#smoker x fem reader

[the-fluff-piece]

Night shift 🌙

Coffeeshop AU - getting a visit from Detective Smoker

This is day 4 of tropetember

Also check out my stories and headcanon masterlists

You're just a student with a job in a diner. You work the night shift because you like the calm of the night hours - and so does Smoker, a weary cop stopping by for a coffee and your company every so often.

Note: Mr 2's alias Bon Kurei was translated to"Bon Curry" in my country, so that's how I'm using it here.

Detective Smoker was a night-owl, and a regular at Bon Curry's diner. He usually stomped in around midnight, sat down at his usual spot and waited for Bon-Chan to bring him the usual - a strong coffee and a slice of the Diner's signature apple pie (contrary to the name, there was no curry on the menu).

His burly stature and grumpy demeanor were intimidating, so most waiters avoided him, except for your boss, whom everyone just called Bon-Chan. He was a lively and excentric person and the only one who was consequently delighted to serve the detective.

So when the door opened, ringing the bell and the big man with the dark coat entered the room, you waited for Bon-Chan to bring him the usual.

Smoker sat down with a groan and enjoyed his cigar. And waited. You continued to clean the counter. That old scary grump was not your responsibility, you told yourself.

Ten minutes passed. Smoker began to drum the table impatiently. Where's Bon-chan?

You looked around, he must be in the kitchen. You went looking - and smelled smoke - and there he was, fanning a burning something on the counter with this apron.

"I have a little bit of a situation here, darling" he said, waving you away.

"Uhm, the detective is here..." You told your boss, hoping he would take the hint.

"So? I'm busy here, you bring him the usual" he desperately continued to fan smoke out of the back window.

"He doesn't bite. He's actually a good guy. Just make a bit of smalltalk, he's a regular. You got this!" He gave you a thumbs up before taking care or the accident again. Bon-Chan was so cheery and positive, you couldn't refuse.

So you dutifully returned to the dining area, loaded a slice of pie and a coffee on a tablet and brought it to the detective's table.

"The usual" you said, a bit shaking, as you set the order down in front of him, already afraid what he might say. He was even more scary up close, but also strangely handsome. From afar, he looked much older - now you realised he must be in his mid thirties.

His angular face could only be described as masculine and stern. A nasty looking scar was above his eye. His nose looked crooked, like it had been broken more than once and never settled right. His stature was undeniably muscular and broad. Overall, not the qualities you liked on customers at all. He looked like the kind to make problems.

"Where's Bon-Chan" it felt more like an order than a question. He looked up at you through the tobacco smoke and you noticed his warm brown eyes, a stark contrast to his white hair and light skin.

"He is occupied, in the kitchen" you swallowed. His eyes may have been like warm chocolate, but you didn't doubt his stare could break any street thug's will.

"Hmph" He grunted as he sipped the hot coffee.

Just make some smalltalk, Bon-Chan's request echoed in your head. He prided himself to run the most welcoming diner in town, with an open ear and a Chat for everyone. You thought about how he often sat with customers, listening to their problems, easing their cares. It was a warmth you wanted to provide, too.

This man looked so weary, you had your work cut out for you. So you took all your courage and stammered out the usual question:

"So, had a long day?" You asked, hoping for the best. This man couldn't be further from your usual crowd.

"Long week." He rubbed the hunched bridge of his nose, looking unnerved.

"Must be tough out there" you said.

"You have no idea, miss" He squinted at you. "Can't you get Bon-Chan?" He asked, twisting his neck to scan the diner.

"He is fighting some burnt pie in the kitchen" you said, unprepared for the deep, guttural laugh that followed.

"Still clumsy I see, he doesn't change" Smoker laughed and his expression relaxed a little.

"Have you known each other for a long time?" You asked, now curious.

"Yes. We met through my work" He seemed engaged now. In a talking mood.

"He doesn't look like much, hell, before I met him I would probably not have taken him serious. But just let it be said that your boss saved my ass. Got a mean kick" He chuckled at your surprised face.

Your boss, that scrawny, skinny man with heavy make up, saving that hunk?

Smoker took a deep draught of his cigar and veiled himself in smoke.

"Now you have to tell me more!" You were intrigued, you didn't know much about Bon-Chan's past and he never told.

"Maybe another time, miss" Smoker raised his brow and leaned back in his chair, stretching.

His chest was so massive, it put quite the strain on the fabric of his shirt. You figured that he already wore the biggest size he could find. The stretched material revealed bulging pecs, the clearly defined muscles moving as he breathed in and out.

"Something wrong, miss?" He asked.

"No, not at all" you were ripped from the hypnotic moment, realising how athletic he was build. Rolled up sleeves revealed strong arms with thick veins stretching over his lower arms and big hands.

He leaned on the table again, robbing you of the sight of his chest - and instead treating you to a warm glance from his chestnut eyes.

"Why don't you tell me your story? You haven't been around long, miss" He dug into his pie and listened to you.

You told him why you came town and how you came to work at the diner, while he ate the slice of pie. He asked clarifying questions from time to time, remembering smallest details you mentioned. His eyes glinted with interest as he came to cunning conclusions about you.

You decided it was your time to ask and get him talking.

He told you how he grew up here, in a very bad part of town, actually not far from your flat. It was cheap living space, but not exactly the place with the best reputation. He seemed a bit concerned for your safety, but held back with overbearing advice.

"I bet you have your hands full, being in the police force around here" you said.

He nodded.

"There's a lot of great people here that deserve a safe town. I'm trying to do my part." He said it with such a finality that you didn't have a doubt about his conviction.

"Are you sure I shouldn't accompany you home?" He seriously looked at you.

"No, I've made it home for the past months, it will be OK." You told him.

He nodded.

"But if you ever feel unsafe, don't hesitate to ask" He said.

"Well, I'm off again" He said as he finished the last of his midnight meal.

"I hope to see you again, soon. Take care out there at night" He said in a warm voice.

As he put on his coat and got ready to leave, his demeanor hardened again, like he had to put on armor against the harsh world outside. He nodded towards the counter and left, vanishing into the foggy night again.

You looked over - Bon-Chan was leaning next to the coffee maker with a broad grin.

"Aw darling, he likes you!" His voice reminded you of your mom's, when she asked about the boys at school.

"I just chatted, like you asked!" You said, trying to play cool.

"He doesn't just like anyone. And he rarely smiles. You're on Smoker-duty from now on." He turned around to avoid further discussion.

When you cleared the table, you found a more than generous tip. Smoker-duty might prove exciting and profitable at the same time.

-----

Smoker

Over the years, he has become a little rough-edged, he knew that. The streets were tough and he saw a lot of horrible things every day. He couldn't save everyone and he often asked himself if he made any difference at all anymore.

He feared that he was getting like the old guys on the force - hopeless, bitter, disillusioned.

He returned to Bon Curry's diner as often as he did because it was a warm place, and there was always someone to keep him company. It reminded him of the good places of this town.

The waitress he talked to today was a welcome addition. He thought about her as he opened the door to his dark apartment.

He had noticed her before, standing silently behind the counter. He'd always found her to be pretty. And tonight he discovered that she was a good listener and a kind soul as well.

He hoped that she would be safe and would see her again. He looked forward to his next night shift.

--

Yes, I put Mr 2 in there because I love the thought of them running a small shop and providing shelter for lost souls. And yes, I would love them to be unexpected friends with smoker.

I like smoker in this setting, maybe there will be more parts.

And yes, he's a big, sexy daddy and y/n is a small, cute student.

Taglist @yeeeeezly @waitingmydemons @stariski @livwritesfics @violetmatcha

#one piece fanfiction #one piece x you #white hunter smoker #op smoker #smoker op #one piece smoker #smoker x fem reader #smoker x y/n #smoker x you #smoker x reader #tropetember #tropes #diner au

[katsumiiii]

hobie x fem! reader

thinking of hobie brown rn…!

hobie who knows you love the height difference between you two and uses it to his advantage. is constantly angling his head upwards, which causes him to purposely peer down at you through his thick eyelashes. you always get flustered each time he narrows his eyes and tilts his chin, and him being the ever so perceptive spider he is, takes notice of your heated cheeks and continues to do so.

whenever he’s near a doorway or a thick frame he lovesss to lay a palm on the top of it, trapping your body beneath his as you ramble on about whatever it is you’re rambling about. he makes sure to nod along while effectively moving a hand towards your plush waist, bringing your figure flush against his own. he plays with the seam of your shirt, and urges you to keep going when you stutter from the sudden change in position.

hobie who loves to annoy you with his British slang. it’s not necessarily because he uses it often that irks you, it’s the fact that you have no idea what he’s saying and he never makes an effort to help you understand. (he actually finds it amusing each time you attempt to guess what he means and is completely off base every single time).

“babe, I’d love ta get ya that shirt you’ve been beggin’ for, but I’m skint right now. try me next week, yeah?” he hummed, kicking his feet up on the railing next to your bed.

“skint? I feel like you’ve used that one before..” you muttered, huffing in irritation by the smug look on hobie’s face, his lips quirked in amusement.

“told ya what it meant last week. thought ya said you could ‘se context clues?”

“whatever bee, maybe you should speak english.”

“‘aint that what ‘m doin’?”

hobie who always has a blunt neatly rolled on his dresser, his ash tray placed gently to the left of it. he often smoked before running off to whatever it is he did when he wasn’t home (he was very unpredictable as he switched it up weekly to “fuck up consistency” whatever the hell that meant).

hobie inhaled gingerly before tilting his head towards his peeling painted ceiling, his fingers lingered tightly on the wood before lifting it to your lips, “want a go?”

you shook your head, nuzzling further into his shoulder, “mhm no, too tired.” hobie chuckled before greedily puffing the joint, shuttering at the burning feeling it left.

“suit yourself love, more for me.”

hobie who you introduce differently to your friends each time you bring him up. one day he’s your boyfriend, the next he’s your significant other, and the next he’s your ‘close friend’. they always question the constant switch ups, but you don’t ever seem to mind. you know where you stand with the man, and to him that’s all that matters.

“so what’s up with you and…..” your friend trailed off, stirring the ice in her drink.

“hobie?” you questioned.

“yeah him, so is he your boyfriend or what?”

“it’s complicated, he hates labels, makes him feel confined.” you replied, shrugging your shoulders as you lay your head on your palm.

“that doesn’t bother you? is he like scared of commitment or something?”

you scoff, lightly shaking your head, “no, he just doesn’t want to contribute to the system.” you answered bluntly, taking another sip of your lemonade.

“the system?” your friend asked, eyebrow raised at the quip.

“nevermind, don’t worry about it.”

hobie who subtly brags about you to his people. loves to show you off, and has no problem admitting he does.

“yeah bruv, my girl jus’ got into her dream fuckin’ college. been workin’ hard for that shit all year, man.” hobie boasted, pushing his hands out in order to bounce off the wall next to him.

“oh my goodness how wonderful! when do we get to meet this companion of yours?” pavitr questioned, flinging his body upwards to keep up with the male to his right.

“eh, don’t know yet, when I feel like it, yeah?”

all in all hobie is so cute and I literally am in love with him!!

#hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #hobie x reader #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #literally loml #also obsessed with smoker hobie #don’t mind if I got the British slang a little wrong #I literally looked up popular British slang and ran with it 💀 #so bare with me there 🤞🏾 #hobie brainrot ! #fem reader !!!!

[cottoncandy-cult]

Smoker x Wife! Reader

Smoker sat in silence as he watched his wife sleep, the swaying of the boat had her sleeping rather deeply on this night. But right now, sleep eluded the silver fox, he had woken up a half hour before this moment and after laying there he determined he would do some of the paperwork he had put off til tomorrow. Unfortunately, he couldn't focus, he didn't know what it was that stood in his way of sleeping but it was starting to bug him.

With a sigh he turned back to his desk, fixing himself two cigars as he tried once more to read the monochrome pages. That didn't last long though, two thin arms curling around his neck as he felt someone rest their head on his. He didn't need to see the stray strands of (H/c) to tell him it was his wife; she was the only one bold enough to touch him without permission. She was the only one with that right. She didn't see a high ranking a marine, she just saw a man who needed someone to keep him grounded. "Did the light from the candles wake you?" His voice was gruff, having sat in silence since waking his voice was slightly deeper than usual.

"No, I couldn't get comfortable without you." He turned to face her, she released him and backed up only to be tugged into his lap. She didn't spare a second before she snuggled up to him, he may not have seemed like an affectionate man but if his angel wanted love, he'd never deny her. He was a proud man; he took pride in his love for this woman and was secure enough that he had no problem telling people where to go. Though they were both mature enough to refrain from hard core PDA, she was a military wife and understood his duties.

He muttered a low apology, using his free hand to move her hair from her face and stroke her cheek. "I woke and couldn't sleep, I thought I'd get some work done..." She giggled as he glanced back at the shuffled papers, pressing a soft kiss to his exposed chest. He was sleeping in a pair of loose black pants; she was in one of his shirts and her underwear. The weather of the area they were in was rather nice even at night, so they were able to sleep pretty comfortably. "You know our anniversary is coming up... We'll have been married 5 years in a week." She spoke softly, giving him a sweet smile.

He chuckled a bit as he looked down to his wife, he had been thinking a lot and found that the life of a marine has left him wanting. He has seen the hypocrisy of those around him, he could see the corruption and false justice that had begun growing and the toxicity that been there from the start. He begun to question what he was doing at this point, if he was really one of the good guys at this point. Especially since it's becoming more common that he comes across Marines abusing their power, he had yet to tell her. But he was considering resigning, the thought of taking her away to beautiful little island had begun growing more and more appealing. They could start a family; he'd make sure their home was safe. Even if it meant running off anyone who tried to cause trouble on the island.

"Yeah, I know, I think you'll like the gift I have..." The longer he gazed into her eyes the more solid his idea became; he'd make sure they had a true home by the time of their anniversary. He also planned to make sure he gave her the family she wanted; he'd give her everything she had been denied because of his wasted dedication to a failing system. (Can you feel my disdain for the world government yet?)

#candy cult vault #one piece fluff #one piece #smoker #smoker x reader #fem reader #wife reader

[wing-ed-thing]

Stay the Night (Smoker x Reader)

Synopsis: Smoker is surprisingly, bafflingly competent at taking care of you while you're drunk.

Word Count: 2.4k

Tags/Warnings: Alcohol, Intoxication, Alcohol Sickness, Vomiting, Fluff, No Reader Pronouns Explicitly Mentioned (Reader Wears Heels, Makeup, and a Wig), Language, Mildly Suggestive, Two Longtime Friends and Peers who are Clearly in Love with Each Other

Notes: I felt like Smoker was the kind of guy to reluctantly hold your hair back while you're throwing up.

Unlike the rest of his present company, Smoker usually avoided overindulging in elaborately planned social events, especially those with an open bar. It was best to stay out of the way. 

The Marines rarely allocated funds to such frivolous occasions, and so most officers and honored guests took it upon themselves to find the bottom of the generously offered bottomless champagne. While the hangovers were never worth it, that didn’t stop even the highest leadership from stumbling out of the ballroom doors with hair tousled and neckties hanging across their shoulders. 

Smoker preferred to sit at a table out of the way: a sanctuary among the chaos, away from the main path of foot traffic, with a clear view of the door. That’s where he nursed his single glass of whisky. If he were feeling especially celebratory, he would have two. 

You, on the other hand… were already standing on top of a table. Your stilettos were positioned on either side of the floral centerpiece in the middle, and the tiny point of your heels barely allowed you to balance as the bottle in your hands exploded in a loud, crisp pop. 

Smoker watched how the sea of Marines that gathered around you in disheveled formalwear cheered, and your hypnotized face admired the bubbles pouring from the bottle's neck. 

A group of newly trained officers jumped up and down together in time with the music on the opposite side of the circular table in celebration, knocking some tall glasses over onto the white cloth below. Smoker nearly leaped out of his chair as your knees began to buckle. But even despite your tiny shoes and even tinier dress, you managed to catch yourself. Your laughter resounded loudly among the voices around you.

Smoker heaved a deep sigh, sitting back down, swirling his drink with a flick of his wrist. 

He didn’t even need to see that stunt to predict what would come later that night. 

The streets were utterly empty. Aside from the glow of the street lamps, the only light that shone was from the venue as the staff hurried their clean up. Smoker strolled out of the double doors, tie loosened around his neck and suit jacket draped neatly over his arm.

He barely had to make it outside before he saw you. Hell, he’d be able to spot that glittery ass anywhere, even without your blinding choice of attire. 

You were bent over on your weak knees as you hurled your guts out into a bush. Smoker let out a low, resigned grumble, swiping a hand over his fatigued face as he approached you. You barely registered the large shadow that overtook you, let alone the hands that gingerly and neatly gathered your hair away from your face. 

You sputtered, coughing as a few tears streamed from your eyes. The insides of your cheeks were wet and bitter, and your throat burned. You spat onto the ground to get more foul-tasting mucus out of your mouth. 

You were a Marine, dammit, and a few too many took you out quicker than any pirate ever did. 

“Koby?” you whined. Tears continued to stream from your eyes at the pressure in your sinuses. You spat again. God, something was in your nose.

“Sorry to disappoint, Lieutenant Commander,” Smoker gruffed from where he squatted next to you. 

“Don’t call me that,” you whimpered, not wanting to be reminded of your rank during such a state of weakness. Your stomach convulsed, causing your sickness to start again. Smoker’s gaze drifted to the still street like another weekday night. “I’m never gonna drink again.”

“Mh-hmm” was about the only noise you got out of Smoker. He sat patiently and wordless, not one to croon words of assurance at you as you paid for your night of over-indulgence. But for his silence, he continued to pull your hair back, meticulously smoothing the bundle back as best as he could so as not to knot or tug at your stands. 

In a moment of relief, you finally turned over to sit on the curb. Despite the extra alcohol emptied from your stomach, you were far from sober. Smoker knelt on one knee in front of you. You could hardly get his face to focus, let alone register the warm jacket he hung across your shoulders. 

He took the pocket square from the left breast pocket and unfurled it with a snap of his wrist. Smoker swiped the fabric over your mouth, clearing away saliva and slime. The backs of your fingers knocked against his wrist belatedly as you shook your head.

“‘M gonna fuck up your hankie, Smokey,” you sighed, even though he had already wiped your mouth. He shoved the square roughly into his pocket, paying no mind to you as he heaved you onto your feet. “‘M alright. I can make it home.”

“Like hell, you can.” You stumbled as you tried to step forward, but Smoker caught you around the waist. “These, too. You know the whole street’s cobblestone, right?.” His movements felt incredibly fast to you as he bent down again to slide your shoes off, and with two large fingers hooked around the pinch of your stilettos, Smoker moved to throw you over his shoulder. 

“Whoa, whoa, wait…” Your hand flew over your mouth, and the other splayed across Smoker’s right shoulder. He held you at length, studying your face and movements carefully. 

“What’s goin’ on?”

You shook your head in small but rapid swivels.

“Can’t do that.” You heaved a deep breath, slowly removing your hand from your mouth. 

Smoker grumbled a hum of acknowledgment, pulling his jacket closed over your chest before shepherding you down the street toward your apartment. 

You barely remembered the walk, although you were sure your drunken meandering was more than a test of Smoker’s patience. Even so, he hardly said a word, only breaking his silence to ask you where your keys were when you reached your doorstep. 

They were in your clutch, which Smoker was holding with your shoes, of course. 

As soon as the door opened, you nearly collapsed into your apartment. With Smoker's help, you fell neatly onto the couch by the entrance. He slipped off his boots— no matter how formal the event, Smoker was wearing his combat boots— and disappeared somewhere into your apartment. 

You didn’t even care. Your head was so heavy that all you wanted to do was sleep as you slowly sank into your couch cushions. 

“Sit back up.” You heard Smoker call sternly from the other room. You didn’t think you could obey him if you wanted to. 

In a second, you were being repositioned. The light from the lamp in the corner of the room was sobering and borderline upsetting, but it allowed you to see the small trashcan Smoker brought for you on the floor to your right and the bottle of make-up remover on the coffee table in front of you. Smoker sat beside you, tilting your chin to delicately rub your make-up away with a prepped, textured cotton pad. 

It caught you off guard, to say the least. Even in your drunken haze, Smoker still didn’t seem like the type to have patience for tender acts of service. Hell, you didn’t even know he knew what make-up remover looked like. 

But despite your judgments, Smoker sat on the couch next to you, one elbow resting against the back cushion as he held your chin while his other hand swiped away your perfect contour. 

“Who taught you this?” you giggled. Smoker, make sure to get the creases around your nose. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “Where do you want your lashes?”

“What?—” 

Smoker had already pulled your left eyelash off, the entire strip. 

“I’ll put ‘em back in the book I saw.” Before you could protest, Smoker had already pulled off your right lash. He stood quickly, stuffing the solution-soaked pad into your hand as he pivoted to carry your lashes to the other room. “Work on the rest of the glue.”

He turned back to you slightly, leaning over you just a bit to grasp your wrist and manipulate your hand to move in a circular motion on your face before you slapped him away. Smoker disappeared once again into your apartment. 

You finally noticed the plastic cup of water on your coffee table and mustered up the energy to take it. The outside was wet with condensation. It was cold. You couldn’t remember the last time you drank water. 

“What do you wanna do with your unit?” Smoker appeared from around the corner again; some linens balled in a wad under his arm. He held a pillow in his opposite grip as if he were holding a stray dog by the scruff. 

His white collared shirt had been pulled from the waistband of his dress pants sometime during the night. The black tie that was already draped over his shoulders drooped to one side, making one side longer than the other. The first three buttons of his shirt sat on his chest untethered. A dampened towel rested over his shoulder.

You blinked at him between sips of water. Your stomach was handling rehydration so far, but you were about to push it.

“You’re not touching my hair, Smokey.”

“Though I’d offer.” He set the pillow down to take the towel off his shoulder. Smoker wadded it in a ball before throwing it your way. You somehow still had the dexterity to catch it out of the air. A generous amount of adhesive remover had already been applied to it. 

Smoker pulled the coffee table out of the way, and as you stared at the towel he threw to you, Smoker began arranging blankets and pillows around you. You supposed he was trying to get you to sleep somewhere you could sit up. He draped a fuzzy throw blanket on your lap and moved two large decorative pillows to your right and left.

As your eyes moved from the remover-soaked towel to Smoker and back, you couldn’t help but laugh. The sensation moved through you before tearing out of your chest. Unrestrained by the liquor, it probably came out louder and more shrill than it would have usually, but if Smoker had any comments, he kept them to himself. 

He knelt before you, both his wrists resting on his bent knee. He shook his head as if regretting the question he was about to ask in advance.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

You swayed forward, racked with trembles, as you continued to laugh. The back of your heels knocked against the bottom of the couch. Smoker didn’t move, even as your face inched gradually towards his. Your cheek settled into your palm, allowing you to sit folded over to meet his eye. He waited as your laughter gradually subsided.

“What are you doing here, Smoker?” 

He stared directly into your irises, and you didn’t know if his expressionlessness or the intensity of his gaze made your smug smile waver. Intending to tease him, Smoker didn’t humor you with an expression. Nothing you had done that night—nor anything you would do—could sober you up faster than the sharp and sudden twinge in your chest that came with simply meeting Smoker’s dark brown eyes. 

What the hell?

“Your girlfriend’ll be pissed.” You sharply recoiled, kicking your legs over Smoker’s bent knee to swiftly stand. You made a beeline deeper into the apartment. 

Smoker only wavered a moment, his eyebrows creasing for a second in confusion before he stood and followed you.

“What girlfriend?” he shouted. He nearly ran into you as you closed a small cabinet by the bathroom. The side of your lip drooped downward in an acute pout. Smoker, never one to enjoy feeling left out of the loop, hovered over you expectantly. You entered the bathroom without a second thought. Smoker found himself in the doorway.

“Weren’t you with that…” You snapped your fingers as you tried to recall her name. You didn’t have to wait.

“Six months ago… and we only went on a few dates,” Smoker defended, although he wasn’t quite sure why he felt the need to defend himself to you in the first place. The two of you had known each other for longer than he recalled knowing anyone else, and more prominently, the two of you were peers. Why should it matter if he took some petty officer out for a few drinks a few months back? His eyes narrowed at the back of your head. “Why?”

You shrugged. You seemed far less worried about the whole thing; your face practically pressed against the mirror to remove the remaining patches of product Smoker missed. He did a more than adequate job. He hardly missed anything regarding your makeup, but the pointed glance you stole in the mirror escaped him. 

“Now I know I’m pretty wasted—” You met his gaze through the mirror. You cocked your head, and your hands gripped the side of the sink in pure bafflement. “But you said ‘lash book’—?”

“Got it. Got it.” Smoker crossed his arms as he tore his attention away. Steam filled the air. He hardly noticed the shower running, and he most definitely didn’t realize that you were standing in front of him, presenting your back, until you started speaking again.

“So, you’re just kind of a—" You glanced over your shoulder at him, and for as off as your judgment was, you knew you probably shouldn’t finish your sentence—even if his reaction would have been hilarious. You turned back around. “Get my dress for me?”  

You could have noticed Smoker’s single beat of hesitation if you were any less intoxicated. But for yet another instance that night, Smoker went quiet as he slowly tugged down the back zipper of your dress. The invisible zipper was thin and difficult to grip, but it slid down your spine like butter regardless, revealing the soft skin underneath.

“I have a pair of your shorts in the bottom left drawer of my dresser. The couch is yours.” You pivoted again on your heel, one hand holding your dress up on your chest and the other pushing Smoker back through the doorway. “Now get out.” 

You shut the door. Smoker sighed and resigned himself to rifle through your dresser, wondering why he had clothes at your place at all. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: Based off my personal headcanon that Smoker has a surprisingly extensive dating history and an equally surprising library of knowledge about girly stuff because he's an extremely involved boyfriend. I'd say most of his previous relationships had amicable break ups. Reader was also going to say "so you're kind of a whore" but decided against it.

#smoker x reader #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #smoker #vice admiral smoker #captain smoker #one piece marines #reader insert #x reader #x you #reader insert fanfic #smoker fanfic #smoker fanfiction #x gn!reader #x black reader #x black fem reader #x asian reader

[maeri-ell]

Bungou stray dogs || hcs - They caught you smoking || BSD x SMOKER READER

Yosano, Ranpo, Fyodor, Dazai, and Chuuya 

ENJOY!!   (✯◡✯)  

Fem!reader

Akiko Yosano

She is a skilled doctor with a unique ability to heal wounds and inflict pain. 

When it comes to her interactions with others, she can be both caring and blunt, always prioritizing the well-being of those around her.

If Yosano were to catch the Reader smoking, her initial reaction would likely be a mix of surprise and disapproval. 

She would approach the situation with her characteristic straightforwardness, not hesitating to voice her concerns.

Firstly, Yosano would express her worry about the health risks associated with smoking. 

Being a medical professional, she is well aware of the detrimental effects that smoking can have on one's body. 

She would emphasize the importance of taking care of one's health and urge the Reader to consider quitting.

Yosano's disapproval would stem not only from the health aspect but also from her belief in personal discipline. 

She values self-control and would see smoking as a form of weakness or dependency. 

She would likely question the Reader's reasons for starting and encourage them to find healthier alternatives to cope with stress or other triggers.

However, Yosano's reaction wouldn't be solely scolding and lecturing. 

Beneath her stern exterior, she genuinely cares about the well-being of others and would offer her support in helping the Reader quit smoking. 

She would share her knowledge of the harmful effects of smoking and possibly even suggest various resources or strategies to aid in the process of quitting.

Yosano would be there as a steadfast source of encouragement and accountability. 

She would check in on the Reader's progress, celebrating each milestone and reminding them of the positive impact their decision to quit has on their health.

Overall, Yosano's reaction to catching the Reader smoking would showcase her concern for their well-being and her determination to help them make healthier choices. 

Her headcanon portrayal would highlight her role not only as a skilled doctor but also as a caring and supportive friend, guiding the Reader toward a healthier lifestyle.

Ranpo Edogawa

The brilliant detective of the Armed Detective Agency, possesses an uncanny ability to solve mysteries with his unparalleled deductive skills. 

Despite his childish and carefree demeanor, Ranpo is incredibly perceptive and observant, always seeking the truth behind every situation.

If Ranpo were to catch Reader smoking, his initial reaction would likely be a mix of curiosity and nonchalance. 

He would approach the situation with a nonchalant attitude as if he had expected such behavior from them.

Ranpo: casually leaning against a nearby wall "Well, well, what do we have here? Caught in the act, huh?"

Reader: surprised and flustered, quickly putting out the cigarette "Ranpo-san! I... I can explain."

Ranpo: raising an eyebrow, a mischievous smile forming on his lips "Oh, no need to explain. I'm not really interested in your reasons. Smoking is a personal choice, after all.”

Reader: relieved but still feeling a hint of guilt "I didn't expect you to react this way, Ranpo-san."

Ranpo: shrugs nonchalantly "Why would I? As long as it doesn't affect my mysteries or the agency's cases, you're free to do as you please."

Although Ranpo may appear dismissive at first, his inquisitive nature would likely kick in soon enough. 

He would be curious to understand the reasons behind Reader's smoking habit, purely out of a desire to comprehend human behavior and motivations.

Ranpo: tilting his head, a spark of curiosity in his eyes "So, what led you to pick up this habit? Is it the thrill of rebellion or something else entirely?"

Reader: opening up, feeling a sense of comfort in Ranpo's presence "It's mostly stress relief, I guess. Helps me relax in challenging times."

Ranpo: nodding, his expression thoughtful "Interesting. I suppose everyone has their own way of coping. Just remember, there are healthier alternatives out there."

While Ranpo may not actively push Reader to quit smoking, he would subtly plant the seed of considering alternative stress-relief methods. He may even suggest engaging in activities that stimulate their mind or spark their curiosity, redirecting their focus to more constructive outlets.

In the end, Ranpo's headcanon portrayal would reveal his acceptance of personal choices while still subtly encouraging self-improvement. He would maintain his carefree demeanor, leaving it up to Reader to make their own decisions, but with a subtle reminder that there are always better options available.

Fyodor Dostoevsky  

He is known for his cunning intellect and manipulation skills, always strategizing and planning ahead.

If Fyodor were to catch Reader smoking, his initial reaction would be one of mild interest rather than surprise. He would observe them with his piercing gaze, analyzing their behavior and motives.

Fyodor: a subtle smirk playing on his lips "Ah, indulging in the vices of life, are we?"

Reader: taken aback, hastily putting out the cigarette "Fyodor-san... I didn't expect you to be here."

Fyodor: calmly stepping closer, his eyes fixated on Reader "There is a certain allure in watching someone partake in self-destructive habits. Do enlighten me, why do you choose to poison yourself in such a manner?"

Reader: feeling a mix of unease and curiosity "I suppose it's a way for me to escape, even if temporarily. A moment of comfort."

Fyodor: nodding slowly, his expression thoughtful "Escaping reality, I see. An understandable desire, but is smoking truly the most effective means?"

Fyodor would approach the situation with a philosophical perspective, engaging Reader in a discussion about their motivations and the potential consequences of their actions. He would delve into the psychological aspects of smoking, exploring the underlying desires and emotions that drive such behavior.

Fyodor: his voice carrying a hint of intrigue "Tell me, does smoking provide you with the solace you seek? Or is it merely a fleeting illusion, a temporary distraction from the inevitable?"

Reader: reflecting on Fyodor's words, a hint of contemplation in their eyes "Perhaps you're right. There may be healthier ways to find comfort without compromising my well-being."

Fyodor: a ghost of a smile crossing his face "Indeed, there are always alternatives. Embracing the darkness within oneself can be both liberating and destructive. The choice, my dear, is yours to make."

While Fyodor may not actively discourage Reader from smoking, his philosophical insights would leave a lasting impact, planting the seeds of introspection and self-reflection. He would challenge Reader to question their motives and seek healthier means of finding solace and escape.

In the end, Fyodor's headcanon portrayal would embody his complex and contemplative nature, leaving Reader to ponder their choices while subtly guiding them toward self-discovery and personal growth.

Dazai Osamu

Known for his carefree and unpredictable nature. He possesses a dark past and a twisted sense of humor.

If Dazai were to catch Reader smoking, his initial reaction would likely be a mischievous grin, amusement dancing in his eyes. He would approach the situation with a nonchalant demeanor, as if he had stumbled upon a source of entertainment.

Dazai: leaning casually against a nearby wall "Well, well, what do we have here? Our dear Reader indulging in the forbidden pleasures of smoking, I see."

Reader: caught off guard, hastily hiding the cigarette "Dazai-san, I didn't expect to run into you."

Dazai: chuckling softly, his gaze lingering on the hidden cigarette "Why, my dear Reader, are you drawn to such a? The temptation of rebellion, perhaps? The taste of freedom in each puff?"

Reader: feeling a mix of embarrassment and curiosity "Sometimes, it helps me calm my nerves or unwind after a long day. But I know it's not the healthiest habit."

Dazai: raising an eyebrow playfully "Ah, seeking comfort in the moment. I can empathize with that. Life is undoubtedly chaotic. However, have you pondered the consequences?"

Dazai's reaction would be characterized by a combination of teasing and genuine concern. He would playfully prod Reader, using his dark sense of humor to highlight the risks and potential dangers of smoking.

Dazai: smirking mischievously "You know, my dear Reader, smoking may not be the most effective way to confront the chaos. But who am I to judge? After all, we all have our vices, don't we?"

Reader: a mix of amusement and resignation "I suppose you're right, Dazai-san. Maybe I should find healthier ways to cope with stress."

Dazai: feigning surprise, placing a hand on his chest dramatically "My, my, Reader, you're suggesting we abandon our sinful delights? How scandalous! But perhaps it wouldn't hurt to explore new approach of self-care."

While Dazai wouldn't explicitly discourage Reader from smoking, his lighthearted banter and subtle guidance would encourage them to consider healthier alternatives. He would emphasize the importance of self-care and finding constructive ways to cope with stress and chaos.

In the end, Dazai's headcanon portrayal would reflect his complex persona, blending humor and concern to nudge Reader towards self-improvement while reminding them that life's struggles can be faced with a touch of irreverence.

Chuuya Nakahara

Known for his short temper and quick wit. When it comes to his reaction if he were to catch the Reader smoking, it would be no different.

Upon catching sight of the Reader with a cigarette in hand, Chuuya's eyes would narrow and his expression would harden. He would approach them with a mixture of irritation and concern evident in his voice.

Chuuya: "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Reader: startled, quickly extinguishing the cigarette "Chuuya-san, I..."

Chuuya: cutting them off, voice filled with annoyance "Smoking? Are you kidding me? Do you have any idea how bad that is for you?"

Reader: feeling guilty, stammering for an explanation "I... I'm sorry. It's just... I needed something to help me relax."

Chuuya: scoffs, crossing his arms "And you think smoking is the answer? You're only making things worse for yourself."

Chuuya's initial reaction would be fueled by his strong dislike for unhealthy habits and self-destructive behaviors. He would be genuinely concerned about the Reader's well-being, though his way of expressing it might come off as harsh.

Chuuya: softer tone, but still firm "Look, I get it. Life can be tough. But there are better ways to cope with stress. Smoking will only ruin your health and make things worse in the long run."

Reader: nodding, remorseful "I understand, Chuuya-san. I'll try to quit."

Chuuya: sighs, his expression softening slightly "Good. It's for your own sake. If you need support or someone to talk to, don't hesitate to reach out."

Chuuya's headcanon portrayal would show that beneath his tough exterior, he genuinely cares about the well-being of those around him, including the Reader. He may not always express it in the most gentle way, but his intentions are rooted in wanting the best for them.

Chuuya would keep an eye on the Reader's progress, offering occasional reminders and words of encouragement. He would be there as a source of support, showing that he believes in their ability to overcome their smoking habit and make healthier choices.

In the end, Chuuya's headcanon reaction to catching the Reader smoking would reflect his concern and determination to help them break free from harmful habits, even if it means being blunt and demanding in his approach.

#bsd x reader #bsd #bsd fyodor #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #bsd yosano #bsd ranpo #bsd hc #bsd hcs #smoker #smoking #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs dazai #bungou stray dogs chuuya #bsd x y/n #bsd x female reader #female #fem reader #dazai headcanons #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor headcanons #ranpo headcanons #yosano headcanons #chuuya headcanons #reader x various #bungo stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #fyodor dostoevsky #yosano akiko

[chrollohearttags]

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫: 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞 • 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐫

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲: 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐡

𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰: 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞

𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞: 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥 𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐩, 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐭/𝐬𝐞𝐱 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

📝: finally getting around to posting my kinktober works over here, apologies for the late updates!

cw: 2.1K

dimmed lights flickering from the inside of the confined elevator cascaded over your face..

covered by that of only (y/n)'s side parted, pin curled tresses and Dior shades.

the cherry red tube dress fashioned by Givenchy accented that curvy silhouette, and a mink shawl draped across your shoulders.

quiet dings signaling the passage of a new floor and with each one, your excitement grew.

as did the man's standing next to you with his hand cradling your wide hips.

