everyone's a little queer, oh can't she be a little straight? :(
based off of this song by weezer!
Otoya Eita x <- (well not really) fem lesbianreader!
cw: swearing, otoya being put in his place đś
"Thanks for coming, nice to meet you..." Otoya sighed like a robot for the nth time as he handed another young fan's jersey he had autographed back to them.
This meet-and-greet had been a total bust.
He'd kindly asked Anri (who might've been fed up with his incessant flirting), to only involve him in events which either included fun, cute girls, or partying. (Special exceptions included being featured on Clavicular's stream or brand trips to post on his insta). How did this check any of his boxes? At this point, Otoya was doing charity work.
He hadn't even agreed to this. He'd been mindlessly scrolling on his phone in the locker room when Anri came up to him with a proposal for a signing event. And, of course, when he heard the words "meet" and "cute people" escape her lips, Otoya blindly accepted whatever it was and signed the form. I mean, did she really think he'd want to do a four-hour long meet-and-greet with a bunch of little kids? How was this his fault?
After the form was signed, there was no backing out. To his dismay, this children's meet and greet was neither fun, nor did it involve girls his age, and it was certainly not Clav's stream.
Well, there were only a couple of minutes left before the panel ended. Otoya breathed a sigh of relief. Just a few minutes, and he'd be able to flop onto his bed and check his DM's.
That was his plan, until he caught sight of you and (what he desperately hoped to be your younger sibling), the last fans in line.
Immediately, Otoya sprung up in his chair, feeling his energy returning by the millisecond.
Had his DM's come to him?! Who was this beauty?!
"Hi," you said with a little wave as you approached the stand. You motioned to your little brother. "This is my brother George. He's a huge fan."
"Hi, George," Otoya chirped, giving him a quick smile before focusing all his attention on you. "What can I do for you guys?"
Your brother smiled meekly, holding up Otoya's jersey like all the other kids had. "Could you sign this?"
"'Course, little bro," Otoya chuckled, giving your brother a tiny fist-bump before signing the jersey. That's it, he told himself. Keep it cool with the little kid. Now, time for phase two.
"Hey, matter of fact, would you guys want a selfie?"
"Sure," you accepted graciously, pleasantly surprised. This guy was super nice! No wonder your brother practically worshipped him.
In Otoya's mind, however, everything was going according to plan. This was how he did it with most fans. He'd snap a selfie with them and ask for their insta so that he could feature them in his story. But you? You were a different case. There was no way he could fumble a girl like you.
As soon as he got out of his chair, his hand was around your waist. At this point, you were good as married in Otoya's mind. He could practically feel the wedding bells.
You raised a brow at that. Weird, but okay. Extending out your arm to accommodate everyone in frame, you smiled for the camera.
"Alright, say 'soccer' everyone!"
Just before you could snap the picture, your phone began to buzz.
"Oh- sorry, that's my girlfriend."
Otoya's heart dropped to his feet. Your words rung in his ear.
Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend...
Okay, maybe it was just one of your close friends, he told himself, trying to regain any of the dwindling confidence he had left. I mean, the chances were low, but never zero.
"Wait," you interrupted just as you were about to take the photo. "Would you mind if we answer, like, as a surprise?"
Otoya shrugged nonchalantly. Smooth. "Yeah, no problem."
Pressing the facetime button, you kept only you and George in frame.
Your girlfriend answered after a few rings. "Hello?"
"Hey, babe," you giggled. "Guess who George and I are with right now?"
Babe. Babe. Babe...
Immediately, all of Otoya's energy left his body again. Fuuuuck.
Your girlfriend laughed on the other end. "Who?"
You passed the phone to him, giving him a quiet thumbs up.
Otoya smiled stiffly at the screen. "Hey, uh, sorry, what's her name-"
"Ashley," you said.
"Hey, Ashley! How are you doin-"
The moment Otoya's eyes fully focused on your girlfriend, he was convinced the world had lost all its fairness. How was it possible that two such beautiful women could even coexist in the universe, let alone be girlfriends?
By the time you and little George had thanked him and said your goodbyes (without giving him your instagram), Otoya was glued to his seat.
He'd unfocused his eyes and disassociated to deny all that he'd just witnessed. He had so many questions. Who? Why? How? Was that kind of hot?
"I'm so dumb, she's a lesbian," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. "Thought I'd found the one."
Out of the blue, he heard a stifled chuckle behind him. "Can't get 'em all, can you, buddy?" Anri snickered, giving him a firm pat on the back out of pity.
Otoya let out a groan, swiping open snap on his phone. Oh well.
Windy day, huh?
a/n: i love lesbians they are all so beautiful and just imagine otoya doing the "#fairs" đ i love and hate his evil ahh
boyfriend!sae who quietly starts learning mandarin because he wants to understand the little things you say without having to ask. the first time he answers you in chinese, his pronunciation is terrible, but seeing your smile makes every awkward attempt worth it.Â
boyfriend!sae who lets your mother fuss over him the first time he visits, sitting there patiently while she piles far too much food onto his plate. he isn't used to being looked after, but somehow it feels... nice.Â
boyfriend!sae who memorizes the names of your favorite childhood snacks so whenever he travels for matches, he'll stop by asian supermarkets if he sees one. he always comes home with an entire bag full of things that remind him of you.Â
boyfriend!sae who doesn't understand every family tradition at first, but never questions it either. if it's important to you, then it's important to him.Â
boyfriend!sae who quietly watches while you celebrate lunar new year with your family before asking you to explain every tradition afterward. he wants to know the meaning behind everything, not just what you're doing.Â
boyfriend!sae who accidentally becomes your grandparents' favorite because he's respectful, well-mannered, and never interrupts anyone while they're speaking. they start asking about him before they ask about you.Â
boyfriend!sae who quietly smiles whenever he hears you switch languages with your family. even if he can't understand every word, hearing you sound so comfortable makes him feel strangely warm. Â
boyfriend!sae who patiently listens while you teach him simple phrases, repeating each one until you stop laughing at his accent. he pretends to be annoyed, but secretly enjoys every lesson.Â
boyfriend!sae who sits beside you during family dinners, quietly letting you translate conversations whenever everyone starts speaking too quickly. he never complains about feeling left out because seeing you happy is enough.Â
boyfriend!sae who keeps every red envelope your family gives him, even after you tell him he can spend the money. somehow, they feel more sentimental than valuable.Â
boyfriend!sae who falls in love with your culture for the same reason he fell in love with you. because every tradition, every meal, and every story feels like another piece of the person he treasures most.
a/n the mm2 summer update is so buns tysm for reading and other than that theres nothing more to add !!
sae had played in front of packed stadiums without feeling nervous once. somehow, getting his slightly drunk girlfriend through the front door was proving much harder.
"sae."Â "...hm?" you were holding onto the sleeve of his jacket, staring up at him with the most serious expression he'd ever seen.
"your face is really symmetrical."
"...thank you."
"no." you shook your head. "it's suspicious."
sae unlocked the apartment before gently guiding you inside. "normal people aren't that symmetrical." he closed the door behind you both. "take your shoes off."
you looked down at your feet before slowly looking back at him. "...i can't."
"why?"
you leaned closer, lowering your voice dramatically. "...the floor is waiting."
"waiting for what?"
"to eat me."
sae looked down at the perfectly normal hardwood floor. "...right."
without another word, he crouched down and untied your sneakers himself. you watched quietly before reaching over to pat his hair. "...you're nice."
"i know."
once your shoes were off, sae stood back up. "stay here."
"where are you going?"
"getting you water."
you frowned immediately. "...what if i miss you?"
"you'll survive."
"but what if i don't?"
he looked at you for a second before walking into the kitchen anyway. when he came back, you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at one of the houseplants.
"...what are you doing?"
you pointed proudly. "she's pretty."
"...the plant?"
"mhm."
helooked at the plant."...she is."
your face lit up. "see? you get it."
he handed you the glass of water. "drink."
surprisingly, you listened without arguing. after a few sips, you looked at him again. "...sae?"
"what?"
"your eyelashes are really long."
"..."
"do they get in the way?"
"no."
"are you sure?"
"...yes."
"that's good."
he took the empty glass from your hands, setting it on the counter before guiding you toward the bedroom. you made it exactly three steps before stopping. "...carry me."
"you can walk."
"emotionally."
sae closed his eyes for a brief second "...that doesn't even make sense."
"it does to me."
despite his words, he slipped an arm around your waist anyway, helping you the rest of the way. the second you reached the bed, you flopped down dramatically before shuffling closer the moment he sat beside you.
"youâre warm."
he pulled the blanket over you, brushing a few loose strands of hair away from your face. "better?"
you nodded sleepily.
"...sae?"
"hm?"
a tiny smile appeared on your face. "...i'm really happy you're my boyfriend."
his expression softened almost immediately. "...go to sleep."
"okay."
within minutes, your breathing evened out. tomorrow morning, you'd probably deny every embarrassing thing you'd said. the compliments, the plant, the emotional carrying request.
sae would let you, after reminding you about it every chance he got for the next week.
an j i missu say you love me đ¤đđ˘đŹđđŤđŹđđđ, đđŽđŚđđĽđŤ, 2026. đŠđĽđđđŹđ đđ¨ đ§đ¨đ đđŤđđ§đŹđĽđđđ, đđ¨đŠđ˛, đ¨đŤ đđđđ đŚđ˛ đ°đ¨đŤđ¤ đ˘đ§đđ¨ đđ˘.
suguru is a slut and loves when you record him eating⌠it (Ëśáľ áľ áľËś)
the wet sounds in the room echo forward and back as his tongue flicks back and forth against your clit and two of his fingers curve inside of you, rubbing against the sweet spot that makes your thighs tremble and face scrunch.
one of your hands is holding suguruâs hair tightly into a ponytail, and the other is holding your phone, recording him while heâs in his mood.Â
he gets sluttier for the camera, purposely teasing you, making a mess with everything that comes out of you, and having it run down his chin, pushing his face into your core again and lapping the rest up.Â
suguru loves showing off; whenever he has your pussy on your face, he eats you like he has something to prove.Â
his eyes are stuck on the camera while he tastes you; it's like he gets possessed. something takes over him when he gets this taste of you while the camera is facing him.Â
âright there, baby, mm, fuck.âÂ
suguru feels your grip loosening, strands of his hair falling into view, making him groan into your messy core, knowing youâre about to cum any second.
he knows that when the camera starts to tremble and you go quiet only making little whimpers while strand by strand of his hair comes down, heâll feel warmness coming down on his face while you push yourself forward on his mouth to ride out the feeling.Â
he watches every video you record back to him, watching every twitch and tremble your body makes while heâs down there devouring you.Â
your thighs slowly closing in on him every time he licks over your clit, making you shiver; he likes to watch them gradually close and your stomach rise and fall rapidly as you try to control yourself.
or the little comments you make when you first start recording and the soft giggles when he gives you kitten kisses on the inside of your thighs.Â
âyouâre so nasty, you know that?â
nudging him with your foot while he pushes your thighs back to get more access before he starts, making sure heâs at an angle with the camera.Â
âyou recording?â
softly licking your inner thigh, making you twitch a little, and you nod.Â
âstart bossy.âÂ
adding another video to the growing collection.Â
an: im aware this is generic, im trying to get back in the groove of posting more and every other day, enjoy (âĽďšâĽ)
SUMMARY. After a brutal breakup, you pack up your entire life into your Honda Civic and drive 24 hours to a new life, away from the liars and dirty cheaters of New York City. Fortunately for you, thereâs a new man on the terrain, and he adores you from the bottom of his boots to the top of his hat.
word count. 13k
warnings/genre. cowboy!jungkook, corporate!reader, strangers to lovers??, this is based in texas, usa which earns its own warning, alcohol consumption, smut, fingering, car sex, you ride him while wearing his cowboy hat
note. howdy yall! yeehaw brethren! or whatever they say out there in bumblefuck texas đ cowboy jungkook is near and dear to my heart after he put on a bandana and a cowboy hat ⌠heâs literally just a walking wet dream. this is just the plot of a porno so enjoy sluts! (inspired by this tiktok so pls go watch)
ok final final thing: tysm for 9k i still cant believe it!!!!!!! i love all you horndogs sm here's to love here's to honor if you can't cum in her, cum on her
âśď¸ â˘áá||á|á|||| playlist
banner creds | masterlist
At some point in life, everyone must find themselves alone in a run-down bar in the middle of Texas, drinking whiskey and wearing a blazer.
Or, well... maybe that's just rock bottom for you specifically.
You donât even fucking like whiskey. Youâre not a masochist. But after the day youâve had, self-inflicted suffering feels like the least you deserve.Â
You set the glass down and take a look around the bar.Â
The place is called Coyoteâsâitâs the first place you stumbled upon on your drive home from work. There's a coyote skull mounted above the door, walls wood-paneled and covered in neon beer signs and old license plates. The floor is sticky with mysterious liquids, heels glued to them when you walked in. Somebodyâs boots are keeping time to the Zac Brown Band song bleeding out of the speakers, and two men in actual, non-ironic Wranglers are playing pool in the back while eyeing the girls in skimpy outfits.Â
Itâs a disorienting environment, especially when youâre still dressed in a blazer and slacks after your first day at your new job.Â
You had upped sticks in need of a change from New York City, without bothering to think much about the vast differences between Austin, Texas and New York City.Â
New York City bars had exposed brick and cocktail menus with names like âForbidden Museâ and men who wore blazers for their fancy, high-paying finance jobs. Nobody dared to wear cowboy boots, definitely not when they were surrounded by their stuffy superiors.Â
New York City was crawling with men that were exactly like your conniving, narcissistic ex-boyfriend, Daniel.Â
Fucking Daniel.
You take another sip of the whiskey you donât like.
Youâd caught him on a Wednesday. Not even a Friday nightâa Wednesday. He couldnât even be bothered to cheat on you on a respectable day of the week. You had come home early from work, key in the door, bag on your shoulder, and there he was in your shared apartment. Balls deep in a girl who was, insultingly, very pretty.
Then, he had the nerve to act surprised to see you in the apartment you two shared.Â
Texas was never supposed to be in the cards. In fact, it wasnât even a blip on your radar. It was a job offer that paid two times what you made in New York, but giving up your city lifestyle had sounded deranged. You only applied because a very eager recruiter reached out to you and begged you to.Â
But getting cheated on really put things into perspective for you, and before you knew it, being a marketing director at a regional firm in Austin that paid good money, offered a fresh start, far enough away that you wouldnât have to see Danielâs face sounded ideal. Youâd accepted it at 11PM that same Wednesday, half a bottle of wine deep.
You look down at your outfit again. Silk blouse underneath your blazer, tailored slacks and pointed heels. Nothing like the girls line-dancing by the jukebox, batting their eyelashes flirtatiously at the men with cowboy hats on.Â
Honestly, you didnât think cowboys were real up until you landed in Texas three days ago. Lo and behold, theyâve managed to outdo your wildest fantasies.Â
Clearly, youâll need to redo your wardrobe if you plan on enjoying your new gig. Your boss wore a bandana around his neck in the office, and if that was the norm, you were either severely underdressed or accidentally cosplaying as someoneâs accountant.
You take another slow scan around the room, mostly to give yourself something to do that isnât drinking whiskey you hate and thinking about Daniel.
The women here seem to move differently. Easy and dallying, hips finding the beat of the music. A line of them near the dance floor step and turn in unison, boots striking the wood, and thereâs something hypnotic about itâthey laugh without covering their mouths, take up space without apologizing for it. Not for the first time tonight, you feel like youâre watching a nature documentary from behind glass. The men in Texas are far more shameless, with no pretense of disinterest. A guy in a tan Stetson tips his hat when a brunette catches him staring. She grins back, winking.Â
Your gaze drifts toward the back, toward the crack of pool balls and low laughter. Groups of men pile around the table, clearly big-dicking each other. They all look similar. Tall, muscular, chiseled, charismaticâŚ
Your eyes land on the far right of the pool table, where one man in a black cowboy hat stands. His arm is covered in tattoos, hair poking out underneath the hat in what you assume is a mullet. His tongue pokes out, toying with the lip rings adorning his bottom lip.Â
And despite the commotion buzzing around the bar, or the game of pool thatâs been ongoing for at least an hour, heâs not paying attention to any of it. Heâs watching you.Â
Your neck snaps back toward the direction of the bar, struggling to focus as the bartender, Stacey, pours bourbon into a glass for a patron. Youâd barely gotten a full look, but youâd caught enough, you think. Broad shoulders filling out a black button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbow, black cowboy hat pulled low and a black bandana tied loose at his throat.Â
Fuck. You need another drink. Or about two shots of straight whiskey to handle the kind of eye contact that man is making with you.Â
âUh, Stacey?â Youâd only learned her name an hour ago, but nowâs as good a time as any to use it. She whips to face you, blond hair tousled from the rush. âAm I able to get another glass of whiskey?â
âSure thang, sweetheart.â She grins.Â
While she pours, your eyes make a point to not care about the man staring you down across the room. He canât possibly be looking at you, what with your corporate outfit, heels, and resting bitch face. There are better options in this bar, ones who know how to two-step and ride a horse.Â
Stacey places the glass of whiskey in front of you. âThis oneâs on the house. Looked like you needed it.â
Before you can protest, she tosses you a wink and saunters off to serve two men. Clearly, youâre not as unreadable as you thought you were.Â
The brown liquid slithers down your throat, burning your lungs. The thing about drinking whiskey neat is that youâre not going to remain a respectful amount of tipsy for long. Instead, youâre going to teeter on the line of drunk, something you donât normally allow yourself to get.Â
And transparently, drunk you wants another look at the dark-haired cowboy.Â
Maybe you should let her. Maybe you should stop being so weird about it. Itâs not like youâre not going to marry the man. Maybe you just need to get fucked.
