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a-spes · 1 month ago

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| DEVIOUS LIES — Part three (8.929 words).

| Summary — Anon Request — When your friend asked you out for a drink, you didn't think much about it. Yet, maybe you should've, because that night ruined your life. It may have been two years since the events, but you still can't stop think about what you've lost. Your job, your friends, your lover, and even your mind was left in that motel room.

“I am a hero,” you whispered in your breath, “and that’s what heroes do,” you added, repeating the sentence once more. You were trying to find a little bravery in this mantra, the one you needed to push your limits a little further. Yet, all you find in these words is deep despair, because a part of you knows that they are not true — and you are not a hero. Not anymore. You tried to believe Fury’s lies. You wanted to believe them, and deceive yourself because it gave you a bit of hope, a reason to carry on, but the illusion couldn’t last for eternity. What’s a hero when they are hated by the whole world? A villain.

| Tags & warnings — Avenger!Natasha Romanoff x Avenger!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Reader (platonic), Other Avengers x R. Angst with comfort, mental health issues, suicidal ideations, self depreciation, mentions of SA&SH, manipulation, severe injuries, no happy ending.

| Author's notes — This is the last part of the "Devious Lies" serie, and I really hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three. the scars in our hearts (bonus part).

Many people would say that you are not a hero, not anymore. You have lost this title years ago, the day you revealed your true face to the world by cheating on Natasha —; how could they trust someone with their lives when that person can’t even remain loyal to their girlfriend? A hero is not a human, it is a perfect being that exists for the sole purpose of saving the world, and making children dream. You exist only to give hope to the population, but there is none once they discover that you are just like any of them, someone full of flaws, and failures, just a mess —; just human.

Who knows the horrible things you might have done in the past, or the numerous lies you could have said to twist the reality? Not them, because they know nothing of the truth behind your departure, but they were still convinced that you were a monster who had been lying to them all this time, and it was too late to undo their hatred. A few days had been enough for rumours to spread, suddenly everyone had a story to share that proves how wicked you were. These stories have slowly replaced those of your greatest achievements, the many times you saved the world now forgotten in favor of all the little things you did wrong.

And you know these stories by heart because you have read about them in newspapers, heard them on television and in cafés. Wherever you go, these rumors follow you, they stick to your skin like an obsessive ex that won’t let you go, even after several years. The people never forget, nor they forgive.

Yet, none of them had the courage to hate you to your face. No, it was always behind your back, a bunch of glances they thought were discreet and whispers as soon as you turned around. You might not be their hero anymore, but you haven’t lost your abilities, and they are aware that you could easily kill any of them in less than a minute. But, instead of letting the anger consumes you, you pretended to not see the fear in their eyes, mixed with hatred. Except that, the longer this situation lasted, the more difficult it became for you to ignore their hostility. You would lie if you said it didn’t bother you to see these emotions replace the admiration that used to sparkle in their eyes.

If you are being honest, you have thought about it, about killing some of them. These thoughts come to your mind more times that you care to admit —; it would be so easy to snap their necks so you will never hear their hateful whispers again.

What do you have to lose anyway?

Nothing you haven’t already. At worst, they will send you in prison, but to your exhausted mind the idea sounded more tempting than repellent. Sometimes, you think about it as a sweet dream, and it brings you some peace —; if you were in prison, you would be blessed with ignorance. If you were in prison, they would have a real reason to use these slurs. If you were in prison, you would eventually be where you deserve to be. But, no matter how many times you thought about it, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it and so, instead, you shut yourself away in your crappy apartment, where you could no longer harm anyone.

— — —

“But you are still a hero,” the man told you. It was months ago, almost a year, and it was the first time you had seen Fury since the events that led you to take a break.

A break that was coming to an end, and that you were desperately trying to prolong. Unfortunately, the man is as stubborn as you are, and he is determined to convince you to return to the field. He needs you, and that is obvious, even though those words haven’t crossed his lips. You can feel his desperation.

You disagree with him.

You are not a hero, and he definitely doesn’t need you. There are dozens of agents more talented than you are, dozens of promising, and less controversial, souls who deserve a chance. He should better abandon you now, and let you rot in your apartment, because he will be disappointed sooner or later. But you didn’t tell him that. Instead, you stayed quiet, because the words were stuck in your throat.

“Don’t tell me that you are that kind of agent?” he asked, to fill the silence. The tone of his voice had changed slightly. There was something petty about it, something that is crawling under your skin —; it is the disappointment that his words carry. Yet, you have no idea what he is talking about —; “that kind of agent”? The worlds held no meaning to you, but you could still feel that they didn’t bode well, and that you didn’t want to be that kind of agent. You can see his eyebrows rise in anticipation of an answer you can’t give him.

“What kind?” you asked back, without any conviction, just because you know that is what he expects. You accompany these words with a sigh.

You are not in the mood for this kind of game. You only want one thing, and it is to go back to your apartment, to slip back into the comfort of your sheets and stay there for days to come. In fact, you may never leave them ever again. That is the only place where you can ignore the world, where all your worries disappear along with the rest. The only place where you do not need to be human, or pretend to be strong, where you can be a mess, and no one would be here to judge.

You were really not comfortable at the idea of coming here, to Fury’s office, at the S.H.I.E.L.D. 's headquarters, and being there makes the feeling even worse. He promised you that no one would know, but how could he be sure? The mere thought that one of them could see you there makes you nervous, and prevents you from concentrating.

What if it happens?

What if, despite Fury’s promises, you run into one of them?

You have no idea what you might tell them if it happens. Is it better to beg for their forgiveness, or would it be too much? You bet they wouldn’t even listen to you, anyway —; they haven’t in the past, why would it be different a year later?

Maybe they won’t even acknowledge you, and you should probably do the same —; but wouldn’t it be worse? You are not sure that you could handle this possibility, that you could walk by the people that once were your family as if they were complete strangers.

Maybe it is better if they decide to scream —; that is what a part of you is craving for, no matter how twisted it can be. Because, if they scream, if they still hate you, it means that they care, right? No one would take some of their time and energy to yell at someone they don’t care about, right? Because it wouldn’t make sense.

“The kind that does it for fame,” he replied, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. It was so intense that it made you want to disappear. You hate it, the way he looks at you, as if he knows all the secrets of your soul, and so you are fidgeting in your seat, unable to stay still because of your nerves.

“No, I am not,” you sighed the words that you knew the man was expecting you to say, falling right into his trap. You are conscious of it, but you are too exhausted to fight, and it is way much easier to give the man what he wants.

Yet, your voice is full of uncertainty —; does it make you a bad person to want to stop helping people? At least, that is what he seems to be suggesting, and maybe he is not wrong. Maybe the only reason you want to stop is because you are selfish —; anyone with your skills wouldn’t hesitate to save the world. But not you, not anymore. Why? When did you become one of the bad guys, one of those who don’t care about others?

You want to tell him — to yell at him — that it is not about lost celebrity, that it was about being hated by almost every soul living on earth, but the words get stuck in your throat —; what’s the difference, after all? Are you really gonna let people die because they do not like you, is that the kind of person you became? No, it is not, and it will never be.

“Does that mean I can count on you?” he asked, and you answered with a murmured yes, because that is what he wants to hear, and because you only want this conversation to end. From the very moment you sat on this chair, you have been eyeing the exit, and you are more than willing to give the man what he wants in exchange for the right to leave.

— — —

Yet, all you find in these words is deep despair, because a part of you knows that they are not true — and you are not a hero. Not anymore. You tried to believe Fury’s lies. You wanted to believe them, and deceive yourself because it gave you a bit of hope, a reason to carry on, but the illusion couldn’t last for eternity.

What’s a hero when they are hated by the whole world? A villain. It has been several years since you lost the title of hero. It is not about your great successes anymore, it is about all the mistakes you have ever made, the ones that make you detestable in the public’s eyes. Now, you are just an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., and a controversial one at that. You are the rotten apple that the direction doesn’t really know what to do with. They might desperately need you — or, more accurately, your skills — but they do not want the world to discover that they didn’t fire you despite what they had announced to ease the minds.

Nevertheless, you had agreed to pretend, and to play Fury’s little games, because you didn’t know what else to do. You have been a little lost since you left the team, and the missions you were regularly sent on were a good distraction, but it has been months now, and you do not have the energy to pretend anymore.

Once this mission is over, the first thing you are going to do is to tell the man that it is over, you are quitting — yeah, you are going to leave the agency, and start a new life. The idea sounds appealing, and warms you heart with an emotion you thought you had forgotten; a will to live. You have waited long enough. You are not sure what you are going to do yet, but you know that it will be better — anything would be better than your current life. It will be a second chance, and a real one this time. Maybe you will change your name, and your face, and so you could be anyone you want to be — someone that no one hates.

But, for now, the only thing you want is some rest. Slowly, your limbs become numb and, soon enough, you are not able to walk anymore, the ground disappears beneath your feet and you collapse into the snow, your legs unable to support the weight of your body.

Maybe that is your second chance, you thought. Maybe the afterlife will be gentle.

It is so tempting to just close your eyes, to let the cold soothe your pain, and take all your worries away. You don’t know how long you have been walking, wandering around, waiting for help that may never come — probably for days. Days that seemed like an eternity. You were trapped in a landscape that you would surely have found magnificent, had the circumstances of your presence here been different.

The snow falling from the sky covers everything, and not an ounce of greenery escapes it. Yet, the sight wasn’t comforting — it was threatening, and scary. It was so cold that you couldn’t feel your fingertips. Everything was white, and all looked the same, turning the forest into a maze with no way out. The trees rose up, mocking and oppressive, as if they were only waiting for the moment you would give up.

Be patient. It will be soon, you thought, as your body hit the ground in silence.

You hardly notice you’ve fallen. You don’t even have the strength to try and get up, but maybe you don’t want to. The snow forms a gentle embrace, and you feel it begin to cover you in white too. Soon, you are going to disappear, and you’ll become a part of the landscape — How is it going to take, for nature to hide your body, to make it seem like you have never been here? A few hours? And how long would it take for them to find you? Probably more time. Who is “them”, anyway? You are not sure someone is coming from you, and despite your hopes, it is more likely that they won’t come. Did you forget that you have no one? If people do not care enough to show up at your funerals, do you really think that they would go to the trouble of looking for you in the middle of nowhere? What an idiot you are, you should know, by now, that there is no hope.

No one is coming.

Even though the idea might sound sad, it brings a small smile to your face, as well as a weird sense of comfort — The peace you’ve been looking for is eventually within your reach. Soon, the world is going to forget your name, and your story. Maybe they won’t even know that you died here, alone in the woods, where no one can find your body.

You have tried to warn them about the situation. A last desperate plea for help to be sent, but you never found out if they got your message because your broken radio had died before they could confirm. Despite being an experienced agent, you have been caught out of guard by the situation — Should you wait for them here, or should you try to find a way back home on your own? The decision was made for you when the enemies started looking for you, there was no way you could escape them by staying in their base. Outside, you could hide more easily, and maybe even find a way out of here.

Yet, the days went by, and all you have done is get lost in the forest, a labyrinth made deadly by the snow and very low temperatures. There is no room for life in this place, and the fact that you survived for a few days is a miracle in itself.

You were perfectly aware of the risks when you accepted the mission. There are always high risks in this profession, and you were prepared to take them all, even the most irrational ones because nothing scared you — That’s your strength, you’ve never shied away from a mission. You knew that it wouldn’t go on forever, and that the risks you were taking would eventually lead to your demise — But who cares? Not you, nor Fury. Maybe it was exactly what you were both looking for-; the man wanted a soldier, and you wanted a way to die with dignity, which is exactly what he offered you.

And so, you accepted every mission he presented to you, worked on every file that was put on your desk without thinking twice about it. There was always a good reason to accept, many lives to save, and countless threats to the world, and for that, you were willing to take the risks that nobody else wanted to take. That’s what heroes do, right? They put their lives in line, for the sake of the population.

So far, you have done surprisingly well, successfully returning from each of your missions. Yet, you knew it was only a matter of time before you ran out of luck. Maybe your current situation is solely your fault, for thinking that you could keep pushing your limits indefinitely — For forgetting that you are not a hero, only human. The blood between your fingers is there to remind you of that. It is red, as the one of all the people who live on this planet, and you can pretend all you like that you are a hero, but you’ll never be able to escape your condition, that of being human.

Yet, there is something oddly comforting in watching your blood staining the snow. Something that cradles you until your eyes close, something that helps you accept your destiny. These bloodstains are the silent promise that peace will soon arrive, the peace you have waited patiently for for years.

— — —

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” the woman screamed, her voice echoing throughout the room. No one dared looking at her, everyone avoiding her gaze. The team had just returned from yet another search mission, one of their last hopes of finding you, only to inform her that they had lost track of you — Again.

The woman knows that she should not have listened to Clint when he told her that she’d better stay in the Quinjet and rest, something she has clearly been lacking in recent days. He even promised her that he would do his best. They all promised, but it was just lies.

Natasha has waited for them for hours, obviously unable to rest because she was so consumed with anxiety. She had walked the whole length of the Quinjet more times than she can count, waiting for their return. When they came back empty-handed, she was furious. Not only they didn’t find you, but above all they had lost the only hint of your presence that they had managed to find since the search began, almost a week ago.

If she had been with them, things would have been different. She would have found you, she is sure of it — because she would have refused to come back before that happened.

Everything now seemed hopeless, and everyone was aware of this. That probably explains why they are abiding her gaze, not to escape her anger, but because they do not want to witness the pain they could read in her eyes. The spy had always been good at hiding her emotions, and no one had ever been able to read her — even after you left, two years ago, she remained composed — but her mask had started to crack in the last few days, and everyone could now see her worries.

Natasha was the one who insisted for the Avengers to come for you, and although she insists that this decision is only motivated by her duty, everyone knows there is more to it than that — Feelings that the years had not erased, strong ones that she had buried, but which were resurfacing since she learned that you were in danger. You are her weakness, you are the only one that can make her lose her temper that easily, it is as if she was suddenly a child again — One with emotions too big for his understanding. It is like two years ago, when she saw the pictures and felt her heart being shattered.

“It is okay, I am sure that we are going to find her,” a voice raised, and it was Fury’s. The man was the only one to be brave enough to do such a thing, the only one who didn’t fear the redhead, even though he was the one who should be most wary. The man is standing on the opposite side of the room, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, his arms crossed — They could have been talking about their next meal, and he would have had the same fucking attitude, she thought. “She is strong, and smart. I am sure she will find a way to survive, do not underestimate her, Romanoff,” he calmly added, but his disastrous attempt to calm the atmosphere has the opposite effect — All she wanted to do was to violently rip the expression on his face, she couldn’t stand the overconfidence she could read on it, and the calmness that didn’t fit with the seriousness of the situation.

“You know nothing,” she replied through gritted teeth, the only way she had found to not scream at him, “you are just trying to make yourself feel better about what’s happening because it is your fault. One of your agents is going to die, and it is all your fault!” she yelled the last sentence, unable to keep her voice low as she felt the rage building inside her. The man didn’t even care, he sees you as an asset, not as a human.

“She is an agent, Romanoff, and one of the best. It is her job to take risks, and she knew them before accepting the mission. This regrettable accident is no one’s fault,” he said, unimpressed by the redhead’s outburst.

“Oh, please!” she exclaimed with a bitter laugh, “this mission wasn’t risky, it was suicidal, and you are perfectly aware of that. No one in their right mind would have accepted it, but she was vulnerable, and you knew it, and took advantage of her state to get what you wanted!” she had moved closer, until she was almost spitting in his face, until the accusing finger she was pointing at him almost touched his chest. She knows the man and his tricks, she knows that he always finds a way to get what he wants. “I hope it was worth it because, if we don’t find her alive, I’ll make sure to bury you next to her grave,” she spitted, not even trying to hide her threat — No, not a threat. It was more than that, it was a promise.

Those are the last words she said before leaving the Quinjet.

They have been looking for you for days, and everyone is painfully aware that the chances of finding you are diminishing with every passing minute. Yet, the woman is not ready to stop, not until she has hugged you one last time, dead or alive. Looking for you was no easy task, and every clue they have found eventually led to a dead end — You are too skilled for your own good, she thought, and it was almost frustrating. If it wasn’t for your skills, and your ability to disappear without leaving a trace, they would have found you days ago. If it wasn’t for your skills, Fury would have never sent you on this mission alone, and he definitely wouldn’t have waited for so long before sending a rescue team.

The woman had to beg him, to scream, for him to accept to give in some pieces of information about how you were doing. He said that you were fine. He said that you were fine, but it was just a lie. He looked at her, promising that nothing would happen to you, but he only said that to get her out of his office. As she later learned, the man had no idea of how you were doing because it was a no-contact mission, and if you gave them news, it would only be to share bad ones.

She heard the message you sent, a plea for help playing on a loop in her mind. Despite the poor quality of the transmission, and the cut words that prevented them from understanding your situation clearly, she could feel your fear, one that made her blood run cold — The woman has never heard you being so scared before.

Fury has waited two days before sharing the message with her. He said that he was positive you would find a way out on your own, and it would be too risky to send a team there when they had no idea how the situation was, but she hadn’t listened to him. All the woman could see was how he almost ruined every chance to rescue you for some ego problems, and foolish confidence — Everyone knows that after two days the chances of finding a missing person alive are slim.

She hates him for that. She hates him for allowing you to die.

Or maybe it is herself that she hates, for letting you down years ago, when you needed her the most — If she hadn't, none of that would have happened, you wouldn’t have taken such risks in the hope of achieving some kind of redemption.

“What do you want?” she asked curtly to the person that was following her. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was — Steve. In recent years, the man had developed the bad habit of following her wherever she went, convinced that she needed him.

“You forgot that,” he said, and she looked over her shoulder at the jacket in his hands. A wry smile appeared on her lips at the sight of the garment.

“Because I don’t need it,” she sighed, her tone as cold as the forest because of how exasperated she was by the way the man was trying to play hero. Maybe he was one for the rest of the world, but the woman definitely didn’t need to be saved, and especially not by a man that is convinced he knows everything better than everyone else.

“And, how exactly, do you expect to be able to help her if you are freezing to death?” He asked, trying to coax her into taking the jacket — But only someone who doesn’t know her well could imagine having any chance of convincing the woman.

“Did you forget where I am from, Roger?” She asked back, stopping in her tracks to face him, the sudden act surprising the man who almost ran into her, “If you are cold, then you can go back to the jet. No one asked you to follow me. So now, shut up or leave me alone,” she warned him before resuming her journey, the man at her heels. Natasha wasn’t walking in the forest for pleasure, and she couldn’t afford any distraction.

The woman has to concentrate to make sure she doesn’t miss any traces of your presence. These are rare, almost imperceptible, and easily hidden by the snow. She needs to be sure that she won’t miss anything, and that is something she can’t do if the centenarian doesn’t stop rambling in her ears.

Fortunately, the message seems to have got through because not a word was spoken for the next hours, and the two Avengers just walked in silence. Only the snow crunching under their feet broke the heavy silence. It had been hours, and the landscape didn’t seem to change, giving the impression that they were walking in place, or that they were going in circles. No matter where her eyes landed, all she could see were snow-covered trees, but that was until she spotted it. It was almost invisible, but there was no way she was going to miss the only thing that wasn’t white in the landscape — A red stop. A spot of blood, probably caused by a few drops, but that was leading to a trail staining the forest’s perfect white coat.

“Wait! Where are you going?” the man exclaimed when he noticed that his partner had run off, but he got no answer. His eyes weren’t as sharp as hers, and so he didn’t notice the stains straight away.

When he finally catches up with the woman, he was so taken aback by the scene that he was unable to move, or speak. It was so unexpected that he felt like he was daydreaming, and wondered if it wasn’t the cold that was causing him to hallucinate.

There, a few meters away from him, the redhead was kneeling in the snow. She was close to a body whose identity was in no doubt — You. Suddenly, all he can see is the rigidity of your body, the bluish tint of your lips, the snow that is covering your face, but above all the scarlet puddle that is staining the snow, so big that no one could miss it.

“Give me the jacket,” she asked him, her tone firm despite the obvious tremor in her voice. Her eyes never leave you, even for a moment, perhaps because she was afraid that you would disappear, and that she would lose you, again. “Steve. The jacket,” she asked again, but more urgently this time, “give me the fucking jacket, and go get the others!” she repeated, and the shout seems to shake the man out of his torpor because he eventually hands her the jacket before running off, in the direction of the jet.

Natasha didn’t look back, but she heard his footsteps in the snow as he walked away. Now alone, she gently lifts your body, wrapping you in the jacket, and even pulling the hood down your face to protect you from the snow and wind. She can’t help but let her hands linger on your visage, her thumb gently tracing your features, then brushing past your now blue lips to eventually follow the wound on your cheek.

For a few seconds, she allows herself to get lost in the familiarity of your face, but the blood that is left on her thumb after she ran it over your cheek brings her back to reality — You are dying. Maybe you already are, dead. Yet, there is not much she can do before the arrival of the rest of the team, except praying to all the gods whose names she knows, even though she has never believed in them — Please, if you exist, it is the moment to do something good, she thought, and the woman was so deep in her thoughts, trying to keep the last shred of sanity she had, because the last thing you need is for her to lose her temper, that she missed it at first, those words that came out of your mouth.

“What?” she asked, a little abruptly, as her eyes fell on your face. Your expression hadn’t changed, your eyes were still closed, and so were your lips, giving the impression that she had imagined the whisper. “Did you say something?” She nevertheless asked, and several seconds passed in silence. She felt the hope that had made her heart beat being replaced by despair, until she notices the trembling of your lips as they try to come to life. At first, no sound escapes, only a whimper that breaks her heart. “Shh, it is okay, take your time, baby. You can do it,” she quietly encouraged you as she noticed your struggles.

Her hands cup your face, and the warmth of the contact, accompanied by the circles her thumbs are tracing on your cheeks, is comforting. It helps you to ignore the pain for a moment. The gesture even gave you the strength to talk.

“You..,” you started, but this simple word requires so much effort that you need to catch your breath before continuing. “ ..came..,” you eventually added, the second word coming out as a broken whisper, and the woman has to be close if she wants to understand what you are saying.

“Yes!” She exclaimed, “yes, I did. W- We are all here, baby,” she softly replied, her voice trembling slightly because of emotion, just like her hands as she continued cradling your face.

They are here? All of them? You thought, and the realization brings tears to your eyes. The woman can also feel tears welling up in her eyes, and you can see them. Yet, she should not cry. She has no right to cry when you need her to be strong and calm your fears. The woman knows it and yet, she can’t stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. For so long, she had hoped to see you again, prayed for a second chance even though she knew she didn’t deserve it, but she hadn’t imagined that life could be cruel enough to offer her what she most wanted under the worst circumstances — Once again, she was about to lose the most important person in her life.

“Is.. that.. end.. ?” You painfully asked the woman.

You have once heard a belief saying that the Angel in charge of helping a soul to travel to the other side always takes the appearance of the person the deceased loved the most during their life. You wouldn’t have expected anyone but the redhead to be yours. You may have tried to hate her for years, but the truth is that you have been unable to stop loving the woman.

“Because..,” you continued, but were stopped by a violent coughing fit. “Am.. ready.. now..,” you eventually managed to say. You want nothing more than to touch her face one last time, but your body refuses to listen to your desire and, as you try to move your hand, all you manage to do is to wiggle your fingertips — But it is okay, you thought. You are content enough with being able to see her one last time, and knowing that her comforting touch is the last thing you would feel before Death wraps its arms around your body, taking you somewhere where pain does not exist.

“The.. end?” The woman repeated after you, a bit confused at your words, and you can tell because of how her eyebrows are knitted together. “Oh no, honey, it is not,” she whispered, trying to bring you a bit of comfort. “You are going to be fine, I promise,” she said, repeating those words a few times, unsure if they are really meant for you.

“I.. know.., I.. believe.. you..,” you whispered back.

“Then stay with me, baby, okay? Keep your eyes open for me, please. Just a few more minutes, and then everything will be fine, I promise. Do you think you can do that for me?” She started rambling when she noticed that you were struggling to keep your eyes open. Yet, it doesn’t seem to work as she watches you slowly slip into unconsciousness. “Tell me, love, where does it hurt? Could you do that for me?” She attempted, hoping that the question would be enough to ground you, to keep you here, with her, until the others arrive.

“Everywhere..,” you whispered, and it was the last thing you said. You were in so much pain that your whole body was numb, and you could barely feel something, unable to tell the difference between your arms and legs.

You are not sure what happened next, or how long it was before the rest of the team arrived, because despite Natasha’s attempts to encourage you to stay awake, you ended up losing consciousness. The last thing you were aware of was the sound of a vehicle, along with a few words that were yelled, and even if you couldn’t understand what they were saying, you were able to grasp the urgency in their tones. The last thing you remember was being lifted. That is when you knew you could do, before the arms that were carrying you were comforting, they were the promise that everything would be fine now.

After all, she promised. Didn’t she?

— — —

It was all a lie, when she promised that things would be okay now.

Since the very moment you have opened your eyes, after a few days spent in a coma, the world has been nothing but pain. She had promised you a world where suffering doesn’t exist, but had given you the exact opposite, every day being worse than the one that preceded it. Your wounds won’t heal, and despite the weeks that had passed, you were unable to walk properly, or anything without help. Every step you make, every breath you take, are the reminders of what was taken from you.

You had wished for Death. You had waited for the moment you could leave this world almost impatiently, but when the time eventually came, you were brutally ripped from Its arms. When the woman wrapped her arms around you, wrapping you in a comforting embrace, whispering the promise that everything would be fine now, you naively believed her. It is not before it was too late that you realized your mistake. You have thought that the woman you saw was your angel, but it has only been Natasha, a human, with her flaws and mysteries.

Why did she even decide to come?

The question has not left your mind since you opened your eyes. It raises a feeling of confusion, and anger, because there is no explanation you could think of that would make a bit of sense.

You have not talked since they brought you there, at the compound. It is a place that you’ve never thought you would ever see again, but mostly a place you never wanted to return to. At first, they thought that you just needed a bit of time to adapt, but the days soon became weeks, and you remained locked in your silence despite their many attempts to encourage you to say a few words. The only sounds they have heard coming from you are the whimpers of pain that sometimes fall past your lips.

Natasha has tried to speak to you, but you would always ignore her questions and ramblings. Yet, it has never stopped her from trying. Even though she is not sure that you can hear her, even though whenever she enters your room, she finds you looking out of the window, staring blankly. The woman had stopped closing the shutters a while ago, so you would always have something to look at, but you probably didn’t even notice the difference. It seems that your mind is somewhere else, somewhere she can’t reach.

You are far from here, from this room you hate with your whole heart but that you can’t leave despite your desires. A room that is not yours, and certainly not home despite what they may say, and you would rather be anywhere else, even if it means locking yourself in your thoughts.

It is something they would have known if they had asked you, but apparently they didn’t think to ask for your opinion when deciding your future. The Avengers Tower is quiet, and comfortable. Somewhere you are familiar with, and where you would be able to get the care you need — The perfect place. The only place. You have no family, no friends, that could have agreed to take care of you until you are back on your feet. The Avengers may not be your family anymore, but they are the only ones who have agreed to bear this responsibility — Or most likely they felt like they had to. You probably want to be here as much as they want you to be there, and you know that they are silently praying that you will go away soon. You are the constant reminder of what they want to forget.

And so, you have slowly found comfort in your own mind. The only place where they can’t bother you, where suffering and time does not exist. Except that, as the days go by, it gets harder to ignore the woman. She is the only one who has never given up, always trying to talk to you when she comes to your room, even though you have never replied once. Whenever she comes to bring your meal, or your medicine, or help you to change, she would stay a bit longer, rambling about anything that comes to her mind — And you hate it. You don’t care about her last mission, nor do you care about the last movie she has seen.

When she is here, time seems to flow slowly, minutes becoming a painful eternity. You wish the woman would understand your silence as the sign that you don’t want to talk, but it is apparently not a sufficient clue because she has never stopped talking.

The last thing you want is to get out of your caparace, because you don’t want to see what is outside, but it becomes almost impossible to ignore the world when the woman keeps invading your bubble. Her voice, her soft touches,.. they held a new promise — Everything will be fine, she continues saying, but now you know it is not true. You have fallen for her lies one time, and promised to yourself that you wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. These touches didn’t bring you any comfort, only frustration which then turned into anger. You have felt it boiling inside you for days now — Until you couldn’t bear it any more.

“Why?” You whispered. The woman was helping you to put on clean pyjamas, and you think she was rambling about her day when you cut her off with your question.

You are not sure why you have decided to talk that day. You are not even sure that it was your decision, the broken whisper falling past your lips before you could realize what was happening. You wish you could take back your word, but it was too late. The woman was as surprised as you were, judging by the expression on her face. Her lips are moving, but it is her turn to be at a loss of words.

Somehow, the hesitation you could read on her face made yours disappear instantaneously. Suddenly, you didn’t want to stay silent anymore. You wanted to be heard, to get the anger out of your body because you couldn’t bear the weight of it anymore.

“Why?!” You repeated, but this time you yelled the question. At least, it was the intention, but after so much time without talking, the word was nothing like a scream, only a strangled cry. Yet, despite your voice being weak, you realized that you didn’t want to stay quiet anymore — Not now, when you just got it back. Not when there are so many things you want to say, to scream in their faces.

“Why what?” She softly asked, stopping what she was doing for a second. Her hands were resting on your knees as she was talking. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, and had to lower your head a little to meet her eyes. Yet, she doesn’t dare to hold your gaze for more than a few seconds.

You scoff when she looks away, doing the same thing as you can feel tears coming in your eyes. She must not see them. “Playing games, are we?” You said back. Your tone is venomous, your words rude, and meant to hurt the woman, even though she took care of you the past few weeks.

It may sound unfair to treat the woman after all she has done for you — After she saved your life. Yet, she is still the one who dumped you years ago, the one who broke your heart, ruined your life, and made promises she couldn’t keep. The truth is that, if you can’t handle her presence, it is because you know that you don’t want her to be really gone — You shouldn’t, but you want more of it, more of her and her reassuring presence. Her sudden gentleness, after she pushed you away so violently, is building your hopes back up. A feeling that is painful when you know that they would never become a reality.

“Listen,.. I-,” she sighed, but before she could find the right words to answer your questions, you cut her, again. You already had enough, wanting this conversation to end, and now.

“If you can’t give me an honest answer, then I don’t want to listen to you,” you abruptly said, warning the woman that she should carefully choose her next words.

The woman may want to say something, but when she opens her lips, no sound comes out — Because she has no idea what to say. The truth is that Natasha is as confused as you are, the same unanswered questions occupying her mind. She doesn’t know why she went after you, and the lack of response keeps her awake at night.

The woman simply knew that she needed to be there, that her place was by your side, and no word was strong enough to describe how worried she had been about you all this time, a feeling that has lingered inside her since you left. She pretended not to care, tried to bury these feelings as she had been raised to do, but it never really left.

You had poisoned her soul, her heart.

But you know. You already know the answers to your questions, you only asked because you wanted to hear them from her mouth. You want her to admit that her actions were only guided by her guilt, not by the love she pretends to bear for you, because that is the only way you would be able to get rid of the painful hope that, maybe, things could go back to the way they used to be.

But obviously she wouldn’t say that.

The great Natasha Romanoff would never admit that she is selfish, and imperfect.

That she is far from the hero everyone thinks she is.

“Get. out,” you eventually asked the woman. She has hesitated, and missed her chance to say something. “GET OUT,” you yelled when you noticed she was about to protest, “LEAVE ME ALONE,” you added, pushing the woman who was kneeling in front of you with all your strength. When she didn’t budge, it only added to your distress.

For once, she listened to you, and left the room. The door closed behind her with a soft thud, and just like that you found yourself plunged into the silence you’ve been longing for — Yet, it didn’t feel as comforting as you expected it to be.

Somehow, since that day, you have only felt worse. Since you have found your voice again, you only used it to express your anger, yelling at anyone trying to get into your room. It has been several days now, that your cries have been echoing in the tower, making it clear that you wanted to be left alone. If the past few weeks you have been bearing Natasha’s presence, it wasn’t the case anymore, and now the woman couldn’t even do something as simple as knocking at your door without you screaming. You do not want to see, hear, or feel her — Even the mere thought of the redhead was too much.

All of them had tried to step in your room, convinced they would be the one able to calm you down, but everything they achieved was to worsen the situation. Eventually, they stopped coming, giving you the loneliness you thought you wanted — Then why are not feeling better, now that you have what you asked for?

You are torn apart by contradictory feelings and needs, unable to quite understand what is going on in your mind — It is obvious that you don’t want to see Natasha. And yet, everytime someone other than the woman opened this door, you felt disappointment filling your heart. Maybe that is why you yelled, why you were so angry.

When they eventually stopped knocking at your door, you caught yourself hoping for them to come back. Your days are now an endless succession of hopes, built up at every sound of footsteps in the corridor, and disappointments, when you eventually hear them going away. She has proven you right, you thought. She has proven to you that she doesn’t care, and you have used up all your tears crying over this idea, days and nights.

You wish you hadn’t said those things, that you hadn’t screamed at the woman, because you were now missing her presence. Her gentleness may have been annoying, but it has been so long since the last time someone has been this gentle with you, that now it was gone, you were craving to get it back. She gave you a second chance, and you have thrown it away for what? Nothing.

It took a few days before you eventually decided to leave your room. It was not by choice, obviously, and you only agreed to leave the comfort of your bed because of the hunger that was slowly gnawing at your insides. The last meal you got was the same day as the last time you saw Natasha, and you knew you couldn’t go much longer without eating. At first, you told yourself you would endure the pain, that you deserved it for what you did to the woman, but it didn’t make it more bearable, and you eventually gave in.

The plan you made in your mind was easy — Waiting for the night to come, make sure that no one is awake, and then quickly getting down to the kitchen. Only a few minutes, only time to grab some snacks before making it back to the comfort of your room. Yet, you should have known that things never go as they are meant to.

The journey to the kitchen was everything but easy. You have probably been a bit too optimistic about your ability to walk when you thought about your plan. The pain in your leg was so intense that you were only able to take a few steps before collapsing, and had to almost drag yourself down there. Every step felt like running miles, leaving you short of breath. And yet, despite all your efforts, despite your strong will, you were eventually forced to give up when your legs have once again shifted under your weight, leaving you on the ground, unable to get up despite your attempts.

When even crawling felt too demanding, you were left with no choices but to wait for someone to rescue you. Suddenly, you were submerged by an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness, and shame, that only worsened when you heard footsteps. You didn’t say anything, and only closed your eyes, hiding your tears behind your eyelids. You were softly praying that whoever is here would ignore your limp figure, scattered on the living-room’s floor, and do whatever they came here for as if you weren’t here.

“Oh sweetie, no.. I won’t do that,” a feminine voice softly said, and you immediately recognize it as Wanda’s. It holds a gentleness that is unique.

Your suspicions are confirmed a moment later, when the woman kneels beside you. For a second, you thought about pushing her away, especially when her hand brushes your hair out of your face. The witch is aware of that, but she also knows that, deep down, behind the walls that you’ve built to protect yourself, you were craving for her attention. That’s why the woman didn’t remove her hand right away, a sad smile stretching her lips when she realized how you were leaning into her touch.

“Are you hungry?” She eventually asked, and you opened your eyes, a bit surprised by the sudden question. You blink, twice, unable to give the woman a verbal answer — But she doesn’t need one. She is perfectly aware of why you came downstairs, and she doesn’t need to use her mind-reading abilities to know that, already aware of how you have been refusing to eat anything for the past few days. “Good,” she whispered, careful with her words. She couldn’t risk you shutting down, again. “Because I was cooking, but did way too much for one person,” she explained, smiling.

It is a lie, and you both are aware of that.

It is past midnight, and the woman was probably just looking for some water. She definitely wasn’t cooking, and is probably not even hungry, but she knows that this innocent lie would help you to feel less guilty. The woman knows how stubborn you can be, and how you would probably have refused if she had proposed to cook you a meal, scared of wasting her time. Yet, she couldn’t let you go back to your room with only a snack. You need energy, if you want to get back on your feet as soon as possible.

“Come here,” she said when you hesitantly nodded, “let me help you,” she added, and you didn’t protest when the woman wrapped her arms around you — Her embrace was soft, and comforting.