"Did I tell you how sexy you look tonight?"

"Only for about the fourth time, but who's counting?"

both of your voices cracking into faint chuckles at the remark while he continued holding you close..nuzzling you against that muscular body.

"Well I can't help myself. I just know perfection when I see it."

"Mmm..you flatter me too much, big papa. I'm far from, trust me."

just prior, you were in the downstairs bar, taking shots and now the party was headed upstairs.

his scent intoxicating, imbued with traces of Armani cologne and money; grape scented smoke along with whiskey faint on his breath, a mixture you had grown quite accustomed to.

every following weekend for as long as you could recount, this was the routine.

in and out of the most expensive hotels in the country, only preceded by fully funded shopping sprees and five star dinners..

all in exchange for the best few hours that a man could experience.

but he didn't mind because you were worth every last penny. He'd pay every bill you had and buy whatever you wanted if you kept making him feel this way.

it was give and take: the prize of a vibrant, beautiful young woman on his arm and the stability of a mature, handsome man on yours..

he never bothered to disclose his true name, personal life or anything about himself and maybe for his own protection, it was for the best..

you only knew him by the alias 'Captain Smoker' and the man that single handedly afforded you your extravagant lifestyle.

but there was one thing about this mystery of a man that you had come to learn was that he had an acquired taste for cigars.

he always kept the most expensive brands on his persons and since becoming his personal escort, you'd notice them all the time.

after dinner, with his obligatory glass of scotch and especially after many rounds of love making, he was lighting one up.

weirdly enough, it was quite the turn on!

watching his lips purse around the tip of that rolled Cuban and exhaled as your fingertips danced across his bare chest.

those pillowy clouds circulating above when you were on your knees, taking him by the mouthful with your nimble hands wrapped around his thick member.

occasionally glancing down between heavy breaths and hits to stroke your head with pats of encouragement.

"Good girl...take it all in, just like that. You know what daddy likes.."

his gravelly voice making you quiver, and ache for more each time he spoke to you. Tonight was no exception..

the elevator reached the top floor of the building, housing a hallway full of luxurious suites..rented out for thousands a night but equipped with all that you need.

he'd allow you to step out first, out of courtesy and the privilege of watching those hips and ass sway with each step.

all he could do was shake his head in anticipation of what he was going to do once you reached closed doors.

retrieving the key card from between your bosom, you'd swipe it across the lock and it'd open.

leading him inside, you'd take his hand and your bodies met instantly. He'd scoop you up in his arms only to pin your smaller frame against the wall.

your legs curled his back and your arms coiled his neck for support as he raised the hem of that already short dress.

in one fell swoop, he brought your panties down your thighs and onto the floor at the same time, catching some of your slick on his rugged fingertips.

he was mad with lust, ready to ravage you from head to toe.

but he couldn't take you like this, so he'd set you to your feet and tear that dress off.

you had never seen him so riled up but you loved this newfound aggression! Not even a full minute later, he was straddling you from behind..

snaking those digits between your plump lips and clit. That pretty little heat already foaming and dripping for him, just as he liked!

giggling and yelping while he rendered you nude, he'd bring your ass closer to him so he could feel it grinding on his dick.

"Fuck..that feels so good. Playing with my pussy like that.."

heavy grunts and subtle moans kept escaping his lips and trailing to you ear, making chills creep up your spine.

"Mmm..sorry, but she'll have to wait. Turn around and get on your knees, baby..that face is too pretty for me not to fuck it."

he was so much more vulgar than normal but you didn't mind.  Whatever daddy wanted, he got. That's the way it always was and would be!

crouching to your feet with those heels still supporting your weight, (y/n) waited patiently for him to undo his pants.

that belt came off first and he was quick to lace it around your throat. This way, he could have control of you as he saw fit.

sticking your tongue out, you felt it slapped by his freed cock now.

brushing that thumb against your forehead, he'd prompt you to keep your eyes on him, and don't look down for a second.

as those big voluminous eyelashes batted at him, he couldn't help but want to thrust until they were falling off.

but as always, he had to spark one up before he got started. In the pocket of that button down, he'd retrieve a cigar and ignite the end with a lighter.

he didn't want to be gentle tonight, just get his money's worth.

"Keep your hands by your side until I tell you."

"Yes sir.."

bouncing that tip against the brim of your mouth, Captain grasped the back of your head and slid it in. It was always such a relief to feel your warm jaws wrapped around him.

with that leather strap curled around his knuckles, jolting your neck around, he forms a perfect rhythm as his pelvis met you.

that thick member sliding in and out so casually, as if it were nothing, which is why he couldn't leave you alone.

saliva began to trickle down your chin and throat, along with gagging noises and he wasn't letting up.

all the while, clouds of smoke billowed above your head in intervals as he continued using your throat like a sleeve. Those gulping noises were driving him crazy and it was apparent by his loud moaning.

"Keep going, doll face..until you suck me dry. Make a mess on it like you always do."

it was an absolutely beautiful sight and he wasn't slowing down.

but neither were you..watching him puff and glare at you as if you were nothing more than his pet, his personal slut made you want to please him even more.

he'd tighten that grip and go faster until finally, he was able to work himself entirely down your throat until your forehead was on his v-line and you were slapping his thigh.

"Ohhhh, shit!..yes, hold it in. Keep it in there if you want that new purse, baby."

despite gagging and salivating everywhere, you'd do as he said and brush the underside of his dick with your tongue until he released his grip.

when he did, you were breathing heavily and spitting  everywhere.

"Good girl..that was pretty damn impressive."

gently cooing as he brushed tufts of your curly hair from your face.

that's when he prompted you to hold your hands out and cup them together so that you could catch that falling spit.

"Rub that on my dick, jerk me off nice and slow too..I wanna enjoy every second."

he knew his time with you was limited so he wanted it to count. To make certain that the memories lingered for days on end.

so you'd slather that mixture all over his aching shaft, pumping it between your palms.

you'd put your mouth to use by nursing his swollen balls with those plump, brown and gloss covered lips on them, leaving tiny marks and kisses.

that twisting motion combo and the gentle pecks on his tip were driving him crazy.

"You're too good to an old man, making me feel like this..shit!"

and he could tell just how much you enjoyed pleasuring him, just by the look on your face. He made it so easy, honestly.

the aroma of that fragrant smoke filled the room and tingled your senses, weirdly making you crave him significantly.

it seemed to have triggered something inside of you and each time it hit your nose, you'd become entranced.

that's when jerk your makeshift collar and tell you to stop.

"Open wide, pretty girl. Let me give you your reward.."

"Yes sir...I want all of that nut."

with your eyes closed, you'd tilt your head back with a wide smile and slide that tongue out to receive his cum.

but instead, you were first greeted with smoke being shotgunned down your windpipe. That was certainly new but the feeling was amazing.

"I've always wanted to do that."

that faint buzz of nicotine stimulated your senses and you'd take it without hesitation. Following right after, you'd hear his boisterous grunting and feel that white warmth splatter your face.

the way he wrung his wrist around and painted your throat with every drop.

swallowing just as you promised, the seed trickled down your esophagus and you'd proudly show him it was all gone.

"That's why I can't stop being with you, doll face. You're so goddamned sexy."

being praised like that always made you wetter and by now, you needed him to return the favor. Your legs parted in a spread position as you began to touch yourself..

"Why don't I take care of that for you?..here.."

releasing that grip on the belt, he'd help you back to your feet for the time being as he started to strip from his clothes.

you couldn't help but be infatuated with how damn fine he was, even at his age. That grey hair, washboard abs and impeccable stature..

he was one hell of a man.

once he was nude, he'd go over to the bed, lying flat on his back before proceeding to stroke himself. Patting his thigh, he'd summon you over with the wave of a finger.

"Come sit on this dick for me, doll face."

"Don't have to tell me twice.."

and it was still hard! Standing at full attention in hhs grasp and slapping his bellybutton when he laid it flat.

you didn't hesitate to kick off those heels and come crawling on top of him. You were dripping wet so you needed some good pipe right now.

but before you could get yourself positioned, he'd shake his head and move his finger in a slow twirling motion.

he wanted you to ride him in reverse!

"I want to see that pretty little ass bouncing on my shit..it's so soft and round.."

and you wouldn't hesitate to give him what he asked for; turning around, you'd turn to face the front half of the suite, planting your fingers into his thighs.

your back straight and chest poked out as you propped yourself up on that member. Wrapping your smaller hand around it, you'd feed it in as you lowered your body down.

it felt so good that you couldn't help but to release a little moan, sucking your teeth in the process.

from this angle, he could see your tight grip and tiny butterfly tattooed on your left ass cheek. His rough palms caressed the small of your perfectly arched back and that beautiful brown skin...

saying he was obsessed was an understatement.

"Start slow, doll..we're in no rush tonight."

that tight grip took hold of him instantly and you could feel him pulsating inside of you.

both of you releases sharp gasps from the sensation and he wasn't shy about letting you know how good it felt!

grunting and slapping your ass, he'd grab ahold of that belt again and reign you in. But you needed no help.

each time you went back, that tight pussy wrapped around him like it was nothing. Taking him deep inside of that wet hole..

"Oh shit..ride that fucking dick, baby. You're creaming already? You must not want me to ever leave."

and he was correct. Even though he was paying for your services and you were pleasuring him, no one had ever come close to fucking you the way this man did!

letting out loud, high pitched moans, you'd muster up a giggle while you kept going.

"It's so good..I can't help myself..mmm!"

after a while, you'd gain your rhythm and start throwing it back. Even making those heavy cheeks collide and bounce off of his pelvis.

the smacking from your sticky mess growing louder with each one.

needless to say, you had him losing his mind!

leaning up, he'd tug on your collar and pull you back so that he could swirl his tongue around in your mouth one more time.

his hand clutching your throat at the same time made you clamp down and squeeze him even tighter. You could feel how close he was from the way it pulsated inside of you...

so you were going to milk him for every bit of that nut.

leaning forward again, you'd reach up to grasp his ankles and doubled down on it.

the heavy bouncing and clutching grip was too much for him to bare and soon, he'd pine for your waist, holding you so he could thrust upward.

"Gah!—hold still, baby. Let me fuck you for a minute!.."

with everything he had left, he'd meet you with those thrusts until you felt his nails clawing into your skin; a sure sign that he was about to climax.

and you were directly behind him.

"I'm coming! I can feel it throbbing.."

you'd yell out while stroking your clit in unison and soon, he'd meet you there when he reached your aching g-spot; throwing it inside of you as fast as he could.

there was no way either of you were lasting another minute.

"Together, baby! You ready?"

nodding your head and whimpering while bouncing on him, you'd prepare to release all of that pent up arousal.

"Then come on this dick! Come for me.."

and the way he growled, commanding..done you in and you'd let out a loud cry along with creamy liquids all over his shaft and balls.

he was drenched but he wasn't the only one because at the same time, you could feel that warm cum coating your insides.

it was as if both of you saw heaven at the same time, climaxing as one.

"Oh God..that was..perfect. Come here."

he was barely coherent when you climbed off of him and into his arms. Both of your chests rising and falling to catch your breaths.

like clockwork, he'd scoop you into his grasp and reach over for his second smoke.

and following suit, you'd retrieve his lighter and let the tiny flame hit the tip. He definitely needed something to calm him after the way you fucked him!

kissing your temple, he'd just glare as if you were the most precious, delicate thing on earth. He wanted this everyday..he wanted you around everyday.

but that life wasn't in the cards for either side..so you'd enjoy this moment while it lasted.

"You know, I might sound crazy, but I think I might have a slight problem. I think I'm addicted to you, (y/n). I can't stop."

he wasn't getting any younger but you always managed to make him feel more and more alive. Still, you couldn't help but to giggle at his statement.

"Even more so than your cigars?"

"A man can't choose between his two loves. But if I had to say..you're definitely in first place. I love you, sweetheart."

"Well I'm flattered..and I love you too."

the two of you would find yourselves cracking up, and he'd keep doting on you; reveling in this afterglow until the same came and you left with the moon.

maybe it wasn't forever but like the scent of his cigars, after they are long gone, you'd give him memories that would always linger.

#black fem reader #black fanfic writer #black fanfiction #anime #smut fanfiction #black reader smut #fanfic #black reader #one piece #one piece x black!reader #captain smoker #one piece smut #one piece smoker #sex worker #one piece au #kinktober 2022 #kinktober

[javanleopard]

(Y/N)'s breathing was ragged as she rushed down the crowded streets of Logue Town. Her feet hit the ground with many audible 'slaps,' though they were drowned out by the intense, bombarding noises of the clamoring behind her. Only a few yards away from her, at her back, approximately (from what she had surmised after running for so long) thirty pairs of shoes struck the ground with harsh, terrifying 'booms' and 'clacks' in near-unison. 

She cursed herself for her earlier mishaps silently before she made an effort to look behind her for a brief moment in order to gauge the distance between the two parties. 

Who were the parties in question? Well... it just so happened that it was (Y/N), herself, and the Marines.

Yeah. 

The Marines, a small portion of the World Government's battalion stationed on Polestar Island, specifically in Logue Town, were chasing lil' ol' (Y/N). 

A harsh sigh ripped through her nostrils as she continued to run ahead of the men behind her. Their shouts and calls for her to stop were in vain, a mere waste of energy, for she was not planning on giving in to their demands any time soon.

(Y/N) was a free woman and she'd make sure it stayed that way for the rest of her life. 

She was, however, prompted to smile when she heard the encouraging calls of her 'neighbors' to her left, right, forward, and behind. The calls of her friends rang out like jolly bells on Christmas day-- they were cheering her on! 

(Y/N) was no criminal. Only, she was a... vigilante of sorts. Renowned for her dislike of the Marines (need a reminder that it's the entire World Government she hates? Right...), she is both hated and loved. She does good, of course, but she also does bad.

What could she have done that was so bad?

Her train of thought was cut short when a sword whizzed by her head, striking a barrel of fine wine far-off from where she was currently placed. 

They were really trying to kill her! 

Before the Marines could stop to congratulate the thrower, (Y/N) ducked down under a vendor's intricate little tapestries and shielded herself from prying eyes. She was now hidden behind many fine artworks that had been tailored to perfection. 

The girl hummed, interested in the many pieces that were presented to her prying eyes, before she tore herself from her thoughts once more and fled the area. 

The incredibly convenient thing about Logue Town was that it had so many allies, twists, and turns that it was difficult to not get lost! (Y/N) couldn't say she was particularly familiar with the area, only knowing certain landmarks like that one scaffolding piece that pirates and/ or criminals are usually executed from, but she did know how to get lost pretty well. 

In fact, that's what she just did! In her haste, she had entered an alleyway by the vendor's booth and took far too many turns to count. She recalled going down some stairs, scaling a fence, and ducking under some caution tape, but that was about it. 

Now, (Y/N) stood on the other side of town, clearly in her element. 

Ah. 

Silence.

She had completely lost the Marines that had been on her tail! 

When running away from people, it's best to not think about where you're going. If you do, you'll make conscious decisions that can be presumed by others. If you have no idea what you're doing, they can't anticipate your next move. In the short time that (Y/N) had had a mother by her side, she had always told the young girl, "It's hard to win an argument against educated people, sure, but it's even harder to win an argument with uneducated people."

Wasn't that just the truth? 

Suddenly, the silence in the small, empty square of the town was broken by a peal of bubbling laughter that had erupted from her throat. 

"Hah! Hah-hahaha!" She called out, placing firm hands on her belly. She keeled over, eyes shut tightly as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. 

She calmed herself in a moment or so, able to collect her bearings after having released her joy. 

"Man!" The girl shook her head, releasing the hold she had on her stomach, and, instead, raised her right hand to wipe at the few tears that had snuck down her cheeks. "Those Marines never learn." 

A smirk drew across her face as she dusted off the garments she donned. Due to having men on her tail at all times, she had long since scrapped the idea of living in a set-in-stone home; this means that she also didn't change very often... unfortunately. Around town, she'd be seen wearing one outfit that she had (regrettably) stolen in the past. It had fit her for years no matter the amount of growth she had gone through. 

(Y/N) couldn't be described as little or big, wide or thin, tall or short-- she was just herself. The outfit she had decided on long ago was basically a part of her in its entirety. Sure, it fit more tightly than it had in the past, but it still looked good! 

Blemished, but good... trust, it does. 

She shook her head, ruffling her hair gently with her left hand, before she took a short step forward, keen on finding a place to sleep for the evening. She was surprised, however, when she felt a stinging in her left foot. 

"Agh-- what the hell?" She murmured to herself, eyes narrowed to slits as she made an effort to get a look at whatever this pesky wound on the sole of her foot was. It ached and stung relentlessly even when she lifted it off of the ground.

Now, (Y/N) was in a rather awkward position-- she tilted her head to the left in order to have a good view, but she was also hopping on one foot with her back slightly bent in the opposite direction with her left leg bent upward, foot baring itself to her prying eyes. 

Yep. There it was-- the small wound. Looks like, in her little running session earlier with the Marines, she had sliced the sole of her foot down to the ball. 

"Man!" She grunted, rolling her eyes as she dropped the appendage to the ground once more. She straightened her back and looked forward before running a hand through her hair roughly. "Eughh!" She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. 

Wounds weren't a good look on... well, 'street cats' like herself. It was expensive to treat in both time and money. 

Both of which (Y/N) didn't have. 

She could always request a place to stay from a friend (she had a lot of those in Logue Town, surprisingly, despite her being somewhat of an outlaw), but it was dangerous for them and she'd never want to put people she loves in such compromising situations. No. She wouldn't, couldn't, shouldn't. 

She stomped off to a corner in the Square, making a conscious effort to apply extra pressure to her fresh wound out of spite, before settling down on a thin bench that had been placed there in the past. It was old, but it was comfortable and sturdy. 

She plopped down like a sack of potatoes, immediately sprawling out across its width. The low ambiance of Logue Town didn't seem to reach this area, for no vendors were out and about in this part of town. Despite having lived here for so long, she still hadn't reached every corner of this island. 

"I gotta work on that." She mumbled to herself slowly, eyes half-lidded as fatigue began to creep up onto her still-upright form. "But I also gotta get some sleep." Her eyes flickered upward, now peering up at the sky. Pink and purple hues mixed with oranges and yellows. Dusk. 

She yawned widely, shrugging off any further intentions to garner food or water before 'bed.' She didn't need it today-- she'd be all right. 

Gently, she shifted to the right and laid herself across the bench. Her arms were folded behind her head, acting as a pillow, though they were contorted in a way that allowed for proper circulation. She looked awkward with her knees hiked up and eyes tightly shut with a 'go-the-fuck-away- frown’ on her face, but it was how she always lived. 

She didn't usually get bit by any bugs, thankfully. Her natural repellant was quite handy on some days. 

The girl drifted off to sleep rather soundly, not getting interrupted by any miscellaneous creatures of the night or annoying, pesky kids that liked to seek her form out and tattletale to the Marines. 

Later, she awoke. Still, night prevailed; the stars twinkled above beautifully, shimmering on the reflection in her glassy eyes. 

(Y/N) didn't need much sleep because of her 'condition' that shoved her sleep schedule towards being more crepuscular than a daylight-oriented devil. 

Quickly, she set off into the night. Her bare feet, injured and dusty, slapped against the cold stone ground loudly as she meandered through the streets. After too many turns and ups-downs and turnarounds, she reached her original place of being: the main street! 

Just yesterday, she had been, as mentioned earlier, 'told on' by some slimy little kids that had found her lying in a corner on some unnamed street in Logue Town to the Marines. That led to her being chased from morning to near-dusk! It was certain that she had worked up quite the appetite in the commotion. It was a miracle that she could run for so long. 

"I know those damn bastards don't." She spat, rolling her eyes obviously as she continued to stalk the main street. At some point in her little escapade, her footsteps had quieted. She was hunched over, arms half-outstretched as if she were going to grab something. 

"I see those Seamen taking breaks on the sidelines while their stupid ass replacements jump into the fray in their place. So lame." She continued to complain to everyone and no one, speaking to herself but to the whole world at the same time. She was talking just to talk, but she wanted someone to listen despite that. 

(Y/N) was a difficult girl. Or, if simplified, she's just a girl. A catty girl. A spiteful girl. A-- you get the point. 

Suddenly, she halted. She raised her torso and stuck her nose into the air, angled just slightly to the right. Now, she wasn't hunched over-- she was stretching upward. She smelt something rather delectable.

"Oh, this is gonna be good." She squealed lowly, eyes narrowing as she changed her direction, now heading toward a vendor's booth on the right of the unlit street. The scent permeated throughout the area so it was difficult to pinpoint the booth specifically, but after a minute or so of sticking her nose up against the closed shops ('closed' meaning they were covered by a single thick cloth), she had located it. 

"Damn right, this is gonna be good." She purred to herself, raising a quaint brow as she swiped her right hand out in front of her, striking the booth's detestable cloth that shielded the prize from her eyes. 

Yheaup! It was good. All she saw was meat-to-meat, lining walls and short tables! Chicken, turkey, lamb, beef, crustaceans, all of it! This guy knew his stuff, apparently. 

So sad that she was gonna steal some of it, though. 

(Y/N) suddenly tossed her torso backward, her head nearly striking the stone ground beneath her. "Oh! I simply couldn't-- possibly could not!" She wailed loudly and obviously, shaking her head vigorously from left to right as she denied her tempted thoughts. "I couuuldn't take this.. this... delectable goodness!" She drawled, clenching her eyes shut tightly. She balled her fists in front of her chest, gripping her top. 

Without a moment's notice, though, after her little display, she righted her stance and snagged a fat hunk of meat that she didn't bother to identify. It was the closest, so it was gonna get in her belly the quickest.

She fled the scene with great vigor, planting her shoeless feet (injured and all) on the cobblestone ground as she rushed off to find a place to devour the meal. She always did this. Stealing, of course, but more importantly: the damn show. She always had to put on an act as if she couldn't... but she has to! She can't... but she must! She-- she took it. Yeah, it always ends with her taking it anyway with little-to-no remorse. 

She wasn't all evil. She only took from booths she knew did well in Logue Town's ever-fluctuating economy. Because that booth had so much meat, she knew that they could afford a fifty-berry loss without a single shed tear. A grumble and a pout, yeah, but no counting individual shillings just to make ends meet. 

After quite a bit of running (she always ran, she always hid; it was basically her thing at this point), she had reached the docks where boats were tied up and prettied to perfection.

"Hey, girls!" She called cheerily, still gripping the hunk of meat with two hands. A bright smile stretched across her face when she noticed the many boats that were lined up still looked clean and tidy despite their having been stationed in the ocean for weeks on end. "You guys look great." She praised, winking at the inanimate objects as she slid into a seated position on the dock, legs hanging off of it comfortably. 

She loved boats and she loved the idea of sailing. She just wasn't very good at it. So, this was her next-best alternative: hanging out with them in the early morning. She loved the ocean, it was just unfortunate it hated her in return.

She never expected an answer when she spoke aloud to the world. She wasn't delusional-- boats couldn't talk. But she was surprised to hear a squeaky sound from her leftmost direction.

"Why, thank you!" It seemed to sing. It wasn't good singing. It was bad singing, really bad, in fact. Scratchy and forced. Almost like...

She was ripped from her thoughts when heavy footsteps (clearly long strides, she could tell even without seeing it) rang out nearby. A man's footsteps. 

A grimace quickly replaced her joyful expression when she made this conclusion. Her head swiveled to the left, giving her a good view of--

Of legs. It was just legs. 

Her brows furrowed and her grimace worsened. A tall guy, huh? She looked up, tilting her head back. In her seated position, she wasn't even up to this dude's knees! 

(Y/N)'s grimace morphed into something akin to a stupor when she got a good look at this guy. Hauntingly gaunt and pale, he looked hideous! Not to mention that nasty yellow-toothed smile he had on his hollow face. 

"Eugh." She grunted, reeling her head back in disgust. 

Wrong move, it seemed. 

He immediately got the hint, but not in the best of manners. His 'bright' yellow smile was ripped off of his face and replaced with pure, unadulterated rage. "You bitch! Calling me ugly, huh?” He bellowed, left eye twitching as if she had thrown sand in it. 

Clearly, she thought to herself, this guy seemed to get these reactions a lot. It was like he was used to the disgust. He anticipated it. Like, he just reacted so quickly! Did he want her to mess up so he had something to--

(Y/N)'s thought process was cut short when his boney knee drew back before striking her firmly in the face, knocking her over. She wasn't quite close enough to the edge of the dock that she was tossed into the water, but it was a tad too close for her liking. 

Now, her pretty face was marred by the impact. It'd leave a harsh, green-blue bruise for sure in a day or so. A pout rested on her face as she thought of the possibility, but she rightened her mood when she heard his raspy chuckles from above. 

"What's so funny about anything other than your face right now?" (Y/N) sneered, planting her hands behind her lower back in order to keep her torso upright. The right of her hip was basically hanging off of the dock at this point, leaving her in a rather compromising position. 

His chuckles halted completely when she said that. 

Whoops. 

He let out a disgruntled noise before he shifted and leaned down. His actions seemed rather sweet, actually-- it looked as if he were going to stroke her head lovingly and give her a tender kiss on the forefront of her face. 

But... you know, that is not what happened!

Her delusions were snuffed completely when his long, wiry fingers grabbed a handful of her hair. He balled his fist harshly, gripping her head as if she was about to fall from his grasp. She couldn't do much here other than lean forward and hope his grip would loosen. 

"Yeuh-hack!" She winced, allowing a dribble of spit to escape the confines of her mouth when his free hand struck her left cheek. 

She winced, mouth half-open as she let out long, whispy breaths. This guy was such a nuisance. Distantly, she thought of the meal she had yet to eat. It lay on the dirty dock beside her, dormant and... regrettably, uneaten. 

"Is this funny to you, huh? Bitch?" The man growled from overtop of her hunched-yet-leaned-back form. She was... how did she always end up in strange positions like this? Must be a feline thing. They were quite slinky-like animals. 

"I'm not a bitch!" She hissed, looking up at his thin features with half-lidded eyes. "I'm a molly." (Y/N) slurred through her throbbing cheek and stinging scalp. 

"What the hell does that even mean?" The man asked, rolling his bulbous eyes that hardly fit in their sockets. He didn't bother to ask any more questions as he dug his sharp fingernails (dirty, too, she assumed dully) into her scalp. A few more slaps sounded out over the crashing of waves on land before she heard another pair of boots stomp closer to the pair. 

(Y/N) was getting beat to all hell here and she didn't have any more than nine lives to live it out with, so she hoped this new guy would do her quite the favor and get this stick bug off of her. 

She couldn't plead for help, however; she was too prideful for that. Besides, it’s not like she actually needed it.

Well, that was going to be the answer if she could speak! Damn, her face hurt. She felt numb from the neck up at this point. Stick Man was really being harsh! All she did was insult his looks, which did not warrant a beating of her lifetime. 

Granted, he was probably intending to rape her from the beginning or something along those lines, but she never would have allowed that to happen. She was a very capable girl, she just hadn’t decided whether this weirdo was worth the energy of shutting down.

With the lanky guy hunched over her like she was, still planting his palm on her face whenever he felt like it and keeping his other hand balled in her hair, they probably looked like quite the strange drunk, sadist-masochist pair. 

"Ew." She spat, shutting her eyes tightly. She did not want to think about that! Gross! 

The newcomer seemed to halt, for she didn't hear his steps any longer. The Stick Man continued to abuse her relentlessly, clearly unaware of the new arrival just... 

Oh, word? He was right there. The new guy. 

He was lighting a bud that looked an awful lot like those wretched joints she smelt along the streets of Logue Town. 

"Oye!" She called out, disgruntled. Her eyes had opened sometime earlier in her inward musings. "Could you give a girl a hand?" She squeaked when the Stick Man's hand struck her again. Now that she got a good look at his long head and thin, hollowed face, he did have quite the flush on his fair skin. Fair? Sorry, more like ashen. Ashen skin. He was totally baked. 

When her eyes flickered away from her attacker's confused, flushed face, she noticed how the newcomer (the guy she had called out to for help) was rather tall and... stocky. She could only see the faint glow of his joint's lit tip near his lips. Other than that, he was just a silhouette to her. 

"You two aren't fucking on the docks, then?" He droned, seemingly tilting his head back. 

"N--" (Y/N) was about to deny the accusation weekly, but she was cut off by her assailant. 

"What's it to you?" He sneered, releasing (Y/N) from his hold. She allowed her form to drop to the dock's moist surface, reveling in how perfect its temperature was. She pressed her injured cheeks into the moist wood one by one before she felt relatively okay, now rubbing the abused portions of her face with her clammy hands. 

"Ugh." She murmured something incoherent to herself, a wince still seemingly permanent on her features. She reached out her right hand that had been firmly planted on the dock's ground after her little pampering session and grabbed at the hunk of meat she had planned on eating just a few minutes before the attack. 

Her eyes flicked to the right as she side-eyed the commotion just a foot-or-so away from her lain form. The lanky man who had struck her was now blabbering on and on to this man who was, from what she could tell, the complete opposite of the pale dude in terms of build... and, from what it seemed, personality. 

"Shut the fuck up." He snarled, balling his free hand into a fist. "Did you hit her without her consent?" 

Why did he have to add the 'without her consent' to that sentence? What, was she gonna yell to this weirdo-ass man, "Oh, please, strike me down and toss me into the ocean?" Hell no. 

Well, she was in no place to judge-- he was probably just insinuating that he had found peope who... liked that before in public places. Poor dude. 

Or, on the other hand, he liked that himself! Wouldn't that be a riot.

She hummed, blinking slowly as she pulled her front up off of the dock, now sat just as she was before this whole seen. Her hip was no longer dangling off of the side in danger of slipping in, only her legs cast above the water. "He did." She called out, waving the men off as she inspected the meal on her lap. "He hit me so many times!" She changed her tone, now sounding desperate and afraid. It was an act, yeah, but she had to make this stranger want to help her. 

Hah. 

Clearly, it worked, because he let out an angry-sounding noise from the very depths of his chest before he lunged at the stick bug and planted his free fist into his hollow cheek. 

When the tall attacker struck the dock and looked up angrily at his foe, he seemed to don a shocked expression before he shrieked and scampered off without another word. 

She only caught snippets of this, though, because she had readily dug into the meal in her hands. Her focus was on the meat, not the men at her left who had been feuding moments before. Her cheek was swollen quite badly from all of the abuse, but she hadn't loosened any teeth, thankfully. Not that she expected them to come loose-- she had the strong locked jaw of a leopard, after all. 

In the time it took for her attacker to disappear onto the marked streets of Logue Town after being struck down by the new guy, she had finished her hunk of meat. She had worked up quite an appetite, yet she was rid of it in just a few seconds.

A lousy burp exitted her mouth as she turned her head to the side, keen on getting a look at her savior. "Than--" She was about to thank him for his help, but she was rather shocked to see him already facing away from her. He wasn't giving her pitying looks or murmuring sweet-nothings in her ear in order to quell her 'fear' of what had just occurred. He was smoking his joint while looking across the starry sky over the ocean!

She raised a short brow before a small fit of giggles bloomed inside of her belly. She hoped to shun them by shutting her mouth and placing a hand over her lower face, but it didn't seem to help as her cheeks flushed and she couldn't help but lean back. Her hands planted behind her and she kicked her feet excitedly. 

She didn't even know why she was laughing. Really, she didn't, but it was nice. Nice to laugh like this. Even if he wasn't joining her.

She choked, however, when she heard a simple snuff to her left. She could have passed it off as the man blowing a puff of smoke in order to lessen the strain on his lungs caused by the joint in his hand, but it was pretty clear to her that it had been more of a short-lived chuckle than anything else.

"Thanks." She murmured bashfully, turning her head to her left entirely as she looked up at his standing form. Still, she couldn't see his face. "You really helped me back there." (Y/N) could've beaten that guy a thousand times over before she ever needed help, she just hadn't wanted to do it on an empty stomach so obviously in the middle of the docks. So... well, 'knight in shining armor' to her rescue! 

Or, in this case, 'knight in way-too-short jacket' to the rescue? At least, that's what it looked like to her in the dead of night. 

This time, he shot a plume of smoke from his lips. "No problem." He muttered in return, shaking his head. His voice was deep and rather soothing to her keen ears. Despite it being so low, she could hear it over the rushing waves beneath them. 

"You're my hero." She continued, awaiting a new, more exciting response from the man. 

He merely grunted, turning his head away from her. She raised a brow and frowned in response, clearly put-off. Was this guy not falling for her childlike-charms? She was making an effort here. Why wasn't he snared? Most men would grovel before a softly-speaking, injured girl who looked as good as her. To be fair, he couldn't get quite a good look at her because it was so dark, but still.

"Come on, now, don't be that way." She cooed, pulling her legs up onto the dock. She shifted away from the edge, wary of the closeness and vulnerability, before she pulled herself to her feet. 

No matter how tall she was, she didn't look quite so impressive in comparison to this tall-man shadow. 

"Don't you want a little reward?" She purred, batting her eyelashes. It didn't matter what she did when the movement was so small and unnoticeable. Due to the night's casted shadows, he couldn't catch the little things like a short smile or even a deep frown. It was the same for (Y/N), though; she couldn't see his little reactions, either. 

If she could, she would've been angry because of the detestable frown on the man's face. He heard these types of questions a lot, it seemed. 

"You should tell me your name at the very least." She pressed onward, head tilt as she peered over at his sideways form. 

The man seemed to flinch and tilt his head back, surprised. It was as if he hadn't expected her to not know who he was. 

"You don't know my name?" He asked, finally turning toward her. 

She pursed her lips, confused. "No?" She responded, leaning forward in order to try and get a better look at him. She noticed how he backed away a step or-so. It made her question his motives, but she didn't comment on it.

"I see." He grumbled, seemingly pondering something. "Then I think I know a way for you to repay me for my efforts." The man uttered the words as if they were web coming out of a spinning spider's abdomen; it was gentle and even a tad sultry. 

"Oh?" She prompted him further, now slowly pressing her hands into her sides and sliding them down her clothed form. "And that is?" 

His breath seemed to hitch as he watched her slow, silhouetted movements. Even in the dead of night, hidden beneath shadows, he could tell that this woman was attractive. In both voice and figure, she seemed delectable. "You coming back to my place." He seemed to falter at the end, as if regretting his words. 

She narrowed her eyes, hoping to get a better look at him before she agreed. However, she couldn't, so she brushed it off and murmured something lowly to herself. She'd do it, yeah, but why did it seem like he was nervous? He looked like a big man in stature alone, not to mention his voice that carried demand and confidence. What did he have to be so clammy about?

She shrugged the thought off, clearly just wanting a piece of him. She had eaten her meal already, but she didn't mind a bit of dessert. 

"Come on, then. Show me the way." She stated impatiently, shaking her head in order to brush the hair out of her face. Sure, she was wounded, but what was a little pain in bed? 

She reached out for the man, grabbing his free arm and hooking herself onto it. He led her away from the docks, puffing on his stick of foul-smelling weed. At some point during their silent walk, he had tossed the burning bud aside as anticipation bubbled in his stomach. The joint had nearly been finished, but it had had a few more puffs in it. He usually didn't waste things, but ecstasy wasn't something he'd be short on tonight, so he didn't bother with it. 

Smoker didn't get many opportunities to fuck an unfamiliar face, after all. He needed to savor it all he could tonight before early-morning light struck and revealed his identity to this shadow-masked incubus.

First Person P.O.V.

I felt my heartbeat quicken as I neared the steps that would lead up to this mystery man's apartment building. Logue Town was made up of a bunch of stacked, little houses so it made sense that this guy lived in one, too. Though, I was surprised to find that, as I took the first steps onto the property hand-in-hand with this man, it looked like a temporary-home living.

"Do you move a lot?" I asked lowly as my eyes traced over his silhouetted, well-built form. Still, I had yet to see his face or any striking features. It was a bummer, but it forced butterflies into my belly. Having sex with a 'masked' man seemed so forbidden that it made her want it all the more.

"I haven't in a few months, but I do move around the seas quite a bit." He grumbled, reaching into his pocket with his free hand. "Job." He added on quickly as if trying to change the subject

I listened as he fumbled with the-- strangely enough-- many keys in his pocket. What did a guy like this, who lived in a temporary home, need so many keys for?

"Ohh-hoh. All right, Seaman." I teased, halting when his feet planted before a particular door. Looks like his room was on the bottom floor; no need to go up the flight of stairs I had unconsciously named the bane of my night. Great! "I love the ocean. I just wished it liked me back, you know?" I muttered weakly, still feeling rather down. You could say that getting beat up on a dock in the middle of the night was kind of a bummer. The man seemed to peek at me with a slight tilt of the head as he pressed a particular key into the keyhole of the shoddy door.

