#I have another draft up in the bank that’s fluff and angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

peavhyshy · 2 months ago

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⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - BACK TO YOU

ᯓᡣ𐭩 paring ─ ୨୧ ─ jj maybank ⋆ ex!pogue!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ─ ୨୧ ─ in which you return to the island after moving away and have to confront unresolved feelings and changes in the friend group.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings ─ ୨୧ ─ explicit language, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, drama, mention of past self-harm, mention of past suicide attempt, mention of depression/mental health issues, alcohol abuse, unresolved emotional/romantic tension, trauma, mention of parental abuse/neglect, emotional cheating, jj is dating kiara, pretend luke didn’t leave, tw: surf competition, reconciliation, emotional vulnerability, unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, dirty talk, praise, teasing, power play, and overstimulation (please dni if your sensitive to any of these topics your mental health should come first)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc ─ ୨୧ ─ 19,166

⋆˚✿˖° a/n ─ ୨୧ ─ this is long and very emotional/dramatic which is half of the reason it's been sitting in drafts forever. this was only written because I just love the song and wanted something based on it.

⋆.˚✮back to you✮˚.⋆

(༝༚༝༚ selena gomez)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──. Outer Banks Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Navigation ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

JJ stands awkwardly by the cooler, his fingers drumming against the metal surface as he watches you grab another case of beer. The setting sun casts long shadows across John B's backyard, painting everything in hues of orange and pink. The salty breeze carries the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore, mixing with the muffled laughter and music inside the house. He can't help but steal glances at you, memories of your past flooding his mind like an unwanted tide.

"So uh..." JJ clears his throat, adjusting his shark tooth necklace nervously. "How was... wherever the fuck you went?" He tries to maintain his usual carefree demeanor, but an edge to his voice betrays his discomfort. His blue eyes dart between you and the ground, unable to maintain steady eye contact. The weight of your unspoken history hangs heavy between you, thicker than the humid Carolina evening.

You stand awkwardly, your fingers nervously playing with the label of your beer bottle. You avoid JJ's gaze, focusing instead on the peeling paint of John B's deck railing. The tension between you two is suffocating, making the humid evening air feel even heavier. "Maine," you finally answer, your voice barely above a whisper. "We went to Maine."

JJ's jaw tightens at the mention of Maine, his fingers flexing around his beer bottle as he processes just how far away you’ve been. "Maine? Fuck, that's like... way up there with all those lobsters and shit," he says, trying to maintain his usual lighthearted tone but failing miserably.

"You look..." He starts, then stops himself, shoving his free hand into the pocket of his board shorts. "I mean, it's good you're back and shit. The group missed you." He deliberately leaves out the fact that he missed you too, that your absence left a void that even Kiara couldn't quite fill. The tension between you is palpable, like the electricity in the air before a storm - something the Outer Banks knows all too well. He takes a long pull from his beer, using it as an excuse to break the uncomfortable silence that's settled between you.

You take a long sip from your bottle, using the moment to gather your thoughts. The sight of JJ - still as handsome as ever with his messy blonde hair and those blue eyes - makes your heartache in a way you thought you’d gotten over. The sound of Kiara's laughter from inside feels like a knife twisting in your gut. "I see you and Kie finally..." you trail off, unable to finish the sentence. Your skin glows in the porch light.

"Yeah, me and Kie..." he trails off, taking another long pull from his beer to avoid finishing the sentence. The truth is, things with Kiara are good - great even - but standing here with you brings back all the complicated feelings he'd tried to bury in the sand.

"The group seems... good," you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "Different, but good." You risk a glance at JJ, immediately regretting it when you catch his eyes. Those same eyes that used to look at you with such intensity, now belong to someone else. You shift your weight, your sundress rustling softly in the evening breeze.

A loud crash from inside the house makes you both jump causing you to spill a bit of beer on your dress, followed by John B's distinctive "Everything's fine!" JJ lets out a forced laugh, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's hyper-aware of every movement you make, every shift in your posture, every breath you take. The familiar scent of your perfume mixed with the salt air brings back memories he's tried so hard to suppress - stolen kisses behind the Wreck, late-night surfing sessions, promises made and broken. He adjusts his stance, trying to maintain a careful distance between you, even as every fiber of his being wants to close it.

"Shit," you mutter, dabbing at the spot with your free hand. You can feel JJ's presence just a few feet away, and it takes everything in you not to close that distance. "I should've called or something," you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "Before I left, I mean. I just... I couldn't." Your voice cracks slightly on the last word, betraying the emotions you're trying so hard to keep in check.

The raw honesty in your voice, when you mention not calling, makes his throat tight. "Yeah, well..." JJ runs a hand through his hair again, his shark tooth necklace catching the light as he moves. "Probably wouldn't have answered anyway. Was pretty fucked up back then." He lets out a laugh, but there's pain behind it. "Still am, just better at hiding it now." The admission hangs between you like smoke, heavy and suffocating. He can hear Sarah and John B singing off-key inside, the sound a stark contrast to the tension-filled bubble you're standing in.

He watches as you dab at the beer stain on your dress, fighting the urge to help you like he would have before. "Fuck, hold up," he mutters, pulling off his worn t-shirt and offering it to you without thinking. The porch light illuminates the scattered bruises across his torso - some new, some old ones you’d recognize.

You stand there, your heart racing as you stare at JJ's shirtless form. You reach out hesitant to take his shirt, your fingers brushing briefly in a way that sends electricity through your entire body. "Thanks," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"You look good though," he finally says, the words escaping before he can stop them. His eyes meet yours for a moment before quickly looking away. "I mean, like, healthy and shit. That's... that's good." He shifts uncomfortably, very aware that he's still shirtless and that the space between you feels both too large and not large enough. The familiar scent of your perfume is making his head spin, or maybe it's the beer, or maybe it's just you - it's always been you. "Did it help?" he asks quietly, genuinely wanting to know. "Going away? Did it... fix things?" The question carries more weight than he intends, loaded with all the things he never got to say before you left.

The sound of Kiara's laughter drifts out again, and you flinches visibly. You take another long drink from your beer, needing the liquid courage. "It helped," you finally answer his question, unconsciously running your fingers over the faded scars on your wrists. "The doctors, the therapy, the distance... It helped. But it didn't fix everything." You look up at him then, really look at him, taking in how the years have changed him. He's still JJ - still beautiful but there's something harder in his eyes now, something that wasn't there before.

You clutch his shirt in your hands, the familiar scent of him - salt air, coconut surf wax, and something distinctly JJ - making you dizzy with memories. "I..." you start, then swallow hard. "I wanted to call. Every single day, I picked up my phone and stared at your number until the screen went black."

"I missed you," You confess quietly, immediately regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. "I mean, I missed everyone," you quickly add, but you both know it's not the same thing. You can feel the weight of everything unsaid between you, three years' worth of words you never got to say. "You look happy," you say, trying to smile even though it feels like your heart is breaking all over again. "With Kie, I mean. You guys... you make sense together." The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you force it out anyway. Because what else can you say? That seeing them together feels like drowning? That every time you close your eyes, you still see him? That Maine might have helped you heal your mind, but it did nothing to heal your heart?

A burst of laughter from inside makes him jump, reminding him where you are and who's waiting for him. "Happy?" he scoffs, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "Yeah, sure. I'm fucking peachy." His sarcasm is sharp enough to cut, a defense mechanism he's perfected over the years. He takes another long drink from his beer, finishing it in one go before setting it down with more force than necessary. "And don't do that shit about me and Kie making sense. You don't get to..." he stops himself again, running a hand over his face.

"Fuck, Y/N/N," JJ breathes out, using your old nickname without thinking. His fingers twitch at his sides, wanting to reach for you but knowing he can't. The sight of you touching your wrist scars makes his stomach turn - he remembers the day he found you, remembers the blood, remembers feeling more terrified than he'd ever been in his life.

"You can't just come back here and say shit like that," he says, his voice rough with emotion. He runs both hands through his hair in frustration, pacing a small circle on the deck. "You left, Y/N. You fucking left and I..." he trails off, the rest of the sentence dying in his throat. The memory of those first few weeks, after you disappeared, hits him like a physical blow - the drinking, the fights, the reckless behavior that even John B couldn't talk him down from.

"I didn't want to leave, JJ," You say, taking a step closer to him despite yourself. The electricity between you is almost tangible now. "You think I wanted to be shipped off to fucking Maine? To be locked up in some facility where they watched my every move? Where they made me talk about every fucking thing that was wrong with me?" Your voice rises slightly before you catch yourself, glancing nervously at the house. "I was drowning here, JJ. I was drowning and I couldn't..."

"You know what? Fuck this," JJ says suddenly, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something else - something that looks dangerously close to the way he used to look at you. "You want to know what happened after you left? I fucking lost it, Y/N. I was so fucked up I couldn't even..." he cuts himself off, aware he's saying too much. The space between you feels charged with electricity, like the air before a storm.

"But hey, at least the doctors fixed you up real nice, right?" The words are meant to sting, but there's a tremor in his voice that betrays him. He's still that same boy who used to sneak into your room at night, who used to hold you when the darkness got too heavy, who promised he'd always be there - until you made it impossible to keep that promise." His eyes intense as they lock onto yours. "I used to check your social media every fucking day. Every. Day. Just to make sure you were still..." he trails off, unable to finish the sentence.

Your hands tremble as you clutch his shirt tighter, his familiar scent making your head spin. "Lost it?" You repeat, your voice cracking. "You think you were the only one who lost it?" The words come out sharper than intended, years of buried pain rising to the surface. Your skin flushes with anger and hurt, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. The bitterness in his voice when he mentions the doctors makes you flinch. "Fixed me up real nice?" You repeat, a hollow laugh escaping your lips. "Is that what you think? That I'm all better now? That I just went away and came back brand new?" You move closer still, close enough to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, close enough to smell the beer on his breath. "I still have nightmares. I still get days where I can barely get out of bed. The only difference is now I have better coping mechanisms than..."

His confession about checking your social media makes your heart stutter in your chest. "I deactivated everything," you admit quietly, your voice thick with emotion. "Because every time I logged on, all I wanted to do was message you. Tell you I was sorry. Tell you I..." you stop yourself, very aware of how close you're standing now, of the fact that he's still shirtless, of Kiara just inside the house. "It doesn't matter now, does it?" You say, taking a step back, trying to create some distance between you even though every cell in your body screams to move closer. "You moved on. You're happy. That's... that's good." The lie tastes like poison on your tongue, but you force it out anyway, because what right do you have to come back here and disrupt his life? What right do you have to still want him this much?

JJ's body tenses as Pope's voice cuts through the charged atmosphere. "What’s taking so long with those beers? John B's about to start drinking mouthwash if we don't..." Pope trails off as he steps onto the deck, his eyes darting between JJ's shirtless form and you holding the said shirt. "Oh shit, my bad, I didn't..." he starts, but JJ cuts him off with a sharp laugh that sounds more like a bark.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Pope," JJ says, his voice carrying an edge that makes Pope raise his eyebrows. JJ snatches up the case of beer from the cooler, his movements jerky and aggressive. "Just catching up with our prodigal pogue here. Sharing war stories about her fancy fucking therapy in Maine." The words come out dripping with sarcasm, but there's a tremor in his hands as he grips the beer case. The porch light catches the tension in his jaw, the way his muscles are coiled tight like he's ready to either fight or flee.

"JJ," Pope says warningly, recognizing the signs of his friend spiraling. He's seen this before - usually right before JJ does something spectacularly stupid. "Maybe we should all just-" But JJ's already moving, shouldering past both of them towards the house. He pauses at the door, his back to you, his knuckles white around the beer case. "You know what the fucked up part is?" he says, not turning around. "I actually thought..." he stops, letting out a bitter laugh. "Doesn't matter what I thought. Welcome home, Y/N. Hope Maine was worth it."

Pope watches JJ disappear inside before turning to you with an apologetic look. "He was really messed up when you left," he says quietly, always the mediator. "Like, more than usual messed up. Started getting into fights with Topper almost daily, drinking more than his dad. Kiara was the only one who could calm him down sometimes." He runs a hand over his face, looking tired. "Look, I know it's not my place, but... maybe give him some time? He's better now, but seeing you again..." Pope glances at the door where you can hear JJ's forced laughter mixing with the others. "It's like reopening an old wound, you know?"

You stare at the door JJ just disappeared through, your heart feeling like it's being ripped apart all over again. His shirt is still clutched in your trembling hands, and you bring it unconsciously closer to your chest. You can feel tears threatening to spill over. "Time?" You repeat Pope's words with a hollow laugh. "Yeah, because three years wasn't enough time, right?" Your voice cracks on the last word, and you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

"In Maine, they made us write letters. Letters to everyone we hurt, everyone who hurt us. I wrote so many letters to JJ that they had to give me extra paper." You let out a shaky breath, running your fingers over the soft fabric of JJ's shirt. "Never sent a single one. How do you put three years of 'I'm sorry' and 'I miss you' and 'I still...' into words that don't sound completely fucking pathetic?"

The sound of breaking glass comes from inside, followed by Kiara's concerned "JJ?" Pope closes his eyes and sighs. "And there it is. I better..." he gestures towards the house. "You coming?" The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that's just transpired.

The sound of Kiara's concerned voice calling for JJ makes your stomach twist painfully. "You should go check on him," you say to Pope, finally looking up. Your eyes are swimming with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall. "I'll... I'll be in in a minute. Just need to..." You gesture vaguely at yourself, trying to pull together the pieces of your composure that JJ's words had shattered. "And Pope?" You call as he turns to leave. "I know everyone probably hates me for leaving. Hell, I hate myself for it. But I didn't have a choice. It was either leave or..."

You can hear more commotion from inside - JJ's voice raised, something else breaking, Kiara trying to calm him down. The sound makes your chest ache in a way that feels physical. "Fuck," you whisper to yourself, looking down at JJ's shirt still in your hands. You bring it to your face, inhaling his scent one last time before forcing yourself to fold it neatly. You’ll have to give it back eventually, but right now, you need a moment to remember how to breathe without feeling like you’re drowning all over again. The irony isn't lost on you - you left the Outer Banks to stop feeling like you were drowning, only to come back and find yourself deeper underwater than ever before.

The tension in living room is thick enough to cut with a knife as you enter. JJ is sprawled on the couch next to Kiara, his arm draped possessively around her shoulders while nursing what appears to be his fifth beer. There's broken glass by the kitchen counter that Sarah's carefully sweeping up, shooting concerned glances at everyone.

"So this competition tomorrow," John B says too loudly, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. "Heard Topper's entering too." He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, picking at the label of his beer bottle. "Gonna be some sick waves though, bro. Weather report's saying six-footers at least."

JJ snorts, his blue eyes deliberately avoiding your direction. "Yeah, well, Topper can suck my-" Kiara elbows him in the ribs, cutting him off. "What? I'm just saying the trust fund baby probably can't even tell the difference between the nose and tail of his board." His words are slightly slurred, with anger and alcohol making his voice thicker.

"Actually," Sarah pipes up from the kitchen, dumping the broken glass in the trash, "I heard he's been practicing a lot." She settles onto the arm of John B's chair, her blonde hair catching the dim light. "Something about wanting to prove himself or whatever."

Pope shifts slightly as you sit next to him, creating a protective barrier between you and JJ. "You still surf, Y/N?" he asks, trying to include you in the conversation. "Remember that time you totally schooled JJ on that left break by the pier?"

"Fuck off, Pope," JJ snaps, his grip tightening on his beer bottle. "That was one time, and I was hungover as shit." Kiara places a calming hand on his thigh, but he shrugs it off, standing up abruptly. "I need another beer."

"Maybe you should slow down," Kiara suggests gently, reaching for his hand. "The competition's early tomorrow and-"

"I said I need another fucking beer," JJ cuts her off, his voice sharp. He stalks toward the kitchen, purposely taking the long way around to avoid passing near you. "And for the record," he adds, pausing in the doorway, "that left break? I let her win. Figured she needed the ego boost since she was so fucking fragile back then." The words are meant to wound, and from the way you tense beside him, Pope can tell they hit their mark.

John B stands up, running a hand through his hair. "JJ, bro, come on-"

"What?" JJ whirls around, his eyes blazing. "We all just gonna pretend like everything's normal? Like she didn't just fuck off for three years and come waltzing back expecting everything to be the same?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "Nah, I'm good. You guys can play happy fucking family without me."

The room falls into a heavy silence after JJ's outburst. Sarah is the first to speak, her voice gentle but firm. "JJ, that's enough." She moves from her perch on John B's chair, positioning herself between JJ and the rest of the group.

Your hands are shaking as you stand up, your voice quiet but steady. "You want to do this now? Fine." You take a step forward, ignoring Pope's attempt to grab your arm. "You think you're the only one who was hurt? You think you're the only one who was fucked up?" Your voice rises slightly, years of pent-up emotion breaking through. "I didn't just 'fuck off' to Maine for fun, JJ. I went because the alternative was being lowered into the ground in a fucking coffin!"

Kiara stands up too, torn between her boyfriend and her old friend. "Y/N, maybe we should-"

"No, Kie," you cut her off, your eyes locked on JJ. "He wants to talk about being fragile? About letting me win? At least I'm trying to get better. What are you doing, JJ? Getting drunk and picking fights? Real fucking healthy."

John B moves to intervene, but Pope holds him back, shaking his head. This has been brewing since the moment you walked through the door.

"You know what the difference is between us?" You continue, your voice cracking. "I admit I'm broken. I went and got help because I was tired of hurting everyone around me. But you?" You let out a hollow laugh. "You're still that same scared little boy, hiding behind your anger and your booze because god forbid anyone see that you're hurting too. You’re acting just like your daddy.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, the room erupts into chaos. JJ's beer bottle shatters in his hand as he lunges forward. "Don't you fucking DARE!" as John B and Pope rush to grab him. His muscles strain against their hold. "You don't get to say that shit! You don't get to fucking compare me to him!"

"JJ, stop!" Kiara shouts, but he's beyond hearing. His blue eyes are wild, unfocused, filled with a pain so deep it makes everyone in the room flinch. "You want to talk about being broken?" JJ spits, still fighting against John B and Pope's restraining arms. "At least I didn't run away! At least I stayed and faced my shit instead of leaving everyone wondering if you were even fucking alive!" His voice cracks on the last word, raw emotion bleeding through the anger. "Do you know how many times I drove by your house? How many nights I sat outside your window hoping you'd just... fuck!"

"Where the fuck was all this concern for mental health when I was showing up at your window covered in bruises? When I was sleeping on the beach because I was too scared to go home?" Blood continues to drip from his hand, creating a small puddle on the floor.

"You know what's really fucking funny?" JJ continues, his voice cracking. "The day you left? I was gonna tell you everything. About my dad, about how fucked up I was, about how you were the only person who made me feel like maybe I wasn't completely worthless." His words are like bullets, each one aimed to hit where it hurts most.

"Bro, calm down," John B grunts, struggling to maintain his grip. "This isn't helping-"

"Helping?" JJ lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Nothing helps! Nothing fucking helps because she LEFT!" He finally breaks free, stumbling forward but not advancing towards you. Instead, he stands there, chest heaving, looking more vulnerable than any of them has ever seen him. "You left," he repeats, quieter now, his voice thick with unshed tears. "You left and I couldn't... I couldn't fucking breathe. And now you're back and I still can't breathe and I..." He runs his hands through his hair violently, turning away from everyone.

Pope steps forward cautiously. "JJ, maybe we should-"

"Don't," JJ cuts him off, his voice dangerous again. "Just... don't." He grabs his keys from the counter, ignoring Kiara's protests. "I need to get the fuck out of here before I..." He doesn't finish the sentence, just storms out, the screen door slamming behind him. The sound of his motorcycle roaring to life fills the night air moments later.

The room falls into a heavy silence after JJ's dramatic exit. You stand frozen, your whole body trembling as tears finally spill down your cheeks. Sarah is the first to move, wrapping her arms around you as you begin to sob.

"I didn't mean..." you choke out between sobs. "I didn't mean to say that about his dad. I just... I was so angry and..." You collapse onto the couch, Sarah still holding you while Kiara paces anxiously by the door.

"Someone needs to go after him," Kiara says, grabbing her jacket. "He's drunk and upset, he shouldn't be on that bike." She looks torn between staying with you and chasing after her boyfriend.

John B runs a hand through his hair, exchanging worried looks with Pope. "I'll go," he says, grabbing his keys. "Pope, you stay here with them. Sarah, can you...?" He gestures at you, who's still crying into Sarah's shoulder.

"I got her," Sarah assures him. "Just... bring him back in one piece, okay?"

Pope starts cleaning up the broken glass, his movements careful and methodical. "You know," he says quietly, "JJ never told anyone this, but he used to sleep in your treehouse after you left. We'd find him up there some mornings, usually after really bad nights with his dad."

"He kept your bracelet too," Kiara adds softly, still hovering by the door. "The one you made him at that bonfire. Wears it under his watch sometimes." She pauses, conflict clear on her face. "I should go with John B-"

"No," you say, wiping your eyes. "Stay. Please. I... I need to tell you all something. About why I really left." You take a shaky breath, looking around at your friends - the family you left behind. "It wasn't just the self-harm or the suicide attempt. There was... there was more. And JJ... he deserves to know the truth. You all do."

Sarah squeezes your hand encouragingly while Pope settles on the floor in front of you. The sound of the Twinkie starting up outside fills the momentary silence.

"Take your time," Sarah says gently. "We're listening."

John B finds JJ at their usual spot - the abandoned dock near the marsh where they used to fish as kids. JJ's sitting at the edge, legs dangling over the water, a fresh beer in his hand that he definitely grabbed from his emergency stash hidden in the old boat nearby. His motorcycle is parked haphazardly in the grass, still ticking as it cools down.

"Figured I'd find you here," John B says, settling down next to his best friend. The moonlight reflects off the water, casting everything in a silvery glow. "That was quite a show back there, bro."

JJ takes a long pull from his beer, his knuckles still bloody from the broken bottle. "Fuck off, John B," he mutters, but there's no real heat behind it. His hands are shaking slightly as he brings the bottle back to his lips. "I don't need another fucking lecture about controlling my temper or whatever shit you're about to say."

"Actually," John B says, pulling out two fresh beers from his pocket and handing one to JJ, "I was gonna say she had no right bringing up your dad." He cracks open his beer, the sound echoing across the quiet marsh. "That was fucked up."

JJ lets out a hollow laugh, running his uninjured hand through his messy hair. "You know what's fucked up? She's right." His voice cracks slightly. "I am turning into him. Getting drunk, breaking shit, can't control my fucking temper..." He throws his empty bottle into the water with force, watching it disappear beneath the dark surface.

"Nah, man," John B shakes his head firmly. "You're nothing like Luke. You know how I know?" He waits until JJ looks at him. "Because you care. Like, actually give a shit about people. Luke never did." He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. "And you loved her. Still do, probably."

"Doesn't fucking matter now, does it?" JJ's voice is rough with emotion. "I'm with Kie. And Y/N... she's..." he trails off, unable to finish the sentence. The crickets chirp in the silence that follows, the marsh grass swaying in the gentle breeze.

"You know," John B says after a while, "Kie knows. Has known for a while, I think. About how you feel about Y/N." He takes another sip of his beer. "Maybe that's why she's been so... I don't know, different lately?"

JJ's head snaps up, his blue eyes wide in the moonlight. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Come on, bro," John B sighs. "You've been wearing that bracelet under your watch since the day Y/N left. You sleep in her old treehouse when shit gets bad. And the way you looked at her tonight... that wasn't just anger, man."

JJ stares out at the dark water, his jaw working as he processes John B's words. "It's not..." he starts, then stops, taking a long drink. "Fuck, man." The moonlight catches the silver threads in his shark tooth necklace as he shifts uncomfortably. "You can't just say shit like that about me and Kie."

"Why not?" John B presses, watching his best friend carefully. "Because it's true? Because you've been trying so hard to convince yourself that what you have with Kie is enough?" He dodges the empty beer can JJ throws at his head with practiced ease. "I love Kie, man. We all do. But she deserves better than being someone's second choice."

"You think I don't know that?" JJ explodes, jumping to his feet. He paces the dock, his shoes making the old wood creak. "You think I don't fucking hate myself for it? For not being able to..." he trails off, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "Y/N left, John B. She fucking left without a word and Kie... Kie was there. She picked up the pieces. She..."

"She's not Y/N," John B finishes quietly. The words hang in the humid night air, heavy with truth. "And that's not fair to any of you."

JJ stops pacing, bracing himself against one of the dock posts. His knuckles are white where they grip the wood, blood from his earlier injury leaving dark smears. "You should've seen her that night," he says so quietly John B almost misses it. "The night before she left. She came to my window like she always did when shit got bad. But something was different. She wouldn't look at me, wouldn't let me touch her. Just kept saying she was sorry." His voice cracks. "I should've known. Should've fucking done something."

"JJ..." John B starts, but JJ cuts him off.

"And now she's back," he continues, his voice rough. "She's back and she's wearing that fucking perfume that makes my head spin, and she's got these new scars I don't know the stories too, and she's looking at me like... like..." He slams his fist into the post, adding fresh splinters to his already injured hand. "Like I'm still that stupid kid who couldn't save her. How I didn't see how bad it was getting. How I was so caught up in my shit with my dad that I missed all the signs." He runs his hands through his hair roughly. "And you know what the worst part is? Even after everything, even with Kie... I still..." He can't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to.

The marsh is quiet except for the gentle lapping of water against the dock and the distant sound of a boat horn. John B watches as his best friend falls apart, knowing there's nothing he can say to make this better. "Maybe," he finally suggests, "you should talk to Kie. Like, really talk to her. And then..." he hesitates. "Maybe you should talk to Y/N too. About everything."

JJ lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? And say what? 'Sorry, I just had a fucking meltdown in front of everyone because seeing you still makes me feel like I'm drowning'? 'Sorry, I'm such a fuck up I couldn't even move on properly'?" He slides down to sit on the dock again, his energy seemingly drained. "Nah, man. Some things are better left buried."

The two make their way to the van it rumbles down the dark road, headlights cutting through the night as John B glances worriedly at JJ in the passenger seat. JJ is slumped against the window, his breath fogging up the glass, the streetlights casting intermittent shadows across his face. His bloody knuckles rest in his lap, the makeshift bandage John B made from his t-shirt already soaking through.

"Your dad's been better lately, right?" John B asks cautiously, turning onto JJ's street. "Like, with the new job and everything?" He knows these periods of calm with Luke are temporary, like the eye of a hurricane - peaceful until it's not.

JJ lets out a laugh, his eyes still fixed on the passing shadows outside. "Yeah, for now. Give it a week, maybe two if we're lucky." His voice is tired, drained of its usual energy. "He's actually buying groceries instead of beer. Fucking miracle, right?" The sarcasm in his voice is thick enough to cut.

As they pull up to JJ's house, they can see Luke's truck in the driveway, the porch light on - a rare sight. Through the window, they can see him moving around in the kitchen, looking almost normal, almost like a real father. "You sure you don't want to crash at my place?" John B offers, killing the engine. "Sarah won't mind, and you know Pope's probably got Y/N calmed down by now..."

"Don't," JJ warns, his voice sharp. "Just... don't say her name right now, okay?" He runs his uninjured hand through his hair, a nervous habit that's become more frequent since your return. "I can't... I can't think about that shit right now. About what she said, about Kie, about..." he trails off, shaking his head.

The front door opens, and Luke steps onto the porch. "JJ? That you, son?" His voice carries across the yard, lacking its usual angry slur. "Got some leftovers if you're hungry. Made that fish you like." The attempt at normalcy is almost more unsettling than his usual violence.

"Fuck," JJ mutters, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Look at him, playing father of the year." He grabs his backpack from the backseat, wincing as the movement jars his injured hand. "Thanks for the ride, bro. And for..." he gestures vaguely, encompassing everything that happened at the dock.

"JJ," John B calls as his friend opens the door. "Just... be careful, okay? And if shit goes south..." He doesn't need to finish the sentence. They both know JJ's always got a place at the Chateau.

"Yeah, yeah," JJ forces a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "Save the emotional shit for Sarah, man." He slams the van door, shouldering his backpack as he heads toward the house. Each step feels heavy like he's walking through water. The weight of everything - your return, his relationship with Kiara, his dad's temporary stability - sits on his shoulders like a physical burden.

Luke's waiting at the door, and for once, his eyes are clear. "Rough night?" he asks, noticing JJ's bandaged hand. There's genuine concern in his voice, the kind that makes JJ's chest ache because he knows it won't last.

He follows his father into the house, the familiar scent of fried fish and something else - hope, maybe? - filling the air. The kitchen is cleaner than he's seen it in years, dishes are actually washed and put away, no empty bottles littering the counters. It's like walking into a funhouse mirror version of his life, everything familiar but slightly wrong.

"Sit," Luke gestures to the table, already moving to reheat the food. "Got paid today. Foreman says I'm doing good work." There's pride in his voice, the kind JJ used to dream of hearing when he was younger. "Even got you something." He pulls out a small package from one of the kitchen drawers, sliding it across the table.

JJ stares at the package like it might bite him, his injured hand throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. "Dad, you didn't have to..." he starts, but Luke waves him off.

"Open it," Luke insists, putting a plate of steaming fish and rice in front of JJ. "Saw it at the store, thought of you." His voice is gruff with emotion he doesn't know how to express.

With trembling fingers, JJ unwraps the package. Inside is a new surf wax and a professional-grade fishing lure - the expensive kind they used to admire together in the shop window when JJ was little. "This is..." he swallows hard, something thick and painful lodging in his throat.

"For the competition tomorrow," Luke explains, sitting down across from him with his own plate. "Figured you could use some good gear." He pauses, studying JJ's face. "Your hand gonna be okay to surf?"

JJ flexes his fingers experimentally, wincing. "Yeah, it's fine. Just some scratches." He doesn't mention how he got them, and Luke doesn't ask. Some things are better left unsaid, even in this temporary peace.

They eat in relative silence, the only sounds are the scrape of forks against plates and the distant hum of crickets outside. JJ can't help but wait for the other shoe to drop, for his father to notice the alcohol on his breath, or ask why he came home so late. But Luke just keeps eating, occasionally glancing at JJ with something that looks almost like concern.

"Y/N’s back," Luke says suddenly, making JJ choke on his rice. "Saw her at the store today. She's grown up nice." He says it casually, like he doesn't know the weight those words carry like he doesn't remember the nights JJ came home drunk and broken after you left.

JJ's grip on his fork tightens, his knuckles white. "Dad..." he warns, but Luke continues.

"You know, I never told you this," Luke sets down his fork, his voice unusually serious. "But that girl... she used to come by sometimes when you were out. Would bring groceries, say she was just dropping off extras her mom bought." He lets out a dry laugh. "We both knew she was lying. She was checking on you, making sure I hadn't..." he trails off, shame coloring his voice.

The revelation hits JJ like a physical blow. He pushes back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I can't... I can't do this right now," he manages to say, his voice rough. "Thanks for dinner. And the..." he gestures at the gifts, unable to finish.

Luke nods, understanding in his eyes that hurts worse than any punch he's ever thrown. "Get some rest, son. Big day tomorrow." He watches as JJ practically flees to his room, the sound of his door closing echoing through the unusually quiet house.

In his room, JJ collapses onto his bed. The surf wax and lure sit on his nightstand, mocking him with their newness, their promise of a father he's always wanted but never quite had. He pulls out his phone, seeing missed calls from Kiara and texts from the group chat. But it's his wallpaper that catches his eye - still that old photo of him and you at the beach, your smile bright and real, his arm around your shoulders. He'd never changed it, not even after starting things with Kiara.

"Fuck," he whispers into the darkness, throwing his arm over his eyes. Tomorrow's competition suddenly seems like the least of his problems.

JJ is hunched over his surfboard on the front porch, a half-eaten piece of toast dangling from his mouth as he meticulously applies the new wax his father gave him. The morning sun casts long shadows across the worn wood of the porch, the air already thick with humidity. His injured hand throbs as he works, the makeshift bandage John B wrapped it in last night now stained and fraying.

The knock makes him jump, nearly dropping the wax block. "It's open!" he calls out, not looking up from his work. He knows it's Kiara before she even speaks - recognizes the pattern of her footsteps, the jingle of the shell anklet she always wears.

"Hey," Kiara's voice is soft and cautious. She's wearing her competition bikini under a loose tank top, her curly hair pulled back in a messy bun. "You weren't answering your phone." She settles down next to him on the porch steps, close but not touching - a careful distance that speaks volumes.

JJ continues working on his board, his movements perhaps more aggressive than necessary. "Yeah, well, been kind of busy." He gestures at the board with his injured hand, causing Kiara to suck in a sharp breath at the sight of his knuckles.

"Jesus, JJ," she reaches for his hand but he pulls away, standing up abruptly. "We need to talk about last night-"

"No," JJ cuts her off, running his good hand through his already messy hair. "We really don't. I fucked up, lost my temper, same old shit. Can we just..." he trails off, finally looking at her. The concern in her eyes makes his stomach twist with guilt.

Kiara stands too, crossing her arms. "Y/N told us everything last night," she says quietly. "After you left. About why she really went away." She watches as JJ's entire body tenses, his jaw clenching. "JJ, it wasn't just about the self-harm and the attempt. She was-"

"Stop," JJ's voice is sharp, dangerous. He turns away from her, gripping the porch railing so hard his knuckles turn white. "I don't want to know. I can't... I can't hear that shit right now. Not before the competition."

"You can't keep running from this," Kiara says, her voice stronger now. "And you can't keep pretending that what we have is..." she stops, taking a deep breath. "I see the way you look at her, JJ. I've always seen it. Even when you're angry at her, even when you're with me, you look at her like... like she's the sun and you're drowning in her light."

JJ lets out a bitter laugh, turning back to face her. "That's some poetic shit, Kie." But there's no humor in his voice, just pain and exhaustion. "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? That I'm a fucking mess who can't get his shit together? That I-"

"I want you to be honest," Kiara interrupts. "With me, with yourself, with her." She steps closer, reaching up to touch his face gently. "We both knew this wasn't forever, JJ. We were just... holding each other together until something better came along."

"You deserve better than that," JJ says quietly, leaning into her touch despite himself. "Better than me using you as a bandaid for my fucked up heart."

Kiara smiles sadly. "Yeah, I do. And so do you." She drops her hand, stepping back. "The competition starts soon. Y/N’s entering too, by the way. JJ? She still wears that shell necklace you made her. Never took it off, even in Maine."

The information hits JJ like a physical blow, making him grip the railing tighter. The surf wax sits abandoned on his board, the morning sun turning it soft and sticky. JJ sighs heavily, sliding down to sit on the porch steps. The morning sun continues to rise, casting long shadows across the yard where weeds push through cracked concrete - a perfect metaphor for their relationship, beautiful things growing in broken places.

"You're not mad?" JJ asks finally, his voice rough. He picks at the fraying bandage on his hand, avoiding her eyes. "About... everything?"

Kiara lets out a soft laugh sitting back down next to him bumping his shoulder with hers. "I mean, I probably should be. But honestly?" She tilts her face toward the sun, closing her eyes. "I think I've known since the beginning. We were both just... trying to fill empty spaces."

JJ runs his good hand through his hair, a nervous habit he can't shake. "You're too good for this shit, Kie. Too good for me and my fucked up baggage." He glances at her sideways. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," Kiara says simply. "And hey, at least we had some good times, right?" She grins at him, that familiar sparkle in her eyes. "Like that time we got caught skinny dipping at the country club pool?"

"Fuck," JJ laughs despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Your dad's face when he found us... thought he was gonna have a stroke." The memory feels lighter now, less weighted with guilt.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Finally, Kiara speaks again, her voice gentle but firm. "You need to talk to her, JJ. Like, really talk to her. No yelling, no running away."

JJ's jaw tightens. "Kie..."

"No, listen," she cuts him off. "What she told us last night... it changes things. And you deserve to know." She stands up, brushing off her shorts. "But first, you need to kick Topper's ass in this competition. Show him that pogues rule the waves, right?"

JJ looks up at her, gratitude and affection washing over him. "How are you so fucking cool about all this?"

Kiara shrugs, a small smile playing on her lips. "Because I love you both, you idiot. Just... not in the way we've been pretending." She starts walking backward toward her car. "See you at the beach. And JJ?" She pauses. "Whatever Y/N told us last night? It's not my story to tell. But when she does tell you... just remember she never stopped loving you either."

JJ watches her drive away, his heart feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time. He turns back to his surfboard, running his fingers over the fresh wax. The competition starts soon, and somewhere on that beach, you’ll be there. The thought makes his stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with pre-competition nerves.