“I got you,” she whispered in your mind, “everything will be fine now,” and, this time, the words felt true. It has been a long time since you felt as safe as you did in the Witch’s arms, the woman being the only one who has never treated you differently, or hated you for what happened years ago. She was the hope that things could work out.

THE END. —

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three. the scars in our hearts (bonus part).

| Taglist — @cd-4848, @chocolatestrawberrykryptonite, @gemz5, @jusnough, @liasxeatt, @m0nsterqzzz, @marvelwomenarehot0, @mrsrushman, @riyaexee, @takeyaki, @taliiiaasteria.

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jeonride · 1 year ago

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hey, welcome to jeonride's jeon wonwoo reading list part 1 ! (click the navigation if you want another reading list/ fic recs!)

navigation

FICTS ! ✧*。

Just Ask (fluff, smut, boyfriend!wonwoo) by @idyllic-ghost

Getting Closer (angst, smut, horror ft. joker!wonwoo and chief inspector female!reader) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

Red Lights (incubus!wonwoo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

Amour-Haine & Co. (smut, enemies to lovers) by @wonwoosthetic

Crush 03 (fluff, mention of sex, mechanic!au) by @gyukult

GAM3 BO1 (smut, fluff)

The King's Red Rose (smut, royal au) by my lovely sunny ! @sunnylovespickles

SIX-THIRTY (smut, boyfriend!woo) by @cheolhub

Favorite (smut, teacher!woo) by @wonusite

Sweet Eye Candy (smut) by @idyllic-ghost

Chase Me, Make Me Yours (smut, angst) by @wonuhour

Warm Encounters (smut) by @flowerboykun

Roommates with Benefits (smut) by @shuaflix

Favorite Poison (smut, fluff) by @lovelyhan

Sweet Darling (w/ chan) by @bitchlessdino

Love You Twice (smut) by @toruro

Wedding Weekends (fluff) by @suhnshinehaos

By Line (ceo!wonwoo x reporter!reader) by @wonwussy

Blood Love : One More Taste (smut, vampire!wonwoo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

Blood Love pt. 2 (smut, vampire!wonwoo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

Sharing is Caring but I don't Care (all fluff, hybrid!woo) by @gamerwoo

Payment Due! (smut, camboy!woo) by @solarwonux

Blind Spot (smut, enemies with benefits) by @sluttywonwoo

All to Yourself (smut, best friend!woo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

POV (fluff, hurt/comfort) by @by-soleil

Lavender Tea & Honey (smut, fluff) by @peachybun-bun

Working Late (smut, husband!wonwoo) by @number1mingyustan

Cat Got Your Tongue? (smut, angry sex) by @number1mingyustan

Deluxe Version (fluff, dash of angst) by @darl-ings

Have Mercy (smut, rough sex) by @sluttyminghao

His Favorite Color is Blue (angst, fluff) by @euphoricsunflowers

Feelings (fluff) by @markberries

Hardcover (fluff) by @markberries

I'm a Swimming Fool (college au) by @glowonu

You VS The Universe (fluff) by @cheolism

First Kiss (fluff, barista!woo) by @ally-127

Mine (smut) by @peachybun-bun

Heads in The Cloud, Landing Among Stars (fluff, pilot!wonwoo) by @twogyuu

Four Years (fluff, exes to lovers) by @kyufessions

Needy (smut, jealous sub!wonwoo) by @cheolhub

Love Me Tender The Series (smut, sub!woo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

Yours (Pt. 2 of POV) by @by-soleil

DRABBLES / SCENARIOS ! ✧*。

gentle on the streets, freak on the sheets (by @multi-kpop-fanfics)

you're the prettiest during sex to him (smut) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

neighbor!wonwoo jerks himself off (smut) by @cheolhub

fucking detective!wonwoo on a train (smut) by @jeongwife

you use safeword during sex (smut, comfort) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

thigh riding (smut) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

fucking while you're pregnant (husband!woo) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

look at me (smut) by @peachybun-bun

coworker!wonwoo (smut) pt.2 & pt.3 by @euphoricsunflowers

02.47 am (fluff) by @gyuslcve

you have your me (fluff, comfort)

daylight (fluff)

dad!wonwoo (fluff, implied smut)

making out (smut, soft dom!wonwoo)

fucking on the kitchen counter (smut)

sucking his dick while his working (smut)

him sucking your tits (fluff, boyfriend!woo)

him asking you to sit on his face (smut)

hard + fluff thoughts (boyfriend!woo)

sucking + kissing his tattoo (smut)

pervert gamer!woo (smut)

gamer boyfriend!wonwoo | 2nd ver

professor!wonwoo (smut)

fucking lawyer!wonwoo (smut)

nsfw sleepover (smut)

wonwoo hard thoughts (fluff, smut)

fwb (kitten!woo, mistress kink)

active during nighttime ( hybrid black panther!wonwoo and hybrid cat!reader)

smut, established relationship (also fluff)

[09.00pm] (all fluff!)

late night walk (fluff)

does he could make you feel good as i do? (racer!wonwoo)

more myself than i am (fluff)

vvwonwoovv is on live! (streamer!wonwoo)

he spoils you so much (smut, ft.mingyu)

[04.01pm] (smut)

him obsessed with your body after giving birth (smut, dad! wonwoo)

body worship (smut, kinda)

bedtime routine (fluff)

fireplace (fluff, kinda smut).

cuddling (fluff)

69 (smut)

car sex (smut)

take care of me (sub!wonwoo)

needy sub!wonwoo (smut)

workplace rivals (smut)

of shy smiles & misunderstanding (fluff)

waiting (fluff)

childish joy (fluff)

two umbrellas (fluff)

14:28 (fluff, contains bodyworship)

cuffed (smut, wonwoo is a sub sorta???)

fucked by office mate (smut)

#wonwoo imagines #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #wonwoo x reader #reading #seventeen fanfic

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hoseoksluna · 9 months ago

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MURK | myg ft. jjk

pairing: boyfriend!yoongi x oc (feat. jungkook)

genre: angst, smut

word count: 16.9k

summary: one encounter with jungkook heals you enough to mend your boyfriend's heart.

pinterest board: murk

warnings: anxiety attack, different forms of self-harm and self-sabotage, mental agony, mutual masturbation, toying with polyamory, foreshadowing the use of a sex toy, alcohol consumption, seduction, provocation, teasing, oc wears pretty lingerie, cuckold kink, guided female masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, nipple play, clit rubbing, ass play, oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, facial, cum eating

note: oh my god, this was supposed to have three parts, but it was getting way too long and i decided to prolong the series. i'm not gonna even mention how many parts this series is gonna have bc my characters surprise me every time i finish writing so... they're the boss of me. ANYWAYS, pls i am so proud of this work of mine and i can't wait for you all to read it. pls, spam my inbox anonymously! i need to hear your thoughts, so pretty please, let me know everything you're feeling, hating, expecting etc. i'm absolutely obsessed with oc, jk and yoongi. ALSO, let me know what team you are. team yoongi or team jk? i'll put a poll in the final part if i remember. hehe ENJOY READING ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Sensing Yoongi’s emotions, the clouds pull in, shunning the sunlight and you feel it. You feel it, enormously.

The wind becomes violent. Curtains of sheer gray slap against the windows, undulating with such might that you sense its urgency. You stare at it in deep thought, naked and barren—void of any dignity, void of any rightness of feelings. A hole of blackness takes form in the middle of your chest, where the memory of Yoongi exiting the room hastily plays on a loop and there’s a faint, feeble hand in you, one of that urgency, that reaches for him, while the other remains slack at your side, caressing your own skin, pacifying your selfishness, your hypnosis—dragging you away from the side you had unwittingly and so unrightfully chosen.

And while you want to mend what you’ve caused in your relationship, the only side you want to take at the moment is your own. The defeat pains you still, but what aches even more is the feeble wish there wasn’t any defeat at all. Not on Yoongi’s face, not on yours.

You don’t regret what you’ve done. You don’t want to regret anything anymore, which is why you’re still standing dressed in your femininity as Jungkook apprehensively rakes his hands through his hair on the bed. You care very little for it because a bigger part of you is concerned about the well-being of your boyfriend. You wonder what he’s up to downstairs. Is he pacing? Is he busying himself from the onrush of his negative emotions, not able to stand the sight of you? You’d run to him, but there’s a bigger matter at hand. You have to fix your mind first. You have to cleanse yourself of the mess and the chaos, sort out the darkness so the light pours in.

The light that will guide you to make the right decisions at last. The light that will burst your ugliness to smithereens, smother you with its heat so the hypnosis won’t penetrate it again. The light that should, ultimately, help Yoongi, help your relationship—fix its face, soothe out the overbearing tension.

You’re aware Jungkook put you under a spell, now that the wind and Yoongi’s coldness has sobered you up. Turned you against him. Made you forget about him. You give zero fucks about how he does it time and time again. What you will concentrate on in the present time is making sure it won’t happen again. How? You’ll figure it out. Somehow.

You don’t want any of the males to regard you as of now—and you wish you were alone, you wish you could escape like Yoongi did. That thought leads you, conspicuously, to begin to understand the reason behind his actions, but you don’t allow it to unfold in you. Not yet. You turn around to look at Jungkook.

Elbows propped on his thighs, he’s digging a hole into the hardwood floors with the blackness of his irises. A small mole kisses the side of his ribs, the only visible part of his body that is otherwise clouded in shadows. You take your eyes away from that sight, not trusting yourself, hating yourself for naturally looking at that intimate part of him. Upon the sound of your movement, Jungkook flicks his eyes towards your form. You dislike everything about his attentiveness to you with every fiber of the betrayal that your body has become.

His face is squished in his hands. He doesn’t look at your bareness. Merely studies the emotions written on your face. Like the healer he is, you know he wants to find something, anything to latch himself onto. And while you once obsessed over this need of his to mend, to make right, you despise it now. In spite of it, while you swallow down your distaste for it, your hand yearns to pet him like the wounded puppy he is, because you know that the tumultuous darkness both men are facing is of your origin, of your doing.

You keep it clenched in a tight fist.

You don’t want to touch him anymore. You don’t want to touch any of them. Don’t want to cause any more harm than you already have with your desires.

Jungkook startles when you make your way towards your travel bag. You hide your breasts beneath your forearm, not wished to be seen, not wishing to be vulnerable like that. The feeling of your stickiness along the inner sides of your thighs makes you cringe, worsens your hatred, and tears begin to sting in your waterline when you unzip your bag and grab the first thing you see. Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, but for the last time you avert your gaze from him and bolt to his bathroom. At the sound of his heavy steps, you slam the door shut.

He calls your name and it is only then, when you’re alone, that you let those bitter tears and whimpers emit out of you. The sound is hidden by each strike of his palm upon the wood and your hand flies to your mouth in effort to stifle your emotions, feeling undeserving of them, feeling wrong, ugly, not worthy of his damned attention—not worthy of anything.

“Sweetheart,” Jungkook whines. The first pet name he ever called you. You let out a pained sound and he forces the door open with all his might. Even though you don’t want to, you let him see the state of you—clutching your wrinkled dress and panties, concealing the evidence of the pleasure he gave to your body, of your femininity that he had put under his spell.

You step away from the threshold, slinking deeper into the shadows of the bathroom. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be looking at you with such solicitude and affection. His brows shouldn’t be knitted like that, those eyes bigger and rounded than they usually are, fists tight and clenched, veins thumping and thick. Yoongi should be standing in his place with the intention to heal. Not him.

“Please, go away,” you whisper, hot tears pouring down your pallid cheeks. You’re ashamed of them because you know full well that at this point you should be doing anything but crying. You’ve gone through so much turmoil, mingled with the darkness to such great extent that you should be proud of your work. You wanted this at some point—you wanted to remain the opposite force with separate feelings. You wanted to be his, when you had no right to choose.

Jungkook’s eyes glisten. You turn your back to him, unable to be a witness to his emotions. You can’t see that; you don’t deserve to and he shouldn’t be feeling like this. He should’ve long exited this disorder—

You sob louder, exhausted of your thoughts, exhausted of shoulds, of wrongness. Turn the shower on, aware of the traces of disobedience and pain on your backside and you want to hide, but you have nowhere to go to.

Jungkook turns the main lights off, leaving only the soft flickering bulbs on by the mirror. Ever the healer who senses your emotions by some sixth sense that you hate. Dimness covers your shame.

He takes away your dress and panties and you let him. Folds them neatly on his laundry hamper. You watch him treat your underwear with such gentleness that it hurts. A flashback of him ripping your thong and making your bum red fills your brain, causing your feelings to expand in your chest—so much that you think your body is too small to keep them in. You can’t breathe, your lungs don’t have enough space to stretch and you panic, taking small breaths that don’t appease your need for air. Not at all.

You step into the shower, needing to get away.

The hot water burns on the curves of your behind and you hiss, but it alleviates your hatred. You deem it is precisely what you deserve. Your hand turns the temperature higher, sobbing into the stream of water, lungs heaving with such heft and it is okay, for it camouflages your hypocrisy. That is, until Jungkook notices it.

“Are you crazy?” he mutters in dismay, fixing the temperature, but you grip his wrist briefly, pushing it away. Don’t look at him. Only warn him this way, silently. His miffed sigh wafts into the mist rising along your form, diffusing into your hair that still carries the scent of the pond. You want to wash it all out. “It’s going to hurt more like this.”

You scowl, cupping the water in your hands like a child. “I don’t care. Leave.”

The outward pain of your body isn’t the problem here. It aggravates you how he doesn’t see it—how he can be so ignorant to the more important matter at hand. Yoongi left because of him and because of you, because of the single-minded pleasure between you both that had nothing to do with Yoongi. You might as well have been there alone with him—Yoongi being just a pair of helping hands. Redundant.

Burning. Burning of eyes, burning of skin, burning ache of heart.

Jungkook scoffs at your forwardness, dumbfounded. Has the audacity to follow the drop of water trickling down the small of your back. You splash him, willing him to go away, but he stays put. Unbuttons his cargos. Hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, ridding himself, and stepping into the shower with you, sliding the door shut.

You whisk your eyes to him with as much ill-will as you’re able to muster and he seizes it, unafraid of it, backing you against the wall. Solemn mien, subdued and so soft amidst the hardness of his decisiveness. Small pearls of emotion are stained upon the wrinkles around the corners of his eyes, twinkling in the shadows in tandem with the ever persisting glint perched on top of his irises. “I told you to leave.”

He doesn’t blink. “You splashed me,” he utters, lowly. Grips your waist and pushes you against the coolness of the tiles. It takes a hold of the burn and rips it away, relief flooding in its place and your features relax against your will. “See how it feels better?”

It does, but you don’t give him the benefit of the doubt—you refuse to. Not when you deserve to rot for hurting your boyfriend enough to make him leave, not when it should be him standing here with you—

“Don’t punish yourself,” Jungkook whispers, fixing the temperature yet again, letting the mist disperse. Such a tender, velvety sound that reaches deep inside of you, even when you want to fight him, even when you think that punishing yourself is the least you can do, considering how despicable you’ve become. But then he dabs a small amount of body wash onto his palm, rubs it across your sternum and it nobbles the drift of your self-sabotage.

You feel the snugness of his touch, the darkness thickening in you and you take a fright of it.

You put a stop to it.

Grasping his wrist, you blink through the unrelenting fragrance of cherries filling your nostrils. “Don’t touch me.”

Seeing the panic flitting over your damp eyes, he lets go, respecting your wish. Smears it on the broadness of his chest instead. “Alright, I won’t touch you.”

You sigh a whiny, vulnerable breath of relief. The glint of his irises ripples as tears pool across them. He, too, blinks them away. Stills as a sculpture while watching the film of your emotions. For a mere moment. Your throat constricts. Time, then, resumes.

Jungkook hands you the bottle. Silence suffuses the profound atmosphere as you lather yourself in the cherry aroma. Almost without touching your skin, he peels your hair away from your back, capacitating you to reach your shoulder. As if his hands, now that they’ve acknowledged themselves with your body, simply cannot keep their distance. You shoot him a look that forces him to drop his limb. Note that it trembles on its way down to his side; note the same trepidation beginning its course on your body. Your mouth rounds in yet another rush of emotions, but you don’t cry.

You’re so tired. So tired of feeling. So tired of guilt, of shame, of getting up and falling again.

You avoid your intimate parts, your breasts and your behind. You hold your body instead, arms wrapped around your ribcage in effort to put yourself back together. You don’t understand why he’s here, why he cares; why he thinks he has the right to touch you without your boyfriend being present, why he thinks the situation between you and Yoongi is something he needs to remedy. And why, ultimately, he thinks it’s right to be on your side, instead of Yoongi’s.

He’s not your friend. He doesn’t know you.

You look up at him to fire that question at him, but Jungkook clutches the shower head and, with lukewarm water, he cleanses you of the foam, the bubbles and the stickiness on your thighs that he never got to wipe clean because you had pushed him away earlier. And then it happens.

He cleanses you of your dirtiness, of your hatred and of your tiredness, too. With the same shower head, the same lukewarm water. And you can’t explain how he does it, how your body lets him, how it willingly lets go until there’s nothing in you anymore. Just the cherry perfume and the hole in your chest with a murky cloud in the middle. You merely watch it dribble down your skin, plop onto the tiles on the floor, swimming around your feet and his. Dumbstruck.

You feel like stomping on it, but you don’t have the energy. Figure it will drown in the small pool of water on its own, die a slow, painful death, before it trickles down the drain.

You don’t know how it came about now that it’s gone and you can’t take your eyes off of him. All he did was rinse you off. And the ridiculousness of it all is that, the more Jungkook deepens your eye contact, the more you want it back. You want to be the one who purges you of it. Steal the magic from his hands and splatter it back on your skin, in place of the cherries. He can keep those.

Why did he come? Why didn’t he go to Yoongi?

And you ask him. “Why are you here?”

He fishes for a bottle of shampoo. “Will you let me wash your hair?”

You scowl up at him. “I asked you a question.”

Stillness in his features. “So did I.”

That damned stubbornness, so reminiscent of yours, of your muted, silent one, hidden within you. Fair enough. You search within yourself for any hint of protest. Find none—find it’s been washed away, find cherries and the heft of the cloud, no darkness, much to your dismay. You turn your back towards him.

“Tilt your head back.”

Thankful that he didn’t do it himself, you do as he says. Jungkook wets your hair and you feel the pond leaving you, your heart skipping over to latch onto it, adamant on not letting it leave, but alas—it disappears along with everything else. You wish your heart would trickle down the drain, too. You have no need for it, anyways.

Jungkook’s touch on your hair is benign, careful as he rubs the shampoo on your scalp. You flutter your eyes shut, welcoming in, somehow, the massage that diminishes the intensity, which your thoughts are hurled at you with, as though he was the owner of them and he came home to make order. And they settle altogether to listen as he begins to speak. “It shattered my heart. To see both of you so broken because of me. I saw it at dinner at first. Then I saw it again today. It pains me. It pains me that it’s my fault.”

Silence, hefty, strong silence. The principle of being seen by another pair of eyes; the principle of your agony being seen and understood, no longer obscured within your mind, within your heart. Jungkook didn’t just see you, he saw Yoongi, too. Saw through you both. Something about that, along with the work of his fingertips, mitigates the heaviness of your emptiness, of your cloud, but it doesn’t tear the misty body. Not yet.

Your throat is dry. “Why are you here, then? Why aren’t you with Yoongi? He’s your friend.”

He gently drags his palms across your length. “Because Yoongi deals with things like this on his own. He doesn’t need a friend when he goes through shit. He needs to be alone.”

You don’t understand. Yoongi always needed you when his mental health was at stake. Needed you as he unraveled the entanglement of ropes of that darkness that had enveloped his mind by talking to you about it. Then, he would eat with you, fuck you and try again the next day. It would be a long process, but it would be something you’d go through together. There never was a time he’d walk that path alone.

And then it hits you.

That was before you. Before he met you, he meandered through that decaying meadow alone. Jungkook served in the military—he doesn’t know anything about the change that occurred. Doesn’t know that Yoongi gave up his isolation.

And you tell him. Merely a hint of it. Figure it’s Yoongi’s story to tell and you don’t have the heart to snatch that opportunity away from him.

Listening to your words, Jungkook slackens. You only hear the sound of the shower head being put back into its place that indicates his shock to you. You figure he wanted to rinse off the shampoo, but the information paralyzed his body. You turn around to see that bewilderment writing verses across his features. Tenderness, too. A tendril of liquid emotion swirling past his waterline. “I tried my best to make that happen when I could,” he utters and you don’t think he realizes he said it, eyes unfocused, fixed on the tile beside your arm. “You can’t imagine how difficult it was for him. To let you in.”

You feel the same tenderness curling into your cloud. Your mouth rounds again. Touched, terribly touched. Gladness holds hands with that tenderness, gladness that he didn’t leave when you had told him to. Because if he had never stepped inside the shower, you wouldn’t have known. You wouldn’t have known the secret that changes everything.

You yearn to see Yoongi. Yearn to hug him, hold him, to pour out your love into him. Think you’re ready now. Stable enough to satisfy your craving. And in the love that you feel for him, you sense the light swarming, begging to be seeped into him.

You stand beneath the stream to rinse off the shampoo, the water blanketing your head, peace penetrating your skull, tidying up the mess in your mind. Hushing out your thoughts now that your negative feelings long slinked away. You’re a new person. Clean, purified. And while you find it hard to believe, all you want to do is truly run to Yoongi.

You can’t let him venture back to that forlorn meadow, to the ghost of his isolation. You might have shown him the way, but you have the will to stop him—and that’s more than enough.

The healer that Jungkook is… he did it again. He dismantled your attachment and now he fixed your mind. You don’t know from what source he had rooted out the light, but he gave it to you. He gave it to you when you needed it the most, without knowing a thing about it.

Blindly, you hook a finger around his index in a gesture of thanks. You don’t want to look at his nakedness. Don’t want to be pulled into that energy again. It brings his attention to you and you want to weep. Differently now. You want to weep due to the fact he somehow, seemingly, knows because he cups himself. Due to the roundness of his eyes that you know, that still live under your skin—differently now, too. Due to the fact that you got to be acquainted with him, despite the ruckus and the pain it came with.

And you hope, in all truthfulness, that you remain something along the lines of friends after this day is over. How else would you have gotten to this healing?

You open your mouth to express your gratitude, but Jungkook speaks first. “Don’t look at my worm.”

The laughter that dribbles out of your mouth is so lightweight, so full of breezy and summer-breathed relief that the tears, which were held in, do break through the confinement and roll down the apples of your cheeks. Different, different tears.

Friends, yes, please. You beg the heavens. May they let him become your friend.

Jungkook scrunches his nose, squeezing your finger, relief, too, washing over him. “Don’t cry, I swear it’s not small like this all the time. It gets bi—”

“Get me a towel, you dummy,” you say, softly, amidst your sputtering laughter, wiping your tears away. Jungkook smiles, the change of the atmosphere illuminating him from beneath, and he slides the door open, letting the slight cold air in. You turn off the water, focusing your eyes on the last ripples of water draining your negative emotions until they slip, entirely, away.

Jungkook holds out a beige towel for you. Doesn’t wrap it around you; still respects your wish. Lets you take it from him and then he disappears into the bedroom, closing the door shut behind him.

You used the alone time to doll yourself up for Yoongi. At least a little bit—you didn’t want to overdo it, amongst other things that you already had.

Although you missed your favorite mango scent, the cherries didn’t seem so bad and you got accustomed to it fairly quickly as you swiped a tiny bit of your cream blush along your cheeks, where you’ve let your relieved tears dry. You smeared the same tint of soft red upon the puffiness of your lips, connecting it to the perfume, connecting it to the healing that sank lower and lower in your gut. And you sealed it into the entwistment of your braid—sealed it fully.

You won’t let it leave you. Not this time; not again.

By the time your feet pad down the wooden stairs, you discover what Yoongi was up to in his absence. Three plates of ramen are prepared on the dinner table, gone cold by now, along with utensils and opened cans of fizzy drinks. The sight lids your eyes with tears, but you stifle them, blink them away. You thought he wanted to forget you, when in reality he had you in mind the whole time. And not just you, but your culprit as well—and he cooked him food.

A sudden roar forces your head to whisk towards the balcony. And your heartbeat quickens. You don’t feel your legs as you speed outside.

Yoongi sits on top of the stairs, a cigarette in hand, torso twisted, facing Jungkook, whose shoulders sag in consternation, palms open towards him. He makes a move to his side, but Yoongi raises a limb to stop him. Looks at you for a moment. At your wet hair, at the same state of Jungkook’s. Your heart lodges in your throat—

“Get away from me,” Yoongi mutters, taking a long drag from his cigarette, and you don’t feel anything at all. Not your legs trembling, threatening to drop to the ground. Not the standstill of your bloodstream. You’re struck, unable to speak, to think. Yoongi rises to his feet and points his busy fingers at you. “Did you enjoy your shower?” he spits the venom in your face, ruining your makeup that you diligently put on for him—your tears flow, mingling with it, hot to the touch. “Did you enjoy fucking him?”

You gasp. “No, Yoongi, I didn’t—”

Yoongi’s own tears pool in his clouded eyes. You’ve never seen them before and they break you, tear apart the cloud in you. “You didn’t what, honey?” he croaks out. Repeats the question.

Your sobs ache, but you don’t care. You take a step towards him, reach out your hand like you should’ve done earlier before he left and he takes it. The light that spills out from your chest radiates him, radiates him enough that he gives you the chance to explain yourself, to redeem his heart and you’re willing to do anything for it. His palm is cold, more cold than it’s ever been and Yoongi squeezes you, as if to beg you to undo the gashes upon his heart. Jungkook looks at the intertwinement for a mere second and you refuse to note the sliver of pain whirling past his eyes. Not this time; not again—this is about you and Yoongi. And you’re glad when he leaves. You don’t watch him go.

“I didn’t have sex with him,” you whisper, the only way you could keep your voice still, your tears soaking the neckline of your lacy dress. You will your healing not to quiver, but to remain strong, remain unbreakable. “I swear on my life that I didn’t.”

The same drops of pain pour down his face and you can’t bear it. You bury your face into his clothed chest, bunching the material of his T-shirt in your fists, needing him to believe you, needing him—

“You took a shower with him,” he breathes in pure disbelief. You feel it palpitate in his heart that your forehead is pressed against. This time, you understand right away how wrong that was—that showers are something that belongs to you and him, your shared rose garden of some sort that they could become, even though you were too smothered by the darkness to realize it fully in the moment.

You halt the shame creeping in. The guilt, the wisps of darkness. You’ve healed, and it shall stay that way. No more.

“I took a shower alone.” The wind nips at you and it is like a slash of a whip on your back. “He came in—”

Yoongi sucks in a breath. Lets his cigarette fall to the floor of the veranda. With his lips pursed and like a bolt of lightning you can’t keep in your hands, he rips himself out of your hold and lopes inside the cabin with heavy, wrathful steps.

And you can’t stop it—the colliding of Yoongi’s fist on Jungkook’s cheekbone.

You yelp, grabbing a hold of the fabric of Yoongi’s T-shirt to pull him back, your sight blurred enough that you can’t see. You can’t see properly the way Yoongi doesn’t let Jungkook fall to the floor, but instead grabs him by the collar and fumes in his face. Your sobs choke you and you press yourself against his back, wrapping your arms around his torso, willing him to stop, begging him in your silent language.

You feel the heavy, long thuds of his heart, the trembling lift and fall of his chest and you squeeze him tighter, weeping into the cloth of his garment, emitting liquid fear—fear of Yoongi receiving the same hit, fear of the darkness, much bigger one, enveloping all three of you. And you don’t have the time to blame yourself for causing this. Yoongi’s words stop you dead in your tracks.

“You forced yourself on her?” he hisses, pushing him to and fro like the curtain billowing behind you. “Are you that fucking desperate for pussy that you forced yourself on my girl? Should I fucking kill you?”

A momentary stillness. Your breath is loud. Louder than the hard huffs of air escaping the mouths of the two males.

“Let go, hyung,” Jungkook croaks out, defeated. And you don’t know how the sound of it makes you feel. Perhaps, you’re feeling nothing, which is a good thing. You put your boyfriend first in your weak heart, his feelings, his well-being. Not Jungkook; not yourself. Even though your heart silently, painlessly cracks.

“I asked you a question.” Yoongi’s wrath rises, absorbing the room, despite the fact his voice is deadly calm. You squeeze him harder.

He did force himself into your personal space, but if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been healed. You wouldn’t be here, on your boyfriend’s side. And the thought of being the opposite force if he hadn’t done that, cradling his back instead of Yoongi’s terrifies you enough that you speak up—in need to fix the situation.

“He didn’t, Yoongi. I promise,” you whimper, burying your face deeper into the middle between his shoulder blades. And there you feel his spine shake. You caress his stomach to soothe him, peppering kisses along that strong column.

Yoongi punches him again. It reverberates throughout your whole body. You only hear the crash of Jungkook’s form onto the floor.

“Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again,” Yoongi hisses and he twists his wrist to alleviate himself of the affliction scattering along his knuckles. “And what you’ve done to her, the pain you’ve caused her is something I will never forgive you for.”

Stillness. Terrible, terrible stillness. The whip of the wind. A roar of an upcoming storm in the heavens far, far away. You don’t become it. You remain yourself. His girlfriend, defended.

Yoongi turns around and cradles your face in his hands. Wet, worried eyes, begging you for something that you can’t pinpoint. Shiny, sniffling nose, suppressing his emotions. Red, regretful mouth, breathing out exasperated breaths. Quivering chin—quaint in the rawness of his expressed love towards you. You yearn to kiss him, you yearn to take him home, so terribly remorseful that you got him into this gut-wrenching mess. And you listen to your body, fulfill the only right decision you’ve come across since meeting his friend.

“Let’s go home, baby,” you whisper, pecking him softly. Yoongi nods, wiping your tears away. Takes your hand and leads you towards the front door.

Jungkook, now standing on his wobbly feet, bruised and bloodied, merely watches the pair of you. Sorrowful. And as you walk away from him, you clutch in your heart what he’s done for you.

Yoongi hands you his car keys. “Wait in the car.”

You nod and you go. Don’t stick around to see the unfolding of the storm. Don’t say goodbye.

The rain pitter-patters on the roof of the car. You’re tired of it. You’re tired of the summer. Don’t find any beauty in it. Not even in the mountains and the trees.

Yoongi hasn’t come back yet.

Your stomach grumbles, but you don’t feel any hunger. You’ve nibbled on your bottom lip so much that rawness of blood is all that your teeth sink into. The same blood that, much like your darkened self-sabotage, trickled out of Jungkook’s nostril. It tastes bitter on your tongue.

A ruthless carousel of scenarios spin in your mind and you’re tightly buckled in the seat of fear with no way out. The fear that, in your absence, Yoongi’s hit got reciprocated. The fear that the same blood you taste could, possibly, be on your own hands.

You want to get away from here. Far, far away.

When Yoongi emerges from the cabin, a thunder announces it. The only blood you detect is the dried one on his knuckles. The rain didn’t get to clean it and once he places the same hand upon the shivering coldness of your thigh, a decision perks up in you. A decision to not let anyone get in the way of mending and cleansing anymore.

You shall be the one who does it now. Not the rain, not Jungkook. They’ve both done enough.

And when you lift that wounded hand to your lips, you wish you could clean it with your tears—but you fear the salt would only pain him more. So you settle for your sighs of relief, for your gentle kisses and for the light in you to do the work.

“No more tears, honey,” Yoongi murmurs, cupping your chin and pecking you. “It’s over now.”

You drift to sleep during the ride home.

And you sleep through the whole afternoon in an anguished effort to forget. Forget the blood, forget the sound of Jungkook’s body hitting the floor… forget yourself.

You didn’t dream about anything at all. Only the darkness consumed you, a lullaby of nothingness.

And when you awake, your feet groggily take you to Yoongi. They seem to know where he is, even when your eyelids are still half-closed, even when your brain still dozes. A canopy of dusky, darkening heavens, with hues of roses dispersed all around, gently fondles your eyes to rouse them fully and right here, on the balcony, much different to the one you spent your afternoon on—much smaller, much more confined—is where you find your boyfriend. An empty pack of cigarettes on the table, a cold purple lighter and a dark bottle of liquor.

His strained back greets you first. He doesn’t hear your steps; he doesn’t sense your presence and it isn’t until your fingertips touch his saddened spine that he turns around. Wrinkles of the same dejected nature, absolute despair wrung into the paleness of his face. You cradle it and you bolster it when he spills into your hands, when you feel the hotness of his tears. And you spill with him—the only thing left to do.

You will your light to swathe him. Press his head against your chest as you lead him to take a seat with you on his lap. And you keep your mouth tightly shut when the soreness of your muscles, the slight discomfort of the burn on your skin forces a whine out of you. You keep it caged in. Put your boyfriend first.

Sifting your fingers through his hair, you kiss his scalp—kiss his mind, even when you don’t know its contents. To ease it, whatever it was that caused him to break.

You sit like this until the moon springs from the clouds. You don’t look at it. Refuse to.

It’s Yoongi who speaks first, cold fingers sunk beneath your thighs, seeking your warmth.

“Tell me everything from the beginning,” he murmurs, weary eyes boring into yours. “I need to hear it from you.”

You’d give him anything he asked, anything he wished for; you’d pierce your heart if the time asked for it. And so you nod, place your hand on his chest, lie against his good shoulder and you begin to leak. Leak the simplest of words you’re able to find in your windswept mind.

“He put me in a trance when we were intimate. So much that I lost my mind, lost my surroundings, lost my sense of home.” You swallow, dryly, thinking that’s the best way you could explain it without deepening the gashes upon his heart. Decide you will not overdo it. “And when you left and I breathed in the fresh air, it was like I’d woken up from it. It hurt so much. I was worried about you, but I wasn’t ready to face you. Not when I had to deal with the repercussions.”

Yoongi squeezes the flesh of your thigh to comfort you, thumb fondling the skin back and forth, listening intently.

“I didn’t understand at first why you left. I was so out of it. But little pieces started to put it together in my mind as I was thinking about it. And then I saw Jungkook with his head in his hands and I knew I’d done something really, really bad. I wanted to run away, like you did, but I had no other place to go to other than the bathroom. And Jungkook…” you trail off, taking a deep breath, preparing yourself mentally for this part of the story—the thread that is linked to the bruises upon Yoongi’s knuckles. “I thought he wanted to comfort me, and maybe he did. I pushed him away but he relented. He was concerned because I—” A lump forms in your throat, your lashes quiver. “I made sure the water was boiling hot because I wanted to burn off—I wanted to punish myself for making you leave, for hurting you. And then he got in the shower and I didn’t say anything.”

You pause for a moment, thinking about how you’re supposed to mention the matter of the burn of your backside and his concern regarding it without wounding Yoongi.

“He—” Your throat constricts and Yoongi cradles your face in his palm, lifting your head so you can gaze into his eyes, draw strength from him. He nods, encouraging you to continue, while seemingly giving you as much time as you need. Tears the lump apart. “He was worried because the hot water was making the burn on my butt worse, but I—I didn’t feel it. I was crying so hard.”

His eyes search for something in yours and you know right away what it is. The answer to his question on whether he touched you. You wrap your arm around his neck. Glad it didn’t wound him. Enough that you overbrim with the desire to assuage his disquiet.

“He didn’t touch me,” you whisper, although it’s not entirely true. Cold sweat dribbles down your spine. “Not in the way you think. I told him to stop. He wanted to wash me. I told him no.”

He blinks, but you can’t read his solemn features. You see the memory of Jungkook gripping your waist and pushing you against the tiles, so you wouldn’t burn your skin, and you saying nothing displayed on them. It overwhelms you, but you fight it. What’s done is done.

The worst part of the story awaits you. You pluck it, ready to get it over with.

“All he did was rinse me off. And he told me about how it hurt him to see us like this because of him. I felt everything leaving me when I was listening to him. I don’t know how, but I did. He asked to wash my hair and I let him. I felt so relieved to be ridded of the guilt and the pain I felt that I started crying again. He made me laugh. And then he left me alone. I don’t know what would’ve happened to me if he hadn’t been there.”

Stillness, awfully quiet stillness—like the one at the cabin, but you do not fear it. An abrupt onrush of strength fills your bones, giving you the notion that whatever comes next is something you’ll be able to endure.

Yoongi drops his hand. You will your heart not to drop along with it.