He took in a short, half-assed breath as he struggled to find words to console me. It was as if he immediately sensed my mood dropping. He seemed to contemplate something for quite a few moments before he finally decided that, yes, he could say whatever it was that he wanted to say without 'compromising' his identity. "I never said the ocean liked me, either." He chuckled weakly as he furrowed his brows and finally turned the key in its hole, unlocking the door. It was a near-fake consolation, but, hey, I'd take it just like I was about to take him. Besides, I shouldn't have said something like that— it was such a mood-killer.

I blinked slowly, still rooted in place when he tried to walk away and into the house. His arm slipped out of mine and I was left standing in the doorway looking rather confused. Inside of the home, no lights had been turned on. Clearly, I noted to myself silently, this guy wanted this to be a masquerade party, too.

I didn't know why I was so caught off-guard by his words, though. The ones regarding the ocean. This guy couldn't possibly be implying the same thing that I was. It was just such a far-fetched idea here in Logue Town that I had never even thought of the possibility of someone else having my very same predicament.

I shrugged it off, deciding that, yes, it was too far-fetched and that he was probably just hinting at the fact that he couldn't swim very well. A very devilish joke if I do say so myself!

After my minute of staring into the darkness that was his home, I stepped in. The apartment seemed cozy, but if I was being real, I couldn't make out any specific details. No lights, no windows. It was a middle-ground apartment meaning that there were other homes on both the right, left, and behind. Also above, but that doesn't exactly matter.

No words were exchanged when he slipped into the home behind me and shut the door, leaving only our breaths to fill the silence. Once the door clicked shut, I shifted on my feet, now facing the exit. More importantly, I was facing him.

He pressed his back against the door and laid a hand to rest on his forehead before running it through his silky hair. If I could see him, I probably would have asked for his consent because he looked so out of it. But, I couldn't, so I got straight to work.

I took a long step forward and planted my feet on either side of his body while simultaneously pressing my hands on the door beside his torso. He was 'trapped' under me, one could say. He could get out at any time, for sure, but I knew he wouldn't.

No one ever did, after all.

The mood had gone from dreary and low to sultry and suggestive. Still caging his form against the door, I leaned my torso forward and pressed my bust against his chest slowly. I felt his form tighten from what I could guess to be uncomfortability. He... was still not super into it, it seemed.

Now, I could tell he was having doubts. His muscles weren't loose or lax like they should be when foreplay was in motion. He was too rigid. Too stiff.

A frown crept up onto my face. Quickly, I retreated from my position overtop of his heavy-breathing form without a word. I continued to step around the apartment, noting that I couldn't quite hear the intense breathing coming from my partner anymore. "You all right?" I mumbled loud enough for him to hear as I finally felt for a couch and settled on its leftmost seat. "Don't get the wrong idea. I want this, it just seemed like you didn't."

The man's breath hitched and he gulped, raising his chin as he pressed the back of his head into the wooden door. "Did it?" He muttered in return, voice nearly hissing at me. "Sorry." It was a half-hearted apology, obviously, because he immediately made headway in approaching me. He now stood over the couch, towering over my lousy form. "I do want this. I've just got some things on my mind." He continued to defend his previous actions as he leaned over me, one hand lying on the couch's soft cushion. The other hand, strangely enough, was tenderly holding my chin up.

It was now my turn for my breath to hitch. "Is that so?" I chuckled weakly, feeling my stomach tie itself into knots. This guy's hands were calloused but so comfortable. It was as if he could protect me from anything in this moment.

He didn't answer my inquiry as he delved his head lower, now pressing his lips against mine benevolently. I could give a hundred reasons as to why I described our first kiss that way, but this was the one that reached the forefront of my mind the quickest: I needed that contact.

I melted into his hand like putty, allowing him to slide onto the couch beside me. The hand that had been holding his body up on the couch was now cupping his desired breast and kneading it like dough. We were still kissing, I reveled inwardly. My eyes were half-lidded as I made an attempt at getting a look at the face of this guy nearly overtop of me, but it was in vain, for when he bit down on my lower lip, demanding entrance into my soft, cavernous mouth, my eyes shut tightly. A small mewl escaped my mouth when I parted my lips for the man and his tongue slid inside of my oral cavity. I writhed briefly underneath him when he pressed his body further into mine, hand gripping my chest more tightly. His other hand, though, was still stroking my cheek lovingly, as if we were real partners and not quick-fucks.

His tongue left a smokey, ash-like taste in my mouth. I hated it, actually. I didn't like it. He tasted bad to me. It was detestable, but I allowed it because he felt so good. This man was never someone I would go after another time in my life, but at this moment, in my childish desires for release and company-- no, in my ignorance-- he was what I wanted.

My thoughts were interrupted by a soft groan that reverberated into my mouth deliciously. I felt the hum of his efforts to quiet down in my very core.

I didn't say anything because I knew exactly what he needed at that moment. With my two free hands, I gripped his waist gently and tugged him closer. I hadn't realized it, but I was now pressing myself into the armrest of the couch with my legs sprawled out across it whilst he had one leg on either side of me. He was leaning over, still kissing me with great fervor, but my mind was thinking lower than our mouths.

The hands that rested on his waist trailed down his well-built form. Even when I reached his pants, I grew excited. I felt for the buckle on their front and fumbled with it sloppily, intent on getting that thick pair of pants off of this guy.

Was it hot in here or was it just me?

I didn't get hot a lot, not even during sex. That whole, "warmth bubbled in my chest," thing didn't exactly happen to me. It was a part of my little quirks, but tonight was different.

I liked it.

The man overtop of me clearly had other ideas aside from my wanting-his-dick because when my fingers got close to undoing his belt buckle, he bit down more deeply on my bottom lip and hissed out a grumble. Immediately, my hands slid back up his half-dressed form (I had realized halfway through this that the jacket he wore hadn't been buttoned up the entire time, leaving his milky skin vulnerable to my touch) respectfully.

"Too fast?" I tugged my head away, panting rather harshly. He had stolen my breath in the minute-or-so that we had been locked together by mouthes. My face was flushed beautifully and my mouth was slightly parted as I continued to huff and puff for a clear bout of air.

"Mm-hmm." He droned, ducking his head down. He neared my neck quickly, taking a deep breath before pressing his soft lips onto my exposed skin. My legs shifted, now intertwined. I made attempts at pressing my thighs together in order to help with my growing anticipation, but the hand that had been stroking my face so gently was now holding my left leg down, away from my right. A distressed noise escaped me and I tightened my grip on his hips.

He sucked greedily on my tender-skinned neck, leaving purple blotches and blemishes as if they were lovely, flowering leopard spots. Soft groans did leave his mouth every once in a while when my right knee hiked up and pressed against the bulge in his pants, but it was unfortunate that he merely shifted around whenever that happened. He liked to take things slow, apparently.

He lifted his head from my neck, unable to admire the many spots he left decorating my skin. It was too dark. He was almost angry, but then he remembered that he could only do this in good conscience when it was under the shadows' blankets.

The hand cupping my breast finally relinquished its hold, allowing the tender bust to bounce pleasantly into its resting position on my chest. It throbbed softly, showcasing just how much he had been toying with it.

"Are you ready?" He chuckled deeply, adjusting his position in a way that forced his knee overtop of my sprawled-out left leg, holding it down. Now, he had two free hands to work with here.

A pleasurable grunt left his mouth as he slid his thick jacket off of his already-sweating form. His skin was slick and, if there had been light to reveal him to me, I would have realized that his fair skin was glistening.

To my displeasure, he kept his pants on.

"I am." I pleaded, opening my eyes after their many minutes of having been closed. "I am, I so am." I continued, releasing my hold on his waist to instead grip the couch's cushions. I sounded pathetic, but he seemed to like it. I was genuinely enjoying this, after all. It wasn't often that I felt unbearably hot like this!

With my words of encouragement and affirmation, he dropped his hands to my top and gently began to remove the garment in the way he saw fit. It slid easily off of my form when I lifted my torso and raised my arms. He unclipped my bra and slid it, too, off of me. He wasn't a ripper, I noted. Thank goodness, I wouldn't be able to walk out of this place if he had been!

He lifted the knee that pressed against my trapped leg before he took both of his arms and slid them under my thighs. He lifted my bottom half up and proceeded to slide it into the hold of a single arm as he used his other hand to slide my bottom garment off.

I felt cold air immediately hit my burning pussy and I winced, beginning to squirm underneath him despite his arm holding me up.

I was surprised when he seemed to lean closer, however. His nose touched the tip of my heat and I felt addled. I didn't make a noise, my breath only caught in my throat. I heard him take in a deep breath-- similarly to how he had when he neared my neck-- before he began to press his tongue onto my pussy.

My eyes widened and my hands fumbled with nothing but air for a second before I caught my bearings and thrust them down onto his head. Palming his skull with both hands, I held him in place as I got a grip of myself.

"Wh- What are you doing?" I chuckled as a wobbly smile began to spread across my face. I asked the question despite knowing what answer was going to be returned.

"Pleasuring us." He responded, returning his tongue to his mouth as he was stopped by me. "Is that a problem?" His voice seemed to have an uncharacteristic hint of teasing and I grew anxious.

"It's no problem at all, Mystery Man." I breathed, head nearly spinning as I awaited what was to come. I relinquished my hold on his head, allowing my hands to drop down to the couch's bottom cushions. I felt him hover his face overtop of my now-heated nether regions, at a complete standstill.

He said nothing. Only, he stared forward. He still couldn't see anything and it was a tad frustrating, but he'd feel relieved soon and that was for certain. After his moment of contemplation, he dropped his head back down onto my pussy's throbbing muscles.

His mouth planted firmly on the warmth, not stopping to say a word of greeting. No tongue, no kiss-- he just began to suck. It truly felt like a slap in the face.

I squealed in both shock and delight as the contact was made. My free hands gripped the divots on the couch, allowing me some opportunity to release the tension that was spreading throughout my body.

As he tormented me by continuing to purse his lips into my pussy, I simply squirmed beneath him. At some point in my euphoric state, I had tossed my bare legs over his shoulders, allowing for proper positioning.

He had decided that it proved to be a perfect opportunity to hike me up further onto his torso and press my bare ass against his chest whilst he forced my shoulder blades into the couch's soft cushion, as if it was a better idea than simply allowing me to lie against the couch and rest while the joyous actions were administered.

And, well, he had decided right because this was amazing!

His jaw locked onto my throbbing heat effortlessly, as if he had done it a hundred times before and as a profession in-and-of itself! Finally, the long-awaited tongue began to slither its way out of his skilled mouth. It swiped across my heat, sending shivers down my spine despite the sweat that coated my skin.

He worked masterfully down below, adjusting my position in his arms every few minutes as he stormed to get me to release.

Suddenly, as he shifted my body to one side and held it up with a single arm, I felt a thick finger press into the little bundle of nerves that held immense pleasure buried within itself. My back arched when the force was applied, sending shocks down my spine.

My mouth opened in a silent scream and my eyes rolled upward when he began to rub at my sensitive bud and suck simultaneously. This was an experience I had never had before and it was sending me over the edge! I was folding for this random man on this random couch in this random home, dear Lord! I didn't currently follow any religion, but I might just have to make this guy my messiah!

I sputtered and made an effort to collect myself enough in order to speak when he said something out of the blue. "Let me hear you." He growled into me, sending a humming sensation into my sensitive organ. My mind buzzed, clearly taken aback by his thick, guttural voice.

Right after the words registered to me, my entire body relaxed for a moment despite my twitching legs and near-overstimulation. As he requested, I let out a long-drawn moan, soft and sensual. It was so genuine, I hardly knew what to think. I couldn't think, actually. He had stolen my breath, my voice, my thoughts--

If he was going to take all of those things, he should just take me, too, my mind hissed.

My lips suddenly parted when the finger pressing into my sensitive bud began to twist in circular motions, leaving me in a daze. My head dropped to the left, leaving my bruised, flushed cheek to press into the cushion comfortably.

Right when I began to think clearly again, I felt him rock my world. Literally, actually.

When he let out a moan of his own into my throbbing pussy, I felt myself release. It flooded out of me like a tidal wave, striking his face and leaving it gooey and slick.

I had made a mess of myself. Now, as he towered over my still-scrunched and hunched form, I blubbered something along the lines of an apology for having come all over his face.

A dribble of saliva snuck down my face, striking the couch. It wet my cheek, but I didn't even notice it. My legs were shaking and my hands were now roughly digging into his hair.

I don't remember putting those there, really. It just happened.

He didn't seem to have any complaints, though. All he did was gently settle my body back down beneath him, unraveling my legs. He pat my left thigh gently and chuckled.

If I could see him, I would have noticed the smirk that had sifted along his features as he swiped his pink tongue along his wet, soaked cheek. He licked up all of my liquid and I hadn't even known.

"Than.. Thank." I blabbed dopily, eyes half-lidded and mouth slightly parted in a half-smile. I felt so good in that moment, I hardly knew what to say other than a genuine 'thank you.'

He didn't speak for a moment. I felt him get off of the couch, but it didn't do much to snap me out of my stupor. I heard shuffling on a clothed form before a 'click' sounded out and garments fell to the ground with a 'ruffle' and a 'shuffle.'

Oh?

He had taken his clothes off!

I was wondering why he was taking so long to get back onto me. Why wasn't he on me? He should be... like, right in between my legs right now! Still wet, still slimy. Slip on in, big boy.

My mind raved and a bright grin spread across my face like hot butter on toast. This was exciting!

I hummed, straightening up on the couch. Now, I leaned back against the armrest semi-uncomfortably. He seemed to be taking off combat boots because the stomping and his incessant grunts were too much to have just been sandals or sneakers.

"Save the noise for when you're inside of me, Mystery Man." I snickered, wiping a stray tear from my eye. Looks like my high had lasting effects. Still, my legs felt numb and my tummy tingled. He was very good at what he did.

I didn't even realize that the name 'Mystery Man' was becoming a theme here. It was sticking. Before I could think about it, he had already spoken.

"There'll be plenty." He stated confidently as he rose back onto his feet and slipped onto the couch. I could hear the grin on his face when he said that and it made me even happier to be in the room with him right now.

"Ooookay." I drawled, slowly growing in anticipation. "I better hear it." I laughed, now in a seated position in front of his resting-on-knees position on the couch. I pressed my hands into his well-built chest, feeling around his bust, biceps, forearms, and... damn, his abdominal muscles. Abdominal muscles were just so phenomenal when on display. In this case, it was a touch-only display but it was just as good!

My fingers delved down more lowly, now tracing the indents that his v-line made. It was defined, but I wasn't really surprised at this point. This guy was ripped and it was easy to tell even in the dark.

I gulped, blinking longly. My breath held firm in my lungs whilst I collected myself and my nerves. If he was this big upfront, I couldn't help but wonder what he was like below deck.

I didn't have to wonder for long. After a little while of my little 'daydreaming,' he had taken his hands and placed them on my exposed ribcage. His fingers danced along my skin, sending pleasurable tingles all throughout my body. His touch was soft, similar to how one could imagine a cloud feeling on their skin.

My held breath is now released. It fanned out across his face, leading to a stint of hushed chuckles coming from my partner.

I got to work quickly, deciding that I had stalled enough. There was no need to imagine what it was going to be like if I could just experience it right here, right now.

My eyes pressed shut as my hands finally delved lower, pressing gently on the divot in his v-line as I reached the first little bushel of hair.

Faintly, I wondered what color it was, but I'd figure it out later if I ever did see what he looked like.

Actually, would I see what he looked like? Ever? What if, after this, I was simply cast aside? It made sense. I was just a street cat, after all. This was repayment for him saving me.

I scoffed inwardly, shaking my head. I was thinking too much. I can't get attached to this dick; it wasn't like he had a knot or anything!

At that thought, I laughed outwardly. It was a one-cough type of laugh where a bright, toothy smile crosses your face even when you try to stop it. My lips twitched and I rolled my eyes before thrusting my right hand down. I had grabbed hold of the tall shaft, now gripping it firmly.

Its girth was impressive and, from what I could tell as I gave it a quick stroke, it had some decent length on it, too.

When my hand adjusted its hold on the man's penis, I felt him visibly shudder.

"You don't have a lady's delicate hand pleasing you often, I could guess?" My voice came out rather accusatory and condescending; it was purposeful. But, my taunts didn't seem to work for his manhood got noticeably harder in my hand. I chuckled lowly, shaking my head. He didn't respond to my words coherently, so I merely shrugged it off.

I was still sitting upright and he, on his knees before me, was rather tall. His dick was the type to, when erect, stick straight out at a slight upward angle. I could feel a nearly-unnoticeable tilt, but I preferred it that way so it didn't bother me much.

His little imperfections made him even hotter.

I leaned forward, pressing my lips on his shaft. I kissed it lightly, eyes shut gently as I appreciated the chance to give him pleasure in return.

He had really rocked my world and I was going to do the same to him.

Well, that was what I was going to do before his hands which had been stroking my sides so gently suddenly grabbed me and pushed me down against the couch.

Like before, I was laid out across the couch with him nearly overtop of me. He shuffled backward, now positioned in between my slightly-spread legs.

"Fucking Hell!" I squealed, releasing my hold on his dick quickly. I clasped my hands together over my chest as they bounced and slapped against my skin. As they settled, I felt his hot breath fan over my already-abused neck. This guy did not seem worried about my curses or my scare, for he was already putting in the work.

Looks like he wasn't the type of guy that wanted a blowie.

His legs were positioned on either side of me. One of them was tossed over mine so that my legs stayed open for when I was growing too stimulated, I supposed excitedly.

I heard the sifting of skin-on-skin for the briefest of moments, hinting that he had been stroking himself overtop of me. When he was in between my legs, though, I didn't find that appreciative. He could pump inside of me, not outside.

I felt my pussy throb angrily, pulsing as if it had been stung by a bee or a wasp. I just wanted to feel that muscle lining my walls-- could he be any slower?

"Hurry up..." I whimpered, my voice growing low and anguished. I was nearly hurting beneath this man. Yearning for him.

At my plea, a long groan left him. With that, he was pressing his tip onto the edge of my slick folds. He rubbed his dick against it for a few long, arduous seconds, before finally slipping it inside of me. It was relatively easy considering how wet I was, but the stings produced from the stretching burned like fire. His foreplay was no joke; had he not prepared me so well, I likely would've torn in half. He was huge.

I rolled my hips lightly, adjusting to his impressive girth and pleasurable length. He slid himself further inside of me, now at his hilt.

"Fucking.. Shit, man." He murmured, voice mimicking a cracked growl.

I felt the air grow uncomfortably hot once again. While my skin had already been slicked with sweat, the air inside the room felt sweltering and muggy. It wasn't to say that this wasn't also sexy, erotic, and steamy, but damn, was it also everything I had never experienced before.

When I settled down, I felt the first of his movements inside of me. He rocked his hips back and forth slowly in the beginning, getting a feel for my gummy walls. As he moved, I throbbed overtop of his cock, tensing and loosening with every inch he delved inside or retreated outside.

It wasn't long before he began to quicken his pace, keen on striking every bit of me and pleasing me to my very core.

He was definitely getting a kick out of it, too, if one were to judge off of the many grunts, groans, and--

He hunched over with a loud, cracked moan as I finally wiggled my way out of his hold. I was able to pause his movements and wrap my legs around his hips, giving him better access to every part of me.

He worked his free hands around my body, placing one on my breast and the other on my hip in order to hold me up more comfortably. His fingers stroked and his hand twisted and tugged, palming me and enjoying me from both inside and out.

In addition to this, he craned his neck and began to bite at the skin of my neck, decorating it with more curious shapes and bites. Still, he fucked me relentlessly. The slapping of his ballsack on my ass and our breathing was really all that flooded our ears besides steam and blush.

Murmured words escaped my opened mouth. They were some things along the lines of him being the best I'd ever had or telling him to keep up the good work in one way or another. When he hurried his pace, I was unable to keep up my blubbered speech. My tongue lolled out of my mouth and my eyes rolled into the back of my head as he struck a particular spot deep within my walls.

I was blessed to have ended up in this man's apartment, it seemed.

I came all over his cock, soaking it to the bone with the sweet juice. A purr escaped my throat, half-gurgled on saliva that had collected inside of my mouth. I was drooling for this man.

And it was returned, apparently, because my neck was moistened by his saliva, too. He continued to pepper kisses and sigh pleasantly into my skin, leaving the occasional bite here and there.

Everywhere.

When I felt the familiar twitches of his fat cock that signaled he was beginning to unravel, I tugged at his hair with my hands, prompting him to lift his head and look in my direction. When his hot breath fanned over my face instead of my slick neck, I caught him in a breathless kiss.

He sighed into it, relaxing, even, but his pace quickened and grew more sloppy. His cock twitched and tensed moreso, warning him if his closeness.

"Shit. I'm gonna— fu..hck!" He grit his teeth, preparing himself to pull out right before his release, but my displeased growl urged him to stop.

Over his ragged breathing, I whimpered, "I— I can't get pregnant right now! Just.. oh, shi—t!" I clenched my eyes shut and wrapped my legs around his waist more tightly, pressing him further into me. "Just come inside of me!" I pleaded helplessly, hands now having-moved to his back in order to scratch at any type of handhold.

Apparently, those words were all of the encouragement that he needed in order to ruthlessly pound into me once again. Right as he moved his head to the side and bit down onto my neck, I felt his cock twitch one last time before torrents of his hot seed coated my insides.

His heavy body collapsed on top of mine when the last few drops of his semen spurt out of his dick and into my body. He didn't pull out, thankfully; I needed this contact. I needed to be full.

My fingers twitched as my own body began to relax. My arms quivered tiresomely as my grip on his flesh loosened. Slowly, I trailed my hands upward and into his damp hair. I tugged at a few locks, wishing he'd take the hint and stop biting me.

When he did finally release my skin, I caught his lips in a wet kiss once again. He no longer tasted like ash. It wasn't hard to guess what the metallic taste was— it was my blood. He had bitten down pretty hard, breaking skin, but the scratches lining his back were payment enough.

"Thank you." I grumbled into the kiss, rolling my hips into his from beneath him.

"For?" He returned sarcastically.

I assumed that he was joking. Maybe. He could've truly been confused as to whether I was referring to being saved by him or being fucked by him, but... I wasn't in the mood riddles or any type of thinking.

I pulled away and chuckled, stroking the back of his head. "For being here tonight and giving me this experience.”

He chuckled shortly and thrust into me roughly, providing no verbal response. He got his point across, though, when I felt him harden inside of me once again.

I'll save the thank-yous for after he's done with me, I suppose.

#smoker smut #one piece smoker x reader #x reader #reader insert #smoker #smut #one piece #roughfuck #bite kink #biting kink #fem reader

[thewritersaddictions]

First Kiss: Billy Hargrove- PassionFire

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Pov: Reader

Warnings: Talk of virginity, implied smut, 18+, First Kiss, talk of mean/abusive ex-boyfriend, helpful friend, sweet Billy, fluff, smoking. drinking, soft!Billy.

Summary: You’re hurt by your now ex-boyfriend when he breaks up with you for not giving up your virginity; Billy is more then willing to help

A/n- Fireflygraphics for dividers

WC- 2.5

Stranger Things Master List // The Adults Master List // Series Master List // First Kiss Master List

The tears hadn’t stopped, for hours I had been crying my eyes out. I knew why Jamie had broken up with me but I couldn’t really imagine why it was hitting me so hard. He and I had the talk about the fact that I wasn’t really comfortable with giving up my virginity, or truly anything that stripped my virginity away from me. Espically not when he was drunken mess from the lunch date earlier. 

Had I walked all the way to Billy’s house? Yes, I had walked all the way toward Billys. I hadn’t meant to just walk out of my house. Well maybe I had, my mind was clouded and I wasn’t able to think about anything other than needing someone, a shoulder to cry on. 

I had only ever been to Billy’s once or twice. Nothing more then to tutor him, a one off exchange between the both of us. I was tutor him once a month and he would help me with othe basic things. If I thought about it he was the one that introduced me to Jamie. I knocked on the front door only once, before i rang the doorbell. I could hear the rock music playing in the house at volumes I doubt his father or stepmother would allow. “What the hell do you…” The door had opened Billy was standing there. In nothing but an old beat up white tank top, and his signature jeans. 

“Y/n?” He questioend, he was aware of the tears I had running down my cheeks. Or tears that had stained my cheeks. “Billy I know that I’m here unannouced. I just didn’t know where else to go and Jamie he… well Jamie broke up with me.” I said in a ramble of mixed words. He kept his eyes on me for only a moment before the anger swept through his facial expressions. I had a quick moment of doubt, a moment of realizing my mistakes of trekking down to his house on Cherry Lane. “Billy… I’m sorry I think it will be better if I just leave.” I said hastily. Before I could turn to walk away he was grabbing my arm pulling into the warmth of the house. 

“Did you walk all the way here?” he asked his voice a little horse from what I would only guess he was trying to push down the anger. I only shook my head and then he was slamming his bedroom shut. His room smelt of cologne and smokes. Something that always had my head in a twist. “Why would you not just call me? You know I would come and get you?” He asked, to many questions and my own thoughts were cloding my already foggy brain. The bed was softer then I imagined it would be and it bounced as I moved on it. 

“Hello Mcfly? Are you there?” Billy asked waving his hand over my face. “Yeah I’m here. I just I’m sorry I need a second?” The words tumbled out of my mouth and the urge to cry was boiling over in the back of my throat. “Goddamn it Y/n.” Billy said throwing a punch into the air. “I’m sorry. Okay I’m sorry.” The tears had started to run again, I’m sure why or why I had even walked my sad ass all the way towards Billy’s. 

Billy hadn’t yet looked over at me up until that moment. “Fuck I’m sorry Y/n. I just don’t know how to deal with you know.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Of course the crying I forgot.” I said. I looked over at Billy for the first time. Looking at the sharpness of his jawline as he sat down beside me. I brushed the tears from under my eyes, and breathed hard. 

We sat in a cold and harass silence for a little to long. The room growing smaller as it more and more uncomfortable. I wondered where his parents where, and where was his witty red headed stepsister. I was dragged out of my thoughts when I heard Billy ask me a question. “So, if you don’t mind telling me what happened?” He asked, as he got up from the spot next to me and grabbed his smokes. 

Billy wasn’t always the most emotionally supportive friend or really a good friend at all. I had seen the small arguments that his father and Billy would get into. Things would be thrown, voices would get louder then normal, and punches would go flying normally hitting Billy in the chest, stomach or square in his perfect face. 

-

Did I mind telling Billy what had managed to happen. To have me to end up at his door on a random night. No, I honestly didn’t mind that’s why I had walked all the way here, to talk to someone about it. To let it go into the air and away from my over thinking mind, that was currently mualing it over. “I don’t mind Billy. Just promise you won’t go crazy on me?” I asked. I licked my chap lips, and looked over at him. He was ever so sightly taller then me. No matter if we were standing or sitting down. 

He sighed heavily, like my requests was a rather hard on to swallow down. “Yeah I promise.” He said exhaling a puff of smoke. So my story from earlier in the day began. “So I guess I should start earlier in the day right.” I said looking down at my hands. My fingers dancing between the fabric of my shirt and messing with my short nails. All I heard was a small hum for me to continue with my story. 

“Jamie and I had just gotten back from a lunch with his friends. You know the ones from the basketball team?” I asked, but continued on. “So we had gone and everything was okay. Jamie had picked me and was all gentlemen like. I don’t know how they managed it though, somehow where ever we went with Jamies friends they were able to get some sort of alcoholic drinks. I wasn’t sure of what kind, but I’m not a drinker. I never have been, so instead I watched as the boys and their girlfriends who were to prim and proper to know just how disgusting day drinking was. Drink and drink til their hearts were content.” I said, taking a slow breath, looking at Billy he was still interested in the story. 

“But a subject was brought up during lunch today. A topic that you don’t normally talk about in fucking public or with other people who aren;t in your relationship. Jamie had been asked how good of a fuck I was, and if I knew what I was doing.” I said, my words getting caught in the back of my throat. To be honest as I talked about it outloud the words seemed dirtier, and heavier then before. 

I shook my head and continued on with my my heart breaking story. “He laughed about it, telling everyone that I was prude, and didn’t ever really staisfed him at all.” I chortled, not that it was funny or a joke at all. Just sounded funnier now that I had time to think about his words and just how stupid of a guy he truly is. “Are you sure this is Jamie that you’re talking about? The same Jamie I know?” Billy asked me raised eyebrows in wonder. 

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, and please just let me finish and then I’ll get out of your hair.” I said with a huff before returning to my story. It wasn’t like there was much, beside the argument we had in the drive back to my house, and the argument we had before he broke up with me. There wasn’t much more to tell. 

“For the rest of that god for saken lunc hI sat in the uncomfortable silence of his friends girlfriends speaking about me like I wasn’t there and him and his friends laughing about the fact I was still a virgin. I hadn’t even kissed him yet.” I said. “We left not shortly after, and the car ride was horrible. I wasn’t able to hold it in any longer the anger boiling and finally tipping over the edge. I yelled at him as he drove me back to my house. He called me a prude once again and then a bitch for not just  giving him what he wanted.” I said my fingers twitching within my lap. Looking down at the carpeted floor. The stains from whatever Billy brought into his room had seeped into the flooring. 

And for the first time in the entire day I smiled. “The fighting didn’t stop, not even when he followed after me half drunk into my house. I tired to push him away but he wasn’y having any of that. So, he grabbed me tightly around the wrist.” I pushed my sleeve up showing the growing bruise that was caused because of his grasps. “I did try and get away Billy. I screamed at him to let me go and pushed him away, until his cold and dark eyes looked back at me and told me that he never not once in out entire relationshoped loved me, and that I was better off alone. The lost and little lamb that I was, was better off alone because nobody would want such a prude like me.”

It was silent for a moment before I started to speak again. “You know the rest Billy.” I said with a shurg of my shoulders. I was tired the crying, and screaming taking a lot of me. I sat there still, before I felt Billy’s rough hand touch over both of mine. “I knew I shouldn’t have shared you with my friends.” I heard Billy whisper out, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle into my skin. The touch was intimate for many a reason. But the most obvious one was the simple fact that Billy wasn’t one for touch, or any true sign of emotion. 

“Shared me?” I questioned. Shared me what the hell did that even mean? There was no pretending that the crush I had on Billy was ever going to go away. The crush had grown and been growing even through I was dating Jamie. “All of those damn guys are just pricks. Not to mention their dumb, dull girlfriends.” Billy said, his hand still resting into my mine. Thumb still rubbing soothing circles into my hand. 

“Yeah I get that, but what do you mean share me?l I was intrigued more about what the implications of his words meant, not by how his words made me wanna melt into his sheet. “Just be honest with me Billy. I’m a big girl and I can handle it.” I just for once tonight wanted the truth.whether it was cold and harsh or  made me feel giddy. I don’t know what was happening all around me. This felt like a hazy dream that I had dreamt a million times over. He deeply stared at me, a few whispys of his golden hair falling infront of his forehead. They were distracting me from another part of his handsome face. Those sky blue eyes that somehow pierce right into your heart. 

A heavy sigh left him before he composed himself. “I just mean that… you’re were my friend first ya know. I shouldn’t have let you out for the wolves.” Billy said. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, and the grip he had on my hand was getting stronger. “Billy? Please.” Was all I had left to say. The truth, please just the fucking truth that’s all I had been searching for all day long. 

“Fine, you want the truth don’t you. You can’t just leave it at the front door can you? Fuck,” Billy said voice growing deeper by the second. His eyes casted down to my bruised wrist. “I should have just kept you for myself. Treated you better than some asshole who clearly doesn’t doesn’t know who they have in their arms.” It was like pulling teeth with Billy to just get him to talk about the simplest emotions. 

I wanted to laugh, but that felt wrong. This must be a true joke right. Billy would never, never fall for the innocent, shy girl that was only his friend because he got something out of it. Right? “Now you’re tight lipped.” Billy commented as I had gone silent. I went to say something but things wer eswirling around in my head. “That’s okay. I get it, big bad Billy can’t help but like the girl that’s to cute for her own good. Who lets people walk all over hee. I should have protected you from an asshole like Jamie, but I thought that you would never. I mean never take a liking to me. I was a dick to… well to everyone. Maybe you alrady knew that, but then you still end up here at my doorstep. So, that must mean something right?” Billy rambled on. 

I was in shock for to many reasons at this point. Was he was rambling because he was letting his guard down, the millions of walls that he had built. He was still talking, but I wasn’t paying attention to the endless flow of words that were falling out. I was paying attention to how his tongue jutted out and licked over his lips. A shiny glaze making them glisten in the little light that he had. I didn’t know what was happening, not even after I started moving towards him. 

His hand was still on mine, so I leant in. “Billy.” I whispered. “Will you stop talking and just make up for the lost time.” I begged in barely a whisper. That signature smirk crossed over his rambling expressions. He reached me. A hand coming to cup the back of my neck as he leant down and pressed his lips against mine. 

The kind of kiss made me feel like the time around us had stopped. It wasn’t a kiss that I would ever be able to explain to my friends. It was like stars had aligned, and everything for just that one moment was perfect. Billy had taken my first kiss, and when we broke away from each other. That signature smirk hadn’t left his face, he was very cheeky. “How was that for a first kiss huh?” He asked. I rolled my eyes, “How about you ask me later. Like I said you have to make up for a lot of lost time.”

I winked at him, before going in for another deep and lustful kiss. This was going wherever it was supposed, without any further pushing on either of our parts. He pushed me down onto the mattress. His free hand roamed down my chest and found a spot on the side of my ribcage. Billy’s other hand stayed on my cheek, holding me closer than before. 

Completed on: 02/05/23

Posted on: 02/06/23

The Adults- @yourfavdummy

#billy hargrove one shot #billy harringrove #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x female reader #fem reader #female #virgin!reader #first kiss series #first kiss fic #fluff #abuse mention #tw young smoker

[the-fluff-piece]

hi !! could you do 20 - sexy - smoker !! i love him and never see enough of him :,)

Hello Anon,

I have to agree, we never see enough of him! And he is trying so hard with letting his tits hang out and being grumpy.

I hope this story is close to what you meant - unless you meant that you meet your ex together with Smoker,(I realize some prompts are not clear) in which case you can just write another request, I have ideas for that, too!

I know I am taking forever for the Event but I swear I will write every single story 🤩 eventually.

This is part of the milestone Follower event

Also check out my masterlist

Here's

I forgot I missed you

You're part of the Marine and serve in a different company than Smoker. Your relationship with him was short, bur surely memorable. Eventually, you ended it because he was so busy hunting the straw hat.

Now you're one big marine conference - and run into him!

Fuck, it's my ex - and he's smoking hot

Sometimes, a break up is the absolute logical thing to do - and you did it. You just couldn't remember why right at this moment. Smoker had you pinned underneath him on the couch of your hotel room, his mouth was greedily kissing your neck, sucking and licking at your skin as he moaned. His gloved hands were holding you, as if he could make you his again by keeping you in his arms. Doubt has taken you over as soon as his gaze fixated on you and demanded an answer.

You met again, the first time after the break up, on a marine conference on a beautiful island. Both you and him had to sit by the debates - and his eyes had devoured you the whole day.

When you went back to your room, he was behind you. You didn't mind, he would never hurt you, not even if he felt betrayed. You had hoped you could talk about everything, get some closure, but all he wanted to know was if you had a new guy. It had only taken a drink and Smoker's initiative to turn you into the panting puddle of goo that couldn't even remember her own name anymore.

There hasn't been anyone else - who could measure up to this man? Even now, looking down on his handsome face as his mouth was caressing your collarbone, you couldn't believe anyone could make you feel like this. His body was pressing down heavily on you and his deep grunts echoed in the small room.

"Why?" He asked again, propping himself up on one hand. Your mind could hardly process the question as he took your hand in his and began kissing it. "Missed you so much" He whispered into your palm. "It hurt so much" the obvious pain in his voice made you flinch and sucked you back into the moment.

"I missed you, too." You answered.

"Than why" his brown eyes looked at you, searching for a clue.

"I missed you all the time..." You told him, "even when we were a couple. You were always out, hunting. Always away. I never saw you. I was so tired of waiting." Your voice broke as you saw the shame in his eyes.

"I brought this over myself, didn't I." He conceded and kissed your forehead. "I just..I have my duties!" He tried to defended himself, knowing well that he hunted pirates with an obsession no one had ordered.

Enough talk, he would make this night count, somehow get you back.

"Just...one last time" He asked.

"One last time" You told him, knowing that both of you would never be satisfied. In that moment, you couldn't care less as he began to remind you again why you had agreed to a long distsnce, secret relstionship with a high-ranking officer. He was so controlled when he was the marine soldier Smoker, but when he was alone with you, he turned soft, hungry for your love and attention.