Your eyes scan the crowd, lingering on every man wearing the same black bandana, half-convinced one of them might transform into him. With each passing moment, your heart skips in your chest like a toddler playing hopscotch.Â
Maybe he went home. Probably realized the women here were duds and made his grand exit. Honestly for the best. You canât even remember the last time you flirted with someone who wasnât Daniel, and look how spectacularly that turned out.
You down the rest of your whiskey in one go. Stacey whistles playfully from the sidelines. All you can manage is a feeble smile in response. It feels as though the lights dim a little lower, the sound of boots hitting the hardwood floor echoing in your ear. Euphoria pumps through your bloodstream, and then Country Girl (Shake It For Me) starts blasting on the jukebox, and wellâyour brain just sort of short-circuits.Â
âCanât possibly be comfortable in that outfit, sugar.â
Warm breath fans against your ear, woodsy cologne trailing close behind. Your heart thumps, almost as if the organ knows who it is before you do.Â
Slowly, you turn to face the owner of the voice.Â
The first thing you see is a black bandana. Your eyes travel further up, up, up, until they snag on the plumpest mouth youâve ever seen on a man, two metal rings looped through the bottom lip. They continue their climb, landing on captivating eyes that sink their teeth into you. Dark brown tresses poke out from under the brim of his hat, but you can still make out every inch of his sharp features.Â
âNever seen you âround here before.â He raises an eyebrow. âAnyone with that outfit on gotta be from the East. Ainât seen a girl in heels in this bar in my whole life.â
âMaybe I like standing out,â you say, tilting your chin up and puffing your chest out. The whiskeyâs doing wonders for your nerve. âSomeoneâs got to remind you boys what real shoes look like.â
The edges of his mouth curve upwards, pondering if heâs impressed or amused by your bite. Secretly, you hope itâs both.Â
âSugar, those things are a workplace hazard. Youâre tellinâ me you can run in âem?â Under the dim lights, his eyes twinkle, setting your chest ablaze with something other than the burn of whiskey.Â
âI donât need to run anywhere. Iâm a New Yorker. We walk at a fast pace in 7-inch heels.â Youâre not well-versed in the whole flirting thing, but this has to be what itâs like⌠right?
That gets a real laugh out of him, head tipping back, and you feel an absurd little spike of pride at having caused that sound.Â
âThat so?â He moves from behind you, leans an elbow against the bar, angling his body toward you. He travels in languid movements, like heâs got nowhere else on earth to be. âAnd here I thought you Yankees just had bad manners and worse weather.â
 âWeâre not rude,â you scoff. âWeâre blunt. Honest. Thereâs a difference.â
He takes a step closer, and the scent of him encroaches, your brain turning fuzzy. âMm. Didnât realize those were the same thing.â
âCousins. Close enough.â You shouldnât have downed that drink. Now you really need another, because youâre certain you wonât make it out of this conversation in one piece.
âThen let me ask you somethinâ, since youâre so honest.â His eyes flicker to your parted lips before jumping back to your eyes.Â
âGo ahead.â
The music comes to a halt, and Carrie Underwoodâs voice blasts through the speakers. Youâve never really liked her music all that much, but her misplaced pep talk might be exactly the kind of bad influence you need.
His head tilts in your direction. âYou ever met a Southern boy before me?â
âCanât say I have.â
âSo you must not have heard âbout Southern charm, sugar. Thatâs supposed to be our whole thing down here.â His eyes dare you, jaw twitching with glee at the way you press your thighs together.
âIâve heard that.â Carelessly, you shrug. âHavenât seen much evidence of it yet.â
âKeep talkinâ like that and I might have to prove it to you,â he says, voice only a little mocking.Â
Your body canât help but lean in his direction, like sunflowers facing the light on a warm summerâs day. âIâd like to see you try, cowboy.â
âMm.â The man hums, studies you for another moment. Then, he straightens and reaches for the brim of his hat. âWell. Where are my manners?â
He pulls the hat off his head, revealing disheveled chestnut hair thatâs longer than you anticipated. You want to run your hands through it, know what it feels like to tug on the locks. The gesture is almost comically formal against the backdrop of the bar, but on him, it doesnât look like a joke at all. He reaches for your hand. His palm is warm, calloused, swallowing yours whole. âJungkook.â His eyes donât dare leave your face. âAnd who do I got the pleasure of speakinâ to?â
A shuddering breath escapes you, legs clenching.Â
â[Y/N],â you stumble over your words, trying to find your voice.Â
âPretty name for a pretty girl. Must be my lucky night,â he grins, and you have to wonder if he says that to every girl who isnât from here. You stick out like a sore thumb in this bar, but how his eyes track your every movement suggests he doesnât mind one bit.
âWhatâre you drinkinâ, sugar?â he asks, nodding toward your empty glass. Oh. That. You had almost forgotten it was there, lonely and sad.Â
âWhiskey.â
His eyebrows lift, mouth curving into disbelief. âYou sure about that? You donât seem like a whiskey girl to me.â
Heâs right, which only makes it worse. Turning to the bar, he lifts two fingers. âStace. You mind makinâ one of those strawberry margaritas for our city girl here?â
Staceyâs already grinning cheek-to-cheek before she even gets close, eyes flicking between the two of you. âAbsolutely.â
While Stacey works, you take the opportunity to look at him properly without the panic of being caught. Heâs tall, like most cowboys that are written in romance novels. His chest looks like it could double as a wall. A very nice wall you wouldnât mind being pressed against.Â
Stacey slides the margarita across the bar, sugar-rimmed and flamingo pink. âHere you go, hon.â
âAdd it to my tab,â Jungkook says, not bothering to glance over.
âOf course, Kook.â She tosses you another friendly wink, and the swell of confidence bubbles up inside you.
He nudges the glass another inch toward you with two fingers. Itâs a little dominant, something youâre not normally used to. But you follow the order, taking a sip. Itâs exactly what you wanted. Cold, candied, the tequila barely whispering under the sugar, and you have to stop yourself from outright moaning at the bar.
âSo why you out here, sugar?â he asks, âDonât seem like a bar for a girl like you.â Jungkook places his hat atop his head again, and youâre almost devastated to see his hair go.Â
You set the glass down, lick a stray grain of sugar off your bottom lip. His eyes stalk the movement. âI live here now. I work downtown.â
His gaze doesnât move from your mouth fast enough. âLike a corporate job?â
âIndeed.â As you speak, you notice his pupils are blown so wide thereâs hardly any brown left. He hasnât moved his eyes from your lips. âAnd Iâm assuming you ride horses?â
He barks out a laugh, loud enough that a couple heads turn near the pool table. âA little more than that.â His finger points off toward the back of the bar, toward a broad-shouldered man laughing with the group by the pool table. âThatâs Namjoon. Owns a ranch a few miles out. I handle his shit. Yâknow, paperwork, horses, bulls, all of it.â
âSo youâre a rancher.â You toy with the straw in your glass, and you canât miss the way he seems entranced by every move you make.Â
âIâm a lotta things.â His tongue runs over his bottom lip. âRancherâs one of âem.â
âWhat are the others?âÂ
Thereâs something lingering in the air. New city, new boy, new life. Youâre back to square one, the bottom of the societal food chain. You get to forge your own path here in Austin. For one nightâand maybe other nightsâyou get to be someone else.Â
âDepends whoâs askinâ.â
âI am,â you retort coolly.Â
âThen I guess youâll find out,â he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear âEventually.â
The bar noise fades around you, Carrie Underwoodâs righteous fury bleeding into another tune, until itâs just the two of you and a few inches of space neither of you seem all that interested in closing yet. âHmm,â you hum. âHorses and bulls sound dangerous.â
He chuckles. âKnowinâ how to handle somethinâ wild is mostly about knowinâ when to be gentle and when not to be.â
âIs that supposed to be a metaphor?âÂ
âCould be." He shrugs. âBut also, I just really like my job, sugar.â
âAs do I,â You take another sip, making a point to pucker your lips around the straw.Â
Jungkookâs gaze is different, far more scandalous than any other man youâve been with. It almost feels dirty when his eyes scan your face. âFigured someone like youâd be home by now. What is this, your first night out since you got here?â
It is, in fact, your first night out since you got here, and youâd rather die than confirm it.
âI wanted to immerse myself in the culture,â you say instead, lying through your teeth with admirable conviction. âItâs one of my greatest fantasies, actually. Cowgirls, horses, the whole lot of âem.â
âOh really?â he smirks. Youâre distracted by the strand of hair flopping from beneath his hat, and you wonder if the curtain matches the drapes. âHow âbout cowboys?â
âIâm still gathering data on them.â You tap the rim of your glass thoughtfully. âField research, if you will.â
His knee brushes against yours as he leans in. The man has never heard of personal space. âI would love to hear your findings.âÂ
âWell, actually, I think I need to run a few final experiments.â
âLike what?â He tuts, fingers migrating from the bartop to your pant-covered thigh. They linger, not pressing down harshly. âHumor me, sugar.â
A burst of confidence rushes through you. You get one chance, and you really, really, really donât want to make the same mistakes again. Reaching up, you pluck the hat right off his head.Â
Itâs heavier than you expect, but soft in your grasp. Warm, like itâs been sitting against him long enough to steal some of his body heat for itself. You settle it on your own head, tipping it back so it doesnât slide down over your eyes. You must look ridiculous, blazer and silk blouse under a cowboy hat thatâs seen ranch work.
But how heâs looking at you, you might as well be wearing nothing at all.
Jungkookâs jaw goes taut, gaze darkens, and the fingers placed on your thigh flex before relaxing.Â
âWell, sugar.â His voice drops several octaves, and the whole bar spins on its axis until you nearly topple over. âIf youâre gonna wear my hat, you know what they say?â
Your response is no louder than a whisper. âWhat?â
Smirking, he leans in until his breath ghosts your ear.Â
âWear the hat, ride the cowboy.â
Oh god.Â
Your eyes flicker down to his lips, then his captivating eyes, and he follows suit. If he really wanted to, he could probably kiss you right now, could take you right on the bartop and youâd let him. The sugar from the margarita and the whiskey swirls in your stomach, mixing with butterflies you havenât felt in years. There are moles scattered across his face, a few near his lip and some under his cheek, and you think that you could connect them into a constellation if you had a pen and several more drinks.
But then he steps back, and tips two fingers toward the brim of the hat thatâs no longer on his head.
âIâll see you âround, sugar.â
He strolls off toward his friends, and you blink into the void, hat heftier on your head than when you first put it on.Â
God help you, you really want that ride.Â
Frankly, this is the most desperate thing youâve ever done.Â
Thatâs really saying something, considering one time, you sprinted after a situationship four blocks down Fifth Avenue in four inch heels, caught your foot on a crack in the sidewalk, and introduced your face to the concrete in front of a hot dog stand. Or, thereâs also the time you showed up to a first date a week early, realized halfway through appetizers that something felt off, checked your phone, and had to sit alone with a bread basket before leaving.Â
All of that pales in comparison when you realize youâre sitting at the same bar, in your corporate outfit, awaiting a man who you may never lay eyes on again.Â
You take a nervous sip of your strawberry margarita, the periphery of your eyes doing more work than usual. Coyoteâs is quieter tonight, a few stragglers nursing drinks at tables, and playing something slow on the jukebox. No pool game in the back, no men in cowboy hats, no broad shoulders filling out a black button-down.Â
Youâve probably made a colossal mistake.Â
âNeed a refill on the marg?â Stacey circles back after tending to some older men at the end of the bar, brows raised.
âNah, Iâm okay,â you sigh. âThanks though.â
Slowly, Stacey looks around the bar, stares at the drunk men at the end of the bar, and decides youâre more worth her time. She places both elbows on the bartop and leans in. âYou lookinâ for someone special, hon?âÂ
âNo!â you yelp, practically leaping out of your stool in dissent. âAbsolutely not. I justâdonât even know anyone here. I just like the margaritas.â
âUhu,â Stacey nods, something in her eyes twinkling.Â
âI really do. You make a mean marg.â
âSure you do,â she toothily grins. Her eyes pan over your outfit, a similar vibe to the one you wore yesterday to work. Today, youâre wearing a silk blouse and a pencil skirt that jugs your curves. âYou know, most people take their work clothes off before they come out for a drink.â
âWell, I came straight from the office.â You square your shoulders, puff out your chest as though you have something to prove.Â
âTwo nights in a row?â
âIâm testing out the bars in the city,â you quip.Â
âMhm.â She doesnât believe a single word coming out of your mouth, and sheâs not even trying to hide it. âWhat is it you do, exactly?â
âMarketing director. I just started.â You take a sip of your cocktail to bide time as Stacey widens her eyes in shock.Â
âNo kidding.â Her eyebrows lift. âWhat brought you all the way out to Austin? You donât exactly scream Texas, no offense.â
âNone taken,â you giggle. Youâre not entirely sure how your silk blouse and skirt could come off as anything but condescending, uppity New Yorker. âBelieve it or not, an ex-boyfriend who doesnât know how to keep his dick in his pants.â
Staceyâs pupils blow up, and she throws her head back to cackle, loud enough that one of the older men down the bar glances over. âOh, honey,â she says, reaching for the cocktail shaker without seeming to realize sheâs doing it. âYouâre gonna have to give me more than that.â
âWell,â you swallow, exhale a shaky breath. And then you say, keeping your eyes on nothing but your near-empty glass, âMy boyfriend of three years was always upset I was busy at work. He said I cared too much about it, but not about him. I thought I was doing a good job at dividing my time equally⌠but I guess not. Found him in bed with a girl on a Wednesday night in our apartment we shared.â
Your mouth is so dry your tongue sticks to the roof. Retelling the story allows you to replay the night like a horror movie film outtake reel. And everytime, you ask yourself, how could you be so stupid? So naive? So nonchalant?
Stacey slides a fresh margarita across the bar. âPlease tell me you at least threw something.â
âNope. Just stood in the doorway, said his name, turned around and left.â Even now, itâs as clear as day; you marched out, heart drumming in your chest as you fled down the stairs of your building, not even bothering to listen if he even said your name or chased after you. It didnât matter either way, because he never once tried to beg for you back.
He let you go.Â
âMen,â Stacey snorts, shaking her head. âWouldnât know a good thing if it slapped them âround the head.â
âMen,â you agree.
Sometimes, you canât help but blame yourself, and wonder if itâs less about men, and more about your inability to care about anything but your career growth.Â
âYou know what your problem is?â she says, pointing at you. "Youâve been datin' the wrong kind of man. All that New York finance guy, blazer-wearing, artisanal-coffee-drinking bullshit. What you need is a little Southern charm.â
âOh really?â You have to hide the smile that threatens to bloom on your face.Â
âIâm just sayinâ what the people are thinkinâ.âÂ
âNo one, especially me, is thinking that.â Except you are. More precisely, of one that loaned you his hat and never claimed it back.Â
âItâs what Iâm thinking," she says, wiping down the bar. "You ever even dated someone who works with their hands? Outdoors?â
You open your mouth to argue and realize you don't have a rebuttal for that. Every man youâve ever dated has had some stuffy job, like finance or law, which is somehow the most depressing thing thatâs popped into your head all week.Â
âI just need to get back on my feet,â you say instead. âNew city, new job, new start. Iâm not looking for anything.â
âSure, sure.â She rolls her eyes. âIâll pretend I believe ya.â
You slump forward on the bar. âI just need to focus on myself for a while. Get settled. Figure out what I actually want without someone elseâs opinion clouding everything.â
âHealthy, but youâre no fun,â she pouts, flinging the rag over her shoulder. âLook hun, your ex sounds like a real piece of shit. But you deserve way better than that.â
âYeah,â you swallow past the lump in your throat. âIâm starting to think so too.â
Stacey wipes her hands on the towel over her shoulder, turning back to you. âA fresh start in Austin, Texas. You picked a hell of a place for it.â
âYeahâŚâ Your eyes avert around the shoddy bar. You try not to make eye contact with the coyote head. âItâs a lot.â
âYouâll love it. Give it a month.â
âYou think?â
âElla Langley didnât write Choosinâ Texas âbout us just for shits n giggles,â she chuckles. âPeople come here thinking itâs temporary and then they wake up one day and theyâve got boots and a favorite two-step song.â
A shiver runs down your spine. âGood god.â
âThatâs just Texas, hon.â
You laugh, and she looks awfully pleased with herself. The two men down the bar gesture her over, and her eyes flick over your shoulder before a small smile tugs at the corner of her lips.Â
âSouthern charm might be closer than you think,â she murmurs, and then saunters off to her customers.Â
Shaking your head, you take a sip of the margarita, and you swear itâs stronger than your last. Stacey clearly plans on fucking you over.Â
âDidnât think lightning struck the same place twice. Guess I was wrong, sugar.â
The hair on the back of your neck stands tall. Anxiety and desire blend in your stomach until the two become indecipherable.Â
The sip of your margarita stalls its path down your throat, making a home, and an embarrassing croak exits your mouth. Your eyes water, one hand firmly placed on the bar, looking like one of those warning ads for choking customers.