“The lines have been blurred so much that I—” He averts his gaze. Towards the glimmering stars up above as if they could give him the strength he’s now void of. “I don’t know if it’s fair for me to feel the way I do, when—when I let him have you.”

You are able to endure it. A motherly stimulus creeps in, one that has the capacity for the mightiness of whatever it is that he’s feeling. You want to swallow it down. You desire to.

“What do you feel, baby?” you whisper, nudging your nose against his, an Eskimo kiss to relieve him, to help him. “Tell me.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes in regret. “It should’ve been me,” he breathes. You nod, agreeing with him, even though you’ve accepted that fate wrote it was meant to be Jungkook. Perhaps for that very reason, he was inscribed to be pulled into that whole situation to begin with, no matter how lewd it was. “And it should’ve been me under that—”

He doesn’t let himself finish his sentence, but you know what he wanted to say. It brings tears to your eyes, the fact that he hated what you had done to yourself and instead wished it was him—to whom the harm was done.

You let them pour out. You don’t want them smothering you. You want everything out, so you can move on—so both of you can.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. Another Eskimo kiss, a longer one this time. Yoongi sniffles against you and you want to pull out more from him, to rid him completely of those negative feelings. “Like you said, it’s over now.”

Yoongi nods, vulnerably, and you peck him on the mouth. And he’s unable to reciprocate the kiss, for his features twist in another rush of liquid emotions. You stroke the back of his hair, running your fingers down its length, urging softly more out.

“I don’t regret anything,” you continue, pressing your cheek against his tears, letting them seep into your skin. “Even though it hurt, I don’t regret it, Yoongi. Neither should you.”

He sobs and it reverberates through your body. You remain strong. Strong like the mountains. “I hurt him.”

The breath you inhale is knifing you sharply. “He loves you—”

“And I hurt him,” he cuts in, squeezing you against him, needing you. “I didn’t trust a word he said. I didn’t—” he heaves, unable to catch his breath, hiccups. “Because I thought he hurt you, I didn’t hear him out. I didn’t know he helped you.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He told me he didn’t force himself on you, but I didn’t believe him. I gave him so much shit for it, for spanking you. And then he begged me to hit him again.”

The healer deemed it would make Yoongi feel better. Your heart warps.

“Did you?”

“No.”

You kiss his temple and you don’t realize that it’s a silent thanks until you lift your lips, however you’re not thrown off balance. It should be like this. You should feel for both men. You should feel. It makes you a living, breathing human. And Yoongi’s reactions and emotions make him human, too, even if they seem wrong in the moment. It’s not something to hate him or judge him for—it’s something to love him for. He should feel safe. Deserves to.

It’s better than to feel nothing.

And you tell him. A thousand times until he nods, sloshing your words in his mouth before carefully swallowing them, accepting them.

“It’s not a lost cause. You can talk to him. And you can try again.”

Yoongi looks at you as he takes in what you’ve said, as if the concept never crossed his mind—or, if it did, it perhaps seemed too unrealistic to make happen. As if he was doomed for life. As if he lost him forever.

Love is never lost. And you tell him that as well.

Yoongi lights up from within. You wipe away his tears. Brush his hair away from his face. And you give him every last drop of your light, hugging him. And he hugs you back until birds begin to sing in the sky.

It took several weeks for Yoongi to gather courage to call Jungkook. Liquor bottles piled in a row on the balcony and you didn’t count them anymore, you just joined your boyfriend, who had become a frail skeleton, whenever his nerves asked for the burning liquid. Either you would keep him company or you’d bring your own shot glass. And each time, it would end with a subdued, murky therapy session, without the fucking.

Yoongi hasn’t touched you since the afternoon spent in the cabin.

He wasn’t in the mood and you stifled yours. Your body was so accustomed to the daily release of pleasure that because it didn’t have it now all of a sudden, it felt weird—it felt out of place, and you drowned it out with alcohol and smokes, drowned it out with shopping sprees until money ran out and stashes became empty. So you had to settle for your own hand.

And it was easy. You daydreamed about Jungkook. Felt the ghost of his fingers on every sensitive place your hand roamed. On your breast, on your thigh and on your clit, in your entrance. You replayed everything he’d done to you and it didn’t hurt; you didn’t feel shame. You’ve healed to the point that it drenched you, aroused you enough to coax your orgasm out in mere minutes.

And it didn’t feel shameful because Yoongi had told you the reason why he fled the scene.

“You were in pain and I couldn’t stand it. You wouldn’t look at me and if you did, you’d look away as if I had no role in the sex. He took control when it should’ve been me. And I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

It wasn’t about you being so preoccupied in the trance. It was about Jungkook taking charge as if you were his. Which was what led Yoongi to think he forced himself on you in the shower. It was about him being silent and not speaking up, prioritizing your pleasure.

It made sense to you, but you still apologized. For what, you didn’t know. Just felt the need to. And Yoongi made you feel so safe, as safe as you had made him feel that night on the balcony, that you couldn’t help but yap about how enjoyable it was for you—what Jungkook did to you. And Yoongi agreed.

You were content that you’ve moved past the hurt and focused on the real truth beneath, revealing it: you both had enjoyed it when you were pleasured.

You didn’t check if the conversation made him hard, for you ran into your bedroom to relieve yourself of the ache between your legs as fast as possible. But he found you. Watched you. Validated you. Validated your daydreams. Told you what to do as he smoked a cigarette, standing in between your outstretched legs before the bed, the summer wind cooling the sweat on your body. And then he told you to do it again.

And again.

Until he couldn’t pull out any more orgasms out of you.

He became obsessed with it.

Because the next day and the many after that, you did the same thing. He would watch you while you fingered yourself. He’d tell you what he’s doing to you in your daydreams, taking charge of them, what Jungkook is doing to you. Other times he’d jerk off and come all over your tummy and cunt. Still remain hard; still remain needy. He wouldn’t fuck you. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t even insulate it. Wouldn’t slip it inside the dreams. And once his desire would run out of its sweet wine, yours simply wouldn’t. And the more you both indulged in this act, you figured out two things.

One, Yoongi used it as a coping mechanism. As a healing tool to recuperate from the afternoon spent in the cabin, one that would ultimately help him have sex with you in the long run. Two, you were riding the waves of ideas and excitement with no real fulfillment, with no release.

Tasting the picture of the sin at first might have been enough—but the more you did it, the more you wanted to sink your teeth into the real thing.

You wanted Jungkook again.

And like the intelligent man Yoongi is, he figured it out, too.

A certain number of orgasms was an indication of an ending to this playful time. And the last time you did this, Yoongi—at this number—was ready to withdraw and jump into the shower, but you grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Hungry, starved, devouring his neck, grinding your still wet pussy against his softening cock.

He put two and two together. Immediately.

“You’re hungry for what I haven’t given you yet, aren’t you?”

You begged for it, moaning against his artery, reveling in the feeling of his cock against you after such a long time. And when you looked at him, you saw drunkenness seizing his features. Drunkenness without the consumption of alcohol. And you felt the same inebriation enclosing around yours, knowing your desire sparked this inside of him. It felt different. Way, way different.

“Think about how you want it. Make yourself come as many times as you want. And when I come back from the shower, tell me about it. We’ll figure it out; we’ll make it work.”

It grazed your hunger. Squeezed it in such a playful way. Like a human hand squeezing an animal because of the cute-aggression it feels towards it.

You didn’t know how many times you came. You were too lost in the story you constructed, soaking the bed sheets even more than you already had. Your fingers had turned wrinkly by the time you opened your eyes, finished with the plot, to see Yoongi leaning against the doorway to the bedroom, not having the heart to disturb you in your passion.

And while you showered, playing the story in your head over and over, Yoongi cooked you food. Poured you liquid courage. Waited for you at the table, dressed only in a pair of joggers. Chain-smoked, the rule of only smoking on the balcony long forgotten during his process of healing.

When you sat down to eat, you slid your feet across his lap. Lifted your camisole, let him see your bare cunt the way he liked it that one time; the scent of your mango body butter wafting in the air, the sultriness of an August evening carrying that eccentricness right into his senses, readying him for what you were about to tell him.

And you began, casually, with every bite of the delicious food he made you. You got ahead of yourself, though, dumb by the intensity of adrenaline and arousal coursing in your veins. “I want you to dictate every move. And it’s up to you if you let him fuck me or not. My first idea from the start was—”

“I want you to tell me your full fantasy. What you touched yourself to. From the beginning ‘til the end.”

You fixed your mistake quickly.

“I dreamed about him watching us. You gave him rules. No touching. Hands on the armchair I wanted him to sit in. No talking. Then, I began with you letting him see what we’ve been doing. Loudly, vulgarly. Me playing with my pussy while you jerked off until you came all over me. Then you ate me out and wouldn’t stop until I begged you to fuck me. From behind. While you stretched my ass with a butt plug.”

“Did I talk? Like I do normally?”

“Yes. He heard it all. Every word you used. And I wanted you to do it to make him needy. Needy enough to beg you to let him fuck me.”

Yoongi only cursed. And you felt him hardening again under the soles of your feet. You caressed his ache with your toes.

“He thought the butt plug was used to stretch me for him, but it was for my pleasure, for decoration. You only let him pump your cum deeper into me. You didn’t let him come. And you held me from behind. Held me open for him in the air. And then he begged you for mercy. You gave in. Dropped me to the floor. And he fucked me ruthlessly, keeping me still on the floor with his thighs around me. He wasn’t able to last long. Begged you to let him come in me and you did. And then… then he ate me out. And so did you. At the same time. And I came so hard that I squirted. Then we took a shower. All three of us.”

“Did anything happen in the shower?” Quick, hard breaths, as if he was on the verge of an orgasm from your footjob.

And he proved to you, with a groan, that he was when you finished your story and his joggers dampened. “No, you both just held me. And we kissed like crazy.”

And it was this release of cum that drove him to make that phone call.

When Jungkook picks up on the first ring, Yoongi grabs his keys, blows you an air kiss and leaves. The joy that thrums in your heart is unlike any you’ve ever felt. You know where he’s gone. You know it fully well.

And in the meantime, you doll yourself up.

Hours later, he returns. With a grin blossomed on his face, one you haven’t seen since the day at the cabin, and a pink bag in his hand, one he hands you as soon as he takes off his shoes.

Inside you find the butt plug you dreamed of. Silver with a purple faux diamond in the middle. Fairly small, just the kind you’re certain you will be able to take. With a freebie of a much smaller packet of lube. To be safe playing out the fantasy.

Yoongi kisses you so hard when you look up at him that he steals all of your breath, ridding you of your chance to thank him.

“He’s coming over later.”

You kiss him, equally hard. Happy that he’s happy, happy to see movement in his healing journey. You give him tiny kisses, a hundred of them, and he breathes a laugh into your mouth, his joy filling you with energy and exhilaration. Finally, finally, finally—you’ve missed this emotion of his. Glad for the sadness, for the murkiness to be gone.

And you pray nothing gets in the way.

When Jungkook announces his arrival by knocking on the door, the sight you’re met with is quite uncanny. Though your heart isn’t stirred by it, bouncing in your chest like a small child seeing its father after a long, long time.

It’s been almost a month and he’s become older since the last time you saw him. His hair, grown longer and thicker, curls at his temples, ears and the nape of his neck. Round eyes have stayed the same, as well as the glint, and there’s a hint of the same joy that you’ve found in Yoongi, whirling in circles past it. Nose void of any blood, cheekbone healed from bruises. His demeanor is careful as if he had been punished enough by the fight and the silent treatment that followed it, taking off his shoes and his zipper hoodie, revealing a much bigger broadness of shoulders and arms, exposed in a tight fit of a black tank.

While Yoongi drowned his sorrow in alcohol and smokes and then came across his relief, his air in a sexual fantasy with his friend involved, he—the said friend—clearly found his coping mechanism in the gym.

He’s huge. As if he hadn’t already been from the military.

You lick your lips at him, and it’s such a natural reaction that you don’t even think about what you’ve done until you perceive that he doesn’t look at you at all. And it turns you on. It turns you on that he’s holding himself back from you. You know what hides beneath, what comes out when he lets go of his good boy persona.

Glancing at Yoongi, he’s already smirking at you with a playful gaze. Affected by his ignoring of you just the same. The shared connection thickens the energy around, but Jungkook breaks it.

He breaks it once he lifts his head, hangs his hoodie on the back of a chair and envelops you in a hug. Defaces your evident tendency to view him as an object, scribbles it in slashes until the ink runs out. All by a few strokes of his hand down your hair, down your back clothed in a new silky robe.

And when he withdraws from the hug, you see the healer that helped you become the person Yoongi needed on his journey.

His somber eyes skim over the long length of your nighttime attire, as if lamenting over the fact it’s not the red one. Over its dusty-pink color that parts the fabric to reveal your smooth leg and your toes. And then he’s gone, pulling your boyfriend in the same hug that lasts a bit longer, uttering silent words that should’ve been said that afternoon at the cabin with each increase of squeezes and pats within the hold.

You know they’ve said what they needed to hear during the phone call to mend what’s been broken. You feel a certain proudness of Yoongi for managing so well, for being at this very part of the journey. It’s praiseworthy.

“You hungry?”

Jungkook looks at you at last, imaginary puppy ears perking up at your question. And his eyes soften, wet with emotion from the reunion. He rubs his belly. “Starving.”

You shuffle your feet to make your way into the kitchen, but Yoongi beats you to it. Wave a hand towards the table, inviting him to sit and, out of habit, you pour some liquid courage into a shot glass for him from the bottle you keep there instead of a vase filled with flowers.

He merely glances at it. Doesn’t drink it.

“How have you been?” you ask, screwing the lid back on, not being able to take your eyes off of him—your entire history faintly blanketing your sight.

And he deepens the eye contact.

“How do you like your butt plug?”

Taken aback, you laugh, the atmosphere so airy all of a sudden that your cheeks flush and your lungs heave with affability. This is the friendship you had begged the heavens for. Without strings, without pain. Light-natured friendship, with flirtation in the middle. You find it hard to believe you have it. Find it hard to believe he’s here.

Find it hard to believe that when you had told Yoongi he could try again, he took your words and created this, embedding it into your fate.

“It’s pretty,” you say, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. Jungkook smiles, fondly, fingers wrapping around the shot. You’re reminded, momentarily, of the way he teased you with the foot of his wine glass on your first dinner date.

As if thinking about that night, too, his other fingers sneak to your bare knee, tapping it once. “We picked it for you.”

You nod in feigned, exaggerated gratitude, even though you mean it, even though the thought of them choosing a sex toy for you makes you burst into flames from within. “Thank you, Oppa. Thank you so much. I will use it well.” And you bow to him with each word in your seat next to him.

Jungkook laughs and it’s such a sweet sound that you feel unfamiliar flowers growing in you, laughing along with him. He lays his palm flat on the entirety of your knee. Heavy, strong, warm. Then, he widens his eyes, as if he only now realized what you’ve called him. “You’re younger than me?”

You’ve guessed he was older than you. “I was born in 1999. I take it you’re around the same age as Yoongi?”

Not the same, entirely. You recall him calling Yoongi ‘hyung’. He must be a year or a few years younger.

That tenderness you know flashes in his face. “I was born in 1997. Yoongi is older than me.”

Your mouth opens in the shape of ‘O’. Jungkook’s eyes flick to it before he averts them, slapping the side of your thigh gently, sighing as if he held his breath the entire time. Only then does he down the shot you poured him, keeping his hand there.

Such a blessing, the simple act of getting to know him.

He slouches in his seat and you ask him again. “How have you been?”

Smacking his mouth, he roams his gaze along the perimeters of the dinner table. And you realize he’s avoiding the question. Avoided it the first time you launched it at him, too.

You fold your fingers under his palm on your knee, signaling your understanding and sympathy. Don’t want to think about the healing journey he had to walk through by himself. He’s reached the end and that’s the most important thing as of now. You caress his reddened, tattooed knuckles, smeared with flecks of violet and yellow—much like your bum that one afternoon—with your thumb, wondering how that tinge came to live there. “What happened to your hand?”

Jungkook contemplates your study of his hand, stoically, still as ever. Then, his mouth rounds, barely, in a tiny suggestion of sadness. Your heart catches it before it disappears, making it hers. In such a swift moment that you don’t realize what you’ve done.

“Boxing,” he murmurs, eyeing the way your hand is enclosed around his large palm, the way your thumb hovers over his knuckles, as if afraid to cause them any more pain. Seems touched by it and your brows knit, your heart speaking to you, telling you something, urgently, but you don’t understand her.

“You don’t wear boxing gloves?”

Jungkook shakes his head ‘no’. “Didn’t want to.”

And then it hits you—the language of your heart unfolding within you, deciphered at last. It hits you how you and him are very much alike.

This is his coping mechanism. Hurting his hand as he lets out his negative emotions. Knowing, just like you, that the pain is the gain, the relief. And by the state of the bruises, you were wrong. He’s not at the end of his healing journey—and he’s nowhere near the beginning. He traipses around it, steering clear of it, ignoring it.

Your lungs swell. And that motherly impulse you’re familiar with croons around them, extends towards him with the dutiful intention to heal.

And you will.

You will heal both of the males.

And the decision is strengthened even more in you when Jungkook hears Yoongi’s footsteps and startles, extracting his hand from your hold, from your thigh. Like he startled upon hearing your movement back then, scurrying towards your bag as if you were intending to leave him, abandon him.

It is your heart that weeps now for him, not your eyes, remembering the words Yoongi uttered over his bruised cheek and bloody nose. Only over my dead body will you lay a finger on her again. You try your hardest to remain strong on the outside. For him, for Yoongi, for yourself. You try your hardest to forget that declaration, that physical pain of his, considering it over—long gone, a lifetime away.

And when your boyfriend sets the full plates of food in front of him and he digs in wordlessly, you watch him. With a landslide in your insides. With a hand on his muscled arm, stroking back and forth, eyes flicked momentarily to Yoongi, willing him to see how broken his friend is.

But Yoongi can’t bear to see it.

He settles for a drink instead, fixing his gaze on the table. Takes a step back on his journey, his nerves pursuing him. And so he’s not alone, because it is your duty, you follow him into that rabbit hole like the Alice you are. With empty hands, void of any control, despite the onus you own in your heart.

By the time sex is even mentioned between the three of you, you’re tipsy and your head is swimming.

You’re conscious, aware of your body, aware of your surroundings and your home. Aware that you’re intoxicated, too, and it’s a peculiar feeling—to be present in your body and out of it just the same. And you owe it to the males sitting around the table. To the owner of the house, mainly.

Yoongi has taken such a dominant role naturally that he’s the reason why your head is taking laps in his energy. And it was him who put the topic of sex to the front after double meanings found their way into the gradually unfurling conversation, imbued with exuberance. Asked Jungkook straight away if he’d been sexually active with people after you, to which he merely shook his head ‘no’, too vulnerable to express it in his own words. You don’t think Yoongi even realized the gravity of the question, influenced by the alcohol, the lighthearted energy and the fact that he got his friend back. And Yoongi… he praised him for it, making his head lift in disbelief and coyness. You saw the way it healed him, brought color to his face— it happened so quickly, too quickly, Yoongi turning the leaf over right after, seamlessly leading the conversation back to the double meanings, working them up until you and Jungkook blushed.

But you didn’t listen entirely, and neither did Jungkook. You surveyed the way he turned the praise over in his mind, dwelling on it. And you knew, without a doubt, that, besides healing him—undoing the ugly words flung at him that day, it turned him on. He played with his bracelet in the air, a faint smile on his mouth, legs outstretched, touching yours, and you… you wanted to play with him, too. Your body begged you for it, telling you it’s time.

In fact, you knew very well what the little bit of alcohol Yoongi drank was doing to him. Much like Jungkook, it helped him avoid the matter of his friend’s sensitive burden at hand while collecting information. Especially about where he stands in the realm of the three of you and sex. And while you’ve let him do it, thinking it was something he needed to do on his journey, you've also been deciding for the last half an hour when it was time to put a stop to it. The sexual comments, the double meanings—it became too much, became too obvious, even though he, in most probability, wasn’t even aware of it, was doing it for you unconsciously. And your body agreed, whispering to you that the only way you could do that was to take advantage of what was right before you.

You were going to outrun your boyfriend and seduce them both.

You light up a cigarette, bringing Yoongi’s attention to you. You graze your foot on his shin as you cross your legs, lifting it higher until you reach his thigh. And when you take a long drag, you skim your hand on Jungkook’s knee, briefly—calling for his attention, too, preparing him. Your toe feels up Yoongi’s soft manhood and he stops talking, your hand trailing along the side of Jungkook’s thigh, inches away from his intimate parts. They let you touch them, both heads turned in your direction.

Stillness, arousing stillness. You smile, innocently.

Before Yoongi has the chance to scold you for interrupting him, you withdraw. You withdraw entirely. Pretend to take your cigarette to the balcony. Jungkook lifts his hand to grab yours, to put it back where it was, but you’re gone before you could take him up on it.

You feel both of them watching you as you leave. You sway your hips a little. It makes you chuckle. Makes you feel invincible.

You stay there but for a mere moment. Don’t even finish your cigarette before you put it out in the ashtray. And when you return, you undo the knot while they are preoccupied, unaware of you. Uncover the outfit you spent your money on while Yoongi healed.

A sheer, black crop top, with polka dots and puffed sleeves, that ties in the middle, ending beneath your breasts and adding nothing to the imagination. Could be mistaken for a wireless bra. Panties of the same tulle material with frills on the side. You leave your robe undone, the act of revealing yourself so casually stiffening your nipples. You consider taking a seat as if you did no such thing, but an idea pulls you to your boyfriend, who’s ignorant to your scheme, listening to something that Jungkook is telling him.

You don’t grasp any of the words coming out of his mouth, however you do focus on the deep intonation of his voice. Let it curl beneath your skin; propel you to act out on your whim.

You take a seat on Yoongi’s lap. Jungkook’s gaze falls on your intimate form, bare under the almost translucent fabric, and he parts his lips. He watches as Yoongi wraps an arm around your middle and smiles at the feeling of your bare skin. You rock your hips once, backwards, pretending you’re shifting to make yourself comfortable and Yoongi grips your waist until his fingers turn white. Jungkook doesn’t stop talking, hides his astonishment at your behavior, at your boldness. Doesn’t stop looking at you and neither do you at him, nodding to every other word as if you were listening. That is until you grab a handful of cheese balls and pop one by one into your mouth, purposefully letting one of them fall into your cleavage.

“Can you get it for me? My hands are full.”

You have a perfectly free hand by your side.

You’ve interrupted him so rudely that you’re surprised that he doesn’t frown at you, but smirks instead. Yoongi caresses your thigh, validating you, catching onto your scheme, and it spreads the fire that burst in you hours ago, making it bigger, hotter.

It’s time. You want both of them, badly.

You lean forward for him, fingers ready for the next move you’re planning. Jungkook lifts a hand, reaches for the orange treat in the middle of your breasts and before his digits have the time to grasp it, you pull on the loose knot on your top, your flesh spilling, the treat slipping onto the floor.

He only chuckles, deeply. Teased, but pleased.

“Oh, no.” Fake pity; fake pout. You look at the cheese ball, then back at Jungkook. Your impishness reflects in the blazing fire of his eyes, the same one that courses through your body. “I guess I didn’t tie it properly. Can you do it for me? My hand is dirty.”

You eat the last remaining cheese balls while staring him dead in the eye. Show him your orange-tinted fingers once you’re done. A spark flashes in the fire; piques his interest.

Leaning forward even more, Yoongi uses your position to slide your robe down your shoulders. Lifts you for a second to rid you completely of it, setting you back down sharply, causing your breasts to bounce. Throws it on Jungkook’s lap. A gesture that tells him playtime has begun. He sucks in a breath, biting his bottom lip, the way Yoongi gathers your hair in his fist stealing his attention fleetingly from you, fingers clutching the fabric.

And when he takes the swinging laces in his hands and barely tightens them, you click your tongue, disapprovingly. “Tighter.”

It arouses the beast in him, eyes lidding ever so slightly. He pulls on the laces until your breasts are squished together. “Like this?”

You wet your lips before you quirk them up. “Yes. Make a bow for me.”

Jungkook deepens the eye contact as he obeys. You lift your chin, asserting Yoongi’s dominance, taking after him, the inkling to own that beast in him absorbing you whole.

And you shall.

When he’s finished with the bow, he grazes the material of your top, fingers flat against your nipples before he slouches back in his chair. The touch was too brief for your liking, yet it spurs your cunt to soak your panties, the notion that you’ve done it intoxicating your senses—you’ve seduced him.

You mimic what he did, theatrically—you slouch back into Yoongi’s chest, turn your chin to the side to tell on him. “Yoongi, he touched me.”

Yoongi only smirks, playing along. “Did he? How? Show me.”

Your fingers fly to your pebbled nipples, stroking them in downward motion like he did before you repeat it. Again and again. Your hips begin to slowly rotate, your body reacting to your touch, to the pleasure you’re giving it. “Like this.”

Jungkook’s breath hitches in his throat. He spreads his legs. You do, too. And when you whimper, he twitches, your robe slipping onto the ground, joining the cheese ball.

“Did it feel good? When he touched you there?” Yoongi asks, hands spreading across your thighs. You make a noise of agreement, whining into it. “Does it feel as good now?”

You shake your head ‘no’, meaning it. “No, it makes me needy.”

Yoongi hums. “Where?”

You cup the soaked material of your panties, right over your cunt with one hand, while the other squeezes your breast. “Here.”

Your boyfriend opens your legs wider, as if to take a closer look at what body part you’re showing him. “You should do something about that, shouldn’t you?”

“Like what?”

“Touch yourself.”

Jungkook stills. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t blink. Neither do you.

“How?”

“I don’t know, maybe I should ask him,” he mumbles, fingers playing with the frills on your hips. “Do you want me to ask him?”

The asking of consent, beckoning out your slick. You nod your head. “Ask him, please, I can’t take it anymore.”

Jungkook’s mouth is parted in an enigmatic manner, waiting—waiting to be given what your boyfriend long teased him with. And you like the suspense, the tension pulled so taut, the process before he’s gratified. It makes you even needier and, like Jungkook, you clutch the fabric of your panties in impatience.

Yoongi doesn’t ask right away. He tortures Jungkook until his lips lose their moisture. Dry, like a withered flower asking for the tiniest raindrop to refresh. And you want to give it to him. You’re leaking so much dewiness it is only right that he could get to drink it. You tuck that thought into your heart.

Yoongi hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your panties and slowly, like your robe, drags them down as far as he can reach. Then, he lets them pool by your knees. “Take them off of her,” he commands in a hushed tone, fingers drifting to your waist, stopping by your mound and your stomach on the way. And it isn’t until Jungkook rids you fully of the wet undergarment that he finally asks: “How should she touch herself?”

Jungkook crumples it in his fist, tightly enough that white comes into view across his colorful knuckles upon the denim of his jeans. And among other things, his breath hardens. Gazes into your eyes as he says to Yoongi, “Tell her to lift her legs, lick her fingers and rub her princess parts until it feels good.”

He’s tuned in into the role-play. You think about how you wanted to turn off your brain for him when he had told you to not think that he’d ever get sick of you. How you wanted to keep it stupid for him.

You know that if you were to do that, if you were to let go—that he’d put you under his spell again, but you’re not letting that cave in on you. Because when Yoongi imparts the instructions to you and you lift your leg, propping your foot on Jungkook’s thigh, saliva-coated fingers finding your clit, you feel a sliver of something indescribably exhilarating.

Jungkook moans at the first few careful circles. And it’s him who becomes hypnotized.

It’s your green light to play the role of a stupid, innocent girl—in the hands of two very experienced, aroused men. Seduced, more like. You pat yourself on the back, mentally.

And the proud feeling of your achievement, the feeling of his vigorous and ardent observance of your pleasured cunt, of the tendril of the profound reminiscence that sweeps in as if he truly missed the sight of her—it all incites you to speed up your movement. To consciously immerse yourself deeper in the role, in the pretending. You figure it should work like this; you won’t get submerged in the water of the hypnosis if you remain in control, clinging to it with all your might. Not if Jungkook is the one spellbound this time.

You feel your orgasm drawing closer at that thought, breathing against your body.

“Am I doing it right?”

Jungkook sneaks a hand around your ankle, hard breaths puffing out of his still parted mouth, cheeks full of vibrant color, eyes dazed—so awfully dazed and fixed on your cunt, on the sheen of your arousal splattered on your folds. Then, he licks his lips, slouches further in his seat after he moves his chair to be more in line with you. Horny, curious puppy, needing to see the full view; your work of art. Yoongi’s soft chuckle rumbles against your scalp and you realize he’s been watching him this entire time, studying him—assessing the situation meticulously.

“Is she doing it right?” Yoongi asks and you can hear the smirk coating his voice. Jungkook’s other hand, with the panties still clutched, wraps around his hard length, brows furrowing and you whine at the sight, but Yoongi tuts, disapproving. “No touching.”

Jungkook lifts his hand and so do you—to stall your orgasm, the principle of Jungkook obeying so easily almost throwing you over the edge. You breathe heavily, a tingly sensation swarming within your skin, a certain string of words rising on your tongue.

You turn your head towards Yoongi. Dart out your tongue to lick swiftly at his bottom lip before you kiss him. Yoongi hums, pleased. “Tell him he’s a good boy.”

Another similar sound, one that makes you smile. You drift a hand towards the back of his head, fingers sinking into the dark length of his hair. Yoongi purrs, blinking down at you like rose petals fluttering—you feel as though you were at the very beginning, living through the moment you learned Jungkook’s name, as if no pain, no murkiness never settled upon the three of you. You don’t know how it makes you feel and you hardly want to decipher it; you gravitate towards enjoying yourself more, thoughts and feelings pushed to the side.

“He is, isn’t he?” Yoongi murmurs, taking your arm gently in his hand and joining it to your other one around the back of his head, then he roams his back, takes his time, until he plants it upon your cunt. You spasm at the long-awaited contact. “He listens well. So out of it, the poor thing forgot to speak. Maybe we should help him with that, don’t you think?” Poor thing. Your hole clenches, drooling with your dewiness and you groan, the aspect of Jungkook being degraded like this, after he dominated both of you the last time, making you utterly, utterly feral.

At your noise, Yoongi begins to play with your slippery folds, pressing them together with his fingers flat on each side—not touching your pussy, but pleasuring her nonetheless. You give him more at each squeeze he bestows on your clit, elated that he’s touching her after such a long time, elated that he’s able to.

It is, undeniably, working like this. Your heart thrums with elation. Happy it has come to this, happy it’s different this time—happy that both parties are happy.

Not wishing to lose the momentum, you gaze at Jungkook. At the light cascading dimly from his lip ring—that pink, puffy, dry mouth that you long to kiss, that you long to feel on your bundle of nerves. His eyes seem to grow in size at your attention and you’re so touched to witness something like that. You need to ride his face; you need to watch those eyes roll back. You can see his need to take charge, to tell both of you what to do by his irregular breaths, clenched fists and bulging muscles, veins so prominent that you do well not staring at them at all—but he subdues that need, perhaps for you, perhaps for Yoongi. Both possibilities graze your feelings with such fondness that he’s putting himself last, prioritizing the hard truth: you’re not his, not in the sexual ambiance of your time spent together, not even in the lasciviousness of your daydreams.

You’re Yoongi’s and he’s the boss, one he should’ve been since the beginning. And that’s the core of the difference. The key that makes this work.

Covering your mouth, you spill your idea of how you should help Jungkook speak into Yoongi’s ear while keeping your eyes on his round ones. He aches to be let in on it, to know, but you don’t allow him that satisfaction. In fact, when you beam at Yoongi once you withdraw, it’s more of a provocation directed towards the puppy than an expression of your true joy.

“Yes, fuck yes,” Yoongi agrees, orbs aglow by the idea, by something that you can only pin down to a feeling of safety within the environment. He feels safe. Feels comfortable. Feels okay—more than okay by the hardening length against your bum, by the moonbeams flecking across his irises, by the extension of his index finger to your clit, which makes you freeze, stop breathing altogether. “But I want to make you come first. Can I?”

You peck him, deeply, to seal that package of positive feelings in him, to seal that sense of safety and comfort. Nod a million times. “Yes, please, baby. I need it.”

Yoongi coos at the pet name, at your willing submissiveness to him and expression of neediness. Nudges his nose against yours. “Need what?”

You giggle softly. Happy, so awfully happy. “I need you to make me come,” you say, but your words are muffled by the way he skims his mouth over yours, and you don’t think over the next words directed to the other male that tumble out of you. “You want to watch?”

A stupid, stupid question because he’s been watching this entire time, although it breaks something. Breaks the invisible wall between you, Yoongi and him—breaks his coyness as he sets your foot down and leans forward, smiling fondly. “I’d be happy to watch. Honored.”

It breaks the unspoken, unseen tension. Breaks the past. Breaks the hurt. And the difference, now validated, made beautiful by his smile, sinks in, spreads across the atmosphere surrounded by the three of you. The sense of safety and comfort now sails over into Jungkook’s pores, slipping inside. And you could burst now. Burst with your joy.

The afternoon spent in the cabin dissolves.

You didn’t expect that to happen.

Yoongi feels it—and you feel him feel it by the trembling breaths he takes against your back. And even though you went into the rabbit hole with him with empty hands, now you hold healing in them. A warm round body of light, heavy and thick, ready for them both. Yoongi might have talked Jungkook’s head off and drank until his nerves eased and was able to escape them, but now he’s eligible to take the light. Jungkook is, too, now that he’s given you his consent for the dynamic to be different. A certain kind of glorious satisfaction envelops you in glow, ridding you of any intoxication and you’re bare. Vulnerable, horny and so tremendously bright. Filled with flowers, filled with love, filled with a delicious, selfish taste of control.

You want to kiss Jungkook, but you recognize right away that there’s a time and a place for that, one that is not appropriate now. You stifle your craving, wiggle your hips to let Yoongi know you want him to begin.

You brim with the need to forget now and just enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself at the hands of your long-awaited desire, now boundless, now right, now different. And you break the crumbles of the wall, the hurt and the past when you tell them. “I want us to forget about the last time and enjoy where we are right now. Can we do that?”

Although you don’t know the contents of the long conversation they had in private about this, you’re glad you’ve said it out loud. Glad it’s out of your chest. Glad for the kiss Yoongi plants on your temple. Glad for Jungkook’s hand encasing yours. Even if that’s the only way they communicate their agreement.

Out with the old, in with the new.

And Jungkook keeps holding your hand when Yoongi begins to rub your clit. He tightens his hold, in fact, at the first twist of your features, at the relief intermingling, despite the fact he knows nothing about how this is the first time Yoongi touched you like this since forever ago. His hand feels much more different than yours, much more nimble and much quicker. And the pleasure that floods your body is more about that than it is about the stimulation. A wish pricks at you, a wish to tell him, but you don’t let it get near you, not when you know the time for that is long, long gone, not when forgetting is supposed to take place now because the new is here.

You push those thoughts entirely away. The thoughts of there being a certain forever ago, a certain past along with it, too.

And then Yoongi hums and the sound sweeps it far, far away from you.

He pinches your nipple. Finds it’s not enough and forces your top open, undoing the bow, baring you to his and Jungkook’s eyes. Joins his other hand to knead both of your full breasts, but you whine, needing him elsewhere. Yoongi chuckles, listening to you—drifting his hand immediately back down to your clit, resuming his swift circles.

Jungkook salivates. Makes no indication of being in demand of participation. Merely wipes at the corners of his mouth while his other hand squeezes yours in a tight, clammy hold. Light protrudes from his eyes, akin to the one you still own, cooling the sweat layering upon your body. No darkness of arousal, none whatsoever, only the chocolate brown of his irises, vibrant, mesmerized and absolutely affectionate.

Newness, you breathe it in and exhale a moan. Yoongi changes direction. Moves from circles to side to side, angling your body so he can give it his all. You feel the incoming pressure of your orgasm and you ready yourself for it, squeezing your eyes shut. And when he decides to alternate, so quickly that you lose track of it, it is your ultimate undoing.

Mainly when Yoongi curtly slaps your clit, transferring you back to the very beginning of your story, rooting you there. You come so hard that you fall apart.