His longing was obvious in every touch and every word. It hurt you, too, that he'd be gone again, hunting pirates and saving the world, as soon as this conference was over.

The chaos of love, desire and longing turned to sadness the next morning when you watched him get ready for the day. It would be the last time you saw his muscular back as he got dressed, the last time to see him style his hair in the mirror. When he brushed his silver hair to the side he caught your gaze in the reflection and smiled at you.

"Don't look so upset" He told you kindly.

"Aren't you at least a bit sad? The conference ends today. Tonight we'll be on ships to opposite sides of the world." You answered, indeed upset at how relaxed he seemed. Did he overstate his feelings yesterday?

"Have faith" He said mysteriously as he threw on his jacket. He sat down next to you on the bed and removed his glove to touch your cheek with his fingertips and kiss you goodbye.

Faith in what? You wanted to ask him, but when he was this secretive from the beginning, he wouldn't talk.

You could barely hold yourself upright as you sat there, listening to the slow torture that was Kizaru's speech, fighting exhaustion. You barely slept. You could think of little else than how Smoker held you in his arms and told you he'd never let you go again.

Finally, after what felt like an endless day, the conference ended, everyone was flocking to their ships, ready to get home. You didn't even catch a glimpse of Smoker's white coat when all the officers made their way to their ships. Eventually, you also moved towards the docks were transport back to the east blue waited, when admiral Kizaru called you into his temporary Office.

He was a strange man who could supposedly kick with the speed of light - but talked like a snail on sleeping pills.

"Ah, Ms y/n, sit down, I have new orders for you. You are getting transfered" his mouth chewed out the words as if he had to think about every one of them very carefully.

"Sir?" You asked, confused. Why a transfer?

"Dear Ms, I am not sure what you did...." He sucked in air ridiculously slowly "but it was requested that you join..." He paused like a moderator reading the winner from a card, "the grand line's G-5." He ended and folded his hands.

"You're to report at dock 12 in 30 minutes. Dismissed." He turned back to his paperwork, signalling that you are to leave now.

Saluting, you left the room. The stress of having to talk to one of those admirals and on top to one who's speech pattern can only be described as nerve wrecking was driving your blood pressure up, making your ears ring.

You're getting transferred...to G-5?

As ordered, you sought out dock 12, where a ship of ragged looking men was waiting. They were wearing their uniforms far away from any regulation you knew and were infamous for their cruelty and bad behavior. It was strange to see a pink coat among them - Captain Tashigi was trying, and failing, to get them to load the ship according to standard procedure.

"No, not there! Don't throw that!" Her meek voice could not be heard among the general chatter and you only understood her as you got closer.

"Captain?" You made your presence known.

"Ah! Y/n!" She blushed and lost her composure entirely. She didn't work well with the knowledge about your connection to her direct superior and mentor.

"You uhm you came to see Smoker?" She asked, looking everywhere but in your eyes.

"Not exactly..." You tell as you hand her the slip with your new orders.

Her eyes went wide.

"Ah, our newest addition!" Smoker's booming voice could be heard clearly through the cacophony of screaming soldiers.

"Y/n will support our efforts with her skills" He informed an absolutely dysfunctional Tashigi.

"I trust that we will work well together" He announced in the most official tone - that was only betrayed by his wide, happy grin. A sight his men probably didn't see often, a few creates fell as they stared and tried to make sense of it all.

"Get back to work you lazy idiots!" He bellowed, immediately getting them under control.

"Let's get to marine base G-5, your new home" He said and and turned around, leading you up the ramp to the deck.

So I hope you liked it!

I am always happy about comments and likes and reblogs, they keep me motivated

#one piece fanfiction #one piece x you #smoker x y/n #smoker x you #smoker x reader #smoker op #op smoker #x you #fem reader #smoker x fem reader #odp follower event

[lambsouvlaki]

For the Hell of It - Smoke

Character: Jason Todd x civilian! Fem!oc

Rating and Warnings: SFW, cigarettes, discussion of addictions, discussion of bad parenting. Jason's perception of Bruce is questionable.

Word Count: 1,492

Summary: Jason and Andy drink too much and share a cigarette, then talk about their parents.

Masterlist

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The city was turning warm again. The balcony smelled of cigarette smoke and the potted rosemary plant that refused to die. Their empty beer bottles, more than Jason would normally indulge in, were lined up on the railing. The setting sun shone through the glass, throwing refracted green light over the two of them on their brittle old rattan chairs.  

“My dad thinks I’m his worst failure,” Jason said.

His mouth was set in a jagged scowl and his stomach churned with the anger that he had stewed in all day. The specific words Bruce had thrown at him on last night’s disaster of a patrol didn’t even matter anymore, what was a handful more thrown onto the towering pile? It was all the same. “Every time he looks at me, it’s all he sees.” 

Andy made an indignant noise in her throat. 

“Even my worst decisions, things that weren’t even directed at him, only count as his failures to self-flagellate over. And the good I’ve done doesn’t get tallied fucking anywhere at all.” He scoffed. He leaned his folded arms forward on the tiny outdoor table and his chin on his forearms, careful to avoid the burning cherry of his cigarette. “I may as well not be here. Could save us all the hassle and just write postcards of made up atrocities for him to agonise over.”

“Too easy,” Andy said, gazing with uncharacteristic coldness at the empty street her balcony faced. “If you can’t escape his disappointment, why should he get to escape yours?”

“I doubt he even cares if I’m disappointed. No, actually, I bet he prefers it that way. One more failure to nurse like a fine old whisky.”

Andy hummed. 

It was the first time he’d made any mention of his family without obfuscating. It felt good to let it out to someone who didn’t hold up the other parties in the farce of his life as unquestionable pillars of righteousness. To her Bruce was just another screw-up of a Dad. 

She hadn’t offered saccharine comforts or pity at his moping. Even the worst things he’d implied didn’t put dread in her eyes. 

“What about your mom?” she asked. 

“Dead. Both of them. I’ve got two of each.” 

“Huh.” 

He turned his thoughts forcibly towards Sheila. He wasn’t going to sully Catherine’s name by invoking her right now, stewing in misery and beer like he was.

“It’s funny. My birth mom hurt me more than Bruce ever did if you get technical about it, but somehow her apathy didn’t hurt near as much as his oh-so-dreadful regret.” He passed Andy the cigarette. “Still can’t fucking stand cigarette smoke though.”

“Me neither.” She took a long drag. 

He turned his head enough to look at her. 

“My mom said she didn’t smoke,” Andy said, smoke curling lazily out of her mouth. “Would swear her life on it. I’d have sworn it too, if anyone had asked, same for all her other lies. I worked so hard to make her love me.” She laughed: a hard, self-deprecating noise that was as foreign in her mouth as the smoke. “The perfect little girl for her to project onto. No wonder my brother thought I was insufferable.”

Jason snorted. He could see it, the leftover residue of that kind of relationship, the people-pleaser she must have been as a kid. Desperate to fit into whatever shape was asked of her. She was nothing like that now, and she never talked about family either. 

“The day I got arrested, I called her,” Andy said. “I didn’t have any friends left and I figured she’d know a lawyer, or just what to do in general.” A bitter smile cracked and twisted on her face. “She hung up on me. Last time we ever spoke.”

“What?” His brow creased.

“I looked her up on online the other month – my curiosity got the better of me,” she said in an embarrassed aside, not noticing his confusion, “And you do know what she’s done? She’s running a fake page for me. Apparently I’ve moved to silicon valley and achieved what was definitely my dream of becoming some kind of… of tech-genius business-woman. Her friends seem stupid enough to buy it.” 

He barked a horrified laugh, understanding at last. “I wondered what that was about.”

“You saw it?” she demanded, her eyes wide. “You didn’t say anything!”

He took a drag on the cigarette. He wasn’t about to let her know he monitored all online mentions of her name to make sure nobody tried to use their friendship against either of them. “I thought maybe it was a joke between you.”

“I suppose the photo edits are quite funny, in a desperately sad kind of way,” she conceded, grimly. “I hope her and imaginary Andy will be very happy together.”

“Do you?”

“Not really. Where does she get the gall?”

“Come on, nobody wants their failures looking back at them. Easier, nicer, to lie to yourself.”

“I kind of want to make a real account and go comment on her made up conversations. ‘That fuck is this, mom?’”

He hummed his approval. “Burn down the illusion, make her confront the truth, head on.”

“If I have to live this reality, so does she.”

The warm tide of alcohol in his veins kept the thoughts of vindication afloat longer than he would be proud of afterwards. He ducked his head as painful reality and old regrets of his own returned. He stubbed the cigarette out.

“Doesn’t feel as good as you think it will,” he said. “I suspected Bruce wished I’d just stayed dead. Can’t say I enjoy having it confirmed.”

Andy’s eyebrows rose, seconds before her face screwed up in anger. “Well fuck him.” 

His lips twitched. “Easy to say, right?”

Her head tipped back in her chair, looking very forlorn in the dying light. “Don’t go carving yourself open for narcissists. All they’ll see is the stain on the carpet. I should know this by now.” 

They fell quiet. Gotham was slowly swallowed by the oncoming night, shredded clouds rolling in from the sea hid the few stars stubborn enough to pierce the city smog. The cold was settling in too. It would be nicer indoors. 

The pack of smokes sat on the table between them, its lid closed. Andy’s fingers tapped the glass near it.

They had agreed they were only going to have the one. But technically they’d shared it, which meant they had only had half a smoke.

“You pick up smoking from her?” Jason asked. 

She shook her head. “St Marge’s.” St Margaret’s Penitentiary, Gotham’s low security women’s prison. “You?”

“Blackgate.”

Decidedly not low security. He wondered if she’d ask. She usually didn’t.

“Hn,” she said. 

She reached for the pack. A slender finger flipped the lid open. There were three left.

She scowled. Her fingers tapped the glass again in an idle staccato. 

“On the one hand, lighting up another would make my mom so, so angry, which is its own reward. But on the other…”

“Not her lungs,” he finished. “Do what you want. Fuck her.”

She sighed. “It is easy to say.”

They both eyed the packet. 

His throat was still tight and the frustration simmered in his chest. He swore he could remember every single time Bruce told him smoking reduced lung capacity and compromised stamina like he didn’t already know all that. As though Jason was delighted to have an addiction and had fallen back into it over and over again just for fun. 

He closed his fists and pulled his arms off the table. 

“Does my smoking remind you of your birth mom?” Andy asked suddenly. 

He blinked. “...Sometimes. You?”

“Yeah.” 

He winced. 

“So really…” she spoke slowly, as though she was testing the words for poison on their way out. “I’d be doing you a favour.” She tentatively flipped the lid shut again. 

He sat up straight. Well, if that was how it was. 

“No,” he decided. 

“No?”

“I’m doing you a favour.” He grabbed the pack and threw it off the balcony. He wasn’t going to be the reason Andy couldn’t quit. And like hell was he following in her useless mother’s footsteps and telling her to make a stand he couldn’t. 

She scoffed a laugh. “No, I think I get credit for that one. You’re welcome.”

He crossed his arms stubbornly. His throat still itched, and simmering frustration nagged at him. He dragged both hands through his hair. Next to him Andy took a fortifying breath. 

“Alright,” he said quietly.

“Alright.”

They got up, and went back inside. 

Next>>

#jason todd #red hood #dc #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x oc #jason todd x reader #red hood x oc #my fanfic #for the hell of it #slice of life #friends to lovers #i don't know why everyone paints jason as a casual smoker #surely if he's got a nicotine addition #he'd be mad about it

[captainfern]

You Know You're Right

Captain John Price x fem!reader

["You Know You're Right" by Nirvana]

[18+]

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• summary - an argument with your bodyguard ends a lot differently than you anticipated lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 6.6k • warnings - fem!reader, thick girl friendly ofc, bodyguard!price, protective/jealous!price, oral [f!receiving], angry!sex but not really, he calls you a slag once i'm so sorry but he doesn't mean it i swear, unprotected (obviously) piv, reader has a breeding kink but price is like babe chill, but he also has one, so uh yeah breeding kink (obviously), reader is on contraceptives tho x, dirty talk, praise, degradation, strong language, 99% porn 1% plot • also to note: reader is a wealthy woman in the english countryside. sorry to all my american cuties but you can be a sexy british heiress for a while x

and the uniform stays on 🙏

my contribution to @glitterypirateduck price writing challenge for this month. sorry for the lack of work recently. uni's a bitch. and sorry for any mistakes lol anyway enjoy x

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You don't know how long John Price had been your bodyguard for. You honestly couldn't recall the amount of days, weeks, months, years it had been since you had first met him.

Of course, you remember the day itself, the events, the moment you first met him. A crisp, autumnal morning with the trees around you alit with oranges and reds, and you stood on the front steps of your grand country estate as a couple of military-grade hummers pulled up in front of you.

You remember a few armed men spilling out onto your driveway, clutching M16's or AR15's or whatever the fuck they were because you weren't paying attention to them. You were paying attention to the man that followed behind them.

A man who, as the armed soldiers-of-sorts fanned out and scanned their surroundings, approached you with a warm smile that melted the early-morning chill from the air. With deep eyes that heated you more than the fuzzy housecoat you had bundled around you.

He offered his hand, and you shook it. His hand was warm too.

And the way he spoke– oh fuck, his voice. Flint striking steel and fire crackling from it's spark. A smoker. A man who, all so suddenly, sounded much too experienced to be the bodyguard of a wealthy woman in the English countryside.

"John Price," he had introduced. "S'a pleasure, miss."

You then smiled politely in return and introduced with your name. He chuckled lightly, commenting something along the lines of oh, I know who you are, miss which made your body grow even warmer.

You had looked up, ignoring the fact he was still holding your hand gently in his, and gestured to the three young men who were pacing around the front of your house, weapons drawn. "Will these gentlemen be staying with you for the entirety of your stay?"

He shook his head ruefully. "No, miss. They'll be gone within the hour. Just ensuring they know their way 'round in case they need to get here in a hurry."

You looked back down at him, arching a brow and finally removing your hand from his. He dropped his arm with a clearing of his throat, bringing his hands up to clutch the top of his vest.

"Will they need to get here in a hurry?" You challenged, almost jokingly, but John saw no joke. A joke about your safety is no joke he'd dear indulge in.

"No," he said sternly and quite quickly, you remember. "But it's just precautions. No, don't you worry, sweetheart. You're in safe hands. I assure you that."

Sweetheart.

Perhaps you remember the first meeting with John Price because it was the very first time he referred to you in such a way. Sweetheart. Now, a little over a year later, he still refers to you as such, but also–

"Morning, love. Sleep well?" He'd ask when you emerge from your bedroom in the morning.

Or,

"There she is. Rough night, pet?" He'd quip when you finally decide to show yourself about late-afternoon after a night out with your friends.

Or even,

"Need a hand with that, darling?" He'd offer when you found yourself struggling to carry the many shopping bags through the door.

Oftentimes, the way he spoke to you, the way he referred to you, was like you two had been married for years. And it wasn't only the way he spoke to you that had you going to bed giggling and kicking your feet like a girl with a crush.

Lingering touches and long hugs and kisses to the top of your head. John was always so warm and welcoming. His presence crackled like a fire in winter, lulling you to sleep or to a state of comfortability. If it was any other man, you wondered if you'd be weirded out by the closeness of him– but because it was John, everything just felt... right.

Riding horses in the springtime, and he'd assist you into the saddle with big hands running down your sides and legs, settling you onto your sturdy steed with a squeeze to your knee. He'd ride on a seperate horse if you wanted to canter through the forest; or he'd walk alongside yours if you were only taking a lazy stroll across the pastures.

Swimming in the summertime, and he'd smooth oils across your exposed skin. You'd revel in the way his large palms moved against you, such a strong man being so incredibly gentle. He'd watch you swim, his eyes occasionally darting up and around, before settling back on you again. He always declined to join you, angling that silly little boonie hat of his over his eyes to shield the sun's rays.

Keeping you warm in the wintertime, letting you snuggle up beneath furs and blankets on your couch while he chopped firewood outside, bringing the axe down again and again until he had enough kindling to keep the fire running for days to come. You'd watch him work up a sweat, muscles stretching and contracting beneath his shirt. Your entire body would flush with warmth.

But sometimes... sometimes the two of you didn't get along so well. And it wasn't your fault, you didn't think. You honestly found Captain John Price so confusing at times, especially now that the two of you had known each other for quite some time.

Partying with your friends, and you'd attract the attention of some poor man who didn't know what he was getting himself into. He'd smile at you, offer you drinks or a smoke or whatever you wanted, his hands beginning to wander as the music seemed to grow louder and louder and the colours around you blurred together. You'd laugh and dance and sing with your friends, this man actively engaging with you and–

It never lasted.

Price would swoop in. Sometimes before the stranger could offer you a drink, sometimes after. Sometimes the man never got the chance to even speak to you, with your bodyguard planting himself firmly in front of you and blocking your would-be pursuer.

You were never one to complain. After all, it was his job to protect you. But you didn't like when, after getting home in the early hours of the morning, he would roughly escort you to your room, ensure you wouldn't be sick, then leave without another word.

He'd be better by the morning.

And this became a cycle. A cycle of trying to combat the winds of a hurricane. Impossible, really. You just had to brace yourself.

But you were sick of bracing yourself. You were sick of getting fucking cock-blocked by your ex-military bodyguard. You were an absolutely gorgeous, rich woman living on her own in the countryside, and you fucking deserved to find someone. You, frankly, deserved to get fucked.

"I'm going out tonight," you told Price as you emerged from your bedroom. You were already dressed, looking impeccable as always.

Price lounged in one of the chaises positioned in the hallway outside your bedroom. He glanced up from his phone, glanced back down, and then did a double take. His eyes shot up again and he immediately pocketed his phone as he got to his feet, knees cracking with the speed of it all.

"I– you said you were just going out for a few drinks with friends?" He countered, eyes skimming up and down your frame. But not for any longer than a second, you don't think. Forever the gentleman, his eyes honed in on your face, his gaze already beginning to melt the icy facade you'd put in place.

But you steeled your nerves.

"I am," you said with a smile.

"You're going into the city? I'll have to organise a driver–" Price began, but you cut him off with a shake of your head. You didn't live too far from the main city, but it was still a significant drive for simply a few drinks.

"No, no, we're just popping into town," you said, referring to the small, quaint town less than five down the road. "Having a few drinks at the pub. Nothing big."

You and your friends were regulars at the pub. And John frowned. He knew that the other regulars– a group of men you'd become familiar with– would also be there.

You clocked his frown and your smile grew. "What's the matter, John? Am... Am I not allowed to go?"

He huffed. "No, you can go, but just let me–"

"Oh, no need," you said with a batter of your eyelashes. You told him you'd organise your own driver. "And you don't need to come. I'll only be a couple of hours."

John's jaw tensed, and you could see the muscles moving beneath his facial hair.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm coming."

Your smile faltered. "No, you're not. I'm fine, John. Have a break. If it makes you feel any better, I'll be back before midnight–"

"That doesn't make me feel better," John growled. "I... I have no problem with you going out, but I need to come with you. I– I am coming with you, end of story."

Your smile had disappeared completely now. You then looked him up and down. He was dressed how he usually did, even around the house. A suit complete with the trousers and white dress-shirt. But he wore his kevlar vest over top, and with a belt stocked with a couple of sidearms and ammunition, he didn't exactly look inconspicuous. At least he wasn't wearing his boonie hat.

"Price..." You began. "Please, just... I'll be fine, okay? Can you just let me do something on my own–?"

"No."

You frowned. "John–"

"It's my job to protect you, is it not?" He cocked his head, daring you to challenge him. "You hired me to protect you. You pay me to keep an eye on you since there are a couple of real fuckwits out there that would want to hurt you, right? So why the fuck would I let you leave here alone?"

He took a step forward, opening his arms in a gesture of so?

Your frown deepened. "I deserve some privacy, you know. I appreciate that you look out for me, but I want to be able to enjoy myself in public without..."

John waited, but urged a mocking, "Without...?"

You scoffed. "Without you hovering over me. I just want to... enjoy myself, okay? I want to meet people–"

"Oh," John suddenly said, and his tone was less of realisation, more of discovery. "I see."

You scowled. "What?"

"You want to get fucked, is that it?"

Your mouth dropped open. "I–"

"No, no, it's okay, sweetheart. It's okay," he tutted, shaking his head as you stood there, embarrassment suddenly festering in the pit of your stomach, as he appraised you like you were a whole new person. He sighed. "You want me gone so I don't stop the lads from flocking to you. Is that it? You want me to let you go out on your own so you can get one of those boys to fuck you?"

The shame in your stomach, pulling and pushing at your conscious, fizzled out and was instead replaced by a new flame of self-determination. You took a step closer to your bodyguard and jabbed a finger into the taut material of his tac vest.

"You have no right to tell me who I can and cannot fuck, got it? I can do what the fuck I want. I'm a grown woman, Price," you seethed. "Secondly, yeah, I might just get one of the guys at the pub to fuck me. I bet they would, you know. I bet he'd bend me over his knee and–"

"Stop talking," John rolled his eyes, and the gesture made you a whole lot angrier. But he continued before you could say anything else. "You're not going. You can throw a fit if that's what you want, but you're not going."

Throw a fit. You wanted to slap him for that. But you didn't. Even though you were growing angrier and angrier at the man before you, there was something inside your brain that prevented you from going that far. Maybe it was the fact that... seeing him so protective of you... made you feel...

You shook your head to send the thoughts away. You're meant to be angry at him, babe.

"Fuck you," you spat, since those were the only words that managed to come to the forefront of your mind.

He grunted. "Yeah, I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? Just a needy fuckin' slag looking for a quick fuck–"

You raised your hand to slap him. You wanted to strike your palm across his handsome face. A slag? Who the fuck does he think he is–

Price grabbed hold of your wrist before you got within inches of his cheek. And, quickly, you realised you'd made a huge mistake.

In seconds, he had your soft body pinned against the wall beside your bedroom door. He pinned you there with his body, hard and firm against yours, one large hand holding your wrist and nailing it to the wall, while the other grabbed your other wrist and held it by your side.

His face was close to yours. You could smell him. Rich oud, the warmth of some sort of spice note, expensive tobacco–

Your core fluttered.

Oh, fuck off–

Price shoved a knee between your legs, parting them and forcing a yelp from your throat at the way he dragged himself impossibly closer. The taut muscle of his thigh beneath you made you scream within your head, silently begging that the warmth of your clothed cunt didn't give anything away because-

You were fucked.

Fucked off, yes. Angry at him, yes.

But he was also turning you on in a way that no man has ever done before.

"D'you want'a try that again?" He whispered, the words ghosting across the heated skin of your face.

When you didn't respond right away, he pushed his knee up higher, shifting his hips closer to yours, humming out an impatient, "Hm?"

You shook your head.

"Didn't think so."

You frowned. "You're such an arsehole."

"I know," he said, words hushed. "But you fucking love it, don't you?"

The both of you paused. Breathing jaggedly, you looked at each other for what felt like an eternity, a storm passing between the two of you, complete with the crackling of thunder. You could feel him breathing against you, and you willed yourself not to look down at where your bodies were flushed together. Instead, you remained calm.

You watched the way his eyes darted across your face. How they lingered on the curves of your cheeks, or the part between your lips. His eyes scanned over your nose, your eyes, your everything. You could almost hear his brain trying to keep up.

You could feel your core growing warmer and warmer, arousal pooling and no doubt tangible. Without a doubt he could feel it against the material of his trousers, soaking through to his thigh. It was already drenching your underwear, and probably ruining his suit.

God, you loved him in a suit.

"What are you waiting for?" You whispered your challenge, suddenly overwhelmed by the heat between you.

Price groaned and he released his hold on your wrists. Instead, he grabbed the fat just above your hip in one hand and wrapped the other around your jaw, before he was pushing forward and slamming his mouth to yours.

•º•º•

John Price didn't know how long it had been since he fell in love with you. He honestly couldn't recall the number of days, weeks, months, years it had been since the moment he first saw you.

But of course he remembers what the day was like– how beautiful and welcoming and soft you looked, bundled in your expensive housecoat with a sliver of your leg exposed to the chilly autumn breeze. He remembers the bright smile, tired but bright, you had offered him as he walked up to you and extended his hand. He remembers the way your hand felt within his, and how he didn't want to let go.

He remembers how his heart lurched in his chest when you introduced yourself, and he recalls feeling nothing but sincerity for the fact a pretty woman like you needed to be protected by someone like him. Oh, but how gorgeous you looked when you thanked him for his service. The almost-guiltiness didn't last for long.

You were always so sweet to him. Even when he put you in your place, told you what you could and couldn't do for your own safety. You were constantly being kind to him. Respectful and polite and understanding.

You were such a good girl.

And as the days passed, as they blurred into weeks and months and finally a year-ish together, you got all the more sweeter. But–

But you now knew him. You knew what made him tick. You knew exactly what to do to get your way. Saunter through your home with a pretty, coy smile and a soft hand on his bicep and of course, sweetheart, we can go into the city today. Or a well-cooked meal of his favourite food, paired with a pint if you really wanted to get into his good books, and okay then, love, I'll call your driver to take us.

You knew how to deal with him. And he let you, of course.

But as the months went by, Price couldn't help but grow resentful. His pretty girl, being chatted up by some absolute mingers in a big-city nightclub. Or maybe even the village idiots down at the local pub. How dare they?

He found himself growing more annoyed that they approached you, instead of worried that they could cause you harm. Sure, they were still a threat, and Price was doing his job. But also, also, they were encroaching on what was his. What belonged to him.

His good girl.

And he supposed he should have seen this coming– an argument bubbling up and over about it all. About how he was always there when you just wanted to socialise and have a good time. How he was always turning guys away from you. It wasn't fear, and John understood that. But he was firm in his thinking– you were his.

Oh fuck, you even looked gorgeous when you were angry at him. When you were spitting and hissing like a feral cat, and even with your claws unsheathed and swinging right towards his face, he found you to be the most ethereal being on the planet.

His pretty girl.

He didn't mean to call you a slag. Of course he didn't mean it. His anger conjuring into stupid fucking words that he couldn't keep hidden in his head. And even then his anger wasn't to you, but to the local fuckwits who haunted the village pub in the hopes of spending time with you.

Delusional cunts.

When John caught your wrist and pinned you to the wall outside your bedroom, he didn't mean to escalate things. He was angry at himself, angry for saying such filth to you. But then–

But then he felt it. His heart hammering wildly against his ribcage and your chest rising and falling rapidly. He felt the way you squirmed against him, how you arched off the wall and how your barely clothed pussy seemed to throb against the muscle of his thigh. He could feel your warmth through his trousers, feel your need.

His needy girl.

And he was more than happy to indulge you. Hell, he was more than happy to indulge himself.

•º•º•

John's mouth on yours was hot. Liquid heat passing between you, sparks flying as he pulled you closer by the hand on your jaw. He split your lips with his tongue, pushing inside with just as much strength as you anticipated. His lips against yours smeared your gloss, sticky and sweet, mixing with the spit that threatened to drip as he licked into your mouth again and again, chasing the taste of you.

You moaned into it, eyes shut and hands wrapping around his neck. Fingers delved into his hair, tugging and pulling and angling his head to get yourself closer. He groaned in response, pushing his pelvis closer to yours, and you could feel him growing in his suit trousers.

Then, you began to move. You followed him blindly, your eyes still closed as you attempted to keep up with the languid rhythm of his tongue. He licked at your teeth, your tongue, your lips, committing your taste to memory.

You'd never been kissed like this before.

You were walking backwards, guided by Price's large hands. He had two hands on your waist now, holding you flush to him as he slowly edged you back, back, back until the backs of your legs bumped into something. Your bed.

You broke the kiss, surprised, and turned your head to the side to see that yeah, he'd navigated you both back into the warm, lovely-smelling oasis of your bedroom. As you looked to the side, your bodyguard continued his mission, dragging his lips along your jaw and then latching his mouth onto your neck.

He groaned, tasting more of you. He'd imagined what you'd taste like, imagined the saltiness of your skin his lips. He now knew what your mouth tasted like. All was left now was–

John forced himself away, grumbling to himself and gently pushing you back onto the bed and into a sitting position. You smiled up at him, and he shifted to stand between your parted legs, cupping your face in two hands. He bent down to place one last kiss to your lips, before slowly– with cracking knees and a shallow grunt of effort– he lowered himself to his knees.

His hands dragged down your body. They rolled over your shoulders and arms, skimming lightly over the curves of your breasts and stomach, running over the fat of your hips and thighs. When his knees hit the, thankfully carpeted, floor, he gripped your knees and gave you a couple of comforting squeezes.

"Alright, sweetheart?" He asked, voice husky and full of yen– desire and longing mirrored in his eyes.

His eyes on you, his hands dragged back up your thighs and to where your skirt sat bunched a few inches below your hips. He pinched the fabric, toying with it while waiting for your response.

You nodded at him. "M'alright."

"Can..." He dropped his eyes for just a second to look at your skirt, before raising them again. "Can I take this off, please?"

You nodded again, followed by a whispered yes, please. You then raised your hips for him to pull the fabric down and away from you, shuffling back to rip it down your legs and fling it across the room. You giggled at his enthusiasm as he returned to his original position.

Price groaned low in his throat and leaned forward, holding your thighs apart. Your underwear still on, he pressed his face against you, his beard tickling the softest part of your inner thighs. His nose pressed onto your clit, his lips placing a kiss to your clothed core. This forced a moan from your throat, and you gripped your duvet for some kind of stability.

He kissed at the patch of arousal that had bled through during your altercation in the hallway, his nose nudging against your clit as he decided to swipe his tongue against you. He groaned and you keened, a high pitched mewl, your legs twitching either side of his head.

"Pretty girl..." He whispered, the rumble hitting your clit and making you mewl out again.

He kissed at your clothed cunt again, tongue smoothing along the thin cotton fabric until the entire area was wet with his spit and your arousal. Your legs twitched beside him, pleasure sitting fuzzy in the base of your tummy, and you wondered– no, you knew that he could probably make you come in your fucking underwear.

But he didn't. Whether you were thankful for that or not, you weren't entirely sure. But he eventually, and rather torturously, pulled away for long enough to pull your underwear down your legs. He let it fling from your ankles, not caring where it landed, before he was pushing back between your legs once more.

This time, he licked a fat stripe up your cunt before latching his mouth to your clit and sucking. You cried out, a hand shooting down to grab hold of his hair, fisting it tightly as he laved his tongue over you. His mouth was hot, burning at your core, but your body had now been set alight– the flame of pleasure coursing through your veins, heating your body. Your legs trembled now, thighs flexing either side of his head, his facial hair scratching and tickling you all at once.

John's movements were quick. Quicker than you expected. He seemed desperate for it as he licked back down your cunt and stuffed his tongue into your hole– in and out, in and out– before curling and repeating the process. You moaned at his well-timed movements, never leaving you dissatisfied or overstimulated in the slightest. Price was amazing.

He kneaded the fat of your thighs as he ate you out, enjoying the softness of you around his head. His cock was hard and leaking in his trousers, and one of the reasons he wanted you to quickly come on his tongue was so that he didn't bust a fat load in his fucking briefs. He couldn't handle that today. Not when he'd been waiting so long to have you.

"John," you moaned, stretching the syllables. Your hips bucked, his nose catching your puffy clit. You ground against him, moans bubbling from your throat as you tossed your head back. You rode his face, locking your ankles together at his back and anchoring yourself with one hand on the bed and the other in his hair.

He moaned in response, eyes on the way your body writhed above him. He loved the way you bucked up, wriggling in search of your coming high. Fuck, you looked gorgeous.

John screwed his eyes shut and focused on curling his tongue in and out of your sopping hole. He felt his cock twitch. If he looked at you again, he was sure he'd come.

You moaned sweetly above him, orgasm building tight in the base of your tummy. You continued rocking your hips, the mattress creaking quietly beneath you. But the sounds from your mouth, coupled with the wetness of Price's mouth on your pussy, was all that rang true in your ears.

"John, fuck– oh fuck, please–" You mewled, edging on a whine. Desperation was creeping in. You hurtled towards your high.

Then, you felt deep vibrations rock through your core (unbeknownst to you, John had mumbled a that's it, come for me, baby against your hole). The band of pleasure inside you snapped, and with one last push of your cunt into his face, you came.

You moaned John's name, head still tossed back as pleasure fizzled through you. Your thighs clamped down on either side of his head, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you came on his tongue. John happily buried himself deeper into your heat, tongue licking you slowly through your orgasm.

He had looked up, chanced it, and watched you come. He managed to hold on and not come in his briefs, but he could feel the front of them growing tacky with his precum.

A few moments later, ensuring your orgasm had been well wrung from your beautiful body, John withdrew from your cunt. He unbound himself from your legs and got to his feet as you blinked up at him, dazed and fuzzy.

"Feeling good, sweetheart?" John asked, gently and carefully guiding you further up the bed. You crawled with him until your head hit the pillows at the top of the bed and John knelt between your legs, his hands rubbing circles over your bare thighs.

"Yeah... good..." You replied lazily, eyes dropping down to where you could see John's cock straining in his trousers. The sight made you moan, and you attempted to sat up, but Price stopped you.

"Hold on, sweetheart..." He murmured, placing a kiss to the top of your head before helping you out of your top. In companionable silence, he discarded the garment and went to work unclipping your bra, letting your breasts spill out as he discarded that too.

He groaned, happily to himself, reaching forward to roll one of your pebbling nipples between his fingers, his other hand groping the opposite breast.

"Fuckin' beautiful..." He muttered, and then leaned forward to kiss you.

You tasted yourself on him as he guided you back down. A soft tang, a subtle sweetness in his saliva. You moaned, fingers once again moving to card through his hair and stroke the back of his neck, just above his shirt collar.

While you kissed, Price slipped one hand between you and unbuckled his belt. He let the belt hang open while he deftly unbuttoned his trousers and peeled them open just enough for him to reach into his briefs and pull his cock out. He hissed into the kiss, his hand on his own achingly hard cock causing pre to dribble down his shaft.

"Fuck..." He muttered into your mouth, and you pulled back, shifting to look between you. The image of your bodyguard still dressed in his uniform, but with his thick cock hanging out, was a sight to behold. You moaned, hips bucking involuntarily, the heat of your cunt coming within centimetres of the head of his cock.

Price moaned loudly, immediately dropping his hand to fist the base of himself while positioning his hips against yours. He ran the leaking tip, ruddy and flushed red from his arousal, through your soaked folds. At the same time, you both moaned.

"Oh my god," you breathed, still looking down. Price, eyes on your cunt, continued to smear pre along your slit, running his cockhead up and down, revelling in the way your arousal leaked around him.

"S'alright, pretty girl..." He uttered, not looking up from where he circled his tip around your hole. "S'alright... I'll make you feel good. I'll make you feel good." Then, he finally looked up, eyes boring into yours. You felt your stomach flip as he smiled warmly. "That's what you need, isn't it, sweetheart?"

His words dripped mirth. You whined, knowing where he was going with this.

"Just so desperate for some cock, s'that it? S'that what's got you all riled up?" John poked fun at you, referencing your argument beforehand.

You gave in and nodded, shifting your hips and catching the tip of his cock against your entrance. It made both you and Price release sounds of pleasure, but he held strong, gripping himself at the base and pulling his cock away an inch.

"Use your words," he instructed, voice husky, ash-laced. "Use your fucking words, love. Tell me how desperate you are for my cock. How much of a fucking whore you are for it."

The unexpected degradation punched a moan from your lungs. You babbled, "Y-yeah, fuck– need your cock so bad, John, please."

"Yeah?" Price teased, running the head of his cock up and down your folds again. "You need this cock?"

He pushed the head of his cock into your hole, and you moaned, arching your back. But he stopped there, the flared tip of him laying dormant inside. Your cunt fluttered around him, arousal leaking down the curve of your arse. You whimpered, attempting to push your lips down onto him, but a firm swat to your thigh had you pausing in place.

"S'this the cock you need?" Price asked, voice dark. "Or 're you wanting t'get fucked by some stranger? Want one of the lads down at the pub to fuck this tight cunt? Eh, sweetheart? That's right, isn't it? Actin' like a fuckin' slut lookin' for a quick fuck–"

"No, no, no, please–" You said quickly, trying not to get distracted by the way Price's accent was strengthening as your cunt fluttered around his cockhead. "S'only you! Need you, John, please. Only need you 'n– fuck, only need your cock."

Price growled, pleased, having itched that jealous spot inside him. That's right, that's what he wanted to hear.

His good girl.

"That's fuckin' right, baby. Good girl–" John pulled out and then pushed back in, slowly parting your walls for the girth of his cock. You moaned and he leaned forward to kiss you, being as gentle as he could while splitting you open. He murmured against your lips, "That's a good girl. Yeah, that's it, sweetheart. Doin' so well..."

