#in the rain...alone.. in these empty streets..

One house after the other, each of the children giving a tired smile in their direction as their thanks before languidly making their way inside, Steve waited until they had disappeared behind the front door, before driving away, old habits were going to be hard to break.

When all the children were gone, and the truck was empty, Steve made his way back home.

Not alone though.

Steve had one hand gripping the large steering wheel, the other was wiping muck from his face, sticky residue clinging to his skin, it was slick and slimy.

And had a rotten stench.

She was sitting beside him.

Very far beside him.

Holding a hand over her nose. And her mouth. She wasn't taking the chance of breathing in the foul smell that was clinging to every part of Steve that was covered in the Mind Flayer guts.

"Is it really that bad?" Steve questioned, taking a peek at her, eyes shifting from the road to her expressionless face.

She tried hard no to react as she moved her hand from her face, wincing as the smell attacked her senses.

"I'm so sorry" She whispered, covering her face with her hand once more, but it was doing little to deter the strong smell. "You smell like you rolled around in a mud pit, the showered with a bucket of wet dog"

"Thanks" Steve muttered, a deep breath puffing out of his lips.

"You just need a shower" She muttered beneath her hand, words coming out muffled. "Like, a really, really long shower"

A long shower sounded like heaven right now.

"You gonna join me?" Steve tried, looking at her again, with a soft smile stretching across his tired face.

She winced again.

Steve laughed.

It felt good to laugh. He felt like he hadn't laughed in a long while.

"You scrub all that gunk off, and maybe I'll think about it" She slowly replied, lowing her hand, despite the sour smell zinging straight up her nose.

"I'll take it" Steve felt a smidge lighter.

Even though he still smelt like sour milk.

The shower was heaven sent.

The warm water rained down Steve slick skin, washing away the slick gunk attacked to his skin. And Steve scrubbed, scrubbed until his skin turned a shade of pink, scrubbed until the sour smell clinging to his skin was replaced with the fresh scent of soap. He washed his hair, lathering a mountain of shampoo into his scalp, scrubbing and scrubbing until his fingers became tired.

Rinsing the soap from his hair, allowing the water to wash away any lingering smell attached to his skin.

As the last dregs of soap floated down the drain, the door to the shower swung open.

Steam filtered it's way out of the open door, a whisp a cold air sent a chill up Steve's spine, but it matter little to him, when she was standing at the edge of the shower, stripped bare for his eyes to behold.

"You smell better" She said, there was a smile on her lips.

"I think I was promised a joint shower" Steve replied, allowing the water to run down his back as he turned to face her.

"I think I said I would think about it" She tutted, taking a sliver of a step closer to him.

Steve reached a wet hand out, grasping her wrist, yanking her softly. She gave way with little fight, falling right into his damp chest, hands spread across his chest, fingers netting between the dark thatch of hair adorning his skin.

Her lips parted in a soft gasp, her body pressing up against his.

Steve's large hand traversed the length of her body, following the dips and curves, caressing the soft skin as he made his decent. His hand wrapped around the perky flesh of her ass, taking a handful in his grasp and groping it gently, pulling her body even closer to his.

"Steve" She whispered, head falling back slightly, lips parting, eyes slipped shut as she relished in the feeling of his body against hers.

"Don't worry honey" Steve whispered in turn, craning his neck a little, allowing his lips to brush against hers, igniting her from within. "I'm gonna take good care of you"

Steve used little strength to turn their bodies, pressing her against the wall of the shower, drawing them closer together.

There wasn't any room for her to respond, as Steve slants his lips over her own.

This kiss is slow.

His lips brushing against her own, lapping over each other slowly, sensually, savouring the taste of her lips.

Steve hummed softly, as if his body had been waiting for this moment.

She wasn't faring much better.

Her entire body fell against Steve, knees wobbling as she pushed herself up against him, moving her hands from his expansive chest, to the dripping strands of his floppy brown hair, digging her nails gently into the freshly washed strands.

Steve's free hand wrapped gently around her neck, holding her close to him as he lathered her lips in soft kisses.

She pulled away from the kiss first, gasping a large breath, filling her lungs with the steam riddled air around them. Steve wasted no time in descending down her neck, his hot mouth left a trail of wet kisses on her skin.

She tilted her head back, allowing Steve to do what he does best. She could feel his lips curving into a smile, teeth nipping down on her skin, a harsh contradiction to his soft lips.

She moaned loudly, eyes screwing shut.

Steve followed his path down, leaving bits along the length of her neck, biting down a little harder when the skin of her neck and shoulder met, surly leaving a bruise in his wake, but she didn't seem to mind.

"Stevie, baby" She hummed, tugging softly at his wet hair.

Steve preened at her voice, hearing her moaning his name was a sound he would never get used to, he wanted to hear it on repeat for the rest of his life.

He'd make sure he heard it for the rest of his life.

"Oh, honey" Steve's voice was low and gravelly.

It sent jitters down her spine.

The hand Steve had attached to her ass, moved further down her thigh, gripping the muscle beneath his calloused hand, hiking her leg around his hip, pushing their bodies impossibly closer, as if there was any space left between them.

Her slick cunt was pressing against his hard cock, pulsing with the same need that was ripping through his body. He unwrapped his hand from around her throat and placed it right over her clit.

"Shit" She whimpered, feeling his fingers rubbing slow circles against her most sensitive area, bucking her hips slight to meet his slow motions.

"Yeah, like this" Steve grinned in a way that might have been cocky, but well deserved, as she moved his fingers through the forming wetness.

"Just like that Stevie" She nodded her head, eyes still screwed shut.

Steve hummed.

He bent his head and attached his lips against her slick skin, lapping at the water running down her breasts, following their path to her perked nipple, taking it in his mouth with a gentle sucking motion.

One of her hands continued to weave through Steve's hair, wrapping the strands more firmly in her fists, tugging gently, making Steve hum against her skin, enjoying the slight pain. While the other hand reached back to latch onto the smooth skin of his back, freckled hiding beneath her palm, as her nail pressed crescent shaped indents into his pale skin.

His long fingers slowed his circles, feeling her wetness seeping onto his skin. He pulled his lips from her chest, resting his forehead against her racing heart, feeling it thumping against her ribs, loudly, rapidly.

"So soft" Steve whispered, fingers kneading to plush flesh of her thighs. "So sweet honey"

"Fuck baby" She whimpered at the lose of his fingers, head lulling forward, cheek resting on the crown of Steve's head, taking a deep breath through her parted lips, eyes slipping open slowly

"Yeah" Steve's voice rumbled against her chest, picking up his head slightly, resting his forehead against her own. "You gonna let me fuck you?"

He words sent a zap straight to her cunt, she was becoming sloppily wet now.

"Yeah" She whimpered softly.

"You gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy?" Steve wrapped his hand around his throbbing cock, using her slick wetness to slide the thick head of his cock through her folds.

"Oh, shit, yes" She moaned softly, lips brushing against Steve's ask she spoke. "Fuck me, please baby, please Steve"

Steve moved his cock up and down against her cunt, the tip of his cock catching against her sensitive clit, his pre cum dripping against her already wet pussy.

"Shit honey" Steve's brow furrowed, savouring the feeling of her wet heat against his throbbing cock. "You're so wet for me, all for my, huh honey?"

"All for you Stevie" She nodded helplessly, bucking her hips up with meet Steve's up and down motions.

With a soft buck of her hips, the tip of Steve's cock, notched at her entrance, slipping softly.

"Yes" She whimpered loudly, eyes locked on Steve.

"Yeah, that's what you want isn't it" Steve comments, slowly, carefully pushing just the tip of his cock further into her leaking entrance.

Her lips part, trying to find the words, any words really, but all that comes out is a deep moan.

Steve chuckled.

"Already honey?" Steve pushed an inch further, feeling her warm, wet heat welcoming him in. "Cock got your tongue?"

Steve felt proud of his joke.

If she had been paying more attention, she might have smacked him, but he was to high on the feeling of his cock.

Steve pushed, thrusting his hips forward, his cock pushing deeper and deeper into her cunt. He pushed until the hilt of his cock was nestled nicely inside her pussy, throbbing within the walls of her heat.

"Look at that honey" Steve groaned, feeling her tighten around his, trying to draw him in further. "Made for taking this cock, weren't you?"

She uttered a loud moan in response, feeling his length fulling pressing into her wet heat, gliding softly in and out, barely pulling out, allowing her to adjust to his rather large length.

"Made for you Steve, just you" She agreed, nodded her head, wet lips brushing Steve's in an attempted kiss.

Steve indulged her, and himself really, pressing his lips against hers. Their lips locked in a passionate embrace, as Steve pulled his hips back slowly, inching his length out of her wet cunt, until only the very tip of his cock was pressing inside her, before snapping his hips back, slamming the rest of his length right back in.

Unexpecting of the forceful thrust, she moaned against Steve's lips, the sound muffled, vibrating against Steve's lips.

Hips snapping back and forth, his length sliding in and out of her wet heat, hips snapping together every time he slid right back inside.

"Fuck, honey" Steve moaned in return, lips inches apart as his thrusts become harsher, the sound of skin slapping, echoed through the room.

Steve used a hand to press against the back of her head, holding her against him, foreheads pressed together. Lips parted, breathing in each other's air.

"Steve, please" She murmured, stuttering as Steve landed a particularly harsh thrust.

"You gonna cum honey?" Steve spoke against her lips, hips thrusting, keeping pace with her quick breaths. "You gonna cum right on my cock, aren't you honey"

"Yeah, please" She nodded, eyes slipping closed.

"You wanna cum" Steve started, curling his fingers from the back of her head, to around her throat, holding tightly enough to let her know he was there. "You gotta look at me honey, eyes open"

Her eyes slowly slipped back open, locking on the dark hues of Steve's brown eyes, swirls of deep chocolate brown attacking her very being, bleeding lust right into her skin.

"That's it" Steve rewarded her with another harsh thrust that had her keening loudly. "Wanna watch my pretty little honey, coming around my cock"

"Yeah, yeah" She nodded, eyes still locked with Steve's. "Gonna come, just for you Stevie baby"

The pressure built within her core, clenching around Steve's cock, filling with warmth and pure adrenalin. Her heart pounding in her chest, her fingers wrapped around Steve's sopping wet locks, shoulders tensing.

Then, everything seemed to explode.

Eyes rolling to the back of her head, white lights streaming across her vision as the wave of pleasure washed over her.

Steve watched as her pleasure exploded right before his eyes, her cunt clenching tightly around his cock, wetness seeping out, leaking down the length of their join bodies, her arousal sticking to his skin.

"So pretty when you cum honey" Steve groaned loudly, his thrust continued at the same pace, to prolong the pleasure pulsating through her body.

"Shit, fuck" She swore loudly, her guts churning as a zinging chill run up her spine, pleasure licking at her skin, embracing her in all it's warmth. "So good, Steve baby, so so good"

"Yeah, you fuckn' are, so fucking good honey" Steve agreed, hips faltering as he felt his own pleasure building.

As her orgasm subsided, pleasure still clinging to her skin, feeling Steve throbbing from inside her, thrust loosing momentum.

"I want it Steve" She used her hands to cling to Steve, the wall was warm against her back, but Steve was warmer.

"Yeah honey, wanna give to you" Steve nodded his head, nose scrunching slightly, brows furrowing.

"Inside Stevie" She was begging now, pleading.

"Yeah" Steve's thrusts faltered again at her words, hips stuttering as he tried to gain his bearings. "Inside this perfect, pretty pussy, right inside"

Steve's hips snapped against her, guts coiling with a hot flash of pleasure, boiling from the inside out.

"Gonna stuff you full honey" Steve promised, nodded his head, eyes locking with hers.

"Give it to me, please baby"

Her lips pouted around the words, and that was Steve's undoing.

He throbbed inside her, revelling in her wet warmth, feeling her clenching walls fluttering around him.

He gave one thrust; feeling the edge of his orgasm.

He gave a second thrust; snapping his hips against hers.

He gave a third and final thrust, his cock seemingly bursting at the seems, thick ropes of cum painting her clenching cunt.

She could feel the warmth of Steve's cum inside her cunt, clenching tightly around him, Steve moaned loudly at the feeling pressing his sweating forehead against hers.

"Fuck, honey" Steve's voice barely reached her ears.

The sound of the water running in the shower finally reached her ears, like she had completely forgotten they were standing in the shower, Steve was pretty all consuming when he wanted to be.

"Take me to bed Stevie" She murmured against his lips, wrapping her arms completely around his neck.

Steve slowly slipped his cock from inside her cunt, a soft squelching sound followed the action. She whimpered at the loss, Steve echoed her sound with a groan of his own.

"Yeah, I can do that" Steve chuckled, feeling sleep itching at his overly sensitive body.

He used his free hand to turn the water off, silence enveloping them, once the water was switched off, he used his hands once more, to pick of her other leg, wrapping both of them around his waist, holding her close to his body, not ready to part from her.

She squeaked softly, feeling weightless in Steve's strong embrace. His fingers digging into her push thighs, enjoying the feeling of her skin beneath his hands.

"Love you Stevie"

Steve smiled as he laid her down against the soft sheets, soaking them with their damp skin, he nestled up against her, holding her head against his chest, leaving one of her legs wrapped around his waist, while the other laid flat against the best, hand still digging into the flesh of her thigh, while his other hand wove it's way around her damp hair.

"Love you too honey"

It’s your first month without your superpowers and you’ve already managed to get stabbed at Crime Alley tonight, in civilian clothing in an attempt for a sorry excuse of a petty criminal to rob you. Then the rain has to be pouring while you’re left to walk home with blood pouring from your side. And now, with all the lights gone in your district you're left to wonder how you’re gonna patch yourself up.

The universe profoundly hates you.

By the time you reach the second floor, the stairwell smells like damp concrete and cigarette smoke from whoever’s been sneaking up here between shifts. The emergency lights along the walls are dead too—nothing but the occasional flash of lightning through the stairwell window to guide you.

You press your palm against your side as you climb, feeling the dull throb of the wound under your coat. The bleeding’s slowed, but every step still sends a spark of pain through your ribs.

You tell yourself it’s fine. You’ve had worse. You’ve had way worse.

Just… not like this.

Not without backup. Not without powers.

When you finally reach your door, you have to fumble twice with the keys before the lock clicks. Inside, the apartment is pitch black except for the faint orange glow reflecting on stormy clouds from the city’s uptown part lighting. You drop your umbrella against the wall and listen—to the rain, to your own heartbeat, to the emptiness that feels louder than both.

The quiet is so absolute it hums. No neon, no chatter from the corner diner. Just Gotham breathing slow in the dark, like the whole city’s holding its breath.

Your apartment feels foreign in the blackout. The usual hum of the fridge is gone, the digital clock blank, the air oddly still. You drop your keys on the counter, the sound too loud in the quiet.

The place smells faintly of motor oil and takeout. You left the TV remote on the coffee table this morning, and somehow the sight of it when lightning flares outside makes you want to laugh. It’s the only thing that looks remotely normal.

It’s almost peaceful—if it didn’t feel so much like an ending.

You set your phone on the counter in flashlight mode and stomp through the kitchen in search for the bag of tea lights you've bought for situations just like this.

You find a candle in the drawer next to the sink, light it with shaking fingers and a lighter that makes you curse any higher being in the process of trying to work, and then a second later the little flame from the candle throws shadows across your walls. The light flickers, in one, overly bright flame, given the darkness surrounding it, over half-unpacked boxes, a pile of files from the League, the empty coffee mug you left out this morning before everything went to hell.

When you finally find the courage to try and peel your jacket off through hisses and curses, when fabric sticks to the cut—you set it on one of the chairs, neatly as you can and take a look at the side of your ribs where the cut is. Blood’s already soaked through your shirt and the hole in the fabric is big enough to be concerning. 

At the thought that you’ll have to do stitches on yourself when you can barely see, you limp.

Fine. One breath in. A choked breath out. You refuse to let yourself cry over such a minority.

You make your way to the bathroom, find the first-aid kit under the sink.

The candlelight catches your reflection in the mirror. You look wrecked. Hair plastered to your face, eyes bruised with exhaustion, skin slick with rain and sweat. You’ve looked worse, but not by much.

You dab antiseptic against the wound and bite back another evil curse. “Okay,” you mutter. “Just a scratch. Just another night in paradise.”

The power outage hums through the city—distant sirens, the faint echo of something crashing blocks away. Gotham always sounds different when the lights go out. Like it’s remembering what it really is.

For a moment, you think about calling Jason.

You don’t even know why. Maybe because the power’s out and it feels like the rules have changed. Like the world’s given you a pause you don’t deserve. Because he’s helped you stitch yourself up a thousand times, because at a time he wouldn’t lecture you like Dick would.

If your phone’s battery died halfway home, it’d be a good excuse not to rampage through your contacts for his name. Maybe that’d have been for the best.

You hold the phone in your hand for a long time before you actually decide to do it.

The screen’s light is too bright against the dark—your own face caught in reflection, frail and tired, with rain still sliding down your jaw. The signal icon flickers between one bar and none. Gotham’s blackout has eaten the grid alive, and your building is on the edge of that nothingness.

You scroll past Jason’s name once. Twice. Your thumb hovers over it, long enough that the screen goes dim again, and for a second you let it stay that way. You imagine his voice—gruff, half-grunting, but the kind that softens when he realizes it’s you.

You close your eyes. The last exchange of  words between the two of you tastes like eating wet ash from the forgotten ashtray in your balcony now that you’re alone.

Rain taps against the window, slow and steady. Somewhere across the city, you imagine him still standing on a rooftop, soaked through and stubborn as always. Maybe he’s thinking the same thing. Maybe he isn’t.

It shouldn’t matter.

You end up calling Dick anyway. 

You’d rather his lecture wound your pride and not a potential rejection from Jason.

It rings thrice before he answers, voice too alert for this hour, too polite to sound real. “Hey. Everything okay?”

“Define okay.” You laugh, but it comes out thin through a cough “Got stabbed earlier at Crime Alley in an attempt to get robbed. And power’s out in Midtown so I can’t see shit to stitch myself up. So, you know. Thursday.”

There’s a sharp inhale on the other end. “You what—? Where are you right now?”

“At home. It’s fine. I just wanted to ask if you know when the power will be back..”

“Bruce is on that” He exhales like someone who’s been holding his breath too long. “And! You can’t keep saying that every time you get hurt.”

“I can if it keeps being true.” You press a palm over your bandaged side, flinching when it twinges. “I’m just calling to make sure you’re not out patrolling. The blackout’s making everyone stupid.”

“Everyone includes you,” he says gently. There’s a pause. “You shouldn’t be alone.”

You stare at the flickering candle, the wax dripping down one side like a clock running out of seconds. “I’m used to it.” 

Your reflection in the mirror remains bloody, tired. You wish you could patch yourself as soon as possible.

“I could—” he starts, and you can almost hear him standing up, ready to play savior.

“No.” You cut him off, firm. “Stay where you are. You can’t fix this. I just wanna get this over with”

He’s quiet for a beat too long. Then, softly, “This isn’t about me fixing anything.”

You smile without meaning to. “Sure it’s not.”

“I don’t want you to bleed out”

Lightning flashes outside, and for a second the city glows again—wet streets, distant silhouettes, all swallowed by blackness just as fast. You feel the loneliness slip under your ribs, sharper than the cut on your side.

“I’ll be fine if the power comes back”

Dick sighs. “You sound tired.”

“I am.”

“Then put pressure on the wound with a cloth and lay down! Lock the doors. I’ll check in when the power’s back.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, even though you both know you won’t.

When the call ends, the silence hits harder. The rain’s still there, the sirens, the hum of a dying generator somewhere below—but none of it fills the space.

You set the phone face down on the counter. For a moment, you think you see the faintest flicker of movement in the glass reflection of your window—someone’s shadow, or maybe just the rain bending the light wrong.

You tell yourself it’s nothing.

You tell yourself you’re fine.

You’ll just…. take the blackout as a chance to have a candlelit shower, clean the wound and then try to stitch it together with said candlelight. If nothing works in your favor you're going to at least try to romanticise the situations that you’re in.

Thus, you light another candle, balancing it on the bathroom counter beside the sink. The flame bends and steadies, painting the tiles in slow-moving gold. The rain outside keeps whispering against the glass, like the city’s trying to lull you into forgetting where you are.

The weather app on your phone doesn't say anything about the rain stopping anytime soon, no matter how much you check; albeit the angrily enlaced clouds reflecting light from uptown Gotham serve as your only steady light source beside the candles.

You strip down carefully, your tank top sticking to the dried blood at your side. When you peel it away, the wound pulls with it like it did with the jacket—raw, red, ugly. Not too deep, but bad enough that it won’t heal clean. The flame's light makes the red wound look almost black, deep in the shadows it cast on your skin. You have to brace your elbow on the counter and practically put your side in the flame's glow just to see the edges of the cut clearly.

You run the tap, but the water comes out in short, coughing spurts before settling into a steady trickle.

Great.

Rembrandts of warm water hit your fingers first, then your side, before turning to lukewarm ultimately, washing the crusted red away in ribbons. The sting that comes with it makes your breath catch in your throat.

“Romantic, mmmmh”  you mutter to yourself as shivers start shaking your body from deep in your core the colder the water gets “Just how I pictured my perfect Thursday night.”

You reach for the soap, lathering what’s left of your good arm, watching bubbles cling to your wrist like small, intact galaxies. You let yourself drift—let your mind blur around the rhythm of the rain and the smell of the candle wax melting down too fast.

For a few minutes, there’s peace in that . The kind that’s thin and borrowed, doomed to vanish. But peace all the same.

You try not to think about Jason. Or how you were about to call him out of all people to tell him about your injury. Like he would care or even pick up after the way you fought last time you saw each other.

You finish cleaning the wound as best as you can, begrudgingly towel off, and grab the needle and thread from your first aid kit. The flame on the counter dances as you hold the needle over it, metal glinting orange. It’s an old habit—sterilize, stitch, survive. It doesn’t matter anymore if you can’t see well enough. You don’t have enough time to stay waiting for the lights to return at the cost of bleeding out.

You thread the hooked needle and bite down on your lip as you bring it to your skin, the lightning flashes one more time,almost sympathetically, making your reflection in the mirror look like a ghost preparing to pierce their own body. You close their eyes and try to push the needle through, only to have your hand tremble violently—not from fear of the pain, but from the fear of doing it wrong and getting an infection they can no longer shrug off. No metahuman abilities can help you heal at this time. 

