he begins to put his full mouth into you, his tongue entering you as his nose brushes your clit. You can’t help but squirm on top of him, rocking onto him as he moans below you.
“You taste so fucking good.” Joel gets up for air briefly and dives back in. Kissing at your inner thighs, he takes one of his thick fingers and pushes one into you, your body instantly tightening around it.
“So wet for me too.” Joel moans. He moves in earnest, putting his mouth back onto your clit and the pleasure is all you can concentrate on. He adds another finger, getting up to watch you squirm at his fingers as your wetness fills the room from his methodical thrusts.
You feel yourself tense, your muscles tightening around him as your pleasure intensifies and your breaths go shallow. When he curves his fingers and moves his mouth back to your clit, you short circuit completely.
You writhe on top of him as you cum, moaning louder than you’d expected and hoping Tommy and Megan don’t hear anything. Your shallow breaths fill the room and your eyes are shut. Pleasure still pulsates through your body as Joel is now on top of you, kissing at your throat as you feel his heavy, still clothed cock on top of you.
When you release it, it springs from his boxers, thick and dripping at the top with precum. You rub the tip of his head as he lets out a hiss of air at your throat. You bring the liquid to your mouth and savor the taste.
“I hope this ain’t too forward,” His hands cup and knead at your breasts. “But I’m desperate to feel you.”
“Please” You beg. “I have condoms but I’m also on the pill. Whatever you need, just please don’t stop.”
Joel lines himself up against you, rubbing his thick cock against your soaked walls. His eyes don’t leave yours as he gently enters you. It’s soft at first, him trying to fit in every single inch while also not cumming immediately while he was inside of you. You gripped him, wet and tight.
During the pause when he’s finally deep inside of you, you both are riddled with heavy breathing. Your kisses are slow but hungry. You start to move below him and that’s what drives him wild.
He begins to pump faster inside of you, rubbing himself against your swollen clit. You don’t think you’ve ever had something so intimate before. You’d had sex, but this just felt like something out of another dimension. Joel was entirely focused on your pleasure, hungrily pawing at your body as he rocked on top of you.
When circled his fingers on your clit, you knew you were going to cum a second time. You grabbed at the bedsheets, another climax of pleasure making you arch.
After you came twice, Joel was needier. He raised your leg so he could get into a deeper position and you had felt so incredibly full. He fucks you at a rapid speed and feeling you convulse around him for another orgasm wasn’t helping and the room filled with the noise of his balls slapping onto your skin.
You loved that his broad body surrounded you, that all you could feel was him and all you could hear were his grunts into your ear. His hips began to stutter as he filled himself into you, emptying himself as much as he could into your tight walls.
You don’t realize how badly you were gripping him until you rub his back, his head on your chest and you feel the claw marks. His breathing is labored, still feeling the impact of your sex as you bury your fingers into his curls.
“This should go without being said,” Joel looked up at you. “But I would really like to take you out sometime.”
You weren’t going to say no to that.
—---------------------------------
You wake up, the motion of the car rattling you.
“Morning, sunshine.” Megan smiles behind the steering wheel. Before everything, Megan was terrified of driving and now you’d catch her dead before she’d stop and pick someone up, choosing to run them over instead because they were likely a hunter.
And wouldn’t you rather kill than be killed?
It all happened so fast but so painfully, hauntingly slow at the same time. In one night, civilization as you knew it had ceased to exist. Megan came home, shaking, covered in blood telling you you had to leave tonight.
You drove until you ran out of gas. You walked until you were able to rob some idiots that tried to give you a ride and take advantage of you. And that’s how you ended up at the Philadelphia quarantine zone. Somewhere far away from Texas and the sticky heat and long carefree nights.
There were a lot of men like that in this world, who thought they could take things from vulnerable women. Little did they realize, the vulnerable women didn’t make it. Not all of them were like that, though. Bill and Frank weren’t.
You’d met Frank over the radio, talking over some music his partner BIll was playing as some sort of signal. Frank was incredibly kind, warm and worldly in a world with almost nothing left. He’d offered to trade things between you and Megan’s QZ and the Lincoln town he lived in with Bill.
And Bill? He was…Bill. He wasn’t exactly kind and open to strangers, but he knew the both of you and trusted you after all of these years. Whoever Frank loved, he loved. So when you’d heard the 80’s distress signal coming from the radio, you’d decided to risk the trip and make sure everything was okay.
When you had gotten to the gate, usually coded, it was wide open and the two of you exchanged looks in surprise. Without having to say a word, you grabbed your handgun out of the glove compartment. Megan pulled up to Bill and Frank’s, seeing their door open.
The two of you had tried to get out of the car as quietly as possible. Crouching behind the car as you heard the crunch of footsteps.
“It could be Bill and Frank.” Megan whispered.
“When is it like Bill to ever keep the gate open?” You asked her. You heard the crunches coming closer.
The two of you signal to step out at the same time, adrenaline pumping through your veins. After all of this time, it never gets easier doing this.
Before you could pull the trigger, you hear a HYAH and see a small figure jump out towards you.
Jesus, it’s a child. Before she could try to stab either of you, Megan pins her down to the ground, knocking the knife out of the way and the kid squirms under her.
You see another figure jump into frame to defend the kid. A man with grey hair, a broad frame and a handgun. The two of you are in a standoff but something feels off. You know you’ve been to Lincoln so many times before but something about this feels entirely too familiar.
“Do not hurt the kid.” The man drawls, looking down at her and then back at you. “She didn’t—“
And then his eyes meet yours. Still as piercing as you remember. And you realize that you’re standing in front of Joel Miller for the first time in twenty years.
“…Joel?” Megan says something first.
“Hi Megan.” He looks at her briefly to acknowledge her, but he looks back at you. The gun still in his hand, gripped tightly.
“We’re not looking for any trouble.” Joel says. “We’re here to check on our friends.”
“Bill and Frank.” You finally say to him. “Our friends.” The look of confusion on his face is apparent.
“You two knew Bill and Frank?” He asks.
“How about ‘it’s good to see you two alive after all this time’, Joel?” You ask him, exasperated. You were tired of holding this gun, your hands were getting clammy and you had no intentions of shooting him. Even after all this time, you knew he wouldn’t shoot both of you either.
Megan lets the girl up and she runs to Joel. She puts her gun down and you motion for him to follow suit. He looks at you for a long hard moment, his eyes scanning your body as you feel yourself redden with embarrassment, feeling fully exposed in front of him and looking like apocalyptic shit. He sets his gun down as you follow suit.
“I think y’all should come inside, then.” Joel said. “Some things you need to see.”
You follow Joel and the young girl-you find out her name is Ellie- into Bill and Frank’s house. You go to the same place that Bill and Frank would keep supplies, notes or any clothing that Frank had to spare - the second cabinet to the right. That’s where you see their note.
Frank’s condition had worsened over the past few years. A degenerative disease you weren’t sure exactly what it was, but when he asked for a wheelchair from the Philadelphia QZ you were both more than happy to bring it to them. You knew it was only a matter of time before he went. When Bill decided to go with him, you weren’t surprised. Despite his exterior, everything Bill did was for Frank, the man he loved.
You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt that kind of devotion to someone until today.
The four of you sit at the table. An awkward silence between the four of you, the only sound being Ellie rocking her chair. One of the legs must’ve been broken and Bill hadn’t gotten to it ye–
Oh. Right.
“I didn’t know Bill and Frank knew anyone else besides us.” Megan said.
“Likewise. I guess that makes sense.” Joel said, his eyes still on you.
You agreed. “Frank, I’m sure, would’ve loved the extra company. More people to host garden parties and socialize for but if Bill had anything to do with it–”
“He would’ve threatened to kill us.” You say in unison.
“Trust me, he made sure to make us aware if we tried anything he had his gun right on the table the first time we met.” You said.
“His reputation precedes himself.” Joel said.
The two of you are silent for a moment. Megan and Ellie looking between the both of you.
“Am I missing something?” Ellie asked, pointing at the two of you back and forth.
“And I think that’s my queue to look around for some food. Maybe we can have some dinner, figure out what the fuck we’re doing and then call it a night before we go our separate ways, huh?” Megan quickly said.
You sit at the table with Joel and Ellie, completely silent as Joel is now looking away from you and Ellie keeps looking at the both of you.
“You can cut the tension with a knife, huh?” Ellie whistles.
“Ellie, go take a shower. They’ve got hot water.” Joel says. She quickly gets up and runs down the hall.