The buckle of his belt clinked as John picked up his thrusts, stretching you apart on his cock. You could feel the bunched fabric of his trousers and briefs against you with each of his thrusts, and when he curled over you to kiss you, the feeling of his dress shirt and tac vest against your bare chest had a shiver rippling through you.

He kissed you hard, just as he had done in the hallway. This time, a bit of saliva did escape your mouth, rolling from the corner as you parted your mouth to moan, Price's tongue licking over your lower lip as the head of his cock punched up against the base of your cervix.

Just like everything else about him, the sex was hot. Price radiated warmth. The space between your bodies was heating up, and you could feel the light sheen of sweat covering your skin. Beneath his beard, Price's cheeks began to burn read, a bead of sweat trickling from his hairline. His hips moved quickly, but with precision, shunting you deeper and deeper into the mattress, making it squeak and groan.

His cock hit all the right places, too. Your walls hugged him, tight and hot and wet as he plunged up against your womb. John could feel you squeezing him. Feel the sheer hold you had on him, physically and otherwise. He grunted and groaned to himself, his balls already beginning to tighten, his lower back starting to strain from the effort.

"John..." You whined, second orgasm already fast approaching. You felt yourself beginning to tighten up again, your muscles pulling taut as the band of pleasure in the base of your abdomen began to expand. The drive of Price's cock was pulling it further and further. You were so close.

And when you were this close, John always seemed to know what to say and do to push you off the precipice.

Expertly, your bodyguard moved his arm downwards to press a couple of fingers to your puffy clit, rolling it beneath with a gentle stroke. He drew gentle circles that made you spasm beneath him, a panting moan filtering from your parted, spit-covered lips.

He continued the drive of his hips, cock hitting the best spot inside you. Bursts of light, of pleasure, appeared behind your fluttering eyelids, the intensity of it all making it hard for you to keep your eyes open. But you did– you forced your eyes open, lids drooping. You locked eyes with Price, and he smiled down at you in a way that was probably meant to be comforting, but it only turned you on more.

"My sweet girl, just look at you," Price cooed, still slamming into you. "So gorgeous. Such a pretty girl, an' you look even prettier getting stuffed with my cock, don't you?"

You nodded, delirious now. You wanted nothing more than for him to come inside you and–

The thought made you moan loudly.

He chuckled. "S'that right?"

"John, fuck–" you moaned out. "Fuck, please–"

Come inside me, you wanted to beg him, but the tip of his cock at the plug of your womb and his fingers on your clit had your vision whiting out as the band in your stomach snapped again.

You came hard. Legs locked around his waist, the fat of your thighs and stomach rippling with his strong movements, you came. Arousal gushed out around his cock, the sensation forcing an unexpected whimper from you. The slick walls of your cunt clutched the girth of him, squeezing with each fluttering pulse of your erratic heartbeat. Fuzzy pleasure washed over you and, just like with his mouth, he stroked your clit through your orgasm and stopped right at the brink of overstimulation.

But you gained no mercy after coming.

John redoubled his efforts. With two strong arms either side of you, he rutted into you with renewed energy, now chasing his own high. His balls, almost painful at this point, smacked against the plush curve of your arse, with the head of his cock leaking inside you.

Oh fuck, he wasn't wearing a condom.

He knew you were on contraceptives. Of course. He knew almost everything about you now. But the thought–

"John–!" You all but sobbed, wriggling beneath him, becoming impatient. Not because you wanted it to end, but because you wanted him to end inside you. "John, please come inside me."

"Fucking hell," he grit out between clenched teeth, teetering on the edge of collapse.

Stuffing you full of him. Coming right up against your cervix, flooding your womb. Filling you out, watching you grow fat with his kid. Laying claim to you, how you were truly his. His pretty girl. His good girl.

Not today.

But the thought alone had Price coming.

"F-fuck, take it, sweetheart, jus'– fuckin good girl, take my cum, baby–" Price muttered, pumping his hips as he came. He filled you with the same kind of warmth he radiated. Comfort and security, maybe.

You moaned quietly once Price'd emptied himself inside of you, and you relaxed your legs so he could flop to the side. Cock still inside you, softening just a bit, Price curled you into him, his face resting in the crook of your neck, your legs entangled.

The two of you caught your breaths, breathing in each other's scent and the pungency of sex. Your eyes opened and closed lazily, the heat of Price's body lulling you to sleep. But you forced your eyes open when Price pulled back– only to change positions. His suit rustled as he pulled you in against him, and you wished you could run your fingers through the hair on his toned chest.

After a little while, you felt Price kiss the top of your head.

"Feeling alright, love?" He asked, and the sincerity in his voice had butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

"Yeah," you replied. "More than alright. I... thank you."

"Thank you," Price said, nuzzling into the top of your head.

•º•º•

The two of you basked in each others company for what seemed like hours before a buzzing broke the haze of whatever dream you were living. Peeling yourself away from Price for a moment, you reached over to your discarded purse and fished your phone out, finding it alight with missed calls and messages from your friends.

You almost felt guiltly.

"Cancel," John grumbled below you, seemingly already knowing what you were looking at. "You're not going out tonight, are you?"

"No, 'm not feeling up to it," you said, smiling.

John, burying himself into the crook of your neck once more, arms wrapped securely around you, smiled too.

•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•º•

this was the first long-ish fic i've written in a while so forgive me if it wasn't my usual best lolol. anyway thank you for reading and make sure to go check out the other @glitterypirateduck submissions for this writing challenge

lots of luv <3

#captainfern #captain john price #john price call of duty #price smut #captain john price x female reader #captain price smut #captain john price smut #captain john price x you #price call of duty #call of duty #cod smut #captain'snirvana

[rebelfell]

writing about going to the gym instead of actually going still counts…right? 2k 18+, MDNI

eddie munson x fem!reader (implied plus-size)

The gym at Eddie’s new apartment complex wasn’t so bad. 

It had just undergone a big renovation by the time he moved in, so it still smelled faintly of paint and some of the machines had that protective plastic film over the monitors. It was on the small side, but had enough room for a row of treadmills and ellipticals that faced a big window, looking out on the grassy knoll of the courtyard behind the leasing office. 

Eddie never went on them, though. He was mostly there for the weights, following the regime Steve had put him on a couple months prior. It wasn’t as rigorous as the one his friend followed, but it was demanding enough that Eddie needed an occasional break, elbows resting on his knees as he tried to catch his breath and pushed sweaty tendrils of hair from his face.

His shirt was old and ratty with the cutoff sleeves and drooping armholes stretched far beyond their natural elasticity. Truthfully, it did make him look a little douchey. But he also kind of liked the way it showed off his arms, the edges of the tattoos on his ribcage, the tops of his obliques.  

Especially now that he actually has obliques.

He’s not yet worked his way up to the full-blown gym-bro attire Steve wears when he’s posting his little thirst traps all over Instagram. The videos are the worst—him planking shirtless or flexing his biceps as he curls a weight or swinging weird giant ropes with his arms.

Eddie’s only filmed himself lifting a few times now. Partly because Steve keeps demanding he send him videos so he can “check his form” but also because…he just looks good, okay? 

He never dreamed he’d be the type. Aside from a (very) brief skateboarding phase, his main source of exercise when he was growing up was running from local law enforcement. 

Now here he was lifting three days a week, considering adding a fourth.

He was still slacking on cardio—the smoker’s lung capacity really hindered him there. But Steve had suggested they try boxing, and a free pass to hit Harrington certainly held some appeal…

Eddie found he actually kind of liked the gym now. It was quiet and peaceful. It gave him an hour or so to turn his brain off and focus on nothing but counting sets or reps. He felt good when he walked back to his place a little sweaty and sore, feeling like he’d done something.

And he liked it especially when you showed up.

He’d seen you a few times around already, mostly walking with your dog. Or dogs, rather. By his count there were a couple different ones. 

There was a Corgi who would stomp his stubby little legs like he was mad at the concrete; and a border collie you liked to take to the dog park and toss a frisbee for him to catch; and an elderly chihuahua he often saw you lift into your arms and carry for the end of his walk when he grew tired and looked up at you sadly with those big, pleading eyes. You were powerless.

Spotting you out and about whenever Eddie was going to get his mail, or taking a walk to stretch his legs after sitting at his computer too long, catching a glimpse of you from his balcony when he sat out there in the morning or evening, had started to become the highlight of his day.

He still had yet to, you know, talk to you.

If he ever had the fortune of walking past while you were out, his words immediately failed. And he couldn’t even count now the number of times he’d walked past the dog park while you were there and wished desperately he had a dog just so he had an excuse to go in and talk to you.

He wondered, regretfully, if you could tell he was a cat guy just seeing the smattering of light hairs all his black clothes attracted like a magnet.

But now you were here. Physically present in the same room as him. Close enough for him to reach out and wrap his hands around you. Looking so fucking delectable in your workout clothes.

Your shape was mostly concealed by a baggy hoodie that just barely covered the roundness of your ass and skimmed the tops of your thick thighs—both of which were only accentuated by the tightness of your black Lycra shorts.

He might have dredged up the nerve to finally say something—even a meekly muttered “hi” would have been an improvement on the nothing he’d been slinging. But your headphones were resting snugly over your ears and he generally took that as a firm sign not to bother people.

They were nice ones, he noted. Not a pair of the obscenely expensive Apple ones Steve liked to wax poetically about, but you’d probably sunk a decent amount into them for the sound quality.

 Or maybe they were a gift from your boyfriend, Eddie thought bitterly.

You smiled at him as you passed, giving a little wave that almost made him drop the weight in his hand. Honestly, a broken toe would have been worth it. He tries not to ogle you, honest he does. But he can see you in the mirror as you step up onto the treadmill directly behind him, despite every single one of them being free. All he has to do is tip his head slightly to the side and his view is pristine. He won’t stare, though.

He won’t, he won’t, he won’t.

At least not anymore…

He did his best to concentrate on his workout as you got yourself situated. Absently, he wondered if you were here because you thought you needed to be, and he really hoped that wasn’t the case. Because from where he was sitting, there wasn’t a goddamn thing on your body that needed any improvement.

You don’t seem to be taking it too seriously, though. Starting out at a slow walk, flicking through your phone to choose your music as you amble along. Eventually you must settle on something and set it down before you start to hike up the incline on your machine. 

He figures out pretty quickly you're doing one of those “strut” workouts he’s seen floating around, where you increase your speed with the switch of each song.

Except you’re doing more than strutting—you’re performing.

It’s subtle at first. You start out simply walking at a steady pace, but then he catches a couple motions of your arms, a few flips of your head that send your hair flying. In the reflection of your face on the window he can see you’re lip syncing along to the song, your closed fist becoming a microphone for what looks like a long belt.

He bites back his own smile as he watches you, his eyes drawn to your shape in the mirror over and over. It makes him forget what rep he’s on every time, his workout little more than a charade at this point.

As your pace increases, your breathing gets harder and sweat starts to slicken your brow. You pause just long enough to pull off your sweatshirt and drape it over the guard rail. It drags up the bottom of your shirt, revealing a flash of your bare back that sends Eddie reeling. 

He can’t help but imagine himself flush behind you, kissing down the delicate curve of your spine, gripping desperately at the meat of your hips and ass, molding them with his hands as he thrusts with abandon and the fronts of his thighs slap wet against the backs of yours. He would beg you to let him go down on you just like this—breathing in the smell of your musk and sweat, tugging down those shorts to bury his face between your thighs until they were trembling like his did on leg day, brushing off your complaints about being too gross or dirty.

He’d show you what dirty really was. 

Eddie jolts as the dumbbell he’s holding slips from his clammy palm and he just barely moves his foot in time. It hits the ground with a dull thud, but if you notice you don’t give any indication.

Ears buzzing now, shame radiating at the back of his neck, he set the weight back on the rack and dropped to the floor, twisting into something resembling a yoga pose he saw Nancy post once. The temptation to get on the treadmill next to you is so strong, but he’s afraid it might make you too self-conscious to keep going with your little show.

Plus, he’d probably end up tripping over his own feet and face planting on the machine. Kinda tough to put the moves on a girl when you’ve got a smashed face that’s bleeding like a faucet.

Instead, he drags out his stretching, hoping he can time it right so it won’t seem too weird if he leaves the same time you do. He’s already stayed longer than he normally does, but the promise of finally getting to talk to you is too enticing.

If he was a smarter man, he might have tried thinking of something to actually say if he got the chance, but that’s a whole other issue. 

At last, the machine you’re on started to whirr as you lowered the incline to normal and slowed the speed of the belt until it stops completely. Eddie’s chest heaves as he watches, his pulse racing so fast it’s probably going to trigger the smartwatch on his wrist. You catch his eye in the mirror as you wipe down your machine with a disinfectant wipe and his head snaps forward.

Best of all, when you’re done, you tug down your headphones so they rest around your neck.

This is it, he thinks, his heart pounding harder than it ever had during a workout. Now or fucking never.

“So, uhh, how many dogs do you actually have?”

As pick-up lines go, it’s…not great. But it gets you to stop next to him on your way to the door, tilting your head and smiling as you do.

Fuck, you’re pretty.

“What was that?” you ask.

Eddie scrambled. He ran his hand across the nape of his neck, resisting the urge to smack himself in the back of his head. All of a sudden, his body is unbearably hot and he’s never been so embarrassed of his douchey shirt now that your eyes were scanning him up and down.

Wait…were you checking him out?

“I just…I’ve seen you walking them,” he chuckled. “I was wondering how many you have.”

“Oh, none,” you laughed. “It’s kind of a side gig. I walk them for some other people who live here.”

“None of them are yours then?”

“Nah,” you said, sheepishly looking down at the floor and then flicking your gaze back up to meet his, a smile curling across your lips. “I’ve got a cat, though.”

next

#eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson meet cute #gym!eddie #neighbors!au

[macfrog]

san angelo | one shot

what happens when joel miller meets his star-crossed lover?

big love to @mrsmando and @5oh5 for cheering me on with this one, and @bageldaddy for being my eyes, my ears, and - only sometimes - my brain.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader summary: it's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar - where fate delivers him to you. warnings: story is inserted into canon, so cordyceps outbreak happens, sarah dies (off-page), joel dissociates, doomed love, lots of mention of fate, alcohol consumption, reader is a smoker, cursing, drunken one-night stand, oral sex, unprotected piv, joel's cock is massive, a lot of angst, a lot of fluff, a lil smut to tie it all together. enjoy! word count: 9.8k

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Palm lines.

It’s the first thing he thinks as soon as she stops moving in his arms. The second her little whimpers cease, the moment her chest stops heaving and her eyes glaze over. Suddenly, Joel’s little girl weighs more than he can bear.

Palm lines. And he has no fucking idea why.

He closes his eyes and there you are. The whir of the ceiling fan, the tinkling of bracelets loose on your wrist. You have sorta earth hands, you told him. Or, well – they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way. I don’t really know. I’m still learning.

You told him that air hands were long, spindly. And Sarah was always a lanky kid – tallest on the soccer team, head and shoulders above the other girls by the third grade. Her hands, he thinks, must be air. They must be.

Her fingers are still twisted around his right now. Lifeless, slippery with the blood still wet and quickly cooling.

Joel cradles her, squeezing so hard that he wonders whether he might be able to fuse their bodies together. Lock them in some white-knuckle grip so that he never has to let go of her – never has to leave this hill covered in dirt and blood.

His palms are ruined; a maroon river carving its way down his heart line, dirt deep in the groove of his life line. Why does he even fucking remember what they’re called?

Why the fuck are you what he’s thinking about, right now?

“Tommy,” he says, opening his eyes again. “We gotta…we gotta get to…”

She’s limp, draped over his thighs as though she’s nothing more than a stretch of crimson curtain. He looks down at her and begs her to come back, begs her to open her eyes and look up at him again.

But the night is passing and she’s still not breathing. Dawn is breaking and Joel’s daughter is dead.

He sucks in a shattered breath. “…to San Angelo, Tommy.”

The younger Miller stuffs his gun into the back of his jeans and paces over, soles coated thick in shit and grass. “I hear you, Joel.”

“You ain’t listenin’ to me, I –”

“I’m listenin’ fine, Joel.” Tommy hooks his hands under his niece’s arms. “Now, help me lift her. We can’t…” his voice strains, fighting the death grip his brother has on the girl, “…we can’t leave her here.”

Joel’s frozen to the spot; sinking further and further into the earth. Staring at his open hands, the stains like rust on his palms. He says to San Angelo again, and Tommy snaps.

“Jesus, Joel, enough! I’ve heard enough goddamn it! I see your hands, now – we gotta fuckin’ bury Sarah.”

Your fate line, your nail tickled, and Joel held his hand steady, It can change, if something big is coming.

Somethin’ big? he asked. A little younger, a lot more naïve. Still a healthy dose of belief in the world, an echo of the god-fearing faith that raised him.

His hand felt so light, cradled in two of yours. He half hoped he’d never have to let go – just lie there with you forever. Your legs tangled with his, the sheets disturbed; the room injected with amber from the streetlights outside.

You nodded. A big shift, or something.

And he scoffed. He actually scoffed, right there and then. Incredulous. The hell kinda big shift is comin’ our way? he asked, laughing.

You just smiled back, shrugging. You were so fucking casual, that whole night. It would’ve unnerved him, if he hadn’t been so swept off by the sparkle in your eye, the glowing cherry of your cigarette.

Guess we just gotta wait ‘n see.

It’s August thirtieth, two thousand eight.

Almost five thousand miles on the back of a Harley, and Joel just wants to go home.

He arches his aching back, palms flat against the crests of his hips, and blinks in the light from the food mart in front of him. Twenty-six, he thinks to himself, only twenty-fuckin’-six.

It’s ninety degrees out. An uncomfortable heat, for a man who feels ten years older than he really is. For a man who hasn’t had a decent shower in almost two weeks. For a man who’s spent the last six hours tailing the brake lights of his little brother’s bike.

The sweat gathers sticky between his shoulder blades, prickles along the nape of his neck. There’s dust spattered down his bare arms and buried in the grooves of his knuckles.

He’s tired. He’s tired, he’s dirty, and goddamn, he wishes he was back home.

He holds a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun, the yellow sky melting to a purple haze. Squinting, he follows the soar of two swallows overhead, looping through the sky, until he’s rubbing the image from his eyes with the back of his wrist.

He’s gotta remember to call Sarah before she goes to bed.

The door opens with the tinkle of a brass bell older and rustier than Joel feels. A swaggering figure splits the glow from the store in two – a figure with a pack of Marlboros in one hand and an already half-empty bottle of water in the other.

Tommy holds them both out to Joel, who swipes the water with a scowl.

“Ain’t killed you yet, brother,” Tommy scoffs, stuffing the cigarettes into his back pocket. He swings a frayed-denim leg over the seat of his Harley.

Joel drains the bottle, panting as he crushes the plastic in one fist. “Damn near tryin’,” he mutters, tossing it in the trash. He runs his tongue across his bottom lip.

“Where are we?” Tommy asks. He glances over his shoulder, staring from the cracked roads to the telephone wires overhead. A Syclone pulls into the lot; a dehydrated squeal as it rolls to a halt.

“San Angelo,” Joel says. “Only a few more hours to go.” He settles on his own bike, pulling his leather jacket over his shoulders. “We passed a Super 8 coming into town, if you feel like restin’ up. Or – we leave now, be home around midnight.”

Tommy chuckles. “What’s the rush? We ain’t gotta be anywhere anytime soon.”

And Joel agrees – for the most part.

His mom is watching Sarah while they’re gone, and he reckons she’s hardly missing him. Too smart for her own good, Joel’s realizing: plotting and scheming her way into staying up past her bedtime, drinking Pepsi at dinner, watching Curtis and Viper – and swearing that her dad lets her do it all, too.

But, still. He misses his kid.

It’s the most they’ve ever been apart – time or distance. The longest he hasn’t had her climbing up his back or hanging off his arm. The least he’s been called Dad since he was eighteen years old.

He just…misses his kid.

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the body of the bike. “Tommy, I gotta get back home to Sarah.”

“Look,” Tommy says, and Joel knows that the argument is lost already, “By the time we got back, she’d be asleep anyways. Let’s leave in the morning – first thing, I swear – and we’ll be home in time for breakfast. Deal?”

They stare at one another, a stand-off in the parking lot. Both waiting for the other to break. The swallows gather on the roof of the store, basking in the weak wash of flickering fluorescents.

“Come on, brother,” Tommy pleads, “It’s one more night.” He lifts his helmet, punching it over his mop of shaggy hair, and kicks the bike to life.

Joel growls to himself, watching it drift over to the side of the road.

He considers heading to the Super 8 alone, grabbing a room only to shower and get some food, then hitting the road and leaving his little brother in the dust. Waiting for him to stumble through the door tomorrow morning – tired, groggy, probably hungover – while Joel, fresh as a daisy, drizzles syrup over Sarah’s pancakes and pours her orange juice.

He’s a pragmatic man. He’s a grown-up. Scares away the ghosts and ghouls and monsters of his daughter’s nightmares. Shushes her back to sleep in the crook of his arm, tiptoes as lightly as he can out of her room so as not to wake her.

Things like God, like the universe, things like horoscopes and laws of attraction…for the most part, Joel can do without them. Has done his whole life.

But then – the glow of indigo overhead, and the mysterious shadows lurking behind the buildings. The birdsong tittering in his ears, the twinkle of the sun in Tommy’s helmet – something distant in the dusty sphere.

Something, someone, winking at him from far away.

Something a little heavier than the breeze nudges at his spine, and Joel’s arms lift – fitting his own helmet over his head. He swings the heel of his boot into his kickstand and revs the bike, Harley roaring as it joins Tommy’s out on the boulevard.

Murphy’s is a small, green bar on the corner of an intersection. All peeled paint lettering and buzzing fluorescents – the y burnt out and pulsing.

Joel doesn’t think Tommy picked it for any reason other than the huge Lone Star mural on the side of the goddamn building, the way he tosses his thumb to it as they park up. A squint smirk on his face, muttering something like ‘s good to be home, big brother, as they hook helmets over handlebars.

Tommy leads Joel inside, their boots tacky on the wooden floor. Walls paneled by aged frames and sun-bleached photographs; air hanging thick with a smell like vinegar. The babble of slurred conversation is pierced by the sharp crack of pool balls breaking.

Metal-plate belt buckles snaked through strained jeans; low eyes which shift to size-up the two strangers. They all turn back to their fingerprinted glasses when Joel and Tommy settle into an empty booth.

It feels hotter in here than it is outside, stuffier. A thick humidity which clings to Joel’s bones, humming like the string lights draped from beams above his head.

Tommy reclines between the creaking leather cushion and the wall. He pokes at a yellowing poster of some Western, hums to himself, and then looks across the table.

Joel’s eyes loop once around the room before they meet his brother’s. “What?” he asks.

“First round is yours, old man.”

“Oh, is it, now?” He cocks an eyebrow. “Thought this was your idea?”

A weedy grin stretches across Tommy’s lips. He needs to fucking shave, Joel thinks. Whiskers poking from around his small mouth like pine needles. “’s my birthday trip,” he reasons.

And can Joel argue with that? Does he have the fucking energy? Will it get him out of here and back to Austin any quicker?

“Goddamn it,” he grumbles. He pushes himself to his feet, heels of his palms against the tacky wood.

He wanders over to the bar, tugging on the front of his tee to unstick it from his damp chest. Slots in beside an ivory cowboy hat with a pair of jeaned legs. The man fixes his bolo tie and watches Joel’s hand as he flags the bartender down.

And then he feels it.

You.

Then he feels you.

First, the weight of you – crashing some into his back. He shunts forward from the suddenness of it, knocking his ribs against the bar, and lifts a hand to brace himself on the ledge.

And then – heat, like an iron. Like every hair and freckle on your skin is branded into his the second you come into contact with him. A feeling like the roll of a wave against his spine, a hand hooked around his forearm when he begins to turn.

“Shit,” you hiss, steadying yourself on the curve of his shoulder. You glance down at your feet, clicking between your black boots. “I’m sorry, that was…that was my bad.”

“’s alright,” Joel says instantly. He holds his arm still until you let go and he sidesteps – though only a little. He watches, dumbstruck, as you rest your elbows on the bar and lean forward. His eyes linger on your back, trailing the crisscross straps wrapped tight over your spine.

You squint up at the menu pinned above shelves of crystal bottles. Your eyes move back and forth across the chalkboard, slowly descending until they’re meeting his in the speckled mirror opposite – a sweet smile growing on your lips.

It runs like whiskey through Joel’s veins: warm and dangerous.

And the way his head spins, the way the world blurs for a moment into one swipe of color around you; the way your cooing laugh echoes between his ears long after he’s heard it –

Joel’s already intoxicated.

He’s still staring when you pull back and motion to the bar. “You can go first, by the way,” you say, waving a hand. “I wasn’t cuttin’ in line. Just trying to read the drinks.”

“I’ll wait,” he replies, remembering how to be polite, how to be charming. Old cogs long out of use jerking to life inside him again. “Can’t read any of ‘em, either, anyways.”

It draws from you that same little laugh, a puff of air from your nostrils. You nod, biting your bottom lip.

He’s quickly forgetting why he’s stood in this room, why he’s in this city. He’d probably forget his own fucking name if you asked him right now what it was.

“’nother drink, darlin’?” a low voice interrupts, and you’re turning away.

Joel’s eyes follow you – a moth chasing something golden and radiant – as you face the wiggle of a snow-white mustache poking from beneath the brim of that ivory cowboy hat.

You shake your head, lifting two fingers with a bill slipped between them. “I’m good, thanks, George. Maybe next round.” You wave to the kid behind the bar – some name that Joel’s too fucking mindless to hear. Too distracted by the glint in your eye, the sparkle of your crescent moon earrings in the light.

If only he knew this feeling. If only he could put a name to it. As familiar as the sun and yet, brand new like dawn. His stomach swirls in a fleet of butterflies – as though he’s fifteen again, bumping elbows with his high school crush.

You nudge him, thumb pointing in the direction of the bartender.

Joel shakes his head. “Ladies first,” he says, heart skipping when you hold his stare.

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head, “Told you I ain’t jumping in.”

He asks the guy for two beers, barely taking his eyes off you. “Alright,” he leans in, lowering his voice, “Then let me buy you a drink. Make up for gettin’ in your way just then.”

You prop your chin on your knuckles, grinning as you push your twenty around the wooden bar top, dodging pooled rings of alcohol like it’s an arcade game. “I don’t do that,” you say, eyes tracing the slick trail left by the bill.

“Do what?”

“Accept drinks from strange men in bars.”

His tongue presses against the back of his teeth, the taste of humor honey-sweet. “Yeah? ‘n how long have you known…” he nods to the – what is he, sixty? Sixty-five? – year-old on your right, “…George?”

Your gaze lifts, eyes wide. Apparently as impressed by Joel’s confidence as he is himself. “We’re actually in a very serious relationship. Marriage proposal imminent.”

“Damn,” he mutters as the bartender reappears with two Coors, “And here I thought I had half a chance.”

You hum to yourself, studying him. Looking from his jaw across the span of his shoulders, his wide-knuckled hands and then back to his lips. Curious and wary, judging the strange animal stood before you.

And he knows he’s weathered from the weeks on the road, and all the years before that. Dirt under his nails and the light sheen of sun on his forehead. The flecks of gray through his thick, brown beard.

You take a deep breath, eyes twinkling, and tell him, “I’m here with my friend.”

“Ain’t that lucky?” Joel glances at Tommy. “I’m here with my brother.”

You look across to the dirty blond, sat tilting a glass candle in his hand. “He single?”

Joel nods. “Is she?”

You nod.

“Alright. You wanna come sit with us?”

Your smirk answers his question. You take the beers, rings clinking off the glass. “Rum,” you call over your shoulder, wandering off, “I drink rum.”

Joel’s gaze lowers to the sway of your hips. “Rum it is,” he says, turning back to the bar.

“So…a cross-country bike trip, and you wound up in San Angelo?”

You’re on your fourth drink, the first one Joel hasn’t paid for – and he only allowed it because it’s a Diet Coke (and maybe you got to the bar first, held his wrists with one hand so he couldn’t stop you from slapping your own money down).

“Yep,” Joel replies, pinching the lime from his drink and dropping it onto a napkin. “Just passin’ through. Shower, sleep, then head on home.”

“Where’s that, then? Home?”

“Austin.”

“Austin,” you pout, “Nice.”

Joel smirks, licking citrus from his fingertips. “Is it?”

“I’ve never been to Austin,” Brooke chirps, fiddling with the umbrella in her piña colada. She twirls the paper canopy and glances up to Tommy.

He snaps out of his slack-jawed gaze when he realizes what she’s implying. “Oh – yeah, well…” his head wobbles as he stutters, “…you two ever come down that way, we’d be happy to, uh…show ya ‘round, huh, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply, staring back at his brother with the same amused expression you are.

You’ve been an inch apart all evening – doused in the dive bar darkness, the shrouded conversations and muffled TV static. The tip of your nose and curve of your shoulders lit only by the luminous signs dotting the walls.

Tommy and Brooke are already deep in conversation again about the best car Tommy ever owned. Joel watches as your eyes flit between the pair, entertained by the way they trip over each other’s sentences. Your cheeks lift when Brooke lays a hand over Tommy’s, and he squeezes her fingers back.

Where did you come from? Joel’s thinking. He takes a swig of his whiskey, feeling your eyes on him. As he lowers his glass, you lift yours. When he turns in his seat towards you, you’re already facing him, back against the wainscotting. He smiles, and so do you.

Every movement feels choreographed, some merry dance only you two know. You’re in your own little world.

Where did you come from, again, and where have you been my entire fucking life?

“So, what about you?” Joel asks instead, swallowing – all warm-bellied and brave. “You grow up here?”

You shake your head, taking another sip. “Nope. Just liked it enough to hang up my coat for a few months. I grew up in Phoenix.”

“You travel a lot?”

“I’ve been around. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place since I was a kid.”

He thinks of home: of Austin and its silver-snake river, burnt-orange jerseys and the pleated bunting lining Sixth Street. He thinks of late nights on lawn chairs, nursing a beer and shooting the shit with his brother. Keeping their voices lower than the buzz of the cicadas, looking more at the dusky sky than at each other.

“You don’t ever get tired of it?” Joel asks. “Of moving around so much?”

You scoff, breath clouding the inside of your glass. “Three weeks on a motorcycle starting to get to you, huh?”

He breathes a laugh, loose again. The cicadas fade from his ears.

Your head tilts in a shrug. “I don’t know. I guess the universe keeps on surprising me.”

Joel doesn’t do this. At least, he hasn’t done this since he was a teenager – crate of beer under his arm and a chest full of courage. He’s long forgotten the feeling of heat blooming in his cheeks, the twitch of his heart anytime you look at him.

But fuck, if there isn’t something about you. Something in the way you move, the way you look at him. Something in the way you play with your straw, knocking ice cubes around and chewing on the plastic once you’ve drained the glass.

Something – though it’s a little too early and Joel’s a little too tipsy to tell just what. He tries to remember that he’s pragmatic. A grown-up. He chases away the monsters in his daughter’s –

“Oh, shit,” Joel says suddenly, scrambling to pull his cell from his pocket. It’s nine thirty. He was supposed to – “I forgot…”

A miserable tone from his Motorola cuts him short. The screen flashes an empty battery before fading to black. He jams a thumb into the keypad a couple more times, cursing at the winking symbol.

“Someone you gotta call?” you ask.

He meets your eye and winces. “Yeah, I’m…I said I’d call an hour ago.”

“You wanna use mine?” You twist around, fishing in your purse for your own. “We can go outside.”

“No, no, it’s…it’s alright, I’m sure she won’t mind, she –”

You shake your head. “Shut up. Come on, let’s go. I could use some fresh air, anyways. Be back in a minute,” you tell Brooke – who nods and turns straight back to Tommy.

Joel extends his hand to help you out of the booth, then follows you to the door. The cool air tugs every nerve in his body to attention, pin-sharp when he steps out of that lazy heat. Under the emerald glow of the Murphy’s sign, he settles his glass on a window ledge. “Next round’s on me, alright?”

You roll your eyes, pushing the phone against his chest. “Just call, Joel.”

One last apologetic glance, and then he’s dialing. He makes to wander along the curb, the tone already pulsing in his ear, when he notices –

“You ain’t brought a jacket?”

You’re sitting on the ledge, clutching your elbows. Swatting midges from the light you’re bathed in, charms on your bracelets jingling. “Hm?”

He tuts. “A jacket. Here.” He shrugs his own off, sitting it around your frame. It’s warm from the bar and from Joel’s body heat, and you sink into it – letting the dark leather drown you as you rummage through your purse again.

“Nice,” Joel’s eyes narrow, “Fresh air.”

You hum into your hands, flicking your lighter. The cigarette trembles when you murmur, “We all got our skeletons, I guess.”

He turns on his heel when a familiar voice picks up.

“Hey, hey, M–Yeah, sorry it’s late…Yeah, we got held up. My phone died, so I’m using…Is she still–? Can I–? Oh, Sarah. Hi, baby.”

His little girl begins chattering down the line immediately, telling Joel everything she’s been up to since they last spoke this morning.

“…and then, Emily thought I was one of the Armadillos – I don’t even know how, ‘cause they play in red, remember Dad? – but she did, and she slide tackled me so bad that Coach Thomson had to sub in Akari for me so I could ice my ankle. Grandma was kinda mad about it, but she took me to Burger King after to cheer me up, and…”

Joel wanders back and forth, smiling to himself and scuffing the heel of his boot along the concrete – barely able to squeeze more than two words between her chirping. It’s all, Yeah, baby? and Wow, sweetheart; all uhuhs and mhms until she finally quietens, excitement plateauing again.

“Alright, well. You know what time it is, right?”

“Yeah,” Sarah groans. She knows it all too well.

Bedtime.

“…But you didn’t call when you said you would, Daddy, and it’s Saturday, it’s –”

“I know, baby, I know. I’m sorry. Just…somethin’ came up. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right? We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Where’s Uncle Tommy? Can I talk to him?”

Joel turns to face the bar. “He, uh…I’m not with him right now, sweetheart. I’ll tell him you asked after him, though.”

Sarah concedes, and then begins asking questions Joel knows she’s only asking to stay on the line a little longer – to stay awake a little later. But still, he answers each one – humoring her and, at the same time, letting himself listen to her voice just a little more before he has to let her go.

He thinks of scooping her up in the morning; thinks of being slumped on the couch after dinner with her head on his stomach – fast asleep with whatever movie she chose droning on in the background.

Despite the thousands of miles and close to two weeks between them – she makes him feel closer to home. She always does.

When Sarah asks where he is, he glances your way. Clocks your flat expression, the half-burnt cigarette hanging from your fingers.

You flick ash to the ground. Eyes unreadable beneath low brows, a tiny crease between them that Joel’s only just seeing for the first time.

“Uh…” he clears his throat, “…just a little – a little north of you, baby. Home first thing, I promise.”

He tells her he loves her and she says it back, and he tells her to sleep well and she says that back, too. And then he’s hanging up – Alright, see you soon, bye, Sarah, bye-bye, byebyebye – and pressing his thumb into the red button.

He wanders back over to you – ears flat like a guilty dog, though he isn’t quite sure why. He mumbles a quiet thanks as he passes the phone back, then stuffs his hands in his pockets.

You lean back, ankles crossed, studying him. Swirling what’s left of the cigarette in your fingers – the smoke lifting like a winding snake to the dark sky. “So,” you pout, “What are you doing flirting with me, if you got a wife and kid back home?”

His jaw ticks, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. “I don’t have a wife,” he says.

You stare blankly, filter back against your lips. “Okay, then – a girlfriend. Does she know you’re out tonight with us?”

He shakes his head. “No wife, no girlfriend. I don’t have an anything.”

“But you have a kid.”

Joel nods once, tongue in his cheek. “Uhuh.”

And then the penny seems to drop. A small oh; your jaw slack and eyes wide. The cigarette smolders between your fingers. “Fuck,” you whisper, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“No, hey,” Joel steps closer, “You didn’t know. It’s alright.”

He straightens the jacket on your shoulders. When you finally look at each other again, you snort.

“Sorry,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is she okay? Your daughter – is she…?”

“Sarah,” Joel says. “She’s…she’s fine. Thanks.”

You look down, stubbing your cigarette against the brick. Voice quiet, you ask, “Her mom’s not around anymore?”

Relief settles in his chest: you’re softening to him again.

Joel slots onto the ledge at your side. Shoulder to shoulder. He reaches behind and lifts his drink. “Not since she was a year old.”

Your mouth pulls in a wince. “Jesus. That’s rough.”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t have to – you’re not asking him to explain – and he doesn’t want to, either.

You’re not stupid – you’ve seen enough of the world to hear what he’s really saying. The darkest, dustiest corners of it – all the places no one ever wants to look.