A strong hand lands between your shoulder blades. Pats once, twice, with an ease that makes your heart rate kick up a notch.Â
âEasy there. Barâs not the place to go out.â You can hear the sarcasm in his tone, the smirk thatâs probably curled upon his pink lips.Â
âIâm fine,â you wheeze.Â
âUhu.â He takes the stools beside you, coming into plain view. You;re not sure what you expected him to look like this evening, but somehow, he looks even more delectable than last time. Heâs sporting a new cowboy hat, a black one with white detailing that matches his jeans and top. Once he settles, he signals to Stacey for a drink with two fingers. âSurprised this place didnât scare ya away after the first time.â
You square your shoulders, wiping the final tears from your eyes. âNew Yorkers are resilient.â
âHmm,â he mindlessly hums, letting his eyes drag up and down your figure, a clear assessment that has your thighs clenching to hide the arousal pooling in your panties. âNice to see you again, by the way.â
Thereâs a smudge of something on his forearm, below the edge of his tattoos. Dirt, maybe, or grease. You wonder if he came straight from work, or errands, or whatever it is Jungkook does with his day besides looking like a wet dream.Â
âIs corporate attire all you own, sugar?â He tosses bills on the table as Stacey slides a cold beer toward him. You do your best to ignore her pointed smirk.Â
âAre boots and hats all you wear?â you retort.Â
He laughs and leans an elbow on the bar, angling toward you the same way he had last time, almost as if his body naturally points in your direction. As you gaze into his brown irises, you canât stop thinking, canât slow the waterfall of thoughts gliding down your brain. Youâre not from here, donât dress like anyone in this bar, donât know the words to a single song on that jukebox, and canât two-step to save your life. There are women in this city right now who are objectively better suited for him. Your brain implodes trying to understand his interest in you.Â
âCan I ask you something?â you say.
âGo âhead.â He takes a swig of his beer, lips shiny from the liquid.
âWhy are you over here?âÂ
He deadpans. âCome again?â
âI meanâŚâ Vaguely, you gesture around the room, at the bar thatâs filling up with women laughing near the jukebox. âYou could be anywhere in this bar right now. Talking to anyone. So why are you sitting here talking to me?â
A flash of expressions shift across his face. âYou think youâre not worth talking to?â
âNever said that.â
âImplied it,â he grins. He pauses, traces the condensation on his beer bottle. âMaybe Iâm intrigued.â
A feeble laugh escapes you, but he doesnât mirror the action. Oh. Heâs not joking. âFor the record, I donât know how to ride a horse.â
He snorts, shaking his head. âYouâre real terrible. Donât know why I bother.â
âI am serious. I have no plans on learning either.â
He holds your gaze for a moment. âNever asked you to get on one, sugar.â His eyes rake over your face as if heâs searching for more, and finally, he pushes on, voice steady. âIâm over here because I wanted to be. That a problem?â
Itâs an offer as much as it is an out. If you told him it was a problem, youâre certain heâd leave you alone, never talk to you again. But you really, really donât want that.Â
âNot at all.â
Jungkook nods in finality and takes a pull of his bar. Silence follows, but itâs not uncomfortable.Â
âCan I ask you something now?â he says.
âFairâs fair.â
âYou donât got someone back in New York, right?âÂ
âNo,â you sigh. âNot anymore, at least.â
His eyebrows scrunch together. âHe let you go?â
âKind of.â You donât really feel like elaborating, and he lets it go, but you donât miss the way his jaw clenches, there and gone in a breath.Â
âHis loss.â
âWhat about you?â you wonder. âYouâve got to have someone, or something.â
âAinât got a girl,â he shrugs. His body slants toward you so that your knees brush. Your cheeks warm at the contact, but he doesnât move away.Â
âNo?â Your margarita is watered down and vile now, but you take a sip anyway.Â
âRanch takes up most of my time. Sun up to sundown, most days. Not a lot of room left over for much else.â
âDoesnât that get lonely?â you ask.Â
He considers it, tilts the neck of his beer bottle between two fingers. âSometimes⌠but itâs a good life. I donât need a lot. Just the ranch and the right company, every now and then.â
His pupils are blown so wide you canât spot any brown in them. Heâs staring at your parted lips. âI could probably settle for the right girl. A good girl. Smart, funny, prettiest in the damn room.â
You think heâs talking about you. He must be. It might be wishful thinking, but just maybe, just this timeâŚ
âThatâs a very specific type,â you retort.Â
âGettinâ more specific by the minute.â With that, he takes a swig of his beer, eyes never leaving yours.Â
You pick up your own drink, taking a long sip that burns your esophagus. âStacey made this too strong,â you awkwardly laugh. It feels like someone turned the temperature up on the thermostat by ten degrees, shut all the fans off.Â
âStace always does,â Jungkook shrugs.Â
When he sets his beer down, you can calculate how little space exists between his stool and you. Mere centimeters divide the two of you, and you can soak up his scent, a woodsy musk. âIf youâre up for it, Iâd love to show you the ranch sometime. Horses get real excited around pretty girls. Scoutâs honor.â He holds up two fingers.Â
âYou were a boy scout?â you laugh.Â
âThree weeks in the 4th grade. Got kicked out for letting the ponies loose at the state fair though,â he shrugs. âIn my defense, they looked very unhappy.â
He watches, mystified, as you laugh again. âI donât know if the ranch is for me.â
âItâs just horse, open land, some fresh air. Nothing like what youâre used to, Iâd imagine.â
âExactly,â you knowingly smile. âAll we have is smog, overpriced coffee, and tall buildings.â
âCanât have that.â Disapprovingly, he shakes his head. âCome out to the ranch. Iâll make you coffee that costs nothing and tastes better than anything youâve had in your life.â
âBold claim, cowboy,â you tease.Â
âThink you can tell I always get what I want, sugar,â he retorts. You open your mouth to reply with something witty, but a tingle, pins and needles, lands on your thigh, and when you look down you see Jungkookâs veiny hand resting. Fingers splayed wide, palm radiating heat through the thin fabric of your slacks.
âHow many horses do you have on the ranch?â Your voice has gone airy.Â
âSeven right about now. We lost one last spring, and Joon took it hard.â His hand doesnât waver. Instead, his thumb moves, carelessly tracing patterns on your pants.Â
âIâm sorry for your loss,â you mumble, staring daggers into how large his hand is compared to the rest of you.Â
âItâs the nature of it. You get attached. Hard not to.â
âDo youâŚ?â you pause, swallow thickly until your tone gets warbly. âGet attached?â
The double entendre isnât lost on him. âI do.â
You are going to need Stacey to pour a glass of ice water directly over your head. His thumb traces another path up the inside of your thigh. Your mouth dries up like the Sahara desert in late August.Â
You want to be someone who leans into this. Want to be the girl from night one, the one with liquid courage and reckless new-city energy. You want to tilt toward him and let whatever this is become whatever it wants to be. But underneath it, a quieter voice resides within you.Â
The one that remembers thinking everything was fine right up until it wasnât.
âI donât know if Iâm..â you start, then press your lips together. He taps your thigh twice, urging you on. âIâm not sure Iâm ready to be attached yet.â
Automatically, your body is bracing for impact, like heâll toss you on the side of the road for something shiner, something ready.Â
But Jungookâs expression does not falter. He finishes the last of his beer and sets the bottle down, rising from the stool to his full height. âWhen youâre ready, sugar,â he reaches out, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, âyou know where to find me.â
For most, life isnât sunshine and rainbows.
And itâs not like one wakes up and the color has drained from everything overnight. Itâs small increments, tiny ones, that add up, and theyâre unrecognizable until you canât remember the last time you did something for yourself. You used to believe in love the way meteorologists believed in weatherâinevitable acts of nature that happened to everyone sooner than later, in its own time, in its own particular way. You believed that people who found each other meant to find each other.Â
But just like weather, the clouds part and things unravel in messy ways. The couple in your freshman dorm who were so in love you deemed it aggressive, who broke up over Thanksgiving and couldnât look at each other in the dining hall after. Your college roommate, whose boyfriend of four years sat her down on a Sunday morning and said I just don't think Iâm in love with you anymore. She sat very still for a long time after she told you, and you thought I will never let that be me.
But then it was you, it was your own demented heart, it was your own boyfriend who cheated on you, and you suddenly didnât know which ordinary Tuesday was the last good one.Â
You still donât know if there was a last good one at all.Â
âYou gonna liquidate my bar tonight, hon?âÂ
Staceyâs shrill voice cuts through your train of thought, and you blink back into the bar. The neon sign flickers above the bar, and the usual horny men sitting down the bar tip their hats at you. A shudder of disgust travels through you. Sheâs leaning on the bar in front of you, brow arched, nodding at the margarita youâve been nursing for the better part of an hour, contemplating the nuances of life.Â
âPerhaps.â
She refills your water glass without asking and props her chin in her hand. âYou know damn well not to do all that thinkinâ round my bar. Tell me whatâs wrong, I might be able to help.â
âNothingâs wrong,â you sigh, playing with the straw wrapper. You slump against the bar, the fatigue of your mind raving catching up to you.Â
âI ainât Sherlock but I can tell somethingâs up, sweetie.â
You could deny it one more time, but you think Stacey will dropkick you out of the bar and leave you without any more alcoholic beverages.Â
For a week, youâve avoided this very bar. Thus, you havenât run into Jungkook in a week. It was on purpose, simply because you couldnât give him the hope that you were ready by running into him again. But bars that you felt comfortable being alone at were far and few between, and you knew Stacey would be waiting for you.Â
Itâs been seven days of you daydreaming of walking into this bar and scanning the back corner by the pool table before youâve even found a stool, of telling yourself youâre not looking while very obviously looking, and telling him youâre ready for whatever he wants to offer. And at the very least, give it a shot.Â
One week feels longer than it should for a man youâve spoken to twice. You donât know his middle name. You don't know his family lore or his favorite pair of boots or whether heâs ever read a book for pleasure or what he sounds like when heâs just had a bad day.Â
But you do know one thing: he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, like he was ready to lean over the bar and devour you whole.Â
No oneâs looked at you like that in a long time.Â
âFine,â Stacey squints her eyes into evil little slits. âIf you wonât talk I will. Youâve looked at that door eleven times since you sat down, and Iâve got a fresh margarita with your name on it, and sometimes thinkinâ about nothing looks a whole lot like thinkinâ about something⌠or someone.â
A massive gulp of your margarita slithers down your throat. Then another, and another, until you set it down and peer at Stacey with drunk goggles. Her jaw is set in a no-nonsense way, and you recognize how sheâs only ever seen you at your most pathetic across this bartop.
Whatâs one more time to add to the tally?
âAm I stupid for not hooking up with Jungkook?â
Staceyâs face remains stone cold. She reaches for the tequila. Itâs not your usual brand, a more expensive one you havenât touched since New York.
âThe thing is, I wanted to.â Stacey should really file a restraining order against you for sharing your deepest, darkest thoughts with her under the influence of one very strong margarita. âI really wanted to. Heâs very attractive. And heâs not how I expected him to be, like a bimbo cowboy.â
Stacey says nothing. Continues making the margarita, pouring strawberry puree into the shaker.Â
âAnd itâs not even, itâs not like Iâm opposed to it. I am a grown woman. I know how sex works. Iâve had one night stands before, and theyâve generally been fine, sometimes better than fine, and Jungkook looks like he would be better than fine, which is part of the problem too.â
Her hair flips wildly as she mixes the shaker behind her shoulder. You barrel on, âI don't know if Iâm actually not ready or if Iâm just scared, and I donât know how to tell the difference anymore between self-preservation and self-sabotage. Daniel made me feel like an idiot.â
You prop your chin in your palm. âWas it my body? My personality? Was it the way I talked too much at dinner parties or the fact that I canât fall asleep without the TV on or just, like, was I boring? Was I just boring to him? Am I even hot?â
A glass filled with pink liquid slams in front of you, dropping with a decisive thunk, sugar on the rim.Â
âDrink.â
Your nose scrunches up in disgust as the smell of tequila wafts into your nostrils. Stacey rolls her eyes, smacking your arm playfully, and you fold under zero pressure.Â
âSweetheart, even in that god-awful collared shirt, I can see youâve got a hell of a body on you. I would throw you down on that pool table and find out for myself if I swung that way,â she nonchalantly shrugs, and it takes all your might not to spit out your drink.Â
âStacey,â you scold.Â
âNuh-uh,â she tuts, âYouâre stunning, darlinâ. You are not the problem. You were never the problem. The problem is a man who ainât know what he had and traded it in for a girl whoâs probably not even half of you. Thatâs his cross to bear, not yours.â
When you sip the margarita, the tart taste of strawberries floods your tastebuds. Stacey has ruined every margarita you will ever have anywhere else for the rest of your natural life.
She raises an eyebrow. âWhat are you scared of with Jungkook, specifically? Olâ Kook has been around the block, but he ainât dangerous.â
âWell⌠Iâm more scared that itâll be good.â
It even sounds ridiculous leaving your mouth. You know itâs idiotic to place all of your emotional baggage on a cowboy who wants to fuck you.Â
âIâm scared itâll be good. That heâll be⌠that itâll be good, and Iâll want more of it, and wanting more of it means having something to lose again, and I just,â you stifle a humorless laugh. âI just got here. I just put my furniture in an apartment Iâve never lived in, in a city I donât know yet, in a state I didnât grow up in.â
Stacey purses her lips in the way your mom usually does when you know youâre being irrational. âIâve worked at this bar for nine years. Iâve watched a lot of people sit on that stool and talk themselves out of things, and not one of them has ever come back and said Iâm so glad I stayed scared.â
âWhatever.â You wave your hand in the air dismissively. âI donât even know why Iâm getting all worked up over this. He probably doesnât even think about me. Probably just another girl on his list to bother when heâs drunk.â
Stacey deadpans, expression souring. âAre you out of your goddamn mind?â
âUh, I donât think so.â Although, after two of her strong margaritas, you might be.Â
Her dish rag comes flying across the bartop, smacking you straight in the arm, leaving a vibrating pain in your arm. âOuch!---â
She flings it again, leaving another welt on your skin. âStacey, what the fuckââ
One more on the other arm to even the score out. âAlright, enough with the smacking, Iâm a customerââ
âYouâre my charity case and youâll take what you can get.â She tucks the rag back into her apron. âThat man has come into this bar every single night for the past week lookinâ for you, only to take one look around, find me instead, and leave lookinâ like somebody canceled Christmas. Iâm insulted.â
Before you can even roll your eyes, the rag comes flying out of her pocket once more, aimed at your arm.Â
âI said enoughââ
âThen donât roll your eyes at me.â
âI didnât evenââ
âKook doesnât care about girls,â Stacey continues. âNever has. Heâs got his ranch and his boys and thatâs the full extent of his social calendar. He doesnât go out of his way to chase people.â
Then, as almost an afterthought, she adds, âI ainât never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you in those little work outfits.â
Under wishful thinking and margarita-induced delusion, you have been trying to ignore the truth of her words. Even as you think about that first night when you met him, you remember it as the most natural thing in the world. Neither of you seemed to be searching for anything other than a drink in the bar. But of all the connections people make in this world, you two stumbled upon each other.
Jungkook couldâve kissed you that night, you think. You probably wouldâve let him. But then he let you have the out, left you sitting there with his hat on your head, the hat that sits on your windowsill now as a reminder of your almost.Â
Staceyâs expression resembles compassion, eyes softening as she watches the gears turn in your head. âCan I tell you something without you waving your hand at me again?â
âProbably not, but go ahead.â
âHe did ask me about you the other day,â she says. âAsked if Iâd seen you and if you were doing alright. Last night, you two just missed each other. He sat right where youâre sitting now for twenty minutes nursing one beer before he gave up and left. Kook nurses a beer for nobody.â
âHe doesnât even know me,â you snort, gathering the condensation of your watered-down drink.Â
âHe knows what kind of drink you like. For some men, thatâs further along than most.â
And thatâs a lot more than you plan on giving to anyone else but him.Â
âStacey, can I ask you something else?â
ââCourse, darlinâ. Anything for you.â
You know what to do. Itâs as clear as the sun after a summer storm.Â
âWhat do cowgirls wear?â
Oh god.Â
Oh god.Â
Who knew cowboy boots were this tight around the calves? The white fabric digs into your skin, leaving imprints youâre sure will never erase. The hem of your ridiculously short denim shorts rise up your ass, practically digging into your thong. Before you left your apartment, you made a promise to yourselfâone youâre very close to breakingâthat you wonât pull those shorts down.Â
This get-up canât possibly be comfortable, but never mind what you think. Itâs not about you or your outfit choices tonight.Â
This was not what you had in mind when you asked Stacey what cowgirls wear. What you had in mind was something tasteful. What Stacey had couriered to your apartment via her cousin Deanna, who runs a boutique off Fifth Street, was a white lace top cropped to somewhere just above your navel, distressed denim shorts, and boots the color of fresh cream that zip up the side and are currently engaged in warfare with your calves and ankles.