“You don’t have to tell me twice. But after I take one, you’re going in because man. And if we’re gonna be around company…”
“Ellie.” He raises his voice into a stern inflection you haven’t heard since…
Where the hell is Sarah?
—-------------------------------------------------
Later that night, you’ve hunkered down with Megan, Joel and Ellie. The four of you have rabbit along with some vegetables and rice from Frank’s garden. The tension has subsided as you’ve gotten into the wine cabinet. That’s when the memories flow back. The three of you share stories from Texas, your old lives that seem so long ago. Reminiscing on how things used to be as Ellie interjects with a question about the old world every now and then while reading a comic she snagged from Bill’s basement.
Megan eventually stretches her arms up. “Well, I’ve been drivin’ all day and I’m exhausted. I’m about to hit the hay.”
“Well I am gonna finish reading this in peace and quiet so I can read about this alien’s guts spilling out without interruptions. Goodnight! You kids have fun!” Ellie grins.
Megan gives you a look etched in worry before she heads to the stairs. You roll your eyes at her because you can take care of your goddamn self. You have been for ages.
You hear the footsteps go upstairs as you and Joel sit across from each other at the table. It’s like a lockbox with feelings you hadn’t had in years starts rattling in your chest, a monster of them waiting to come out and erupt.
You look over at him, his hair slicked back from his shower, grays prominent in his hair and his beard. The swell of his lips was still prominent and had the ability to drive you crazy.
“Bill and Frank.” You say to him, hoping to silence the voices in your own head.
“Bill and Frank.” He repeats, his hands fidgeting on the table.
“So, uh, I guess while we’re here–I’m gonna raid the liquor cabinet.” You head to the liquor cabinet to see if there’s anything strong enough to hold the awkward air between the two of you. You see a dusty bottle in the back of the cabinet, a red blend that looked entirely too familiar to pass up.
You bring it to the table, setting it down in front of Joel. He looks up at you and shakes his head in disbelief, a small smile etched across his face.
“After all this time, you still drink the same shitty red blend.” Joel says.
“Can you handle your liquor any better, Miller?” You slide it towards him, he catches the bottle with one large hand.
“I guess we’ll have to see.” He grumbles, slicing the wine bottle open with his knife.
It didn’t take long for you to feel the heaviness of the wine, sloshing in your stomach as you and Joel took turns taking long drinks from the bottle.
He tells you of Tess, his smuggling partner that had recently gotten infected while smuggling Ellie out of the city. While you admired her bravery and her sacrifice, you can’t help but feel a sting of jealousy. You’d had your partners every now and then, but none of them ever stuck around long enough. None of them ever mattered like he did.
“She was like family.” He stated.
You knew you couldn’t just say sorry. “I’m sorry for your loss” almost seems insulting these days with teh weight of how much it happens.
“Did–uh–you have any smuggling partners?” Joel asks, sipping on the bottle and looking away as if to play nonchalant. Twenty years and you can still tell when it’s all bullshit.
“I did. None of them were exactly like family but they were enough to help Megan and I get by. I never trusted them enough to introduce them to Bill and Frank.” You said.
“Oh.” Was all he could say.
“I–I couldn’t. I just couldn’t let myself get too far with anyone after–” You can’t even bare to say it. But he looks at you as if you have, like you’ve just cut part of his soul open.
“What the fuck happened?” You muttered, swigging from the bottle.
“You want the version they’re teaching kids in FEDRA school or the version we remember?” Joel asked.
“Joel…” You give him a long look. He looks at you, briefly, breaking eye contact to look anywhere else and scowl. He chooses to grab the bottle from you, taking a large gulp.
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?” He says.
“Maybe it doesn’t.” You say. “But I still wanna know. I just…we could’ve had this life.”
His brow arches.
“You and me. Tommy and Megan. Bill and Frank. We could’ve been a team. It would’ve been something.”
“Tommy decided to fuck off and join the Fireflies. Pretend like he was makin’ a difference. And then when that fell through last I heard he was in Wyoming. Megan was better off.” He stated.
“You were…” He silently mutters.
“We don’t have to talk about any of it. I’ve done some shit I regret but I did it to survive. Because that’s what we have to do in this new world. I get it. But those first few years…I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
He takes a large drink of wine. “Or Tommy.”
“Or Sarah.”
“Well, there’s no damn use in thinkin’, is there?” Joel snaps back. You know you’ve clearly hit a nerve talking about Sarah. With whatever happened to her. Was she with the Fireflies? Was she with her Uncle Tommy? You’d hate to think it could be any worse. That brilliant, beautiful girl in any sort of trouble or not existing in this world.
By the pain in Joel’s eyes, the exterior he’d tried to mask by furrowed brows and a hardened expression, you knew. Suddenly the air felt thick.
“I’m sorry…I’m gonna step outside.” You rush to the porch as you feel the tears flood through your eyes. Sarah’s gone. You didn’t know that after all of the pain, after all of the violence, after everything this world has taken from you, that you could still feel this searing pain of loss.
You suddenly hated yourself for not being there. For not calling. For running away from things when they had gotten too serious, as if some bullshit relationship problems would matter in a week’s time in that moment. You had no idea what was about to happen.
If you’d known you would’ve lost everything and everyone in your life you had loved, you would’ve tried to hold on to the man you loved and his family for as long as you could.
But then again…maybe it was better this way that you weren’t there. You didn’t hold him back, you didn’t hold him back either. This world isn’t for the weak. Love makes you fucking weak. Joel makes you so fucking weak, 20 years later. It’s infuriating, intoxicating and confusing.
You hear the door open and footsteps come through. You wipe your tears away as you see Joel sit next to you on the bench.
“I’m sorry.” He says, solemnly. “You didn’t know. It was that night of the…”
“I know it’s so god damn insignificant now…but I’m so sorry I didn’t call.” You choke. Joel remains silent, his lips wavering.
“You didn’t know.” He repeats himself.
“So what happens now?” You ask him.
“We do what we came here to do. Get our supplies, celebrate Bill and Frank and we drink.”
“We drink.” You nod.
And drink you did.
You drank and remembered the good times, the times when he’d come over every Friday night that Sarah had a sleepover and you’d talk and touch each other until the sun came up. You drank and remember how even though Megan and Tommy had fizzled out, he had still come over to be with you. You drank and remembered the bad times, when you couldn’t handle the intimacy, you both couldn’t decide what this was.
You can’t bear the way he looks at you. You need an escape. You head to Frank’s record collection.
You dust off the record collection and see the familiar cover of Fleetwood Mac’s self titled album. You look up at Joel and his cheeks look like they sting with glee. He lets out a small giggle.
“What was it I used to tell you?” You try to remember.
“Records are timeless.” Joel says as you flip the vinyl to side B. “You were always right.”
The room floods with the faint sounds of “Say You Love Me”. It had been years since you’d heard this song but you still remembered every word. Joel extended his hand out to you and you took it, fingers stroking his palm.
You pressed yourself lightly against him, turning and looping over the hardwood floor as the music continued. Somehow, someway, you could still smell his subtle sandalwood scent.
'Cause when the lovin' starts and the lights go down
And there's not another living soul around
You woo me until the sun comes up
And you say that you love me
The two of you giggled like children as you looped around Bill and Frank’s living room. The light of the moon shone on Joel’s face and the hardened exterior of the older man was gone for a moment, and you were taken back to 2003 where that gorgeous carpenter was leaning against your doorway for the first time.
Your hand crept up his neck, feeling his peppered curls as he shivered. In response, he pressed his body closer to yours until you were cheek to cheek.
He turns to face you. His eyebrows scrunched in worry and confusion of the feelings that were rising. He never thought he would see you again, and these damn emotions kept flooding through his body.
“I showed up to your house that morning.” He whispered. “Right after we dropped Sarah off at school. My birthday.”
“So do you still think it doesn’t matter?” You asked him.
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“But it would’ve given us one more good day. Before it all went to shit. And if that’s all we had, then I’m okay with that. Better than the alternative.”
You pressed your lips onto his, slow and calculated at first. You gave him one small peck to test his willingness to kiss you. You looked back at Joel and his eyes were shut tightly.
“I’m sorry–I shouldn’t have–” You try to break away but he tightens his grip around you.
“I’m just trying to savor this moment.” Joel whispers. You meet his lips again, hungrier, needier. Both of your hands exploring each other as if to make sure this was real and you weren’t dreaming it.