You don’t seem disturbed, barely even moved by the reality that…well, shit happens. People leave, families break; a two-car driveway is suddenly taken up by just a pick-up truck and a little pink bike with tassels.

He figures you get it. You don’t need to know how can that be? – you just…know that it can.

“So, uh…” you look up at him again, “…my apartment is, like, five minutes away if you wanna…you know. You can charge your phone, can shower – if it’s bugging you that much.”

Joel’s eyebrows lift. “Oh, really?”

You simper, eyes thin. “Really.”

“Charge my phone ‘n shower?” He stands, palm flat against the wall above your head, and leans in. His face is inches from yours.

You look up, mirroring his expression. “Yes,” your voice curls in a half-truth, “What’s the big deal?”

“What a goddamn line,” Joel says, smirking. “How long you been sittin’ on that one for?”

His blood thrums faster, harder, louder in his veins when you stand up, hands on your hips.

“It’s not a line, I’m serious –”

“I didn’t take you as the type, baby, I really didn’t – but if that’s how you wanna play this, then –”

He feels you before he sees you moving, like he’s stood at that bar all over again. Your hands on his jaw, your chest pressed to his. Your lips – soft as satin, with a tinge of sweet rum and smoke – against his.

Joel barely misses a beat. He closes his eyes and lifts a hand to the back of your head, kissing you back. It’s dizzying, the taste and feel of you so close; the wet of your tongue on his. The little scratches of your nails in his beard, the moans caught in your throat.

Dizzying – and fucking perfect.

You break apart and lean in to each other, catching your breath. Joel’s hands slip beneath the heavy leather of his jacket onto your waist.

“Unless…” you whisper, pulling away from him, “…you don’t want to. In which case, I’ll just…” You twirl back towards the door, batting your eyelashes.

Joel smiles. He catches your wrist and reels you back into his body. “I want to,” he breathes, kissing you again. “I want to.”

“Let’s go.”

You make it to your apartment door, fumbling with your keys – and Joel’s hands are glued to your waist.

You miss the lock over and over as he kisses your neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. Anything to satiate the hunger quickly taking over, the tightening in his jeans.

He pulls you against his hips – rough denim grinding into the curve of your ass. He can smell your flowery perfume, a strange melding of peony and menthol sharp in his nostrils.

It’s the hungriest he’s ever felt, he thinks – a starved animal pinning his prey to her flecked apartment door. He pauses, bottom lip damp against your neck; breathing a liquor-laced laugh over your skin.

You jam the key into the lock. The door finally shunts open and you spill inside, dragging Joel with you.

Your place is dark. Angled strips of streetlight thrown high up the bare walls and across the ceiling, splintered by tilted shades. The spill of a blanket draped over an empty couch; a pair of sneakers left on the rug. Joel’s knees brush by a houseplant guarding the door – heavy leaves which pfft when they sway out of his way.

It’s half-decorated. Temporary. Caught somewhere between home and away. Little fragments pieced together into something the shape of home: a mosaic vase that scatters light across the surface of the coffee table; a beaded curtain pinned around the closet doorway.

Like you’re a little magpie, collecting trinkets of silver and gold until your nest feels like yours. Bags dropped long enough to keep a Monstera plant alive, not to put nails in the wall for the frames propped against the skirting board.

You shrug Joel’s jacket off, dropping it over the back of the couch. When you spin back around to him, he lifts your chin with two fingers and presses his lips to yours. You lead him down the hallway, tumbling into your room.

He follows you over to your bed, collapsing onto a tousled mess of sheets with his hips between yours. The hem of your dress rides up your thighs, bunching around your hips and revealing a flash of pink lace underneath.

The world around him seems to sober up for a second, sharpens into focus. It begins to seep in: the realization that he has you – some girl he met no more than two hours ago in a bar – pinned to your mattress. A slick gathering in your underwear and a weight building in his.

Right now, he should be sinking into squealing bedsprings in a Super 8. Bathing in the flicker of a television set twenty years too old. He should be showered and rested – ready to head home at sunrise, if not sooner.

But then something led him to you, and – well.

There’s no fucking helping him now, is there?

Joel’s fingers hook around your panties. He pulls down, leaving a trail of kisses along your bare leg, until that same pink lace is dripping from your ankle.

His eyes flash up to yours, love-drunk and sparkling. He pushes your knees apart, watching your velvet folds open for him, and – oh, he thinks, staring at the glistening arousal smeared around your cunt. Such a slick little mess for him already.

“Goddamn, darlin’,” he licks his lips, “She’s so pretty.”

You hum, hands lowering. Your fingers separate, spreading your pussy for him. Your middle finger swirls around your clit, dips along your seam. And the n, silky and shining, you lift your hand again and slip your fingers into your mouth.

“Tastes even better than she looks,” you murmur, dappling your fingertip along your bottom lip.

Joel growls. He pushes down on your thighs, ignoring your little yelp, and drags the tip of his tongue through your slit.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, back arching. Your fingers knot in his hair, twisting and tightening. “Shitshitshit.”

“Mhm,” he hums against you, tongue pushing inside.

Fuck, you’re just so perfect: so soft and warm and fucking dripping for him. He laps at your sweet center, wet already spreading all over his mouth and beard.

A dampness blooms in his boxers. He’s throbbing, fucking aching the longer he goes untouched. He grinds against the mattress, denim rough against his solid erection.

He lifts his chin, panting – satisfied by the way you squirm under the weight of him. “You like that, huh?” he asks, a sodden kiss to your mound. “Fuckin’ love it.”

He spits a thick bead of saliva, watching it dribble down your folds to your ass. His tongue swipes it back up, circling your clit, all slippery and swollen.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan, tugging on his hair. Your legs spasm, hips lifting.

He loves the sound of his name when you say it. Broken in two, a lilt to it as it rolls from your tongue and down his spine. Like it’s yours as much as it is his, now.

He sucks hard on your clit, his tongue flicking. And he can tell you’re close; can feel your hips starting to lose rhythm, see your back desperately arching higher and higher.

Joel groans, pushing up to hover over you. He cups between your legs, dabbing two thick fingers at your entrance, and pushes in.

Your pussy draws him in knuckle-deep. Your chest lifts, the loose neckline of your dress exposing more and more. You grab your breast, pinching your nipple – a roll of pebbled flesh between your fingertips.

He lowers his lips to your ear – watching as you toy with yourself. “Come on, baby,” he grits his teeth, “Give me one. Let me feel this pretty cunt.”

Your head rolls back into the pillow; a high sob as your orgasm crests. Clamping tight around him; a warm flood down his fingers.

Joel kisses you as you come. You look so pretty, he thinks, with ecstasy behind your eyes and his fingers between your legs.

Christ, he wants to be inside you so badly. Wants to feel your cunt do all this around his cock instead.

The blood rushes between his hips.

His fingers slip in and out, bringing you back around. Joel’s lips are on your neck, murmuring, “Good girl, that’s my girl,” as you resurface.

Your eyes open again – glossy, glazed with the aftershock of your high. “Fuck,” you breathe, playing with the hem of his shirt.

He pulls his fingers out and sucks them clean. Whips the tee over his head in one motion; another kiss tucked under your chin as you peel your dress from your body. He tosses it to the floor.

Still dazed, your body still trembling, you ask, “Do you have a condom?” All dreamy and distant, your hands trailing along his belt.

Joel pauses. Tilts his head, frowning. “I’m on a road trip with my brother, baby – the hell would I bring condoms for?”

You roll your eyes, sighing. It’s the cutest thing Joel thinks he’s ever seen. You thread the belt through the loops of his jeans. “In case you meet a really cool girl at a bar and wanna take her home, maybe?”

He lifts his eyebrows, impressed. He slips his salty tongue over yours again.

You moan at the taste. “It’s just I’m…I’m all out.”

His belt drops to the floor; buckle clinking against hardwood.

“Well, shit,” Joel whispers.

It’s not exactly a scenario he predicted, setting off from Austin. Meeting you wasn’t on the bucket list for the trip. It’s another three, four, probably five things to add to the list of shit he doesn’t do, shouldn’t do, wouldn’t fucking do if it hadn’t been for you.

No, Joel thinks, groaning as you palm the solid shape of him – he didn’t bring a goddamn condom. Jesus, the most he has in his pockets right now is fifteen bucks and a stick of gum.

You unzip his pants, shrugging the denim loose. “We can just do it…without,” you offer.

Joel stares down at you. “You sure?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Just pull out, right?”

“Just pull out…” he echoes. Your hands are cold on his heated skin, but he’s not about to fucking stop you.

You tug his underwear down with his jeans, following the darkening hair from his navel down. Another quiet pull out passes your lips – your voice dissolving when you spot the thick base of his dick.

Joel’s shaft springs free, heavy against the inside of his thigh.

“Holy shit.” You push yourself up on your elbows, eyes flooding black.

His tongue runs along the bottom of his teeth. He thrusts forward into your hand, a glassy drop of precome dribbling from his slit.

Your thumb swipes across his flushed tip, fingers wrapping around his width. You roll his balls in your other palm, massaging and squeezing just the right amount.

“Easy, easy,” Joel whispers. Too much, too soon. He can’t come yet, not until he feels your fluttering cunt around his cock.

Instead, you reach up – snaking an arm around his neck. You pull him back down, his naked body flush against yours, and hike a knee over his hip.

He grinds into you, his cock nudging between your legs. They fall apart for him – pliant and keen, like petals unfolding. He covers himself in your slick, his tip catching below your clit.

“Pl-ease,” you whine, scratching at his shoulders.

Joel nips at your damp neck. “Please, what?” he taunts.

Your breath is hot against his cheek – a stifling request which curls up in the shell of his ear. “F-fuck me.”

And his hips roll into yours.

“Jesus f…” your face buries into his chest, “…you’re…you’re so fucking big, Joel, I can’t –”

He nudges between your walls, groaning into your skin. You’re even tighter around his cock, even cozier. “I know,” he pants, “I know. Take it, baby, know you can take it.”

You stretch around him, opening up the deeper he pushes. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, the thick hair at his base finally brushing against your clit. “Fuck, Joel.”

“Look at me,” he taps your jaw, “Hey. Look at me. Breathe.”

You exhale, hot and shaky across his lips.

“Good, that’s good.” Joel nods. He holds you by the waist, lets you adjust to his size.

He pulls back, your cunt clamping around him. Halfway out, and then in again. Feeling you open up, inch by inch, until he builds a steady rhythm.

“Jesus, baby, she’s so…” he moans, “…she’s so goddamn tight.”

You drape an arm over his shoulders, a hissing pain where your nails dig into his skin. Yelping each time he bottoms out, your leaking cunt wrapped snug around him. “So – goddamn – big,” you whine, a ruined smile on your lips.

He slams his body into yours again, watching the way your tits bounce. Nipples hard, skin tacky and shining with sweat. Your pussy pinches, and he starts to unravel.

Fuck the road trip, Joel thinks, fuck all of it. This is where he should be: in the middle of your bed, burrowed deep between your legs. This is the only place he wants to fucking be, right now.

So he fucks you harder; the headboard hammering against the wall. A fistful of the pillow, his knuckles whitening. He guides his cock when he slips out – a filthy sound as your clutch sucks him back in.

“Fuck,” he growls, gripping your hips so hard he worries he might bruise you. His thrusts become sloppy – quick and desperate.

“So close,” you gasp. You’re squeezing him so tight that he sees stars. “I’m gonna – I’m…”

Perfect, Joel thinks, watching you bloom. You’re so fucking perfect.

He coaxes you through it. Slows enough to feel you come around his cock, your warmth as it gushes all over him. “That’s it, baby, I got you. Shit, you’re gonna make me come.”

He pulls out just in time to coat your stomach; a throaty groan as he comes. He pumps his shaft, covering from your sternum to the plush of your tummy. It dribbles down your waist, spurts between your breasts.

He collapses over you, pressing his forehead to yours. His dick, soaked and softening, smears the ejaculate across your skin.

You giggle, leaving sticky kisses along his beard.

“You okay?” he asks, breathless.

You nod, and his tongue dabs at the inside of your lips. You taste like sex and sweat – sweet and salt.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed. He feels you follow, your lips featherlight on the curve of his shoulder.

You make to stand – going to clean yourself up, he reckons, your tummy dripping with his semen – and he locks a hand around your bare thigh.

“Stay,” he says, voice low and rough – sex still smoldering. “Let me get you a towel.”

You smile, resting your chin on his shoulder. Your fingers link around the other side of his waist. “I’ll get it. Just relax.”

And for a minute or two, you stay like that. Hooked onto one another, tired eyes closing over, breathing in rhythm. Your cheek on his shoulder, your knee brushing against his tummy.

It’s simple; quiet and still. Joel feels like half a person – the other half tracing her chipped nails along his bare thigh. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth holding back a grin that she thinks might give her away.

Eventually, you move. Shimmy yourself down the mattress, swipe a crinkled tee from the ottoman – and slink off to the bathroom.

Joel lies back against the headboard, body sticky hot. He watches the shadow of your figure stretch across the open door. His eyes drift upwards to the looping ceiling fan – only half as dizzying as the sound of your humming in the next room.

And just when he starts to think he might be fucking missing you, you reappear in the doorway. Leant against the frame, some worn band tee hanging from your shoulders. Arms crossed; smiling back at him.

A rush of words floods to the tip of his tongue. You look beautiful. Your makeup’s smudged, chains of your necklace twisted; your shirt is frayed and splotched with faded stains – and you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

He holds his arms out and you prance over.

You crawl over his figure, kissing your way up to his lips, and then turn in his lap. Cradled against his broad chest, your head nuzzling into the dark threads of hair between his pecs. You clasp one of his hands in two of yours.

“Offer’s still there for a shower, if you want it,” you whisper, kissing the pads of his fingers.

Joel tilts his head, mumbling against your temple, “Will you be in there with me?”

You answer something shaped like a tease, just as sharp with wit – but he’s too busy watching your nails trace his open palm. Too distracted by the sweet scent of your skin: a fresh burst of fruit, singed with the edge of tobacco.

“What do you do for work?” you ask.

He makes some sort of sleepy sound – a grunt, a hm? into your skull. “Oh, uh – I’m a contractor,” he says.

Your chin lifts. “That why your palms are all…?” Your thumb strokes light as lace against his worn skin.

“Probably,” Joel admits. He draws shapes on your thigh with his free hand.

“Do you sand the wood with your bare hands, or somethin’?”

Joel scoffs. “Alright, alright. You liked my hands plenty, twenty minutes ago.”

Your cheeks lift, a low hum caught in your throat. You angle your head to let his lips trail along your shoulder, pressing into the hinge of your jaw. A dark nail following the landscape of Joel’s skin – each score and divot, the callused pads at the bottom of each finger.

“You have sorta…earth hands, I think.”

It sits in the air for a few seconds before Joel turns to you. “What?”

“Earth hands. Or, well – I guess they could be water, if you look at ‘em this way.” You open up his hand, fingers stretched. “I don’t really know. I’m still learning.”

He looks down at you. Feels the now-steady pulse of your heart on his sternum. “Learnin’…hands?”

You snort. “Palm reading, Joel.”

His brows draw tight. He licks the inside of his whiskey-stained cheek. “You’re into all that hippie sh…stuff?”

You knock your knuckles against his chest, still staring at his hands. The hills and their valleys, the ravine-like lines; the worn skin and hatch marks.

“Let’s see…Your heart line,” you whisper – more to yourself than Joel, but he’s listening all the same. “It’s pretty deep, which means the relationships you’ve had have been…important. But it’s kinda…it tails off right here, see? It’s broken. So…I guess they didn’t end too good.”

Joel raises an eyebrow – playful, encouraging your timid smile. Keep figuring me out, he thinks, stoking the curious flame behind your eyes. “Alright,” he says, “Now tell me something you didn’t already know about me.”

You gawk, holding his wrist up. “You don’t see that? The way it breaks up? I’m not bullshitting you, Joel, it’s –”

“Naw, I see it,” he nods, squinting a little at his palm, “Just – tell me more. What’s all these other lines mean?”

“Well,” you adjust between his hips, “you got your life line right here. Short, which means –”

“Don’t tell me that part.”

“No,” you roll your eyes, “It just means you’re independent. You never needed much from anyone. And it runs past this mount – these are called mounts – right here. Venus: all to do with love and sexuality.”

Joel holds your open palm next to his, comparing them. He takes less than a second’s look, lines his lips to your ear and says, “Seem like a pretty good match to me.”

You wriggle when he tickles your ribcage, trying to twist out of his grasp. You’re laughing again – the same laugh he’s been hearing all damn night. The same giggle that’s had his stomach somersaulting since he first heard it.

The room seems to light with it, this glow he feels from you – as if you’re the sun. Spent and still half-drunk; lazing with a stranger in the middle of her bed. Tracing the lines and scars on his palm, telling him how logical and grounded he’s supposed to be.

As if the world orbits around you – everything you touch turning to molten gold. And for what feels like the hundredth time tonight, Joel looks at you and wonders: Where the hell did you come from?

You hold your hand against his, folding your fingers perfectly together. The evidence of your night flaking from Joel’s knuckles; sweat still simmering on the nape of his neck.

He hasn’t done this for years. Hasn’t felt this gentle aftermath. It’s usually a rush, a hastened zip and clink of his pants. An awkward dance, plucking clothes from the bedroom floor and pacing back to his truck.

It’s never like this. Talking and laughing, holding and kissing. Questions about his parents and yours; his biggest dream as a kid, or the time you broke your arm falling out of a tree.

He tells you stories about growing up with Tommy; tells you Sarah’s favorite flavor of cake. He tells you about the time they tried to make it for a school bake sale, forgot to turn the oven off, and almost burned the damn kitchen down.

You snicker and tell him that never would’ve happened if you were there.

Yeah, well, Joel smiles, I wish you were.

He notices you’re drifting off, despite your slurred protests and your weak grip on his wrist. He pulls you under the covers, curving his body around yours, praying that the quickening drum of his heartbeat won’t wake you.

His nose nuzzles into the curve of your skull, his hands link in front of your tummy. And he wonders whether his body was made with yours in mind.

He glances out at the sky – light starting to bleed from the horizon – and wills the turn of the sun to slow. Only a little; just let him stay here a little while longer.

Just a little while.

Dawn forces her way in eventually – more unwelcome than ever before.

There’s a throb between his temples which swells to life when the light floods past his pupils. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, face turning back into the pillow. He gives you a gentle squeeze and then pushes up from the mattress.

You roll to the middle of the bed, still sound asleep. The sun spills golden all over the valleys and crests of your body. The bedsheets carve pathways up to your hips, dipping at your waist.

Last night, there was something so mystical about you – so otherworldly. Joel felt himself drawn towards you like a compass needle shooting north, the second he felt your weight crash against his spine.

A figure behind a cloud of smoke, like the mountaintops disappearing into a thick mist. And now, blood drained of alcohol, you’re just you.

Your shirt is twisted around your shoulders. Your lips puffy, mumbling to yourself in your doze. Makeup smudged like chalk under your eyes, and still – just as beautiful. Just as radiant as you were ten hours ago.

Joel rubs his eyes, sitting on the edge of the bed. He blinks down at his bare feet, the morning sharpening into focus. As he lifts his phone from the nightstand, the cable drops – hitting the wooden floor with a snap.

He pauses, shoulders hunched. Hears you stir over his shoulder, and turns around.

The earth of your body shifts beneath cotton hills, clouds of sleep clearing from behind your eyes. “Hey,” you whisper, voice pretty and broken.

A little bird in the palm of his hand – that magpie curled up in her nest of gems and trinkets.

“Hey.” He leans down and kisses your cheek. “Sorry, darlin’, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

You wrap your arms around his wrist, tugging. “Are…are you…leaving?”

Joel feels a pang in his chest, and he doesn’t know why. He takes a deep breath. Your scent fills his lungs and steadies his heart. “I…” he sniffs, “…I gotta go home, baby.”

You give a slow and heavy nod. “S-Sarah…”

He strokes your head with his thumb. “Yeah. Shh, go back to sleep. It’s still early.”

He glances at his phone – it’s just after six. He knows Tommy will be waiting for him, parked outside the Super 8 and wondering where the hell Joel is. He knows Sarah will be, too – sat by the living room window, listening for the rumble of their bikes.

And still, he thinks – How do I fucking leave you? Leave this?

He shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought. He has a kid waiting for him back home; soccer practice, packed lunches, homework and bedtime stories. He has work to do, bills to pay, a roof to keep over their heads. It’s all waiting in Austin, two hundred miles away.

As though you can see the question flipping in his mind, you pull him closer. A weak finger in the palm of his hand, drawing circles. Your bleary gaze meets his, and you whisper, “In the next life.”

Joel smiles. Twelve hours ago, he’d have laughed at the idea of it. Now, he’s not so sure. He kisses your knuckles, muttering, “Promise.”

Another wave of sleep washes over you, and you’re gone again.

Joel pushes himself from the bed, reaching for his clothes. His back twinges as he stretches, pulling his T-shirt over his shoulders. He steps into his jeans; pinches his belt between two fingers and lifts it from the floor.

He leans over and tilts your shades the opposite way, dulling your bedroom. He unplugs the charger, neatly winds the cord, and sits it on your nightstand. He fixes his side of the sheets: folds them over the mattress, tucks them in at your back.

With a deep breath, he makes for the door.

His jaw turns, eyes still low. Your dress is in a heap at the foot of the bed; a tube of lip gloss lying next to it. He looks up, following the landscape of sheets – the slope from your ankle to your hip. Your hunched shoulders, your cheek smushed into the pillow.

If he looks too long, he’ll never leave.

The image burns golden into his eyes. He hopes for half a heartbeat that you’ll wake again and pull him back into bed. Kiss him all over, whisper something sharp and sweet in his ear. Touch him and graze him and wrap yourself around him – anchoring him right here and now.

But you don’t.

And Joel slips out of the room.

Jackson stirs to life over his shoulder.

A white lump in the snow-covered valley, the settlement seems so far away now. Tommy sets off up ahead, leading the way to the outpost. The blizzard is picking up – it almost swallows the silhouette of him whole.

Joel had tried to warn him: the weather would be too bad to see five feet in front of them, never mind any infected. But Tommy argued with the same determination that dragged the pair of them into that dive bar thirty years ago, and Joel didn’t have half the energy nor the will to argue back.

He’s thinking about you. He always is.

Your searing gaze over the rim of your glass; the weight of you against his chest. The tickling of your nail on his palm, severing each line and changing him forever. You and your palm lines.

You were just learning to read them. Joel didn’t know a thing about any of it, and he told you so. You took his hand in yours and said, Here. Let me see.

He runs a thumb down his fate line, swaying in time with his horse. And he shakes his head with a little smile – he still remembers which one is fate and which is heart.

He still remembers all of it. He has earth hands. All salt and soil and solid as stone. His earth hands have gotten him this far, right? Twenty-five years and he’s still here. Gray and grown; stiff joints and sewn-up scars.

His head line has channeled more strangers’ blood than Joel can count. Mounts that’ve stopped breath in the throat of any man who crossed him. He doesn’t think you’d recognize his hands anymore, if your fingertips traced over them again. Broken and bruised and bloody.

And he doesn’t think he’d want you to – doesn’t want you to meet the shadow of the man you knew back then. He’d prefer you remember that same brown-eyed, soft-touched stranger with enough charm and naivety to survive anything. No need for bone-breaking fists or bloodstained hands.

Where are you, he wonders?

The answer knots deep in his stomach: the same old rope twisting into the same old shape. A fist of anger, of guilt. Some terrible cocktail of both, spilling poison through his veins.

He’s terrified to wonder what might’ve happened if he had ever made it back there. What he might’ve found in your apartment – what he might not.

Where would you have gone, that day? Would you have fled, or would you have stayed?

You were smart, he knows that much. He saw the cogs of your mind turning right in front of him, standing opposite each other in that bar. Barely thirty seconds in and he could’ve sworn you had him all figured out.

But – oh, Jesus, you were kind. Open and willing to help a stranger with a dead phone and a tired smile. Would that kindness still glow as bright against the flicker of a world on fire?

A lone hawk swoops down before him, shooting straight between the pines. Joel slips his glove back over his freezing hand.

He thinks about you every day. Every fucking day, and it never eases. Never loosens. It keeps him up some nights – the truth he’s too afraid to look square in the face.

You live now in the back of his mind like a little ghost. His little ghost – still floating around that dusty city; the warm light of life and innocence still bright in your eyes.

Tommy glances over his shoulder. He gestures ahead as if to say, Would you take a look at this goddamn storm?

And Yeah, Joel thinks, I’m lookin’, brother.

All he wants is to go home. Jackson, Austin, the bedroom of your apartment in San Angelo. Just let me go back.

He blinks, and the snow melts to cracked asphalt under a lilac sunset. Tommy’s holding handlebars instead of reins. The horses’ hot puffs of breath darken to clouds of smoke, choking from the exhaust pipes of the Harleys.

You’re somewhere on the other side of town, waiting for him in the faint glow of a jukebox. Sipping what’s left of your rum and Coke, fishing a twenty from your purse for the next round.

Just let me go back home.

He tugs on his horse’s reins and pulls off after his brother.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us #tlou #tlou fic #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #san angelo

[tinfairies]

Where They Like To Cum

One Piece x Fem!Reader

Loves to paint your face with their cum, and are as messy as possible about it

Luffy, Buggy, Ace

Loves to cum in your mouth and watch you swallow every last drop

Nami, Crocodile, Alvida, Kuro

Loves to cum on your tits and chest and watch it drip down

Robin, Mihawk, Shanks, Helmeppo

Loves to cum on your tummy and rub it into your skin

Boa Hancock

Loves to cum on your pussy and thighs, then they'll lick it off of you while they suck your clit

Usopp, Law, Koby

Loves to cum inside your pussy, filling you up with their seed and promising to get you pregnant

Sanji, Doflamingo, Arlong, Garp, Corazon

Loves to cum on your back and ass as they fuck you in doggy position, they just love making a mess

Zoro, Zeff, Smoker

#one piece #One piece smut #One piece x reader #op smut #op x reader #Opla x reader #opla smut #Opla #monkey d luffy #captain buggy #buggy the clown #portgas d ace #Nami #Sir Crocodile #captain kuro #captain alvida #Nico Robin #Shanks #dracule mihawk #helmeppo #boa hancock #Usopp #trafalgar law #captain koby #Koby #black leg sanji #Vinsmoke Sanji #doflamingo #roronoa zoro #corazon

[user00003123]

NOW LIVE: IN A TRANCE feat. e. jaeger

SUMMARY: eren feels like you have him in in a trance

CONTENT WARNINGS: college! plug! eren x fem! reader, smut, mdni, college au, smoking weed, reader has piereced nipples and belly piercing, dub con (both eren & reader are high), neck kissing/sucking, nipple play, oral (f. receiving), face sitting, hand job, pussy drunk eren, nickname (pretty girl), slight dirty talk, wc. 1,957

Eren Jaeger was the well know dealer around the campus, even having some clients that didn't attend the university. So it shouldn't have surprised him when it's you walking out of the apartment building he was sitting in front of waiting to make a delivery.

He had received a text earlier that day from someone saying they needed weed to help them relieve some stress from exams, and the person didn't live far, just on the opposite side of his apartment complex, so he didn't mind driving. Now seeing that it was you he was texting, he felt his heartbeat pick up the closer you got to his car.

From the moment he saw you on campus you've had him under your spell. Every time he would pass you on campus or see you at a party, it was like he was in a movie scene where the girl has a light from heaven shining on her and everything else around her was blurry.

Sometimes his jaw would fall open, Armin wiping the side of his mouth while saying, "Close up pretty boy, you're drooling." The comment making Jean and Connie laugh also adds to the teasing, resulting in Eren punching both boys in the arm and muttering a 'shut up.'

You clouded his thoughts, even when you weren't around somehow, distracting him while doing homework, playing the game, hanging out with friends, and even smoking. Just from locking eyes with you for one second, you were all this man could think about.

Hearing a knock on his window pulls him out of his thoughts and he rolls the window down, greeting you with a smile.

"Thank you so much for doing this," holding out your hand to give him the $30, he counts it before handing you 15. "You said it was 30."

He shakes his head, handing you the small baggy, "New customer deal." He had never given a new customer a 50% off deal before, but for you, he made the exception.

"I appreciate that Eren," and then your face contorts into a small pout. "Uh...actually, do you think you could roll these for me? I've never rolled one before."

"Oh yeah, definitely," he holds his hand out for the bag.

"How about you come up to my apartment?" You put your hands on your face in embarrassment, laughing a little. "Sorry if I sound forward or weird, I just would rather you be comfortable since I'm making you do more work.

He agrees saying it's not weird and gets out of his car following you into the building. Opening the door to your apartment he's greeted with a warm scent of vanilla as he looks around. Your lights are dim, soft sounds of Rick and Morty playing on your tv that's mounted on a wall, and a few pictures of you with friends and family next to it.

You gesture for him to sit on your couch making room on the small table you had in front of it for him to use. You sat on the smaller sofa on the opposite side of the couch pulling your legs up to your chest.

"You a smoker?" he questions taking the weed out of the small baggy he had placing it in his grinder.

"Not really, I smoke at parties if my friends have some, but that's it," he nods, taking the weed out of the grinder and sprinkling it on the paper. "How long have you been dealing?"

Pursing his lips together, he looks up thinking, "About a year."

"Do you like it?" you question, head leaning against your arms.

"Yeah, it's not a hard job, drugs are always in demand, so I'll always have business," he explains. "and the pay is good."

Finishing up rolling your blunts, he smiles at you as he shows them to you, "Perfection."

"Thank you so much," you stand up, trying to hand him the other $15 but he puts his hand up stopping you.

"I told you, new customer deal," you follow him to your door, walking him out. "Text me if you need anything else."

Making it a weekly thing, you text him when you need some weed and he'll come up to your apartment to roll it for you. The more he comes over the more you two get to know each other, eventually asking him to just stay and smoke with you, since he was still giving you a discount even though you're not a new customer anymore.

You started inviting him to hang out at your place, not even wanting to smoke, just wanting to be around him. You would notice him just staring at you sometimes, snapping your fingers in his face and he'd just apologized with a laugh. It didn't bother you, not even close, it made you feel fuzzy all over, and you finally decided to ask him about it.

Your bedroom is filled with laughter and hip-hop playing softly in the background as you are both laid on your bed. His head felt fuzzy, you consuming his thoughts and he didn't even realize he was staring with a dopey grin on his face.

"Why do you do that?" you have the same dopey grin on your face as you're looking at him and Trance by Metro Boomin starts to play.

"Do what?" He raises his eyebrow nodding his head to the beat of the song.

"Stare at me. You do it a lot," you sit up against your bed frame, your hand scratching at his scalp. He had his hair in a bun, a few strands framing his face.

"I don't know . . . you're just pretty," he licks his lips, eyes still staring into yours.

"Shut up," you laugh and he closes his eyes, enjoying your fingers playing in his hair.

"I'm serious, you're so pretty," you don't say anything. You both just humming to the music.

"You know this song reminds me of you," you look down at him, his eyes still closed.

"Why's that?"

"Whenever I look at you, I feel like I'm in a trance," he moves his hand to run over your leg. "even randomly throughout the day I'll just start thinking about you."

You pushed his head to make him look away from you as your grinning, cheeks hurt, "That's just the weed talking."

"It's not, I swear," his eyes open. "The first time I saw you, way before I even brought you weed that first time, I felt like you were compelling me to just focus on you."

"You're so dramatic," you sigh head leaning back against the headboard.

"You were just so pretty, I couldn't even focus on anything else that day," he confessed. "Even after that, we never talked and you would randomly just pop up in my head."

You hid your face in his hand, giggling at his words, head feeling so hazy. Taking a peek at him from between your fingers, he lights the blunt that was sitting on your nightstand, and he just looks so good . . .

"Come here," he taps your thighs and you look at him confused cause you’re already so close. "Sit on my lap."

Without a second thought, you were straddling his lap, feeling his dick right against your thigh, and he lets out a small groan, as he is exhaling the smoke. His eyes are low and red, looking over your body. You're wearing a white camisole that stopped just above your belly piercing and black shorts that showed quite a bit of your ass.

His hand is rubbing your thigh, his lip caught between his teeth. Your hands go under his hoodie, lightly scraping your nails against his soft skin, licking your lips at how good he looks.

He's licking his dry lips as he's looking at you before taking another drag of the blunt. Grabbing your face he pulls you down so your lips are almost touching and he blows the smoke into your mouth while you inhale it. Closing the little space between you, your lips are pressed to his in a needy and heated kiss.

Hands comb through his hair as you're lightly grinding against him, needing to ease the sensation between your legs. He puts the bunt in the ashtray then both of his hands go down to your ass, groping and helping you grind against him. Your both moaning in each other's mouth, whiny breaths.

"Want you to sit on my face," he says between kisses with a smile. You peck his lips a few more times before crawling up his body so you're clothed pussy is hovering over his face. Using his index finger, he slides your shorts over revealing your glistening cunt. He nudged your clit with his nose, inhaling your scent, then blowing his breath on the nub watching you shiver.

Being impatient you sit down on his face and he hums burring his face between your thighs, tongue greedily lapping at your wet folds. You're grabbing onto the headboard, moans slipping from your lips, as he's flicking his tongue against your clit.

He's so loud as he slurps your essence from your dripping hole, feeling it clench around nothing against his lips. You're whimpering his name, fingers tugging at his brown locks, eyes looking down to meet his. "Taste . . so good," he's so pussy drunk already, loud moans vibrating against your lower lips.

Grinding your little puffy nub into his nose, his tongue slides into your drooling hole, penetrating it, feeling you squeeze his pink muscle. He's watching your eyes screwed shut, jaw slack, and head falling back.

He has the perfect few of your pebbled nipples poking through your shirt, as your chest rises and falls, the more you hump his face, "So pretty—riding my face."

You reach behind you rubbing your hand against his bulge and he's instantly grinding against it, so needy to be touched. You push his sweatpants down with the help of him raising his hips, and his dick flings out free. You give him a few pumps before spitting in your hand and stroking him again, "Ah—fuck."

He's so messy eating your pussy, nose and chin sticky with your arousal, desperately slurping at your pussy, the sounds getting louder and filthier, as your thighs twitch around his head. He's moaning and groaning, at the taste of your pussy and how good your hand feels wrapped around his dick.

Your legs are growing tired, shamelessly humping his face, feeling your orgasm almost hit its peak, "Gonna . . cum Eren."

His eyes are rolling back, mumbling something incoherent into your pussy as his hips are stuttering into your hand. He slides his hands from your ass up to your nipples, pinching and pulling at the buds, as you start to twist your wrist and squeeze his tip as you stroked his cock.

Holding his head still with the grip you had on his now messy bun, you feel your orgasm crash over you with a few screams of Eren's name, and he's following right behind you. Globs of cum coating your hand and his lower stomach, your hand still moving helping him ride out his orgasm.

When you both come down from your highs, you're sitting back on his thighs, Eren's face is glistening with your arousal, licking his lips savoring your taste. With a lazy grin on your face, you lean down giving him sloppy kisses, tasting yourself on his lips with a moan, "Taste so sweet, pretty girl."

Kissing down your neck to your chest, he's sucking on one of your nipples, tongue darting out licking around the cold metal hearts, while his fingers play with the other one, "Can I taste you again?"

©HANNSDIARY 2023 | all rights reserved. please don’t copy, steal, modify, or repost my work on other sites.

#♰ : 𝐇𝓐𝐍𝐍𝓢𝐃𝐈𝓐𝐑𝓨 ! #♰ : 𝓔𝐑𝓔𝐍 𝐉𝓔𝐀𝐆𝓔𝐑 ! #plug!eren x reader #plug!eren #plug!eren x black reader #plug!eren x black fem reader #eren jaeger x black reader smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren jaeger x y/n #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x black reader #attack on titan x female reader #aot x you #aot x female reader #aot x black reader #aot x reader #aot x y/n #aot smut #aot eren smut #eren jeager smut #eren x you #eren x reader #eren x black reader #eren x black y/n #eren x black fem!reader #aot x reader smut #eren x reader smut #eren yaeger x reader #eren yaeger smut

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 17 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language and depictions of medical treatment (mentions of an IV, not overly descriptive), fluff (!), angst, A LOT of pent-up emotions, SLOW BURN

words: 15.5k (help)

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 17 ► looking sideways when i say i’m okay with the past, but i’m afraid of what i might say if you ask

When you regained consciousness, it took you a few more minutes to understand what was happening.

In your hazy mind, the first clear thought you could grasp was a memory: Jungkook had gotten into a fight. Instinctively, you imagined yourself standing up and finding him. Not because your job required you to—honestly, you weren’t sure what job you even had at this point, your mind hadn’t sorted itself out yet—but because you wanted to see if he was okay.

You tried to open your eyes, but the room was spinning, and you felt a little queasy from the unexpected vertigo.