The beach is alive with pre-competition energy, the morning sun casting long shadows across the sand as spectators and competitors mill about. The group has claimed your usual spot, a patch of sand near the judges' stand where you're spread out with blankets and coolers. The air smells of salt spray and sunscreen, mixed with the distant scent of food vendors setting up their stalls.

JJ sits cross-legged next to Pope, obsessively checking the fins on his board while stealing glances at you. His injured hand is wrapped in fresh bandages - Pope's handiwork from earlier that morning. "You think the swell's gonna hold?" he asks Pope, his voice tighter than usual. "Weather report said it might pick up around noon."

"Dude, stop stressing," Pope replies, not looking up from his phone where he's tracking the wind patterns. "You could surf these waves in your sleep." He pauses, glancing at his friend. "Though maybe focus more on the waves and less on staring at Y/N every five seconds?"

A few feet away, Kiara and you sit huddled over your board, your heads close together as you work on the design. "Pass me the blue paint?" Kiara asks, her voice carefully casual. "I think it'll pop against the white."

"Here," You hand over the paint pen, your finger steady as you work on your own section of the board. "Thanks for helping me with this, Kie. I know it's... weird."

Sarah's voice carries over from where she's practically sitting in John B's lap, her laugh bright in the morning air. "John B, I swear to God, if you get any more sunscreen in my hair..." She squirms as he deliberately rubs more lotion on her neck.

"What? I'm being helpful!" John B protests, grinning. "Can't have my girl turning into a lobster." He catches JJ's eye and makes an exaggerated kissing face, earning himself a handful of sand thrown his way.

"Get a room, you two," Pope groans, but there's affection in his voice. "Some of us are trying to focus here."

"Yeah, focus on what?" JJ snaps, more harshly than intended. "The competition doesn't start for another hour." His eyes drift back to you, watching as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear - a gesture so familiar it makes his chest ache.

"Speaking of the competition," Sarah pipes up, clearly trying to diffuse the tension, "heard Topper's been practicing his aerial moves. Might actually give you a run for your money this time, JJ."

"Please," JJ scoffs, his trademark cockiness returning. "Trust fund baby probably had to pay someone to teach him which end of the board goes in front." But his bravado falters when he catches you hiding a smile at his comment.

"The waves are looking good though," you offer quietly, your first direct contribution to the group conversation. "Nice clean sets coming in." Your voice carries over the beach noise, making JJ's hands still on his board.

The group falls into a loaded silence, everyone pretending not to notice the way JJ and you carefully avoid looking at each other, or how Kiara's shoulders relax slightly when JJ doesn't snap back with a sarcastic comment.

"Alright, enough of this weird energy," Pope announces, standing up and brushing sand off his shorts. "Who wants to help me get drinks from the vendor? We've got..." he checks his watch, "forty-five minutes to get JJ properly hydrated before he has to show these kooks how it's done."

"Let me help," Sarah jumps up, linking her arm through Pope's. "John B, Y/N, you coming?" There's a pointed look in her eyes that everyone pretends not to notice.

"I'm good," You reply, still focused on your board design. "Need to finish this before the competition starts." Your fingers trace the intricate pattern you and Kiara have created - waves and stars intertwining across the white surface.

"Me too," John B replies, stretching out on their blanket. "Someone's gotta make sure these two don't kill each other." He gestures vaguely between JJ and you, earning himself a glare from both of you.

Kiara looks up from the surfboard, her hands covered in paint. "Get me one of those a��ai bowls if they have them?" she calls after Pope and Sarah. "And maybe some water for everyone? It's getting hot out here."

As Pope and Sarah head toward the vendors, the remaining group falls into an awkward silence. JJ continues fidgeting with his board, though there's nothing left to adjust. The morning sun beats down on you, the humidity making everything feel sticky and tense. The beach is getting more crowded now, the excitement building as more competitors arrive with their boards.

"Your hand looks better," You say suddenly, your voice soft but carrying clearly over the beach noise. You're still focused on your board, not looking up, but your fingers have stilled on the paint pen.

JJ flexes his injured hand unconsciously. "Yeah, well, Pope's got practice wrapping shit up. Comes with being friends with a walking disaster." He tries for his usual sarcastic tone but it falls flat.

"Remember that time you tried to do a backflip off the pier?" John B interjects, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Pope had to use an entire first aid kit on your stupid ass."

"That was one time," JJ protests, a genuine smile finally cracking through his facade. "And I totally would've landed it if that jellyfish hadn't been in the way."

"There was no jellyfish," Kiara laughs, rolling her eyes. "You just chickened out halfway through."

"I did not!" JJ's voice rises indignantly. "Tell them, Y/N/N, you were there-" He cuts himself off abruptly, realizing he'd used your old nickname without thinking.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the distant sound of waves and other competitors warming up. Your hand has started trembling slightly, though you try to hide it by gripping the paint pen tighter.

"There definitely wasn't a jellyfish," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. "But there was that group of tourist girls watching, and you were trying to show off..."

"Classic JJ," John B jumps in, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Always trying to impress the ladies with his 'sick moves.'" He makes air quotes with his fingers.

The moment breaks when someone calls out "Maybank!" from down the beach. It's one of the competition organizers, clipboard in hand. "You're up in heat three, twenty minutes!"

"Shit," JJ mutters, standing up and grabbing his board. "I should probably warm up or whatever." He pauses, looking down at your board. "The design's good," he says quietly, before quickly adding, "Both of you. It's... yeah." He turns and jogs toward the water, his board under his arm.

"Well, that was almost a normal conversation," John B observes, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Kiara. "What? I'm just saying..."

"I should warm up too," You say suddenly, standing and picking up your board. The morning sun catches the shell necklace around your neck - the one JJ made you years ago - making it gleam.

"Want company?" Kiara offers, but you shake your head.

"I need to..." you gesture vaguely toward the opposite end of the beach from where JJ went. "You know."

They watch as you walk away, your hair blowing in the ocean breeze. John B wraps an arm around Kiara's shoulders. "They'll figure it out," he says confidently. "They always do."

"Yeah," Kiara agrees, leaning into him. "But how many hearts are gonna get broken in the process?"

The question hangs in the air as they watch you two paddle out into the waves from opposite ends of the beach, like magnets simultaneously attracting and repelling each other. The waves crash against the shore as the competition gets underway, the beach packed with spectators cheering from the sand. The morning sun glints off the water, creating perfect conditions for the surfers waiting in the lineup. JJ sits on his board, straddling it as he watches the sets roll in, his injured hand gripping the rails slightly tighter than necessary. He's in heat three, along with you and Kiara, a cruel twist of fate that has his stomach in knots.

From the beach, John B's voice carries over the crowd. "Let's go, JJ! Show these kooks how it's done!" Sarah and Pope join in with their cheers, their enthusiasm infectious enough to draw smiles from other spectators.

JJ catches sight of you about twenty yards to his left, the shell necklace he made you glints in the sun. You're focused on the horizon, reading the waves with an intensity he remembers well from your late-night surfing sessions years ago. Kiara floats between you two, creating a triangle formation in the water, her presence both a buffer and a reminder of everything that's changed.

"First wave of heat three!" the announcer's voice booms over the speakers. "Riders, get ready!"

A set approaches and JJ feels the familiar surge of adrenaline. He watches as you turn your board, positioning yourself for the wave. Your form is different now - more refined, more confident. You catch the wave with practiced ease, your movement fluid as you drop in. The crowd cheers as you execute a perfect bottom turn, spraying water in an arc that catches the sunlight.

"Fuck," JJ mutters under his breath, both impressed and frustrated. He spots his own wave approaching, bigger than yours, and paddles hard. As he pops up, everything else fades away - the crowd, the competition, the complicated mess of emotions. It's just him and the wave, the way it's always been. He drives hard off the bottom, launching into an aerial that has the crowd screaming. His injured hand protests as he grabs his rail, but he sticks the landing, finishing with a powerful snap off the lip.

Kiara catches the next wave, her style more aggressive than yours but equally skilled. She shoots JJ a quick smile as she paddles back out, no trace of their earlier conversation in her expression. You're all competitors now, regardless of your personal drama.

The heat continues, each rider pushing themselves harder with each wave. JJ finds himself watching you more than he should, noticing how you’ve incorporated new techniques into your surfing. There's a grace to your movements that wasn't there before, a confidence that makes his chest tight with something between pride and regret.

From the beach, Pope's voice cuts through the crowd noise: "Time check! Two minutes left in the heat!"

JJ sits up straighter on his board, scanning for one last good wave. He needs something big to secure his spot in the finals. A set approaches, and he can see both you and Kiara eyeing it too. It's the kind of wave you used to fight over during your dawn patrol sessions - clean, powerful, perfect for showing off.

The tension in the water is palpable as you all turn toward shore, ready to battle for position. JJ glances at you, catching your eye for the first time since you paddled out. For a moment, it's like nothing has changed - you're just two kids from the Cut, living for the next wave. Then the moment breaks as the announcer's voice booms: "Final wave of heat three approaching! Who's gonna take it?"

The tension crackles through the air as all three surfers eye the approaching wave. JJ's muscles tense as he prepares to paddle, but suddenly you make your move first, cutting across his line with precise timing. You catch the wave perfectly, popping up with fluid grace that makes the crowd gasp.

"Holy shit!" John B's voice carries over the noise as you drop into the face of the wave. Your form is flawless, body low and controlled as you set up for your first maneuver.

JJ can't help but watch, even as he and Kiara paddle back to position. You carve up the face of the wave, your movements more aggressive than before, spraying water in an arc that catches the sunlight. You transition into a series of snaps that have the judges leaning forward in their seats, before setting up for your finale.

"No fucking way," JJ mutters, recognizing the setup. It's a move you used to practice together, late at night when the beach was empty - a risky aerial that you’d perfected during those endless summer sessions. You launch off the lip, grabbing your rail and rotating in a way that seems to defy gravity. The landing is clean, and precise, sending another spray of water toward the sky as the crowd erupts.

"That's my girl!" Sarah screams from the beach, jumping up and down while clutching John B's arm. Pope's got his phone out, recording everything while shouting his own encouragement.

As you paddle back out, JJ catches your eye again. There's something different in your expression now - a mix of pride, challenge, and something else he can't quite read. Kiara paddles up beside him, a knowing look on her face.

"Damn," Kiara whistles low. "She's been practicing."

"Time!" The announcer's voice booms across the water. "Heat three is complete! Riders, return to shore for scoring."

The paddle back is quiet, each lost in your own thoughts as the judges figure out scores. JJ can feel the energy on the beach, knowing without looking that your last wave changed everything. As you hit the shallows, John B and Pope rush out to help with your boards.

"That was fucking insane!" John B exclaims, grabbing your board. "When did you learn to fly?"

You push your wet hair back, that shell necklace still somehow perfectly in place. "Maine has waves too," you say quietly, but your eyes flick to JJ as you say it. "Different, but good for practicing."

"Attention competitors," the announcer's voice cuts through their conversation. "Scores for heat three are ready..."

The group falls silent, tension building as you wait for the results. JJ finds himself holding his breath, his injured hand throbbing. The morning sun is high now, turning the ocean into a field of diamonds, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers teaching you that aerial on a night just like this, under a full moon with no one else around.

The announcer's voice crackles over the speakers: "In third place, with a score of 8.7 - Kiara Carrera!"

Kiara grins, accepting high-fives from the group. "Not bad for a warmup," she says, squeezing water from her hair. Her eyes dart between JJ and you, anticipating what comes next.

"In second place, with a score of 9.2..." The pause feels endless, "JJ Maybank!"

JJ's jaw tightens, his fingers flexing around his board. He knows what's coming, and can feel it in the electric tension running through their little group. Pope claps him on the shoulder, but he barely feels it.

"And taking first place in heat three, with a score of 9.8 - Y/N L/N! That final aerial was something else, folks!"

The beach erupts in cheers, but JJ's focused on your face - the way your eyes widen in surprise, the slight tremor in your hands as Sarah pulls you into a crushing hug. You look exactly like you did years ago when you landed your first aerial under his guidance.

"Holy shit, Y/N!" John B whoops, lifting you off your feet in celebration. "That was fucking incredible!"

"All riders advancing to the finals, please check the board for heat assignments," the announcer continues. "Thirty-minute break before the next round."

JJ watches as they swarm you with congratulations, his emotions a tangled mess he can't sort through. Pride, jealousy, regret, and something deeper, something that feels like the undertow that used to drag you both out during night sessions.

"You taught her that aerial," Kiara says quietly beside him, her voice carrying a knowing tone. "I remember watching you two practice it for weeks."

Before JJ can respond, you break away from the group, approaching them with hesitant steps. You're holding something in your hand - his old surf wax, the one he'd always let you borrow during your sessions.

"Found this in my bag this morning," you say, your voice barely audible over the beach noise. "Thought you might want it back." Your finger brushes his as you hand it over, sending a jolt through his system that has nothing to do with the competition.

"Keep it," he finds himself saying, his voice rougher than intended. "Looks like you're putting it to better use anyway." He tries to make it sound casual, but there's too much history in those words, too many memories of dawn patrols and midnight sessions and promises made under starlit skies.

The moment stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words, until Pope's voice breaks through: "Guys! They're posting the final heat assignments!"

The group moves toward the bulletin board, but JJ hangs back, watching you walk away. The shell necklace catches the light again, and he remembers making it for you on this very beach, his fingers working the knots while you talked about constellations and dreams and futures that seemed possible then.

"You okay?" Kiara asks, lingering beside him.

"Yeah," JJ lies, running a hand through his salt-stiffened hair. "Just... fuck." He doesn't need to finish the sentence. Kiara understands - she always has.

The finals loom ahead, but all JJ can think about is that aerial, and how your form was exactly the same as when he first taught it to you, right down to the way you point your toes during the rotation. Some things, it seems, don't change - even when everything else does.

The beach is winding down as the sun begins its descent, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks. The competition crowd has thinned, leaving behind only the most dedicated spectators and the Pogues, who are sprawled out on their blankets celebrating their friends' success. JJ, you, and Kiara stand together on the podium, your medals glinting in the late afternoon light.

"Third place, Kiara Carrera!" The announcer's voice booms one final time. Kiara grins, holding up her bronze medal as Sarah and John B whoop and holler from the crowd.

"Second place, Y/N L/N!" You step forward, accepting your silver medal with a small smile. The shell necklace around your neck catches the light, drawing JJ's attention momentarily.

"And your first-place winner, JJ Maybank!" The crowd erupts as JJ accepts his gold medal, his signature cocky grin in place despite the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. His final wave had been spectacular - a combination of raw power and technical skill that even the most critical judges couldn't deny.

As you step down from the podium, Pope approaches with a cooler. "Time to celebrate properly!" he announces, pulling out beers for everyone. The group gravitates toward your usual spot on the beach, away from the dispersing crowd.

"To the most talented pogues in the OBX!" John B raises his beer, his other arm wrapped around Sarah's waist. "And to Kiara for not killing JJ when he snake dropped her wave in the finals!"

"Hey!" JJ protests, but he's laughing. "All's fair in love and surfing, right?" The words hang in the air for a moment, loaded with meaning as his eyes unconsciously drift to you.

"That last aerial though," Pope interjects, sensing the tension. "Thought you were gonna break your neck, JJ."

"Please," JJ scoffs, taking a long drink from his beer. "That was nothing compared to the shit we used to pull during night sessions." He freezes slightly, realizing what he's said, and who he's referencing.

You shift beside him, your silver medal catching the dying light. "Remember that time we tried to surf during a lightning storm?" You say quietly, surprising everyone. "John B had to come to rescue us in the Twinkie."

"Jesus," Sarah laughs, but her eyes are watchful. "You two were always doing crazy shit like that."

The group falls into a comfortable rhythm of storytelling and laughter, the competition tension slowly easing. JJ finds himself hyper-aware of your presence, the way you laugh at John B's terrible jokes, and how you unconsciously play with that shell necklace when you're thinking.

"You've improved," he says suddenly when the others are distracted by Pope's dramatic reenactment of a wipeout. "Your form, I mean. It's... different. Better."

You look at him, really look at him, for what feels like the first time since you’ve been back. "Had a good teacher," you reply softly, your fingers still toying with the necklace. "Some things you don't forget, even when you're trying to."

The weight of unspoken words hangs between you, heavy as storm clouds. Kiara watches you two from across the circle, a knowing look in her eyes as she catches JJ's gaze.

The Wreck is bustling with the usual dinner crowd, but Kiara's parents have reserved the back section for their celebration. The smell of fried shrimp and hush puppies fills the air as you pile around your favorite table, medals still hanging around the winners' necks. The sunset streams through the windows, casting everything in a warm golden glow.

JJ slouches in his chair, one arm draped over the back as he nurses his beer. His eyes keep drifting to you, who's sitting between Sarah and Pope, your hair still damp from the ocean. The shell necklace catches the light every time you move, a constant reminder of everything that's changed and everything that hasn't.

"Yo, check it out," John B nudges JJ, nodding toward the entrance where Topper and Rafe are making their way over. The entire table tenses slightly, years of rivalry making everyone wary.

"Hey," Topper says, stopping at their table. He looks different - less aggressive than usual, almost humble. "Just wanted to say... that was some sick surfing today. All of you." His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, making JJ's jaw clench.

Rafe, surprisingly sober, nods in agreement. "That move in the finals, Maybank? Pretty fucking impressive." He shifts uncomfortably, clearly not used to complimenting pogues. "And Y/N... didn't know you had moves like that."

"Thanks," you reply quietly, your fingers automatically going to the shell necklace. The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by anyone at the table, especially JJ.

"Yeah, well," JJ starts, his voice carrying an edge, but Kiara kicks him under the table. He swallows whatever sarcastic comment he is about to make. "Thanks, man. You weren't half bad either, Topper."

"Listen," Topper says, running a hand through his hair. "We're having a bonfire in Figure Eight tonight. Victory party kind of thing. You guys should come." The invitation hangs in the air, surprising everyone.

Sarah raises an eyebrow at her brother. "Rafe? You're okay with this?"

Rafe shrugs, looking almost uncomfortable. "New leaf and all that shit, right? Besides," he grins, some of his old cockiness returning, "can't let you pogues have all the fun."

The group exchanges looks, years of kook-pogue rivalry making them hesitant. It's Pope who finally speaks up. "Yeah, alright. Could be fun."

"Cool," Topper nods, already backing away. "Starts at nine. Bring whatever." He and Rafe head back to their table, leaving you in stunned silence.

"Did that just happen? Did we just have a civil conversation with Topper and Rafe?" Kiara says surprised.

"End times," Pope declares solemnly, making everyone laugh. "The apocalypse is definitely coming."

"Well, that was weird," John B says, voicing what everyone's thinking. "Think it's a trap?"

"Nah," Sarah shakes her head. "Topper's been different lately. And Rafe... well, rehab changed him. A little, anyway."

JJ snorts, taking another drink. "Still don't trust them." His eyes find you again. "You gonna go?"

The question feels heavier than it should, loaded with implications. You meet his gaze, something unreadable in your expression. "Maybe," you say softly. "Might be nice to see how the other half lives, right?"

The tension at the table shifts, everyone pretending not to notice the way JJ's grip tightens on his beer bottle, or how your fingers haven't left that shell necklace since Topper walked away.

"Well," Kiara stands up, ever the peacemaker, "if we're doing this, we should probably get more food first. Can't show up to a kook party on empty stomachs." She heads toward the kitchen, leaving the others to navigate the complicated dynamics at the table.

The bonfire casts dancing shadows across the beach as JJ stands near the water's edge, the sound of waves mixing with distant laughter and music from the kook party. He's already several beers in, trying to drown out the memories that keep surfacing every time he catches sight of you. The others have conspicuously disappeared - John B and Sarah wandering off toward the dunes, Pope getting caught up in some debate about marine biology with a group of college kids, and Kiara conveniently remembering she needed to help set up the speakers.

You approach quietly, your presence announced only by the soft crunch of sand under your feet. You’ve changed since dinner, wearing a loose white beach dress that catches the firelight, that damn shell necklace still around your neck. Without warning, you reach out and take his beer, replacing it with a bottle of water.

"The fuck, Y/N/N?" JJ protests, the nickname slipping out before he can stop it. His voice is rougher than usual, whether, from the alcohol or emotion, it's hard to tell.

"You've had enough," you say softly, but firmly. "And we both know you get mean when you drink too much." There's no judgment in your voice, just stated fact - you know him too well, even after all this time.

JJ runs a hand through his hair, agitation clear in every movement. "Yeah? And what makes you think you still get to make that call?" The words come out harsh, but he takes a drink from the water bottle anyway.

You settle into the sand, patting the spot next to you. After a moment's hesitation, JJ sits too, maintaining careful distance between you two. The fire casts an orange glow across your skin.

"Remember the last bonfire we were at together?" You ask suddenly, your voice barely audible over the waves. "Before... everything?"

JJ tenses beside you, his fingers digging into the sand. "Don't," he warns, but there's less bite in his voice now. "We're not doing this, Y/N."

"Aren't we?" You turn to look at him fully, the firelight reflecting in your eyes. "Because I think we've been doing this dance since I got back. Everyone sees it, JJ. Even Kiara-"

"Leave Kie out of this," he snaps, but you both know it's a weak protest. His hand unconsciously moves toward yours in the sand before he catches himself. The shell necklace gleams as you shift, drawing his attention. "You kept it," he says suddenly, nodding toward the necklace. "Even in Maine."

"Never took it off," you admit quietly. "Even when they..it was the only piece of home I had left. The only piece of you."

JJ's breath catches at your words, his fingers curling into fists in the sand. The firelight dances across your faces as the party continues behind you, but you might as well be alone on the beach. The sound of waves seems to grow louder, matching the thundering of his heart.

"You can't just..." he starts, his voice cracking.

"You can't just say shit like that, Y/N. Not after... not after everything."

You shift slightly closer, the hem of your white dress brushing against his leg. "Then what can I say, JJ? Because we need to talk about it. About that night. About why I really left."

"Yeah?" JJ's voice turns sharp, defensive. "What's there to talk about? You made your choice. You left. End of fucking story." But his eyes betray him, constantly drawn to your face, to the necklace, to the way the firelight catches in your hair.

"It wasn't a choice," you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly. "My parents found the letters, JJ. The ones I wrote to you about... about everything. About your dad, about what we were planning..." You take a shaky breath. "About how much I loved you."

JJ's whole body goes rigid at your words. The water bottle crumples in his grip, forgotten. "Stop," he says, but it sounds more like a plea than a command. "Just... fuck, Y/N."

"You want to know why I really left?" You continue, your voice stronger now. "Because that night, after I left your house, after your dad..." you swallow hard. "After I saw what he did to you, I went home and wrote everything down. Every bruise I'd helped you hide, every night you climbed through my window bleeding, every time you flinched when someone moved too fast. I was going to turn him in, JJ. I couldn't watch him hurt you anymore."

The confession hangs in the air between you, heavy as storm clouds. JJ's breathing has become ragged, his jaw clenched so tight it must hurt. Behind you, someone cranks up the music, but it feels distant, muffled like you're underwater.

"My parents found the letters before I could do anything," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "They read everything - about us, about your dad, about how we were planning to run away after graduation. They didn't give me a choice, JJ. It was either Maine or..."

JJ stares at the water, his whole body vibrating with tension as he processes your words. The firelight catches the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but he blinks them away furiously. His injured hand flexes in the sand, leaving small indentations that quickly fill with darkness.

"You were gonna..." he starts, his voice hoarse. "You were trying to protect me?" A bitter laugh escapes him. "Fuck, Y/N. I thought... all this time I thought you just couldn't handle my shit anymore. Thought you got tired of dealing with the fucked up pogue kid."

You shift closer, close enough that your shoulders brush. The contact sends electricity through both of you. "I could never get tired of you, JJ," you whisper, your voice catching. "Even in Maine, even when they had me so medicated I could barely remember my own name... I never stopped..."

"Don't," he cuts you off roughly, but he doesn't move away. "You can't just come back here and tell me all this shit. You can't just..." he runs his hand through his hair again, agitation clear in every movement. "Fuck, do you know what it did to me? Finding your room empty that morning? Your mom wouldn't tell me anything, just kept saying you were 'getting help' like you were some kind of..." he can't finish the sentence.

"I tried to call," you admit quietly. "That first month, I called your number every day until they took my phone. Left so many voicemails I filled up your inbox." You touch the shell necklace again, a habit he's starting to recognize as nervous comfort. "Did you... did you ever listen to them?"

"Every fucking one. Over and over until the system deleted them." He finally turns to look at you fully, his eyes intense in the firelight. "I still have that old phone. Can't bring myself to throw it away because it's got your last message saved."

The confession hangs between you, heavy with meaning. Behind you, the party continues, but you might as well be alone on the beach. The waves crash steadily, a rhythm you both know by heart from countless night sessions together.

"I kept every letter," You say softly. "The ones they wouldn't let me send. There's a whole box of them under my bed. Three years' worth of things I needed to tell you." Your hand moves unconsciously toward his in the sand, stopping just short of touching.

JJ stares at the ocean for a long moment, processing everything. The firelight dances across his features as he finally turns back to you, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen since that last night three years ago.

"Every time something good happened, or something shit happened, or just... anything happened, my first thought was always 'I gotta tell Y/N.' Then I'd remember you weren't there anymore." He lets out a shaky breath. "Took me almost a year to stop turning to tell you stuff."

Your hand finally bridges the gap between them, your fingers brushing against his in the sand. Neither of you pulls away. "I did the same thing," you admit. "In group therapy, they'd ask who we missed most from home. I'd always say my parents, but..." You touch the shell necklace with your free hand. "It was always you, JJ. Every single time."

JJ's thumb unconsciously strokes across your knuckles, a gesture so familiar it makes your heartache. "I can't..." He starts, his voice catching. "I can't go through losing you again, Y/N. I barely survived it the first time." The admission costs him, you can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tighten slightly against yours.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper, the words carrying on the ocean breeze. "Not this time. Not ever again." You turn your hand in the sand, properly lacing your fingers together. "I'm done running, JJ. From you, from us, from everything."

The silence that follows is heavy with possibility. Behind you, someone calls your names - probably Pope or Sarah looking for you - but neither moves. "We can't just pick up where we left off," JJ finally says, but he doesn't let go of your hand. "Too much has happened. We're different people now."

You nod, understanding in your eyes. "I know. But maybe..." you squeeze his hand gently. "Maybe we can start something new. Something better."

JJ looks at your intertwined hands, then back at your face - at the girl who's haunted his dreams for three years, who's sitting here now in the firelight wearing his necklace and holding his hand like you never left. "Yeah," he says softly, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. "Maybe we can."

The party continues behind you, but you stay there on the beach, hands linked, watching the waves and starting the long process of healing what was broken. It's not perfect, and it's not fixed, but it's a beginning. And sometimes, that's enough.

The moonlight streams through your bedroom window as you and JJ slip inside, your footsteps quiet on the hardwood floors. Your room looks different than JJ remembers - new paint, new decorations, but somehow still unmistakably you. The fairy lights strung across the ceiling cast a soft glow over everything, creating shadows that dance across the walls.

JJ hovers near the door, hands shoved in his pockets as he watches you drop to your knees beside the bed. The fabric of your dress ghosting around your legs as you reach under the bed frame. His shell necklace catches the light as you move, making his chest tight with memories.

"It's here somewhere," You mutter, pushing aside boxes and old notebooks. "I kept everything organized when I moved back, but..." you trail off, stretching further under the bed.

JJ forces himself to look away, focusing instead on the photos newly tacked to your wall. Most are recent - your time in Maine, new friends, new places. But there, in the corner, partially hidden behind others, he spots one that makes his breath catch. It's you two, three years ago, on the beach after a night session. His arm is around your shoulders, both of you grinning at the camera, saltwater still dripping from your hair.

"Found it!" Your voice pulls him back to the present. You emerge from under the bed with a large shoebox, worn at the edges and covered in doodles. Your hands shake slightly as you set it on the bed, looking up at JJ with uncertainty in your eyes.

"That's... all of them?" JJ asks, his voice rougher than intended. He takes a step closer, drawn by the box like a magnet. Three years of words you couldn't say, couldn't send, all contained in one shoebox.

You nod, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside the box. "Every letter I wrote. Every time I missed you, every time something reminded me of you, every time I..." you trail off, fingers tracing the edge of the box. "Every time I needed you to know I still loved you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, heavy with possibility. JJ moves closer, perching on the edge of the bed, careful to maintain some distance. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across your face as you open the box, revealing stacks of envelopes, some crisp and new, others worn from being handled repeatedly.

"You don't have to read them now," you say quickly, noticing how JJ's hands have started to shake. "I just... I needed you to know they existed. That I never stopped trying to reach you, even when I couldn't actually send them."

The tension breaks as he lets out a snort of laughter, picking up one of the envelopes. "Your handwriting still looks like shit, Y/N," he teases, falling easily back into your old dynamic. "Seriously, did they not teach penmanship in Maine?"

You gasp in mock offense, snatching the letter from his hands. "Excuse you, this is art." You fought back a smile though, relief evident in your features at his attempt to lighten the mood. "Not all of us can have perfect surfer boy handwriting."

"Perfect?" JJ grins, reaching for another letter. "Have you seen my grocery lists? Even Pope can't read them." He settles more comfortably on the bed, his earlier hesitation melting away. "Oh shit, this one's got little hearts drawn all over it. Fucking sap."

"Shut up," You laugh, shoving his shoulder playfully. "I was heavily medicated and missing your stupid face." You pull out another letter, this one covered in doodles of waves and surfboards. "Oh god, my therapy art phase. We don't talk about this one."

JJ snatches it before you can hide it, his eyes scanning the page with growing amusement. "Holy fuck, is that supposed to be me?" He points to a stick figure with spiky hair riding a wave. "My hair does not look like that!"

"It absolutely does when you first wake up," you argue, reaching for the letter. JJ holds it above his head, laughing as you try to grab it. "JJ Maybank, give that back!"

"Make me," he challenges, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. It feels like old times - him in your room, playfully arguing about nothing important, the weight of your earlier conversation temporarily lifted.

You lunge for the letter, causing you both to tumble backward onto your bed, letters scattering around you. JJ's still holding the drawing above his head, grinning as you try to reach it. "You're such an ass," you complain, but you're laughing too.

"Yeah, but you missed this ass," he quips, then freezes slightly, worried he's pushed too far. But You just roll your eyes, finally managing to snatch the letter back.

"Unfortunately," you sigh dramatically, settling beside him among the scattered letters. "Though I'm starting to question my judgment."

JJ clutches his chest in mock hurt. "Wow, three years and you're already tired of me? That's cold, Y/N. Ice cold." He picks up another letter, this one dated from about a year ago. "Oh look, more hearts. And are those little JJs surfing?"

"I'm going to murder you," you threaten, but there's no heat in it. You're watching him with soft eyes, taking in how the fairy lights cast shadows across his face, how his smile reaches his eyes for the first time since you’ve been back.

"Nah, you love me too much," he says automatically, then stills as he realizes what he's said. The playful atmosphere wavers for a moment, the weight of your history threatening to crash back in.

But you just smile, reaching out to fix his messy hair. "Yeah," you say softly. "I do."

The admission is simple, honest, lacking the heavy emotion of your beach conversation. JJ looks at you, really looks at you, surrounded by three years worth of letters you wrote to him, wearing his necklace, smiling at him like nothing's changed and everything's changed all at once.

"Well, shit," he says finally, a grin tugging at his lips. "That's convenient. 'Cause I might still love you too."

The moment stretches between you, charged with three years of unspoken feelings until JJ finally closes the distance. His lips meet yours softly at first, hesitant, like he's afraid you might disappear if he pushes too hard. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheekbone as letters crinkle beneath you.

You respond immediately, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer. The kiss deepens, three years of longing and regret and love pouring into it. JJ tastes like ocean and bonfire smoke, exactly how you remember.

"Fuck," JJ breathes against your lips, pulling back slightly. His blue eyes are dark with emotion as he looks at you, his thumb still tracing patterns on your skin. "I've missed this. Missed you." His voice is rough, and vulnerable in a way he rarely allows himself to be.

You smile, tugging gently at his hair. "Yeah?" You tease, though your voice trembles slightly. "Even with my shit handwriting?"

JJ laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest where it's pressed against yours. "Especially with your shit handwriting," he murmurs, before capturing your lips again. This kiss is different - deeper, more urgent. His hand slides from your face to your neck, fingers brushing against the shell necklace.

You shift on the bed, letters scattering to the floor forgotten as you pull JJ closer. His weight settles over you naturally, like you never spent time apart. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over them, creating shadows that dance across your skin.

"Is this okay?" JJ asks between kisses, his forehead resting against yours. Despite his usual confidence, there's uncertainty in his voice. "We don't have to..."

You cut him off with another kiss, your hands sliding under his t-shirt to trace the familiar planes of his back. "JJ," you whisper against his lips. "Shut up."

He grins against your mouth, some of his usual cockiness returning. "Make me," he challenges, echoing your earlier playful banter. But there's heat in his voice now, promise in the way his fingers trail down your sides tracing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric of your white dress. His touch is familiar and electric, leaving trails of heat in its wake. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over them as he captures your lips again, deeper this time, more urgent.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathes against your mouth, his voice rough with want. His fingers find the hem of your dress, playing with the fabric as he kisses down your neck. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don't you dare," you whisper, tugging at his hair the way you know he likes, The action draws a low groan from him, his hips pressing instinctively against yours. JJ pulls back slightly, his blue eyes dark with desire as he looks down at you. The shell necklace gleams against your skin, making his chest tight with emotion. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, following the path of the necklace.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he murmurs against your skin, his hands sliding higher under your dress. His touch is reverent, relearning every curve and dip of your body. When his fingers brush against the lace of your underwear, you both inhale sharply.

You tug at his shirt impatiently. "So are you," you breathe, helping him pull it over his head your hands immediately explore his chest. "God, I've missed touching you."

JJ's response is to kiss you again, hard and deep, as his hands work to dress up your body. "Lift up," he instructs softly, and you arch your back so he can pull the fabric over your head. The sight of you in just your underwear, his necklace resting between your breasts, makes him pause.

"What?" You ask, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. But JJ just shakes his head, leaning down to press kisses across your chest.

"Just..." he murmurs between kisses, "trying to memorize everything." His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your bra. "In case this is a dream."

You reach up to touch JJ's face tenderly, your thumb tracing his bottom lip. "Not a dream," you whisper, pulling him down for another deep kiss. Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him closer as his hands explore your body with increasing urgency.

JJ's fingers trace the edge of your bra, his touch teasing yet reverent. "Can I...?" he asks against your lips, and you nod, arching your back so he can reach the clasp. His hands are slightly shaky as he unhooks it like he still can't quite believe this is real.

"Fuck," he breathes as the garment falls away, revealing your breasts. The shell necklace rests between them, catching the fairy lights. JJ leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses across your chest. His tongue traces patterns on your skin, remembering exactly how to make you gasp.

Your hands tangle in his hair as he takes a nipple into his mouth, your back arching off the bed. "JJ," you moan softly, mindful of the quiet house. His free hand palms your other breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak until you're squirming beneath him.

"Missed these sounds," JJ murmurs against your skin, switching his attention to your other breast. "Missed making you fall apart." His hand slides down your stomach, fingers playing with the waistband of your underwear. "Can still remember every spot that makes you shake."

To prove his point, he kisses down your ribs to that sensitive spot just below your left breast - the one that always makes you gasp. Sure enough, your breath hitches, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Still so responsive," he grins against your skin, nipping gently.

"Shut up," you breathe, but there's no heat in it. Your hands slide down his back, nails dragging lightly across his skin in the way you know drives him crazy. JJ groans, his hips pressing against yours instinctively.

"Make me," he challenges, echoing your earlier banter as he kisses lower, across your stomach. His fingers hook into your underwear, but he pauses, looking up at you with dark eyes. "Tell me you want this, Y/N/N. Tell me you want me."

You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him with eyes full of love and desire. The fairy lights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity of his gaze. "I want you, JJ," you whisper. "Always have, always will."

When you reach the waistband of his shorts, he groans softly against your neck. "Can I?" You ask, fingers playing with the button of his shorts. JJ nods against your skin, his breath hot on your neck as you work the button free. The sound of his zipper seems loud in the quiet room.

JJ helps you slide his shorts down his legs, his breath catching as your fingers trace the waistband of his boxers. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over his skin, highlighting the muscles that flex under your touch. "Fuck, Y/N," he breathes as your hand palms him through the thin fabric. His hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction. "You're gonna kill me."

