#I’m always down to muddle some mint

[the-blind-assassin-12]

🌻 If you get this, answer with 3 random facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your mentions, anonymous or not! Let's get to know the person behind the blog 🌻

Hayley! Hi darling! I hope your Wednesday night is off to a good start! Thank you for sending this over!!

3 (more) random facts:

I have metal hardware in my right foot holding it all together 🔩

I was a bartender for one million years and though I do not want to ever go back into the service industry, I do still enjoy mixing cocktails at parties 🍹

I find four leaf clovers like it’s no body’s business. They find me, actually 🍀

[obscureamor]

— quiet

♡˖°꒰ ukai keishin x fem! reader

❥  t/w  |  nsfw, public sex, exhibitionism, daddy kink, mentions of keishin drinking, light choking, 18 y/o manager, spiritual successor to ‘gold’

»  certain feelings are revealed after keishin sneaks into your room at training camp.

The room is dully illuminated, faint slithers of moonlight creeping in from gaps in the curtains. Your eyes are already adjusted to the darkness, but every touch of his hands on your body feels like ecstasy. You can hear his gruff pants loud in your ear, the way he groans your name as you moan. 

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, drawn-out and breathy. “I need you to be quiet for me, yeah? Can you do that?”

Keishin’s voice is soft as he speaks into your ear. It’s such a contrast to the way he’s thrusting into you. He’s hitting deep, strokes short and your eyes flit over to Kiyoko as she murmurs incoherent words in her sleep. The image of her is obscured with every snap of Keishin’s hips, your body moving with each thrust and eyes clouding with tears at all the sensations.

His voice. Your friend right next to you. It all makes your head spin, giving you whiplash as you clamp your hand over your mouth to muffle the sounds leaving you. Keishin isn't supposed to be here and when he said he had a surprise for you tonight— you didn’t think he meant this.

Your eyes snap shut to try and focus on everything around you. Keishin smells of cigarettes and booze with a dash of mint. It hits you all at once with his face against your neck, lips latched onto the junction of your shoulder while he sucks deep bruises into the skin. A harsh bite has you keening into your hand at the sensation causing a curse to leave his mouth at the alluring sound.

His hands grip your hips tight, so tight you can feel his blunt nails digging into your skin, little crescent shapes being engraved into the flesh. It makes you shiver, puffy lips parting as you pant out allowing drool to leak onto the pillow. The cold metal of the ring on his finger burns you, brands itself into your skin and all you can think about is—

Keishin. Keishin. Keishin. Keishin.

“Kei... Kei, I—” your words are cut off when he shifts his hips, hitting that spot deep inside you. Your hands shakily fall to his biceps, nails sinking into the skin and your thighs snap inward when his hand falls to your hard little clit. His thumb is moving in circles and your walls just greedily suck him in.

“Look at her...” he hisses, “look at her when you cum all over daddy’s cock.”

It’s embarrassing. Your skin feels hot. Your mind feels muddled. And you look at Kiyoko, heated cheek pressed into your pillow as you admire her features. Her soft lips are parted, silky hair fanned out around her as she lays on her back. The usual glasses she wears are placed neatly beside her and—

“Shit, shit, shit, oh god!” you whine out as Keishin pinches your clit harshly.

“Shut up…” He breathes out, hand coming to wrap around your mouth. His eyes are locked onto your center before he stops his movements altogether— robbing you of your end. A sob leaves you, eyes tightly clenching shut and tears now leak down your face. There’s a moment of silence before you open them again, locking eyes with him almost immediately. “You’re always so fucking loud.”

‘M’sorry, M’sorry’ oozes from your mouth. It’s muffled and muddled like the lines that are being crossed, lines that no one seems to care about anymore and the longer you stare at Kiyoko the more you realize you’d gladly do anything for Keishin— he knows it too. 

“I can’t believe you’re letting me fuck your sloppy pussy right next to your best friend.” He rolls his hips into you, the words leaving him in a whisper. Somehow his voice drops even more with his next words, “You must really love me, huh?”

You do.

You both know you do and he loves you just as equally… maybe even more. Keishin’s hand leaves your face to grasp yours, fingers lacing before placing them down beside your face on the side furthest from Kiyoko. He noses at your neck, flesh being bitten softly as he thrusts into you steadily. 

“Keishin,” you keen. “Faster, please, please, please, daddy. I promise— promise I’ll be quiet, I just—”

He knows you like it rough, like it when he drives into you so harshly you can’t breathe and your eyes roll back into your skull. He knows you like it when you have finger-shaped bruises on your hips the next day from him grabbing you so roughly. He pulls back, lips curling into a smirk at your fucked out ramblings. “You want daddy to pound into this little pussy?” 

“Yeah, daddy… fucking ruin me.” His eyes widen. “Ruin me, please,” you repeat.

There’s not a second wasted as Keishin's free hand comes up to wrap around your throat. His hips snap into yours with such harshness you know you’re going to be sore tomorrow. The chain around your neck catches his eyes as it glimmers with every jolt of your body. The branding ‘K’ and gold ring reminding him of every little thing you two have done together. He can distantly hear you saying his name, crying it out as if he’s your god— the very and only thing you worship.

There’s a dull papping that makes its way through the room and the both of you wonder how none of the faculty in the room over has woken yet. In some fucked up way Keishin hopes they can hear you, hopes the coaches that were talking about your tight little body can hear that he’s the only one who gets to ruin it, claim it, own it. 

He needs them to know that all of you belongs to him and he knows he can say the same for himself. Keishin knows he doesn’t express it as much as he should but— he’s yours. The thoughts cause him to lean in, lips capturing yours as you moan into his mouth. His hand squeezes yours three times, each for a single word he still has so much trouble saying; I. Love. You.

You’re so lost in each other you forget about the other person in the room, sounds being swallowed by your mouths and sweet nothings whispered in your ear. In the corner of your eye, you see movement— Keishin notices it too.

Kiyoko’s moving.

She’s facing you now and your breath hitches when she reaches out blindly to grab for your hand. There’s a whine that leaves her unconscious state when she can’t find it. You can tell beneath her eyelids her eyes are flickering almost as if they’re searching around for you and in an effort to keep her asleep, you reach out. Her hand is soft in yours and it’s such a contrast to Keishin’s calloused hands. The ones that are holding onto you as he slams into you roughly right now.

You can see her mouth moving, lips forming your name and you try to wrestle your hand out of Keishin’s grip, needing something— anything —to muffle the sounds about to leave your mouth. You can feel the hand wrapped around your throat squeeze before moving up to your jaw, turning your head to the side to face Kiyoko. You can only wonder what her reaction would be like if she woke up right now, wonder what her face would look like at the sight of the team’s coach fucking you brainless.

“Daddy, lemme look at you, please…” you mutter, lip being bitten raw as you swallow all your sounds.

At the sight, his thumb falls onto your bottom lip pulling it out between your teeth before speaking, “Naw, don’t do that... Let daddy hear those sweet sounds before he cums, alright?”

You hum and Keishin’s body seems even closer than before like he’s melted into you as his pelvis rubs against your clit. The friction has you holding Kiyoko’s hand even tighter— mind not even worried about the consequences —and when she whines out your name in her sleep, your walls just pulse and cream around his cock. You cry out his name only to be muffled by his mouth, by his tongue as it laps at every crevice as if he’s never kissed you before. His cock twitches when you bite down on his lip and warmth fills you when he catches sight of the glimmering ‘K’ resting between your tits.

Keishin pulls out one last time before pushing back in swiftly. He hisses when your walls clench at the action and you can feel his cum seep down beneath you both. He lets out a curse at the sight; your pretty pussy stuffed to the brim with his cum. Even though he’s seen it so many times, he’ll never get over it. 

Your tired eyes flicker about, taking everything in. Kiyoko’s still asleep even with her hand almost being crushed by your death grip. The rustling of her blankets is the only thing that can be heard apart from your breathing. Her hand pulls away from yours as she turns over, away from you, away from Keishin and it’s only now that you register his hand toying with your necklace. 

“Keishin… I—”

“I’m—”

You both go to speak, cutting each other off, and instead of attempting again— you don’t. He places his head on your chest, fingers still fiddling with the chain. Immediately, your hands move to run through his hair, the thought of what you were both about to say festering in your minds.

He needs to tell you. He has to tell you. And so he does. 

“I’m tired of hiding this shit,” Keishin speaks so suddenly, determination laced in his voice. “One day… I’ll put a ring on your finger, not on some fucking chain where nobody can see it.”

Doubt flows through him when you don’t respond. It has him second-guessing himself, mouth opening to try and save whatever you have left, but he stops when he hears you take a shuddering breath. 

“I’d like that,” you whisper through a watery smile, “a lot actually...”

It’s quiet after. The both of you relish in each other’s company, forgetting about where you are at that very moment. Completely content and you know in the morning you’ll have to pretend like this never happened… like you’re not in love with Ukai Keishin.

»  a/n  |  happy valentine’s day! i’m sending everyone lots of love and smooches! i hope you enjoyed this! (つω`｡)♡

[bangtae-sohotddaeng]

nugatory | p.jm. | drabble

pairing: jimin x reader (ft. taehyung)

rating: m (18+)

genre: smut | angst | college!au

summary: Park Jimin is many things. Park Jimin is a responsible, smart, handsome and musically talented Taekwondo black belt. Park Jimin is Kim Taehyung's best friend. Park Jimin is a good friend. Park Jimin is a compulsive matchmaker. Park Jimin is many things – but he is not the guy you should be sitting in a car with, right now.

warnings: swearing + sexual situations (nudity, semi-public sexual acts in a car, fingering, penetrative sex) + possible allusions to some infidelity if you squint?

word count: 3.2 k

note: y’all. i couldn’t let butter!jimin keep ruining my life without acting out a bit, could i? this one started off as a pwp, but then i ended up combining it with a plot i had in my head for a while, and this turned into more plot and less porn, but. i’m okay with that, tbh. also! i’ve used one my older styles of writing (going back to 2016-ish) with this one. hope you all like it~ 🥺💜

— masterlist

— feedback is always appreciated!

Park Jimin is many things.

He is an astoundingly handsome, cheerful – and yet somehow mysterious – psychology major that you shared Freshman year's communications class with. He is the only rich kid among the majority on campus that doesn't flaunt his wealth to scholarship kids like you. He is kind, helpful, generous – did you mention handsome? – perfectly athletic and perfectly aesthetic.

Park Jimin is a responsible, smart, handsome and musically talented Taekwondo black belt.

He is also someone that gets excited at the prospect of claw machines at fairs. He is also someone that looks at the universe with galaxies in his eyes. He is also someone that doesn’t realize he will always be more exquisite than any art his best friend might ever create.

Park Jimin is Kim Taehyung's best friend.

He is the guy that stood next to Kim Taehyung when Taehyung asked you to the Freshman dance. He is the guy that told you Kim Taehyung has the most gigantic crush on you. He is the guy that set you up on the first of your many dates with Kim Taehyung.

Park Jimin is a good friend.

Park Jimin is a compulsive matchmaker.

Park Jimin is many things – but he is not the guy you should be sitting in a car with, right now.

"You really don't have to worry about me, Jimin," you mumble, eyes flickering all over his face – you always tend to drink him up the best you can, whenever you can. “I know I stupidly called you here, but I was just in shock. I’m okay, now. I’ll be fine.”

"No, I do have to worry." His fingers thread through his hair, your eyes hopelessly follow. "This was stupid and reckless of Tae. I'm sure he'll come back to his senses soon."

You blink. Jimin really has absolutely no grasp of this situation. But he obviously thinks he knows everything, which is making this conversation progressively difficult.

(His muscles bulging beneath his jeans and the t-shirt he wears are a contributing factor in making this conversation difficult, too, you won't lie.)

You breathe out, partly to collect your thoughts, and partly because you've been inhaling too much of his heady cologne and it’s making you think about—

Things. 

It's making you think about things. That you should have no business thinking about. Because you and his best friend have been going on dates. The same best friend who is currently, as you speak, on a date with someone else. Alluding to the reason why you have called up Park Jimin to see you in a confused panic, after ten, at night, at your place.

"Taehyung – he, um. He didn't see us going anywhere. We'd been on nine dates, but… He said he didn't think I was actually as into him as he is into me. He didn't want to go on like that." 

Jimin’s lips part. His brows hike up. You shrug, forcing your gaze away from the gloss on his lips.

“It’s been that way for a while. We were barely even texting. I think he has concluded that I don’t like him like that.”

Jimin rests his forearm on the steering wheel, almost leaning over the center console to catch your gaze. "Do you?"

His eyes pull you in like always and you're lost, just staring into their depths, as your mind ceases to think up thoughts that don't involve you and him naked and tangled up with each other in—

"Sweetheart?"

Your intake of breath is sharp, short and cold. Your insides are just as warm, turning everything in your head into incomprehensible mush. "Y–y–yeah?"

"Are you into Taehyung the way he is into you?" he whispers, and you follow the shape of his lips as they move. “Because you must know, he’s liked for a whole semester.”

You lick your lips, mindlessly nod, and then reach out with a finger to trace his cupid's bow. He doesn't pull away, he doesn't even flinch. "What do you think?"

His warm breath washes over your fingertip as you press it against his lower lip. His body jolts when your nail rims the plush cushion. "I… think he's my bestest friend in the world and he's basically in love with you…"

You shake your head, and your other hand travels past the console to grip his thigh. Your nails dig in. His breath catches. "He's on a date with someone else, as we're speaking."

"I just—he was so into you, I thought you'd be good for each other." 

Past the cloud of, well, something incomprehensible, there is disappointment in Jimin's gaze. And that is how you know he means it. You shouldn't be surprised, really, because Park Jimin always means everything he does, he doesn't have a single conniving bone in his body, but you still are. Part of you has hoped against hope that he set you up with Taehyung to get closer to you, himself. Which – sounds like a really flawed plan and doesn't really make much sense, now that you think about it.

But you still hoped.

Now—

Now, though. Now you know otherwise.

"How can I be good for someone else when I have never even been good for me?" you don't know why you confessed to that, but the words just tumble out of you and you let them. "I'm a mess, Jimin," you whisper, accentuating your point by massaging his lower lip by your index finger. "I destroy people, and I nearly destroy myself in the process. I am an emotional and psychological train wreck. He's better off without me. Anybody would be better off without me."

Jimin grips your hand on his thigh with his own. “Not anybody,” he murmurs, and through his furrowed brows and muddled eyes, you catch an emotion you have been well acquainted with for years, now.

Longing.

Your heartbeat picks up as Jimin massages small circles on the back of your hand. You remove your other hand from his face.

“Yes, Jimin, anybody,” you say with conviction, even as you desperately hope for him to offer himself up as an alternative. “Everything is a wreck inside of my head. I can’t do relationships, I can’t even date someone without messing up.”

His pupils expand and his tongue flicks at his lower lip. His hand tightens in a grip on your other hand. His gorgeously bleached hair curl over the side of his head. "You don’t have to date, then.”

You scoff. “Taehyung would never go for—”

“I’m not talking about Taehyung,” Jimin’s voice comes out three octaves lower. “And you’re not talking about just anybody.”

You nearly stop breathing as he brings his free hand to your face, pushes a tendril of your hair behind your ear and traces a knuckle down the side of your face, your jaw, to hold your chin.

“You say you’re not good for you. Can you try to be good for me, then?" He pulls your face closer to his. “Would you let me save you from destroying yourself? Let me try to take care of the wreckage, hmm?”

Your body spasms when he reaches for the hand you’d retracted, pecks your finger before pulling it into his mouth. His tongue swirls, his teeth scrape and his eyes roll back as he sucks. He lets go with a pop. 

Boy, would you let him take care of whatever he wants.

"Can you, sweetheart? Can you be good for me?" He sounds like he’s at the brink of something, just teetering on the edge, waiting for you to flick a finger before he free-falls.

Well. You’ve been teetering for years now.

"I want to be.” You don’t sound like yourself when you speak.

And you don't sound like yourself when he pulls you on top of him. You don’t sound like yourself when your back hits the wheel, your thighs cage his, your hands instinctively twirl in his hair, and –

Your core presses up against his length. 

He's hard and straining against his tighter than sin jeans. You claw at his t-shirt. He takes it off in a swift, smooth motion — agile and rhythmic in everything he does.

You don’t feel like yourself when your eyes feast him. Because how could you ever get this lucky? How could you ever get to feel Park Jimin’s shirtless self beneath you? You had long since succumbed to your destiny of perishing in pining.

And yet, here you are.

You lean back to marvel at his toned, chiseled angles, you let your fingers smooth over every groove and crevice and line of sinew muscle you can reach. You trace his tight abdomen, nails scraping at the last of his eight-pack before veering towards his toned v-line. You shiver at the dark promises it leads to, looking up to meet his eye. And you shiver more when his feral gaze catches you.

Then he pulls you into a kiss and you're lost.

He tastes like stale coffee and breath mints and bad decisions –

He tastes delicious.

His tongue plunders your mouth, teeth bite into your lips—he pulls, pushes, drinks up, feasts. You throw your all into the kiss, meeting him in the middle with your tongue swirling with his, teeth latching on to suck at it. He groans into your mouth – all loud, and guttural and manly. And then he stops. Pulls away.

His wholly black eyes dig into yours. His lips are wet, swollen and bitten. You did that.

"You have to at least talk to him—"

"I have another important business to tend to, currently."

You grind against him and make your point. He bites down on his lip. His arms snake around your waist to cage you against him, he pulls you down on him. 

You don't recognize yourself when you moan.

Your shirt is off, your shorts are pulled down and your panties are pushed to a side—

"You can never tell him." Park Jimin glides two fingers over your wetness, making a bigger mess of you. "Never."

You don't intend to, because what you do with Park Jimin in your apartment's parking lot at eleven pm on a Saturday night is nobody's business but yours. 

His fingers part your entrance and slide in you abruptly, and you see stars. Your head tilts back on a long, drawn out moan, Jimin’s fingers picking up pace inside you. You rock on his hand, you claw at his arm, you desperately latch onto his shoulders and rest your forehead against his to ground yourself. He watches you with his half shuttered eyes threatening to eat you up whole. 

His lips press into yours, tongue swiping through your mouth, curling up behind your teeth – it's messy, it's sloppy, it's the most arousing kiss of your life.

His lips drag down the column of your neck, tongue licking at the sweat droplets quickly gathering above your collarbones, his fingers curl inside you, his teeth latch onto your shoulder.

You explode under his thumb's press against your clit and sob into his neck when he drags its nail over the sensitive bud. “Jimin, Jimin, too much~ ah!”

He presses some buttons in his fancy car and his seat inclines. He pulls you to the backseat with him. “You okay?” he breathes on your face, hovering inches above you.

“Never been better,” you truthfully breathe back, heart coiling in your chest at the radiant grin he rewards you with in response.

A blast of hot air hits your forehead, your thighs and your shins. You jump, realizing he has turned some sort of hot air blower on. “For privacy,” he says, gesturing to the rapidly fogging windows, and then flicks a switch to make the air stop.

You both gaze at each other. Your eyes flicker all over his face to save every last bit of it to memory. You self-consciously swallow when you see him do the same. “Jimin…”

He leans down to sponge a kiss to your sternum, and then your hips buck into his as his tongue licks a path on the wells of your breasts peeking above your bra. A breathless moan leaves you when he scrapes his teeth over your cloth covered nipple.

You both pause for a moment, wide eyes locking in surprise.

And then you’re ravenous.

He strips you bare when you tug at his belt, and you rush to return the favor. You struggle with getting his boxers past his plump ass as he grips onto your flesh, peppering bites down your hips, squeezes your boobs, licks at your nipples—

You grip him, warm and heavy, and glide your thumb over the leaking tip. His head falls into your nape, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. “Jimin, ple~ase,” you moan.

He plucks out a golden foil from his wallet, meeting your eyes as he tears the packet and rolls the condom onto himself. 

Your hands are pinned next to your head in a flash, his tongue teases your pulse point, teeth toy with your earlobe, and you writhe in want under him, eyes watering at the sweet torture.

And then he fills you up with a single thrust.

You freeze on a gasp.

His hair hangs over his eyes, irises lost to the lust storming in his pupils, his mouth gapes open, his chest is heaving.

“You good?” His voice is deeper than the ocean.

You've never been more turned on in your life.

He hisses at your frantic nod. “Words.”

“Yes. Yes, oh my God, Jimin, move—”

He thrusts into you at an unforgiving pace. Your whole world literally tilts off its axis as he meets that spot inside of you, and your body wrings beneath him, twisting up to hold onto some buoy to ground you, but he is unrelenting even as you grip at his neck — his teeth encase his lower lip, brows furrow and eyelids flutter as he drives deep into you.

You groan at the sight, moving your hips to meet him. You rock with him, never catching your breath, and your nails just dig dig dig into his meaty back, drawing patterns all over the smooth, delicious surface.

Your release closes in on you, and you chase it with your mouth clamping onto Jimin’s neck, your eyes screwed shut as you groan into his skin, until—

He draws back, standing on his knees above you like goddamn Adonis in this goddamn huge SUV of his, and the sight of sweat droplets trailing down his neck, framing his pecs and racing down his tight abs has your whine of protest dying in your throat as you gawk. His lips are parted as he breathes, a couple of sweat soaked hair strands sticking to his brow, and his eyes — 

Oh God, his eyes have an animalistic gleam in them as he hooks his arms beneath your knees, and drags your hips to him.

You cry out when he enters you at this angle, every thrust pushing at what feels like your cervix, and the pleasure is so blinding it's almost painful. One of his hands maneuvers to your center, a finger rubbing at your clit, and you yelp out a distorted version of his name, completely unwarned when waves over waves of hot, sweet, toe curling climax crash into you.

Jimin chases you into completion, his broken moan of your name filtering to you through the post-orgasmic buzzing in your head. His lips connect with yours as he relaxes your legs. You both pant into each other's mouth after two, lethargic, sticky kisses.

Your sweaty bodies make a disgusting sound when you detach, and both of you scowl together, laughing when you catch each other’s expressions. You sit up on jelly legs, barely able to sit on your ass when your sensitive center protests. 

You both dress up in silence, although you don’t feel it to be awkward in the least.

You’re still mulling over how to frame in words what you have felt for him for nearly three years, how to tell him and even what to tell him when you’re such a relationship-phobe, when Jimin releases a long sigh.

You look up in surprise. That was not a contented sound. It was one of… was it defeat?

Jimin looks at you with a serious face.

Your heart plummets.

One of the many things that make up Park Jimin is also his brutal morality. And right now, you can see it in his face that he thinks he’s done something wrong. Your shoulders hunch up in subconscious defense — you will not say a word, you decide.

“Taehyung is my best friend in this entire world,” he begins, stomping firmly on any remaining embers of hope left in your chest. “He can never, ever, ever know this happened, okay?”

You give a numb nod.

“I’m sure he’ll come back around and try to talk to you again. If that happens, don’t feel like you owe me anything, okay?”

You look up to find Jimin’s eyes searching your face. He looks so soft and grave and sad, that it hurts to look at him. You look down and nod again.

“I — I feel like you two will happen, you know, when the time is finally right.” His words sound stiff. Practiced, even. “Don’t let this come in the way of that.”

Even though you decided you wouldn’t say anything, your mouth is nearly bubbling with too much to say, at this point. You take a deep breath. “And what if he doesn’t come back. What then, Jimin?”

Jimin looks at you with wide, clueless eyes. “He…will. At some point.”

“And what about until he comes back? Am I expected to wait around?”

Something crumples in his expressions. “No, of course not. You can do whatever you want. Even after he comes back, you don’t owe anybody anything.”

“Whatever I want, you say?” you ask him quietly, your heart thudding in your throat.

Jimin swallows, obviously catching on. “I mean…I guess?”

“You guess?”

He licks his lips and his gaze zeroes in on yours. “Whatever you want, yes. Certainly.”

“Great.” You take his acquiescence for what it is, and grab his wrist. “Okay, then. Until he comes back, right?”

Jimin nods, haltingly, gaze switching between your hand and your eyes. “Right.”

You feign a smile you don’t actually feel because something about this doesn’t sit right with you. This boy, you realize, deserves a lot more than being someone’s dirty little secret. He is Park Jimin, after all, a guy that is so many things that you could never run out of listing them and— 

Park Jimin is a gorgeous celestial metaphor in himself.

Because he may look at the universe with galaxies in his eyes, but he is your only galaxy, and all your stars shine at you through him when he smiles. 

Park Jimin is many things — but he is not the guy you want to just casually fuck.

But your pathetic self would take anything he would allow.

And so you pull his hand and stumble out of his SUV, sharing shy glances with him as you pull him with you up the stairs, all the way to your dorms.

Park Jimin is many things—

To you.

nugatory (adj.) – worth nothing or of little value.

[snackhobi]

pairing: yoongi x reader // word count: 15.8k // genre: smut

summary: your idea of a good night certainly doesn't involve being stood up by yet another blind date and finding yourself alone in a fancy bar; fortunately for you, there's an attractive man playing the piano to keep you busy, instead.

warnings: sexually explicit content (NSFW), cursing, minor consumption of alcohol, oral (m and f receiving), protected sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, pet names, slight exhibitionism, slight praise kink, light dom/sub undertones if you squint ig (reader is kind of subby)

– –

Throughout the years of your life, you've learned a few things. Some of them are pretty obvious (buying suspiciously cheap sushi from a petrol station is like playing Russian Roulette with food poisoning and diarrhoea), some of them are less so (just because something is 'on sale' doesn't actually mean that it's cheaper if they'd increased the overall price beforehand), but one thing that you're only just starting to learn is that— for all that Jimin says otherwise— blind dates will always stand you up.

jiminnie is he there yet??

you to my entire lack of surprise, no. i'm starting to wonder if this 'hoseok-hyung' of yours even exists tbh i should have been suspicious from the second you called him a 'friend' bc that implies that you HAVE friends

jiminnie ok RUDE. we're friends??

you suddenly i can't read

The two of you had been outrageously drunk after a night out on the town, once, and Jungkook had come to collect his tipsy boyfriend, and you'd seen the fond way he'd watched Jimin despite his messy behaviour— how he'd given Jimin a piggyback even though it must have been hard with the way Jimin had been squirming and laughing and kicking his legs back and forth— and your heart had squeezed tight in your chest. (You'd been so drunk.)

It had honestly been a slip of the tongue when you'd revealed to Jimin that you were kind of maybe feeling somewhat lonely, a little bit, potentially. You'd had one night stands and short flings but it's been a long time since you've been in an actual relationship, a long time since you've really clicked with someone. Maybe part of you had been missing it, that connection with another person. Normally you're fine with being single, but Jungkook and Jimin are so in love that it spills out from them and you guess in the moment you'd wanted to feel that, too.

You blame the alcohol. You also blame your own loose lips. And Jimin, you blame him too, for persuading you to go clubbing in the first place. You don't even remember what you'd said, waking up with a headache the weight and size of a tectonic plate, groaning at the pain of the morning light stabbing into your eyes, but with no recollection of your admittance that maybe you were tired of being single. Your best friend, however— despite having drunk more than you— could recall the previous night with crystalline clarity, much to your horror and embarrassment. And, because Jimin is Jimin, he'd latched onto what you'd said with the tenacity of a dog with a bone.

Fast forward to where you're sitting now, on yet another arranged date that he's planned for you— and once again, you've been stood up.

you i'm starting to wonder if any of the people you've tried to set me up with are even real

jiminnie omg they ARE you had a nice time with lisa??

Okay, so you hadn't been stood up for every date. Lisa had been the only person who'd shown up, and she was cute and friendly and you got on like a house on fire, but you'd very quickly found out that she was actually head over heels for her best friend Jennie. You being you, your first date had rapidly turned into you giving your new friend a pep-talk and hyping her up— and suffice to say you've been having weekly girl's brunches with Lisa and her now-girlfriend Jennie ever since. So, yes, technically you haven't been stood up every time, but still.

you yes, my ideal first date involves telling the other person that their best friend is definitely in love with them too :))

jiminnie I'VE ALREADY SAID THAT I'M SORRY :(

you LMAO it's fine, it's always nice to make friends but seriously minnie, like,, if your friends are going to stand me up, could you at least have had the decency to organise the date somewhere less fancy? i spent ages getting ready and noah fence it kind of feels like i just wasted a bunch of my time,,

Jimin doesn't fuck around. From the outside the bar, Dionysus, exudes a quiet aura of exclusivity. Inside, however, it has a surprisingly understated atmosphere despite its namesake being the Grecian god of Getting Turnt, the sleek interior paired with soft lighting and stylish fixtures, elegant. 

Either way, it's the kind of place that warrants you actually pulling out the stops with your outfit and makeup; you rarely have a reason to doll yourself up like this and it makes a nice change of pace, but it seems like you shouldn't have bothered. What's the point in putting on a cute dress and nice heels, or doing your hair and opening your expensive Too Faced eyeshadow palette for the first time, if you're just going to be sitting alone at a bar all night? At least you don't stick out, which is good, you guess.

You are the only person who's alone, though. It's midweek and everyone else is seated around one of the tables, couples and groups that are engaged in quiet discussion or watching the show— there's a small stage where there's a quartet performing live music— but you're perched on one of the barstools, tapping away at your phone, alone. If anyone were to pay any attention it would be obvious that you've been stood up, but they're all too busy having an enjoyable evening to spare a glance at the girl sitting by herself at the bar.

The only person who's paying attention to you is the bartender. He's clearly good at his job, keeping an eye on you and making you feel welcome without seeming like he's hovering; he doesn't act like you're being an inconvenience, but you give him a hefty tip each time you order a new drink anyway. Hoseok might not be turning up tonight but if you've gone to the effort of dressing this nicely and getting a taxi here then goddamn you're going to make the most of it.

It takes forty two minutes and three virgin cocktails before the handsome bartender speaks to you, saying something beyond the customary back and forth you've had so far as he hands you your next mocktail. 

"Are your friends usually this late?"

You let out a little huff of laughter. "Something like that." Normally you'd be more hesitant to speak to a stranger like this, but the bartender's eyes are warm and his smile seems genuine and from what you can tell, he's just making that sure you're okay. "Seems like it'll just be me for tonight."

"You're welcome to stay and wait as long as you like," he says, and you can't help but quirk a grin at him.

"I bet you say that to all the paying customers."

He laughs and raises his hands in surrender. "You got me." And then: "If you want another drink, just give me a shout. I'm Seokjin, but everyone calls me Jin."

"As in, Jin and tonic?" You smile. "Sure. I'll be sure to remember that. I'm Y/n."

"Nice to meet you, Y/n." Jin gives you a grin before disappearing down the other side of the bar to make drinks for some other customers. Your own smile slowly fades, and then turns into a frown, eyes landing on the clock on the wall; Hoseok is forty five minutes late at this point. (You know he's not going to show.) It's been so long that the musicians on the stage have finished their set and are leaving, a different performer about to step on, and you sigh. You'll finish this last drink and then you'll go.

You use your straw to stir the mint leaves and ice cubes around, muddling the flavours in your glass. You haven't really been paying attention to the music before now; you couldn't name the songs that have been performed so far, but they're common enough that you'd recognised the sound of them, the sort of music that most people could hum along to but probably wouldn't know the origin of. Easy listening. Pleasant, but nothing new. It's clearly more about setting a nice backdrop to the bar rather than music for music's sake. A background noise, rather than acting as the focal point of the bar.

You assume this is going to be the case for the next musician, and so you barely pay any mind as the he takes to the stage alone; you're looking down at your glass as he sits at the piano and puts his feet on the pedals and places his hands on the keys, but then, he starts to play.

Your eyes snap up. A chord hangs in the air, extended, haunting; a crescendo into a light melody; the chords dip, waters dark and deep while he weaves the higher notes with infinite softness, ebbing notes that fade into each other, his fingers dancing across the keys with grace and ease. You notice with a throb in your chest that he has no sheet music. He's pulling this music from inside him, his mind, entirely from his own memory.

His eyes are cast down as he watches his hands, but you can see how they slip shut whenever he tilts his head back, fringe hanging over them. His hair is bleached blond but he clearly hasn't been maintaining the look, with dark roots starting to show through. His posture is horrible, his spine a little curved as he slouches forward, and he's not dressed as sharply as the other musicians had been— there's no tie around his neck and he has a multitude of earrings in, rings on his fingers, changing his outfit into something a little messy and different and entirely unique.

He's fucking breathtaking.

Without realising, you've swivelled away from the bar to watch him. Your drink is still clutched in your hand but you pay it no mind, condensation gathering on the cold glass and dripping down your fingers the longer you sit there, ice cubes melting as he finishes his first song and moves onto the next. Same as the first, you don't recognise it, the melody echoing deep in your chest, speaking of some feeling that you can't put a name to, each sliding arpeggio and chord reaching inside you and hanging there, little glowing droplets that shine out like moonlight.

Each of his pieces are entirely different and yet they all feel like him, somehow. Strong and soft and lovely and aching. The water from your glass has pitter-pattered onto your lap, darkening the fabric of your dress in some nameless constellation, but you don't notice. Your world has narrowed down to: the sound of his music, the motions of his hands, the way he bends into the notes, him. 

Your eyes trace his profile, the cat-like eyes, the round of his nose, the pout of his lips, falling into the way he lifts his chin and tilts his head; thoughtless, gorgeous.

You don't realise that it's over until it's over. The final notes hang in the air, crystallising, and then they fade. He finishes with little fanfare, tilting a polite nod at the audience that claps for him, and then he slips off the stage and is gone just as quickly as he had come. You blink, coming back to yourself; you feel like you're rising out of deep water, motions slow and heavy, and you don't know how long you've been sitting there, entirely entranced. You'd been too distracted to clap. You'd just sat and watched in silence as he'd turned to leave, barely sparing the room a glance.

"Good, isn't he?"

Normally you would have startled at Jin's sudden appearance. Instead you just blink again, still trying to shake off the daze you've found yourself in. "Yeah." Your voice is hoarse. You clear your throat and suck in a breath and put your drink down, dripping wetness that leaves a ring on the smooth wood of the bar, and try to speak normally this time, willing your voice to be level. "Yes. He's very good."

"Yoongi is here at the same time every week," Jin supplies, tone conversational, like he's just having a regular chat. Yoongi. His name is Yoongi. You wonder if Jin can hear how your heart is pounding, the galloping hooves of a wild horse that tumble in your chest. You try to keep your expression stoic as you look at him, scared that he'll be able to read what's written across your face— but he's smiling at you in the same way as before. Just a barkeeper who's trying to get a return customer. (Although, you'd swear there was a glint in his eye for the briefest moment, but then it's gone.) "He changes the set each time, if you're interested in coming back to hear something new."

Your mouth feels dry and you swallow, trying to wet your lips. Dionysus is too fancy of a place to ask customers for tips for the musicians, but— "Can I buy him a drink?"

Jin cocks his head at you. "A drink? For Yoongi?"

"Yes," you say. You feel a little shy when you spot his expression, biting your lip. "I just really enjoyed the music, and I'd like to tip him somehow? Is that a normal thing that people do?"

Jin pauses, and then smiles. This smile is a little wider than the ones he's given you before, different, but he seems pleased. "Who cares about what's normal? I'll get a drink to him. What would you like?"

"Um, whatever he prefers," you say. You figure that Jin would have a better idea about what that is than you, which is proven true by his almost instantaneous reply.

"He likes red wine, or whisky, neat. I think tonight is a whisky kind of night." He's already going through the motions of putting the drink together, and you slide him money as he begins to pour. You know nothing about Yoongi but you can't help but feel like the drink suits him— simple, classic, masculine. "Do you want me to pass on a message for you?"

"Um, you can just say that it's from someone who enjoyed the music, I guess?" You giggle a little, feeling awkward and off balance. Jin is looking at you like he's expecting you to say something else, but you just want to express your enjoyment of Yoongi's music and nothing more. You don't— you don't want to be weird, you just like the sound of his piano playing.

Jin disappears into the back with the glass of whisky, and you finish the watery remnants of your drink before you leave, ice cubes completely melted in the— wow— forty minutes that Yoongi had been playing. It hadn't felt that long at all.

It's not until you're stepping through your front door that you realise you haven't looked at your phone since before the beginning of Yoongi's set. Jimin's messages have been changing from apologetic to concerned to downright frantic.

jiminnie Y/N BLINK TWICE IF YOU NEED HELP

you how many times should i blink if i don't need help?

jiminnie omg you're ALIVE where were you?? i was starting to get worried

you sorry i got distracted! but i'm fine, i'm at home hoseok never showed

jiminnie yeah i know :(( he messaged me saying he had an emergency and couldn't make it tonight but he's free this weekend??

you … remember when i said that this was the last blind date i was going to go on?

jiminnie it doesn't count as a date if hyung never turned up!!!

you that isn't true and you know it omg minnie… i appreciate what you're trying to do but pls bb. let it rest

jiminnie i just want you to be happy :((

you i don't have to be in a relationship to be happy

jiminnie you said you were lonely!

you omg i was DRUNK let it GO besides being stood up by multiple blind dates isn't going to help me feel less lonely lmao i get that you're happy in your relationship with kookie and you want to spread that happiness but you don't have to!! i'm fine!! yeah i get lonely sometimes but what single person doesn't?? i'm happy being by myself hhhhh

jiminnie fine :(( but if you change your mind, hobi-hyung would still love to meet you!

As you kick off your heels, humming a bar of Yoongi's music to yourself, you think that Hoseok probably shouldn't bother holding his breath.

(That night, when you sleep, you dream of dark eyes and the press of a sinfully perfect cupid's bow against your own lips, a pair of large hands drawing noises from you like a glissando, rings cool against your heated skin.)

–

Wednesday nights become a ritual of sorts. You get dressed, do your hair, match your makeup to your outfit and shoes, coordinating your look into something that doesn't look out of place in Dionysus before you hop into a taxi and make your way to the bar.

You're a firm regular by now. Your seat has become just that, your seat, the same one you'd been sitting in the first time you'd been there; it's towards the dimmer lights at the back and so you're sitting further away from the stage than you might like, but at least you can see the whole room from here. You turn up twenty minutes before Yoongi's set and Jin always greets you warmly when he sees you: you've quickly come to enjoy your chats. Jin is always unashamedly himself and the two of you joke and laugh as he works, but he always knows to leave you alone as soon as Yoongi steps onto the stage. 

For the next forty minutes the rest of the world fades away as you drink Yoongi and his music in, listen to the lilting notes he coaxes out of the piano, watch how his fingers rest on each key before he slides into his next piece, reverent.

You never ever explicitly mention Yoongi in your conversations with Jin, though. The bartender seems to bring the musician up anyway; he does it smoothly, in a way that's utterly casual, and he seems to know a surprising amount about someone who is, by all accounts, a very private person. (You're not complaining about the fact that you now know that Yoongi wears Kumamon slippers because his feet get cold easily— "he's cold blooded, like a lizard," apparently— but you do wonder how Jin knows that.)

The Yoongi that Jin describes is just as beautiful as the man you see on stage, but less mysterious, less distant— and yet he still intimidates you. 

Jin might be his friend but to you Yoongi is unapproachable. Untouchable. To him you're just a nameless face in the audience, nothing more. His eyes will slide across the room before he starts his performance, but he never seems to notice you; it's no surprise, sitting where you do, in an area of relative darkness in comparison to the rest of the bar, and once he sits down he only looks at the piano under his hands. He has no eyes for anything else. You're far enough away and his lashes are cast so low that even when his eyes are open it's hard for you to see where he's looking, and the shadow of his fringe hides how his pupils scan his hands as he plays, anyway.

Every week, when the set draws to a close, Jin is already pouring Yoongi's whisky or wine and you slide him the exact amount of change. Every week, Jin asks if you want to pass on a message, and every week, you say the same thing: that it's from someone who enjoyed the music. And that's that. Jin will disappear to give Yoongi his drink and you'll finish your own drink in quiet solitude before you slide off your barstool to go home.

(The only thing that's changed over the weeks is that the music Yoongi plays seems to be a little lighter and— dare you say— happier? He still looks down at the piano with the same intensity, still lays his hands on the keys with the same delicate pressing weight before he begins to play— but with some songs he seems to be teasing the music out, flirting with each note, eyelashes fluttering as he lifts his chin and moves his hands.

You're not a musician by any means, so you don't know how to describe it with any sort of accuracy or terminology, but to you it's like the deep waters of Yoongi's music have been cut through with light, beams of sun rippling through the dark blue. You don't know what's caused this change, the slow uplift in his mood throughout the weeks, but you hope he manages to keep hold of it, whatever it is.)

Between work and studying and volunteering and making time to see friends, you don't often have time entirely to yourself, and so Wednesday nights are a rare moment of peace during your otherwise busy week. That's why when Jimin says that he's had to rearrange your weekly film night to Wednesday— because he and Jungkook are going down to Busan to see each other's families this weekend— you decline. 

Jimin is rendered speechless and demands to know why.

"I'm busy," is your answer. Jimin doesn't buy it.

"You're never too busy for movie night," he says. "Wednesday is the only night we're all free."

"Well, I'm not free, Minnie. Sorry," you say. His head is in your lap, your fingers gently stroking his hair, and you can easily see the way his face contorts with disbelief as he stares up at you.

"Do you hear that, babe? Y/n is too busy for our weekly tradition." Jimin sounds scandalised.

Jimin is stretched out between the two of you— while his head is in your lap, his feet are in Jungkook's, the younger man idly massaging his boyfriend's ankles and feet. "Yes, babe, I heard," Jungkook says, indulgent.

"What's more important than movie night?" Jimin lifts one of his legs and Jungkook turns his attention to that one, digging his fingers into the arch of Jimin's foot. Jimin sighs in relief, but then turns the full force of his stare back at you. "We were going to watch Spirited Away. You love Spirited Away."

"I'm just busy," you say, and that had been your mistake. You should have had some sort of credible reason but you hadn't been prepared, and while he hadn't made it obvious at the time, Jimin had latched onto your vague excuse, sniffing out weakness like a shark with blood in the water. If you'd been paying attention you'd have noticed, but you hadn't paid attention and so you hadn't noticed. (Whoops.)

And so, Wednesday night that week is the same as always; Yoongi plays his music, you fall a little bit more in love, and pass your compliments to him with Jin as the mouthpiece. You go home, wash your makeup off, and arch into the touch of your own hand while imagining it's someone else's fingers sliding across your skin. Routine. Normal. Uninterrupted. Peaceful.

The next week, however, it all goes to shit.

Okay. Maybe that's a little dramatic. It's not as bad as all that. The night starts as normal: you're on your stool, and you have your drink, and you have ten minutes until Yoongi is due to play, shifting to get comfortable, crossing your legs.

But then: 

"Oh my God, you're wearing your come fuck me heels," comes Jimin's voice from behind you, and your blood turns to ice.

You turn on the barstool so fast you almost fall off it. You come face to face with Jimin who has an expression of what can only be described as sheer delight on his face. He's even dressed appropriately for the bar, a silk shirt tucked into his Very Tight jeans and a subtle smoky eye to top it off; Jungkook looks nice, too, but you have no doubt that he's only here under sufferance, if the infinitely apologetic look on his face is anything to go by.

"Jimin?" Your voice comes out as a hiss. If you were a cat your back would be up and your hackles would be raised and all your fur would be on end, your entire body going into fight mode. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see for myself what was more important than movie night," Jimin says simply, like it's obvious. "So here we are."

"Sorry, Y/n," Jungkook apologises from over his boyfriend's shoulder. Jimin ignores him.