You shut your eyes again and tried to focus on your other senses—as best as you could without moving—hoping that this would answer some of the new questions forming in your mind.

You did not know where you were or how you got here, but the room was warm. The lack of proper ventilation made the air feel stuffy.

You didn’t hear any background noise, so you assumed you weren’t at a hospital. But you could hear a lot of shouting in the room. You thought you discerned three different voices, but they were all talking over each other, so it was hard to tell.

You were lying on something soft but scratchy, and a heavy duvet pressed you into the bed. It felt comforting, but you were starting to sweat.

Someone’s hand was on your wrist, their fingers cold.

Reflexively, you squeezed their hand.

“Don’t move,” someone whispered right next to you. Jungkook, you realised. “We’ve called a doctor.”

Your initial reaction was relief. He was here, so he had to be okay.

Your next reaction, however, was pure panic. You didn’t need a doctor. You just needed a minute.

“We should have taken her to a hospital,” another voice argued. “I’ll never forgive you if anything happens to her.”

That had to be Luna, you were sure of it. Your eyes remained closed, but you could envision your friend with her arms crossed over her chest, regarding the boy next to you with a scorching glare.

You didn’t like this mention of a hospital.

You squeezed Jungkook’s hand again, but even as he tried to explain to Luna that you would go on a particularly bloody rampage if he took you to a hospital—he had a point and you would have felt grateful if you hadn’t been so distressed—she still wasn’t hearing him.

You opened your mouth and felt your chapped lips tighten painfully.

“No hospital, please,” you croaked in the voice of someone who had been a successful chain smoker for over fifty years.

You heard Luna whisper-yell, “you’re unbelievable, the both of you!” and you tried to open your eyes again, but nothing had changed. It still felt a bit like gravity had taken a day off as the room and everyone around you continued to float.

You heard a faint voice that you did not recognise, and from the official tone and the immediate chill you felt inside, you deduced that it was the doctor.

“I’m going to administer a very mild sedative,” he said—to whom, you weren’t sure. Your insides felt very heavy. “And set up a drip. Make sure she doesn’t move much or the catheter will—oh, see, like that. That can’t happen.”

Your muscles spasmed involuntarily. Something pricked your arm. You didn’t mind needles, but you did not like IVs. You didn’t need to be sedated.

“I don’t think—” you tried to say when you felt something cold on your arm—the doctor’s hands, presumably, in very unpleasant, squeaky latex gloves. “I don’t think I need this.”

“Can you open your eyes for me, please?” the doctor asked.

“No,” you said with what you hoped was a shake of your head. In reality, you merely wrinkled your nose. “T-that is not something I can do right now. But in a—”

“Your body needs rest,” the doctor explained. Jungkook moved closer until he was clutching your hand with both of his. “It won’t knock you out, but it will relax you, make you a little drowsy. That will likely help you fall asleep naturally. Is that all right?”

You lacked the strength to tell him that you were already very tired—or the strength to tell him that you still had things to do, so you couldn’t just sleep.

The memory of the flooding at the venue in Manchester came back to your mind and your muscles tensed again.

Really, you were about to refuse, but there was hardly anything you disliked more than inconveniencing people. They had invited a doctor for you. He was just doing his job.

“Okay,” you said in quiet defeat.

“Your friends are in the room with you,” the doctor said. You felt a cold sensation on your arm. “They will stay with you and make sure you get plenty of rest. Even after you wake up, you must spend as much time in bed as you possibly can.”

“Don’t phrase it like that,” you heard Jungkook object. “Give us a specific time, or she’ll be out of bed as soon as she wakes up.”

Silence followed. You tried to imagine what was happening. Jungkook must have looked very eager—in his exaggerated manner, which resembled desperation rather than hope. Luna probably nodded in agreement. The doctor, if he was kind enough, smiled at them patiently.

“Two days,” he finally stated. “Today and tomorrow, at the very least. If she has to walk, someone should accompany her. But don’t keep her on her feet for too long. I’ve seen the crowd of people outside this room—don’t tire her out. There should only be one or two people in the room with her, all right? Proper nutrition, sufficient sleep, and a—”

You felt yourself drifting off, and the doctor’s words faded and merged together until you were no longer sure whether you were imagining what a doctor would say in this situation, or if he was actually speaking.

When you opened your eyes again, Luna and Maggie were seated in the armchairs next to your bed. The room had stabilised, allowing you to take in your surroundings before Luna glanced up from her phone and Maggie pulled out her earpods, noticing that you were awake.

The space around you appeared to be a hotel room. Next to the bed stood a metal bar with bags of faint yellow liquid on it. A catheter was attached to your arm and an intravenous line led to it from the drip. You shivered at the sight of it.

“Oh!” Luna’s gasp drew your attention back to her. She dropped her phone on her seat and straightened up. “How are you feeling?”

Right away, Maggie jumped up and removed her earpods.

“Confused,” you spoke and immediately tried to clear your prickly throat.

Maggie leapt forward and grabbed an empty glass from the bedside table. She poured some water from one of the three bottles on the floor and handed it to you.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had water. It tasted heavenly.

“You’re in a hotel room,” Luna explained as you drank. Maggie sat down on the armrest of her friend’s chair. “In Manchester.”

The mention of the city made you glare at her, and both girls breathed a sigh of relief. At least you knew where you were in a broader sense.

“It’s 7 PM,” Luna said after checking her phone. “The band has a day off tomorrow because the concert’s been postponed—”

“Because of the flooding,” you finished, leaning forward to put the glass back on the table. “I remember, Luna. Thanks. What, um—how come I’m here?”

Luna looked at Maggie for a moment, wordlessly asking her to take over the story.

“Well, you fainted,” Maggie started. She wasn’t usually a woman of many words, and this time was no different, which you found comforting. If Maggie didn’t think it was necessary to talk for hours, then you must not have been doing that bad. “Jungkook found you.”

“Yeah,” Luna had to interject with more details—she was still irked about his decision to book a hotel room instead of a hospital room. “And then he spent half an hour describing your symptoms. It took the doctor all of one second to diagnose you with burnout and put you on a vitamin drip. He told us to keep you on bed rest and watch for any more nosebleeds or fainting spells. If they continue, you’ll need to go into urgent care.”

You wanted to ask questions—where did they find this doctor? Where was this hotel? What was happening at the venue?—but the girls were on a roll.

“Meanwhile, I wasn’t even allowed in the room,” Maggie said, returning to her chair and sitting down properly. She was upset that she had missed what Luna had just summarised for you. “The doctor told us that only one person could stay, but neither Luna, nor Jungkook agreed to leave. So, no one else could come in until you were feeling better.”

“Jungkook was the one who decided on the hotel room, by the way,” Luna remarked, seemingly glad to finally express her frustrations. “I argued. I think you should at least have a blood test done. What if you’re anaemic? But—”

“I’m not anaemic,” you finally interrupted as you settled back on the bed. The mattress quickly adjusted to the shape of your body. Closing your eyes, you had to admit that the bed was really quite comfortable. Perhaps you could stay here for a few more hours. “This has happened to me before. I’ll be fine.”

Luna sighed. Her knowledge of the last time this had happened to you came from Jungkook’s haphazard stream of thought as he tried to explain to the doctor that the two of you had been in this exact situation before—you, unconscious, and he, on the verge of losing his mind.

Honestly, for a moment, Luna thought the doctor had considered sedating Jungkook instead of you.

“I knew you were going to say that,” she muttered after a minute. “Jungkook seemed to believe you’d shoot us all dead if we took you to a hospital.”

Gratitude bubbled up in your chest, but when you saw your friend’s solemn features, you tried to soften your response.

“I wouldn’t have shot you,” you said. “I would have smothered you all with pillows."

Maggie scoffed, and Luna rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips still turned up.

“Nice to see you haven’t gained a sense of humour while you were out,” Maggie teased.

“Ha,” you responded dryly—but you were smiling, too.

Luna crossed her legs on the armchair to get more comfortable. She glanced at Maggie anxiously. The girls weren’t sure if they were tiring you out with their conversation, but you were looking up at the ceiling, not indicating that you were tired in any way, so they decided to continue.

“So, want to tell us how this happened, then?” Luna asked.

You turned your head to her. “I was hoping you’d tell me. I can’t exactly remember.”

“You fainted,” Maggie reminded you. Luna leaned over and gave her a pat on the arm, thanking her for this valuable reminder.

You smiled gently. “You mentioned that. Where’d the doctor come from?”

“Oh, Jungkook found one,” Maggie said. “There’s a clinic across the street from the venue. And this hotel is right next door.”

“Oh.”

A minute passed as you attempted to piece it all together.

You could not remember any of this, but the news that Jungkook had taken care of most things was not calming. He must have really been going out of his mind.

You were curious about where he was, but you didn’t want to ask. Your paranoid mind made you think that any question about Jungkook that was not related to Rated Riot was unnecessary and would, therefore, be misunderstood. Your friends already seemed like they were resisting a few additional comments for the sake of your health.

“So,” Luna started after a quiet minute, “how come you fainted?"

You exhaled and tried to scratch your eyebrow, but the catheter tugged painfully at your skin, and you winced instead.

You dropped your hand back down. “I-I... I guess I overestimated myself.”

Luna pushed the IV stand closer to your bed so you could have more freedom with your limbs. You nodded gratefully.

“You’re going to have to slow down,” Luna said. “It’s no longer negotiable, I’m afraid. If you don’t listen to us, we will take you to a hospital.”

It was the plural pronoun that bothered you the most, but you forced yourself to swallow your discomfort at disrupting the daily routines of your friends.

“I’ll be alright soon,” you said. “And I promise this won’t happen again.”

“It had better not,” Maggie chimed in. “And what’s with this hatred of hospitals? You don’t like that they’re full of people who want to help you feel better?”

“I don’t hate them,” you said, which wasn’t entirely true. Your experiences in hospitals included your mum crying, and you’d rather not relive that—not so soon after your brother broke his leg. “I just don’t have time for them. I’m okay.”

Luna gave you a stern look. Even Maggie, who was usually quite calm when you said you were fine, was glowering a little.

“Fine,” you conceded. “I’ll endure this drip and then I'll be okay. Thank you for being here.”

Luna made a deliberate scene of fixing the bags on the metal stand—clearly intending to emphasise the seriousness of your condition—and then lowered herself back into her armchair.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

Smiling at both of your girls—to distract them from further discussing your health—you said, “I love you.”

“We love you, too,” Maggie said. “And, babe, just so you know, it’s not just us. There was—everyone was here. The concierge nearly fainted when he saw us all in the hallway.”

Your smile quickly fell. “What do you mean, everyone?”

“We took care of it, don’t worry,” Luna interjected, sensing your growing panic. “Maggie and I talked to Seokjin, Jimin, and Namjoon, who then spoke to the rest of the staff and escorted them out. And Jungkook took care of his band.”

The panic lingered. Your job was solving crises, not causing them. You did not like this.

“He took care of them?” you repeated, swallowing.

“Well, they were very worried,” Luna explained, glancing at Maggie for help. Maggie only nodded, indicating her agreement. “And, uh, they were very loud, too. He told them to go and texted them updates every ten minutes.”

“God.” You closed your eyes and carefully tried to prop yourself up into a half-sitting position. “What updates? I was asleep.”

“That’s what he’s been texting them,” Luna explained. “Every ten minutes, on the dot. And then Taehyung texted me, asking why I kicked his best friend out of your room—which is ridiculous because I did not kick him out. But you’re my best friend, so technically, I would have had the right to kick him out if you were uncomfortable.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose with your hand and shook your head, an involuntary smile creeping onto your face at your friend’s protectiveness. “I’m comfortable. Thank you.”

“Are you going to see him?” Maggie asked.

You looked up at her. “Jungkook?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “He’s right behind the door, you know. Glued to the wall in the hallway.”

Your gaze slid down her dark blue jacket and focused on the mirror on the wall behind her. “Oh.”

“The doctor said he would need to go to the hospital, too, by the way,” Luna said, earning a surprised look from you. “He said the bandages around his head looked very threatening.”

You pressed your lips together. You’d expected that, but you still felt a fleeting twinge of disappointment—you’d covered his wounds to the best of your ability. And the bandages were honestly not the worst part of this.

“The doctor hasn’t even seen what’s underneath,” you said.

“He has now, actually,” Maggie replied. “He went to the emergency room about an hour ago to have them changed.”

You were too taken aback to properly understand her. “Jungkook did?”

“Yeah,” Luna said, pulling her phone out. Your mind tuned out her next few sentences as you struggled to come to terms with the fact that Jungkook had gone to the emergency room on his own accord. “—and he called us from the hospital. Apparently, he pestered the nurses with questions about what else we could do to help you feel better. They told him to leave, but he wanted to hear from us—in case we thought you needed anything. I wouldn’t be surprised if he brought a heart monitor here, just in case.”

Maggie snickered—but caught the serious looks on the faces around her and covered it up with a fractured cough—while you groaned and rubbed your eyes. You wouldn’t have been surprised, either.

You exhaled. “Yeah—I-I’ll see him. If that’s okay with you?”

Both girls nodded and got up from their seats. Before they went, however, they convinced you to accept their help to complete the difficult task—as you pointed out while rolling your eyes—of walking ten steps to the bathroom, and then ten steps back to your bed. Clearly, they were taking the doctor’s orders very seriously.

“We’ll be right outside,” Luna said once you settled back in bed. “Call or text—”

“No,” you protested. “You can’t—you don’t need to stay here. You’ve already done so much.”

“We were just sitting in your room with you,” Maggie said. “It’s hardly anything. Don’t worry about us.”

“It’s not hardly anything,” you disagreed. “At least get something to eat.”

The two girls looked at each other. Maggie shrugged and then looked back at you, still doubtful. You nodded with more conviction.

“We’ll pick up some food for everyone and come back,” Luna finally decided. “Okay?”

You nodded again. “Okay. Thank you.”

As soon as the girls opened the door to your hotel room, you heard shuffling outside—as if someone had been leaning right up against the door and scrambled away before it opened.

“You may come in,” Luna told Jungkook with excessive dramatics as she and Maggie turned to wave at you again.

You gave them another nod and watched as Jungkook tentatively walked inside. He turned to close the door behind him and lingered, for an awkward moment, at the entrance.

His bandages were fresh and none of the scantily wrapped bruises were visible any longer. Perhaps they would heal in time for the concert.

Before you could express your hopes out loud, however, Jungkook took a shaky breath and approached you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t know what I would have done if—”

“W-why are you sorry?” you cut him off, disturbed by the absolute devastation in his voice.

He was right next to your bed now, barely able to inhale. “It’s—you—you fainted—and—it was because—I shouldn’t—”

It hit you, suddenly, why he was hyperventilating so much. And the shock of this realisation was so great that you could not react immediately, and he proceeded to stutter for another few moments.

“This—it has nothing—this isn’t about you,” you finally said, almost as coherent as he was.

Still, he persisted, “but I—you—I was—I should have—”

“I didn’t faint because of you, Jungkook,” you said more firmly. There were several reasons why he should have felt guilty, of course, but this was definitely not one of them.

He finally stopped speaking, although the rapid process of inhaling and exhaling—which caused his shoulders to hunch and straighten from the intensity of the motions—continued for another minute.

Then he gave you a long, uncertain look. You maintained eye contact and watched as his breathing gradually slowed. You had never seen him panic so much and so suddenly—he had seemed almost perfectly fine when he came in, but it took him all of two seconds to fall apart.

Slowly, he regained control of his breathing and looked you over once more.

“Okay,” he said, shifting his weight to his other leg. “I-I don’t know if that—if it makes me feel better, but—”

“Thank you,” you said.

Lost in his own thoughts, he craned his neck towards you. “Hm?”

“Luna and Maggie told me you’re the one who found me.”

Jungkook looked briefly embarrassed.

“I explicitly asked them not to tell,” he said.

You smiled. “I’m sure this was Force majeure, so don’t blame them. And they’re my best friends anyway.”

“Clearly.” He brought his hands down his face before admitting, “I just—I thought you wouldn’t want to see me.”

A part of you thought he was right to assume that. You shouldn’t want to see him.

But another part of you forced you to lower your gaze and twiddle your thumbs nervously as you linked your hands on your stomach.

“No, uh, see,” you began with a nervous chuckle. “That’s, uh—that’s almost the worst part of this whole thing. My plan, really, was to avoid you.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows, then politely lowered them. He placed his hand on the back of the armchair and said, profoundly, “very mature.”

“You don’t get to judge,” you warned.

The corner of his lip quirked. “Just making an observation.”

“So, my plan was to avoid you,” you continued. “But we both know how that ended. And then I woke up here, sort of feeling like I was floating in a space station somewhere near Saturn, and you know what my first thought was?”

Jungkook thought he was floating in a space station somewhere near Saturn.

“Wh—um, what?” he asked.

“My first thought was if you were okay.”

You looked at him as you said that, and he thought he saw the rest of his life flash before his eyes—a life that, just a few days ago, he’d deemed meaningless.

Without any proper distractions, it was just him and his thoughts, and they were never good company. They hated him for losing you.

But then you fainted and now that you’ve regained consciousness, your first thought was if he was okay.

He didn’t trust his legs very much anymore.

“Can I sit?” he asked, a little breathless again.

You took a second to reply, and he interpreted it as a sign of hesitation. “You can.”

Suspicious, he asked, “will you try to leave if I sit?”

You gave him a questioning look and nudged your hand, causing the IV bags to wobble. “Does it look like I can move around with this?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You might still try.”

You snorted and shook your head. “Just sit down, Jungkook.”

He sat down.

The two of you were a peculiar sight like this. If this were a role-playing video game, there would have been exclamation marks over your heads—and if you had been approached, the list of conversation starters the player could choose would have been, simply, endless.

There was so much you wanted to say and ask each other, but the strength of your resistance was absurdly impressive.

One thought, however, overwhelmed everything, and it was very simple: how little everything else mattered compared to your health.

Jungkook took a deep breath and looked at you, taking in your tired, but ceaselessly dreamlike features.

Slowly, he found himself calming down. As long as you were here, as long as you were okay, things would work out one way or another.

“I, um—your mum called, by the way,” Jungkook said. “I have your phone. It fell out of your jacket when I—when I found you.”

Right away, you felt a surge of panic. You and your mum had a deal. She knew you were busy, so she would text sometimes, but never call. Unless something had happened.

“My—she called me?” you repeated with so much concern that Jungkook noticed the drip stand shake a little from the force of your distress. “Did you answer?”

He felt his own hands return to their almost natural trembling. “Uh, well, as it happened—I did.”

“Why did she call? What happened?”

“Well, nothing,” he said. “She said she hadn’t heard from you in a while, and she was worried.”

Mother’s intuition, she had called it when she spoke to you. When you returned to your dorm after your hospital stay six years ago, she had called you because “for some reason” she couldn’t sleep for two nights in a row. She didn’t know you were ill, of course, but it touched you, this maternal feeling that transcended all logic.

It could have been a coincidence, you supposed. Lots of things were.

“What did you say?” you asked.

“I said you had a lot of things to take care of,” Jungkook replied. “But you’d call her when you had a free moment.”

You watched him as he spoke and noticed his eyes widen momentarily, clearly taken aback by what he’d just seen in your expression. You realised you hadn’t expected him to hide this from your mum, and your surprise must have shown.

Blinking, you turned away and gripped the edge of your duvet.

“Thank you,” you said.

“I also told her you’re very stressed,” he added quieter.

“Oh—well, that—you could have kept that to yourself,” you said, less enthusiastic about his thoughtfulness. “She’s going to freak out about it.”

“Let her,” he countered. “You’re her child. She’s worried about you. You have to let people worry about you when there’s a reason to.”

You had a different opinion, of course. But instead of arguing, you chose to find out what conclusions your mum had drawn from this brief exchange. She hadn’t heard from Jungkook directly in years, even though she knew you were working together.

“What did she—was she surprised to hear from you?” you asked.

Your question made Jungkook appear as if he was trying very hard to tap dance while sitting down. He bounced his legs, tapped his feet, and occasionally scratched something under his chin, above his nose, or on the back of his neck.

“Uh, well, we’re, um, you know,” he said. You were almost ready to assume that he was hiding something else. “You and me—w-we’re working together. She wasn’t that surprised.”

“Right, but I mean—”

“I told her not to worry too much, and that you’d love to hear from her,” he finished, skilfully diverting from the topic and speaking even louder so you wouldn’t have a chance to interject with another question. “She said she’d text you, and you should call her when you have a minute. Not right now, though. You’re resting now.”

Again, you tried, “I’m just—”

“She put Kai on the phone, too,” he added. “So, I talked to him for a second. He called you an idiot.”

That took a very unusual turn, you thought in surprise. Your mum hadn’t spoken to Jungkook in years, and now she wanted to put your brother on the phone, too—you were simply confused.

“He—why’d he say that?” you asked, presently more unnerved by the name-calling than your mother’s unexpected choices.

“For forgetting to call your mum, he said. And for working too much,” Jungkook replied. “Which is precisely what I warned you about in Amsterdam, so I honestly can’t believe this happened to you again. We asked you to take it easy, so at least listen to us now, and—”

It was hard to breathe in this still room, with the force of everyone’s concern weighing you down.

Slowly, you kicked one leg out from under the duvet. “I did take it easy.”

“Right,” he said, closing his eyes and mumbling, “you never fucking take it easy.”

You heaved yourself up to your feet, holding onto the IV stand for support. “I was—”

Jungkook looked up and jumped to his feet as soon as he realised what you were doing. “Where are you going? Sit down.”

“I’m fine. I’m just—”

He blocked your way, quickly ensuring that you did not have enough space to take another step.

“See, I told you you’d do this,” he groaned, his chest pressed against yours. “Just sit down.”

You tried not to stagger backwards—which was his intention, of course—and still stood your ground. “I just want to open the window, I’m—”

“Sit down.”

Huffing in angry resignation, you sat back down.

“Okay,” he said, stepping back from the bed to give you more space. “Now lie down.”

You rolled your eyes but settled back into a horizontal position, glaring at him all the while.

“Should I roll over, too?” you bit. “Give you a paw?”

“Not unless you want to.”

You bared your teeth. “Funny.”

“Just lie down, please,” he reiterated. “And just—just rest, okay? For a little while, at least. I’ll open the window.” He saw you open your mouth and added hurriedly, “I know you can do it yourself. But let me.”

Sighing, you surrendered to the warm confines of the duvet. “Okay. Thanks.”

He crossed the room and struggled with the curtains for a moment. He could tell you were watching him, and he felt irrationally nervous—he thought that if he did something wrong, you would try to get up again. Finally, he grabbed the handle of the window, twisted it and pulled. A moment or two later, a welcome breeze finally filled the stuffy room.

Relieved to be able to breathe something other than your discomfort, you watched Jungkook return to his armchair.

“You didn’t tell me if you’re okay,” you reminded him. “How’s your eye?”

He looked confused as he lifted his hand—as if to verify if the eye in question was still there—then paused and dropped it again.

“It’s working,” he said, sitting back down next to your bed.

“And the pain?”

He shrugged. “Bearable.”

“Good,” you said, slipping your hands under the covers and resting them on your stomach. “I’m glad you took out your eyebrow piercing before the whole thing with Sid, by the way. Otherwise, we might have had even more problems.”

Jungkook didn’t want that to be your shared problem—he was determined to carry out his plan, which he boldly referred to as “Getting My Shit Together”—but at the same time, he was glad that he didn’t cause you any additional distress. Honestly, he couldn’t have cared less about his piercings right now.

“I—yeah.” He rubbed his eyebrow absentmindedly. “I hadn’t planned it like that, but it worked out, I guess.”

“Did you get any rest?” you asked then.

The question felt misplaced, and his stomach sank at the sheer wrongness of it. You were always worried about others. And he always gave you reasons to worry.

Really, while he was happy—alright, ecstatic—that you thought of him, he should have been the one asking you this.

“How, uh—how do you mean?” he returned.

“After the flight,” you said.

He looked down at the beige carpet under his boots and shook his head. He couldn’t have slept even if he wanted to—not until he was sure you weren’t on your feet, insisting you were okay.

“I don’t need rest,” he said.

But as you looked at him, it was clear that rest was exactly what he needed. Beneath the imposing bandages, his eyes were bloodshot, and his skin was pale and waxy. He was still beautiful—Maggie would have made a joke about it—but in a way that made your heart ache if you looked at him too long.

“You should go,” you said. “Get some sleep.”

Jungkook gave you a look as if you had just confessed that you enjoyed beheading people in your spare time: incredulous and slightly offended.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

This was going to turn into a childish game, you knew it. But you tapped your thumbs together and still tried.

“What if I want to be alone?” you asked.

“Then I’ll call Luna and Maggie.”

Your arched eyebrows challenged his solution.

“When I said alone,” you clarified, “I didn’t mean not with you.”

For just a split second, he looked almost relieved to hear this. Then he bit his lip and brought a hand over his knee.

“If my presence is not the problem,” he said, “then I’m staying.”

“The problem,” you argued, “is that you’re going to end up in this bed, connected to an IV, if you don’t sleep.”

“Let’s cut to the chase,” he offered. “I’m not leaving you alone. In fact, I’m staying. Unless you explicitly tell me you can’t stand to look at me anymore.”

He gave you an opening to tease, and you enjoyed building up to it as you looked down and ran your tongue over your lips.

“And, uh, you’d leave then?” you asked—taunted, really.

“Begrudgingly,” he replied, as discontented as you were amused.

You nodded. “Alright.”

He raised his eyebrows, slightly dispirited. “You’re going to tell me to go?”

“No,” you said. “Stay.”

So he stayed.

And this moment in the hotel room, as the vitamin drip dribbled quietly into the intravenous tube, did not just feel bizarre. It felt a little like a parallel universe—like you’d lost consciousness in a world where you were very angry and very stressed, and had woken up in a world where only subtle echoes of all the fervent emotions you’d once felt existed.

In this world, all that you were feeling was eclipsed by what really mattered: the people who were in this room with you and had been waiting outside of it.

But you felt another particularly prominent sentiment, which was heightened even more by Jungkook’s relentless focus on you. You did not want to name it, however. To identify it was to give it power over you, and you liked to believe that you had your heartbeat under control right now.

“It’s like—this is just like back then again,” Jungkook said suddenly. “Isn’t it?”

You exhaled, returning to the jagged, uncertain moment.

“Yeah...” you said, stretching the vowels in a frantic attempt to fill the space that would soon turn into an awkward silence. “Thank you for not taking me to a hospital this time. This really isn’t so bad.”

“It is bad,” he disagreed right away. “But I didn’t want you to have another reason to feel stressed. I thought a hotel room would relax you more than a hospital room.”

“It would,” you said. “Thanks.”

He hung his head. “Yeah.”

Not the awkward silence, not the awkward silence, not the—

“Well,” you inhaled, “at least you won’t have to study for any finals this time, right?”

You expected him to smile back at the gentle jab about him failing his exam the last time you were in the hospital. But when Jungkook looked up, he looked crestfallen somehow—almost like he was disappointed that he did not have to study for finals this time.

“Yeah, um, actually—I-I didn’t fail my exam because I didn’t study for it,” he said in a slow, contemplative tone. He wasn’t sure if he could ever admit this to you, but he figured he didn’t have much left to lose. He’d already told you so much. He might as well tell you all the rest. “I failed because your friend texted me about twenty minutes before my final, saying that you left your exam looking very disoriented. She asked if I could check on you.”

Horror descended on your face as you realised what he meant.

“You went to look for me,” you surmised painfully, “and didn’t show up to take your final.”

He nodded and you shook your head with a newfound ferocity.

“Jungkook,” you said, remembering how you reacted when he first told you he had failed—how you immediately blamed his recklessness and his friends. How you brought up all of his mistakes and thought this was another one of them.

“You passed out,” he said. “I don’t regret it.”

“I yelled at you so much!” you continued, lost in your own guilt. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“You helped me study, too,” he defended, feeling almost uncomfortable. He’d never felt your reaction was inappropriate, even under the circumstances. He had failed the exam, after all—like he’d failed several others before.

You shook your head again. “Yeah, but—”

“It’s fine,” he cut you off.

“It’s not fine!” you refuted immediately. “It was my fault you failed.”

“It wasn’t your—”

“I thought it was your friends again,” you said. “I thought they distracted you, and you didn’t study.”

There it was—this vast precipice between what you thought had happened and what had actually happened. Now that years have passed, Jungkook didn’t even know where to start.

The fact was this: you believed that every time he failed you, it was his friends’ fault—and that belief comforted him. It was so appropriate, so fitting.

And sometimes it was true, but even when it wasn’t—when it was just him, not being good enough—your assumption that it was Sid’s fault didn’t paint Jungkook as desperate; merely reckless. Not hopeless, only a little dumb. He preferred it this way.

But now he took a deep breath.

“My friends did distract me from a lot of things,” he said. “But the truth is, sometimes… I tried too hard, and I didn’t want you to know about it. I couldn’t stand the thought of trying to do something for you and then—just completely fucking everything up and letting you down. Sometimes blaming my friends was a convenient excuse.”

You frowned. “What—what are you talking about?”

“Well,” he wiped his palms on his black cargo pants and stretched out his legs, “remember when we were planning to go on holiday together and I fucked up?”

Your frown deepened.

“Hawaii?” you asked. “When you bought the tickets home for the same day we were flying there?”

“Uh…” He hadn’t realised he’d messed up several times. “No. Different holiday. When I missed the train we were supposed to take to the beach? For our summer break?”

“Oh.” You nodded. “I remember. But I saw Sid’s Instagram videos with you, drinking at his garage. I know you were—”

“Those were old videos. And he posted them at a very bad time, which, honestly,” he chuckled sadly, “it’s nothing new for Sid. He seized every opportunity to make me miserable, and I was—I relied on that sometimes. I think he wanted to start an argument between us on the train, that’s why he posted those videos. The truth is, though, I didn’t even see him that day. I missed the train because I wanted to rent out a car and surprise you.”

The quiet confusion on your face prompted him to keep going.

“I didn’t want just any car,” he explained. “I wanted the same Cadillac convertible I’d rented out for our first anniversary.”

You had fond memories of the convertible. Not of the actual drive, which was, honestly, quite painful—there were bugs and unruly strands of your hair everywhere—but of the laughter you’d shared inside.

“It was summer, finally warm enough outside,” Jungkook recalled. “I thought it would be a nice way to relax after studying. I even, uh—I made decorations and everything. Glittery, silver letters that said, ‘just passed our finals’. It’s a play on ‘just married’, you know? It’s a—a joke.”

Eager to understand where this was going, you remained frozen on the bed, and Jungkook felt himself waver slightly. He was glad you weren’t laughing—he dreaded you’d laugh or find any of this as embarrassing as he did—but he slid his hands under his thighs anyway, as if to warm them.

“The thing is, though,” he continued. “I didn’t take my passport with me. Because you don’t need a passport when you’re taking the fucking train, but you can’t rent a car without one, and those fucking assholes at the rental shop—anyway. I went back to my dorm to pick it up, and by the time I got back, the rental shop had closed for lunch. And I missed the train.”

Your heartbeat was steady—fast, absolutely speeding, but steady nonetheless. It hadn’t slowed since he started speaking.

Your expression, however, was almost painfully concentrated. When he looked at you, it seemed as if you were listening to a séance where a spirit was recounting their death.

You cleared your throat and tried to speak. “I thought—”

“You thought I forgot about our trip and went out with Sid,” Jungkook finished for you.

You didn’t have to confirm it, he knew. The hope that this was what you would assume was his safety blanket—this way, he didn’t have to face the fact that he could never do anything right for you, not even when he tried so hard to.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked.

You weren’t angry at him for this because he’d made it to the beach later that night, after all. He had taken the last train and barged into your cabin just after midnight. You had nearly knocked him out with a bedside lamp, assuming it was an intruder.

But you didn’t understand the point of allowing you to believe—for years—that it was Sid’s fault. Why didn’t he defend himself?

“Because—did you not hear me describe the letters I’d cut out from glittery paper?” Jungkook asked, his voice high-pitched in irritation at himself. “It’s embarrassing. I should have just met you at the train station like I said I would.”

“Well, why didn’t you?” you questioned. “Why put all this effort?”

“Because I love you,” he replied. You tugged on the IV tube again as you squirmed and unconsciously flexed your arm. “And because I saw your friends get picked up by their boyfriends in their cars. I saw those boyfriends bring them massive bouquets of roses. I saw all the grand fucking gestures that I could never do for you, because I didn’t have enough—I wasn’t—it was mortifying. I thought that you deserved the world, and all I could give you was… some fucking wildflowers before our dates.”

The corners of your lips twitched as you tried to speak, “it’s—I loved your wildflowers, though. And I never cared about anything else.”

“I know,” he said. “But I did.”

You looked down at the white duvet. “You and your gestures.”

Jungkook hummed, but did not add anything else. He was thinking—and regretting his silences. You were thinking, too—and wondering if this was the only time he allowed you to assume that his friends were at fault when they weren’t.

The room around you stilled, adapting to the atmosphere of the conversation. Even your drip quieted.

But then someone knocked on the door of the hotel room, and you and Jungkook almost lit up with relief.

“It’s us!” Luna’s voice called out just as Jungkook stood up to check who it was.

Your friends had returned with paper boxes of Thai food—enough to feed at least five people, from what you could see from your bed—and waved at you from the doorway.

A conversation followed—one that you couldn’t quite hear, except for irrelevant snippets, such as “are you sure?” and “well, okay”—and then Jungkook stepped away from the door, allowing the two girls to address you.

“Apparently, we’ll be heading back to the bus for a quick nap,” Luna said. Jungkook gave her a disapproving look that she promptly ignored. “Is that okay with you? Jungkook will stay.”

Your reflexive response was, of course, to try to dismiss their responsibility. “He doesn’t—neither of you have to stay—”

“Someone is staying,” Jungkook stated, his voice strict, final. “And I would like to be the one to do that.”

You weren’t protesting against him specifically, but as you prepared to reply, you realised it might seem that way. Your hesitant silence was a chance for Jungkook to nod at the two girls again. They nodded back, but then glanced back at you.

“Our phones are on,” Maggie said, lifting her device up for you to see. “So, you can still call or text us at any point, and we’ll rush over here right away.”

Jungkook raised his eyebrows. “That certainly does not make it sound like I’m about to torture her.”

You bit back a smile on your bed while Luna said simply, “just a precaution.”

“I get it,” he said. “And I’ll personally call you if I say or do anything that’s over the line.”

Neither Luna, nor Maggie had a response to that, and you looked up to meet three pairs of expectant eyes.

“I—it’s okay,” you said to the girls. “You—yes, get some rest. We’ll be fine here. Thank you.”

“Okay. We’ll be back!” Luna promised, shooting a warning look at Jungkook, while Maggie waved her phone and called out at you, “text us!”

You wanted to give them a small wave, but the thick duvet and the persistent catheter digging into your arm made it difficult to pull your hands out, so all you managed to do was just shuffle around under the covers and nod at them.

The girls left the take-out boxes inside, waved at you again, and walked away.

Jungkook closed the door and slowly returned to his seat, his shoulders hunched, hands in his pockets, and steps unsteady. He looked lost and frightened.

He didn’t want you to misunderstand his intentions. He didn’t want to stay here just to have you to himself, to apologise and to beg for your forgiveness. He wanted to stay because he couldn’t breathe when he didn’t know if you were okay.

As his hesitation hung in the air, memories of your previous hospital stay returned to you again, and you closed your eyes to shake them off.

“You should eat something,” you said.

Jungkook refused.

“When was the last time you ate anything?” you prodded.

Again, he mumbled and hummed under his breath, evading the question and sitting very still—as if he was expecting something. As if something was coming.

And you realised that something was coming. But you had to speak to bring that something here.

“So, then—w-was there anything else?” you finally asked.

Jungkook knew you were referring to the moment he’d just revealed, this deliberate misunderstanding. It was all he could think about. This was the something.

“There was,” he said with a sigh. “But I don’t—”

“Tell me about it.”

He had a lump in his throat that he couldn’t swallow—but not due to his lack of trying—and he suddenly felt like he was standing in front of a jury of his peers.

He didn’t want you to keep thinking that he hadn’t made an effort for you when he had, only it never turned out well. But he was also nervous about you learning how hard—and how impossibly much—he tried. He thought it would only highlight his shortcomings—and there were many of them.

He’d convinced himself that if you didn’t know about them, then he wasn’t letting you down. It was challenging to break out of this conviction now.

“Well—t-that Valentine’s Day,” he stammered. “Our second one—do you remember?”

You remembered right away. Despite your distaste for the commercialisation of the holiday, it still stung that Jungkook had avoided you the whole day. And for several days after that, too—although you’d assumed that to be deliberate. He’d missed Valentine’s Day and didn’t want to see you out of guilt.

“Sure,” you said.