You felt like a prize cow up for auction. A very well-dressed prize cow, but one nonetheless.Â
You swing the door open to Coyoteâs. Itâs rowdier on a Friday night. The place is packed shoulder to shoulder, girls in outfits like yours and boys in their finest everything, hats and buckles and boots, the jukebox fighting to be heard over the noise of two dozen conversations happening at once. You push your way through the packed space, fighting your way to the bar where Stacey and her counterpart are furiously making drinks.Â
God, these shorts are really tight up your ass.
Her hair whips around as she tries to tend to five people at once. You donât dare try to get her attention on a busy night like this. But as if she can sense your presence, she turns around, and the shaker nearly flies out of her hand. âGood god almighty.â Her eyes grow to the size of saucers, then lets out a whistle that anyone can hear above the music. âAtta girl!â
She slaps the counter with one palm, then grabs her colleague by the sleeve without looking at him. âPete. Pete, turn âround.â
The aforementioned man turns around, mimicking Staceyâs expression. âWell. Welcome to Texas, maâam.â
You smile politely. âThank you, Pete.â
âTold ya,â Stacey squeals, reaching for the tequila, pointing at you like sheâs won first place at an arcade. âTold you. Did I not tell you?â
âYou told me.â
âWhatâd I tell ya?â
Your brows furrow, racking your brain as you try to remember words, which for your sake, were many. âThat I had a hell of a body and youâd throw me down on the pool tableââ
âNo!â she rolls her eyes. âThat youâd clean up nice,âÂ
She shoots Pete a look that makes him stop ogling your tits and find the other end of the bar very interesting. She starts on your margarita, and you settle onto your stool and try not to let your eyes do the thing they want to do, which is scan the back corner by the pool table.
Three older men are nursing beers at the far end, next to a couple sharing a basket of fries. A row of women line the jukebox, scanning the room in hopes of finding their cowboy for the night. Somehow, you relate to them now more than ever.Â
âAinât no way a pretty girl like you is all alone tonight.â
A manâs voice appears behind your left shoulder⌠and itâs completely and utterly the wrong fucking voice. Not the right timbre, or warmth, or scent underneath it that makes you want to lean into it.Â
Said man sidles up beside you, and you peer up at him. All things considered, heâs not unattractive. Brown hair, good jaw, a Miller Lite in one hand and a handsome smile thatâs probably worked on most people. He tips his hat and leans against the bar. âColin,â he offers.
âNice to meet you. [Y/N].â You give him your hand to shake, and he does so politely.Â
âYou new âround here?â His flirting is more than apparent.Â
âThat obvious?â
âLittle bit.â He grins. In a life where you hadnât spent the last two weeks being dismantled by a man with a lip ring and a ranch, you might have smiled back with intention. âCan I get you a drink?â
âSheâs got one.â
Stacey slams the margarita down on the bartop with enough force to make the sugar on the rim jump, and looks at Colin with an implacable expression. âMove it Colin. This oneâs Kookâs girl.â
Colinâs hands defensively come up, the universal gesture of a man who knows what hills are and are not worth dying on. âMy bad. Have a good night, maâam.â
âSorry about her,â you call after his retreat. Colin was perfectly nice and none of this is his fault.
âDonât you dare apologize to him,â Stacey scolds. âYouâll be fending âem off all night with that outfit. I hope you prepared.â
You gaze down at yourself, and a flicker of doubt moves through you. âI donât look dumb, do I? Be honest. I can handle it.â
âSweetheart, the only person in this bar whoâs gonna think you look dumb is you.â
Of their own accord, your eyes drift around the bar again.Â
Stacey takes the time to add, âAnd Jungkook, is definitely not going to think you look dumb.â
You fight the urge to roll your eyes for the nth time since youâve met her.Â
âMove along,â Stacey says, turning back to her next customer, waving you off with the dish rag, âGo on. Iâve got work to do.â
âI havenât seen you care about a work since the day I met youââ
âScram, kid.â
You peel your hand off the bar like a kid being dropped off on the first day of school, a pit of reluctance settling in your stomach.Â
Almost immediately, the attention begins. A few men tip their hats at you, while another does a double take while aggressively elbowing his friend in the ribs. Someone lets out a low whistle that you feel in your spine, and you nod politely, keep moving.Â
Itâs profoundly strange. Sure, you can recognize youâre a pretty girl. But in New York, you were invisible, which is to say completely unless someone wanted something from you. Here, people look at you like youâre someone they want to be near, no matter what they can get from you. You just wish it was one specific person doing the looking.
Migrating towards the back, you push through clusters of people, squeezing through gaps in the crowd. The women are less forgiving than the men. Some eye your outfit, then look away in disgust.Â
Eventually, you find a sliver of wall near the back and stand near it, not on it, margarita held tight to your chest. From here, you can see the layout of the bar. The dance floor, the jukebox, bodies packed between you and the exit. Groups of men cluster together like men do at bars.Â
âKook! Over here, man!â
Your eyes find the source before your brain catches up. A blonde, fit man weasels through the crowd, waving down the one person youâve been hoping to see.Â
Thereâs no slow motion, no cinematic lighting change, no romantic song swelling up from the jukebox at the precise moment. People around him part without noticing theyâre doing it, a gap opening up like the bar itself is making room for Jungkookâs grand entrance.Â
Your stomach drops through the floor. Butterflies that you want to convince yourself are just anxiety or tequila detonate all at once, wings beating against your ribs so feverishly you press your hand flat to your chest to hold it all in.
This is stupid, you think. This is so stupid. Heâs just a man.
He reaches his friend, and you can see him under the dim lights. Jungkookâs in a black jean jacket, wife beater underneath, black hat adorned on top of his head. Heâs smiling, saying something, unaware of you pressed against this wall.
Two women near the jukebox drop their voices, heads together as they giggle. A girl in red boots nudges her friend while eyeing him.Â
Fuck. You hadnât once stopped to think about all the competition you might have.Â
You wonder how many girls heâs offered a ride, or to see his ranch.Â
His eyes move across the bar, and on instinct, your spine straightens. He seems to scan the bar, eyes moving through the crowd. Past the jukebox, the dance floor, past the bar.
And then, after what feels like eons, his eyes land on you.Â
The noise of the bar goes fuzzy around the edges, heart leaping into your throat as you hold his gaze. His eyes drag down the length of your body, pausing at the sliver of your waist. He continues on, past the shorts and down to the boots that hug your feet. From meters away, you watch his jaw set and gaze darken.Â
Jungkook tips his hat, and you raise your glass.Â
Turning to the friend beside him, he whispers something brief into his ear. The friend turns to look at you then swivels back to Jungkook to shove him in your direction.Â
Electricity lights behind your sternum and radiates outward, down your arms, into your fingertips where theyâre wrapped around the cold glass, and you think Carrie Underwood was right. Those damn cowboy casanovas.Â
He moves through the crowd in your direction, eyes unwavering from yours. His musky, tree-like scent hits you first. Up close, the black jean jacket sits across his broad shoulders. His lips are curled into a sinister smirk that would scare you if you didnât find him unbelievably attractive.Â
âHowdy, cowboy,â you grin up at him.Â
Jungkook cocks his head. His hand comes out, two nimble fingers catching the hem of your lace top. Your heart leaps clean out of your chest and goes somewhere it canât be retrieved from. âThis all for me, sugar?â
âDonât get too cocky.â
The corner of his mouth lifts. âIâll try not to.â He doesnât bother pretending heâs not ogling you.Â
âTrying to get in touch with my Texan roots, yâknow?â you joke, playing with the straw in what you hope is flirtatiously.
âYeah? Câmon then.â He holds his hand out, chin tilting up. âGive me a twirl, sugar.â
With a smile, you place your hand in his and turn, jutting your hip out. You rotate under the light and when you come back to face him, his eyes have darkened enough that you can hardly see the brown in them.Â
He politely whistles, still holding your hand but bringing it down. âWell. If I knew Texas was gonna do that to a city girl, Iâd have started recruitinâ from New York a long time ago.â
âYou scouting for others?â
âNever,â he chuckles. He braces one hand against the wall beside your head. âYou know, Iâve had a cowgirl fantasy or two as well.â
âHave you?â
âMhm. Used to think it was about the boots." His eyes drop to your shorts, the way your hips hug the fabric. âThink I mightâve been wrong about that.â
âWhatâs it about then?â
âThe girl wearing âem.â
âScoutâs honor?â you tease, and the smile that curls upon his lips sets your insides on fire.Â
âAlways,â he salutes. âI was getting worried I wouldnât see you âround here no more.âÂ
From here, you can really see the height difference between you two, the way he towers over you. âI wouldnât leave without saying goodbye.â
âIs this a goodbye, sugar? Donât break my heart,â he says, voice rumbling in his chest.Â
Involuntarily, you grin. âI wanted to make sure when I came back here, I knew what I wanted.â
For a moment, heâs quiet, expression shifting. His fingers are still intertwined with yours, and his thumb rubs circles on your knuckles. âAnd now what do you want?â
âHi, Kook.â
Itâs one of the girls you spotted earlier. Sheâs batting her eyes like sheâs got a speck of dust in it, and is eyeing Jungkook in a way that makes her intention crystal clear.Â
âHey.â Jungkook glances at her for a second, maybe two, before his gaze is back on you.Â
âI wanted to come over and say hi. Know itâs been a while since we last saw each other,â she purrs, ignoring your daggered eyes.Â
âI guess,â he shrugs, a protective finger looping through the belt holes in your shorts to pull you an inch further into him. Suddenly, you feel painfully inadequate. Sheâs actually trying to dissuade him to pick her instead of you.Â
âRemember when we spent that night under the stars last month? Just you, I, and a bottle of Jackââ
She shifts her weight onto her other foot, and she casts a furtive glance at you as if to question your presence. Youâre questioning your existence right about now too.Â
âHm.â He interrupts, tucks a strand of your hair behind your ears. âDoesnât ring a bell.â
Her lips twist as though sheâs just bit into a lemon. Then she sends a harrowing look in your direction, and youâre reminded that youâre the reason he wonât give her the time of day. You donât really give a shit, though.Â
âOh. Alright, then. Have a good rest of your night.â Her tone is tinged with hurt as she turns on the heel of her boots and flocks back to her group of girls, all of whom are busy throwing dirty looks at you.Â
Jungkook nods, but he doesnât pay much mind. His dark eyes are still fixed on your face, thumb still looped through the hole.Â
âThat wasnât very nice,â you say into your drink.Â
âYou want me to be nice to her?â he coyly smiles.Â
You think youâd rather lose all your limbs in a fire.Â
You shrug in silence. Jungkook tilts your jaw up to meet his eyes. âYou were about to say something before.â
âWas I?â
âBefore we were interrupted,â he retorts, settling his hand in your jean pocket.Â
âOh.â Finding the words doesnât come easy, even if you know exactly what you want to say. Instead, you settle on, âDid you drive here?â
ââCourse, sugar.â
âWell⌠you wanna get out of here?âÂ
Amusement crosses his face. âDamn right I do.â
He plants a warm hand at the small of your back, guiding you toward the door. You drop your half-drunken margarita on a nearby table. As you let yourself be steered by him, thereâs a smug smile glued to your face, especially when you catch the eyes and whispers of girls. Thereâs something about this city, this man, that makes you confident in yourself.Â
Jungkook parked his car in the back of the filled lot. From there, the noise dissipates into nothingness, nothing but the sound of bugs chirping and cars in the distance on I-40. Out here, you can forget about your old life.Â
âEarlier, you asked what I wanted.â
âI did, sugar.â Heâs loitering with his keys in his pocket, a smirk evident on his lips as he leans against the driverâs door of his pickup truck.Â
You gnaw at your lower lip. âI think I want to repay my debts to you.â
âReally?â In the dark of the night, you can hardly make out his obsidian eyes, the shadows on his face settling. âHow do ya plan on doing that?â
âThink I owe you that ride still.â
His lips come crashing down onto yours, large hands weaving into your hair, tugging on it. You unabashedly moan into his mouth as he tugs you further into him, like he wants you to live in his skin. Your hand lands on his chest, and you feel the broad muscle under his tank, the rapid flutter of his heart. His tongue licks into your mouth, sloppy and full of desire, and you donât even care about how your whimpers sound against him. Itâs all so sudden your body takes a moment to find its rhythm, but when you do, you realize how soft his lips are, how such a good fucking kisser he is. You probably shouldnât have expected anything less from the Austin's communal mattress, but thatâs neither here nor there.Â
The hand once pressed against your back wanders down, down until heâs cupping your ass firmly. He kneads the skin, and he groans into your mouth, lips hot and wet against your own. Austin, Texas is known for its sweltering heat, but with Jungkookâs body against yours, the brisk, night air canât even cool you down.Â
His lips trail off your lips, pressing against your cheek, and you feel the cold metal of his piercing against your burning skin. âYou look so pretty in this outfit, sugar.â
Your body combusts under his weight and words. His tongue slides back into your mouth, hand moving from your ass to your neck where he gently clutches around it. âWore it for you,â you whisper between kisses.Â
âHm.â he pecks your lips once more. âI was hoping so. Must be real lucky to be the first cowboy to have you.â
âAnd the last,â you say before leaning back in for another messy kiss, drunk off the way he tastes, more than any alcohol could ever give you.Â
His hands come down to cradle the back of your thighs, and before you can protest, heâs lifting you, pressing your back against the door of his truck. Gasping, your hands scramble for purchase around his neck, thighs snugly hugging his waist. Jungkookâs lips press against your neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses wherever he can. You want all of him, more of him, by any means you can get it. Your fingers entangle in his dark locks, tugging at the nape. He groans, âF-fuck, we need to get in the car, sugar.â
âMhm, take me there, then,â Your smile is dopey as he carries you around to the passenger side, opening the door and sitting down so he can plop you directly onto his lap. His thighs are firm muscle beneath you. He slams the door shut, lips finding yours once more. Your knees cage him in, and he digs his fingers into your flesh. You can hardly keep up with the movement of his tongue, canât really do anything but open your mouth and take whatever he gives you.Â
For once, you donât care about anyone seeing you, or what anyone might think. Luckily, the lot is empty, save for people who are far more worried about entering the bar than leaving, or whatever youâre doing in this vehicle.Â
âLift your hips up for me, doll,â he mutters, lips hardly breaking from yours, fingers deftly unbuttoning your shorts. You do as he says, allowing him access. He slides your shorts down your legs, depositing them on the floor of his truck. Your knees feel like jelly, quivering with anticipation as he tugs your underwear off next. Desperately, you fall back into his lap, clit pressed against his jeans for as much friction as possible.Â
Beneath you, you can feel his hard length poking through his jeans, and your cheeks warm up at the thought of him getting hard from just some kissing. You gently test the waters, hips rolling into his crotch. He grunts, hands steadying your movements. âFuck, sugar, I wonât last long if you plan on doing that.â
âWho says I want you to last long?â you whisper, lips tracing the shell of his ear. And then heâs grabbing you by your jaw and pulling you in, in, in, kissing you like he wants to swallow your essence entirely. He pulls the straps of your top down until your tits pop out. You gasp at the sudden exposure, cold air causing your nipples to perk up. His fingers come to play with the pert bud, and you whimper atop him.Â
âMost perfect tits Iâve ever seen, sugar.â He trails open-mouthed kisses down your neck to your collarbone, tongue licking a path down to your breasts. His lips wrap around your perked nipple, and a choked moan escapes you.Â
Your fingers intertwine in his hair, tugging, and that elicits a groan from him. His tongue flicks the nipple up, down, and your back arches against the dashboard. You tug at his hair as he messily sucks your tits, leaving bruises youâre sure will last weeks. Jungkookâs hips rut into your sopping entrance hopelessly, and his length pokes into your inner thigh. Youâre pretty sure youâre creaming all over his pants, not that he even minds. On every hitch of his hips forward, his teeth grazes your nipple, undoing you.Â
Truth be told, youâve been soaked since the moment you laid eyes on him. Since the moment you saw the hat upon his head, muscles bulging out of everything he owns. You push his jean jacket off his shoulders, seeing the tattoo that extends across his biceps and collarbone, a myriad of color.Â
Finally, he peers up at you, swollen lips and blown pupils. You waste no time in pressing your lips to his again. He can probably taste the remaining sugar from your margarita on your tongue, and if anything, the thought seems to excite him, the thought that other parts of you may be sweet as well. Gripping onto his biceps, you can feel the veins that trace up his arms. A whine exits from the back of your throat. âJungkook, touch me.â
âHm, where, sugar? Use your words.â He presses a chaste kiss to the edge of your lips.Â
Words arenât something you can muster, so you take his hand and place it against your clit, right where he can feel how fucking soaked you are, dripping onto his jeans. âShit,â he curses, swallowing thickly. âYouâre dripping. You been like this the whole time?â