You can feel how your face is starting to flush, your skin crawling with embarrassment. You change your outfit every week and your friends have managed to turn up on the one week where you've cycled into what could probably be considered your most promiscuous one, the hem of your dress high and the cut of it low, along with shoes that Jimin had rightfully named as your Come Fuck Me heels. It wasn't because you were trying to seduce anyone but you only have so many items in your wardrobe that are appropriate for Dionysus. 

"How did you find me?"

"I have my ways," Jimin says mysteriously.

"He stalked your Bitmoji on Snapchat. Ow." Jungkook pouts as Jimin slaps his arm. "Sorry, again. I said we should leave you alone but Jimin said we should check in case you'd been kidnapped because you never willingly go into bars."

You're interrupted by Jin, who'd been busy serving someone when your idiot friends had turned up; he leans across the bar and touches your shoulder and fixes Jimin and Jungkook with the most intimidating look you've ever seen on his face. You know Jin as a light-hearted pun master, harmless and goofy and approachable, a great friend— but right now he looks like some sort of beautiful guardian angel, broad shouldered and narrow eyed and honestly, pretty menacing. 

"Are you alright?" He keeps his eyes on the other two men as he speaks. "Are these guys bothering you?"

Jimin, rather than looking cowed, looks like he's reached a stage of absolute euphoria, eyes darting between Jin's hand on your shoulder to your face. Jungkook's face, meanwhile, is doing that thing it does whenever someone issues him some kind of challenge, his sweetness abruptly being swallowed by his competitive side and his stubborn refusal to lose anything. You're the only person who has the power to save this situation before it goes absolutely tits up, and you swallow down a resigned sigh.

"I'm fine, thank you, Jin," you say, looking at him with a smile as you pat the hand on your shoulder. "Unfortunately these guys are my friends, much to my infinite suffering. Well, Jungkook's alright. Jimin is the one who's the pain."

"Hey," Jimin whines. Jungkook looks quietly pleased, but pretends to scowl when Jimin looks at him, offended on his boyfriend's behalf.

Jin still seems unhappy but pulls his hand back. "Alright," he says, but then he pitches his voice low so that only you can hear: "If you need any help, just ask me for a rum and soda, okay?"

You always order mocktails whenever you're here, wanting to stay completely sober so that you can enjoy Yoongi's playing with all the attention it deserves. You've never asked for anything alcoholic, least of all a rum and soda. Although you really are okay, you can't help but be warmed by Jin's concern for you and how he's offering you this careful, considerate lifeline in case you need it. "I will do. Thanks, Jinnie."

He smiles at you and then gives Jungkook and Jimin one final frown before going to deal with a gaggle of customers who've gathered at the other end of the bar. While Jungkook remains standing, taking in the interior of the bar with wide eyes, Jimin slides onto the stool next to yours.

"He's fucking hot," Jimin says with no preamble, eyeing Jin without shame as the bartender starts to pour and mix different drinks. Jungkook makes a disgruntled noise but settles when Jimin pats him fondly on the butt. "I'm not surprised you're wearing those heels. I would too if I were you."

"Oh my God, Jimin." You hide your face in your hands. "Jin is just a friend, please don't make this weird."

"Come on, Y/n, it's okay," Jimin says reassuringly as he pats your shoulder, replacing Jin's touch with his own. "The blind dates might not have worked out, but you've met someone nice so that's good! I mean, you did meet him because I organised the date here in the first place, but I'll let that slide. Also I can't believe you missed movie night because of a boy and you didn't tell me, but I'll let that slide too because I love you."

Park Jimin is your best friend. Park Jimin meddles in your life despite your protestations and isn't beyond being passive aggressive to get his way, but Park Jimin is also one of the nicest people you know and everything he does is because he loves you and will do whatever he thinks is necessary to reach his end goal of making you happy. He's magnanimous and kind and caring, and he also has absolutely the wrong idea right now, clearly under the impression that you're attracted to Seokjin and have been flirting with him for however many weeks it's been since you were meant to meet Hoseok here.

"No, seriously, Jimin, it's not Jin." You look at Jimin through the gaps in your fingers. "He's cute, yeah, but I don't come here because of him."

Your friend looks genuinely baffled, hand stilling on your shoulder. "Then why are you here?"

And, with perfect timing— as if your life is some badly written film or romantic drama— the clock ticks over to 8pm and Yoongi steps onto the stage. His hair is dark, blond replaced with black a few weeks ago, though it's still long enough that it hangs in his eyes; he looks a little ragged around the edges, a little messy, a little tired, and altogether beautiful. You want to touch the coolness of your fingertips to the dark circles under his eyes, want to press kisses across each of his bony knuckles, want to let your tongue settle in the hollow of his neck that shows each time he leans back and tilts his head up just so.

You hadn't even meant to but you'd turned away from Jimin the second you'd heard piano notes begin to play, drawn in by the sound like a moth to a flame. Jimin's hand falls off your shoulder and you hear him breathe out a quiet oh of realisation. You tear your eyes away from the sight of Yoongi at the piano and turn on your stool to face the bar again, gripping your glass with both hands, shoulders hunched.

"I like to watch him play," you say, and your voice is near a whisper, so as not to detract from the music.

"It's beautiful," Jungkook says, speaking before Jimin can say anything. His voice is quiet, too, not wanting to break over the sound of the piano. 

And so you hear with absolute clarity as Yoongi shifts mid-song into something different and it startles you. Yoongi always varies his music, always has something new, but you've been here often enough that you had recognised the opening song— it was one of your favourites— and you know that he's cut himself off before finishing, soft melody jumping into the opening bars of something different, sharper, a little angry, maybe sorrowful. Something that pulls at you and demands your attention.

Of course you give it to him. You swing your head away from your drink to watch him once more, watch how his motions have changed, the way he surges forward and presses his weight into his arms and down into his hands, his fingertips, the keys. You turn your entire body at this point, settling in your usual position for when you watch Yoongi; you see how his head tilts and he shifts from a minor into a major key, the same notes and chords transformed from something pensive into something joyful as he leans away from the heavier hands he'd been forcing the keys down with.

"How long does this go on for?" Jimin asks.

"About thirty or forty minutes," you answer. Though you turn your head back over your shoulder so that Jimin can hear you, you keep your eyes fixed on Yoongi. It's probably entirely coincidental, the sudden change in his music coinciding with when you turned away from him and when you looked back. He's not playing for you, he's playing for the whole bar, and besides, he's been looking down at the piano the whole time. He hasn't been looking at you.

And yet. The idea that Yoongi has noticed you and wants you to watch him has something hot settling low in your belly.

Jimin leans forward so that his chin is on your shoulder, talking directly into your ear as his hands wrap around your waist from behind. "This is the guy?"

Yoongi finishes the song and you watch in captivation as he swallows and runs a hand through his hair before he starts the next one. He's never done that before. Fuck. "Yes. Yoongi's the guy."

"Do you wait until he's finished so you can speak with him?" Jimin asks, ever curious.

You pause. "No," you admit. "No, I've never actually spoken to him."

Jimin doesn't ask why you've been coming back to see a guy you don't know and haven't talked to. He just hums gently. Jimin is pushy but he's also understanding and empathetic and knows what to say, when to press forward and when to hold back. It's one of the reasons you love him so much.

Jimin lapses into silence as Yoongi starts the next piece. It's one you haven't heard before and it's a little fiercer than most of Yoongi's recent songs. Rather than each note sliding into the next, he hammers them out separately, each note a statement that builds into something larger, a provocation. A storm gathering above Yoongi's waters, threatening to pull you in, pull you under.

Behind you, you hear Jungkook and Jimin briefly murmuring to each other, then Jimin's hands slide from off your waist and you hear the sound of him shifting so that Jungkook can sit down, Jimin using his boyfriend's lap as a chair instead. You have to wonder if the barstools can actually support that kind of weight, but Jin doesn't come over to tell them off, so you figure it must be okay.

On stage, Yoongi's hands pause, an uncharacteristic caesura that breaks the flow of the notes he'd been stringing together before he resumes playing as if this hiccup had never occurred. To anyone else, it would sound like that break was meant to be there, but you know better. You know Yoongi had faltered.

No way.

No way?

He's paying attention to you.

(Oh, shit.)

No way.

You're suddenly so overwhelmed that you actually feel nauseous. You've been consumed with thoughts of Yoongi for weeks, had images of him playing you just as easily as he does that piano, thoughts of him laying you out bare beneath him, but the idea that Yoongi actually knows who you are? Is aware of you on some level? Wants your eyes on him?

Fuck. 

It's too much. 

You're already off kilter from Jimin and Jungkook's arrival— as harmless as their appearance was meant to be— and this is the cherry on top. You don't know if you can keep your composure right now and you need to get away from Yoongi before you end up walking onto the stage and pulling him off that stupid piano stool to show him exactly how much you enjoy his music.

"Jimin? Jungkook? How about you say we go to a club and get absolutely shitfaced?"

You haven't looked away from Yoongi in the time that you've said this, but you can just feel the confusion emanating from the men behind you.

"But you—"

"I thought—"

"We're already dressed up, aren't we? Besides, I still owe you for film night, so drinks are on me."

There's little argument from them after that. For the first time since you've been coming here you leave before Yoongi's set is done, slipping out of the bar without noticing Jin's confused gaze on you. 

It's not until much later, once you've drunkenly fallen onto Jimin and Jungkook's couch, that the sober part of your brain whispers to you: you didn't buy Yoongi his drink.

(That night you dream of stormy skies and tattered sails and a capsizing ship. Once you wake, the memory of the dream quickly leaves you, and the last thing you remember is the sight of someone reaching towards you, pulling you out of the water, skin pale and head ringed with blond hair, a halo— and then you forget that too, slipping through your fingers like quicksand.)

–

Of course you go back to Dionysus the next week. You make Jimin promise that he won't turn up without warning again, and then you make Jungkook promise that he'll at least send you a heads-up message if Jimin changes his mind. Despite both these promises, after the debacle last week with your outfit, you've actually bought new clothes, so at least today you don't feel as scandalous. (You still look hot, though.)

You're grateful when Jin doesn't press you for details or ask why you left early last week. He just greets you like he normally does and predicts your order with his usual aptitude, and as you stir your drink with your straw, you have to wonder at what happened. You're probably overreacting, overthinking things, grasping at nothing; there is not a chance in hell that Min Yoongi, reclusive piano savant, has noticed you. No way. Nuh-uh.

He's probably only aware of your existence because of the repeated drinks you've had Jin foist on him. If anything he's probably annoyed at you after not tipping him with last week— he's probably come to expect them by now and you'd forced him to miss out. Maybe you'll get Jin to give him two drinks this week? Ooh, then again, maybe not. Is two shots of whisky a lot? People drink doubles, don't they. How strong is the wine he likes, anyway?

Yoongi's appearance on stage pulls you out of your thoughts. He makes his way up the steps, towards the piano, scans the room— and then for the first time since you've been coming here to watch him, he stops.

He stops because he's looking at you.

It's only for the briefest moment, eyes resting on you for maybe five seconds, and then you breathlessly watch as his mouth twists into something that can only be described as a smirk, pleased at the sight of you.

Oh, God.

He looks away and sits at the piano like he normally does, but you would swear that his back is a little straighter— something in his posture that reads as cockiness, even. He launches into a song that starts light but then almost immediately dances into something flirtatious, seductive, and tonight whenever Yoongi glances at you, he makes sure that you know. He turns his head just so, looks at you through the curve of his lashes, each touch of those dark eyes against your own sending little shivers through you, punching the breath out of your lungs.

You've always been entranced by Yoongi and tonight is no different. The minutes slide by as easy as water, liquid, music gliding over you like the rising tide, kissing your skin like the ebb and flow of the waves. It feels like he's barely started when his set is over and he's finished, standing up with as little ostentation as always before he vanishes off the stage.

You already have the money counted out before Jin has made his way over. You slide it towards him as he pours the whisky, but rather than asking if you have a message to pass to Yoongi, a look of consternation passes over his face.

"The price has gone up," Jin says, and you blink.

"Oh, that's no problem. How much is it now?" You're reaching for your purse to get more money out when Jin puts the whisky on the bar in front of you.

"No, don't worry, I'll just go out back and get the right change for you," he says. He says it with such confidence that it takes you a beat too long to realise that what he's just said makes no sense— why is he getting you change if you haven't even given him enough money? Isn’t there change in the till?— but by this point he's already gone, the staff door swinging shut behind him. 

You tilt your head, beyond confused.

Someone chuckles from behind you, the sound quiet and low. "Ah, cute."

You twist in your seat to see who's talking and then freeze. Yoongi is standing right there, looking at you with his dark, dark eyes; it's the first time you've been subjected to the full intensity of his gaze, from this close, and your pulse picks up. He looks a little softer without the lights of the small stage throwing him into sharp relief but his aura is just as intense; your eyes dart across each feature of his face as you drink him in— the mess of his fringe hanging into his sharp eyes, the faintest freckle on his nose, his surprisingly cute cheeks, his pink mouth.

The mouth that's curving into a sly little smile, now, your eyes flying back up to meet his own.

"I'm guessing this is for me?" He points at the whisky. He takes it before you can answer, and there's something unfairly erotic about how he drinks it: the way he holds the glass, swirling the whisky over the chilled rocks inside; the way his mouth falls open as the tumbler touches his lips; the way his head tilts back as he lets the liquor flow into his mouth, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

You shamelessly watch him the whole time. He lowers the glass from his lips, still a little parted as he takes a breath in, and then he's looking back at you. You have to bite back a noise that's risen up in your throat, unbidden. Does he know how much he affects you? 

You adjust your position on the barstool, thoughtlessly uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you regain your balance. Yoongi's eyes fly down to watch the motion and you're close enough to him that you see how his pupils dilate at the movement. A breath escapes your mouth, a little pant of air that you desperately mask as a cough as you try to calm the racing of your heart, the flood of arousal that's pulsing through you.

"I'm glad you like the whisky," you say, your voice steady despite how your legs feel like they're about to give out. (Thank god you're sitting down.) "I'm sorry to have deprived you of it last week."

Yoongi's shifted so that he's leaning against the bar. He's standing while you're still sitting and you have to tilt your head back to look at him. "You did seem like you were in an awful hurry," he says, a teasing lilt to his tone, and yet his voice is still so low, deeper than you'd imagined.

Despite the levity in his words there's something heavy in his gaze. "Oh?" You can't help but react to it, helpless and unable to resist. "You noticed me leaving?"

Yoongi's eyes sharpen. Hooked. "Of course," he says. "You're the only thing I pay attention to when I'm here. You have been from the first night you walked in."

Your breath catches in your throat. You hadn't expected Yoongi to say something so forthright, to be so direct, more used to coy flirtation from the other people you've met in the past; it's like you've been dipped in cold water, a shock to the system, bracing and invigorating and refreshing.

"Oh," you say, at a loss with how to respond. Yoongi seems pleased to have gotten this reaction out of you, the corners of his lips curving upwards in a self satisfied smile.

"Besides," he adds, "I find it flattering that not only do you come here every week to watch me, you always make sure to make your appreciation known, too." He lifts the glass up and takes another drink, but this time he keeps his eyes locked on yours as he does, gaze unwavering as he finishes his drink. The rocks tumble over themselves as he sets the glass down on the bar, lower lip wet with a drop of whisky that lingers; his tongue sweeps across it and leaves a sheen, catching the light, shining. You can't tear your eyes away from the sight. "It would have been hard to ignore that even if I'd wanted to."

A shiver trickles down your spine. You'd really only ever meant it as a compliment, a quiet way to express your admiration about his craft, and you have to ask— "How long have you been playing the piano?"

This question seems to throw Yoongi off kilter. You see the way his lashes flutter as he blinks with surprise. "For as long as I can remember," he says, and then a small smile appears on his lips. "When I was young I had a toy piano that I constantly used to hammer at, so when I grew up a little, my parents bought the real thing so that I could learn how to play."

He sounds nostalgic and your heart squeezes in your chest. "You're self-taught, right?" You ask, remembering something Jin had told you before. 

Yoongi looks briefly startled. "Yes, I am," he says, and then his eyes narrow. "Did Jin tell you that?"

"Um, yeah." You squirm a little on the barstool. "Sorry, should I not have said anything about it?"

"No, no, you're okay. It's just that Jin says a lot of things, and I'm just wondering what else he said to you." Yoongi's tone is weirdly pained.

The concern is obvious on his face, and you wonder if Jin is to Yoongi what Jimin is to you— well-meaning but maybe a little overwhelming in their approach. 

"All good things, I promise. I love dogs, too." You smile up at Yoongi, who seems a little taken aback, and the smile starts to drop off your face. "Um. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." For all that Yoongi was smirking earlier, he seems a little unsure now. You feel confused, waiting as Yoongi clearly turns some thoughts over in his head, and then he says: "What exactly has Jin told you?"

You smile. You recognise that tone, the nonchalance that hides a little worry— it's exactly how you sound whenever you find out that Jimin has been speaking to someone about you, even if it's always positively. "Oh, just bits and pieces," you say. Feeling bold, you pat the barstool next to you, tilting your head invitingly. "Why don't you tell me about yourself instead so we can see if Jin was lying to me?"

Yoongi looks genuinely startled, his eyes widening imperceptibly before the expression wipes off his face as if nothing had happened. "Why not," he says, as if in equal parts to himself and to you, before he takes a seat.

Here's what you learn about Yoongi: he's intense, yes, and soft spoken, but as you continue to talk, he begins to loosen up, bit by bit. When he laughs he smiles so wide that his eyes squeeze shut and you can see his gums and you're so fucking endeared at the sight. He's sharp and smart and witty and just so, so intriguing. 

You prop your elbow on the bar and rest your cheek in your hand as he talks, wanting to take everything in, and you rapidly realise that Min Yoongi is less of an enigma than you'd thought, but just as complex as you'd expected— and you want to unravel that complexity. If he'll let you.

You've been talking for so long that the bar has started to empty out, patrons trickling away, the two of you so engrossed with each other that you barely notice. You find out that Jin and Yoongi are actually roommates, best friends, and that Jin is as chaotic as you'd expect and is also very good at drawing Yoongi into his shenanigans; you throw your head back to laugh at one of his stories, and when you catch your breath you find Yoongi looking at you, watching you with an expression on his face that makes you pause. He's been watching you intently all night, listening quietly whenever you talk, but this expression, this is new. He swallows.

"Can I ask something?"

You blink. "Sure, go ahead."

"Why did you keep coming back?" Yoongi asks, and that's not a question you'd been expecting at all.

"Uh," you say eloquently. "Well. Honestly? I couldn't stay away, I guess. I'm not really a musician, and I don't know a lot about the piano, but there's something in your music and the way you play— every song makes me feel something different and new, or reminds me of something I haven't felt, places I haven't been to, but I feel like I know somehow. Like I'm nostalgic for something that I haven't experienced, that doesn't exist. It's almost like you're taking my hand and showing me around some hidden part of the world that only you can see— like you've made it into music because that's the only way you can communicate it. How could I not come back after that?" You pause. "Um. Does that make sense? I feel like it didn't. Sorry?"

Yoongi's been watching you as you've been talking, silent, and by the time you've finished his mouth has fallen open a little. He stares at you for a few moments longer, and then he says: "Holy shit." And then he says: "Oh my God." And then he says: "What the fuck."

"… I guess it didn't make sense, then?" Despite the ease of your earlier conversation you suddenly feel awkward, laughing a little as your legs uncross so that you can shuffle to the edge of your barstool. Ready to hop up and make a quick get away if you need to. Run away from the embarrassment. "Um."

"Y/n," Yoongi says, and you realise with a start that you haven't introduced yourself to him throughout your whole conversation— Jin must have told him your name— but then he keeps talking. "I thought you just— I don't know, that you just kept coming back because of me. Not the music. Then Jin kept talking about you and—" 

He makes a frustrated noise at the back of his throat and runs a hand through his hair; you stare at his bared forehead, and it says about how attracted you are to him that the sight of his forehead is enough to set your heart racing. "I thought that maybe if I let this happen just one time that it would be enough, but now I don't think it will."

"Yoongi." You're confused, unsure if you've correctly understood what he's just said. "Let what happen one time? What are you talking about?"

"Touching you," Yoongi says. "Fucking you." His voice is a rasp and the sound of it, the sound of his words, shoots straight through you and into your core. "I thought the drinks were— I don't know, an invitation. But they weren't, were they? You really meant it. You really like my music. And me."

Yoongi's voice is hoarse and you come to the realisation that he feels tense. Like he can accept that you want to have sex with him, but he's bowled over by the idea that you're attracted to the other parts, too, as few of those as you know. That you genuinely enjoy what he plays. That you think it's the most beautiful sound you've ever heard.

"Yoongi," you say, tone deceptively gentle. "I really, really like your music, and I think you're an incredibly talented musician, and I've been memorising everything Jin's been telling me about you because I think you're one of the most interesting people I've ever come across and I'd really like to get to know more about you. So I'm really glad to have had the opportunity to talk to you like this." You gesture between the two of you, sitting as you are, facing towards each other on your barstools. And then you brace yourself to take the leap, to throw yourself into uncharted waters. "However, I am also insanely attracted to you and I've spent the past I-don't-know-how-many weeks picturing you bending me over that piano and fucking me so hard that I can't walk straight."

Yoongi freezes in the middle of rubbing the back of his neck, a clearly nervous habit. Though your voice has kept steady while you've been talking, your heart has been thrumming in your chest the whole time, feeling as nervous as Yoongi looks. Something flickers across his face, and his hand drops away from his neck as he straightens, pushing himself off from where he's been leaning against the bar.

"Oh?" He leans towards you. Your legs unthinkingly part as he moves, the material of your dress hitching up as you spread your knees so that he can get closer. "So you do want me to fuck you?"

His nervousness seems to be entirely gone, emboldened by your words. One of his hands comes up to cup the back of your head, fingers sliding into your hair as he holds you in place, at his mercy. He's barely touched you but the feeling of contact makes you bite back a whimper. Even though it's darker here and you're away from the tables, away from the few remaining patrons of the bar, the two of you are in plain sight even under the dimmed lights; you're not doing anything illicit or inappropriate but a little thrill trickles down your spine at the idea.

"Yoongi," you breathe.

"What is it, babygirl?" He tips his head down as he moves closer, his nose brushing yours, each of his words a warm curl across your lips. "Tell me."

The pet name sends a shiver through you. Your hands rise from your lap, sliding over his chest to touch lightly at his neck, a little shy, a little bold. "I want you to kiss me."

"Oh?" Yoongi's mouth is so close to yours, and when you tilt forward to kiss him, he stays just out of your reach, leaving you wanting. "You think you deserve a kiss, do you?"

You can't help but make a little noise, a petulant whine at the back of your throat. He has you entirely at his mercy and he knows it. "Please," you say. "Please, Yoongi, wanna kiss you so bad."

The smile he gives you in reply is wicked. "How can I say no when you've asked so politely?"

Yoongi finally, finally dips his head down and then he's kissing you with such intensity it steals the breath out of you. It's open-mouthed and wet and dirty, his tongue sliding into your mouth in between taking your top and bottom lips between his own, alternating, sucking on them and lapping at them with his tongue. You chase after his mouth with your own, roll your tongues together, hands sliding over the smooth skin of his throat as they circle behind his neck, but then Yoongi pulls away; you bite that needy whine back again, kiss cut short far sooner than you would have liked.

Yoongi is taking the sight of you in, eyes lingering on your shining lips, and then he's rising to stand. You're shaken out of your kiss-induced haze when he does, a little confused, but he takes your hand in his and you let him lift up, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Do you want to get out of here?" His voice is pitched low, deep with a promise of pleasure to come, and you shiver.

"God, I thought you'd never ask," you say in a rush, and he just laughs quietly at your obvious desperation.

"Come on, then." He helps you off the barstool, your hand still in his— god, his hands are so big and his touch is so warm. His eyes are dark as he watches the way you reach to rearrange the hem of your dress with your free hand, but he beats you to it, palm flattening the material against your legs; his fingers dance just under the edge as he straightens it, hand sliding over the skin of your inner thigh and lingering before he pulls away.

"You're shameless," you say, a little breathless, and Yoongi just smirks at you. Tease.

Your fingers remain tangled with his as he leads you behind the bar and through the staff door. Jin's out back, scrolling through something on his phone, but as soon as you walk in he abandons whatever he's doing and raises his eyebrows. He looks surprisingly severe. "Customers aren't allowed back here."

Your eyes widen, but then Jin's serious expression cracks and he starts to laugh. Although he's joking and clearly doesn't care, you feel a little guilty at breaking the rules and duck behind Yoongi, shy. Yoongi snorts and holds a middle finger up at the bartender.

Jin gasps theatrically, clutching his chest while looking askance. "I raise you from birth and this is the thanks I get?"

"You're one year older than me, hyung."

"I carry you in my womb for nine months and birth you into this world and you— oh, okay, you technically shouldn't be doing that either," Jin says, stopping mid-sentence as Yoongi decides his hyung has been talking for too long and turns away from him to start kissing you again, shameless as he tugs you close to him and licks into your mouth; you immediately fall back into him, unable to resist. "Jesus Christ, Yoongi."

Once you part, you bury your head into Yoongi's chest as his arms come around you, hiding your embarrassment in Yoongi's dress shirt. "Sorry, Jinnie," you say, muffled.

"You are absolutely not to blame here, Y/n, you are an angel and a sweetheart." Jin's tone is soothing. "Yoongi, however, is a tiny evil gremlin who needs to learn how to control himself. Though I can't blame him, you are very cute."

"Hyung, I need the apartment tonight," Yoongi says without preamble. You wriggle in the circle of his arms. You're not normally this timid but Yoongi is just so direct and blasé with Jin that you can't help but feel a little shy, as hot and bothered as you are.

"I'll crash at Joon's," the bartender says. He’s obviously not surprised. You lift your head from Yoongi's chest to look at Jin and find that he's smiling at you. "If Yoongi starts to bother you, just whap him on the nose. I find a rolled up newspaper works best if you have one to hand."

"I'll kill you, Kim Seokjin," Yoongi says.

Jin just laughs as he waves the two of you off and you take the initiative to start pulling Yoongi towards the back door. He comes easily, but once the door has swung shut behind you he takes the lead again and guides you towards his car. He lets go of your hand so that he can unlock it, swinging the passenger door open for you, and he's unabashed in how he watches you step in and eyes the way your dress hitches up again as you slide into your seat; he leans against the car and just stares at you.

There's honestly nothing sexier when someone clearly wants you as much as you want them. It makes you feel bold, drunk on the way he looks at you. 

You glance up at him through your lashes. "The sooner we get to yours, the sooner you can have me," you say.

Yoongi curses under his breath. "You're going to be the death of me."

Surprisingly enough, though, he keeps his hands to himself when he gets behind the wheel. You can't help but feel a little surprised; you don't know how close Yoongi's home is to the bar, but you very rapidly tire of waiting to feel his hands on you again and so you lean over the centre console and press a fleeting kiss just behind his ear.

Yoongi doesn't outwardly react, continuing to stare at the road, so you take this as a challenge. You slide one of your hands onto his thigh— for balance, of course— and kiss behind his ear again, tug his lobe with your teeth, mindful of his piercings, and then proceed to trail little kisses down his neck and the little slither of his collarbone that you can reach without his shirt getting in the way. You finally get to lick your tongue in the hollow of his neck that you've been thinking about for weeks.

Yoongi's hands tighten on the steering wheel. Jackpot. 

"Y/n," he says, voice low, and you're so close to his throat that you can hear the rumble behind his words. You love it. "You should stop now, or we're not going to make it to my apartment."

You go still. Yoongi continues to look at the road but his knuckles are white with how hard he's gripping the wheel, and when you glance down you can see how much you've affected him, cock hardening in his slacks. It would be so easy to slide your hand up his thigh and finally touch him, have him pull over and wreck you, but you want something more than a quick fumble in the seat of a car. 

So you just press your lips lightly against the line of his jaw one last time. You let yourself breathe in the dark scent of his cologne— pinewood and pepper and something deeper— before you pull back, folding your hands in your lap demurely, trying to force yourself to be content with waiting.

"Good girl," Yoongi says. You can't help but preen; you don't normally respond to praise like this, but something about Yoongi just makes you want to please him, hear him compliment you again. Yoongi glances at you, a little flicker of realisation as he sees how you've just reacted to his words, and his eyes darken. "You like that, baby? Like being a good girl for me?"

Fuck. "Yes." Your pulse is rising. You've been craving Yoongi for weeks, but god, if he asked you to go home right now, sent you home without touching you, you'd go, just to hear him call you a good girl again. But you don't want him to leave you untouched, you don't want that at all. "I want you to touch me, Yoongi," you say. "I'll be a good girl, please just touch me."

"Fuck." Yoongi's foot presses down on the accelerator. He's never wanted to live closer to the bar before, but the sight of you staring at him from his passenger seat and rubbing your thighs together in a desperate attempt to give yourself some relief is making him rethink his housing location. "I will, baby. We'll be there soon."

Soon turns out to be less than five minutes, scarcely any time at all, though each second is torturous in how long it feels. Yoongi's careless in how he parks the car, wonky within the lines of his spot, but neither of you notice or care. You fumble with the buckle of your belt, climbing out of the car as quickly as you can and slamming the door shut with more power than you probably need to, noise loud in the quiet of the night.

Before you can react, however, Yoongi is rounding the car and grabbing you, pressing you against the metal and glass of the door. One of his hands slips under your thigh, lifting your leg and shoving the hem of your dress out of the way so that he can grind against you; you gasp at the feeling of his growing hardness against the dampness of your underwear, and Yoongi leans forward to swallow the sound into his mouth. 

The kiss is rushed and desperate, but you love the messiness of it. Yoongi pulls away to press his lips against the side of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, mouthing at the jumping pulse he finds there. You start to make small ah-ah noises when he laves his tongue over it, one of your hands tangling in his hair as you tilt your head back, each of his touches fizzing like electricity on your skin.

"P-people could see," you stutter, struggling to catch your breath with how good his mouth feels on you.

Yoongi smirks against your skin. "I thought you wanted me to touch you," he says, but immediately relents, pulling away from you so he can lead you into the building. You miss the heat of his body against yours but he keeps hold of your hand as you follow him; it's late and the building seems quiet, so you're mindful of just how loud your high heels sound as they clack on the floor, though Yoongi doesn't seem to care.

When you step into the apartment you reach down for the straps on your shoes so you can kick them off but Yoongi stops you with a hand to your shoulder. It's a light touch but you stop immediately, glancing up from your feet to his face.

"Let me," he says, and a hot trickle of arousal runs down your spine at the tone of his voice. 

You straighten up and watch as Yoongi gets down on one knee, hands circling around your ankle and lifting your foot. You rest the toe of your shoe lightly on Yoongi's knee, watching as he undoes the strap around your ankle and slides the shoe off, setting it to one side, before he presses his lips to the inside of your knee. You shiver at the light touch and Yoongi smirks, letting your ankle go so you can move and he can take your other shoe off, too.

He barely takes his eyes off your face the whole time, only glancing down when he has to. His motions are slow and unhurried despite his earlier rush, carefully setting the second shoe next to the first, and you can't help but feel like he's teasing you— drawing out your reactions just because he can. Before you can say anything about it, though, his hands trail up from your calves to your thigh before he hitches your leg over his shoulder, one hand staying on your thigh as the other grips at your hip.

You bite back a gasp. From his angle Yoongi can see everything and he's looking up with hooded eyes, staring at the dark patch on your underwear, wet for him; his gaze trails across the lace of the lingerie you're wearing, the small colourful flowers blooming across the dark material. It was something you'd put on to complete your outfit, the matching panties and bra making you feel expensive and pretty— even if you hadn't expected anyone to see it.

"Look at you," he says, hand lowering from your hip to trace lightly across your slit; it's a barely-there touch, sensation dulled by the material in the way, but you still jolt at the feeling of it. "Did you wear this for me?"

"Of course," you confess. You've wanted his eyes on you for so long. "Always dress up pretty for you."

"Fuck." He sounds reverent. "You've always been such a good girl for me, haven't you?"

A needy noise rises unbidden at the back of your throat when Yoongi spreads your leg wider and leans forward to mouth at you through the lace of your panties. Your knees go weak and you have to lean back against the wall for balance, grateful at how close you are to it when Yoongi draws his tongue upwards, wetting the fabric, your toes curling.

"Yoongi." One of your hands is resting in his hair and you can't stop your grip from tightening. "Yoongi, please."

He gives you what you want, fingers hooking into your underwear and pulling it down; he lets your leg drop so that you can step out of them, but as soon as you've finished he throws the panties to one side, one hand splaying across your stomach as the other lifts your leg again so that you’re spread open for him, immediately pressing his mouth to your clit.

"Oh!" You gasp. Yoongi seems to have tired of his teasing and is eating you out like a man starved, the slick sound of his tongue and lips filling the apartment as he laves attention on your dripping pussy, staring up at you as he drinks your reactions in. He dips his tongue into you and your hips try to buck forwards but the hand on your stomach holds you in place, firm, and you let out an embarrassingly loud keen at how good it feels to be this powerless.

You slap your free hand across your mouth and try to swallow the noise down. Yoongi frowns and stops, leaning his head back as he looks at you; his mouth is shining with evidence of your arousal, opalescent. "I want to hear you."

You bite your lip, forcing your hand away from your mouth; you don't want to be too loud, too noisy, but you want to be a good girl for Yoongi. He wants to hear you so you'll give him what he wants.

"O-okay," you breathe, and Yoongi smirks up at you; it's filthy, how he's looking at you like that while his lips are wet with you. You tilt your hips towards him, desperate to have his mouth on you again, and he immediately complies.

He's lapping at your clit when the hand on your stomach moves and slides down. You watch as he takes his tongue off you so that he can curl it around his fingers instead, before running those fingers across your lower lips to gather the slick there, wetting them even further. You roll your hips into the sensation, loving the press of his slightly rough fingers against your silken folds, wanting more, eyes wide as you watch how Yoongi's hand trails between your legs.

He puts his mouth back on your clit at the same time as he presses one of those spit slick fingers into you. You're so turned on that the initial slide in is easy, but he still takes his time; he's distracting you with the way he's sucking at your small bundle of nerves but you still feel when he presses his second finger in, longer than yours, the sensation of it even better than you'd dreamed.

He crooks his fingers and you throw your head back against the wall, dull thud barely registering over the sensation of Yoongi inside you. He sees how you react and continues to move his fingers in the same way, thrusting his fingers in and curling them as he pulls out, watching as you writhe; the pleasure inside you has been growing, the feeling building, and if Yoongi keeps doing that then you're going to cum. "I'm close," you gasp.

Yoongi responds to this by pushing a third finger inside you, rubbing his fingertips directly over your sweet spot. The stretch burns, just a little, but God, you love it. He purses his lips over your clit and flicks his tongue over it at the same time as he curls his fingers again and it undoes you; your spine arches away from the wall as you cum, ripples of pleasure sparking through your body as you tighten around Yoongi's fingers, sobbing almost deliriously at how good it feels.

Yoongi watches you the whole time, keeps his mouth on you as you ride out your high. He only moves away when you start to jolt from oversensitivity, pulling his fingers out carefully as he does. You feel empty without them inside you and you can't wait for him to fill you up with something better instead.

Yoongi holds you steady, his grip firm as you slip your leg from his shoulder and shakily push yourself off the wall. Once you've gotten your balance he stands up— his knees must hurt but he doesn't complain, too busy watching you lift his fingers to your lips, sucking them into your mouth so you can lick the taste of yourself off him.

"Jesus Christ." Yoongi stares at the way you flick your tongue across his skin, glancing at him coquettishly through your lashes. You reach out for him, hands moving towards his belt, but he shakes his head. "Bedroom," he says.

Of course you follow him. At any other time you'd be taking in the details of the apartment, the glimpses you get into the other rooms, but you're too busy looking at Yoongi to have a mind for anything else. He's been hard for so long by now that it must be driving him crazy and you want to give him what he wants. What he needs.

He swings a door open and flicks a light on. Yoongi's room is what you'd expected: neat and organised, with dark furnishings, the only mess being a few scrunched up balls of paper that have overflowed the trash-bin by his desk, which has a pile of notepads next to his laptop and a set up of musical equipment that looks far too complex for you to make heads or tails of. 

You forget about this instantly, however, when Yoongi captures your lips in another kiss, a hand splaying across your jaw so that he can control the pace, crowding you towards the bed until the back of your knees make contact with it and you fall onto the mattress. Yoongi cages you in with his arms and keeps kissing you, though when you palm him through his slacks he hisses through his teeth.

"Want you, Yoongi." You use your hand to stroke over the hardness of him as you nip at his lower lip. "Please."

"Fuck, of course, babygirl." Yoongi leans back and you move with him, sitting up as he stands straight. He unbuttons his shirt and you help him slide it off his shoulders, using it as an excuse to run your hands over the pale skin he reveals to you, sliding your palms down his chest and over his stomach; you dip your head to kiss where your hands have traced, letting your tongue flick across his skin. You lick shamelessly at one of his nipples and feel drunk on the way he lets out a surprised little breath, turning your head to do the same to his other nipple as your hands finally reach their goal: his belt.

You deftly unbuckle it, fast enough that the leather makes a snapping noise when you pull it, and Yoongi bites back a laugh— under normal circumstances you might be embarrassed by how obvious you're being, but you're desperate to finally touch him, especially after he'd made you cum as hard as he had. You look up at him as you reach for his zipper but falter when you notice that he's staring at you with something akin to awe, lifting your lips off his skin.

"What?" You ask, suddenly feeling shy.

Yoongi doesn't respond verbally. Instead, he quirks a little grin at you before he cups your face with both hands and bends down to kiss you again, deeper and slower than he has before. You match his pace, the two of you tilting your heads to get a little closer, but when you continue to pull Yoongi's zip down he laughs against your lips and you smile. He gets the hint, stepping back so he has room to kick his trousers and underwear off; he's not trying to be sensual about it, moving fast so he can get close to you again, but you're enraptured nonetheless.

You swallow at the sight of his cock when it’s finally freed. It's flushed red from neglect, fully hardened, curving up towards his stomach, and you can see how the head glistens with precum, slick and wet. Saliva floods your mouth. Yoongi looks briefly startled when you put your hands against his hips and lightly push him backwards, but then you slide off the bed and onto your knees in front of him and the shock immediately disappears from his face, tangling a hand in your hair as you settle in place.

He's so hard that you don't feel like teasing him. Instead, you take the precum that's gathered at the tip of his cock and rub it down his length, hand wrapping around and twisting as you dip forwards and take the flushed head into your mouth. You can't swallow him all the way down, thanks to your gag reflex, but you give it a damn good go— you relax your throat as much as you can as you lower your head, using your hand to touch the parts of his cock that aren't in your mouth. You tongue at the vein on the underside as you lift back up, using your free hand to cup his balls, and Yoongi curses, his hand tightening in your hair as he pulls you off.

You blink up at him in surprise, mouth still open after he's slid out of your mouth— you feel like you'd barely started— and you can see how his cock twitches as he drinks the sight of you in.

"That mouth of yours is downright sinful," he says, running his thumb over your lower lip. You go lax under his touch, which seems to please him. "As much as I'd like to cum down your throat, I think you want something else instead, don't you, babygirl?"

Your breath shudders out of you and you nod. You want Yoongi's cock inside you, itching for him to finally fuck you stupid, the way you've been yearning for so long. "God, yes, please."

Yoongi's lips twitch at your shameless desperation. "Stand up then, baby," he says, and you comply. "Turn around."

You turn towards the bed to show Yoongi your back, and he slowly unzips your dress; it slides off your shoulders easily, slipping down your body and pooling on the floor as Yoongi drags his hands over the revealed skin. You tremble under his touch, sensitive to each of his motions as he unclasps your bra, and finally you're entirely unclothed, lingerie carelessly tossed to one side before Yoongi pulls you close.

Your back is pressed to his chest, and you can feel the heat and hardness of his cock pressing against you, but you forget about that when his hands move to cup your breasts, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. You tilt your head back against his shoulder and he takes the opportunity to kiss down your neck, using his tongue to lick down the bared length of it, and your breath hitches in your throat as he pinches one of your nipples between his fingers, the perfect mix of careful roughness.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Yoongi breathes into the crook of your neck. You whimper and grind back against him, feeling the wetness of his cock as it slips against your skin, and he bites back a groan.

"Yoongi, I need you," you say, so close to finally getting what you've been craving for so long. "Please," you add, voice high with desperation.

You feel how Yoongi bares his teeth against your skin in a silent snarl before he's turning you around in his arms, and you squeal in surprise as he hitches you upwards onto the bed, your head falling onto the pillows. It wasn't a rough motion, Yoongi still careful even when he's clearly as hungry for you as you are for him, but you find yourself whimpering at how he's manhandled you, loving it. Seems like he's helping you discover things about yourself that you hadn't realised before now.

Yoongi settles between your legs, staring down at you, bare and helpless underneath him. You reach out your hand to touch his chest, sweeping your fingers down the line of his stomach and over the trail of dark hair that leads down to his weeping cock, still shining with your spit. He curses, leaning over you to paw at his nightstand drawer; he fumbles with the lube and condom when you wrap your fingers around his length again, stroking him hard and slow.

"Yoongi, please," you say again, practically begging, wanting him inside you as quickly as possible. He curses under his breath again but then wraps his fingers around yours, pulling your hand off his cock. You pout at him. "I've been a good girl, haven't I?"

"Good girls are patient." Yoongi leans back on his heels and you make a small whining noise, but you quieten when you watch him rip open the condom packet; you reach forward again to help him roll it down his cock, wanting to keep the feeling of his hardness and heat under your touch, but he fixes you with a stern gaze. "Hands."

You pause, wondering exactly what he means. You settle on pulling your hands away and stretch up to let them rest on the pillow above you. You must have done the right thing because Yoongi smiles, and you give a squirm of delight. He shifts closer and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, turning his head to kiss your inner ankle.

"So perfect," he says, and you squirm again, pleased. He reaches for the bottle of lube and uncaps it with a quiet click, drizzling it directly onto his cock and biting back a noise at the coldness of it— but then he squirts more into his hands, warming it between his fingers. You make a small questioning sound, and Yoongi smiles before kissing your ankle again. "This is for you, baby."

Your eyebrows raise in quiet surprise. You're already so wet, dripping with a mix of your own cum and Yoongi's lingering spit, but he's still being this careful and considerate. He dips his slick fingers between your flushed lips and draws them upwards, making you arch your back as he grazes over your pearl of nerves, pleasure shooting directly into your core. 

"Oh, fuck," you gasp. "God, please, Yoongi, please."

"I've got you, babygirl," he murmurs, and you marvel at his self control, his restraint even now. He grips your leg with one hand and uses the other to guide himself into you. Finally. You moan as he sinks in, stretching you, slowly pushing in inch by inch; you can feel the way your walls stretch, parting for him, until he's bottomed out, and you feel so full.

"Holy shit, Yoongi." You've moved your hands and you're digging your nails into his back, trying to pull him closer even though it's not possible, Yoongi's cock so long that you can feel it filling you completely. "Oh, God."

Yoongi's fringe is hanging in his eyes but you can see how his pupils have almost swallowed the dark of his irises, the way he's drinking in the sight of you beneath him— your pupils are blown too, hair a messy halo against the pillows, nipples hard from arousal, chest heaving as you hiccup in air. He pulls out, just as slowly as he'd pushed in, the drag of his cock against your inner walls sending electricity shooting through your nerves; he stops before he's completely out, only the head of him still inside you, and you bite your lip in anticipation, waiting for the next slow thrust in.