You focus on the glow instead of the pain, counting the loops and ties like you used to count heartbeats in the field.

It’s messy work, but when it’s done, you sit back against the wall, sweat sticking to your collarbone, the night world humming faintly beyond the walls.

You close your eyes, listening. There’s something about the blackout—the way it strips everything down to breath and sound. Gotham feels closer in the dark, like it’s watching.

You almost laugh at yourself for thinking this is poetic in any way.

The sound of your limping fills your apartment soon and it’s louder than any siren in the distance. A desperate attempt to find something warm to wear goes in vain. All your warm clothes sit in an unwashed pile on top of the washing machine including your pajamas and so, the only available piece of clothing you have that won’t rub onto your wound and irritate it, is a summery leopard print nightgown. The one you had bought only to have something nice to wear to sleep when Jason would come over.

“Fuck meee” you sigh

And for all that’s worth, you pick out the matching robe to throw over your shoulders.

Now, back into the bathroom, you're wrapping gauze around the cut again when you hear it—a low creak, the sound of a window shifting open somewhere in the apartment.

Your head snaps up. Candlelight trembles against the wall.

Probably the wind. You hope it’s the wind.

No other sound reaches your ears, so, you settle for dressing as quickly as you possibly can without causing too much strain onto your wound.

You end up sinking onto the couch and exhale, finally letting the adrenaline drain out, just like Dick said. Your hands still smell faintly of antiseptic and hydrogen peroxide. Your throat burns from holding back too much for too long.

You think about calling Jason again. Texting, leaving a voicemail. Anything to reach out and make amends.

You glance toward your phone, still lying face down on the counter where you left it earlier. The screen is black, your reflection warped across the glass.

You almost get up to grab it. Almost.

But then the power flickers again—just once, a faint hum in the walls before everything goes quiet.

No light. No sound. Only the rain.

You reason with yourself— instead of contacting Jason you should just smoke a cigarette.That’s right. Seems reasonable enough.

You get up, even if the balcony seems yards away in your painful state.

The chilly air of the night makes you pull your robe tighter, the thin fabric doing nothing against the draft of air crawling in through it. The city is still dead; even the faint glow from the Uptown part is now gone, swallowed by the storm.

You sit there for a while, just breathing. Listening to the rain drum against the railing.

Maybe if you stay still long enough, the ache in your ribs will dull, the weight in your chest will fade. Maybe the blackout can take the noise in your head, too. Surprise—it doesn’t.

When the next gust of wind pushes the curtains behind you inward, you hear it again. A soft scrape. Not the wind this time. Heavier. Intentional.

You freeze. The sound comes from right next to you on the balcony. Metal on concrete.

You move before you can think, pushing yourself up with one hand pressed to your side. The robe slides off your shoulder, and the candlelight catches the faint shimmer of rainwater tracking in from the balcony door.

And then a shadow moves through it. 

Instinctively your leg moves up high in a kicking motion that only makes you flinch in pain. The figure, now visible in all his bat-on-the-chest glory, dodges successfully. You open your mouth to speak—to tell whoever it is to get the hell out—but the words die the second you see the red glow catch against the wet metal of a helmet.

Then, he speaks “I was wondering when you’d notice. Took you long enough!”

“Jason!? Are you insane?” You wince, moving away in a swift motion.

Jason steps in without asking, boots leaving dark prints on the floor of your balcony, rain still dripping from his jacket. His voice rough—filtered through the modulator—cuts through the silence.

“Grayson called.” 

You stare at him, half in disbelief, half in exhaustion. “Of course he did.”

Jason’s voice softens just enough to sound human again. “Said you got stabbed.”

You blink, still caught halfway between relief and anger. “He—he what? I told him not to send anyone.”

Jason tilts his head slightly. “And you thought that meant he’d listen?”

The white eyes of the helmet turn toward you, scanning you as your face grows sour. You can tell he’s taking in the details—the candlelight, the blood-streaked gauze staining fabric, the nightgown.

He stops at the robe sleeve that’s fallen off your shoulder.

“You look like hell,” he says with finality, voice low, still too distorted. It’s better that you can’t see his face right now.

“Wow,” you mutter. “You really know how to make a girl feel better.”

He exhales through the modulator, the faintest sound of amusement beneath it. “You shouldn’t be moving around.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be breaking into my apartment during a citywide blackout, but here we are.” You limp toward him, arms crossed. “You could’ve knocked. No mask”

Jason takes a step closer, rainwater dripping onto the ground between you. “You would’ve told me to go home.”

“I am telling you to go home.”

He shakes his head. “Not happening.”

“You’re not my keeper, Jason.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he says quietly. “But you got stabbed, and you didn’t even call me.”

Your throat tightens. “Didn’t think you’d want me to.”

For a second, neither of you move. Just the sound of rain and your pulse thudding in your ears in a loud, erratic manner.

Jason finally reaches up, removing his helmet. His hair’s damp and plastered to his forehead, eyes darker than usual in the reflection of the candlelight. The sharp edges of his expression soften, but only ever barely. There’s something hollow under it—an exhaustion that no amount of bravado can mask.

“You really thought I’d ignore that?”

You look away. “You’ve been ignoring worse.”

That lands between you like a live wire. He doesn’t argue. Just studies you, taking in the scene—your pout, the stubbornness behind it, the way you keep looking between his chest, lips, and eyes, the way that black lace trim of your nightgown sits perfectly on your chest.

He thinks about how much he wants to reach his hand out and cup your face, and in his mind, he does. But in the flesh, he doesn’t. He never does. Because every time he tries to fix something, it breaks worse. Every time he reaches, someone pulls away. So instead, his expression softens.

“You really know how to make a guy worry, you know that?”

His heart is hammering in his chest, even at the mere delusion that you would respond with kindness to such touch—but the reality of your response hits him harder than a brass knuckle punch.

“Then stop worrying,” you mutter, grabbing for the belt of your robe and pressing it tighter against your ribs. “It’s nothing I haven’t handled before.”

He exhales through his nose, quiet but bitter. Handled before. Yeah. He knows what that sounds like. What kind of people say that. He’s one of them too.

He leans against the wall, helmet tilting in his arms. “Yeah, well, forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”

A moment bleeds into silence for far too long.

“Let me see it,” he says finally, nodding to your side.

You clutch your robe tighter. “It’s fine.”

“I’ll decide that.”

You let out a dry laugh. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice quiet. “You usually love that about me.”

And just like that, the air shifts—closer, heavier. He steps toward you, and you don’t step back.

The distance between you disappears until the hem of his jacket brushes your arm, until you can smell the rain on him, the faint bite of gunpowder and wet leather. His presence is overwhelming—too close, too charged—and it pulls at something in you that you’ve both tried to bury alive months ago. It’s electric and painful; both at a time.

His eyes drop to your lips for half a second—half a second too long—and you feel something stir deep in your chest, unwelcome and familiar. 

When his gaze lingers on your mouth, you bite down on your lip and accidentally make the cut on your side throb in response, grounding you in reality.

You breathe in, shaky. “Don’t.”

Jason’s voice is rough when he answers. “Wasn’t gonna.”

But he doesn’t move away. Neither do you. The leopard print of the thin nightgown suddenly feels less like a garment and more like a second skin, exposing every raw nerve to the heavy air between you. 

The candle flickers inside. The blackout lingers through the city. And for a heartbeat, you both just stand there—caught somewhere between anger and something that feels too close to longing.

Jason gulps and bites his lip. 

His pulse stutters, and he hates that you can probably hear it. He hates that he’s still this easy to read—that one look from you can undo the armor he’s built. He tells himself it’s just the storm. The tension. The way you always look when you’re trying not to care.

Then you turn first.

“Go inside and dry off,” you say, forcing your voice steady. “You’re dripping.”

Jason doesn’t move at first. Just stands there, watching you, rain still sliding down the curve of his jaw and dripping from his hair. You can almost hear the gears turning in his head—the same stubborn, reckless rhythm that’s always gotten both of you into trouble.

Then, he tilts his head in a motion that is pure, stubborn Jason. He sees the path you’re offering—a tactical retreat—and chooses to exploit it.

“Yeah,” he rasps, taking a step toward the apartment's interior. “Wouldn’t want to mess up your, uh… nice pajamas.”

He still considers what you said ‘go inside and dry off’ like it would be a bad choice. Because it feels like stepping over a line he’s drawn for himself again and again.

When he decided to come check on you it was because he didn’t want Dick to do it, because he wanted to be the one to have an excuse to see you. He hadn’t thought of any of his following actions. But maybe spontaneous is for the better.

Maybe you wanted to see him too. Maybe you want him to stay.

Finally, when he steps past you and inside the threshold, his heavy, wet boot prints marking the rug just inside your balcony door echoing against the floor as he walks inside, you follow. He turns his back to you just long enough to slide the door shut with a soft, final clack. The sound seals the two of you in—you, him, and the timid awkwardness. The shift of air follows him, carrying the scent of rain and cold metal. He sets the helmet down on your counter, slowly, like he’s staking a claim.

“You got any towels?” he asks.

You blink, thrown off by how casual he sounds. “You break into my place and now you want towels?”

He glances over his shoulder, that infuriating half-smirk tugging at his mouth. “Yeah. How am I supposed to dry off? And maybe I’d like a shower too, if I’m lucky. Power’s out—I’ve been patrolling out in this storm for hours.”

You cross your arms, the robe tugging tighter against your ribs. “A shower.”

“Unless you’d rather I drip all over your couch.”

You roll your eyes, hating that he’s right. “Fine. Knock yourself out. You know where the bathroom is.”

Jason pauses the grin that’s creeping up on his features, eyes flicking to your side again—the blood starting to seep faintly through the gauze. “I’ll shower after I look at that. I’m not going anywhere until I see that wound,” he states, his voice now lower, carrying only the natural rumble of his chest. He takes a step toward the bathroom light. “Where’s the kit?”

You feel the surge of anger, but you’re too tired for it to be effective. “I already stitched it.”

“I know what your stitching looks like when you’re bleeding out and can’t see the thread, so don’t lie to me.” He walks past the couch where you had been resting, and his eyes catch the phone still face-down on the counter. He paused, looking from the phone to you. “You called Dick. And you stitched yourself up. But you didn’t call me.”

He doesn't make it a question; it is an observation, heavy with hurt.

You look away, unable to meet the direct gaze. “It wasn’t your problem.”

He doesn’t need to know how much you wanted to call him but opted not to in the end

He finally reaches the bathroom and peers in, the candlelight illuminating the haphazard pile of gauze and the bloody towel you used. He lets out a slow, heavy sigh that seems to deflate some of the tension.

“Every damn thing you do is my problem,” he murmurs, grabbing the hydrogen peroxide and a clean gauze pad. He doesn’t wait for an answer, turning back to you with the items. “Let’s go to the couch. Lean back. I’m just looking.”

“No couch” You groan. “Jesus, are you always this persistent?”

“Only when people I care about try to bleed out in their apartments alone.”

You freeze at that—care about—but you cover it fast with a sharp breath and a pouty glance away. “You don’t get to say that, Jason.”

He steps closer again, voice low. “Yeah, I do.” 

“Don’t,” you warn, quieter now. “Not tonight.”

He closes his eyes for a beat, his shoulders visibly tightening before he lets the breath go.

He doesn’t push it anymore. Just sighs, dragging a gloved hand through his wet hair. “Then let me see the damn wound so I can stop hovering. I’ll drop it after that.”

You know he’s lying. He won’t drop it. But you’re too tired and faint to argue, and there’s something about the way he’s looking at you—steady, unflinching, pupils blown wide when he takes off his gloves and hovers his arms over your hips to ground himself as he kneels before you—that makes resistance feel like a waste of energy.

You tug the robe open and lift your nightgown just enough to show the edge of the bandage. The candlelight from the bathroom flickers across both of you, throwing soft gold along the sharp planes of his face. He leans closer, close enough that the heat from his body cuts through the chill still clinging to your skin. You can feel his breath onto your stomach and it makes your skin crawl.

His gaze lingers on the bruising, the uneven stitches. “Christ. You did this yourself?”

You snort faintly. “Who else was gonna do it?”

Jason’s jaw tightens. He reaches out, hesitates just before touching you. “Can I?”

You nod, but your pulse kicks up anyway when his fingers brush your side, rough but careful, not to touch the wound. The warmth of his touch contrasts too sharply with the cold air.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment—just looks, assessing, breathing a little too close to your skin again for your liking. You catch the faint hitch in his chest, the sound of rain still dripping off him onto your floor. Your core gives a warning pulse that you hope he doesn’t notice— he comes any closer, and you’re off the deep end. Well, assuming that him breathing into your stomach isn't close enough.

“It’s not infected,” he mutters finally, his thumb ghosting near the bandage. “You’ll live.”

“Glad I have your medical expertise,” you say, voice softer than you mean it to be.

Jason looks up then, and the space between you narrows again. “You still should’ve called me,” he says, his thumb finally, barely, tracing the hem of the dirty bandage.

You swallow. “Wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“It would’ve changed where I was,” he shoots back.

The silence that follows feels heavier than the blackout outside. You both stand there, soaked and stubborn, the distance between you practically humming.

Finally, Jason steps back, voice low again. “Fine. I’m taking that shower before you pass out just to spite me.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”

He smirks, already slipping his jacket off. “You let me in. That’s on you.”

You shake your head and sink back onto the couch as he disappears down the hallway, boots leaving a wet trail behind him. The sound of running water starts a moment later, echoing faintly through the dark apartment.

For a while, you just sit there, listening—to the rain, the pipes, the low hum of your typical Gotham outside and you try not to think about the fact that Jason Todd is in your shower, dripping with rainwater and tension you can’t seem to wash away. All muscle and handsomeness.

____

By the time the water shuts off, the rain outside has softened to a steadier rhythm—less of a storm, more of a whisper against the balcony glass. The candle on the coffee table has nearly burned itself down, a waxy crater around a trembling wick; in simpler words, a pain to clean up.

You’re half slouched on the couch, fighting to stay awake, when you hear the bathroom door open.

Jason’s footsteps are quieter this time. Bare, damp against the wood. When you look up, he’s standing in the doorway with a towel draped around his shoulders, steam still clinging to his skin. He’s pulled on an old metal band t-shirt which used to be his that he found in a drawer. You remember how big it used to look on him then, though now it clings to him, darker from water. His hair is pushed back, messy, but his eyes are clearer.

“You still awake?” he asks, voice lower now, raw around the edges.

You hum. “Barely.”

He glances around, taking in the dim apartment, the candle, the bottle of antiseptic left open on the table. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

You snort softly. “Where was I gonna go? Out to dance in the blackout?”

Jason gives a quiet, almost reluctant laugh. “To avoid me? You would.”

You shrug, pretending you don’t like that he said it. “As if I’d leave my house because of you.”

He crosses the room and sits down, cross legged, across from you on the floor leaving a respectful distance—but close enough that you can feel the weight of him, the quiet he carries. His hands rest on his knees, still damp, the veins on his fore arms raised under the candlelight.

The sight alone makes you gulp.

“You eat anything?” he asks.

“I’m not hungry.”

He studies your expression for a second, like he’s trying to decide if you’re lying. “You should eat something.”

“Don’t start.”

Jason leans back, sighing more than exhaling. “I wasn’t starting. Just—”

“I know,” you interrupt quietly. “I know.”

The room goes still again. The kind of silence that isn’t comfortable, but isn’t quite cruel either. It’s the kind that only comes after you’ve both said too much in the past and have nothing left to throw now.

Jason looks down, rubbing a hand over his face, sighing. “I hate when you do that,” he mutters.

“Do what?”

“Act like I don’t get to care.”

You look away. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is simple,” he says, his tone sharper than before, though it cracks halfway through. “You get hurt, I worry. That’s not complicated.”

“It’s complicated because you left,” you say quietly.

Jason flinches. Just barely, but really, it’s more than enough. The air thickens. You don’t mean for the words to hang the way they do, but they do. Heavy. True.

He swallows hard, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I did.”

The honesty in his voice stings more than you expect.

He meets your gaze again, something green naked from emotion in his eyes now. “You think I don’t regret that?”

You blink slowly, exhaustion dulling everything but the ache in your chest. “Regret doesn’t change anything.”

Jason’s lips twitch like he’s fighting a bitter smile. “No. But it still keeps me up.”

You want to say something back—something sharp, something to even the scales—but your throat burns too much to form the words.

Instead, you just whisper, “You shouldn’t have come tonight.”

Jason looks at you for a long time. “Yeah. I probably shouldn’t have.”

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t stand.

The storm outside growls low and distant again. The candle sputters, almost dying, before flaring back to life.

Jason leans forward, resting his arms on his thighs, and for the first time all night, his voice softens. “You know, every time you get hurt, I think—maybe next time it’s gonna be worse. Maybe I don’t get to show up in time.”

You sigh, pressing a hand against your side. “Jason…”

He shakes his head. “Don’t. I’m not looking for forgiveness. I just—I don’t know what to do when I’m not there.”

The words hit you somewhere you’ve kept sealed for too long. You feel your eyes sting, but you blink hard, refusing to let it spill.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you murmur. “Showing up only when everything’s already broken.”

Jason nods, slow. “I know.”

And somehow, you believe him.

Neither of you say anything after that but the silence feels softer this time. The candlelight flickers across his face, the scar at his temple, the small lines that weren’t there the last time you were this close.

You reach for the blanket draped over the couch and toss it toward him without looking. “Don’t catch pneumonia on my floor.”

Jason catches it midair. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t push it.”

He chuckles under his breath, the sound small, almost fond. “Still bossy.”

You lie back against the couch, closing your eyes. “Still reckless.”

He hums in quiet agreement, pulling the blanket over himself. “Guess we deserve each other, then.”

You don’t answer—not because you disagree, but because you can’t bring yourself to admit how much that thought hurts.

You close your eyes, taking in a breath you don’t expect to last for as long as it does. Jason keeps quiet too, but the shaking in your chest refuses to leave. It lingers, like words are bubbling inside the more you think about his last line.

Saying something you don’t mean is the only option to make it feel better. 

“I didn’t want you to come. Dick shouldn’t have told you about this.”  you mutter, leaning against the couch frame, staring at the dark ceiling like it’s interesting. “You two gossip like old ladies.”

“Yeah, well, one of the old ladies said you got stabbed and were bleeding out in the dark.”

You roll your eyes. “He exaggerates and you know that”

“Yeah, well, that’s never stopped me before.”

You look at him—really look—and for a second, it’s quiet again. The rain’s softening to a hiss again, but the lighting that strikes, illuminates Jason's frame in a dangerous manner. You hate that something about it feels familiar. Comforting, even.

“You should be lying down, not arguing about something that won’t happen.”

“I’m fine”

Jason exhales through his nose. “You always say that when you’re not.”

You look back at him, your voice softer this time. “And you always show up when you shouldn’t.”

That lands somewhere deep. For a moment, neither of you move. He’s close enough now that the barrier of the distance between you feels like it’s nothing. You pat the edge of the couch like it’s instinct. Jason shakes his head, a quiet, humorless chuckle escaping him. “You’re an impossible idiot”

You lean back, resting your head against the couch. “Takes one to know one.”

Something soft flickers in his expression at that. The corner of his mouth tugs, barely visible. He gets up without a word, moving slow, cautious, like he’s afraid to spook you. The blanket slips off his shoulders as he does.You watch him circle around, expecting him to sit at the other end where you gestured—but he doesn’t. Instead, he lowers himself beside you, the couch dipping under his weight. The proximity is sudden, and somehow not at all.

“What are you doing?” you ask, voice slurred with fatigue.

“Getting comfortable,” he mutters. His hand twitches like he wants to touch you—your shoulder, your wrist, something—but he doesn’t.

Instead, his voice lowers. “You can keep pretending you don’t need anyone. But one of these days, you’re gonna bleed out like this, you’re not gonna call Grayson and no one’s gonna find you in time.”

“Then maybe that’s what I deserve,” you say quietly.

He flinches—barely, but you see it. The silence between you goes taut, humming with something that feels dangerous. He slugs closer again, slow, careful.

“You don’t mean that,” he says.

You turn your head to look at him, the distance between you dissolving until there’s barely an inch left. “Don’t I?”

You don’t move away. You’re too tired, too cold, too unwilling to start something you’ll only regret stopping. He sits still for a moment, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to go. You don’t. And maybe that’s all the permission he needs. No matter how fast his eyes move to scan your body language for any discomfort, he finds none. Only your words, the one you don’t mean, stand between you like a wall.

Jason's determined to break it. Head first.

You feel him shift closer, the warmth of him bleeding into the space between. One arm comes up behind you, not quite around you—just there, a quiet anchor.

Then your head tilts, almost by accident, brushing his shoulder. Jason goes still. You can swear you hear him hold his breath. You don’t lift your head, though; opting to coo into his side like you want to be cradled. It’s easier to stay here—to pretend this is just a temporary truce, something small and quiet to get through the night.

A moment later, he moves again, barely. His arm slips lower, settling around you properly this time, the edge of the blanket tugged over both of you. The shift is natural, unplanned. Like gravity doing what it does best.

You don’t realize how close you’ve gotten until your fingers brush against his chest—until the steady rhythm of his heartbeat starts to match the soft pull of your breathing.

Something aches deep in your chest, heavier than pain. You shift just enough to look up at him. He’s already looking down at you—tired eyes, rain-damp hair, mouth set like he’s trying not to say more than he should.

For a heartbeat, it feels like everything stops—the storm, the city, the noise in your head. It’s just him. Just this.

You could pull away. You don’t.

Jason hesitates, a flicker of something raw crossing his face, a battle fought and lost in an instant, then brushes a loose strand of hair from your face with the back of his fingers. His hand lingers by your jaw, thumb tracing the faint line where the candlelight hits your skin. You lean into it before you can stop yourself. His eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up again. For a heartbeat, you think he’s going to close the gap. The hope is a sudden, sharp ache in your chest. You even want him to.

But he doesn’t. He just exhales, long and shaky, like he’s fighting himself. It sounds less like a breath and more like a surrender of a deep-seated wish.

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“I’m not,” he murmurs.

He isn’t. Neither of you are doing anything—and yet somehow, you are. The air feels heavier now, filled with everything you won’t say. all the unacknowledged history and the terrifying possibility still hanging between you.

“Not like this,” he murmurs, his gaze fixed on some point over your shoulder, like he can't trust himself to look at you anymore.

You force a smile. “Good. Because I wasn’t planning to kiss you either.”