Tears fly out of you, but you laugh—and the sound is broken by a deep moan from your chest caused by pure, boundless euphoria. Yoongi prolongs your orgasm, keeps strumming your clit, purring onto your mouth and you open your eyes to witness his devotion to it, to your pleasure. Brows furrowed, eyes lidded, pouty mouth. Adamant on making you feel as good as—

It triggers another orgasm. A softer, mellow one. And the string of noises you let out are of the same dulcet nature. Yoongi swallows them, groaning, fondling your pussy, patting her gently, making you tremble, woozy, giddy and so incredibly girly.

“That was so good,” he whispers, caressing you everywhere and you nod, a million times. You’ve missed him, terribly.

You give him a nasty kiss full of tongue, aware of what’s happened and of what’s next just the same.

Yoongi perches on the floor, knees on either side of yours as you crawl towards Jungkook’s lap. He leans back, a surprised grin appearing on his flustered face. And it hits him like a ton of bricks when you pop his button open and drag down the zipper of his jeans. Your words that follow, too.

“Off. Everything.”

“You want to suck me off?” A calm bewilderment coats his voice, such a heavy oxymoron for him to bear when he was fine with just watching.

You smile at him briefly before you wet your lips, eager to make happen what he can’t believe you’re willing to do for him. “I knew it would get you talking.”

An airy laugh. So endearing to your hearing sense. He cradles your chin for a mere beat of time. “You’re so smart.” He takes off his tank, revealing his enormous pecs adorned with a long but dainty silver chain that you crave to have swinging in your face, that steals your attention from the dose of validation he gave you.

But when Yoongi leaves, your heart sinks in panic.

Only to hoist it back up when you realize he went to fetch the gift he bought you, along with a bigger tube of lube from your bedroom. Your body tremors and it’s both of the males that try to alleviate it. Yoongi, who settles back behind you, fondling the skin of your bare bum. Jungkook, who turns you to look at him, nodding once to let you know everything’s okay.

You release a breath, but you can’t hide the shakes.

Jungkook strokes your brow. A tender touch that drives you to believe him. Yes, everything’s okay. The past is gone. Healing is contained in the conscious reminders. The light in your hands flutters, calling out to you, and you press it over that heft of your wandering heart.

It’s you who alleviates the tremors.

And when you take off your top, Jungkook follows suit, ridding himself of his jeans.

To distract your mind from hurling false thoughts at you, you finally allow yourself to look at his hard length—still, disappointingly clothed. Thick. You can almost feel the memory of him, the heaviness of him, when he had you pressed against him by the pond. The first time you touched him. You groan, softly. “Off.”

Jungkook coos, patting you on the cheek with his finger. “So eager.”

He paints a smile on your face with that brush of his digit. “Be a good boy and listen.”

Without taking his eyes off of you, he swears. Pulls his manhood out, tugs his boxers a few inches down and you bite back a gasp, a moan and something in between. Red, swollen tip, the petal of a sun-kissed rose, little thick veins enveloping the girth. He keeps his balls covered to tease you. “Like this, Mommy?”

You glare at him and it’s Yoongi’s second-hand embarrassment laughter that smooths out your features, contagious to such a great extent that when you look back at him to see him pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes squeezed and crinkly, you burst into the same laughter, lungs expanding, exhaling all that heft and momentary residue of panic until there’s nothing negative left.

It even radiates Jungkook. He laughs so much that his cock bounces, which deepens your giggles and you hide your face in your hands.

And when the conveyance of joy simmers, another tender tears rush out of your tear ducts. Good tears. You’re so content with life shared with the two males that you can’t help but be emotional. You shield those tears behind the premise of your laughter. They’re private—just yours. The final conclusion of the dark side.

Yoongi skims his fingers across your tiny hole. Back to business.

You tug Jungkook’s boxers all the way down and you lift his ankle to rid him completely of them. Mimic the way he did it to you. You even think about keeping them. Think about how this is exactly how it should be—recollecting only the good parts of the story, the light side while letting the dark one go. Jungkook sees it on your face and he lets you decide.

You don’t have to think twice.

You fling his underwear on the chair you sat on. Jungkook caresses your hair in response and you smile at him. Yoongi leans over you, fists your hair and pushes you toward Jungkook’s cock. At the sight, the puppy swears.

“Spit on it. Make it nice and wet for him,” Yoongi orders and there’s slyness to your ever persisting smile when you gather your saliva and do exactly as he says.

At the first contact of your liquid love, Jungkook swears again and there’s no stopping to that litany of vulgar words when you, just like him, swirl it around the top of his head with the tip of your tongue without taking your gaze off of him. It’s at this movement of yours that a flashback gleams across his still round, tender eyes for a split second. Now he remembers, now you’ve pulled him back to the place you didn’t even realize that you did.

Yoongi guides you to wrap your mouth around him and Jungkook loses it.

The suction of your cheeks, the eye contact, the warmth of your mouth and the wetness of your tongue, Jungkook rolls his eyes back before he whisks them back to you, not able to miss one moment of the pleasure you give him. Yoongi pushes your head back and forth and when it dawns upon you that there’s nothing else for you to do but to keep your mouth open while Yoongi does all the work, you moan. And like Jungkook, you can’t stop.

You feel Yoongi’s lips at your ear. “You think you can take him all the way?”

The mewl that comes out of you is the only agreement you can manage to give him. Yoongi groans, kissing your earlobe before he licks it, nibbles on it, taking his mouth to the skin beneath, causing your eyes to narrow. Your pussy drenches, throbs and your hand automatically flies to her. You rub yourself slowly to gain a hint of relief, bobbing your head up and down, tongue feeling up the thick veins along his girth and you whine so desperately—enough for Yoongi to check what was the cause of it.

He draws back. Finds you touching yourself. Clicks his tongue and chuckles in absolute appreciation. He likes what he sees. Pushes your head until your nose swipes past Jungkook’s minimal pubic hair and only when you gag does he let you breathe—does he let you play with his tip on your own. “Mommy is playing with her needy cunt.”

The curse word that wafts in the air is singular, coming out of your and Jungkook’s mouth simultaneously. There’s no laughter this time. Just thick arousal spreading across the room, dizzying all of your senses. Jungkook is breathless and the look you share is desperate, unspoken but so, so vivid. You take him in your free hand and jerk him off, reveling in the feeling of his veins. You give him all of your whiny moans, straightening up, your fingers sneaking to your hole. Eyes narrowing, mouth open, the sounds of your slick saliva in your tight grasp so obscene, so stimulating that when you begin to finger yourself and Yoongi latches his lips onto your neck, you know you’ll be coming in mere, pathetic minutes.

Jungkook leans forward a little bit to watch you stuffing yourself full. Bites his lip, closes his eyes when you tighten your grip around his head. And you do it again and again to coax his moans and he willingly supplies you with them. Opens his eyes and the look he gives you stops time. “So good. So fucking good.”

You yearn to kiss him and he does, too. You twist your wrist and he loses himself for a moment. That alone speeds up the coming of your orgasm. Your body flares with heat, your fingers picking up their speed instinctually and Jungkook angles his head to kiss you—

You push him back. To tease him, to make him more desperate because it pleases you and Jungkook smirks at you, gripping your panties in his fist. Hiding your own, you lick him all over and get to the undiscovered part you want the most.

You mouth his full balls. Whimper against them. Hot flashes fill your sight at the scent of him, even more so when Jungkook inhales your sounds and emits the same ones. “Fuck, sweetheart, oh fuck, yes, like that.” Takes your hand and busies it, wrapping it around his length. You spasm at the pet name, at the warmth that seeps into your skin from him.

It’s him who guides you now. Yoongi merely watches, in awe, wet fingers rubbing circles on your tiny hole, preparing you. “That’s it, honey, make him come.”

You’re so overwhelmed by your task that you withdraw your fingers from your heat, though Yoongi is quick to replace his. And the speed he establishes, you mimic it on Jungkook’s length and he grunts at the contact of your dewiness on him. You twists your wrists, fucking yourself back on Yoongi’s fingers. Bore your gaze into Jungkook’s. Hard, hard breaths, quickening lifts of his chest, he struggles to reciprocate your eye contact, the rhythm so beautiful so seamless, working so well.

And when you wrap your lips around him and suck him with fast bobs, he comes.

You open your mouth, yearning to feel him paint your face. Quick to grip his balls to feel them emptying out for you and you milk his cum out of him, jerking him off until his ropes smear on the corners of your lips, hot and thick. Yoongi pulls out his fingers, latches them onto your hip. “Stick out your tongue.”

You do as he says, in time to catch the last rope landing onto the muscle. You hum, swallowing, watching the tension screwing his features and the relief unweaving it as his orgasm reaches the end. Winded, dumbfounded, gruntled. A lovely sight to behold.

Jungkook’s grip loosens on your panties. And with his other hand, he feeds you his cum. Swipes his fingers from your cheek onto your mouth, plunging it inside. Yoongi kisses the side of your face, gripping your neck to hold your head steady for Jungkook, allowing him to finish the job.

You swallow everything, the taste of him suffused with mild earthiness, with tanginess and the tiniest hint of sweetness. Liquid candy, just for you. You allow him to see how much you enjoyed that, but it’s Yoongi first to whom you show that you’ve swallowed everything.

Your boyfriend beams at you. “Well done, honey.” He kisses you hard, licking into your mouth, and the thought of him tasting the residue of Jungkook numbs your senses entirely. “You did so well.”

You’re panting when he withdraws and when you look at Jungkook, there’s a moment of stillness when you take in the thundering turmoil rushing inside him. You don’t have to guess what’s behind it. Jungkook voices it. “Let me kiss her, please.”

Such a soft murmur, charged with so much desperation. You break at the sound of it, gripping his hand, furrowing your brows, ready to give him anything he wants, boundlessly. Your heart thuds and it only takes one look at Yoongi and he folds, too.

Nods.

You thought he’d kiss you from the position you’re in, but Jungkook stands to his feet, grabbing you along with him, picking you up like a child by sliding his hands under your armpits. And when he presses you against him and kisses you hungrily with fast pecks, breathing hard, you discern how illogical it was for him to call you Mommy.

Even though he can listen like a good boy, it’s merely a role, one he plays for you, for Yoongi, one that fragments with each kiss. Who he truly is the reversal of it.

He’s Daddy. Undeniably.

You’ve never been keen for titles. You and Yoongi never used them, never felt the need for it, hence why you both laughed when it came up. But the more you kiss him, the more you sense it. The awakening dominance, the tendril of fatherliness that spirals around you, the deserved respect he emanates. It turns you on to the point that you find yourself wondering what else is there beneath the shadows of your undiscovered sexuality.

The feeling of his warm skin against yours, his still hard manhood against your stomach, the provocation of the lip ring, the softness of his mouth slowing down and prolonging the kiss—fuck. How much more can you possibly get aroused? He empties out your brain, but you’re calm, not panicked by it at all. And to stay conscious, to stay in control, you wrap your hand around him again.

He hisses, breaking the kiss, grasping your hand. “Too sensitive. Sorry. I came so hard.”

You coo, pecking him deeply, squeezing his broad shoulders. “It’s okay.”

When you turn around to give your attention to Yoongi, you find him deep in thought, fixed on Jungkook. “Remember how she came when you kissed her? At the cabin?”

Your heart speeds up. Not due to fear or anything of the sort, but due to excitement. You know where he’s heading with this.

“Hard to forget,” Jungkook murmurs and it thrums beneath your skin, spreading wide.

“She came multiple times when I made her think about that,” Yoongi starts and you can’t halt the smile growing on your lips. A tiny whirl of shyness mingles with the words coursing through your bloodstream. “It’s what we did. I made her imagine that you were kissing her, eating her out while she touched herself. And now I want you to give it to her. Give it to her good. Better than she was able to imagine.”

Sharp inhale of breath. You want to see his reaction to your secret—but then hands. Clammy hands on your hips, nose nuzzling in your hair. “Who’s gonna be in control when I do that?”

Your eyes widen, pulse quickening to the point that it troubles you.

And Yoongi looks at you when he answers his question, “You. It’s me who’s gonna watch now.”

BACK to masterlist / READ part one, READ part two

#jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #btscreatorscorner #kpop smut #jungkook one shot #yoongi smut #yoongi x oc #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine

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shesjustanothergeek · 2 months ago

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The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Nine: Time Mends the Broken

|Aemond Targaryen x Strong!Reader|

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: 9.2k words later and here we are! That's almost as much as the other Ch. The Long Night. Finally, Jace and his sister talk about what's happened to them! I know some of y'all have been waiting for that. We really go deep into the reader and Aemond's dynamic in this one too. As always, thank you for your patience and happy reading! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

Chapter Warnings: ✨Targaryen queerness✨, melodramatic young adults, mentions of rape, Alicent being delulu, toxic relationships.

As your family arrived at the Red Keep, they quickly vanished, and your mother ordered your maids to repack your belongings. If you ever were, you were no longer welcomed in King’s Landing and planned to return to Dragonstone within the night. Part of you thought you would be relieved at the notion of ending your stay abruptly, seeing as you never wanted to return in the first place, yet you couldn’t help but feel a sense of disappointment in the pit of your stomach as you helped Edwina collect your belongings.

The magnitude of the situation engulfed you, leaving you unable to carry on with your duties. While the other maids of the Keep merely cast fleeting glances in your direction, Edwina, your lady-in-waiting, observed your distress with sincere concern.

“Your Highness, are you feeling well?” Edwina asked as she finished folding a pearl and turquoise dress into your trunk.

As you nodded, you offered her a weak, forced smile, which resembled more of a grimace. Your eyes quickly darted towards your weathered, old wooden wardrobe. You couldn’t quite remember if it was positioned in the same spot as it had been six years ago.

“I am,” you sighed, walking to the balcony doors. These were not welded shut as you pressed the handle. “The day has been tiresome, and now we must depart after being here for a mere breath. I want to take a moment of solace.”

She gazed at you with a weary expression, her eyes filled with apprehension, as she observed you making your way to the overlook. As you breathed the fresh air, recollections of the last time you were on a balcony flashed before Edwina. Still, her anxiety gradually subsided as she noticed you choosing to sit on a stone bench rather than the railing.

The imposing walls of the Red Keep emanated a chilling aura that seemed to seep into your very marrow. The unknown secrets concealed within its ancient stones caused an involuntary shiver to run down your spine. You couldn’t help but wonder what tales they would tell if given the chance.

Would they reveal the long-buried truths about your family’s past and confirm the whispers surrounding your lineage? Would they speak with a tender understanding as they recounted the night of your most profound sorrow? Or perhaps they would steadfastly guard their secrets, refusing to yield to any interrogation.

It almost felt as if the walls were already whispering, hoarding their enigmatic knowledge until the distant future when they would finally crumble and release their concealed truths.

You longed for a glimpse into Aemond’s formative years and the events that molded him into the individual he is today, these red stone walls witnessed. Understanding the circumstances of his upbringing would clarify the questions that troubled your mind concerning the correspondence you penned. You held onto the hope that he read them, but uncertainty clouded your thoughts.

The heavy doors to the chambers of your childhood bedroom swung open with a resounding clang as the guard stationed outside announced the arrival of Queen Alicent. Your maids bowed as the formidable, angular figure of the Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms entered the sanctity of your bedroom. You could not refuse her presence in this private space despite your reluctance.

“Your Majesty,” you greeted, rising from your seat. Refusing to give her any more pleasantries that would be customary, you observed the maids leave, Alicent’s round amber eyes focused on you.

“Won’t you come inside, princess? I wish to speak with you after all these years,” she humbly requested.

You understood it was a command and acquiesced. A part of you wanted to be obstinate and force her to meet you in the cold late winter air, but the courtly manner instilled within you since birth prevailed as you gently shut the hickory-framed balcony doors.

“Sit.”

Alicent gracefully motioned towards the inviting, opulent settee in front of the crackling fire, asserting her ownership of the space with a subtle yet commanding gesture. Despite the prickling sensation of anxiety coursing through your skin, you obediently followed her lead, attempting to conceal your unease. With a deep, almost wistful sigh, she fixed her gaze upon you, exuding an affectionate warmth that reminded you of your mother, and tenderly placed her delicate palm on your hand. Struggling to suppress the instinct to pull away, you grappled with conflicting emotions.

The hush that filled the space between you stretched on, heavy and suffocating, yet the Queen remained oblivious to its weight. To her, your company was a balm after enduring years shrouded in darkness without her guiding radiance.

“I wanted to apologize for Aemond’s behavior this evening. ‘Twas unbecoming of him,” she began, a prominent frown on her plump lips. “These grievances from childhood have gone unjust for so long that his anger has consumed him.”

Nodding grimly, you focused on the hearth, the orange and blue flames dancing with the moaning drafts. “Indeed. Jace, Luke, and I were not always kind to him growing up, but we did not know any better. We followed Aegon around like newborn pups until...”

“I know, my light. Perhaps an apology could soothe Aemond’s wounds?” she comforted, smoothing the unruly strands of your updo. You apologized years ago for your part in his torment, but you didn’t believe your brothers would extend the courtesy, nor would you change Aemond’s blackened heart. “You’ve grown so much in years past. I mourn not being able to be there to guide you.”

You sat there, not saying a word, and responded with a noiseless, polite, yet uneasy smile. You carefully withdrew your hand from hers, and to mask the action, you casually scratched the back of your neck, noticing the sensation of the tiny strands of hair beneath your fingertips.

“My letters? Did you get them?” Alicent questioned, desperate to prolong any contact with you.

You were unsure how to answer, knowing it would be unwise to tell her outright that you did but didn’t answer out of malice. For six years, Queen Alicent was left to stew with her thoughts and illusions, and you worried that if you conflicted them, she would become as unstable as she did the night of Driftmark.

“I was worried what my mother would say should she discover them, so I never wrote.” You supposed telling her part of the truth wouldn’t be a lie. You were concerned about what your mother would do if she found out you wrote to Alicent, but you still had no desire to speak to her.

She looked at you with sympathy, coming to caress the plumpness of your face with her knuckle. It seemed as if she couldn’t become close enough to you. “I see. I’m sorry you must endure that, but you are here now. Together once more.”

What could you say to her and still keep the pleasantries? After everything that happened, from Aegon to Driftmark, you no longer held Queen Alicent in the same regard. The conversation did not come easily, and you could tell she noticed.

“Rhaenyra plans to return on the morrow once she sees your family home. I would like you to come with her. You’ve barely just arrived, and Helaena would enjoy more time with you. She and I would love for you to meet the twins,” she smiled, sounding so hopeful it caused a pit in your stomach. “You and Aemond were friends before he lost his eye. I understand he seems to have changed greatly since you last saw him, yet I feel that the goodness inside him will prevail over time,” the Queen retook your hand, disregarding your obvious discomfort, “with you by his side.”

Stare growing wide, you turned to Alicent, feeling a panic beat inside your chest like the wings of a dragon. “What do you mean?”

Was the Queen still so desperate to have you join her family?

She gave you the briefest of smiles as she tilted her head, studying your countenance as if you were some holy text. You changed as much as Aemond in Alicent’s eyes, yet she knew you were still hers. No distance or time could break the cord that tethered her to you. You were back home where you belonged, and although she was happy to be united with Rhaenyra, she would not let her dream be taken from her once more.

“No person knows one’s child better than their mother. I saw how he looked at you, eye never trailing too far from yours, poised to protect your honor. I worried I would witness a fight between Aemond and Aegon when he took you to dance,” she confessed. Your breath quickened, and you felt relief knowing what you felt wasn’t inside your head.

“You want me to return to King’s Landing so Aemond and I…” You couldn’t say it aloud; words stuck in your throat.

“Yes,” Alicent grinned, showing perfectly white teeth as she brought you close. Instinctively, she pulled your head into the crook of her neck, smelling her distinctive scent as she rubbed circles across your back. It was still the same frankincense after all these years, and you felt the fond memories of time spent with Alicent come flooding back.

The tea times filled with sweets, laughter, and smiles entered your mind until it was replaced with the sound of Aemond’s scream, blood dripping from your mother’s wrist. You could not bring yourself to part from the Queen out of fear of what she would do. Alicent seemed so happy, yet you could sense the undercurrent of instability should you suddenly reject her affections. There was no choice but for you to accept whatever she wanted if it meant that there would be no more animosity between your families.

“I will confer with the king before bed and inform your mother when you return. This is a joyous occasion for us, my light,” she said, pulling your body impossibly tighter as you felt your hidden face contort into a weary grimace.

You loved Aemond after all these years, but you held an uncertainty about whether he would overcome his grudges for the good of your House, and that did not account for whether your mother would agree to the proposal. She refused for you to marry into the Greens before, and with you being her heir, she might use you as all people did to their daughters, though you hoped you would be allowed to have some choice. Even if this wasn’t one, you desired to wed Aemond, if not out of love, but to secure peace between the two warring factions and your mother’s inheritance.

Suddenly, the shared door to your childhood chambers opened and unexpectedly revealed your twin. Jace stood there breathless, not expecting you to have a visitor as he observed you tucked within the Queen’s embrace. He noticed the uneasy expression on your visage, brown eyes flicking from you to her, unsure what to do.

At the acknowledgment of Jace’s presence, Alicent released you without a word, smoothing her structured gown with an air of cold indifference that enveloped her as she stood.

“Sleep well, Princess,” she dismissed with a gentle nod. The necklace of the Seven-Pointed Star resting on her chest glittered in the candlelight as she left, not sparing a glance at your brother.

You and Jace did not speak. He was too stunned to see you and Alicent in a shared embrace, especially after what happened in the dining hall. That person shaped Aemond into the man he is today, sculpting the fresh clay of his mind into despising his niece and nephews.

“What did she want?” Jace finally decided to ask with a defensive stance on his thin body.

Sighing, you held your temples in your palms, a dejected sensation coming over you like a shroud. What could you say to him? The truth, you supposed. You never lied to your twin, but this did not feel like something you could tell him, especially after what occurred tonight. He would be upset at the notion and run to tell your mother.

“She apologized for Aemond’s behavior at supper,” you answered with exhaustion, the day’s turmoil finally taking its toll. You faced the trauma of your past without preparation and watched a man’s head get sliced clean through. You deserved to take a moment’s rest.

Jace’s dark brows furrowed, more questions than answers coming to mind as he approached your slouched form. Typically, you would lean into his presence like no others, seeking comfort only your blood could give. At this moment, it did not feel right to do so. The past, present, and future hung heavy on your soul.

“You were embracing her,” your twin stated, which seemed to disgust him. “Where do you think Aegon and Aemond learned their behaviors?”

Standing with a groan of annoyance, you paced to your partially packed clothes trunk, attempting to find anything to distance yourself from Jace’s pointed interrogation. “Yes, brother. When one apologizes, they tend to form some connection to express their sincerity.”

Jace scoffed, his lean body swiftly following your steps. “Are you unwell? Since the hearing, you’ve been cold with me.”

“And why do you suppose that is?” you spun with a bark, eyes wide with vexation. Jace said not a word, curling his lips to wet them in anxiety. You knew he knew the reason but couldn’t understand why your brother refused to act as if nothing changed. “The future we grew up believing together is now nothing but a childish fantasy. Do you not comprehend how that makes me feel? To live with one thing so constant in life only for it to be ripped away in mere moments?”

Silence decorated the room, leaving the only sound to be the crackling of the roaring fire and thumping of your broken heart. Tears burned your nose, flowing down your cheeks in a salty mixture of scorn and sadness.

“I understand that you feel as upturned as I do, but you have someone to love and hold in your life. Something that can give you that certainty in your life only it can. I…” your voice broke, filled with emotions that threatened to drown you. “I now have to find that something—to navigate a world full of men who will lie, betray me, and think themselves worth more than they are so that they may reach ultimate power. I will become a prize to win rather than someone’s daughter, someone who lives and breathes and has desires of her own.”

Jace could see you spiraling, sinking into a pit of melancholy he feared you would not crawl out of. He realized he hadn’t stopped to think about what you could genuinely be feeling. It was given that you felt the same shock, rage, and disappointment he did, but beyond that, he hadn’t considered what this meant for your relationship or future.

To have someone be your first in everything and grow up with the idea that they would also be your last stunted emotional and social growth with others. Jace was given the comfort of knowing who would be his new end, but you weren’t afforded the luxury. A selfish part of him hoped you would never find someone in this sense. You were his sister. He realized this was the ego of a self-centered man speaking, not the brother you cherished with your body and soul.

Not knowing how to improve this impossible situation, Jace brought you close, holding your sobbing form in his familiar arms. He felt your fingers clench his tunic as you attempted to ground yourself. Tears soon fell from his dark lashes and onto your crown. You looked at him with matching sorrow, instinctively stroking the soft bone of his cheek in the manner you knew simultaneously weakened and emboldened him.

Sleep did not come easy to Aemond on this night despite the intense wine he drank at dinner to ease his soul. How could the Prince find sleep after what happened? After he was forced to sit and break bread with the people who altered his life forever? You were never his family, yet thoughts of your shared youth and camaraderie infected his mind like grayscale. It loomed over him like dark clouds beckoning a storm.

Alicent, his mother, whom he cherished dearly, cowered in her beliefs at the mere notion that her long-lost friend gave even the slightest acknowledgment. She impressed upon Aemond, and his siblings Rhaenyra’s flaws and the sins she called children were abominations unfit to inherit the Crown. Now, after merely six years, none of that seemed to matter. He felt angry—betrayed. Was this not what his mother wanted of him? For Aemond to stand behind Aegon’s claim and their family regardless of the web, Rhaenyra spun around her.

The sting of tears sprung in his violet eye, but Aemond quickly willed them to stop by replacing them with his fury. He was not weak. He held the family together, and you were not the family his mother claimed you to be. Had it not been for your kin’s unprecedented arrival, all would be as it should be. A father he longed for attention from but never got, on the Stranger’s door, his brother drowning himself in his cups instead of your presence, and you, far across Blackwater Bay on Dragonstone, living a life you were undeserving of. Aemond did feel slightly vindicated when he saw your ghostly expression when Princess Rhaenys stated Jacaerys’s betrothal.

The Prince understood then that your life was capsizing, but at least you still had two plain, working eyes.

His ire was no longer contained, and his mind continued to reel, boiling over until he threw the bedsheets from his tense body and dawned a nightshirt. Aemond hated you. He loathed you and was not one to leave a conversation without the upper hand as he left his chambers, slinking into one of Maegor’s secret passages.

It was involuntary how Jace’s body responded to yours, your touch so familiar it was impossible not to succumb to the sins of the past as your moist lips met. Heat ignited inside your loins as it did his, your hands winding themselves inside his choppy hair, barely taking a minute to breathe. You were unsure who was the first to disrobe the other, grabbing one another’s buckles and strings until there was nothing but air between your hot flesh.

“We shall say goodbyes to our previous beliefs tonight, Jace. I shall not be your whore and sister,” you declared against his cheek as you lowered him onto your childhood bed. “Nor shall you be mine. I respect your union far more than that.”

“And I yours,” Jace quickly replied with a strained grunt, settling his cock between your wet folds as you rocked yourself to full arousal.

It would be difficult for both of you to navigate new bodies for the first time again, to find what made the other person curl their toes in abandon. For Jace, you knew how he loved the way it felt to be inside you to the fullest extent and saw how his older sister rode him to take her pleasure. For you, Jace knew that the little nub at the top of your silt was the epicenter for the majority of your pleasure, teasing the thing with his mouth, tongue, digits, and whatever else he could to see you so grateful for him.

You suddenly longed for your twin despite being in his presence, reminding yourself of your torturous time apart as you leaned forward, devouring his pouty lips and balancing yourself to become one. Your slick walls welcomed Jace inside like they were his home, feeling the head brush against the sensitive spot deep inside, the pair of you moaning into each other’s mouths as you began to move with gradual and firm movements of your hips. Each grind and lift of your body slowly bloomed ecstasy between your thighs, using your hands and core to savor yet heighten the experience to reach that inevitable peak.

Aemond expected you to be alone, or at the very least, with a maid when he reached the destination Aegon had shown him. He did not ask how his brother knew of such things, though the answer was clear. Whatever semblance of a plan Aemond conjured on his march through the damp tunnels was abruptly extinguished once he heard your girlish cries—loathing to admit it aloud, the Prince’s ire softened at the noise. He grunted, poised to open the wall and have him be the reason you wailed, but he ceased his movements at the deep timbre that comforted your sorrows.

It was Jace. The beloved brother you would willingly give up your life for, holding you within his arms as you sobbed. The sight flared his nostrils and sent a burning sensation to his stomach that he tried to ignore.

It was expected that your twin would be in your bed chambers. Aemond knew of the rumors surrounding your closer-than-normal sibling relationship. While it wasn’t seen as taboo in Targaryen customs, the common folk who practiced the Faith certainly would see it as a sin if they knew.

The One-Eyed Prince stood silently in the dim recesses concealed behind the rough-hewn stone wall. His breath barely made a sound as he cautiously pried it open enough to glimpse the unfolding scene. A flicker of annoyance shot through him at the thought of Jace unexpectedly discovering his presence. He stifled the urge to groan, focusing instead on the poignant sobs that echoed through the air.

Before him were the illegitimate children of his half-sister, caught in their web of delusions, seemingly convinced that they could escape the relentless strains of duty that had ensnared so many before them. Aemond watched with disdain and pity, realizing they were blissfully unaware of the sacrifices the world demanded of them in exchange for power and prestige. You and your brother sat huddled together, your voices trembling thick with emotion as you expressed the despair of being forced into marriages with people you barely knew, let alone desired.

Aemond’s gaze narrowed as he observed your youthful faces, illuminated by the waning light flickering with the candles. Your immaturity was evident. The rawness of your feelings revealed how little you understood the harsh realities of noble life. It was a bitter irony, this burden, the necessity of sacrificing personal happiness for strategic alliances. The weight of such obligations pressed heavily on your shoulders, a burden that felt especially crushing in your youthful naivety.

Embraces soon turned to caresses, which morphed into kisses as he observed Jace untie the laces of your crimson gown. Aemond felt his stomach lurch, the involuntary fear of the events being nonconsensual guiding his sudden urge to protect you. He halted his movements as he watched you disrobe your brother, blood draining from his heart and into his cock when he saw your naked form.

The womanly figure he saw within the courtyard was able to be admired. The slope of your elongated neck that still held your necklace led down to your two perfect mounds of flesh, rounded and shaped almost to the teardrops that sparkled on your skin—a soft place to rest your head in comfort. Curves and rolls decorated the rest of your body as he watched you move in time with Jace, bestowing upon Aemond the perfect view of your hips that were sturdy and plush, housing a womb to bear your future husband’s children.

Your body was a picture of the Maiden, Aemond mused, feeling his cheeks heat with growing desire. You were a depiction of a woman, so soft and plump, a perfect contrast that would fit with his muscular and sinewy body. The Prince could imagine your stomach stretched with a child and breasts full of milk as they leaked through pert nipples and onto his tongue.

The shame Aemond felt at thinking such things of his bastard niece warred in his mind, logic battling with lust as his breeches became too tight. He refused to succumb to his sinful desires and embraced the pain of his longing.

A flicker of callow hope lingered in the shadowy corners of Aemond’s mind as if clinging to the possibility that the gossip regarding you and your twin was nothing but a cruel fabrication. He wrestled with the notion of you as a sensual being, a struggle deepened by the haunting memories of Aegon’s transgressions against you. Like the common folk, he had unknowingly fallen prey to a comforting illusion—seeing you as a paragon of virtue, a righteous martyr navigating the treacherous waters of adolescence with grace and fortitude.

To him, you were a pure maiden, your spirit untainted, who had bravely borne the trials and tribulations that beset young women, emerging with a noble resolve. The small childish part of Aemond wanted to believe you had sworn off the temptations that often ensnared others, choosing instead a path marked by selflessness and a profound commitment to righteousness. This image of you, painted in broad strokes of light and virtue, had unwillingly taken root in his mind, making the idea of you as anything other than an emblem of purity feel surreal and disconcerting.

The Prince noiselessly grunted in agony as his manhood painfully beat against the confines of his trousers, only for it to be swallowed by the soft sounds unique to only sex. He childishly hoped that he would be the man to break his imagined vow of chastity you took, but now he realized how much of a fantasy it was as he watched you take your twin’s cock between your glistening folds.

Jace was the only thing that felt right to you today, like the embrace of a loved one you hadn’t seen in years. Your hip movements were practiced as they held the knowledge of what made your brother’s abdomen clench in ecstasy. You could feel your brother’s hands on you, so gentle, tender, and loving, having nothing of the malice your uncle carried today.

Seeing Aemond now a man instead of the wide-eyed boy you knew stirred something within you that you had pushed aside earlier, igniting a fire you had never known existed in your soul. You imagined him here now and what it would be like to feel his manhood nestled so profoundly within you that there was no end. While you enjoyed the recognizable feeling of Jace and his delicateness, now that you had gotten a taste for the depravity of your uncle in his place, you found your movements daunting. Your knees began to ache, and your thighs started to burn, abruptly extinguishing the pleasure that was blossoming in your core.

This had never happened before, and you pushed yourself to continue, crashing that high that was always promised at the end.

Praying that Jace did not notice, you leaned forward as you attempted to lose yourself in his kiss, stroking the sides of his visage. The more you moved, the more discouraged you became, resorting to seeking your pleasure with your own hands as you rubbed at your pearl, but nothing worked.

Frustration overshadowed any fulfillment. Your ministrations and Jace’s cock felt like an intrusion into your walls. Faking your release would not end this once-enjoyed act, and you steeled yourself to ensure this would be over soon.

You felt terrible for Jace. You knew he would stop at his detriment to ensure you were well, but you refused to utter the reason behind why your body had become so ineffective.

“You feel so good, brother. I need you to…” The dryness in your mouth halted your lies as you concealed it with a look of satisfaction. “I need you to finish. I’m so close.” Jace was none the wiser, too lost in pleasure as he profusely nodded.

It was painfully evident to anyone who glanced your way that you had lost interest in the moment. Your posture was rigid, and your eyes were clouded with discontent. Aemond couldn’t help but feel a troubling sense of satisfaction at that realization as if he had uncovered a hidden complexity in the situation.

Your brother, Jace—the very same person you always believed understood you on a deeper plane—remained blissfully unaware of the turmoil swirling within you. His gaze lingered on your face, but it lacked the perceptiveness needed to grasp the subtle but clear signs of your unhappiness.

Aemond’s thoughts raced. If only he were in his nephew’s shoes, he would have sensed the disturbance immediately. Unlike Jace, who seemed consumed by his emotions, Aemond had a keen intuition that allowed him to read the room with sharp clarity. He would not have focused on the fleeting pleasure of the moment. Instead, he would have delved beneath your act, seeking to uncover the reasons behind your discontent. Aemond envisioned himself beneath you, looking up at your flushed body with the intent of understanding the causes of your spiral, eager to address your needs and reignite the spark of ecstasy that once illuminated your expression.

If only…

Though it was mere minutes, it felt like hours, and you squeezed and loosened yourself around your twin’s cock, milking him in a way that would cause him fulfillment. He tried to stop you, taking hold of your plump hips as you continued.

“Stop, sister. You haven’t… fuck…” Moving his palms to your breasts, you took control, sweat running down your neck from exertion as Jace struggled to keep himself from releasing.

He was helpless. Toes curling and stomach clenching as you quickly lifted yourself off, stroking his pink shaft in place of your womanhood. Spurts of his pearlescent seed left from his pink tip and onto his waist and your hand, biting his lower lip in an attempt to silence his grunts of satisfaction as you slowed your movements so as not to overwhelm him. Jace’s heart raced inside his chest like a horse’s hooves as he came down from his high, fidgeting his legs and bringing your body up to kiss him. You did not mean to torture him, but it was finally done, and that was a relief in itself as you laid down beside him, stroking his hot torso.

“You did not peak,” Jace began with a pout, moving himself to settle his body between your legs. “Let me make up for it.”

Inhaling a deep breath, you shook your head, pulling him up to rest beside you again. “There’s no need, brother. Your pleasure is enough to satisfy me,” you lied, stroking the choppy strands of his short hair behind his ear. He stared at you skeptically as you felt disgusted with yourself at the smell of sex in your bed chambers, causing revulsion to churn in your stomach. “Edwina will be back soon, and while I trust her, we do not need to risk another tongue-lashing from Mother. You are to be married soon and must be in her good graces. Come. Let me clean you.”

Jace sighed, slumping over his drying seed as you poured your drinking water into a bowl and gathered a cloth to wipe his stomach. You engrossed yourself in the action as you were too ashamed to speak, though your brother couldn’t possibly hate you more than you already did.