You're completely blindsided when Yoongi snaps his hips forward suddenly, fucking sharply into you, and you choke on a surprised breath. He sets a brutal pace, the sound of his skin slapping against yours almost drowned out by the way you wail. Your hands fall away from his back and to the sheets, fingers gripping at them, twisting under your hands. His brows are drawn together with focus, but when you raise a hand up to touch his face he goes easily, letting your leg slip off his shoulder so he can kiss you.

His motions slow somewhat as you kiss each other, but he keeps the roll of his hips just as deep, and you end up all but panting against his mouth instead of kissing him; he swipes his tongue across your lips and you let them fall open so he can lick into your mouth, sloppy and wet. You can feel an orgasm building again, surprisingly fast— especially as he's not even touching your clit— and you clench around him, wanting to hit that peak again.

Yoongi stops kissing you to rest his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as he slows his thrusts, grinding into you each time he pushes all the way in, hips flush with yours. "Such a good girl." His voice is a low rasp, dark and heavy. "So pretty for me."

Yes, yes, yes. "Wanna be your good girl," you breathe. "Make you feel as good as you make me feel."

Yoongi actually growls, wrapping his hands around your waist and pulling you up. You grab his shoulders for support, legs spreading so that your knees hit the mattress, his cock still inside you as you look down at him, both of you kneeling now. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, stomachs flush, and Yoongi grinds up into you. His hands slide from your waist, to your ass, fingers digging into your flesh as he pulls you up; the change of angle has the curve of his cock dragging right across your sweet spot and you gasp. "Oh, yes, there, just like that."

You press down as Yoongi's hips snap up, and you can feel how his motions are starting to get a little jerkier, staccato, the way he speeds up. With the drag of your nipples against his chest, and the way he's hitting your g-spot dead on each time, you're close to hitting your peak, pleasure riding up into a crescendo— and then Yoongi slides one of his hands between the two of you to rub at your clit and you're gone again, gasping and shaking as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, all the air escaping your lungs in a drawn out, shuddering wail.

"Fuck, baby." Yoongi's motions grow a little more hurried and sloppy, thrusting up into you as your walls pulsate around him. You try to match his pace, drinking down the way his face twists as he chases his own release— and then his grip on you grows tight enough to bruise and he cums with a surprisingly quiet moan. He grinds upwards, his cock twitching inside you as he empties himself into the condom; you shiver at the sensation, squeezing your legs around his hips in an instinctive attempt to draw him as deeply into you as possible, as futile as that is.

Your legs are shaking. You remain tangled around each other, sweaty and panting, but then Yoongi is grasping your chin and tilting your head down so that he can kiss you. It's soft, and gentle, and you melt into it, going lax and boneless in his hold as you tighten your hands in his hair. 

You feel how he smiles tiredly against your lips, and when you pull back, he looks thoroughly fucked out; his hair is a mess from how you've been running your hands through it and lips are kiss swollen, parted so that he can suck air in and try to catch his breath. You must look similarly wrecked. You feel hazy, though Yoongi feels solid beneath you, grounding you as you slowly come back to yourself.

"I'm going to lean you back, beautiful," he says, and you entwine your fingers together behind his neck so that he can tilt you onto the mattress, careful and reverent. He slips his softening cock out of you and you let out a small sigh at the sudden feeling of emptiness, though as soon as he's done tying the condom off and throwing it in the bin he comes back to you, lightly kissing you as he draws a hand gently between the valley of your breasts. Despite the tenderness behind the motion you're suddenly struck with wondering if he's about to ask you to leave, but then he asks: "Do you want to come wash up?"

You pause. "Oh, God, my makeup," you say with sudden realisation as your fingers come up to touch under your eyes. Your eyeshadow and mascara must be a mess by now. You splay your hand across your face, as if trying to hide it— which you know is stupid, especially considering the fact the rest of your body is naked under Yoongi's gaze. He huffs out a laugh and takes your hands with his own, pulling them away. "Nooo," you whine. "Don't look at me."

One of Yoongi's eyebrows rises. "Why would I ever want to look away from you?"

You wriggle. "Yoongi," you whine again, equal parts pleased and embarrassed, but you let your hands go limp and Yoongi pulls you to your feet. "You're shameless."

"And you're gorgeous," he says, simply. "Come on, you'll get cold."

Yoongi lets you clean up first. It's weird how comfortable you are as you navigate your way around Yoongi and Jin's bathroom— you pilfer one of Jin's makeup wipes to clean your face— and how natural it feels to accept the shirt Yoongi gives you, an oversized, stretched-out old thing that's gone soft from years of wear. You're perched on the bathroom counter as you slide it on, glancing down at the design on the front, and you instantly perk up when you see what it is.

"You do love Kumamon," you say with delight. 

Yoongi stops in the middle of brushing his teeth, looking a little ridiculous with the minty froth around his lips but still just as kissable. He rinses his mouth and spits, wiping his lips with a towel before he makes a face at you.

"Jin told you about that, too?"

"I want to see your slippers," you say in reply and Yoongi groans. You can't help but giggle, feeling sleepy and soft and affectionate, and you touch your fingers under Yoongi's chin so that you can press a quick kiss to his lips. "I think it's cute."

By the time you've both finished your ablutions and you slide off the counter, you feel tired, what little energy you had after being fucked by Yoongi completely gone from you; you slide onto Yoongi's bed gratefully, glad to be off your feet. You hold your hands up and beckon for him to join you, but then let out a sharp laugh of surprise when he tugs his rumpled blanket off the bed from underneath you and lets it drop to the floor. "Yoongi!"

"I'll be right back," he says. While you wait, you decide to stretch, eyes slipping shut as you extend your limbs. You know you'll feel the ache between your legs tomorrow, a little thrill skating through you at the knowledge that Yoongi's touch has left a physical reminder, something only you can feel and no one else can see.

When your eyes flutter open again, you see Yoongi standing at the bottom of the bed, a different blanket gathered in his arms. He's staring at you, and you realise that the material of his shirt has moved as you've stretched, hitching up over your hips. Even though you're both tired, Yoongi's eyes still darken when you shift your legs, and you bask under his attention.

"A different blanket?" You ask, curious, and Yoongi's eyes slide away from your still-bare core back up to your face.

"It's Jin's," he says. "I wasn't about to let you sleep on sweaty sex sheets."

"I don't mind," you say, honestly, but Yoongi proceeds to lay Jin's blanket across the bed anyway. "Jin's not going to be happy about this," you add, but you say it with a laugh, instantly curling up into Yoongi when he lays down beside you.

"He'll live." Yoongi's arm comes around you, fingers trailing over your shoulder; you lapse into silence and let your eyes shut, focusing on Yoongi's movements. It feels like he’s pressing piano keys down and playing a silent song against your skin. You can't help but smile, starting to drift off, when Yoongi speaks again. "Let me take you out for breakfast."

"Hm?" Your eyes open and you blink away your sleepiness to look up at Yoongi, who's still watching you. "Breakfast?"

"Yes." Yoongi's fingers still on your shoulder, and then he slides his hand down to tangle your fingers with his. "Or lunch. Or dinner. Whichever you prefer." He pauses. "Unless you don't want to," he says, and though his voice stays steady, you see a flicker of nervousness in his eyes. He's worried that you've gotten what you want and now you'll be done with him.

"You're so silly," you say softly, and you can see how Yoongi's face twists with confusion, unsure about how to react to being called silly— you can't imagine many people have said that to him, as outwardly intimidating as he can be. You squeeze his hand. "Of course I want to. But how about we plan it tomorrow? I don't know how long it's going to take me to be comfortable with walking in a straight line, so breakfast might be off the cards for now."

After a moment, Yoongi's face takes on a satisfied expression. "That's what you said you wanted," he says, and you huff out an amused breath.

"I technically said I wanted you to bend me over a piano, actually," you point out, letting your head settle in the crook of his neck again, and Yoongi brushes his lips against your forehead.

"There's a piano in the living room," he states casually, and you can't help the shiver that runs through you, even as your eyes start to fall shut again.

"I'll keep that in mind."

–

jiminnie y/n!! tae said you called in sick for work? are you okay??

you i'm good! just a lil busy

jiminnie with what?

you [image attached]

jiminnie … why have you sent me a photo of a piano?

you yoongi's gonna fuck me on it omg on that note i've gtg BYE LOVE YOU MINNIE xoxoxo

jiminnie WHAT??? OMG??? GET THAT DICK QUEEN!!!

[kopikokun]

Snack Run with a Snack༄ j.jh

↳ On your usual movie night with the members, they assign you sudden snack collecting duty. You’re a little peeved, but at least Jaehyun offers to tag along. Unfortunately for you, things really aren’t going in your favour tonight.

pairing: idol!jaehyun x camera operator!reader (feat. johnny, jungwoo & doyoung)

genre: fluff, comedy, co-workers to lovers

warning(s): expletives

word count: 3526 words

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: crush (souly had) ✧ mango love (shawn wasabi, satica) ✧ make you feel pretty (lovelytheband)

Request 39: Jaehyun x Staff!Reader during movie night where she’s an extrovert and is close to all of the members.

← BACK TO NAVI.

— 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝.

Your fortnightly movie nights are always something you anticipate eagerly, no matter how frequent or repetitive they may be. It’s always nice being able to take a breather from the grievous monotony of your daily schedule to just kick back and—essentially—do nothing. You know the rest of the members cherish these ephemeral moments too, because despite all odds, they’ll valiantly try to show up and join you, or at the very least make an appearance. Once, Ten had even barged in, still with his extensions intact.

    To be fair, you’re not any better. When you heard that Jaehyun was participating the other day, you had dropped all other priorities just to come over. Safe to say, your roommate was not pleased seeing the state of the abandoned living room.

    Your vision sweeps the perimeter of the room. Usually, it’s packed to full capacity, but there are only four others here besides you today.

    “The glasses.” Doyoung purses his lips, planting his stare on a startled Jungwoo. “Where are the glasses? I thought I told you to get them?”

    Jungwoo smacks a hand to his mouth, the sound of skin against skin so loud that you wince on his behalf. “It totally slipped my mind. Honest to God. I got sidetracked.” He clasps your—an innocent bystander’s—shoulder with such force that you physically jolt forward. Jungwoo flashes you his signature million dollar smile.“Hey, could you be a dear and help me out? I still haven’t decided what movie we should watch tonight.”

    “Yeah, sure.” You grimace, already turning on your heel, mumbling, “You didn’t have to hit me.”

    “Thanks!” he calls after you. “And sorry!”

    His voice cuts through the hurried chattering between Jaehyun and Johnny which comes into earshot as you step into the kitchen. Their mouths move at the speed of bullet trains and Jaehyun’s hands flutter around his pensive face frantically. Maybe it’s the rose-tinted lenses, but the sight endears you. The slightest of chuckles escapes your lips at his delirium.

    Their bodies seize, their zealous conversation slipping into a steady silence.

    “What’s wrong?” you smirk. “Were you guys talking about me?”

    “No,” Jaehyun snaps, so quickly that it almost prickles. “Why would we be talking about you?”

    “Ouch,” you pout, masquerading the sting with a frivolous cadence . “How mean.”

    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “What are you doing here? I thought you were, uh, clearing the table?” There’s a nervous edge to Jaehyun’s voice which insinuates that he knows something you don’t.

    “I was, but then Jungwoo asked me to get the glasses in his stead since he’s too busy fussing over which movie we should watch.”

    Johnny laughs. “I should go help him out then, or he’ll be stuck on the selection page for ages.” He pats Jaehyun’s back as he leaves. “Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

    You toss an inquisitive glance at Jaehyun. He turns away, cheeks blooming with colour.

    Admittedly, you’re more than intrigued by what Jaehyun had been so ardently conversing about. A small part of you whispers the possibility of it being you, and your heart soars. Now you’re the one getting sidetracked. Of course, you are. This is one of the rare moments you and Jaehyun have shared alone. Although you see him almost daily, there’s always someone closeby; a fellow staff or member of the group. And while you’d consider yourself someone who thrives in social situations, there’s nothing more you desire than a few seconds in solitude with the charming man.

   You swing the plywood cupboard door open, extinguishing your idle delusions, the handle cool in your grasp. Three shelves greet your vision; each stuffed full with either miscellaneous tableware or seldom used kitchen utensils. You spot the mug you gave Mark for his birthday collecting dust in the corner and scoff bitterly. And he said it’s his ‘favourite mug’.

    Your face screws in bewilderment. Usually, the glasses are graciously arranged on the bottom shelf; easily accessible for the people who are less gifted in the height department (namely you). Strangely, today they are at the very top, shoved deep inside, so far in that you’d think that it had been done with malicious intent. If they were in the middle, perhaps you could’ve reached them with a little extra effort, but given their current position, even on your tiptoes you wouldn’t even come close. The tips of your fingers barely graze the bottom portion of the glass. You huff.

    “Do you need help?”

    Your head swivels to see a clearly humoured Jaehyun, his eyebrow arched.

   “Yeah, someone’s kept the glasses on the top shelf,” you grumble, tenaciously continuing to reach for them despite knowing that you and your height—or rather, lack of it—have been bested. “Must’ve been Johnny. The tall-ass.”

    “You’re probably right. It wouldn’t be his first time either.” You groan in exertion. “Hold on, let me help.”

    “Thanks, Jae—”

    Your eyes widen and your stature stiffens. Just the smell of his aftershave is enough to knock you out.

    Jaehyun’s chest presses against your back firmly. His hot breath tickles your neck; the fine hairs stand on end. His right arm, hugged in the most breathtaking way by a black sweatshirt, reaches forward while his left is planted on the counter in front of you, caging you in. You’ve done your fair share of ogling at Jaehyun’s more than ravishing physique before, but only from afar. At this proximity however, you can individually trace every vein on his forearm. They’re like roots branching across the ample muscle. God, you’re making it very apparent that you’re staring.

    While probably not the most proficient, you don’t dispute this method of reaching for glasses. You’re sure Jaehyun knows there are better ways to do this too.

    Stunned, you all but stare in what you can only describe as awe at Jaehyun’s side-profile. Sharp lines accentuated by peculiarly delicate features, you can’t help but imagine how it would feel like running your fingers over the curves of his cheekbones, the arch of his nose and the dip of his cupid’s bow.

    Jaehyun’s gaze latches onto yours, his arm still hanging above your head. You swallow dryly before licking your lips. Jaehyun’s jaw clenches, the movement guiding his eyes to them. The counter is digging into your hip.

    “I got the glasses,” he breathes, your vicinity means you can practically taste the mint on his tongue.

    “Thanks,” you mumble.

    Neither of you move farther or closer to each other.

    Jaehyun places the glasses beside you. “I should probably go set up the projector now.”

    “Yeah, you should.” No, don’t.

    He nods curtly, prods the inside his cheek with his tongue and shuffles out of the kitchen. You lean on the counter, recomposing yourself. Your heart pounds in your ribcage. Jaehyun’s lingering aftershave muddles any chance of a coherent thought.

    What was that?

    Sure, over the past week or two, you and Jaehyun have made your ever augmenting attraction to one another remarkably tangible, but neither of you had acted upon it. Until now.

    Dazed, you almost forget to do what you had initially come in here for. You have to literally turn a 180 to retrieve the five glasses which sit innocuously on the countertop; they lay witness to your sins.

    “So, how’d it go?”

    “Did you do it?”

    “Well, technically no, but—”

    The four men are huddled together in the middle of the living room, each with equally suspicious expressions carved into their faces. Jaehyun’s back is turned to you as he’s hunched over, almost like he’s sharing some petty gossip.

    You set the glasses down on the communal dining table, shift your weight on one leg and perch your hands on your hips like a disgruntled teacher waiting for her class to fall silent. Doyoung is first to sense your presence, nudging Johnny and jutting his chin towards you.

    You can’t suppress the snort that courses through you when—simultaneously—all four of them disperse. It looks almost rehearsed.

    “Why are you guys acting so weird today?”

   Johnny sputters, Jungwoo chokes on presumably his own spit, Doyoung makes a sound which resembles more of a wheeze than a cough, and Jaehyun’s body goes completely rigid.

    “We’re not acting weird,” scoffs Johnny.

    You’re unconvinced. Just the way the whole room was immediately shrouded in a thick cloud of tension at your question was very telling.

    “Yes, you ar—”

    “Alright then,” Jaehyun clasps both of his hands together like a middle-aged man in the midst of a conference, “the movie! Jungwoo, what did you pick this week?”

    Jungwoo hammers a fist to his heaving chest. “I picked Jojo Rabbit.”

    “Oh, Minji noona watched it the other day. She told me it was so good she cried,” Johnny says. “And she rarely—if ever—cries over movies, or anything, really.”

    “Why didn’t she and the others come over today? They’re always here for movie night.” By the others, you’re referring to the rest of the staff who are usually present. Being more or less the same age, the members naturally gravitated towards the rest of you; your closeness in years meant that you could easily relate to one another. You’d consider yourself a decently convivial person as well, which was probably another fundamental factor.

    Once again, a restless fog congests the room. You seem to have struck another nerve.

    Jungwoo tightens his grip on the remote. “They were… busy.”

    His spontaneous lie is deplorable at best, but you let it slide.

    You assume they think your conjectures have diffused because they seem to share a relieved glance; Jaehyun casts an appreciative smile to the bunch. He clears his throat. You don’t miss the mental exchange between him and Johnny, who grins wittingly.

    “How about the snacks?”

    All eyes are on you.

    Your eyebrows cinch. “What?”

    “The snacks,” Jungwoo reiterates. “You’re on snack duty.”

    The way he says it makes it sound like you were aware of this. “No, I’m not.”

    “Yeah, we told you in the groupchat,” Doyoung says. Jungwoo seems to be restraining a smile.

    “No, you in fact, did not.” Scorned by this blatant accusation, you begin fishing your phone from your front pocket to show the others that none of you had come to that agreement.

    Jaehyun’s hand coils around your wrist, halting your movements. “I’ll come.”

    “I’m sorry?”

    “I’ll come along with you to get the snacks,” his grip loosens, “if you want me to.”

    “Oh.” Your arm falls limp to your side. You study Jaehyun’s earnest gaze. “Sure.”

    It’s painfully palpable that the rest of the group were expecting this; their lips curling with a smirk of gaiety.

    “Great, I’ll go grab some cash.”

You really should have thought twice about letting Jaehyun tag along.

    “You should’ve stayed at home.”

    “I wanted to come.”

    You’re reasonably terrified, both for you and Jaehyun’s sake. Getting recognised out in public is an all too plausible scenario, and you really do not have the resolve or strength to fend off a horde of fans right now.

    “Relax, it’s like 11pm. Nobody’s going to be just walking out here. At least, not anybody sober.”

    While he makes a valid point, you’re still skittish. “Alright, but keep your head down.”

    “How will I see where I’m going?”

    Collecting your wits, you reach for his hand to tug him forward. “I’ll lead the way.”

    Though Jaehyun is more than capable of staying grounded in his spot, you drag him along with relative ease, like a lifeless rag doll.

    “I… was just kidding.”

    Not looking back, you say, “Does that mean you want me to let go of your hand?”

    Brazenly, Jaehyun intertwines his fingers with yours, strengthening his palm’s embrace. A jolt of exaltation zips up your spine.

    “No, don’t.”

    The remainder of the brisk walk to the convenience store is spent in exhilarating quietude, one that conveys a hundred messages. Not once does Jaehyun’s hold of your hand weaken.

    The intimacy of the store welcomes you wholeheartedly. From its single constantly flickering bulb, that one cooler door with the rickety handle, and to the out-of-order slushie machine, you could peruse this store with your eyes closed. Being NCT’s camera operator first and designated snack buyer second, you’ve been in here more times than anyone should ever have to be in a lifetime.

    It’s not the most popular store on the block. Their selection is limited, their interior outdated, but in your humble opinion, they are leagues ahead of any other store out there. Plus, it’s usually vacant, meaning minor risk of being spotted. Other than you, Jaehyun and the single weary employee, there’s only one other person in here, a tattered hood draped over their head. While they’re sketchy in a certain sense, you’re confident that they don’t pose a threat to you or Jaehyun’s safety.

    “I’ll go get the crisps and you get the chocolates,” you declare, standing on your tiptoes.

    “Chocolates? We’re getting chocolates? We already have some in the fridge.”

    “Okay, then I’m getting chocolates.”

Another reason you love this place to bits is because of its prices. Everything is outrageously cheap. The first time you had visited, wet behind the ears, soul bursting with vigour yet pockets embarrassingly empty, you almost cried. You had one of the best dinners of your early adult life in this very store. Sure, it was just a truckload of processed, packaged food, but here’s the thing: it was a truckload. And when you’re as financially stable as a thumbtack balancing on the tip of its point, a truckload of food is a blessing bestowed by the Gods.

    So, safe to say, you and Jaehyun definitely got your money’s worth.

    In fact, in the time the two of you expended scouring the aisles for tid-bits, a forlorn cloud had consumed the sky. It had started raining. Lightly at first, but the drizzle had swiftly transitioned into a furious storm.

    Thunder claps in the distance, the sound so tumultuous it shakes the tiles of the store floor, the vibrations so intense they reach the tip of your head.

    “Do you have enough money for an umbrella?” you ask.

    “Even with an umbrella, I think it’d be too dangerous for us to go out there,” Jaehyun says, and as if to illustrate his point, another bolt of lightning strikes the Earth. The convenience store trembles. “And no, I don’t have enough money for an umbrella.” From the tone of Jaehyun’s voice, his delight is hidden by the pretense that he too is upset by this development.

    “Then I guess we’ll have to call one of the guys to pick us up.”

    Jaehyun’s expression immediately turns sour. “I mean, yeah… I guess we could.”

    Under normal circumstances, you would have been pouncing at the opportunity to spend some quality one-on-one time with Jaehyun, alas, three other undoubtedly starving men are waiting for your return.

    A long, dull white counter, meant for customers to sit and eat at faces the heavy gloom outside. Droplets of rain cling to the glass like fluorescent crystals embedded to cave caverns, before slipping down in a wavering trickle, racing each other to the bottom. You take a seat on one of the plastic stools and Jaehyun takes the one beside you, dropping the bag of snacks to the floor.

    “Hello?” Johnny’s sonorous voice greets through your speakers.

    Jaehyun stares at you, anguished. To his right, the hooded stranger from earlier slips into the third stool, leaning forward and shelving their chin on a palm. They stare outside the window.

    “Hey, Johnny. We got the snacks, but Jaehyun and I have a separate problem.”

    “I know. It’s pouring.”

    “Exactly,” you nod. Jaehyun looks like he’s about to crumble into a heap of anxiety. “Can you pick us up? We don’t have enough cash to hail a taxi.”

    There’s a commotion on the other side of the line; hushed discussion and rustling of fabric. You can’t pick up a lot, only the words, “Yeah.” and “So, that’s what we’ll say?”

    “Sorry,” Johnny finally says, after much delay. “I can’t.”

    “What do you mean you can’t?”

    Beside you, Jaehyun visibly perks.

    “Car’s being repaired,” he replies languidly. “Mark popped a tyre while learning to drive the other day.”

    You groan. “You’re joking.”

    “Dead serious.”

    “God, the car just had to be out today of all days.”

    “Sorry, it can’t be helped,” Johnny sighs, a twinge of mischief to his voice. “The matter’s out of my hands.”

    “It’s fine. We’ll just… wait it out or something.”

    “We’ll try and see if any of the others can swing by and pick you guys up, so just stay put for now.”

    “Alright thanks, Johnny. Sorry about tonight.”

    “Nah, it’s fine,” he says. “Have fun with Jae.”

    The call ends with a click before you can probe Johnny further.

    “No go?” Jaehyun chirps.

    You shake your head. “No, though you don’t seem bummed out about it.”

    “Yeah,” he shrugs. “It’s not often I can spend some time alone with you anyway. In a way, I’m glad.” You bite the flesh of your cheek, face turning hot. Jaehyun turns in his seat, reaching down for the plastic bag. “And, we have snacks to—”

    His eyebrows furrow.

    “Jae?” His adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “The snacks?”

    “They’re… gone.”

    “What?”

    “I put them right here beside me, but they’re gone! I swear I—”

    The bell above the door chimes as the mysterious figure—the one who had been sat beside Jaehyun mere seconds ago—dashes out, with, lo and behold, a very familiar plastic bag dangling in their grasp.

    You point a finger towards them. “They stole our snacks!”

    Jaehyun’s head whips around to gawk at the culprit who has already made their way out of the store, head-first into Mother Nature’s wrath. He leaps out of his seat, hell-bent on chasing the person down, practically foaming at the mouth. “Motherfucker—”

    This time, you’re the one who grips his wrist. “Jaehyun, wait. It’s not worth it.”

    “They just stole all of our snacks! Am I supposed to just watch them get away with them?” he seethes. If not for his genuinely fuming expression, you would’ve laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

    “They already had a head-start, Jae. I doubt you’ll be able to chase them down. And what if someone sees you? How are we supposed to explain why Jung Jaehyun of NCT was sprinting in the rain after a stranger with a bag of snacks?”

    His shoulders sag. “But… our snacks… and your chocolate! What about your chocolate?”

    “It’s fine. I didn’t even get the version I liked. They were all out of the original ones.”

    Jaehyun slumps back into his seat, defeated. “Should we call the police?”

    You snicker. “And tell them our snacks got stolen? They’d laugh in our faces.”

    “I hate that you’re right. I wish they’d treat snack theft with the same severity of other crimes,” he jests, despite still being obviously disheartened. “Hope whoever that was gets struck by lightning and fucking sizzles out there.” He cards a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

    “It wasn’t your fault, Jae. I mean, who the hell steals snacks anyway?”

    “No, not that. Well, I am sorry about that but what I meant was... I screwed this up.”

    “Screwed what up?”

    “You know how everyone was acting really strangely today?”

    “You guys weren’t being very secretive about it.”

    He huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well, it was because they were helping me get us alone.”

    Jaehyun’s confession is like the final piece of a puzzle; the final thread to connect all the dots together. “So that explains why everyone collectively decided to not show up today, and why the glasses were on the top shelf, and why you guys said I was on snack duty when I clearly wasn’t! And I bet the car isn’t even busted too!”

    He nods, a wry smile etched onto his lips. “The glasses weren’t actually a part of the plan, but in the end, they were in my favour, so I’m not pissed about it.” You flush as the memory floods you. “They did all of that, and yet I still blew it.”

    “Who said you blew it?” you say. Jaehyun lifts his head to look at you. “We’re alone right now, aren’t we?”

    He swipes his tongue over his teeth. “Well, yeah, I suppose we are.”

    “So, just tell me you like me already.”

    Jaehyun jerks back in his seat. “You knew?”

    “Of course I knew,” you grin, “because, I like you too.”

    His face breaks out into the widest smile possible; one that stretches his lips so much that it must ache. “You do?”

    “Yes, I do,” you giggle. “Even though you got our snacks stolen.”

    By the time you two make it back to the dorm, clothes dripping rainwater onto the carpet, lips swollen from stolen kisses, and smiles teeming with euphoria, the rest of the street is already dark. Johnny, Jungwoo and Doyoung greet you with knowing smiles and playful comments.

    “Look, I’m super happy for you guys and stuff but,” Jungwoo gestures to your empty hands, “where the hell are the snacks?”

[narrans]

A Tall and Small Collection | Soren | Bottlecaps and Borrowers

The four days that followed were tense, but manageable. She evidently was able to work from the apartment as she saw fit, and so was more present than Soren initially anticipated. He suspected there were times she was in the apartment when he was borrowing, which was somewhat unnerving.

Thankfully, she didn’t hover Soren was able to spend time resting quietly and Ashlynn kept to herself except during meals when she brought Soren part of what she prepared for herself.

His original clothing was in disgusting, unrecoverable tatters, so Ashlynn had brought him some fabric pieces so he could fashion a new shirt and pants which were easier to maneuver in with his cast. On one of the days, she brought a bowl of warmed water and a towel so he could clean himself – something he was immensely grateful for.

During these four days, Ashlynn took advantage of asking him questions; however, the questions were random and seemingly meaningless. Ashlynn asked simple things like his preference of food and if he liked his current sleeping arrangement on the soft bundle of cloth. She asked if he needed any supplies to keep him occupied or if he would rather be placed somewhere else other than her bedside table.

Soren was reluctant to utter any other words to Ashlynn after their deal – at first – but he could find no reason to refuse after the first day; and being asked simple seemingly meaningless questions in some way reminded Soren of his younger brothers. There was nothing revealing about borrower kind by telling Ashlynn his favorite color was a pale mint green. Their conversations were minimal, but still present.

He hated to admit it, but speaking to someone felt nice and he noticed the tremor in his voice and shaking in his torso dissipating gradually. He maintained his guard and refused to take anything for granted, but his breath wasn’t hitching the way it used to – for better or worse.

Also during those four days, Soren had something on his mind; a dangerous question he wanted the answer to and yet he was wary of what answer he may receive. Did Ashlynn already know about borrowers? And, if so, how?

Each time Ashlynn came into the room for something or another, Soren felt the urge to ask; yet refrained every time. Perhaps it was a lingering apprehension toward humans; or maybe he didn’t want to know the answer.

It wasn’t until dinner on the fifth day that Ashlynn sighed after giving him several long, passive stares and directed her full attention to him.

“What?” she asked with a touch of indignance. Soren, who hadn’t realized he was staring, looked down at his thimble quickly. “Naw, don’t give me that. You’ve been staring for days like you want to say something. Did I break one of the rules? Am I in trouble? What?”

Soren, hearing some tension in her voice, felt a nervousness creeping back over him. He knew he didn’t like to be watched, but it was a strange realization that a human could be unnerved with the same action. Feeling like he didn’t want to make circumstances worse, he cleared his throat and elected to ask his question.

“It’s…” Soren readjusted, finding it hard to find the right words in the moment. “It’s just that you don’t seem that… surprised at seeing someone… like me.” Ashlynn’s brow furrowed and her eyes narrowed in confusion for a moment.

“Like you?” she asked.

“Yeah, like me. You know, a B…” Soren caught himself before he said the word “Borrower.” He took a breath as his chest tightened. “A tiny. Someone my size.” He hated to call himself “tiny,” but it was the first thing he could think of that described his form next to Ashlynn. For a moment, Soren worried that Ashlynn wasn’t taking the information well and that, possibly, she thought he was implying that she had done something to a Borrower in the past; but, before he could explain, he watched her features soften.

Ashlynn leaned back slightly, her eyes distant, and she sighed. “No, I haven’t come across anyone your size.” Soren found himself sighing in relief while his mind continued to feel muddled – until Ashlyn began to continue. “At least… not really.”

Soren’s eyes snapped up to Ashlynn. [Not really? What does ‘not really’ mean?] Ashlynn noticed Soren’s change and voluntarily continued explaining.

“My great-grandmother on my dad’s side lived on her own and was convinced that there were, as she described them, ‘tiny people’ who lived in the walls. She said she saw them and heard them. I was really young at the time and she was a lot older and was suffering from memory loss. I didn’t think anything of it, but,” Ashlynn paused, pressing her lips together until they were a very thin line.

“But?” pressed Soren, his curiosity getting the better of him. Ashlynn blinked away the memory and looked over to Soren, not holding his gaze for long.

“But, I thought I saw some… one… once.” Ashlynn’s words hung in the air. [So… she has seen a Borrower before.] “It was only for a second and I was really young. I’m still not sure what I saw; but, after hearing my great-grandmother talk, it sounds like she wasn’t wrong.” Ashlynn inhaled deeply and sighed, deep in thought and nostalgia. Soren looked away, now feeling slightly intrusive, began wondering what a great-grandmother was.

Was she a favorite grandmother? Was she better that the other in some way? Soren didn’t know and felt uneasy at asking another question. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear Ashlynn ask him a question and a sharp snap brought him out of his trance.

“What?” asked Soren, dazed.

“I said what were your great-grandparents like?” asked Ashlynn. “Did you know them?” Soren had to think for a moment, feeling a knot form in his stomach. Ashlynn was getting dangerously close to personal information; yet, at the same time, she seemed to already suspect Soren wasn’t the only one of his kind in existence.

“I… I don’t think I have one of those,” he muttered. “I mean, I only knew my dad’s father, so I guess he would be my great-grandparent.” Ashlynn’s expression exploded from concerned to highly amused. She pressed her hand to her face and began to laugh. Soren, completely confused, felt himself bristle as she must be laughing at his expense without him noticing.

“I’m sorry… I shouldn’t be laughing. No,” said Ashlynn as she gasped for air, an immense grin on her face. “A great-grandparent is your grandparent’s parents. Not a favorite.”

“Oh,” muttered Soren. “I… well then, no. I didn’t know my great-grandfather.” He didn’t realize he folded his arms across his chest.

“Aww, no. Don’t be like that. I said I was sorry. Really,” said Ashlynn. Soren, still looking down, shrugged. He couldn’t help but think about what little he knew about his grandfather and how all of that wouldn’t be possible now. He found himself thinking of his brothers and wondering where they were and if they would remember him in their stories to their children.

“It… it’s okay. Just another reminder that…” Soren felt his throat constrict involuntarily. He cleared it nervously and shifted as his eyes began burning. He hurriedly rubbed his averted eyes. “Never mind.” Ashlynn, now very quiet, stared at him curiously and no longer in amusement. They shared silence for a time before Ashlynn broke the barrier.

“What did you call him?” she asked. “Your grandfather, I mean. Did you call him gramps, or grandfather?” Soren had to think about it for a moment, recalling the faded memory.

“Pops,” he muttered. “I called him Pops, and he always had a soda pop shield that he let me play with sometimes; but that’s been years ago.”

“The metal kind?” asked Ashlynn. Soren let a smile tug at the corner of his lip.

“Yeah,” he replied. They exchanged a thoughtful look – one Soren hadn’t had experienced in a long time – and let the silence surround them again. After a few minutes, Ashlynn readjusted and grabbed the dishes from dinner. Before leaving, she glanced back at Soren.

“Do… you want to come with me to the kitchen? I mean… I don’t know if you want company or if you’d rather be alone.” Ashlynn’s offer took Soren by surprise. He thought for a moment. The same apprehension he felt toward Ashlynn was quickly dissipating, but why he didn’t know. “I wouldn’t touch your or anything – rules and stuff. I’d just bring the box and let you sit or stand or whatever.” Soren swallowed dryly.

“I… no thank you,” he said, instantly feeling guilty at the pained look in Ashlynn’s eyes. “Wait!” Ashlynn stopped dead in her tracks at Soren’s sudden shout. “What I meant was… no thank you… for now. I’m just a bit tired now and want to get some sleep. But… maybe tomorrow?”

Ashlynn said nothing. She barely glanced back to catch his eye, but Soren could have sworn he saw a smile crest over the edge of her face and her head was held a little higher as she left the room.

Soren, unsure of what possessed him, laid back on the makeshift bed. What was he doing? Agreeing to let the human take him somewhere? That was insane! Still, Soren couldn’t help but feel like something happened during their conversation this day. He slipped into sleep in an instant and welcomed the abyss behind his eyes.

He didn’t hear Ashlynn come in or get ready for bed. He didn’t notice when she awoke and went to the kitchen for the morning. What he did notice was the metal bottlecap from some red soda bottle sitting near his bed. Soren pulled the hefty piece closer and inspected it, instantly nostalgic. Emotion pricked the corners of his eyes and a single thought crept into his mind as he wiped his eyes. [Okay… maybe she’s not so bad for a human.]

Continue

Previous

Beginning

[rome5683]

The Love Charade

Chapter Three: New Start

His eyes were angry but also had another emotion, they were like green calming flames, demanding your submission. "We aren't friends."

She gulped. The hand on her arm made goosebumps grow on every inch of her skin. "We're not?"

The smirk on his pinkish lips, the ones his tongue grazed over lightly, gave unease to her core. "We are..."

His hand left her arm, and went up to her face as he gently grazed her bottom lip with his thumb. Then, he genuinely smiled, his demeanor changing but his eyes the same: mad with lust. "We are much more than friends..."

Suddenly, unease wasn't the only thing her 'core' felt.

Marinette's eyes opened fast, her ringtone bugging her head and she groaned. Picking up the phone, she spoke into it, with her voice still groggy, she muttered, "Hello?"

"Hey, I'm coming over to pick you up."

Her eyes almost popped out of her head at the recognition of his voice, "A-Adrien?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh my gosh, Adrien! Um, yeah! Sure! Right now?" She got up fast, going to her closet and looking through her mess of clothes for something to wear. "Wait, where are we going?"

"It's a surprise, but yeah, when else? Are you busy right now?" He nervously chuckled.

"Oh! For you? Never, heh. I mean, not just for you, I try to be early- Ah!" By her luck, Marinette's leg slipped on one of her pairs of smooth jeggings, and she fell on her butt. She groaned, hitting the exact spot where her tailbone was when she fell. "I just have the worst of luck."

From behind her, she heard Tikki and the other kwamis giggling at her misfortune. Adrien laughed wholeheartedly, her clumsiness making her seem cute even over the phone. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing, I just slipped." She got up, rubbing her sore bottom. "Um... What time do you think you'll be here?"

"How does five minutes sound?"

"WHAT? Five minutes?!" She shrieked, putting the phone on speaker as she looked into her closet quicker for her outfit for the day.

"Yeah, is that okay?" She felt his smirk from the other side of the phone, and blushed. How could she say no?

"I-It's okay. I'm almost ready anyways.."

"Alright, princess. I'll see you in a few." Marinette's neck and face flushed as she heard him chuckle and hang up. Princess, he called me princess. I mean, that's what Chat Noir used to call me, but it never really affected me until now. Ahh! If he does that again I'm gonna lose it.

Heart still pounding, Marinette shook her head and started to put a cute outfit together, but there was one thing Marinette had in the back of her mind, one thing that irked her. The boy in her dreams had black cat ears, and messy blonde hair. She wasn't dreaming about Adrien, no, she had been dreaming about Chat.

Marinette groaned aloud, looking at her shirts. "Tikki, I really think we should tell Adrien."

Tikki frowned to herself, and flew close to her ladybug. "Martinette, you know it's too dangerous. Especially if you're seen fraternizing with Chat Noir in civilian form, Hawkmoth might use you against him!"

Marinette looked at her kwami with pleading eyes, "But Tikki-"

"Marinette, there's a reason Master Fu trusted you to be the guardian. You don't put your feelings over your head, while Adrien, although sweet, can mix feelings and logic."

Marinette stepped in front of the mirror, patting down her skirt. Guilt seeped in the pit of her stomach. Maybe one day…

-

Adrien woke up, his hand flew to the alarm, disabling it, and getting up immediately to get ready. He thought of yesterday, when Marinette was on top of him, and so close. God, he really had to re-evaluate his morals, especially when the memory had caused something he wasn't prepared to deal with so early in the morning.

He slipped on a nice outfit, a standard black tee and black pants. He ruffled his hair slightly out of habit, wanting to show his wild side, his Chat Noir ego.

"Plagg, come on, we gotta go meet Marinette." The black feline-like kwami chuckled to himself as Adrien looked himself up and down in his mirror.

"Why Marinette? She your new girlfriend?" He nibbled on some Camembert, teasing him lightly. He knew Adrien's love for Ladybug was practically unbreakable since the first time he laid his eyes on her.

"Maybe, you never know."

Plagg spit out his cheese, choking, and looked at him in surprise. "What?" He sputtered, "B-But what about-"

Adrien petted the kwami behind his ears, laughing joyously. "Just teasing, Plagg. Calm down. Now I think I need to call her..." His voice trailed off as he reached for his phone.

Plagg looked at him in wonder. He wondered what would happen when he learned the girl of his dreams and his 'friend' were one in the same. Plagg scowled, and took another bite of his camembert.

He dialed Marinette's number and smiled. Knowing the girl, she was probably asleep. But calling ahead of time was preferable for someone who is always running late. "Hey, I'm coming over to pick you up."

He smiled, conversing with her. His conscience was muddled, yet his heart and body had a clear, different feeling to Marinette.

-

His heart stopped as soon as he saw her. His heart swelled, and so did hers the minute they really laid eyes upon one another. He knew it was just to explain what was going on but it felt like, well, it almost felt like a date.

Marinette smiled, her cheeks rosy with blush as his eyes practically devoured every inch of her body. She was so beautiful. Her dark navy blue hair, usually wrapped in her iconic ponytails, was now let down with the exception of the top half being held back with a small, white bow. Her usual attire was replaced with a casual dress, the top was white lace with flowers designed all around it while the bottom was an above the knee pink flowing skirt along with her light pink flats. Her smile though, it topped off the whole look. He felt himself flustered as well, he had felt over-dressed, but clearly was well appreciated by the glance her eyes did every now and then.

She bit her lip nervously, his messy hair, his black attire really showing his wild and flowing spirit. It was all so, so...attractive.

She shook her head, Adrien doesn't like me. He likes Ladybug. "Should we get going, Adrien?"

"O-Oh yeah. Right." He took her hand, his knees felt weak, but he disregarded them, and kissed the back of it. "Onward we shall go, m'lady."

"Falling for me already, M'lady? I need to talk to you." Chat Noir twisted his tail playfully, smirking up at the hanging superhero. Marinette, or Ladybug, shook her head and met him on the railing.

"It's got to wait, Dark Cupi- Uh, uh..." He pulled her close, shushing her and smiling blissfully. Her nerves wracked, surprised to hear what was so important.

"Shh. I swore to myself that I'd tell you as soon as I saw you..." Chat Noir, or Adrien disguised, had held a finger to her lips. Remembering that now sent butterflies across her abdomen.

"Ladybug... I... I- LOOK OUT!" His eyes flickered behind her quickly, turning them around and wincing as the arrow of hatred hit his back.

Ladybug gasped, "Chat Noir!" Still in his embrace, she felt herself tear up. 'No...'

Marinette remembered that day. His words of loathing that pained her... The kiss they shared, the kiss that brought him back to normal. The memory had hit her like a truck. My first kiss, it WAS with Adrien. Her eyes widened as soon as he had uttered those words, and she smiled. "Yes, we shall."

Adrien extended his arms, being charmingly silly and she laughed as she took it. "So, before we get into it… how about we get to know each other a bit?

"Oh? So like, what? Twenty questions?" She smiled, looking at the floor as they walked towards the park nearby.

"Precisely. I'll even start us off, if that's okay with you?"

"Okay, why not?"

Adrien and Marinette sat on a bench, and looked at her seriously. "Alright, Marinette. Answer this honestly…"

She chuckled, slightly nervous. "As honest as I can be."

"What's your favorite type of ice cream, Marinette?"

Marinette laughed and shook her head, the tension melting away. "Really? That's it? I thought-"

"That what? That I'd ask for your social security or something?" He smirked at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Well, to answer your question...I think they're all really good. But if I had to choose, it would be strawberry or red velvet. You?"

"Well, this cat enjoys himself some good strawberries. But I think my favorite has to be... mint chocolate chip. The freshness and chocolate is so good."

Marinette laughed, and then nodded in agreement. "Well, can't argue with that…"

"Alright, ask a question."

"Oh, my turn, okay…" Marinette looked up, pondering. "Ooh! I got one." She looked at him, smiling. "Night owl or early bird?"

"Oof, definitely night owl. But because of my busy modeling schedule and school, I wake up early all the time." Adrien shrugged, sighing. "My sleeping schedule is literally non-existent."