Eagerly, you nod like a broken bobblehead.Â
One finger dips between your folds, gathering your essence before taking it back to his mouth and licking it clean off. âJust as sweet as I imagined.â
Thereâs no air left in your lungs to form words with, no brainpower beyond the feeling of wanting more, more, more. His finger finds your clit, and you throw your head back, moaning loudly that youâre damn near certain the entirety of Texas heard you. Toothily, Jungkook grins, pointer and middle finger rubbing circles against your clit. His tongue comes to lick a trail up your neck, sucking the sweet spot behind your ear. Itâs like he has a map to you, knows exactly where to touch you to have you writhing.Â
A finger slides through your wetness before finally pushing into your entrance, down to his knuckle. Your fingernails rake down his biceps, leaving red marks in its place. He fucks the finger steadily in and out, thumbing at your clit simultaneously. âNghâfuck, donât stop,â you moan, grinding into his finger. Just one isnât enough, you know it wonât be, need to feel him fill you up.Â
âP-please,â you beg, although youâre not quite sure what youâre begging for. But he seems to understand, pushing a second finger inside you, curling upwards to your sweet spot. Your body jolts forward, nails now digging crescent moons into his skin. âOh fuck, feels so good.â
âCanât wait to be inside you,â he groans. âYour pussyâs so tight and warm. Gonna be a dream to fuck you, sugar.â
âM-me either.â You shiver, and on autopilot, your shaky fingers come to undo his belt buckle, unzipping his jeans. âPlease fuck me, Kook. I want it. Want to feel you inside me.â
âYeah?â He presses open-mouthed kisses against your cheek and nose, âWant me to fuck you the way you deserve?â
A long, languid moan escapes you, anticipation leaping into your throat. âPlease. Please l-let me give you that ride.â
âIf you insist,â he devilishly smiles, pulling his fingers out of you, licking them clean once more. He pulls down his boxers as much as he can with you on top, gets out his cock, and hisses as he strokes himself a few times.Â
Shit. You shouldâve known he would be big, but heâs at least twice the size of your ex. Saliva pools in your mouth at how veiny and red his cock is. His hat hangs over his eyes as he looks down at his cock, chest heaving and bottom lip tucked underneath his teeth.Â
Itâs like a lightbulb flashes over your head, with an idea so sinister you almost canât believe you came up with it yourself.Â
You get your hands on the soft fabric of his hat, nudging it off his head and placing it on yours. Itâs a little too big, hangs over your eyes, but Jungkookâs jaw goes slack nonetheless. âYou gonna give me that ride while you wear my hat?â His cock twitches in his palm as he lazily strokes it, eyes never leaving yours.Â
âUhu,â you agree, replacing his hand with yours on his cock. Heâs girthier than you imagined, can hardly fit the whole of him in your palm. He quickly moves to kiss you again, and you take the opportunity to glide the tip of his cock through your folds, gathering the arousal thatâs pooled. You both moan in unison.Â
âFuck, donât tease me, sugar,â he grunts, eyes glazed over with lust.Â
Whimpering, you obey him, and his cock enters you in one go. Your walls stretch to accommodate him, and itâs a slow, torturous slide down, until your folds hit his pelvic bone. He sharply inhales, cursing as his head hits the headrest. Your legs tremble with how full of him you feel, how much of him bulges in your stomach when you look down. âFuck, Kook. Yâyouâre so big.â
Jungkookâs calloused hands run up and down your sides. His face is mostly hidden behind the shadows in his car, but you can make out his rosy lips and cheeks. âI know, baby, but you can take it. Go âhead and give me that ride you owe me.â
Slowly, you move up and down, only a mere inch at a time. Just enough to see the bulge inside your stomach move a tad. The hat slides further over your eyes as you gently move. He tips it back, cupping your cheek so he can see how fucked out you look already. âCâmon, use me, sugar. Show me how you ride dick.â
You nod in response, your cunt clenching around his length. Arousal drips down his cock onto his abdomen, and your head hits the ceiling as you use all your strength to bounce on his cock. Loud whines and curses fill the space, Jungkookâs mouth buried into your neck, hands coming to spread your ass cheeks so you can take him deeper. âYeah, thatâs it. Ride my fucking cock, sugar.âÂ
The sounds fog up the windowâyour pussy squelching with each thrust, the slap of his balls against your ass, his throaty groans.Â
âThese fucking tits. Wanna see them bounce in my face all the time,â he says, a hand coming up to slap your hardened nipples, and you moan. A trickle of sweat falls down your back, falling into the fabric that has now pooled around your waist. âYou doing good, sugar?â His voice is sinful, and your cunt clenches around him again.Â
âMhm. Your cock is so deep inside me.â Bouncing becomes more tiresome, thighs trembling with pent-up desire. Unfortunately, itâs not as easy to ride cock as one had hoped, but youâre determined to get you and him over the edge.Â
His hair is ruffled by your fingers as he trails a path of sloppy, wet kisses to the valley of your breasts. âYou look so fucking good with my hat on.â Even though the edge is tipping over your eyes again, he fondly peers at you, how utterly blissed out your expression looks, cheeks ruddy.Â
Somehow, he must feel the exhaustion creeping upon you, because he plants his boots onto the floor and bucks up into you, causing moans to elicit from you. âFuck, your pussyâs so tight nâ wet. Itâs like a fucking drug, sugar,â he croons into your neck.Â
His cock plunges in and out of you with more force. Jungkook wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you tight, tight, tight to his chest, tits bouncing against him. You hold onto the hat, leaning against the dashboard so he can hit your sweet spot, just where you want him. âOhâfuck, right there, Kook!â
His teeth drag against your skin, hips pistoning in and out. Puffs of breath escape his mouth and hit your skin. âIf you were mine, would never let ya go,â he babbles, clearly pussy drunk. âAinât never letting you get near another cowboy. Youâre all mine now, sugar.âÂ
Clearly, your body takes a liking to the buckets of filth heâs pouring in your ear, and your walls clench around his length, your imminent orgasm creeping up on you. âJungkook,â you whimper, and the pit in your stomach grows and grows, the knot almost coming undone as he continues hitting what you think might be your cervix.Â
You swear you feel him in your stomach as he says. âYou gonna cum? Gonna cum all over my cock? Make a mess of my truck?âÂ
âGonna cum, Kook. Please make me cum,â you chant, and then itâs a gush of wetness escaping you, back arching far enough that the hat falls onto the console, thighs trembling and jaw slack. Normally, youâd be embarrassed, but all you can think about is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, walls frantically clamping down on him as you ride out your orgasm.Â
âAre you gonna cum inside me?â Youâre sure you sound desperate when you ask, but he peers up at you with hooded eyes and responds, âIf thatâs what you want, sugar.â
It only takes a few more pumps of his hips to send him over the edge as well, hips stuttering, before groaning and emptying himself inside you. Slumping against his chest, his cock twitches, then softens inside you, and all that can be heard in the truck is the sound of you two struggling to catch your breath.Â
âHoly shit,â is all you can say.Â
His nails gently run down your spine, sending goosebumps blossoming across your skin. âGood ride?â he jokes, pressing kisses down the slope of your shoulder.Â
âTotally worth it.â
And you mean it, every ounce of it. Can see the sunshine and rainbows, the things you thought were once hidden behind dark clouds.Â
Just like you thought it would, it was good. Probably even better than that, probably impossible to find a word in the English dictionary to describe it. Enough so that maybe, youâll extend your year-long lease in Texas. Make it two, perhaps.Â
âJungkook?â
âHm, sugar?â
âCan you take me to the ranch?â
A chuckle reverberates through his chest, and you feel it everywhere his skin touches yours. âYeah, darlinâ. How âbout tomorrow?â
now hear me out chris and leon having a threesome with you and they take turns using you then ada breaks in through the window and it becomes a foursome then jill walks in and it becomes a fivesome and then sheva walks in 30 minutes later and it becomes a sixsome and they all get u pregnant with there sperm and strapons that have sperm come out of them and 9 months later u give birth and it comes out looking like a blob fish
wait cause hear me out again after you give birth to you and leons and chris and ada and jill and shevas baby it starts crying because its so lonely and wants a sibling so they all take turns stuffing you with their sperm one at a time while tye others are at the cuck chair watching and gooning to you getting ur coochie stretched out even more and 9 months pass by and you give birth to sextuplets so ur first child aka the blob fish lookin ahh is never lonely but it turns out the sextuplets are jay jake jungwon sunoo niki singhoon from the hit boy group ENHYPEN and the blob fish baby was actually evan this whole time so ur children are actually ENHYPEN and evan starts singing ride pr die and everyone starte crying from how beautfull it is then bts breaks ur house door and jungkook slaps you then starts kissing you
a/n: you hook up with leon a couple years after re4.
|2|
thinking about making this a series, idk, and have it end at re9??? lmk i guess. also holy shit, i haven't written in forever. not edited cause youngho.
now cross posted on ao3
Washington D.C
2006
The bed creaked and groaned. You were convinced scratches would embed in the finewood. However, there was hardly a care, not when your hair was pulled taut by rough, calloused hands. Your insides battered into you like an abused concubine.Â
"Fuckâ" Your jaw went slack.
Never in a million years could you imagine a stranger you'd stumbled into at the bar would be in your bed. Let aloneâunbelievably experienced and evidently thorough.
You swiped loose strands of hair out of your face, peered over your shoulder, and studied the stranger. The blonde pieces that framed his face, the scarred wound on his shoulder blade, and healed lacerations on his chest and arms.
Your brows creased.
There was curiosity about how he acquired these. A part of you wanted to latch onto his eyes and find the explanation within them. But his eyes were focused on the space between you bothâor lack thereof.
Leon.Â
He hadn't introduced the second part of his name.
Honestly, he hadn't introduced himself at all. Your drunken state had admittedly demanded a name, to which he responded with a sip of his beer and a soft chuckle behind it.Â
Cheeks flushed with embarrassment, you lustrously introduced yourself out of obligation, and Leon had followed your lead.Â
You tested it now, on your tongue.
Like a retort, Leon rasped and latched tighter onto your mane. The bend shot a sharp pain of arousal down your spine.Â
Despite the small shadow of a smirk, you remembered a serious glint in his eyes and body. He talked like something had worn him down, labored and intimidating. You noticed in the way he walked beside you to your apartmentâlike a man who had lived too much of life. Which was illogicalâ he looked young, late twenties at most, you considered.Â
There was something about him that you couldn't quite grasp.Â
"Wanna dance?"
You had pointed behind you to a group of women dancing between the stools. Leon squinted his eyes; the women had hooted in celebration. You raised your voice, "I said," Do you want to dance!"
His voice was resonant as he spoke. "Not much of a dancer." Leon took another drink.Â
"OkayâŚ" You rocked on your heels and glanced around the bar. You debated on taking this as a rejection and moving on. You blamed the alcohol for making you this bold in approaching a stranger. Your heels turned to walk away, and you gave the man another look over, and with liquid courage, you sauntered between his parted thighs.
Leon's hand instinctively latched onto your waist, and your own brushed against his outer thigh. His brows raised in surprise, but they settled as you brought your lips to the shell of your ear. The edge of his lip curled. "Or maybe..." You whispered, "...You should fuck me tonight instead?" You feigned innocence, letting your eyes search. Your other hand grazed his arm.Â
With a sound mind, this was entirely inappropriate. But the words had been spoken, and honestly, you were left deprived for these last few monthsânot that it was an excuse. But any womanâor person, for that matterâwould be damned stupid not to try their chance at Leon.
You tilted back to gauge his reaction. His lip was still curled in amusement.
Leon's eyes narrowed. He watched you carefully and adjusted himself in his seat. You noted the hand at your waist still lingered. He surveyed you as he swallowed the remainder of his glass. His tongue ran over his bottom lip, and he set the mug down with a clank.
Leon regarded you for a moment with the tilt of his chinâhis eyes roamed over you like he was removing your clothing piece by piece. He leaned back for a brief moment of thought.Â
You swallowed and let out a breath, you hadn't realized you'd been holding. Your top lifted as you did so, revealing a patch of soft skin.
Leon's thumb ran across it, soft and gentle. Your eyes locked, but this time, there was a hunger to his.
The memory faded now.Â
You were soberâmostlyâand properly sexed by now. You silently thank your drunken self for her recklessness. You let out a strangled cry. Leon met your hips with precision and strength. He fucked you senseless without a care. Your head bobbed back to its original position.
Leon was physically favored and well-endowed. You wondered if years of training had given him this stamina. If he fucked a stranger at a bar like this, you wondered how it would be if you were properly his. Your mind spun at the thought.
It was nearly too muchâthe humidity of sex, the sharp arc in your spine, the unforgiving rhythm of his hips mashing into yours.Â
He could discern it too. The way your form tried to pull away. How your mouth hung open in a soft 'o', eyes squeezed as waves of sensitivity drilled you.
But his hands would only tighten and drag you back onto him. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, the springs whining softly as his rhythm presumed. For a while, he didn't slow. "Hah, ahâdon't stop."
The pace stayed relentlessâeach motion had left your breath more ragged and uneven than the one before.
Though eventually, Leon would slow. He wouldn't let you both come undone that quickly.
He took his time and practiced revising his pelvis to elicit that sweet sound of your pleasures. He drew back slowly, exposing his length to the chilled air. Letting only the tip of his cock brush against your puckered rim. He teased you as he ran the head of his cock between your folds. You grew frustrated as Leon dipped himself back inside your heat. He played with you like some toy, or maybe you wereâyou didn't mind that either.
His absence left your body strangely hollow. You quickly missed how tightly he pressed against your inner walls, or the way he'd reach just enough to hit that bundle of nerves. Inpatient, you pushed back, letting your cunt swallow him inch by inch.Â
"Oh fuck," A low hiss slipped through his teeth. Low in his throat, he growled and allowed his eyes to snap shut. His bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, and he audibly groaned as he matched your intention and pressed forward.
You mewled out an intelligible mantra of yeses and belligerent expletives. The feeling of being full again had your mind spinning. Your head drooped in satisfaction as he met your hips again.
Leon savored your verbal cues as you both became one. Skin to skinâheat to heat. The hand tangled in your hair loosened, and your upper body collapsed forward. The sheets clung to your damp skin.Â
Leon's hand slid down your side. His fingers spread across your waist. When your hips began to sink, he coaxed them upwards again. He guided you back into position with an ease that made it clear he wasn't finished yet.
Your hands searched the mattress for balance. Arms began to tremble beneath. "I can't." You cried in between thrusts. There was that knowing twitch in your thighs. Your breaths became labored, even the feeling of him inside had become sensitive.Â
But Leon would only exhale, behind you, steady and composed. There was more force behind his thrusts now. Both hands held your hips in place. You could tell by how hard the headboard vibrated the wall and the way your breast rocked back and forth roughly.
You wondered if your neighbors could hear all of this. If they knew how intricately Leon was undoing youâpiece by piece.
Your core pulsed around him. There was that familiar coil again in your stomach.
Leon made no effort to hide the sounds leaving him now. Rough breaths slipped from his chest, quiet curses underneath. You felt intoxicated again, on the drug of his moans and soft ahsâthe way his breath grew louder in pitch with each thrust. Delirium overcame you, and your gasps and cries grew more clamant in volume.Â
His hips snapped one last time, and then he stilledâhis moan, rough and choked. You flexed around and milked every last drop.Â
You found yourself collapsing on the mattress. Empty and used. Leon crumpled beside you. You watched him lazily rustle the condom off and discard it in the trash pail. The room was quiet, the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the lull of both your breathing.
It was like this for a long moment and then another.
He sighed. "I should go."Â Leon began.
He sat up and began to grab his clothes from the bedside table. You still layâthoroughly fucked and complacent. You stared up at him and brought the thin sheets across your body.Â
You darted your tongue across your lips. "Okay."
You watched as he stepped into his jeans, and the scars littered across his torso disappeared as he put on his T-shirt. He began towards your door but stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
His voice hung low. "See you around."Â
You didn't have a chance to respond.
Leon had already left.
You lay there for a moment and massaged your templesâfor a long time, you wondered if you would ever learn the second half of his name.
a/n: leon is an eater. | also, changed the name cause im indecisive af. | edited.
If you noticed the year change from 2008 to 2006. mind you business pls i forgot how to do math lmfaoo
| 1 | now cross posted on ao3, I'll also be posting to ao3 first and then tumblr from now on.