“Joel.” You break away as he strokes your cheek. “Let’s go to bed.”
“Yes ma’am.” He says.
It’s no shock that after all this time, you and Joel still fit together like a glove. Your body melts into his with a comfort that you haven’t felt in years. You didn’t know your body could ever feel that good again.
You didn’t think your hair, greasy and damaged when you looked at it in the mirror, could be stroked like that again. As if Joel had gotten a spool of gold and he didn’t want to ruin it, Joel petted you with delicacy as he undressed you.
Your stomach, somehow softened throughout the years with age even though you hadn’t had proper nourishment in years, being planted with soft kisses as Joel moved south, desperate to taste your pussy again.
You climb onto his lap and grip him with one hand, still as thick and as long as ever. You take a moment to look at him through the moonlight, after all these years he’s still incredibly handsome but this world took the sparkle in his eye away.
“Please, sweetheart.” Joel begs. “Let me feel you again. I’m desperate.”
That word is what makes you sink down onto him, inch by inch until he’s all the way inside. It was probably a bad idea to attempt to do this without any prep work but you didn’t care, you needed him and it filled a part of you that hadn’t been taken care of in years.
“Fuck. Fuck.” Joel rasps. “You’re still so goddamn tight.” You can feel your inner muscles clenching at his thickness and the desperate groan that he releases makes you weak.
You start to move, slowly, as his fingers dig into your hips. The pressure between the two of you is unbearable, you feel him and his full length but you’re desperate for more release. Joel’s ragged breaths concern you, though.
“Are you gonna be okay if I go faster?” You ask him.
“I ain’t that old, sweetheart.” Joel rasps under you, that damn smile back in action.
And with that, you lifted yourself up and slammed yourself into him, grinding your clit against his cock at a fast and desperate pace.
He moves forward, putting a mouthful of your breast into his mouth as his other hand rests on your lower back. You can feel the intense pleasure so blindly that you don’t know how long it’ll be until it boils over. When you contract around him and cum, Joel lets out an animalistic groan.
“Fuck, that’s it.” He moans. “Milk my cock, baby.”
You ride out your orgasm and just when you think you have time to recover, Joel begins to thrust upward deep and hard. His hips snapping up and bouncing you on top of him. He tangles his fingers into your hair, pulling you down to thrust his tongue into your mouth.
You suck his tongue and desperately cling to him, unsure how much longer you’ll be able to go without cumming again.
“I can feel it, sweetheart.” Joel groans. “Cum around my cock one more time, just give me one more. Please.”
He breaks free from your tight embrace to rub your swollen clit as you grind on top of him again, trying to remain as silent as possible so you don’t wake anyone else in the house.
You convulse and cum around him again, dizzy with pleasure as he takes one leg for leverage and begins to fuck into you harder than before. At this point, you can’t control the sounds coming out of you as he hits a spot inside of you that feels so good. His hips begin to stutter and Joel fills himself into you. He cums so hard that you feel it leaking out of you while he’s still inside.
The two of you stayed just like that for a few moments, clung to each other as you heard his heartbeat hammering inside of his chest. You peppered soft kisses onto his body as you got from on top of him. The contrast of being full and then leaving him made you wince.
Joel got up from the bed and you hesitated for a moment. Did he regret this decision? Was he going to sleep in his own bed? When he came back, he had a warm washcloth and he used it to wipe between your legs. Hot water will never be taken for granted in this world.
The two of you then snuggled up together, the situation being better left unsaid. You knew that you both had to start preparing for the morning, so instead of talking, you just shut your eyes and tried to enjoy his strong arms around you.
—-----------------
You heard a faint knock at the door and almost forgot where you were for a moment. When you felt Joel’s arms around you, his lips pressing against your cheek, you woke up with the biggest smile you’d had in a very long time.
“Good morning, you two.” Ellie shouts throughout the door. “Knock knock. Megan’s making breakfast, wake your asses up, lovebirds!”
“Don’t–don’t come in here Ellie.” Joel tries to exclaim, sleep in his voice.
“I’m fucking good, man. I’m gonna help Megan with breakfast.” You hear her footsteps as she leaves the hallway and you turn to him.
He was still there. And suddenly you were reminded of each and every time he’d stayed over, Megan making everyone breakfast as you’d talk and laugh through the previous night.
This morning was no different. It felt oddly comfortable, the four of you enjoying each other’s company even though you knew it had to end. You’d spent the rest of the morning gathering supplies but then it was time to grab your backpack out of the bedroom.
Joel was sitting on the edge of the bed. It reminded you of how things were the previous day, where he couldn’t look you in the eye. He was riddled with discomfort. In this world, you’re so used to not even having to say goodbye. That’s honestly not as painful as having to do it.
You walk up to him, giving him a long hug.
“Joel, if it’s true what you told me – if she’s immune – this is huge. It might give the world another chance. It might give us another chance.” You say to him.
“You still have so much hope for the world. That's why I will always love you.” Joel whispers. You feel your heart crack. You feel the toolbox in your chest start to rattle.
You know you shouldn’t say it. You know you’d be an idiot to say something so vulnerable and stupid in this world. But if you don’t say it, what else do you have?
“I love you too, Joel. Take care of yourself, okay? Take care of Ellie. If you ever find yourself at the Philadelphia QZ you know where to find me.” You say to him.
He presses his lips against you softly. As if to savor every moment, every feeling. Every curve and swell of your lip. He grabs at the back of your neck and you mimic him, grabbing the back of his. As if pushing further into the kiss could bring you back to those hot Austin nights.
Because you knew this was the last time you’d get a good taste of home.
You walk him out towards the car, Ellie already next to the passenger seat bouncing up and down because she had never ridden in a car before. You and Megan send them both off, his reflection in the rearview mirror never leaving your sight until the truck becomes a small blur.
“You gonna be okay?” Megan asks you, with that same look of worry she had given you the night before.
You’re not sure if you will be, but you have to forge ahead as you always do. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” You state. And the two of you get ready to go, heading into the car back to the QZ.
“Talk about a blast from the fuckin’ past.” Megan says, starting the car. “It’s funny…I had actually heard about Nick – y'know the one that was in the Fireflies– talking about somewhere in Jackson. Small fuckin’ world.”
You lean your head up against the car window. Your thoughts immediately go back to last night.
Small fuckin’ world indeed.
#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller#joel miller smut#the last of us hbo#the last of us smut#the last of us#pedro pascal character fanfiction#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal characters#tlou hbo#TLOU#TLOU smut#pedro pascal#joel miller fanfiction#the last of us fanfiction#hbo tlou#hbo the last of us#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction
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request for virgin eddie munson who loses his shit over anything and everything reader does
you are speaking my LANGUAGEEEE GOOD GOD
warning: smut, wholesomeness, eddie is down bad
"So... you've really never done this before?" you said, biting your lip. You have no excuse for why it kinda turned you on. Perhaps because it was the last thing you expected from a guy like Eddie... or because you got the feeling you could blow his mind without putting all too much effort into it.
"I-I mean, I've done stuff," he assured, "just... not this, yeah."
"Don't tell me you were saving yourself for the right girl," you joked, and he laughed nervously as he rubbed his palms on the trailer's ratty old couch.
"No," he breathed, "not really, just... never had much luck with girls, I guess."
"Well," you purred as you leaned in closer, running your hand over his chest through the adorable DIY Hellfire shirt, "if you don't mind giving up your virginity, you can get lucky tonight. How's that sound?"
"Uh... pretty much perfect," he laughed thinly.
But what truly sounded perfect was Eddie himself-- the way he moaned, whimpered, even begged for you as soon as you did anything for him. Grinding in his lap, making out and running through your fingers through that beautiful mess of hair... it seemed so easy to drive him crazy, and you loved it.
"Baby," he breathed, "I-- I don't know how much more I can take of this..."
"You've still got your jeans on," you noticed with a smirk.
"Yeah, and you've got your top off-- can't help it," he grinned, "you're gorgeous."
"God, I want you to fuck me," you sighed.
"What are we waiting for, then?" he cooed, running his hands up your bare back.
"W-well, it's just--"
"Oh, fuck," he breathed, "been down this road before-- sorta how I ended up still a virgin by now. But it's fine, we don't have to--"
"No, it's not that!" you interrupted. "I really want to... I just feel kinda weird about being your first."
"Weird, like, you don't want to be?" he asked, concerned.
"Weird, like, not sure why you want it to be me. Are you really sure?" you pressed.