"Hah, amen to that. Akumas never stop, they are always causing a ruckus no matter what time it is."

Adrien laughed, "I guess you could say there ain't no rest for the wicked."

Marinette giggled, and subconsciously played with the ends of her hair. "Your turn."

Adrien smirked again, "Who's your favorite superhero?"

Marinette scoffed, rolling her eyes. "I think out of all of them, definitely Rena Rouge."

Adrien lightly and playfully shoved her, "Oh really? Does leather not do it for you?"

Smirking, she gave him a daring glance, "It actually does."

It had meant to be playful and teasing, but when Marinette uttered those words, they both just stayed silent. It was as if the playful tension had turned into something more. Marinette's brows furrowed, intensely staring into his beautiful green eyes with thoughts that swarmed inside her head, and conflictions burrowed in her heart. She was Ladybug. And as Ladybug, she had decided that no, leather did not do it for her. But now…I mean, this was Adrien we were talking about. But… it wasn't. He was so much more than that. He was her partner against crime, one of her best friends, and this whole time she had held him on top of a platform when all he had wanted was to be seen as someone normal. Someone free. Despite all that, Marinette couldn't bring herself to push her lips against his even though she desperately wanted to. This isn't right, she scolded herself. I can't just be with him because he's Adrien. I love part of him, but now...

Her eyes widened as she realized she had zoned out, and that Adrien and her were once again mere centimeters apart. She suddenly looked down, nervously chuckling as she evaded his gaze. "So, now that we got that part out of the way… shouldn't we talk about what we came here to talk about?"

Adrien recoiled, slightly moving away as he realized how close he had been, "O-Oh. Right. So, um, super powers…"

Marinette let out a dry laugh, "It’s like magic?"

Adrien took a deep breath, ready to really pour his soul out to her. It was weird that it was someone else rather than Plagg, but he was kind of happy about it nonetheless. "Well, part of it..."

She smiled softly, wanting to hear his side of the story. Adrien glanced at her, and smiled back. "It was the first day of school, and I had just gotten home from trying to attend it, and-"

"Wait, so your father didn't want you to go to school?" Marinette stopped, looking at him in confusion.

"Yeah, my father can be very… strict, I guess. He wanted me to do tutors and homeschooling, but I wanted to be like everyone else so I tried to. I was almost there too, but I saw an old man stumble without his cane, so I helped him up. But since I did that, Nathalie, my dad's assistant, and Gorilla, my bodyguard, blocked me from the school entrance."

Marinette gently placed a hand on his shoulder, "You helped out someone in need, like the hero you are, Adrien."

"Yeah. Anyway, I learned that the old man I helped was the one who gave me the miraculous I found in my bag. His name is Master Fu, and he was the last guardian of the miraculous."

Feigning obliviousness, Marinette tipped her head in confusion. "Miraculous?"

"They're basically pieces of jewelry. Like my ring," Adrien held his hand up, showing her the silver band, "it's what I use to transform into Chat Noir."

"Oh, like Ladybug and her earrings, right? And me as Multimouse with the necklace?"

Adrien nodded, "Yeah, and so basically, this specific miraculous is the power of destruction. I can use cataclysm, and m'lady, well, she is creation. She's basically the yin to my yang. I can't save Paris without her."

Marinette shifted uneasily, and sighed. "I promise I won't tell anyone, Adrien. You should just be more careful. I can't imagine what would've happened if it had been someone else, like Chloe Bourgeois…"

"Hey, Chloe isn't that bad."

"Oh yeah, it's not like she didn't tell the whole world she's Queen Bee or anything."

"Heh, yeah. I guess you're right." As Marinette looked at the ground, Adrien placed his hand on hers, which rested on her thigh. She looked down at his hand, and a slight blush crept on her cheeks. "I'm glad it was you, Marinette."

She smiled, looked up at him, and placed her hand on his cheek, "Me too."

-

"Get your tickets, right here at the fair!"

A man could hear the carnival manager from his cage, he frowned. They had just captured him yesterday, and they were in town for today. He saw the curtains open as he was on display for the world to see. His talent to breathe underwater had him believed to be a mermaid, so they had locked him in a large aquarium-like tub and basically imprisoned him. The kids tapped on the glass continuously, annoyingly, and then they ended up tipping him over.

He felt like he was suffocating. A fish without air, and as he grasped for something, anything as he writhed in pain, he ended up grabbing a piece of fork on the floor next to a plate of falafel, and then he felt something enter the tiny, plastic utensil.

"Hello, Triton. I am Hawk Moth, I'll help you get your revenge on all these townies and these wretched captors of yours."

"What's in it for you, Hawk Moth?" A butterfly shaped purple light shone on his face, the area around his eyes which shone with anger and hurt.

"Well, I'm glad you asked..."

-

Marinette and Adrien strolled down the street towards the ice cream parlor. "No well, I actually believe that there may be aliens out there."

"Oh come on, Adrien. Aliens, really?"

"Well, if there's a ring you put on so you can have a cat warped into your ring and then be turned into a leather-suited feline, I'm pretty sure there's another form of intelligent life out there."

Marinette chuckled, "You got me there, Chaton."

"WHERE'S LADYBUG?! SOMEBODY HELP!"

They looked over as people ran down the street, screaming for their lives in fear as water followed quickly behind. It wasn't enough for a tsunami, but enough to lightly flood the streets and cause panic.

"Run, you filthy humans! Run!"

Marinette's eyes widened, "Adrien.. you should go-"

Adrien shook his head, "You need to be safe first." He picked her up bridal-style, causing her to squeal as he ran down the street, looking for a place to change. She looked up at him, amidst all the chaos, and felt her cheeks burning up. Now is not the time, idiot.

"Adrien, there!" She pointed down an alley, and he ran into it quickly. He set her down gently, and smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry, you'll be safe. Plagg-"

Marinette grabbed his hand softly, interrupting him. "Adrien, you can't worry about me right now! I'll be fine, just go save Paris-"

"Do you seriously think I would leave you?!" His voice was angry, but his eyes showed care. "Do you seriously think I would leave you in danger?"

She stayed speechless, and he pulled his hand from her grasp.

"Plagg, claws out!" His kwami screamed, awakening from his slumber and being dragged into his ring. Green magic flowed around him as he turned into his alter ego, Chat Noir.

As his transformation finished, Marinette felt her breath leave her chest. This was real. Adrien was Chat... The boy I love... "C-Chat Noir..."

He grabbed her close, and lifted her up by her thighs with one hand.

Marinette stammered, "C-Chat, I don't think-"

Chat Noir ignored her cries and used his bo staff to extend to the roof. Still carrying her in his grasp, he started to run. She buried her face in his neck without thinking, holding on for dear life. Yet, even in this dire situation, all she could think of was how her body was flush against his. Not the time, not the time, NOT THE TIME-

They finally reached his house, he sat her down on his bed and locked the door to his room. "Stay here, Mari." He went to the window, about to leave, when she spoke.

"Maybe I can help, maybe I can go with you." Maybe I could just show him.

"No. Absolutely not."

"But-"

"I need you to be safe, You'll just distract me." He looked back, his eyes desperate, almost pleading. "Please."

Marinette nodded and smiled gently, "Okay... I'll stay here, I promise."

Chat stepped up to the window, hesitated for a second whilst glancing back to her, and ran out quickly.

Tikki flew out of her coin purse and looked at her confused, "You're not really going to stay here, right?"

"Marinette might. But certainly not Ladybug." She smirked, standing up and going into the restroom, locking it behind her. "Tikki, spots on!"

A bright pink light glowed throughout the bathroom as she turned into her alter-ego, then jumped out the window. Her yo-yo extended, and as she grappled from house to house and street to street, she helped the people in the streets from the water. It wasn't as bad as that one mermaid villain, but still, it was problematic. She ran from rooftop to rooftop, and finally found Chat fighting the akuma.

Chat grunted as he was hit by a strong burst of water which sent him flailing down the street. He groaned, standing up. "Where is-"

"Chat Noir!" Ladybug landed next to her partner. "I'm here. Are you okay?" She looked him up and down for injuries.

Chat raised an eyebrow, but shrugged it off. "I'm fine. Though water isn't exactly my favorite, I can deal, M'lady."

Smirking, she shook her head. "That’s my kitty." She heard a shout and her eyes refocused on the akuma. "We need to come up with a plan. Where do you think the akuma is?"

"My bets on that shiny fork he keeps waving around." The akuma marched down the street and away from Ladybug and Chat, turning people who weren't hiding away into water minions with his trident.

"Let's find out. I think we just have to get you close enough and we could be done in a jiffy."

"In a hurry, m'lady?"

Ladybug flicked the bell on his chest playfully, "Well, as much as I love hanging out with my favorite kitty, I'd rather not fight an akuma-possessed person. Now, let's get this over with."

She walked toward the akuma as Chat Noir furrowed his eyebrows. They had always had teasing banter, but this seemed a little different. More flirtatious? He shook his head, and followed his lady into battle.

-

"Miraculous Ladybug!" She threw the broken trident in the air, and grinned as everything was brought back to normal. Ladybug smiled wide, and then pounded Chat Noir's fist. "Pound it!"

Chat Noir helped the man up, who was already struggling to breathe. He looked to his love, "I should get this guy to a hospital, he seems to be having a tough time breathing."

"Yeah. You probably have a better chance of not transforming back than me right now." Ladybug smiled, then went to hug him. "Be careful."

Chat Noir instinctively hugged her back although surprised at the action. "What was that for?"

Ladybug pulled back, "Just be careful, okay?"

"Always am, m'lady." With a small bow, Chat Noir was on his way.

Ladybug watched him leave, and sighed. "How am I falling for such a goof?" Hearing her earrings beep, her eyes widened. "Oh crap! I gotta get to Adrien's before I transform back!"

Swinging her yo-yo, she went on her way to Adrien's as fast as she could. "I can do it, I can do it, I- AGH!"

Ladybug screamed as a bird flew into her face, and she fell onto the street with a loud thud. "Jesus, why?" She stood up, groaning. "That hurt so much-"

Another beep rang in her ears and she squeaked as she ran behind the nearest ad tube (wtf are those things called?!) and transformed back without anyone seeing. "Phew, that was close."

Marinette shook her head, and decided to run back to Adrien's. If she couldn't make it through being Ladybug, she'd have to make it on foot.

Her flats hit the pavement lightly, the hard cement bruising her feet through the light material as she ran through the streets of Paris. She saw Adrien's house in the distance, and grinned. "Almost there- oop!"

Her arms and knees hit the pavement harshly, and she hissed in pain. "Damn it." She stood up, her clothes dirty and slightly torn. "Adrien will know I left…"

She disregarded her injuries, and ran (albeit slightly slower), to the Agreste mansion. She rang the bell quickly, trying to regain her breath as she waited for someone to answer. The camera pulled out not a minute later, "Who is this?"

Marinette put on a smile, "Hi, I'm a friend of Adrien's. My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng, and I came by to help him with a project we're working on.” Reluctantly, Nathalie made a disapproving sound. Marinette pleaded, "I'll be in and out, promise!"

The gate opened and the young teenager beamed. "Thank you!"

She ran in, making her way up the stairs, and went to open the door. "Finally-" It was locked. She groaned. "Seriously!"

She leaned on the door, sighing. Adrien might get upset at her, and now she would look terrible in front of her crush and-

The door opened, and Marinette made an incomprehensible noise as she fell backwards into Adrien's body. "Marinette? I thought I told you not to leave?" Adrien helped her up and looked at her confused.

Giggling shyly, Marinette's hand flew to the back of her neck. "It's kind of embarrassing, but I went exploring the mansion and I kind of got lost. And then I kind of fell, and then I realized I accidentally locked myself out and-"

Putting a hand on her shoulder, Adrien smiled. "It's okay to be curious, Marinette. I don't-"

His eyebrows furrowed as he looked her up and down. "You hurt yourself." Pulling her, he closed and locked the door to his room again, then led her to his restroom.

"Adrien, I'm fine. It happens all the time- ah!" He suddenly picked her up and placed her on the bathroom counter. He then leaned down and got the first aid kit under the sink.

"Just let me help you, okay Marinette?" He stood straight again, and soaked a cotton ball with alcohol. "You're always so clumsy…"

"Yeah, that's me, heh." She shrugged, used to it by now. Adrien grabbed her leg gently, and she bit her lip. Okay, this can't be happening right now.

He smiled at her, then gently pressed the wet cotton ball against her scraped knee. She hissed in pain, her hand flew to his shoulder instinctively, and she clenched her jaw. "Adrien, it stings." This wasn't exactly how I imagined groaning his name aloud to him, but beggars can't be choosers.

"Relax, Mari. It'll go away." She frowned, and her lip ended up bleeding a bit by the time he had finished putting bandages on her scrapes.

"Thank you, Adrien." She hopped off the counter, landing by his side. "Um, this is kind of awkward, but do you have any clothes I can borrow? Mine are kind of tattered, and I don't want my parents to-"

Adrien cut her off, and his lips formed a small smile as he spoke, "No problem. I'm pretty sure I have something you can borrow, let me just check... " He walked out of the bathroom, towards his dresser, grabbing his favorite hoodie and a random pair of joggers. He walked over to the bathroom and handed them to Marinette, "I think they'll fit you; if not, let me know, okay?"

"I'll give them back as soon as possible-"

"It's fine, Marinette. As a matter of fact, you could keep them if you want to."

Marinette blushed, "A-Are you sure? I mean, these are literally model clothes-"

"I'm sure." He smiled reassuringly, and closed the door for her as he exited out of the restroom.

She looked down at the clothes in her hands, and slightly blushed. I'm going to be wearing Adrien's clothes, and they smell just like him too… like when he cradled me close to his chest… Jesus, I need help. She took off her clothes, folded them, and put on Adrien's clothes. The hoodie was warm, and the joggers were straight up comfy, but both were baggy and tugged on Marinette's heartstrings. I'm at Adrien's house, wearing his clothes. God, I'm hopeless. She self-consciously looked in the mirror, grabbing lip-gloss from her purse and re-applying it. Tikki peeked out, "Are we leaving yet?"

Marinette squeaked, then responded in a hushed whisper, "You scared the crap out of me!"

"Sorry, but when are we leaving?"

Marinette pursed her lips, "I don't know just yet… I’ll let you know." She put her lip-gloss back in the purse, and snapped it shut. Opening the door, she grabbed her coin purse and clothes, setting them on the dresser. "Adrien?"

"Over here." She saw him just walk in with a tray of croissants in hand, and smiled. "Sorry, figured you'd want a snack."

"No, you're fine. Just- yeah." She awkwardly laughed, and sat on his bed. He sat beside her, and offered one. She took it, hungry after the day's events. "Your hoodie is nice, by the way."

He smiled, "Thanks, it's actually my favorite."

Marinette's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Wait, then, why'd you give it to me?"

"Why not?" Adrien quipped, smirking at her as he took another croissant from the tray between them. Their conversation was light and lasted hours, the topic going from the akuma, to video games, then to their homework, and more.

Marinette giggled, "Wait, so Chloe actually did that for you when you were little? I cannot imagine that from her..."

Adrien laughed, "Yeah, I know she's changed a lot. But I know how she truly is, and that's what matters."

She smiled softly, "Yeah, you're right. We may have our moments, but… I know how kind she can be, even if it isn't towards me."

"Hahah, I don't get it. You're the kindest person I know."

Her cheeks reddened, "I beg to differ."

"What do you mean?" Adrien set the tray on the floor, and looked at her quizzically.

"Well, clearly, you've never met you." Marinette's hand brushed against his that lay on the bed, and she looked down in surprise. Adrien looked down too, and enveloped her hand in his, hesitantly. Almost as if testing how it would feel, and his fingers then intertwined with hers, deciding as if it was worth it. His green eyes found hers, and their hearts hammered against their chests. Marinette subconsciously bit her lip, and instantly his eyes focused on them. Their faces seemed to drift closer ever so slowly, and Adrien rested his forehead against hers, releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Mari…"

She didn't want to look up at him, she didn't want to look into those beautiful green eyes.

"Princess?"

Because she knew…

His hand cradled her cheek, and his thumb grazed her bottom lip. "Look at me, princess."

She stayed quiet, and instead cuddled her face into the croon of his neck. Adrien sighed, "It's getting late, I think I should take you home."

"Wait...what time is it?" Marinette scrambled up awkwardly, grabbing her coin purse for her phone. She clicked her phone and groaned as she saw a couple of missed calls from her parents. "Yeah, if I start walking now, maybe I could-"

"Plagg, claws out!" Marinette gasped, turning around as she saw the boy of her dreams glow green as leather enveloped his body.

"Adrien, what are you doing?"

The blonde boy smirked at her, walking towards the open window, and stood out on the ledge. He looked back, and held out his hand. "Do you trust me?"

Marinette giggled, "Are you seriously quoting Aladdin right now?"

Adrien's smirk grew, "Do you trust me?"

She walked up, smirked and rolled her eyes, putting her hand in his. "With my life."

He laughed, suddenly picking her up by her waist as her arms wrapped around his neck. "Then hold on tight, Princess."

Her giggle rang loud, and he extended his baton, jumping from building to building. His jokes and her quips eased the tension from earlier away, making it disappear quickly. As he took her home, neither could explain to themselves what their hearts tugged for, neither could even understand what they felt. Almost in sync, their hearts swelled with something, something unconditional. Something indescribable. Something pure.

Do I still love Ladybug...? Adrien pondered as his chest became slightly breathless, his gaze on the raven-haired girl's smile, loving almost every second they spent together on the way to her home. Will I ever love Marinette? I'm looking too much into it... We're just friends... Right?

They landed on her balcony with a light thud, and she slowly untangled herself from him. "I guess this is goodnight, Chat Noir.”

He smiled, "I guess it is, princess. See you tomorrow?"

She bit her lip, then suddenly enveloped him in her arms. "Chat… Adrien…"

"Mari?" His hands laid at her waist, and his chest filled with warmth and anticipation.

Marinette looked up at him, she gulped at the anticipation in his green orbs and finally spoke:

"Adrien… kitty... I'm... I think I'm in love with you..."

----

What did ya think?

[jaskierswolf]

The Grass is Greener pt.2/3

CW: Still shitty parents being shitty.

Previous

Jaskier was pacing around the living room. If the carpet was any good he probably would have been wearing a hole in it, as it was the carpet was coarse and worn down already. He was practicing his guitar fingering on his thighs, a nervous habit he’d picked up years ago and had never managed to shake.

Geralt, lovely, gorgeous, ever patient, Geralt was sitting on the sofa with Ciri babbling away in his arms, watching Jaskier have a little bit of a breakdown.

“What’s the time?” Jaskier asked for the thousandth time.

“Approximately three minutes after the last time you asked.” Geralt chuckled and bounced Ciri on his knee.

Jaskier turned to glare at his new pretend boyfriend, and maybe hopefully future real boyfriend. Well, he meant to glare. What actually happened was that he got lost in Geralt’s stunning amber eyes that were looking at him with such affection and amusement…

It was going to be hard to forget that they weren’t actually dating if Geralt kept looking at him like that, but Jaskier reminded himself that Geralt was just getting into character already. Jaskier supposed he should do the same.

“How long have we got?” He asked.

“She’s due at four?”

Jaskier nodded and chewed on his lip.

“About twenty minutes.” Geralt grunted. “Sit down, Jaskier.”

Geralt’s voice left no room for argument so he did. He plopped himself down cross-legged on the carpet where he was standing.

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him. “On the sofa.”

Jaskier blushed. “Right, yes. Of course.” He scrambled up to join Geralt on the sofa, keeping a safe distance away from him.

He didn’t want to assume anything just because they were fake dating.

Geralt hummed. “I don’t bite.”

“Pity.” Jaskier heard himself saying before he could stop himself. “I didn’t mean that!” He buried his head in his hands.

Geralt just laughed. “I don’t bite unless you ask nicely.”

Jaskier wanted to die.

He was pretty sure this was how he was going to die.

He groaned and hide behind a pillow. “Geralt!”

“What? You’re my boyfriend. I’m allowed to say things like that.”

Jaskier’s heart felt like it was going to explode. “Geralt!” He whined.

“You started it.” Geralt reminded him.

“Yeah well, I didn’t mean to.” He snapped. “Oh god, how are we going to convince my mother this is real?”

Geralt hummed. “Hold Ciri?”

“What?” Jaskier stared at his new friend, and yes they were using friend now. Only a friend would agree to this nonsense.

“When your mother arrives.” Geralt added. “And you’ll probably have to kiss me.”

Jaskier’s brain drifted as he pictured that. He had imagined kissing Geralt far too often and now the man was sitting in his house, on his sofa, and talking so frankly about them kissing as if it were the normal thing to do. God he wished it were their normal.

“We should practise!” He blurted out.

Geralt scoffed. “Practise?”

“Yes! It makes sense!” He grinned at Geralt and waved his hands at Ciri. “Go put her in her cot or something.”

“Shouldn’t we work on a backstory?” Geralt asked not moving.

“We’ve been dating for six months. You asked me out when you gave me a lift to work that time and we went to an open mic night for our first date. At the end of the night you kissed me and I’ve been in love with you ever since.” Jaskier explained hurriedly. “Now kiss me!”

Geralt still didn’t move. He stared at Jaskier with narrow eyes, his gaze so intense that Jaskier felt like all the air was being sucked out of the room. He licked his lips and tilted his head at Geralt. “What?”

“You’ve thought about it.” Geralt stated.

Fuck.

He supposed he had come up with that rather quickly. Luckily he was used to making up shit for his songs and poems.

“Geralt,” He sighed and patted the mechanic on the shoulder that Ciri wasn’t resting on. “I’m an artist! Stories are my trade, I simply just muddled the truth around. Easy as pie!”

Geralt hummed and stood up.

Jaskier leaned to watch Geralt as he moved over to Ciri’s cot, Jaskier’s mouth suddenly felt dry and he was fairly certain he was about to have a heart attack. “Geralt? Where are you going?”

Geralt didn’t answer. Instead he gently put Ciri down in the travel cot that he’d brought over. She squealed a little as he attached the rattle toys on the bar across her lap but settled down quickly.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked again, more quietly this time as Geralt stalked back across the room, never taking his eyes away from Jaskier.

Jaskier’s heart was racing, he was almost sure that Geralt must be able to hear it. He could feel it in his chest, right down to the tips of his fingers. His tongue flicked out between his lips in anticipation and he smirked when he noticed Geralt’s gaze drop down to his lips. God, this was actually going to happen. Geralt was going to kiss him. He shuffled forward so he was on the edge of his seat. His breath caught in his throat as he felt the air crackle between them and Geralt leant down to kiss him.

Jaskier kissed back with as much passion as he could muster. This may just be the only chance he would have to kiss Geralt and he was not going to waste a single second. He gripped onto Geralt’s t-shirt, hoping to prolong the moment for as long as he possibly could.The kiss deepened, Jaskier parting his lips instinctively to let Geralt’s tongue explore his mouth. Geralt tasted like sweet coffee and there was a small part of Jaskier’s mind that panicked. Should he have brushed his teeth first? or had a mint, that was what people did he films right?

But Geralt’s hands were in his hair and all doubts left him. Their noses bumped slightly as Geralt moved closer to him. Jaskier couldn’t help the moan that escape his lips. Geralt pulled away with one last bite to Jaskier’s lower lip that made him feel weak at the knees.

“Practice enough for you?” Geralt smirked as he brushed his thumb along Jaskier’s cheek.

Jaskier was breathless, not to mention speechless. He nodded, blinking up at Geralt and wondering what the fuck had happened to his life?

This was probably all some ridiculously realistic dream, right?

Geralt rolled his eyes and went back over to pick Ciri up.

Jaskier shamelessly let his gaze drop to watch Geralt’s arse as he walked away, like the man had said they were boyfriends now, he was allowed to do that.

He swallowed as the power of speech came flying back to him. “Well, I think that went rather well, don’t you think?” He raised an eyebrow at Geralt and flashed what he hoped was his most charming smile. Geralt hummed, which Jaskier took for agreement. “At least we don’t have to worry about chemistry.” He mused.

Geralt didn’t reply. He just handed Ciri to Jaskier. Jaskier squeaked but took the baby in his arms. She was still babbling away and reached out to Geralt with tiny little hands. Jaskier peered down at the tiny human and chewed his lip. God, she was so fragile, so tiny. She watched the world around her with an intelligence in her eyes that surprised him. He’d not spent much time around children before, he’d just assumed babies were just, well, a bit useless? And it had been a few weeks since he’d seen Ciri, she hadn’t been nearly as alert before.

She had more personality now. She clearly loved her father and she was not best pleased to be dumped in Jaskier’s arms and started to whine, not quite a cry but definitely not happy baby noises. Jaskier cooed at her and caught her little fingers in his hands. She gripped onto his finger and stared up at him with the most adorable pout.

“She’s amazing.” He whispered as he stared back.

Geralt hummed. He was watching them both with a peculiar expression.

“Yeah.” He grunted.

Jaskier laughed. How was it that the man could go from unbearably charming one moment to completely ineloquent the next? And why did Jaskier find it so endearing?

He opened his mouth to say something but he was cut off by the door bell ringing.

“Oh shit!”

He ran to the door, balancing Ciri awkwardly in his arms. “Geralt can you make sure there’s wine in the fridge?” He called back as he reached the door.

“What kind?”

“Any!” He groaned and then plastered a faker-than-his-boyfriend smile on his face. “Mother!” He greeted the woman the door.

She scowled at him, then at baby Ciri, which was just rude, and swept into the house like the hurricane that she was. “Julian, why are you holding a baby? Babysitting, I assume. I always knew that you weren’t cut out to be a musician.”

“Mother!” He pouted. “This is Ciri. I’m not babysitting, actually there’s something I wanted to tell you.”

“Oh Julian, you didn’t get a poor girl pregnant? I assume you asked her to marry you. Where is she?” She asked sharply and Jaskier was approximately ten seconds away from matricide when Geralt came out of the kitchen.

His long hair was still tied up in a bun, but now he had a tea towel draped over his shoulder and he looked suspiciously like he’d been doing washing up… but Jaskier was certain he’d finished all of that before they’d started on the garden. Still it all felt so domestic all of a sudden, like Geralt was meant to be in his house, in his life, doing the washing up to help clear up before meeting his mother.

He smiled soppily at his not boyfriend and then turned back to his mother feeling a lot more chipper than he had before.

He really just needed to focus on not getting his heart broken. He was pretty certain that it was already too late for that.

God, Geralt was just so handsome and now he was kind as well. It was quite frankly, not fair!

“Mrs Pankratz?” Geralt asked with a half smile.

Wait. Since when did Geralt know his surname? When had he told him that? God it must have been when they moved into the house over a year ago!

His mother looked stunned and nodded. “And you are?”

“Geralt Rivia. Jaskier’s boyfriend.” Geralt reached out to shake her hand.

Ciri squealed in Jaskier’s arm. “Oh hey now, buttercup. It’s just my mother.” He cooed. “Did you want to go back to your dad?”

Ciri cried again and gripped onto his shirt.

“Alrighty, not just yet then.” He laughed and grinned up at Geralt.

Geralt walked over, gently stroked the fine blonde hair on Ciri’s hair and then kissed Jaskier’s cheek. His heart flipped in his chest and he leant into Geralt’s side. “Geralt.” He whined with a pout and buried his face against Geralt’s shoulder. “Not in front of my mother.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him.

“You don’t have a boyfriend.” His mother peered at him with sharp blue eyes that were so similar to his yet full of ice and steel.

Geralt growled. “Clearly, he does.”

“Julian would never keep it from me.” His mother’s voice had risen to a shrill squeak and Ciri began to cry.

Jaskier panicked and began to sing, rocking the girl in his arms. Ciri’s cries settled into more of a distressed whine but it was a start.

“And yet, here I am.” Geralt stared down at his mother with a fierce expression. “I wondered why he didn’t want me to meet you. It’s starting to become clear.”

“Ah Geralt, let’s not cause a fuss.” Jaskier hummed. “Dinner! I was thinking we could order in. I know you’ve never really liked my cooking, Mother.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t make an effort for your mother.” She spat back and stalked out the room, probably to go and inspect the rest of the house.

Geralt stared at the door after her with a thunderous expression. “What the fuck, Jaskier?”

“Geralt Rivia. Meet my mother!” He announced with a wave of one arm, he was getting the hang of this carrying a baby lark.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that.” Geralt growled.

Jaskier nodded with a sigh, bouncing Ciri in his arms and she started to giggle again. “She’s my mother.”

Geralt scowled. “You were going to do this alone?”

Jaskier nodded. “I didn’t think I had a choice, but I’m glad you’re here. You didn’t have to do this, any of this. We barely know each other.”

Geralt’s scowl was now ever-present. “I wanted to. You’re… a good neighbour.”

Jaskier sighed.

A good neighbour. Not even a friend.

He’d promised Geralt he wouldn’t fall in love with him, which he guessed he wasn’t technically breaking seeing as he’d sort of maybe been in love with him for months already.

“Come on then.” He took Geralt’s hand as if they were the partners that they were pretending to be. “Let’s go charm my mother.”

Geralt grunted, clearly not convinced. Jaskier just laughed.

“This was your idea, Geralt. No backsies!”

“Fuck.”

_____

Next

[nialledfromfics]

nothing (except for your love)

 a part two oneshot to Summer Camp

pairing: Niall/ofc

word count: 27,192

warnings: sexually explicit content; nsfw; 18+ only please

what holds me when I’m alone, what makes the tiger tame

what turns the sky from black to gold, what sends my tears up in flames.

~~

The last time she had been back in her hometown was nearly four years ago. It was the summer before she had started college, Cat spending her last four weeks as a camp counselor. It was the best fucking summer of her life. The summer she met Niall Horan. 

She had to admit that it was slightly weird being back at her parents house, in her old bedroom. Walls haphazardly covered with posters of The Strokes and Evanescence, half-burnt candles still sitting on her nightstand and her faded yellow daisy comforter neatly tucked into her bed. It looked just as it did the day she left for college, and oddly enough, that made her feel somewhat comforting. Like it was welcoming her home with open arms. At least that's what Cat told herself. Reality of the matter was, the job that she had lined up after graduating college, the same one that she had studied her butt off for, didn’t pan out like she had hoped and left her jobless and up to her eyeballs in student loans and questioning everything she had worked so hard for up until that point. 

Her parents, of course, were beyond ecstatic to have her back home, in her old neighborhood, in her old city. And Cat was happy to be back too, she missed being around her family; her mother, always the one to make sure she was eating well and not surviving off of pizza rolls and Poptarts, her dad, always there when she needed advice or just to lend an ear and her little sister, Katrina, always ready to gossip and bicker at the drop of a hat, like nothing had changed. She was happy to be home, but a part of her wondered if it was just a huge step back for her. That she could have just stayed where she was and made the best of her situation instead of, as she looked at it, crawled back to her parents for help. 

The thought left a sour taste in her mouth. 

But she figured that the only thing she could do at that point was to make the best of her current situation. She was back in the city she grew up in, back in her old room and following the next morning, hopefully back to work. 

•

It was a Friday. Cat woke up bright and early, turning over in her squeaky-framed bed to tap away at the alarm going off on her phone. She grumbled, stretching under the sheets as she rubbed away at the sleep that had consumed her eyes. The rising sun had just started to peek through her curtains and she could already smell the aroma of coffee floating through the air, readily filling her nose. It was her dad. She picked up her phone to glance at the time, needing some convincing, before forcing herself up as she knew her interview was in just a couple short hours. Hopping in the shower, Cat put on the appropriate pressed black pant suit and a pair of beige heels and made sure her hair and makeup were done accordingly before she finally made her way out to the kitchen to grab a much needed cup of that coffee. 

“Morning, Dad,” she greeted her father who had just finished packing up his lunch for the day.  

He looked over at his daughter and gave her a smile. “Good morning, doll.” Cat opened the cabinet and took out a mug, helping herself to the pot of warm coffee. “Don’t you look all dressed up today,” her father then mentioned. 

Spinning around to face him as she took a long sip of her hot beverage, Cat nodded her head. “I have that interview this morning, remember? For that company downtown, Stomon Tech? It’s at 9:30.” 

“Oh right, right,” he stumbled, “you wasted no time, did ya?” 

Cat pressed her lips in a tight line and raised her brows. “Not home for a vacation, Dad, I gotta have a job. I still have bills to pay.” 

He nodded, grabbing his lunch pail and keys off of the counter. “Alright, kiddo, well, good luck and I will see you later. I think Mom is making cacciatore for dinner tonight.” 

Smiling as her father stepped over to kiss her cheek, Cat rubbed his shoulder before he turned to walk towards the front door. “Have a good day at work, Dad.” 

•

Her wide eyes scanned up the towering glass-paneled front of the 24-story building as she sucked in a steadying breath in an effort to appease the nerves that were creeping under her skin. Interviews always made her overly anxious. Would she say the right thing, what they wanted to hear? Were her credentials enough? Did she look and dress the part? Cat let out a tiny groan, annoyed with herself as she forced her feet to move, climbing up the front steps and into the building. 

The Stomon Tech company took up two floors of the massive office building, floors 23 and 24 respectively, and the young woman followed behind a few others that were filing into one of the open elevators. She knew she had to go to the very top floor, as that was where the person she had conversed with instructed her to go, so she watched with bated breath as the numbered buttons slowly lit up one by one as they passed. It seemed like they had stopped at each floor, a good five minutes of people getting on and off, before she finally made it to where she was supposed to be. 

The doors slid open with a ding and she was immediately met with a huge reception area; gorgeous marbled-tiled floors, partitioned walls made of beveled glass and ultra-contemporary light fixtures hanging from the ceiling, all topped off with a stunningly perfect blonde sitting behind a large curved desk that was straight ahead. There was a big sign above the girl’s head that read Stomon Tech Limited, seemingly carved out of a silvery metal. The place was very modern and shiny, very clean and Cat politely smiled as she walked up to the front desk. The blonde peered up at her, a timid grin on her dark painted lips. “Welcome to Stomon Tech, how can I help you?” she asked. 

Cat cleared her throat and placed a hand on the chest-high counter in front of her. She squeezed hard around the edge, hoping it would tame the shaking in her fingers. “Hi, uh, my name is Catherine Williams and I have an interview at 9:30.” 

Tapping at the keyboard of her computer, the receptionist read over her screen before she looked back up at Cat with a tight, but friendlier, smile. “If you want to find a seat right over there,” she instructed, pointing just over Cat’s shoulder to a small reception area, “someone will be with you shortly.” 

“Thank you.” 

Holding her folder of paperwork to her chest, Cat walked over and sat down in one of the chairs, planning to use the extra time to give everything she had brought with her one last check. She had her folder spread out across her knees, quietly scanning through the papers one by one, making sure nothing was amiss. A few minutes had gone by when she heard the ding of the elevator doors open next to her, and she glanced up just as a dark haired man in a suit hurriedly walked by. She paid him no mind and looked back down at her lap, her focus on the remaining paperwork she was going over. Cat bit at her lip as a few muddled whispers between the receptionist and the man floated through the air of the lobby, and she furrowed her brows to concentrate, mouthing the words as she read over the bottom page of her resume. 

“Cat?” 

Her lips stopped moving, her fingertip halting on the paper in front of her. How did that person know her nickname? And why did his voice sound so familiar? Slowly sliding her stare up, from the expensive black oxfords to the perfectly pressed grey suit to the crisp white button up that was left slightly open at the base of his neck, Cat’s breath stalled in her throat as her eyes finally met his. As blue as the salty ocean’s waves, cool and sticking to your skin, her heart nearly skipped a solid beat when he smirked, and then it hit her. Oh my God. “Niall?” 

Narrowing her eyes, she moved her folder from her lap onto the chair as she stood up. Her mouth hanging open slightly as she dragged her stare across his features, his smile getting wider the closer she slowly shuffled over to him. His hair was dark, no longer that bleached out blond that she had remembered of him, and it was cut shorter, styled much better, delicately swept over to the side with little pieces hanging just across his forehead. It looked soft and inviting, pretty if she had to give it an adjective, and the corners of her mouth began to tug into a smile. He was older than her mind was letting her remember him, more refined and his body definitely more defined, at least what she could tell under his extremely well-fitted suit, and he had a thick dark stubble lining his jaw. 

She pushed out a huff as she stepped closer to him and before she could say hello, even mutter a coherent word, he had wrapped his arms around her body and pulled her into a hug. Cat’s eyes fluttered as she buried her nose against his shoulder, inhaling slightly as her hands gently cradled his upper back. He smelled good. Really good. Nothing like the boy sweat and sunscreen that she remembered, but fresh and clean, like a soft floral mint with a subtle hint of cedar. She rolled her eyes at herself for dissecting the man’s cologne as Niall eased himself from the embrace. “Hi, Niall,” Cat finally greeted him, tucking some hair behind her ear. 

“Shit,” Niall huffed, his blue eyes noticeably spanning down Cat’s frame. She looked older too, polished and put together in her fitted dark pantsuit. Her hair was longer than he had remembered, a natural wave adorning the strands and her skin looked softer too, well taken care of and Niall immediately found himself struggling with wanting his hands on her. She looked beautiful, more beautiful than when Niall had seen her last. And he thought that would have been hard to top. She was a hot, fiery little thing at 18 when he had first met her, but now–Niall licked across his lips as his gaze met hers again–now she was a woman, and she was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous. He stuffed his hands down into the front pockets of his trousers. “It’s been, what….four years?” 

Cat nodded. “Yeah...it’s, um, it’s been awhile.” 

“How are ya?” he asked her, his head tipping slightly as he kept his stare on hers, “I thought you lived in...Denver, was it? At least that’s where ya were going the last time we spoke.” 

“Yeah, I was living there,” she told him, “that's where I went to college. And I stayed there after I graduated but the job I had...it wasn’t-...well, it just wasn’t working out. So I moved back here, back in with my parents.” Cat scraped her teeth across her bottom lip, wanting to scream at herself for telling him that last bit. 

But he just smiled at her. “You’re parents live here?” 

“Yup, over on the Eastside,” she said, Niall nodding as Cat went on, wrinkling her brows. “Do you...work here too? I’m here for an interview.”

Niall huffed out a chuckle and bowed his head as he rubbed over his chin with his fingers. “Uh, actually,” he started, looking back up at her, “its-...this is my company.” 

Cat’s stare went big, her tongue stumbling over her words. She totally just made a fool out of herself. “Oh...oh God,” she mumbled, Niall highly amused as he peered at her with those dreamy hooded blue eyes of his. Bedroom eyes as Cat liked to remember them, and he knew it. She cleared her throat. “Um, wow, uh...are you interviewing me?” Her brows pulled in as she pointed at herself. 

He chuckled again, waving a hand in front of himself. “No, no, that would be Elena in HR. Probably would be a bit unfair if I were to interview ya. I’d be a little too biased.” 

Cat breathed out a smile and lowered her stare. Her gaze dotted across the silver-speckled tile that rested below her feet. “Yeah, I guess that would be a conflict of interest.” 

Bellowing out a hearty laugh, the reminiscent sound bounced off the glass walls around them and caused Cat to glance up at him. In that moment, with the crinkles forming by his eyes and that soft dimple pressing into his left cheek, he looked exactly like he had four years prior. It made her smile. Niall yanked his hand from his pocket to check his watch. “Shit, um, I really hate to cut this short, Cat,” he began as he met her gaze again, “unfortunately, I’ve got an important meeting startin’ in just a couple minutes, but, um…” 

Niall paused, licking over his lips as his brows pulled in. “We should meet up for drinks tonight.” 

His offer caught her off guard, and she stuttered a little before being able to pull herself together. “Uh...yeah, yeah...sure.” 

“Great,” Niall concluded, the edges of his mouth tugging up, “my secretary will get your number from your file and I’ll give ya a ring.” Cat nodded. “Good luck in there!” 

“Thank you.” 

Niall had already started to walk past the front desk and down the hallway, Cat having just made it back to the chair she had been sitting in. She reached down to pick up her folder when he stopped in his tracks. “Hey, kitty cat?”

The sound of his husky voice and that gritty accent, calling her that very thing that only he called her, that very thing she hadn’t heard in four years, caused her entire body to tense up and an instant warmth to pool in her belly. She slowly turned to face him and he cocked his head back, rolling his tongue in his mouth. “You look really fuckin’ good, by the way.” 

Giving her a wink, no other words were shared between them as he stepped away and disappeared around the corner. Cat couldn’t help but smile. That was the Niall she remembered. 

•

She received a call from Niall a few hours later, inviting her out that evening to a pretty popular bar downtown. Cat, who was already back at her house and into her sweatpants, agreed to meet him there around 9, as that was when Niall said he’d be through with work. She didn’t have much expectations for the night, and she wasn’t trying to encourage any expectations either, far be it to be honest, but she thought that for the sake of going out to a rather upscale place, that she would dress up a bit more than usual. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had dressed up, or even went out to a nice bar for that matter. 

As Cat sat on the bus, the bright neon lights of the busy city nightlife zipping past the window, she glanced down at her lap. For a moment she was questioning what she was wearing; a short blue dress that was low and tight across her chest but flowy around her hips, one that she had bought a year or so back for a friend’s wedding, and a pair of strappy black heels. Maybe, she thought, she had dressed up too much, maybe it would give him the wrong impression. The impression that she wanted anything to do with him. 

Sighing lightly under her breath, Cat turned her head and stared out of the smudged window next to her. It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought about Niall all those years, it wasn’t that she hadn’t hoped that what they had had that summer could have been more than what it was at the time, or that they could have reconnected at some point, she had very much thought of all of that, many times over the course of her first year in college. But with four years passing since then, she was older, wiser, time had changed and so had she. Her biggest fear was that Niall hadn’t. And while that little piece of her hoped to cling onto that old Niall that set her world ablaze that one amazing summer, another part of her, a bigger part, hoped that he had also grown up and matured, that he had moved on from his womanizing ways. 

Maybe that hope was too big of a stretch. 

Cat arrived at the bar a little before their intended meet time and she wondered, as she stepped through the large baroque doors, how long she would be waiting there for him to show up. There was a hostess standing just off to the side behind a sleek black marble counter and she smiled as Cat bounced her stare around the incredibly posh looking space. “Welcome, do you have a reservation?” 

Cat looked over at the hostess, smiling politely as she walked towards where she was standing. “No, no reservation...um, I’m actually meeting someone...I’m not sure if they are here yet…”

“Niall Horan?” 

Wrinkling her brows slightly, Cat pulled her face in. “Yes, actually…” she chuckled. 

The young woman smiled. “Right this way.” 

Hugging the sweater she had brought with her to her chest, Cat followed the hostess through the swanky bar, weaving around high top tables and other equally as dressed up patrons before they came to a large booth tucked in the back corner. Her eyes met his the second the hostess stepped away, and Cat just stood there by the edge of the half-moon table, quiet and trying with all her might to stop the rattling in her chest. He was the only man that had ever made her feel that way with one single glance, even when she didn’t want it. Niall was slumped back in the booth, his suit jacket now off and folded next to him on the seat and his crisp white shirt unbuttoned even further, showing off that gorgeously dark smattering of chest hair and a simple gold chain, finished with a tiny round pendant hanging from it. Cat hadn’t noticed it before, but thought that it suited him well. 

She swallowed hard as her eyes flowed down the length of his arms, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms and that very expensive watch that was strapped to his wrist. Cat looked back up at his face. He smirked at her, his brow rising just enough beneath those few strands of dark hair that laid across his forehead that it made the air catch like glue in her throat. All she could do was smile. “Hey,” she said, barely over a whisper. 