You smirk up at him, enjoying the way his breath hitches as you hook your fingers in his boxers. "That's the plan," you tease, slowly pulling the fabric down. JJ kicks them off impatiently, leaving him completely bare above you.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers playing with the edge of your underwear. "These need to go," he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your hip bone. "Want to taste you again."

You lift your hips, letting him slide the lace down your legs. The shell necklace gleams against your skin as you move, drawing JJ's attention. He leans down, pressing kisses along the chain until he reaches the shell pendant resting between your breasts.

"Still can't believe you kept it," he whispers against your skin, his hands exploring your now-bare body with increasing urgency. "Kept wearing it all this time."

"Never took it off," you breathe, arching into his touch as his fingers trace patterns on your inner thighs. "It was like keeping a piece of you with me."

JJ groans at your words, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. His hand slides higher, fingers teasing where you want him most. "Tell me what you need," he murmurs against your mouth. "Want to make you feel good."

Your response is cut off by a gasp as his fingers find where you need him. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, "You," you manage to say. "Just you, JJ. Always you."

JJ's fingers trace slow, teasing circles against your sensitive flesh, watching with dark eyes as you arch beneath his touch. His other hand explores your body with reverent familiarity, relearning every curve and dip that he's missed for three long years. The fairy lights cast shifting shadows across your bare skin as you move together on your bed. "Fuck, you're so wet already," JJ breathes against your neck, his voice rough with desire. His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance as his thumb continues its maddening circles. "Always so responsive for me, Y/N."

JJ can't resist leaning down to trace the chain of the necklace with his tongue, following its path down to where it rests against your sternum. "Please," you gasp as he slides one finger inside you, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him. "JJ, I need..."

"Tell me," he murmurs against your skin, adding a second finger and curling them just right. "Want to hear you say it, baby. Tell me what you need." Your response is cut off by a moan as his thumb presses harder, his fingers finding that spot inside you that makes you see stars. JJ watches your face intently, memorizing every expression of pleasure that crosses your features. His cock throbs insistently against your thigh, but he ignores it, focused entirely on making you fall apart.

"You," you finally manage, your voice breathy and desperate. "Need you inside me, JJ. Please."

JJ groans at your words, his control wavering. But he forces himself to maintain his slow pace, wanting to draw this out, to make it last. His fingers continue their steady rhythm as he kisses down your body, paying special attention to each sensitive spot he remembers.

"Not yet," he whispers against your hip bone, nipping gently at the skin there. "Want to taste you first. Been dreaming about this for three years, Y/N. Gonna take my time."

JJ settles between your thighs, his hot breath teasing your sensitive flesh as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. His fingers maintain their steady rhythm inside you, curling just right. "Missed how you taste," he murmurs against your thigh, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. "Missed making you fall apart like this." His free hand slides up your body to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he finally presses his tongue against your clit.

Your back arches off the bed, one hand tangling in his salt-stiffened hair while the other grips your sheets. The shell necklace catches the light as you move, a constant reminder of your shared history. "JJ," you gasp, trying to keep your voice down despite the pleasure coursing through you.

JJ hums against you, the vibration making your thighs tremble. His tongue traces patterns around your clit as his fingers continue their steady thrusting, finding that perfect spot inside you that makes you see stars. He watches your face intently, memorizing every expression of pleasure that crosses your features.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, pulling back slightly to blow cool air against your heated flesh. "Want to see you come apart for me. Been too fucking long." His words are punctuated by another curl of his fingers, another swipe of his tongue.

Your hips buck against his face as he sucks your clit into his mouth, your breathing becoming more ragged. JJ's free hand slides down to hold your hips steady, his grip firm but gentle. "Close," you manage to gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair. "JJ, I'm so close..."

JJ doubles his efforts, his tongue moving faster as his fingers maintain their perfect rhythm. He can feel your walls beginning to flutter around his fingers and can taste how close you are. "Come for me, Y/N, Want to feel you fall apart on my tongue."

The combination of his words, his fingers, and his tongue finally pushes you over the edge. Tour back arches sharply, your thighs trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you. JJ works you through it, his movements becoming gentler as you come down from your high.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are glistening and his eyes are dark with desire. He presses soft kisses up your body as you catch your breath, paying special attention to the shell necklace that rests between your breasts. His cock presses insistently against your thigh, but he makes no move to rush things.

"Beautiful," he murmurs against your neck, nipping gently at your pulse point. "Fucking beautiful, Y/N. Missed watching you come undone like that."

Your hands slide down his back, nails dragging lightly across his skin in a way that makes him shiver. "Need you," you whisper, pulling him up for a deep kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, making you moan softly. "Please, JJ. Need you inside me."

JJ positions himself between your thighs, his cock pressing teasingly against your entrance. The fairy lights cast shadows across your sweat-slicked bodies as he captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Need you to be sure," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire and emotion. "Tell me this is what you want, Y/N." His cock slides against your wetness, making you both gasp at the sensation.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I'm sure, JJ," you breathe, your hands sliding up his back to tangle in his hair. "Been sure since the day I left. Want you, need you, love you."

JJ groans at your words, capturing your lips again as he slowly pushes inside you. You both freeze at the sensation, overwhelmed by the feeling of being connected again after so long. "Fuck," he breathes against your neck, his arms trembling as he holds himself still. "You feel fucking perfect, baby."

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you adjust to his size, your breath coming in short gasps. The fairy lights dance across your skin as you start to move together, finding your rhythm like you’ve never spent a day apart. JJ's movements are slow, and deliberate, wanting to savor every moment.

"Missed this," he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. "Missed you, missed us." His words are punctuated by slow, deep thrusts that make you gasp and arch beneath him. One hand slides down to grip your hip, angling you just right.

The shell necklace moves with each thrust, catching the light and drawing JJ's attention. He leans down to trace it with his tongue, following its path between your breasts. The action makes you moan softly, your walls clenching around him.

"JJ," you gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside you. "Please, need more." Your hands slide down his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him groan and thrust harder.

He continues his slow, deliberate pace, savoring every gasp and moan that escapes your lips. His hands explore your body with increasing urgency, one sliding down to grip your thigh as he adjusts the angle of his thrusts. "Fuck," he groans against your neck, nipping gently at your pulse point. "Feel so good around me, so fucking perfect." His words are punctuated by deep, measured thrusts that make your walls clench around him. The shell necklace gleams between your breasts, moving with each roll of his hips.

Your hands slide up his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him shudder. "Please, JJ," you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. "Need more, need you harder." Your voice is breathy, and desperate, making his control waver.

But JJ maintains his torturously slow pace, wanting to draw out every moment. His free hand slides between them to circle your clit, making your back arch sharply off the bed. "Not yet, baby," he murmurs, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. "Want to feel every inch of you, want to make this last."

JJ's thumb continues its maddening circles on your clit as he thrusts deeper, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "JJ," You moan, your walls fluttering around him as you get closer to the edge. "I'm close, so close..."

His thrusts become slightly harder, and deeper, but still maintain that measured pace that's driving you both crazy. JJ's free hand slides up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he continues to work you higher. The combination of sensations has you gasping his name, your body trembling beneath him.

JJ grins against your lips, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. "Want to try something?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. Without waiting for an answer, he suddenly rolls you over, keeping himself buried deep inside you as you end up straddling his lap.

"Fuck," You gasp at the new angle, your hands braced against his chest as you adjust. The shell necklace swings between you, catching the fairy lights as you move. JJ's hands slide up your thighs, gripping your hips as he guides you into a slow rhythm.

"That's it, baby," he groans, watching as you start to move above him. Your breasts bounce slightly with each movement, making his mouth water. "Ride my cock just like that." His hands explore your body freely from this new position, one sliding up to palm your breast while the other keeps a steady grip on your hip.

You set a torturously slow pace, rolling your hips in a way that has JJ cursing under his breath. Your walls clench around him with each movement, drawing low groans from deep in his chest. "Missed watching you like this," JJ breathes, his hands roaming your body possessively. He sits up slightly, capturing a nipple in his mouth as you continue to ride him.

His hands guide your movements, helping you maintain that slow, deep pace that's driving you both crazy.

"JJ," You moan as he hits that perfect spot inside you. Your nails drag down his chest, leaving light scratches that make him buck up into you harder.

JJ's control starts to slip as he watches you move above him, your head thrown back in pleasure. "Fuck, Y/N," he groans, his hands tightening on your hips. "You look so fucking good riding my cock like this."

He watches in awe as you continue to ride him, your movements becoming more confident with each roll of your hips. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as you move above him. "Fuck, just like that," he groans, bucking up to meet your movements. His hands grip your hips tighter, guiding you into a rhythm that has you both gasping.

You brace your hands on his chest, using the leverage to grind down harder. Your walls clench around him with each movement, drawing curses from his lips. "JJ," you moan, your head falling back as he hits that perfect spot inside you. "So deep like this..."

JJ works faster on your clit as he continues to thrust up into you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. You gasp, and your movements become more desperate. He suddenly pulls out of you, making you whimper at the loss. His chest heaves with heavy breaths as he tries to regain some control, his cock throbbing painfully between you.

"Need to slow down," he groans against your lips, his hands sliding up your sides. "Don't want this to end yet." His fingers trace patterns on your skin as you straddle his thighs. Your hands slide down his chest, nails dragging lightly across his skin in a way that makes him shiver. "JJ," you whimper, trying to move closer. Your pussy is dripping wet, clenching around nothing as you seek friction.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," his fingers slid between your legs to tease your entrance. He watches as you gasp and arches into his touch, your walls fluttering around his fingers. "Could stay here all night, just watching you fall apart."

You rock against his hand, seeking more friction. JJ's free hand slides up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he continues to tease you with shallow thrusts of his fingers. "Please," you moan, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. "Need you back inside me, JJ. Been too long without you."

You shift in JJ's lap, deliberately grinding against his thigh. The friction makes you gasp, your wetness coating his skin as you rock your hips. His hands gripping your hips to guide your movements. "Fuck, Y/N," he groans, feeling your pussy slide against his thigh. "You're so fucking wet." His fingers dig into your flesh, leaving marks that will be visible tomorrow.

Your hands brace against his chest for leverage as you grind harder, chasing the friction you need. The shell necklace swings between you with each movement, occasionally brushing against his heated skin. "JJ," you moan, your head falling back as pleasure builds.

JJ's free hand slides between them, thumb finding your clit as you continue to grind against him. "Please, more, need you inside me again." Your words are punctuated by the roll of your hips, your pussy sliding against his thigh with increasing urgency.

His thumb works faster on your clit as you ride his thigh, drawing you closer to release. "Come like this first," he commands roughly. You continue grinding against JJ's thigh, your movements becoming more desperate as pleasure builds. Your wetness coats his skin, making each slide of your pussy against him smoother, more intense. JJ's hands grip your hips tighter, guiding your movements as he watches you chase your release.

"Want to feel you soak my thigh before I fuck you properly." JJ’s words, combined with the pressure on your clit and the friction against his thigh, finally push you over the edge. Your body trembles as waves of pleasure crash over you, your pussy pulsing against JJ's thigh as you come. Your wetness coats his skin, making everything slick and hot between you.

"Fuck, that's it," His cock throbs painfully between you, demanding attention. "So fucking beautiful when you come." His thumb continues to circle your clit, drawing out your pleasure until your gasping and squirming.

Without warning, JJ flips them over, pinning you beneath him on the bed. His cock slides through your wetness, teasing your sensitive flesh. "Need to be inside you again," he groans, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Been too fucking long without this."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Please, JJ," you whimper, still sensitive from your orgasm. Your walls clench around nothing, seeking the fullness of his cock. "Need you inside me."

JJ lines himself up with your entrance, watching your face as he slowly pushes back inside. You both groan at the sensation, your walls stretching to accommodate him again. "Fuck, still so tight," JJ breathes, setting a slow, deep pace. His hands explore your body possessively as he thrusts into you, memorizing every curve and dip. "Feel so good."

Your hands slide up his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him shudder. Your pussy pulses around him with each thrust, drawing low groans from deep in his chest. JJ maintains his deep, steady rhythm as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. "I’m close," you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support. "So close, JJ. Please don't stop."

His hand slides between them to circle your clit as he maintains his punishing pace. "Come for me again," he commands. His thrusts become more erratic as he feels his release approaching, his grip on your hips tightening with bruising force. The fairy lights cast dancing shadows across their sweat-slicked bodies as they move together with increasing urgency. Without warning, he suddenly pulls out, his cock throbbing painfully between you.

"Fuck," he groans, his hand wrapping around his length as he strokes himself. "Where do you want it, baby?" His eyes are dark with desire as he watches you beneath him, your chest heaving with heavy breaths.

Your hands slide up his chest, nails dragging lightly across his skin. "On me," you gasp, still trembling from your release.

JJ's control finally snaps at your words. With a low groan, he comes hard, painting thick stripes across your stomach and breasts. The shell necklace gleams in the fairy lights, covered in drops of his release.

You collapse together on the bed, breathing heavily as you come down from your high. JJ reaches for his discarded t-shirt, gently cleaning his release from your skin. "Stay," you whisper, curling into his side. Your fingers trace patterns on his chest as your breathing slowly returns to normal. "Please stay this time."

JJ pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Not going anywhere," he murmurs against your skin. "Never again." The fairy lights continue to cast their soft glow over the room as you drift off to sleep, tangled together like they never spent a day apart.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen illuminating the dim room with a soft blue glow. He groans softly, careful not to wake you who's curled against his chest, your breathing deep and even.

The group chat notification shows several messages from John B and Pope:

John B: yo where tf did you and y/n disappear to??? 👀

Pope: they definitely left together bro

John B: fucking FINALLY

Pope: 20 bucks says they're at her place

John B: nah man, bet they're at the chateau

JJ can't help but grin at his friends' messages, his free hand absently playing with your hair as you sleep.

His phone buzzes again:

John B: JJ we know you're reading these messages asshole

Pope: let him live, he's probably busy 😏

John B: BUSY WITH WHAT POPE??? 🤔😂

JJ rolls his eyes, typing out a quick response with one hand:

"fuck off both of you”

The response is immediate:

John B: HE LIVES!!!

Pope: told you they were together

John B: you better not fuck this up again maybank

JJ's jaw tenses at John B's last message, his arm tightening slightly around your sleeping form. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across your peaceful face as he looks down at you, remembering everything you’ve been through to get here. The shell necklace rests between you, a constant reminder of your shared past and the promise of your future but for now, in this room with its fairy lights and scattered memories, nothing exists beyond the two of you.

3K notes · View notes

jaeyunverse · 3 years ago

Text

hide and seek

pairing: na jaemin x fem!reader

genres: fluff, angst, mild crack, mutual pining, best friends to lovers

wc: 5525

warnings: profanity, mc is not very good at expressing her feelings (lmk if i’ve missed smth!)

summary: a game of hide and seek with your cousins forces you and jaemin to camp out in a cramped space together. they say close proximity and darkness make people do things they usually don’t, and you’re no exception to this fact. after all, you do confess to him.

note: hii welcome to another episode of me reposting my old works LMFAO i’ve hit a bit of a block and i wanted to see if editing any of my drafts got me back into the flow of writing! i hope you guys enjoy this fic :D feedback is always appreciated <3

masterlist

You hated babysitting your three five-year-old cousins.

You loved them with all your heart, but they were too loud, too bubbly, too messy, too energetic, and just too much in general. Nothing kept them interested for more than ten minutes and for some reason, they loved to torture you.

The moment you’d sit down to relax, they’d run up to you and start whining. They’d poop when you were eating, spill their food while you were showering and wipe their snotty faces with your clothes despite having a handkerchief pinned to the front of their shirts.

And God, they asked so many questions.

Why aren’t there any more dinosaurs? Why can’t I stay up as late as you do? Why can’t Peppa Pig come to my birthday? Why do we hide our private parts from other people? Why does mommy wear a diaper?

You had long given up on quenching their curiosity. It wasn’t like it was your job to tell them how babies were made anyway.

You would have never babysat kids if it weren’t for your aunt, Hajoon. You admired her and looked up to her. She was a divorcee and had raised her set of triplets, Jeonghoon, Jihoon and Junghoon, all on her own while completing her Ph.D. simultaneously.

She now worked in a law firm and kicked ass every day. You’d have done anything for her. Plus, it didn’t hurt that she was paying you tons. Considering the fact that you only looked after the triplets for a couple of hours after school, you definitely did not deserve the bank you made. No way in hell were you going to be an ungrateful bitch and complain.

“Oh, come on,” Shin Ryujin, one of your best friends, complained from the other side of the phone. “I thought you didn’t babysit on weekends.”

“Yeah, I know,” you replied, sighing. The kids were watching a movie in the living room while you were in the kitchen, making extra popcorn for them. “Aunt Hajoon had to go to court today, so I volunteered. It’s an important case.”

“Well, why can’t she just enrol them in a nursery? Why do you have to take care of them all the time?” Ryujin demanded. “I’m sure the staff in a daycare is far more qualified to look after them.”

“Ryujin,” you whined. “I told you she’s way too protective of them. She’s a single, working mother, for God’s sake!”

You sandwiched your phone between your shoulder and ear, picking up the three bowls of popcorn you had just made. As you walked towards the triplets and handed the bowls over to them, Ryujin spoke up once again.

“What about your mother? Can’t she look after the kids for an hour?”

“My parents work on Saturday, Ryujin. You know that.” From your peripheral, you saw the boys shooing you away. You winced and smiled at them apologetically, leaving so that they could watch their movie without any disturbances.

“Y/N!” she cried. “Our group’s been planning to go to the new cafe for so long! You can’t just back out of something we decided over two weeks ago!”

“I’m sorry!” you exclaimed, utterly exasperated. This entire conversation was going nowhere. You just wanted to relax in your room while the triplets watched the movie and stayed out of your hair. “You guys go ahead without me. I promise I won’t ditch next time.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t believe you,” she muttered angrily.

“Yeah, well, I don’t care,” you snapped and cut the call. Why couldn’t she understand you were busy? That you were helping out a relative in a time of need. Was it so wrong of you to put your family first?

Shaking your head, you trudged to your room upstairs and collapsed on your bed. You sighed heavily and closed your eyes. Just ten minutes of silence and peace—that was all you wanted.

As it turned out, the universe hated you.

“Y/N!”

You groaned.

The door to your bedroom was thrown open, and Junghoon, Jihoon and Jeonghoon jumped on top of you with what sounded like a war cry. You doubled over in pain and pushed them off you as gently as you could.

“The movie’s over, Y/N!” Junghoon chirped and violently shook your shoulders. “Play with us!”

“What? Already?” you asked, voice wobbling because of how hard you were being swayed. You didn’t even have the energy to remove the death grip he had on you.

“Yep!” Jihoon replied with a wide smile. Junghoon finally let go of you and joined his brothers. “We’re bored and we want to play Hide and Seek with you.”

“Well, what about your popcorn?” You pushed yourself up and sat cross-legged on your bed, the three of them sitting the same way in front of you. “Finish it and then we can play.”

That would give you at least five more minutes to rest and prepare yourself for the game.

The triplets were really, really good at Hide and Seek and had their own set of rules. The first person to be caught was to be punished and somehow, you were always the loser. You suspected foul play but let them off the hook because they got pissy when things didn’t go their way.

And pissy children are absolute pains in the ass.

“We’re not hungry anymore.” Jeonghoon made a sour face. “Popcorn is only tasty while watching a movie, and by the time you made it, the credits started playing. You’re too slow, Y/N.”

“Hey!” you protested and threw a pillow at his face. Jeonghoon dodged it easily, giggling. “I made popcorn when you told me to make popcorn! It’s not my fault you asked me to make it at the end of the movie.”

He pouted. “Whatever. Just play with us!”

Grabbing your hand, he got off the bed and began tugging you along. Jihoon grabbed your other hand and pulled you as well while Junghoon pushed you from the back.

You sighed.

You were about to make up another excuse and shoo them away when the doorbell rang. The triplets perked up at the same time and ran out of your room, wanting to see if it was their mother who had come to pick them up. You frowned, getting off your bed. It was just four in the evening and Aunt Hajoon wasn’t supposed to come until after dinner.

As you walked out of your room and down the stairs, you yelled, “Don’t open the door, guys! Wait for—”

You stopped in your tracks and let out a small laugh when you saw who was standing on your porch. Ryujin stood with a box of pastries in her hand and a wide smile on her face. The rest of your friend group—consisting of Jeno, Mark, Renjun, Jaemin, Donghyuck, Chenle, Jisung and Yeji—looked up at you from behind her.

Jeno waved at you with a cocky smile. “You didn’t come with us, so we came to you.”

“You guys missed me that much, huh?” you joked as you let them in your house, directing them towards the living room.

“I didn’t,” Jaemin replied nonchalantly.

You rolled your eyes and said, “I wasn’t asking you.”

“Oh.” He raised an eyebrow and shoved both his hands into his denim pockets, staring down at you with mischievous eyes. “Maybe you should pick up a dictionary some time, Y/N. You see, the word ‘guys’ applies to the general public around you. And since I am the general public around you—”

“Yeah, I get it, Jaemin—” you waved him away— “You’re a smartass. Let’s move along.”

Said boy gave you a cheeky smile and plopped down on the couch, tugging your arm and making you sit next to him. Mark took up the spot on your other side.

“Aw, man. The lovebirds are at it again,” Chenle groaned.

“We’re not lovebirds!” you exclaimed. At the same time Jaemin said, “And what about it?”

You glared at him. He only shrugged, as if to say, What? I’m not lying.

You didn’t exactly not find Jaemin attractive, you just didn’t like admitting that you did. Plus, he was kind of annoying and commented on everything you did.

Like, a few days ago, the two of you had tagged along with Jeno and Yeji to an ice-cream parlour. The moment you had ordered a vanilla ice cream, Jaemin had remarked, “Oh, look at the coincidence. Your flavour’s the same as your personality—basic.”

You had smacked his shoulder and pinched his waist hard. He’d only grinned at you.

“Yeah,” Jisung snorted. “Keep telling that to yourself, Y/N.”

You were about to protest, but Junghoon cut you off from where he was seated. “Aren’t you going to introduce your group to us?”

Your eyes widened and you hastily said, “Right.”

Pointing at each of your friends, you took their names. “Jeno, Yeji, Ryujin, Jisung, Chenle, Donghyuck, Mark, Renjun and Jaemin, meet my cousins—” you pointed at the boys— “Junghoon, Jihoon and Jeonghoon.”

“How do you have so many friends?” Jeonghoon asked you, visibly confused. “You don’t look like the type to have so many friends.”

You gasped and narrowed your eyes at him, completely offended. Renjun snorted and said to the triplets, “She isn’t. We took her in because we have a soft spot for loners.”

“Shut up, Renjun,” you grumbled. “If anyone’s the loner over here, it’s you.”

“Says the girl who always skips our meets,” Yeji snickered. “You didn’t come to the movies last time because you claimed the season finale of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, which, let me add, was available on OTT platforms to be viewed any time you wanted, was more important than us.”

“It was,” you deadpanned.

“Oh, I feel so loved and validated, Y/N.” Mark put a hand on his chest and looked at you with faux teary eyes. “Thank you for being there every time I needed you.”

You threw an arm around his neck and grinned. “You’re welcome.”

“So,” Jaemin interrupted loudly and brought his hands together. “Are we gonna eat those pastries or what?”

“But we wanted to play Hide and Seek,” Jihoon whined and stomped in place, crossing his hands over his chest. “I’m not hungry right now; I’m bored!”

“Yeah!” Junghoon and Jeonghoon seconded their brother at the same time. “We wanna play!”

You removed your hand from Mark’s shoulders and looked at your friends apologetically. “I’m so sorry, guys. I gotta play with them. You can carry on and eat at the cafe if you want. I heard the ambience is amazing.”

“We know, Y/N,” Donghyuck said, laughing. “We just came from there. We didn’t want to have another get together without you, so we got takeaway pastries for everyone in hopes of eating them here.”

He got up, took a few steps towards where the triplets were sitting and dropped down on his knees. Smiling at them affectionately, he said, “There are pastries for you too. We can play before eating them if that’s what you want. Food is always tastier when you’re hungry.”

Your heart swelled, and your eyes suddenly welled up. How you’d lucked out and become friends with these amazing and considerate people, you had no idea. Subtly tipping your head backwards, you tried to push the tears back in.

“I guess I finally have a shot at winning the game, huh?”

You didn’t consider yourself rich, but your family definitely had enough money to be considered above the middle class.

Your home was two storeys big with a huge attic at the top and a scary basement at the bottom. It consisted of seven bedrooms, four bathrooms, a gigantic living room, a spacious kitchen and a dumbwaiter.

The fact that your house was a lot like the one from Home Alone was an extra perk.

“So, how do we wanna do this?” you asked your cousins. “I don’t think just one person should become the seeker now that we have thirteen people playing. It’ll be fun to have a few more people searching.”

“I’m thinking the kids could search for us,” Ryujin piped up. She’d let herself into the kitchen a while back and had placed the large pastry box in your fridge. “None of us know the layout of your house very well, and it’ll probably take ages for us to find out where everyone’s hiding.”

“Yeah,” Jaemin added. “It could be kids versus adults.”

“We’re seventeen,” you pointed out.

“You’re seventeen,” he replied, flicking your forehead. “I’m eighteen.”

“Shut up. My birthday’s only a few weeks away. And don’t act so high and mighty; you’re barely a few months older,” you grumbled and grabbed his hand, shooting it down. It landed in your lap and stayed there, partially intertwined with your own. It felt so natural to hold Jaemin’s hand and have his warmth envelope you.

“What do we get if we win?” Junghoon asked. “We’ll search the house for a half-hour, and if we’re not able to find all of you by then, we’ll do what you want.”

Jeno frowned. “We don’t want anything from you. We’re just here to have fun—”

“Shut up, Jeno,” you interrupted him. Clearing your throat, you said to the triplets, “I’m gonna need you guys to listen to what I say and do what I tell you to do without any questions whenever you come over for the next month. I don’t want you to whine and cry and fight amongst yourselves. I want you to be well-behaved children.”

The three of them glanced at each other, some silent communication taking place between them. Finally, Jihoon nodded. “Fine. But if we win, you do The Dance in front of your friends.”

Your cheeks warmed as everyone looked at you with amused expressions and raised eyebrows. “Y/N,” Jisung drawled. “What is The Dance?”

“Nothing,” you squeaked. “I’m not gonna do The Dance. Ask for something else.”

“We don’t want anything else,” Jeonghoon countered with a wicked grin. “We want you to do The Dance. If you refuse, we’ll make your life a living hell.”

You paled. Children were evil, you realised. They were evil and they were very good at putting up facades of innocence. You bit your lip in contemplation and after a moment, sighed in defeat. You had a lot to gain if you managed to stay hidden. “Fine.”

All of them cheered. Jaemin whispered in your ear, “God, they’re so cunning and manipulative. Would have never thought five-year-olds could have those qualities.”

You grunted in agreement, eyes throwing daggers at the siblings. “Tell me about it.”

You ripped your gaze away from them to look at Jaemin. What you didn’t realise was that his own face was turned towards yours, causing your lips to brush against his.

Heat rushed to your cheeks.

You whipped your head the other way and let your unbound hair fall over your embarrassed face. Jaemin cleared his throat and untangled his hand from yours.

Fuck. You hadn’t realised you were still holding it. You closed your eyes shut as a pained expression flashed across your face. Great fucking job—

“I was thinking we could increase the difficulty level a bit,” Chenle suggested.

You swallowed your sigh of relief, mentally thanking him for giving you something else to listen to and focus on.

“You guys know the house very well, and that already gives you an advantage over us,” he said to the boys. “You could find us within ten minutes, much less thirty. But what if you had something to protect while you busted us. Something you’d need to keep an eye on so that we couldn’t destroy it.”

“Are you suggesting a game of Kick the Can?” Mark asked flatly.

“Is that what it’s called?” Chenle frowned.

“Yes, Chenle,” Ryujin said and rolled her eyes. “We know you didn’t have a very outdoorsy childhood, but come on, everyone knows that game."

The boy offered nothing more than a shrug.

“Kick the Can sounds good!” Jihoon exclaimed. “We haven’t played in so long.” The other two agreed, practically jumping up and down in their seats.

And so it was decided. The kids would count to a hundred in the backyard, and the rest of you would scatter and hide in the house. The triplets weren’t allowed to stand guard by the can for more than a minute so that the teenagers could have a shot at winning the game.

If all of you were caught within thirty minutes, you’d have to do The Dance. If at least one of you managed to kick the can or remain out of sight for half an hour, Junghoon, Jihoon and Jeonghoon would have to give in to your demands.

Oh, it was going to be a fun game.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fu—

This was terrible. This was so, so terrible. You took it all back. Your friends were fucking traitors, and you were going to throttle them to death the moment you got your hands on them.

Those bitches hadn’t even waited to betray you. Five minutes into the game and half of them were caught. From where you were crouched near the attic window, you could practically see Hyuck casually walk out of the house with his hands in his pockets.

The triplets grinned and announced, “Donghyuck is caught!”

Donghyuck even had the audacity to look bored as he mocked disappointment. “Oh, no!” he faked, his voice dull and muffled because of the distance. “I’m caught! You better stay hidden, Y/N. You don’t wanna lose to five-year-olds and perform your Dance."

You cursed under your breath and looked away from the backyard. Bringing your knees to your chest, you buried your head in your hands.

You didn’t want to perform The Dance. It was simply embarrassing. Your friends already teased you a lot and you didn’t want to give them any more blackmail material. Shit, you should’ve made a condition and said no recording of any sort.

While you were busy wallowing in hate and despair, you failed to notice that the conversation between your busted friends had died down. Your eyes widened a moment too late—right as the door to the attic was thrown open, and light footsteps shuffled towards you.

Breath hitching in your throat, you pulled your ass up and made a beeline towards the dumbwaiter. You couldn’t afford to let yourself get caught, especially not since you were probably the only person who could save yourself.

Keeping an eye on your surroundings and straining your ears to figure out where exactly your cousin was, you repeatedly pushed the lift button. You cringed when the dumbwaiter began moving, the gears on the other side of the door shifting and creating noise as it was pulled up.

“Jisung’s caught!” Junghoon yelled from somewhere in the house, drowning the dull thrum of the dumbwaiter. The footsteps stopped—then increased their pace. As if the person were running.

“Coming!” Jihoon yelled, his voice indicating he was far enough to not be able to realise the dumbwaiter was in use. He was likely standing near the door. “I’ll search the attic first.”

The moment he finished the sentence, the lift came to a stop. You exhaled, heart thundering in your chest. With your hands, you pushed one half of the wooden door downwards and the other one upwards.

Your eyes widened when you saw the dumbwaiter wasn’t empty. Inside sat a cross-legged Jaemin, confusion and terror plastered all over his face.

“This thing moves?!”

Your left hand was immediately on his mouth, the other one going behind his neck for support. You shot him a warning glance that told him to shut the fuck up.

“Jihoon is here,” you mouthed while he sat inside, almost paralyzed. Something shone in Jaemin’s eyes. Against your palm, you felt the corner of his lip tug upwards, and with a jolt, you realised what it was.

The motherfucker wanted to sell you out.

Pressing your hand harder against his mouth and leaning forward until your faces were but a few inches away, you gritted, “Don’t you fucking dare.”

Jaemin laughed under his breath, hot breath fanning your clammy palm. Maintaining eye contact with you and not looking away for even a second, he wrapped his fingers around your wrist. Dread settled in you.

He was strong. You were not. Despite your death grip, he’d be able to remove your hand from his lips in one swift movement.

No way were you going to lose your last shred of dignity in front of your friends, and no way were you going to be the laughing stock of the entire school when Chenle posted the video of you flapping your arms like a bird on YouTube.

You had to make a move.

Now.

To hell with it, you thought to yourself and with all your might, pushed Jaemin further into the dumbwaiter. He let out a small sound of surprise (which was thankfully muffled because of your hand), clearly thrown off guard by your sudden strength.

You stepped in and flung one of your legs on the other side of Jaemin’s body. Hand still pressed against his mouth and your body straddling his, you pressed the basement button with your elbow.

The dumbwaiter door closed shut.

“What are you doing?” he exclaimed once he got over the initial shock of having you sitting in his lap.

“What are you doing?” you snapped in an accusatory tone, finally removing your hand from his mouth. “You were about to give me away, and I didn’t have a choice! I couldn’t exactly kick you out of the dumbwaiter without making any noise and exposing myself, so doing this—” you gestured between the two of you— “was the next best thing!”

Despite the darkness, you saw Jaemin’s lips stretch in a lazy grin. “I can’t say I disagree. This is the best thing that’s happened to me this month.”

“It’s the third of April,” you pointed out.

“It’s exam season. It’s not going to get any better.”

You rolled your eyes. Jaemin frowned. “Why is this thing not moving back down? You pressed a button, right?”

“Yeah.” Your forehead creased in confusion. You glanced at the dimly lit red button. “I did. See?”

“Oh, God,” Jaemin groaned. “Don’t tell me we’re stuck in this wooden box. No offence to you, by the way,” he added. “Being stuck in here with you like this is a dream come true.”

You laughed and lightly punched his shoulder. “The lift is old so it stops working sometimes. No need to worry. Plus, you being stuck in here is beneficial to me. You won’t be able to escape and rat out my location to the kids anymore.”

“True,” Jaemin agreed, snorting.

Suddenly, you were aware of all your surroundings. The small box the two of you were crammed into, the darkness, the close proximity of your bodies and the silence that enveloped you.

Jaemin knew you liked him; that you were down bad for him the same way he was for you. Yet, he never asked you why you always rejected him. Why you never accompanied him for school dances and denied being attracted to him in front of everyone.

Jaemin gave you your space despite not knowing the reasons behind your actions. He played along when you pretended to be annoyed by him to hide your feelings. From whom, he didn’t know. Your entire friend group could tell you were attracted to each other.

You wished you could tell him that you were hiding your feelings from yourself. That you were scared of acknowledging the thing between the two of you. That confessing made people vulnerable and you didn’t want to be vulnerable.

You trusted Jaemin with your life, but it was the overall thought of laying yourself bare in front of someone that scared you. Being in a relationship makes people open to getting all kinds of hurt.

Maybe not wanting to take that risk made you a coward.

Growing up, you weren’t used to being told you were loved. Your parents were very reserved and didn’t express any emotions other than disappointment and anger. You had been raised in an atmosphere where talking about feelings was considered uncomfortable and unnecessary—a waste of time.

You didn’t know how to bring up certain topics, how to make sure people close to you knew how much they meant to you. How to tell people that you cared.

Jaemin didn’t mind being kept in the dark. He knew there was more to you than you let show, that there were some things that you couldn’t share with him. It hurt knowing you couldn’t tell him what was gnawing at you, but he was willing to wait for you. He was satisfied knowing the girl he had fallen for liked him back.

He knew that even though you didn’t verbalise your feelings, they existed.

Your daily bickering, the times you would lean into him without realising, the smile on your face when he would crack a joke and the playful roll of your eyes when he would exaggerate his feelings towards you—all of it was enough for Jaemin.

He knew you liked it when he teased you. That you didn’t mind when he expressed his feelings for you in front of everyone. That you actually found some sort of comfort when he did so.

Your relationship was weird and probably unhealthy. The lines in it were very blurred. You both may have been unhappy with it, but you had silently come to terms with it.

You were okay with it.

Until now.

As you sat in his lap in silence, both your hands on his shoulders and his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you in place, you realised you didn’t just want to be okay with your relationship.

You wanted to be happy. You wanted Jaemin to be happy. He deserved to be told he was loved and appreciated by you. He deserved to get back everything he gave you.

“Jaemin,” you quietly called. He hummed in response, waiting for you to continue. “Do you like me?”

It was a stupid, stupid question. But you wanted to be sure. You wanted to know one last time before you spoke your heart out.

He laughed. “Yeah, duh. Did you not hear me agreeing with Chenle when he called us lovebirds?”

When you didn’t reply, Jaemin’s amusement died. He cleared his throat and shifted under you, sitting up straighter. “Yeah, I like you, Y/N,” he repeated. His gut twisted with nervousness. He hoped the conversation was going where he thought it was going. “I like you very much.”

“I think—” you swallowed the lump in your throat, daring not to look at him. “I think I like you too.”

“Yeah?” he asked tentatively. “You like me too?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, toying with your fingers now. “Very much.”

Jaemin smiled his widest smile. He felt giddy inside. And happy. He felt so happy to have finally heard you say the words. “Would you look at that? Turns out not betraying the girl you like is a good thing.”

You laughed under your breath and leaned forward, resting your forehead on his shoulder. Jaemin wrapped his arms around you and pulled you closer.

You were so glad he hadn’t made a big deal out of it. Your confession hadn’t been grand. Heck, it was probably very lame, but it had taken a great deal of effort on your part to finally get it done. It felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders.