2006
Winter
Six months had passed.Â
The weather in Washington had grown cool. Sidewalks rimed with ice and snow. There was an occasional snowman if the kids permitted.Â
You hadn't seen Leon since that night. There was never a run-in in the streets, the grocery store, or the bar where you had both met. Quickly, you learned to accept that Leon had become a distant memory. But still, the recollection would come to you. To which it'd leave you with flushed cheeks and wetness between your thighs.
You threw your head back.
Alcohol scorched the back of your throat. Your friends cheered you on as the brown liquor vanished from the glass. Tipping the glass fully, you gleamed a bright smile and wiped your lips with the back of your hand. You raised a finger. "I think," You mumbled and gulped down a burp. "We need more shots!"Â
Your friends practically howled like a wolf pack and shuffled away in laughter towards the bar.Â
"Hey Joel!" Your hand grabbed the bar first. Your balance wobbled, and your ankle rolledâyou thought it might be best to leverage both hands on the wood instead.
A scruffy older man waddled over to you. His beard was long and pointed. His emerald eyes were sharp and unkind, with hard wrinkles on the corners.Â
"Another round, kiddo?" His voice didn't match his appearance. Joel spoke softly; his personality was like that, too. He was protective of his patrons, especially of his girls.
"Yes, please!" You answered singly, then adjusted the hat on your head. It was a cone atop that sat askewâyou adjusted the clear string attached to it beneath your chin.
"Comin' right up."Â He tapped the bar and spun away.
Your eyes looked down at the glossy wood. You made strange faces at your warped reflection and stuck out your tongue, laughing at yourself.
There was a soft chuckle that came from your left. "Hey, stranger?"Â
The voice was gruff, calm, and collected. It oozed with grovel and sexual poise.Â
Your eyes wandered. Holy shit. The world stilled for a moment. "Leon?"Â
He hadn't changed at all, still handsome and strong. Arms nearly busting at the seams of his top. There was one change at least; his cheeks were more flushed, and his energy just seemed...lighter.
You cleared your throat. "H-How've you been?"Â
"Good." His eyes motioned to you and to your group. "Looks like you're havin' quite the night."
You grimaced. "God, you saw all of that?" You indicated to your makeshift crown and gave a crooked smile. "It's my birthday."Â
Leon brought a glass to his lips. "Yeah, I gathered that." There was an amused smile behind the goblet. "Happy birthday."
You blushed. "Thank you."Â
Leon licked his lips and swallowed a breath. "How old are you now?"
"Twenty-four." You mind thought for a moment, "Shit, how old are youâ?"
"Turned twenty-nine in July."Â
Your mind calmed. Then it began to swim again. "So, what brings you back to Washington?" You rocked on your heels, waiting patiently for an answer. It'd be a lie to say you weren't curious about why he'd been away so long. It was natural, you thought.
Joel had his back to you, and you wished he would take his time preparing the liquor.Â
"Work."
"PfftâWhat are you, a government spy or something?" You mumbled to yourself and rested your cheek in your hand. You meant it in jest.
"Heh." Leon let out a breath and downed a gulp of his booze. But there was a noticeable shift in Leon's expression. You caught it before he adjusted. Douly noted.
A woman danced towards you. Her skin was like dark chestnut. She had long, tight curls that flowed down her back and a radiant smile that blinded even the blind. "God, where are the shots?"Â She whined and wrapped her arms around your frame, rocking you back and forth as she sang along to the music.
Her eyes then coasted over to Leon. She took a moment, "Oh wow," Her eyes darted to you, then back to him. "Who is this beautiful Caucasian man?"Â
"Jesus-christ." You hung your head in embarrassment.
Leon raised his brows and chortled softly. Your friend stuck out her hand to him. Leon took it carefully, but was careful not to kiss it. You were watching after all.
"And you are?" She inquired, raising a playful brow.
You spoke for him. "This is Leon," you motioned to him. "And this is my best friend, Melanie."
Her jaw loosened. "This is Leon?" Her eyes grew bigger. "Like," She grinded herself onto your hips. "This leon?"
"âMel!" Your face scowled in abhor. She never quite had the dexterity for reading the room.
Melanie giggled and shifted to him. "Well, it's nice to meet you."
"Likewise". Leon shook her hand, and Melanie giggled like a schoolgirl.
"God, even his voice is hot," Melanie mumbled towards you. She misstepped between you and Leon; he braced to catch her, but Melanie drunkenly corrected her footing.
Your eyes caught one another, and you concealed a laugh behind your hand.
Joel luckily brought the shots at the same time.
Melanie greeted him sweetly, like she always did. "Thank you, baby!"Â Melanie took the tray and pointed her chin at Leon. "I'd offer you one, but it's a girls' night. But it was nice to meet you, again!"Â
She practically skipped away to your table. The others cheered when she set down the drinks on the table.
"She seems fun." Leon turned to you.
"Yeah, she is." You could see Melanie murmur something to the party. The girls were now watching you and whispering amongst themselves.
Leon gave them a short wave.
Quickly, they all diverted their attention to the ceilings and walls. They pretended to be interested in the bar's architecture. You giggled at them. "They're all amazing." You twisted to him again.Â
The conversation had run its course. "Well, I should probably goâŚ" Your words came out slow and labored. You didn't want to leave at all.
Leon nodded to himself in understanding.
"It was nice running into you again." You gave an awkward smile and began to walk away.Â
"Wait." Leon grabbed your hand. "Are you doing anything tonightâafter this?"
You shook your head. "The bar is our last stop."Â
His thumb rubbed the back of your hand. "Meet me before you leave." There was a soft demand behind it in his tone.
"O-Okay." You swallowed a smile, nodded, and pulled away. You ambled over to your friends and took a seat at the booth. When you raised your head, you caught Leon watching you. His legs parted, eyes roaming over you, fingers rubbing at his chin and jaw as he watched. He blinked and then smiled, bringing his beer to his lips. You watched as he drank, swalloing down a huff of arousal.
Leon's shoulder shook with a gentle laugh in his chest, his lip curled at the edge, he turned his back to you, and you grumbled at the familiar wetness between your legs.Â
There was a dull squelch between your thighs. A hand massaged your chest; Leon was still rough and calloused from what you last remembered. Golden strands entangle between your fingers. You gave his roots a gentle tug. You liked the way the tips of his hair tickled your skin.
He looked so perfect like this, between your thighsâfeasting on you. You took a mental image and let your head sink back onto the pillow.Â
Your hips involuntarily rolled, back arching slightly as Leon lapped at your juices. His hand dragged away from your breast and slid down to the side of your leg. His fingers pressed into the skin, drawing them further apart. He hummed to himself and glanced up from your cunt to allow himself a breath.Â
"Doin okay?"Â There was a shine to his lips and chinâthe tip of his nose. A thin string of saliva connected to his bottom lip and your swollen cunt. Your cheeks flushed as he placed a kiss on your inner thigh, leaving a patch of wetness.
"Mmhm."Â You brush his hair back from his forehead. The soft strands loosely fell back to their original place. "Never better."Â
Leon's right hand massaged you. "Good."Â He littered another kiss onto your thigh. "You taste good."Â
Your chest burned, and you breathed heavily in your diaphragm. Leon spoke so indifferently that it made you dizzy. "God, are you always this dirty?"Â
He chuckled, his breath dusting over your folds. "On occasions,"Â His hand stroked your sides, up to the curve of your waist, and back down to your thigh. "Especially on birthdays."Â He smirked and brought his mouth back to your center.Â
You gasped at the familiar aphendage, his tongue parting you. He flattened himself and licked slowly. Dragging up your clit in a slow, sensual stride. As he neared the top, he closed his lips around your bud, suckled and kissed you, and then repeated.Â
"Leon,"Â You muttered and let your back arch and let out a soft moan.
His tongue darted, flicked, and circled your heat. The sounds he made with his mouth were obscene, disgustingly slick and wet.
He sulked at your clit and let you go with a soft pop. He exhaled a drag as he came up for air. You could feel him pant against your core, the way Leon sucked a short breath and went back for more.
You breath hitched as a hand began to probe itself into you with two fingers. Leon's other hand kept your thigh parted.Â
The fingers were a welcome intrusion. You loved the way the pads of his fingertips stroked your inner walls, or how his length had that mouthwatering curve that reached deep within you and struck that spot right. You hummed in satisfaction as he had his way.
Leon ate upon you like it was his last meal, moaning roughly into your heat as his tongue and fingers operated in unison. When your pleasures grew in ocative, so did Leon's. It felt like he was egging you on to be louder for him, without articulating a word. He lapped at you again, rasping into your cunt, sending warm electric vibrations up your spine. Your mind became stymied, and your thighs naturally began to quiver and clamp down around his shoulders.
Though Leon wouldn't allow and didn't dare break, he shook his head 'no'ânose brushing against you as he did so, making you whimper. He removed his fingers and used both hands to spread your thighs apart, his fingers dimpling the skin. He replaced his mouth on your cunt, licking the underside of your clit, and flicking the small bud. He whimpered in arousal, flattening his tongue and sucking.
"Oh fuck,"Â You wept and massaged your chestâgripping his roots more tightly. The hold was enough to elicit a sharp hiss from Leon. You'd normally apologize, but the bliss he was stimulating out of you wasâ"Hah."Â Your head dug into the pillow as your back arched, you let out a strangled moan, and let your eyes roll behind your head.Â
Leon returned his fingers into you, pumping and sliding.Â
His hold felt more permanent this time.
"Leon," You let out a choked cry. He glanced up at you, mouth still at your center. You nearly came across the image. His sweaty fringeâstrands of it concealing his blue eyes. His lids lowered in need. He looked ungodly.
You ran your hand over his hair and watched it roll back and away from his face. "There we go."Â You whispered in a broken rush. You licked your lips. "I can see you now."Â
Leon raised his brows at that and returned to his meal.
You let your head plunge back and let Leon finish you as you came down from your high. He stroked your thighs as they shook.
You let a few puffs of air outâdesperately trying to regain breath. While Leon still worked below, lapping the last bit of your juices. Your bud became overly sensitive, and you attempted to pull away. Satisfied, Leon sat up and fit himself between your legs.
Your lids had grown lazy.
"Hi."Â You whispered.Â
Leon crawled atop you. "Hi."Â
"Hm,"Â You sighed.
Leon's hand came to your cheek, his thumb stroked the skin there as he studied your face. He brushed away loose strands of hair where they clung to your skin and then placed his strong hands on either of you.Â
His jeans were still on. You could feel him, how hard he was against you. Your cheeks burned at the feeling of the hardened bulge. He looked in thought as he continued to explore your face.
Then he requested something that surprised you.
"Can I kiss you?"Â There was honest curiosity behind it.
Which confounded you since he had just kissed you in a very different way mere moments ago. But it dawned on you that you hadn't kissed. The one-night stand you shared was more so, you came home, tossed him on the bed, and then intercourse ensued. Yet, you hadn't kissed, and you were thankful about it at the time because kissing felt more intimate. Even more than the act of sex itself.
Your hand touched his cheek gently, and you nodded. There was a softness to your voice. "Okay."Â
Leon observed you again and then gradually lowered himself. You felt his breath grace your lips before he kissed you. They were softer than you thought; you tasted yourself on them but didn't mind. He exhaled into your mouth and brought his hand to your chin. Your head tilted as tongues became involved.Â
You whimpered at the force. You'd break for a quick breath of air, and Leon was already crashing his lips back onto yours. Keen and starved.
Your hand at his cheek had rubbed at his neck, then to his chest, and down his torso. Leon's own hand had also begun to roam down your body. Fondling your breast, massaging the mound, and pinching at your perked nipple.
Your fingers felt every detail of the dips and curves that made up his sculpted physique. Your hand eventually settled on his zipper. You tugged at it. Dammit.
You broke away from the kiss with a soft smack, though Leon quickly followed and placed a chaste press of his lips onto yours before pulling away. When he leaned back, his lips were swollen and puffy. His gaze trailed downward between your thighs, where your hand sat annoyingly caught.Â
"Off."Â You let out a frustrated command. Since your fingers couldn't tug the zipper down, you opted to palm him with your hand instead.Â
Leon brought his gaze back to you, smirked, and kissed you again. "Who's dirty now?"
"Shut up."Â You return the kiss and press your lips back onto his. Unyielding and needy.
Leon obeyed, leaving open-mouth kisses on the corner of your lips and neck. His hand simultaneously worked between you both. He pulled at his zipper and grabbed himself. You grew impatient and grinded down onto his hand. "Wait,"Â He whispered your name and chuckled. "Wait."
You listen, but you sigh in protest.
Leon broke the kiss. "Condom."Â He said breathlessly and reached over to the nightstand.Â
You grabbed his arm and licked your lips. "You don't have to."Â Your eyes shyly glanced to the side. "I'm on the pill."
Leon took a moment. "Alright,"Â He re-slotted himself between your thighs. As he hovered, his eyes scoured again. His brow creased as he spoke, "Are you sure about this?"
"Mmhm," Your hand rubbed his shoulder and tricep. Honestly, you were done talking, but you offered a soft smile. "I want to feel you." It was a gentler response than what you had in mind.
Leon gave you one look over to be sure, then took your lips again. He nipped at your bottom lip with his teeth, and you let out an audible gasp. He beckoned your thighs apart with brutish hands. Experienced, Leon lined himself up as you kissed. You could feel the thick head of his cock part your lips and stroke against your entrance. Your stomach churned and flipped in anticipation.
Leon pressed forward, and you silently thank his work from between your thighs earlier. He worked you apart deliciously and slid inside without too much of a fight. Leon exhaled into the kiss, his lips apart, and his eyes closed shut. You smiled at him softly, opening your mouth to suck in his breathâworshiping the way your cunt had this effect on him.
Without the barrier of protection, you felt every vein, indent, curve, and the jerk of his cock as you clamped around. He was thicker than you remembered.Â
His hip met yours at the hiltâhis arm gave a gentle shake. "Fuck."Â His head hung over you. His eyes struggled to openâpanting, he tried to speak. "You're really tight."
He gave his hips a test roll. Instinctually, you clamped down on him and gasped. "Oh, fuck me." Leon mewled and let his head droop into the crook of your neck. His breath is hot on your skin.
He licked and nipped the skin. Your hand found its way into his hair, and you gave it an encouraging pull. "You feel amazing."
Your core swallowed him as his hips began to pull and push, thrusting into you. "Christ," You moaned as Leon fucked into you with fever.
The headboard thumped against the wall rhythmically. Your neighbors were going to grow exhausted of you, you were sure.
Leon's hand hiked up your left leg. The palm of his hand was holding the back of it in place. The new angle allowed him to reach you deeper, attacking your nerves over and over. You became a blubbering mess. Kissing him, rolling your hips to meet his, scratching long lines into his back.
The night stayed this way for a long time until Leon drew himself from within you and pumped his substance onto your stomach.Â
He'd ask you for a towel, and you'd lazily point to your bathroom. Drained and fucked out of your mind. He came back with a damp cloth to clean your skin, then cleaned himself.
"You should stay." You mumbled drunkenly from sex. You were on your side now, back to him. You felt the bed shift from Leon's weight on the other side.
You wished you had turned to gauge his reaction, but you couldn't bear the thought of the latter. So you denied yourself that. But to your surprise, you felt the bed dip and a strong arm pull you into his side. You felt the sheets pulled right below your chin.
You hummed and interlocked your hand with his across your waist.Â
There was a soft kiss placed on your hair. "Happy birthday,"Â Leon whispered.Â
And then the world went dark.Â
Beams of sunlight peered through your blinds. You groaned in protest and covered your eyes. Your body pivoted away, and that's where you felt the absence in your sheets.
Your eyes opened, and Leon was nowhere to be found. His clothes and shoes were off the floor.
You swallowed thickly. Your apartment was quiet, except for the steady murmur of the heater. There was a feeling in your gut; it felt like a glimmer of disappointment. Which was foolish, Leon was merely a stranger after all, the most you had spoken to him was last night. He didn't owe you anything, and neither did you.
You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and were about to get out of bed when something grabbed your attention. A crinkled receipt, like it'd been in a pocket for a day too long, lay on the nightstand. You picked it up and examined it. There were numbers written on the back in pen.
a/n: we're going into more slow-burning territory here on out. with some smut. This chapter is kinda long af, I went a little overboard with the world-building, but oh well. enjoy xoxo - eyeris
The bed gave one last protest beneath you. Leon pulled from between your thighs, dropping onto the mattress beside you with a cushioned thumpâa shared groan at the loss of connection.
His chest rose unevenly, breath still catching.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Simply listening to the quiet grumble of traffic and the soft patter of rain past your window. Your fingers ghosted the column of your throat and lips, then tangled weakly in your hair. The strands felt too warm and clung damply to your neck; you raised them, letting out a quiet breath as cool air finally touched the skin.
A thin layer of sweat coated both of you.
Strips of moonlight peering through your blinds, highlighting your frames in pale silver.Â
From the corner of your eye, you watched as Leon raked a hand through his hair, uneven pieces sticking upâmessy and mussed. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were still flushed.
Your head turned lazily toward him. However, he was already staring, curious and stoic.