“Hi,” Niall responded, nodding towards his left, instructing her to join him into the crescent shaped booth. She willingly obliged and slid herself in next to him. Not even meaning to, she pulled in a deep breath as their bodies moved closer, instinctually needing to smell him. She wasn’t disappointed. “You look incredible, Cat.” 

Tucking her face down in a slightly sheepish smile, the girl combed some hair behind her ear and plunked her elbow onto the table, peering over at him. “You didn’t change,” she mentioned.

Niall peeked down with a chuckle, using his fingers to pluck at the semi-opened button up adorning his upper half. “What, ya sayin’ I don’t look nice?”

“I didn’t say that,” Cat said, biting at her lip.

Tapping his fingers on the nearly empty glass that was wrapped in his one hand, Niall raised his brows. “Would ya like a drink?” 

“Yeah,” Cat replied with a slight inhale, sitting back in the booth, “beer’s fine.” 

“Oh, ya like beer, huh?”

She shrugged. “I’m a simple girl, doesn’t take much to impress me.” 

“Shit, coulda fooled me,” he scoffed with a short chuckle. Cat just stared at him, a tiny roll of her eyes caught by Niall and he smirked. “Beer it is then.” 

Niall ordered them both a couple beers, and then a few more. Over the next hour and a half, they immersed themselves in light conversation, keeping the subjects superficial and easy flowing. They talked about what they had accomplished in school and work, where they had been living, a little friendly banter mixed in between until the effects of the alcohol had started to create a bit of tempestuous buzz in their heads. It wasn’t long before the vibe had shifted, their body language and their small talk becoming more relaxed and comfortable. Cat felt like maybe Niall had changed more than she had assumed, he was very polite and engaging, super sweet and had yet to make any crude remark. 

Though the night was still young. 

“I guess, I should thank you for the job, by the way,” Cat stated, taking a sip of her beer. Her eyes were locked on Niall’s over the rim of the frosted glass. 

He was leaned back, his one arm slung behind Cat along the back edge of the booth and he casually smirked. “Why do ya say that?” 

Cat rolled her eyes. “I know it was you, Niall. I hadn't even gotten back to my car yet, by the time they called me and offered me the job.” 

Niall brought his pint to his mouth, tipping his head back as he took a long, quiet and very telling, sip. Licking the remnants off his lips, he set the glass back onto the wooden table, twirling it around in the wet ring of built up condensation. “That was all you, Cat, must’ve had a really good interview.”

“Right…”

He laughed. “Listen, you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ outta me.”

Cat bowed her head in a giggle, and swept her hair behind her ear as she looked over at him. “Fine,” she said softly, “but thank you, really. I’ve not had the easiest time, so...it does mean a lot to me.” 

Niall’s blue eyes fanned over her face and he gave her a sincere smile, one that she knew all too well, and nodded. “Guess that means we’re gonna be hangin’ out a lot more now,” he joked as he pulled in a deep breath. 

Cat rested back into the booth, folding her hands on top of her crossed legs. “Are we gonna be work buddies?” she asked him with a playful grin. Niall glanced down, noticing her dress had ridden up a tad on her thigh. She used her fingers to straighten the material, her stare never faltering off his face and he peeked back up at her. 

The corner of his mouth tugged up slightly, and Cat felt the faintest of tickle at the back of her neck, as if someone was very delicately playing with the ends of her hair. It caused a shiver to splay across her skin. “I’m not talkin’ ‘bout work buddies,” Niall finally said, his voice low and heavy in his throat, inducing a familiar clamping of Cat’s thighs at the sound. 

She inhaled sharp and lightly shook her head. “Mmm...I figured you weren’t.” 

“So…”

Slipping her gaze from his, Cat glanced at the half drank pint that rested in front of her. She watched the tiny bubbles glide up the side of the glass. Her tummy was flipping in on itself, her heartbeat picking up as each second passed and she breathed out a sigh, hoping to create some calm within the obnoxious chaos going on inside her. “Look, Niall, I know what you’re hinting at and I just, um,..I want you to know that-...” Cat paused and scraped her teeth across her bottom lip as she slowly brought her eyes back to his. “I, um...I have a boyfriend.” 

His brows furrowed, his hand reluctantly inching back from its close proximity to her shoulder. “You do?”

Cat nodded. “Yeah, he still lives back in Denver...but, yeah.” 

Shifting himself to face her, Niall tipped his head as he lifted his arm from behind Cat and rubbed across his bearded chin. “Well, it can’t be that serious,” he mumbled.

“Why do you say that?” she asked him with wrinkled brows.

“ ‘cause he’s in Denver and you’re here,” he explained with a shrug.

“I-,” Cat paused and shook her head, her lips falling to a part, “its long distance…” 

“It won’t work out.” 

She was the one to turn her body to face him this time, her brows pulling in even more. Cat hooked her arms across her chest in slight annoyance. “You don’t know that,” she spit out to him. 

Niall scoffed lightly, dropping his stare to his lap as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, I do know that if you were my girl,” he began, catching her stare. His eyes looked dark, seedy in the low lights of the bar. “I would not be able to go more than one fuckin’ day without ya.” 

A heavy breath hilted in the back of her throat at his words, Cat staying quiet as Niall reached out and grabbed his pint from the table, taking a sip of his beer. Peering down, Cat slowly unfolded her arms from her chest and pressed her palms across her thighs. She chewed at a piece of dry skin from the edge of her lip before looking back up at Niall. “Maybe it won’t,” she admitted with a shrug of her shoulder, “but that’s where I’m at right now.” 

Niall shook his head, pulling a breath in between clenched teeth as he set his beer back down on the table. “It won’t. Trust me.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, whatever. Enough about me. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Niall pushed out a snort. “No...I don’t.”

“And why not?” Cat asked him, shifting her eyes over his features. He was so handsome, it made her insides ache. His dark eyelashes, that perfect nose...his soft, pink lips. She wondered, for a single moment, what it would feel like to kiss him again. To have his mouth pressed to hers, swallowing his breath, tasting his tongue. Then she wondered what the hell was she thinking. 

Noticing her stare on his mouth, Niall tucked his lips in and cocked his head back. Her eyes landed on his once more. “Just don’t do serious relationships, ya know?”

“That sounds about right,” Cat muttered under her breath. “Can I ask you something, Niall?”

He lifted a brow in amusement. “Sure, petal, isn’t that what we’re doin’ here?”

“Yes, smart ass,” she replied sharply. Niall pushed out a laugh, taking another long sip of his beer. “Whatever happened with you and Sarah? You know the girl from camp? I mean, I’m only asking ‘cause I never went back and I’m...kinda curious.” 

Niall narrowed his eyes a bit and a smirk began to curl at the corner of his mouth. “Are ya askin’ me if I slept with her?”

She tilted her head. “In a less intrusive way, I guess...yeah.” 

With his hooded eyes darting over hers, Niall stayed quiet for a minute, almost as if he was trying to read what Cat was thinking. If only he could ever get a clear read on that girl. The one person he was never able to, and that frustrated him. She pulled in a shaky breath, moving her gaze away from his as it became almost too intimidating for her. “Do ya really wanna know?” he then asked her. 

She nodded and Niall straightened his body, leaning forward to rest his forearms across the edge of the table. His chin bumped at the peak of his shoulder as he looked back over at her. “I did end up fuckin’ her,” Niall went on, pausing to lick across his lips. “That next summer, actually.” 

Cat bit at her lip, a tiny pang settling in the pit of her stomach and she reached out to grab her beer, throwing back a big gulp. She didn’t like the way his words were making her feel. “I thought, um...I thought you didn’t like her.”

“I didn’t,” Niall spit out, lifting his shoulder, “but...you weren't there.” 

Shooting her stare back to his as she put her glass back down, she watched as a soft smile etched over his lips, nearly hidden behind the round of his shoulder. Cat cleared her throat. “I know,” she started, taking in a deep breath, “I really wanted to come back, I know I had told you the summer before I left that I would, but then I got this internship in Denver that I just couldn’t pass up, so I...just decided to stay–” 

His mouth turned down at the corners and he faintly shook his head. “It’s okay, Cat. I understand,” Niall told her, slumping back into the booth again. “It was my last summer there, and I dunno, I guess I got bored. She was shit, anyway, so it doesn’t really matter.” 

Cat’s eyes went big at his statement and she threw a hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh. Niall, on the other hand, freely belted out. The sound, still reminiscent of years before, made her laugh even harder. “I missed you that summer,” Niall then sighed out. 

“That’s surprising,” Cat chuckled. 

Niall wrinkled his brows. “Why’s that?” 

“Because I’m sure you had a swarm of girls all over you,” she explained, gesticulating as she spoke, “like you always do. Like I’m sure you still do.” 

He cocked his head back as his stare stayed on her. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t think about ya, Cat,” he said, lifting his shoulder in a shrug, “or that I didn’t miss ya.” 

Cat darted her eyes over his as an awkward quiet had settled between them. She really didn’t know what to say to that declaration of honesty coming from him, so she just picked her pint up off the table and silently guzzled back the rest of her beer. “You want another?” Niall asked her, pointing to her empty glass as she wiped across her lips. She glanced at it before looking back over at him, a smirk forming on his mouth. “Or should we just go back to my place…”

Cat chuckled as she set her glass down. “Nice.” 

“What?” he laughed. 

“I’m not going home with you.” 

Shifting his body closer, Niall inched his face in right up next to hers, her heart surging as she felt the heat of his breath on her jaw. She struggled with wanting to move away, with not wanting to move away, with letting her eyes flutter closed as the warmth of his entire body started to encapsulate every inch of her exposed skin as he ever-so-softly let the tip of his nose brush over her ear. “Are ya sure about that, love?” 

It was the slickest, naughtiest, grittiest tone of whisper that she had ever heard and it took every part of her to not jump in his lap at that very second. But she knew she couldn’t. Cat forced herself to laugh at his attempt and Niall eased back, a cocky smirk still plastered across his face. “Niall, as hard as you’re gonna try,” she told him, raising her brows to assert herself, “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

Plopping back into the seat in a defeated huff, Niall rubbed his palm over the front of his face. “Fuck...well, that ruins all me plans,” he joked as they both laughed. “How ‘bout I just take you home then?” he went on, catching her stare going wide as she peered over at him. He pinched his eyes shut in a snort upon realizing what he had said. “No-...to your home. Jesus…” 

Smiling at him, she softly giggled and nodded her head. “Yeah...that’d be nice, thanks.”

•

They had been sitting in his Audi, parked outside her house, chatting for a good five minutes. She glanced out of the passenger side window and glared slightly upon seeing the movement of a curtain in one of the living room windows. Clearing her throat, she shifted her attention back to Niall. “Thank you again for the ride,” she said to him, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Saved me from having to take the bus home at 11:30 at night.” 

“Of course, anytime,” he said, tipping his head over to the side as he slid his eyes down her body. He had been checking her out all night, Niall never being one to be shy about the fact, he knew and she knew, but he couldn’t help himself when it came to Cat. Licking over his lips, his stare slowly drifted over the suppleness of her exposed cleavage, his mind wandering back to the vivid memory of how her skin had tasted on his tongue. He swallowed hard as he shot his eyes back up to hers. “Cat, can I kiss you?” 

Cat’s fingers paused on the door handle, and she turned to look over at him. “Honestly, I’m surprised you're asking,” she chortled. 

Niall leaned his head back on the headrest, his hooded eyes narrowing slightly as he smirked. “Well, ya do have a boyfriend…”

She pushed out a chuckle. “So, the only reason you're asking to kiss me, is because I have a boyfriend?”

He flicked his brow and she rolled her eyes, gathering her sweater and small bag as she opened the car door. “You’ve really not changed a bit,” she finished. 

“So that’s a no?” 

Stepping out of the car, Cat spun around and bent over, catching his stare. “That’s a goodnight, Niall.” 

He smiled and nodded his head. “Guess, I’ll see ya at work on Monday, then.” 

“Guess you will,” she said with a soft smile, “but no special treatment, okay?” 

His mouth turned down as he lifted his head from the seat. “Can’t promise ya that,” he said, running the tip of his tongue across his lips. His eyes were darting heavily with hers, and Cat could have sworn she felt a drunken buzz quickly submerse her head. She felt dizzy every time he looked at her like that, with that intensity that only he knew how to do. She sucked in a shaky breath, attempting to settle herself. 

“Behave yourself, Niall.”

Quirking a brow, he gave her a low, thigh-clenching chuckle as he slipped his car into drive. “Sweet dreams, kitty cat.” 

Cat rolled her eyes, trying to bite away at the smile on her lips as she closed the passenger door and waved as he drove off. She watched the tail lights of his car disappear around the corner, before she let out a long, melodramatic sigh. Her mind was reeling with memories of him, how he talked to her, how he touched her, her body on fire even just being near him, but there was no way she was gonna let him in. Not again. 

Making her way into her house, Cat quietly shut the front door and looked up to see her little sister in the living room, hanging over the back of the couch as she curiously peered out of the large window. “Trina, what are you doing?” Cat asked, placing her hands on her hips. 

“Who was that?” Katrina questioned, hoping up off the couch and bounding over towards her older sister. 

Cat pulled in a breath, knowing her little sister was always the inquisitive one. And relentless about it too. “Just an old friend,” she told her, “someone I used to know a few years back.” 

Trina folded her arms over her chest. “He’s got a nice car.” 

Rolling her eyes, Cat let out a laugh and reached out to teasingly ruffle Trina’s head. “Go to bed, child,” she muttered as she walked away.

“Hey!” the young girl huffed loudly in protest, smoothing her hair back down as she watched Cat sneak her way upstairs to her bedroom. “I’m not a child!”

•

Monday came a bit quicker than Cat had hoped, and while she was eager to get back to a steady job, she was also nervous about how her first day was going to go. It was always a bit difficult for her to make friends; she was reserved but head-strong, opinionated when it mattered and learned very fast to not take anyone’s bullshit. All of those qualities sometimes made her more of a loner than an approachable person. But she was willing to try her best to be more personable, hopefully make a few acquaintances as well. 

One person she knew she’d have no trouble winning over was Niall. And that was a whole other ballgame. 

By late morning, Cat had settled in nicely to her work environment. She had her own desk and computer, a little space of her own within the huge, monochromatic space of the office located on the 23rd floor. Her co-workers, at least the ones in the cubicles surrounding her, were all very nice and had already offered to take her out to lunch as a welcome. Cat happily accepted, choosing to leave the lunch she had brought with her in the break room refrigerator for another day. 

Even though Cat knew Niall’s office was actually on the next floor up, she wasn’t really surprised to see him strutting around her floor a few times already that morning. He hadn’t come up to her yet, Cat supposed he was heeding her words about not showing her any special treatment, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t caught his eye a few times as she peered over and saw him propped up against a cubicle wall, flirting away with a few of the ladies throughout the office. He was very charismatic, and annoyingly sexy, using his charms and his wit to entice as many sweet giggles and subtle arm touches as he could get. 

Maybe that was his plan, to flaunt himself in front of Cat, showing her just how desirable he was, how easily he could get any woman he wanted. As if she didn’t already know that, or expect it. Niall would be leaned down, whispering sweet nothings in their ears with high pitched giggles spilling from their mouths as his blue eyes stuck right on Cat. She’d shake her head in a chuckle and focus back on her work, but the gears were grinding hard in her head. She wondered, just out of pure curiosity, how many of the women in the office he actually had bedded. And how many of them had felt what she felt when with him. She sucked in a deep breath, mad at herself for even entertaining the thought, because what did it matter to her? It didn’t and it shouldn’t. 

Later that afternoon, waist deep in a coding error she was attempting to fix, a notification popped up on Cat’s computer that she had received an email. It was from Niall. She peeked around the short walls of her cubicle, wary of prying eyes before opening it. 

            Cat, 

  Please come see me in my office. 

   Niall Horan

   CEO

   Stomon Tech Limited

Her heart thumped loud in her chest as she read over it a few more times, just that one single sentence causing a frenzy inside her and she figured since he was her boss, there was no getting out of it. Maybe that was another one of his plans. 

She smiled at the thought–it was textbook Niall–as she stepped off the elevator and onto the 24th floor. The blonde at the desk nodded her through and she made her way down the hallway, following it straight to his unnecessarily large office. The walls were all constructed of the same thick glass as the rest of the office, his door as well and she could clearly see Niall sitting at his sleek jet black desk, jotting something down as she reached out and gently knocked. 

His eyes raised from the papers before him to see Cat standing outside his office door. Niall pulled in a deep breath and stood up, promptly waving her in. “Hello, Cat,” he greeted her as she stepped through the door and closed it. Niall held his hand out to one of the chairs that were lined up in front of his desk and she walked over, smiling at him as she sat down. 

“Hey, Niall.”

Her eyes stayed glued to him as he stepped around his desk and stood in front of her, casually slipping his hands into his pants pockets. Cat bit at her lip, realizing he was finally close enough for her to get a good whiff of his expensive cologne and she tried to hide the fact that it was nearly intoxicating. On top of that, he had on a perfectly fitted deep blue suit, that hugged his broad shoulders and slim waist like it was a second skin. And with his dark hair, soft and swept to the side and just a hint of a scruffy beard, he looked like a dream. She hated that she couldn’t get those irritating thoughts out of her mind. 

She shakily cleared her throat and watched as he tipped his head slightly. “Just wanted to see how your first day’s been goin’,” he said, peering down at her. Niall couldn't take his eyes off of her. Off of the low cut blouse she was wearing, off the soft curl of her hair that was brushing at her shoulder, off the tiny bit of flesh showing at her thigh where her legs were crossed. She shifted slightly in her chair from the burning heat of his gaze, and it caused her skirt to ride up just a bit more. Niall’s breath caught in his throat. It was like she was tempting him, even if she didn’t know it. 

“It’s been nice,” she told him, fully aware that his stare was sliding over her lap where her skirt had ridden up and then over her breasts before finally settling on her face. She smirked. Maybe she did like flirting with him. Just a little bit. “Went out to lunch with a few coworkers. But really all I was wondering about is when you were gonna come over and say hi to me.” 

“Yeah?” he asked, raising a brow. 

“I mean, you were talking to everyone else…” 

Niall chuckled, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His chin tipped down slightly as he kept his stare on hers. “Were you jealous?”

“No,” Cat responded, shaking her head. “I have no reason to be, I have a boyfriend, remember?”

“Ah, yes the boyfriend,” Niall said, licking across his lips as he reached up and ran a hand through the side of his hair, “I forgot about him.” 

“I bet you did,” Cat scoffed. 

“I wanna take ya out, Cat,” Niall then said, “on a date.” 

She breathed out a smile. “I can’t do that, Niall.” His eyes were darting over hers, as if he was trying to lure her in, pull her into his little trap just as he had done before. That reckless, all-consuming arousing stare, the one that shook her to the core, that literally brought her to her knees. The one that she would fall asleep thinking about almost every night. And that was all she could think about. Him. How he had made her feel, how they felt together. How he had turned her world upside down that one unforgettable summer night, and she never thought she would ever see him again. And now all she was trying to do was fight it. Fight that feeling of wanting him. She had to fight it. She had to.

“And why can’t ya?” 

Cat sucked in a sharp breath, tilting her head to her shoulder. “Well, let’s see, for one, the whole boyfriend thing and for two,” she paused, scraping her teeth over her bottom lip. Niall watched the tip of her tongue roll out across the pink-bitten skin of her lip and he swallowed hard. “...I don’t think that would look very good. I just started here and, well, ya know, favoritism and all.” 

“But ya are me favorite,” Niall bluntly stated with a smirk, quirking up his brow. 

Cat bowed her head in a bashful grin, bringing her fingers up to her lips. He really knew how to work her, that was for sure. “Okay, but I’m not trying to make enemies the first week I’m working here,” she explained, glancing back up at him, “if I went out with you, I don’t think the other ladies in the office would like me very much.” 

Niall furrowed his brow slightly and crossed his ankles as he rested his bum on the edge of his desk. “How so?”

“Niall, I’ve been here barely one day and have already heard them gossiping in the break room,” she told him, raising her brows. “And they all very much want to fuck you.” 

A loud laugh belted out past his lips, and he tipped his face down, hiding his pinched eyes behind his hand. “They’ve heard the rumors then,” he muttered between chuckles.

Cat’s brows twisted up. “What rumors are those?”

He brought his stare back to hers, slowly running his tongue over his lips. “You know first hand what those rumors are, kitty cat.” 

She could hardly breathe with his eyes on her like that, with his words floating in her head and she gently cleared her throat. “Yeah...well...they don’t know that,” she squeaked out. 

He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve not told ‘em?”

“Niall, I barely know these people,” she spit out, “why would I tell them that we slept together one time four years ago?”

Stepping towards her, Niall curled his hands around the arms of the chair and leaned down, his face sitting flush with hers. Cat kept her eyes fixed on his, her mouth falling to a faint part as his warm breath seeped over her lips. He was so close she could almost taste him on her tongue and her eyes fluttered just from the thought. A few strands of his dark hair had fallen over his eyes, and Cat’s lungs were struggling to find air as a delicious smirk slid over his mouth. “ ‘cause, baby, the way I fuck is life changin’.”

His comment made Cat gasp, before she realized his obvious intentions with the remark and she breathed out a soft giggle instead, rolling her eyes. “You’re insane,” she mumbled, Niall chuckling at her response. He leaned up and stepped away, clearing his throat as he shuffled back behind his desk. Cat watched him for a moment, never having been around someone as bluntly cocky and intriguing as Niall, and she bit at her lip as he picked up a portfolio and began flipping through some pages. “How many of those girls have you actually slept with anyway?” she asked. 

Niall’s fingers stalled on the papers and he peered at her through the tops of his hooded eyes. “What, the girls who work for me?”

“Yeah…”

“None actually.” Her stare went wide at his answer, obviously surprised by it and he pinched an eye shut. “Don’t wanna mix business and pleasure and all that, you know…”

Cat tipped her face down in a laugh. “Right,” she said, glancing back up at him, “Niall, the forever chivalrous gentleman.”

Niall snorted out a laugh and dropped the portfolio back down on his desk. He glanced over her head before catching her stare again. “Reckon ya better get back to work now, Ms. Williams, or you’ll be havin’ lots of gossip to answer to in the break room the next time you’re there.” 

Her brows wrinkled. “Huh?”

Faintly nodding towards the glass wall behind her, Cat turned around in the chair to see a few nosy busy-bodies with their full attention planted on the two of them. She was bound to be the talk of the office break room after that. Cat huffed out a laugh as she looked back over at Niall, giving him a grin. Niall watched as she stood up from her seat and smoothed down her skirt. “We’ll chat later,” he told her.

She nodded, biting off her smile as she began to step away. “Have a good rest of your day, Mr. Horan.” 

He shot her a wink. “You too, Cat.” 

•

The next two weeks were surprisingly calm. Cat had settled nicely into work, and with her colleagues, better than she was expecting, and her interactions with Niall seemed to be more on the friendly side than him trying to flirt his way into her pants. To be honest, that confused her a bit. But she was always left confused and thrown off balance when it came to Niall. She had a hard time denying how much she wanted him, how he made her feel just by looking at her, but also knew that it would be disastrous if it ever happened again. She had to remain logical at all times around him, because God knows, he was extremely tempting and she had to fight within herself to not lose all sense of control. 

He had called her a couple times, again, just friendly conversation and light banter, but other than that, Cat really hadn’t seen too much of him at work. She was aware of a huge project deadline coming up, Niall telling her of the copious amounts of boring meetings he had been partaking in and even flying out to NYC for two days on business. She thought it was oddly sweet that he was keeping her in the loop, so to speak, of his schedule and his life, and they would often find themselves texting each other well into the night, just to say goodnight. 

Cat thought it was lovely that she could have real, thoughtful and intellectual conversations with him, because up until that point, even during the summer they had met, it had only been focused on one thing: sex. Not that she minded much. A man like him wanting a woman like her, it was flattering and it made her feel good, she definitely wasn’t going to deny that. She was just happy that her and Niall had moved into a more comfortable level in their growing friendship. Cat was happy to have him as her friend. 

It was an early Saturday afternoon, Cat was at home with her family, her mother and sister in the kitchen unpacking groceries that they had just picked up for the evening. Cat was in her bedroom finishing her laundry, and had just put away some of her folded t-shirts when her cell phone rang. Bumping the dresser drawer closed with her hip, she shuffled her bare feet over to her nightstand to grab her phone, checking the name that was highlighted across the screen. Niall. 

She breathed out a smile and answered, tucking the phone between her shoulder and her cheek as she walked over to her closet and pulled out a few hangers. “Hey, you,” she greeted him as she made her way back towards her bed to hang up some of her dresses and pantsuits. 

“Hey, kitty cat, what ya doin’?”

She giggled. “Just some laundry,” she told him, “what are you doing?” 

“Uh, layin’ in me bed,” he told her, Cat noticing a softness in his voice. “Naked. Thinkin’ ‘bout you.” 

Cat rolled her eyes in a snort. “So...just a normal day then, huh?” 

A deep laugh rumbled from his end of the line. “I was wonderin’ if maybe ya wanna go out with me tonight?” he then asked, pausing for a moment to clear his throat before he continued. “Just as friends. Been so busy with work lately, we haven’t hung out and I miss seein’ ya.” 

Cat bit at her bottom lip, her cheeks running warm as she stepped back over to her closet to hook her clothes up on the rack. “I don’t know, Niall,” she hummed out, darting her stare around her room and realizing she had left her water bottle downstairs. “My mom has this whole family dinner thing planned for my Dad’s birthday tonight and it would be kinda rude for me to just bail.”

Bouncing down the stairs and into the kitchen where her mother and sister were still putting groceries away, she held the phone to her ear and snatched her water bottle off of the counter just as Katrina had opened the cupboard above her head. Trina shot her a look, and Cat stuck her tongue out at her. “Hmm...okay, well, maybe tomorrow then? Are ya free?” 

“I should be,” Cat huffed out as she refilled her bottle, her eyes studying the clear stream of water filtering into the metal flask, “what did you wanna do, anyway?” 

Niall had started to mumble something, when Cat’s mom looked over at her. “Who’s that?” she nosily asked. 

“It's that guy with the really nice car, isn’t it?” Trina interjected.

Cat’s eyes went big at her little sister as Niall continued to talk into her ear, and she set the water bottle down and smushed her hand over the bottom of the phone. “Shh!” she snapped back, shifting her eyes from her sister to her mom. “Just...a friend.” 

“Who?” 

A distinguishable quiet had settled on the end of the line before the young woman heard a faint ‘Cat?’ in a low, husky voice. She held up her finger to her mom and put her attention back to Niall. “Yeah, I’m here, sorry my mom was saying something to me. Can you hold for, like, one second?” 

“Yeah, sure.”

Blocking the end of her phone again with her palm, she playfully glared over at Trina before pushing out a sigh. “Just this guy, Niall. I met him a few years ago before I left for college and, weirdly enough, he's now my boss.” 

Trina rounded her lips. “Oooh.” 

“Your boss?” her mother repeated, opening the fridge to set a gallon of milk inside. “Well, Cat, you should invite him over for dinner tonight!” 

“Mom, it’s Dad’s birthday,” she questioned, wrinkling her brow, “And I thought it was just ‘family’ anyway...” 

The older woman waved off her daughter with a huff, turning to gather up the reusable shopping bags from the countertop. “Please, you know your father would love to meet your boss, Cat, birthday or not. And he's your friend. Invite him over.” 

Cat’s heartbeat picked up in her chest, so much so that it was like a heavy bass drum in the back of her ears steadily getting louder as her palms started to sweat. It was obnoxious. She curled her fingers tighter around her phone as she silently shot her stare between her mom and her sister, who had a very smug grin plastered over her lips. “....alright,” she gingerly sighed out, bringing her phone back up to her ear. “Niall?” 

“Yup?”

“Hey, so, um…” Cat paused, bowing her head down and anxiously scratching across the skin of her forehead, “weird question, I guess, but would you, maybe...like to come over to my house for dinner tonight?” 

“With your family?” 

“Yeah.” 

Scraping her teeth over her bottom lip, two sets of curious eyes were glued to her, waiting in as much anticipation as Cat was for Niall’s answer. She heard a short chuckle bleed into her ear before Niall pulled in a deep breath. “Sure, I’d love to.” 

•

Niall was standing on her front stoop, knocking at her door only a mere few hours later. Not really sure why she felt so nervous, her belly tying into knots as she had been getting ready and her heart thumping along with the ticking of the clock as it counted down to when he was supposed to arrive. But the second she opened the door, the second his stunning ocean blue eyes met hers, it all faded away. He looked gorgeous, as he always did; a fitted pressed dark pair of trousers topped with a silky patterned button up short sleeve shirt, it was undone slightly at the top, just enough to showcase that gold necklace that hung around his neck. Niall smiled at Cat as she invited him in. 

His eyes danced over her body as he stepped through the door, seeing her in a pair of tight jeans and slightly fitted top, she hadn’t dressed sexy, it was her Dad’s birthday after all, but Niall thought she looked amazing. He liked seeing her in a more casual look, different then how he had seen her at work. He noticed right away that her hair, usually down and sitting just below her shoulders, was pulled back into a high ponytail and for a moment, he was transported back to summer camp. Back to that first time that he saw her. Standing amongst the other counselors, listening to the director spout out the camp rules and whatnot, but even then, Niall’s full attention was on Cat. She looked absolutely beautiful, just like every time he had laid eyes on her since. 

Smiling back at him, her parents had made their way into the small foyer, eager to meet the mystery boss-friend with the super nice car. Cat introduced him, Niall having brought her father a bottle of extremely expensive Irish whiskey as a gift, and she stood off to the side as he engaged her parents in polite small talk. He was very impressive to watch–Cat finding herself sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as he freely chatted and laughed along with her parents. His charisma even snagged her old, rigid dad and his cheekiness made her mother blush a shade of pink Cat had rarely seen. 

“And this is my sister, Katrina,” she said to Niall, pointing at her little sister who had just emerged from the living room as her parents made their way back into the kitchen to finish up dinner. 

The young girl popped her gum in her mouth as she gave Niall an apathetic wave. “Everyone calls me Trina.” 

“Nice to meet ya, Trina,” Niall greeted her with a nod. 

Perching her hands on her hips, Trina narrowed her eyes as she looked over at Niall. Her stare slid down his frame and then back up before she tipped her chin in a smile. “You’re smokin’ hot.” 

“Trina! Jesus,” Cat snipped, furrowing her brows as Niall chuckled. She grabbed around Niall’s bicep and he moved his attention to her. “I’m sorry, she’s just–”

“Spitting facts?” Trina raised her brows. 

Cat glared at her sister and before she could respond with a growling rebuff, their mother called out from the kitchen. “Trina, behave yourself!” Rolling her eyes in a displeased huff, the teenager spun around on her socked heels and slumped back into the living room without another word. 

Niall licked across his lips, fighting off his inevitable snickering as he looked over at Cat. “She’s cute,” he told her, quirking a brow.

“She’s fifteen,” Cat shot back. 

“I can tell,” he snorted, “she’s still funny, though.” 

“You’re only saying that because she said you were hot.” 

“Uh, smokin’ hot,” Niall corrected, cocking his head to the side. “Would’ve rather you been the one sayin’ it though...”

Cat giggled. “Keep dreaming, Niall.” 

“Ya just keep breakin’ me heart, Cat,” Niall mumbled out, dramatically slapping a hand to his chest. “Jesus…”

Her eyes pinched shut in a laugh before she reached out and grabbed Niall’s hand. “C’mon,” she said, pulling him after her, “I’ll show you around a bit.”

After leading him through the downstairs area, Cat took Niall upstairs and into her bedroom. She didn’t really think much of it when he was trailing behind her up the stairs, their hands still loosely entangled with the heat of his skin melting into hers. It felt natural to her, so much so that she had forgotten that she was even holding his hand that whole time until they stepped into her room. “So, this is it,” Cat said, her fingers slowly sliding from his as he brushed past her and further into her bedroom. 

Niall stood near the side of her bed with his hands hooked on his hips, his stare floating across the small bedroom; from the posters still hung up on her walls to the shelves of academic trophies and awards she had acquired throughout school. Cat crossed her arms over her chest, gnawing on her lip as she kept her eyes glued to him. He had faced himself away from her, studying some old pictures of Cat and her friends from high school that were pinned up on her wall, and she let her gaze drag down the length of his frame. His shoulders were wide under the thin material of his shirt, his back broad, a lot broader than she had remembered, and his waist slim, but it was the deliciously supple curve of his ass that forced Cat to draw in a jittery breath. He had such a nice body, toned but soft in all the right places and her eyes fluttered as the memories of how he felt on top of her, pushing himself inside her, came rushing like an unstoppable flood back into her head. 

Her eyelids were pressed closed, enjoying her dirty thoughts, when Niall had unknowingly turned around to get her attention. He smiled to himself upon seeing how pretty Cat looked with her head tipped to the side and her bottom lip sucked into her mouth. He cleared his throat and her eyes popped open, met with a cocky grin. She froze. “This looks familiar…” he said to her, his brows raising as he held up a grey snapback that had been slung over the front bedpost of her bed. 

She smiled at him. “It should. You gave it to me.” 

Niall flicked the hat in his hand as he peered down at it, the very tip of his tongue poking out between his lips. “I know, I remember,” he mumbled, wiggling the hat down on his head. Her stare went glassy, widening slightly as she peered over at him, struck with how much he looked like he used to once that hat was back on him and she struggled to find a solid breath. The corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk. “Bring back any memories?” 

It did. But she wasn’t about to tell him that. 

Dropping her hands at her sides, Cat slowly stepped around the end of her bed and came up flush to him. His hooded gaze was fixated on her, holding tight to every movement, as she leaned herself in close to him, so close that Niall could feel the tiny wisps of her hot breath against the front of his neck. It made his stomach twist. His mouth parted slightly as she rose to her tiptoes, his blue eyes darting wild over hers and there was a hint of a devilish smirk pulling at her lips as she inched closer and closer, her warm body practically on top of his. 

And as quick as Cat had pressed flush to him, she just as quickly reached up and snatched the hat off of Niall’s head. She leaned past him slightly as she flung the hat back onto the bedpost where it belonged. “It’s still mine,” she claimed, raising her brow. 

His stare hadn’t left hers, it couldn’t even if he had wanted it to and Niall turned his mouth down at her, fully impressed that he had fallen for that little game she had just played. She grinned at him, pleased with herself and it made Niall’s chest ache with how cute she looked. “It’s still yours,” he assured softly, giving her one single nod. 

Cat tilted her face down, hiding the flush that had invaded her cheeks as Niall moved his eyes beside her. “So this is where you sleep?” he asked, pointing to the bed.

“Well, that sounds creepy,” she mentioned with a giggle. 

Niall laughed. “Just tryin’ to get a feel for the place.” 

“Oh, right,” she scoffed, plopping her bottom down on the side of the bed. “Yup, this is my bed. Same one since I was, like...twelve.” 

Sitting himself down next to her, Niall carded his hand through his hair as he turned his head to catch her stare. “Should I be jealous?” 

“Of what?” Cat asked, wrinkling her brows.

Niall peeked over his shoulder at her yellow daisy printed comforter. “All the people that have gotten to sleep with you in this very spot.” 

Cat rolled her eyes before meeting his stare again. “Niall, we’ve had sex before so, no, you shouldn’t be jealous and to be honest, besides that, there’s nothing to be jealous of…” 

His brows pulled in. “You tellin’ me you’ve never had sex in this bed?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” she huffed, glancing down at her lap. “I���ve never even had a boy in this room before.” 

Niall clicked his tongue in his mouth. “So I’m your first…”

“Weird way of putting it,” Cat replied with a soft giggle, peering over at him, “but yes.” 

Leaning in towards her, the air stifled in the back of Cat’s throat as she felt his hot, silky breath spill over the slope of her neck. It made her eyes flutter, and she fought back a whimper when the tip of his nose just barely brushed along her jaw. His large palm was resting at her lower back, ever so faintly and she swallowed hard and stayed still, not daring to move an inch as Niall hungrily licked across his lips. “We can add another first to the list if ya want…” 

Slowly turning her head to look over at him, she caught his hooded stare. She struggled to find her words. “Are you, um…are you propositioning me, Mr. Horan?” Cat whispered, darting her eyes with his. Her chest was rising high with her quick, unruly breaths, her fingers curling into the thick blanket on both sides of her knees. Niall lifted his shoulder in a shrug, his brow quirking up. The darkness in his eyes was filling Cat’s belly with a fire that was proving hard to fight off, and she scraped her teeth across her bottom lip. “With my parents right downstairs?”

“Makes it even hotter,” he confidently said with a wink.

Cat let out a groan and playfully pushed him away with a nudge of her shoulder. “You’re filthy,” she told him, shaking her head as she stood up. 

Niall belted out a laugh, looking up at her. “Mmm, well, we both know that’s how ya like it.”  

With her eyes going big, her pouty lips fell to a part and Niall smirked proudly at her reaction. All she could do was let the dizziness fill her head, flustered every time he even so much as caught her stare as Niall reached out and gently grabbed her hand. Her knees wanted to crumble beneath her, her body wanting to let go as his thumb rubbed tiny circles over her skin. She slowly lifted her gaze back to his, her breaths stunted in her lungs, just as her father called them down to dinner. 

Cat squeezed her eyes closed for a split second as Niall stood up right in front of her. His intoxicating scent filled her nose and she let her gaze drift up from his chest to his blue eyes. “Saved by the bell, huh, kitty cat?” 

Pressing her lips in a line, she tipped her chin up, determined to not let him get the best of her. “It’s not like I was considering it.” 

A smug smirk tugged at the edge of Niall’s lips and he lightly placed his hand to Cat’s waist, his fingertips pushing in slightly. “Oh, baby, you were definitely considerin’ it,” he whispered, his voice low and rough in his throat. A pulsing heat coursed through her entire body, from her head to her toes, itching over her skin and pooling between her thighs. Licking across his lips, Niall quirked his brow as he quietly stepped away, slowly letting his fingertips drag down the curve of her hip. 

Watching as he sauntered out of her bedroom, Cat pushed out a heavy, choppy breath and reached up to rub across her dampened forehead. She didn’t even realize she had started to sweat, just from that short interaction and she swallowed hard before shaking her head and following him out of the room. 

She hated that he could still, without question, cause that kind of reaction in her.

•

After an uneventful, yet really good dinner followed by some delicious homemade birthday cake, Cat and Niall found themselves sitting out on the steps of her small front stoop. The sun had long set, just the street lamps casting a yellow glow along the road and the porch light shining onto their backs. Niall had his arms resting on his bent knees, sipping on a bottle of beer that Cat’s father had graciously offered him. Peering over at him, her eyes trailed the long slope of his throat as he tipped his head back to take a gulp. She pulled in a deep breath, hugging her arms tighter around her middle. 

“So,” she began, shifting her eyes back out into the dark of the street, “is owning a tech company something you always wanted to do?” 

Niall had just finished another sip of his beer and he chuckled as he licked his lips. “No, not really,” he admitted. “I mean, I knew I was gonna own a company one day, my dad owned a company, and I don’t have a business degree for nothin’, but...tech wasn’t really somethin’ I was ever super into, ya know?” He shrugged. “It is what it is, I guess.” 

Cat peeked over at him, resting her chin on the round of her shoulder. “So it was…easy for you.”

“An easy choice?” he repeated, catching her stare. “Yeah, I had the money, I had the resources.” 

Cat chuckled under her breath, shaking her head as she drifted her eyes along the chain link fence that enclosed her tiny front yard. “What?” Niall asked. 

“Nothing,” she replied, “just...crazy how shit always comes so easy for you. Wish I had a little bit of that.” 

“Shit doesn’t always come easy for me,” Niall scoffed.

Rolling her stare over to him, Cat snorted. “Oh yeah? Like what?” 

Niall licked over his lips. “You.” 

“Me?” she huffed, wrinkling her brow, “you never had to try hard in that department, Niall.” 

With his mouth falling to a part, Niall pushed out a low huff. “Are ya kiddin’ me? I’ve never had to work so hard for a second go in me life.” 

Cat groaned and reached out, snatching the beer bottle from his hands and promptly taking a sip. “You deserve a challenge once in a while.” 

Niall chuckled and leaned towards her, his eyes stuck on hers. “If you think for one second that I’m not up for it, baby, you’re bloody fuckin’ wrong…” 

Her heart nearly skipped a solid beat as she pushed out a soft chuckle. “Charming.” 

Niall threw his head back in a laugh before hoisting himself up. He turned around and stood in front of her at the bottom of the steps. Cat bit at her lip as she looked up at him, noticing a smirk pulling at his mouth as he leaned on the handrail. “I wanna take ya somewhere,” he then blurted out. 

“Like...now?” 

“No, this weekend,” Niall chuckled. 

Cat dropped her gaze to the ground under his feet and swallowed hard. “ Where do you wanna take me?” she asked, glancing back up at him. 

“I’m not tellin’ ya,” he said, raising his brows, “it’s part of the surprise. It won’t be for the whole weekend, just Saturday. It’s not too long of a drive.” 

Narrowing her eyes at him, Cat took another sip of the beer and tucked her lips into her mouth. She stayed quiet, studying his features as he turned his face slightly and peered down at her through the corners of his eyes. Niall wasn’t sure what she was thinking, or what her answer was going to be, but he was hopeful. “What do’ya say?” 

Pulling in a deep breath, Cat set the empty beer bottle down next to her. “Do I have a choice?” 

“Baby, you always have a choice,” he replied, cocking his head back slightly. 

Cat dipped her head down in a smile. “Okay, fine,” she said as she looked back at him, “but we're only going as friends. Nothing is gonna happen.” 

“Of course,” he smirked, “would ya expect anythin’ less of me, kitty cat?” 

Her brows raised. “Do you really want me to answer that?” Niall pointed a finger at her. “No.” He watched as Cat’s head softly rolled back to her shoulders in a laugh, her eyes squeezing shut and he couldn’t help but smile as the pretty sound slipped past her lips. She was perfect. “Alright then,” Niall went on as Cat caught her breath, “I’m gonna head out, but, um...thanks for havin’ me over. It was lovely. I had fun spendin’ time with you.” 

Cat chewed at her bottom lip as she darted her eyes over his, hugging her arms around her middle once again. “Yeah, it was...surprisingly nice. I really enjoyed it. Thanks for coming.” 

Fishing his car keys out of his front pocket, a tiny breath hitched in Cat’s chest as Niall leaned down and pushed a tender kiss to her cheek. “Sweet dreams, petal,” he whispered, the warmth of his lips lingering on her skin. It was one of the sweetest, softest moments she had ever experienced. And it was coming from Niall. 

Her eyes fluttered open when he stepped back, a smile on his face as he spun around and made his way to his car. Cat watched with a dreamy haze in her eyes, curiosity bounding to her fingertips and an ache befalling her chest as he hopped in his car and drove off. She sat on that top step of her stoop, head cupped in her hands and a million thoughts pouring through her mind for what seemed like ages. 

What was she getting herself into? And more importantly...after all these years, why did she still want him so bad?

•

It was hard for Cat not to think about Niall over the following week, the nonstop, and frankly, obscene cataclysm he created inside her and how confused it made her feel. It was also hard for Cat to hide how excited she was for whatever Niall had planned for that weekend. She tried telling herself that it meant nothing, he was just doing what Niall did and did well; seduce and concur and that it would be no different this time around, but the thoughts of how much she wanted to be with him, wanted to feel him, wanted to kiss him and touch him and taste him again, how much she wanted to just be with him, kept creeping into the back of her mind. 