"At this point, doll, I want it to be anybody," he joked, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.
You thought you hadn't shown your disappointment on your face, but he still noticed, and reached up to turn your head towards him when you looked away.
"Hold on, I didn't mean it like that," he promised. "I-I really want it to be you. Specifically-- like, not just any girl. Yes, I would pretty much take 'any girl' by now, as long as she's not, you know, an objectively horrible person, I guess... but oh my god, you..."
He pulled you a little closer, looking right into your eyes, and you had the terrifyingly wonderful thought that this might be more than just casually hooking up. You might have a tiiiny bit of a crush...
"You-- you're... so much better than I ever thought I could do," he continued laughing. "And I never made a big deal out of my first time-- I mean, I wanted it, but I didn't think it had to be special or anything. And it doesn't have to be, especially if you don't want it to be, but... I think it kind of is, more than I expected. Because, honestly, getting lucky with a smokin' babe like you is always gonna be special-- whether it's the first time or the thousandth time."
You kissed him again, a little differently than before; and he pulled you closer, holding you tight and sighing against you.
Before that, you'd imagined 'special' meant sweet, slow, patient-- really romantic stuff. That night, though, Eddie taught you that special could be wild, desperate, and just downright animalistic. Actually, he taught you that lesson repeatedly...
"So... just as special whether it's the first or the thousandth time, huh?" you remembered what he'd said as you both laid back, staring at the ceiling, panting like dogs.
"Yeah," he agreed, to exhausted to say much else.
"How about the second time?"
"The second time was five times ago, sweetheart," he laughed breathlessly.
"No, I mean like... the second date," you explained.
"As long as you give my dick a few days to recover... yeah, it'll be just as special next time."
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Hoodie ;)
I've already done a blurb for this but I actually loved it so much so I thought why not do another one
Hoodie Blurb II:
It was a fool proof plan.
There's this one particular hoodie of hers that you've taken a liking to. It's one of Leah's original pieces of clothing that she got when she first signed for Arsenal all those years ago. So it's sentimental to her in a way.
So for course you wanted it for yourself.
No matter how many times Leah takes it back, not matter how deep on her side of the dresser she hides the worn-down, ratty looking thing, it somehow always ends up back in your possession.
So Leah rolls with it.
It comes to her as a late-night thought. As she's watching your peaceful form sleeping so soundly next to her Leah knows she wants you to be hers. For good.
You're off having lunch with Steph when she does it. Having just done the laundry, it's one of the rare times you've left the hoodie to Leah's care. So slipping the tiny box into the front pocket, Leah carefully folds the hoodie back up, making sure to take extra care to plop it closer to your half of the drawer when putting it away.
When she grabs a pair of socks the next day, Leah's happy to see the piece of clothing gone.
Now all she has to do is wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
It isn't until the third day has passed and you still haven't said anything about her engagement ring that Leah musters up the courage to say something.
"Babe, have you seen my favorite hoodie?"
"Nope." you pop the 'p,' not even glancing away from the television. But the smile playing on your lips tells Leah you know exactly where it is.
"Well I'm cold. Do you mind finding it for me?"
If anything, you seem to relax into the couch some more, propping your hands up behind your head. "No can do, sweet-cheeks."
Leah narrows her eyes at the pet name. "Muffin-buns, why not?"
At that, you look up, not able to keep a straight face at her choice of words. "'Muffin-buns'?"
"Would you prefer 'honey butter biscuit cheesecake pie'?"
It's quiet as you stare at Leah. Leah does nothing but stare right back.
The silence only lasts three seconds before you're both howling, laughing at the ridiculous pet name.
Clutching her stomach, Leah's wiping away her tears when you shove hard at her shoulder.
"'Honey butter biscuit cheesecake pie'? Baby, why?"
Leah muffles her snort into your hairline as you snuggle into her side, scoffing under your breath about how much you hate her. Here Leah only feels her love for you grow. This is the type of afternoons she wants to have for the rest of her life. Wrapped up around you, swapping jokes and laughter. Leah's heart beats for you and only you and she wants you to know it.
Before Leah can bring up her hoodie again however, you beat her to the punch.
And she instantly feels the ice settle in her veins.
"Katie was shivering after practice today so I let her borrow it. She said she'd return it tomorrow though!"
.
You've long passed out on the couch, the tiredness of today's training catching up to you. Slipping away into the guest bedroom, Leah closes the door shut before pulling out her phone.
To her relief, Katie's contact picture lights up the screen before she has a chance to press call herself.
"Katie--" Leah starts... Only to be interrupted by a loud, angered Irish accent.
"Mate! Of all of the places in the world, why would you hide your goddamn ring in your stupid little hoodie?! Caitlin nearly passed out thinking I was going to propose when I pulled it out! And then she cussed me out when I told her it wasn't mine!"
Leah cringes. "In my defense, (Y/N) was not supposed to loan you out the hoodie."
There's a slight pause on the other side of the phone. And then a sharp sigh. "Please don't tell me this was you plan for proposing to (Y/N)."
Leah bites her lip. "Okay, I won't."
"Leah!"
Send me a fic title
#leah williamson x reader#leah williamson imagine#woso x reader#woso imagine#uswnt x reader#uswnt imagine#Ace writes
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a/n: i hate this title but i LOVE this fic! i had so much fun writing it, obviously inspired by the tik tok trend lol. also when i started this fic last week, the cookies were different but then this week actually did include banana cream pie so i had to change them 😂 and then had to do a little rewrite obviously. but yeah, go check out the isles q&a on their favorite desserts bc they’re all adorable
tw: tooth rotting fluff, extremely minor insinuation of a daddy kink
word count: 2.3k
summary: you take advantage of mat’s sweet tooth to trick him into doing a tik tok video with you
“Hey,” you call out for Mat from your perch on the couch, one foot wedged in between the couch cushions and your phone resting on your thigh. You can hear him rummaging around in the fridge and the noise stops temporarily.
“Hey,” he calls back, “what’s going on?” The rummaging noises start up again and you grin to yourself. If he’s hungry, your little plan will work perfectly.
You crunch up into a sitting position and drape your arms over the back of the couch, watching Mat as he moves things around in the fridge, looking for something to eat. “Do you want to go to Chip City with me?” You ask. “I want to make like one of those TikToks, you know where they rate the cookies of the week?”
Mat’s nodding and closing the fridge before you even finish speaking. “Oh, hell fucking yes,” he grins, skirting around the kitchen island and stopping behind the couch. You reach out and tug at the belt loops on his jeans, laughing. “You know I’m always down for cookies.”
“I know,” you tease, unfolding from the couch and getting to your feet. “That’s why I suggested it. I can always count on you to validate my sugar cravings.”
He smiles his crooked little smile and readjusts his hat, the new Stay GOALd collaboration with Ralph Macchio, raking his hand through his hair before settling the hat on backwards. Your stomach flips a little at how good he looks. “Babe, we need to stop talking and start driving,” he says, totally seriously.
“Chill, Cookie Monster,” you follow him to the front door, stepping into your ratty Forces. The leather is more grey than white now and creased beyond belief, but they’re comfortable and you can slide them on and off without having to do the laces. “I doubt they’re going to run out of cookies in the ten minutes it takes to get there.”
“Never know,” Mat shrugs, tossing your car keys at you. You barely catch them, fumbling a little before your fingers hook on the beaded keychain. “Your car’s behind mine, you drive?”
You wrinkle your nose, when Mat’s home you’d rather be the passenger princess, but you also hate it when he readjusts your seat to fit his longer legs. “Fine,” you mumble, locking the door behind him, “but that’s the last bit of driving I’m doing all weekend.”
He swoops in to press a kiss to your forehead, “your wish is my command, Princess Squeaks.”
With a delighted smile, you hop into the driver’s seat of your car, turning it on while Mat buckles up in the passenger seat. He leans back in the seat, the brim of his backwards cap hitting against the headrest and popping the front of the hat off his head. “Damn,” he mutters, quickly fixing it and sitting forward. “So, wait, if you make one of those videos, what are the chances we get a Chip City influencer deal? Are we looking at free cookies for life?”
“Um, no,” you wince when you take a turn a little too quickly, clipping the curb. Hoping Mat will ignore that, you continue quickly, “I don’t think free cookies for life is a thing? Maybe some like coupons or extra point perks? Honestly, it’ll probably be nothing other than a comment and a like.”