Balling your fists against his chest, you buried your nose in the crook of his neck and breathed him in. “I’m stealing your soap.”

“Oh, come on,” he whined, his deep voice rumbling in your ear. “Was stealing my heart not enough for you?”

You laughed again. “Shut up.”

“You know,” Jaemin began, “all your laughing is going to finish off our oxygen.”

You moved away and stared at him with raised eyebrows. “I know I almost failed science last semester, but it doesn’t take an A grade to know that you’re bullshitting.”

“Am not!” he protested. “Laughing allows stale air to escape your lungs, thus allowing more oxygen to enter them. You’re going to suck all the oxygen and kill us today. I guess it’s partially my fault too. I mean, I am very funny, and people often find it hard to—”

You rolled your eyes and leaned forward, putting your forehead against his. Jaemin stopped talking.

“Then,” you drawled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Why don’t we stop breathing for some time to make the oxygen last longer? I hear kissing doesn’t allow people to breathe.”

“It actually does,” Jaemin remarked, clearly not picking up on the very obvious hint you had dropped. “If your noses are angled—”

“Shut up and kiss me, you stupid, fucking, utterly oblivious smartass.”

His lips were on yours immediately. With a jolt, you realised the fucker had been playing around with you. He wanted to hear the words from your lips, loud and clear. If it weren’t for the fact that he was an excellent kisser, you would’ve shoved him away and smacked him already.

Cupping your cheek with a hand, Jaemin deepened the kiss and pulled you closer by the waist. You raked your hands through his silky hair and opened your mouth to him. He shoved his tongue inside immediately, as if he was waiting for the moment you’d part your lips.

You’d never kissed anyone, so you could only sit on Jaemin’s lap and let him take complete control. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth, the hand he had around your waist trailing up and down your spine.

You shivered and hesitantly began to break the kiss. You needed more air. Jaemin nipped at your lower lip once before allowing you to move away.

“Tired already?” he chuckled.

Panting, you shot him a look. “You have practice; I don’t.”

Jaemin looked mildly surprised for a moment. “What practice? You were my first kiss, Y/N.”

“You’re kidding,” you deadpanned. “That was too good to be a first kiss.”

Jaemin grinned at you smugly. “I guess I’m a natural then.”

You rolled your eyes. “Right.”

A comfortable silence ensued after. You digested everything that had happened in the dumbwaiter. Where did your relationship with Jaemin stand now that you had finally confessed and kissed him? Was Jaemin your boyfriend now? Was this going too fast? Were you—

“Hey,” Jaemin called softly and touched your arm. You glanced up at him from under your lashes. “We don’t have to figure everything out right now. We can go slow, see where this newly acknowledged thing takes us. If that’s what you want,” he added.

You could have kissed him again for saying that. Instead, you settled for a grateful smile. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that very— HOLY MOTHERFUCKING GOD, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!”

Not being able to handle your and Jaemin’s weight for so long, the wooden floor of the dumbwaiter gave way beneath you. You began free-falling towards the ground along with him.

The fall ended not even a second after it began, the impact far lesser than you had imagined, even with Jaemin taking most of it. As you opened your eyes and glanced up at the shaft, you realised the dumbwaiter was not far from the ground at all.

Just a few feet at the most. You let out a sigh of relief. Jaemin groaned under you. “Ow, fuck. I can’t feel my goddamn legs. How long were you sitting on my lap,Y/N?”

You were about to reply when the shaft door opened beside you and Junghoon poked his head inside.

He grinned and yelled, “Jaemin and Y/N are caught! We win!”

Before you could stop him and call him out for cheating, he ran out of the basement, no doubt to inform his brothers about the good news. You heaved a sigh and collapsed on top of Jaemin again, resting your head on his chest.

“Aw,” he cooed and ruffled your hair. You grumbled and swatted his hand away. “Looks like you lost.”

“Nuh-uh.” You clicked your tongue and raised your head to look at him again. “I’m pretty sure I won. I confessed and kissed you today. God, I am on a roll!”

“Stop being so fucking adorable. I will fucking kiss you again and I will do it right here, in the dust, without giving a shit about hygiene.”

You shrugged. “I mean, who’s stopping you?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Really? Is my excitement to kiss you disgusting?”

Jaemin paused. “When you put it like that…”

Grinning, you got off him and exited the dumbwaiter shaft. “Come on, lover boy. You don’t wanna miss The Dance, do you?”

He gave you a wicked smile and got up as well. Patting himself down to get rid of the dust sticking to his clothes, he nonchalantly said, “You’re going viral on TikTok today, Y/N.”

Fuck.

1K notes · View notes

buckseb · 3 years ago

Text

BUCKYSEDDIE’S MASTERLIST:

a/n — if you want me to write you something specific, (i.e., a one-shot, a head-canon, a next part for a different imagine, etc.) please request through an ask. (or through a message if it’s more comfortable for you!) please, don’t be afraid to reach out to me! i love getting requests from you guys!!

♡ : fluff

➳ : angst

✰ : smut

—————

DEFENDING JACOB

ANDY BARBER

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

always here | ♡ ➳ | (unfinished)

—in which, when an argument with her step-dad goes wrong, she runs into the arms of her neighbor.

HARRY POTTER

DRACO MALFOY

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

insecurities | ♡ ➳ | 3.6k words

—in which, she’s insecure about her body and struggling with her eating disorder and only draco can support her.

little crush | ♡ ➳ | 1.7k words

—in which, draco finds out about her crush on him and confronts her.

FRED WEASLEY

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

give it another chance | ♡ ➳ | 5.0k words

—in which, she’s been hurt before, but fred hopes she’ll give him a chance.

reassurance | ♡ ➳ | 3.8k words

—in which, she’s ashamed of herself and feels like she doesn’t deserve fred, and it’s up to him to convince her otherwise.

MARVEL

GRANT WARD [AGENTS OF SHIELD]

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

always here | ➳ ♡ | (unfinished)

—in which, she has to show him how loved he is when he loses everything.

dangerous | ♡ ➳ | (unfinished)

—in which, despite the fact that agent ward is a master at compartmentalizing his emotions, he nearly loses it when his partner gets hurt on a mission.

lies | ➳ | (unfinished)

—in which, after countless heartbreaks, she thought she found something different with ward — that he was different — but, little did she know he’d be the one thing to break her even more than she already was.

traps & angry confessions | ♡ ➳ | 5.7k words

—in which, she’s avoiding her feelings and ward all together and their friends take the two agents’ fate into their own hands and decide to trap them in coulson’s office, forcing them to face their unresolved issues.

JAMES (BUCKY) BARNES

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

light in the dark | ♡ ➳ | 6.0k words

—in which, she’s been struggling for far too long and bucky seems to be the only one who notices.

only exception | ♡ ➳ | 2.1k words

—in which, bucky finds out about her eating disorder, after she ends up at his house, crying and wet from the rain, and needing someone to talk to.

out of the woods | ♡ ➳ | 7.7k words

—in which, their relationship is a very complicated and rocky relationship that they both have to fight for. based on the song out of the woods by taylor swift!

perfectly wrong | ♡ ➳ | (draft)

—in which it started out as hooking up, just as a one time thing, but now there’s feelings involved. based on the song perfectly wrong by shawn mendes!

JAMES (LOGAN) HOWLETT [X-MEN]

HEAD-CANONS:

dating logan howlett includes | ♡ | (unfinished)

—how it would be to date logan howlett!

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

tragic endings | ➳ | 16.2k words

—in which, after she takes in a young, troubled mutant in and vows to protect her from all dangers that she seems to be in, she meets the famously-brooding wolverine, who unexpectedly changes her life.

unexpected chances | ♡ ➳ | 8.5k words

—in which, there was always something there, but after unexpected circumstances, something changes.

PETER PARKER [TASM]

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

always hold you | ♡ ➳ | 2.6k words

—in which, she needs her boyfriend’s support more than anything else, after another particularly bad fight with her father.

if only | ♡ ➳ | 4.8k words

—in which, she’s been second to gwen her entire life, so, naturally, it comes to a shock to her when peter picks her.

STEVE ROGERS

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

only one | ♡ ➳ | (unfinished)

—in which thanos turned her into a weapon, but is steve the only one who can reach her?

OUTER BANKS

JJ MAYBANK

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

attention | ♡ | (unfinished)

—in which, she wants her boyfriend's attention, instead of having to compete for it against his game's console.

made for each other | ➳ ♡ | 3.9k words

—in which, they don't like each other until they learn about each other's trauma and they become something else entirely.

secret feelings | ♡ ➳ | 2.8k words

—in which, she’s jj’s best friend and completely in love with him, but upon seeing him with another girl, everything comes crashing down for her.

speechless | ♡ ➳ | 7.5k words

—in which, there’s five times where she proves jj wrong and only one that he proves her wrong.

unexpected feelings | ♡ ➳ | 2.3k words

—in which, after getting her heart broken by her best friend, she falls for his best friend instead.

KIARA CARERRA

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

irreplaceable | ➳ ♡ | (unfinished)

—in which, they're fighting because kiara feels replaced by her best friend's boyfriend.

RAFE CAMERON

HEAD-CANONS:

dating rafe includes | ♡ | 1.5k words

—how it would be to date rafe cameron!

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

mine | ♡ ➳ | 6.6k words

—in which, when rafe attempts to start over, he finds a mysterious girl who leaves him more and more curious about her after they meet. based on the song mine by taylor swift!

PRETTY LITTLE LIARS

JASON DILAURENTIS

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

best friend’s brother | ♡ | 792 words

—in which, they both have secret feelings for each other and alison’s not too happy about it.

heated arguments | ♡ ➳ | 805 words

—in which, after jason finds out the truth about ‘a’, it causes issues for her relationship with him.

hidden feelings | ♡ ➳ | 1.1k words

—in which, she’s nervous about a date and jason just can’t help but let his emotions cloud his judgment.

jealousy | ♡ ➳ | 2.9k words

—in which, she and jason are in a secret relationship, but she catches her sister flirting with him.

jealousy (reversed roles part to jealousy) | ♡ | 1.4k words

—in which, they’re secretly dating, but jason catches caleb flirting with her.

steamy showers | ♡ | 1.6k words

—in which, jason has to hide in the shower with her to hide the fact that she’s been living with him from alison.

steamy showers (part two of steamy showers) | ✰ | 1.3k words

—in which, things are continued on, after they’ve both confessed how they feel towards each other.

teasing remarks | ♡ | 1.3k words

—in which, the girls make it incredibly obvious of her feelings for jason and he teases her about it.

by yours side through it all | ♡ ➳ | (unfinished)

—in which, jason is struggling terribly through his addiction with alcohol and she refuses to give up on him.

STRANGER THINGS

EDDIE MUNSON

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

too shy | ♡ ➳ | 2.9k words

—in which, she's too shy to admit what she feels, but all of that goes out the window when her best friend blurts it all out to the one person she didn't want to ever know.

SUPERNATURAL

BELA TALBOT

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

denials & acceptance | ♡ ➳ | 3.0k words

—in which, things are complicated and she struggles with either following her heart or hiding who she is.

DEAN WINCHESTER

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

good enough | ♡ ➳ | 4.0k words

—in which, she’s always been great at hiding her feelings from dean, but when she allows herself to get wasted and jealous, it all comes out.

SAM WINCHESTER

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

big brother to the rescue | ♡ | (unfinished)

—in which, he's sick of his little brother being teased about who he really is and defends him to his other brother.

TEEN WOLF

DEREK HALE

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

revealed feelings | ♡ ➳ | 3.7k words

—in which, her feelings for derek are almost revealed by her twin, forcing her into admitting what she’s been hiding from him for way too long.

STILES STILINSKI

HEAD-CANONS:

being comforted by stiles includes | ♡ | 376 words

—how it would be to be comforted by stiles stilinski!

here no matter what | ♡ ➳ | (unfinished)

—in which, stiles is always there for her when her darkness becomes too much to handle on her own.

THEO RAEKEN

DRABBLES:

theo talking in his sleep | ♡ | 224 words

—how it would be to be in a relationship with theo and him sleep-talking!

HEAD-CANONS:

dating theo includes | ♡ ➳ ✰ | (unfinished)

—how it would be to date theo raeken!

theo’s trauma | ➳ | 255 words

—what i think theo’s trauma’s are!

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

untitled | ➳ ♡ | (unfinished)

—in which, he dreams of a mysterious girl that needs his help and it haunts him until the moment they meet.

anchor | ♡ ➳ | 2.4k words

—in which, jealousy brings theo to lose control and it’s up to her to calm him down.

bags | ➳ | 2.7k words

—in which, theo has returned from hell and doesn’t want anything to do with her. based on the song called bags by clairo!

buried feelings | ♡ ➳ | 4.0k words

—in which, she’s forced to admit her long time feelings for theo when her brother and best friend lock her inside her room alone with him.

hand kink | ✰ | 2.7k words

—in which, theo finds out about her hand kink and takes advantage of it.

how you get the girl (part two of bags) | ♡ ➳ | 3.6k words

—in which, theo’s not giving up on their relationship and fights for it. based on the song called by how you get the girl by taylor swift!

old flames | ➳ | 3.7k words

—in which, after he returns from hell, theo runs into someone from his past, who happens to now be in the mccall pack.

surprise reunions | ♡ ➳ | 1.6k words

—in which, they’re finally reunited when theo comes back from literal hell.

that way | ♡ ➳ | (unfinished)

—in which, it’s obvious that theo and his best friend are more than just best friends to everyone, all except them. based off of that way by tate mcrae!

THIRTEEN REASONS WHY

MONTGOMERY DE LA CRUZ

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

unexpected date gone right | ♡ ➳ | 1.9k words

—in which, she lets monty take her out on a date to stop the constant harassment she endures from him.

ZACH DEMPSEY

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

goofy support system | ♡ | (unfinished)

—in which, she leans onto her boyfriend for comfort and support after losing her brother.

panic attacks & frustrated confessions | ♡ | 1.1k words

—in which, zach’s the only that can help her through her panic attack.

secret relationships | ♡ ➳ | 1.1k words

—in which, she’s sick of being a secret and it’s up to zach to prove how much she truly means to him.

TWILIGHT

JASPER HALE

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

hair | ♡ | 1.6k words

—in which, she has a thing for jasper’s hair and he finds out about it and teases her for it.

PAUL LAHOTE

ONE-SHOTS / IMAGINES:

unexpected | ♡ ➳ | (unfinished)

—in which, fate, and the power of imprinting, brings two unlikely people together.

#masterlist #buckyseddie’s masterlist

1K notes · View notes

sxdmoonchxld · 4 years ago

Text

Tell Me U Luv Me| MYG

Summary : You should have stopped this a long time ago. Hell it wasn't even supposed to begin. But now it's too late no matter how hard you try you always go back to him. And now he wants you to tell him the feelings you've been hiding...the feelings you weren't supposed to have.

Genre: smut, smidge of angst, fluff if you cross your eyes and read it upside down

Theme: Infidelity

4k words

Warnings: Rough Sex, Oral Sex, Fingerfucking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Begging, Multiple Orgasms, Fuckbuddies, Bad Dirty Talk

a/n: i use to be lizardsocial, so if this seems familiar that's why.

———————————————————————

You stood outside the cracked door to his room shaking as frenetic nerves fired through the synapses of your brain. The cold draft flowing from the inky darkness escaping the room assaulted the warmth of your skin with coolness. Galvanizing waves of charged currents rushed through your bones, blunt teeth worried the inside of your lip as sizzling bubbles of anxiety, and zealous anticipation boiled in the pit of your gut.

"Are you going to just stand out there the whole night? " His voice, sonorous and smooth akin to dripping molasses reverberated softly through the quiet hallway.

His words mixed to the distorted pulsing of the blood in your veins. Flowed so heavenly to the crashing drumline beat of your heart resonating violently in your ears. You glanced down focused on the jittery motions of your hands. Remorse and guilt waged in the jumbled mayhem of your thoughts. For a spilt second. Oh such a painful second the image of your original lover manifested itself through your cloud of ignominy. This was wrong, the truth apparent. It didn't take a genius to deduce how inequitable and sickening it is. He didn't deserve this cold dose of adultery and deceit you served him with a cum smeared smile.

But you are weak.

There were several countless failed tries, where you sought to stay away. To purify yourself of his narcotic magnetism, to expunge all late-night escapades unraveling when the moon kisses the sky. Altering to omitted memories to never resurface in the sunlit horizon. Many times there a been that expected moment of reasoning. Albeit choosing to strike post-coital when you’ve been belatedly freed from the smog of arousal. Momentarily sated with the pulsating of your cum filled cunt. It’s usually then, only then you find yourself with the urge - the need to flee.

To be spooned in the warming embrace of your loving, naive boyfriend. To shield you from the freezing chills of your sins, and help sooth the pain as you reflect on your harrowing actions. Pathetically the shame, pain and regret are wistfully short-lived emotions, forgotten like an old childhood toy. Not soon after, in their place the yearning begins. Boiling at odd hours in the night, symptoms of withdrawal surfacing, devising you desperate.

Oh so fervent

Aching - desirous for your next moment with him.

He is slick and cunning like a snake. Coiled in captivating colors, poisonous, yet so enticing. He was no good for you, it was no secret. But when it all bubbled down to a concentrated thought. You were like a drug fiend, addicted to the empirical taste of his angel dust. Caught deep in the sweet down spiraling remedy that was Min Yoongi. He was the proverbial forbidden fruit and the serpent mix into one deadly package.

Not much coaxing was needed to take a bite. His tempting words and intoxicating presence was just enough to seal your fate. So with unsteady sock laden feet, your body propelled toward the dimmed room. The creator of your greed and secret ruler of your body waiting just beyond the door.

“I didn't think you were coming."

How funny. In a pathetic way that is. He didn't think you were going to come? Where could he possibly get that idea from? Admittedly it's been a while since the last encounter with busy and conflicting scheduling keeping you apart. Though not once have you missed that hypnotizing tune that always led you to him. Not once have you denied him a chance to ravage a body that was never his from the beginning.

“Did you finally get him to fall asleep?”Yoongi mused, the bed creaking lightly as he rose from lying down. You watched as he began walking towards you with a steady gait. The lamp on his nightstand casting a shadow to hide the right side of his face. Shivering you nodded, a small shaky smile of fondness playing on your lips as you reminisced your boyfriend's excitement over their new album.

"Good. You know how restless Namjoon gets when we have new material on the way." Spoken like a man who knew his best friend, his fucking brother. Yoongi was right though, it took time and patience to soothe a riled Namjoon.

Listening to hours of animated rambling, chatted amid eye-watering yawns and repetitive strokes through chemically damaged, yet soft and lush strands of hair. Though once his burning enthusiasm trickled down to a burnt-out wick, he was dead to the world.

"Yeah. I know." You responded with stifling discomfiture, a wave of salty transgression washing on the sandy banks in your chest. It was an unspoken rule. Namjoon was not to be mentioned in the immoral extent of you and Yoongi. Not to be slandered and tainted with the actions that would inevitably condemn you to hell. Now wasn't the time to be thinking about him while in this place, in this position; in this context. It served no relief. Only proving to be a conduit of neglected emotions that would be mulled over in the future.

You flinched at chilled forearms enclosing around your waist. The thin silk material of your nightgown, ineffectively blocking the cold press of his fingertips against the lower portion of skin on your back. Yoongi habitually kept it cold in his room. He joked claiming he liked the way your nipples hardened to stiff little nubs when they met the air. Yet he knew the biting element of his room did naught to rouse your body. It was him, simply him.

"I've missed you," he spoke soft and sweetly with cool lips resting patiently below your ear. His heated breath a spreading raised goosebumps to the surface of the skin on your neck. Pulling back to glance at him, you internally gasped. The verve burning in his eyes as he stared at you unwaveringly, was startlingly surprising. The passion swirling in his chocolate orbs were strange but not unfamiliar. Still, they held his desire and lust, but there was something else mixed in that was unknown, and didn't belong there. It made your heart speed up and palpitate uncomfortably beneath your ribs.

Scowling, your eyes dropped at his words and your own foolish flare of emotions. Of course he missed you, but not in the same way you missed him.

"You just missed my pussy Yoongi," you said unfiltered because it was true and despite knowing that truth, you hated the way your heart pained with a tinge of sadness.

‘No! Feelings weren't to be caught’, you scolded yourself mentally. It was unfortunate enough that you were already addicted to the sex with him. A weakness that you were failingly to recover from, a flaw Yoongi exploited with sick joy. The extent of this relationship carried no purpose beyond a way to release the sexual tension.

Temporarily rectified by secretive fucking behind his best friend and your boyfriend, Namjoon's back. Any feelings could and would utterly ruin you, except in the recess of your mind, you knew it was too late. The opening for evacuating slipped through your fingers the moment you opened your legs for him.

"It's okay because I've missed your cock." You tried cooing seductively, the partial lie trailing with the hand maneuvering between your frames as you lightly palm him through his sweatpants. An exciting jolt and rush of arousal raced down your spine at the discovery of his cock already at half-mast. Yoongi hummed appreciatively at the feeling of the palm of your hand rubbing slow circles on his clothed member.

"Hmm, are you sure that's all you miss?" he asked his hands languidly stroking your waist.

"I can assure you, your tight little pussy isn't all that I missed from you." His eyes burned into you like he was capable of seeing the hidden parts of your soul. Jarred, your palming slowed down to a stop. Your hands falling limply to your sides and brow bone turning down into a perplexed frown.

"Y-Yoongi, what are you talking about?" You tried pulling away from his hold, exceedingly confused to the implication behind his words. That out of place, foreign emotion whirling deeper, burning brighter in his eyes.

This wasn't like Yoongi, in fact, it was unnervingly out of character. He wasn't one for teasing or insignificant banter. Honestly, you were surprised you were still on your feet and clothed. If this were like any another of your previous encounters, you would already be on your back. Legs lewdly spread, your gushing pussy filled to the brim, trapped in the clutches of primal fulfillment.

"W-what are you talking a-about." He mocked, tongue sucking his teeth.

"Don't try and deny it. I see right through you. In you."

Enthralled, Yoongi pushing you towards his bed didn't register in your muddled brain until the plush softness of his bedspread cradled your spine. You flinches as hands slammed down beside you caging your head in among extended elbows and bent knees straddled over trembling thighs.

Yoongi drew his head down to your neck and like a bitch in heat, your neck craned effortlessly. Lips parting for the escape of an airy whine at his warm lips on your skin. The next Picasso in the making he nipped at the column of your neck, sucking your skin with differing pressure, painting the bare canvas with blotches of cherry and mulberry.

Another big no-no.

"Y-you can't see a-anything, because t-there is nothing t-to s-see." you lied again, stuttering terribly in between breathless pants. Yoongi chuckled, you could feel his leer against your skin.

"I can feel it-," he said with a tender lick to the blemishes littering your neck. His head moved down your chest, irritatingly feather-light pecks left by a brush of his lips. His mouth coming to rest over the swell of your breast where your heart pounded furiously below his lips. "-the way your heart beats for me."

A large hand abandoned its post beside your head, cupping a breast wrapped in delicate silk. Gently he massaged the soft tissue, alternating amidst firm and gently caresses. The meat of your breast spilling between clenching fingers. You arched your chest further into his hands, fluctuations of venereal relief rippled from his touch, your throat fluttering out moans. Warm wetness engulfed your other unused breast. Helpless you keened lustily and flagrantly, as flat teeth nipped at the hardened nub poking through the material of your gown.

Another lusty moan rumbled from your throat as a thick tongue began laving around the bud to soothe the sting of his bite. Your nipple stiffened further the cold air hitting the wet splotch, as Yoongi detached from the fabric encased teat. With seductive chocolate feline-like eyes scorching with ardor. His gaze lingered to your exposed thighs and the bunched up bundle of cloth resting on the apex of your legs.

Your heart throbbed in a frenzy when you noticed the focus of his gaze. Was he actually thinking about eating you out? As long as this affair has been occurring, never did he perform the act, or hint at wanting to. Judging by the cockiness of his rap lyrics, its apparent he is confident in his skills.

There was usually little to no foreplay, with your pussy easily dripping like the cock slut it has proven to be. Not much needed to be done to have you soaking for Yoongi. A couple of rough fingering thrusts with stomach coiling pressure against your g-spot and you were ready to meet him raw and ready.

A lecherous leer quirked the corner of his lips, he trained his eyes on you as he shifted down your body, his stomach now flat against the bed. You yelped when frigid fingertips seized the flesh of your thighs yanking you closer to his face. The rest of your nightgown rising up to rest in a crumpled heap underneath your breast. He snickered condescendingly at the exposure of the slick wetness coating the center of your panties.

Unfazed, thick fingers pressed into your dampness, collecting more of your arousal in the seat of your panties. You always got so wet for him, copious fluid dribbling to catch between your ass cheeks, your cunt pulsating wildly in anticipation, eager for his next move. With no hesitation, Yoongi pushed his nose into your pussy, the tip nudged against your covered clit, shamelessly breathing in your fragrance deeply.

"I can even smell it." Another deep inhale through his nose and a hot exhale through his mouth.

“So sweet.”

He pushed your panties to the side, a trail of sticky slick following its wet departure.

"I bet I could even taste it. How much you missed me."

You whimpered, your hips shoving up in silent desperation. You wanted, no needed Yoongi to give you more. You weren't accustomed to being teased, never having to beg. Yoongi always delivered with hip bruising, backbreaking, unrestrained strokes, his cock splitting your walls in rapid succession. That was what you were accustomed too. It was what you thought he wanted, the foundation of this liaison, fast and rough fucks. This time something was off. Things were changing, his intentions shifting, and you were scared, deathly frightened.

That even an ounce of his true affection, would overpower you. The taking over of your being complete, the tipping point of your inevitable overdose. An abrupt bloom of pleasure unfurled in your lower gut as Yoongi spread your pussy lips lewdly. The thumb of his hand hooked deep within your ribbed walls, your cunt clenched tightly around the thick digit. The stark temperature difference of his thumb and the torrid heat of his ascending tongue drew a high- pitched yelp from your throat. Searing energy blossomed through your core as the tip of his tongue flicked off your fattened clit at his first swipe. Brazen and amplified he sucked on his pink muscled appendage mouth parting loudly with a pop.

"You taste delicious, sweet like I said," he complimented before burying his face in your pussy. His thick tongue squirmed within your core joining his thumb, as it shoved as deep as it could reach before it started flicking out in an amalgam of movements liquifying your insides. You cried out helplessly throwing your head back against the mattress, your hips angled high pressed against his face to him feed more of your cunt.

"Tell me I’m better," He spoke around mouthfuls of your center. You whined, his words cutting through the buzzing vibrations in your ears. He was better than Namjoon, on a different spectrum. It was evident in how your body sang for him, how your hips ground helplessly on the twisting muscle inured so fathomlessly in your cunt. But you couldn't say it, you wouldn't dare say it out loud even though the words burned the base of your throat. That was too close in crossing forbidden territory.

"Tell me how much you missed me." His tongue drew your clit in his mouth, plush lips sucking the corded nub.

"No!" You denied him for the first time.

You just couldn't say those words no matter how much your vocals cords seized to shout the words Yoongi’s request. A muffled chuckle spilled out of him at your surprising defiance. He was calm in his movements, his thumb dragging along your walls to shift to press up against your g-spot, applying pressure with each outward stroke. His gaze was heated, staring at you over the mound of your cunt, balmy puffs of air fanning over your jumping clit as he spoke.

"Tell me how much you missed this. Us. How right this feels."

"Tell me how much better I am than him-" he demanded again. "-can he make your body sing like I can?"

"Y-Yoongi," you gasped harshly sweat permeated on your skin. Descending over the valley of your breasts in opaque pearls. You couldn't say it. Ceasing his stroking thumb, the whine bubbling in your throat was choked down by the replacement of two of his fingers. Scissoring them apart, his fingers curved on your g-spot assaulting the area with pressurized tenacity. With lips back on your clit sucking all the collected fluids down his greedy throat. Your teeth clenched together, hands fisting into the bedspread, your thighs shuddering terribly around his body.

"How much you wished, that was me fucking your pussy 5 days ago instead of him."

You gasped at his words surprise and fear mixed with lust, distorting your features into an almost comical expression. Yoongi laughed cynically.

"Didn't think I'd find out, would you kitten?"

Fucking Namjoon was more so out of guilt than some kind of vendetta against Yoongi. Namjoon was your boyfriend for fuck's sake, you couldn't go on denying him for much longer without him becoming suspicious; if he wasn't already.

"N-o, no!" Still you denied him, unwillingly to come to terms with the truth, both the latter and internally.

Toes folded in on themselves as Yoongi sped him his fingers to deep thrusting aimed directly for the spongy bundled of nerves. Your orgasm started intensified at an alarming pace, you could feel it in the way your stomach cramped. How your hips sloppily thrust toward Yoongi's face, your back arched off the bed. Soft, euphoric cries ruptured from your larynx, binding themselves onto the edge of every fleeting gaspy breath disbanding in the air. You slapped your hands over your mouth to muffle your scream, the sudden snapping ties of your pleasure, hitting you with the force of a freight train. Your upper body flailed around on the bed, unrestrained portions of your legs kicking out at the intensity of your orgasm. Your eyes pricked with tears and lungs suffocated as they were robbed of air.

Floating in post-orgasmic limbo, you vaguely registered his fingers withdrawal from your clenching cunt or the shuffling of his sweats pants down his hips or he hiking of your legs to perch against his waist. It wasn't until the fevered eagerness of his leaking cock head pressing against your quivering core, did you return from the clouds.

Yoongi stroked the skin of your thighs with sticky tenderness, his face coming closer to yours to capture your chapped lips in a sweet kiss. You gasped in frail distress and shock, your heart constricted tightly within your chest. Stars bursted behind your eyes at the strange feeling of his lips moving against your own. Another act taboo in the relationship that was this. Yoongi seized the perfect opportunity to ease his tongue into your mouth, dancing with your own. He was tart with your flavor, mixed with his addicting treacle.

Gradually his cock split your glossy folds, breaching your cunt's hole with the tip of his cock. You cried out in his mouth, detaching your lips from his. A string of conjoined spittle landing on your cheek as you turned your head to the side. Yoongi's lips followed you, connecting your mouth once again as he began surging his cock, deep, deep, and deeper. The slow pace allowing you to feel the burning stretch, every eager throb of his cock, every engorged vein pulsing under his skin.

Yoongi didn't give you much time to adjust as he started his leisure strokes. He barely withdrew before he was spearing you back on his cock, much deeper than before. Tearing your mouth from him again, you gasp with the stinging need of air, a forearm coming over to cover your face. The bright light of the lamp on his nightstand shining across your face suddenly a nuisance, as you greedily swallowed in the fresh air between mewling cries of pleasure.

"Does your slutty pussy squeeze him as tight as your squeezing me?" Yoongi grunted reducing his already sluggish pace, his hips rotating with each stroke.

Your head felt like it was ready to implode. You were overheating, short-circuiting, the blood in your veins boiling and curdling. Namjoon infiltrated your thoughts, his kind hardworking nature, how much he loved and adored you, but was it enough? Did you even love him anymore? Or were you stolen away by the man he considers his brother? It was all becoming too much, Yoongi's slow strokes and demanding queries were causing you to overthink. You needed him to speed up, to fuck your brains out so you wouldn't have to be pestered with your evolving thoughts.

"Yoongi, I-I need you to speed up. I want you to fuck me faster, fuck me harder please!" You begged as if your life depended on the tempo of his thrusts, and in a way it did, at least your sanity did.

"Shhh" he cooed. One of his hands abandoning its place on your lifted legs, to come and pry your arms away from your face. Your breath hitched as your blurry gaze focused in on the unbridled emotion raging in his dark eyes.

"Tell me I'm the one you want." He eased out of your body, grunting lowly as your cunt clutched desperately at his retreating cock.

"Tell me I'm the only one who owns you, who owns your heart." Again he sunk back within your depths.

"Tell me you love me and not him, and I'll fuck you until your coming on my cock."

Yoongi promised in one swift stroke buried deep within your cunt, speeding up his thrust to his usually relentless rhythm. You screamed in familiar delight, arms wrapping around his neck in a loop. Your breast crushed into his chest, fingernails embedded in his shoulder leaving raised red crescents. You could already feel your second orgasm approaching, your cunt enclosing Yoongi's cock in a vice-like grip, you never lasted long when he rammed into you like this. It was what you needed, the perfect escape to the feelings boiling in your chest. Another mind-numbing orgasm and he would follow suit, then you could leave and close this chapter of your life, the end of a book with a bittersweet ending.

"Oh, no you don't." Yoongi tsked. He knew the telltale signs of your orgasm, he ruled your body with an iron fist wrapped in a velvet glove. Reducing his strokes to that of a snail's pace, he laughed at your wail of frustration, a bead of sweat dropping off his body at the shake of his shoulders. How obtuse of you to think he was going to let you come without you telling him what he's been dying to hear from your lips the whole night, for months.

"Say it. Open that pretty mouth sweetheart and tell me what I want to hear." Yoongi cooed, his cock now surging into your depths with shallow, unfulfilling strokes.

"Yoo-ngi." You hiccuped clamping your eyes tight. The coiling tightness of your orgasm was still there, maybe if you concentrated hard enough-

"Say it! Tell me you love, how I love you!" Your eyes flew open, dilating to focus on a blurred image of Yoongi. Him? Love you? How? Why?

"Yes, I love you." He said smoothly, no hesitation, not an inkling of regret, just confidence and love glimmering in his eyes.

"Now. Tell me you love me too and don't lie." Yoongi reiterated with a rough thrust.

"I-I don-" your mouth opened and closed, a fish out of the water you were caught. You fell back on to the bed, a hand placed on your chest over the blood-filled organ crashing against your chest. Your heart captured by another, no longer could you deny it, deny him, deny yourself. So with a heavy heart...you told him. "I love you."

You didn't want to. It wasn't supposed to happen like this. A one-time thing, he...you let escalate too far. Now it was too late. The truth was out now, and all hell was about to break loose.

"Tell me again."

You strangled on a wad of spit at the sudden rough thrust, your teeth clanking together at the single motion. "I love you."

Yoongi groaned loudly, the loudest you think you've ever heard from him at your affectionate confession. His hands readjusted themselves off your thighs to better support himself as he began lifting his your legs to rest on your chest, your knees pushed into your breast. Immediately his hips set off at a fast pace, the slaps of his balls hitting your ass nearly rivaled the shout of pleasure or the wet slapping of where you were connected.

Your hips met his with bruising contact, but you didn't care, the angle of his cock drilled at your g-spot relentlessly. Black and white dots floating in your vision, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Jumbled repeats of his name wretched themselves from your lips, you were sure the other boys in the shared apartment could hear your cries of satisfaction. Namjoon as well.

You didn't care, your love for Yoongi, the feeling of his cock in your guts, was the only thing on your mind. A couple of more thrust and your orgasm was ripped from you, your legs thrashing about in Yoongi's hold. The sweet pull of your cunt on his cock bringing forth his own release, and with one last surge of his hips, the bulbous head kissing your cervix, he spurted warm ropes of his cum straight into your womb. Breathlessly he dropped your legs from his hands, a mixed wad of your and his cum spilling out from around him. Gently he withdrew and fell onto the bed beside you, lowly he sighed in satisfaction.

"Tell me again."

You told him.

"I love you."

#bts smut #min yoongi #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #min yoongi x y/n #min yoongi x reader #suga #august d #suga x reader #suga x y/n #bts lemon #oneshot #bts #kpop #fanfic #reader insert

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buckybeardreams · 3 years ago

Text

Unwanted

Chapters: 2/11

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson (Marvel), Brock Rumlow, James "Bucky" Barnes, Clint Barton, Harley Keener

Additional Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alpha Steve Rogers, Omega Tony Stark, Service Top, Dominant Bottom, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Virgin Steve Rogers, Brock Rumlow is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Romantic Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Meetings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sappy, Romantic Fluff, Awkwardness, Drinking to Cope, Self-Worth Issues, Insecure Tony Stark, Insecure Steve Rogers, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Age Difference, Harley Keener is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Bonding, Claiming Bites, Claiming, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Non-Explicit Sex, Light Dom/sub, Mutual Masturbation, Coming Untouched, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000

Series: Part 1 of Second Chances

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7 Ch 8 Ch 9 Ch 10 Ch 11

Can also be read here

Summary:

Steve is a soft Alpha and Tony is an in charge kind of Omega with no desire to find a mate. He doesn't want to find his soulmate and when he does meet Steve he's determined to stay away from him.

That is until he realizes just how right they are for each other.