A lie, of course. One that hurts worse than your wound. It’s a deliberate little cruelty aimed at yourself for wanting this so badly.

Jason’s breath hitches at that, just barely—like he almost believes you. A shadow of self-reproach darkens his eyes, a familiar doubt about his own appeal. But his hand doesn’t move. It stays there, warm and steady against your jaw, his thumb ghosting along the edge of your throat. You feel your pulse kick under it, sharp and traitorous.

He notices. You know he does, because something flickers in his eyes—something between longing and regret. Then, as if realizing how dangerous the silence’s gotten, he drops his hand, leaning back a fraction. The sudden loss of heat is a physical sting, sharp and immediate.

“Get some sleep,” he says, voice low. “You’re gonna need it.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, one that sounds more like a displeased sigh. “You’re staying?”

Jason shrugs carefully, eyes on the candle’s flickering light instead of you. He shifts uncomfortably, a familiar shield of nonchalance settling over him. “’Til morning. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t rip your stitches open trying to prove you’re fine.” His voice carries a practiced lightness, but the tension in his shoulders betrays the lie.

Jason shifts again, careful not to jostle you. His shoulder brushes yours. “Go to sleep,” he says, quieter now. “Before you start trying to pick a fight.”

“I wasn’t gonna.”

“You were.”

You let out a small noise—somewhere between annoyance and surrender—and close your eyes. “You think you know me so well.”

He doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is almost too soft to catch.

“Used to.”

You open your eyes again, but he’s already leaned back, head tipped against the couch, eyes on the ceiling. His expression’s unreadable in the dim light, all shadow and exhaustion and something else you can’t name.

You want to say something—ask what used to means, if he misses that version of you, if he still thinks she exists—but your throat tightens around the words.

Instead, you whisper, “Jason?”

He hums in response.

“If you leave before I wake up…” You hesitate, the sentence half-built, breaking apart on your tongue. “I won’t forgive you” The quiet finality of the threat is meant to wound him, to anchor him here with guilt.

Jason’s chest hitches. The words hang between you, quiet but sharp, like they’ve cut through the last bit of distance he was hiding behind. His jaw tightens, locks. You can almost see the instinct—the urge to deflect, to joke, to turn the weight of what you just said into something lighter. The habitual, self-deprecating joke about how little his presence matters is right there on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it down. He doesn’t. Not this time.

“I wasn’t planning to,” he says finally, voice rougher than before. 

You nod once, slow. “You always say that. You always leave.”

He looks at you then, really looks—eyes tired, regret heavy in them. “Yeah,” he says softly. “But this time, I mean it.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. The room feels smaller now, the rain outside thinning into a faint, steady rhythm. Jason shifts closer, his shoulder brushing yours again, careful but deliberate.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, almost breaking around the edges. His next words come quieter, careful. “You scared the hell outta me tonight.”

This time, you’re the one who hums in response.

_____

The candle’s melted halfway down by the time the room settles into that strange, humming quiet that comes after too much adrenaline. The storm’s still whispering against the glass, but it feels far away now—like it’s somewhere else entirely.

Jason’s weight is still solid beside you. He hasn’t moved in a while. You’ve lost track of whose arm ended up where, how the blanket tangled the both of you. His chest rises slow and steady under your cheek, the fabric of his shirt warm against your skin.

Every now and then, you feel his breath in your hair.

You should move. You should get up, at least check the locks or blow out the candle. But you don’t. You just breathe him in—leather, rain, something faintly metallic and familiar. It feels like home in a way that hurts.

Jason murmurs something you can’t catch. His voice is rough from exhaustion.

You hum a quiet “hm?” against him, but he doesn’t answer. Just shifts slightly, tightening his hold, fingers brushing the curve of your hip through the robe as if to make sure you’re still there.

Your eyes are already half-closed when he speaks again, softly, as loud as a whisper in a soundly room can sound. “Your skin’s soft”

You tilt your face up toward him, lazy, barely awake. “You think?”

“Yeah,” he breathes.

His eyes flick down. It’s barely a movement—half-lidded, uncertain—but enough for your breath to catch. For a moment, you’re both hovering in that space between sleep and something else, where words don’t mean anything and distance doesn’t either.

The shift happens so quietly it almost doesn’t. A brush, feather-light, the faintest touch of his lips against yours. More breath than kiss, a sleepy mistake or maybe a memory of one.

He freezes, so still you can feel the hesitation tremble through him. You don’t pull back. You don’t do anything. The world feels too fragile for sudden movements.

When he finally exhales, it ghosts against your mouth.

“Sorry,” he whispers, voice thick with sleep.

“Don’t be,” you murmur back.

But his chest burns the closer your lips get. You both fumble your movements underneath the blanket, kicking it softly, merging into each other’s arms, eyes lazed out and sleepy. Until your lips are brushing and your noses touch, both of your breaths hitch, entangled.

You could pull away. You don’t.

Instead, your fingers catch the fabric of his shirt and hold it, and his trace lines in the back of your neck. That’s all it takes.

The space between you folds in, quiet and inevitable. His breath catches, yours follows, and before either of you decide anything, the kiss simply happens —soft at first, almost clumsy from how tired you both are. His lips are warm, dry from the rain, and they press to yours like a question he’s been too afraid to ask for months.

You breathe into it, slow and trembling, and Jason makes a sound low in his throat —part relief, part disbelief. The hand at your neck shifts, his thumb brushing the line of your jaw as if to steady himself there. You taste the storm on his mouth, smoke and something faintly sweet that lingers when you tilt your head just enough to kiss him back.

He deepens it once, tentative, before stopping — like he’s afraid to break whatever spell this is. Your foreheads rest together, breaths uneven, hearts out of sync but trying and the hand at your neck tightens just enough to make your pulse stutter. Every heartbeat seems to ask for more, but he doesn’t move to kiss you again—not yet. It’s worse that way.

Your fingers twist in his shirt, knuckles brushing the solid warmth of his chest underneath. He’s still damp from the shower, still but like smoke and city air, and it hits you how close he really is—how much space he’s taken up in your head even when you swore you’d stop letting him.

“Jason…” The way you say his name barely sounds like a word; it’s more like an exhale.

He looks down at you—eyes dark, expression caught somewhere between restraint and want. “You don’t know what you’re doing,” he murmurs, though it sounds more like a warning to himself than to you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, “I do.”

“But—“

“I thought about calling you. I was about to, twice. Before I ended up calling Dick”

That’s what breaks him. 

Something inside him just folds.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, the kind that starts careful and turns into something else entirely—hungry, tired, aching. You feel it in the way his hand cups the back of your neck, the way he exhales against your mouth like he’s been holding that breath for months.

You pull him closer, the blanket slipping lower, the world narrowing down to the weight of him, the sound of rain, the soft scrape of his stubble against your skin. There’s nothing careful about it anymore, not when his fingers slide up your arm, not when your lips part under his.

It’s messy, a little desperate, all the things you never said tonight spilling out between the spaces where breath should be. When he finally breaks the kiss, his lips hover against yours, both of you catching air like you’ve just surfaced from something deep.

Jason’s hands come up to cradle your face, palms warm against your skin, thumbs drawing slow, steady circles on the hollow of your cheeks. His touch is deliberate, grounding, as if he’s reminding himself that you’re really kissing him again, that he's kissing you back too. His nose brushes yours—a light, almost shy movement—and you can feel the air shift again, thick with everything you both keep trying not to say but don’t really need to.

You exhale softly, your lips grazing his when you speak. “You shouldn’t look at me like that.”

His voice comes out rough. “Can’t help it.”

He tilts his head slightly, the tip of his nose trailing along your jaw before settling near your temple. The gesture isn’t about claiming—it’s about remembering. About wanting to stay.

Your hands move without thinking, tracing the edge of his collar, feeling the quiet tension still held in his shoulders. He relaxes under your touch, eyes closing as if the world outside doesn’t exist.

It’s in the next, unfortunate, instance that all your self-refrain vanishes. When his breathing turns into panting. When your hands slip with a tortuous pace against his chest until they rest under his shirt.

The pain that sits on your ribs is nothing when he’s making you this helpless. 

His shirt goes flying in a pitch black corner of the room and it’s indifferent to you when you throw it, if it lands on a candle and lights on fire. You couldn’t care less when you go and pull him into your face feverishly, panting in a rhythm that matches his.

When you bring your lips to his to kiss him again, you only manage to peck, before he pulls away and pushes you back, green eyes searching yours in order to speak.

“—can’t,” he rasps, pressing a palm to your cheek. “You’re still hurt.”

“That’s never stopped us before” you whisper back, voice trembling, bold and dangerous at the same time.

The look he gives you then is pure conflict—fire and ache tangled together. His thumb traces the edge of your jaw once, like a warning, and then he gives in. He groans low in the back of his throat and the kiss that follows isn’t gentle. It’s desperate, rough around the edges, the kind that swallows all the noise and leaves only heartbeat.

Jason’s hands stay at your sides, heavy and insistent, but careful where they rest. His lips brush yours again—this time slower, teasing, and all the rest of the world fades into candlelight and shadow.

You arch against him, breath hitching, fingers tangled in his damp hair, but just as the moment threatens to tip over, a sharp inhale breaks the spell.

“Help me take your clothes off” he whispers against your lips.

Your hands freeze on his chest for a heartbeat, heart hammering as you meet his gaze. The candlelight flickers across his face, highlighting the storm behind his eyes—want, restraint, and something deeper you can’t quite name.

Waiting for your response lasts seconds in reality, but to Jason, it’s an eternity. He takes it as a chance to bury his face in your neck and catch your skin between his lips, shaking as he feels your heartbeat racing against his nose.

“I… okay,” you moan, voice trembling just enough to make him growl softly against your neck.

The belt of your robe is undone and the garment itself is slipped off so fast, it feels as if it was never there to begin with.

Jason’s hands move, warm and steady, sliding the lacy strap of your nightgown down your shoulder, where he places a kiss, then tenderly along your sides as he leans you back slightly, guiding you with a precision that feels both tender and demanding. Every touch leaves a trail of heat across your skin. You can feel the tension in his shoulders, the careful control he fights to maintain, and it makes your chest tighten in anticipation.

Between hot, sternum kisses, he finds your hips, fingers shimming underneath fabric, bunching it against his wrists and fists and you slug your body ever so slowly against his, until the dress is over your head and thrown where his shirt must have landed.

Your breasts perk, nipples puckering angrily at the cold air that hits them, but Jason’s got his palms on them before he manages to even take a breath.

He pulls away, ever so slightly, but just enough to look at you, eyes dark and hooded with want, lips slightly swollen from the chase. The pause is torturous, and you shiver under the weight of his stare. His thumbs trace slow, teasing circles over your nipples, dragging every nerve alive as he measures your reaction.

“You’re driving me insane,” he growls, voice rough, low, vibrating through his chest into yours. His hands roam with intention now, exploring the familiar yet electrifying territory as your body arches instinctively toward him. The world has narrowed again—just the two of you, the rhythm of your breathing, the soft scrape of candlelight across skin, the scent of him clinging to your senses.

Your back arches instinctively, hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. “Ffffuck Jay–” you whisper, the words barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing and the rain outside.

He hums against your skin, a sound so approving, before lowering his mouth to your collarbone. Each kiss down your chest is so pretentiously exploratory—hungry but careful, a balance of restraint and release. His hands glide down your sides, fingertips brushing the curve of your hips, tracing the line on the inside of your thighs. Every inch of him pressed against you sends fire up your spine, making it impossible to think, impossible to stop wanting.

He pats your thighs slightly; a silent command to part them. When you do, he slips between them, his body almost crawling into yours. He lines his hips with yours and ruts once, experimentally, but it only makes him bite his lip and throw his head back as all blood rushes to his cock.

Your fingers wander along the edges of his biceps, tracing the familiar contours, while he presses closer again, bucking against you in ways that make it impossible to think.

“Fuck,” he mutters, under his breath, as if the word can scrub you from the inside of his mouth.

He runs a hand down his face and feels the twitch of his eye, the split in his lip that’s healing from when it was inflicted on him a few nights ago on patrol. He looks down at his own body and where the last garments of clothing divide you from merging completely. Both of his arms come to rest on each side of your head and he bends his back in impossible ways to be able to get his mouth around one of your nipples again.

He knows he should wait when he hears you wince in the tiniest tint of pain, he knows he should be patient. Take his time with you like he’s never done before, but it feels impossible–his tongue comes out to lick a circle, then another one and only then, when your wince is replaced by a moan, is he content enough with himself.

He takes a second to breathe against your saliva coated breast, shaky, unsteady. Every part of him feels strung too tight—like if he doesn’t touch you, he’ll snap. The air between you hums, warm and electric, filled with the small, helpless noises that escape between breaths and then, his mouth is on you again, softly alternating between sucking at your nipple and worrying it between his teeth.

His gaze drops, fixating on the angry red line stitched across your ribs—the reminder that brought him to this agonizing halt in the first place. He reaches out, fingers hovering an inch above the bandage, an unspoken apology in the tremble of his touch.

“I’m not gonna let you feel any pain,” he whispers, the admission tasting like ash on his tongue. 

The look on his face is pure devastation—the kind that makes you want to pull him back down and kiss away every single dark thought. But you know this is real, this concern. This is the part of him that would sooner break himself than hurt you.

You lift a hand, letting your palm rest flat against the curve of his throat, feeling the erratic drum of his pulse beneath your skin. "I know Jay" you tell him, your voice soft, cutting through the noise of sirens somewhere in the background. “‘M not in pain”

You pull gently, a silent invitation, and this time, he lets you guide him. He lowers his head until his forehead rests against yours, his breath hot and uneven against your cheek. He pants a kiss on the apple of your cheek, and then, he moves back down again, trailing short kisses on your sternum.

The moment he reaches your belly button, he pulls back an inch, and his gaze searches yours, looking for permission for the next, inevitable step. You give him a small, fierce nod, brows furrowed..

Jason finally allows his control to break, but only halfway. He still doesn't plunge back into the feverish pace from before. Instead, he drops a kiss right over your belly button—a promise, a grounding touch—before letting his lips drift down to the corner of your mouth.

He nudges you gently onto your side, easing you into a position that puts no pressure on your injury, just to be able to hook his thumbs under the trim of your panties. His body follows, pressing close from behind, his bare chest a warm anchor against your thighs. He nips at the edge of your hip and your core trembles.

“Move it Jay”

The command makes him smirk.

"Ask me nicely, princess." He nips at your hip again, the smirk on his face almost feral now

“Don’t tease”

Jason kisses playfully at your lower belly before continuing in a dark tone "Here's where you usually say 'Yes, Jason. I'll do anything you ask. I'll be good for you.'"

You raise your brow at him, sporting a look that's too amused to contrast your previous sleepiness. The amusement on your face is genuine, a spark of defiance against the tidal wave of desire he's orchestrating. You don't take the bait.

Instead of the submissive words he’s fishing for, you use the only weapon you have left– touch.

You sit up carefully, bending your torso as far as your fresh wound allows you to and trap his chin between your fingers. His response is silent, only a kiss to the pad of your thumb that rests on his lower lip.

He smirks again, deviously.

“I’m not supposed to be good, Jason,” you whisper, your voice a low, throaty rasp, utterly devoid of the trembling compliance he expects. The words are meant to be a direct counterpoint to his challenge, but then, you add “But for you i might as well be”

“I like the sound of that…”

"I'll do anything," you murmur, your voice dropping to a low, husky register, "if you stop talking and show me."

His breath hitches, the smirk dissolving instantly into a look of startled, raw heat. He understands the shift in power.

His fingers, which had been gently hooked on your panties, suddenly become taut and insistent. He stops the slow tease and, with a swift, decisive move, he hooks his thumbs deeper, pulling the thin material down and off your body in one fluid motion. The lace barely brushes your knees before it’s gone, discarded somewhere in the shadows.

He nips at your inner thigh again, still teasingly close to your center, the back of his knuckles stroking over your sensitive slit slowly.

“You’re going to get your wish, then,” he vows, the words a promise and a warning.

And then, finally, in one agonisingly slow movement. His mouth is on you.

His lips lock around your clit, placing the faintest kiss, before his tongue darts out to run an exploring, tentative lick on you. 

"Easy, baby," he rasps “I’ll just get you nice and wet for me” 

Your back arches, a low, involuntary sound of shock and immediate pleasure tearing from your throat. Your fingers clutch frantically between the locks of his hair, trying to anchor yourself as the world tilts. The soft weight of his breath against your skin, the humid heat of his mouth, and the slow, precise movement of his tongue are a focused, singular assault on your senses.

“Still fuckin’ sweet,” he murmurs, lips pressed to the slick heat of your folds. “Can’t believe how much I missed this pussy.”

“Fuck, fuuuck Jason” you moan out “just like that.”

He groans against your clit like it’s a goddamn relief to hear you say his name like that.

You’re sprawled out on your back, thighs spread, ribs emitting a dull ache as you pull on your stitches—and yet, every nerve ending sparks like you’ve never felt Jason eating you out before.

He licks with slow, practiced precision, dragging the flat of his tongue up your center before sucking softly around your clit. His arms are wrapped under your thighs, keeping you pinned open, completely exposed. You squirm, but it only makes him moan deeper, nose nudging where you’re soaked and twitching.

“Fuckin’ taste of you,” he mutters, “I could live on it.”

Jason shifts slightly, his hand resting heavy on your hip, pressing you lightly against the couch as if to keep you pinned down. He hums against your pussy—a deep, satisfied vibration that sends a fresh wave of need straight to your hot core. He ignores your attempt at a challenge when you try to buck into his mouth, already too consumed by the task at hand.

The exploration of his mouth stops being tentative.

His tongue becomes firm, confident, working with a relentless precision that knows exactly where to hit and how long to linger. Every lick that makes a sound, makes your clit ache for more to the point it burns.

You are helpless under him. The words you want to say—the ones about not wanting him to stop—are lost to a rising tide of pleasure. Your hips buck forward again instinctively, pressing against his mouth, begging for more, for faster. 

Had it been any other time, he would force your hips down with his palms to work at the pace he wants, but the fact that you’re hurt is always in the back of his mind, not letting him get cocky with his movements.

He gives you a moment of blissful pressure before slowing again, tormenting you with a return to the languid, worshipping pace. He looks up when he pulls away with a smooching sound—those green eyes of his, dark, hooded, and triumphant—and he knows he’s winning.

“M gonna put a finger in, ‘kay?” he slurs, chin wet with your sleek. 

He lands a kiss on your puffy clit when your eyes fully blow into his, fingers digging into the skin of your hips.

You manage a shaky nod, the motion small and weak when every muscle in your body is strung too tight to allow for a full movement. His question is more of a courtesy; the deep, hungry look in his eyes tells you he’s already committed. The small, wet smooching sound as he pulls away is immediately replaced by the rough, welcoming friction of his chin against your slick skin.

He dips his head, placing another promised kiss—a possessive, lingering weight that sends a fresh wave of heat crashing through you. His fingers, which had been anchoring your hips until now, press down hard enough to leave faint bruises, giving you something physical to brace against as the sensation intensifies.

The first finger slides inside you, slow and deliberate, a precise invasion that makes you gasp. It's an exquisitely agonizing stretch, a sudden pressure that perfectly fills the void left by his mouth. You taste the sharp inhale of air, a thin, desperate sound that cracks in your throat.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his voice a dark, encouraging counterpoint to the rush of blood in your ears.

He groans, grinding his hips into the couch, rutting against nothing like he's so hard it hurts. His finger pumps harder, tongue flicking rapid-fire across your clit like he’s chasing your orgasm for himself.

He withdraws slightly, then pushes back in, finding a deeper, more sensitive spot. The movement is steady, controlled, a stark contrast to the wildness you feel inside. He watches your face, his gaze fixed on the sharp tilt of your jaw, the tight closure of your eyes, measuring the effect of every fraction of an inch he takes.

When the second finger follows, it’s not an accident. It’s a deliberate filling, an attempt to take you to the edge again, slowly, but definitely. Your body accepts the pressure with a shuddering moan as your cunt swallows both of his fingers– a sound that starts low in your chest and escapes as a choked “Oh my God”

The words, coupled with the slow, internal stretch and the focused friction of his tongue returning to your clit—softly at first, then firming into a quick, demanding rhythm—shatter the last pieces of the coil that has been gathering in your abdomen. The tension that has been building since he walked into the room, the fear and the want, breaks like glass the more he fucks his fingers into you while still licking your clit in a circular motion.

The sensation becomes too intense to process. It’s a ringing in your ears, then a blinding white heat behind your eyes, and a convulsive tightening deep in your core. The muscles in your legs tremble violently, in a manner that makes you want to hide your face away from him and your back arches one final, painful time off the mattress.

The sound that tears from your throat is not a word or a gasp, but a single, loud, and sustained scream—a raw, helpless cry of pure release.

Your body is shaking violently, locked in a series of deep, shuddering spasms. Your hands, still tangled in Jason’s hair, tighten into desperate fists as you cling to him through the aftershock.

Then, just as abruptly as the orgasm began, it ends. Your body goes slack, collapsing onto the couch in a heap of exhausted, damp limbs. All that’s left is ragged, heavy breathing and the faint, rhythmic drumming of your heart trying to beat out of your chest.

Jason slows his movements easing back into a gentle pressure. He doesn't pull away immediately; he lingers ever so slightly, ensuring you’re fully grounded, letting the friction fade into a soft glide. He gives you one last, open-mouthed kiss before finally lifting his head, a thin line of your sleekness visible at the corner of his mouth and onto his chin.

He looks utterly spent, his chest heaving, his own control only now fully catching up to yours.

He lowers his forehead back to the mattress beside your thigh, resting there for a long moment, simply breathing. He doesn’t speak, allowing the silence to be filled only by the fading echo of your pleasure.

Finally, he pushes himself up to climb up your body, his eyes softening as he takes in the sight of your face—flush, glistening, and completely, utterly undone. He reaches out a trembling hand and gently brushes the damp strands of hair from your cheek.

“See?” he whispers, his voice is thick and rough with profound satisfaction. “Good for me. You’re always good for me.”

He pulls you tight against his chest, careful to support your body in a way that avoids your ribs, tucking your head securely under his chin. His body is a hot, heavy weight against you.

He closes his eyes, burying his nose in your hair and inhaling deeply, a long, shaky breath that seems to finally settle the storm in his own soul. He rests his cheek against your temple, and you can feel the low, fast thump-thump-thump of his heart beat gradually start to slow beneath your ear.