“For life will be a really short period if you keep driving like a blind lunatic,” Mat teases you, laughing loudly when you lift your hand from the steering wheel to flip him off.
“You’re the one who told me to drive,” you counter.
Mat snags your hand out of the air and laces his fingers with yours, settling the back of his hand on the center console. “That’s only because I forgot what an insane driver you are,” he laughs, dramatically letting his body bounce forward and back in the seat when you come to a sharp stop at a red light.
You roll your eyes and make a point of driving exactly the speed limit and taking turns super carefully until you pull into the parking lot. When he hops out of the car, Mat wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close to his side. You snuggle up, wrapping your arm around his waist, car keys jangling in your hand as you walk. “Babe, you can drive like Vin Diesel all you want when I’m not in the car,” he says as you walk up the sidewalk to Chip City. “Lou might consider it a breach of my contract if you drive like that when I’m in the passenger seat.”
“Breach of contract!?” You yelp, pinching his side while he lets loose one of his contagiously loud laughs. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”
“But you love me,” Mat states matter-of-factly, breaking contact with you to pull open the door and hold it for you. You hum happily, immediately hit with the delicious scent of baked cookies. Behind you, Mat lets out a quiet groan and you laugh at his dramatics. “Jesus, it always smells so good in here,” he falls into line behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.
“If I worked here, I’d be three hundred pounds from sampling cookies every day,” you comment, turning to the mirror on the wall and lining up your face with the milk moustache decal for a selfie. You nudge Mat into place next to you and he crinkles his whole face up into a cheesy grin just for you. You snap the picture and shuffle forward as the person at the register leaves, moving the line up. Mat shuffles behind you, stepping on the heels of your sneakers and mumbling apologies.
While you wait, you look at the merch on the walls, joking with Mat that you’re going to get him the cookie shaped backpack for him to put his stuff in on game days. Before he can retort, you’re at the case and the worker is asking you how many cookies you want.
“Um, let’s do six?” You say, voice ticking up in a question for Mat. He nods, barely listening to you as he squints at the cookies. They’ll be gone in two days.
“Definitely need the cookies and cream,s’mores and oh, fuck yes, banana cream pie,” he points at each cookie as he names the flavor. “Babe?”
“I’ll do the specialty ones,” you say, “dark chocolate peanut butter, white chocolate macadamia, and brookie, please.”
“I love bananan cream pie cookie week,” Mat comments dreamily, looking like Pepe Le Pew when the cartoon skunk’s eyes turn into hearts when he spots the female skunk. He grins at you when you stick your finger in your mouth, fake gagging.
“Ugh, disgusting,” you shake your head. “Your love for banana cream pie is your biggest red flag.”
The woman behind the counter boxes everything up and you tap in your phone number to get rewards points before stepping to the side so Mat can pay. He smirks at you, tapping his card against the reader, and quietly, so no one else can hear, murmurs, “say ‘thank you, daddy.’”
A laugh startles out of your chest and you shake your head, cheeks flushing hot. “No, nope. I’m not saying that, Mathew.” Your fingers tremble a little around the box of cookies.
Mat’s hand is huge and warm on your lower back as he guides you out of the store, the sudden cool air a relief to your cheeks. He chuckles and flexes his fingers against your back. “Worth a shot,” he teases. “One day I’m gonna get you to say it.”
“It won’t be of my own accord,” you wrinkle your nose at him, stomach flipping a little bit. You refuse to analyze the excitement building low in your stomach and instead march determinedly back to your car. You had a plan for today and it didn’t involve Mat being called ‘daddy’ in a public place. Or any place. Or ever.
“We’ll see,” Mat jokes, pulling open the door for you to hop in and then going around the front of the car to get in on the passenger side. You drop the cookie box on his lap and he immediately picks at the tape holding it shut with his thumbnail, ready to snag a bite.
“Wait for me to get set up!” You chastise him, flicking his fingers away from the box with one hand and pulling up TikTok with the other.
Mat keeps picking at the tape, “no one’s gonna notice, I’ll just break it in half.” He finally manages to get the tape off and pops the lid open, dramatically inhaling the scent of the cookies. “Oh, fuck yes. Babe, what a good idea.”
You grin at him and make sure your phone is set in the holder attached to your windshield so both you and Mat are in the shot. “I literally only have good ideas,” you pull the box of cookies back into your lap, ignoring Mat’s protests. “Ready?”
He nods and you reach forward to start the recording. “Hi guys!” You chirp into the camera. “Happy Saturday, Mat has a rare day off so I decided to rope him into my fun. Say hi, Mat.”
Mat looks up from his phone and parrots, “hi, Mat,” with a shit eating grin on his face.
“He’s the worst,” you roll your eyes affectionately and hold up the cookie box so it’s in frame. “Anyway, I wanted to do something different than the usual Crumbl cookie sampling, and since Chip City is in our town, I figured this was the best thing. I invited Mat, because, well, I’m not sure if you know this but my husband has the biggest sweet tooth.”
You fight to keep your face in a neutral expression, but can’t help the corner of your mouth ticking up when you see Mat’s eyebrows lift nearly into his hairline on screen. His own mouth tips down in a slight, curious frown, but he doesn’t say anything.
So you continue, “it’s not anything like my mother-in-law’s peach cobbler, but Mat will kill a chocolate chip cookie in record time.” You shift in your seat, turning to face him, and keep your gaze locked on a point in the middle of his forehead, because if you look him in the eye, you’ll crack up. “Which do you want to try first, babe? Wait, let me guess, banana cream pie?”
There’s amusement in his tone when he holds out his hand and says, “oh for sure. Hand it over!”
He squints at you and you avoid his gaze when you pass over the cookie. Pretending to think, you look down at the box, “I’m going to try the dark chocolate peanut butter first, I think. Unlike my husband,” you smile at the camera, holding up the cookie while you break it in half to show the melted peanut butter swirls on the inside, “I like my desserts a little less sweet. Lemon bars, carrot cake, cheesecake, that kind of thing. Last week was lemon berry, which is a top three cookie for me.”
You can see Mat jolt in surprise again on screen, his head swinging to look at you. His eyes are wide and his lips are fighting a laugh.
“Yeah,” Mat smirks at the camera, breaking his own cookie in half and taking a huge bite. He chews and swallows before continuing, “the wifey is pretty picky on her desserts.”
Mat’s words sink in and you do a double take, jaw falling open a little. Mat’s grin turns shit eating and he takes another huge bite of his cookie while you blink stupidly at him. “What-?” You frown, ignoring the way your heart is pounding and your stomach is clenching with the echo of Mat saying ‘wifey’ in your ear.
He licks a spot of whipped cream off the side of his thumb and your core throbs.
“Uno reverse, Squeaks,” Mat laughs. “Do you think you’re the only one with Tik Tok?”
“Oooh,” you scrunch your face up at him, “you knew what I was up to?” He nods and your hand shoots out to push at his shoulder.
“Hey!” He yelps, chuckling. “I figured it out when you referred to Mom as your mother-in-law.”
You put your cookie back in the box and tap the record button on your phone, ending the video. “I honestly thought you’d have a better reaction,” you laugh a little, pulling your left foot up onto the seat and turning completely so you’re facing Mat. You shift the box too, so it’s on top of the center console.
Mat talks as he swaps out his banana cream pie for a piece of the s’mores, a string of marshmallow connecting the broken piece from the rest in the box, “why? Not a secret that I’m gonna wife you up in the future. I like hearing you call me your husband.”
He says it so casually, so easily, that it shocks you a little. When you first met Mat, you had thought dating him would be a fun time, but you’d never imagined that you’d be here - with him talking about marriage as if it’s a foregone conclusion.
“Well,” you murmur, feeling warm and content, “for the record, I liked hearing you call me wifey. So I guess we’re even.”
Mat looks up at you, hazel eyes lit up and glowing where the sun hits his face. He looks even more edible than the cookies. “You called me husband twice, don’t think we’re even just yet…” he drags out the pause with a sly smile on his face and you think he may use the w-word again, but he just lets the silence linger, the possibility hanging in the air.