Without many words between you, you helped him dress, throwing over an appropriate dress slip, smiling, and bestowing him fleeting touches not to have him worry. It was evident that Jace understood something was wrong, but the consequences for you and him, a betrothed man discovered in a compromising position, far outweighed any concerns.

“Mother wants us ready to depart back to Dragonstone within the hour. We mustn’t waste any more time,” you ordered Jace in the way only you could, as he nodded.

Before he closed the door to your adjoining childhood chambers, he gave you one last kiss, saying farewell to the childish dreams of a future together.

“I love you,” he stated. You gave him a bittersweet smile in return.

“And I you, more than the Gods allow.”

Shutting the door behind him, you locked it, countenance dropping from the neutral expression to one of despair, sobs breaking from between your lips as you balanced yourself against the warm hearth.

The world around you felt utterly ruthless and deeply unjust, a suffocating weight pressing down on your heart. You couldn’t shake the bitterness that churned within you, directed at the memories of your past with Jace. It was painful to reflect on the years you spent entranced by the fantasy of life together, imagining the vows you would exchange and the family you would build. The reality, however, was a far cry from those dreams, each illusion crumbling under the harsh light of truth.

Your mother’s actions echoed in your mind like a haunting refrain. It felt like she had orchestrated this betrayal all along, waiting for the opportunity to use her children. She wielded Jace and Luke as pawns, manipulating emotions to untangle her political complications, leaving you feeling forgotten and unutilized. In her quest to alleviate her burdens, your mother dismantled the very dreams you held dear, leaving you adrift in a sea of disappointment, grappling with the profound loss of a future you thought was within your grasp.

Through the haze of tears clouding your vision, you caught a glimpse of the wall beside your wardrobe, protruding ever so slightly as if it were hiding a secret. The air hung heavy with tension, and a chill ran down your spine. Only one person could be moving through the shadows of the Red Keep at this hour. Panic gripped your heart, tumbling down to your bare feet and leaving you frozen, an unwilling statue in the dim light.

As you willed your limbs to move, you shuffled awkwardly across the cold wooden floor, acutely aware that Aegon was most likely watching you. The door to your brother’s room and the hallway felt painstakingly far away. The only option left was the balcony, its railing looming like an unwelcoming edge over the moat of spikes encircling Maegor’s Holdfast.

The thought of plunging into those treacherous spikes sent a shiver through you. For now, hiding seemed your best chance. If you could buy yourself time, you might gain enough distance from Aegon to run to the hall full of guards.

With a whisper of dread, you crawled beneath your bed, the coarse dust and sticky cobwebs clinging to your dress and skin like the entrapments of a forgotten cellar. The muffled thud of footsteps echoed from the far wall, sending shivers down your spine as you watched Aegon’s boot enter your chambers, its polished leather glinting ominously in the dim light. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears, a frantic drum of terror, as he paused at the foot of your bed, the air thick with unspoken tension.

With a sinking feeling, you covered your eyes with trembling hands, desperately praying to the Seven for Edwina’s swift return, but your silent plea hung unanswered around you. You heard Aegon grunt softly, the sound unsettling as he shuffled closer, his heavy shoes brushing against the stone floor. Every nerve in your body was taut with fear as you felt his gaze sweep beneath the bed, searching for you in the shadows.

A firm hand clamped around your arm, jolting you with a scream that echoed in the stillness. As your eyes fluttered open, you were met not with Aegon’s familiar, cropped hair but with a cascade of silver locks flowing down a lithe figure. Aemond knelt before you, his intense gaze focused and calculating as he studied your trembling form. The tension in the air hung heavy around you, amplifying the fear pulsing through your veins. You felt the warmth of his grip as he observed you, the world around fading into a blur, leaving only the sharp clarity of his presence.

Aemond found it almost laughable that you thought cowering beneath the bed, like a frightened child, could shield you from the world outside. He noted how a part of your gown, delicate and flowing, peeked out. In comparison, some of him relished his power to instill fear in you. A more profound understanding stirred within him as he noted your quivering lips, brows arched in fright. It wasn’t merely his presence that had regressed you to this vulnerable state. The haunting memory echoed in your mind whenever you lay in the stillness of twilight.

He recalled, in vivid detail, the night Aegon had violated you—a night marred by betrayal and anguish. You had confided in him, recounting how his older brother lured you through the shadowy tunnels with sweet promises of a secret just for you. The realization struck Aemond like a dagger. Your reaction was rooted in that traumatic experience, a natural response to the horror you had endured. Yet, as those memories surfaced, they ignited a fierce anger within him that dulled his compassion and overshadowed his instinct to comfort.

“If you’re here to hurt me, know that my Lady will be here any moment,” you whispered, tears glistening on your cheeks. The Prince felt transported back in time, seeing your girlish face before him like it had not aged from when you crawled into his bed and shared your first kiss.

“I have no want for depravity,” Aemond announced, releasing your arm. He rose from his crouched position but did not leave your room. This reminded him of the night you came to sleep in his chambers for this very reason, and he felt his black heart lighten at the tremble of your frightened voice.

“Then why are you here?” You were so weak and pathetic, nothing like the strong dragon you had portrayed yourself to be hours prior.

Aemond sighed through his nose, seemingly exhausted from the conversation, sitting on the mattress above you as it creaked. “I’ve come to finish our conversation from earlier,” he declared casually with the cross of his leg. “Won’t you spare me the dignity of discussing such matters face to face?”

“I am quite content down here,” you quipped with a sniffle, fear still controlling your actions. “Say your piece.”

You heard him chuckle from above, a smirk no doubt on his features. “My brother will not harm you. He’s off to the Silk Streets at this very moment, drowning himself in wine and women,” the Prince offered in consolation. He hoped to get you out from under the bed, but he did find the situation amusing.

“I pity them. Do you blame me for being so cautious after what happened tonight?” You wanted to prolong this momentary peace even if it was surrounding the gossip of another. “How Aegon so shamelessly flouted about the room? You saw how he acted, Aemond.”

“You are not innocent in the matter either, niece,” Aemond hummed as you covered an offended scoff. “If I recall, your dear twin took his wife and flouted about the room with her.”

Your fierce sense of injustice compelled you to wriggle out from beneath the bed, carefully brushing off the dust and specks of debris that had settled on your gown. It was a soft fabric that now seemed to bear the marks of your hiding place, but you paid it little mind. Aemond lounged atop your rumpled bed sheets, occupying your space with an air of casual superiority as if he belonged there.

His loosely draped clothing accentuated his figure, and you found it challenging to divert your gaze from the exposed expanse of his collarbones. The pale sheen of his skin contrasted starkly with the messiness of the room, momentarily captivating you and stealing your breath away. The atmosphere thrummed with an unspoken tension, drawing note to the uncharted territory between you.

“He-he touched me as if he did not tear my womanhood and make me bleed!” you exclaimed, a fresh wave of tears collecting at your dark lashes. “And you were there, uncle. You watched it happen. Do you not recall your promise made on a night such as this? Would you protect me from him so long as I was by your side? I am here before you.”

Aemond’s face was impassive, a blank stone carved with only his features. “You couple with your brother, and yet you are the one to lecture me? You’re a whore.”

You knew it was only a matter of time before he spoke about what he saw in the shadows, but having it brought to light did not ease the knot of shame within your stomach.

“Whatever insults you have conjured up, know that I’ve already thought of them myself,” you braced, attempting to build a wall around your heart. Despite the difference in position, Aemond sitting in what would be a submissive manner, you felt like the lesser one, embracing your torso in self-consolation.

The Prince remained unnervingly quiet, his expression a hardened mask of arrogance. Shadows danced across his chiseled features as the dim light caught the high curve of his cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw. He tilted his head slightly, allowing his moonlit hair to fall just enough to enhance his regal demeanor. A deep, resonant hum emerged from his throat, filling the air with a somber melody that seemed to echo the weight of unspoken thoughts. His eyes, usually filled with a fierce brightness, now held an undercurrent of fear—a fear that crept in like a shadow. He was aware that if he broke this silence, his voice might waver, revealing the regret that festered within him.

Aemond feared you would hear the tremor of the boy he once was, the dragonless child who had craved approval and affection and still felt the sting of past failures. The thought of you seeing him in such a vulnerable light sent a shiver of apprehension through him, driving him to maintain his proud appearance.

“I have been told since birth that Jace was to be my husband, yet now the foundations of my life have been uprooted because of one man’s ambitions,” you argued, feeling your body flush with anger instead of this dreadful sadness. “I feel like a fool for doing such things. I understood it was wrong at the time, yet this part of me was so bent on taking back something stolen from me. To prove to myself that sex was not about pain and control but something to enjoy.”

“All people succumb to sins of the flesh,” Aemond replied. It was a bland reply that showed little sympathy for you, but you expected nothing less from him. You were grateful enough that he hadn’t closed the conversation off so that only his wrath spoke.

Inhaling a stuttered breath, you wiped away the water that soaked your skin, a futile attempt at returning your dignity. “Men can fuck as they please without the stigma that surrounds women. If they fault and dabble with the flesh, it’s considered nothing more than their culture. When I am queen-”

“Aegon took me to a brothel when I was three and ten,” Aemond interrupted your tirade, causing you to pause with dissatisfaction, coloring your features. “He said, ‘Time to get it wet.’ I didn’t want to, but he paid the brothel Madame good coin, and I was forced to endure to show my brother that I was a man like him.” The fire within you softened, the tense muscles of your body deflating in empathy at his confession. “You are not the only one subjected to hypocrisy. I was supposed to enjoy it like a man, but all I felt was disgust.”

Perhaps it was the rich, intoxicating wine that Aemond had been consuming, or maybe the insidious notion that he held a threat over your head compelled him to confide in you. His revelations were not born out of genuine concern for you but reflected your insignificance in his eyes.

That was the reason, nothing more.

He did not regard your thoughts or feelings as worthy of consideration. After all, a Prince of his stature would not be so vulnerable as to divulge his most profound shame to his illegitimate niece, expecting that with her bleeding heart, she would offer him understanding or solace.

Aemond carried the weight of the pig incident like a brand upon his soul, an indelible memory that refused to fade. The sting of Aegon’s words lingered in his mind, a fresh wound that festered even after losing his eye to Lucerys, a brutal reminder of his vulnerability.

The image of Aegon loomed ominously in his memories, particularly the night in the brothel, where the air was thick with the stench of spilled wine and sweat. Aegon’s skin glistened with an unappealing stickiness, the remnants of revelry clinging to him as he towered over Aemond, his posture a hazy blend of mockery and drunken arrogance. Beneath the veil of alcohol swirling in his veins, Aegon’s cruel laughter cut through the air, sharp and unforgiving, each word a fresh dagger aimed directly at Aemond’s heart. The echoes of that taunting laughter haunted him, a bitter reminder of the pain inflicted by the very brother who should have stood by his side.

“Ensure that you stay perfectly still, brother. We don’t want you to miss it.”

You exhaled slowly, a deep sigh laced with a sense of melancholy as a rush of emotions threatened to spill over. The fresh start of tears hovered beneath the surface, their warmth urging to escape, but you clenched your jaw and willed them to remain hidden, trapped within your mouth.

Aemond sat before you, his expression hardened and his stance resolute. He did not welcome sympathy or pity. Those sentiments would isolate him further, pushing him deeper into his turmoil. What Aemond truly needed—more than any platitude about family values—was someone who could listen and sense the heavy shadows lurking behind his guarded words. He craved understanding, a connection that transcended judgment, a safe space to unburden his heart without fear of condemnation or lectures. At that moment, all he needed was an empathetic ear, ready to hear him amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

“Aegon is vile. A part of me hoped he would spare you from his cruelty, though I should have known. His mind is twisted and barbarous and holds no honor. You know this as I do,” you preached.

The longing to embrace Aemond was overwhelming, a fierce yearning that coiled tightly within you, causing your fingers to flex and relax in a restless rhythm. You understood the delicate nature of his emotions, aware that a sudden move could send him retreating into the impenetrable and cold fortress he had constructed around his heart. With that thought in mind, you opted for a tentative approach, positioning yourself at a respectful distance on the plush feather mattress, allowing the space between you to serve as a shield and a bridge in this intricate dance of intimacy and caution. The softness of the mattress cradled your form, yet your heart raced with the desire to close that distance, to reach out and let him know how deeply you cared.

“Your mother spoke with me tonight. She wants me to return tomorrow with my mother and finally propose an engagement to unite our House.” You steadied your breath as you felt Aemond’s piercing, violet eye on you, his face turning into a mask. You could see his mind reeling at your proximity and your following words, trying to decipher what would come next.

“I owe my life to you for what you did for me. You stopped Aegon from debasing me further and became my friend despite how poorly I treated you,” your voice cracked with conviction as you reflected on the regrets of your childhood. “Accept this betrothal, and we will live out those childhood times again. You’ll be my husband and I, your wife, taking to the skies together like I promised. We will rule the Seven Kingdoms, and you will be king. Aegon will no longer hurt us.”

Your words were like honey in his ear, dripping from the comb full of its viscous sweetness and into his blood. The tension within your stomach began to morph into something different, something warm yet exhilarating, as you saw fierce emotion crack through the lines of his face.

Courage filled you, rattling your bones and lifting your muscles to cup the side of Aemond’s scarred cheek as you softly stroked the indented skin.

The surge of boldness that once ignited within you flickered and vanished, leaving a feeling of vulnerability that wrapped around you like a heavy cloak. Memories of the heartbreaking tragedies that life had heaped upon both of you flooded back, causing you to instinctively pull away, uneasy with the weight of it all. Yet, before you could fully retreat, Aemond’s hand closed around your wrist, his grip steady and unyielding, anchoring you to that fragile moment.

Your breaths hung suspended in the air as you found yourself lost in his gaze, two souls suspended in time, teetering on the brink of understanding. It felt as though you could plunge deep into the shadows of his thoughts, unraveling the secrets he kept buried within. The silence stretched around you, thick with unspoken words, and a part of you was terrified to break it, fearing that doing so might shatter the delicate tranquility that had settled between you.

Time ceased to exist. It was only you and your uncle, two souls that had once been connected and torn asunder by hate that erupted long before your conception. You felt the gravity of the situation pulling you towards Aemond, and he, you, no longer seeing the world around you. The candlelight shade danced across the aquiline sculpture of his visage, creating a haunting beauty compared to the soft, cherubic plumpness of your face, round with conviction and moist with tears.

The moment couldn’t last long enough as you felt your knee collide with Aemond’s, sending a jolt through your core that made your breath hitch. The hand on your uncle’s ridged thigh clenched, fingers digging into his muscle as you observed how the tendons rippled with the movement, sending a wave of heat to your skin. You were certain Aemond felt the same, too, with his cheeks and ears tinged pink, tongue poking out to briefly wet his lip as his violet eye flicked to your swiftly rising and falling breasts.

Without warning, the doors to your bed chambers opened with a clang, revealing the Lady Edwina you had prayed for earlier. You did not want to pull away from him but knew the consequences of being caught in an improper position with a man. Aemond gave you no choice, curling his lip in dissatisfaction as he tightened his grip on your arm, refusing to let you remove the warmth of your touch on his face.

It had been an eternity since he had felt the soothing warmth of a feminine embrace, a gesture that had become increasingly rare from his mother as the years had passed and he had grown older. The absence of that nurturing touch left a hollow ache in his heart. He craved the security and intimacy that such an embrace offered, and when you tried to pull away, he instinctively tightened his hold.

Edwina gasped with a quick “My Prince” as Aemond begrudgingly loosened his grip.

“Edwina, thank you for returning,” you said, voice cordial and gaze misty, “though I wish you would announce yourself.”

She curtsied, her cheeks scarlet. “Apologies, Your Highness.”

Sighing, you glanced at Aemond, who had a dark expression, half thinking he should order the maid away or have her quartered for insolence. Sensing his vexation, you stood, placing a hand on your uncle’s sturdy shoulder, and offered a weak grin.

“All is forgiven. My uncle and I just finished discussing, didn’t we?” Aemond grunted in response, following your movements and brushing off your kind gesture. “Sleep well tonight, Prince Aemond. Know that my thoughts are with you.”

He remained silent, his mask of the ruthless Prince falling perfectly back into place as he strode out of the room, leaving behind an oppressive air and not even a hint of a farewell. You sighed exasperated, rolling your eyes at the heavy doors as they swung shut with a resounding thud. Glancing over at your Lady, you caught her gaze, which held a deep, understanding glance that spoke volumes without the need for words. She surveyed your attire keenly before returning to her task of meticulously packing your belongings, her movements graceful yet methodical.

“Shall we summon the other maids?” Edwina asked with an airy shift in her tone that she acquired when in a jesting mood. She finally knew the answer as to who you so ardently sent ravens to in the Keep.

You offered a subtle nod, your gaze drifting to the elegant pitchers that adorned the polished writing table, each glinting softly in the dim light. With a graceful motion, you poured the deep crimson wine into a delicate glass, the rich aroma rising to meet you as it filled the vessel. The thought of leaving this stuffy gathering behind ignited a thrilling hope within you, quickening your heartbeat at the anticipation of returning to Aemond. The idea of being reunited with him filled you with an intoxicating sense of longing and excitement, making your pulse race with the promise of what was to come.

A profound sense of satisfaction enveloped Aemond as he walked through the torch-lit halls of the Keep. The flickering flames cast a warm glow, illuminating the intricacies of the stone walls that had witnessed countless secrets and whispered promises. The air was thick with the scent of burning resin and age-old timber, enhancing the atmosphere of history surrounding him.

As he stepped into his chambers, a serene calm washed over him, slowly releasing the tension from his muscles as if he were shedding a burdensome weight. A curious sensation flickered within his chest, akin to the rush of emotions he had felt when he first kissed you all those years ago—a moment forever etched in his memory. A grin stretched his thin lips, a blend of nostalgia and anticipation brightening his features.

He envisioned a future where you would stand proudly by his side as his wife, the thought filling him with warmth. The image of your hands intertwined and the promise of building a family together painted a vivid picture in his mind. In that profound moment, he realized that the sacred ties of marriage would firmly anchor your loyalties, binding your fates together in a covenant that would weather any storm, ensuring that your heart would forever belong to Aemond.

Princess Rhaenyra’s only daughter would be his.

Aegon’s ascension to the Iron Throne was inevitable, and he understood that accepting such a fact would put your new marriage to the test. The Prince convinced himself that in the end, you would love him and stay by his side, and that was enough for him to forget the vexation at his mother’s schemes and agree to the proposal. Mors Martell and Queen Nymeria, at last.

Though the war had not yet begun, Aemond felt a sense of victory swelling within him.

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The reader really couldn't catch a break in this chapter. It was literally one trauma after another. XD I've debated putting in some smut scenes with Jace and the reader in the previous chapters, but it never felt right. They've definitely done it quite a few times, tho. In my head, they've accidentally had a pregnancy scare like Rhaenyra did, and that was one of the turning points to separate them and send the reader to Dorne. Anyways, Aemond is at the beginning of his Prince Regent Era with his arrogance, but oh boy. The man won't know what hit him in the following chapters... (⁠◠⁠‿⁠・⁠)⁠—⁠☆

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld , @lottiemsgf , @nessjo , @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n , @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna , @baybaybear1

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f14fun · 3 months ago

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lay all your love on me - op81 (C1)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (6.0K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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01: The Thermodynamics of My Hot Mess

I wasn't jealous before we met. Now every woman I see is a potential threat. The once timid, tame, collegiate girl I was before I met you has turned me possessive, it isn't nice.

And it’s all your fault, Oscar Piastri. You’ve taken the calm, rational part of me and set it on fire, leaving nothing but the green-eyed monster in its place. Oscar Piastri, you have turned me into a jealous mess, filled with envy and desperation I never thought possible. It’s like you’ve invaded every corner of my mind, making me obsess over the thought of you, the idea that someone else might take you away from me.

Even in my wildest, most fantasmic dreams, I would never have predicted that a spontaneous trip to Santorini, Greece, would spark the greatest lustful romance of my life. It was supposed to be a simple escape, a break from the pressures of college life. But the moment I laid eyes on you, everything changed. The calm, composed person I used to be unraveled with every stolen glance, every accidental touch, every moment we spent together under the Mediterranean sun.

But here I am, in a whirlwind romance that’s as exhilarating as terrifying, driven by emotions I didn’t even know I had. And the craziest part? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. This chaotic, intense passion has awakened something in me that I can’t ignore, something that makes me feel more alive than I ever have before.

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Three weeks ago, I was drooling on page one hundred thirty-eight of my physics textbook on thermodynamics, barely awake and running on fumes. I was practically strung out on Monster Energy Drinks and those overpriced, sugary lattes from the campus vending machine—the only thing keeping me from completely passing out on the spot. The dense equations and dry theories blurred together on the page, making it impossible to focus. My brain begged for a break, but I kept pushing, hoping the caffeine would magically make the material stick.

News flash, it didn't.

So, when Mama casually mentioned that we’d be vacationing in Santorini for summer break, it was like a lifeline had been thrown my way. Suddenly, the fog of exhaustion lifted, and a thrill of excitement surged through me. It was as if a dormant part of me, buried beneath layers of stress and routine, had been awakened, eager for the unexpected adventure that awaited.

The idea of trading my study desk for the stunning views of Santorini seemed almost surreal. My thoughts raced as I imagined wandering through the picturesque streets, soaking in the sun, and immersing myself in a world far removed from the rigors of academic life. It was an escape I hadn't known I needed, a break from the monotony of textbooks and equations.

I pictured myself strolling along the charming alleys lined with whitewashed buildings and vibrant bougainvillea, the scent of the Mediterranean Sea mingling with the aroma of fresh local cuisine. The thought of exploring ancient ruins and savoring sunsets that painted the sky in hues of orange and pink felt like stepping into a dream.

And not to mention, a part of me was inkling for a dream-like, rom-com-esque summer romance. I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, a change of scenery could bring that fantasy to life.

As I swiped through images of ancient ruins, bustling cityscapes, and pristine beaches, I couldn't help but imagine myself in those exotic locales, experiencing the same thrilling adventures and romantic escapades. It was hard not to get swept up in the fantasy, picturing myself in those picture-perfect settings, with someone special by my side. It could quite literally be anyone, at this point. My horrific failed romancing attempts as well as my "not quite mediocre", yet "not quite stellar" looks were keeping me away from all the hotties.

The contrast between the vibrant, sun-soaked images on my screen and the monotony of my daily grind was stark. Quite embarrassing, frankly.

It fueled my desire for something more; something that broke away from the predictability of my studies and everyday responsibilities. Each scroll made the dream of a spontaneous adventure feel more urgent, intensifying my longing for a chance to immerse myself in the extraordinary.

Girls that I had grown up with were posing like models. Vogue, Elle, Cosmopolitan. And I wanted to be just like them.

Teeny tiny bikinis tied by a loose string, new ear and a belly piercing, flip-flops, and red tan lines. Margaritas, mojitos with lime, white wine. Loud club music, the nightlife of a girl in a foreign country, and dark blue eyeshadow and glitter. Flocking around older guys with them, locking lips with handsome strangers in bars, and flaunting all their escapades (or namely, their sexcapades) It was all so racy, daring, and outgoing. All of these things were unlike me, but I was a girl who dreamed of having fun. So you never know, I could suddenly change overnight.

The thought of stepping into that world, even just for a summer, was both thrilling and terrifying. It was a side of life I had only seen through screens, and part of me wondered if I was capable of embracing it. What would it feel like to let go of all my inhibitions, to live without worrying about consequences? To be that carefree girl who dances until dawn, flirts shamelessly, and collects stories too wild to share with anyone but your closest friends?

I couldn’t help but wonder if that girl was buried somewhere inside me, waiting for the right moment—or the right place—to emerge. Maybe Santorini would be the setting for my own little transformation, a place where I could shed my quiet, reserved self and become someone who seizes the moment without hesitation. After all, isn’t that what summer is for?

And when Mama told me about our trip to Santorini, that possibility suddenly seemed within reach. The idea of a vacation to such a dreamlike destination felt like the perfect catalyst for the change I’d been secretly craving. But more than that, it was a surge of joy and gratitude that hit me, knowing how hard she worked to make this happen. Growing up, it was just the two of us—Mama working tirelessly to provide for me and make every day special despite our modest means. She had always done her best to ensure that I had the opportunities I needed, even if it meant making sacrifices. The idea of a vacation, something so seemingly extravagant, was a rare treat, and I was thrilled beyond words.

To say the least, the envy was palpable, a green-eyed monster gnawing at me, craving the excitement and connection that seemed to radiate from every carefully curated Pinterest-worthy post.

Yeah, you can say that that excitement might not have lasted that long.

"Wait, wait, wait, repeat that please?" I questioned, exasperated by both the shitty wifi in my dorm room as well as my mother's purposeful exclusion of information. I sat criss-crossed in my twin-xl dorm room bed, surrounded by the comforting clutter of my college life. My phone rested precariously on the edge of my left knee (balancing carefully as I too, was practicing balancing my temper), its screen flickering with a weak signal as I struggled to catch every word Mama was saying. To my left, a wall was covered in an eclectic array of Polaroids and dimmed fairy lights, creating a soft, warm glow against the stark white of the dormitory walls. The space felt cozy but cramped, with textbooks and scattered notes littering the desk beneath the small window, which offered a view of the bustling campus below.

"Well I thought it would be a wonderful surprise for you," Mama said, elated over the fact that this bit of information was quite important. She wore a gigantic stretching grin on her face, a strict contrast to the curvature of my dimpled frown.

"By purposely excluding that we would be sharing a house with another family?" I incredulously asked, my left eyebrow arching up, my mouth turning into an even more prominent downward frown. Fuck, the shitty dorm wifi is acting up again. Now on Facetime, I was stuck like that. Great. I was eternally engraved into my phone as an unhappy bitch.

"You can make wonderful friends! I heard that they are your age," Mama wiggled her eyebrows. Figures. Of course, she would turn an opportunity that seemed to actively pray on my downfall into a splendid opportunity for me to, *shudders*, socialize.

"I don't need new friends, and there are four of them! That's a lot of people," I exclaimed, throwing my hands into the hair and finger-combing the stray bits of hair out of my face. Socializing was a lot for me sometimes. The thought of mingling with a whole new group felt like a daunting task, especially when my comfort zone was so tightly packed within the walls of my current routine. Each new interaction felt like a potential minefield of awkward conversations and missteps, a far cry from the cozy familiarity of my small circle. (Okay, a circle may be an exaggeration. Maybe a direct line would be a better description to describe the relationships around me: small, minimal, clean)

"Four kids your age, and two parents. This is the perfect mixing pot for you to make friends," Mama pointedly replied.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I don't need friends," I lied.

"That's a lie," Mama accused. Well, not accused. She was right, but I wouldn't give that to her. I was innately stubborn. Wonder where I got that from…

"Of course not! I have a great social life, thank you very much," I lied, again. Blinking slowly, I tried to not let my eyes expose me.

"You haven't brought a boyfriend home ever. And you have one friend total." Mama snapped back.

"Well, Clementine is a very amazing and loyal best friend," I narrowed my eyes.

"Amen to that one," I could hear Clementine's voice echo from her bunk bed next to me. She was mindlessly scrolling through her phone under her light-blue comforter, yet this nosy bitch was still listening to our conversation.

"Mind your business Missus Nosy," I sassed at Clementine.

"Whatever, your business is mine. You forget we are literally ten feet away from each other." She groaned as she flipped to face me from under the comfort of her blankets. Mama laughed and I grimaced again.

"Seriously, you should branch out. As a young lady, you must learn to explore your choices-" Mama continued, and I could feel a heartfelt lecture incoming.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it I know." I rolled my eyes and laughed.

"So, what exactly are we supposed to do with this family?" I asked, still trying to wrap my head around the idea.

"You’ll figure it out," Mama said with a reassuring tone. "It's an opportunity to meet new people and have some fun. Plus, they might have interesting stories to share."

"Right, because nothing says 'fun' like having to navigate the quirks of a new family while on vacation," I said, sarcastically. "I suppose I could use a few new stories to tell."

"That's the spirit! And who knows, maybe you’ll end up having a great time. Sometimes the best adventures come from the unexpected," Mama said optimistically.

"I guess we’ll see. Just don’t be surprised if I spend most of my time avoiding their overzealous attempts at bonding," I replied, half-joking.

"Fair enough," Mama laughed. "Just promise me you’ll at least give it a chance. And who knows, you might even surprise yourself."

"Yeah, yeah. I promise," I said with a resigned sigh. "I'll give it a chance, even if it means putting up with a bunch of new faces."

"That’s all I ask," Mama said, her voice softening. "I’m looking forward to this trip, and I hope you will be too."

"Me too, I guess," I said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. "Just don’t expect me to become best friends with everyone right away."

"Deal," Mama said with a smile. "And remember, it’s supposed to be an adventure."

"Adventure. Got it," I said, rolling my eyes again but smiling this time. "Let’s hope it’s more exciting than a group project."

"Exactly! Now, get ready for a summer you won’t forget," Mama said, her tone upbeat.

"Yeah, yeah," I replied, "I’ll do my best."

As the call ended, I shook my head, trying to shake off the unease. Interrupting me from my daydreaming, Clementine cleared her throat.

"Yeah yeah yeah, I'll do my best." She mocked me in a high-pitched voice.

"Girl shut up," I groaned, throwing one of my various squishmallows at her head.

"Branch out my ass, you need to get cronked." Clementine gestured enthusiastically. Yes, she was the most extroverted person that I knew, and I loved it about her. We were just two opposite ends of a stick, and I did have a lot to learn about her charisma as well.

"What you just described is quite literally the evil alter-ego version of me, you know that right?" I deadpanned. Throwing back the squishmallow at me, she continued.

"Oh, come on! Loosen up and have some fun," Clementine replied with a flourish. "You’re too stiff, girl. You need to embrace the chaos and just go with it. And you know that you really want to have fun." She wiggled her eyebrows.

"Okay yes fine, you got me." I rolled my eyes again.

"It's the summer somewhere new, be happy! You can be anyone that you want for a bit." She said.

"Yeah, sure. Maybe if the wifi wasn’t being a pain, I’d have a better attitude," I said, rolling my eyes.

"Blame it on the wifi all you want," Clementine said, laughing. "But seriously, you’re going to have a blast. Just let yourself get loose. Besides, how often do you get to have spontaneous adventures like this?"

"True," I admitted, "but it’s a lot easier for you to say. You thrive on chaos. Eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

"Okay, make me sound like some ravenous gossip party monster, Mrs. Malnourished-From-Any-Entertainment," Clementine rolled her eyes.

"Hey!!" I sputtered, trying to feign madness. I failed, as I immediately burst out laughing.

"And I swear you’re going to learn to love all the chaos too!" Clementine said enthusiastically. "It’s all about stepping out of your comfort zone. You’ve got to live a little!"

I sighed, shaking my head but smiling. "Alright, Miss Extrovert, I’ll try. Just don’t expect me to start dancing on tables or anything."

"Hey, you never know!" Clementine teased. "You might surprise yourself. Besides, it’s all about making memories, right?"

"Make memories, youthful nature, spring in my step, all right I get it man!" I yell, burrowing my face in my pillow, also conveniently getting a mouthful of hair. Yum.

"And don't forget it's actually time for you to get laid," Clementine said in a sing-songy type of voice.

"Clementine!" I exclaimed. She really had no filter, this girl…

"What? I'm just saying," Clementine shrugged, her grin widening. "A little romance never hurt anyone, right?"

"Yeah, but could you not be so… blunt about it?" I replied, trying to regain my composure. "I mean, it's one thing to tease me about dancing on tables, but this is pushing it."

Clementine laughed, unabashedly. "Oh, come on. You're going to a beautiful place with a bunch of people your age. It’s practically a recipe for adventure. And who knows? Maybe this will be the summer you meet someone special."

"Or maybe it’ll be the summer I learn to tolerate sharing a house with strangers," I said, rolling my eyes. "But thanks for the… encouragement."

"Hey, I’m just trying to help you make the most of it," Clementine said, her tone softening. "Sometimes a little push is all you need to open up and see things differently."

I sighed, shaking my head but smiling despite myself. "Alright, alright. I get it. I’ll keep an open mind. But no promises on the whole ‘getting laid’ part."

"And plus, I have absolutely no skills in approaching any guy ever. You know this," I cried in despair. Clementine laughed, recalling all the times when my horrible romancing skills failed me. Note, there are way too many to mention, so why do I even bother to find a boyfriend in the first place…

"Oh, I remember the summer fair incident," Clementine said, her laughter bubbling up. "You were trying to strike up a conversation with that guy at the cotton candy stand, and you got so flustered you ended up spilling your drink all over him."

"Please don't remind me of that, oh no," I groaned.

"And then, in an attempt to salvage the situation, you accidentally knocked over the cotton candy machine. The whole thing turned into a sticky, sugary disaster. You actually looked beet red it was so funny," Clementine continued laughing.

"I still cringe thinking about that," I groaned, hiding my face. "I was so embarrassed I avoided that fair for months."

"And let’s not forget that one party during Midsummer's last year," Clementine said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Oh let's not bring that one up from the archives-" I started to say.

"Girl you need to stop pretending that you can actually dance," Clementine giggled.

"Hey! I actually didn't know that he was a professional dancer, okay? Showing me up that badly was so embarrassing, I did want to die so bad at that moment," I recalled.

"I was trying to save your horrid fate," Clementine continued.

"You can't just gesture to me at a party and try to whisper yell, it's so loud. That would've never worked," I argued.

"Well from the sidelines it was actually pretty funny seeing you trip and then knock over those plastic cups," Clementine continued.

"Yeah? It wasn't funny when I landed in that bowl of punch face-first though," I whined.

"Yeah! Of course, it wasn't because my car smelled like the rancid mix of alcohol and punch for weeks," Clementine complained.

"That's my revenge for you. You should've yanked me out of the dance circle the minute I stepped foot in there. Why I did it, I have no idea to this day," I lamented.

"Ugh, meanie," Clementine laughed at me.

"That was such a mess, though" I admitted, cringing. "I had to help clean up while everyone tried not to laugh at me."

"But hey," Clementine said, her tone softening. "All those awkward moments make for great stories, and they don’t define who you are. Sometimes, it’s those hilarious failures that end up being the most memorable."

"Fine, Mom," I droned on. "You have a point."

Clementine’s eyes twinkled with a mix of sympathy and amusement. "Exactly. And besides, who knows? Maybe this summer will be the time you finally get it right. You’re going to be in a new place with new people. It’s a fresh start."

"I suppose," I said, still feeling a bit skeptical but warming up to the idea. "I guess there's something to be said for making a fool of yourself in a new environment. It might not be so bad if everyone’s in the same boat."

Okay, I lied again. It was that bad.

(Guys I promise that I'm not a serial liar, I just exaggerate. A bit.)

The overwhelming heat of Greece, and pretty much the heat of the Mediterranean hit me like a truck immediately when I landed. It was dry heat, no humidity no nothing. Just good ole heavy heat. Sweating through the airport terminal, then customs, to the shuttle, my bra was pretty much damp by the time I had stepped onto the cobbled ground in front of our air b&b.

Beaded sweat was clouding my vision, completely ruining the pretty vision I had when I put gel on my forehead to curl my baby hairs. I was seeing stars (mostly perspiration). It was hot. I was getting a hot flash/nearly dying of heatstroke.

The dreamy images of Santorini I had envisioned from my cool, comfortable dorm room felt like a distant fantasy now. The picturesque streets, which I had imagined as quaint and inviting, seemed more like a maze of sun-baked stone. My excitement was quickly replaced by a wave of discomfort and disorientation.

“Welcome to paradise,” I muttered sarcastically to myself, feeling like I was melting into the pavement. I glanced over at my mom, who was also looking a little wilted but trying to maintain her usual upbeat demeanor.

“This is just the beginning,” she said, her voice cheerful but slightly strained. “It’ll get better once we get settled in.”

I hoped she was right. For now, though, all I could think about was finding a cool, shaded spot and trying to regain some semblance of composure. The fantasy of a perfect summer seemed to be melting away as quickly as the ice in my now lukewarm drink.

I fumbled with the keys to the front door, my fingers slick with sweat. The lock was stubborn, refusing to cooperate as I struggled to get inside. My mom was at my side, trying to help but also looking equally overheated.