“Jay” You whisper, kissing his cheek “I’m okay we can continue”

“Good,” He kisses the top of your head, a soft, deliberate touch. “I’m not done with you, not even close,” he murmurs, his tone a husky promise

He leans in, breath stuttering, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin over your collarbone. “If you're sure you’re okay with that, princess” he murmurs, the words an agreement, a surrender, a warning–all rolled into one husky growl.

The smirk is back, sharp and knowing, but the vulnerability in his eyes doesn't quite fade. He knows this surrender is a lie; he knows you're challenging him to break. And that's exactly what he's going to do—but on his own terms. He needs this to be slow, he wants to be remembered.

He dips his head, capturing your mouth in a kiss that is deep, immediate, and utterly possessive, yet still measured. It’s a thorough kiss that demands a response, and you give it freely, your hands sliding up his chest to tangle in the damp hair at the nape of his neck.

It’s a mess. Sloppy and slow. Lips sliding, tongues tangling, your taste smeared between his jaw and yours. You moan into it, not from need but from overwhelm, from the unbearable tenderness in the way he holds your face like he can’t even believe you’re real.

You don’t even know where his hands go after that. It’s all just a blurry vertigo—your hair, your neck, your chest, as if he needs to touch every inch of you. His body slots over yours, big and casually bruised and burning, hips cradled between your thighs like they were made for him. He shifts his weight again, his movements becoming slow and so undeniably sensual. He uses his knees to gently widen your thighs, pushing his body fully into the space between your legs.

While his mouth is busy claiming yours, his hips make a subtle, precise shift. He settles the heavy, insistent heat of his pelvis right against your entrance. The thin, rough material of his boxers is the only thing separating you, and the slow, grinding friction instantly steals the breath from your lungs.

He breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough to watch your eyes roll back slightly. He’s deliberately maximizing the sensation without crossing the final threshold. The coarse cotton of his boxers brushes against your slick, the bare skin where your thighs conjunct with your core, the friction immediately drawing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“I need to feel you,” he murmurs, his gaze burning into yours.

“Then take them off,” you command, your voice low, steady, and utterly demanding. There is no defiance left, only honest need. “Now, Jason.”

You look up at him, locking your forehead with his as a string of saliva connects your mouths, the need in your eyes giving him all the power he craves. You can only manage two, barely gullible, broken syllables.

“Please...”

The single, broken word hangs in the air between you—"Please"—a complete and utter surrender that thrills him more than any impatient cry for pleasure. He cups your face, brushing your swollen lips with his thumb.

If you said his name like a breath before, now you exhale it like it’s your last.

Jason doesn't move to undress in order to enter. Not yet. He accepts the plea, absorbs the heat of your demand, and then, slowly, deviously, he pushes the boundary.

His thumb peels away from your lower lip and dips slightly into the corner of your mouth. He keeps his eyes locked on yours as he guides your head back, urging your lips open again. He leans down and begins to kiss you once more, but this time it’s softer, more tender—an orchestrated contrast to the raw pressure building below.

While his mouth is gentle, his hips are merciless.

He moves his body just slightly, shifting his angle, and uses the rough seam of his boxer briefs to rub with an agonizingly slow pressure right across your clit. He works in small, lazy arcs, maximizing the intense, localizing the friction. He keeps the full, aching weight of his length pressed against your thighs, letting you feel the pulsing promise of him, but denying the finality of entering you.

Your soft gasp is swallowed by his kiss, the sound vibrating between your lips. Your hands, still tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, pull him closer, desperate to ground yourself against the exquisite torment. You try to shift your hips, instinctively bucking against the friction, but the weight of his body and his controlling hand on your jaw keep you perfectly pinned.

"No," he murmurs against your mouth, his voice low, vibrating through your core “Stay still, or you’re gonna be in pain. I’ll do the work”

He finally breaks his control entirely. With a sharp, sudden exhale, Jason reaches down and hooks his fingers under the waistband of his boxers. He doesn't look away from your eyes as he tugs the material down. The sound of the elastic band of his underwear rasping down his thighs and off his feet is muffled and quick, and the garment is tossed carelessly toward the floor.

The instant his hot, bare skin presses against your own—hip to hip, thigh to thigh, the hard, veiny length of him settling precisely at your slick, aching entrance—you arch violently, a sharp, choked gasp tearing from your throat. His cock is finally free and its hot, hard, and undeniably heavy against you. He pauses for a split second, allowing you to feel the reality of him pressed against your folds. The contact sends a violent spike of need through your body. His eyes darken to a dangerous, predatory shade of green.

He dips his fingers into you, coating his hand in your sleek and then his fist wraps round his cock, and he gives himself a few pumps, smearing wetness along his veiny length. The slick, slow movement is a direct provocation, a counted cruelty that makes your vision blur with anticipation. You moan at the sight, biting your lip at the way his forearm flexes..

"No more holding back, i gotchu" he states, the finality of the words.

He finds your mouth, and the kiss that follows is a complete, total consumption. It’s deep and messy, filled with every ounce of frustration, fear, and desperate affection that had been bottled up between you. He swallows your moan, your breath, your very will.

While his mouth devours yours, his hips make a single, decisive move. He bucks slightly, then uses his hands to pull your hips up just enough to allow him to align himself perfectly.

He doesn't ask again. He simply drives forward.

The initial thrust is slow, deep, stretching you in ways that make you cry out—a sound muffled against his shoulder as he pushes his face into the soft curve of your neck. Your nails dig into his back when he fills you completely, sinking in until his hips are flush against yours, merging your bodies into one single, shuddering unit.

He stays perfectly still for one long, suspended moment, allowing the overwhelming sensation of your fluttering walls tighten impossibly around him to make him cry out.

Then, he pulls out– only an inch, just enough to break the connection and heighten the tension. He hovers there, barely withdrawn, the friction of the withdrawal sending a violent tremor through your core.

His hands trail down your sides, still burning with that possessive heat as he positions himself between your legs again. You can feel the weight of him, both physically and emotionally. The way his gaze burns through you, the way his cock presses against your thigh, so close, but he’s still holding back. The tip of him teases your entrance, a molten press against your slick folds, sending sharp, delicious spikes of anticipation through your lower belly.

His lips hover over yours for a beat, just breathing you in. The quiet intimacy of the moment makes your heart race—this isn't just a need for physical release. It's something heavier. Something more. And you can feel it in the way his hands are gentle now, caressing you rather than gripping.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect.”

You feel it again—that ache, that tenderness that splits you open wider than any knife wound could. Because it’s not just make up sex like any other time. Not when he kisses your sternum like it’s sacred. Not when he moves down your body with a hunger laced in awe.

“You good?” he asks and you nod in response

“Good,” he murmurs, and in one swift motion, he’s inside you again, sliding deep with a single thrust that makes you gasp.

The familiar stretch, the familiar burn, but this time it's different. This time, it's mathematically controlled. He keeps pulling out almost entirely, and then pushes back in, dragging out the sensation so you feel every inch of him. Every pulsing vein on his cock rubbing into your throbbing walls.

His lips find your neck, sucking lightly at the bruises he's left there, biting down just enough to remind you of the marks he’s claimed on you.

“You feel so fuckin' good,” he growls against your skin, his voice rough and thick with desire. “Squeezing me so damn tight... can’t get enough of you.”

You moan, fingers digging into his back, urging him closer, deeper. Every inch of him fills you, makes you forget the outside world, makes you forget everything but him. The feeling of him inside you, the heat, the pressure building with every slow, dragged-out thrust.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand finding yours and pinning it beside your head. His thumb traces over the back of your hand like he's marking you, claiming you. You reach up, your fingers curling into his hair, tugging him closer until your lips crash together in a messy, desperate kiss.

Your body moves in sync with his now, hips rocking against him, each thrust deeper than the last, building tension between you until it feels like you're both on the edge of something dangerous, something overwhelming.

“Fuck—just like that,” you whisper, your voice breathless. "I can’t—"

He pulls his face from your neck, his head tilting back as he stares up at the shadowy ceiling, his jaw clenched, riding the intensity of that initial, deep connection. Sweat glistens on his temples, illuminated by the guttering candlelight.

You don't need to be told what to do. The long, agonizing wait, the deliberate entry, and the fierce, consuming heat of him finally inside you ignites a desperate, instinctive reaction.

Your hips rise sharply off the mattress, a sudden, fierce thrust upwards into his body, initiating the rhythm you both crave. It’s a primal movement—an urgent demand for him to move, to continue stretching you out until you finally let loose.

The motion pulls his attention instantly back to you. His green eyes snap down, meeting yours—wild, dark, and momentarily surprised by your sudden aggression. The pain from your ribs is a distant, forgotten memory, completely eclipsed by the profound chase of release.

“Dont stop Jay, ‘m gonna cum–ah fuck”

He answers your challenge with a low, hungry growl that rumbles deep in his chest. His hand that had been steadying your hips, now grips your thighs firmly, lifting and angling them over his shoulder to take him even deeper. Only then does he lower his thumb between your legs, pressing onto your clit.

At this new angle, he begins to move, slowly at first, but with a crushing force. Each retreat is agonizingly slow, and each drive forward is a profound, earth-shaking penetration. He pushes in, finding the deepest, most sensitive point with ruthless accuracy, then pulls back just enough to gather momentum for the next powerful stroke.

The rhythm quickly accelerates. He’s no longer thinking about gentleness; he's only focused on the pure, raw release. You meet every thrust, your hips driving up to meet his, your low moans swallowed by the frantic, wet sound of skin slapping against skin and the bang of the couch against the wall.

The combination of him fucking his hips into yours so deeply and the focused pressure from his thumb rubbing circles against you is too much. You gasp, and the sound is a sharp, broken intake of air– your whole body locks up. 

You are completely at his mercy. Probed and open, all limbs gooey and unable to move if he doesn’t show them how.

You arch your back, your nails digging deeper into the muscle of his shoulders, needing the pain to ground you against the intensity of his rutting. He leans down, not to kiss you gently, but to bury his face in the curve of your neck, his teeth gently nipping the sensitive skin.

"Look at me," he commands, hand tracing the line of your jaw slightly, and your eyes, wide and glassy with tears that threaten to slip, snap open to meet his.

In that moment, the world narrows to just his face: the harsh lines of his jaw clenched with restraint, the way his eyes have narrowed into yours, the soft parting of his lips before he bitens onto them– just the sheer intensity of his focus. You are utterly consumed, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence.

The only word that escapes is the one that acknowledges the profanity of the situation.The word that recognizes this specific kind of gut consuming feeling. A deformed effort at speaking his name. And then.

A sharp, ragged cry of "Im gonna come" tears from your throat, followed by a series of helpless, high-pitched moans.

The sounds seems to fuel him. His expression twists into a dangerous, dark triumph. He takes your command—your reaction—and uses it as leverage. His grip on your thighs tightens, and he drives into you with three crushing, piston-like thrusts that completely steal your breath. The force sends shockwaves through your hips, making the couch hit the wall with another resounding thud.

The world dissolves into a blinding cascade of sensation. Your body arcs violently against his, your toes curling, your muscles seizing as the first, powerful wave of climax hits you in waves. You clench around him, your internal walls tightening and seizing until you feel him shudder, his entire body going rigid above you.

He lets out a choked, half-bitten snarl deep in his throat as your muscles clench him, and he drives home one final, agonizingly deep thrust, before he cock pulses inside you, painting your walls in ropes of white.

His body collapses onto yours, his chest heaving, sleek with beads of sweat as his cum starts pouring out of your cunt slowly, with each movement he makes without pulling out. He buries his face back in your neck, not moving, simply holding you into him as you’re both riding this moment.

He doesn't move for a long moment, simply resting his forehead against the damp curve of your neck, his breathing coming in thick, ragged gasps right against your ear. The low, frantic beat of his heart begins its slow, arduous descent back toward a normal rhythm.

When he finally shifts, it's slow, agonizingly careful. He doesn't pull out immediately; instead, he eases his weight off your torso, moving to support himself on his elbows. He keeps himself deep inside you, the conjunction of your bodies heavy, still intensely present, but removes the pressure from your chest and ribs.

Your thighs, still lifted and draped over his shoulders, feel like lead. You keep your eyes closed, listening to the only sounds left in the apartment: his uneven breathing, the faint, wet sound of skin separating as he began to move, and the almost silent hiss of the rain outside.

He lifts his head, and the candlelight catches his face. He looks utterly spent, slick with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead. The dangerous, predatory look is gone, replaced by a quiet, searching tenderness—the one that always resurfaces when the adrenaline fades.

His eyes, dark with satiation, drop instantly to your ribs. He checks the bandage with a quick, worried glance, as if expecting to see blood seeping through. He reaches out a hand, not to touch your injury, but to gently cup the side of your torso, his fingers spreading wide across your skin, checking for any sign of a flinch or a wince.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, his voice raw, throat tight. It's the first coherent question he's asked since this insane mutual seduction began. It’s not a check on the pleasure, but a genuine, terrified assessment of your pain.

He waits, his own body entirely suspended on his elbows, unwilling to move, unwilling to breathe until he has your answer. The quiet intimacy of the question, posed while he still hasn't pulled out, still physically desperate to be one with you, feels infinitely more vulnerable than any demand for surrender.

You look up at him, your breath still catching in shallow, rapid spurts. His face is so close, framed by the shadows and candlelight, raw fear lurking beneath the exhaustion in his eyes. He’s utterly defenseless at this moment, held captive only by his concern for you.

You manage a shaky, breathless smile. It’s a genuine smile, the kind that reaches your eyes and bunches their outer corners in absolute contentment.

You lift a hand, your fingers finding the sharp angle of his jaw, thumb resting over the pulse hammering wildly beneath his skin. You gently rub the spot,in a comforting gesture.

“I’m better than okay, Jay,” you whisper, your voice thick and heavy with the aftermath of release. You want to take the worry off him, to show him that he didn't hurt you.

You shift slightly beneath him, a small movement that tightens the internal connection between your bodies. The subtle pressure makes him suck in a quick, sharp breath.

A ragged sigh of pure relief breaks from Jason’s lips. His eyes flutter shut for a second, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. When he opens them again, the searching look returns, but it’s softer now, tinged with a deep, private sadness.

“God, I was so scared I messed this up,” he murmurs, the admission behind it too heavy. He moves his left hand from your side, trailing his fingers up your collarbone, then hooking them lightly around the back of your neck. He leans down, resting his forehead against yours, the damp skin-to-skin contact grounding you both.

He pulls back just an inch, his hips still connected to yours, and lowers his mouth to yours for a kiss that is nothing like the frantic hunger of moments before. This one is slow, open-mouthed, and tasting of sweat, desperation. It is a kiss of thanks, forgiveness, possession. His way of saying that he missed you too.

He breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours again. The deep, heavy connection keeps the world simplified, focused only on the pulse of two bodies joined together.

“Please,” Jason whines, the sound small and broken, “Don’t push me away,” he pleads, the words rough, a confession whispered against your lips. “Not this time. I won’t push you away either”

The last part is the true admission of his terror, a promise he's never successfully kept.

Your eyes spark and you blink. Unsteadily and in disbelief. The reality of what you did hasn’t sunk in until now. It’s out of place and awkward to ask what this makes you, how and if this changes the trajectory of the bad aftertaste after your last breakup. 

You’re too scared of the inevitability of him and you. It always ends in tears. Either Jason feeling drowned, or you feeling abandoned, or vice versa. There’s never been even the slightest effort to understand. Both of you always just let feelings consume you until they burn down your bridges.

But if you’re scared, Jason must be terrified. You realize that every panicked breath he’s taken since he came here tonight has been in anticipation of the crash, and his need for either of you to find the strength to stop it is what keeps him trapped here, vulnerable, in your arms.

You let your fingers trail from his jaw, down his throat, and rest on the damp, solid muscle of his chest, right over his pounding heart. "Right here," you insist, pressing your fingers slightly. "This is exactly where I always needed you to be."

His expression softens, the harsh lines of worry in between his brows smoothing out as your words finally register. He gives a deep, shuddering sigh of pure relief, and his eyes drop closed for a long moment.

"God," he murmurs, the word weary like a prayer. He reluctantly begins to withdraw from you, pausing the motion several times, whining as if the separation is a genuine, physical pain. He settles beside you on the bed, immediately pulling you back into his embrace, folding your body against the familiar, solid contours of his side.

He strokes your hair slowly, rhythmically, his entire focus now dedicated to quietly comforting you. His thumb moves in small circles at the back of your head, every motion deliberate, almost meditative. It’s the kind of touch that speaks without words, a quiet I’m here threaded through each stroke.

For a while, neither of you speak. The city hums faintly in the distance, the faint pulse of emergency lights flashing far below. Jason’s heartbeat is steady against your palm, a rhythm that feels achingly human in a night that’s been anything but.

When he finally does speak, it’s low and hoarse. “You know, I hate how easy it is to lose you.”

It’s the part of Jason that’s tired of losing—his parents, Bruce, his own life. Everything he’s ever cared about seems to get ripped away just when he starts to believe it’s safe to hold on. And tonight, when he got the call from Dick about your condition, it must’ve felt like the same old story replaying in a crueler tone.

You can feel that weight in his voice. It’s in the way his fingers curl just slightly against your shoulder, like he’s making sure you’re still there.

You shift slightly, turning your face toward his chest. “You didn’t lose me.”

Jason exhales shakily, the sound breaking somewhere deep in his chest. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “For now.”

You lift your head, just enough to meet his eyes. “Don’t do that,” you say softly. “Don’t act like I’m already gone.”

He lets out a quiet, humorless chuckle. “You say that like you weren’t halfway gone when I got here.”

You want to argue, to insist that you were fine, that you’ve always been fine—but the words catch somewhere between pride and exhaustion. So instead, you just mumble, “You worry too much.”

Jason’s hand stills for a second in your hair. “Yeah,” he admits softly. “I do.”

The honesty in it makes you look up. His gaze meets yours—open, stripped of the armor he always wears, even when he’s half-asleep. There’s no smirk, no teasing retort. Just Jason, tired and real and right here.

Jason presses a hand over yours on his chest, his grip rough but trembling. “You make it really hard not to care, you know that?”

You smile faintly. “Good.”

The smallest laugh escapes him, low and tired. “Yeah. Good.”

“You should sleep,” you whisper, tracing the edge of his jaw with your thumb.

“Not tired,” he lies.

You smile faintly. “You will be.”

He doesn’t argue this time. He just nods, eyes softening, and lets his forehead fall lightly against yours. The warmth between you feels fragile, the kind of peace that could shatter if either of you breathe too loudly. But for now, it holds.

Neither of you notice when the lights flicker back on.

Okay, well maybe the universe doesn’t exactly hate you. Or, or– Dick Grayson is a really good wingman.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

You still remembered exactly how it all began, and Jungkook never seemed to get tired of bringing it up.

You had never imagined that your very first solo vacation would end up changing your life.

It all started a year ago, when work felt unbearably exhausting. The deadlines never seemed to end, and every day felt like the same endless cycle of waking up, working, going home, sleeping, and doing it all over again.

Your friends kept telling you to take a vacation.

"You need a break."

"You're way too stressed."

"You have to get away."

At first, you refused. Traveling alone sounded terrifying, especially to a country you had never visited before. But one night, after working overtime until almost midnight, you suddenly opened an airline booking website.

And without thinking too much about it... you bought a ticket.

Not to a country crowded with tourists. Not to a place that was currently trending online.

Instead, you chose a small, peaceful country known for its mountains, lakes, quiet old towns, and little streets where you could wander for hours on foot.

You just wanted to rest. You didn't want to meet anyone. You didn't want to think about work. You didn't want to check your office emails.

The first day went exactly as planned. You visited a local market, tried food you couldn't even pronounce, bought a few souvenirs, sat in a park with a cup of coffee, and felt... peaceful.

The second day was much the same. You wandered around without a destination, took pictures of old buildings, stepped into a tiny bookstore, and eventually stopped at a café when it suddenly started raining.

The café was almost empty. There were only a few customers inside. You ordered a coffee and sat by the window until someone took the table next to yours.

At first, you didn't pay much attention. The person was wearing a gray hoodie, a black cap, and a mask. Nothing unusual about that.

Until he took off the mask.

You nearly choked on your coffee.

No way.

You blinked. Then blinked again.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon.

Jungkook.

Your brain immediately stopped functioning. What were the chances that Jeon Jungkook would be in a tiny country that barely ever made it onto anyone's travel list?

You stared down at your table. Maybe you had seen something wrong.

You looked up again.

Still Jungkook.

You stood up immediately, grabbed your bag, and left. Actually left. Leaving behind a cup of coffee you hadn't even finished.

Jungkook, who had watched the entire thing happen, could only blink in confusion.

"...Huh?"

The next day, you decided to visit the famous lake in town. You felt much calmer, until someone walked past you with a small dog happily running beside him.

You noticed the white sneakers.

Black pants.

A hoodie.

Then that face again.

Jeon Jungkook.

You turned around and walked in the opposite direction.

Jungkook stopped in his tracks.

"...Isn't that the person from yesterday?"

On the third day, you stepped into a small bakery and were trying to choose a pastry when you heard someone quietly ask in English,

"Which one is good?"

You turned around and almost dropped your tray.

Jungkook.

Again.

You carefully put the tray back, thanked the employee, and walked out as quickly as possible. 

Jungkook stared at the closing door. "...What did I do wrong?"

That night, Jungkook had a video call with the members.

"I met a really strange ARMY."

"Oh?" Namjoon asked.

"She ran away."

"Ran away?"

"Yeah."

"When she saw you?"

"Yeah."

"That's impossible."

"That's exactly what I said."

Seokjin burst out laughing.

"Maybe you're scary."

"I'm not scary."

"Maybe she doesn't like you."

"That's even less believable."

Jungkook was genuinely confused. After years of being an idol, his biggest challenge had usually been avoiding people who wanted to get too close.

You were the complete opposite.

Every single time you met him… You ran away.

On the fourth day, you decided to take a small train to a mountain village. Surely this time you would be safe. There was no way you'd run into Jungkook again.

The universe couldn't possibly be that cruel. You got off the train, admired the scenery, and turned around… And found someone standing right behind you, holding a camera.

Jeon Jungkook.

This time, you didn't even have the chance to run.

"Excuse me."

You froze.

"Can I ask you something?"

"..."

"Why do you always run away?"

"..."

"Do I look scary?"

You quickly shook your head.

"Do you hate BTS?"

You looked up immediately.

"Are you joking?"

"Then why do you always run?"