Part of her, an incredibly hard to ignore part, didn’t care that Niall was a self-proclaimed womanizer, at least to her knowledge, and all she wanted was to have him. To let herself feel what she had always felt for him, without hesitation or worry, without a second thought. To let him care about her…love her. She knew without a doubt that Niall would treat her well, that he would be good to her, but there was always that inkling of what if. What if she let herself give into him again and he didn’t want anything more than that. What if she succumbed to those physical primal needs that itched across her skin every time he was near, and that indescribable longing in her heart she couldn’t hide from and it turned out that he didn’t feel that same way about her. What if she fell for him, really fell for him, and in the end...he didn’t want her anymore. 

That was what Cat couldn’t shake from her mind. The fear of him not feeling for her the way she knew, deep down, she really felt for him. 

Niall picked her up at her house around 3 that Saturday afternoon. Cat was beside herself; she was nervous, but excited, giddy like a teenager going out on her first date, and if anyone would have asked her why she was feeling all of those things, she really could not have given them a straight answer. Apart from the fact that it was mainly because of Niall. Being around him made her feel exuberant and alive, he made her feel sexy and alluring. He made her feel important and wanted. He made her feel 18 all over again, but more mature, more in control. And as hard as he tried, as much as he used his charms and his flirtatious ways on her, it was clear that she was the one in control this time. She was the one who was holding him like putty in her hand. And that simple fact made her feel more powerful than she had ever felt before. 

He refused to discuss where they were headed as they drove, just telling her that it wasn’t very far away, but Cat was more than eager to find out what the big surprise was. She had worried for a moment while getting ready that she was overdressed, a light breezy yellow sundress and pair of low open-toed sandals, but Niall immediately complimented her outfit as he met her at her front door and that quickly reassured her. He was also dressed quite freely with a linen short sleeve button down and a pair of fitted twill trousers, Cat smiling as she looked him over, making sure to tell him that he looked nice as well. 

The late afternoon sun was bright, strings of gold streaming in through the car windows and Cat peered over at Niall as he sat buckled in the driver's seat. Her eyes tenderly fawned down his profile, engrossed in the perfectly sharp slope of his nose and the tiny pout of his lips. His beard was grown in heavy, his dark brown hair styled softly and over to the side, and she couldn’t see his eyes underneath his sunglasses but she knew they were just as blue, just as gorgeous and dreamy as they had always been. The thought made her smile and without thinking, she reached over and gently ran her fingers through the side swept part of his hair, right over his ear. 

Niall slowly glanced over at her, a faint smirk at the corner of his mouth and Cat stared at him as she retracted her hand and rested it back into her lap. “Sorry,” she muttered, flinging her face forward as she peered down at her hands, “couldn’t...help myself.” 

A chuckle left Niall’s lips and she felt the faintest brush of his fingertips over her temple and then carding delicately through her hair. “It’s okay,” he told her. 

Her eyes flew over to his. “So you’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” 

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. Cat’s stare slipped down the length of his arm that was gripped onto the steering wheel. The sun’s rays glimmered across the silver metal of his watch and it made her eyes squint. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I did that.” 

“I’m much more surprised you didn’t blindfold me,” she chuckled. 

Niall’s grip on the steering wheel tightened at her words and he shot his eyes over to her. “I can definitely do that if ya want,” he said, voice deep in his throat. 

Cat smiled, biting at her lip as she turned her head to peer out of her window. “Maybe later…” 

Fluttering his eyes under the guise of his sunglasses, Niall blew out a heavy breath and licked across his lips. He was trying so hard to control himself around Cat, to not be who she had this perception of him to be, and he folded his fingers into a fist on his thigh as he continued to drive. “Not much longer,” he said aloud. 

•

The second they turned down the tree-lined dirt road, Cat knew exactly where they were. Her eyes went wide and she leaned forward, staring up through the windshield as they passed under the old wooden sign: Camp Sparrow. It had been years since she had been back, four years to be exact, and she breathed out a smile, glancing over at Niall. He quirked his brows at her as they slowly drove down the winding lane of dirt and rocks towards the front office of the camp. “I can’t believe you,” Cat whispered, mainly to herself but Niall heard her loud and clear and he dipped his chin down in a big smile, a pink hue blushing his cheeks. 

Coming to a stop in the same exact place that Cat had watched Niall leave that very summer, the two of them climbed out of the car, Niall grabbing a cloth bag and blanket from the back seat. It was clear that the camp was no longer a functioning summer camp; the grass somewhat overgrown and the wooden buildings a bit worn down, but as Cat peered around the large area, from the numbered cabins to the old dock that jutted out into the lake from the tiny beach area, it felt like nothing had changed. Niall had planned for them to have a picnic, some light food and wine and they spent the following couple hours sprawled out on the woolen blanket in the grass, staring off into the dark muddled water watching as the sun slowly set behind the trees. It was beautiful and quiet, serene and the two of them talked and laughed and reminisced about their past summer together. Cat felt good, she felt happy and she peeked over at Niall, catching the cute lopsided smirk on his face and it made a warmth flutter in her tummy. 

Niall was just happy to see Cat happy, it made his heart pound in his chest to hear her soft laugh and see her bright smile. He knew bringing her back to that place was exactly what they needed, what he needed to show her just how he felt about her. Taking one last sip of wine as the sun had just dipped below the treeline across the lake, Niall dusted off his palms as he stood up. 

“C’mere,” he said, holding out his hand to her. Cat tipped her head back to look up at him, biting at her lip. Sliding her hand into his, Niall gently pulled her up to her feet and slowly began to lead them out towards the lake. Cat’s heart was lashing against her ribcage, heavy and fast as her fingers tightened around Niall’s. His skin was blistering hot, but felt soft pressed to her own, and she thought for a moment that she would be content to stay like that with him. But she also thought that everything that was happening, all that she was feeling was just some kind of fever dream, something that could never really be and she pulled in a jittery sigh just as their bare feet hit the cool white sand of the tiny man-made beach. 

Niall’s fingers eased away from hers and he slipped his hands in the front pockets of his pants. Cat chewed lightly at her bottom lip, unsure as to why he had let her hand go and she crossed her arms over her chest. They stood there reveling in the peaceful silence, stares drowning in the little ripples of water that floated by from the tepid breeze before she cleared her throat. There was something on her mind that she had to get out. “Niall?” she said, her voice meek and nearly carried away by the soft lapping of the water on the shore. 

“Yeah?” He had turned his face to look over at her, Cat’s gaze watching the silhouette of a bird coasting above the tree line.  

She sucked back a sharp breath, peeking down at her painted toes as they curled into the cold sand. “Why did you bring me here?” 

He remained quiet for a moment, her question hanging idle in the air as he gathered his thoughts. “I don’t know,” Niall shrugged, “I guess, I thought that maybe...bein’ here again, seein’ the lake and the cabins and shit, that it would, ya know...spark somethin’ in ya. Memories. About me. About...us.” 

Cat hastily ran her tongue over her lips as she kicked her toes in the sand. “There never really was an us, Niall,” she stated, chuckling lightly, “I mean, we flirted for a few weeks, slept together once...then went back to our normal lives. If anything, I’d say it was just...a summer fling.” 

Niall shifted his stare downwards, rolling his lips into his mouth as he nodded his head. “So I didn’t mean anythin’ to ya, then.” 

Shooting her eyes over to him, she furrowed her brow. “No, I didn’t say that–” 

“Because I know I made ya feel good,” he spit out, aggravation clear in his voice as he caught her stare, “didn’t I?” 

Cat swallowed hard. She couldn’t lie to him, not about that. “Yeah,” she said softly. 

“You liked the way I fucked ya.” 

His words, so deliberate and suggestive in their intention as they floated off his tongue, made her chest feel heavy, like a ton of bricks smashing her down as her breaths stuck thick to the back of her throat. But she still couldn’t lie to him. “Yeah…” 

Niall turned his broad shoulders as he faced her, his brow raised. “The guy you’re with now, does he fuck you like that?” He paused and licked across his lips, his chest swelling with his rapid breaths. “Does he fuck ya like he needs ya, like he can’t get enough of ya? Like he owns ya?” 

Cat’s lips parted as she struggled to find the words, any words and she gingerly shook her head. Honesty was all she could muster as she darted her stare with his. “You’re the only person who’s ever fucked me like that,” she said, her tone subdued, “who’s ever made me...feel like that…” 

“That’s what I thought,” Niall huffed out. 

She rolled her eyes at his callous attitude and pushed out a heavy breath. “You really haven’t changed, have you, Niall?” 

“Not much, kitty cat,” he lightly scoffed, “ ‘cept I’m richer now and I fuck even better.” 

His joke, if that was what he was trying to intend, made Cat sigh out loud. “And it seems like you’re even more full of yourself,” she said. 

Niall smirked at her. “You used to be into that.” 

“Yeah, well...it worked,” she snapped, moving her gaze back out to the calmness of the water. “Four years ago.” 

Niall’s eyes narrowed and he yanked his hands from his pockets, crossing his arms over his chest. Licking across his lips, his eyes studied over Cat; the light flutter of her eyelashes and tiny upturned pout of her mouth, watching as a slight breeze swept a few strands of her hair over her cheek. She reached up and tucked it behind her ear. She was so hauntingly beautiful, it made his chest ache to even look at her, but she consistently left Niall stumped. He didn’t know what to do or say around her, he didn’t know how to pursue her. How to make her want him as much as she had four years ago. As much as he wanted her. But he was determined to find out. “So tell me then, what works now?”

Cat slowly peered back over at him. “You, Niall,” she told him blankly, “just be you.” 

“This is me–”

“No,” she choked out a laugh, shaking her head, “it's not. It's not the real you. Niall, you’re sweet and caring, and sensual and fun. But this? This is you when you’ve got one thing on your mind. When all you wanna do is sleep with somebody, when you’re on the chase.” 

Cat watched his eyes narrow, listening as she went on. “And I’m not saying I don’t like when you talk dirty to me or...flirt so shamelessly and try so hard to get me into bed, I do, but the chase is over...you’ve already fucked me.” 

He cocked his head back. “And what if I wanna fuck you again?” 

“Maybe…” Cat paused and sucked in a shaky breath. His eyes fixated on hers, the intensity causing a ripple of heat to glide over her skin, tiny goosebumps shedding its path. “Maybe you just don’t need to try so hard this time.” 

Niall tipped his head back to his shoulders in a low, frustrated groan, rubbing his palms down the front of his face. Perching his hands on his hips, a dumbfounded chuckle broke under his breath as he looked back over at her. 

“What?” she questioned, wrinkling her brow. 

“I don’t even fuckin’ know anymore,” he snorted, “you make me-...fuck, you make so confused, Cat. It completely fucks with me head, ya know? I feel so different when I’m around you, I always have. And I knew from the first time I saw ya, that first day at summer camp four years ago, that I had to have ya.” 

He paused, licking across his lips. “But it’s like...I don’t even know how to act around ya,” he told her, scratching through his scruffy beard. “The things I’d normally say, what I’d normally do. I flirt with ya, I do everythin’ I can to get ya to want me but, ya just...ya don’t fall for any of me shit. I don’t know what else to do.” 

Cat’s eyes pinched shut in a soft snicker, her head rolling to her shoulder. “I do fall for your shit, Niall,” she confessed, glancing back over at him. “I have...I am.” 

His brows shot up. “You are?”

Biting at her lip, Cat tried to tame back her emerging smile. “I mean, as much as I’d like to say no, that none of your usual shit is working on me, I’m here...right now with you, Niall,” she said softly, “and...I could never lie to you about that.”

Niall gingerly nodded his head, “Okay,” he spoke up, a confidant smirk sliding over his lips, “so if that’s how ya feel, what would you say if I told you that I wanted to lay ya down right here...and fuck ya like you’ve never been fucked before...” 

A breath stalled in Cat’s throat and her eyes fluttered as she peered over the ground at their feet. “Well,” she gently mewed, “I would say that I’d rather not like to have sand in my bits while you’re fucking me, so maybe we can find a hotel nearby instead?” 

Niall took her words, as salaciously as they had left her lips, as a joke and he dropped his forehead into the cup of his hand in a rowdy laugh. Raising his eyes back to hers in a sigh, he noticed that she wasn’t laughing, or smiling along with him. Just...staring at him. His eyes narrowed as he settled himself and he swallowed hard. “You’re serious. You really want me to fuck ya, don’t ya...”

It came out more of a statement than a question in that gritty accent of his, dripping over Cat’s ears like warm honey, sticky and thick, begging to be licked. Her fingers curled into her palms, an unstoppable heat coursing through her body as she sank her teeth down into her bottom lip. She tried to smile at him, tried to conjure up the nerve to be flippant with the lewd words floating in her head, but she couldn’t even settle the uneven pounding of her heart. It was too much. He was too much. “Honestly, Niall,” she said, turning towards him, “there hasn’t been a day that’s gone by these last four years that I haven’t wanted you to fuck me again.” 

Cat barely had time to react before Niall had stepped up flush to her, cradling her face in his big hands. The blistering heat from his palms seared into her soft skin and she lightly gasped as he slowly slid the pad of his thumb over her plump bottom lip. “You don’t know how long I’ve dreamt about hearin’ those words come out of this pretty little mouth.” 

Her eyes fluttered and she swallowed hard, eager to play his game. “Should I say them again?” Cat teased. 

Niall smirked and leaned in closer, his lips just ghosting over hers. His breath, hot and silky, spilled out over her lips and she eased her hands up, splaying them at his sides. His hooded eyes darted fast with hers, a recklessness fading into the dark and she struggled to properly inhale. He was too intoxicating, too overwhelming but she wanted him. She wanted him so bad she could feel it swirling in her lower belly and taste it tingling on her tongue. And that was all it took. 

“I...want you...to fuck me…” 

A seedy growl edged from Niall’s throat at Cat’s words and she felt his body tense up under the press of her palms. His chest was heaving, rising high against hers as his lips brushed at the corner of her mouth. “Can I kiss you now?” 

Cat’s eyes fell closed at his sweetness and a hint of a smile tugged at her parted lips as she raised just a bit to her tiptoes. “Yes…please...” 

Niall pushed his mouth to hers, kissing her deep and full, sweeping his tongue into her open mouth. Cat whined out as she kissed him back, harder and with more vigor than she knew she had in her. Niall brought that out in her, that greedy hunger, a hunger she needed to feed. To feel his lips on hers, to taste him on her tongue and swallow his warm breath, she didn’t even realize just how much she had missed him, missed feeling him, until it was happening. Her fingers twisted into the material of his shirt, yanking at it as she tugged his body even closer into her. His big hands held her face, his tongue curling over hers, and Cat felt as if she was going to float away if Niall hadn’t had her tethered so taut down against him. 

The heat was indescribable, the fieriness surging between their flesh sending both into an unyielding desire that neither had thought possible. She wanted him even more than she had years before, and he wanted her more than he had ever wanted any other woman. Niall had this need inside of him, an almost feral desire that only she could tame. She was his weakness, and he lavished the power she had over him. With her hands coming up and wrapping around his strong forearms, Niall nipped at her bottom lip as they left hers, a desperate gasp of air shared between the two. His darkened eyes only met hers for a second before he had grabbed her hand in his and began leading her back into the grassy area. 

Without a word spoken, they both hurriedly gathered their things and the remnants of their picnic and headed towards Niall’s parked car. Hopping in and closing the doors, Niall leaned his upper body almost all the way over into her seat, bringing Cat into a heated kiss once more, not being able to help himself. She ran her fingers up through his soft dark hair, twisting into the tiny ends as she urged his tongue into her mouth. Struggling to catch her breath as Niall kissed over her chin and down to her neck, Cat tipped her head back as he sucked along her throat. His thick fingers were tangled in the side of her hair, his tongue slinking over her exposed collarbone before she forced herself to inch away from him, his lips popping off her flushed skin. 

She was drowning in the gaze of his heavy lidded eyes and it took all she had in her to fight off the temptation to straddle him in his seat and fuck him right then and there. Niall swallowed hard as he stared at her. “We have to wait,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering as she cupped her hand around the back of his neck and tugged him into another kiss. “Not here.” 

Nodding his head as he reluctantly eased back, Niall wiped across his mouth with the back of his hand as he settled himself into the driver’s seat. He raked his fingers through his hair, a long drawn out breath huffing past his lips before he started up the car and took off. The ride back was torture, Niall’s big hand not leaving its claimed spot on her thigh, the pads of his fingers kneading into her silky skin as their eyes shot over to one another with each passing minute. He knew he needed her; needed to touch her, taste her, fuck her. Cat could barely hold herself together, her mind reeling with the thoughts of his touch and his kisses, her body aching to have him inside her and her stare stayed hooked on him as he drove, racing through the twists and turns of the back roads. 

After about twenty minutes, Cat had noticed that they had passed a few different motels and was perplexed on why he hadn’t bothered to stop at any of them. “Niall, where are we going?”

“I’m not fuckin’ you in a motel,” he bluntly said, his eyes on the road. 

Cat’s head toppled back to the seat rest and she ran her hand over his that was still clutched to her thigh. “You were gonna fuck me by the lake,” she reminded him, raising a brow. 

Niall peeked over at her, a seriousness written over his face. “Cat, I’ve waited four years to be inside ya again, I’m not wastin’ it on some cheap ass motel.” 

A shaky breath spilled past her lips as he flicked his eyes back to the road ahead, just the bluish beam of his headlights lighting their way. Biting at her bottom lip, Cat could feel herself aching for him, just the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her, the way his touch felt on her skin, it was all more than she could take. She needed him inside her. Slowly tugging the bottom hem of her dress up her thighs, she spread her knees and with the guide of her fingers, eased Niall’s hand down between her legs. 

The car jerked slightly as Niall glanced over to her and was instantly captivated by the seductiveness in her eyes. A rabid heat pulsed through his veins from the soft, playful look on her face. Using the press of her fingertips, Cat kept her stare on Niall as she pushed his hand harder against her. His heart was pounding in his chest as he took her lead, carefully inching the middle of her panties over to slide his fingers along her warm, wet slit. Cat’s eyes fluttered closed, her head tipping back in a shallow gasp as Niall played with her, the pads of his fingertips swirling deliciously over her swollen clit. 

Her hips rolled gently against the seat as she held his hand right where she wanted him to be, coaxing him for more and more. It wasn’t long until he had two of his thick fingers pushing inside her and a barrage of whimpers and moans poured past her parted lips. Seeing Cat like that, rocking herself against his hand, completely at his mercy and falling apart just from his fingers inside her, was the sexiest thing Niall had ever witnessed. But there was no way he was going to let her finish. He was hard as rock in his pants, throbbing with his need for her, and he continued to work her, fingering her and teasing her clit until he knew she was right there, right about to spill over that blissful edge before he yanked his hand away. 

Cat’s mouth dropped open in a shattered gasp, her body trembling from the loss of his touch as she cupped her hand between her legs. Her chest heaved as she strained to catch her breath and she peeled open her eyes to glare over at him, seeing a half smirk tugging at his lips. “I was so close,” she breathed out. 

“I know,” he told her, licking over his lips, “but you’re not allowed to come yet.” He had done it on purpose, bringing her so close and then ripping it away like she was a bad girl being punished and she huffed out an annoyed groan, clamping her thighs together to ease the vibration of her core as she turned her attention out of the passenger window. 

Niall chuckled at her reaction and adjusted himself in his pants as they continued their way back into the city.

•

They made it back to his place, the penthouse of the most luxurious condo building downtown, of course, in nearly record time. His mouth on hers as soon as the doors to the elevator slid closed behind them, her fingers cupped around the back of his neck as his hands slipped up under her dress. Cat gasped for air as his lips left hers when the elevator finally made it to his floor, opening right at his front door. She had soaked all the way through her panties by that point, and it took her a moment to gather herself as he shuffled off the elevator and over to his front door. Stepping up behind him, Cat raised to her tiptoes and slid her hands around his waist as her wet mouth attached to the side of his neck. Niall was fumbling with his keys, cursing lightly under his breath as he was more than desperate to get the girl inside his apartment. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, attempting to turn the lock. Cat giggled against his neck, pleased with his reaction and her eyes watched his fingers shake as he continued to struggle. Burying her nose into the side of his throat, his skin was tepid and salty on her tongue and she hummed faintly as her small hand ran down the front of his body. Niall choked back a breath as he felt Cat palm him on the outside of his pants. 

She smiled to herself, feeling just how swollen he was for her already as she wrapped her fingers around his length. Swallowing hard, Niall finally clicked the door open, but he froze, slowly turning his face to catch her stare. She was still feeling at him, his cock pulsing against the curve of her palm and he smirked. “You want it, don’t ya?” 

Cat pushed the tip of her tongue to her teeth, the pads of her fingers roughly tracing down the length of him. “It’s still mine.” 

“It’s still yours,” he breathed out. 

Tugging Cat in front of him by her wrist, Niall cradled her face and pushed his mouth to hers in another deep kiss, leading them through the doorway and into his place. The front door eased closed and Niall had her slammed up against it, his hips rudding into hers as his tongue swept past her lips. Cat mewed against his mouth, her body vibrating with the yearning to feel him inside her and she tightened her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself harder into him. Breaking the kiss, Cat strained to catch her breath but kept her parted lips brushing at his. Niall had his hand up under her dress again, hooking her thigh at his hip as he groped roughly at her backside. “Not here,” she whispered, eyes pinching closed in a low gasp as his fingers desperately clawed at the soft, meaty flesh. A disjointed whimper spilled out of her mouth. “Your bedroom.” 

Niall faintly chuckled and clasped his hands around her waist, easily hoisting her up. Cat threw her head back in a squeal and locked her heels around his bum. Her mouth was back on his a second later, eager to swallow his hot breath as he walked them to his bedroom. His strong arms were wrapped around her waist, his fingers digging into the thin material of her sundress at her lower back and pulling frantically at the fabric. Holding her hands around the sides of his face, Cat playfully nipped at his bottom lip and rolled her tongue into his mouth in a heated whine. The sound sent shivers down his spine.

As Niall entered the bedroom, the lights low with just the bright glow of the full moon cascading in from the large wall of windows, Cat barely had time to register her surroundings, her eyelids fluttering as Niall sauntered straight over to the end of the large bed and plopped her down onto the mattress. His eyes, now hauntingly dark, were on hers, his chest heaving under the lay of his linen shirt and Cat scraped her teeth across her bottom lip, drowning in the intoxicating heat of his stare. Only the rapid exhales of their breaths could be heard and after a few long, excruciating seconds of them just staring at one another, Cat slowly started to bring her knees up. 

Niall’s lips parted in a low, short gasp as he watched her slip her sandals off her feet and let them drop, his fingers curling into fists at his sides in an attempt to wain the need to have his hands on her. He wanted to touch her so bad, so bad he could feel her searing into his skin, burning his flesh like an unheeded firestorm, reckless in its path. But he also wanted to wait. Watch. He wanted to savor the moment with her, savor being with her and as much as he wanted to feel her tightening around him, feel her skin melting into his as she came, he knew he had to wait. Cat, on the other hand, knew exactly what she was doing. Her chest rose high, a stuttering breath itching at the back of her throat as she rolled her head to the side. With her eyes remaining focused on his, she grabbed at the hem of her dress and carefully pooled it up around her lower tummy. Her fingers danced from her sides to the front of her hips, and she watched Niall bite furiously at his bottom lip as she stuck her thumbs into the hem of her cotton panties and started to wiggle them over her bum. She couldn’t help but giggle, the sound faint and teasing, as she slid her panties down her thighs. 

Niall watched, bated breath and dark hooded eyes, as Cat let the wet, dainty fabric fall from her toe onto the ground at his feet. He swallowed hard as his stare moved from the small heap resting on the floor, back up to her face, a smirk sitting pretty on her lips. “Jesus Christ,” he breathed out, Cat raising a brow slightly at him as she spread her knees apart and slipped her hand down between her legs. Her fingertips hit her swollen clit and Cat pushed her head back in a clenched hiss, her eyelids fluttering closed. Her hips bared down into the mattress as her fingers swirled through her warm, slippery built-up wetness, her thighs shaking out of her control and her toes curling into the white duvet that laid beneath her. Whimpers flowed past her lips, as Cat played with herself right in front of Niall, teasing him, taunting him. She wanted him to want her more than he ever had. Niall strained to settle his breaths, his blue eyes swimming over her as she laid splayed out before him and it got to a point, when her two fingertips circled just right at that sensitive little nub nestled between her folds and caused a broken whine to edge from her throat that Niall couldn’t take it anymore. She was swollen, bright pink and dripping wet, just waiting for him, begging him to slide himself inside her, to fuck her and a deep grunt pushed from Niall’s chest as he leaned down and gently grabbed Cat’s hand. 

The action startled her and she popped her eyes open, staring up at him. “You’re dirty little girl, teasin’ me like that,” he growled out to her, a gasp leaving her lips as Niall brought her used fingers up to his mouth. His eyes stayed on hers, darker than she had ever seen them, as he slowly slipped her coated fingers past his lips. His tongue curled around the ends, Niall sucking the taste of her off of them before he eased them from the heat of his mouth and very slowly pulled her body up to sit. Her head toppled back to her shoulders as she peered up at him, Niall slotting himself between her spread legs that hung off the end of the bed. Cat innocently tucked her bottom lip into her mouth, staying quiet as Niall bent over and began to undress her. She inhaled sharply when Niall’s face rested against the side of hers, Cat feeling as if her skin was going to melt away from the blistering heat of him hovering over her as his fingers fumbled with the back of her dress, easing down the zipper. 

Niall could feel her trembling in anticipation, and he softly tipped his face down against the crook of her neck, pressing his mouth to her skin. “Niall…” she quietly mewed, as his tongue sucked across to her exposed shoulder. His eyes rolled back from the sound of his name spilling so sweetly past her lips as his big hands dragged across her lower back, curling around the thin material. Standing himself back up, Niall tugged her dress up over her head along with him.

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful,” he told her, his half-lidded eyes draping over her unclothed body. Cat pulled in a garbled breath, and she carefully reached behind her back to unhook her strapless bra, letting it fall onto the floor next to her dress. There was a single moment where 

Niall just stood there in front of her, Cat completely naked with a parade of goosebumps floating over her skin as his stare slid from her face to her breasts to her center. It was erotic and intoxicating, overwhelmingly sensual and with the wild thumping of her heart in her chest and an ache settling deep between her thighs for him, Cat hurriedly reached out and began to undo the buttons of his pants. Her gaze, now easily matching the pitch black of his own, was glued to him, seeing the tiny flush of pink invading his cheeks and the strands of dark hair falling over his forehead and into his eyes as she yanked his pants down his legs. There was a fierceness in her motions, Niall could see it in her face, feel it in her touch and he went to unbutton his own shirt before Cat hastily swatted his hands away. 

He chuckled at her eagerness, instead carding a hand up through his disheveled hair while she worked to undo each button one by one before easing the linen shirt off of his broad shoulders. Now just as naked as Cat, Niall hung his head down, watching as the girl ran her palms down the front of his body, her curious stare taking every single part of him in as her touch trailed after it. He was beautiful, stunning. The changes in his body since she had seen him last, nothing short of perfection. The soft, dark hair smattering across his toned chest, his tiny waist that was sculpted just enough that you could still sink your nails into. Her fingers gently scratched along the lines of his hips bones that led to the breathtaking landscape of his manhood; hard and thick and red-slick with his want for her. She slowly peeked back up at him, the very tip of her tongue running hungrily across her bottom lip and that was all it took for Niall to give up, clasping a hand around the back of her neck as he leaned over and hastily pushed his mouth to hers.

He crawled up onto the bed, his mouth devouring hers as he led them both further up the mattress. “I want ya so fuckin’ bad, baby,” he muttered against the delicious curl of her tongue. Cat had latched her hands up into the long strands of his hair, humming in agreement as Niall used his knee to spread her legs even more and nestle his body down between. Her head hit one of the many pillows that adorned his bed, his palm dragging from the back of her neck, over the curve of her breast to her waist and he gripped harshly at her warmed skin. A moan edged past her pouty lips as Niall eagerly rocked himself into her, his swollen cock rubbing along her slit as his lips kissed over her chin and attached to the side of her throat. 

With her eyes falling closed, Cat wrapped her arms around Niall’s broad shoulders as he used his strength to lift her hip up slightly off the bed, the angle enough to let the tip of his pulsing length sit right at her opening. Pulling in a jumbled breath, she dug her nails into the smooth skin of his upper back, her body on fire, already vibrating underneath him as she waited for him to sink himself all the way inside her. Her mind was going frantic; the heat of him nearly suffocating as she buried her nose into the crook of his shoulder and he assaulted the flesh at the side of her throat with the hot-wet of his mouth. She knew it was what she wanted, it was everything that she wanted. Him. Being with him like that, just like that. And she couldn’t take it any longer–she fucking needed him. Her thighs clamped around his hips and she rolled her bottom up, encouraging him to enter her. She wanted to feel that burning stretch that she had missed so much, that she had dreamed about for so long. She wanted to feel him buried inside her once again.

A whimper burst freely past her parted lips as his fingers tangled into the side of her hair, Niall finally easing his hips towards her as he oh-so-slowly pushed his hardened length inside her warm, wet center. His body tensed as he entered her all the way, a low groan spilling out against Cat’s sticky skin as Niall began to move inside her. Her head fell back under the guide of his hand entangled in her hair, Niall rounding his back slightly as his mouth trailed down from her neck to her collarbones to her chest, his lips pinching around her supple breast. Cat’s fingers slipped up into the back of Niall’s thick brown hair, pulling at the ends as he thrust his hips harder against her and sucked across her clammy flesh, exploring all her soft, pretty parts. The feelings were building fast in her lower tummy, dancing around like a fiery flame waiting to explode and she whined as his teeth nibbled harshly the sensitive bud of her breast. 

His lips popped off her nipple and he licked between the valley of her breasts as he leaned his upper body up. Cat’s fingers untangled from the strands of his hair as Niall rested back on his hunches, both his big hands curving down the length of her trembling body and grabbing tightly around her thighs as he continued to fuck into her. Easing her eyes open, Cat dreamily stared up at him as heated sparks quickly rushed through her entire body, shooting from the lingering taste of his breath on her tongue to the tips of her tightly curled toes. Tiny grunts were spitting past his parted lips as he fucked into her, sweat dripping along his dampened hairline and down his heaving chest. His stare was fixated between her spread legs, watching as he sunk himself into her over and over, her warmth devouring every impeccable inch of him. She felt so good around him like that, her center swollen and silky-wet, taking him so perfectly and Niall licked across his lips as he tipped his hips down and buried himself all the way inside her. 

Cat cried out from the intense sensation, his thickness stretching her tight walls as her body started to shake under the press of his big hands. Niall shot his eyes up to her face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he diligently watched her and she gulped back a heavy breath, unruly waves of her impending orgasm creeping up from her aching core and pouring hot over her dewy skin. Clawing her fingers into the duvet at her sides, Cat caught Niall’s stare once more, the look in his eyes sending her into a reckless fit, her body needing to him to fuck her, really fuck her. It seemed so new, so different, but harnessing that same wild heat and unrestrained passion she had felt before. But as Niall continued to push himself inside her, his fingertips bleeding into the meaty flesh at the front of her trembling thighs, Cat wanted more. She needed more. 

Whining out in desperation, Cat pinched her eyes closed as she shook her head, rolling her hips harder into him. “Damn, baby,” Niall chuckled, seeing her lash out. She shuddered slightly, catching his stare again as she untangled her fingers from the soft fabric of his bed and slapped her hand down between her legs, frantically rubbing at her clit. Niall could tell her she was desperate to get off, he could feel her throbbing around him, the quivering of her body and rather than give her exactly what she so clearly wanted, instead he pulled himself nearly all the way out of her. Cat gasped from the loss of him, her brows folding in as she wildly darted her eyes with his. 

Her fingers stayed swirling at her clit as her center throbbed, and Niall just watched her reaction in amusement as he rested the tip of his cock right at her entrance. He was being spiteful, menacing, purposely teasing her at that point and Cat was struggling to catch her breath, her chest heaving as she curiously stared up at him. Her lips pursed and she bucked her hips towards him, wanting him to give her more. Raising a brow, Niall obliged, slowly pushing himself inside her again and Cat moaned, her eyes rolling back at the satisfying feeling. “Niall...,” she whimpered out again, easing her stare back to his. Niall was already looking down at her, his massive hands now wrapped around the sides of her waist as he slowly, and very precisely, rocked his hips against her. His darkened eyes were stuck to hers, watching as her lips briefly parted and she choked back a breath. 

“Fuck me like you did before.” 

It came out as a soft whisper, humming sweetly through the thick air like a cyclone attempting to drown them and Niall licked over his lips, dragging his narrowed stare over her flushed face. “Oh, ya want it like that, huh?” he said to her, cocking his head back slightly. His hips were still thrusting against hers, the intensity nearly overwhelming Cat as she gingerly nodded her head. 

“Please,” she begged under her breath, “just a little bit…” 

Cat knew what she was asking for, Niall knew what she was asking for. And he had been waiting for that exact moment. Rolling his tongue in his mouth, a delicious smirk slid over his lips as he leaned himself down on top of her and placed his mouth right at her ear. Cat’s eyes fluttered shut as Niall squeezed bearishly at her waist and rolled his hips, burying himself all the way inside her, so far it almost hurt. Bringing a hand up, he curled his fingers tight into her hair by the side of her face and held her still. “Tell me how ya want me to fuck ya,” he whispered, his streamy breath sticking to the side of her neck. 

Cat clawed down the slope of his back at his words, biting off a broken cry that had escaped her lips. He was heavy on top of her, their combined sweat pooling between their chests and she could barely breathe, but all she wanted was for him to fuck her, fuck her exactly like he had fucked her before. He was thrusting into her as he waited for her words, deep and steadily, but she wanted more. “Harder…” she gasped with a creaking swallow, “please…” 

Niall cradled his palm around the side of her face, his thumb pressing firmly into her jaw. Sliding his stare over to look at her, he kept his mouth by her ear, just barely letting the tip of his tongue slip over her earlobe. “No, kitty cat,” he teased in that deep, filthy accent of his, “tell me exactly what ya want.” 

Wrapping her hands around the back of his balmy neck, Cat brought Niall’s face flush to hers. Their gaze locked heavy, and she swallowed hard as Niall gripped her chin and brushed the tip of her nose with his own. “Tell me,” he mouthed. 

Cat huffed out a low whine as she held his stare. “Fuck me,” she breathed out, “fuck me harder. Choke me, use me.” She paused, swallowing hard as she felt the cold metal of his necklace slapping against her throat. “Make me come. Make me yours.” 

Niall raised a brow and gave her a faint nod. “Louder,” he demanded, thrusting roughly into her. She gasped against his parted mouth, the feverish, tempting action nearly knocking the air straight from her lungs. Slipping his fingers from the side of her face, Niall pried her hands from around the base of his neck and swung them up above her head, pinning both her wrists down into the pillow. Cat’s mouth dropped open as he ghosted his lips to hers again. She could taste him on her tongue, and she struggled to take in a decent breath under the press of his weight. Niall smirked, clamping harder to her wrists and she shivered from his dominant touch. “I wanna hear ya beg for it, baby…c’mon...” 

Her eyes darted languidly with his as a fiery haziness started to invade her head. “Please,” she pleaded, her voice soft as a whisper. “Niall…please, fuck me, use me...make me yours.” 

It was the last bit that was getting to Niall, that was making his heart pound uneven in his sweaty chest and his stomach tangle into knots. Hearing those words slide so richly, so intently off her tongue, it was like heaven and there was nothing else in the world that he wanted. He swallowed hard. “You wanna be mine?” 

“Yes.” 

“All mine? To do what I want with?” 

Cat lifted her chin just enough to rest her lips to his, barely nodding. “Yes...yes, please,” she breathed out, “I’m all yours.” 

Niall smirked, a devilish little smirk that sent an unparalleled rage of scorching heat pulsing over Cat’s skin before she felt his fingers drag up from their grip on her waist and tap right at her mouth. His darkened stare focused on hers as Cat anticipated his next move, gasping lightly as she felt his two fingers slip past her parted lips and push down her throat. She gagged around the stretch of his thick fingers, her eyes pinching closed before he pulled his hand away, smashing his mouth to hers. He kissed her hard, swallowing her warm spit and her rapacious whines as Cat wiggled beneath him, struggling to yank out of his strong grip. Niall chuckled at her attempt as he sucked at her tongue and held her down.

His hips went crazy; faster and harder, crashing into hers with so much force Cat swore she could see blinding lights flickering under her eyelids with each of his heavy grunts spilling down her throat. But all she could do was moan. She moaned and whimpered and took whatever it was that Niall wanted to give her. She was his. All his. And she was enjoying every single filthy little second of it. 

Pulling back from the kiss, Niall leaned up slightly, Cat’s eyes easing open as she stared up at him and with his hand still holding her wrists tightly, pressing all his weight onto them, Niall reached down and grabbed under Cat’s knee, a jumbled breath filling her lungs as Niall hooked her leg onto the broad of his shoulder and sunk himself all the way inside her. The angle was unbelievable, filling her to the brim with all his perfect swollen thickness and a cry pierced past her pouty lips as she flung her head back into the pillow. He was fucking her so deep; his strokes long and slow, hitting that sweet little spot inside Cat every time his hips met hers. Niall just watched her as he moved on top of her, watched her body shake and coil up as her nipples grew harder with each thrust. He watched beads of sweat drip along her mottled flesh, his hooded stare following the trail of them down the curves of her breasts. He watched her eyes flutter closed as his public bone smacked against her clit, sensuous moans breaking out of her bared throat and Niall pushed out a groan, dropping her leg from his shoulder as he slapped a splayed hand to her lower tummy, slowly sliding his palm up the middle of her torso. 

Cat’s mind was a fury, and she shook her head under the pitch black of her closed eyes just as she felt the heat of his touch cradle around her throat. She choked back a breath before his fingers tightened around the sides of her neck and he started to fuck into her just a bit faster, rolling his hips upwards as the tip of his cock hit right at her slippery upper wall. “Fuckin’ look at you,” she heard him grumble between panting breaths. “So fuckin’ gorgeous takin’ me like this.” 

Cat strained to whine out under the press of his hand, her body convulsing as the unstoppable crest of her orgasm was begging to rip through her. Her center was hot and pulsating, her wetness spilling out of her with every pull of his cock and she began to tremble, her chest burning with the need for air as her body quickly, and unrelentlessly, started to give into her much needed release. It was fast, sneaking up on her with a velocity of a thousand lightning bolts charging through her wasted body all at once. Niall continued to fuck into her, not letting up, the sweet whines that cracked from her pinched throat, her beautiful writhing body urging him on and Cat popped her eyes open and caught his stare just as she hit her peak, her mouth hung idle with the silence held at the tip of her tongue. Her face was bleeding red, her eyes rolling back as Niall buried himself deep inside her and unclamped his hand from her throat. 

She gasped, fully giving into her frantic orgasm as it finally over took her entire sweat-coated body. Slipping his other hand from her wrists, Niall hovered above her with both his palms pressed into the bed beside her head as he slowed his thrusts, languidly pushing inside her. Cat moaned out his name, the sound coming out soft from her dry throat and her sticky chest heaved as she struggled to find her breath. Peering up at him, she carefully brought her arms back down and wrapped her hands around his forearms that rested right next to her face. They stayed like that for a moment, all starry-eyed as they stared at one another, soaking up the feeling of Cat pulsing around him as he just barely moved his hips. 

“Fuck yes,” she breathed out, turning her face to press a tiny kiss to the inside of his wrist. It was a sweet gesture and Niall fought the racing of his heart. “You’re so good.” 

Huffing out a short chuckle at her words, Niall confidently smirked down at her and Cat couldn’t help but smile, a slight bashfulness taking over. He looked so pretty above her like that, ethereal, like a God with his brown hair sweeping into his eyes, his skin shiny and patchy red, covered in sweat. His gaze was dark and salacious, full of lust and an uncontrollable need for her. She had just had one of the best orgasms of her life, but she could already feel the heat starting to build again just from looking up at him. Niall reached over and gently brushed away some matted hair that was stuck to Cat’s forehead, a tender touch to her hot skin before he grabbed around her chin and leaned down, pushing his lips to hers. He kissed her, kissed her deep and with purpose and Cat snaked her arms around his shoulders, curling her fingers up into the back of his dampened hair. 

Inching away slightly, Niall caught her stare again. “I’m not done with you yet,” he told her, a gasp leaving her mouth as Niall shoved an arm up under the arch of her back and yanked her up from the bed. Cat tightened her arms around his shoulders as Niall rested back on his knees and eased her wrecked little body into his lap. He was still buried inside her, the quick motions of him sliding her into his lap not letting him leave the warmth of her for even a second. Niall squeezed his forearm around her lower back, holding her taunt to him as he tangled his other hand into the back of her hair. Cat’s mouth was back on his, eager to kiss him. She sucked at his tongue, nipped at his lower lip and swallowed his hot, panting breaths as he thrust his hips into hers. 

Cat felt the prickles of her next orgasm bubbling wild in her lower tummy, Niall moving faster and sloppier inside her with each minute that passed. She knew he was working himself to his own release, needing to feel that same nearly insurmountable high as Cat had just felt and she cupped her hands around his sweaty neck, whining against his tongue. She started to move with him, her hips rocking to meet his and Niall could feel this change in her, feel her center starting to clench up around him, swollen and warm and he dug his fingertips into the side of her waist, his grip tangling tighter into her hair as he gently tugged her head back. Cat let out a curdled cry as her head fell to her shoulders, her eyes pinching shut and her nails scratching helplessly at his scalp. Niall pushed his wet-hot mouth to her neck, slinking his tongue over the hollow of her throat as he bit hard at the soft skin. Cat sucked back a jilted breath at the feeling, her body starting to tremble and shake against him with each perfect meet of their hips. She was already close again, so fucking close, the fire igniting in her belly and swarming like a fuse throughout her and she rocked harder against him, her arms curling tighter around his shoulders. 

His grunts grew more desperate as his lips travelled over her sticky skin, lapping up the beads of sweat that were painted across her naked body. He sucked along the span of her shoulder, his grown-in beard roughing her tender flesh as the scent of his body heat, thick and musty with arousal, seeped into her nose. He held her tighter as she attempted to rub herself against him, and it was so tight Cat almost couldn’t breathe and she brought her face down, moving her arms to hug around his neck. “Fuck...f-fuck,” Niall moaned out in his gruff voice, his thrusts becoming even rougher. Cat squeezed her eyes closed and buried her face down against his broad shoulder as Niall’s mouth hung open right at the slope of her neck. Curling his fingers into the thick of her hair, Cat whined out as her body started to shake, that familiar heat surging over her skin as the waves of her impending release teetered right at the brink, just teasing her to spill over. She struggled to breathe, struggled to swallow back the spitting cries that were being forced past her lips and just before he was able to coerce her begging body over that blissful edge once more, Niall stiffened inside her. His muscular frame tensed within her hold, his sticky body coiling up and gripping tight to her as he finally reached his well-deserved high. 