“Maybe I should have warned you about the heat,” she said, her voice strained but still optimistic. “It’s a bit of an adjustment.”

“I think ‘a bit’ is an understatement,” I managed to reply, finally pushing the door open and stepping into the cooler interior. The contrast was immediate, but the relief was short-lived as I realized the air conditioning wasn’t working properly.

“This is not how I pictured it,” I admitted, feeling my earlier excitement wane. The romanticized version of this trip was crumbling under the harsh reality of the Mediterranean heat and my physical discomfort.

My mom looked around, her face showing a mixture of apology and determination. “We’ll get it sorted,” she said. “Let’s just unpack and try to cool off. Maybe a cold shower will help.”

I nodded, trying to muster up some enthusiasm. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan. I just hope the heat doesn’t turn this whole trip into a sweaty ordeal.” To foreshadow, it pretty much was like that the entire trip.

As soon as I stepped inside, the first thing that hit me was the chaotic array of shoes scattered haphazardly across the floor. There were sneakers, sandals, and flip-flops in a disordered spread as if a small army had shed their footwear in a hurry. The once inviting entrance now resembled a makeshift shoe rack, cluttered with mismatched pairs and abandoned shoes.

“Mama, it looks like we’re not the first ones here,” I said, my voice tinged with annoyance as I kicked aside a stray sandal. “It’s a mess.” I could feel my frustration mounting as I took in the scene. The once appealing idea of arriving at a neatly prepared vacation home now seemed overshadowed by the disorder and lack of preparation.

God, I hoped that whoever was here didn't make the whole place look like the dorm room of a stinky, smelly, teenage boy.

Mama quickly scanned the surrounding areas. “Oh, I didn’t realize. They must have arrived before us. They’re probably out exploring the city.”

“That’s just great,” I said, feeling a mix of irritation and resignation. “They’re already out having fun while we’re stuck schlepping our luggage.”

With a sigh, I grabbed two huge pieces of luggage and began dragging them up a narrow flight of stairs. Each step felt like a small victory, but the sweat pouring down my back made every movement feel like a monumental effort. I didn’t even know my butt could sweat that much. It was as if my entire body was engaged in a desperate battle against the oppressive heat. My clothes clung to me in a way that made me feel like a walking puddle.

Every few steps, I had to stop and catch my breath, wiping the sweat from my forehead and cursing under my breath. The heat inside the house, combined with the physical exertion, had me feeling utterly drenched. My damp hair stuck to my neck, and I could smell the distinct, unpleasant odor of sweat mingling with the heat.

“Can you believe this?” I called down to my mom, trying to keep my frustration in check while I heaved one suitcase up another step. “I’m already drenched, and we haven’t even started unpacking. I feel like I’m swimming in my sweat!”

“I’m sure it’ll be worth it once we get settled,” she said from below, her voice slightly muffled by the distance. “Just hang in there. Take that cold shower, aye? It’ll make you feel better.”

Her optimism was appreciated, but it did little to ease the burning frustration I felt. I finally managed to get both suitcases into our room and collapsed onto the bed, feeling utterly defeated. My legs felt like jelly, and I flopped down with a dramatic groan. The mattress, thankfully cooler than the air, felt like the only respite I’d had all day.

“I’m taking a shower,” I announced, my voice flat with exhaustion. “I need to cool off before I melt into a puddle. This heat is seriously getting to me.”

Grabbing all my toiletries in one hand (which would be moderately regrettable in approximately a minute), my phone and a towel haphazardly slung over my shoulder, I sped-walked to the nearest bathroom. My appearance was nothing short of disastrous: a loose beige bra that clung awkwardly to my sweat-drenched skin, and tightly fitted black spandex shorts that felt like they were melting into my sweaty legs. But, by golly, I was determined to take a shower. I assured myself that no one was there but Mama and me.

That is what I thought.

Clearly, that thought changed when I threw open the bathroom door to be met with a wall of steam and the startling sight of a pasty, pale chest belonging to a random white guy. In a comedy of errors, we collided headfirst into each other. He let out a yelp of surprise as I stumbled backward, dropping my toiletries and towel in the process.

“AHHH!” We both screamed in unison, our voices mingling in a perfect pitch of panic and disbelief. My phone slipped from my grasp and clattered to the floor, the emergency contact screen flashing in alarm and my phone's flashlight being turned on as it bounced. The towel, now airborne, landed atop the guy’s head like a makeshift hat, which only made the situation more absurd. My toiletries, scattered like fallen soldiers, rolled across the tile in every direction.

In the frenzy, the guy’s shampoo bottle, which had been precariously perched on the edge of the sink, took a dive and exploded into a foamy mess, splattering us both with a thick layer of bubbles. I slipped on the slick tile, my foot skidding out from under me and sending me crashing into a pile of wet towels.

In the chaos, I tried to grab onto the nearest thing for support, which ended up being his bicep. My fingers closed around the surprisingly smooth and firm muscle, and I couldn't help but notice how it felt like a warm, solid rock under my touch. The unexpected contact sent a flush of heat to my cheeks, and I found myself blushing furiously as I tried to steady myself.

Never mind the sudden fucking romance, I was flailing and falling, and it was embarrassing as hell.

As I yanked on his arm, he lost his balance and we both went tumbling to the floor in a tangled heap of limbs, shampoo, and toilet paper. The sheer force of our combined weight caused the guy to slam into the opposite wall, sending a shower of misplaced toiletries and a small avalanche of cleaning supplies cascading down on us. We landed in an awkward, sprawled mess, my leg draped over his and his arm pinned beneath my back, all while the air was filled with the scent of minty shampoo.

"What the actual fuck," The weird white guy said. I was surprised to hear an Australian accent escape his mouth, quite different than the accents I heard every day.

"Who the fuck are you?" I exclaimed in disbelief, trying to stand up, but wincing because my head and bum hurt very much.

He groaned, trying to sit up and shift me off his chest. "I'm Oscar. From Australia."

"Oscar who?" I asked, still struggling to comprehend the situation while attempting to fix my disheveled hair.

“Oscar from Australia,” he deadpanned, his frustration evident. His wet hair, still dripping from his recent shower, clung to his forehead, adding to his slightly disheveled look. Despite his frown, which was more a mix of irritation and bemusement, there was something oddly cute about him. His features were sharp but softened by his annoyed expression, and his damp hair only added to his rugged charm. The heat of the bathroom made his skin glisten slightly, and the combination of his tousled hair and pouty frown gave him a kind of adorably exasperated vibe. "You know, as in the guy whose bicep you just clung to like a life raft in a storm."

"Well, excuse me, Oscar from Australia," I retorted, finally managing to get to my feet but still wobbly. "I didn’t exactly plan on meeting you in such a—uh—personal way."

Oscar smirked, flicking some shampoo suds off his hand. "Yeah, well, this wasn’t how I planned to greet my new neighbors either. I was expecting someone who could walk without tripping over thin air, but hey, I guess we can’t all be that lucky."

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. "Great. So not only am I dealing with a mess of shampoo and toiletries, but now I have to navigate an awkward introduction with some guy who thinks he’s important enough to be 'Oscar from Australia.'" I honestly did not give a fuck if he was called "Oscar from Bumfuck Nowhere" or "Oscar the Prince of Bahrain", he needed to chill the fuck out.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, still struggling to keep a straight face. "Well, you know, ‘Oscar from Australia’ doesn’t have a very high bar for first impressions apparently. But hey, at least you’ll remember me, right?”

I rolled my eyes, snatching my towel off his head. "Yeah, I’ll definitely remember you as the guy who managed to turn my bathroom break into an episode of slapstick comedy."

Wiping a loose tear that streamed down my face due to shampoo getting in my eyes, I continued. "I just wanted a goddamn shower after that long plane ride and the bloody heat from outside man. What the hell…" I drifted off.

Oscar’s face twitched between amusement and exasperation. Honestly, now that I am thinking about it, his countenance was definitely leaning more toward exasperation and frustration. "I’m sorry my ‘Australian charm’ is such a disaster for you. But you know, I wasn’t exactly planning on getting tackled by a very disheveled girl either."

I huffed, my arms crossed defiantly over my chest, and my posture was a rigid display of frustration. My shoulders were hunched slightly, and I tilted my head to one side, making it clear I was not in the mood for further nonsense. My face was a portrait of annoyance—my brows were furrowed deeply, and my lips were pressed into a thin line. A flush of irritation spread across my cheeks, and my eyes, which had been rimmed with the remnants of shampoo, glared at Oscar with unfiltered exasperation. Every muscle in my expression seemed to scream, "Seriously?" as I struggled to keep my composure amidst the chaotic aftermath of our unintended collision.

"Oh, so now I’m ‘disheveled’? You might have noticed I was in the middle of trying to clean myself up when you decided to become a human wrecking ball."

Oscar chuckled despite himself. "Look, I didn’t mean to turn your bath into a soap opera. It was an accident—just like your epic phone drop and shampoo explosion." The audacity of this guy to even put my "epic phone drop" in air quotes. What a comic. Haha, totally funny.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Yeah, well, it’s not every day I get tackled by a random guy in the shower. Maybe you could’ve picked a less dramatic way to introduce yourself."

This "Oscar from Australia" guy was really starting to annoy me.

To be fair, I may have been escalating the whole thing because I truly do feel like a different person the moment heat washes over me. And this whole situation—sweaty, disheveled, and now dealing with a ridiculously charming yet infuriating Australian—was the cherry on top of my chaotic day.

Oscar shook his head, a smirk still tugging at his lips. "Well, if you ever need a more dramatic first impression, you know where to find me." With that, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the steamy mess of the bathroom.

The jokes on him, first impressions are first and quite permanent. They don't change.

As I stood in the shower, still reeling from our chaotic confrontation, I finally managed to get my shower running. The cool water cascading down my back felt like a small slice of relief after the sweltering heat and tension of the past few minutes. I glanced at my reflection in the misty mirror, trying to scrub away the remnants of shampoo and irritation. My hair, now a tangled mess of suds and frustration, clung to my face as I attempted to regain some semblance of dignity.

It struck me suddenly—amidst the chaos and embarrassment—that something had shifted within me. I had been more assertive and bold than I ever remembered being, and this unexpected encounter had stirred confidence in me I hadn't recognized before. I didn’t just let the situation unfold; I stood my ground, even if it meant facing down a charming yet infuriating Australian.

Blushing slightly, I scolded myself silently. Really? Hurling myself at a guy I just met the moment I get to Santorini? It was like I’d thrown my usual reserved self out the window along with my dignity.

This wasn't Love Island. And he certainly wasn't the steamy-hot Australian guy from Casa who would be able to woo my heart in mere milliseconds.

Sweet lord, Clementine told me to reset myself this vacation. I had singlehandedly managed to reset my personality in three minutes.

As I rinsed the last of the foam from my hair, a sudden pang of regret hit me. I had never actually told Oscar my name. How had I managed to skip such a basic part of an introduction amid our chaotic collision? The thought gnawed at me, adding another layer to my mortification.

To him, I was probably that weird, really sweaty, and kind of stinky vacation girl with a pissy attitude. Now I am not saying that that isn't a spot-on accurate description of me, but it kind of hurts that I didn't behave better.

A lack of decorum on both of our parts, I'll conclude.

I couldn’t help but replay the moment when I’d bumped into him—his rock-solid chest meeting mine with surprising warmth. My eyes had instinctively trailed down from his broad shoulders to the defined abs that quite literally were making eye contact with me. The firm, unexpected contact of his body against mine had sent a jolt through me, making me acutely aware of how close we’d been.

Even now, the memory of that fleeting contact made me blush deeper, and my face felt like it was on fire. The way his chest had felt—solid and warm—seemed to linger, leaving an imprint on my senses. I recalled how his abs had pressed against me, their tautness undeniable from even where I was standing. It was almost embarrassing how my eyes had involuntarily traced those contours, as if they were a new and intriguing landscape I had never seen before.

Ugh, what the fuck. I desperately needed a Facetime to debrief all of this confusing absurdity with dearest Clementine.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09

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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 1 month ago

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── # to you who shines the brightest (i'll give you everything). masterlist. a kieran × mc!reader series.

summary: the fact that remained was this: some things were simply never meant to be. the universe's design was absolute; it was dangerous to go against it. but what if in this universe, things were different? what if in this universe, there's a glimmer of a chance? what if in this universe... fate no longer mattered? “to me, you’re already a sin i can’t refuse; sweeter than evil.” so to you who shines the brightest, i'll give you everything. [inspired by "volcano" by han jisung] general tags: canon-divergent, canon-typical violence, 2nd pov (primarily), female reader, slow burn, forbidden love, friends-with-benefits, friends-with-benefits to lovers, light/darkness dynamic, pining, yearning, unrequired-requited love, mentions of sacrifice, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, misunderstandings, communication issues, eventual smut. smut tags indicated for every chapter with smut. "kieran: volcano" — for chapter updates, wips, thoughts, etc in relation to the series.

status: coming soon - waiting on sylus' myth for possible lore updates! series update schedule tba. please reply below to be added to the taglist!

this series contains sexual content, and is only for those 18+. if you are a minor, please do not interact. I BLOCK MINORS AND BLOGS WITHOUT ANY AGE INDICATOR.

prelude.

poetry, general intro, angst, mention of scars (general). ~200 wc.

chapter one.

— TBA

taglist: @.darlingdummycassandra @.milkandstarlight @.thoupenguinman @.valyvinny @.rafayelsheart @.jellyroom2 @.chemiru @.ywnzn @.pepprrmint @.angel-jupiter @.cordidy @.raiyuxa @.xai-mery @.radiantbrilliance @.oharasmommymilkers00 @.pikachuzhc @.venussakura @.love-and-deepstrays @.cloverlilies @.midiplier @.kreishin @.deusfoundry @.m2ichaelis @.keioxo

notes: welcome to absolute insanity, brought to you by yours truly!!!!!!!!!!!!!! if you know me, you also know that i am abso-fucking-lutely obsessed with the twins, and if you’ve read “Don’t Let Me Love You”, you also know that (a) i’m kieran-biased, and (b) i have wanted so badly for so long to dive into the intricacies of his character and motivations. SO just a few things about my beloved baby of a fic that i’ll yap about, and for you to keep in mind as we go along!:

(1) ; some very specific parts will be in 3rd-person omniscient (such as this prelude), but MOST chapters will be in 2nd pov, ideally alternating between yours and kieran's pov!

(2) ; this fic IS based on canon lore with the same canon setting, and as much as possible will be accurate in that sense—however, considering as we know very little canon sylus lore and even less about the twins, lore and such will be very loose so please take it with a grain of salt! (the tag “canon-divergence” is there for a reason, after all~)

(3) ; will absolutely include my take on the possible dynamics between kieran and mc, modeled after the theme of love and deepspace as a game and an overarching “myth”. therefore, you can see chapters such as this which hint towards a bigger picture!

im really excited to write this out, and equally excited to share with fellow luke and kieran truthers <3 i hope you’ll be along for the ride!

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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03jyh23 · 8 months ago

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— 2 soon || kim hongjoong part 1

goes to waste the series based on my favourite keshi songs

(listen here)

idol!hongjoong x non-idol!reader

synopsis: years after choosing his career over you, hongjoong still finds himself haunted by the memories of you. your relationship is a constant dance of on and off, and you cannot stay away from him.

genre: lovers to strangers to ?, angst, smut

trigger warnings: cussing/mature language, break-ups, toxic relationships, possessiveness, toxic jealousy, sex as a coping mechanism, excessive alcohol usage, emotional manipulation, obsession, verbal aggression, emotional distress, mentions of clubbing, career-related stress, explicit sexual content: making out, protected sex (condom), mentions of using birth control, pet names baby, princess, handjob, blowjob, hair pulling, neck kisses, dirty talk, nipple play (?), missionary

words: 12.8 k

reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there! after several intense days of work, it's finally here! the first part of the goes to waste series! while writing 2 soon, i had many negative thoughts and was very self-critical. im still not sure if i did a good job - especially when it comes to smut. smut is the genre where i probably will never feel good enough, but believe me, im really trying. the second part is already in the process of being written. im handing this over to you; thank you very much for such a warm reception of this series, and i hope you'll enjoy it. and please let me know if i missed any trigger warnings for the sexual content!

love, monika. ♡

if you enjoyed this post, i’d be so grateful for a little love – a like, reblog or comment would truly make my day!

taglist: @skittyneos @kyeos4ng @vcutparis

one

There you were, unexpectedly positioned in a scenario you never once imagined you would find yourself in. It was the middle of the night, the hour when all was quiet and still. Your ordinarily vibrant living room was dimmed, with only a single floor lamp in the corner casting long, dramatic shadows across the room. You were nestled into the corner of the worn-out comfortable sofa, hugging a pillow close as if it were your only lifeline. The only sounds filling the silence were the words from your boyfriend, each one hanging heavy in the cold air. You were painfully aware of what was coming, a gut-wrenching feeling of imminent heartbreak washing over you. The reality of the situation was that there was no escaping this conversation, no possibility of emerging unscathed. The knowledge that Hongjoong was about to shatter your heart into pieces was a bitter pill to swallow. This moment was the beginning of an end you had never anticipated. And it was happening tonight.

"The company believes that you will become a distraction," Hongjoong said, his voice laced with an undercurrent of tension.

"I don't give a damn about your stupid company," you retorted, your hand trembling and your eyes welling up with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. "I wasn't a distraction all these years when you were a trainee, so why am I suddenly one now?" Hongjoong paced nervously across the room, his movements betraying his inner turmoil. He was torn between the company and you, and he didn't know how to navigate this minefield.

"Y/N..." he sighed heavily, his hand running through his hair in a nervous gesture. "Now that Ateez is gaining more attention after our first prize win and the new album coming soon, the company..." he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. "They believe I need to remain more focused."

"I don't fucking care about what they think, Hongjoong!" you shouted, your voice cracking with the weight of your emotions. "You think I give a damn about their opinion?" you continued, your voice rising with each word. "They don't know us, they don't know what we've been through. All they see is some stupid company policy, but they don't see the love that we share." Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke, the pain of the situation threatening to consume you whole. You had never felt so helpless, so powerless.

"Please, try to calm down. You're not making this any easier," Hongjoong pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

''I don’t fucking believe that after almost three years they decided I will become a problem...'' Your voice cracked, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. Hongjoong looked at you, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. It was clear that this conversation was tearing him apart just as much as it was you. "Hongjoong, do you believe what they're saying?" you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. "Do you think they're right?"

He paused, his back still turned towards you. "I... I don't know, Y/N," he confessed, his voice barely audible. "What if they are right?" The question hung in the air, a haunting doubt that only added to the heartache. Your heart pounded in your chest, the words echoing in your mind.

"You already believed them…'' you asserted, your voice tinged with a hint of defiance. ''I can't believe that you see me as a distraction now." With a frustrated cry, you grabbed the pillow and hurled it across the room, the action serving as a physical release for the pent-up anger and despair that threatened to consume you. "Fuck it, Hongjoong," you choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I need you to choose me. I need you to fight for us, for our love. Because if you don't, then what's the point of any of this?"

There was a long silence before he finally spoke. "I...I need to do what's best for my career," he answered softly, sounding utterly defeated. "And if that means that we..." his voice trailed off and he didn't finish the sentence. You felt a lump in your throat and fought back the tears.

''So, you’re going to leave me?'' Hongjoong turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and resignation.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Hongjoong's eyes flickered with pain as he met your gaze, his own turmoil reflected in the depths of his gaze. "I can't lose my career, Y/N! It's everything I've worked for.'' His words cut through you like a knife, searing through your heart. You had always known that his career was important to him, but you had never imagined that he would be willing to sacrifice your relationship for it. ''I’m sorry, Y/N,'' he managed to say, his voice filled with regret. ''I have to do this.''

"Just say it already..." Your voice was shaky, the tension in the room was palpable, and the silence that followed was deafening.

"I want to break up," Hongjoong finally said, his voice barely audible but clear enough for you to hear.

Your voice broke as you responded, "If this is your decision, then I'm not going to fight it. I won't beg you to stay, Hongjoong." The room was filled with a painful silence after your words. The reality of what was happening hit you both, but you stood your ground. "No, I won't beg," you affirmed, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. "If this is what you've chosen, then I have no right to stop you. But remember this, Hongjoong, love is not a distraction. It's what keeps us human." He looked at you, his eyes welling up with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered, the regret in his voice tangible.

"I need you to leave," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The room fell silent again. With a heavy sigh, Hongjoong cast a long, lingering glance in your direction, his eyes filled with a sadness he had never felt before. You couldn't meet his gaze, your own eyes fixated on the worn-out fabric of the couch, your hands clenched tightly in your lap.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he repeated, his voice just as quiet as yours. He hovered for a moment, as if waiting for you to say something else, offering him a way out of this situation. But there was nothing more to be said. The decision had been made.

"I'm sorry too, Hongjoong," you whispered into the silence, your voice trembling. The words echoed in the quiet room, a bitter acknowledgment of the pain that both of you were feeling. Slowly, Hongjoong headed towards the door, his steps heavy and uncertain. Each footstep felt like a punch to your heart, amplifying the emptiness that was beginning to set in. As the front door opened, a shiver went down your spine. With one last look, Hongjoong closed the door behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet apartment. The silence was deafening, the absence of his presence felt like a void. You sat there, motionless, the harsh reality of what had just happened slowly sinking in. Eventually, you rose from the couch, your legs feeling like jelly. You switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You could still feel the remnants of Hongjoong's presence, the memories of your time together felt almost tangible. But, he was gone. And you were left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, alone. Your small apartment never felt lonelier.

two

The room was dimly lit by a single lamp, casting shadows everywhere. Hongjoong sat on the hotel floor, his heart ached like a heavy stone in his chest, echoing the raw, jagged pain of an all-too-fresh wound. Next to him sat a half-empty bottle of whiskey, its strong liquor failing to dull the hollow gnawing pain that gripped him. For the past few months, Hongjoong had been busier than he'd ever been. Recording sessions that kept him up all night, followed by grueling dance practices to perfect choreography. Once ATEEZ’s first studio album was finally out, there was an endless string of fan sign events and meetings. Then, his dreams came true — they announced a world tour. Hongjoong was so busy that eating and sleeping felt like a luxury. He was happy, but not completely. Something was always missing. You were missing. Hongjoong'd become a master at hiding his pain from the world. So good, in fact, that he'd even managed to hide it from himself. But even as busy as Hongjoong was with his career, there were moments when he couldn't help but constantly think about you. And in those small moments every song that he wrote, every dance he choreographed, every performance he gave, you were always on his mind. Hongjoong was haunted by your memories, by the love he had lost. And even if he was being so good at hiding his emotions, his bandmates could see the change in him. They saw the sadness in his eyes, the heaviness in his steps, the emptiness in his laughter. But they said nothing, respecting his silence, knowing that this was a battle he had to fight on his own. Now, it’s been over six months since he broke up with you. Since he had chosen his career over your love, ambition over affection. He believed it was the right decision, but it did not lessen the pain of his heartbreak.

Hongjoong's eyes fell on his phone, lying innocently on the carpet. He had been contemplating it for hours, his heart pounding with apprehension. He longed to reach out to you, to hear your voice again and beg for forgiveness. Everything seemed so pointless without you. His dreams and ambitions felt hollow and meaningless. The fame, the success, the love from fans all over the world — none of it mattered. Because without you by his side, sharing in his joy and success, it all felt empty. All he could think of was the sweet sound of your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the comfort of your presence. And the longer he was without you, the more he realized how much he had lost. Taking a shaky breath, Hongjoong gathered the courage to pick the phone up, dialed your number with unsteady fingers, and pressed the call button. Eight rings echoed in his ears, each one a chance to hang up, to retreat, to save himself from the impending heartache. But he didn't. He couldn't.

"Hello?"

"H-hey," His voice wavered, barely more than a whisper, "How... how you been? How you doing?" His heart pounded against his ribs. The room felt smaller with every passing second as if the walls were closing in on him. Hongjoong gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles turning white as if holding onto it was the only thing keeping him grounded at that moment.

"I've been... okay," your voice was guarded, a stark contrast to the warmth it used to hold when you spoke to him. "Just... keeping busy, you know." Your heart was pounding loudly, so loud you were scared Hongjoong was going to hear it on the other side of the phone. You tried to steady your breathing, focusing on each exhale and inhale. There was silence on the other end. You could almost picture Hongjoong there, sitting in the dimly lit room, phone in hand, as he grappled with your words. The silence stretched on and for a moment.

"I've... I've been drinking," he confessed, a bitter laughter escaping his lips. "Thought I'd be over you by now... but I'm not. I can't be." His voice cracked, raw emotion spilling out. There was a pause again, a silence that seemed to last forever.

"Hongjoong..." you murmured, your voice filled with a detached understanding that was almost more painful than the silence before. "You... You shouldn't be drinking, Hongjoong," you said softly, concern seeping into your voice despite your best efforts to keep it neutral.

"I miss you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I... I know I caused you pain. I know I can't turn back time. But I... I can't imagine a life without you." The line went silent once again, except for his ragged breath and the deafening beat of his heart. Hongjoong held his breath, waiting, knowing that your next words could either set him free or push him further into his torment. Despite the distance, despite the coldness in your voice, he thought he detected a hint of lingering affection for him. It was subtle, nearly imperceptible, but it was there. A slight hesitation in your voice before you spoke, a soft sigh he barely caught. It gave him a glimmer of hope, but also a sea of despair. Because he knew that even though you might still harbor feelings for him, his choices had wounded you.

"I miss you too," you said, your voice so quiet that he almost missed the words. And in that moment, he knew that you felt the pain just as sharply as he did. Despite the remnants of love between you, you were both trapped in this cycle of regret and longing, both victims of his ambition. He longed to tell you that he loved you, that he was ready to give up everything to be with you. But the words wouldn't come. Because he knew he couldn't. He couldn't let go of his career, but he couldn't let go of you either. And so, he found himself stuck in this self-destructive cycle, driven by his own choices and his inability to let go of the past. The burden of his decisions hung heavy in the silence. His heart ached with unspoken words and the bitter sting of regret.

"I want to see you..." Hongjoong whispered into the phone, as he took another swig of the whiskey, the bitter liquid burning his throat, a fitting punishment for his mistakes. He closed his eyes, the image of your face clear in his mind, the memory of your laughter echoing in his ears. He missed you. He missed you more than he could put into words, more than he could bear. But all he had were his dreams and ambitions, the things he chose over you. ''I don’t know what I’m expecting'' All Hongjoong knew was that he missed you and that no amount of fame or success could fill the void you left in his heart.

"I... I want to see you too," you responded, soft and hesitant, yet filled with a longing that mirrored his own. Since the day Hongjoong left, your world had changed drastically, nothing felt the same. You tried to move on, to heal and rebuild your life without him. But it seemed like every time you made a little progress, something related to ATEEZ would unexpectedly appear, pulling you back into the memories of him. It was as if the universe was conspiring to ensure Hongjoong remained an inescapable part of your life, refusing to let you forget him.

"I don't know if this is a good idea...but, can we meet?" Hongjoong held his breath, waiting for your response, the silence between you two stretching out into a deafening void.

"Okay," you finally whispered back, the single word carrying a world of hope and fear, a promise of a reunion fraught with uncertainties and unspoken feelings. A wave of relief washed over Hongjoong, followed by a pang of anxiety. He had so many things he wanted to say to you, so many apologies to make, so many feelings to confess. But he feared that it might be too late, that the damage he had caused was irreparable. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult for him to speak.

"Thank you," he managed to whisper, his voice barely audible. "I'll be back home in a few weeks, I’ll see you then?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'll see you then," you replied softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. "Take care of yourself, Hongjoong.''

The call ended, leaving Hongjoong alone in the dimly lit room once again. He sat there, staring at his phone, his heart heavy with a mix of relief, fear, and longing. He didn't know if this was the beginning of a new chapter or the closure of an old one. All he knew was that he needed to see you. He needed to say the things he had been unable to say for the past six months. And most importantly, he needed to apologize.

three

The interminable weeks you anxiously awaited for Hongjoong's return seemed to mercilessly drag on, transforming into a seemingly endless expanse of time. In truth, the past few months without him felt like an eternity, every moment punctuated by his absence. After the initial shock of your breakup, which shook you to your core, you managed to shake off the immobilizing numbness that it brought. Once the initial shock was dealt with, you allowed yourself to fall into a routine, an everyday pattern of activities that became your lifeline in these challenging times. This routine, mundane as it might have been, was the only thing that kept you going, the only thing that kept you sane amidst the tumult of emotions that threatened to consume you. It was your anchor in a sea of chaos, providing a sense of normalcy in a world that, without Hongjoong, felt anything but normal. So, when you saw the news that ATEEZ had returned from their tour, it took you by surprise. You thought Hongjoong would call you straight away, that he would want to see you as much as you wanted to see him. You were holding on to the thought of seeing the man you loved again, of finding closure, or perhaps a new beginning. But the call didn't come, and with each passing day, your hope dwindled a little more. The silence was deafening, filling you with a sense of dread and disappointment. But despite everything, you continued to wait, clinging on to the hope of hearing from him. Days turned into weeks, and the silence from Hongjoong was deafening. You tried to keep yourself busy, to distract your mind from the painful thoughts that threatened to consume you. You began to question his intentions, wondering whether he really meant what he said during the phone call. Did he truly miss you, or was it just a moment of weakness? Did he genuinely want to see you, or was he simply trying to ease his guilt? Your mind was a whirlpool of questions, doubts, and insecurities. You felt like you were trapped in a never-ending cycle of hope and despair. Despite the emotional turmoil, you couldn't bring yourself to reach out to him first. You weren't ready to face the possibility of rejection, the fear of him telling you that he had moved on and that the phone call was a mistake. So, you waited, hoping against hope that he would contact you.

One evening, while you were trying to drown your sorrows in a sad movie and a tub of ice cream, the doorbell rang, startling you out of your thoughts. Your heart pounded in your chest as you got up to answer it. As you swung the door open, there he was. Hongjoong stood on your doorstep, looking just as nervous and scared as you felt. You were taken aback, not having expected him to show up at your doorstep. You felt a mix of emotions - surprise, fear, anxiety, but also a strange relief. Despite the emotional turmoil swirling within you, you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at the sight of him. He was as handsome as always, his dark blue hair tousled slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and longing. For a moment, you found yourself lost in the depths of his gaze, the familiar warmth of his presence washing over you like a comforting embrace. It was surreal to see him standing there, on your doorstep, after so many weeks of silence and uncertainty. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the tumult of emotions that raged within you.

"H-Hey," he stuttered out, his eyes avoiding yours. "I hope I'm not... I hope this isn't too soon."

"No, it's... it's okay. Come in," you said, stepping aside to let him in. He hesitated for a moment, then walked inside. You closed the door behind him, it felt strangely normal to have him there, in your apartment, as if the last few months had been nothing but a bad dream. But the tension in the air was palpable, a reminder that things weren't the same anymore. You led him to the living room, he took a deep breath, his gaze wandering around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings.

"It's been a while," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, it has," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. The silence that followed was deafening, both of you lost in your own thoughts. Finally, Hongjoong broke the silence.

"I... I wanted to apologize," he began, his voice shaky. "I know I hurt you, and I'm... I'm really sorry." He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "I made a mistake... a big one. And I... I want to make it right." You were silent for a moment, processing his words. It was what you had been waiting to hear, but now that he had said it, you didn't know how to respond. You looked at him, studying his face, searching for sincerity in his eyes. Despite the hurt and confusion swirling within you, you couldn't deny the flicker of hope that ignited at his words. His apology felt genuine, raw with emotion. As you wrestled with your thoughts, a part of you longed to forgive him, to embrace the possibility of reconciliation. Yet another part remained guarded, wary of opening yourself up to further pain. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I've missed you so much," he confessed. Suddenly, Hongjoong reached out, pulling you into an embrace. The sudden movement startled both of you, but neither of you pulled away. On the contrary, you nestled deeper into his arms, burying your face into the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne instantly calmed your racing heart, making you feel like you were home again. In his arms, the pain and heartache of the past few months seemed to melt away. As you held each other in a tight embrace, the weight of the past few months began to lift, replaced by a sense of comfort and familiarity. Despite the pain and uncertainty that had plagued your relationship, being in his arms felt right, as if you were finally where you were meant to be.

"I've missed you too," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. The words were a confession, a raw admission of the emptiness that had consumed you in his absence. The warmth of his embrace melted away the walls you had built around your heart. Despite the doubts and uncertainties that lingered in the back of your mind, you couldn't deny the overwhelming rush of emotions that surged through you. Without thinking, you lifted your head from the crook of his neck, meeting Hongjoong’s gaze with tear-filled eyes. At that moment, all the words you had been longing to say seemed to vanish from your mind, replaced by a desperate need to express the depth of your feelings for him. Leaning forward, you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a tender, passionate kiss. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though time stood still, the world around you fading into oblivion as you lost yourself in the intoxicating warmth of his embrace. In that moment, all the pain and heartache of the past seemed insignificant, overshadowed by the overwhelming rush of love and longing that coursed through your veins. As you pulled away, breathless and trembling, you found yourself staring into his eyes, searching for some sign of understanding, of reciprocation. Hongjoong smiled and giggled quietly,

''I did not expect this…'' Your heart fluttered at the sound of his soft laughter, a gentle melody that filled the room. Despite the gravity of the situation, his laughter was like a balm to your wounded soul, easing some of the tension that had been building within you. Hongjoong’s hand found its way to your flushed cheek, it was a comforting presence, his touch sending shivers down your spine as you leaned into his touch, relishing the warmth of his palm against your skin.

"I know," you replied softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

''Can we do it again?'' A soft chuckle escaped your lips at his bashful demeanor, finding it endearing how he could still manage to blush after all this time.

"Of course," you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you leaned in closer to him. The warmth of Hongjoong’s breath against your skin sent a thrill coursing through you, reigniting the spark of desire that had never truly faded between you. Closing the distance between you, you pressed your lips to his once more, savoring his familiar taste and feel. It was as if no time had passed at all, as if you were picking up right where you had left off, lost in the intensity of your love for each other. As you pulled away breathlessly, the intensity of the moment lingering between you, Hongjoong placed his forehead against yours, his hand pulling you closer by your waist. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that had been dormant for far too long. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate and needy. Your bodies pressed together, the heat between you rising. Hongjoong's voice was husky when he pulled back, his breath hot against your ear as he said,

"I'm not gonna stop myself if we keep on." You could feel his arousal pressing against you, a stark reminder of the intimacy you hadn't shared in so long. A shiver ran through your body as you processed his words, your heart pounding in your chest. You had missed this closeness, the intoxicating intimacy that only Hongjoong could provide. Despite the uncertainties that still lingered, your body yearned for his. You met his gaze, your eyes reflecting the desire that was undoubtedly mirrored in his.

"Then don't stop," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. There was no hesitation in his actions then. His lips found yours again, his hands exploring your body, reigniting the flame that had never fully extinguished. Hongjoong's grip on your hips tightened, his touch electrifying, igniting a spark within you. He pulled your hair just the way you liked it, gentle yet firm, exposing your neck to his gaze. He began to leave a trail of wet kisses along your sensitive skin, his warm breath causing shivers to run down your spine. The anticipation was unbearable. You knew that after all this time, after all the longing and desire that had built up between you, you wouldn’t last long. Every fiber of your being was desperate to feel his body against yours, to experience the intimate connection that only he could provide. And as if he could read your thoughts, Hongjoong returned to kissing you, his lips capturing yours in a passionate embrace. He was devouring you with an intensity that took your breath away, his every touch and kiss stoking the fire within you. You felt his hands tugging at the hem of your hoodie, his fingers deftly pulling it over your head in one swift, practiced motion. As the fabric lifted away, the cool air of the room hit your skin, causing a shiver to course through your body. To Hongjoong's surprise, you were not wearing a bra underneath. His eyes, dark with desire, roamed over your exposed chest, taking in the sight of your bare skin. There was a moment of silence as he savored the sight, his breath hitching in his throat. Your head was spinning, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations taking over, and you could feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second. Hongjoong placed his palm on your breast, cupping it gently but firmly. His touch was warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the cool air surrounding you. His fingers, tender and explorative, began to play with your nipple, tracing delicate patterns that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moaned softly. Each touch ignited a spark within you, a flame of desire that seemed to grow with every passing second.