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Listen, I totally get why other people would find neighbour!Simon's behaviour Off Putting and Uncomfortable but me? I'm Built Different. I'm letting him into my house, hand feeding him, patting his head, and telling him what a Good Boy he is, I'm letting him have whatever he wants if it means having him by my side (no I don't need to unpack any of that why do you ask)
its that flitting “Good boy” that crosses your tongue and absolutely breaks Simon.
he has a cheeks full of your homemade sweets. you’re so flattered and charmed that he’s eaten so many, because none of your other ratty neighbours wanted any :/ not Simon though. he’s a big boy who eats big portions. so as he reaches over your table for another cupcake, a wash of icing coating his lips, you can’t help it. a soft peal of praise pooling out of your lips for Simon, who stiffens in your seat and chokes on your red velvet frosting. his cheeks flushed a ruddy pink by irritant embarrassment. his pants fitting just a little bit tighter.
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{ This is my little gift for you all! I had to do something! So i wipped this up toot sweet!!! I hope you all have a good Holiday Season!!!! }
🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄
Eddie's not sure why he lied. Told the party, Hopper and Joyce, and Steve, that he couldn't stay for Christmas. He'd gotten everyone gifts. Brought them all to the house. Steve had rushed out the door when Eddie was struggling to grab them all, like he'd been watching out the window for Eddie to arrive or something.
Steve's warm smile and laugh as he steadied Eddie on the sidewalk, and unloaded several boxes into his own arms, had made Eddie's stomach all swishy. But he'd walked through the door, into the, very loud, house. He'd seen everyone. All of them shouting hello's and asking for presents and telling him where to put things and what they were eating and what time.
Eddie's chest felt tight. He didn't know why. He hadn't even smiled at any of them, except maybe Steve, he couldn't remember. But he'd set the gifts down, cleared his throat and the words had tumbled out of his mouth.
"Sadly gremlins. I cannot stay. Wayne just got home from his shift at work. They finally let them have a Christmas off. And I promised we'd do a nice quiet Christmas, just the two of us." And he unceremoniously ran for the door, the disappointed sounds of the house full of his friends following him as he ran, his heart pounding. He thought he might have heard Steve tell him to wait, but he couldn't. He ducked out the door, nearly slipped on the ice on the stairs and booked it down the sidewalk before scrambling into his van.
Steve was standing on the pourch when he chanced a glance that way as he was backing out, his arms wrapped around himself to fend off the cold. He raised his hand, waving at Eddie as he drove away.
He could feel the tears coming before he managed to get back to the trailer park. His vision swimming. He wiped at his face and slowed down a bit. It had started snowing again, big fluffy flakes falling down. He pulled up to the trailer, it's windows dark, the way he'd left it after Wayne had gone to work, and he'd headed out to Hopper and Joyce's house.
He slammed the van door and stood standing in the falling snow, looking at the empty trailer, tears falling down his cheeks.
"You're so fucking stupid." He hissed at himself, turned, kicked his tire several times and yelled before stomping up the steps and ducking inside.
He kicks his shoes off, yanks his clothes off, struggles into his pajama pants and his ratty comfy old Dio shirt and crawls into bed. He hadn't turned on one light in the trailer. Preferred to do his self loathing in the dark.
He doesn't know how long he lays there, crying into his pillow, listening to the wind and the light patter of chunky snowflakes hitting his window. But he barely hears the knock. He sniffles, lifts his head, waits.
Two knocks. Gentle but insistent.
His chest tightens but he tosses his blanket off and pads slowly to the door. His hand reaching out as two more knocks hit the door. He bites his lip and turns the small lock, pulls the door open to find exactly who he knew he'd find.
"Steve." His name. That's all he can manage right now. He's so tired.
"Hey." Steve responds, looking up at Eddie from the second step of his porch. There are snowflakes in his hair and his eyes are bright as he looks at Eddie, he's got a look on his face Eddie can't decipher right now.
"Are you okay?" Steve ask, blurts really, his hands shoving into his pockets, shoulders bunching around his neck. And oh. Nervous. Steve is nervous.
"I'm fine Steve. Just-" he sighs, deeply, covers his face with his hands and groans.
"You don't seem fine. And- and Wayne's clearly not here. And you just ran, man. What- what's wrong?" Steve had stepped up the last step, moved toward Eddie. Eddie missed his hands reaching out and dropping back down. But he didn't miss Steve pressing into his space. He could feel the warmth of Steve's chest against his arm, tears welling in his eyes again.
"I don't know." He whispers into his hands, before dropping them and looking at Steve, finally, his face wet.
"Hey. It's okay. Let's- can we go inside, you're gonna freeze." Steve's hands land on his shoulders, in comfort, and question, and guide him inside when Eddie nods.
Steve kicks his wet shoes off and grabs the blanket from the back of the couch. He wraps it around Eddie and then sits them both on the couch, their knees gently pressed together. His hands soothing over Eddie's arms. The comfort just makes Eddie feel like crying more. He shivers, fights the urge to push Steve's hands away.
"Tell me what's going on in your head Ed's." Steve says, his voice quiet and soft.
"It was just... too much." Eddie shrugs, doesn't look up at Steve, just stares into his lap. He hears Steve sigh.
"I get that. Everyone in one place is definitely a lot." Steve moves his hands down, curls his fingers over Eddie's hands.
"I've never had that." Eddie admits, looks up at Steve then, finds his eyes wide and open and waiting.
"It was always me and my mom. Or me and Wayne. Sometimes my dad but he always disappeared at some point and no one really missed him." Eddie shrugged. Steve nodded, squeezed his hands.
"I don't know why I lied I'm sorry." Eddie's throat feels tight again, his voice tilting into a whine.
"Hey it's okay. You don't have to be sorry. It's okay. Come here." Steve grabs Eddie, pulls him agaisnt his chest. It's awkard, the angle, but it feels safe. Steve always makes him feel safe. Eddie takes a few deep breaths, breathing in Steve, his face smooshed against his deep red sweater.
"Did everyone like their gifts?" Eddie asks, he feels Steve laugh and then he's leaning back, letting Eddie sit up to look at him.
"What makes you think they opened them?" Steve gives him a look. Eddie gives him one right back that makes him laugh again.
"Yeah they loved them. Mike tried to touch Erica's without asking and she smacked him. She's gonna be busy painting those for awhile." He smiled at the memory.
"Oh. And you made Nancy cry. She didn't even know you knew Barb. Where'd you even get that picture?" Steve asked, smiling. Eddie sighed.
"I didn't know her super well. She was in my theater class two years in a row though. We did a skit together. A Shakespeare thing. Our teacher said her calm manner was the only one in class that could offset my manic energy." Eddie laughed, remembering how Barb had smiled at him when their teacher had said that.
"She was always nice to me. Even when people called me a devil worshiper. She never cared, or believed that, I don't think." Eddie shook his head.
"Anyway, one of the girls in stagecrew took the picture, it was during rehearsals. We were just goofin off." He shrugged again. Steve reached out, took his hand.
"She loved it Ed's. It was perfect. You uh, you're quite the gift giver." Steve says, a small smile creeping over his features.
"I like giving gifts." Eddie says, keeps his eyes on their hands as Steve's thumb moves over his skin, gentle and warm.
"Did you-" Eddie clears his throat.
"Did you open yours?" He asks, his teeth digging into his lip. Steve mirrors him, and then drops his head, looks up at Eddie through his bangs.
"Yeah. How long did it take you to make it?" He asks, his fingers twitching agaisnt Eddie's.
"Not as long as you'd think probably. Finding the right patches took the longest." He shrugged again, aiming for nonchalance.
"Mhm. And you left room for more. You'll have to sew them on for me if I find some. I don't know how to do that." Steve ducks his head again, trying to get Eddie to look at him.
"I could teach you how. It's not hard really, once you figure it out." Eddie looks up then, giving Steve a reassuring smile.
"Mhm. That could be nice." He squeezes Eddie's hand again and guilt shoots through Eddie. He scrunches his face as Steve looks at him.
"What? What's that face for?" Steve laughs.
"I finished your vest months ago." He blurts, his hands starting to shake in Steve's grasp.
"Oh." Is all Steve says, because he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand why that's a problem. Or a secret. Or whatever it is. But now that Eddie's said it, he can't not tell him why. Can't stop his mouth from telling Steve the things he's shouldn't tell him.
"I was afraid to give it to you." He says, Steve tilts his head to the side, looking like a fucking lost puppy with those fucking eyes of his.
"Why?" He finally asks when Eddie just stares at him.
"Because. I knew if you saw it. You'd know." Eddie says, his shoulders drooping.
"Know what?" Steve asks, Eddie's feels his hands clench, just barely. Eddie sighs, takes a deep breath, lets it out again.
"How I feel about you." Eddie says, in a sort of rush, and then his mouth really gets going.