Words: 1,549

Steve was a newly presented Alpha, barely more than a pup, only just having turned eighteen a few months prior, and he was eager to find his soulmate. Eager to start the rest of his life with someone else, to settle down, to start a family. He was an artist that had been lucky to make it big, thanks to some help from his friend, Sam, who had introduced him to Pepper Potts. Most artists struggled to get by on just their art alone, not many managed to make a living off of it. So few managed to make bank while still in high school, if ever at all.

Steve was one of those fortunate few.

Sam was older by nearly twenty years and had far more life experience than Steve did, but Sam also had a soft spot for the kid. It was probably depressing to admit that his best friend was a kid that still believed in dreams coming true, but it was true. Sam met Steve when the teen started volunteering at a homeless shelter that catered to vets who hadn't received the support they needed when they came home.

Ever since then Sam had taken to mentoring the kid, supporting him when his asshole father only seemed to tear him down. Maybe it was Sam's fault that Steve had such unrealistic expectations about life and soulmates and happy ever afters. Sam had made a point of telling the kid, who had been so scared and broken when he first met him, that he could do anything he set his mind to and he could have anything that he dreamed of. Sam didn't regret building up his self-confidence, he just hoped the world didn't let the boy down.

For the first time in a long time, Sam felt like maybe dreams really could come true. His soulmate - even thinking the word made Sam feel all fuzzy - went to talk to his best friend, so naturally Sam had taken the opportunity to go see his own best friend.

"I can't believe you found your soulmate!" Steve said. "What was it like? Did you know the moment you met his eyes just like in the stories?"

Sam grinned stupidly, sighing and falling back on the couch, his legs over the arm and his head in Steve's lap.

"It was perfect. He's perfect. It was just like in the stories. Our eyes met and we were drawn to each other. We both knew exactly what was happening and I fell in love before he even opened his mouth. Then he told me that if I thought he was going to be some mindless Omega that obeyed his Alpha's every command that I have another thing coming." Sam laughed.

Steve was enthralled, caught up in his tale.

"Then what happened?"

"Then he kissed me and it was like fireworks exploded around us, and in our mouths. He tasted like heaven," Sam said dreamily. "He dragged me off to the bathroom and sucked me off in the stall and then I took him home and fucked him all night. Didn't let him off my knot until like an hour ago, when he said he really needed to go tell his best friend about us. That's when I came here to tell you, because you're my best friend."

Steve blushed the way he always did when Sam said that, but grinned.

"That sounds perfect. I hope it's like that when I meet my soulmate."

"I'm sure it will be," Sam reassured him.

Sam really hoped it would be, and he really hoped that Steve would meet his soulmate someday. Not everyone did and even those who did, well, things happened and not everyone got to keep their soulmates their whole lives. Steve nodded, but bit his lip nervously.

"I'm going to be a good Alpha, Sam. I'm gonna be so good to my Omega and give them everything that an Alpha is supposed to give their Omega. My mark, my knot, my pups. All of it," Steve said, determined.

Sam smiled a little sadly at him and sat up.

"I know you'll be a great Alpha, Steve, but you know you don't have to change who you are. Your soulmate will love you just the way you are and if they don't then they don't deserve you."

Steve shook his head.

"No, I want to do all of that for my Omega. I just know it. It doesn't matter that I like to get off while fingering myself. That won't matter once I have an Omega. I won't need to do that anymore, because I'll have my soulmate to get me off and even if I can't always get off that'd be fine. It won't be about me. It will be about them and when they need me to knot them I will. I'll make it happen no matter what."

Sam sighed, but nodded.

"I know you will, kid."

*****

Tony wasn't sure how long he laid there, but he must have fallen asleep on the couch at some point, because he woke up to the sound of a key turning in the lock. Tony groaned, cursing and stumbling off the couch, clutching at his head when it protested the sudden movement, and rushing to the bathroom. Brock saw the empty bottle on the ground by the couch when he opened the door, told his Alpha to wait in the living room and headed off to find Tony.

"Tony? Are you okay?" Brock called out, knocking on the bathroom door after he checked his room and found it empty.

Tony just groaned and heaved into the toilet.

"I'm gonna get you some aspirin," Brock said.

"Do you want any help?" Sam asked, concerned.

"No, he'll be upset if you try to help him. He hates Alphas."

"Right." Sam glanced anxiously at the bathroom door.

Every instinct inside him was telling him that there was an Omega in need in there and he should help them, but he shoved the urge down. If Brock said his help wouldn't be wanted Sam definitely wasn't going to force it on Tony. Even Omegas who didn't hate Alphas didn't necessarily want an Alpha they didn't know to be around them when they were feeling vulnerable.

Brock brought Tony aspirin and a glass of water and held him when he broke down crying. They sat on the bathroom floor for a while, Tony curled up in Brock's lap, sobbing and saying he didn't want to be alone and he just knew that he was going to be alone forever, because who could ever want an Omega as fucked up as Tony was.

That was a big reason why Tony didn't want to find his soulmate. As much as he insisted it was because they would probably be an asshole and he didn't need someone to try and control him, the truth was that it was mostly because Tony was terrified of rejection. Terrified that he'd find his soulmate and they'd be perfect and then they'd realize just how much of a mess Tony was and run in the other direction.

Brock was the only person who had ever stuck around. The only person who ever stayed, even though Tony got drunk more nights than not and his life was falling apart. When Brock was drafted Tony was heartbroken to lose him, alone and so scared of being on his own, so scared that Brock wouldn't ever come back, but Brock returned home, returned to Tony. Everything was right with the world again, because Tony was no longer alone.

Now Brock was leaving him again, but this time he wasn't coming back. He was going to live with his soulmate and pretty soon he'd forget all about Tony. Twenty years from now Tony would just be that roommate that he used to have that never got his shit together. Twenty years from now Brock would have pups that he had raised and devoted his life to and Tony would still be all alone.

No matter how much Brock promised Tony that he wasn't leaving him alone, that they were still best friends and Tony could come visit him anytime he wanted, Tony didn't believe him. He couldn't believe that things wouldn't change. Of course things would change. Everything would change and Tony hated change.

So when Brock finally coaxed Tony out of the bathroom and onto the couch, Tony glared at Sam. He hated this Alpha for taking away his best friend. Brock tried to ease the tension, but Tony was too bitter to let go of his anger, so eventually Brock sighed and kissed Tony's cheek. They gathered up Brock's stuff from his room and left. Tony couldn't help but feel like Brock was choosing his Alpha over Tony.

Why wouldn't he?

Tony had nothing to offer him. He didn't want to fuck him, didn't have a knot, couldn't claim him. Tony couldn't give Brock any of that, didn't want to give him any of that even if he could. As much as he loved Brock, he didn't feel that way about him. He did feel miserable, all alone and unwanted. Tony curled up on the couch and cried, unable to even find the energy to drag himself to his bed.

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bongugourokishima33 · 5 years ago

Text

Wicked Games | Bakugou Katsuki

Summary: Bakugou did something stupid and now he’s trying his hardest to fix it... in his own explosive angry boy way~

Warning: Angst, cheating, thick f!reader, slight smut (maybe...)

Word Count: 1,882

A/N: Bakugou x reader x Todoroki... It’s been a minute but I have a lot of draft works. I hope you enjoy this one! Tagging is not my specialty... you guys should know this by now, I try though! Umm, this is going to be for all my thick babes out (though if not don’t worry you can change that in your mind) thick thighs save lives, and my gay ass just wants to have a fic out there that mentions it.

P.S: I’m taking some requests, starting with fluff shit first so feel free to request (I really only write about Todoroki, Bakugou, and Kirishima...)

‘Y/N! Stop damn it, it’s not what it looks like!’

‘Y/N!’

‘Y/N!!’

Your eyes fluttered open to the light from the window that shined on your face. Shit... another night of hell, another morning waking up feeling like shit. The gross images from that awful day keep playing through your head over and over, there wasn’t a night that they don’t replay in your mind.

Sliding up out of bed and slipping on some shorts and a baggy t-shirt, you tossed your hair up into a messy bun and walked out the room of your dorm. It’s been months since that dreadful night, but you still couldn’t get over the pain that lingered in your heart after it broke into pieces.

At first, everyone was concerned, noticed that you and him stopped being all over each other, you two wouldn’t even look in each others direction. They suspected what happened and kept their mouths shut. Your best friends, Mina and Jiro especially knowing that when the time comes you will talk to them about what happened sooner or later, but you're later was never.

“Y/N!” Mina smiled sitting at one of the tables eating breakfast, You gave her a soft smile and scanned the room, looking for the only person who could make your hellish night better.

“He’s in the common area, love,” Mina smirked giving you a wink, which made you slightly blush.

You strolled down the hall and made a left seeing him sitting on the couch, tapping away on his phone, Kaminari, and Ojiro sitting across from him on a different couch.

“Yoo, Y/N you look... horrible,” Kaminari said noticing your puffy red eyes, and resting bitch face look, you flipped him off and stood in front of the icey hot hubby.

“Roki...” You mumbled out dryly, your voice slightly cracking.

Without looking up from his phone, he opened his arms up and you sat down in his lap, straddling his waist as you curled up into his chest. His arms wrapped around your waist, and his smell fills your nose as you rested your face into his neck.

“Nightmare?” He asked, whispering into your ear, you nodded melting into the comforting kiss he planted on your head.

“You know there is a thing called your room you can do all that in.,” Kaminari said frowning.

“You’re just jealous you don’t have someone to do that with.” Ojiro chuckled as Kaminari glared at him in protest.

“I’m sorry” You felt the tears starting to prick at your eyes.

You always said sorry, anytime thoughts of him ran through your mind you tore yourself up. It wasn’t right, the feelings, the love you still have for the one who ripped your heart of your chest. Todoroki knows, and still loves you, and comforts you and even lets you vent to him. He’s incredible, and you don’t deserve him for all that’s he’s done for you.

“Don’t be.” You could feel his arms move, knowing he placed his phone down to give you his full attention. Snaking his feelings up your baggy shirt to caress your sides he leaned down to place a kiss on your lips, your head still trying to hide against his neck.

He won’t ever admit it to you, how much it hurts that you still think about Bakugou, that you still love him. He knows it’s not going to do anything to change your feelings about him, but he can’t help his feelings for you and he will always love you.

Guiding your face out from hiding with your chin, he made you face him. Kissing you tenderly he rubbed his thumb over your cheek. You kissed back wrapping your arms around his neck, your stomach tingling slightly at the loving assault of his lips on yours.

“I’m telling you, man, that wrestling match was crazy cool!.” Todoroki broke away after hearing Kirishima’s voice, you glanced over the two-color hair boy and saw him walking into the open space, Bakugou beside him.

“Yeah whatever, I’m still not watching it dumb ass,” Bakugou grumbled running his fingers through his hair. His eyes trailed over to you, locking gazes with one another. You looked away and continued to kiss Todoroki, trying to get the images of that night that popped back into your head out.

Even though no one will ever know, besides Bakugou himself, it pissed him off seeing you with someone else besides him. Knowing all too well that it was his fault that things happened the way it did.

“Dude... why don’t you just go talk to her, it’s been months you need to apologize.” Kirishima said mumbling to him as they continued to walk away from the common area.

“Shut the hell up.” Bakugou snarled lowly,

Pulling out his phone, unlocking it to see a background picture of you guys still on his phone.