“Well, that wasn’t Sid’s fault, either,” he said. “I know you thought we went on a drinking binge that weekend because Sid happened to conveniently go off the grid right at that time. He had a habit of—”

“But you weren’t with him?” you interjected, impatient.

“No. He was—it was nearly a Weekend at Bernie’s situation. There was some event happening at Jude’s summer house that weekend,” Jungkook said, and you tried to control yourself before you made mocking comments about the idea that people had enough money to own seasonal houses. “And Jude got so high that Sid and some of Jude’s cousins had to pretend he was just not feeling his best whenever his parents asked about him. They mimicked his voice through the door and everything.”

“So, where were you then?”

“I was—well, I—I spent that whole day—ah, no,” he stopped abruptly and brought his palms over his face, lacing his fingers over his mouth as he changed his mind. He couldn’t do this. It was awful. He was such a mess. “You know what? Maybe it’s better if you keep thinking I was at that summer house with them.”

“No,” you opposed in frustration, lunging forward to sit up. You did not listen to him drone on about Sid and Jude just to have him change his mind. “Now you have to tell me.”

Jungkook raised his head when you moved—his concern for you overwhelmed his chagrin.

“Okay, okay, don’t—lie down,” he asked, gesturing at the pillow.

You complied to get him to keep going. He took a breath.

“Just so you know,” he cautioned, “this might finally ruin my bad boy reputation.”

“You never had one.”

He clicked his tongue against his lower teeth. “Okay, ouch.”

You grinned. “Tell me. What really happened?”

He hesitated for another second, bouncing his knee up and down, up and down, and then stilling completely.

“Well, for one thing,” he began finally, “I was going to make dinner. That didn’t go well, because the communal kitchens were—well, you know. But that’s fine, I didn’t worry too much because there’s always take-out.”

You nodded. The communal kitchens in both of your dormitories were typically crowded with people or they smelled so terrible from a failed cooking experiment that it was simply wiser not to set foot in there.

“There was a great pizza place literally two blocks from your dorm,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, exactly.” He nodded in agreement. “But, um, we’d already gone out for a fancy dinner on Valentine’s Day the year before, so I wanted this year to be more… special. I don’t know. Or different, at least. So, I thought I’d cook and make you a slideshow. And—okay, you’ll have to stop smiling if you want me to continue.”

You hadn’t realised you were smiling. You pursed your lips and pulled them to each side to compose yourself.

“Sorry,” you said. “Continue.”

“Right,” he said. “So I made a PowerPoint. Added all of our pictures that I could find in my camera roll, wrote some funny captions. There were going to be at least 200 slides, I’m pretty sure you would have fallen asleep in the middle. I even recorded an acoustic Sleep Token cover to use as background music.”

You told yourself you’d stay quiet, but your disbelief was uncontrollable. “You didn’t!”

“I did,” he said, smiling, but trying not to, for the sake of the story. “It’s gone, though. I erased all traces of that night.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Well, I, uh—I didn’t want just to play you the slides on my laptop,” he said, scratching nervously at his chest over his dark grey hoodie. “I wanted something more.”

You nodded. “Of course.”

He looked away instead of acknowledging your comment.

“Then I remembered something I saw on Instagram that could have been cool. It was one of those aesthetic accounts. They had a picture of this dark, cosy room with a projector screening a film right on this white wall,” he said. “So, I thought, well, shit! I have a white wall behind my wardrobe. And the science lab downstairs has a projector.”

You didn’t like this as you stiffened on the bed, mumbling a dreading, “dear God.”

“Yeah.” He paused to lick his lips. “But it’s probably not what you think. I got the fucking projector.”

He said that with so much grandeur that you couldn’t help but raise your eyebrows—questioning if this was really something to be proud of.

He recapped the story anyway, “I took my roommate’s wrench, and it really didn’t take more than fifteen minutes to open the lab door, unscrew the projector, and bring it back up to my room.”

You shut your eyes and scrunched your nose at the step-by-step description. You wondered if there was a statute of limitations here, and if you would have been considered an accomplice now that you knew about this.

“They have security cameras, though,” you said, glancing at him again. “Don’t they?”

“They do,” Jungkook confirmed. He had a sardonic smile on his face. “Why do you think I was suspended for a month after Valentine’s Day?”

You lost him there. “Wait—they knew you stole the projector?”

“Borrowed,” he corrected. “I returned it two days later. But, yeah, uh—Minjun actually pulled some strings here. His dad went to university with the dean, so he vouched for me. Told him it was all a misunderstanding, and that it would never happen again.”

You looked away, frantically sifting through memories of the month after that particular Valentine’s Day. You remembered not seeing Jungkook for a few days after it, but you saw him fairly regularly later on. He would hang out in your dorm while you had classes, claiming not to have anything better to do.

It took you a full minute to properly recall the explanation he’d given about his suspension.

“Oh,” you said. “Minjun told me that you got suspended because you were caught completely wasted, spray-painting one of the campus buildings.”

Jungkook nodded, his eyes cast low.

“To be fair, I did spray-paint that one,” he admitted. “And I was probably wasted when I did it. But I wasn’t caught.”

You weren’t sure if “spray-painting” was a lesser offence than “stealing a projector from a laboratory” in your eyes, but you didn’t want to question Minjun’s decision now.

“Okay,” you said. “So what happened after you stole the projector?”

“Well, I took the borrowed projector up to my room and set it up,” he replied. “Everything looked great. I was going to give you the best Valentine’s Day dinner this world has ever fucking seen.”

He smacked his palms against his thighs as he spoke, showing off his determination, and you found yourself resisting a smile again. Jungkook had a certain way of telling stories—his changing smiles and small chuckles, his hand gestures and even his tone of voice always made it feel more vivid.

“But, um, I had to move the wardrobe to get a bare wall,” he continued. “And, uh, what I did not foresee was that, earlier that very same day, my roommate’s electric kettle had broken. He went out, purchased a new one. And he put the old one on top of the wardrobe to save space.” Jungkook gave you a moment to think back on this roommate. “You remember the guy, he hoarded everything, all kinds of fucking cables and wires, and—anyway. So, I started to push the wardrobe, and the fucking kettle—it fell and hit me right on the top of my head.”

A surprised gasp left your lips—a stark contrast to the easy, laid-back way he had just spoken.

Jungkook nodded in response to your reaction. “Yeah. My vision sort of darkened and I thought I heard something crack—I, uh, I did think it was my skull, not going to lie.”

He chuckled again—to minimise the impact of his words once more—but you sat up despite his inevitable protests.

“Jungkook!” you scolded. “And you didn’t tell me?!”

“Well, my skull obviously didn’t really crack.”

“I’m not so sure that it didn’t.”

“Anyway,” he stressed. “There wasn’t any blood or anything, so after a few minutes of sitting on the floor, I figured I was good to go. Then I stood up, and, uh—I don’t think you need a visual of what happened then.”

You closed your eyes.

Really, no. You did not need a visual.

About a year ago, at one of the smaller Rated Riot concerts—at a club that seemed harmless at first glance—Jungkook had climbed over to a wooden ceiling beam and swung his arms over it to brachiate across the narrow joist. The beam turned out to be heavily lacquered, and his sweaty palms slid right off, forcing him to crash onto the table below.

He gave himself a concussion, sprained his shoulder, broke $200 worth of bottles and glasses, and frightened the living hell out of the middle-aged couple who were sitting at the table that he’d landed on.

“Yeah,” you said in your quiet hotel room. “I can imagine.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook breathed out. He recalled this exact same moment—and he knew that, once again, the cause of his injury was his own overexertion. “So, I spent the whole night in my dorm room, on the floor—because I couldn’t crawl to my bed—hoping that I wouldn’t die.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to call me?” you asked—not gently. “Or the fucking ambulance, actually?”

“No,” he replied, unfazed by your disapproving tone. “Not if it meant having to explain what I was doing before all of that happened.”

“You’re crazy,” you said, shaking your head. “You clearly got a concussion, and you didn’t do anything about it.”

“To be fair,” he said, “it’s not that I was embarrassed about it or anything. I was just—horrified that I’d let you down. It was Valentine’s Day. I wanted to give you a slideshow and a romantic fucking dinner. Not—not lie on the floor of my room, half passed out.”

You fought against a pensive sadness. It seemed unfair that this night had not gone the way he’d planned.

“W-well, what did your roommate say when he returned?” you asked instead.

Jungkook poked his cheek with his tongue. “He wasn’t very happy that I broke his old kettle.”

“You broke his—Jesus Christ.” Your hands were on your face as you fell back and buried your head into the pillows. “So, he just left you there on the floor?”

“I assume he thought I was drunk.”

“Fucking—what a—and he was valedictorian, wasn’t he? What a fucking moron,” you groaned. “I knew I should have kicked his ass while I had the chance. I never liked him.”

Jungkook felt a warm rush of comfort to hear how agitated you were getting on his behalf.

“Yeah, he didn’t like me very much, either,” he said. “But that’s um—that’s the story. I missed Valentine’s Day, almost died, and got suspended. I couldn’t possibly tell you what happened.”

“No, how could you?” you deadpanned. “Your reputation was at stake.”

He smiled. “Precisely.”

Even though you joked about this, and he was grateful that you did, both of you knew that this was not entirely about upholding some specific “bad boy” image.

You’d already witnessed this side of him – the side that felt anxious and dreaded the thought of not being good enough. Of not meeting expectations. Of letting others down.

In fact, now that you thought about it, your first proper conversation during this tour had been about this very issue.

“The time I was arrested,” Jungkook said, his shaky voice interrupting your thoughts, “that was—it might have been another one of those times.”

“What?” you asked, perplexed again. “How—I was at the police station with you—the officers—”

“I don’t remember a lot of details,” he interrupted. “So, I’m—I’m not really sure. But, uh, apparently, that night we didn’t just spray-paint a building. Or spit at the officers, allegedly, while we ran from them. The police assumed Minjun and I were the “drunk and disorderly” call that they received an hour before they found us.”

Your memories of that night were hazy, too—mostly because you refused to go over the details in your mind. All you could remember was Jungkook calling you from the precinct and asking—in the most resigned voice you’ve ever heard—if you could come pick him up. The story that you were given when you arrived at the police station only came back to your memory in fragments: property damage. Assault of police officers. Resisting arrest.

“You weren’t?” you asked.

“No,” Jungkook said. “We had some drinks at a bar outside of town, and Sid started harassing some bikers across the street. Someone called the police. Jude said he even punched someone there, I don’t know. Minjun and I were already back in the city at that time. I asked him to come with me to keep watch. I wanted to spray-paint these song lyrics for you—”

Your head jerked as your surprise prevented you from shaking it properly. “Wait—you—what? What lyrics?”

“It’s—well, you know what lyrics,” he replied, timid suddenly. “There was only one song we listened to all the time.”

You remembered.

It’s you and me ‘til the end of time.

You swallowed, breathless, and almost completely weightless as you clutched the duvet tighter in an attempt to ground yourself.

“The building I chose was downtown,” Jungkook continued. “Right across the street from the park where we had our first—well, our first date. I wanted that place to have something—something that we both loved. To commemorate all that we had, I don’t know. I haven’t been a very good boyfriend to you at the time, and I wanted to redeem that.”

The unexpected tightness in your stomach worried you for a second, but the sedative must not have fully worn off yet, because you took a deep breath and felt your body wind down a little. The room continued to blur behind Jungkook, but you suspected that your condition or medication had little to do with that.

“And, uh,” you tried to ask, “the police found you there?”

Jungkook nodded.

“I think Sid guided them to us,” he said. “It never made sense to me why the police would even go there. No one patrolled those streets, what was the point? Not to mention, it was dark, we were dressed in black, and—honestly, it wasn’t our first time with graffiti. But what happened was, I got a text from Sid, saying that someone at the bar had called the cops on him. And not five minutes later, he and Jude both showed up downtown, and we heard sirens.”

“So, what did you do?” you asked—uncertain, suddenly, if you’d actually asked him this before. You had talked to one police officer that night and had accepted everything he told you as the truth.

“Well, Minjun and I ran, of course,” Jungkook said.

“And the other two?”

“I can’t remember the exact sequence of—I was—I was drunk,” he said, giving you an apologetic look. He wanted to share the whole story with you, but he wasn’t sure if he knew it himself. “I remember Sid and Jude shouting at us that they would hold the cops back while we ran—and I didn’t even—we didn’t even think that there was anything weird about that. Minjun and I just ran.”

You felt your memories frantically rearrange themselves after every word that he said. Your head had turned into a disorderly, confused mess.

“The, um—the spitting, then?” you asked.

“That had to be Sid and Jude,” Jungkook speculated. “But I guess I might have done that, too. I, uh—I want you to have the full story, so I won’t deny things that I can’t even remember. I’m thinking about it now, and I don’t know which moments were really Minjun and me, and which were actually Sid and Jude. We were all very drunk, and nobody at the police station believed a word we were saying anyway.”

You nodded, urging him to continue, and he did—grateful and a little scared that you were listening to him so intently.

“Minjun and I got a good head start,” he spoke. “I don’t know what Sid and Jude meant by saying they’d hold the police back, because three officers still chased after us. But they were always at least five metres behind—I could tell from the distant sound of their shoes. I remember feeling so disconnected from my feet as I ran, I could sense I was going to trip. I don’t—honestly, I’m not saying this to defend myself—but I don’t know how I would have managed to look at the cops over my shoulder, spit at them from five metres away, and keep running without breaking my neck or falling over.”

“Hmm—yeah. I don’t know, either,” you said, turning away from him. You understood that it was important for him to clear his conscience, especially if he had been held accountable for something he didn’t even do, but you had other questions. “I’m confused about something else, though. If you and Minjun were being chased while Sid and Jude stayed back, why weren’t they brought into the station?”

All Jungkook did was raise his head and give you a look.

“Right,” you realised. “Of course. Money.”

He looked back down and nodded.

Exhaling, you studied the ceiling tiles for a few seconds before admitting, “I’ve always had a feeling that Sid had set you up.”

“Yeah,” he replied with surprising calmness. “I think so, too.”

You ran your fingers over your hair and pulled a strand from the back of your head to toy with it as you tried to think.

In every conversation that you’ve had about Sid using Jungkook as a scapegoat, Jungkook had either insisted that you were misunderstanding, or he simply fell silent (to avoid arguments, you assumed, and not necessarily to indicate his agreement with you).

This felt very new and particularly unusual. He wasn’t feeding into your dislike for his friends. He was doing something else now, but you were hesitant to draw conclusions about what it might be.

He had claimed he was done with Sid right after their fight, but after enduring his insufferable friends for years, you weren’t ready to believe that you wouldn’t have to see Sid’s nauseating mug again.

“But, anyway,” Jungkook said after a quiet minute. “Minjun and I apologised. Minjun paid bail. We signed something—I don’t even know what that was. And I went home with you. That’s the, um—the whole story as I remember it.”

You simmered in your cluttered mind for a moment longer, attempting to form a thought that you could voice. But all you could manage was a question. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“Would it have made a difference?” he asked. “I was still caught. You had to come and pick me up.”

“At least I—it would have—okay. I don’t know,” you finished lamely. This was a ‘what if’ that you didn’t have the strength to consider.

He hadn’t lied to you, though, you realised—and you weren’t sure how that made you feel. He allowed you to make assumptions that his friends were to blame, and he went along with it. That wasn’t worse than outright lying to you, but it wasn’t much better, either—it still put an unnecessary strain on your relationship.

Logically then, knowing the whole truth about what was happening with him might have made a significant difference. He had good intentions—yet he did not use them to defend himself.

You felt a little sorry that he only told you now, when you couldn’t go back and see what would have happened if you’d known about this all along.

But you realised you did not feel angry. You couldn’t find a specific point in his revelations that you could point at and say, “this is the one. This will be the reason why I can’t stand to look at you anymore.”

You couldn’t say that his choice to be silent made sense, but you knew him. And you understood why he made that choice. The way you saw it, this was partially his friends’ fault anyway.

All on his own, Jungkook wouldn’t have felt this uncertain, this insecure to admit to you that he loved you and that he wanted to show that to you in unorthodox ways—a lot of which didn’t work out.

“So, you just…” you spoke up again. “You were okay with me assuming that you were out with friends every night? That you chose them over us repeatedly?”

Jungkook sighed. If there was anything he’d learned over the past few days, it was that communication was not his strong suit. But now he’d reached a point of no return. He had to talk.

“Honestly, I thought it was a better alternative,” he said. “I thought I was a miserable try-hard. And I realised after our conversation in Amsterdam that, well... this is part of the reason why I didn't—why I assumed that you broke up with me because you didn’t love me anymore. And not because I kept fucking up.”

Your breaths were shallow as you listened to him.

“I think that it turned against me, this unnecessary secrecy,” Jungkook continued. “I wanted to be the best for you, and when I couldn’t be, Sid became a great excuse. But in my head—for me, he didn’t seem to have that big of a presence in our relationship. But of course, after I blamed my own mistakes on Sid, too, they built up. And, in the end, I think what happened was that…”

He faltered and you finished his sentence for him, “I started to see that all the reasons why you fucked up were Sid. Sid. Sid. Sid.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I made you think that if I was given a choice, I’d choose my friends over you. Which I wouldn’t! But, um—I had a very poor way of showing that. Have, actually. Still do. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.” You turned away. “Do you—you know what else I think this is?”

He looked at you. “What?”

“Sid’s influence,” you said. “You were so scared that he would think you’re hopeless or pathetic that you couldn’t even talk about the things that you did—the things that you wanted to do for me. You thought you were a ‘try-hard�� because your friends convinced you that you were.”

Jungkook felt stunned and a little nauseous.

He didn’t know if this was something he’d implied in his endless attempts to apologise for the bet, but you articulated everything he had struggled to convey.

He was trying to prove to Sid that he wasn’t pathetic—and he was doing it long before Sid suggested the bet. He was doing it every time he went out with his friends. He was doing it every time he allowed you to blame these friends after he missed your dates—just so he wouldn’t have to admit how much he tried to make these dates special, and how miserably he’d failed at that.

Eventually, he began to accept that he was truly pitiful for being so stubbornly in love with you. He hated their pity. He wanted to change it. Make it not so.

But the aftermath of the bet made him realise that all he really did, was prove that he was pathetic—he wanted to get you back in any desperate way possible.

He was okay with that now.

He was okay with being so in love with you that he couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t focus on anything else. Couldn’t stay where he was, repeating the same mistakes, going round and round, because he needed to grow. Needed to become someone who deserved you.

He was okay with it because being pitiful meant being in love with you, and he would never try to fight against that.

And you knew all these things about him. You knew everything.

He didn’t really understand how the world worked and he didn’t know if destiny played favourites. But he remembered writing a line in one of Rated Riot’s earlier songs—you weren't made for me, that much is true / but I was made for you—and he was once again confronted with the weight of this realisation.

He loved you. He’s always been yours so completely and wholeheartedly that you read him without looking at him.

He liked to think he knew you well—but that was extremely presumptuous of him. You were a universe within a universe. Really, it was you who knew him in ways he didn’t know himself.

“I—you’re right,” he said, running his tongue over his chapped lips. “I shouldn’t have given a fuck about what they thought, but I did. And I don’t—I, um—I don’t want this to seem like I am an angel for telling you about all that. No, I fucked up. Many times. We went binge-drinking, drag-racing, we skipped classes, failed tests, spray-painted buildings—”

“Stole projectors,” you interjected.

“—stole projectors,” he repeated reluctantly. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, while I only pretended to fuck up. No. I took you for granted many times, I know I did. And I’m—I’ll always be sorry about that. But I’m—I’ve kicked him out. Sid. I’m done. Truly done this time. And I don’t even care if Jude stays.”

The way his voice broke off at the last sentence sounded like he cared a little, but you recognised the determination in his eyes when you looked at him. He’d made a decision.

“And Minjun?” you asked.

Jungkook inhaled. “Minjun… said he’d stay.”

“Good,” you said.

“Good—yeah?” he asked, evidently surprised. “You think so?”

Minjun had constantly looked like a kicked puppy when you were in the room. Now that you understood why, you thought you liked him a little more for it.

“Yeah,” you said. “I think he’s the only one of your friends worth keeping.”

“I’m starting to see that, too,” he admitted. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You looked down. With half of the vitamin drip gone now, you felt your body start to return to you—and, automatically, the surreal haze inside this hotel room began to clear. You were no longer floating somewhere on the ceiling and only pretending that you were perfectly fine.

You were coming back to yourself. And the return was rugged and painful.

 “You, um—you keep apologising to me like—like you’re obligated to respond to me,” you said. Jungkook didn’t know if you realised it, but your voice changed when you spoke to him as his manager and not as someone he’d known and loved for over seven years. “I’m your manager, but these things—you can—I shouldn’t tell you how to live your life. That’s not my—”

“I want it to be, though,” he cut you off with a sudden boldness that he hadn’t realised he still had in him. “I-I mean, I don’t want you to worry about me like that ever again, but I—I want you to think about me. Sometimes, you’re the only person who truly does.”

You shook your head—not to rid yourself of the responsibility, but to remind him, yet again, that he had people who wanted what was best for him.

And, honestly, he knew he did. He just wanted you.

“You have your grandma,” you said.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, nodding distractedly. “But, um, you know.”

“And you’re loved by thousands,” you continued. “They all want you to stay safe.”

He smiled—appreciative but oddly apologetic.

“I’m grateful for that,” he said. “It’s just that—I want you to be the one who wants that for me. I’ve only ever loved you, I’ve never—never been in a relationship with anyone who wasn’t you. And I don’t want to be, so the next thing that you say better not be about me finding someone else, because—”

“You have been in other relationships, though,” you said despite his warning. You didn't know if this was really true, but you ploughed ahead anyway—just to say something. “I don’t know how long or short, but Sid always bragged about your double dates whenever he called me to pick you up, so—”

“The double dates,” Jungkook said, “meant that Sid was on a date with two girls at the same time. And I was there for decoration.”

You scoffed. “I hardly imagine that to be possible, considering Sid looks like a sewer rat on a good day.”

Jungkook wanted to argue, but he was too amused by this image.

“And, um—what do I look like?” he asked.

You blinked, taken aback by the question, then quickly turned away to gaze out the window instead. “You look… you know what you look like.”

“No,” he said, fully grinning now. “Now that you mention it, I realise I actually have no idea what I look like.”

“There’s a mirror on the wall right behind you.”

“It’s like I’m blind, I don’t know what’s—”

“You’re ridiculous,” you groaned, your face warm. “You look nice. Move on.”

“Oh! That’s high praise coming from you.” He made an effort to bow. “Thank you.”

“Fuck off,” you retorted because you couldn’t smack him on the shoulder. Instead, you motioned with your hand, urging him to keep going. “Sid couldn’t get a date with a personality worse than his looks. Not if you were there.”

“I’m sure the expensive restaurant worked in his favour,” Jungkook remarked.

You threw your head back, realising the significance of money yet again. “Ah.”

“In any case, I don’t care,” he said. He cleared his throat and leaned back in his seat. “I never wanted to be with anyone who wasn’t you anyway. Which—as you’ll be happy to point out—sounds silly because when Sid was in a good mood, he was very dedicated to making sure neither of us left the club alone.”

You shrugged one of your shoulders, trying to come off as casual. “Well, since you brought it up.”

“Yeah, well.” He sighed, not running away from this, because, frankly, there was nowhere to run. “And you’re, uh—you’re my manager. You know what I’ve been doing after hours anyway.”

“Hmm.”

You didn’t have a better response, because there was something that Luna had said to you the other day that would not leave your mind alone.

He had the option to keep the bet a secret from you.

This evening had been filled with these options.

It would have been easy not to mention his miserable attempts at grand gestures or the people who were there after you. But he was bringing up everything—every little detail from your relationship and after it—and you sat expressionless on the bed, not knowing what to make of any of it.

“I meant what I said, though,” Jungkook said, leaning forward again. He felt restless; as if he could jump out of his skin if he tried hard enough. “You’re the only meaningful relationship I’ve had. It wasn’t fair for me to pretend to be interested in a second date with someone else, when I constantly caught myself thinking about if I’d ever see you again. Or when I’d see you again, after we started to work together.”

Your eyes were focused on the sheets of the bet, but he still didn’t dare to look at you.

“I didn’t want to believe that I could still be in love with you after all this time,” he said. “But—well, the evidence is against me.”

“W-why’d you go with Sid then?” you asked—quickly. Before he said something else that you didn’t know how to respond to. “Clubbing and on these dates?”

He clenched his jaw. “Well, you said it. I was trying to prove to him that I wasn’t pathetic. That I wasn’t in love with you anymore.”

“But why did you care so much about what he thought?” you pushed, and there was a hint of hurt in your voice. Jungkook felt his heart leap over several beats as it pounded against his ribs. “Why did his opinion matter to you more than mine?”

He exhaled so deeply that it was almost a miracle his lungs hadn’t collapsed. His insides were burning with regret. With an urge to turn back time. An urge to make things right.

“Because I was—I was a fucking idiot. For years before I met you, I thought Sid had everything I wanted,” he said—which was equally as simple as it was unfair, and, in retrospect, stupid. “The freedom, the audacity to do whatever the fuck he pleased. No consequences, ever.”

You remembered him saying the same thing to you on the bridge in Stockholm and felt yourself shiver as though the wind from that night had followed you all the way here.

“And the way he treated me when I was single was different, too,” Jungkook continued. “I was single, I was in a band, and it finally felt like he approved of me, like we were actually friends. Like we were equals. And I cared about that so fucking much. It felt like I finally had everything that he had, and I was just—blind.”

“But you didn’t,” you said. “You didn’t have what he has. I don’t think you ever will.”

Jungkook was surprised to realise that hearing this did not sting.

He agreed.

“Yeah,” he said. “I actually—I had so much more than Sid would ever have, because I had you. And that’s—that’s probably why he dragged me around with him. He was determined to make me truly lose you like he always made me lose everything. And I let him—I helped him make that come true. I can’t—I’m not much better than him. I want to believe I am, but I’m—I made the bet.”

You remembered thinking that Jungkook and Sid could never be equals, because Sid always needed Jungkook to have less. And now that you heard Jungkook come to a similar conclusion on his own, you thought you felt the room shift a little.

“Yeah,” you said, distracted. “T-that—the bet was fucked up.”

“I know. I’m—I’m sorry,” he said. “I just—I want you to know that I meant everything I had said. All of it. And I understand why you don’t want to believe me. I, uh—I know your family history. But I’ve got mine, too. My grandpa is almost eighty. He’s only ever loved one person his whole life. So did my dad. So will I. It’s just—regardless of what’s going to happen, you’re—I’ll always love you.”

You cleared your throat once, then once more—louder.

Jungkook was about ready to get up, alarmed suddenly, but you quieted and looked around. He caught a glimpse of your eyes as you scanned the room and he realised—in a paradoxical sense of relief—that you were frightened.

Not angry. Not refusing to believe him. Not disappointed or frustrated.

Just scared.

“It’s uh—it’s really late,” you said, looking back at the window. “Isn’t it? The sky’s completely dark.”

He swallowed. You didn’t want to talk about this. And you shouldn’t. You needed rest.

“Yeah, uh… do you want me to close the curtains?” he asked, swallowing all that was still left unsaid.

It was impossible anyway, he supposed, to pour seven years of misguided decisions into one conversation. He was just relieved you hadn’t asked him to leave.

“No,” you said. “Keep them open. I want to see the sky.”

He’d hoped you would say that, and he felt an almost forgotten lightness in his chest when you did. Lots of things had changed over the past few days, but a lot of things hadn’t—including your love for the night.

“A lot of stars tonight,” he said meaningfully. He was glad he had accidentally picked a hotel room with a view of boring back alleys: there were no lights to cover up the stars now.

“Yeah,” you agreed, much calmer. “They’re beautiful.”

There was a quote in a book his grandmother had once read to him: “are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?”

He remembered feeling oddly wistful when he heard it. He imagined the night sky behind his closed eyes and he felt as though he was lacking something crucial—something that would come, but not yet.

He remembered watching the way you watched the stars back in Tilburg—hours before it all fell apart.

The night sky had always reminded him of you—really, even before he met you.

“I could open the window wider,” he suggested.

You closed your eyes.

“Could you?” you asked quietly.

“Yeah.” He stood up and approached the window, pulling the frame until he saw the ends of the curtains lift off the floor. “A distinct smell, isn’t it? The night.”

“It is,” you agreed.

It probably shouldn’t have been possible at this point, but as he turned around and traced your features with his gaze, he thought he fell in love with you a little more at this moment.

“We, um, we have this song,” he found himself saying as he returned to the armchair next to your bed. This song had been buzzing in his head nearly the whole night tonight. You could feel his nervousness as he mumbled, “ah, you probably know it already, it’s so obvious. And I told you in Oslo—okay, anyway. We have this song. It’s a B-side on our second single.”

“Cursed,” you said, recalling the title easily enough because this was your mum’s favourite song.

You always thought that the single—“Haunting,” which was their second title track and the very first Rated Riot song that you’d heard—overshadowed “Cursed.” Perhaps unfairly.

“Yeah.” Jungkook nodded. “Who, um—who do you think inspired it?”

Swallowing, you willed your thoughts to clear, so you wouldn’t have to think about the lyrics, but could not do it.

You remembered the entire chorus with perfect clarity, as though you were listening to Rated Riot perform the song in concert right now—Taehyung heavy on the bass and Jungkook yelling out the lyrics with his whole body leaning over the edge of the stage towards the audience.

You’re for the stars and for the moon to see /

You weren’t made for me /

You’re for the night and for the day to breathe /

You’re everything they want to be /

You're the enchantment that makes planets turn /

You’re more than the entire world /

You weren’t made for me, that much is true /

But I was made for you.

“I have no idea,” you said finally. You hoped, against all odds, this was a song that Yoongi wrote when he was drunk—those tended to be very emotional. “Was this the, um, absinthe one?”

Jungkook snickered humourlessly and shook his head.

“Don’t do this to me,” he asked, looking down for a moment—just until he could count the four loose threads in the carpet. Then he returned his gaze to you.

“It was you,” he said. “Your love for the night sky. I know it’s your favourite thing in the world.”

He said that and suddenly your chest was filled with them—with these stars that you loved to watch and he loved to sing about.

“W-well, that’s—you’re, um,” you struggled, “you’re not wrong about that, I guess.”

“It’s a song about my favourite thing in the world, too,” he added.

“W-what’s that?”

He had a sad smile on his face. “You.”

Your stomach tightened again and you squeezed your eyes shut—a feeble attempt to get away from this situation and from all the thoughts that your head could no longer contain.

“Not tonight,” you whispered. “I can’t—I don’t want to talk about us or about—about anything else tonight.”

“Okay,” he agreed immediately. “We won’t talk about it.”

“Okay,” you echoed, even though his laid-back response did not relax you.

You sensed longing in his words, and anguish. He would have done anything you asked him to—and this power scared you. You didn’t want it. You just wanted—

Exhaling loudly to drown out your thoughts, you turned to a side and glanced at the bandages on his face.

“Tomorrow, we will have to—we’ll have to figure out what to do with your eye,” you said.

Jungkook had not fully returned to this planet yet. “My eye?”

“Yes,” you said, giving him a longer look—as if to check if you hadn’t dreamt him—and then closing your eyes again. “Your black eye.”

He reached up to touch the bandages, perpetually confused about his injuries. “Oh—what do you mean, what to do with it?”

“Well, it’d probably be weird to cut it out, so we’ll have to cover it up.”

“Hmm.” He smiled at the ease in your voice. If everything else was lost, he hoped that he would at least get to keep your banter. “Okay.”

“I’ll think of something,” you promised as the gentle night wind brushed a strand of hair away from your face and fluttered your tired eyelashes.

“Thank you,” Jungkook said in a hush—his courage had finally abandoned him. “I’m sorry that this is another thing that you have to—”

“No,” you cut him off. “It’s not that bad.”

You tried to turn your head towards him, but lying here with your eyes closed felt very pleasant. You thought you’d felt revitalised before, you thought your body had started to feel more like it belonged to you again, but that had been momentary. You couldn’t keep your eyes open long enough to properly look at him.

“Do you mind if I… keep my eyes closed for a minute?” you asked.

“Do you mind if I stay here?” he responded.

“You—”

“Actually, I don’t care,” he decided. “I’m staying.”

You forced yourself to look at him. “You don’t have to do that. I’m fine.”

“You always say you’re fine,” he reminded you. “Look at where we are now.”

“It was a one-time thing. Look at this.” Lethargically, you raised your arm with the catheter. “I’m being pumped full of vitamins. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” he said. “I want to believe that. Really, I do, but you have to stop. You can’t keep going like this. I-I mean—”

You shook your head against the pillow. “Jungkook, this is really nothing.”

“I have a hard time believing that when you’re connected to a—”

“It’s—”

“Look, just—” he took a breath and extended his hands, “—p-please—please don’t let this happen again. Please look after yourself. I can’t lose you.”

He knew he might have to keep working with you without ever calling you his again. He’d have to learn how to deal with that.

But he could never deal with being here without you.

“Okay,” you said, your eyelids heavy. “Okay, I’ll be careful.”

“I’m going to need a promise here,” he said, reaching out his hand.

You chuckled weakly and extended your hand to gently graze his palm with the tips of your fingers. “I promise.”

He leaned in closer to fully grasp your hand in his, and saw the gentle—likely unconscious—smile on your lips as you squeezed his fingers. His chest filled with a warmth so big and powerful that, reasonably, there had to be no space left for his heart there anymore.

And yet something kept beating. He felt his own pulse reverberate against your fingers as he clutched your hand in his.

You’d be alright.

You hadn’t foreseen how calming the gentle dripping of the IV would be. You’d only meant to rest your eyes for a quick moment. You didn’t realise you had dozed off.

Only when your mind sobered up sometime in the early morning hours—you based the time solely on the colour of the sky outside—did you force your eyes open and concluded, with a painful jolt of your exhausted muscles, that you’d fallen asleep.

You looked around and for a moment, the dark, strange room filled your exhausted mind with terror. Then you noticed Jungkook sleeping in the chair next to you, and you felt yourself calm down.

Thank God he was here.

Blinking suddenly, you parted your lips as if preparing to argue with your own thoughts.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had a performance tomorrow. And a bandaged black eye that you still hadn’t figured out how to hide.

“I can tell you’re overthinking from all the way over here,” Jungkook said, his voice drowsy, eyes half-open. He must have heard the rustling of your covers and woken up. “Go to sleep.”

“What time is it?” you asked.

He was too tired to note the urgency in your voice as he mumbled, “sleeping time.”

“Jungkook, I’m serious,” you said. Finally, he caught your alarmed tone and his eyes shot open. “What time is it?”

He straightened in his seat and regarded you for a minute while he searched for his phone somewhere on the armchair. You didn’t appear to be in pain, but the emergency in your eyes threw him off.

“It’s three-twenty,” he said after a brief moment of blindness from the bright screen of his phone.

“Shit.” You looked around in the darkness, not sure when you had last seen your phone. You couldn’t remember Jungkook mentioning that he’d picked it up when he found you, and you hadn’t asked for it back. “I have to—”

“No,” he said, getting to his feet.

“No,” you argued back. “I need—”

He leaned over your bed and took hold of your hands right as you tried to throw off your duvet and sit up. You tried to evade him, but Jungkook proved he’d known you long enough to guess every move you were going to make—in complete darkness.

“No,” he said again, struggling with your relentless dedication to flail your limbs around until you stood up. “Lie down, please. I don’t know what you think you must do at three in the morning, but I promise you, it can wait. It’ll be done. I’ll do everything to make sure everything is okay.”

You stopped resisting his hold and allowed him to gently guide you back onto the mattress. He only let go of you when your head hit the pillows.

“You can’t be here. You need rest,” you insisted as he pulled the duvet over you, tucking it under your sides until you were firmly cocooned inside. You couldn’t tell if he did that for your comfort or to make sure you couldn’t escape this bed.

“So do you,” he countered.

“I'm fine—”

“No—for once, just... please stop saying that,” he asked, his eyes bright, but his voice completely spent. “You’re not fine. You’re getting a vitamin drip because you fainted. You need to sleep.”

You kept your eyes on his for another minute, trying to adjust to the thick darkness, so you could make out his silhouette as he towered over your bed. He was watching you and waiting.

“Okay,” you gave in. “I'll sleep.”

“I’ll be here,” he said, finally sitting back down.

You knew that wasn’t right. He needed to get proper rest. He shouldn’t have kept watch over you.

“Okay,” was all you said despite everything. “Thank you.”

He mumbled something unintelligible in response and you didn’t dare to ask him to repeat it. The room gave space to the night as your conversation wound down.

You could hear a faint screech of a lost bird outside the hotel window. Bugs were singing somewhere in the distance, too. And, as you drifted off, you thought you heard Jungkook whisper a weary “I love you.”

chapter title credits: bad omens, “the grey”

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