You bit your lip because honestly... How were you supposed to explain that you had chosen this quiet little country to find some peace, only to run into Jeon Jungkook almost every single day?

"You're on vacation."

"Hm?"

"You came here to rest."

Jungkook stayed quiet.

"I came here to rest too."

"..."

"I don't want to bother you."

For a few seconds, neither of you said anything.

Then Jungkook laughed. Not a mocking laugh. A small, genuine laugh.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"You're the first person who's ever run away because they didn't want to bother me."

You looked down, embarrassed. "I just thought..."

"What?"

"I figured you chose this country because you didn't want to be recognized."

Jungkook looked at the mountains behind you and smiled softly.

"...Yeah."

For the first time since you had met, the two of you stood there without anyone running away.

"I'm Jungkook."

You looked at him immediately.

"...I know."

Jungkook laughed again.

"Right."

Then he held out his hand.

"But can we introduce ourselves properly anyway?"

You hesitated for a few seconds before shaking his hand.

Neither of you knew it then...

That the vacation meant only for healing, in a country you had both chosen because you wanted to disappear from the world for a little while, would become the beginning of a story Jungkook would bring up over and over again.

Because according to him, out of millions of people in the world… He fell in love with the one person who ran into him four days in a row… And chose to run away every single time she saw him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The next morning, you woke up with a decision that seemed perfectly reasonable.

Today, you were not going to run into Jeon Jungkook.

It sounded simple. Very simple. Considering that the small country you were visiting wasn't particularly crowded, it also wasn't so tiny that two people would keep crossing paths every single day.

Yesterday had been enough.

Running into the same person by accident for four days straight already sounded like a coincidence that was far too strange. And on top of that, that person happened to be Jeon Jungkook.

The universe should have limits.

You got ready earlier than usual, deliberately choosing a different route from the previous days. Even your Airbnb host had recommended a small coffee shop located a bit farther from the city center.

"It's peaceful."

You were immediately interested.

Peace and quiet were the whole point of this vacation.

No work.

No emails.

No surprise meetings.

And hopefully, no Jeon Jungkook.

The morning air was pleasantly chilly. The streets of the old town were still quiet. A few shops had just opened, and the smell of fresh bread filled the air.

You smiled to yourself. This was exactly what you'd been looking for.

A slow morning.

When you arrived at the café, it really was cozy. The building was small, with large windows overlooking the cobblestone street and a few wooden tables inside.

You ordered coffee and warm bread before choosing a seat by the window.

Today felt peaceful.

Until the café door opened. You didn't even pay attention to who had walked in. Until you heard a very familiar voice.

"...Oh."

You slowly looked up.

"..."

"..."

Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook looked just as surprised.

He was still wearing a gray hoodie and a black cap, though this time his mask was off. The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds while your brain worked at lightning speed.

Run.

Run now.

There's still time.

You had already grabbed your bag.

But before you could stand up, Jungkook raised both hands.

"I haven't even done anything."

You froze.

"..."

"..."

"I literally just walked in."

You stared at the table.

Jungkook started laughing quietly. "Are you going to run away again?"

You let out a small sigh. "...I'm considering it."

"That's incredibly honest."

You couldn't stop a small smile from appearing.

Jungkook walked over to the counter to order his own coffee. A few minutes later, he stood there looking around.

There were plenty of empty tables. But he pointed to one not too far from yours.

"I'll sit over there, okay?"

You blinked. "...Why are you telling me?"

"So you won't get startled."

"..."

"...and run away."

You looked down, laughing softly. "Okay."

Jungkook smiled, looking satisfied. "Okay."

There wasn't much conversation after that. You sat at your own tables. You read the book you'd brought from your Airbnb. Jungkook occasionally looked through the photos on his camera and took pictures of the street outside the window. Every now and then, the two of you accidentally looked at each other, only to quickly look away again. Somehow, the situation didn't feel awkward.

It felt... peaceful. Almost an hour passed like that.

When you finished and stood up to leave, Jungkook happened to stand up too. "Done?"

"Yeah."

"Was the coffee good?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

"I liked mine too."

Silence returned. You started walking toward the door. Jungkook followed a few steps behind. Once outside, you realized you had to head in different directions.

"You're going that way?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"Oh."

The two of you laughed softly again. Jungkook slipped both hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"You know what?"

"What?"

"...I've started thinking."

"Thinking about what?"

"Maybe we really do run into each other a lot."

You looked at the small street stretching out before you.

"...Maybe."

"Maybe this country is just too small."

"Maybe."

"Or maybe..."

Jungkook stopped talking.

"Why'd you stop?"

"...Never mind."

"What?"

"...If I say it's fate, you'll probably run away again."

You burst out laughing. "I'm not that quick to run away."

"Oh really?"

"...Maybe."

Jungkook laughed too. "Okay."

The two of you stood there for a few more seconds before finally walking off in opposite directions.

After only a few steps, you heard Jungkook call out to you. "Hey."

You turned around. "Hm?"

"See you again."

You almost answered, If the universe allows it.

But instead, you simply smiled. "...I hope so."

Jungkook nodded softly. Then the two of you really did walk away. And for the first time since arriving in that little country, you realized something slightly concerning.

That day… You didn't run away. And even more concerning than that… As you walked back, you secretly found yourself hoping that tomorrow, you'd run into Jeon Jungkook again.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The next morning, you woke up feeling a little strange.

For the first few seconds after opening your eyes, you simply stared at the ceiling of your Airbnb room, trying to remember what had happened yesterday. Then it all came rushing back. The mountain village. The little train. Jeon Jungkook. The conversation that had felt completely unreal. And the fact that the two of you had actually exchanged phone numbers.

You reached for your phone on the nightstand.

No messages.

You let out a relieved sigh.

Good.

That was how it should be. You had only met by coincidence, talked for a little while, introduced yourselves, and then gone back to enjoying your own vacations.

That made much more sense.

Then your phone buzzed.

Jungkook: Have you had breakfast yet?

You stared at the screen for quite a while.

"..."

This was weird.

Very weird.

Yesterday, the two of you had only just met. Today, Jeon Jungkook was texting to ask whether you had eaten breakfast.

You even checked the contact name one more time, just to make sure.

You: Not yet.

The reply came in less than a minute.

Jungkook: Me neither.

"..."

Jungkook: Don't tell me we're going to run into each other again.

A small laugh escaped you.

You: Don't.

Jungkook: I'm scared too.

You frowned.

You: Scared?

Jungkook: You'll run away again.

You immediately buried your face in your pillow.

Oh, God.

He still remembered that.

A few hours later, you decided to visit a small market the Airbnb owner had recommended. It wasn't very crowded. There was a flower shop, a cheese shop, a few bakeries, and several stalls selling local fruit.

You were picking out some fruit when someone stopped beside you.

"...Hi."

Slowly, you turned your head.

"..."

"..."

Jungkook raised both his hands.

"I'm not following you."

"I know."

"I really mean it."

"I know."

"I just came to buy strawberries."

You looked down at the basket in his hand. Sure enough, it was full of strawberries.

You gave a small nod. "Okay."

Jungkook watched you for a few seconds. "...You're not running away?"

You let out a quiet sigh. "...No."

Relief immediately spread across Jungkook's face. "Thank goodness."

Somehow, the two of you ended up walking around the market together. Nothing had really been planned. You just happened to be heading in the same direction. Jungkook occasionally stopped to look at things—a knitted hat, a small camping knife, an old film camera—while you were much more interested in the local snacks being sold along the roadside.

"Want to try it?"

You held up a small pastry.

Jungkook shook his head. "What is it?"

"I have no idea."

"You want to eat something when you don't even know what it is?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

"...Weird."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Maybe."

In the end, the two of you bought one and shared it. It turned out not to taste very good. Jungkook stayed quiet. You stayed quiet. Then both of you burst into laughter.

"I'm never buying that again."

"Me neither."

After that, the conversation became easier. You talked about food, about your respective countries, about the places you had visited during your vacations, and about why you had chosen that small country in the first place.

"I like quiet places."

Jungkook nodded.

"Me too."

"Do you travel alone often?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

He smiled softly.

"It's difficult."

You understood. He didn't have to explain any further. There were plenty of things that didn't need to be asked. And Jungkook was beginning to realize something. You really were like that.

You didn't ask many questions about BTS. You didn't ask about schedules. You didn't ask about his private life. If he talked, you listened. If he stayed quiet, you never pushed him.

It was strange. But comfortable.

By late afternoon, the two of you walked up a small hill overlooking the town. The wind was fairly cold. You stood by the wooden fence, gazing at the mountains in the distance, while Jungkook quietly picked up his camera.

Click.

You turned around.

"What did you take a picture of?"

"The scenery."

"Then why did I hear the camera?"

"...Coincidence."

"What kind of coincidence?"

"You happened to be in the frame."

You laughed immediately.

"Don't."

"Why?"

"I look awful."

Jungkook looked at you for a moment.

"...No."

The answer came far too quickly. The two of you fell silent for a few seconds.

Jungkook hurriedly looked away. "What I mean is..."

"Hm?"

"...the view is beautiful."

You nodded softly.

"Yeah."

"..."

"..."

"...and you just happened to be standing there."

This time, you really laughed. Meanwhile, Jungkook quietly turned his face away because his ears were beginning to turn red.

That evening, the two of you parted ways at the road leading back to your respective accommodations.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For keeping me company."

Jungkook shrugged. "You're welcome."

You gave him a small wave. "See you tomorrow."

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Both of you froze.

"..."

"..."

Jungkook smiled first. "See you tomorrow?"

Only then did you realize what you had said. "...If we happen to run into each other."

"Hm."

"And if we don't, that's okay too."

"Hm."

Jungkook gave a small nod.

"...But I hope we do."

You smiled.

"...Me too."

That night, after returning to your Airbnb, you finished showering and sat down on your bed while checking your phone.

There was one new message.

Jungkook: Today was fun.

A small smile spread across your face.

You: Yeah.

Jungkook: And...

You waited.

Jungkook: Thank you for not running away.

You laughed to yourself in your room.

You: I got tired of running too.

In the Airbnb next door, Jungkook read your reply and quietly laughed. Then his phone rang. A video call from Kim Nam-joon.

"Hello?"

"How's your vacation going?"

"Good."

"Getting some rest?"

"Hm."

"Any stories to tell?"

Jungkook stayed quiet for a few seconds.

"...I met someone."

"Oh?"

"She's funny."

"An ARMY?"

"Yeah."

"Asked for a photo or an autograph?"

"No."

"A video?"

"No."

"A selfie?"

"No."

Namjoon started laughing.

"Then what?"

"...She ran away instead."

"I still can't believe that."

"Neither can I."

Jungkook looked at the chat window that was still open on his phone.

"...But today, she didn't run away."

"That's good."

Jungkook smiled softly.

"...Yeah."

For the first time since arriving in that small country, he felt like his vacation had turned into something he had never planned for.

At first, he had only wanted to disappear from a world that had become far too crowded.

To rest.

To breathe.

To just be an ordinary Jungkook.

But somehow… In a country that tourists rarely chose, he met an ARMY who never asked him for anything. Someone who would rather talk about bread and scenery than BTS. Someone who had run away from him four days in a row. And someone who, without even realizing it, had started making Jeon Jungkook hope… Tomorrow, they will meet again.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

A few days after that meeting at the little coffee shop, the two of you slowly got used to each other's presence.

It was strange, really.

At first, you couldn't even be in the same room as Jeon Jungkook without panicking. Now...

Your phone buzzed.

Jungkook: What are you doing?

You smiled softly.

You: Walking around.

Less than a minute later—

Jungkook: Me too.

You stared at the message for a few seconds.

You: Don't tell me...

Jungkook: I'm scared too.

You laughed to yourself.

Apparently, the universe still enjoyed playing jokes. A few minutes later, the two of you actually ran into each other at a small intersection.

"...Hi."

"Hi."

"..."

"..."

Jungkook let out a long sigh.

"I'm not following you."

"I know."

"I really mean it."

"I know."

"I'm just out walking too."

"Me too."

Jungkook nodded, looking satisfied.

"Good."

"What's good?"

"It means I'm not weird."

You laughed softly.

"We're both weird."

"Okay, that's fair."

That day, neither of you had any plans. You simply followed little streets that weren't even on the tourist map. Sometimes stopping to look at old shops. Sometimes admiring historical buildings. Sometimes simply enjoying the slow pace of the little town.

Eventually, you stumbled upon a small night market. The lights had started coming on. The smell of food filled the air. Traditional music drifted over from somewhere in the distance.

"Want to take a look?"

You nodded.

"Sure."

The problem appeared a few minutes later.

You were standing in front of a food stall. The entire menu was written in the local language. You stared at it for quite a while. Jungkook stood beside you.

"...Do you understand any of it?"

"No."

"You?"

"No."

"Oh."

"Oh."

You just stood there. The employee had started watching the two of you. Jungkook pulled out his phone.

"I have a translator."

"Wow."

He typed something in. The phone processed it for a few seconds.

"...Chicken soup."

You looked at the picture. "That looks like dessert."

"You're right."

You tried your own translator. The result was different. "...Fish bread."

"That's definitely not bread."

"Yeah."

The employee started smiling at your confusion. 

Jungkook turned to you. "So?"

"We'll just guess."

"Brave."

"Aren't you?"

Jungkook smiled. "I trust you."

"Don't."

"Why?"

"I don't know either."

In the end, you pointed at one item. Jungkook pointed at another. The employee nodded. A few minutes later, your food arrived. The two of you looked at each other.

"..."

"..."

"Is that yours?"

"I think so."

"And this one's mine?"

"I think so."

You took a bite. Jungkook watched your expression.

"So?"

"..."

"..."

"...I don't know."

Jungkook started laughing.

"What do you mean, you don't know?"

"It tastes..."

"...confusing."

Jungkook tried his own food. Then stopped chewing.

"...I don't know either."

A few seconds later, the two of you burst out laughing. Not because the food was bad. But because neither of you had any idea what you were eating.

"We ordered the wrong thing, didn't we?"

"I think so."

"We failed."

"Completely."

You still finished the food. Because according to Jungkook, it would be a waste to throw it away. And according to you, this would make a funny memory someday. Afterward, you continued walking, this time carrying warm drinks that felt safer because the pictures were clear. Jungkook glanced at you from time to time.

"You know?"

"Hm?"

"You're different."

"How?"

"You never make a fuss."

"What do you mean?"

"We ordered the wrong food."

"Yeah."

"You didn't get mad."

"Why would I?"

"We wasted time."

"But it was funny."

Jungkook stayed quiet for a few seconds.

"Yeah."

"Besides..."

You looked down the little road ahead of you.

"...I never would've known that weird food existed if I hadn't been with you."

Jungkook smiled softly. "Me too."

You kept walking until you reached a small souvenir shop. Outside was a claw machine.

Jungkook stopped. "Do you want one?"

You looked at the little plush toys inside. "They're cute."

"I'll win one for you."

"You can?"

"Of course."

Jungkook put in a coin.

Tried.

Failed.

"..."

You stayed quiet.

He tried again.

Failed.

"..."

You started smiling.

He tried again.

Failed.

The shop employee started watching. A little kid next to you started watching too.

Jungkook got serious. "I can do this."

"Hm."

"I really can."

"Hm."

Seventh try.

Failed.

You couldn't hold back your laughter.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"A little."

"This machine is rigged."

"It might be."

Eighth try.

The plush finally dropped.

Jungkook smiled proudly. "There."

"There what?"

"This."

He handed the little plush to you.

You blinked. "For me?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Jungkook shrugged. "...So you'll remember today."

You accepted the little plush. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

A few steps later, Jungkook suddenly asked, "Are you going to keep it?"

"Yeah."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"You're not throwing it away?"

"No."

Jungkook smiled, looking satisfied. "Good."

"Why is that good?"

"...I'm just happy."

The sun was starting to set. You stood on a small bridge overlooking the river. Neither of you spoke for a while. The wind blew softly. Jungkook watched the water flow beneath you.

"You know?"

"Hm?"

"...It's been a long time since I've gone for a walk like this."

"Why?"

"I'm usually in a hurry."

"Hm."

"Usually there's a schedule."

"Hm."

"Usually I have to be careful."

You turned toward him. "...What about now?"

Jungkook smiled softly. "...Right now, I'm just taking a walk with you."

You didn't answer right away. You simply looked down at the little plush in your hands. And somehow… As you walked home that evening… You started thinking that maybe… The two of you weren't meeting by coincidence anymore.

Meanwhile, Jungkook, walking a few steps beside you, was quietly thinking the same thing. He just… Wasn't brave enough to say it yet.

When the afternoon came to an end, you walked home together. This time, Jungkook insisted on walking you back to your Airbnb. Eventually, you stopped in front of a building.

You pointed to the door on the left. "I'm staying here."

Jungkook blinked.

"Huh?"

He pointed at your building.

"This is your Airbnb?"

"Yeah."

"That's my Airbnb," Jungkook said, pointing to a house two doors down from yours.

The two of you stared at each other.

"..."

"..."

"You're kidding."

You shook your head.

Jungkook started laughing.

"No way."

It turned out your Airbnbs were practically next to each other, separated by just one house.

And from then on… You spent almost every day together. Sometimes having breakfast. Sometimes walking around town. Sometimes visiting little museums. Sometimes taking trains to nearby villages. Sometimes just sitting in the park doing absolutely nothing. And as time passed, Jungkook started feeling something strange. Because you… Really treated him like an ordinary person.

You almost never took out your phone. Never asked for pictures. Never asked for an autograph. Never secretly recorded videos.

One day, Jungkook finally asked, "Don't you want a picture?"

"Hm?"

"A picture."

"Oh."

You shook your head.

"Why?"

"We're hanging out."

Jungkook waited for another answer.

None came.

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"You don't want a souvenir?"

You smiled softly. "I'd rather remember it."

Jungkook fell silent.

Another day, the two of you were having lunch when Jungkook suddenly asked,

"Aren't you curious about BTS?"

"I am."

"What do you want to know?"

"A lot."

"Then why don't you ask?"

You shrugged.

"If you want to tell me, you'll tell me."

"And if I don't?"

"That's okay too."

"Weird."

"You've said that a lot."

Jungkook laughed.

And with each passing day, he felt more comfortable. He could walk around without worrying about being secretly photographed. He could eat without rushing. He could sit quietly and enjoy the scenery.

Sometimes, the two of you would simply walk for hours without saying much. And strangely… It never felt awkward.

One afternoon, you were sitting by the lake while Jungkook watched you feeding the birds.

"You know?"

"Hm?"

"I'm glad I met you."

You laughed softly. "That's the biggest stroke of luck I've ever had as an ARMY."

Jungkook shook his head. "I'm the lucky one."

You laughed immediately. "That's impossible."

"I'm serious."

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Vacations, it turned out, had an annoying habit.

The first few days always felt slow. You could still sleep in. You could still spend hours sitting in cafés. You could still stop at every little shop that caught your eye. But the closer you got to the last day... the faster time seemed to move.

You didn't realize it until you opened the calendar on your phone.

Two days left.

In two days, you'd be going home.

For some reason, seeing that number made you feel a little strange.

That morning, your phone buzzed.

Jungkook: Awake yet?

You smiled softly.

You: Yeah.

Jungkook: Want to go back to the lake today?

You: Sure.

Jungkook: Want me to pick you up?

You stared at the message for a few seconds.

You: Okay.

Less than twenty minutes later, there was a soft knock on your Airbnb door.

When you opened it, Jungkook was already standing there in a black hoodie, a camera hanging around his neck.

"Good morning."

"Morning."

"Had breakfast yet?"

"No."

"Me neither."

The two of you looked at each other.

"..."

"..."

Jungkook smiled.

"I don't think we've ever had breakfast separately."

You laughed too. "You're right."

The two of you walked toward the town center. The sky was clear that morning, and the weather was pleasantly warm. 

According to the forecast, it was supposed to be the perfect day for a walk. The forecast was wrong. When you were only halfway to the lake, raindrops started falling.

At first, lightly. Then harder.

"Should we run?"

"Let's run."

The two of you laughed as you hurried to find shelter, eventually spotting an old café on a street corner.

The café was small. Warm. And almost empty. You walked in, slightly soaked from the rain. The employee greeted you with a smile and invited you to sit down.

Jungkook looked out the window. "I think this is going to last a while."

You looked outside too. The rain was only getting heavier.

"...Yeah."

In the end, you ordered coffee. And waited. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Half an hour. The rain didn't stop.

"So, we failed to make it to the lake."

Jungkook nodded. "Yeah."

"Are you disappointed?"

He thought for a moment. "...No."

"Why?"

"I like it here."

You looked around the little café. "Me too."

For a while, the two of you simply sat in silence. Neither of you felt the need to fill it.

Outside, the rain kept falling. People walked by carrying umbrellas. Soft music played from somewhere in the corner. Jungkook played with his coffee cup.

"You know?"

"Hm?"

"...I can't remember the last time I just sat like this."

"Why?"

"I'm usually busy."

"Hm."

"Usually there's a schedule."

"Hm."

"Usually, when it rains..."

He laughed softly. "...I just think about being late."

You nodded.

"What about now?"

Jungkook looked out at the rain. "...Now I'm hoping it lasts longer."

You smiled softly. "...Me too."

The conversation flowed naturally after that. About your job. About Jungkook's school days. Favorite foods. Places you wanted to visit. Little things people normally wouldn't tell someone they'd only recently met.

"Do you have any dreams?"

You thought for a moment. "A lot."

"Like what?"

"I want a small house someday."

"Hm."

"With a garden."

"Hm."

"Lots of plants."

"Hm."

"And a room for reading books."

Jungkook smiled. "That sounds peaceful."

"Yeah."

"What about you?"

This time, Jungkook thought for quite a while. "...I want an ordinary life."

You looked at him. "Ordinary?"

"Yeah."

"What do you mean?"

He laughed softly. "...Like this."

"Hm?"

"Going for walks."

"Drinking coffee."

"Waiting for the rain to stop."

"Not rushing anywhere."

He gave a small shrug. "...Simple things."

You didn't know what to say. Because to you… That day really was simple. But for Jungkook… Maybe it was a luxury.

Time kept passing. The rain kept falling. Before you realized it, the two of you had spent almost three hours in that café. Jungkook looked at his watch.

"We've been here a long time."

"Yeah."

"Are you bored?"

You shook your head. "No."

"Me neither."

Then silence returned. Strange. But comfortable.