“The longer you wait the harder it will be for you to do something about it.” Kirishima said sighing as they continued walking.

~~~

“Is there a reason why you guys called me here?” You asked looking at all the girls piled in Jiros room, as you stood by the door resting your back against it as it was closed.

“Look, we’ve been friends for years since we were little, and I’m tired of seeing you this hurt over a dumb ass.” Jiro said getting up and placing her hands into yours.

“Jiro...” You signed hating how everyone is starting to hate him, even though you shouldn’t care and you should feel the same too.

“Don’t, you need to stop defending him, he’s not yours anymore, and he doesn’t deserve your kindness.” Mina said waging her finger.

“Jiro said you love singing, and you used to make music when you guys were younger... so we thought let’s make some music!” Ochaco blushed shrugging her shoulders.

You stared at everyone blankly and shook your head, holding your hands up.

“No, not happening.” The thought of singing again sadly hurt now

“Nope, he’s not gonna take another thing away from you, yes he used to listen to you sing, and you guys had your whatever... but don’t let that ruin your hobby, you're talented and you need this.” Jiro huffed grabbing your arm and her guitar. The rest of the girls grabbing more instruments from Jiro’s closet.

“W-where are we going?!” Leading you out the room, the girls dragged you down the halls and down to the common area, moving stuff around and setting up some stuff.

“No one’s here, they are practicing and improving their new super moves... I talked with Aizawa and we got this whole place for a few hours to ourselves. So let’s make some music.” Jiro smiled looking at Momo who came out of the from the kitchen area with a tray full of tea cups and snacks.

“Yeah this will be fun... come on.” Mina said handing you the mic.

“Okay.” You licked your lips biting them after, trying to ignore the nasty gut feeling you had.

After the breakup, when you had time you spent it alone working on a new song that was just for you. You never thought about making it known to anyone, or wanting to ever think about singing after making it.

“Yeah, so after this chorus you can come in, playing like this...” You said showing Momo the right notes to play smiling at how things were going after an hour of teaching everyone how to play the melody.

“Like this?” She asked making you smile as you nodded loving the beat of the music.

“Perfect, then it’s goes on repeat like the first verse, then the song ends.” You grinned.

“Well, let’s hear what you wrote I think were ready.” Jiro smiled, noticing yours on your face.

“I don’t know guys...” You fiddled with the keys on the piano

“Get over there and sing!” Mina groaned shoving you towards the mic, you sighed knowing you had no choice and picked it up sitting on the stool they set beside the mic stand.

Jiro smirked and started playing, queuing everyone in moments after, you took a deep breath and brought the mic up to your lips.

“ You love to be a trouble maker Leaving now then fuck me later It's always later later later And I let you come back 'Cause sticking 'round is in my nature And tolerating bad behavior You know that I do that You love that I do that”

The memories of how Bakugou would dismiss you randomly, or not text back like he used too flooded your mind.

“ Yooouuu, you know my weaknesses You banking a break of my rules Yes you take advantage Know how to manage My whole fucking planet”

The feeling of the music, matching the words you sang made your heartach, missing his arms that wrapped around you. That held you when you were feeling down, or happy. His smell that would fill your nose when you breathed in his scent.

“ You've been playing wicked games You know what to do to me I tried to stay steady I'ma leave but you Try to make me misbehave Fucking up my energy One day I'll be over all them wicked games, yeah”

That horrible night popping back up into your mind as your sang your heart out, subtle tears falling down your cheeks remembering how he had that girl under him. How her voice sang his stupid name, the ways your did when you were in her position.

“ Always show up when I'm fending And in the moment it's appealing But you're so good disappearing And I'm just so bad at the truth you know my weaknesses You banking a break of my rules Yes you take advantage Know how to manage my whole fucking planet”

Everyone stared at you, silently tearing up as they listened to your words.

“ You've been playing wicked games...” You sang softly, lowering the mic as you shook your head not wanting to continue, trying to hold onto yourself so you didn’t break down and cry in front of everyone.

Ochaco and Momo rushing over to you to hug you and comfort you, as you let the tears run down your face, hating how your heart was breaking all over again. You stayed in their arms for a moment but knowing that it’s not their arms you wanna be in made it even harder.

“Let’s stop for now.” Jiro spoke softly smiling sympathetically and walked up to you and moved some of your hair out of your face.

“I need to go lay down.” You whispered breaking free from their arms and making your way to your room, holding back your screams. Once you saw your door you ran, opening it and shutting it closed locking it. it wasn’t fair at all, what happened, you didn’t deserve it and you knew you didn’t.

Teary eyes blurring your vision as you slide down to the floor and cried in your arms, knowing that things will never be the same again.

“Y/N”

You snapped your head up, your heart racing as you blinked away the water from your eyes to see Bakugou sitting on your bed.

“B-bakugou?”

#bnha x reader #bnha #mha imagines #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader

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lenawin4 · 4 years ago

Text

an offer you can’t refuse

HOW WE DOIN ELLICK FANS?

I had this fic in my drafts halfway done, but after I watched that promo, I finished it in like, two hours. hope y’all enjoy. (also, may or may not contribute to the wave of 18x05/18x06 speculation fics. EXCITED)

summary:

“It’ll be fun,” Nick said on Day Four, then looked at them incredulously. “What? You’ve never taken down the mafia before?” ft. the whole gang, some blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mentions of Tiva, and prank wars.

Or: Nick’s jealous, Ellie’s clueless, and the team dismantles a crime family.

rating: gen, k+

length: 3.4k

genres: fluff, minor angst, romance

read on ffn | ao3

So Ellie’s in her corner of the bullpen, and Nick can’t stop looking at her. That’s how it all starts.

She’s wearing one of her cashmere sweaters, and they’ve been working this case for so long that her outfit is three days old. The bags under her eyes can’t be hidden by makeup and the curls in her hair have started to flatten. She has that crease in between her eyebrows that warns him not to bother her with a stupid joke, but that’s never stopped him before.

Ellie’s phone rings, so he freezes in the middle of sauntering over to her, halfway through the bullpen. It’s magic: her eyes widen slightly; the crease disappears; a slow smile spreads, then a grin.

The corners of his mouth start to slip upward, but he fights it down because McGee is at his desk. He’s talking to the local PDs, spelling out one of the long Italian names they’re trying to pin on something, and Tim is eyeing him like a hawk.

“Mark?” Ellie shouts into the phone.

Who?

“Gimme a sec,” Ellie points to her phone and mouths, I have to take this, sorry, and Nick is left gaping at the back of her head as she runs to the break room.

That happens on Day Six. A recap:

Dead sailor in a drive-by shooting in Bethesda. Grab your gear.

There was cocaine underneath the bed and piles of cash in the closet in the sailor’s apartment.

McGee traced a bank account in the Caymans to a Joey DiGiorno, as in, It’s-not-delivery-it’s-DiGiorno’s.

“Do you think he has a cousin named Domino’s?” Ellie asked; and —

For the fifth time this month, Nick realizes that he’s in love with Ellie Bishop.

Joey does not have a cousin, but he does have a criminal record and an uncle who happens to be the DC/Virginia/Maryland leader of the DiGiorno Family.

“Wow, two states and the capital city,” said McGee. “Impressive.”

On top of Nick’s To Do List - Get Gibbs everything on this guy: records, cars, girlfriends, other nieces and nephews, etc., etc.

“It’ll be fun,” Nick said on Day Four, then looked at them incredulously. “What? You've never taken down the mafia before?”

McGee follows the money to a nightclub in DC (“Do they serve pizza?”; “Nick, please.”), but there’s no way to know when or how the drugs are smuggled into the building, which can only mean one thing: stakeout time.

Stakeouts are the worst. Stakeouts mean unlimited time in a confined place with nothing better to do, the uncomfortable silence of Nick and his thoughts and the little place in his head that teeters between sixteen different names and a glass jar of lake water that hides on the shelf of his apartment.

Right now, a stakeout is the best thing that could ever happen to him.

So, Mark. He can’t exactly Boyle his way into this, not after Bishop nearly chewed his head off because he cancelled her date.

It’s not helping that Bishop keeps smiling at her phone every two hours, and semi-aggressively types out a text in all caps and extra exclamation marks. (He watches the way her fingers move. He knows those are exclamation marks. Like, at least ten of them.)

“Didn’t know dates liked it when you yelled at them all the time.”

“What?” Ellie says, not looking up from her phone.

He puts his feet up on the desk a little too harshly. Ellie wrinkles her nose.

“What could possibly be more important than this very, very interesting stakeout right now? Don’t you see there’s a hooker in front of the club and it’s barely noon? We should report it to Gibbs.”

There’s that sarcastic laugh that’s reserved for him, a quip about not being able to afford her, then back to the invisible Mark he’s heard nothing about.

To: ninja lady, 11:59

hey on a stakeout w El. what should i do

To: big wuss, 12:05

prank war. worked for us.

To: ninja lady, 12:06

i’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not

He tells her he’s buying fast food and chips a few blocks away. He asks the cashier for an extra paper bag and places a spring-loaded glitter bomb from the Dollar Tree at the bottom.

To: ninja lady, 14:05

success

To: big wuss, 14:07

ha! watch your six. revenge is tasty, no?

To: ninja lady, 14:09

i think you mean vengeance is sweet, but check with your husband

Nick returns from a bathroom break and peers left and right. Nothing in the room has changed: Ellie is still finishing the bag of fries. Her head is turned towards the window, and she’s glancing at her phone every few seconds. Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but he sort of doesn’t care. His chair hasn’t moved from the computer desk, and there are no booby traps outside the bathroom door or in the hallway.

Okay. The coast is clear.

“Hey, maybe you should check your face one more time, I think you still have glitter — ”

Splat.

His chair explodes in a tidal wave of green and red paint, splattering all over his jeans — gross, it feels so cold — and his leather jacket.

When he looks up, Ellie’s beaming at him from behind her phone, fry stuck in her mouth like a cigarette, green paint smeared across her cheek like evidence. Mercilessly, she sends the video to McGee, Kasie, and Tony.

To: big wuss, 17:25

I’m disappointed.

To: ninja lady, 17:29

yeah, yeah, laugh all you want

this sucks

To: big wuss, 17:30

Not just the stakeout, I presume?

To: ninja lady, 17:32

who the hell is Mark

she keeps texting him

it’s distracting me

To: ninja lady, 17:35

you know, from work

To: big wuss, 17:40

Oh, Nicholas.

(Across the Atlantic, in a small apartment in Paris, a married couple compares recent messages.

Ziva clicks her tongue. “I think he might be a bigger wuss than you, Tony.”

“I had better pranks than this guy, okay, at least give me that.”)

There’s a crowd of seamen lounging around the club. Their voices send pinpricks into his brain, and he can smell the alcohol from the second floor of this building. The bouts of laughter and shouts are interrupted by crunching. Next to him, the foul smell of artificial cheese surrounds Eleanor Bishop. Her fingers are coated with orange dust. Her eyes are laser-focused on the group of men, arms around each other, starting to sing the first bars of “Piano Man”. She licks her lips, and a bit of orange dust is left over at the edge of her mouth. She brings her fingers to her lips to lick them clean.

Nick’s mouth is suddenly dry.

Okay, okay, he needs to focus. Focus. It’ll be easy.

When he finally turns away, the hooker is grabbing one of the men by his tie, who tries to pull away. He rolls his eyes, but before Nick can say, “Playing hard to get, are we?”, the sailor is handing her a thick wad of cash. It’s exchanged for something thickly wrapped in saran plastic wrap, and he jolts out of his seat.

“It was the hooker!”

Nick did not know running that quickly in high heels was possible.

Ellie’s phone dings three times past his limit on the way to the interrogation room. The sound grates against his ears and his eyes can’t roll further up his socket. She doesn’t even notice.

They’re behind the glass, waiting for McGee to question her, when Gibbs walks in. He takes one look at the green paint on Ellie’s cheek and sees the same paint on Nick’s jeans.

Before Ellie can try to explain, Nick announces, “Gibbs, I told Ellie to call you about the hooker hours ago and she didn’t listen to me!”

“That is not true!”

“Yes, it is!”

“Wait, so we’re just going to give up?” Ellie’s hair is still slightly frazzled from tackling the suspect down, strands loose on her forehead and around her ears. She ran up and down four flights of stairs to catch her, but they’ve been given an order to push the case to another day with another lead. “What about Sugar Honey?”

“We can’t catch anyone higher up the food chain if she doesn’t consent to wearing a wire.”

“So sneak one on her!” The Director raises his eyebrows.

“Bishop.” She snaps around, eagerly awaiting Gibbs’s cowboy orders. “Go home. Get some sleep.”

“What? I can’t believe you’re actually agreeing with this.”

“Ellie,” Nick says, coming to her supposed rescue. There’s a flicker of hope in her eyes, and he hesitates to kill it. But he has to. He stands up, and immediately yelps and whines. Guiltily, he savors the look of concern she gives him. “Actually, could you drive me home? I think I twisted my ankle when we were chasing down Sugar Honey.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ellie pouts. It maybe makes his stomach flutter, which is stupid, because Nick doesn’t feel things like that.

“You know me. Stoic face and all. I could get stabbed and none of you would know.”

“You know, that’s not a good thing.” She grabs his car keys from his jacket and puts his arm around her shoulders.

Bishop throws a stern look to the Director and Gibbs. Their bosses look half-confused, half-amused; Nick avoids Gibbs’s knowing look. “Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She walks him to his car. He feels warm and lonely all at once, because her phone rings two more times.

Nick plops down on the passenger seat, and Ellie wrenches the car into ignition, and says with no small amount of strife, “I know you’re lying and I’m either taking you to your apartment or back to the club. Your choice.”

Um. “Hey, let’s not do anything dangerously impulsive here.”

“Me? Impulsive? What about you?”

“What? When have I ever done anything dangerous or impulsive?”

“You stole a truck and totaled it when you were chasing down a suspect last month. Gibbs was already waiting on another block to cut him off.”

“Well, at least I didn’t get hurt.”

“You had a concussion and I had to wake you up every hour that night.”

They’re already out of the Navy Yard, almost ten over the speed limit, and going in the opposite direction of his apartment.

“Okay, I’m sorry I lied about my ankle. But Bishop.” He’s not sure how to say it, so what leaves his mouth is a sound of frustration. “You can’t dismantle the mafia with just this one case. These things take time. One Sugar Honey confession was the best we could do today. And that’s okay. But we’ll catch another one tomorrow, or maybe next week, and the week after that.”

The car slows down; Ellie’s pout becomes more pronounced. The sudden U-turn makes him clutch at the dashboard and pray for his life.

“Fine,” Ellie says. “But — ”

“Tomorrow, I will help you possibly arrest a drug dealer, that will lead us to the drug supplier, that will lead us to the boss.”

She nods, hands tightly holding the steering wheel. There’s glitter in her hair and streaks of paint on her jeans. They’ve barely slept in the past two days, driving each other insane.

“I can take the couch for a few hours and then we’ll be on our way. We both need to rest.”

Ellie doesn’t reply.

“If you don’t crash at my place, I’ll call Gibbs and tell him you’re going back to the club.”

Ellie protests for the rest of the car ride, but Nick doesn’t budge an inch.

The stakeout resumes peacefully. Gibbs and Vance were right: the dealers are spooked and no deals occur for the next week.

Bishop doesn’t spend every single moment on her phone, so at least there’s that. He can’t deny the twinge of longing every time he sees her eyes brighten at the sound of another text.

Still, even that is nothing compared to the ache he feels when she yawns and rubs her eyes. It’s the type of case that makes her want to prove herself, to risk everything to accomplish her ambitions, to run after something without a thought of the consequences. He knows the feeling. He has that feeling every time a kid is involved.

So he triples the bags of junk food on the floor of the moldy apartment. He lets her rest a little more when it’s his watch. She curls up in the blanket she stole from his apartment and sighs in her sleep.

They’re both exhausted, so their prank war grinds to a halt. Nick’s exasperated, and he doesn’t reply to any of Ziva’s requests for updates. Ellie’s smile is something admirably distracting and infuriating, especially when it’s not directed to him.

Here’s the thing, though: Nick can’t imagine when Ellie had time to go on a date with a Mark that he’s never met or heard of in the past few weeks. Before Operation Take DiGiorno’s to Prison, they had back-to-back murders that took a total of two weeks out of their lives. Before those, Nick went to pilates with her for three consecutive weekends. So whoever this Mark is, might be special to her. Someone she wants to keep to herself. Someone she wants to talk to all day, someone she wants to smile and laugh with, someone she wants to be with. It’s that simple.

It’s just not Nick.

The seaman in Interrogation still isn’t talking, but at least there’s something in the cocaine.

“Local PD’s been digging up everything they can about the drug ring for months, and this little sample here matches their signature packaging and purity. But I’m telling you, whoever hired their chemists needs to do a better job, cause this stuff ain’t pure at all.”

“Can we connect it to Joey or the uncle?”

“I’m so glad you asked. We, in fact, do have a way to arrest them, thanks to Kasie — ”

“Don’t talk about yourself in the third person.”

“Okay, someone’s grumpy! DiGiorno’s olive oil company bought bulk chemicals, which are being delivered to this address. We’ve got dimethyl sulfoxide, tetrahydrofuran — ”

“English, Kasie.”

“Coke. They’re making coke. Trust me, those materials are not extra virgin.”

He grunts out a thanks and swirls around, ready to leave.

“Woooaaahhh there, son.” Kasie holds her hands out in front of her to tame him. “What’s going on with you, Nicholas?”

“What? Nothing!”

“Okay. Then I guess it has nothing to do with you and your feelings.”

“What? Nothing’s up with Bishop and me!”

“I didn’t say anything about Bishop.”

“Okay,” Nick chuckles, searching for an exit route that may or may not involve rolling past Kasie in a very ninja-like manner before booking it out of the building. “You said something, I said something, now we’re both confused, and I gotta go now, bye!”

McGee’s hawk eyes peer at him when Bishop retreats to the break room again. It makes Nick squirm in his seat and try to pry his gaze away from her empty desk.

“Is something going on between you and Bishop?”

“Uh, no, why, did she say something?” He crosses his arms to quell the sound of his heart.

McGee scoffs. “I mean. You guys have barely talked since you came back from the stakeout.”

“Well. I don’t need to talk to her. All the time.”

“But you do.”

Nick makes a face. Bishop strolls back into the bullpen, carefree and light, and he shuts his mouth.

“What do we got?” Gibbs says, and McGee has no choice but to brush this under the rug.

It’s Day Ten, more accurately Night Ten, and they’re sitting in the car, driving to the warehouse where they’ll arrest Joey and his uncle. She’s wearing a vest and he has the urge to clean his gun before a shootout. But they’ll be fine.

He glances at her tied-up hair and the clench of her jaw. His hands tighten on the steering wheel, because he wants to hold her face in his hands and tangle his fingers in her hair. He wants to tell her something he can barely admit to himself.

She says nothing. The phone doesn’t ring. He keeps driving.

He forgets she has a vest on. He forgets everything, really, when he sees Ellie go down in the middle of the raid, and Joey starts running away. Gibbs yells at him to call an ambulance before he and McGee chase after the idiot who shot his partner.

Nick scrambles to her side, vision blurring, and he has more trouble breathing than she does when he reaches her. “Bishop, El, you’re gonna be okay, alright?”

Ellie groans as he slices her vest open. The bullet clatters off the Kevlar.

“Nick,” Ellie’s saying. “Nick, I’m fine.” His hands hover, barely brushing over her arms, neck, head — I have to check for concussion — and it does nothing to reassure him, until her hands fold into his. “Nick.”

She looks at him, mouth parted, cheeks flushed. Her ribs are probably bruised, if not broken. Her hands are the only source of stability; every other part of him is shaking.

“You’re alright.”

Ellie breathes out a heavy sigh; it shakes like his legs quiver, and he has to kneel next to her. “I’m alright.”

Along with the DEA, they confiscate every last bit of cocaine from the warehouse, effectively crippling the crime family’s major source of money. Joey rats on every aspect of his uncle’s business for a shorter sentence. As the EMTs are wrapping her ribs up, Nick holds his hand up for Ellie to slap and says, “We took DiGiorno’s to prison!”

He offers her his arm and a ride home. She graciously accepts, and the smile is his, again, for now.

But he can’t not say anything now. She almost — she almost. There’s nothing else to say about that.

So Nick says, “So, you’re going home to Mark today? You got a hot date?”

He’ll get over that lump in his throat, that spike in his pulse eventually. She’s alive, and he’ll be fine.

He doesn’t expect her to start laughing, only to be interrupted by a wince and a tender hand on her left side. “Nick, who do you think Mark is?”

“Uh.” There’s a dark hole of miscalculation, the feeling of falling down the cliff of Being Wrong. “Your hot new date you kept texting over the past, like, five days?”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Stop laughing, you’ll make your ribs worse.”

“It’s — ” Ellie takes a deep breath and pulls out her phone. She scrolls, and Nick’s about to say something about not wanting to read her love letters to Mark when:

Auntie Ellie, thanks for my birthday gifts! I miss you so much.

The voice can’t be older than five, with a light stammer and a lisp. Nick takes his eyes off the road to gape at a boy with two missing front teeth, and his heart both soars and sinks. Someone honks behind them, and he steps on the gas pedal, startled that he’s stopped at a green light.

“Well.”

“He turned four last week, and my brother’s been letting him call or text me videos every day. They’re stuck in Oklahoma and they miss me.” He can hear her shrug, the fabric of her jacket rustling against the car’s leather seat, but he keeps his eyes on the road. “I haven’t been home in almost two years.”

“I’m sorry.” It punctuates the silence that follows, leaving them both speechless, wondering, wishing.

“Were you jealous?” Ellie whispers.

“Yes.” He can’t stop himself. Not anymore. Nick floors the brake and looks at his passenger’s seat, red light shining on her, everything else dark and unimaginably lonely. “Yes.”

Ellie nods, then smiles. “Okay.”

They arrive the next morning together. McGee smirks at his phone. Kasie’s eyes switch between them, back and forth, before she raises an eyebrow and glares at Nick, threatening and protective. Gibbs says nothing. Nick smiles the whole morning, because he still tastes her lipstick on his teeth and feels her hair in his fingers.

To: big wuss, 10:20

Congratulations. You aren’t a bigger wuss than Tony.

To: ninja lady, 10:25

ha. thanks

for everything, i mean, i guess.

To: big wuss, 10:26

You’re very welcome, Nicholas.

fin.

#ellick #ellick fanfiction #ncis #ncis fanfiction #a very small bit of tiva #just enough to satisfy my own needs

14 notes · View notes

namjoonchronicles · 5 years ago

Text

million dollar houses | nj, yg

↳ pairing namjoon, you, yoongi

↳ genre drama, fluff, angst, romance, crime

↳ words 6.5k

↳ warnings strong language, description of murder, mentions of prostitution, findom, eloping

↳ notes this was in the wips for about two years before i muster up all courage to have it finished. to me it was the sexiest story i’ve written of namjoon because he has tattoos and whatnot, but the reason why it took as long as it did, was i lacked faith in my writings. when i find a wimp of confidence, i went on and finished it, so here it is, pls enjoy them

↳ summary weeks before the wedding, lawyer min yoongi, your fiance had met up with a client who was charged with a homicide case. seems bleak and unimportant, until you saw this handsome client whom you recognize as your ex-boyfriend with a non-violent history, namjoon. armed with a messy break-up and lingering feelings, will you choose your past with namjoon or will you go forward with yoongi?

One look in my eyes and you should know the truth.

Fumbling with his keys, Yoongi was holding the car keys in between his lips, struggling to shove the key into the keyhole of your apartment. It was not even 7AM and he is already suffering. He had at least three paper bags in one arm and coffee in another and it forced out of him a small strange groan as he managed to twist the keys to open.

"Done," he exasperated. As if it were quite the hassle.

Upon the sounds of the door opening, you winced in bed, but not quite wanting to open your eyes though you hear him affectionately call you, "...babe, I'm home!"

A few things dropped while he walked in and the door slammed shut behind him.

"Fuck, crap," he cursed and set the things on the table except one paper bag that he brought to you in your bedroom.

He simply pushed the door and placed the bag on the empty space of your bed and crawled on all fours with a cheeky over-energized grin plastered on his baby face. The bed dips as his weight begins to settle on it, his body heat radiates to you and it makes you frown.

"You didn't sleep well after I told you the confirmation date, did you?"

He lowers himself to kiss your shoulder and trail them along your neck and jawline until finally your lips, where he lingered longer than the others. He giggles low and brush his lips to the helix of your ear, whispering hotly, "Brought you coffee."

Sliding your hand up his shoulder with your eyes closed still, you circled your arm around his neck and pulled him for a peck with a small suggestive moan, "Tell me all the things I want to hear...you know the way to my heart, mister..." you scrunch your face, and let out a question in a feigned manner, "...who are you again?"

Yoongi bit his lips, and hummed, "Oh dearie, you shouldn't be in my bed if you don't remember my name. And I'm pretty sure it was the only name you chanted a few days ago. This is unfair," he pouted.

"What's unfair?" You peeked at him through one eye. "...I know what your name is, but you don't remember mine..." he murmured, "I'm disappointed, Mrs. Min."

You pinched his chin and shaked it lightly, "Soon. Eager are we."

Yoongi handed you your coffee while you're still seated in bed. He took the paper bag earlier and folded one leg underneath him, "Look what I got from Innisfree."

You took a mouthful gulp of coffee and shook your head out to feigned disapproval.

"...a 100 more days set for a bride-to-be!" Yoongi rejoiced.

"I know, I'm the best fiance there is," Yoongi boasted and had to gulp down the drink in a hurry.

"I didn't know they have these..." You gasped, eyes crinkling at the corners in graceful excitement and collected the box in your hand, gingerly, carefully and so appreciatively. Someone would get you something as expensive and as thoughtful as these. Coming from a male perspective, Yoongi is highly unusual. Be it his love towards Holly, the house dog, and children.

"And, the invitation cards are ready. So we are going to the print shop to fetch it. And then we have food tasting next week," Yoongi listed, "I've emptied my schedule for the whole week. So you don't have to worry about that."

You leaned your head on his shoulder, sitting face to face, "Oh thank goodness for your existence. I have Hoseok's birthday to worry about and I'm about to go insane, and then there's yours too...holy fuck."

Piling yourself with a humanly impossible task is never the plan. The wedding had to be around May this year, and you have been planning it for at least a year. The invitation cards are ready and it feels so real now that Yoongi brought you the things you needed to organize the wedding.

Sometimes things get too difficult too handle that you almost give up. Thankfully, Yoongi understood the pressure of a wedding and so he catches everything that falls out of your hand, metaphorically speaking. Yoongi too is as busy as you are, he had just started his own firm and under the guidance of your father, he was able to organize a few things on his own.

Sometimes, you worry that you're taking up his time by being an emotional wreck especially at the eve of wedding planning, but Yoongi proved to you that it was nothing more than just a mood swing--something he had been effortlessly finding his way about. He was needless to say, impressive in his way of dealing with ordeals that you find meticulous. A God-sent lovable creature who fills your hole in the most enchanting way he could. Although sometimes he struggles with fitting his own time. Like right now, when you sit next to him in the car and he is fumbling on his phone with an unsettling frown on his face. You knew instantly that he was trapped in between something.

"What's wrong honey?" You asked. He hisses before answering, "I forgot that I promised a client to meet today."

"Can't it be postponed until tomorrow?" "The client specifically said today so I don't think he's going to be here tomorrow, what do we do? This case is big, and if I win it, I can give the firm a new recognition and it will be a good start for the firm."

Yoongi chewed his lips. You fished out your phone to call the printing company and tell them that you can't take the printed invitation cards today. The smile on Yoongi's face was indescribable. Although it was brief, you could feel the sincerity.

"What's the case about?" You watched him as he drives. His cream coloured turtle neck covers up until underneath his jaw and his black long coat made his eyes look striking brown. He's breathtakingly beautiful, this lawyer who stole your heart.

"...It's a homicide." He flipped the cars' blinkers to the right and turned the wheel with the heels of his palm, while grumbling low, trying to remember the details of the case.

"My client pleads not guilty to a murder of a man in cement tank...remember that body that came in the news? When you stayed over at my place?"

You blinked a few times, trying to remember.

That night? You had spicy rice cakes and Yoongi's kimchi fried rice. It was extra delicious and he allowed you to stay overnight when he was preparing an argument draft in his legal pad, watching Law & Order Season 8. When he took a phone call and walked to his study room, he left a file open on the dining table. Your fingers were curious about it and so you took time to read what's written on the reports. There were several pictures of gang tattoos and one very disturbing picture of a dead body, found in a hardened cement. And just then, the midnight news covered the story. Your eyes darted to the large screen and you stepped away from the table to watch. Yoongi joined you after a bit.

"A body of a man found in the hardened cement tank a few days ago had been confirmed to be a twenty-two year old young men name, Park Jihoon, who was a Seoul University's dropout. Park was an Advanced Chemistry student who obtained a scholarship from the nation's education bank due to his impressive scores in the last exam held by the International Chemistry Olympiad, it brought pride to the nation."

Your hand dropped to Yoongi's knees as he sat next to you on the couch. "Park's death had been ruled as homicide and investigations are still ongoing. In other news..."

The value of a human is ridiculed nowadays. The strong feeds on the poor down to their dying days. You remembered, feeling repulsive on the thought. Who would want to kill such an aspiring child? He was going to be someone important.

"Yes I remembered that." Yoongi tutted his tongue at your response.

"My client is the one who was accused of killing the boy. He's a gangster." Your eyes bored into Yoongi's unaffected side profile.

Although there was a tinge of guilt in the way his eyes flickered, you knew he wasn't telling you a hundred percent. Yoongi isn't the kind to hide things from you.

"So you're defending this client." Your voice died.

Yoongi puckered his lower lips over the top one and stuck his eyes on the view ahead, "Innocent until proven guilty, remember? If I win this case, my firm will soar."

Blinking away, you stared at the trees on the side of the streets. Things always look different from a moving car. Perceptions. What people choose to see and what is the real truth, Yoongi's job often put him in between good and evil. They say, lawyers have one feet in hell, the other in heaven. And it seemed that he understood your silence.

"I know what you're thinking. But beggars can't be choosers. My clients pay me. And it isn't always about the money, I know. There's always two sides of the story. This case is important to me as how important it is to my firm..." Yoongi persuaded you with his soft tone.

"Ilsan Brotherhood," you shot and Yoongi intercepted, "How did you know?"

You stared at the pavements where people were walking on.

"I read about it, in one of my father's files. They are not to be toyed around with, Yoongi. They are out for blood and most of the time, they will come home with one."

You warned him. "Whatever you have against them, it will not change my mind about taking this case, I'm sure my client is innocent. You haven't heard his side of the story." Yoongi is stubborn. He lets the idea of how winning this case will bring him pride and joy when you feared for his life.

Ilsan Brotherhood was not a stranger to you. They are the most active syndicate since the 2000s up until now. Even your little brother have heard of it.

"Can I come with you?" You unfastened your seatbelt. "Stay in the car." Yoongi shot.

He shut the car door that is parked by the large road, opposed to a bathhouse. You know this bathhouse, it has a Japanese restaurant link to it. Maybe you can't go in the bathhouse, but you can see that the restaurant’s bathroom is connected.. You exited the car and followed after Yoongi's footsteps but instead of entering the bathhouse where he is, you walked into the Japanese restaurant.

"A table for one, in a private room please?" You smiled. And she directed you to the room. They only have a wall made out of bamboo sticks and after the waitress left, you sneaked out of that room and sneak your way through the bathhouse. Until you heard Yoongi's voice coming from the end of the hallway.

"Fuck, he's in the restaurant..." You cursed in your head and scrambled to enter another private room that was thankfully empty but strangely had the lights on.

"...Meticulous, but we can find another loophole in the matter if we look close enough to the witness account," Yoongi commented and is walking in the room where you were.

"So this is the private room of the restaurant that conveniently is connected to the bathhouse?" Yoongi asked and you panic because you hear his footsteps coming nearer and nearer to the sliding door. That's when you crawled into an empty cupboard that was there, fit yourself in the lowest compartment and folded your legs in as small as you can be, leaving a tiny gap open, just large enough for your eyes to see and listen.

"Yoongi is going to kill me..." you thought to yourself but you were honestly not scared.

You only feared getting caught.

Yoongi folded his legs underneath and that's when the Japanese sliding door opened to reveal a tattooed young man with the clear words in big blocks of Old English font: Sinner; on his back. You held your breath and widened your eyes. This man, gangster, who was putting on his Japanese robe, had striking blonde hair and undercut on the sides. His brows strong and purposeful in one glimpse, charismatic in another. You knew that this man was a leader with many loyal followers.

Yoongi was incredibly relaxed and you could tell that it was not his first time meeting this man. He was also cautious enough not to let you know.

"I'm sorry I almost forgot about today," Yoongi started to explain himself and next to Yoongi was another men with long earrings, chirpy and far too smiley to be in a gang, but he oozes an aura of loyalty. It's really difficult to see who else was there but you held on to listen more.

"The boss had been enduring several sleepless nights because he had been getting some unwanted calls from the authorities and wondering if there's anyway you could, pardon the harshness of my words, shut them up..." The young man had a high-pitched voice.

"I know, I've been pulling some strings as well, but it will take time. I want to talk to Namjoon...Jimin, alone." Yoongi dropped his gaze on the table and Namjoon eyed Jimin to leave.

"...I will have to know what happened that night Namjoon," Yoongi explained, "I can't help you if you don't tell me a hundred percent."

Namjoon was visibly obedient by the request. He nodded twice and inhale then exhale, "I will give you all the information needed. I'm not exactly a clean slate to begin with," His voice was an octave lower than Yoongi's. More stories about to be unfold, once Namjoon fixed an appointment to meet Yoongi again, at a later and a more convenient time.

Yoongi excused himself and left Namjoon alone. You watched him sat there, hanging his head low before straightening up in his seat to nip another roll of sushi in his mouth. You were absolutely unafraid.

Yoongi returns to an empty car. He spun around to search for you. "Where the hell did she go?"

Pushing the sliding door open slowly, Namjoon froze in his seat, reaching for a blade underneath his cushion. He softens when he saw a drape of long hair falling on each side of your shoulder. Crawling on all four, you grunted out of your hiding place. And Namjoon began to chew slowly as if it didn't bother him.

"Didn't think I'd meet you this way," he grumbled.

"How much do I need to pay you to not bother Yoongi?" You spat.

And Namjoon answered that with a low chuckle. "...you think you can afford me?" He smiled to his food.

"I'm not playing Namjoon. He's not one of you." You warned, standing up.

"Because he graduates from law school and is from a good family? Congratulations," he was bemused by it.

You rolled your eyes to the side. Namjoon shoved another sheet of dried laver into his mouth. Unaffected by your childish play, he stares back at you like an audience to a performer. He was rather enjoying this.

"You didn't see me here today," you warned him, feet halfway out of the room when you heard Namjoon say, "No reunion kiss?"

Growling inwardly, you left the room undetected at came out of the Japanese Restaurant.

"Where were you?" Yoongi asked from a distance.

"I went to the bathroom, I was about to pee in my pants!" You jogged to him, crossing the empty street. "Hurry, we can still catch up if we go right now. The printing shop is still open."

You sat in the car while Yoongi settled the bills in the printing shop. Your phone dings a message from an unknown number. It said only one thing,

"Pandora, @ 1am."

Of course he'll have your number. Namjoon is capable of anything, including murder.

The faceless and nameless man is Kim Namjoon. Watching Yoongi walked back into the car with two bags full of printed invitations card, you felt your heart tug.

You were certain that this meeting needed to be done so he knows where you stand. You have a life now, and you're determined to keep it. That's why you're here in Pandora at 1 AM as instructed.

Namjoon stood by the handrails, overlooking the night sky, in a grey tuxedo and black dress shirt that compliments his blonde hairdo. His long arm stretch along one side while the other is holding a glass. Musky scent filled the open air on the verandah, in contrast of the hyped clubbing floor just underneath. The smell of cigarettes was still lingering around your nose making you appreciate Namjoon's cologne. Hearing the sound of your sneakers on the wooden surface of the veranda, Namjoon tipped his head up to the night sky, downing a glass of bourbon in his hand.

"Cancer sky's out here tonight to mock me, despicable stars," he rolled his head around, still giving you his back, "Funny how I almost thought you wouldn't come," he added a dry chuckle.

"I came to tell you that it's finally over," you sounded determined. Namjoon hung his head low then throw his head back, in a manner that a broken man should behave.

"He's treating you well?" he paused, smiling at the sky and biting his lips, "...With his expensive Rolex and Gucci ties, his Rolls Royce and wit? You like how he treats you?" He tries to edge you, he turns around to face you, leaning his back to the rails and watch the drink in his swirl with a tut of his tongue, his lips parted a little.

His elbow is on the handrail, as he took another sip, "You've always liked men in high places. Always falling for a fool with great brains," he said in a mocking tone. You marched straight at him and gritting your teeth while he fixes his stance, you growled, "...At least I was not starving."

His personal space was invaded and it was nothing foreign to him, "...I'll give him credit for that." He cocked his eyebrow, gliding his eyes away from you, challenging.

"It's always been about the money isn't it?" You heard him say, pulling his gaze back to you and you stepped back when he took a step forward, downing another painful gulp of strong alcohol into his throat. But the burns he felt in his systems is not as horrific as the wounds you left on him.

You spun around, throwing your hands in your hair before you turn to him and shove him back once, twice.

"I fucking loved you Namjoon. Very much," you growled in his face and stepped away, facing away from him.

"Yeah, but not enough to stay..." Namjoon taunted you while he tailed you.

You faced him one more time. Tears brimming, glassy eyes and pained.

"I would have died for you..." you choked, and, "...I would have fucking died for you."

You pushed banged his chest with your fist and gradually, you weakened as the tears spills.

"You know what we had, it was real..." your lips quivered, your eyes pleading at him to understand.

But his gaze remains hard and unaffected. Those eyes used to be so soft on you. Those hands only held yours and those arms were your home. Those lips belong to you and they say all the things you want to hear. Those intense gaze was yours to take.

Namjoon was yours, all yours.

In a small apartment in the outskirts of town, not more than five years ago, with broken windows and one bedroom, you were so in love. It was your little paradise where Namjoon is a troubled boy everyone stayed away from. Who gave you a peek of his sentimental side and made you fall for his dimpled smile, Namjoon was stained soul with untainted heart. But his appearance made people stay away from him. He couldn't find a job because people don't want to employ a young adult with a mistake he made in his teens. You were his only support system. With no job that pays enough, you were the one sacrificing your time to work in two places. You tutored in the day and worked in a convenience store at night. He walked you to work and back. And even when he smiles, you know he was upset.

"What's wrong baby?" You asked, curling your arm around his waist as you walked. Some people passes you by.

He dropped his gaze to the floor, "...I know what impressions I gave out. I see them giving me 'the eye'. I know I'm a piece of trash, they don't need to be loud about it. The car wash center fired me today, and no pay..." He chuckled dryly and you stopped in your tracks.

Namjoon continued walking but halted after a bit, turning his side at you.

"Come on, I want to be home," he waved his hand, coaxing you to come to him, "The rent is due this week and I have no idea how to pay that," he mumbled.

You put money into an envelope and slid them in the drawer when Namjoon showered. You were prepared. You always put money aside in case shit happened. He slid into the single bed with you, smelling like soap. The bed is so small, your legs overlapped his just to give him more space. Laying on top of him will provide both of you enough space to wriggle about, so it has been a common practice. You lay your head next to his chest where you could hear his heartbeat while his hand will find their way on the small of your back, rubbing them in meaningless circle, thumbing your flesh to soothe you. His touches are always entrancing, gentle and tender. Unlike anything his tattoos represent. He called your name when you're half awake, in whispers, and,

"Do you ever feel like leaving me?" He asked in a small gritty voice, "...you can have a better life without me, you know..." He blinked at the ceiling and inhaled.

That's when you gaze up to him in a newfound consciousness and gave him a peck on the lips, "...Don't say things like that, you know I would never survive a day without you."

He switches on his side and make you lay on your side as well. You lay face to face, while his arm draped lazily over your thin waist. Nose clashing with each other as he sighed,

"I only want what's best for you. I cannot promise you things I want to give you. I want to give you so much...I don't deserve you," his eyes were frightened so they glided away from you.

You look at him with certainty and affections, "...Hey, look at me."

They trail up to you, slowly, almost hesitantly, "...You will find another job. And they'll pay better. And don't worry about the rent, I got you," You patted his chest gently, twice, and an assured smile. He thumbed your chin and then let his thumb ran along the length of your lower lip. His eyes were fixated on it and slowly, he placed them in between his very own, and began to suckle them softly.

"What are we doing baby?" You sighed when he dove his face in your neck, and you feel his lips on that small patch of skin that's known to drive you over the edge without him doing much.

"...The only way I know now that will make you instantly happy," he grazed his teeth on that same spot, pulling you closer than you already are, his voice already throwing your conscience out the window. You don't have to tell him where to caress. Namjoon knows every little spot that would make you weak, like it was in the back of his hand. Guaranteed to make you a writhing mess underneath him.

Making love in small tight places. The fact that you can't make noises makes it even better and rewarding.

When it's good, it’s going great.

But desperation could drive any sane man to become what he's not. Namjoon was going to make money, and he didn't care how.

He didn't like to see you working two jobs and the household is doing things the other way around. You were earning money and raising him. It scarred his pride. So he resorted to the one place you told him not to go, the club. He was quickly and most frequently booked by many wealthy females.

Most of them were lonely widows and secret mistresses of powerful men, who paid Namjoon a remarkable amount of money for his time and a little fun. All the while he was beginning to create his rapport, he had money stacked in one bank account. No longer were you starving to pay the rent and even though he sometimes disappeared into thin air when you search for him, being able to afford things was becoming more important than the reason behind his frequent absence. He was extremely generous in bed and he got better with his words and brought himself with more confidence than before, it was a very good change.

He brought you out of that shitty apartment to a better one.

You have more space but you felt him drifting away. And you don’t know why.

Walking home from work, alone is your everyday now. Namjoon traded his casuals to tuxedos and sandals to leather shoes. He began to bring home many colognes and tell you that it was a gift from the marketing team. One night you found a pink vibrant G-string in his black pants, while doing the laundry. Unable to wait for him to leave the tub, you stormed into the bathroom and threw them in his face. Disappointment. Betrayal.

Namjoon grabbed his robe and went after you, chanting, "Baby, I can explain! Its yours. I got it for you..." A stinging slap went across his face.

"You think I didn't know..." you tipped your head to one side, quizzically, grumbling back at him with glassy eyes, "I know you're fucking around with the widows in this city Namjoon. And wealthy women, you like money that much that you sold your dignity?" You cocked your head to one side, your voice clipped. You grabbed his wallet and took out all the cards he had.

"Thank you for tonight. I had a lot of fun after a long time." "Namjoon, I look forward to our next meeting." "I'm all yours Mr. Kim."

You scoffed. "You create quite a stir now ha... tattooed good-looking man with incredible proportions, you loved the attention? How dare you come home and kiss me with those filthy lips of yours."

"You wanted money. We wanted money." "Gained the right way!" You raised your voice at him. "Well the right way is taking too long!" And he roared just as loud.

You turned away from him, "...Unbelievable."

Namjoon shook his head, pinching his temples between two hands, "...Let's talk about it in the morning," he reaches for your arm and you yanked them away at once.

"Get your hands off of me," You grumbled. He clenched his jaws.

You grabbed your jacket and put on your jeans while he sat on the edge of the bed, covering his face and exhaling.

"Where are you going...it's 3AM," He sighed, "You're giving me a hard time right now. I did what I needed to do," he watched you shove some clothes in a backpack.

You added a chuckle, "My ass. If I was selling myself, we would make more than you ever did."

Zipping them up angrily, "Have fun fucking girls while I'm gone. I'm never coming back. You can give them my clothes," You yanked the door open and stormed out.

“I gave you everything you wanted… a better house, pretty clothes, good food, how dare you do this to me…” he growled, holding the door shut as you struggle to leave.

“That was what you wanted!” you roared in his face, and he visibly froze. You softened,

“I only wanted you,” your voice cracked, brittle and hushed.

It was obvious that he didn’t want the same thing. He was blinded by wealth. And he got comfortable standing on the middle ground at the cost of his soul.

Namjoon's performance dwindled down. He began losing clients, one by one. And although he had more than enough to maintain his lifestyle, he can never fill the hole you left. You cut too deep and he didn't intend to have your replacement anytime soon. His heart was a fool for you and only you.

You were gone for weeks. Jumping to one bathhouse to another with some money you saved from having two jobs. Namjoon knew where you worked so you decided to leave that job and find another. You took wages in doing small sewing jobs just to keep up with yourself. And one night, your free-lance job brought you back to Namjoon's place. You wondered from outside his windows why it's still on. Sitting at the curb to watch some more, you had clothes barely enough to keep you warm, gazing up at the level of his apartment. His extravagant penthouse.

"...Are you sleeping well without me?" You whispered to him as if he was there next to you. You fold your arms and rested them on your knees before laying your head on top of it. I’m not sleeping at all, you whispered in your heart.

Namjoon on your side of the bed. His eyes were unforgiving and he didn't allow himself to sleep since you left. He was going insane on his own that he began to speak to you as if you're in the same room.

"I left the door unlocked, and there's keys under the mat," he said. He sets two plates on the table when he eats while even without you. Bought your favourite chocolate bars that you two used to share. He sat in the walk-in wardrobe and took one of your clothes before sniffing them, inhaling your scent because he misses you so much he could barely think.

"Please come back... please." He prayed. It's just not the same without you.