"So ya know I figured, Christmas. That would solve it. I could give it to you at Christmas, when everyone gives gifts, that's a normal, friendly thing, to do. And I figured ya know, in a crowd, that it would be less... intimate? And maybe it wouldn't feel, so much... like what it so fucking clearly is. But I ruined that too. Cuz I fucking ran. And I didn't even get to see you open it." His hands flail out of Steve's grasp, and he stands, starts pacing.
"And maybe that's for the best. That I didn't see it. That might have made it worse. Seeing your gut reaction, not a reaction after the fact, that you had time to rehearse. Cuz if you actually hated it. And I saw that. God that would have been embarrassing. Here's me just fucking, declaring my love for you on a fucking peice of painstakingly perfected fabric and then there you would have been, opening it in front of everyone! Oh my god why did I think this was a good idea? This was so stupid. I'm a fucking idiot what the fuck was I- whoa what are you-" Eddie's words die in the air as Steve grabs him and yanks him to his chest, his fingers curled into Eddie's shirt, their chests pressed together firmly.
"Stop. Talking." Steve says, his mouth a crooked line as he smirks at Eddie.
"What?" Eddie asks, brows furrowed. Steve closes his eyes, shakes his head.
"You're ridiculous." He huffs, opens his eyes.
"I didn't hate it. Eddie. I'd never hate anything you made for me. But especially not that. I loved it." He breathes, leaning closer, just a fraction, Eddie can feel his breath ghosting over his skin. Steve's face hardens from the fond look into something more serious. He licks his lips. Takes a breath.
"I love you." He says, his hands uncurling and pressing flat against Eddie's chest, surly he can feel Eddie's heart pounding. Eddie nods.
"I love you too. Like a lot. Like it hurts sometimes how much. Does that make sense?" His face scrunches, Steve presses closer, slowly closing the small distance between.
"It makes perfect sense to me." He whispers agaisnt Eddie's lips, and kisses him. He hums into Eddie's mouth when Eddie gasps and scrambles for purchase on Steve's back.
Steve pulls back and brushes his nose against Eddie's. Resting his forehead against his as they breathe in each others air.
"Come back to the party. You can stay in your jammies." Steve whispers between then, giving Eddie's hips a squeeze. He squirms, further into Steve's grip.
"My jim jams." Eddie whispers, almost laughing.
"Mhm. Wanna spend Christmas with you. Was kinda really looking forward to it." Steve is still whispering. Eddie pulls back, shocked, for some reason.
"Really?" He asks. Steve bites his lip and nods.
"Yeah. Of course. Plus," he dips forward, presses a chaste kiss to Eddie's lips, because he can now.
"You've got gifts to open Mister." Steve smiles at him, tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear.
"Aww really. Gifts for lil ol me?" Eddie teases, but he feels his chest grow warm.
"Yeah. And if the party gets too much just tell me, and me and Rob and Nance will yell at everyone to shut the hell up." Steve shrugs, kisses Eddie's cheek.
"Yeah. Yeah okay. I'll get my coat." Eddie nods, untangling himself from Steve. Steve lets him go, but smacks Eddie's ass as he's walking away. Eddie yelps, jumps, and rubs at his butt as he walks down the hall.
Steve drives them back, carefully in the still falling snow. Eddie's sure Hawkins has never been so beautiful as it is right now. Eddie sitting in Steve's car, quiet Christmas music playing through the speakers as Steve takes them back to a house full of people who love him, and missed him, and want him there. Eddie watches the snow fall, tightens his fingers where they're laced with Steve's, and decides maybe Christmas isn't so bad after all.
#steddie#steddie fic#steddie ficlet#steve harrington x eddie munson#steve x eddie#Christmas fic#holiday fic#mine#my writing#my fic
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You Better Lie Down
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stepbro!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader (one shot)
this was a scrapped idea but people have shown interest so I revised it a little to make more sense in places lol so the ending is kinda meh 🤷♀️
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, stepcest, incest kink, mean stepbro Leon, bratty reader, dirty talk, masturbation, unprotected sex, creampie, some nipple play
not proofread just looked over 😂
Title from Sister from She Wants Revenge
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“Get the hell out, Leon!”
“No can do, princess. Looks like we’re roomies,” he smirks at you from the doorway, crossing his arms and leaning against the frame.
You hate him. You hate his stupid hair and his stupid face and his stupid muscles and his stupidly big di—
A loud thud makes you jump and you turn to glare at Leon who tosses a duffel bag down on the floor.
“Don’t get pissed off at me,” he shrugs easily, grin spreading over his face as he flops down on your bed jostling you, “dear old mom and dad have to renovate my room so I’m here.”
He bats his eyes at you, “Besides don’t act like you hate it, you’ll be crying on my cock tonight anyway.”
White hot arousal flares through your body, irritation quickly following on its heels to overtake it.
You shove Leon as you stand up off the bed, “You’re such an asshole.”
You snags your arm and tugs you right back down on the bed, hands coming up to quickly pin your wrists together and hold them over your head as he cages you under his bulky body.
“I don’t think I heard you correctly,” his eyes are dark and mean, as he grinds your wrists together making you wince, “what did you just say?”
“I said,” you over enunciate your words, “you are an asshole.”
You can see him gearing up to do something but lucky for you (at least) your mom is calling for you both to be downstairs pronto.
“Guess this’ll just have to wait, princess,” Leon rears up with a sneer and leaves you laying on your bed.
You raise up and blow out a breath. God he really is an infuriating asshole.
Later that night after the quick rundown from your mom of what’s going on, and then having to help move furniture, you’re wiped and ready to crash into bed after your shower. Just throwing on some thin sleep shorts and a ratty old tee shirt, you enter your room about to collapse against your mattress only to see Leon sprawled across your bedspread.
Your mouth is open, ready to unleash a scathing remark but slowly closes as you frown at him. The jerk is completely passed out, ear buds in, and phone clasped loosely in his hand. Mentally, you’re seething with rage but outwardly you just blow out another heavy breath. Standing there for a moment you take in Leon’s tank top and baggy shorts. His eyelashes dust his cheeks and his face looks soft. Like this he looks… sweet.
Frowning to yourself—get a grip—you shake your head. Softly you pad over to what you’re going to deem as his side of the bed for now. You take his phone and shut off the music and set it on the nightstand. Gently, you also slip out his ear buds and turn those off, setting them next to his phone.
“Why am I even being nice?” you mutter to yourself, walking back over to your side.
You shift Leon over as far as you comfortably can and slip under your sheets. It’s awkward as he’s still on top making it hard to even turn over but you just accept it—better than waking him up. Since you’re actually pretty tired, you fall asleep rather easily.
Sometime in the night, you wake up. Your back is to Leon and so you lay there peering at your vanity wondering what even woke you up. The bed moves as Leon shifts around behind you. Rolling your eyes, you think that definitely must’ve been it and determine to go back to sleep.
Your eyes slip shut but then there’s movement behind you again followed by a strangled sound. You tense, planning on rolling over, but you hear Leon groan and you realize the bed’s moving more rhythmically than you thought.
Wide eyed, you realize he’s jerking off next to you. You freeze in place afraid to move or breathe differently in case he notices.
“Fuck,” he whispers to himself followed by a wet noise that makes your thighs clench.
Your eyes drift across your room and come back to your vanity where you can kinda see Leon and yourself at this angle. Mostly, you just see his arm move in time with the bed pretty much confirming what’s happening. You feel so hot now but you don’t want to push the blankets off.
Your legs shift and he completely stops what he’s doing with a low hiss. Once he thinks you’re not going to move again, he picks right back up, stroking himself off with a grunt.
Nipples hardening at the noises he’s making, you decide to roll over and feign being asleep so you can at least peek at what he’s doing. So, mind made up you shift sides making it seem as natural as you think it would look (you’re asleep how’re you really gonna know?).
Leon stops again, breathing shaky, as you get comfortable on your side now facing him.
“Hey,” he whispers, “you awake?”
You ignore him and keep your breathing steady. After another minute or so, Leon can’t help himself any longer.
“Fuck me,” he moans, fist gripping his fat cock and jerking slowly, “you’re just so fucking pretty.”
Your clit throbs but you stay still, eyelids cracking open just a smidge to watch his cock weep precum all over his fist as he fucks up into it.
“Wish I could fill up that tight little pussy,” his voice rumbles low in his chest, “god, can’t believe my little sister’s cunt is better than my girlfriend’s. Fuck.”