When the rain finally started to ease, the two of you stood up and got ready to leave. The air outside felt colder. The streets were still wet. You slowly walked back toward your respective Airbnbs. Neither of you really spoke. Until you stopped in front of yours.

"You're going home the day after tomorrow."

You nodded. "Yeah."

"Oh."

"Oh."

Jungkook slipped both hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

It looked like he wanted to say something. "I..."

You waited.

"Hm?"

"..."

"..."

"...Never mind."

You laughed softly. "Why?"

"...I don't know."

"You're weird."

"Yeah."

The two of you laughed together. But after that… Neither of you said anything else.

You gave a small wave. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

You started walking first.

A few steps.

One.

Two.

Five.

For some reason, you turned around. Jungkook was still standing there. He hadn't left. When he saw you looking back, he quickly waved. You waved back. Then kept walking.

Meanwhile… Jungkook stayed right where he was. Until you disappeared from sight. He let out a quiet sigh. Then laughed to himself.

"I almost said it."

He shoved both hands back into his hoodie pockets and started walking toward his Airbnb. He'd almost said that he didn't want this vacation to end. Almost said that he'd started looking for reasons to see you the next day. Almost said that he'd started waiting for your messages every morning. Almost said that he'd started liking someone who was only supposed to be a vacation friend. But he didn't say any of it.

Because, to him… It was still too soon. And maybe… Once you went home… Everything would go back to normal.

Back at your own Airbnb, you opened the door and set your bag down on the chair. The day should have been simple. You'd failed to make it to the lake. Just sat in a little café. Just talked. Just waited for the rain to stop. 

But somehow… As you got ready for bed that night… You opened your phone gallery. There were no pictures of Jungkook. No selfies. No photos of the two of you together. Just a picture of a cup of coffee. The café window is covered in raindrops. And the little street after the rain had stopped.

You looked at those pictures for a long time. Then, without realizing it, you smiled softly. And for the first time since arriving in that little country… A slightly terrifying thought crossed your mind.

What if... when I go home... I end up missing Jeon Jungkook?

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

And for the first time… You felt like something had changed. But you chose not to think about it. Because the vacation was almost over. You would go home. And Jungkook would return to his world.

The last day came far too quickly. The two of you met in front of your Airbnb.

You smiled.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being such a good vacation friend."

Jungkook nodded softly.

"You're going home today."

"Yeah."

"You'll be busy again."

"Yeah."

Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck. "If I text you..."

You smiled. "I'll reply."

Jungkook smiled in relief. "Okay."

You boarded your flight and returned to your country. The entire trip home, you looked through the pictures you'd taken during your vacation. There wasn't a single picture of Jungkook. And to you… Maybe that was the end of the story. A small stroke of luck in an ARMY's life. Meeting your idol. Becoming friends for a few days. Then going back to your separate lives.

But apparently… Jeon Jungkook didn't see it that way.

The first night after you got home… Your phone buzzed.

Jungkook: I ate this today.

A picture of food.

You smiled.

You: It looks good.

The next day.

Jungkook: It's raining today.

Followed by a picture of the street.

The day after that.

Jungkook: Look at this cute dog.

The day after that.

Jungkook: Have you eaten yet?

Slowly… The chats became a habit. Then phone calls. Then video calls. Until one night, both of you were too exhausted. And without realizing it… You fell asleep on a video call.

The next morning, you woke up. The screen was still on. Jungkook had just woken up too. The two of you looked at each other for a few seconds. Then burst out laughing.

Several months passed like that. Until one day, Jungkook asked,

"Are you busy next week?"

"Why?"

"I'm coming to your country."

You nearly dropped your phone. "Huh?"

"I want to see you."

"But..."

"I don't have any plans."

"How is that possible?"

"I'm on break."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

You thought he was joking. Until a week later… Your phone buzzed.

Jungkook: I'm here.

You froze.

You: Huh?

Jungkook: Look outside.

You opened the window. Across the street… Jeon Jungkook was standing there, waving at you. You couldn't believe it.

"What are you doing here?!"

"I wanted to see you."

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"You flew for hours just for that?!"

"Yeah."

You looked at him for several seconds. It felt like a dream. A dream that was too beautiful. And you kept thinking… One day, you'd wake up. One day, it would all end. One day, he'd realize that the two of you came from different worlds. But Jungkook seemed to read your mind. 

One night, as you were walking home together, he quietly said, "You know?"

"What?"

"I'm not joking around."

You looked at him.

"I'm serious."

You smiled softly. "But it's still hard for me to believe."

"I know."

"This feels like a dream."

"I know."

"I'm just waiting for the day I wake up."

Jungkook stopped walking. Then looked at you with a smile. "In that case..."

"Hm?"

"I'll still be here tomorrow."

And he was right. He was still there the next day. The next week too. And somehow, with whatever luck was on your side...

A little while later, your company offered you a transfer. There was only one destination. South Korea.

You read the email over and over again. Then called Jungkook.

"Hello?"

"..."

"Are you crying?"

"I got transferred."

"Oh?"

"To Korea."

There was silence for a few seconds. Then you heard Jungkook laugh. A laugh so full of happiness that you started laughing too.

"Are you serious?!"

"Yeah."

"When?"

You answered. And without a second thought, Jungkook said, "I'll pick you up."

From that day on, everything felt easier. You were no longer separated by thousands of kilometers. No longer counting time differences. No longer only meeting through screens. And one night, after walking you home, Jungkook stood outside your apartment for a long time.

"I want to ask you something."

"What?"

"I flew to your country."

"Yeah."

"I stayed on video calls until we fell asleep."

"Yeah."

"I sent you pictures of food every day."

"Yeah."

"I waited for you to move to Korea."

"Yeah."

Jungkook took a slow breath.

"I'm tired of pretending to be just a friend."

You froze.

"I like you."

"..."

"I'm serious."

You stayed quiet. Because a part of you still thought… This had to be a dream. Jungkook laughed softly when he saw your expression.

"You're thinking this is a dream again, aren't you?"

"...A little."

In that case, he took a step closer and gently took your hand.

"How about we date?"

Part 2 →

✨EARLY ACCESS✨ | Read the next part before everyone else on my Ko-fi ☕️

Author Notes: 2000 followers wohoo!! I got tickets to their concert... (ugly crying).. Honestly, I wanted to see them in my own country, but my country is one of the later stops on the tour. So I thought it would be better to secure tickets somewhere first. Turns out luck was truly on my side. I got tickets in my own country today too! To everyone who managed to get tickets—congratulations! 💜 And to those who weren't lucky this time, don't be too sad. They'll still be around for the next 100 years (okay, maybe not literally 😂), and I'm sure you'll get the chance to see them on the next tour! ✨🥹💜

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authors note: currently in the middle of reworking this fic, i made it last year and want to make it look and sound better!

the city always felt quieter in the fall.

not quieter in the way people meant when they talked about small towns and empty streets—there were still sirens, still buses sighing at the corners, someone arguing outside the corner store at two in the morning. but the air turned colder, and the smell of rain clung to the sidewalks, and everyone seemed to move a little slower.

from your apartment window, the streetlights painted everything gold. you liked nights like this. a bowl of ramen, a blanket over your shoulders, and the hum of the city outside like distant ocean waves.

living alone had never scared you. but sometimes, when headlights crawled down the block and shadows stretched along the buildings, you wondered about the lives passing below your window.

that was before you knew one of them.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

he’d been on your block a dozen times before you ever noticed him. most nights, he parked halfway down the street, engine running low, music barely audible through the cracked, tinted out window. people came and went quickly—two minutes, maybe three—and then the door shut again. he was efficient, quiet and forgettable. which was exactly how he liked it.

the first time you noticed him, though, it wasn’t because you were looking. It was because your phone buzzed in your hand. and suddenly, he had a reason to notice you too.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

your closest friend from university sent a number with no context. Just a text that said: athea: if you ever need anything, hit him up.

followed by a number. It sat in your phone for a week before you texted it.

your apartment was warm in that soft, lamp-lit way you liked—no overhead lights, just the golden glow of multiple lamps and the faint hum of the radiator near the window. outside, the street was damp from rain, the pavement shining under the flickering streetlight.

you didn’t usually do things like this. but living alone in a neighborhood like yours meant you learned quickly that sometimes the easiest way to get something was simply to ask.

so you texted the number.

you: hi. i got your number from athea.

you checked your reflection in your mirror. a little eyeliner. lip gloss you dug out of the bottom of your tote bag. your favorite jacket—oversized and soft from years of wear. it made you feel a little more put together in your life filled with homework, work, and the chaos of the city.

your phone buzzed in your hand.

unknown: you by 4th?

you blinked. that was fast.

you: yeah. the building above the laundromat.

after a few texts, minutes passed before headlights turned slowly onto your street. a black car, no plates, low and quiet. windows so dark you couldn’t see a thing inside. it rolled to a stop near the curb like it had done it a hundred times before.

for a second you wondered if you should’ve just stayed upstairs. maybe you shouldn't have sent the text. then, the driver’s door opened.

he stepped out like the biting cold didn’t bother him.

he was tall. taller than you expected, broad shoulders trapped in a dark hoodie, hands in the pockets of baggy jeans that were slightly sagging. his sleeves were slightly rolled up revealing a peaking sleeve of thick ink. his movements were slow, unhurried, like the whole city had all the time in the world.

he leaned casually against the car door and looked up at the building, right at you.

your heart skipped before you grabbed your keys and hurried down the narrow stairwell, the smell of detergent and concrete filling the hallway. by the time you pushed open the front door, the night air was sharp against your cheeks.

he was still there, watching you. up close, he was even taller. his fluffy, dark hair spilling out of his hood, the tattoos on his arms creeping up to his neck. and most of all, his face. jawline sharp and features slender. plush lips tugged into a straight line. eyes low and tinted with red. he was fine.

for a moment neither of you spoke. then he tilted his head slightly. “you text me?” his voice came low and calm.

you nodded. “yeah.”

he studied you for a second longer than necessary, like he was quietly trying to figure something out. he gave the smallest nod toward you. “you y/n?”

you blinked. “…yeah.”

a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, almost like he found something amusing. “thought so.”

you shoved your hands into the pockets of your jacket, suddenly aware of the cold. “you’re taehyung?”

“depends who’s asking.”

you laughed softly before you could stop yourself. his eyes flicked to your face when you did. something about that seemed to surprise him. most people didn’t laugh around him.

he reached into his dark car and grabbed a small bag, holding it out to you. you stepped closer to take it, and for a brief second your fingers brushed. his hand was warm.

you looked up without meaning to, but he was already watching you.“you live here?” he asked casually, glancing toward the building.

“yeah. just a studio.”

he nodded slowly, like he’d expected that answer. “nice.”

you almost laughed again. nice was not the word anyone had ever used for your building, and nice wasn't a word he used often. you tucked the bag into your jacket pocket and passed him the cash. “thanks.”

most people turned and left right away, but you didn’t. and he didn’t seem in a hurry either. the quiet between you stretched for a second.

then he said, almost absentmindedly, “you in school?”

your eyebrows lifted. “how’d you know that?”

his eyes flicked briefly to the worn university tote bag hanging from your shoulder, then back to you. “lucky guess.” there was that faint almost-smile again. it was subtle, but barely there.

you felt strangely seen. “well… yeah,” you said. “master’s program.”

he nodded slowly, like he was filing that information away somewhere. “smart girl.”

the way he said it was so casual you almost missed it. before you could respond, he pushed himself off the car door. “text if you need anything else.”

he opened the door and slid back into the driver’s seat, the engine starting quietly. for a moment you just stood there on the sidewalk.

the window rolled down slightly. taehyung had one arm on the wheel and the other leaned on the middle armrest. "it's cold," he said. "should get back inside."

your cheeks flooded with heat despite the frost biting at it. you smiled a little. "drive safe."

then the window slid up, the car pulled away from the curb, and the dark taillights disappeared down the street.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

taehyung had been on 4th street for months. same corner, same curb, his engine low, music barely above a murmur.

it wasn’t a bad block for work. quiet enough that nobody asked too many questions, busy enough that people came and went without noticing anything unusual.

most nights he didn’t look at the buildings. there was simply no reason to. but after the first time you texted him, he did. your window was easy to find.

second floor, right above the laundromat sign that flickered every few minutes. and unlike the other apartments on the block, yours never used the overhead light. just lamps, an array of dark yellows, oranges, and pinks that peaked through your curtains.

it made the place look… different. cozy. like the kind of apartment people actually wanted to go home to.

tonight the light was on again. taehyung leaned back in his seat, one hand resting on the steering wheel as someone stepped out of the passenger side and disappeared down the street.

his eyes drifted back up to the window. through the small peak of the curtains he could see movement.

your silhouette as you crossed the room slowly, hair tied up, oversized sweater hanging off one shoulder. probably studying. or reading.

he didn’t realize he was watching until a car honked behind him. taehyung blinked and shifted the car into drive, pulling away.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

three nights later, your text came through again.

hey. are you around tonight?

taehyung looked down at his phone, leaning against the hood of his car in a dim parking lot. he typed back, yeah.

a pause before your message popped up. same place.

when he pulled onto 4th this time, you were already outside, standing under the streetlight. he noticed that immediately, because last time, you came down after he arrived. tonight, you waited.

you were wearing a long coat that looked thrifted but carefully chosen, the sleeves slightly too big. your hair was down this time, falling over your shoulders in soft waves.

taehyung parked and stepped out. the cold air curled around you two bitterly.

you smiled when you saw him. “hi.” that word again. too friendly for someone meeting a dealer on a dark street.

he leaned casually against the car door. "hey.”

you stepped closer, hands tucked into the sleeves of your coat. “i hope it’s okay i asked again.”

his eyebrow lifted very slightly. “you paid last time, didn’t you?”

you laughed quietly. “yeah.”

“then it’s okay.”

he reached into the car and handed you the small bag. you passed him the cash. but this time, you didn’t immediately leave. instead, you glanced at the car. about a decade old, all black dodge challenger— of course it was— a few subtle modifications such as being lower to the ground than normal.

“it’s really nice.”

taehyung looked at the car like he’d almost forgotten it was there. “it’s alright.”

“the windows are so dark,” you said, leaning slightly to look inside. “you can barely see anything.”

“that’s the point.”

another small laugh escaped you. taehyung watched you for a moment, then he nodded toward the restaurant a block down. “you work there, right?”

your eyes widened slightly. “how did you know that?”

“you walk home in that apron sometimes.”

you blinked. “you’ve seen me?”

“couple times. do work 'round here a lot."

“well,” you said, tucking the bag into your coat pocket, “i hope i haven't embarrassed myself walking home after a twelve-hour shift.”

taehyung lightly shrugged. “wouldn’t be the worst thing i’ve seen.”

you studied him for a second. “you’re very mysterious, you know that?”

his mouth tilted slightly. “am i?”

“yes.”

he pushed himself off the car door. “probably better that way.”

you hesitated. “well… goodnight, taehyung.”

the way you said his name made him pause halfway into the car. he looked back at you. “night, y/n.”

you walked back toward the building, your boots tapping lightly on the sidewalk. taehyung watched until the door closed behind you. a few seconds later, the warm lamp light flicked on in the second-floor window.

he sat there longer than he meant to, just looking at it.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

you almost didn’t go out that night.

you had a paper due monday, two chapters of reading waiting on your laptop, and a shift at the restaurant in the morning.

But athea had shown up at your apartment with heavy eyeliner and too much energy.

“put something cute on,” Athea said, already digging through your closet. “you’ve been studying for three days straight. you deserve one bad decision.”

forty-five minutes and a taxi ride later, you were squeezing through the line outside a crowded club downtown, the bass from inside vibrating through the sidewalk. the air smelled like perfume, cigarettes, and winter cold.

inside, the lights were low and red, the music loud enough to feel in your chest. athea grabbed your wrist. “drinks first!”

you pushed through the crowd toward the bar. you were halfway through your first drink when athea leaned closer to shout over the music. “wait here! i think i just saw that hot guy from my class.”

and just like that, athea disappeared into the crowd. you sighed, turning slightly to watch the dance floor.

people moved in slow flashes of colored light. laughter, bodies, music pulsing through the room.

“hey.”

you glanced over. a guy, late-twenties and already a little drunk. “you here alone?”

“not really,” you said politely. “my friend’s just—”

he leaned closer anyway. too close. his hand slid onto the bar top, near your waist. “you wanna dance?”

“i’m okay,” you said.

but he didn’t move. instead he smiled in that way that meant he wasn’t planning on leaving. “you sure?”

you shifted slightly, uncomfortable now. “i’m good, thanks.”

the guy leaned in again. “c’mon, don’t be like that—”

a voice cut in from behind him, calm and low. “she said she’s good.”

the guy turned and so did you. and there taehyung was, your drug dealer, standing a few feet away, one hand in the pocket of his jacket, the other holding his phone like he’d been in the middle of something.

black jacket, dark jeans, and the same quiet confidence he always carried. for a second, you just blinked. “taehyung?”

his eyes flicked to you briefly. then back to the guy who was now looking at him up and down. “and you are?”

taehyung shrugged slightly. “doesn’t matter.”

the way he said it was so relaxed it somehow felt more intimidating. a beat of silence passed before the guy scoffed and stepped away.“whatever, man.” he disappeared into the crowd.

you exhaled. “i had that handled,” you said, though your voice held a hint of relief.

taehyung's eyebrow lifted slightly. “looked like it.”

you studied him for a moment. “what are you doing here?”

“working.”

his eyes moved briefly across the room, scanning the crowd. like he was checking something. then they settled back on you. “you?”

“my friend dragged me out.”

“mm.”

there was that familiar quiet pause between you. then he nodded toward your drink.

“that your first one?”

“yes.”

“good.”

You laughed softly. “why?”

“means you’re still making decent decisions tonight.”

Your smile widened slightly. “no shame in making some bad ones.”

that almost-smile appeared again, but it was hard to even catch. “well,” taehyung said casually, glancing toward the dance floor, “night’s not over yet.”

you leaned against the bar, studying him. “you just appear everywhere now?”

he tilted his head slightly. “coincidence.”

athea suddenly appeared again, breathless. “y/n! i found—”

she stopped when she saw taehyung. her eyebrows lifted instantly. “oh. i see you found the number helpful."

you tried not to laugh.

“hi, taehyung," athea said, confusion apparent in her voice.

“'sup,” his tone stayed the same.

but you noticed something small. he shifted slightly closer to you without even thinking about it. athea noticed too and a slow smile spread across her face.

“well,” athea said, grabbing your arm again, “i’m stealing her for a minute.”

athea started dragging you toward the dance floor. you looked back over your shoulder. taehyung was already leaning against the bar again, like the whole interaction had barely registered, but his eyes followed you through the crowd.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

the cold air outside hit you the second you stepped onto the sidewalk. your ears were still ringing from the music. athea grabbed your wrist and pulled you a few feet down the block, away from the crowd and the neon lights buzzing above the entrance.

then she stopped and turned, staring straight at you. you already knew that look.

athea crossed her arms. “how long?”

“how long what?”

“how long have you known taehyung.”

you blinked. “why?”

athea let out a slow breath like she’d been holding it in since inside the club. “y/n. answer the question.”

you hesitated. “…a couple weeks.”

athea’s eyes widened. “a couple weeks?!”

“it’s not like that!”

“then explain why the guy who used to skip half of sophomore year and get into fights behind the gym just stepped in like your personal bodyguard.”

“wait," you stepped closer. “you know him from school?”

athea nodded slowly. “high school for a bit. gave me weed few months ago at a party."

“for a bit?”

“he dropped out junior year.”

something about the way athea said it made you pause. you weren't judging, you were just simply processing all of the information. “was he bad?” you asked quietly.

athea tilted her head, thinking. “not exactly.”

that answer surprised you. “but he wasn’t exactly good either,” athea added.

you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your coat, staring down the street where cars slid past in streaks of light. “he doesn’t seem like that.”

athea laughed. “he acts like he’s half asleep all the time,” she said. “makes people think he’s harmless.”

you thought about the way yaehyung leaned against his car. yhe way he talked. yhe way he’d stepped in at the bar without raising his voice.

“…he is calm,” you admitted.

athea looked at you sharply. “you guys talk?” you hesitated and athea’s eyes narrowed. “y/n.”

“it’s not a big deal."

"you're buying from him," athea blurted.

"oh my god, athea," you looked around. "can you say it louder?"

she leaned in closer. "a dealer doesn't make conversation with just anybody."

You tried not to laugh. “that sounds very dramatic.”

“i’m serious, he likes you." athea studied your face carefully while you protested. “you like him too!”

“what? no.”

“you do.”

“i barely know him.”

athea shook her head. "that doesn't stop feelings."

"he's..." you begun. "interesting."

"so," Athea giggled. "you're curious."

you shrugged. "maybe a little."

“for what it’s worth,” she said after a moment, “he wasn’t a bad guy in school.”

you looked up. "he just… had a lot going on."

that oddly made something in your chest soften slightly. you nodded. yhat sounded about right.

athea suddenly pointed a finger at you. “but if he breaks your heart, i’m fighting him.”

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

it was colder than usual a few nights later. the kind of cold that made the air sharp in your lungs right when you stepped outside your building.

taehyung's car was already parked at the curb. you walked over, hugging your sweater closer around you.

when you tapped lightly on the window, it rolled down halfway.

“hey,” he said. his voice sounded rougher than usual, like he’d been driving for hours.

“hi,” you leaned slightly on the door. “you’ve been busy tonight?”

“little bit.”

you expected him to pass the bag through the window, but the sharp winter, city air gushed into his window after hitting you. "get in.”

you blinked. “what?”

“it’s cold.” he said it like it was obvious.

you hesitated for half a second, then opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. the door shut with a heavy thud.

inside, the world went quiet. the windows were so dark the streetlights barely touched the interior. the dashboard glowed dimly, casting soft blue light across the car.

the first thing you noticed was the smell. weed. and something deeper underneath it, something warm, clean, sexy. cologne.

he leaned back in the driver’s seat, one big arm resting on the center console. up close, you could see the thick lines of ink along his veiny forearm disappearing under the sleeve of his jacket.

he handed you the small bag and you passed him the cash. your fingers brushed again. neither of you moved right away.

you cleared your throat softly. "this car is… intense.”

taehyung looked around the interior like he hadn’t noticed. “it’s just a car.”

“your windows are definitely illegal.”

he shrugged. "probably."

you laughed quietly, the sound filling the small space between you and for a moment, neither of you spoke. the car hummed softly, engine still running, heaters blasting. then, taehyung reached into the center console. “smoke?”

you raised an eyebrow. “you’re asking that after i buy from you like four times?”