You remember it all. How he stood by the lamp post with his flyers promoting jobs in his worn out shoes and foolish smile to every stranger that passes him by. Those flyers get stepped on, thrown away and torn. You remember how you gave up half of your instant noodles, so he could have more. Money pinching life, but the happiest you had ever been in your entire existence. It didn’t matter if it was raining and he’s drenched, giving out flyers, it didn’t matter if your back is sore from washing dishes in a nearby diner and finger calloused from days on end using detergents, it didn’t matter that it was a hard life to live because Namjoon was there to help you go on. You had Namjoon,

and that was enough.

Just weeks to spare until the wedding. Invitation cards stack on the corner of your shared room. You shouldn’t be thinking about another man in the bed you shared with your fiance. You shouldn’t be thinking about his smile, or his laugh, or the way he looked at you. You shouldn’t be able to word every touch and every moment you spent with him. You shouldn’t be able to make of the shape of his face, the sound of his voice when he is angry, when he is happy or when he is sad, or remember with utmost precision where all his birthmarks are and you shouldn’t have remembered where your favorite one is, the one that’s on his upper right thigh. You shouldn’t be able to point the scars on his right knee and how long it was. You remembered him details. You remembered Namjoon in details. And it’s a wretched thing to do for a bride-to-be.

Tears streamed across your nose bridge, as you lay on the side, boring into the view of an opaque translucent curtain, moving softly. You wipe the tears harshly, with the back of your hand, along with the thoughts of Namjoon and that’s when you hear Yoongi coming in.

“Why are you’re up so late?” he crawled into bed, holding the blankets up, simultaneously, pressing his lips on your shoulder, draping his arm around your waist, inhaling your scent. Thunder crackling in the black sky, flickering lightning behind thick puffs of clouds, and then,

The rain pours. Just like that night.

Dusk until dawn, you promised me.

Not even the rain could stop you two from wanting to dance in the streets. Your skin is wet from sweat and it washed down from the heavy rain. Big smiles on both of your faces, he twirls you around and you go on your tippy toes feeling absolutely safe even when the lightning strikes. Sharing one cup of noodles in the convenient store because that was all you could afford to not go starving for the night. You sewing up his only dress shirt’s button on while he stares down fondly at you, holding up the flashing lights because the room you both rented had the electricity cut off from outstanding bills. You both had nothing, and yet, everything.

You promised that I won’t be alone, and when things go wrong, you’d still be here. You promised. You lied.

You were a fool in love. You gave up your family for that boy. And where else could you have gone, if not back to your family? They built you up from scrap, had you meet the man you’re with today. The wind strikes your face the same way it did with Namjoon, but with feigned calamity. A false security and deceitful smile. Are you convincing yourself that you’re okay with the man you’ve promised to marry? Or are you deceiving yourself into believing that he was right to marry? Especially when you saw his greed to defend someone in the wrong? Just for the sake of his firm?

An unfinished business. A lingering string of thoughts. It buzzes through Namjoon’s mind as he sat in his leather chair, swirling his glass of wine. Scents of Mahogany strikes up his nostril, drilling through his thoughts at the possibility of jail time should he be proven guilty. The boy. Right, the college Chemistry boy.

He threatens the market. It was the only market that feeds Namjoon of his lavish expenses,his uncontrollable urge to possess everything he only dreamt of.

“It was the words that came out of that boy that made me feel he shouldn’t be alive,” Namjoon arched an eyebrow and Yoongi visibly stiffened. Tactless, and merciless--was the way he said it. Namjoon really did sell his soul to the devil. And he proceed to gorily describe how he killed the boy.

“He regurgitates, sputtering blood all over the cord I wrapped around his Adam’s apple, and I dragged his pulsating body through the dirt and put his face into the liquid cement that hasn’t dried. Then I put his entire body inside…” Namjoon’s dark gaze lifts up to meet Yoongi’s and he did the unthinkable,

He smiled.

Without remorse.

“D’you know what he said?” Namjoon rests his elbows on the edge of the table, “Called me a beggar. The nerve of that boy.” He chuckled. But Yoongi didn’t join.

Namjoon downed a mouthful of wine and left his chair. Army of loyal followers waiting for him outside. The police are at the door, with handcuffs. They have him remanded until trials began. Will he remains his stance as not guilty? It is hardly so, now that Yoongi had known the truth. The prosecution's will soon find out what other crimes he did. And he will be in jail for good. While he got remanded, he received a visitor.

“Does your fiance know, you’re here?” he asked, with that boyish grin you were familiar with.

“He won’t, if you don’t tell,” you snapped.

You took one long look to his figure, his face, the features that stood out, the tattoos that boldly peek through his neck hole and syncopate on his skin, his forearms and knuckles.

“Do they make you stronger? Those drawings on your skin?” you asked, through your lashes and your eyes tips up to meet his.

“The pain that comes while I’m getting them, does. It made me feel something after you were gone,” he shrugs his shoulders, sitting slouched in his chair.

“I’m getting married, Namjoon,” not wishing to beat around the bush anymore, you shot, “I’m really getting married…”

Namjoon jutted his chin out, hollowed his cheeks and somberly nodded. His gaze cast down to his lap, “I know…I’ll be in jail.”

You don’t love him, you pitied him. At least, that’s what you told yourself, forcing your eyes stay open and it stings, till tears fall to your cheek.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered, even though he wasn’t even looking at you, he knew, and, “You should be happy, Yoongi’s a great person. You’ll be very happy. Even within this thick walls, I still make you cry…”

“Don’t tell me what to do…” you grumbled. Wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you grab your purse and took out a bank account book he had shipped to your home address, “I can’t accept this.”

Along with the handwritten letters that came with it.

The chair scratched against the concrete floor, and Namjoon stared at the bank account book while you exited the room. His lips hung open and he blew hot air to his forehead as the door slammed shut behind you.

The crowds begin to cheer as you walk into the aisle, hand-in-hand with your father. He had a vibrant smile on, to match your subtle ones. And at the end of the aisle was Min Yoongi, your soon-to-be husband. And with every step approaching him, you leave Namjoon and his words behind.

This bank account I started when we rented a room in that run-down apartment.

Veils covered your face. Forward.

I made a vow that I’ll give them to you once the money inside is enough for a decent wedding.

Heart thumps. You tighten your grip around your father’s arm. Forward.

Of many promises that went unfulfilled,

Your knees feel loose but you held on. Forward. Forward.

At least I could fulfill these.

One last row and Yoongi is within reach. Forward.

I wish you happiness, even without me.

Namjoon basks in the sun in his prison attire, by the monkey bars, pondering about the love he had once received, and now lost.

The cost of a million dollar house is his soul, his future and his past.

End.

243 notes · View notes

jkjmemory · 6 years ago

Text

I hate this feeling, I hate this night . Yoonkook .

Summary: The nights are Yoongi’s worst enemy; his bad brain is always harder to handle when the world around him is just as dark as his own thoughts.

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Min Yoongi Genre: Angst, tiny bits of Fluff Word Count: 3355 Read on: ao3, and if the links on this dumbass site worked properly, i would also link the work but.....@/staff please fix this site please wtf if you wanna know my ao3 to read more of my works, feel free to dm me or send me an ask!! 💓💓 A/N: Another two-day work that was originally Taegi but then turned into Yoonkook somewhere along the way idk? 😅 Can barely even be considered a one-shot tbh, it's more of a character study that's been sitting in my drafts for the longest time and I just wanted to finally get out of the way lol The title is from Key's 'One of those nights' which is such a lovely song 🤕💜 I know next to nothing about Insomnia btw and as always, Jungkook's anxiety is based on my own experience! If there are any major errors please let me know.

Hope you enjoy!! 💘 💘

Jungkook has always liked the city after dark. He likes its lights, the way they remain predictably in exactly the same places in familiar windows and street lamps and skyscrapers every night. He likes the cleanness of the sky when the smog lifts, and he likes how the evening veils the noises the people make. Nights give him a safe feeling, a maybe-people-will-stop-watching-me-now feeling. Here on the tiny balcony the wind climbing up the walls of the apartment building makes Jungkook’s pajama shirt dance and a shiver crawl up his spine. Yoongi stops trying to light his cigarette for a second and glances at him. Elbows on the railing and head low between his shoulders, his eyes flick up towards Jungkook and he brushes his hair back behind his ear, abashedly, almost. Like he doesn’t really want the younger to see him smoke his way through another sleepless night.

“You should go back,” Yoongi says, and flicks the lighter again, the flame immediately dying in the wind. Yoongi curses under his breath; thin hands come up and cup the end of the cigarette. Jungkook just shrugs and crosses his arms, scratches at the hairs behind his ear.

“I like this better, Hyung,” he says. Yoongi’s eyelid twitches, and with a sigh and a sniffle, he squats down. Jungkook watches as the elder tugs one of the flat cushions they keep out here towards himself, sitting with his feet against the railing and curling his spine. Between his torso and his thighs, Jungkook hears the flick of the lighter.

“Should I get your jacket?” he asks after a while of Yoongi still busying himself with the cigarette; the other lets out a halfhearted snort.

“’m good, thanks.”

Yoongi shifts; the flame of the lighter shines for a second, and then, finally, the tip of the cigarette catches it. Jungkook watches Yoongi take the first inhale, pocket his lighter and lean his head back against the frame of the screen door, closing his tired eyes.

He’s always closing his eyes. Like it hurts to look at things, maybe it does.

Jungkook pads back into the living room, to the couch, where one of the others left their hoodie lying around. He takes it, pulls it over his head, smells sweat and coffee, thinks ‘Namjoon’ and in a second, he’s back at the screen door, sitting down cross-legged next to Yoongi, hands in his lap. And then they’re quiet. They’re quiet for a long time, unmoving, and Jungkook’s eyelids are growing dangerously heavy when Yoongi finally says something.

„You don’t have to do this every single time, “Yoongi says in a mumble around the second cigarette which he’s been trying to light for the past minute or so. Jungkook glances up, and when Yoongi meets his eye steadily and deliberately, he flinches and looks further up, up, up and away. Eye contact is a dangerous thing.

What Yoongi means is that Jungkook doesn’t have to forgo his sleep to watch Yoongi chain smoke the night hours away. He doesn’t have to stay with Yoongi, Yoongi, who has stopped being able to sleep a couple weeks back. Jungkook doesn’t have to slip out of his bed silently and follow to wherever Yoongi takes them at 2 am, be it the set of swings on the playground two street corners over or the dark, deserted river banks halfway across the city. It doesn’t matter; where Yoongi goes with his hunched shoulders, cigarette pack, empty hands, Jungkook follows.

He isn’t quite sure why he does it, really. He just doesn’t like the thought of Yoongi out alone in the middle of the night. And Jungkook’s own restlessness keeps him up way past the other members’ bedtime, as well. So, if they’re both not sleeping, anyway, they might as well spend that time together.

Tonight, on the balcony, he followed because he got scared.

When Yoongi got out of bed this time, Jungkook stayed where he was, lay there for a minute, firmly set on not following this time until he heard the screen door open and he remembered that their dorm was on the 11th floor, high, high up, and the railing was easy to climb, and Yoongi was not to be trusted. And he jumped out of bed and followed, after all.

Yoongi is right, he doesn’t have to do this every single time, but he doesn’t mind. He’s alone all night with Yoongi and he doesn’t mind, doesn’t mind at all.

He shifts a little, tugs at the drawstrings of his hoodie and ties them in an attempt to keep the wind from slipping its fingers into his collar. Yoongi by now has managed to light the cigarette, exhales smoke with a sigh, and Jungkook worries for a second that Namjoon might smell the cold smoke on his hoodie in the morning. He tugs his knees up towards his chest, mirroring Yoongi’s seat and worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

„Does it bother you? When I’m here, does it? “

Yoongi seems to consider this for a long time, and Jungkook feels sick to the stomach, desperately wishes he could see his face because he’s been wondering for so long now, if Yoongi even wants him here like this. But Yoongi has his hair in his face and is turning the cigarette between index finger and thumb contemplatively, then putting it back between his lips. His cheeks hollow slightly around his inhale, and Jungkook wonders just how much weight Yoongi has lost over this, this pain he’s been nursing for reasons unknown.

Yoongi doesn’t sleep, but during the day, he throws himself into practice, into work even more so, even though they just got through a comeback and their schedule is pretty timid for the next month or so. He exhausts himself, perhaps even hoping that if he’s just tired enough at the end of the day, maybe sleep will come to him, but it never does. The toll this cycle has taken on his mind is tangible and the toll it has taken on his body is visible, and Jungkook just wishes there was something he could do to help him. But Yoongi doesn’t want help. Jungkook is pretty sure he is more annoyed than happy to have him around as it is.

His train of thought makes him even more fidgety. He brings his hand up to his mouth, sniffs the cuff of the hoodie, chews on his thumbnail, avoids looking at Yoongi. The night is quiet and so is the other boy and Jungkook hates quiet sometimes, he really fucking does.

“Well, no.”

By the time Yoongi finally replies, Jungkook’s heart is beating a little too fast, lungs pressing into his ribcage on every inhale that he’s trying to keep as deep and calm as possible. Deep down, he hates himself for this, for the fact that every little thing can set him off just like that. A minor inconvenience and Jungkook’s breathing comes heavy, his eyes go wide. It all makes him feel childish and like he’s not in control, but he can’t help it, he likes Yoongi so much. So much. And he’s so worried and his mouth feels dry, stale, Jungkook wills the dizziness away, no, he doesn’t want to do this right now.

Yoongi reaches forward and flicks the ashes of his cigarette over the edge of the balcony. Glowing for another fragment of a second, they blow away, and Jungkook clings onto his elbows, tension in his shoulders that he doesn’t know how to let go. He sniffles, and Yoongi tilts his head, eyes him from beneath hooded lids, takes a drag, and Jungkook holds his heavy gaze for just about a second until he can’t anymore. He looks down, makes himself small, wonders what it would take to stop having a physical form that people could look at. Dangerous, terrifying eye contact, what if they all see, what if they all notice – he’s not even sure what he wants to hide so badly. His lip is shaking. He feels pathetic, and Yoongi stands and leans over the railing again, away from Jungkook, which doesn’t make it better at all, and Jungkook wipes his eyes quickly with his sleeve.

“Then don’t push me away, Hyung, not me,” he manages, all shaky. Yoongi, again, doesn’t give him much more than a tilt of the head, and Jungkook fucking hates this so much. Why can’t they just have normal conversations, why can’t Yoongi just put in that little effort, why, why, Jungkook knows exactly why and he knows just how toxic his thoughts are, but his mind is running in overdrive all the time and he can’t really help it, no matter how well he means. Logically, he knows Yoongi isn’t doing this to hurt him. He isn’t doing it to hurt anyone, this locking-himself-away thing. He does it because he only has so much energy to spare when he’s fighting a battle against a mind that won’t let him live, won’t let him sleep, even.

But Jungkook can’t take it, he can’t take the uncertainty and he can’t take the isolation. All the other members don’t seem to be having the same problems as him, they know Yoongi just gets like this sometimes, and Jungkook knows this too, and Jimin told him to give Yoongi more time to sort his mind out, but Jungkook has a restless mind of his own. And it overinterprets and it worries, and he just needs to know that Yoongi doesn’t hate him because he can’t tell anymore, he really can’t.

“Don’t push me away, you know what it does to me,” he tries again. Yoongi has finished his cigarette, stubbed it out on the railing and is reaching into his pocket for the pack to take out the next one. Jungkook distantly wonders when Yoongi even picked up smoking and how he has never thought about this before, and how Yoongi is hiding his bad habit from the managers. He doesn’t know. It unsettles him, how little he knows about him. He sometimes thinks it’s not his place to worry about Yoongi when really, how close are they? Are they even close? Were they ever close?

“You should go back inside,” Yoongi says. Hands close around the tip of the cigarette, the lighter flicks, Jungkook wants to scream. He shakes his head defiantly.

“I won’t,” he bites. Yoongi turns his head fully now, and Jungkook can feel his eyes on him. He takes a drag, and just looks at Jungkook, looks and looks silently and then crouches down next to him again. Heels to the ground, elbows to his knees, he gets on eye-level with Jungkook and says his name softly, Jungkook-ah, he says, until Jungkook meets his eyes with a small whine. Yoongi’s eyes are still hooded, sleepy, and there’s a softness there that Jungkook wasn’t prepared for. Quickly, quickly he wants to look away but Yoongi touches his shoulder gently, albeit briefly.

“I don’t want you losing sleep over me.” Smoke curls from the cigarette. Jungkook watches it disperse, and then glances back up at the other.

„Let me, though,” he murmurs, and Yoongi groans softly, and drops his seat bones back down on the cushion, stretches his legs out long, socked feet against the rail. Jungkook watches him from the corner of his eye, hands in his lap.

“You’re my favorite thing to lose sleep over, Hyung, “he says, and this sentence is even more quiet, but Yoongi seems to catch it. He stalls his movement, holds his breath and then he crosses his legs, turns towards Jungkook, the cigarette in his hand, and stares at him.

Long looks.

They’re known to get Jungkook all fidgety, scare him, make him want to hide. But sometimes, they make him feel all warm, make his mouth go dry when it’s Yoongi looking at him, black orbs framed by black lashes between black bangs. Fingers fidgeting with the cigarette and clean teeth, whitened for the comeback between chapped, blueish-pink lips.

Yoongi gets so little sleep these days that his circulation is incredibly low, and everything about him has a weirdly translucent quality. He’s always been pale in comparison to Jungkook and the others, but here in the light of the streetlamps and the moon, his skin is made of blueish white and his lips are pale, too, like he’s cold all the time. Which makes sense, since the temperatures have been dropping recently, and Yoongi’s lips are blue, purple, pink, the color of Taehyung’s sweet, sweet strawberry milk cartons. He’s translucent when he puts the cigarette back between his lips, its glow dips him into orange for a second when he inhales. And then, he’s translucent again. Translucent in a way that constantly makes Jungkook either want to whip out his camera or pull him in, warm his cold lips with his own, or tug him inside, where it’s warm and safe.

But Jungkook knows himself, and he knows he wouldn’t be brave enough to do those things. He’s also aware Yoongi would never let him, always has to be the one to take the first step, always needs to stay in control of the situation. So, Jungkook sits and waits and watches Yoongi watching him, and acts like it’s nothing but gladly accepts it with his heart thudding when Yoongi, with a small sigh changes his cigarette hand from the right to the left and reaches his hand out, touching the back of Jungkook’s own with the tips of his fingers.

They both watch very carefully out of the corners of their eyes, shy of any eye contact now, as Yoongi traces his fingertips, just the tips, cool and soft, up the curve of Jungkook’s thumb, and they both hold their breaths when Jungkook turns his hand, palm up, and slowly takes Yoongi’s hand in his own. Like it’s a secret, he holds it carefully. Cold, smaller than his own, he holds Yoongi’s hand and hangs his head low, wonders what would happen if someone saw them like this.

At first, neither of them moves. They’re both scared to break this fragile thing; all movement needs to be slow and steady. Quiet and slow and steady, like in a morning forest. Jungkook startles a little when Yoongi’s hand stops being limp in his own, when the elder presses his palm a little more firmly against Jungkook’s and then pushes his hand into his sleeve, meeting hot, sensitive skin. Jungkook shivers bodily, all hairs standing on end, and it makes the faintest breathless grin tug at the corner of Yoongi’s mouth.

Yoongi’s index finger and thumb press coldly into Jungkook’s pulse point, and Jungkook moves his hand to accommodate, holds Yoongi’s wrist in his palm. His pulse is slow, worryingly irregular, the pulse of someone with low blood pressure who hasn’t been sleeping or eating enough in late fall. And Jungkook, always a contrast. He knows he’s all heightened senses, warmth beneath the skin, his pulse must be racing because Yoongi is so close now, leaning into his side. Closer than they’ve ever been, maybe. They both watch their hands in Jungkook’s lap. Jungkook can hear Yoongi’s breath on his ear, and turns his head reflexively, and they look at each other.

Eye contact; a dangerous thing. A beautiful thing.

And then they kiss. Suddenly but consensually gravitate towards each other until their lips meet, their minds in sync.

It’s thoughtful, kind of. Hesitant, deliberate, like the little dance of their hands earlier; it’s more breath than flesh first, both their lips a little dry and Jungkook shy of too much movement, stress still in his jaw and shoulders. But Yoongi’s lips are surprisingly warm contrary to his cold hand on Jungkook’s cheek, the kiss is warm and wonderful and slow as Yoongi twists in his seated position to reach the younger.

His breathing coming deeply through his nose, Jungkook takes his time before he touches Yoongi, right hand tangling clumsily in the elder’s hair, and it’s so soft between his fingers that Jungkook lets out a sigh and buries his hand deeper into it, and Yoongi takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, licking shamelessly into Jungkook’s mouth. All Jungkook can taste now is the smoke on Yoongi’s tongue and he hates what it means but he also loves it, it tastes like the pink color of strawberry milk. He feels lightheaded, whimpers softly. Jungkook knows all Yoongi will be able to taste on his tongue is the faint afterglow of toothpaste, but Yoongi doesn’t seem to care, he kisses Jungkook thoroughly, hums low in his throat as he pulls back for a moment to stub the cigarette out for good. Jungkook watches dazedly as Yoongi turns back around and slides a hand up his chest with a shy, wanting glint in his eye and pulls Jungkook back in by his neck.

They’ve never been closer, Jungkook is sure of it. He can’t recall how he ever doubted this.

This right here, it’s not what he imagined kissing Yoongi would feel like, and he has imagined it lots. He was pretty sure that, was it to ever happen, it would be after some award show or party, intoxicated, free of meaning. And this is everything but. Jungkook isn’t drunk, and neither is Yoongi, and they’re both fully aware what they’re doing and of the consequences it could potentially have, and it feels like so much more than it should. Yoongi kisses heavy, and there’s so much urgency and pent-up need in the way his fingers dig into the skin of Jungkook’s neck that Jungkook, on top of feeling hot all over, muffling soft moans into Yoongi’s mouth, isn’t sure for just how long Yoongi has wanted this.

Which only makes it much more confusing when Yoongi’s hands, which have moved to the front of the hoodie, suddenly push him away, and Yoongi pulls back. That’s when Jungkook notices the dampness of his own cheeks, notices the puffiness of Yoongi’s eyes, and thinks oh no.

Yoongi grabs his lighter and cigarettes without a word, jumps up and runs inside.

Jungkook remains seated on the balcony, out of breath, eyes wide, trying to wrap his mind around how quickly Yoongi has changed his mind, how quickly situations can tip over edges without salvation. He can hear Yoongi in the hallway, pulling on his shoes and grabbing his keys, sniffling and opening the door, then throwing it shut.

And Jungkook knows it’s no use, so he doesn’t follow him. The front door opens eleven floors down and Jungkook watches Yoongi run away into the night, wiping his face with the hem of his t-shirt.

He doesn’t know for how long he stays where he is in the wind on the balcony with a dull ache in his chest, but at some point, he collects the butts of Yoongi’s cigarettes and goes inside, throws them in the trash. He closes the screen door; he peels off Namjoon’s hoodie and places it over the back of the couch, and he goes back to bed.

Jungkook wakes up at the crack of dawn, when Namjoon shouts through the whole apartment which one of them is a smoker and stole his hoodie. He wakes up, and he realizes that curled around his waist is a skinny arm, and someone is breathing softly against his neck, softly and slowly, the breath of someone sleeping deeply.

He knows it’s Yoongi even before he turns onto his side carefully to eye the other.

Parted strawberry-milk lips and purple circles beneath his eyes, skin soft. There’s no tension or awareness there, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to wake up anytime soon. Jungkook figures he must have really needed this night’s rest; he unplugs his phone, mutes it and opens Instagram and lets Yoongi curl back into his side sleepily. He lets him, because he doesn’t mind. He’s somewhat angry, sure, but he trusts that Yoongi will apologize later, and for now, he’s just glad to be close to him.

Closer than ever, maybe.

Thank you for reading!! Hate on me for mistakes and controversies.

18 notes · View notes

swyllh · 7 years ago

Text

[seokmin] occupational hazard

title: occupational hazard

pairing: seokmin x reader, side verkwan

word count: 3814

genre: miscommunication, fluff, angst

notes: im sorry it took so long omf + also i just realised the route i took this was very uh. without frills. ALSO THANK YOU !!! i’m just glad u enjoy reading ;;u;;

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: astronomy special draft

dear ms [l/n],

would you mind helping me check this draft so i can file it in the archives and ………….

cookies in the rooftop greenhouse? :D

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

from: you

to: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

subject: re: astronomy special draft

chill no one’s going to bother reading the preview of our mails

double choc?

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: astronomy special draft

!!! >O<

with macademia!!!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

from: you

to: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

subject: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

macadamia*** silly

see you

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

!!!!!!!!! :DD

“that’s a long astronomy special,” seungkwan remarks blandly over your shoulder.

you accidentally close a tab. “yeah, mercury’s in gatorade.”

“retrograde,” seungkwan says, sipping his caramelised ginger tea, “and anyway, aren’t you in charge of world news?”

leaning over to pinch his side, you say, “yes, but he sent it to the wrong [y/n]. and besides, all that developmental belt thing is tiring.”

“i thought you’re the only [y/n] in our company,” seungkwan swats your hand, and shuffles back into his cubicle.

when his head is safely out of sight, you quickly shut the email tab and open a new word document. a sulky, unnerving thrill runs down your spine – did he see what you were typing? did he see what seokmin was typing? the last message hadn’t been as incriminating as you thought – he’d left out the ‘x’s and ‘o’s, and you’re pretty sure seokmin types like that to everyone anyway.

still, you wheel your chair back a little, only to see seungkwan headbanging to what looks like beyonce on spotify. the red headphones cupping his ears seem secure enough, so you heave a sigh of relief and wheel yourself back into place again. the quiet of the office chants itself into a rhythm of unsuspecting sounds: a squeak of an office chair, the tapping of a disgruntled pen, an incoherent flush of coffee from the new machine…

your fingers pace uneasily across your keyboard in an attempt at competence; you’re pretty sure “hong kong – amidst rising concerns regarding housing estate prices and default banking credit” is completely unrelated to your actual piece on venezuela.

after what feels like an eternity, and maybe a suitable length of time, you put your computer to sleep, and wheel yourself out of the cubicle. seungkwan’s still steadily nodding his head, chasing after the beats of a pop legend. you slowly wheel yourself out.

the getaway goes smoothly, and you’re almost at the frosted glass gates before

“hey, [y/n], where’re you going?” chan calls.

you’re sure it’s revenge for getting to be seatmates with seungkwan. “just out for lunch.”

he squints. “it’s not yet lunch.”

sighing, you tap at the pink subterfuge folder in your lap. “i’m dropping these off at home news first, by the time i get back it will be lunch.”

“oh!” he says, and then beams, “then you won’t mind helping me drop these?”

it’ll be a trip – home news is stuck in the tiniest, furthest corner of the building. but you know that this is a small price to pay for seeing seokmin and enjoying his company in peace.

“sure,” you sigh, “all aboard the [y/n] express!”

“did anyone find out?” seokmin asks, fingers giddily folded over the lid of his tupperware.

you shake your head. “no. or at least, i don’t think so.”

“…right-o!” seokmin fumbles with the lid for a moment, before unleashing a thick, heavenly scent of chocolate and crisp nuts.

“it smells good.” your stomach grunts in agreement. “you could be a baker.”

seokmin nods enthusiastically, before holding up a cookie to your mouth. you flinch slightly, before taking a quick bite and pulling the cookie out of his hands. it’s good. it’s better than anything you’ve had. he’s still smiling that same sweet way he does, eyes squinting and teeth bright.

“how’s it?”

“good! very, very good,” you say.

he laughs. “i made it with all my love!”

the statement makes you flush – it’s too loud and cheerful in the otherwise quiet of the afternoon break.

“don’t shout cheesy things like that,” you chide. “anyway, i’ve got to deliver these files to home news later because chan almost found me out.”

“i’ll walk you there,” seokmin says in between bites. “chan?”

“yeah, you know, that guy who’s got a michael jackson shrine and it caught on fire last week?”

“oh,” seokmin frowns. “yeah, that’s bad.”

you lean over for another snack. “well, he managed to get it up and twice as big – human resource’s going to have a tough time talking to him.”

“oh,” seokmin jolts. “oh, i wasn’t - ah.”

you raise an eyebrow, but seokmin only smiles again – peach lips stretched wide and willing. the midday sunlight dances off his cheekbones, light and easy. he’s so close now, you think you might engineer a brush of your hands, or mastermind some heist on his smile. instead, you bite down on a cookie, and continue bemoaning your day.

“also i heard someone at lifestyle was caught hooking up with home news in a closet,” you say. “turns out it’s the boss’s ex, and if not for his crazy good editing skills, i think they’d both have been blacklisted by the industry.”

he shrugs, “jeonghan-hyung?”

“you know who it is,” you gasp. “how’d you know?”

“the jihancheol-bermuda triangle is an open secret,” seokmin says, unperturbed. thoughtfully, he supplies, “soonyoung coined the term.”

his indifference makes you shiver. “so everyone knows about it.”

“jeonghan-hyung is very loud about it,” seokmin says with a cringe.

you laugh, choking on bits of chocolate. “that’s why it’s better if no one knows about us.”

seokmin gazes at a light behind you. “yeah.”

“really,” you say, suddenly moved to place your hand on his knee. “imagine if something happened, like if we got into a fight, and then – we’d never hear the end of it, or-”

seokmin cups your hand in his. “but what if we never fought?”

“that’s impossible,” you scoff.

seokmin’s smiling again, a thumb lazily tracing your knuckles. “but we haven’t.”

he’s right – it’s been at least six months dating, and yet the two of you are still eerily comfortable with each other. any form of dispute or argument bows low to seokmin’s winning smile and your rational compartmentalisation. no matching couple outfits? sure, most of them are tacky and inconvenient for you anyway. no idea where to go for dinner? it’s cool, you’re usually too hungry to care.

but the thought of showing yourselves off, like jeonghan and seungcheol, sends bile rising up your throat. you swallow it, and move your hands away from seokmin’s warm, sweaty ones.

“lunch is almost over,” you say. “i’ll go to home news.”

“i’ll walk you!” seokmin jumps up.

you shake your head. “it’s fine, i’ll do it myself.”

“it’s on the way,” seokmin insists.

“no,” you say, perhaps a little too loudly. seokmin startles, and you quickly say, “i just meant, home news is really far away.”

he doesn’t seem to believe it as much as you do. but then seokmin smiles the world alright, and bends over to peck your forehead. you try to grin back at him, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

tumbl.cat.download_223.jpg

^^ have you seen this!!

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

utube.co/watch?=oi292nfhlkp !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

im so boooooooooooooooored

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

magikquiz.co/quizzes/which_shakespearean_confession_are_you

you got: beatrice from much ado about nothing!

you're wise, you're funny, you're willing to risk everything, and at times you're genuinely a character to be feared. the audience loves you!

wht did u get!!!

from: you

to: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

you got: rosalind from as you like it!

you’re kind hearted, you’re independent, you’re fiery, and you’re not afraid to step out and conquer. the hero gotham deserves!

> wow that’s a lie

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

no!!!! i think it suits u a lot!!!! ure very very strong!!!!!!!111! mighty!!!!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxox

business has you rolling into lifestyle and advisory columns – something about china’s new social credit ranking system accounting for horoscopes. one place now definitely excluded from your retirement plans.

lifestyle and advisory is a little more unrestricted than the rest of the company. for one, their front door is dripping in neon and decked in last year’s christmas lights; the piñata from someone’s birthday three years ago is still lying untouched beside the chalkboard sign. you squint. it’s a very specific horoscope reading: “all leos with black moppy hair and big doe eyes, if you’re 177cm tall, watch out! you’ll walk into three poles and be on your worst luck!”

the door swings open prematurely. “oh! [y/n]!”

you barely reel back – there’s a metal clatter. “ah, seokmin.”

“are you here to see me?” his face lights up.

you shake your head, ignoring the way his shoulders slump a little. “world news thought we should check out astrology.”

seokmin pauses, and then smiles brighter. “i can help you!”

“sure,” you say, compelled.

he steps aside for you to enter the office. it’s completely different from when you visited two months ago – the once pink walls are now a deep navy, with glittering starfishes as adornments. you think they broke budget again to buy another beanbag.

“seokminnie?” a voice calls out. “aren’t you going to meet seolhyun?”

seokmin flushes pink. “not now, hyung.”

jeonghan peeks out from behind his partitioned cubicle. he’s gone for a frothy lavender.

“oh, you’ve got company,” jeonghan says. “hey, [y/n].”

“nice hair,” you say.

he scrunches up his nose playfully. “i’m dying it black later.”

“maybe a bob cut,” you say.

seokmin hurriedly pushes you into a meeting room. or a break room. or a nursery. you’re not really sure why, but there’s an animated dragon head on one of the windows.

“so, seolhyun,” you say, trying to discern if the beanbags are pink or red.

he nods vaguely. “yeah, jeonghan-hyung said she wanted to speak to me about something.”

“and you’re keeping her waiting,” you say stiffly.

seokmin jerks up. “no! i mean, yes, but i want to help you.”

he’s earnest, at least. you say, “it’s fine, i can always ask, um, yoojung.”

“it’s okay,” he says, smiling. “is this about china’s social credit-”

you snatch your files out of his hands. “just go, seokmin.”

“[y/n].” his face falls. “hey, it’s fine, seolhyun can wait-”

“just go,” you urge, but you’re pretty sure your teeth aren’t supposed to be grinding right now.

seokmin looks like he wants to say something – the hover of his agape mouth has you hooked, waiting for a line. you watch him, tensed and fretting and shocked. it’s almost morbid, the way you’re pining for a catastrophe.

but nothing.

“okay,” he says, smiling. “i’ll get yoojung to come in.”

you press a fist against your thigh. “sure.”

when he leaves, you try to think of the wheelchair-equivalent of stomping out of the department. yoojung rushes into the break room, flustered and giddy before you can do anything.

and so you spend the rest of the day tapping a pen against your desk, itching to turn back time.

seungkwan passes you your coffee order on his way back. he’s managed to conveniently forget chan’s soy-latte, and instead making a beeline towards you.

“you know the angel of clickbaits,” seungkwan squeals. “and that seokmin guy you were emailing?”

“jeonghan?”

“no,” seungkwan flicks you on the forehead. “seolhyun. kim seolhyun!”

you shrug. “what about her?”

“what about them,” seungkwan says, wagging a finger. “i. saw. them. together! can you imagine! in the coffeeshop everyone was charmed out of their pants. my god, don’t you want to know what they were talking about?”

“mmhmm,” you say – it’s not your first time working with the radio on.

“[y/n],” seungkwan says, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “seokmin. seolhyun. keep up!”

the name catches your attention. “seolhyun?”

it’s the right thing to say apparently, because seungkwan launches right into another explanation about the ‘angel of clickbait’. it takes him three carefully rationed sips of his frappe and at least five tuts before he gets to the main point:

“-so like, i’m just there, right, and i happen to hear,” seungkwan shoots you a look, “i happen to hear them talking about date places!”

you want to laugh. “sure. did you go up and suggest the observatory?”

“no!” seungkwan exclaims, scandalised, “the observatory is mine!”

you shrug, watching seungkwan continue to fawn and swoon over a perfect ‘sunshine’ couple. as you take a sip of your own coffee, you can’t help but feel victorious at how you’ve finally gained the upperhand on seungkwan after so many torturous years of living under a rock.

the triumph in your chest simmers a little as seungkwan says, “-so like, what’s a good ship name? seolmin? seokhyun?”

you shrug. “does it matter?”

seungkwan fixes you with an eagle’s glare. “of course it does! seokmin’s been rejecting every single girl and guy for the past few years. this is big news.”

“i didn’t know you cared about seokmin,” you say.

“i care about news,” seungkwan waves your statement away. “seokmin’s fine, anyhow.”

to be fair, the seolhyun-seokmin hype works out in your favour. you were wheeling yourself into the staff lounge for some tea when you overheard taelyn, jimin and mingyu chattering about it. the news spreads like a virus – potent, unrelenting, and all the way to radio broadcast already.

when you’re cuddling up with seokmin one night, you say, “mingyu from home news was saying that you and seolhyun were planning to elope.”

seokmin fakes a gasp, “are we? i didn’t get a packing list!”

you swat him on the arm playfully. “real funny.”

he sinks into your touch, shuffling up next to you. the television continues to murmur in strange, foreign incantations.

“are you jealous?” he says, huffing into your hair.

“no.”

“you’re jealous, aren’t you?” his glee pokes you in the arm. “you’re jealous!”

you roll your eyes, nudging him in the ribs. “i’m not.”

“we should tell them i’m yours,” seokmin says giddily.

“no!” you’re quickly turning to face him. “the seolhyun thing is good.”

“it is?” he frowns, tangling a finger in your hair.

“it is,” you say. “no one will ever think we’re together.”

“oh.”

there’s something unrecognisable on his face, so you say, “of course, you’re okay with that right? us staying low?”

his gaze shifts to your hair.

“i mean, we’re just taking it slow,” you rush to say, “keeping things casual. nothing serious.”

seokmin is quiet for the longest time. your arm is stiff from lying at a crooked angle in between the both of you, but you don’t dare to move. you train your eyes on his adam’s apple instead, unmoving.

and then seokmin breaks into a half-smile, reassuring and pliant. it’s something you’ve been seeing a lot of recently. for a moment you wonder if it’s too dim in the room.

“sure,” he says. “it’s getting late now. i should go.”

you spend the rest of the week battling an extraordinary workload: there’s the social credit system update, the venezuela inflation, as well as asean’s latest meeting. on top of that, seungkwan’s still busy blathering about seolmin and seokmin’s sending you more emails about cat videos and irrelevant photos.

(they’re cute, though.)

you press your chin into the heel of your hand, disgruntled at the remarks your editor has made on your third draft. there’re only two more hours till it becomes old news, and you’re not sure what else is synonymous with ‘transient’.

“you brought work home?” seokmin says.

he’s becoming something of a permanent fixture in your apartment; there’s a spare toothbrush for him in the washroom, and you’re pretty sure the record playing in the radio is his.

“yeah,” you say, taking your reading glasses off. “two hours more.”

“oh! inflation, yikes,” he says, reading over your shoulder. “can’t you take a break for a bit?”

you sniffle. “i don’t know…”

“come on, let’s cuddle for a bit,” he says, tugging on your arm.

you smile, shaking your head. “if we cuddle i’m gonna fall asleep.”

his palms work their way to your shoulders, coaxing, “please? i missed you a lot.”

you sigh as he kneads into the knots of your shoulders, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure.

“okay, sure,” you say, and let him lead you to the bed.

“did you miss me too?”

“seokmin,” you say, shuffling on the duvet. “i’m here.”

he smiles into your hair. “but i can never love you like this at the office.”

“you can love me now,” you say, the word slipping through a careless smile.

“i do,” he says.

you can’t shake off the feeling that he’s got something more to say. “and?”

seokmin pulls back to smile at you. the effect is kind of dizzying, like it’s the first time you’ve ever met.

“and… that’s enough.”

from: booseungkwan.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: sbux

coffee run now

moch frapp tall

chai late tall hot

cheesecake 2

grande americano 1 sugar

sent from my iphone

“why are you emailing me,” you say, peering over seungkwan’s partition.

he smiles. “let’s go.”

you roll your eyes, “it’s not a long list.”

“yeah,” he says, “but i need a wingwoman and possibly a sympathy card.”

“just because i’m in a wheelchair, doesn’t mean i need sympathy,” you say, but you’re already wheeling yourself out of the cubicle.

seungkwan swats at your complaints like imaginary flies. “do i look nice today?”

seungkwan’s wearing something more street-smart today. it’s not a bad look, and the change is pretty refreshing. it’s probably got to do with that barista he keeps moaning about.

“you do,” you say sincerely. “is it that vernon guy?”

he flushes cutely. “you know it is.”

“how far have you two gone? first date? second date?”

seungkwan rolls his eyes again and threaten to take your wheelchair for a spin. “i called you here because i needed to get his number.”

“so you’re serious then.”

“a little. maybe. if he stops being dense.”

you laugh. “at least he doesn’t work for the paper.”

“oh no,” seungkwan says, activating an immaculate performance of sarcasm, “he’d be so good at asking questions and being an active reporter.”

“i meant a relationship in the workplace,” you clarify.

seungkwan scoffs. “the no-dating policy is just a jihancheol triangle thing. no one cares.”

“maybe,” you say quickly. “hey, he’s in.”

seungkwan immediately tenses up. you wheel yourself forward, alerting the sensors. tinted doors part in front of you, and you’re about to cross the threshold when seungkwan pulls you back ungracefully. with a yelp, you’re drawn back into the streets.

“i can’t do this,” seungkwan says. and then, “oh, seokhyun’s in there too.”

“seokmin?”

“and seolhyun,” seungkwan adds. “but oh my god, he looks even hotter today. what do i do?”

you don’t reply. instead, with renewed vigour, you wheel yourself into the café, and head straight for seokmin. he’s laughing with vigour at something. before you know it, you’re right by their table. seungkwan’s rushed in to accompany you.

“-and, like, oh! [y/n]!” seokmin sounds genuinely surprised. “hey, what are you doing here?”

“hey, seokmin from lifestyle, right?” seungkwan exclaims. “oh, and seolhyun from web news! what a coincidence!”

seolhyun giggles. “you’re seungkwan from world news, right? i always see you doing coffee runs.”

“yeah, you’re always with seokmin,” seungkwan says fondly.

“oh, who’s this?” seolhyun asks, looking at you kindly.

“i’m [y/n] from world news too.”

seolhyun starts. but before she can say anything, seungkwan cuts in, “are you two on a date?”

seolhyun immediately says to you. “no! we’re not, we’re just talking!”

“yeah,” you say. and then, to seokmin, “hello.”

a part of you stills, perched on the edge of cruelty. you can’t wait to see what he’ll do – you don’t know what exactly it is he’ll do. his eyes, searching, find no hint in your expression. seolhyun glances at him, then you, worrying her lip. for a moment you wonder if he’ll let up. as the seconds stretch into awkward tautness, the flush on his face intensifies.

seokmin nods politely. “hey, [y/n].”

he quickly averts his gaze, fingers toying with the straws on the table instead. and then, looking up at seungkwan and seolhyun, he smiles wide.

“you hated it.”

“hm?”

“at the café.”

“hated what?”

“you don’t like pretending we’re not together.”

“…that’s not-” a smile. “you like it better like that, right, like we’re undercover-”

“i hate it when you smile like that.”

“like what?”

“like everything’s okay.”

a beat.

“it’s getting late.”

welcome back! you have no new mail.

seungkwan offers you a cookie. you bite it out of his hand.

“ah! you’re being a monster today too,” seungkwan says, cradling his hand. “what’s wrong with you?”

you shake your head. “nothing.”

it’s not nothing; you woke up to find only one toothbrush hanging precariously over your sink. the sight of that felt like an omen then, and still simmers hotly in your chest now.

“you look like you’re heartbroken,” seungkwan continues to comment. “did you break up?”

did you? “i don’t know.”

seungkwan rolls his chair over next to yours. “i worked in advisory for a bit. you can tell me anything!”

there’s a tilted jacket pin on his pullover. you think it might be from vernon.

“um, well, i’m – was? – seeing someone from this company,” you whisper.

seungkwan nods solemnly, albeit a little confused. “and?”

“and we were keeping it secret,” you say. “but i don’t think he wanted it to be a secret.”

“that’s all?”

“what do you mean ‘that’s all’?”

seungkwan sighs. “you looked like he cheated on you, and then stole all your belongings. was there a fight?”

was there? “kind of.”

seungkwan pouts. “c’mon, you don’t even know if you had a fight? that’s not very good.”

“he’s… very agreeable. it’s,” you sigh, “i feel like i’m setting little trials and –”

“woah, woah, trials?” seungkwan narrows his eyes. “that doesn’t sound good.”

“i don’t know how to-” your fingers arch out in a quick succession of strained, grabbing gestures. “it’s so hard to-”

“to talk?”

you nod numbly. “what do i do?”

seungkwan softens, running his hand through your hair. “maybe you should talk to him. properly. ask him what he thinks.”

from: you

to: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

subject: -

can we meet for a bit? nothing bad.

i miss you.

#seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seokmin imagines #seokmin scenarios #office au #secret dating #dokyeom imagines #seokmin #seokmin x reader #hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh im so tired #request #verkwan

92 notes · View notes

premiere-gaou · 8 years ago

Text

A Broken Warrior

Modern AU Soldier Ivar x Reader A Broken Warrior: One-shot, 10,759 words. (Treat yourself to a glass of wine while reading this. Or two. It really is that long. One day I will learn my lesson. One day...) Warnings: Angst. Swearing. Amputation. Very, very mild descriptions of sexual intercourse. All of the Heathen Army’s amazing Modern AU Ivar fics inspired me to go in all out and write a one-shot for two of my favourite things - Ivar and uniforms! It was meant to be a little fluff fic, then it progressed onto a medium angst fic but in the end it just ended up being a big, old mess of hurt/comfort because I just can’t quit. It’s ended up being REALLY long so I hope it isn’t too difficult to follow. I realised about 2/3rds of the way through that this should have been a series but I couldn’t bring myself to start again since I have Healing Hands to finish. As a little girl, you never knew what kind of man you'd end up loving when you grew up. Sometimes you imagined being the wife of a doctor, or maybe the wild, leather-wearing lover of rock star. Occasionally, you even saw yourself marrying an astronaut or even becoming the glamorous girlfriend of a famous football player. The one thing you'd never imagined was falling head over heels for a soldier but that was exactly what happened when Ivar Lothbrok walked into your empty bar on a quiet Tuesday afternoon. As a student in a big city, you knew that you had to get a part-time job to help yourself through college. Back in your own home town, your parents had owned a local diner so the logical option was to seek employment as a waitress. It wasn't difficult to find work tending tables in a place that had both a university and a military base so soon enough, you started working at a local watering hole. It didn't take very long for you to get a promotion to a bartender and after a few weeks of training, your manager felt comfortable enough to leave you alone on quiet week nights. It was during one of these slow weekdays that a group of three men and two women crashed through the doors, laughing cheerfully as they collapsed into a booth at the back of the bar.

You could tell straight away that they were soldiers. There was a distinct difference in the way that military carried themselves compared to the locals or students. Of course, not all of them were the same but many had a strong walk and a confidence that civilians of their age simply didn't have. Their appearance was often immaculate too, their hair always neat and within regulations and their chins smooth from any kind of stubble. That's what made you certain that the three men had to be military. Their look was typical of what you saw of the soldiers here on a daily basis.

You smiled a little to yourself as you took your notepad and prepared to go to their table to take their drink orders. Usually you stayed at the bar but there were only a couple of other patrons here so you could afford to abandon the bar for a few minutes. Soldiers were usually good tippers, so you wanted to make the experience of the group as pleasant as possible. Unfortunately, the soldiers had beaten you to the punch. Two pairs of blue eyes stared intently at you as you turned around and blinked at them in surprise. They had managed to sneak up behind you without you noticing.