Arousal surges through your body so fast you feel lightheaded. Your toes curl under the covers as your pussy aches to be filled.
“Got me so hard,” he whines to himself, “fucking hate that I fell asleep waiting on you. Was gonna eat that cute pussy til you cried.”
Your thighs clench trying to ease the tension in your core but doesn’t really do anything except make you wish for more. You watch as Leon’s hand pumps his cock slowly, teasing himself as he drips precum all over the place. You watch as his dick throbs in his fist as he teases the head with short strokes.
“Haven’t stopped thinking about how much you liked it, liked me railing you into this bed,” he grinds his head back against the pillow, “fucking hell.”
You whimper, gaze looking up into Leon’s face as his hazy eyes look over at the noise.
“You finally awake, princess?” he grins but it loses some of its edge when he moans as his cock kicks in his hand.
You push up on your elbow and move over until you’re pressed all along Leon’s side. Eyes dragging from his face down to his cock drooling all over his fingers, makes you whine and press your chest hard into his body.
“Leon,” you whisper, fingers slipping under the band of your panties to tease across your aching clit, “do you—“
“Yes,” he grits out, pulling his hand away from his cock to tug your hand from your panties.
His eyes flutter when he slips your fingers into his mouth to taste your slick.
With a growl, he’s shoving you onto your back and knocking your legs apart so he can kneel between them.
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say?” you giggle up at him, high on arousal.
His mouth ticks up into a mean smile, “Does it matter? We both need me in your pussy, don’t we, princess?”
With a whine, you nod helping him take your clothes off until you’re completely naked underneath him. He tugs on your nipples until you arch up with a whimper. He takes off his shirt and slips his shorts and underwear completely off then cages you under his bulky body.
Your hands go up to his shoulders as you cant your hips up, bumping your clit against the fat tip of his dick.
“Want it, big brother,” you murmur, eyes lidded as you see his pupils dilate even more, “need you in my pussy so bad.”
“Yeah?” he grips his cock with one hand and slaps it across your swollen bud driving you to thrust up against him with a moan, “sounds like you do.”
He drags his tips through your slick folds and presses against your clenching hole.
“Gotta relax,” he coos, “let big brother make you feel good.”
Your nails dig into his shoulders making him buck forward, cock slipping into your soaked hole.
“Fuck,” he hisses, eyes shut, “take it, princess, since you need it so much.”
He pulls out until just the tip is spreading your cunt and fucks back in, bullying his cock into your pussy until he’s buried balls deep.
Eyes rolling back, your nails scratch up Leon’s arms as a high and reedy whine slips from your throat.
“Mmhmm,” he laughs at you, “this cute little pussy needed to be dicked down huh?”
“Yes, yes, please,” you gasp out, pussy clamped down around Leon’s cock, “feels so good.”
“Fuck.”
He drops down to his elbows, pushing more of his weight onto you while you wrap your legs around his waist to keep him there. Your fluttering walls wring another low groan from him as he grinds against you.
“More, more, please,” you whimper, tugging on his biceps, “pin me down please, want it so bad, Leon.”
He humps down into your pussy as he lets himself ease down on top of you.
“You sure?” his hot breath caresses the shell of your ear, “you won’t be able to move, baby.”
“Don’t need to,” you mewl, “pin me down please, want to feel you.”
His chuckle vibrates deep in his chest, “Okay, gonna take care of my little sis, make sure you feel nice and full.”
Whining, your thighs close against his waist harder as you try to rock up into his thrusting cock. Try. Now that Leon has dropped most of his body weight on you to rut into your sopping wet cunt, you’re trapped underneath his broad frame making your clit throb.
“S’good, so good big brother,” you can’t stop rambling, body feeling too overwhelmed in the best way, “m’pussy feels so good, it’s all stretched out.”
“Good,” he laughs against your ear, “sound cockdrunk already and we’ve barely started.”
“Can’t help it,” you whine, pressing a messy kiss to his jaw, “it’s so big.”
He growls and snaps his hips harder into your wet hole, bullying his cock over and over into your squelching pussy. You’re whining so loud but neither of you think to muffle the noise. Leon’s thrust are banging your headboard against the wall, pressing you down harder into the mattress.
His fat tips keeps knocking into your cervix making you squeal and pant, pussy clamping down on his cock more and more as your g-spot is rubbed every time he pulls out.
“Aww is my cute littler sister about to cum?” Leon mocks, “is her tiny pussy gonna cum from big brother’s fat cock splitting her open?”
Tears are slipping from your eyes as you nod quickly, arousal ramping up from his condescending tone, “Uh huh, Leon ‘m about to cum. Please, I wanna cum.”
“Then tell me who’s gonna make you cum, princess? I might rub that slippery little clit if you beg me just right,” his smile is mean as he laughs again.
Panting you reply, “M-my big brother is gonna make me cum on his cock. On his stupidly fat cock.”
He groans, “Fuck, that’s what I like to hear. Get mean with me, baby.”
“I hate how good this feels,” you moan, “I hate how I love having your big dick in my pussy stretching me open. Feels so good.”
He grunts and slips a hand down between the tight space of your bodies and teasingly rubs your swollen clit.
“Tell me more,” his voice is husky and low, sea dark eyes staring in yours, “tell me more, baby sis.”
“I like that I’m your little sister,” you finally choke out on a low moan, “fuck, love that you’re my big brother, and I especially love that you cum in my pussy.”
He growls and fucks his tongue into your parted mouth. You move your hands from his shoulders to his hair as you sloppily make out. His fingers pinch and rub against your clit in rough little circles until you’re screaming into his mouth, climax wiping out everything except that euphoric feeling overtaking your body.
“Fuck you’re milking me so good,” he presses his face into your neck as his hips rabbit into your cunt, cock finally burying deep in your fluttering walls.
You moan brokenly as hot spurts of cum fill your cunt, sticky rope after rope painting your walls white. Leon rocks himself against you as he lets your pussy milk his cock til he’s spent.
He pulls out of your spasming hole and you whine to see his spent dick shiny with slick and cum. He collapses next to you on the bed.
“I’m not gonna want to go back to my room when it’s ready,” he grumbles, dragging you into his arms so he can nose across your hairline, “pussy too good.”
“Leon,” you huff out, irritation flirting at your tone, “shut up.”
“Yes ma’am,” he snarks, pinching a nipple making you hiss.
You try to push him away but he shifts down and sucks that same nipple into his mouth. Your hands wind in his hair but when he just keeps suckling at the hard bud, you only sigh and let him move over the other nipple.
“Leon, what’re you doing?” you bite your lip as he squishes your breasts together to suck and lick across both nipples.
“Shutting up,” he grins at you, nipping the underside of your breasts, “can’t talk if I’m sucking on your tits right?”
He doesn’t let you answer and goes back to lathing attention across your breasts until you’re wet and squirming, pressing them into his face.
“Leon,” you whine, “touch me, please.”
He groans, sucking your nipple into his mouth as he spreads your legs to slide his hard cock between your thighs to rub against your pussy.
“Can I?”
“Yes, yes, please.”
“Ohh, fucking hell, you’re so wet.”
“Big brother, please, play with my clit.”
“I’ve got you princess, fuck, y’keep squeezing that tight pussy on me and I’m gonna bust way too soon.”
“Leon, please—oh yes there, right there. Big brother please, oh god, yes.”
“How did you get even tighter? Mm that’s it’s take my cock baby sis, fucking—“
“I’m gonna cum so fast, my clit’s so sensitive now.”
“Fuck yes, cum on my cock again, squeeze out another load for that cute pussy. There we go, oh fuck, that’s it that’s it—“
“‘m cumming, oh Leon I’m—“
You kiss each other to stop the loud moans and whines from slipping out, both of you cumming one after the other. Leon presses himself as deep as he can into your pussy, hot cum flooding your sore fluttering walls as you milk him for every drop.
“If we don’t stop now, we’ll never get any sleep,” Leon whispers against your lips, slowly slipping his cock from your hole.
You whine to feel the mess of slick and cum drip all over your thighs.
“I know,” you finally roll onto your back, jaw cracking with a yawn.
He lays next to you, pressed against your side as he throws an arm over your waist.
“Don’t wake me up before eight,” he mumbles into your shoulder.
“Same goes to you,” you roll your eyes knowing he can’t see it.
In no time at all, you’re lulled to sleep from Leon’s body heat and deep even breaths.
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