The moment stretchedâquiet and suspendedâhalf-lidded eyes meeting yours with a kind of heaviness that wasn't just exhaustion. Your hand drifted to the space between you, tapping the damp sheets. A lazy grin painted your lips.
"...You can stay," you said, licking your lips. "If you...want?"Â
The offer sat briefly, though Leon didn't hesitate.
"Can't."
Harshness didn't bore his word; it was simplyâimmediate.
Still stung, though.
He pushed himself up, a sharp wince catching in his movement before quickly disguising it. He reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his watch. You watched the moonlight emphasize his chiseled statuette, his arms. The way the pale light daubed the ends of his hair.
Leon leaned back onto the bed, sitting up.
"Got work in an hour."
"The hellâŚâ You grumbled to yourself, reaching for your phone on the bedside table, squinting as you flipped the screen.Â
"Jesus⌠It's three-forty?"
You snapped the phone shut, shifted to match his posture, and pressed your back against the cool headboard. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes. Maybe it was the sex that brought on your delirium, or it may have very well been the absence of sleep. Probably both. When you looked up again, Leon was already watching.
His eyes darted away shyly the moment you noticed.
He cleared his throat with a flat cough.Â
Your brow raised at that, then you dug your palm into your eyes again and yawned. You sniffed and glanced over.
"So...what kind of job has you working at five in the morning, anyway?"
Leon let out a breath through his nose. "The kind that doesn't wait."
Your eyes raked himâslow, thoughtful, before you exhaled and let your head fall back. He watched you in returnâyour collarbones, the sheet barely covering you. His jaw shifted, teeth pressing into the inside of his cheek before he tipped his head back against the headboard, steadying his breathing.
The room grew quiet except for the steady hum of the heater and the soft voices from the television set next door.
You hummed softly, opening your eyes and turning your head towards him again.
"...Hey, can I ask you something?"
Leon met your eyes, then gave a soft nod.
You titled your head curiously. "What do you...do?"Â
He stilled. It was instant and brief, something most people wouldn't notice. But you had. Your lips pursed over to the side in thought.
"For work, I mean." You clarified, glancing pointedly toward him.Â
Leon tipped his head slightly, then let it fall back once again. There was a pause before he answered, voice low and measured.
"The government."
âHm.â You didn't find satisfaction in that answer; it was too clean, too vague.Â
You puffed air towards him. "Well, no shit."
There wasn't disbelief in your voice, because you had already guessed. It was either that, working in the military, or some fine line in between.
"But I mean, what do you do?"Â
A quiet huff left himâalmost a short laugh.Â
"Mostly the stuff nobody else wants to do," He said, eyes flickering to you.
"Reports, Paperwork, coffeeâif I'm lucky. That kind of thing."Â
You raised an incredulous brow.Â
"Is that a good enough answer for you?" He questioned.
You droned and shrugged lightly in thinking. "Can I be honest with you?â You leaned in.
You teased in a low whisper. âI think you're a really bad liar."Â
That got his attention.
Leon wrung his head fully toward you now. His expression softened, brows low, cerulean eyes searching yours. There was a small tug at the corner of his lip.
"Yeah?" He beckoned.
"Yeah." You stated back, confident, and mused.
A muffled chuckle slipped out of him.
"What are you? A detective?"
You laughed shortly. "Hm, I do love a good mystery."Â
The corner of his mouth tugged upward more. You smiled at yourself. Pleased that you could have the effect. Leon regarded you, then leaned forwardânot by much, but enough for you to smell hints of vanilla and musk. His fringe fell into his eyes as he peered through them and up at you.
For a moment, your heart skipped a beat.
"What exactly are you trying to get at?" He asked quietly; he was amused yet cautious. Perhaps even a bit paranoid.
"Nothing." You answered truthfully. "Just trying to get to know the stranger that I let in my bed every now and then."Â
Your cheeks blushed at the candid confession.
That pulled something closer than a laugh. You found the heat across Leon's cheeks returning, flushing his neck and chest.
He shook his head in disbelief at the joke. Â
"Thought we were doing just fine."
You hesitated, thinking. "...Listen, I don't want this to be..." You gestured vaguely between you, "like this."
Leon's chuckle caught in his throat. His brows knitted together, his expression softened, and his body still. His speech came out slow and unbending.
"...Then what do you want it to be?"
"I don't know. Something different," You admitted. "We can talk like how we are now, but more likeâ" The skin between his brows wrinkled, and your mind scrambled for the words.
Because frankly, what were you trying to say?
"âfriends." You say finally.
The words hung for a moment.
"...Friends that happen to benefit each other time to time." You said, hoping to sate the awkwardness.
Leon repeated it under his breath, like he was testing it, "friends."
Your cheeks burned. Somehow, in your sleepy state, you had properly friend-zoned yourself in the most fumbling manner possible.
"Yeah," You damned yourself for speaking so willingly. "Friends."Â
Leon lifted his head. "If that's what you want," and slowly nodded in agreement.
He looked to you. "Okay."
His smile was paper-thin, though, kind. That settled a painful sting in your chest. There was something off in the way he said it. Not wrongânecessarilyâbut like the word didn't quite fit right in his mouth.
"It's getting late..." He whispered.
"Right." You swallowed down the lump in your throat and watched as he sat up, legs lowering off the side of the bed.
Maybe the wording came off wrong, and you scared him away?
With his back turned to you, your eyes instinctively screwed shutâfingers curling into a balled fist. You silently screamed in agony. Stupid. Your fingers came to your temples and massaged the skin and muscle.
With a sigh, you reopened your eyes to Leon's back flexing. He rolled his shoulders and twisted to his side with a soft grunt.
The moonlight gave you more access to himâhighlighting him like a canvas. Splotches of pink and purple bruises like oil lacquer. Your gaze fluttered, shooting to his shoulder blade, down to the maroon bruises tracing his sides and the middle of his spine.
A quiet breath escaped from you. Paperwork couldn't have done that.
Your lips frowned as you studied the patches.Â
You wanted to kiss the skin, wrap your arms around him, and make him stay. There was an innate instinct within youâone who desired to shield him from any wrongdoing in this world.
Your view gets replaced as Leon climbs into his t-shirt.
But even then, right at the hem, you could see bruises dusting the flesh. Had you been so blind? You wondered if you had hurt him during itamacy, adding a wound to the field on his back.
You gnawed on your lip, unsure whether to speak or to let this go.
You watched carefully as he trudged on his pants. He dipped down to grab his jacket and lace his boots.
There was a soft churn in your abdomen, and you twisted towards your side of the bed. Reaching for your shirt, which had been discarded on the floor earlier.
When you put it on, you hear the soft sigh from Leon as he gathers the last of his things.Â
"I'll see you around," he said, looking at his watch. His hair was back to framing his face.
"Yeah," You agreed silently, not sure if he truly meant his words.
You faced him now, tucked your legs below your chin, arms loosely wrapped around them as you watched him.
Leon gave a final nod and swallowed once before turning toward the door.
"Hey, Leon..."
He paused.
One hand on the handle, but he hadn't opened it yet. He looked over his shoulder.
"If you ever need someone to talk to..."
You hesitatedâ
"...about work, I mean." You corrected. "I'm here. I'm sure it's stressful."Â Â
Leon didn't answer right away. He studied you for a moment, weighing your words.
"Yeah." He said, finally.
It sounded noncommital and a kind way of saying no; it made the pit of your stomach sink.
He opened the door, and then he was gone.
For how long, you wondered, and the thought of time made you nauseous. Silence quickly rushed in.
Nearly a year had passed since the last time you'd seen Leon.
You remembered that you had written sparse texts to one another; it wasn't anything relationship-worthy. Just seeing when the other was free for reconnection, until the texts eventually fizzled outâthen ceased altogether.Â
And if anything, it was you doing the reaching and Leon occasionally offering his time.
So much for friendship, you thought as you wiped a table with a damp rag. You spun it until it mirrored your reflection along the amber wood.Â
"How are we doing on table six, chops?" Your manager, Spike, came up from behind you.Â
You grumbled as you clutched your basket of cleaning supplies and moved along to the next table. You swiped a bead of sweat from your temple and applied cloth to wood. Spike followed.
"You know," You wiped hard. "I have a name spike."
You threw a look, and he threw back a bone of a glance.Â
You always wondered what it would be like to throw a punch at his face. Mangling his jaw and skewed nose, you swallowed and discarded the idea.
"But I like calling you chops?" He shrugged his shoulder as if it were an obvious thought.Â
"They're fine." You bit shorter than you intendedâor maybe you had.
You gestured towards the back of the restaurant, where the kitchen opening is. From where you stood, you could hear the distant clanks and clambers of pots and pans, the grill sizzling, and cooks talking as they prepared meals.
"I'm just waiting on Pete to finish re-making the steak."
Spike sucked his teeth and nibbled on the toothpick that hung nimbly from his bottom lip.
Spike was short for Spencer. He was tall, with greasy black hair and a straggly beard. Despite the grease, he was easy on the eye, but not to your personal taste. He was the owner's son, which meant he hadn't worked a day in his life and didn't understand the meaning of strenuous work.
Spike abused his ability as the de facto manager, which annoyed you most, as he considered himself superior to you.
He'd constantly make digs at you for being an undergrad at your current age, but he'd always forgotten the detail of when you took a gap year.
You currently have a jobâan internship that was under forty hours a week. But you took this diner opportunity less than eight months ago to cover the remaining rent expenses and make ends meet.
It was a temporary solution.
At least you considered your education; Spike was nearly in his mid-thirties and still spoke of high school glory days as his present ones.
You threw the rag in the basket. "Anything else I can help you with?"Â
Spike put a finger to his chin. "Yeah, could you actually help Mary's table? She's feeling a little under the weather."Â
You flexed your jaw just as Mary skipped past, but not before waving her fingers suggestively at Spike. Your brows creased into a scowl as his shoulders bounced with a soft laugh.
You shoved the bin into his chest.
"Ow!â"
"Sure thing," You pressed your lips into a fine line and ripped a notepad from your apron.
You approached one of Mary's tables. The one that had regulars George and Paul. You grimaced as you grew close.
These two had a reputation: robust, handsy, overly flirtatious, and it made your skin crawl every time they came. You had to play at their game to keep them at bay, which was a masterful line to play.
Spike would always say they brought good business and just needed to 'lower their booze intake'.
"Hey, boys, what can I get you started with today?" You spoke confidently, despite the effort dripping down your back and the roar of the late dinner rush.
Paul leaned back in the booth, grinning, and spoke for the two of them. He was slender from years of smoking, "Two drafts."Â
He wiggled two fingers in the air.
You nodded, pen poised. "Got an ID on you, Paul?"Â
He barked with laughter. Crooked teeth and all. "Aren't you a cutie?"
You didn't miss a beat. "Yeah, I get it from my dad."
George snorted at that. You balanced the pen between your fingers, your smile paper-thin now. "Anything else I can get you?"
George parted his legs, gave a quick skim of the menu, and then wandered towards your frame. His eyes wandered invasively, then settled on your face.
"Mm," He feigned a thought, then "on second thought, are you on the menu, darlin'?"
Your mouth twitched at the corner, hand wrapping around the pen tighter. George rasped into a fit of laughter, his face red and brown eyes blown wide and glassy. His stomach collided with the table as he laughed, and you swallowed thickly, trying to remain composed.
You loosened your jaw and shoulder; this job was a constant reminder to yourself that all was temporary.
"No, they took me off the menu a while back. Said it was tainted meat," you spoke dryly.
George laughed harder at that. His palm smacked the table as he wheezed.
"Well, let me give you some good meat, sugar. Put you back on." He patted his thigh.
Paul cackled from across him, loud and pungent with alcohol.
You were certain they went to the bar across the streetâthe very one you and Leon had met at on occasions.
You exhaled through your nose. "Had a lot to drink tonight, huh, George?"
"I'm just messing with you," George waved his hand dismissively. "We're all friends here."
"I'll get the drinks," you deadpanned and slotted the notepad in your apron and trudged over to the bar.
"Oh, come on," George called out as you walked away. "Don't get pissy on me now, sweetheart!"
Their cackling followed you to the bar. You pushed past one of the bartenders, grabbed two glasses, and began filling them to the rimâ golden liquid sloshing to the edge.
Spike rounded the corner and headed right to you.
"God, I just had to comp that lady's whole meal. Total bitch." He leaned against the counter, eyes anticipating your response. "Chops?"
"That's great, Spike." You didn't spare a look at him.
Just rolled your eyes, grabbed the beers, and quickly walked down an aisle until suddenly a hand reached out for you, latching onto your wrist. Â
A yelp slipped out of you, and one of the glasses went shattering to the floor. The dinner grew quieter as heads snapped towards you.
"Shit, sorry!" It was your customer from table six.
"Was just wondering where the steak was, sweetie." The man squeaked.
You let out a rough breath and tightened your jaw. "One moment."
You stepped over broken glass, beer already spreading stickily onto the floor. You placed the remaining drink in front of Paul. The restaurant was back to its volume again.
George snapped his eyes to you.
"You punishing me now, is that it?" He joked, though underlined with genuine vexation.
"I dropped one if you didn't notice."
"Oh, I noticed," George muttered under his breath.
"Just a moment." You turned sharply, weaving past broken glass and sticky beer and into the kitchen.
"Eyes on table six's steak?" you called to the kitchen.
"Up there," a cook pointed, and you quickly grabbed it.
"Fuckâ!"
You sprang your hand back, palm and the rims of your fingers a radiant red. You quickly ran your hand to the sink and snapped the faucet to cold âthe water doing little to ease the pain.
"âShit, sorry, it was hot. Here, let me," Pete gave you a dry hand towel. "Let me see."
He tried to pat your hand dry, but you tore away.
"I'm fine." You barked a little more harshly than you'd like.
"Just get a new one started, please."
Pete threw his hands in the air and backed away.
"Yes, ma'am." He muttered low and submissively.
Towel over hand, you walked over to the utility closet, grabbed a broom and dustpan. You passed through the kitchen doors and back into the main floor.
Spike intercepted, nose high in the air as he spoke low to you.
"You know you dropped a beer, right? There's like booze and glass everywhere."
"Well aware," you said, lifting the pan and broom. You brushed past.
Spike hummed in disapproval. "What if somebody stepped on it? Godâimagine the lawsuit. My dad would fuckin' choke."
"Spike. I'm about to clean itâ" You bit and went to sweep the glass. The beer had already left a sticky residue, and the lint off the broom was not assisting.
Spike mumbled something, but besides the adherent floor and noisy chatter, you hadn't heard or had the time to care. He drove to annoy someone else, elsewhere.
You lifted your head to table six as you cleaned the mess. "The steak will be out in a few more moments."
The man parted his lips to speak, but maybe it was the brewing anger etched on your face or the heat that showed in your neck and ears. His lips pulled back into a lineâhe knew better.
You scraped the floors, removed any glass debris, and mopped by hand with the hand towel. Your hand had grown two shades pinker at work. Deeming it finished, you tossed everything back into the closet, went back to the bar, and poured another draft beer.
Until finally you placed it on the table.
George sucked his teeth. "Took you long enough."
You look at the table and see two empty glasses. A sigh escaped you as you glanced over to Spike, leaning against the bar. His eyes darting away as you met his gaze. Intervening asshole.
You curled your lips inward and huffed.
"Sorry. Can I get you started with food?" You flipped your notepad to a new page.
George rolled his eyes at that. Paul, on the other hand, looked eager to eat.
"Single burger. Medium well, go easy on the onions. Everything else on it."
You scribbled on your pen pad, turning your attention to George, "And you?"
"Hm. Iâll do the steak dinner. Medium.â
âYour sides.â
George scoured the menu, then had a thought. "You know what, maybe you didn't hear me earlier," began George, leaning forward. "But I'd love ifâ"
"Jesus Christ, order or get out."
There was a baffled chuckle. "...Excuse me?"
"I said," You repeated more clearly, order or get the fuck out."
Silence flickered at the edges of the room.
You could hear your manager clear his throat from afar. Your eyes narrowed, and your skin was hot. You felt a familiar tremble of rage in your bones as your finger indicated towards the door. Fuck it.
"Out."
George inclined back in his seat, seemingly surprised. "You're a feisty one, aren't you?"
He eyed you as if you were sport.
You recoiled, "Alright, this conversation is over."
You gathered the menus and turned to walk away.
You felt the jolt first, then a stern smack to your hip.
Without even realizing what had happened, you teetered back and slapped George across the face. The smackâdistinct and loud, sending his face to the side, cheek rubicund like your scorched hand.
It wasn't until the fire blazing across the skin of your palm that everything connected.
Your finger trembled as you pointed to his face.
The diner was truly quiet now.
"Touch me again," You said, voice low and shaking, "and I'll fucking kill you." There was that familiar lump in your throat, and moisture at the corner of your eyes.
Then you turned and stomped to the back of the kitchen and shoved yourself into the employee restroom. You latched the door with shaky hands and crumbled into a dark corner on the floor, legs coming up to your chest. You tested your breathing, allowing your head to fall back as you hyperventilated.