As your hands began to wander, you found yourself drawn to his jeans. Your fingers deftly unclasped his belt, the metallic clink echoing in the room. Heart pounding with anticipation, you slid the zipper down, the sound seeming to reverberate through the room. Hongjoong quickly removed his own shirt, revealing his toned chest. Your hands instinctively reached out to him, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. In response, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground with ease. Hongjoong carried you towards the bedroom, and a sense of anticipation filled the air. As he gently put you down, your eyes locked with his, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. His lips found yours again in a deep, passionate kiss while his hands roamed over your body, further stoking the flame of desire within you. You found yourself lost in his touch, each stroke of his fingers sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. As he slowly moved down, peppering soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, you could hardly contain the moan that escaped your lips. Hongjoong pulled your shorts down, kissing your stomach and hip bones. His touch was electrifying, setting your skin ablaze with a hunger that only he could satisfy. You reached for his pants, finally tugging both them and his boxers down and revealing his throbbing erection. Hongjoong groaned as you wrapped your fingers around his thick dick, you spread pre-cum on his length and stroked him gently yet firmly, eliciting a moan from him. Hongjoong was so hard, so ready for you, and the thought only made you wetter. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you knelt in front of him and placed a kiss on the tip of his throbbing length. Sensing his anticipation, you started licking him from the base all the way to the tip, savoring the taste of him. His body shivered in response to your actions, his breath hitching as he watched you with a mixture of desire and disbelief.

"I missed the way your cock tastes in my mouth,” you said just before you slowly took him all into your mouth, your lips wrapping around his length as you began to bob your head up and down. The sensation elicited a groan from Hongjoong, his hands instinctively reaching for your hair to guide your movements.

"F-fuck," Hongjoong moaned out, his grip on your hair tightening as you continued to pleasure him with your mouth, your tongue swirling around his length in a way that had him seeing stars. His body was tense, filled with an anticipation that was only heightened by the rhythm of your movements. The room was filled with the sound of his ragged breathing and the wet noises of your mouth on him. His hand tugged at your hair, guiding you, setting the pace. His other hand found its way to your shoulder, his fingers digging into your skin as he struggled to keep control. "I... I need to be inside you," he gasped, the words barely more than a whisper. You looked up at him, your eyes locking with his. There was a raw intensity in his gaze that sent a thrill coursing through you. You nodded, releasing him from your mouth with a final lick, a smirk playing on your lips as you watched him shudder at the sensation. You crawled back up his body, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, the sensation eliciting a soft moan from him. Hongjoong's hands found their way to your hips, guiding you to the bed. He positioned himself on top of you, his hands gently spreading your legs. His fingers slowly explored your folds,

"You are so wet, so ready for me" he murmured in awe, his fingers brushing over your slick folds. The sensation caused you to gasp. With a sudden surge of impatience, you pulled him closer by his neck, kissing him aggressively.

"Hongjoong, I need you now," you demanded, your voice thick with desire. He positioned himself, ready to give you what you so desperately wanted. But then, he stopped, pulling back slightly and looking into your eyes with a serious expression.

‘’Are you on the pill?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"No, not anymore," you admitted, biting your lower lip anxiously.

"Condoms?" he asked, hoping that you had some.

"I don't think I have any," you confessed, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Shit, I think I have some in my wallet," he moved off you and rushed to search his wallet, which was carelessly thrown to the side earlier. After a moment, Hongjoong let out a sigh of relief as he pulled out a condom. Returning to the bed, he positioned himself above you again, his dark eyes filled with desire. You took the condom from him, your hands slightly shaking as you carefully unrolled it down his throbbing length. You guided him to your entrance, the anticipation making you shudder with pleasure. As he slowly entered you, you couldn't help but gasp at the overwhelming sensation, the feeling of him inside you sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. As Hongjoong began to move, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your hands found purchase on his shoulders, clinging onto him as if your life depended on it. The rhythm of his movements, slow and deliberate at first, gradually picked up pace, each powerful thrust hitting that sweet spot inside you and drawing moans of pleasure from your lips.

"Hongjoong whatever you do just don't stop now," you moaned, your toes curling in pleasure. His name fell from your lips again in a breathless whisper, the sound of it spurring him on. The room filled with the sounds of your passion, the rhythmic creaking of the bed, and your shared moans and gasps of pleasure.

"You feel so good, baby” he moaned. You felt his dick throbbing inside you, which made you clench around him, making him moan again. As your climax approached, your body tensed, your grip on him tightening. Hongjoong could sense it, and his thrusts became more powerful. "Are you going to cum for me, princess?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. Your body responded to his words before your mind could, a rush of pleasure coursing through your veins. You could do nothing but nod, your body taut with anticipation. Hongjoong’s movements became more deliberate, his rhythm matching your own as the tension built.

"Yes," you breathed out, the word barely escaping your lips before a wave of pleasure washed over you. Your body convulsed, your grip on him tightening as you rode the waves of your orgasm. His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan as you rode out your orgasm, each wave of pleasure more intense than the last. With a final, powerful thrust, Hongjoong groaned, his body tensing as he reached his own peak. Feeling him still buried deep inside you, you could sense the warm sensation of his cum filling the condom. Hongjoong’s head fell to the crook of your neck, his hot breath against your skin as he rode out the waves of his climax. The room fell silent, save for the sound of your labored breaths. He collapsed next to you, took the condom off, and threw it away. Hongjoong pulled you into his arms, and his fingers traced lazy circles on your bare skin, the sensation sending tingles down your spine. You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. There was a softness in his gaze, a tenderness that you hadn't seen for a long time. It warmed your heart, bringing a gentle smile to your face.

"I was going crazy without you," Hongjoong whispered his words a fervent declaration of the depth of his longing. "I missed you every single day," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as you gazed into his eyes, losing yourself in the depths of his gaze.

"You wouldn't let me forget about you," you smiled sadly, "ATEEZ were everywhere." You chuckled, the sound tinged with a hint of melancholy. "Every time I started to get a bit better, you would show up on a TV or the internet."

Hongjoong gave a bitter-sweet laugh, "I guess we're inescapable, huh?" His hand moved from your waist to cradle your face.

"I was so proud of you, Hongjoong," you confessed, your voice choked with emotion. "It just hurt that you needed to leave me to do all these amazing things."

His gaze softened at your words, his thumb gently brushing away the tears welling up in your eyes. "I didn't want to," he admitted quietly, his voice hauntingly sincere.

"Will you stay for tonight?" you asked him, your voice quiet and hopeful. A silence hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and raw emotions. Hongjoong looked at you, his gaze soft and contemplative. It felt like an eternity before he finally responded.

"I wish I could," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret. "But I have to go back. There are things I need to take care of." A pang of disappointment shot through you at his words, but you understood. His world was unforgiving, with schedules and commitments that left little room for personal desires. You knew that asking him to stay was selfish, but some of you couldn't help but wish for a little more time together.

"I understand," you replied, your voice tinged with sadness. "But promise me this won't be the last time we see each other. Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'll come back as soon as I can." You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the tears that threatened to fall. Hongjoong planted one last kiss on your lips, before gently untangling himself from your embrace. He rose from the bed, his eyes scanning the room for his scattered clothing. You pulled a comforter from the bed around your naked body as you got up from the bed, and you walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

"Stay over," you tried convincing him again. "I don't want to be alone." Your lips found the back of his neck, peppering soft kisses there. Each kiss was a silent plea, a yearning for him to stay. He shivered under your touch, goosebumps erupting on his skin. You knew he loved it when you kissed his neck like that. His eyes closed and a soft sigh escaped his lips, a clear sign that he was fighting the urge to stay with you. With one hand, you pulled him in closer, his back pressed against your chest. Your other hand traveled down his torso, exploring his body. You slid your hand lower, until you grabbed his cock, causing Hongjoong to let out a whimper at the sudden contact. The sound was music to your ears, a testament to the effect you had on him. This moment felt right, a perfect blend of desire and intimacy that only you two could share. As you started to pump him slowly, his cock hardened again. Kissing all over his neck, Hongjoong trembled under your touch. Your touch was gentle, yet firm, as you slowly worked him back to full erection. His reactions were immediate and intense, his body trembling under your hands. Hongjoong’s breath hitched in his throat, a soft gasp escaping his lips as you trailed kisses up and down his neck. Every touch, every kiss, seemed to set his nerves on fire, his body humming with pent-up desire.

"Feeling your dick get hard in my hand is so hot," you whispered into his ear. Hongjoong’s breath hitched at your words, he was completely at your mercy, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost himself in the sensations you were coaxing from him. His hands reached for you, his fingers digging into your arm as a silent plea for more. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, each one a testament to the pleasure you were bringing him. The room was filled with the sound of your soft murmurs and his gasps, the air heavy with desire. You took your time, savoring each reaction, each tremor that ran through him.

"I'm going to make you come so hard," you breathed against his neck, your voice filled with a promise of the pleasure to come. A shiver ran through his body at your words, anticipation causing his breath to hitch in his throat. The kisses you trailed along his neck grew more passionate, more desperate, each one a promise of the pleasure to come. He was trembling beneath your touch, his body writhing with anticipation, ready for the climax that was sure to come.

"Need... need to feel your mouth on me. Please, please," he moaned as you sped up your movements on his length. You could feel his desperation in every word, the primal need making his voice tremble. You turned his body to face you, without missing a beat, you moved down his body, trailing kisses along the way. You took him in your mouth, your movements slow and deliberate at first, earning a guttural moan from him. His hand found its way to your hair, fingers tangling in the locks as he guided your movements. With every moan, every gasp for breath, you could feel him lose himself in the pleasure you were giving him. It only spurred you on further, your movements becoming more confident, more insistent. Hongjoong was a moaning mess, his body tensing as he felt the precipice of his release approaching.

"God... F-fuck," he stuttered, the words tumbling out amidst irregular breaths. He looked at you, his eyes dark with desire and pleading. "Baby, I love you... Can I... Can I cum in your mouth?" your eyes met his, a soft nod of consent given as you continued your movements. The quiet room was filled with only the sounds of his heavy breaths and soft curses. Your name fell from his lips like a prayer, his hands gripping your hair tightly. "I love you... I love you so much," he gasped out, his body trembling as he reached his climax. His cum filled your mouth, the taste of him intoxicating and familiar. You swallowed it all, a sense of pride swelling within you. As his release washed over him, you could see the love and adoration in his eyes. He was open, vulnerable, and completely yours at that moment. Post-orgasmic bliss took over him, his body going limp as he tried to regain his breath. You crawled up, placing soft kisses along his chest, his jaw, his lips. Hongjoong pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

"I love you too, Hongjoong," you whispered, your head resting on his chest. His heart was still racing, the rhythm syncing with your own. You could feel his fingers tracing patterns on your back, a content sigh escaping his lips. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. The look in his eyes said it all. He was in love, and so were you. Despite the challenges and the heartache, you belonged together. And in that moment, everything felt right. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy your embrace, his mind lost in the warmth of your touch.

"So, did that earn me your stay?" you asked playfully, a hint of mischief in your eyes as you looked up at him. Hongjoong kissed your forehead, before gently pulling away from your embrace, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he looked at you with regret-filled eyes.

"Baby I really wish I could stay, but I can't," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret. "I have early rehearsals tomorrow. I promise I'll come back soon." He gently extricated himself from your grasp and began to get dressed.

"Don't go," you pleaded softly, your voice barely a whisper. But despite the plea in your eyes, he knew he couldn't stay. No matter how much he wanted to remain by your side, his responsibilities were calling him back.

"I don't want to leave you," Hongjoong murmured in a tone that was barely a whisper, his eyes filled with regret. "But I have to. I have responsibilities that I need to attend to." Despite the warmth of your bodies pressed together and the lingering taste of you on his lips, he knew he couldn't stay. He gave you one last look, his heart aching at the sight of your disheveled hair and the love in your eyes. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering emotions. Once fully dressed, he turned back to you, his gaze soft. He walked over and pulled you into a gentle hug, his hand stroking your hair in a comforting gesture.

"I'll see you soon, I promise," he whispered into your ear before pulling away. Hongjoong gave you one last lingering look, his eyes filled with longing before he opened the door and stepped out of your apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

However, Hongjoong did not keep his promise.

four

Once again, days turned into weeks, and Hongjoong was nowhere to be found. You started to believe that your meeting was only a dream, a figment of your imagination borne out of desperation and longing. Each passing day without any word from him further reinforced this belief. The emptiness that you had once managed to keep at bay was slowly creeping back in, consuming you bit by bit. The silence was deafening, a harsh reminder of the reality you were trying to escape from. It felt as if you were trapped in a never-ending cycle of hope and despair, each passing day a test of your resilience and strength. With each passing day, a seed of doubt began to grow within you. Was it possible that Hongjoong regretted what had happened? Could it be that the promises whispered in the heat of the moment, the tender kisses and reassuring words, were nothing more than a mistake? The thought gnawed at you, casting a dark shadow over the glimmer of hope you had been clinging on to. You found yourself questioning everything, your mind a whirlpool of confusion and despair. Your days were filled with uncertainty and your nights were haunted by dreams of him. You longed for the comfort of his presence, aching for the familiarity of his touch. Yet, all you were left with was the deafening silence, a cruel reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

Three weeks had passed since you last laid eyes on Hongjoong, and the absence was fucking with your head. Questions spun around in your head like a whirlwind, each one piercing deeper than the last. Was it only the sex that he missed? You were haunted by the warmth of his touch and the intoxicating way he used to look at you. The ghost of his touch still lingered on your skin, a cruel reminder of the intimacy that once existed. The silence of your phone was deafening, the man who once couldn't go a day without hearing your voice, who used to fill your inbox with loving messages, had now been reduced to radio silence. Your mind was a battlefield, memories of him clashing violently with the present reality. This was not the Hongjoong you loved and cherished, the one who held you through the darkest nights and lit up your world with his smile. This was a stranger, a phantom wearing Hongjoong's face and carrying his memories, a cruel mockery of the man you once knew.

five

On a sunny afternoon, you came back from grocery shopping and approached your apartment complex. Upon reaching your floor, you found Hongjoong leaning against your door. The sight of him waiting there, a look of nervous anticipation on his face, sent a jolt of surprise through you. The sound of grocery bags dropping onto the floor startled Hongjoong, his head snapping up to see you standing there, a look of shock and anger on your face. He quickly jogged over to help you pick up the scattered items, but you recoiled, pulling the bags away from him.

"Why are you here, Hongjoong?" You spat out his name like it was poison. "I don't want to see you," you quickly got up as you finished picking up what was left from your shopping.

"We both know you don’t mean it…" Hongjoong blurts out, a look of guilt crossing his face.

"My manager found out I came to see you," Hongjoong admitted, avoiding your gaze. "The company... they're not happy. They made me sign a contract." His voice was barely a whisper, but the words hit you with the force of a freight train. "I'm... I'm banned from dating now." His words hung heavily in the air, the final blow to the fairytale you had tried so hard to keep alive. The revelation left you speechless, your heart aching at the harsh reality of his words. You felt a cold wave of disappointment wash over you, the realization of Hongjoong's predicament hitting you like a punch to the gut.

"Banned from dating?" you echoed, the words sounding foreign on your tongue. As the weight of Hongjoong's confession settled over you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal. It wasn't just the fact that he was banned from dating that stung, but the realization that he had chosen to prioritize his career over your relationship once again. "How could you?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "After what happened that night, you still chose them over me?" The hurt and anger bubbled up inside you, threatening to spill over at any moment. You felt like a fool for ever believing that things could be different, for allowing yourself to hope for a future that was never meant to be.

Hongjoong reached out to you, his hand hovering in the air as if unsure whether to touch you. "I didn't have a choice, Y/N," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "You have to believe me. I didn't want this to happen." But his words fell on deaf ears.

"You always have a choice, Hongjoong," you retorted, your voice laced with bitterness. "You chose to sign that contract!" The tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. "You promised you would be back to see me, Hongjoong! You said you missed me and you wanted to make this right. And now this?" you exclaimed, your voice shaking with the intensity of your emotions. The betrayal cut deep, his broken promises like salt in the wound.

"You can't just show up here after weeks of silence and expect me to be okay with this," you continued, your voice raw with emotion. "You've made your choice, Hongjoong. Now, I'm making mine. I can't do this anymore."

Your words hung heavily in the air, the finality of them echoing in the silence that enveloped the two of you. Hongjoong was left standing there, a stunned expression on his face as he processed your words. The man who was once your world, who held your heart in his hands, was now a stranger standing before you.

"I... I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes were brimming with regret, the weight of his actions visibly weighing on him.

"But you did, Hongjoong," you replied, your voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill. "You hurt me... and the worst part is, you chose to. You chose them over me... again."

The silence that followed was deafening, the tension palpable. Hongjoong looked as if he wanted to say something, to defend himself or perhaps apologize, but no words came out. It was as if he finally realized the gravity of his actions, the damage that he had caused.

You turned your back on him, the sight of him too painful to bear. The man you loved was no more, replaced by a stranger who wore his face and held his memories. As you walked away, you could feel his gaze on you, heavy with regret and longing. But it was too late. The damage had been done, and there was no turning back.

You walked into your apartment, closing the door behind you. The finality of the sound echoing in the silent hallway. As you leaned against the door, your knees gave out, sending you sliding down to the floor. Sobs racked your body, the tears flowing freely now. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Y/N, please," Hongjoong's voice filtered through the door, his tone desperate. "I love you, please let me in." But you couldn't bring yourself to open the door, to face him again. His words, once so comforting, now felt like a cruel mockery of what you once shared. You wrapped your arms around yourself as if to ward off the chill that had seeped into your bones.

"I can't, Hongjoong," you whispered, your voice barely audible. The silence that ensued was deafening, only broken by the occasional sob that escaped your lips. You could hear Hongjoong's muffled pleas on the other side of the door,

"Baby, I need you to understand," he began, his voice steady despite the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "I love you. In this world, it's always been you. Without you, I feel so alone. I need you to really hear me when I say that I love you." he murmured, his voice filled with so much pain that it made your heart ache.

Your cry spasmed through your body, causing you to shiver uncontrollably. Between gasps for air, you managed to sob out, "I love you too." Hongjoong’s voice fell silent on the other side of the door, and you clung to the silence, hoping, praying that he had left. But then you heard it, a low, heartbreaking sob from the other side.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Hongjoong's voice was barely more than a whisper, choked with emotion. "I'm sorry for everything." You clung to the cold, hard floor, your body wracked with sobs. The apartment felt emptier than ever, the silence echoing through the space, a stark reminder of your loneliness.

"Please let me in," he tried begging again, his voice echoing through the silence. But you couldn't. You were too hurt, too betrayed. You curled up tighter on the cold floor, your heart aching as his pleas continued to echo through the small apartment.

"I...I need to go," Hongjoong finally whispered, his voice heavy with sorrow. You heard his footsteps recede and the faint sound of the hallway door closing. You were finally alone, the silence in the apartment a stark reminder of the void he had left behind. In the silence of your apartment, you allowed yourself to break down completely. Your sobs echoed through the empty space, your heartache manifesting in the tears that streamed down your face. You felt the loss of him deeply like a part of you had been ripped away.

six

You had lost track of how much time had passed since you last saw Hongjoong. The days blurred into weeks, and the weeks blurred into months. Morning turned into night, and night turned back into morning, but the ache in your heart remained constant. Hongjoong’s absence was like a gaping wound that refused to heal. You found yourself going through the motions of life, putting on a brave face during the day while falling apart in the solitude of the night. Every little thing reminded you of him - a certain song on the radio, the scent of his favorite cologne lingering in the air, the way the morning sunlight streamed through the window just the way he liked it. You knew it was wrong, that you needed to move on, but it was easier said than done. The memories of him were etched deep within your heart, a part of you that you couldn’t just erase. You missed his laughter, his touch, the way he used to look at you. You missed him, and it hurt more than you ever thought possible. Try as you might, you were coping really badly without him. His absence had left a void in your life that you didn't know how to fill. You felt lost, adrift in a sea of loneliness. You yearned for his presence, for the comfort and familiarity that he brought into your life. Despite the heartache and the pain, you were holding on. Holding on to the hope that, maybe, with time, the pain would lessen. Holding on to the memories that brought you joy in your darkest moments. Holding on to the love that, despite everything, still lingered within your heart.

You started to go clubbing, drinking more alcohol than you should, each shot you took was a desperate attempt to erase him from your mind, to numb the pain that was threatening to consume you. You tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the mindless chatter and laughter around you, but all you could think about was Hongjoong. Alcohol, which was supposed to help you forget, ironically made him even more present. His name was etched on every bottle, his memory swirled in every glass, his phantom touch felt in every drunken stupor. Each night was a replay of all the moments you shared, every word exchanged, every secret whispered, every promise made.

The club was packed, the music pounding in time with your heartbeat. The smell of alcohol and sweat filled the air, mingling with the intoxicating scent of perfume. Lost in the crowd, you tried to drown out the loneliness that gnawed at your insides. Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you. Turning, you found yourself face to face with a stranger. He was handsome, with a warm smile and dark, inviting eyes. He offered to buy you a drink, his voice barely audible over the loud music. You nodded, accepting the drink he handed you. The alcohol burned your throat, but it was a welcome distraction from the emptiness you felt. As the night progressed, the stranger became more comfortable. He leaned in closer, his hand brushing against yours. His touch sent a jolt through your body, a feeling of excitement... and something else. Something that felt like a betrayal. The stranger leaned in for a kiss, his lips barely inches from yours. You wanted to respond, to surrender to the desire that was churning within you. But as his lips meet yours, a flash of Hongjoong's face appears in your mind. It was as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on you. Suddenly, the stranger's touch felt wrong, his presence a stark reminder of what you were missing. With a gasp, you pulled away, pushing the stranger off you. You stumbled back, your heart pounding in your chest. You turned and ran, pushing through the crowd, desperate to escape. The stranger called after you, but his voice was drowned out by the thumping music. Once outside, you leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the truth. Despite the desire to move on, to forget Hongjoong, your body seemed to have a mind of its own. You still craved his touch, his presence. It felt like your body was still his, refusing to let go, refusing to be with anyone else. It was a painful realization, a glaring reminder of the void that Hongjoong had left in your life. Staggering back to your apartment, you felt more alone than ever.

After what felt like forever, you reached your apartment complex. Stumbling through the doorway, you barely had the strength to close the door behind you. Your thoughts were a blur, the world spinning around you as the effects of the alcohol finally started to take a toll. You leaned against the wall for support, the cold surface offering a stark contrast to the warmth that was spreading through your body. A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you slid down the wall, your body finally giving in to the exhaustion. You sat there, alone in the darkness, the silence of your apartment echoing the emptiness you felt inside. You pulled out your phone, your fingers hovering over Hongjoong's name. Without any hesitation, feeling like you had already waited too long, you pressed the call button. The phone rang, but there was no answer. A pang of disappointment hit you, though it was an outcome you weren't entirely surprised by. You sighed, waiting for the beep before leaving a voicemail.

"Hongjoong, it's me," you began, your voice slightly shaky. "I was out clubbing, and there was this guy… We kissed and… and he wanted to take me home. But I couldn't... I couldn't because it felt like I would be cheating on you. And that just... it made me feel sick." There was a pause as you braced yourself, gathering your thoughts. "The worst thing is," you continued, your voice slightly choked, "that I would still welcome you with open arms. I miss our life together, Hongjoong. I miss you." There was another pause, a heavy silence filling the line. "I'm so sorry," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry for making you feel bad about choosing your career. I know how much you wanted what you have now. And I... I shouldn't have held you back." You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you grappled with the words you knew you had to say. "And Hongjoong," you added, your voice filled with a quiet intensity, "I will never not love you." With that, you ended the call, the silence that followed echoing with the weight of your words.

In a haze, you managed to make your way to your bed, your body sinking into the familiar comfort of the mattress. The silence in the room felt overwhelming, and your mind filled with thoughts of Hongjoong. You missed him terribly, the uncertainty of his whereabouts gnawing at you. Pulling out your phone, you started to text him, your fingers clumsily typing out the words.

"Hongjoong... I miss you. I don't know where you are... and it's driving me crazy," you typed, the words blurring on the screen as tears welled up in your eyes. You hit send, the message disappears into the ether. Tears trickled down your cheeks, the emptiness of the room amplifying the loneliness you felt. You cried a deep, aching sob that echoed in the silence of the room, your body shaking with the intensity of your feelings. The room was dark, the only light coming from the screen of your phone, you picked it up and started typing another message.

"Hongjoong, I miss you."

"I need you, Hongjoong."

As you sent the message, a wave of regret washed over you. You knew you shouldn't have sent it, but the alcohol in your system and the loneliness in your heart had made you reckless.

"I still love you."

"I love you so much it hurts."

"I wish I wasn’t hurting this bad."

You dropped your phone on the bed, the screen illuminating the darkness as your messages were sent into the void, unanswered.

"I wish things were different."

The truth of your words hit you like a sledgehammer, and you broke down again, sobs shaking your body as you curled up on your bed. You cried until you fell asleep, your dreams filled with memories of Hongjoong.

seven

The crowd roared with applause as Hongjoong left the stage, his heart pounding in his chest. The energy from the audience was infectious, their cheers and screams echoing in his ears long after the music had stopped. The final show of the tour had been a resounding success, each seat filled, each ticket sold. As he walked off the stage, the reality of their success began to sink in. The bright lights, the screaming fans, the sold-out venues - it was more than he had ever dreamed of. Despite the fatigue that was beginning to set in, he couldn't help but bask in the afterglow of their performance. The excitement, the adrenaline, the sheer joy of performing - it was a feeling like no other. After all was said and done, he found himself walking through the corridors, personally thanking each member of the crew. Their faces lit up at his words of gratitude, their hard work acknowledged by their leader. The atmosphere was filled with camaraderie and mutual respect, a testament to the bond they shared. Once he had made his rounds, he finally reached his sanctuary - his dressing room. The room was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the air conditioning the only sound breaking the silence. Rows of neatly hung suits, shirts, and accessories greeted him, a stark contrast to the chaos that had ensued earlier. Exhaustion washed over him like a tidal wave, the adrenaline that had been fueling him all day finally starting to wane. His body felt heavy, his mind cloudy from the day's events. He moved towards the plush leather couch sitting in the corner of the room, his legs giving way as he sank into the soft cushions. The quietness of the room enveloped him, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. He let out a sigh of relief, his body sinking further into the couch as he allowed the exhaustion to take over. The day had been long and arduous, but he had made it through, and for that, he was grateful. Hongjoong reached out and picked up his phone from the bedside table. The bright screen lit up, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw your name at the top of his notifications. Hongjoong's heart pounded in his chest as he played the voice message. Your voice, which he hadn’t heard in so long, laced with alcohol and desperation, echoed in his brain. His breath hitched at your confession, the image of another man touching you burning in his mind. It was a torment he hadn't prepared for, a reality he refused to accept. His grip on his phone tightened, his knuckles turning white as your words washed over him. Each syllable was like a dagger to his heart, the pain raw and unbearable. As the full weight of your words sunk in, he was left reeling, the reality of your pain and longing hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had never felt more helpless, more desperate. After hearing the voice message, he quickly clicked on the text notifications. His fingers trembled slightly as he read the messages:

my love: "Hongjoong... I misssss youuuu. Don't knoowww whereeee u r... it's drivin' me craaaazy."

my love: "Honjoong, I missss youuuu.”

my love: "I neeedd yoooo, Hongjoongg.”

my love: "I stiilll lovvee yooouu.”

my love: "I wishhh thinggs werre differrrent.”

my love: "I luvv yu sooo muchh it hurttss."

my love: "I wishh I wasn't hurtin' thiss badd."

In a heartbeat, Hongjoong got up from the sofa, the quick motion caused his head to spin. Shaking off the disorientation, he lunged for his bag, hastily gathering his belongings in a flurry of swift movements. All his thoughts were consumed by one singular goal - he needed to see you. Not bothering with changing out of his stage attire into something more casual, he embraced the urgency of the moment, allowing it to fuel his actions. He shrugged on his jacket, barely noticing the lingering sweat on his skin or the way his stage clothes clung to his body. Hongjoong’s heart pounded in his chest, as he sprinted out of the dressing room. His eyes darted around the bustling backstage area, scanning the familiar faces and chaotic scenery in search of one person. His manager. Every second was critical, each fleeting moment amplifying the urgency of his need to see you. The world around him seemed to blur into a whirlwind of colours and sounds as he navigated through the backstage chaos, his mind solely focused on his mission.

"Hongjoong, are you alright?" Minah, the stylist, asked as she approached him cautiously. She had been observing him from a distance, noting the far-off look in his eyes. It was unlike him to be this distracted, especially when they were on a tight schedule. Hongjoong didn't even notice her until she was right next to him, her voice cutting through the fog of his thoughts. He blinked, turning to look at her with a slightly startled expression.

"Where is my manager?" he asked, his voice tense. It wasn't like him to be so curt, and Minah knew instantly that something was off. She glanced warily at him, biting her lower lip anxiously.

"He stepped out for a moment, he should be back soon," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She had been working with Hongjoong for a while now and she had never seen him this agitated before. Hongjoong nodded, his gaze wandering off again as he started scanning the room left and right. He looked like a man on edge, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. Minah watched him with growing concern, her mind racing as she tried to think of a way to help. She had seen him tired, stressed, even overwhelmed at times, but she had never seen him like this. He looked like he was at his breaking point, like he was about to shatter into a million pieces. She knew better than to press him for answers, knowing that he would open up when he was ready. But as the minutes ticked by and his anxiety seemed to mount, she couldn't help but worry. Something was clearly wrong, and she felt helpless as she watched him struggle.

"Fuck it," he cursed under his breath, his thoughts racing as he rushed towards the back doors that led to the underground parking lot. Hongjoong made his way through, heading straight for the exit. At that moment, the possible consequences of his actions didn't matter to him. Just as he was about to pry open the alarmed doors, causing the alarm to ring out, he heard someone calling his name.

"Hongjoong, what do you think you're doing?" It was his manager, jogging over to him.

"I'm going back home," Hongjoong declared, his voice ringing with a determination that startled his manager. The manager, taken aback by the sudden change in his typically professional demeanor, quickly tried to regain control of the situation. He grabbed Hongjoong by the shoulder, attempting to steer him back towards the conference room where a team of publicists and stylists awaited their return.

"You aren't going anywhere, Hongjoong," his manager sternly replied, his grip tightening on Hongjoong's shoulder. "We're flying back in two days after the interviews. You know the schedule." Typically, Hongjoong was a stickler for professionalism. He understood the importance of maintaining a certain image, of fulfilling his responsibilities and keeping to the schedule. But this was not a typical situation. His mind was filled with thoughts of you, your voice in that message echoing in his ears. The sound of your soft sobs, the barely concealed panic in your voice - they haunted him. He needed to be with you, to hold you, to reassure you that everything was going to be okay.

With a firm shake of his shoulder, he freed himself from his manager's grasp, his movements abrupt and filled with a newfound, desperate energy.

"Seonghwa will take the leader role when I'm gone," he declared, his voice louder than it had been all night. "You will figure something out," he continued, his voice echoing with a resolve that hadn't been there before. Hongjoong gaze was intense, almost desperate, as he looked at his manager, it was a look they had never seen before, a look that spoke of desperation and determination that was both terrifying and heartbreaking. "Give me the keys to the car," Hongjoong demanded, his voice icily calm in contrast to the furious glint in his eyes. But his manager defied him, refusing to hand over the keys. Hongjoong was on a rampage, his usual composed demeanor replaced with a fiery rage that was starting to consume him. His vision blurred, the edges tinged with red as his frustration escalated."I NEED to go!" Hongjoong shouted, his voice filled with an urgency that cut through the tense silence.

"You're not thinking straight, Hongjoong," his manager retorted, his tone laced with frustration and concern. "You can't just abandon everything and run off. Think about the consequences!"

"I don't care about the consequences!" Hongjoong snapped, his patience wearing thin. "This is more important!"

"Oh, is it?" his manager sneered, a manipulative glint in his eyes. "Remember, Hongjoong, I can ruin you. I can leak your little secret to the press. Imagine the scandal, the headlines... ''ATEEZ's leader, Kim Hongjoong, abandons tour to chase after ex-girlfriend.'' How do you think the fans will react?" Hongjoong knew it was a threat, a blatant attempt to control him, but the reality of the situation was that his manager held the power to destroy his career.

Hongjoong's heart pounded in his chest, his blood running cold at his manager's words. He gritted his teeth as he cut off his manager's words.

"How do you know it's about her?" he demanded, his voice harsh. A cold dread washed over him as he considered the implications. How was it even possible for his manager to know you had contacted him? After all these months of radio silence, how could he possibly know? His manager shrugged, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I have my ways," he said cryptically. "Besides, it's not like I don't know what she still means to you." The words stung, a harsh reminder of the heartache Hongjoong had been trying to bury. "Don't tell me I didn't warn you," his manager said smugly, dangling the car keys in front of him. With a sigh, Hongjoong snatched the keys from his hand, his determination unwavering. He would face the consequences of his actions, whatever they may be, as long as it meant he could be there for you.

For the first time in his life, Hongjoong didn't care about professionalism or the implications of his actions. He didn't care about the shocked expressions of his manager and the other staff members. He didn't care about the potential backlash or the consequences he might face. This time, all he cared about was you.

#ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez au #ateez fanfic #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong angst #hongjoong smut #ateez x y/n #hongjoong x y/n #hongjoong x you

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writingmeraki · 2 years ago

Text

hot & cold I

READ PART TWO HERE !

a min ho mini series !

summary : Feeling the warm butterflies in your stomach as well as the cold sinking feeling in your heart wasn't the best especially just because of one person nonetheless you think it was worse because that person was none other than the guy you apparently hated with your entire existence.

( or you long crossed the blurry lines of love and hate when it came to Minho and were both just idiotic enough to not realise that until you had to force it out of yourself because of your stupidity.)

genre : angst, fluff, comfort !

pairing : minho x fem!reader, e2l, idiots to lovers.

warnings : mentions of alcohol and underage drinking, kissing and making out, cussing. both being dumb and too high on their ego. kinda blame it on Minho in this one I fear 😨

author's note : and as my obsession goes crazy, I knew I had to write a miniseries on Minho. I honestly have no idea how long it can be this time, it'll mostly depend on your feedback but also how long I make this but expect 2-3 parts more ?? this was written out of nowhere tbh because I had a really different idea for this. anyways enjoy and let me know what you think ! <3 ( not proofread as usual, we die like real men 😀)

based on this request !

word count : 4.3k

"Maybe you should put that down now."

Kitty said, observing the way you tipped down the cocktail, be it a secret yet not secret alcoholic one.

You winced and shook your head as you smashed the glass down after, Kitty having to shoot an apologetic look to the temporary bartender, who wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else but a party of drunk and horny teenagers sneaking in alcohol and downing it as though they were going through all stages of grief at the moment or in moments of classical teenage stupidity.

"Oh- KAY! I think that's more than enough." She pulled your hands away from the other cocktail that was served up,despite this one now being the only non-alcoholic, she felt it was getting a lot and you whined at her, she narrowed her eyes at you.

"Y/N, you've had more than enough."

"Noooo, I'm fine I can handle ittt." Your words slurred and she gave you a blank stare, holding up two fingers, she asked

"Okay then, how many fingers I am holding up?"

You narrowed your eyes, trying to think hard and giggled as you spoke

"Kitty, Katty since when did you have six fingers?" A drunken smile sat on your face as you leaned forward pointing your finger to count the 'six' fingers.

You vision was blurry but you were still able to make out the outline of what was in front of you.

Kitty rolled her eyes and sighed softly "How much did you even have?"

You put up both your hands, all fingers up and her eyes widened almost comically, it only made you giggle at her expressions,

"TEN? please tell me TEN sips!"

"Nooo silly, of course not…it was just three glasses with that sercret ingredient." You whispered to her as you leaned in closer as though you were telling a top secret and in a way it was, your lips were turned upwards, dimples lightly peaking.

"Alright, we have to get you back to the dorms then! Let me call Q and Florian, then we'll go okay? You stay here. Don't move Y/N!" She pointed at you, her words strict but you couldn't think about anything other than how pretty she seemed at the moment, so without much thought you blurted out,

"You look so pretty, Kit, you really do." Your eyes were half closed but you could see her wearing a tight black dress, her hair done down and straight, her black heels only making her figure look leaner.