A low growl of her name spilled from his mouth onto the side of her neck and Cat gasped as she felt him come inside her. She could feel the warm streams of his load filling her up, thick and slippery, something she had never experienced before and her eyes fluttered as she slowly started to roll against him, wanting him to completely empty himself inside her. There was something about it, something about feeling his sticky, hot cum inside her that turned her on even more. It was filthy, obscene. So fucking sexy. And she couldn’t get enough of him. 

“Holy shit,” Niall barely groaned out, jerking his hips as he finished, “shit...fuck, baby…” His big hand was cupped at the back of her head and he held her quivering body against his, sweetly kissing along the span of her shoulder. He was being soft with her, but Cat wasn’t done. She whimpered at him, rolling her hips against his that had all but stopped moving at that point. Lifting her lips to his ear, Cat swallowed hard as she gripped her hands at his sweat-coated upper back. “Stay inside me,” she breathed out, “please…” 

Her body wriggled against him, throbbing around his spent cock as tiny desperate whines purged from her throat. Niall knew she wasn’t done. He knew, without a doubt, she wanted more. 

Lifting his mouth from the crook of her neck, Niall brought her face to his. Her eyes, half-lidded and glassy, locked on his and Niall drifted his stare over her delicate features, his hot mouth hovering at hers. Cat grinded against him. “You wanna come again, don’t ya?” he teased as the young woman faintly nodded. 

Niall smiled and pressed his lips to hers. Before Cat could even properly kiss him back, he pulled away and had her tossed to the mattress on her stomach. It happened so quick that Cat barely had time to even process what was happening, the side of her face smashed into the bed as Niall fumbled around behind her, roughly grabbing at her hips with his wide palms and lifting her bottom up just a bit. Cat sharply inhaled, twisting her fingers into the blankets beneath her, preparing for what he was about to do to her. A broken cry left her lips, laced with soft desperation as her center ached with the need to feel him inside her, to have him make her come all over again. She could feel his warm load seeping from her opening, dripping down her slit and just as Cat went to turn her head to peer back at him, the unmistakable wet-hot of his mouth cupped around her heat. 

A gasp shuddered past her parted lips, soaking into the white duvet as Niall slipped his tongue along her folds, eating hungrily at her. Her body shook as he curled his lips around her clit, sucking hard as his fingertips dug into the supple flesh of her bottom. He held her still and spread her open, licking and sucking and tasting at her, Cat rocking her bum back against him as she wordlessly pleaded for more. Her tummy sunk in, her eyes fluttering closed as she started to feel the wicked pangs of her release itching across her clammy skin once more. Niall hummed as he slurped over her swollen folds, sinking his tongue down inside her. Twisting her head forward to bury her face down into the duvet, Niall had just moved his mouth to suckle her clit before she felt the warmth of his mouth dissipate and the delicious stretch of his cock push inside her once again. 

She cried out, fisting rough at the blankets as the weight of Niall’s sticky body consumed her. He was back on top of her, his hips slowly rolling into hers as he began to fuck into her. She almost couldn’t fixate on anything she was feeling; him, his thick body on top of her, how he felt so fucking good inside her, his hot breath panting out onto the back of her damp neck. It was all too much, overwhelming and out-of-this-world intense, and before she knew it, Niall had sucked a trail up the side of her throat. “This what ya remember, huh? This what ya want?” he asked her, his voice gravelly in her ear. “Me fuckin’ ya just like this?” 

Cat moaned at his lewd words, the memories of being pinned down on that cold, hard desk as Niall roughly fucked into her from behind, gagging her with his thick fingers and making her come around him, instantly sent a wildfire soaring through her body. She writhed uncontrollably under him, gasping back needed breaths as he continued to move on top of her. God, she needed to come again so bad. His thrusts picked up, feeling the way she was reacting to him, and Niall reached up and wrapped her hair around his fist, easing her head up off the bed. 

Cat’s mouth dropped open in shocked silence, her eyes fluttering as Niall slapped his hips against her bottom, fucking into her even rougher than before. He felt so fucking good and it made her squirm. “This is how ya want it, baby?” he growled out to her, sucking feverishly along her neck. 

“Yes...God, yes…” she choked out. 

“Like bein’ me dirty little girl, don’t ya? Takin’ my big cock so good…”

Another seedy moan edged from her throat and the sound made Niall smirk against her skin. “I wanna come,” Cat begged, barely a whisper between her heavy gasps, “please Niall...I wanna come so bad.” 

Niall swallowed hard at the sweet, pleading sound of her voice, something about hearing her beg him, hearing her wanting him so bad, wanting him to make her come, it made him weak. He was so goddamn weak for her. “Fuck, kitty cat,” he moaned, settling his mouth back at her neck as he took a hand and shoved it under her tummy. 

His hips slowed a bit, fucking into her with long, deep thrusts as his hand slipped down between her spread legs. Cat cried out as she felt the pads of his two fingers start to circle at her clit. Niall had eased her face back down, hovering over her as his puffy lips stayed resting at the corner of her open mouth. She breathed heavy as he continued to fuck her, slow and steady, the tip of his hardened length hitting perfectly inside her swollen center as his fingertips played with her sensitive little nub. Her mind was frazzled, wicked and drenched with the sensations that were quickly consuming her entire fucked-out body and it was when Niall softly brushed some strands of her hair away from the side of her face, tiny kisses being planted to the crease of her mouth, that she knew something was different. His big hand was cradling her head as he pushed inside her, his hot breath mixing with her own as they perfectly moved together and a smile started to tug at the corner of her lips. 

His eyes were stuck to her as he rested his forehead at her temple. “You’re so beautiful,” he breathed out, “so fuckin’ beautiful. God, baby, I-...” he paused, swallowing hard as he gathered his breath. Cat faintly moaned as he buried himself deep inside her. She was right there, so close fucking close to coming she could taste it on the tip of her tongue, her center clenching hard around him. But all she wanted in that split second was to hear his voice. “I missed bein’ inside ya so much.”  

Unfolding her fist from the white blanket, Cat reached behind her and curled her fingers into the back of his hair. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ bout ya, ‘bout fuckin’ ya just like this,” Niall went on, “all I wanted...was to be with ya again, feel ya around me, sinkin’ into ya, baby.” 

A low whimper poured from her lips and Cat rocked her body back into him, the last little thing she needed before she felt her body lose all control. She slowly writhed under him, under the heat of his thick, strong body, her toes curling and her shaken breaths stalled in her risen chest as he continued to fuck into her, riding her through her intoxicating, mind-numbing high. Broken moans bounced off his stark walls and filled their ears as Niall kept his stare on her, urging her through with the steady, skilled rocks of his hips. His fingers moved between her folds, the warm wetness of her orgasm slick as it spilled out around him and onto his hand. Cat called out his name, over and over, as she succumbed to him, to all that he was giving her, her desired release long and nearly paralyzing, the intense heat crawling over her wrecked body and biting at her flushed skin as she trembled uncontrollably against him. She had come hard, harder and more thoroughly than she had before and she didn’t even know that was possible. And with the mind-blowing sensation of her letting go around him again, it was only a fraction of a moment before Niall was hitting his own second release, much more soft and subdued that time. Cat couldn’t help but smile at the intimate feeling. 

“Oh my God,” she finally mumbled, both having barely come down. Cat strained to find her full breaths as Niall eased his hips to a stop. “I-...I’ve never felt like that before. With anyone.” 

Her eyes were still closed, Cat reeling in the over-heightened feelings of her powerful orgasm as Niall chuckled against her. He pressed his lips to the side of hers. “Good,” he said, slowly pulling his hand out from under her. The loss of his touch between her legs made Cat whine, and Niall smiled down at her. “I love makin’ ya feel like that.” 

Niall stayed resting inside her for a few minutes, sweetly kissing along her jaw and shoulder as she continued to come down, her sticky body relishing in the cool air of his bedroom. Contented hums slipped past her lips, a blissful smile following as she finally was able to catch her breath. She had never felt so satisfied, so purely whole, before in her entire life, he had outdone himself and they were both blatantly aware of that fact. Niall, on the other hand, had never felt with anyone the way he was feeling with Cat in that very moment. He had never felt happy, so fulfilled, so...absolutely in love. Twisting her fingers into his damp hair, Cat lifted her face from the mattress just enough so she could fully kiss him. She needed to kiss him. She needed to taste his breath on her tongue and feel the beautiful heat of his mouth. Niall eagerly kissed her back, and it wasn’t long before he had slipped himself from her and turned her body over in his arms. Curling up in his bed, they tenderly kissed until their lips were sore and their naked bodies nearly listless. They stay snuggled together under the warm covers, a sated, simple quiet filling the room between the last few soft kisses until they both drifted off to sleep. 

•

Sometime in the middle of the night, Cat awoke. Her eyes blinked open, struggling to adjust to the dark room and she wrinkled her brow, unsure as to where she was before everything came flooding back to her. Peeking over to her left, she caught a glimpse of Niall. He was laying on his back, perfectly still as he slept, his chest rising with the soft ebb and flow of his steady breaths. He looked so pretty, his dark brown hair all disheveled and swept across his forehead as his tiny eyelashes rested daintily on his cheeks. But there was nothing dainty about that man. Sweet in his own ways, soft in others, but he was rough and dirty, and eager and good, and as the thoughts of just a few hours prior started to swim around in her head, Cat suddenly felt the soreness that had settled between her legs. Niall had fucked her, really fucked her, fucked her better than she had ever had before and the girl chewed at her lip as her stare lazily dragged over him, the only thought left in her mind was what was going to happen between them now.

Deciding that she needed some water, her mouth unnaturally dry–she assumed from the endless moans and many frantic kisses shared–Cat very carefully untangled her naked body from his and out from under the covers. She sat at the edge of the bed for a moment, finally being able to take in the sight of the room she had been holed up in all night. Her stare didn’t know what to focus on first; the expansiveness of the space with its decadent art pieces adorning one of the walls, the large expanding floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the cityscape or the enormous bed that she had just been laying in. Cat twisted around, peeking back at Niall. He hadn’t moved a single muscle. And still looked just as cute, just as breathtakingly gorgeous as ever. She smiled down into the round of her shoulder and a slight chill broke out over her bare skin. 

Scraping her teeth over her dry bottom lip, Cat eased up from the bed and peered around the floor, grabbing the first thing she saw to cover herself up with. It was Niall’s linen button up. She slid her arms into the shirt as she quietly stepped over to the window, just letting the thin material hang open down her body. It was a bit short, just barely covering her bum, but it did the trick for the time being and she tipped her head to the side as she flicked her wide, curious stare out across the city’s rooftops. It was beautiful, the bright flickering neon lights, the wiz of the cars zooming through the dark streets and Cat stood there, arms crossed over her front for a few more minutes, soaking up the beautiful scene in front of her before tip-toeing out of the bedroom. 

She didn’t really remember how they had gotten back to his bedroom; her attention, and her mouth, stuck to Niall on the way in, but it wasn’t hard to find her way back out into the open floor plan of his two-story condo. If she had thought his bedroom was spacious, she didn’t even know what to do the second her bare feet hit the threshold of his main living space. Another enormous wall of windows overlooking the city, the space decorated just how she had imagined it would be, much like Niall’s office. Modern and sleek, incredibly expensive, with only a few punches of color amongst the dark tonal colors, it was unreal. There was no questioning that Niall was a wealthy man. 

“Holy shit,” Cat breathed out to herself with a short giggle, tucking some unruly hair behind her ear. She stepped forward, making her way through the open living room and into the kitchen. There were a few lights on, just really soft dim lighting under the cabinets that she assumed accented the atmosphere of his home, so she was able to easily find her way to the fridge. Niall had a few glass bottles of water resting along the shelf in the door and Cat eagerly helped herself to one. Unscrewing the metal cap, Cat shuffled over to the long kitchen island, facing out towards his living room as she put the rim of the bottle to her lips and took a nice, slow sip. Her eyes fluttered closed as she tilted her head back, letting the cold refreshing liquid slip down her dry throat. She had never tasted water that good before. 

The girl must have lost herself in the water for a moment, as it was only when she heard the faint clearing of a throat that she shot her eyes open, bringing her chin back down. It was Niall. Standing just at the threshold of the kitchen, in nothing but a tiny pair of white boxers. Licking her lips, Cat smiled at him, her stare noticeably dragging over the exquisitely intricate lines of his toned body. He was by far the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on. And she was pretty sure he knew it too. 

“Thirsty?” Niall commented. 

Cat wrinkled her brows and flicked her gaze back up to his. “Huh?” He nodded towards the bottle of water in her hand as he stepped over to the kitchen counter, pulling out a stool to sit down. Cat peered down at the bottle that was gripped in her hand. “Oh...yeah,” she giggled in response.

Niall leaned in, resting his forearms on the edge of the counter. His tired, half lidded eyes stayed on hers, those hypnotizingly ocean blue eyes that Cat just couldn’t seem to get away from. As much as she knew she should. She quickly took another sip of water. Niall gaffed and tipped his head down, running his fingers through his mess of hair. “Cat, can I be honest?” he then blurted out. 

Swallowing down the frigid water that was held in her mouth, Cat faintly nodded as she set the bottle down on the counter in front of her. His eyes darted heavy with hers and for a moment, Cat almost couldn’t breathe. She didn’t like that feeling. Not when she had an idea what was coming next. “I wanna be with you,” he said bluntly. 

She dropped her stare, mainly because the intensity of his was eating at her skin, and tucked some fallen hair behind her ear. “I...can’t,” she muttered, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip as she annoyingly picked at the paper label of her bottled water. 

“Why?”

“Because, I-…we shouldn’t,” she said. 

Niall shook his head. “Listen, if it's this boyfriend of yours,” he started, Cat catching his stare again, “ya know it’s not real, it can’t be. And ya know I can fuck ya better, you know I can treat ya better. Better than anyone.” 

Rolling her eyes, Cat huffed out a breath as she rubbed over her forehead. She knew it had gone on long enough, and she had no choice but to tell him. She couldn’t keep lying to him. It was tearing her up inside. “Look, Niall…” Cat paused, already frustrated and needing to collect her thoughts before continuing, “I’ve got to tell you something and I don’t want you to get mad at me.” 

He narrowed his stare at her as he listened, not sure where the conversation was headed. “I, um…” Cat fiddled with a button on his shirt, tugging the airy material tighter around her chest, hoping it was covering her bare breasts. “I don’t really have a boyfriend.” 

“What?” he scoffed.

Cat flicked her eyes up to his, she could see the confusion pulling at his face. His lips dropping open, his eyes scouring over hers, like he was desperately searching for answers. It nearly broke her heart. “I was-, fuck, I don’t even know now why I did it,” she started, plopping her elbows down to the countertop as she covered her face with her hands. “I guess, I said that hoping it would keep a distance between us. To...keep myself from...falling for you.” 

Niall’s brows drew in further. He wasn’t even mad that she had lied, just more than confused at that point. He never knew what was going on inside that girl’s head, and it frustrated the hell out of him. “Cat, why would ya wanna do that?” 

“Are you kidding me?” she shot back, scrunching her face in. “You told me yourself that you don’t do serious girlfriends. You’ve slept with half the city, Niall. I know you. I know how you are and I know that I was to ever get involved with you, really involved... it wouldn’t end well for me.” 

Niall darted his stare over hers for a second as he stayed quiet before he pushed out a long sigh, Cat watching as he hung his head down. She sucked in a deep breath, instantly feeling horrible for all of the shit that had just spewed from her mouth. She hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, not in that way and definitely not after the night they had just had. But she also didn’t know how else she was supposed to get it across to him. He was stubborn, persistent and with guys like Niall, sometimes it was just easier to rip the bandaid off fast. It was better for both of them that way. No matter how she actually felt. 

And as much as she needed to get all of that off her chest, she hated seeing him upset. It hurt her heart looking over at him, slouched over his countertop with his head hanging between his shoulders. He didn’t say a word, not a single word and Cat couldn’t take it anymore. Shuffling around the kitchen island, she stepped over to him and cradled her hand to the side of his face, her thumb rubbing over his bearded jaw. “I’m sorry, Niall,” she whispered, “I didn’t mean it like that, I–”

“That’s exactly how ya meant it,” he mumbled. 

Cat let out a soft sigh. “No, it’s not. Not at all. I like you, okay?” she went on, “I really...I really do like you. What I feel for you is–...I can’t even explain it, and I don’t know how to make any sense of it. I never meant to lie to you, but I’m just-...I didn’t know what else to do. I’m trying to protect myself, okay? I have to.” 

Niall flung his head up as he looked over at her, his body following his movements. His knees bumped hers and she herself slotted between his spread legs, facing each other. “Protect yourself from what?” he asked, brow furrowed. “How I feel about ya? How I make ya feel?” 

Cat shook her head. “You’re gonna get tired of me, Niall.” 

“No.” 

“Yes, you are,” she told him, exasperation idle in her voice, “you’re gonna get tired of me. You’ll get tired of me and you won’t want me anymore and it will just-...I won’t be able to take it, okay? Not from you. It will break my heart.” 

And there it was. The real reason why she was scared. Why she was so intent on holding him at a distance. Why she had lied to him in the first place. Her feelings for him were much deeper than she was letting on, much deeper than maybe she even wanted to admit. Niall huffed out a deep breath and reached up, cupping his hands around the sides of her face. Cat’s gaze met his, and she nearly wanted to burst out crying. She didn’t even know why. “Listen to me,” he began, his brows raised as he stared at her through the tops of his eyes, “I will never get tired of you. I couldn’t. Cat, you are all that I think about, all the bloody fuckin’ time. I can’t get ya out of me head. Shit, I don’t want to. You, love, you are what I want. You have always been what I wanted. I have loved ya since the first time ya looked at me and havin’ ya back in me life these past few weeks, it’s just made me realize that I am nothin’...nothin’ without you.” 

His words slid over her ears, so sweet and so pure, it was hard to believe it was coming from Niall. But it was, and it made her heart soar. She was so intent on the thought of him breaking her heart, on not feeling the same way for her that she did for him, that she hadn’t even thought of the possibility that he, Niall Horan, had real, honest, true and undeniable feelings for her. She swallowed hard, resting her hands to his chest as he went on. “The reason why I haven’t had a serious girlfriend is not ‘cause I didn’t want one, not ‘cause I wanted to go out and fuck everyone, Cat...it’s ‘cause none of them were you.” 

A heavy breath eased past Cat’s lips and she knew there was no way she could hold in the tears that had worked their way to the brims of her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered closed, her chin wobbling as a tear slid down her cheek. She softly giggled, her nerves getting the better of her and Niall gently wiped the tear away as he stood up and pushed his forehead to hers. “Baby, none of them were you.” 

Dragging her hands across the span of his bare chest, Cat gingerly shook her head and just barely eased her chin up, bringing her mouth to his. She kissed him, kissed him soft and then deeper, wrapping her arms around his body as a few more tears slipped down her face. Niall might have shed a tear or two as well, not being one to shout that from the rooftops, but Cat felt the wetness on her skin as he buried his face against her neck when he pulled her into a tight hug. 

“So, you’ll be mine then?” Niall spoke up once more after a few quiet moments, inching back slightly from her embrace. 

Cat smiled up at him, reaching up to brush some hair from his eyes. They were too pretty to cover up. “Niall James, I was always yours. From the first time you kissed me. Besides…how on earth could I say no after that?” 

He snorted. “I’m sure you’d find a way…”

She pinched her eyes closed in a faint laugh. “Not this time,” she whispered, urging him into another kiss. His tongue curled around hers, and Cat sweetly whined before just barely pulling back. “So...I heard you, like, love me or something...” 

Niall cocked his head back, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, ya did, did’ya?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, with a faint shrug.

He breathed out a soft smile, one that made her heart nearly explode. “Well, ya heard right. I fuckin’ love you, Cat.”

“I love you, too, Niall,” she replied, her eyes dancing over his, “I always have, even though I spent the last four years trying to fight it.” 

With his brow raising, Niall licked across his lips. “Figured that. I always knew ya loved me,” he said. 

“You’re just being cocky now,” Cat rolled her eyes, her fingernails raking down the slope of his back. “You didn’t know shit.”

Niall laughed. “Of course I did, petal. Just had to get you to admit it,” he said. Pulling himself away slightly, he slipped his gaze down her scantily covered frame. She was on full display, nothing being hidden by the material of his shirt at that point. A familiar heat began to crawl over Cat’s exposed skin, Niall’s wild blue eyes bleeding dark as the intensity of his stare grew with each passing second that he looked over her. She knew that look all too well. “And I also know…” he paused, slipping one of his hands inside the hem of his open shirt that adorned her body. She faintly gasped as he groped at her breast, rubbing his fingertips across her pert nipple. His playful touch burned at her sensitive flesh and he peered back up at her. 

Niall thumbed at her bottom lip as he leaned in close. “...we got a lot more fuckin’ to do, kitty cat.” 

Cat bit off the bashful smile that was etching across her lips, her cheeks punching a bright pink. Niall chuckled amusingly at her reaction and took her hand in his, kissing sweetly across her knuckles before leading the way back to his bedroom. And as Cat held his fingers within hers, watching the muscles in his back move as he walked in front of her and felt the soreness between her legs dissipate as that uncompromisable need for him took over, all she could think about was the fact that he was hers. All hers. Hers to kiss and touch, to play with and fuck. To laugh with, and cry with and cuddle and enjoy. Hers to make love to. Hers to love.  

And it was so much better than a million hot and sticky nights spent at summer camp. 

~~

Without your love, I’m jaded, going crazy, come save me,

Hearts beating, not breathing, I’m breathing...

[honey-dewey]

(Hold me Closer) Tiny Dancer

Chapter 5

Pairing: Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels/Reader

Word Count: 2,093

Fic Warnings: Non-sexual age regression, split perspective, classification AU, canon-typical violence

Chapter Warnings: age regression, mild depressive episode.

Taglist: None for this fic. If you want to be added, just ask, but I know this is an odd topic and therefore will not tag anyone unless they ask

Jack’s not exactly the most stable human being on the planet, but when he tests as a Caregiver, all hell breaks loose as someone who was just his work partner suddenly becomes so much more.

Multi-chapter story. Chapter 5 of ? Read Chapter 1 Here

-Whiskey-

Two more weeks passed. Jack stumbled his way through single parenting during that time, until Ginger was finally able to get a refill pack of pills out. Mojito had been well-behaved, which was a small victory for Jack. As he watched Mojito take the pill with a small handful of jelly beans, he sighed. As much as he had complained about not knowing what he’d been doing, he was going to miss Mojito running down the hallways after him, happily shouting his name from behind their pacifier. He’d grown so used to the Little being around that he wasn’t sure what to expect when Mojito came out of it.

Deciding to enjoy what seemed to be his final night with Little Mojito, Jack carried them out onto the porch after dinner, settling in a rocking chair and laying Mojito across his lap. They instinctively curled to his chest, resting their head on his shoulder.

“Darlin’,” Jack said softly, rocking the chair a bit. “What'd you wanna do when we go home?”

Mojito shrugged. Over the two weeks, they had aged up a tiny bit, settling at three years old. They had remained pretty silent though, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

“That sounds nice,” Jack said softly, poking Mojito’s nose and watching them yawn. “Ginger wants us to go to England for a bit. Visit some old friends of mine. How’s that sound to you?”

Again, Mojito simply shrugged, burrowing deeper into Jack. “Co’d.”

Jack nodded. “It is cold, ain’t it.”

They went in eventually, once Mojito had begun to shiver. Jack carefully tucked them into bed and left the door open as he went to his own room right across the hall. He’d figured out that Mojito needed to be able to see him during the night, which had led to a week of Jack sleeping in their bed and a week of them sleeping with their doors open.

“Wi’key?”

“Yeah kiddo?” Jack poked his head back into Mojito’s room at their hesitant cry.

“Bed.”

Jack sighed. “Gimme a sec darlin’, I gotta brush my teeth.”

Mojito pouted, but allowed Jack to walk down the hall and get ready for bed. Once he was ready, he shut his bedroom door and headed into Mojito’s room.

“S’eepy,” Mojito grumbled, holding their hands out and waiting patiently for Jack to kill the lights before cuddling up to them in the bed.

“Just close your eyes kiddo,” Jack said softly, holding Mojito close, a sadness hitting his heart as he realized this was likely going to be the final time he was able to do this. “You’ll be out in no time.”

True to his words, Mojito fell asleep in minutes, their pacifier falling off their loose lips. Jack sighed, picking it up and carefully putting it back in Mojito’s mouth. The least he could do was make his baby comfortable before he lost them.

-Mojito-

You woke up warm.

Rolling over and rubbing your eyes, you wiggled upright as best you could, yawning and patting the pillow to your right in search of your phone.

“‘Jito,” Whiskey groaned, propping himself on an elbow and rubbing his eyes. “Kiddo, it’s too early. Go back to sleep, I’ll get breakfast soon.”

You simply rolled your eyes and stretched again, swinging your feet over the edge of the bed.

“What did I say?” Whiskey’s sleepily stern tone sent a bolt through you as he pulled you back under the covers and wrapped you securely in his arms.

“What the hell is up with you?” You asked, wiggling out of his grasp and jumping out of the bed.

Immediately, Whiskey was significantly more awake. He sat up and stared at you, brown eyes wide. “Mojito!”

“That’s me.”

Whiskey sighed, looking almost sad as he got out of the bed himself. “Want breakfast?”

You nodded slowly. “Why were you in my bed?”

“You got cold last night.”

You could tell Whiskey wasn’t lying to you. He always shuffled his feet a certain way when he outright lied. But the way his eyes kept darting around the room, as if there were something he wasn’t seeing but knew was there, it made you nervous. Whiskey was hiding something for sure.

“Why don’t you make breakfast,” you said, picking up the folded pile of your clothes off the dresser. “And I’m going to go shower. We can talk over breakfast, how’s that sound?”

“Sounds fine.”

The tone of Whiskey’s voice made you want to cry. He sounded lost, like a man who’d just had his future ripped from him.

You took extra long to shower, trying to recall the events of the past two weeks. The last thing you remembered was losing your pills and falling asleep in your bed, crying because Whiskey knew you were Little. Checking your phone, you had unopened emails and unread texts. But the most intriguing part was the short message on your glasses from Ginger, dated back about 24 hours.

Your new pills should be arriving today. Make sure you thank Whiskey, by the way. He’s done a lot for you.

Mulling over the message, you dried off and got dressed in a cozy constellation sweater and your normal jeans. Had Whiskey gotten attached to you while you were Little? Is that why he was so sad? Leaving your feet bare, you walked down the hall, already smelling breakfast.

Whiskey was waiting for you at the table, two plates already set up. A messy omelette greeted you as you sat down, gently tangling your feet with Whiskey’s under the table. “Hey cowboy.”

He just nodded, poking his omelette.

“Alright, what’s wrong?”

Whiskey shrugged, looking up at you. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”

You mirrored Whiskey’s shrug, although yours was much more relaxed. “Thank you for taking care of me,” you said calmly, taking a bite of omelette. “I was regressed for, what, two weeks? That couldn’t have been easy.”

Immediately, Whiskey jolted. “You’re not upset.”

“Of course I’m not upset!” You said, shocked he would even think that. “I’m grateful you even wanted to take care of me! I mean, I’d be terrified if I was a Neutral and suddenly my partner turned out to be Little.”

Whiskey chuckled, making you relieved he was back to his old self again. “I’m not Neutral. And I already knew you were a Little before this.”

“You aren’t Neutral?”

“Hell no!” Whiskey said, leaning forward. “Do you really think I’d have survived two weeks if I was Neutral? Speakin’ of which, we have a new mission when we get back.”

You groaned. “Already?”

Whiskey smiled. “I think you’ll like this one.”

Your mission in the mountains lasted another week, when Statesman finally brought you home after nothing interesting had happened. Once on the 13 hour flight, you approached Whiskey, your namesake drink in hand. “Want one?”

Whiskey shrugged. “Jack and Coke, if you can.”

You nodded, leaving your drink with him and quickly fixing a Jack and Coke. “Thought you’d take it straight.”

“Not today.”

Silently agreeing, you sat back with him, glad that Statesman had given you guys a plane. If not for the comfort, then you enjoyed it tremendously for the privacy it was about to provide. “Can we talk about something?”

Whiskey crossed his legs. “Shoot.”

“Do you miss taking care of me? Like, Little me.”

Poor Whiskey accidentally snorted out of surprise, inhaling his drink and coughing violently. You patted his back, worried you’d have to perform the heimlich if he kept coughing like that. But eventually, Whiskey calmed, his face still red and his eyes watering. “Shit,” he rasped. “Warn a guy next time, okay?”

Still worried, you nodded. “Sorry,” you said softly. “I was just wondering.”

Whiskey took a breath, abandoning his drink. “I thought you’d want to forget all about your accident, hm?”

You shrugged, swirling the muddled mint at the bottom of your glass. “I found this.” You pulled a white pacifier out of your pocket, showing it to Whiskey. “It was in my bed.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “Oh. I was just, y’know, curious.”

Whiskey sighed, slumping in his chair. “I guess I miss it. Just felt right, y’know? I miss the little shit you were.”

“Hey!”

Whiskey laughed, shaking his head. “Meant that affectionately.”

You pouted anyway, checking your watch absently. “Ginger wants us to report to Champ about our next trip when we get back,” you muttered. “I don’t know if I’ll survive another plane ride.”

The pair of you continued in relative silence for three hours, during which you managed to exhaust yourself into a four hour nap in the plane’s bedroom. When you woke again, Whiskey was dead asleep in the bed beside you, the lights dimmed to a comfortable sleeping level.

Doing your best to let Whiskey sleep, you slipped out of bed and padded silently out into the common space. Settling in a chair, you cocooned yourself in a blanket and grabbed your book from the side table. Cracking it open, you began to read.

Whiskey woke from his nap a few hours later, when the overhead system chimed and told you there were only 2 hours left in the trip. He stumbled out of the bedroom, hair snarled and eyes still half closed, glasses tilted on his face. “Wa’s happening?”

“We’re landing in a couple hours,” you said plainly, not even looking up. “Go bathe. Or at least clean yourself up.”

Stumbling a bit, Whiskey did as asked, coming back out after a shower that left the bathroom full of steam. “Do you wanna shower too?” He asked, sitting in a chair opposite yours.

“Yeah.” You stood, stretching and tossing your book down. “Where’re we going after this?”

Whiskey shrugged. “Ginger and Champ are sendin’ us to England to spend some time with the Kingsman.”

You smiled, suddenly eager. You knew a lot about Kingsman, but had never had the pleasure of going to visit. “Cool.”

Your shower was just as long as Whiskey’s, and by the time you were out and drying off, the overhead was giving you a half hour warning.

Tugging the closet doors open, you examined the available clothes, eyes catching on a plain black onesie with a faded Jack Daniels logo on it. You pulled it out, realizing it was probably Ginger’s idea of a joke. Making up your mind, you unbuttoned the crotch of the onesie and wiggled into it.

Getting yourself plainly situated beyond that was difficult. However, you eventually found yourself examining your outfit in the mirror, smoothing your hands over the rough denim of your overalls. The front flap covered most of the logo, but the name of the brand still stuck out. Balancing your hat on your head, you decided against your boots and headed out to wait for landing with Whiskey.

He was lounged in the same chair you’d left him in, glancing up as you shut the bedroom door. “Well where’d that shirt come from?”

“I think it was Ginger’s idea of a joke,” you said, sitting back in your seat. “Figured I’d humor her.”

Landing was smooth, and in no time, you were entering a debrief for the mission. You told Champ everything you remembered, Whiskey filling in the blank bits.

“And, if I’m not incorrect,” Champ drawled when you two were done, looking over the mission files. “You two are headed out to England for a vacation with our British counterpart, correct?”

“Correct.” Whiskey uncrossed his legs. ‘When should we be expectin’ that flight?”

Champ shrugged. “Few hours. You’re flyin’ public, and we got your tickets all situated already. Ginger, do you wanna show Mojito the new training gear?”

Ginger nodded, gesturing you closer to her. “We got a new VR program for the recruits. You’re the only one who hasn’t tried it yet. Whiskey, you can come too.”

Whiskey followed behind you and Ginger as you two headed down to the training gym, Ginger opening up a door into a small room. “Hat off,” she said, taking your hat and replacing it with a plain white headset. As she adjusted it to fit you, she talked about the training program. “This will take you through the basics, and maybe put you through a level or two. It’s disorienting at first, but just power through. Now, here are your controllers. Have fun.” She pressed a button on the right side of your headset and slipped out of the room.

As the headset powered up, you took a deep breath. This was about to be very weird.

[miss-kittys-magical-library]

The Word Of Your Body Duet (Roland x Rin)

Songbird

Word Count: 1283

Warnings: some language, loads of fluff

A/N: Just decided to drabble some Roland while he was at the musical conservancy mentioned in Three Summers. It takes place a few years before the film. For no particular reason I crossed him over with Rin from I'm A Creep and Auld Lang Syne 💁🏻‍♀️

Rin always found it difficult to play the piano with her gloves on. In spite of their pliable leather, they didn't allow the flexibility. Still she hesitated to take them off to make things easier for herself. Her fingers slipped on the notes she played a hundred times the last few weeks.

“That's meant to be an E minor, yeah?” the young man sat down beside Rin with his back to the keyboard. “That's why I wish you’d take th’ ridiculous gloves off.”

“It's funny how you’re always giving me your opinion, Roland. I never seem to ask for it.”

Dark curls hung over his forehead, and his verdant eyes seemed to stare right into Rin’s soul. “I'm your mentor. I'm supposed t’give you my opinion.”

Rin huffed, “What's your excuse outside the practice room?”

Roland ignored her, or just didn't get it, Rin was never sure. He turned and put his hand over hers to manipulate them into curling further and hitting the right key. The note came out perfectly.

“You’re not th’ problem. The damn gloves are. They're stupid and in the way, Wren.”

“You know I need them, Ro.”

Rin relished how the nickname caused a crimson red to climb up the length of his neck.

“It's Roland.”

“And I go by Rin,” she went back to playing but a bit more aggressively.

“Your real name is Wren. Just because your brother couldn't pronounce your name doesn't mean your parents should have let others do the same. It's a perfectly adequate name.”

Roland’s hand maintained its position over Rin’s but she wiggled free from his grip. Her glove sliding with it.

“Every compliment from you feels like a slap in the face. May I have that back?”

Roland held it aloft, given that his arms were rather long Rin had no way of snatching it back without standing up.

“Not until you play without them. If people have a problem with your scars that's on them, love. You aren't t’blame for their wanderin’ eyes or your parents’ abuse. I think you ought t’be proud of them.”

Roland held out his free hand palm up and wiggled his fingers. Rin gave quite the dramatic sigh and handed him her other glove with reluctance. She flexed her hands and soaked in the cold air that washed over them. She would never admit he was right as she began to play faster and freer.

“I know you've got other.. gifts,” Roland chose his words carefully for once, “That forces you to wear them otherwise. I just think music should be the one time you feel emotions.”

So, so, right. Instead Rin began to play louder with notes at random. This time to push out her thoughts of how she never had to worry about being overwhelmed when she was around Roland. He never held back, whether out of preservation or something in his past. Maybe, she thought, he was just made that way.

It almost mortified Rin that maybe he wasn't couth, but that outspokenness reflected back on her. The way she almost refused to keep anything in. Like Roland’s word vomit became hers, and she just blurted out whatever came to mind. The banter egged him on.

For now, Roland rolled his eyes so hard they nearly went back in his head. Rin kept louder and louder still. Not playing her performance piece, she took to pounding out Chopsticks at random.

“FORTISSIMO, SONGBIRD! PLAY LOUDER THEN! WAKE THE BLOODY DEAD. I DON'T THINK THE DEAF CAN HEAR YOU!”

“WHY DON'T YOU JUST BLEEDING PLAY THEN?! MISTER TEN INSTRUMENTS BUT LONGS TO BOSS US ‘ROUND?!”

Roland started joining in and overpowered Rin. His fingers deftly traveling over the keys and pushing her out of the way so he could play some classical tune or another. He immediately got lost in the process

Rin tentatively moved her hands on top of Roland’s now. She honed in on him the way her gift allowed but he was hollow. There was no connection between him and the notes.

“Technically I’m brilliant,” he wasn't bragging. It was the truth. “I've lost my passion. You wouldn't have started mucking about at my criticism if you didn't have any.”

Rin narrowed her eyes, “Who looks at a porcelain white baby and thinks, ‘Let's name him Roland?’”

“I've one better,” his fingers stopped abruptly. Roland glanced at the young woman beside him, “Who looks at a perfectly innocent child and thinks, ‘Let's turn her int’a circus sideshow?”

Rin’s nostrils flared, but she swatted his hands and arms away from the piano. Her lips sewn shut from making anything worse. “Just listen to my piece so we can get this done. Then I can be rid of you till next semester.”

Roland didn't answer but waved her on so Rin began to play and sing:

For you, there'll be no more crying

For you, the sun will be shining

And I feel that when I'm with you

It's alright, I know it's right

To you, I'll give the world

To you, I'll never be cold

'Cause I feel that when I'm with you

It's alright, I know it's right

And the songbirds are singing,

Like they know the score

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before

And I wish you all the love in the world

But most of all, I wish it from myself

And the songbirds keep singing

Like they know the score

And I love you, I love you, I love you

Like never before, like never before,

Like never before

Rin opened her eyes, held her breath and sat back waiting for something more criticizing and less constructive to come from Roland.

“That was,” he paused, “Rather lovely. Good show, Wren. Sing out a bit more, but honestly it was splendid.”

Rin’s elbow slipped from where she had propped her head up with it. “Pardon? Nothing about Fleetwood Mac being commercial or provincial or something rubbish.”

“The Dance is one of the most well-arranged live albums of the last thirty years. I adore every single part of Tusk from the percussion to the quiet crescendo to the loud raucous chorus and brass accompaniment.”

She couldn't stop herself, Rin leaned forward and hastily pushed her mouth into Roland’s. It wasn't just to prevent him from ruining a perfectly wonderful compliment, but because she felt compelled to do so. A startled “mmf” escaped his lips before he returned the kiss. A hint of tongue from her mouth to his and back.

Roland’s hands settled on Rin’s face and wrapped around her head. His thumbs caressed her cheeks. Meanwhile her fingers got lost in his hair and tugged it softly.

Soon they remembered themselves and broke apart. Roland’s eyes still closed; heat crept along Rin’s skin but in a good way for once. Warm and comforting, it smelled like a campfire and like pine. He tasted nervous but also a good heart muddled by smug self-confidence that hid self-deprecation. And mint?

When did I start chewing gum? Rin grimaced hoping it went undetected.

“Well..” Roland seemed speechless. “Thank you?”

Rin laughed. She had no choice. It just leapt from somewhere deep inside her chest. “Nothing about you knew I'd come to my senses? Or that I had the hots for you this whole time?”

“You’re the Empath with feelings and people's true selves, Wren. I'm the one who can discover true musical talent when no one else can see it. Trust me I didn't see this coming, but it makes my next question easier.”

Roland scratched his head. Rin waited.

“I was thinking.”

“A dangerous pastime for a man like you.”

“We should have sex.”

Tag list: @robertsheehanownsmyass @frogs--are--bitches @super-unpredictable98

[angst-fairygodmother]

Omg I've been binge reading all your Klaus fics and can I just say you are an AMAZING writer and I'd straight up buy your novel in a heartbeat if you write one. The way you use words and make me feel things, I can't even! ❤️ I saw your requests are open so I wanna request a Klaus fic where the reader takes care of him after he comes home all messed up.. like runs him a bath, gives him a haircut, cooks him food and puts him to bed...You can make it NSFW too in the end, I surely won't complain ;)

A/N: Listen, I think like 25-50% of why I love Klaus is the mere concept of caring for him when he needs it, so this was an excellent prompt. Thank you so much! (I hope you enjoy it even though it didn’t end up getting NSFW) Word Count: 2197 Content Warning: T - withdrawal, references to drug use

You weren’t really paying attention to the familiar hallway of your apartment building, too busy juggling groceries in the struggle to find the right key. You had lived in this building for three and a half years now, it wasn’t like you needed to look where you were going, instinct guiding up the stairs and along to your own front door. Which is why when a figure lurched out of the shadows, stumbling toward you, you were completely unprepared. You screamed, dropping both your keyring and the bags of groceries on your arms as you threw your hands up in defense. The back of your mind registered the sound of something cracking, probably your eggs as they hit the tile floor. The rest of you was focused on the hundred and twenty or so pounds of human body crashing into you. You felt the fuzz of ragged fur and well-worn leather beneath your fingers as you tried to steady the both of you.

Finally you registered the sweaty, washed-out face.

“Klaus?” you asked, recognizing your neighbor.

He had only moved into your building a few months ago, but you two had quickly become friends, chatting – okay maybe you, at least, were flirting but it’s not like it was going to go anywhere, not really – in the mailroom or when you passed each other coming and going. A few times, you had invited him over for dinner or he had talked you into spending more hours than any human reasonably should watching movies, stretched out together on his couch. But you had never seen him like this.

“Oh hey, Y/N,” he trilled, trying to act normally even as he swayed again and you reached out to brace him. “Don’t mean to be a bother, but I’m…not doing so hot and I didn’t know where else to go.”

You frowned in concern and ushered him inside, only belatedly remembering your groceries and going back for them after you had guided him to a seat in your living room.

“What’s wrong?” you asked as you began to put things away and waited for him to settle. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like you just got dragged through hell and then spat back out the other side.”

He chuckled, more of a defeated escape of air than an actual laugh. “I feel like it too.”

You frowned at the eggs, completely ruined. The carton of orange juice was dented and wouldn’t sit right on the shelf but it was whole. Tomatoes: bruised, blueberries: free range in the grocery bag. Klaus didn’t seem inclined to say anything more, not that he had really said anything yet, anything of substance.

“You said you didn’t know where else to go?” you prompted, trying a different angle.

“I haven’t had anything in days,” he explained vaguely before doubling over to press his head between his knees. “Christ I feel like shit,” he groaned.

Something about the way he said it registered in your mind enough for you to figure out what was going on.

“Withdrawal?” you asked simply, moving to sit on the couch, turning your body into the arm of it so you could face him.

He nodded, looking up at you with red-rimmed eyes.

“So why come to me? I don’t…I mean I can’t help you get a fix.”

“I know. I didn’t think you could. I just didn’t want to be alone.”

“Okay. Do you need anything? Is there any way I can help?”

He shrugged, shivering despite the sheen of sweat on his brow. His tongue darted out to lick his chapped lips and you tried to resist the urge to trace its path with your eyes. He looked like he just might curl up in your chair and go to sleep, and if that was what he really wanted, you would let him. However, he was sick, and he had come to you, and if he couldn’t tell you what he needed, you would just have to try everything until something helped.

A moment later, you had put the kettle on for some tea and were handing him a drink of cool water.

“Here, drink this,” you said, pressing the thick green glass into his hand. “I’ll make you some tea, mint to help with any nausea, but that’s going to take a bit to be ready. Are you hungry? I was planning a bolognese but I can do something lighter instead. Maybe some soup?”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that, Y/N…”

“When is the last time you ate?”

He frowned, blinking heavily and turning his head to stare into the space beside him as if your end table held the answer to your question. “I can’t remember.” He paused. “No, we had waffles…was it really that long ago?”

“Right,” you said, a little concerned that he almost seemed to be having a conversation with someone who wasn’t there. “That settles it, I’m making dinner.”

Decision made, you stood once more and began bustling about your kitchen. He grimaced as you chopped the vegetables and herbs for the stock and you winced, apologizing quickly and trying your best to chop quietly.