A knock came. "Are you alright in there?"
Then another. "Come on out."
You stayed there for a few minutesâfrankly, you weren't sure.
Spike and other colleagues tried to convince you to leave, but you were bitter in your stance. Eventually, their voices had faded, and so did the sharp pain in your lungs.
You walked out after a while. Pete and others swiftly walked up to ask if you were okay as you ambled out, though you ushered them away with thankful nods and a hollow, "I'm fine."
"I kicked them out for the night, just so you know," Spike would say.
But your mind had become numb, and so had your ears. You grabbed your personal belongings and remembered him pithily saying,
"...But that still doesn't warrant slapping a customer in the face..."
And at that point, you had briefed Spencer to "go fuck yourself" and stumbled out into the evening air.
The night had grown cool.
You blamed yourself for not packing a jacket. Your arms folded in on themselves as you walked, hands slipping into your pockets every so often.
You strolled a short distance, not far from the restaurant and bar, passing the warm streetlights overhead. Your shadow followed along.
You sniffled as you walked further, then your feet hesitatedâone foot wavering before the other.
A breath caught in your throat as a figure appeared from the shadows. You looked to the other side of the streetâvacant.
Your eyes and ears scattered and searched; there was no one else around. You pivoted toward the curve, one foot landing on the asphalt. Better to be safe than sorry.
"Leaving, sweetheart?"
You whipped and stumbled back as Paul materialized in front of you. He looked sweaty, pit-stained, and drunkâsour with alcohol.
Your brow knitted in thought. Was Paul following you? The thinking made you sick.
"The hell do you want?" Your skin itched at the sight of him.
You clutched your purse closer to your shoulder, backing away, feet finding themselves returning to the sidewalk.
"We..." You twisted around to George, and a startled gasp escaped you. "...just want to talk."
His front pressed into you, and with a disgusted snarl, you sent yourself lurching to steady your feet.
You glanced back between the two of them. There was a premature thought that crossed your mind. The night was desolate. You were alone and surrounded by two drunken men.
A cruel realization crept in.
"Stay back," you muttered, your voice quiet but tighter.
George sucked his teeth. He raised his hands in defense, a rattle of laughter escaping his throat.
"I just wanna talk, that's all," he said softly and seized a step forward. His tone was more graciousâit felt false and put on. Sinister and threatening.
You backed away.
"Then fucking talk."
There was an unease in your gut, a nauseating one. It made the hair on the back of your neck stand.
George shook his head as he laughed, a bent finger pointed towards you. "You always had a mouth on you."
You sucked in strained breath, neck angled.
"Alright, you had your fun." You tried to add more bass to your voice.
"Just let me go." You licked your lips. "It's been a long night."
"Yeah." George agreed, then slowly brought a hand to his cheek. "It has."
There was an eyeful exchange between the pair. You took the chance to spear past, but George was quick to snatch you by the arms, his hold tight and unyieldingly.
"âLet go!" You hissed and separated yourself.
George pressed his tongue against his cheek. "You're ungrateful, you know that?"
Your chest rattled with fear.
"And you're drunk," you spat.
George closed his eyes and inhaled.
"I've got a sound mind."
You blinked at that.
You wondered if he could register the fear within them, or whether you had camouflaged it quickly enough.
George began to stroll around you. Your body quivered as you stood. Paul pressed himself against your backside, your neck flexing as his breath met the shell of your ear.
Your jaw clenched, face turned as George stood in front of you now, his breath reeking.
A shudder escaped you.
"You're a pretty little thing." George explored you with his eyes, then he looked past your shoulder. "Ain't she, P?"
Paul laughed behind you, troubled and sadistic. Your head jerked, cheek turning away from the putrid whiff.
"Please."
"You said somethin', sweetheart?" George mocked and lightly grazed the pads of his fingers along your waistline.
"I think she wants somethin', Paul. What 'd'ya think?"
That made Paul chuckle. âYeah.â
Your body stilled, then a shiver of dread coursed through your veins. Â
It became inflamed like pins and needles, biting your skin, turning your lips into trembling numbness. Like an alarm, your brain hollered for you to move as George's hand crept higher.
"Stop, please, justâ"
The hand pressed flatly into your skin.
Finally, a part of your brain acquired a signal, and you brought your knee between George's legs.
"Sonofabitch!" George blurted, staggering back, knees knocking together as he held the preciousness between his legs.
You gave Paul a forceful elbow back, but the move left you unbalanced, and you plunged to the wet floor. You scrambled to your knees, hands scraping the jagged asphalt. A grunt tumbled from your lips.
Paul was swift and barred onto your hair. He pulled you upright, swinging you into the alleyway.
Your back met the brick wall.
Air knocked out of your chest, you let out a disgruntled groan, clutching your abdomen and back. You nimbly tried to find your footing as nerve endings flashed. Your hand screamed as it scraped the harsh surfaces of the walls and floor. A hoarse cry fled your lips as Paul grabbed hold of your wrist and yanked your arm.
He pulled you towards the center of the alleyway. Hands struggling to hold you down.
"Let go of meâmotherfucker!" Your legs thrashed.
He used his knees to pin you.
A primal yell erupted from your throat, raw and taut. You scratched at his hands and arms, but found success on Paul's face.
His hands drew away.
"Bitch!" He roared, holding his cheek.
His fingers trembled as he pulled away, blotches of blood on the skin. Two lines of torn flesh on his cheek.
You cried again, trying to crawl away on your elbows. The ground was wet, and soaked into your clothes in patches. But Paul stapled you down again. You're back smashing into a puddle of water. His hand pinned harshly on your wrist as he hovered over you. You kicked and flailed, shouting into deaf ears.
"Hold her down, god dammit!" George spat as he trekked over.
Paul fought to keep you tacked; he bore his weight onto you, your back arching in discomfort at the added pressure.
"I'm tryin'," He dralwed. "Bitch is strong."
You screamed again, voice wrecked and tired. Your voice wasn't familiar anymore; it hurt to wail or even to utter a word. Your voice splintered as you spoke.
âStop, stopâlet goâplease!â" A cry tore out of you as you sobbed. Face red, neck tight as you pleaded. "You don't have to do thisâ"
George huffed through his nose as he stood over you, with yellow teeth and a snarl.
"I gave you so many chances," he spat. "So manyâ!â
Paul brought your hands above your head.
The backs of them painfully pinned against the asphalt. Your nose wept with snot, and you could taste saltish tears on your lips. You licked at them as Paul hovered over you, his eyes meeting yours.
An intrusive hand came down to your side, and you found yourself incapable of speaking coherently. Your legs stilled, the breath in your chest toiled. You froze in place, terrified you might shatter at the next inhale.
"Paul, you know me." You blurted out in a cry. "Please, I'm begging youâwait, wait, I'm sorry," Your eyes snapped to George. "I'm sorry!âOkay, just please don't do this, I'm begging you."
You watched as George shifted his attention towards the street. Your eyes flickered to it, but Paul's shoulder blocked the view.
ââŚThe fuck.â George whispered from above you, and it was that moment you could hear the thump of boots hustling over.
Then, like a shadow, Paul was picked up and hurled into the brick wall. He collided face-first, then fell back, splashing into a puddle. He groaned miserably, lifting his head from the water.
Then, without a second thought, a kick to his shoulder and back. Thundurous and loud, then again and again. You crawled away, distancing yourself.
You watched as the shadowâbroad shoulders, tall âlanded blow after blow on Paul. Fist meeting flesh, bone grinding on bone.
"Jesus Christ, you're gonna kill himâ" George cried out, rushing over to offer aid.
âHckâ" But the punch to his throat and diaphragm had him buckling over in pain.
You sat up, fixing the collar of your shirt, and crawled to the nearest wall, using the jagged brick to steady your balance.
Your eyes whipped from George then to the shadow before you, overcast by the dark shade of the night, shoulders squared, and fists rounded. The shadow turned his shoulder, then familiar blue eyes met yours.
"Leon?"Â Â
A hand came to your aid, beckoning you to stand. Leon put an arm around you and kept you behind him.
George wheezed as he quivered beside Pau's limp state.
"I don't want any trouble. I swear! I wasn't going to hurt the girl," George pleaded on his knees.
Your eyes slipped to Paul, then George, then to Leon.
Leon was looking at you now; his mouth moving, but there was a deep-rooted ringing in your ear. After a moment, you finally heard your name yelled.
"You okay?" Leon asked again.
Your voice was gravelly.
"Yeah." Your eyes ran frantically over the scene again, and your hands settled on your throat. "Yeah, I'm good."
"âI just wanted to teach her a lesson," George added. "That's all!"
Leon took an intimidating step forward, hands raw from wear and tear and streaked with Paul's blood. George cried into himself, hands coming protectively to his head. Standing off to the side, you could see Leon's face twitch with anger.
You quickly clasped his arm. He looked over his shoulder; you shook your head, tired and weak.
"Let's go." Your words came out strained. âLeon, please." You begged.
He exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening for a brief secondâthen gave a short nod.
"Class dismissed," he said, voice low and even as he glanced toward George.
The older man flinched under it, shrinking back without another word.
Leon didnât linger. His hand found your armâfirm, steadyâand guided you back onto the main sidewalk. Youâre not sure when he layered his coat over your shoulders. But it was there, warm, and carried his scent. You pulled the leather closer to you, fingers numbed as you held tightly. Leon's arm held it in place as he tucked you against his side, arm wrapped around your shoulder.
Your eyes kept low for most of the walk, trembling and shaking like a leaf. When you finally lifted your head, your brows lowered into a frown.
"We missed the turn...my apartment is that way." Your voice came out thinner than you implied.
Leon redirected your shoulders. "I know, I'm taking you to mine."
"Okay." You whispered. Mind numb and no fight to the matter.
You walked longer than you expected. Far enough that the streets started to blur together, unfamiliar buildings replacing anything you recognized.
Leon stopped at a door, unlocking it quickly. He stepped inside first, giving the place a quick once-over before motioning you in.
You followed, slower.
The apartment was dark. You let the door shut behind you with a dull thud.
Leon walked deeper into the home, flipped on a switch, and dropped his keys on the counter. Your feet hesitated to move, but you heeded.
"Take a seat wherever you like," he muttered.
"...Alright."
You pursed your lips and looked at his bar stools at the kitchen counter and the couch in his living room.
Leon strolled away down a hall; you could hear him rummaging through his cabinetsâthe sound of the sink. Your feet nimbly traced the floor as you walked.
You opted for his couch and plopped down, keeping your hands in your lap. They still trembled with nerves and pricked from the burn.
Your eyes bounced around the apartment.
It was cleanâno plants, no decor, truly. No pictures on the wall, just plain.
Except for one on a bookshelf: a little girl with her blonde hair pulled back and similar cobalt eyes. She grinned in the photo, but there was a familiar sadness in her eyes. She looked lost, just as you did in the past. You could barely muster a thought, but your mind wandered if it could have been a sister or his daughter. However, Leon didn't seem like the type to have a kid.
Not now, at least.
You wanted to comment on it, but your mind was still fuzzy from the assault.
Your teeth bit into your bottom lip. Don't cry, you swore.
Though your eyes watered, and a tear betrayed you, slipping down your cheek. You quickly swiped it away as Leon approached.
He sank to his knees with a soft grunt. â...Let me take these off you.â
You sucked in a breath as he touched the back of your leg.
He pulled away, watching you. "...Is this okay?"
Your head nodded. Then his hands returned; you noted they were clean now, no trace of the men before.
The ringing in your ear hadnât left, and the numbness in your bones kept your eyes concentrated on nothingness: an emptiness, a void.
Leon worked off your boots, unlacing them, then pulling them off gently.
He moved to sit next to you and placed a first-aid kit on the coffee table. You avoided eye contact, head low, staring at the red splotch on your palm.
"Hey," a brief touch on your shoulder. You lifted your gaze to meet his. "It's over now. You're safe."
His words offered little comfort, but you appreciated the help.
"Yeah." You whispered. Â
Your hand went for your throat to massage the muscle, but you winced at the swift motionâa reminder that you were still wounded.Â
Leon watched you with careful sadness. "Can I see?"
You nodded weakly and placed your hand on his lap. The pads of his fingertips grazed your skin as Leon examined the wound and the surrounding areaâburned and scraped. He turned your hand, continuing his inspection.Â
â...Is it bad?â You asked.
"You got it good," He reached over and retrieved a small container of aloe and petroleum. "But it should heal in a few days."Â
You bobbed your head to show that you were paying attention.Â
He gathered the aloe first on his fingers.
âThis might sting a little." He warned, and you nodded.
The gel was cool on your skin, but it didn't sting as much as you anticipated.
Satisfied, Leon then applied a small amount of petroleum to the affected skin. He grabbed non-stick bandages and began to wrap your hand. He worked quietlyânow and then stealing glimpses at you, but you weren't there. Not physically, at least, your mind was elsewhere, still racking on what had happened.
He wrapped the last piece up neatly.Â
"Good as new." There was a gentle smile across his lipsâfaint though still there.
He was kind, you thought. You drew your hand back and laid it limply in your lap.
"Thank you." Your voice came out small and hollow.
A small breath fell from his lips. He placed a hand on your lower thigh and gave a gentle pat to your knee.
âHey, you did well."Â
You shook your head and stayed silent for a long moment. âI didnât."
You continued. "I just stood there and let themâ" You exhaled a shaky breath, âI froze and Iâ " your words caught in your throat.
You felt your esophagus close in on itself, your skin pricking again as nerve endings fired. Your mind clouded in judgment, and you blinked haphazardly and sucked in a breath, hand clutching to your chest.Â
You could see Leon's muscles begin to lurch into action.Â
"I'm fine." You snapped.
You shook your hand towards him dismissively. "Panic. Attack. It'll go away." Your words trembled and came out unnaturally.
âAlright.â He leaned away, allowing you space.
You saw something flicker within Leon's eyesâsomething familiar. After a long beat, he took your hand and placed it on his chest. You could feel his heartbeat, low and strong.
"Breath in."
You watched him with tear-soaked eyes as he inhaled and held it.
"Then out."
He exhaled.
His eyes told you to follow, so you tried. But it was difficult when your mind struggled to hit the brakes. Your breath stuttered on the first two tries, but by the seventh time, you got the hang of it. You gave a final exhale.
His hand still wrapped around your wrist, holding you to him, feeling the steady drum of his heartbeat.
You pulled your hand.Â
"I should go home, you've already helped me enough."Â Â
Leon looked as though he wanted to ask you something, but he decided against it. Â
Instead, responding with, "You can take the bedroom down the hall."
He started gathering his first aid kit.
"Leon, I'm fine, reallyâ" You countered.
He sighed, closing the box shut, "I wasn't really asking."
He watched you awkwardly. Then, you huffed your shoulder. Truthfully, the thought of walking home in this state scared youâit would for a long time. So you chose to take his advice.
âFine."Â
You moved your feet first, testing them, and began to stand. From the corner of your eye, you could see Leon prepare to help you.Â
"I'm fine." You splintered again. Your mind fractured into anger, embarrassment, and fear. You wondered how you would survive till the morning.
You grumbled a breath and shuffled past him, making your way to the hallway.
You sighed in annoyance as you heard the couch as Leon stood, following closely behind you. Your hands braced the wall and door frame as you walked in. Â
You stood for a moment, the room dark, except for a candle that illuminated it in a soft glow. The room was like the rest of the apartment, clean, minimalist, and all-purpose.
Leon came up behind and grumbled, âForgot that damn candle."Â
You looked over your shoulder and peeked at him. There was a quiet breath of a laugh shared between the two of you. You grunted as you shuffled towards the bed and collapsed with a heft.
Leon followed in, though directing his attention toward the closet.
"Bathroom is over there." He pointed before he disappeared inside.
You sighed as you lay on the sheetsâface cooling as you pressed into the pillows. Leon came back from the closet with a blanket tucked under his arm. He walked over to you, the candlelight illuminating him.Â
"You okay?"
"Yeah." You answered lowly.
But his expression believed otherwise, though he wouldn't press. He moved his hand and placed folded clothes onto the bed.
"There's fresh clothes if you..." He cleared his throat.
"âOkay." You answered.
His eyes darted awkwardly. "I'll be in the living room if you need anything."Â
You nodded as he strolled to the door.Â
"Wait, Leon."
His fingers pressed on the doorframe. He turned to you.
You turned to face him. "âŚThank you."
You twisted back to your side. "Goodnight."
Leon stared at you for a moment. â..Night."
The door closed behind him.
For a while, you stared at the wall, then gradually a broken and wretched cry came from your throat, soft and hushed. You heaved in a breath and cradled yourself. A sob raked through you, your shoulders trembling, as reality hit you.
You sniffled back a cry, cheeks wet as you wiped your tears.
You wondered if Leon could hear you now.
The embarrassment made you tighten your shoulders. You inhaled deeply, maybe sleep would help you, presumed. You exhaled. Then lifted your chin and blew out the candle.Â
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