“just offering," he pulled out a joint and a lighter. the flame flickered briefly as he lit it, the orange glow illuminating his face for a second.

he took a slow drag, ghosting the white smoke through his lips and back in, then held it out toward you.

you almost hesitated. not because you didn’t want to, but because the air between you suddenly felt… heavier. like you were already high before the joint was pulled out.

you took it from his fingers. your hands brushed again, and this time his heat stuck on your fingertips. you took a drag, coughing slightly after exhaling the smoke.

taehyung chuckled under his breath. “easy.”

“don’t judge me.”

“i’m not.” but he was watching you. carefully.

you leaned back in the seat, exhaling the smoke, watching in curl in the air. “this car feels like a movie scene.”

“what kind of movie?” he asked, no change in his demeanor.

you shrugged. “the kind where people make bad decisions.”

that familiar almost-smile appeared again. “sounds about right.”

you handed the joint back to him. your fingers lingered just a second too long once more. outside, a car passed slowly down the street. but inside, it felt like time had slowed down.

you turned slightly toward him. “you’re actually not as mysterious as you think you are.”

his eyebrow lifted. “oh yeah?”

“yeah.”

“explain.”

you studied him for a moment. “you’re quiet.”

“mm.”

“but you notice everything.”

taehyung didn’t respond which, somehow, proved your point. you smiled cheekily. “see?”

he shook his head slightly, looking down at the joint before taking another drag. “you talk a lot.”

“is that a complaint?”

“observation.”

you laughed again, the sound coming softer this time. despite the spacious car, the space between you felt smaller now. for a moment you thought he might say something else.

but instead, nothing. once you finished the joint, taehyung glanced toward your building. “you got studying to do?”

you sighed. “unfortunately.”

he nodded toward the door. “then go study.”

you opened the car door, but paused halfway out, looking back at him.“you’re coming back to this street again, right?”

his expression barely changed. “probably.”

“good.” You stepped out, closing the door.

as you walked toward your building, you could feel his eyes on you. When you reached the door, you glanced back. taehyung was still sitting in the car, watching.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

it was two hours past midnight when you finally stepped out of the restaurant, the cold hitting you instantly.

you wrapped your coat tighter around yourself, tucking your chin into the collar as you started the walk home. the streets were quieter this late—just the occasional car passing, the distant rumble of a bus somewhere downtown.

your feet were sore. your hair still smelled faintly like fryer oil and citrus cleaner. you were halfway across 4th when headlights rolled slowly down the street, a familiar black car with no plate.

you stopped mid-step. the car slowed before pulling over, the driver’s window slid down, revealing none other than taehyung himself. he leaned slightly toward it. “late shift?”

you smiled, a little surprised, and a little relieved to see him. “yeah.”

he glanced toward the restaurant behind you. “you always get off this late?”

“depends on the night.”

for a second neither of you moved. then, taehyung pushed the door open and stepped out. “you walking home?”

you nodded your head down the street. "it's just there.”

he nodded once. “i’ll walk.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i know.”

but he started walking anyway. you fell into step beside him. for a minute you just walked in silence, footsteps echoing softly on the sidewalk.

“you look tired,” taehyung said after a moment.

you sighed. “ten hour shift after classes.”

“what do you do there again?”

“everything.”

that made him huff a brief laugh. “sounds about right.”

you glanced over at him. “what were you doing over there?”

“dropping something off.”

of course. you nodded like that answer made perfect sense. a cold gust of wind swept down the street. you shivered and taehyung noticed immediately.

“you got gloves?”

“no.”

he slipped one hand out of his jacket pocket and handed them to you.

you blinked. “you’re not cold?”

“i’m fine.”

you hesitated, then slid them on. they were warm and way too big for your hands. “thanks.”

he simply nodded.

you kept walking and by the time you reached your building, neither of you had noticed how slowly you'd been moving. the laundromat lights buzzed above you.

you stopped at the door. "well… this is me.”

taehyung nodded. his hands slid back into his jacket pockets.

then you said, almost casually, “do you want to come up?”

the words surprised both of you slightly. taehyung’s eyebrow lifted. “up?”

“for tea,” you added quickly. “or something.”

he studied your face for a second. not suspicious, just pure curiosity. it wasn’t exactly common to invite a dealer up for tea. “thought you had studying to do.”

“i do.”

“so you’re inviting distractions now?”

you shrugged slightly. “maybe.”

a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “dangerous.”

you pushed the door open. “are you coming or not?”

taehyung hesitated just a moment before he followed you inside. the stairwell smelled faintly like detergent and damp concrete as you climbed the narrow steps. you unlocked your apartment door.

when it opened, the warm glow of your lamps spilled softly into the hallway. taehyung paused just inside. the same way he had the first time he’d imagined it. cozy and warm. books, blankets and soft light scattered everywhere.

it was nothing like the places he was used to.

you kicked off your shoes. "see? not scary.”

taehyung glanced around slowly. “nice.”

you smiled. “everyone says that like they’re surprised.”

he stepped further inside. “i’m not surprised.”

“then what are you?”

he looked back at you. “curious.”

the word hung between you. you felt the air shift slightly. “about what?” you asked.

taehyung leaned lightly against the wall near the door. He shrugged. “‘bout you.”

your heart skipped in a way you hoped wasn’t obvious. you turned quickly toward the kitchen.

“well,” you said, trying to sound casual, “tea?”

behind you, taehyung’s quiet voice answered. “yeah.”

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

the kettle hummed softly on the stove.

you leaned against the counter, arms folded loosely as you waited for the water to heat. behind you, taehyung had wandered slowly around the apartment. he wasn't snooping; he was just taking in everything curiously. his fingers brushed the spine of a book on the coffee table.“grad school stuff?” he asked.

“unfortunately.”

he flipped the cover open briefly before closing it again. “looks painful.”

“it is.”

the kettle clicked off and you poured the hot water into two mismatched mugs and handed one to him. your fingers brushed again. and this time, neither of you pulled away immediately.

taehyung took the mug but stayed standing close to you. closer than before. "thanks," he said quietly.

you moved to the couch again, sitting a little closer than earlier. the radiator ticked quietly beside the window. outside, a car passed through the wet streetlight glow.

you tucked your feet under yourself. “so,” you said, glancing over at him, “athea says she knew you in school.”

taehyung’s eyes flicked toward you. “did she.”

“said you disappeared junior year.”

he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment. “something like that.”

you waited. he didn’t seem annoyed; just reminiscent.

“my mom got sick,” he said after a moment. His voice stayed casual, but quieter than usual. “had to work.”

you nodded slowly. “that’s hard.”

he shrugged one shoulder. “was what it was.”

you studied his face. there was something different about him when he said it. “you ever think about going back?” you asked gently.

taehyung shook his head. “nah. got other things going on.”

you didn’t push further. something told you that was as much as he was going to give tonight. instead you smiled a little with a nod. for a moment you just looked at each other. the space between you felt warmer now.

Taehyung set his mug down on the table. When he leaned back, his arm settled along the back of the couch behind you. Not touching, but close. Your heart beated a little faster. You pretended to focus on your tea.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you said softly.

He glanced at you. “You talk enough for both of us.”

You laughed. “Rude.”

Taehyung’s fingers brushed lightly against the back of your sweater. Barely a touch. Almost accidental. You didn’t move away. If anything, you leaned slightly closer.

“You do that a lot,” you said.

“What.”

“Act like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

His eyebrow lifted slightly. “You sayin’ I’m flirting with you?”

You looked at him over the rim of your mug. “…Maybe.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slowly. “Maybe.”

The silence that followed was heavier now. Outside, the wind rattled faintly against the window. You set your mug down.

“You know,” you said, glancing at him, “most people would probably be nervous having you in their apartment.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re mysterious.”

“There it is again.”

“And you sell drugs.”

He shrugged. “Light ones.”

You laughed. Taehyung looked around the apartment again. The soft lamps. The blanket on the couch. Your books scattered across the table.

“You’re different from most people I meet,” he said.

You looked over. “Good different or bad different?”

He thought about that for a second. “Good.”

Your chest warmed slightly. “Thanks.”

Another quiet moment passed. Then, Taehyung stood up. “Probably should go.”

You frowned a little. “Already?”

“Yeah.”

But neither of you moved toward the door right away. You were standing closer now. Much closer than before.

You suddenly noticed how tall he was again as Taehyung looked down at you, brown eyes boring into yours. For a second it felt like something might happen. But instead, he stepped back slightly.

“Should lock your door,” he said casually.

You smiled. “I always do.”

“Good.”

He opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Before leaving, he glanced back at you once more.

“You working tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Late?”

“Probably.”

He nodded. "Might see you.”

The corner of your mouth lifted. “Maybe.”

Taehyung gave you one last slight smile before heading down the stairs. Moments later, you heard the front door of the building close. You walked to the window just in time to see his car pull away from the curb down the street.

And for the first time since you met him… you realized you didn’t want him to leave so quickly.

--

You weren't expecting to see him again so soon.

Your shift had ended late again, the streets damp from a light drizzle that had passed earlier. The air smelled like rain and asphalt as you stepped out of the restaurant. Halfway down the block, you heard a familiar engine.

The blacked out car rolled slowly beside the curb, the dark passenger window sliding down.

“You get off work at the same time every night?” Taehyung asked.

You smiled. “You waiting for me?”

He shrugged. “Was in the area.”

You laughed softly. “Sure.”

He tilted his head toward the passenger door. “Get in.”

You hesitated for maybe half a second before opening the door. Inside, the car was warm. The familiar scent of weed and his cologne wrapped around you immediately. The dashboard lights glowed faint blue against the dark interior.

“Long shift?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He pulled away from the curb before you could ask where you were going.

“Where are we going?” you asked anyway.

“Drive.”

“That’s not a location.”

“It’ll be fine.”

You leaned back in the seat, watching the city blur past the tinted windows. The streets were quieter now. Neon signs glowing, traffic lights changing for empty intersections.

“You do this a lot?” you asked.

“Drive?”

“Disappear in the middle of the night.”

“Helps me think.”

You drove for a while after that. Talking about small things. Your classes. His car. The weird customers you dealt with at the restaurant. His former strange customers.

At some point the streets turned steeper, the buildings thinner. Eventually, Taehyung turned into a small overlook parking lot. The city skyline stretched out below you, lights glittering across the dark water.

You leaned forward slightly. “Whoa.”

Taehyung shut off the engine. The sudden quiet made the world feel still.

“You’ve never been here?” he asked.

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

He leaned back in his seat, watching your reaction more than the view “It’s nice.”

“It’s beautiful.”

You sat beside him, knees turned slightly toward the door, though you weren't really looking outside anymore.

You had been talking for hours.

Somehow it had started with something stupid—complaining about people—and turned into childhood stories, random confessions, and the kind of comfortable silence that only happens when two people forget what time it is.

Taehyung glanced over at you.

“Y’know,” he said casually, voice low, “you’re not what I expected.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And what exactly were you expecting?”

He smirked a little, tilting his head as he studied you. “Someone quieter.”

You scoffed. “That’s insulting.”

“No,” he said, a small laugh slipping out. “I mean it in a good way.”

He reached over absentmindedly, brushing something invisible off the sleeve of your jacket. His fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary. Neither of you acknowledged it.

The music in the background hummed quietly through the speakers. Taehyung leaned back again, exhaling slowly.

“You talk a lot when you’re comfortable,” he said.

You crossed your arms. “You’re one to talk. You’ve been flirting with me all night.”

He looked genuinely amused by that. “Have I?”

“Yes.”

A pause. Then he grinned. “Working?”

You tried not to laugh but failed. Taehyung watched that reaction like he’d just won something. The wind drifted through the car, carrying the faint scent of weed and his cologne. The space suddenly felt smaller. Quieter.

“Why do you come up here?” You asked after a moment.

He looked back out at the skyline. His expression changed slightly—not sad exactly, but distant.

“Clear my head,” he said.

“From what?”

He shrugged. “Everything.”

You noticed. Taehyung noticed that you did. So, he gently bumped his shoulder against yours.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to figure me out.”

You tilted your head. “Maybe I am.”

Your eyes locked. The moment stretched. Taehyung’s small smile faded into something quieter, something almost thoughtful. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips before flicking back up.

For a second it felt like the entire city had gone silent.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

Then, Taehyung leaned back again, running a hand through his hair like he had to physically break the moment.

But something about the way he kept glancing at you afterward had changed. And for the first time in a long time, Taehyung realized he might be in trouble.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

The car was parked outside your building again. It had become a habit without either of you acknowledging it.

Taehyung tapped his fingers against the steering wheel while you talked about something that happened during your shift. Your voice was animated, hands moving as you reenacted the whole thing.

“And then he goes, ‘I know the owner.’”

Taehyung scoffed. “They always know the owner.”

“Right?” you laughed. “Like okay, call him then.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he watched you, a smile tugging at his lips. The way your eyes lit up when you were telling a story. The way you leaned closer without realizing it. The small crease that formed between your brows when you were being dramatic.

He’d noticed these things before. But tonight it felt different.

You stopped mid-sentence. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Taehyung blinked like he’d just been caught doing something illegal. “I’m not staring.”

“You literally are.”

He looked away toward the windshield, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just thinking.”

You tilted your head. “Dangerous.”

He emitted a small laugh from his nose, but his chest felt strange. Heavy. Because the thought that had just crossed his mind wouldn’t go away. He liked being here. Not the neighborhood. Not the car. Not the late-night boredom.

You. And the realization hit him all at once. The late-night drives. Waiting outside your shifts. Remembering small things you said days ago. The way he automatically reached for the passenger seat when you weren't there.

Taehyung leaned his head back against the seat, exhaling slowly.

You watched him. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he muttered.

But his brain kept replaying the same thing over and over. He wasn’t just flirting anymore. He was looking forward to seeing you. Missing you when you weren't around.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Taehyung glanced over at you again.

You were looking out the window now, unaware of the storm that had just started in his head. And somehow that made it worse.

Because you had no idea. He swallowed, looking back out at the city lights.

Fuck. He was falling for you.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

The car heater hummed quietly, fog starting to gather along the edges of the windshield. Taehyung leaned back in the driver’s seat, one arm draped casually behind your headrest.

It had started as a normal conversation, followed by a smoke session. It always did. But lately, the space between you kept shrinking.

“You’re staring again,” you said, glancing at him.

Taehyung smirked. “Maybe you just like being looked at.”

“I do not.”

“Yeah?” His voice dropped a little. “Then why you dressed like that tonight?”

You looked down at yourself. It was just a sweater and a skirt you found months ago, followed with dark tights and black, worn, knee-high boots.

“What’s wrong with how I’m dressed?”

“Nothing,” he said easily. But his eyes moved slowly over you anyway. “Looks good on you.”

You tried to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

He reached out then, fingers brushing lightly against the sleeve of your sweater. Just a small touch. But he didn’t pull his hand away. The car suddenly felt smaller.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

“I’m thinking.”

“About?”

“Why you’re being weird tonight.”

“Weird?”

“You’re extra… something.”

“Something?”

His tattooed fingers slid lazily down your arm before stopping at your wrist. Not grabbing. Just holding it there.

“You nervous or something?” he murmured, his low gaze piercing into yours.

You tried to keep your voice steady. “I’m not nervous.”

He tilted his head, studying you like he didn’t believe that for a second. “Your heartbeat says otherwise.”

Your eyes widened slightly. “You can’t feel my heartbeat.”

He shrugged, still holding your wrist. “Feels fast.”

“Taehyung.”

His mouth curved into a small smirk, low eyes watching your expression. “Relax, Y/N.”

His thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist absentmindedly. The motion was soft. Distracted. But it sent a spark straight up your body.

“I’m just sitting here.”

“You’re not just sitting.”

He leaned a little closer now, elbow resting against the center console.

“Why you always accusing me of things?”

“Because you’re—”

You stopped mid-sentence. Because now, he was really close. Close enough that you could smell the faint mix of cologne and smoke on him. Taehyung noticed the pause.

His eyes flicked down briefly to your lips before returning to your face.

“Because I’m what?” he asked quietly.

You swallowed. “Trouble.”

He slightly chuckled under his breath. “Yeah?”

His fingers slid from your wrist to your hand, turning it slightly in his.“You say that like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

The tension in the car thickened and neither of you moved. Outside, the street was completely silent.

Taehyung looked at you for a long second before murmuring, “You always look this pretty after classes, or is tonight special?”

You stared at him. “You’re impossible.”

“Still sitting here though.”

His thumb traced slowly across your knuckles. His hand briefly brushed your thigh. Not rushed. Not shy. Just comfortable.

Like touching you had already become normal. And that was the problem. Because neither of you were pretending anymore.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

Taehyung’s apartment building looked exactly like the kind of place people warned you about. Old brick. Flickering hallway lights. Graffiti on the side of the stairwell.

The stairwell smelled faintly like smoke and cleaning supplies. Your footsteps echoed as you both climbed to the second floor. When he unlocked the door, you weren't expecting what you saw.

The apartment was… surprisingly nice. Minimal.

Black couch. Black coffee table. A sleek TV mounted on the wall. Everything clean, organized, almost too neat.

But it still felt unfinished. Like no one had ever bothered to soften the space. Like it was almost screaming for a woman’s touch. No plants. No art. No warm lighting. Just sharp lines and dark furniture.

You stepped inside slowly. “Wow.”

Taehyung tossed his keys onto the counter. “What?”

“I don’t know,” you said, glancing around. “I expected something different.”

He leaned casually against the kitchen counter.

“Like what?”

“Messier.”

He smirked. “You sayin’ I look messy?”

“Maybe.”

He pushed himself off the counter and walked closer. You suddenly became very aware of how small the apartment felt.

“You always look this cute,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “or is it just when you see me?”

Your eyes widened a little. “Taehyung.”

“What? You nervous again?”

“I’m not nervous.”

He stepped closer. Close enough that you could smell the faint mix of cologne and weed again.

“Then why you standing so stiff?”

“I’m not stiff.”

“You are.”

His hand moved almost absentmindedly to your waist. Not grabbing. Just resting there. Warm. You froze for half a second, but you didn’t move away.

Taehyung noticed immediately. His thumb brushed lightly against the side of your sweater.

“You always this quiet when you come over to a guy’s place?”

“I don’t usually go to guys’ places,” you said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

That made him almost smile. Something softer this time. “Good.”

His hand slid slightly along your waist. Then it went just a little lower. A little too low.

You inhaled sharply. “Taehyung.”

“Hm?” His voice dropped a little, but he didn’t remove his hand.

Instead, he leaned closer, his other arm bracing lightly against the wall behind you. Not trapping you, just close enough that you felt surrounded by him. His broad shoulders and ridiculous height were blocking your entire view, your eyes showing you nothing but him.

“You gonna stop me?” he murmured.

Your heart was beating way too fast now. “You’re very confident.”

“I know.”

His fingers shifted slightly against your side again, slow and distracted, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. Which somehow made it worse.

You shook your head softly. “You’re trouble.”

Taehyung chuckled quietly. That lazy, teasing tone was still there—but something underneath it had changed.

“You keep saying that like it’s supposed to scare you.”

His other hand lifted, brushing lightly against the side of your hair. Not pushing. Just tucking a loose strand behind your ear.

The touch was softer than anything he’d done before. Which somehow made the tension worse.

Your fingers lightly grabbed the front of his hoodie without thinking, making Taehyung freeze for a split second. His eyes dropped to your hand. Then back to your face. “See?” he said quietly.

“What?”

“You touch me back.”

You swallowed. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

He stepped closer again. Now there was barely any space between you. “You sure about that?”

His hand tightened slightly at your waist. Your gaze dropped to his mouth before you could stop yourself. Taehyung noticed it too and air between you felt thick. “Y/N,” he murmured.

Your voice came out barely above a whisper. “Yeah?”

For a second it really looked like he was going to kiss you. His eyes softened, the teasing gone now, replaced by something quieter. Something real.

But then—

Taehyung exhaled sharply and leaned his head back instead. A small, frustrated laugh left his mouth.

“Damn.”

You blinked. “What?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, stepping half a step away. “You’re dangerous.”

You stared at him cluelessly. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” He looked at you again, shaking his head slightly. “I’m trying to behave.”

That made you laugh softly. “You’re doing a terrible job.”

Taehyung smirked slightly. “Yeah."

His eyes drifted to your lips one more time before meeting your gaze again.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly.

He walked back into the living room after dropping you off home. His place suddenly felt too big. Every part of it now reminded him of you.

The way you stood near the door looking around like you were studying everything. The soft laugh you let out when he said something stupid. The way you said his name when he got too close.

He dropped onto the couch and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His brain replayed the moment against the wall again. Your hand grabbing the front of his hoodie. The way you looked at him. And the way you looked at his mouth.

Taehyung groaned quietly and dragged a hand down his face. He’d been seconds away from kissing you. Seconds.

And for someone like him, that wasn’t usually a big deal. But with you, it suddenly felt like it would mean something. That was the problem.

Waiting outside your shift. Driving around the city just to talk. Letting you sit in his car for hours. Inviting you over. None of that was normal for him.

Taehyung scoffed softly, shaking his head.

Because the more he thought about you—

The more he realized he didn’t want this to stop. Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck again, staring at the ceiling.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

It was late again. Too late for most people to be outside.

The street in front of your building was quiet except for Taehyung’s car idling at the curb. You stood beside the passenger door, arms wrapped loosely around yourself against the cold.

“You don’t have to wait until I go inside,” you said.

Taehyung leaned against the side of the car, hands in his pockets. “Yeah I do.”

“You don’t.”

He shrugged. “I want to.”

That made you smile a little.

The streetlamp above you cast a soft orange glow over the sidewalk. Your apartment window light was on above you, faintly glowing through the curtains. There was a small pause. Neither of you moved toward the door yet.

You shifted slightly, looking up at him. “You’re quiet tonight.”

He studied you for a moment. “You get shy every time I get close. It's cute.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed. “I don't get shy.”

Taehyung stepped a little closer. The air between you changed immediately. You noticed it too.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you murmured.

“What thing?”

“This… intense staring.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Maybe I like looking at you.”

Your heart kicked a little harder. “Taehyung—”

His hand moved to your waist again, like it belonged there now. His silver rings nudging at your skin through your clothes. You didn’t move away.

“You trust me a lot,” he said. “For someone who keeps telling me I'm trouble.”

“You are trouble.”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

His thumb brushed slowly along your side. “But you keep showing up.”