Doing your best to regain your composure, you tossed the notepad aside and shot the soldiers a friendly smile. "Hi guys, welcome to The Hub. What can I get for you?" The two men that faced you stood shoulder-to-shoulder as they looked at the liquor displays at the back of the bar. You noticed that they were both broad and tall, perhaps separated only by half an inch. Both had different shades of dark hair and bright eyes and you couldn't help but think that they looked somewhat similar. Only one of them in particular drew you in, though. The black haired soldier with the bluest eyes you'd ever seen looked at you rather than the bottles that lined the walls. He returned your smile with one of his own, his lips pink and plump and inviting. You felt your cheeks grow hot under his intense gaze as he watched you without saying anything at all. It wasn't unusual for soldiers to come in and flirt with you but there was something different about the way that this one in particular seemed to admire you. Your confident smile changed in to one of sheepishness as the handsome man finally laughed at your sudden shyness.

"I'll get a Sam Adams, draft." Those blue eyes never once left yours as you nodded and reached for a glass. You had almost forgotten about the other soldier when he suddenly piped up beside his friend, making you turn towards him. "Yeah, make that three drafts. What about the girls? What do girls usually like?" The other man spoke in a loud, jovial voice. You could tell that he'd already been drinking from the way he threw his head back and laughed powerfully. You smirked, looking up at him as you poured the first pint. "Well, all girls are different so you probably should have asked them before coming up here," you teased and the man with the lighter hair laughed even louder. His handsome companion just smirked and shook his head, causing strands of thick dark hair to bob slightly with his chuckle. You could tell that out of the two of them, he was the most sober.

"That would have been a good idea, wouldn't it? But I think I want to go with the element of surprise. Women like their men spontaneous, right? Right?" Still smiling, the drunken man reached over and grabbed his unimpressed sober friend by the shoulders. "Shut up, Ubbe. They were drinking vodka and cokes at the last place we were at. So that's probably a safe bet."

You smiled pleasantly at the two of them and nodded as you placed a full beer in front of the blue-eyed man. "Alright, two vodka cokes and two more beers coming up. I can bring those right over for you guys. Did you want to start a tab?" The idea of starting a tab seemed to interest the man called Ubbe and within seconds, he'd pulled out his wallet and slammed down his bank card on top of the bar. His friend mumbled something about how starting a tab maybe wasn't the best idea but Ubbe was already making his way back to the booth, stopping only when he realized that his friend wasn't following him. "You coming, Ivar?" The realization that this Ivar continued to stay at the bar made you raise your eyebrows too and you shifted your gaze to glance at him from under your lashes. He shook his head 'no,' his eyes settling on you again as he spoke to his friend without even turning to look at him. "Nah. I'm gonna stay up here for a while." You blushed again, smiling to yourself. You didn't want to stare but you could see the man called Ivar biting down on his lip as he continued to quietly admire you. In the background, Ubbe shrugged with disinterest as he made his way back to his rowdy table.

Ivar didn't say anything else to you as you finished the rest of the drinks order and delivered them to the table. Even after spending just a moment there, you could see that this Ivar seemed much quieter than the rest of his party so it was understandable why he stayed at the bar for a little peace.

By the time you returned to the bar, Ivar had finished his beer. "Can I get another one?" he asked politely as he pushed the glass towards you. You took obidiently, blushing instantly when you realized that Ivar hadn't taken his hand away so your fingers ended up gliding over his. "So you're not going to party with your friends?" You asked, trying to sound casual. That was impossible when those icy blue eyes continued to watch you as you poured his second pint. He smirked slightly, shrugging his broad shoulders. It was the middle of summer so all he wore was a t-shirt and while it wasn't necessarily tight, you could still make out his muscles as they tensed under the cotton fabric. You bit your lip. This man was more than just a little handsome.

"I mean, two girls, three guys... I'm pretty much the third wheel over there. Also, I'm sure you noticed that they've been hitting the bottle a bit harder than I have." You nodded in sympathy as both you and Ivar glanced at the party booth. It was true. The drunken foursome certainly looked like they were having a good time but you would not have wanted to be stuck with them either. You offered the soldier opposite you an understanding smile as you slid another beer over to him but he only shrugged in response. "Hey, it's alright though. I need a break from babysitting my brothers. You'd think as the youngest, I'd be the one getting sloppy but you can't stop those two when they're together."

Your eyebrows arched with interest as you watched Ivar take a sip of his beer. Sure, there were plenty of co-workers in the military that referred to their friends as 'brothers' but the way that Ivar spoke about his companions seemed different. Curiously, you looked from him to the two laughing boozers. There was no denying that there was a strong resemblance, especially in their eyes. "They're actually your brothers? Like brothers, brothers?"

The man called Ivar laughed at your confusion. His aqua blue eyes held your gaze again but you didn't look away despite the tingling in your stomach. The alcohol in Ivar's system seemed to have made him more talkative and he proceeded to tell you that the other two men he'd come to the bar with were indeed his biological brothers. Apparently, all three of them had followed their late father's footsteps into the army and now they all served, along with their oldest half-brother Bjorn. While it was your job to make casual conversation with customers, you tuned into Ivar's every word with genuine interest. He explained that his father had been a respected general so all of the boys in the family had wanted to make him proud.

Out of all of them, Ivar was the youngest. He told you all about the jobs that each of the brothers did and even spoke about a late brother he had lost in combat not too long ago. The mood grew solemn as you offered your condolences but Ivar waved your commiserations away and instead told you a couple of foolish yet humorous stories about his busy childhood with the large brood.

You could tell from the way that Ivar spoke of his brothers that they were all very close. As it turned out, only Ubbe was only visiting. He had recently returned from Afghanistan and was enjoying his post-deployment leave with his siblings since their busy schedules rarely left them much time to spend together. Hvitserk on the other hand was stationed at the same base and actually lived with Ivar. You giggled as he made jokes about his older brother being like his loose drunken wife while watching Hvitserk whisper sweet nothing's into the ear of a pretty redhead. Refills have been flowing freely so any inhibitions that Ivar's brothers had when they'd walked in through the front door had completely gone. Both of them looked quite happy to be caught up in passionate embraces with their companions for the night and neither looked like they missed Ivar all that much.

Thankfully, the youngest of the brothers didn't seem all that disappointed by that. He was on his fourth beer now and his eyes sparkled with drunken mischief as he leaned over the bar and asked about you. He started off casual - your background, your career, what major you were studying. The conversation seemed very light-hearted and carefree. Talking to Ivar was as easy as talking to an old school friend and you would have been happy to treat him as one had he not looked at you in a way that made you feel like his eyes could see right into your soul.

Finally, Ivar finished the remains of his beer in one large gulp and smiled sweetly as he addressed you.

"So there is ONE thing that I still have left to ask you." You raised your hand to your mouth in an attempt to stiffen the laugh that left your lips as you looked into Ivar’s glazed over eyes. He was visibly tipsy but his expression was warm and pleasant. "And what is that, exactly?" you answered Ivar with a teasing smile. You may have been completely sober but there was something about his flirty gaze that encouraged your playfulness.

"Have a drink with me." Although Ivar spoke as casually as if he was asking you for the time, his kittenish smile didn't leave his lips for even one second as he watched you in anticipation of your answer.

"What, right now?" you grinned, leaning over the bar. That made Ivar move even closer and his smile widened as he poked your closed hand with one of his long fingers. "Yes, right now. Why not right now? You're closing soon, right? It’s only me, my brothers and those girls here anyway. And it's not like you have a manager breathing down your neck, either." Ivar’s smile was infectious. You tried your best not to stare at his mouth but you couldn't dismiss how he dragged his tongue over his lower lip, almost as if he was inviting you to kiss him.

"They have cameras installed, you know. Plus, I kind of have to drive myself home. I don't really fancy a five mile walk to my house at two in the morning." Despite feeling butterflies dancing in your stomach, you tried your best to tease Ivar back. He laughed, throwing his head back in drunken amusement. "Hmm. I guess you do have a point. Maybe we should save the drinks for our second date then. Why don't we go get burgers tonight instead? We're going to stay 'til you close and I DO need a ride, anyway..." A twinkle of mischief brightened Ivar's eyes as he gestured to the booth in the corner, where Ubbe was cozying up to a blonde while Hvitserk placed bold kisses against his redhead's neck.

"Ah, so that's what this is about." You tried to hide your laughter as you stood up straight and crossed your arms over your chest, faking a pout. So far, Ivar had been the one to nudge and pester you with his naughty jokes so now you felt that it was your duty to tease him back. "You just need a ride. You don't really want to take me out on a date. Tsk, tsk, Ivar Lothbrok. And I thought you were a gentleman."

This time Ivar laughed so loudly that one of his brothers actually looked over and cheered. You ignored whichever one it was and instead continued to playfully frown at Ivar as he slapped his hand on the bar and leaned back with a guilty expression. "You've got me. I couldn't possibly have asked you out because you're cute and you actually seem like a nice girl in a town where so many of the women go after anything in a uniform. But you're right. I am only after burgers and a free ride."

Your lips widened in a slow, genuine smile that Ivar returned. There was a softness in his eyes that you hadn't yet seen so far - a tenderness that promised complete sincerity. "Alright," you raised your hands, pretending to be defeated. "I'll take you to get your burgers but I'm definitely taking you home after, so don’t even start getting any ideas."

Now it was Ivar that pretended to be insulted. "Just what are you trying to imply, little lady? Nice guys like me don't kiss on a first date. Fifth, maybe, if you're lucky. So burgers and then straight home. No hanky panky, and certainly no kissing."

But Ivar did kiss on the first date. You learned that after the two of you spent several hours in your car, gorging on junk-food and exchanging stories. The sun was already out by the time you drove him home and you weren't sure how many hours had gone by exactly but you didn't regret a single minute that you had spent with Ivar. You had already planned your second date in detail when it was time to say goodbye. Now the car was silent for the first time since Ivar had walked into your bar. You smiled at Ivar in the morning sun. He was even more beautiful in person, with intoxicating blue eyes that burned into your very core.

Time seemed to freeze for this particular moment as Ivar laned over suddenly, stopping just a breath from your lips. You could feel his lashes flicker against your skin and his warm breath mixing with yours. The distance between you seemed to be his way of asking you if he could proceed so you answered him by leaning forward just slightly and kissing him tenderly for the very first time. You didn't believe in love at first sight. You certainly didn't think that you could have fallen in love at first sight with a soldier yet in that moment frozen in time during this gentle kiss, you knew that your heart would end up belonging to Ivar. He was everything that you had ever dreamed of and yet he was so much more.

The days that followed your first meeting with Ivar whirled by like a tornado. As agreed upon earlier, he picked you up for your second date just two days after meeting. This time, neither of you were so shy with your kisses and you spent the evening smooching fervently over drinks. When it was time to say goodbye, you felt like you had come to know Ivar’s mouth as well as you knew your own. His lips were as soft as silk yet his kisses were hungry and earnest. His tongue was warm and tickled you like velvet. You had gotten a taste of him and you had wanted so much more yet somehow, the two of you still parted for the night as you gasped goodbyes against each other's hungry mouths.

You didn't say goodbye on the third date. By this point, trying to deny each other was impossible. You were already tugging at each other's clothes when he pushed open his front door and pulled you into his arms. Your kisses were never-ending, tongues stroking, lips caressing. You didn't even raise your head when Ivar pushed you past a very confused Hvitserk in the hallway. He'd said something or other, some fort of encouragement but your body could only pay attention to Ivar as he closed the door behind you both and pushed you onto your back on the bed.

Ivar only slowed to peel the rest of your clothes from your body. He licked his lips as he looked at you with wild eyes while undressing himself. You had reached for him but he stopped your hands by pinning them to the pillows above your head. "Let me taste you," he whispered with a throaty growl and slithered down your body like a snake. Every single one of his kisses was hotter than the last and soon, Ivar had you whimpering his name as you thrashed beneath him. You ended up losing count of how many times both Ivar's skilled tongue and his manhood had brought you over the edge that night but when you woke up in the morning you were craving him like a drug. You rode him hard, guiding his hands all over your body until he finally buckled under you while crying out your name in pleasure. You stopped holding back then too and your smaller body collapsed against Ivar’s hard chest as he covered your forehead in dozens of little kisses.

Finally, his voice broke the silence in the room. "There's something I need to tell you," he muttered against your hair with a seriousness that you were unfamiliar with. An uneasy feeling replaced the pleasure in your stomach so you prepped your chin up on Ivar’s chest while looking up at him curiously. "What's wrong?" you whispered while your fingers traced Ivar’s delicate collarbone. He sighed, but he didn’t look away.

"I'm deploying next month." An uncomfortable stillness grew between you both as your eyebrows knotted and you tried to gulp down a knot that had tightened in your throat. You knew that dating someone in the military meant time away but you hadn't expected to be faced with such a predicament so soon. You pouted without meaning to, causing Ivar to frown as well when he noticed your troubled expression.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you earlier," he mumbled as his fingertips drifted back into your hair. His touch was so gentle that it actually felt like you were being kissed by the wind. You sighed, nuzzling his chest for comfort. "I understand if you don't want to go through that. I can't ask you to wait for me when we've only known each other for such a short while."

You knew that you looked visibly frustrated but didn't move away from Ivar for even a second. He made no move to let go of you either and instead tightened his arm around your shoulder as he brought you in for a kiss. You thought to yourself for a moment, wondering if you could commit yourself to a man who you'd only just met. Thankfully, you only needed that moment to realize that you absolutely could.

"You can skype, right? And call?" You could tell that Ivar was surprised by the way he tensed beneath you. "Yeah, I can call. And I can skype at certain bases. I can write to you too, every day if you wanted..." A giggle escaped your lips as Ivar rambled on about the ways in which you could still communicate while he was away. By this point, you didn't need to be convinced. You had already decided that you were going to wait for Ivar. It didn't matter that you'd only known each other for a short amount of time because whatever it was that you had felt so right. Never once had a man made your heart swell with so much longing. You were not ready to let Ivar get away.

Ivar still spoke about what kind of methods of communication he hoped to find on his deployment. He tried to sound casual but you knew that he was trying to convince you to try the relationship without actually outright asking you to stay together. Mischief twinkled in your eyes as you climbed on top of Ivar suddenly and silenced him with a kiss. You were both still naked from your earlier rendezvous so it didn't take very much pressure for Ivar's manhood to react to the warmth between your legs. "Well, it sounds like we have a plan for the next eight months then, doesn't it?" Your breaths turned into gasps as you slid yourself over Ivar's wakening length. You reacted to him just as he reacted to you and soon, his hands were pulling you against him as he sucked on your tongue with need. “Yeah...it sounds like we have a plan indeed.”

That was how your romance with Ivar had started. It was like a thunderbolt had hit you both, making you ready to put yourselves out there completely, hearts vulnerable but so ready to love.

Your first month as an official couple passed you by far too quickly even though you had spent every possible moment together. When it was time to say goodbye, you knew that you weren't ready. You joined the hundreds of other girlfriends and military families at Ivar's unit, where the soldiers gathered with their M16s on their backs, the weapons showing that they were ready to go off too war. All around you, people laughed and cried as they hugged and kissed their loved ones one last time for the next eight month.

You could not hold back your tears as you clung to Ivar's shoulders and covered his strong neck in dozens of little kisses. His muscular arms gripped your waist like a vice as he whispered gentle promises into your ear. "You don't need to cry," Ivar insisted as you tried your best to smile against his chest. It didn't work and Ivar smiled sadly as he wiped away your tears. "I WILL come back. Everything will be alright. I promise you. We'll be fine."

As desperate as you were to believe his confident words of comfort, you still chewed nervously on your bottom lips as your trembling fingertips trailed over Ivar's nametape. Over the last month you had come to love this uniform and how it framed Ivar's strong, powerful body. You smiled tearfully at the memory of Ivar taking you all over his home in various states of undress. Sometimes, he shed the cammies like a second skin while other times he'd just throw his blouse and tight shirt to the floor as he lifted you and fucked you on the kitchen counter. Then there were times when he didn't take his uniform off at all when he bent you over for a quickie during his short lunch breaks.

You blushed when you looked up at him and he smiled back gently as he leaned down to kiss you on the lips. He didn't need to tell you that it was time for you to say your final goodbyes. "I'll try and call you when we get to Germany, okay?" Ivar spoke in a whisper, his breath hot and comforting. Tears still pooled at the corners of your eyes but you tried to stay strong as you looked up at him with a nod. "Don't cry anymore. I love you and I promise you that these eight months are going to be over before you know it."

The last kiss with Ivar lacked the aggression that you had become used to from him but it certainly didn't lack the passion. You felt your fingers drifting to your lips to trace where he had just kissed you in a lame effort to feel the warmth he'd left behind. Unfortunately, the taste of him couldn't be preserved by the hot summer evening and you sobbed quietly to yourself as you watched Ivar board the bus that would transport him to the plane. He had waited too long to reserve a window seat but you could still see him leaning over a fellow soldier, his blue eyes searching for you. You raised your hand just a little but the bus took off before he could see you. You cried so hard that night, and the day after but the days did get eventually start to get easier.

He kept his promise and called you as often as his location would allow. When on the main base, his skype calls came daily and you spent hours talking about everything and nothing. When they patrolled or traveled from base to base, you had to wait days. Once you had to wait almost three weeks to hear from him and you were convinced that you were slowly going completely insane with worry. You had been checking the internet for news on casualties when that familiar skype ringtone buzzed from your phone. It was Ivar, grinning and filthy. Uncontrollable tears of relief ran down your cheeks but you laughed anyway as Ivar cursed the desert heat while telling you just how much he had missed you. The wait had been excruciating but Ivar made everything okay again with just one smile.

That's how the next five months would end up being. Some days were good while others had you so sad and worried that you could barely get out of bed. Your phone became like another liimb and everyone in class and at work knew that you could rush out at any moment if an international country code flashed across your screen.

That was exactly what happened on this particular day. It was five months and six days since exactly since Ivar had left and you hadn't spoken to him in over a week when your phone buzzed in your pocket during class. Thankfully this was a small lecture and your teacher was understanding of the circumstances so she gave you a nod of approval when the familiar vibrations echoed through the room.

You were outside in seconds, your lips stretched in a big smile as you rushed to answer the call. The fact that the call came from an international number rather than skype didn't concern you all that much as Ivar often rang you from public telephones when he had no internet access.

"Ivar? Hello?" Deep knots tightened in your stomach as you chewed on your bottom lip in anticipation. You couldn't wait to hear that familiar voice but several worrying seconds went by before there was any response from the other side.

"Actually, this is Hvitserk."

Ivar's brother's unfamiliar murmur sent you into an instant panic. There was no reason for Hvitserk to be calling you. "Hvitserk...?" Your voice was so quiet that you weren't sure that you'd even be heard with Hvitserk being so far away. Your head suddenly felt so light that you stumbled backwards until your back hit a nearby wall for support. You assumed the worst. "W..what happened?"

"He's alive. You can breathe." It took Hvitserk telling you to exhale for you to gasp out a deep breath that you'd been holding in your lungs. Your whole body went weak from astounding relief and you slid down into a crouch when your legs gave out under you. "T-then what? Where is he?" Your whimpers were met with silence but you had to know. Hvitserk would only call you if Ivar couldn’t, you knew that by now. "Please, just tell me..."

Finally, the somber voice on the other end of the line spoke up. "He stepped on an IED. We were out on patrol when a group of insurgents shot at us and when we ran for cover, Ivar... Ivar..." The joyfulness that you'd become used to in Hvitserk's voice was gone. He sounded so exhausted but your blank mind couldn't come up with any kind of comforting words for Ivar's brother. Instead, you both fell into silence until the broken voice on the other end of the line croaked again. "He was blown up. They already amputated here and are transporting him to Germany right now. I'm not sure how long he'll be there but I saw him when he got out of surgery..."

You felt yourself go numb from your fingertips to your toes as Hvitserk explained what surgeries Ivar had been through already and what treatment he would need to receive in the next couple of weeks. All you could muster in response was a broken whimper but no words came to your lips. Instead you cried in silence. Hot, clear tears blurred your vision as Hvitserk informed you that Bjorn would reach out to you once Ivar was stateside and even then, you barely managed a 'thank you.'

"The good thing is that he's alive." From the strain in Hvitserk's voice, you weren't sure just who he was trying to convince but you nodded firmly against the phone. "Of course. Thank God. He will make it through this, I know it..." The grunt that reached your ears from the other end of the line wasn't as confident but you understood what Hvitserk felt completely. The most important thing was that Ivar was alive and that he had no serious damage from shrapnel but you still could not imagine him without either of his legs.

The goodbyes you shared with Hvitserk were uncomfortable and awkward. He couldn't come back earlier from his own deployment but Bjorn, their oldest half-brother, would wait for Ivar at home. Apparently Bjorn would contact you from now on but you couldn't focus after hanging up the phone. With Hvitserk gone, you couldn't hold back your cries anymore and you sobbed into your own crossed arms. You drew your knees into your chest and you sat there crying until your absence was noticed by the teacher, who cancelled the rest of class and drove you home yourself. You cried for the rest of the day, so unsure about what the future was going to hold for you and Ivar now. The only thing you knew for sure was that you had no intention whatsoever of leaving your boyfriend alone.

After a few difficult days, Bjorn reached out to you. He was rational and calmed you with his plan of action for Ivar's return. Out of all of Ivar's brothers, Bjorn was the only one high ranking enough to where he could take leave on such short notice so he planned to stay with his youngest brother during his first few weeks of rehabilitation. Then, Ivar would likely return home and the oldest of the brothers seemed content to have you take over as the younger's primary carer. Nurses would come every day of course to monitor Ivar's healing process but Bjorn was unyielding in his belief that his injured brother needed companionship as well as general help with the simple things and of course, you couldn't have agreed more.

Three weeks had passed by since Hvitserk had informed you of Ivar's injury. This gave you enough time to prepare yourself for the first local hospital visit alongside Bjorn. Apparently, Ivar had been in the rehabilitation wing for several days already but you waited until his big brother had arrived in the city before visiting because your injured boyfriend hadn't answered a single one of your messages or returned any of your calls.

When you met Bjorn, he hugged you and reassured you that this was normal. He explained that Ivar didn't always have the best coping strategies and that he'd shut out his brothers after his mother's death. Bjorn assumed that this was what he was doing with you now and while this reassured you somewhat, you were still anxious when you arrived at the military hospital and a nurse ushered you towards Ivar’s private room. You could tell he was sat up on the bed as you peeked through the glass window, watching his reaction to Bjorn with a small smile. He seemed genuinely relieved to see his big brother but any trace of joy faded from his eyes as soon as you followed the tall man into the room.

"What the hell is she doing here, Bjorn?" The gentle eyes that you had come to know so well glared at you only briefly before turning to the only other person in the room. You stood still in the doorway, stunned into voicelessness. You had worried that Ivar's lack of communication with you meant that he was pulling back from you somehow but you hadn't expected a reception like this. He looked furious, his eyebrows knotted together so fiercely that an angry crease formed on his forehead.

"Ivar, I wasn't just going to sit at home an-"

"Bjorn." Ivar's bitter hiss interrupted your explanation. He didn't look at you once as Bjorn's confused gaze switched between you and his brother. "Answer my fucking question. Why the fuck did you bring her here?"

You felt your heart sink to the pit of your stomach as you tried to search Ivar's icy blue eyes for any kind of reason for this sudden aggression. In the time that you'd spent together, he had only looked at you with affection and love. Now, all you could see was unfamiliar darkness so strong that it actually made your skin crawl. Bjorn shivered beside you as his anxious eyes switched from you to Ivar and then back again. He had no idea what to say or do. You could feel the tension building between the three of you while tears began to sting the corners of your eyes. You hadn't even thought twice about crying in front of Ivar before but now, you were desperate to keep your composure.

Finally, Bjorn started to mumble something underneath his breath. "Speak up," Ivar ordered him as his hands gathered the covers by his legs. With this cold reception startling you into silence, you hadn't even glanced at the empty space where Ivar's lower legs should have been. Now you noticed that the covers there were indeed completely flat. Your gaze was something that Ivar seemed to be very aware of. He continued to shift and gather the blankets in an apparent attempt to make it seem like there was still something there. He was trying to hide the amputation from you. He was embarrassed.

"I just said that she's your girlfriend. She needs to see you. She needs to know that you're alright." Bjorn spoke softly, his voice gentle. You knew that he was trying to calm Ivar without outright telling him to control his anger but the younger of the two brothers was having none of it. He didn't even bother to glance at you now as he glared at Bjorn.

"Is she my girlfriend?" His bitter words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your lips parted in protest but no sound came out while Ivar continued his verbal assault without a hint of consideration for your feelings. "Or is she here out of obligation? She needed to show her face, to make herself feel better before leaving poor, legless Ivar." Finally, he turned to you with a look so cold that you actually felt shivers. "We all know what's coming. Maybe you'll visit a couple more times but I know that you're going to leave me so just spit it out. Tell me how we had something great and that it was fun while it lasted but things have changed and maybe it's best for us to go our separate ways. Come on. We both know that you don't want to spend your life looking after a cripple."

A flicker of sadness crossed Ivar's eyes for the briefest of moments but it was quickly replaced by that unfamiliar venomous stare. You had tried so hard to keep back your tears but there was no controlling the sobs that left your lips anymore. Ivar just watched you without flinching. You felt like he'd reached into your chest and ripped your heart in two without a care in the world. He was hurting, you knew that from his cruel accusations but his callous words dug too deeply. You couldn't face those eyes anymore. You had to get away.

Tears blurred your vision as you turned on your heels and rushed out of the room. Behind you, Bjorn cursed his brother before leaving him to catch up with you. Bjorn was tall and quick so you'd barely just stepped over the threshold of the room when the oldest of Ivar's brothers caught you and crushed you against his chest in a firm embrace. Fighting him was useless - he was so much stronger and you were so fragile. You cried hard, sobbing against his hard chest until your body could not produce any more tears. It didn't even occur to you that Ivar could see everything through the glass window that separated his isolated room from the hallway.

Eventually your sobs turned into hiccups. Bjorn left you alone for a moment to fetch a glass of water but he came back quickly and patted your shoulder in a soothing motion again as you drank. "I don't want to make excuses for him but you know that he's being this way because he's embarrassed. He's humiliated at you seeing him without his legs. It's probably my fault for bringing you to see him so soon. He's obviously not accepted everything yet." A guilty sigh left the tall man's lips as he ran his hands through his short hair in frustration. You nodded, trying to understand everything that Bjorn was telling you but Ivar's words had cut deep. After a long look back into the hospital room, Bjorn turned back to you. "I know that you probably don't want to see him again today after that but I know him and I know that he's thinks he’s doing this for your sake. He’s trying to push you away because he thinks he knows best.I really hope that he doesn't succeed, though. I really hope you'll carry on coming to see him."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you crushed the empty plastic glass in your hand. Right now, you couldn't even bring yourself to glance through the glass at Ivar so the idea of seeing him again seemed almost terrifying. "What if he does this again tomorrow?" You felt your bottom lip quiver as you looked up at Bjorn with tearful eyes. He nodded, understanding your frustration. "I can't promise that he won't but even if he does, I do know that he won't carry this on forever. You heard what he said - he didn't actually break up with you. I don't think that he wants to break up with you. He wants you to stay but he’s too proud, too stubborn. He always spoke to me about you and he might not be able to show it right now but he really does love you, you know."

Bjorn's words reminded you of the pleasant memories that you had shared with Ivar up until this point. You knew that you were good together, or at least you had been until Ivar's injury. You didn't want to forget just how happy Ivar had made you, even during those long months apart. A sigh left your lips as you turned your head to watch Ivar through the glass only to find him already looking at you. He flinched visibly when his gaze met yours and looked away instantly but that brief glimpse into his downcast eyes made a knot tighten in your throat. He was trying to watch you.

"Listen, why don't you go and wait for me downstairs. I'll stay with him for a little while then I'll take you home. Hopefully you can get some rest and think about coming back tomorrow." Still looking at Ivar, you nodded in response to Bjorn. The last thing you wanted to do was leave your injured lover after so many months apart but going back into that room was too much for today. "Alright," you agreed in a quiet tone as your eyes finally fell to the ground. You had hoped to capture Ivar's gaze at least once more but he stubbornly stared into space, avoiding you at all costs. "Please just... please tell him that I love him."

Sleep didn't come easy for you that night as your mind remained restless with thoughts of Ivar. This reunion with the man you loved had played itself out in the worst way possible but you knew that you couldn't abandon Ivar and the relationship. He was determined to push you away - that much was obvious - but you strongly suspected that was because he now considered himself a burden. The loss of his legs was of course going to flip his life upside down and it would do the same to yours too if you stayed but you truly didn't care about the difficulties that lay ahead. You wanted to be there for Ivar through every bad day and help him through every problem. Unfortunately, it seemed like the biggest challenge was going to be getting Ivar to accept himself.

You tried your best to put on a brave face when you walked into Ivar's hospital room with Bjorn the next day. You had been prepared for the worst and tensed visibly when you set your eyes on Ivar, expecting him to yell again. Surprisingly, he remained completely silent and you soon figured out that he was ignoring you now. For the next few days, the silent treatment continued and Ivar spoke only to Bjorn. Had it not been for those moments where you'd catch him staring at you, you would have been convinced that you had turned invisible.

Bjorn did his best to include you in their conversations. It was understandably awkward at first but eventually, communicating with Ivar through his brother became the norm. It was still disheartening to feel as if your boyfriend was ignoring you but you saw progress in Ivar's behaviour towards you. Eventually the silent treatment turned into grunts and grunts turned into one-word answers. He didn't protest when the doctors and nurses referred to you as his girlfriend either and stayed quiet while they explained the standard of home care that he would need when it was time for his release. Bjorn had made it clear that he would leave soon so everyone naturally assumed that you would become his primary carer. While Ivar was far from happy about this, you knew that he accepted it until Hvitserk's return at least.

Returning home had been difficult for Ivar and in those first few days, his mood became as volatile as it had been when you had first started seeing him in the hospital. He stayed in his room most of the time, ate little to nothing and spoke only to the nurse that came daily to change the binds on his stumps. You hated seeing him so miserable but understood that everything in Ivar's home reminded him of the time before.

Thankfully, Bjorn was there to help you for the first week. Ivar was extremely stubborn and cursed his brother at first when the older man practically forced him out of his bedroom. There was a lot of swearing and raised voices over the course of the first few days but eventually, Ivar started quietly comply. All Bjorn asked was that he not spend all of his time cooped up so begrudgingly, Ivar started to shift through the house. He had developed a unique crawl to aid his movements since maneuvering his wheelchair was too convenient in a small space and he wasn't yet ready for his prosthetics. You developed a strange fascination with watching him crawl and quietly admired the tense muscles of his strong arms as they twitched under his skin. Never in your life had you thought that you would find a crawling man to be so captivating.

Eventually, it was time for Bjorn to leave. Work and family commitments meant that the oldest of the brothers couldn't stay for as long as he wanted, which you knew disappointed both you and Ivar. Things had only just started to smooth over between you both and he was actually making a small effort to communicate with you. With Bjorn going back to his home though, you were worried that things would go back to square one.

At this point, you didn't know where you stood with Ivar. He still had his off days but there had been a few times where he'd pulled himself up next to you on the couch or watched you quietly as you cooked. Despite there being no affection like before, your feelings hadn't changed for Ivar. In fact, seeing him push through all of the obstacles that would have knocked any other man down made you love him more than ever before. Ivar on the other hand showed no real signs of still loving you. You worried that Bjorn leaving would end up being the catalyst that pushed Ivar away permanently but the older of the two brothers insisted that you didn't need to change anything that you were doing. "Keep going to see him every day, even if he tries to fight it," Bjorn told you as he embraced you one last time before saying goodbye and you promised him that you would not abandon Ivar, not ever.

Returning to Ivar's home alone was strange at first. He eyed you with irritation as you went about your usual tasks of cooking and cleaning but he said nothing and even went on to have dinner with you without protest. You felt as if you were on a nerve-wrecking first date when you watched a movie together afterwards in utter silence but Ivar did bid you goodnight when it was time for you to leave. It was certainly strange without Bjorn there to make conversation but you felt a little bit of encouragement when you informed Ivar that you would come by again tomorrow after work and he didn't protest. In fact, he smiled at you. It was only a slight smile that barely tugged at the corners of his lips but when you saw it, your stomach twisted and flipped.

His smile had ignited a new hope in your heart and you spent the whole night thinking about the things that you needed to say to Ivar. You had so many things that you both needed to ask him and tell him so by the time the next day came, you waited impatiently for your mundane work shift to come to an end. Minutes felt like hours and you had chewed your fingernails down to the flesh by the time you finally clocked out. You had decided that this was going to be the day where you approached Ivar and let him know that you still loved him and would remain loyal to him no matter what.

When you reached his home, you were undeniably nervous but you felt a quiet confidence as you opened the front door with the spare key that Bjorn had left for you. It was already dark outside and Ivar had been alone all day bar the visit from the nurse so you hoped that he would be eager to see you. Unfortunately, he wasn't there to greet you and your smile instantly faded when you noticed that none of the lights in the house had been turned on.

"Ivar?" your voice was laced with panic as you called his name. You were greeted only with silence, which terrified you since this was the fist day that Ivar had been alone for a significant amount of time.

You checked his bedroom first when you saw no sign of Ivar in the living room. That was empty too, as was the bathroom and Hvitserk's room. For a moment you were left confused and you wondered if he'd somehow left the house when you realized that you hadn't even checked the kitchen. You rushed there instantly after acknowledging your mistake and immediately flipped on the lights. It took only a moment for your eyes to land on a heap on the floor. Ivar was doubled over, facing away from you with a spilled jar of coffee granules and a broken mug on the floor beside him.

"...I just wanted to show you that I could do something for myself."

Your felt your heart breaking for Ivar as you bolted to his side. Your fingers reached out to sweep away the coffee granules and the broken ceramic which had shattered into three clean slices. You couldn't even imagine how long Ivar must have been sitting here alone after trying to make a simple drink for himself. It could have been hours.

You'd been so cautious since Ivar had returned. Reserved. The last thing you had wanted was for him to feel overwhelmed and push you away but now you couldn't hold back your feelings any longer as you practically lunged at him and enveloped him in your arms. He struggled at first but his efforts were half hearted. He was still so much stronger than you so if he had wanted to, he could have pushed you away with ease but he barely contested before giving up. You brought him closer until his face nestled into the crook of your neck and he trembled noticeably in your arms.

"You don't have to prove anything to me, Ivar," you voice rose to barely above a whisper as you spoke into his hair. He grunted bitterly in your arms, his body tense. You were certain that he was going to order you to get away but he remained still, hugged by your warmth. "To me, you're just the same as you were before. You're just as strong as before, and just as capable of doing whatever it is that you want to do." Of course, Ivar remained unconvinced even as you lowered your lips and pressed them tenderly to his forehead.

"I'm not the same as before and you know it," Ivar hissed against your neck in disagreement. His words came in hot, harsh bursts but their brutality was not enough for you to move away. You still held Ivar, perhaps even tighter than before.

"I just don't understand why you're still here. I told you that I don't expect you to stay. You don't NEED to stay. You don't deserve to be stuck with half a man for the rest of your life. A fucking cripple. I can't even make myself a cup of coffee. I'm useless." A sigh left your lips as Ivar chuckled at his own expense. You felt him smiling against your skin - a bitter, self-deprecating smirk. Doctors had explained that it was extremely common for someone in Ivar's situation to suffer from low self-esteem and short-term anger issues but it still shattered you to know that the man you adored considered himself a burden.

Carefully, you moved back an inch as your lifted a trembling hand to Ivar's chin. "Listen to me," you spoke in a voice that was gentle yet firm while tilting his jaw up so your eyes could meet. Despite his self-hating smirk, Ivar's eyes glistened with tears. "I didn't fall in love with your legs. I fell in you for what's in here," you kept your eyes on Ivar's as your fingertips danced to his temple, touching it gently before sliding down to his chest to cover his heart. "And in here. I fell in love with you for who you are and that hasn't changed. If anything, I love you even more now because I see how strong you are and how determined you are. You're stubborn as well but I still love you for it. I know it frustrates you knowing that you can't do everything that you want to right now but that WILL change. You'll learn and you'll adapt. I honestly believe that you will be even stronger than before. I just wish you'd believe that as well."

The harsh mask that Ivar had forced onto his handsome face transformed in front of your eyes. He softened in your arms, his tense body melting into your touch as he looped a strong arm around you for the very first time since his return. A lone tear fell down his cheek but he buried his face at the nape of your neck to hide it. That was enough for your own eyes to sting with emotion as you breathed into his hair while holding him as tightly as your bodies would allow. "I need you to stop trying to push me away. I know that I don't need to be here and I know what you're trying to do but I don't want to be anywhere else, or with anyone else so please, Ivar. Please just let me be with you through this."

No verbal answer reached your ears but Ivar answered you by nodding against your body. You felt his rapid breaths caress your skin as his fingertips dug into your waist through your clothes. You knew by now that Ivar was not the kind of man that cried easily so you said nothing as the wetness from his tears spread over the skin of your neck. Instead, you simply sat with him for as long as he needed, comforting him with your kisses and touches as his strong body shivered against your own.

Finally he looked up, his blue eyes bloodshot and wet. You smiled at him mildly while wiping what was left of his tears away with your thumb. "I've been terrible to you," he whispered apologetically but you shook your head in reply. "It doesn't matter, not now. I don't want to focus on the past, not when we still have so much to look forward to. What matters is where we go from here. I want to stay with you. I want you to want me to stay."

The smile that stretched Ivar's lips in response was so very familiar. "I don’t want to speak about this anymore today but of course. Of course I want you to stay. I want you to stay tonight and I want you to stay always, as long as you want," his breath tickled yours as he pressed your foreheads together while proceeding to pull you even closer. "So will you? Will you stay with me from tonight?" Ivar's full, familiar lips were so close to yours that you could only think of answering him with a kiss. It was tender and cautious, just as your first kiss had been, but your heart throbbed and your pulse increased nonetheless. You weren't quite ready to pull back completely so you gently rubbed your nose against Ivar's, making him smile. It was a simple yet familiar gesture. A habit that the two of you had formed when you lay in bed together and cuddled after your passionate encounters.

"...I'll wait for you in bed." A nervous laugh left Ivar's lips at your words but he nodded and looked away somewhat bashfully. You had never seen him so shy but things were different now and while you had adored every moment where you'd desperately ripped off each other's clothing, there was a definite appeal about getting to know Ivar again in a more delicate manner.

You knew that you couldn't rush things. You let Ivar guide the speed of your relationship at a pace that made him comfortable. On that first night, the two of you simply ended up lying together with Ivar's head on your chest and your fingers stroking his back. You had slept like this a dozen times before yet now you felt like you were new lovers. He was vulnerable in your arms, sensitive and completely exposed. This was the first time that he had allowed anyone to be close to him like this since the amputation. It was his way of opening up to you, of showing you that he was letting you back into his life and into his heart.

The relationship moved at this careful, cautious pace. Ivar still had terrible days where he wanted nothing more than to disappear from the face of the Earth but he had promised you that he would never take his frustrations out on you again and he stayed true to his word. Sometimes, you felt completely powerless as Ivar dragged himself by you with his strong arms, his face strained with anger and frustration but you stayed away until he felt ready to come back to you, which he always did. Sometimes he apologized for his bad moods but more often than not, he took to pulling himself beside you and burying his face in your neck or your hair. Eventually, he'd calm and go back to trying to be the Ivar that you knew and loved.

After a few weeks, the sound of Ivar's laughter became common in the house. In the evenings you lay together, your bodies so close that you could feel one another's heartbeats. You often left Ivar breathless as your lips caressed his neck, your tongue tracing the pulsating vein beneath his skin. Your midnight kisses started off gentle and tender but they quickly grew feverish in the moonlight and your tongues continued to dance together until you were both gasping with need. Despite wanting Ivar with every cell in your body, you always stopped when he nervously drew back. It took over a month for him to feel comfortable enough to pull your body on top of him again during one of your long, hot kissing sessions. He wasn't ready to dominate your body like he had before but he was ready for you.

The first time that you took Ivar between your legs again felt like you were both losing your innocence all over again. Breathless whimpers left your lips as you pressed dozens of kisses over Ivar's face as his hands trembled all over your body, touching you like it was the very first time. Blue eyes never once left yours as your bodies clumsily came together over and over again until Ivar finally crumpled under you while breathing hard into your hair. He held you against him almost completely in silence as his animated gasps finally calmed and he gave into the temptation of sleep.

Eventually Ivar's tentative caresses became bolder and more experimental. He may not have been able to hold you up as he made love to you like before but he grew confident with each time and soon enough, your love-making was as passionate as it had ever been. In fact, when Hvitsverk finally returned from deployment, he stated that he saw no changes in how you and Ivar loved one another. The other man's words made you smile but they seemed to mean even more to Ivar. His brother's affirmation gave him more confidence and as the days went on, he became bolder and more daring.

Soon, he started learning to walk again on his prosthetic legs. Once again Ivar was thrown into a situation where control was initially out of his hands but with you and Hvitserk there every step of the way, he was determined to succeed. You didn't doubt him for even a second but even you were stunned into silence when Ivar stood tall and strong at the altar on your wedding. Your engagement had been short - just three months in fact - yet Ivar had pushed himself to stand not only through your vows but also through your first dance. Nine months later, there seemed to be no stopping him at all as he walked all over the maternity ward while you prepared to give birth to your first child.

Before meeting Ivar, you never could have imagined loving a man so much. That first month that you had spent together had been a whirlwind of ardent passionate where both of you had primarily been driven by lust and desire but it was the months that followed Ivar's amputation that made you truly give your heart to him. He had been difficult at times but he always overcame every single struggle. You'd never met a man like him. You'd also never pictured yourself with a husband so loyal and so strong that you never doubted his love, not even for one second. As a father, Ivar was even better. He had often worried about your son viewing him as an embarrassment but as your boy grew, it almost seemed like he loved Ivar more than you did, which you had truly believed to be impossible.

Ivar was made for you, and you for him. There was not one single second where you regretted completely giving up the heart to the soldier that just happened to walk into your bar on that empty night, so many moons ago.

#ivar the boneless #ivar x reader #ivar lothbrok #ivar fanfic #ivar's heathen army #ivar ragnarsson #ivar modern au #ivar imagine #this is even longer than before #i'm a monster and i'm sorry #it took 45 minutes to proofread #ivar trash #well if you need something to read before bed here we go

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