Kitty, despite knowing you were drunk, couldn't help but laugh at your words, she shook her head and told you one last time before disappearing to find Q and Florian as soon as she could.

Looking up, the ceiling was multicolored, flashes of blue and green danced across it and you looked in awe as if it was a piece of art.

You looked around you, noticing the way the entire place seemed to be overcrowded but people were having fun, either getting shit drunk or dancing as if it was their last time.

Welcome to your life

There's no turning back

Even while we sleep

We will find you

You smiled when you heard the familiar tune and lyrics, having hearing it from your roommate and also ended up falling in love with it, the beat was slightly altered to make it more party pop but it only made it more better.

Standing up and stumbling slightly as you made your way to the dance floor, the world looking like it was moving fast as you also moved your body along to the crowd.

You felt as though you'd been hit so hard when you ended up colliding harshly into the person and you braced yourself for the fall, feeling as if you're flying high to come crashing hard into the ground.

Acting on your best behaviour

Turn your back on mother nature

Everybody wants to rule the world

And as cliche as it could get, you didn't feel the crash instead a stronger grip on your waist pulled you back up as the side face instead hit something soft yet firm.

You looked up and you felt the same awe when you saw the multicolored ceiling as though it was a piece of art, maybe even more, as your eyes scanned his face.

It's my own design

It's my own remorse

Help me to decide

Help me make the most

Colours shone on his face, highlighting his sharp jawline that you felt yourself get lost in, you continued to scan the bridge of his nose and his cupid's bow. You looked into his eyes and only felt your haziness increase as you felt the tug in your heart. They seemed to drink you in as you did him, and your gaze turned to the way one corner of his lips turned upwards.

The arm around your waist felt warmer than it should and you definitely felt the heat on your face, your entire body even. Your knees felt more weaker as you prayed your legs didn't give up on you, and with this the grip on your waist only got tighter.

Minho looked down at you, his gaze never leaving your face as he held you up. Staring at your lips for a little longer than he should have. The fact that he felt as if there were sparks of electricity running through just by the waist around your arm and most of your body weight on his, made him only want more. More than he should be wanting.

And again, letting your intrusive thoughts take the wheel of your actions, you lifted up one hand and brushed it along his jawline.

"Ouch…paper cut." Giggling at your ridiculous joke, you rested your head on his shoulder now, moving your arms around his broad shoulders.

Naturally, his own arms now fully wrapped around your waist and if someone, which more than a few heads turned, saw you in this position, it'd look more intimate than it should. Considering how far down you both go.

Minho smiled unknowingly, the sound of your giggles always making his heart race more than it should.

"I know you're clumsy as fuck, but I didn't think you'd fall for me this soon, I guess it would happen soon anyways considering how intelligent and good looking I am."

Your eyes moved to look up into his, noticing his lips pulled into a smirk that really only did more things unbeknownst to you,and you narrowed them before slurring out,

"You sound exactly like Minho, I actually thought it was almost you." You continued mumbling,

"But I know it's definitely not him, considering he was already busy with that…Madison." You rolled your eyes, slowly shutting them and you pushed your head back down onto his shoulders and moved closer to the crook of his neck, craving the warmth he radiated.

"Plus I'm sure he'd let me fall face first on the ground if I fell on him the way I just did." You mumbled into his neck, he felt himself control the shiver that run down his spine when your lips touched his neck as you mumbled.

Frowning, he spoke up, wanting to defend himself even if it seemed pointless,

"No, he wouldn't." He said firmly and you looked up at him as you thought of his words,

"Considering how we are, I don't think I'm wrong to assume he'd do that." Even though you were drunk, you spoke the words more smoothly as if it was a whole truth.

"Besides I don't even care what he does, he can go kiss that…that girl for all I care, no I definitely don't care if he does this with her, if he looks at her like that way."

Minho's expression turned down, his eyebrows furrowing and his lips pulled into a frown,

"What way?" He asked softly as he could see your eyes tearing up and you gulped sadly and you put on a dejected smile,

"How I wish, I wish he'd look at me, for once." You said more gently, whispering letting your vulnerable feelings speak up.

He only felt his heart sinking the more he took in the sadness and vulnerability showing on your face, he felt his guilt double than it had before as he recalled why he'd even been making out with Madison in the first place.

He'd felt his entire focus zone in on the person who'd just walk in the place.

Even as much as he seemed to hate your mere presence, his eyes always seemed to drift towards you much to his annoyance.

His gaze felt heavy as it dragged from the shoes you'd worn to the hairstyle you'd done. Your outfit consisted of a maroon tight dress that had ended just below your knees, a teasing slit running just a little further up your left side, just enough to make someone want to see more.

Your lips were a similar shade of maroon as you smiled, depths forming on your cheeks that tugged at his heart, your hair done down and resting just below your shoulders.

You looked…you looked better than he could even describe.

Beautiful would be a word, but he thinks it underwhelms you.

Kitty was beside you in her black dress and her hair done down but his eyes couldn't stop drinking you in as if it was not enough for him.

He wanted something he shouldn't. He shouldn't be thinking about you right now the way he is.

He forced himself to look away, searching for someone else in the crowd.

He looked better than he should and you hated the way your eyes moved to the dip between his throat and shirt.

Gosh that's such an ugly fucking colour you thought yet you felt fainter as your eyes scanned the way his hair was parted, something you knew only he could pull off. Some loose strands sat on his forehead and you hated the way you felt your legs almost give up in these tight heels as you took in the way the blazer fit his broad shoulders.

Fuck he looked good.

You looked at him, observing him scanning the crowd as he disappeared away.

"Let's get this party started!" Kitty said excitedly to which you lightly laughed,

"Kitty it's already started, we are already like forty minutes late because of a certain someone but sure! Love the enthusiasm! Woo!" You chuckled as you saw her excitement bubble down and then laughing along with you.

"Let's go then girls! The best place at a party, the bar!" Q threw his arms around both your shoulders as he sloshed himself between you, now pulling you towards the bar.

The bartender served up five mocktails which you thought were too beautiful looking to be drank but you raised a toast,

"Here's to meeting new people and ending our bitchless eras!" You toasted as you giggled which was followed by the rest clinking their respective glasses onto yours as you took a sip.

"Guys,I have something." Florian spoke as he pulled a flask from his blazer and your eyes widened at the sight, knowing what it was.

"Oh My God! No way… now you're the real one for this." You said as he winked at you and opened the flask, the smell already indicating what it was as he poured in a bit into yours and his.

"Ohh me too! Me too!" Kitty said as she pushed her glass towards him and he poured in hers as well.

"The last for the best." Florian spoke as he poured it in Q's drink which made him look away and you smirked as you saw him almost blush.

"Now this is a real toast." You finally clinked your drinks for the last time, now taking in a sip, wincing yet loving the bitter taste that contrasted well with the sweetness of the cocktail.

"By the way, Y/N, I don't think you're ever going to be able to meet new people." Kitty spoke which made you turn to her in confusion.

"I mean come on, you won't be able to meet new people because you already are into someone." She continued and now looked towards Q, him nodding in agreement as you still looked in confusion.

"Oh please, don't look like a lost puppy now, we all saw the way you basically bore your eyes into Min ho as soon as you saw him like a hungry vulture or something." Q said which made Florian chuckle and you only glared at his words as though looks could kill.

"You don't plan a murder out loud now do you?" You defended yourself as Kitty rolled her eyes,

"More like you'd kill anyone who'd dare even hurt a fraction of his hair." Kitty said to which now both Florian and Q nodded, feeling betrayal as you looked at Florian, thinking he'd been on your side to which he only raised his hands in his defense.

"Look, Y/N, maybe you don't see it, but you definitely go past the so called hate line you both have." He said as he knew you surely felt more for him than the passive aggressive persona you showed when he was around.

"After all they do say the lines between love and hate tend to blur." Kitty said as she took a sip of her drink and you only scoffed, ready to reply saying you knew where you stood and you were gladly under the hate side, despising Min ho because of his unbearable personality that would make you so mad.

So mad you'd want to punch his pretty face at times.

"Uh oh." Q said suddenly as his eyes caught a sight that he wished wouldn't have but they quickly widened when he realised you were literally right next to him and probably heard him.

Naturally your eyes moved to where he was looking, and oh how you wished you also didn't see what you just saw but for completely different reasons that you couldn't put a finger on at the time being.

Minho stood next to Madison as he whispered something into her ears, which made her laugh, you saw the way his arm was wrapped around her waist, hiding her close to him.

You felt like throwing up as your stomach recoil and churn, moving your eyes, not wanting to think more of this than you should. But it seemed as though it was impossible as the image replayed in your mind.

You felt the tension in the air when your face twisted bitterly, noticing your friends also tensing up and felt guilty for suddenly changing the cheerful mood.

"Guys come one now, I don't care, now go and have fun!" You reassured them as they looked at you skeptically.

"Listen, he can go and fuck around with whoever he wants, I really don't care. We shouldn't let this ruin our moods. Now go." You bit on your tongue as put on a tight smile, no usual dimples peaking, a sign it was fake.

Hearing the firmer tone at the end, Q and Florian nodded as they held hands "Okay then, find us when you need us okay?"

Q said as you just mindlessly nodded and they also moved into the flow of the crowd.

Kitty still looked at you skeptically but you just smiled at her, now a genuine one telling her to go on and finish her agenda of meeting new people.

At least one of you seemed ready to move on.

"Thank you." You heard a voice suddenly speak up from beside you as you sat nursing the cocktail in your hands, it's coolness relieving the warmth your body felt.

"Oh someone with manners, I like that." You said putting down your drink, deciding that if he can fuck around when he wants, who were you to not as well.

The guy next to you turns towards you, him taking in your figure, a smirk forming on his face as he realised who you were.

"I'm Geon." He said to which you smiled.

"Y/N." You spoke up to which he chuckled which made you a bit confused,

"Oh I know." You raised an eyebrow at his words,

"It's an honor to have the hottest girl here talking to me." He said with a grin as you then lifted your drink to take another sip, after which you giggled at his words, even though you didn't think you would have even been phased if it weren't for the alcohol now slowly flowing in your system.

"Oh yeah? Tell me more." You leaned in closer to him with a smug smile, biting your lip lightly to which you think again, this probably wouldn't be happening right now if it weren't for the liquid courage or your mess of an emotional baggage.

This whole spectacle was being seen by someone who'd otherwise think you were both already together. He rolled his eyes, looking away as he clicked his tongue, folding his arms and a scowl of both disgust and jealousy forming on his face.

Of course.

He thought looking back at the pair of Geon and you.

"I think she's better than all the other girls, even Yuri, people say she's the prettiest but don't realize that they are wrong. And Kitty next to you looks so underwhelming but both of them are nothing but plain next to you."

And despite you starting to feel more tipsy, you controlled the urge to just flip him off.

Instead you leaned in closer, raising one hand and cupping his face, bringing your face near his ear, as though you'd whisper about how he was definitely right, a light smile forming on his face.

That's what he thought at least.

Chuckling lowly, you whispered sweetly,

"You know sweety, what type of men I absolutely despise?"

You briefly made eye contact with him when he looked down at you from the corner of his eye.

"The ones who bring women down in hopes of getting into my pants and thinking that will actually work."

You trailed your hand down his neck, fingers lightly touching, he gulped as he shivered under your touch, the grin forming on his face long gone when he heard the venom lacing your tone.

"Let alone the fact that they are my best friends, and trust me, if I wanted to I'd punch the shit out of you right now but,listen to me carefully."

You rested your hand on his collarbone,

"No girl is meant for your judging pleasure especially not for undeserving dickheads like you and if you dare talk to me again, trust me, I can do much worse than you can think."

You leaned back and patted his chest, grinning widely, but your eyes said a completely different story.

"Now. Fuck off."

And fuck off he did as he swallowed nervously, turning around and moving into the crazy crowd,mumbling something under his breath, you not really caring to pay attention to his words as you sighed out, rubbing your forehead with your fingers.

Men are nothing but disappointment, what did I even expect ?

"Hey guess what!- what happened to you?" Kitty said as she suddenly appeared from your right side making you surprised but you smiled at her reassuringly, not wanting her to know what that jerk said for obvious reasons.

"Oh it's nothing, it's getting noisy that's all." Kitty didn't seem convinced at all because she did spot you talking to Geon, not wanting to interrupt when he saw you whispering something to him,

Huh so she really was serious about the whole meeting new people thing?

But when he walked away looking a little paler, she figured it was not exactly what it looked like, deciding that she should intervene now.

"Oh-kay but you know what, I just…" You now looked forward your back facing the bar as you placed your elbows on the counter, leaning onto them, raising an eyebrow at her for her to continue,

"I am glad I came here, I'm glad we all did, I'm happy, for once and it feels so…so good to be happy with you guys who I didn't think would even be my friends."

She said smiling at you, her sitting down next to your stool, and you turned your neck, looking at her now,

You smiled, finally a genuine one and it showed when your dimples showed,

"I'm glad I met you guys as well." You told her and just as she was about to say something, her eyes trailed towards your left, narrowing to make sure she was seeing right.

She froze when she saw you look at her, naturally wanting to see what made her look the way she was looking right now.

"Uh! Well look you know I'm happy you…uh well you agreed to come here!" She pulled your shoulders a little forcefully, the rotating barstool moving and making you now face her.

You looked perplexed at her behaviour, especially how she almost knocked you out but she just smiled at you, a little too forcefully.

"I just think you should know you deserve better than you think and even if it's not-"

"Kitty."

You called out to her, stopping her rambling, moving your hands up from off your shoulders.

"What's got you so…so nervous all of a sudden?" You questioned seeing her eyes still fixated behind you, her hand stopping you again from turning around.

"I just don't think you should see this. Really." She swallowed nervously and you waved her off,

"It's not that deep Kitty chill." You said but how you wished you'd listen to her.

You went rigid, seeing the sight now in front of you and clenched your jaw.

There was Minho in all his glory, kissing, no more like passionately making out with none other than Madison.

He had his arms around her waist as she played with his hair, and you could see her smile into the kiss. His mouth moved from her lips to her jawline and you watched her giggle as he seemed to be whispering something that made her laugh only more.

Fuck.

Why did it feel like someone just ripped your heart out and smashed it right in front of you with their bare hands?

You turned towards the bar, squeezing your eyes shut, holding your head in your hands as you felt the pounding in it get harder.

You gulped harshly trying to squeeze the image out of your brain,

"Y/N." Kitty put her hand on your shoulder, her warm touch contrasting the coldness you felt.

"Ah, I should have listened to you." You laughed but it held no humour. You could feel your emotions go all over the place as you replayed everything you'd seen till now.

Both of them laughing together, him looking at her as if she was the only on there, him focusing on her as if she was the only one there, him making out with her as if she'd slip away from his hands.

"You know what maybe I just need a little drink." You raised your hand up calling for the bartender and asking for two cocktails.

You put your hand out to Kitty expectedly, her frowning at the way you tried to act as if it was all right but she could see the unshed tears on your lash line.

Before she could say anything, you asked her quickly,

"Where's that whisky Florian gave you?" Talking about the flask she'd been hiding in her purse that was given to her by Florian.

"Y/N, you can't just drink away your emotions like this, you can't even handle alcohol-"

"Kitty, I'll be fine, just…just give it to me please?"

She sighed, she knew about your tendency to avoid talking about your feelings. She just opened up her purse and removed the flask just as the bartender served the drinks.

You took it from her and poured a questionable amount but you didn't really care at the moment, wanting to feel the high rather than the heaviness you currently felt creeping in your chest.

Raising a toast to yourself, you grinned up at Kitty, a sorrowness that only made her feel more and more sympathic for you.

"Here's to the most unluckiest person at the moment, me!"

That was now half an hour ago, and here you were now wrapped tightly around the very person who'd made you feel miserable in the first place.

"You know it's not even his fault. We don't even like each other. I'm pretty sure he hates me but why the fuck does it hurt so bad?" You whined as you pulled away from the supposed stranger's, attractive one at least, body and stood up on your own.

You pushed his arms away from you and you almost stumbles but held one hand out when he tried to hold you again to prevent you from falling,

"Y/N you'll fall-"

"No, I'm fine, I swear. I don't even know why I just dumped that weird emotional baggage onto you, sorry."

"Thank you anyways, for you know saving me from breaking my own face right there, if you want me to repay you, just come to Chemistry class first period on Monday!"

You stepped away from him and trying to not cry because no matter how drunk you were you didn't want to cry over some stupid boy.

Minho stood there, his eyes downcast as he remembered the look on your face, he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling heavily.

How do I even begin ?

READ PART TWO HERE !

all written works as well as images and edits (unless credited) belong to pri.do not plagiarise, repost, re-edit or claim as yours. pics mostly found on pinterest.

feedback is appreciated hehe :D 💗

links : main navi !

#xo kitty #xo kitty min ho #min ho x reader #xo kitty minho #min ho fluff #min ho angst #min ho fic #sang heon lee #lee sang heon #x female reader #x fem!reader #xo kitty fanfic #[ pri works ]

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roosterforme · 1 year ago

Text

Always Ever Only You Part 17 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When you manage to keep your spirits high through a rough patch, Bradley is as supportive of your needs as ever. He's working hard to take care of you in every way, and when he comes home with some unexpected paperwork, it's your turn to be supportive of him.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, mentions of smut, pregnancy discussion

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

"It's funny to me that you think you're being coy right now," Bradley told Jake in the locker room. He was avoiding answering questions about his dates with Cat. Bradley knew for a fact that they went on at least two, because that's what you had told him. And he assumed that Jake or Cat had given you that information directly.

"Some things are sacred, Bradshaw," he said as he applied his deodorant while Bradley dried his hair with his towel and started to get dressed.

But you had also informed Bradley that the two of them had agreed to take it a little slow now, especially since Cat and Jeremiah were living with her Uncle Bernie. So as Bradley pulled on his underwear, he knew just what to say to bait Jake. "You fuck her yet?" he asked casually, barely able to keep a straight face.

Jake rounded on him immediately, green eyes furious. "What the hell kind of question is that?" he hissed. "First of all, it's none of your business, but no. Second, you don't have to be so fucking crude about it, man. And third, I never asked you that when you were following Angel around the Hard Deck and all over base like a lost puppy."

Bradley erupted in laughter as he reached into his locker for his undershirt. "Chill, Hangman. I just wanted to see how serious you are. And furthermore, this is the first time you haven't been crude in your life. And further furthermore, you absolutely did ask me if I nailed my wife way back then, because you were mad she turned you down."

Jake stared off into space with his brow creased. "Huh. Well I am serious about Cat. And Jeremiah. But Hondo still gets a little riled up whenever he sees me. Been avoiding him on the tarmac like my life depends on it. And if I ever asked you for any sort of details about Angel, I deeply regret doing so now. Please, keep that shit to yourself."

"Happily," Bradley replied, thinking about your ass in your khaki pants and smiling. When he headed out to the parking garage, Jake walked with him. And when he got to his Bronco, he realized Jake had parked near him. And Cat was waiting for Jake, leaning against the passenger side door, looking at her phone.

When she glanced up, she smiled and said, "Jake," with longing in her voice. And then she realized Bradley was there, too and straightened her posture like she was standing at attention. "Hi, Bradley."

Oh, they were both making it way too easy to fuck with them. Bradley grinned as he abandoned his Bronco for Jake's car instead. "How's it going? How's my little buddy, Jeremiah?"

She smiled a little cautiously. "He's great. Obsessed with dogs now from playing at your house."

"Yeah, well he's welcome any time," Bradley said, leaning against Jake's car. "Tramp loves licking crumbs off him. Actually Jake was just telling me all about your dates."

"Was he?" she asked quietly, and Bradley thought she looked pleased. Jake was glowering at him from the other side of the car, and Bradley caught sight of a car seat in the back.

"Oh yeah," Bradley said with a nod. "Jake only looks like an ass, but he's actually okay." Cat snorted, and Jake glowered harder. "Are you guys going to go pick Jeremiah up now?"

"Yeah," Jake said loudly. "Better get a move on."

But Cat just looked up at Bradley and said, "I'm trying to get him in the daycare program on base here, but I'm on a wait list. And the facility he's in now is across town, and it's really not that great. But it's affordable," she said with a bit of a shrug.

Bradley nodded, giving up his original plan to mess with the two of them. He was pretty sure Jake would pay for a better daycare for her son if they were dating seriously. You'd told him a bit about Cat's ex husband and how she was in financial ruin.

"Well, you have free babysitters," he told her softly. "Really good ones, too."

She laughed softly and leaned in a little closer. "Thanks. Yeah, top notch babysitters. Especially Tramp."

Bradley laughed, too, and then Jake cleared his throat loudly. "If the two of you are finished over there..."

"Later," Bradley told Cat with a grin. And when he walked around toward the Bronco, he winked at Jake and said, "Nice car seat, man."

Jake flipped him off rather discreetly, but he looked happy. When Bradley pulled his Bronco out of his parking spot, he noticed that Jake had walked around to the passenger side of his car. He and Cat were kissing, and Jake was once again holding his middle finger up behind his back for Bradley.

When he got home, your car was already there. "Sweetheart," he called out as he walked inside. "I am on the cutting edge of the Jake gossip today." You were on the couch wrapped up in his undershirt and a blanket even though it was May, and you were eating a pack of cookies. "You okay?" he asked softly, but he already knew.

You nodded and met his eyes. "I got my period today." Your voice was bland and emotionless, but at least you weren't crying. You just looked exhausted and defeated.

Bradley made a beeline to the couch and bent to kiss your forehead. "I love you," he promised as you looked up at him, the faintest smile on your lips. "I'll get your heating pad and some Advil? You want a glass of wine?"

"Yeah," you whispered. He didn't even take the time to remove his boots, and Tramp followed him from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen in search of supplies.

"I'll walk you in a bit. Relax," Bradley coaxed, tossing a treat that the dog caught in midair. "Mommy needs a cuddle first." And it was like the animal listened to him, because a minute later, you were snuggled up on Bradley's lap along with Tramp and the heating pad.

"How was your day?" you asked softly with your eyes closed. Bradley wasn't sure what he should or shouldn't mention right now. He wanted to make sure you were doing okay, but he didn't want to upset you over your period. He wasn't upset about it at all.

"My day was fine. Do you... want to talk about anything?"

You sighed. "If you're referring to my period? No, not really. I'm okay, I promise. Just a little disappointed, but I think that's mainly because it came a day late, and I was getting just the tiniest bit hopeful, you know?"

Truthfully, Bradley hadn't been keeping up with your cycle, but now that he did the math, you were most likely ovulating right when he got home from deployment. "That makes sense," he whispered, kissing your hair. But he had been too happy since he returned home to let this ruin his day. "But you still got me."

You snuggled in a little closer and kissed his neck. "What's your hot Jake gossip?"

"Well...." It was his time to shine. He always found out everything late or after the fact, and you always liked to pick on him for it. "He and Cat went to pick Jeremiah up from daycare. Together."

You yawned and mumbled, "Yeah, they've been doing that for the past week or so."

"Oh," he said, slightly annoyed that this wasn't news to you. "Well, he also told me he hasn't even slept with her yet," he added.

"I know. I think he's secretly afraid of Hondo kicking his ass."

"Oh. Well, Jake has a car seat for Jeremiah now. But I'm assuming you already know that."

"Of course I do. But this was a really solid effort on your part, Roo. I'm so proud of you."

He just grunted and helped you readjust your heating pad. "I'm supposed to play golf in the morning, unless you'd rather I stay here and make you breakfast?"

"No, thank you. I feel bad enough already. But after you and Jake play golf, we're going out to dinner with him."

"We are? When did this happen? I just saw him."

You grinned up at him and said, "I was just texting Cat. Jake found a kid friendly restaurant that he thought would be great for Jeremiah. I said you'd probably really like it too. There is apparently a playground inside."

Bradley was quiet for a moment as you ran your fingers up along his neck. "Okay... that does sound really fun. Are there swings? I could push Jeremiah on the swings."

"I think there might be."

"I'm in."

----------------------------------

You managed to get up and make Bradley breakfast even though you felt awful. But he spent Friday night cleaning the house after he got you in bed for the night with the heating pad, so you figured some scrambled eggs and a toasted bagel was the least you could do.

"Jesus, Baby Girl," he moaned, as if you had made him a gourmet breakfast. "So fucking good."

"Thanks for cleaning and doing the laundry," you said before you yawned. But Bradley collected you in his arms and held you.

"Thanks for being the best person in the world," he replied, scooping you up and carrying you back to the bedroom while you giggled. "Now get back in bed and get some rest. We've got dinner and the Hard Deck later."

Then he spun his cap backwards and climbed gently on top of you with a grin. "What are you doing?" you asked, but he cut off your words with his lips.

"Loving my wife for a minute," he muttered, kissing you hard and parting your lips with his. You tasted his tongue as you moaned, and your fingers found their way to the short hair at the back of his neck. His mustache was really doing it for you, but as soon as you ran your tongue along it, Bradley was pulling away from you.

"Roo," you whined as he rolled off of you and adjusted his pants.

"I'll be back after lunchtime," he whispered, and just the sight of his hand on his cock through the fabric of his white golf pants had you pouting. "I love you."

You begrudgingly said, "I love you, too. Even though you're leaving me high and dry." Then you rolled over as he chuckled and left. And you thought about his hands gripping his golf club in those soft, sexy gloves until you were able to fall asleep again.

When you woke up hours later, you were starving and decided to eat a sandwich while you lounged on the back patio. You tossed pieces of crust to Tramp and then you wandered back inside, running your finger along the piano keys as you went. The house was too quiet, and it gave you that melancholy feeling that you got when Bradley was deployed.

For the briefest moment, you imagined a baby in your arms. Someone to keep you company while he was away. A little one to grow up knowing what it felt like to miss their dad and then be reunited with him over and over again. Someone else for Bradley to dote on. You swallowed down the miserable feeling before it could take over. A baby was not more important than your marriage. A baby did not need to happen at this moment. A child would be welcomed at any time, not just right now.

You drew a bath, and you were barely in there for more than five minutes when Tramp jumped up from the bath mat and ran for the front door.

"Sweetheart?"

"In the bathroom," you called, and a second later Bradley was in the room with you. "How were the guys?"

"The usual," he grunted as he knelt on the mat and dipped his fingers in the water. "How was your morning?" he asked, keeping a totally innocent expression on his face as he stroked your breast just under the water's surface.

"Missed you. Got myself a little sad, because it felt like a day when you were deployed."

Bradley tossed his cap on the floor and said, "I'm right here. I'm yours for the rest of the day. The rest of the weekend. Until we have to go to work on Monday."

"I know," you said, your voice sounding so small as you squeezed your eyes shut. "Will you go see Dr. Genevieve with me next week?"

He answered immediately as his hand found yours. "Of course. I haven't been to therapy in years. It'll be good."

You gaped at him. "You've seen a therapist before?"

"Yeah," he replied with his brow scrunched. "College was a very rough time for me without my mom. And Mav pulled my papers. And I didn't feel like I really belonged anywhere. I never told you that?"

You were just in awe of this man and his notebooks and his open honesty right now and the fact that you were always learning more about him. "No. But I'm really proud of you."

He smiled softly and blushed. "We can go see Dr. Genevieve together. We can do everything together. But you're not allowed to make fun of me if I have more fun at the restaurant tonight than the one year old."

You shook your head and said, "It would come as a surprise to literally nobody."

----------------------

"I don't know why he's fussing so much. He's usually a good eater," Cat said, cutting up some food into tiny pieces while Jeremiah remained on the verge of tears in the high chair. Bradley noticed that Jake was looking a little stressed out, presumably because Jeremiah wasn't enjoying the restaurant as much as he had hoped. Jake had spent all morning at the golf course talking about how excited he was.

"Let me see here," Bradley murmured, picking up the rainbow colored fork and tickling Jeremiah with his fingers while he held out a bite of food. In an instant he was laughing, and then he had a mouthful of food. "You love it here, right kiddo? We played on the swings. We drew on the walls. Your mom let you eat dessert first, and Jake won you a porcupine in the claw machine. Now eat up."

"You're incredible," Cat whispered. "No wonder he likes going to your house so much."

"Nah," Bradley said as Jeremiah took hold of the fork for himself. "It's all her and the way she can read a board book like it was written by a Pulitzer Prize winner." He leaned in and kissed you as you beamed at him. Bradley had spent the better part of an hour after your bath rubbing your back while reading some of his notebook entries to you. It always really seemed to make an impact where sometimes his verbal skills escaped him. But when he wrote his feelings out on a piece of paper, it made all the difference in the world.

"Are you coming to the Hard Deck after this?" you asked, turning to look at Jeremiah as he ate. "Well, not you, little man."

"Nope," Jake said with a cocky grin on his face and his arm draped across the back of Cat's chair. "We're going to watch the newest Scooby Doo movie back at my place and enjoy some of the chocolate chip cookies that I definitely made myself and did not buy at the store."

Cat laughed, and Bradley watched as she leaned in to whisper something to Jake as she brushed his hair back from the scar on his forehead. "They look happy," you muttered, taking Bradley's hand in yours underneath the table.

"Yeah," he agreed, carefully wiping Jeremiah's face as Cat kissed Jake like they were completely alone. "I'll roast him later for this. He always tells me we're disgusting."

"We are a little bit disgusting, Roo."

"Never said we weren't."

When you and he left the three of them a little while later and headed to the Hard Deck, Bradley was in an absolutely disgusting, soppy mood. You were singing along so badly to his favorite playlist while his hand rested on your thigh, and he was just so fucking proud of you for not letting your period take over your mood. Especially when all he wanted was to make you happy, and he knew it would have crushed him if you were being hard on yourself while he doted on you.

When he pulled into the parking lot and put the Bronco in park, he said, "I don't understand how you can sing so badly when you make the prettiest sounds I've ever heard in bed."

"Hey!" you complained with a laugh as you crawled across the seat and onto his lap. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"I only have the nicest things to say about you and your singing voice," he promised with an obnoxious smile as you pushed his head back against the headrest and started to gently nibble on his neck. Soon you were sucking a little harder as your hand trailed up and down his bicep. "Oh shit. That feels great. Let's go home."

You moaned softly and licked a trail up to his ear before whispering, "Nope. You tease me, I'm going to tease you right back." Then you rubbed yourself against his cock, and Bradley tried to get his arm around you, but you were already jumping down from his lap to the parking lot.

"Hey!" he called out with a laugh as you ran ahead of him while he tried to lock the Bronco doors. When he jogged inside, you were already at the bar chatting with Penny. He made eye contact with you, and you smirked.

Bradley strolled up behind you and pressed himself against your butt, kissing the back of your neck. "Whenever you decide you want to behave, I'll be at the pool table," he whispered.

You just laughed and said, "You know that's not going to happen."

"Well, come say hi to Nat anyway," he added, laughing softly against your neck. Penny was looking at the two of you together with the softest expression, and Bradley figured that was how he usually looked at you, too. "You know, I can remember the early days before the two of you were together," Penny said over the buzz of conversation. "All the longing glances and sneaking off together." Bradley set his hand on your hip and said, "Hey, we thought we were being pretty discreet." "Nice try," Penny said with a laugh as she slid two beer bottles across the bar. "Were we not discreet?" Bradley whispered as you and he walked toward Nat. You beamed up at him. "I guess not." He watched you walk into his best friend's open arms for a hug. And now he was thinking about every way he could be less than discreet with you tonight. You kept touching him, just some fleeting brushes of your hand to his abs or arm while you chatted with the others, but you were relentless. When the beers were empty, you took his bottle and said, "I'll take these back up to the bar, and then I'm running to the ladies' room." Bradley just grunted as you squeezed his bicep. As soon as you disappeared down the hallway, he dug his phone out of his pocket and sent you a quick text. Meet me outside at our special spot? He waited and waited but got no response. However, when you reemerged from the hallway, you caught his eye and then continued toward the exit. Bradley was in the middle of conversation with Javy about golfing when he suddenly said, "Hey, man, excuse me for a minute."

Bradley pushed his way through the crowd, and once he was back outside in the cool, dark night, he turned and ran toward the steps at the far end of the deck. As soon as his shoes hit the sand, you were reaching out for him.

"Been a while since we did this," you told him, your voice filled with laughter as he backed you up against the deck post.

"Too long," he agreed, letting his lips meet yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck. It was amazing how kissing you and just touching you made him feel so good inside. The feel of your kisses was a comfort that he knew by heart, and every curve of your body fit his hands perfectly. His fingers were inside your shirt, his thumbs gliding along your ribs and up to your bra.

You moaned into his mouth, pressing up on your toes and pulling him closer. When he broke the kiss to breathe, you whispered, "I have my period though."

"I know. Just wanted to make out with my fucking hot ass wife. Penny made me nostalgic."

His rough hands were on your lower back, and your head was tipped against the post. Bradley worked his lips along your neck, collar bones and cleavage as you said, "This feels just as good as the first time. Maybe better."

"Definitely better," he murmured. "You're in love with me now."

---------------------------

You had no shame. Your outfit was a wrinkled mess, and your lips were puffy when you returned to the pool table some thirty minutes later. Bradley's hair looked like he'd been outside during a natural disaster, and Penny smirked at him when he got two more beers.

But it didn't matter, because you were so happy. So you let the guys pick on Bradley while you laughed into your beer bottle. And when you got home, you let him lure you into the shower to have sex at one in the morning where he made you cum so hard, your echoing voice scared Tramp. And maybe the sex was better when you weren't trying so hard to get pregnant. And maybe listening to him read his notebook to you every night was doing more than you originally thought.

When you got to work on Monday morning, Bickel was waiting for your help with his most time sensitive projects. "Your ideas are always so refreshing, Lieutenant Commander."

And when you sat in the lab all afternoon, Cat came over at one point and simply said, "You were right about Jake."

And then Bradley met you for thirty minutes where he got to meet Dr. Genevieve. You told her that you were having a good day even though you got your period, and the three of you just chatted a little bit.

But you should have known that by the end of the week, you'd be feeling a little different. You were at home on Friday, already lounging on the couch and looking at vacation destinations for your first anniversary in November when Bradley walked in holding two envelopes.

"We need to talk."

You popped up on the couch and eyed him carefully. "About what?"

"Two things." He struggled out of his boots at the front door as he said, "Admiral Dean's court-martial has a date scheduled. And there's also an upcoming special detachment."

The court appearance for Dean and Slayer was something you figured would be happening soon. But a special detachment? You weren't sure if you were ready to hear about it. "Just tell me."

Bradley dropped down on the couch next to you and gave you a quick kiss. "June 9th," he said, handing you the first envelope. You scanned along, reading the dates and times, and sure enough, Bradley would have to appear in full dress uniform in court that day.

"Okay," you murmured, "now tell me about the detachment."

He kissed you again and then again, and you realized he seemed a lot more antsy about this bit of information. "Here." He placed the second envelope in your hand, but the paperwork had almost no information on it. And you were surprised to see that it had a classification code above what you were currently privy to.

"This tells me nothing, Roo."

"I realize that," he replied, running his hands through his hair. "It's something top secret. I wouldn't get any of the details unless I'm selected." He turned to look at you with his elbows propped on his knees and his forehead cupped in one hand. "But, Baby Girl... I really want to do this. I think I kind of need to."

And you understood exactly what he meant without him elaborating further. He still thought he needed to prove himself after being named the spare by Admiral Dean, and this was probably the kind of mission that would get his head on straight again and bring back his confidence. But this was also the kind of mission that would leave you at home, alone and worried. Because if he wasn't one hundred percent in the right head space, it could spell disaster. 'Top secret' meant highly dangerous. But it also meant only the most skilled pilots and weapons systems officers would be chosen to participate.

You swallowed down your fear and nudged his bicep until he leaned back and welcomed you onto his lap. "If you want to do it, then I hope you get chosen." You hated that your voice shook and tears filled your eyes, because you wanted to be encouraging for him.

"Come here," he whispered gently, and you sobbed quietly as he held you in his arms. "It'll be okay. I might not even get selected. But if I do, it'll still be okay."

"I know," you said, sucking in a deep breath. You hated that his confidence had been shaken in this way, but he was among the best, and you were already sure he'd be going. You could feel it in your bones.

-------------------------

I'm hoping Dean and Slayer get what they deserve. And also up next, Roo and BG visit a new bar they've never been to before with an agenda they've never indulged in before. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 18

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