You looked down for a second before meeting his eyes again. “Maybe I’m curious.”

That made something shift in his expression. Softer but more serious. He stepped closer. Now there was barely any space between you.

“You’re dangerous when you say things like that,” he murmured.

“Why?”

“Because I might believe you.”

The tension thickened. Your fingers lightly grabbed the front of his black leather jacket again without thinking. The same way you had that night in his apartment. Taehyung glanced down at your hand, then back at your face.

“You keep doing that,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“Pulling me closer.”

“I’m not—”

Your sentence cut off. Because this time he didn’t pull back.

His hand slid slightly higher along your waist, steady and warm. His other hand lifted slowly, brushing lightly along your cheek. The touch made your breath catch.

Taehyung leaned down just a little. Close enough that your foreheads almost touched.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured.

You shook your head slightly. That was all the permission he needed.

The kiss started slow. Careful. Like he was testing it. His lips brushed yours once, soft and brief.

But the moment it happened, something shifted amongst you. The hesitation disappeared.

You pulled him closer by the front of his jacket, and Taehyung responded instantly, his hand tightening slightly at your waist as he kissed you again—this time deeper, warmer, like he’d been wanting to do it for weeks.

The city around you faded into the background. Just the quiet street. The cold air. And the warmth of him standing close enough that you could feel his heartbeat through his jacket.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathing a little unevenly. Taehyung rested his forehead lightly against yours.

For a second after the kiss, neither of you moved. Your hand was still gripping the front of Taehyung’s jacket. His hand still rested warm against your waist.

Taehyung looked down at you like he was trying to process what had just happened.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. But neither of you stepped away. His thumb brushed lightly along your side again. And suddenly the small distance between you felt unbearable.

You leaned in first this time. The second kiss wasn’t careful. Your hand tightened in his jacket as your lips met again, and Taehyung responded instantly, one arm sliding around your waist to pull you closer.

“Y/N—” he murmured against your mouth, but the warning didn’t last long.

You kissed him again before he could finish the sentence. That made him laugh softly under his breath, like he’d just given up pretending he had any self control.

His hand moved up your back, steady and warm, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you again—slower this time, but deeper.

The cold night air barely registered anymore. All you could feel was the warmth of him and the way his fingers traced lightly along your side.

When you pulled apart again, it only lasted a second. Taehyung looked at you like he was debating something.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured.

You raised an eyebrow. “You kissed me.”

“You grabbed my jacket.”

“You leaned in first.”

He smirked slightly. “You started it.”

But before you could argue, he kissed you again. This time his hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, steady and gentle as he pulled you closer. It felt less hesitant now, like you both finally stopped pretending.

When you finally broke apart again, you laughed softly, a little breathless. “We should probably stop.”

Taehyung glanced toward your apartment building… then back at you.

“Probably,” he agreed.

But neither of you moved. Instead, his hand slid back to your waist again, pulling you closer to his chest.

“Just one more,” he said quietly.

You rolled your eyes. And then he kissed you again anyway.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

The hallway outside your apartment felt colder than the street.

You fumbled slightly with your keys while Taehyung stood behind you, broad shoulders towering you as his hands were shoved casually in the pockets of his jacket, watching.

“You nervous?” he asked.

“I’m not nervous.”

“You missed the keyhole twice.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder. “Stop talking.”

Taehyung smirked. The door finally clicked open.

Your apartment felt warmer than usual when you stepped inside. The soft glow from the lamps filled the small studio, the same cozy lighting Taehyung had noticed the first time he saw your window from the street. No overhead lights, just warm pools of amber light across the room.

Taehyung closed the door behind you. For a second, neither of you said anything. The silence was different now. Heavy.

You set your keys down on the small table, trying to act normal.

“So,” you said, a little breathlessly, “do you want some tea or—”

Your sentence cut off because suddenly Taehyung was right behind you. Close enough that you felt the heat of him before you even turned around.

“You trying to calm down?” he asked quietly, warmth shooting down your back.

“Maybe.”

“That’s cute.”

You turned to face him, crossing your arms slightly. “You’re not helping.”

Taehyung laughed under his breath. “I’m not doing anything.”

But his hands were already moving to your waist. Familiar now. Natural. His fingers settled there easily, thumbs brushing slowly along the fabric of your sweater.

You exhaled. “You said we should calm down.”

“I did.” His voice was lower now. “But you invited me upstairs.”

“That doesn’t mean—”

His hand slid slightly lower along your side. Not rushed, but just enough to make your breath catch again.

“You look pretty.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“You saying things like that.”

He smirked faintly. “You always look this cute or just when you see me?”

You groaned softly. “You already used that line.”

“Still true.”

His hand shifted again, fingers resting lower along your hip now. A little more daring than before, making you notice immediately.

“Taehyung.”

“Hm?”

His thumb traced a slow circle against your side. The casual confidence in the gesture made the tension spike all over again. The small studio suddenly felt even smaller.

“You should sit,” You said.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “You think sitting down’s gonna help?”

“Maybe.”

But when you tried to move toward the couch, his hand caught lightly at your waist again. Not stopping you completely; just slowing you down.

“Y/N.” His voice was quieter now.

You turned back toward him which was a big mistake. Because now you were close again. Close enough that the tension from outside came rushing back instantly.

Taehyung looked at you for a long second before shaking his head slightly.

“You really invited the wrong guy upstairs if you wanted to calm down.”

You laughed softly, though your heart was racing again. “You came anyway.”

“Yeah.”

His hand slid slowly along your waist again, pulling you just a little closer. And a second later he leaned down and kissed you again.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

20 minutes later~

The convenience store near your apartment was almost empty. Just the low hum of the refrigerators and a bored cashier behind the counter. You walked down one of the aisles, holding a basket while Taehyung followed beside you, towering over you like a personal bodyguard.

“You’re buying too many snacks,” he said.

“They’re for studying.”

“You said that last time.”

“And I studied.”

You grabbed a bag of chips and tossed it into the basket. “You’re very judgmental for someone who showed up uninvited.”

“I was invited.”

“I said you could come up.”

“Exactly.”

You reached for the drink cooler and bent slightly to grab a bottle from the bottom shelf. When you stood up again, you almost ran into someone.

“Oh—sorry.”

A guy around your age stepped aside quickly. “No worries.”

His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary and Taehyung noticed immediately.

You moved past him, heading toward the register. But Taehyung stayed where he was for a moment, watching the guy glance back once and check you out.

Something in Taehyung's expression changed. Subtle. Quiet. Then he followed you. By the time you reached the counter, Taehyung was standing close behind you. Both of his hands rested casually on your waist.

You glanced up at him. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?"

“This,” you gestured lightly toward his arm around you.

He looked down at his hands like he’d just noticed it. “Oh.”

But he didn’t move it. The cashier rang up the snacks, glancing between you with a small smile.

“You two together?”

“Yeah.”

Simple. Casual. Like it was obvious. You blinked slightly, looking up at him. But his expression stayed the same, like he hadn’t said anything strange at all.

The cashier nodded. “Thought so.”

Taehyung handed over a bill before you could act. He grabbed the bag of snacks as you walked out of the store, the cool night air hitting you again.

You turned toward him immediately. “You didn’t correct her.”

“Correct what?”

“You said we’re together.”

Taehyung shrugged, walking beside you. “Felt easier.”

“Easier?”

“Yeah.”

He glanced down at you. “You complainin'?”

You hesitated. “…No.”

That made him smile faintly. As you reached the sidewalk, his hand returned to your waist again automatically, pulling you closer to his side as you walked.

“You’re very touchy tonight.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You mind?”

You shook your head slowly. “No.”

Taehyung hummed. “Good.”

His thumb brushed lightly along your side as you walked toward your building, sharing one of his joints together.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

Taehyung didn't plan to stay much longer after helping you get your snacks. As much as he wanted to, he wanted to give you time to study. Until you both ended up on the couch again.

The same dim lamps lit the small room, the soft amber light making everything feel warm and sleepy. Some random show played on the TV. Neither of you were paying attention.

“You’re staring again,” you said.

Taehyung leaned back. “You like when I stare.”

“I do not.”

He chuckled deeply. “Sure.”

His hand rested casually on the middle of the space between you. Then, slowly, it moved. Settling naturally on your thigh. You immediately glanced down.

“Taehyung.”

“What?”

“You know what.”

His thumb traced a slow line over the fabric of your leggings like he wasn’t doing anything unusual.

“You’re overreacting.”

“I’m not.”

His hand stayed there. Warm. Heavy. Comfortable. But then his fingers shifted slightly higher. Just a little. You inhaled softly.

“What's wrong?” His tone was lazy, teasing.

But his eyes were watching you closely.

His thumb brushed along your thigh again, sliding slightly upward this time before stopping. Right at the edge of where it would definitely be too high.

You grabbed his wrist lightly. “Taehyung.”

He smirked. “What?”

“You’re impossible.”

“You keep saying that.”

Your fingers were still around his wrist, but you didn't push his hand away. He noticed that immediately.

“You gonna move my hand?” he asked.

You hesitated. “…Maybe.”

But you didn’t.

Taehyung leaned a little closer.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s what I thought.”

The tension in the room thickened again.

You shook your head slightly. “You’re trouble.”

"I know."

After a moment he finally moved his hand, sliding it back down your thigh in a slow, almost reluctant motion.

“Relax,” he said.

“You’re the one making it difficult.”

“That’s kind of my thing.”

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

You were still leaning against Taehyung’s shoulder when he shifted slightly beside you.

“You falling asleep on me?” he murmured.

“Maybe.”

“You’re supposed to be studying tonight.”

“You’re distracting.”

He chuckled softly at that. “Yeah?”

You turned your head slightly to look at him. Big mistake. Because suddenly you were too close again. Taehyung noticed the way your eyes flicked down to his mouth. The same way you had outside your building.

“You keep doing that,” he said quietly.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to make some trouble.”

You rolled your eyes slightly. “You’re the trouble.”

His hand slid slowly from the back of the couch to your waist again. The movement was natural now. But this time he didn’t stop there. His fingers tightened slightly at your side as he leaned closer.

“Taehyung—”

But whatever you were about to say disappeared the moment he kissed you. This kiss wasn’t careful like the first one. Or teasing like the others. It was deeper, hungrier. Like all the tension between you had finally snapped.

Your hand immediately grabbed the front of his shirt again, pulling him closer which Taehyung responded to instantly; one arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you into him. Your chest was flushed against his before he manhandled you with one arm and onto his lap, straddling him.

The kiss deepened, slow but intense, weeks of teasing finally spilling over. The room felt warmer and smaller around you. Your fingers slid up into his hair without thinking, and Taehyung let out a quiet laugh against your lips.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured.

“You started it.”

“You invited me upstairs.”

“You came.”

That made him smile slightly before kissing you again. His hands moved carefully along your sides, pulling you closer until the space between you disappeared completely.

At some point the blankets and pillows fell to the floor as the TV kept playing quietly in the background. Neither of you noticed because now, you were completely wrapped up in each other. You desperately tugged at his black tee, making him groan in your mouth.

When you finally paused for breath, Taehyung rested his forehead lightly against yours.

“You sure about this?” he asked softly.

You looked up at him, eyes warm, breath still uneven. "Yes."

And then he kissed you again. This time, the softness disappeared quickly. Your tongues colliding, desperately fighting for dominance before he took over yours. One of his hands laid low at your hip while the other rested on the back of your head.

"God," he growled. "You drive me fucking insane."

His words sent chills down your spine before he pulled away, aiming at your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses from the back of your ear to your collarbone. He took in every noise that left your mouth, something that made him feel dizzy.

"Can't get enough of you," he murmured in your ear.

At this point, his hand was fully grabbing your ass while the other laid lazily on your neck. You were a whimpering mess beneath him as he kissed you, before his finger tugged at the neckline of your top.

"You first," you teased after shaking your head.

He growled into the kiss before quickly sliding both of his giant palms on either side of your ass, picking you up and straddling you against his chest. He settled you on one arm as he roughly opened the door to your bedroom and gently sat you down on the bed.

Then, he did it. Before you could blink, his shirt was off, his buff arms dragging the fabric up and revealing his built chest and the shoulders that now increased ten times in size. Tattoos crawled up his entire body, swirling around his arm, littered across his chest, down his steel abs and back up around his neck.

You visibly bit your lip as he watched you check him out with a large smirk. It wasn't long before he was towering over you at the edge of the bed, eyes dark.

He lowered his mouth to yours, kissing you with hunger before immediately reaching for the hem of your top and gently taking it off of you. Now, it was his turn to check you out as he visibly paused, eyes trailing up and down your figure.

"Always look so beautiful baby," he whispered in your ear.

The name was enough to make you soak through your leggings. It was then when he laid you down on the bed, kissing all over your chest and gently sucking on your tits, crawling on top of you. One veiny hand by your head while the other greedily roamed your body like it was all his.

His fingers came close to your thigh before stopping near your clit. He traced over it through the fabric which earned a breathy moan from you. He darkly chuckled at the wetness already there.

"Wet already for me baby?" He muttered into a kiss.

"These comin' off now," He tugged at your leggings, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth.

Before you knew it, you were in nothing but your thong.

"Wore this for me?" he grunted, fingers tugging at the lacy material before his eyes praised your body.

"So fuckin' perfect."

Taehyung quickly pulled away to take off his already sagging jeans that revealed the hem of his Calvin Klein boxers. You got up, reaching for his belt loop. He immediately pulled his hands back, grunting as he watched you undo it for him.

You gasped once his jeans hit the floor, the belt causing a thud noise. Large tattoos wrapped around his thick, chiseled legs but you hardly noticed them. Because you were shocked-- you knew it would be big. But this? Beneath his white boxers awaited a monster, one that was clearly hungry for you. You've had boyfriends, but this is a size you've never seen before. He smirked.

"Taehyung--" you uttered.

"See what you do to me baby?" he muttered, leaning down to your ear.

He grabbed your hand, intertwining it with his and pressed a brief kiss to it before dragging it along his hard cock. "Make it so hard for me to behave."

You bit your lip and palmed your hand against his length, making sure to lightly drag your nail along with it. It twitched beneath you before Taehyung let out a groan, immediately picking you up and gently tossing you onto the bed, making you giggle.

He climbed on top of you, engulfing you in a hungry kiss as he lazily traced his fingers up and down your clit. It wasn't long before he pulled your thong to the side and inserted a thick, tattooed finger in you.

You gasped as you immediately clenched around him earning a deep groan from him. It had been awhile for the both of you. Once you adjusted, he inserted another and began to go in and out.

"Fuck baby," he groaned against your neck. "Might tear you apart tonight."

You moaned at that and he couldn't ignore the way your walls got tighter around his fingers, sucking them in through your wetness.

"Like that?" he breathed. "Want me to tear you apart pretty girl?"

You nodded desperately followed by a whine, not trusting your own voice. He then leaned down, leaving a trail of kisses down your figure before stopping below your waist. He left the smallest kiss on your clit then began to gently lap at your pussy.

You cried out; your fingers immediately tangling in his dark fluffy hair and almost pulling on his head. He then dived in you like his was hungry— like he had been starved for days while his two fingers continued to thrust inside you. You quickly felt your release coming, moaning endlessly under him as his tongue greedily explored your insides.

"Taehyung, I'm--"

It was only a brief moment before Taehyung was lapping at your release, his nose practically buried in your clit as he groaned against your pussy while you breathlessly called his name.

He couldn't get over it. How beautiful you were. How you withered underneath him and how he finally had the opportunity to worship you, make you feel good, make you forget everything but you and him.

"Taste so good, baby."

After you came down from your high, you eagerly gripped at his shoulders, tugging him towards you and immediately engulfed him into a kiss. He grinded his clothed, hard member against your exposed pussy that was dripping in arousal.

He kissed you again, tugging your earlobe between his teeth before pulling away. "Got condoms baby?"

"No," you quietly admitted.

He paused, eyes staring so deeply into yours before speaking.

"Then we don't have to--"

"I still want to."

"You sure?" He asked one more time.

"Need you, Tae" you whimpered.

"Fuck," he groaned. "Say it again."

"I need you Taehyung," you cried out.

Then he snapped, darkness completely taking over his eyes before capturing you into a rough kiss again, teeth gently colliding with one another. Your nails gripped at his boxers, and without hesitation, pulled them down.

His member sprung out in front of you, revealing his true, monstrous size. You caught yourself gasping again before reaching out, your hand seeming to have shrunk in size when you wrapped it around him, slowing pumping him.

He let out a loud moan before gently pushing you back down on your pillows, getting ready to line himself up at your entrance.

"Need to be inside you," he grunted.

He teasingly rubbed his tip back and forth at your entrance, admiring you as you whimpered below him.

"Taehyung," you cried. "Please."

He gave you one last look, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before slowly entering it in, his thick tip pushing through your tight walls. You cried out when he was barely past the entrance. He leaned closer to you, his hot breath spilling all over your neck as he pressed gentle kisses all over.

"It's okay baby," he cooed. "You're taking it so well."

After a few minutes of his encouraging praises, you became more adjusted to his size.

"Tae, you can move," you whispered.

And so, he did. He gently pushed himself all the way inside of you, moans erupting from the both of you. He kissed you as he began to thrust, slow and gentle like he was scared to break you. He was exploring every inch of you, taking his time.

"Taehyung," you moaned. "Need you to break me."

"Yeah?" he murmured, to which you nodded. "Can't take it back now, pretty girl."

His fingers dug deeper into your thighs, spreading them widely apart with his barely even a quarter of his strength. He didn't waste any time; his pace immediately quickening to an impossible speed. He hit every spot inside, earning loud moans that made him go harder.

He lifted your two legs up and placed them on either side of his shoulders, leaning down; his bare shoulders blocking your entire view. He was thrusting into you as your feet were in the air, nearly touching the headboard above your head. He was hitting places you didn't know existed, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

You were a moaning mess when he picked you up with one arm and flipped you over, letting you catch your breath before softly placing you in the pillows. He slapped your ass before entering inside you once again, resuming at his brutal pace.

"All mine," he growled in your hair, leaving no space between you two.

His entire body was on yours, both of his inked hands gripping your low at your hips, fingers trailing over your ass as he trusted into you with all his force.

Everything about him had you absolutely falling apart underneath him- his warmth, his words, how deep he was inside you. He treated you like an absolute angel despite ruining you, despite bruising your insides.

"Feel so fucking good," he breathed.

He kissed your neck sloppily from behind as you cried into the pillows, wet slapping noises echoing throughout your bedroom.

"You're like a drug, Y/N." He admitted, voice low and rough. "Fucking addicted to you."

If his dick wasn't enough, that had you absolutely lost. He pounded into you before you felt yourself coming to your release. You told him through the pillow and he nodded, continuing to hit the spongy part inside of you. You released yourself on his length, crying out as he made his final, slower thrusts.

"Come on my dick baby," he said. "That's it."

"Look at how beautiful you are."

He pulled out before releasing himself all over your thigh, thick hands gripping onto your hips as he cursed.

You gasped for air, turning your head to the side as he was already up and quickly looking for a towel. Before you could even process it, he was already back with one, gently wiping the mess he made on you.

"Y/N," he called out worriedly, tossing the towel somewhere and laying beside you. "You okay baby?"

You turned onto your back, giggling in disbelief. "Yeah. You?"

His heart swelled at the sight of your smile. He took your hand in his and placed a kiss on your hand.

"Good," he smiled softly— a reaction that he once concealed, a reaction that was hard to get out of him. But it now became familiar to you, and only you.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

Taehyung’s arm was draped loosely around your waist, his breathing slow and steady against the back of your shoulder.

You turned slightly to look at him.

His hair was messy, his face softer than you'd ever seen it. Less guarded. The version of him no one else probably got to see. You smiled faintly. He slowly opened one eye, voice rough with sleep.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Just smiling at each other, taking it in. Then, Taehyung propped himself up with one elbow to look at you.

"You regret it?" he mumbled.

"What?" You stared at him like the question offended you. "No."

“Good.”

He looked relieved in a way he tried to hide, face almost buried in your neck.

After a moment you tilted your head slightly. “So… what does this make us?”

Taehyung rubbed the back of his neck. A rare, nervous gesture. “You want the honest answer?”

“Yes.”

He looked at you for a second. Then shrugged slightly. “I don’t really see you going anywhere.”

You smiled. “That’s not exactly romantic.”

“Didn’t say it was.”

He reached over and pulled you even closer. “But I mean it.”

You studied him. “You’re saying we’re together?”

Taehyung’s mouth tilted slightly. “Yeah.”

Then, after a pause— “If you want to be.”

You leaned forward and kissed him softly. “That’s a yes."

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

Winter had turned into early summer. Your apartment looked a little different now.

There was a bouquet of flowers on the windowsill. A hoodie hanging over the back of the chair that definitely didn’t belong to you. Taehyung sat at the small kitchen counter while you finished making something.

He watched you quietly. The way you hummed softly while you worked. The way you moved around the apartment like it was both of your spaces now. He was incredibly enamored by you every waking day; his eyes never leaving you until they absolutely had to. He treated you like a princess, spoiling you rotten on shopping and dates.

Things had changed over the past months.

You knew more about him now. About the rough neighborhood he grew up in. About dropping out of school. About the years he spent learning to survive on his own.

He didn’t tell people those things. But he told you.

And you told him about your childhood too. About the loneliness. About leaving home and building a life by yourself.

Neither of you had said those words yet. But the feeling had been there for a while. Taehyung had just never said it before, to anyone.

You set the mugs down and sat across from him.

“What?” you asked when you noticed him staring.

“Nothing.”

“Thinking too much.”

Taehyung looked down at the table for a moment. Then back at you.

“You waited,” he said.

“For what?”

“For me.”

You shrugged softly. “I wasn’t in a rush.”

He nodded slightly. His fingers tapped once against the table before he spoke again.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

His voice was quieter this time. “I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you. Simple. But heavy. Like they meant everything.

You blinked, surprised. You knew how hard that must have been for him to say.

You smile grew slowly. “You took long enough.”

Taehyung scoffed softly. “Six months isn’t that long.”

He leaned across the table slightly, looking down at his hands. A nervous act you had never seen before.

“You gonna say it back?”

You reached over and took his hand. “I love you too.”

And if loving you was a bad decision, Taehyung knew one thing for sure— it was the best one he’d ever made.

☆˙ . ˎˊ˗

an: been dreaming of this fic for a minute so I decided to take matters into my own hands hehe. hope u guys like it! i wrote this last year so i apologize for any mistakes!