“So why are you…I mean why haven’t you…used…in a few days? I’m not an expert but isn’t cold turkey super not the recommended method to break an addiction?”

“Hm?” he asked, startling as if you had woken him from dozing. “What was that?” He turned around in the chair to blink at you over the counter.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t realize you had fallen asleep, you can go back to it if you want…”

“No, no, it’s fine. But I didn’t hear your question.”

“Oh, well I was just wondering why the cold turkey? Especially since it doesn’t exactly seem planned?”

“Dealer got picked up,” he said, stifling another yawn. “Most of the others around are too scared of the cops to take a new client.”

You nodded, surprised at how casual he was being about the whole thing.

“It’ll blow over in a few more days, and everything will be fine. I hope.” His voice dropped on the last remark and you weren’t sure you were supposed to hear it, so you decided not to comment.

Instead, you watched with a frown as he stifled another yawn.

“You know, the soup’s going to take a while, if you want to try and get some sleep while you wait?” you offered.

“Oh no, I couldn’t. Sleep is when they find me easiest. God so many grabbing hands. And the screaming. Always screaming.” He shivered, not from cold or the lack of chemicals or for the drama, but in obvious, genuine fright.

“Oh.” You frowned and bit your lip. “Is there anything I can…do?” you felt yourself flush with embarrassment as soon as the words left your lips, certain that they would sound far less innocent and well-meaning that you had intended them.

“Well,” he drawled, trailing off in thought. “Sometimes they’ll stay at bay for a bit if I’m not alone?”

“Okay. Well, there’s not really a lot of room for both of us on the couch, so we could take a nap in my…bed…but, and don’t take this the wrong way, you’re kind of gross…so would you mind maybe showering first?”

He laughed, high and light and it made you smile, sounding a bit more like his usual self. “No offense taken. Ooh, do you have a tub? I would love a bath…”

You raised your eyebrow curiously but nodded.

His hands clapped together giddily.

You padded to your room to dig out a spare towel and were about to give it to him when another thought occurred: he had nothing to put on after except the clothes he was currently sweating through and hadn’t been cleaned in who knew how long. Rooting through your drawers you eventually found a pair of fluffy pink and blue striped pajama pants and an old t-shirt from the Led Zeppelin concert you had gone to in high school which looked like they might fit him.

“Y/N, you are an absolute angel,” he said dramatically as you handed him the stack.

“Can you handle it on your own or…?” you trailed off, feeling awkward about your unspoken offer to help him bathe, but only a few moments before he had been practically falling asleep into his glass, and he had been unsteady on his feet in the hall.

“Oh I’ll be fine,” he said, waving a hand dismissively before he suddenly turned his puppy-dog green eyes on you. “Unless you wanted to. It really helps me relax to have someone wash my hair for me…”

You felt the hot blush creep across your face and down your neck again as you bit your lip.

“O…okay…” you stammered nervously.

“Perfect, now I’ll just go in there and slip under the suds and I’ll shout for you when I’m decent.”

“There’s nothing decent about you,” you muttered under your breath. “And I think you might be trying to give me a heart attack.”

He winked at you as he passed you and you knew he had heard you.

~

A few moments later, you had set the soup to simmer low on the stove and were kneeling on the uncomfortable tile of your bathroom floor behind Klaus. Your fingers were buried in his sopping hair, gently lathering the practically candy-scented shampoo into it. His eyes were closed, head tilted slightly back, exposing the column of his throat to you tantalizingly, and the sounds he made, practically purring at your touch, had you thinking all sorts of untoward thoughts. You had to keep reminding yourself that you were just trying to help him and that it probably meant nothing to him in his muddled state.

Finally, after maybe a little longer playing with scrubbing his hair than necessary, you scooped up some of the water to rinse away the soap. As you did, your fingertips brushed along his exposed neck and shoulders and he moaned.

“Do that again. Please,” he begged.

Heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it behind him, you did as he asked, dancing your fingertips along the planes and angles of his skin before digging them in just a little, gently, massaging him.

“Christ, Y/N, that feels so good,” he sighed.

‘The water’s getting cold,” you pointed out, a little breathless from the way he said your name. “And you’re going to turn into a prune if you spend any more time in there. You should probably get out.”

He turned his head, craning to look at you. “Would you like to stay and watch?”

Caught off-guard, you stared at him, gaping like a fish out of water, your mouth opening and closing. Then you stood, racing from the room, his lilting laughter following you. You practically threw yourself onto your mattress, hoping that the few minutes it would take for him to get out of the tub and dress would be enough for you to calm your frantic pulse before you actually exploded.

You also realized that you were in a now-damp pair of jeans and a button-down and that wouldn’t be very comfortable if you fell asleep in it, so you quickly changed into a baggy shirt and shorts, settling them on your hips just as the door creaked in and Klaus entered, bare-chested but fitting into your pants better than you ever had.

“Why are you doing all this for me, Y/N?” he asked, sitting beside you, still tousling his curls with the towel.

“Because you’re my friend and you asked me for help,” you said as if it were obvious.

“You could have turned me away and told me not to bother you with. Other people have.”

“No I couldn’t have,” you smiled softly. “I care about you too much to do that.”

Suddenly his lips were on yours, surging forward hot and hungry and desperate. You moaned as his tongue parted your lips somewhat forcefully and he pressed you backward onto the bed. You fingers tangled into his hair, tugging on it and causing him to inhale sharply. One of his hands, still chilled and shaking slightly, found its way beneath your waistband, sliding easily past the slightly worn elastic. You hissed as he moved your underwear out of the way and made contact with your skin.

“Klaus…wait…” you gasped out, pushing at his shoulders to move him away from you.

He pulled back immediately, looking at you with a mix of concern and fear.

“What is it? Did I…?” he murmured, apology already dancing on his tongue.

You reached up to cup his face between your hands, caressing softly and trying to brush the worried wrinkles from his brow.

“No, Klaus, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you whispered. “I just…I think we should take it slow tonight, okay?”

He nodded carefully, clearly unused to this kind of tenderness, and you leaned up to kiss his cheek before pulling him down beside you, curling around him and running your fingers soothingly through his shaggy hair. He sighed contentedly, snuggling closer and burying his face in your neck.

[twilights-800-cats]

<< Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 || Chapter 3 || From the Beginning || Patreon >>

Chapter 2

For the first time in a long time, Stoneheart walked in silence.

His ears twitched. He was used to the sound of Nightpaw and Crowpaw’s latest argument, or Mistyfoot and Stormfur chatting in hushed tones, or Shadepaw talking with Feathertail about an herb she saw and what it might do. The empty air seemed to amplify everything around him, from birdsong in the trees to the roar of a Twoleg monster as it woke somewhere in the distance.

Stoneheart couldn’t help but chide himself for leaving the others so suddenly. It’s not like I don’t love them! He thought, leaping over a stray branch that had fallen long ago. I’m just no good at good-byes.

He paused, lifting his head. There was a Twoleg nest here, he knew – an old one with a pair of elderly Twolegs. They didn’t bother cats much, but they certainly didn’t like it when ShadowClan patrols snooped for mice in their old barn. He could see the structure not far away, and the thin, spindly fence that surrounded the Twolegs’ territory.

Best avoid it, he told himself. After trekking through a winding Twolegplace for days and coming back to seeing what they’d done to the land he called home, he was quite sick of Twolegs. I miss Purdy, though, he reflected as he trod on towards the woods ahead. He seemed to know so much about why Twolegs are the way they are...

Sunhigh was gone by the time that Stoneheart reached the trees, and, as he passed a familiar rotten log, he scented ShadowClan. He paused to let the smell wash over him. It's so different now. Sharper. His journey with cats from all four Clans had muddled his senses, mixing their scents together into something new, something that was surprisingly comforting.

He tried to identify the patrol that had passed this way. Breathing in deep, he was happy that he recognized both their scents: Skipnose, that kittypet-turned-warrior, and Oakfur, he thought, lifting his chin. Smokepaw might have been with them, but he didn’t place a marker. They must have passed by before dawn.

Satisfied, Stoneheart went on, quickly identifying the trail his Clanmates had used through the vibrant marsh grass and putting himself on it, wary of his Clanmates lurking about. No cat was better than ShadowClan at blending into their surroundings, and Stoneheart would certainly be embarrassed if he were ambushed.

Traveling further into the woods, Stoneheart could feel leaf-fall's chill in the air. The trees here, more oak and birch than pine, were shedding their golden leaves onto the marsh around them. Stoneheart’s paws tugged him off the beaten path and further into the grove.

His pelt prickled in this familiar location, and he let his paws guide him to a small clearing between the trees. A fallen log and an old, gnarled boulder were surrounded by bright, five-petaled orange flowers – what ShadowClan medicine cats for ages called the blazing star.

Carefully, Stoneheart picked his way around the herb. Many ShadowClan cats believed that stepping on one meant disaster, as the herb had saved all four Clans seasons beyond counting ago. It was a point of pride that they only grew here, on ShadowClan land.

Stoneheart hopped on top of the boulder, relishing what little warmth it had managed to soak up from the sun. He breathed in the scents of the grove, his body relaxing. Though he had left ThunderClan for ShadowClan, this place reminded him of where he’d been born, with the thick cover of leaves and the smells of bracken and fern.

This is where I asked Rowanclaw to be my mate, he reflected, scanning the grove. Where he told me he wanted kits... and where Mistyfoot asked me to leave ShadowClan to go on the journey.

He sighed. And it’s going to be destroyed.

Stoneheart felt claws pierce his heart at the thought. So much that was so important to him would never be, could never be, again. Would this be the last time he laid eyes on this grove? Did the lake have anything like this?

His stomach rumbled, interrupting his thoughts. He hadn’t eaten since the leftovers the journeying cats had polished off at dawn. Stoneheart recalled the way Webfoot and Weaselpaw looked, and worried – did ShadowClan look the same?

I can barely hear Twoleg monsters, but there are some on our territory, he thought, listening. It seemed like the noises were on the far end of ShadowClan land, towards the woods by the Twolegplace they called the Black Fens. Maybe we’re better off than the others.

He heard the brambles rustle behind him. Stoneheart turned and spotted a dove picking its way along the ground, oblivious to his existence, as most doves were. Stomach growling again, Stoneheart dropped into a crouch.

The kill came easily – doves were simple-minded prey. But as he lifted his head from his fresh-kill, there was a screech of defiance and a blur of fur. Stoneheart was knocked off of his paws before he could react.

“Thief!” cried his attacker. “That’s ShadowClan prey!”

Stoneheart felt claws pricking his pelt. “I am ShadowClan!” he complained, twisting beneath his foe. His hind paws found their belly and, with a push, shoved them off of him. Stoneheart could hear them scrambling to their paws, but he was faster.

“Redpaw, it’s me!” he called to the ginger she-cat.

The apprentice paused, her posture an awkward mix of anger and shock. Slowly, though, her spine relaxed. “Stoneheart?” she murmured, whiskers twitching. “Is that... really you?”

“Yes!” Stoneheart breathed, his heart lifting. She’s not so skinny as the WindClan cats, he thought, looking her over. But she is still thin. He looked into the sparse undergrowth that surrounded them. “Where’s Pansytail?”

“Right here.” Redpaw’s mentor appeared, as if Stoneheart had called her. Pansytail’s dappled pelt blended in almost perfectly with the leaves on the ground. Her green eyes regarded Stoneheart with a caution that mirrored Webfoot’s. “Hello, Stoneheart.”

Another shape padded out from the shadows. “What’s going on?” asked a young dark brown tabby tom, his eyes darting from side to side. “Is it Twolegs? Another Clan?”

“Talonpaw?” Stoneheart tipped his head. “Is that you?”

“It’s Talonstripe now,” he said, lifting his head. He didn’t seem fussed that Stoneheart had reappeared right in front of him. “Russetstar made me a warrior a quarter-moon ago!”

“Congratulations!” Stoneheart felt light as he looked over his Clanmates. Clearly, he was receiving a better welcome than poor Crowpaw had!

“Where have you been?” Redpaw asked. She stepped forward and took a cautious sniff. “You smell funny.”

Talonstripe flicked his tail. “And you look fat,” he grunted, tipping his head towards Stoneheart’s side.

Stoneheart rolled his eyes. “I haven’t been to any Twolegs, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He turned to Pansytail, who he assumed was the leader of their patrol. “I need to speak to Russetstar.”

Pansytail was not regarding him with the same curiosity as the younger cats. There was something in her eyes, but whenever Stoneheart tried to meet her gaze, she looked away. Finally, she turned about and, with a flick of her dappled tail, she ordered, “Come.”

Redpaw and Talonstripe took a position alongside him as Pansytail led the way back along the trail. Stoneheart felt a prickle of discomfort run down his spine as he picked up his dove. Was he being escorted home as a Clanmate? Or as a possible enemy?

———————————————————

The trek through the pine woods was quiet, and Stoneheart was thankful for the dove in his mouth – it kept Redpaw or Talonstripe from asking questions he couldn’t easily answer with a nod. To his delight, most of the marshes were unchanged by the Twoleg invasion, though he couldn’t help but notice that Pansytail was taking a longer route to get back to camp.

We should be cutting through the Black Fens, he thought, glancing to his right. But we’re heading up towards Carrionplace instead. The path that they were walking on wasn’t as well-worn as most other hunting trails, meaning that it was just beginning to see constant use. Straining his ears, he could hear the rumble of Twoleg monsters coming from the direction he figured that they should be going. Have they begun destroying that part of our territory?

The dove in his mouth weighed heavy as he plodded on. Though it stopped him from answering questions, it kept him from asking them, too.  

Stoneheart pushed his worries out of his mind for just a moment, letting himself enjoy the feel of being home again – the way the ground squished beneath his paws, the rustle of the pines and the crackle of their needles... even the little stinky mushrooms that bloomed over the rotted old fallen trees. He had missed it all so much!

Pansytail pulled them off of their current path as soon as Carrionplace came into view. The stench of crow-food and Twoleg rubbish wasn’t overpowering yet, but Stoneheart still wrinkled his nose regardless. That’s one part of our territory I won’t miss! He thought. Carrionplace, and the nasty rats within, had always been nothing but trouble for ShadowClan – a source of food that all too often came with a deadly price.

The patrol was following a familiar trail again, this one picking its way between boggy ponds and thick bunches of sedge and swamp grass. The smells of chervil, sweet pye, and mint were strong here, and he scented Littlecloud beneath it all – this was his favorite spot for gathering herbs.  

Ahead, a sedge bush rustled violently. Pansytail lifted her tail and the patrol halted behind her. Stoneheart looked over the shorter warrior, wondering what could be up ahead – another patrol, possibly? His heart ached as the anticipation of seeing his Clanmates again was stronger than he realized.

It was a rabbit, however, that shot out of the bush. It lolloped across the bog, its white tail up. If it saw the cats, it gave no indication... and if the patrol was going to go after it, Pansytail gave no signal.

Why not? Stoneheart was confused. The rabbit was plump, and easy prey in the sticky, wet soil, yet none of the cats surrounding him seemed at all interested in going after it despite the faint outline of their ribs poking through their pelts.

As soon as the rabbit was gone, Pansytail picked up the pace again. Stoneheart adjusted his grip on his dove, still confused.  

“The Twolegs have poisoned the rabbits,” Talonstripe explained, glancing Stoneheart’s way. “They make cats sick to eat, and most who’ve eaten one have died.”

A weight dropped in Stoneheart’s belly, sudden and hard. No wonder the WindClan cats were so skinny! He thought, the fur along his spine prickling with horror. His mind immediately turned to Crowpaw, and how the brash apprentice might take the news. How are they surviving at all right now?

“We haven't lost anyone,” Pansytail assured, glancing back, “but the other Clans have. Thankfully they were able to warn us before we got to eating any rabbits on the fresh-kill pile.”

Stoneheart breathed a sigh of relief, but it didn’t quell the discomfort he felt at the thought of Twolegs poisoning the very prey that the Clan cats lived off of. First rabbits, what next? The dove in his mouth suddenly didn’t seem so appetizing anymore.

Soon enough, Stoneheart realized that they were closing in on the ShadowClan camp. He took in the familiar pines standing tall over an outer wall of bushes prickly enough to keep away any predator that got too curious. Stoneheart could hear the babble of the stream that ran through camp, a part of the river that tapered off into the marshes like a cat’s tail.

His heart soared. It was still there – still whole and undamaged, nestled deep in the heart of the marshland. The smell of ShadowClan surrounded him, pulling his paws onward.

I’m home.

He had to stop himself before he got too carried away. Like in the star flower grove, he had to remember that the Twoleg monsters would come chugging for this place – sooner rather than later. This place that he called home would be gone.

“Nervous?” Redpaw wondered.

Stoneheart swallowed. He couldn’t bring himself to answer, and not just because of the dove in his jaws. Redpaw looked confused that a ShadowClan cat would be so worried about returning home. She didn’t know – she didn’t understand.

He pushed past the apprentice, catching up to Pansytail as she ducked beneath the sedge-and-fern tunnel that led into the camp.

I’m home, he thought as he stepped into the clearing, but this place won’t be home for long.

[hopelessromanticspoonie]

Helping Hands - Chapter 4

Series Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: Natasha makes Haley an offer, Haley and Loki share another late-night conversation during a storm, and a plan is formed.

Chapter Warnings: Mention of previous injuries, implications of previous abuse

A/N: I KNOW the gif is our dear Sir Thomas Sharpe. But he has black hair, so just, like, pretend?

“How are you feeling?

Haley squinted and blinked away her slumber, lifting her hand to shield her eyes against the glare of bright, sterile lighting above her. A quick mental check of her body with a few small twists and stretches, and she could fairly confidently answer Nat with a grumbled, “Probably better than you. Healing just as I always do.”

The bed shifted, and Haley finally opened her eyes enough to clearly see the lethal blonde perched on the side of her bed, looking a bit worse for wear with dark circles under her eyes and a gray tinge to her skin. Somehow she was still gorgeous, which was honestly just unfair. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

Color stained her cheeks, and she dropped her eyes to her hands, pleased and confused to see that someone had scrubbed the blood from them while she had been sleeping. Probably the same person who changed her into the itchy, thin gown that scratched against her skin. “It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not. You could have died.” Nat winced a bit when she reached up to brush a bit of hair out of her eyes, dropping her hand to her side. “Once I’m healed up, I want to help you, too. Say a bit of fight training? I don’t want you to ever need it, but in my experience, it… helps.”

She didn’t know Natasha’s past. She didn’t know anything about her besides the fact that she wasn’t gifted any superhuman abilities like her or Loki, or given some sort of serum to make her different, like Bucky and Steve. But there was wisdom in her brown eyes, shadowed with pain and a darkness that worked to pull her full lips into a frown and knit her brow together. Whatever she had faced before living in this tower and fighting for the good of others, it had given her an understanding of the unease that lingered constantly at the back of Haley’s mind. That much was clear. 

“I’d like that, yeah. Thanks.”

Nat nodded her head, standing up slowly and heading toward the door. Just before she left she waved her hand at the bedside table, calling out, “I caught Loki leaving that for you this morning.”

It was a plush black hoodie, the exact same as the one that had been cut from her body the day before, freshly washed and still warm from the dryer. She reached over to hug it to her chest, smiling at the glow that stretched within her at the familiar scent of spice and mint lightly perfuming the fabric. 

She would have known who had gifted it to her even if Nat hadn’t spilled the beans.

~

They were so high in the sky the thunder rattled her teeth just before each blinding flash outside the floor-to-ceiling windows making up an entire wall of her room. The dark sky rolled just beyond her eyes, illuminated with frequent lighting to reveal heavy clouds thick with rain that pelted the glass in fat, heavy drops. It was too much. To go from a life spent underground, rarely seeing the sun, to practically living inside the vicious storm was proving too frightening to handle alone.

And sleep? Out of the question. Not even with the comfort of her hoodie wrapped around her and all of the blankets cocooning her in the middle of her expansive, too soft bed could she keep her eyes closed once the deafening boom and crack of the storm battered against her ears.

She left the solitude of her bedroom, a sliver of hope guiding her to the living area where she yearned to find a distracting companion. If her efforts were futile, at least the space was bigger, and it wouldn’t feel as if she was right in the nasty elements. Her silent prayers, given to any deity that would listen, were answered in the form of Loki, draped across the couch and watching television with concentrated curiosity.

“My brother appears to be quite angry this evening.”

She scurried over to sit beside him, crossing her arms over her stomach and balling her hands up into fists in the fabric of her overly long sleeves. “Thor?”

Loki paused the television, dropping the remote onto his lap before running a hand through the midnight black locks spilling over his shoulders with a nod. “The God of Thunder, as he was known on Asgard, and as some of the ancient Midgardians worshipped him. What became a trip seeking freedom and adventure in our youth accidentally started a bit of a following amongst the Nordic people, centuries ago. Quite fascinating, really.”

She blinked. “So he can’t really control Thunder. It’s just a name.”

“Oh, no, he most certainly can. Lightning is more his forte, though. I am sure if you ask him he would be more than happy to demonstrate for your entertainment,” Loki corrected her with just a hint of bitterness lacing his tone.

“But he can’t do magic like you? He isn’t like you?”

Just then a particularly close bout of thunder shook the tower, and she squeaked, pressing herself further into the back of the couch so that her leg rested along the length of his and the back of her head brushed against his hand. His thigh was warm and firm through the combined layers of fabric of her pajama bottoms and his jeans.

The devilish smirk that he directed her way made her tummy flutter oddly beneath her hands. “No one is like me, little one.”

She didn’t know a man’s voice could go that low and sound with such promise, soothing like cool satin and teasing her skin into tingling goosebumps. Normally, any deep voice she heard was laced with threats and growls, demanding things of her that she didn’t want to give. But, if Loki was seeking something with that heated tone, some instinctual part of her knew that it would be good. His eyes shone as his hand dropped from behind her to curl over her shoulders, his thumb rubbing gentle circles over her arm.

“The storm cannot reach you in this tower,” he assured her, glancing up at the deluge muddling the bright lights of the city that never slept. “You are safe.”

They all kept repeating that: safe. Sometimes it didn’t sound like a word anymore. Like it had lost all meaning from how often it was repeated behind sad smiles and heavy sighs. She knew they meant it, but it didn’t silence the nagging doubt at the back of her mind that couldn’t place Mr. Shaw with the still faces she had climbed over during her escape.

But it was quieted when she was curled up next to Loki beneath the strong weight of his arm, searching his expression for the telltale signs of pity. Pity made her feel weak, like some broken doll with too big brown eyes and full lips that had its hair shorn off by a vengeful toddler who didn’t know how to properly play with the nice things it had stolen. 

But the understanding that permeated his lingering stare?

That made her soft, warm and content and hopeful. For what, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t have a name for the tiniest flicker of longing that itched in her fingertips. Could his silken hair soothe that need?

Where were these thoughts coming from?

She had to blame the reality television Sam and Darcy had insisted she watch - to "teach her the ways of the world", they’d claimed. Or maybe it was the soap operas Nat had suggested.

“I know that you have not seen much of this realm. I was watching a program concerning the Nordic nations I spoke of earlier. Would you care to join me?”

It was better than sitting in the darkness of her room all alone. And Loki wasn’t terrible company, even with the unnameable feelings stirring in the pit of her belly. “Sure.”

He restarted the television before disappearing for a few minutes, leaving her to stare at the lush green fields, black sand beaches, and jagged cliffs cut into mountains of snow and ice that sparkled so brilliantly she thought she’d never seen anything more breathtaking. The din of him rummaging around stopped just before he came back to the couch, settling back against her and handing her a plate of treats and a steaming cup.

“Hot cocoa with miniature marshmallows and whipped cream, and double fudge brownies,” he supplied, taking the plate and balancing it on both of their thighs.

She couldn’t stifle a moan when the sweet sugary dessert melted on her tongue, closing her eyes to savor the taste.

“I thought you might like those,” he mused, taking a bite of his own brownie before turning his attention back to the dancing green and blue lights across the night sky on the screen. “Ah, northern lights.”

“Are they real?”

He smiled gently at the awed expression on her face and gave her a small nod. “They are. I will ensure you see them one day.”

~

“Absolutely not.”

Loki’s rage tensed along his back as he faced down the entire Avengers team.

She had faint memories of brightly colored pictures on a beige wall, young men dressed in outrageous outfits and all posing seriously for the camera, women grouped together and pouting with silver eyeshadow and wavy hair. The Avengers reminded her of those distant images, grouped together with solemn expressions on their faces.

“I gotta side with Loki on this one,” Tony agreed, taking off his glasses and shoving them into the pocket of his jeans, following the fidgeting gesture with both hands so that his shoulders almost touched his ears. “She isn’t bait.”

“It’s the best shot we have of luring that asshole out of hiding. He’s going to want her back.”

She didn’t know anything about the black, eye-patch sporting man separated from the rest of the gang. He had strolled in, called for a meeting, and then waited impatiently for everyone to congregate in the living area. But his voice was hard, his black suit - stark, and his stare - cold. It reminded her too much of her former owner - the topic of their discussion.

“Fury.”

The unknown man - Fury - stood up and leveled Nat with a frigid glare. “Get her ready. We’ll catch this bastard.”

And then he left just as quickly as he’d come, pulling out his phone to make a call, effectively cutting off any further attempt at talking some sense into him.

It was hard to breathe against the terror that seized her like a vice. Nat, Steve, and Tony all approached her at the same time, but it was Loki that turned and reached her first, tugging on her wrist until her trembling frame was tucked securely beneath his arm.

“I won’t let him touch you.”

And somehow, she believed him, mentally holding onto the fervently whispered promise with a death grip that only rivaled that of her fingers clutching at the folds of his shirt. 

~~~

Series taglist: @kneel-before-queen-loki @alexakeyloveloki @from-hel-i-with-love @cleocc @cateyes315 @coldbookworm @rjohnson1280 @bambi-butt @skiddleskaddle​ @myraiswack @ilovetardis @midgardian-mistress​ @lisaspageofstuff​ @lokis-high-priestess @bluestaratsunrise​

Little Bit o’ Loki taglist: @myownviperroom @grahoundart @darealbellabelleoftheball @boubouinscarlet @iamverity @rt8815 @lots-of-loki @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @ms-cellanies @rosierossette @thathedonistgirl @lokixme

Whole Shebang taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken @brokenthelovely @polireader @wiczer @littleredstarfish @the-broken-angel-13 @arch-venus25 @xxloki81xx @jessiejunebug @tinchentitri @sllooney @devilbat @vikkleinpaul @bouquet-o-undercaffeinated-roses @angelus80 @wolfsmom1 @kthemarsian @toozmanykids @claritastantrum @princerowanwhitethorngalathynius @sabine-leo @lovesmesomehiddles @peterman-spideyparker @wegingerangelica @bluefrenchfries604 @catsladen @snoopy3000 @silverswordthekilljoy @villainousshakespeare​

[penaltybox14]

Decofiremen: The Letter

@zeitheist @darknight-brightstar @squad51goals Oh no more Decofiremen.  Is it still found family if you’re finding it again?  Do you get double points for that?

Or, Josiah is way in over his head.

...

Josiah sits at his desk a long time, and the pile of scrapped letters grows around him, and the bells pass the day away.  With the windows open to the big yard, he can feel like chill in the autumn air, the swift kiss of a one-time lover in the morning. 

Monroe is shouting at his team - quicker this, steadier that.  An engine coughs, groans, and finally turns over, to cheers and clapping - that'd be Lieutenant Jackson, who brought his new rank and a second kerodiesel up from the city back in early summer.  He keeps carefully and deliberately breaking the engines piece by piece, teaching the lads to put them back together again.  He will likely do something after dinner like pull the fan-belts or throw bacon grease into the pump levers - Josiah thinks the oakbellies would have a faint if they knew what Jackson was doing, but Jackson knows the kerodiesels like some men knew their horses, and Josiah trusts him.  

But what choice does he have?  He was shipped here to be masters of men who had more than a decade of service on him, and belts so heavy with commendation, so fat with brass you'd need a team three abreast to carry them.  He stands beside them some mornings and feels as if he ought to be in line with the lads instead.

Lieutenant T. Castor, Engine 27, Bronx Battalion District ...

No.  He crumples the paper and shoves it off the desk to where the waste-paper basket probably is, buried somewhere.  He taps his pen on the blotter, leaving little wet, smokey blobs of ink on the worn leather.  No, too formal, that.  When did he get so formal?  His fingers are callused and cracked, still thickest where they gripped the horse and axe.  There is a deep scar on his right arm where Chubs, their old bay gelding, bit him for not giving up a mint.  His left arm is a muddled, molten map, scoured of hair and curiously pale, so he pulls the sleeve down.  For the chill.  

Lt. Thomas -

Now what was Silky's middle name?  Did he ever know it?  

Lt Castor -

No, God, no.  They were on nicknames before they even hit the cobbles together.  Never so tough-tongued as a surname between them.  Thomas, he'd said, at breakfast.  I'm Thomas.  I about ran you over yesterday, I'm sorry.  Grab an extra biscuit, Eddy's recipe is the best.

Silky was almost eighteen, and he was wide about the shoulders but leggy, like a colt at Saratoga.  He had auburn hair and a broad, friendly face, and he didn't know his family, and he had been at the foundling hospital in the city and then Mary of the Assumption Home, which was in Nyack, and then he had gone to school with the Jesuits at Saint Joseph's in Rochester, and Captain Parson had come to see him about a month ago and asked if he didn't want to come and be a fireman, and Captain Parson seemed so awfully familiar well, he couldn't help but say yes.

Josiah found all of this out in line at the mess before they even sat down.

I'm sorry.  The brothers told me I talk too much.  Actually the sisters said that, too.  But I was the best at reading the Latin at Mass, they told me.  What's your name?

Silky - someone started calling him Silky sometime that winter, and Josiah can't recall why, but maybe it was during a card game, or maybe it was because he kept his hair slicked down with some sort of glue he got from the drug store in town, or maybe it was just because he could have talked the ladders into becoming trees again, his voice so smooth and his eyes so kind.  Silky had no enemies, had probably never had an enemy, except after card games in the wintertime.  That was Silky.  

Birchy!  We're doing ladder runs today - come let's be on my team.

I bet I can get Peps to hit the quarter-mile gate in a flat minute, Birchy, will you time?

Silky made a man want to be better, not to beat him, but because he cheered it so.  Which was why Silky was so often the second man on the line - he would push you, and you knew you couldn't, wouldn't ever need to, turn back.  No matter where the fire glows, the song said, we'll bring the bastard down.  And they would - when things shone, when his leg was solid under him, he could catch the humming edge of a thought before it hit Silky's tongue, and Silky rested in his amicable quiet, and the two of them brought terror and some begrudging respect to their captain.  

The sun was good, then.  The summer was high and the winter never cut through their coats.  They had grown up together, until the smoke came and the beam fell and neither of them was enough to see it coming.  

Through the ether and the pain, Silky's voice pulled him back, over and over, even when he wanted to leave, even when he wanted the echoes and the needles and the endless white - the white coats, the white sheets, the white, stark, sterile ward - to end.  Silky pulled him back.  Silky's hands in their white wrappings held his, and his Sear murmured as earnestly as his voice did.  Him that would persuade the devil to abandon his house, him that would settle a horse with his eyes.  

There were long days, endless days, when he wanted to fall forever.  Yet Silky pulled him back.

Silky had written him letters just about every week, after his promotion, when he was assigned to Wynantskill.  Eddy or Lufty Parker would dutifully leave them on his desk, where they stacked, precarious and unopened.  After a while the letters came every month, and Eddy stopped clearing his throat when he brought one, and Lufty stopped staring meaningfully at the pile, and Josiah had dumped them wholesale into a drawer to stop the burning in his chest when he saw Silky's precise Jesuit cursive on the envelopes.  

He'd put the key under the blotter.  So there is one less drawer to use.  So it is.

After the first night, young Cleary hasn't said much to anybody.  Antoine and Ellis have been pressing Lufty Parker to let him participate in some of the day's drills, and Jules keeps trying to coax the boy into one of the evening's baseball games.  Josiah sees him watching Betram Cochrane play the fiddle in the evenings, and remembers piano lessons, and a little girl with a pink bow and a dutch bob, and remembers chloroform and morphine and nursing sisters in dark capes and white hats.  The little fellow calls him Capper, which he ought to mind, but he can't bring himself to discourage.  He calls the boy Davey, or young Cleary, depending on who's listening.  

Outside, Antoine is lining up his team to race for the ladders.  He calls for David Cleary on the line, and Josiah hears Monroe sighing mightily and telling Antoine, again, that Cleary is not in training, Cleary is not even sixteen, and would you please stop asking.

Antoine is going to make his captain gray, wherever he is assigned.  He thinks Antoine could be a driver - he is brave enough, to take the narrow streets at speed - but that he will have his own house someday, too.  Josiah should look to send him to the Bronx, where the tenements are so tight they seem to be held together with moss and mothers' shouting, where there will be many families who will need his courage and his kindness.  

Engine 27, Lieutenant -

No, no.  

Ellis is arguing that a growing boy needs exercise and fresh air, not just to sit on the sidelines.

Josiah pulls the key from under the blotter, then puts it back again.  Then pulls it out.  

In the drawer are more than a dozen letters, neatly sealed, which get thinner as the months draw out between them.  

He puts the key back again.

Silky sat by his bedside at Bellevue, his auburn hair loosed from its dapper glue to spring in waves around his temples.  Josiah had wanted so badly to leave, to shed his body, to tumble down some ethereal stairwell in a dreamless morphine sleep where the sun was bright and nothing hurt, where his leg would be straight forever.  But Silky held him pinned to the dark, smoking earth, and a part of him had hated him for it, and the hate was like an abscessed hoof, rank and hot.  He could never ride the boards again, he could never go back, yet Silky pulled him back anyway.  The selfish bastard, who had sweat and fevered with him when the sear broke.  

An evening breeze rustles the crumpled sheets, the abandoned lines, the empty words around him.  Ellis and Antoine are arguing for Davey's sake, and Monroe sounds close to giving in.  Good for them.  

He grabs the edge of the desk and heaves himself, haltingly, the few lumbering steps to the window, leaning out over Monroe's bald spot.  

"Captain Monroe!"

Monroe looks as surprised as the lads to see him, leaning, gritting against his leg, out the window.

No one can see how white his knuckles are in the long afternoon light.

"Monroe, for God's sake.  Just let the boy try for it.  Antoine, so help me, if young Cleary injures himself, I'll saddle a horse with your hide."

Antoine is grinning, his black eyes bright as apples.  

"Birch - "

"A boy needs to run, Monroe."

Monroe throws up his hands.  "Fine then!  Fine!  Let the little fellow break his face!  Let the state's hand come and flick us off the map like a horsefly!  Fine!  Antoine!  Line 'em up!"

Josiah smiles, and hauls himself back to his desk.

My old friend, he writes, I am so sorry I haven't written.  Please feel free not to forgive me.  But I must tell you about the situation I find myself in - you were always the cleverer of the two of us, Silky.  You could have talked the dead to dancing from their graves.  My right hand, whatever God you once believed in has seen fit to trade a boy just twelve his family for his sear, and now at fourteen, he has finally come to us.  Yes, he is too young to train, but he is too young for many things, and once, you told me that the Jesuits told you that God does not give us more than we cannot carry.  Well, my first and last friend, this is more line than I can drag by myself.  If you cannot bear to forgive my silence, Silky, than please bear to give me some advice.  They gave me my captain's coat because they did not know what else to do, and I am lost.  You were my brother from the day we met face-to-horse, and you shared the sear with me.  What am I to do with this boy?  I know that he is ours, he is our youngest brother, but I know we cannot replace his family.  But when I was lost, Thomas, and wanted to stay that way, you pulled me back, bastard that you were and are.  If anybody can tell me what to do now, that he is with us at last, it's you.

Your foolish and misguided friend, who apologizes for what it's worth,

Truly,

Birchy.

[elisaphoenix13]

Mama Bear Drabble 44

Drabble prompt: “I’ve got you. It’ll be okay.”

By: @funkylittlebidiot (posted with permission).

It wasn’t often William dreamed.

He was too light a sleeper, too used to sleeping around strangers he didn’t trust.

Even after months at the tower, in the most comfortable bed he’d ever slept in - massive, but seemingly small in the room he got to call his own - he still rarely slept deep enough to dream.

Or maybe he just couldn’t remember his dreams; however that worked. He knew he’d read once, that everyone dreams every night, and that it’s just a case of whether or not you could recall them.

If that were true, then William never remembered.

It was for the best.

Perhaps his inexperience with dreams was why it felt so real to him now; why the thought of it being a dream didn’t even occur.

It should have.

The dream had started too good to be true, which William, in his experience, should have found suspicious.

Yet, William wanted it to be real, so he let it be.

It started off so simple, it could have been any other day.

Or at least any other day since coming to the tower.

He was in the living room, doing something he couldn’t recall as the past became a blur almost instantaneously as if his short-term memory didn’t work.

Yet he did remember Harley coming in as he always did - devilish smile and eyes like a brewing storm, carrying with him a charge of electricity, the air crackling with every glance, every word, every touch.

Harley leaned down to kiss him as he approached, and William returned it like it was natural - a habit - held onto the kiss as if he deserved it.

It wasn’t. He didn’t. Yet, this version of him didn’t seem to realize that.

He didn’t remember how that had transitioned into his bedroom at one of his old foster homes - one of the worst ones. He couldn’t say whether it had gone straight from Harley’s smile to the snarl of his foster parent or if there had been a gradual change from great to terrible that had been lost to his memories.

But he was there.

The horrible brown of the cracked wallpaper, the claustrophobia from the bunk beds shoved into the tiny room, … - even the faces of the other children as they cowered away under the blankets, or peaked in from the hallway; glad to see someone punished that wasn’t them.

They didn’t need to fear it here, though, most kids would soon learn, as the attention all but went to William.

To some, the home might have been one of the better places. The ‘parents’ let them be as long as they didn’t bother them in turn and the government checks kept coming in.

To William, it was hell.

Because it seemed like William’s mere existence counted as a ‘bother’ to them.

William wasn’t stupid. As much as Thomas had tried to shield him from it, he knew he was a ‘difficult’ placement. Thomas might be labeled a ‘though case’, a ‘runaway’ or ‘delinquent’, but William didn’t need a label to be seen as different.

He’d long since learned to be at peace with that.

Yes, it sucked to be bullied, looked down upon, degraded, …but he wasn’t alone. There had been others on the streets that had been just like him.

And with literally nothing to lose, he’d realized he still had a brother who loved him unconditionally and his pride.

And now a whole family where acceptance wasn’t even a question.

Yet, standing in this room, the face he’d tried to forget for so long in front of him, made him feel like he was twelve years old again. Once again he was a kid, just trying to survive and figure himself out.

There was so much William had seen by now - pain, destruction, the literal end of the world… yet this was what he dreamt of.

He flinched as Gabe’s mouth moved, and even though no noise seemed to filter through, William knew he was yelling. It was clear from the way his face distorted, the harsh movements of his mouth forming angry lines all over his face.

William had gotten pretty good at figuring out micro-expressions, finding the tiniest signs of anger - annoyance, distaste, hatred - quickly so he could undo the damage, become more obedient.

But if micro-expressions were a whisper, this was Times Square at New Year's Eve. He didn't need to try to receive the message loud and clear, knew he was way past adapting. He had missed his window to run and hide, so all that was left was to take it and hope to survive.

Cowering under his gaze was an instinct William apparently still hadn’t managed to shake, curling into himself as if that would make him a smaller target.

He didn’t remember anything special from his dream after that, only fear. He remembered the shivering, the pain in his chest, and the tears streaming down his face. He recalled the way self-hatred charged him like an old friend, wrapping him up and clinging on tightly.

All the while Gabe seemed to be getting bigger and bigger in front of him - either that or he was getting smaller, weaker, more alone.

His fear crescendoed along with it, switching over to panic as he felt himself breathe heavier, his ears ringing as his name was yelled, and finally - William had known it inevitable - the beating started, and -

He could feel himself wake up, jumped up and thrashed out, could feel the shift from dream to reality like breaking the surface after drowning for an hour. But grasping for air he could still feel hands on him, his name still being called.

Gabe was here, he had to be. Or he was still there, still trapped in that house, the real dream his perfect family.

Yet the voice didn’t sound like Gabe - nor did it feel like it. It felt calming, soothing, and familiar in a good way. The voice was babbling quietly, not yelling, and with every steadying breath, William forced himself to take, the words filtered through his muddled brain.

“It’s okay,” the voice said. Arms wrapped around his shoulder, a touch still so intimately foreign that William allowed himself to relax into it. “I’ve got you. It’ll be okay.”

Breath by breath William regained more of his senses, his fear being soothed as with every second his dream faded into oblivion. His eyes caught the darkness of his tower bedroom, but he was sitting on the floor instead of his bed.

With a spike of his heart rate - for once pleasant instead of in fear - he recognized Harley as the one holding him, soothing him. William blamed the rush of relief and the remnants of fear for him pushing further into Harley's embrace, asking for more than he was allowed by turning his head so he could bury it in Harley’s neck.

Harley didn’t protest; instead, he wrapped his arms around him more tightly, applying more pressure to ease his nerves.

The soothing smell of coffee, mixed with a hint of mint, was a blessing to him, keeping him firm and happy in its embrace, almost enough to drag him off to sleep again.

Yet, the lingering remnants of fear stopped him.

Forcing himself to pull back, he looked up at Harley, and finally, his senses fully returned to him.

“How- What are you doing here?”

Harley chuckled, glancing down at his lap almost bashfully.

“More like what are you doing here?” He asked in turn. His tone was soft, as talking in hushed voices was the norm in the dark, yet William could still clearly hear the soft teasing in his tone. “You must have teleported here in your sleep as I woke up with you on my floor.”

Oh. Glancing around the room, William indeed noticed clear differences to his room. The rooms at the tower were all pretty similar at the base, and though it was dark, he could see Harley’s sheets looked black instead of white. William didn’t have a carpet like the one they were sitting on, and he only had one bookcase where he could now see the outline of two.

It was William’s turn to look down in embarrassment, glad the dark covered up the flush in his cheeks. His fingers started twitching in his lap.

Subconscious teleporting wasn’t uncommon for him, as he’d never had anyone teach him how to control his powers. It’s why he was glad he rarely dreamt.

For all he still remembered of his dream, the strongest memory was wishing to be back with Harley.

It seemed his brain had complied, though not in the way he’d anticipated.

“I’m sorry,” William mumbled, shifting away from the boy next to him. “I didn’t know - I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“Hey,” Harley was frowning, William could tell despite the darkness, and he reached out to him, hand hovering over William’s arm. “I don’t mind. You can stay if you want…or we can go to Mom and Dad’s room if you prefer.”

“I don’t want to bother them.”

“You’re not a bother. They won’t mind.”

I just want to be around you.

“I don’t want to wake anyone else,” William opted again, shaking his head. “I’m fine, really.”

“You can still stay here, then.”

William didn’t know what to answer. He wanted it, yes, but saying it aloud felt forbidden, expressing a want unthinkable. Luckily, his body answered for him, nodding his head almost imperceptibly.

“Perfect,” Harley stated, the decision final. William didn’t dare hope he heard Harley’s smile in his voice.

They stayed on the ground - the carpet soft and comfortable enough - but Harley did pull his blanket and pillows down. He wrapped his blanket around both of them as he talked, distracting him from his thoughts and forming an escape from his dreams.

His nightmare was quickly fading from his memories, though he held on to the first part, clinging on to the feeling of dream!Harley’s lips on his.